The robot was three seconds away from having an aneurysm.

“Human! Human! So many human. Scouting vehicle is overwhelmed with indescribable emotion. Please recharge at the docking station.”

Sweat was slick on Momo’s neck as she hovered in and out of consciousness. She had freed, by her approximation, three hundred and twenty two souls. She could see the very last two now, their slender phantasmic bodies attached to her wrists. In the meantime, the freed souls outside mucked joyfully about the forest, falling into beds of leaves and rolling about like golden retrievers.

Just two more…

She could hardly believe it. She had been expecting, at any moment, for Sera to ambush her. For Mordecai to hunt her down again and stuff her in a metaphorical blender. But there had been no such disturbance, no unstoppable threat of violence. It was just her, an emotionally unstable robot, and a mission nearly completed.

Warning! You are out of Mana!

Momo ignored the warning. She could barely see anymore—her vision was grainy and muddy like an uncalibrated camera—but it didn’t matter. She knew she was impossibly close to the finish line. She felt the final ghostly hand loosen its grip on her. Its palm fell across her skin, nails trailing down her forearm, until all sensation was lost.

The scouting robot, who had counted every single human to emerge from the artifact, fell suspiciously silent. After a few mute seconds, it beeped again.

“No more human?”

Momo opened her eyes, gazing in cautionary disbelief at the black box cupped in her hands. She gradually pried her sweaty fingers from it, listening for that familiar cry of crumpled humanity. She heard nothing but silence. It felt like a plastic toy in her hands now, cheap and empty.

“No more human,” she responded slowly to the robot, eyes widening. But the robot was no longer listening. It had joined the freed souls in their frolicking, and was now participating in a very clumsy game of tag.

Pride surged in her chest.

I did it.

“Take that,” she said breathlessly. “Sera.”

Congratulations! Wow! Me and all the other System Administrators had your feed pinned to the big screen here at the office, and we’ve been making bets all day. Personally, I bet on Sera. Actually, I’m still betting on Sera. This game of yours feels like it’s not done yet—it’s just in overtime. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that you did the damn thing. Those souls are tortured no longer.

For freeing all the souls trapped in the Wraith Box, despite risking Mana Disease several times over, you have reached level 4 in Nether Demon (Purified Variant).

You have gained a second Rapier of the Nether Demon. Now instead of firing off just one Infinite Blade, you can create parallel or intersecting lines of oblivion.

“Nice,” Momo said breathlessly, a second sword appearing at her hip.

Exhausted, her head fell to the ground, splashing into the mud. Her white hair cascaded into brown. She laid there with an empty mind for several minutes, doing nothing but listening to the disorderly sounds of the freed souls dancing around her. They were circling her like drunk, happy ants, humming a mishmash of songs in different languages. She laughed as they tossed the scouting robot from hand to hand like a hot, metallic potato.

Then, descending from above like a ray of dislodged sunlight, was a courier.

New notification from an equipped object! — Wraith Box

Artifact has been disabled

Artifact has entered {mode: Sleep}

Active Effect [Contain Souls] has been disabled

Momo’s grin widened as she read each line. But then it faltered.

New notification for an equipped object! — Wraith Box

Active Effects for {mode: Sleep} are now being applied…

[Awaken The Husk] is now active

[Homing Beacon] is now active

Homing beacon?

A pulse of light shot from the top of the box, extending upwards until it pierced the sky. Every few seconds, it would expel another.

“No, no, no,” she hissed, scrambling to her feet. She slipped and slided in the mud as she pushed through the gangling bodies, banging the palm of her hand on the box. “Box, stop that! Turn off that skill! Box, that’s a direct order—”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

A giant rippling portal tore across the fabric of reality. It shredded through trees, sliced across mud and water. A figure emerged with no seductive hesitation, no thoughtful delay, only full-blown, maddening rage.

Its voice chilled Momo to silence.

“If this is that earthly clone of hers again, I’m going to pluck its chattering teeth out—”

It was Sera, red pupils fully dilated, her lithe, emaciated body dressed in a gown of bone marrow. Her mouth was quivering in anger as she emerged into the muddy pond. The bodies shrank in her presence, scuttering away to the edges of the clearing like terrified dogs. Sera paid them no mind, stalking forward.

She grabbed Momo by the collar, hoisting her up and baring her teeth.

“Tell me, before I slice you open. Is this another customer service drill?”

Momo swallowed thickly. “No, not this time. Although I’d be happy to summon her again, if you’d like—”

With her free hand, Sera tore a handful of black feathers from Momo’s wings. Momo whined, tears springing freely from her eyes. “You thought you could outdance me, little butterfly?” Sera seethed, yanking another tuft. “You are a pest. An insect.” Poison-tipped nail beds bit at Momo’s skin. “Fluttering around my domain with your useless little wings. Creating idiotic little duplicates. Thinking yourself imperceivable. But no one is imperceivable. Not to me.”

Momo stifled a scream as poison dribbled down onto her collarbones. If this terrible corrosive liquid was only a side effect of Sera’s touch, Momo didn’t want to know what it would feel like if Sera actually meant to wound her. Could Sera kill her here, in the Nether, she wondered?

Her train of thought ricocheted off its tracks as Sera’s free fist punched straight past her cheek. Momo’s heart caught in her throat—was that a near miss? It seemed so at first, but then Sera recoiled her fist and punched again. A sudden, sharp hissing sound echoed in Momo’s ears when she did so. The kind of sound that rang on your eardrums when you rolled down the window on the highway.

