Etherborn

The Way of Etherforging: Book 2

RJ Shoke

Copyright © 2022 RJ Shoke

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 9781234567890
ISBN-10: 1477123456

Cover design by: RJ Shoke
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Epilogue

Prologue

Thick, slanted icicles covered a military outpost belonging to the Ellimist Protectorate, as if a frozen wind came through and flash-froze the entire building. Walking in the middle of the winter wonderland was a short, light-purple skinned, female high elf — otherwise known as a Seerowan. The diminutive woman confidently crossed the iced over lake that the outpost was stationed near to head towards her rendezvous point.

Across the way, her fellow disciple waited for her — a bulky, man-sized cephalopod with four large tentacles for legs and smaller tendrils on his face acting as some form of facial hair. The Taxon was taking deep breaths, inhaling the ether around him and filling his Stomach Chamber. Then, using directed flows of sublimated ether, grasped delicately by his willpower, he carved out the peripheral channels of his Soul Cast, preparing himself for the next stage…Soul Verve.

The Seerowan waited patiently, using her ether senses to examine his precise control of will. Once he finished the tunnel he was working on, he uncoiled himself from the floor and stood, “Did you get it, Aster?”

Scoffing, she blew a piece of her navy blue hair out of her face, “Pfft, of course I did. What do you think of me, Jibril? I’ll be phikked if I’m the one who disappoints Master.” The Taxon rolled his eyes at her ever-present need to curry favor with their mentor, “Whatever, Aster. Let’s just get moving, we spent enough time on this outpost. And there’s still five more to loot before we need to check in.”

With that being said, they simultaneously shrouded themselves in their Domains, both of which had their origins in Sept Glacio. Aster confidently ran on frozen discs made of white mist, while Jibril rode along on snowy clouds. Their next destination was supposed to be on the southern continent.

Their Master had given them an assignment to ransack a tier 2 planet belonging to the Ellimist Protectorate. This would mark their fourth world that they’d robbed blind under the banner of Exos Dak-Kalpak. While their Master was generous in her rewards, she was also ‘generous’ with her punishments.

Even thinking about being trapped in one of her mindscapes again sent a shiver through Jibril’s boneless back. Subconsciously, he sped up, the two of them streaking through an orange tinted sky over a lime green ocean.

As they traveled, Jibril looked back on the three cycles they’d spent under their Master’s tutelage. While the Exos was far more brutal in her teachings than his old mentor, Garr — she also knew the deepest secrets to Etherforging. In only a handful of cycles, he and Aster had advanced faster than anyone could have ever imagined. If he were to return to the Sept now, he would be able to stand toe to toe with Garr — maybe not defeat him, but at the very least, match him.

Making good time, the ocean blurred by, transitioning to a new coast, a new land. Brown leafed trees with dark green trunks dotted the landscape. The next outpost was supposedly larger than the last and it would be Jibril’s turn to subdue them this time.

Without prompting, Aster unceremoniously dropped out of the sky and down into a clearing to work on her own upcoming Soul Verve. Her Master had tools that could speed up their advancement further, but she’d cautioned against taking shortcuts. Soulforging should take time to build a proper foundation for the next realm, Soulsphere.

Besides, on a tier 2 world, there wasn’t enough ambient ether to truly advance — they’d need to build a Scriptsmithing array and, to be honest, it was too much hassle. Better to just wait until they get back to their Master’s riftworld. She rested her back on a rocky outcropping and watched Jibril zip off to the outpost as she settled into a session of Etherforging.

Before he got too far though, she flashed his AI quick message, “Take your time, ok?”

It actually did take longer than Jibril expected. The larger outpost was not just the above ground building — there was a bunker beneath as well. And of course, the piece of Alloywelding that his Master needed was below him.

That was how he found himself far underground after exiting an elevator shaft. In front of him stretched a singular, narrow tunnel, dead-ending at a matte gray door. He cautiously slithered down the hall, spreading his ether senses ahead of him, searching for anything suspicious. The hallway was empty. Nothing but thick stone walls, which must have been directly created through the use of a circuit, considering how far down his AI indicated he was. As he got closer to the end, his senses became increasingly blunted, until they became completely blocked off once he was right in front of the door. Curious, he got right up to the doorway and laid a four-tentacled hand against its rough, grainy exterior.

With a more focused will, he tried to push his senses through the door once more…only to get a blinding white flash in return, as if his mind had just been shocked. “Gahh! By the Omicron…what in the world is this?” he exclaimed. His head felt as though it’d just been rung like a bell.

Jibril shook his head to alleviate the backlash throbbing through his skull. But before he could get rid of it, a rumble came from beyond the door frame as the locking mechanism whirred to life. He immediately took a quick step back and instantly donned his Livery of Black Ice — pauldrons, vambraces and a plated skirt quickly covered his limbs in frozen ebony. And along his torso, an onyx hauberk extended to the back, forming a protective hood for his head.

As the door ponderously slid open, a heavy etheraura filled the hallway, accompanied by a deep, gravelly voice, “I guess I won, eh? I told the big boss that this would be one of the outposts to watch. And here you are…he’s gonna owe me for taking care of his little ‘problem.”

“Tsk, it just had to be my luck that I got a Protectorate Bruiser when it was my turn. Ugh, I’m going to make her take care of the next two…” Jibril complained as he released his own etheraura, easily pushing his opponent’s away.

An Aximilin stepped out of the doorway — six feet tall with dull, slate-gray skin and one of its V-shaped horns broken off. With an all too toothy feral grin plastered on his face, he said, “Ho-oh, a fellow Soul Cast? No wonder you’ve been able to get this far. Too bad though, this is the end of the road for your thieving. My boss doesn’t take kindly to having his treasures taken. Now, let’s see how your Cast stands up against mine!”

The Bruiser blitzed forward in an instant, a corrosive smoke billowing out of him as he launched straight into tightly packed jabs and feints. Jibril’s bulk was too large for the narrow tunnel, leaving him barely any room to dodge. He was forced to let his Livery take the hits just to keep up a guard of his own.

It didn’t take long for holes to start appearing all over his Black Ice armor. The Bruiser’s attacks were being augmented by the poisonous vapors around them. That wouldn’t do. With a flex of his ether, Jibril’s Rimefrost Domain immediately clashed with the Aximilin’s smog and gave him enough breathing room to reinforce his Livery.

He thickened his Black Ice and took two pounding strides forward, then crashed into his opponent and carried him straight down the hall like a freight train. The fighters ended up in a large Alloywelding foundry with a single furnace dominating the center of the room.

Jibril forcefully tossed the Bruiser up and over, sending him sailing clear across the workshop. Without missing a beat, the Aximilin skillfully twisted in midair,  somersaulted and landed effortlessly on his feet. The Bruiser took advantage of the furnace separating them as he exhaled deeply and covered himself in a facsimile of medium armor— hooded tunic, breeches and bracers — all in a misty, caustic green.

Just as the last bit of faux-leather appeared, he vanished amidst his smoke. Jibril instantly went on high alert, expanding his Rimefrost Domain to cover the entire room — icing over the ground below, while gray-green smog dominated the air above.

The barest of footsteps smudged the frosted floor, immediately clueing Jibril as he hastily blocked a corrosive roundhouse aimed straight at his head. One of his lower tentacles counterattacked, swiping through the space the attack originated, but found only acidic smog that bubbled along his Livery. Another smudge came, followed by another block, this time from the other side.

Then another and another. High, then low. Right, back, front, left. More and more with the speed of attacks ramping up. Regardless of the increasingly frenetic pace, Jibril maintained his calm and kept up a steady rhythm of blocks — easily hastening his defense to keep pace with his enemy. A formless voice abruptly echoed through the mist, “You’re not half bad, Taxon. But let’s see how much you have left...”

The Bruiser’s momentum sped up even faster then, rapidly pockmarking the icy floor to the point that he left no more frost — completely depriving Jibril of what small advantage he had.

Unfortunately for his opponent, his speed no longer mattered. Jibril had everything he needed from the Aximilin. His reaction time, the pattern of his strikes, even the amount of ether the man was wasting on his circuits. In a sudden bright, white flash, Jibril blinded his opponent, filling the Bruiser’s vision with snowflake illusions.

The Aximilin stumbled for barely a second before he flared his Domain and ethereal armor on reflex. Then, relying on his ether senses, he launched a flurry of attacks where the Taxon should have been. Strike after strike, the Bruiser felt the crunching of armor and squelching of soft cephalopod flesh. What defense the intruder had, now gone. He could feel their ether waning in his senses and went in for the kill. Sending more energy into his reinforcing armor, the Aximilin’s gauntleted hand pierced directly through the Taxon’s gut. In an instant, his opponent’s ether signature winked out and the Bruiser smiled savagely.

“Ah, poor little Taxon-boy. You did well, but your luck had to run out some time. I’ll be sure to deal with your partner-in-crime next,” the Aximilin crooned. With a concentrated pulse of his ether, he clamped down on the illusions in his inner vision and squashed them under his will. Once his vision cleared, the Bruiser finally saw what he’d been striking… In front of him was an exact, crystalline ice replica of the Taxon with a hole in its midsection and shattered pieces crumbling off of its arms and head.

There was a suddenly wet schlickt and the Bruiser glanced down just in time to see his solar plexus split apart by a massive icicle shaped like a greatsword as it pierced straight through his Stomach Chamber. The frosty air behind him wavered then, revealing Jibril with his back tentacles braced for stability in an outstretched stance and holding the hilt of his Iceflow Carving.

With a firm, quick slash downward, he bisected the Aximilin from gut to groin, black-blue entrails spilling onto the floor. As the carcass thudded to the ground, Jibril released his circuits and the workshop defrosted all around him.

Sighing, he took out a glowing, green Alchemical potion from his storage, quaffing it one gulp — exponentially increasing his ether regeneration. “Aster is definitely going to take care of the next two. That Protectorate thug was more annoying than he was worth,” Jibril grumbled to himself as he released a heavy etherpulse throughout the foundry, instantly scanning the room from top to bottom. “Ah! There it is…” he exclaimed. “I hope the Master appreciates all this blighted hard work.”

He tramped across the room to a hidden section along the back wall. Even though he lacked the right security pulse code, he knew a ‘method.’ Without having to lift a tentacle, fine tendrils of his willpower controlled his Rimefrost Domain and in the next moment, the entire wall was flash frozen. Jibril casually rapped his tentacled knuckles to break his own ice, shards of frozen wall tinkling to the floor.

Peering inside the hole he’d just made, he found a large cache of matte gray ingots that were muted in his ether senses, similar to the workshop’s door. It was like looking at a blank space that resisted any of his attempts at prodding with his senses. Very, very odd. Jibril had never encountered a metal quite like this. No wonder his Master wanted it.

He swiftly stored everything into his interspatial bracelet, then left the same way he came in. And in less time than it takes for an incense stick to burn, he was back in front of Aster.

Jibril stood off to the side and gave her the courtesy of waiting just as she did for him. When she was finished finely chiseling a small channel of her Soul Verve, she opened her eyes and gave him an absolutely scathing look, “By the love of the Omicron, Jibril. I didn’t tell you to take that much time.”

The tinny smell of iron dust mingled with molten metalloy, choking the air of an Alloywelding foundry, stinging the nostrils and watering the eyes.  Taking up the entire far wall was a gigantic ether-furnace, burning a fierce and fiery green. In the middle of the room stood an anvil the size of a conference table — lines of scriptwork running around its sides, funneling energy to the incomplete pieces of metalloy being worked on.

Atop it lay an unfinished, matte gray skeleton nearly 14 feet from head to toe. Lines of ether permeated the large anvil, ensuring that the vatryx alloy bones stayed malleable. The ringing of metal on metal echoed through the room as Exos Dak-Kalpak hammered a femur nearly four feet long. Aside from the skull, this was the last artificial bone she had to make before the next step.

Hours later, the femur rested amidst the near complete skeleton. Pausing from her work, the Exos strode to a terminal opposite her furnace and called up one of her disciples. While none of them could hold a candle to her students of old, they had at least some potential. Besides, beggars couldn’t be choosers and in this era, Dak-Kalpak was behind the curve. Reincarnation had stripped her of both time and resources. So, she would make use of whatever tools lay at hand.

Rowshee quickly answered her summons, appearing in a holo-projection above the terminal, “Master,” his translucent head bowed, “How may I serve?”

“Prepare my Scriptsmithing workshop. Now,  comes the tedious part. You may join if you like, but you will only move when I say — speak only when spoken to. Do you understand?” the Exos demanded. Rowshee eagerly nodded his bulbous head, his  obsequiousness knowing no bounds, “Of course, Master, of course. It would be an honor to act as your assistant. I am yours to command.”

“Good. I want it ready within the day. I will meet you this time tomorrow,” she instructed.

Days passed by with Rowshee barely moving. The workshop had long since been smothered in the smell of ozone — of stale, burnt air.  Maybe once a day, the Exos would ask for a tool or for a small bump in ether supply. No matter what she wanted though, he was ready and willing to serve.

At some point, the days turned into weeks with the Exos utilizing his Metallurgic Domain as a continuous supply of ether-infused metal. The scriptwork around the room concentrated the ether density to high tier 0, easily footing the bill for Rowshee’s energy expenditure.

Dak-Kalpak used his fine, Metallurgic filaments as soldering metal for the detailed scriptwork she was writing on every inch of each artificial bone. No area was left untouched — the shaft, joint surfaces on either end, even the nooks and crannies of each articulating area along the short and irregularly shaped bones. It was tedious work, maybe even considered mind numbing by some.

But to Rowshee? It was the closest to nirvana he could experience. To watch a literal savant at work was his life’s dream, his purpose. This was art. A master sculpture. A deranged painter. A crazed musician. Her obsession for detail was a type of brilliance unto itself. The singular focus of each movement of her inscription pen gave him inspiration beyond anything he could ask for. Every script-symbol had its place, its purpose — merging to form a cohesive whole. Each line a poem. Each word picked specifically for what it could do in that single, unique place.

The femur took a month. The little bones of the ankle each took a week. The pelvis? That took nearly three months for all the ridges and holes it had. Then, there were the vertebrae, the wrist bones, shoulders, toes, fingers.

Eventually…years passed. Through it all, Rowshee didn’t dare budge once — his fear of interrupting his Master’s prolonged moment of zen silencing even the thought of complaining. He was but a tool and she, the maestro.

Fortunately, his Master’s workshop resided in a time-dilated riftworld. By the time she finally finished, only a fraction of real-time would have passed.  Regardless, the end was coming soon enough — she was soldering the final touches on the topmost vertebra of the neck, readying it for whatever skull she decided to use.

As the last bit of scriptwork was completed, the entire skeleton was suddenly engulfed in continuously changing flames — first red, then orange, then yellow, white, blue, green and back again — the fires signifying the integration of all her hard work.

While the embers burned, Dak-Kalpak took the chance to finally stand up to her full height, arching her back and stretching for the first time in a couple of years. Rarely had she needed to perform such intricate work since her reincarnation, but this was the first necessary step for her return to glory.

The original body she’d inhabited had served its primary purpose. Now, what lay in front of her were the beginnings of true power.  She glanced at her disciple — his usefulness at an end — giving him a curt nod to show he’d done an adequate job. Taking the hint, he hurriedly floated away on his metal disc, making sure to close the door behind him.

Now that she was all alone, Dak-Kalpak pulsed a sophisticated code to activate the scriptwork seals around her workshop. Instantly, the room became a riftworld unto itself — a world within a world. None could interfere with what came next. Though she’d transformed her once quadrupedal feline body, it did not have the foundation that she needed to ascend. However, her newly minted artificial skeleton...did.

With a thought, her Dark Lightning Domain rippled through the workshop, spreading gossamer strands of red-purple lightning wall to wall, floor to ceiling. She next infused her Gamma Storm into her Domain, multiplying its strength tenfold and changing the energy in the room to pure gamma radiation. Then, came her head and hair, a Neutron Shawl encasing them in a specially shaped helmet of ether.

Finally, the moment of truth…Dak-Kalpak firmed her resolve and with a swift schlickt, her skull came free of her body. Her cranium was quickly gathered up by threads of vibrant red-purple and carefully guided towards the skeleton on the table. Her Brain Chamber cycled furiously, giving her the minute control she needed for such a delicate operation.

As soon as her head made contact with the topmost cervical vertebra, every single Dark Lightning filament instantaneously retracted to coil around her now complete body — from the tips of her hair-cables to the tips of her brand new toes. Several long moments passed as indigo electricity combined with gamma radiation to form complex striations of ethereal musculature.

Then, as her skeleton grew tissue and tendons of pure Dark Lightning, she encased herself fully in her Neutron Shawl with a flick of her will, instantly sprouting a complete suit of tight-fitting plate armor that kept all of her energy contained. Lastly, for the coup de grace…a body-thick beam of her Pulsar’s Light materialized at the head of the table, bathing her entire silhouette in a rainbow of light so bright, all that could be seen was a blinding white. If Rowshee had stayed, he would have been incinerated to less than ash.

There the Exos lay, basking in the energy of a veritable neutron star — essentially baking her new body until it was completely fused. Over the course of a handful of hours, the once blazing energy gradually dimmed to a dull glow, then winked out, leaving the workshop in utter darkness.

Twin orbs of purple, streaked with black lines, blinked awake, illuminating the workshop in an eerie indigo. Immediately afterwards, a chain reaction followed. Bone by bone, countless lines of scriptwork shone in the same purplish hue, until each and every one was backlit against her vatryx metalloy skeleton.

A soft sigh of satisfaction escaped her violet-tinged metallic lips as she raised her matte grey skeletal hands to her eyes, admiring the beauty of her own crafting. She swept her senses across her new body, making sure everything was working as it should. Contented, she sat up at the edge of the table, then stood slowly, getting a feel for her drastically improved Physique. Where once she was limited by the boundaries of flesh, she was now only limited by the boundaries of her imagination.

This was one of the reasons — if not the main one — that her people, the Raidrians, had been silenced and scattered across the cosmos. The Celestial Powers that be could not appreciate that there was a third acceptable path of Etherforging — the path of crafting, of artisanry. They hated that she and her people had blazed a trail unlike any others before them. One that could elevate someone to the greatest heights of Etherforging by the pure strength of their mind and the steadiness of their hands.

She had entered the room in her leonine shell, a mere Named Soul, and now? Dak-Kalpak would leave as a full fledged Exos.

Chapter 1

Pyremane‘s Gift

Fabricated winds blew over heated metallic walkways crisscrossing precinct 17-K, weaving between high rises and skyscrapers made of reinforced stone that were covered in scriptwork of all shapes and sizes as if it were graffiti art. Metalloy bridges connected each precinct, towering above artificial, infinity lakes that spilled over their edges, extending past the horizon and wrapping around to the undercarriage of a satellite ring the size of continents.

Orbiting around Boifon, which was the low-tier 1 capital planet of this particular star zone — the satellite ring looked more like a jumbo sized hula hoop surrounding the world. The streets opened up directly to the vacuum of space, sealed off only by a multi-layered ether-shield that sheltered the residents from the void. Boifon itself was a planet of yellow oceans without any significant landmasses. The natives were an underwater species, whose cities were nomadic, floating to and fro — riding along deep-sea currents.

Jonx, Zozka and Kettle had decided to hitch a ride with the Rootstar all the way to the capital. Though the natives made their homes in the seas, the major players of the world lived on the satellite space station in orbit. The planet itself was only good for farming riftworlds, which was the sole reason Boifon was valued so highly.

Commander Narlos only allowed them passage because of Jonx’s battlefield promotion to full fledged, company grade officer — otherwise, they would have been delivered to a tier 2 world like the Sokowan refugees. As a result, Jonx and company had spent another few months in transit, only having reached Boifon several weeks ago.

Using his very generous reward of merit points from Narlos for his timely assistance in the final battle, Jonx was able to rent out a berth to house his and Zozka’s ships. It even came with a living space above, so he was pretty much set for the time being. It was a disconcerting thought that he was ‘fortunate’ enough to be constantly throwing himself into life and death battles for a government that he didn’t really care about. Luckily the pay was good because they kept him swimming in merit points. If not for all his ‘fortuitous encounters,’ he’d be a destitute beggar on the street.

His musings were interrupted by a rolling, watery bulge, gliding towards him as he sat atop his neon green surfboard, drifting on yellow waves. “Oh, this’ll be a good one,” he thought as he flopped onto his stomach, paddling with the incoming swell just before it broke the surface. The wave grew exponentially then, raising him and his board up and up until he finally felt it crest, crescendo, then peak, causing the wave to roll into itself to form a pipeline.

At the last moment, he effortlessly jumped to his feet, bending his knees for balance and angling his board straight into the wave’s tube, bright yellow ocean spray soaking him through and through. Sliding inside the pipeline, his left hand trailed along the shoulder of amber water, guiding him as he rode the wave out to the shoals.

Jonx had been surfing for nearly a week straight after he settled himself on Boifon station. This planet was a paradise to him and he planned on staying for a looooonnggg time. Light splashing came from his right as Kettle played in the blond-colored ocean like she was a pelican — dipping her snout under the surface and peeking around at the sea life beneath.  Occasionally, the little mutt would use her Stasis Grasp to hook a weak enough fish, levitating it out of the water so she could gorge on it right then and there.

He cast his gaze skyward to Boifon’s sun shining overhead, a soft blue-white reflected on amber waves. Then, he sent an etherpulse around him in a concentric circle, catching the presence of another set of waves coming in just to the left. He quickly paddled his board over as he left a golden trail in his wake.

The next wave swelled to nearly 20 feet, crested then peaked to form another barrel for him to surf. On and on, swell after swell, he wasted away his afternoon, lazing about and enjoying the warm Boifonese weather.

Sunset found him lying on his back atop his surfboard, hands behind his head with his feet crossed, while daydreaming and watching pale yellow clouds floating high above. He’d really needed some R&R after the siege and battle to escape Sokowa. And here, on Boifon, he had the time to finally just take it easy. So, he just lay there, adrift on golden waves, not even noticing as evening rolled into night, while he gazed up at alien constellations — losing himself in memories of home.

Another three days passed by before Jonx found himself back on Boifon station, carefree and ready to finally take a look at the corpse of the red-mohawked Clove. The months they’d spent on the Rootstar had been largely spent licking their wounds and taking care of the Sokowan refugees. By the time he came to Boifon, he wasn’t anywhere near the right mental head space to delve into the carcass. He needed time away from the recent trauma of losing another world.

But now? A week and a half long surf trip was like an emotional reset button. With his head and heart calm and steady, now was the time to see exactly what he’d picked up.

Jonx pulled out a Scriptsmithed butcher’s block from his storage, placing it right in the middle of the hangar housing his ship, The Silver Surfer. He’d be an idiot to do this in his apartment — the smell of it would permanently stink the place up.

He bent down and installed a dense ether crystal into the block to fire up the preservation scriptwork in preparation for the dissection. Immediately, a bubble of energy blinked into existence over the table, completely sealing in any ambient ether that might try to escape as the body was cut into. Delicately, Jonx placed the Clovenkind corpse on its back atop the block and took out his personal butchering tools.

Kirby, his AI, automatically transposed fine blue lines, visible only to Jonx’s sight, that crisscrossed the Clove’s carcass. They would make the dissection much, much easier. With a smooth schlikt, he sliced open the feline’s abdomen. Wet squelching filled the room as he stuffed Gravitic gloved hands into the innards — bluntly using his fingers to move and peel away layers of muscle, fat and tendons. Sloshing around in there, he was looking for the mutant’s Stomach Chamber. This creature had been a Soul Verve — two whole stages above him. Its Chamber would be a treasure unto itself.

He suddenly nicked something because all he got was a squirt to the face, temporarily blinding him before he flashed a bit of his Plasma Domain to quickly burn the blood off of him. “Gross,” he thought, then manifested a pair of Gravitic goggles before he delved back in. Eventually he felt a slick, hardened lump the size of two fists put together. “Bingo! Found you, you little nugget of gold,” he exclaimed to himself. An age-old greed rose up within him once again. There was something sickeningly addictive to finding sweet, sweet treasure. It was the same reason he hoarded so much stuff in his interspatial storage devices. But considering he was going to live for hundreds of years, he figured he needed a hobby. So why not collecting treasures?

He didn’t want to let the Chamber get lost amidst the viscera, so he quickly conjured Gravitic needles to pin back all the other guts and gore to keep them out of the way. At long last, he visualized his prize — a J-shaped pouch of pure Crystallized ether. It had so many facets that it could pass as smooth at first glance, but closer inspection would show the innumerable edges. Connected to the main Chamber was the rest of the Crystallized portions: the duodenum, jejunum, ileum and colon. Just like with his own Brain and Heart Chambers, a Crystallized Stomach reconstituted other parts of the Digestive system to sequentially sublimate gaseous ether into a solid — thus, increasing its potency manifold.

Following the line of reinforced intestines, Jonx kept making indigo needles, pinning more and more of the viscera back until he was finished with isolating the entire tract that he needed. Then, he summoned a fingertip sized blowtorch of Plasma — carefully, delicately, he burned away at the tendons and fascia holding the complete Chamber in place. Job done, he quickly stored the Stomach Chamber, then sent a fine pulse of Plasma over his knives to clean them all off.  He went ahead and did the same thing for his bodysuit, before he said, “Alright, Kirbs. You ready for your turn?”

“Yessiree, ready and raring to go,” his AI eagerly confirmed. In the next moment, Jonx split his mind in two and allowed his consciousness to take the backseat, giving Kirby full control. The AI seamlessly took over, flipping the corpse onto its, now eviscerated, abdomen and prepared to delve into the spinal column of the Clove.

Kirby began by slicing his scalpel up and down on either side of the red strip of fur that ran the length of the Clove’s back. Then, with a brief flash of his Raiments, he reinforced his body just enough to rip the flap of red fur completely off, easily revealing the many bony spines of the vertebral column. Copying Jonx’s Plasma finger-torch, Kirby sizzled his way along the bone plates to reveal the precious, slimy spinal cord underneath. And what he saw was much more than he thought possible.

The AI’s original goal had been to simply cut out the Clove’s AI ganglion to cannibalize it, but one glance at the central nervous system shocked him.  Intricately woven black wires permeated throughout the entire spinal cord. And at each nerve segment were much thicker cables running deeper into the cold flesh of the corpse.

“What in the hell…” the AI trailed off in an awed tone. “… There are script-symbols at each connection point on these cables…I don’t know them all, but I definitely recognize them as Dak’s archaic language…” Quirking a mental eyebrow, Jonx asked, “Do AI ganglions usually have those? We’ve dissected a lot of these over the years, but I’ve never seen this.”

“Ya, that’s my point, Jonxo. Nothing in my databanks show that this should even be possible,” Kirby elaborated. Highlighting a number of symbols in his mind’s eye, he projected them in their HUD, “See these? I know enough general scriptwork that these are for augmentation.” Then, he highlighted the others, “Now, these are from Dak-Kalpak. I saw enough of them when I was trying to clear out her leftover control markings in my AI framework.”

“Ok…and…? We still don’t know what any of those do,” Jonx pointed out. “Well, that may not be entirely true. I’ve been spending some time trying to rebuild bits and pieces of it from what we’ve encountered so far. It’s difficult because there’s not really any jumping off point, but I’m fairly certain that this symbol…,” Kirby enlarged a specific one on the HUD, “…is for repeated overloading of an ether circuit. This one along with the augmentation script that I already know…I think this entire network of cables is meant to do what your Overclock circuit used to — only on a far more drastic scale.”

“Sounds to me like it’s for emergencies. Kind of like when a boss in a game goes berserk,” observed Jonx. “Uhh…ya, we can go with that, if that helps you. ANYwho,” Kirby rolled his eyes, “Some of those symbols are burnt out at the edges, which means that the Clove already used it — though obviously, it didn’t help her.”

Reaching out with his scalpel, Kirby leaned in closer to scrape off some of the burnt flakes around one of the used symbols. In a blink, the non-charred cables suddenly fwipped out, latching themselves onto his wrist as if it were a living octopus. Instantly, his Plasma Domain covered his hand and electrocuted the wires to a burnt crisp.

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to do because every unburnt symbol, up and down the spinal column, suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree. Dozens and dozens of slender metalloy tendrils struck at him then, rapidly covering both arms in throbbing, black veins. Kirby barely had time to suck in a breath before the veins moved even faster — for every 11 that his Plasma incinerated, one continued spreading out. The one split into two, then six, then 12 — like a goddamned symbiote from Spider-Man — it just kept coming.

Before Kirby knew it, his whole upper body looked as though he were being swallowed by living black ink. Jonx mentally screamed, “No, no, no, no, no! Not again!” The wires squirmed and squiggled across his face — his PTSD on full blast before darkness tried to sweep him off his feet.

“Not this fucking time!” yelled Jonx as he took control back from Kirby. Thrumming with ether, he instantly cranked up his Plasma Domain and Gravitic Raiments — pushing his will against the blackness encroaching on his vision. Growling and gritting his teeth, he flexed his willpower as if he were trying to fuse his circuits again — his focus sharpening fivefold, tenfold, twentyfold.

Like a specter, the corpse on the table picked itself up, appearing to be fully healed with life brimming behind its eyes. “Herald,” it inclined its head, “I wasn’t expecting to see you, but it seems our Master is not done with us.” Jonx was quick to correct it, “She is not my master, Clove.”

“My name is Pyremane, weakling! And even in this form, I am above you,” she snarled. “You will not disrespect her.”

A not-so-subtle threat — one accompanied by raging flames, streaked with soot and ash, which formed fiery plate armor, smoke rising from her head and shoulders. Jonx answered with his own neon Plasma rings, enveloping his Raiments in a corona of energy.

In a flash, Pyremane was off the table, jumping in the air with her tail whizzing to hit his shoulder like a wrecking ball and immediately cracking his purple-blue armor. At the speed of thought, he reformed the shoulder piece while simultaneously conjuring twin Ether Anchors to stab them anywhere he could. Fwip fwip, one missed but the other scored a hit in her thigh, just above the knee.

A billowing ball of black-fire crashed into the side of his jaw then, instantly shattering his face guard and horned helmet — stopped only by his Plasma powered under armour. In half a second, Jonx rotated his Brain Chambers to augment his perception and give him enough time to process the Clove’s speed. Pyremane was an absolute monster, in more ways than one.

While in his heightened state, Jonx ramped up his Heart Chamber to eke out more output from his Raiments. Both the internal and external empowering portions of his Soul circuit became supercharged with power, giving him just enough speed to keep up. Against all odds, he snapped a roundhouse at his opponent. Pyremane made the mistake of catching it on her forearms, only to find that she’d been catapulted across the hangar.

The Clove nimbly spun in the air to land deftly on her rear paws. She had barely settled, before she pounced, flaring her soot-stained Domain and stifling the warehouse in grimy flames. Jonx blitzed ahead to meet her in midair.

Crimson versus indigo.

The combatants proceeded to dart around the hangar, constantly clashing back and forth at breakneck speeds. Flashbangs of Plasma against black-stained fire. His Raiments split apart and fractured at the same speed that they closed up and reformed. Meanwhile, his opponent’s red armor was taking a beating, but somehow still holding firm. It was painfully obvious to Jonx.

He was losing. Not badly. But, his power just wasn’t enough to maintain this pace.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a second purple-clad figure crashed into the Clove, thick whips of Plasma wrapping her up like a boa constrictor. Kirby had manifested in his man-sized dogolin form ensconced in his own samurai-themed Gravitic Raiments — quickly evening out the odds.

Pyremane growled through a mouth filled with sharpened fangs, then exploded her armor outward like a grenade, ethereal pieces of shrapnel shredding her constraints to give her some breathing room.

It barely mattered though, now that it was two on one, the pair had a fighting chance. In a detonation of hyper-charged particles and smoky embers, the roof of the hangar blew off and the trio of fighters zipped into the simulated skies of Boifon station — twin shooting stars of purple spun through the air with a single streak of angry red between them.

Their waves of energy split the air with peals of thunder. Fortunately, the streets below and the surrounding buildings were devoid of people in the fake mindscape that Jonx found himself in. As soon as he’d seen Kirby appear wearing his dogolin form, Jonx had known. He was hoping to avoid this situation after he saw those black wires, but obviously he still wasn’t strong enough.

Since collateral damage didn’t matter here, he was going to take advantage of it. While Kirby kept their enemy occupied, Jonx held back, conjuring half a dozen Chaos Orbs floating around either hand. Then, clenching his fists as he used Ramjets to rapidly fire them like mortar shells. Meanwhile, Kirby swiftly appeared behind Pyremane, letting Jonx’s attacks explode on impact in a cacophony of Chaos energy. Amidst the confusion, Jonx and his AI switched positions before the dust could settle.

Now, it was his turn to provide melee cover, while Kirby made his move. He unceremoniously thwacked the Clove out of the sky with a heavy, spinning indigo roundhouse — white fur streaking through an empty apartment building like a comet, caving in the entire structure.

Too bad Pyremane didn’t even feel it. Bolstered by her Domain and ethereal armor, she was nigh impregnable. A whirlwind of ash and flame immediately threw the rubble away as she rocketed  back into the air.

Hastily, Jonx shot Chaos Orbs powered by Ramjets at her, trying to predict where she would be, not where she was. It forced her to barrel roll over and over — distracting her from whatever Kirby was building in the distance. Zipping upward, Pyremane whipped out dual black-fire lassos, easily knocking aside his projectiles as she whirled like some sort of ribbon dancer, searing the air to a crisp.

A feral grin spread out on her face then, all fangs and vitriol, as she taunted gleefully, “You’ll have to do better than that, Herald! I don’t know what our Master saw in you. My brother- and sister-disciples will surely break you!”

At that exact moment, Kirby finished setting up a multitude of vertices in the surrounding area, instantly flooding them with ether and trapping all three of them in a massive Gravitic icosahedron. As soon as the last point appeared in the three-dimensional prison, the dogolin drowned them in a scintillating deluge of his Plasma Domain. Undulating waves of ionic energy immediately dominated the trapped space, wresting control of all the charged particles within range and snuffing out the Clove’s infernal circuits.

“Ha! You need your AI to deal with me? How pitiful,” Pyremane taunted, “Tsk, you don’t even know how to use your Soul circuits, do you?” She then raised both white-furred arms high above her head, meeting Jonx’s eyes as she shouted in challenge, “Look well, Herald. This is how a Soul Verve fights!”

In the next moment, Jonx and Kirby felt a sudden, overbearing pressure coming from above, pressing them down as if a giant’s hand were descending. The pair could no longer stay aloft in the air. They were forced to crash down to the bottom of their own Gravitic cage and even then, they could barely stay standing under the pressure.

Jonx stared up in utter disbelief at what he saw. High above them, outside of the icosahedron, hovered a titanic, roiling, miniature sun colored a deep orange and veined with black. Between its size and proximity, what must have been another Soul circuit practically eclipsed Boifon’s real sun. A sudden realization struck him then, lost in the grandeur of such power. “She must have been building that this whole time…h-how do we deal with that…” he whispered.

“Eyes up. Stay sharp, Jonx! Don’t lose your focus!” Kirby yelled to snap him out of his stupor. Then, the pressure doubled, tripled, quadrupled, as the sun began to fall out of the sky. Jonx desperately erected simple Gravitic cages around himself, layered tenfold in an instant and surrounded by a bubble of Plasma. Next to him, Kirby barely had enough time to do the same just before Pyremane’s attack battered the icosahedron.

DING…the sound of a ringing bell, of a gong being struck, of glass shattering — and of the sky falling. As if the hand of god had laid waste to the entire neighborhood, a gargantuan crater was all that remained. Ash and embers blurring its bottom.

Pyremane hovered in midair, wearing her Ashen Raiments once more and engulfed by her Acridflame Domain. Arms crossed, she looked down at her handiwork, positively gloating, “You fragile, feeble worms. Two of you can’t even match my power in death. Too bad you didn’t bring your commander in this mindscape. Maybe then you’d have put up a better fight.”

A clattering of pebbles and rubble being pushed aside came from the bowels of the crater as a bloody but unbroken man and his dogolin stood defiantly against their common enemy. Spitting out a tooth with a mouthful of sanguine phlegm, Jonx growled, “God, I fucking hate this little shit…” quirking a bleeding eyebrow, he glanced at Kirby with his broken scales caked in blood, “…you ready to do this, Kirbo?”

Jonx didn’t need a response though, he knew the answer. Without missing a beat, he sucked in a shuddering breath, then split his mind six ways. In the next breath, man and dogolin blurred together — afterimage overlaid atop afterimage — until, only a single human was left. His Gravitic Raiments blinked into existence, all 14 feet of an ethereal, indigo samurai.  Then, like a flashbang, his Plasma Domain thundered around him in a neon halo of charged particles. Dedicating three parts of his mind to the task, Kirby effortlessly engraved his Raiments with the scriptwork they’d seen on Pyremane’s spinal cord. So what if neither of them knew what all of the symbols did. It wouldn’t matter if they came out of the mindscape as a pair of brain dead husks.

They were both willing to risk it all. Right here. Right now.

While Kirby carved, Jonx whispered to himself like some kind of mantra, “Go big or go home. Go big or go home. Go big. Or go home.” Just as the last symbol appeared, he flexed his will and said, “Fuck it,” then triggered the scriptwork sequence.

Instantly, a torrential outpouring of ether gushed out of him, swallowing him whole in a pillar of ionic power that reached to the heavens. Pyremane’s shrieks of indignation could barely be heard from within the outburst of energy, “Aggghhh! Those symbols are sacred! They’re not for you!” She flared her Domain, racing to the ground and aiming straight at the base of the pillar. She never made it. A hypersonic blur instantaneously blinded her. All she heard was a fwoosh before she found herself plastered into the very crater that she’d made. Uninjured but confused, she couldn’t even look at Jonx because she’d been slammed face first. Worst of all, her opponent was now radiating the ether signature of a blighted Soul Cast.

Howling like a spoiled brat, she buried her face in the dirt and debris and wailed, “You stole that from me! That’s my power. Mine!” Jonx was firmly holding her down by the nape of her neck. The more she struggled the further he shoved down, pinning her with relative ease. He could barely believe what the scriptwork had done — forcing him to advance an entire stage in an instant? It was ludicrous. It was a goddamned cheat code. No wonder the Clovenkind that Dak-Kalpak sent out were so powerful.

Ash stained flames suddenly erupted from beneath his gauntleted hand, shattering the surrounding rocks and rubble, and engulfing the entire crater in hellfire once more. Jonx barely felt it, though. Waves of conflagration tried to wash him away but his Domain was immovable — a neon bastion against the heat. His hand, like a lead weight, held the Clove in place, slightly struggling, but stable.

Grunting with the strain, two of his mind partitions activated his Brain Chamber to try something new. He stayed kneeling on his opponent, weathering the tempest of flames, then extended his free arm above his head, fingers splayed, as if he was straining to grasp something just out of reach.

In his upturned palm, he began molding an Ether Anchor, pumping it full of solid state ether, his will stretching it out like ethereal clay. A blueprint appeared in his mind’s eye next, of a bladed spear as tall as he was in his armor, from butt to tip. Jonx clenched down with his intent and the once imaginary naginata snapped into reality, directly coalescing in his waiting hand.

He wasn’t done though. His Brain Chamber was providing him the luxury of slowed time with his heightened perception and he was going to use it. The other half of his manic inspiration came into being then. Sheets of ionized rock manifested out of thin air to wrap his Anchor-naginata via his Meteorite circuit, infusing his fledgling construct with enough mass that it began to generate its own gravitational pull. Jonx couldn’t feel it however, since his Gravitic Raiments had their own gravity forces.

Pyremane could sense the swelling of energy above her. It was substantial enough to finally make her panic for the first time in the entire fight. She struggled harder then. Blazing her Acridflame Domain, while digging her hands by her sides to try and push up from the floor. “C’mon! He’s weaker than me! I am one of Master’s core disciples!” she railed in her head. But, the thoughts came out hollow. In the back of her mind, she knew that she’d already lost when the Pentumvirate Commander had killed her. What was fighting back now was merely an echo of who she once was.

Meanwhile, Jonx pressed down harder with one hand as he continuously fed more and more power into the naginata of solid jade in his other. With so much ether, the construct even began distorting the very black-streaked flames attempting to burn him like a witch at the stake. The fires warped and twisted, until they too were clinging to his jade naginata.

And then…SCHLIKT…Jonx stabbed the bladed spear straight into the middle of his enemy’s back, instantly severing her spinal cord in one swift motion, then moving on to pierce directly into her Stomach Chamber.

There was a moment of eerie silence, where time stood still and the flames writhed around him as if he were kneeling in the center of an aurora borealis made of demonic hellfire. And in the next second, the stillness was shattered by a flood of ether bursting out of Pyreman’s back. Streams of power spewed upward, but immediately curved back down, answering the pull of his Anchor-Meteorite combination. His reserves fed ravenously on the energy for barely a split second before it was all stolen away to Kirby’s AI ganglion.

“Sorry, Jonxo. I’m taking this one. It’s mindscape energy, not ether. This is what I wanted to dissect her AI for,” Kirby said. Then, the AI stepped out of Jonx’s shadow, dressed in his man-sized dogolin form once more and holding his paws out wide as if he wanted to hug the torrential surge.

Kirby inhaled deeply and the dream world shuddered. With each breath, he sucked in more energy, destabilizing the mindscape further and further. Time stretched out again, this time freezing even Jonx as his AI wrangled with the veritable tsunami of power. Every breath Kirby took was a lesson in agony. Each inhalation seared the pathways of his framework. While his exhalations flash froze them in preparation of the next breath. After what felt like hours, the AI was nearly finished. As he took in the last dregs of energy, Jonx’s perception jarred back to the simulated reality just in time to see his inner vision crack like a broken TV screen.

In the next moment, the whole mindscape finally shattered and he shot back awake, desperately gasping for air. His Forged body was fine and his ether circuits weren’t even strained, but his head. Oh lord, his head. It still felt like his brain was being boiled alive by soot-stained flames. Jonx fought against the double vision and found that he was still standing in the hangar. Still elbow deep in the corpse’s spine, as if nothing had even happened. He took deep, wracking breaths, until the pounding in his head finally subsided to dull embers. Just enough for him to form a coherent thought.

Fortunately, Kirby took the liberty and spoke first, “Well, that was a mindfuck and a half, wasn’t it? If not for your last minute flaring of your Soul circuits, I think Pyremane would have sucked us into a way more powerful mindscape.” The AI sent a mental head nod, “You did good, pig. You did good.”

“Really? I’m the pig now?” Jonx asked, indignant. “Ya, that’s right. You want me to play it in your head right now? Because I’ll do it…” his AI teased. “No, no, no! Let’s just, uhhhh, see what we got from that nightmare we just slogged through,” Jonx said hastily as he pulled his hands out of the flesh and blood of the Clove. With a small pulse of his Domain, he scrubbed himself clean, then pulled up his readout.

Name: Cedrick ‘Jonx’ Jonkheer

AI: Kirby

Class: Expert Senex

Professions:

Rank:

1. Culinarian

Master

Body Preparation Realm:

Stage: Ether-Forged x7

Specialized Physique: Potentiation Body (Modified x1)

Grade: Peak

Anatomical Systems Reforged:

Rank:

1. Musculoskeletal

7th

2. Circulatory

7th

3. Nervous (Modified x2)

7th

4. Respiratory

7th

5. Digestive

7th

Body Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Ether Anchor (Modified x2, Peak Grade)

Peak

2. Chaos Orb (Modified x1, Peak Grade)

Peak

Crystallized Realm:

Stage: Crystallized x4

Ether Concept:

Dynamo Force

Dual Chambers:

Anatomy Transformed:

1. Brain

Corpus Callosum, Frontal Lobe, Parietal Lobe, Temporo-Occipital Lobe, Brain Stem

2. Heart

Ascending Aorta, Left Atrium, Left Ventricle, Right Ventricle, Right Atrium

Crystal Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Ramjets (Modified x1, High Grade)

Peak

2. Meteorite (High Grade)

Peak

Soulforged Realm:

Stage: Soul Mold (Irregular)

Soul Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Plasma Domain (Peak Grade)

Peak

2. Gravitic Raiments (Peak Grade)

Expert

3. Blank

4. Blank

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed aloud. “Expert Senex? You jumped up two whole ranks?” Mentally preening, Kirby answered with glee, “Ohhhhhhh yaaaaa, baby! She had a Journeyman Senex and we just beat the crap out of her with her own toys. It’s no wonder I got such a massive upgrade!”

His AI abruptly paused their celebration for a long moment as the HUD in his vision began to flicker, then Kirby slowly spoke, “…Fuck me, Jonxy… it looks like she had the introductory and intermediate guides for Dak-Kalpak’s ‘mysterious script-symbols.’ We may have just hit the motherload.”

Chapter 2

Walk Before You Run

Zozka checked over her list of supplies one last time before she officially sealed herself away. While Jonx had spent the last week or so gallivanting on the surface for what he called, ‘R&R,’ she had spent her time preparing for her next advancement. Her Stomach Chamber was already on its fourth Crystallization, so she was set there. And the time they had spent jumping into the riftworlds of Sokowa had given her enough ether to raise her Forged body to rank six — the minimum threshold for Soulforged.

Now, here on Boifon, she had every other resource that she would need at her claw tips. It had the densest ether saturation of any planet she’d ever been on, though admittedly, this was only her third planet to ever visit. Regardless, the point still stood.

Beyond that, the Pentumvirate had quite literally showered her in merit points for her timely assistance with the escape of the two highest ranking officers their forces had on Sokowa. Her rewards weren’t as plentiful as her friend’s, but she had more than enough to fund her upcoming Etherforging session.

The markets of Boifon station were rife with some of the highest quality crafting goods she had ever laid her serpentine eyes upon. Masterwork Alchemical potions and Culinarian meals abounded like common materials. If she wanted to splurge, she could have even gotten Peakwork crafting items. In all of Barafin, there wasn’t a single Peakwork item, unless it had been buried deep with some old monster of a Forger.

Fortunately for her, she only had to spend points on Masterwork potions. Jonx had given her a slew of Masterwork meals, all sat rated above 350%. “He’s a damned monster himself,” Zozka thought wryly. If anyone else ever heard his Forging story, they’d immediately hate him with a burning passion.

The human had come from a newly etherformed world, where he’d essentially cheated his way to the Crystallized realm. Then, he’d had a fortuitous, albeit deadly, encounter with an entity that was on the most powerful stage under the Celestial Ascension realm. One who had given him a phikkin legacy to pave his Way of Etherforging. She didn’t even know something like that existed. After all, the universe was a vast place and Zozka had just begun exploring it. His path thus far had, for all intents and purposes, been paved in gold.

To top it all off, he’d had the time to reach Master Culinarian. All in the span of less than two bintsniffing decades. But…she wasn’t jealous. Nope, not one bit.

She couldn’t be. Not any more. She’d seen him throw himself into dangers, far beyond what other Forgers would have done, time and time again. The man never stopped. It was if he was drawn to life and death situations like a moth to a flame.

And, if she were being honest with herself…she wouldn’t be as advanced as she was if not for him. If anything, she probably would have ended up as a mindless drone for the Soul Verves that invaded Barafin and Sokowa.

No, Zozka had no more hatred for the one she’d once called, ‘Maskless.’ They’d had too many years and too many battles together. He was her fellow den warrior. One of the best she’d ever known.

And, now — now was the time to join him in the next realm.

While the Pentumvirate had given her merit points, Clan Bannermanes had promoted her to an independent field operative after this branch had received a glowing recommendation from her original Clanmaster, Gresh. As part of that promotion, they gave her the use of an Etherforging room and a guide for Clovenkind Forgers to advance to Soul Mold.

Unlike those on the more ‘mainstream’ path of Forging, where Soul Mold was a way to come to terms with who they were — Clovenkind Forgers used their Soul Mold as a way to decide on who they wanted to be.

Her Avalanche Domain had already reshaped her body somewhat, but it was temporary — only active when the Soul circuit was in use. This was her opportunity to reshape her body permanently.

With a firm resolve and a soft etherpulse, she activated the scriptwork of her Clan’s basement Forging room. Instantly, the low-tier 1 ether of Boifon station intensified to high-tier. The energy rampaged like a typhoon through her channels, permeating her all the way from the tip of her tail to the wings of her Elapid hood. She was brimming with so much power that her ivory scales were nearly translucent — lighting her up like a lamp.

Stamping the raging ether down with pure willpower, she hastily gulped down a Masterwork potion and instantly skyrocketed her already high sat rate by another 300%. If she was a lamp before, now she was a burning bush.

Taking rapid, shallow breaths, she had to focus further to control the storm of energy. It had to be redirected somewhere, so she chose her first physical adaptation — a pair of legs.

There were different types of limbs she could have chosen from, but she’d decided on digitigrade legs, which were the legs of a raptor. A predator. They would make her jump higher and run faster, which was perfect for her style of combat.

As if she were trying to forcefully divert a river, the ether resisted her efforts to be tamed. Zozka had to dig deeper into herself than she’d ever done before, willing imaginary dams within her channels to alter the energy’s path. If she couldn’t control it, then she could at least divert it. Her thoughts just barely stayed ahead of the deluge of power thundering through her system. Pathway by pathway, she bent and bowed, then contorted and curved, until all of the energy was aimed exactly where she wanted it to be.

Just below her torso and above the beginnings of her Elapid tail, blinding, excruciating pain threatened to overwhelm her as her nervous system grew new synapses, new nerve roots, branches and plexuses — preparing to innervate her new limbs.

Two bulging stumps of flesh came next.  She held the image of what she wanted steadfast in her mind’s eye as she continued to push ether into her budding legs, willing the next step to start. Her wish came true as creaking and clacking came from deep within her flesh. New bones were growing out of her spinal column.

Several of her vertebrae then began to fuse together. Malleable. Reshaping to be a pelvis. The nerves that had been growing rapidly intertwined over, under and through her new pelvic bones.

Next came her femurs. Bones from her tail slurping together and congealing into long shafts. Kneecaps squeezed off the ends and hardened just as nerves came spiraling down her thigh bones. More of her tail vertebrae slithered down her growing legs to form her shin bones that were angled backwards — one of the key advantages of a raptor’s limbs.

Lastly, long, clawed feet grew at an angle opposite the shin bones, completing the spring-like skeletal structure that would grant her the speed and power of an apex predator. Nerves came after, spiderwebbing along her newly Molded legs, bringing with them novel sensations that she never experienced.

It was at this moment, that the once raging storm of energy began to dwindle, unable to sustain the rapid and unnatural growth of her fledgling body.  Desperately, she quaffed another potion and began chewing on a Masterwork meal to keep the ether rapidly thundering through her body once more, feeding her malnourished limbs.

Not wanting to get that close to failure again, she kept up her eating and drinking, all the while breathing in the high-tier 1 ether. Now that the process had begun, redirecting the energy became much easier. The hardest part was complete and the glut of resources now had a place to go.

From her new skeletal legs came sinew — the tendons and ligaments that would unite bone to bone and bone to muscle. As the organic wires grew to form a framework, muscles began to sprout, filling in the various nooks and crannies.

The musculature was the slowest part of the process thus far. Multiple muscle fibers had to grow so they could be made into bundles. Then, numerous bundles had to be bound into muscle bellies. All the while, every piece along the way had to be wrapped in a thin layer of connective tissue.

Time passed as striated flesh was layered one on top of the other. Zozka made sure to maintain a steady stream of Etherforging supplements to keep pace with her energy expenditure. Once the muscles had all grown strong and healthy, they had to be innervated with a nerve supply as well.

On and on, the clock ticked by. Nerves burrowed deeply through flesh from the bones. All over her legs, she could feel muscles twitching as they were being tested out by her central nervous system. Fast twitch fibers. Slow twitch fibers. Reflexes. The whole nine yards.

She lay on the floor panting, in the fetal position, with her new knees hugged to her chest for the first time in her life. But the process still wasn’t complete, for what was flesh without skin and scales?

More potions, more meals and more breathing made up the trifecta of absorbing ether. Her sat rate was through the roof, clocking in at just above 700%. Yet she didn’t even feel it. Her Molding body was a black hole with no limit in sight.

Oblong patches of skin blossomed in random places across her musculature. Dermal layer atop dermal layer. As they formed, the patches rippled outward, covering more and more surface area. The topmost layer of skin then began to indent, outlining a pattern of scales, which swiftly enlarged and hardened to match the rest of her body.

Until finally, her new raptor legs were complete. But, that was only the first part. She wasn’t quite done Molding yet.

Much of her tail had been compromised to form the bones of her additional limbs. Now, she was left with nothing but a stub for a back end. Left this way, Zozka knew that it would throw her off balance and limit one of her prime modes of attack.

While she was still overflowing with ether, she envisioned another part of her Mold — a new tail.  She’d decided on a pair rather than a single one. The ether-beasts she fought in rifts had so many tail varieties that she lost count. But, she remembered just how much of a pain it had been to fight those with more than one. This was her chance to be a pain to others.

Taking what few bones she had left in her tail, she overloaded them with energy — warping them, stretching them, as if they were putty. Once each tail vertebrae was sufficiently lengthened, she flexed her will and cleanly chopped them in half — then, split the halves again. Like cutting up a vegetable, Zozka essentially cubed each bone, which was followed by bisecting the flesh of her tail.

Swiftly, she supplied the pieces with ether and they puffed up to two full-sized appendages. Hardened ivory scales rapidly rippled up and down their length to the tips, where she formed hidden needles that would be a secret weapon for injecting her circuits if need be.

Zozka had dreams of poisoning her enemies with her Corrosive Squall from directly within their bloodstreams. Were her dreams a little violent? Maybe. But in this universe, might made right, and she always wanted to be right.

Done with the major changes of her budding Soul Mold, it was time to merge her Soul circuit into her very being. Still curled up in the fetal position, her breathing became deeper, expanding her lungs to their maximum capacity — preparing for the part where most Clovenkind failed.

She wasn’t as practiced at partitioning her mind as Jonx, but she still managed a two way split. Her secondary portion held the image of her newly formed body in her mind’s eye — while the main portion summoned her Avalanche Domain to gently cradle her balled up frame in a cocoon of hard packed snow.

Just as she had done when she’d first fused her Soul circuit, Zozka inhaled her own Domain. Time seemed to freeze at the same time as her insides, making it nearly impossible for her to breathe. But this was her power. It didn’t control her. She controlled it.

Sharpening her willpower and wringing it out for all it was worth, she forcibly bent her Domain to fit her body. She haphazardly shoved and stuffed it into the bows and bends and the curves and crevices of her innards. Her intention was to cram herself chock full with the power of Avalanche until there was no room left.

There, using the crucible of her Soul circuit, she completed her Mold. As a female Elapid, she tended to be bulkier than the males of her race, so she leaned into that cultural norm. With her Avalanche Domain as the anvil and her will as the hammer, her bones became denser, thicker, longer. Her muscles expanded like balloons, while her scales ground down, purifying and refining until they were like thin, hard diamonds.

To top off the last of her transformations, her natural Elapid hood permanently grew twofold. Where once it only covered her head and neck, now it extended from her temples, flared outward around her shoulders and then connected down to her lower back near the nape of her twin tails.

No longer able to remain curled in the fetal position, she was forced to lay on her back as her changes were nearly complete. With the dregs of her frayed, tattered and over exhausted willpower, she entombed herself once again in her Domain. After this last step, she would well and truly be Molded anew.

Buried in her shrine of hail and snow, Zozka let her mind drift into oblivion, while her Soul Mold settled inside her like a comfortable blanket.

Days later, she awoke still ensconced in her icy tomb. With a simple brush of her will, the snow quickly dissolved, replaced by a sudden surge of sensations that threatened to overwhelm her bleary thoughts. Zozka had to scrunch her eyes closed and scrape together what pittance of focus she had left, so she could silence it all — numbing her newly birthed body.

Piece by piece, she twitched and wiggled. First her toes, now that was a novel feeling. Next, her knees and hips. Then, she swished her tails back and forth on the floor. She had to squeeze her fists as an abrupt shiver ran through her upper body when she tried flapping her Elapid hood. Everything seemed to be in working order and her Nervous system had caught up to the influx of sensations. Finally, she opened her eyes a crack to keep the light of the Forging room from splitting her skull open.

Zozka leveraged herself up onto her hands and tried to stand. Smack. Her face hit the floor. Nonplussed, she was able to get onto all fours by waving her tails in the air and tried again. Thud. She landed on her butt. Growling at her ineptitude, Zozka tried again. Flop. The back of her head banged on the floor.

Aggravated. Exasperated. She cursed at no one in particular, “Phik! Now, I have to learn how to walk!”

Chapter 3

Drunken Mistakes

Jonx watched as Zozka traded blows with a bear-like ether-beast. It was easily 20 feet long from snout to rump with some sort of chameleon fur, changing from green to blue to purple, then back again. The beast had four legs and a great big maw lined with jagged knives for teeth, but that was as far as the similarities to bears went. Four thick tentacles growing out of its back made sure of that. Plus the three pairs of bulbous eyes that gave it panoramic vision. Regardless of those adaptations, the ether-beast was nothing more than an oversized punching bag for his friend, especially given her new legs and twin tails.

Up to this point, he had never met a Clove who advanced to the Soulforged realm, so he wasn’t prepared to see the difference in advancement for their path. It wasn’t beyond his expectations, though. After all, the universe was vast and he’d barely scratched the surface of Etherforging.

So far, they had spent a few weeks riftwalking to get her used to her new body. Her kicks and dodges came skillfully, but she definitely wasn’t at her Peak proficiency. Not by a long shot. It was obvious she lacked complete control of her limbs. Where she only needed to take two steps to dodge, she took three. One kick would be tightly controlled with her full strength behind it, while another felt like a wet noodle. And then, there were her tails. A single tail, she could deal with. But two required much more finesse. Overall, her combat prowess had too much inconsistency. So they were here to iron out the kinks.

Jonx’s only job was to keep the other beasts away with his Plasma Domain providing cover for her sparring match. The riftworld they were in was one of flat, treeless fields of auburn grasslands. Ether-beasts roamed in packs, except the alphas, like this bear. They tended to hunt alone, making them prime targets for Zozka’s training.

Thump. Thwack. Thunk. Thud.

A steady staccato of combat permeated the immediate area. He could see the bear losing ground. To be honest, the conclusion was never in question. After all, the creature was only on its sixth Crystallization. But, she wasn’t fighting it with her full strength. Zozka limited herself to purely her Forged body, utilizing only her newest limbs.

She swept high and low with her twin tails, confusing the bear enough to deliver a spinning back kick to its ribs with a crunch. And just like that — the beast crumpled to the floor, rasping out its last breath.

Clap, clap, clap. “Nice job, Zozo,” Jonx called out as he stood up with Kettle perched on his right shoulder. “You’re getting better with the basics from Sept Glacio. I think it’s time we upgrade to the next level,” he suggested.

Zozka deftly fished out the Crystallized Chamber of the ether-beast, then sent out a soft pulse of her Domain, which instantly froze all the dirt and grime of the fight and swept it away with the wind, cleaning herself off. “I’m ready. That last fight didn’t feel like I was completely uncoordinated,” she admitted. As she walked to her friend, she paused to heft the crystal in her hand, lightly tossing it in the air, “Slugs. Do you know what this thing would have been worth back home? My elders would have skinned me alive to get their hands on it. And now? My storage is stuffed with them. They’ll barely cover any Forging materials.” She shook her head in bemusement.

Jonx shrugged, “Welcome to the club. I could have lived as a king on Barafin or even Sokowa with the amount that I still have. But here, I'm only a little wealthy. Nothing too crazy.” He unceremoniously tossed Kettle up into the air, so the mutt could earn her keep and find them their next target.

After a handful of minutes, the dogolin sent back a likely candidate just a few miles to the east. “Eyes up, Zo. We’ve got a live one,” Jonx called as he summoned a bare smidgeon of his Gravitic Raiments to lend him some speed. Meanwhile, Zozka’s raptor legs easily kept pace as they sprinted towards her next sparring match.

Jonx and Zozka sat in a local Boifonese dive bar. They’d finished their riftwalking a few days ago and had caught a ride with one of the native‘s roaming cities. He was drinking something that would pass as a ‘fruity’ drink, sweet and tart with a sting at the back end. Meanwhile, his large reptilian friend was imbibing straight from the bottle like the battle hardened warrior that she was.

Kettle was safely tucked away in a freakin’ pokeball. Or at least that’s what Jonx called it. In truth, it was a small Scriptsmithing box about the size of an animal carrier. The scriptwork wrapped around its outside made it so that the inside was much larger than the actual size of the carrier. While in her little portable home, the dogolin had about a living room’s worth of space and Jonx had made sure to fill it up with food, cushions and a warming lamp. Thanks to his new purchase, she could easily follow him to some of the more dangerous places that he traveled — such as, the deepest oceans of an alien world.

The dive bar they chose was in a city named, Wandering Orca’s Pride, which wasn’t a ‘city’ in the traditional sense. It was a goddamned pod of hollowed out whales of absolutely titanic proportions. Each of the six ether-beasts were as big as a New York City block on the inside, filled with terraced streets and whole buildings constructed of pink-white coral. Jonx knew that there were other roaming cities inside of island-sized tortoises or built along the sides of skyscraper-sized tunas. The Boifonese had truly taken advantage of their world and lived in harmony with it.

A clack on the counter got his attention after the Boifonese bartender had hit the surface with an overgrown pincer, “Oi, ‘nother round, topsider?” Jonx shook the dregs in his cup with a tinkle, indecision warring in his alcohol-addled head, “Uhh, you know what? That sounds good, Bert. Lemme get a different one, though. Maybe something pink this time.”

Bert, the barkeep, whose name amused Jonx to no end, shuffled over to the interspatial ice box to fish out his ingredients. Boifonese natives were all Clovenkind, which was only natural considering their world was 100% underwater. This guy was of crustacean descent with one disproportionately large pincer and three smaller, tri-fingered arms. His carapace was colored a deep gold streaked with blue and he had a pair of stalk-eyes that were constantly swiveling around the taproom.

Jonx watched on as the crab-man used his bottom row of limbs to make his drink. With a discerning Culinarian eye, he could tell the Clove was at least an Expert rank himself. Jonx could sense the translucent ether wraps that Bert was using to preserve the energy of each ingredient. The crab was good, Jonx would give him that.

He and Zozka weren’t the only ones at the bar. There were a plethora of oceanic Cloves patronizing the fine establishment — seahorses, turtles, octopi, mermaids. As a result, Bert was simultaneously making another drink using a row of arms attached to his back. It was extremely impressive, as far as Jonx was concerned and only just a little weird.

With a plunk, Bert served up a pink beverage, just as ordered. Jonx took a swig, immediately happier, “Woo! Now, this is fantastic, Bert!” He took a long drag of the drink, “Mind if I get the recipe?” Jonx leaned in conspiratorially, “Just between Culinarians…”

The bartender waved around his massive pincer, “I’ll trade ya for some topsider food.” Slap. Jonx hit his hand on the counter, “Deal!” He could definitely feel the alcohol now, though he didn’t care. If he concentrated on his Circulatory system, he could dispel the effects immediately, but what was the fun in that?

Jonx quickly pulled out a Masterwork bowl of teriyaki tofu over a bed of steamed rice — or at least, the closest approximation that he could make. Offering up his part of the transaction, he said, “This is from my homeworld. If you don’t like it, I’ll give you another one. Anything for that drink recipe!”

From off to the side, Zozka looked over at the utter fool of a Forger she’d saddled herself with. She couldn’t help shaking her head at his antics. The Earthling acted like a buffoon sometimes, but he was undoubtedly skilled in crafting and battle. Snapping her fingers to get his attention, she hollered, “Hey! Hey! Jonxo, back over here. We were talking, remember?”

Jonx immediately whipped his head back, “Oh crap on a cracker, my bad, Zozo. I got sidetracked.” He took another drag of his drink, “So, lemme get this straight…you want to join a Sept?” Zozka took a big gulp of her own bottle of liquor before answering, “The combat arts you gave me are just a foundation.  They’re good enough for some ether-beasts, but not for fully trained Soulforged. And, to be honest, I think both of us could use some more advanced training.”

Putting his hand over his chest, he feigned offense, “Me too? Oh c’mon, I’m not doing that badly.” He paused to take another sip of his ambrosia, “Besides, who said I was planning on fighting more Soulforged? I’ll have you know that I was planning to take a very long break from fighting.” Jonx turned to the bartender, “Speaking of which, are there any peaceful organizations on Boifon? Maybe a Sept that teaches non-violence or a Clan that’s only good at passive aggression?”

Bert never stopped making drinks with his multitude of pincer-hands, floating them all along the counter or across to nearby tables on small, prismatic bubbles made of wind- and water-ether.

While ambient ether was always neutral, whenever a Forger imbibed it, the energy would get flavored by their circuits. In Jonx’s case, his circuits produced force- and void-ether. What Bert was using was most likely his Cloud circuit, since the bartender was only in the mid-Crystallized realm. As the crustacean worked, he answered, “Ain’t never heard of a Sept or Clan that din’t like to fight at least a lil’. Even the craftin’ ones’ll make their folks go a few rounds. Might be that you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, topsider.”

“Really? They all fight? There aren’t any peace-loving religions around here that teach non-violence and acceptance or something?” Jonx asked just a bit drunkenly.

A sea-snail Clovenkind sitting next to them actually footed the answer, “We worship the Five around here, topsider. And they each have their own Factions with who knows how many Septs beneath them. Boifon, in particular, belongs to Imfaral, the Phi.”

As soon as the snail said that, the entire bar spoke up at once in a drunken monotone, “All hail the Phi.” Several patrons even lazily waved their cups in the air to accentuate their responses. Jonx looked over at the sea-snail, nonplussed, “What the fuck was that?”

The Clove swung its antenna-eyes in his direction without needing to turn its body. “It’s a customary response, unless you’re a bumpkin from the boonies,” the snail said haughtily.

“What the slug here means is that we be devout here in Boifon,” clarified Bert. Jonx leaned an elbow on the coral bartop, “Ok, so the Five are their own religion, I get that. But, all of them like to fight? None of them prefer love, not war?”

Somehow using his unwieldy pincer to scratch his chin, Bert answered, “Hmm, well Imfaral is the Minister of Crafting. His Faction be one o’ the less violent ones.” The snail chimed in, “Rabban the Beta’s Faction would be good too. He’s the Minister of Commerce.”

“Take care though, topsider. I dunno where you’re from, but every Sept and Faction be havin’ combat in some form — duels, challenges, tournaments an’ whatnot,” Bert warned. Jonx held his cup up to his lips as if to drink to try and hide his face as he spoke, “Uhh…I’m an Ajahti. You know, we’re from a pretty ‘fringe’ world.”

Bert and the snail shared a knowing look, then the snail shook his antenna-eyes back and forth, “I’m sure that fairytale got you this far, but you’re no Ajahti, topsider. Too pale, too short and you don’t have the right face.” The barkeep hastily added, “Now, we don’ care where you’re from neither. We be just givin’ you some friendly advice. Ajahti ain’t exactly hard to spot.”

Zozka cleared her throat, “Ahem, enough about my friend here. What were you two saying about the Septs?”

“Seeing as how Boifon belongs to Imfaral, we’re home to more crafting Septs than any others. Most of them are up on the station, but there are some based in our seas as well. Buy yourselves a data packet, that’d be the best way to choose, if I were you,” the snail suggested.

Bert scoffed, “Pfft, phik that. The mighty Phi’s Faction be holdin’ a selection tournament for new recruits next year. They be holdin’ it every five, so you got good timing. That’ll be your best shot at gettin’ inta a Sept, even for you Soulforged folks.”

The Clovenkind snail slapped a gelatinous paw on the table, “Now that’s a great idea! The tournament is always a big event and all the Septs on the planet participate. There are different events too. Combat and crafting. At the end of it, depending on how high you place, you’ll get offers from one or more Septs.”

“What would we have to do if we wanted to join one on our own?” Zozka asked. “Most Septs don’t just take any ol’ Forger off the street. No matter what your realm, you gotta have an ‘in.’ Usually folks vouch for their family or friends, but I get the feelin’ y’all ain’t got that,” Bert answered.

Zozka looked over at Jonx, who was happily chugging his pink brew and pointedly ignoring her questioning gaze. “I know you heard it all, Jonxo. We’re doing it,” the elite Elapid warrior said matter of factly. “Dammit, Zozka. What about taking a vacation did you not get?” Jonx groused.

“Bert said we’ve got a whole yea-,” she started to say, but the snail interrupted her, “You two have about ten months.” She nodded her serpentine head at the correction, “There, see? Ten months is plenty of time for you to vacation. Now! How do we sign up?”

Two short range teleports later and the pair stumbled their way to the largest of the hollowed out whales. The whole time, they were arguing and slurring profanities because someone had decided to take drinks to go.

“For the lashht time, I shhaid we needed combat training, not to learn how to draw!” Zozka hollered, before taking a draft of her seemingly bottomless liquor bottle. Jonx answered by guzzling on his own fruity drink, “And like I shhaid, I’m not tryna fight anymore! Hiccup.”

“Oh pleashhe! You don’t want to fight?! I haven’t shheen you not fight in three years!” the Elapid shouted. Unfortunately for her, Jonx’s alcohol drenched brain wouldn’t be cowed by facts and reason, “Thoshe were extenuating circumshtances, goddamnit!”

Their raucous behavior drew stares from the local Clovenkind, but no one said anything, choosing instead to give them a wide berth, while whispering their many judgements. Any cursory scan of them would show them as Soul Molds. And though Boifon wasn’t lacking in more powerful Forgers, Soulforged still tended to be the upper crust.

Despite Jonx’s grumbling, he still found himself meandering towards Imfaral the Minister of Commerce’s Faction building, otherwise known as Imfaral’s Palace of Design. Bert had given them the location two whales over and their AIs were faithfully leading them. Along the way, their rowdy ribbing turned into obnoxious bickering, then back again, while in their drunken fugue.

They continued on like that, winding their way through streets paved with finely crushed shells and sand, the pink-white coral buildings on either side gradually becoming more and more sparse as they got closer to the Palace of Design. According to Kirby’s cursory search on the Boifonese planetary network, there was a Palace on every tier 1 planet in the Nothlitian Pentumvirate’s controlled territories. Some were larger, like this one they were heading towards, since Boifon was within Imfaral’s jurisdiction, but there were small branches of the other Five’s Factions as well, though only the Palace would hold selection tournaments.

Swaying and staggering along, their path dead-ended at a gargantuan mansion made of living coral. Twin spires of the hard calcium carbonate were tipped in writhing flagella in myriad colors, which then cascaded down the walls of the impressive six story compound.

Wham! Jonx’s inebriated body suddenly rolled ass over teakettle, then flopped into the mouth of a nearby alleyway. “Shut the phik up! You two stand in the presence of the illustrious Palace of Design. I could hear your abhorrent caterwauling from down the phikkin street and you will not take it any further,” berated a squat, bipedal shark, bare-chested wearing only a pleated skirt.

Zozka wobbly stepped in front of Jonx — some protection was better than none. “Who in the blighted rust do you think you are?!” she drawled angrily.

The shark Clove released his etheraura in response, instantly enveloping the street in the power of a Soul Verve. “I am Tilik and you have no rights here, topsider. These are Palace grounds,” he growled.

For his part, Jonx wasn’t any worse for wear. He just had a splitting headache. Hurriedly concentrating on his Circulatory system, he rapidly burned his buzz away and immediately sobered up. “Jesus Christ. What was tha-“ Jonx’s voice caught in his throat as he finally felt the pressure in the area coming from the Clove, “-god damn. You look like a Street Shark.”

“What did you say, worm food?!” the shark barked. Instantly, the pressure doubled, crushing down on Jonx and Zozka until the two let loose their own auras — pitting their collective will against Tilik’s. “Pfft, you dare,” the Clove sneered as his voice boiled over in annoyance, “First, you two make absolute bintsniffers out of yourselves. And now? Now you think yourselves my equal?”

Gritting his teeth, Jonx stood up under the onslaught of Tilik, joining his friend, side by side, facing off against the Soul Verve. Sweat poured down their faces at the exertion as Jonx kept his fists clenched tightly, not daring to blink or show the first sign of weakness. There was a tacit agreement that neither side would use circuits. It was simply a battle of wills. And damned if he was going to lose. Especially after this asshole just killed his vibe.

Long moments stretched out as the pair strained against the burden…until abruptly, an even greater aura blew their contest away like piss in the wind. “Why is it always you, Tilik?” an exasperated voice said from just above the three.

The shark pointedly avoided turning his snout, obviously aware of who the newcomer was. Meanwhile, Jonx openly stared at a floating, shriveled up sea otter dressed in robes the color of kelp, whose etheraura labeled him as, at least, a Soul Psyche — the same stage as Narlos and Masser. Tilik crossed his bulky arms and took a petulant stance, “Tche. I don’t need you looking over my shoulder, Jasp. I was just about to discipline them for the error of their ways.”

“Really, Tilik? Bullying a couple of drunk Soul Molds? You’re better than that,” scolded Jasp, the otter. Zozka cleared her throat awkwardly in her clawed hand, “Ahem. I apologize, honored elder. My friend and I were completely out of line.” Then, she swept a deep bow.

If Jonx was shocked at the diminutive powerhouse, then he was absolutely knocked off his feet to see Zozka scrape and bow. He immediately whipped his head to glare at her, “You’re apologizing?”

From her bent over position, she hissed, “Yes, you imbecile. It’s phikshit like this that lets me know you’re not looking for peace and that you are always looking for a fight.” Zozka grabbed his arm and yanked him low, though he didn’t actually bow, he just stooped.

The otter looked down on them imperiously, while Tilik harrumphed his dissatisfaction off to the side. Jasp smugly gloated to his friend, “See, Tilik? Now was that so hard? It’s obvious the white scaled one is the brains of the operation.”

Before Jonx could move more than an inch, Zozka’s grip tightened like a boa constrictor, pinning him to the spot to prevent anything reckless. She followed up as if nothing happened, “Yes, elder. I will keep him under control. We were on our way to your Palace of Design after getting a glowing recommendation from a local bartender a few whales away.”

That earned a quirked furry eyebrow from the sea otter and a scowl from the shark. Jasp was curious though, “Oh? Which bartender sent you to us drunk? And, for what reason?”

Swallowing his pride and using a decidedly more deferential tone, Jonx answered, “The drunkenness was actually my fault. So, sorry? About that?” The shark cut in sharply, “You call that an apology? I should flay you where you stand!”

Jasp strummed his aura for a single note, pressing down on everyone again, “Tsk. Tilik, please! Let the topsider finish.” Choking through the weight of the otter’s aura, Jonx gave an abridged recounting of their tale and Zozka’s idea for signing up for the tournament.

“Ah! So you two are here to register! Well, that’s wonderful news. Did the bartender happen to give you any specifics as to what is expected?” Jasp asked cheerfully. Zozka answered respectfully, “No, honored elder. We were merely told of your location and informed that we would be able to register here…”

Tilik immediately guffawed, “Ha ha! Who was this bartender that sent you? I have to thank him!” The shark went so far as to wipe a tear from his eye. “Oh, yes. The Clove must be so pleased with themselves to have pulled a fast one on you fools,” he sneered. “Itinerant Etherforgers don’t just pay and get a spot in the tournament, no matter what stage they’re on. Registration means qualification. You two will have to show you’re worthy of even participating.”

The shark smiled broadly, all serrated teeth and predatory gleam.

Chapter 4

Street Shark Brawl

Jonx’s world spun around him as he followed Jasp, the withered otter, through the gates of the Palace’s compound. How they had done it, he hadn’t the foggiest idea, but somehow, the Palace had crafted a rift portal into a front door. He knew what it felt like to traverse worlds and as he opened his eyes to their inner sanctum, he was astonished at what he found. Within their private riftworld lay a sprawling, solitary island, surrounded by a seemingly endless yellow sea, whose horizons were lost in walls of mist.

The island housed numerous large, smoothly edged buildings the color of whitewash and arranged in a circular pattern. In their center was a broad courtyard separated into individual fighting rings, similar to what he remembered from Sept Glacio’s colosseum. And hovering above it all was a house-sized ether crystal that served as the base of a floating tower at least 10 stories high.

Jonx and Zozka were sufficiently impressed by the seamless transition into such a beautifully tranquil pocket dimension. Sensing their awe, Jasp beamed, “You stand in the presence of the illustrious Palace of Design, for which, Tilik and I are both inner disciples. Our Celestial Lord, Imfaral…” At that Jasp and Tilik echoed each other, “All hail the Phi,” then Jasp continued his introduction, “Ahem, as I was saying, our Lord maintains branches of the Palace and assigns their safekeeping to his inner disciples. As such, the administration of the selection tournament falls on us.” The otter paused to cast a sidelong glance at the shark, “Isn’t that right, Tilik?”

“Oh yes, Jasp. Our Celestial Lord has entrusted us with this grave responsibility. And it is our duty to test all potential registrees,” Tilik answered smugly.

Turning his attention back to the duo, Jasp informed them, “Your qualification assessment will begin shortly. Tilik and I will prepare for the tests. Until we call you, feel free to wander the unrestricted parts of the Palace grounds.” Jonx then received a local map of the island with the appropriate parts highlighted. Being in a private riftworld, he and Zozka had been barred from accessing their local network, so they could only go off of what they’d been given.

Without so much as a backwards glance, the shark and otter left them standing ankle deep in the shoals of the island. Jonx gave a mocking half bow, while extending his hand to the side to let Zozka go first. Together, they left footprints in the sand as they made their way to the open courtyard.

The first thing Jonx noticed were several people spread out in the waters around the island, mere pinpricks in his enhanced sight. A cursory scan revealed them to be Soulforged, but he couldn’t infer more than that since their positions were at the very edges of his ether senses.

Already he was impressed though. In his entire time on Sokowa, he’d met less than a handful of Soulforged, though he knew from his research there were around 50 in total. And yet in this riftworld alone, he’d casually encountered someone as powerful as the Navarch and commander.

It was…humbling. Amidst the display of power, he could only admit to himself that maybe he’d been arrogant. Maybe Zozka was right. The years on Barafin and Sokowa had spoiled him — made him feel like a big fish in a little pond. Evidently, he still had a ways to go.

As they neared the communal outdoor area, thuds and grunts could be heard long before they crested the slope to see what was happening. The courtyard was the size of two football fields and made of tightly packed sand and seashells. It was divided up into more than a dozen separate, circular arenas — the combatants kicking up small puffs of dust with every strike and takedown.

Flashes of light would occasionally spark to life as impacts were made along the individualized ether-shields. Not every space was filled, but Jonx counted a decent amount. There were duels of single combat, two on one and a few two on two. It was painfully obvious that even in a Faction dedicated to the Minister of Crafting that fighting was still a prerequisite. Unless he decided to give up Etherforging completely, then violence was just going to be a part of him.

