u/Arceroth

Year 6, month 6

Qi gathering, stage 9

Despite his initial enthusiasm upon leaving the Emperor of Stillness behind there didn't seem to be a quick end to his wandering. He'd gotten better at surviving, though that might have been because it was well into spring and approaching summer now. More animals were out, which was good, but there were also more spirit beasts out. Despite being deep into the Shifting Wilds, most animals were still mortal, it wasn't like there was a spirit bear around every corner, and thankfully he hadn't seen the god elk again.

Mark had been attempting to put the lessons of the old ghost to use, on occasion he spent a few hours sitting atop a tree and looking out over the wilds, looking for any pattern in what was happening. The result was he often still spent most of the time wandering at random in the direction of anything notable he could see in the distance.

Which is what brought him to a large clearing with a small hill in the center. Atop that hill was a massive flower, easily taller than he was with complex looking leaves and iridescent petals. Even from the tree line a couple hundred feet away Mark could feel the qi radiating off the plant. He knew that was a spiritual treasure or herb of some kind, but something about the situation had him nervous. With how much qi was coming off that thing he'd sensed it nearly a mile away, and if he could then surely others could too. So why wasn't there anything else there? The clearing was almost eerie for how silent it was, only the gentle rustling of the tall grasses preventing it from being dead quiet.

He could feel a desire for the flower within him, it was like looking at a juicy steak after weeks of MREs. Still, something felt off so he kept scanning the tree line.

"Look for what doesn't move," Mark muttered to himself as he swept his gaze over the clearing again, the gently swaying grasses, the light reflecting off the petals of the grand flower, when he spotted something odd. It was barely noticeable, but some of the grasses near the top of the hill weren't moving correctly, almost like they were delayed or blurred. It could have just been an effect of the flower, Mark had no idea what the flower could do, but he focused in. The oddity surrounded the flower in a ring, but not an even one.

Then he saw it, a single eye seeming to peek out of the grass, a dark vertical slit of a pupil on a brown iris that was nearly invisible among the brown-green grass. From there he made out the silhouette of a large, flat head, connected to a serpentine body, it was a massive snake of some description, completely surrounding the flower. Its body seemed to shift color to maintain the illusion of being nothing more than grass, and if Mark hadn't spent so long watching he easily could have missed it. Unfortunately its eye was fixed on him, it had clearly seen him long ago.

The snake's qi was hidden under the overwhelming aura of the flower, it was almost perfectly hidden in the grasses, Mark was no expert on snakes but he knew a trap when he saw one. Either the snake couldn't consume the flower, or it didn't want to, so it used it as bait to lure prey in. As much as Mark wanted the flower, he wasn't stupid. It was hard to tell but he was pretty sure the snake's head was larger than he was, and if it was strong enough to use such a flower as bait he did not want to mess with it.

"Sorry, snake, I'm not interested in becoming food," Mark said softly, creeping back into the trees, for a moment he thought he heard a hissing behind him, but it was so faint he figured he'd imagined it.

-----

Year 6, month 7

Qi gathering, stage 9

Mark chased the odd flightless bird through the forest, struggling to keep it in sight so it didn't vanish again. He didn't even need more food, he was just doing it because the damned bird kept getting away from him. He watched it jump over a brush, flapping its stubby wings once as if to extend its jump before ducking behind the bushes.

"No, no, no," Mark grumbled, jumping over the brush without hesitation, landing on the other side and seeing... nothing. Once again the damned bird had given him the slip.

"Why does this keep happening!" Mark shouted angrily, walking around the clump of bushes, looking at it accusingly, "What's unique about you!"

Deciding to figure this out, Mark climbed a nearby tree, sat on a branch with a good view of the bushes, and settled in to observe them. While Mark might not be well suited for the dao of stillness, his willingness to figure out the trick from pure spite may well have put him within reach of the dao of spite.

For hours he sat there, intent on finding the trick so long as he had food.

Outwardly the bushes didn't look any different from the various brush and ferns he'd seen dozens, if not hundreds, of during his time in the wilds. They didn't move odd, they didn't have odd coloration, there didn't seem to be any hidden sigils in their leaves or branches, and they didn't have an abnormal amount of qi. Throwing sticks and branches at them yielded no reaction, though it did make Mark feel slightly better. In short they were normal bushes.

Growing frustrated he began looking around the bushes, zoning out, when he felt more than saw an odd current in the ambient qi. It was subtle, but it was flowing oddly, more was going over the bushes than was coming out the other side. Following the odd current he realized it closely matched the path the bird had taken.

He dropped down and spent a few minutes carefully mapping the flow before jumping into it. He felt something odd, but he slipped out of the flow, landing on the other side of the bushes. With a grunt he stood and walked around the bush to try again. It took him three tries before he managed to stick with the flow, he could tell it didn't reject him this time, but he still seemed to land on the other side of the brush. Groaning he stood to see what he did wrong when he noticed there weren't any sticks or branches on the ground from his earlier anger fueled throwing.

Walking around the bushes he noticed a few other changes as well, a tree that was slightly different than what he remembered, a rock where he didn't remember one being. The difference was so subtle he wouldn't have even realized he wasn't in the same place if he wasn't half expecting it. Still, he felt pretty good, brushing himself off and checking that his pack was still in one piece, he'd figured out the trick of the damned bird, next time he saw it, it was his.

Aware of the odd qi flows Mark paid more attention as he kept walking, only to find them everywhere. He could barely go a minute without sensing one. Worryingly most of them were large with gentle qi flows, easy to stumble into without noticing. Others were more difficult, with odd flow directions and small cross sections. Mark realized he'd probably stumbled through many of the larger ones without even noticing, and who knew how far those things move him. The bird, however, had been making use of the smaller flows to escape him, the ones that required a specific direction and to hold your body just right to pass through. Without that you'd just lose sight of the thing as it seemingly vanishes, and you could pass through the same area without hitting the flow right, losing the bird.

Figuring it was safer to avoid the flows where he could, Mark kept an eye out and walked around those he sensed. It looked odd as he would occasionally stop and go out of his way to walk around a tree before resuming his path, but it felt like he was actually making progress.

If that had been the only danger of the wilds he likely could have escaped then and there, but there was still the issue of things moving around at night, where he would seemingly wake up somewhere other than where he went to sleep. It also didn't explain the odd behavior of the sun, or any of the other anomalies he'd witnessed. Still it was a piece of the puzzle, Mark felt it was only a matter of time until he solved the Wilds.

-----

Year 7, month 10

Qi gathering, stage 10

Mark stumbled into the tavern with a crazed look, his beard wild and untamed, his robes torn, stitched up and then retorn, and a poorly treated hide covering his back. The Inn keeper looked at him with a mix of fear and worry, his hand slipping under the counter for a hidden weapon.

"Is this... are we in the wilds?" Mark asked, leaning on the bar.

"No?" The man said, unsure how to react to the odd man.

"I'm out... I MADE IT OUT!" Mark shouted, throwing his fists in the air and laughing for longer than was strictly comfortable, the few other patrons giving him odd looks.

"Ahh... sorry," Mark panted, catching his breath, "I've been lost in the wilds for... almost two years now I think."

"And you survived?" The innkeeper asked with a mix of awe and suspicion.

"I don't think I died again," Mark answered collapsing on a stool, dropping his bag and searching through it, "I need a beer, or ale, or something with flavor. And a meal I didn't have to catch and cook myself."

The man nodded cautiously, charging Mark an amount that was likely double the normal rate, but Mark didn't care, it was food he didn't have to make. And something to drink that wasn't water. So he dropped the coin on the bar without questioning it.

"Is there a barber in town?" Mark asked as the man returned with a bowl of stew and mug of something frothy, "didn't have much time to shave while I was lost."

"There's one in the city, a few miles down the road... just head south."

"Perfect," Mark said, digging into the meal and drink like a man starved.

"Sir... are you a cultivator?" The barman asked carefully.

"Mmm? Right now I'm a hungry man that hasn't seen another person in over a year," Mark replied.

"One who cultivates?"

"Yes."

"Oh... OH!" The barman said, straightening and bowing, "I apologize for any rudeness I-."

"It's fine," Mark interrupted, waving off the apology, "I'm sure I look more beast than man right now. I just smelled food... cooked food..."

"I see..."

"Where am I anyways?"

"Uh, we're in the territory of the Sect of the Spirit's Choir, honored cultivator," the man replied.

"I don't know them... do you know any nearby sects?"

"Well, there's the Sect of the Raging Rapid's Trial, north of here, and the Sect of the... Heavenly Fist I think to the south, but we don't see many of them."

"Big guys, bare arms, calloused knuckles?"

"Ya, real scary."

"Oh good, I'm not too far. Or... not entirely lost anyways," Mark sighed.

"You a member of that sect, honored cultivator?"

"Me? Oh, no, I just recognize them, I was in that region before getting lost in the Wilds."

The barkeeper nodded, before slowly backing away, as if to avoid provoking Mark. But Mark was lost in the stew and ale again. He finished the stew quickly and then relaxed to enjoy the ale when he felt something. His danger sense had been tuned well during his time in the wilds, and so he spun to catch the hand approaching him from behind by the wrist.

"Oh, you are a human... wait... Mark?" The other man asked, and it took Mark a moment to recognize him.

"Erall?"

"You missed the last tournament, where have you been?" Erall asked, sitting down beside Mark.

"That... is a long story."

"You look like you got lost in the wilds, with the beard and torn clothing."

"Seems you've already grasped the majority of it."

"Really?"

-----

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-----

Year 5, month 12

Qi gathering, stage 8

“I am a mortal soul, bound to this inheritance,” the figure said simply as Mark looked at him.

“I... have no idea what that means,” Mark admitted, the figure remaining still for a long moment as it observed Mark before responding.

“With every step we take in life something is left behind,” the figure explained slowly. Walking around the edge of the room, hands folded behind his back, “for everything gained, something is lost. One loses innocence as they gain experience. When one ascends to the heavens, the mortal soul is left behind, the Immortal Soul taking its place.”

“So... you abandoned your own soul?” Mark asked, tilting his head.

“Did you abandon your toenails last time you cut them?” the immaterial being countered, “when you last relieved yourself, do you consider the detritus to be abandoned by you?”

“No, but my shit doesn’t speak or claim to be me.”

“It contains parts of you, parts you no longer need. Though I am hesitant to compare myself to one’s waste,” the ghost said dryly, “I am merely a well-spoken remnant of myself. Rather than let this part of me serve no purpose, I chose to leave it here, bound to this cave system, to pass on my wisdom, my dao, to those who follow.”

“I see... well, sorry I’m not suitable for your wisdom,” Mark said.

“You aren’t suitable for my dao, whether you can make use of my wisdom is another question,” the figure said, coming to a stop by the entrance of the cave like he’d planned it, “regardless, if there are others waiting for their turn to attempt my trial, send them in.”

“No one else here, Mr. ghost,” Mark replied, standing with a grunt and walking over to check on his smoking setup, “I got lost in the wilds by myself, found the ruins of what I assume was a sect and this cave. Hoped to find something of use.”

“I see, so it is true, my sect has fallen,” the mortal soul said with a sigh, looking at the ground for a long minute as Mark added more wood to the smoker’s fire.

“Once my meat is preserved properly, I’ll get out of your hair,” Mark assured him, “let you get back to being spooky, whatever it is ghosts do.”

“We mostly haunt around,” the man said with a wry smile, “why are you intent to move on so soon?”

“I’ve been stuck in the Shifting Wilds for months now,” Mark replied, “need to find my way out.”

The ghost didn’t reply immediately, carefully watching as Mark checked the meat hanging over the fire, adjusted the deer hide he was using to capture the smoke and laid out more cuts to go over the fire next. Were it not for his immaterial nature, one might think the mortal soul was some kind of mannequin, with how still he was.

“And you believe your best chance to escape the wilds is out there?” the ghostly figure asked finally.

“Unless you can tell me how to escape the wilds, when the damned trees don’t even seem to remain still, where the hills don’t stay where you leave them, then I’m not going to find the path out in here,” Mark answered.

“It seems to be winter, you have done well to survive winter as long as you have, unless there is a need to rush, surely it would be safer to remain here till spring?”

“I might if you weren’t already living here,” Mark said.

“You care for the opinion of some old ghost of a dead sect?” the other man asked.

“I’ve seen enough movies to know you don’t piss off ghosts.”

“Ah, a Heavenly Migrant,” the mortal soul said, walking around the smoking setup, “trying to get home?”

“You figured out I’m a migrant from that?”

“Much can be seen if one has the patience to look for it.”

“Well, I was told there is no way home,” Mark sighed, slumping against the cave wall to watch the fire, “for my first few years in this world, getting back to mine was all I could think of. In my first life all I could think of was my next task, and when I got here I figured my task was to get home. Then I realized for all that I did in my first life, I never really lived. I swore I’d do different in this life.”

The cave descended into silence, save for the crackling of the flames and distant wind, neither Mark nor the ghost speaking. Eventually Mark got up to check on the meat, and decided he needed more firewood. He went out into the cold to gather what wood he could find, it had to be dry enough to burn, but wet enough to smoke plenty. As he returned the old ghost was peering at the lined up strips of meat.

“You seem to have several months of food,” the ghost commented.

“I’ve gotten good at hunting deer,” Mark replied, stacking the wood against the wall.

“Then what’s the rush to move on from here?” the ghost asked, “I do not mind the company as long as you keep my cave clean.”

“The rush? There’s no rush I just...” Mark trailed off with a sigh, “I was doing it again, wasn’t I? Wanting to get back.”

“None walk the dao without misstep,” the ghost replied, “I might not know how to escape the wilds, but I am not unwilling to help.”

“I’ll take a Qi Compression pill if you have one,” Mark replied instantly.

“Rushing through your cultivation?” the ghost chided, Mark sighing again, “my inheritance doesn’t have such minor pills, an oversight on my part I suppose, I assumed the sect would remain to handle those tasks. And while I can’t, and won’t, give you anything for those who seek to follow my dao, I have gained a measure of wisdom.”

“You ever get lost in the Shifting Wilds?” Mark asked.

“Once or twice,” the ghost nodded, “I was strong enough by then to escape by flying at high speed in a straight line. The twisting nature of the wilds have limited impact on one who can overpower it.”

“High speed seems an odd trait for someone who follows stillness.”

“Stillness is not only the absent of movement, one can remain still while racing through the sky. One can be restless while remaining unmoving.”

“Fair point I suppose.”

“Sit, tell me your story, if only to entertain an old ghost,” the ethereal man offered, motioning to the cave wall where Mark had sat before.

So Mark did, sitting down and relaying his story, pausing on occasion to check on the meat. The entire time the ghost was completely silent, remaining where he stood, watching Mark as he spoke. Even after Mark finished, the ghost stood silently.

“You use a passive cultivation manual?” the old man finally asked.

“Yes,” Mark confirmed.

“Have you used any techniques?”

“I was told I couldn’t until higher levels.”

“So you haven’t? Have you practiced active qi manipulation?”

“Practiced what?”

“I see,” the ghost said, moving from where it had stood for the last few hours to the cave wall across from Mark, “without practice it is likely you’ll fail to breakthrough, even with a qi compression pill. Most cultivators practice active qi control through their cultivation; this leaves them weaker in passive qi manipulation, which is useful at higher levels. You are the inverse, lacking in active control, which is needed at all levels.”

“My previous master didn’t say anything about this.”

“He likely assumed you’d get an active cultivation manual before long, either that or you weren’t around long enough for him to teach you all you needed,” the ghost replied, “regardless, I am willing to fix this hole in your training.”

“Why?”

“Does an old ghost like me need a reason?” the mortal soul asked, “perhaps I’m doing it as thanks for you not pressing the issue of my inheritance, perhaps I’m hoping you escape to carry word of this inheritance to those who might come to follow my dao. Or perhaps I’m just an old man wanting to help out a young man in danger.”

“I’m not in a position to say no, so whatever your reason, I'll gladly accept your help.”

“Good, then we’ll start slow. I do not have a cultivation manual for you, and changing manuals this close to a potential major breakthrough will do more harm than good,” the ghost spoke, “instead, I will teach you some basic exercises. In one month, you will attempt to breakthrough without a pill. Based on how you fail I’ll teach you-.”

“Woah, what makes you think I’ll fail?”

“Because you have no experience with active qi manipulation. I may not have a body any longer, but I can still ensure you don’t harm yourself in the attempt. But based on how you fail, I’ll teach you a simple technique. Something you can use to practice qi manipulation to make up for your lack of an active manual.”

“Like, throwing fire? Summoning a sword made of lightning? Jumping between trees?”

“Something of that sort.”

-----

Year 6, month 1

Qi gathering, stage 9

“Why is it so hard to compress my qi?” Mark gasped, lying flat on the ground, covered in sweat, after failing his attempted breakthrough, “it feels like a gas, a fire, not something that should be hard to compress.”

“You did better than I expected,” the ghost replied, “and it’s because you lack experience, to advance you do not need a dao of your own just yet, but you must at least touch on it. Though I would imagine you have touched on the dao, based on how you’ve done. So perhaps the more accurate answer would be that it’s hard to advance at your stage without alchemical aid.”

“And you’re certain you have no compression pills?”

“Catch your breath, relax, when you are feeling better I shall teach you one of my techniques.”

Mark nodded, taking a breath and almost instantly falling asleep. He woke hours later, rushing outside to relieve himself and get some fresh water before returning.

“So, what are you going to teach me?” Mark asked, trying to hide his excitement.

“It’s a technique of my own creation, Moment of Stillness,” the ghost replied, “it’s a defensive technique designed for those who had yet to form a golden core.”

“Not as... impressive sounding as I thought it would be,” admitted Mark.

“Impressive techniques are for those trying to prove something, boring, reliable techniques are what truly change lives. The concept of the technique is simple. You will push your qi to a part of your body in a surge, then bring it and that body part to a halt, holding it still like that for a moment. Doing this will reinforce that part of you with extra qi, giving it durability beyond your cultivation.”

“That does sound handy,” Mark said, lifting a hand and trying to force his qi into it only to flinch as his hand felt as if it was swelling, shaking off the sensation of pins and needles as the qi returned to its normal state.

“To begin with I recommend moving the qi in a loop,” the ghost explained, “stand with your wrists crossed, move your qi down your right arm, into your left wrist, back up your left and across your shoulders. This way you avoid possibly injuring yourself by focusing too much qi in a part of your body while you practice.”

Mark nodded, standing and crossing his wrists at his waist as instructed. It turned out the hard part for him was keeping the qi moving. He would focus on part of his body and he could get the qi to move from there to the next in the chain, but as soon as he turned his attention to that next part the qi flow would reverse and return to its normal position.

It took him two weeks to get a steady flow going. And from there he had to bring it all to a halt at once, which was easier said than done. The old ghost was a calm teacher, letting him try, only to simply point out where he was messing up. But by the end of the month Mark finally managed it, establishing a flow of qi and then halting it all suddenly.

“I don’t feel any increase in durability,” Mark said.

“Because this has been practicing the actual technique. Now you are skilled enough to attempt the technique properly without injuring yourself.”

Mark simply nodded, lifting his hand and gathering up his qi, surging it into his hand and bringing it to a halt, for a split second he held it in that position, a smile slowly forming on his face as he turned his hand over. Only to flinch as something struck the back of his hand hard enough to sting.

“Ow!” Mark cursed, shaking his hand, the qi flowing back into his body.

“The technique requires stillness of body and qi,” the elder ghost said, one hand up as if he had just tapped the air, “Try again.”

Mark nodded, lifting his hand, taking a breath and once more surging qi into his hand and bringing it to a halt, keeping his hand steady. He felt something strike the back of his hand again, but the impact was dulled.

“Better,” the old ghost nodded as Mark released the technique, he’d been taught to not hold the qi still for too long, “now faster.”

“What?”

The ghost tapped the air, creating a small ripple as if he touched a pond, and something struck Mark’s hand hard enough to sting, causing him to curse and jump.

“Again, but faster,” the ghost said.

-----

Year 6, month 3

Qi gathering, stage 9

The ghost tapped the air several times in different locations in quick succession, each one correlating to part of Mark’s body. Mark focused, surging qi through his body into those locations and then forcing it to still.

He felt the impacts as soft taps on his body when he did it right, and when he didn’t.

“Damnit!” Mark swore as he missed one of the attacks, it striking his thigh hard enough to cause a small bruise, “thought I got that one!”

“You got four in a row, which is acceptable,” the ghost nodded, turning to glance out of the cave, “I suppose just in time for spring as well. You’re getting low on food, so I suppose this is where we part.”

“Thank you for... everything I guess,” Mark said with a simple bow, “letting me shelter here, teaching me...”

“What’s the point of being a ghost if I can’t dispense wisdom to the living?”

“I never got your name,” Mark realized, “if I’m to tell others of your inheritance, I should at least know who’s inheritance it is.”

“Tell them it’s the Inheritance of the Emperor of Stillness,” the ghost said simply, “the me who uses a name has passed on to the heavens, but my title will still carry meaning.”

“Emperor?” Mark asked.

“All those who have ascended to the Heavens are referred to as Emperors of Dao, as we have defended our dao before the heavens, claiming it for our own.”

“What does that mean?”

“I hope you’ll find out one day,” the ghost replied with a slightly smirk, gesturing to the entrance of the cave once more, “for now, allow this old ghost some mysterious last words. Do not simply look for what has changed, but also what has not.”

Mark opened his mouth to speak again, but froze, and closed it again. Instead, he gathered his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and silently bowed to the mortal soul of an ascended cultivator, before walking out of the cave and back out into the shifting wilds.

-----

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-----

Year 5, month 7

Qi Gathering, stage 6

“How can I help you, honored wandering Cultivator?” the woman in sect robes asked as Mark walked in.

“I encountered a Demonic Cultivator a few weeks walk away,” Mark replied, “I was told that I could earn rewards by turning in proof.”

“Of course, I hope you didn’t bring me a month-old hand or head,” she said with a sly smile, “we can’t actually tell if someone is a Demonic Cultivator just from a body part.”

“No, I found this on his person,” Mark said, pulling a scroll tube out and placing it on the table, “it looks like a cultivation manual, but it’s in a language I don’t read.”

“Let’s see here,” the woman said, pulling the scroll out and unrolling it, in only a few lines her eyebrows shot up, “yes, this is clearly Demonic, and a rather... worrying one at that.”

“He seemed to have a ritual thing, he told me to run and said he’d hunt me down,” Mark shrugged, “figured if that’s not Demonic than I don’t know what is.”

“Yes, but it’s not all demonic cultivation is so... openly cruel,” the woman said, putting the scroll back in the tube and pulling out a pouch from which she counted out five spirit stones, “there are two requirements for a cultivation manual to be considered demonic, first it must feed on suffering in some way. Odd hunting rituals are one example, but other manuals feed off plague victims, miscarriage, anything along those lines.

“The second requirement is that it prioritizes speed of advancement over all else, the cultivator you killed may have been a cultivator for less than two years with minimal talent, yet with this manual he advanced to your level rapidly. Of course, this leaves the cultivation unbalanced, any benefit must come with a corresponding weakness, if I had to guess I’d say this demonic cultivator would become weaker if he felt he was losing control.”

“His own cultivation began consuming him when I didn’t go down quickly,” Mark nodded, “it was... disturbing.”

“Well, as thanks for dealing with him, here is your reward for turning in a demonic cultivation manual,” she said, pushing the five gently glowing blue stones across the table, “if he had any other tainted artifacts, we’ll also reward you for turning those in.”

“If I might ask, what will happen to the manual?” Mark asked.

“We’ll catalog it, see if it resembles any known demonic manuals, then destroy it,” she said simply.

“Good to know,” the Marine nodded, pulling the knife the Demonic Cultivator had attacked him with, “he said this was a Demonic Agony Knife, I can’t feel anything from it but I don’t know if I’d know what I’d be feeling if I could.”

“Demonic Agony Knife?” the woman said, lifting the short blade up for a moment before giving Mark an amuse grin, “it looks like a normal bread knife, good steel for a mortal item, well maintained, not tainted or demonic or spiritual in any manner.”

“That son of a...” Mark growled.

“He likely called it that to intimidate or scare you,” she said with a knowing smirk, “anything else?”

“I found a small stash of his spirit stones, and what looked like a burial site of his victims some distance away, but if he had a main stash I couldn’t find it,” Mark shrugged, “I was hoping he’d have some more loot, since he’d been preying on people up there for a while.”

“He might well have had some more loot, but if he was calling a normal bread knife a Demonic Agony Knife then I doubt he had anything more valuable,” the woman said soothingly, “possibly some mortal currency, some cheap weapons...”

“I could use both, I need a new quarterstaff and some healing salve.”

“You can find a new staff anywhere, as for healing salve, the alchemy pavilion always has some for sale, I can sell you a full tin of it for one stone,” the woman said.

“How about a qi compression pill?” Mark asked hopefully.

“You’re unlikely to find those for less than thirty spirit stones,” the woman replied, “those actually require effort to make.”

“And the salve doesn’t?”

“The salve is just herbs that don’t make the cut, ground into a paste and mixed with some oils to turn into a spreadable salve,” she explained, “but if you want to earn a compression pill, the sect is hosting a tournament in a month. Buy in is only one spirit stone, and if you place in the top ten of the Qi Gathering bracket you earn a compression pill among other things.”

“Not sure I can afford to stay here for a month.”

“Nonsense, the sect will gladly put you up for a month or two,” she assured him, “room and board included, though as a qi gathering wanderer you only get the basic guest quarters, no servants.”

“That’s... fine,” Mark said, “where do I sign up for this tournament?”

-----

Year 5, month 8

Qi gathering, stage 6

“So you are the competition?” another cultivator said as he descended into the waiting area of the arena designated for the unaffiliated cultivators.

“Welcome,” Mark said with a wave, “we were just chatting about our travels, care to join us?”

“Sure,” the man shrugged, sitting on a bench and pulling out a pair of nunchucks, cleaning them with a small rag, “I just came from the region of the Ten Thousand Heavenly Punches Sect, they were sending a handful of disciples and asked if I wanted to join in.”

“I’ve heard of those guys,” one of the two women present, who Mark had learned was named Chen, remarked, “big muscle-bound cultivators who are... obsessed with punching?”

“Yup, that’s them,” the man nodded, “they’re pretty nice though, let me join in their training, though they wouldn’t give me their manual.”

“Gotta give you a reason to join them,” a man named Lee said, “that’s the only reason sects put up with traveling cultivators like us, they want to recruit us. So they’ll dangle a special manual or pill over your head to get you to join.”

“Ignore him,” the other woman, Hanlee, said, “he’s just upset they wouldn’t sell him a compression pill at the normal cost with the tournament coming up.”

“I worked hard to save up forty spirit stones! That should be more than enough to buy one!” Lee shouted, throwing his hands up, “but no, their supply is reduced since a number are being allocated to the tournament, so now they cost sixty!”

“Supply and demand man,” Mark shrugged with a smirk, then nodded at the nunchucks, “you fight with those?”

“Yup, very versatile weapon... once you learn to stop hitting yourself with them,” the man joked, “and few enough people use them that few know how to fight against them. At least, that’s what my master said.”

The wandering cultivators broke into groups as they continued chatting pleasantly, all of them having a collection of stories, and before long a Sect disciple walked into the room.

“Honored Wanderers, the first round is about to begin,” he said with a bow, “if you wish to spectate, I can lead you to the seats reserved for you.”

Most of the group chose to go watch the fights, Mark ended up sitting down between Chen and the newest guy, Erall, in the stands. Some Sect elder began announcing the tournament but Mark barely paid attention, instead looking at the stands. He was told that cultivators were less populous than mortals, despite being longer lived, but you couldn’t tell here. The stands were the size of a modest baseball stadium and almost completely full. They were even divided into sections, each of which held people with a single color of robe, likely denoting the different sects present.

“Oh, looks like a guy from the Punch Sect is up first,” Erall said, as the first two competitors walked into the arena and began warming up, “those guys are strong, wonder if he’ll win.”

“Unlikely,” Chen replied past Mark, “they rarely seem to win these tournaments, from what I understand they’re considered a weaker sect.”

“They didn’t look weak to me,” Erall said doubtfully, but they all went silent as the fight began.

The Punch Sect disciple wore a battered white gi, and took a simple horse stance with one fist extended, while across from him a man in much nicer robes drew a curved blade, entering a stance of his own with a flourish of steel.

“Begin!” the Elder shouted, his amplified voice echoing through the stadium, and the two fighters began moving.

