Her blood was silver.
Or, at least, it glittered with it. Blood from Rosemary's arm streamed down and onto Phineas's book, flecks of magic that almost sparkled in the red. Phineas could only watch, his mouth agape, as Rosemary's sacrifice fell into the pages of his book as though it were a hole, as Ech'th'n the Wound-Eater was given its due. She hardly seemed to squirm at the sight of her self-made cut, at the way her blood shimmered, at the way the book drank it down perhaps a bit too greedily, though that last part Phineas knew only he could notice.
When it was over, he produced a bandage, which she wove 'round her arm. It had not been a deep cut, but it was enough that she grimaced a bit at the sparking pain. She held her sceptre to her chest, her cloak wrapped around her like a chrysalis, as Phineas worked out the spell, murmuring profane words into his tome. His communications with the Wound-Eater, however, eventually went to a level above this reality, and thus he stopped speaking.
Part of him was negotiating.
Part of him was curious, and could act on his curiosity.
“It is pretty,” he said.
“What, the blood?” Rosemary said, “Don't be gross, Phin.”
“I am sorry,” Phineas said, “But it is true. It glitters. It looks different, to my eyes. In yours, it sparkles. In mine, it does much, much more.”
She was quiet, shamefaced, as the Deep One continued his spell. The words on the tome's pages grew larger, spilled out, stained the entire paper a deep, deep black. Outside, they could hear shouts. The thrums of plasma fire, though that died down soon enough.
“Rosemary,” Phineas rasped, “May I ask you a question?”
“Why do I hide?” Rosemary asked.
“Yes,” Phineas said, “Though, it is a poor disguise.”
“Maybe to you,” Rosemary said, “Because you can see a heck of a lot more than other people, right?”
“Yes,” Phineas said.
“How long have you known?” Rosemary asked.
“I had suspicions,” Phineas said, “You always... there are parts of you...”
He looked down, struggling to describe himself.
“When I see my memories of you, in the in-between, at night, when I dream, when I drift, when I swim, you are different. You shine bright, like a crimson star.”
“Not like an elf.”
“Their light is different,” Phineas said, “And yet not. It is... difficult to explain. I do not think I can convey how you feel, or look, or shine, in mere words. What I present are simulacrums, poor imitations, of what I describe.”
“And it was when you saw me there, that you realized I'm a faerie.”
“Correct.”
“It's... complicated, Phineas,” Rosemary said, and she found herself shrinking a bit, growing red, “I don't know. Maybe it isn't. We – my family, I mean – we've got a bit of Elven blood in our lineage. My home plane is a distant one, though elves once called it home. I remember hearing stories about them. I remember people telling me that I looked like them, without my wings.”
“And what happened to your-”
“Don't ask about them,” Rosemary said, her voice tight, “Please, Phineas. Don't.”
The Deep One nodded. The silence became awkward. Rosemary sighed.
“You remember when we were onboard the Recluse?”
“A few days ago?” Phineas said, “Yes.”
“And you know how it was powered.”
“By faerie's blood,” Phineas said, and realization began to settle in on him, his eyes bugging wide, “...Ah.”
“I've heard dark stories,” Rosemary said, “Of factories set up on certain planes, like Tsaeyaru, or Escovia. Where faeries are bred on farms like cattle, harvested like honey from the hive. All of them are destined for one thing: to be killed, used up, sacrificed. Each part of the faerie is magically potent, our blood is a power source that's revolutionized the multiverse many times throughout history.”
“I... see,” Phineas said.
“So you can imagine,” Rosemary said, “Those little faeries? They provide a quick boost, and in order to power something like the Recluse, you need a lot of them. But I'm several times larger than most faeries. I'm human-sized. Imagine all the blood bags I'd be able to fill.”
“You are a target,” Phineas said.
She nodded.
“Then I am sorry,” Phineas said, “I did not realize. By the Recluse. By what they do on that ship. I knew that they were faeries, and I knew that you were faerie, but-”
“It's fine,” Rosemary said, “You've got a different way of viewing sacrifice, and death. You're more out there than in here, you know?”
“I know,” Phineas said.
“It's normal for you. For other people.”
“That does not make it right,” Phineas said.
She smiled at that. It was sad, almost shameful.
“No, Phin,” she whispered, “It doesn't.”
The page on Phineas's book began turning upwards, the black paper fashioning into a lantern. Phineas took hold of its top, standing up. A cobalt flame bloomed.
“There,” he said, “I can find him. He is alive, I think, otherwise the flame would be small, and weak.”
