Nic was led back through the shivering, dark halls of the underground palace, watching his reflection move across the walls in warped echoes. “Sofia?” He muttered under his breath.

“Nicolas. I hope you’re not listening to her. Heretics are…” She paused, breathless. “Irresponsible. They seek grandiose goals at the cost of thousands of lives. They’ll grind you into the dust of history for a fool’s chance of reaching the stars.”

“I know.” Nic responded. “I know. She’s right, but she’s mad. She’ll destroy us to get where she’s going…”

“But you think the goal is admirable? Nicolas? Do you really want to escape the System…”

“Of course I do.” He hissed, venomous. “I’ve spent my entire life living under it, being treated like nothing, fighting and fighting and fighting for the chance to be seen. Why wouldn’t I want out? The System has done nothing but force me into bloody little pits to fight for my life…”

“Nicolas, it may seem that way. It may even be true. But you have to understand…” Sofia sighed. “There’s a reason. There’s a purpose. You have to understand, what the System replaced wasn’t any kinder. It was a tyranny. Not everybody could cultivate. The many were left behind while the few climbed to the heavens. Forcing you to fight - forcing everyone to fight - is kinder than giving you no chance at all.”

Nic wavered. He saw the dim little spark of truth there. The System, in its cruelty, allowed everyone a chance. It would just make them bleed and die for that chance; it would cut them to the bone and tell them it was their own fault for being weak.

And maybe it was…

In under a month, Nic had exploded into power. He had fought and clawed for that strength, and often, he’d won simply by being willing to go further than his opponent. By being a maniac.

But if everyone in City Layer d23 fought like that…

The hierarchy would fall. The city’s oppressive weight would be thrown aside.

But of course…

The first people to step forward would die horrible deaths.

And the people behind them too.

It would take a whole generation willing to be the first, willing to die, before the rest found their bravery and stepped forward. Before the madness, the willingness to fight, spread through the population like a disease or a wildfire.

Did the System understand that?

Did it understand that, even though it would only take the masses moving together to achieve revolution, for each individual person, the logical thing, the safe thing, was to keep their head down?

That people were just afraid of stepping out of line…

Afraid nobody else would follow their lead.

They were held in check, not just by fear of the punishment that would descend, but through fear of the people beside them, the people who might step back and turn their eyes away rather than follow and push against the machine.

It was a puzzle Nic had no answer for…

Except here.

Except now.

He finally had a clear path to escape. And he had strength, even if it was nothing in comparison to the strength of the whole System. Enough strength to cut a path towards that escape. Enough strength to maybe fight his way free…

Without waiting for everyone around him to wake up.

“I have to try.” He whispered. “I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t…”

“Nicolas…”

“Just…” He was running out of time. They were approaching the room where the prison-cube was held. “Help me get free of this prison, and we’ll talk about the bigger one.”

“Alright. I’m already organizing Winterhome. We can’t enter the the desert for long, not without your ability to absorb the Aleph’s deadly power. But some of them have the demonic taint, and I’ve given your design for the Aleph-absorbing talisman to Talnu’Mo, our runesmith…”

“All in all, we have eleven people who are ready to enter the desert for a short excursion. And together, they’re going to try to break through the enemy force defending the portal.”

Nic winced. The thought of his precious, hand-raised soldiers throwing themselves against the Ascended devils…

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

It would be a hard fight and they’d need numbers to have a chance. “Did those three snail-men ever show up?”

“They did. They’ll be the vanguard for this expedition.”

That brightened Nic’s outlook. The three were experienced warriors, E-Class, and best of all, knew how to fight together. They could easily match the clumsy strength of the Ascended devils head to head…

They entered the room where the prison-cube sat on a pillar. The devil-elf kicked him forward, causing Nic to snap his head around and snarl, “I don’t recall your master giving you permission to be rough.”

Her lip wrinkled back, baring sharp teeth. “I’m no dog that waits for commands. When I see the scum who nearly massacred my race…”

She kicked him again, sending Nic tumbling down the steps.

But as he rose his eyes were full of fire.

“I don’t think you know what you’re asking for, picking a fight with me…” He stared her down. Her and the eight Ascended guards. It would be a tough fight…

He twisted his neck until the bones popped. “Or maybe you do. After all, you ran away every time you were up against me.” He spat.

But he was past caring about that.