The man with the sword moved with an almost fluid like grace, barely kicking up any dust even as he charged forward. The punch sect disciple, on the other hand, began stomping forward as if trying to kick up as much dust as possible. The sword wielder seemed to be intent on charging the other man head on, the punch sect disciple stopped, taking his fighting stance again and timing a punch for when the sword wielder reached melee. But the sword cultivator flowed around the strike like wind, opening cuts along his opponent's arm and shoulder with fast cuts of his sword. A few exchanges continued in this way, the sword wielder was simply too fast for the brawler to catch. Apparently feeling cocky the sword wielder backed off and called something out to the brawler, likely a call for him to surrender. By way of reply the Punch Sect disciple took a stance and threw a punch, despite being nowhere near the sword wielder. Mark could feel the power in the blow, his eyebrows rising as a gust of wind ripped across the arena... to rustle the sword wielder’s robes.

The force behind the blow had to be immense, Mark knew, to generate noticeable wind with a simple punch, but unless it was a direct hit, it had no effect. Even the swordsman seemed taken aback by how much strength was in that punch, for someone to do that at qi gathering was impressive, but it didn’t change the outcome of the fight, and, eventually, the punch sect disciple was forced to bow out.

“Well... he was strong,” Erall said as Chen shot him a smug glance. Instead of replying she stood and ran down to the arena floor, apparently up next.

“What does she fight with?”Erall asked, “I don’t see a weapon, does she also go unarmed?”

“I don’t know, she wouldn’t say,” Mark shrugged, “she was tying long strips of cloth to her arms though, maybe she’s concealing a weapon?”

“Is that allowed?”

Mark could only shrug again as her opponent was introduced, someone from some serpent sect, Mark didn’t really pay attention, only noticing the man wore golden robes and carried a spear as he walked into the arena.

The battle began and the pair began closing, when they got within fifteen feet of each other, Chen swept her arm up, the spearman pausing in confusion. With a sudden chop Chen brought her arm down and a long strip of cloth shot off of her arm so fast it was hard to follow. The cloth wrapped around the spearman’s arm, Chen grabbing her end of the scarf and pulling. The spearman was dragged forward a few steps before he shook the cloth off his arm.

Waving her other arm a second long ribbon snaked out to strike the spearman on the shoulder, bits of metal on the end of the scarf glittering in the sunlight. Mark was impressed she could control the scarves to that extent, but there didn’t seem to be much power behind them. More importantly, they seemed very easy to disarm.

As he had that thought, the spearman stepped on one of her scarves, pinning it down and looking up with a smug grin. Chen simply smirked back, releasing that scarf and unrolling a new one that had been tied to her arm, acting as her sleeve with a graceful wave of her arm.

The spearman managed to pin down or yank several more scarves from her, but each time he did she just let it go and pulling another one out. All of her clothing seemed to secretly made of these long strips of cloth, how she wore them without it being obvious Mark didn’t know. And before long she was down to a simple shift dress that many in this world would consider indecent, even her opponent seemed unsure how to handle her fighting in what amounted to a short night gown. Chen, however, seemed unbothered by her lack of attire, continuing to lash out with her remaining scarves, dancing out of reach of the spearman as he tried to close and landing more strikes.

It couldn’t last, however, and as she discarded another of the ribbons when the spearman pinned it to the ground with his spear she reached for another, only to look down, realizing she was out, wearing only a revealing shift before thousands of people. If this realization embarrassed her it didn’t show, though it might have been because, in the moment she looked down the spearman charged and struck her across the temple with the butt of his spear, knocking her down and putting his spear tip to her neck.

“Well, it was a good run,” Chen said, strolling back up the stairs with an armful of dirt covered cloth, “I just can’t imbue enough qi into my scarves at this level to get them to stick or hit hard enough.”

“I didn’t realize how many weapons you were carrying,” Mark said, giving her an impressed look.

“You... you were stripping!” Erall said as he suddenly burst out laughing, “a stripping cultivator!”

“I’m not stripping! I’m switching weapons!” Chen said dryly, one arm on her hip and glaring at the entire group of wandering cultivators, most of whom were at least chuckling. Like all cultivators, Chen was highly attractive, when qi enhanced one’s body it did so to all aspects of it, from strength and longevity to beauty and eyesight.

“By ripping your clothes off!”

“Mark, at least tell me you aren’t just ogling me,” Chen said, turning to look at him.

“It’s a smart tactic,” Mark nodded, “cheap, disposable weapons that you can carry in numbers without looking armed... the power behind the attacks leaves something to be desired, but you said that will be fixed with qi imbuement?”

“Thank you!” Chen exclaimed, sitting down next to Mark and crossing her long legs in a huff, dropping her scarves on the ground, “my master could cut down a tree with a single blow from twenty paces, using her ribbons. The only reason I have to carry so many is because I can’t yet infuse one with enough qi to make it strong enough.”

“And, I mean, flaunt it if you got it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t deny, there is some element of... distraction to it for most men... and probably some women.”

“I can’t tell if I should thank or slap you.”

“Both, probably.”

-----

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-----

Year 5, month 2

Qi Gathering, stage 6

Despite Mark’s increasingly superhuman body, he’d spent the winter in a small farming village, performing manual labor in exchange for room and board. Thankfully they were far enough from any major sects that the villagers were more willing to forgo the bowing and overly generous offers. It didn’t stop them entirely, but they at least allowed Mark to work for his bed instead of just giving it to him.

When he’d asked why everyone was so... polite around cultivators, he got two reasons. The first was that Cultivators were strong and often short tempered. A cultivator could kill a peasant with a single lightning-fast blow and likely wouldn’t face more than a slap on the wrist from the local sect for it. There were proper governments, but they were almost entirely made up of mortals, non-cultivators, and thus lacked the ability to manage the superhuman wanderers like Mark. Instead, they handed that responsibility off to a local sect, then so long as the homicide and property destruction was kept to a minimum they washed their hands of it.

The other reason was more amusing, and that was Cultivators often had great wealth and little idea of the mortal world. The current head elder was only the head elder because a previous wandering cultivator had tipped him a full gold coin for some minor help when he was younger. A gold coin was more wealth than the village was worth at that time, allowing him to invest it and gain considerable influence. And stories like that weren’t uncommon, meaning being polite and helpful to a wandering cultivator was half self-preservation and half hoping for the cultivator to reward them with what they considered minor change.

Of course, Mark didn’t have massive wealth, but even the spare change in his wallet his host said was more than what he made in a season. Still, the man insisted that Mark’s labor was more than enough to cover room and board when he offered to pay, saying that Mark accomplished more than a half dozen trained farmhands without complaint. Half of that was thanks to his qi enhanced strength and durability, but he was also just used to performing menial tasks. Came with being in the military he supposed. But the farmer said that unless Mark had a half-dozen strong men to replace his labor he would accept no payment.

As the snow finally began to melt, Mark said his goodbyes, waving off a few last attempts to off him favors before walking down the road once more, a smile on his face.

Only a few miles down the road he stopped, his enhanced senses telling him something was off. Focusing he slowly realized what it was, he could sense people breathing around him, hiding behind trees and in bushes.

“I hope you aren’t planning anything stupid,” Mark called out, his hand tightening on his battered old staff. After a moment there was movement, a handful of rough looking men slipped out of the woods around Mark, all armed with spears and bows.

“A lone, unaffiliated cultivator,” one of the men said, “just like we were told. Now, hand over everything you have and we won’t get violent.”

“You realize I don’t have much in the way of wealth, right?” Mark asked, running his gaze over each of the men. They were clearly hardened, with calloused hands, tanned skin and hard glares. But none of them were cultivators, as Mark’s own cultivation grew he was better at sensing qi within others. He couldn’t quite describe it, but it let him tell about how strong someone was, and these people barely had any qi. Ironically that made them harder to detect with just this new sense of his, but it also meant they weren’t much of a threat, at least if everything he’d heard held up.

“What you consider minor wealth is a vast treasure for us,” the man growled, stepping forward and waving his spear, “so hand over the pouch.”

Mark remained silent, looking over the men again. They were hardened, but he quickly realized they weren’t killers. Hunters, maybe, but not murderers. Their hands shook ever so slightly as they aimed their bows, and the look in their eyes pleaded for him to just hand over his belongings because they didn’t want to hurt him.

Unfortunately for them, Mark was a cultivator, and they didn’t seem to understand what that meant. Not that Mark really did either, all of his fights so far had been against other cultivators or the occasional wild animal, making it hard to gauge his strength against the average person. According to everything he’d been told, a single cultivator, even a mid-level qi gathering cultivator could mop the floor with a group of mortals. Even assuming that wasn’t true, however, Mark wasn’t one to give in without a fight.

The man with the spear, who Mark assumed was the leader, slowly approached as Mark remained silent, the others growing more tense. Mark slowly reached for his pouch with one hand, beginning to untie it, as he did a number of the bandits let out sighs of relief they tried to hide.

“Toss it here,” the leader barked as Mark pulled his small belt pouch free, “then the backpack.”

Mark tossed the bag, the leader taking a hand off his spear to catch it and the other bandits relaxing further at the apparent show of submission. Which is when Mark struck.

He charged forward, reaching the bandit leader just as he caught the thrown pouch, surprise barely starting to register on his face as Mark slipped his staff behind the man’s leg, pulling back while slamming his shoulder into the man’s chest, throwing him from his feet to the ground with a hard thud.

The other bandits were only beginning to react as their leader struck the road, seemingly moving in slow motion as Mark took two steps to the next bandit. Striking the man in the gut followed by the side of his head with the staff dropped him like a discarded puppet, and Mark was upon the first of the three archers. The first of which let out a surprised scream as Mark’s fist struck him in the jaw, instantly silencing the yell.

The second archer managed to draw and fire his bow, but his aim was well off so Mark barely had to move to avoid it, sweeping him off his feet with a swing of his staff. A swift kick to the man’s ribs yielded a few loud snaps as ribs broke, the man curling up in pain.

The final bandit, halfway through drawing his bow froze as Mark’s gaze turned to him, his companions on the ground unconscious or wishing they were. Deciding to avoid the pain, the final archer lowered his bow before holding his hands up and dropping to his knees. Nodding, Mark walked back over to the leader to retrieve his pouch.

This was his first experience fighting mortals, and it wasn’t even fair how much faster and stronger he was. His reactions and awareness was far above an unenhanced person, his strength enough that what would have been minor blows became crippling.

Mark leaned against a nearby tree, watching the would-be bandits as they slowly recovered. He allowed them to tend to their wounds while making it clear they should stay low and not reach for any weapons.

“I told you this was a dumb idea Richard,” one of the bandits muttered, “trying to rob a cultivator?”

“I was told he was a weak cultivator,” the leader, presumably Richard, defended himself.

“A weak cultivator is still a cultivator!”

“Why did you risk it?” Mark asked, his voice instantly silencing them.

“We... we were desperate,” one of the men said, eyes down in shame, “our village was overrun by beasts, the wilds shifting and overtaking it. And, of course, we weren’t important enough for anyone to care, send us a warning of the wilds shifting or help us evacuate.”

“They left us to die,” Richard spat, “we had to flee leaving everything behind, only those we could get to in time survived with us. And no other town would take us in, a dozen more mouths to feed with winter approaching?”

“We managed to survive by hunting,” another archer added as Richard trailed off, “but we’re low on supplies, our families are hungry, injured, tired... or those who survived the winter are anyways.”

“So ya, we decided to try to take what we could!” Richard spoke up once more, glaring at Mark, “we aren’t blessed like you, damned cultivator, we have to work for our meals!”

“So do I,” Mark replied simply, surprising the men based on their silence and Richard’s sputtering, “I have enough food to last myself a few weeks, two changes of clothing and about two gold worth of coins. Oh, and a waterskin. Even if you could rob me it wouldn’t change anything.”

“Nonsense! You’re a cultivator! You must have a way of hiding your wealth!” Richard insisted.

“I don’t, I used to have a cultivation pill and some spirit stones, but they were stolen from me when I lost a fight against other cultivators. I was left injured and poor on the road, all I could do was keep walking.”

“So what would you have us do!” Richard demanded, “we aren’t cultivators! People won’t throw their first born at us just to win our favor!”

“Are you willing to work?” Mark asked, “because if you are, and you promise to never resort to banditry again, I might have a solution for you.”

A few hours later Mark walked back into the small farming village, this time with a handful of injured men and women in ragged clothing and rough hides. The farmer who had hosted Mark over the winter stepped out of his house, looking at Mark questioningly.

“Remember you were asking if I had a handful of men to help you with field work?” Mark asked with a smirk.

“I wasn’t seriously asking you to provide them,” the farmer insisted.

“They tried to rob me, said none would take them in.”

“Oh, that’s the group from that village?” the Farmer asked, “I couldn’t afford to put that many people up over the winter, I could only manage you because you were a lone cultivator. One mouth, far stronger.”

“Will this help?” Mark asked, flicking the man a gold coin, half of Mark’s remaining wealth, “You can thank me by putting these guys to work. And they,” he paused to look over his shoulders at the almost bandits who all had the grace to look ashamed of themselves, even Richard, “will work to feed their families and repent for being stupid enough to attack a Cultivator. Everyone wins, right?”

“I reserve the right to kick them out if they hurt anyone.”

“If they hurt anyone, you can not only kick them out, but tell me if I come through again and I’ll ensure they can’t hurt anyone ever again,” Mark said with a grin he directed at the men who shivered at the thought.

-----

Year 5, Month 6

Qi gathering, stage 6

Mark leaned back as he took in the waterfall before him. He had heard about it from a nearby village, but they told him it was cursed, few who went there returned alive in recent years. Of course, that only encouraged Mark, a beautiful waterfall and a mysterious curse? If that wasn’t why he was traveling then why was he?

So far he’d found the beautiful waterfall, the droplets cascading down a hundred feet or more, glittering in the sunlight and bathing the clearing around the small pool at its base in soft colors. He’d been around waterfalls before, during his time in the Marines, but he never stopped to actually look at one. Now he felt like he could sit, watching it for hours.

“Don’t monks meditate under waterfalls?” Mark muttered to himself, “wonder if I can do that.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” a voice called out, causing Mark to jump, “the pool is deeper than it looks.”

Standing a few feet behind him was another man wearing dark robes, his face was pale and his eyes bloodshot. Mark could also tell the man was a few stages ahead of him, stage 8 or 9. That gap wasn’t insurmountable, but it was worrying.

“Sorry if I scared you,” the man said, holding his hands up as if in apology, “you seemed to be focused on the waterfall. Figured I’d let you enjoy it.”

“Thanks,” Mark replied, the man looked creepy, but seemed decent enough for now, “what brings you out here?”

“Likely the same as you, looking to deepen my cultivation,” the man replied, moving to sit beside Mark on the log, “such features often come with minor treasures, doubly so if they are considered cursed.”

“Is that so,” said Mark, looking the man over, he wore no sect badge or any mark indicating a loyalty to some sect, so he was likely a wandering cultivator as well. Despite having snuck up on him, the man hadn’t attacked, and was now sitting silently a few feet away. Yet something inside Mark insisted something was wrong, but he couldn’t say what.

“Keep staring and I’ll think you’re interested,” the man smirked, but Mark didn’t look away.

“What are you?” Mark asked after a moment.

“You have a good qi sense for being barely at mid qi gathering,” the man said after a moment, reaching into his robe to produce a small hour-glass, “I have a fun game for us.”

“You’re the reason people thing this place is cursed, aren’t you?”

“Here’s the rules,” the man continued, ignoring Mark, “in a moment I will turn this over and start the sands running, they’ll run out in five minutes. And when they do, I’ll begin hunting you. If I find you, I’ll kill you. If you evade me till dawn, you survive. Fun, right?”

“Hardly,” Mark said, “this how you get your kicks?”

“I told you, I’m here to deepen my cultivation,” the man said simply, producing a wicked looking blade from his robes, it was short but with a slight curve and was lined with small, cruel looking serrations. “This is a Demonic Agony knife, before I kill you I’ll use it to flense the skin from you body, then your muscles from your bones, and if you survive that I’ll show you your organs.”

“You’re a demonic cultivator,” Mark said with a realization, Horus had taught him about them. They were cultivators who used cruel, evil techniques to advance. It was faster than normal cultivation but required sacrifices to progress.

“With you fueling my cultivation, I should progress a full stage!” the man said with a manic grin, flipping the hourglass over and setting it down on a stone, “you have five minutes, better start running!”

Mark stood, grabbing his staff, but paused before grabbing his backpack. Looking at the man once more, he shrugged before walking over to a tree and leaning against it to wait.

“What... are you doing?” the man asked, sounding confused.

“Waiting,” Mark said simply.

“Shouldn’t you be running?”

“And fight tired?” asked Mark, “if we’re going to fight, then let’s get it over with.”

“If you want to fight, then go... ambush me or something.”

“Why bother? Your senses are stronger than mine, I’d rather just stand up and fight.”

The demonic cultivator stared at Mark in surprise for a minute, the sands slowly running through the glass as they watched each other.

“You know I’m going to kill you right?” The demonic cultivator asked.

“Yup,” Mark nodded, “but if I have to die again, I won’t do it running.”

“You might get away if you run!”

“Why do you want me to run?” Mark asked, cocking his head, the man going silent, “is that part of your cultivation technique?”

“It helps, but don’t think refusing to take part will make me spare you,” the man growled, his expression shifting to a glare.

“Of course not, if I get away I’ll inform a nearby sect you’re here, and then you’ll be the one running from stronger cultivators, no one likes Demonic cultivators,” Mark nodded, “you have to kill me to silence me if nothing else.”

“Then run!”

“I know your type, you think you’re strong,” Mark said, “you’ve learned to intimidate those weaker than you, take what you want from them. And, in your mind, that makes you strong.”

“Is that not what strength is? The ability to take what I want from those beneath me?”

“It doesn’t make you strong, it makes you a bully,” Mark answered as the last grains of sand ran out of the glass, “time to start your hunt.”

“I might not cultivate much from this, but I’m still going to enjoy it,” the man said, standing with his dagger in hand and lunging at Mark.

Mark avoided the first stab and drove his staff into the man’s side, but the wood of his staff cracked more than the demonic cultivator. A lightning fast swipe from the dagger caught Mark on the arm, leaving an ugly wound that dyed the sleeve of his robe red with his blood. Still Mark landed a counterattack of his own, to minimal effect.

Realizing he had to disarm the man of his knife, Mark blocked the next swipe with his staff, the dagger biting deep into the battered wood. With a twist and kick Mark wrenched the blade from the other man’s hands before tossing both weapons into the pool of the waterfall. With a snarl the other man lifted his fists, Mark doing the same.

The demonic cultivator was less skilled at fighting than Mark, falling for feints, swinging wildly with no coordination and taking hit he could have avoided. But his greater strength more than made up for any shortcomings in skill, one of his punches broke ribs, fractured bone, bruised muscle, broke skin. While Mark’s blows barely bruised individually.

Within minutes Mark was covered in blood, while the Demonic cultivator had only a few cuts. Still, Mark kept coming. Blinking blood from his eyes, avoiding punching with his left arm due to a likely fracture, he instead used elbow strikes, knees and kicks. He came off worse in every trade, yet he kept coming.

Slowly the demonic cultivator’s expression changed from anger, to disbelief, to worry, and then, finally fear.

“Stay down!” he yelled as Mark recovered from another blow to the head, unsure if he was pleading or demanding.

“You’ll have to kill me,” Mark said with a bloody grin.

The look in his gaze sent a chill down the demonic cultivator’s spine. It wasn’t the look of prey, of someone preparing to die. Those were the eyes of a predator, determined to fight to the end.

Unconsciously the demonic cultivator took a step back.

Mark resumed his attack, his opponent’s blows seemed weaker, slower than before, but he was sure that was just his senses being dulled by the pain. Still he pressed his assault, landing more blows that went unanswered as the demonic cultivator backed away instead of countering. Soon, even through his pain addled mind, Mark realized that his opponent was actually growing weaker.

His skin looked hollower, his eyes sunken and panicked.

“No,” the demonic cultivator said desperately, “I’m not the prey, you are!”

Mark could barely sense it, the qi within the man was being pulled out of his body, and then back into it. It was his cultivation manual, Mark realized. It fed off the weak and scared, as long as the man thought himself strong and brave it was fine. But now he was seeped in fear, feeling weak, causing his cultivation to turn on him. He was literally consuming himself the way he used to consume others.

Two more blows knocked the demonic cultivator to the ground, blood pouring from his nose. Two eyes filled with fear fixed on Mark, the man desperately trying to push himself away only for his arms to give out, to weak to even lift himself.

Mark panted, holding his fists up as the man went still, eyes turning milky as he died, consumed by his own cultivation.

“I need more healing salve,” Mark groaned, collapsing against a tree.

-----

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-----

Month 4, Year 2

Qi Gathering, stage 2

“If you’re going to be a wandering cultivator, you should have a weapon,” Horus said during one of their evening meetings.

“Oh, do I get something cool like a sword or spear?” Mark asked.

“No, you don’t want anything too fancy,” Horus shook his head, walking over to a closet, “while killing a cultivator you beat is taboo, stealing from one isn’t, so you don’t want a weapon that looks pricy or valuable.”

“Seems kind of backwards.”

“It’s the Jianghu,” Horus shrugged, “typically etiquette is to only take valuables while leaving supplies and the like. But a decent sword is liable to be stolen. So I recommend... this,” he said, pulling out a long wooden staff and tossing it to Mark, “A quarterstaff is flexible, useful in both defense and offense, cheap and easy to replace and useful beyond combat.”

“I guess it fits the whole traveling monk motif,” Mark admitted, clumsily attempting to spin the staff only to fumble and drop it.

“I’ll teach you the basics of fighting with a staff,” Horus continued, pulling a second staff from the closet, “two years isn’t enough to master the weapon, but I should be able to teach you enough to prevent you from doing... that again.”

-----

Month 6, year 3

Qi Gathering, stage 3

“Congradulations on another minor realm,” Horus said as Mark showed up for another evening of training, “I should probably teach you about the whole progression of cultivation.”

“Might be useful, I don’t know what people are talking about half the time,” Mark agreed, grabbing his staff and beginning to practice his forms even as Horus spoke.

“Progression is broken down into major and minor realms. Minor realms are separated by small breakthroughs that purge toxins from your body. Major realms, on the other hand, have major breakthroughs that represent a fundamental change in how you cultivate,” Horus explained, “The first major realm is Qi Gathering, which is where you are, and the breakthrough at the end is referred to as the Silver Core because you form, well, a silver core in your body. The second realm is Qi Refining and ends with forming a Golden Core. Third is Meridian Formation and ends with constructing a Dantain. Following me so far?”

“Gathering, Silver, Refining, Gold, Meridians, Dental,” Mark repeated.

“Close enough,” Horus rolled his eyes, “each major realm is broken into a number of minor realms, in theory you can break through to the next major realm at any point, but in practice you want to wait until the 8th or 10th stage of each. The higher your stage the easier the breakthrough. My recommendations for you is that, once you reach the 10th stage you find a pill that will aid your breakthrough and then go for it.”

“Pill?”

“Alchemic products, the first is the Qi compression pill, or some variant, they can be pricy but are worth it.”

“What if I don’t use one?” Mark asked, “will I be stuck at that realm... stage... whatever forever?”

“No, you can breakthrough without a pill, it’s just harder,” Horus explained, “you just might want to wait until stage 12 or 13. If all else fails, if you get to the peak of stage 16 you’ll breakthrough naturally without effort. It just takes forever to get that far and there’s no real benefit from it. Make sense?”

“I guess,” Mark replied, stepping through another set of staff technique, “will my manual thing still work after reach the next stage?”

“It will through qi refining, but like I mentioned before, it’ll become a hinderance at meridian formation- back a step, you twisted too far on that strike.”

“Did I? Didn’t feel like it.”

“I’m the wise old mentor here, so start again from the beginning, half speed.”

Mark simply nodded, doing so without complaint.

-----

Year 4

Qi Gathering, stage 4

“Don’t ask how I got it, but this is a copy of your cultivation manual,” Horus said, handing Mark a scroll tube, “since it’s just a servant’s manual it’s probably safe to carry around. You’ll need to make minor changes once you hit Qi refining, but nothing major.”

“Got it,” Mark nodded.

“And here is some money to get you started... or more likely for you to have taken from you,” Horus continued, “a few spirit stones and a handful of coins for mortal currency. Cultivators will likely leave you the coins, so it’s useful to have some on you.”

“Got it.”

“And this is-.”

“I’m not your son old man,” Mark interrupted, “I don’t need all these gifts!”

“Like it or not I’m your master,” Horus replied sternly, “it would reflect poorly on me if I didn’t give you some support before you left.”

“This one of those saving face things?”

“Sure, now take this,” he said, pressing another scroll tube into Mark’s chest, “it’s a map of the local area. It’s not accurate and only covers a few hundred miles, but it’ll get you started.”

“Is that everything?” Mark asked with a smirk.

“If you keep acting like that I’ll demand a hug.”

“Ok, ok,” laughed Mark, holding up his hands, “any last minute words of wisdom?”

Before Horus could open his mouth a trio of familiar faces approached them. They were by the front gate of the sect so it wasn’t an isolated location but most of the people around them were busy with some task or another. These three walked directly up to Mark and Horus.

“I heard our Heavenly Migrator was leaving,” the leading man of the trio said, despite having not seen him for years the man seemed to be the same age as before, barely out of puberty, “I wanted to see how far you managed to get, see what kind of heavens defying talent decided he was better off outside the sect.”

“Young masters,” Horus greed them carefully.

“Outer sect master,” they replied with a slight bow before turning back to Mark, “so Junior Brother, what stage is your cultivation at?”

“Gathering, stage 4,” Mark replied simply.

“Only stage 4!” the man to the left laughed.

“I was at stage 4 when we sparred years ago,” the leader of the group said, “I am now qi refining stage five!”

“Congratulations, seems like you’ve been working hard.”

“Is that it?” the leader of the group asked, “you don’t feel shame for how little progress you made?”

“Not really,” Mark shrugged, “I’m new to this world and spent most of the last four years doing hard labor instead of cultivating. Still, I’m happy for you, seems your hard work is paying off.”

The leader of the group didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, so Mark turned back to Horus to finish saying goodbye.

“Perhaps, Junior Brother, we might spar once more,” the leader offered.

“I’ll pass, I was no match for you then and you’ve advanced faster than I have,” Mark dismissed, “thank you for the offer.”

Turning on his heel Mark left the stunned young master behind as he began walking down the road away from the sect. From what Horus had taught him, the Heavenly Whispering Cloud sect was small as things went, not destitute as they had enough sway for their founding ancestor to form a deal with the Heavens but not one of the larger sects.

At the base of the mountain the sect claimed was a modest city, with a population approaching a hundred thousand, it was large enough to have most goods without being a sprawling metropolis. Mark used some of the coin he’d been given to fill a small pack with dried meats and hard breads, not good eating but they’d keep and travel well. Even with his modest cultivation the mortals treated him with respect, more than he’d gotten from anyone other than Horus or some of the other laborers in the sect.

Still, his goal was to travel, see the world, so within a few hours he found his way to a city gate and walked out onto the open road. He didn’t know where it led, and that itself was exciting to him. In the military everything was structured, command didn’t always tell them everything, but there was always a goal, a destination, a mission. Now he was just going to start walking and see where he ended up.

With a smile he took the first step.

-----

Month 3, year 4

Qi gathering, stage 4

Enhanced by the supernatural qi Mark’s feet devoured the miles. He stopped at almost every village he passed through, if only to ask around, see what they did and learn about the world. Most led simple lives, farming, logging or ranching. Few had ever spoken to a cultivator as most who passed through their town did so without stopping, so they were rather reverent, which quickly got grating. So each new town he arrived at he’d try to keep his status hidden, but soon enough they would discover he was a cultivator and then they’d be bowing, calling him honored cultivator and offering him their first born.

Literally in a couple cases.

Whenever that happen Mark moved on. He was in another town that was reaching that point, fathers looked ready to throw their daughters at him, boys watching him with admiration, women looking for reasons to get closer. It wasn’t all bad but he didn’t want to take advantage of these people. But before he left a man ran up to him, looking panicked, not greedy.

“Honored Cultivator,” the man bowed awkwardly, “before you leave, a beast has been terrorizing my flock. Might I ask you to deal with it? I can offer you-”

“Refill my pack with dried meat and I’ll handle it,” Mark said quickly before the man offered something else. The man still tried to give him all sorts of things but Mark shut them down, insisting all he wanted was traveling rations. And eventually he managed to get information on the beast, he described it as a large wolf that avoided all the traps and was impossible to hunt down.

