Ar'Kendrithyst - Chapter 263, 2/2

Caa spreads her wings wide as she gazes upon the crystal world below, and she loves everything about this new form. Her wings are translucent blue. Her scales are the color of the deep ocean. Her claws and teeth are the rending black of absolute pressure. She is a match for the crystal spires and the black night overhead and even the glowing clouds and sunlight below.

She is one of the most beautiful things in this land, aside from the giant black dragon that is her newest boss, floating beside her, scanning the world with his myriad of senses. He is handsome enough. Erick and Shadow will be joined in love eventually. It is a wonderful thing to bear witness to, and from so close of proximity that Caa enjoys as Shadow’s Second. Whatever happens with this ‘Quilatalap’ on Veird and Shadow-the-Creator will either prove to be the most delightful thing that Caa will have witnessed in her long life, or a disaster of great proportion.

Holy Mother Caa is delighted by this new future of hers at House Benevolence.

She is less than delighted with these two disgraceful returners, Geraz Hydaki and Daria Lys. They had been two great lovers born in the middle of their cities’ lives, to families that were intertwined long before this man and woman were motes of Fate on the horizon. That horizon passed ages ago, and now these returners are back, killing their people in ritual death.

It is, perhaps, another declaration of love to an age long ago, being written once again and in new ink, on new pages.

For it is easy to see the love that Geraz and Daria still share with each other. It is easy to see the love shared between their two cities, too, for the cities of Hydaki and Lys are a double mountain top, joined by a great thickness of a bridge between the two. That bridge is wider than it is long, by far, and on that crystal bridge stand the delinquent returners.

All around the delinquents are corpses.

This has not been a fight at all. This has been a ritual killing.

Geraz wears white robes covered in red. He holds a sword that is almost as tall as himself. Daria wears white robes covered in red. She holds a sword that is almost as tall as herself. The swords are white crystal. The swords are both ceremonial, and useful. Perhaps they are even more useful in this case because they are ceremonial.

They were the swords that Geraz and Daria used to kill themselves an age ago, to take away the Contracts that had plagued their cities. Those Contracts of Wraithborne once again plague their cities, and a whole lot worse than before, so it is only fair that those swords come out to play once again.

Caa turns her serpentine head, focusing on the grey pillars of light rising from both cities. The pillars of Wraithborne are not central, but they are prominent. She focuses her senses in ways that are both unfamiliar and rapidly becoming familiar to see through kilometers of crystal buildings, to look upon those Wraithborne facilities. They are preparing for war.

This is expected.

Caa is preparing for war as well.

If Caa had been alone, if she had not had larger goals, then perhaps she would have drowned those places in dragonfire. Gods know that every single returner had similar thoughts in their heads. Most of them were able to tear themselves away from such action, but not all. Some of the returners that came to the Celestial Observatory had even torn themselves away from that edge of despair and death.

But Geraz and Daria.

They gave in to the impulse.

And now, Erick and Caa are here.

Caa observes.

Erick lands on one side of the grand bridge between the two cities. His great wings span the entire length of the bridge and more besides. He pulls his wings in and merely glares.

Caa lands on the other side of the wide bridge. She is still small, comparatively, but she is large enough to demand attention.

And down below, Geraz and Daria stop their ritual murder.

And their victims stop walking toward them to cleanse themselves of their taint.

Erick lightly declares, “At least you’re not on some sort of rampage. That is what I expected to see when I heard of your attack on this land. So what is all this?”

Caa knows that Erick knows what all this is. Everyone does. Erick gives them the chance to speak anyway.

It is rather Benevolent of him.

Caa would have rather picked up the delinquent returners and dealt with them elsewhere, but Erick is building reputation so it makes sense to have this out in the open. Caa cares not for reputation. This is why Caa has chosen to align with Shadow more than Erick. Shadow is Shadow. Erick is Erick. The two are similar enough to work together, but the way they do things is worlds different.

Geraz pulls his anger back a fraction, and says, “We’re cleansing the taint of this land, Ascended Flatt.”

“And these people are walking into your blades willingly?” Erick asks.

“Of course not!” Daria says, allowing her righteous anger to flow freely. “But that is the problem with Contracts, and one that must be shown to people over and over again! We still have divine rite over this land, for that is who we are and your magics could not take away who we are, and so!” She yells at the people who had stopped walking up to be killed, “Fulfill your duty to Lys and die to the blade of your ruler!”

It is, perhaps, a twisting of the demands that these people’s specific Contracts demand of them, but it is not an exaggeration, either. They have a choice in how they fulfill their Contracts, of course, but that choice is to die to the demands of their cities, or to be Sundered for their insolence.

It is no true choice at all.

And so, a soldier of Lys, terror in his eyes and urine in his drawers, walks forward.

Erick knows not to interrupt, for that would Sunder the soldier. Many others know the same thing, which is why this event is proceeding as it is proceeding. And yet…

Erick says, “There are better ways to do this, Daria Lys. There are ways that would actually save your city from this degradation, rather than harm your own people.”

Daria Lys strikes the soldier of Lys, splitting him from thigh to shoulder, her crystal blade carving right through armor and magics. She roars through her tears and a man dies. “These bastards went to Wraithborne! We killed ourselves and trapped ourselves in the Dead Waiting Room for centuries! And for what! For these bastards and the children of bastards to grow fat on the gifted Evils of Wraithborne!”

Geraz roars out, “The only reason this works at all is because of those damned Contracts! They only have themselves to blame! Them and their parents and everyone that allowed the small Evils into their lives because it allowed them to ignore the needy and the pained in the valleys all around!” He commanded a soldier of Hydaki, “Come and taste the Evil edge of the Contracts you took to live your life of ease!”

The soldier walked forward, though to call him a ‘soldier’ was perhaps a stretching of the word. He was rotund and sweating and dressed in finery. A noble of some sort.

Geraz cuts him down.

Erick said, “This is not the best way to do this, for all these people are bound by Contract to your cities first, and then to Wraithborne. When they come back from the Waiting Room there will be calls for Wraithborne to amend the Contracts, to disallow what you are doing right now, and in doing so your homes will get in bed with Wraithborne even more.”

Erick is likely watching all the noble and otherwise houses of Hydaki and Lys at this very moment, where nobles and kings of the current age rage at Contractors, demanding amendments, and those same Contractors demand more power in these cities in turn. All of those people are arguing around the facts that Erick has just laid out in such plain language. A few of them stop arguing, and look at the people across the table from them, and arguments turn crueler. Erick is watching them, and they are watching Erick.

Daria and Geraz do not care for the greater politics at play at the moment. And yet…

Do they understand what they are doing is only causing harm to all around them? Including themselves?

Caa thinks they do.

Daria screams as she cuts down another man who was unwilling and unable to defend himself. And then she screams again, saying, “I know!”

Geraz breathes out. “I know.” His sword, once held at the ready, now dips. “We know.”