Rosemary felt relief wash over her.
“Good,” she said, “What's next?”
And they heard roars outside. More shouts. More plasma fire.
“Evidently whatever is happening outside, is still happening,” Phineas said, “The terrorist incident is not over.”
“...Odd,” Rosemary said, “You'd think it'd be over by now. A flash in the pan. Most terrorist attacks are. You can't afford to stay there for long, if you're playing the guerilla.”
“Something has gone wrong,” Phineas said. He took a deep breath, “I will go.”
“Phineas, no,” Rosemary said, “It's dangerous.”
“And Joseph may be in danger,” Phineas said, “My magic is difficult to use here, but the Wound-Eater has been kind. It enjoys your blood-”
She shivered at that.
“-And may be willing to give me more gifts. Shadows to hide in. I am good at hiding.”
She watched as Phineas made for the door, darkness lengthening around him, snuffing the lantern's light from her, hiding it and her friend away.
“...We were supposed to do this together, Phin,” Rosemary said.
“And we are,” Phineas said, “But you just gave blood, and must rest. I will find Joseph. I will bring him back to us. We will leave this place, and go to Melmaen together.”
He gave her a watery smile.
Then he opened the door, and disappeared.
***
There were three Traveling Points in Beta Chapel. One led to Sazuad. The other two were constantly in flux, forecasting to at least fifteen other planes throughout a cycle, sometimes a sixteenth, though that was determined to only happen for a single day once every hundred years.
Bodies littered the floor. Dallion was glad to see that many of them were Federation shits, their sparkling white combat uniforms punched through with holes. Others were guildfolk, and the Omendrai felt a burning elation at that. Dogs of the Federation, they were. Too cowardly to actually stand up for themselves, to be the man's man. He stood over one of them, a strange, multi-eyed goblin, and sneered down. His entire body burned bright in victory.
“Hey, Dal,” Shonis said, next to him, “We heading out, or what?”
Dallion glared over. Shonis was wiry, thin. Weak, really, not a true warrior. The little elf was gripping his rifle gingerly in hand, nervousness written on his entire frame. He would be the first to fall, when everything well and truly went down. When they would get what was theirs.
Action like this, this was just a taste of what was to come. And Shonis would be dead long before that, when it came to separating the wheat and the chaff.
“We aren't heading out 'til the Sons finish their job,” Dallion growled, “Remember?”
“I know,” Shonis said, “But it's taking them a second, right? Usually we just run off, bloody the Fed's noses a bit-”
“Quit your whining,” Dallion said, “We're fine.”
And he smiled a dark smile at Shonis, once more casting his gaze at the roomful of the dead. This action had been more effective than their entire year-long operation here on St. Malendia's. Father had been right to reach out to the Sons.
And it was all thanks to that mercenary they had sent. The Domehead, they called him. In heavy-duty combat armor, a futuristic-looking helmet. But there was more to him. The Sons' servant had lightly tapped Dallion's chest, and unleashed a flame far more powerful than the Omendrai could ever conjure. He had found a metahuman in the dying masses, a guildfolk who had stood up to defend herself, and imitated her ability to produce sonic screams, which had shattered the stained glass windows and cracked the stone walls of the chapel.
He stood now, alone, among the corpses, stolen flame still in hand.
And Dallion, deep down, could not help but fear him.
“When does the VIP get here?” Shonis asked, “Dallion, I hear more footsteps. More of them are coming.”
“Soon,” Dallion said, “Shut up.”
“But what if-”
“I said, shut up!”
The Omendrai wheeled over, snarling, glaring at the elf. Shonis whimpered back as Dallion loomed over him.
“If you're feeling like a bitch, then go check the hallways with the others. Use that rifle for something other than a security blanket. You haven't fired it once this entire time.”
He let out a grunt.
“Didn't know we were letting pansies in on the jobs nowadays.”
Shosi reddened. Stuttered for a second to get out some asinine excuse. Then, he fumbled away, heading towards the hallways. Dallion could hear plasma fire a little ways away – Gordon's squad probably was fending off another assault. He stepped forward to the Domehead.
“You should head back to the eastern halls,” the Omendrai said, “They'll be needing you again soon.”
The Domehead turned to look at him, and he felt a thrill of fear crawl up his spine. The Domehead nodded, heading for the hallway, stepping over burnt and plasma-riddled corpses.
“Hey,” Dallion said.
The Domehead stopped.
“You took my fire, didn't you?”
