Chapter Two Hundred Fifty-One: 'The song's whisper...'

The party lingered at the tree for a while longer. Hector wanted to head to P.J. soon and meet the Queen, but Abbas' fascination with the Forge was so apparent that he didn't want to pull the man away just yet.

Unfortunately, it seemed like it would be a while before Abbas could give him an idea of what sorts of items they could create with this thing.

"For that, I will require a better understanding of what this Forge is truly capable of. The Earth Cruncher specialized in metalwork, but this is obviously quite different. Were you able to learn its name, by the way?"

'No,' said Garovel. 'It wasn't written down, but we weren't looking for it, either. Do Forges usually have names?'

'Yes,' said Worwal. 'They are typically given to them by their creator, but if this one's name has been lost, then we should give it a new one.'

'Ooh, I love naming stuff,' said Garovel. 'The best names are ones that come with built-in nicknames. How about the Toby? Short for Globey Toby. Or Orby? Short for Orby Orbington. Or Glassy? Short for Amassy Glassy.'

'Those are all impressively terrible,' said Worwal.

'Thanks. Think you can do worse?'

Worwal thought a moment. 'George the Forge.'

'Wow, okay. Good job.'

Perhaps having some inkling that this was going to spiral out of control if he didn't do something, Lord Abbas decided to intervene. "A new name is not a trivial matter. It should only come after we understand its capabilities better."

'Really?' said Garovel. 'What difference does it make if we name it now or later?'

"A Forge's name is more than just words. It binds itself to the Forge metaphysically and becomes entwined with its identity. A name can even impact the properties of the Forge itself, altering its power in minor ways."

'Are you serious?' said Garovel. 'I thought this was all scientific stuff when it came down to it, but you're talking about straight up wizardry, right now.'

"Make of it what you will, but I am not lying. Most importantly, an ill-fitting name can have negative effects. I have heard of one case in which a Forge was rendered all but useless due to a badly chosen name."

'Well, shit,' said Garovel.

A lull in the conversation arrived as everyone was apparently thinking at the same time.

Hector decided to break the silence himself, because there was one thing he wanted to know. "What... what name was so bad that it ruined a Fusion Forge?"

Abbas eyed him for a time. "...It was too ridiculous to utter."

Hector just frowned.

Garovel had him covered, though. 'C'mon, now you've gotta tell us.'

The Lord Saqqaf sighed. "...The Great Tornado Toilet of Ultimate Toilation."

Hector had to cover his mouth to hold back his laugh.

Garovel didn't even bother.

Hector had to ask. "Was that Morgunov's doing?" It certainly sounded like something a total lunatic would name his Forge. Hector was hoping not, though, if only because he didn't want to find anything that the Mad Demon had done amusing.

"Actually, no," said Abbas. "It was a different madman by the name of Rakko."

Garovel's laughter began to settle. 'Ah. Him. Yeah, that makes sense. Y'know, I kinda miss that guy. He was a good emperor in his time.'

Abbas cocked an eyebrow. "That is not what I have heard."

'Well. Okay. "Good" may be a strong word. He wasn't an evil son of a bitch, at least. And that's all I really ask from servant emperors.'

"Did he not raze Arkotesh to the ground?"

'Yeah, but I'm pretty sure that was an accident,' said Garovel. 'And he worked to help the people he displaced for many years afterwards.'

"Arkotesh," Abbas repeated. "The academic capital of the world for a thousand years up until that point. The birthplace of geometry, algebra, the calendar system."

'Yeah, but he also apologized. When's the last time you heard an emperor apologize, huh?'

The Lord Saqqaf did not look convinced.

'Look, we can stand around here and argue about history all day, but I'm sure we have more pressing things to be doing, don't we?'

And indeed, they did. They stayed a while longer to let Abbas give the Forge another once over, but then they were on their way to the capital.

Riverton, P.J. was quite far away, however, and the Imara Forest was so dense that even the highway passing through it felt a bit claustrophobic. The speed limit on these winding roads was noticeably lower in the Jagwa region and Atreya.