Erick says, “I need more people to become Soul Mages, to truly bring back those from the grips of Contract into new bodies, like you have right now. You two have a strong connection with each other. You would be a good Anchor and Seeker pair. We’d just need to get you a third, and there are lots of people back in the House who wish to do for many others what I have done for you two, to bring you back out of the clutches of Contract. I would have you work in that way to solve this problem in a much better way.” Erick shrinks down to be merely human, and yet draped in the finest glowthread, his human-shaped form seeming as great as his draconic self in those glows. He walks forward, and then he is there, meters from the bloodshed, his feet soaking in red. “But you must stop this bloodshed.”

Daria breaks down and starts sobbing in her pain.

Geraz’s face is a mask, but tears still mar his visage.

Caa finds herself agreeing with Erick’s stance of turning problems into their own solutions. To make the killers into resurrectors? Into dangerous soul mages, themselves shackled by utmost morality? It is a cruel, yet honest sort of judgment.

Caa imagines that Erick is seeing his actions in a kinder light.

Both ways of seeing are likely correct.

How Daria and Geraz see their circumstances is a fact unknown to Caa. All she knows is that they agree to move on.

Caa was merely an observer this whole time, and that was fine. She appreciated when words were enough.

But soon, words would not be enough.

– – – –

Tris had no idea how he had ended up here on Reincarnation Island, working with former kings and queens and Talents and more, all on this crazy dream of eradicating Slaver’s Den and Malevolence and beckoning Wraithborne to become not-Wraithborne anymore…

Well.

That is not true, he reminded himself.

He knew why he was here, slotting tech to tech and bolting together this capacitor and that black box learner of this awakening engine.

Tris was doing some basic techwork for House Benevolence, for while this place was filled with kings and queens of forgotten ages, they didn’t know shit about tech… Which was pretty much true of all ages, Tris supposed. As he connected more wires to more wires and otherwise, Tris wondered how today had happened, yet again.

He had come to Cascadio’s Cavalcade in a mid-life crisis of faith about how he was going to pay for his son’s and wife’s medical treatment when all the jobs down in Lower City Sestey were drying up and moving across the river. He had expected a direction change in his life. For Cascadio to guide him to some new land that had some incentives to move there, where medical facilities could actually heal his son Kerbo and his wife Aliandra of The Rot, instead of dripping healing to keep Tris on the line for yearly payments.

Those yearly payments were breaking his back.

Those yearly payments were trying to get him to sign bigger Contracts.

And so, he had come here to the Cavalcade, and found himself wandering over here, wondering what all the big bubble of magic was on the horizon. When he got there, the bubble had popped, and then there were dragons and void flier elves and other impossible existences, and then a guy on Reincarnation Island had seen Tris and asked him if he wanted a job.

Tris had not even said anything to the man before that moment, but then he said ‘yes’, and now he was here.

Working on a machine that no sane person would ever let some random guy work on.

But. Like. Tris was pretty sane, and yeah, this was a good job and he could do it when most other people couldn’t. And the benefits of this job were already showing themselves.

Kerbo and Aliandra were over there, eating sandwiches with some person who was giving away free food. And they were healed, completely. The doctors at Lower City Sestey had said that they couldn’t be healed like that. But there they were, his son and wife, healed, and even in new bodies. Their son was 13 and healthy which would give him back his youngest years of life which had been lost and twisted by The Rot. Aliandra was 25 again and looking more beautiful than ever.

Her laugh was the same, and wow did Tris miss that wonderful, chiming laugh.

Tris had a new body, too.

He was 25 again.

Just.

Wham!

Here you go! 225 years of your life back! Have fun! And oh yeah, can you make this ungodly expensive, strategic-resource, and dangerous machine for us? What? You’re not sure? But of course you can do it!

We trust you.

Tris still didn’t know how he felt about that, except that Kerbo was probably going to be getting a brother or sister soon, and for multiple reasons—

“I think you need this next, right?” said one of Tris’s new ‘co-workers’, a woman by the name of Lokketalon who was a void flier with 4 bright white wings. She set down a flux battery that looked to be made out of silvercarb. “I think this one will work… Or at least that was the impression I got. I’m sure you’ll make it work. What do you need next?”

Tris was still taking in the battery sitting on the grass beside him. It was, perhaps, the most expensive battery that Tris had ever seen, and he had worked on warpships before, where space was at an absolute premium. With a disbelieving voice that was rapidly becoming his normal voice, “How much did this cost?”

“Like 150,000 resons or something stupid expensive, but Erick wants this thing to be indestructible and truly working well, so there you go.”

Tris had to take a moment.

He looked at the awakening machine he was cobbling together based on the diagrams and such provided to him by Overseer Ta’Kamoil and based on his own tech experience of being 150 years on the job… This shit was already at 4 million resons because most of the parts were illegal or impossible to acquire because to get those parts you would have to deal with Talents and maybe even Powers, so the 4m price tag was really more like 45m for most people.

The whole thing took up barely ten meters worth of space so far, but it was about as complicated as a full warpdrive engine…

And it was coming together as easy as slotting pieces into pieces.

That part was really getting to Tris.

All of these parts were not meant to fit together like puzzle pieces. They were all different tech that barely played well with each other on a good day.

Tris muttered, “I have no idea how come this thing is coming together so well.” With some easy sarcasm, Tris asked, “Say? Can you put that battery right there, in that slot in this machine that it looks like it can go right into, and that I don’t have to actually mangle to make it work? Because of course I don’t have to mangle anything to make anything work anymore. Of course you got a battery that perfectly slots into the space I made for it, even though it shouldn’t, because all I asked for was a power supply number, and not material or size or… And with silvercarb I don’t even have to worry about waste heat.”

Lokketalon smiled wide, and then put the battery right into the slot that Tris did not know he was making for the battery, saying, “I know! Isn’t it great! We’re all pretty sure it’s some sort of intrinsic Fate Magic—” The battery clicked into place. A little ‘ready’ glowed upon the drab silver surface of the battery. “Yup! Fate Magic. So what’s next on the list?”

Tris took a moment. He said, “Some base metal fabrication for the final touches—”

“Ah! That’s what I’m here for,” said a guy behind Tris.

Tris turned.

Normally, Tris would be worried.

Nothing was worrying him right now. “Hello, Overseer.”

Lokketalon smiled, affected a deep, kinda-sarcastic bow, and said, “Welcome to our project, oh wondrous Overseer Ta’Kamoil.”

“You cut that shit right now, Lokketalon,” Overseer Ta’Kamoil said, smiling as he said it. “I’m only the Overseer because I’m slightly more politically minded than you.”

“And you are welcome to it!” Lokketalon said.

Ta’Kamoil chuckled as he looked over the awakening machine… He blinked. Tris saw his eyes flicker and glow as he did whatever magery that mages usually did to look at stuff below the hood. And then Ta’Kamoil pulled back, nodding. “Yup! I don’t know about most of that, but it looks like you followed the directions to me. I didn’t even know something like this existed, but I guess it’s common in the tech side of Margleknot?”

“Fuck no it’s not common… uh,” Tris said, realizing he had let his usual way of working escape his mouth. “Uh. I mean. No, sir.”

Ta’Kamoil smirked a little. “But it will work?”

