ZETA

Outside the city, atop the handpicked hill, the scenery emerged from a fairytale. Bright, colorful, abundant with fields of flowers condensing into mounds of rural homes. A horizon of crystallized blue seawater to meet the sky. A gray cloud raining invisible grief.

The choice wasn’t original. Other headstones dotted the area, likely originating from the wastes of scenarios similar to last night. Zeta recommended a spot against a tree, so Berto had shade in the summer sun.

“Dead still feel the day’s heat,” he said. A quote from Sir Kagan.

It was funny. Last night, the people of Aspic were overwhelmingly helpful in acquiring a body bag, and this morning their corpse cart came for free. Unlike a doctor, when it came to death, there was no hesitation.

As they rolled the cart out of the city, Zeta watched a mother and daughter pass by. The girl tripped and scraped her knee terribly, little streaks of blood trickling down the leg. The mother didn’t fret, however. She merely kneeled next to her daughter; a golden light shone from her finger as she wiped it across the gash. When they returned to their routine a second later, it had already sealed.

How wonderful it was to know that such medicine was so readily available.

Stop it. Spite won’t bring the dead to life.

As the morning critters fulfilled their cries of dawn, Igel and Hera stood over the buried bag set softly in the pit, portions of the tree’s roots surrounding the body. Zeta had done all the digging, a fact which he was content with given their distraught states.

He gave them an hour, and that hour was nothing but silence. Midway through, Igel left, disappearing into the crowds of Aspic. Hera remained a statue of skin and bones. Zeta wrote off any words from her, however, when he stuck his shovel in the dirt to fill up the grave, Hera asked, “Did you take them?”

Zeta looked at her. “What?”

“Berto’s sigmas. Sigmas exit the body immediately upon death, scattering on the ground. I never saw them yesterday.” She narrowed her eyes. “Did you steal them?”

“An accusation of theft? Now? That’s low, Hera. I thought you had a higher opinion of me.”

“You said you wanted to collect as many as you can. That’s your apparent goal,” Hera said with toxicity. None of that was true, that wasn't his goal at all, but that’s when Zeta realized she wasn’t speaking from her soul but from emotional distress. The sudden resurgence of hostility made sense.

Zeta reached into his back pockets and retrieved a cluster of Natural Padding sigmas. “You mean these? Yes, I took them. You can have them if you want.” He dropped them all into Berto’s grave. “I planned to bury them with him. In my opinion, no one should reap a reward from Berto’s death. The sigmas die with him.”

Hera stared at the sigmas in the burial. Flashes of temptation and despair crossed her eyes.

“You can have them if you feel you deserve them, Hera, but make your decision before I seal the grave.”

“No. I want nothing to do with them,” Hera said, turning on a heel to leave.

“Where are you going?” Zeta asked.

Hera reached up and supposedly wiped a tear from her eye, a lump still caught in her voice. “Back to Warehouse 6. Regardless of the loss, there are unfinished questions. I’ll save the breaking down for later.”

She couldn’t see him, but Zeta nodded. “Okay, I’ll join you soon.”

Halfway down the hill, she stopped. An eerie shaking triggered from her shoulders and up. The wind carried her near-silent words, “How about a lesson? I think it’s one you need to learn.”

Hera turned around, every muscle in her face contracted and spasmed as she struggled to conceal tears. She failed. “We call it Divinity. We call it Prayer, but you should be aware of how empty those words are. We say them because we have no other terms. We call it an ‘attunement with God,’ because we know nothing about the origins of sigmas. None of it is real.

“We know of Hell’s existence because of the demons that come through portals to terrorize us, but we can say no such thing of ‘heaven.’ There is no God, Zeta, just a giant scam.”

As she walked away, Zeta stuck the shovel into the pile of dirt next to him and started pouring it back into the grave. He made sure the soil slipped off the shovel softly, like gentle pellets, so as not to hurt Berto’s soul in the afterlife.

He had no idea what to make of her statement.

HERA

Even with her ‘brave display,’ Hera found it difficult to keep her mind objective, focused on the enemy and their operations. Now she found herself returning to the scene of the crime as if she personally asked the Devil for more torment. That was the issue with being a Mind focus. Mess with the brain enough, even if it’s your own; eventually, you’ll find it scattered.

Arriving at Warehouse 6, the bold white number on its side prepared a psychological disturbance of premium proportion. Hera shook it off, refusing to let such a trivial thing as a number traumatize her.

The damages to the building remained, although invisible to those who were not looking. Stray shots punctured through the wall, and the skylight was burned from the explosion. Little bits of ash were illuminated from interior soot.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Inside, however, there was no sign of anything. No bodies, no weapons, not even inconspicuous crates. The warehouse was bare. Hera ran to the center, beneath the skylight, searching for the remnants of the Flyers and for the bloodstains Berto had left behind. Alas, she only found scorch marks nearly scrubbed clean.

