The diner sat on the side of the mountain road, just close enough to the highway to have survived to become a local favorite. There wasn’t much novel about the restaurant serving standard American breakfast and lunch fare. Its name wasn’t worth mentioning. That didn’t make it any less special to Daniel.
Earth-Daniel, if that distinction still mattered. It was a week after he’d failed utterly, bringing the entire plan to ruin. Ever since that first phone call, when Chris had explained what his father had hired him for, he’d carried this deep longing within him to bring his father back and make the family whole again. To fix his past mistakes.
Ironically, that plan had required him to isolate for months and ghost who he had left. He’d left his job, lost contact with friends, broken his lease, and it was all for nothing. Four months spent in a hole in the ground for nothing, and during the first part of it Daniel hadn’t been sure if it was all real or not.
Then the monitors had flickered to life and Daniel had witnessed another world. Seeing a version of himself fighting off purple bats with a stick had been terrifying. He’d almost pushed the button there and then. Both falls had been gut-wrenching, waiting for his clone to either wake up or die, but his other self had survived. Now? It was over.
He scratched at the back of his neck while taking a sip of the coffee. At least he could get a haircut now. Daniel had quickly decided against trying to do it himself while in the bunker, even if no one else would have seen the hackjob. Then he stared at his hand for a second, thinking about how it would feel to have it change into something else. That was a bad habit he’d need to get rid of.
His phone vibrated again, no doubt his mom. He hadn’t answered her last text, the gist of which was that the only reason she wasn’t trying to constantly call him was that she was at work. That was another conversation he was dreading, but so far he’d been able to get away with just saying he was headed home.
No, Chris was the one he was worried about. The man walked into the diner and nodded at the hostess, thumbing at Daniel and walking by. The guy was like a young Alfred, if that made any sense. Older than Daniel’s 23 by at least half a decade, probably a full one, but he was dependable, discreet, and honest. Not that Daniel had known him that long. The first time they’d spoken was over that call. Chris kept his trucker-style hat on over short hair, which he at least had been able to take care of. Combined with the light jacket and slightly faded, nondescript clothes and you couldn’t pick him out from most of the other people eating here.
Chris had been the butler to his Batman, in that Daniel had spent the last few months living in a cave and relying on him for basic necessities. Daniel had to be watching the monitors at all times, so someone else had to do the shopping. His dad, or whoever was responsible for this, had picked out Chris as part of this insane plan. There had been a retainer of sorts that had kept him going over the years between that and contacting Daniel, although Chris had never really gone into details. Daniel wasn’t sure if Chris knew anything about what he’d been doing in the bunker.
It didn’t matter. Chris took the seat opposite and sighed like he was from HR and was about to give bad news. “So, I got the final details. The Project is over.” ‘The Project’ was how he referred to anything having to do with the bunker, which was in turn its own euphemism. If someone had a transcript of all of their conversations, they’d probably have come off as domestic terrorists.
“I fucked it up,” Daniel blurted out, drawing a look from the adjacent table. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, you don’t know that.” Chris put a manila folder on the table and slid it over. “The security deposit box had a letter too. He said a lot of things could have gone wrong and not to blame yourself. This is why we didn’t tell anyone else. I'm just a contractor, Daniel. I get paid either way. I feel bad for you, but you didn’t disappoint me.”
“But Dad, the others...” Chris gave him another sympathetic look but didn’t say anything else as Daniel trailed off. He was too much of a professional to ask for details. Daniel was sure that in one of the packets like the one before him, Chris had also been given specific instructions on what he wasn’t supposed to ask Daniel about. Where exactly his father was and the circumstances regarding his attempted return no doubt top of the list. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Alright.” Chris nodded and brought out the other thing he’d taken from the bank while Daniel had waited in the diner. “There wasn’t any problem with the checks. If you want to we can go over and confirm they split it as your father wanted, but-“
“No, it's fine. I trust you.”
Chris sighed again and put a security envelope on top of the folder. “Be careful with that. You lose it and the money’s gone.”
“Whatever.” Daniel didn’t really care. What was in that envelope was his part of whatever was left in the Project funds, meant to pay for Chris and whatever the bunker needed until the plan succeeded. His inheritance, he supposed. There wasn’t any point keeping it stashed away now that the plans had failed.
“You don’t know how much was in that account, do you?” Daniel shrugged, and Chris lowered his voice. “Ok, look, I know that everyone says that they’d rather have a family member over this or that amount, but this is the kind of money you say when you want people to know you really mean it.”
