The Assassin thug had taken care of docking the chariot, offloading his freshly captured prisoner, and was spewing the bullshit of a cover story like his life depended on it. Because unknown to Gregory's conspirators, it really did.
The Professor kept his right fist clenched the entire time and spoke not a word. Neither he nor the Monk had anything to say as each dealt with the callous action that took the lives of so many Beasts. Lives that were lost in a plot aimed at them. He had counted the floating electrified bodies during their approach and found 24 Souls were returned to the cycle of reincarnation. All because they had been at their rightful place at the wrong time.
Collateral damage. A tale as old as time.
So they remained silent and vigilant; one chained before the foes, the other free and waiting for an opportune moment.
Four Cultivators, which was one less than he would have liked, stood in a loose ring in the middle of what was essentially a floating barge. Where the Vajrayian chariots looked like something an ancient Greek historian might imagine as the future of transportation, the barge was the sad reality of what was to be. Constructed mainly of dark brown wood and held together with nails and frames made of copper-like metal, the massive vessel was about as large as four houseboats placed side to side. The deck would have been entirely bare if not for a raised cabin built on stilts near the aft. As it was, there was enough open space up here for someone to park at least two cars.
The barge must have some impressive equipment hidden under the surface that allowed it to double as a hovercraft because otherwise the Scientist had no idea how they got it up on the swamp. He could've pestered his jailers for answers, but with the Spirit searching the ship, it was better to let events unfold naturally. Besides, watching the egg-poaching flunky squirm under the Boss's fury allowed for a close observation.
image [https://i.imgur.com/esgwWMn.png]
Other than having arms rivaling his thighs in width and being a full head taller than Morgan, Bronte's most notable feature was hidden behind a helmet. Although calling it that might be an exaggeration. The bronze piece of equipment looked like something a spartan would have worn, and it might have been able to take a hit on the battlefield once upon a time. However, it was heavily modified; the entire face guard was cut out and replaced with black tinted glass, so it looked more like a welder's mask than armor.
A massive complication to Morgan's original strategy, but he had to admit the helmet made sense. Being a Cultivator that could conjure up miniature thunderclouds to huck bolts at distant foes made eye protection more valuable than skull protection. Lighting was bright after all, and given some of the juicy information Ego was able to cajole out of the Satyr, a Cyclops had more to fear from bright light then most Mortals.
Helmet aside, her apparel was almost identical to what Gregory wore, except instead of a black cape and cowl, she had on a thick leather apron. The apron screamed blacksmith more than a lightning wizard, but if she pursued smithcraft, it might explain her other Concept.
Plus, she already had the perfect protection against blinding light, so it was like killing two birds with one stone. A pass time the bitch clearly had experience in.
"Let me see if I understand this fantastical tale you've spun for me," Bronte said in total disbelief, her loud, high-pitched voice clanging against his ears. "I sent you out on a simple island patrol for two unknown individuals on the island, with the understanding that you should return here if you so much as spotted them. Those were orders, yes?"
"Yes, Boss." Gregory stood before her, head bowed and gaze glued to the floor. "You also told me not to kill them, even if I got the opportunity. I understood your commands and would never disobey my betters without good reason."
Good reason, of course, being the threat of death and Morgan's booted foot.
"And you had a good reason, did you?" Bronte asked rhetorically, looming over the bowed Satyr like a rainstorm. "You stupidly jumped through the waterfalls because you mistook the movement of a pack of Beasts for people. Then, with your robes soaked with disgusting toxins, you returned to your beached chariot only to find… him there alone, waiting for you."
Oh? What an interesting time to pause. Was that hesitation he heard? A note of uncertainty about a man currently held prisoner, his Cultivation supposedly as chained as his body. But was it born from fear of the Filo group or simple caution?
"This… Mortal," She continued, saying the word as if she were trying to convince herself of that fact. "Then peacfuly surrender and told you not to worry about the other Soul the Scout Array picked up on because in the time he's been out here, he's never seen anyone else."