Jonx let out a weary sigh and thought, “I guess there’s no way around it. I’m not ready to stop just yet. I’ve barely scratched the surface of what the universe has to offer. And I’ll definitely need more strength to see the rest.”

Kirby couldn’t argue with him, “At least you’ve realized it now, Jonxo. When you’re ready to settle, maybe when you open up a restaurant or something, then you can think about hanging up your circuits. But, until then, the only way to be free in this wide galaxy is to stand on your own two feet. If you had a Named Soul, the losses of Sokowa and Barafin never would have happened. I’m not blaming you, I’m just sayin’ — might makes right.”

“It always comes down to that, doesn’t it, Kirbs?” Jonx commented as he ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, “I’m not on Earth anymore. And I’ll never be again. Holding onto my old Earthling sensibilities is just holding me back from reaching my true potential out here.”

Shaking his head and lamenting the cold, hard truth of the greater universe, he turned his attention to the disciples in front of him. Jonx swept his senses over the courtyard and found them to be mostly with several Crystallizations only. Nothing special. Though, Jonx made sure to linger, curious about the Palace’s fighting style. Everyone moved in smooth, curving strikes and nimble dodges, flows of water intertwining between their arms, legs, wings and tails. It was like watching synchronized swimming. Mesmerizing. Hypnotic.

Zozka sidled up next to him, expressing her own assessment of the Palace’s people, “Their fighting is more elaborate than your old Sept’s. Where your Sept Glacio was straight lines of attack, these warriors seem to be more roundabout.” Jonx agreed with her insight, “You’re comparing the movements of a glacier versus the fluidity of water. It makes sense that Glacio would be more direct.”

Jonx suddenly jumped as a voice over his shoulder asked, “How do you like our seedlings, wormfood?” He hadn’t detected Tilik, the shark, sneaking up on him at all. Just like he hadn’t detected him when he got sucker punched outside. “Jesus Christ, Tilik! You’re gonna give me a heart attack,” he exclaimed.

“Tche, one could only hope that your Circulatory system was that weak,” Tilik remarked. “Now, if you’re done with your spying, your qualification assessment will be held at one of the Soulforged rings,” the shark said, then turned, expecting them to follow automatically. Jonx and Zozka shared a look, both shrugging before falling in line to trail behind the Soul Verve.

As they followed, Jonx leaned over and whispered, “So, what do you think they’ll make us do?” Zozka answered under her breath, “I’m assuming trial by combat. What else could it be?” Jonx replied, “Well, this is a crafting Faction. Shouldn’t we, you know, make something?”

Tilik broke in without turning his snout, “You’ve been sorely misinformed about our Faction, if you think that we are so cut and dry. For Forgers at our stage, you should be competent in more than one thing. I, myself, am a Master Synthesist and Alchemist.” The shark then led them towards the innermost courtyard, where a group of Clovenkind surrounded a particularly large sparring ring.

Immediately, Jonx could sense their signatures. None of them were attempting to hide themselves. And what he felt absolutely floored him. Arrayed in front of him were just under thirty Soulforged. Most were Casted with only a handful Molded or Verved. This single gathering was more powerful than all of Sokowa and Barafin combined. Jonx ruefully thought to himself, “This is supposed to be a crafting Faction? Good lord, how strong would a combat one be..?”

A burly, four-armed eel-like Clove spoke up as they approached, “New bait, eh? This why you got us all together, Jasp?” Jonx looked up and finally noticed the otter floating above them all in a lotus position. He’d been the only one dampening his ether signature. Jasp leaned an elbow on his lap, while he blew smoke from a pipe of all things, “These two itinerant Forgers wanted to qualify for the selection tournament in ten months. Considering their level of advancement, we were thinking of using more inner disciples to test them. What do you think, Crags?”

The eel, Crags, waved one of his hand-shaped fins dismissively, “Fine by me. What’s your idea then?” Jasp took another drag of his pipe before answering, “Hmm, I was thinking for the first round  — Tilik against the pair. He already dislikes them. Might as well get his grudge out of the way. We’re all simply here to bear witness.”

A loud smack echoed out as the shark clapped his beefy paws together, a toothy grin plastered on his snout, showcasing his rows of serrated teeth, “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Jasp. Thank you. What’re the rules?”

Jasp glanced at Jonx and Zozka appraisingly, then said, “Tilik will be limited to a single Soul circuit, while you two will be allowed your full repertoire.  Fight for five minutes or until you’ve given up or are incapacitated — whichever comes first. No maiming. Objections?”

Jonx held up a finger to indicate they needed a moment to think, then pulled Zozka by the shoulders into a huddle, “Are you sure you want to do this? Is it really that important to you?” Zozka gave him a determined stare, “We need this, Jonxo. I need this. Not all of us have had the breaks you’ve had. I need a direction… otherwise, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore…”

She paused to take a deep, shuddering breath, “I’ve lost two homeworlds now. I need to feel like I belong somewhere. And this might be my best shot at finding a new home. Please.”

Jonx peered deeply into her reptilian eyes then, finally noticing the insecurity behind them. A look of uncertainty, of being lost. She’d kept it under control when they’d first run from Barafin, especially since they threw themselves into riftworld after riftworld. But he’d been negligent since they’d escaped Sokowa — too stuck in his own need for a mental reset.

In that moment, his eidetic memory kicked in, bringing him back to a random night, a long, long time ago. Alone in the house he used to share with his wife, it’d been maybe six months since he’d buried her and he was depressed on the couch, staring at nothing. The TV was off, his dinner was half eaten and completely forgotten. A cheap cup of red wine was held loosely in his hand, lukewarm and bitter. He didn’t know how long he’d sat like that. He never really took the time to check the clock. On nights like that, he would just fall asleep on the couch whenever his melancholy overtook his consciousness. This particular night, he’d lain curled up and accidentally caught a glimpse of himself on the blank TV screen. In the blackness of that reflection, he remembered seeing his eyes as lost as hers were now. Aimless. Afraid.

He had to shake his head to clear himself of the ghosts from another world, another lifetime. Here in this moment, he had a chance to help someone come to terms with their loss. How could he abandon her now? So, Jonx gave her a firm nod and flashed his friend his best smirk, “Eyes up and stay sharp, Snake Eyes. We got this.”

Tilik loved putting new Soulforged in their places. There was a harsh reality that all Forgers would have to come to terms with — the Soulforged realm was where the true struggle came.

Body Preparation? It was a realm for children for Celestial’s sake. Literally any untrained plebeian could be gifted step by step Body circuit manuals along with a boatload of Forging aids and be raised to the realm’s peak within a matter of months. In fact, that’s exactly what prominent children of Septs and Clans had done to them. It was simply the cultural norm. As for  those, who were somehow stuck in that realm? Well, they obviously didn’t have what it took to walk the Way of Etherforging. Tilik pitied them.

Meanwhile, the Crystallized realm was more of a challenge. If the Body Preparation realm was for children, then the Crystallized realm was for adolescents and young adults.

A Forger had to actually use their brain for the first time, since they had to forge a Specialized Physique as well as choose four Crystal circuits that would synergize well with their Body circuits. Although, the students and recruits of a Sept or Clan would most likely be made to choose from a predetermined selection of circuits that had been proven to fuse easily already. It was how Tilik himself was raised.

Furthermore, the Crystallized realm required one to be in tune with their anatomy. To understand the organs that were going to be reconstituted from pure ether. It wasn’t difficult per se, but it did take considerably more Forging aids, by nearly a factor of 100 to be exact. Beyond that, a Forger was expected to master their circuits to Peak proficiency. This was where the hard work came in. Having to gather resources and practice year in, year out. Getting through the Crystallized realm took time and grunt work. But anyone who put in the effort would be rewarded with middling or slightly above average strength. And that was enough for most people.

Now, the Soulforged realm? This was the first true crucible for an Etherforger, where one had to become more than just the sum of their parts. The mere act of stepping into the realm required inspiration to combine one’s circuits and insight into a person’s inner soul. For mainstream Forgers, they needed to have a clear picture of who they were, while Clovenkind Forgers needed to know who they wanted to be.

While acquiring a Soul Mold separated the wheat from the chaff, every stage that came after was exponentially more powerful. His opponents would soon find out that there were people beyond people – heavens beyond heavens.

Across the ring from him on his left, stood a thickly muscled Clove that reminded Tilik of a raptor with two sinuous flaps that could have almost been wings, though he knew they were too small to use to fly. She had pristine white scales with twin tails and wore a standard, black bodysuit, no other armor. Meanwhile, on his right was a strange, fleshy, brown-skinned biped with hair as dark as night and speckled with stars. He looked like an Ajahti to Tilik, if maybe a little off-color. The pair was odd. Most itinerant Forgers were solitary figures, especially those able to reach Soulforged. He was excited to see what these two had.

The countdown to the match came on Jasp’s first etherpulse, indicating they had five seconds to prepare.

In less than a breath, Tilik was covered in his Reinforcement Soul circuit, Burden of the Sea. Where once he was an empty vase, now he was filled to the brim with the ocean’s might, lending him the inevitability of a tsunami. His Burden encased him in semi-aqueous, amber-colored heavy armor. Large pauldrons for his equally massive shoulders. A heavy cuirass with hanging protection in the front and back. Greaves and sabatons of dense fluid. And an ornate golden helmet fit for his snout, though he made sure to keep his mouth bare. He preferred it when his enemies could still see his serrated teeth.

Tilik watched as the two Soul Molds activated their own Soul circuits. The Clove was obviously using an icy Domain, considering she was covered in a veritable blizzard, encompassing only her immediate vicinity. Meanwhile, the brown man grew to nearly 12 feet tall, clad in ethereal plates of deep violet, streaked in yellow, which must have been his own Reinforcement circuit. But, the man apparently wasn’t finished as he summoned neon motes of scintillating energy, charging the area around him to the point that bits of dust were unnaturally levitating from the arena floor — a Domain.

“Tche, not bad. He’s halfway to Soul Cast already,” Tilik begrudgingly admitted. And then, his opponent surprised him by conjuring a bladed spear of green and black, which quickly attracted layers of smooth rock out of thin air, before fusing together to form a green-white weapon of flawless jade.

Now, these two had his attention, “That’s no Soul circuit, but he’s on the right track to forming his Assembly circuit. Who in the Five’s balls is this guy to have two and a half Soul circuits, when he’s only a Soul Mold? How can he even handle the amount of strain on his ether pathways and willpower?”

“Well, if he gets to use a weapon, then so do I,” Tilik thought with a rueful grin plastered on his snout. He wasn’t going to break the rules and use his own Assembly Soul circuit. No, instead he pulled out his Peakwork Warmhammer of Broken Waves made of hardened athilyx metalloy. It was his weapon of choice when he’d still been in the low-Soulforged realm and would increase the power behind any water- or force-ether that he generated by 75%. While the ether weapon was not as versatile as his Soul circuit, it would be enough to crush these two aspiring applicants of the selection tournament.

From the side, Jasp broadcasted the second etherpulse and their five seconds were suddenly up.

The brown humanoid’s two Soul circuits were impressive enough, but a third Soul circuit in the making? And with only a Soul Mold? He was a monster. To have so much inspiration that he could jump so far ahead of his advancement was envious. With that revelation alone, Jasp would have allowed him to qualify.

Yet, the combat prowess he showed was notable as well. His style was unpolished, though the foundations were solid. It was obvious the brown alien had learned how to fight in live combat, rather than constant sparring and duels.

Jasp had seen it before. Powerful Etherforgers forged in the crucible of war. They tended to be blunt and decisive. Used to overwhelming their opponents as efficiently as possible. It would explain why he was so bad at wielding that bladed spear. Forgers who developed from live combat were never masters of weapons. Their style was generally too brutish to excel at any but the bluntest of weaponry. A sword required finesse. As did a spear or staff. The brown alien would have done better with a large club.

That obvious deficiency would be something that any decent Sept could rectify. And there would be plenty who would already make offers on this wild specimen.

Meanwhile, the white scaled Clove was even more untrained than her partner. She was most definitely from some fringe world and raised in the art of guerrila warfare. She was a survivor more than she was a warrior. And to have gotten to Soul Mold meant that she was good at it. Sure, Jasp could see some semblance of training in her punches and kicks, but nothing ingrained to the bone. It was also abundantly clear that she’d recently advanced, considering her coordination was completely out of sync. If not for her partner busying Tilik, the inner disciple would have already demolished her Domain.

Regardless though, the brown skinned alien and the white scaled Clove worked seamlessly with each other. They’d plainly fought countless battles together to get to such a level of cooperation.

The Clove was always ready to slash Tilik with an ice covered tail or deliver a midrange palm strike of hard packed snow whenever her partner gave her an opening. And somehow, the humanoid kept creating chances for her.

The brown alien’s twin Soul circuits gave him enough combined power to go blow for blow with Tilik in his Burden of the Sea. And his half-baked pseudo-Soul circuit actually matched Jasp’s fellow inner disciple’s Peakwork Warhammer. Jasp knew that Tilik’s attacks were as heavy as crashing waves that could sink a ship. Each of his strikes were easily chipping away at the smooth jade of the alien’s bladed spear, but they were quickly patched up by a constant stream of ether.

Jasp had seen that Warhammer blow holes straight through torsos and pulverize heads into pulp, yet the swarthy alien was bleeding away just enough of the momentum from Tilik’s strikes that each attack was nothing more than a pale imitation of what they could have been. Jasp was certain that the humanoid’s Soul circuit was of Peak grade quality and produced force-ether, otherwise it wouldn’t have had such a drastic effect against Tilik’s own force and water energies.

There was something else about the purple armor and neon particles that produced such potent power. A second element that Jasp couldn’t quite put his paw on…Thunder? No, it was too refined. Too controlled. Maybe light? But, Jasp knew light-ether wasn’t quite as substantial as this. Unless, the alien’s ether Concept was of a high enough quality that they’d tapped into some esoteric facet of the light element. In which case, this humanoid was more monstrous than Jasp had first guessed.

He returned his attention to his fellow inner disciple. Tilik’s Burden was keeping the worst of the charged energy at bay, but parts of the Soul heavy armor were liquifying on contact, requiring instant bolstering to prevent any damage from getting through. Tilik was a tidal wave, effortlessly battering away the duo’s combined assault as if it were an inevitability. This was the difference between skill and brute force.

Every swing and swipe of the warhammer was practically choreographed. Jasp knew Tilik well and could see that his fellow disciple was surprised at their tenacity, though ultimately it was for naught. They were draining their reserves at a prodigious rate. Meanwhile, Tilik had excellent control over his ether pathways with perfect economy of movement. The inner disciple never wasted more energy than he needed to deflect or counter his opponents’ attacks.

For all of the duo’s impressive showing, Tilik had not even taken more than a step to one side or the other and never backward. He was playing with them. Throughout the test, the brown-skinned alien had shown himself to be interesting enough to humor, and so Tilik was having his fun.

But, the round was coming to an end. Tilik would know that as well. And if Jasp knew his fellow inner disciple, then Tilik would finish it with a bang.

With only 30 seconds left, the might of a Soul Verve instantly exploded out just as the brown-skinned alien and white-scaled Clove came in for a pincer maneuver. In a flash of amber waves, Tilik struck the butt of his hammer in the white Clove’s face, breaking her nose and cheek just before launching her across the ring into a waiting ether-shield. The brown alien surprisingly registered the attack, meaning that he was able to perceive movements far beyond what a Soul Mold should be capable of.

Yet another point in his favor.

Unfortunately, seeing the trajectory of the swing was completely different than actually doing something about it. The head of Tilik’s Peakwork Warhammer crashed into violet plates of ether, completely unhindered by the alien’s Domain and shattering nearly half of the ethereal armor.

The brown alien then coughed enough crimson blood to stain the floor as he sailed across the arena and smacked into the ether-shield next to his white scaled partner. “Your blood is red? Gross…” Tilik commented in disgust. There were still a few seconds left to the match, but neither fighters were fit to stand, though to their credit, they were trying.

Tilik simply ran down the clock with the head of his hammer buried in the sand as he leaned casually on its haft. “You’ve got grit. That’s for sure,” he called.

Jasp knew that for his fellow disciple to acknowledge them after their initial faux pas was significant, though the applicants were probably in no state to appreciate that. With a brief etherpulse, Jasp unceremoniously put an end to the match.

Clapping his furred hands together, he announced, “Welp, you two better get ready for the next round.”

Chapter 5

The Walrus and the Culinarian

Jonx felt like ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag. Like dough that had been slapped around with some grandma’s rolling pin. Only the rolling pin was the size of a battering ram. And instead of dough, it was his insides plastered against the walls of his abdomen.

Blessedly, the inner disciples of the Palace of Design had given him and Zozka a couple of hours to get themselves healed. He’d been coughing up blood by the buckets on and off for nearly two hours after the match. But, it’d been at least 30 minutes since the last one, so…progress?

Off to the side, the Elapid warrior was laying on the cold floor of the healing room in the Palace’s Synth hall that they’d been given leave to use. On her back with her eyes closed, she was whistling through a broken snout that was gradually reforming. Up until the end, Jonx had sworn they were doing well. He even surprised himself with how well the naginata had felt in his hands. Childhood staff lessons had come roaring back, thanks to his eidetic memory, and gave him at least some skill with the weapon. But then, the shark Clove revealed the true disparity between them.

They were as different as heaven and earth. Tilik had made certain to impress that upon them — through blood and broken bones.

Time slipped by in agonizing silence as his ribs sealed and his spine filled in with precious Synthesized fluids. The healing room itself had an augmented sat rate, giving them access to peak tier 1, but their injuries needed to be healed sooner rather than later for the next test. Jonx felt his intestines sliding around, rearranging to their correct orientation, just below his spleen and liver. Meanwhile, Zozka’s face was visibly reforming as they waited. His ether senses told him there was more structural damage than just her snout, but much of it was internal.

Luckily, thanks to their miscellaneous adventures over the years, Jonx had made sure to keep a healthy supply of Masterwork Synth meds in his storage belt.

A sudden flash on his HUD interrupted their regeneration, giving him an easy to follow dot on his map. They were finally being summoned for round two.

“You both performed admirably against Tilik. The end result was never in question — at least, to us. We were more interested in how you would perform against such an insurmountable adversary. You will need that as you continue through the Soulforged realm,” lectured Jasp as the otter Clovenkind floated in the air on a single large bubble of soap, while smoking from his pipe. Jonx and Zozka stood once more before the panel of Palace inner disciples. Tilik, the shark, was off to the left. Next to him was Crags, the eel, and another Clove that reminded Jonx of a reverse mermaid — fish head and body with arm-shaped fins and humanoid legs with a fish’s tail.

“Now, you met Crags earlier,” the otter indicated to the eel. “He was one of the witnesses for your first test. What you may not know, is that he is one of our most accomplished crafters. This is, after all, the Palace of Design, and we pride ourselves on our ether crafting. Crags, here, is a Master Alloywelder, Scriptsmith and Culinarian.”

Jonx was immediately intrigued. He was already a Master Culinarian himself, but now that he’d stumbled upon Dak-Kalpak’s special script language, he was hoping to pick up Scriptsmithing.

The otter continued his introductions then, “The other inner disciple here is our other most accomplished crafter, Gilguk.” Jasp pointed a furred finger at the reverse mermaid, “She is a Master Synthesist, Alchemist and Leatherweaver. Between these two, each of the six primary ether crafting professions are represented. Of course, there are subspecialties in each field, but that is not what we are here to get into.”

Jonx was once more intrigued. First of all, the reverse mermaid was a goddamned ‘she,’ which was in and of itself, mind boggling. There was nothing to indicate any gender to his Earthling sensibilities. Second of all, this Clove was a perfect representation of what he knew Zozka wanted to learn. The Elapid warrior had picked up Synthesizing and Alchemistry during their time on Sokowa.

“For your second qualification test, the pair of you will need to demonstrate your crafting skills. Your proficiency in a craft will determine which of these two disciples is your proctor,” Jasp said as he spread his paws towards the two Master craftsmen. “So, please state your respective crafts.”

Zozka bowed at the waist, then said, “Esteemed elder, my humble skill is of a Journeyman Synthesist and Novice Alchemist. I would be honored to display my meager abilities to such masters.”

From the side, Jonx still stood straight up as he casually glanced at the powerful Forgers in front of him. It was still a surprise to see Zozka genuflecting so easily, but he supposed it was from her time as an Elite of the Elapids. He knew they had elders, so this situation was likely something she’d been in often. While he was impressed by the disciples’ advancements, he was certain in his ability to reach their heights. He only needed time and resources.

Oh, and lessons.

It would be good to have someone actually tell him what to do. He could try to use Dak-Kalpak’s legacy, but he was hoping to only use that as a last resort.

He placed his hands behind his back in a mock military stance, falling back to the only show of deference he knew, “I’m only a Master Culinarian, inner disciple Jasp. Although, I’m hoping to learn some Scriptsmithing next. I just haven’t gotten around to it.”

Jasp nodded his furry otter head along, while smoking his pipe, not showing any indication if their skills were good or bad, “Mmhmm…well, if that’s the case, then Jonx, you’ll be going with Crags for your test. And Zozka, you’re with Gilguk. Follow them to the respective crafting rooms and Tilik and I will bear witness.”

Crags promptly started shambling to the left without so much as a word for him to be followed. Jonx wasn’t offended, he didn’t really care. He just wanted to be done with these tests. The bones in his middle back were still sore from being pulverized and glued back together in the last few hours. As he fell behind Crags, so too did Tilik fall behind him. “Oh great, the Street Shark is my judge,” Jonx thought wryly.

The eel Clovenkind led them away from the central courtyard and down a sandy alleyway lined by whitestone buildings on either side. This island riftworld was tranquil, giving Jonx beach resort vibes. Hell, if they let him, he’d just join up with the Palace of Design right now. “Hey so, this might be stupid, but how do I apply to join you guys?” Jonx asked. After all, someone will miss 100% of the shots that they don’t shoot.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, something suddenly smacked against the back of his head, reminding of being hit by his Filipino mother. “Tche, you really are some fringe world bumpkin aren’t you?” Tilik growled from behind him. “The exalted Palace of Design is Imfaral’s…all hail the Phi…own Faction. To even be considered requires you to climb through the ranks of one of our subservient Septs, which is practically every Sept on Boifon. It can take decades, sometimes even centuries, to be considered for promotion into a Faction of the Five.”

Jonx rubbed the back of his head, feigning injury out of childhood habit, “What do you need to get in? I’m asking because I honestly don’t know much about the Pentumvirate proper. So, uhhh, don’t hit me again, ok?”

Crags was the one to answer, his voice a high pitched rasp, “Even though Septs are highly individualistic organizations that are independent in all but name, they all pay homage to their patron Faction. This is Celestial decree. There is a hierarchy to each Sept and Faction.”

The eel turned slightly without breaking stride and gestured with his hand-shaped fins, “At the bottom are the outer disciples. Those that met the bare minimum of requirements and are generally considered the grunts of any organization. There are usually Sept tournaments that are held regularly for disciples to test into the next rung — inner disciple. Beyond that, there are the elites, the core disciples. Only core disciples of a subordinate Sept can be promoted to a Faction of the Five. Then, the process of climbing the ladder begins again.”

Tilik picked it up from there, “It’s a little different in the Faction, though. An outer disciple of the Palace has far more prestige than any core disciple of a Sept. A Faction disciple of any rank is recognized throughout the entirety of the Pentumvirate. They get greater resource stipends for their advancement — access to training and teachings to help them achieve inspiration or enlightenment in crafting and Etherforging. Though, that also comes with responsibilities to the Faction. It’s why we were all assigned to Boifon to manage this branch of the Palace.”

The trio finally made it to an open air whitestone warehouse with only four walls and no roof and very obvious chimneys jutting skyward. Jonx could smell the aromas of bread and spices when they were this close to the building. He could also tell that there was a transparent ether-shield over the entire structure, presumably to keep any wayward energy from leaving the premises. It was like a larger version of the vent shielding on his Masterwork stove.

Crags stopped them at the front of the warehouse and said, “For someone to jump through all of those steps and straight to a disciple of a Faction would require them to be an absolute prodigy in both Forging and ether crafting…” the eel then slapped a fin against Jonx’s back, “…Neither of which, you are, my friend.” From the side, Tilik chuckled with mirth, “Hahahaha, no. Definitely not. Your number of Soul circuits may have been noteworthy, but nothing else. I admit that you would probably be a big fish in a Sept. But a Faction? You’ll have to do better.”

“Oh well, you could also be the direct descendent of a Celestial or the honored child of a core disciple in a Faction. Nepotism is fairly common and actually encouraged in most organizations,” Crags offered.

“Ok, well that answers that. Thanks for giving me a breakdown. Sounds like I’m just gonna have to climb the ladder like everybody else then,” Jonx said sheepishly. “Anywho… what’s the next test?”

Crags softly pulsed an ether code and the barn doors of the warehouse silently slid open to reveal twenty cooking and baking stations evenly spread out across a floor of hard-packed sand. There were four rows of five and each station had a six-burner stove, a vent hood, two prepping tables for ingredients and a large oven with a tall chimney for baking.

This was a Culinarian’s dream.

Every surface was immaculate. There was only a single Clove in the entire warehouse and whatever they were making smelled heavenly.

As Jonx followed Crags, he got a better look at the busy Clove. It was a herculean walrus, standing erect on a tripartite tail, with two enormous gorilla-like arms and fists to match. One massive set of knuckles rested in the sand for support as its other beefy four-fingered hand was stirring a pot with a ladle that may as well have been a toothpick. The Clove’s hide was a shiny maroon and instead of having a pair of downward tusks like its Earthen counterparts, its tusks were upturned, like a boar’s, and buried in a braided, bright red beard that could have fit on any dwarven face from a fantasy game.

The trio stopped a respectful distance from the skilled Culinarian’s workstation, waiting to be acknowledged. It didn’t take long as a deep, rumbling baritone came from the walrus, “This the wandering brat that wants in on the selection tournament?”

The walrus Clovenkind never actually turned to speak to them. He just kept stirring. Jonx could sense the tightly controlled streams of ether being woven into the pot. If he wasn’t wrong, there were at least twelve of them, which meant this Clove was, at the very least, a Peak Culinarian. Jonx was immediately excited by the sheer amount of recipes he could learn about from this guy.

He hurriedly bowed at the waist, “Yes, chef! I am not worthy to even breathe-in the miraculous fragrances crafted by a Peak existence such as yourself! Please, instruct me, chef!” Crags and Tilik were instantly taken aback, sharing a confused look between the two of them. Where had this attitude been this whole time? Little did they know, Jonx was a glutton for a good meal. And if he had to suck up to get some grade A grub, then he had absolutely no shame in doing what it took.

The Peak Culinarian immediately whipped around to finally gaze upon the trio. “Ho ho! You have a keen eye, my itinerant friend. And you have the right attitude to go far in our craft! Now this is the type of disciple you need to bring to me Crags. We need more of this fellow right here,” the walrus declared with an appraising gleam in his eyes. In a flash, the bulky Clove stood in front of Jonx’s bowing form, “Yes, my friend. You are right to give me obeisance. I will show you the way, if you but pledge yourself to me!”

Jonx didn’t even think about getting up, “Of course! You are a Peak Culinarian. The pinnacle of our craft! I humbly beg to learn. Merely watching you would be a priceless lesson unto itself. Sharing the same kitchen is a gift! Please, instruct me!”

Crags had enough as he interspersed himself between the two loudmouth buffoons, “Alright, alright! That’s enough of this bintsniffing twaddling, you ninnies. You two want to get a room, go somewhere else. We have a test to perform! Therge, get to it!”

Grumbling under his breath loud enough for everyone to hear, the walrus scoffed, “Pfft. Therge do this. Therge do that. I’m a blighted Peak Culinarian for Celestial’s sake!”

The eel rolled his eyes, “Yes, Therge. I know. It’s why you’re the head of our Culinarian division here. And it’s also why Jasp asked you to oversee this particular test. We don’t normally get itinerant Soulforged looking to join the selection tournament.”

“Fine,” the Peak Culinarian groused. “Follow me, my personal disciple. You’re the only one that seems to truly appreciate my craft.” Without missing a beat, Jonx fell in step with the muscular Clove and snapped off a response, “Yes, chef!”

Jonx was led to a cooking station adjacent to Therge’s, while the muscle bound walrus explained the test, “We’re going to keep this simple. Jasp said you’re a Master Culinarian in your own right. Make me something that will knock my beard off and you pass. Of course, I’ll be watching your technique, but at your level, I’m more concerned about a delicious final product than a high sat rate.”

He realized that the whole time Therge was talking, the pot on his stove was still being stirred. Jonx instantly swept his ether senses around and realized that the dozen streams of shielding continued to easily contain and divert any wandering energy. Meanwhile, tightly controlled prehensile ‘limbs’ made of force- and water-ether were holding the pot steady as the ladle was being stirred. It was such a casual display of fantastically immaculate control, leaving Jonx flabbergasted at the sheer skill.

Fighting and cooking were complete opposites.

There was a finesse to what Therge was doing. One that was far beyond anything Jonx could possibly manage. Though now, he had a glimpse of what could be done.

With practiced ease, Jonx hurried to the cooking station and set about preparing his tools. From his interspatial bracer, he retrieved his plethora of knives along with his own cutting boards, bowls and plates. He fired up the burners on the stovetop, noting the craftsmanship of the entire stove. It was obvious that it was a step above his own Masterwork equipment in his storage.

Beside the stove was a waist-high chest. When Jonx sent his senses into it, he was pleasantly surprised to find a massive space containing an entire kitchen’s worth of groceries. Much of the meat looked to be seafood, though it was colored in greens, blues and yellows. The vegetables were also underwater varieties of tubers, weeds and algae. Even though he could feel Therge’s watchful gaze on his back, Jonx was in his element.

He wasn’t nervous. He was simply excited to taste all of these exotic foods.

Jonx took out a couple of arm loads of groceries and unceremoniously dumped them onto the open prep table. Then, he began nibbling on everything. Tiny leaves, tufts of fungus, small flowers and chewy roots. A symphony of tastes scintillated along his palette like small star bursts.

Spicy, sweet, tart, umami.

Everything was delicious in its own way. All the while, Kirby kept an automatic, running catalog of each plant and its taste profile.

He was so lost in his taste testing that he thoughtlessly let Kettle out of her interspatial pet carrier. Immediately, the dogolin yipped, happy to be free, but then instantly scented the defenseless food and pounced onto the pile of waiting produce. Jonx didn’t pay it any mind and simply shoved her off to the side as she continued wallowing in her personal mound of groceries. He heard an amused grunt from the side and assumed it was Therge, though the Peak Culinarian stayed silent otherwise.

Jonx moved on to tasting the various cuts of meat. Green fish flesh, blue shrimps with two heads, yellow shelled mollusks the size of basketballs and purple tentacles with square-shaped suction cups.

After getting a gauge of the taste palette, he thought of some dishes that could take advantage of everything in front of him. Once he settled on a small tasting menu, Jonx set to work.

He seamlessly split his mind in seven directions, which was his latest advancement after fighting Pyremane. Without so many instances of pure and utter mental hell, he doubted he would have gotten this far. A pot, a large pan and a flat griddle suddenly materialized on the stovetop.

Now that he had a plan, his focus sharpened to a fine point and the rest of the world fell away.

First, he needed to make a stock. So, he roughly chopped some different colored tubers, leaves and stems, then set them to simmer in the pot with water and fish bones. Of course, he made sure to season liberally, especially with his favorite space flavoring, etherspice.

Next, he set to bisecting the tentacle, lathering it in oil and spices, and plopped it onto the griddle to get a good sear. Over it all, strands of his mind wove fine ether-shields to contain all the energy being released as his ingredients cooked.

Time ticked by and the stock was almost ready. Firing up the large pan, he added a generous layer of oil along with herbs and vegetables. His storage was filled with spices that he’d already vetted during his time in Culinary school on Barafin, so he mostly relied on them. Eflelas was similar to saffron. Weeping azola took the place of garlic. Then, spiky eecliflower, avlis and fyashade for bay leaf, tomato and paprika, respectively.

He’d spent days and weeks taste testing every Barafinian herb and spice he could, so that he had a reference guide for his Earth recipes. He did the same on Sokowa, too. While there were local dishes that he could make also, he wanted to perfect his homeworld’s dishes.

If he didn’t work to preserve the foods of his mother planet, then who would? He always believed that food was the best way to share one’s culture and he intended to do so one meal at a time.

Grains came next with chunks of green fish and topped with a bottle of white wine to boot. He’d gotten some from Bert as part of their ‘cultural exchange.’ Hell, Jonx had bought entire crates of local wines and liquors from the bartender with the intention of becoming a bit of a mixologist down the line.

He then ladled in his broth and shook the pan gently to settle all of his ingredients. Large, aromatic quantities of ether were released from his budding mixture, which all had to be captured and redirected back into the dish, infusing everything with energy, from the grains to the herbs to the fish.

Kettle’s drool shamelessly dripped down onto his right shoulder as the little glutton floated just above him, utterly transfixed at the meal. It’d been a while since he’d cooked for her, so he didn’t begrudge her one bit.

As everything came to a boil, Jonx nestled in the shucked mollusks and two-headed shrimps. He let the grain absorb all the wonderful juices of the concoction, then covered it up to let it simmer a bit more. He was aiming for that beautiful crust at the very bottom. The true sign of a perfect paella.

Using his ether senses, he never needed to guess or use a timer. He could literally feel the sizzle of the crust as it formed. While he waited, he sliced the grilled purple tentacle, crispy on the outside and tender and juicy on the inside.

It was time to plate.

Jonx lifted the large paella pan on motes of ion particles and carefully placed it on the serving table facing Therge. There were four plates and a dogolin-sized bowl waiting for his hard work.

When he served up the paella, he made sure to get the crust on the bottom onto each plate. Then, he heaped generous amounts of his grilled tentacle on every serving. Lastly, for the coup de grace, Jonx brought all seven strands of his focus to bear and collected every bit of residual energy wafting in the air. With a concentrated effort of will, he made sure to imbue each serving with ether to supercharge the flavors and truly blend them all together.

Finally, Jonx released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It was one thing to fight for his life. That was second nature to him. Earth’s etherforming branded that directly into his soul.

No, what made him nervous now was criticism.

Especially of something he’d made and was currently offering to a stranger, who was skilled beyond anyone he’d ever met before.

Meeting Therge’s eye, he tried to give off confidence and determination, “I hope you enjoy it, chef. Please, dig in!”

Therge was plopped down on his tripartite tail, elbow deep in the paella pan and swiping a meaty walrus finger along the bottom to get all the little crumbles that Jonx had carelessly ‘missed.’ Meanwhile, Kettle lay dozing beside the Peak Culinarian, lightly snoring and wearing her bowl over her head like a helmet.

Crags stood to the side with Tilik, swishing his long eel-tail in annoyance, as he waited on Therge’s deliberation. As the walrus’ lip smacking continued, it finally grated on Crags’ last nerve, “Well?! Did the blighted fool pass? We have to get back to Jasp, you glutton!”

“Wha-?” Therge said with a mouthful of paella crumbs as he waved the question away dismissively, “Ya, ya, the kid passes.” Then, the Peak Culinarian turned his attention to Jonx, “Oi, topsider. I need this recipe. I’ll trade you some Peakwork meals for it, if you want. And if you’ve got some others, I’ll need them too!”

“Yes, chef! Of course! I would be honored to have an example of your skill!” Jonx exclaimed as he snapped off another bow. But before the two could get into it, Crags stepped in and pulled him away, “Oh no, not this slugshit again. We’re leaving, Therge! Give him your contact information and you two can go on a date later. Right now I’m taking him to Jasp.”

Jonx was pushed along, half-dragged by the firm grasp of Crags’ hand-shaped fin. Tilik trailed behind, chuckling softly in amusement, while Kettle floated silently above, practically sleeping because of her recent food coma.

By the time they returned to the central courtyard, Jonx was walking without being pulled and Kettle had settled onto his right shoulder. Jasp, Gilguk and Zozka were already waiting for them. The Elapid looked battered and singed of all things. Alarm instantly spiked in Jonx right as he tried to flash forward with the internal empowerment of his Gravitic Raiments singing in his veins.

Unfortunately, he barely made it a step before a heavy fin grabbed him by the shoulder, followed by an even heavier etheraura, which stopped him in his tracks as Tilik tsked from behind, “Ah ah ah, chumbait, not so fast. Your friend is fine, unless you think she’s gonna die from shame and embarrassment. Calm your twaddles.”

When Jonx was finally allowed to stand next to Zozka, he immediately whispered, “What the hell happened to you?”

The normally proud Elapid warrior looked down abashed, eyes unwilling to meet his, “Gilguk made me test my own Synth meds…which meant she had to actually give me something to heal.” Zozka held up her clawed hand to stall his protests, “I’m not hurt. All of this is mostly superficial damage. It was just…annoying.”

“Ahem,” Jasp loudly cleared his throat, “If you two are done, it’s time to announce your results.”

Jonx and Zozka hastily turned their eyes forward, all ears on the otter Clove. Jasp drew deeply from his pipe and blew out smoke in wispy clouds that somehow seemed to stay circulating around his furry head, “First and foremost, because we chose to test the both of you together, then overall, the other inner disciples and I have decided to qualify the both of you for the selection tournament. However…” he held up a single furry finger, “…I would highly recommend that the two of you familiarize yourselves with the expectations for the tournament. It’s obvious to all of us here that you lack any formal training in a specific Way of Etherforging. You're both warborn — forged in the fires of conflict. You have brute force and adaptability, but no notable skill, no finesse. I have no doubt that you would beat your future competitors on a battlefield, but in a dueling arena? They will likely win. So, I suggest the two of you train specifically for passing the tournament.”

After he gave his advice, Jasp sent their AIs information packets for the selection tournament’s rules and regulations. Then, the otter unceremoniously waved his pipe in their direction.

“Now, shoo!”

Chapter 6

Back to Basics

The Palace of Design’s selection tournament serves as an entry point for Etherforgers of all stages under Soulsphere to enter the Nothlitian Pentumvirate hierarchy.

This provides aspiring Forgers the opportunity to earn access to exclusive instructors, Peak grade circuit manuals, high end resources and much, much more!

Serve the Five and be richly rewarded! Ascend today!

The introduction of the selection tournament rules and regulations was…less than stellar, as far as Jonx was concerned. Hell, it was worded more like a Ponzi scheme or some recruitment ad. But then again, if the peoples of the Pentumvirate worshipped the Five as literal gods, it made more sense.

Put in that context, the seemingly cheesy advertisement became more of a religious proclamation than anything else. And if Earth religions were any indication, then people and their zealotry knew no bounds. Especially when someone was indoctrinated from an early age.

Jonx had the fortunate position of being an outsider looking in. Having been culturally displaced, he could see the insidiousness of something like this. Keep the common man down, under the rule of their ‘betters.’ Teach them to sustain themselves on scraps, then offer them the chance for something, anything, better. And voila! You have a sustainable workforce.

It was the same thing that any corporation or government did on Earth. And they had all considered it ‘civilization.’

Well, Jonx couldn’t argue with it. Not really. There was a sadistic logic to it. He, himself, had subscribed to it without ever knowing otherwise. If not for having his world burn, he would have probably still been working at the medical center. Just another cog in the machine that was healthcare.

Now though…the universe was such a vast place. This was the sixth planet he’d been on in four different galaxies for Christ’s sake! And while he agreed with Zozka that they both needed training, he had no intention of toiling away under the rule of others who’d worked the system for longer than him.

No. However this tournament shook out and whichever Sept he ultimately ended up in was nothing more than a stepping stone to his future.

Zozka read the rules and regulations over and over again. They were simple enough, though she knew she needed to prepare herself accordingly. The Sept and Faction structure was reminiscent of her people’s own hierarchy. The outer disciples were like the dregs, those Elapids who were too weak to be warriors, but made for able bodied workers. This category would also encompass the common den warriors, who were the recruits who’d yet to see battle, too new from their egg sacs.

Meanwhile, the Elites and High Elites would have been equivalent to the inner disciples. The cream of the crop, who received only the best of the best. She longed for those simple days, but knew them to be colored by rose-tinted glasses.

Lastly came the core disciples, who would have shared the same status as the Elapid elders. Zozka still hated them for having thrown her and her people away for their own needs. Though, if elder Onding could see her now, the old Clove would be groveling before Zozka — begging to serve.

The thought made her smile a little, but it also reminded her of having her homeworld taken over by someone only a couple of stages higher than she was now. That was really what this was all about. It was her singular, driving force for wanting to belong to a Sept on a high tiered world. She wanted the personal power to be beyond anyone’s control. If she had been a Soul Verve, she would never have lost her planet, her people.

The problem was that she just didn’t know where to go from here. While Clan Bannermanes had resources, they could not offer the same access to insight into what it took to advance. The Clan was a mercenary conglomerate. They had open contracts that members could take with rewards commensurate with the effort. But unless one of those rewards were the secrets to Etherforging, she would need another way to grow.

For her, everything hinged on this selection tournament. She knew that Jonx didn’t fully understand, but he was a good enough friend to go along with it anyway. The prospect of joining a Sept meant more than just gaining power or being trained by experts. It meant security for her future. If she was powerful enough, then no one could make her feel this way ever again.

A pair of hook swords interlocked at their tips as jagged shadows whooshed through the air, aimed directly at Jonx’s neck. His head blurred out of the way at the same time that his naginata tried to block.

Too bad for him though, weapons made of shadows could simply phase through solid objects as if they were never there. It was an annoying attribute of shadow-ether — incorporeality. “Fuck,” he cursed as he danced back from his holographic opponent.

He deftly twirled his naginata in wide arcs, all the while charging his Meteorite circuit to give the jade-like exterior of his weapon more void-ether. Maybe if he infused it enough, he could counter the phasing. His reserves dipped just in time to hear a clang when his naginata struck the spinning hook swords out of their rotation.

The hologram instantly grabbed the sword handles out of the air in a flourish, maintaining its momentum to transition straight into a whirl of slashes.

Clack, clack, clack. His blade alternated with the butt of the naginata as he fended off each sword strike. This exercise was purely for developing his weapons skills, which he had practically none of. It was just him and his chosen naginata versus a simulated opponent that Kirby had programmed to have random elemental powers and the martial arts skills of various Earth weapons.

The simulation wasn’t perfect by any means. His AI could only do so much when superimposing the various ether mutations over weapon techniques that were mundane by design. But, it was the best he had at his disposal.

One hook sword suddenly swept low, forcing Jonx to lift his foot high before sliding backwards. As soon as he did though, the other sword instantly stabbed forward. While the blade’s tip wasn’t meant to hit him, he still had to tilt his head to the side to avoid the shadowy strike that extended the attack’s reach. Jonx tsked, then snapped a kick to the hologram’s body using the full force of his seventh rank Forged body. His simulated opponent flew across the combat holo-room and banged directly into the far wall before disintegrating into motes of light.

“You know, if you keep breaking your toys after every little setback, you’re never gonna learn how to use that sharp stick you’re waving around, Jonxo,” Kirby mockingly scolded. Jonx grunted in annoyance. “Ya, ya, ya. Look, I’m getting better. It’s just taking me a while. This isn’t one of Dak-Kalpak’s mindscapes, I don’t have infinite reserves or time here.”

He proceeded to casually twirl his naginata in lazy circles above his head, then around his back, creating a whirring sound all the while as he tried to rid himself of his frustration. “Ugh, it’s been five months and I’m barely making any progress. I need to get my head in the game. I won’t be the one to let Zozka down.”

“Jonxy, you know what they say — it’s not a daily increase, but a daily decrease. Hack away at the essentials,” Kirby intoned. Jonx quirked an eyebrow, while still whirling his naginata, “Really? Bruce Lee quotes?”

His AI retorted, “Hey, don’t knock it. He was way before his time. I bet he would’ve been a powerful Etherforger!” Suddenly, Jonx’s inner vision was filled with an intangible red outline of a body that only he could see. “C’mon, buddy. You know the drill. Eyes up. Stay sharp.”

Jonx sighed, “You’re right, Kirbs. Katas never hurt anyone.”

He stepped into the ethereal outline, placing himself in a side stance, feet spread evenly with the tip of his bladed spear pointed towards the floor. As soon as he was in position, the original outline lit up blue and the next outline appeared. He seamlessly slid forward, bringing the naginata up and around into a downward front strike. The next outline came and he swept in with a low attack. Then, Jonx rotated at the waist to immediately strike high, where someone’s head would be.

The next few maneuvers were the intended counterattacks — low block with the blade, high block with the butt, step back, sweep low. As he moved, his body began stepping before the outlines even appeared. He’d done this basic naginata kata hundreds of times. It was practically muscle memory at this point. Stab to the face, slide a hand down the shaft, rotate the weapon in a circle, then slice downward. Sweep low. Hit with the butt. Parry. Strike the midsection. Deflect. Swipe at the neck. On and on.

There were five basic katas in this particular martial art, kenpo. And each kata had six to seven movements. Thus, from start to finish, he struck or defended 34 times. It barely took a handful of minutes to perform. So as soon as he was done, he found himself back in the starting position — turned to the side, feet spread evenly and blade pointed down.

The red outline appeared once more in his vision and Kirby intoned, “Again.”

Jonx and Zozka stood opposite each other in a rented dueling room that she’d been able to reserve from Clan Bannermanes. They each wore a protective charm that would blunt their weapons from doing any real damage. Jonx was still chugging along with his conjured naginata. He wasn’t an expert by any means, but he could fend for himself. Meanwhile, Zozka had picked up a pair of Masterwork metalloy claws that reminded Jonx of Wolverine. Her chosen weapon didn’t give her any form of reach, but she didn’t need that, she had her twin tails. They were reach enough.

He and his friend had another couple of weeks before the selection tournament was upon them. While their preparations were mostly done, he figured some last minute sparring wasn’t going to hurt. After all, there were only so many times either of them could fight a simulation. He needed the split second decision making that could only come from a live opponent.

Jonx checked the timer on his HUD as their AIs counted down.

On zero, he immediately lunged forward, bladed spear leading the way, while being internally empowered by his Gravitic Raiments. In a single, elegant move, Zozka swept the tip of his weapon aside with one of her claws, pivoted, then lashed out with her tails. Jonx deftly sidestepped, catching her attack on the haft of his naginata in a side sweep that turned into a wide spin, followed by a spinning back kick.

Zozka stepped back for a brief moment, only to leap at him in the next, claws raking diagonally in a V-shape. The butt of his jade-colored naginata clanged against the metallic claws, knocking her arms wide and exposing her stomach to a snapping front kick.

All he got was a grunt for his effort as she slid back a couple steps, only to dig her tails into the ground to stop her momentum. Jonx noted that she had gained much better control over her new appendages since they first got to Boifon.

With a flick of her tails, she flung herself back at him in a jumping side kick of her own. He swiftly leaned back and twisted at the waist, allowing her leg to sail right past him. But, Zozka wasn’t done. Her tails immediately wrapped around his waist, using his body as a pivot point. The massive Elapid warrior then clung to him with her legs like a goddamned spider. She swiftly stabbed her claws downward at Jonx’s face, but found an immovable naginata in the way.

He growled with the strain of having to hold up her massive weight while simultaneously struggling to fight off her nearly superior strength. If not for his Gravitic Raiments lending him power, he would have already crumpled. Since her evolution with her Soul Mold, her physical capabilities had exponentially increased, putting her on an even keel with him.

Maybe it was time to advance his Forged body.

Other Soulforged were sure to be just as physically powerful and he needed every advantage he could get.

Jonx briefly surged his ether, tangling her claws with the shaft of his naginata and heaved. The Elapid whipped forward, but used her tails to twist midair so she could land on her raptor legs. In an instant, she pounced again.

Jonx whirled his bladed spear in a fast figure-eight to keep her at bay. Claw strike after claw strike clanged with every deflection. It was much easier for Zozka to stay on the offensive considering how small her weapons were. Jonx needed space and time to get going, but once he had the momentum, he could easily keep it up.

He slid his feet in wide steps side to side, while maintaining a blistering pace with his naginata. The air whirred like a buzzing bee as he seamlessly transitioned between defense and attack. Neither tail nor claw could get through the rapidly rotating weapon.

Now that Jonx had the room to breathe, they were at a stalemate.

Until, that is, one of Zozka’s arms zipped towards his face, elongated by her Sleeted Limbs. Jonx hastily knocked it out of the air and admonished her, “Hey! I thought we were just doing weapons training!”

As an answer, she gave her best innocent face, while smiling just a little too toothily, “Woops!” Then, her other arm extended to try to strike at his hip. He scoffed and knocked it away too, “Pfft, fine.” With a flick of his mind, overlapping plates of violet slid over his body with joints illuminated in neon yellow as his whole frame grew to eight feet. Meanwhile, Zozka inflated her own reptilian form — her neck, arms, back and legs bulging with the power of Avalanche.

The Elapid laughed in amusement, “Ha! Now this is how we should have been training, Jonxo!” In an instant, she appeared in front of him leaving a trail of snow in her wake.

Her arms were now stretched out like thick anacondas and tipped by her Masterwork claws. She suddenly became a writhing mass of elongated limbs, whipping her twin tails at him at the same time as her Sleeted arms struck from awkward angles. Her Avalanche Domain kept her aloft, hovering slightly above the ground as she added a string of kicks aimed towards his chest.

Jonx wasn’t in any danger, between the protective charm and his Raiments, he could handle plenty of punishment. All of her attacks simply broke against his armor as he stood his ground to weather her assault. Then, with a thought, his naginata grew in length and girth, giving him enough reach to challenge her Sleeted Limbs.

The two slowly ramped up their speed, getting a feel for using their weapons with the extra energy from their Soul circuits. Wherever bladed spear clashed with metallic claw, a dusting of snowflakes or sparks of charged ions erupted. Soon, that was all that could be seen as their attacks blurred all over the dueling room.

While this wasn’t near their top speeds, if someone in the Crystallized realm were watching them, they’d appear to be teleporting from one spot to the other. The perceptions of a Soulforged were beyond the lower realms. They kept up their breakneck pace for another several minutes before a loud bang echoed through the room and the duo flashed back into existence.

Jonx slid backwards in a crouched posture, feet spread wide with one hand dragging along the floor, his naginata held tightly behind his back.

Meanwhile, Zozka had to dig in both arms and her twin tails into the ground, furrowing four troughs to bleed off the excess momentum. Jonx was barely panting from the exertion, more a warm up than anything at his level. Though, he looked at his reserves and found himself to be under 50%. “Damn. This pseudo-Soul circuit is a drag on my energy. We’re gonna have to take a breather, Zozo. I need to recoup a bit.”

Stretching languidly, she nodded her serpentine head in acknowledgment as her body deflated from releasing her Domain, “Fine by me, I could use a bite. But the next round, let’s just start where we left off. We only have a few weeks left before the tournament. May as well train like we mean it.”

Chapter 7

Bad Things Come in Trees

Boifon was a low tier 1 planet and the principal capital world for the nearest four star systems that made up the local star zone, which meant that the single, global selection tournament held every five years was a big deal. In fact, it was a humongous celebration all across the planet. Boifon was nearly three times the surface area of Earth, when the station and planet itself were combined, which made the global census nearly 30 billion living beings.

Jonx could only liken the tournament to the World Cup or the Super Bowl back on Earth, though on a far grander scale. While during the World Cup, there were only around 700 players, the selection tournament of the Boifonese Septs had a staggering sixty thousand potential disciples. Hell, it had the same amount of participants as the student body of any major U.S. university.

He found himself standing atop a vast, orange leafed canopy in a riftworld maintained specifically for this event. The pocket dimension was made of gargantuan trees with maroon trunks that were the size of skyscrapers. Interspersed amidst these arboreal towers were equally massive, rocky pillars of blue stone. Snaking out from each tree were broad branches as large as highways, weaving between wood and rock alike. Meanwhile, far below was an endless drop into a deep red abyss of nothingness. In Jonx’s enhanced eyesight, he spied wooden highways leading downward into the unknown.

To his right, Zozka was peering up into a pinkish sky dotted by tufted platforms of solid, navy blue clouds. Each of the clouds ringing the rift entrance housed the representatives of the various Septs ready to cast their judgments on the contestants from on high. Balloon-sized robotic orbs with dozens of crystal ‘eyes’ could be seen zipping through the skies to ensure that every little tidbit of action could be live-streamed to the masses.

Just like with the World Cup, this quinquennial tournament was broadcasted to more than just the Sept recruiters. It was an event that the majority of Boifonese watched on holograms or displays all around the planet. Even as Jonx waited for the introductory proceedings, there were aliens packing bars, restaurants and houses to the brim — drinking and carousing in anticipation of the tournament.

Jonx spread his ether senses out to encompass the sixty thousand participants that were clustered in twelve groups across separate treetops and rocky platforms. His own senses were muddled and lost amidst the thousands of others that were also sizing up the competition. While he couldn’t quite get an accurate grasp of each and every person’s stage, he easily felt the presence of the hundred or so Soulforged in his group. None were above Soul Mold and they were the only ones in their realm amongst all the competitors.

From a handful of paces in front of him, a pair of Soul Molds were whispering to each other, though they weren’t exactly trying to keep their voices down. The leftmost was a Haelstrali, one of the core races of the Pentumvirate. Standing just under five feet, they were an insectoid race with a hard, chitinous exoskeleton, sporting four arms, two legs and no eyes or ears to speak of, only a vicious maw that could unhinge to swallow large chunks of meat. According to Kirby’s database, their auditory and olfactory senses came from the dozens of long, hanging antennae cascading down to their shoulders that resembled dreadlocks more than actual insect parts.

Jonx was bored waiting for the opening ceremonies, so he honed in on their conversation. The Haelstrali was complaining, “Celestials above, Marver, I don’t know why they force us to play along with this charade. It’s all just a farce and a waste of time for all us Soulforged.”

Quirking an eyebrow out of curiosity, Jonx couldn’t help but continue to eavesdrop. ‘Marver’ looked to be a Clovenkind of some sort. Bipedal with green, scaly skin, he had tens and tens of writhing flagella for hair, almost as if he were wearing a hat made of a sea anemone. Marver’s face was distinctly humanoid, though with only a single eye and he spoke with a constant gurgling in his voice, “Tche, it’s all a part of the dance, Zelcaz. The Palace doesn’t give one bintsniffing phik about wayward Soulforged. Even if they know we’re all going to breeze through the selection tournament, we still need to actually be selected by one of the Septs. This way, we get to show off a little and they have to fight amongst themselves for us. Who knows? Maybe you and I will get some nice offers from them, eh?”

That last statement was…unexpected. The impression Jonx had gotten from Jasp was that to qualify for the tournament was a serious endeavor. He made quick strides to the talking pair and coughed into his hand to get their attention, “Ahem, excuse me, but…I couldn’t help but overhear that last part. What did you mean by us Soulforged ‘breezing’ through the tournament? Were the two of you not warned that this would be difficult even for us?”

Zelcaz laughed in a high pitched screeching, “Ha! Who told you that?” Jonx stroked his chin and looked troubled, “My friend and I went to the headquarters of the Palace of Design down on the surface. Their inner disciples vetted us through a series of qualifying tests before they approved us to participate in the selection tournament. Was…that not the case for you two?”

“Qualifiers? Who in the Five’s balls told you that, stranger? We’re Soulforged!” Marver exclaimed, then pointed a scaly finger up to the clouds above them. “See those Septs? They’ll be chomping at the bit for another Soulforged. Wherever we go in the Pentumvirate, we are the elites.”

Jonx had a sinking feeling form in his stomach with a side of embarrassment, “Wait, so what did you guys do to get into this tournament?”

Marver and Zelcaz shared a look with each other, before the Haelstrali answered, “Do? Did you not hear my friend here? We just sent an AI message to the Palace that we were coming. Blighted rust, I bet some of the other Soul Molds here simply walked in. Who would turn away an itinerant Soulforged?”

That was the last straw as Jonx finally exploded, “Son. Of. A. Bitch! That goddamned fucking otter!”

Jonx was fuming as he ran along an upward sloping branch nearly 100 feet across, about the width of a three lane highway. He and Zozka had split up after the contestants were let loose in the titanic forest. She wasn’t nearly as pissed as he was, though she was still a bit miffed. The damned Elapid thought it was alright for the ‘honored elder’ to have irrational whims – blah, blah, blah. Meanwhile, Jonx just saw it as yet another blatant abuse of the powerful. Good lord, did he need to advance. This wouldn’t have been an issue if he was a Soul Verve or Psyche.

His feet pounded on maroon colored tree bark as hard as concrete as he followed along after Kettle. Having his dogolin as his own eyes in the sky wasn’t against the rules. There were other flying ether-beast pets roaming the colossal tree-scrapers too. She even spotted some personal drones that she sent back through the real-time feed in his HUD.

Anyone who had their own method of aerial surveillance was definitely at an advantage, since the first round of this apparently pointless selection tournament was for the participants to gain points by gathering ether-rich treasures of the riftworld – herbs, ores and ether-beast meat and crystals. Everything in the dimension had already been extensively cataloged in the centuries that the contest had been operating. So it was simple for the flying camera-orbs to keep track of each contestant’s contribution. Beyond that, their AIs were also responsible for maintaining a running record of what each participant collected. This round was simple – get a high score, go to the next round.

There was a curveball, though. Some of the treasures were rigged and none of the contestants had any idea which was which. On the off-chance that a pair of Forgers entered a specific area around a treasure, then they’d automatically be forced to duel. At the opening ceremonies, everyone had been given a Masterwork Scriptsmithing charm that could protect anyone from an attack at the mid-Soulforged level and below. The duel was won when one contestant garnered enough damage by the charm to be considered incapacitated or dead.

Unfortunately for Jonx, there were rules in place for Soulforged. Since he and his contemporaries were at an exponential advantage over those in the Crystallized or Body Preparation realms, Soulforged were forbidden from fighting with Soul circuits. While they could still use their full repertoire of circuits to hunt treasures, they were limited to only their Crystal or Body circuits for duels. Ultimately, it wouldn’t matter in the end, handicap or not. A Soulforged generally had a higher ranked Forged body with larger ether reserves than those in the lower realms. Jonx found it very difficult to think that a Soulforged would lose a duel, which was why Marver and Zelcaz felt this whole endeavor was a waste of time.

Kettle suddenly pinged his HUD and sent him the image of a beetle-like ether-beast as large as a house. Its chitinous carapace was stained a deep maroon and streaked with orange, making it the perfect camouflage for these colossal tree-scrapers. With a thought, his Gravitic Raiments instantly reinforced his limbs, sending an energetic buzz throughout his body. Then, in the next moment, Jonx began jumping from one step to another, seemingly flashing across large swathes of branch-bark and easily eating up the distance to the beetle.

As soon as he was close enough, he honed in on the ether-beast with his senses, determining that it was still in the Crystallized realm. Jonx could tell the creature had dampened its ether signature, though not enough to fool his Soulforged perception. Against the side of the towering trees, the beast could easily be overlooked, its massive body was downright diminutive compared to the gigantic foliage. Even now, after Jonx had detected it, the beetle was difficult to spot with just his normal eyesight.

Despite his brash entrance into the hunting grounds of the beast, he made sure to not focus on its position. And, just like the patient predator it was, the ether-beast waited for him to let his guard down. Jonx kept his body pointed away from the creature, pretending to peer intently through the maze of highway-branches covered in hanging vines and drooping leaves as if they were suspension cables.

The beast was roughly 200 feet away on his six and he was just waiting for it to take the bait of his wide open back. Jonx even went so far as to sit cross legged on the branch he was on and brought out a piece of jerky. As soon as he started chewing, Kettle sent him a video feed of his own face along with cascading food emojis, which was a not so subtle indicator that she wanted her own share.

Well, she was about to get an afternoon buffet because the beetle finally silently detached itself from the side of the nearby tree.

From Kettle’s live-stream, Jonx watched the beast’s wings fluttering soundlessly. Damn, this thing was built for surprise attacks. Even as it hovered just a dozen feet away from him, the beetle wasn’t disturbing the air around them. Impressive. Its maw opened menacingly into a four part jaw as a proboscis as thick as an arm slid out. Absolutely nightmarish.

Jonx didn’t even need to turn around, he made a fist and his Meteorite circuit instantly conjured charged ions that rapidly gravitated to the beast’s head in the blink of an eye. Squelch. The beetle’s chitinous skull didn’t even offer any resistance to the sudden mass of matter that pulverized its brains to a pulp.

With a loud thud, its dense, headless body unceremoniously dropped to the branch behind him and in the next moment Kettle was happily digging around in its innards. Jonx stood and dusted himself off, “Well, that was anticlimactic.” He used a flicker of his Plasma Domain to fetch the ether-beast’s Crystallized Chamber, which was about the size of a large grapefruit, and placed it into storage. Then, he bent down and scratched Kettle’s blood splattered snout, “Enjoy the meal, girl. I’ll look around for some more things to gather. Just come find me when you’re done.”

But as soon as Jonx activated his Domain to levitate himself to the next highway-branch over, a prehensile vine suddenly wrapped around his ankle and yanked.

Jonx was helplessly slammed into the side of the tree-scraper’s trunk, leaving a man-sized crater in the bark. “What in the-” he got out just before the vine dashed him against the tree again and again. BANG, BANG, BANG.

On the last crunch, half a dozen vines bundled him up tight, smooshing his body right up against the trunk. Jonx surged his Domain, only for it to fizzle out against the seemingly insulated ropes of plant matter. A voice like dried leaves spoke right into his ear as he struggled to break free, “Squirm all you want, outworlder. Your power means nothing to Nanok Sterncrest. You are Nanok’s payment for this damnable test of your peoples.”

Jonx suddenly felt hundreds of needles skewer his flesh as they extended from the vines holding him in place. In a matter of moments, his whole body went numb like a shot of novacaine. Whatever this creature was, it was sedating him and he didn’t like that at all. This type of shit never ended well.

“Hmmm, yes. Strong. What a delicious meal for Nanok. It has been so long since Sterncrest has feasted on a Soulforged. Mmm…delectable,” the plant monster crooned. Despite the numbness of the creature’s injection into his bloodstream, Jonx could still feel the wells of warm energy emanating from his dual Chambers, until abruptly, the warmth began to ebb. “Shit, it’s siphoning my goddamned reserves,” he cursed to himself. He wasn’t going to take that lying down as he hastily redoubled his struggles. Just because he felt numb didn’t mean he couldn’t move. It was just very awkward.

The monster spoke again, confusion in its voice, “Oh? Two Chambers? How odd. Why would you waste your time, outworlder? Humph, Nanok will need to devour both at the same time for a decent sized meal.”

Jonx ignored the creature’s jibes, firing up his Brain Chamber instead and accelerating his perception to give him more time. Drool dripped down from his anesthetized lips as his head hung limply while his chin rested on his chest. Luckily, he didn’t need his body to move for what he planned. He only needed his mind.

In the slowed time of his perception, Jonx sharpened his willpower to a fine point and split his mind in four parts, the maximum he could manage at the moment. The monster’s anesthetic was quickly limiting his options. Meanwhile, boa constrictor-like vines writhed around his body, slow as molasses to his perception. Four strands of his will weaved around his trapped limbs next and in less time than the blink of an eye, three dozen Ether Anchors snapped into reality, embedded deep into the plant creature’s flesh. That’s when he pulled.

His once leaking reserves were suddenly gorging on ether causing an inhuman screech to echo all around him. Though with his heightened perceptions, the voice sounded more like it was moving through water.

Jonx used the surplus of energy to haphazardly cycle his Cardiovascular system, supercharging his metabolism to the point that he was burning through the numbing agent as fast as possible. He even triggered his Gravitic Raiments internally to speed up the process. Pins and needles suffused every inch of him as his sensations rapidly returned. Then, he flexed his Raiments and his armor grew directly from his skin to kick out all of the vines’ thorns.

All in the span of a couple of seconds, he was out of the plant’s trap and staring back at some sort of spriggan–like monster like out of a fantasy game. The thing was very distinctly not a Malkin. Malkin’s had bark-like skin sure, but none of the wildness and ferocity that the creature before him had.

The thing was easily two stories tall, its arms and legs blending directly into the side of the towering tree-scraper. It didn’t have real skin, instead, it was made of coiled and twisting maroon-colored vines with gnarled twigs branching out at irregular intervals, sharp and jagged. The monster had no face to speak of, just a misshapen stump without eyes, ears or mouth. So it was really confusing to hear the creature screeching and hissing like an angry cat.

“Food! How dare you flee from Nanok!” it bellowed before releasing its etheraura. The pressure in the air suddenly doubled, forcing Jonx to sink a few feet midair from the sheer weight. He hastily let loose his own aura, pitting his willpower against the creature’s animalistic rage. The monster was strong. Far stronger than what the Sept officials had told them. Something like this shouldn’t have even been in this riftworld. It should have been pruned long ago.

“I got something for you to chew on, swamp thing,” Jonx countered as he raised his arms overhead and summoned an overgrown Chaos Orb. Then, in one fell swoop, he brought his hands down, launching the Orb with a pair of Ramjets backing it. His attack covered the distance between them in a heartbeat, easily disintegrating a third of the monster’s body in an instant.

Nanok’s angry screeching quickly became high pitched roars of pain and agony. But before Jonx knew it, waves of maroon bark rippled along the tree’s trunk straight towards the monster, rapidly regenerating the damage done and leaving a spot on the tree completely devoid of color. Kirby took that opportunity to point out the obvious, “Well, shit. That’s not good.”

“Really, Kirbs? You think?” Jonx answered sarcastically. “We have to get that thing off of the tree and onto one of the stone pillars.”

He barely had time to think of the words, when all of a sudden, leviathan-sized vines erupted from the surface of the tree-scraper. Jonx flared his Raiments and flashed between the plant’s tentacles, relying on the heightened perceptions of his Brain Chamber to weave in and out.

Too bad for him though, he never saw the colossal maw rising from the depths. The jaws of a venus fly trap as large as a blue whale came out of nowhere and swallowed him whole in a single gulp. Immediately, he found himself covered in slimy saliva and in utter darkness, the only light coming from the yellow energy of his Raiments. “Ugh, yuck,” Jonx complained as he tried to shake his arms to slough off the plant’s juices.

A voice suddenly thundered in the cavernous mouth, “Mmmm…food. It’s always so much more delicious when Nanok’s meal struggles. Your despair is absolutely heavenly.” At the last comment, Jonx felt a visceral shiver rumble through the entire mouth.

“Just romaine calm, Jonxo. Be-leaf in yourself! I’m rooting for you, buddy!” Kirby teased. In a deadpan tone, Jonx responded, “Really, Kirbs? Fucking plant puns? Now?”

“Hey, when else was I going to use them? Besides, you’re the one lazing about. Isn’t it time to take off the gardening gloves and finish this thing once and flor-all?” his AI asked cheekily.

Jonx rolled his eyes, speaking in an exasperated tone, “God, I hate you sometimes.” Then, he began shaping an outlandishly tall javelin-shaped Ether Anchor, stabbing it directly into the monster fly trap’s fleshy tongue. More slime instantly gushed out then, drenching him in sticky ichor. It didn’t stop him from siphoning more energy though, which he kept feeding right back into his Anchor. “Food, know your place! Nanok is the master here, not you!” the monster wailed.

“Ya, ya, ya, just keep it up, buttercup. Let’s see what you’ve got,” Jonx mumbled. With so much ether being stolen from the creature, he had plenty to summon another gigantic javelin Anchor in his other hand. Now with two sharpened stakes growing up and down, Jonx was able to forcibly crack open the fly trap's jaws.

The monster let loose a wrenching screech just as Jonx saw the light of day. In the next moment, his Plasma Domain blazed to life, giving him the power to swiftly zip out of the yawning maw. He made sure to leave his Anchors inside the creature as he rocketed upward. Behind him, whipping at his violet plated heels, were more humongous plant tentacles trying to get ahold of him again.

“Your Sept masters promised Nanok and his ilk offerings! This is a blatant breach of our agreement, food. Now, be a good little snack and Sterncrest shall let your puny people return to your masters with your trivial ‘prizes,” the creature yelled from below. “Huh, so that’s how they keep this riftworld ‘under control.’ No wonder Nanok is so powerful, they just keep feeding the damned thing,” Jonx thought as he continued his breakneck escape upward through the titanic forest.

In the span of a handful of minutes, he broke through the orange-leafed canopy and out into the open riftworld sky. But, Nanok seemed to be more than just a single tree. From a hundred feet up, Jonx could see that the monster looked to have control over the entire part of the forest in his immediate vicinity.

Wriggling tentacles of bark and vine ineffectually tried to catch him, forcing Jonx to climb higher and higher. “Alright, you overgrown weed, I get it. You’re hungry. Go find some lower realm noobs to snack on and leave me the hell alone!” he hollered as he bombarded the plant life with Chaos Orb after Chaos Orb, rapid-fired with his Ramjets. Amidst the din of battle, he heard a sharp whistling just before his dogolin companion split the air with her speed, absolutely obliterating dozens of writhing vines in a single pass through. “Kettle! Nice job, girl. Do it again!” Jonx called.

The diminutive ether-beast swooped around for another pass, this time she enlarged her body with her Armament Cloak and shaped it into a steel bullet the size of a go-cart. At the speed she was traveling, there was a concussive sonic boom as her damage tripled, easily slicing through nearly a hundred tentacles at once.

Adding insult to injury, Jonx used Kettle’s distraction to conjure a Chaos Orb as large as a house. He wanted to do enough damage to give him and his dogolin some room to get out of dodge. In a single breath, his Plasma Domain wrapped the entire Orb in a shell of neon-colored ions sizzling the air with their energy. Then, in the next breath, he shoved the gargantuan Plasma-Chaos Orb at Nanok’s writhing vines, propelling it at high speed with a number of Ramjets.

Like a ponderous meteor, the Orb crashed into the mass of plant life, vaporizing nearly half of them in a cloud of detritus and neon particles.

All the towering tree-scrapers in the area immediately let out a simultaneous screech, shrill and utterly inhuman. But, Jonx and Kettle were already far, far away, leaving a trail of ions in their wake as they zoomed through the pink skies of the riftworld.

“Goddamn, Zozka is gonna owe us something, Ketts. I swear, we better get treated to some drinks or dinner after this whole god forsaken tournament,” Jonx grumbled as navy blue clouds blurred passed. He didn’t know where he was going, but damned if he was going to stay close to Nanok freakin’ Sterncrest.

Chapter 8

Spelunking

“Well, would you look at that, Jral, someone actually escaped from that insane monster, Nanok,” Mantog said. She was an amphibious Clovenkind, plump and barrel-chested, with shiny purple skin — a peak beauty of her subspecies. Her fellow inner disciple of the Thin Sea Sept, Jral, turned to her and spoke through the slitted gills on either side of her neck, “How in the Five did someone manage that? Nanok is a bintsniffing psychopath. That thing hates having its prey escape. We may be having a poor turnout for the next round, Mantog. You know the creature will take its pound of flesh one way or another. I pity the next few contestants that stumble into its territory.”

Jral casually floated across their navy blue cloud platform, which was set up as an open-air lounge with tufts of clouds serving as chairs, sofas and tables of various sizes. Each piece of furniture was malleable and could be altered by a disciples’ whims. For Jral, she needed more of a daybed to lounge on rather than a chair or sofa. As a mantaray Clove, her broad manta-wings needed space to spread out. While her wings blended directly into her temples and could be draped over her shoulders like a cape, she preferred them fanned out — much more comfortable that way. With a flick of her will, she etherpulsed at a cluster of cloud-chairs, willing them to change shape to fit her needs. Then, she coiled her thin manta-tail beneath her rump, laying down on her back with her hands behind her head and her wingspan expanded to its full width — eight feet.

“Put it up on the big holo, Mantog. And replay the footage from start to finish. The Foreign Shore Sept is going to throw an absolute fit when they find out. After all, Nanok is their responsibility,” Jral said delightedly.

Mantog complied, aiming an etherpulse at a pair of clouds in the shape of a sofa and table, respectively. Immediately, the navy clouds rolled towards each other and coalesced into a large, circular projection platform, able to conjure holograms ten feet tall.

A brown-skinned humanoid suddenly appeared in front of them, wreathed in violet armor, an obvious Soul circuit, while desperately trying to avoid Nanok’s practically unlimited vine-tentacles. The biped wasn’t half bad as far as Mantog was concerned. She watched it summon some neon particles that zipped around like ribbons of charged light. Evidently, it had a Domain, which meant the brown alien had two Soul circuits, placing it either at, or soon to be, Soul Cast.

The rest of the battle passed by at a frenetic pace. Mantog was mildly impressed by the humanoid’s ability to flee so effectively, “What do you think, Jral?” The mantaray took her time, stroking her chin and watching the hologram intently, before she answered, “Brown-boy there is definitely one of the better Soulforged in this tournament. I doubt many of the others would have been able to escape from Sterncrest’s initial anesthesia. That monster’s trap has been the downfall of who knows how many Forgers over the centuries. Now, I would like to see the alien actually fight another of the riftworld’s apex creatures. Maybe we should send in our own? I bet Stone-eye would love to feed on something that got away from Nanok. After all, the two absolutely despise each other.”

Jonx was on his fourth day away from that ridiculous, monster spriggan. The whole time, he made sure to keep a high level of alertness. He maintained a two way split of his mind with one dedicated solely on situational awareness. The creature, Nanok Sterncrest, had mentioned others of similar power. And Jonx was hellbent on not running into any more.

With four days down, there were another three left of the first round. In total, he would need a thousand points to advance to the second half of the tournament. So far, he’d been able to collect about 500 points worth of materials. Aside from the far more powerful beasts roaming this riftworld, this event was similar to his time on the untamed world, oh so very long ago.

He collected plenty of ether-rich herbs — cokmort, oslinkeaf, gilliberries and even some fanged uciper. Despite the vastness of the universe, ether, the vital energy of all Forgers, had concrete patterns that forced mutations in a finite number of ways. Sure there were variations between a cokmort collected from this riftworld versus another, but generally speaking, their effects in Alchemistry, Synthesizing or Culinary crafts were going to be similar. This was actually true for all ether crafting materials.

There was a reason that Jonx could be in completely different galaxies and still encounter relatively homogeneous goods. Because ether was a universal constant, so too were its permutations.

Now admittedly, the list of ether-rich herbs, vegetables and metal ores was absolutely massive and some star systems had an abundance of particular materials over others. Regardless, there was not an infinite number of ingredients. If ether had a firm twelve elemental forms, then there was a firm number of ways those elements could be expressed in animate and inanimate matter. Lucky for him, he didn’t have to waste his eidetic memory on memorizing that mind-numbing list. That’s what Kirby was for.

And his AI played the part well. Kirby was in control of Jonx’s secondary mind partition, using their shared ether senses to not only stay alert, but also to detect items that would be worth some points to the Sept officials. Over the course of the past couple of days, he’d also spotted other contestants roaming the riftworld, but had the fortune of not having to be pitted against them in a forced duel. Small blessings that, considering he’d had his fill fighting the damned spriggan already.

He even eschewed antagonizing the local ether-beasts, since that was how he got caught by Nanok in the first place. Thus, he played it safe, content with tracking down material goods like herbs and vegetables. In fact, he was currently following a lead on an ether-rich vein of ore that Kettle had spotted while playing scout.

That’s how Jonx found himself shrouded in his Domain and flying in between a copse of monolithic stone pillars within the mighty, maroon forest. In the shadow of other rocky obelisks, Kettle had somehow spied a cave opening high up on one of the pillars and he was hoping to find some ore.

Just as there were a plethora of herb and vegetable permutations, there were ore mutations as well. And thanks to the craft of Alloywelding, there were innumerable recipes to forge the various metalloys that formed the literal building blocks of galactic societies — weapons, armors, roads, buildings, spaceships. From jeskyx, the weakest of the metalloys, all the way up to adamantyx, the most durable. His own ship, The Silver Surfer, was made of estryx metalloy. At the time that he commissioned Bentner to retrofit the once pirate ship, Jonx had no real idea about the quality of materials. The Surfer was made of only the third strongest of the metalloys, which made it perfectly average, though where the ship truly shined was its scriptwork. He figured estryx was probably the best he could get on a backwater planet like Sokowa. If he ever got enough funds, there was a chance to upgrade his ship to a higher quality material. But, those were idle thoughts for the future.

For now, he drifted through hanging, dark ornate moss that obscured the cave’s entrance. Charged ion particles casually buzzed in loops around him, providing much needed light to the dimly lit cavern. Unfortunately, all he could see was darkness stretching out before him, which meant the cave was much larger than he’d expected.

Nearest to him were irregularly shaped stalactites and stalagmites scattered about, forming natural columns to hold up the tons and tons of solid rock hanging above his head.

Kettle lazily perched on his right shoulder, yawning loudly enough to echo off the cavern walls as he carefully tread through the cave. “Looks ominous,” Kirby whispered. Jonx scoffed in response, “Pfft. Gee, thanks, captain obvious. If I wasn’t paranoid before, I definitely am now.”

“Oh, c’mon, Jonxo, I’m not picking up anything other than that ore deposit. It’s just up ahead towards the center of the cavern by the way,” the AI informed. Within moments, Jonx found it. How could he not? Glowing a bright green, hundreds of vein-lines crisscrossed the floor, ceiling and several boulders strewn about. The light from the ore was the only illumination in the entire cave aside from his own ion particles.

“Well damn, that’s hauntingly beautiful. Now that we’re so close, you got a match for me in your database for the rock’s ether signature?” he queried his AI. In a split second, Kirby spit out an answer, “Oh you’re gonna love this, Jonxy. That right there is sheurium ore, a major component of forging both athilyx and pewyx metalloys, the fourth and fifth strongest Alloywelded metals respectively. This is a fairly valuable find, buddy. And if there’s more of this in this pillar, you might just get enough points to pass right now.”

That was all the incentive he needed to hear as he swiftly divided his mind into seven partitions. In the next instant, seven ribbons of Plasma sped outward, tightly controlled and with the searing heat of a laser-torch. Kirby then perfectly maneuvered each stream of Plasma to melt off layers of rock, easily excavating hunks of bright green sheurium ore with extreme precision. Within the time it takes for a teapot to boil, the job was done and piles of glittering verdant stones were heaped up all around Jonx, just waiting to be tallied and stored.

Once the ore was all in his storage bracer, he was left with nothing but melted slag and a dull white light coming from several potholes in the middle of the area, “Huh, looks like we missed some more, Kirbs.”

Jonx knelt down and casually swept away the charred rubble with a soft pulse of his Ramjets, “You got an ether signature analysis for me, buddy?” Kirby took a moment before answering, “Hmm…it feels like bastralt ore, which is a common ingredient for the low- to mid-strength metalloys. So that’s pretty useful. But, there’s another signature in there somewhere. It’s just muddled.”

