More shields flared at the front of the dais.

Unprepared for battle, for some reason the Garrisonites weren’t dispersing into the Vein. Testing the waters myself, I bounced off the versal tunnel like glass. Blocked.

That would be why.

The new leading What-If was more careful than its dead counterpart. It didn’t try to cut through the shield front, instead weaving for an opening around the side. There were plenty amid the complete disarray. Crammed together, the centre of the defending group had no space to activate their shields – if they’d even brought them to a clearly civilian announcement.

The What-If’s dual guns fired off several successful shots. He looked like he came from a mid-technology universe, or one that restricted further development, rendered in stained glass. Going by appearances, his body, clothes and weapons were all made of the same material. Echoes of the light above the dais reflected off it and refracted inwards, each movement creating a glittering angular dance.

Being made of crystal had no effect on the lethality of his weapons. Three bodies dropped in the crowd before he stopped dead and dramatically keeled over in solidarity.

I didn’t see what did it; Naked Eye didn't show me everything. Likely versal magic. Probably one of the stolen augments. Their loci were dotted all around me.

What-Ifs had already poured into the crowd blisteringly fast. One by one, they dropped dead like the first.

A Garrison shieldbearer at the front distorted and fell within its shining barrier, body gruesomely Halved. Flinpen was already moving towards the audience, re-Golding to blend in. Within seconds I’d visually lost her. More shielded defenders fell.

Nysept erupted in an explosion of localised flame. Unfazed, she sidestepped through it, emerging with outfit intact and eyes closed. Several reopened, swivelling to a point in the crowd.

Her lips moved with instructions for the linked earpiece. The woman she stared at gurgled and clutched at her throat, splitting in two to a chorus of terrified shouts. No more combustions occurred.

A notification pinged through the database.

[Palace under attack,] it read. [All personnel to the outposts; defend and arm.]

People surged for the exits, clumping around the doors' narrow bottlenecks. I pushed towards Flinpen in the opposite direction, identifying her by versal signature. Conveniently with no hassles once complying with my core’s intentions. It even triggered in the process, providing protection from some unknown threat.

To all appearances, the Pen was unfamiliar, dressed in local finery. She grabbed at my shoulder as I drew near, eyes still turned towards the front. Another shieldbearer collapsed. “We put a cap on the target," she spoke in my ear. "He won’t be growing anymore.”

“Where are the others?” I returned. A Garrisonite stumbled into me, bleeding from his arm, and ducked past the pair of us roughly.

“Nysept’s all that would come.” Her words were focused and calm, but I heard the underlying betrayal.

I felt it with her. Quarantine couldn’t be that important next to a war of Houses, and had surely been long broken anyway. What possible disruption could we do to Fate that hadn’t already been done? Any further aid would only help at this point.

“What can I do?” I asked.

“Stay undercover.” It seemed to remind her we shouldn’t be talking, and she moved away.

I caught her hand, feeling Near Miss trigger. “Wait.” I placed her hand on my chest, pressing it against the pouches. “Our augments are in their outfits. Reclaim them, you cripple their whole base.”

She nodded, removed the hand and faded back into obscurity, just another Garrisonite. A moment later, I could no longer find her face in the crowd.

A chain whistled past my cheek, painfully clipping my ear. Staggering back, I stumbled into the body of a man who clutched at me, gesturing at his throat. A stained-glass blade at the end of the chain was buried in his neck. He wasn’t dead. The links slackened as the attacking What-If collapsed in his stead, partly decapitated.

I recognised the effect of Payback. An augment I'd considered for my Quad selection, since my vehicle forms could take the requisite damage. A loose cannon choice, but some Chapel agents could make it work. And Garrison recruits wouldn’t have had our luxury of picking from extensive options.

I put one hand on his neck and pulled out the chain with the other, letting the defensive line deal with attacks. Near Miss activated another time. Blood overflowed, but the man clutched his throat and it healed under his hands.

Payback and a regenerative augment. I searched him with Naked Eye and found them, Payback and Patch Up, sitting alongside a World Slide. Under different circumstances, he would have been a Tri. I shoved him towards the door before Flinpen further tested his healing.