Damn it, that is not what the Professor had said. Never trust a hired grunt to deliver anything more than threats and beatings.
"For the record," Morgan spoke aloud for the first time since coming aboard. "What your flunky said to you is that I told him quote, 'Until today, I haven't seen another Mortal in the flesh my entire stay on this island cluster.' Which is the truth."
A laugh echoed within the depths of his mind.
[Just couldn't help yourself, could you?] Snickered Ego, their avatar nowhere to be seen. [Well, if you're going to become the center of attention, see if you can walk a meter or three closer to the cabin. It's the only place I have yet to search, and it's just outside my range.]
[I'll see what I can do.] He promised mentally as something sharp was pressed closer to his throat.
"Was I speaking to you?" The masked Cyclops asked rhetorically, not looking away from her trembling underling.
"No, you were talking to your Assassin. You haven't said a word to me once so far." The Professor answered and voiced his musings before anyone could stop him. "Which I have to say surprises me. To be honest, I overheard your conversation with my fellow captive, and I thought you would be giving me as much attention as your other flunky here. Who, by the way, shouldn't be so close, given his Class."
image [https://i.imgur.com/K1NaaTx.png]
In the general sense, Pete looked much like Gregory, only with short brown hair on the goat legs and horns that pointed backward and flared out at the ends. Thanks to a lack of clothing but a pair of pants, one could see the year's worth of long, deep scars on the tanned and bruised flesh, especially on his stringy arms and bony chest. To the untrained eye, it appeared as if the Archer had gone through a gauntlet of blades and lived to see another day. Morgan might have been intimidated if he hadn't noticed that nearly every scar was carved in the same diagonal direction centering around the right shoulder.
Which could either be the work of a sword master with OCD. Or Pete never learned to maintain his bow, and the string snapped repeatedly, slashing him a new scar every time.
Morgan might've asked him which was the truth, but even if the little shit didn't lie to his face, the thug wouldn't have been able to. It appeared Bronte had gotten tired of the Satyr's bleating and had gagged him with a cloth rag. Apparently, that didn't excuse him from performing his duty because he had been tasked with guarding the newest prisoner.
"Hut up, hou!" Pete snapped nearly incoherently and pressed the arrowhead at the Professor's neck even harder. "Knoh huor phace, prisonrr!"
Morgan ignored him.
Hidden under the rounded sunglasses, the Professor looked over the other thugs to see their reactions. The Assassin remained bowed, and the Sage kept looming over him; to all appearances, both were blind to Morgan's plight. An illusion that might have been believable if they hadn't gone deathly silent, the questionable report all but forgotten.
Oh, that was perfect. Now, the Scientist just needed a little stirring to get things going.
"Yeah, I barely caught any of that." He raised his arms and gave a dramatic shrug. The half-meter chain between his cuffs rattled noisily, making Bronte twitch in his direction. "But since you're the only one here brave enough to talk to me, why don't you tell me how you got those scars?"
"Highting hoohless bastarrds ike hou!" He threatened, ineffectively, through the gag.
"Ha!" Snorted the Assassin, unable to resist a dig at his fellow. "Didn't know you called your bowstrings hoofless bastards. Maybe you should stop calling them names before you're all scar."
"Hut Up!" Pete screamed through his gag and in his reddening anger, drove the arrow a little deeper.
Deep enough that Morgan felt a bead of blood roll down his neck.
Excellent.
[Ego, the moment you can access the cabin, tell me. This might get a little rough if it goes on for too long.] He Projected but didn't bother waiting for a reply.
With a speed that hurt him more than the armed jailer, Morgan slapped the arrowhead away with a cuffed wrist as his head cocked back. Pete's rectangular pupils widened in alarm as the prisoner's forehead came rushing back to smash right into his nose.
*Wack!*
"Void!" The Archer cursed, dropping the arrow to grab onto his injury. The Satyr continued to utter more curses that the prisoner had no time to listen to. "Wat arr- phut me hown!"
