When Bronte was spared, the Professor let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. At the same time, the idiot he had been continuously holding must've seen an opening because Pete had begun struggling violently again.
A tightening of the arm lock managed to quiet the fool, but he still stubbornly persisted. But it was at a manageable level.
When the defeated Cyclops, their best connection to this infamous Filo conglomerate, had been sent reeling over the edge, He'd almost had a friggin heart attack. His fear was silly in hindsight. The Hound had been nothing but cool and calculating during every encounter, to the point where he was convinced she had training in intelligence gathering as well as combat. So it wasn't like she'd purposely fumble the ball. Besides, when Momo made her scheduled appearance, it was apparent Purple Cloak had his team's blessings. Still it
Now, with the present danger essentially under lock and key, the Scientist could finally spare a few seconds to ponder on something that was bothering him.
[You realize that Pete is turning purple, right?] A voice spoke into his mind, though Morgan suspected the origin was standing behind him.
[Hey Ego.] He projected distractedly, his gaze fixed on Momo, the Hound, and the Cyclops still suspended between life and toxic death. [Sorry for forgetting you existed; I got distracted while watching the fight. Real quick, let me ask you something.]
[Right now?] They asked exasperated. [He looks like he's trying to tell you something.]
[He probably just wants to insult my lack of hoofs; don't worry, he'll tire himself out soon. Anyways, during the fight, did you notice how those two only used the Skill's name once and never again? After watching Gregory in action, I hypothesized the Class Core worked like our Dimensional Ring and required a verbal trigger per use. Now I'm not so-]
He stopped talking when the Spirit manifested their incorporeal avatar before him, glaring down at the Scientist disapprovingly.
[No, I didn't really notice that, no doubt, important observation, but I know, and I promise to write it down later. So why don't we speculate later when Pete isn't about to pass out?]
[Honestly, this one might be more cooperative while asleep.] Morgan snorted, frowning down at the purple faced Satyr looking up with a frantic expression. [Besides, I tried asking for his surrender nicely, but he wouldn't hear it. Plus, I couldn't use the Bloodline during that entire fight because of him, so I wouldn't mind a little payback.]
[If he passes out, it'll be you who chains him and drags his furry hide around.] The Monk warned with a wagging finger.
Morgan's chest throbbed just from the thought and with a grunt of begrudging acknowledgment, he loosened the hold just enough for the Satyr to speak.
"My Scout Array is going off!" Pete exclaimed, his voice even raspier than usual. "I need to see what's coming and from what direction! I swear on my Dao I won't attack your hoofless ass for at least an hour, so let me check! That last hammer blow from the Boss might've attracted the rest of the Beast flock!"
"I…agree to your terms." The Professor said with slight hesitation, surprised by the incredibly one-sided Oath. "And swear on my Dao to uphold the terms?"
Again, Morgan felt the prickling sensation of a collar placed around his neck, so it must've counted, and he released the hold before getting back on his feet.
The Archer didn't even bother getting up, instead choosing to jam a hand right down his pants without any regard for onlookers. He fished around momentarily before grabbing hold of something and ripped it free of the leather string it hung on. In the Satyr's grip was a small brown leather drawstring bag, sides distended and lumpy from whatever contents had been stuffed inside. The bag must have had sound-damping properties because when Pete tugged the mouth open, the air filled with a steady metallic ringing of a bell.
*Ding. Ding. Ding.*
Two sharp intakes of breath made Morgan look towards the port bow and found all three women staring at him. He gestured for them to wait as Pete turned the bag over and dumped its contents on the deck. There were only two items within: the cuff key and a sleek black object with a convex top and pointed bottom—the Scout Array.
As Morgan bent down to retrieve his key, Pete quickly snatched the ringing Artifact and slapped it on his palm while shooting him a withering look, almost as if warning the man against any foolish notions. When he raised a brow in question, the Satyr doubled down by securing the shield-shaped treasure with both hands so that only the center was exposed to prying eyes. Only when the Professor grabbed his key and took a step back did Pete begin studying the Array.
Naturally, that didn't stop the Scientist or the Monk from leaning in for a closer exception.
Tiny beads and rods made of what looked like white quartz were embedded within the black surface. They were arranged so that a single quartz bead at the center was surrounded by eight evenly spaced rods pointing out to eight more beads. As they all watched, the outer bead on the top left glowed green and blinked in time with the ringing.
