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“And what of your plans?” asked Rasalased. “You wished to meet a Primordial, no? What will you do now that you have accomplished your goal?”

Morgunov tittered. “Still not sure I believe that I’ve really accomplished it. I need some type of confirmation that your big sis is really one of ‘em. Do either of you have a means of proving it?”

“If I did,” said the sister, “why would I bother providing it? Your satisfaction makes no difference to me.”

“Aw, c’mon. Don’t be stingy, now. You want the little Lion to keep on breathin’, don’tcha? I’d say that’s plenty reason to be cooperative.”

“You should be more concerned about your own breathing,” she said. “You act like you have full control over your circumstances, when you do not.”

Aha. Finally, they were getting down to it. Morgunov had been wondering when they would start to bare their fangs.

Since the beginning of the conversation, he’d been sending thoughts to his Roberts. He had hundreds of them scattered around the compound, patrolling the grounds, feeding him information via the network of biochips in his brain.

He’d been making more of the Roberts close in, surrounding the forge’s chamber. By now, they were above, below, and all around, waiting to break through the ceiling, floors, and walls the instant he told them to.

“Well, if you’re gonna talk big, I hope you’ve got some means of backing it up,” said Morgunov. “I mean, I’ve allowed you to wrap yourself around me like an angry, little rope via these tattoos, so c’mon. If you think can do somethin’ to me, then do somethin’ already!”

“Let us not be--” tried Rasalased.

The world went white.

Crushing pressure arrived, all over his body but especially on his head. He could feel the intent behind. The desire to render him to dust. To put him in his place.

And it certainly hurt. Morgunov could not deny that. He sensed Bool wanting to numb his body, but he stayed the reaper’s hand. Eheh. Just because he’d been letting the reaper pitch in for a change didn’t meant that he was about to allow Bool to do whatever he wanted.

Because pain was an interesting thing. He didn’t get to feel it very often, anymore. There’d been a time, of course, when he’d greatly feared pain and tried to avoid at all costs. But over the years, as he’d aged and aged, as boredom had started to become his fiercest enemy, he’d developed a certain nostalgic fondness for pain.