“Well… Theoretically.” Tris said, “I put all the parts together and there’s a bunch of checks that are checking out… A little too well, if you ask me. But I guess that’s magic for you? I’m not really one for magic, but I can certainly know when I’m around it… some of the time— Anyway! Yeah. I guess? We need a pair of big plates of mana-fused metal tuned to the power you want to awaken in the person who steps between those plates. Then we hook those plates up there on those slots, one on each side, and then the person steps into the machine and we turn it on… Well…” Tris shrugged. “The person standing between the plates awakens their aura? Mana sense, too; whatever the heck that is. I usually work on warp engines and this stuff is a whole lot different, but the level of tech is the same. Seen about 12 of these before. Each of them was heavily guarded on account of how easy it is to power people… Never got to step in one myself.”

He certainly thought about it before, though. About stealing into one of those facilities and giving himself some real power. No easier way to gain power than to actually gain power. Plus, having mana means you could pay Margleknot for resons and actually have money for once in a damned while.

He’d have been found out within minutes, though, and not just because of security cameras and shit like that.

He’d have been found out for much more basic reasons.

“… Anyway.” Tris said, “And that’s really it. Just need some Benevolence-infused metal— I assume that’s what you want, right? This is House Benevolence, yeah? Gotta make people Benevolence-flavored. Anyway. I’m sure the metal’s got a name but I don’t know it.”

Lokketalon and then Ta’Kamoil both realized something as they heard Tris talk.

“Right!” Ta’Kamoil nodded. “I know why I am here, now, and that is to go get Erick.”

As the Overseer walked away, toward the other side of the island…

Erick was already walking this way, and he was almost here.

He just looked like a dude.

A tall dude, for sure. Big horns, too. Kinda handsome, Tris guessed… He glanced over at Aliandra and saw her looking at Erick. Tris turned back to Erick. Yeah. He could see it.

Anyway.

Erick said, “I heard. So let’s do this.” He waved a hand at the machine and some illusions appeared in the transmission zone; two big silver plates perfectly fit to the hookups, yes, but also some extra plates on the floor and some weird little tuning tines here and there. “That look about like what the machine needs, Tris?”

None of this felt real today, so Tris had no problem saying, “More metal isn’t a bad thing and I’m not sure what the little tines are for, but yeah.”

“It’s for grounding,” Erick said, “I expect people to zap the ground and nearby areas when they awaken.”

“Ah.” Tris said, looking over the machine. “Then yeah. There are alterations we could make to the machine to better allow for lightning… Of course I already grounded the whole thing ten times over… or more like 4.”

“It’s for lightning that creates plants.”

“… Can’t rightly say I’ve ever dealt with that sort of problem, sir.”

Had he said that with too much irreverence? Probably. This was probably a very big point in Tris’s new career in House Benevolence, but nothing felt real right now, so he was probably flubbing it some.

Erick simply smiled and touched a button on his shirt, making two buttons in the action. Two buttons rapidly became four, and then eight, and then Erick held the buttons with pure power, turning that metal into a little ingot, which became another ingot, and then four, and then eight. He continued with more and more bits of metal, doing the impossible of making magical metal just like that, but which Tris had already seen happen, and which he was seeing happen right now, so he couldn’t really deny his own sight, could he?

The guy was pulling metal out of nothing, as though it were a parlor trick and not something truly memorable. It was real fucking metal, too. Not a fae trick.

All the while, Erick easily said, “Everything probably feels really weird to you right now, Tris, but you’re going to go far here. You just needed a little bit of help to get on a better Path in life. You’ll be fine.”

Tris felt his heart beat hard.

The guy wasn’t lying at all, was he.

In the moments, Erick had installed the panels he had said he was going to install.

And then he pressed the button to turn on the machine. A holographic readout came online exactly as it should have… which was strange. Usually these machines kinda broke and needed to be repaired a few times before they started actually working.

Tris mumbled to himself, “Of course it works the first time you turn it on. What’s another miracle on the pile? Not much, that’s what.”

Erick looked at the menu for a while.

Ta’Kamoil and Lokketalon looked at the screen with Erick.

And then Erick looked to Tris. “What do all these buttons do?”

For a very weird reason, Tris found that question immensely enjoyable. FINALLY! Things made sense again. All these mages didn’t know shit about tech. Yes! Here now was something that made sense.

Tris gestured to the buttons on top, saying, “Those are the ones to determine power output and the ones on bottom are the harmonics for the soul and you usually start at low power, which is a combination of that button and that button and then you increase until the person in the machine experiences an Awakening Event. You usually have to cycle through the soul resonance buttons to find something that works. When the Awakening Event occurs, then the machine spits out some basic ideas of what magics the person might be good at. That black button turns it off.”

Erick smiled at the screen as Tris spoke. “Ah! Yes. That makes sense now.” And then he poked at the holobuttons and the machine hummed to life. Tiny white sparks jolted from the tines Erick had put on the metal plates, leaving tiny green spots growing on the metal. Erick looked at the plates. Then he pressed the black button to turn it off, saying, “There appears to be a drain on the mana in the metal?”

Tris said, “That’s the problem with these machines. You gotta get new metals all the time, which is why the people who have one of these machines don’t let just anyone use them. That readout there on the screen tells you about how many uses you can get out of the machine based on the power inside the metal plates. It’s the most expensive part of the machine, because it’s not easy to get mana-infused metals… for most people.”

Erick looked over the machine as Tris spoke.

Ta’Kamoil and Lokketalon did, too.

Erick said, “I can solve that problem in multiple ways, and a few of which might be permanent solutions, but I’ll do it this way for now.” And then he bloomed with light, and suddenly ten copies of the metal plates of the chamber appeared on a stack a little bit aways from the machine. “There we go. Replacement parts. Easy peasy.”

Tris stared, mumbling, “Easy peasy.”

Erick smiled, “This will be so much faster than training people to unlock aura control and mana sensing. Ahh! This is good. It’s almost like people getting the Script back home for a time. You want to go first, Tris?”

Tris’s eyes went wide. “… You’ll let me use it?”

“Of course! I’m sure you could benefit from the mana production, aura control, and mana sensing that this machine can grant a person, right? You have no normal training in that way, do you? Otherwise it’d take you years to learn normal magic, and we don’t have years.”

Tris still couldn’t believe the events of the day. “I could use all of that, sir!”

Erick smiled. “Hop on in, then.”

Five minutes later, Tris’s world expanded.

Everything seemed even less real than before, and now he could shoot little jolts of white sparks from his fingers and make mushrooms at a touch. They were pretty tasty mushrooms, too.

Later that evening, Tris lay with Aliandra in their new bed in their new home, while Kerbo slept in his very own room beside their own. Dinner had been a whole bunch of fresh meat and nice vegetables and mushrooms. He stared at the ceiling, holding onto Aliandra with one arm, her breath warm on his chest.

He held his other hand up, into the air, in the dark. Reaching for something he could barely touch. A fingernail on a ledge. A thought struggling to escape his tongue.

Tris felt warm and safe for the first time in a long time. He still didn’t understand any of it…

But sparks of lightning glittered in the black, illuminating his fingers and his new life, and it was good.