*Ding. Ding. Di-*
Suddenly, all sound cut off just as the green bead remained lit. Then, the rod pointing at it lit up solid green along with the center bead. The quartz rod pointing towards the bottom now blinked with green light, though the alarm remained silent.
"We're safe!" Announced the Archer loudly, looking directly at Bronte. "Only one Beast entered the inner threshold off the port bow, but it's likely heading towards starboard quarter, away from you, Boss! But I'll keep an eye in case it changes directions."
Both women visibly relaxed at the news, which, considering their current circumstances, meant more of Sage's head became submerged. After some repositioning and frantic pleas that were denied, the Hound returned to binding her new employee in so many Oaths that Bronte would need to request permission to blink.
[What kind of directions are those?] Asked the landlubber Monk, crouching unseen beside Pete, who watched the blinking rod with an impressive amount of diligence that Morgan hadn't thought the Satyr possible of.
Although, to be fair, anything higher than zero was technically impressive.
[Port bow is the front left of a ship and Starboard Quarter is back right.] He projected while fishing around the lab coat for his shades. Aloud, the Scientist asked the unicorn, "Can I see that Artifact for a moment? I promise to give it back afterward."
"No." Snapped the Satyr, holding the Array even tighter as though Morgan was the criminal here. "The thing only works for Archers and related Classes. You an Archer? No? Then stop eyeing my stuff."
"Fine." Morgan shrugged, resolving to take a peek later. "You want me to put the cuffs on you, or did you want the pleasure?"
"Can't use an Artifact with a suppressed Class Core, can I, Professor?" He scoffed derisively, adding under his foul breath. "Some teacher you are."
From behind his rounded sunglasses, the Professor's eyes narrowed at the unicorn and considered that nothing was stopping him from breaking off the other horn. Ego likely realized the same and tried distracting him from the growing irritation.
[You know, for an Archer-only Artifact, I'm surprised you aren't meant to hold it like a real arrowhead while reading it. You know, with the point facing away from the Archer. I'm sure it's just a style choice, but it seems like a missed opportunity if you asked me-] In quick succession, the Spirit tensed, relaxed, then checked the unchanged Scout Array, only to tense again before casting Morgan a puzzled look. [That's strange; the Beast just entered my range, but the Array isn't showing a change… So shouldn't I have heard it entering from the front left instead of the back right?]
*Th-Thump* For the first time in days, Morgan's heart thrummed with unnatural force. His thoughts raced at a million kilometers a second as data points began connecting to one another.
Both the Scout Array's outer and inner threshold ranges are far larger than Ego's range of 10.8 meters. Regardless of how much the size difference was, it should have been impossible for the Beast to enter that smaller range from that angle. Doing so would require changing directions or for a different Spirit Beast to be the culprit, but neither Pete nor the Artifact reported any new variables.
Faulty tools?...
No. The Spirit's Essence detection was tried and proven, and the same could be said about the Array's performance thus far. After all, it had successfully detected them both earlier. So, the anomaly had to originate from something else.
Faulty users?...
Unlikely. The Professor wasn't sure Ego could be mistaken in detecting Essence, and even Pete wasn't stupid enough to misread friggin dots and lines on a… shield.
But they hadn't called it a shield at all.
They had immediately thought of the Artifact's shape as an arrowhead, and that made 100x more thematic sense than it being a shield. Morgan had only continued to think of it as that because of the way it was held, with the point facing the user. So in a way, he had trusted Pete to know what he was doing.
Oh dear god…
Only a second had elapsed since Ego had spoken, but it was to the Satyr that the Professor casually addressed.
"Quick question. How do you know which way is the correct way to hold the Scout Array?"
The Monk's puzzled expression shattered, exposing the same wide-eyed terror Morgan felt gnawing at himself.
"I'm not sure what kind of Heaven-forsaken stump you crawled out of." The scarred Archer said with disgust dripping from each word like sewage from a leaky pipe. "But where I come from, even children know to keep the pointy end of an arrow away from themselves. So if the Array looks like an- Hey! Where are you going?! And why is there a monk suddenly on board?!"
