Die. Respawn. Repeat. - Chapter 49: Phase Shift

It’s a moment before Tarin gathers himself again, and I don’t blame him. My own mind is awhirl with thoughts, the main one being about Tarin’s memory of all this. I’m under no illusions about it; there’s every possibility that he might not remember anything into the next loop, but the fact that this is possible at all, outside of exceptions like Ahkelios…

It makes me think it might be possible to reproduce this. But I’m thinking too far ahead — first, I need to figure out all the rules. I’d ask Gheraa, but if he’s on my side, then he would have told me already if he were able. If he’s not, asking him for the rules is only liable to give me false information.

Though I think there’s a part of me that’s accepted that Gheraa means me no real harm. He’s playing a part, certainly, but everything in me tells me that he’s playing that part to my benefit.

I still don’t entirely trust him, but… I’m willing to give him a chance.

I think.

But that’s a possibility for the far future.

Tarin speaks again, his mental voice tinged with a combination of hope and worry. We beat raid? How I die?

“We did beat the raid, and I don’t know,” I answer. Tarin’s Firmament pulses erratically at my response, and I elaborate, trying to calm him down. “I died shortly after you did, time did the looping thing, and when I came back, you were in a coma and the Interface was trying to kill you. Permanently. You’ve been fighting off the Interface this whole time.”

His Firmament settles a little bit. I win? Tarin asks, his voice tinged with anxiety, and I almost laugh. That’s his concern?

“Well, with a little bit of help,” I say. “We got you some medicine made with Phantom Roots. Took me a bit to get it, let me tell you.”

I win, Tarin says. I can feel the old crow nodding away, satisfied with himself, and I can’t help the slight smirk that steals across my face.

“Missed you, you old fart,” I say.

I not fart! Tarin sounds absolutely offended. I can almost picture him flaring his wings and huffing at me in outrage. You not call me fart!

“It’s a term of endearment,” I protest.

…Weird term. Suspicion radiates off of Tarin’s Firmament. To be fair, I don’t know why I called him that — an old impulse from an old friendship, I think. There’s an old man he reminds me of.

I not old, Tarin sulks, and I laugh.

“Fine, fine. I missed you, is my point,” I say. “I’m in the middle of a phase-shift, apparently. You know anything about that?”

Of course I know. Tarin manages to project the mental image of folding his wings across his chest, in a gesture I’m certain he inherited from Mari. I sense. You talking to me mid-shift. I proud! No one phase-shift so fast! Not even Na—

Tarin cuts himself off, his Firmament going silent. Harder to hide things in thought-speak, he eventually says.

“I can imagine,” I say dryly. “I’ve met Naru. Don’t worry.”

You meet him? Alarm flares around Tarin again, coalescing into fear and concern. He hurt you?

“Not permanently.” I grin, because it’s the best thing I can do. Tarin doesn’t need to know the specifics of how Naru hurt me, or how he’d fought with his mother and probably killed the both of us. “I got better.”

You loop, Tarin says. It’s half-accusation, half-realization. I nod my head slightly — it’s not like I didn’t expect him to conclude that much, he just doesn’t need to know the specifics. Then, realizing he probably can’t see me, I respond verbally.

“Yes,” I say.

Okay. Now not time for discussion about… son. Tarin hesitates a second before using the word. You phase shift. I tell you rules. You understand?

“Yes. Go.”

Tarin’s Firmament flickers. Good. Phase shift happen when Firmament reach new quality level. Time in phase shift different. You start new thing, time slow down. You do nothing or keep doing old thing, time slowly speed up.

“Meaning when we started this conversation, time was slower, but the longer we talk, the more it speeds up?”

Yes. Good. I can hear the approval in Tarin’s mental voice. Different explanation. Phase-shift realm not stable. New actions increase stability, otherwise stability always decreasing. Important to understand.

“Got it.”

You lucky. Four Firmament sources. Each one increase stability. But you need affinity, yes? I help. Mari help. Akar… up to her. She help, probably.

Akar is the healer-crow’s name, I imagine. “But the Interface will fight me.”

Yes. Tarin’s voice grows firm. You touch all crow Firmament first. We help. Then you touch Interface Firmament, and we fight together. When we beat, you absorb heart.

“Heart?” I ask. I can almost see Tarin grinning at me.

Heart, he says. He’s definitely enjoying my discomfort. I’ve changed my mind; I’m going back to calling him an old fart. You go now!

Tarin doesn’t give me much of a choice. The pitch-black Firmament that represents him suddenly gathers into a flickering mass, and dives into me before I can do anything more than make a passing attempt to dodge it — more out of reflex than anything. He surges into me, Firmament pouring into my body, and I stagger backwards.

Now that Tarin’s explained it, I can feel the phase-shift decaying. It’s at the furthest edges of this mental space, but there’s a barely-perceivable shift, an odd sense of fraying at the edges.

