The voice had told Alarion that the security might behave irrationally, but those words had not prepared him for the reality of the situation.
The first three he came across were dead, with still smoldering wounds blown clear through the angular black stone of their heads. The fourth he found crumpled in the corner of a hallway, staring down at its empty arms. The next stood motionless in the flames of a ruined conference room, its body heaving as though gasping for breath.
Or crying.
A handful did attack him, but these ones proved less of a threat than their earlier brethren. Their arms were shaking as they sighted in on him, their shots poorly timed. Without backup, each individual sentry was carved apart in a matter of moments. Some stopped fighting altogether the moment he reached melee, as if their attacks were not intended to hurt him, but simply to provoke him into hurting them.
The path was easy to follow. A green light raced ahead of him, strobing down the length of the nearest wall wherever he turned. It was always one step ahead of him, but the emerald green never outpaced him, even when he stopped to gawk or to fight.
From the outside Alarion had expected the pinnacle of the tower to be a temple of some sort, but the reality felt anything but holy. If he had to describe it in a word, Alarion would have chosen practical.
Unlike the atrium and its vast open spaces, everything here appeared to be purpose built, even if Alarion could not begin to guess its purpose. He passed row after row of glass walled offices, some with desks, chairs and those strange black mirrors; others with long exam tables, intricate machinery and shimmering steel tools. The ceiling was low, the lights dim, the floor matte and smooth. It gave off a claustrophobic air of subtle malice, like creeping through a market square well after the shops had all closed.
It was also quite a bit larger than he would have guessed, with stairways separating the multi-layered facility at various intervals. More than once, Alarion was sure that the light had malfunctioned, that it was somehow leading him in circles. Only the lack of Soulless bodies, or the presence of new threats, convinced him otherwise.
Eventually, after four floors and what felt like an hour of walking, the light made good on its promise. It streamed into a broad archway leading into an oversized room, and swirled slow circles over the walls, floor and ceiling to assure Alarion that he had indeed arrived.
Emulation, as it turned out, was a chill room filled floor to ceiling with glass-windowed wardrobes. These cabinets were arranged in neat, orderly rows that filled nearly the whole floor. There were hundreds, if not thousands of them, each glowing a gentle blue from lights set in and around its frame, with multi-colored lights flickering within the glass interior.
The whole room hummed with energy as Alarion stepped inside, waiting for… something. He wasn’t sure. The voice had directed him to come here, so surely something would happen.
Right?
Seconds ticked by and Alarion’s certainty wavered. Perhaps the voice assumed he’d know what to do when he got here? Or maybe he had to get its attention?
“Hello?” Alarion asked to empty air.
Nothing. The voice had not replied or commented on anything he’d said since he’d left the interrogation chamber. Either it couldn’t hear him, or it didn’t care. He was not sure which he preferred.
Absent any better solution, Alarion began to walk up the length of one immense row, hoping some solution would present itself. Up close, he could feel the vibration of each cabinet through the floor. The monotone thrum of power. He touched a hand to the glass and felt the hair on his arm stand at attention.
Then a voice spoke.
Alarion whirled in an instant, his greatsword full size and held before him in a defensive posture. But there was nothing. Just rack after rack of equipment as far as his eye could see.
“Who is there?” Alarion asked as he stalked down to the next intersection for a better vantage point. “Show yourself.”
It was not the voice. That one had been unnatural and feminine, while this one was masculine and extremely human. Alarion could hear the trepidation in its tone, the hope and dread mixed in equal measure.
It didn’t take Alarion long to find the source. It took him longer to comprehend what he was seeing. A moving image above a platform of runic characters. It depicted a young brunette man but was somehow unfinished. As though someone had sketched the outline of a human standing in a barren room but lacked the talent to fill in the finer details, the pores and wrinkles, birthmarks and blemishes that distinguished an actual person from a caricature.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
The image nodded in resignation.
Tutor? Mentor? Friend? What was Sierra to him?
the man said, almost instantly.
Alarion met the image’s gaze, his own eyes brimming with skepticism.
Alarion spit him with a look that was entirely unconvinced. When there was no follow-up, he turned, as if to leave.
Alarion spun his shrunken greatsword between the digits of his right hand as he considered the implications.
The machine man trailed off, unable to find the words to adequately describe the gravity of the crime. His jaw clenched, the half-rendered image almost comical in appearance despite Alex’s clear rage.
Alarion listened and considered, but he did not need to ponder long. For once, the right thing to do was staring him in the face.
Relief flooded Alex’s image, his shoulders visibly sagging as he pointed.
Happy to have a simple goal for once, Alarion dutifully followed instructions. It took some doing, given the sheer amount of odds and ends that had been stuffed into the drawer, but he soon found what he was looking for, a ‘stick’ of shining material about an inch thick, nearly a foot long and paper thin.
Alarion did so, and found the item collapsed with a sharp crack as it wrapped neatly about his wrist.
If anything the promise only deepened Alarion’s unease, but with no other known avenues but to trust this stranger, he did as instructed.
The machine whirred a few times, lights flickering on a nearby cabinet. Then it fell silent, and Alex vanished from the screen as it flicked instantly to black.
Unfortunately, the crunching continued for most of that walk.