“Welp, only one way to find out,” Jonx said cheerily as he summoned a pencil-thick Plasma torch on top of his finger. Without needing to be asked, his AI projected blue dotted-lines in his mind’s eye to indicate approximate sections matching the only discernible ether signature in the dull white ore. Just like he would when he dissected a body, Jonx traced along the lines that only he could see, accurately sectioning out the vein of minerals. With every hunk he excavated, he didn’t hesitate to place them in his interspatial bracer, until finally, all that remained was some stray pebbles and a gaping hole that led to the bowels of the rock pillar itself.

“Well, that’s not foreboding at all,” Jonx said drolly.

Before he could think too much about it though, he jumped down, letting the swirling ions of his Plasma Domain illuminate the darkness. It took several heartbeats until he touched down to the floor below. And as soon as he did, his HUD flashed red. “Warning! You’ve just entered a dueling area!” Kirby intoned.

“Fuck…” he cursed. “Where’s my opponent?”

A semi-translucent, three-dimensional map of a handful of floors suddenly appeared in his mind’s eye. His dot was purple and he was apparently on the topmost level. Meanwhile, his opponent was colored red and located all the way on the bottommost floor, which meant there must have been a second entrance further down the rock pillar. “Great. Now, we have to find each other,” he complained.

Then, a realization hit him, “Wait, can’t we just forfeit or something? I don’t really want to fight. Especially since I don’t even need the points anymore.”

Kirby gave him a mental head shake, “No can do, buckaroo. These duels are mandatory for anyone who enters the trap zone. Only way to ‘forfeit’ would be to quickly lose consciousness. The scriptwork embedded in this area will pick up your inability to fight. But, it will also dock you half your accumulated points. Sooooo, if you’re ok with wasting your time and having to rush to make up the loss, then go for it.”

“Fuck, this shit feels like a game. Like when I would die and lose half my money or something,” Jonx shook his head in exasperation. “Well, if I have to duel, then I’m making that guy come to me. Do we have a time limit?”

“As of right now? No. The dueling timer only starts on first contact and I’ll get a ping as soon as it does, so I can report back the results in real-time,” Kirby answered.

“Alright, well that’s something at least. I don’t want to be in a rush. I want to explore this level and see if there’re any ether-rich materials to gather,” Jonx said.

With that, he etherpulsed outward, his senses riding the wavelength of energy to give him a clear mental picture of the entire floor at a glance. Kirby then auto-populated anything he detected on his HUD’s map and in the next moment, half a dozen blinking dots appeared to show where he could search for treasure.

Jonx swiftly flitted from one cluster of minerals to the next, efficiently unearthing every bit of ore that he could with the help of his Plasma Domain. He was done in less than an hour and already on his way to trying to find a way down to the next floor. There were a total of four levels between him and his opponent, so he had time to ransack each floor along the way.

His ether senses discovered the way down easily enough and he found himself zipping through the next level, collecting everything that was worthwhile. More bastralt, a good bit of keplite, and even a few more deposits of sheurium. He was making out like a bandit just in this singular pillar alone. Lucky for him that this one had been hollowed out. Maybe if he could drill into some other towering stone monoliths, he’d collect enough ore for some personal use.

Alas, it was too good to be true as Kirby interrupted him while he excavated the last bit of keplite ore, “Bad news, buddy. It looks like you’re about to run out of time…”

Suddenly, the map on Jonx’s HUD tinted red as the dot of his opponent was just one layer of rock away. Then, he heard an explosion like a rockslide off to the side, hidden only by the darkness of the cave. Jonx stopped what he was doing and stood facing the general direction of the other combatant. He cracked his neck and knuckles, while rolling his shoulders, “Let’s make this quick. I want to raid the rest of this rocky skyscraper so I can just coast for the next couple of days.”

A pair of eerie green eyes shone through the darkness to search for its adversary, only to catch a violet plated Gravitic sabaton straight to the face. Jonx didn’t give whoever the hell his opponent was any time at all. His purple armored form blurred through the darkness, relying solely on his ether senses to lock onto the poor bastard that he had to fight. Absolutely no one got in between a hoarder and his plundering.

Thud. Thwack. Thunk. Shins and fists coated in ethereal plates smashed into anything soft or hard that Jonx could lay his hands on. He’d assaulted the stranger more than a dozen times in the span of a couple blinks, before the living punching bag decided enough was enough.

A final roundhouse slammed into his opponent one moment and in the next, it flared whatever circuits it could, engulfing it in a heatless green flame. The verdant fireball proceeded to crash straight through several stalactites leaving nothing but dust and debris in its wake, before it could stop itself.

Amidst the emerald flames, Jonx finally caught a glimpse of the aspiring contestant. It was a dusky red clay golem of some kind. Bipedal with two arms like a gorilla’s, thicker at the forearms and ending in a pair of ham-sized fists. It didn’t have a head in the traditional sense. Instead its face was embedded directly into its chest and torso with its mouth located where a bellybutton would be. It was eerily fascinating. Apparently the entire time Jonx had been aiming for the eyes, he’d just been battering the alien’s midsection.

And, despite the damage Jonx had just dished out, cracks and dents in the golem’s body were slowly repairing like putty being filled in. “Another Soulforged? Just my luck. I thought I would get a quick win, but it looks as though I will have to earn it,” the alien golem said confidently.

While his opponent spoke, Kirby conveniently displayed their profile on Jonx’s HUD. Evidently, it was a female Moddokan, one of the five prime races of the Pentumvirate. Imfaral, the Minister of Crafting, for whom the Palace of Design belonged, was also a Moddokan.

Jonx shrugged in response, “Ditto on that one. I wasn’t looking for a fight, but…here we are.”

“Hmm, yes. Here we are,” the Moddokan said as she controlled her green flames to form a ring around her. A Domain then. “It looks like you’re ahead of me already. I’ll have to change that.” Her large mouth smiled in the middle of her abdomen, showing teeth that were all too feral.

Immediately, the Moddokan pounced by digging her ape-like arms into the ground and literally flinging her body forward. Her green flame Domain flared to life like a roaring torch and then she was in front of him.

Jonx already had his Gravitic Raiments empowering him both internally and externally, so he dodged her attacks as if he were simply dancing. Even though they were both Soulforged, the original handicap still applied to them. They were only allowed to use a single Soul circuit each when fighting in a duel.

She obviously chose her Domain, meanwhile he figured his Raiments was better at both offense and defense. Her fighting style was extremely odd to him. Instead of using her feet to pivot, she was actually relying on her gorilla arms. It was a lumbering way to fight, but her kicks were just as fast as any he’d come across.

The Moddokan moved her face-torso and legs like she was her own personal swing. Back and forth, side to side, her kicks lashed out like snakes. What he couldn’t dodge, he blocked on his violet samurai armor. Even though he could change the shape of his Raiments at will, he preferred the motif.

Jonx could see the frustration building on her face. It was too large to miss considering it took up much of the Moddokan’s midsection. She growled as he effortlessly blocked a series of bicycle kicks. Then, she triggered another circuit.

Razor sharp, ethereal leaves sprung to life, lining her shins and the soles of her feet, turning her into a whirling dervish of leafy scythes. In his mind’s eyes, two humanoid silhouettes were projected in the lower corners of his vision. Parts of his and her body were highlighted in green, yellow or red to indicate the level of damage they’d each done. Her image was the only one with any red, albeit a minuscule amount. Meanwhile, his damage gauge was mostly green with only bits of yellow.

Despite her additional circuit, her damage barely increased. Lesser circuits just weren’t as effective against Soul circuits it seemed. Maybe if she used a combination of lesser circuits, but she wasn’t. Shame on her.

Taking his own advice, Jonx conjured his Meteorite coated Ether Anchor in the shape of his favored naginata. The smooth, jade-toned weapon materialized out of Crystallized ether from his dual Chambers and in an instant, he was twirling the bladed spear in dizzying circles, skillfully deflecting her own bladed kicks.

He’d improved with the naginata in the ten months since their ‘qualification trials.’ And Jonx definitely wasn’t still bitter about that. Nope. Not at all.

He wasn’t a master with the weapon by any means, but he was a damn sight better than in the beginning.

He struck out, stabbed, swiped and sliced faster than the eye could blink. The only reason his opponent was keeping up was because she too was a Soulforged. Though, he was slowly leaving knicks and scratches on her gorilla arms with his attacks. Regardless, her damage gauge was still mostly green or yellow. No more red, which meant he wasn’t doing enough. Her heatless flame Domain was rejuvenating her, he was sure of it. If he had to guess, those flames weren’t fire, they were life. And it was quickly becoming a pain in his ass.

Tsking to himself, Jonx gave up on his pseudo-Soul circuit, since it was just a drag on his ether reserves. He replaced his naginata with a pair of Chaos Orbs, floating just above his palms, and switched to close range. What better way to combat life than with pure destruction.

His Orbs immediately proved to be more effective, disintegrating the green flames and ethereal leaves alike and forcing the Moddokan to continuously conjure more. “Celestials damn you!” she snarled once she saw the damage being done. In her anger, she summoned a pair of gray metalloy sabatons that came up past her knees and encased the lower half of her legs in four razor talons in the shape of a claw.

She’d become a freakish mix of gorilla and harpy. One powerful enough to eviscerate her enemies in a single slash. The Moddokan proceeded to conjure her leaf blades directly onto the foot-weapons, giving her extra reach.

“Damn that’s annoying,” Jonx thought to himself.

Her new weapon was a Masterwork at the very least, maybe even a Peakwork. One made specifically for Soulforged as Jonx found out firsthand at how easy it was for her to gouge his armor. Her leaf-bladed talons sliced straight through his Gravitic plates, leaving paper cuts all over his skin. He wasn’t hurting, but they stung like ant bites. Worse, the wounds weren’t closing, despite him cycling ether into his Musculoskeletal system. It was obviously a side effect of her life-ether mutation, making her doubly annoying.

With his ether reserves dipping down to half, close range wasn’t doing him any favors. So, he made a split second decision and deactivated the armored portion of his Raiments, leaving only the internal reinforcement to energize his limbs.

Jonx blurred into sudden motion, now able to devote more ether to augmenting his movements. Before the Moddokan could even react, he was far enough away that she couldn’t hope to catch up, though she tried. Her gorilla-arms ploughed after him like an angry primate as she kicked out ethereal razor leaves at his retreating form.

He continued to flash around, zigzagging until he was comfortable enough to face his opponent as he continued running backwards. Splitting his concentration in twain, Jonx fixed the second part of his mind coordinating his movements, while he focused on bombarding the Moddokan from afar with Chaos Orbs propelled by Ramjets.

Jonx was impressed at her maneuverability as she used her ape-arms like pivot points to swing out of the way of his Orbs without losing any speed. “You’re really gonna have to step up your game there, Jonxo. She’s a wily one,” Kirby teased him in his head. “Thank you for the running commentary, Kirbo. What would I ever do without you?” he shot back.

Regardless of his AI’s snarkiness, Jonx really did have to do something. As he dodged between stalactites and stalagmites, an absolutely dumb idea formed. But, if anyone could get out what he was planning, it was probably him.

Firming his resolve, Jonx stopped aiming for where his opponent would be and instead, started launching his Orbs straight at the jagged rock columns holding the ceiling up — like an idiot.

“What are you doing, you bintsniffing imbecile!” the Moddokan shrieked as a large chunk of rock nearly collapsed on top of her. Jonx just kept firing Orb after Orb at the stalactites and stalagmites, even going so far as to hit the actual ceiling itself. “Oh, you know. Just winning at all costs and whatnot!” he yelled back nonchalantly.

With a good bit more of his reserves, he fired off two giant Chaos Orbs to finish the rockslide that he’d already started. In the next moment, massive slabs of stone came crashing down, no longer mere obstacles, but complete blockades, forcing his opponent to slide to an abrupt halt. Her Domain exploded out of her then, wreathed in rotating, razor-sharp leaves like some sort of giant chainsaw.

Sparks started coming off of the stone as she supercharged her circuits to try and clear the rubble away before she got completely buried. Thunk, thunk. Two Ether Anchors coated in a fine layer of Chaos energy and propelled by Ramjets suddenly cut directly through her Domain and embedded themselves straight into either shoulder.

Then, Jonx pulled at her ether reserves and her heatless green flames visibly dimmed. Her once sharpened leaf blades now dull.

“You thie-” her scream cut off as a wall of stone fell onto her, completely burying her. But the ceiling wasn’t done as more and more slabs came crashing down in a domino fashion, heading straight for Jonx.

“Aw, fuck. Here comes the boom!” he shouted to no one in particular. And then, he was buried alive too.

Chapter 9

Clash of the Titans

A single, flaming green eye snapped open, the last vestiges of being entombed alive under tons and tons of rock and rubble still blurring his vision. Stone-eye was pleased at the outcome of his little distraction. This target that the Thin Sea Sept gave him was proving to be a refreshing change of pace. No wonder that lamebrain, Nanok Stonecrest, lost her prey. This outworlder was wily and unhinged enough to risk itself for victory. Stone-eye would take pleasure in tenderizing the creature before devouring it.

The sound of loose rubble echoed in the darkness as he pulled out one of his many arms buried deep in the earth and stone all around him. These towering rock pillars were his territory, just as surely as those damnable maroon trees were Nanok’s. There was a third apex master of the skies in this region of the riftworld, Highburren, but she was as nebulous as her clouds. Neither Nanok nor himself worried themselves over Highburren. The real competition was between just the two of them.

And Stone-eye hated to lose.

A piece of Soulforged prey was as rare as meals went. Normally, the Septs only offered up the dregs of their measly competitors — those in the Crystallized realm or worse yet, Body Preparation. Stone-eye had to gorge on dozens of those at a time to even put a dent in his hunger. However, a Soulforged? That was a meal and a half. And the fact that the outworlder had already escaped from Nanok only added to the flavor.

Stone-eye lazily stretched, his many arms converging down to only four to make his form more compact. He was in the deepest chamber beneath this cluster of earthen pillars. His senses spread through crack and crevice as easily as if he were right next to the battle far, far above him.

The stone clone he’d created was nothing but a puppet he wore when hunting contestants. His contract with the Thin Sea Sept gave him access to the scriptwork that governed their tournament duels. It was the same contract that all apex entities of this riftworld had with the various Septs. There was a delicate balance between the powers. The Septs had to think they were in complete control, while Stone-eye and the other apex existences were the ones being fed until they were absolutely fat with ether. Those outworlders thought the ore he produced was so valuable…it was shit. His literal shit.

And if those plebeians wanted his ‘byproducts,’ then they were free to have it. All Stone-eye wanted was a steady supply of ether-rich foods. So long as the Thin Sea Sept provided, then he would continue to happily defecate for them.

He stood on a pair of elephantine legs, his four arms moving in tandem with one another to loosen up the joints. Soon, he would be taking up the chase himself. He couldn’t help but shiver in anticipation.

Closing his singular, large eye, he breathed deeply — in and out — tasting the threads of his perception stretched out across hundreds and hundreds of feet of rock. A smile broke out on his craggily face as his full attention honed in on his prey. It was time.

Kettle hastily used her Armament Cloak to augment her already razor-sharp dogolin claws as she burrowed through rock and rubble as if it were simply dirt.

Meanwhile, Jonx was nearly two stories below her excavation attempt, doing the same thing, hoping to meet her in the middle. His Gravitic Raiments protected him while he focused his Chaos Orbs in disintegrating a tunnel straight into the landslide he’d called down on himself.

By some stroke of luck, the scriptwork in this makeshift dueling arena counted the battle as a win for him. It must have been because his opponent had been buried first. Regardless of the reason, Jonx would take a win wherever he could. As he made his way up to his trusty companion, he checked his HUD to make sure his points were left untouched. Sure enough, he’d even gained some. Presumably, it was half of what the Moddokan had earned thus far. It was barely anything though. He was only at 700 now, as opposed to his original 500 before the match. At least it was something. And it meant he had the chance to take more of his collected materials home rather than be forced to turn them in for points.

Between his efforts and Kettle’s, Jonx was hugging the wily little dogolin to his chest in no time at all. “Thanks a lot for coming for me, girl,” he said lovingly as he rubbed her belly. She yipped in excitement and licked his face to show she was happy to see him too. For being such a good girl, he showered her in bite-sized morsels of ether-beast meat — her favorite.

They rested atop a pile of jagged edges and broken stone. His tunnel was the only one he could sense within the whole floor, which probably meant the Moddokan was still buried somewhere. He doubted she would have died, her ether mutation was life-ether after all. More likely she dug down rather than up.

Cradling Kettle in one arm, he finally picked himself up to stand and admire the devastation he’d wrought. Rays of light filtered down from the floor above as practically the entire ceiling had collapsed along with every stalagmite that had grown from the bottom up. Meanwhile, the stalactites from the previous level still hung more than two stories above his head.

Craning his neck, he spoke in a dejected tone, “Well, it looks like our mining session is done. I did a real good job bringing the roof down, didn’t I, girl?”

Kettle could only huff at him as he nuzzled her nose. Jonx checked his reserves, pleasantly surprised to find himself hovering around 70%. It must have been that last pull from the Moddokan that topped him off. With one last look at the rubble and a weary sigh, he triggered his Plasma Domain, covering Kettle and himself in dozens of ionic ribbons of neon light, giving him the power to control the surrounding electromagnetic field. Then, with the flick of his will, his feet lifted off, carrying the pair up and up.

They quickly flew out of the subterranean caves and out amidst the lofty heights of the imposing rock-scrapers. Jonx had more than enough points to get to the next round of this godforsaken tournament. It was time to lay low and wait out the next few days. After fighting and being buried for the better part of a day, he only had a little more than two days left. He could manage to hide somewhere for that long… Right?

Wrong. A hand the size of a car came out of nowhere and swatted him out of the air.

BOOM. Jonx’s mind blanked out from the sudden impact, only to find himself embedded in a man-sized crater, reflexively curled up in a ball to protect his precious cargo, Kettle.

He couldn’t hear anything but a constant ringing. At the same time, he saw, not one, but two dogolins floating in front of his face, seemingly mute, though obviously barking at him.

Kirby suddenly yelled a warning in his head, “Move!” Too late. Another colossal palm collided with his body, smooshing him further into the rock face of whichever pillar he was already buried in.

Fortunately, Kettle had moved. Unfortunately, sharp, shooting pain overwhelmed him as nearly half his bones fractured with hair-thin cracks simultaneously. It didn’t even register to him that he was screaming in agony for all the ringing still in his ears.

His long-honed survival instincts kicked in then — every pain receptor in his body immediately shut down, while his Musculoskeletal system gorged on his ether reserves to begin healing his injuries as rapidly as possible. A part of his mind had the foresight to cycle his Brain Chamber, reflexively clearing his vision and mind, so he could finally form a coherent thought.

Peering out of the gaping hole he’d been physically drilled into, Jonx caught a glimpse of a monster of utterly titanic proportions.

A rock golem, easily six stories tall. Four arms with two, thick legs and one vividly green eye, blazing with unadulterated power. The sheer pressure from the creature’s etheraura was otherworldly. Closer to Jasp, the Palace of Design’s inner disciple, rather than his own. This cyclopean behemoth reminded him of Nanok Sterncrest. And he did not like that at all.

Before he could do much more than gawk, Kettle came barreling through the sky and practically detonated with energy right in the monster’s eyeball. The thing roared in anger and the surrounding rock-scrapers rumbled in response. Dirt and dust rained down on Jonx in his impromptu cave. He could feel his body knitting back together, but it wasn’t nearly going to be fast enough, especially as his reserves dipped lower and lower.

He needed more juice and there was a ripe piece of fruit right in front of him. With a grunt that turned into a groan, he quickly launched three handfuls of Ether Anchors into the craggy body of the cyclops. Kettle was keeping it busy, buzzing around its head like an annoying fly. The monster kept one hand covering its bulbous, green eyeball, while two of its other hands tried to swat the dogolin out of the air, though his companion was far too maneuverable to be caught so easily.

This gave him the chance to siphon precious ether, though a hasty scan of his condition showed him his bones were still not good enough for combat. He wasn’t going to have a choice soon. He’d just have to make do.

He split his mind in four, focusing two parts on forming Gravitic Raiments that were more to brace and splint his multitude of hairline fractures rather than provide armor. He eschewed his traditional samurai motif for something that looked to be a cross between a full body cast and kevlar body armor. Then, he wrapped himself in protective, ionic ringlets of his Plasma Domain, hoping it was all enough to weather another strike.

Firming his resolve, he zipped out of the crater site and fired more Anchors along the monster’s side like nails on a wall. This creature had an absolute glut of ether and Jonx wanted to steal as much as he could.

With a simple ping to Kettle’s rudimentary AI, he signaled the dogolin to break off her assault. He had the beginnings of a plan and he didn’t want to worry about hurting her. As soon as he saw her ascend far into the navy blue clouds, Jonx began his bombardment.

The titanic cyclops was still wary of a sneak attack from above, so it wasn’t immediately on guard for the barrage of Chaos Orbs that struck the side of its neck and chest. Jonx didn’t stay around to watch the murderous gaze that the monster leveled in his direction. He was already off, zooming through the air, hoping to get a headstart.

A boom like the sound barrier breaking suddenly resounded behind him, echoing off the rock-scraper walls, shaking them to their very foundations. “Shit, this thing moves fast,” he cursed in his head at the same time that his Heart Chamber thundered, eking out as much power out of every percentage of his ether. In an instant, his figure blurred, producing his own miniature concussive boom.

And so the game of cat and mouse was on. Jonx weaved closely through tight corners. Over and under natural stone bridges. Even in between narrow rock outcroppings. Nothing was working. The cyclops literally flowed through every small crack and sharp turn as if it were a fish in goddamned water. The rock-scrapers provided absolutely no obstacle to the slippery monster as it inched closer to Jonx’s heels.

“Son of a bitch!” he cursed, quickly performing a barrel roll to avoid a boulder engulfed in green flames. He had to hastily zigzag through the resulting rockslide from the attack, each piece of rubble covered in the same heatless, verdant fire. Kirby noticed it before Jonx could, “Doesn’t that remind you of that Moddokan’s attacks? They’re even both made of rocks…”

“Little busy here, Kirbs! I don’t have any fucks to give right now!” Jonx exclaimed as gargantuan arms slithered out of the surrounding rock-scrapers, forming a perilous gauntlet of flaming green limbs the size of construction cranes. Every swipe he evaded caused enough turbulence in the air that each consecutive dodge became more and more difficult. His fractured bones screamed from forcing his body to contort and twist in increasingly desperate ways.

With a flick of his mind, he stole more energy from the persistent goliath to maintain his speed boost. The monster was practically a never ending well of ether, which was a blessing and curse, considering its attacks weren’t slowing down at all.

Jonx didn’t let that stop him. He was close to his goal. The whole time, he’d been angling his way out of this godforsaken cluster of rock-scrapers. Suddenly, a flash of a monolithic maroon tree came into view between stone towers. “Perfect!” he smiled in his head, then drew deeply from his Heart Chamber, straining them beyond what they could do. Heartburn flared in his chest, but he ignored it. Those trees were his salvation. Hopefully.

With only a handful of seconds before he broke into the treeline, dozens of branches from several trees began to move like living tentacles. Bingo. A screech of pure rage followed him as he crossed the imaginary finish line, “Stone-eye! This one belongs to Nanok! The meat-sack was Nanok’s prey first.”

Undeterred, the cyclopean rock-giant grew twofold, now fully twelve stories tall, then sprouted another four arms, “Shove it, you blighted fool. This is my hunt. You already had your chance and failed. Now, move! Or else you will be made to move.”

Jonx was hoping to distract one monster with another, but that damned Nanok put up barricades of orange leaves that boxed him in and prevented him from ditching the two of them. At the same time, Sterncrest coalesced from several trees into an equally gargantuan creature, easily matching the craggy cyclops. Now, Jonx was stuck between a pair of literal titans.

“Fuck me…” he thought dejectedly.

The pair of natural disasters instantly clashed astride the border of their territories. Rocks versus roots.

The fallout was enough to slosh his insides and rattle his already tender bones. In the next moment, their overwhelming etherauras blanketed the immediate vicinity, stifling the very life out of anything caught in their struggle.

Like a puppet whose strings were cut, Jonx found himself plummeting towards the dark red abyss of the riftworld, until he slammed into one of the wide highway-branches between trees. The pressure from the titans was too much, making flight little more than a pipe dream. He struggled just to even get on his feet. Any hairline fractures that had healed were now cracked all over again. If his pain receptors were on, he was sure he wouldn’t have been able to think, let alone stand.

Jonx took a deep breath and sharpened his will, grinding it against the whetstone of their oppressive auras. Next, he summoned another layer of interlocking, kevlar body armor from his Gravitic Raiments, bracing his bones even further. He was a veritable marionette at this point, held up more by his sheer willpower and Soul circuit rather than his own flesh and blood.

He then split his mind to the full seven partitions, his maximum at the moment. The only good thing he had going was the seemingly endless supply of ether coming from Stone-eye.

Born out of pure desperation, he devoted three whole portions of his focus into molding his Plasma Domain like clay. Ionic rings of Plasma that had once surrounded him in neon ribbons of light were forcibly compressed under the crucible of his struggles.

He frantically formed a cowl and cape of writhing Plasma energy in the hopes of sheltering himself from the crippling pressure of the monumental battle happening hundreds of feet away.

That was the worst part of this all. He wasn’t even near their fight. His own personal hell was nothing but a side-effect of their brawling. As soon as his newly shaped Domain snapped into place, the pressure immediately eased up. He wasn’t safe by any means, but he could feel his bones creaking in relief.

Taking his situation in at a glance, he was well and truly fucked. Jonx hurriedly scanned the maroon and orange canopy of the tree-scraper forest looking for anything he could exploit to escape. But he was at a loss. He wasn’t powerful enough to fly up and he was barred from going around.

Yup, definitely fucked.

Jonx sent an AI ping to Kettle so they could join forces. Even though he couldn’t get to her, she should be able to get to him.

Down was much easier than up, after all. There was no way he was leaving her behind in a foreign riftworld amidst a battle of two goddamned behemoths. Even from nearly a mile away, the trees vibrated from the sheer force of their combat.

If he concentrated his Nervous system, he could catch glimpses of a green and gray giant fighting against a living forest. Branches as wide and thick as the one he was standing on came to life, trying to coil around the cyclops from multiple angles.

But Stone-eye never broke its gaze from the main body of Nanok. Instead, the monster relied on its many arms to grapple and rip apart the prehensile highway-branches with ease.

Despite his years of combat experience since the Earth’s etherforming more than a decade ago, he’d never seen two titanic creatures of such raw power battle at this level. Even the fight between the Sokowan Navarch, the Rootstar Commander and the trio of Clovenkind Soul Verves was nothing like this.

It was like watching Godzilla versus King Kong in real life. And he had absolutely no desire to get into that.

A piercing whistle, that seemed to be getting closer, broke him out of his reverie and he looked up just in time to see a growing metal ball hurtle towards his face. With a distinct crunch, Kettle dropped him back to the highway-branch’s surface, slamming the back of his head straight into the maroon bark. When he came to, his Plasma cape and cowl smoldered the wood around him, leaving a burnt silhouette of a man.

The smell of charred wood singed his nostrils and he decided to shut off his sense of smell. Meanwhile, the little mutt was laying on his chest, staring at him with the largest pair of puppy-dog eyes that he’d ever seen. Ugh. He couldn’t be mad at her. Besides, what was one more hairline fracture amongst the dozens and dozens he already had.

Sighing with exasperated affection, he patted her head and she licked his hand. Oh, she was good. Very good. He sat up and held her face between his hands, staring deeply into her dogolin eyes, “You’re not gonna get a treat, you hear me? You broke my face, again. No, don’t give me that look. Ah ah ah, no, don’t you dare wag your tail!”

“Damn her…” he said to himself. Pushing more ether into his Soul circuits, he stood up easier than before, while holding the miscreant he called a pet as if she were a sack of potatoes. She knew better than to struggle, especially after the stunt she just pulled. He studiously did not look at her as he slipped her a piece of meat, which she happily chewed on.

Once more, he looked around at his options and found them to be largely unchanged. “Well girl, what do you think we should do?” he asked rhetorically. Of course, her only response was food emojis sent straight to his HUD. He rolled his eyes, while Kirby spoke up, “You know… there’s always down, Jonxy…”

“Nope! No! Damnit, Kirby. You know I hate it when you say shit like that,” he exclaimed in mock indignation.

Scoffing, he still stepped towards the edge of the highway-branch and cautioned a glance down into the deep red abyss of the riftworld, “You just had to say it, didn’t you. This is just like when you made me jump into that dumbass rift portal when we got captured. And you remember where that got us…”

“Oh c’mon, Jonxo. We lived. Besides, you know that I’m right. Unless you think you could survive heading into that shitstorm over there,” Kirby said, indicating the ongoing detonations of energy happening off to the side.

Jonx was helpless. He knew Kirby had a point. Again. But, he didn’t have to like it. Though, the thought of even getting closer to the titanic battle sent an involuntary shiver through him. He was barely standing comfortably. There was no way he could get any closer than where he was and somehow survive.

He brought Kettle back up to face level and said, “I’m sorry, girl. You have to go in your pokeba-uh your ‘carrier.’ I just want you to be safe.”

Jonx fed her some more treats, then put her in his interspatial storage, before muttering, “Besides, you don’t need to see me screaming like a little girl.”

“It’s alright, I’ll record it and send it later,” his AI joked, though Jonx knew the AI was completely serious.

“Sometimes, I really hate you, Kirbs,” he grumbled. Then, he looked down again on the precipice of hemming and hawing.

“Suck it up, buttercup,” Kirby said just before sending a brief pulse of ether to push Jonx over the edge.

His high-pitched shrieks were drowned out by a boulder the size of a truck completely shattering the highway-branch he was just standing on a second ago, immediately causing him to swallow whatever curses he had on the tip of his tongue.

Air whistled past his face and he just gave up. Resigned to his fate.

Chapter 10

Highburren’s World

Walls of muddy red bark blurred past his periphery as Jonx freefell through a pink-red mist. He wasn’t necessarily keeping track of how long he’d been falling, though he was certain Kirby was keeping a timer somewhere. At some point, the tree-scrapers were no longer connected by their vast, intertwining highway-branches. All that was left was a wide open downward tunnel.

Despite his continuous plunge, he never truly lost touch with Stone-eye’s or Nanok’s etherauras. Their presences were always there. And while they had lessened during his fall, he could still sense them as if they were noisy upstairs neighbors.

Jonx had stopped screaming ages ago. There was no point in worrying about something that was now out of his control. Besides, he was fairly confident he could arrest his fall whenever he wanted. With distance came the ability to use his Domain again. Plus, since he could still feel them, that meant he could still tap into the Ether Anchors lodged on Stone-eye’s body. Those things were the only silver linings in this otherwise batshit insane plan. Especially since his long fall gave him the time to heal back up to fighting shape. His bones were as strong as ever, though that didn’t amount to much in front of the titans he was running from. Regardless, he was better now than he was before, so he had to take what he could get.

After what seemed like hours and hours of falling, the bark-walls of the seemingly bottomless pit opened up to nothing but pink sky. “Oh look, a change of scenery. Maybe this infinite boredom is almost done,” he wondered. Kirby answered thoughtfully, “I never figured that riftworlds were looped spaces, but that may be the case here. Pretty sure we just fell through the sky, Jonxo.”

On Kirby’s hunch, Jonx used his enhanced Nervous system to ‘zoom’ his vision. It wasn’t anywhere near as effective as Kettle’s, but it was good enough. In the distance, he caught sight of the first navy blue cumulus clouds that validated his AI’s theory. He knew riftworlds were pockets of space created by stark changes in the concentration gradient of ether energy in a particular area. It just never occurred to him how truly warped they were.

“Remind me to brush up on riftworld theory, Kirbs. I feel like this is specialized knowledge that would really come in handy. You know, if we live,” Jonx said with a bit of gallows humor.

“Uh…Jonxo, do you…feel that?” his AI asked ominously. Instantly, Jonx went on edge. His ether senses had been lax from the constant presence of the monstrous auras in his periphery, which he could still feel even after looping through the entire godforsaken riftworld. However…now there was a third fucking pressure that entered his senses. It wasn’t as prominent as the other two, but it felt just as solid, only this one gave the impression of sleeping.

Immediately, Jonx broke out in a cold sweat.

“Please tell me that I’m not so goddamned unlucky that I actually ran into three of these monstrous fuckers?” he asked, knowing full well that the universe didn’t care one whit about luck. As soon as the thoughts passed across his mind, the third presence stirred, as if it were called upon like some bogeyman.

Languidly, the new monster released its etheraura as though it were simply stretching out after waking from a deep slumber. In that brief moment, it felt like Jonx was standing directly under the sun on a scaldingly hot day. For an instant, he couldn’t breathe.

And in the next, his clothes were sopping wet with sweat. Then, just as quickly as the pressure overwhelmed him, it receded and he was left with nothing but damp clothes and a pounding chest. “Shit…” he cursed.

He wasn’t about to stay around for whatever the fuck that thing was he just felt. At the speed of thought, he split his mind seven ways and summoned his Gravitic Raiments and his newly altered Plasma Domain as a hooded cloak, drawing from the well of Stone-eye’s reserves. Then, like some sort of purple samurai Superman, he flew away at Mach speed.

He barely made it a couple of hundred feet before he froze stockstill in midair. A power that came out of nowhere held him like a tractor beam. His instincts kicked in, lashing out with superheated Plasma and an opposing gravity force from his Raiments. Backing his outburst was the full force of his will, hammering at the power that locked him down.

No matter what he tried, he was helpless before its might, unable to even budge from his position despite his desperate struggling. From above him, a voice like a stiff breeze blew into his face, forcing him to close his eyes from the sudden wind, “Sooooooo, you’re the little snack that has those two scuffling. They’re like rowdy roommates, aren’t they?”

Even though he couldn’t move his head, he could still scan his immediate vicinity with his eyes and what he found was a roiling, royal-blue cloud elemental with pink thunder for joints. His eyes widened at the sight.

Sometimes he couldn’t help but feel as though he was in an action-fantasy game. The cloud-lightning elemental rumbled a chuckle like thunder during a summer storm, “I’m magnificent, am I not, manling? While those petty phikshites down below squabble for scraps, I, Highburren, rule the skies and, effectively, them. Though…they may not exactly see it that way.”

Highburren floated in front of him then, carefully analyzing Jonx for a moment before streamlining its form to mimic his own. “Hmm, what a strange outworlder. I’ve never seen a Clovenkind like you, but then again, the Septs don’t always give us the choicest of their recruits. Is this figure more in line with your sensibilities?” the monster said, though now with a decidedly feminine baritone.

At the question, Jonx felt the pressure holding him ease up enough for him to speak, “Christ on sale, how many powerful monsters are there in this damned riftworld?!” That took Highburren aback. She was more accustomed to sniveling, piss-soaked wretches from the Septs. “Quite the mouth on you, manling. Do you not feel fear?”

“Oh, no, don’t get me wrong there, lady. I am metaphorically shitting my pants right now. But you’ve got me pretty dead to rights, so there’s not much I can do about that,” Jonx answered honestly. In situations like this, it definitely helped that his Nervous and Cardiovascular systems were so advanced. With a firm grasp of his will, he clamped down on his thundering heartbeat and frayed nerves to control the sheer panic and terror that was lurking just beneath the surface.

Highburren used her superior ether senses to read him like a book then, “Ahh, yes…I can taste it. Your fear and anxiety. Quite delectable. No wonder you have those two chomping at the bit.”

She paused as she looked off in the direction of where Stone-eyes and Nanok were still duking it out, then returned her gaze to Jonx, “But there’s something else in your aura. You're connected to one of them somehow. Just an aftertaste of a power not your own. Tell me, manling. What have you done?”

Jonx was shocked that her senses were sharp enough to detect his Anchor-link to Stone-eye. He never realized that ether senses could be so fine tuned. Yet one more thing that showed he was still quite the novice with the intricacies of Etherforging. He was a skilled brawler at best.

Not finding any reason to lie since he’d already been caught red-handed, Jonx answered truthfully, “It’s one of my circuits…”

Pink lightning crackled more excitedly around the cloud elemental as Highburren focused her ether senses on him once again. If he was an open book before, then she had only perused his abilities. Now, though? She examined his secrets in detail, sifting through his Chambers, circuit pathways and Soul Mold back and forth as if she were studying for a test.

By the time she was satisfied, Jonx felt wrung out like a damp rag. “You have a pilfering circuit, eh? That explains so much, manling. It’s no wonder you can’t stop me from reading your ether signature so thoroughly. You’ve grown too big for your britches, pushing your advancement before you mastered the basics. Oh, I’m sure your dampening can fool some lowly ether-beasts or poorly trained Forgers, but to those of us who’ve taken the time to master our realms of power, you’re barely competent.”

Highburren made a come-hither gesture and Jonx inexorably floated to within a hand’s breadth of her, “However, your mediocrity has presented quite the opportunity for me…” A jagged smile split her face of clouds, contorting it into a ghastly facsimile of delight, “You know, you’re not the only thief here…”

Before Jonx could even blink, the straw-thin tether that connected his Ether Anchors to Stone-eye uncontrollably burst wide open like a dam.

His mouth nearly unhinged from the scream that tried to come out next, but all he heard was the steady rumbling of a thunderstorm, “Mmm, so it was Stone-eye you’ve been leeching. That single-minded bintsniffer would never have felt the trickle you’d been sipping on. I’ll show you what it means to plunder, manling.”

It felt like Jonx was being used as a man-sized water pump. His circuit pathways expanded to near bursting by the sheer volume of energy being literally slurped through him and straight into Highburren.

With every passing moment, the cloud elemental grew exponentially, rapidly shedding her false human form and quickly regaining her ever-shifting shape. Pink lightning streaked at the center of her navy blue cloud-body, faster and faster, like a heartbeat.

She pulled. It was too much. He was going to break.

His body was a pisspoor vessel for the tsunami that thundered through it. A craggily bellow reverberated in the distance like boulders breaking, somehow drowning out his own otherworldly screams.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The edges of his vision blurred, creeping to an inexorable close…until finally, oblivion.

Dry, brittle boulders littered a vast wasteland where dozens of towering stone skyscrapers once stood. Broken spires with jagged, slanted tops dotted the landscape. Where there were once potent, ether-rich ores, only dull husks remained. The territory of Stone-eye lay in ruins. Desolate. Lifeless.

Highburren had never, in her wildest dreams, thought that she could tip the balance of the trio’s stalemate. Despite her position on high, she had only been marginally more powerful than either of her rivals. If she had ever tried to dispose of one, then the other would step in to provide support. Yet another stipulation in their contracts with the Septs. It behooved the outworlders to have apex existences in their employ to maintain the delicate balance of the riftworld and keep them stocked in ether-rich materials.

Each Sept had nominal influence over a single apex creature. She, herself, was contracted to the Night Lake Sept. Since her riftworld had been conquered by their elders, long, long ago, she had been under their thumb. But, no more.

Highburren returned her perception from the navy blue clouds overlooking Stone-eye’s territory. The idiot, Nanok Sterncrest, had believed she won the battle between her and her longtime rival. The poor fool.

Highburren had squeezed the manling’s circuit for all it was worth. She’d taken the vast majority of Stone-eye’s power for her own. Nanok merely took the scraps. But the imbecile was so enamored with herself, she would never put two and two together. Even now, Highburren could sense her practically preening in her own territory of gigantic maroon and orange trees.

Turning her perception inward, Highburren rode the waves of power inundating her body, making her giddy with anticipation. Vibrant ether crackled inside her ether Chamber, simply demanding to be used.

How long had it been since she’d advanced? She and her fellow apex existences were not ether-beasts like the other pieces of fodder roaming this riftworld. They were sentient forces of nature — ether radiation transforming them over time immemorial until they were what they were.

When the Septs had first come to conquer, they’d given out AIs, using them to lay down their contracts and rules, forcing her and her brethren to comply. Since then, they’d kept a tight rein on the number of contestants each apex creature could devour during their annoying little tournaments.

Too bad for them that they’d inadvertently provided her with the perfect loophole. And now, she was ready to advance, to break their chains of subjugation.

Unlike the trivial Forgers that continuously invaded her world, Highburren and the others knew the Ways of Etherforging by pure instinct. As sublime creatures born from ether irradiated natural phenomena, they were one with their own vital energy.

As a consequence of their innate connection with ether, they were unable to choose their Way. For Nanok, a tree could only ever know life- or water-ether. Stone-eye was similarly regulated to life and earth. While she, herself, was a child of thunder and wind.

Her Way of the Thunderwisp was inextricably ingrained into every puffy cloud that her will inhabited. It had been like that since she’d first gained sentience. Of course, despite having her advancement handed to her on a silver platter, there were still challenges to reaching the higher realms.

Highburren could not circumvent the need for mastering her circuitry, evolving her Specialized Physique and furthering her understanding of her Concept.

Fortunately, she’d been stuck at the peak-Soulforged stage for countless years in this ever-bright world, so she’d accomplished everything she needed to do before advancing to the next realm, Soulsphere.

First, her quartet of Soul circuits had each been modified thricefold to better mold them to her needs. It wasn’t a matter of simply achieving Peak ranked proficiency in them. No.

To modify meant to know her circuits intimately, then merge her understanding of her Concept into them. It took time, insight and deep introspection. Most others of her kind had failed where she had succeeded. It was how she became an apex existence of the skies.

The next requirement to ascend to a higher realm was to evolve her Specialized Physique. That was easy for her, though. She was a sentient cloud for Celestial’s sake. Her Physique grew naturally as she advanced. Once, she had a Surgecloud Physique, but when she entered the Soulforged realm it had improved to a Thundering Typhoon Physique.

With it, she had unparalleled fluidity and control over thunder- and wind-ether, allowing her to easily dominate the navy blue clouds all around her personal territory. She could incorporate as many or as few as she wanted, limited only by her will, energy and imagination.

Finally, the last prerequisite for entering the Soulsphere realm was to develop an ether Concept to a higher tier, preferably Master or Peak. Her Concept, Wind Turbine, was Master tier — the minimum standard to qualify. She was confident in raising it to Peak tier somewhere in the next realm, obtaining a Concept Phrase that would further link her two elements.

For now though, her accomplishments were enough.

The missing piece to her advancement had always been a lack of raw power and siphoning Stone-eye dry had provided it all. Breaching the unfathomable chasm to Soulsphere required resources beyond mortal ken.

Highburren had been steadily filling her ether Chamber for untold years, taking what she could from the contestants that periodically ransacked her home. The Night Lake Sept along with the rest of them ensured that she and her brethren were doled out the barest of stipends, prolonging their progress to a near crawl.

Now though, it was time to throw off her shackles.

With great pleasure, Highburren rumbled to herself and tapped into her enormous ether reserves. Tropos Sphere, the first stage of Soulsphere, required the formation of a fledgling inner world. Firming her resolve, she honed in on her natural instincts that were spawned from her intrinsic connection to the Way of the Thunderwisp.

Those instincts had unerringly guided her through the Body Preparation realm, which readied her Physique to handle ever increasing amounts of raw, unadulterated ether. Then, through the Crystallized realm, which created a Chamber that could transform ether radiation into different states of matter. And most recently, through the Soulforged realm, which manifested a metaphysical vessel by which her sentience — her personality, her desires, her dreams — could be inscribed into her Wildstorm Soul.

Now, Highburren opened herself up to be steered once again, aiming to merge the fundamental building blocks of her advancement into the foundation of her inner world — something that would be greater than the sum of its parts.

She sharpened her concentration, firmly grasping her ether Chamber in tangible tendrils of her willpower. Her instincts told her she needed to first form the core of her inner world and her Chamber would be the base material. Just like the formation of a planet, the core needed to be highly condensed. And to accomplish that, Highburren channeled easily half of her accumulated reserves.

Thick streams of potent wind- and thunder-ether wrapped her Chamber into a cocoon, rotating faster and faster in overlapping figure eights, exponentially increasing the temperature within like a hypercharged convection oven. In her mind’s eye, time was inconsequential. She waited patiently, maintaining a state of intense focus for as long as she needed. From the outside, the very space around her warped, her will so potent that it affected the fabric of the riftworld.

Slowly, her ether Chamber melted, layer after layer sloughing off and gradually separating into its constituent parts. The denser portions of her Chamber — the pieces responsible for changing ether into a solid and semi-solid state — gravitated towards the budding core’s center, compressing into a smaller, more compact slab of molten slag. This was to be the innermost, solid Sphere of her inner world.

Before it could cool, the less dense portions of her Chamber — the parts dedicated to aqueous and high-pressure gaseous ether — drifted outward, surrounding the solid inner core. This new layer would need to remain fluid, forming an outer lamina of magma that would work in tandem with the innermost core to actually produce elemental ether.

No longer would she be solely reliant on absorbing ambient energy and storing it in her Chamber for later use. Now, her new Sphere would be a perpetual ether radiation reactor, providing her with a continuous source of power no matter where she was in the vast cosmos.

Of course, Highburren would still need to absorb ambient ether if she wanted to grow her Sphere and advance further, but she would never truly run out of energy now.

With her Sphere formed and ready to produce elemental ether, she just needed to bring the reactor to life.

As if it were a forge fire missing its spark, Highburren carefully guided her Wildstorm Soul into the very center of the solid, inner Sphere. It wasn’t enough to simply place it, she needed to ignite it. But before that, her Wildstorm Soul had to completely embody her inner Sphere .

The Named Soul was a metaphysical manifestation of who Highburren was and how she related to her ether Concept. Since she was first indentured into service by the outworlder Septs, she had yearned to be free. Her advancement over the countless years was spurred on by that singular desire and her Wildstorm Soul reflected that.

In her heart of hearts, she was meant to be an unfettered force of nature. And all of her power was devoted to that end.

Keeping those feelings at the forefront of her mind, she infused her Wildstorm Soul into her Sphere. First through the inner then the outer layer, finely threading her deepest desires into the very marrow of her inner world. Being free from the Septs was not enough for her. Highburren never wanted to be forcefully beholden to anyone ever again.

Howling winds and crashing lightning could not be caged. Storms were wild things. Free things. Meant to roam.

The rest of her reserves flooded her Sphere at that moment…and then, she pushed.

Her inner Sphere suddenly rumbled at the effort of will, humming and vibrating fiercely in line with the vision of what she wanted for herself. The aqueous ether of the outer Sphere began to form bubbles, trapping in highly pressurized gaseous ether until finally the bubbles exploded in whistling gouts of violent emissions of wind-ether. Streaks of lightning vented alongside them, coursing across the Sphere’s magmatic surface.

Churning waves of liquified ether continued to rampage along the outer Sphere. Swelling, crashing and exploding with typhoons and tempests made of uncontrolled wind-ether.

Amidst the raging storms, thick bolts of unstable thunder-ether shot outward in erratic directions. If Highburren didn’t stop this soon, the Sphere of her inner world would implode, ruining any chances of advancing to Soulsphere.

Her will instantly clamped down like a vice, forming an ethereal shield of pure intent around the seething, turbulent energies of her Sphere. The now trapped wind-ether roiled within the globe of her willpower, swirling and folding in on itself.

Thunder-ether lanced through the burgeoning cloud cover, soldering them together in a patchwork sky with its high voltage. Air and lightning cycled back and forth within her encapsulated Sphere. This part of the process didn’t need any more energy. No, this crucible was one of sheer grit. And, Highburren was not one to give up so easily. Her dreams were beyond this little riftworld she called home.

The violent energies venting from the reactor of her Sphere ever so slowly coalesced under the building pressure of her will. Her wind-ether gradually calmed down until they gathered into clumps of storm clouds that dotted the makeshift sky of her inner world.

Meanwhile, streaks of thunder-ether raced across her miniature heavens, lighting up her clouds in neon hues of pink, purple and yellow.

A tenuous equilibrium eventually settled in, the rhythm of ether production from her Sphere feeding the creation of whipping winds, drifting clouds and rushing lightning, which all looped back in on itself, ultimately forming a self-sustaining ecosystem of elemental ether surrounding her Sphere.

Highburren had done it.

This was her fledgling inner world. All that was left was to finalize it. Scraping together what willpower she had left, Highburren squeezed.

Her Sphere shrank — compacting, solidifying, then blinking brightly as if to confirm her advancement.

A kaleidoscope of colors flashed out of her Sphere, rotating faster and faster, like a strobe light. The whole riftworld shuttered with the forging of a power beyond its limits.

Highburren stretched her newly augmented etheraura, that of a Tropos Sphere, and the pink skies of the dimensional space darkened to a deep crimson. The once stable navy blue clouds supporting the various Septs became turbulent, rocking their constructs and disrupting their scriptwork.

In the span of a breath, the riftworld became stifling with every Etherforger feeling suffocated. The lower realm Forgers were the worst off, instantly dropping unconscious. Only those in the Soulforged realm could withstand the pressure, but even they struggled to maintain consciousness from the backlash of a Sphere being formed in the confines of the riftworld.

For the first time since she’d started her advancement, Highburren opened her eyes, pink lightning crackling around the edges of her navy cloud body.

Instantly, the sky was torn asunder with jagged lines as if an animal were ripping through an impossibly large canvas. Blurry swirls of darkness, dotted with pinpricks of light, could be seen through the tears in space.

And Highburren rumbled with pleasure. She’d grown too big for this prison.

Chapter 11

Force of Nature

Zozka haphazardly dodged around pieces of falling reality as her Avalanche Domain roared through her veins, freezing her insides while simultaneously lending her the power to fend off the crippling pressure that came from a dying dimension.

Shouts of panic and screams of terror filled the hellscape around her as nearly a hundred thousand creatures stampeded towards the only exit portal to the entire riftworld.

Only minutes ago had the governing body of Septs sent out an AI emergency evacuation, but neither Forger nor ether-beast needed to be told to run. She and everyone else had felt the exact moment that the tournament was over. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined the sheer depth of power that she felt when the very fabric of the riftworld tore asunder. The mightiest Etherforgers she’d sensed so far had been Soul Pysches and they were already enough to make her meek.

Intellectually, Zozka understood that there were beings more powerful, but to be present at the birth of one was earth shattering — literally.

Even now, her Stomach Chamber and circuit pathways felt like jelly, as though they were unstable just like the riftworld she was desperately trying to escape from. Whatever realm that unknown Forger had advanced to put out enough energy to devastate the entire dimension.

The surge of ether from their advancement felt more like the very foundation of the universe was being burnt up for fuel to birth a heavenly body.

And it was obvious to Zozka as she fled that if she stayed any longer she would be incinerated by the Forger’s brilliance.

Jral lay dying, her Soul Psyche slowly dissipating amidst the chaotic energies of the doomed riftworld. She didn’t have enough energy to turn her head. All she could do was stare up into a broken sky filled with fragments made of the very fabric of the pocket dimension as they cascaded downward like rain.

In her crippled ether senses, she could still feel the last wisps of life from the other inner disciples assigned to the tournament delegation. Her own fellow disciple of the Thin Sea Sept, Mantog, had expired during the battle against the newly advanced Tropos. Mantog was only a Soul Cast and she’d been burnt to a crisp from the sheer onslaught of the abomination.

Even faced with the reality of her dire situation, Jral could still not fathom how one of their indentured apex monsters had managed to ascend to Tropos.

Her elders had laid down restrictions on these creatures’ advancements. None of them should have had the resources to overcome the chasm of Soulsphere. The AI-enforced contracts should have also warned them if any of them were getting close.

So, how in the phik had this happened?! Jral could not stop racking her brain despite her Soul Psyche slipping through her mantaray fingers.

And so, in these last moments of her dwindling life, the battle with the Tropos replayed in perfect clarity in her mind’s eye — unbidden and unwelcome...

…When she and the other Soulforged of the Septs were frozen by a foreign Soulsphere etheraura, they’d automatically sent out communications to their outer Sept-mates on Boifon station.

Immediately, the exit portal had been activated from the other side and evacuation procedures initiated. Jral and Mantog had been some of the first to race towards the exit, but a follow up command from their elders stopped them in their tracks.

She remembered staring at the other Sept disciples and they all shared a look of complete and utter disbelief. As one, they were being ordered to stop the Tropos at all costs.

Jral’s knee-jerk reaction was to immediately shirk that command. Who in their right minds would throw themselves at a Celestial’s forsaken Tropos. Even if it was the lowest stage of Soulsphere, it was still the difference between heaven and earth to the Soulforged realm.

Unfortunately for Jral and the others, they’d all signed AI-reinforced contracts with their respective Septs. A Sept elder’s word was law, unless they all wanted their Nervous systems fried out of their bodies, crippling their future advancements.

But, maybe all wasn’t completely hopeless. Every Sept had sent two Soulforged each as their representatives, a Soul Psyche, like Jral herself, and a second lower Soulforged, like Mantog.

With just over sixty Septs participating, that would mean there were over a hundred elite Etherforgers in the riftworld, many of whom would have Scriptsmithed armor or charms that could protect them from attacks at least one realm above. Jral had her own protective equipment as well as Alchemical concoctions that could raise her circuit output to challenge more advanced Forgers. She’d never had to actually use any of her emergency measures before, but they were always with her. Besides, she knew the Sept would reimburse her for the equipment she used in their defense.

Firming her resolve, Jral and Mantog simultaneously turned back towards the rising waves of power coming from the distant pink skyline of the riftworld. The energy was blinding even when their ether senses were closed off as if they were staring directly into the sun with their eyes shut tight.

Her pulse raced, but she schooled herself with a flick of her will. Jral wasn’t some low-realm Forger of no consequence. She was an elite inner disciple of the prestigious Thin Sea Sept, ranked among the top 50 Septs throughout all of Boifon.

Jral cast a sidelong glance at her fellow disciple, “Looks like it’s time to earn our keep, Mantog. Fins up — be ready for anything.”

All up and down a line that had formed of its own volition, Jral could feel the other Soulforged blazing with power. In an instant, she donned her Masterwork Chainmail of the Enhanced Guardian — a seamless piece of Alloywelding and Scriptsmithing that comfortably fit over her mantaray wings, covered in dense scriptwork able to negate up to 75% of attacks from anything within the Soulforged realm. It should help in defending against a Tropos, though its defenses wouldn’t be as effective. The best she could hope for was a 50% reduction.

Then, she quaffed a Masterwork Elixir of Enhanced Furious Waters to boost the power of her water- and light-ether by 350%. Jral sensed the others preparing themselves for battle as well.

Meanwhile, Mantog sent out an area wide AI message on the general Sept channel, “Has anyone been able to contact their apex monsters? The Thin Sea Sept has lost the AI signal connected to ours…”

A round of denials came on the channel then, everyone had lost control of their respective indentured monsters. Somehow the Tropos had disrupted a centuries-old AI contract that the coalition of Septs had put in place to keep the riftworld under their rule. Jral guessed it didn’t matter much now though, the entire dimension was about to collapse anyway.

Sighing in resignation, she triggered her Hypnotizing Manta Membrane, reinforcing herself internally, while at the same time overlaying her Masterwork Chainmail with an ethereal turquoise-colored film that was like a second skin to Jral. Now, she was confident in tackling the recently advanced Tropos.

As if on cue, a pair of Soulforged dashed towards the direction of the powerful Forger. Jral thought the two were from Sept Wandering Island as their clothing was colored teal and brown. Almost as though a starting gate came down, Jral, Mantog and the other Sept disciples followed suit, streaking across the pink horizon in a rainbow of colors, while effortlessly zigzagging between shards of crumbling sky.

Far below her, she noticed the hectic stream of contestants running for the exit portal for all they were worth. There was plenty of pushing, shoving, trampling and fighting in the frantic crowd. The Tropos’ unrestrained etheraura was restricting the lower realm Forgers’ ability to use their circuits, so they were all relegated to cutting each other down with hands, feet, tails, fins and tentacles.

Only the hundred or so Soulforged contestants were still able to use their Soul circuits, since those particular powers were on a higher level than Body or Crystal circuits.

Amidst the press of bodies, Jral caught glimmers of rampaging ether-beasts and even the occasional diminutive moving mushroom or walking boulders. She had a very strong suspicion that the other apex monsters were trying hard to sneak out of the riftworld amidst the chaos, though she quickly put it out of her thoughts. They would be the responsibility of the Sept delegates on the other side of the portal, not hers.

Up ahead was an area of colossal, swirling storm clouds that cast a gloomy darkness, overshadowing every inch of the titanic trees and stone monoliths alike. Dark pink lightning provided sparks of bright light to break the shadows, but it wasn’t enough. Her speed slowed by just a fraction as those thoughts passed through her mind, which saved her life.

As soon as the first wave of Soulforged entered the wind torn region, they instantly plummeted out of the sky as if lead weights had been tied to them. Jral watched in horror, a pit forming in her stomach, as the more than a dozen Sept disciples hastily deployed whatever Soul circuits they could to get themselves to a safe rock plateau or large tree branch. She and the others slowed down at the sight and bore witness to what came next.

In a single, blinding flash, every disciple was charred to the bone by separate bolts of pink lightning, each as thick as a space-cruiser. Just like that, a third of their forces were decimated.

Then, a moment later, an enormous face made of navy blue clouds and neon pink electricity appeared in front of them. Its voice boomed like a thunderstorm, “You insignificant insects will not restrain me any longer. Your rules, your contract, the prison you’ve turned my birthplace into — I deny them all. And here…my will reigns supreme!”

Fear suddenly crept into Jral’s heart, shattering the lies she’d just told herself. She was fatally wrong in her assumption about the newly minted Tropos. They were all wrong.

A regular Tropos, if any of them could be considered ‘regular,’ would have been bad enough, but this entity was neither a humanoid Forger nor a Clovenkind one. No, this was a sentient force of nature.

Just looking around at the whipping wind- and chaotic thunder-ether covering such an expansive area — the differences were clear.

The monster’s Physique was a literal hurricane it seemed, which already gave it the range of the most powerful of Soul circuits. What else could it do?

A normal Tropos, at the height of their stage, had the potential to decimate an entire continent. Yet this one appeared to be able to do that right after advancing.

Someone screamed on the comms channel, “That’s Highburren! By the Five’s balls! I don’t know how she could have done this! She was dangerous enough at the peak of Soulforged. Imfaral almighty, watch over us…”

At that moment, the wind all around them kicked up into a frenzy, visibly sharpening to razor edges more than six stories long. Immediately, Jral summoned her Assembly Soul circuit, Radiant Flows.

Dreamy, amber colored water-ether snapped into place in front of her shaped like a giant cone with the point aimed at the incoming colossal wind blade. She sensed the other Soul Psyches conjuring their own Assembly circuits and she could only hope that it would be enough.

A furious blast of wind-ether crashed into their collective defenses, breaking against them like the side of a mountain — steadfast, immovable. Jral let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, then saw the second gargantuan wind blade.

“Brace for impact!” another Soulforged yelled on the comms channel, just before the second attack hit them.

The Soul Psyches held firm, weathering the gale force winds with resolute defiance. Meanwhile, the lower Soulforged launched wide area attacks as best they could. The damage was minimal because many of them had Domains or Reinforcement circuits, not wide, targeted areas-of-effect like the higher Soulforged, which meant they were relying on Body or Crystal circuits to launch long ranged attacks. Worse yet, the Tropos consisted of the entire raging storm. There was no central area to target. It was a free-for-all.

A third blade came and Jral felt her Radiant Flows buckle. Her defense was only one sixtieth of the total and the blighted Tropos was easily pressing them. Something had to give.

But the wind blade wrapped in pink lighting was not what she had in mind. Jral blanched, whispering to herself, “By the Five…” Her mind blanked at the sight of such a powerful attack. Its presence alone made her antennas stand on end. If not for the others, she would have fled. Her future advancements be damned.

Just as quickly as the thought came, it left, as one of the other Soul Psyches blazed like a bonfire, feeding more and more ether into their Soul circuit.

One by one, each of the others did the same, until Jral had no choice but to follow suit. She dug into her Stomach Chamber and shoveled out more of her energy, diverting it all into her Radiant Flows.

A second amber cone came into existence. Then, a third and fourth  — one layered atop the other.

Four was all she had time for as a rumbling huff of disdain came from the colossal cloud-face. In an instant, the lightning-wind blade practically teleported in front of the line of Soulforged.

Jral’s Hypnotizing Manta Membrane evaporated in a split second, her willpower casually brushed aside like so much trash. She barely had time for the shock to set in as the Tropos’ attack smashed into her construct of Radiant Flows.

She only saw a flash of fuchsia before she was falling. Her elders were fools. And she was a fool for following their orders. They were wrong. Oh so very wrong about this Tropos…

…The memories of her final battle came and went in the blinks of the only working eye she had left. Her nerves had been shunted off long ago —  the numbness, the only comfort she had left. Falling pieces of reality tinkled softly around her, the sound somehow breaking through the constant ringing in her ears.

Jral couldn’t even be mad. Tropos Highburren was an anomaly. An abomination. Her elders could deal with it. All she wanted to do now was enjoy the light show of a failing riftworld.

Highburren was absolutely gushing with satisfaction. The riftworld had been rapidly vacated by every sentient creature, ether-beast and Etherforger alike, and what measly resistance they put together had been easily dealt with.

She was all alone except for the one who’d provided her with this once in a lifetime opportunity. How could she have ever known that her inadvertent savior was going to literally fall out of the heavens and land right onto her lap.

The Tropos kept him suspended in a bubble of wind- and thunder-ether with just the barest sliver of her aura to keep him sedated. It didn’t even take any conscious effort on her part. The container was a self-sustaining microcosm and would keep the manling in stasis for as long as she wanted.

Now that her home was free of any unwanted Forgers stealing her precious ether, she could solidify her gains in peace. Even though her transition to Tropos had been made considerably easier by her instincts guiding her, her Soul circuits were still raw from the advancement.

Furthermore, though she had formed her the inner world of her Sphere, her circuits had yet to be upgraded. At Tropos, she should have at least a single Sphere circuit, but she needed more insight to modify one of her old pathways. At best, she’d be considered a half-step Tropos and she wasn’t about to leave the riftworld until she was a whole Soulsphere. Her instincts wouldn’t allow her to remain incomplete.

With an effort of will, Highburren spread her etheraura to cover the entirety of the crumbling riftworld. The explosion of energy from her advancement had destabilized the interdimensional space. That, coupled with the presence of a surplus of relatively powerful Etherforgers, had caused the riftworld to tear itself apart. This whole pocket dimension was never meant to house a Tropos. She was tipping the balance towards destruction just by her mere existence.

But, she was a Soulsphere now. Her willpower was a force of nature. She flexed it and what was once broken was made whole.

Jagged rips in the pink sky knitted back together as if a surgeon had stitched them shut. Yawning chasms that had split the earth apart were closed up to at least look serviceable. This working of will was not meant to be a pristine fix of the riftworld.

No, Highburren had outgrown her home. What she was doing now was only a temporary measure so she could sequester herself in this pocket dimension and gain enlightenment into her first Sphere circuit.

To do that though, she needed the riftworld to be whole so its ether generation would remain steady. Once she was a complete Tropos, then she would leave.

She would finally be free. On her terms.

Chapter 12

Overthinking

The mind is a powerful thing. At its base, it is fundamentally connected to the body, waxing and waning alongside the flesh that houses it. But, what happens when the mind is betrayed by the flesh? When a disconnect occurs between thought and action, what is a mind to do?

The answer? Overthink.

Jonx sat on a stool at a large round table across from Kirby, who was wearing his man-sized dogolin form. Together, they were working on carving script symbols onto scrap pieces of metal. They were both using pencil-thin soldering torches projected directly onto a finger, or a claw in Kirby’s case, made by the precise use of their Plasma Domains.

Kirby spent his time working on phrases of scriptwork that would result in combination effects for augmenting circuit output and defenses. Meanwhile, Jonx was more like a kindergartener learning his ABCs. Just because he had an eidetic memory didn’t mean he had the fine motor memory to actually write these symbols.

So, he had to practice, practice, practice. Besides, what else was there for them to do?

The two of them had been living in his personal mindscape for god knows how long. Jonx’s first memory was of waking up on his mom’s old leather couch, while Kirby was asleep on the living room rug, in a facsimile of his childhood home, only the house had been cut in half like a shoebox diorama set on a blank canvas of white nothingness.

In the beginning, Jonx had wrung his willpower out for every drip of power that it had, just to try to even feel his body only to fail, time and again.

He and Kirby both wore themselves ragged fighting against the vast emptiness all around them. Never, in all of their attempts, did they ever sense anything that would indicate where the walls of their prison even began. No amount of searching with his ether senses or his etheraura found any sort of boundary. For all intents and purposes, he and Kirby were simply stuck in an endless mindscape of his own making.

And during all the time they’d been trapped, Kirby had been his steadfast companion, keeping Jonx sane during their involuntary incarceration. It was the AI’s idea to work on learning Scriptsmithing, distracting Jonx from the situation they were in. Of course he knew what his friend was doing, but he couldn’t deny the results. The busywork kept him from spiraling. And, as an added bonus, he found it to be entertaining. It reminded him of his teen years learning how to draw and color.

In their time in the mindscape, Jonx had learned that even though his will wasn’t enough to escape, it was still enough to change their environment, which he shaped to fit their needs as their stay became longer and longer.

There were two, fully decked out and separate living quarters — a modern, high-tech condominium for Kirby and a bougie, beachside bungalow for himself. To one side was a three tiered sparring ring that could accommodate aerial combat along with a plethora of weapons set on various racks. And on the other side, an open-air workshop with stations and equipment for all of the ether crafts — Alloywelding, Synthesizing, Alchemistry, Leatherweaving, Culinary pursuits and, of course, Scriptsmithing.

Even though everything in this space was pure imagination, Kirby had enough generic information about each craft that he could give accurate simulations of material interactions, which allowed for practical experience with learning the basics of each craft. The only thing he was missing were the more esoteric nuances that belonged to Master or Peak crafters, but he wasn’t looking to gain a high proficiency in anything.

He was just trying to stave off the boredom and madness.

The only exceptions were Culinary crafting and Scriptsmithing. He was already a Master Culinarian, so imagining how certain foods would taste together wasn’t difficult for him. And as for Scriptsmithing, Kirby had a lot of time on his claws. At some point in their imprisonment, the AI had been able to crack the next couple of parts of Exos Dak-Kalpak’s legacy thanks to the Scriptsmithing guide from Pyremane. And though they weren’t able to jump into a mindscape while already in a mindscape, the unraveled portions of the legacy gave more insight into the Exos’ ancient script symbols.

Speaking of which, Jonx finished the last symbol in a basic line of scriptwork that would serve as a defensive charm able to protect someone from a single attack one stage higher than them. With a brief etherpulse, he activated the short line of script and said, “Hey Kirbs, hit me with something.”

The AI didn’t even need to lift his dogolin snout, he simply waved a clawed paw in Jonx’s direction and a Chaos Orb wrapped in Plasma shot towards a translucent shield, splashing off of Jonx ineffectually. Humming to himself in satisfaction, he tossed the scrap piece of metal over his shoulder and it simply dissolved into nothing. It was, after all, just a figment of his imagination.

Scooting his stool back from the round table, it too disappeared since it was no longer being used. Then, Jonx stretched and pulled up his readout.

Name: Cedrick ‘Jonx’ Jonkheer

AI: Kirby

Class: Expert Senex

Professions:

Rank:

1. Culinarian

Master

2. Scriptsmithing (Ancient)

Journeyman

3. Alloywelding

Journeyman

4. Leatherweaving

Journeyman

5. Synthesizing

Novice

6. Alchemistry

Novice

Body Preparation Realm:

Stage: Ether-Forged x7

Specialized Physique: Potentiation Body (Modified x1)

Grade: Peak

Anatomical Systems Reforged:

Rank:

1. Musculoskeletal

7th

2. Circulatory

7th

3. Nervous (Modified x2)

7th

4. Respiratory

7th

5. Digestive

7th

Body Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Ether Anchor (Modified x2, Peak Grade)

Peak

2. Chaos Orb (Modified x1, Peak Grade)

Peak

Crystallized Realm:

Stage: Crystallized x4

Ether Concept:

Dynamo Force

Dual Chambers:

Anatomy Transformed:

1. Brain

Corpus Callosum, Frontal Lobe, Parietal Lobe, Temporo-Occipital Lobe, Brain Stem

2. Heart

Ascending Aorta, Left Atrium, Left Ventricle, Right Ventricle, Right Atrium

Crystal Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Ramjets (Modified x1, High Grade)

Peak

2. Meteorite (High Grade)

Peak

Soulforged Realm:

Stage: Soul Mold (Irregular)

Soul Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Plasma Domain (Peak Grade)

Peak

2. Gravitic Raiments (Peak Grade)

Peak

3. Blank

4. Blank

Nothing had changed in his advancement, which wasn’t surprising, considering he had no way of absorbing ether in this prison of the mind. Similarly, he couldn’t fuse his circuits because there simply wasn’t any external pressure to push him to his limits. It was just him and Kirby. And they were evenly matched.

That’s why he spent most of his time practicing skills like crafting. He even went so far as to learn how to play a couple of different old Earth instruments, namely the piano and guitar, though he dabbled with the violin and drums, too.

Of course, Jonx and Kirby had spent plenty of time sparring and getting a better grip on what direction he wanted to take his last pair of Soul circuits. He also gained a modicum of proficiency in all of the different weapons on the racks — the katana, long sword, scimitar, greatsword, war hammer, mace, spear, halberd and more. They’d run through pretty much every medieval weapon from every culture on Earth. He wasn’t a master by any means, but he was confident in not impaling himself at least.

Unfortunately, none of the improvements to his mundane skills were reflected on his readout. The AI algorithm responsible for gauging progress in Etherforging had been specifically streamlined for all things related to ether, nothing else.

Someone could have Peak proficiency in a Soul circuit, but could be absolute shit with a melee weapon or in hand-to-hand combat, and the readout would never show it.

With a small pulse of his will, Jonx disappeared from the crafting area and instantly reappeared in the sparring ring, which was another nuanced feature of the mindscape, since even their mental projections were really just figments of his imagination. He walked up to one of the various weapon racks and chose a katana and wakizashi to practice with.

“Kirbo, mind giving me two copies as a warm up?” he asked aloud to the empty sparring ring. There wasn’t any real sound in the mindscape. They could ‘hear’ each other at any decibel. All communication needed was will and intent.

Jonx casually walked along the outer perimeter of the bottommost ring just as two opponents suddenly materialized across from him, already moving in the same direction as him. One was a copy of Heber, his old goat-brained nemesis. And the other was Commander Narlos of the Rootstar.

These were nothing but empty simulations recreated from Kirby’s stored data of their fighting styles. They didn’t have the full complement of circuits that the originals would have had, since neither Jonx nor Kirby knew the extent of their powers, but the simulations were still accurate enough to provide a decent enough warm up. He’d fought them more than a hundred times total, both individually and separately.

Without any fanfare, the trio sprang into action. Heber pulsed a mental attack at Jonx to disorient him, but he’d dealt with that enough times to counter it. In an instant, a crown formed from his Gravitic Raiments and wreathed in his Plasma Domain crackled into existence on his head and the mental assault broke apart.

He didn’t even need to break stride as he spun low, slashing in a circle to strike low at Heber’s hooves while simultaneously deflecting a tendril of sand from Narlos with his wakizashi.

Heber hopped back, bleeding from his shins, and conjured telekinetic missiles to harry Jonx. From the other side, Narlos did the same with tightly compacted sand projectiles. At the speed of thought, four Gravitic tower shields came spinning into existence, easily deflecting every attack.

Before the combined barrage could end, Jonx was already gone, his internal empowerment coursing through his veins. Heber was always the weakest link in any fight. And Jonx was embarrassed he’d succumbed to the goat so easily all those years ago.

The goat boosted himself to try and dodge, but Jonx’s Soul circuit was superior for bursts of energy. His katana’s edge sparked with Plasma and cleanly sliced through one of Heber’s hooves. At the same time, spikes of sand erupted from the ground, trying to get in the way, but Jonx cloaked himself in a Gravitic breastplate and sabatons to plow through the trap.

Heber stumbled, but conjured his telekinetic Domain and all of a sudden there were dozens of illusory goats in Jonx’s eyesight. On reflex, Jonx etherpulsed and found the only actual body in the vicinity, pouncing on Heber’s prone form with his extended katana. But a hand of sand got in the way, grabbing the blade’s edge before it could hit its mark.

Jonx tsked and immediately sprang backwards just before a trio of sand golems slid out of the ground armed with purple, psionic weapons — a halberd, long sword and shield and a pair of scimitars.

The sword bearer came in fast, shield raised and bashed aside a katana strike, then lunged forward with its long sword. Jonx parried it with his wakizashi, turning with the movement to stab backwards with his katana and into the golem’s sandy midsection. Before it could move, an electromagnetic pulse coursed through its limbs and the golem fell apart into grains of sand.

Without missing a beat, a purple halberd stabbed straight through the shower of sand. Jonx quickly rolled to the side and came up with an upward slash to the weapon’s shaft, slicing the axe-part clean off. The golem with scimitars was on top of him before the axe could dissipate into nothingness and Jonx had to fend the thing off with his own pair of blades.

Clink, clang, clink, clang — they blocked, parried and riposted back and forth across the sparring ring in a shower of friction sparks. From the side, the halberd golem flew into the fray, its weapon reformed anew. Jonx transitioned seamlessly into two-on-one, his katana and wakizashi flashing to meet their attacks. The internal portion of his Raiments sang through his limbs, his speed and strength now enough to produce small shockwaves with every strike he deflected.

His mind was warping his perception, a simulation of what his Brain Chamber would normally be doing in a battle. However, in this mindscape, he couldn’t touch his personal power, so his imagination had to fill in the blanks. Regardless, it gave him the edge he needed to time a spinning flourish that took him from one end of the ring, through the two sand golems, and out the other side. The golems instantly crumbled into charred halves from a liberal use of his Plasma Domain.

Jonx made sure to keep his twirl going as more sand balls and telekinetic missiles greeted him on the other side. Heber had recovered and was now using his Domain to levitate in midair, eliminating the need to stand on his one good leg, continuously firing telekinetic attacks. Meanwhile, the muscular Malkin, Narlos, charged him with a claymore made of sand so compacted that it looked closer to rough glass than sand. He guessed it was Heber’s turn to provide ranged support for Narlos.

His katana and wakizashi weren’t weapons that could handle a claymore head on, so he dodged more than he blocked. A quartet of floating Gravitic discs spun around him to block all of Heber’s projectiles. On occasion, he was forced to slide Narlos’ claymore along the edge of his katana to redirect a slash, sending sparks in the Malkin’s eyes, though the simulation didn’t mind in the slightest.

In Jonx’s mindscape experience, Narlos was a much better melee combatant than Heber. So, he used their match to fall into a rhythm, letting his middling skills with dual wielding hone his muscle memory. There was no fear of pain or death, not in a world of his own imagination.

Even when Narlos summoned an extra pair of sand golems, each equipped with more psionic weapons from Heber, Jonx simply let his new opponents fall into the battle’s dance. His internal empowerment and heightened perceptions kept his movements as sharp and fast as the blades he wielded.

This was how his days, weeks, months and most likely years had gone by in the mindscape that was now their home. He’d stopped asking Kirby the amount of time they’d been in here a long, long time ago. What was the point? He distracted himself with anything and everything. There was no sleep in this mindscape. The best he could do was a few hours with ‘lights’ out, binge watching some old Earth TV and zoning out.

Jonx managed to work up a light sweat with his four-on-one fight, though truth be told, Heber was just in the background now, the goat’s attacks automatically being deflected by his Gravitic discs. He knew this was his imagination, but this fictitious body still simulated fatigue. Hell, he’d been fighting for nearly 30 minutes straight now, so it only made sense.

With a thought, he disappeared from the battle just as one of Narlos’ golems swung upward with its bladed spear and reappeared outside of the ring.

Kirby was still on the other end of their living space, sitting at the large, round table, tinkering with his Scriptsmithing.

Jonx materialized an imaginary glass of lemonade in his hand and drained it in one gulp. Did he need to? No. But, did the taste of lemonade soothe his institutionalized soul? You bet.

Now refreshed, he walked back to the racks of weapons, this time choosing a war scythe, which was a western version of his once favored naginata. He casually twirled it around his body, the air whistling with the display of skill, then called out, “Yo, Kirbo. Round two, please!”

A room full of fifty outer disciples, all in the mid-Crystallized realm, bowed deeply at the waist in their honorary robes of grey and red, the colors of the Crimson Rain Sept.

They all patiently waited to be dismissed, knowing full well the repercussions if even one of them so much as twitched. Their fear was especially true when attending a lesson taught by the white-scaled Clove standing on an upraised dais at the front of the large hall.

Three years.

It had been three years since the destruction of the tournament riftworld. And once the havoc had finally died down, the sixty participating Septs sent out their invitations to those they wanted. Much to her surprise, she had received a number of offers, though  Zozka ultimately chose the Crimson Rain Sept, not only because they were ranked in the top 30 of all Septs on Boifon, but also because they specialized in Synthesizing and Alchemistry, her preferred two ether crafts.

Being in the top 30 meant they had more than  two dozen peak-Soulforged with their Named Souls, ready to advance to Tropos whenever they accumulated enough insight and inspiration. Additionally, they had three Tropos as figureheads, though they were mostly for show more than anything else. Each Tropos was in seclusion, searching for their own revelations to advance, only to be contacted in extreme emergencies.

Even the fall of a domesticated riftworld wasn’t enough to merit disturbing them.

She stood on the dais in front of her class that had just finished a lesson on distilling, extracting and refining base ingredients into more potent compounds to be used in both Synthesized medications or Alchemical elixirs. Her ether senses were spread throughout the lecture hall, taking in the quality of what the outer disciples had produced. Once her meticulous inspection was done, she sent each of them an individual ping to their AIs to both dismiss and grade their efforts.

A collective sigh was released as soon as the disciples received their grades. Then, as one, they got up from their bows and shuffled out the door, most with neutral expressions, though some had disappointment etched on their faces for their lackluster scores.

In these last three years, Zozka had trained herself ragged, exhausting the Sept to give up their skill and knowledge so she could learn both Synthesizing and Alchemistry. Just a couple of years ago, she’d been one of the disciples in this room, head bowed in disappointment.

Now, she was a highly proficient Expert in both crafts, nearly almost a Master, though her products weren’t as consistent as they needed to be to pass the proficiency test.

How Jonx had gone from Novice to Master in the span of a couple of years was beyond her. He truly was Celestial-blessed in everything that he did. Although, thinking of him now brought back all of her old emotions from the tournament.

He’d been missing all of this time. When the dust had settled and the Sept delegates performed a head count, he was not among them. Zozka, of course, knew he was still alive. Kirby, his AI, was housed in more than just Jonx’s body. The AI was also stored in the onboard computer of his ship, The Silver Surfer.

Despite the fact that ship-Kirby had lost contact with his central mainframe, the AI was able to confirm Jonx’s condition. Unfortunately, that was all he could do. The AI was unable to tell where Jonx was or if he was injured, only that he was alive.

