Somewhere in Los Angeles, 2046
“You’ve got this, Boy.”
Alin’s dad checked armor straps for what had felt like the tenth time as they stood outside what was once a small accounting office.
The parking lot of the strip mall was devoid of any life other than the two Cruces.
His dad’s presence kept the minor monsters away, which was why he had to go into the office for monsters to kill.
“Remember your training. You’ve had the best teachers and literal thousands of practice hours. Not to mention the hundreds of thousands of subjective hours in the mindscape. And you know what they say—”
“Chill, Dad. I know. Mastery requires at least ten thousand hours. I feel like I’ve done this fight a million times,” he muttered.
“Beware the demon of complacency… not that there’s an actual demon… that I know of…” his dad grinned as hands, two visible, many invisible, re-checked his armor again. “Remember, you’re on your own in there. I’m not going to save you,” his dad eyed the spire rising out of an old Subway across the street, “you hear that, spires! I’m definitely not going to help my son in anyway.”
“Is this really going to work?”
“I have no idea,” his dad shrugged. “Now, remember, these are little gremlins, but they’ve got sharp teeth and claws. Don’t underestimate them or you might lose an eye.”
“You and Mom handled them fine back in the old days and you didn’t have anything. No weapons, armor, powers.”
“The lights helped, plus we got lucky. Could’ve easily taken claws to the eyes or a jugular bite. We never figured out the actual numbers, but billions of people worldwide died during those first weeks.”
“Right, so, I don’t have powers or a class, but I’m covered in steel and have weapons,” he pulled the mace from his belt loop and hefted the small round shield.
He’d rather use the longsword. What was the point of years of lessons from the greatest sword fighter in the world if he was just going to use a weapon with a limited, if effective, array of moves? Sadly, the office was small. Tight quarters favored shorter weapons. Less risk of getting it caught on the ceiling, doorways and random furniture.
“This should be just a bit harder than those mutant rabbits.”
That had been a bit of an overkill sort of experience.
Honestly, the mindscape practices had been much worse than the real world stuff.
Hid dad hadn’t spared him from the horror factor of what was out there.
Again, he knew that his parents were doing their best to prepare him, but he was pretty sure that a part of them didn’t want him to get powers or a class that’d lead to fighting.
It was obvious from the number of non-combat people they kept having him intern under.
Teachers, doctors, mechanics… name it, he had followed all of them around.
In fact, it was only last year that they’d finally allowed him to join the J.R.R.P.
“Focus on the impending violence,” his dad’s voice snapped him back to the present. “Remember, you just need to kill one. Do that and leave… but, don’t leave if there are still hostiles in your immediate vicinity. Never turn you back. Kill them all. Then leave. Unless it goes really bad, then get out of there right away.”
His dad sounded nervous, which made him more so in turn.
He could probably count the number of times he’d heard nerves in his dad’s voice on one hand.
“Remember, little gremlins aren’t that tough. You don’t need to mace them to death. Bashing them with the shield is fine. Kicking and stomping them with your boots will also do the trick. Hell, punching them with your gauntlets will work.”
“I got it, Dad.”
He didn’t like the whine that came out.
Ironic that his voice broke at the same time.
It reminded him of being a little boy, which he wasn’t anymore.
He felt the heat rise to his face.
Thankfully, his helmet covered it, so he could pretend that his dad didn’t know how embarrassed he was.
That was one of the downsides of a dad with mind powers.
Even though he believed his dad when promised that his private thoughts remained that, unless it was an emergency situation, he couldn’t help but wonder.
One could argue that the fact that he had gotten away with plenty of mischief growing up, suggested that his dad had, indeed, followed said privacy rules.
Another could counter that his dad probably just let him get away with stuff.
After all a water balloon ambush wasn’t the direst of things to suffer.
And was sneaking small animals into their hotel really that big of a deal?
“Focus.”
He listened to his dad.
“I’m ready.”
“Remember, one kill is all you’re in there for,” his dad opened the door with a thought, “ignore all the spires stuff. Don’t take any quests—”
“What if I get one that’ll finally give me my powers? Or at least a class?”
“Ignore it for now. We can reassess and come up with a safe-ish plan… with your mom.”