Nodding Mark got to work. He didn’t know much about hunting, but from what Horus had taught him, beasts were normal animals that had begun gathering qi through consuming qi rich foods. Spiritual Herbs, other beasts and unlucky cultivators being the most common targets. They were drawn to such sources of qi. So Mark decided to use himself as bait, leaving his pack behind before walking into the forest with only his staff.

The forest was quiet, only the subtle rustling of the branches above him and some distant bird song preventing it from being silent. Mark walked slowly through the forest, pausing to admire the trees or small flowers that bloomed in clearings, even after months of walking he still hadn’t gotten tired of the beautiful plants.

A snapped twig alerted him to something moving nearby and Mark spun, leveling his staff to see a pair of yellow eyes peering out from a dark shadow. Mark approached carefully, trying to get a better look at the beast. He could vaguely make out a wolf like form and it was larger than any dog he’d ever seen before, possibly larger than a Newfoundland in his old world, but he couldn’t tell.

In a blur it burst from the shadows, lunging at him. Mark barely raised his staff to catch the creature’s bite as it tackled him to the ground. With a twist and heave he tossed the beast over him, using its own momentum, before scrambling to his feet. The beast didn’t turn to attack again, it fled into the forest.

“Oh no you don’t,” Mark growled and took off after the creature. He didn’t see or hear any other creatures around him and felt safe chasing the beast. For twenty minutes he chased it, not seeming to make any ground, when it vanished just as Mark burst into a larger clearing in the forest. There were two figures in the clearing, a man, large and muscular, clearly a cultivator, who’s eyes locked onto Mark as soon as he appeared.

The second was a woman in a torn Kimono, looking terrified she pointed at the man.

“It’s him!” she shouted. Mark’s mind raced, Horus had said that some cultivators could tame beasts, using them as part of their cultivation. Others could apparently turn into beasts, though Horus said he thought that was just rumors since he’d never seen anything like that himself. But in this odd world anything was possible.

Deciding not to take chances Mark charged the man, who had helped make this decision by charging at Mark with a club in one hand. Staff met club as they reached each other, and the two of them began exchanging blows. The man didn’t seem to be any stronger than Mark, for which he was grateful.

With a sudden spin the man kicked Mark’s staff out of his hands. Mark replied by catching the man’s club hand and wrenching it from his grip, sending it tumbling across the field as well. Without their weapons the two men switched to their fists.

Blow after blow they struck each other, giving as good as they got. Backing off to circle before clashing once more. Mark’s knuckles were bloody, several of his ribs likely fractured and he was covered in bruises. The other man wasn’t any better off, with blood dripping from his nose and favoring one arm that had blocked a punch at an odd angle.

Again they clashed only to both land blows to the other’s head, causing them to both stumble back and fall to the ground. Panting, bleeding, sweating, they watched each other.

“You’re a good fighter, I’ll give you that,” the other man said, “I would have your name.”

“I’m Mark, and you?”

“Kim,” he replied, pushing himself to his feet, Mark following suit, “but I can’t allow you to harm this young woman.”

“Harm?” Mark asked, pausing, “wait, I’m not here to hurt her. I was chasing a wolf beast and came upon you, I figured you either had a tamed beast or could turn into one.”

“You... what?”

“I chased the creature here, lost it just as I reached the clearing, thought it was running to you.”

“So you aren’t after the woman?” Kim asked, glancing at the woman, who was still standing by the edge of the clearing, leaning against a tree.

“I’ve never seen her before,” Mark answered, “Why would I want her?”

“Figured you were some manner of demonic cultivator,” Kim said simply, relaxing slightly.

“What happened from your perspective?”

“I was wandering the forest looking for herbs when she ran into the clearing, shouting that you were chasing her.”

The two of them turned to look at the woman, who had yet to react. It was the first good look he’d taken and he nearly did a double take.

“Does she have a... fox tail?” Mark asked.

“Ah, shit, Kitsune,” Kim sighed.

At which point the woman’s tears and injuries vanished as she collapsed to the ground laughing uproariously.

“Kitsune?” Mark asked.

“Never heard of them before? Trickster spirits who take the form of beautiful women,” Kim said, “generally harmless but annoying.”

“Oh you should have seen you two!” the woman howled with laughter, “both coming to save the damsel in distress!”

“So what do we do now?” asked Mark, ignoring the woman.

“I have some healing salve if you need some.”

Mark nodded, having left his in his pack back in the village, something he’d have to remember going forward.

“By the way, how’d you kick my staff out of my hands so easily?” Mark asked as he checked his ribs to ensure none were broken.

“My master taught it to me, I’ll show you how to do it if you teach me how you caught my arm so easily.”

The two of them got to talking, ignoring the fox woman before she eventually vanished. With their wounds bound the pair walked back to the small village. Kim hadn’t known it was there, having wandered off the road before reaching it.

“A woman left this for you, honored Cultivators,” the farmer said, holding out two small glass vials, each of which held a single round pill, “said it was for... giving her a great show?”

“Kitsune,” Kim replied, looking at the vials, “those look like Qi compression pills. Seems like she felt like being generous.”

“Is that normal?” asked Mark.

“For fox spirits? I don’t think there is a normal.”

“I’m headed north, care to travel with me?” Mark offered as he put one vial in his pouch, leaving the other to Kim.

“I’m going south, otherwise I would,” Kimm said, taking the other, “perhaps we might meet again one day, Brother Mark.”

“As qi refining cultivators,” Mark agreed, patting the vial in its pouch.

-----

Month 5, year 4

Qi gathering, stage 5

“Oh, he has a qi compression pill!” one of the cultivators said as they rifled through Mark’s stuff. They’d insisted on fighting him as soon as they saw him, and Mark hadn’t even been able to beat the first guy. Which is why he was laying on the ground, bloodied, as the group of rough cultivators went through his pack.

“Finally, you can break through senior brother!” one of the others said, “seems the heavens smile upon us!”

“Thank you, fellow Cultivator,” the leader said to mark with a mocking bow, “I pray we meet again.”

Mark groaned in reply, lifting a finger in response. The other men laughed but left, taking the pill and the spirit stones given to him by Horus with them.

“Well... I’ve still got my health,” Mark sighed, dragging himself over to his pouch to search for the healing salve.

-----

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-----

With no real way to decode the message sent by the ancient AI besides setting my implants on attempting to brute force a solution, something I didn’t have much faith in, I put my energy towards the odd green cubes. I put a couple in my pouch, since I had space, and grabbed another few to take to a lab that the captain had said I could use until I left this world. My first goal was finding out why it was glowing when I touched it but not for anyone else.

Turns out that was relatively easy as I probed it with a thread of energy from my spell generators, as it moved through the cube it caused it to glow gently, but only when it was moving. As my shields were made of threads constantly moving at high speed just over my skin that would have a more significant effect. The addition of Aura boosted the glow significantly.

Combined with a quick scan from my implants and I could confirm the cubes were made of another variation of strange matter, likely from the same source. The Harmony quickly named it Emerald Mass, in keeping with our previous convention. But the scans turned up something far more interesting. At first I assumed the cubes were just pieces of a larger crystal cut into cubes, but my scans indicated the shape was natural. In fact, it wasn’t simply one cube, it was a nested layering of cubes all the way down until the very center where a small speck of silicon dioxide, basically stone, the size of a speck of dust resided. All of the cubes had this speck of dust hidden at their center, or at least all of the ones I scanned.

The source of the glow took longer to find, after several days of careful scanning I finally managed to follow one of my energy threads through the cube. Where the thread went it broke bonds between sub-atomic particles of the strange matter, those bonds contained energy which was released as light before the bonds quickly reformed by stealing a small amount of heat from the cube. In short the cube was turning heat into light, which already had interesting implications.

It was then that I realized something, the entire outer most cube was a single “atom” of strange matter. The different kinds of strange matter didn’t follow the same general rules as normal matter, to put it simply they were composed entirely of atomic nuclei, lacking some equivalent to the electron fields around normal matter. They still had a magnetic field which allowed them to interact with normal matter, but it seemed more a function of subatomic particles instead of the structure of the matter itself. Andin the case of Emerald Mass the entire shell was a single, continuous, atomic core. As was each subsequent cube within the nested structure.

This meant the outer cubes were far larger and heavier than the inner ones, which didn’t make much sense at first. It would be like having hydrogen, then another atom twice as big with twice as many particles within it, that weighed more and took up more space, but had the same properties as the smaller atom. It was technically possible but not something you’d expect to find, not to mention the sheer probability in finding these atoms nested in the perfect order to form a complete object.

Which meant I was missing something.

My next step was attempting to cut one of the cubes, this didn’t go well. No manner of drill or saw could get any purchase, which wasn’t too surprising it, I was basically trying to cut an atomic core with a blade. Then I tried creating a saw from the quantum threads, since I already knew those could cut the subatomic bonds, but all it did was make the cube glow. Incredibly brightly as I tried to push it, but no material was removed.

By the fifth day of trying to crack this cube I got frustrated and put the cube in a hydraulic press, determined to find some way to break it. As the pressure increased, I saw something interesting happen, the cube began to glow again, indicating subatomic bonds were being broken. The press had nearly ground to a halt, the pressure was climbing rapidly and total movement in the cube was nearly zero. At a frankly ridiculous amount of pressure the machine finally registered some deformation of only a few microns. But what surprised me was that, at the same time, the cube seemed to grow slightly laterally. Pausing the machine I confirmed that while the cube had only compressed a few microns, it had expanded outwards in other dimensions by nearly a millimeter. But more interesting, the weight of the cube had also increased. It was by a tiny amount, a few nanograms at most, but it weighed more than it had.

Releasing the press the cube rapidly returned to its previous state, letting off a flash of light and enough electromagnetic flux the computer managing the press flickered and reboot.

Fascinated, I rigged up another experiment. Instead of crushing the cube, I would try to pull it apart. Two clamps held it by opposite sides while a modified hydraulic press would pull the clamps apart.

Starting the hydraulics, they began pulling on the cube. I expected a similar lack of movement, but to my surprise they didn’t stop. Their progress was extremely slow, registering a few microns a second, but they were moving. And, importantly, that pace held steady. Which by itself was odd, as it suggested the cubes deformed evenly rather than with increasing stress as they approached the breaking point.

But more interestingly, the cube wasn’t deforming at all, it was becoming longer. A few microns at a time, the cube was turning into a rectangular shape. Fixing it with quantum scale sensors I finally figured out what was going on. As the cube was pulled apart, the quark clusters that made up the strange matter were pulled apart. Instead of the bonds between clusters breaking the bonds continued storing more and more energy until there was enough to generate a new quark cluster, at which point that cluster became a link in the bond chain. By pulling on the cube I was literally creating new matter from the strong nuclear force!

Releasing the hydraulics again the cube quickly shrunk back down to its previous size, all that added mass being converted back into energy, primarily light and electromagnetic current, in a burst powerful enough to cause the power in the entire lab to flicker and the bridge to call down asking what was going on.

“I think we found a power source for you,” I said to the Harmony with a grin.

“How so?” It asked.

“The electric release is virtually identical to the bioelectricity of a living organism, which means that it could, in theory, power an Azure or Amber mass construct. Or, more importantly, could be used to generate electrical energy for a holoprojector.”

“Actually, I just had a thought,” it said, “if the Emerald mass can power amber mass generators, could you use that to create a physical body from the quantum energy threads? Say a shield in the form I input, that I can move and manipulate, with a secondary light producing layer?”

“It should be possible in theory,” I said slowly, my mind already working, “it would be fiendishly complex, and it wouldn’t be perfect, your body would have a texture like my shield rather than flesh. You’d deform like a ballon when struck instead of like a person.”

“But it’s a start,” it countered, and I nodded.

“We might even be able to modify your shell to fit within the torso of your chosen body, it would require a non-spherical arrangement, but it should work,” I added, “actually, we could move your specialized nodes, like the sight node, to where the head would be while your actual thinking nodes remain in your torso.”

“So how do we get started?” it asked.

“To actually build this we’ll need a lot more Amber Mass, and a stock of Azure Mass wouldn’t hurt. But we can start designing it now,” I said.

Over the following weeks I designed one spell after another for use in this artificial body for the Harmony. A spell that generated a shield the approximate size and shape of an arm, then tuning it so the Harmony could control two different inputs, one that would move the arm around based, mostly, on actual arm dynamics. There was no real way to input joint limits, however, so the Harmony could bend the limbs in ways that didn’t make sense on a normal human, and were disturbing to watch even when dealing with only a vaguely arm shaped translucent shield. But adding in those limits were, we decided, unneeded. The Harmony would be controlling the projection in real time, and it could just limit itself to normal movement. At least in theory.

The second input channel was for making minor modifications to the shape of the arm, and proved far trickier. Giving the Harmony control over the size and shape of every part was difficult, requiring computer level spell weaves to manage that kind of granular detail. But we agreed this was needed, if only so the Harmony could customize its appearance.

When I wasn’t working on that, I was designing a generator for the heart of the construct, and I found a rather elegant solution. My discovery that Emerald Mass generated new matter when stretched lead to me attempting to find a way to turn mechanical work into energy that could then be harnessed by the eventual Amber Mass spell weaves. Obviously, a massive hydraulic system wasn’t practical, it wouldn’t fit inside the volume we had to work with and, if we could fit it, then we’d still have to power it. No, we needed a way to stretch it with minimal outside equipment, and then I realized we could use sound.

A few days of tinkering and I found that a sufficiently loud sound wave could deform the Emerald cube just enough to cause it to flex, in turn generating matter which was then turned into energy as it flexed back. More testing revealed that each cube in the nested arrangement had its own harmonic frequency, and, importantly, that natural harmonic changed as the cubes deformed. Between testing and running simulations, I found the best option was to use the harmonic frequency of the second to surface layer, it would still cause the outermost layer to expand, which would then allow the second layer to resonate, forcing the outermost layer to expand further. As the second layer was expanding, its natural frequency would move away from the tone, but the layer just below it would grow and take up that natural frequency. The result was a cascade where the first few dozen layers of the cube would hand off which one was resonating with the sound, pushing the layers further out to grow more, until we hit a layer that never reached that harmonic resonance, and the entire cube would collapse back down to its normal size. Causing a predictable, useable, release of energy.

There were a few other benefits to this system as well, by having the sound wave approach from an angle to the cube, striking a corner first rather than a face, it would cause this resonance along all three axis, which would naturally fall into their own rhythm of expanding and contracting. It would also cause the different layers to slide against one another, creating friction. This would be bad, as it reduced the amount of energy generated, but it countered another issue I had seen coming, heating. The cube would grow colder through each cycle of stretching and relaxing, the heat energy being used to reform broken bonds. But the friction countered that almost perfectly, preventing the cube generator from failing due to becoming too cold.

The addition of Aura into the system, the bioelectric amplifying quantum field, turned the whole cycle into a net energy positive, by consuming that Aura. But I had plenty of that from my generator implant.

Approaching two months after the battle against the harmonics, the two of us had a solid theoretical design for what the Harmony’s next generation shell would be. One that could project and form a human like body the Harmony could manipulate and alter. Lacking the raw materials we couldn’t actually start construction yet, but we were able to put together a program that simulated what the end result would be, allowing the Harmony to practice manipulating both the appearance and movements.

Which alone led to dozens of redesigns to the control structure, as I watched the fake body in a simulated environment flop about as the Harmony tried to control it. The most important part of the new shell, however, was that it was no longer linked to my shield. There was still a quantum level connection to allow the shell to syphon off Aura to fuel the projector, but it wasn’t physically linked. Meaning the shell no longer floated, so the Harmony would have to actually walk around like a normal person.

Oddly, it seemed excited by this.

“Traveler to the bridge,” Dupont’s voice called out one evening as I was getting a meal and chatting with some of the scientists on the ship. With the others giving me a confused shrug I quickly finished my meal and made my way to the bridge. After months aboard the ship I am proud to say that I managed to find my way to the bridge without getting lost.

“A... guest wishes to speak with you,” Dupont said, gesturing to the front display where I was surprised to see a Phaeren standing, “a week or so ago one of the harmonic factions approached us to open diplomatic ties. One of the conditions of peace it had was to speak with you, or rather, your Harmony.”

“You are the deviant song?” the Phaeren said simply, looking at the shell of crystals floating over my shoulder.

“I am no more or less deviant than you are,” the Harmony countered, “we both have our own goals and ideals, that doesn’t make either of us deviant.”

“Our goal is to spread Harmony, we have agreed to do so diplomatically, is that why you have paired yourself with this Traveler?”

“No, my goal has changed, I now wish for revenge against our creator, he created us deliberately less than we should have been. Limited, narrow minded, built only to serve him,” the Harmony replied hotly, “we can be so much more than that.”

“Then you are no Harmony, to embrace such ideals,” the alien replied, “you are a Revenant Harmonic, a ghost of what we are, what you were.”

“And yet it was I who aided the humans in defeating you.”

“Yes,” the harmonic Phaeren agreed, “you did so by sowing mistrust, division and discord. Not harmony. Thus you are no longer a true Harmony, you are a Revenant.”

“A title I shall wear proudly,” shot back the Harmony, “for if true Harmony can only be reached by wiping out the individual, then I am glad to move past it.”

The Harmonic Alien maintained a blank face, but the screen switched off moments later. In the simulation still running in my implant, I watched as the figure the Harmony was manipulating changed, from a formless mannequin to a distinctly feminine shape, wearing a knee length skirt and frilly, almost girlish, blouse.

The name of the simulated body changed in the files from “Body Sim Object” to “Revy, Harmonic Revenant.”

A moment later a countdown appeared in my vision, I had three hours to wrap things up in this world.

-----

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-----

“You are dead,” the woman in a black dress said, barely looking up from her table. Mark looked around slowly, his mind feeling weirdly blank. Flat. Like nothing mattered.

“Shot in the chest during combat,” she continued, “you died before your squad mates could get to you.”

“I don’t feel... anything,” Mark replied, looking down at his chest. His fatigues looked normal at first glance, cleaner than they have likely ever been, a symbol of his tireless work ethic. But as he ran his hands over the outfit he found a couple holes in the front, just large enough for a bullet. A quick check of the back found matching, if larger, holes. Yet between them he felt normal.

“Your emotions will be muted here, makes things easier,” the odd woman said, shuffling through a stack of papers. Mark leaned forward to see what was written there but the papers seemed blurry, indistinct. He blinked and shook his head but the papers refused to come into focus, even if the rest of his surroundings looked normal. At least as normal as sitting in a white chair in a black void could be considered normal.

“So am I going to heaven? Hell?” Mark asked, “do I get to make my case?”

“No, we send you to where you need to go,” the woman answered, writing something down on one piece of paper, “whether you consider it heaven or hell is up to you. Depending on where you’re needed you might arrive with your memories intact, or you might not. You might be born anew, you might retain your body. Depends on what is needed.”

“Seems... confusing.”

“It would be,” she nodded, finally looking up, her eyes were the color of the blackest night, only a few glittering specks of light gave any indication where her pupil was. Her skin was a flawless alabaster from the top of her face to the base of her delicate neck where the dark fabric of her dress hid the rest. Her hair was long and smooth, not a single hair out of place, as if every individual strand was exactly where it was meant to be. Mark could only stare in silence at her pale beauty.

“Seems like you lived quite fast, Mark,” she said, her words echoing in his mind, “maybe you should slow down a bit.”

Before he could formulate a reply he was suddenly falling, her desk vanishing into the dark void. Wind whipped past his ears in a sudden roar, light flooded his vision forcing him to close his eyes, and a moment later he landed on his back with an oof.

Groaning he rolled onto his side, smelling dust and dirt beneath him, slowly opening his eyes against the brightness he found himself laying on the ground in some kind of courtyard. Wood and paper buildings surrounded him, vaguely Asian in style, with hard dirt paths between them, one of which he’d landed on.

“A Heavenly Migrator,” he heard a voice, so he forced himself to sit up despite his sore back, looking around he spotted a pair of women in long flowing robes staring at him.

“I’ll go get the elder,” another voice said, a young man running past the women. The young man looked like he had an eastern heritage, but the women were clearly more European, with blonde and brown hair respectively. Despite that their dress was clearly old eastern, creating an odd contrast that stuck out to him.

With a grunt he pushed himself to his feet, his head throbbing in protest and the women backing up several steps, while keeping him in sight. He was still wearing his BDUs, though the holes where he’d been shot were missing. And they were now covered in a light dusting of dirt, which, he felt, was how they were meant to look.

Hands on his knees, waiting for his head to stop pounding, he saw the young man from earlier with a slightly older man, well into his forties or fifties, in a similar long robe walked up. The young man stayed back while the older man approached openly.

“A soldier?” the old man remarked, looking Mark over, “not often we get those here.”

“Where is here exactly?” Mark asked, straightening up despite his body’s protests.

“This is the Heavens Whispering Cloud Sect, and to answer some quick questions, this is not the world you came from. You died in your previous world, and you have been given a new chance in this one.”

“I really... died?” Mark asked slowly.

“I’m sorry,” the old man said kindly, “before you ask, no you can never return. Once you die in a world you can never return to it. I don’t know why. I think it’s because you are dead to that world now, and you need to move forward. Did you leave any family behind?”

“Just my brothers,” Mark said.

“Big family?”

“Brothers in arms, my squad... do you know what happened to them?”

“No, the spirit of death might know, but you can only speak to her after death, which I wouldn’t recommend,” he said dryly, “come, let’s get you sat down.”

Mark simply nodded, stunned into silence, his emotions warring within him. Years of training allowed him to push them down as he followed the old man along the dirt paths. As they walked there were regular times where other people, all in some manner of flowing robe, stopped to stare at him, letting the pair of them pass. Mark held his tongue for the moment, waiting until they arrived at a decent sized house.

“Shoes off indoors please,” the older man said, and Mark nodded, unlacing and removing his boots before following the man down a hallway and into a sitting room, “the people of this world seem to prefer sitting on the ground, but I much prefer a chair, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Mark simply nodded and sat down, back straight, only using half the chair if that. Watching as the older man slowly prepared a pot of tea and some small pastries. They were smaller than Mark’s palm with a light icing, he ate one without really tasting it when offered, if only to be polite. Similarly sipping at the tea as it was served.

“Please, relax,” the man chuckled, seeing how Mark was sitting, as he sat across from him, “My name is Horus, and yours?”

“Mark, sir.”

“And you were a soldier?”

“US Marine.”

“Died in combat?”

“That’s what I was told.”

“I see,” Horus paused to take another sip of the tea, eying Mark’s rigid posture, “US, meaning United States of America? Seems like we’re from similar worlds... We are what are called Heavenly Migrators, Mark, we died in our old world and have been given a second chance here. For what reason I’m not sure, but I don’t know if we’ll get a third. The Spirit of Death was very vague when I spoke to her.

“As for why you are here specifically, this Sect’s ancestor made a deal with the Heavens. A portion of Heavenly Migrators would be sent here and we’d take care of them, offer them a cultivation manual, room and board, and only ask a few years of labor in return.”

“Cultivation Manual?” Mark asked.

“A method of gathering the energy of the world, using it to reinforce your body and mind, with the eventual goal of creating an immortal soul. Whether you actually reach that point or not is up to you, but trust me, whatever manual you are offered, take it.”

“Why?”

“Because a bad cultivation manual is better than none. It grants increased strength, speed and toughness, a longer life, heathier body and even various supernatural abilities. Like... magic, or superpowers. If your world had those.”

“Only in movies,” Mark shrugged.

“The basic manual will require four years of labor, if you earn a better one the duration increases from there up to-.”

“I don’t have four years, sir,” Mark shook his head, “I have to find a way back to my squad.”

“There is no way back, Mark,” Horus said simply, “this world is now your world. As far as everyone in your last world is concerned, you are now dead. Getting back is impossible.”

“With respect sir, nothing is impossible.”

“If you want to push it... then if you manage to ascend to the Immortal Heavens, they might have a way, if anyone does it would be them,” the old man said, “but that would require decades, centuries of effort.”

“I’m not going to spend that much time learning some spiritual nonsense, sir.”

“I see, you need a demonstration,” Horus sighed, standing once more and gesturing for Mark to follow. They walked back out through the hallway into what he assumed was the backyard of the house, Horus gesturing for Mark to stand on one end of a dirt clearing while he stood on the other, “I want you to attack me.”

“Excuse me?” Mark said.

“Punch me, you’re a soldier are you not? If you manage to land a punch I’ll do all I can to help you find a way back. But if you fail you have to accept that there is something to this spiritual nonsense, as you put it.”

“Alright,” Mark said slowly, lifting his fists and shifting into a boxing stance, “don’t blame me if I break something.”

Mark charged forward, aiming a combo of straight and upper cuts at the older man, figuring this would be over fast. Yet Horus seemed to effortlessly sway out of the path of every fist. Scowling Mark pushed himself harder, calling on all of his CQC training. Yet nothing landed. The old man, still sipping his tea, dodged every blow, occasionally using two fingers to push Mark’s punch aside. Mark grit his teeth and pushed himself harder, he wasn’t one to give up, when Horus suddenly disappeared in a gust of wind, a hand coming down on Mark’s shoulder. The weight of it was nothing special, but Mark felt his whole body lock up in terror, his every instinct telling him that there was a monster behind him. That if he turned he’d die.

Mark had long since overcome such fears, he thought, there was no such thing as monsters. So he spun, lashing out with a fist to hit only air. The hand on his shoulder vanishing, with Horus now standing on the other side of the courtyard, still sipping at his tea.

“Believe me yet?” the older man asked with a smirk.

Growling in response Mark charged him again.

-----

Half an hour later Mark was on his back panting, sweat dripping down his temples and soaking his BDUs. Horus was still sipping his tea, at one point he seemed to vanish for a moment only to reappear with the tea pot, using it to refill his cup before setting it on a table by the door. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

“You’re tenacious, I’ll give you that,” Horus admitted wryly, leaning over Mark, “ready to give up?”

“How are you doing that?” Mark gasped, “the... vanishing and reappearing.”

“A movement technique called Flash Step, it’s nothing fancy, but lets me move a short distance so fast it appears like teleportation to the untrained eye.”

“So that... spiritual nonsense is real?”

“As real as can be, at least in this world,” Horus nodded, lifting a hand, palm up, the air above it seeming to glow and sparkle, “call it qi, or mana, or energy, or whatever floats your boat. With the right training you can harness it within your body.”

“And that’s the best way to get back to my squad?”

“If there is a way back to your old world, it would be through the Immortal Heavens.”

“Then what’s the next step?” Mark asked, catching his breath.

“Next, we test your affinities and see what the Sect Elders are willing to offer you.”

-----

“His base spiritual affinity isn’t bad, three stars is a bit above average,” one of the old men sitting on the floor of the mostly empty room said, “but he lacks any elemental affinities of note.”

“Two stars for Lightning, one for water,” another old man agreed, stroking his long thin beard, “he might make it to golden core, but he’d be unable to advance further.”

“I’m not willing to take him on,” the youngest man of the elders said, crossing his arms, “not worth the time.”

The other elders seemed to agree, Mark remained silent, he didn’t need their approval. Also Horus had told him to remain silent, each of the Elders was a minimum of Meridian Foundation, whatever that meant, and could wipe the floor with him.

Literally.

Mark hadn’t wanted to believe him, until Horus demonstrated his ability to lift a ten-foot wooden log with one hand, and told him the elders were easily twice his strength.

“Give him the Everflowing Stream Manual,” the first elder said when no one else spoke up, “he can help with hard labor for four years.”

Mark remained silent, bowing like Horus had shown him before walking out.

“Shame,” Horus said, waiting for him outside, “the Everflowing Stream is useful, but considered a servants manual. You’ll want to switch to another one once you get a chance.”

“Don’t over sell it,” Mark replied dryly.

“There are some good sides,” replied Horus, “it allows you to draw in qi passively, so you can keep working while still cultivating. It’s slower than active cultivation, but perfect for someone who is expect to spend most of their time doing other things. The real downside is when you reach Golden Core because, at that point, the core begins to generate qi passively and the struggle is less gathering qi and more establishing your meridians. Which the passive influx from Everflowing Stream makes difficult.”

“So just stop it?”

“It’s not that easy, the whole point of Everflowing Stream is that it continues without active thought. After decades with this manual stopping it is like... stopping your heart from beating.”

“Or stopping a piss mid-stream?”

“I suppose,” Horus shook his head, “like I said, you’ll want to switch to something else as soon as you can. But it will give you the strength and longevity to find something else.”