They settled in for a long ride.

On the bright side, Hector had plenty of time to come up with more questions for Abbas.

"The naming thing is still confusing me," said Hector. "If the Forge's name is so important that it becomes a part of its... metaphysical identity or something, then... shouldn't it be impossible for us give the Forge a new name? Shouldn't its original name be too important?"

Abbas returned a nod. "That is entirely possible, yes. However, even if its name was never written down and has been forgotten by all who yet live, I should still be able to discover what it is via the Forge itself. If its name is truly a part of it, then it should be able to tell me what it is. In theory."

Hector and Garovel exchanged glances.

"But on the other hand, if the Forge is broken--or if it was never given a name in the first place, perhaps--then yes, a new name will be required before it can achieve full operation."

'The way you talk about Forges is peculiar,' said Garovel. 'You treat them as though they are living things.'

Abbas bobbed his head to one side. "That may not be an inaccurate way of thinking about them. While they are certainly not alive in the same sense that any of us are, they do have a certain... presence to them that is purely their own. As objects, they are undoubtedly greater than the sum of their parts. And for that Forge in particular, such thinking may be even more true than usual."

'What do you mean?' said Garovel.

"The location of a Forge is another important factor in its function. I do not think it is mere coincidence that it currently resides within an enormous tree. That tree no doubt plays a large role in that Forge's power."

"Hmm," hummed Hector. "So moving the Forge to Warrenhold is out of the question, then?"

"Ah... most likely, yes," said Abbas. "I cannot say for certain that it would be impossible, but with any Forge, its environment is key. Even if we could move it safely--and I am not sure that we could--doing so could disrupt its power in ways that are difficult to understand."

'I guess it's a good thing we decided to hold off on that, then,' said Garovel.

Hector wasn't entirely prepared to concede, though. "But... if it's already broken, then wouldn't now be the best time to move it?"

Abbas' brow crinkled together with apparent disapproval. "Perhaps. And perhaps it would acclimate to the new environment of Warrenhold quite well. Or perhaps it would be rendered completely useless. I do not think it is worth the gamble."

Hector gave a slight sigh. "Yeah, alright, I understand..."

He hadn't really thought it would work, but it sure would've been nice. He wouldn't have had to worry about keeping it safe quite so much, at least. Even if it had meant uprooting the whole damn tree and taking it back to Atreya, it would've been worth the hassle, he felt.

But yeah, the tree probably wouldn't survive. Plants couldn't grow in Warrenhold, after all. Maybe it could work if they transplanted it aboveground, but even that was debatable, since there wasn't much natural vegetation there. Plus, it would kinda defeat the purpose of using a castle to protect it if it wasn't actually in the castle. They would have to build a special sanctuary for it or something--and they could just do that here in Lorent, instead.

Hmm.

A sanctuary, huh?

...Like a second castle? A brand new one? Just to protect the Forge?

Oh, baby.

That would be so fucking expensive, though.

But oh, baby...

He tried not to delve too deep into that fantasy. It was tempting. God, it was temping. But he wanted to be pragmatic. For the most part.

By the time they arrived in the capital, the sun was already waning in the sky. Combined with the thick canopy of leaves covering most of the city, it felt like nighttime. Hector made sure to call ahead again so that the Queen would be ready to meet them. Certainly, he didn't want to just waltz into Riverton Hall with Abbas Saqqaf by his side, so he asked the Queen to come to them.

There was a quiet place that Ravi had showed him the last time he was here. A little hole-in-the-wall diner with some of the best chocolate milkshakes he'd ever tasted. To be safe, though, Hector picked the next building over, instead. An even-more-empty taco shop.

They'd brought some hats, hoodies, and sunglasses with them from Warrenhold for this occasion, but with how barren the place was, maybe they weren't even necessary. They picked a booth near the back and sat down. A server came over to take their order, and they decided to go ahead and eat while they waited. Hector made sure to pay in cash. He'd brought Lorentian loros, as well as Atreyan troas, so it wasn't a problem.