– – – –

Querkooda had been a simple elven boy in his youth who had not known that he was different until much later in life.

But when he was young, he was no one special. Like many of those born in the Good Lands, and like all of his brothers and sisters, Querkooda had been born with the rather basic ability to See Evil. When he wished for fun, Querkooda did what any village boy did. He went out and killed Evil. It wasn’t till his adult years that he realized how simplistic a thing it was to kill someone based on their use of Elemental Evil, and how oddly he had been raised.

And yet, knowing the oddness of his homeland made him love his people all the more. They were simple. They were Good. Not a single child wanted for anything at home. Not a single grandparent went to their death without a family to surround them, either around their bed, or around them in battle. Not a single brother or sister or cousin was left to fend for themselves.

But eventually, Querkooda distinguished himself from his peers, and he rose through the ranks to become a General for the Armies of the Good Lands. No longer was he solving border skirmishes, but instead he was protecting the realm. He was making decisions to rescue people. He was breaking Evil slavers and killing Evil lawyers and demolishing the wrongdoers of the world.

It was a good life.

During his time as General of the Downspire Flank, Querkooda had developed his shared ability to See Evil into something a lot more unifying. He shared Sight and Knowing with his troops, and they all acted with the power of the entire army because of him. Because of him, the Downspire Flank saved the realm more than once. Because of him, Wraithborne went after him the most of all.

And all the while, Wraithborne Contracts ate at the realm.

Eventually Querkooda fell to those very same Contracts. In a final act of Sacrifice, he turned his ability to Share with his people to absorb all the Contracts that his people had been poisoned with, allowing them to escape.

And then he spent several millennia in the Dead Waiting Room, living a life of nothing, while occasionally ripping and tearing any Evil that he found.

It had been a bad death.

And now he was alive again.

And he was a dragon, too.

And his ability to See Evil… was not really that anymore at all. He was still figuring out that part of himself.

But he still Knew Evil when he saw it.

When he went to the declaration of war meeting with his King to see the Evil of Slaver’s Den, he did not need to know who they were beforehand to know them as Evil.

Querkooda wanted to kill them all and sunder their souls.

It would be improper in many ways and the Fae Enforcers would attack him if he sundered anyone at all… And yet…

Querkooda sat in his rather stuffy elven form, with his curling white horns upon his head and his fingernails probably too claw like, scratching softly at the armrest of his chair, while an open stretch of stone separated House Benevolence from the Evils of Slaver’s Den. They were in the Non-Combat Zone at the moment, because this is where one went to declare war, because meeting in any other sort of land would have been a disaster for any number of assassination reasons. This was not Querkooda’s first experience with this land, with this sort of situation.

The Non-Combat Zone was the same basic grey stone room in a nothingness, like always, and the evil was Evil, like always. This was the Apparent King’s first time here, though, and he seemed to approve of Margleknot’s way of doing at least this much. ‘A place to talk to the enemy, safely? What a grand idea!’

These talks never really worked, in Querkooda’s opinion, but it was still Good to have them.

Erick was on his left, in a similar chair to Querkooda’s own.

Shadow was further left, also in the same sort of chair.

Querkooda sighed a little. There was a time for talking and a time for doing, and though Querkooda could See the benefit in doing this… It still felt like they were giving too much face to slavers.

And yet, Querkooda reminded himself, it was Good to give the enemy a chance to prevent bloodshed.

And yet, Slavers ought to be murdered swiftly, not spoken to, like they were somehow still people. Evil gave up the right to call itself ‘people’ when it took in that Element. These things sitting before House Benevolence were no more than raw materials to be reincarnated into something better.

But they had only been here for 10 seconds so far. Perhaps Querkooda was being hasty?

Probably not.

The three people on the other side of the open space were perhaps some of the worst Evils Querkooda had ever known, and he had known a lot. Perhaps they were not the most powerful, for all of the most powerful Evils went to Wraithborne, but Slaver’s Den was still Slaver’s Den.

Captain Shackle sat in the center chair. He was a void flier man of black armors and black wings. He was responsible for world-sized raiding parties that captured people and soul shackled them to slavery. He deserved to be Sundered, and if Querkooda ever caught him on Layer 1, or outside of Margleknot, that is what Querkooda would do.

Underling Chains sat to Shackle’s right. He was a half-eldritch thing of metal and flesh, and this part of him here was just the smallest part of his body, sent here because he needed to be here, to be at this meeting. The majority of him was strewn throughout all of Slaver’s Den’s many Intakes and cities. He was their mass security force. Killing him was easy. Keeping him dead? Another matter entirely.

Underling Walara sat to Shackle’s left. She was a demon of sex and death who delighted in breaking people to make them into compliant slaves. Despicable.

None of them would surrender at all.

All of them would have to die.

Querkooda bore witness to this farce of a meeting and hoped it ended soon. He was not the only one. Erick felt the same way. He only did this because it was right to do, as Querkooda kept reminding himself.

Querkooda respected attempted Good… Even if Erick wasn’t all about Good.

Benevolence was close enough… Probably.

Shackle spoke first, “We will kill you all and sell your disembodied souls to the highest bidders.”

Ah! Good. This farce was going to go swiftly.

Querkooda approved.

Erick smiled softly, and said, “I appreciate your candor. In the interest of being forthright myself, I ask you to surrender completely, and I will ensure that you are free to go after a reincarnation. I offer this opportunity to all of your people, as well. Any takers?”

Walara giggled, saying, “Can I have him before we sell him, Shackle? I want to break him.”

“Of course you can, dear,” Shackle said.

“Excellent. I am now free of guilt.” Erick stood, saying, “We’re done here.”

Shackle and his party stood. Querkooda and Shadow stood.

They departed the Non-Combat Zone.

When they were once again standing on the grassy surface of Reincarnation Island, Erick breathed deep and appeared lighter, as though a weight had fallen, this was because a weight had fallen.

Querkooda recognized that look. He said, “It is always easier to go into battle with enemies that are merciless.”

“It is,” Erick said, nodding. He rolled his shoulders, and then asked, “So that Non-Combat Zone was interesting.”

“You said that before, as well,” Querkooda said, “But I have a hard time believing that you had nothing like this on Veird.”

“It’s always an arms race, you know. I was expecting them to be able to overcome the protections there, too.”

“Ah.” Querkooda said, “If anyone could have fought in that place it would have been someone like you or Shadow. Shackle, Chains, and Walara are simple Talents at the higher end of the spectrum. They couldn’t do anything there, at all.”

Shadow said, “I’m rather sure that Chains is a low Power, but only because of his inability to be easily killed. Keep that in mind.”

Querkooda nodded.

Erick nodded as well. “How long till the troops are ready to engage, to make a foothold on Slaver’s Den?”

“I would give them another week. The Awakening Machine is helping a great deal. You will still be the bulk of our forces, though. You’re the only one actually immune to the Slave Magics of Slaver’s Den.” Querkooda said, “We can sweep up trash and control lands, but it will be a year of training before we can actually be a force to be reckoned with, to be able to take the High Cities of Slaver’s Den through a force of Talents of our own. Setting up the auto-resurrections for our people will go a long way to allow them to actually go to war, but Slaver’s Den is skilled in Soul Magics, so death is not something we should expect in any combat between our forces.