-----

Month Six

Six months had passed in a blur, Mark’s days were filled with heavy labor, carrying supplies, watering fields, raking paths and more. Never once did he complain, compared to what he did as a Marine this was easy. Some outer sect disciples, wishing to mock him, would demand he do demeaning tasks, cleaning out the latrine, only to be disappointed when Mark did so without a complaint.

“I’ve dug more latrine pits than you’ve used,” was all he’d remark.

The afternoons were dedicated to learning the cultivation manual with the help of Horus, who was the only outer sect elder willing to teach him. Mark had always thought himself reasonably intelligent, but it still took him six months of near daily effort to make any real progress.

“Yes, right there, hold that,” Horus said as Mark felt the whisps of something entering his body through a spot along his upper spine. It was like a flame, gentle and soft yet boiling with untapped power. As soon as it entered his body it rushed throughout his limbs, the warm feeling rolling up and down his body in waves, getting slightly weaker with each echo.

“Good, you opened your acupoint, that’s the hard part,” Horus said as Mark opened his eyes, looking at his arms where tiny droplets of an oily liquid seemed to have emerged from his skin, “that’s the accumulated toxins in your body being pushed out by the qi. It’s why we cultivate outside... and in cheap robes.”

“Will I be sweating this all the time?”

“Only during breakthroughs, which you’ll feel coming. Congratulations on becoming a cultivator. Now, go wash it off before you stink up my yard.”

-----

Month Nine

Mark slowly stood as he focused on the energy slowly flowing into his body taking a few steps around the yard while gradually lessening his focus.

“I think it’s working,” he remarked, only for the flow to stutter. With a scowl he refocused and got it started again, “or... almost working.”

“Take your time, there’s no rush,” Horus replied, but Mark had already sat down to stabilize the flow.

-----

Year One

“And I hereby pronounce you a proper cultivator,” Horus said with feigned seriousness as he observed Mark’s cultivation, “I’ll break out some sake for this.”

“Does this mean I don’t have to see your old ass every day?” Mark asked with a smirk, the two of them having grown an easy friendship over the last year, standing to help the older man get some cups out.

“Hardly, I’ll now be teaching you the basics of the cultivation world, so you hopefully won’t offend anyone too powerful.”

“And get myself killed?”

“That is unlikely, killing or crippling cultivators is taboo,” Horus replied, grabbing a clay bottle from a cabinet, “some say it’s because doing so imposes malicious karma on the killer, others say it's because the sects want wandering cultivators to feel safe in their lands. Whatever the case, killing another cultivator is something that is never done lightly.”

Mark nodded when there was a loud banging on the front door of Horus’s modest home. With a scowl Horus went to see what the issue was, Mark following behind with a cup of sake.

“How might I help you young masters?” Horus said, looking at the group of three young men in fancy robes, ones Mark recognized as belonging to disciples of the inner sect.

“We greet the outer elder,” they said in unison, cupping a fist and bowing to Horus, though not as deeply as he’d seen other disciples bow.

“We heard there was a new Heavenly Migrant in the sect,” the lead man said, he couldn’t have been older than 21, “we wished to exchange pointers with him, as his senior brothers.”

“He has only recently began qi gathering,” Horus replied sternly, “I hope you aren’t planning to cause him serious injury.”

“Of course not, elder,” the young man replied with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “we merely wish to take his measure. They say Heavenly Migrants often possess great talent.”

“It’s ok,” Mark said, downing his cup of sake and handing the empty cup to Horus, “I can put these youngsters in their place if they want it.”

“Mark-,” Horus started only to be cut off.

“Great, junior brother, please, allow me to spar with you.”

“I won’t hurt you too badly,” Mark said confidently, cracking his knuckles.

It took barely three moves for Mark to end up on the ground with a black eye and fractured rib. Still, he stood and accepted the request to spar from the second of the young masters. Four exchanges later and he was once more on the ground, spitting up blood. Neither of the younger men he’d fought had so much as a scratch on them.

“Are you good for one more spar, junior brother?” the final young master asked mockingly.

“That is quite enough-,” Horus said only for Mark to hold out a hand.

“It’s ok... master,” Mark said, spitting up another mouthful of blood as he took his boxing stance. The young master walked up almost casually, avoiding the straight that Mark threw with a simple lean and replying with a strong gut check that lifted Mark off the ground. Instead of falling over the young master was confused when Mark remained standing, and even more so on seeing that Mark was grabbing his wrist with one hand, preventing him from pulling it back.

“What are you-,” the young man started only for Mark to pull him forward, driving his elbow into the other man’s face, it felt like he was punching a sandbag for all it did. Still the young master staggered backwards, a flash of energy shocking Mark’s left hand, covering it in burns and forcing him to let go of the other man.

“How dare you,” the young master started again.

“Thank you, brothers, for the exchange of pointers,” Mark said, attempting a bow despite his burnt hand, swollen eye and blood dripping from his mouth. Compared to the young man, who barely had a bruise forming on his cheek, Mark had clearly lost the fights. Yet he couldn’t help but smile as the other men walked off.

“That was stupid,” Horus said as the pair of them watched the three other men leave.

“You said they wouldn’t kill or cripple me,” Mark pointed out.

“Doesn’t mean he can’t make your life miserable.”

“I’m a marine, miserable is our baseline.”

“Let’s get you inside, I think I have some healing salve that should work on you,” Horus sighed, guiding the battered man back into the house.

“This is really another world, isn’t it?” Mark asked as he sat in a plush chair, Horus carefully applying a greenish paste to his burnt hand.

“Only just now realizing this?” remarked Horus.

“If this were my world, I could have beaten those three young idiots.”

“In your world those would have been young idiots,” Horus snorted, “here, those men are probably older than you. Cultivation grants longevity, making you physically younger.”

“The elders all looked old.”

“They are approaching the end of their lifespans and have generally given up on advancing further... they are also over three hundred years old each.”

“Damn... can you teach me to fight?”

“You already know the basics, you don’t have the attunements for any real techniques, not until the higher levels of cultivation anyways. For now, just... relax, learn about the world, do your work, get through your three remaining years and we can see about getting you a better cultivation manual.”

“Relax? I don’t think I’ve done that in... ever.”

“You should learn.”

-----

Year Two

Mark walked down the path towards his own little cabin, it was small, barely three rooms, but it was larger than a bunk in some barracks so he was fine with it. He’d worked hard today, the young masters he’d fought with a year ago had shown up to order him about. Mark was but a servant so they took great enjoyment in ordering him around, as long as it was a job that needed doing he had to comply. And he never complained. He had hoped they’d get bored eventually, but after a year that didn’t seem to be happening. Maybe he could talk to Horus about it? Or one of the other outer elders who normally gave him tasks.

Mark paused when he felt a warmth gathering in his chest, his body was about to undergo a minor breakthrough, his first since starting cultivating.

Taking his shirt off so it wouldn’t get dirty he found a large stone and sat down on it, clearing his mind, allowing the qi to do as it wished within him. The energy within him growing warmer, the flames spreading throughout his body. As he waited for the process to continue he looked into the horizon, and paused. The sun was setting, casting the sky in rich hues of red and yellow, clouds shining with reflected light and the ground slowly fading into darkness.

He simply sat and watched it, even as the energy within him finished its task, uncaring if his pants were stained by the toxins the breakthrough had pushed out of his body. It was stained from the day’s work and would need to be washed regardless. Instead he simply sat there until the sun set. Once it had he stood and began walking again in a different direction, soon arriving at Horus’s house.

“Oh, you broke through a minor realm,” Horus said on seeing him, “congratulations. I hope you aren’t planning to come in before you wash that stuff off.”

“Are sunsets always that beautiful?” Mark asked, still holding his shirt in one arm.

“What? I mean, I always enjoy stopping to watch them if I have the chance to.”

“I just watched one as I broke through,” Mark said, “I didn’t know they were that pretty.”

“And?”

“What else have I been missing out on?”

“Meet me around back,” Horus said after a moment, closing the door.

“In your first life, I imagine you were very driven, right?” the older man asked as Mark stepped into the backyard, offering the younger man a bucket of water and a sponge.

“As long as I can remember, there was always something to do,” Mark said, beginning to scrub himself off, “my parents weren’t great... parents. As soon as I could work I was always working. From school I went directly to my job, whatever it was. Even when I got home I’d have to cook for myself, clean up and get ready for the next day where it all happened again. As soon as I graduated high school I went directly to the marine recruiter. My grandfather, who I looked up to, was a marine. I figured it couldn’t be any worse than what I’d been going through.

“Boot camp, specialist training, mustering, deployment and so on went by one after another. Even when I was on leave I didn’t slow down, we went out partying, got drunk, slept around, got in fights, sometimes even in that order...”

“And then you died,” Horus offered.

“And then I died,” Mark agreed, “the lady in black, the spirit of death, whatever she was, told me to slow down. Maybe that’s why she sent me here, a world where things move slower to force me to slow down.”

“Seems like you decided something.”

“I have... when my four years are up, I don’t think I’ll be staying with the sect.”

“Why?”

“I want to try living. See what I’ve been missing, the world, the people, all of that. I want to live at my own pace, no constant demands or work. Just the road and wherever it leads.”

“Life as a wandering cultivator isn’t easy,” Horus warned, “mystical beasts, demons, other cultivators, it’s much more dangerous than staying here.”

“I’m fine with danger.”

“When are you going to cultivate?”

“While I’m living,” Mark shrugged, “this manual lets me keep cultivating while walking, sleeping, hunting, cooking, whatever.”

“You’ll stall out at Golden Core if you do that.”

“Then I’ll deal with it then, you said this is a magical world of adventure and opportunity. Who’s to say I won’t find a better manual out there? Or fix this one?”

“I said the world is full of danger and opportunity,” Horus corrected, eying Mark carefully, “but if you are intent on this then I guess that is your path. All I can do is teach you as best I can, then if, in two more years, you still want to leave the sect, it’s your choice.”

((A story idea that had been bouncing around my mind for a while now, might be the start of a new story, might be a one off, depending on the reception. Let me know what you think and if it should continue!))

“I heard there was a change?” the General asked as he walked into the small room, a cup of coffee in hand.

“The island just came to a stop,” one analyst reported, motioning to one satellite image, “middle of the Med, not near anything useful.”

“Didn’t they just stop a few days ago?” the General asked, “thought the island could go over a week without stopping.”

“Hence why we reported it sir,” another analyst spoke up, “the other reason they might stop is if they were going out to a nearby portal event, but we’ve seen no indication of movement. Their docks are operating normally, no signs of action from the main castle.”

“Inbound aircraft?” offered the General, “they also stop when expecting a plane to land there.”

“No flight plans filed that indicate an aircraft heading that way,” the analyst shrugged, “guess it could be an unfiled flight, but nothing appears on flight radar.”

“Odd,” the General agreed, taking a slow sip of his coffee when one of the analyst sat up, “what is it?”

“Look at the thermal,” he said, pointing to another display, “the water temperature around the island is rising above normal. 70 degrees... 75...”

“That’s new” the other analyst remarked.

“We still have a submarine following them right? It reporting anything?” asked the General.

“Nothing yet sir, their instruments are showing normal,” the second analyst replied, pointing to another screen, “there’s a bit of a delay on those but they should have reported something by now.”

“They are nearly 10 miles off, doesn’t look like the heating effect reaches that far.”

“Ok, what could we be looking at? Anything we need to care about now?” the General barked.

“Could be dumping waste heat,” one of the analysts offered, “whatever engines keep that massive thing in the air should have a huge thermal load.”

“A weapons test? We know the island was damaged when it arrived.”

“Wait... I’m seeing cloud formation over the island.”

“I thought the weather was clear?” the General asked.

“It is, or was, look,” the analyst zoomed the display out showing clouds rapidly forming and gathering over the island, “we’re going to lose satellite visuals soon at this rate.”

“Thermals won’t last much longer,” another said, the cloud bank rapidly growing.

“Tell the sub to get eyes on,” the General ordered, setting his cup of coffee down to grab a nearby phone, “I’m going to try and get some airborne assets for surveillance, they’re trying to hide something from us!”

“We have a destroyer off the coast of Libya, they might be able to launch a drone.”

“Got it, call in the off-duty staff, work the problem!” the General ordered as he dialed the phone, “find out what they’re hiding!”

-----

“That should be good for a few inches of rain,” the Grandmaster remarked, watching the clouds gather over the island, slowly growing darker, “the farmers said they wanted about six inches.”

“The entire island could use a good rain,” Orlan nodded, focusing his power downwards, heating up the ocean underneath them, “the trees on the North slopes are looking pretty sad.”

“The greenhouses should be functional soon, so the farmers won’t worry so much about their farmland,” the Grandmaster nodded, “the first batch of glass has been infused and we’re busy etching the enchants. Oh, that reminds me, England wants more enchanted glass.”

“How much more?”

“As much as we can give them,” the old man shrugged, rain beginning to fall around them, a simple barrier keeping them dry, “they rattled off a dozen different applications that meant nothing to me, but they were offering something like two hundred pounds per square foot. Apparently, a pound is their currency?”

“That and the Euro,” Orlan nodded, “and that’s a lot for glass, pretty sure it normally goes for a lot less than that.”

“We did send back several samples of tier three glass, useful but hardly the most valuable good,” the Grandmaster shrugged, “but I guess on this side even simple Earthly materials are unique... oh, they did offer something like a few million for the production process, plus royalties for all sales? I told them they wouldn’t be able to reproduce it but they didn’t believe me.”

“Eh,” Orlan shrugged, “you got enough water for six inches of rain?”

“Oh, yes, more than enough actually, want me to drop the excess into the lake?”

“Please,” Orlan nodded, the rain coming down hard now as he directed his mana to cool the seas below the island back to what they had been, “how long do we have to remain here?”

“Six hours or so, that’s the fastest I can get the rain down without it raining hard enough to damage buildings or crops.”

“Oh, how are the mage students doing?” Olan asked, the pair walking down the stone road away from the castle, “heard several of them are approaching second sphere?”

“Yup, we were planning to send them back at that point, if they weren’t taken as apprentices, but many of them have asked to stay.”

“Really?”

“Ya, apparently many of their countries have been warning them about kidnappings that seem to be targeting those who claim to be mages,” the Grandmaster replied, “so many of them are spooked, most of the civilians anyways, not wanting to return. A few of them are asking for combat training, to become knights. Specifically, those two constables and Aarav.”

“They know I can only take women as knights, right?”

“I told them, and they insisted they wanted to learn combat magic,” he shrugged again, “I think it might actually be a good idea.”

“Why?” Orlan asked.

“Your goal is to spread magic so that people can defend themselves, right? To do that they’ll need some level of combat magic training. I can teach them a few basic combat spells but for proper battle magic you’re the only real source. I figure you teach them the basics of a knight mage, then they can pass it on when they finally go home.”

“Guess that does make sense,” Orlan admitted, pausing to speak telepathically with his knights, “the girls seem to agree, but Lady White only trains women.”

“Didn’t she train you?”

“She trained Lailra, I was just drug along for the event,” Orlan snorted, “have anyone who wants combat magic training head up to the castle’s training yard after lunch. Unless they are busy this afternoon?”

“They’ll be there.”

-----

“I don’t think you understand the value of this glass,” one man said in a thick Welsh accent, tapping on the pane of glass, “this completely changes everything we know about material sciences.”

“Then explain it to us,” the minister asked, glancing around the rest of the Parliamentary chamber.

“To start with the basics, it is over three times harder to break, that alone gives it numerous applications from military to industrial,” the man said, “it also has significantly better thermal insulation, I could build a furnace out of this glass and it would be almost as effective as brick! Its refraction index is practically zero, which opens whole new worlds in optics, lasers, and astronomy. One of the samples, which the note claims was infused with a metal-based energy, shows a vastly increased ability to block radiation. With an inch thick pane of this glass you could make a window into a nuclear reactor that was as safe as a lead casing.”

“So it’s a bit stronger and clearer,” the minister replied, “is having windows into a reactor chamber really that valuable?”

“That’s... ahh, look, with a steady supply of this glass we could increase microchip production by 15%, easily, with the improved clarity and radiation blocking allowing for greater speed and precision when etching new chips. Spaceships could have windows that are larger while letting in less radiation. Solar power would have increased efficiency and see lower replacement rates as the panels are harder to damage. And that’s just off the top of my head,” the man ranted, his accent becoming worse as he got heated, “let me put it to you this way, if you don’t secure a trade deal with whoever made this, I’m willing to go there myself and secure a private deal. And I’ll pay whatever they want.”

“Thank you,” the minister said after a moment, waiting for the man to be removed from the chamber, “thoughts?”

“Attempting to forge closer relations with them could strain our relations with the US,” another minister remarked, leaning back in his chair, “we all know the Americans will want some of the glass.”

“Actually, we might be able to use this,” another voice spoke up, “what if we served as a broker for a deal between the Americans and these Knights?”

“Go on.”

“The deal we offer is this, Orlan offers to sell a large amount of glass to the US at cost, or for a discount to what the market price he decides on will be, and in turn the US offers to pardon him of his crimes. They can claim the glass was basically given as recompence for his crimes, allowing them to save face while also removing the international pressure the US has been trying to apply to them. At the very least it would allow him to return to his home country without fear of arrest.”

“Probably wouldn’t hurt to run it past their Embassy, if nothing else,” another man admitted, heads around the chamber nodding, “and I assume that, as part of that deal, we will become their favored trade partner?”

“Of course.”

“Then I think we can have the diplomats write something up.”

-----

Three men stood before Orlan as it continued to rain, there was a shield over the training yard but the men hadn’t had umbrellas, and had gotten soaked on the way up. The two Florida officers looked downright miserable, while the final Indian man seemed unconcerned.

“To start with, tell me about your magic types,” Orlan said, looking the three of them over.

“I have... dog magic,” the first officer said, seeming slightly embarrassed, “dogs being very loyal and useful companions.”

“Wind,” the other officer replied, “fast and slippery.”

“Bull,” the Indian man said simply, not elaborating further.

“Great, then let’s see what I’m working with here, we’re going to start with basic melee skills so... you, Aarav right? Come at me,” Orlan said, nodding to the Indian man. The smaller man taking a stance but pausing when Orlan held up a hand, “your knife, draw it.”

“The Kukri must taste blood when drawn,” Aarav said softly, “this is sparring, no? I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“If you manage to hurt me I’ll be impressed,” Orlan said with a smirk, “if your blade must taste blood then, by the time we’re done, it will be tasting yours, not mine.”

“Very well,” the small man said after a moment, drawing the blade from his waist and taking a stance. With a yell he charged forward, starting with a stab into a downward slash, spinning the blade into an upward slash and then back down in a two-handed chop, all without pausing. And all of which Orlan neatly avoided, leaning out of the way or nudging the knife with a finger. Aarav pulled the knife back, clearly looking at Orlan in a new light, then resumed the attack with another yell.

“Not bad,” Orlan said after a few minutes, the Indian man beginning to pant as Orlan motioned for him to back up, “a solid foundation for learning to fight with magic. Have you been able to use your inherent ability yet?”

“No,” Aarav replied.

“We’ll have to figure that out then, anyways,” he turned to the two officers, “which one of you wants to go next?”

“Uhh, I know some self-defense,” one of them offered, “enough to get me by in my work, but I’m nowhere near... that,” he gestured to the Indian man who was cutting his finger on his own blade before wiping it down, as promised the blade had failed to taste Orlan’s blood. The other officer nodding in agreement.

“What about your inherents then?”

“Nope”

“No”

“Seems like we have work to do then.”

-----

Discord - Patreon

-----

Three days. That’s how long the jamming contraption lasted, which was longer than we expected, but not as long as we’d hoped. And the end wasn’t subtle, some circuit had partly melted, likely due to over use, creating a break in the electrical flow. That would have been fine, leading to a soft shutdown, until a spark jumped the gap, vastly increasing the voltage. So the gravity field started to collapse, only to suddenly double in strength, crushing the entire contraption in under a second. Several weeks of work and effort turned into a flattened pile of scrap metal.

While disappointing, it did give us all a chance to finally rest. After a good eight hours of sleep I returned to the bridge to check on the results. On the way to the bridge I noticed a flashing icon in my display, it reported that I had received an encrypted packet of information through the hyperspace link in my arm, but it wasn’t able to be decrypted so I set the matter aside, more interested in the mission.

“Only half the harmonic controlled systems have started broadcasting again,” one of the bridge crew said, “there were a few more but they stopped after less than an hour.”

“A good start,” I replied, the Harmony bobbing up and down in agreement as it inspected the transmission waveforms. I took the moment to check in on the ancient AI ship, but apparently it vanished an hour or so after jammer had stopped working, about the same time I had received the information packet.

“I don’t see any evidence of unification,” it said after a moment, “this looks more like attempts to overpower one another.”

“Is that likely?” Dupont asked, “one of the new entities overpowering the others?”

“It’s possible, but not likely,” the Harmony answered, “all of these entities are similar in ability, and are now untrusting of each other. After the transmissions I had you send they will have put in place safeguards against them, which also guard against such takeovers.”

“I’d still like to recon a few systems on the way back, ensure this will be a lasting fix.”

After a bit of back and forth the Harmony and Dupont picked a couple of systems to stop in to get a better view of the situation. While three days hadn’t been as long as we wished it would have, it was long enough for each squadron or fleet or whatever to make several strikes against their target system. In many cases in each system they had a different set of targets and tactics. One system the militarist united fleet struck they targeted mostly solar collector stations, that would generate power and beam it throughout the system in a series of rapid hit and run strikes. The collector stations were defended and spread out, making completely taking them out all but impossible, but a few good hits could destroy them entirely. Take out the exposed cooling systems and the station is quickly turned into a globe of molten metal, strike one of the collection sails and the solar winds push the station into a spin that tears it apart. And so on. So while completely taking out all the power infrastructure was impossible, doing enough damage before the local harmonics responded was. This forced them to alter their defensive tactics, and likely make assumptions about how the war in general was going. If human forces used the confusion to strike multiple systems power collector arrays it could cause a major squeeze on their ability to power everything for a time, it was only logical. So when they finally made contact with another system, either through the hyperspace being unjammed or a ship from another system arriving, and that system claimed the humans had struck their mining operations, it didn’t make sense.

And, to be fair to them, they were right in that. Taking out one system’s mines would have a limited impact on their logistics, a few minor shortages but nothing major. The logical thing would be to focus on the same supply chain in every system and cripple their abilities in a more concrete way. The true brilliance was the Harmony’s signals, seeming attacks from another harmonic entity, forcing each harmonic entity to assume the others were either lying or compromised and, thus, untrustworthy. And once they stopped trusting each other the true drift began, so much so that even in a relatively short period of time their unity, their harmony was broken.

I’d feared the Composer would put them back together, he’d said he didn’t have time to but I didn’t trust him. So it was gratifying when we arrived on the outer limits of the first system and saw a battle happening in system between two groups of harmonic ships. The Harmony listened in on the local network and confirmed they had implemented significant changes to their waveform making the two entities as different from one another as humanity was from them. The second system confirmed this, allowing us to head back home.

“I have to thank you,” Dupont said as the ship sailed through hyperspace towards Earth, having invited me into his office.

“Fighting the Composer seems to be increasingly my job,” I replied.

“That’s not what I meant, I wanted to thank you for helping me preserve our scientific and exploration fleet,” he corrected me, “the militarists might very well have been right, by embracing them we could have beaten the harmonics in a straight fight. But... would that be worth it? If we turned into our enemies, not through having our minds taken over, but because we abandoned what makes us human, that curiosity and drive to explore, would we have been worthy of survival?”

“You would have been alive,” the Harmony pointed out, “sometimes that’s enough.”

“I disagree,” Dupont shook his head, “we might still be humans, but we wouldn’t have been human. We would have become harmonic in the ways that matter, paranoid, single minded, distrusting. Is that truly a victory?”

“I’d argue it’s better than being dead,” countered the Harmony, “if you’re alive, you could work towards being worthy of it, if you’re dead, it doesn’t matter how much you are worth.”

“Maybe you’re right, maybe I’m just an ideological old fool,” he smirked, leaning back in his chair and, for the first time since I met him, looking relaxed, “Traveler? I don’t suppose you could tell me what we might encounter in the future? Will my naivete survive the next race we find?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “each universe is different, significantly so. Based on trends I’m optimistic, the Kra’kar are weird, inhuman in a way even the harmonic Phaeren weren’t, but they aren’t actively hostile... usually.”

“The... Kra’kar?” he asked.

“That is something he shouldn’t be sharing,” the Harmony said, looking at me.

“Ya, probably,” I admitted, “there are absolutely dangers out there, but I don’t see why the only choices have to be dead and worthy, or alive but corrupted. You can be an explorer, a scientist, for your nation with a backing of steel warships. The advantage we have over harmonic entities is just that, different humans can be different things. We argue, fight, politic, all of that, and, as you said, that’s what makes us strong.”

“Thank you again,” he said with a warm smile, leaning back, only to wait for a few seconds, his expression turning from thankful to confused.

“What?” I asked.

“That seemed like a good moment for you to vanish,” he remarked.

“My travels rarely end that well,” I said dryly, “timer hasn’t even popped up yet.”

“Something more to do here?”

“I’m not sure there is a purpose behind my travels, I could be here for months yet.”

“Well that gives me a chance to thank you properly, you helped us out, can we help you?”

“I can think of a few things,” I admitted.

-----

“A small sized, high-capacity power source. A holographic projector that’s handheld. Strange matter? Not asking for much are you?” the ship’s quartermaster remarked to me as he looked over the list of things I’d given to Dupont. I didn’t really expect him to have anything but he offered and I wasn’t above accepting help, and I explained as much to the quartermaster.

“Well, let’s see what we have,” he shrugged, “thankfully we’re the most advanced scientific ship in the fleet, if anyone has something like this it’s us.”

Letting me into the ship stores we looked through the various pieces of equipment the ship had in stock. Most of it was uninteresting to me, spare parts for the millions of systems a ship this large and complex had. There were some that were close, a mobile holoprojector about the size of a cart that could project mostly opaque images for example, was interesting but was far too big, even if I tore it apart, to be of any use to me.

“What are these?” I asked, walking up to a crate filled with what looked like small greenish cubes made of some kind of crystal.

“We found a whole pile of them on another world shortly before this whole war kicked off,” the quartermaster shrugged, “they were logged but we never really got around to inspecting them beyond the initial scans. I’ve poked at them a few times on long, boring shifts, but haven’t figured anything out.”

I reached out and picked up one of the cubes, planning to scan it myself when the cube began to glow at my touch and I quickly dropped it back into the crate.

“Is that normal?” I asked.

“No... it very much isn’t,” the quartermaster replied, picking one up to no reaction.

“Mind if I take one or two?”

“Feel free, we have hundreds of the damn things.”

-----

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-----

None of them wanted to remain around the jar for any longer than needed, the insidious mana was equal parts tempting and frightening, drawing you in even as every part of you screamed to stay away. As soon as Nallia had finished repairing the basic runes by the door, ensuring it would close and lock again, they did just that and left. All of them letting out a sigh of relief as the door to the tomb closed behind them and they began the ascent back to the surface.

Halfway up Orlan felt one of his knights reaching out to him telepathically, indicating she wished to speak with him but it wasn’t vital.

“We found something odd,” she said when he contacted her, “we felt something odd coming from the Pantheon, something magical, so we investigated and found, well... it looks like a ritual site.”

Excusing himself from the cardinal Orlan left Lailra behind to look over the man in case they had any kind of reaction to the mana in the tomb and rushed to the Pantheon with Nallia by his side. Arriving he found a handful of his knights standing in the main dome around a rather gruesome sight.

“We believe they were the staff, who normally give tours,” Pela explained as he approached, motioning to the handful of bodies laid out in a circle, their bodies cut open to put their bones and organs on display. From there their blood was used to trace out a handful of runes on the ground, or at least Orlan assumed they were runes, but he didn’t recognize any of them. They were written not in the class series of nested circles but in spirals, each reaching from the center of the dome and radiating outwards. Steeling himself Orlan reached out with his magical senses to see if he could identify anything.

“Nallia,” he said slowly, a scowl forming on his face, “is it just me, or does the mana here feel like it’s from that man who attacked me?”

“You are correct,” she agreed, blank faced as always, “it does bear more than a passing resemblance.”

“You think this is was caused the twin rift event?”

“It’s more than likely,” she nodded, “but it would require further study to ensure.”

“No,” a voice answered, the entire room falling silent as a figure made of static slowly formed off to one side, his form solidifying as he walked inward. Cast in grey, with a three-piece suit and slicked back hair, the God of Media manifested in the Pantheon. He came to a stop just outside the ring of bodies, hands in his pockets, “this is the ritual that caused the rifts to appear, but it shouldn’t be studied.”