The food wasn't very good.

That actually made Hector a bit more comfortable, though. He found that diner next door a bit strange, honestly. If the their food was so great, why didn't they get more business?

Maybe he was just being paranoid. Not every great restaurant could afford equally great publicity, but still. The fact that Ravi had recommended it to him was enough concern, too. As much as he wanted to trust Ravi Zaman, Hector felt like there wasn't any harm in being extra careful.

Other than having to choke down these awful tacos, he supposed. If he wasn't so hungry, he probably wouldn't have even finished them.

When the Queen and Lynn appeared, they were both wearing clothes that were more casual for them than he'd seen in a long time. Or what felt like a long time, at least. Not since they'd been on the run from Abolish had they looked so... normal. Little to no makeup, lack of bright colors in the wardrobe, not even the sword that Lynn always carried with her.

Though, it wasn't like she needed it to protect the Queen.

And it wasn't like she needed expensive clothes or that fancy white cloak in order to look good, either.

"Hello there," said the Queen softly as she joined them at their modest table.

Lynnette decided to sit at the table across the narrow aisle and turn around to face the taco shop's front door.

"Hello..." Hector almost added a 'Your Highness" to that but caught himself. It felt little weird to not use her honorifics, but he was sure she would understand.

"I am pleased to see you, Helen," said Abbas. The gentleness in his voice took Hector by surprise.

"And I you, Abbas. It has been some time."

"You've grown into a fine young woman."

She tittered lightly at that. "I am well into my thirties, you know."

"Hah. Is that meant to make you sound old?"

"Youthfully experienced, is how I like to think of it."

The Lord Saqqaf gave her a brief smile before his expression turned more serious again. "Thank you for sending Lord Goffe to our aid. It could not have been more timely. I dread to think of where my family would be right now if he had not arrived when he did."

Her gaze flitted between the two of them for a moment. "I am glad to hear that. He was quite adamant about it. He scarcely even asked my permission before departing. It may be a stretch to say that I 'sent' him."

"Perhaps, but you could have intervened, if you wished--and been well-justified in doing so, I am sure."

The Queen's expression betrayed nothing of her thoughts, but she paused a moment before changing the subject. "How fares your Hahl?" she asked.

"Well, it is still intact," said Abbas, "which may be more than can be said for others. I do not know what has become of the other Hahls, but I suspect we were among the luckier ones. Hahls Kattan and Dagher worry me most. Their homes were even closer to Uego than the Golden Fort was. They likely received the least warning of the invasion."

"I see," said Helen. "Do you have enough space at Warrenhold for everyone?"

"Yes, but we do not intend to stay there long."

"I would imagine not. The Rainlords must make for awkward bedfellows, no?"

Abbas shook his head. "Far from it. We have our differences, but it is precisely in times such as these that our commonalities rise to the surface. Their presence is a welcome comfort."

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

The Queen seemed surprised, but then nodded. "I am sure that my brother Meriwether would like to see Nasira and Rashad before you go. They are well, I hope?"

"They are. And I have no objection to their meeting, of course. We are but guests, after all."

"Where do you intend to go, if not Warrenhold?"

Abbas glanced Hector's way. "We are thinking of here. In Lorent. Hector has kindly offered us a place on his land. Temporarily, of course."

Helen's gaze turned briefly to Hector, too. "Are you sure? You are welcome in Atreya. I do not know if the Lorentians will be quite so understanding as we are."

Abbas folded his hands on the table. "I do not intend to ask for their permission. We will remain here covertly."

The Queen's head reared back a little. "Perhaps I am misunderstanding something, then. That seems a needless risk when you have a perfectly viable alternative in Atreya."

"It is not a question of viability," said Abbas. His eyes shifted around the empty restaurant, and he looked at Worwal for a moment before continuing in a slightly lower voice. "I must work on the Forge that Lord Goffe has recently found. If I can get it up and running, it could be exactly the boon we need to turn the tide of this war back in our favor."