The idiot's clueless taunt became clueless questions as Morgan took off running, racing as Pete had all but confirmed the truth Ego was already shouting.
"Pull her in! Pull her in!" Shouted the Monk, their avatar fully corporeal and waving desperately at the startled women. "Pete read the array upside down! The Beast is heading straight for-!"
Too late.
*Splash*
With all the grace of a breaching dolphin and the lethality of a hunting great white, the Pholóē Stymphalian launched itself from Bizzaro's swampy waters. Even from his position, Morgan saw the avian monster had patches of feathers missing, the pale flesh underneath was burned raw. This was number 25, he realized, the lone survivor of the flock that Bronte had slaughtered out of convenience. Now, #25 had returned, soaring through the air with both wings engulfed in a toxic miasma.
"What are you doing, Hound!? Pull me in! Please, I swear on my Dao what I know is worth my life!" Came the tragic demands and pleads in equal measure. Tragic because the Cyclops didn't even realize how much of an effort was being expended on her behalf. Even with Purple Cloak tugging on one arm and the other being held by Ego, being pulled by Momo, lifting the heavy set Cyclops was proving a challenge without help. —Help that was either too stupid or too far away to be of any use.
The Professor had yet to assign a name to the Move of the island-bound Stymphalians. But, he knew from previous encounters that the green haze they all saw was actually steam produced from Mana flash-heating the soaked feathers. In the air bubble below, the Move served as a guarantee of bringing down prey. Up here, it took on the function of ensuring revenge would be served one way or another.
"Greg!? Pete!? Damn you fools to the hottest of Hells, I need help!" She thundered in blind fury, one massive milky eye searching in vain for the danger. "I can't die here! PULL ME UP!"
But Bronte the Sage was already dead. She was just the only one who couldn't see that.
They all watched as #25's wing cut right through both of the Cyclops's arms as if they were wet paper. With the struggling counterweight suddenly gone, everyone else was sent tumbling back on their ass. So only Morgan got the terrible honor of watching Bronte in her last coherent moments as she fell backward into death, her blind eye staring in incomprehension at the bleeding stumps. Despite being an alien from a different universe, he knew what last thought was echoing within that mind. The Professor had seen that same expression on his students many times before.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"I don't understand." He could almost hear the Cyclops whisper.
She hit the water, and before fear and pain could coax out a scream, neurotoxin sent her body into a grotesque slashing spasm. Emerald swamp water all around her darkened from the blood, turning a sickly shade of mold green. The sight dredged up memories, and Morgan's gut twisted. Tempted as the old man was to look away, responsibility demanded that he watched it all play out.
After all, if life was so cheap that one could ignore death so easily, then what value was there in being alive?
There would be none, he knew. So, with an all-too-familiar numbness, Morgan again observed an ending he had played a major part in causing. He took solace in the knowledge that death would claim its harvest quickly, a mercy for everyone involved. In seconds, the flailing slowed to random twitching, only noticeable by the pitiful ripples they sent out. Soon, even that disappeared.
Bronte was gone, and her corpse bobbed on the surface face down, forever searching the forest of Bizarro Swamp. Only when Morgan accepted that did he become aware that he wasn't the only observer.
The Princess had seated herself comfortably on him, and to his right, the Monk offered prayers for the not-so-dearly departed. Right behind them, Purple Cloak gave Pete an honest review of his recent display of competency.
"Incredible work, I have to say." Commended the Hound sarcastically, her tone so deadly cold it could've buried the idiot in an avalanche of snow. "Truly, I have never met someone who was as much a threat to the enemy as they were to their own side. And when I realized you accomplished so much by doing so little, I am left awestruck!"
"Hey! Careful where you point that thing you bitch of a- Apologies! A slip of the tongue, I swear!" The Archer's contempt instantly dissolved into total obedience, and Morgan suspected a winged-shaped knife was involved. "What I meant to say was that a descendent of a noble Clan should be careful, is all. Calling you a bitch was an honest mistake after seeing you without the hood! Besides, it's not like being called a bitch can be insulting to someone like-"
*Thud* Something clattered to the deck like a sack of potatoes.
