Time Irrelevant

Martian base, Apotheosis

When Outreach gathered in a debate hall for what passed as legislature in an organisation as flexible as Apotheosis, there was always at least one Master from the High Council present in attendance.

The Hall was darkened, even more so than the rest of the base, and grooves were cut around the stone of the podiums assigned to the mages in assembly, faintly aglow with red.

All a speaker had to do on their turn was let the power of their soul flare, bleed into the grooves, that would brighten and bathe them in red light.

For the moment, the red light bathed Usman Salikhov as he spoke with the peculiar inflection that came naturally to any Dimensional Mage.

“Zerin. Fordeck. Pullback. Wastime in fiveth alts rollup ten.”

[Zero infiltration for four decades. Pull back. A waste of time in five thousand alternate timelines rolled up to ten years.]

Some Dimensional mages spoke as if the words leaving their mouths took too long, a deficiency, Michael had thought, to give away clear indicators of what fields your talents lay in so openly, until he had discovered his own irritating habit of subtly pulling the ambient light surrounding him while he spoke, or indeed, even when he entered a room.

He had scrubbed himself of that glaring flaw, but still wondered occasionally what other gaps might poke through in his demeanour that gave him away in a similar fashion when he did not consciously choose to reveal himself.

Through the second half of Usman’s prepared speech, Michael felt himself tune out; his pitch was going to be entirely impotent.

It wasn’t going to be a comprehension issue; every mage assembled here had picked up on how to decipher his irregular speech patterns over the course of a single conversation.

It was simply the fact that the contents of his speech seemed entirely irrelevant.

It was true enough that Astral incursions hadn’t been a problem for the Earthbound population for over four decades, but the average mage was fairly divorced from the Earthbound population themselves, and an Astral incursion had occurred at the place that truly mattered to them, their own living space.

And Usman’s appeal to focus their efforts on the Hollow population, besides treading uncomfortably on the toes of the Zero Interference Law, didn’t actually mean anything; if you were speaking to fellow mages instead o hawking a speech to the masses, it helped to have something concrete in the speeches you made.

Michael doubted Usman was an idiot; this whole speech was either a chore he took on himself for extra credit, practice or a misdirection of some sort.

A single mage alone could have a million plots running simultaneously, and it would be far too much work to deal with them all.

Michael simply let the words wash over him, until he felt an intrusive presence against his psychic shields.

Valentyna Ivanenko, Master of Spirit magic, spared him a look from her seat at the head of the hall, one side of her mouth curling upwards.

She could have walked through his defences like they were so much air, but that would have been rather impolite.

Michael granted her access so they could talk.

You’re sleeping with your eyes open, boy.

Must be all this stimulating conversation, Ma’am.

Can you believe I’ve had to attend these thrice in the last two weeks? At least you ran off on your assignment.

Vacant couple of weeks, Ma’am?

I’m taking it slow. I believe I’ve earned some downtime.

We should get out of here if you truly want any downtime.

Now, now. You slipping out might be overlooked, but I still have to head this assembly.

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Michael sighed, settling comfortably in his seat, counting the minutes in his head while Usman droned on.

What felt like an eternity but was probably only five minutes passed by, and the assembly filed out, with Usman, predictably enough, having garnered negligible support.

And Michael found himself in Valentyna’s office chambers.

“Michael. It has been a long time.”

It hadn’t really; Valentyna may have looked like she was in her early twenties, but much like Abas, she had lived far in excess of any Hollow’s lifespan, and the last time she had Michael was less than a year ago, not a blink of an eye for someone of her longevity.

Michael could afford to overanalyze like that, his mind running in multiple parallel tracks at once; and there was no such thing as reading too deeply into something a Lord of Apotheosis said.

“Abas told me you’ve been brushing up on the spirit field. You should have told me; I would have been glad to help.”

“I was in a bit of a hurry. Besides, I’ve barely scratched the surface. There’s still a lot you could show me.”

Valentyna fished a cigarette from her robes, lit it with flames sprouting from her fingertips, took a single impressive pull before offering it to Michael, who plucked it from her fingers with his lips.

Her fingers smelled of nothing.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you I was enjoying my time off, you know.”

Michael smiled almost indulgently, exhaling a cloud of nicotine and carbon monoxide; It wasn’t as if he could truly determine whether she was hiding anything from him in such a simplistic fashion.

Pulling strands of golden hair back from her face, she gestured to have the cigarette returned, and Michael placed it between her lips.

“So, when do you want to get started, Michael? I’m ready whenever you are. And it’s not polite to keep a lady waiting.”

“Later, Ma’am. There’s a new arrival at the station, and I wanted you to meet her before anything.”

“Oh? A girl? I suppose you and Adana are truly done then.. A shame, I liked the two of you together.”

“That’s not-”

“Although, if this is the one that led the attack on the Space Station, I can see the attraction; You always did like them dangerous. And all things considered, this almost seems like… destiny.”

Michael’s face betrayed no emotion, an entirely neutral mask; he had considered statistical manipulation with Chaos Magic being responsible for their circumstances, but even were it true, he could see no motive behind such an act yet, and there was really nothing to be done about it presently.

Valentyna stroked his cheek.

“Come on, then. I am eager to meet this person.”

“Of course. I just have to make a call.”

In another section of the Halls of the Martian Base, Aaron’s metamagic shield rippled, warping beneath a fresh assault from his master.

“Good,” Aaron’s mentor, Fen, ceased her assault, “Your metamagic defences are up to scratch. But remember, a metamagic shield may repel energies of the Horizon, but it will do nothing against a mundane bullet.”

Aaron nodded.

“What do we go for next?”

“Aaron… You’ve already reached the rank of Adept in the Energy field, and now apprenticeship in Metamagic as well. Not that I don’t admire this new drive in you, but shouldn’t you take some time to grieve?”

“I have grieved enough. What is next?”

The ancient woman shook her head.

“I can think of nothing pertinent for you to study right now. Why don’t you decide?”

“What about Chaos Magic? That’s your specialty, isn’t it?”

“It is mine, but not yours. The subtle art of statistical manipulation… I don’t know if you ever had the temperament for it, and now, with rage clouding you.”

“It’s a chance I’m willing to take. Shall we begin?”

Hours later, Aaron found himself alone in an isolated, dark chamber, his mind still unable to make sense of the patterns of fate and chance woven through reality around him.

Fen had not exaggerated when she explained its intricacies were too complex to be broken through by sheer force of stubborn will, unlike Energy magic, which thrived on that kind of thing.

He heard Ciara approach, and felt a probe of magical senses come to a halt against his metamagic shield, and allowed himself a smile of grim satisfaction.

“Can I help you, Ciara?”

“We have our next assignment. Michael told me you’d be interested in this one.”

“Should I apply for leave to be left alone? I already told-”

“It’s about Pierre’s family. And ours.”

“What?”

“With the vampire gone, there’s now a vacuum in the European underworld. Our families are in the best position to fill those positions.”

“What does he want; our help in establishing the new kingpin of European crime?”

“Michael wants us to take them out.”

Aaron turned on the woman with an incredulous expression on his face.

“I finally have the power to take that bitch down,” Ciara’s face turned increasingly colder, as the perfume around her thickened, “If you’re tight with your family, you may want to sit this one out. But we’re going to be dealing with Pierre’s father as well. Michael said it would be… therapeutic for you.”

“Did he now?”

The man responsible for Pierre turning out the way he did.

Aaron felt a complex set of emotions course through him, but his path was already decided.

And he finally had the power to exert his will on those who had wronged them.

“Tell Michael I am ready.”