Die. Respawn. Repeat. - Chapter 77: Book 2: Hostage Situation

“So she’s holding it hostage,” I say.

Miktik’s apparently been checking the core’s position every day she can, and she finds it at the same place every day, trapped inside a vault. It’s part of the reason she was so devastated when She-Who-Whispers destroyed her pocket oracle — slim crack though the damage is, that crack is enough to render the whole thing inoperable for the next few days.

It’s apparently not the first time she’s done it, either. There’s a deep bitterness in Miktik’s voice when she mentions that. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for her.

“I think we not go meet her,” Tarin says, though he doesn’t look entirely convinced by his own words. He heard the threat in her words as much as I did. “It trap.”

“I don’t think so,” I say, and when both Tarin and Ahkelios stare at me in disbelief, I raise my hands defensively. “I mean, look, it’s obviously some kind of trap. But I don’t think she’s preparing an ambush for us in her palace or anything. More likely she just wants to have a spy come along with us so she can confirm her suspicions about me or whatever. If she wanted to attack us, she could’ve done it right then and there. Why give us this planning time?”

“She likes playing power games,” Miktik says, shifting uncomfortably from side to side. “It’s probably another one of her games. But… I do think she probably won’t attack you at her palace. It wouldn’t be good for her image, for one thing.”

“I can tell,” I deadpan. I think through our options. The only alternative is just to avoid playing her games entirely — to leave and head for the Fracture, bypassing any games She-Who-Whispers wants to play with us. The only problem with that approach is that she’s fully capable of catching up with us if she wants to. “She’s not going to let us just ignore her invitation, is she?”

“I’ve tried doing that. I’ve also tried just leaving Isthanok entirely. She always shows up anyway.” Miktik grimaces. “Miktik hates to say it, but… It might be best to play along. She just makes things worse if you try to get out of it.”

Yep. I figured as much. But it’s not as bad as Miktik thinks — if we have to play her games anyway, then I’m the one that holds all the cards. It’s not like I’m limited to one try to figure her out. The only complication is that if Naru is any indication, the Hestian Trialgoers are all aware of the nature of the time loop.

In other words: I can’t give her the chance to figure out what I’m doing.

Naru’s implied they have the ability to leave themselves messages across loops, but I suspect that ability is a lot more limited than he implied, if he wasn’t outright lying. He’d still be chasing me down if it weren’t. All I need to do is figure out what that limitation is and work around it.

That or free Gheraa. He can probably just give me all the answers I need.

“The scrapyard,” I say after a moment. “We still have time, right? Could you show us to the Integrator scrapyard?”

Getting access to the Integrators isn’t going to be easy, but if there’s anywhere I can start, it’s going to be where they throw their trash. Rotar should be the priority, but She-Who-Whispers seems determined to complicate that, and while I could just reset the loop — very pretty words for what I’d actually be doing — I’m going to try not to do that for the time being. Just in case that messes with Rotar’s location.

Miktik hesitates, her mandibles jittering strangely. “Like I said, the scrapyard’s dangerous,” she says after a moment. “It takes some preparation. I can get you there, but I can’t get you there today. Plus I’ll need a custom-fitted suit for both of you.”

“A suit?” I blink.

“You need a full-body protective suit if you’re going to survive in there, or the ambient Firmament will crush you,” Miktik confirms. “It’s one of the reasons it’s so dangerous. It’d take me at least a week to get that ready for the both of you, and it’s not cheap, so…”

Miktik looks at me expectantly, and I sigh. Can’t expect everyone to just help the up-and-coming Trialgoer out of the goodness of their hearts, I suppose. Maybe I’ll just explore Isthanok a little more and see if there are any shortcuts I can take advantage of the loops for.

“That mean we can only do one thing,” Tarin says, nodding to himself. “It time for training.”

“Tarin, I’m not sure now is the best time for training,” I say, holding back a strangled laugh.

“It always best time for training,” Tarin says, and then levies a surprisingly intense stare at me. “You have anything else to do? Or we just waiting for silver lady?”

…he does have a point.

Tarin leads me out of Miktik’s workshop and back into the city proper, after borrowing a bunch of chips from her. How he convinced her to lend him a small pile of money is something I still haven’t figured out; all I know is that she was adamantly refusing one moment, and shoving piles of it into Tarin’s wings the next.

He looks incredibly smug about it, too.

“Do I want to know what you whispered to her?” I ask.

“I promise she get back more!” Tarin says cheerfully. “We going to put bets on you during training. You make money. Good for us all, yes?”

That’s… actually perfect, as far as taking advantage of the loops go. Not the part where I participate in them, of course, but as long as I get the chance to evaluate the contestants, we could be set for future loops.

“…wait. What kind of training has an entire betting ring set up around it?”

“Isthanokian training!” Tarin says cheerfully. “It sparring!”

I don’t know what I expected.

I turn my eyes towards the building we’re approaching. Like everything else in Isthanok, it’s shaped like shards of broken glass — except this building is set up like multiple shards crashing into the ground, creating a crater lined with a mirror polish. The flat ground in the center stands out amidst the silver shine; it looks like gravel and concrete, and there are scratches and scuffs marked into the dirt from what I assume are previous battles.

Also a frightening number of burn marks.

“Tarin, this looks like a gladiator arena, not a sparring ring.”