Her posture stiffened a bit as she listened. "You truly believe this Forge to be so important?"

"I do."

"More important than seeking out aid from Intar?" she said.

At that, the Lord Saqqaf paused and rolled his neck to one side for a moment. He exhaled heavily. "I am sure that one or more of the other Hahls will attempt to acquire Intar's help. I will leave that task to them. However, knowing what I do of Intarian politics, I have little reason to believe that such efforts will bear fruit. It is worth checking, of course, but I am rather confident that Intar will attempt to maintain their neutrality, even now."

The Queen blinked. "Surely not. Abolish is all but knocking on their door."

"Their congress is paralyzed by divisive rhetoric. They will not take action until their land is directly attacked." The man paused for a light shake of his head. "Hmph. Perhaps not even then. They may just expect the Vanguard to take care of everything for them, as usual."

The Queen looked concerned, her frown deepening, but she made no response.

"As for the Vanguard," Abbas went on, "I think it best that my kin and I try to decouple ourselves from them as soon as possible. They may still be useful as allies, but it is clear to me now that we have grown too reliant on them over the years. And too trusting."

Hector hated to admit it, but Abbas' assessment tracked fairly well with what Prince David had told him not too long ago. The sociopolitical divide in Intar between the Blue Moon Party and the Grand National Republic Party was exacerbated by their differing opinions on interventionism. The Grands, who were currently in power, might be inclined to aid Sair, but if they did, they would risk losing said power to the Moons.

Or something along those lines. Honestly, it all sounded pretty fucking complicated to Hector, and keeping up with a foreign nation's political drama wasn't the easiest thing in the world.

Hmm. Maybe he should ask Hanton to keep an especially close eye on the situation over there. Come to think of it, the Sparrow was probably already doing that, but Hector wouldn't mind confirming as much.

And maybe putting Roman on it would be a good idea, too. Or some of the Rainlords, perhaps. There were a few Sebolts who might be suited to it. Or Blackburns?

He kept that internal debate going and assigned it to its own thought process as he continued listening to Abbas and the Queen.

"Hector has told me of this Forge," Helen was saying, "but I must admit, I do not fully understand its value. It can be used to create items of incredible power, yes? But what manner of items would that be, precisely? Weaponry, no doubt, but what kind of weapon would it take for you to reclaim Sair from the likes of Morgunov?"

"Your skepticism is understandable," said Abbas. "At the moment, the fact of the matter is that I simply do not yet know what we will be able to create. In fact, it may not even be weaponry that results from our efforts. Not weaponry in the conventional sense, at least." He broke for a weighty pause and glanced Hector's way one more time. "However, after giving the Forge a preliminary examination and thinking on it for a while during the drive here... I may have a very vague notion of the possibilities."

"Is that right?" said Helen. "Well then, please, don't keep me in suspense."

"I think it may have something to do with fire," said Abbas, "but not like that of a roaring inferno, as one might normally expect from anything called a 'forge.' I think it will have a... gentler aspect to it."

That was the first Hector was hearing of that. Abbas must really have been mulling that assessment over for a while.

The Queen did not look terribly impressed, though. "A... 'gentle' super weapon." She didn't say anything further, perhaps because the tone of her voice was saying it for her.

How were they supposed to fight the maniacs of Abolish with something gentle?

"As I said, it may not be weaponry that is born of the Forge."

The Queen just gave a doubtful nod.

"I know how it sounds," said Abbas. "Perhaps the Forge will not live up to my hopes. That is quite possible. Likely, even. I have no illusions about that. But even so, I must pursue this opportunity. Wherever it may lead me."

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Caster Egmond unfolded his chair and sat down in it.

He was earlier than most of the others. That was abnormal for him. For the longest time, he had stopped taking these meetings seriously. He had stopped caring about the cause, the shared misery and accompanying sense of camaraderie. He'd just been going through the motions, playing a part, repeating the words he'd heard thousands of times by now.

"It's not as bad as we make it out to be in our minds."

"People aren't judging us as much as we think they are."