“I do mean it,” Daniel shot back, but there was interest there now. He still felt like a failure, and the feeling of greed he couldn’t fully suppress made it worse. In the end, it was his curiosity that got him. He wanted to know just how much his dad had been able to save up. He’d said he’d gotten lucky on the stock market, sure, but he hadn’t touched Mom’s money so-
Daniel’s eyes bulged as he opened the smaller envelope and read the figure. “How?”
“No idea. But your old man didn’t leave you hanging, that’s for sure.” Chris took a look around and whispered again. “We’re getting looks. Why don’t we take off and I’ll drive you to the airport? You sure you don’t need me to arrange some benzos?”
“No, I’m good.” Actually, he’d probably freak out on the flight. But if a version of him could stare down a dragon, he could beat fucking claustrophobia.
“Alright. This’ll be it then.” Both stood and walked out, Chris leaving a hundred on the table even though he hadn’t ordered anything. On the way to his car, a two decade old pickup truck likely chosen for its ubiquitousness, he said, “I’ll be honest, I’m going to be living high off of this for a while. But if you need anything, give me a call. That number will still be good.”
“Thanks.” Daniel hadn’t imagined he would need someone like Chris, but considering how rich he was now he could run around in a bat suit if he felt like it. Despite his willingness to be involved in something that was no doubt shady, Chris also seemed like a good guy. He paused as he opened the passenger door, taking one last look at the mountains around him. It really was over.
“You good?”
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
…
Evalyn had faced Casia Seliri knowing she had led her team to her deaths. The way she had casually killed Hunter, the most durable of them, made it clear they were up against an enemy beyond their level. She’d been so blind when it was her job to stay alert for traps.
What had happened to Tak, she couldn’t explain. She feared Casia had used some power of the Spoke to send him away, or worse, destroy him outright. Evalyn didn’t have anything to compete with that level of power aside from the will to try.
She’d barely avoided death the first time the newly-anointed Tyrant had come for her. Only Investiture of Song and her experience had let her barely move to take the blow along the shoulder instead of into her chest. When a great force seized her in the next moment she knew it was truly over.
Then, nothing. A gap in her memories or something to that effect, because she didn’t know where she was when she came to. Evalyn was lying on the ground, still injured going by how her shoulder felt. Teleportation, she concluded.
The ground felt soft below her, dirt instead of damned sand. There was the smell of salt in the air and waves in the distance which didn’t entirely rule out its presence. A beach? I could use a beach. The Thormundz had lakes at best, but when Evalyn had been in her birth region she could remember-
A loud thud next to her put her instantly on alert. The feral screech that followed only heightened her instincts as she rolled away, opening her eyes before she came to a complete stop.
Evalyn had landed in a small grove. To her left was Tak, sitting up now on all fours. At least, she thought it was him. The avianoid was still in his feral form. Lograve was in the dirt too, she guessed he had just appeared. But what took her attention was what she saw and felt in the distance. A city she’d thought lost, and a stronger response from her bond than any since the day she’d lost her family.
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There was another thud and another screech as a very injured Gadriel appeared out of nowhere, but Evalyn only had eyes for the city in that moment. “Eido,” she cried out in disbelief. “Emily!”
…
Mark considered it only a little arrogant that, when the god had come to Aughal, he’d thought it had been for him. Then again, the Illustrious weren’t shy about expressing their distaste towards the deities whenever the matter came up. That, and the apparent failure of the Spiritualists, had been enough to convince him to leave despite his intent to finish off Silora and Arpan.
Oh well. There would always be more people to kill. Mark was looking towards the long war to come when he could cut loose. Once the gods were dead, there’d be no reason for the Illustrious to disguise their presence.
Before all of that, he had to report to the Prime. The Crest had been in the way, but Mark was able to move through it for a few hours without exploding, and stealthy enough to not attract the attention of anything he didn’t want to fight.
Then it was a hop, skip, and a stab up to Mavar Helioc’s pretentious office. As one of the few Illustrious who spent more time playing pretend outside their sanctuaries than within, Mark didn’t have the same reverence others did for the old bastard. He was sure that if he had as long as the Prime did to sit around and think, he’d have found a way to become a god by now. Alas, Mark only had a few centuries and a bit behind him.