In that fraction of a second, the barge deck exploded in chaotic shouting. The Professor held a bloody and flailing Pete in a full nelson and was backing away quickly from an advancing Bronte; Gregory desperately tried to hold her back with one arm while the other hovered fearfully over his throat.
"Boss! Be reasonable; if you harm the Professor, there might be consequences! The Filo Conglomeration will ring out our throats!… or worse. So please calm down!"
"Shrew da Filo! Hill em, Hoss! Hill em!"
"Let go of the idiot! NOW!"
"Hey, I would love to if I could, believe me," Morgan admitted, as forcibly pressing a spasming idiot to his injured chest was like putting a burn victim inside a sauna. "Relax. I'm not trying to escape. If anything, I'm doing you all a favor. Look how this one damaged the merchandise."
Morgan moved the meat shield over to show the others his bloody throat, but his captors seemed unimpressed.
Like a row of ducklings, the thugs trailed after Morgan as he led them all closer to the cabin, step by step. However, the game wouldn't last forever; Bronte's larger gait had already covered half the distance to him.
"Hear that!?" The Assassin grasped at the lifeline. "He didn't want any accidents happening, that's all. Think of the Drachma for Heaven's sake."
"Think of the disrespect!" The Archer screamed, his skin almost as red as the blood gushing from his nose.
God damn it! He had to have crossed at least a meter by now. What was the Spirit waiting for?
"I SAID STOP, PRISONER!" Thundered the Sage, and Morgan could swear he smelt something like chlorine bleach in the air.
A thrill of panic went through him and, without meaning to, his pinky reflexively dug into Pete's skull.
"There's no need for further violence; I just needed to get your attention. If you start hucking lightning bolts now, nobody is going to be happy so-"
Ego's avatar appeared behind Bronte and Gregory, waving frantically at him.
[Morgan, stop moving.] They said, their tone and expression both bewildered. [You're more than close enough, and I can see Purple Cloak through a window, but I can't manifest within the cabin or phase through. It's like the walls have some kind of force pushing against me.]
Oh perfect. A Spirit repelling force field, exactly the complication he needed today. Well, at least they had devised a few contingency plans beforehand; now, he only needed to choose the most appropriate.
"-I am willing to drop the angry one on one condition." Morgan stopped walking, and the others did as well; the Cyclops was within arms reach. The three stared at each other while the angry one continued his mad flailing. "I'm going to need a sworn Oath so that me and the Boss can talk alone, eyes to eye. A question for a question, all answers given must be true or not given at all. If either of us skips twice or harms the other, then our conversation is over."
Unseen to all, the Monk came to his side for moral support. They gave Morgan a for his quick thinking.
"That is an-" Gregory started to say, but a look from the helmeted superior shut him right up. Another glare at Pete got him to shut up, too.
"You're in no position to be striking any kind of deal, prisoner." Bronte replied with equal parts sneer and boredom. "What's stopping me from ripping the goat from your grip, beating you to a bloody pulp, and tossing you in the hold for the rest of the voyage?"
"The same thing stopping you from doing that right now, if I had to guess." The Professor said in a bored monotone. "You don't know who or what I am, and you don't know why your employers want me. I'm an unknown, and that makes me a potential danger. That's why you've been avoiding me since I've stepped aboard. If you don't want to cooperate, then by all means, flip that coin if you're so certain."
Nobody moved; even the Spirit's robes halted in their endless rippling. The afternoon sun suddenly felt hotter on their perspiring skins, and every creak or crack from the barge sounded as loud as firecrackers. Everyone waited for a decision to be made, and the only…
Like a loaded spring, Bronte's arm darted forward, snatched Pete by the horn, and tore him free from Morgan's grip before tossing him up into the air behind her. As the abused flunky took his unexpected flying lesson, the Boss took a step closer and spat out her orders.
*Thud!* The Archer came crashing down onto the deck behind the Spirit.
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"Fucking Void!" Cursed Pete no longer gagged as he clutched the left side of his head in agony. "Not my horn!"
