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So much information. The flow wanted him to see it all.

And impulsively, he wanted to let it. To absorb everything. But he knew better. He had to rein it in. He was in charge here, not it. He couldn't let it lead him by the nose, because it would try to take him everywhere and nowhere, which would disperse his mind and kill his soul. Bool's, too, if the reaper didn't realize what was happening and release him in time.

Not that the reaper even could when Morgunov was in full control like this. There would theoretically be a window--right at the end--in which Bool could pull it off, but the only way to know that for sure would be to test it. And doing that couldn't even be considered insane so much as just stupid.

So he solidified himself. His mind. Gathering his thoughts, emotions, sensations--his flow. He would not be repelled. The tattoos, glowing with a golden power, snaked their way up his arm and spread across his body.

Yes. That was better.

Now, maybe--

A distinctly feminine voice arrived.

"Malen'kiy Durak," it said.

And Morgunov stopped, frozen in place at the sound of those words. At their cadence. Their delivery.

So piercingly, hatefully familiar.

He'd not heard those words said that way since...

"As ever, you meddle where you should not," said the voice, now in Mohssian--or at least what sounded like it. And then again, in his old, native tongue, "Malen'kiy Durak."

And admittedly, it was difficult for him to maintain his composure.

Those words. Said in just that way.

No one should have known them. He never should have had to hear them again.

Because he had killed everyone who had ever spoken them to him in that manner.

Madly, his mind entertained the notion that this voice might actually belong to his mother. It was truly, utterly impossible. But in a single, trembling moment, he couldn't help himself, couldn't help the thought from entering his mind.

And then, hatred.

Hatred of a kind he had not felt in an Age.

It filled his mind.

Clouding his thoughts. Dispersing his reason.

Until he felt Bool there. Bringing him back. Returning his calm. Returning himself.

He breathed, finding clarity.

"That's a neat trick," said Morgunov, only just able to keep the anger out of his voice. "Who are you? Where did you learn those words?"