“Oh, and I had eyes on that guy we were supposed to not kill,” Mark added towards the end of the report. “Annoying to deal with because of how he ended up running against us, but you said it was top priority he stayed alive. I was just surprised to see him in Aughal instead of Threst. Thought Rikoor would have picked him up by now”
Something flashed across the Prime's face that Mark would have called schadenfreude if he'd known what German was. "Yes, well, ours are not the only plans that have been waylaid."
“Something else. He popped his Spoke. Went full Incarnate as far as I can tell. Should have seen it earlier but my blood was up. You know how I get. Gave Casia one Crest of a surprise.” Mark had saved this for last purely for the pleasure of watching the Prime blink for a few moments. That was as close to being taken aback as the man could get.
“Unexpected,” he said eventually, keeping most of his reaction covered. “There has been a development on this end as well. We made a formal pact with the god of Knowledge regarding that very man.”
Mark had a knife in his hand within a moment. “You what?”
It was an aggressive response, but Mavar allowed him it so long as the knife didn’t do anything other than menace. “Her Proxy sought us out. Not surprising that the god of Knowledge could find us if she tried.”
“And you didn’t kill it on sight?”
“Any other than Torch and we might have. Regardless, the rules of engagement have changed. We are not to knowingly contact or interfere with that man. For now, at least.”
“Pretty sure Hammer took off with him so no worries.” More blinking, to Mark’s satisfaction, though the mention of the god also kindled an old fury in Mavar’s eyes. “Guessing that one saw an Incarnate in the wrong region and wondered what the fuck was going on. He won’t discover what we did, will he?”
The Prime recovered from the knowledge that his nemesis had been only a region away and shook his head. “No. I was assured the other gods wouldn’t be able to detect the changes. Not that it matters. Our concern was that the region was lost. With it surviving our plans will be delayed somewhat, but we are still on course to fulfill our ultimate objective. It is the Spiritualists whose aims are harmed more.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll leave it.” Mark wasn’t willing to get into an argument anyway, no matter how much of a betrayal he felt working directly with a god was. And now they’d made a deal with Torch too? If it wasn’t for the fact that the Crest still shielded this base, they would have instantly evacuated the moment a Proxy had shown up regardless of whether they’d blasted the fool into oblivion. Still, one thing bothered him. “Hey, what was up with those daggers anyway? You never told me exactly what they did.”
Mavar showed a little more surprise at Mark’s interest, which the Assassin felt was a little insulting. “Oh, the Shadeheart enchantment? They create a level 5 sand shade out of the first unleveled mortal heart they pierce, so long as the owner’s soul hasn’t faded into the Astral. Any ‘Blessed’ is too constrained by the Octyrrum to allow the transformation, even after death. We had to fold in a few racial properties, gestalt and dusker primarily, to balance extreme resistance to mortal powers. The odd rare component as well. Creating a monster that could both capture souls and charge corpses with Astral energy wouldn’t be possible without soul remnant. I didn’t consider explaining the exact effects as important since it should have been impossible for that Artificer in Aughal to make another.” Mavar had raised an eyebrow when Mark had gotten to that part of his report.
“Why? They figured out the secret sauce. Monsters with soul remnant aren’t too hard to find if you know what to look for.”
“It’s not that. You need access to the astral domain to make them. Not even the Octyrrum has that, currently.” Mavar shook his head. “It’s the Entropic Agent. The mortal/Spoke hybrid,” he clarified on seeing Mark’s clear confusion. “He was likely responsible for the halfborn Assassin freeing herself, at least in part. One of the effects of the Spoke bound to him appears to allow for individuals to ignore the Octyrrum’s rules, if only temporarily. I confess, not even I could have predicted that this is where the circumstances of his creation could have led. Then again, he wasn't meant to be here for this long.”
“I bet it’s just eating you up we can’t touch him now,” Mark prodded. True to his ideals, Mavar didn’t deny it.
“Certainly. If I am correct about his influence on the Octyrrum, he would have been a potent resource. Perhaps Torch discovered this before I did but didn’t understand the greater picture.”
“Idiot.”
“Quite. Though we ended up the fool.” Mavar stood and paced for a moment. “There is a Tyrant I would have sent you after, had you arrived earlier. Because of Torch’s deal, I had thought it best to keep you in the dark and maintain plausible deniability as you were operating in the region he went to. It’s too late now, I’m afraid.”
Mark bristled at that. “I can take a Tyrant, easy. Point me to them.”
Mavar held up a finger. “Not this one. They’ve had the most direct exposure to the Entropic Agent out of anyone. Not physically, you understand, but spiritually. I believe the Tyrant’s entire class may be affected. Besides, you have another target to see to that I'm sure will provide the challenge you are looking for.”
