Page 4168

Move on, the Serpent was telling him. Pursue ambition. Achieve beyond thyself.

Kurata frowned. "Easier said than done, my friend. I've been in a bit of a slump, as I'm sure you've noticed..."

Seek guidance, then.

"Guidance? Your entire existence has to remain a secret so that someone doesn't come along and destroy you."

Excuses. Discard them.

"Agh. I can't go around just sharing details of your operation with whoever I please. There's a chain of command. Sai-hee might be missing, but the Kubi won't just stand by and let me--"

Seek guidance.

"I heard you the first time. And I'm telling you--"

No. You are being told. Seek. Guidance.

The Serpent's glow heightened again, this time with a reddish hue, and the room trembled.

Kurata's eyes widened, and his next protest died in his throat. He waited for the glow to diminish and the vibrations to die down. "...Guidance, huh? Alright. Um. Who should I seek it from? Any recommendations?"

From the Fury.

-+-+-+-+-

The Pool stirred.

Without even turning around, she felt it. The feeling was too strong and familiar to ignore. How many years had it been since she'd last experienced such a thing?

Anya spun around in her chair in order to look, but she was not prepared for what she saw.

The Pool of Trenoy was a deceptive entity. It always had been, from the moment she'd observed its creation at the hands of her late Mistress. She remembered in those early days--before the Mistress' passing--how powerful the illusions cast by the Pool were. They were so strong, in fact, that Anya herself had become lost in them for days, unable to find her way back to reality until the Mistress rescued her.

Looking back on that time, Anya sometimes found herself wondering if those had even been illusions. They were so different from what the Pool had shown her later on. Perhaps, instead of mere illusions, those had actually been true distortions in reality--portals into subdimensions of the Pool's own making.

She'd never been able to recreate that level of intensity. And with the Mistress gone, so too had hope departed with her.

Anya had tried to harness the Pool herself. Many times. But the results were always middling, at best. Deadly, at worst.

She hadn't made a serious attempt at using it again in years now. She still intended to, of course. Hence why she had not simply abandoned it or handed it over to someone else.

Next page on the 25th

Thanks for reading, as always.

Page 4167

True to its moniker, the Silent Serpent never made any noise, other than the subtlest sounds of its snaking form brushing against itself. The central chamber was an adjustable 'room' of ten tall pillars, but its walls were all composed of the Serpent's coiling body. Those shifting walls and movable pillars were what allowed the room to shrink or grow as needed, depending on what manner of precision Kurata was looking for.

So he had to be extra mindful of other sensory cues. If something was wrong, the Serpent would never give him any sound-based warnings whatsoever.

Which was why that ethereal glow was so important. It had a rare hue. Just distinct enough for Kurata to be suspicious.

And good thing, too, because not long after he stepped out of it, the chamber converged in on itself completely. The coiling bulk of the Serpent slowly came together and squeezed the center pedestal with such force that, when the Serpent receded, only a pile of dust remained behind.

Kurata sighed.

So much for that project, he supposed.

Granted, it hadn't been going very well, and a part of him had even been thinking about either starting over from scratch or scrapping it entirely, but still.

The Serpent had apparently had enough of his faffing about.

"I know it was bad," he said in Luughian, "but it was a work-in-progress."

The Serpent glowed again, more brightly this time.

Was that irritation? It sure felt like it, but Kurata wasn't about to risk touching the Forge in order to find out.

The Serpent didn't usually have bad moods like this, but when it did...

He still had to hold his ground, though. Letting oneself get pushed around by a Forge was not a recipe for long-term success, even when that Forge had a temperament as favorable as the Serpent. "How am I supposed to learn from my failure when you dust it pre-emptively like that?"

More glowing. Faintly yellow this time. And the body shifted abruptly, too. Fast movement. Very abnormal, Kurata noted.

Yeah, that was definitely irritation. He didn't even have to touch it to be sure now. The Forge was calling him a liar.

You would've been stuck for several more weeks before finally admitting that it was indeed a failure. Stubborn, posturing, time-wasting fool.

Damn. That was actually... quite hurtful. "H-hey. You're supposed to be the nice Forge."

Page 4166

Agh, there was so much to do.

That was always the case for him, of course, but it typically didn't annoy him like this, because that to-do list was always on his terms. Things to be invented. Long-simmering ideas just waiting for him to pursue them.

Fun stuff, in other words.