It didn’t make any sense. Sure, maybe the Flyers woke up and ran, but all of this cleanup in the course of a night? An awful thought occurred to her. Have they gone to Balder?

A cold voice resonated out of every scrap of metal in the walls. “The Harpy of Aspic,” it said. “It’s strange seeing you here and well.”

Hera recognized it instantly, but to hear it put her person on high alert. She faced a scrawny individual with short, thinning hair atop a rough scalp and forehead. He leaned his oversized scythe against the wall, a trophy, apparently, from some Death focus group in the Selatin Kingdom, or at least that’s what he always bragged about.

Her heart pounded so fiercely the warehouse walls vibrated to its tune. The Curved Storm. “Terrent.”

“I’m glad you still remember me. It’s only been a few weeks since you still paid Mr. Rex’s cut with that cute face in tow, but we’ve missed your wry smile.”

“I didn’t. I forgot about her existence. Don’t lump me in with the likes of you,” came a voice from above. Sitting in the skylight, with his feet against one end and his back against another to hold himself up, was the Ghost Gun, Marc Crue. How was that comfortable? Unless it was an intimidation tactic…

“That’s rude, Marc.”

“But it’s true.”

“You’re…both here?” Hera started shaking. Her fists clenched with apprehension and she raised them to fight.

“Whoa! Calm down Harpy,” Terrent said. “I don’t know what has you on edge, but we’re not here to kill you.”

“Just cut to the chase, Gust. Your hideous face makes all woman cry, even the ones that know you. It’s a face a mother can shy away from,” said Marc.

“Ouch! Fine then.” Terrent reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny, ovule bead no bigger than a beetle. A thick silk lace attached to it. “You know the Flyers? Some competitors of yours. Turns out they used this warehouse as a base only–it recently underwent some frankly unpleasant renovation.”

“To put the fool’s terms simply, someone attacked,” said Crue.

“I think that’s obvious, Marc. Anyway, all the men got up and fled the city. We tracked them down and killed them this morning for insubordination, but that detail is irrelevant. The leader got offed here, and given its unsightly nature we disposed of it properly and cleaned the place to make it visually appealing.

“All we need is a motive and a perpetrator, but that can wait. Our original mission was to find you anyway, assuming you haven’t left Aspic. We were off to that cozy abode of yours.”

“Why were you guys going to my home?” Hera asked, her voice cracking.

“To give you this.” Terrent reached into his pocket and chucked a small, ovule bead at her, white-gold in color. She barely managed to catch it without a fumble.

As soon as it landed in her hand, her blood burst with energy. It was as if a dozen adrenaline rushes exploded at the same time while she injected pure caffeine into her system.

“What is this!” she exclaimed, gasping heavily.

“Like it, do you? That, dear Harpy, is an Ora Charm.”

“An Ora–” She recognized the name. “As in–”

“Yes, the very same. Various expeditions found one of his lost vaults in the Western Shelf. The Charms are spreading throughout the Sigma World like wildfire. Crue’s foreign friends told him about it, so we got a head start on imports. To put it simply, you’ll be praying a lot less each night, Hera. If at all.”

“What? Why? What do they do?”

“You felt that pure power, right? An Ora Charm is a Divinity accumulator, constantly accruing Divinity as long as it’s worn on your person. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing. It doesn’t matter if you’re praying. You will be getting your Divinity.”

Hera couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Such a concept would change all she knew about sigmas. “That’s impossible.”

“Except it’s not,” said Terrent. “Hera–do you mind if I call you that? A New Era is here for the Sigma World. You felt it the second that Charm touched your hand, right? The time for ‘sigma focuses’ and all the other limitations on our power has passed. No more wasting time to ‘earn’ the Divinity to progress. The charms open the passageway to new possibilities.”

“Possibilities? Terrent, these charms will spark a global arms race!”

“Indeed, which brings us to here and now.” He started pacing around the warehouse, examining things that weren’t even there. “We heard that you ‘recruited’ a new member to your group. We would’ve liked to hear of this beforehand, but we learned of it unofficially, so we’ll assume you would’ve told us at a later date. Anyway, Harpy, the Lion hears this new addition is strong, which is promising given our future.”

“Our…future?”

He nodded. “As I said, Crue’s contacts gave us an early bid at the Ora Charms. They will spread like wildfire, but before then, we will have already secured spots at the top of the world. Such are the blessings of having the first pick of ripe crops.