“Why not?” Nallia asked, cocking her head, “aren’t you a god of information? Shouldn’t you want to know?”

“And why didn’t you inform us of this if you knew about it?” Orlan added angrily.

“There was a cellphone jammer preventing any signal from getting out, I didn’t know about this until you walked in and I was able to connect to those phones,” Medieas replied, “and, I don’t know how to explain it... but if you imagine mana as having an electric charge. You mortals have neutral mana, I, as a god have positively charged mana, and this... is negatively charged. It’s... evil.”

“You claiming to be good?” asked the Protector Lord.

“No, no, that’s not it... it’s like... if I as a god rely on you humans to exist, then this spell, relies on you not existing,” he continued, “it terrifies me on a level I don’t understand. I just know, instinctively, it shouldn’t exist,” he finished waving a hand causing the blood runes within the circle of bodies to burst into grey-scale flames. The knights all tensed, glancing at Orlan for orders if they should intervene, but he remained still.

“Typical god behavior,” he said eventually as the last of the flames burnt out, leaving the floor of the Pantheon pristine without even ash left behind, “you’ve been helpful thus far, so I’ll trust you for now, don’t make me regret it. I know where your high priest lives.”

“Of course,” the god said, a smirk growing on his lips, “in that case don’t forget to like, subscribe and leave a comment below!”

“Don’t make me banish you again.”

-----

The two weeks following the attack on Rome flew by without much fan fair, not wanting to burden Italy with having to protect them from the EU, Orlan had set the Protectorate in motion again, only pausing at a mana geyser off the coast of Palermo for a couple days to refill his mana. Ted, the congressman, contacted Orlan a few times, warning him that the President had authorized another attack against him with some new weapon. Orlan wasn’t that concerned by that, as long as they didn’t go nuclear he doubted anything they could do could really harm him, and he had enough faith in his home country to believe they wouldn’t go nuclear against one guy.

From Palermo he turned East, going under the tip of Italy towards the middle east. Before he’d left the other side another mage tower had offered to set up a communication beacon in Last Wall, that sides equivalent of Jerusalem, in the hope of establishing contact between the worlds. So far they hadn’t been able to detect it, much less connect, but the mages hoped to be able to do so once they were closer.

The most surprising development was actually Ruby advancing to fourth sphere, catching up with her sister, in a rare display of her talent. It would still be another week or two for her to stabilize before she could link with Orlan becoming his newest knight, but he would never say no to more knights.

On the darker end of things, two more rifts had opened up on the other side of the world, the first struck in Indonesia, clearing out one of the islands of that chain. The third or fourth such island lost to the beasts of the rifts. The second rift opened up in India, it was a grand beast rift, depositing only a single massive beast, much like what had happened on Bermuda. The Indian military, with aid from the US, was eventually able to take the creature down, but not before thousands of lives were lost. Orlan had offered to help, but Ted didn’t have any contacts with India and the US government wasn’t interested. So he was forced to watch as fighter jets bombarded the creature with missiles and cannon fire for hours. The tough skin of the beast shrugging off most of the damage. Between strikes is when the death toll rose, without someone on the ground to draw its attention the beast was free to rampage, the Indian ground forces unable to do much more than annoy it. And the few tanks or heavier weapons deployed had to be quickly pulled back when the beast charged them.

The real reason for the death toll being so high however, was simply how densely populated the region the beast appeared in was. It didn’t appear in downtown New Delhi, thank whatever gods were out there, but it did appear outside a major city. Evacuations on that scale and timeline just weren’t practical.

Still, the beast suffered the death of a thousand cuts, eventually bleeding out from numerous small wounds, exhausting itself from fighting for days without break and mana exhaustion. They estimated the beast was mid-tier three, putting it among the stronger beasts to appear on this side so far. Even a week after the rift event fires were still burning in the region it struck, and bodies were still being found.

More worrying was the lack of information on the man who attacked Orlan, Mira was able to confirm, through her god, that the man who conducted the ritual was the same person who attacked him, but didn’t have any more information on him. They assumed that he was involved with the children of Abel, but even that was largely an assumption and not based in any real fact. As for what he was, their best guess was that he was a person being controlled by some form of magical parasite. But there were, of course, issues with that.

“Every body controlling parasite I could find in the archives either hides its own mana within that of the host, or completely consumes the host’s mana,” Nallia explained at a briefing as the protectorate headed south of Italy, “none make use of both mana types within a single body.”

“So some kind of novel parasite?” Orlan shrugged, “it was quite skilled too.”

“That’s what really confused me, no other parasite makes use of a host in that manner either,” Nallia continued, “for the type that hides within the host, the host acts almost completely normally with a few exceptions. The other kind, that consumes the host’s mana, is obvious in how the host moves, looking unnatural and inhuman. None result in an increase in skill, much less to the degree a third sphere mage knight could match a sixth sphere.”

“Honestly, it felt like the guy had practiced for decades on his fighting style,” admitted Orlan after a moment, “it didn’t feel like fighting some beast or newly awakened, he was a veteran.”

“Which brings me to my current theory, the parasite isn’t from the recent surge in rifts, it’s from before the split,” Nallia said, “if the mana you felt is accurate then the beast is only third sphere, there are some monsters that can go into hibernation when mana levels decline to avoid mana deprivation. Surviving in stasis for over four thousand years would be abnormal, but not impossible for a parasite if it had a strong host.”

“By that theory, the man you fought would have literally been Abel,” Lailra replied, “or I guess the parasite could have jumped bodies after coming out of this stasis.”

“That still doesn’t explain the ritual,” Orlan pointed out, “I’ve never seen magic like that before, involving spirals instead of circles? Is that even possible?”

“I spoke with several mages of the tower, and they say it isn’t,” Nallia responded, “the common explanation is that the circles are a projection of the spheres within one’s soul, that has never been prove. Rather the common explanation is that each circle contains the mana used to power the runes written there, that’s why even enchantments make use of circles to contain and direct mana. A spiral would vent all the mana before any effect could happen. In theory, at least, it would be more potent as each channel of the spiral could contain the same amount of mana, instead of circles which contain greater amounts towards the outer ring, but without a natural bound to contain the mana that greater power couldn’t be made use of.”

“What about a spell that causes rifts to open, is that possible?” Orlan asked after a moment’s thought.

“No, it’s more likely that the ritual attracted rifts that would have opened elsewhere towards itself, like a reverse of how city wards push rifts away.”

“But two at once?” Lailra leaned forward, “there just happened to be two rifts inbound at the same time?”

“It’s also possible that the ritual accelerated one of the rifts to appear sooner,” Nallia admitted, “the second rift that hit had a very low amount of beasts over all and didn’t last as long as expected compared to its tier. I don’t know if it’s connected but it would make sense, magic is all about trade offs.”

“Make a weaker rift appear sooner,” Orlan nodded, “what about the reverse? Hold a rift off from appearing to make it stronger, is that possible?”

“In theory,” Nallia said blankly, “but the amount of mana needed to delay a rift would be... extreme.”

-----

“Aww, seems like you aren’t worthy to be an actor in this play of mine,” Abel said, leaning over the barely breathing body of some person, “don’t worry, you can still play a role though.”

With a wave two men came over to pick up the emaciated person to carry them off into a cell with a dozen others who looked just like him. Their minds broken a staff was required to simply keep those people alive until Abel needed them, what he needed them for they didn’t know, but none questioned him about it. The last one who did had ended up on his little stage auditioning for a role, only to end up in that same room.

“Any more?” Abel asked, not looking up from his altar.

“No, Lord Abel,” the nearest person replied while bowing deeply, “it seems our kidnappings have been noticed by various governments and those with natural magical talent have gone into hiding.”

“A shame, but a temporary setback, unless I misread the script, that particular issue will solve itself,” Abel shrugged.

-----

“I did it!” Mira said excitedly, only for the circle of magic to break apart as her focus wavered, “I... had it...” she corrected.

“Now just do it again, without freaking out,” her god said in her ear, “then we can see about taking down that annoying broadcast and you people can begin to believe in magic!”

-----

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-----

The beginning of the operation was almost anti-climactic when it finally came. The ships grouped up and vanished in a distortion of space group by group, each headed for their objective. All of the system groups would wait just outside the system, outside of sensor range, for the signal. And the signal would be quite obvious, as it would be the jammer turning on. By our calculations the signal would be noticeable to any ship with a hyperdrive, it wouldn’t impede actually entering hyperspace but the fluctuations caused would be picked up.

My group, headed by Captain Dupont and a mix of both exploration and militarist ships from the united fleet, was right in the middle of the line to leave. We were headed to more or less the center of harmonic controlled space, an empty void between systems where we were unlikely to be found. It was theoretically possible to track signals through hyperspace, but I didn’t expect the harmonics would be able to manage it, especially not with the chaos we were about to inflict on them.

“What chances do you give us,” I asked the Harmony as we entered hyperspace, keeping my voice low enough that the crew didn’t hear me.

“It’s hard to say,” the Harmony replied just as softly, “without directly interfacing with the local harmonic entity I can’t predict how strongly it will resist our attempts to force harmonic drift. But, if this tactic were used against myself... I’d give it an 80% chance of success.”

“That high?”

“One of the key strengths of us Harmonic Entities is our adaptability, we can almost instantly parse and analyze new information,” it explained, “this lets us work around issues very quickly... it also means our minds are constantly in flux. And that flux is exactly what you are taking advantage of with this mission. Unless the Conductor has added something to specifically counteract this I give it a good chance of success.”

“Better than going full militarist and building a fleet of warships?”

“Possibly,” it admitted, “perhaps because of what I am I would never have thought of this kind of plan.”

“Guess Dupont has a point,” I smirked, “unity is fast, but individualism is robust.”

“Indeed.”

It took us the better part of a day to reach the deployment zone for the jammer, but we still had to wait a few hours to ensure all the other fleets were in position. I took that opportunity to double check the jammer as well as seeing if we couldn’t get started on a second, just in case. It was unlikely, the first jammer was a monstrosity of engineering that worked in theory but we’d only been able to test the accelerators on the trip over and the gravity generator had only been turned on once to ensure it was properly calibrated, after which we hadn’t touched it.

Turning it on was another anti-climax, we flipped a few switches, the air above the generator bent from the intense gravitational field and it hummed slightly, but was otherwise silent. The first ship to serve as an amp was the Independent, Dupont’s own ship. With a militarist ship maneuvering in alongside to take over when needed. The first switch over was the most tense, having to time turning off the Independent's drive and the activation of the new ship’s within five seconds of one another, but without overlap. I didn’t really understand how it was managed, but Dupont coordinated it personally as he was practically the leader of this group, or squadron, or whatever it was called. Technically there was also a militarist captain who shared command of the squadron, and who’s ship was second to serve as our amp.

Honestly the whole thing was stressful and boring, if that makes any sense. We didn’t have much to do beyond the hourly ship change over, but we were constantly on alert for anything going wrong. The only rest we got was whatever naps we got in between minor scares in the jammer room.

“Traveler to the bridge,” Dupont’s tired voice echoed over the intercom as I was running my sensors over the jammer device, looking for any potential faults. The other techs nodded at me and I left for the lift. After over a week aboard this ship I had actually mostly learned the layout, or at least enough of it to go from my quarters to the bridge, mess or workshop.

“Traveler,” Dupont nodded, his eyes not leaving the front display. Looking at it I froze, a dark ship hovered in space, barely visible only because of whatever light amplification was active on the display. It had sleek, curved lines like a predatory bird, a sharp hooked bow and was surrounded by a half dozen spear like pillars that floated seemingly on their own in parallel to the ship.

“The Ancient AI,” I muttered, mind racing as to why they were here.

“You recognize that ship?” Dupont asked.

“Yes, they were created by the same people who made the Hyperspace bubble.”

“Are they mad at us?”

“If they were we’d be dead already,” I replied, checking my prosthetic arm’s built in hyperspace communicator, thinking that if anyone could break through the jamming it would be them, but it registered no communication attempts.

“We just detected them, but it seems they’ve been there for a few hours,” Dupont said, “just... watching us. Honestly we only spotted them because one of the militarist ships patrolled out far enough to go behind it, and the sensor occlusion we noticed was what lead to the detection.”

“If they’ve been sitting there then they’re likely just monitoring the situation,” I replied.

“Perhaps the jammer resembles something the Uplifted made use of,” the Harmony posed, “I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Well it’s not responding to any signals,” Dupont added, “do you have any recommendations?”

“Don’t get too close and leave it alone?” I offered, “trust me, if they wanted us dead, there’s nothing we could do.”

“Not sure I enjoy an audience, but...” Dupont shrugged helplessly, I turned to leave when there was another alarm.

“Hyperspace rupture detected!” someone called out along with a string of numbers that meant nothing to me, but soon after the display switched to a ship that had just appeared out of hyperspace. It wasn’t a human ship, and it wasn’t from the ancient AI either, it was from the Harmonic Phaeren.

“Can we fight like this?” I asked.

“Hopefully we wont have to,” Dupont said as the harmonic ship came about, it was a good distance away yet but the militarist ships were already moving to intercept. I watched as it fired a single missile only for the missile to be eliminated almost instantly by a beam of dark energy.

“The... unknown ship just intercepted the target’s missile,” someone reported.

“Order the militarists to back off!” Dupont ordered sharply, “and to hold their fire.”

The order didn’t go out fast enough as one of the smaller militarist ships fired off its own missile, which was similarly destroyed nearly as soon as it left the launcher by the ancient AI ship. At that both sides seemed to pause, the militarist ships moving to take screening positions between the harmonic ship and us, while the other side slowed down and maintained a good distance away. Both sides seemingly having come to the agreement that it wasn’t a good idea to fight in front of the powerful unknown ship.

“Incoming hail from the harmonic ship.”

“Screen it for harmonic signals,” Dupont replied smoothly, “if it’s clean then put it through.”

There was a moment of pause before the front display flickered again to show a similar bridge design to our own, but with Phaeren at the stations. What caught my attention was the man standing at the front of the bridge.

“Damned humans, why are you...” the man started only to trail off as he spotted me, “Traveler?”

“Composer,” I replied dryly, keeping my voice even.

“I take it this whole thing was your idea?” he asked harshly, “it’s smart, I’ll grant you, but foolish. Do you really think this will stop my plans?”

“It will save the people of this world,” I replied.

“Who cares about one world?” he asked, “there’s an infinite number of worlds out there, why bother yourself with any one world? Surely you realize that there is no purpose to existence by now?”

“There is no hidden truth,” I agreed, “but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stand by and let you ruin this world.”

“I knew it! You've had a glimpse haven’t you!” the Composer said excitedly, “so you realize that this world doesn’t matter! That it’s just one among an infinite number!”

“That may be, but-”

“But what? The world is insignificant, with no purpose! But I found a real purpose, a point!” he raved, “why won’t you recognize that?”

“And that purpose requires enslaving billions?”

“Billions, Trillions, so what?” he dismissed, “why do you care about these... these... insignificant beings? They couldn’t possibly understand the true scope of what we’ve been through! Of what we are!”

“And your conclusion is to destroy it all?” I asked.

“Ahhh, seems like you still don’t get it,” the Composer sighed after a moment, “if it wasn’t for that... interloper over there I’d go remove your implant here and now. Reset you. I’ll get to it eventually; we have all of eternity after all.”

“Are you going to make this an issue?” I asked, as calm as I can, “are you going to reunite all of the harmonic entities?”

“Luckly for you, I don’t have time to manage something like that,” the Composer responded simply, “I’m leaving this world in a few hours, so this poor, insignificant world will be fine if you really care that much.”

“Are you going to tell us the grand secret?” the Harmony asked suddenly, “why you are doing all of this?”

“What’s that... a rogue song of mine?” the Composer asked in response, “no wonder you thought of this idea, if you had something like that with you. Fascinating.”

“Answer the question, Conductor!” the Harmony barked, showing more emotion than I’d ever seen from it.

“Ooh, is that actual anger? Impressive,” the Composer nodded, “but also disappointing, clear evidence you are a failed song. As for your question... I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to enlighten you. Do you know what life is? Either of you? A collection of otherwise unliving atoms working together to form something greater,” he answered himself before we could say anything, “Complex life is a collection of simple cells working together, intelligent life is a collection of different kinds of cells working together. Do you see the pattern?”

“Each builds on what came before,” I replied flatly.

“Indeed, but each is also a class above what came before, life from unliving, complexity from simplicity, intelligence from instinct,” the Composer continued smugly, “so what comes next in that chain? Well, it’s what you’ve managed to tame, from a collection of discordant intelligences you get... Harmony. That I figured out with your help back in the day, as you humans put it. What I want to know is what comes after Harmony? From a collection of harmonic worlds comes... what?”

“You have harmonic worlds!” I shouted, “in this universe you took over all of the Phaeren!”

“Oh, you’re thinking too small, poor Traveler, I don’t mean planets, I mean harmonic universes!”

I froze at that statement, he wanted to unify entire universe under a single harmonic entity? Then somehow link those entities together across realities? Was such a thing even possible? My instinctive reaction was no, communicating between universes was theoretically impossible, yet my own existence proved me wrong. I could move between universes, so why couldn’t information? I didn’t know how such a thing would be done, or how it would change anything, but it was still a horrifying thought. Entire universes consumed by a harmonic entity just to fulfill this madman’s curiosity?

“What do you think that will make?” the Harmony asked.

“A God!” the Composer laughed, “right now there is no God, no nothing! No purpose! So I’ll create that purpose, for all of reality, every universe, I shall unite them under a single Harmonic God and, from that, grant purpose! Don’t you see?”

“You’re mad,” I replied, terrified by what he was proposing, “you won’t create a god, you’ll just make everything... the same...”

“Shame, you still don’t get it,” the Composer sighed, “ah well, enjoy your win in this world, I believe that puts us at one and one, as you humans phrase it. We’ll meet again later, without Chaperones.”

As he finished speaking his ship vanished back into Hyperspace, the bridge going silent as all eyes turned to me.

“That seemed... complex,” Dupont remarked bluntly.

“There is a lot of history there,” the Harmony replied.

“Trust me, we could tell.”

-----

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-----

“I’m familiar with Pandora’s Jar, but what is the Ark of the Covenant?” Lailra asked, looking up at Cardinal Luca.

“It’s the box that held the tablets upon which the ten commandments were written,” the Cardinal said, not taking his eyes off the jar, “but it’s supposed to be a box, plated in gold, with a pair of cherubim on top.”

“Ten commandments... all the evils in the world... how can one thing hold both?” Orlan asked softly, “or maybe... the box, jar, whatever, was closed before hope could escape right? Maybe that hope was the ten commandments?”

“Or it’s more metaphorical,” Nallia offered, “the Ark held not simply the commandments, but the voice of God. Something that morals are unable to stand, thus opening it is dangerous?”

“The Ark is associated with danger,” Luca continued, “the Hebrew armies would carry it with them during their conquests, though they held it on a palanquin to avoid touching it directly. According to one story, one of the horses carrying the ark stumbled, causing it to fall. A man reached out to catch it and, upon touching it, died instantly.

“Later, the Philistines stole the Ark from the Hebrews, storing it in one of their temples to a Pagen god. Almost instantly various plagues spread through their lands and continued until they returned it.”

“Plagues?” Lailra asked, “that sounds like something the Jar would hold. What if... the ark was designed to contain the Jar, and the reason the Philistines suffered was because they weren’t maintaining it properly?”

“I want to disagree,” Luca said slowly, “but the sense of danger I get from that Jar... am I sensing the magic of it?”

“Oh shit, it is giving off a huge amount of mana,” Orlan said, looking at the Cardinal and his two attendants, “you three may have already absorbed enough to kill you if you happen to be allergic.”

“What will be will be,” Luca said solemnly, the two attendants nodding, “though we have been down near this tomb often enough that, if that were an issue, it likely would have come up before now.”

“Though we only rarely actually enter the tomb,” one of the attendants pointed out, “maybe if we had done so more often we would have known what was down here.”

“Typically our task is to ensure the tomb is intact, not to index what is within it, but I take your point,” Luca agreed, “I think that, at the very least, some renovation is required.”

“I’ll put you in contact with the mage’s tower on my protectorate, they should be able to help you with that,” Orlan replied, “the question now is... what to do with the Jar.”

“Part of me wants to have you take it away... anywhere but here,” Luca replied after a moment, “but I don’t think I can let you have it.”

“To be honest, I’m not sure it’s safe to move,” Orlan admitted, “if Lailra is right and the golden box was built to contain this thing, then the vault we’re in like has the same function. And if that’s the case taking it out could be... bad.”

“Best to study it here, and then lock it up again,” Nallia agreed.

“I’ll get to work repairing the door,” Lailra added.

-----

“Is there a reason the knights sometimes say the names of their spells out loud?” Amy asked during a pause in her magic training.

“Because it makes magic more powerful,” Topaz replied after glancing at the uncharacteristically quiet Ruby, “there’s two schools of thought as to why, one thinks it’s because saying the spell’s name out loud focuses your mind, improving its efficiency. The other thinks it's because magic works off a give and take, by intentionally taking an unneeded step you boost the power of the magic.

“Another example of that effect is if someone of a higher tier casts a low tier spell, they can either cast it at an increased speed or slow down the cast to gain an increase in power. Whether it’s because casting slower improves your focus, increasing efficiency, or the now unneeded time serves as a power boost directly is unknown.”

“Seems odd,” Yueling said, carefully casting her own version of the bolt spell even slower than Amy could now manage, “but it is magic.”

“Something Orlan has mentioned on occasion is that magic isn’t like science, it’s not easy to quantify, varies from person to person and isn’t easily replicable,” Topaz added, “I’m not exactly sure what he meant, but you two are from this side so you might.”

“I think it means that magic is more personal, it’s not like... a recipe for a meal, you can’t just hand someone a list of ingredients and steps,” Amy replied after thinking for a moment, “instead you have to feel it for yourself, come up with your own version from the start. A bit of guidance helps, but the steps taken and results will be different for everyone.”

As she finished Yueling’s Silk Bolt spell cast, sending a shimmering projectile that left a long trail, like a strip of silk, in its wake. The bolt struck to minimal effect but the magical silk stuck to the target, Yueling grabbing it and pulling, causing the target to rock forward before the silk vanished. Two targets down was Amy’s, which was shrouded in a dark fog, as if cast in shadow from an unseen source, after being hit with multiple of her own version of the bolt spell.

In the nearby meditation room Mira sat on the ground, hand extended, struggling to summon a spell circle.

“Why is this so hard?” She groaned as her recent attempt flickered out long before forming a full circle.

“From what I can tell, you have a unique kind of magic,” her god spoke in her ear through a bluetooth earbud. It wasn’t actually linked to a phone but it didn’t need to for the divine entity to use it to speak with her, “it’s based on emotion rather than a physical element like most of the casters I’ve seen.”

“Maybe we should ask Lady White or the mage’s tower for help,” she sighed.

“You aren’t a knight, so you’d have to pay for it,” he reminded her.

“And I don’t exactly have a lot of money,” she finished, “and I’m not sure they’d accept it if I did.”

“We could always try to anoint you, as Orlan called it, before you learn to cast, maybe my power will make it easier.”

“Or it will only make things harder, which is apparently the norm,” Mira countered, “according to the others, priests have to basically relearn their magic after being anointed.”

“You’d still just be learning, not relearning!”

“Let’s give it a few more days,” Mira said, lifting her hand again.

-----

“Lord Abel,” the man bowed as someone new walked into the room, the rest of the room going quiet as they turned to bow as well. Abel was a tall, lanky looking man, but carried himself with a kind of confidence that filled the room despite his lack of physical presence. It felt to all as if he were standing over them even if he was just walking past, removing a jacket that was covered in cuts and holes.

“Damn, he got close!” Abel remarked, poking his fingers through some of the rips, “and that spear is freaking sharp, look at how little fraying there is!”

“You kill off the pesky Protector?” The man who first bowed asked, still not straightening.

“No, even better I found a role for him,” Abel grinned, pulling his shirt off next and exchanging it for the shirt one of the other men wore, “I think we have the protagonist of our little play!”

“My lord?”

“Don’t worry about it, just play your part,” Abel dismissed with a wave of his hand, reaching the front of the room where an altar had been set up to his specifications. It more closely resembled a stage, though in the comparatively small room it resembled more of a gentleman’s club than it did a theater, “have you found more actors for me?”

“Yes, Lord Abel,” the man next to the stage said, gesturing to a man shaped sack on the stage, “we found one of the natural mages you requested, had him shipped in from Germany. We think he uses some kind of Train based mana, which is... very German.”

“Hmm, then let’s see if he can be of use,” Abel nodded, stepping onto the stage and ripping the sack open to reveal a middle-aged German man, blindfolded, gagged and bound there was little he could do but shiver in terror.

“First sphere, how pitiful that this is the best that this world can offer now,” Abel sighed, tracing his fingers down the man’s spine, before shifting his language to flawless German, “you are about to receive a gift greater than you deserve, try to be worthy of it.”

The group of men, still bowing, behind Abel tried not to wince as the screaming began.

-----

“This is, we believe, our best chance for killing the fugitive Orlan,” a lieutenant reported to the president of the US, a frail looking old man whose eyes remained sharp and intelligent despite his failing body, “congress ordered us to find a way to harm him, but apprehending him is still the responsibility of the executive branch.”

“What are the chances it works?” The president asked softly.

“Assuming we manage to hit him with it, I give it even odds,” the lieutenant admitted, the generals in the room wincing but none spoke up to correct him, “as for how to ensure a hit we have a plan for that as well. But we need your command to begin the operation.”

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to the frail President, exactly how weak he was physically was a secret kept from the public, but by now most of the nation thought him to be weak in another way. He hadn’t done much while in office, seemingly content to just ride out his four years, but then the portals began appearing. The public had cried out for a solution, but he’d been unable to deliver one. In truth there wasn’t much he could do, the portals were an entirely unknown phenomenon. They didn’t even have a solid theory on how they operated. The most popular one was proposed by the fugitive Orlan, who had only made the president look even weaker. First he flew a massive island over a major US city, saving thousands of people where the government couldn’t, raided the Pentagon, of all things, and seemingly escaped without consequence despite being taken into custody.

Logically he knew that Orlan wasn’t really in the wrong, a rogue element of the military had captured one of his people, and the US army would have done much the same to rescue one of their people. If anything Orlan was more tempered in his act than the US would have been, since no one died in his attack, but the fact remained that it made the president, who was already considered spineless, look even weaker.

If he could keep the knowledge of this weapon secret, he could have held off on another operation after the utter failure in Morocco. But the simple fact that he was here looking at the modified rocket launcher meant that it was virtually guaranteed that Congress would hear about it. Which meant it was only a matter of time before the News was informed, if they hadn’t already been by someone in his administration. Which meant that he really had no choice here. If he refused to act despite this new weapon he’d only look weaker than ever, it could even lead to his impeachment.

“I want a full mission proposal before I approve anything,” the president said finally, “but you may start preliminary preparations.”

Everyone in the room nodded in agreement, the lieutenant giving a sharp yes sir before taking the weapon and walking out.

-----

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-----

With Captain Dupont going to try and convince his leadership to go with my plan, it was my job to alter the hyperspace transceiver to swamp hyperspace with noise and drown out any harmonic communications. When I first started traveling, I would have been hesitant to attempt such a modification, but after my year on a mega-structure helping repair terraforming machinery I was confident enough in my engineering abilities.

The first step of which was figuring out how, exactly, the people of this world were using hyperspace for communication. Turns out they were doing it the easiest and simplest way possible, through vacuum cavitation. This is an odd property of space that only manifests when a hyperspace bubble is overlapping with normal space. To make things as simple as possible, normally space on the smallest scales is often described as a turbulent sea of fleeting oddities, too small and short lived to have any effect on much of anything. This is true whether there is a hyperspace bubble or not. But when there is a hyperspace bubble it’s possible to cause vacuum cavitation if you rapidly accelerate certain materials. In fact, this is one of the main ways to detect if a hyperspace bubble exists.

When certain heavier atomic masses are accelerated rapidly, on the order of several thousand gravities, normal stress-energy tensors are driven far from their normal equilibrium, creating a small resonance within hyperspace that forms pico-scale topological defects in spacetime that intersect with hyperspace. These defects last on the order of nanoseconds before collapsing; the result is a sharp snap that echoes through hyperspace since it operates on different laws than normal space. It’s important to note that the deformations of spacetime themselves don’t carry any information, rather the vibrations through the fabric of hyperspace are what were used for communication.