“But—”
“Nope, your mom was clear and you agreed. Anything that has to do with this will be properly discussed in detail as a family.”
“And weeks consulting with subject matter experts,” he sighed.
That conversation had happened so many times that the words had been written in deep grooves into his brain.
“Good, you remembered,” his dad grinned and pointed an imperious finger to the shadowed office lobby. “Go forth! Stalk thy prey and let loose thy talons upon the Darkness!”
“So lame,” he muttered.
His dad recited the inscription on that ridiculous handcannon every time.
Alin stepped inside.
The door shut behind him with the sound of ominous and possibly certain doom.
At least that’s what all the old people always said when talking about encounter challenges and spawn zones.
He had heard about the school his parents, uncles and aunt had cleared as their first big challenge back when they had lived up north. For his Aunt Rayna, his grandparents and the beginnings of Rayna’s Rangers, it had been the mall down the street from his grandparents’ house.
“Scary,” he whispered.
The spires informed him through text and voice the name and stats of this particular minor encounter challenge.
No quest, which was disappointing.
Part of him had hoped there would be something, anything that’d finally put an end to the uncertainty of his situation.
He dismissed the spires with a thought.
He held his shield close to his body and slightly to the right, ready to slam the steel boss into an attacking gremlin.
In his other hand he held the mace in a firm, but relaxed gripped on his left shoulder, ready to bring down.
The office was a sort of open floor space plan thing.
Several desks separated by cubicle dividers all the way to the back where a closed door led to a breakroom and a bathroom.
It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before in one of his dad’s mindscape practices.
He had also played hide and seek a ton as a younger boy in the maze-like cubicle office farms of their hotel casino home.
The gremlins remained hidden as he stood there balanced on the balls of his feet. Light feet meant quick movement.
After a long moment he stepped off the welcome mat.
Gremlins leapt out of the shadows without the barest courtesy of a warning sound.
He brought his shield up to protect his face and neck.
Tiny claws grabbed the lip of his shield.
The weight pulled his shield down a fraction before he could brace.
He met the gremlin on his left with a swift downward strike.
Mace crushed face with a wet thud.
The sounds and the smells of a real battle often caught the inexperienced off guard, leading to potentially fatal hesitation.
Alin didn’t have that problem.
He had already experienced the worst things possible in a make-believe place that was indistinguishable from reality.
So, despite this being his first real life and death fight, that he could remember and actually participate in, he didn’t react like a noob.
There were several parentally irresponsible incidents when he was a baby that he didn’t remember and therefore didn’t count.
He moved forward and slammed the gremlin on his shield into a cubicle wall.
The blow loosened the monster’s grip, allowing him to step back and bash it into oblivion like the first.
Two dead in seconds.
Not bad.
He allowed himself a metaphorical pat on the back.
And just like that he was done.
It was almost anti-climatic despite the rush flowing through his veins and the rapid beating of his heart.
More gremlins materialized out of the shadows, but he had already back to the door and was out by the time they lunged after him.
“Nice!” his dad greeted him. “In and out in seconds.”
“Can you?” he held the gore-covered mace out.
His dad wrinkled his nose, but cleaned it with a gesture.
All bits of bone and brain matter, the dark blood, swept away into nothingness.
The flanged mace head was now clean enough to eat off of.
Not that he’d want to do that.
He trusted his dad’s words, but it had been deep in gremlin brains.
There was no way he’d want it anywhere near his mouth.
The image was still fresh, after all.
“C’mon,” his dad gestured, “let’s get you into the spire and see if that worked.”
As it turned out… it hadn’t.
Another failure.
“Bummer,” his dad said after a few minutes of silence.
Alin scowled.
“Nope for two,” his dad flew them slowly in one his patented telekinetic bubbles. “The important thing is that we can try again later.”
“But you’ll be gone for, like, a month.”
God, he hated how he sounded like a whiny baby.
Just like his cousin.
Lera, who could lift a car and vomit solar heat when she wasn’t even ten.
She could do all that and yet she’d whine and pout when she couldn’t pick the movie or eat ice cream before dinner.
Granted, she had a point about the latter.