It had taken Zozka months to swallow that bitter pill. But, she was an elite Elapid warrior to her core. He wasn’t the first brother-in-arms she’d lost, though technically, he was just missing-in-action. Regardless, she did what she always did — Zozka relentlessly threw herself into her work. In this case, Synthesizing and Alchemistry.

Her efforts had paid off. Her ranking amongst the Crimson Rain Sept’s inner disciples had risen and now she was an adjunct faculty member for outer disciple lessons. Zozka had avoided pushing herself through battle like Jonx had a tendency to do.

No matter how much the Earthling denied it, he was drawn to conflict.

She, on the other hand, had enough with the catastrophe at the selection tournament. What kind of power would it take to rend a pocket dimension in twain? Zozka couldn’t even fathom wielding such might. Even though her Sept leaders were at the same level, to know it and to see it were two very different things.

For her, it was time to settle down. Solidify what she had. There was no need to rush any longer. She’d found a place in the Sept and it was a good one. They had resources, which she earned through her contributions as a faculty member. There were other errands she could perform as well — diplomatic trips to other Septs or worlds and hunting or exploratory missions.

Over the last three years, Zozka went on only a handful of exploration trips, mainly for specific ether-rich herbs for her crafting. If she got into a fight, she didn’t shy away, but most of her battling had been reduced to sparring matches with the other Soulforged of her Sept or her Clan. The mercenary Clan had their own requirements for membership, though she was able to get those done planetside on Boifon. She didn’t need to space- or rift-hop.

So, aside from her feverish obsession with learning her ether crafts, Zozka spent much of the rest of her time laying down the foundation for her next advancement, Soul Cast. Her Mold was only a semi-regular grade, which was only one step less complex than Jonx’s.

It was a feat to be proud of in any Sept. Only geniuses with freakish talents or people who were truly broken, like Jonx, could form the most complex of Molds. The complexity of a semi-regular Soul Mold was enough to prolong her advancement already.

Increasingly complex Molds required more time, energy and control to lay ether down into firm, solid layers to establish a stable infrastructure that would carry over to the rest of the Soulforged realm.

Thus far, she only managed to lay down about five percent of her overall Cast. From her understanding, the earlier phases were much easier as the Cast would require more and more ether for the upper strata to form. A Forger could speed through the process, but their Cast would have empty, wasted space in the form of holes or bubbles, which would lead to an unstable foundation in the later Soulforged stages. The proper way was to use larger amounts of ether to pack down every successive top layer, until the entire Cast was filled in. It was tedious and required meticulous control of one’s energy.

Zozka was in no rush. The Crimson Rain Sept was her home now and they provided her with everything she needed as long as she contributed. A part of her was still worried about her friend, of course. But, there was no use overthinking when his whereabouts were beyond her control.

Though, if she were honest with herself, she knew Jonx would be alright. Somehow, someway, that Earthling would come out on top. He had an annoying way of doing that.

Chapter 13

Late to the Party

Highburren breathed in fresh, Boifonese air through a nose and lungs for the first time ever in her centuries of life. “What is that distasteful stink in the air, manling?” she rasped in a voice that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Jonx shuddered at the mere sound, finding it fundamentally wrong.

“Uh, well, Highburren, that’s probably the smell of the partially decayed body you’re riding around in like a goddamned demon…but, you know, that’s just my ‘educated’ guess,” he answered sarcastically.

“How do I get rid of this odor? I find it…repugnant,” the Tropos croaked. Jonx had to suppress another shiver before he answered, “Well, that corpse’s insides are most like goopy dead matter at this point, so I honestly don’t have any suggestions for you. You’re the wind-ether specialist. Maybe you can do something with that?”

At the suggestion, Jonx felt a brief swirling of wind that picked up stray bits of dust and debris in its wake, then all of a sudden, there was a pop and the smell disappeared. To his ether senses, it seemed as though the Tropos was wearing a tightly fitted second skin of pure wind-ether around her host body, which was the most pristine of all the corpses that were wasting away in the now defunct riftworld.

The body she possessed could only be considered a murloc to Jonx’s Earthling sensibilities. Her back was hunched with sharp spines protruding down it, while her arms and legs were all scrawny except for the cartoonishly large hands and feet, which were tipped with suction cups. She had two lifeless eyes, bulbous and white like those of a dead, frozen fish. And her rows of razor sharp teeth were yellow and black in places. Her once slimy skin was dry and chapped, occasionally flaking or peeling. So, maybe her possessed body reminded him more of an undead murloc.

Jonx flashbacked to when the Tropos had crammed her entire, amorphous cloud body into the once dead murloc’s mouth in some sort of reverse tornado. What followed after was several minutes of awkward puppeteering, until she learned how to move the body appropriately. Jonx had seen some pretty messed up things since leaving Earth, but this one was right up there.

Regardless of the gruesome display of necromancy, he still found himself happy to finally be free. Free from the confines of his own mind. Free to feel the tingling sensation of the breeze scintillating across his skin. Standing on a remote island that the Tropos had deposited them on, his mop of salt and pepper hair blew in the wind and he had to squint his eyes as the Boifonese sun reflected off of the planet’s amber ocean.

It was…intoxicating. Surreal, even.

“Ahh, yes. Much better, manling. Truly, you prove to be more useful every passing moment. I’m really quite satisfied with myself in letting you live. My magnanimity is a blessing, is it not?” Highburren crooned in her creepy zombie-voice. She was still learning how to talk with a jaw and vocal cords, so the mouth moved with her words, but not her lips or tongue. It was like watching a macabre marionette more than anything.

Jonx couldn’t keep quiet any longer, otherwise he was going to take his chances and run, “Look, Highburren…Tropos — whatever. Is there anything you can do about that voice? It’s giving me the chills and I’m sure it’ll freak out everyone else, which would entirely defeat the purpose of trying to sneak off-world. Couldn’t you just… project your own voice with wind-ether?”

Highburren cracked her murloc maw open and a voice like rumbling thunder came out, “Does this suit your sensitive tastes now, manling?”

“God, yes. That’s much better. Thank you, Highburren. Although, the kidnapping I could still do without…” Jonx answered sardonically. The Tropos waved his comment away with a dry, flaking fish-hand, “Bah, you’ll get your rewards. Already, you’ve been basking in the glory of my presence for years, yet you ask for more? Truly, your greed knows no bounds. But, I won’t deny that I have a debt to repay. So, complete our agreement and you will be compensated greatly.”

“Sure, sure, I’ve heard that one before. But, it’s not like I’m in a position to put up a fight, soooooo, I might as well make the best of it,” Jonx replied with more nonchalance than he actually felt. His motto had always been, ‘fake it til you make it,’ and boy, was he doing that right now.

The Tropos chuckled in bursts of gusting wind as she leaked out just a sliver of her aura, “At least you understand your predicament, manling. There is nothing you could do that would keep me from you.”

Jonx rolled his eyes at the threat. Was he afraid? Of course he was. Who wouldn’t be? As far as anyone was concerned, the creature standing next to him was a veritable demigod. But, what good was it to shake in his boots? How many more times could he really piss himself? At this point, he didn’t have any more capacity to feel fear. He had reached his limit long ago. The only thing he could do now was roll with it.

He took a slow, deliberate breath and focused on the best thing about the human mind — denial. Jonx wholeheartedly embraced a frame of disillusioned thought that would let him deal with his current situation. There wasn’t much else he could do, other than maybe curl up into a ball and start crying, which he doubted Highburren would have been too forgiving about.

“Alright, alright, just turn that damned aura off, would you? You want to send a signal flare to every godforsaken Soulsphere on the planet?” he asked, frustrated. Highburren huffed, but relented, “Oh please, manling. Even I know that those old monsters sit in seclusion all day, just hoping to find enlightenment to advance. Besides, no single one of them could stop me, not as I am now. Though, I imagine it would be prudent to avoid having to deal with a dozen of them. Now, how will you get me off-world?”

Unfortunately for the Tropos, Jonx didn’t have any sort of plan whatsoever. He was going to have to wing it like the best of them. His ‘agreement’ with the Tropos, if that’s what she wanted to call strong-armed coercion, meant that he needed to get her off of Boifon and then deposit her on a tier 0 planet or better.

A tier 1 planet wasn’t big enough to house another Soulsphere. The other Tropos had a pact that there could only be a certain amount of them at any given time. Otherwise, the presence of too many Soulspheres would severely plunge the delicately balanced ether saturation of the planet, quickly making it unsustainable for all of the billions of people living both in the oceans and on the station. Thus, Highburren’s very existence was a threat to Boifon’s livelihood and would quickly call down the wrath of the others if she were found out. Jonx was hoping to avoid getting vaporized in that absolute clusterfuck, so the first and only part of his plan was to get out of dodge.

“You heard the all-powerful windbag, Kirbs, what’s the ETA on the Surfer?” he asked the AI. As soon as they’d been released from the riftworld and back onto Boifon proper, the AI had made contact with their ship and reconnected with the planet’s network. On an intellectual level, Jonx knew that he’d been trapped in his own mind for years, maybe even an entire decade. Now though, Kirby was able to confirm that he’d been held against his will for about five years.

The true number was both good and bad. Good, because five years wasn’t all that long in the grand scheme of things, especially to an Etherforger of his realm. Bad, because it sure as hell felt longer, that was for damned sure. Maybe his mind had warped his perception of time for some subconscious reason. In the end though, it didn’t matter.

He wasn’t any more insane than he was when he’d first gone into that tournament riftworld. At least, that’s what he thought. But then again, an insane person wouldn’t normally know they were insane.

Speaking of the tournament, his thoughts came to Zozka. She deserved to be told that he was out and alive. The records from the Surfer indicated that she’d contacted Kirby in his absence and had been worried about him, especially when he was first abducted. That was the sign of a true friend and it warmed him in a heart he swore had grown far too cynical long, long ago. Unfortunately, he needed to hide from her just as surely as Highburren had to hide from the other Soulspheres. Zozka was the closest thing to family he had in this universe and there was no way in hell he was going to let her get mixed up in all of this. His situation was bad enough.

Far away, on Boifon station, Kirby was inconspicuously bypassing all of his hangar’s security footage and creating a fake feedback loop that would, for all intents and purposes, show the ship still in place. Moreover, the AI even designed a false signal that would be fed into Zozka’s own corvette to ensure her ignorance. Jonx was lucky that his funds had been accessible automatically by the AI that was renting his apartment to him all these years, otherwise who knew what would have happened to his ship. He would make up for his secrecy to Zozka at some point, he promised that to himself.

Turning to the map on his HUD, he watched as the ship streaked away from Boifon station and broke through the atmosphere. It had to move slowly, though. No mach speed. He didn’t want it breaking any sound barriers. “My AI has our ride coming. It’ll be here in an hour or so, Highburren,” he informed the undead murloc.

He got a hum like wind chimes in acknowledgment as he watched the Tropos kneeling down in the sand, playing with her newfound fish-hands, shoveling sand, letting it slip through her suction cup fingertips, then do it all over again. Her childlike behavior was a stark difference to the image of a force of nature that destroyed an entire dimension to fuel her own growth.

Jonx couldn’t help but sigh in defeat, knowing full well that he should always be on guard. If his time with the monster, Exos Dak-Kalpak, was anything to go off of, there was no telling what a Soulsphere was capable of. He plopped himself down in the sand and simply took in the sight of the beach. It was all black sand that contrasted with Boifon’s golden ocean and was, in a word, beautiful. Feeling the wind caress his sun-kissed face, he lost himself in rolling, amber waves.

It wasn’t until his HUD dinged that he realized time had flown by. The Surfer was cruising directly towards them, cutting through golden water, leaving ocean spray in its wake. Jonx got up and waited for what amounted to his space Volkswagen. Jabbing a thumb in the direction of the incoming battlecruiser, he called out, “Hey, Tropos! Our ride is here.”

Highburren was busy showing off a massive throne constructed of black sand that she’d made all by hand in the time they had. Jonx was impressed in the same way an uncle would be at a niece’s dance recital — he just smiled and nodded, but said nothing.

The Surfer drifted up to their deserted island, hovering above them with its hatch wide open, inviting them in. Without prompting, Highburren practically teleported from her sandy throne and reappeared on the gangplank of Jonx’s ship. It was such a casual display of extreme speed that he had to do a double take. His perceptions weren’t even close to detecting her, which sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. “I feel like I’m falling behind, Kirbs…” he thought to his AI.

“Pfft, you’re an idiot if you think you haven’t been racing through the realms as it is. How many centuries had that cloud-brain spent mastering her Way to be able to so easily advance to Soulsphere? You need a stable foundation, Jonxo. Get your head out of the clouds. And yes, pun intended,” the AI responded in a snarky tone.

Jonx ignored the comment, knowing that Kirby was right, and simply flared his Gravitic Raiments to jump the twenty feet up to the ship in one go. It wasn’t as impressive as Highburren, but it would have landed him on any NBA team a thousand times over. As the ship’s hatch closed, the smell of leather and steel hit him and he was home, finally.

Kirby suddenly came onto the intercom, urgency in his voice, “Uhh, I hate to break up your homecoming, but I think we have a problem. You two may want to sit down for this…”

One year prior…

…Thermos Flawgraw, High Admiral of the Pentumvirate navy, sat at his wide, glonwood desk, scrolling through a data tablet as he sifted through military reports live-streaming from each sector of Imfaral the Phi’s local star zone. His office was located on a small, high-tier 0 asteroid that was purposefully constructed for a single purpose — to serve as the prime overwatch station for the Pentumvirate navy in this zone.

Despite his post being in Imfaral the Phi’s region, Flawgraw was a disciple of Antarea the Beta, the Minister of War. He was a Malkin himself, his long, root-beard hanging down to his chest and embroidered in Scriptsmithed ornaments with a multitude of functions. Flawgraw’s Way even belonged to Antarea the Beta — the Way of the Bright Branch.

His overwatch station had been grown around a perpetual etherforming pilon, which provided a high sat rate to sate his energy needs. After all, Flawgraw was a Thermos, only one stage below the peak of Soulsphere. He had absolutely exorbitant ether needs for his advancement. Fortunately for him, as a High Admiral, he was entitled to this high-tier 0 planetoid all to himself.

The office he occupied was only a small part of the amenities on the station and was attached to a holo-mansion covering nearly a third of the planetoid’s surface, which was able to accommodate any aesthetic he desired. Far beneath his feet, in a sub-basement, was a dedicated, state of the art Forging chamber, connected directly to the core pilon itself. The scriptwork scribbled along the walls of the chamber were of Peak quality, able to boost the room’s sat rate to low-tier S for limited bouts of time, which he made sure to use every time the chamber recharged.

Next to his holo-mansion was his massive spacecraft hangar, more of a cavern than a building. Since he was a high ranking government official, he was forced to be a Malkin of many ships — speedy corvettes for short trips, luxurious yachts for pleasure outings and armored battlecruisers for official missions.

On the far side of the planetoid was the most crucial piece of equipment on the entire station — the intergalactic teleportation and communications array. The overwatch station functioned as his personal crossroads for every major portal-byway that crisscrossed the star zone and also connected him to the neighboring overwatch station in the next zone over. The array wasn’t wide enough to handle large amounts of traffic, it was only meant for hard and fast military operations that might require his personal interference.

After all, as a High Admiral for the navy, he was responsible for coordinating and reinforcing all military and naval operations in the entire star zone. And though he was ostensibly the be all, end all for the Pentumvirate in this region, in truth, he was merely the hand that followed the bidding of Zus, Grand Military AI of the Pentumvirate.

A soft ding from his Ambros-class AI announced an aberrant report from a tier 2 star system capital, Farafell. “Goranc, put it up on the bay window,” Flawgraw commanded. In an instant, the written report was magnified on the left hand side of the floor-to-ceiling window, while the right hand side displayed the attached video file. Flawgraw immediately ignored the written report, his attention transfixed by what was happening on screen.

Somehow, someway, a Celestial’s forsaken worldship had made it into the star system unbeknownst to him or any of his naval stations that were strewn across the galaxy. Without wasting a moment, a blinding beam of yellow particles beamed out of his communications array, lost in the vastness of space and aimed directly at Zus several star zones over. Even though Zus’ mainframe was technically located within the Celestial form of Antarea the Beta, every Grand AI of the Pentumvirate had a separate central processing station that relayed all information from the Pentumvirate territories to their respective Celestials.

With a thought, his previously unadorned office chair transformed into a conduit for his power. Five walls of tenfold, Alloywelded glass suddenly slid out of the floor, ensconcing him in a rectangular cage to capture every scrap of energy he could unleash. In the background, the video continued to play, the worldship lit up in vibrant greens and reds as it launched small fighter drones at Farafell, battering against the planet’s ether-shielding.

In a blink, Flawgraw’s unrestrained will billowed out of him as he rotated his Thermos Sphere. His Sphere circuit, Dominion of the Broken Forest, blazed to life, engulfing his glass case in a blinding show of unadulterated power. Scriptwork instantly began working overtime, funneling all of his power into a separate sub-basement beneath his holo-mansion.

Thick slabs covered in dense, interconnected lines of scriptwork rapidly lit up like dominoes as the overwatch station’s emergency ethertech was charged in a matter of moments. His power was then rerouted to array after array, each one scintillating with energy all across the surface of the planetoid. Suddenly, a quad-layered ether-shield snapped into place around the station, encasing it in a nigh-impenetrable shell.

Once Flawgraw sensed the protective array in place, he immediately switched to another Sphere circuit, Fabrication of Regrowing Roots. At his mental command, the scriptwork in his glass case redirected his energy into yet another sub-basement, this one filled with more slabs of densely covered scriptwork that channeled his circuit into a separate set of arrays on the station. These arrays were meant to be a direct augmentation to his Sphere circuit, magnifying his capabilities by manifold.

The High Admiral next split his focus into several partitions, each part responsible for building a different ether construct. In less time than it takes for a teapot to boil, four ethereal starship engines were created. Now, the overwatch station had effectively turned into a worldship in its own right, though obviously much smaller than the one belonging to the invaders.

With his preparations finished, Flawgraw was ready to go to war.

His AI, Goranc, activated the teleportation array, setting course for Farafell’s star system. In a flash, a byway portal opened up and, with grim determination, Flawgraw gunned the engines, rocketing his makeshift worldship through the gateway.

These invaders would know the folly of their ways soon enough…

…Jasp laid on his side, floating on a bed of billowing steam in his personal chambers at the Palace of Design. The temperature in the room was sweltering, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. His pores were wide open, sweat soaking into his fur in a wonderful cleansing of sorts. He lazily puffed on his pipe, filling the room with the fragrant scent of eflelas leaf as he closed his eyes, meditating on the interactions of fire- and water-ether.

The Way of the Everlasting Salamander was a complex path, requiring the Forger to balance two seemingly opposing elements in perfect harmony. For him, steam was the obvious iteration, though others walking the same Way as him had gone with boiling water or everburning oil.

It had been four years since that disaster at the selection tournament and the Septs of Boifon were running out of time to agree on another way of choosing their prospective disciples. Jasp and his brethren of the Palace weren’t going to approve the use of a new riftworld. No, whatever the Septs submitted for approval, it would have to be done on Boifon proper. Having to explain that fiasco to a core disciple of the Palace had been bad enough. Jasp was not going to let the Septs run unsupervised again. Well, at least for the next few decades.

Suddenly, a blaring announcement came on their local network intercom, “Alert! Alert! All disciples to the main courtyard immediately!” Jasp wobbled midair, nearly losing his concentration, “That wasn’t the voice of our Palace AI…”

He hastily triggered his Reinforcement Soul circuit, Binding Steamguard, empowering himself with rising heat that lent him explosive speed. In the blink of an eye, he was gone from his personal chambers, flying out of the nearest window and aiming for the central courtyard several buildings over. His ether senses were stretched out across the island riftworld and he felt every inner disciple in the pocket dimension hightailing it as well.

The Soulforged arrived first, followed by the up and coming Crystallized Forgers. Looks of annoyance and alarm were mixed evenly throughout the crowd. One of the Soul Molds, Granger, spoke up first, “What’s the meaning of this, Jasp? I was just about to finish a layer for my Cast!”

Jasp wasn’t going to give the idiot anymore leeway to speak, whatever was going on, it was important. Immediately, the etheraura of a Soul Psyche blanketed the courtyard, preemptively silencing any further protests or complaints. No sooner had he subdued the crowd when a massive display appeared above them in the simulated sky of their riftworld.

Painted in the clouds, a beautiful female Malkin appeared, her long flowing root-hair cascading down her back. At the immediate sight of her, every disciple present dropped to a low bow, intoning, “All hail the Beta!”

From his kowtowing position, Jasp went on high alert, “An image of Antarea herself? Celestial’s balls, this must be serious…”

The Celestial’s voice boomed throughout the entire riftworld next, “This is Grand AI Zus. I am contacting you to give an official Pentumvirate military emergency order. High Admiral Thermos Flawgraw has intercepted an invading worldship in your star zone. The system belonging to the tier 2 minor capital, Farafell, is currently under assault. Every Faction and their subsidiary Septs are hereby ordered to dispatch all available backup forces. This is a fight for Soulforged and Soulspheres only. Immediately prepare for battle and portal to the system ASAP. The High Admiral is already in combat and the other systems in your zone are mobilizing their forces as we speak. Do not wait. Send this order down the line. I expect all appropriate personnel to be on their way as soon as they’re ready. Pray that he holds. Zus, out.”

As soon as the message cut off and the skies cleared up, Jasp felt every eye turn towards him as he got up from his own deep bow, “You heard the Beta. Low-Soulforged are to immediately deliver this message to all of our subordinate Septs. Mid- and High-Soulforged, gear up. We leave within the hour.”

While this order was disconcerting, Jasp and the others weren’t particularly nervous. All of them were well into their hundreds. Jasp, himself, was looking forward to his fourth century in another decade or so. Space skirmishes were nothing new to him or the others. A few times a century some upstart forces would come and try to fight against the Five and it was the duty of the military, Factions and Septs to put them down. All of the older Soulforged knew their business, so Jasp left it to them to get themselves ready.

For him, his AI, Iza, went ahead and prepared his personal cutter. The Palace of Design may have been housed in their own private riftworld, but they had a Faction hangar in the city proper on whale four of Wandering Orca’s Pride. Jasp had everything he needed in his storage necklace and his reserves were already topped off considering he was in the middle of a Forging session. His Binding Steamguard surged through him once again and in a matter of moments, he was speeding through the streets, aiming for the teleportation array to take him to whale four.

He should be in the air and on his way to the Boifon byway gate in fifteen minutes flat. Hopefully, the High Admiral could hang on long enough for reinforcements to come…

Chapter 14

Catching Up

Jonx stood rooted in place in the main cabin of his battlecruiser, frantically scrolling through news streams over the last year. His Brain Chamber was cycling as fast as he could manage to slow down his perception of time just so he could process it all.

Footage of the battle above Farafell was chaotic. Jonx recognized the tier 2 planet as one of the capital worlds that he’d passed by while traveling with Commander Narlos when he was escaping Sokowa. Casting its gargantuan shadow, a massive monstrosity, straight out of Star Wars, dominated the planet’s orbit. Tens of thousands of tiny space fighters shaped like writhing squids were swarming Farafell’s planetary defenses. Meanwhile, thousands of Etherforgers were weaving in, out and around the space fighters, garbed in Scriptsmithed armor to protect them from the ravages of space and blazing in, what appeared to be, Soul circuits.

Jonx could easily recognize the telltale ethereal armaments of hardened elemental ether surrounding each Forger, making them look like some sort of larger than life magical fantasy warriors. There were Etherforgers in mage robes made of fire- and wind-ether. While others wore leather-like jerkins and greaves fashioned from ice, water and earth. And then there were those adorned in full plate armor built from thunder, force and shadows. The battlefield was littered with the most Soulforged Jonx had ever seen in one place. And they were losing.

For every fifty squid-fighters a Forger destroyed, there were another hundred to take their place. The monstrous spaceship was a never ending stream of metallic cephalopods.

Closer to the surface of Farafell’s ether-shielding, Jonx noticed several hundred figures holding themselves back from the dogfighting and surrounded by circuit powers that looked more like weather phenomena. These were definitely not Soul circuits.

He could only assume they were Forgers from a higher realm, Soulsphere. Their combined circuits provided a second level of defense for the whole world of Farafell, reinforcing the planetary ether-shielding to rebuff any squid-fighters that made it past the blockade of Soulforged.

The videos continued to play in a patchwork panorama in his mind’s eye. In this way, he was perceiving a complex and chaotic space battle beyond the scope of anything he’d ever experienced. The battle for Sokowa was barely a skirmish compared to what he was watching now.

Eventually, every AI recording switched to a single figure emerging from the moon-sized spacecraft. If the fighting Soulforged looked like elemental knights, mages and rogues made of earth-, wind- and fire-ether, then this solitary Forger was a towering giant that looked like a goddamned Gundam.

This was no simple Soul circuit. Whatever power the Forger was using made it appear to be a gigantic mecha the size of a building and covered in plates of deep green with joints and eyes of burnished bronze.

A rumbling noise, like storm clouds rolling in, broke Jonx out of his trance. “Hmm, even from just a recording, I can tell that’s a high tier Sphere circuit. That person is sure to be at or near the peak of Soulsphere…” Highburren said as she leaned her decaying murloc face with its milky white eyes closer and closer to the screen Kirby was using to play the video. While Jonx had been lost in his mind’s eye, the Tropos had been watching her own compilation of the battle on a jumbo projection in the main cabin.

As the picture panned out, away from the mecha and back to Farafell protected by powerful Etherforgers, she asserted, “And see those? Those would be low-Soulsphere. Those Sphere circuits look to be Dominions, which are evolved Domains. But their areas of effect are only about as large as I can spread mine, which would put them at the same stage as me, Tropos.”

Jonx turned to the murloc with her face practically smooshed up against the screen, “What circuit is the big guy using?”

Highburren drummed her suction cup fingertips on her murloc mouth, “If I had to guess, I would think that was a Bulwark Sphere circuit, though I can’t tell what elements they’re using.”

“How large is the gap between him and them?” he asked, pointing at the two opposing forces. Highburren’s milky white fish-eyes stared, unblinking at the screen as she spoke in a far off whisper like distant thunder, “…Like night and day, manling…you think you’ve seen the heights of Etherforging? You’re nothing but a frog in a well. That Forger…?” She jabbed a bulbous finger at the mecha of a man, now with her face flattened up against the screen, “That Forger could decimate that planet all by themself. I’d wager my Named Soul on that.”

Jonx didn’t have to wait long to find out as the AI recording zoomed into the gundam-Forger stepping away from their colossal ship, walking along an invisible bridge only they could see. With every step the mecha took, tangible waves of green and gold energy emanated from their body, surrounding them in a swirling mass of ether that grew exponentially until it practically dwarfed the size of their monstrous vessel.

Awe-struck warbles came from Highburren as the pair of them watched the video in silent fascination. The mecha-man stood in the emptiness of space, the entire battlefield having stopped by virtue of his mere presence. Whatever aura that Forger possessed must have been substantial to be able to freeze thousands of combatants in place. The video was obviously not doing them any justice.

Above and behind the mecha’s shoulders, the large currents of power began to separate and swirl into half a dozen points of concentrated green and gold ether. In a matter of moments, the points rapidly grew to the size of boulders, then meteors.

Once formed, there was barely a split second before the mecha-man flicked his wrist in a shooing motion and the meteors sped through the silent vacuum of space.

Before any of the defenders could blink, the burnished green meteors were upon them, forming a tight hexagon as large as a small continent. Tens and tens of low-Soulspheres in the target area blazed like miniature, rainbow colored stars, pumping up their Dominion circuits to brace for impact.

The attack suddenly exploded in a mushroom cloud of pure, chaotic energy as waves of power undulated outward from the point of impact. At first, Jonx was optimistic, hoping against hope that the planetary shielding held and that such powerful Forgers were enough to stop that devastating attack.

That hope died in his throat.

Beside him, Highburren gave a high pitch whine like a teapot whistling, “If my instincts are right, that was a Sphere circuit of Onslaught! Celestials above and blighted rust below…that Forger is at the very least a Thermos…”

Jonx was about to ask for elaboration, but then the dust settled. All that was left was a gaping hole in Farafell’s shielding and atmosphere the size of Australia. None of the Soulspheres at the target site could be seen, though the others had turned their Dominions strategically to protect themselves from the fallout. At the sight of all of that power, he remembered something from the news feeds, “Wasn’t there supposed to be a High Admiral at this battle? He was supposed to be a Thermos too…”

Highburren gave a forlorn look to Jonx and shook her undead-murloc mug, “Your eyes are worthless, manling. Look here…” she pointed a fishy finger at a spot in the corner of the screen. Jonx hadn’t noticed it at all amidst the chaotic combat between squid-fighters and Soulforged, but now that she pointed it out, his enhanced vision vaguely caught the wreckage of an asteroid with dented ethertech buildings, floating aimlessly in its own debris field.

The Tropos continued, “If you could see what I see, you’d see an unconscious Forger wrapped in a protective bubble. Their Bulwark Sphere circuit is still active, which I’m sure is the only thing keeping that one alive.”

In the wake of the damage, every Forger on the field remained frozen at the display of such raw power. Now that they all knew exactly who they were up against, Jonx could see shoulders slumping, chests deflating, heads turning away — the fight had left them just like that.

Of course, the mecha-man saw it all too. And so, he descended, unbothered, towards the hole in Farafell’s ozone, waving a gauntleted hand in front his face as if he were waving annoying little bugs out of the way. In response, the sea of fighters split down the middle to make way.

The video cut off then and Jonx was forced to read the follow up military report. While he and Highburren had been mesmerized, Kirby was busy working his way through military files available to officer-level personnel. According to records, after the first skirmish, a full blown war had broken out across the star zone.

That was four entire systems on lockdown. The invaders were using their ‘worldship,’ which Jonx learned was the official term for the real-life Death Star in the recording, as a staging ground that remained in orbit over Farafell.

The course of the last year had been one of barely controlled chaos. Boifon was the principal capital world for the entire zone, which placed the responsibility of coordinating the Pentumvirate counterattack onto the higher realm Forgers of the mega-planet. If Kirby’s reports were accurate, the planet was practically barren of Soulforged and Soulspheres alike. Anyone in those realms would be considered the elites of the Factions and Septs. Thus, they were currently spread out across the various systems, ready to react at a moment’s notice.

Zus, the Grand Military AI, was aware of the situation, though there was little he could do with the available militia he could summon. A special support force was supposedly on its way, but so far, none had come. The best the AI had managed were emergency Forging supplies for the elite troops. Masterwork and Peakwork Alchemical potions, Synthesized medicines and Culinary rations for temporary and permanent boosts to one’s Etherforging. With the Pentumvirate’s teleportation network, it was simple enough to deliver such supplies during war time.

“What’s the situation now, Kirbs?” Jonx asked just as Highburren tilted her murloc snout to the side, interested to hear the answer as well. The AI reported matter of factly, “The last few months have largely been a stalemate. Zus is primarily putting out fires when they come up, not wanting to commit any further forces to reclaiming Farafell. He doesn’t want to bait the powerful Forger anymore than he needs to. In the grand scheme of things, the lives of Soulspheres are worth more than simple material supplies that the worldship is hoarding. The Pentumvirate files are already reporting that the casualty rate in the whole star zone for Soulforged has been close to 30%, while they’ve lost about 20% of the low-Soulspheres, all of whom were Tropos. Zus has paid a high enough price already. Now, the star zone is playing a waiting game until the true reinforcements come.”

Highburren plopped down on her dry, scaly haunches as she thoughtfully cupped her chin in suction cup fingers, “Hmm, tell me, AI…What are the total losses for this planet in particular?” Kirby barely had to process the numbers before he responded, “Since Boifon is the zone capital planet, they would have made up a considerable chunk of the summoned forces at the battle of Farafell as well as the subsequent skirmishes. As such, the estimated losses of this planet’s Soulforged is closer to 40% and nearly 20% for their population of Tropos.”

Jonx immediately sucked in a breath, “Forty percent of Boifon’s Soulforged? Fuck…Zozka! What’s the location of her corvette?!” His AI gave a heavy sigh, “I’m sorry, Jonxo, but her corvette’s flight records are showing it’s been docked at some Sept’s hangar for more than two years. If she was deployed for the battles, then she didn’t use her ship.”

Jonx latched onto the only word he could, a hint of desperation leaking into his voice, “Sept? Which Sept?”

“The corvette was registered with the Crimson Rain Sept close to five years ago. That would have put it at right after the tournament riftworld was evacuated,” Kirby asserted. Before Jonx could go any further, Highburren butted in, “Ahem, did you say one in five Tropos on this planet have perished? Could you give more concrete numbers? This would be quite a boon for me if so.”

Jonx tried to talk first, but Highburren leaked her aura to silence him, quickly reminding him exactly who was in charge. Just because they’d recently watched the death of dozens of powerful Forgers didn’t mean Jonx was all of sudden on the same stage as his would-be captor. Kirby instantly turned his tone more demure at the display, not wanting to antagonize the Tropos, “Unfortunately Tropos, the records available to me do not go into finer details. If you’d like a more intricate report, I would need to interface with a terminal of an organization that would have the information you want.”

Highburren clapped her fish-paws together, “Excellent! Let’s do that! This…Crimson Rain Sept would surely keep tabs on this world’s Etherforging hierarchy, no?”

The Crimson Rain Sept, as Jonx learned, was a prominent Sept on Boifon — one of the top 50, in fact. Zozka must have been really impressive to have gotten an invitation to join. He reluctantly returned the Surfer to its original hangar from the last five years, deciding to hoof it through Boifon station with his undead-murloc shadow easily keeping pace with him.

She moved on autopilot, never staying more than three or four steps away, while simultaneously gawking at the sights of the capital. Highburren stared up at each and every monstrous building — all of them easily as tall as any of the towering trees in her home riftworld. She was mesmerized at this bastion of civilization. No wonder the Septs had been able to subdue her seemingly tiny riftworld. It must have been a simple matter considering they were capable of such advanced creations. By comparison, Highburren was a savage — albeit a savage who was a veritable savant of Etherforging.

Since Boifon station was a monumentally large ring surrounding the planet proper, there was only so much width that buildings could be built. And even though the station had 360 degree gravity to allow buildings to wrap around its entirety, there still wasn’t enough room for the tens of billions of aliens. And so, the Boifonese had to build up. Some of the buildings were actually built through the station, completely submerged in an infinity pool that was as large as a Great Lake.

Jonx found the Crimson Rain Sept building in precinct 22-G. Boifon station was so gigantic, the different precincts went from 1-99, then again from A-Z — or at least, that’s how they were translated to his Earthling mind.

The structure looming in front of him was no castle or grand pavilion. No, the Crimson Rain Sept owned a megatall skyscraper constructed of glinting metals in reds and grays. Their symbol, emblazoned above the main lobby, was a trio of deep red water drops with a metallic-gray backdrop.

“There’s a single Tropos in there, I can sense it. They’re not trying to hide their presence like I am. If they decide to take action, I should be enough,” Highburren said in a low murmur like a soft breeze.

“Thank you for that comforting thought, Highburren, but maybe we should try diplomacy first? My friend is an inner disciple here. Hopefully, she can give us the information you want,” Jonx said, although he thought to himself, “I just hope that she’s even here…”

Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the reinforced glass doors as they seamlessly slid open. While the outside of the skyscraper reminded him of New York City high rise office buildings, the interior was considerably different. The inside of the Sept reminded Jonx of his time at university. Soft, ether crystal lighting illuminated an opulent atrium with arched hallways leading off into the bowels of the building. There were plenty of Clovenkind Forgers about. Skittering, slithering or strolling through corridors and robed in voluminous coverings in shades of gray and red with the Sept symbol blatantly displayed for all to see.

A brief etherpulse revealed them to be mostly in the Crystallized realm, though there were a smattering of Body Preparation Forgers. Darting eyes in his direction were all that he and Highburren received as the Cloves gave them a wide berth, not daring to meet his eyes. They would have sensed his stage and seemed to think better of interfering with Soulforged business.

Located at the center of the atrium was a multi-armed android that looked like a metallic octopus but with far too many arms. Its head was ringed in a series of blue-lit eyes and only a third of its arms were busy, clicking and clacking on the circular desk on which it sat. Jonx took the lead and strode right up to the android’s counter with Highburren only a step behind.

A single eye swiveled in his direction as the robot receptionist intoned, “Greetings, honored Soulforged. Please state your name and business and I will assist you as best as I can.” Jonx was nervous, a part of him dreading what he might hear, but he had to find out, “My name is Jonx and I’m here to see disciple Zozka. I-is she here?”

The android paused for a brief moment as if sifting through information, then said, “Unfortunately, inner disciple Zozka is not on the premises. May I take a message?”

“Wait, so she’s alive? Where is she? Is she stationed on one of the war fronts?” he asked excitedly, relieved to find out she was at least still breathing.

“Regrettably, I am unable to provide that information. Sept assignments are confidential,” the robot responded.

Jonx growled in frustration, but said nothing to the robot. “Kirbs, give me something,” he pleaded. His AI rapidly did some projections, even going so far as to use his Brain Chamber to speed up his processing, “Invoke military MRE424. Technically, you’re a Pentumvirate officer. May as well act like one.”

That thought never occurred to him. His battlefield promotion at the hands of Commander Narlos and Navarch Masser had never really mattered to him. But, if he could use it to get what he wanted, why not?

He cleared his throat, “Ahem, forgive me for not introducing myself properly. I am company grade third class officer, Cedrick Jonkheer, and this is war time. I’m invoking Pentumvirate military code MRE424. This is a formal order for her location in light of the war we find ourselves in.”

As soon as he was done bullshitting the android, Kirby sent over his military accreditation along with a little razzle dazzle by way of simulated encrypted coding that made him look as though he was actually from a special forces unit. It was a similar code he’d used so very long ago on Barafin, only now it was beefed up by his actual credentials.

The android paused for another brief moment to authenticate what Kirby had sent before it said, “Apologies, officer Jonkheer, I did not know. Your request has been approved under clause MRE424 during times of war. Inner disciple Zozka is currently stationed with other Crimson Rain Sept members in the tier 2 Moomlendese star system.”

Jonx released a breath that he didn’t know he was holding, “Whew…ok, thank you.” He dipped his head, thankful for the relatively good news. “That’s a load off my mind at least. Any idea on how she’s doing over there?”

The droid shook its swiveling eye side to side, “No news of the inner disciple in particular, officer. However, the Moomlendese system has been the victim of recent raids.”

A whisper like winds rustling through branches came to Jonx’s ear, unbeknownst to anyone else, “I didn’t bring you here for your friend, manling. Ask for the detailed survival report of the higher realm Etherforgers.”

Jonx sighed, but thought of an official way to phrase the request, “A few more things — what are the total losses for the Boifonese Septs? Are there more reserves? Do more supplies need to be requisitioned?”

The robotic eye shook side to side once again, “I am sorry, officer Jonkheer. Our Sept’s information comes through the Palace of Design Faction, so I do not have access to the other Faction’s losses or reserves. As for our Faction, you should already be aware that every able-bodied Soulforged and Soulsphere was deployed at the onset of the war. Since then, our Faction has lost roughly half of our Soulforged and close to 30% of our Soulspheres. Anyone in those realms still on-world are the recently injured in need of considerable healing or the recently advanced and not yet fit for combat with their newly minted strength. Will that be all, officer?”

Jonx cast a sidelong glance at Highburren, who gave an imperceptible nod to signal she was done. “No, that was all I needed. My thanks to the Crimson Rain Sept for complying with the Pentumvirate,” he said as he gave another bow of his head.

Sometimes the pure bullshit that came out of his mouth surprised even him.

Highburren was already out the door by the time he turned around. When he caught up with her, she was leaning up against the side of the Sept’s skyscraper, dry, scaly arms crossed over her murloc chest.

“Satisfied now, Highburren?” Jonx asked.

“No, manling. Far from it. If anything, the news of so many strong Forgers so easily eliminated is alarming. I have a sneaking suspicion that worldship is hiding much more than a single Thermos or Exos. I did not escape the bonds of my servitude only to be conscripted in a war that means absolutely nothing to me. No, we leave this blighted planet for brighter pastures. Though, considering the situation, I would prefer we vacate the entire star zone.”

“Wait — what about my friend? I can’t just leave her here fighting in a goddamned turf war!” Jonx exclaimed.

Highburren scoffed, “Tche, is your friend so weak that she can’t stand on her own? Is she so inexperienced that she can’t put up a fight? Do you believe so little in her ability that you have to rescue her?”

That pulled Jonx up short.

He’d never really framed it in that way. In his mind, he felt responsible for her. Their friendship had started adversarial, but now she was someone he could always rely on. And he just wanted her to know he could rely on him too.

“No…she’s easily as powerful and capable as I am. And she was born to war. Thrives in it, even,” he admitted.

“Then why concern yourself with her? I dare say, little manling, you’re in a worse spot than she is. Your friend has plenty of equally strong comrades on every side of her to back her up. Meanwhile…it’s just you and me…” Highburren said smugly with an all too toothy murloc grin.

Chapter 15

Pay the Piper

Exos Benren stood on his command deck, staring out of the starboard window aboard the Rootstar 051. The sights of the riftway would never grow old to him, no matter how many centuries he lived. A seemingly chaotic jumble of exotic visions blurred past him. His Exos-level perceptions were what allowed him to fully appreciate the splendor of watching so many different riftworlds.

The riftway was a manufactured tunnel that pierced through a sophisticated network of riftworlds with its start and finish formed by fabricated portals. It took the computational prowess of a Grand AI to be able to run the algorithm that would join two points across the vastness of space. These interdimensional riftworlds that existed needed to be at least somewhat linked to allow for stable passage for large concentrations of ether.

Most riftways were open to the general public and could handle tens of thousands of souls at a time, assuming they were Soulforged or lower. But for Soulspheres, the portal station AIs needed to time their passages perfectly, lest the presence of too many Soulspheres destabilize the entire riftway tunnel.

However, the Pentumvirate military had their own riftways constructed specifically to handle Soulsphere troops. On this Rootstar alone, there were a hundred Soulspheres, mostly Stratos and Mesos, though Benren and his direct second and third were Exos and Thermos, respectively. Behind his ship, another forty-nine battlecruisers followed suit, each with their own payload of a hundred Soulspheres.

Rootstars 051-100 were the second most powerful special forces unit in the entire Pentumvirate navy. Zus pulled them from the outer reaches of the Celestial Power’s territory, where most of them trained to push their Ways without fear of damaging civilized worlds. Rootstars 000-050 were the highest ranked forces in the army and were reserved for only the most dire of situations.

From what Exos Benren gathered, this enemy worldship did not warrant them. However, the data Zus collected pointed to the probable presence of numerous Thermos and even Exos, which did warrant him and the others.

The Grand AI was not pulling any punches in this mission. The enemy’s demonstration at that minor capital was enough to spike Zus’ paranoia. Benren and his fellow Soulspheres were being sent to not just put down the invasion, but to send a message.

His trademark Malkin root-beard reached down to his waist, wriggling in anticipation. At his stage of advancement, he and his fellow officers of the special forces were rarely needed. In the grand scheme of the cosmos, very few ever reached the heights of power they had. Thus, it was already rare for the Pentumvirate to have enemies in their realm and even rarer still for Zus to require their strength to subdue them.

Benren’s AI suddenly gave a soft ding to notify him of their imminent arrival in Imfaral the Phi’s star zone. As the highest ranking member of the special forces unit on this assignment, he was the nominal Commander of this endeavor. He supposed that it wasn’t all that surprising to find that the Minister of Crafting had been the one to be invaded. It made tactical sense.

Firstly, there was Kandrona the Beta, who was the Minister of Intelligence and would never allow anything through his web of ethertech spread across his personal territory that was centered around his birth-planet, Karatana. While he had informants spread across the entire collective demesne of the Pentumvirate, it was not nearly as extensive as what he employed in his home star zone. From what Benren had been informed, these invaders had a way to remain undetected from cursory scans, which was how they got into Imfaral the Phi’s territory in the first place.

Next, there was Rabban the Phi, who was the Minister of Commerce and maintained strict security of the highest level over the Pentumvirate’s collective ether crystal reserves, protecting all of the most prized mining worlds and stations by keeping them under complete lock and key. After all, ether radiation was the most potent form of energy in the universe and ether crystals were the most concentrated form it took. That was why any high-tier worlds or planetoids were being constantly mined to maintain the energy needs for the combined Pentumvirate territories.

In its purest state, ether radiation was neutral — no elemental taint whatsoever. But once an Etherforger or ether-beast processed that energy, it became tinged by their circuitry, expelling one of the twelve elemental variants. While those elements were still valuable and able to be used in an infinite number of ways, nothing beat the versatility of pure, unadulterated, neutral ether. To protect such wealth, Rabban raised his own special forces that were equal to the military’s and loyal to him alone. Thus, to invade the Phi’s home star zone was utter suicide.

Then, there was Selucia the Beta, who didn’t have a true star zone to call her own. Of course, she kept tabs on her star system of birth, Haelstral, but it wasn’t considered her ‘home.’ As the Minister of Exploration, she and her forces were nomadic — always on the lookout for new high tiered sources of ether, habitable planets that could be brought into the Pentumvirate fold as well as verifying new routes for the intergalactic riftway. Their fleet of starships and space stations were all mobile, centering around Selucia the Beta’s Celestial form, that of a Haelstrali mother hive the size of a large moon. Only another Celestial could even hope to combat her nomadic forces and they would need to be a Beta or better, at the very least.

Lastly, there was Antarea the Beta, the Minister of War and Benren’s direct ancestor. She was responsible for the safety and protection of the Pentumvirate’s prime capital, Asculan, at the very heart of their collective territories. One of the neighboring star systems in her zone was, of course, hers and Benren’s birth-planet, Malkineigh.

There was no assaulting the Asculan star zone. It was policed by Rootstars 201-400, who were rotated regularly. While those individual battalions weren’t as powerful as the special forces, which took up the top 200 positions, they were all still a force to be reckoned with in their own right. The star zone was also home to the best ethertech weapons and defenses that the Pentumvirate could create. To try and invade would be worse than suicide. It would be imprisonment and torture for the rest of a Forger’s very long, long life.

Thus, if there were any Forgers blighted phikked enough to invade the settled Pentumvirate territories, it made sense that they would assault Imfaral the Phi’s star zone.

Unfortunately for them, Exos Benren and his special forces were soon coming out of the riftway. And it was time to pay the piper.

Zozka’s twin tails swished angrily in tune with her frustration as she paced the length of her personal quarters in the official Pentumvirate garrison on the minor tier 2 capital planet of Moomlend. As part of this world’s defensive forces, she could see combat at any time. As a result, she’d quickly learned to always wear her set of Masterwork Gaurd of Enhanced Frigid Winds, its plates colored mostly gray with streaks of red at the joints — the colors of the Crimson Rain Sept.

This singular set of ethertech was one of the most advanced pieces of equipment she owned and had saved her hide more than once since the war began. While there were, of course, more powerful items like Peak- or Supremework equipment with Advanced or Exalted arrays, they were things mostly whispered about rather than seen. Even the last surviving Tropos of her Sept, Tropos Colodum, only wore a piece of Masterwork equipment with an Advanced array. Regardless, as far as she was concerned, her armor was the perfect melding of Alloywelding, Scriptsmithing and Synthesizing.

The Alloywelded plates of pewyx metalloy were actually intricate microfibers capable of changing shape depending on what design she uploaded to its rudimentary interface. Currently, it was a simple set of body armor that hugged her Elapid musculature tightly.

She preferred it that way for ease of movement in combat as well as a lack of handholds or gaps for her enemies to exploit. Even better, there were hidden Synthesized needles amongst the microfibers that could deliver lifesaving medicines as long as she kept it loaded with fluid. Taking it a step further, hundreds of the microfibers were woven specifically into patterns that matched the scriptwork for Enhanced Frigid Winds, which augmented the output of her ice-ether by 75%, giving her enough power to hold her own at least one stage higher.

This ethertech armor alone had been a massive advantage for her during the war. So far, she’d yet to face a true enemy Etherforger. All that had been sent to attack the star zone were drones. Powerful drones that could rival the strength of a mid-Soulforged, but drones nonetheless.

That was fine by her though. She used their seemingly endless numbers as a grindstone for her next Soul circuit. These battles gave her the perfect opportunity to practice fusing her Flurry Cloak with her Hardened Scales, hoping to form her Reinforcement circuit.

Thinking about her Soul circuit brought her attention back to a gleaming interspatial bracelet lying on the table in the middle of her quarters. Instantly, a flash of annoyance made her blood boil.

The sheer audacity of that idiot. Five years. Five phikkin years since he disappeared and all he sent her was some slugshitting apology attached to an interspatial device filled to the brim with Forging supplies.

There were Masterwork Alchemical potions for boosting her ether saturation rate and Masterwork Culinarian dishes to double down on the effects of the potions. But the most extravagant items were the massive stock of ether-beast crystals. Zozka knew at first glance that he’d gifted her with a veritable fortune. Each crystal was pristine and highly concentrated, most likely tier 1, either from Boifon or that blighted tournament riftworld.

How the human had gotten such a supply was beyond her. If she had to guess, he must have taken them by right of conquest from Forgers he defeated during the competition. But she never knew with him. Even after all of their time watching each other’s backs, there were things he didn’t always offer up automatically.

And while a rational part of her was thankful for the provisions, it was easily eclipsed by the nerve of that insufferable Earthling. She thought back to that phikkin recorded message that she’d only just received and it infuriated her all the more.

It began to play again in her mind’s eye then. His vague retelling of his capture and ‘imprisonment’ by the Tropos who devastated the tournament riftworld. By Jonx’s own admission, the Tropos wasn’t even going to kill him. The Soulsphere was going to actually reward him for his part in assisting her.

Celestial’s balls, the bintsniffing Earthling did it again. Somehow, someway, he stumbled on yet another fortuitous encounter!

Here she was, fighting in a war because of her commitment to her Sept, clawing and scraping, working herself to exhaustion to improve crafting skills and advance her power as a Forger…and Jonx just happened to be in the right place, at the right time, to become the direct disciple of a slugeating Tropos.

Was Zozka jealous that the blighted slugshit was off traipsing through the universe with his own personal Soulsphere to find a supposed new ‘homeworld’ for her? No, not at all…

Zozka let out a weary sigh, her irritation melting away like snow on a warm morning. She remembered then that she had made her own home in the Crimson Rain Sept, voluntarily tying herself down to Boifon. It was what she wanted, why she had entered the tournament in the first place. She knew that Jonx had participated only because of her. And while it hadn’t ended quite how either of them expected, they were now following their own paths.

She grabbed the interspatial bracelet and clasped it onto her wrist. With a thought, she briefly etherpulsed and an AI prompt appeared in her inner vision. The blighted human had gifted her with a binding storage device.

Celestial’s above, sometimes she hated the man. While she had her own storage items, none were keyed for only her use. She wanted larger devices and hadn’t been able to afford both size and security. Now though? Jonx had solved it for her with one that was easily as large as a house and bound only to her.

His last words came to her then, unbidden, “You’re the closest thing to family that I have Snake-Eyes. You’re like the sister I never had. And, I know you can take care of yourself. You’ve fought in wars your entire life for god’s sake. You’re a warrior. A survivor. But still, I couldn’t leave the system without telling you how much you mean to me. Back on Earth, where I used to live, we had a saying — ‘Ohana means family and family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten. Once Highburren is done with me, I’ll come back and visit. I will never forget about you. I promise.”

Zozka sighed again. She couldn’t deny that she felt the same way. They’d fought and bled together for more than a decade. He stayed at her side across worlds. Across entire star systems. And after all this time, he truly was the closest to a clutch-brother that she had — especially after losing her homeworld, Barafin. But just like with any clutch sibling, she was going to beat him to a bloody pulp the next time she saw him.

She chuckled at that and daydreamed of punching him in the face again. Maybe breaking his jaw or blackening an eye…The thought was nostalgic, reminding her of their first few weeks together. She smiled at the memory of slugging him in the face right before they met some space pirates for the first time.

“Good times…good times,” she thought fondly.

But, before she could reminisce too much, a sudden, blaring alarm reverberated throughout the entire Pentumvirate garrison, snapping her to attention.

Immediately, her AI, Carr, came on the intercom in her quarters, “Eyes up, Zo! Space cutters up in five. We’ve got enemy contact coming into orbit!”

Zozka clenched her white-scaled claws into tight fists and bashed her knuckles together in anticipation. What perfect timing. She had just been looking to blow off some steam.

Chapter 16

Battle on Two Fronts

Exos Benren hovered in space, far above the tier 2 minor capital, Farafell, silently observing the enemy’s worldship. Rootstars 051-090 maintained orbit at the edge of the system, running completely silent as he scouted ahead to assess the situation.

His ether signature was perfectly dampened, no eddies or fluctuations, to keep him hidden from even the most scrutinizing of ether senses. Only a mid- or high-Celestial would be able to detect him, but that wasn’t who he was hiding from. By all estimates, the worldship housed a number of Thermos and, most likely, Exos as well. None would be able to pierce his dampening, especially since none of his Sphere circuits were running. He was solely relying on the weightlessness of space, using only his sheer willpower to maintain his position. In a lower tier star system like this one, his will alone was enough to affect the area around him. Maybe not quite as much as a Celestial, but they were as rare as phoenix feathers.

Benren wore his Supremework tactical gear of Exalted Living Midnight. It was the best combat oriented ethertech that the Pentumvirate offered, made specifically in Antarea the Beta’s personal workshop on Asculan and reserved especially for the military’s special forces. It was made of vatryx metalloy, the strongest and rarest of the alloys in the galaxy. The scriptwork on it was Peakwork, able to enhance all of his offensive and defensive powers by twofold. And there were pockets made for tier S ether crystals that could serve as emergency reserves in dire situations as well as Peakwork Synth meds that flowed through nanofibers throughout the entire armor. With it on, Exos Benren could stand toe to toe with a Mu, the lowest stage of Celestial.

The form for his armor that he preferred was that of a flowing metalloy mesh with more solid areas on his torso, back, upper arms and upper legs. He wore the colors of dark green, nearly black, and silver, which marked him as part of the special forces along with the Pentumvirate emblem — five stars spread in a crescent. The third star, which was also the middle star, was larger than the others to indicate he followed Antarea the Beta.

His rank 12 Nervous System was at the very peak of what any living creature could advance it to. And with it, his vision was second only to a Celestial. It was as easy as breathing to visually scan the worldship to observe its activity. The spacecraft was the size of a large asteroid, coming in at a diameter of roughly 40km. Benren could see a smooth, inner core of blackened metal that seemed to make up the foundation of the vessel. Six massive rings spun around it in a mesmerizing pattern that made it look like a gigantic, whirling gear.

With his enhanced perceptions, he could discern script symbols engraved within each ring, which meant they must have been as large as buildings for them to be so obvious from where he hovered. As a Peak Scriptsmith himself, he knew what the scriptwork was for. Mostly defense against high-Soulsphere and low-Celestial attacks as well as an array for absorbing large amounts of energy, then augmenting and reflecting it back. His own Rootstar had a similar array, though the symbols they used were slightly different from those on the worldship. Regardless, he got the gist.

Skittering across the rings like an industrious insect colony were thousands and thousands of robotic cephalopods. He recognized them to be the drone fighters that made up the bulk of the enemy’s attacking force — the disposable cannon fodder.

Benren quickly ignored them, they were of no consequence to him. Soulforged could deal with them. He was after more. He wanted the true powers of the worldship — the high-Soulspheres that could subdue a star system in a single battle. Of course, as an Exos, Benren could do the same, but what was the point? A tier 2 planet at his stage? He could suck the entire planet dry of its ether and barely fill a tenth of his inner Sphere. And to share that energy with other high-Soulspheres? It was preposterous.

Whatever this enemy wanted, it wasn’t simply to steal supplies from a middling star system. There was something here that he and Zus were missing. But, did it actually matter? Benren and his special forces unit were already here. And their assignment was to erase these enemy Soulspheres out of existence.

Shrugging his bulky Malkin shoulders, he turned around to rendezvous with his fleet at the edge of the system. He’d seen everything he needed to see.

All that was left was to raze that worldship to kingdom come and salt the heavens behind them.

An opaque shell of ethereal, alabaster scales made of seemingly hard-packed snow covered Zozka completely from her Elapid hood down to her twin tails. She burned her ether to power her budding Reinforcement Soul circuit. It wasn’t quite fused together, but the constant battles had been pushing them further and further in sync. Even now, her circuits blazed around her, simultaneously protecting and empowering her. She was like a raging blizzard, her ice-ether seeping into her enemies and slowing down their movements with every punch, kick, block and tail swipe.

Her natural Elapid claws were augmented by a pair of Masterwork Claws of Enhanced Ice Flows, increasing her ability to slice, slash, pierce and eviscerate one squid-fighter after another. A trio of metallic tentacles lashed at her with the strength of a Soul Cast. Her tails batted a pair away as she sheared through the third with ease. Between her Masterwork armor and weapon, the power of her ice-ether was magnified one and half times, easily making her the equal of any of the drones.

In rapid succession, she pushed more ether through her circuits and severed the other two tentacles. She wasn’t even able to take a breath before another trio of appendages took their place. Without thinking, Zozka dealt with them in the same efficient manner. And with those last three out of the way, she was free to beeline for the drone’s aquamarine core.

The robot’s powersource also functioned as its singular, large eye, which had an iris ringed in scriptwork. Just as the drone tried to shut its metallic eyelids, Zozka’s claw found their mark, piercing the artificial cornea with a resounding crack. In one swift motion, she sliced sideways, ripping through the aqueous humor of the eye, where the automaton’s ether crystal core was suspended.

Highly pressurized fluid spurted out, drenching Zozka in ichor as the core plopped out onto the ground. Thankfully, she was covered in the combination of her Flurry Cloak and Hardened Scales, otherwise she’d be soaked straight through her armor.

As soon as the drone’s core was out of its body, the rest of its tentacles dropped lifelessly to the floor. Out of a long-honed reflex, Zozka slid sideways to avoid another pair of tentacles that speared through the now cleared out space.

She was fighting in a mining tunnel, protecting a cache of ether-rich qatralt ore, which was a key ingredient in athilyx, pewyx and adamantyx alloys. They were the three strongest Alloywelded metals in the known universe, making this particular mine especially valuable.

In a blink, Zozka vaulted over the remains of the previous drone and was in melee range of her next opponent. Being in a tunnel made it easier for her since she only needed to fight one enemy at a time. Her combat skills had improved considerably since her initial evolution to Soul Mold. Now, her twin tails and raptor-legs seamlessly moved in conjunction with each other as she fought. One tail would knock aside a tentacle, while the other would plant itself in a wall or the floor to give her a stable pivot point to slash with her claws or kick with her legs. In no time at all, she whirled through the flurry of metallic tentacles, slicing off what she could before her tail whipped through the distance to smash into the drone’s eye-core, cracking it wide open like an egg.

Two down.

A third came at her and she met it head on. Zozka was grateful that these were only as physically strong as a Soul Cast. There were others that could match up to a Soul Verve or even a Soul Psyche that would have been above her ability to safely handle. If they weren’t confined to a mine tunnel, these drones would have been using their circuits. Even though they didn’t have a full repertoire of powers, they still had a Cloak or Domain type circuit along with a mid- to long-range attack.

Luckily for her, in such close confines, they were relying solely on their physical capabilities. After all, their mission was to retrieve the qatralt ore, not bring the entire mine down on their heads.

After she finished the third, a fourth and a fifth made their way into the tunnel. She dealt with them just as swiftly as the others. And by the time she realized no more were coming, she was practically buried under broken, metallic bodies and chopped up tentacles. In one practiced motion, she summoned a Masterwork Potion of Enhanced Frozen Regeneration from her storage bracelet and downed it in a single gulp. Immediately, her Stomach Chamber churned, rapidly refilling with energy as she inhaled the ambient ether around her.

The battle was fast and furious and over in practically no time at all. Despite that, her reserves had dipped down to only a third of her total, showing just how intensive it was to run her Hardened Scales and Flurry Cloak while trying to simulate a Soul circuit. As she recovered, Zozka spread her ether senses outward to encompass the qatralt mine. She and her fellow disciples from the Crimson Rain Sept were assigned to protect this mine in particular because the drone enemies had been stealing ether-rich materials from all over the star system — ores and herbs especially.

She didn’t have to wait long before she felt the other disciples finishing their own battles. Zozka released a bated breath, no casualties this time. The enemy must have only sent a small contingent of drones to probe this particular site. She was certain other locations would not have been as fortunate, but in a war, she had to take what she could get. Taking her time, she made sure to collect the fallen crystal cores of her defeated foes. They were concentrated sources of ether and would help her in forming her Soul Cast.

While the last year had been one of chaos and strife across the star zone, it had also been a chance for rapid advancement for high-Crystallized and Soulforged Etherforgers alike. The Pentumvirate military had opened up their coffers of supplies and made regular distributions to all the Septs on every planet throughout the entire zone. Zozka was at the perfect place in her advancement to take advantage. She was part of a prominent Sept located on the capital planet for the zone, which meant her distributions were particularly substantial. On top of those, she had the supplies that Jonx provided. Zozka huffed in annoyance at the mere thought of her insufferable clutch-brother, but quickly suppressed it as an emergency signal came through her AI.

Dread instantly filled her as she read the planet wide alert. The warm up was over. An enemy Thermos had come.

An Onslaught Sphere circuit of wind- and force-ether combined to form a stellar tornado, rotating in a tight cyclone funnel aimed directly at Exos Benren. The special forces Commander remained rooted to his spot, floating in space amidst the cacophony of battle raging all around him. With a flick of his hand, a wave of darkness erupted out of him.

Tens of thousands of grasping hands made of shadow-ether tore into the tornado, literally ripping it apart like hungry pack animals on a dead carcass. Several hands held down a writhing piece of wind and force, feeding it directly into one of the hundreds of hungering mouths that dotted the field of darkness. This was his own Onslaught of Swallowing Night.

The hands of shadow stole the ether from others and redirected it to waiting maws of life-ether that kept the Onslaught going. It was a self-sustaining attack that would only stop if it were overwhelmed or he willed it to.

What an unlucky attack to grapple with for the Thermos he was fighting. The enemy Etherforger was a living cyborg of some kind. Exos Benren had seen cyborg Forgers before, but none in his realm. Clad in a wispy suit of archaic-looking plate armor, the cyborg seemed to be a female.

It had been centuries since he’d seen plates that barely interlocked with single-hinged joints that seemed more clumsy than sleek. While her chosen style didn’t technically matter when it came to her Bulwark Sphere circuit, it did give an indicator of her predilections. Seeing her ethereal armor tickled something in the furthest depths of his memory, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it would come to him.

With his Onslaught literally devouring her own Sphere circuit, the Thermos was forced to summon her Dominion. In an instant, a vast, rapidly rotating hurricane spread out with her at its epicenter. Blades of wind sped up faster and faster, propelled by her force-ether until the Dominion resembled a massive circular saw as large as an asteroid. Benren tsked as her Dominion began to tear pieces away from his Onslaught, black globs spraying in all directions, dissipating into nothingness in the empty space they fought in.

In his ether senses, he could feel tens of battles similar to his. When he and his forces attacked the worldship, it had spewed out Soulsphere after Soulsphere. All told, there were nearly five hundred high-Soulsphere enemies. The vast majority were Thermos, but there were at least three dozen Exos sprinkled among their numbers. How such a force had made it into the heart of the Pentumvirate territories was the burning question.

By any metric, this was a supremely elite force of Forgers. The cream of the crop. Only another Celestial Power could put such a strike force together. And yet, these cyborgs didn’t belong to any of the Celestial Powers that Benren was aware of.

He didn’t have enough high-Soulspheres to match their numbers, which left teams of Stratos and Mesos to occupy a Thermos each. Even if he hadn’t sent off Rootstars 091-100 to the rest of the star zone as support, he still wouldn’t have enough to match the enemy. However, with the equipment and training that his forces had, he wasn’t worried about them. This would not be the first time such squadrons had to be formed. He trusted his people to know their business.

What was left of the enemy was divided up among his fellow Exos and their Thermos subordinates. He had 38 Exos and 78 Thermos at his disposal, just enough to tip the balance in his favor. With him and two other Exos unoccupied, they could provide support across the whole battlefield, which spanned the outer third of the star system.

The tier 2 minor capital, Farafell, was the fifth world from their sun with the system containing a total of 12 planets. Benren knew that the outer six were uninhabited and that was where he baited his enemies into combat. With the power of a single Dominion Sphere circuit, any one of his Soulspheres could obliterate half of a moon. He, himself, could decimate an entire world all alone. When it came to battles between mid- and high-Soulspheres, whole star systems could potentially be left in ruin. He was hoping to spare the citizens of Farafell from that fate.

A Fabricated torpedo as large as a space shuttle and formed of highly pressurized wind contained in a shell of force-ether whistled through space, heading straight for him. His attention instantly snapped back to the Thermos in front of him. To actually get a whistling sound to manifest in the vacuum of space meant her Fabrication Sphere circuit was particularly potent, probably backed by quite a bit of her willpower.

Exos Benren harrumphed and his Bulwark of the Gibbous Glutton partially manifested. The image of a titanic tree appeared around him in a flash of darkness — as inky black as a moonless night with branches that wriggled as though alive. The Fabricated torpedo slammed into his Bulwark a split second later, its shell of force-ether cracking wide open and releasing a localized twister of blistering winds that would leave a lesser Forger ripped to shreds. His Malkin root-beard didn’t even flutter.

The Thermos’ attack went on for another handful of moments, making Benren feel as though he was in a screeching wind tunnel. As he passed the time, his AI filtered reports from all over the star zone to him. Rootstars 091-100 had encountered some mild resistance in their various assigned systems. The enemy had sent out one or two Thermos per system to ensure their raiding went as intended.

Unfortunately for them, the Commander divided up ten Exos and twenty Thermos to those systems. These cyborg Soulspheres would be crushed — their Spheres shattered and consumed by his subordinates.

When the twister finally dissipated, Benren was surrounded by a dozen, swirling wind elementals wearing hardened force-ether armor waving physical weapons menacingly. Obviously, this was another manifestation of her Fabrication Sphere circuit. “You’ll have to work for your meal, Celestial dog,” the Thermos spat through the vacuum of space, using an etherpulse to carry her voice.

Exos Benren quirked one of his angled root-eyebrows, amused at the attempt at taunting. Why even waste the time at their stage? He shook his head in exasperation. Then, with a flex of his will, his Dominion of Insatiable Moonlight enveloped the space around him in a globe of darkness streaked with silver.

From the outside, the Thermos simply saw a warped area in front of her, stealing away any visual confirmation of combat. Of course, she still had a connection to her Fabrication Sphere circuit, but that only told her that her elementals were being devoured.

More ether rushed out of her Sphere, empowering her Fabricated elementals and for a brief moment, the sensation of them being eaten ceased. But just before she could feel optimistic, Benren spiked his energy and everything within his globe of darkness disappeared in an instant.

As soon as he let his Dominion drop, he stared, deadpan, at the listless Thermos before he conjured his own Fabrication of the Ravenous Crescent. Immediately, blades of silver coalesced as if summoned from another dimension. And in one swift motion, every blade swiped downward, cutting a slash through the very fabric of reality as though the space in front of him was little more than a tarp.

Out of those silvery slits came creatures of starlight – bipedal figures of pure shadow-ether specked in motes of pale green with arms ending in silver blades. As they stepped into reality from the imagination of Exos Benren, each Fabrication howled soundlessly, sniffing the air until they turned, as one, towards the Thermos.

She had just enough time to wreathe herself in her Bulwark once more, growing in size twofold, then threefold, stopping only once she was as tall as a battlecruiser, right before his Fabricated monsters pounced on her. Their silvery blades glinted against the blackness of space, stabbing, slicing and slashing at her armored figure.

The Thermos extended her Bulwark to create insubstantial limbs of wind-ether to parry and block the attacks of his Fabrication. It was nearly two dozen against one and, Benren had to admit, she was holding her own admirably. Then, from deep within his very being, he pulled his boundless ether reserves from the ocean that was his Sphere.

As an Exos, he had a fully formed inner world with its own ecosystem – continents, oceans, weather patterns and even a full blown atmosphere. Everything had been shaped by his will, using shadow- and life-ether as the building blocks. His reserves were endless as far as anyone was concerned. Only a Celestial could outmatch him.

With his power, he infused his Fabrication, their silver blade-arms elongating and sharpening. Their starlight forms grew jagged wings and bladed tails of seemingly shining metal. Now powered up, his Fabrications hastened their assault on the already pressured Thermos, forcing her to create more and more wind-appendages to deal with their swooping forms and swiping tails.

Benren could see her imminent demise. It was written in the way she fought. Backpedaling. Frantic. His Sphere surged and more silvery blades pierced reality to tear gaping holes. More Fabrications poured out from his imagination with bladed arms, vicious tails and starlight wings.

To her credit, she wasn’t giving up. Her Dominion spread out, carving his Fabrications in half. That wasn’t going to help her though. His bisected Fabrications simply grew torsos or legs as needed, effectively doubling Benren’s fighting force. In the whole time they’d been fighting, he’d never had to move from his position and it looked as though he still wouldn't need to.

Ten moves. Twenty. Fifty. A hundred. All of it flashed by in mere seconds. And only his high-Soulsphere perceptions could keep track.

His Fabrications wore her down, carving whole chunks out of her Bulwark, forcing her to spend ether to shore up her faltering defenses. Within a matter of moments, her ability to repair her Bulwark slowed by just a fraction of a second. And in that instant, a group of Fabrications blurred.

There was a distinct clang, followed by a loud bang as a rush of wind accelerated outward from the Thermos. Then, Benren tilted his head to the side, the roots of his Malkin beard writhing in consternation. “Sister!” came the far away call, riding on waves of ether. He sensed rather than saw the newcomer’s arrival.

When the wind-ether dissipated, his Fabrications surrounded nothing but empty space. Of course, Benren hadn’t lost track of his quarry, how could he? His eyes looked up and to the right, meeting the glares of not one, but two cyborg Thermos — both females. While his original opponent still wore her archaic fashioned Bulwark, the newcomer wore a Bulwark of flowing, ethereal chainmail with a writhing cloak of fire-ether draped around her shoulders.

Two on one. “Great,” Benren thought to himself as he ground his teeth in annoyance. For a spare Thermos to show up meant that one of his squadrons of Mesos and Stratos had been eliminated. It was only a minor setback in the grand scheme of things, but reincarnating their bodies would be a chore. He sent a message to the other pair of free-roaming Exos, telling them to expedite their battles. Benren didn’t want to lose more of his people to these cyborgs than he needed to.

Taking his own advice, he cracked his knuckles in an unconscious threat. He called for more power and his Sphere answered with near limitless ether. These Thermos were not fighting some newly advanced Exos. No, they would know what an Exos at their peak was capable of.

Chapter 17

Humbled

A bar of white hot flames lanced at Benren’s dodging form, one of the branches of his Bulwark bending down to backhand it away just as a handful of force-ether blades laced with razor sharp wind stabbed at him from multiple directions. His Bulwark responded without thought, slapping the attacks aside while siphoning a bit of energy at the same time. That was the advantage of his Bulwark of the Gibbous Glutton. It ate ether on contact, no matter the source. His Bulwark, like his Onslaught of Swallowing Night, was self-sustaining as long as he was in combat. Many an enemy had fallen victim to his Sphere circuits, mistakenly assuming that he was running out of energy, when in reality, he was barely using any at all.

The pair of Thermos proved to be powerful foes. Their attacks coordinated seamlessly, obviously having spent years and years training together. Without warning, a pinpoint conflagration manifested just above Benren’s head, lighting up the branches of his Bulwark tree like a torch. And at the same time, hardened spears of force and wind pincushioned him.

Benren grunted from the multi-tiered attack. He could feel their willpower suffusing their circuits, pressing in on his Bulwark as if to drown him in their battle frenzy. At Soulforged and higher, willpower became such a pivotal tool during combat. Battles were no longer won simply on circuit output alone. If a Forger had a blunt will, then they themselves were nothing but limp noodles.

Sure, that would be fine for a crafter or researcher, but for a fighter? Their wills had to be weapons unto themselves. Otherwise, they would simply be overwhelmed by the first true assault of a skilled Etherforger.

For anyone in the higher realms, willpower was the only resource that was truly finite. As opposed to ether, where if one had an inexhaustible supply of Alchemical potions or Culinarian rations, their reserves would practically be infinite. Even more so for a Soulsphere, whose inner Sphere produced an endless amount of energy commensurate with their stage.

But willpower? There were no potions to regenerate something so intangible. It was a mental muscle that needed to be developed and honed through long hours of use, either through docile meditation or pain and suffering. As an Exos, Benren literally had centuries of experience to forge his will into something akin to adamantyx steel, one of the strongest metalloys in the universe.

The Thermos’ combined level of will would most likely crush one of his Mesos or Stratos outright, but he only needed to mentally shrug it off. His Bulwark instantly rebuffed their assault, though they barely moved a dozen steps back, before throwing their wills against him once more. A rotary saw of wind suddenly snapped into existence, the wind and force Dominion trying to chop his Bulwark down. Meanwhile, a volley of fiery spears the size of ballista hurtled through space, slamming into the shadow bark of his Sphere circuit. These Thermos were trying their hardest to keep up the pressure.

It wasn’t going to be enough.

Benren clapped his rough, barkskinned hands together and focused his intent, his vision narrowing to take in only his two opponents. In a single flash of darkness, his Bulwark of the Gibbous Glutton grew threefold, putting him at nearly six stories tall and manifesting its true form. His Bulwark instantly became a nightmare tree with a garish, predatory maw and a multitude of jagged branches, more sharpened stakes than anything else.

Then, his Bulwark’s bloodthirsty jaws unhinged to almost a clownish degree and chomped directly into the wind-saw, shearing off a chunk of ether that quickly disappeared inside its silvery gullet. At the same time, his many branches sliced the fiery spears sticking out his Bulwark in half and shoveled all of the broken pieces into its waiting mouth.

In the millisecond that it took the pair of Thermos to react, Benren summoned his Onslaught of Swallowing Night. But instead of conjuring an ocean of writhing shadow hands, he localized them to the area just around his opponents. From the depths of his inner Sphere, tens and tens of grasping arms made of pure darkness crawled their way into existence, latching on to both Thermos as if trying to pull them into the underworld. As soon as those grubby paws made contact, his enemies’ Bulwarks noticeably dimmed as his Onslaught devoured their energy.

One enemy’s Dominion of wind and force ramped up immediately, trying to shred apart Benren’s Onslaught, while the other Thermos summoned their own Dominion of raging hot flames mixed with roiling smog, attempting to burn his Onslaught asunder. Benren pushed more of his willpower into his Sphere circuit, bolstering its corporeality to keep it from disintegrating under the assault of fire-, wind- and force-ether. The hands of his Onslaught of Swallowing Night instantly redoubled their efforts to grapple with the two Thermos. With a thought, Benren manifested silvery mouths in each hands’ palm. Now, every grasp and grab absolutely gorged on his enemies’ ether.

In a blink, the pair of Thermos were overrun as more and more of their energy fed his Onslaught, causing it to grow a plethora of larger, stronger arms with steel-like teeth that grew along the mouths on their palms. Without hesitating, Exos Benren moved, suddenly appearing in between his opponents, practically swimming amidst his own Onslaught. He deactivated his Bulwark, relying only on his Supremework tactical gear to protect him, though he doubted he needed to be worried. Rotating his inner Sphere, his power output soared as he summoned his Dominion of Insatiable Moonlight.

Suddenly, their corner of the space battlefield lit up in a massive, blinding pillar of silvery moonlight streaked with jagged bolts of black lightning. Everyone of the special forces on the field knew that signal. His Dominion served as a beacon to all of his comrades in arms. All across the section of the star system their battle occupied, his subordinates received a sudden boost to their sat rate with a dose of healing — nothing quite as specialized as Synth meds, but something was better than nothing.

The Exos’ Dominion was primarily life-ether with bits of shadow sprinkled throughout. His ether Concept mutated his life-ether into something that leached from its victims, stealing their vital essence until they were nothing but shriveled husks. But instead of using that stolen energy to sustain his Dominion, he partitioned it out to his forces, having his AI direct flows of pure life-ether to give them an edge in combat. At their stages, any little bit helped.

When the beam of silver-black moonlight disappeared, there was no trace of either Thermos left, as if they’d been vaporized by that light. In truth, they’d been eaten alive and absorbed down to the very cells that composed their matter. There was a possibility that their inner Spheres had survived. If they had prepared ethertech tanks beforehand, made of the appropriate materials and sealed with the right scriptwork, then they could have saved the most important parts of themselves for possible reincarnation into a new body. That was how important Soulspheres of the Pentumvirate did it. Everyone in the special forces unit had their recovery tanks in their respective Rootstars. Already, Benren would have to request new bodies for his lost Mesos and Stratos from Zus. Hopefully, Antarea the Beta would be able to provide material from her Celestial form to make their reincarnation processes much simpler.

With his own fight concluded, Benren returned his attention back to the rest of the battlefield, spreading his ether senses across the latter third of the star system to assess where his power could be best used. In his mind’s eye, his Peak rank, Ambros-class AI, Jankel, pulled up an opaque digital map of the battlefront. All of his forces were dotted in blue, while the enemy Thermos were in yellow. Unfortunately, he didn’t have access to his people spread throughout the rest of the star zone, only a Celestial could make their own riftgates to transport across star systems. The best an Exos could accomplish was free movement within a single system.

His AI was showing him a squadron of mostly Stratos and a couple of Mesos struggling against an enemy Thermos. The other two Exos were busy helping separate squadrons and though there were more free Soulspheres to pull from, they were already dividing themselves up to assist where they could. Making his decision, Benren prepared himself to speed over.

But, before he could make it even a few hundred feet, Jankel flashed his inner vision a blinding, bloody red, instantly drawing him up short. “What, in the Five’s balls, is it?” he demanded.

In response, his AI summoned the system map once more, but this time, there was a glaring yellow dot rapidly entering their battlefield. One much larger than the enemy Thermos.

Exos Benren quickly pivoted mid-flight to change directions and then hurtled through space towards the new threat, his inner Sphere rotating furiously to lend him speed. As soon as he got close to the area, it was very obvious what was causing his AI to warn him so urgently.

Off in the distance, a Celestial’s forsaken dreadknought was entering the battlefield. It was a sprawling spaceship with a veritable city of towers enclosed in an ether-shield dome and surrounded by three, rotating, concentric rings that seemed to be its propulsion system.

“Death and bloody taxes…How in the blighted rust did we miss that, Jankel?” Benren pressed his AI. Jankel replied calmly, “It seems to have the same ethertech that the enemy’s worldship employed. The Rootstar 051 didn’t pick it up until it got into the system. We don’t have the scanners to detect them while they’re in a riftway.”