"We command respect, in our own way."

"We have other, more important qualities that we can focus on."

"If our reapers haven't given up on us, then we shouldn't give up on ourselves."

And to think, he'd actually begun to believe all that stuff for a while. For a long while. Decades, even.

But now?

He sighed quietly to himself.

The others were filing into the chamber now. Some looked about as discouraged as he felt. Others were more poised, guarded. Veterans of this place, like him.

He felt like a kid again, in the worst possible sense of the phrase. A mere child.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to be long past these feelings of inadequacy. As far as servants went, he was getting up there with the rest of them. His soul power was nothing to sneeze at. He could use pan-rozum, for god's sake.

He wasn't weak. He was strong. One of the strongest in Abolish, in fact. The Marauder of Calthos, they called him. Caster the Immovable, they called him.

And he'd been working on his image, too. Calm. Collected. Measured. Polite. Different from the men under his command. No longer acting the fool or the lunatic like so many others in Abolish.

So why, then, had the attack failed so miserably? Why had Ivan been captured by the bloody Sunsmith, of all people?

And why had Gohvis been able to punch him so hard that he nearly exited the troposphere?

It didn't make sense. The gap in strength between them should not have been that wide.

He hadn't even been able to look his own men in the eye after suffering such an absurd degree of humiliation.

And now, of course, he'd missed out on the opportunity to regain his honor. By the time he arrived at Uego, the battle was already over.

From the sound of it, Morgunov hadn't needed any help, but plenty of his peers had been able to grab a sliver of glory for themselves, at least. Vanguardian generals had been ripe for the picking, apparently.

But he'd been too slow.

Again.

How many times had he been shown up on the battlefield over the years? How many times had he been passed over by his superiors in favor of someone more "suited to the task at hand?" Someone more "versatile?"

Someone whose ability wasn't destruction.

The other men in this group understood. They were all going through the same thing. His brothers of destruction.

They had to hold these meetings in secret, though. It would be too embarrassing if any other members of Abolish discovered what they were doing here. Hell, even most of their own reapers didn't know--or they thought it was for some purpose other than encouragement and support. Whenever one of the boys expected an outsider to show up, that was usually when they broke out the playing cards and alcohol.

They couldn't show weakness. They all knew that entirely too well by now. If nothing else, destruction users had to have the appearance of strength, of self-certainty.

Because oftentimes, that was simply how destruction users were.

Or at least, that was Caster's view of it. Whether or not servant abilities were in some way linked to the psychology of the servant--that was a matter of debate for the more academic among them. Caster believed so, but he most certainly had to acknowledge that there were outliers.

Which was what these men were. Outliers.

Destruction users were supposed to be more simple-minded. Not "dumb," necessarily, but easier to please, at least. Not so ambitious or self-reflective. They were supposed to revel in their destruction, in their power.

But this group wanted more. They always had. When it came down to it, one might call that the source of all human unhappiness. The desire for that which they could not have.

Even now, there were those among them who did not believe it was hopeless. Guys like Paulie over there, still so blissfully young and inexperienced.

"I'm just saying, there has to be more to this power than we know. We just need someone who's, like, super ultra smart to help us analyze it and discover its hidden depths."

"You think we haven't tried that?" said someone on Caster's right. That one's name was Deacon. Not as much of a veteran of this little club as Caster but definitely an experienced fellow in his own right. "We work for the most brilliant mind who has ever walked this planet. You think no one has ever brought this to him? Of course they have."

Paulie didn't respond, but his face spoke of stubborn refusal to accept what he was hearing.

Deacon wasn't done. "I know it's difficult to accept. Believe me, I do. But isn't that why we're all here in the first place? Because we need help with exactly that problem? Acceptance? We are what we are, gentleman. No amount of wishful thinking is going to change that. The important thing is to focus on what we can change. To hone our other skills."

"That's right," said a man named Olaf on Caster's left. "If even the Mad Demon himself can't find a path, then that path simply doesn't exist. Listen to us, Paulie. It'll save you years of agony. Years that you could be spending on more productive things."