One couldn’t ruin an unending appetite.
“I can’t be the only normal one there,” he whined.
Junior rangers started up again after summer break and everyone was in the process of getting their first combat classes.
It was bad enough that he had been the only one without at least a single class this whole time, not even student, apprentice or whatever.
He could only imagine what it’d be like to be the only one still without one.
“Actually, it’d be the opposite. You’d be the special one.”
“Special in the bad way, Dad,” he sighed. “And don’t start with the whole ‘I’m special, just cause I am’-stuff.”
“You might not like it, but it’s the truth,” his dad laid a comforting hand on his mop of curly black hair. “Hmm, time for a haircut. Long hair’s not good in a fight. Gets in your eyes, gets pulled. Good for keeping in sweat though, at least for a time. Extra padding for the helmet too.”
“I don’t get it. You, Mom and everyone else got their powers right after you killed your first gremlins.”
“We were all fully grown adults,” his dad pointed out.
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“What about my cousins? Tessa, Vee, Madalena, Rynnen, Lera and everyone that wasn’t?”
“Could be something to do with the danger level in the environment?” his dad mused. “Back at the beginning everything and everywhere was dangerous. You’re growing up in a much safer spot. Look, look on the bright side. You’re developing your skills and technique. Best teachers. Best training. Best sparring partners.”
That was true enough.
There wasn’t quite like anything to prepare one for a fight than sparring with your mom.
A mom that could dent solid iron shields and break wooden ones with fists he could barely follow.
Not to mention experience the worst horrors in one of his dad’s mindscapes.
The Deep Azure and its fishmen.
Mother Madrigal and her Inheritors.
Meat Parade.
A few different demons.
Zalthyss.
Yeah, he couldn’t complain about the opportunity his parents had given him.
He couldn’t say that they were holding him back or trying to stop him from pursuing his dreams.
“Listen. You can contribute in other ways outside of fighting stuff,” his dad sighed.
“I know,” he mumbled.
“There are so many of them.”
“I know!” he snapped. “I— sorry. I just want to be like you and Mom. It feels like I can’t do less.”
“Less is a matter of perspective. For me and your mom, you not doing what we’ve had to do is not less. I mean, we’ve told you this already, but we’d be happiest if you never had to do anything violent. It’s not something to be desired. I know you know and understand that.”
Alin appreciated that his dad knew not to list off the things he could do instead.
Intellectually, he got it, but emotionally he didn’t want to hear it at the moment.
As usual, his dad knew what to say to keep him from falling into the dark, shrouded depths that he sometimes imagined was like what a lighthouse beacon blinking on the fog-shrouded coast did for the lost ship.
“Don’t worry about junior rangers. You’re already the best melee fighter technique and skill-wise out of everyone in your year, above, below and whatever,” his dad waved a dismissive hand. “And you’re above-average with the ranged stuff.”
His dad was as free with praise as he was with honesty.
“I know, but since you’ll be gone most of summer this was my last chance.”
“Right and your mom and I are holding you to our deal.”
“I know. I won’t run off and fight monsters on my own.”
“Or with your friends.”
He nodded.
“Good. They’ll offer. Probably encourage.”
“And I’ll say thanks, but no. I made a deal and if I break it my parents will ground me for ten years,” he recited the words engraved into his brain.
“Listen. I’ll be back before your birthday and I’ve been working on a surprise for you. Let me tell you that it isn’t something you want to screw up,” his dad nodded sagely. “Seriously, if you fumble this surprise by getting stupid impatient then a ten year grounding is going to seem like a nice day at the beach.”
Alin had no idea what his dad was talking about.
So he nodded and tried to keep the pout off his face.
Only babies couldn’t control their expressions.
And he was no Lera.
----------------------------------------
Somewhere near Washington DC., 2046
Alcaestus stood near the flap of the tent.
He loomed. Not in a terrifying way, but in an intimidating one, as the strategos had instructed.
It took concentration to rein in the divine power enough that it didn’t force the primitive mortals to their knees in abject awe.
The negotiation wouldn’t survive that since the line between awe and terror was thin. The latter affected all animals regardless of sapience. They’d flee, freeze or fight. All three would make their mission more difficult to accomplish.
