{Loading…}

{Loaded.}

[>>Now replaying: Log 1.4 - Going down]

Date: Error

Location: Zephyro’s Domain

//&&@in an earlier round—@//

//#efine the meaning of war,—//

[>>DATA CORRUPTED]

E2 %This is hexed!%

E1 %I know. It’s going to be fine.%

E2 %How? How is it going to be fine, Voni? You’ve been saying that the entire way, but now we’re trapped in some sort of weird cave with the hexed Takers outside! How long do you think it’s going to take them before they find us?”

E1 %They probably won’t even come in here. Remember the turrets? All we have to do is hunker down and wait it out.%

E2 %What are you talking about? They totally will!%

E1 %Oh come on, we’re not that special.%

E2 %Oh they don’t care about us. They care about the Music Box.%

I gritted my teeth, tried for my Wish again, and still found nothing. I was completely powerless and alone. The thought shone like a pilot light, and even though I knew better, I let my desire to defend myself take control.

I eyed the Vizier, muscles tensing as I prepared for the violence to come.

Zephyro, perhaps noticing my frown or the slight tinge of panic I had to keep out of my muscles, slowed down a little.

That was when I struck.

In one motion, I pulled the mace out of its loop and grabbed Zephyro by the collar of his robe, then whirled to push him against the side of the mountain. I was careful not to ignite my weapon until I remembered that it was just a replica, which just made me angrier.

Holding the scepter close to his face, I snarled, “What have you done to my Gift?”

“Sultana?” the Vizier asked, one eyebrow raised. Even in obvious bewilderment, he was still so damn calm. Either he was better at lying than Olre, or his confusion was genuine. I didn’t take any chances and pushed him harder. He did not resist.

“My Wish. You said all your people were alive because of it, and now when I try to use it, it’s gone. That’s a really big coincidence, Vizier.”

That finally got a reaction out of him, even though it wasn’t the one I expected. He paled visibly, even as he gently grabbed the scepter and pushed it out of the way, as if handling my entire weight with one hand was the same as adjusting a throw cushion. It wasn’t even a fight, and not anywhere close to the resistance I had been prepared for, but while it made me feel a little foolish, it also made me feel scared. I resented that.

I took a step back immediately, makeshift weapon still at the ready, but Zephyro still made no move to attack. Instead, he even turned away from me, stared at his city in the distance.

“I must offer yet another thousand of my deepest apologies, Sultana, and I pray that you can forgive me for my conduct. I do not know what happened, and I swear on my own name that I did not plan for this to happen.”

In the brief silence that followed, I wished for nothing more than for Patti and Olre to be here to tell me if he was lying. Eventually, his eyes wandered to the scepter, and even though I really felt like hitting something, I slowly lowered my weapon.

“Thank you, Sultana.” Even though I’d been sure he had already been absolutely calm, he relaxed visibly.

“Don’t make me regret it,” I said lamely. It wasn’t as if I could follow through on the threat, but I had to say something, even if the unspoken, resigned please sounded more vulnerable than I would have liked.

“Not in my deepest nightmares, Sultana,” he said, earnest enough for Oscar Wilde to write a play about it. “If I may humbly ask you, are you certain that you do not have any Essence remaining?”

I listened inside my soul again, calling on my Wish.

Only silence replied.

“Seems that way,” I said with an annoyed grunt. “I was saving it up for the thing I have coming up in a couple of hours, but it’s all gone.”

This was beyond pear-shaped. Even if I did manage to make it in time for the negotiations, not having any Wish remaining would make me feel almost naked. If the Mage Lords found out I was basically powerless, they’d be even more tempted to try some stupid shit.

“Forgive my ignorance, Sultana, but does it not come back to you naturally, as is written in the histories?”

I shook my head. “It should have regenerated by now, at least a tiny bit, but I got nothing.”

“Ah, Sultana, that is… troubling indeed,” Zephyro said, his eyes narrowed with concern. “The only thing I can imagine is that it was all wasted in the Summoning.”

That would make sense. Even skilled mages had issues pulling people somewhere against their will. I’d saved up a lot of energy over the last couple of weeks. Perhaps there had been some sort of backlash? It was way beyond me, and I wished I had Vintas to unravel this mystery. He’d probably read about something like this happening or knew someone who did.