“The nascent Soul Mages you have training with Ta’Kamoil need at least a year of training before I would ever have them operate on a person. Ta’Kamoil himself is maybe a few days from realizing his new Truth, thanks to Shadow. I am at least a few days away from regaining something of my lost Sight, as well, so that is my personal timeline to war. I can almost… It’s almost there.” He decided to share something. “When I close my eyes and focus, I can see a path of soft light that turns hard here and there…” He shrugged. “I likely need to be in combat to refine that into something useful.”

Erick gave a small smile, and then he turned Apparent King, and said, “That is a fine time frame, but we do need a whole lot more space and I am loathe to impose upon Cascadio more than necessary, even if he says he likes having us here. I cannot bring a war to his lands. Therefore, we’ll be creating a beachhead on Slaver’s Den right now.”

Querkooda felt his skin prickle.

And suddenly things made more sense again.

When had Querkooda ever hesitated against Evil? Never. Why had he given a timeline of days? He had no idea. Perhaps because he wasn’t used to having needs. The Dead Waiting room had eroded too much, hadn’t it.

At Erick’s declaration, Querkooda felt a surge of need once again.

The air charged with power. Power glowed within his sight, highlighting the righteous and the unrighteous, and all this land was light, and all the lands of Slaver’s Den held in Querkooda’s mind’s eye like a pit of grey nothing. It was not light, it was not dark or shadow; it was the absence of Benevolence, and it was a disaster. For a moment, Querkooda Saw Beyond Seeing again, and then the moment faded.

It was a flicker of Truth, right there, beyond his grasp.

Such a Truth would need to be refined in battle.

If Querkooda had been a young elven boy, talking about Seeing things to his elders, then his Elders would have thrown him at a difficult battle. Erick is doing the same.

The solution is simple, and Querkooda is wondering why he had not seen it before now.

Perhaps he had spent too long being dead.

Querkooda fell to one knee. “I am ready, my King.”

Erick said, “I know you are, and I am glad to see it. Where shall we attack first, my General?”

Querkooda was not a young elven boy anymore. Before, he would have said, ‘At the largest enemy out there!’ But no. He was a man full grown and thousands of years old, though he did not remember most of them for they were lost to the Waiting Room. With that age came wisdom. With that wisdom, Querkooda proved himself worthy of being the General of House Benevolence by already being prepared for this question many times over.

“I have several options planned. Let us pick one.”

 

– – – –

Respen had given up on screaming at his captors and vowing vengeance after the first day of whipping and branding. It was the fourth day now, and he had been reduced to incoherent screaming. He had not yet given up his soul. Not yet.

He desperately wanted to.

Brother Vulen and sister Vanya already had given up everything. The looks they were giving Respen for not following them into damnation were almost as bad as the branding. The demon had promised that this would all be over as soon as all three of them agreed to take the Contracts, but Respen did not believe that Great Evil at all.

He knew what awaited when Respen finally gave in.

Everyone did.

They would make the three of them fight each other to the death, and only one would survive.

As the brand came down upon his back, Respen screamed in ineffable pain once again, filling the torture chamber with noise, but never blacking out. The brand was too well-made for that. Respen’s teeth gave out before the brand or his body ever would. He cracked another of his teeth as he bit down in pure agony.

Which was also what the demon wanted.

“I think I heard another break!” the demon cheerfully said.

It was wearing the guise of Respen’s mother, and it wasn’t just a mask, or an illusion. They had captured Respen, Vulen, Vanya, Mom, and Uncle in their attacks on the seaside village a week ago. Respen still remembered the blocks of iron appearing in the sky, with their fire-shot backsides and the holes that opened in their sides which released flying terrors of all kinds. He remembered being stuck in a cage with his family and tens of others. He remembered how they took out all of Respen’s family all at once, just as they had done to all the other families.

There had been 5 of them, with Uncle Larro as the fifth.

They murdered Uncle first, then they ripped out his soul and fed that soul to a demon. Then that demon took Uncle’s body for a ride. They did the same to Mom.

And then they did horrible things.

Respen wished he had not seen that, could not remember that—

The demon wearing Mom traced the brand along Respen’s back, and Respen came back to the moment, screaming once again, his mouth full of jagged pain and holes where jagged pain had once been.

The demon pulled the brand away, saying, “I think we should take that tooth out, right? Yes we should! You look so much better without the teeth anyway, my beautiful baby boy. Here. Your brother can do that one.”

Respen did not sob, though he wanted to.

His brother and sister stood in the room with him. They had both been broken. Now, they helped the demon to break Respen. The demon gestured to the tooth pulling iron, and Brother Vulen tried to pick it up, but his fingers slipped on the blood. He was not trying hard. Or maybe his eyes were full of tears. They seemed full of tears to Respen.

The demon chided Vulen, “Silly little elf.” She softly, harshly, demanded, “Pick it up.”

Vulen tried to pick it up again, but he failed again. Tears clouded his eyes.

The demon smiled wide with their mother’s face, exposing many broken teeth that did not belong to her at all. And then she snatched up the tooth puller and gleefully said, “Now everyone gets to lose a tooth! What fun for me! Open wide little boy and girl! Time to lose a molar!”

Vulen and sister Vanya’s bodies went stock still and then their mouths opened wide. They had no control over themselves anymore. Not physically, not magically. They were still there in mind, though. The demons preferred to break the mind through torture.

Vanya pleaded through open mouth that she could pull Respen’s tooth, but her voice was lost to the wideness of her mouth and her inability to make the words. Everyone still understood her, though.

The demons liked to leave people the ability to talk, if only so they could dig their own graves even more.

The demon heard Vanya’s offer, but it just smiled with broken teeth, growing larger than life, her limbs elongating and her nails turning sharp as she gripped the tooth puller, saying, “Now now, little girl, I know you got that evil streak in you, so you don’t have to do much anymore, but I’m breaking your brothers now.” Her mouth opened even wider. Her eyes became pits of vile light. “Of course, everyone can be broken more than they already are, so sure, let’s break you some more. I’ll take two teeth from you now, because your brother is not cooperating enough! How does that sound? Wonderful, right! Think of this as a lesson in—”

A red light went on in the corner of the room.

The demon stopped.

She frowned.

She shrunk.

She set down the tooth puller amid all the other bloody devices. “Now what could possibly be so important that—”

The world went white.

The world came back.

The black metal box of the torture chamber was still black, still metal, still with softly red and harsh light everywhere.

Except the demon was gone and some green moss and tiny mushrooms glowed upon the floor where she had been.

Three holes were in the sides of the torture chamber. Each hole was glowing from the heat of some power that passed through. The walls were already growing moss. The magelights in the room flickered—

Red lights went on everywhere.

Vulen and Vanya both collapsed to their knees.