Error: Dieties are forbidden from leaving the Nether.

Her audio courier spat the instruction at her as Sera growled. Momo risked a look towards the hissing sound, twisting her neck just a fraction, and saw the raw consequence of Sera’s punches: a rippling tear between space-time. Its faint facade revealed the silhouette of Morganium’s black tower; it painted an oily view of a city in ambush.

Born of Sera’s fist was a portal back to Alois; she had quite literally punched a hole in the universe.

Another pang in Momo’s ear. She realized, going by its faintness, that she was actually hearing Sera’s audio courier, not her own.

Error: Dieties are forbidden from leaving the Nether.

Admin Note (Valerica): Until you disloyal sons of bitches learn some manners, all doors to the other-worlds are closed. If you wish to interact with your subjects, learn to do it remotely. Thanks!

Momo grinned despite herself. She had forgotten all about that. Per Valerica’s engineering, doors into the Nether were wide open, but all the exits were shut tight. Even if Sera did want to cruise right into Alois, she couldn’t.

“Valerica,” Sera growled. “Mother of all pests.”

Another punch flew past Momo’s cheek. The wrinkled line on Sera’s forehead sunk deeper. The frustrated crumple of her lips grew more pursed. Despite the flashy way she had entered the room, it was obvious she was drained. Exhausted. Momo had—like a terribly capable insect—caused the lesser goddess to run and jump with a flyswatter around the Nether for days now. She had run her dry.

“Look, you’re not going anywhere, I’m not going anywhere,” Momo mumbled. “Your box is dead. The souls are free. Your plan—whatever the hell it is—is over. Won’t you just give up? Aren’t you tired?”

Sera ceased her assault, turning to Momo with a chilling glance.

“Are your ears malfunctioning?”

Another jolt of pain as Sera’s poison-slick nails dug into her neck.

“Gods cannot leave this plane. But you are no god. You are just the lint in Morgana’s closet.” She heaved Momo to the right, towards the portal. The hissing sound grew louder. “Dust mites, useless as they are, go wherever they please.”

Sera placed the palm of her free hand flush to Momo’s pocket, where the dormant Wraith Box was stored. Unexpectedly, she made no attempt to take it; but an icey, malignant smile crossed her face as she touched it. The sight of it—of those cracked, exhausted lips careening into joy—sent a shiver down Momo’s spine.

“It will take too much time to refill the artifact here,” Sera muttered offhandedly, in that scientific, scholarly way of hers. “Time moves too slow in this place. Either way, the husk should be able to survive without it for a while. I designed him to be self-sustaining.” Her eyes gleamed at the word. “By the time he runs out of fresh meat, the twins will know what to do.”

“The—the husk? What are you talking about?”

Repeating the word aloud to herself, Lione’s words flashed before Momo’s mind.

“In order for the husk to flourish, the soul who is marked for death must die.”

Momo suddenly remembered the other active effect that the Wraith Box had taken on in its slumber. [Awaken The Husk]. She had been more concerned with the [Homing Beacon] effect to think much of it.

“Do you really not understand? Must I restate myself over and over for you?”

Sera looked at her not like a deranged villain, but as a tired professor. As if Momo had forgotten to buy her textbook, and was now sitting, pageless and stupid, in her lecture room. Of course, before all this, that was exactly what Sera was. A teacher. All her closest followers—Lione, Vivienne, Nia—were her former pupils. Even Valerica, at one point, had prayed at the shrine of Sera’s intelligence.

The realization crashed upon Momo’s shoulders like meteor debris.

Sera laughed happily at her pale expression, sensing what must have dawned on Momo. A light, childish thing was her laugh. It was so pure of heart that Momo nearly forgot the reason for it.

“The husk. My life’s work,” Sera said, answering Momo’s unvoiced question. “The immortal monster. The perfect abomination. Its heart—or perhaps, more aptly, its stomach—will be this box.” She gripped her fingers tighter around Momo’s coat. “Every soul my husk touches will be cannibalized, its soul chains fed to the constant inferno.”

When speaking of her work, the wrinkles in her face all receded. Even her corroded bald head gained a youthful, dewy shine.

“Jarva was supposed to be the trigger. The one to awaken him. But you,” she hissed. “Strangled that plan with your pure, good-natured little sheeps’ fingers. You, who can’t handle scientific progress. This is the final frontier of necromancy, can’t you see that? What is a more perfect example of life born from death?”

At Momo’s lack of agreement, Sera bristled. Her facade of teacherly nobility faded.

“It doesn’t matter. You will see. You may have starved him from a starting batch, but when he consumes you, everything you did will be in vain. The process will begin anew,” she said icily. “[Wraith Box – Set New Mark].”

After casting her curse, Sera began to press Momo forward, so soon half of her body was submerged into the hissing portal. It was an unimaginable heat—the furnace of space travel chewing at the fibers of her body. Just as Sera had nearly forced her head through, Momo knew what she had to do. It was quite obvious, really.

What Sera had in pure, necromantic power, Momo had in spontaneous decision making skills.

She grabbed the Wraith Box from her pocket, and pelted it at Sera’s face.

“Bye, lunatic,” Momo said, then kicked her feet off of Sera’s chest, propelling herself fully into the great beyond.