“Yes,” Tarin agrees. “You fight here. Make money.”

I mean. He’s not wrong. I was just expecting something more formal than a gladiator ring.

Despite my misgivings, I feel a faint stirring of excitement well up within me. This is an opportunity to fight. I missed out on it when we had to run away from the chimeras, and I haven’t had much opportunity to build upon my credits lately. Durability is tantalizingly close to five hundred, and if I just pretend to be losing and let my opponents beat me up…

“Hey, Tarin,” I say. “Think you could get us some last-minute bets if I pretend I’m losing a bit?”

Tarin gives me a grin that’s almost frightening. “Yes,” he says. The gleam in his eyes is almost sharp enough to cut me.

I start to ask if he’s done this before, then think the better of it and decide I would prefer not to know the answer.

My first opponent is a construct.

I can’t exactly say what the differences are, but it’s very different from both the automaton and the stone guardians that I encountered within the Fracture. It has properties of both — it’s made of stone, but it’s put together the way an automaton would be. Painstakingly carved, piecemeal gears stuck together with Firmament, limbs glowing with some sort of imbued effect…

Well, I should say my first two opponents, really. My actual opponent is what I can best describe as an angry-looking goblin that’s holding a remote control. There’s a bunch of shadowy Firmament swirling skin-tight around him, so much so I can make out his features etched out in Firmament alone.

I think I’m not supposed to be able see him. The Firmament feels similar to some of the stealthier people I felt around the more run-down parts of Isthanok, except they were much, much more practiced with it than this guy. Their Fimament was calm enough that it hid them almost perfectly, and I only sensed it when it was moving.

This guy, though? He’s agitated. He’s piloting a remote-controlled construct and constantly fidgeting with Firmament to get it to work. Even if he was an expert in stealthy Firmament, he couldn’t be more glaringly obvious to my Firmament sense.

I have to hide a laugh. I square up against the construct, giving no indication that I notice him or what he’s doing.

“Begin!”

A bell strikes. I don’t use any Firmament to start with — not beyond the basic passives of Quicken Mind and Tough Body. I just start sprinting at the rock-hard death trap like I’m expecting to be able to punch it to death.

Predictably, this stirs up a laugh in the audience. I just grin.

The first strike knocks me back hard enough that I flip end-over-end in the dirt twice. “Huh,” I say. I can’t resist the quip. “And here I thought that only happened in movies.”

Tough Body does a lot to protect me, but it doesn’t completely dull the blow. I hurt. Especially since as much as it prevents me from taking physical damage, it does very little to adjust my pain response to compensate.

All it really does is make me feel more alive.

I wipe blood off of my lip and charge in once more.

“Crazy human.”

Tarin stared out at the arena, where Ethan was getting knocked back by the construct for the fifth time and standing up again. Even the crowd had fallen silent, with just the occasional laugh or boo or cheer emerging from one or two people. For the most part, though? It was like the entire audience was holding its breath.

The first time he’d gotten knocked back, the crowd had laughed. The second time they’d laughed again, though the laugh was a little more uncertain. The third time was met with confused muttering. The fourth time was met with more.

The fifth time, and the crowd was silent. Tarin knew this meant the crowd was about to turn, which meant this was his best time to make bets — but Ethan was making it very hard to look away from the show.

He hoped the human knew what he was doing, he really did. More often than not. Tarin felt like he was just winging it. He’d felt that way ever since he’d fallen into the Fracture and learned — at least in part — the truth about the Integrators. The memories he’d gained from that time were still fragmented, but they’d been enough to dispel the illusion of benevolence the Integrators built around themselves.

Now all he could do was guide Ethan, and hope he learned to use his power better than Naru did. Fighting against the Trialgoers was a waste of time, but this? It felt like the Crowmother had presented him with the perfect opportunity to make things right. To make up for all the ways he’d failed Naru.

Though Ethan had a long way to go yet, to reach the heights he needed to reach. His achievements looked impressive only if you didn’t already know how far some people had been able to get with Firmament. Even She-Who-Whispers, that upstart… She didn’t compare to what he’d seen in the Fracture.

Now that he thought about it, Mari had always distrusted the Integrators. She had a better instinct for that kind of thing than he did. He thought it might have been better if it had been Mari that was thrust into the time loop with Ethan, rather than himself, but… it was exciting to be participating in the Trial like this.

He just wished he could share it with Mari, really. He was looking forward to telling her all about it, though! He could imagine her reactions already.

Anyway, he was getting side tracked. He needed to place bets.

“That new guy weird, right?” Tarin said, elbowing the audience member next to him. It was an old, gruff-looking silverwisp that was dressed in fineries so elegant it made Tarin feel like he was underdressed.

“Tell me about it,” the silverwisp snorted. “I look forward to seeing him lose.”

“Oh?” Tarin’s smile was predatory, though the silverwisp wouldn’t know it. “You want bet? I bet chips new guy win. Many chips.”

“Are you kidding?” the silverwisp asked, and then realizing Tarin wasn’t, laughed. “Fine, whatever. Easy profit for me.”

“Are you betting on the new guy?” someone in front shouted. “Hell, I’ll take that bet! I bet he lasts two more hits!”

A third joined in, and then a fourth. Tarin squawked with delight.

At least in this, he knew what he was doing.