Respen breathed, unsure of what he was seeing. It was probably a trick of some sort. His brother and sister were on their knees now because in the absence of an authority figure they were locked down by Contracts. They could do little more than kneel there on the sharp ridges on the floor, head bowed, unable to do anything but think, as they felt the pain of kneeling on sharpness.

… Respen’s shackles were just loose enough to escape, because the demons liked it when people tried to escape.

… Respen took a chance. He got out of his bindings—

A quake shook the world. Something rumbled. Something screamed loud enough to break—

The screaming stopped as suddenly as it had started.

Something slipped through the air, like the passing of a wave, crashing through every surface of metal and passing through reality itself. It thrummed inside Respen’s heart.

Surely, Death was here.

Respen went to his brother and sister and held them one final time, speaking softly through the pain of his missing teeth and broken flesh and deep sorrow, “I love you, Vulen. I love you, Vanya. Nothing you did to me was your own fault. I miss Mom. I miss Uncle. I wish you could speak to me, here, at the end of our paths.”

They did not respond. They did not return the touch, or any words, or any thoughts at all. In the absence of authority, they could not speak. It was a hateful turn, and Respen hated the demons all the more for it. Vanya vibrated with some emotion, that emotion coming out as tears to drip onto Respen’s arm. Vulen’s breath hitched as his mind overrode his body with sorrow.

Respen held them.

They were about to die, Respen was sure.

More screaming shook the world.

Something crashed somewhere nearby.

The woosh of some inferno crackled something else nearby.

And Respen held on to Vulen and Vanya—

“Any more demons wish to come out and die?” asked a voice like a storm. A pause. “Ah. There you are.”

And then came thunder.

Brilliance flashed overhead along with the ripping tear of metal melting and splattering like dashed flames. Drops of heat touched Respen’s back and sizzled away. He glanced up, fast as he could, and saw rents in the torture chamber that were already growing over with moss. He didn’t want to get pain in his eyes, so he turned away—

Something burned on Vanya’s shoulder. It was a bit of melted metal, sizzling in the space between her neck and clavicle, caught on her bone. Flesh bubbled. She could not dislodge it so Respen grabbed the metal, burning his fingers to toss it away. The pain of the burn lingered, but he knew that Vanya was feeling worse.

“I’m sorry, sister.”

The world broke around them.

Respen expected screaming as the floor came undone and he floated, holding onto his family, but all was silence.

And then there was light.

For a brief moment, Respen was nothing and no one, and then he was himself again. He stood nude upon mossy ground, the moisture feeling good under his feet, the sun feeling bright and warm upon his skin. He was not alone. There were countless people all around him and more and more appeared with each passing moment, the world breaking like glass and then coming back together to make a person.

Once again, he saw a sky of horrors, of lands upon lands, curled inward around a bright spire of crystal and a long tube of metal. The sky should not look like that.

And then he saw something impossibly large.

A beast with wings.

A great black beast flew overhead, its wings spread wide, blotting out the sky, its claws flickering with lightning and its hide shimmering with black rainbows. A tail trailed behind a body like a dog’s, a head rested on a long neck. All was black scales. All was white lightning.

And far ahead another great beast flew, this one palest gold.

And maybe Respen wasn’t in hell.

If he was in hell, he shouldn’t recognize the land, right? Because he recognized this land. A week ago the warpship had stolen him and his people from seaside, locked them into boxes, and then unloaded those boxes here, onto this grand ‘landing zone’ that was underneath the moss under Respen’s feet. Here and there he saw the black of the metal ground under the moss.

And up there, he saw the soft gold flying lizard burning down Slave Intake #45 with great gusting flows of lightning and light and fire. Black spires melted into a forest. Black domes ignited into flaming debris that spread mushrooms all across the land—

The black beast overhead spat a great spreading bolt of lightning that impacted warpships converging, or escaping, Respen did not know. He had not seen the ships in the distance until they were here. He saw their great energy weapons, though. Those exploding lights carved brilliance and pain across the sky as they impacted some great invisible shield… And there was no pain? Respen looked at himself… He wasn’t in pain? The light of those blasts had done more damage to all escape attempts than the explosions themselves. People should be falling down in pa—

Vulen. Vanya. They stood dumbstruck mere paces away.

Respen called out to them, tears already flowing. Vulen turned and gasped. Vanya saw. She tried to huddle away, to say something about how she never should have offered to pull his teeth, but Respen forgave her instantly. They were alive. He had all his teeth again. They all had their teeth again. Respen embraced his sister, his brother, their smiles bright and happy and—

The great black god gazed down at the gathered masses of people, and spoke, “I am the Wizard of Benevolence and Apparent King, Erick Flatt. I’m also a dragon, for those of you wondering what sort of ‘great black beast’ I am. As for what you are: You’ve all been rescued from slavery, from Slaver’s Den. I and my House Benevolence will be rescuing more people in the coming months, as we eradicate Slaver’s Den from this land of Margleknot. I will not be returning any of you to your homes as of right now. For now, you are safe, you are healthy, and many of you are younger. You will live here and simply exist for a while, if you desire. Later, when this land is cleared of Evil, you will be granted the chance to move on with your lives, however you wish. For now…”

The ‘dragon’ flashed white.

A great white tree instantly sprouted out of the forest of mushrooms and trees ahead, where Slave Intake #45 had once stood. It was large, stretching out high above, its leaves more of a mist than a real thing. And then the dragon flashed again, and the tree was gone. What stood there now was a great white mountain with tall crags and wide cliffs and great doors.

Respen held his family that remained.

Vanya looked up at the dragon with tears in her eyes and fury in her face. “I never got to kill them myself.”

As if responding to her, which was a crazy, impossible thing, the great black beast spoke, “Those of you wishing revenge on the slavers that captured you and yours are welcome to join my House. I plan to do this very same action you have experienced today, or actions like it, to all of Slaver’s Den’s 40 million slaves and slavers. Rescue the slaves, kill the slavers.”

Vanya sobbed in angry, hateful relief. She was not the only one.

Vulen whispered, “What about Mom and Uncle?”

The black ‘dragon’ did not respond to that question.

It did not need to.

Respen already knew what happened to them. Vanya knew. Vulen… he knew. He did not want to face it.

But he knew.

Respen held on to Vulen and Vanya, saying, “It is enough that we are here together.”

– – – –

Morbion sat on his throne and listened to the complaints of Captain Shackle. The man was, after all, one of Wraithborne’s continual sources of stolen power from all across the universe. People often thought of the process of making slaves as born out of a need of having slaves, of having some source of easy labor, but truthfully, the automation of easy work was not that important. They had ghosts for that, and living, mindful slaves were often prone to rebellion, and rebellions were annoyances.

Morbion didn’t really blame the slaves for their impertinence. No. The people he blamed for those rebellions were people like Captain Shackle, who enjoyed making slaves who did not like being slaves. Soul Magic was very capable of making people who liked being slaves, but some Evils, like Shackle, liked it when people hated their stations in life.