“I did.”
The voice that came from the Domehead was young. Good. The newer generations were either far too weak or far too brainwashed by the media. They were given the wrong values. The wrong way to live their lives. Not like true men, and proper women. Warriors and homemakers, in their proper roles.
But the Domehead wasn't like that. He was strong. A true paragon of the world Dallion hoped for. He could not help but see Shonis, and see a world that he feared.
“Can you do that with anyone?” he asked.
“It is easier with certain species,” the Domehead said, “Metahumans, for example. Elemental races, such as yourself.”
Dallion sneered.
“All the good bits?” he said.
“All that you are, I become,” the Domehead said. He still held a burning flame in hand, “I will watch the eastern halls. Be prepared for the Martian's arrival. He should be here soon.”
“Right,” Dallion said, “I've got the main chapel.”
And the Domehead drew off, leaving Dallion alone.
***
“Hell of a time,” Lunus Oculus said.
Joseph had begun his story rather meekly, trying to spare as much detail as he could. He had started with telling her why he was on St. Malendia's. Where he was going. But as she nodded, poured them cups of tea, her red eyes practically glowing, everything spilled out.
Why he was stranded in the multiverse.
Earth.
His family.
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The Amber Foundation.
Wakeling.
The jobs he had been on.
Everything. He was breaking down, he knew. His voice trembled with emotion. Anger. Fear. Sadness. Loneliness.
Through it all, Lunus Oculus listened. Sipped her tea. Nodded along.
When he was done, she set her cup down.
“That's quite the time you've had,” she said, “More tea?”
He stared at her. Gawked, for a moment, at her nonchalant reaction.
Then, he shrugged.
“Sure,” he said, “What is the stuff, anyways?”
“Elderberry,” Lunus Oculus said, “Nothing major. There are a couple gardens here that grow the stuff, I make sure to swipe some every so often.”
She went over to her makeshift kitchen, pouring out another cup for them.
“So, you're trying to get home, then,” she said.
“That's the goal,” Joseph said, “Gotta got to the sarcophagi.”
“And what'll you do when you get to them?” Lunus Oculus said.
Joseph felt heat rising at that statement.
“Hate people asking me that,” he said, “I'll figure it out. And before you ask, I've done my research. There's very little on the sarcophagi, only that they exist, that they were used by metahumans a long time ago to get from here to there.”
He accepted the cup from her.
“I don't think I'll need much time to figure out how a door works.”
And Lunus Oculus smiled at that.
“A door,” she repeated.
“Yeah.”
“The sarcophagi sound like they're a bit more than just simple doors, friend.”
“Maybe,” Joseph said.
He swirled the tea for a second. Glared at it.
“Regardless,” he said, “Thanks for helping me out back there. Scary stuff's out here, huh?”
“Wasn't always like this,” Lunus Oculus said, “Those terrorists, they only started hiding out on St. Malendia's a few months ago. Most of the time they stick to the surrounding planes. Mendros, and the like.”
“Hmm,” Joseph said, “And, what, the Federation just accepts it?”
“Oh, I bet the rank and file hate it,” Lunus Oculus said, “They're used to running their regular beats. Questioning any of their usual undesirables. But they're also used to coming home at night to their barracks, sending letters home, spending Silverfish shares to talk to family in the Eye.”
“Not this.”
“Naw, not this,” Lunus Oculus said, “This is the third attack this month. I heard about the first two from a couple friends here. One was centered on a small colony the Feds founded a few years back. The other was at Gamma Chapel.”
“And they, what, aren't investigating this?” Joseph asked.
“Ha,” Lunus Oculus said, “As if. Any requests for help from the Federation government just goes to some administration world. It could be years before they send someone out here.”
She sat down, and the look on her face became dark.
“Unless it's to investigate some cross-technological 'contamination,' the Feddies are slow,” she said, “And they only have quick investigations as an excuse to glass planes. Keeps the rest of the multiverse in line, you know?”
Joseph was quiet at that.
“It's whatever,” she said, her voice sarcastic, “It's not like everyone is doing it, anyways. Even the most primitive planes have some sort of tech they got from beyond a Traveling Point. Not like they just send agents out for the hell of it. Listen to me, and listen to me well, Joseph.”
And she fixed him with a level stare.
“All of this, the attacks, the glassings, the wanton cruelty towards people like us, all of it is intentional. It causes suffering. It sends a message. If they wanted to, they could have found whoever caused this attack in mere days. But they don't, because the more they can paint the multiverse as this barbaric place, the more they look like the pinnacle of civilization.”
