The Hindi screamed as Meshindi’s Air Burst swept him away critically. The Steadfast Astute Vanquisher walked to the edge of the rock platform, to look below. The man was already barely visible, as his form plunged down toward the immense cloud cover that lay under the actual zone. The two women were long gone.

Mhambi Meshindi had acted fast, and none of his – now, former – teammates had any inkling of his treachery. Even he, himself, had none until they stepped in this trunk zone and he’d seen his moment.

Team

Professions

Health

Mind

Cui Gengxin

Eager Rapid Bastion (5370)

0/3,962,110

0/3,377,290

Liao Ruogang

Rational Projecting Enabler (5522)

0/1,968,546

0/2,107,930

Mhambi Meshindi

Steadfast Astute Vanquisher (8278)

3,787,512/3,787,512

2,671,319/2,671,319

Jamadagni Satavelekar

Manifest Dynamic Salver (6041)

2,696,190/2,745,288

1,917,711/1,917,711

The healer’s vitals went to zero in an instant. Meshindi had no idea if he’d crashed on some unseen floor, far below, or if the fall was truly endless and some depth pressure, similar to the oceans, crushed them. Even if some people said that after a while the height no longer mattered, Professionals still died when the fall was too high for their level.

But he had no doubt that the three had met Final Death. He’d watch the team interface for a while, as he made his way. To be sure. And, in a way, because he owed it to them. Their deaths were necessary because what Mhambi Meshindi wanted was heresy to the High Lords. And they could not bear witness of his deeds.

The site they had discovered by chance was, in a way, a mirror of what he had looked for. If he could still believe in the gods, he would have thought it a sign. It resembled the hill he’d visited decades ago, the hill where his people won their biggest battle and lost their war, the battle he’d been denied to even witness. It would be perfect for his focus, to turn Fate around.

The proto-Gate was a mere collection of floating metal shards, none bigger than his fist. Bound in an invisible ring in the landscape of the tier one zone, immobile in the air.

Touching the Gate was horribly dangerous in that state, even worse than merely inactive. It would drain nearly half a million of health, mind, aether, stamina, with every heartbeat instead of a thousand. Funnelling them to… somewhere. If you didn’t snatch your hand in time before any of those dropped to zero, then you’d end up dead. And with no one to Sacrifice and bring him back, Mhabmi Meshindi would remain dead forever.

He still brought his hand, letting it rest for a mere second on the invisible Gate ring. His vitals plummeted, and he snatched it back before they went even below half.

Transit: Vekmeero – Earth 113

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Integrity: 7%

Inactive

(42 years)

Stability: 0%

A bare hint of progress. There would be multiple other Gates also drawing on the violation of the normal order he was attempting. There were always five, and none would be more – or less – advanced than this one.

It would take a long time. But he was patient. Besides, he was committed to his course now. If anyone learned of his plans, they would be ended before they succeeded.

Days of toil, slow regeneration, and injecting more of his own energies into the proto-Gate had finally brought a result. He endured the tedium, the boredom. Fifteen decades alone in the Labyrinth taught him patience until he’d stumbled on the so-called ‘Lords’ and learned the terrible lies of the world.

Transit: Vekmeero – Earth 113

Integrity: 100%

Cannot connect

Stability: 100%

But at least the Gate – and wherever its siblings were in the Labyrinth – was finished, stable, and ready to open up on this new Divergence. It would no longer drain as fast. He could afford to push himself for longer. Once he broke through, the process would drain the Labyrinth resources, not his, and complete the remote Gates, link them. And open them.

That was still wishful thinking of his, but the records of old had spoken of the breakthrough on the Divergence of Earth-677. It had happened on a different sheaf, but the records and stories travelled where the Lords of the Labyrinth around him could not. The High Tiers had tried to suppress any hint of what happened, of course. Pushing on the Labyrinth’s infrastructure was anathema to them. But the tantalizing hint, on how the will of the Adapted could be shaping the connection, warping it out of the groove it would have was fraught with peril.