Demons and Evil got off on that sort of shit, and then they got off again when they brought people back into line and told them that they had no rights to rebel, or any of their other rights that they most certainly did. It was the inalienable right for every person to rebel against imprisonment and an unjust ruler, after all—

… Morbion considered the thoughts that had just crossed his mind. He found most of them… reasonable, of course. Rebellions often formed out of a lack of power and prosperity from the ruling party to the ruled, and no one actually liked to be imprisoned.

Unless one used Soul Magic correctly, of course.

But many of those smaller thoughts had not come from Morbion’s own mind. They had come from the trinket Morbion now wore on his left wrist. It was a Benevolence-forged bracelet, created out of the souls of four Good rulers, two Evil despots, and a whole lot of Benevolence wrangling. It had a lot of good ideas about ways to make Wraithborne more efficient, more ruthless toward enemies, and more powerful, overall. But it also had the problem of making Morbion see certain actions in vastly different lights. Actions which had long ago felt right and proper. Like slavery, and the quashing of minds, souls, and bodies.

Wraithborne and Evil liked using Soul Magic to make people like being slaves.

Benevolence wanted Soul Magic to be used to free people, and then work with those free people to make more prosperous societies.

Evil and Benevolence did not work together well right now, but maybe they would in a century or five, after some philosophers worked on combining the two.

Whatever the case, Morbion was done listening to Captain Shackle, and he was done listening to the bracelet on his wrist.

He plucked the offending jewelry off of his wrist and crushed it in his palm, and then sprinkled the broken dust on the broken skulls at his feet. The imprisoned dead of the bracelet sucked into the black Evil of the floor, into his throne, into the Wraithborne Tower itself.

Captain Shackle went silent in that release of ghosts. He recognized that Morbion’s thoughts were not with him, and hadn’t been with him for some time.

Good.

Maybe the idiot wasn’t beyond saving after all.

Morbion regarded Shackle, while he also played around in his own soul, searching for Benevolence influence. After a rapid moment he decided there were no lingering attachments to the trinket he had worn for a day, and yet he could not help but see how some of those actions suggested by the bracelet were still valid under new light. In particular, were the thoughts the bracelet had given him about this problem of Shackle and the attacks on Slaver’s Den.

Morbion stated, “Erick Flatt has displaced less than a point of a percent of your lands. By all accounts, he cannot do that Grand Reincarnation over and over again. If you cannot handle him with the resources I have given you, then perhaps someone else should be appointed to your position. Other than that, the Balance has sought death against every Evil land in Margleknot for 5,000 years. If you fall, then the Balance is that much more restored. Therefore, I have an interest in seeing someone fall, if only so the rest of our lands are more secure. It will not bother me overmuch if you are the one to fall, Shackle. I suggest you prove worthy of the power I have already given you, or you cut and run and kill some smaller land to reestablish yourself, leaving behind the dregs of your Den for the dragon to feast upon.” Morbion said, “There are many solutions to your problem, and none of them involve the Tower becoming more invested in an enterprise that is written-in-the-sky to fail. You are dismissed.”

Captain Shackle was furious, but he was not stupid. He walked backward out of the throne room, bowing as he escaped, his wings kept low.

The ghosts shut the throne room doors.

Witch Agatha stepped out of the gloom, bowing a moment before asking, “Was the bracelet not up to your standards?”

Morbion said, “It was a marvelous piece of magic. It helped solve 13 long-standing problems in the tower. But it also almost created a hundred more. Send the problem to the philosophers.” He looked at the Witch. “Say what you need to say, Agatha.”

Agatha bowed, then said, “Erick’s proclamation that Benevolence will take over Margleknot as the dominant mana seems like it could happen. It won’t happen for another 10,000 years, of course, but if Erick stays, if Shadow stays, if they are given reason to stay, then House Benevolence has a much straighter path to True Empire than Evil could ever accomplish.”

Morbion’s frown deepened. “That’s what we thought of Malevolence, too.”

Agatha bowed only her head this time. “Malevolence might have reached an end due to Nothanganathor being unable to reap his due from Veird and thus being stuck there for far beyond reasonableness. He had created Benevolence in his inability to seal the deal. He has created Malevolence’s opposite. And what an opposite it is. I foresee that the outcome of Veird will have either Nothanganathor returning to Margleknot as a god-wizard-king, or Erick as the same, and either Malevolence or Benevolence becoming truly dominant.

“Should Nothanganathor win, he will do as he planned, and our bargains with him might pay off. He will be disappointed that we did not do more for him at this juncture, though, but that should pale in comparison to what we have done for him, and with him.

“Should Erick win, the entirety of Wraithborne would either need to change, or perish.

“I am not sure which is the worse outcome for us.”

Morbion frowned.

– – – –

Erick sat on the top of his newest branch of House Benevolence, his wings folded on his back, his tail lazily trailing down the side of the tallest tower of the mountain-castle structure. This particular roost was large enough for him, but no others. In truth, he was kinda too big for this roost, too. He had grown some in this conquest, and so had his Status.

But that was fine.

Erick gazed across the land, across the fields of grain and orchards of fruit and rows upon rows of vegetables, and across the distance, to where the white ‘walls’ of the newest branch of House Benevolence rose like white knives in the ground. Erick had stolen that structure from Da’luwe because it was a good structure for his needs; it wasn’t like walls actually stopped the people who needed to be stopped, and Erick wanted all the powerless people to have an easier time coming inside.

It was a wasteland out there. If refugees should show, then Erick would welcome them.

He already had a lot of infrastructure for those people, and for many others.

Over there were new apartment complexes, already with space for 100,000 people, and only half full. Over there were training centers. A node network crossed the sky like a geodesic dome, and from that dome power flowed into many different structures, including ‘buffing magic stations’ set up here and there. Here and there were big white obelisks which outlined the basic laws of this land in many different languages, and right alongside those obelisks were [Language Acquisition] spellworks that rapidly allowed the people of this land to learn the languages of all others.

The houses were filled with a bunch of smaller, helpful magics, like lights and such. The sewers were self-cleaning, and people could step through cleansing waters to achieve the same self-cleaning options. It wasn’t safe to put up [Benevolent Cleanse] stations here and there for those could easily be sabotaged to evaporate people, but sending self-cleaning water through houses? Sure, that worked.

Those self-cleaning stations had even stopped a poisoning-the-water attack from some enemy forces. Many other smaller kill-attempts had been thwarted in the five days since Erick and Querkooda took this land.

The people here couldn’t support the mana needs of this land quite yet, though, so Erick had set up a Benevolence Tower dungeon over there, acting as the ‘power station’ to a lot of this place. He had even put it behind a [Hasted Shelter], and it was pumping out mana pretty darn well. It was also pumping out a river that kept the land watered, and which sent out more water into the wastelands beyond. The mana stayed inside, though.

This whole ‘beachhead’ of House Benevolence was mana-trapped, to keep the mana levels high and make it easier for people to accrete Benevolence, once they got to those steps. The level of Benevolence inside the space was still quite low, but it was pushing out a bunch of stray power that interrupted Erick’s mana senses, making it much harder for any part of this land to be invisible to his senses.