“You see, everyone knows you have chosen to spread your Blessing all over the world. Still, I hoped you would retain your control over it when I summoned you here, for it is this very skill that the future of my people rests on.”

“And now what?” I asked, tensing my grip on the mace. If he decided I was no longer useful… But what chance did I have against a guy with enough strength to lift me with one hand, especially without my armor and weapon?

Zephyro still wasn’t looking at me, however, instead trying to find some unknown answer in the view of his city.

“Now, Sultana,” he began with a frightening note of budding despair, “our only hope is that once you have claimed your throne, your power will return to you.”

I had no idea how that was supposed to work, but before I could ask, Zephyro turned toward me and saw my white-knuckle grip on the scepter. Again, he did not attack, didn’t even move so much as a muscle in aggression. I felt like a fool. If he wanted to harm me, he could have done so a thousand times over.

And I would have been powerless to stop him.

“Sultana, please, do not be alarmed. You are still the Sultana, Giver of Life, and so you deserve the Sun and the Moon to bow at your feet. You will always receive nothing but support and adoration from my people, and me, and will always be nothing but a most honored guest at the very least.”

Say what you wanted about Zephyro, but he knew how to make me feel at ease. That didn’t mean I didn’t still feel naked, or that I suddenly loved the fact that his stunt was probably going to ruin everything I worked for during the last two years, but when a tiny ember of anger started to sizzle in my chest, I reminded myself that wasn’t his fault.

Patti would have been proud.

In the end, nothing mattered but to get to the Palace, and quickly. Still, I would have felt better with some armor and weapons.

“Wait, you said you have a part of my Gift, right?” I asked. Like all Gifts, my Wish was unique. No one else was able to use it. But if I’d literally created these people, perhaps that meant that they could do what I did.

“Not quite, Sultana, but yes, your power soars through inside of all of us, myself included.”

“Alright, you said you wanted to keep me safe, so let’s work on some equipment. Here, use it on my scepter.”

The Vizier smiled hesitantly as if I’d made a joke he didn’t quite get. “Sultana, what you ask is impossible. We lack your control over the Blessing, and so we only ever hold as much as has been allotted to us by Allah when He gifted us the spark of sentience.”

It was well known there were no Gods on Tobes, except for some of the Mage Lords who got off on getting worshiped. How the hell did Zephyro know about a deity from Earth? It didn’t matter, true, but still, the mystery left me with a deeply seated unease.

“Right,” I said. “I just thought since you mentioned that you had a bit of my Wish…Sorry, let’s get going again.”

“My pleasure,” Zephyro said, and we got moving once more. “However, if I might be so bold as to say you misapprehend me, Sultana. We didn’t just receive a tiny spark of your Blessing. My people and I are made of it, but—“

“Wait, wait, wait!” I interjected, my head snapping around so quickly that I almost missed a step. “What do you mean, made of my Gift?”

“Ah, Sultana. Each of our people is given a certain amount of your Blessing when we are born. It shapes the very core of our personality and keeps it stable. In this Domain, we then use it to shape our bodies as we grow. We also use it to further our skills, and it grants us powers that might seem miraculous to a mere mortal, but—“

“I… what?” I asked. “Your body is made of my… What? I mean, what happens when you run out?“

“The same thing that happens to everyone, Sultana. We stop growing, and eventually, we can no longer repair the minuscule damages time inflicts on us, and we die.”

But where did all of that “essence” come from? Was it like I thought, and this entire dimension was just a weird byproduct of me using the Wish? Perhaps there was a law of Thaumadynamics or something?

“So, wait, is everything in here made of Essence?” I asked, to be sure.

“Not everything, no, Sultana. Just everything that lives and breathes, with few exceptions in between.”

That didn’t fit neatly into the explanation, either. I was missing some crucial pieces of this puzzle, which frustrated me to no end. Then again, it wasn’t like I was some sort of astral being or an expert on dimensional travel if either of those even existed. I would probably have to get real comfortable with not understanding everything that was happening, and real quick.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

When I rubbed my temples and didn’t immediately reply, Zephyro and I fell into silence, making our way toward the foot of the mountain. Despite trying hard to let it go, I just couldn’t. There was too much uncertainty, and I had to at least try to sort what I had learned, hoping for a breakthrough.