But here and now, he was truly on the backfoot again. Never a good feeling. If another attack arrived right now, it would only result in further losses.

Damn Vannies. They'd actually struck a solid blow against him for the first time in a long time. He didn't even want to talk to Jercash again, despite knowing that he should.

In all this chaos, that sly boy was most certainly in a favorable position, right now. Morgunov greatly disliked this feeling of vulnerability in comparison to him.

Perhaps this was finally when Jercash would decide to betray him. After all these years and the claims of loyalty, Morgunov had never fully put his trust in him. Nor would he, even if Jercash decided not to make his move now.

Affection was for pets and toys.

In that regard, at least, Morgunov and Dozer had been of one mind.

Oh goodness. He wasn't actually going to start missing that old jerk, now was he? That was the last thing that he wanted to--

One of his Roberts inside the workshop picked up a strange reading. Vibrations? And electricity? Stemming from where?

He got his answer when the Clown Pit reached out to him directly.

Howling. Clawing. A wordless frenzy, scratching at the walls that guarded Morgunov's mind.

What the--?

The Obsidian Shell shook beneath his feet, making him hold onto the railing even more tightly.

Then the horizon came alive with a light so bright that it would have surely blinded him without his passive souls defense that allowed him to keep looking right into the heart of it.

A great pillar of fire. Shooting up straight out of the workshop. An eruption from a volcano that didn't exist there.

An attack? It couldn't be. The Pit was still communicating with him. It wasn't scared or dying. Not weak or even wounded.

It was angry.

-+-+-+-+-

The Silent Serpent glowed with an ethereal light. Its curving, scaly body moved up and down, coiling uncomfortably close around him before giving him room to breathe again.

Kurata paused his work, feeling at once that something was amiss, and decided to step out of the central chamber, just to be safe.

Next page tomorrow

Thanks for reading, everybody.

Page 4165

Those needed to be recovered. As many as possible. He didn't wish to give those Vannie bastards any more help recreating his technology. It was almost certainly inevitable in the long term, but that didn't mean he had to make it easy for them.

When he finally arrived atop the Obsidian Shell and stepped out onto the small deck, he had to lean against the black railing for support. Ugh. So sore, even after all that rest. Somehow, he could still feel the bite marks all over his body, too. Was that real pain? Or just psychosomatic? He truly was not sure, but he sure hoped it was the former.

And to think, he and that damn dog had actually ended up on the same side. He could only imagine how much worse this would've been if they'd remained enemies.

Gohvis was almost certainly going to be a problem, though. Morgunov had been looking forward to having a conversation with that surly lizard, but the jerk hadn't shown himself this whole time, either. He must've been licking his wounds, too, after that encounter. Sure, he might not have fought Koh for as long as Morgunov did, but he HAD faced the beast after its remarkable transformation.

Which was another thing that Morgunov had been trying to puzzle out during all this downtime. What exactly had happened back there? The dog had merged with the feldeath, apparently, but how? What in the world had prompted it? In his long study of feldeaths, he'd never even imagined such a possibility.

But now that he knew about it, he was actually excited to start--

Ah. There it was in the distance. Finally. His favorite workshop.

Yeah, it wasn't looking so hot, at the moment. This was his first time being back here personally after the ambush, and he could see a few pillars of smoke rising out of the aboveground buildings. Felled trees. Missing hilltops. And that mountain in the back had been turned into two mountains. Who the heck did that? Probably some angry dork who'd been fighting his Roberts. Talk about ruining the view.

But at least the whole workshop wasn't a crater. The Clown Pit was at the very bottom of a deep, underground labyrinth, and he could see--and also sense--his Roberts patrolling the area both around and inside the workshop. Everything seemed to be mostly intact. The Vannies had, unfortunately, been able to free all of his hostages, but oh well. A trivial loss in comparison to what could have happened.

Page 4164

He got out of bed and made his way to the top deck. The Shell had a nice little lookout spot up there, but he hadn't been able to enjoy it much, what with all these damn stairs.

Still, he needed to move. His body didn't want to, but his brain did. And hell, he could probably use the exercise, too.

Morgunov had always wanted to take this massive mobile fortress out for a spin, but the old sourpuss would never let him, of course.

So what better time than now to indulge?

Morgunov didn't rightly know if the guy was truly gone for good. He sincerely doubted it, but either way, this was certainly a golden opportunity for him.

If only he was in better condition to capitalize. He should've been out poaching Dozy's forces left and right, bringing them to heel or otherwise taking charge of things.