Five eidolons representing five Gods.
Three stood like Al.
While their leader, an Eidolon of Sunor, sat across the ornate table from the representatives of this land’s people or so they had claimed.
The truth of the situation, as it tended to, was as fluid as a river.
“To clarify… these enhancements? You intend to make them available to anyone that asks?”
The voice of this land was an older man gone to seed with the soft hands of an artist, yet he moved without grace. He reminded Al of an old domesticated pig content to wallow on his fat belly next to the trough scarcely mustering more effort that what it took to raise his snout each time the farmer came around with the slop.
It was a mistake to put forth such a weak specimen of your people.
It made them all look weak.
Better they had that soldier woman standing at attention on the other side of the tent.
Her blindfold barely contained a white glow that told of power.
The soldiers arrayed on either side of the woman were lesser sorts, but Al acknowledged their discipline.
Hours they had negotiated and not a single soldier so much as shifted their weight.
Idly, he wondered if their clothing and armor came from a beast similar to the Nemean Liger. They had shades of green and brown like the liger’s hide, though the camouflage pattern was in irregular splotches not in vertical stripes like the hide covering his own armor.
In many ways the eidolons had gone into this Quest blind.
The opening of this world to all others had been announced by the voice of the spires without forewarning.
It had forced them to act quickly if they wanted to steal a march on their enemies.
He didn’t doubt that the very scene in front of him wasn’t taking place in other lands.
Time was of the essence.
They needed to fold the people of this land into their benevolent arms. To be strengthened and united to face the looming wars of ancient powers seeking to control this vital world.
“The Gods’ gifts shall not be denied to all willing to accept.”
Al didn’t know how many years the Eidolon of Sunor had seen. The weight of her voice, unaugmented by her God’s divine power, suggested an incomprehensible number to him.
“You see, that’s a sticking point with us.”
The fat ambassador’s jowls quivered with every word.
Al leaned on the patience and focus learned over many years as a hunter to avoid distraction.
He was the youngest by far amongst the five eidolons and it was important to subvert their expectations in order to avoid dishonoring Adras through the incompetence that weds itself to callow youth.
The Eidolon of Sunor had told him that in more diplomatic terms.
He understood the warning and took it to heart.
Humility told him that his ability to be patient, to consider every action and consequence couldn’t be compared to that of ancient ones.
“We’d like the power to properly vet the subjects for these enhancements. As visitors to the United States of America, you don’t know its people. That ignorance, through no fault of your own, may lead to the wrong people being enhanced.”
“The request is granted,” the Eidolon of Sunor flicked her finger. A floating ink quill delicately inscribed the words in glowing script on the scroll hovering over the table. A second gesture sent it to the fat man.
Seconds ticked into minutes as he shared it with the other five natives seated at the table.
“We accept this provision,” he said. “Now, moving on. We’d like target control for you eidolons. Not to question your judgment, but again, this is our world. We know where your strength would be best directed to meet our mutual objectives.”
“You will be granted an advisory role in regards to individual eidolon quests.”
The Eidolon of Sunor didn’t add the fact that only the Gods stood above the eidolons. Mere mortals didn’t give them orders. Though that wasn’t to say an eidolon wouldn’t listen to suggestions. Only a foolish sort didn’t seek out as much information as possible.
That arrogance had led to many a hunter becoming prey.
“Full knowledge of our abilities will be withheld for the same reason we don’t seek full knowledge of yours,” the Eidolon of Sunor inclined her head a fraction toward the blindfolded soldier woman. “Respect is given, respect is received.”
A sign of respect from the taciturn eidolon forced Al to adjust his assessment of the soldier’s strength several rungs higher on the ladder.
“In regards to the advanced equipment you are providing—”
The eidolon silenced the fat ambassador with a look.
“That is not negotiable. What we can gift is dictated by the restrictions set forth by the spires. From experience it will be many years before a higher civilization can give to the lower freely. However, there are no such strictures placed on what you may purchase on the spires’ marketplace. With time and the strengthening of our bond you will be able to purchase items from us at reduced cost. All is not lost, so don’t be sadden overmuch. There are no restrictions in the trade of knowledge. In time we will teach you and lift you up.”