Hearing that, the trio turned around to find the shirtless Satyr dead asleep, a new splotch of blood blooming on his head bandages. None of them really cared about that part; what really captured all their attention was the one holding said knife. Finally his necklace heated up, attaching a name to the purple cloak.
image [https://i.imgur.com/jmA6Wkp.png]
[Out of the four Class Cores we've inspected, why did hers need to be the only one with redacted information?] Ego sighed disappointedly into his mind, though their avatar gave the Caesar a courteous bow.
The Professor couldn't help but agree, as he really didn't want to use the term that immediately came to mind. Where Greg and Pete had distinctly human-like faces that greatly resembled a goat's, Septima almost literally had the head of a wolf with some comparatively minor changes. Those being the larger amount of white sclera surrounding the iris and what had to be additional facial muscles that allowed her to flash a toothy grin at the trio.
The short fur that covered her face was a mix of three different shades of light gray. Her hair and eyebrows were pure black, with the former cut short into something approximate to a pixie cut. Stiff triangular ears with rounded tips stood upright high on the skull, and a twitching wet nose sat at the end of her muzzle.
[From only her head to go by,] the ecologist judged. [I'd say she closely resembles a subspecies of gray wolf, specifically the Apennine wolf.]
[Which, given both her middle and last name, is about as surprising as Earth's sun setting in the West.] The Spirit snickered half-heartedly, their thoughts lingering on the dead.
[Would you believe me if I told you that fact surprised an alarmingly large number of people in my younger days?]
[...No?]
But before Morgan could damage the Spirit's image of humanity, Septima unknowingly spared them that cursed knowledge.
"While I am flattered by the undivided attention, we should learn from the Sage's fatal mistake and halt further discussion until we are on safer waters. Preferably one that smells of something other than lightning and poison." Her nose wrinkled in displeasure before she stiffened and rapidly sniffed the air like her namesake. Then she zeroed in on Morgan with brows furled. "Is that blood I smell coming from you, Professor?"
In answer, he pulled on the black t-shirt's collar, displaying the top half of the injury that had started turning an ugly shade of bruise purple, a gruesome complement to the red, burnt skin. Ego and Septima winced sympathetically from the sight, but only one needed an explanation.
"What, this? It's just a little memento from our first visitor of the day, a Spirit Beast that had attacked us after a mistake in identity." He chuckled dryly. "Once we set the record straight, it departed, and almost immediately afterward, we saw you four heading here. It's been a busy day; no time for proper first aid when so many people want to meet us."
"Not that we blame you in the slightest." Ego backpedaled for him. "We were happy to lend out our help. My traveling partner is just crank- I mean, a little ill-tempered from his Prana being drained. The Beast we fought had a Threat Level of Asura, after all."
When the Hound's gray steel eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, Morgan had to give the Monk props for building up their image. But perhaps Ego did too well of a job because now she was watching them with a hungry expression.
"If your group really fought and drove off such a powerful foe before going after these fools, then maybe the trip out here really was worth the effort. Auntie said you had a pension for trouble. Tell me, what is your Overall Ra-" For the first time, Septima's voice had lost some of the collected grace, and for a moment, he heard a burning excitement under that calm glacier. However, the slip was quickly corrected. "Apologies, I was caught off guard."
"No offense taken." Said the Professor, as the mention of this Auntie who apparently already knew him sent mental alarms blaring an emergency. "But if you'd be so kind, I wouldn't mind receiving a proper greeting, maybe even a name if you're feeling generous. I'll even go first since you already know my name."
He stuck out a hand only to take it back with an annoyed grunt when the etiquette teacher cleared their throat unnecessarily. Instead, the Human Cultivator placed his right palm over his closed fist in greeting, earning a double thumbs up from a beaming Spirit. Above, Momo let out a snort of disapproval.
If the Vajrayian found the scene odd, she didn't let it show in her greeting. If anything, it only fanned her interest further.
"Hello, my name is Septima Augusti Caesar, seventh Hound of Clan Caesar." She repeated the gesture, officially giving them her name. Then, giving them a wolfish smile, she added, "I am delighted that your ignorance of Vajrayana culture has been cured in such a short time. So, in acknowledgment, why don't I add my species and preferred pronouns to the mix? I am a Lupus, and use she and her."