“I know the value of my own life.” She snarled. “That does not make me a coward. That makes me the one who survived, and saved my race.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I’m still here, and none of you are safe. Your high and mighty queen doesn’t seem to value your lives too highly, either…”

He was bracing for the moment of contact. He still didn’t have his bag, but he had the killing voice, his hands, his Warform…

“You will not live much longer.” She retorted, and lifted her hand. “And you won’t live that time comfortably, either. Prison! Open!”

Behind him, the prison-cube expanded to the size of a house and turned to a black hole in the fabric of reality. The world warped, space itself flowing to pull him inwards. Nic was yanked off his feet and pulled up into the air, struggling, pulled until he met the surface of the cube. As he sank through into the prison-world beyond, he stared the elven devil down and drew a finger across his throat.

She was first on the list when he got out.

---

Nic tumbled down into the desert world of the prison-cube, falling until he hit the scratching, glassy surface of the black sand. Instantly he began to sink, that initial impact sending him through the surface and into the quicksand, deep, his head already threatening to dip below.

And this time, there were no waves. The sand had gone still…

Nic could guess why, but it was only a guess, and one he had to hope was true.

He gulped down air and filled his lungs against the pressure of the sand, and let himself descend.

Slowly…

Into the abyss of black, crushing weight…

Slowly, slowly…

He could feel the walls scraping past him, the trickle and run of the rough sand scraping away at his skin. Feel the weight increasing. At his level of cultivation, he could hold enough air to hold him for hours, but the pressure was threatening to push his lungs empty. The pain was vast and blinding, his limbs clutched in the vise of uncaring earth.

And then threre was a voice.

“Ahha! Found you!” It was a childish, squeaky voice, full of dropped consonants and mush-mouthed vowels, and it was Gwungo’s voice.

A squishy, massive tendril reached for him and grasped him. Nic was pulled down, the pressure of the earth falling away as he moved through a barrier of mucusoid, slimy flesh. He dropped down into a cavern made of the stuff, a bubble of slime grown within the earth.

The pillar of crystal where he’d set Gwungo down was here, engulfed…

But it was almost entirely digested. Huge chunks were missing, and the jet-black crystal was infected with tendrils of Gwungo, slimy probes slowly eating it away from the inside. Gwungo was everywhere- he had lost the semblance of a cute, sweet lizard and become this massive structure, fed by the energy within the crystal. Nic felt his heartbeat ripple underfoot.

“Gwungo this is…”

“I waited! I waited so patiently and sweetly, I was very good! But there’s so much energy… I just keep growing…”

“No, this is fantastic.” Nic grinned happily. “Do you think you can break through?”

“Break it? Oh yes. Yes yes, it’ll be easy to break. A little squeeze and everything should come apart…”

“Okay…” Nic felt the plan starting to come together. “Let’s wait a little longer, and then we’ll go…”

They’d given him a day. They’d regret that.

Nic might not be able to cultivate down here…

But he could bide his time. He could wait for the guards outside to lose focus. He could hold on, for as long as the air in his lungs would allow, and ready himself to kill as many as he could in the moment of surprise.

Mentally, he marked the positions of the guards in the chamber.

Curling his hands into fists, he began to shadowbox, working in the dark against foes of his own imagination. He'd fought these Ascended enough times before to know how they moved, know how they'd react when he threw a punch. The phantoms of his imagination struggled and died, their reactions too slow, their strength too little. Eight was hard. With his bare hands, eight was very hard…

But he could do eight.

"Gwungo, time to go." He finally said. Enough time - enough breath - had passed.

"Uh-huh!" The walls shivered, and there was a sharp, crystalline crack as the pillar of onyx began to crumble. Gwungo's coils squeezed down upon the pillar, and Nic had an uneasy moment of hesitation…

If Gwungo could do all this, was he really something Nic could control anymore?

But if that was a concern…

It was a concern for later.

As the column came down, the walls of the prison began to shake and rumble, and fissures began to rend through the fabric of space. They were strange, fractured lines that spilled through the air, bleeding an oily weep of dull rainbow colors as light twisted around their internal gravity.

The pocket space containing the prison was crumbling.

And as it gave way, Gwungo contract in around Nic, shrinking miraculously to become a suit of slick blue crystalline armor.

A massive rift cracked open beneath them, and the sand began to pour down in a roaring waterfall. Nic rode atop it…

Ready for the fight.