Benren upped his speed then, thundering through space, willing himself to go faster. Before the incoming dreadknought could truly get into range of the front, he was already there, the full force of an Exos’ etheraura spreading out from him in palpable waves, affecting the very fabric of reality around him. The ship ground to a halt, barred by the sheer weight of his presence.

But, before Benren could announce his demands, another etheraura blasted out of the dreadknought. One powerful enough to contend with his own. That gave him pause. Thus far, he had yet to sense another Exos from the enemy. having given up on the notion that they even had one. Yet here they were, proving him wrong.

He let his own aura give way, though not by much. This wasn’t going to be a battle of mere auras. A fight between two Exos could sunder a world.

Benren would find out soon enough who the cyborgs had. The enemy’s Exos was coming to meet him.

In a matter of moments, another feminine cyborg met him in space. This one was simply in a form fitting, sleek bodysuit of deep violet. Her metallic skin was matte grey except for her joints, which were tinged a neon purple. She had long, strands of dull, steely metalloy hair that reached down to her heels with a current of electric purple running through it. Her violet eyes met his as she crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head to the side, “Well, hello there, little Exos. Did your precious Antarea send you here to die?”

“ARGGHHH!!!!” Jonx howled, falling out of the captain’s chair of the Surfer, while grabbing at the sides of his head. His vision was filled with nothing but static like an old 50s TV and his head felt as though it was a watermelon getting hit with a sledgehammer. The pain was so crushing. He was actually hoping for his head to explode just so he could be done with it, but his stupid, fucking skull was getting in the way, keeping his brain on the inside. Dumb skull.

Rivulets of something dribbled down the front of his face. Iron and tin tainted his mouth, a distant part of his mind realizing it was his blood. He felt some more trickle down the insides of his wrists, traveling the length of his forearms to drip down from his elbows as more blood leaked from his ears. Jonx actually took all the blood as a good sign — maybe his brain was going to splatter like a bug hitting a windshield after all.

Suddenly, the constant, blaring air horn in his head abruptly cut off. And as soon as it did, the pressure building in his skull stopped too. The pain was still there and his vision was still filled with a cacophony of black and white dots. But at least it wasn’t getting worse.

At some point, Jonx knew he was getting better because he could finally feel the cold metal of the ship’s flooring on his back, which was the first time it registered he was even laying down. The throbbing in his head felt more like a wicked hangover rather than the violent hemorrhaging that was happening before.

After what must have been only a few minutes but felt like hours, Jonx hazarded cracking open a single eye. Immediately, a piercing pain went straight through his ocular nerve, but compared to what he’d just experienced, it barely stung.

In less time than it takes for tea to boil, his head settled into a dull headache and he was staring bleary eyed at the ceiling of the Surfer’s cockpit. Once his vision cleared, he realized he was trapped in a bubble of swirling wind and crackling thunder. “What in the hell?” he asked himself groggily.

As soon as he tried to sit up, a gentle but firm pressure settled on his shoulders, easing him back onto the floor, keeping from moving. From outside of the dome, a voice like a summer storm came through, “Took you long enough, manling. Now tell me…why was an Exos trying to contact you?”

It took him several, very long moments to realize what the Tropos had said. “An Exos? What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t even know what just happened, Highburren. My brain feels like goddamned butter churned by some country midwife.”

That took the Tropos aback, “What does that even mean, manling? I don’t think my AI’s translator understood that.” Jonx let out a heavy sigh and settled his head back on the floor, “You know what…nevermind. Just tell me what you meant by an Exos contacting me.”

Highburren sat in the passenger’s seat of the cockpit, her undead-murloc legs crossed one over the other with a thoughtful expression on her flaking, fish-face, “Hmm, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t know. No one under Soulsphere would have been able to recognize the signal. Neither could a weaker Etherforger hope to block the signal. What was sent was a fine piece of working — a controlled etherpulse backed with a piece of someone’s intent, running on a unique frequency only detectable by those in the higher realms. My Dominion is protecting you from that pulse, which seems to be aimed directly at you. I can sense it branching off into other directions, but my ether senses do not reach across the entire star system. So tell me, why has an Exos marked you? Who do you serve?”

Jonx was too tired, too worn, to think about what Highburren was saying, the implications. So, he let it all out. He recanted the tale of his capture and torture at the hands of an ancient Exos just recently recovering her strength, followed by her conquering of a star system that forced him to flee for his life. Highburren listened attentively, intrigued especially by the prospect of an Exos reincarnating.

As soon as he was done with his story, the Tropos swept her senses over his body, boring a hole directly into his very being, searching for something. All throughout the intimate probing of what could very well be his soul, Jonx remained still. He had no energy to resist to begin with, though he also didn’t know how to resist either. So, Jonx just let it happen, resigned to his fate as he continued to recover from the initial mental assault.

Eventually, Highburren found what she was looking for, letting out a pleased tinkling like wind chimes, “That took longer than it needed to. You must have been out of your bintsniffing mind to have created two ether Chambers. It made finding your mark much more tedious. Your Exos placed her stamp at the back of your Brain Chamber. It’s incredibly small, nearly microscopic, yet highly intricate. I relied mostly on my innate instinct to find it, otherwise, who knows how long it would have taken me. Has anything changed inside of you?”

Jonx blinked in surprise, he hadn’t thought about how Dak-Kalpak’s signal may have done something to him. He called out tentatively to his AI, “Kirbmeister? You there?”

It took a moment, but his friend finally answered, “I’m here, Jonxo. That interference nearly fried my nano-ethertech. But, now that things have settled down and her signal is being actively blocked, I can get a better read on what happened. Gimme a sec, buddy.” He nodded his ascent and held up a single finger to the Tropos to indicate he needed time.

He gingerly cycled his Brain Chamber, barely a trickle, just enough to get some minor benefit for augmenting his perceptions to give Kirby some extra time to run diagnostics. The AI carefully used what he provided, making sure not to stress out Jonx’s already frayed nerves.

In only a handful of seconds, the AI was done, having run through his entire infrastructure several times over. “Well, I think I found why your brain nearly exploded into a messy puddle. That etherpulse signal was supposed to trigger a connection through your legacy. But since we prematurely unraveled the next couple of sections and disarmed its failsafes, what ended up happening was an absurd amount of static dissonance. I’m afraid it’ll keep happening if Highburren takes down her Dominion. The only way to stop it would be to stop the signal or erase the mark.”

Kirby’s summary did not make Jonx feel any better.

He couldn’t fathom going through that literal skull splitting headache again. Realizing that the Tropos had eased off her aura, he propped himself up on his hands and looked at the undead-murloc, explaining the conclusion that his AI reached, hoping for some help. The murloc, in turn, sat back in the passenger’s seat, sinking deeper into thought.

After several long minutes, Highburren finally responded, “I could potentially erase it. You said that she imprinted it upon you when her newest embodiment was still in the Peak Crystallized realm. And for all of the obvious skill that produced your mark, it lacks the power of a Soulsphere behind it. But, if I do this, I will count it as one of your boons for aiding me. You will only have one other for your timely chauffeuring. Are you still willing?”

Jonx didn’t have to think at all, “Of course! You think I want to feel like a grenade is going off in my fucking skull?? Do whatever you need to do!”

At his tone, the Tropos immediately released her aura once more, shoving him back down to the cold metal floor with a thud. Jonx instantly changed his demeanor, stammering out, “I m-mean, yes, Tropos. Please, help me.” Highburren nodded her murloc snout in acknowledgment of his improved attitude, but, as usual, his mouth got the better of him, “Wait, how do I know you’re not gonna leave a mark just like that deranged lunatic?”

Yup, that was definitely the wrong thing to say.

Immediately, Highburren was out of her chair and looming over his supine form trapped within a dome of her power and he realized just what an absolute dumbass he was. She raged at him, “Insolent manling! Do you think so highly of yourself that you even deserve to serve a Tropos? Let alone me? I am a genius of Etherforging! My Way of the Thunderwisp is a part of my very being. My advancement is all but guaranteed. Yet, you think to presume you are something important? Desirable even? You are a fool that cannot even see the heights of Mt. Tai. When your Exos marked you, she was nothing but a scavenger, scraping the very bottom of a pit to scrounge up the dregs of what was available to her — you. You are the refuse that she found.”

Jonx was at a complete loss, shame and embarrassment heating up his body. A part of him had always thought himself good at Etherforging. Having survived the apocalypse of his world and slogged through more worlds since…And while he admittedly was no savant at Forging, he at least considered himself skilled.

Yet…Highburren made a valid point. Why did he think of himself as so great? He’d seen what the truly powerful could achieve. The types of devastation they wrought. How they could treat lesser Forgers as nothing but ants on the sidewalk. He wasn’t one of the mighty Etherforgers that shook the heavens or sundered reality.

He was one of those ants. Just hoping to get by without getting stepped on.

While he was still smooshed against the floor because of the Tropos’ aura, he felt like a worthless idiot. Humbled beyond all belief.

“I-I’m sorry, Highburren. I honestly didn’t mean to offend you. I really stuck my foot in my mouth this time. You’re right, I overstepped myself. Please, if you could help me with this, I’ll get you to whichever planet you want to. And not just because of some threat, I’ll do it since you’re helping me out of a tight spot.”

A long, awkward moment passed before the Tropos seemed to be mollified. Highburren finally grunted and it sounded like distant, rumbling thunder. Then, she dismissively turned her face away, waving a hand lazily in Jonx’s direction.

In an instant, the remaining pressure in his skull disappeared and he breathed out a deep sigh of relief. It felt like that first sip of coffee after a long night of shots.

Now that he was finally, blissfully clear headed, the dome and aura trapping him vanished and he was able to sit up. Jonx slowly regained his feet and stuck his hand out at the Tropos.

With confusion etched on her murloc face, she hesitatingly reached a suction cup hand to grasp his palm. He shook it firmly and looked her right in her milky-white fish eyes, “Thank you, Highburren. I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help.”

The Tropos looked a little awkward, but kept shaking his hand long after the appropriate amount of time, forcing him to hastily take it back. “Ahem,” Jonx cleared his throat as he sat back down in the captain’s chair of the Surfer, “Shall we get out of this godforsaken star system?”

She shrugged her murloc shoulders and took her seat next to him, “Finally, manling. You’re acting like you’re supposed to.” Jonx could only chuckle as he shook his head before he called out, “You heard the lady, Kirbs. Punch it!”

Chapter 18

How Cyborgs Cheat

Exos Benren gritted his teeth as his Malkin root-beard bristled with the strain of holding his hands above his head, palms outstretched, defending against his opponent’s Onslaught of unadulterated void and thunder. He was surrounded by his Bulwark of the Gibbous Glutton and while normally he wouldn’t need to make physical gestures to protect himself, it helped when battling against someone on the same stage as him.

His Fabrications of the Ravenous Crescent were harrying the female cyborg, slashing and stabbing with their silvery blades. All the while, his enemy’s long, metallic hair-cables moved on their own as if they were living snakes, swiping and swatting attacks away as she directed her Onslaught at him. By directing an echo through her etherpulse, his opponent teased, “I commend you for trying so hard…Commander? I imagine you’re a commander of some kind for little Antarea. I’ve heard she’s even become a Beta! My, how the eons have passed! Unfortunately, my young friend, you’re a millennia too young to stand against me.”

Benren sensed a brief surge of ether from the cyborg and suddenly, there were three of her — obviously a Fabrication of her own. Her clones differed from her slightly though, their bodies mostly made of crackling, purple lightning with joints and hair of inky blackness. The clones swiftly used their own cable-thick strands of hair to block the attacks of his Fabrications, which left her main body to fire another blast of her Onslaught.

A wave of violet ebony crashed into Benren’s Bulwark and he was forced to double down, threading his will and ether into his Sphere circuit to withstand the intensified pressure. His Bulwark tree thickened as layer after layer manifested to protect him further.

With the amount of power the cyborg was pushing out, one of the advantages of his Sphere circuit had been effectively mitigated. There was no safe way for his Bulwark of the Gibbous Glutton to absorb that amount of energy directly. He had to conjure tiny mouths at the ends of his branches to steal more manageable bits of ether.

Benren growled and split his focus in several partitions, channeling his Onslaught of Swallowing Night to erupt from the silver blades of a select few of his Fabrications. Immediately, the chosen ones were covered in gobs of darkness, protruding multiple hands of Swallowing Night with their ever-hungry mouths. If his Fabrications were lithe and deadly before, now they were monstrous nightmares.

In a handful of moments, his enemy’s clones were overrun, grappled by his monstrosities and pierced through by his other Fabrications, their blades rapidly feeding on her clones until they dispersed into nothing but motes of black and purple.

The cyborg pulsed her surprised, “Oh ho! No wonder they promoted you, ‘commander.” There was no respect in her tone, only mockery and disdain. She laughed then. A high pitched cackle. Shrill and utterly insane.

Benren had heard sounds like that before. They were the laughs of maniacs. Of madmen.

Those that spurned order and embraced chaos. As an officer of the Pentumvirate military, it was his duty to put such lunatics down like the rabid dogs they were.

Firming his resolve, he turned his mixed Fabrications covered in his Onslaught to attack her main body. As soon as her attention turned to fending off his creations, her dual Onslaughts faltered and Benren moved.

His muscular Malkin leg suddenly appeared right next to the cyborg’s head just as she was occupied by his Fabrications. Her metallic hair blocked his roundhouse, the force of their collision blasting back one of his own creations. Without missing a beat, he somersaulted and came down with a hard axe-kick.

She caught his leg with her hands and twirled his body around before launching him in a random direction. All the while, her hair skillfully defended against his combined Sphere circuits. Benren flared his Dominion and in an instant, he disappeared mid-flight in a beam of black-tinged moonlight.

The next instant, that same beam slammed into the cyborg Exos, staggering her enough to give his Fabrications an opening. Their ravenous, grasping hands grabbed fistfuls of her cable-thick metal hair and pinned her arms and legs for just a split second.

Before she could break free, Benren was there, calloused barkskin hands clasped together to smash his doubled up fists straight into his enemy’s face. Her head snapped to the side as her hardened, metalloy cheekbone cracked at the hit.

But the determined special forces commander wasn’t finished. With her still restrained by his Fabrications, he summoned another beam of his Dominion of Insatiable Moonlight, burning her metallic body, blinding her violet eyes and binging on her ether reserves.

Amidst his column of black and silver, he bludgeoned her face, one hammer fist after another. They say that no one can hear you scream in space.

The cyborg wailed, her shrieks carried by an involuntary echo of intent on waves of her etherpulse.

The longer his Moonlight fed on her, the more energy his Sphere circuit accumulated, widening it and intensifying the damage. At no point in time did he stop his beating. Flakes of metal broke off with every strike. Her purple eyes glossed over, staring at nothing as her steel jaws unhinged in a rictus howl.

Suddenly, his AI, Jankel, blared a warning in his head and Benren hastily disengaged from his opponent just before a concentrated beam of ice pierced the space where he once was. His enemy snapped back to coherence and flooded the immediate area in her own Dominion. Waves of void coated lightning repulsed him and his Fabrications away, giving the cyborg enough space to collect herself.

From off to the side, Benren glared at the source of their interference. Apparently someone on her dreadknought decided she was losing their fight and took it upon themselves to intercede. A surge of ether brought his attention back to the enemy Exos as she flickered away, creating as much distance as she could from him. He made to follow, but realized she wasn’t heading towards her own dreadknought. She was, in fact, beelining for where the worldship was located.

The Pentumvirate Exos did not think that was a good idea. The internal portion of his Bulwark’s empowerment instantly suffused his every cell with life- and shadow-ether and he shot through space as if he were a space cutter. The cyborg had a head start and he needed to make up for it. He hurriedly fired off emergency messages to the closest Pentumvirate Thermos and Exos to abandon their own fights and stop the enemy Exos at all costs.

As he zoomed through space in pursuit, he watched her barrel roll and flicker from one spot to another, deftly avoiding his subordinates’ Sphere circuits. Fortunately one of his Exos cut off her route with a Fabrication of earth-ether in the shape of a localized asteroid belt laced with a net of energy between each hunk of rock.

He sensed a massive spike of ether emanating from her just before she conjured her Bulwark for the first time. In less than a blink, she was cocooned in a suit of archaic, ebony armor — nothing but hard lines and sharp edges — sheathed completely in a ball of roiling amethyst lightning, turning her into a shooting star of void and thunder.

In a silent explosion, his Exos’ barricade detonated into shrapnel as his enemy broke through without needing to slow down. To his credit, Benren’s subordinate fired his Onslaught, which manifested as a targeted meteor shower at her escaping form. The cyborg didn’t even flinch as she let the attack break upon her Bulwark. Even though parts of her ethereal plating broke off, it wasn’t enough to slow her momentum.

Benren sensed a pair of his Thermos ahead of her, working together to combine their own Sphere circuits. But before they could unleash their assault, the enemy Exos flickered once more, then disappeared.

The special forces commander immediately drew himself up, cursing to himself, “Blighted phik! Short ranged teleportation. The bintsniffers got her onboard…”

Despite the setback, Benren firmed his resolve and continued his original path, blazing a trail towards the worldship. Who cared if she was behind her precious metalloy walls. He and his Soulspheres would crack that egg open by pure force.

Just as he neared his backup Exos, a heavy wave of pressure washed over them. One so thick that even they felt mildly suffocated by it. His fellow Exos spared him a sidelong glance before staring at the worldship, whose gargantuan Scriptsmithed rings were now powering on in a violent purple, rotating faster and faster.

“By the Five…what is happening, sir?” his subordinate asked in a shaky voice.

Benren was at a loss too. There was something about all of this that had been tickling a remote corner of his memory since his first good look at the worldship. He originally brushed it off, but now? There was a faint sense of rising alarm scratching at the back of his neck.

The scriptwork they used with slightly askew symbols. Their ancient looking armor choices, which he hadn’t seen in Celestial’s knew how long. And finally, the most telling — the fact that they were cyborgs. Extremely powerful cyborgs.

He didn’t get the chance to connect the pieces as his thoughts were interrupted by a manic voice coming from the worldship carried on etherpulse currents, “I’m not so prideful that I won’t admit my error, ‘commander.’ It seems as though I underestimated your prowess in combat. I suppose I’m rustier than I thought, though I admit, battle was never my forte. Truly, you are a testament to yourself. Especially for one so young. Unfortunately for you, ‘commander,’ I was always much better at crafting.”

Then, he felt it. A weight like a planet’s moon had been dropped onto his shoulders. Immediately, he and his fellow Exos and Thermos dipped down while floating in space as if a heavy gravitational pull had been exerted on them.

As one, Benren and his officers flared their Dominions to counteract the force. This wasn’t any of their first times in the presence of something greater than them.

And then it clicked.

“T-this is the aura of a Celestial — a Mu!” Benren gasped, his voice carrying on a stark pulse of ether. The Exos was in a state of absolute shock, “Spit and sawdust, how in the Five’s balls is this even possible?!”

The psychotic cyborg’s voice boomed out once more riding on an etherpulse, “I told you, little Exos, I’m a far, far better crafter.”

She cackled then. High and shrill. And Exos Benren knew fear for the first time in a long time.

“Incoming emergency broadcast coming through the Pentumvirate military channel,” Kirby declared over the intercom of the Surfer. Jonx stole a glance at his compulsory companion, who was simply lounging in the passenger’s seat with her dry, scaly arms crossed, eyes closed — seemingly uncaring about anything happening that didn’t involve her.

Jonx shrugged his shoulders and stood up from the captain’s chair, “I’ll take it in the main cabin, Kirbs.” He casually made his way to the much larger compartment of his battlecruiser, which had been mostly outfitted with extra equipment for long range space travel. The only thing he’d kept had been a central, multipurpose holo-table for whatever he may need. All of the amenities were upstairs in the loft space of the cruiser.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, Kirby projected a video message from a grumpy-faced Malkin with a long root-beard that disappeared below the edge of the hologram. “Are all the high ranking officers in the army Malkin?” Jonx wondered aloud. “Actually, yes. Since Antarea is the Minister of War, her homeworld, Malkineigh, gets a fairly substantial stipend of resources to nurture up and coming talent. As a result, many of the army’s talent scouts pull from her world, which further compounds their recruits’ already generous access to Forging aids. It’s essentially widespread nepotism on a global scale,” Kirby informed him.

“Huh, well that actually makes a whole lot of sense. So, who’s Groot up on the hologram?” Jonx asked. “According to the data package, that would be Exos Benren, special forces commander of the Rootstar 051. He would be the leader of the reclamation force that was sent to subdue that worldship,” the AI stated.

Jonx quirked an eyebrow, “Exos? That would put him at the same stage as Dak-Kalpak…I have a bad feeling about this. Anything she touches gets fucked up beyond all belief and I bet that psychotic lion-robot must have been somewhere in this star zone to have sent her goddamned signal that almost killed me.”

Without waiting any longer, his AI played the recording:

“To all Pentumvirate officers and personnel of the Five Factions in the Boifon star zone, this is Exos Benren of Antarea the Beta’s special forces unit and I am declaring a state of emergency in this star zone. Martial law is now in full effect. This is a priority alert that supersedes any and all current assignments.

The Raidrians have invaded. I repeat, the Raidrians have invaded.

If you have received this data package, it contains all of the military’s intel on this ancient race of cyborgs. They have unleashed a new weapon in the zone — one that has given their leader the power of a low-Celestial. I repeat, a low-Celestial.

My special forces and I are currently locked in combat with her. While we occupy her, I hereby declare the Exodus Decree and am instituting a full scale star zone evacuation. Any and all available ships are to be commandeered as transport for low realm citizens of the Pentumvirate. Every riftway gate has been opened to public use with no holds barred and all teleportation fees will be reimbursed by the military upon safe withdrawal of the citizenry.

I am giving every capital planet one standard Pentumvirate day to evacuate their respective star systems and their peoples. After that time, my special forces and I will be making a tactical retreat.

Now, make all possible haste to the closest star zone. Our supreme Celestial lord, Rabban the Phi, will have his forces ready and waiting to provide relief to all refugees.

Do not tarry. Do not waste my forces’ sacrifice. Or else there will be consequences. Exos out.”

Jonx stayed quiet for a moment, arms crossed and thoughtful in his expression. “Raidrian, huh? So, the megalomaniac is a Raidrian and her race came to get her…Well, that answers one question I’ve always had. What information did the Exos send?”

Kirby replaced the Exos commander’s head with 3D projections of a male and female cyborg, slowly rotating side by side. Instantly, Jonx recognized the female of the race. It was nearly an exact replica of the version of Dak-Kalpak that he’d always seen in her godforsaken mindscapes. The hair was longer and the metallic sheen of her skin was completely different, but it was definitely her. Jonx clenched his fists unconsciously as he read through the details that the military provided.

According to Pentumvirate records, the Raidrians had been nearly eradicated. What remnants were left were forcefully ousted out of the civilized star zones and into the uninhabited regions of space eons ago. There was no mention of them having the ethertech to simulate Celestial powers, but a lot can change in that amount of time.

They did, however, have the capabilities to raise numerous Soulspheres with their crafting skills, which apparently have been lost to the ravages of time. Overall, the information was sparse, but that was to be expected. It had occurred long before the Pentumvirate had actually been formed.

His AI helpfully provided a side by side timeline comparison. At the time the Raidrians were being exterminated, this region of space had been dominated by a loose collection of powerful Etherforgers, mostly low-Celestials — Mus and Gammas. It wasn’t until the Five were raised that they’d formed their alliance. By that time though, Dak-Kalpak and her people were nothing but distant memories.

Kirby then replaced the projections of the cyborgs with a miniature version of his dogolin form, staring at Jonx inquisitively, “So, what’s the plan, boss man? Do we answer the call of the Exos?”

Jonx furrowed his brow, casting a skeptical glance at the cockpit where Highburren was still ignoring the rest of the world. After giving it some thought, he ended up slowly shaking his head, “No, Kirbs. Whatever that madwoman is planning, we just got a get-out-of-jail-free card thanks to Highburren. I promised to help her and that’s what I’m gonna do. We stay the course towards the Ellimist Protectorate. We’re done with the Pentumvirate — for now.”

Kirby nodded his holographic snout and dispersed into digital motes of light. Meanwhile, Jonx stoically made his way up to the loft area and found his captain’s cabin, immediately plopping himself down on the Leatherweaved memory foam mattress. He absently stared up at the metalloy ceiling, his thoughts somewhere far from the riftway the Surfer was currently traveling through.

There was only one thing on his mind, “I just hope Zozka is ok.”

Chapter 19

This is the Way

A shining teal ether-beast core gradually lost its luster as Jonx held it in the palm of his hand, inhaling the pure ether coming off of it and funneling it into the channels of his Brain Chamber. Despite his original faux pas of having dual Chambers, it seemed he would have an opportunity in the Soulforged realm to remake himself — or at least that’s what he gathered from the legacy of Dak-Kalpak. Though he had yet to fully unearth all of its secrets, he had still been able to gain access to the next stage, Soul Cast.

In this realm, he was going to have to choose which of his ether Chambers he wanted to focus on and the Brain Chamber had always been his more useful of the two.

Time passed and the Crystalized core went completely dim, now devoid of any energy. At the same time, his HUD indicated that his sat rate had dropped as well, a clear indicator that the Alchemical and Culinary aids in his system had run their course. Just as he was about to pull more supplies out of his interspatial belt, he felt a stale breath blowing down on him. Jonx snapped his eyes open and met the dewy white eyes of Highburren in her undead murloc body.

“Can I help you, Tropos?” he asked, annoyed. She made an amused gurgling sound at his attitude, before commenting, “I can’t help but think that your Exos must not have been very skilled in her Way. For one, she let you develop two Chambers, which must have been an absolute waste of resources in the Crystallized realm. And two, she still has you squandering resources when conducting ether through your pathways. Celestials above, is this how those Septs did it? Were they all this inept in their Ways? I can’t believe they were able to hold so much power over my brethren and I for so long.” Highburren growled, low and guttural, “I’m glad they got what they deserved then. Maybe your master had the right idea…”

Jonx stood up, physically towering over the murloc Tropos, irritation creeping into his voice, “She’s not my master. I was her prisoner just like I was yours, though she was somehow worse. That ‘present’ she implanted in me has been a continuous source of torment for years. And while her recordings instructed me in some things, I’ve had to learn everything else on my own. So, while I am grateful for your help in getting rid of her mark, I am not here for my efforts to be belittled. I’m trying my best, Highburren! And that’s all I can do.”

The Tropos didn’t seem to be cowed or affected at all by his sudden outburst. She simply stared at him, head tilted to the side with a blank expression on her undead-murloc face, “You don’t have a Way?”

Jonx gave it up then, plopping back down on the floor of his cabin and letting out an exasperated sigh, “I barely know what that means, Tropos. Etherforging was a plague on my world, which was eventually turned into a byway gate. Everything I’ve done so far has come from pieces of information or advice I gained from different sources. I had an actual mentor once, long ago, on another planet far away. He helped me modify my original Body circuits to prepare myself properly for the higher realms, but I was captured by Dak-Kalpak before I could return to him. She was the one who actually taught me how to form my Soul Mold and merge two lesser circuits into a Soul circuit…and that’s about as far as I’ve gotten.”

Highburren nodded along to his story, “So…you chose those double Chambers yourself?” She shook her head in disappointment, “Considering your circumstances, manling, I guess you’ve done alright for yourself. But, don’t go any further than what you’ve already done. You don’t want to waste anymore of your time and resources.” She twirled on a fishy footpad and strode out of the room without another word.

Jonx continued sitting on the floor awkwardly until he heard her call out, “Well, get your scrawny backside down here, manling! We have work to do!” He made his way back into the main cabin and found the Tropos hovering in midair sitting on a small navy blue cloud with tiny lines of crackling pink lighting.

She gazed down on him from her perch, imperious and calculating, “How much time do we have until we get to the next Celestial Power’s star zone?”

Kirby actually provided the answer over the intercom, “We have to stop and transfer through several byway stations to get to the outskirts of the Ellimist Protectorate, so we have several months of travel ahead of us.”

Highburren waved her suction cup fingered hand dismissively, “Bah, the amount of work you need will take much longer than that. These few months will only be enough to rectify your glaring lack of education.”

Jonx didn’t look exactly thrilled at the prospect and asked dubiously, “Don’t take this in the wrong way, Tropos — it’s clear you’re far and away beyond my level — but, how exactly do you know so much about Etherforging? You said before you’re a genius at it, which I’m confused about since, well, weren’t you essentially raised in captivity in that manicured riftworld?”

“That just proves how ignorant you truly are, manling,” she began, but Jonx interrupted her, “It’s human, Highburren. I’m considered a human.” The Tropos only answered with a deadpan glare, “I don’t care what you are, manling. I find watching your clumsy attempts at Etherforging utterly reprehensible. How do you ever expect me to relax on this journey while you sit and muck around with ether like some blind newborn cloudling. It’s disgraceful. Repugnant, even.”

Jonx had gotten over his annoyance from earlier, not letting her comments phase him this time. He simply rolled his eyes and retorted, “Fine, whatever. You’re right, Highburren. I suck. Now, can you please tell me where you get all of your superio- uh, knowledge. I mean, where do you get your knowledge from?”

Highburren didn’t seem to catch or care about his slip up and answered, “I told you before, ‘human,’ I am a sentient force of phikkin nature. We were the first beings to manipulate ether to our needs. How else did you think that natural phenomena occur on ether-rich worlds? If my instincts are right — and they usually are with all things related to Forging — I dare say that stellar events can be attributed to other forces of nature as well. Ones formed of void and force, maybe even time-ether.”

Still unconvinced, Jonx continued with his inquiry, “Well that implies some things…for one, your assertion pretty much invalidates centuries of scientific research from my homeworld, though I’m more inclined to believe your theory considering I’ve had magical powers for more than a decade now. You’ve mentioned your ‘instincts’ before. Are they like… a voice in your head that tells you what to do? Or something more ‘metaphysical?”

The Tropos exhaled noisily through her cracked, fish lips, “Pfft, how would you describe breathing to me, manling? Could you explain to me how you creatures of flesh and bone learn to walk? To run? I’ve watched the babes of lowly ether-beasts do these things without instruction of any sort. It has always been the same for me. Now, don’t think that it has been as simple as merely breathing to advance. Far from it. But, for forces of nature such as myself, our Ways are a part of us. Just as you wear your skin so naturally, so too do we follow our Ways of Etherforging.”

Jonx accepted the vague explanation for the time being, she was, after all, a Tropos. There had to be some credence to her claims. “Alright, I’ll bite. You said I was funneling the ether from that ether-beast core incorrectly…what’s the right way to do it?”

“Let me ask you this instead, manling — how do you use your ether? Through what structures do you call upon your power?” Highburren asked.

He wasn’t that ignorant, he at least knew this much, “I don’t know how it works for elementals like you, but the ‘fleshy’ Forgers push energy through our ether circuits. For humans, they are wired through our lymphatics network since it interacts with our Circulatory and Nervous systems.”

“And? How do you use those physical systems to imbibe ether?” she continued. He didn’t know where she was going with all of this, but he indulged the powerful Forger.

“Well, there are three general ways that I know of. We can inhale ambient ether and process it through our Circulatory systems. Or there’s ingestion of ether-rich foods and refined crystals that are broken down by our Digestive systems. And some of us, like me, have circuits that siphon ether straight from other Forgers. For my circuit, I use force-ether to add entropic, or chaos, energy into my opponents that disperse their bonds of ether, which allows me to funnel it to myself. But, the energy I take is ultimately processed through my Circulatory system.”

Highburren nodded her head along as he explained what he knew, “Mhm, mhm. And, where do you think I would inhale ether? You named me an ‘elemental,’ which is a self-explanatory term. So, what physical system would an elemental have to rely on?”

Jonx was slightly taken aback, the anatomy of a cloud had never really crossed his mind, so it took him a minute to answer, “I honestly don’t know, Highburren. Maybe your bits of cloud and lightning simply take in ambient energy automatically?” He paused briefly, letting the information catch up in his head,” But no…that can’t be right, otherwise sentient forces of nature would be constantly draining ether from the environment. Any Etherforger strong enough would be able to sense that. It would be an obvious beacon to all, like a target on your backs. So, I guess you have a modicum of control. I just don’t know enough about your infrastructure to make an educated guess.”

The Tropos stroked her flaky, murloc chin with her suction cup fingers, apparently satisfied with what he’d said, “That was…not as bad a guess as I thought you would make, manling. Maybe you’re not as worthless as you first let on. From what you’ve just described, it seems you Forgers of flesh and bone and, on occasion, chitin are slaves to the physical shells you’re trapped in. And if that’s the case, then the vast majority of you have missed out on such a fundamental thing that we elementals have known since birth — we absorb ether through our circuits. All of our circuits.”

Jonx’s eyes widened at the claim. Even though he had his Ether Anchors, they worked by stealing from other Forgers or large ether-rich objects, like the mountain sized crystal back in the Elapid mine. He never thought of pulling in ether through any of his other circuits. Besides, when he drained something through his Anchors, the energy entered his bloodstream and was directed by his Circulatory system.

Highburren waited patiently as he worked through the implications. “I can see that you’re thinking quite hard, manling. If you furrow your brows any further, your face might just stay that way,” she joked.

That snapped him out of his thoughts, “Are you implying that you use the entirety of your circuit pathways to divert ether back into your Chamber since you don’t have any anatomical systems?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Why else do we have them if not for ether? Though we transform our bodies into Specialized Physiques and form our Chambers so that we may better conduct specific types of ether, ultimately, the first milestone for any Forger is the creation of their ether circuits,” she said, then blew out a wisp of wind-ether, conjuring a bipedal marionette.

She next waved a hand and slithering bolts of electricity lit it up, pretending to be a series of lines that were supposed to represent someone’s circuits, all of which led back to a central Chamber.

“Our circuits are the single constant that connects us as Etherforgers. You may be a ‘human’ and I may be an ‘elemental,’ but both of us are able to manipulate ether,” she said, highlighting her point by sending moving lights throughout her puppet. “So, if that is the only consistent characteristic that we all share and we are all obviously able to advance, then would it not stand to reason that we could all use our circuits for input and output?”

Jonx was left at a loss. Her argument made perfect sense when she framed it that way and he said as much, “Ok…well, that all may be true, but, where do I start?”

Highburren smugly leaned out over her navy cloud, wagging a suction cup finger in his direction, “That is what we will need to find out.”

Jonx sat at a table in his personal cabin after having changed the holo-suite’s settings to that of an ocean cabana. He took some liberties, his open floor plan villa remained hovering above a simulated Pacific Ocean. The waves were always crystal clear and the sun was always just halfway to the horizon, around mid morning when it wasn’t too hot.

In front of him was one of his Anchors, though he changed the shape to look more like an old timey TV antenna. It was surrounded by ten high tiered ether-beast cores, which kept the area around him steeped in tier 1 ether. He made sure that his Anchor wasn’t physically touching any of the cores too, since that would defeat the purpose of this exercise altogether. His goal was to drain the ambient ether through just the use of his Anchor and ensure that the energy travelled solely along the circuit’s pathway back to his Brain Chamber.

His idea was simple — learn how to do what Highburren suggested with his Ether Anchors first, since he figured it would be the easiest jumping off point. However, that was proving to be much more difficult than he wanted it to be. Oh the energy would get siphoned, that was simple enough. The hard part was directing it strictly through his pathways.

With a thought, ambient ether swirled around in his senses like a whirlpool centered around his Anchor. Instantly, his circuit went to work, transmitting the ether through the pump system he’d designed so long ago and the energy entered his system. That’s where the problem was.

His Ether Anchor circuit was inextricably entwined with his Circulatory system. It was how he’d envisioned this particular circuit in the beginning. So while he traced his pathway along its lymphatic route, there were too many holes that spilled over into his veins and arteries. Before he could move the energy passed his elbow, he’d already lost more than half of it to his Circulatory system. By the time it made its way to his armpit, it was all gone, having completely leaked its way out of his grasp.

Jonx ground his teeth, tsking in frustration. It had been days since he started and he’d already learned to control himself from letting his anger get away from him. He knew it was going to be difficult, although Highburren didn’t seem to think so. She said that any blind cloudling could do it. But they were elementals, while he was nothing but a man. An old man well into his 70s now, though at his stage of Etherforging, he actually looked closer to 30.

His once salt and pepper hair and layer of ‘comfort fat’ had all disappeared, replaced with the jet black hair of his youth along with a set of abs that he’d never seen in his entire life. It seemed that Etherforging was the fountain of youth. But, that only made sense. At this point, he could live for hundreds of more years without dying of old age. And that was assuming he didn’t advance to a higher stage in that time.

Sighing, Jonx took one of the flickering ether-beast cores and swapped it with a fresh one. The lull of gentle, rolling waves came in through the open double doors of his holo-cabana and he let their soothing sounds caress his bruised ego.

Time to try again.

Tightly spiralling motes of neon red mingled with greens and yellows as they lazily covered Jonx in a haze of ion particles. He was sitting with his back against the wall of his oceanic retreat, forearms resting on bent knees as he kept his eyes closed and his head resting on the wall, concentrating on the ambient ether produced by the semicircle of tier 1 ether-beast cores surrounding him. Each of his spinning ions was forming a sort of miniature vortex that collected clumps of ether with their scaled-down vacuum force.

The constant motion of the ether in his immediate vicinity made it more easily controllable by his Plasma Domain. And while Plasma was the ultimate expression of cyclotronic ions, he didn’t need that quite yet. To be honest, he doubted he could have controlled something so potent when trying to perform something so delicate. Instead, he used his much more complete control over the weaker variations of ionic spin to make it easier on himself.

He could sense a soft resonance to all of the agitated ether around him. His circuit pathways were vibrating in the same way — a mirror to the motion that his ions were creating. Unfortunately, pushing his internal ether out of a circuit while simultaneously trying to suck in ambient ether was like trying to talk and breathe at the same time.

Jonx thought back to what he knew about ether circuits in general. Highburren was obviously right about all Forgers sharing ether circuitry. But she hadn’t mentioned the other thing that they all shared, though maybe it was so rudimentary to her that it wasn’t worth mentioning. Regardless, he knew that his powers responded to his intent, his will. And if Etherforgers all had circuits, then they also had highly developed willpower to go with them. The more advanced a Forger, the more ironclad their will.

He’d used his will before to merge his Soul circuits in the crucible of combat. Now, he needed to leverage that same desperate need to do the seemingly impossible once again.

Thinking back to the moments of his greatest struggles, he’d been through hell and back more than once. His most recent tribulation was actually against Highburren, during that stretch of time where he railed at the white nothingness of his mindscape. It seemed that all of his troubles always came back to the mind.

The worst experiences of his life were prisons of thought — the numb dissociation of his wife’s passing; the PTSD of living through an apocalypse; the imprisonment by the ram-mutant, Heber; and, finally, the multiple times he’d been trapped and tortured by Dak-Kalpak in one of her mindscapes.

The sum of his experiences had left him just a little bit unhinged. He knew that.

But he also knew that while the universe held more technologically advanced civilizations, they were based on a system of ‘might makes right.’

Sociopathy, psychopathy, even narcissism, were just concepts of an outdated, mundane world that didn’t subsist on goddamned magical powers. Everywhere he’d been thus far, the people were nice enough on the outside, but wouldn’t hesitate to step over someone for selfish gains, which was actually a good quality to have in their societies. The strong ruled. It was as simple as that. And any semblance of civilization was at the behest of a magnanimous overlord, who was so powerful that they didn’t need to care about the goings-on of insects.

Jonx wanted that kind of power. Experience after experience, where he barely survived by the grace of sheer, dumb luck and mediocre skill had repeatedly impressed upon him the value of being the strongest in the room.

He wasn’t a genius like Highburren. He didn’t have a Way of Etherforging. But he did have pure, unadulterated stubbornness born from what he could only describe as a ‘depersonalization disorder’ — though even that term was obsolete, just something from a long dead world.

Physically, he might only be in his 70s, but mentally, after all of his mindscape time, he was probably closer to his 90s. That only meant he had a lot of experience with being a willful idiot, sharpening his willpower against the whetstone of Forgers far more powerful than he.

After his collection of twirling ions reached a state of equilibrium, he could sense that the ambient ether was firmly under his control. There wasn’t much he could do with it, since it was in its loosely packed gaseous state, but it was his to command nonetheless. He went ahead and split his focus, partitioning his mind in four parts for redundancy’s sake, giving them the task of maintaining the balance he’d already achieved with his Plasma Domain.

Now, Jonx could concentrate on the hard part. He sent his ether senses inward, tracing the pathways of his Soul circuit all the way back to his Brain Chamber. Throughout these many, many failed attempts, he’d learned there was something distinct about his Soul circuits that his Body and Crystal circuits just didn’t have.

For one, they were more robust in his senses — thicker, denser and with an ineffable weight to them. And for another, they were not entwined with any particular anatomical system of his, not even his lymphatic system like his lesser circuits. Yes, his Soul circuits followed along the same tracts as his lymphatics, but they ran alongside them, completely separate. And they led directly to his Heart and Brain Chambers, nowhere else.

He ignored his Heart Chamber altogether, realizing for a while now that he’d outgrown its usefulness in this realm. When the Forgers he fought were all so much more powerful than him, the moderate boost in energy output wasn’t much of an edge — more like a dull blade.

Higher realm people usually had, at the very least, Masterwork equipment and supplements that overshadowed anything that his Heart Chamber could muster. But his Brain Chamber was still extremely useful. It had saved him countless times and had kept him sane in his time under Highburren’s stasis. So, he decided to lean into it in this realm.

In his mind’s eye, he relied on his eidetic memory to hold the entire image of every twist and turn of his Plasma Domain pathway. Then, he felt for his mind partitions, the ambient ether around him still swirling to the rhythm of his choosing. It was time.

As he juggled all the moving parts, Jonx thought back on his first few years in Highburren’s stasis. The desperation. The defiance. The madness. The frenzy. But it wasn’t the mania that he needed now. No, what he needed was that drive. That reckless abandon of throwing himself at the impossible, over and over again.

Once he found that memory of a feeling, he grasped onto it, holding it tight and not letting go. His photographic memory came into play again, easily letting him relive that part of him as if it were yesterday. It was that version of Jonx who now envisioned the pathway of his Soul circuit, while simultaneously controlling the swirling energy around him. That headstrong fool attempted to bring all of the moving parts together, superimposing the haze of ambient ether over the image of his circuit pathway.

Resistance. Like two opposing magnetic forces. Pushing back with the same amount of strength that he used to put them together. They slid off of each other, wanting to be close but not wanting to touch — like shy teenagers at a school dance.

The memory of a desperate Jonx took over. Trying to push ether into his Soul circuit pathways as if he were a child trying to fit a rectangular block into a round hole. Try as he might, the shapes were just too different. No matter which direction or angle he came at it.

The memory of a defiant Jonx took over. There was no way that these things couldn’t fit together! They were two sides of the same goddamned coin! Front and back. Input and output.

Bang. Bang. Bang! The memory of a mad Jonx took over. For the love of all that was holy…Fucking fit together. He no longer cared about why this should work. He just knew that he was going to do whatever it took to get this fucking ether into his fucking Soul circuit. Like an angry toddler bashing his toys together, he rammed the dissonant parts together, using his will like a hammer. Bang. Bang. Bang!

That was it. He was fucking over it. Who in their right minds would keep doing this? This was an exercise in absolute insanity. Fuck this.

The memory of a frenzied Jonx took over. No! This goddamned ether was going to fit into his stupid, fucking Soul circuit if it was the last damned thing he did!

His will became a battering ram. A gate crasher. A wrecking ball. The resistance he kept hitting was nothing but a wall, an obsolete construct that was getting in the way. If a wrecking ball wasn’t enough to demolish that wall, then he would just use dynamite.

His will became volatile. Exploding with enough force to shake the very foundations of his Soul circuit.

One of his mind partitions suddenly lost its grip on the swirling ions around him. But another was already there, seamlessly picking up where the other dropped off. Frenzied Jonx didn’t care. He was going to get that ether into his damn circuit!

His will became C-fucking-4. If the dynamite was enough to crack the wall, then C4 was going to blow it to kingdom come. And if one block wasn’t enough, then he would just use more.

With a thought, his mind split several times over, until he reached his new limit of eight. Four more parts of willpower were forged into metaphorical blocks of C4 and suddenly, that barrier keeping the ambient ether from entering his Soul circuit was looking mighty fragile.

BOOM came the explosion. Followed by a sudden, euphoric rush of energy that sped through his circuit pathway like a monsoon raging through a dry river bed. His Soul circuit soaked up all of the ether with barely a trickle reaching his Brain Chamber. He’d done it!

But there wasn’t enough ambient energy to satisfy his ravenous thirst.

A distant part of him registered that the original ether-beast cores were now bereft of energy and instantly emptied out his interspatial belt. A jumbled mess of cores of all tiers suddenly cascaded out, piling up in haphazard mounds all over the hardwood floor of his simulated ocean cabana. There was no way he was going to let this feeling go.

Once again, a frenzied Jonx let his explosive will billow out — pawing, clawing and mauling at the sudden increase of ether in the air. He no longer needed to use twirling ions to gather it all up. His Soul circuit was wide open now and it needed the energy. Craved it. For the first time in forever, it had ether coursing inward. And the Soul circuit wanted more.

So, a frenzied Jonx let his pathways have what they desired.

His circuitry began glowing in his mind’s eye as if it were a phosphorescent river filling to the brim with pure, unadulterated ether. He hadn’t planned on using so many ether-beast cores for his little experiment and hadn’t been concentrating on where all of this energy should go. His Brain Chamber was already full, his ether reserves at their maximum, so he was forced to hastily reroute the surge of ether to his Soul Mold, which was like a spiritual tattoo imprinted on his very being.

The times he’d laid down ether into his Mold to work on building his Soul Cast, he’d had to concentrate so much. There was a metaphysical link between his Brain and Heart Chambers to his Soul Mold and any energy he diverted to it had to be filtered through one of his Chambers. It was tediously time consuming and required extreme focus to lay down layer after layer correctly.

But using his Soul circuit as the conduit for transferring energy? It felt as natural as breathing. If before, he was building his Soul Cast like he were a bricklayer, one block of ether at a time, now it was like he was using a veritable dump truck, pouring copious amounts of ether into his Soul Cast that filled in every nook and cranny automatically as the energy settled right into place. It was effortless.

Jonx could sense his Cast becoming tightly packed as the topmost layer of ether weighed down on the bottommost, pushing the energy further into the cracks and crevices of his Cast until there was no more wiggle room left. He was shocked at how simple it had become.

Just as he was riding the wave of elation, it all came to a screeching halt as the ambient energy petered out. Immediately, his impromptu Forging session crashed and burned and his mind snapped back to reality. There was a sudden emotional dissonance between his mind partitions and his frenzied persona abruptly crashing back together and Jonx found himself panting from the strain.

Before he could calm his breathing, a whispering wind caressed his ear and he jumped, scrambling back along the wall.  “Jesus Christ! What the hell, Highburren!” Jonx yelped in a completely masculine tone.

“Seeeeeeee, I told you, manling,” the undead-murloc said smugly. “Wasn’t it easier to start off with one of your Soul circuits?”

Jonx rolled his eyes and waited a minute to let his nerves calm down. “Ya, ya, ya. You were right, Tropos. But, in my defense, starting off with my Body circuit gave a better feel for tracking my pathways, so it wasn’t a complete loss.”

Highburren leaned back on a mobile, reclining navy blue cloud — her lounge chair that she’d been lugging around since she saw a holographic copy of the one in his cabana. “You know, human, others might find your lack of faith insulting, but truly, it has been amusing to watch you fumble and flounder like a bungling buffoon. Either way, this minor accomplishment of yours barely scratches the surface of Etherforging. All this time, you’ve been stumbling along, somehow advancing against all odds. Though, I will admit, you do seem to have a knack for staying alive. Maybe you have a Celestial watching over you somewhere, eh? Regardless, you have more work to do. You have other circuits to bend to your will, do you not? Best get to it.”

Chapter 20

The Outer Band

In the months of space travel that followed, Jonx had learned to successfully pull ether in through all of his circuits. Once he was able to subdue his Plasma Domain, his other Soul circuit, Gravitic Raiments, followed suit easily enough.

Then, he was able to coerce his Crystal circuits into doing his bidding. The most difficult had been his Body circuits, especially his Ether Anchors. That one in particular had taken quite a bit of willpower to break down. Ultimately, he found that the key had been using his will to force them to act in the way that he wanted. Some required much more of his mental pressure, while others less, but eventually he broke them all down into submission.

Throughout it all, Highburren hadn’t given him any more real insight. As far as she was concerned, he was just finally learning to crawl, which was barely worth mentioning. The Tropos did however tell him the appropriate cycling of circuits, which was so simple and straightforward that Jonx felt like an absolute idiot after she’d told him.

Body circuits for nurturing one’s anatomical systems and Specialized Physique. Crystal circuits for growing his ether Chambers. And finally, Soul circuits for advancing his Soul Mold. Mind. Blown. And it made absolutely perfect sense.

Jonx was sitting in his holo-cabin as the Surfer cruised along the final stretch of the last riftway connection before exiting in the outer rim of Ellimist territory. While he still had quite a bit of supplies left in storage even after giving nearly half of what he’d hoarded over the years to Zozka, he wasn’t in any rush to use all of his Etherforging aids to get to Soul Cast.

With that said, he imbibed a Masterwork soup of shellfish and cream, which was essentially a bisque and one he’d made himself in his spare time. Coupled with that was an Expertwork Alchemical Draught of Empowerment, which pushed his ether saturation rate even higher. All told he sported nearly a 500% bonus to all of the energy he was absorbing through his Body circuits. He was employing the full octet of mind partitions to maintain enough mental pressure on both his Ether Anchor and Chaos Orb circuits, holding them wide open and ready to accept the ambient ether emanating from the pile of tier 1 ether-beast cores splayed out on the floor.

His will directed the flows of energy through his circuit pathways and into the various anatomical systems of his body. He’d learned through experimentation that he could upgrade all his systems simultaneously with this new and unorthodox method that Highburren had shown him.

Before, he needed to focus on a single system at a time, filtering any ether through one of his ether Chambers before redirecting it where he wanted it to go. It was inefficient and really did waste resources as Highburren had first claimed. With this new technique, he bypassed his ether Chambers altogether, taking out the middleman completely and letting the energy travel along the natural pathways of his Body circuits, infusing every system they touched with just a hint more power. At first it seemed slower to improve his anatomical systems all at once, but after doing some mental math, it would ultimately save him on resources.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of pure exhilaration thunder through his body, strumming the pleasure centers of his brain as his five anatomical systems completed a minor advancement. Even though Jonx had improved a multitude of skills, both martial and crafting alike during his time on Boifon, he had to admit that his advancement had stalled, so even this small improvement was intoxicating. A euphoric shiver involuntarily ran down his spine as he got to his feet and opened up his readout.

Name: Cedrick ‘Jonx’ Jonkheer

AI: Kirby

Class: Expert Senex

Professions:

Rank:

1. Culinarian

Master

2. Scriptsmithing (Ancient)

Journeyman

3. Alloywelding

Journeyman

4. Leatherweaving

Novice

5. Synthesizing

Novice

6. Alchemistry

Novice

Body Preparation Realm:

Stage: Ether-Forged x8

Specialized Physique: Potentiation Body (Modified x1)

Grade: Peak

Anatomical Systems Reforged:

Rank:

1. Musculoskeletal

8th

2. Circulatory

8th

3. Nervous (Modified x2)

8th

4. Respiratory

8th

5. Digestive

8th

Body Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Ether Anchor (Modified x2, Peak Grade)

Supreme

2. Chaos Orb (Modified x1, Peak Grade)

Supreme

Crystallized Realm:

Stage: Crystallized x5

Ether Concept:

Dynamo Force

Dual Chambers:

Anatomy Transformed:

1. Brain

Corpus Callosum, Frontal Lobe, Parietal Lobe, Temporo-Occipital Lobe, Brain Stem

2. Heart

Ascending Aorta, Left Atrium, Left Ventricle, Right Ventricle, Right Atrium

Crystal Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Ramjets (Modified x1, High Grade)

Supreme

2. Meteorite (High Grade)

Supreme

Soulforged Realm:

Stage: Soul Mold (Irregular)

Soul Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Plasma Domain (Peak Grade)

Supreme

2. Gravitic Raiments (Peak Grade)

Supreme

3. Blank

4. Blank

Having his ether Chambers five times Crystallized with an 8th ranked Ether-Forged body wasn’t much, but it was honest work. Beyond that, all of his circuit proficiencies had improved to supreme, which he didn’t even know was a category until now. It was yet another question he had for Highburren, if she ever decided to share more secrets with him. Though, what bit of information she’d given had already been earthshaking, so if this was all he ever got from her, then he would still count it as a win.

Pleased with himself, Jonx hummed a show tune and made his way to the cockpit. The bay windows of the main cabin showed nothing but a blur of rainbow lights as his battlecruiser sailed along the riftway. Just because the various Celestial Powers often competed and fought over new resource planets or unclaimed territories didn’t mean that they were completely closed off from one another. Trade and travel were common enough practices that byway gates ran between the Celestial Powers’ territories, though none were connected to the heart of their kingdoms. That would just be poor strategy on their respective military’s side.

As he waltzed into the cockpit, he found Highburren staring out the port side window, seemingly deep in thought. Without turning her murloc snout, she spoke, “Isn’t it beautiful, human? I admit that despite your kind’s subpar grasp of Etherforging, you have somehow created such wonders that I could not have ever dreamed of myself.”

Jonx quirked an eyebrow and glanced out the window alongside her, “Uhhhhhh…you ok there, Tropos? I don’t know what you’re seeing, but all I see are some pretty lights…”

She shook her head sadly and said in a sympathetic, yet still condescending tone, “I pity you, Soulforged. There are wondrous marvels right in front you, yet your eyes are too weak to see.” Highburren sighed then and turned her cloud-chair around to face him directly. She inspected him with a quick flick of her eyes, instantly reading him like an open data tablet, “Another minor advancement? You’re dilly dallying, manling. Focusing on the minute details, when you are more in need of the broader strokes. What’s the quality of your Specialized Physique anyway?”

“Mine? Kirby has it ranked as ‘peak,’ though I honestly don’t know how those things are determined. Why? Does it matter?” he questioned. Before the Tropos could answer, his AI spoke up on the intercom, “Actually, I’ll have you know that there’s a universally accepted algorithm that AIs use to gauge the quality of your circuits and various Forging characteristics to generate your readout, Jonx-ma-boy. And I know that because it has been the same program that I was originally given by the Intergalactic Imperium and has been used in the Nothlitian Pentumvirate as well as the Ellimist Protectorate. And though three Celestial Powers are not the be-all and end-all, it would be safe to assume that the others use a similar system.”

Highburren seemed to actually be intrigued, “And? How does that work, AI?” Kirby answered promptly, “It’s all statistical analysis. With just the population of a single Celestial Power, there are at least hundreds of billions of data points. When we take into consideration more than a single empire, then there would be trillions of entries. That is more than enough to compare the quality of all parts of an Etherforger against others in similar stages and realms. And while some powers can be 100% unique, there are still enough similarities found in the data that the ratings can be given with a high degree of certainty.”

Jonx was puzzled by that last claim, “Wait a minute, Kirbmeister. Why have you never said anything about my proficiencies having the ability to be graded as ‘supreme?’ I didn’t even know that was a thing until I just checked.” His AI hesitated momentarily, “To be frank, you never met the requirements and so that part of the algorithm was unavailable. After you learned how to use your circuits in such a novel way, I took the liberty of upgrading your proficiency and running it through the program. You got the green light and my forwardness paid off. Statistically, you are not the first to have used your circuits in this way. Though, I will admit, the sample population is not as large as the others. So, you may be happy to know that numerically, you and Highburren are in rare company.”

He stole a glance at the Tropos and noticed she had her eyes closed, appearing to be in the middle of an internal dialogue as her fish lips were moving silently. After an extended moment, she opened her eyes and spoke to the ceiling, “Curious. Tell me, ship, why does my own AI not have these capabilities? When I just asked her, she found herself to be highly restricted from this information.”

Kirby seemed to hesitate at first, not wanting to offend the mighty, undead fish monster, “Hmm…pardon, Tropos, but if I had to guess, I would say that your AI was strictly controlled by the Septs that governed your riftworld. I can’t imagine that they would have given you a fully fleshed out model, especially when you were meant to be kept under their rule. As a result, I doubt your AI was ever allowed to be updated or upgraded while you’ve been in your riftworld.”

Highburren’s beady, murloc eyes narrowed at that, as she subconsciously released just a hint of her etheraura, instantly making the cockpit stuffier than it was just a second ago. She turned her obviously unhappy glare towards Jonx then, “You will fix this, human. I will not have something so inadequate sharing my mind. Get me an upgrade and I will reward you once again.”

Jonx immediately put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture, “Woah there, Highburren. Don’t worry, I’m sure we can find you some AI software somewhere. We’ll make sure to add that to the top of the list. On top of, you know, already needing to infiltrate a decent Ellimist Protectorate database so that we could find you a suitable planet to nest on.”

The oppressive aura dispersed and Jonx took a deep breath, glad to have diffused the situation. Hesitantly, he plopped down in the captain’s chair while keeping a sideways glance at the emotionally labile murloc. Once he thought the fish-face was going to keep her cool, he asked his AI, “So, what’s the situation, Kirbs? Where are we headed?”

“Well, what intel we have from the Pentumvirate military is pretty broad. Any interkingdom travel between Celestial Powers is routed strictly through the Ellimist Protectorate’s outer rim. Unlike the Nothlitian Pentumvirate and the Intergalactic Imperium, who reigns over multiple star systems and zones, the Ellimist only control a single, mega star system,” Kirby reported. Jonx quickly interrupted him, “Wait, wait, what the hell is a ‘mega’ star system?”

The AI answered testily, “I was getting to that, Mister ‘I can’t keep quiet.’ As I was saying, they rule over about 15 planets in total, all of which orbit a single, massive supergiant ether-star that’s ranked tier SSS. Every planet is inhabited and their tier decreases the further away they are from their sun. This mega-system is divided into three separate rings — the outer, inner and core bands. Each one holds five planets and a number of separate satellite installations for more living space. The outer band has planets ranging from tier 3 to 2. The inner one is tier 1 to 0. And the core band is where all of the highest and most powerful Forgers reside on planets between tier S to SS. The Celestials themselves have their own satellite stations, which are the closest to the supergiant star and should be right at tier SSS.”

Highburren cleared her murloc throat, which sounded like a gurgling fish, “Where do we go from here, ship? I don’t relish the idea of staying under the thumb of yet another group of Celestials. I want to be free of these people.”

“I would have to agree with you on that point, Tropos. The Ellimist Protectorate is…not exactly where anyone may want to be. From the files that I have, they are not quite as civilized as the other Celestial Powers that be, although we have only lived in two others. The Ellimist are…brutal in their governorship. This society doesn’t have Factions or Septs in the traditional sense as the others. They have three large Consortiums, each one associated with a particular Celestial and these Consortiums have a multitude of Syndicates beneath them. But unlike with Factions and Septs, these organizations are more thugs than anything else. I know that the strong rule everywhere, but most societies set some sort of limitations and punishments on them. Here? There are no consequences.”

Jonx wasn’t looking forward to that kind of society, “How reassuring,” he said in a deadpan voice. “Soooo, the less time we spend here, the better? Where do we need to go?”

“All inbound travel has to go through a processing satellite in the outer band. The riftway should be spitting us out fairly close, so we need to get our identities in place,” Kirby suggested.

Jonx sent his ether senses into his interspatial bracer and belt, his two main storage devices. He’d accumulated decades worth of loot from all of the slain ether-beasts and Etherforgers alike. Jonx was proud of his hoarding and now, he was about to feel vindicated.

Long ago, when he was still new to the wider universe, he fought on the side of the Intergalactic Imperium for ownership of an untamed world against the Ellimist Protectorate. That planet was where the worst of his tribulations had begun, since that was where he’d first encountered the crazy cyborg, Dak-Kalpak.

But before he had been thrust into the void and deposited on Barafin, he’d fought Ellimist Protectorate troops. Jonx had been saving all of that precious loot for more than a decade — just for this moment.

He had to dig a little bit before he finally found what he wanted. Some of Dak-Kalpak’s rejected sentient ether-beasts had claimed the storage devices of Ellimist Forgers and Jonx, in turn, took those same devices as his own. He pulled out a handful of data tablets with information on the Protectorate. Even though it was decades old at this point, Jonx was certain there were useful tidbits.

This right here was why he hoarded. Kirby still had the Ellimist security etherpulses from an enemy AI he’d cannibalized, so they were set on that front. But they needed cultural references to make their identities as full proof as they could.

Jonx tossed some tablets to Highburren, who promptly eyed them, then blew them back at him on a small gust of wind, “Just make something up, manling. Something along the lines of ‘master’ and ‘valet’ should do nicely.”

He chuckled and just shrugged, “Fine, whatever you say. But, please, can we get you a new body? I think it would go a long way if we can get a local alien for you to puppet. And besides, I’m tired of smelling fish.”

Chapter 21

Cursoon Point

Floating on his newest athilyx hover-disc, Gerbrund had saved his ether for nearly a year to be able to afford this upgrade. Other Faliduun may have felt it to be disrespectful to their culture that he even entertained using a hover-disc at all, but Gerbrund was a part of a Syndicate and being a short, four-armed Faliduun with his long mane of green locks that blended into his red back-fur already put him on the bottom of the totem pole.

If the hover-disc put him physically eye to eye with his other Syndicate members so they wouldn’t constantly be staring down on him, well then, it was worth it as far as he was concerned. Maybe once he hit his first Crystallization, then they wouldn’t be able to push him around so much. But for now, as someone still in the Compression stage, he was trying to get by.

“Oi, Gerbrund, stop daydreaming about your new phikkin ride and do your blighted job!” hollered Springjaw, a Thenkari in the same Syndicate as him. He was tall, scrawny and lanky with pale skin like others of his race. His drab, deflated hair framed his hook nose, while his ruby wings drooped down his back, their tips dragging along the ground beside his taloned feet. Since they both hailed from the displaced races of the Ellimist Protectorate, they were little better than second class citizens in society. They were both stuck in an inner city Syndicate and had been assigned to the most boring job of them all — guard duty for incoming travelers. Cue the eye roll.

Gerbrund waved one of his lower arms at his griping Syndicate member. He didn’t know what had Springjaw’s feathers in a bintsniffing tizzy. “Maybe he needs to get preened,” Gerbrund joked in his head, which only earned him a loud harrumph from the already grumpy Thenkari.

“Alright, alright! Death and bloody taxes, Spring, something’s up your cloaca and you need to take it the phik out. I swear, I don’t know why you’re so phikkin irritable, there’s only one bintsniffing ship in dock!” Gerbrund exclaimed.

With a thought, the diminutive Faliduun mentally nudged his hover-disc forward to the edge of the guard station’s massive, floor to ceiling windows. They were in a three story hangar that served as the only inbound security checkpoint on this part of Zengura-3. As Gerbrund peered out of the window, he saw a sparkling, silver ship with a streamlined cone for a nose, slick fins and a hefty long range thruster on the roof. It was even more striking since it stood out from the dingy, rusted metalloy of the hangar.

Gerbrund still didn’t know why Springjaw was so on edge. Even though the ship wasn’t anything he’d ever seen, nor was its model recognized by his AI, they had the proper authorization etherpulse codes to land regardless. All he and Springjaw needed to do now was get whoever was on board registered, then shake them down for some ‘illegal’ contraband. Pretty standard procedure for the Black Venom Syndicate. Gerbrund was subconsciously rubbing his bottom pair of hands together in anticipation. That ship was way too classy to not have some good stuff.

The spaceship’s airlock suddenly hissed, kicking up small swirls of dust as its rear cabin doors slid open. Gerbrund immediately called to Springjaw, “Oi, bird for brains! Get over here! The mooks are disembarking.”

Gerbrund could hear the Thenkari’s talons lazily clicking against the station’s rusted flooring as Springjaw made his way over to stand beside him. A pair of hooded figures came out of the ship then — one taller and straight backed, the other shorter and hunched. They both wore voluminous robes of dark gray, nearly black. Gerbrund couldn’t make out either of their faces under their hoods, though he did notice that the hunched one had a mask pulled up over their mouth.

As one, he and Springjaw directed a pair of etherpulses at the duo and found that their senses came back completely blank. Springjaw grumbled to himself, though loud enough for Gerbrund to hear, “I can’t pierce their dampenings…”

That was odd in and of itself, but not unheard of. While they were in the high-Crystallized realm, which put them in the upper echelons of power for Zengura-3, they occasionally encountered Forgers who were skilled enough to fool their ether senses. Gerbrund reached into his interspatial belt and fished out a sensor array. He thumbed it on, running his ether into the scriptwork that would augment his ether senses by several stages. It was a piece of Expertwork Scriptsmithing issued to all guards working at Protectorate security stations.

Once more, the two Syndicate guards pulsed, but this time they directed it through their respective sensor arrays. And once again, nothing. Instantly, both of them were on high alert, the hairs on Gerbrund’s back-fur were raised up, the same as Springjaw’s plumage. They made eye contact with each other, simultaneously saying out loud what the other was thinking, “Soulforged.”

Zengura-3 was a shithole. It was a high-tier 3 world with an ecosystem that was mostly barren, consisting of drab, gray sand and a seemingly endless pitter patter of lukewarm rain. The checkpoint they’d docked at was protected by an ether-shield dome, so Jonx hadn’t noticed the rain until they were trekking to the nearby city — Cursoon Point.

Jonx and Highburren kept their hoods up the entire time as they joined the queue to get inside. Luckily for them, their hooded Leatherweave robes were Masterworks, so a little rain wasn’t going to do anything to them. It felt almost as though he had a portable, waterproof tarp over his head as he felt the gentle, but constant rapping of rain slough off his hood.

So far, his first impression of the Ellimist Protectorate wasn’t very good. The station guards were standoffish and awkward, eyes shifting to and fro and never meeting his own. The smaller one, who Kirby identified as a Faliduun, reminded Jonx of a real-life troll doll from his childhood, though the alien had four arms and a back completely covered in hair. Meanwhile the taller alien looked like a male harpy from some Greek fantasy, only he seemed to be the skinny, emo teenager version.

The one good thing that came from their interaction was that Kirby had been able to access the local, planetary network. Their digital security was pisspoor, almost like some cheap airport WiFi, which pretty much gave Kirby free reign of their network data. Nothing too sensitive of course, but the AI was sifting through the local chatter to get a better overall picture of the their culture.

At first, Jonx was worried about how they were going to pay for anything. He had nothing but Imperial credits or Pentumvirate kGil, which, if he used them, would only ruin the false identities they’d just created — that of Ellimist exploratory force members.

Fortunately, this society ran solely on ether. A Forger could pay by infusing some of their reserves into charging crystals or, if they were in a high enough realm, could simply create a concentrated bead of their own. Jonx subtly did just that, briefly pushing a bit of his ether into his closed fist, until he felt a small pebble form. A couple of Thenkari and an Ossaedin, which were mushroom-headed humanoids, shuffled away at his display, sensing the, not so subtle, spike of energy.

He didn’t pay them any mind though and thought to himself, “This is actually brilliant. Why do the other Celestial Powers even bother with any other type of currency? What’s the point, when everything ultimately runs on ether?”

“Sure, it’s great when you’re already in a higher realm, have plenty of ether to spare and are powerful enough to get more. It’s not so great when you’re in the Body Preparation or low-Crystallized realms and you need to pay for food, clothing, shelter and transportation. They spend a good chunk of their ether for basic supplies, which leaves them only the bare minimum for their own advancement. This is a system that keeps the rich, rich and the poor, poor,” his AI informed him.

Jonx became thoughtful then, letting the implications run through his mind, “If that’s the case, then the society would breed scavengers, vultures and bullies.”

“Ding, ding, ding! And, we have a winner! You’ve just summed up the entire Ellimist Protectorate in a nutshell,” Kirby quipped.

With that sobering thought, Jonx looked around at the crowd in line beside him. Even on these alien faces, he could tell that many were down and out. Impassive looks turned downward to avoid the rain from hitting their eyes. Slumped shoulders. Dragging feet. Listless movements.

They were shuffling along to the beat of a humdrum existence. Feeling pity for them, Jonx dropped the ether-bead he’d just conjured on the ground and watched it roll a few feet away, nearly lost amidst the dragging feet and talons, until a small, feminine Faliduun eagerly snatched it up, hugging it to her chest with all four arms. It was all he could do.

Highburren sidled up next to him and snorted in derision, “Tche, you’re soft. And they,” she waved her cloaked arm at the crowd around them, “are weak. I, on the other hand, am strong. So tell me, manling — why do we keep up with this charade? This is a world where the strong rule, is it not? I should just be able to take what I want.”

“Just because you can pummel every one, doesn’t mean you should, Highburren. We do this so that we can get a feel for their culture and so we don’t call on any Forgers that would pose a threat to us. I’m sure there are Soulforged and Soulspheres capable of teleporting to this world. I’d rather not give them a reason to show their faces,” Jonx said, sounding tired of having to explain himself again.

The Tropos waved a scaly hand at him, “Pfft, you worry too much, human. You know, if you actually spent your time advancing rather than worrying about the concerns of peons, you might actually become strong too someday. Here, let me show you. And I promise, I’ll be gentle.”

Jonx didn’t feel anything, but all of a sudden, Highburren simply picked up her pace and the crowd parted like the Red Sea. Bemused, he followed after her, trying to grasp how she was doing this. But, no matter how he contorted his ether senses, there were no detectable energy fluctuations coming from the windbag of a Tropos. Even the aliens they were passing by had no inkling of what was happening. None batted an eye or spoke up, as if it were only natural that Highburren be allowed to go through unmolested.

As they strode forward, Jonx heard whispering wind beside his ear, noticing that Highburren was still looking straight ahead, “Do you see, manling? This is what strength and skill will get you. You may be too untrained to understand, but this is nothing but a working of will. These are lower realm Forgers, their willpower is flimsy and weak, easily made to conform to the intent of those greater than they. If you were to hone your own will, then you could potentially do this as well. But, that will be a lesson for another day. Now come, the city awaits us.”

And just like that, they walked into Cursoon Point.

Jonx stepped out of the information broker’s shabby storefront, squished in between much taller, derelict buildings. Thus far, every metalloy piece of construction he’d seen in the city had been rusted, shabby and dilapidated. Wherever he turned, he expected one of the buildings to simply crumble to dust, yet they stood, stalwart against the trickling haze of rainfall.

He found Highburren exactly where he’d left her just moments ago, leaning back in the middle of the street in her characteristic navy blue cloud-recliner without a care in the world. Between steepled suction cup fingers, the Tropos peered at him, “Well, what have you found for me, manling? Maybe a tier 0 that I can call my own?”

Jonx stood in front of her lounging figure, the steady beating of rain on his hooded cloak forcing him to talk louder than normal, “I wish it was that easy, Highburren. I asked for any leads to new planets, but there doesn’t seem to be any. Although, the Ossaedin in there was able to point me to an ethertechnician that can upgrade your AI. They’re relatively rare on this tier 3 world, since they need to have skills in Scriptsmithing and Alloywelding, so it seems we’re in luck. But, I think we need to rent a room first. Kirby needs to do something to your AI before it can be upgraded on the Ellimist network.”

“Fine, fine, that’s something at least. Let us find somewhere to go and get it over with. I tire of this place. The ether concentration is so low. I almost feel suffocated,” Highburren complained. Jonx went ahead  and led the way to a nearby hotel that Kirby identified on his HUD’s map. The streets of Cursoon Point were cobbled together with mismatching metalloy plates. Some were more rusted than others, giving the streets a patchwork look. The buildings too appeared to be dissimilar, no matching theme or motif within any of the parts of the city that they passed.

They were just a few streets away when Jonx felt Highburren stop a dozen feet behind him. He turned around and called back, “What’s going on? We’re almost to the hotel.” Her eyes flitted around the derelict buildings surrounding them, then bore into his own. “Tsk, you still have so much to learn, manling…” she said in a disappointed tone.

Before he could ask what she meant, he sensed them approaching, barely the smallest of ripples in his ether senses. Jonx turned and saw something that hadn’t happened to him in a long time — a good ol’ fashioned shakedown. To be honest, he wasn’t very surprised. It had happened in literally every Celestial Power he’d lived in. More than once, actually. The only thing surprising was that he wasn’t expecting it, but in his defense, who expects to be robbed?

Arrayed in front of them were a trio of Forgers — a single, female Thenkari with blood red wings and razor sharp taloned feet along with a pair of mushroom-headed Ossaedin. It was obvious the harpy-alien was in charge as her guards simply stood menacingly on either side of her. They were still dampening their ether signatures for the most part, but they loosened up just enough for Jonx to get a read.

“What the fuck is a Soul Cast doing on a tier 3 planet? She must be on someone’s shit list to have landed out here. There’s no way she could possibly advance on this dump at her stage,” he thought to himself.

The Thenkari was definitely the biggest threat. Her lackeys were still in the Crystallized realm, probably several times over actually, but it didn’t matter. They were ornaments, nothing more. She was dangerous enough on her own.

The female harpy hummed to herself as she gave he and Highburren a once over. “It seems that Gerbrund and Springjaw weren’t just blowing noise up my cloaca after all. A pair of Soulforged from the exploratory forces? Here? On this rust ball of a planet? I was skeptical at first when those two bintsniffers reported you lot, but here you are on drab ol’ Zengura-3. You must be in search of something truly valuable.”

Jonx knew this routine, he’d been down this road enough times over the years. There was no way out, only through. But, he still had to at least try. “We’re just passing through, miss…” he let the sentence hang. The Thenkari obliged him, “You can call me Keenclaw, I’m the head of the Black Venom Syndicate in Cursoon Point. Now, I’ll give you a chance to tell me what it is you two are looking for and maybe, you’ll get out of this with your skin mostly intact. Though, I’m afraid your ship has already been confiscated. Unfortunate business, that.”

Immediately, Jonx checked his connection to the Surfer. “Don’t worry. There’s a random assortment of goons cordoning it off, but none are actually inside. I would have warned you as soon as it happened if that were the case,” Kirby informed him. Feeling relieved that it was an empty threat, Jonx offered, “Like I said Keenclaw, we’re just passing through. We’ve been back in the Ellimist system for less than a day and we’ll move on once our business is done, ok?”

Keenclaw scoffed, “Pfft, do you take me for a newborn hatchling? You people would have gone through one of your satellites to get to the inner band if you had ‘nothing’ to do, instead of wasting your time to pass through a rusthole like Zengura-3. No, I know you’re here for something. So tell me, why are you here in my city, lying to my face? And how am I supposed to take that, hmm?”

“Fuck…”

Chapter 22

Keenclaw

“Fuck…” Jonx cursed to himself. That was a detail he definitely missed. And now he really had no way out. With a sidelong glance at Highburren out of the corner of his eye, he flicked  his head towards the Syndicate leader, “Well? Little help here?”

The Tropos snorted in disdain, “Are you serious, manling? It’s just a phikkin Soul Cast. You have a pair of Soul circuits just like her. Celestials above, if you can’t handle even this much, you may as well give up on advancing.”

As soon as Highburren was finished, Jonx felt a sudden spike of heat radiating from Keenclaw. “You dare speak down to me in my presence? This is my city and a pair of lowly Soul Molds will not disrespect me in my own territory!” she shrieked as her wings spread out, fanning the sweltering waves outward, instantly evaporating the ever present rain in the immediate area. Fortunately, there weren’t any bystanders. It seemed that the citizens of Cursoon Point had a sixth sense for these types of altercations.

Jonx could sense the pressure from her circuit, which he assumed was a Domain. And she was still ramping up. The pair of Ossaedin backed up at the display of power. This was no place for even high-Crystallized.

Faster than ever before, his Gravitic Raiments shrouded him in his violet and yellow samurai armor. Even he was surprised at his circuit speed. Plus there was something else. His Soul circuit felt more solid than it used to. Gone were the wispy trails of energy from his once translucent armor.

Now, he wore fully realized overlapping purple plates with detailed joints wreathed in yellow. Highburren had told him of the four Soul circuits that he needed to fuse — Domain, Reinforcement, Volley and Assembly. They would be the precursors to the more powerful Sphere circuits — Dominion, Bulwark, Onslaught and Fabrication.

So far, Jonx had fused his Domain and Reinforcement circuits. He was working on his Assembly circuit, but had put that on the back burner for the time being. If Highburren was right, then he had far more secrets to uncover first. Already, her meager advice was paying dividends, in more ways than one.

As soon as his Raiments snapped into place, the pressure of Keenclaw’s Domain vanished and she narrowed her hawkish eyes at the sight of his Soul circuit, “You won’t win, Soul Mold. Your power won’t be enough.”

She flapped her wings once and kicked up more waves of blistering winds so hot that they were literally burning the rust off of the ground.

Jonx didn’t even blink an eye, his Raiments easily shrugging off her power as he launched himself at her. To her credit, she met his charge, lashing out with quick, lanky limbs. Jonx blocked and counterattacked without thinking, his reflexes taking over.

She was good enough at hand to hand, but nothing compared to what he’d put himself through just to stave off his insanity. Regularly sparring against two and three opponents at a time made fighting a single opponent child’s play.

He caught her talons on his gauntlets time and again. Her shins smacked against his greaves as if he were always one step ahead. And when he saw an opening, he punished her for it.

A fist in the ribs. A roundhouse to just above her knee. An elbow to her gut. She wasn’t seriously injured, but he could see his attacks were setting her on edge. They danced around the street — back and forth, side to side — concussive booms exploding with every strike, each one strong enough to leave small dents in  the metalloy road.

She was getting frustrated, that much was obvious. Just as he punched forward, the Syndicate leader suddenly beat her wings downward and leapt into the air to avoid his attack, giving herself some space. Jonx didn’t even hesitate as he pushed off his pivot leg, hot in pursuit. .

Keenclaw tsked in annoyance as he closed the distance, forcing her to fly higher. With a backward wave of her hand, she littered the air with small, fiery red capsules. As soon as Jonx got in close enough to one, it exploded, knocking him sideways and into another one.

Before he knew it, he was being tossed around like a rag doll. He was trapped in a goddamned field of explosive caltrops. The force of each blast blew a gaping, smoldering hole in his Gravitic Raiments. It was all he could to curl up into a ball and shove more energy into his Soul circuit to keep his armor regenerating. But it wasn’t going to be enough. His reserves were tanking and the holes barely had time to get patched up.

Worse yet, Keenclaw didn’t stop with just the first few handfuls of bombs, she carpeted the entire sky with her attack, leaving him no escape. Some deep seeded part of him clawed awake amidst the chaotic detonations. One he’d become intimately familiar with during the long months of travel to this shithole of a planet.

A frenzied Jonx woke up and a will of steel grabbed ahold of his Soul circuit in a vice-like grip. If his Raiments were already more solid than ever before, now they gained a weight to them. Ineffable. Unmistakable.