[Oof.] Ego grimaced, kneeling beside Pete. [Broken at the base, it must've snapped in the fall.]
"Pete!" Screamed Bronte, quietly disposing of the horn scrap in her hand by tossing it into the Sea. "Start loading Mana stones into the Stealth Array."
"Fine!" He snapped, shooting the other Satyr a dirty look before shuffling off, mumbling as he opened a nearby trap door. "There better be fresh bandages in the hold."
"Greg! You smell like an Alchemy lab full of Beasts. Change out of those disgusting clothes, and while you're there, see to our spare prisoner." With that, she tossed over her shoulder what looked to be a key similar to the cuff key tucked away in his pocket. The remaining Satyr caught it in the air.
"Yes Boss!" Gregory squeaked at the sound of Beast and hurried off past Morgan, not daring to so much as look at him.
[And just like that, I have a way in.] Ego nodded to him and trailed right behind the Assassin. [I'll let you know when the Caesar is free. So try not to antagonize her too much in the meantime.]
[Excellent advice.] The Professor projected and tilted his head curiously as Bronte stooped low, putting her masked face centimeters from his own. [Do me a favor and be quick. I'm getting the feeling she doesn't like me.]
She pulled up her helmet window. A band of copper red hair had escaped the bun hidden under the helmet and hung limply over a face that had known hard labor. She was likely young, but her skin was rough, the pores clogged with soot and ash. Her teeth were slightly yellowed but sat straight in a square jaw that jutted forward. The Cyclops, unlike her flunkies, could almost pass for a human.
Almost.
"I agree to speak with the prisoner and swear on my Dao to uphold the conditions set until we've each answered three questions." That single eye, big enough to be mistaken for a cue ball if not for the dirt-brown iris trying to bore a hole through him.
The Scientist couldn't stop staring up at the ocular marvel. So fascinated was he, that Morgan nearly missed the addition of a question cap. That was frustrating, but he'll have to find a way around it later.
"I agree to speak with the jailer," Morgan pulled off the sunglasses and pretended not to notice Bronte recoil at his gaze. Which felt strange coming from her, but whatever. "And swear on my Dao to uphold the conditions I've set until we've each answered three questions."
Just as with his Oath made with Ego, Eris swearing on their behalf at the time, Morgan felt discomfort around his throat. Almost as if a collar had been fixed onto him, shackles bounding him to his given word. Eris had warned a broken Oath wouldn't result in death, but she never did say what would happen to him. Not that he intended to find out today. At a later point, though…
"What are you?!" The Cyclops hissed with so much force spit flew, and he had to sidestep the spry.
"Wow." He blinked, raising an eyebrow as she lowered her large copper brow. Her brow might have furrowed in irritation, but it was difficult to tell with just the one. "Didn't think you'd ask that right off the bat. I expected at least a little lead up."
"Answer the question or skip it, prisoner."
"You know, being quick to anger can be a weakness as much as a strength. Predictability is a dangerous addiction to have." He sighed before finally answering. "I am a Human, born and raised on a planet called Earth. I doubt you've ever heard of it, though I don't blame your ignorance. Believe it or not, the powers that be have likely conspired to keep my old home out of the public eye."
With immense satisfaction, the Professor watched her massive eye dilate with fear. Apparently, with a Cyclops' proportions, a dime-sized pupil could reach the width of a quarter. Seeing that up close almost made up for the agony of handing out such sensitive information. But it was all part of the plan.
"My turn." The Scientist pointed a finger to his brown eye. "I've recently hypothesized that Cyclopes have very sensitive vision, which is why you wear that modified helmet. So, could you tell me how bright something would be in order to-"
"I skip this question." Bronte rumbled with quiet contempt, her mind likely processing the info dump he dropped on her head. But she wasn't so distracted as to not retaliate with sarcasm. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to hand out my people's weaknesses so easily?"
No. But her Assassin flunky was more than happy to.
"No, " he answered slyly and then asked, "What do you plan on doing with my fellow captive?"