I kept Naked Eye up, transforming the landscape into a sea of concepts. Chaos became abruptly clear. Red Hot lay dormant on the flame-wielder’s corpse. The What-If copy madly attacking its allies had been Redirected, its user none other than Er Jid, hanging back by the door. Another clone lunged for her and spun back into its fellow What-If nearby, leaving the recruiter untouched.

It hit me, again, that this wasn’t the Chapel. Surrounding me lay a fortune of augments lying entirely unabsorbed and unclaimed, with only the construct interface required to use them. Unsecured, like sitting ducks.

Nysept had moved onto the dais, drawing attacks from anyone not immediately dealing with her army. She’d closed most of her eyes, keeping only one or two open at a time. One of Er’s Redirections spun and buried the contents of a stained glass machine gun into her body. The bullets bounced harmlessly aside.

A Sept at war was no laughing matter. A single augment could be devastating; Septs had seven. Nysept hadn’t so much as raised a hand; just strolled from the back of the hall towards Jadal Cai.

The Garrison’s newly sworn-in leader neither fought nor tried to escape. From an outside perspective, he didn’t seem to have recovered from his earlier confusion; stunned into wakeful catatonic oblivion. Naked Eye didn’t supply me the level of detail to do more than guess at how.

His copies, however, had definitely changed, hanging back on the far side of their frames with all the clarity and calculation the real Emperor lacked.

One by one, they strode calmly sideways out of view of their frames, vanishing out of sight in two-dimensional space. I had a bad feeling about it.

Belatedly, the other What-Ifs appeared to realise their associates had been compromised. The few copies not yet in possession of a third dimension skidded and doubled back within their pictures, chasing after the afflicted Emperors only to transition into the adjacent frames empty-handed. Wherever Jadal Cai's copies had gone, they couldn’t follow.

On the dais, Nysept’s brow furrowed. A few of her eyes opened and scanned the panels.

In my peripheral vision, Er Jid Halved.

For a split second I froze, watching her fold to the ground. Near Miss triggered. Through the database interface, I searched for the regenerating man’s Patch Up and activated it from a distance with Er Jid as the target. Both halves of her body immediately began to regrow as they convulsed on the floor.

A What-If bore down on her. I pulled on Er’s Redirect, sending it the first place I could think of – stumbling into a wall. A lens-filtered sunbeam shone onto its translucent face and passed through in a cluster of trapped refractions, sending it screaming as its frame melted.

It worked.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

This changed things.

Belonging to the Chapel had ingrained many fundamental assumptions. Such as an augment being only accessible to its user.

But the Garrison didn’t play by such limitations. Function gave everyone in it potential access to every ability in its collection. What I could do, any one of them could and would. I’d sorely underestimated them, despite the fact the Chapel was winning.

And that surprised me. I hadn’t expected us to be winning.

In a unified sweep, the lenses around the dais folded downwards, flooding the room with concentrated light as Chi Ohon handled a stage-side lever. Any What-Ifs caught in the movement stumbled and flailed; melting, collapsing or spasming through various combinations refracted to internal amplification.

Amplified sunlight washed over me, turning the air muggy and thick in hues of blue and pink. I clamped down on the instinct to push lenses out of my skin and adjust for the difference. My legs became restless, my mind weary.

Nysept closed her eyes. The light didn’t seem to harm her. She made the last few steps blind, and laid a hand on Jadal Cai.

A Garrison agent slammed into me from the side, barrelling me over onto my hands and knees. Someone else’s boot barely missed crunching my knuckles. A What-If speared them with a futuristic halberd in stained glass, and the victim collapsed into my shoulder. Blood spurted from their mouth as the life drained from their eyes.

I pulled on Patch Up to arrest it in its tracks, but they were already unconscious.

On the dais, Nysept wrestled with the Emperor. Her hands reached up to his throat. Forced him to his knees. The third-tier was far stronger than she appeared. Jadal Cai listlessly tried to pry off her fingers, but he might as well have fought a vice made of titanium.