Unbeknownst to anyone, except maybe Highburren, Jonx engulfed himself in a corona of distorted waves, warping the violent conflagration and keeping the worst from harming him. His Gravitic Raiments had always had a mild attractive force to them, but now, they were doing the opposite — actively repulsing Keenclaw’s flames.

As soon as he had a bit of wiggle room, he pulled deeply from his dual Chambers, summoning his Plasma Domain. Just like with his Raiments, his Domain felt hefty. Supercharged, even. He quickly formed a bubble of rotating ions that projected a potent electromagnetic field to protect him even further from the endless explosions. Keenclaw hadn’t stopped her bombardment and now that it was underway, it was self-sustaining, one blast triggering another and another.

Despite it all, his Domain held firm and with a thought, he further spun the ions under his control. Without even needing to form his traditional cyclotronic rings, motes of pure Plasma instantly sparked to life, thick strands of electricity dancing from one scintillating Plasma particle to another. The electromagnetic field doubled…tripled…quadrupled in potency, easily pushing away the burning hellfire to give him a sphere of absolute safety.

Mesmerized at the display of enhanced control, he’d never imagined what such a potent willpower could do. Sure, he witnessed Highburren use her intent in finely controlled ways, but she had yet to show him the limits of her power. She never had to. But in this moment of clarity, Jonx understood the possibilities and just how much more he had to climb. Maybe being tossed around like a rag doll had loosened a screw in his head…

…Because something suddenly clicked. His mind shifted and the whole world slowed to a crawl. His Brain Chamber had activated on reflex and now, the flames kept at bay by his Plasma Domain were practically frozen in place.

Here, buried in a tomb of neverending explosions, he realized that willpower wasn’t simply meant to be used in times of desperation. It was more than that. It could be honed, trained, built up like a muscle. And like a muscle, it could be flexed. So, that’s what he did.

He flexed his will and the fiery world around him shattered. A massive electromagnetic pulse exploded outward, snuffing out Keenclaw’s flames like a birthday candle, leaving nothing but clumps of scintillating Plasma suspended in midair. Jonx panted heavily, out of breath from the mental strain and a splitting headache coming on between his eyes.

But, the fight wasn’t done. She was still alive.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Keenclaw plummeted towards the ground, landing in a heap and rolling around on the floor, screaming at the top of her lungs, while holding her head for dear life. His will overpowered hers and she was facing the backlash. The Thenkari had it easy though, her flunkies were little more than blithering idiots as they lay slumped on the street, vacant eyes and drooling mouths.

Jonx kept his focus though. This wasn’t any worse than those first few months railing against Highburren’s mental prison. Checking his practically non-existent ether reserves, he hastily cut off his Soul circuits.

As he plummeted to the ground, he downed an Expertwork Alchemical Draught of Regeneration to fill up his reserves as quickly as possible. He didn’t have many more Masterwork vials left, having given most of what he had to Zozka, so he had to make do.

At the last second, he pulsed his Domain to bleed his momentum, letting his Leatherweaved boots thump gently on the ground. Once he was confident he wouldn’t fall on his ass, he shambled over to Keenclaw.

By now, the once proud Syndicate leader had stopped her screaming, reduced to a low whimpering, as she cradled her head and buried her face into the metallic street.

Jonx was dumbfounded, he thought that she might still have some fight left in her, but she only looked broken. Now that she was out for the count, her burning energy was no longer keeping the rain from falling in the area and the soft pitter patter started back up. Rivulets of rain ran down his face.

Highburren nonchalantly ambled over, basking in the rain with her hood down and her undead-murloc face exposed for all to see. When she got closer, Jonx asked her, “What happened? What did I do?”

The Tropos was practically buzzing with excitement, tiny sparks of pink lightning crawling across her body, “Ohhhhh, manling. What a spectacular show! Like watching a cloudling take flight for the first time. It seems you learned how to infuse your willpower into your circuits. Excellent! The more practice you get, the easier that will be. And eventually, your willpower will be like steel.”

She casually waved a scaly hand at the sad form of Keenclaw, encasing her in a cocoon of swirling wind- and thunder-ether, before she continued, “As you’ve seen, fighting other Soulforged involves more than just how much ether you can output. While your will may have been of lesser importance in the lower realms, Soulforged thrive through their willpower and the Soul Mold you’ve made is its direct conduit. The more complex a Mold, the easier time it will be to channel and finely control your will. And as you saw, when a Soul circuit is sufficiently bolstered by a Forger’s intent, it can easily overpower someone else who is using their circuit superficially. When we add our will, we give our ether substance, depth, making it exponentially harder for others to overcome. You overdid it a bit in this case — practically clubbed her brains into mush. But! I will teach you restraint. Finesse.”

Highburren paused and looked at the harpy floating in her stasis field, “Though for now, you asked me to take a new host, did you not?”

For several long moments already, Jonx’s eyes had been rapidly darting side to side, up and down, beneath closed eyelids. Highburren lounged in her cloud-recliner, impatiently shaking her scrawny, murloc legs as she waited for Kirby to finish cannibalizing Keenclaw’s AI ganglion.

They were in a ratty hotel room with crusted walls and bright, fluorescent lighting. The suite wasn’t anything fancy, but they only needed a place to lay low and solidify their gains. The Syndicate leader had a Journeyman Senex-class, which was only one step below Kirby, so it took the AI a considerable amount of time to subvert and subsume.

After the time it took for an incense stick to burn, Jonx finally opened his eyes. As soon as he did, Highburren eagerly leaned forward, “Well?”

Jonx sighed at her neediness, but still answered, “There’s a lot to unpack, but it looks like she had enough information to clue us in on where to go next. Before we do that though, we need to upgrade your AI.”

The Tropos held out her suction cup hand expectantly for something, but Jonx simply shook his head, “I’m sorry, Highburren. We need to jailbreak your AI first. Your AI was originally given by the Nothlitian Pentumvirate, so it’s coded only for their networks and they gave you a restricted one to boot. So we have to do something about that first, before you’re able to download upgraded software on these networks.”

Jonx stepped towards her and asked, “Do you trust me?” Highburren couldn’t help but snort in amusement, “I trust you about as much as I can crush your bones and disperse your soul. So, do what you must.”

“Alright, Kirbs. It’s your show,” Jonx said to his AI as he split his focus in two partitions, giving Kirby foremost control. He stuck his hands out, fingertips spread, hovering just above Highburren’s undead-murloc scalp. His eyes suddenly lit up like high beams, wisps of his Plasma Domain leaking out of the corners.

First one strand of thread-thin Plasma danced along his fingertips, soon to be joined by five, then ten, twenty, fifty. More and more strands hummed in the space just above Highburren’s skull and Kirby focused his senses to read the faint electromagnetic wavelengths that came off of any creature with an AI. Because these were highly advanced pieces of nano-ethertech, they left a trail that could be followed for anyone who knew to look. And while the vast majority of people never needed to, this was the only way Kirby and Jonx could hop from one Celestial Power to another.

Dak-Kalpak had originally jailbroken Kirby’s programming, but the AI had come a long way since then, mastering her ancient scriptwork for himself. While he wasn’t a savant like her, he could at least replicate her feat of genius. Once Kirby found the right frequency, he latched onto it, tuning the strands of Plasma between his fingertips to synchronize with them. With a thought, he further partitioned his mind, Jonx’s consciousness automatically falling towards the back as Kirby multitasked, juggling two separate bits of focus.

One maintained the harmony between his Plasma and Highburren’s AI, while the other began to draw script symbols within the scintillating threads of energy itself. He started with a simple sentence using the archaic symbols of the deranged cyborg Exos, then moved onto layering conditional phrases — ‘if this, then that’ sort of thing. With enough wording, the new additions could impede the framework of scriptwork embedded in Highburren’s AI, ultimately disrupting them for good.

Eventually, Kirby amassed a veritable paragraph of sequential phrases, the symbols writ in neon lights dancing amidst his fingertips. Even Highburren was mesmerized at the display. Kirby checked and double checked his composition of script symbols. Once he was confident in what he’d done, in one swift motion, he brought his splayed hands down onto Highburren’s skull, grasping her head by the temples.

The Tropos immediately gasped, her head and neck arching from the energy. She didn’t seem to be in pain as far as Kirby could tell, but her eyes suddenly lit up like high beams similar to his. The pair stayed there, frozen in time as his scriptwork crackled across her scalp. One by one, the symbols sank into her skin, disappearing into who knew where, carried along the frequency of Highburren’s AI.

Long moments passed until finally, the last of Kirby’s scriptwork phased into her AI and he released his grasp on her skull. Jonx instantly took over, his consciousness returning to the forefront, while Highburren remained slumped in her cloud-recliner with a vacant expression on her murloc face.

Like watching a computer reboot, the whites of her eyes dimly pulsed a steady rhythm as if waiting for the software to start up. The pulsing grew faster and brighter until eventually, she came around. And once her eyes were lucid, Jonx felt fear.

She was furious.

THUD. Before he could blink, he slammed against the wall, restrained by Highburren’s sheer force of will. Her etheraura rolled out of her in seething waves so heavy he felt as though he was being crushed by a boulder.

“What did you do to me??” she raged, spittle frothing at the corners of her undead-murloc maw. Jonx couldn’t find his voice to answer. Her aura was suffocating and nothing was working. Highburren’s eyes were charged with shocking pink lightning and she was waiting for an answer.

Unfortunately, one never came. Jonx passed out before he could respond, held aloft only by her power.

“Blighted rust! You phikkin weakling.”

“Why do you always have to pass out?” Kirby asked Jonx as soon as he was coherent. “You can’t even give me some time to clear my head? You just jump straight into the judgement?” Jonx complained.

“If you didn’t faint at every pretty face you saw, then maybe I wouldn’t judge so much,” the AI retorted. Jonx chose to ignore his friend, instead, picking himself off the ground. Highburren was nowhere in sight, but he could sense her presence nearby.

He found her on the roof of their dilapidated hotel, reclined in her cloud-chair and soaking in the rainfall. She was still wearing her murloc body, choosing not to acknowledge his presence until he cleared his throat. “Ahem, sorry for not warning you, Highburren. I honestly forgot that was a side effect of the treatment. I should have known better, considering that happened to me too,” he said abashedly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

She simply waved her hand in his direction without turning to look in his direction, “I’ve moved on, manling. Yes, you should have told me, but I have already seen the benefits. My AI’s capabilities have broadened significantly. Now, my readout is far more detailed and I have access to this world’s network. I’ve been browsing their culture and it seems like my kind of society. And while I’m not on the level of a Celestial, I soon hope to be at the peak of Soulsphere.”

Highburren finally turned slowly, while sitting on her cloud as if she were a cliche James Bond villainess and asked, “What will happen when I upgrade? What new capabilities will be unlocked?”

Jonx thought back to the times Kirby had undergone a software installation, fearing another repeat of what just happened if he didn’t tell her something, “The larger upgrades can knock you out, or at least that’s what they did to me. Smaller updates were much easier, just a slight delay in Kirby’s processing speed. Now, as for new abilities, the more advanced Kirby became, the faster he could perform calculations or predictions. Nowadays, he can control several circuits, while I focus on combat, which makes me able to fight far more effectively as long as I have the ether to back it up.”

The Tropos thoughtfully rubbed her chin, ruminating on his words, “So, that’s how you’ve done so well for yourself without ever being taught a Way of Etherforging…Your AI is a crutch. It does the heavy lifting for you, allowing you to fight at a higher proficiency than you’re actually capable of. You’re able to easily combat the average Forger, but not the truly capable. Tell me, have you ever encountered a genius or a natural talent other than myself?”

Jonx felt insulted at the accusation, but couldn’t deny her blunt assessment of his abilities. He was the first to admit that he wasn’t gifted. If not for Kirby, he would have died one horrible death after another. “I mean…when you put it like that, I guess I’ve been lucky to have Kirby as my AI. Though I doubt many others could replicate our combined abilities, since Kirby is more advanced than he should be given my stage. If not for my twice modified Nervous system, I wouldn’t even be able to handle his full capabilities. Regardless though, you’re right, Tropos. I don’t remember any outstanding opponents that were at my stage. My most memorable enemies have been those who were more advanced than me. And though I was able to come out alive, I never left unscathed.” Jonx waved his hand at Highburren, insinuating that she was proof of his claim.

She glared at him for a moment, then said, “You’ve learned how to survive and for that, I begrudgingly admit you’ve impressed me. But, you have also ingrained habits that will forever keep you from the highest realms of Forging. I think you have forgotten, manling, that crutches are just tools. You must gain your own mastery of yourself first.”

He quirked an eyebrow and shot her a smirk, “Is that an offer for lessons, Highburren?”

The Tropos rolled her milky white eyes, “Tche, you think too highly of yourself once again, human. You will not be getting ‘lessons’ from me. No, you are not so fortunate, nor are you capable of truly understanding my genius — you don’t have the aptitude for it. But, what I will do is break you of your rusted habits. And, if you the rest of you just so happens to break in the process, well then, it will only serve as validation that you are not meant to ever climb higher.”

Chapter 23

This is the Way, Too

Highburren sat calmly in her newest body, that of Keenclaw, the once Black Venom Syndicate leader. Jonx was just witness to the transference between corpses, which looked like the Thenkari was trying to eat an entire tornado. It took practically no time for her to accustom herself to the harpy’s body, unlike with her first murloc one. And since this corpse was only a few hours old, it hadn’t gotten the chance to get cold yet, which meant that with Highburren’s energy suffusing it, the body could no longer decay.

After assimilating Keenclaw’s AI ganglion, Kirby had access to all of the former Syndicate leader’s intel, including the security etherpulse code to unlock her personal storage items. Once he had a look, Jonx was actually a little disappointed. For a Soul Cast, he would have expected items that would rival his own. He needed more Masterwork Alchemical potions and Synthesized meds, but he mostly found Expertwork. There were some higher level items, but not as much as he hoped.

Since she was the head of a prominent organization, he did find digital keys for AI upgrades through the Zegura-3 network, presumably ones that she would have given out to her subordinates as rewards. Well, unfortunately for them, their Syndicate’s leadership was about to go through a power vacuum. Jonx actually gave Highburren several keys to download sequentially more advanced AI upgrades. He’d learned his lesson the last time and figured it was best to slowly download software packages.

From what he’d gleaned, the Tropos was given a restricted Journeyman Juvenile-class AI, which was mind boggling to him considering Kirby himself was now a Master Senex-class after his latest assimilation. As a result, Jonx gave the Tropos a digital key to get to Novice and Master Vir and finally Journeyman Senex.

Highburren reclined in her cloud-chair having just started to download the first of her upgrades and blissfully, she didn’t seem to be passing out from the torrent of data. In fact, she’d even asked him to stay and sit with her. She never asked, which meant he definitely needed to be wary as fuck.

Jonx pulled out a comfortable armchair from his storage and sat in awkward silence. While he didn’t make it a habit to collect furniture, he made sure to have the basic necessities if he ever needed to survive in the wilderness. She left him to stew for another few moments, before finally acknowledging his existence.

With her newfound piercing, hawkish eyes, she inspected him from head to toe, as if to look for something that only she knew about. “Show me your readout, manling.” That didn’t sound like a request to Jonx, but he didn’t have anything to hide. And even if he did, what would the point have been in front of a goddamned Tropos. Her etheraura alone was enough to make him pass out. There was no way to say no to her, not really.

So, he nodded his chin at her and sent it over.

Name: Cedrick ‘Jonx’ Jonkheer

AI: Kirby

Class: Master Senex

Professions:

Rank:

1. Culinarian

Master

2. Scriptsmithing (Ancient)

Journeyman

3. Alloywelding

Journeyman

4. Leatherweaving

Novice

5. Synthesizing

Novice

6. Alchemistry

Novice

Body Preparation Realm:

Stage: Ether-Forged x8

Specialized Physique: Potentiation Body (Modified x1)

Grade: Peak

Anatomical Systems Reforged:

Rank:

1. Musculoskeletal

8th

2. Circulatory

8th

3. Nervous (Modified x2)

8th

4. Respiratory

8th

5. Digestive

8th

Body Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Ether Anchor (Modified x2, Peak Grade)

Supreme

2. Chaos Orb (Modified x1, Peak Grade)

Supreme

Crystallized Realm:

Stage: Crystallized x5

Ether Concept:

Dynamo Force

Dual Chambers:

Anatomy Transformed:

1. Brain

Corpus Callosum, Frontal Lobe, Parietal Lobe, Temporo-Occipital Lobe, Brain Stem

2. Heart

Ascending Aorta, Left Atrium, Left Ventricle, Right Ventricle, Right Atrium

Crystal Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Ramjets (Modified x1, High Grade)

Supreme

2. Meteorite (High Grade)

Supreme

Soulforged Realm:

Stage: Soul Mold (Irregular)

Soul Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Plasma Domain (Peak Grade)

Supreme

2. Gravitic Raiments (Peak Grade)

Supreme

3. Blank

4. Blank

Highburren took her time sifting through his information, all the while clacking her Thenkari claws on her cloud-chair. “I can see what you’ve pieced together here, human. Your void-ether circuits are above average at best. I’ve known elementals of earth and stone with Ways revolved around gravity manipulation, but they never amounted to much. Not enough insight to modify their circuits.”

She paused to spare him a glance, “Your Plasma Domain, show it to me.”

Jonx did as he was told, summoning just a handful of spinning ionic particles. Highburren watched them intently, before saying, “Now this, I will admit, is completely foreign to me. My ether senses know that these specks of neon lights are made of force-ether, but I’ve never seen this elemental manifestation before.”

He actually wasn’t all that surprised to hear that. In a universe that ran on what an Earthling would essentially consider magic, what was the purpose of delving into the hard sciences? Physics, chemistry, biology — what was the point when Etherforgers could fly? They could throw fireballs, shoot lasers and heal egregious wounds with nothing but ether and willpower. So why would the crafters of the Celestial Powers need to dig so deep they learned of ions, protons and electrons?

Earthlings needed to discover the fundamental building blocks of a mundane existence. It was all they had. Jonx had based his original understanding of force-ether on those mundane principles. Building upon them until he could manipulate his powers to be as versatile as they were now. No matter the truth in Highburren’s assessment of his mediocre talent, his merging of the mundane and the magical was something he was genuinely proud of.

Highburren interrupted his thoughts and commanded, “Show me your lightning.”

At her behest, his spinning ions increased their speed instantly to the point of sparking Plasma. It was like going from zero to a thousand in less than a split second. A small, potent ring of crackling energy hovered in front of her face as she observed it closely. “It looks so much like thunder-ether. And it seems to have similar potency to a thunder-based Soul circuit at your stage, but the underlying concept is fundamentally different. Tell me, manling, what do you actually know of the 12 ether elements?”

“I know they fall under two broad categories — six ‘physical’ and six ‘ethereal’ — at least, that’s what my AI has told me before,” he answered simply. Highburren began to massage her temple with a look of annoyance on her face, “Tell me if I have this right — you know practically nothing about ether permutations and yet you’ve somehow managed to get to Soul-blighted-forged?”

Jonx shrugged his shoulders helplessly, “Hey now, in my defense, I’ve dug pretty deep into my own elements. Hell, I didn’t even know about the others until I joined a Celestial Power. Though at that time, I’d already gotten too far in my advancement. My old mentor, Garr, helped me realign my circuits so they would be compatible. And you know my history with an Exos already. The rest has been one battle after another.”

“Death and bloody rust…How you haven’t destroyed yourself is beyond me. You must have your own Celestial watching over you to have turned out the way you are. But maybe I’m not too far off…that Exos gave you her legacy when you were still Crystallized, leaving you enough of a trail to follow,” she said disdainfully, before continuing, “And while you’re not as powerful as you could or should be, you are still above average. Believe me, I’ve killed enough Soulforged from the Septs to gauge your strength in relation to them. Though, of course, you pale in comparison to one of my kind. There is a reason we ‘elementals’ thrive. Whenever we advance, we are always at the peak of our stage. Such is the blessing of our instinctual understanding of our Ways.”

“Thank you? I guess?” Jonx replied, not knowing where she was going with all of this.

Highburren caught his confusion and answered his unasked question, “I say all of this to you because you are obviously in need of vital information.” She then opened her palm and conjured 12 balls of differently colored wind-ether, “These are the 12 elements — fire, earth, wind, water, thunder, ice, force, life, time, shadow, light and void.” As she named them, she organized each ball into one of three concentric rings, four elements per ring. “Your AI’s categories were too rudimentary. Yes, you can divide them in two groups, but you would be missing the complex interactions between elements.”

She highlighted the inner four elements and said, “These make up the center — fire, earth, wind and water. They are the most physical of the elements, grounded in the very fabric of every world you’ve ever tread, including riftworlds. Their combinations set the stage for all of the others, materializing in very concrete, tangible ways.”

Moving on, Highburren lit up the middle ring, “Now, these are both physical and what you call ‘ethereal’ — thunder, ice, force and life. These govern our worlds, giving each place a chance to spawn living creatures that will someday wield ether. Their manifestations can be varied, but are generally observable.”

“And finally,” she illuminated the outermost ring, “These are the truly ethereal elements — time, shadow, light and void. They are the most mystical in their nature with far more obscure ways of manifesting.”

Despite not knowing the point of this, Jonx was grateful for the more detailed explanation of the ether permutations, though he couldn’t help himself from asking, “Thanks for explaining all that, but…what does this have to do with the price of butter?”

Highburren gave him a quizzical look at first, since his idiom probably didn’t translate over very well. Once understanding dawned, she snorted and flicked a finger at him. Immediately, he blasted into the far wall, easily denting it with a man-sized crater. “The point, human, is that you have been bungling around beyond your ken, relying on a shallow understanding of the powers you wield. You may have adapted your mundane knowledge to ether, but you do not know the depths that are possible,” she growled.

Suddenly, all 12 globes lit up as she shoved them right up to his face, “They are all connected you bintsniffing idiot! That’s what a Way is — furthering one’s understanding of the relationship between one element to another and then harnessing it! And to aid you with that, you need an advanced Ether Concept, one that encompasses a deep understanding of that connection. Comprehending the mysteries of the elements is how we modify our circuits and ourselves to be able to progress along our Ways.”

She released him then and Jonx thumped to the ground, dazed and embarrassed that he put his foot in his mouth yet again. Highburren loomed over him, still sitting in her cloud-chair, elbows on her knees and a thunderstorm brewing behind her eyes, “You have no understanding — no Way — which means you are phikked.”

“We’re starting with void-ether because you have the most shallow understanding of it. Your Gravitic Raiments are…adequate, but your Meteorite is absolute twaddle. For someone with such a poor background, void may have been one of the worst choices you could have made, though I shouldn’t be surprised for someone with two ether Chambers,” Highburren shook her head woefully, “Manling, you’ve truly dug your own grave.”

She was on her second download and he’d come to her after thinking over what she said earlier. He never thought about his future advancements as impossibilities. Jonx assumed they were inevitabilities, but maybe that was just his own ego talking. Her explanation painted such a daunting challenge and it dawned on him why so many of the Forgers he’d met were left at bottlenecks.

But, maybe he had one advantage. Since he spent the majority of his life without ether, without the basic knowledge that so many took for granted, he didn’t have the same preconceived notions of Etherforging. That was how he progressed with his force-ether the way he did. Now, he just needed to do the same with void. Easy, right?

Jonx lounged on a beanbag chair of all things, something he’d saved since his Earth days. It may very well have been the last beanbag chair in the entire universe. “Well, can we start with what void-ether actually encompasses? The eight elements in your inner and middle rings are fairly obvious in how they can manifest. I’m sure there are tons of examples, but I’ve fought my fair share of Forgers with those eight permutations. I’m even familiar with light- and shadow-ether. But, time and void are so obtuse, even more so than the others, I feel. In fact, I’ll be the first to admit that I only developed my void circuits by relating them through my understanding of force-ether.”

“I can only speak on the circuits I’ve observed or fought against over the centuries. Void is not my element and such I am not an authority on it, though I imagine my experience eclipses yours,” Highburren began. “Gravity is one of the most common applications from what I’ve seen. But, there are some truly powerful manifestations. In truth, I associate void-ether with the paranormal — specters, telekinesis, dream manipulation, even teleportation.”

Jonx immediately sat forward and waved his arms around in a timeout gesture, “Wait, wait, wait, wait…are you telling me I could have learned how to fucking teleport? How is that even possible?”

“Don’t look at me, manling. I’m only recounting the powers I’ve seen utilize void-ether. I would not know how to even guess what the process is. But, as you can see, gravity is only a very simple application,” she said as she splayed her hands. “However, you have more issues than just your shallow understanding of void-ether. From what you have told me, your original Body and Crystal circuits were primarily force-ether related, is that not so?”

He had to think about it for a moment, before he could answer, “That sounds about right. My Plasma Domain combined my old Cloak and Cloud, which were both force related. My Raiments are half and half. And my others are all force-ether too, save for Meteorite. So…that would originally give me six force circuits and two void.”

“You are unbalanced, human. When we fuse our Soul circuits, they are meant to be a merging of our elements into the very core of who we are. Each Soul circuit should have both of your chosen elements, if that is the Way you’ve chosen. Others may focus solely on a single element, while still others — true prodigies — are able to combine four elements, but it is too late for you and I. I am bound to my nature just as you are trapped by the mistakes you’ve made up to this point,” she remarked.

“Is there nothing I can do? I’ve burnt a circuit pathway out of my body before. Can’t I do the same now?” Jonx asked. Highburren shrugged her scrawny Thenkari shoulders, “Again, I do not know, human. The idea of burning one of my pathways out of me is anathema. I am a sentient force of nature. My circuit pathways are a part of me as surely as your own arms or legs. They are my heart, my soul. For me, modifications would be the only recourse. You’ve modified your circuits before, I saw it in your readout. Unfortunately, modifications require inspiration and insight. Those are not things that Forgers simply have on demand.”

After Highburren said her peace, she reclined further into her cloud-chair, seemingly dismissing him as she continued to download her AI upgrades.

Meanwhile, Jonx furrowed his brows and thought deeply on what tidbits she’d just given him. After several long moments passed, a sly smile crept on his face as an absolutely absurd idea came to mind. “I may not be a talented genius with boatloads of inspiration…but maybe I don’t need to be. I have an entire civilization’s worth of fantasy and sci-fi knowledge crammed into my brain. Why be original when I can just plagiarize.”

Jonx spent the rest of the time waiting for Highburren to finish her upgrades in a separate room of the same dilapidated hotel. Sticking with his beanbag chair, he lounged with his eyes closed, his consciousness retreated into the recesses of his mind.

His Brain Chamber was on overdrive, heightening his processing speed until his perception of time stretched. He didn’t have long until Highburren was finished, maybe a couple of hours. But for him, those hours could feel like days if he was lucky. And right now, he needed the extra time.

“Kirbs, let’s start with the most important thing — teleportation!” Jonx said like a nerdy kid. His AI answered, deadpan, “Really? Just like that we’re gonna learn how to crash through the fabric of reality?”

“Highburren said it was a possibility with void-ether, so let’s see what we can find. Do we have any records about that? We’ve assimilated so many AI ganglions over the years, there should be some clue,” he thought, optimistic.

Kirby left him hanging as the AI sifted through his databanks. Now that he was a Master Senex-class, his coded scriptwork had become marginally more advanced, enough to handle the addition of Keenclaw’s own Senex level data. He combed through his archives, rifling through backlogs from all of the stolen ganglions from fallen enemies in the untamed world, the Soul Verve, Pyremane, and now Keenclaw.

While his AI busied himself, Jonx browsed through the repository of Earth’s collective culture. The thought of his homeworld as an extinct civilization, run over by the progress of a much more advanced society, was an old sore spot, like a dried over scab that refused to fully heal. Though as long as he was alive, so was his culture. And he didn’t mean that metaphorically, he literally contained the full knowledge of all of Earth, from TVshows and books to scientific data, even the stuff that had never been published. When the Earth was etherformed, the entire world’s records were immortalized at the point of destruction. Hell, he even had every tawdry bit of NSFW from every deep, dark corner of the internet.

So, Jonx surfed the mental web of Kirby’s databanks, looking for inspiration for his force-related circuits. His first stop was, of course, Star Wars. Force-ether and the Force, right? Wrong.

Their application was even more rudimentary than his gravity circuits. Push and pull and some extra speed? He had all of that wrapped up in his Gravitic Raiments alone. There were the more nuanced powers — mind control or dreamwalking, but those didn’t interest him. Even their lightsabers were just sticks of Plasma. His Domain already gave him that type of power and in a much more versatile package. Ultimately, there was nothing in that imaginary world for him the way he was now.

Jonx widened his search to other fantasy worlds. There were more gravitational powers that involved throwing larger objects like asteroids and meteors. He could already do that. He needed something more.

When he thought of void-ether, it brought up nothingness or the emptiness of space. Highburren mentioned telekinesis and spectral powers and Jonx guessed those were viable options, though they didn’t sound all that appealing. He suddenly flashbacked to Heber’s powers once upon a time and realized maybe there was something to them.

Jonx wasn’t intrigued in using similar powers, but he was interested in never falling victim to those kinds of powers again. Maybe some sort of mental negation? Or even broader than that, full blown negation of everything. He already had the ability to use electromagnetism to shut down some powers, but it wasn’t all encompassing. Jonx wanted something that could nullify every element. That fell into the ideas he associated with void-ether.

He narrowed his search to negation powers then and the first thing that came up were from anime or comics. Denial of things from existing. Nullifying attacks. Sealing other people’s abilities. All of those seemed to fall under the broader category of negation. And they sounded exactly like what he wanted.

Turning to his available Body and Crystal circuits, he wondered which he could modify to do what he wanted. Ether Anchors were immediately out, it was a siphoning power that was more closely related to life-ether than anything else. He’d had to modify it specifically to work with force-ether. Ramjets was out, too. That was a pure representation of force. It was so basic and simple that it seemed utterly lackluster after all of this time.

That left only his Chaos Orbs. And the longer Jonx thought about it, the more viable it sounded. The Chaos energy he used was hypercharged entropic force, which effectively vaporized most things it came in contact with…that was a form of negation. Maybe he could work with that. So he marked it off as a prospect and returned to his search.

At that moment, Kirby surfaced from his deep dive into his records, “So, there’s nothing in any of our files that indicate how to actually teleport. But, I was able to find a saved recording of an official duel.”

The video started to play and Jonx was immediately surprised, “Is that…a midget space orc?”

“They’re called Zengu, one of the three prime races of the Ellimist Protectorate and their homeworld is the namesake for Zengura-3. And yes, from the files of Earth, they do look pretty similar to your orcs from fantasy stories,” Kirby replied.

The Zengu was short and stout, built like a freight train with dirty maroon skin the color of clay. It had upward pointing tusks just like an orc from Warcraft, but it didn’t have the braided hair or beard. In fact, the Zengu was bald save for a series of bony ridges that formed almost like cornrows across its scalp. The bony protuberances ran all the way down its thick slab of a neck to merge into a set of natural bone armor that wrapped around its shoulders, upper back and chest like part of an exoskeleton. Its bony plates didn’t stop there, the Zengu had bits of bone on the knuckles of its four fingered hands, its elbows, knee caps and even around its ankles. The space orc looked like it ate boulders and could survive getting hit by a truck. Although, technically Jonx could survive that too.

“What duel is this exactly?” he asked. “Since the Ellimist Protectorate is particularly ardent about promoting the strong and weeding out the weak, they hold quite a few system-wide tournaments. This is the mid-Soulforged division of the most recent competition for Soul Verves and Soul Psyches. There are also low- and high-Soulforged divisions, but they’re not pertinent at the moment. Watch the Zengu,” Kirby supplied.

The match began with the Zengu fighting against an Aximilin, the shadowy horned aliens that Jonx had fought on the untamed world. Immediately, he knew why Kirby was showing him the duel, Jonx blinked and the space orc simply vanished, reappearing behind the Aximilin in an instant.

Before the horned alien could react, the Zengu stomped and a wide circle around the two of them buckled — not from some sort of impact, but from a sudden weight pressing down. The Aximilin hunched over from the pressure, bracing with their tail, clawed hands on their knees.

In one swift motion, the Zengu punched with the force of a battering ram, launching the shadowy alien up and away. Then, the orc was gone, blinking again to catch the Aximilin midair, slamming them down with the same gravitational pressure.

That wasn’t speed. That was true blue teleportation.

The orc’s opponent caught themselves on the ground on all fours and their tail, straining against the crushing force. Again, the Zengu didn’t stop, teleporting directly next to the Aximilin and kicking them back up.

This time, the horned alien was finally able to put up a defense, summoning a spinning tornado of purple flames to protect them and arrest their flight path. Too bad for them that the Zengu didn’t seem to care, instantly teleporting inside of the flaming tornado, then clapping their thick hands together to release a massive repulsion effect, blowing out the Aximilin’s fire like a candle in the wind.

Purple flames sputtered back to life once more, but the Zengu was inside the hen’s nest already. The Aximilin fed more energy into their purple flames, practically engulfing the entire dueling ring in a violet conflagration. The space orc instantly became a ghost, blinking in and around the flames seemingly without a care in the world. When the Zengu couldn’t find an opening, they simply made one. The stoutly muscled orc teleported above all the purple flames with their hands held high above their head. In a single, exaggerated motion, they swept their hands downward and the flames vanished as if they were never there.

The shadowy alien plummeted to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut, only to find that the Zengu teleported beforehand to catch their fall in a flurry of hard, bone-covered punches and knees. The match didn’t last much longer after that and the video cut off.

“Damn…that was insane. The damned orc didn’t even use anything other than void-ether. Maybe they were a purist like Highburren mentioned. I want that, Kirbs. For the love that is all holy, I. Want. That.”

Chapter 24

Space Vegas

The Surfer made planetfall on Thenkossa-2 located in the inner band of the Ellimist mega-system. It was a high tier 1 world known throughout the system as a ‘party’ planet, like an alien Las Vegas as far as Jonx could tell from the information in Kirby’s database.

When he stepped out of his battlecruiser onto an ornate docking bay of shining, silvery metal decorated in glittering ether crystals embedded directly into the platform as a sign of pure decadence, Jonx knew that Thenkossa-2 was going to live up to its reputation. His ship was only one of dozens just in this hangar alone.

A lot of people apparently wanted to come to the largest and only megalopolis on the planet, Binihong, which was a sprawling city of gaudy neon lights and sleazy holographic billboards that covered every inch of the giant mega-skyscrapers that were spread out as far as the eye could see. The sheer amount of ether that the metropolis must run on absolutely beggared the mind.

This was their next stop after sifting through Keenclaw’s information. And with Highburren leading the way in her stolen Thenkari body, Jonx was immediately written off as nothing but an underling, which he hated to admit, already had a ring of truth to it.

As they strode across the resplendent flooring of the open air hangar covered only by a protective ether-shield, any looks of curiosity by the various alien races lingering around were immediately squashed by the subtle etheraura that Highburren was exuding. Now that they were on a tier 1 world, it wasn’t completely out of the question to be a Soul Psyche or higher. They decided that it would be easier to get around if she gave off the impression of a Named Soul. Undoubtedly strong, but not the most powerful on the planet. There were sure to be Soulspheres on this world, which they were hoping to avoid like the plague. So, Named Soul was the next best thing.

The hangar opened up to a lavish, rooftop area filled with utter opulence. Soft, plush rugs crafted from powerful ether-beasts covered the glittering floor. Spread around the room were buffets of Culinarian foods, gushing fountains of Alchemical liquids, androids playing live music with instruments just as alien as the locals all around them.

Jonx identified shadowy Aximilins, bone-covered Zengu, rotund Isurians, scrawny Thenkari, mushroom-headed Ossaedin and hairy Faliduun — the six main races of the Ellimist Protectorate. Here and there, he caught sight of Clovenkind and non-Ellimist aliens, but they were few and far between. From the cultural data that Kirby possessed, non-Ellimist races were treated like third or even fourth class citizens unless they were in the higher realms.

This was definitely a party planet.

In his time in the universe, he hadn’t seen much of this type of decadence and vice, though he shouldn’t have been too surprised, even powerful Etherforgers needed to blow off steam. And while anyone beyond the Body Preparation realm had complete control over their carnal desires, there were temptations beyond that of simple flesh. He knew that food, drink, drugs and gambling would always have its place and it seemed Thenkossa-2 was the planet to indulge.

Plenty of aliens were lounging on plush couches or sunken down in hovering bathtubs, all with glazed expressions of euphoria. Others were gorging themselves on food and drink, uncaring of the smears or runoff accumulating on their chests. Large groups were sitting around cinema-sized holoscreens, equally cheering and jeering at whatever they were watching. And some were gathered in smaller clusters with obvious Synth injectors attached to their arms, necks and even chests.

Jonx wasn’t an idiot, he knew drugs when he saw them. Synthesizing made medicines, sure, but one person’s medicine was another person’s drug. Though, considering that Forgers were extremely resilient and long-lived, then maybe these vices weren’t nearly as dangerous as they were on Earth.

He, himself, had a hard time getting drunk unless it was some fairly potent Culinarian brew. Even then, all he needed to do to sober up was expend some ether. Knowing that, he doubted very much that anything here would kill him, unless it was actually poison.

The rooftop arena they were meandering through had bridges connecting to two other similarly massive and extravagantly decorated areas. Their AIs were leading them to a part of these mega-skyscrapers that housed the information brokers. On Thenkossa-2, they could buy anything for the right amount of ether. And in this society, they took any element as currency, though some types were worth more than others. The most valuable were time-, thunder- and life-ether, which made Highburren into a literal walking, talking ATM.

They weaved through partygoers and merrymakers, flowing across one of the bridges to find the proper lift so they could go deeper into the bowels of the mega-skyscraper. This particular building housed only one of thousands, maybe even tens of thousands, of information brokers and what Jonx could only describe as pawn shops. But, the reviews on the Thenkossa-2 network were extremely positive…just as long as they had the ether to spend.

As the lights of the elevator shaft blurred passed, Highburren spoke for the first time since they landed, “The people in this city remind me of elementals that fell by the wayside as I advanced. Those of us who would become the apex creatures of our little riftworld were the most driven and while we all had our predilections to keep us entertained through the centuries, I never understood the allure of the revelry up above. I know that the Sept Forgers would partake in similar activities and that’s what made them so weak in my eyes. To be honest, I hated them for it. Gallivanting and carousing in front of me, while I was trapped by an oath that would kill me just because their elders enslaved me before I reached maturity.”

She turned to look out at a different side of the city, “Did you know that when I first advanced to Tropos they tried to trigger their failsafe? Of course, it failed. Their AI laced trap didn’t take into account the power of a Soulsphere. Now that I’ve formed my inner Sphere, nothing save for total and complete annihilation could kill me. And that requires the might of another Soulsphere or a Celestial. If you ever sort your circuits out, manling, you could live with the same assurance that I do.”

Jonx didn’t have much to say at that and Highburren didn’t seem to expect a response. He’d known bits and pieces of her enslavement in the riftworld, though nothing quite as detailed as she just gave. Before the silence could stretch to the point of awkwardness, their elevator dinged and they stepped off of the platform into a wide, posh hallway with vaulted ceilings and pristine ether crystals hanging from impressive chandeliers. The walls were lined with display terminals that seemed to display different wares on their screens. He caught sight of weapons, armors, potions, data tablets and more. At the far end of the hall was an ornate, shining bronze double-door that gave off the impression of some royal reception room.

Once they were within a few feet of them, the doors automatically slid soundlessly into the recessed walls, and they were greeted by larger than life robotic drones lining the chamber on either side. They were armed with obviously well-made Alloywelded weapons, wearing gleaming pieces of ethertech heavy armor. Jonx wasn’t worried though, even if they could battle on the level of a high-Soulforged, Highburren could decimate the room with a thought.

At the center of the hall was a thick, wooden table with dazzling strips of the same bronze metalloy as the door, creating a complex piece of geometric artwork. And sitting on a cushion on the floor was the largest Isurian Jonx had seen thus far, which wasn’t saying much since he only saw a few dozen up on the rooftop.

Isurians were generally tall with a rotund belly and thick, stumpy arms, legs and necks — not a single elbow, knee or ankle to be seen. They were bald with a metallic sheen to their skin and had two large, almond shaped eyes made of pure energy with a mouth like a pumpkin carving. This one in front of him was definitely a monster of a specimen. In their seated position, they looked like a wrecking ball had grown a head and four limbs.

Jonx and Highburren stopped just before the table and the Isurian grinned a wide, crooked smile. “Welcome, honored Named Soul!” the alien boomed, performing a slight seated bow. The Isurian only had eyes for Highburren, not even acknowledging Jonx’s existence.

“My name is Ceswalt and I am at your service. What can I help you with…” they left the question hanging in the air. Highburren didn’t answer immediately, instead taking the time to inspect the room and its drone guards. After perusing everything at her convenience, she turned her attention back to Ceswalt, “You may call me Highclaw, Isurian. I’ve come because of the rumors of a new world found by the exploration forces. I would like to know more.”

Ceswalt feigned ignorance at first, putting on a show of thinking hard about what was asked, until finally snapping their stubby fingers in a eureka moment, “Ah! Yes, I do seem to recall such gossip. Unfortunately, honored Highclaw, they are nothing but whiffs and whispers at the moment. As far as I know, the exploratory division is only following a lead to a potential new resource planet.”

The Isurian stared intently at Highburren then, an obvious show of pandering for a bribe. Jonx read the room quicker than the Tropos, since she had little experience with such delicate matters, and pinged her AI to keep Ceswalt talking. Highburren stepped forward and a large ether crystal suddenly slid out of the center of the table along with a separate globe rife with scriptwork, beckoning her hand.

She knew what it meant and grasped it in her clawed Thenkari palm, gazing deeply into the eyes of the Isurian as she did, “Whisper them into my ear, Isurian.” And the ether crystal lit up.

Jonx left the Tropos to make her deals and find out the information she wanted. After all, this was all for her benefit. While he waited, he decided to wander back into the screen-lined halls, perusing what each section offered. After his talk with Highburren back on Zengura-3, he’d maintained a double partition of his mind, devoting one part solely on the task of thinking on his upcoming modifications. That part of him was steering him to look for circuit manuals. This was one of the most popular pawn shops on a world that was dedicated to corruption and debauchery, he was bound to find something that could help him. Just as long as he could pay.

He quickly found the holoscreen he wanted about halfway down the hall. It was like a touchscreen display, only without an actual screen to feel, he simply had to swipe his finger through the holographic projection. Immediately, he went straight for the void-ether related circuit manuals and was not disappointed at what he found.

Circuit (Grade)

Description:

Price (Rad):

Slash Cancel (Supreme)

A Body circuit developed by the Dark Eternity Syndicate. Shapes a concentrated wave of void-ether intended to disrupt attacks before they can land.

2 bRad

Hypnotizing Strike (High)

A Body circuit taught by the Fog Palace Syndicate. Uses void-ether to conjure false copies of any attack, intended to confuse enemies and leaving them defenseless.

1 bRad

Flash Shuffle (Supreme)

A Crystal circuit hidden by the Heavenly Desert Syndicate. A sudden burst of void-ether warps the boundaries of reality to teleport extremely short distances within melee range.

2 cRad

Weighted Explosion (Peak)

A Body circuit utilized by the Gracious Mountain Syndicate. Highly condensed void-ether that when it explodes, pulls enemies within range first and then increases the gravity they feel by threefold.

1 bRad

Sealing Bash (Supreme)

A Body circuit invented by the Wandering Throne Syndicate. Wrap dense layers of void-ether around any body part that can interrupt attacks on contact.

2 bRad

Hollowfall (Peak)

A Crystal circuit employed by the White Tomb Syndicate. Compressed void-ether blankets an area, increasing the gravity of all enemies by fivefold

1 cRad

Flicker Skip (Supreme)

A Crystal circuit secreted away by the Serene Night Syndicate. Enshrouds oneself in void-ether with the highest concentration around the lower limbs, allowing for brief steps through reality across extremely short ranged distances

2 cRad

Daydream Wave (High)

A Body circuit originating from the Glamorous Gate Syndicate. Conjures a loose haze of void-ether that confounds enemy perception, easily leaving them open to attack

1 bRad

“Jesus…I want all of these. What are these price units, Kirbs? How do they translate?” Jonx asked. “Rads are just the closest term I could find for measuring radiation, but what matters are the prefixes. The ‘b’ and ‘c’ denote the quality of ether required — ‘b’ for the Body Preparation realm, ‘c’ for the Crystallized realm, ‘s’ for Soulforged and, theoretically, ‘sp’ for Soulsphere. Each unit indicates the energy it takes to advance each realm by a minor stage for the first time,” the AI supplied.

“Are you saying that one cRad is equivalent to the first time I reached full Crystallization? That’s…insane. How is a lower realm Forger supposed to be able to afford these circuits?” Jonx asked incredulously.

Kirby simply said, “They’re not, Jonxy. That’s the point. These are restricted circuit manuals found in a pawn shop of all places. Any Etherforgers coming here would be advanced enough and have the means to easily purchase these manuals for their younger generation, which would give them an advantage over others in the lower realms.”

“Well, how much do my ether reserves equate to?” he wondered. The AI did some quick math, “Your full tank? Maybe…five or six cRad, depending on the exchange rate for your force- and void-ether.”

Jonx sighed at his apparent middle-class status, bringing back memories of how he used to feel on Earth — enough money to buy some things, but not rich by any means. Looking through the choices again, he quickly made his decision.

Thump. Highburren plopped her now empty mug on the bartop, then delicately etherpulsed to get the android bartender’s attention. The robot swiftly appeared to refill her mug with the same thing she’d been downing for the last hour — a Burning Bomb Brandy. “These are delicious, manling! I could drink these all day and night!” Who knew that the mighty Tropos would be such a happy drunk.

After leaving Ceswalt’s emporium, they made their way to a lower level of the same mega-skyscraper and found a hole in the wall cocktail bar that reminded Jonx of a swanky speakeasy. Wherever they passed along the way, he saw nothing but bars, drug alcoves, gambling dens and small fight clubs. He’d picked this one because it was smaller and out of the way. It was just them and a couple of other patrons sitting at the bar and there wasn’t much room for more.

“What do you think of my choices, Highbu- I mean, Highclaw?” Jonx asked. She took a sip of her refilled mug before answering, “I can see why these appealed to you. The Sealed Bash would be dangerous to contend with in the lower realms. No wonder it is a supreme-grade Body circuit. Being able to interrupt circuits in close range is a fantastic finishing tool. It would be much more difficult in the higher realms, but if this circuit were improved upon and modified, it could be a true terror.”

“The question is — is it worth burning out one of my other circuits for?” he wondered.

Highburren wagged a clawed, Thenkari finger at him, “Ah, ah, ah, manling. You are asking the wrong question. The real thing to consider is — are you confident enough in gaining mastery and insight in an acceptable amount of time? Are you willing to further hobble your advancement by years and years? How long did it take you to truly understand your other circuits? And what tribulations did you have to undergo to get to that level of comprehension? That is what you would need to do again with a new circuit. Unless, of course, you were a prodigy, but we already know you are not.”

Jonx opened his mouth to say something, but stopped short. She had him there. How many decades had he been using his remaining Body and Crystal circuits? He had them since the untamed world, before he was ever captured by Heber. They were somewhat lackluster and uninspired by Highburren’s standards, but they were his and he knew them like he knew the back of his hand. “When you put it like that, my only option might just be modifications…”

She took another swig of her drink, draining it once more and pulsing for a refill, then said, “It doesn’t matter much to me, manling, but you already have enough on your plate before you can truly advance on a solid foundation. Besides, if you succeed in altering one of your previous force circuits to have a void-ether flavor, that will actually help you in combining another Soul circuit. Remember what I told you before, for those of us with dual elements, Soul circuits are meant to have a component of both. So with that in mind, what are you planning for your lopsided Domain?”

“I was thinking of replicating one of the other circuits I bought, Flash Shuffle. There was this sci-fi idea back on my homeworld about teleporting matter by breaking it down into its base particles first. But, considering I can make Plasma shoot out of my hand, I figured I might be able to make it happen,” he hoped.

Highburren waved her mug at him in an offhand manner, “That’s up to you, human. Either way, you’ll need to do something. That Domain is powerful for what it is, but it will be a bottleneck for you sooner or later. The sooner you can modify it, the more confident you can be moving forward. Now, what do you plan with the third manual you bought, Hollowfall?”

“There was a recording that my AI drudged up from the annals of Keenclaw’s memories — here,” he said, flicking his hand at her and sending over the video to her AI. Highburren took the time to watch, closing her eyes and drumming her clawed fingers on the bartop. When she was finished, her eyes were gleaming, “That was an actual talent, manling. One who has devoted their entire being to honing a singular element. His void-ether comprehension must be extremely high. This is a prime example of who you should aspire to be.”

Jonx took a swig of his own drink, something the droid called a Red Brew Drop, it burned on the way down and left an easy warmth in his gut. It was nice, comforting even, like sitting by the fire on a rainy day. “Believe me, Highclaw, I agree with you. I downloaded more videos of the Zengu and I plan on watching them until my eyes bleed. You’ll see.” His eyes glinted like steel then, determined to listen to this creature who’d somehow turned into a teacher, though she’d never admit it. Her insights into Etherforging were pure gold and he was going to soak up as much as he could while he had a chance.

He downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp and pulsed for a refill, before changing the subject, “So, what did you learn from Ceswalt? Where are we headed next?”

Highburren snorted in disgust, “Tche, the Isurian was barely worth my time or my ether. But, we are foreigners in a strange land and I do not relish wasting more time than I need to. Apparently, their exploratory forces have discovered a strange etherpulse signature on an unknown frequency and they are chasing it down. Thus far, they have been unable to triangulate its position, but it could be something — something big. It is how the rumors began. Apparently, anything that could ding their sensors from the zone of space they suspect would have to have a tremendous powersource. All the Isurian gave were the last known coordinates that the exploratory forces were combing through.”

She sighed as she downed the rest of her ninth Burning Bomb Brandy, signaling for a tenth, “In all honesty, manling, this feels like a fool’s errand, but what else are we to do?”

“We could wait. Thenkossa-2 has everything that we need in the meantime. And maybe they’ll make a new discovery soon, who knows?” Jonx offered.

The Tropos shook her lanky Thenkari locks, “That seems wrong to me. There is an itch at the back of my neck that I cannot seem to shake. I do not enjoy that ominous feeling, though it may be a necessary evil for now…” As soon as the bartender-bot refilled her mug, she chugged it in one swift motion, then thumped it down on the bartop, “Alright, manling. We wait…for now. But, when my itch becomes too great, we move immediately. No questions asked.” She stared at him then, pinning him to his seat, “Understood?”

Jonx hastily drank from his cup to stave off his nervousness, before agreeing with her wholeheartedly.

Chapter 25

Cast Times

Jonx snapped his knuckles forward, smacking the face of his Ossaedin opponent. Before the mushroom-headed alien could recover, swirling cords of crackling Plasma ignited with void-ether and Jonx vanished, reappearing just above the Ossaedin and slamming down with a somersaulting axe-kick.

The alien’s mushroom cap bounced off the floor and a spray of caustic spores was released, burning holes in everything they touched, even the dueling floor. More Plasma spun, laced with void-ether, and Jonx was suddenly flickering backwards to get out of range of the poisonous Domain. He was getting much better at triggering the teleportation effect with his Plasma, though it still wasn’t quite second nature. In fact, he had the full complement of his eight mind partitions activated with seven of them concentrating on his nominal Soul circuit modification.

Just as he got to the edge of the arena, one of his partitions slipped, and he stumbled directly into a drifting cloud of spores. His hand darted out to break his fall only to pass through the haze of burning motes. He screamed just before his Nervous system could shunt off the pain. Hastily tucking himself into a roll, Jonx grit his teeth as he felt more spores burning through his Expertwork Leatherweave jerkin, immediately eating away at the skin underneath, digging into his shoulders and back. By the time he recovered from his mistake, a massive foot snapped his head back, bloody spittle flying out of his now broken jaw.

Before he could do anything, every spore in the vicinity exploded, covering the entire dueling ring in a miasma of poisonous fog. He couldn’t help but inhale some, which caused him to cough and breathe in even more. Soon enough, he was hacking up a lung as the burning poison ate away at his skin and his viscera alike. He was dying. And his body was quickly shutting down, one system at a time.

Suddenly, a gong rang out and the dueling ring swiftly vented the gas, leaving a bruised but whole Ossaedin standing over a bloody mess of a human, who looked as if he’d just taken a bath in a vat of acid.

“Winner! Soul Mold Uklard!” the announcer declared, followed by, “Someone get that piece of festering meat out of the arena so we can have our next fight.”

Jonx felt four ice-cold, metal hands picking him up and hauling him off to the infirmary. He knew he was there when the lights changed. Bright fluorescence replaced the dingy illumination of the dueling ring and he felt himself thrown into the middle of the room as if he were a pile of garbage. In the next instant, a sudden, freezing cold burned his numerous open wounds and Jonx was grateful for his pain receptors being turned off. He knew that they were spraying him with a Synth med, though the way his damage was healing, he guessed it was barely Journeyman rank. Nevertheless, he closed his eyes and replayed the fight.

For nearly a month, Jonx had been making his way through one fight club after another. It was Highburren’s suggestion actually. What better way to modify his circuits than through grinding them against challenging opponents. Already, he’d fought in half a dozen clubs in their low-Soulforged divisions. Nothing but Soul Molds and Casts. Some were truly skilled with unique Soul circuits, like Uklard the mushroom head. And to those, he lost fairly often. His amateur stats were nothing to be proud of — 10 wins, 22 losses and two draws.

But, in his defense, he wasn’t using all of his circuits. The last 15 of his matches had been fought solely with his Plasma Domain. He’d learned in the last few weeks that void-ether nearly had a mind of its own, especially when used in ways it was distinctly tuned for. When asked, Highburren berated him for being an uneducated idiot. After her tirade, she’d gone on to explain, very condescendingly, that each ether permutation had specific, inherent properties.

Wind-ether tended to be restless, difficult to control, much easier to redirect and wanting to move in curving patterns to build its momentum to truly produce powerful attacks. Thunder-ether was similar in some ways. It was also better off being diverted rather than overtly controlled, though instead of moving in circular paths, when thunder-ether moved, it moved in the fastest and most direct way between two points, obliterating anything in its path. Considering she was literally made of these two elements, it was no wonder she was so blunt and aloof.

Highburren didn’t have any hard details on void- or force-ether, so she could only guess. That’s how Jonx found himself back in Ceswalt’s emporium, looking for more detailed records of his elements. Oh he found them alright, apparently anything could be bought for the right price — and what a price it was. He shelled out nearly six cRad for each data packet, which equated to enough ether to undergo the first Crystallization nearly twelve goddamned times. For what he got, he was disappointed. None of it was specialized or showed insights into a Way. It was all very generalized information, more like a school textbook than anything else. Still though, it was better than nothing.

Force-ether preferred to hold a shape, making it easy to mold into whatever the Forger desired. It also gravitated towards fast collisions and impacts. Apparently, force-ether could be highly specialized with some Forgers focusing on a singular shape to the complete exclusion of everything else — swords, spears, hammers, etc. They were the classic fantasy-anime cliches.

On the other hand, void-ether was hard to pin down. It had so many different manifestations that were all so random, as if it was the elemental catch all, the one whose categories just didn’t fit in with the others — telepathy, telekinesis, teleportation, gravity, attraction, repulsion — the list went on. Other elements could manifest in similar ways as well, though they went about it from a different angle. The only thing the data packet did assert was that void-ether was the most responsive to willpower and intent, which only made sense considering its many forms.

His fight with Uklard had been one of his best yet. He was getting better at teleporting short distances using increasingly faster spinning ions with just a spark of void, though it took so much mental strain, he just couldn’t keep it up for long. Part of the reason was because he was trying to add a second element into an already established Soul circuit. Jonx was certain that once his circuit finished its modification, it would become far simpler to control. But he knew he needed more time. His Soul circuit had fully carved channels already and adding a second element essentially meant digging out another pathway within a pathway. That’s where practice came in. Just like with any new skill, he needed to ingrain what he wanted into his muscle memory, or in this case, his ‘circuit memory.’

A voice broke him out of his thoughts, “Oi, Jonkheer…you gonna be ready for your second match today?” Jonx pointedly kept his eyes closed, ignoring the question from his diminutive, Faladuun bookie, Renesh. “Your odds are looking pretty busted right now. Your last five losses put you as the underdog, seven to one! Whaddya say, Earthling?” The grubby little four-armed gnome was rubbing both pairs of hands together, “C’mon, maybe we cash out just a little on this one? Hmm? Hmm?”

Jonx cracked one of his eyes open just enough to glare at the Faliduun, “Ren, you’re too impatient. You want the big score don’t you?” The bookie eagerly nodded his ascent and Jonx continued, “Well, then we gotta play the long game. Let’s at least wait until my odds are in the double digits.”

Renesh shook his bushy head, “Pfft, fine, Jonkheer. But you better deliver, my friend. I’ve got a lot hanging on you. Anyway, you want your winnings? Or you gonna let ‘em ride?”

Jonx waved his hand dismissively, “Keep them and bet it on my opponent like usual. Every little bit helps.”

An Aximilin strained against his bonds of sub-zero ice, his frozen breaths puffing out fast and shallow. All five of his limbs were encased in blistering cold restraints as a droning voice spoke above the frigid torture, “I don’t like having to do this, Seetak, but you’ve left me no choice. Where were you headed in such a rush? Did you finally crack that ether signature? Tell me and this can all be over.”

Jibril leaned his meaty, boneless Taxon elbows on a table made with his Iceflow Carving as he sat on his tentacled haunches, pleading with the strung up officer of the Ellimist’s exploratory forces. He’d been at this for a handful of microcycles already. Wait no, the citizens of the other Celestial Powers used a different term — hours. He’d been at this for hours already. It was the little things that Jibril was still guilty of. Even after all of these years away from the Intergalactic Imperium, he still used their scales to measure things like time or distance. He constantly needed to remind himself that the rest of the universe used a standard denomination time scale, not the one invented by Galuit-Shamtul the Omicron.

“You have no claim to what we found, Imperial bintsniffer! The prize belongs to the Protectorate, not your blighted Imperium!” Seetak growled through chattering teeth. Jibril rubbed his eyes with his tentacled-fingers, he’d heard this all before. With a flick of his will, a razor-sharp icicle pierced straight through the Aximilin’s brain and out of his mouth, killing him instantly. The room they were in was so cold, no blood could even splatter. Every bit of moisture froze immediately upon contact with the air.

The Taxon stood and he wriggled over to the far wall on his tentacled-legs. Pacing slowly, he admired his handiwork of flashfrozen Protectorate officers. As he stopped in front of the next one to interrogate, Jibril caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror-like ice. The years had changed him, inside and out. It wasn’t so long ago that the thought of torture would have churned his stomach. But, his Master was a firm hand and she would get what she wanted — one way or another.

Peering back from his reflection was his violet and black cyborg eye. He’d had it for years now, but had still not gotten used to seeing it. Then, his hair-tentacles wriggled and he caught sight of their dark pewyx metalloy tips. Underneath his Masterwork Chainmail of Advanced Frigid Brutality, he could feel other small nodes of pewyx that dotted his Taxon hide, tracing along the pathways of his ether circuitry, serving as a permanent boost to everything — input, throughput and output.

He still needed to familiarize himself with the nodes. They were his newest reward from his Master after she’d successfully routed the Pentumvirate forces out of the Boifonese star zone. All of her core disciples had been present on the Argent Crown to bear witness to her triumph. And though that damnable Exos commander was able to hold off her augmented Mu-state until his forces could evacuate, it ultimately didn’t change his Master’s victory. Now, she and the other Raidrians had a staging area from within the boundaries of a Celestial Power.

Jibril hesitated to call it a ‘war,’ considering the Raidrian forces were never truly trying. It had all been a stalling tactic with some mild raiding for resources until his Master could reconnect with her peoples’ worldship. Once they solidified their newfound territory, his Master had sent her disciples back out into the other kingdoms. The worldship was a fearsome weapon, but it needed vast resources to operate. And so, Exos Dak-Kalpak had tasked Jibril and the others with finding high tier worlds for her to subsume.

Aster was off back in the Imperium, though not in their home star system, while he returned to the Protectorate. Who knew where the other core disciples were, but that wasn’t Jibril’s concern. When rumors of a possible high tier world surfaced, he knew what his mission was. For months now, he stalked the exploration forces in his stealth space corvette, one he personally Scriptsmithed himself. While he may not have been a Supreme crafter like the Exos, Jibril could still produce Masterworks in his own right.

As luck would have it, he stumbled upon a space frigate burning their thrusters like there was no tomorrow. No one would be going that speed without something important to deliver. And now, he had his little menagerie of ice sculptures lined up in a neat row. It didn’t matter if Seetak didn’t want to talk. There were plenty of others. One was bound to give him what he wanted. One way or another.

Highburren observed the human’s fight with mild interest. His progress with balancing his circuits was improving, that much was obvious. The newest modified circuit was performing better than even she had predicted.

The manling was easily flitting about the dueling ring, flickering in and out of reality in bursts of crackling yellow electricity with neon purple highlights. Slowly but surely, he was dismantling his opponent one Plasma-bolt at a time. She was still somewhat impressed that he was generating such powerful lightning through the use of pure force-ether, though despite its strength, his electricity didn’t have the will of thunder-ether. It was a vivid imitation to be sure, but an imitation nonetheless. His lightning could never come close to what she could do with her own power.

Regardless, she could already tell that his opponent was no match for him. He was fighting against an Isurian Soul Mold with earth- and force-ether, who first fused a Reinforcement Soul circuit as evidenced by the highly compressed sheets of earth that covered their rotund form. Even from her vantage in the stands, Highburren could discern that their Soul circuit had an extra, outer layer of force-ether that seemed to cushion them further from any attacks, effectively making them a shambling fortress.

Meanwhile, the human was the Isurian’s polar opposite. He was agile, versatile and, with his newest ability to teleport, very difficult to hit. To combat the manling’s rapid assault, the Isurian conjured large, rotating hammers made of condensed force-ether that deflected as many Plasma attacks as possible.

Unfortunately for the Isurian, the human could simply teleport right past the hammers. Sparks flew constantly, the manling’s use of force colliding violently against the Isurian’s. Nonstop bolts of Plasma had left their stain on the earthen-force circuit, black burns pockmarking the giant Isurian. Their ability to regenerate gradually slowed down further and further, a glaring indicator of dwindling energy.

She knew that the human wouldn’t be having any such difficulties with his reserves. One of her challenges to him — aside from balancing his blighted, lopsided circuits — was to maintain a steady intake of ether as he used his circuits during battle. This was the true benefit of her absorption technique and was the reason elementals were so fearsome for their stage. It wouldn’t give him infinite sustainability, but it would give him markedly more circuit stamina. This wasn’t any secret, not to Highburren and her people, however, she learned that what she took for granted, other Forgers were distinctly ignorant of.

Another flash of golden violet and the human appeared right underneath the hulking mass of the Isurian. In one swift motion, he layered his hands in writhing waves of shadowy purple and struck both hands directly at his opponent’s bulbous midsection. Instantly, a chain reaction began as pieces of earth-ether sloughed off moving outward from the point of impact.

A pair of whirling force-hammers came for his head, but he was already gone in another burst of purple and yellow. The human flickered away then, stopping once he was on the complete other side of the dueling ring. A heavy thump followed a split second later as the Isurian’s rotund form collapsed onto the floor, a cauterized hole sizzling straight through their gut.

Highburren’s hawkish Thenkari face split into a greedy grin. Just like that, she was fifteen times richer.

Jonx lounged on his beanbag chair once more, the holo-walls of a rented Forging suite awash in glowing silver scriptwork that brought the ether sat rate in the room up to high tier 0. With his collective dueling winnings, he had plenty of cRad to spend, although this room in particular cost an entire sRad, which was the energy measurement for the Soulforged realm. Highburren had actually given him the funds, calling it his ‘tip’ for his performance. Apparently, she made a killing on that last match.

Before he secluded himself, she even gifted him with an offhand pearl of wisdom, “Remember, manling — the Body Preparation realm prepared your flesh and the Crystallized realm prepared your circuitry — now, the Soulforged realm will prepare your willpower, your mental fortitude. Use this boon to grow your will. Sharpen it. Harden it. You will need it for the higher stages. In the end, it is all that matters.”

He knew the first part already. Dak-Kalpak said as much in her recordings in her legacy. But no one had truly highlighted just how much willpower would come into play. He learned it was important throughout the years, mostly during harrowing trials and tribulations, but only recently had he focused on casually using his will over and over as he modified his circuits. His willpower was still growing, he could feel it. It wasn’t at the level of Highburren’s yet, not even close. She had been wielding her will since her inception — it was instinct to her. But now that he was on the right path, he was going to do his best to catch up.

Ether rushed through his veins, augmented by the combined use of a Masterwork meal he made himself and a Masterwork Draught of Giant’s Energy. Together, his personal sat rate was nearing 800%. He split his mind into his full eight partitions — six focused on controlling his circuits, while two concentrated on directing his willpower to hold it all together, like Hercules and his pillars. With all of his pathways open, his circuits eagerly sopped up the storm of ether — craven and hungry.

The high tier 0 energy in the room was practically a flood dragon coursing through his circuitry, feeling almost alive. Despite its potency, his will held firm, implacable — riding the dragon, taming it.

If left unchecked, the ether running through his Body and Crystal circuits would automatically funnel to his anatomical systems or his dual Chambers. Instead though, his willpower guided the rushing tsunami of ether into his twin Soul circuits, dumping it all directly into his Soul Mold, filling in the nooks and crannies of its irregular shape. Jonx could feel his burgeoning Soul Cast getting denser, hardening at its base as more ether poured in on top.

Time flew by and he simply lost himself in the moment. When he got to the halfway point, something deep inside resonated for the first time. It started from just behind his Brain Chamber and shivered its way through his neck and chest, then out to his arms and down into his legs. It was like he was standing too close to a loudspeaker, his whole body vibrating to the rhythm of the coursing river of ether in his veins.

His Soul circuits continued to absorb the ambient energy of the Forging room, converting the once neutral ether into a flavored conglomeration of force and void. This was one of the benefits of processing the energy through his circuits. With the other methods he used to employ, he had to cycle the untainted ether into his dual Chambers first, which would then condense it further and only when he called upon it did his circuits warp the ether on its way out. Now though, the energy was transforming into his chosen elements on the way in, effectively skipping over an entire step.

Every ounce of ether going into his Soul Cast was pure force and void. According to Highburren, this would increase the potency of his output by at least twofold, coupled with faster circuit speed and enhanced control over his elements. So far, he barely scratched the surface of these benefits, but she assured him it compounded exponentially. She hadn’t been wrong thus far. Jonx simply needed to trust the process.

He pumped more of his focus into absorbing the loose ether. If his willpower was a muscle, then he needed to keep working it out and this was the best exercise. Steadily, he flexed his will, gradually increasing the already torrential flow of ether entering his circuits. He wasn’t trying to speed up the process, far from it. Jonx was simply testing out the boundaries of his mental fortitude.

Already, Highburren’s seemingly eccentric advice was bearing fruit. And before long, his Soul Cast was nearing completion. In his mind’s eye, the three dimensional rorschach of his Soul took on a pearlescent sheen, dominated by shades of violet and gold embedded within its many twists and turns. The last bits of ether poured into the empty crevices at the very top of his Soul Cast, but he wasn’t done.

Before he went into this Forging session, he hounded Highburren about this stage. Despite her vehemence at not being a teacher to him, she had inadvertently become one, though maybe she was more like a bossy older sister, who enjoyed telling him what he was doing wrong. So with that in mind, he played dumb, telling her what he was planning to do and how he was going to go about it, most of which had come from the legacy of Dak-Kalpak. He made sure to sprinkle in some glaringly absurd mistakes that would utterly annoy the perfectionist in her.

It worked like a charm.

Immediately, she harangued and belittled him. On and on about how he was a moron. Ignorant of the ‘true’ practice of Etherforging — blah, blah, blah. Amidst her tirade, she clued him in on some nuggets of priceless information, exactly like he wanted.

With a surge of willpower, Jonx crammed more ether into his Soul Cast, making sure he was compacting it nice and tight. Then, he shoved even more in. Highburren indicated that Soul Casting was more than simply filling in a Mold. So he kept at it, stuffing in so much energy that his irregular Mold seemed to tear at the seams. Once he hit its breaking point, dense emissions of pure void- and force-ether gushed out, glazing the entire metaphysical structure of his rorschach Cast.

This was the most crucial step. He quickly sharpened his focus to a fine point, urging all of the excess energy to stay within the confines of only where he directed. Like a sculptor tacking on extra clay on a rough piece of art, he shaped the roiling waves of violet and gold until every part of his Cast was covered in a smooth patina of elemental ether.

In one fluid working of mind and willpower, he flexed and every. Last. Drop of ambient ether in the Forging room suddenly vanished, sucked into his circuits for the final crucible — for what was Cast without a kiln?

A deluge of golden amethyst suffused the already overflowing Soul Cast. Jonx rapidly crafted a shell of pure force-ether, encasing all of the moving parts he’d kept contained thus far by sheer force of will. In the next instant, he ignited the void-ether held within.

Instantly, blinding rays of yellow and purple burned his very Soul. The heat of a raging inferno went to work, charring and hardening his Cast. As the process continued, he began to notice stained, ethereal ‘soot’ leaking from cracks forming along his Cast’s burnt surface. Before he knew it, the once clear picture he had of the process became clouded and hazy. Without hesitation, he hastily poked holes in the shell of force-ether to vent what felt like dirt and grime.

Everything suddenly made sense and Jonx finally realized why Highburren had berated him so thoroughly about his ignorance. This final process truly was vitally important. Experiencing this now, why would someone skip this. This forge fire fueled by his elements was doing more than simply baking his Soul Cast. It was cleansing it. Distilling his Cast into its purest form. What contaminants stained the depths of his power and soul were being purged by the combined might of his elements.

And. It. Was. Glorious.

Catharsis, like no other, strummed his very being, through and through. There was no other way to say it — Jonx simply felt looser. The cleansing fires began to sputter, running out of fuel and impurities alike, until finally, an etherpulse escaped him beside a sigh of utter contentment.

He felt lighter like he suddenly dropped a weight he’d been carrying for so long that he forgot it was even there. He felt pristine…liberated…alive.

Chapter 26

The Race is On

Everything was so much easier. Jonx seamlessly flickered in and out of reality in bursts of golden violet, his modified Quantum Leap Domain carrying him from one entangled group of ionized particles to another in mere blinks of an eye. To be able to do this before his advancement would have taken the full complement of his mental focus, but now, using his remade Soul circuit was as simple as breathing.

His Domain spread around the arena, clumps of crackling plasma floating around his area of control. He could teleport anywhere there was a cluster of ions with nothing more than a thought. His opponent, an Aximilin with a Soul Cast, was doing their absolute best to keep up. Too bad it wasn’t going to be good enough.

The Aximilin had their own impressive Domain of metal overlapping atop his. Preternatural spears of razor-sharp metal sprouted directly from the ground or the air, anywhere his opponent willed it. If not for Jonx’s Quantum Leap Domain, he would have been skewered long ago. But between his blinking around and his extremely solid, violet and gold Gravitic Raiments, the Aximilin just couldn’t touch him.

They went back and forth, sparks of plasma against glinting steel. The Aximilin had their own Reinforcement Soul circuit activated made of metallic plates, all sharp edges and spikes that extended all the way to the tip of their tail. His opponent was a whirling dervish, while he was teleporting around like the energizer bunny.

This match wasn’t very important to him. He already accomplished his short term goals of balancing his circuits. Now, he was only looking to raise his proficiency with the new modified versions.

As the fight wore on, his opponent began to show signs of flagging. Their conjured blades of deadly metal were coming slower by mere fractions of a second, and in a battle at their stages, that was the difference between life and death. Jonx, on the other hand, barely dipped into his ether reserves. Not only did his advancement afford him larger stores, but it also reduced his circuit expenditure — another boon of Highburren’s absorption technique. Moreover, taking in ambient ether at the same time that he was using his circuits was becoming increasingly easier, giving him yet another edge in combat.

Soon enough, the Aximilin’s blades lost more of their luster and speed. It was all Jonx needed for an opening. He instantly flashed behind the metal-covered alien and slammed a Ramjets-boosted roundhouse straight at his opponent’s collarbone, denting their armor and crunching what must have been bones. Instantly, a silvery blade protruded from their back upward at an angle to try and skewer him only to find that Jonx had flashed underneath the Aximilin.

With a swift scissoring motion of his legs, he snapped his opponent’s knee, bending it backwards at a perverse angle. The Aximilin immediately screeched in abject agony, desperately sprouting a veritable forest of steely quills. Jonx didn’t move. He covered his forearms in his modified Chaos Cancel circuit, rapidly bashing away at the metal spikes around him and disintegrating them before they could impale him.

Another blink and he was looming high above the crippled Aximilin. And in one fluid motion, he wound his right arm back, simultaneously summoning his Oscillating Meteorite — a tight, dense ball of hardened ions — and…fwoosh. Like throwing a fastball, he blasted the modified Meteorite at his opponent, smooshing him into the ground. Then in the next instant, his mass of hardened ions began oscillating  — alternately lifting the Aximilin off the ground and slamming them back down into the ground as if an invisible giant was throwing them around like a rag doll.

That was the end of it at that point. The announcer stopped the fight as soon as his opponent lost consciousness, “Winner! Soul Cast Jonkheer!” At the proclamation, the protective ether-shield came down and the noise of the crowd filled the dueling ring. Before the announcer could call for cleanup, Jonx was gone, flickering between a trail of ionic clusters all the way back to the locker room, where he met with his bookie, Renesh, and Highburren.

The four-armed Faliduun angrily waved at him, “Death and blood taxes, Jonkheer! You can’t keep winning like this! Your odds are barely worth the payout anymore! I thought we had an understanding, my friend. What happened?”

Jonx shooed him away, “Bah, get outta here, Ren. I’m just getting some practice in. Next match, I’ll pay you back, don’t worry.” He strode up to the Tropos and stopped just out of reach of her lanky Thenkari arms. “Any suggestions?” he asked expectantly.

Highburren quirked a hawkish eyebrow at him, smirking with her predatory mouth, “You’ve become so bold, manling. Have you forgotten our relationship?”

He rolled his eyes, “C’mon, Highclaw, I may be ignorant in a lot of things, but I’m not a complete idiot. I also know that you have a list of things that I did wrong. Is it so bad to try and improve myself?”

The Tropos smiled ruefully, “Well, just as long as you know your place. And you’re right, I do not begrudge you for wanting to better yourself. Celestials know you need it.” She casually waved her hand in the air and a projected montage of his most recent fights appeared.

What followed was a detailed breakdown of every little thing that he did wrong. Bursting too much ether during a punch. Not pushing enough when he pivoted to dodge something. Teleporting more steps than he needed to. Missed openings. Hits he could have avoided. At some point, Renesh snuck off, bored of the debriefing, though he pinged Jonx’s AI to remind him of the next match.

Kirby took note of every suggestion for later training. Jonx wasn’t put out or offended. This was what he wanted. She knew Etherforging, beyond even Dak-Kalpak’s legacy. While the Exos was a savant in ethertech, especially Scriptsmithing, she was only moderately gifted at Etherforging. Her talent and skills relied on crafting objects of power. Meanwhile, Highburren was a savant of all things Forging and Jonx had learned to squeeze what he could get out of her.

When she tired of hearing herself talk, she made a shooing motion at him to indicate they were done. Before he could register it, she was gone. It wasn’t teleportation but it may as well have been. Even her casual speed exceeded his ability to even perceive her presence. It was a stark display of their difference in strength. Jonx could only shake his head, no matter how much he improved, there was always someone who could squish him like a bug.

Regardless though, he was still satisfied with his recent accomplishments. He wasn’t one to compete with geniuses like Highburren. He only ever wanted to better himself. With that in mind, Jonx pulled up his readout.

Name: Cedrick ‘Jonx’ Jonkheer

AI: Kirby

Class: Master Senex

Professions:

Rank:

1. Culinarian

Master

2. Scriptsmithing (Ancient)

Journeyman

3. Alloywelding

Journeyman

4. Leatherweaving

Novice

5. Synthesizing

Novice

6. Alchemistry

Novice

Body Preparation Realm:

Stage: Ether-Forged x8

Specialized Physique: Potentiation Body (Modified x1)

Grade: Peak

Anatomical Systems Reforged:

Rank:

1. Musculoskeletal

8th

2. Circulatory

8th

3. Nervous (Modified x2)

8th

4. Respiratory

8th

5. Digestive

8th

Body Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Ether Anchor (Modified x2, Peak Grade)

Supreme

2. Chaos Cancel (Modified x2, Supreme Grade)

Journeyman

Crystallized Realm:

Stage: Crystallized x5

Ether Concept:

Dynamo Force

Dual Chambers:

Anatomy Transformed:

1. Brain

Corpus Callosum, Frontal Lobe, Parietal Lobe, Temporo-Occipital Lobe, Brain Stem

2. Heart

Ascending Aorta, Left Atrium, Left Ventricle, Right Ventricle, Right Atrium

Crystal Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Ramjets (Modified x1, High Grade)

Supreme

2. Oscillating Meteorite  (Modified x1, Peak Grade)

Journeyman

Soulforged Realm:

Stage: Soul Cast (Supreme)

Soul Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Quantum Leap Domain (Modified x1, Supreme Grade)

Journeyman

2. Gravitic Raiments (Peak Grade)

Supreme

3. Blank

4. Blank

His progress was phenomenal as far as he was concerned. He felt more powerful than ever before, but knew he still had a ways to go. Looking off in the direction the Tropos disappeared to, he swiftly teleported after her. Highburren had more secrets and he wanted them all.

Aster sat carefully finishing off another branch of circuit carving for her burgeoning Soul Verve. She was sitting in a lotus position, inhaling the surrounding low tier 1 ether, while riding the wave of Masterwork Alchemical and Culinarian products ramping up her sat rate. With her third Soul circuit, Arctic Paintbrush, long since fused, she only had to finish the engraving of her circuit pathways into her Soul Verve to finally be able to advance. It had been a long and tedious process, but she was nearly complete. Looking back on it, Aster had probably consumed more ether with the constant and steady usage her circuit carving required than she had used to achieve her Soul Mold and Soul Cast combined. That was how monumental a task it was to meticulously engrave her Soul Verve. And blissfully, she would be finished soon.

As her Forging aids wound down, she wrapped up her session and took stock of the chambers that had been assigned to her. Her infiltration of the Imperial acquisition forces had been child’s play. With her already an Imperial native, her Master’s Scriptsmithing language allowed her to easily slip into the capital world of Wolfwanna located in one of the outermost star systems of the Intergalactic Imperium.