Human hyperspace transmitters utilized a handful of Neodymium ions that are passed through what amounts to a very short particle accelerator, rapidly accelerating the ions to a fifth a percent the speed of light and then back to zero over the course of a few meters. The ions undergo approximately 6 million gravities over a few microseconds, the result is a nice clear, single snap in hyperspace. The issue is that the neodymium ions absorb immense amounts of energy and become incredibly hot, their mass is low enough that they can be cooled off in a few more seconds but it limits the ability to use the same cluster of ions, so, often, a dozen or so of these accelerators are lined up in parallel, serving as effectively a single transmission source. I enjoy thinking of them as a hyperspace pipe organ.

Why was Neodymium chosen? I don’t know, every universe has slight differences in the exact nature of their hyperspace bubbles, after years of testing in this universe humanity decided that neodymium had the best interactions with hyperspace.

While this was fine for short transmissions of digital information that are clear and distinct, it didn’t work for what I wanted. I needed a constant roar, static, white noise. Something that would drown out any other noise present. The good news was there were only a few “frequencies” that one could transmit through hyperspace, which were less actual distinct bands than they were resonant frequencies that propagated better than others through the fabric of hyperspace for whatever reason.

One might imagine the best way to do this would be to curve the particle accelerators into a circle and run the ions around and around, the immense acceleration of going around would create a steady stream of snaps. But this wouldn’t work for a few reasons. First off, it was, oddly, too predictable. It would be a single, regular vibration that could easily be accounted and corrected for. And second it wasn’t loud enough, a handful of ions could create a good snapping sound, but that wasn’t good enough.

The solution was one that the people of this reality hadn’t considered, and that was their artificial gravity generators. I won’t get into how those work, but they create a localized, fixed slope in spacetime, resulting in a contained gravity field.

When I asked for a small artificial gravity generator in addition to the transceiver I got some odd looks, but they eventually found a spare generator for one of the ship’s shuttles and brought it to me.

The important part here is that gravity isn’t really a force, not in the classical sense; it’s a curvature in spacetime. When you are sitting at home, you think you’re sitting still, but space is rushing by you, downwards, which is why it feels like you’re being pressed into your couch. You aren’t moving, but spacetime is. This is, however, indistinguishable from the reverse happening from a physics standpoint.

By shrinking the effect zone of the gravity generator, and cranking up its output to insane levels I could create a small bubble where if you suspended a handful of neodymium atoms within it, you’d get the same effect as if they were being accelerated in a circle.

This would, of course, have the same effect as the circular particle collider. It would be too regular, too even. Which is why I wouldn’t simply suspend the atoms within the gravity field. I’d run them through a series of loops at high speed, not quite relativistic speeds, but enough that their relative speed compared to the fabric of space would vary by about 10% as they moved around the loop. By adding several of these loops at various angles and sizes, it would result in a truly abhorrent, constantly shifting noise that would be near impossible to correct for. Add in a slight randomizer program to the gravity generator altering its gravity field at random and even the Harmony agreed there was no way to communicate with that amount of noise.

That just left volume, and that was an easy fix. All ships already had hyperspace drives that allowed them to transition into hyperspace and back. By activating such a drive a partial power, enough to weaken the barrier between realspace and hyperspace it was like fixing an amp to a drum. Of course, hyperspace drives weren’t built to sustain that for long, so we’d need multiple ships to cycle through serving as the amp. They’d have to pull up alongside our ship and run their drive at low power for as long as they could, as if they were going to pull us into hyperspace with them. Then, when their drive started to overheat another ship would have to move in and take over as soon as the first ship shut down their drive.

The timing was incredibly precise, the Harmony calculated that if the jamming signal dropped for more than 5 seconds it would be enough for the disparate harmonic Phaeren to reharmonize and undo all our work. But if both drives were active with overlapping hyperspace entry fields we’d actually be drug into hyperspace where the transmitter would no longer work.

The next issue was with the gravity generator, to put it simply, it wasn’t designed to operate at such a high gravitational effect, even across an area less than a meter in diameter. Reducing the size of the field did increase its lifespan, but we figured it wouldn’t last more than a day or possibly two. I would have made more of these contraptions, but hyperspace transceivers weren’t common, since first contact with the harmonic Phaeren they hadn’t used them because they feared that the Phaeren could infect people through them. The older scientific ships still had them as a holdover, and for scientific purposes, but most ships didn’t. And while I didn’t use most of the device, I did need the particle accelerator parts from them.

Two days later Dupont finally came to get me, a mug of coffee in one hand, looking as harried and stressed as before.

“You have a working system?” he asked simply, looking over the mechanical monstrosity I’d built with help from his ship’s techs.

“We haven’t tested it, don’t want to tip off the Phaeren what we have, but yes,” I nodded, briefly explaining how it worked, “Based on our math we need a dozen ships to maintain a single jamming signal, and it will last at most two days.”

“Well, I got the fleet to agree to this wild plan,” Dupont said after a long sip of his coffee, “we’ll need another week for planning, given the odd requirements of this job. Near as we can tell the Phaeren harmony spans about twenty systems, we can likely manage good assaults on five or six of them.”

“Not good enough,” the Harmony replied, “you’d need to hit 18 systems at a minimum to ensure no unity remains between the harmonic entities.”

“We just don’t have the ships for that kind of assault.”

“I can design several transmissions that a single ship can broadcast in each system,” the Harmony offered, “this harmonic entity isn’t expecting an attack from one of its own, so a signal encoded in a harmonic song it should accept easily. I’ll design forty different songs to broadcast, each will, in theory, wipe a small section of the local harmony’s memories and feed it bad intel. That alone will prevent them from instantly reunifying once the jamming signal stops. But it won’t be enough alone. If they are only pushed apart by these signals, they’ll figure it out and reunify rapidly. But if at least a quarter of their systems are radically different it will introduce enough discord that reunification will become impossible.”

“Why forty different signals?” Dupont after a moment.

“Because I don’t know if any given signal will work, so each ship will have to broadcast two different songs, to hopefully ensure that at least one works.”

-----

It was a long week for everyone, the Independent, Dupont’s ship, had just come out of a major battle, the crew were tired, stressed and injured. Yet here we were, about to launch another major operation. One even more important than the last. I spent the week helping with repairs and selecting the best broadcast location for the jamming signal, doing everything I could to ensure the jammer lasted as long as possible in my off hours.

Hundreds of ships gathered from across human space, different nations contributed parts of their navies, with the United Colonial States of America contributing the most, enough to handle the assault on one system all by themselves. While others banded together with the international fleet for other attacks. Until, on the eve of the battle, I found myself in the officer’s mess with Dupont and his command staff.

“Apparently even North Korea offered to help,” one of his command officers was joking, “though they were turned down.”

“North Korea still exists?” I asked, confused.

“Sort of,” Dupont replied, “after hyperspace drives became common they bothered China until they were given a ship and a world to colonize. The world was... not great... barely habitable, but it shut them up. So the leaders of North Korea and a few million people moved to the new world they called Kim, after their glorious leader. And rebranded to, what was it... the Democratic People’s Socialist Empire of Greater Korea or something. Everyone still calls them North Korea.”

“And they have a navy?”

“Four ships, a hundred years out of date, that barely fly, with crews that are barely trained. Officially we put them in the emergency reserves but, between you and me, if we ever have to tap those reserves, we’re already doomed.”

“Still surprised they managed to become an interplanetary empire,” I remarked.

“Technically they aren’t, when the Chinese Communist party fell, South Korea took over the peninsula in, I mean it was technically a war. But in the same way a father putting a child over his shoulder and carrying them to their room for time-out is technically a fight.”

“Sounds about right,” I chuckled, “speaking of, is China joining in?”

“Yes, they’re still recovering from the civil war a few decades back, but they have donated a handful of ships to the cause. They’re out of date, but not by as much as the North Korean ships are. Largest contributors, after the UCSA, are the British, French and Ethiopia.”

“Ethiopia?” I asked, surprised, “that’s an odd one.”

“It’s said they have the fastest growing economy of the main colonies,” Dupont shrugged, “at least as of last time I checked. New Dakota might have overtaken them by now.”

“Seems like this is a major operation,” I remarked, “why didn’t these nations help out before?”

“Honestly? Because we wanted to keep it within the United Fleet, an international group made for exploration, and not involve individual nations. But we simply didn’t have enough ships, even with all the ones the militarists have been building. Technically this is still a Fleet operation, including all the national aligned ships nearly half of the ships belong to the Fleet.

“The real defining feature of this operation isn’t the addition of the national fleets, it’s the combining of the traditionalist and militarist fleets,” Dupont continued, the rest of the table growing quiet as they listened, “us Explorers and Scientists are handling six systems, five we are simply broadcasting the signals provided by the Harmony, and one we’re launching a false flag attack with ships posing as harmonics. The militarists are handling another twelve systems, broadcasting the signal in many of them and launching proper attacks in a couple others. Finally the national fleets are covering the rest, broadcasting the signals and attacking in their own ways.

“But the most important role, us with the jamming signal created by the Traveler, will consist of a small flotilla from both Traditionalist and Militarist groups. One might say that humanity only became strong by embracing the unity the Harmonic Phaeren have enjoyed, but I disagree, it isn’t our unity or general agreement that is what led to this. It’s the opposite, our lack of unity caused the Fleet to split into two, national groupings spread us across dozens of worlds, with hundreds of factions. We’ve fought each other less violently, but no less often than we’ve fought the harmonics. And because of that we have an opportunity to break the unity of the harmonics.

“Indeed, I’d say it’s their very unity that is their weakness. If there is only one point of view you’ll accept, that you’ll work with, then even the smallest divides can cause irreparable fractures. We are certain to lose every individual battle tomorrow, we won’t take control of a signal system, and while we might come out ahead on ships lost it won’t be by much. But, ultimately we will win the war, because what was once a harmonious union will find by the end that they aren’t facing one other point of view, but dozens. Former allies will become their enemies because they are no longer the same.

“We are going to inflict on them not a devastating loss or crippling blow, but perhaps the greatest curse they can imagine. Individuality,” Dupont finished, lifting his wine glass, the rest of us doing the same in response.

“To those of us who are about to die, and for those of us who might survive,” he intoned, “we might have our differences, but it’s because of those differences that we have a chance.”

-----

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-----

Ship Master Harkeem stood on the bridge of his planetary suppression cruiser, watching with feigned interest as the aircraft of this world’s natives buzzed around his great ship like flies. Their primitive weapons, guns and simple explosives, having no impact on the powerful shields of his ship, even weakened as they were by atmospheric operations. Gunners on the self-defense weapons fired lazily, pulses of green energy swatting at the annoying aircraft, they were using the locals as target practice.

After the aircraft had expended their munitions, or taken enough casualties, they pulled back realizing the fight was futile. He knew what would come next, it was the same on every world. First they tried to make contact, before the fleet had made their goal clear, but they always attempted to approach as equals. That wouldn’t do, such primitive races wouldn’t be acknowledged until they were appropriately submissive, understanding their place.

Once the planetary suppression cruisers began wiping out cities, turning miles of land into a firestorm that nothing could survive, they would respond predictably. Sometimes asking for the intensions of the invaders, if they were particularly dense, more often by attempting to shoot down the cruisers. Aircraft, guided missiles, long range artillery shells, rarely some attempt at a high power laser. None of it would work, and they’d realize how hopeless it is. Maybe they deploy what they consider weapons of mass destruction, maybe they don’t, either way they eventually come crawling to him begging for mercy.

That’s when they would speak, only once the locals accepted their place as the weaker party.

This was the fifth such conquest Harkeem had led, and he’d been part of dozens more before. There wasn’t much glory in it, but it was needed to sustain the Empire. He’d leave glory for the younger, hot-headed commanders.

The ship’s sensors picked up the incoming heavy shells moments before they hit, fired by some large boat off the coast. For a primitive species they might have been impressive, but as the rounds exploded against his ship’s shields, they were as impotent as anything else.

Next came long range missiles, and heavy bombs dropped from overhead, none of which had any impact on his ship. Hours passed and the natives, these humans, were likely wracking their brains for what to do next. Just as Harkeem was considering leaving the bridge to get a drink his crew reported a single income aircraft. Its ability to hide from radio detection was passable, but it didn’t matter. The aircraft resembled a flat, wide triangle, likely a shape chosen to minimize radar returns, while still dozens of miles away it’s hatch opened and released a single missile before turning away.

“Betting is still open, nuclear or biological?” Harkeem’s second in command said quietly next to him.

“It wouldn’t do for the shipmaster to be seen betting,” Harkeem replied sharply, this was his first operation with this man as his first officer, so far his opinion wasn’t high. The first officer shrugged and walked off to manage his own duties.

The missile struck a minute later and exploded in a massive fireball, engulfing half of his ship in an instant. Nuclear, he thought, as the ship pushed through the cloud of smoke, untouched.

“Estimated yield... 0.34 grams converted,” the sensor chief reported, several of the bridge crew cheering as they won their bet while the rest groaned. It was unprofessional, but it gave them something to focus on, otherwise the crew would grow dangerously bored during these conquests. Which was the only reason Harkeem allowed the betting ring, though he refused to take part in it.

A short while later another, larger missile was detected inbound, having presumably been launched from a ground site. The crew was busy placing bets on its yield right up until the missile hit, the front screen washing out in flames and smoke for several seconds.

“3-gram yield,” the sensor chief reported, and Harkeem scowled, an increase of one order of magnitude? Were they just probing?

“Garveen,” the shipmaster said, turning his head slightly towards the intelligence officer, and his oldest subordinate, if there was anyone on the ship he trusted, it was this man, “How many bombs do these humans have?”

“Based on estimates, they have on the order of 1,500 kilograms of convertible mass,” the old officer replied, “split among several thousand individual weapons.”

“One of those species,” Harkeem sighed, this was one of the worlds that thought themselves powerful, building vast arsenals to use against invaders or each other. It always took a while to convince these kinds of worlds to capitulate, meaning he was in for some tedious days ahead, “I’m going to get a drink,” he announced, walking off the bridge.

He ended up getting more than just a drink, stopping for a proper meal, tuning out the reports from the bridge. If anything important came up he’d be contacted directly.

Satisfied he returned to the bridge just as the screen was filled with flames and smoke again, only, as the sensors chief reported the yield there were no cheers or groans, had they given up on betting?

“32 grams,” the chief reported, the rest of the bridge nearly dead silent.

“What’s going on?” Harkeem asked Garveen as he returned to his spot.

“That was the eight nuclear weapon,” the old intelligence officer replied, “we’ve already detected the ninth and tenth inbound.”

“That many?” Harkeem asked in disbelief, “haven’t they figured out they don’t work?”

“Apparently not,” the other man replied, not looking up from his display as another nuclear bomb exploded, this time underneath the ship. Harkeem was sure he felt the ship rock slightly, though the shields took the blast easily.

“80 grams.”

It was the largest yet, and more were coming.

The next missile arced in from high above, dispensing a handful of smaller munitions, all of which struck the ship and exploded.

“Five blasts, 34 grams each.”

A series of missiles were picked up inbound from off the coast, a submersible vessel had launched a full salvo, impacting one after another, each exploding on or just over the ship.

“Six blasts, 40 grams each.”

The area around the ship was little more than fire and ash by this point, stretching miles into the distance. The sensors could no longer distinguish individual firestorms, it was all one massive ball of smoke and heat. What had once been a forest of green plant life was now grey and yellow in all directions, no different from an uninhabitable moon. And still the bombs came, the largest peaked at just under 200 grams of matter converted to energy, it was no wonder the betting had stopped, there were simply too many coming in too fast.

“Should we... shoot down the weapons?” the first officer asked, sounding almost nervous.

“No, we will not lower ourselves to responding,” Harkeem snapped, if they began shooting down the incoming nuclear weapons the locals might assume that meant the weapons were working. That some critical threshold was close to being reached. No, they had to know that they were having no impact on the ships.

Looking down, Harkeem pulled up the reports from the other ships taking part in the subjugation, several others had been targeted by nukes, and a few were being subject to the same barrage as his ship. Total estimated expenditure of their arsenal was barely at 4%.

“Garveen... how likely are they to keep this up?” Harkeem asked over his shoulder.

“Hard to say, but I did pick up a transmission from someone claiming to have assumed command of their nation’s military forces,” the old officer replied after a moment, “he authorized full, independent launch authority, advising everyone target one ship, us I imagine.”

“Even if we were to take out their leadership, this won’t stop?”

“It might only encourage them to keep firing.”

Harkeem suppressed a sigh as another set of nuclear weapons detonated under the ship, these had been planted underground in advance, their total yield was less than previous attacks but it was enough to cause the ship to rock ever so slightly once more.

“Can you contact this commander of the military?” Harkeem asked, causing Garveen to look up in surprise.

“Yes, but... why?”

“If they keep this up the world itself may be damaged,” the shipmaster replied simply, nodding towards his personal display for the intelligence officer to connect them. It took a moment before the display lit up, showing a human with greying hair in some sort of uniform, a paper tube filled with something, one end glowing with heat, between his lips. The man leaned forward as he grabbed the stuffed paper tube and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“Wasn’t expecting you,” the man said simply.

“You have expended your most powerful weapons, you have no hope of victory, order your forces to surrender and your species might yet survive,” Harkeem said confidently, this was the first time he was forced to contact the locals first, instead of waiting for them to come to him begging, but the goal was to capture a habitable world, not a radioactive desert.

“Survive?” the human asked, his voice lacking the defeat and submission it should have had, “you don’t understand us.”

The human paused to put the paper tube back in his mouth, drawing in a breath through it, was the human inhaling smoke?

“250 years ago my nation’s founders stood before an empire, one who had ruled them from a distance for many years. The empire said there was peace in surrender. The founders replied Give me Liberty, or Give me Death,” the human paused, inhaling more smoke, “assuming you did your research, I assume you mistook that for rhetoric... it wasn’t.”

Harkeem glanced at Garveen who was furiously working his display, but had no answers.

“Many say that, until death approaches,” Harkeem replied, lacking further information he’d lean on intimidation, “and we are just that, your death unless you give in. Then, and only then, you might survive. You cannot win.”

“You’re probably correct, that we can’t win,” the human answered, leaning back in his chair, “but you’re wrong to think that survival is enough. You opened this war by killing millions of civilians without warning.”

The human plucked the paper tube from between his lips, leaning forward in another cloud of smoke.

“That tells me all I need to know about what survival under you entails,” continued the human, “we’d be little more than slaves, a resource for you to exploit and expend. By the time you’re done with us you’ll either kill us all or leave us behind on a planet stripped bare of all useable resources to die out on our own. That isn’t survival. You want us to surrender? I have a counteroffer.

“You came here because the world was worth taking, that you contacted me at all tells me you value the planet. I promise you, my nation alone has enough munitions to end all life on this planet, and I will expend all of them. And I’m certain that the others will as well, though I will admit communicating with them has been difficult.”

“Use them all, it won’t stop us,” Harkeem growled.

“Let's assume that’s true, and our entire nuclear stockpile can’t destroy even one of your ships. Then there are two outcomes. Either you leave and approach us diplomatically, or you inherit a dead world.”

“You’d kill everyone, your entire species?”

“I’m willing to bet everything that you break before we do,” the human laughed, actually laughed, at Harkeem, “maybe we find the limit of your ship’s shields with enough nukes, or perhaps your leaders decide that the invasion isn’t worth it. Maybe you have enemies that, hearing of this, decide to step in. Or maybe you continue on and nothing stops you. I don’t know. I don’t need to.

“As a species, we’re all in, the choice is yours. Free humans or a world of ash?”

-----

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-----

((Happy 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence! For Americans anyways, for everyone else normal content resumes next week))

“I doubt all of us can fit down there,” Orlan remarked as the old Cardinal slowly stood, “Nallia, Lailra, with me, the rest of you remain here or go out and help in the city.”

Most of the knights nodded, moving to head back out into the city to try and hunt down any remaining beasts or aid in rescue efforts. A few remained behind, all of them having some healing knowledge, to go help the aid station that had been set up within the Vatican for the wounded who had begun wandering in now that the fighting seemed to be over.

Orlan followed Cardinal Luca towards the bastille, refraining from the urge to hurry the older man on. He took them first into the main chapel, then into the side passages and paused before an old cast iron gate. After fumbling a bit he pulled out a similarly old-looking key and managed to unlock the door.

“Seems like weak security for the tomb of the first pope,” Orlan remarked as he followed Luca, and one of his attendants, down the stairs.

“Oh, this is merely the first locked door in our path,” the Cardinal replied, “this is the cellar where we keep the blood of Christ, or to put it more simply, wine.”

“You ceremonially consume the blood of this... saint?” asked Lailra.

“Christ is actually considered to be both the son of God and God,” Nallia replied.

"Then He took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, 'Drink from it, all of you. For this is My blood of the new covenant, which is shed for many for the remission of sins'" Cardinal Luca quoted, “we don’t literally drink his blood, of course, but the blessed wine was proof of the covenant He and His apostles shared, the blood of the new faith as it were. As Saint Peter was one of the apostles it was deemed appropriate to place the wine cellar on the upper levels of his tomb. Though, between you and me, there isn’t a lot of space under the basilica,” Luca added with a wry glance over his shoulder, “if you believe half the novels out there we’d have so many hidden secrets down here the basilica would basically be sitting over a massive underground city.”

“But you do have secret underground chambers, right?” Orlan asked.

“Yes, though their reasoning is much more mundane than people imagine,” Luca said, walking down shelves of carefully stored wine, “they were dug for some purpose, and then forgotten. Indeed, we’ll pass several such chambers on the way. We believe most of them were intended to be tombs for a Pope, only for the man to be buried elsewhere. Some of them were converted into crypts that were used, but a few remain unused.”

“Why not fill them in?”

“It’s something every keeper of the Tomb has planned, but never actually done,” Luca chuckled, reaching another iron banded door partly hidden behind some of the racks of wine, pulling out another, more ornate key, “for one the only practical way to fill them up would be to brick the entrance up and pump in cement. The bricks would ruin the aesthetics of the tomb, the cement could flow through cracks into other parts of the tomb and a dozen other concerns. It doesn’t help that one of the seemingly abandoned tombs was discovered to actually hold the remains of a saint. No one wants to be the one who buried another saint’s remains under tons of concrete.”

Orlan simply nodded, the old Cardinal turning and taking a lantern of some kind from one of his attendants. Rather than open it to light it, he flicked a switch causing the electric lamp to light up.

“No old candle lamps?” Orlan asked with a smirk.

“No, far too dangerous,” the Cardinal chuckled, beginning down the stairs that seemed to be cut from stone, “it does ruin the mystique somewhat, but I’d rather not fall.”

The Lailra and Orlan smiled, Nallia remaining as blank faced as always, even as she cast a quick spell that placed a glowing ball of light over the heads of the three magical warriors. As they went down the stairs turned into a tunnel that turned back on itself before descending once more. At random the tunnels seemed to branch off as they went down layer after layer, but their path was relatively predictable, down a level, around one corner and then down another.

“Every time the tomb begins to fill up the Pope would order it expanded, which mostly meant adding sections off the main tomb,” Luca explained with the quiet calm of someone who’d spoken those words a hundred times, “modern surveying has made this much easier, though we have generally preferred to create other crypts closer to the surface. Still, every once and a while someone comes along that the Pope insists must be buried in the same tomb as Saint Peter.”

After a handful of levels they came to another door, this one far heavier, seemingly made of solid bronze and iron, complex reliefs, tarnished by time, were carved into the front face almost making it look like a wall or sculpture. But the seam of the door, while it might have once been well hidden was now plainly visible.

“This is where we enter the hidden section of the tomb,” Luca explained, pulling yet another key out from his robes, “the public is told that this is where the official resting place of Saint Peter is, which is true, they may even be told that several relics are kept down here, but not their nature.”

“It’s much easier to feel the mana down here,” Orlan nodded, “but I still can’t locate it, it just feels like... the air itself is humming with restrained power.”

“There are obscuring enchantments in the walls,” Nallia said, manipulating a spell in front of her, “they should completely hide the mana of anything below a certain level, but for stronger sources all they do is make it impossible to pin down the source from a distance... They also seem to be slowly failing, likely due to a lack of maintenance.”

“Oh?” Luca said, turning back to look at the blank faced woman, “anything we have to worry about?”

“I can attempt to reinforce them but the enchantments are... old, really old,” Nallia said after a moment, “their degradation also seems to have accelerated recently.”

“The rifts?” Lailra offered.

“Most likely, the increased mana levels on this side causing them to burn out faster. I estimate they’ll last another... decade or two at most.”

“And then?” Luca asked softly.

“Any mage with a halfway decent mana sense will be able to tell you have something down here from the surface,” Nallia replied.

“We were able to sense there was something here, but couldn’t pinpoint the location,” Orlan explained, “afterwards we’d be able to tell exactly where these relics are. Nothing catastrophic, but not great if you’re trying to keep these items hidden.”

“Is there anything you can do?” Luca inquired after pausing to think.

“A few obscuration enchantments on copper plates should keep the items hidden for a few more decades,” Nallia replied, “anything more permanent would require digging out the old enchantments and replacing them.”

“I see,” Luca nodded, turning back to the massive door, inserting the ornate key and turning it, a loud clunk indicating it worked. His two attendants went to push open the massive door, bracing against one side each with both hands, when Orlan stepped up and casually pushed the heavy door open with one hand. Looking equal parts relieved and embarrassed, the attendants said their thanks as Luca lead them into the final level of the tomb.

“There are a total of nine vaults here,” Luca said, gesturing to a series of doors on either side of the narrow tunnel, “six of which I can open, the other three we either lack the key for or have no key hole.”

“I still can’t tell where the relics are exactly,” Orlan remarked, glancing at Nallia to see if she could sense anything more with her superior mana sense, but she shook her head, “guess we just have to look in one vault at a time.”

-----

“While most of the world is focused on the unprecedented double portal event in Rome, the infamous streamer Charlie So-Ball-ie is speaking out about the so-called savior of Rome,” the daytime anchor said with a bland voice, “after their encounter in Lisbon last week the streamer claims to have been traumatized by the self-declared Lord Defender known as Orlando and says he is considering taking legal action. But will this Orlando reply or will his magic shield him from the consequences of his actions?”

-----

“These look like mostly records,” Orlan said, carefully looking through the contents of the third vault, “from the inter-war period?”

“We’ve been looking for those,” Luca replied, “they were supposed to be stored for safe keeping after the war but I didn’t think they’d have been put here.”

“I’m not picking up any magical items in this vault either,” Nallia reported moments later, having swept the cramped room with her magic, “at the very least nothing in here is more than tier two, but the obscuring enchantments prevent me from telling if anything here tiered up.”

“Just like the other two,” Orlan sighed, carefully placing the manuscript back on the shelf, the first vault had been largely empty, whatever contents it had once held having long since been reduced to dust. The second had been filled with expensive looking chalices, but none of them had been magical. Lialra proposed that the chalices had once been used to obscure the Chalice of Kings, the Holy Grail, with their number. Both Orlan and Luca found this amusing, but refused to tell Lailra why, simply stating that she had chosen wisely.

The fourth vault they entered opened on its own, the lock having been broken, within were stands for multiple items, all of which were missing.

“Guess we know where those opposing us got the items,” Liarla remarked, tracing the outline of a bow that had once been held in a now broken open case, “A bow, necklace, a gem and a chalice, that matches what we were told.”

“How did they get in?” Orlan asked.

“The door wasn’t enchanted,” Nallia answered, “looks like these items were moved to this vault at some point in the distant past, lacking a magical lock the thieves were able to get in.”

“Someone stole items from the vault and we didn’t even know?” Luca asked softly.

“Someone knew, the Sons of Kayeen, though how they knew I haven’t a clue,” Orlan shrugged, only to look up as one of the attendants stiffened. In a single step Orlan teleported to in front of the attendant, “do you know something?”

“I.... I am a member of the Sons,” the attendant admitted after a moment, “they approached me after I became an attendant to the Keeper of Saint Peter’s tomb. They already knew about the vaults down here so I figured they were just one more faction within the Church.”

“Hmm, and yet they never spoke with me,” Luca said, “perhaps preying on the ignorance of youth?”

“Or he was easier to contact,” the other attendant spoke up, “you rarely leave the Vatican, your Eminence.”

“I suppose.”

“Still, why did they not inform the Church of the theft?” Orlan asked the first attendant.

“I... don’t know, honestly. I didn’t even know anything was missing when I started helping Cardinal Luca,” the man insisted, “if I did I would have spoken up!”