He wasn't sure how to respond to that. Lunus Oculus shrugged.
“More tea?” she said.
“...Sure,” he replied.
They were both silent as she poured out another cup for him.
“Running low,” she said, “Sorry, but I'm fresh out after this one.”
“It's alright,” Joseph said.
She came back. They continued to drink.
***
Sneaking through the halls of St. Malendia proved to be more difficult than Phineas anticipated.
The hallways spider-webbing out between where he was, and where Joseph had been taken, had erupted into chaos. Federation soldiers were rushing towards the chapel where the terrorist attack had taken place. Men in cobbled-together combat gear, including the fiery Omendrai, fought them off. Phineas did his best to avoid those halls, sticking to the shadows, letting his spell conceal his presence from all.
Down the stone halls, he could hear the sounds of plasma fire. Explosions. Thuds and screams. Shouts and orders. It sounded, truly, like a warzone.
He was going through another chapel now, this one similar to the one hosting the Traveling Points. A statue of St. Malendia dominated its center, water streaming from her golden eyes and pouring down into a fountain below. Coins littered the pool's base. The stained glass windows here depicted various stages of grief – refugees crying amidst flames, a son at his father's bedside, a mother holding a decapitated infant.
It was here that Phineas hid as he heard sounds coming from down the hall. He knew they were not Federation make.
A large form stepped through the halls, flanked by two mercenaries. He was an easy ten feet tall, a giant with skin the color of sun-bleached bone. A breathing mask was affixed to his face, and he wore a strange, bronze-colored ceremonial armor.
Phineas recognized him.
He had built an entire Myth Battle deck around him.
And he hid away until the god left, going down the halls leading to the Traveling Point.
***
Dakos.
The Martian god stepped out into the light, into the chapel, surveyed the carnage that the Sons of Darwin had wrought.
Dallion stood beside Manny, and despite the Omendrai's previous posturing and blustering, he could see the Omendrai's hands shake slightly at the sight of the god. Dakos stepped fully onto the chapel's dais, his hand extending out.
The bodies in the room began to shudder, lifted up slightly into the air. Red mist began pouring out of open, dead mouths, out of ears, nostrils, tear glands. The bits of life force that still clung desperately to their owners, the shredded souls that still remained in flesh, suffused out like a blood fog towards Dakos.
Who breathed deep, and heavy. The sound was ancient, almost haggard, masked a bit by his breathing apparatus, tubes which ran from his face, looping around his neck, plugged into his chest. An exterior system of lungs, for it was said that the ancient Martians, now long gone, had breathed something other than air, and needed their technology to survive Prime-like environments and planes.
And here, Dakos breathed in the soul.
Manny had heard stories of the Martian. How he was one of their gods. How they had invaded Prime long ago, and lost, leading to their extinction.
How Dakos, in an action of desperation, had tied his godhood to Prime, to the Sons of Darwin, to the Manticore. To be bereft of any of these sources meant that he would become diminished, until he faded entirely.
And so, to move about the multiverse, without the Sons of Darwin or his master or Prime, he breathed in the next best thing.
The corpses looked hollow when he was finished. A bloodbath, all in favor of making sure that Dakos was comfortable in his travels.
Part of Manny did not care. He had killed these people, as was his job.
Part of Manny was disgusted.
And, distantly, part of Manny felt guilt.
“So, this is Matergabia's simulacrum,” Dakos said. His voice was smeared by his mask, and sounded like he had inhaled flames, so scarred was his throat, “I did not expect a falsehood as you to come here.”
Manny was silent. He did not know how to respond to that.
“Nothing?” Dakos said, “You, who live as a false Okuta, can say nothing? Did Matergabia not create you to imitate our leader?”
Dallion was looking between him and the Martian god. Dakos let out an exhausted sigh.
“Perhaps I should kill you,” Dakos said.
This got Manny on edge, an electric fuzz enveloping his spine. The flame in his hand grew brighter.
“You act like him,” Dakos said, “You possess a... poor copy, of his abilities. You do not devour like he does, you merely ape.”
“The doctor did not design me to be his replacement,” Manny said, “Only an agent.”
“Then why design you like this at all?” Dakos said, “I see all of you. My eyes see more than flesh. You are nothing more than a soup of crossed DNA, all tying together and trying to be something you are not.”
And he stepped forward.
“And Okuta has no DNA.”