I dash towards Mari, and brush my fingers against forest-green Firmament.

Trialgoer! Mari’s voice is loud and demanding and full of worry; it strikes me with full force how much she cares, for all that she hasn’t known me for that long. Here in the not-space of the phase-shift, I can feel that she thinks of me in some way as who Naru could have been, and isn’t that a painful thought. You phase-shift!

“I need your help,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say, at the force of emotion that comes with her voice.

Yes, Mari answers immediately. I wonder how much she remembers, to trust me this much. She shouldn’t remember anything, and yet…

Maybe a small part of her Firmament remembers. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking.

There’s no need for talking, no need for negotiation. Her support flows into me, and her Firmament gathers into a swirling mass of vibrant viridian energy that spins into the air and then wraps itself around me protectively, then hardens into something harder than steel.

Armor. I test my movement, finding myself entirely unobstructed; my hand rings with a metallic ting when I strike my arm. The fraying for the phase-shift hasn’t progressed much, but I suspect I’m going to need my time when fighting the Interface — so I move on quickly.

“Akar,” I say. Her firmament is lilac-purple, and now that I’m closer, I can see that there’s a roughness to it — the harsh scars of someone who has seen more than they wanted. The Firmament itself is soft and gentle, but there’s a hard exterior that’s hard to break. “I need your help.”

You phase-shift? Akar grumbles at me through her Firmament. Lucky. Not even crow this lucky. Three crow to help! You know Mari? Mari had two!

“I’m sorry.” I don’t actually have anything to apologize for, but apologizing seems to ameliorate her grumbling; I can practically feel her Firmament settling.

At least you polite, Akar tells me. Mari not so polite. You know what she do? I not help her, she try to fight me.

I… can imagine Mari doing that. “She’s probably better about it now?”

Only because I win. Akar’s satisfaction is a curling smirk through her Firmament. But she stronger than me now. I help you, you tell her I kick her butt. Okay?

“…Sure?” I don’t understand that request, but if that’s all she wants…

Good. That seems to satisfy Akar. Her Firmament surges up, into the sky, and then rushes down towards me like lightning. Unlike lightning, there’s no sound or bright flash of light — instead, it strikes one of the metallic gloves made of Mari’s Firmament, and the two Firmaments blend into a sky-blue gauntlet that goes all the way up to my elbow.

I stare at it for a moment, then glance at Ahkelios. “Is this what I’ve been relegated to?” I ask rhetorically. “The guy that punches things?”

“Oh, now you remember I exist.” Ahkelios grumbles. “I feel like you’re figuring that out a bit late.”

He has a point. I don’t mind that definition, exactly, as much as I’d love more of the magic that comes with Firmament skills.

But for now, I have something different to focus on.

Tarin’s Firmament is churning inside me. Mari’s Firmament protects me, and Akar’s Firmament is a gauntlet of power on my hand. I stare at the final pillar of Firmament, so much larger than all the others — a small fraction of the Interface itself — and feel a strange calm settle within me.

I am in the last moments of the phase-shift. It’s now or never.

I step forward, and press a hand against that pillar of blue Firmament.

To say that the immensity of what presses down on me in that instant is overwhelming is to understate the sheer magnitude of what the Interface is. By all rights, it should have crushed me like an insect — the only reason it doesn’t is because this fragment of it is a small piece of the whole.

I try, for a moment, to understand. To use this moment to piece together what the Interface is, the reason for its existence.

All I glimpse is something incomprehensibly ancient before my own Firmament surges, as if in self-defense, and the connection is lost.

Before me, the pillar of blue Firmament coalesces into a mockery of something humanoid. It’s a network of blue filaments more than it is a solid shape — within the center is a pulsing blue heart, pumping Firmament through makeshift veins.

And that’s all it is. A walking creature made of a network of veins of Firmament. It stares at me for a moment, something in its gaze uncomfortable for all that it doesn’t have eyes or a mouth —

— and then it rushes towards me.

Crystallized Barrier. I try to call up the skill almost instinctively, but the Interface doesn’t exist here, in the mindscape used for the phase-shift. I feel the filament-creature crash into me, slamming me backwards and causing me to skid and roll across the white void of the floor; Mari’s armor prevents most of the damage, but I grit my teeth.

I feel Tarin surging within me, urging me forward, giving me speed. Black lightning arches out of my feet as I dash forward, ripping across phase-space to slam a gauntleted fist into the filament-creature. It crosses both arms in front of itself in an attempt to block, but there is a distinct crack, and it’s blown backwards, skidding across the floor.

“Whoa,” Ahkelios says, perched on my shoulder.

“You think that’s impressive,” I say. “Watch this.”

Black lightning crackles through my gauntlet, and I allow myself a small smile.

I should be afraid, I think.

But I’m not.