Over there was Ta’Kamoil’s Arcanaeum, and people were already taking lessons on accretion and the Dark and basic magic techniques. That Awakening Machine made by that engineer, Tris, was doing work, and Erick approved. He might even try to make one of those things himself, though he wasn’t sure where to start. That machine was complicated. It was a thing made over many centuries of technological advancement, after all. And yet, how easy technology could make things!

Just step into a machine and awaken one’s aura, mana sense, and even receive a big boost to one’s mana production.

It kinda felt like cheating, but then again Erick had started off as a ‘cheat’ by being a Wizard without even knowing what that was, so that was that. He would gladly help people cheat to get ahead.

It had been like cheating to take this place from Slaver’s Den.

Cascadio’s tips on resonwork had been invaluable. Putting resons into spellwork to make a spell stronger was an easy thing; barely a leap of any logic at all to make that happen. But using resons to imbue a self-canceling effect after certain conditions were met? That had been a leap of logic that Erick had not thought of himself.

What he had thought of afterward, though, was to use resons to imbue a spell with a targeting matrix.

That’s how he had taken out 9 out of every 10 demons and Evil-aligned person in Slave Intake #45, without hitting a single slave, in his first blast of [Grand Reincarnation]. 90% of the problem of this place poofed in an instant. Based on Erick’s reson and mana counts both before and after the fight, he had sent 6,800 people away, and into new Benevolent existences.

Sending 6,800 people away had only required 3.4m Mana, 3.4m Health, and 3.4m Psyche, and 680,000 resons.

He could do that many more times over.

Turning all the slaves into themselves, without Contracts or soul twistings, had cost a lot more, at 120m each of Mana, Health, and Psyche.

Saving people cost a whole heck of a lot more mana than it would have taken to simply destroy the whole place, though, so he would be taking some time to make some cost reduction magics as soon as this place felt secure enough to take that break. He’d also be making those truly deadly magics that Lord Dakka wanted to see, the Blood, Death, and Destruction spells.

But other than that, the ‘battle’ for Slave Intake #45 had gone very well.

It had only taken five minutes, and that was mostly because Querkooda was learning how to use his draconic body to make war. Erick hadn’t made much war except that first strike. He had spent most of those five minutes filling the land with his aura and yoinking people out of confinement to work magic upon them.

Most of those people Erick had saved had remained behind to join House Benevolence.

That was why he had targeted this place. He wanted people for his House, and this place, once rescued, should have provided that source of people. It had been a risk, of course. But it was a calculated risk.

Slave Intake #45 liked to break people in family batches. Adding to this, Erick rescued and kept people together as best he could. Those people who had friends and family either had the choice to stay here and thrive under Benevolence, or to try their luck elsewhere, on their own, and it would be on their own, because Erick did not have time to see that every one of the 35,000 people got back to their original worlds. It just wasn’t happening right now.

And so, people from so very many different worlds joined House Benevolence.

It wasn’t like there was any real place to go out there in Slaver’s Den anyway, and Margleknot was completely terrifying to many of the people here. Most of these people actually came from tiny, backwater worlds that were seeded by Slaver’s Den and other Evil lands long ago, just so that they’d have slaves to capture whenever they wanted.

The whole thing disgusted Erick.

Before Erick had come here to Slaver’s Den, to Slave Intake #45, this place was pretty much a wasteland, and it was kept that way to make the slaves despair. Every window of the former Intake had looked out upon dust and rock and sparse vegetation. Sometimes the demons and Evils of this Intake even let the slaves out into the harsh, rocky, thorny land beyond the ‘safety’ of Intake to break their spirits even more.

For the past few days after taking this place, that desolate land out there had been filled with raiders and saboteurs and even a few different dropships and warpships. Now those ships were the spoils of House Benevolence, and their invaders sent off to other worlds to live new lives. Over there, at the workshop, Erick had a bunch of engineers working on the tech they had gained in those fights, as well as working on more shielding and defensive structures. Erick didn’t understand much of that, but Overseer Lanzoil’s Office of the Administrator had people that did, so he left that to them.

Erick gazed out across the land again…

… And everything was looking good out there?

More or less, yes.

The people here were in pain. They were furious, they were in shock, some were motivated by the desire to hide and pretend that nothing was wrong at all. Some were coming out of slave Contracts that they had suffered under for decades or more. Some were coming out of Contracts mere days or weeks old. Some had never been touched by Contract at all.

It would take time to heal the wounds this society had inflicted upon these stolen people. But the kitchens were working overtime and food was flowing from gardens and people were crawling out of their trauma slowly, but surely. Many were working to become soldiers for they desired to kill slavers with their own hands, and Erick did not disapprove. [Reincarnation] did a lot to help the people move on to a new future, but the social systems that Erick had set up were doing more, and communities torn apart by the slavers were coming back together all across the land.

There were problems with the newly-enslaved fighting the old-enslaved, with words like ‘cooperator’ thrown around as though they were fireballs and acid splashes. Querkooda dealt with those people by pulling them into the growing army. He was good about redirecting motivation properly.

Nothing would ever be the same for any of these people.

But the future was looking bright.

As Erick sat on the top of House Benevolence, he looked out, and he couldn’t see anything but desolation out there, beyond the white-knife walls. It had been 24 hours since the last attack. Maybe they had stopped? Maybe they were actually rousing their liches and talents, or trying to get Wraithborne directly involved? Erick hadn’t seen anything too dangerous coming their way, or at least there was nothing he couldn’t stop, but that would certainly change once the danger of their ingress had begun to actually worry the slavers of this land.

Slaver’s Den was land of 40 million people, with 4 million of them in control of their own lives, and those lives were filled with the purpose of making slaves, so they were kinda busy preparing for a full scale counter-assault against House Benevolence. Slave Intake #45 was only one of a hundred such locations in a land the size of a Veird-continent, at over 10,000 kilometers in the major directions, and according to Erick’s intel these places fought and tore each other down all the time.

It would take some time to tear down this place and remake it into a better land. It would take some time for a real counterattack to come.

Erick had started the process.

And when they came to test him, he would be ready.

Because that 150 day timetable to conquer Slaver’s Den? The timeframe he had said to everyone, very publicly? That was a twisting of the truth. The actual truth was that Erick was tapped into his own node network with Mana Siphon and he had already taken millions of resons out of his Margleknot account and absorbed them directly.

150 days?

More like 15, if he had to.

– – – –

Erick Flatt, [60-ish] [Current Year: 1453 (Veird, layer 789), ??? (Margleknot)] [CURRENT REALITY=Layer 0, Margleknot]

Mana split; Soul, Body, Mind: 31%, 30%, 30%

Reson allocation rate: 9%

Soul: 101.06m per day / 1,169.69 per second , [Darkness Level = 6.89x Ascension baseline]

Body: 541

Mind: 689

Overall Stability: ↑↑ [+1,064.41, -3] Basic upkeep

Mp: 2,881.13m/∞, ↑ [+362.60, -1] Basic upkeep

Hp: 2,840.2m/∞, ↑ [+350.9, -1] Basic upkeep

Pp: 2,839.81m/∞, ↑ [+350.9, -1] Basic upkeep

Resons: 937.17m [+105.27 = +11.69]