The brunt of the acquisition forces were primarily stationed in these outer worlds, which were used as resupply depots, information centers and staging areas for their fleet to continuously explore the unclaimed regions of space shared by all of the local Celestial Powers — the Intergalactic Imperium, the Ellimist Protectorate, the Mosaada Dominion and lastly, the Neo-Walan Collective. There were, of course, plenty of other Celestial Powers, but none that shared borders with the Imperium.

It was here on Wolfwanna where she was tasked to wait and watch by her Master. And she had been dutiful in her orders. It had been months since the Exos’ conquest of the Boifonese star system from the Nothlitian Pentumvirate, declaring it her own personal territory. But, by taking it over, her Master had set a countdown for herself. Sooner or later, the Five would come calling. And while her worldship was revolutionary, able to give her the raw might of a low-Celestial, the Five were mid- and high-Celestials themselves. Her Master needed resources to be able to compete. And fast.

Aster knew that the Exos would be plundering the Boifonese system for everything she could, but to simulate the strength of the higher Celestial stages would require far more resources than what a tier 1 system could produce. Thus, she and her fellow core disciples were spread out through the kingdoms of the Celestial Powers to gather intel on new potential resource worlds. It was a long shot of course, but her Master was nothing if not thorough. Contingencies within contingencies.

And as if by some divine will, her Master’s gamble was about to bear fruit. For the last few months, the acquisition forces had been tracking the whereabouts of an unknown, deep space etherpulse that was purported to be from a powerful source of energy. Aster even joined them as a nominal member, using her own personal recon corvette, outfitted for stealth, speed and long ranged travel between systems.

At first, it seemed as though she was chasing shadows. In fact, she had been quite skeptical about her Master’s plan. But if there was one thing she had learned in her time with the Exos, there was no room for insubordination. Her Master expected to be obeyed, end of story. Failure to do so didn’t simply mean death. It meant imprisonment in one of her mindscapes. That was worse than dying. Aster knew from first hand experience. So she heeded her Master’s orders, fulfilling them to the best of her abilities and lo and behold, the Exos had been right and Aster had been ashamed to have ever doubted.

Just this morning the news had come — all Imperial acquisition forces were being mobilized. And though Aster wanted to finish her circuit carving first, she knew she would need to go off-world ASAP. The vanguard fleet was already on their way. But the order was for all forces, which included her false persona. Already, she had transmitted the information to her Master.

The resource planet had been found. And now, it was a race against the other Celestial Powers.

Kettle flew around Jonx’s rented penthouse holo-suite, basking in the sights and smells of piles and piles of steaming hot food from all over the Ellimist mega-system. This was his way of apologizing to the little ether-beast for keeping her cooped up in her ‘pokeball’ for too long. He knew that she didn’t really experience time in there and besides he installed plenty of luxury items to keep her busy just in case, but still, he felt guilty. And so, he decided to spoil the little mutt to her heart’s content.

As the ether-beast frolicked, Jonx reclined in his beanbag chair, thinking on his next two Soul circuit combinations. Now that his remaining Body and Crystal circuits were balanced, he could fuse them without fear. All he needed was some inspiration. But, he was never a perfectionist like Highburren, he was always a pragmatist. And the biggest lesson that she taught him so far was that mistakes could be fixed. It may add another hurdle to his future advancements, but it was always possible to modify, modify, modify.

So with that in mind, he was sifting through Earth culture to look for ideas on how he could combine his circuits. Highburren made it clear during one of their many debriefs that he needed to fuse his last pair of Soul circuits before Soul Verve. In fact, when he informed her of Dak-Kalpak’s legacy, which he’d only jailbroke up to the Soul Verve recordings, Highburren literally laughed in his face.

Apparently, the Exos’ instructions to carefully carve out Soul circuitry into a Soul Verve was not how elementals advanced. But when he pestered her, she simply rebuffed him with a flex of her aura. “You rush like a child too big for its britches, manling. Just yesterday you learned to crawl and here you are asking to fly. Haste is for prodigies and fools. You are most certainly not a prodigy and I’ve been ironing out your foolishness as much as I can. Do not waste my efforts with your propensity for sheer idiocy. Blighted rust, who even knows if you can fuse your abysmal circuit choices together. So, how about you start with that, eh?”

BAM!

Dust and debris suddenly filled his penthouse holo-suite as a hole appeared in the wall he shared with Highburren. Kettle immediately flipped out, screeching in surprise and anger, cannonballing straight at the wall without hesitation only to be stopped dead in her tracks by an impenetrable sphere of wind. “Human!” the voice called out like too close thunder. “Our chance has come! That fat Isurian finally did his job and we have to get going. Now,” Highburren commanded as she strode into his penthouse imperiously.

The Tropos tossed Kettle at his chest, who he caught by pure reflex. “They found it??” Jonx exclaimed.

“Yes, manling! Yes! Pack up, I’m moving us,” she stated matter of factly. Hastily, he put everything away into his storage belt and grabbed ahold of Kettle, summoning his Gravitic Raiments with a protective shell to cover his pet. With a look of determination, he met Highburren’s eyes and gave her a firm nod. And in an instant, he was whisked away, carried by crackling bolts of pink lightning as if he were riding a thunder strike.

In a literal flash, Jonx found himself deposited in front of the Surfer, dazed with smoke rising from his Raiments. “Open up, AI, otherwise I’ll burn a hole in your hull,” Highburren said threateningly. Before she could even finish her command, the hatch came down. Another lightning bolt later and Jonx was in his captain’s chair with Kettle in his lap and Highburren in her cloud-chair. “Jesus, she’s a monster…” he thought to himself.

Kirby took control of the ship without needing prompting, signaling for an opening to be made in the hangar’s ether-shield dome. As they rapidly ascended through the atmosphere of Thenkossa-2, the AI asked, “Where exactly are we going, Tropos?”

Highburren sent the coordinates that Ceswalt had given her and Kirby immediately steered the Surfer towards the closest byway gate. “Uh, I hate to say this, but we may not be allowed to get in. Riftway traffic control is giving me an error. Looks like the byway is too full right now,” the AI reported.

“Pfft, you think I’m so naive that I didn’t prepare for this?” she scoffed. Kirby received a specific etherpulse code then, one she’d purchased from Ceswalt for a ludicrous amount of sRad. The AI sent it to the byway gate station and was immediately given access.

As they entered the familiar multicolored riftway tunnel, Highburren remarked with a completely straight face, “To infinity and beyond,” then she glanced at him and winked, “Eh, manling?”

The look on Jonx’s face was absolutely priceless as Highburren simply chuckled. “Where the hell did you learn that?” he asked, taken aback.

The Tropos simply grinned like a mischievous child, “What did you think I was doing while you were busy learning how to actually be an Etherforger?”

Chapter 27

Tat’us Black

Four massive capital ships orbited around a mysterious planet of swirling green clouds, bright red landmasses and deep blue, nearly black, oceans. The planet itself felt heavy to all the Forgers’ ether senses. A palpable pulsing came from the world, one that crashed against each of the fleets holding steady around their respective motherships. Early on, the different forces of the Celestial Powers learned that only Soulforged could handle the dense etherpulses radiating from something incredibly powerful on the planet’s surface. Sooner or later, any lower realm Forger would become incapacitated, essentially making them deadweight to the expedition. Thus, the majority of the forces arrayed around the planet were low- to mid-Soulforged led by high- or peak-Soulforged. Soulspheres were as rare as phoenix feathers and couldn’t be bothered to be sent to a ‘possible’ resource planet. Even now, if not for the circumstances, Soulforged would have been called upon sparingly as they too were the high-elites.

Rowshee casually slipped his personal corvette amidst the ranks of the other expeditionary ships of the Mosaada Dominion. With his falsified identity and the strength of a Soul Psyche, he was easily one of the highest ranking Etherforgers for the Mosaada, only the Named Souls on the capital ship were stronger than him. As a high ranking member, his access to the local Mosaada network was second to none, letting him quickly download the pertinent intel for the other three forces in orbit.

On Rowshee’s starboard side was a gigantic asteroid, hollowed out and retrofitted with rustic, metalloy domes and silos jutting out at all angles from its rocky surface. Alloywelded walls of toughened glass gave a view of the interior of the asteroid-ship, which belonged to the Ellimist Protectorate. The Ellimist fleet was similarly rustic. Mismatched spacecraft of all shapes and sizes surrounded the asteroid-ship, some in obvious states of disrepair, while others still had their sterling shine to them.

To his port side was the Neo-Walan Collective with their capital ship that was more a gargantuan palace complex than anything else. Situated on a vast rectangular slab of incredibly thick metalloy, the mothership had numerous blocky towers spread out along the walls of a massive battlement. Within the walls were multi-level keeps and even more towers with domed roofs. The surrounding Neo-Walan fleet was made up of similarly themed vessels — modest, two- to five-story keeps with one or two towers attached to them, while smaller ships looked to be more like plain, fortified houses.

Directly across from him was a monolithic, multi-tiered, cylindrical capital ship belonging to the Intergalactic Imperium. Their smaller vessels were of similar make with smooth metalloy surfaces buffed to a mirror-shine. Mid-sized vessels were pylons with orbiting rings, while smaller spacecraft were simply metalloy crescents. Rowshee actually preferred their aesthetic of cold and oppressive stainless steel.

His own corvette would have been more in line with the Imperium, unlike the ponderous edifice that was the Mosaadan capital ship. It was a literal craggy mountain with a pyramidal base. Turrets and towers dotted the cliff face, while its peak housed a spherical command bridge protected by a dense ether-shield. The Mosaadan vessels followed suit, shaped like jagged stalactites and stalagmites, their tips pointed directly at the mysterious planet in their purview.

Rowshee knew that his fellow core disciples were hidden amongst the various Celestial Powers arrayed before him. He also knew that they were given their own sets of instructions by their Master. And though he wasn’t necessarily inclined to believe in their competence, his Master seemed to deem them worthy enough, so what else could he do but obey?

Besides, their assignments were ultimately nothing more than a distraction. As the strongest core disciple present, he had his own, very specific task for the Master. And once the respective fleets broke this little stalemate and sent their forces down to the planet’s surface, he could begin.

Despite leaving Thenkossa-2 within minutes of getting the news, Jonx and company were still forced to travel two weeks through normal space after exiting the closest Ellimist-owned riftway gate. Their destination, the mysterious world tentatively dubbed, Tat’us Black. As the Surfer finally broke through the upper atmosphere of the unexplored planet, hundreds of mismatched spacecraft belonging to the rest of the Ellimist exploratory forces flew alongside them. In fact, all over Tat’us Black, thousands of other ships from the four Celestial fleets shot through the planet’s verdant cloud cover, an unspoken race having started.

Jonx spent those two weeks willingly confined to a turbocharged mindscape of his own creation. It wasn’t nearly as complex as the one he stayed in while trapped by Highburren, but he wasn’t trying to live in it, he was running his Brain Chamber on overdrive to simulate potential Soul circuit fusions. According to Highburren’s nomenclature, he was still missing a Volley and Assembly circuit, since he already had his Domain and Reinforcement ones.

In his mind’s eye, Kirby projected approximate representations of video game, comic book, cartoon and anime characters with their powers translated into possible elemental ether combinations. Was it completely accurate? No, of course not. These were imaginary powers from the depths of Earth’s brightest minds, how could Jonx or Kirby truly depict them?

Instead, Jonx was looking for something that would spark his own imagination with maybe just a teensy bit of appropriation. He got plenty of ideas from his exhaustive search of Earth’s collective imagination. Unfortunately, testing his theories in a mental simulation wasn’t going to cut it. He was going to need real world combat to refine his circuit fusions the way he wanted them to be. Although, as he stepped out of his ship and sent his ether senses out…Tat’us Black might just be what he needed.

Highburren stood next to him as Kettle flew listless circles above them. Immediately, he knew that the pressure of this world was taking its toll on the dogolin. Even he wasn’t completely comfortable under the weight of whatever power had drawn four separate kingdoms to this desolate planet. There was tension in his chest and his shoulders wanted to slouch. Then suddenly, the pressure evaporated as Highburren leaked a bit of her etheraura, only enough to encompass the trio. “I would put your little toy away, manling. This world…it is no place for one so fragile,” the Tropos suggested.

Kettle huffed at her insult, then peered out across the wasteland spread before them filled with rotten, black trees, dry shrubbery and dusty gray dirt. The dogolin seemed to deflate as she floated down to Jonx’s waiting arms. He hugged her to his chest, stroking her muzzle, “It’s ok, girl. I don’t like this place either. It gives me the creeps. If it helps, I put the rest of your treats in your carrier.” Kettle nuzzled her head into his chest, then confidently yipped when she was ready to go inside.

Highburren watched the display of affection with stony silence and once the ether-beast was gone, she said seriously, “This world is not what I expected. I can sense that it is on the brink of collapse, held together by a working of willpower beyond what even I can fathom. This…does not bode well for us, human. Any of us.”

Rapid slithering echoed through a decrepit forest full of detritus with a stench that forced Jibril to shunt off his olfactory senses lest he gag as he pumped his tentacled legs across the landscape. Now that he and the other Ellimist Protectorate forces were on-world, their ether senses and tracking devices were suddenly worthless. They were all too close to the source of power that beckoned them to Tat’us Black. And so, the race between Celestial Powers had become a treasure hunt spanning the globe.

Obviously, there was something wrong with this planet. It was apparent to anyone with a decent ether sense, but it took Jibril a couple of miles to put his tentacle on it — there were no signs of life, anywhere. No matter how far his senses stretched out, all he could feel was the ever present pulsing of the power source they were hunting. This world was dying, though how such a powerful resource still resided here was beyond him.

Once he was far enough through the dead forest, Jibril finally saw what he was looking for — perfectly intact buildings, somehow untouched by whatever decimated the creatures of this world. Husks of rotten trees gave way to perfectly preserved stone structures anywhere from two to four stories tall with the largest of them being just over six. He slid to a halt in a deserted town square, staring up at, what must have been, the most important building in this hamlet.

Jibril landed his ship nearby to explore the area, hoping to find some clues as to what happened on Tat’us Black. Inside the ‘town hall,’ he expected to find data tablets, but what he found instead were…books? Written books. With paper. They were stacked on shelves that lined either side of a long chamber filled with benches and a large table at the far end of the room. Stairs at the other side led upward into the eaves of the building.

“By the Omicron, what kind of underdeveloped world was this?” Jibril wondered aloud. He made sure to grab a few, putting them in his interspatial necklace, before he moved up the stairs. The second floor was equally as bizarre as the first. It was an armory of sorts with rows of mannequins sporting simple but well made Alloywelded armors with barrels of curiously shaped swords, polearms and spears. What Jibril found odd was that they were only Alloywelded, not a line of scriptwork in sight.

He walked up to one mannequin and examined it. “At least that’s one question answered,” he said to no one. The armor was in the shape of a standard biped with a pair of arms, though they were thin in the torso and wide at the shoulders, and their heads must have had narrow snouts as their helmets suggested. Running one of his tentacle-fingers on its chest, the creature was slightly taller than him, which would have put it at nearly seven feet. With a thought, he stowed the armor away and moved onto the weapons.

Again, they were well made as he could still feel the edge on one of the swords, which was a testament to their make as he couldn’t find any scriptwork enchantments that could be responsible for its sharpness or hardness. It was as if these people had yet to discover Scriptsmithing, though that was very difficult for Jibril to believe. Scriptsmithing predated the existence of the Intergalactic Imperium. Celestials above, the ether craft was older than any of the Celestial Powers he’d encountered thus far, which would imply that these armaments were dozens of millennia old. And if that were true, how could they still be shiny and pristine after all of this time?

More stairs on the other side of the armory led upward and Jibril felt compelled to follow. The third floor was simply a series of bedrooms on either side of a narrow hallway. He made sure to check each room though, which had doors made of simple stone slabs that had to be manually slid to the side using premade grooves on the floor. “Savages,” he muttered to himself. The bedrooms were spartan with more upright stone slabs that had hollowed spaces carved in them, matching the dimensions of the creatures who wore the armor downstairs. Apparently, these aliens slept standing up. Within each room were the same pieces of stone furniture — a desk, a bookshelf and a storage chest. Jibril made sure to quickly rummage through every mundane chest only to find crude yet soft Leatherweaved clothing of muted browns and reds.

Floors four and five were much of the same, bedroom upon bedroom, though the fifth floor had slightly larger rooms with an extra piece of stone furniture, either divans or couches. These creatures truly did not like being comfortable. Quickly moving on, as he slithered onto the top floor, Jibril immediately knew what it was used for — a Forging chamber.

Open and spacious, it was a single, large room of masonry supported by thick wooden beams with a number of high-backed stone chairs placed evenly on either side of the space. The chairs faced inward towards several narrow stone slabs that served as a long table with dull ether crystals and empty glass bottles. Overhead, Jibril noticed the only bit of decoration he’d seen in the entire building — three hanging chandeliers festooned with more lifeless crystals.

He imagined that in its heyday, the room would have been dense with energy to allow those strange snouted bipeds a place to advance in peace. Though now, it was nothing but a monument to whatever catastrophe decimated their population. Jibril sat in the nearest chair and took out one the books he grabbed from downstairs. His AI, Elmand, swiftly worked to translate the foreign symbols of the alien’s written language as he casually flipped through the pages, hoping to find out more about their culture.

SCHLIKT.

A sudden numbness crept across Jibril’s body then, along with a deep heaviness as though his limbs had been strapped down by leaden weights. There was no pain, which, in his final moments, he thought was a blessing. He could still move his eyes though, immediately darting to a fiery lance of black and white, smoldering in the middle of his chest. Jibril tried to wiggle one of his tentacled-fingers, but failed miserably. His vision blurred, his eyes wandering to the hanging chandeliers. He could have sworn there used to be three and now there were…nine? That wasn’t right.

SCHLIKT.

A second lance of light and shadows joined the first. And Jibril was lost.

Aster woke up screaming, clawing at the air and flaring her Flashfrozen Domain out of instinct, instantly covering the temple’s antechamber in a thick layer of frost. By the time her heart stopped trying to break free from her chest, she realized she was whole. The last thing she remembered was being pierced through the gut by twin spears made of light and shadows, yet as her plum colored hands roved her body, she couldn’t find any telltale signs of attack. Even her Masterwork Robes of Advanced Frozen Punishment were pristine — no tears or rips anywhere.

“That couldn’t have been my imagination…” she said with obvious doubt in her voice. Then, she saw it. The stone she was laying on used to be white with gold trim and blue carpet laying atop it. Aster openly gaped at the rest of the temple…Everything was now in a washed out gray with darker shades of black in the corners or lighter shades of white by the windows. The only thing of color in this world was her.

Her skin was still a light purple, her hair a royal blue and her Masterwork Robes an icy white with silver trim. She stiffly got to her feet, whirling around the temple to look for any clues. It was difficult to parse her surroundings, regardless of her Soul Verve perceptions, everything was muted to her ether and anatomical senses alike.

The temple itself was exactly how she remembered it before…well, before whatever the phik it was that happened. It had a cavernous interior with arching supports that climbed higher and higher until she was forced to crane her neck to see the curved stonework of the ceiling. Aster originally hoped to gather intel about the desolate world she and the other forces found themselves on, but all she discovered were stained glass depictions of lean muscled, short-furred creatures with wolfish snouts and pointed ears.

This place seemed holy to them. Sacred even. Yet, she didn’t see any illustrations of Celestials in their iconography. All she saw were stained glass images of the lupine aliens bowing down to a star, of all things, as if they were worshipping an almighty being. The idea of that was…primitive. And yet, if these people were actually so antiquated, it would explain why there were no ports or hangars for spacecraft. Somehow, someway, these aliens were so ancient, they had never actually reached the stars that they revered.

Aster had never even known that could be a possibility. There were so many worlds and star systems ruled by various Celestial Powers…how could this planet have gone unnoticed to them until now? Who sent out the ether signature that had called them? It obviously wasn’t these long-dead aliens. Of that, she was certain.

She carefully made her way out of the temple through its wide arched doors and into a world of gray shades. If she thought the planet looked dead before, now it was all dull and dreary. No green clouds, no dusky red dirt. Only black and white.

And then suddenly, a flash of color and Aster was running, her Trappings of Hoarfrost wrapping her Masterwork Robes in powerful icicle armor, while gifting her with the unstoppable momentum of an avalanche. She skidded to a halt in a haze of icy mist just in time to see the unconscious form of a Mosaadan officer appear out of light and shadows.

Aster knew that the Mosaada Dominion was ruled by an August Celestial, much like the Intergalactic Imperium. The Celestial Power governed a single star zone, which contained four smaller star systems. Its main race was, of course, Orvellen — the same species as their August Celestial and the alien that landed right in front of her.

Orvellens were amorphous slimes with humanoid facial features — two eyes, a nose and a mouth, though they were formed from bubbles rather than flesh. Their species were highly skilled Alloywelders and Scriptsmiths because they inhabited the armor they made for themselves. To them, their armor was more of an exoskeleton that was an extension of their anatomy.

The unconscious Orvellen before her had a blue slime head and chest with stone-armor arms and legs covered in scriptwork. Even in this senseless state, the alien was still attached to their exo-armor, showing just how integrated it truly was.

Aster kept her Trappings activated as she inspected the area around the fallen officer. As far as she knew, the Orvellen was still alive, although there weren’t any overt life signs like breathing or a heartbeat that she could discern from a slime. What caught her eye was the lingering outline of black and white flames that hadn’t dissipated with the presence of her ice-ether permeating the area. Even the gray colored dirt and grass had been covered in a thin layer of frost, yet the flames remained, uncaring of her cold.

Just as she leaned down to prod the slumbering Orvellen, another flash of color caught her eye, this time much closer. In a blink, she was there, even before the black and white flames deposited their next victims. Without thinking, she blasted the mass of twilight with her Flashfrozen Domain, indifferent to the captive it held.

That was a terrible mistake. FWOOM.

Aster was thrown back, skipping across the dusty gray ground and ripping up clumps of monochromatic grass. She wasn’t injured, only shocked. It was obvious she’d awoken something.

Out of the dusky flames came a pair of two-dimensional monstrosities looking like black and white drawings that had been colored outside of the lines. Aster couldn’t feel them in her ether senses either, almost as if they were just holes in her perception. Without missing a beat, she cycled her ice-ether and used Arctic Paintbrush, her Assembly Soul Circuit. In an instant, an ice-golem with crudely similar features to herself appeared, armed with a pair of slender icicles for swords.

This was Aster’s version of what her old mentor, Garr, used to do, though this singular ice-golem was far more powerful than the throwaways he conjured. Aster split her mind in two, using one portion to control her frozen clone, which suddenly dashed forward with all of the speed she herself had, leaving icy patches of dirt in its wake.

Meanwhile, Aster summoned her Flashfrozen Domain, covering herself in a swirling blue mist, freezing the water vapor in the air. Pouring more and more ether into the circuit, she conjured frozen steps. And then she was off, running in the air to attack from above as her clone attacked from below.

She was angry at being hauled off into Celestials knew where. And these creatures seemed to be the ones responsible. In the back of her mind, she could feel her Paintbrush clone pouncing. At the same time, she dropped out of the sky like a frozen comet, angling towards the two-dimensional monsters.

Aster strengthened her Trappings, bracing herself for impact, then THWACK, THWACK. Sharp, piercing pain suddenly lanced through her mind and her attack faltered. She thudded against the ground, rolling a ways before coming to stop. The ice-clone had been cleanly sliced into pieces, the backlash of her shattered Soul circuit overwhelming her focus.

Her mind was still reeling, nothing had ever done that so casually. Not since she’d reached Soulforged. Only someone far more powerful than her should have been able to do that, yet these monstrous caricatures weren’t even using ether.

Bing. Bong. Bong.

Twilight blades struck her Trappings of Hoarfrost like a gong, vibrations violently running through her, robbing her of the ability to focus.

Boom, boom, BOOM.

The blades turned into hammers and the vibrations turned into quakes. Her organs felt like they were turning to absolute mush. All she could do was curl up into a ball, cowering against the assault. As a Soul Verve, her bones were sturdy, but her insides were not. Aster’s brain felt like jelly, her consciousness fuzzing in and out. A sharp crack and her jaw broke, her screaming too much for even her advanced Musculoskeletal system.

And then…it stopped.

Her mind was too numb to feel what her tormentors were doing. But eventually, Aster realized she was being dragged. She cracked open a bruised eye to see the trail her body left in the dirt, the claw marks she didn’t even know she’d made. Her mind flashed back to another time, where she was too weak, too powerless to fight. She tried to muster something, anything, just a scrap of willpower. But, all she could feel was numbness as her slack, broken jaw gathered grime and dirt, while two creatures pulled her along, face first, to wherever it was that monsters were born.

Highburren flashed in front of Jonx like a lightning bolt out of a clear sky, knocking aside spears of shadow and light as her etheraura rippled out of her in a palpable wave. “You fool!” she yelled at him, her Thenkari wings flapping to kick up tornadoes made of destructive wind-ether that devastated the field of cartoon monsters drawn straight out of someone’s nightmare.

“These are aimless workings of will! You need to combat them with your own or else they will continue to overwhelm you and you will die,” she berated. Highburren waved a lanky arm as if she were casually swatting away flies and a dozen black and white creatures were torn asunder by wind-scythes. She hauled him up by the scruff of his Masterwork Robes of Advanced Broken Oblivion, easily reaching through his Gravitic Raiments as if they didn’t even exist.

Highburren held Jonx up to meet her hawkish Thenkari eyes, “I swear to all of the Celestials above, if you do not stop wasting my time, I will leave you to these soulless devils. You have been seeking a way to sharpen your willpower, have you not?” She bodily threw him into a crowd of gray-washed creatures. “Then, you’d better get to grinding, manling! Otherwise, this mindless Celestial circuit will be your tomb!”

Jonx picked himself up from the dull and dusty ground, spitting out a bright spot of red blood, the only color in this world aside from Highburren and himself. The Tropos was occupying the vast majority of the sea of two-dimensional monsters they were facing, her willpower providing an unmistakable current in the air. She had been the one to realize why Tat’us Black felt so wrong. It wasn’t the rotten trees or conspicuously missing species of Anubis-like aliens. No, according to Highburren someone powerful had cloaked the entire planet in a circuit of some kind. One that worked autonomously towards a single purpose, infused with a will so great that even now, after who knew how long, it was still operational. Despite exercising his willpower, he had little defense against one so far beyond him. Only Highburren could fend for herself, but he was a burden to her. She couldn’t focus on saving him and herself at the same time.

He needed to step it up.

His etheraura suddenly pushed out of him, the metaphysical manifestation of his will driving back the heavy pressure that he’d been feeling his entire time on-world. It had only worsened since transitioning to this hidden version of the planet, one created by the Celestial circuit. On instinct, he twisted to the left as a lance of black streaked in white pierced where his heart used to be. Jonx used his Quantum Leap Domain, flickering away to give himself some space. Half a dozen monsters of twining shadow and light prowled towards him.

Jonx hastily partitioned his mind eight ways — this wasn’t the time to cut corners. One extended his etheraura to cover himself, allowing him to move as unhindered as possible. Another three controlled his Domain and Raiments, while exerting more willpower through them. Meanwhile, he held the rest on standby. Glancing at his opponents, he was going to need them. These creations had no ether to speak of, no circuits. Hell, they were a circuit, though only in the loosest translation of the word as far as Jonx was concerned. All he had to lean on was his will.

They dashed at him then, six pairs of arms that could transform into anything — slashing, thrusting, bashing. Yet none of them touched him. He rapidly blinked from ion cluster to ion cluster, reacting instantaneously with the help of his Brain Chamber, vanishing and disappearing dozens and dozens of times. He couldn’t teleport far, not with the suffocation of this muted world. Jonx could only travel as far as his aura extended. It was a tight squeeze, but he was managing it. Somehow.

Meanwhile, his enemies kept up their assault, unaffected by his teleporting. They couldn’t tire. They couldn’t run out of energy. And they couldn’t get angry or annoyed. They were absolute monsters in every sense of the word.

With an idea brewing, Jonx hurriedly teleported above the half dozen creatures, then used another trio of mind partitions to combine a potential fusion he had in the works. Using his Ramjets to quickly craft shells of force-ether, he stuffed them with energy, coating them in his Chaos Cancel circuit. When he was ready, he balled up his right hand and punched.

Instantly, a purple and yellow fist the size of a pickup truck snapped into reality, reinforced by his will, and hammered into three creatures, crumpling them like paper drawings. Immediately after that, a second golden violet fist rained down, one from his left hand, to crush the other three.

Previously, his Chaos Cancel alone had not been sufficient enough, but mixed with his Ramjets and infused by his will, it now seemed to do the trick. Unfortunately, he needed to conserve his ether. Even though he was simultaneously absorbing energy as he used it, this world seemed to have a hold on its ether stores, as if it didn’t want to share. It made taking in the ambient energy like trying to suck in water through a very thin straw — some came in, but not much.

Jonx caught sight of Highburren in the distance, still effortlessly holding back a veritable horde of the black and white shades. He quickly flickered in her direction, switching off his Raiments to save on ether expenditure, while downing an Expertwork Draught of Endless Energy.

As soon as he got into range, he hammered the back of the mob with man-sized projections of fists, palm strikes and axe-hands — each attack carrying a sliver of his intent. He waded into their ranks, crumpling more of the two-dimensional monsters with his force and void. It barely made a dent. Jonx was a man shoveling water in an ocean.

Once whatever primitive intelligence binding the creatures realized what he was doing, a chunk of the horde turned in his direction. “Fuck!” he cursed inwardly. Jonx hastily covered himself in his Gravitic Raiments again, stressing his ether reserves once more. If not for his recent advancements and Highburren’s teachings, he would have already run out of energy. As it stood now, he still had some in the tank. Enough for this at least.

His Brain Chamber spun his thoughts faster, the shades’ assault slowing down to a crawl in his perception. Even in that split second, four of them managed to close the distance, caught mid-leap and inching ever closer. Jonx held his hands out to either side, the gesture helping him sharpen his intent. Then, he pulled ether from his Chamber, flooding the pathways for his Oscillating Meteorite and Ether Anchors simultaneously.

A series of dots surrounded him, rapidly pulling in neon colored ions until there were six separate clumps of dense, coruscating particles arrayed before him in a semi-circle. He then covered them in dodecahedron shells made from his Ether Anchors, weaving in fragments of his intent throughout the potential fusion of his circuits.

In a sudden rush, he released the time dilation of his Brain Chamber and flexed.

The four closest monsters suddenly accelerated faster than normal, their trajectories veering to the nearest cluster of ions — the pull of gravity too much for their flimsy bodies. More shades rushed in headlong, oblivious of his barricade. Jonx deactivated his Domain and kept his Raiments on low, so he could focus more power into his combination.

Within a matter of seconds, tens of shades were glued to his Anchor-Meteorite fusion, before he activated the Oscillations. Back and forth, push and pull, their insubstantial forms were thrown around until they were nothing more than smears of black and white ink. Jonx still had about half his reserves left, but his mental fortitude began to flag. His willpower was overtaxed, strained from the effort of moving through the miasma of a stronger will.

Just as he was about to release his circuits…slurp, slurp. The amorphous blobs of ink were pulled into his Anchors and suddenly he felt a rush of adrenaline as if he’d just taken shots of espresso back to back. “Oh, that’s dangerous…” he thought to himself. Jonx felt like a drug addict jonseing for another taste. He was always under the impression that his Anchors could only absorb ether, but never had he tried to take in something as ineffable as willpower. Though, he also never combined this many facets of his power.

Instantly rejuvenated, he spread his ionic clusters further out into the crowd of monsters, disrupting their ranks even more and giving Highburren a chance to make her way to him. By the time they met up, Jonx had a loose ring of his Anchor-Meteorites keeping the shades at bay with a constant stream of attraction and repulsion. All of his other circuits were off, leaving his ether for only this combination.

The Thenkari Tropos walked up to him, looming, and laid a clawed hand on his shoulder, “Took you long enough, human. Finally, you’re not deadweight.”

Chapter 28

Army of Twilight

This iteration of Ebon-Izar wore the shape of a thickly muscled Maktei, one of the prime races of the Neo-Walan Collective. He sculpted this form to have marbled stoneskin of onyx and alabaster with a long, swishing tail for balance and back-angled knees that forced him to walk on his clawed toes, but also allowed for increased speed and acceleration. His scalp was adorned with a single, pointed horn that swept backwards along the ridge of his skull, stopping just at the nape of his neck. All in all, Ebon-Izar was pleased with the race of Maktei.

Throughout his long life, he’d worn countless skins and faces as his iterations hunted for sustenance in the vast cosmos. His main body, of course, was off in a far away galaxy, feeding on heavenly bodies. But he would need a new direction to move to soon, as it was getting close to the end for the unfortunate star-system he was devouring. Soon, its ether-star would implode and his main body would swallow the last vestiges of energy whole. If he didn’t have another morsel ready and waiting after that though…well, no creature in the universe would want to see a hangry August Celestial.

Ebon-Izar wandered through Tat’us Black, exploring the dead world. Wherever he saw flashes of black and white, unconscious aliens would be dragged away to the beacon that collected and stored their energy. When any of the shades noticed him, they would kowtow, as was only proper when in the presence of their creator, even if this was simply a minor iteration. He was not planning on encountering one of his innumerable beacons, yet here he was, pulled to this out-of-the-way world by pure chance.

This form was not even ready to be here. He barely advanced through the mid-Soulforged realm, only freshly a Soul Psyche not a year gone. But, Ebon-Izar joined the Neo-Walan exploratory forces because of possibilities like this. The entire goal of having so many iterations spread throughout the cosmos was to search for new resources for his main body to consume. And he wasn’t the only August Celestial that did that. There were countless of his brethren with their own iterations out there, exploring the universe, racing against the others to find another source of ether suitable for August Celestials of their stage.

Regardless, he was here now and he would make the most of it. If his beacon was actively transmitting an ether signature blatant enough for the local Celestial Powers to notice, then that could only mean one thing — the gemstone was nearing capacity and would soon be ready to be harvested. He was certain that his main body would come along at some point. But for now, his job would be to collect the beacon for safekeeping.

While even his ether senses were muted in the presence of a Celestial circuit, regardless of the fact that he shared a will with the circuit’s creator, Ebon-Izar could still follow the trail of Genesis creatures dragging off their unconscious victims towards the beacon itself. Taking to the washed out skies of Tat’us Black, he propelled himself by a meager Reinforcement Soul circuit, Sunshadow Regalia, riding on rays of light- and shadow-ether.

At the speed he was traveling, it took Ebon-Izar nearly half a day to reach the beacon embedded in the center of a mountain range, easily towering over all of the other peaks. From his vantage point, he could discern black and white creatures crawling up the side of the beacon to access the open hatch at its center. He knew these soulless brutes by another name — the Army of Twilight’s Reign, born from a Celestial circuit of Genesis.

The beacon they were clambering up was similar to the one he, himself, carried in a special interspatial ring made specifically for this grand piece of ethertech. All iterations of Ebon-Izar had these beacons created by the August Celestial to collect and store a whole world’s worth of ether so that he may one day come and feast.

As he landed, the pitiful wails of Etherforgers reached his ears. Here in the bowels of the beacon, hundreds and hundreds people from all of the Celestial Powers were being held captive, awaiting their turn to be added to the monolithic tier SSS ether gemstone embedded in the ceiling, which shone a vibrant turquoise light. This was the only place in this plane of existence that had color right now. The Celestial circuit, Genesis: My Army of Twilight’s Reign, had been written into the very walls with Supreme-level scriptwork, originally activated by a different iteration and powered by the remnants of an August Celestial’s will.

Watching all of the moving parts, the iteration of Ebon-Izar understood his role at this exact moment. These Forgers needed to be processed as quickly as possible. In fact, everyone on the planet would need to be brought in so that the gemstone could finish charging. Knowing himself, his main body would want every morsel of ether available. And if this iteration could fill the gemstone to the brim…well then, it would be a life well lived.

No matter how confident Highburren was of fighting the black and white shades, there was no way for her to compete with a seemingly endless supply of enemies. And even if she could, Jonx couldn’t. Unlike her, he had a limited amount of ether and needed to stop to absorb more every few battles.

They’d slogged their way northwest from where they first entered this drab version of the real Tat’us Black. It was still surreal for Jonx to think of this as an actual circuit. No matter how many times Highburren explained it, it was just too unbelievable. How could anyone, regardless of their advancement, make an entire plane of existence? This was more than just a riftworld, which were usually the size of small continents or large islands. This was an entire planet with its own ecosystem and a population of monstrous drawings. What would he have to do to be able to attain this kind of power? Was it even possible?

As if the Tropos read his mind, she ripped off a piece of jerky in her sharp teeth and spoke while chewing, “You see it now don’t you — how you have been nothing but a frog in a well.” She swallowed, then tore off another bite, before waving her hand around to indicate the world around them, “This is what you can expect at the end of our Ways. The power of creation and, by association, utter destruction. I do not know where to even begin. The Celestial Ascension realm is so unfathomably far, even for me. But to experience this circuit, it…inspires me.”

Highburren craned her Thenkari neck and stared into the distant grayscale sky, “My instincts itch in here, as if they are reaching for something, trying to tear the curtain off of that which is impeding my vision. But, I am not ashamed to admit that I am too far beneath the Celestial who made this world. I can only hope to bask in their power and memorize this feeling for when my own time comes to advance.”

They sat quietly on a dull gray boulder for a long moment, Jonx having forgotten his own piece of jerky, until Highburren swallowed the rest of her snack and sighed to break their introspection. “Come,” she said, placing her clawed hands on her lanky knees to stand up, “We have more ground to cover before we reach these monsters’ destination.”

Rowshee bowed deep on his floating disc, touching his bulbous forehead against the cool, slick metalloy as he spoke to a holographic projection of his Master, “My Lady Exos, it is done. I followed your instructions diligently and the path will soon be open to you.”

The figure of a sleek, matte grey cyborg with deep violet highlights and metallic hair that trailed down her back paced the perimeter of his workshop on his corvette, which took up nearly two-thirds of the entire ship, equipped with interspatial chests filled to bursting with  materials for every ether craft known to Clovenkind. Her purple eyes never left the piece of ethertech in question. It was the size of a large door, consisting of five concentric rings that quickly spun in alternating directions to give it the image of a gyrating sphere.

Dak-Kalpak knew that each ring held finely detailed scriptwork, ultimately linking together to form a complex series of arrays that would deliver her to any destination she desired. She understood the ethertech like the back of her hand and why shouldn’t she? She was the one who designed it in the first place. Rowshee had merely built it with the help of her precise instructions.

The Exos continuously gestured through the holographic transmission, a clear indicator that she was scrutinizing Rowshee’s work to check and double check. She was a Supreme crafter in Alloywelding, Scriptsmithing and Alchemistry, she would not trust anyone’s work until they passed her inspection. Long minutes ticked by in silence as Rowshee remained in his kowtow, not wanting to interrupt his Master.

Eventually she completed her rigorous assessment and stood back in front of Rowshee’s prostrated form, “You have done well, disciple. It will serve my purpose nicely. Now, are you prepared for the next phase?”

Rowshee eagerly nodded his head against the floor, “Yes, Master. All is as you commanded. The others are on-world, ensuring its readiness for you.” Though he did not voice the fact that none had checked in since their initial contact with the alien world. But, he dared not admit that. His Master was quick to reign down punishment and he would not be blamed for the others’ shortcomings. Besides, once she was here in person, any opposition would be easily quelled. He hastily returned to his report, “I have also placed myself in prime position to carry out your command. Just say the word.”

The Exos steepled her fingers and said, “Excellent, disciple. You may begin. Contact me as soon as the device is in place. I dare not dally more than I’ve already been forced to. Exos, out.”

Her hologram blinked off and Rowshee was already zipping away on his floating disc. He had so much to do and so little time. Quickly, he grabbed any necessities he might need for his mission from his various interspatial chests, stuffing his own storage rings full.

As soon as he felt ready, Rowshee rapidly downed a Masterwork Elixir of Simmering Potential, followed by a Masterwork Plillobola Bread, one of his personal favorites. Immediately, he felt the rush of regeneration, though this combination was meant for a steady, longer lasting boost meant for prolonged missions rather than the more exponential augmentations when battling.

With a thought, he cycled his ether to activate Steelshell Chassis, his Reinforcement Soul circuit. His metal-ether was a distinct permutation of earth-ether, one that required a high level of insight to achieve. If not for his time with the Exos while he was in the lower realms, he would never have been able to comprehend the advantages afforded by metal-ether. Since his infancy in Etherforging, he was able to observe her fine-tuned manipulation of metalloy as she delicately wove threads of steel into her very flesh before she was reborn anew in her current facsimile of her original cyborg body. Since then, Rowshee had been obsessed. It wasn’t until he reached the Soulforged realm that he could truly delve into the wonders of metal-ether.

At his command, his Steelshell Chassis coalesced into sheets of overlapping armored plates starting along his oversized shell and head, then out to his stubbier arms and legs. The usual circular disc he rode on to get around was subsumed by his Chassis, transforming into a flat, oblong shape with a peaked nose that would improve his aerodynamics when traveling at high speeds in the atmosphere. Of course, in space it didn’t matter, but he still liked the shape.

As soon as the last bit of metal-ether clinked into place, Rowshee was off, racing through space towards the Mosaadan capital ship. He already knew the floor plans inside and out, his AI simply provided a three-dimensional map to point him towards the outer hatch he needed. As a Soul Psyche of their expeditionary forces, he was given high enough clearance to access nearly every part of the capital ship. And why wouldn’t they let him in? He’d been undercover for years already, had joined a number of missions with most of the senior officers currently deployed in orbit. Celestials, he’d even saved a few from space pirate ambushes out in the fringe systems of the Mosaada Dominion. It was always those closest that were the first to betray.

Before he even reached his intended ingress point, he etherpulsed the security code and silently slid inside the capital ship. The mountainous vessel was practically empty, since most of their forces would be on-world. Only the Named Souls would have stayed onboard and they would be located towards the ship’s peak, not in the bowels of the spacecraft close to the engine room. Rowshee made sure to keep his ether signature dampened as best as he could while he was using his Soul circuit. He dared not use more than one, lest the Named Souls detect any subtle disturbances in their senses. As an added precaution, he wore a Masterwork Amulet of Advanced Innocence, which was a piece of ethertech from Alloywelding jewelers with a Scriptsmith enchantment that augmented his dampening to fool anyone under the Celestial Ascension realm.

The halls were lined by the same craggily stone as the rest of the mountain-ship, though the flooring was a more modern and sleek metalloy. His mastery of metal-ether told him it was pewyx, the fifth toughest metal in Alloywelding. Rowshee avoided touching down altogether, swiftly dashing through the passageways on his Chassis-board. He was moving on autopilot — right down the fifth intersection, down the third thruster shaft, left at the second cluster of tubing, on and on.

It never occurred to him that a blighted ethertechnician would be down here running routine maintenance checks!

Rowshee drastically slowed down, then hastily angled upwards towards the cavernous ceiling, pressing his shell between two stalactites that were tipped in ether crystals for lighting. “Death and blood taxes, they don’t have service droids to do this phikkin grunt work?” he cursed inwardly.

A bintsniffing Scregun was hunched over an open panel embedded directly into the rocky walls of the passage, fiddling with lines of scriptwork that seemed to be flickering. There was obviously power leaking somewhere along the line, which explained why an actual ethertechnician had to show up.

Screguns were a six-armed, two-legged insectoid species with carapace shells of rocks, gems and occasionally metallic ores. Rowshee knew from experience that they could use their lower pair of arms as a second pair of legs, which increased their speed and agility at least twofold.

Without much hesitation, Rowshee knew what needed to be done. Fine strings of metal-ether spun into existence through his Sterling Extensions, his Assembly Soul circuit. Before the Scregun could even react, Rowshee’s Extensions pierced directly into the ethertechnician’s ear, then straight into their brain, killing them instantly. Those same Extensions caught the lifeless body before it could fall on the floor, carrying it up towards the ceiling so that Rowshee could stow it away. He would look through their storage items later when he had time. Right now though, he needed to get a move on.

As fast and quietly as he could, he zigzagged between stalactites to avoid any further people who shouldn’t be there, until finally he was in the main engine room. Capital ships like these were usually run on exceedingly refined ether gemstones, ones that could handle the energy of anyone up to peak-Soulsphere or even low-Celestial, which would put the quality of gemstone at tier S at the very least. This Mosaadan mountain had four separate gem cores the size of houses, each one worth an entire low tiered planet, maybe even more. They were encased in Alloywelded tenfold tempered glass with thick Scriptsmithed tubing to direct their potent energies to all over the ship.

Following the connection ducts, Rowshee could tell which gemstones were powering the thrusters and which was maintaining the ship’s systems. Then, he promptly ignored those because he was trying to not call down any Named Souls. Rapidly working his way through the other two gems, he found the one he was searching for.

In a blink, Rowshee was in front of a panel with large scriptwork adorning its cover to act as manual controls. These capital ships were massive investments for any Celestial Powers’ fleet. As such, they carried a personal byway gate that served as an emergency escape back to their respective kingdoms.

Rowshee took out his Master’s specialty ethertech device, powering it up with his own energy. The five concentric rings spun faster and faster until it was a whistling sphere. He placed it directly atop the control panel and it simply phased through as if it were a figment of his imagination. Once it was completely inside, the whistling grew to a loud hum as the entire control panel began to vibrate uncontrollably.

In the next instant, the tier S gemstone in front of him began to rattle, black veins spreading across its aquamarine surface — the sign of his Master’s influence. This was it. He quickly pulled out his long-ranged communicator to signal the Exos. And as soon as he did, the ground trembled.

He knew the Named Souls sensed that as alarm bells sounded to echo his own thoughts. Rowshee didn’t care anymore. No matter what they did now, it would be too late. Still though, he quaffed an extra Masterwork Elixir…just in case.

The trembling turned into rumbling, then KABOOM…the sound of the side of the capital ship exploding.

Rowshee dashed towards the explosion hoping to get there before any Named Souls. As he streaked from out of the ship and into the void of space, the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen greeted him — a riftgate big enough to at least fit a capital ship and hopefully even a worldship.

The monochrome mountains made it difficult for Jonx to discern any details as they weaved their way through a ravine, following a rutted trail formed by a constant stream of dragged bodies. He lost count how many helpless aliens he’d seen as he and Highburren made their way to those mountains. They fought the shades as needed, but stopped seeking them out long ago. It was obvious after so many battles that the monsters didn’t truly care about them. They preferred to go after easier prey that they could effortlessly keep unconscious. It was not lost on him that if not for Highburren’s lessons, he would have been just another victim like the others.

This close to the mountain range, they no longer needed to follow the creatures. It was extremely obvious where they were going. A massive domed pillar eclipsed every single peak in the range. And if that wasn’t obvious enough, the edifice was also metallic fucking blue — the only color in his surroundings that Jonx had seen in weeks in this godforsaken colorless world.

By the time they snuck over a ridge, hidden from sight with their ether signatures dampened, Jonx realized that their precautions meant nothing. There were no patrols or any form of security at all around their mountain base. And why should there be? Jonx and Highburren were in a world created specifically by these shades for these shades. What did the monsters need to be cautious about?

A constant stream of shades clambered up the sheer wall of the monolithic pillar, which Jonx realized was actually an enormous pill-shaped building. There was an open hatch the size of hangar bay doors at its center, which the shades were hauling their unconscious victims into. Jonx couldn’t quite make out what was happening inside the structure, but Highburren had no such difficulties with her superior vision.

“They’re sacrificing them,” she reported, unperturbed at the thought. Jonx leaned forward as if he could discern something, “What do you mean ‘sacrificing?’ To what, a blood altar or something? Isn’t that a little too demonic?”

Highburren spared him a glance, “Blood? What savages would care about someone’s blood? They’re being drained of their ether, obviously. You truly are a strange one, manling.”

She intentionally blinked several times and a ping suddenly came to his HUD. It was a video with Highburren’s heightened Soulsphere vision, detailing the operations within the pill-building. Lines of glowing scriptwork covered every inch of the interior, tracing their way to the ceiling where a gargantuan aquamarine ether crystal hung suspended. A row of tables floated in midair, strung up by strings of light and darkness, with motionless bodies of different shapes laid helplessly atop them. The massive crystal pulsed in time with the tables, wisps of energy leaving each body to be sucked into the gem above. Jonx observed with rapt attention as each of the aliens withered away into husks of their former selves. Their dearth of vital energy leaving them with flaking or crumbling skin and exoskeletons alike. It was morbid and gruesome, but he couldn’t look away. When the first arm disintegrated, it was like a domino effect and other limbs began turning to dust on every alien body. Apparently, that was the signal to take the row of tables away and bring in the next set.

“Jesus Christ…That is a lot of ether. Just doing some quick math…if those are all Soulforged down there…I mean, what could they even need all of that for? They’re mindless fucking monsters!” he exclaimed. Highburren observed silently, intentionally blinking a few more times to get more recordings. “I do not know, but that must be quite the ether crystal…” her voice trailed off, eyes hungry, boring holes into the structure as if she could taste the energy.

Jonx did not like that look one bit. “Woah, woah, woah,” he said, waving his hands preemptively, “Please don’t tell me you want to actually go into that fucking hellhole.”

She quirked an eyebrow at his demeanor, replying in a condescending tone, “Why, then, are we even here, manling? This world may not be a new home for me, but that ether crystal down there is a treasure beyond reckoning. Are you so spineless that you cannot see its value?”

Jonx pointed accusingly towards the direction of the building, “That’s a goddamned death trap no matter how you look at it, Highburren! That much energy isn’t worth my life!”

The Tropos sent over some more videos to his HUD and said, “Look there, human. There are nothing but shades operating the equipment. And all of those Forgers? I would bet they’re mostly mid-Soulforged. Poorly trained ones too if they succumbed to such mindless intent. Nothing down there can even come close to me in power. But that is besides the point. I am not asking for your opinion. I am telling you that we are going down there.”

That shut him up fast. Regardless of their pseudo-mentorship, she was still the most powerful being on-world. And he wasn’t in any position to refuse her. Not because of any fear per se, but because he’d promised to help her in earnest. Jonx was just holding onto his own initial fear and anxiety. Highburren was right — she was the most powerful Etherforger on the planet. There was no real reason to be so timid.

To occupy his mind and maybe settle his emotions, he watched the newest videos to get a better lay of the land. The interior of the structure was filled with unconscious bodies laid down in neat rows on the floor and strung up all along the walls, organized in tidy columns, held by shackles of black and white.

His eyes went straight to the races of the Ellimist Protectorate — the shadowy Aximilins, the rotund Isurians, the orcish Zengu, the harpy-like Thenkari, the Faliduun gnomes and the mushroomed Ossaedin. He recognized some bug-like Screguns and Orvellan golems from the Mosaada Dominion. From the Neo-Walan Collective, there were stoneskinned Maktei and fluid-like Inkai. He’d seen other aliens being dragged like lifeless sacks of potatoes while they were traveling to get here. Kirby provided what information he could, but Jonx wasn’t exactly keeping track of them all.

Watching the recording, his eyes landed on a diminutive alien that he hadn’t seen in a very long time. Decades at this point. But, he knew a Seerowan when he saw one. Purple colored night elves straight out of World of Warcraft, only they were five feet or shorter. Once he registered the first Imperial alien race, he quickly identified others — tentacled Taxons, ninja turtle Warlatans, gaseous Maheens, draconian Horks and even slime-like Alothians.

He knew that the Intergalactic Imperium was on-world because of their fleet in orbit, but he had somehow missed seeing these races being hauled off by the shades. It seemed so unlikely, yet here they were. The only reason he could imagine was that the Imperium landed on the complete opposite side of Tat’us Black from him. When he and Highburren transitioned into this grayscaled plane, they didn’t change their actual location compared to the real world.

The recording continued inspecting the captives, who were organized by species. As it panned across the Seerowans, one of them tickled something in the back of his mind. Without hesitating, he rewound the video, paused and zoomed in.

“…Aster?”

Chapter 29

The Exeter

“So, now that you know that one of those poor bintsniffers is some weakling you’re acquainted with, all of a sudden, you cannot wait to join me in my conquest?” Highburren asked smugly. “How very droll, manling.”

Jonx just bit his tongue and rolled his eyes. This wasn’t the time to have a petty squabble. His back was pressed up against the base of the metallic blue edifice, which now that he was up close and personal, he realized was actually a gigantic piece of ethertech. There were lines of fine scriptwork even on the outside and he could tell how absolutely immaculate the Alloywelding was of the actual metal. This was beyond anything he’d ever seen. The skill and precision were out of this world.

Highburren sighed, “Fine, human, fine. You’re so serious about something that will be comparatively easy.” She pointed a thin Thenkari claw up at the structure’s open hangar, “Once you teleport up there and sow some chaos, I’ll follow suit to clear the rabble. When I get a clear shot, don’t die while I collect my prize. Simple, no?”

“Oh sure, real easy, Highburren. I get to fight a horde of monsters that are all technically more powerful than me, while you get to be a kid in a candy store — can’t wait,” he replied sarcastically. She roughly clapped him on the shoulder, “Bah! You have been sharpening your will these last weeks using your phikkin cheat circuit. Neither of us could have dreamed of this mirror-world being such a fortuitous whetstone for your mental fortitude. Already, you have proven to be more capable than all of those pathetic excuses of Etherforgers being held captive — your ‘friends’ included. You know it, deep in your Soul Cast. Trust the power you’ve taken for yourself, human.”

Jonx felt an unexpected heat in his chest. Was that…pride? He never thought that Highburren would speak so highly of him. Not after all of her degrading comments during their time together. He smiled a genuine smile then, “Thank you for that, Highburren. I- I needed that. Alright, I think I’m-”

Highburren unceremoniously tossed him straight up into the air like a missile without any warning. “SHIIIII…!” he yelled before he got his wits about him and activated his Quantum Leap Domain. Jonx immediately swore to himself, “That bitch! She was just buttering me up to distract me!” But, the damage was done and he was fast approaching the bottom lip of the hangar bay. Black and white shades turned their ghoulish two-dimensional heads in his direction while still carrying their unconscious victims, but none could react fast enough. Already, he was flickering up the last few dozen feet, using progressively higher ion clusters to teleport to, almost like his own personal ladder.

Within a matter of seconds, he was inside, blazing with his etheraura to combat the ever-present pressure of a Celestial’s residual will. Hundreds of shades instantly stared at him then as if startled by his sudden presence. It was…awkward. Stupid, even. One man against so many. But the tension barely lasted a split-second before the first shade pounced. And as soon as that happened, it was on.

The living black and white drawings jumped at him, some dashing in head-on, others flanking him on either side and still others swooping in from above. Without hesitation, Jonx spun his mind into his eight partitions, holding his palms splayed in front of him as his perception of the world slowed to a crawl. Bright neon ions came to life, inextricably attracted to each other by the weight of his will, until a dozen spheres of Oscillating Meteorites snapped into place, only to be immediately covered by multi-faceted geometric Ether Anchors.

He mentally flexed and the shades’ assault broke.

In an instant, whatever willpower he expended to perform that maneuver, recouped. He was just warming up. Highburren wasn’t wrong in her seemingly phony praise of him — he had improved in these short weeks. The unintended benefit of his Anchor-Meteorite combination was a cheat. And he was going to exploit the living crap out of it.

At that moment, his HUD pinged, “Don’t die.”

He rolled his eyes as shades were slurped up by the rapidly alternating attractive and repulsive forces of his circuit combination. “Thanks for nothing ya crazy fuckin’ windbag…” he thought to himself. Suddenly, a flash of his Gravitic Raiments came on, just a small floating plate of golden violet that parried an assault from his back. “Damn, I forgot about the-”

“Jonxy, you forgot about the shades climbing up,” his AI so ‘helpfully’ interrupted him. Apparently, he was surrounded by comedians.

He didn’t let them distract him though and covered himself in his full Raiments in the shape of his preferred overlapping, samurai-inspired platemail. One of his mind partitions leaked a bit of his willpower into his Soul circuit, strengthening it against the shades’ own mindless intent. A different part of himself formed another dozen Anchor-Meteorites to cover his flank just in case.

Kirby chimed in suddenly, “40%, Jonxo.” He was hemorrhaging ether with his wanton disregard of circuit usage. But, he was also fighting a goddamned horde of nightmare monsters, so who cared?

Out of the corner of his vision, one of his partitions spied the helpless aliens laying on their tables waiting to be the next victims of the humongous ether crystal hanging high above his hectic battle.

This was not the time for moral ambiguity.

That same partition spread out his Quantum Leap Domain, aiming a series of ion clusters that would lead him closer to the aliens.

In a handful of flashes, he hovered just above them, tossing out a fan of regular Ether Anchors into the unconscious Etherforgers. They were about to be fed to a massive battery anyway — why not feed his reserves first. Jonx had no illusions that this was some ‘rescue mission,’ even though he hoped in his heart of hearts that he could at least get to Aster. No, this was Highburren’s mad smash-and-grab for a chance at a treasure beyond goddamned compare and he was simply her willing accomplice.

His energy stores surged with the power of nine Soulforged, each one more than a match for him in any other situation save this one. The shades weren’t just going to wait for him though. Caricature-bodies crawled out of grooves along the walls to attack him in midair. In one swift motion, Jonx responded with a flurry of purple-gold palm strikes in all directions, formed by his Ramjets and Chaos Cancel combination, instantly disintegrating large swathes of the creatures into inky splotches.

Jonx was getting impatient with his partner-in-crime. He could have sworn he’d been battling for several long minutes, but in truth, it had been less than one. His warped perception of time was a double-edged sword in that regard. Just as more shades crawled out of the woodworks, Highburren finally made her entrance in a flash of pink lightning and navy blue clouds. Apparently, she chose to show her true form, which meant she was serious for once.

He wasn’t certain if that was a good or bad thing.

Four smoldering capital ships listed to one side or another, their engines destroyed and their skeleton crews subdued. Squadrons of Soulforged-level Raidrian cephalopod-drones flew through the remnants of the four Celestial Power fleets, ensuring that no Forgers were left free to cause any problems. Meanwhile, their larger brethren were attached to the bigger spacecraft with several latched onto the capital ships to accommodate for their increased surface areas. Leviathan tentacles wrapped each vessel, siphoning energy and transmitting it back to her worldship — the Exeter-Mu.

As the eldest of the living Raidrians, Exos Dak-Kalpak had stood as their de facto leader for millennia. Even during her time reincarnating, she was still considered the First Sister. Flashes of her youth came unbidden as she floated weightlessly amidst the ruined Celestial fleets.

Eons ago, a long-dead low-Celestial encountered their home planet, in search  of an easy conquest. She and her people had known of other beings back then. It had been a theory for centuries at that time. How could it not? The Raidrians were once made of flesh and carapace like many other alien races. But, they evolved beyond their meager means once the first of their kind made the first breakthrough — the melding of a Soulsphere with ethertech.

After her discovery, it was a matter of decades before the rest of her race followed suit. At first, the only requirement was to reach Soulsphere. But Dak-Kalpak remained at the forefront of her research, refining her cyborg body over and over, teaching others of her techniques with Alloywelding and Scriptsmithing.

Centuries passed and they were able to even bear their children into prepared cyborg bodies that would grow with them through at least the Body Preparation realm. This was the height of their civilization. She remembered her race fondly as crafters, artists and inventors.

Then, Kubit Reyl the Mu came with crippling rime and devastating rain.

His strength, unfathomable. The Raidrian homeworld was nothing more than a fruit ripe for his picking. A planet of higher realm cyborgs, who were rife with ingenious ether crafters? It was a prize worth claiming.

It was also her first experience with a Celestial. At that time, the most advanced Raidrians were in the mid-Soulsphere realm at best, herself included. How could they possibly resist his strength? Kubit Reyl the Mu washed away their defenses with tsunamis that drowned continents. Then, he dropped glaciers like meteors, obliterating their offenses without batting an eye.

In the span of a day, her peoples’ shining, stainless steel cities were decimated, left to frost and rust. By the following sunrise, they were slaves to the will of a being beyond their ken. For centuries after, she and the others were his shock troops.

An unforeseen consequence of her discovery meant that Soulsphere Raidrians could reincarnate faster than any other Forgers of the same realm. Their inner Spheres were already linked to an unnaturally occurring body, so when she or the others died in combat, their Souls could rapidly transfer to a new body just as long as it was prepared beforehand. Not needing to accustom themselves to a new form meant no need for downtime. Dak-Kalpak had been through countless battles where she died multiple times, forced to jump from one shell to another.

Their lives under his rule were endless cycles of death and rebirth. Even now, millennia after, she could vividly recall the blur of her last moments wearing each and every body. Decapitation. Evisceration. Incineration. Dismemberment. Over and over…until she forcefully broke free.

In her time fighting Kubit Reyl’s wars, Dak-Kalpak never stopped crafting. Year after year, decade after decade, century after century — she toiled over burning hot metalloys, practicing her Scriptsmithing, working her cyborg fingers down to their nubs.

She was the first of the Raidrians to become a Supreme Alloywelder and Scriptsmith. She was the first to advance to Exos. And she invented the extremely intricate arrays that made the Exeter-Mu into a weapon capable of shaking the stars and tearing down the heavenly beings that would oppress her people.

Dak-Kalpak still remembered the moment she killed the source of her nightmares, her trauma. The original Exeter-Mu was raw, unpolished. She sacrificed herself to achieve the emancipation of her race. In the end though, Kubit Reyl the Mu had the last laugh. His death throes destroyed her backup body, forcing her to use her last resort to resurrect — her sarcophagus.

Gah-Filat, her Second Brother, broke her out of her reverie, “This had to have been the work of an August Celestial.” He indicated the planet they observed, Tat’us Black. Even from their orbital vantage, they could all easily discern the currents of willpower and ether that wove through the fabric of reality. Dak-Kalpak shook her matte grey head to snap herself back to the present, before agreeing with one of her seconds in command, “I can’t tell what kind of Celestial circuit it is, but there is no other way for something this powerful to have engulfed this world so completely. It won’t matter though — I will crack this egg and feed on whatever this Celestial has hidden here.”

Her Second Brother inclined his head, “As you say, First Sister. We stand ready as always.” She promptly forgot his presence, instead turning her attention to the riddle at hand. While she could not discern the type of Celestial circuit being used, she could hazard a guess. A circuit of Ruin would have left the planet decimated, but her scouting drones returned with livestreams of a world with intact ecosystems, albeit in decline. Tat’us Black was dying, that much was obvious, though something was keeping it together. That could only point to a circuit of Bastion or Genesis. She eliminated Bastion, there was no protective shielding as far as she could tell. Anyone and anything could come and go as they pleased as was evidenced by the return of her drones.

Maybe it could have been a Celestial circuit of Authority. After all, Dak-Kalpak was not omniscient. There were infinite Ways of Etherforging and endless possibilities for inspiration and enlightenment to reach the peak. However, if she were a betting cyborg, she would put her ether on a circuit of Genesis.

With that in mind, her AI reached out to the Exeter-Mu, triggering the hundreds of thousands of scriptwork arrays on its spinning, concentric rings the size of asteroids. This worldship was a more refined model than the one she used against Kubit Reyl. And though she wasn’t the one to create it, she understood it down to its marrow. One of her other Brothers and Sisters continued her work while she was away in the cycle of reincarnation. This was only the most basic of their worldships. She knew that there were more advanced Exeter models — the Gamma and the Phi.

Dak-Kalpak understood that a true Celestial would be far more powerful than a single one of their worldships, but against a squadron? An armada? Celestials were as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns. But with Raidrian ingenuity, they could reproduce their might over and over again. And while the Exeters could never match the willpower or insight needed to form authentic Celestial circuits, they could compete in raw power.

She activated her Bulwark of the Irradiated Blackbody, hardened violet-silver plates made of condensed void- and thunder-ether encasing her in the traditional armor of the Raidrians — all hard edges and sleek spikes. Her mental connection with the Exeter-Mu grew stronger as its engines ramped up, powering the Supremework augmentation arrays she designed so long ago.

The worldship’s rings silently vibrated in the vacuum of space as it moved to float right behind her. She knew that many of her lesser Brothers and Sisters were within the vessel, adding what energy they could to power its scriptwork. The more senior of her brethren were arrayed alongside her, waiting for the show to begin.

What she planned was one of the more advanced ways of utilizing the Exeter’s power. It required an unbending will of adamantyx, the strongest metalloy in the known universe, along with the masterful ether circuit control of a prodigy, a savant. Even amongst her people, only her Second Brother and Sister could hope to mimic this feat.

Dak-Kalpak reached her willpower through the worldship to grab ahold of its puissant energies so that it could serve as an external replacement for her natural ether reserves. With power unlimited, she summoned a greatsword as large as a mountain and as pitch black as the void of space surrounding her. Formed by her Fabrication of Nebula’s Aurora, violet thunder dragons writhed as though alive, crackling across the surface of her mountainous blade, warping the very fabric of reality.

Riding the intoxicating rush of energy, she let out a sigh of ecstasy as she activated her Onslaught of Tempestuous Flux. Instantly, a space-rending flame of onyx purple encased her sword wrapped in thunder dragons — the combination of her Sphere circuits enough to tear moons asunder. She slowly lifted her armor-clad hand above her head and the ponderous mountain blade followed suit. Firming her resolve, her will was unyielding, immovable.

FWOOSH. The blade came down and the world went white.

Tat’us Black was free.

Chapter 30

Circuit Fusion

“How?!” Ebon-Izar exclaimed as he watched the twilight skies of Tat’us Black return to their original emerald. “Only a Celestial could have negated my circuit…” His voice trailed off as he zipped up to the peak of his ethertech beacon. While these objects were mass produced, they were still Sublimework artifacts imbued by the will of an August Celestial.

For the umpteenth time in this iteration, Ebon-Izar cursed at his own weakness. Soul Psyche may have been a dream for some, but to him it was nothing but a hindrance at this moment. Luckily, his main body foresaw every eventuality, even the interference of a Celestial Ascension realm Forger or in this case, a ragtag bunch of Soulspheres who were somehow able to fake the power of a Celestial.

Of course he sensed the orbital bombardment and decimation of the four exploratory fleets above, how could he have not? But even when he felt the ripples of power close to the level of a Mu, he was still confident that his circuit of Genesis would hold — whoever was up there didn’t have the weight of a true Celestial circuit. The ether circuitry of the highest realm of Etherforging bent space and time, deforming the natural order of the universe by their sheer presence. Yet, here he was, forced to take manual control of the beacon and its Scriptsmithing array.

The only reason he could think of was how old this particular beacon was. Without accessing its database, he could already tell that this world was taken over millennia ago from the ruins of cities and towns leftover. And if that wasn’t evidence enough, this model of beacon itself was a dead giveaway. The one this iteration held in his specially designed storage ring was sleeker, more refined. It would seem that the ravages of time had worn down even his ethertech. Ebon-Izar would need to send a bug report to his main body. He couldn’t have this occur again.

Well, if those upstart Soulspheres wished to court their deaths, then Ebon-Izar would provide. These paper tigers needed to learn the difference between heaven and earth.

Within the beacon’s cockpit, that only an iteration could access, he had direct control over the Army of Twilight. And though his iterations may have been ants compared to his main body, they were still imbued with the will and soul of an August Celestial. As soon as Ebon-Izar laid his stoneskin hands along the command arrays, his intent surged and the circuit of Genesis responded.

His once mindless Twilight shades had been forcibly ripped away from his grayscale dimension and brought into the real world, leaving them dazed and without direction. He could sense a low-Soulsphere and middling Soulforged within the interior of his beacon taking advantage of the opportunity, but Ebon-Izar quickly put them out of his mind. Why would he care about a Soul Cast and a…Tropos? Yes, Tropos. Even as he felt the other Soulforged stirring awake, he was unperturbed. Everyone on-world was not even worth mentioning, not to him. No, his true quarry were those Thermos and Exos in orbit.

In his mind’s eye, his willpower twined through the beacon’s innumerable lines of scriptwork, connecting him directly with his Celestial circuit of Genesis: My Army of Twilight’s Reign. Within a breath’s worth of time, every shade’s head snapped up, their eyes coming to life as a will greater than the original echoes left behind suffused the circuit. His mind easily split into a dozen partitions with Rufuzz, his Grand AI, casually taking control of huge swathes of shades.

His senses grew manifold as the Army of Twilight became a conduit for his consciousness. The captive Soulforged were now fully awake and battling against a small battalion of his Army. Unfortunately for them, these were not the same shades as before. This was now a true Celestial circuit with a wealth of energy provided by the beacon’s ether gemstone, a piece of Sublimework Alloywelding that improved on the capacity of naturally occurring crystals. His Army was far more solid now — capable, powerful.

Ebon-Izar let his senses spread out to encompass the entire world of Tat’us Black. He felt when the high-Soulspheres broke the planet’s atmosphere, rocketing towards the surface presumably in search of his beacon.

He got to them first.

With a flick of his will, a legion of Twilight greeted them.

And with the support of his beacon, for all intents and purposes, this iteration was now an August Celestial in truth, which meant that at this moment, he was unrivaled under the stars. Ebon-Izar was going to show these insignificant insects that there were Forgers beyond Forgers and Celestials beyond Celestials.

Highburren flew across the cavernous chamber, smacking into the far wall in a whoomph as parts of her Thundering Typhoon Physique dispersed for a split second before reforming into the enraged storm-elemental that she was. Jonx was there in a blink, appearing before her in a flash of neon lights, clad in his Gravitic Raiments and standing twelve feet tall to match the height of the shades, who were now three-fucking-dimensional.

When they were first abruptly pulled back into the real world, the shades had gone motionless as if they had lost the willpower to function. He and Highburren capitalized on it immediately, jumping straight towards the massive ether crystal on the ceiling. Just before they could nab it though, the grayscale monsters came to life with a vengeance, literally popping into more solid forms. And with their upgrade to three dimensions, they were no longer the relatively easy enemies that they once were. It was like the gloves had come off.

The shades were faster and stronger, even heavier in his ether senses. He was forced to devote six whole partitions of his mind just on maintaining enough willpower to combat their sheer presence. Highburren fought back to back with him. It was the only way either of them could survive. She lost the ability to slap the creatures around. Now, they easily tanked her hits and dished out their own attacks in kind, pressuring her to take them seriously.

Jonx’s only contribution was to cover her flank, summoning his Anchor-Meteorites to throw off their equilibrium with his Oscillating attractive and repulsive forces. Unfortunately, that and his Raiments were all he could handle. Worse yet, his near endless source of willpower had practically dried up. Now that the shades were ‘awake,’ for lack of a better term, Jonx was barely absorbing any of their will, leaving him fighting a losing battle. A single shade ravenously clawed at him, just barely being kept at bay by his fusion circuit.

The only upside was that these enemies were now made of ether, so his Anchor-Meteorites were at least recouping a bit of energy to sustain him. Meanwhile, Highburren was really the only one of the duo able to stand against the tide of monsters. And there weren’t even that many. There was maybe a single shade for every three aliens in the chamber, but that was far too many for the recently awoken Forgers to handle. The Tropos was the most powerful being here and she was barely fending off a trio of the creatures. Her Dominion of the Galethunder Weaver was one of only two circuits she had that could truly contend with the monsters’ strength. The other was her Bulwark of Storm’s Boon, which she was running on a low hum as her last line of defense.

And if Jonx and Highburren were hanging on by a thread, then the rest of the Etherforgers were far worse off. None were above Soul Psyche, since all of the Named Souls had stayed on their respective motherships, which left the shades to slice and dice their way through the throng with reckless abandon.

Pockets of survivors clustered together, surrounding themselves in dense elemental defenses made of fire and earth, ice and force, life and water — the list went on. Blasts of light and shadow bombarded each oasis of resistance, drowning out all other colors and returning the chamber back to nothing but hues of gray.

It was chaos personified.

So many powers being thrown around the interior of the ethertech building that they left the ambient air absolutely supercharged with ether. Jonx’s hair didn’t know if it should stand on end or lay flat from the rapid changes in air pressure.

“Get your head out of your ass, human! These creatures are no joke. They are true Celestial constructs!” Highburren snapped at him over the roar of the battle. Jonx shook his head and refocused, motioning his outstretched hands to form a cordon of Anchor-Meteorites to bounce his single shade around in a confined space of Oscillating gravity. He hastily deactivated his Raiments to layer another portion of willpower onto the fusion circuit. Instantly, the rapid back and forth of the shade increased, turning its ink-like body into a blur.

In a matter of moments, the shade thinned out until it was completely absorbed by his Anchors, immediately replenishing only a small portion of what he’d spent to kill it. He could feel his brain getting foggy, while his reserves hovered just over half. “Let’s go, manling. If you think this is so easy, I’d like to see you try to deal with three of them!” Highburren rebuked.

With a brief pulse of his Quantum Leap Domain, Jonx teleported behind her pair of shades, hastily summoning more Anchor-Meteorites around the one on the left. He decided to speed up the process by adding in his other fusion circuit formed from his Ramjets and Chaos Cancel, hammering away at the ping-ponging shade with ethereal, violet-gold palm strikes easily six feet tall.

While he finished off his, Highburren conjured a localized twister of lightning and wind blades to quickly grind down the last pair. “By all of the Celestials above, manling — how have you not phikkin fused those blighted circuits of yours yet?! Death and bloody rust, anyone can tell that they’re ready, you idiot. Stop dragging your bintsniffing feet and merge them!” she berated him.

“You know, that’s real easy for you to say. You’re a goddamned prodigy at this shit! I’m still trying to learn!” Jonx shouted back. In the meantime, another shade broke off from a nearby cluster assaulting some Soulforged, instead choosing to pounce directly at the arguing duo.

Simultaneously they yelled, “Not now!” Jonx immediately projected a Chaos-Ramjet fist, taking out his anger at the Tropos’ accusations on the monster. At the same time, Highburren fired a crackling bolt of pink lightning with the head of a murloc and spines that ran along its entire length. Apparently, the first body she’d occupied had left an impression. Between their two attacks, the shade disintegrated into motes of light and shadow.

Her storm-elemental body suddenly expanded as she picked him up by the scruff of his Masterwork Robes and snarled in his face, “You’re wasting my ether by insisting on your own inadequacy, human. Stop trying to fuse your circuits and just fuse them!”

“You think it’s that easy, do you?? Fine!” The world suddenly slowed, thanks to his Brain Chamber, and the battle ceased to exist as far as Jonx was concerned. He was stressed. The weeks of running his willpower ragged. Discovering that Aster, of all people, was here and he didn’t even know if she was still alive or not. And then, in the midst of a life-threatening battle, Highburren had the nerve to harangue him.

Jonx ground his teeth and opened all of his circuits up to absorb as much of the ambient ether as he could. At the back of his perception, he could tell that Highburren was beaming like a proud parent as she surrounded the two of them in a whirlwind of howling navy blue winds and sizzling pink lightning. If one looked closely, they would see impressions of harpy and murloc faces as if it were some amalgamation of lost souls. This was the power of her Dominion of the Galethunder Weaver.

He threw all of those thoughts to the back of his mind, redirecting his eight mental partitions into forming a ninth. His will had become a diamond vice, hardened and polished by the crucible of Tat’us Black. This was nothing but a warm up, a test to see just how far he’d come.

Zoning in on the pathways within his body responsible for his Ramjets and his Chaos Cancel circuits, he realized that they were already so intertwined they were nearly indistinguishable from one another. “Fuck…she was right. Again,” he swore to himself. He knew he would never hear the end of this now. During these weeks of constant grinding, he was so single minded in his pursuit, it never occurred to him to check on his progress. He’d been too preoccupied, unable to see the forest for the trees.

None of that mattered now though, so he bore down with every shred of willpower he possessed, clenching the circuits together, cinching them tighter and tighter in the vice grip of his mind. There was some resistance at the end, as if he’d tightened his mind-vice as far as it would go without breaking the circuits it held. But that was the thing, he wanted to break them. He wanted to rip apart their original bonds, shatter them into pieces and forge them anew into something greater than they once were. With an effort of will, he flexed and his circuits shifted.

Immediately, a dull throbbing inundated his head, a sign that he was straining his will. It happened often enough as he fought through the grayscale dimension. He took it as an indication that the metaphorical muscle representing his mental fortitude was simply growing stronger — his weakness leaving his body.

A ping hit his HUD then, “Finally, human. Now, finish your other one quickly, these shades are taxing.”

Jonx grit his teeth out of annoyance, but moved on to his last pair of circuits, ignoring the growing headache behind his eyes. He envisioned the pathways for his Ether Anchors and Oscillating Meteorite, finding them so entangled he couldn’t tell where one circuit ended and the other began. Holding the image of the entwined tracks in his central mind partition, he brought to bear his other eight mental portions and squeezed. This time, he didn’t even register the resistance at what he wanted to do. His will commanded and his circuits obeyed.

Once again, it was simpler than he’d first thought, irking him all the more as it just reinforced the fact that Highburren was correct in her assumptions of him.

He sucked in a sudden breath as the inevitable mental backlash hit him, snapping his head back as if he took a popshot to the face. All at once, his perception of time returned full force making his eyes water as he grabbed the sides of his head with his hands. “Christ on sale! That fucking sucks!” he bellowed.

“Quit your caterwauling, manling! Suck it up, you can break down later. For now, we have more work to do!” Highburren hollered at him. Jonx scrunched his eyes shut, not really needing his vision for what he intended. Instead, he spread out his ether senses to give him a mental picture of the battle in their immediate vicinty. Without missing a beat, he shoved one hand out to the side, while keeping the other palming his face, then summoned his newest Assembly Soul circuit, Binding Ionshard.

In an instant, several roiling globes of ions in every shade of green snapped into reality with enough attractive force that the four shades throwing themselves at Highburren’s Dominion were briefly pulled away, interrupting their assault. Just as they broke free of his Ionshards’ hold, he twisted his outstretched hand and the force suddenly switched, repulsing them straight into the Tropos’ howling faces, each one biting off chunks of the monsters like a school of piranha.

Jonx repeated the maneuver again, breaking the shades’ rhythm, grinding them down against Highburren’s Dominion. Just as their enemies dispersed into motes of light and shadow, he closed his fist and his Ionshards absorbed every last particle. As soon as he did, his eyes snapped open, the influx of willpower and ether enough to jolt him out of his mental fugue. It still wasn’t as much as when the shades were still two-dimensional, but at least now he was breaking even.

Feeling better than before, he stood up just as Highburren sidled next to him. Together they surveyed the slowly dwindling resistance that the other Etherforgers were putting up. Already, Jonx could tell that there were fewer clusters than before he performed his little stunt. He was still reeling a bit from the experience of pushing so far, so fast, and in the middle of a battle no less.

Highburren simply rested a swirling hand of wind laced in lightning on his shoulder, “That was nicely done, human. Your mental fortitude has truly made leaps and bounds here on this Celestial’s forsaken world. But, your advancement is not why we are here.” She pointed up at the ceiling, motioning towards the massive ether crystal that must have been powering all of the shades.