But Mhambi Meshindi of the Zulus never cared much for what the High Tiers of the Labyrinth thought.

He slammed his hands on the solid Gate frame for a few more seconds, and stepped out, to see the handiwork.

Transit: Vekmeero – Earth 113

Integrity: 100%

Building, Please wait

(0 minutes)

Stability: 100%

The sparks of light started to fill the frame of the Great Gate, flickering ever more slowly as the Gates beyond formed themselves, well in advance of what they should. And finally, with an explosion of light, the status stabilized to Active, and the timing started climbing.

Mhambi Meshindi steeled himself. He did not know what he’d find behind that Gate. Would he find his people as he expected? That he would guide, shape, and make into the instrument they deserved to be? Or someone else?

If it was someone else, then they would face the wrath of one who was a God compared to them. And he would find his people, what had become of them in this Earth, and lead them to their destiny. If need to be.

He stepped out into the Gate to the latest Earth opened by the Labyrinth.

Sigongiseni Vukani’s flock of cattle had dispersed as the storm battered the plains. The herdsman had huddled in his small camp during the night, but the first light of dawn was starting to show to the east, and the bad weather had abated, leaving the grass wet and slick. It was time to make sure all the cattle were still there.

The hill had an old name and old legends. Named as a cow’s stomach, it was bare and rocky. Sigongiseni had taken refuge next to its stone slope, as it offered some protection against the rain. Based on the signs, some of his cattle might have made it up there as well.

There were some light and noise coming from up ahead. For a moment, the herder thought that a traveller might have taken refuge up the hill as well, but the red light did not look like a campfire. It was larger and did not flicker the way a fire would, even with the lesser wind after the night’s storm.

Sigongiseni climbed a few steps and turned onto the lower plateau of the hill, and immediately saw the light’s source, and it was no firelight.

It came from the air itself. It was a liquid light, pouring down from an unseen source, filling down a great upright circle. The sounds were slowly rising, like a chorus, a thousand voices of warriors rising from nowhere and everywhere.

Sigongiseni watched, mesmerized by the spectacle. The voices were echoing, speaking a thousand tales. He strained, but the harmonies reverberated. He thought he’d distantly heard almost-words, “will”, “time”, “battle”, “people” but there were too many voices to make sense of the chorus. It was a single, transcendent, voice but singing a thousand words at the same moment.

The lights suddenly dimmed, falling from white-red to a dull reddish, and revealing a great circle that looked like metal. More metal than Sigongiseni had ever seen in any place. The circle was engraved, by a great artisan. Many heads, of many beasts. The herdsman’s eye immediately noticed what looked like a buffalo’s horned head, and some other familiar shapes, but many looked like spirit beasts, creatures that did not walk the Earth.

There was a flicker and the centre of the circle started filling with intermittent streaks of glowing light. Sigongiseni backed immediately away, watching as the circle filled with light that pulsed in great waves as if it was the surface of a lake during a great storm.

Then suddenly, the surface settled, making a great disc of watery blue light enclosed by the metal circle. The herder realized that, at one point, the chorus had ended, leaving him in silence in front of the mystery on the hill.

A figure walked out of the circle.

Sigongiseni fell on his knees and prostrated. He’d instantly known what this was. The Figure might be garbed in what looked like a warrior’s attire, but it was not one. No mortal warrior could stand that tall, taller than two man’s spans. And the Figure impressed itself on the world, making it pale against Its Presence.

A God had walked out of that circle, and he was in His Presence.

The Figure spoke softly, and in its words, he could recognize the echo of the chorus of the divine Disc.

“Tell me, herdsman, who you are, and where you hail from.”

“I am Sigongiseni Vukani, of the Nhloya village, Great God.”

The Figure considered the herder, before replying.

“And who rules these lands?”

“The Great King Senzangakhona kaJama of the amaZulus rules all that he can see and more.”

Despite being prostrated, face in the grass, Sigongiseni could feel a change in the presence, as if a great pressure was lifted.

“Then rise, Sigongiseni, and lead me to your village. It is time we begin to change the world.”