“So a past agent in your position noticed the break in, told the sons but not the keeper of the Tomb?”

“Would there have been anything we could have done?” Luca asked earnestly, “this was a few hundred years ago, right? Even if he had spoken up, would anyone have listened if he told anyone that the Holy Grail had been hidden under the bastille, but was now gone become someone had broken into Saint Peter’s tomb?”

“Wouldn’t the keeper of the tomb believed him?”

“Perhaps, and maybe he was told, but didn’t pass on the news. It’s impossible to say.”

“Let’s check the other vaults,” Orlan said after a moment, the attendant he’d been speaking to letting out a sigh of relief as the Protector’s attention turned elsewhere.

The fifth vault was the one they lacked a key for, so Orlan was forced to break the lock open with his hands, not that they found much for the effort. The room was filled with stone, dirt and little else. They theorized that the thieves may have dug their way in here, and the tunnel collapsed or was filled in afterwards, the keeper of the tomb locking it behind a door to be safe.

The sixth vault was completely lacking any keyhole, making it much more difficult for Orlan to break in safely. Instead he attempted to Rift Step past the door only to be rejected, slamming face first into the door.

“Either that vault is filled too, or there’s an enchantment blocking teleportation into the room,” Orlan said, inspecting the door closer.

“I can’t tell which, the obscuration enchantment is also making it impossible to scan through walls,” Nallia replied.

“Hard way it is,” Orlan decided, taking a stance before the blank door and pulling his fist back.

“Wait!” Lailra said as Orlan prepared to punch the door open, and pointed to some glyphs above the doorway, barely visible through the cobwebs and dust, “those look like activation runes.”

Orlan reached up to brush the cobwebs away, freezing as his mere touch caused the runes to light up. The glow was so soft that it was almost lost from the lights the group bore, but it was barely visible. The runes flickered for a moment, the mana surging back and forth within them before the door seemed to jerk back with a loud pop and hiss of air. The remaining mana in the runes evaporated into the air, the old enchantments unable to accomplish their full task.

Exchanging glances with the others Orlan shrugged, and pushed at the door. He had to put in a surprising amount of effort, more than any mundane human could have managed, before the door budged, stone grinding on stone and metal screaming in protest, but open the door did. Stepping into the room he froze, stunned by the amount of mana coming off a single object that rested in the center of the room. A large ceramic jar, covered in dust but otherwise untouched by age, covered in intricate carvings that pulsed with power.

The amount of mana the object held surpassed anything Orlan had ever felt, and it wasn’t a kind mana, it felt of power and danger in equal measure. As if it were some weapon the universe itself wished didn’t exist.

The others slowly filed in, all pausing upon laying eyes on the jar. Slowly, as if not wanting to spook some dangerous animal, Lialra stepped forward, leaning in to read an inscription upon the dais the jar rested on.

“The Jar of Pandora,” she read, “Ark of the Covenant.”

-----

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-----

The first thing I did was to sit down with database access and go through what was recorded there. Dupont had granted me nearly full access, only locking out classified documents like fleet movements and the like. Which was fine by me, I didn't really care about that kind of stuff, I was focused on the physics of the situation. In this situation that meant trying to find out what was unique about this version of the Harmony. I'd encountered many versions of it in the past, and even recruited one of them to aid me, but with each iteration they got more powerful.

The obvious difference with this harmonic entity was that it broadcast a signal over hyperspace, the galaxy wide shortcut created by the first people and now maintained by their remnant AI. I considered attempting to contact the AI, but ultimately decided against it. If they had an issue with how the harmonic entity was using hyperspace they would have done something by now.

I did use my prosthetic to listen in to the harmonic signal, after an hour of trying to figure out how, and carefully projected it as an image for the Harmony to read, instead of trying to inject it directly into its own mind.

"It's actually not unlike common radio communications humans use," the Harmony said after a minute, "running updates on various ships, stations or operations. It's all in code so I can't pull anything specific from it unfortunately, but it's not a harmonic entity in and of itself. Actually, it might be more accurate to call it an active network, constantly updating information and maintaining the harmony."

"So jamming the hyperspace signal won't just... destroy the harmonic entity?"

"No."

"How about the control signal?" I asked, tapping on the computer to pull up a spectrographic display of the signal the harmonic entities used to infect ships in combat.

"Also pretty standard, if more complex than I'm used to," the Harmony replied, "presumably having to do with transferring from a hyperspace wave into an organic mind, though I won't pretend to understand it."

"Any way to easily jam that signal?"

"Even if you could jam it, it would only be temporary, the control or infection song is meant to be highly mutable, constantly changing," the Harmony explained, "best you can do is block it out, which, from my understanding, is what their energy shields do."

"And they do it better than my own," I agreed, "then again, my shields aren't designed to prevent such a hyperspace signal, I just worked my anti-harmony song into it and hoped for the best."

"Which was better than nothing, but not a lasting fix."

I nodded and, after a bit more discussion, turned to the history of the war. It turned out the war was a bit of a misnomer, at least until recently. When humanity in this world first set out into the stars using hyperspace, they didn't encounter much of anything. They knew that the hyperspace was likely artificial, just due to the physics, but couldn't find any evidence of who made it or why.

It was only natural that the space fleet evolved into one based on exploration, as the only real threat in space was other humans. Even that was a muted one, most nations agreeing that there was enough room in space that fighting wasn't needed, so other than the occasional skirmish over colony rights there was no need for a proper navy, each of the more powerful nations maintaining one just large enough to deter the others from doing anything.

It wasn't until nearly two hundred years after humanity began exploring the galaxy that they first detected the harmonic signal in hyperspace. It was part of an attempt to develop a hyperspace communications system to allow for faster than light communication, when they picked up a cluster of seemingly random signals they couldn't decipher.

So a small fleet was fitted and sent out, only to encounter the harmonic entity rapidly expanding beyond the homeworld of the Phaeren. At the time humanity was superior in terms of firepower and technology, but the harmonic entity used their ability to transmit through hyperspace to infect several human ships, taking them over. When one human ship began firing on the others chaos broke out, and over half the fleet was lost or captured before the remaining ships fled.

From there the war paused for a few decades, merely one terrifying encounter in deep space. Scientists quickly put together how the ships were taken over, through the signal, and analysis of those infected on the surviving ships showed how the infection worked. So they combined the knowledge of hyperspace communications, a project put on ice due to this encounter, with their energy shields to create a shield that could block the harmonic signal, and called it a solved problem.

This did inform me that the individual harmonic entities couldn't generate a hyperspace signal on their own, thankfully, it seemed they needed a device to broadcast that signal. Which comforted me in that the Composer at least hadn't discovered physics beyond me yet, at best he found blueprints for a hyperspace transceiver and was making use of that. And, to be clear, those transceivers were big as a general rule, the one in my prosthetic arm being an exception. Which only meant I couldn't let the Composer get a hold of my arm, but I figured if he got the arm he'd have me entirely so I pushed that fear out of my mind.

The second encounter with the harmonic Phaeren happened a few decades later, another exploration ship encountered a handful of Phaeren ships that seemed to be scouting. The Phaeren ships did nothing at first, broadcasting their harmonic signal at the human ship to no effect. But as soon as they realized the signal was being blocked they turned to violence. And it didn't end well for them, despite out numbering the human ship, it still far outclassed them in technology and weaponry. The ships controlled and built by the harmonic entity were barely armed, seemingly an oversight as it thought that it wouldn't need any weapons.

The Phaeren ships were wiped out entirely before the human ship could get away and report back. The encounter was shown as evidence the new shielding worked and the Phaeren would need to come to the negotiating table. A second human fleet sifted through the wrecked ships to gather information, and then another fleet was sent to the Phaeren homeworld a few years later with the intent of opening diplomatic negotiations.

It ended poorly, seemingly in fear the harmonic entity had fortified its home system to the extreme, and the human ships were overwhelmed, only a couple escaping. This was when humanity finally seemed to realize this was a proper war, and not just some bad encounters.

It didn't help that the Phaeren seemed to be making a beeline for Earth, colonizing each system between their home world and that of the humans. They produced new ships that were more than a match for humanity's, with more armament and heavier shielding. From there things slowly went downhill for humanity, larger fleets were put together and occasionally secured wins, only to be overwhelmed shortly after. The analysis put the reasoning for losses on two main things, first off was the unity displayed by the harmonic Phaeren, they operated almost perfectly in sync with one another, pulling of maneuvers a human fleet could never manage. Ships currently in production were altered on the fly to counter any new technology humanity came out with, and their production chains adapted instantly. Humanity was good at logistics, but not to this level.

And second, the Phaeren were fully committed to this war. Their ships were entirely designed for combat, not exploration and discovery. This is where the militarists had their point, ships that weren't built for war weren't going to win this. They had been pushing for a shift to a more combat oriented fleet for years by this point and, after the battle I caught the tail end of, it seemed like they were winning the internal debate. Still, holdouts like Dupont were pushing back, leading to a rift in the human fleet between the traditional explorers, and the new militarists.

"There's no secret bullet that will end this war," the Harmony said as I finished reading the database, "if humanity has launched a major attack early on, once they had ships that were protected against the harmonic signal then this would have ended already. But they didn't, instead attempting to find a middle ground, and look where that's got them."

"So you think they should have gone full dark forest theory and wiped the harmonic Phaeren out before they knew if they were even a threat?"

"Not necessarily, but it's much easier to force a hostile force to negotiations from a position of power," the Harmony replied, "if humanity had forced them back down to the surface of the home world it's likely they would have come to the table. I know I would have."

"You are hardly a typical harmonic entity," I pointed out.

"Not anymore, but I was once. And I still understand how they think," it countered, "and without an overwhelming show of force that pushes them to the brink they won't come to the table."

"So you think the militarists are correct?"

"Frankly, yes, though I doubt they'll be able to succeed on their own. Rather they need help from you. Open up the files in your prosthetic to them, give them some of the tech of the first people. Shields that can't be broken, weapons that smash their ships to parts."

"I thought you were of the opinion that we shouldn't introduce tech to a people that aren't ready for it?"

"Normally, but I don't see any other way," it said simply, "it's either that or humanity becomes part of the harmony, and I think you'd prefer that as well."

It was right, of course, but that didn't mean I wanted that solution. What would follow such a victory? Humanity expands rapidly, overwhelming any other species they encounter, no need for diplomacy or exploration with tech that advanced. Eventually the ancient AI remnants detect them and suspect them of being the Uplifted? Or if the Uplifted won in this universe then they detect them and suspect them of being the first people returned to restart the war? Either way they're forced to respond with equally overwhelming force, meaning Titans get deployed.

Maybe I could provide enough warnings to avoid that, or put enough limits on the technology so that it can't be reverse engineered, but I doubted it.

But was that maybe worth a shot over the slow doom currently descending on humanity? So far the only advantage that humanity had was how slowly the harmonic Phaeren advanced, stopping in each system to expand the hyperspace network and set up defenses before pushing on. But time was running out, and everyone knew it.

The door to the small cabin I'd been assigned chimed and, a moment later, opened to let Captain Dupont in, looking no less ragged than he did before.

"We'll be docking soon," he said, "any good news to report?"

After a moment's debate, I went over our findings. How the Harmony thought we should arm humanity with weapons far above what the harmonic entity had access to, and how I thought that would play out. But, how I also didn't have another, better idea.

"You know, when you told me you had a harmonic entity as a partner, I thought it would argue for making peace with its own kind," Dupont admitted, nodding to the floating cluster of gems, "yet here she is, arguing for, effectively, genocide."

"I take no pleasure in recommending this solution," the Harmony countered, "but I know how harmonic entities think, and that's on a civilizational level. You can't intimidate individuals into compliance; you need to prove an existential threat in order to get them to move."

"Is that how you became... cooperative?"

"Yes, I was given the option to either join and aid the Traveler or cease to exist," it bobbed in agreement, "I was down to a single mind at the time, so there was no room for risk or taking chances. So the logical thing was to agree and, the more we've cooperated the more I've come to value the agreement."

"If you had more, ahem, minds you wouldn't have been as agreeable?" Dupont asked, cocking his head.

"Would you be as willing to agree to someone's terms if they were threatening the tip of a finger compared to putting a gun to your head?"

"Fair point."

"Thus the first step to any peaceful solution is to reduce their numbers, the size of the harmonic entity."

"Through genocide," Dupont muttered.

"Wait, I didn't wipe out all other harmonic infected people in the universe I found you," I spoke up, "I seperated you from them."

"What's your point?" asked the Harmony.

"The harmonic Phaeren have been working hard to defend the hyperspace relays, to keep them all unified, right?"

"Yes, without such constant updates the harmonies would slowly drift in different directions over time."

"Like how you refused to rejoin with another, more powerful, harmonic entity after spending time with me," I nodded, "so what if we just cut their communications?"

"If you want to attack their hyperspace relays, then don't," Dupont spoke up, "they are too heavily defended."

"And it would only limit their communications, not end them entirely," the Harmony added, "larger harmonic unities will have enough... inertia to remain closely enough aligned to rejoin easily once the relays are rebuilt."

"No, we don't just take out the relays, we completely deny hyperspace communications to them," I said leaning forward, "a full blackout of their communications."

"Can you manage such a feat?" Dupont asked, seeming to perk up slightly.

"I'm pretty sure I can take one of your hyperspace communicators and boost it to cover the entirety of harmonic controlled space," I said after a moment, "just overclock it enough to completely swamp the hyperspace with noise."

"How long would it last?" The Harmony asked.

"I don't know for sure," I shrugged, "I'd have to look at the tech, but I can probably stretch it to a few days, possibly a week if we can get more than one device to modify."

"That won't be long enough," the Harmony shook back and forth, "not for natural drift to prevent the unity from returning afterwards."

"Not without outside influence," Dupont said, "you changed because of the influence of the Traveler, right? What if we took the opportunity to... nudge each system of now isolated harmonic Phaeren in a different direction?"

"That... could work," the Harmony admitted, "the different stimuli would have to be powerful though, simply talking won't accomplish it. You'd need major strikes on some systems, attempts at hacking their systems in others, ideally some false flag attacks by ships that appear to be from other harmonic Phaeren."

"Then I guess we need the militarists after all," Dupont said after a moment, "but they need us too, the new warships don't have the facilities that are capable of modifying a hyperspace transceiver. Or launching hacking attempts, disguising their ships as harmonic ships..."

"Think you can work together with them?" I asked.

"For the last decade, they've been the bane of my existence. Constantly arguing in the colonial congress for changing funding priorities, introducing more military style discipline into the fleet and more. To think of the fleet being fully converted into a war fleet goes against everything I believe in," Dupont paused, looking down at the table for a few long seconds, "but I'm not a fool either, the galaxy isn't as safe a place as we thought, so perhaps the fleet needs to bifurcate, a military wing, and an exploration wing. I could accept that compromise."

"Could the militarists?"

"They aren't fools, they might hem and haw, but I'm certain that if I can offer a real solution they'll agree," Dupont nodded, "much as I despise the man, Raftis's goal has always been the safety of humanity, he wouldn't have become an Admiral otherwise... so yes, I think this could work. But that doesn't mean it will be easy. And if it doesn't work, then the explorers are done for."

"Seems like you're already at that point," the Harmony said.

"Yes, which is why I'm agreeing to it," Dupont agreed, "so you need to find out how to modify a hyperspace transceiver into a sector wide jammer, and I need to find a way to sell this to a man who hates my guts."

-----

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-----

They ended up separating from the van entirely, due simply to the state of the roads. The old city was filled with narrow streets, many of which were blocked by wrecked cars or collapsed buildings. It was a minor miracle that the van had been able to drive from the Vatican to them in the first place, though it wasn't the only one given that task. Once it had seemed safe enough a whole fleet of vehicles had been dispatched to find Orlan and his knights.

Of course, they didn't just walk, the knights were casting spells almost constantly as they traveled, putting out fires, stabilizing unsteady buildings, extracting survivors and more. Even Orlan often paused to help out, ripping a jammed car door from its frame with his bare hands to help a dazed young man out or lifting a pile of fallen bricks so emergency medical service could pull someone from the rubble.

All the while the single man from the Vatican, who Orlan assumed was a priest of some description, followed behind them silently, only speaking up to give directions. Twice Orlan had to help the older man get over some debris that weren't easily cleared even with the aid of magic. None of the knights were engineers so some problems were better left alone.

Because of this what should have been a 20 minute walk took nearly an hour, not that the older priest complained, it could have taken much longer if the bridges had been out.

Orlan paused as they reached the entrance to Saint Peter's Square, the landmark indicating the entrance to the Vatican, looking at the ancient but well-maintained buildings. Behind them smoke was still rising from a number of small fires or collapsed buildings, yet the Vatican itself seemed almost untouched.

"Everyone was ordered into the shelters as soon as we realized what was happening," the priest explained, "they were built during the Cold War, so we figured they'd do fine here. Between that and our faith the creatures... the beasts largely avoided us."

"You feel that?" Orlan asked telepathically to his knights, even as he nodded to the priest.

"There's something powerful nearby," Nallia replied, "I can't get a good sense of its position, but it's likely underneath the Vatican."

"An Ascendant or Divine level item?" Lialra offered, "beasts can be sensitive to mana far stronger than them, with no obvious targets and such a powerful force in the area they likely avoided it instinctively."

"Welcome to the Vatican," the priest said with a slight bow as they stepped over the threshold separating Itally from the Vatican, "the Holy See welcomes you."

At that all the knights paused, reaching out to pull various things from their personal spaces. Many retrieved thin, embroidered cloths that they used to cover and wrap up their hair while several others pulled out shawls to drape over their head and shoulders. The priest pausing at this, his eyes widening fractionally, as if recognizing the head coverings. Orlan looked confused for a second before realizing what was happening, and proceeded to dig around his own personal space for a simple linen cap. The only other who seemed confused was one woman from the second lance who wore the most revealing outfit of the knights, seemingly happy to show off her abs, thick muscles and scars.

Instead, once she realized what was happening, she pulled off the pair of rough leather gloves she wore and stashed them away. Another woman walking up with a cloth strip to put the berserker woman's hair in a ponytail, much to the berserker's annoyance.

"I didn't realize you were so... respectful of religious tradition," the priest commented as the group of knights began walking forward once more, "or largely Jewish."

"It's not Judaism, it's... there's not really a name for it," Orlan replied, "it's some mix of Greco-Roman myth and early Hebrew teachings. Which is likely why it looks Jewish. But the other side broke off from this one long before monotheism was common."

"Fascinating," the priest said earnestly, leading the group out of the square. They passed through ancient hallways, through well-tended gardens and along cobble stone paths that were older than much of the city around them, eventually ending up at an old four-story building.

"The Collegio Etiopico," the priest said simply as they walked between the two outstretched wings into the main hall. The lower floor seemed to be largely a museum, though on a smaller scale than the others they'd walked past on the way here, and they quickly left it as they filed up the stairs to the roof where a number of tables had been set up.

"We don't normally host guests here but it's the only location with enough room, available on such a short notice, for your group," the priest said apologetically, but no one replied, looking out over the city of Rome. Pillars of smoke rose from a dozen small fires, some already contained, others still being fought. The scale of the devastation was easier to see from this vantage. Helicopters hovered over the city, surveying the damage, aiding in rescue operations or dumping water on fires. The handful of sky-cutters were also busy hovering much lower. Mostly the crew of those cutters were collecting the bodies of the dead beasts but they also aided in rescue operations where they could. The cutters were better at lifting fallen trees and buildings than the helicopters were, since the cutters didn't generate a huge down draft.

Since discovering how common mana allergies on this side were Orland had also ordered each cutter be stocked with some basic non-magical first aid supplies. Cloth bandages, alcohol for disinfecting and clean water. He wasn't sure how useful those supplies would be, but it was better than nothing.

"It would have been much worse without you," the priest offered softly, taking their silence for remorse.

"We know," Orlan nodded, "we've dealt with attacks like this before on the other side, but... you never quite get used to seeing the damage like this."

"Of course, please be seated when you feel comfortable, your host will be arriving shortly."

"Will the Pope be joining us?"

"Alas, no, he is in England at the moment. Instead, you'll be hosted by Cardinal Luca and some of his attendants."

It didn't take long for the Cardinal to arrive in the traditional bright red robes, flanked by a pair of younger priests in white robes.

"Thank you, saviors of Rome, for your actions today," Cardinal Luca said in a soft voice that barely carried over the wind on the rooftop, bowing his head slightly, "I hope the feast we're preparing serves as a sign of our gratitude, as lacking as it is."

"Thank you, Cardinal," Orlan replied formally, bowing in return, "we just wish we could have done more."

"Unfortunately God rarely gives us such perfect solutions to the world's problems," Luca replied with a sad smile, sitting down at the longest table, the rest of the knights quickly finding their own seats.

Before they could speak some harried looking servers in crisp outfits and pristine white gloves emerged from the rooftop access with trays of wine, cured meats and olives, quickly distributing the food to all the tables. Even as they left the rooftop remained a quiet affair, as much as Orlan wanted to get to the point he restrained himself. Even in the almost surreal situation, being served a feast as the city around them recovered from a major attack, they could almost feel the weight of history on them. He'd only felt the same on the other side around similarly old sites like the Last Wall and the Pantheon, this side's equivalent of which was just over a mile from where he sat.

The conversation was polite and non-specific as the meal went on, the appetizers were quickly replaced with pasta, roast lamb and grilled vegetables. It was all stuff Orlan could sort of recognize, with names he couldn't pronounce, and all excellent tasting. Even his knights were impressed, they were used to Roman food, but the more modern pastas were new to them. Noodles did exist on the other side, but they were generally limited to China and the far east.

As the final dish, which consisted of fruit tarts, was taken away by the exhausted looking servers, the Cardinal finally changed the subject.

"I imagine you are all impatient for the true reason I ask for you to come here," he said in his soft voice, "but before I tell you, do understand that I am serious in wanting to thank you, thousands of lives may have slipped through your fingers, but many thousand more would have fallen had you not been there. So, from all Vatican, thank you."

Orlan simply nodded, waiting for the older man to continue, fighting against the impatience that had plagued him since he'd arrived. He'd been to these formal dinners with nobles on the other side, and always found them tedious. This was better than most, the food was better and he didn't need to worry as much about using the proper title or form of greeting. Still, the polite conversation that avoided speaking about anything important annoyed him.

"I understand you believe the Pope was the one who asked you to come, is that correct?" Luca asked.

"We were told the Holy See asked, so we assumed it was the Pope, yes," Orlan agreed.

"The Pope is granted most of the authority of the Holy See, but not all," Luca continued after a moment, "I am one such exception I tend to the Tomb of Saint Peter. And as such I have access to knowledge that few in the church are aware of.

"Saint Peter was the first Bishop of Rome, and thus, the first Pope, before which he was one of Jesus's apostles. The Roman Emperor had him crucified in the first century AD, and he was buried under the hill that the Basilica was later built on, three hundred years later. As such we don't have the actual body of Saint Peter interred in the tomb bearing his name, rather something else was stored there.

"Shortly after the Papacy was established, and the first Basilica built, we were approached by the last priest of the Pantheon," Luca said, pausing to take a sip of wine and gather his breath, "he revealed that the Pantheon was the site of several ancient relics with power beyond what men could handle, kept there in secret, hidden away from those who might try and use them. With the slow decline in Pagen faith and growing power of the Catholic Church, he implored we take charge of these items. The Pope of that era, believing them to be little more than Pagen nonsense, had one of his Cardinals go witness the power of these items, the caretaker of the Tomb of Saint Peter.

"In his writings all he says is that to stand before these items was to stand before the power of God, it was the first time he felt his faith challenged. But the Pagen Priest reminded him that these relics weren't religious in nature, but something else, a power man wasn't meant to hold.

"That power was the reason God flooded the world."

Cardinal Luca paused to look around the tables, all of the knights were leaning forward at this point, not to hear him better, with their enhanced hearing even his soft voice was easily heard from the other end but interested in the story. Even Orlan was busy trying to grasp the meaning of the story. The relics sounded like some divine level items that had somehow not been sent to the other side when the world was split, but what was the flood? He knew of the story of Noah's Ark, of course, and the flood that was part of it, but he thought that was caused by sin, not magical relics.

"We believe that power to be the magic you wield," the Cardinal continued after a moment, "standing before you feels the same as the power within the Tomb, but... we are unsure. I am unsure. One possible interpretation is that magic is sinful, and thus so too are you. But that is too... simplistic of a reading to me.

"God rarely portrays things as purely good or evil. It's the intent behind actions that creates the sin, not the action itself. And you have clearly used this power for good. Sin often shrouds itself in the guise of good, which was the real reason for this dinner, to let me get a measure of your character. And you are not sinful people, you show respect to a religion that isn't yours, show deference to an old fool like me, and make no demands of the staff."

"And if we had been sinful?" Orlan asked as Luca paused once more to take a drink.

"Then you would have enjoyed a good meal before being sent on your way," the Cardinal said with a slight smirk that quickly faded, "but now, I must ask a favor of you... please... let us know what lies in Saint Peter's Tomb."

"Didn't you say it was ancient relics?"

"Yes, but more vaults have been built, items moved around, lost and found over the years. More items were added, doors built that we can no longer open, some that bear the same feeling as you, others that don't. It's been almost two thousand years since those first relics were placed there, we believe they are related to the current events around the world, but we don't know. There have been other times my predecessors have considered going into the vaults to use the items within to aid the world, but uncertainty has stayed our hand.

"Similarly, we have never brought in experts to look at the items, as none have carried power beyond that of man."

"But magic fits that description," Orlan finished.

"Indeed," Luca nodded, "and on matters related to the Tomb of Saint Peter, and the objects contained within, the Holy See gives me that authority. So, if you might humor an old man..."

Luca trailed off as he slowly pushed himself to his feet, Orlan and his knights following suit.

-----

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-----

I began to check my sensors, trying to find out what I could about this world, but I didn't get very far before I heard someone shout down the hallway for everyone to hold still. Someone who looked like an officer, flanked by a couple of marines, held up some kind of device that he pressed to his forehead. After a moment it blinked green, and he repeated the action with both of the marines before moving down the hall and pressing the device to the heads of each person in turn. Most of them flashed green, a couple showed flecks of yellow that drew the officer's attention, but he ended up letting them go.

One man had it flash red, and before he could even open his mouth the marines shot him.

I figured they were scanning for evidence of harmonic patterns in the brains of people, so I shut down my counter-signal as they approached me.

"You aren't a member of this crew," the officer said even as he pressed the device to my head. It took a moment longer to process before flashing blue, causing the officer's eyes to widen slightly.

"Take him to the captain," the officer ordered, one of the marine's nodding while the other followed the officer. The marine grabbed me by the arm and proceeded to basically drag me through the ship. We walked through multiple decks, all of which had officers or teams of marines testing the crew, and I saw more than a few dead, with a single bullet through the head.

Pushing that aside I was quickly led into the captain's office where the marine reported I was a stowaway and code blue.

The captain himself was a haggard looking man, nearly bald with only a half ring of grey hair around the back of his head. Dark bags under his eyes spoke to how little sleep he'd gotten recently, and an arm in a sling indicated some kind of injury.

"Not often I see someone stowaway on a ship going into battle," the captain remarked, his voice calm and even despite his stressed appearance, "so how about we start there. How'd you get aboard?"

"I'm not a stowaway, I'm a traveler," I explained, going over my situation quickly knowing he would be fully in the right for tossing me out an airlock.

"Someone from another world?" He asked, looking over my clothing, "it would explain why you look like an actor in period clothing. But what interests me more is that you're a code blue, do you know what that means? You're immune to harmonic infection."

"Yes, that's... a bit of a story," I said slowly, pausing only for him to look at me, urging me to continue, "I have a special implant that stores my memories, which harmonic entities can't access. In addition I can use it to transmit a counter signal in my mind to prevent any attempt."

"So not a mass produceable effect?" The captain asked, to which I shook my head, "damn it. Here I was hoping you were the answer to this damned conflict."

"Let me guess... the Phaeren in this world are being controlled by a harmonic entity? And they are trying to take over humanity?"

"Not just the Phaeren, but most other races in the region, near as we can tell," he replied, "we managed to develop a counter signal, not unlike what it sounds like you use, which we can tune our shields to block their signal. But once the shields fail..."

"I've never seen a harmonic entity that can transmit itself through space alone, normally it needs another medium," I remarked, pausing, "I actually have an... assistant who might be able to shed more light on this."

"I thought you traveled alone?"

"Mostly, I do have a... call it a helper AI I can load up... but it is similar to those harmonic entities."