"The Satyr is likely slitting her throat as we speak." She said in the same distracted tone someone on the phone might use on a talkative toddler. "Even for all the riches in the world, the Hound is too dangerous to be left alive. If word got out to her Clan, I'd be crucified by the end of the week, regardless of my backer's protection."
Thanks to the Oath, Morgan was instantly sure that what she said was the absolute truth. Which was almost as disturbing as what she had actually said. So giving her a breather was fine with Morgan as he was busy furiously reaching out to the Monk. Only to find he was beaten to the punch.
[So we have a slight problem up here, but I think we'll get it under control! So no need to panic or anything!] Ego tried to assure, failing miserably. [Gregory is trying to kill Purple Cloak but I'm freeing her as we speak so… Oh Heavenly Dao!]
They suddenly stopped speaking, and the hairs on Morgan's neck rose in alarm as an infinite number of possibilities flashed in his mind's eye. Few of the potential scenarios were anything even remotely acceptable.
There was no time to waste waiting for a perfect opportunity to attack. He'll just have to pray the Cyclops was distracted enough to not notice anything amiss and hope the backlash for breaking an Oath wasn't so harsh.
The Professor's right hand had remained balled up since witnessing Bronte's slaughter. While his Soul still seethed from the injustice, his fist had not remained clenched in anger but for deception. Now the fingers slowly began to unfurl, and with a surge of his will, Morgan ordered his Mana to-
*Bang!* Above them, something crashed with tremendous force, causing both Cultivators to snap their attention to the cabin.
----------------------------------------
Only when Greg had slipped his key into the cabin's metal door did the Spirit make themselves known by covering his mouth with a hand.
"Hello again, Gregory." They whispered over the muffled shout of alarm. "I apologize for the rude greeting, but I feared your surprise might give us away. Now enter the cabin quietly and quickly."
While incredibly unhappy with the turn of events, the unwilling double agent did as he was told. Ego followed, pausing to make sure nobody had spotted them. The coast was clear, but when the door closed, they suddenly felt their connection to their vessel vanished. Immediately, they opened the door, and the connection to Morgan was at full strength agian.
What was with this room? It felt as ordinary as the rest of the boat... Well, there would be time for questions later.
Cutting off the connection for a short period wouldn't be lethal, but it would hamper what the Spirit could do and shut down mental connections. The latter was far too valuable to risk, so Ego left the door slightly open despite the danger of someone taking notice.
Jaw set, they turned, ready for anything. They were wrong.
"What are you doing?" The Monk calmly asked, when internally they wanted to scream.
The cabin was small, providing the equivalent of half a bedroom—definitely not the master bedroom. A simple wardrobe and thin twin bed took up one back corner; the other corner was curtained off, and the foul smell emanating from it meant it was a rudimentary bathroom. Much of the space by the window overlooking the deck was dedicated to a large ship wheel that appeared to be ripped straight out of a movie about sailing the high seas.
Specifically, they must be on the set of a pirate movie because the criminal thugs had woven the Class suppression cuffs of Purple Cloak into the wheel. She sat on her knees, either arm outstretched and pinned. As a precaution, a sack had been over her head and, judging by the muffled protestings, had been gagged as well.
That sight broke the Spirit's heart but was already expected as they had seen her sorry state earlier from the window. What had Ego in an utter panic was that the Assassin had pulled a wickedly sharp wing-shaped dagger from somewhere and positioned himself behind Purple Cloak.
"What am I doing here?" He demanded, pointing the knife carelessly at himself before pointing it at Ego. "What are you doing in here!? The last time I saw you, you were waving at us from the beach. What happened to the plan?"
"Gregory We-"
"Just call me Greg, please." Greg winced. "I'm named after my father, and I hate the bastard's guts."
"Very well. I apologize for the secrecy, but we felt that you would be uncomfortable if you knew I was walking among you unseen and decided to keep my presents a secret." The Monk explained as they got closer, careful not to appear overly cautious and frighten the knife-wielding Assassin. "The plan is still the same. Your freedom and your brother's are guaranteed so long as you cooperate by staying out of the way. There is no need to use that knife."