But he could hardly risk showing himself in this state. Sure, he was still strong enough to storm in here and take over the Shell, but even that had proved more of a challenge than he'd anticipated.

The state of his Roberts was an especially sore point, right now. They'd been culled by such an enormous amount. It was going to take forever to rebuild them. Several months, in theory, but probably a few years, in practice. He knew himself well enough by now. He was absolutely going to get carried away with upgrading them again. Whenever he got lost in any "repairing" spree, how could he possibly resist?

What few Roberts remained had to be tasked with protecting either the Clown Pit or himself while he recuperated.

Strangely, the Vannies hadn't attacked his Fusion Forge yet. Perhaps they hadn't even realized that they'd stumbled onto its location during that last ambush, but that was probably just wishful thinking on his part. He couldn't risk leaving it unguarded, regardless. If Asad Najir still lived, then that attack was only a matter of time.

Which was part of the reason why he'd commandeered the Shell here. It was a slow, lumbering beast, but after weeks of travel, it was finally approaching his workshop. It would provide a good supplement to the Roberts already stationed there, and then maybe he could reassign them elsewhere.

The real issue was all the scattered remains of his Roberts that were currently strewn across the Ardoran continent--and worse, the Luthic Ocean.

Doubtless, there were now countless precious implements washing up on beaches all over the world.

Page 4163 -- CCCXXIX.

Chapter Three Hundred Twenty-Nine: 'Behold, thy long-muted Fury...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)

The Anvil buzzed with an electric pulse.

Daro Bright, the Black Artisan of Vantalay, awoke with a start.

Agh. He'd fallen asleep on the floor again. Too many hours on his feet, rushing about. He must've collapsed from exhaustion.

And Marlizia hadn't even bothered to wake him this time, either. That was her way of telling him that she was done helping him put off sleep so that he could keep working.

Eh, she was probably right, as usual. He wondered where she she'd gone off to. She didn't much care to hang around in his subdimensional workshops, even though she often did exactly that. They seemed to make her uneasy.

Or perhaps that was the Anvil's doing.

It pulsed again as he looked groggily toward it.

A massive, hulking thing. In truth, it was more like ten anvils combined into one, but each anvil could serve a different function, and they could even morph into different shapes for the all-important purposes of containment and precision work.

At the moment, those anvils were all united in the shape of a giant metal orb, crackling with electric energy.

Which gave Daro pause.

That wasn't how he'd left it. He was still a little groggy, sure, but not that much.

Moreover, he could see the great orb rippling like water along its polished surface. And the electricity arcing around it was growing in intensity, too. Leaping out toward him.

He stood up just as a bolt of lightning snapped across his face.

It didn't hurt, but it didn't exactly tickle, either.

"Hey," he said in Valgan, a little annoyed. "What's the matter with you?"

And to his further surprise, he didn't even have to touch it in order to receive an answer.

You sleep too long, Father.

Daro just stared at it with wide eyes.

-+-+-+-+-

Morgunov groaned as he rolled over. He hadn't had it this bad in a long time. Exhaustion and pain all over. Even Bool was still too weak to provide much help. The reaper needed rest, and so did he.

But his mind didn't want to hear that. It wanted to think and plan. It wanted to do stuff. It was tired of being cooped up. All the luxury in the world wasn't worth a damn when he felt this frustrated.

Dozer sure did know how to live, though. This Obsidian Shell of his was quite the vessel.

Page 4162

These noises, though.

Now that Xander had this new context in mind, the humming and thrumming of the Golden Hour suddenly seemed very different to him. So this was how it sounded when it was excited?

Heh. Wow.

He slid his hand across the curved glass. With a clear intent in mind, that motion was actually a request for the Hour to open up the bottom chamber for him.

And the Hour did so immediately. No sluggishness. No fuss. Just instant acceptance as the thick glass morphed into itself, creating a seamless hole that was large enough for him to climb through.

He only reached in to grab the socket mount, however, then prompted the Hour to shut itself up again.

But this time, it did not listen to him.

More, it was telling him. More materials. More creation. The Fury is thriving.

And we must compete.

Xander felt the whole chamber reverberate around him, this time with a bit more oomph.

"Alright, relax," he said, not so worried about sounding soothing, anymore. "You're kinda blindsiding me here, y'know that?" He took his hand off the glass.

