There was a long silence, as both sides tried to determine if the other was bluffing. In a situation where any tear in their suits might be fatal, talking things out was definitely the better choice. Of course, there was only one “Secondary Anomaly,” which meant that somebody’s boss was going to be pissed.

I wonder if they are literally attacking each other within the government yet. Seems like bad timing, what with a major war on. Also, somebody needs to shoot whoever designed their armor. If it can’t hold up against a freaking crossbow bolt or beastcrafted lizards, it’s not armor. Call it a survival suit or something, but not armor. My old spell armor could take a needler to the faceplate without chipping the paint, let alone denting.

The Secondary Anomaly once known as Truth Medici only listened with half an ear. He was discovering that just because you had suppressed and cultivated away the most energetic fragments of the cosmic energy, that didn’t mean you got all of it. There were minute traces left in the tissue, bone, even in the blood. And those minute traces were subtly weakening and sickening whatever they touched. He would never have noticed if he hadn’t been so utterly devoted to his body cultivation. The horror of missing such a tiny thing, leaving such a devastating hidden wound in his body, made his guts clench.

Just what the Hell is this stuff? Cosmic rays, sure, and I always knew that cultivating in the daytime was a bit more intense than at night, but this seems crazy. Everyone would die if this was normal. Was it because I was literally too close to the sun? Punishment from the Rough Patron or some other aspect of the sun?

“I don’t suppose you have your badge with you?”

“Did you bring your Army ID?”

He could imagine the look they were exchanging.

“I can’t help but notice that my top secret, state of the art armor looks uncannily like yours.” The voice from the Army said.

“I was about to ask where you got your armor from. Given that mine comes from an Above Top Secret code-name controlled R&D program.”

Truth wasn’t ready to risk rolling his eyes just yet, but he really, really wanted to.

“Message our superiors? Or walk out together?” This from the Internal Security agent. Understandable that he would want to compromise, Truth felt, what with the Army getting the drop on him.

“I am not sure how the brass would react to a joint venture with Internal Security. I will report. You might as well grab a seat because you aren’t going anywhere for a while.”

“I think we’ll stand, thanks.”

Truth wouldn’t have sat down either. Apparently the Army wasn’t ready to push the point, because it went quiet again. Truth used the time as best he could, trying to clear out as much of the high energy stuff as he could. Had to stop the urgent problem before getting to the hidden danger. Hidden danger wouldn’t matter if, picking an example at random from many, many, similar examples, his heart valves burned into a corroded mess of cancerous flesh while still inside his chest.

It’s times like this that make you appreciate the little things. Like blinking. I mean, I could probably blink. Seventy percent sure I could blink. Seventy percent on at least one eye being able to blink one time. I’m just worried something might be destroyed in the process.

There was a murmur, and some quiet clinking noises. Truth wasn’t sure what that was about.

“Good news!” The voice was from the Army guy. His announcement was met, seconds later, by a number of loud hissing noises, some whistling noises, and a series of meaty thunk’s. Truth was dropped on the ground. Luckily there was no Hellfire Corrosive liquid or whatever it was called in here with him. It was a weak bluff, under the circumstances.

“The good news is that reinforcements arrived.” The Army guy’s voice was urbane. “Alright, don’t even bother cleaning up. Just grab the package and hoof it to Extraction. These guys had some beastcrafted lizards around, so keep an eye out.”

“Mark Three Thunidz?”

“Can’t say I keep up on what IS is buying for warbeasts these days.” The deceptive urbanity of the voice was starting to get a little eerie. Truth felt his bag get picked up. “Get moving.”

“Sir? What kind of opposition is waiting outside the dead zone?”

“Everyone and their cousins. The Army is going to provide what cover they can, but expect to get ambushed both on our way out and at the extraction point. At the very least, Starbrite PMC took off their wool. The wolf is in plain sight. Get moving.”

“Yes Sir!”

They moved off quickly. Truth could hear a lot of boots around him. The advantage of an official army, right there. You could throw a lot of bodies at a problem. They must be limited by the number of suits they could equip soldiers with.

No cross chatter now. The soldiers would be keeping their head on a swivel and their ears open. They had the perfect recent example of the dangers of an ambush. Anyone selected to investigate a lethal void of magic would have a brain on them. Sounded like those brains were being put to good use. Rocking back and forth, Truth slipped into a fuge, focusing on clearing out the danger.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

There was some shouting along the way. Definitely some jostling here and there. He’d leave a damning review. No harm done. Everyone was keen not to damage the prize. He just kept right on working through it all. Which is probably why he didn’t explode when they crossed the border of the dead zone.

Truth had been concentrating, quite hard, on keeping himself sealed up. First to resist the impact from the Sun, then to keep the void from ripping the magic out of him, and finally to keep the little high energy particles from ripping out of his skin, bouncing around the bag and entering from somewhere else. He didn’t have the available brainpower to wonder what would happen when ‘normal’ magic levels were restored.