Even assuming Zephyro was right, and I didn’t completely miss the point, I couldn’t even begin to explain how a person being made of my Wish would work. Hell, I honestly doubted even Vintas would be able to. As far as I knew, this entire scenario was completely beyond anything that had ever even been theorized. For a brief moment, the possibility that this was all just a Dream Maze flickered through my mind, but the world was far too detailed for that. Dream Mazes relied on your attention slipping away and being pulled into the flow. The less you resisted, the longer the story got, and the longer the story, the more power you needed to sustain the Dream. That made it possible to escape them if you played along, but also meant it was disastrous to go against the grain. Dream Mazes craved to be reset, and the way to reset them usually involved gruesome deaths. If this were a regular dream maze, the mountain would have swallowed me, or the air would have turned to acid a long while ago, considering how much I talked back to Zephyro.

Still, I wouldn’t put it beyond those assholes to create a special version of a Dream Maze just for me, if they could find a Mind Mage alive somewhere.

Zephyro caught my frustrated expression and probably thought my scowl meant I was annoyed with him because he spoke up.

“If it pleases you, do note that we never claim more of your Blessing for our selves than is allotted to us, Sultana. We are not thieves, out to steal your Blessing, for we know it for what it is; a gift not to be squandered, and neither coveted. You see, we are not like the Ferals, or the Shackled, who murder indiscriminately so they can drink deep of the Essence being spilled during the kill.”

I let go of my thoughts of mind mazes and Mage Lords and considered Zephyro’s words. One detail in particular could be the solution to my problems.

“So you could, in theory, absorb this blessing from others?”

He nodded, but didn’t seem happy about the direction I was taking the conversation.

“So you said everything that moves is made of Essence, right?

“Indeed, Sultana, but—“

“So why not hunt the Ferals and the… Shackled?” I asked, hesitating only on the last word. I didn’t think he mentioned them before. Even though I wanted to know more about who or what the hell a “Shackled” was, I shelved the thought for later. The bigger question still remained. “I mean, in theory, you could live forever.”

“Ah, Sultana, we do not partake of the Essence of others because it is haram. Your Blessing is pure holy energy, and even the fiercest warriors and wisest sages wouldn’t dream of trying to control it, even if not merely touching Essence in the wild would risk divine punishment.”

“Divine punishment? Like a lightning strike?” I asked, but Zephyro shook his head.

“Should you ever see a Feral, I am certain you will understand. Greedy for power, they feast on your Blessing. As a result of their hubris, however, they mutate into hideous abominations and go mad with hunger, scrambling for any taste of Essence they can find. No, Sultana, consuming the essence of others is unthinkable. Even if one of my people wouldn’t care about the horrible consequences, they would risk being cast out, or even death. I still lament that the Old Guard did not heed our warnings and—“

“Wait, slow down,” I said. This was a lot to take in all at once, and I felt like I needed an encyclopedia and a week of free time. Still, I only had a couple of hours and a Vizier, so I had to make do with that. The most important takeaway from what he just said was that in this world, the Wish turned into some sort of toxic waste that drove people insane or got them addicted at the very least. While there was a chance that it might be different for me, that was a lie that every future addict told themselves when they took their first hit, and I wasn’t looking to go down that route if I wasn’t forced to.

As long as I could reach the palace without my Wish, why risk it? Sure, it made me feel a bit naked, but I wasn’t going to be here for long anyway.

At least that was what I told myself.

“Alright,” I said, returning to the topic at hand. “Who are the Old Guard?”

“They are the immortal protectors of your Palace, Sultana. I must offer you a thousand apologies, for I understand this must all be very bewildering to you.”

“It’s alright,” I said, rubbing my temples. Each step sent a not-entirely uncomfortable shock through my palms into my head. A bit like a rhythmic massage, but it didn’t do much to stave off my feeling of being overwhelmed.

“So these Old Guard take essence from others, like the Ferals? Do we need to worry about them, too?” A couple of monsters along the way was one thing. Having the place I needed to reach occupied by what sounded like crazed, cannibalistic zealots was another.

Zephyro shook his head, and for the first time in a while, there was a small smile ghosting over his lips. “No, Sultana. The Old Guard is fiercely loyal to your cause, even if they are heretics. You see, they were here before most of my people were even born, and even though they always eyed us suspiciously, they never harmed any of us. When the city you see before you now was but a small hamlet, they even helped us defend against the Ferals. As I said, however, they did not heed our warnings and gorged themselves on the Essence of fallen beasts. They paid the price with much of their sanity and we have been giving them a wide berth ever since then.”