"The knif-" His sentence died as he looked confusedly down at the weapon. Then he rolled his goat eyes in annoyance. "Do I look like that fool of a Satyr downstairs? I know a knife without Wards can't hurt a Spirit, and even if I had one, the second I went after you, the Lady Monochrome would wring me like a chicken. Also, Pete is not my brother, more like a convenient partner with a long history."
Huh, they had chickens in Vajrayana. Ego would have to let Morgan know that interesting fact. Assuming a lighting bolt hadn't pierced his heart by the end of this calamity of a day.
Ego halted their advance and forced themself to visibly relax. While Wards were a mystery to them, everything else Gregory had said was reason enough to put a little trust in him. So, instead of asking, the Monk gestured to the weapon with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, this?" He flipped the knife carelessly over Purple Cloak, and the Monk nearly broke character to protest. "It belonged to the Hound before we managed to chain her. Its twin is in the wardrobe, and since the Professor broke my blades, I'll happily keep these afterward. A shame about the rest of her gear, but it's all high-grade custom work." The criminal casualty bent down and pinched a corner of the rich purple cloak, rolling the luxury material between his fingers with a wistful expression. "Won't perform at its best on someone else, and we can't risk leaving a paper trail by selling them. They'll be going with her."
Both Spirit and Caesar went deathly still at his implications. Suddenly, the Boss's orders to 'see to our spare prisoner' sounded far more sinister than they ever could have thought. Bronte had ordered the death of another being with no more thought than crossing out an item from a shopping list.
"Uh, assuming you'll let me keep them… the knives, I mean." The Assassin stammered after the Spirit had gone entirely silent, believing they were upset about lot distribution. "Of course, the spoils will be determined by the powerful. I'll just be content with my life and my freedom."
"Greg, tell me where the key to her Class cuffs is." The Monk requested firmly, careful not to let their true emotions show on the avatar. It was a hard task. Part of them was disgusted, but they were mostly disturbed by the utter lack of value to life these Cultivators displayed. "We're going to free her, not kill her."
When the eyes of the Satyr went wide in panic, Ego knew they had royally screwed up. They had said that to comfort the prisoner but had forgotten about the jailer.
"We need her to help us enter the city." They explained hastily.
"I can get you in Olympia, no problem." Greg countered and began eyeing the door like a cornered rat. "This barge has a Stealth Array that's tried and proven to get past the border patrols if you know the way."
"The three of us need to visit information houses, and gaining Face here will be more expedient than coin." A light bulb went off. "However, for your generous assistance, I am sure your Herb Case can be returned and the weapons left in your care."
"I know a few Scroll Brokers who can get you reliable information for a handful of Drach." Greg licked his lips, his hand slowly creeping up to his neck. "The case and everything on the ship will be yours, even the ship itself. Sell everything, and you can buy a peak amount of information."
They both stared at each other, the source of their unspoken argument reminded unmoving, trying her best not to draw attention.
"Greg…" The Monk sighed. "Let's stop with the games. I can offer you much, but not her life. I promise, I will get her to agree to let you go without reprisal."
"...The Caesar Clan will have Pete and me hunted down like Beasts in the streets if so much as a whisper of this dishonor reaches their ears. That is who they are, their nature." The Satyr whispered, looking down at Purple Cloak like she were some kind of monster. "Worst of all, they'll send her after us; she isn't called the Hound for being a docile lap dog. They might come after you three as well, you know. We only captured her because we thought she-"
Before even finishing the sentence, the Assassin reached for Momo's tail around his neck while simultaneously bringing the knife down on Purple Cloak.
"Choke!" Order the Spirit only after materializing beside Greg and knocking the knife away, the blade skittering across the cabin floor. "Momo, choke him now!"
"Mer!" Cried Monochrome in acknowledgment, tightening her hold only to find a resistance against her. "Mmm?!"