And it apparently didn't like that, because the chamber truly shook this time, making the shelves rattle in the corner of the room and dust trickle down from the ceiling.

Okay. Well.

He had to admit: that was a little scary.

Even with how slow, reluctant, or otherwise difficult the Golden Hour had always been, Xander had never had special cause to fear it. Sure, it could still be dangerous if he ever got sloppy, but that was how all Forges were. On the whole, this one felt much safer to use.

But perhaps not anymore.

He was abruptly recalling that Hamenszoon had died while crafting his last masterpiece.

Died while using this very Forge, in other words.

Of course, the exact reason for his death had been lost to history, so there was obviously a chance that it wasn't the Golden Hour's fault at all--or that it was even Hamenszoon's own doing. He certainly wasn't the only great mind to have perished in such a way.

Still.

Xander felt like maybe he should stop and reevaluate things for a moment. This was good news overall, of course, but maybe--

The room shook again, even stronger now.

Okay, message received. Xander was scrambling around the room. Not a problem. Definitely not a problem. He had plenty of projects lined up from over the years.

Plenty of pacifiers for this ancient baby.

Maybe it wasn't that much like an old man, after all.

Taking a day

New page tomorrow at noon. Thanks for reading, everybody.

Page 4161

The Fury?

Xander had heard the term before, but only rarely. He had to stop and think back. He closed his eyes to help him concentrate. The information was there. He could feel it. But it was buried deep in the recesses of his mental storage.

He needed a couple minutes. Thankfully, the Hour was not prodding him further, despite him maintaining contact with it. He could still sense its enthusiasm, though. Waiting on him, but not patiently.

Ah.

Yes, there it was.

An ancient name for brilliant inventors. Invoked in certain texts pondering the accomplishments of famed but mysterious integrators throughout history. "The Groundworks of Skapa" by Hamish Harundel. "The Agrian Paradoxes" by Dina Crondite. "The Spaghetti that was Karugetti" by Daniella del Otoya.

There were others, too, but that last one made him pause. He kinda wanted to scrub it from his memory just because the title was so obnoxious.

But as he recalled, the information within it was actually quite solid. Daniella and her brother, Roberto, had been quite famous in their own right, despite their eccentricities.

Still, the subject at hand. The Fury.

It actually referred to more than just a brilliant person, didn't it? It was used in specific regard to a hypothetical 'leading source of inspiration' around the world. Someone whose existence and great works spurred on other, like-minded creators.

A rising tide that lifted all ships.

Hmm.

And such a person had been reborn? According to the Hour, at least. Given the very tangible results that he was already witnessing, Xander found it difficult to doubt the Forge's credibility.

And it was furthermore known to him that Forges were sometimes able to communicate with one another. He'd researched the subject quite a bit in the past, but he'd never been able to uncover any conclusive answers. Only theories.

Some believed that all Forges were able to tap into some kind of grand, hidden network. Or that they might even be, in truth, one interconnected entity.

For his part, Xander doubted it was as simple as that, especially after spending so much time studying the Golden Hour. He was fairly confident that the Hour not only knew about other Forges but actively disliked some of them. Or maybe all of them.

Which was perhaps another aspect of the "old man" in it. The Hour didn't much care for all these youngsters trying to communicate with it.

Page 4160

"It's alright," said Xander in his most soothing tone. "No need to get upset. You're doing just fine." It should've become aware enough now, so he finally decided to put his hand against its pristine glass. "Speed isn't--"

His senses were going wild.

What was this feeling?

Energy. Excitement. Enthusiasm. And so overwhelming, too. He had to retract his hand before it bombarded his mind any further.

He clutched his own wrist as he eyed the giant hourglass anew. It wasn't painful in the slightest, and yet he couldn't help feeling like a child who'd just touched a hot stove.

What in the world?

That wasn't a rejection, like he'd felt many times before. It wasn't the Hour being angrily surprised by his presence. If anything, it felt more welcoming than ever.

Slowly, he tried touching it again, bracing himself this time.

It was an avalanche of sensation. Pleased. Alert. Curious. Cool. Warm. Cold. Hot. Ready. Waiting. Come on. Bring more materials. Prove yourself, Magician.

What the--?

Xander paused, focusing through the storm. What does it mean 'more?' How could it--?

Inside the thick glass was a swirl of dust. The Hour's timeless miracle of weaving sand. The core tool of its workmanship. That sand had been busy for days now--and should've been for many more.