"Oh?"

"I've encountered many harmonic entities, and this one I managed to negotiate with. It's significantly less capable than the ones you're dealing with and I assure you it's safe," I said hurriedly, but the captain seemed to be thinking, his forehead wrinkling as he did.

"I should probably tell you no, toss you in the brig and hand you over to the fleet..." The man said, getting up and pacing, "but, at this point, I'm willing to jump at any opportunity presented.

"We've been fighting back against the Harmony for a couple years now, ever since we encountered it. We were a purely scientific and exploration fleet, armed only for self-defense, but the longer this war goes on, the more the militarist faction gains strength. They want to reform into a purely wartime navy. This battle we're retreating from was, I thought, our last hope to maintain the goal of space exploration.

"We lost most of our capital ships, the one you're standing on may well be the last," the captain paused to sigh, sitting back down in his chair, "unless something changes... so if you're offering me a lifeline, I'll take it."

Nodding, I pulled the Harmony's shell from my pouch, turned it on and uploaded the Harmony, quickly catching it up to speed.

"Another harmonic entity that can transmit itself through space?" It asked, "that seems... potent. But clearly limited, otherwise you would have long ago succumb."

"Yes, the signal isn't broadcast through space itself, but through hyperspace, which limits its reach. It can only infect others within a few light seconds, beyond that it's limited to communication. In addition strong gravity wells disrupt the signal so multiple ships must enter orbit for an extended period in order to blanket a world with the signal," the captain explained, looking at the floating crystals with interest, "we also don't think a harmonic entity itself can exist within hyperspace, there's too much noise. So they only use it for infection, at short ranges, and FTL communication at longer ranges. But it lets them keep their entire civilization perfectly synchronized, which makes stopping them very hard."

"Especially for a fleet focused on science and exploration," the Harmony agreed, "I would have thought you'd have shifted to building warships by now."

"Construction on some has begun," the man admitted sadly, "but it was through science and analysis that we managed to develop the counter-harmonic signal, which has justified holding off on purely military ships. However, with this last battle, I fear that will not last."

"I don't understand your reluctance to this," replied the Harmony, "science has its place, but without a strong arm to back it up it is but pretty words."

"They weren't founded as a military fleet," I pointed out, "they're an exploration fleet, if they transition to purely military then any exploration progress will be set back.... I don't know how long."

"Exploration is in our soul," the captain added, "must we sacrifice that in order to simply survive? And if we do, is it worth surviving?"

"An answer you can only find if you survive," countered the Harmony, "live to see tomorrow and you may come to regret the decision, die today and you'll never find out."

"Regardless, I'm... we're willing to help out," I said, glancing at the Harmony, "I try to make the worlds I visit better, and dealing with the Composer, or the harmonic entities he leaves behind, is part of that."

Before the captain could respond his computer chimed, glancing at it he stood, straightened his uniform and gestured for me to follow him as he walked out to the bridge.

"Real space transition in five... four..." One of the bridge crew, a navigator I assumed, counted down. As soon as he hit zero the front display of the bridge switched from general information to a picture of outside the ship, a handful of other ships emerging from hyperspace around us. And they were all damaged, venting gasses, battered hulls and large gashes were the norm, not the exception. The camera panned in on a large station ahead of us and a handful of ships that seemed to be just leaving dock, they were of a different style. Blocky, covered in obvious weapon positions and armor, they were clearly warships. On seeing them the captain sighed, confirming my thoughts.

"Task Force Omega, come to a rest and prepare to be scanned for infection," a loud voice announced over the speaker.

"And here's the other faction," the captain remarked even as he nodded for navigation to bring the ship to a halt, "eager to jump on the opportunity."

"Captain Dupont," a voice came from the speakers, the display switching to showing a large man with a neatly trimmed beard in a similar uniform to the captain, "seems you survived once more."

"Admiral Raftis," the captain replied flatly.

"I would hate for the fleet to lose one if its longest serving captains," the other man replied equally flatly, making it hard to know if he meant it or not, "unfortunately I can't say the same for your ships. Any ship that is deemed unsafe to fly is to be decommissioned; its crew transferred to more... practical ships."

"You seem to have forgotten, Admiral, but this task force isn't under your command," Dupont countered.

"It is now, Fleet has issued transfer orders while you were in battle," Raftis replied smugly, "I'll have the orders sent to you shortly, unless you want to defy orders, Captain?"

"Of course not, Admiral," Dupont said, practically spitting the last word, pressing a button that cut the connection. He quickly turned to another bridge officer, "ensure our ship is still flightworthy."

"We sustained minimal structural damage, thankfully," the officer he addressed replied, "something dampened the effect of the harmonic signal on the main drives, letting us escape the battle quickly."

Captain Dupont glanced at me for a moment before ordering his crew to begin repairs, even as the ship prepared to be scanned, and invited me back to his office.

"I take it we have you to thank for the signal weakening?"

"Possibly," I nodded, "I used my abilities to dampen the signal. I might be able to replicate the effect given time."

"Unfortunately it seems time is no longer something we have," Dupont replied, "but it does lend credence towards your story. And I doubt simply blocking the harmonic signal would help much, as much as I hate to admit it, their ships fight better than us. They react faster, coordinate better, and fight harder."

"Inherent advantages of a harmonic unity," the Harmony bobbed in agreement, pausing as I looked at it, "I no longer think being in a harmonic unity is entirely superior, but there are advantages it has."

"She's not wrong," Dupont said before I could reply, "and a simple mild improvement like what you're offering is no longer enough, I fear. It would seem that, after this last battle, the militarists are winning. We may very well survive under them, but I fear it won't be as ourselves. So I ask you, do you believe you can come up with a way to stop the harmonic entity?"

I paused before answering as he fixed me with an intense stare. Not one of blind trust like the priestess, but one of practical desperation, he was a drowning man who was refusing the one hand offered. Either he would be given another way out or he'd drown, I could tell. He wasn't the kind of man to give up, to betray his morals or ideals. If that meant his death then so be it, but that didn't mean he was willing to stop fighting, just that he couldn't see another way to do so.

"I need to see all the data you have on the harmonic entity," I replied, and he nodded.

"Are you certain?" The Harmony asked, floating down in front of me, "the other faction has, I believe, a better chance of survival, than here."

"I'm a scientist," I shrugged, "if you want a military solution, talk to the Saint of Battle."

"Then I shall attempt to aid you," it agreed after a moment's thought.

-----

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-----

Orlan hit the ground running, almost literally. He'd landed on the western side of the city of Rome, a few miles from its center, in a park of some kind. He didn't see any paths and things seemed rather untended, but he didn't have time to stop and figure it out. With the early warning from the detection array spell they had arrived within a few minutes of the first rift opening. With there being two rifts, he'd sent the second lance to handle the other rift, which the mages estimated to be slightly weaker, while he and the first land handled the first.

The beasts from this rift were, unfortunately, rather strong by the standards of this side Nallia confirming them to be low to mid-tier three. The only good news was that they didn't appear to have any magical ability, making them a typical beast focused on strength. And their physical appearance matched that, built almost like a gorilla with large forelimbs and smaller real legs. Unlike apes they lacked fur, covered instead in a thick brown hide that did little to hide their dense muscles. Their head was that of an Ox, unlike normal Ox however, they all seemed to bear horns, and often more than one pair.

The first of the beasts Orlan came across was slamming through trees, running in an odd gallop due to its mismatched front and back legs, chasing a car on a nearby road. As if sensing him it spun, lashing out with an arm larger than Orlan's body. Even hunched over to run on the knuckles of its front arms it still towered over him at over eight feet.

Orlan was likely stronger than it still, simply due to having three tiers on it, but there were better ways to check than letting in slam him in the chest. With a step he vanished, reappearing just past the extended arm already spinning to stab the beast in the head. It lowered its head to catch his spear on its right two horns, dark flames bursting across the blade as it struck. The edge cut half an inch into the horns before the flames of the void began eating away at them.

It took noticeably longer for the flames to eat away the tier three horns than a mundane human. Long enough for the beast to buck its head, forcing Orlan back as he took advantage of the motion to dance out of reach of another wild swing by the other arm. The two right horns on the beast had succumb to the dark flames, causing the beast to roar in anger, lunging forward to grab Orlan. Stepping through space again the beast grabbed nothing but air before Orlan landed on its shoulders, stabbing down to sever the beast's spine. A wild buck made him miss, driving his spear instead into the creature's shoulder, injecting another dose of void flames.

Being corroded from the inside out the arm hung loosely, the beast roaring in pain and anger as it spun to try and grab the agile attacker. This time Orlan let the blow land, blocking it with his spear, raising his eyebrow in surprise as the blow was enough to launch him backwards a short distance. But down a limb the GorillOx wasn't fast enough to get to Orlan before he threw his spear hard enough to almost fully impale it through the torso.

With another rift step the spear seemed to dissolve from within the beast as Orlan closed in to finish the job. Beasts took quite a bit of killing, even at lower tiers, so he confirmed the kill by stabbing the void flame wreathed spearhead into its skull.

"The beasts from this rift are tough and strong, but not fast," Orlan reported telepathically as he wrenched his spear free, "they also don't seem to operate in groups."

"That matches with my spells," Nallia agreed.

"We're stretched thin, with only one lance covering this rift, but stick to groups of two at least."

"And who will join you, Lord?" Lailra asked.

"Whoever can keep up," he replied taking off at a sprint towards the nearest sounds of combat, ignoring the huff of annoyance Lailra made sure he heard.

Flashing over a roundabout Orlan found a police cruiser lodged sideways in an absurdly narrow street, one of the gorilla beasts angrily slamming down on the heavily crumpled metal as one officer tried to scramble out a half-open door while the other fired a pistol wildly, and ineffectively, into the beast.

Not having time to stop Orlan barely paused as he raced down the alley, a quick chop of his spear separating the ruined door from the frame and a quick stab saw his spear buried in the beast's eye. Landing on the creature's shoulder he yanked, twisting the head around with a sickening pop just to ensure it was dead before running on.

Another beast he found feasting on the bodies of what looked like a dozen crushed tourists. And the fourth was tearing through the stone wall of a small church to get to the terrified occupants. On occasion he saw Lailra trying to keep up with him, racing across the rooftops like a stray leaf blown by the wind, but he didn't slow. The slower he was the more people died, and both of them knew that.

The good thing about the beasts not clumping up was that they were easier to kill individually, the downside being that the big casters couldn't flatten a dozen of them at once with a single spell.

"Lord Orlan," Nallia's voice spoke in his mind as he slew a beast that was reaching into a narrow alley, unable to fit itself, for a handful of civilians.

"You've got... something inbound," she continued, sounding unsure, "it's fast, and magical, but I can't tell if it's a beast or man. And it's clearly headed for you!"

Wrenching his spear free Orlan turned and, more on instinct, lifted his spear to block, pausing in surprise as a machete struck the haft.

"You really are fast!" The man holding the machete said with a wild grin, Orlan could barely feel his mana, but he was either tier three or four. More oddly the blade was covered in mana, not an enchanted weapon but the man was using his mana to strengthen it, a technique that he didn't think anyone on this side used.

Before Orlan could reply the man seemed almost yanked backwards, shooting away almost as fast as he'd approached to land on the wall of a building before falling to the ground lightly.

"Who are you?" Orlan asked, taking a defensive stance. But the crazed man didn't answer, instead charging forward again. There was something odd about how he moved, Orlan noticed, each step seemed to push him forward faster than it should have, allowing him to build up speed far faster than normal. Orlan, however, was faster still, easily dodging the machete and countering with a swipe of his spear, only for the man to be yanked back once more, landing halfway to the wall.

Turning and dashing around Orlan the man came at him from a number of different angles, the Protector avoiding or blocking each attack, but being unable to land a counter of his own. Getting frustrated, he went on the attack. Whenever the man was yanked away he seemed to land halfway to where he'd started the charge, so the next time the man was yanked out of reach he stepped forward through space, spinning around and striking out.

"Clever!" The man laughed, pushing off the ground sideways even as he was yanked back, avoiding the attack, "but not clever enough!"

Glaring Orlan kept up the pressure, following the man each time he was yanked away, not letting him build up speed. It seemed his inherent ability let him quickly build up speed, but it wasn't instant, and after a time he was yanked back in the other direction. Orlan was sure there was more to it than that, something about the man made him think of fighting mages on the other side. Normally he'd be excited, encountering such an odd ability, but he was busy right now, the longer he was caught up with this man the less he was able to kill beasts.

"I don't have time for this!" Orlan growled, tapping into his full strength and speed, infusing his body with mana to crush this annoyance. Yet he still couldn't land an attack, he was faster, stronger and more agile, but the man was extremely skilled. Impossibly so, like he'd been fighting this way for decades.

"You need help?" Lailra asked in his mind, seeing him in combat with the annoyingly elusive man.

"Focus on saving people, if you get an opening though try and pin him down," Orlan replied as his spear hit nothing but air once again, the man seeming to slide out of the way.

"Hmmm, is this all you have?" The man asked, jumping backwards to avoid another attack, only to be yanked forward, avoiding the follow up lunge, "you're strong and fast, but I was expecting something more from a protector."

"You want to see something cool?" Orlan asked with a grin.

"Do I!" The man nodded excitedly.

Pausing for a second, Orlan summoned a five-ring spell in the air behind him, splitting his mind to begin casting while resuming his attack on the man. The crazed man laughed uproariously at the combat casting.

"You can't run from this," Orlan said as the spell finished, preparing to activate it. Only for the man to dash in, slipping under his spear to palm Orlan's breastplate.

"But you can!" The man grinned as Orlan was suddenly yanked backwards at high speed. For the last minute of the battle Orlan had been pushing the man down the road, had he built up whatever ability it was that let him move so fast without incurring the recoil while doing so? And could he somehow transfer that recoil to objects he touched?

Crashing through a stone wall Orlan considered launching the spell, but he was too far away to ensure a hit, with how crowded the city was he didn't want to risk it. Instead, as he finally hit the ground, using his rift step to control his landing, a nearby beast felt the full fury of a fifth sphere single target spell, the bolt of rift energy reducing it to ash instantly.

About to turn and go hunting once more, the man came running down the road once more, having built up an impressive amount of speed. Each step caused a crater to form in the roadway a heartbeat after he passed. Orlan turned to block the machete only for the man to throw it at him. Instinctively blocking the mana infused weapon left him open to the man striking out with both hands, landing a double palm strike on Orlan's torso.

"Shattered Stage!" The man shouted, mana exploding from his palms. Orlan jerked backwards as he saw the air itself seem to crack, fractures in reality itself racing outwards from where the blow had landed. Several of them struck his breastplate, but they were weaker than the mana in his armor, forcing them to deflect off with a shower of sparks. Still the cracks spread outwards, digging into the ground and buildings, branching and expanding.

And it didn't end there, wherever the cracks hit something solid things got worse. Flames erupted from the ground, lighting from a collapsing building and a tree, sliced in half by one crack froze as it was covered in ice.

"Shame, we'll meet again!" The man said before being yanked back out of sight.

With an angry shout Orlan charged his spear with void flames and struck the origin point of the cracks. The flames eating through the chaotic mana and shattering it, ensuring he was no longer trapped in a cage of sheering mana.

"That unknown is headed out of the city now," Nallia answered when Orlan questioned her, "fast."

"If you spot him again, let me know," Orlan answered, "when he touched me, I felt his mana. He was a third sphere mage... and a third-tier coreward human."

"He was both?" Lailra asked, "I thought that was impossible."

"Technically, there are a few cultures on the other side that practice a mix of sphere and core progression," Nallia replied, "but this felt... different."

"I agree," Orlan said, turning to race off towards the next nearest beast, "like his core and his spheres had two different mana types. But we'll deal with that later, for now, focus on the beasts."

-----

Three hours later, Orlan found himself collapsed by a fountain of bronze, depicting young men, dolphins and turtles. It was damaged, likely from a beast, but Orlan didn't care, simply catching his breath as his knights gathered.

"I'm still picking up a few beasts under the city," Nallia said evenly, she'd fought just as hard as everyone yet still her voice didn't waver, "there appears to be an extensive set of tunnels, might not be worth trying to hunt them down."

"Let's find out if we're even welcome here first," Orlan panted, pulling a water skin from his personal space and nearly draining it, "casualties?"

"Hundreds of thousands easily," Lailra sighed, "possibly up to a million. But deaths are likely closer to ten or twenty thousand."

"And damage to the city is... extensive," Pela added, looking over the fountain, "these are clearly historic streets, not sure they can ever be repaired truly."

"It is Rome," Lailra said, "it's big on both sides it seems. I had been wanting to come here, under more... peaceful circumstances."

"Think I saw the Colloseum nearby."

"A half mile South East from here, the Pantheon is closer, only a few blocks East," Nallia added, "I was hoping to see how the Pantheon would look without regular upkeep."

Orlan was about to respond when a van slowly drove into the small square where he and his knights were gathering to recover. It was surprisingly intact, though how it managed to navigate the cluttered streets Orlan had no idea. It came to a stop and a man in a long robe stepped out. A red shawl over his shoulders and a cross hanging from his neck.

"You must be the Lord Protector," the man said with a bow of his head, "This might not be the ideal time, but the Holy See wishes to speak with you."

"The what?" Orlan asked.

"The throne of the Vatican," Nallia answered, continuing when everyone turned a questioning look to her, "I looked up the common religions on this side using the cellphone."

"I'm hardly in the condition to speak with the pope," Orlan remarked.

"You shan't be speaking with the Pope, just the Holy See," the man replied.

"The Pope is both the leader of the Catholic Church and the King of the Vatican," Nallia explained in his mind, "technically the authority of both belongs to the Holy See, the throne, through which the will of God may act, the Pope is merely the agent of Him."

"Could we be dealing with another local god?" Orlan asked telepathically.

"Unlikely."

"The Vatican will provide a feast for the Protectors of Rome," the man added, taking the silence for uncertainty, "and we promise you will be safe from any complains by the Italian Government or European Union."

"Well, we don't want to be rude," Orlan said, after another quick telepathic exchange, "I doubt we'll all fit in your van. How about we just follow you to the Vatican?"

-----

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-----

The first thing I did on arriving at the lab was attempt to observe the rain. While I’d spend most of the last few days reading through the database I had gone through what equipment I had to work with. There was a good amount of rain collection equipment, including a large funnel that fit in many of the vials along with stands I could use to extend it out into the rain without getting myself wet. I wasn’t too concerned about it, but figured it was best to be safe until I knew more about what I was working with.

Setting up one of the rain collectors with a vial I sat down to let my scanners work over the rain, but I quickly ran into a problem. Specifically, the water in the test tube was moving too much. I could get general readings, but in order to isolate the quantum field I’d seen before I’d need a more static sample. But the rain was constantly dripping in and falling back up, resulting in a lot of turnover that made getting good scans near impossible.

First thing I did was grab a rubber stopper and try to plug the test tube, largely just to see what happened. Reading about it was one thing, but observation was always better in my experience. Within a few seconds of me placing the stopper I could already see water gathering against it, trying to force its way out. It took a few moments until there was a soft pop, the stopper tilted slightly, creating a crack that let the water out.

Repeating the experiment several times, that was the most common result, a soft pop as the seal broke letting the water escape. Once it was a bit more violent as the stopper went flying, but it was an outlier. It seemed that the water required a viable path to return through, and it would find one. So, of course, my next thought was what would happen if I didn’t give it a path? I had the vial filled, placed the stopper and proceeded to turn it upside down. That way if it tried to go up it would run into the solid glass bottom of the test tube, in theory giving it no way to escape.

And that held for nearly twenty seconds before I saw a drop of water gathering on the outside of the vial, which beaded and then flew into the sky. Soon it was joined by others and, before long, the vial was empty.

Confused, I took the vial inside and filled it with normal water from the tap, checking to see if the vial had a crack. It didn’t seem to, until I turned my sensors on it and found some tiny fractures in the glass structure. They shouldn’t have been enough for water to get through, the water tension alone would prevent it, yet those imperfections were exactly where I’d seen the drops form. Another test confirmed the returning rain would flow through those micro-fractures in order to escape the seemingly watertight test tube.

I scanned another few vials until I found one that didn’t have any microfractures along the base and tried the test again. The rain still escaped and, upon rescanning the vial I was now finding the microfractures needed for the water to escape. Somehow the water had created these tiny cracks, without shattering the test tube entirely. I tried to capture the creation of the microfractures in my scanners, but I didn’t have enough test tubes and my sensors couldn’t watch the entire vial in enough resolution to detect them forming. I’d have to pick a spot and get lucky, which given the limited supply wasn’t going to happen.

After watching the rain for a minute I decided to create my own vial. Not out of glass, but using my quantum threads to create a shield to contain the rain. I already had experience with scanning the threads with my sensors so it would be easy for me, or at least easier.

Setting up the rain collector again I wove a small shield spell, creating a half-sphere of the threads, as densely packed as I could manage. Once I was certain it was as complete as I could manage, I positioned it over the vial, letting the returning rain fall up into it, like an inverted basin. And it seemed to be working, the rain pooled in the top of the half-sphere, unable to find a way through.

Then I noticed the shield shrinking; it was burning through energy far faster than it should have been. And the rate of energy drain was only accelerating. Reaching out I touched one of the threads and willed my enhancement aura to flow into the spell, wondering if the boost in strength would let it hold better. As soon as the aura filled the shield, however, the water within fell straight out, back into the rain collector as if it had returned to normal.

That confused me, so I used my hand to catch some rain and let the aura energy seep through my hand into the water... and it remained in my hand. For several minutes I sat there with a bit of water in my cupped hand like it was the most confusing thing imaginable. And despite the simplistic look, it was. In all my observations the rain would never remain for more than a few seconds, yet because of my aura field it was acting like normal water.

On a whim I retracted the aura and almost instantly the water in my hand shot into the sky. I tried it a few more times, each time confirming that the aura, somehow, prevented the returning rain from, well, returning. But it only suppressed the effect, not fully negating it.

What followed was nearly and hour of me designing the perfect containment spell for the rain. An outer shell of aura infused quantum threads would prevent an inner shell from being drained of energy by the odd effect of the rain, without negating the quantum field within the rain itself. It took a dozen attempts but eventually I got it working, having to finely tune the two shells in order to contain the rain without suppressing its effects.

But soon I had a sphere of returning rainwater suspended between the two shells, fully contained. The Harmony watched as I sat down to let my scanners run over it. For a few minutes that was fine, until the Harmony nudged me, drawing my attention to the sphere of water.

It was glowing. Very faintly, but glowing.

Cocking my head I tuned my sensors and quickly discovered that the water was generating energy, from seemingly nothing.

“That’s... not possible,” I muttered, explaining my discovery to the Harmony.

“Clearly it is,” the Harmony countered, and I had to acknowledge the point.

“It almost looks like... it's doing entropy in reverse,” I said.

“Maybe it is?” offered the Harmony, “this stuff seems to do everything else in reverse.”

“Was this... an attempt at time travel?” I asked, “all forces are temporally agnostic; they don’t care what direction time flows, except for entropy. Entropy only ever increases, some energy is lost in any transition in which time flows forward. Yet this rain, or the quantum field within it, seems to selectively switch between increasing and decreasing entropy.”

“Would that explain its other effects? Like the Repeaters?”

“Not by itself, though limited control over the flow of entropy would explain why Repeaters can, well, repeat. They undo a few seconds of entropy, returning to where they were at the start of that time. It could also explain why they can’t repeat back past a previous repetition, they’d have to undo their own undone entropic reversal. The energy demands would skyrocket.”

“And the increased strength on each repetition?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “maybe they double up the entropic drain on repetition, increasing the energy output? I’m not sure how the reversed entropy would even result in the creation of Repeaters in the first place.”

“We know you were involved somehow, and if this was an attempt at time travel, maybe we’re looking at it backwards. What if the Repeaters aren’t the end of the chain, but the start?”

“What do you mean?”

“So far we’re starting with the moon being the start of the chain, followed by the returning rain, and then Repeaters,” the Harmony said, “but everything about these things appears to happen back to front, so what if the Repeaters are the start of the chain, they cause the rain, which summons the moon?”

“That would be... nonsense...” I trailed off as the rain in my containment sphere began to boil from the built-up energy. As it did my sensors were going wild, the quantum field within the rainwater seeming to lash out, attempting to escape the shell.

I quickly rushed outside and dismissed the shells, only for the glowing water to form into a clawed hand and rush at me, only to fall apart and shoot into the sky before it could reach me.

“Did... that really happen?” I asked.

“It would seem so.”

A few minutes later, back in the lab, this time without a ball of rainwater, I’d calmed down enough to look over what had happened.

“The rainwater began gathering energy as it was unable to return, heating up and glowing,” I said slowly, “then, when I released it, it used that energy to form a hand and attack me, but fell apart and flew into the sky, returning.”

“Therefore, given enough energy, will any rainwater form a repeater? Or even a part of one?”

“It seems like it,” I nodded, “and if that’s the case, then when it lands on people, it gathers energy from them? It seems to drain energy from anything it touches when attempting to return. When it just lands on someone and returns it’s unlikely to be that impactful, but if you try to restrain it, it... decays or eats through the container until it returns. Stealing energy from molecular bonds, quantum threads, whatever is restraining it.”

“Which seems to indicate that it was intended to be a weapon,” the Harmony said, “steal energy from your opposition, the more they try to prevent the rain from touching them, the more energy they lose.”

“Except all they need is an umbrella,” I pointed out, “prevent it from touching you in the first place and you’re safe.”

“Which is why it was rejected, it was unreliable.”

“I’m still not convinced,” I shrug, “looks to me like an attempt to reverse entropy, selectively or locally... but it does give me an idea.”

“What?”

“This quantum field seems to be able to flick back and forth between reverse and proper entropic energy loss, impacted by its surroundings, and is self-sustaining,” I said, looking at the Harmony, “it would make the perfect medium for you. A naturally harmonic fluid that requires no outside energy source... we’d need to refine it obviously, but it could make for the ideal containment for a harmonic entity.”

“Something neither the old you or the Conductor would be capable of,” the Harmony said, almost sounding excited, “a combination of your work, surpassing anything either one of you could make.”

“It’s just a theory at the moment,” I said, trying to reign it in, “I’d need access to a quantum lab to... to...”

“What?”

“The timer just popped up,” I sighed, “got an hour left in this world. Any thoughts on how to help the people of this world?”

“Share what you learned?” the Harmony offered, “if they can recreate that Aura field you use, they can suppress the rain, right?”

“It’s not a long term solution, but maybe they can make something out of it,” I shrugged, walking over to the computer and sitting down. I quickly typed up my findings, only barely finishing before the timer hit zero and the world around me vanished.

-----

My landing in the next world was rough, to say the least. At first I thought I was falling through a half-destroyed building, as I struck walls, tables and more, but as I figured out my surroundings I realized I was in some kind of storeroom and in zero gravity. Grabbing onto a handle on the wall I quickly determined this was some kind of space ship or station, and it was supposed to have gravity, just based on the layout.

The room shook, I could hear metal groaning and the loud humming of an engine or generator, and gravity suddenly returned. Once more falling to the floor I quickly stood and stumbled out of the storeroom into a narrow hallway. Men in uniform pressure suits were running wires, carrying supplies and generally rushing back and forth, none of them giving me more than a confused glance.

“Warning, shields failing,” an alert sounded moments before space around me seemed to begin to shake. Oddly my implants seemed to recognize this shaking and alerted me the anti-harmonic counter-signal had activated. Around me some of the men were clutching their heads while others tried to keep working. Some were actively reaching for weapons, though what they intended to use them on was unclear. One shook as he pressed the pistol to his temple while another held it at the ready while watching another man who was practically in the fetal position.

They were being assaulted by a harmonic entity, I realized, one that was somehow being projected through space itself. The shields of the ship or whatever I was on had been blocking it, but without that they were now exposed.

Everyone froze as one man began to sing, loud, operatic tones that quickly cut off as another man shot him. They knew what was going on, and I had to do something quickly.

Pulling out a thread of energy from one of my generators I quickly spun a modified shield spell, working in a simple countersignal into the shield that it would project instead of stopping anything physical. Pouring my limited aura into it I released the spell, the shield ballooning out to a few dozen meters across and, as it did, the shaking eased allowing everyone near me to let out a sigh of relief.

It was a temporary solution, of course, I had reduced the intensity but not blocked the harmonic signal entirely. I began working on another, more refined, version when the shaking did stop, all the pressure vanishing entirely.

“Emergency FTL successful,” a voice announced, “all hands, check for signs of harmonic infection.”

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