“If you wish to kill me,” Manny said, “Then do so. But I am Matergabia's opus. You would be hearing from her.”
“I do not care about the whims of some scientist,” Dakos growled.
“She made me on specific orders from Koban Drol,” Manny said, “I am an agent of the Sons. You would be killing your own.”
“My own died long ago,” Dakos said. He took another step forward. The Omendrai began stumbling back from the two of them.
“If you wish me harm, I will fight back,” Manny said, “You may kill me. But it will drain you of energy needed for the mission the guildmaster has assigned you.”
At this, Dakos stopped. He considered Manny's words.
“You, spawn, will not accompany me,” he said, “The mission on Kelankhosha is a red one, and I will not have my back watched by something such as you.”
“If that is your wish,” Manny said, “I am merely here to hold this place for your arrival.”
They could hear more shouts. More plasma fire. The elf, Shonis, rushed into the room.
“An entire squadron!” he cried, “They're on their way! They overwhelmed us, they-”
“Time to go,” Dallion said, “You coming, Domehead?”
Manny nodded. If Dakos would not take him, he would ensure this cell's safety. Dakos let out a low growl, his head cocking as he heard the Federation's approach.
Then, without another word, the Martian god stepped through the Traveling Point to Kelankhosha. Manny turned to Shonis and Dallion, and the three of them made for the hall, disappearing into the depths of St. Malendia's.
***
“What you said before,” Joseph said, “People like us.”
“Metahumans,” Lunus Oculus said, “And others. The Federation has a long history of grinding those of the multiverse under their heel.”
“Hmm,” Joseph said, “What others?”
“Humans,” Lunus Oculus said, “Thought not as much anymore. Their danger is not as... overt, as us.”
“You can say that again,” Joseph said, sipping his tea, “Feels like every metahuman I meet is dangerous.”
Lunus Oculus smiled.
“Even me?” she asked.
“Maybe,” Joseph said, “I don't know your power.”
“My eyes change color with the phases of the moon,” she said, “Is that what makes me dangerous?”
Joseph shrugged.
“It's not that,” he said, “It sounds like you've just been living on the edge like this for a while now.”
“I am what my oppressors made me,” Lunus Oculus said, “Some of us have dangerous abilities, Joseph. Others are like me. Yet they hunt us, all the same. They hate us. They see what we can do, what we can be, and they are afraid.”
“Maybe they have a right to be,” Joseph said.
“And what do you mean by that?”
“I...” Joseph sighed, “When I first went meta, I used my powers to kill someone. To hurt people.”
His hand became cloaked in his soul's glow, the claw manifesting out, curled and sharp and deadly.
“And I hear that when people go meta, it can be dangerous. That it's caused people to get hurt before.”
“If one is not careful, if one does not have a good support network, that can happen,” Lunus Oculus said, “But is that a reason to imprison us? To oppress us? Take away our rights, drive us to genocide?”
Joseph was quiet. He stared, still, at his hand.
“We used to have that, when one first awakened,” Lunus Oculus said, “Did you know that? I remember my grandmother tell me stories of Epochia. How each awakening was a cause for celebration. That there were those who knew what to do when a metahuman 'went meta,' like a midwife knows how to deliver a baby.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Of course our awakenings would be dangerous now. We don't have our networks anymore. They were taken from us. And now they're used to further justify the Federation's cruelty.”
“Which is the point, right?”
“Yes,” Lunus Oculus said, “It is the point.”
They were quiet for a long while after that. Lunus Oculus had run out of tea. Joseph had finished his, and now sat there, his head swimming in thought.
Eventually, Lunus Oculus stood up, picked up the cups, put them into the sink.
“I'll probably head out myself, soon,” she said, “It's getting too hot here. Too much Federation presence.”
“Where will you go?” Joseph asked.
“Oh, I don't know,” Lunus Oculus said, “Anywhere but here. I'll figure something out.”
She turned to him.
“You're still wanting to get to Melmaen?”
He nodded.
“Well, good luck with that,” she said, “I do hope you find what-”
There was a knock at the door, far below. Lunus Oculus spun. Grimaced.
“Might want to get your power ready,” she said. She crossed over to her bed, pulled out a pistol from beneath her pillow. Joseph's soul began pumping, the claw on his hand growing larger, the eagle's arm peeling away from his own.
Lunus Oculus went downstairs. She looked through the small peephole to see who was on the other side. But there was no one.
And yet the knock came again. Whoever was on the other side was either invisible, or short.
She opened the door.