“Mr. Rex has grown ambitious. He wants to ascend the ladders of the Sigma World, and he wants to take us with him. There are many…branches of this organization that will have to be clipped and forsaken. It’s partially why we killed the Flyers in flight, pun intended. Yours is not one of those branches, Harpy.”

Terrent reached into his pocket and pulled out a second Ora Charm. “Let’s see, with the new addition, your group has…four, right?”

Hera gulped, and her mood sulked. “No. Three now. Berto…left a few hours ago.”

Terrent raised an eyebrow. “Really? He just up and walked out?”

“Maybe we scared him that night,” said Marc.

“That’s right. We spoke with Berto the other day. It’s strange. He didn’t display any indication of leaving.” Terrent pondered for a second, then he smiled. “Hera, you ruthless bitch! You cut your weak links, didn’t you!” he said it as if it were a compliment.

“Stupid Berto,” he continued. “There isn’t a new addition at all, is there, but a replacement.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” she snapped. “All you need to know is that we’re down to three.”

How dare you speak ill of the dead you repugnant asshole. Hera's own thoughts stunned her. Ever since she was little, Hera vowed never to cuss in thought or speech to keep herself pure. Although, in retrospect, that wasn’t really her choice…

“Whatever, then. The replacement sounds superior anyway. Give this to him, will you? Mr. Rex invites both of you to climb to the top of the world with him.”

He tossed the second Ora Charm to her, but this time there was no rush of energy. That meant that the Divinity Boosts cannot be stacked.

“Does it have to be him? Can I not give it to Igel?” she asked.

Terrent shrugged. “It’s your crew, but that sounds like a waste. If you ask me, consider cutting another weak link. You’ll feel the lighter burden, trust me.”

Hera wanted to punch him. She wanted to assail his arrogant face with unleashed rage, but Marc would stop her before a second blow if the first one even landed. Repression was more painful than pain itself.

Terrent analyzed the floor of the warehouse again. “When we cleaned the place out, the Flyers weren’t even smuggling sigmas anymore, can you believe that? They moved on to guns, not that I’d consider that a step up. Ironically, they also had a jetpack from the Technocracy, sigma-powered, but not a sigma. Oh, the wonders of modern technology!

“The lesson here, Hera, is that they moved on because they caught wind of the changing times as well. Probably planned to break off from Mr. Rex and take their own stabs at ascendance, not that it worked out for them. Someone got to them first. Good riddance.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, do you Harpy?” Marc asked.

Quickly, she shook her head. Then she worried if she denied it too fast.

Terrent shrugged. “Well, whether the killers are friend or foe we may never know. Either way, we didn’t need the Flyers. We don’t need many of the smugglers in Aspic anymore. Take that into consideration, Hera. The Lion sees you as a diamond in the rough.”

Marc dropped down from the skylight. “Alright, I’ve spent enough time here. Let’s leave.”

“Okay,” Terrent agreed. “See you later, Harpy.” The way he departed screamed his malevolent identity for all the city to hear.

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Analyzing the two Charms in her palms, Hera couldn’t help but wonder if Terrent had placed her in an elaborate setup. Sure, he and Marc were not forensic scientists, but they did spend a significant amount of time at the warehouse. Had they left evidence behind? Would these charms blow of her hands when she was asleep? Would her head be bits of brain if she wore it around her neck as intended by the silk lace?

She bumped into a stocky build with a black sword. “Hey, are you all right, Hera?” Zeta asked.

She had forgotten he planned to follow her. “Oh, um, yes. I’m all right. The warehouse was cleared out, strangely enough.” He didn’t need to know about Terrent or Marc. She feared he would set them in his sights. The difference in their scores was a mathematical fact that he would die.

“What are those?” he asked, pointing to the beads.

She fabricated a lie within seconds. “Oh, I’ve meant to give this to you for a while. It’s…also necessary for building Divinity. It’s an Ora Charm.”

Zeta’s eyes widened, but there was no smile to accompany it. “An…Ora Charm? As in–”

“Yes, as in the legendary scientist, Magnus Ora. I’m…I’m a huge fan.”

Within moments, Hera became an old woman, reflecting on the past eighty years from the present. She envisioned herself writing of her regrets, and claiming to be a fan of Magnus Ora was the title of the book.

Zeta’s eyes narrowed, and his composure darkened. “I see.”

He reached for his sword and clipped off the bangs of her hair in one violent, indiscriminate swing.

Healing Seal - Healing: User can speed up and assist the body at closing gashes or other sources of bleeding. (15).

* (A) Pose two fingers over the wound.

* The user must move hand along the full length of the wound to seal it completely.

* Only forces the skin to tighten and connect, clotting the blood to start healing.

* Healing Seal won't work if the wound is too big.

* Requires slow motion when healing wounds.