"It's true," said yet another man. This one was Tim, and he was sitting next to Paulie. "Face it, my boy. There's a reason why there's never been an emperor who used destruction. We've got a hard limit on our abilities. That's just the way it is. Ain't nothin' to be ashamed of."

Unsurprisingly, Paulie still didn't look convinced. "I don't believe that. There were plenty of emperors or emperor-equivalent servants in the ancient past who've been lost to history, right? One of them could've had destruction. We can't know for sure that they didn't."

A low chorus of disagreement and general grumbling ran across the men.

"Just look at Caster!" said Paulie, pointing. "Strongest we've ever had! Respected by everyone! He's an example of what we could all become! And he's still growing!"

Oh, god.

If only the boy knew how bad it really was. The last thing Caster wanted to do was crush his hopes, but maybe that would be for the best. Maybe he should just confess to his own crippling insecurities here and now, in front of everyone. That was the point of these meetings, after all. If anyone would understand, it would be the guys.

But he still hesitated.

Paulie wasn't entirely wrong. Caster did want to be something of a role model for all these poor bastards. He wanted them to be able look at him and see something for their future selves besides dying in obscurity.

So this was a lose-lose situation for him, in other words.

What else was new, eh?

Before he was forced to make a decision, however, Deacon chimed in and saved him. "Caster has had many of his own struggles with this over the years. You can't just point to him and act like it's such a straight line to where he's standing."

"First of all, he's sitting, not standing," said Paulie. "And second, I'm not saying it'll be straightforward or easy. I'm just not ready to give up. Just because Morgunov couldn't crack it doesn't mean it's uncrackable. He could've missed something. I mean, he can't be that smart."

Dead silence arrived.

Ah.

That had not been a wise thing to say.

Luckily for Paulie, it didn't take him long to realize his mistake. "Uh. W-what I meant was that, he might have been too busy to really look into it, y'know? Like, if the problem didn't interest him enough, then, er, he wouldn't have had enough, ah, motivation to... um... dig into it for real... since he's not destruction himself, right? That's all I was getting at."

The others in the group were still just staring at him.

Truth be told, Caster's own sympathy for the boy had lessened quite a bit, too. This may have been a place for having difficult conversations, but that was most assuredly not one of them.

Caster kept a cool head, though. "Let us call it a day, shall we? Good discussions, everyone." Best to end things here before Paulie stuck his foot in his mouth again and got himself killed.

Caster stood up, and the others all gradually followed suit. There was nowhere to put their folding chairs, so they mostly just picked them up or left them where they were.

In the middle of this blown out gymnasium.

The missing roof, broken floor, shattered windows, and crumbling walls did not provide the most comforting atmosphere in the world, perhaps. But privacy was more important, and abandoned areas like this were great for that.

And of course, they were not normal men. They were not comforted by pristine surroundings. At the end of the day, despite their status as outliers, they were still men of destruction. Perhaps there was something soothing in this type of environment.

The beautiful calm of a devastated world.

Artful, Caster felt. More so than any painting, certainly.

They all went their separate ways. Those who belonged to the same sect probably didn't want to be seen returning to camp together. It would just draw needless attention to themselves.

Caster, for his part, didn't care so much about that anymore. He always had men in his sect or others hanging around him for one reason or another. Such was the life of a Judicator. People were always looking for someone to pass judgment for them on this dispute or that one.

Lately, he'd been swamped by arguing Raiders, all looking for someone to decide who got what spoils from the war. Killing each other over and over didn't accomplish much when they were in disagreement, especially when their reapers refused to risk their own lives getting involved. So they relied on the Judicators to sort everything out. Sometimes, violently. But always decisively.

Paulie, however, was not from his sect. So it was bit strange when the lad caught up to him on his way back to camp and struck up a conversation.

It started off with awkward pleasantries mixed with apologies. The boy seemed to be trying to figure out if Caster was upset with him for questioning Morgunov's genius.

He was.