The fat ambassador nodded.
Al listened intently as the they negotiated the treaty for several more hours.
Changes were added or struck down with a swish of a floating ink quill.
The other three eidolons stood as still as statues and thus so did Al.
It wasn’t hard for him.
He had spent many an hour motionless in the brush or a tree, waiting for the perfect opportunity to finish the hunt.
As they neared the end even the Eidolon of Ekra betrayed her impatience by the soft rustling of feathered wings that only Al noticed.
“Okay,” the fat ambassador let out a breath.
“You are satisfied with the terms?” the Eidolon of Sunor said.
Al was struck by the eidolon’s mastery of the divine power flowing through her.
She contained it so well that the mere mortal didn’t struggle to crane his neck back and meet her eyes with an even gaze of his own.
“As much as I’m empowered to negotiate. The terms are acceptable.”
Faint praise for a treaty that’d see his primitive people lifted up to heights beyond their comprehension.
Al almost snorted at the temerity.
“I’ve explained beforehand, but just to be clear, that doesn’t constitute the United States of America’s position on said treaty. I’ll take this back to congress. They debate and vote. Enough members will need to ratify it before it’ll reach the president’s desk.”
“I understand. Democracy is the system of governance used on many of the pantheon’s worlds. There is a similar system in place within my order.”
“I don’t know how long it’ll take, but I’ll keep you informed. We’ll meet again if changes need to be made.”
The fat ambassador reached for the scroll.
“The original will remain in my possession,” the Eidolon of Sunor cast a spell and where there was one now lay two. She rolled the copy with a gesture and floated it into the fat ambassador’s quivering hands. “Note changes as you will. They will be copied in the original. We will speak over them once again if necessary. Till then, we shall remain in this place.”
The natives left the tent quickly.
The Eidolon of Sunor raised a hand to forestall the words.
The air shimmered around her hand as faint glowing glyphs momentarily appeared on the tent’s cloth walls and ceiling.
“Time is wasted,” the Eidolon of Ekra said.
She was their contact point with the other Eidolons of Ekra among the other teams scattered across this world.
“No disrespect, Sunor’s Will—”
“It’s strange how disrespect always seems to follow those words,” the Eidolon of Salla smirked.
“And is there a greater disrespect than interrupting a God’s Will?”
“Peace, Ekra’s Will, I meant no… disrespect.”
The smirk remained on the woman’s face.
“Speak your words, Ekra’s Will,” the Eidolon of Sunor’s voice cut the petty argument before it could rise.
It must’ve been a struggle to keep eidolon’s of different Gods from quarreling like street children over the freshest bit of layered pastry. He only knew the camaraderie of fellow Eidolons of Adras.
“Time spent allowing these primitives to think that they have a measure of control will put us behind the other eidolons. And I’m not accounting for what our enemies are doing. Keep it in mind that I refer to known enemies. This is a Terminus World. An infinite number of worlds now have a direct line of travel to and from this place.”
“Yes, yes,” the Eidolon of Salla wave a hand, “an infinite number of enemies, so on and so forth. Which is why I find myself surprised to be in agreement with Ekra’s Will, despite her fearful nature.”
The Eidolon of Sunor raised a hand to silence the expected retort.
“I am the strategos, but you lead in matters of war, Salla’s Will. Speak your thoughts.”
“War is simple. Consolidate. Strengthen. Do this before our infinite number of enemies so that we march first.”
“Adras’ Will, what is your assessment?”
“An arrow loosed early risks a wound instead of a kill,” he said.
Why had she prompted him to share his wisdom?
Her earlier warnings had the tenor of a lecture given by one of his old teachers back at the orphanage and the academy.
She had clearly placed him in the role of a lesser student. There to listen and learn rather than take initiative.
“Sut’s Will?” she turned to the last eidolon.
The thin, emaciated eidolon examined his long, almost skeletal fingers for a long moment.
“Time is wasted,” he pronounced.
Silence.
“Explain,” the Eidolon of Sunor prompted.
“These primitives appear to be human at a cursory glance.”
Al knew that the Eidolon of Sut’s abilities allowed him to see into the biological nature of living things.