“But they will let us into the Palace?”

“Me? Maybe. You? Without a shadow of a doubt, Sultana.”

That was one thing that seemed to be going in my favor then. Now if only I hadn’t learned that things were never as easy as they seemed. Things were still getting more complicated by the minute, and I couldn’t wait until I found the one detail that put everything together.

Until then, my situation was probably going to keep getting worse and—

> “Getting worse,” Underbrook says as if talking about the weather, even as he blocks a couple of fireballs like they were water balloons. He flicks his cleaver, and the antithaumic coating shimmers in the morning light as it expels the residual magical energy.

> “Tell me about it,” I say, striding into battle next to him. With an excited cry from within the group of soldiers in front of us, the mages behind the hill ahead change their target. A handful of fireballs rise into the air, then plummet toward me. I don’t even bother getting out my Torch, just let them crash against the shield projected by my power armor. Still, enough of them crash against the shield to temporarily overload the generator, and in the second it takes for it to recharge, one fireball makes it through and hurtles straight at my face.

> Annoyed, I swat it out of the air with my gauntlet, as I count the number of ballistic trajectories highlighted in my HUD.

> “There’s at least ten of them behind that hill over there, plus the spotter hiding in that platoon.” I don’t phrase it as a question, but Underbrook knows it’s a choice.

> “Platoon,” he says, and I nod. It’s a good decision, as always.

> “Stay safe, okay?”

> I get rewarded with a rare, grim chuckle, as the grizzled veteran falls into a charge, cleaver glowing a faint blue and bobbing in his hands. His right arm flickers with the same cyan hue as the massive antithaumic generator array I built for him—a large cross of plastisteel shaped into the semblance of a tower shield—comes alive. It’s new—just advanced this morning—and he hasn’t had a chance to test it yet. As always, I can’t be fully sure it will work, but I know something as trivial as a broken shield won’t stop Underbrook either way.

> Another barrage of fireballs rises in the air above the ridge and homes in on my position. There are at least three more than before, I notice to my annoyance. I activate my servos and jump to the side, but several of the projectiles track my movement. Then I see the countless shards of ice rising behind the burning orbs.

> “Oh for fuck’s…” is all I manage to get out before I get pummeled by enough explosions to overload my shield in an instant, followed by a staccato of permafrost icicles designed to break my armor. A second later, I am smoldering, my chest piece has been penetrated in 12 different locations, and stray arcs of electricity are running amok over my entire suit.

> I grunt in pain and annoyance, and will the outer shell of my power armor to fold away. It complies as best it can, and most of the frostbolts stuck in my chest get ripped out with hydraulic force. Still, a quick count reveals that despite the armored undersuit, at least four of them remain slotted deep in my flesh. They sunk in just enough to break off instead of getting ejected with the outer shell.

> Oh great, one of them shot straight through my left breast, so that will be fun to pull out once this is over.

> “Witch!” someone screams ahead of me, and I roll my eyes. Great. One of them.

> When the fog of war clears and I can finally see the woman striding out of it, I get serious, however. She’s wearing a full suite of plate, covered with dozens of magical runes. I recognize the symbols for speed, endurance, and some other minor enhancements, but the most prominent ones I have never seen before.

> It’s as I thought, then.

> A Hexbreaker Paladin.

> And she brought new toys!

> This shit just keeps getting worse.

> As she falls into a sprint, the new runes crackle with purple lightning that quickly dissipates over her armor.

> “Today will mark your end,” how she can yell this loudly while running is beyond me, “for I, Lorraine of Brightfall, will slay you in the name of the Dragon Kings!”

> “Are you even listening to yourself?” I say, and pull out my Torch. It ignites with a furious roar, and to her credit, Lorraine of Brightfall only falters for a split second as she beholds the light of my namesake.

> “I do not fear your witchcraft…” she hisses like the stereotype she is, and a moment later, battle is joined. “The Might of Magic will protect me!”

> “Oh Jesus, grant me strength…” I sigh, dodging backward to evade her swing. The icicles slow me down a little, but mostly I am getting quite annoyed at the pain in my tit. So instead of engaging in further witty banter, I pull out my sidearm, level it at the knight, and fire a salvo of superheated plasma.