But he also wasn't going to let that show. Trivial things were for trivial people. Until they were repeated and grew into non-trivial things.

Either way, Caster was ready to move past it, for now. "What do you want, Paulie?" he said.

"Ah, er, I just wanted to talk to you privately," said Paulie. "It's just, like, I know those other guys mean well 'n all, but I don't think they get it. They've given up, and they won't be happy until I do the same."

That wasn't it at all, Caster thought. They weren't concerned with their own happiness. They were trying to preserve what was left of Paulie's. The kid probably wouldn't be able to see that, no matter what anyone said to him, though.

Such was youth.

Caster kept those thoughts to himself. The boy had obviously come to him because he was looking for someone who wouldn't try to rain on his parade. It was a little obnoxious, but Caster supposed he could at least hear him out. There was still quite a long stretch of ruined town ahead of them, so there wasn't much harm in filling it with a pointless conversation.

And besides, the slow, grueling march of time would do plenty of enthusiasm-crushing without any help from himself, Caster felt.

"You were quieter than them," said Paulie. "I thought maybe you were... of a different mind, I guess. More open, y'know?"

"Open to what, precisely?"

"Possibilities. Listen, I... I've been... uh..."

Caster gave him a look, just waiting. Honestly, he already knew everything Paulie might say. But why was the kid getting so hesitant all of a sudden? Nerves? Paulie had never struck him as a nervous speaker.

"Promise you won't tell anyone what I'm about to say?" said Paulie.

Absolutely not, but Caster had no qualms about lying. "Of course. If that's what you want."

"I... I've been hearing voices, lately," said Paulie. "Well. Just the one voice, I suppose. But it's in my head. When no one else is around. And it keeps telling me things. Whispering. It tells me to look harder at my ability. At our ability. It says there's more to be found."

Hmm.

Alright, well, that was a new one, at least.

Oddly enough, though, Caster still wasn't all that surprised. While it was true he hadn't heard this particular excuse before, it also wasn't terribly uncommon for people to be hearing voices in their head.

This was Abolish.

Half of them were insane. And the other half were also insane, if for no other reason than because they were willing to work with the first half.

And Caster worked, primarily, with that first half. He'd encountered many, many people in his life who claimed to be hearing voices in their heads. He recalled one gentleman who'd had his mind blown when he discovered that those voices were, in fact, his very own thoughts.

Caster had never had a particularly strong sense of humor, but that had made him laugh.

He could recall other examples, however, which were not nearly so amusing. Old tales, mostly. Of psychics. People who loved to toy with vulnerable young minds, twist them to their will, plant ideas in their heads, or simply break them for no other reason than to prove that they could.

He hadn't heard stories like that in ages, though. Over half a century, at least. It was rumored that one of them had bitten off more than they could chew by trying to manipulate the Mad Demon and that in response, Morgunov had rendered their kind extinct.

If that rumor was true--and Caster was inclined to believe that it was--then Paulie probably wasn't being toyed with by some psychic. Which was perhaps a shame. Caster might've liked to learn more about psychic powers. It was doubtful that someone like him would be able to add such a thing to his repertoire, but it could be worth trying.

They were always talking about honing other skills, after all. He would've appreciated the opportunity, at least.

In any case, Paulie was probably just going mad. Or rather, more mad than he already was.

But that was fine. Caster wasn't the type to discriminate based on such things. Some of the best friends he'd ever known had been madmen. Before they'd gotten themselves killed. Or released. Or tried to kill him.

Caster could at least humor the lad. "Has this voice ever identified itself to you?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Paulie, "though, uh..." He leaned and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'm not entirely sure I believe it."

Right. Caster had seen this behavior before, too. Trying to speak quietly so that the voices don't "overhear." Worried about how they'll react to what's being said.

Yep. Definitely madness.

"Go on," Caster urged, lowering his voice as well. "I won't tell anyone."

"Well, the voice says... it's a god."

"...I see. And does this god have a name?"

Paulie glanced around at the annihilated town. "Malast."