“Enhancements require certainty and I will need to examine their genetics… unless you’re willing to accept… imperfect enhancements and increased failure rates.”
Sut was said to be the father of Adras, which confused Al when he had first met the eidolon. He knew instantly that they shared little. Every other interaction since that first had only reinforced his assessment. He supposed that mortal children didn’t always take after their parents, so it wasn’t worth pondering the same dynamic within the pantheon.
“That’s a great way to gain their loyalty,” the Eidolon of Salla snorted, “turn them into abominations.”
“I believe that they wouldn’t object if the right people were turned into abominations,” he said.
“Most sapients wouldn’t mind the ruination of their enemies. You’ll learn that truth when you’ve been to as many worlds as I have, young one.”
Al inclined his head a fraction.
Enough to show deference and respect, but not too much to show submissiveness.
Theron had been insistent that he uphold the strength of Adras’ eidolons.
“We are not here to bring ruin. We are here to uplift,” the Eidolon of Sunor said.
“Indeed, that is my personal preference as well,” the Eidolon of Ekra said. “But I remind you, respectfully,” she inclined her feathered head, “that another team is led by Sesre’s Will.”
The sound that came out of the Eidolon of Salla’s throat was almost a growl.
“Bloody war. For the sake of destruction and death. They care nothing for a proper reason. Nothing for the glory of victory and what arises in its wake,” she said.
The two sibling Gods shared the concept of war as a large part of their individual portfolios.
It was their approach to it that set them at odds.
For his part Al didn’t quite understand.
He had fought in many battles before Adras raised him to the ranks of his eidolons and in many after.
The one thing that every war always ended with plenty of were the bodies of the dead.
Perhaps, he could inquire with the Eidolon of Sut. His God claimed dominion over mortality. He would know what the dead thought of the nature of war.
Although, he had to consider the fact that both Sesre and Salla also claimed war dead as their own.
He hadn’t understood as a child that there was ambiguity and overlap in the concepts that the Gods claimed as their own. When he came to understand this as an adult it became clear why there was always conflict within the pantheon. And that wasn’t adding in the rival pantheons all struggling over the same things to feed their divinity.
Belated understanding came to him.
That was why every team shared one thing in common.
An Eidolon of Ekra.
He had thought it was to facilitate communication between the different teams when comms gems failed or were disabled.
Now, he realized that it was to have one voice that was above the rivalries.
Ekra cared only for her role as the messenger God. A sentiment her eidolons tended toward.
“We can only control what we do and I will not allow others to force our path.”
“Give me a war and I’ll fight it, Sunor’s Will… respectfully.”
Al wasn’t certain, but the Eidolon of Salla’s bow didn’t seem entirely respectful.
Sharp senses meant that he didn’t miss much in regards to the way one moved their bodies. The slight tilt of the head, an almost imperceptible breath or an upturned corner of the mouth. Brows raised or lowered. Fingers twitching toward weapons or to the spell on the tip of the tongue.
What he lacked was the ability to place himself in an other’s position.
He could compensate by gaining a full understanding of the other, like he’d study a beast he hunted. To build a map of their tendencies. The things that pushed and pulled their actions.
The main problem was that sapients were inconsistent creatures. A slight shift in moods meant that they could be unpredictable. A trigger one day could send them into anger’s grasp while the same trigger another day would slide off them like water off a fish’s scales.
“Adras’ Will, I have a request for you.”
The Eidolon of Sunor’s voice made him want to drop to one knee and immediately accept.
He forced himself to limit it to respectful nod.
Sunor led the pantheon, but Al was of Adras. It wouldn’t do to submit completely.
“I will hear your words, Sunor’s Will.”
An appraising eye regarded him.
He couldn’t tell what she thought.
“Ekra’s Will, seek out a great beast or monster plaguing this land.”
The winged eidolon nodded.
“Adras’ Will, slay it and show these people what we can do for them.”
“Understood.”
Al almost turned to leave when he realized that the Eidolon of Ekra needed to find one first.
Instead, he stood at attention as the Eidolon of Sunor detailed their next steps while they waited for the Earth humans to come to a decision.