And yet Xander saw it calming down. Settling. Letting go of the object that it had been working on with its own suspended pocket of gravity and fine, subdimensional precision.

The item landed softly on a mound of dust, looking positively radiant.

Looking finished.

It was just a socket mount. Nothing too crazy on its own. Xander wouldn't have even bothered wasting the Hour's time on it if he didn't need it to be capable of withstanding particularly unreal atmospheric pressures and g-forces, but still.

It wasn't supposed to be done already.

Xander's green eyes widened a little as he absorbed the scene in front of him. He wasn't sure whether to be pleased or worried.

In his entire career with the Vanguard, never had he felt anything quite like this from the Golden Hour.

"...What's brought this on, all of a sudden?"

The Hour seemed all too eager to answer him.

The Fury is reborn. Reborn and thriving. For once, not lost to tragedy, confusion, or madness. Not crushed under the heel of jealous tyrants. Not hunted down by agents of Chaos.

Thriving. Keeping steady. Not even burning, this time.

Page 4159

Still, it was a concern for another day. The Magician remained focused on the enormous golden tower in front of him.

According to his estimations, the Hour's current project would not yet be ready to take its next step for another month of gestation. That was just how slow the Hour processed materials these days. It seemed to have gotten worse over years, which was making Xander increasingly concerned for its well-being, but no matter how many times he went over it with a fine-tooth comb, he could never find anything wrong with it.

No signs of physical degradation. No issues with the weaving of its ardor.

At this point, he could only imagine that it must have been some kind of psychological issue. But how in the world was one supposed to diagnose such a thing? Much less treat it?

Sadly, there was no such thing as a therapist for Fusion Forges.

And he'd checked.

Xander had spent considerable time visiting various archivers around the world, hoping for some kind of answer to this problem.

Hence why he was now at a point of exhausted resignation. Honestly, he felt more commiseratory for the Hour than frustrated by it. There was no doubt in his mind that it, too, was saddened by the current state of its creative process.

So what were these noises it was making now?

Low, slow reverberations. Making the whole chamber vibrate.

But not violently. Just... consistently. Repeatedly. Warmly?

Hmm. It was difficult to tell without touching it directly, but again, he had to be careful here. He had to ensure it was fully aware of his presence, first.

This ancient thing. It had been through so much. Seen so much. And despite its rather lackluster speed, it had indeed seen nearly constant usage for the last several hundred years.

In that way, it was unique among Forges. Historically speaking, they tended to die quite early, due to the attention they drew. Once they started truly pumping out great works at a good pace, the world at large tended to notice quickly. And then all hell would break loose until, one way or another, they were destroyed.

But not the Hour. No. It was a very old man still playing a young man's game.

And thinking about it like that did lend it an extra degree of reverence from Xander.

Perhaps speed wasn't everything.

Heh. And perhaps he should tell it that. See how it reacted.

Next page on the 12th

Thanks for reading, guys.

Page 4158

Still, he did not hate the Golden Hour. There'd certainly been a time when he did, but no longer.

The Hour was the way it was. He'd come to terms with it. And he'd still managed to create some wondrous things with it, albeit very slowly.

Mostly in the aid of Sermung's campaign. That man deserved all the assistance in the world, whether he accepted it or not.

Unfortunately, that man also had a habit of obliterating everything Xander ever gave him.

Truly, the Magician of Light's greatest struggle had been creating an item that could withstand not only the perilous journey beyond the Veil but also the incredible power of the Crystal Titan himself.

Sermung kept assuring him that his attempts had indeed proved useful before being rent to dust, but Xander always had to wonder how true that was.

Time would tell if his last effort had succeeded. He'd come up with a new type of soul compass for Sermung. Typically, such compasses could not withstand breaching the Veil, no matter how much Sermung tried to shield them. They would always go dormant or even shatter.

Xander came to the conclusion that it must have been a matter of foundational physical stability. If the laws of physical reality were sufficiently distorted by these foreign realms, then objects that were especially attuned to such laws might become unusable.

The answer, therefore, was to create the new compass within the new realm that Sermung wished to search. So rather than simply handing Sermung a new compass, he'd instead given the man the means to create his own.

It was a kind of mini-Forge. A 3D printer, of sorts. Fully automated, of course. Sermung could not be relied upon at all when it came to technology.

All he'd needed to do was press two buttons. One to transform the printer so that it could acclimate to the new laws, and one to actually begin the printing process.