By prioritizing life, Ego had given the Assassin a chance to slip a hand between the Beast's tail and his windpipe. Realizing what was happening, Caesar began screaming something through her gag and hood.
"Ash kill!" She repeated again and again. "Ash kill!"
"N-NO!" Greg choked out in pain, stumbling away from the Spirit, his sight set on the ajar door. "I… won't become… someone's stepping stone!"
As if the situation couldn't get more chaotic, Ego felt Morgan chose that exact time to reach out. A quick glance out the window showed he and Bronte were still talking, so the Monk quickly answered while trying to understand what the Caesar was trying to say.
[So we have a slight problem up here, but I think we'll get it under control! So no need to panic or anything!] Ego placed their corporeal head as close to her mouth as possible.
"ASH KILL! HE GOT A ASH KILL!"
Alright, but what was an Ash Kill?
[Gregory is trying to kill Purple Cloak but I'm freeing her as we speak so…]
They paused, realizing Purple Cloak was definitely saying 'a' and not 'an' like one would for a word starting with a vowel. So, the first word could be missing a letter. Was it Bash Kill? Cash Kill? Dash Ki-
Dash kill?... DASH SKILL!?!
The Monk turned to see Greg using both hands to keep Momo at bay, but his legs were crouched, and his head bent forward, almost as if ready to sprint or…
[… Oh Heavenly Dao!] Ego unintentionally screamed at Morgan from sheer horror.
"Death March," Chanted the Satyr, his eyes hard as stone. "of Pheidippides."
To the Spirit, everything played out like still frames on a movie reel, with each passing second bringing the scene forward one frame.
The Princess had Greg in a stalemate form under his robes. The second hand ticked.
Momo was suddenly hovering alone in mid-air, looking like the rug had been pulled from under her. Greg was a full stride closer to the door, having covered meters in that time. Another tick of the hand.
Greg's head was only a hair's breadth from the door. Gravity had started to pull Momo down, and Purple Cloak continued to yell. Time moved forward, another tick.
The cabin's interior was instantly replaced by a view of the metal cabin door after the Spirit manifested their avatar outside. Ego's sandaled foot made contact with the door.
The second hand ticked.
*Bang!* The door violently shuttered and, for a moment, looked like it would rip off its hinges. But it remained standing.
The Monk clamped both hands over their mouth in shock at what they did. The shock lasted but an instant, and they opened the door, afraid they had killed the Satyr.
At the foot of the door was the collapsed snoring form of Greg, and beside him, in a small pool of blood, was his broken right horn. Ego let out a quiet sigh of relief, tempted to collapse from exhaustion.
"Greg!" Screamed Bronte, waking Ego right up.
[Ego what the hell is-]
[Fine! We're fine.] The Spirit tried to sound more energetic than upset. [I just had to knock Greg out myself before he blew the whistle. But we're still searching for the cuff key, so no matter what you have to do, don't let anyone up here!]
[...Understood.] He projected, and to Ego, Morgan had almost sounded… excited?
However, further speculation would have to wait as opportunity could be heard speaking within the cabin.
"Thank you. That gag tasted like it hadn't been washed in weeks." A cool, relaxed, and somehow untroubled voice came from over by the steering wheel. "I believe you are Lady Monochrome, correct?"
"Mer." Admitted Lady Momo proudly.
"And I believe there is another I have to thank."
Ego couldn't have asked for a perfect prompt.
The Monk manifested before the potential alley, arms in sleeves, 108 beads clacking away in a helical orbit around them, their avatar's smile the very essence of kind wisdom.
"Greeting traveler. I am the Spirit known as Ego…" The Monk stumbled, realizing their entrance was wasted for Purple Cloak was still hooded.
"Hello Spirit Ego." Said the Caesar pleasantly. "I would normally start by introducing myself, but it sounds like I am the least informed person aboard. So if someone able to speak Common would tell me what the fucking Hells is going on. That would be appreciated."