Which was a pity. Particularly since he had invested so much effort into keeping his nervous system intact. Including his pain receptors.

Speaking metaphysically, the energy from outside was now pushing in, not pulling out. This threw him off balance, which resulted in a cascade of destabilization. Ripples of uncontrolled energy shot through his body, causing chaotic damage as they went.

The vigorous energy bounced merrily along the axions, crackled between the branches of the dendrites like little lightning bolts and rooted itself contentedly in the synaptic end bulbs. They carelessly poked holes as they went, but that’s just their funny little way. As was leaving the area around the holes in an excited, energetic state. Over and over and over again, across and through every nook and cranny of him.

When Truth was once again capable of coherent thought, he concluded that the total amount of energy inside of his flesh had not increased, it was just shaken up again. His last few hours of cultivation weren’t wasted since he was still alive, but his efforts to confine the energy in more manageable pockets was.

“FREEZE! ON THE GROUND! COMPLY! COMPLY!”

Truth recognized the sudden ripping noise- needlers were being used. A lot of them. There were some wooshes and high speed buzzing. Firebolt fetishes, perhaps. Those were less commonly used in Jeon, as they were much shorter ranged and far less versatile than needlers. They did, however, have the virtue of shooting a bar of superheated plasma directly into someone, which was a quick way to end fights up close.

“Shields!”

There was a thrumming noise, then a sound like hail on a tin roof. Someone must have deployed a riot barrier or portable warding spell or something. Truth was busy ‘enjoying’ a preview of severe arthritis of the hand, wrist and feet. Then something shifted, and his ribs were added into the mix.

Ribs don’t have joints! What kind of sadistic God would allow arthritis of the ribs?!

There was a squeal of tires and a number of loud crashes.

“GO GO GO!” There was a sudden clattering sound, surrounded by the sound of wind rushing through leaves.

Oh, I know that sound. Heavy needler, but it’s loose on its mount. Must have damaged some part of the talisman, or it wouldn’t be vibrating nearly so bad. Hmm. Loading into an armored personnel wagon?

There was some jostling, doors slamming, a piercing shriek of spinning tires. Then another shriek, this time like some great bird or demon. Or, quite likely, a demon with bird characteristics. Aamon has an owl’s head and wolf teeth in its beak right?

There was silence inside of his head. Now that he thought about it…

System?

System?

There was no reply.

Truth was torn- he really couldn’t spare the attention to examine his soul, but he also desperately wanted to see what happened. He dithered back and forth, and decided to risk a quick glance. He shouldn’t have bothered- it was too short a moment to see anything, and the second he let up on the energy, it bolted out of his control again. Swearing, he painstakingly fought back to a stable place. If he could keep it going for long enough, he would process all the energy. It would just take time.

There was a sudden jostle. A heavy thud echoed through the wagon. “Praeger! Was that an iron ball or something?”

“Looks like some kind of mass launcher fetish. Squad C… got ‘em! They might be able to recover whatever it is.”

“Damn. One damn thing after another is what it is. Who throws a rock? Or chunk of iron or whatever?”

“I mean… it’s basically a huge needler, right? Just worse. At everything.”

“Exactly. Why build something that does something… OH SHIT! Contact the escort, tell them to examine the impact on the side of the wagon!”

“Shit. SHIT!”

There was a loud pause, something shouted out a window that Truth couldn’t make out.

“The wagon’s tagged! Some kind of potion, we don’t know what it does. We are changing to Plan C. Head for the underground garage.”

The wagon rushed and jostled through the streets. Truth idly wondered what happened to all the other traffic. This was Harban. There wasn’t a rush-hour, exactly, just periods when the traffic jam was slightly more runny.

“Grab the package. Move MOVE! We are gone in thirty seconds.

Truth felt his bag get roughly picked up and hauled around. There were tire squeals all around. Decoys? Probably. He was roughly tossed somewhere, then there was a loud slamming noise.

Did these fuckers just shove me in the trunk? I have seen and done legendary things, and I wind up in a body bag in the trunk of a carriage in an underground garage. I’d say I’d come full circle in life, but, just speaking my truth here, this would have been a fancy death back in the day. And I couldn’t afford fancy.

The carriage also peeled out, based on the sound and sudden smell of tire smoke. A few seconds later, he was hit with a new smell- sewage. They must have found, or made, a dry tunnel to use. The scope of this was already huge, yet somehow he felt like he had underestimated it. Somehow.

The carriage came to a halt. He was carried up what felt like a few flight of steps, through some doors, and then he was hit with the unmistakable smell of a hospital. A door opened, there was a rasping noise, and his bag was placed on a table. The table slid, and the door shut behind him.

Truth would have laughed himself sick, if his toes were not each reporting a unique sensation, one that added texture and variety to the commonly used word “agony.”

It was a nice, quiet, cool place. One that was well shielded from cosmic rays, he noticed. Perfect. He would take the time to heal. However long that was. Because sooner or later they would want to do an autopsy.