“That is my price for bestowing upon you my words of wisdom, like manna from heaven. Now, I will openly admit that I had other motives for forcing you to advance so rapidly. You were barely worth my effort to keep you alive before this. But, now…? Yes, I think you are finally going to be useful to me. So…are you ready to pay me my due, manling?”

Chapter 31

Second Brother

Ebon-Izar seamlessly moved through ancient fighting forms he mastered centuries upon centuries ago. From within his beacon’s control room, he had a direct connection to his circuit of Genesis: My Army of Twilight’s Reign. And with that came the ability to occupy any number of Twilight shades anywhere on the planet.

Nearly all of his attention was centered on the far side of world, where the intrusive high-Soulspheres made landfall. He left only a cursory group of his Army within the actual beacon to deal with the haggard group of Soulforged. A distant part of his mind registered a handful of upstarts, who seemed to be able to fight his shades effectively. But, Ebon-Izar was not particularly worried. Even if they could get to his Alloywelded gemstone, they would never be able to steal it. His main body crafted it to only be placed in special storage rings and no others.

In his mind’s eye, his Twilight counterpart blocked a lancing pillar of pure ice-ether so cold that the very earth and sky froze at its passing. He sliced it in half with a concentrated arc of light and shadows that stole the attack’s color, leaving it a washed out gray. His counterattack continued all the way through the pillar, eviscerating the offending Thermos that dared to challenge him.

With a flick of his will, his mind flashed to a different Twilight shade, this one fighting against a female cyborg Exos wielding force- and water-ether. His opponent was surrounded in a large bubble of liquid with lashing tentacles that were more akin to raging rivers. She was decimating the battlefield, destroying the ground like floodwaters, causing his shades to reform over and over again. He tsked at the waste of his ether.

Ebon-Izar reached to his side, grabbing another shade that happened to be running past him, deftly reshaping it into a Twilight trident the size of a ballista bolt. In one smooth motion, he threw.

The trident boomed through the air, casually breaking the sound barrier, before bursting the Exos’ Dominion with ease. There was a look of absolute shock as half of her body was simply gone, his trident having bypassed her Bulwark without any resistance. In his ether senses, Ebon-Izar could feel her inner Sphere attempting to leave, carrying her Soul, presumably to be transported to a ready and waiting vessel for reincarnation. He couldn’t have that now, could he?

Another flick of his will and he occupied a Twilight shade nearby the Exos’ ruined body. He nonchalantly swiped a hand through the air and reality distorted. This wasn’t a simple manifestation of his circuit of Genesis. No, this was a working of will — his circuit was merely a conduit. There was a brief resistance as his willpower clashed against the Exos’ own before subsuming it completely. He imagined she didn’t want to die a true death. Unfortunately for her, she came here to claim a prize that belonged to an August Celestial.

Before the fabric of reality could reassert itself, the mind of Ebon-Izar was gone, wearing the skin of another one of his Army. With a similarly overwhelming display of light and shadow, he dispatched another enemy Thermos, destroying their inner Sphere to bar them from reincarnating. And just as he prepared to move once again, a different cyborg appeared in front of him in a flash of blackened purple thunder.

“You will go no further. I can sense it, whoever you are, you are nothing but a shadow of a shadow,” the alien accused. She had a matte-grey metalloy body with purple highlighted joints and a pair of deep violet orbs as eyes. Strands of steely hair draped down the back of her body, so long that the tips caressed the ground behind her as she strode towards him.

Ebon-Izar imbued his Twilight shade with more of his will, changing its body to have facial features similar to this iteration’s Maktei form. “You must be the leader of these…” he swept his hand to take in the battlefield, “…poor, blighted fools. Tell me, you seem to be better informed than the rest of your rabble, you must know, you have no hope of winning.”

Instead of answering, her eyes glowed brighter, crackling with arcs of violet lightning and the pressure of a Mu billowed out from her, locking the area down by the weight of her etheraura. He snorted, unbothered by the posturing. Looking closely, he noticed fine lines of scriptwork tracing her metallic skin, simmering with tightly controlled energy. His mind whirled with the possibilities until it clicked.

He snapped his black and white fingers together, “Blighted rust! This makes complete sense now.” Ebon-Izar couldn’t help but laugh, “Bahaha! You’ve crippled yourself for a false advancement! I-I never would have imagined someone would use these script symbols for something so…asinine. Celestials above, I can’t believe I was even remotely concerned by this.”

Dak-Kalpak gnashed her teeth at the insult. “You talk so much, yet who broke your Celestial circuit with their ‘false’ strength?” She thumped her chest, “Me, Celestial scum. You’re not even really here! I will show you what my brilliance has wrought!” Her energy redoubled and every Twilight shade nearby splattered into nothing but ink stains, leaving only Ebon-Izar.

He could only shake his head in pity, “You truly do not know the immensity of heaven and earth.” His power rolled out of him then, casually sweeping away her aura like so much trash under a rug. “Even this iteration is beyond your ken. There is no one here who can live under the same sky as an August Celestial.”

Jibril’s Masterwork Chainmail of Advanced Frigid Brutality glowed with incandescent blue scriptwork adorning his clinking armor. This was one of his personalized rewards from his Master — the next level of script symbols to push his advancement in an instant. Now, he was blazing with the might of a Soul Psyche, though it was barely enough to keep him alive.

Parrying one black and white claw after another, he swung his favored greatsword made from his Iceflow Carving in a blur of complex swordsmanship. In his time with his Master, he learned to hone a singular weapon skill. He chose the greatsword just as Dak-Kalpak had chosen the staff. And while Jibril wasn’t as talented as his Master, he was a proficient warrior. What his opponents usually found most difficult to contend with were the awkward angles that he could bring his greatsword to bear with his boneless tentacle arms.

Unfortunately for him, these monstrous creatures were like moving shadows, able to take any shape at any moment. Worse yet, they gave off a constant pressure that slowed his movements down by just a fraction, reminiscent of his Master’s intimidating etheraura.

From off to the side, a diminutive purple-skinned figure suddenly slammed into him, forcing him to tumble directly into the waiting arms of a shade. All three combatants fell in a tangle of limbs, their bodies wrestling for a dominant position, until a blast of sub-zero frost flash froze everything within a dozen feet.

Crunch. The frozen shade broke apart into nothing but ice-cold dust as Jibril and his fellow core disciple, Aster, picked themselves up to find themselves with a small reprieve from the fighting — the nearby shades having turned their attention to another group of Soulforged.

The Seerowan wore her Masterwork Robes emblazoned with lines of scriptwork that pushed her advancement to match his own Soul Psyche. “Death and bloody taxes, how in the phik are we going to get out of here? There’s so many of them…” Aster said, obviously dreading their chances of survival.

“We just need to hold out!” Jibril answered, blocking a shadowy whip and countering with a focused blast of his Rimefrost Domain, freezing the attacking shade’s midsection. Without hesitating, the creature dematerialized in black and white tear drops, reforming immediately to his other side.

Aster spun her Arctic Paintbrush warhammer, covering Jibril’s flank by crushing the shade into nothing but a pile of goop. After every hammer strike, the creature reconstituted again and again until finally, it stopped as though it ran out of energy. She quickly looked up at the Taxon and asked, “Did we get confirmation that Master and the Raidrians are on-world? I can’t sense anything on this Celestial’s forsaken planet!”

He pinged her AI with the message he received from Rowshee, while sliding to one side to dodge the downswing of a grayed-out halberd. In one swift motion, Jibril summoned twin greatswords and bisected a shade in a sudden blur of motion. “Why did you get this and I didn’t?” Aster asked indignantly as she bashed in another shade with her Artic Paintbrush warhammer.

“It’s your own fault, the only time you ever talk to Rowshee is when you need something from him,” Jibril admonished. A monochrome mace suddenly cracked his Livery of Black Ice. The same mace then smacked him in the face, pulverizing his tentacle-mustache, making his head spin. Aster was there in an instant, covered in her Trappings of Hoarfrost, furiously swinging her warhammer to give him some room to breathe.

“Ok, no more commentary, Jib, we need to focus. If we don’t, then we’re going to be buried under these monsters before Master can even reach this prison,” Aster said, grim-faced. As she faced off against another shade, Jibril injected himself with an Expertwork Synth med to boost his body’s regeneration. Within a matter of moments, he let out a groan as the previously sharp, painful bruising in his face gradually turned to a dull ache. “If we’re going to make it, we need to make our way towards a larger group of fighters,” he offered.

A sudden blast of wind and thunder came out of nowhere and bowled over a group of shades to their left, leaving a convenient trail for them to follow. All Jibril could make out was a Forger made of swirling winds and dancing lightning, followed closely by someone covered in golden violet armor so tightly controlled that it didn’t leak any ether. From that brief display of strength, Jibril was certain these two were some of the most powerful Etherforgers he’d come across in this wild mess of a battle. While others struggled to survive, he and Aster included, these two moved freely amidst the unending horde of shades.

Aster cast a knowing glance in his direction, “Looks like we found our ticket out of here.”

Exos Gah-Filat vented a dense mixture of life- and earth-ether that eroded everything it touched, including the many colorless enemies attempting to bring him down. These creatures were already powerful, which was made only worse by their superior numbers. But, his Way of the Defiled Apostle was made for fighting against droves of enemies, stealing their energy to keep him sustained. He was a reaper coated in forest green metal streaked in silver.

His enemies were uncooperative, however. The willpower that held them together resisted his circuit’s ability to absorb the shades’ energy, barely replenishing what he was exerting to break his opponents. It didn’t matter though, he needed to only keep these creatures occupied while the First Sister dealt with the ‘prime shade,’ whose presence was significantly different than the rank and file.

In the distance, she was magnificent. Clad in her Bulwark of the Irradiated Blackbody and augmented by the raw power of a low-Celestial, Dak-Kalpak met every earth-shattering attack of light and shadow with her own void and thunder. From his perspective, they seemed to be evenly matched.

Gah-Filat forcefully flicked his arm, sending a concentrated haze of rust that quickly ate through another group of shades, leaving them half-eaten and pockmarked, barely able to hold themselves together. His duty was to cover for the First Sister, while his lesser brethren dealt with the rabble. The prime shade was relentless, constantly conjuring colorless weapons of every shape and size, from needle-thin short swords, to towering bladed polearms, then handheld axes with wicked curved edges and everything else in between.

The First Sister dodged and parried or blocked and counterattacked, her traditional bo-staff made with her Fabrication of Nebular Aurora whirled around her body leaving trails of black and purple energy. It was a sight to behold, one which Gah-Filat never thought to see again. Watching her fight, tightly controlling her willpower to harness the power of a Mu with ease — it was so…outdated.

Centuries ago, she was the most skilled of their people in every facet of Etherforging. She invented the process that all Raidrians underwent at birth, transferring their consciousness into ethertech seedlings coded by the very scriptwork which she pioneered. Even the Exeter-Mu she was currently wielding with such precision was originally designed by her. For as long as Gah-Filat could remember, Dak-Kalpak was revered as the Raidrian savior, their messiah.

But, she wasn’t there after the Raidrian coup of Kubit Reyl the Mu. Their race had become synonymous with the low-Celestial. They were known as his everlasting army and even without him alive, the Raidrians were persecuted. Their trump card had been used on Kubit Reyl and they lacked the ability and resources to build another functioning Exeter at the time. Dak-Kalpak was gone, sent to the cycle of reincarnation without anyone knowing where her Sphere backup was located. And without her or a Celestial to protect them, their people became nothing more than prey for the next powerhouse to exploit.

Falleneye the Gamma. Al’Tholrin the Phi. Eladin Shadowbrow the Beta. And finally, Ollathair Eochaid the Omicron.

Decade after decade. Century after century. The Raidrians changed hands like prized possessions stolen from one owner by the next.

FWOOSH. An army-rending scythe coated in eldritch flames of darkness and light left a gash from shoulder to hip along Dak-Kalpak’s metalloy body.

Gah-Filat sucked in a breath. That should have been nearly impossible. He knew her reincarnated frame was made of vatryx steel, the rarest and most durable of all metalloys. Only Celestials used the stuff. The fact that her entire frame was made of it, meant her body was worth whole planets.

Whoever wore the skin of that prime shade had a reality-bending will. Dread filled the pit of his stomach. Few beings in the universe could accomplish such a feat.

All of a sudden, Gah-Filat was running.

He needed to do something or else everything his race had done to get to this world would have been for naught. They were only allowed to come and collect their wayward First Sister for a simple reason — their current master only cared about results. If they did not deliver, then their people would pay the price for Dak-Kalpak’s bungling.

Gah-Filat did not take up the mantle of the Raidrian leader just so that an archaic museum-piece could come along and upset the balance he’d struck with their master. He would not allow his peoples’ well-being to be jeopardized.

Reaching out with his mind, his personal connection to the Exeter-Mu roared to life. The familiar surge of ether filled him to bursting. His once forest green body-frame now shone a vibrant emerald as blinding silvery lines of scriptwork marbled his skin, channeling the strength of a low-Celestial directly to his inner Sphere.

This body-frame was specifically designed to serve as an extension to any of the Exeter worldships in the Raidrian fleet. It was his choice to only bring a Mu-class vessel with them to collect Dak-Kalpak and now, after seeing the power of that prime shade, he had the sinking suspicion that this entire endeavor was a mistake. That shade was not some husk. The will riding that monster was the genuine article — an August-phikkin-Celestial.

A piercing scream cut through the battlefield as a body-thick lance of ebony and ivory gored Dak-Kalpak in the background. Gah-Filat no longer cared. She served the purpose of this excursion to pick her up. He’d already coded a reincarnation tank especially for her. No matter what happened now, she was his. That wasn’t his main concern anymore. This whole venture was now beyond its original parameters.

The Second Brother launched himself into the air, quickly outpacing a massive monochrome claw that missed him by barely a few feet. Within seconds he was hovering high above the surface of Tat’us Black, concentrating twin globes of unadulterated power in his hands. An immaculate, gold and black charm appeared in front of him, a Supremework Alloywelded ether gemstone embedded at its heart and laden with so much scriptwork that every facet was like a poem.

BAM. In a single swift motion, the orbs in his hands came together, engulfing the charm and activating its Scriptsmithing array.

No sooner did he finish than a quartet of shades bodily tackled him out of the sky. But, they were too late. The green clouds were torn asunder as a continent-spanning riftgate suddenly appeared in the heavens of Tat’us Black.

A presence like the weight of mountains spilled out of the gaping hole in reality, instantly pulverizing nearly every shade on the field. Only the prime shade could stand against the crushing tidal wave of pressure. Gah-Filat picked himself off of the ground, etherpulsing lightly to clean himself from the grime of battle and glanced over at the creature.

To him, it appeared that the prime shade seemed unperturbed, thoughtful even. Seeing the shade so nonchalant in the presence of Gah-Filat’s overwhelming master only confirmed his suspicion.

From out of the riftgate came a willowy figure garbed in long flowing robes of onyx and gold with a heavy hood and too-large sleeves. Immediately, every Raidrian on the battlefield dropped to a knee, bowing their heads in supplication of their race’s master and true savior. Under him, his people flourished, established a new home and underwent a renaissance of their culture because they were no longer forced to go to war. Now, Gah-Filet and the other high-Soulspheres were nothing more than intergalactic scouts, ferreting out rare resources solely for their master’s all-encompassing obsession for advancement.

And at this moment, Gah-Filat performed his duty once more. August Celestial Ollathair Eochaid the Omicron was here for his prize.

Chapter 32

Avatar

Highburren came to an abrupt halt, interrupting her mad dash through the horde of shades, as a newfound weight descended on everyone in the interior chamber of the mountainous ethertech building. Within the confines of the metalloy walls, the pressure was largely blunted, but to those inside who were already having a difficult time with the shades’ presence, then they were much worse off than before.

“Our time is up, manling. We are officially phikked,” she stated. Jonx stood beside her, gritting his teeth under the extra pressure he was working hard to shrug off. His will was already frayed from the nonstop battling, followed by the forced circuit fusion. Despite his continuous regeneration of willpower and ether, it didn’t necessarily take away the strain of overuse. He was bone-tired, mentally and physically, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“W-what just happened, Highburren?” he asked in a weary tone. The Tropos turned to look off in the distance, ignoring the walls surrounding them, easily pinpointing where the disturbance was coming from. “A Celestial is here. A real Celestial. This whole planet is now forfeit. The best we can hope to do is hide and weather out whatever storm is coming.”

Jonx sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, “Y-you’re sure about this?” All he got in response was a flat stare before Highburren finally rolled her crackling eyes, “Really, human? After all of this time, now is when you question my instincts? Have you learned nothing?”

She had a point. He was way out of his depth here, even more so than usual. Having wasted enough time with his skepticism, he realized that he just needed to listen to his gut, which was wholeheartedly agreeing with Highburren. “Alright, well, it sounds like we’re gonna have to backtrack if we want to get back to the ship,” he paused as he looked back the way they came, “Care to make another path, Tropos?”

Just as Highburren was about to retrace their steps, two Etherforgers covered in icy white armor were hastily heading in their direction. Jonx immediately stepped in front of the waiting Tropos, instantly recognizing the short stature of a Seerowan and the tentacled limbs of a Taxon. “Wait! I think those are my friends!” he exclaimed. Jonx had been worried about Aster this entire time, but never did he imagine that Jibril would be caught in this mess too.

He quickly closed the distance, teleporting to meet them with the use of his Quantum Leap Domain. Flashing into existence right before them, both of his old comrades hastily skidded to a stop. The battle still raged behind them, but thanks to Highburren’s mad dash, there was a cleared path that had yet to be refilled by shades or aliens. He quickly deactivated his Gravitic Raiments so they could see him for who he was.

Aster was the first to cry out, “Jonx?!? What in the phik are you doing here??” Jibril wasn’t any better, “You’re the Forger with a seamless Reinforcement Soul circuit?”

Jonx was initially taken aback by their physical changes. Jibril now had a robotic eye and semi-metallic hair-tentacles, while Aster sported pointed cyborg ears connected to a metallic lower jaw. But he swiftly recovered himself before things got weird, scooping them up in a great big bear hug and crushing them to his body until they both awkwardly patted him on the back.

“I’m so glad to see that you’re alive!” he said to Aster as he put them down. Then, he turned to Jibril, “And I didn’t even know you were here! My scouting was apparently awful, since I somehow missed you, buddy. God, is it good to see you guys!”

Aster and Jibril imperceptibly glanced at each other, before the Seerown took the lead, “Jonx, it’s really great to see you again, but right now, we have to focus. We need to get out of here or else these shades are going to wear us down until there’s nothing left of us.”

At that moment, Highburren butted in, “This one has a good head on her tiny shoulders, manling. You should heed her advice. I think you’ve wasted enough time with this impromptu reunion.” Before Jonx could say something, Jibril and Aster swept a partial bow towards Highburren, intoning in unison, “Tropos.”

Jonx quirked an eyebrow at their strange behavior, but Highburren simply waved it away, “Save the formalities, we are out of time. I’m sure the two of you have felt the shift in the air.” They gravely nodded their heads as Jibril answered, “We have, Tropos. Neither of us are quite sure as to what it is, but the change is too obvious to miss.”

Highburren moved in front of the trio, pointing her swirling storm-elemental body towards the exit, “If you are able to keep up, then you are welcome to follow along. If you are not, then that is your own concern.” As soon as she gave her offer, she was gone in a dazzling burst of pink lightning.

Jonx didn’t even hesitate, moving more so on instinct than anything else, as his body flickered after the Tropos, leaping from one Quantum cluster to another. Jibril and Aster were left flabbergasted at his speed. They were accustomed to a Soulsphere’s swiftness, but both could determine that Jonx was only a Soul Cast, he shouldn’t have been able to match that pace.

Aster ignored it for the time being, feeling the heavy pressure threatening to weigh her down like leaden balls. Pulling deeply from her already overtaxed ether reserves, she activated her Trappings of Hoarfrost, pushing energy specifically into the internal portion of the Soul circuit to grant her the speed of an avalanche. Jibril was a fraction of a second behind, relying on his own Livery of Black Ice to keep pace with his fellow core disciple.

Jonx made sure to mitigate his Quantum Leaps to always be close to Highburren, while being not too far from his old Sept-mates. Once they were in a safe place, he wanted to know about everything that had happened to them since their fateful encounter with Dak-Kalpak. The last time he saw them, their unconscious bodies were being hurled through a riftgate leading back to the outside world beyond the Exos’ personal riftworld.

Just up ahead, a cacophony of furious wind and blasts of thunder knocked over some shades to make room for their passing. It looked as though they came across a larger than normal cluster, forcing Highburren to hack away at the monsters as though she were swinging a machete in a jungle. Tossing his curiosity to the back of his mind, Jonx flashed forward, appearing beside the Tropos in a dazzling burst of neon lights.

Purple and white palm strikes the size of small boulders blasted straight through monochromatic torsos, shoulders, legs and heads. With his new Netherstrike circuit, the shades had a difficult time regenerating their body parts due his inherent entropic energy, choosing instead to simply meld together, forming misshapen shades with two heads here, five arms there, three legs elsewhere.

With much larger targets in such a confined space, he conjured a bastard sword made from his Binding Ionshard in his right hand, while he continued to rain down Netherstrikes from his left. Each stab of his Ionshard sword could repel his opponent, throwing them off balance. Meanwhile, each slash could pull them in directly to where he wanted them to be. Wherever his emerald-violet blade passed, he would receive a small jolt of mental and ether energy. Nothing like what he would get if he summoned Ionshard clusters, but enough to keep him going in a battle against so many.

He sensed, rather than saw, when Aster and Jibril entered the fray. Cold air emanated from the both of them only to be battered aside by Highburren’s wind and thunder. It felt like constantly walking in and out of an air conditioned room.

Shockingly, his old Sept-mates blazed with the strength of Soul Psyches, somehow having surpassed him two whole stages. Despite their advancements, they seemed to be having more trouble than him against the shades. On a hunch, Jonx seamlessly split his focus into several partitions, one of which he dedicated to keeping an eye on them — out of ‘curiosity.’

Immediately, he understood what they were missing. The intent behind their attacks was rough and erratic, uneven, wasteful. He could tell that they were desperate, running on fumes. And yet, they fought on, relying on high grade Alchemical potions and conservative usage of their ether. They should have had larger reserves than him, but their circuits couldn’t siphon like his could. Moreover, he was constantly taking in ether through his channels. Not a lot because of the greater willpower enveloping this world, but enough to make a difference.

They limited themselves to their Reinforcement and Assembly Soul circuits only. Aster continuously swung a comically large warhammer made of ice-ether, simultaneously freezing and smashing black and white limbs. Right beside her, Jibril deftly slashed a crystalline greatsword, leaving behind frozen gashes that spread ice outward. Together, they were able to contend with a single shade each, though they smoothly transitioned to fighting as a duo to tackle more.

More so than ever, it was clear to Jonx the benefits of Highburren’s training. It was also obvious that his old Sept-mates had plenty of practice fighting as a unit. They’re combat style reminded him of his teamwork with Zozka, the closest person to him, other than Kettle, in the entire universe. He wondered after her well-being briefly, but was instantly punished for his inattention by a fan of gray that swept him up and over into the warring crowd of shades.

Jonx crashed directly into an orcish Zengu, inadvertently impaling the alien on a pike that grew out of a shade’s arm. The tip skidded off of his Gravitic Raiments as he tumbled to the ground, trampled by too many grayscale feet. Growling in frustration, he hastily covered himself in an Ionshard dome. Digging deeply into his ether reserves, he strained his already overworked willpower and pushed.

In an instant, every shade and alien was thrown backwards by his supercharged repulsive force. Shadowy Aximilins collided into sturdy Isurians, who rolled into carapaced Screguns. Meanwhile, the shades crashed into each other, but instead of tumbling end over end, they simply melted into one another, once again creating larger, beefier shades.

He quickly flashed away along Quantum clusters, until he reappeared next to his trio of comrades. Jibril momentarily flinched at his sudden appearance, hurriedly schooling himself and blocking a thrust from a nearby shade on his greatsword. Jonx casually slammed a Netherstrike palm at the creature, disintegrating its midsection to give the Taxon a reprieve.

Jibril nodded his head at the assist, “Thank you, Jonkheer. It seems you’ve advanced by leaps and bounds since last I saw you.” Jonx quirked an eyebrow, smirking at his tentacled Sept-mate, “Me? You two are freakin’ Soul Psyches for Christ’s sake!”

A pair of crude cleavers suddenly chopped at his head, forcing Jonx to haphazardly counter with a nebulous Netherstrike fan. The brunt of the attack fell apart, but he was still hit with the blunt nubs, knocking him down to one knee. An icy warhammer slammed into the shade’s side, obliterating its upper half and leaving only its legs. In a blink, the shade reformed and pounced on Aster and Jonx summoned a Binding Ionshard globe to slurp up the monster, replenishing a modicum of his stores.

“Manling! Get these beasts to give us some space and I’ll take care of the rest. Stop wasting time with the small fry, we’re in a rush,” Highburren called out over the din of battle. Jonx didn’t hesitate, he clapped his hands together in front of him and a dozen separate Ionshard clusters manifested around the quartet in a ring. With a flick of his will, every shade was pulled into them irresistibly, then, in one firm motion, fwoosh. His arms spread wide and their closest enemies instantly flew away.

Highburren quickly glanced back at the belabored group and said, “Don’t fall behind.” Then, she was off.

Instinctively, Ebon-Izar cut off his mental connection with the shades on the other side of the planet as his eyes popped open. “Avatar…” he exclaimed. What just came through that blighted riftgate was the full blown avatar of an August Celestial. This was no iteration like his current self, something that was merely a sliver of the original, meant to slowly grow in power, then conquer whatever planet it was on, so that his main body could eventually collect a world’s worth of energy.

No, a Celestial avatar was magnitudes more powerful. Their bodies were crafted to specifically handle the heavenly powers of a Celestial, essentially making them temporary clones that could wield a large portion of a Celestial’s might. Moreover, a Celestial could inhabit the avatar fully, bringing to bear their reality-rending will. Only August Celestials could do something like this and most of his brethren reserved such clones for matters of extreme importance.

This was a complication that Ebon-Izar did not need.

His current iteration was not meant to tackle such a situation. But, Ebon-Izar did not reach the heights of an Omicron of the Sixth without being adaptable. His iterations always had contingencies. He would not let any other take what was rightfully his.

In his mind’s eye, he took stock of the situation within his beacon’s interior. His Twilight Army had consumed a good number of the remaining Forgers. Only a stubborn few held out, most notably an etherborn made of pure wind- and thunder-ether being trailed by three other random aliens, one of whom Ebon-Izar had never seen before. Black hair with brown skin and a rather nondescript humanoid body. No horns, no tail, not even claws. Very odd to have evolved in such a mundane way. Though, upon closer inspection, Ebon-Izar would have placed the brown alien as the second strongest Forger in their little group of escapees. He could sense the unpolished willpower emanating from the brown one, which he would have ranked at about a Journeyman’s level of strength.

Meanwhile, the strongest of the bunch, the etherborn, would have been considered a Master at controlling their willpower. In Ebon-Izar’s experience, all etherborn were naturals at weaponizing their intent, making them extremely difficult to handle when compared to other Forgers of the same level. Even in the low- and mid-Celestial stages, etherborn were nuisances.

Knowing that he didn’t have much time, he made his decision. Reaching out with his ether senses, Ebon-Izar connected to the beacon once more, channeling his intent into the Twilight Army within its walls. In an instant, the remaining resistance collapsed, their bodies taken to be fodder for his gemstone. Up until now, he hadn’t been concerned about wrangling these lower realm Forgers, none could escape and his Army would have eventually ground them down. Unfortunately, the appearance of a Celestial avatar took away the luxury of time. He needed their energy immediately for what was to come.

With a flick of his will, his consciousness transferred to a waiting shade right in front of the etherborn. As his mind took control and the once flimsy shade became more solid, time stopped in the cavernous chamber. By his whim, only the etherborn was free to move.

Without even hesitating, the creature of swirling wind and lightning bowed at what would be considered its waist, “Honored Celestial, your humble servant, Highburren, greets you.”

Ebon-Izar inclined his head just a fraction. It was good the etherborn was astute enough to understand their predicament so quickly. “It bodes well for you to know your place, etherborn. I have work for you.”

“Etherborn, honored Celestial?” Highburren asked, confused. The possessed Twilight shade tilted his head to the side, “You do not know your own race? How long has it been since you left your swarm?”

“Pardon, revered one, but I was the leader of my swarm. We were born within a riftworld. I ascended there and escaped just last year,” the etherborn reported. Ebon-Izar nodded his head, “Mhmm, that would make sense. You’ve only known your race in relation to the others of a riftworld. Here,” he swept his arms wide to take in the world as a whole, “You and your kind are known as etherborn — pure beings of energy, usually relegated to the elements that constitute your bodies. Your race has always had a knack for the finer points of Etherforging, which is why I’ve come.”

Ebon-Izar nodded his head in the direction of the avatar, “You can feel it as easily as I — there is an avatar of an August Celestial on-world. This…” he indicated at himself, “…is merely an iteration of mine, something less than an actual avatar. Fortunately, within this beacon, I am their equal. Unfortunately, the gemstone this structure houses is the only thing I need to preserve.”

Without warning, his hand blurred, embedding itself elbow-deep in the etherborn’s chest. No screaming. No struggling. No ability to resist. He was the iteration of an August Celestial within a sanctum of his own power — how could a lowly Tropos fight back?

Wisps of light- and shadow-ether suddenly engulfed the etherborn, violating every gust of wind and bolt of lightning that made up their body, until their eyes shone black and white. “I mark you, Highburren. You are now my servant in truth. Succeed in the tasks I give and I will sponsor your advancement to heights beyond heights.”

He callously released the etherborn then and they sagged onto the ground as though they were a kite whose strings had been cut. Kneeling down beside his new motionless servant, Ebon-Izar spoke grimly, “You know the plan, etherborn. Do not fail me.”

Chapter 33

Sept-Mates

Jonx zipped through the air of the cavernous chamber, closely tailing Highburren as Jibril and Aster followed behind him. It was eerie to see the structure’s interior so empty. One second they were rushing headlong through a horde of shades and the next, everything simply shifted.

Like watercolors washing away, the shades vanished into a stream of black and white. They took with them the dead and dying Etherforgers, whisking them away in flashes of light and shadow. Jonx could only assume they were stolen away to the grayed-out world. So many lives just…gone in an instant. But, there was nothing he could do. At the moment everything changed, he felt an overwhelming will that seemed to blot out the sun for the briefest of moments.

Maybe he could have written it off as a hallucination, but there was no denying what happened after. Highburren had looked deflated, weathered and wrung out, almost as if she’d seen a ghost. In that fleeting instant, her entire demeanor changed.

She immediately bolted away, aiming for the ether crystal high above them. As the quartet neared the gargantuan stone, Highburren etherpulsed to warn them away, moving up close by herself. He watched as she gently ran her swirling wind-hands along the crystalline surface. Jonx was confused by her change in behavior, but wasn’t going to question it, not right now. That unknown force of will shook him to his core. He had a sneaking suspicion that he and the others were spared only because of the Tropos. As far as he was concerned, he was better off staying close to her.

“Manling, teleport to the other side and disengage any connections from the rest of this behemoth building,” she ordered. He looked at her askance, but said nothing. Her tone brooked no questions.

In a flash, Jonx appeared in the eaves of the crystal. This close, it felt as though he were spelunking along a giant emerald. He could easily discern thick pipes that led from the stone’s surface and fed directly into the building’s roof, presumably to route energy to and from the massive ether battery. Each tube was easy enough to disconnect, a simple twist and pull and he was off to the next. Teleporting along the battery’s surface, he went as fast as he could, but it still took some time — there were just too many conduits.

After several minutes, a sudden eruption of raw ether drew him from his task, two bright spots lighting up his ether senses and giving off the impression of Named Souls. “What the fuck…?” he asked himself uncomprehendingly. Before he could think any further, an enraged roar like gale force winds echoed along the roof of the metalloy cavern and Jonx unhesitatingly Quantum Leapt towards it.

What he encountered was beyond his wildest imagination.

Jibril and Aster looked withered as if they’d aged a hundred years in an instant. But, for that price, they now radiated the power of Named Souls, the very peak of the Soulforged realm. They each held a chain of sterling metalloy connected directly to shackles that had been placed around Highburren’s wrists as though she were some genie being wrangled into a lamp — phenomenal cosmic power in a tiny living space.

It was all so unreal. His mind blanked out for a long moment, unwilling to accept the truth of what was happening. Why would his Sept-mates do this? They were being protected by the Tropos for Christ’s sake! It just didn’t add up to him.

“Do something, human! I will not be chained by the likes of these small Forgers again!” Highburren bellowed, her will billowing out like a heatwave, but without any power behind it. The restriction shackles were doing their job, flaring with bright purple and black scriptwork every time the storm-elemental tried to reach for her circuits. These were far more powerful than the bindings in his storage devices, none of which could have restrained a Soulsphere.

Jonx snapped himself out of it, making his decision in a heartbeat. He roared a battle cry born from his own anger and confusion, firing a pair of man-sized Netherstrike palms at his would-be comrades. They didn’t even turn their heads as they each gritted their teeth and batted his attacks away with flurries of ice-ether.

“Leave now, Jonkheer! This is our Master’s business!” Jibril yelled at him. Jonx didn’t hear it though. He simply punched out with more Netherstrikes, one fist after another. Jibril and Aster struggled to deflect all of them, it seemed as though keeping Highburren contained was straining their abilities to their limits already. One of his many Netherstrikes got through, hitting one of their restriction chains and causing the Scriptsmithing array to falter for a split-second.

In that instant, Highburren summoned a raging tornado of wind and thunder, her Dominion of the Galethunder Weaver. But there was no time for it to build momentum as Aster screamed in defiance, reinforcing her restriction chain and abruptly cutting off the Tropos’ resistance.

“Get lost, Jonx! Or else I swear by the Omicron, I will haul you in front of our Master myself!” Aster threatened. In response, he split his focus nine ways. One partition for his Gravitic Raiments, which solidified around him in streamlined samurai fashion. Another portion for a dozen Binding Ionshard dodecahedrons, six for each of them. A third part so that he could keep raining down Netherstrikes. And finally, the last six partitions for flexing his will to strengthen every one of his attacks. His attacks were the nails, while his willpower was the hammer.

Between his geometric Ionshard shapes and his barrage of Netherstrikes, the scriptwork on one of the chains began to flicker sporadically. Not enough for Highburren to touch her circuits, but Jonx was getting close.

Jibril with his wilted tentacles growled in annoyance, before bellowing, “Catch!” to Aster. She deftly grabbed hold of his restriction chain, then flared her reserves to do the work of two people. She shone like the sun on a cold winter’s day in Jonx’s senses, a blazing Named Soul of sub-zero energy.

Taking advantage of his attention on Aster, Jibril closed the distance in a burst of snow and ice. A ruby red cyborg eye glared death at Jonx as the Taxon suddenly sprouted frosted white armor that trailed wisps of icy mist in the air, while skillfully handling a behemoth of a greatsword.

Jonx took the lunging attack on his Raiments,  only able to empower it with more willpower in that split-second before impact. For a brief moment, the two hung in midair, Jibril’s greatsword creating blue and purple sparks as though he were trying to drill a hole in a sheet of metal.

Boom.

Jonx blasted through the air until he hit the far wall, bouncing off of the impenetrable metalloy and leaving it unblemished. He hadn’t even finished bleeding off the momentum, before he Quantum Leapt back into range, surprising Jibril. Jonx began swinging his arm empty-handed, conjuring an Ionshard naginata mid-swing in a nanosecond and pouring in as much will as he could muster. With a loud fwoosh, Jibril got his greatsword up to block, but instead found himself rocketing through the air without having ever been touched.

Deftly twirling his naginata, the Taxon’s body barely flew 20 feet before it got yanked back towards him like a yo-yo. Jibril tried to arrest his movement by flaring a whirling blizzard of ice-shards, relying solely on pure power to counter Jonx’s will. For an instant, it worked, until Jonx swung again and flexed.

Once more, Jibril was repulsed, interrupting his concentration, then rapidly pulled back in. Back and forth, Jonx spun his Ionshard naginata, never giving the Taxon a chance to get his bearings. In one smooth motion, he firmly jerked his weapon back and Jibril’s body was tugged like a fish on a line. This time, Jonx lined his blade with a Netherstrike and viciously slashed downward as his Sept-mate came close.

A purple-white crescent bit into Jibril’s icy armor, flashing brightly for an instant before cutting through. Unfortunately, the Taxon was a being of flesh and blood and not a shade made of pure ether, so his Netherstrike didn’t do much to the alien’s toughened skin. Before his opponent could recover from his shock, Jonx repulsed him once more. With a thought, he flashed behind the Taxon with his Quantum Leap Domain and changed his Ionshard weapon to a lance. He flexed his will and pulled, compounding Jibril’s momentum from his last attack.

The Taxon hastily encased himself in even more ice armor, hoping to protect himself. A sheen of purple and white sheathed Jonx’s Ionshard lance and…Schlikt, the lance easily pierced straight through the Taxon’s midsection. Purple-white energy ate at the wound’s edges, his Netherstrike’s chaos energy disintegrating Jibril from the inside out.

A howl of agony came from directly behind him and Jonx whirled on the possible threat, the Taxon completely forgotten. He was facing Highburren’s broad back of swirling navy blue wind and crackling pink lightning, more than half of her body was missing — from her right shoulder all the way down to her opposite waist. Just passed her was Aster’s quickly cooling corpse speared through her Stomach Chamber by a sizzling bolt of lightning.

Jonx hurriedly grabbed hold of the Tropos, offhandedly noticing that there was now a restriction collar around her neck along with the pair of shackles on her wrists. “Highburren! What the hell happened?” he exclaimed. The Tropos had a glazed look in her normally glowing eyes, now dim and flickering with pink lightning.

She didn’t even try to speak, instead slowly lifted her remaining left arm to rest her hand on the top of his head. Jonx ignored her as he frantically cut off the shackles and collar with thin plasma lasers from his fingers. His entire Quantum Leap Domain cradled the two of them, so that they could stay hovering in the air. Thoughts of Aster and Jibril had all but vanished as he focused solely on his nominal friend and mentor.

Despite being freed of the restrictions, her body was still not regenerating. The light in her eyes waning further. In a flash, he teleported the both of them to the top of the massive ether crystal. He hadn’t finished his task of detaching everything, which was fortunate in hindsight since those last few conduits were the only thing holding them up at the moment.

He hoped that bringing her closer to the crystal would give her some energy to heal, but he could tell that her hold on her willpower was tenuous at best. “Highburren, you gotta hang in there, we can still make it to the ship,” he pleaded as he took out some Masterwork Synth meds to inject directly into her. Unfortunately, her elemental body was deteriorating faster than he wanted, the needle simply passing through her as if she were made of mist.

Suddenly, an oppressive presence appeared directly in front of them. If Jonx hadn’t already been kneeling, he would have been forced to. He recognized it as one of the shades, but far more defined with facial features and a sense of solidity that the others just didn’t have.

The shade laid a hand on Highburren’s head with resignation in his eyes, “Hmm, I saw what happened, etherborn. Your disciple here seemed to have failed in his choice of comrades. Alas, that does not excuse you from your task. If not for that blighted avatar so nearby, I would force your reincarnation myself. But, I have other concerns at the moment.” Eyes that looked like yin-yangs glanced in Jonx’s direction, pinning him to the spot, “You. As this etherborn’s disciple, you are now responsible for their task. This gemstone belongs to me and I will have it. My iteration will take care of the avatar. And you will complete the etherborn’s mission.”

Jonx didn’t even see the shade move, but suddenly there was a numbness spreading through his chest as a black and white arm reached into him, piercing straight through to his heart. “I have marked you…whatever you are. It seems you’ve been branded before, but somehow got rid of it. Know this, there is no one in this universe that can erase mine. This reality is not large enough for you to hide from me. You are now my servant.”

Then, the shade pulled its hand out of his chest and immediately switched their attention to the dying Tropos. With a flick of its wrist, what was left of Highburren’s body compressed into a tight globe of writhing wind and thunder that was surrounded by a solid case of light and shadows. “This will preserve her inner Sphere for as long as I wish, which can be a very long time. Find the etherborn a new body and bring me my gemstone. And next time…choose your friends more wisely.”

The powerful shade vanished without a trace, leaving Jonx clutching his chest as a glowing Sphere of roiling black, white, pink and navy energies floated in front of him. Laying on the surface of the crystal he knelt on was a platinum-looking ring, plain and unadorned. Something urged him to take it, like a gut feeling, but it just wasn’t his gut.

As soon as he touched the ring, everything was revealed to him in a flash of information that threatened to overwhelm his mind. Dazed and disoriented, he unsteadily got to his feet.

Once he was steady, he swiped his hand at the globe that held his friend, instantly placing her in his newfound interspatial ring. Then, he turned his attention to the gemstone he was standing on and the conduits left to disconnect.

“It looks like I have a jobfinish.”

Chapter 34

Dusk Till Dawn

“Two servants? Really, Eb?” his AI, Rufuzz asked skeptically. Ebon-Izar tried to ignore the Grand AI, but he just continued his commentary, “You haven’t marked anyone in centuries…actually, on second thought, I think it’s been an entire millennium. And now? Two in one go? You’re getting soft, you old lizard.”

Ebon-Izar scoffed at the implication, “Pfft, you think I wanted to? If not for that phikshite of an avatar, I wouldn’t have needed to. But now? I need this iteration to take care of that phikker and someone else to take the gemstone. The etherborn and brown-skinned alien will be easy enough to track for any of my iterations. It’ll be fine, Ru.”

“I’m not worried about the avatar, Eb. I just find it amusing to see you resort to such humble means. It seems that even the Dragon from Dusk till Dawn still has weaknesses,” the AI observed wryly. “Hey now, this iteration is decidedly not that dragon. I am a simple Maktei that is about to fight someone two entire realms above me. If anything, this iteration should go down in history. Maybe even become a legend for the race…” Ebon-Izar responded facetiously.

The AI retorted, “Well, Mr. ‘Legend,’ what’s your plan for that avatar that seems to be heading straight towards you?”

“You’ll see,” Ebon-Izar said ominously, right before sending one more command to his shades spread across the world. He could sense the avatar making its way towards his location, which was perfect since there was an absolute treasure trove of energy just waiting to be harvested where it had opened its riftgate.

As soon as his final preparation was complete, he disappeared from the beacon’s control room in a puff of monochromatic smoke. Then, he reappeared at the base of the mountain in which his ethertech structure was embedded. Several poofs later and he was teleported outside of the mountain range entirely. He needed to gain some distance.

For one, his newest servant needed to get their twaddle together and get his phikkin gemstone out of there. That thing was now packed to bursting with ether — a ripe fruit ready to be eaten by his main body. And for another, a battle between Celestials, even false ones like this iteration and the avatar, required room. Lots and lots of room.

He didn’t have to wait long, globetrotting was nothing to someone of their realm. The avatar appeared above him, brimming with the power of a half-step August Celestial. He could discern that it was a well-made body to be able to handle such strength.

The avatar spoke first, “I can feel the will of something greater emanating from this form of yours. But, you are not what you could be or should be to stand against my avatar. You may as well relinquish whatever treasure you guard so fiercely. It will be mine — one way or another.”

Ebon-Izar rose on his Eclipse Domain, summoning a cloud of light and shadows to be eye to eye with the avatar. “And who exactly am I addressing? The universe is vast and I can’t be bothered to remember all the little people in it.”

An etheraura like a rockslide came crashing down on him as the avatar ramped up their posturing, “Insolent ghost. You are nothing but an echo of an echo and yet you dare bark at me, Ollathair Eochaid the Allfather.”

“Tche, the ‘allfather?’ Father of whom? Those insignificant cyborgs that have all crippled their advancements for what — to reach high-Soulsphere? To merely imitate the power of a Celestial?” Ebon-Izar mocked, unruffled by the crushing aura the avatar was exuding. Only uneducated fools believed the amount of ether was the be-all, end-all in the higher realms, when in fact, it was all a matter of will. Even this iteration had plenty to spare.

The amount of ether someone could bring to bear was merely the beginning. It was what you did with it that counted in the end.

Seeing as their etheraura had no effect on him, the avatar let it drop. In their voluminous hooded robes, Ebon-Izar could not make out its face, but knew they weren’t pleased at the ease at which he brushed off their attempt at cowing him into submission. Instead, the avatar began to swell with energy, ramping up their power to full bloom. The bluffing and bravado was done apparently.

Time slowed and in one smooth motion, Ebon-Izar slid a mundane, silvery ring off of his thick, Maktei finger and swallowed it in one gulp.

Immediately, a pit formed in his Stomach Chamber as he triggered his own failsafe. Inky white script symbols rippled along the ring’s surface, gradually lifting off as they spun, picking up speed faster and faster until they were blurring streaks of onyx and ivory. An influx of ether suddenly erupted as a microscopic blackhole whirled into existence, a bite-sized maw piercing straight through the fabric of reality.

Corresponding script symbols came to life in his Stomach Chamber lining, the same scriptwork that was hidden within each and every one of his iterations. Ebon-Izar crafted each of his false bodies from the shedded scales of his main form and as such, each iteration held a fragment of his power, his will.

Alone, it was nothing but an overwhelming advantage for when his bodies advanced through the Etherforging realms. However, when combined with his specialized interspatial rings that held his beacons, then his iterations could truly utilize their full potentials, albeit at the cost of their self-destruction.

Across from him, the avatar began expanding rapidly. And as he grew, Ollathair casually slashed upward with a swoosh — a tightly controlled arc of pure force-ether bent the world around it as it sliced through the intervening space, aimed directly at Ebon-Izar’s shining form.

With a flick of his wrist, Ebon-Izar lazily slapped it away as his Celestial circuit, Bastion: My Scales Blot Out the Sun, swiftly manifested, changing the stoneskin of his Maktei form into scales of alternating onyx and ivory. It was the only circuit of his written in the beacon he just swallowed, but it was all he needed.

Meanwhile, Ollathair shed his voluminous robes as his size grew too great, revealing a towering mountain of a biped. Three stories tall with four bulging arms of corded muscle and four translucent floating swords at his back.

“A purebred force-Forger? It’s been such a long time since I’ve dealt with one of your kind,” Ebon-Izar commented lightly. Then, with a mental push, his newly scaled skin rippled and FWOOM — his Bastion exploded out of him, expanding in the blink of an eye.

The avatar didn’t give him the chance for his power to culminate fully though, which was rude, as eight supersonic blades sliced forward, converging into a single point and suddenly disappearing.

CLANG.

Ebon-Izar didn’t even see the attack's impact, only felt it. Fortunately with his Bastion, it was a moot point. It would take far more damage to get through his pseudo-Celestial body.

Absolutely dwarfing Ollathair, the iteration of Ebon-Izar was now wrapped in the shell of a sinuous, gargantuan imitation of the Dragon from Dusk till Dawn. As large as the mountain range itself, he was a horned, serpentine dragon with four vicious clawed legs and black and white scales. His midsection and tail literally coiled around the nearby mountain peaks, dominating the sky above the avatar and physically blocking the rays of Tat’us Black’s sun.

Ollathair’s comparatively diminutive form looked up, hesitant at what he was seeing. “D-dragon from Dusk till Dawn? H-how?” he stammered.

Ebon-Izar tilted his draconian head, “Oh? My reputation precedes me it seems. Do you wish to back down now, father of all?”

In response, Ollathair gnashed his teeth and lashed out with another barrage of sword arcs that rent the space between them, plinking ineffectually against Ebon-Izar’s Scales. The Dragon shook his head ruefully, “You will need to sharpen your blades if you wish to break my Bastion, little father.”

With a growl, Ollathair dashed in the air to meet Ebon-Izar in the skies above the mountain range. The avatar quickly covered himself in a Bastion of his own, consisting of opaque white armor that fit his four-armed form perfectly. His quartet of floating swords was obviously the manifestation of his Genesis. And Ebon-Izar was still waiting for the avatar’s Authority and Ruin circuits.

As the avatar closed the gap, he summoned a colossal curved sword with a single edge and no hilt, wielding it with his two right arms simultaneously. Ollathair twisted his thick midsection, then released a mighty swing with enough power to topple a mountain.

Ebon-Izar sensed the amount of intent backing the attack and so did the rest of reality. With his own working of will, he denied the avatar’s pressure, catching the sword swing on his own elongated claws. Ollathair followed up by whipping four translucent blades at him from his hovering swords, shot in rapid succession.

These had more weight to them as well, forcing Ebon-Izar to bristle his Scales, angling them to deflect the sword strikes. Black and white sparks flew like metal grinding on metal and then Ollathair was suddenly at eye level, thrusting with a second colossal sword held in his two left hands as he swung with his other sword from his right.

Hastily blinking, Ebon-Izar blocked the thrust with his eyelids, while his Dragon whiskers — one black, one white, and as long as leviathans themselves — lashed out to parry the other sword swing.

Tha-thunk, tha-thunk, tha-thunk, tha-thunk.

Eight absolutely titanic swords suddenly rained down from an empty sky, as tall and thick as Glonwood trees, piercing straight into the mountain peaks of the range and surrounding Ebon-Izar in the avatar’s Authority. The very air felt like a blade pressing against his throat.

He didn’t let it affect him though as his massive tail lashed out in quick fwips, his Scales chipping along the way as if he were pushing through a field of thousands of invisible blades trying to cut into his Bastion. Regardless, he pressed on, chopping down a handful of the enormous swords before Ollathair suddenly appeared with his massive single-edged blades crossed to block Ebon-Izar’s tail.

For a moment, the avatar held against the Dragon, but he was swiftly overwhelmed through sheer will and knocked away. While Ollathair’s avatar could utilize all four of the original’s Celestial circuits, he could only bring so much of his power to bear. Meanwhile, the beacon inside Ebon-Izar’s Stomach Chamber only gave the iteration access to a single Celestial circuit — Bastion: My Scales Blot Out the Sun — but allowed him to use it to its fullest potential. That of a true August Celestial.

From the direction the avatar was thrown, a flying river of blades came hurtling towards Ebon-Izar. There were countless individual swords within that torrential stream, surging with the speed and power of a flood. The Dragon focused his willpower and his Scales responded, glowing with gloomy twilight as the river of swords bombarded his chest.

Before Ollathair’s circuit of Ruin could even finish, he summoned his gargantuan sword-pillars of Authority once more, aiming at vital spots all along Ebon-Izar’s oversized draconian body. Each sword-pillar struck with enough force to shatter skyscrapers. The Dragon rumbled in annoyance, gritting his teeth as he took the attack on his Scales, biding his time.

Not letting up, Ollathair rushed in close, swinging his pair of single-edged blades in a flurry, while simultaneously launching arcs of force-ether from his hovering swords. Ebon-Izar did not waver or falter.

The attacks simply broke against his Scales or his claws. His Bastion was the stuff of legends. He was the Dragon from Dawn till Dusk. His will alone could swallow suns and eclipse worlds, robbing them of their light and life. He was an Omicron of the Sixth and he had yet to come across any other August Celestials who boasted a higher stage. Maybe there was a Seventh or an Eighth out in the vastness of the universe, but as far as he was concerned, he was the heavens above the heavens.

Few were his rivals. Even with only a meager iteration to rely on, he was enough to contend with anything that this paltry avatar could muster.

Ollathair growled testily, zipping up into the clouds of Tat’us Black and bringing all four of his arms overhead as he infused his will and ether into his circuit of Ruin. His face contorted in irritation before he called out, “Just lay down and die, you old lizard! Your time is past! You’re nothing but a prisoner now! And this iteration of yours? It’s a waste of ether.”

That piqued Ebon-Izar’s interest, “Prisoner? Of whom? You? You think your Authority outweighs my Bastion?” He snorted in derision, “You fail to see the heights of Mt. Tai, father of nothing.”

In one forceful motion, Ollathair swept his four arms downward and twin sword-rivers twined together in a deluge of sharpened force-ether. Ebon-Izar hurriedly crossed his forearms to defend against the brunt of the attack as the avatar yelled over his circuit of Ruin, “You truly don’t know, do you?” The avatar cackled in glee, throwing his arms back and forth as he summoned more and more sword-rivers to crash against the immovable rock that was the Dragon from Dusk till Dawn.

With a flick of his wrists, Ollathair rained down more blade-pillars of his Authority — four, eight, twelve — easily flattening the peaks of the mountain range Ebon-Izar was protecting with his coiled Bastion body. “I would hate to spoil the surprise of Noth-Lit, Prime of the Reach. You will learn eventually, dragon of nothing but dirt and dust. You have no place in the greater universe any longer. You are but a stepping stone for Noth-Lit now, whether you know it or not. And since that’s the case, why even fight for these scraps?” the avatar derided.

Ebon-Izar’s thoughts were a whirl of activity, splitting off into partition after partition as his Grand AI, Rufuzz, attempted to make contact with his main body. Normally, the memories of iterations were only collected once their respective beacons were filled with ether and ready to be harvested to advance the true Dragon. As such, the mind of an iteration was essentially ‘time-stamped’ at its inception. Why would an August Celestial care about the minutiae of the scant few decades that each iteration existed? All that mattered were the bare bones — a portion of his Grand AI, a helping of his willpower and an imitation of his ether circuitry. Nothing else was worthwhile. Though now, the iteration of Ebon-Izar was getting paranoid.

This avatar seemed to be genuinely surprised to learn of his ignorance. And he did not enjoy being uninformed. However, no matter what he tried, his AI seemed to be blocked from reaching out through the cosmos to the personal waystation that housed his mainframe, which connected all the parts of the AI to Ebon-Izar’s main body.

There actually was something afoot. Not many beings in the universe could bar his power. But…if anyone could, it would be Noth-Lit, his ancient rival and nemesis.

Another sword-river crashed into his side, breaking him out of his reverie. At the same time, Ollathair continuously flicked his floating swords, projecting blade after blade of space-rending arcs. The Dragon unflinchingly weathered the storm of attacks. His tail repeatedly lashed out to crush sword-pillars, while his whiskers batted away blade-projections and his Scales defended against sword-rivers. For miles around, the landscape crumbled from the feverish onslaught, turning mountains into flatlands with the flip of a hand.

Up until this moment, the Dragon had been largely unperturbed. But now with this revelation, he was getting increasingly anxious at what the phik was taking that brown-skinned plebeian of a servant so long to hightail it out of the area with his blighted ether gemstone.

As if reading his thoughts, he sensed something accelerating out of Tat’us Black’s atmosphere — presumably the alien’s ship. Ollathair quickly turned his head in the direction, noting the departure as well. Then, the avatar glared at the Dragon, “How unbecoming of an Omicron of the Sixth. Truly, you have been laid low to have to rely on such inferior creatures. No wonder you are nothing but a dwindling captive now. Don’t worry though, my Raidrians will take care of your peons.”

Ebon-Izar flexed his will and all the colors on the world of Tat’us Black bled away, draining towards him as his Bastion ramped up to its full might. The green clouds became washed out charcoal paintings. Meanwhile, the bright red continents turned into the color of ash and soot. And lastly, the deep blue oceans seemingly blackened until they were nothing but endless waves of inky darkness. Now that the only thing he cared about was as safe as he could make it, it was time to let loose.

Ollathair paled as he watched the color of his own turquoise and silver skin change into a wan reflection of who he once was. This whole time, the avatar believed himself to be pushing the Dragon to the brink, but this…this was not the power of a minor iteration or even a Celestial avatar. This was the might of a full fledged Celestial circuit of Bastion and reality was bending to the will of a higher power.

Black and white smoke trailed out of a pair of reptilian eyes as they bored holes into the avatar. The Dragon smiled like a lion catching a mouse, before speaking in a menacing voice, “You see it now, don’t you Ollathair? The difference between us — between heaven and earth. Watch closely, allfather, and I will show you how the Dragon from Dusk till Dawn does battle.”

There was blur and all of a sudden the avatar found himself plucked out of the air by a claw of light and shadows. Far below, he noticed that the mountain range and surrounding forests had been further obliterated, replaced by a crater the size of a continent.

Ollathair hastily struggled against the vice-like grip, blazing with his Bastion, only to find that his circuit was being restricted somehow. Air rushed against his skull as he was dragged against his will through the planet’s atmosphere. One minute he was planetside and the next, he was suddenly in orbit.

Holding tightly to the avatar, the Dragon surveyed the scene off-world. The quartet of capital ships from the various Celestial powers were now half devoured by large, robotic cephalopods, which were streaming out of a worldship surrounded by cyborg Soulspheres. Ebon-Izar casually flicked his wrist and Ollathair rocketed across space, blowing a hole straight through the closest capital ship.

Then, an earth shattering roar reverberated throughout the battlefield, carried on waves of ether in defiance of the vacuum of space. Every Forger and robotic drone froze in place and in the next instant, the Dragon was among them, practically teleporting from one area to the next, covering vast distances in a single leap.

His tail crashed through rank after rank of tentacled drones, leaving a slew of cogs and gears in his wake. Goring a retrofitted asteroid turned capital ship with his Dragon’s horns, he carelessly tossed it aside with enough force to crash through the rest of their naval fleet, absolutely decimating all of their spacecrafts.

He swiftly moved on to a crumbling space-palace listing to its side. Coiling his sinuous Dragon body around it like a boa constrictor. He squeezed and the entire craft caved in as if it were a tin can.

Spitting out a wad of blue-green blood, Ollathair bellowed, “Dragon!” in his own ether-rich voice. Then, the avatar closed his eyes, focusing his will, growing twofold, then three, reaching a height of ninety feet and now on a similar scale as Ebon-Izar himself. It was obvious that the avatar was burning through his actual body at a prodigious rate. If this continued, then the August Celestial would need to replace it.

Sword-pillars as large as battlecruisers suddenly blinked into existence, fencing Ebon-Izar in just as half a dozen flowing rivers of blades encircled the entire trap, crisscrossing in a seamless spherical pattern. Ollathair rushed in, zooming around his elaborate cage of force-ether as he rapidly fired solid crescents from his floating swords to bombard the Dragon.

Before Ebon-Izar could break free, the power of a low-Celestial came from off to the side and he knew in an instant that it was one of the cyborg Soulspheres piloting that ridiculous toy of theirs. A rusty haze suffused his makeshift prison of swords, attempting to eat away at his Bastion. This particular circuit had the power of a Mu, but not the weight. It was little more than bug bites as far as he was concerned. That was the crux of these cyborgs’ ethertech — they could mimic a low-Celestial, which may have been enough to cow the masses, but to a true August Celestial? He could simply ignore it.

Pulling deeply from the endless well of willpower and energy emanating from the ring-sized blackhole within his Stomach Chamber, the iteration of Ebon-Izar could sense that his time in this form was running out. He needed to finish this — now.

Time slowed as he sharpened his will to a pinprick, warping the very space around him as his willpower spilled out of him in gushing waves. He reigned it all in, pushing it into every nook and cranny of his iteration’s body, overloading it to supercharge his Bastion.

His Scales lengthened, tapering to a keen edge as wisps of shadow- and light-ether danced along his entire serpentine form. The same black and white energy erupted out of his already vicious horns, covering them in currents of destructive, crackling power. His whiskers multiplied, taking on the form of living serpents themselves, their hungry jaws snapping eagerly.

With one final push came the coup de grace — leathery wings of pure energy formed on his back, one onyx and one ivory, each as large as one of the capital ships he just destroyed. Now, he was truly the Dragon from Dusk till Dawn.

As soon as his wings manifested, he broke out of his prison of swords, instantly appearing above the Raidrian worldship, his massive claws digging into as if he were a raptor cracking into an egg. And just like any alpha predator, Ebon-Izar keened with victory, sending out a shockwave as his etheraura viscerally pushed back everything and everyone but Ollathair, who was hunkering behind his crossed swords of Genesis.

Torrential streams of energy spilled out of the worldship and the Dragon inhaled, his monstrous chest expanding to near the size of the worldship itself. In one fell swoop, he breathed out a stream of dense, virulent blackness streaked with white. Ollathair hastily summoned his sword-pillars around himself, calling on his Authority to weather the wicked storm.

Ebon-Izar’s attack pervaded the entire orbital battlefield, obscuring the planet of Tat’us Black in a world-spanning cloud of shadows and mist. Whatever was left of the four Celestial fleets was turned into nothing but slag and soot. Only Ollathair remained.

The corners of the Dragon’s maw tugged into an unholy smile. And then, he was upon the avatar. His tail whipped like a meteor strike, easily crashing through Ollathair’s Genesis and Authority circuits, blasting the avatar away like a shooting star. Taxing his willpower one last time, the Dragon reached out with a clawed paw, reality bending to his whim as he viciously grabbed hold of Ollathair’s rocketing form.

The avatar strained and struggled helplessly against the Dragon, before coming eye to eye with a being that swallowed whole star-systems. Ebon-Izar still had a savage grin on his face as he spoke sinisterly, “Now, little father, show me your secrets…”

CRUNCH.

Epilogue

Kettle slept soundly on the floating orb that held Highburren’s inner Sphere as they lazily drifted in the main cabin of the Surfer. Jonx stared out of his front window, eyes distant, lost in his own head. This was the first time in weeks that he wasn’t constantly flexing his willpower and he felt as though a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. He was able to finally just…sit.

Out of curiosity, he pulled up his readout. He hadn’t looked at it in far too long. Even now, he only wanted to read it so that he could distract himself.

Name: Cedrick ‘Jonx’ Jonkheer

AI: Kirby

Class: Master Senex

Professions:

Rank:

1. Culinarian

Master

2. Scriptsmithing (Ancient)

Journeyman

3. Alloywelding

Journeyman

4. Leatherweaving

Novice

5. Synthesizing

Novice

6. Alchemistry

Novice

Body Preparation Realm:

Stage: Ether-Forged x8

Specialized Physique: Potentiation Body (Modified x1)

Grade: Peak

Anatomical Systems Reforged:

Rank:

1. Musculoskeletal

8th

2. Circulatory

8th

3. Nervous (Modified x2)

8th

4. Respiratory

8th

5. Digestive

8th

Crystallized Realm:

Stage: Crystallized x5

Ether Concept:

Dynamo Force

Dual Chambers:

Anatomy Transformed:

1. Brain (Primary)

Corpus Callosum, Frontal Lobe, Parietal Lobe, Temporo-Occipital Lobe, Brain Stem

2. Heart

Ascending Aorta, Left Atrium, Left Ventricle, Right Ventricle, Right Atrium

Soulforged Realm:

Stage: Soul Cast (Supreme)

Soul Circuits:

Proficiency:

1. Quantum Leap Domain (Modified x1, Supreme Grade)

Expert

2. Gravitic Raiments (Peak Grade)

Supreme

3. Binding Ionshard (Peak Grade)

Expert

4. Netherstrike (Peak Grade)

Expert

Jonx couldn’t help but think that he’d grown in leaps and bounds. He had a full complement of Soul circuits now, which, according to Highburren, would make his next advancement to Soul Verve a seamless transition. He was even able to raise his proficiency with his newest ones all the way to Expert rank. Apparently, it paid off to be constantly fighting creatures that were born from the mind of a goddamned Celestial. Jonx had to admit, it was nice to see, though he couldn't help but wonder if his progress was worth everything that happened.

Kirby piloted the Surfer smoothly in the direction of the closest star system which just so happened to belong to the Intergalactic Imperium. It was the easiest route that they could take and Jonx wasn’t in the right headspace to make any real decisions.

His emotions were in turmoil, processing the events of Tat’us Black. He kept replaying his old Sept-mate’s betrayal. And though he hadn’t seen them in more than a decade, he wasn’t exactly expecting them to stab him in the fucking back. Yet, here he was — Jibril’s blood on his hands. Jonx had killed countless ether-beasts and sentient aliens in his now decades of fighting, but never someone he considered a friend.

It left him feeling…empty. Not nearly as bad as when his wife passed away, just…numb. Apathetic. He couldn’t seem to muster much anger at the Taxon. And neither was he angry at Aster. Being apart for so long changed people. He knew that. But similarly, he wasn’t happy to have been made to put his once-friend down. That left him in a sort of limbo. And the easiest solution was to just shut down — at least for now.

Luckily, he was a different person, in a different place in his life. This wasn’t the same as when he’d disassociated from himself after his wife’s death. He just needed to unwind some more, let his brain wrap around what happened.

Too bad he would never get that chance.

Out of nowhere, the entire battlecruiser suddenly rocked, jolting Jonx in his captain’s chair, only the seatbelts keeping him from flying into the front window. A yelp of annoyance came from back in the main cabin as Kettle must have been knocked awake, though no crash came, so that meant she was still floating in the air.

Then he saw it, the space around the ship was standing still…which could only mean that the vessel had come to a complete stop.

“Kirbs! Talk to me, buddy,” he called out to his AI. A miniature, holographic dogolin instantly spun into existence in front of his face. Shrugging his furry shoulders, Kirby helplessly answered, “I’ve got nothing, Jonxo. We didn’t hit anything. We’re literally in the middle of nowhere. There’s only dead space around us.”

Suddenly cursing in pain, an intense burning came from his left middle finger. “Ow! Fuck! What the hell?!” he yelled, staring at his hand as the ring he received from the powerful shade radiated an intense energy. The skin of his middle finger seemed to be charring, starting from the ring and spreading outward until the whole finger was blackened. Only his fingernail was a different color — a pearlescent white.

“W-why is this happening?” he stammered, breathing shallowly.

As if beckoned from the underworld, a patch of gray marred the metalloy flooring of his ship without warning and then he felt it. A pressure as profound as the depths of an ocean surrounded him on all sides, pressing down on him, easily locking him in place. Instantly, the pain he felt disappeared, forgotten. His only concern now was to not pass out, otherwise Kirby would have another freaking field day at his expense.

Time seemed to slow, and though he wasn’t using his Brain Chamber, he could still recognize the telltale feeling. “I see that your etherborn master chose their disciple well. It is reassuring to know that you can withstand my presence,” said a shade that gradually rose up from the patch of gray.

“Y-you’re the one that did this, aren’t you?” he flicked off the shade with his now blackened middle finger. “That…is an unfortunate side effect of using my ring to locate you. Those interspatial devices were never meant for anyone other than my personal iterations. As you can see, they take a toll on their users. And believe me when I say this, servant, be grateful that all you lost was some color on a finger. I’ve tested it out to far more gruesome effect before,” the shade informed him offhandedly.

“Why are you here? You’ve already marked me once. Wasn’t that enough? I can already feel the direction I need to go, even if I don’t understand why,” Jonx grumbled. The shade waved away his annoyance, unbothered at what they’d done to him. “Save the resentment for when you are more than a frog in a well. At least your etherborn master understood who and what I am. They acted accordingly. You, however, will need to learn, but I do not have the time to teach you manners.”

Then, the shade moved and Jonx found yet another fucking arm buried elbow-deep in his goddamned chest. “The parameters of your mission have changed. There are new…‘circumstances’ that I have just been made privy to. I will embed all the necessary information you will need to complete your task. And this?” The shade pulled a gossamer cube out of his chest, something he’d never seen before, “This is nothing but absolute drivel. I can sense the faint marking of an Exos on this. Whoever made this was…adequate, all things considered. Though, they wildly missed the mark. This would have led you down a divergent path of Etherforging. One that leads to nothing but a dead end. The legacy I left in its stead should serve you far better. And your etherborn master should be able to fill in the blanks better than your last Exos.”

As soon as the shade said that, they reached out into empty air, pinching their thumb and forefinger together, then twisted their wrist. Like a magician pulling a coin out of thin air, Highburren’s Sphere suddenly appeared in their hand. Wisps of black and white smoke engulfed the Sphere as the shade continued their conversation, “There. Now, whenever you find a suitable body for this one to reincarnate into, they will have the same information that I just gave you.”

“W-who are you?” Jonx asked hesitatingly.

The shade didn’t answer, simply nodding their head as a veritable sledgehammer slammed into his skull. His eyes watered from the abrupt pressure in his brain, only for it to disappear a split second later. “That should provide any answers you might need.”

Hastily looking up and peering through the roof of his ship, something seemed to occur to the shade, “It appears that my time is running short, though I shouldn’t be too surprised given the pisspoor advancement of that iteration I just destroyed.”

Hurriedly turning back towards Jonx, the shade stared deeply into his eyes, pinning him to the spot even more so than their presence, “Find my other iterations. Give them the message I left behind inside of you. And for Celestial’s sake, advance. You will not survive the mission ahead as you are now. The etherborn has prepared you sufficiently to follow the legacy which I bestowed upon you. This is a blessing and a curse, Jonkheer, and yes I know your name. You and Highburren are open data tablets to even one of my lowly iterations. Share the gemstone with the etherborn. You both shall have need of its energy. I would gladly sacrifice this ripe fruit of mine to the pair of you in return for your successful completion of this mission.”

Suddenly, the entire ship shuddered and the pressure holding him down released, but the shade lingered for a brief moment. “Go. You are already heading in the right direction. Do not fail me in this, Jonkheer.” Then, in a flash of shadows, the shade was gone.

All that was left was a disembodied voice echoing in his head, “Keep the ring. Consider it another bribe for what you will have to endure.”

For the first time since he started to walk down his Way of Etherforging, Rowshee’s connection to his Master was silent. The devastation of Tat’us Black had been absolute. His Master’s own people betrayed her, slaves to a higher power. And now, he was adrift, cast out into the universe alone. He couldn’t even get in contact with the other core disciples.

Without her guidance, her mission, Rowshee had nothing. His Master was supposed to return to her former greatness, carrying him on her coattails, all the while teaching him the secrets of Scriptsmithing that only she knew. She had built an empire of cyborgs that threatened the heavens. Forged her own Way of Etherforging that diverged from the masses. Even now, her last gift to him was the scriptwork to push him all the way to the next realm, low-Soulsphere. He had examples and workbooks that detailed the arrays he would need to enchant in the next realm, but he lacked her insight, her genius.

His stubby claws gripped the armrests of his pilot’s chair. He was just so…angry. Angry at the treacherous Raidrians. Angry at himself for not foreseeing such an outcome — failing his Master. And finally, angry at being powerless in a battle between titans. It was all irrational, he knew that. But that was little comfort.

For a while, Rowshee ran his corvette on autopilot, letting his mind wander through the catastrophe that was Tat’us Black. It wasn’t until his AI dinged his sensors over and over again that he was broken out of his thoughts. Finally, he asked in an irritated tone, “What the phik is it, Migs?”

“Row-row, I know you’re having a moment here, but I think you really need to see this,” the AI reported. A holographic map was suddenly projected on his front window, displaying a wide area scan of the immediate space. Rowshee was surprised to find a blip on the map. He was in the middle of nowhere.

“What am I looking at here, Migs?” he asked, his interest piqued. In response, the AI put up a series of wavy lines right beside the map, a visual representation of the object’s ether signature. “Is that who I think it is? The blighted Herald is in the middle of nowhere? And why did he stop? There’s no space debris around us for tens of thousands of miles…”

“Yes, that’s definitely his ship. Other than that though, I can only guess as to why he would have stopped,” the AI reported.

Rowshee hastily cut off his engines and activated the scriptwork to dampen his own ether signature. He didn’t want the Herald catching a whiff of him just yet. The two had never truly been directly at odds with each other, though Rowshee doubted the Herald would be so accommodating to him given their complicated history together. Thus, he took precautions to remain unnoticed.

And so he sat and waited, slowly maneuvering his corvette to the far side of the nearest moon. He still had his sensors locked onto the Herald’s ship and now his own vessel was visually obscured. It was a long time before his quarry’s thrusters finally lit up, veering slightly off to the side. It was obvious to Rowshee that the Herald was headed towards the territories of the Intergalactic Imperium, since that was where he was headed as well.

This had to be more than just a coincidence. Rowshee could even believe that there was a divine hand in this. What were the odds that he would run into the Herald in the middle of nowhere, while they were both escaping from the very same disaster?

He was not a religious Clovenkind by any means, but he knew that there were Etherforgers who could discern fate. Even alter it by a small degree. Who knew what the higher realms held? What powers did the August Celestials wield? After all, the universe was vast — endless.

Firming his decision, Rowshee gunned his thrusters at the same time that he fed more ether into his dampening array. He was going to see what the Herald was up to.

A metallic, handheld cube crackled with bolts of blackened purple lightning, hovering in the center of a small room as a disembodied voice raged, “Gah-Filat, I will make your life a living nightmare! When I get out of this, you will wish to enter the cycle of reincarnation! I swear to all the Celestials above, there is nowhere that you can hide from me! You will die a slow dog’s death and I will love every moment of it.”

“Gnash your teeth all you want, Dak-Kalpak. You know as well as I do that there is nothing you can do in your box. I know you can sense the scriptwork at play. Blighted rust, you designed the first containment array,” Exos Gah-Filat replied calmly as he tapped a steely, forest-green finger on her cube. “It was ingenious of you, as always. Although, I hope that you can recognize the improvements I’ve made to your original blueprint. You will find them quite…difficult to circumvent.”

With that, Gah-Filat tapped his finger once more and activated the silencing feature. Then, he lightly etherpulsed the security code and a case of tenfold tempered glass slid soundlessly out of the floor and ceiling. Another pulse later and the secondary protective scriptwork switched on, ensuring that no unwanted persons could access his prize.

This was one of the conditions for his continued loyalty to Ollathair the Allfather. Originally, his plan was to let Dak-Kalpak continue her delusion of leadership. She was a legend to their people, an icon. And for the short time she returned, she had been a rallying point for their younger generations.

Unfortunately, Dak-Kalpak was always too greedy. Never content with her lot in life. Always striving for more, even when it was potentially detrimental to herself and her race. It was the source of her original downfall and now, she had fallen into the same pattern.

Gah-Filat strode out of the small room, a Scriptsmithed metalloy door coming down to further seal away his treasure. If she wasn’t able to control her urges herself, then he would have to do it for her. And while the Raidrians didn’t need her leadership any longer, they could still benefit from her genius. For centuries, she had been a prodigy of Scriptsmithing, innovating scriptwork arrays that literally reshaped the very evolution of their race. Surely, he could find a use for her ingenuity again. In fact, he was banking on it.

An urgent ping was sent to his AI and he immediately activated his Bulwark of Endless Decay, focusing on the internal portion of his circuit to enhance his speed threefold. Making it to the council chambers in record time, he made sure to comport himself first before meeting with his current master, August Celestial Ollathair.

The wide chamber was simply a cylindrical shaft that ran the entire diameter of the worldship, the Exeter-Gamma — one of his personally upgraded vessels from Dak-Kalpak’s original design. Gah-Filat floated on a mist of rusted particles to sidle up next to another avatar of Ollathair in his voluminous robes. His master had sent multiple copies as assurance, but this second avatar had been too late. Even Ollathair had not expected the Dragon from Dusk till Dawn to be able to fully manifest a Celestial circuit of Bastion.

“Are you prepared, Gah-Filat?” the avatar asked. The council chamber had no floor. Anyone who could access this room was in the higher realms of Etherforing and so could fly with ease. As such, all of the necessary ethertech was accessed by interactive holographic displays, which were embedded directly into the walls of the shaft.

“I stand ready, master,” Gah-Filat intoned. The avatar bobbed his hooded head once, “Good, now steel yourself.”

A tetrahedron as large as his chest suddenly appeared out of what Gah-Filat assumed was the avatar’s storage device. One of the four triangular sides opened to reveal an immaculate ether gemstone hidden within its folds, scintillating with yellow energy. Gah-Filat quickly contorted his etheraura in a cocoon around himself, almost like a second skin, infusing it with his willpower.

He was just in time as the gemstone powered on. A laser light show rapidly blanketed the entire chamber, eventually resolving into a giant face chiseled out of stone. As soon as the image snapped into place, a heavy pressure descended and both Gah-Filat and Ollathair dipped in the air. If not for his etheraura, the Raidrian was certain he would have fallen much further. He didn’t recognize who this was, but he knew an August Celestial when he sensed one.

“Ollathair,” the stone-face inclined their head by a fraction, “I was not expecting you to contact me so soon. What news do you bring?”

With every word, Gah-Filat’s very being vibrated. Even if he wanted to speak, he couldn’t. The August Celestial was clearly transmitting enough willpower so that only his master was able to communicate freely.

“Greetings, Noth-Lit, Prime of the Reach,” the avatar swept a half-bow before continuing, “My people have discovered something that you may find quite interesting.” Lifting up his hand, Ollathair conjured an image of the mountain-sized ethertech structure which was protected so vehemently by the black and white dragon. Gah-Filat had lost a Mu-class worldship because of that creature, though after his master informed him of who he fought, he was grateful to have only lost that much.

Granite eyebrows rose slightly in surprise as the stone giant’s voice rumbled throughout the council chamber, “Do you know who this belongs to? Where did you find this?”

The avatar nodded and flicked his wrist, summoning a star chart with a glaring red dot to indicate the location of Tat’us Black. “Hmm, that is unclaimed territory. My own Pentumvirate was nearby. Why have they not contacted me with this?”

Ollathair splayed his hands in a conciliatory gesture, “Apologies, Prime of the Reach, but your people did not survive. None of the Celestial fleets did. We encountered an iteration of the Dragon himself.”

At the mention of their enemy, the pressure in the room doubled and Gah-Filat nearly plummeted to the bowels of the ship, saved only by a steadying hand on his shoulder from his master. The projection’s voice reverberated this time like a too-close gong, “You fought my archrival and lived to tell the tale? Do not jest with me, Allfather, lest I strike you and yours down as we speak.”

With a nod of his head, the avatar conjured three-dimensional figures doing battle in orbit above a shrouded planet. A vibrant black and white serpent with wings wide enough to blot out whole continents flew to and fro, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake. A small mountain of a humanoid with four arms slung a pair of humongous swords ineffectually at the enraged dragon. The scenes being replayed couldn’t help but flash in Gah-Filat’s mind. He was there. And for the rest of his long life, he would not be able to forget the Dragon from Dusk till Dawn.

The avatar inclined his head once more, “As you can see, Prime, it was merely an iteration of the Dragon himself. Restricted to his Bastion alone. My people survived, but my avatar did not. Fortunately, I sent more than one.”

A pregnant pause followed as the chiseled face took their time to process the implications, until finally, “Do you have what I want? Or has this been nothing but a song and dance to tease me?”

Ollathair revealed his four hands from beneath his voluminous robes and clapped them together loudly, quickly bowing low at the waist. Gah-Filat hastily followed suit, not wanting to offend the Forger that could call the Dragon their archrival. From his bent position, he couldn’t see what transpired, but he heard pleasure coming from the voice. “You’ve done well, Allfather. Name a boon and it shall be yours for this offering.”

“I would not dream of imposing on such an illustrious figure as the Prime of the Reach, but…would you be willing to part with a gemstone or three?” the avatar asked greedily.

A raucous laugh answered him, so powerful that Gah-Filat felt the entire Exeter-Gamma shake.

“Done!”