Morgan and Ego froze while Monochrome released a low rumbling growl, a reaction at sensing his sudden discomfort. Of course, the Princess didn't have a clue as to why the Hound's words shook them; Momo wasn't there that day in the grove of black trees. Neither was Septima, but clearly, one of the other two beings who were present had decided to share that little anecdote. And he had an idea of who had talked.
"What can I say? I had a good teacher." The Professor shrugged evenly, unsure how to proceed without knowing how much Eris had told her…niece?
"Lady Septima, why did your… Auntie, send you our way?" The Spirit prodded, deciding subtlety wouldn't get them anywhere quickly. "The Professor and I were told not to expect further assistance after we parted."
The Hound of Clan Caesar opened her muzzle but was cut off when they were all reminded that the Universe was indifferent to their petty drama.
*Splash*
Everyone spun on their heels as #25 shot from the water to land on top of its fallen enemy. Which, given the size disparity, made the Scientist think of penguins walking on smaller ice floats. It was almost cute in a morbid way, though he decided now wasn't the time to share that stray thought. Although Momo might've described the creature as tasty rather than cute.
While maintaining line of sight with the trespassers on the barge, the Stymphalian pecked at the back of the body's skull, checking to see if the Sage was really a necromancer. When death was confirmed, the Beast pointed its black beak straight up at the sky, unleashing a cry of victory. Without the Pholóē tree's dense air artificially deepening sound, #25's screams sounded like metal scraping against metal.
"Caw!" The triumphant hero of the swamp beat a wing against its crop with every screech. "Caw!"
Then, as if Fate was telling them it was time to go, dozens of submerged shadows began darting around the barge, the previously calm surface now churning with danger.
"You know what?" Asked the Professor, picking up Pete by the shoulders. "I agree with the Hound. The Sage taught us a valuable lesson, so let's honor her sacrifice by talking later and get the hell out of here."
"Don't have to ask me twice." Said Ego, grabbing hold of the Satyr's hooves.
"Mrr!" Barked Lady Momo in agreement, not keen to be on the wrong end of a meal.
"If you two could lock that one," She gave Pete a swift kick, "down in the hold and bring down the other one as well, I can focus on moving the barge back to the Olympia Sea."
"Works for me." He said and looked at the trapdoor, an element of hunger entering his eyes. From what the Scientist had pieced together, the hold was confirmed to hold a Stealth Array and likely held whatever Aether-powered engine the craft ran on. With Septima busy and the Satyrs asleep, he could take a quick, uninterrupted peek with the Bloodline. Assuming, of course, the drain on his Essence wasn't absurdly high. Feeling giddy at the possible gains for his research, he motioned the Spirit to hurry.
Just as Morgan was about to shuffle past her, Septima grabbed hold of his arm, earning another growl from Momo. He raised an eyebrow, but she released him, only wanting to catch the trio's attention.
"Once the Satyrs are locked away, both of you should come join me in the cabin. The sooner we start your interviews, the sooner we can leave for the Capital."
Before they could so much as open their mouths for a response, the Lupa Mal stepped in his shadow and fell right through.
----------------------------------------
Minutes later, the other bipedal unicorn was lifted onto Morgan's back, Momo having vacated the space to watch the Archer already chained up with the hold. The Monk gingerly placed Greg's broken horn into the lab coat's pocket and shot the unconscious Satyr a guilty look before opening the cabin door. Ego knew their vessel was eager to return to the hold after finding the cabin only housed the ship's wheel and little else.
The Professor shifted from side to side, ensuring the cargo was secure before letting out a satisfied grunt, but he didn't leave yet. He looked past them, over to Septima, who had taken command of the helm with both hands yet hadn't so much as twitched a muscle since they both entered. With her eyes closed and her head bowed so low that her nose almost touched the wheel, Morgan hypothesized she was interacting with some mental interface. Either that or the Hound was screwing with them.
Finally, the Earthling's attention shifted back to the Spirit for only a moment as the pair traded more mental messages, and then he walked out the door.
Ego's avatar didn't disappear, or follow after on foot, or even bothered to close the door. Instead, with arms in sleeves, they walked deeper into the wolf's den and found the Hound looking right at them, an amused chuckle escaping her toothy grin.
"Now, this is a surprise, Ego; I would have thought you two would have rather we talk together. Perhaps after consulting each other for a while down in the hold where any whispers couldn't be overheard." She looked out the viewing window, her gaze following Morgan descending downstairs. "Not that I mind doing several interviews if that is your preference."