“The King in Rikendia, yeah.” Mark just nodded along for the rest of the debriefing, bored, until he laughed softly. “Heh. Entropy. I get it now that I think about it. I like the name.” Mark smiled at the inside joke. “Going his own way and fucking everything up for everyone else in the process. He really is just like his old man.”
…
The least that could be said was that he’d felt no pain. It had been over in an instant. Faster than he’d ever believed, considering what he’d faced so far. There had been only seconds after, not even that, and then he was gone. It hadn’t been a bad death. Disappointing yes, but fair when balanced against the life that came before. There were no regrets, no blame, and the faint sense that the others had survived.
All in all, Hunter should have felt content. He’d done more in the world than any of his kind should have. Found kindness, friendship, a unique path, and quite the last meal. Though he had died, it could be said that Hunter had died fulfilled. Now, after the end, he should have been ready to move on.
He wasn’t. Hunter had known why in his last moments. It was why he’d said what he’d said; he didn’t want to forget. Somehow, Hunter knew that if he just gave in to whatever was happening to him, it would all be gone.
Like lifelines, the two bonds he had made in life kept him anchored to the world. Daniel’s was the stronger pull, though not by much. Both fought the sense of movement which was all he could feel. Even time itself didn’t register normally. The regular senses Hunter had painted the world with were gone. Hunter could have easily faded away were it not for the knowledge.
It had nothing to do with his bonds, the powers he’d had in life, or the memories themselves. Hunter simply had an intractable desire not to lose himself, and that will made the difference. He felt so strongly about it that he wondered if this had happened to him before. It if had… well, he wouldn’t have remembered. He'd lose his past life too if he didn't fight for it. The thought of that finally broke Hunter out of the state he was in as his head broke the surface of the water.
He pulled himself up, noting with uncertainty that as his paws touched the surface it turned solid, despite the sensation of being submerged most of his body felt. It was a liquid, but not a liquid, and utterly colorless. The floor looked there, and not there. Like, and this was stretching Hunter’s imagination, two mirrors standing in front of each other with nothing to reflect. Though, his image was absent from the reflection.
Hunter looked around and, more importantly, sniffed the air. Nothing, as far as the nose could smell. Considering the air was dead, sight was perhaps the better indicator. But for the fact that he was standing on something, Hunter would have thought there was nothing around at all.
He tried jumping, just to see what would happen, and found that while he could, there was no mana to make the jump better. None of his powers, or those Daniel had been sharing when he died, worked. He couldn’t feel them. On that note, Hunter knew he landed on the ground but didn’t feel it in his paws either. A casual flick of his tongue visually moved the fur on his paw, but neither the moisture nor movement registered. It was all blank.
Wherever he’d found himself had no prey, no food, no wind, and no friends. Hunter observed his surroundings again and found nothing to his liking. It was like being stuck in a perpetual Moment of Clarity, except the lack of everything wasn’t jarring. It all just wasn’t.
Hunter hated it. This was just like that hell Daniel mentioned occasionally. His entire impression of this place was that it was wrong. He would never- Hunter shook himself as he found he had begun sinking into the floor.
Ok, maybe this place wasn’t that bad. Faced with the alternative, Hunter would stay until Daniel and Tak came by. Knowing them, they’d sleepwalk right into wherever it was he’d been going initially. Someone had to stop them from being stupid, and Daniel could be an idiot sometimes. He still said ‘oh my god’ on occasion, people just didn’t pick up on it.
Resolving himself to stay as long as it took, Hunter laid down and prepared for a long, boring wait. What he hoped would be a long, boring wait. His friends could take all the time they needed, and he would stay here for as long as it took.
It was at that moment something happened. “What is this?” A rasping voice came out of the nothing behind Hunter. He jumped reflexively, this not seeming to impress the speaker. “It has been so long since I have found someone who stayed. At least, I think so. Hello! I am, er-“ the figure gestured down to itself. Aside from the voice there was no way to tell their identity, for this individual was just a silhouette of nothing. Again, Hunter was not the best at metaphors. He’d been proud about the mirror one, and he’d only gotten inspiration for that one because of seeing Arpan’s earlier.
The figure continued to gesture at itself for a few moments more, somehow portraying embarrassment with its limited features, before giving up. “Well, I can’t remember. Who are you?”
It was then Hunter realized that, for better or worse, the afterlife wasn’t as empty as he’d first thought.
End of Book 2: Incarnate