And realized it was both. The visitor's form was shimmering, a vague silhouette in the air that, after a few moments, melted away to reveal a Deep One. He was holding a black paper lantern in one webbed hand, and his bubble eyes slid up to see her.
“Oh,” he said, “You are not Joseph.”
“And who are you?”
“I am Phineas,” the Deep One said, “I am here for him.”
“You his guildmate?” Lunus Oculus said.
“Indeed,” Phineas said, “I am his keeper. Is he hurt?”
“Nothing a quick potion couldn't fix,” Lunus Oculus said, and she looked over her shoulder, shouting, “Hey, Joseph! Deep One here says he's with you!”
“He is,” Joseph said, crossing over and looking down the staircase, “Phin? Is Rosemary okay?”
“She is fine. I am fine,” Phineas said, “Things are settling down outside. If we are quiet, I can use my spellwork to get us through St. Malendia's safely.”
“...Right,” Joseph said. He turned to look at Lunus Oculus, “Think we're good to go?”
The metahuman hesitated, then nodded.
“Should be,” she said, “Phineas, your spellwork, it extends to Joseph?”
“It extends to whomever I wish.”
“You could come with us,” Joseph said, “You said you were leaving here anyways.”
But Lunus Oculus shook her head.
“Melmaen is dangerous, for our kind,” she said, “Metahumans there are either experiments, or taken by their governments to be used as wardogs. Best you be careful yourself.”
Joseph's heart fell at that.
“Right,” he said.
“Joseph,” Phineas said, “We must go. Rosemary is waiting.”
“Keep to the northern hallways,” Lunus Oculus said, “If you see a chapel with a stained glass depicting St. Malendia slaying a unicorn, stay away. Federation sympathizers live in those halls. They aren’t the friendliest to us.”
“We will be careful,” Phineas said.
Lunus Oculus looked at Joseph for another few moments, before extending a hand. Joseph shook it.
“Thanks for helping me, back there,” he said, “You probably saved my life.”
“Pay it forward,” Lunus Oculus said, “That's all I ask.”
“Be careful.”
“And you. I will see you when we dream again.”
He smiled at her. Then, he and Phineas left.
***
They went down the passages of stone, listening as the Federation's response teams finally broke the terrorists, who scattered down into the depths and side rooms of St. Malendia's, through the Traveling Points linking to the other planes. Some hallways were choked with refugees, all of them with hollow eyes and some with injuries, others clutching family, friends, lovers. Not a few were sobbing.
Federation soldiers scoured the halls, each of them carrying genetic scanners, all but slamming them into random victims' foreheads. Joseph only saw one metahuman caught in the bunch, whom the Federation soldiers then dragged away.
For a moment, cloaked in Phineas's camouflage spell, he pointed a hand out, lightning beginning to arc across his fingertips at the soldiers as they dragged the man away, his family reaching out towards him and screaming. But Phineas stopped him.
“We are in no shape for such action,” he said, “Please, Joseph.”
“I can't just leave him, Phin,” Joseph murmured. His voice was angry. He was glaring at the Federation soldiers with a new realization.
“We have no choice,” Phineas said, “We have to get you to Melmaen. We cannot do that if you are here, and dead.”
Joseph stood. For a long time, he stood.
Phineas tugged at his jacket.
Then, crestfallen, Joseph lowered his hand.
“I promised to take care of you,” Phineas said, “To help you, as my guildmate.”
“Phineas,” Joseph said, “I'm leaving the guild, remember?”
“So?” Phineas said, “Until you do, you are my guildmate. And even after, I will help you, because you are my friend.”
Joseph choked up. Looked at Phineas, who was still his usual self, waddling down the hallway. Joseph stopped, letting the Deep One get ahead of him. Phineas turned around.
“Joseph?” he rasped, “Stay close to me, or you will leave the influence of my spell, and you will be caught by the Federation, and then things will get truly violent, as I will go and save you.”
“R-Right,” Joseph said. He stumbled ahead.
Phineas had cast a spell to conceal away where he and Rosemary had been hiding during the attack. She was still inside, her arm wrapped up in a bandage, though she gave Joseph a relieved smile when he walked in.
“Thank god,” she said, “You're good?”
“I'm alright,” Joseph said, “You are too?”
“Yeah,” Rosemary said.
They stood awkwardly for a few moments.
“We should leave,” Phineas said, “The Federation, they will be putting this entire place on lockdown. We must hurry.”
His guildmates nodded.
“Right,” Joseph said, “Lead the way, Phin.”