"Actually, you'll only have to give the one today." Ego said merrily, taking a spot to her left. "We agreed long beforehand that I should be the one to handle any negotiations regarding our group. Morgan will accept whatever arrangement we agree to and join us after satisfying his curiosity."
Hearing that, Septima gave them a dubious look before returning her sight to the waters around them, the swamp still filled with submerged Beasts. With as much effort as someone trying to move a boulder by hand, she turned the wheel 150° clockwise, and the barge sluggish did the same.
"Is he going to question those useless goats?" Sepitma asked. "Truly, he might as well not bother, as they almost certainly know less about their employers than I do. Even their leader, the Sage, likely had only a shade more knowledge than I do. The Filo conglomerate are undoubtedly arrogant upstarts, but they're wise enough to compartmentalize information. Still, we were fortunate to have her Dimensional Ring. If he'd like, I can give him-"
The Monk gently raised a hand to stop her from going further, their avatar displaying a sheepish expression. Even now, through their bond, they knew exactly what the Professor was doing.
"Sorry, but while we," they put extra emphasis on the last word, "are very interested in the organization after us. I should tell you that Greg and Pete aren't the source of his interest in the hold."
"Oh?" Septima murmured, fully attentive but needing to concentrate as the vessel finished turning and began drifting under power toward the closest edge of the swamp. "Then what is?"
"Would you believe me if I told you that he really, really wanted to watch the arrays in action?"
The Hound choked, and the entire barge jolted back like someone had hit the brakes. Thankfully, the barge quickly returned to its slow march towards the edge. However, Septima hardly paid it any mind now as she stared at the Spirit blankly.
Ego gave her a 'what-are-you-going-to-do?' shrug, and she burst into howls of laughter.
"Yes! Grauf-ufufu! Yes, I would believe that from a Mortal who would antagonize a Kraken just to see how he'd respond! Uf-ufufu!" Then the laughter died, and crisp cool coated her words again. "Auntie warned me about that curiosity of his, but I never expected something as trivial as an array could capture his attention. It was my mistake; I had forgotten how new he was to our Universe. Apologies for my outburst."
"Hee-hehe! No need for an apology; if anything, I can sympathize." They snickered, feeling a little more relaxed after seeing a hint of a person under that mask of ice. That didn't mean the Monk let down their guard. "Perhaps we should start our talks with how much our Patron has shared with you."
"Hmm." The Hound hummed as she considered something. "A fair suggestion, but why don't I give you the letter she wrote me? That should allow you to understand what secrets have been shared and what was kept hidden while I pilot us safely down to sea level. We can speak afterwards."
Naturally, the Spirit was happy to agree and offered a bow in gratitude.
Taking a hand off the wheel, a golden ring glittering on her finger, the Hound looked like she was about to pull the letter from storage, but something stopped her. Septima's brows came together, almost as if she was trying to recall the ring's activation word before the Hound's face suddenly became crestfallen.
"Oh dear." She whispered, her tone tinged with regret.
"Is there an issue, Lady Septima?" Ego asked kindly while seriously considering contacting Morgan for backup.
"There is." She admitted. "This is rather embarrassing to admit this, but I seemed to have forgotten the letter back in the Capital."
"...You did, did you? Well, that is unfortunate." The Monk said, trying to figure out what new game Septima was playing here.
Morgan had warned about the possibility that Septima might be trained in intelligence gathering, so Ego needed to be on guard against any manipulation tactics she might deploy. That didn't make Septima an enemy, he promised, just someone who should be closely watched. Obviously, this bait-and-switch was her goal from the start, but they weren't willing to call for help just yet. So long as Ego understood the potential dangers and didn't dance to whatever tune the Hound played, nothing could go wrong.
"It is unfortunate. I shouldn't have left Olympia in such a rush to get to you all, it was foolish of me. The letter must still be in my family's Tea House that I-"
The Spirit suddenly manifested in front of the wheel, blocking her view. Their avatar looked at her with eager eyes bluer than the sky, their excitement palpable as the Spirit looked ready to carry the barge on their back all the way to the Capital.
"Did I hear that right?" Ego asked, outright bouncing on their heels. "Your family owns a Tea House?"