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“You conflate the two when you should not,” said Germal. “Chaos may be an aspect of the Void, but that does not mean they have the same desires. Does your stomach always want what you do?”

“I mean, usually. I’ve never been big on dieting.”

“Even so, that is the essence of it. The Void believes that it knows best. It often tries, foolishly, to ignore its many competing instincts.”

“Interesting. So what does that make you, then? A stomach virus?”

Germal laughed outright. “From your perspective, perhaps so! But you’ll have to forgive me if I do not measure my self-worth by the judgments of a gleeful, mass murdering psychopath.”

“Mmhmm. You say that, but if you’re really a Primordial, then the odds are quite good that you’ve dabbled in a bit of mass murder and/or psychopathy yourself.”

“A fair statement. Incorrect, but fair.”

“Oh? Which Primordial do you claim to be, then?”

“Ah-ah. It is still my turn. And you have yet to answer my question. The Vessel. Where is it located?”

“Fine, fine. I have it, actually. Locked up tight in one of my warehouses.”

“Which warehouse?”

“Lemme go, and I’ll take you there!”

“How kind of you to offer. But I shall make do with just the location, if you please.”

“Hmph. It’s in Luugh. Outside a little town called Ragayo. That specific enough for you?”

“No. What is the exact address?”

Tch. “Doesn’t have one. No road nearby. Won’t show up on a map, either.”

“Landmarks?”

“It’s surrounded by trees. Squirreled away, out of sight. I like my hidden things to remain hidden, y’know?”

“Security?”

“None at all.”

“You’re lying. I can tell. How much security is there?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing a tough guy like you can’t handle.”

“Specifics, Demon. Answering to my satisfaction was your rule, remember?”

“Ugh, so dull! Can’t you just appreciate a good surprise, every now and then?”

“No.”

“Alright, alright. Lemme think. Umm. There were... twelve automatic turrets along the perimeter. Programmed to stun, not kill. Thirty-seven mines dotted the outer walls. Oh, and a small platoon of Roberts.”

“Roberts?”

“My tin soldiers. That’s what I call ‘em.”

“...How small is this platoon, precisely?”

“Oh, I, mm... sixty-eight.”

“Sixty-eight of those monstrosities?”

Morgunov could not help feeling immensely pleased by the bastard’s worried tone. “You and your boys made short work of them back at my workshop. And without me there to feed them orders, I’m sure you won’t have any trouble.” Assuming Germal actually brought all his buddies along to help, which seemed unlikely.

Eheh.