I pulled on Red Hot and wreathed him in flame for good measure, then flicked rapidly through the other profiles on the construct map, searching for more useful tools.

“Ti Du.” A voice croaked from behind me.

I made a hasty, scrambling kind of roll to come face to face with Er Jid. She was still healing; twin horrendous masses of muscle and sinew bulging out from the severed sides. They didn’t look like they would knit back into a single piece. Or worse, they would try to anyway. Before they could join, I hoisted the speaking half by the armpit and stumbled with her towards the door in a rough semi-crouch.

“The rest,” my passenger wheezed. Her head turned as if to check behind, but her neck couldn’t hold it up.

“I’ll come back for it,” I lied.

The bottleneck had been supplanted by a What-If who had somehow vaulted the remaining initial defenders into the shadows and was trying to bash through the door. Fierce resistance met it at the chokepoint. A wall of shields kept it – and us – at bay. This apparently meant nothing to the clone, who threw its heavily-armoured body full-bore into the blockade. The shields held. But the impacts were knocking them back.

One-handed, I fumbled out the knife I'd taken from Auspice's Rein. Short of breaking my cover, the ordinary blade was the best physical weapon I had. Ignoring Er’s agonised groans, I ducked into an even lower crouch and dragged her into the immediate danger zone.

“No,” she croaked hoarsely. Her fingers dug into my shoulder.

The What-If wasn’t watching its rear. Nysept’s creations, while rudimentarily independent, displayed an apparent single-mindedness lacking a normal cognitive edge.

Perhaps it was being able to feel Near Miss in action, or maybe the fact I was tougher these days, but I didn’t feel worried. I had Redirect ready at the trigger.

You know what to do, I thought as I slashed at the What-If’s exposed ankle.

It screamed, shoved a foot backwards. The thrust missed. It rotated in its armour, swung its weight at me, and missed. Still supporting Er Jid, I ducked towards the other ankle – less conveniently exposed – and kicked the foot out from under it. The What-If tried to dodge out of the way. It missed.

Near Miss felt almost natural in this environment, our goals for once in sync. Shoulder-first, the What-If rolled as it came down, aiming to crush me under its weight. I stepped back carefully, almost casual in my sluggishness. It missed.

Confidence would be dangerous, even so. Near Miss didn’t shy away from letting me get hurt in the short term; I knew that first-hand.

One of the barricading shields broke. I posted Er Jid through the gap towards waiting hands, and jumped aside as a second What-If lashed out behind me. This one had a sword. It cut my leg, tearing a deep gash in the surface. Lenses glittered under the surface. I pumped it full of Patch Up and hobbled away from the follow-up. It missed, of course.

The hands waiting for me retracted along with a frantic apology as the remaining What-Ifs ran past me to plug the gap. I’d thought there would be more, but their numbers were surprisingly thin; the skirmish quick and bloody.

I waded through the chaos. Er Jid’s other half wasn’t where I’d left it. Trampled bodies littered much of the chamber floor, human and stained glass alike.

It looked and sounded like my home universe on a bad day. With less consistency, true, but they shared key distinguishing factors.

The stained-glass attackers really were thinning, evanescing into iridescent shimmers as their originals left the room. They didn’t seem able to follow. Even the corpses followed suit. Those that were left had all emptied from their frames.

Only one remained, too far back to have bridged the distance. But it had come close enough. I recognised it even without Naked Eye.

Once you got past the arms, eyes, and the size, it bore a striking resemblance to Alusept. It even had his braids, though some of them seemed to be tails, with many others melded in and around its frame.

Alusept had been the intended recipient? I wondered if he knew. And why Near Miss had run.

The copy being there terrified me. I didn’t want it to reach the edge of the frame, even if we did work for the same side. So far I hadn’t seen Nysept’s clones using any augments, but they weren’t an Arch.

Up on the dais, Nysept carried the Emperor in an infant’s pose, unconscious in her arms. Marks of strangulation crossed his exposed neck, but he was somehow still alive.