> At least that’s what we believe my gun is firing. Without ways to properly measure the stuff, we only know one thing for sure: it makes you want to get out of plate armor before the boiling steel melts your flesh.

> Except today, it doesn’t. The salvo hits Lorraine’s armor as usual, but instead of melting it into so much slag, the runes crackle with an almost blinding purple light, and nothing else happens.

> In fact, the paladin doesn’t even break her stride, just keeps coming as if I had shot her with a water pistol.

> “DIE!” she screams, her blade crackling with purple fury, and I realize this won’t be nearly as easy as I wanted it to be.

> An hour later, I wade through the corpses of sixteen mages, but Lorraine is still very much alive, and hounding me. She has managed to score several shallow gashes on the back of my thighs that the nanobots in my regenerative suite can’t seem to heal, and apart from the fact that she’s obviously close to collapsing from exhaustion, she doesn’t seem worse for wear.

> Really. Not even a scratch on her armor.

> My own position isn’t quite as peachy. I lost my sidearm some time ago, and even my Torch doesn’t seem to be able to shatter the runes I began to call Hexbreakers in my head.

> “Truce?” I ask as I walk backward slowly, careful not to step onto one of the dead mages .

> “Never! I will not be known as a Knight who makes peace with cowards like you.”

> “A coward? Me?” I hop over a corpse, and nearly lose my footing. The ground is wet with blood.

> “A Coward! Running from a fair fight to slaughter innocents.”

> “Innocents? They kept throwing fireballs at me, girl, and that’s besides the fact you guys have been plundering our villages for weeks.”

> “Coward!” she roars and puts on a burst of speed.

> I don’t know where she gets the stamina from, but even while juking backward, I can hazard an uncomfortable guess.

> “One of them your brother?”

> I duck a swing and point at the dead mages.

> There is no reply, besides more furious attacks and desperate grunts.

> I continue dodging.

> “Sister?”

> An anguished scream is all Lorraine manages as she grabs her helmet, pulls it off her head and, in a sudden, fluid motion, throws it straight at me. It hits the icicle lodged in my breast—a lucky hit perhaps— but as it’s driven deeper by another inch, the ice flashes purple and suddenly, breathing gets very hard.

> I blink and suddenly find myself on my back, gasping for air, my mouth filling with something warm and coppery, and Lorraine of Brightfall kneeling on my chest with tears streaming down her beautiful face.

> “Truce?” I sputter, words garbled with blood.

> “Just say yes.”—I cough up more blood—“I’ll let it slide. Promise!”

> “Stirb, Hexe…” she hisses and raises her sword. It crackles with purple energy as her head topples from her shoulders.

> My mind is still trying to catch up to how those two things are related when, looming like a mountain over a forest, Underbrook appears behind Lorraine.

> Lorraine starts to collapse, but before her body can fall onto me, my friend gently catches her, lifts her corpse off of me, and carefully lays it to the side.

> “Shit,” he says, places her head close atop her neck with gentle respect.

> “Yep,” I weakly roll over to look at what remains of Lorraine. I know she would have killed me, but somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better.

> Fuck the Lords and their brainwashing.

> No seriously.

> Fuck those assholes.

> “Thanks,” Underbrook says, and to indicate what for, he nods toward the dead mages that were pinning him down earlier.

> “Yeah,” I reply lamely, because even though I’d save him again any day, being reminded of the fact that we just killed hundreds of people doesn’t make me feel better at all.

> “Still, a shame,” he says quietly as if he read my thoughts, then breaks off from looking at Lorraine and bends over me, studying my wounds. He grimaces when he sees the icicle impaling my lungs.

> “Sorry, that’s gotta come out.”

> I give him a weak thumbs up and he gets to work. He’s a good field surgeon, because he’s good at ignoring my screams.

> Half an hour later, after having several foot-ling ice lances pulled out of my chest, scratching out the runes on Lorraine’s armor to break the magic, and finally allowing my regenerative suite to do its work, I drive my hand through my bloody hair.

> “This shit keeps getting worse,” I say.

> “True,” Underbrook says. He’s checking his shield for damage, but it held marvelously. He looks up, then at me.

> Then he pauses for a long time, collecting words like a chef collects precious ingredients for a feast.

> I don’t say anything.

> You shut up when Underbrook wants to speak, or you miss out.

> “It will keep getting worse. But you must remember that just like everything else, eventually, it will get better.”