Alien Evolution System - Chapter 177

Within a storm of whirling Grain, there flew something in the skies that should not have been there: a ship.

No dwarven ship, either, that relied on internal engines to fuel their way through the effects of Grain, but a ship that precious few across any of the Common Body had or would ever see.

A ship from Alo, the realm of eternal waters whose denizens and ways were still a mystery, their realm unreachable even through the Convergence, with not even the New Gods capable of reaching them unless they desired it so.

The ship appeared as a pearl white pod fashioned from the shell of an aquatic creature, and translucent, jellyfish-like tendrils emerged from its back, whipped back and forth to push the ship through the air in a movement that did not resemble flying so much as it did swim through the air.

“This is the area,” said Alana, an Aloan, another rare sight.

Her upper body was relatively humanoid, dressed in scale and shell clothing drawn tight to her body for hydrodynamic purposes. Her pale white arms had fins emerging from the forearms, as did a dorsal fin from her upper back. Her grey hair floated in the air in slow waves, as if underwater, despite the fact that there was no water to be seen anywhere.

Gills lined her neck, but they were closed for they needed not to breathe in water for now.

Her lower body comprised of a lengthy fish-like tail of emerald green scales that curled around the smooth white floor of the ship.

Alana’s gleaming yellow eyes tracked the screen made of floating water bubbles and vapor in front of her. The bubbles, foam, and vapor formed images of the surroundings of the ship, and they even projected color through bioluminescent microbes within them.

“But sonar shows no wreckage of a dwarven fleet, let alone anything resembling a monster and a daemon girl,” said Alana. Her voice had a small undulation to it, as if permanently underwater. She crossed her arms and cocked her head. “Odd.”

“Are you sure? Try again,” came the gruff voice of a powerfully built, sizable human, and though the scars on his face and his tree trunk like arms indicated the build of a warrior, the decorated purple robes he wore showed that he was instead a mage.

He scratched his head in annoyance, his fierce eyes narrowing in frustration. Wrinkled crow’s eyes fanned out from under his eyes, indicating age.

“Why do you bother scratching your head, Thorian?” said Alana. “You have no hair.”

“An old habit,” said Thorian.

“You have not had your hair for decades, my friend. A little too late to be clinging on to old habits, no?” said another human, just as old as Thorian if his greying hair was to be believed.

A tall, thin man in baggy white robes with darker skin indicating heritage from the desert lands of Utu. He leaned against the ship’s wall with a wooden staff in his hand.

Not the stave of a mage, but a staff meant for martial usage, meant for beating and striking rather than waving around to channel mana.

“Quiet, Hazi,” said Thorian, though he did crack a faint smile. But it soon faded into seriousness. “The Sorcerer’s Order and the Adventurer’s League are going to investigate this area soon.

We need to find Krala fast.”

“Dubious. And you are sure that you can find her? Even through this dense primal energy?” said Alana. “Aloan ships and magic travel and shine through primal air, but the same cannot be said of your Common magic.”

“Trust me,” said Thorian as he clutched a pendant at his neck. A black metaled pendant holding a lock of glowing purple hair within, linking a resonating signal to the soul of the hair’s owner directly.

An artifact of exceptional rarity made from the lost Coresmithing techniques of Zerul, one that functioned in both primal and common lands.

“I can back him up,” said a far younger face. A young man with conventionally good, dashing looks, though dark bags under his eyes and gaunt lines in his cheek indicated he had seen far better times.

His hair was long and frayed. One of his arms was fashioned from metal that gleamed with the glowing green lines similar to circuitry. “Vera’s Paths are still active, so I know she is alive, and she was here with that monster.

Though beyond here, I cannot tell, for the fall of Grain is too strong.”

“Interesting. It always astounds me that your League and Order can be at once so efficient and yet so stupid at the same time,” said Alana bluntly. “The League will not listen to your words, so you resort to us.”

“Resort? Alana, that is the wrong word,” said Thorian. “We, the members of the All-Tree, are now the first line of defense to save your people, our people, and all the realms from the Selection.

Furio’s words were not believed for a reason. There is a purpose to this. The gods know, they always do, and they are plotting something.

As for Krala’s location, her soul still emanates a signature, though-,” Thorian looked to his pendant, feeling the signature recalibrate her location.

‘Wait for me, Krala,’ he thought. ‘I will come to find you, and together, we will talk to your mother again.’

But even this hope seemed to dim as Thorian read the signature emanating from the pendant.

“But she is farther north now,” said Thorian, his voice solemn.

Hazi raised an eye. “How far north are we talking here?”

“To the Rift, at least,” said Thorian.

“You are willing to travel to the Rift?” said Hazi incredulously. “Make no mistake, I am not doubting our strengths. Alana’s magic will allow us to fight in primal air if only for a little bit, and certainly, most of us are strong, but the Rift is no place for idle chatter.

Even finding food there will be a mighty struggle, let alone a wild chase across its unexplored depths.”

“We must go,” said not Thorian, but a woman. A grey skinned woman clad in skin-tight black clothing speckled with red eyes. From her protruding fangs, bat-like wings, and blood red eyes, it was obvious she was a Vampyr.

“No, it is far too dangerous,” said Hazi. “I, Hazi, know well of the dangers of primal lands. They are not to be trifled with. In fact, I am surprised that Krala’s soul still resonates. I would have thought her dead a thousand times over by now.

Are we not certain this is no diversion? No distraction? Soul magic is certainly rare, but are there not rare creatures that delve in it? Such as the Facestealers, one of which lies within these lands?”

“If a Facestealer has Krala’s soul, then we kill it and take it back,” said Saerish flatly. “If none of you will do it, I will. I know I am strong enough. Because without her soul, there is no way into Zerul, let alone into the Royal Palace, and that means no Duskfall, the crux of our entire plan to stand against the gods.”