Nysept didn’t seem concerned. She hadn’t taken a scratch from the encounter. Nor did she try and pursue the Garrisonites – a strategic error and a mercy. It hadn’t been a contest. Believing themselves unassailable in their stronghold, the House of Function had barely put up a resistance. Used none of their full potential from the interface. Why? Honour?

The longer I stayed, the clearer it became that the What-Ifs were ignoring me until provoked. Any longer and it would become equally as obvious to the Garrison. I shot a final look at my colleagues, then hastened again for the exit.

My own double was there in the shadows, still alive as it cleaved into shields with an axe. The other lay beside him on the floor. Tidu’s axe. Even rendered into glass, it still looked the same. Second Father had strapped it to his back every day.

My What-If fought like my fathers. Iolu’s rage propelled its strokes, and it aimed with Tidu’s calculation. It fought like enforcers fought, trained to strike hard and strike brutally to compel fear.

The best battle, First Father had taught, was fought with an opening so vicious and swift its defenders would immediately lay down arms. If they didn’t, you had failed both their people and yours. Second Father would have added that failure began the moment a weapon moved beyond intimidation.

In whatever world my What-If belonged, he’d failed.

Shields still barred the door, and held. I couldn’t see a way through.

I told myself the What-If wasn’t real; it was only a passing echo. Destroying it would lose me no sleep. I stooped to pick up Tidu’s axe and crept up on it from behind.

At the door, the defending shieldbearer’s eyes glanced past the What-If and gave me away. The What-If centrifuged in a turn strengthened by the inertia of its weapon.

I found myself staring into my old face as its axe crashed in. Near Miss triggered, and it slammed into the haft of its twin. The two weapons recoiled off of each other, sending us both a step back.

Lamu noticed me and stopped swinging, recognising me as a friend. But I was already swinging again, spinning with the speed of the recoil’s momentum. Faster and harder to win the day, like First Father would have advised. The axe landed in Lamu's shoulder, and he almost looked surprised before retaliating, parley broken. The return swing Near Missed by apparent sheer luck, just out of misjudged range. I hit the follow-up with a frantic Redirect, sending the axe into his own shoulder, and aimed the next Redirect at the whole figure to push him away.

He stumbled into the sunlight and screamed in refracted pain. Moments later, he was gone.

Despite knowing it was a poor copy and clone, I still felt shaken. The similarities had gone well beyond appearance.

The stained glass Near Miss reached for the frame, sending shouts of fear rising from the exit.

“Ti Du.”

I blinked in deja-vu at the crawling figure. Er Jid, healed enough to be working her own way forward a little at a time. Still a terrible sight, but no longer a second from dying. I doubled back, hoisted her up and hastened us both to the exit.

With the What-Ifs destroyed, both of us made it through.

Out of sight, I heard sounds of relief as the alien Near Miss dissipated, returning to the stuff of imagination.

I stood in a growing puddle of blood. Garrison clothes repelled liquid, but some had made it through the weave to my skin in a sticky, unpleasant heap. Most of it belonged to both versions of Er Jid.

I found a corner to sit the second one in while Patch Up finished its work. It had done a good job, though I was glad I’d moved her when I did. Her head had mostly healed, as well as her torso, with the limbs taking longer to regrow. The recruiter stared at me in mute shock.

Mentally, I related.

I’d expected a battle and had gotten closer to a massacre. Nysept and Flinpen had ripped into the audience, and far from his earlier threat, Jadal Cai had barely fought back. Piles of bodies lined the temple chamber. Two agents had killed close to a fifth of the Garrison’s entire population.

A yell sounded at the door as one of the remaining shieldbearers dropped into halves. The one who’d cried out spun on her heels and fell into pieces mid-sprint.

Flinpen – still in disguise – loomed into view beyond them with pockets bulging with reclaimed spherical augments. Her gaze moved to Er Jid. I eased between them with the tiniest shake of my head.

The assassin hesitated a beat, then shrugged, stepped into the doorway and vanished.

According to my sense of versal magic, Nysept and the Emperor had already gone.