Xander had tested it plenty of times. Unfortunately, due to the required transformation process, he couldn't reduce it down to a single button press, but surely, Sermung could handle that much.

Surely. It was two buttons. And the High Commander was a brilliant man in his own right.

Yes, yes, if it did fail, it would be his own fault. The transformation process was quite sophisticated, after all. Plenty of opportunities for something to break there.

Xander chose to ignore the many counterexamples coming to mind in the form of sweat-inducing flashbacks.

Page 4157

He sometimes wondered if the Hour simply hated him. He'd heard about such cases historically, but at this point, he'd been struggling with this Forge for so long that he was long past any desire to prostrate himself before it and curry its favor.

Instead, he was hoping to soon begin work on a Forge of his very own creation. He'd been studying for decades toward that end, but according to his research, he still wasn't quite old enough for that feat to be feasible.

Not without some kind of immense sacrifice, at least.

Supposedly, it was possible to give up a part of one's very soul, impairing both the reaper and servant indefinitely, in order to reach that final plateau, but Xander's need was not so great as that.

The marshals wouldn't even humor the notion, either. They always just told him to focus on mastering the Golden Hour. It was the heart of Vanguardian innovation for nearly a thousand years, after all.

Which might explain why there hadn't actually been much movement on that front, comparatively.

Despite all their age and experience, it seemed difficult for them to understand the true nature of the Golden Hour.

They seemed to think that all Fusion Forges were basically the same. All just grand engines of incredible creative power.

Which was true enough, of course. Especially when looking at history, which was what all the marshals did.

But there was a secondary truth there that could not always be ignored.

There was a reason why no two Forges were alike. They were living, thinking entities. They all had different capabilities. Different specialties. Different likes and dislikes.

Therefore, it would be foolish to assume that they were all equal, too. The sheer degree of variance among them rendered that a statistical impossibility.

But of course, it was also true that the Golden Hour had a storied history of grand creation. It was the child of one of the most famous integrators ever, after all.

Hamenszoon, the Undaunted Mind.

It was hard not to feel inadequate by comparison, but Xander knew that he was in good company. No other Vanguardian integrator had been able to wield the Hour as impressively as Hamenszoon. It was nothing to be ashamed of.

In fact, perhaps the Hour simply could not work as well for anyone else. Perhaps it ached for its creator, even now.

Page 4156

Rarely had Jackson seen him take such a tone and disposition with him, but it always meant that he was in no mood for japes, despite all previous evidence to the contrary.

For his part, however, Jackson remained quietly suspicious, even as he acquiesced to the High Commander's order.

-+-+-+-+-

The Golden Hour hummed lowly, growing briefly strong enough to send a shock wave through the polished floor.

The Magician of Light looked up from his broad desk, having just sat down after returning from a long and frustrating trip. He hadn't even attempted to communicate with the Fusion Forge in several days, much less actually use it.

So what was this now? Why was it acting up?

The monolithic thing certainly lived up to its name. It was a gigantic golden hourglass, stretching up the full height of the chamber and connecting with the domed ceiling at its central point.

Xander's green eyes narrowed at the sight of it there, and he stood up, shaking the malaise from his mind and the fatigue from his limbs.

To say that the Hour was a fickle entity was certainly an understatement. Xander had been privileged enough to work with multiple different Fusion Forges over the course of his life, but the Hour was the most mercurial by far.

Oh, how he missed the Silent Serpent. Not a day went by that he didn't envy Kurata for inheriting such a cooperative Forge.

Instead, he'd become the steward of this moody bastard.

He approached the Golden Hour but didn't yet deign to touch it. That was a mistake he'd made too many times before. He needed to give it ample time to prepare itself before making direct contact. He needed to speak to it, too. Help alert it to his presence.

"What's the matter?" he asked in a soothing tone.

This was key to its operation, he'd learned. He suspected it was because the Golden Hour was often lost in thought and so its ability to sense its immediate surroundings was greatly diminished--possibly even non-existent.

So he had to lure it back into reality, first.

This was especially important when the Hour had a project already running inside it, like it did now. Slow as it was, its projects could often take weeks to complete even just a single step; and worse still, if Xander approached it carelessly, the brewing project could be instantly ruined.

Months of work, lost in an instant.

Another mistake he'd made far too many times.

Page 4155

"I want you to stop drowning yourself," said Hector.

"Oh, is that what I'm doing? How silly of me. Yeah, I'll just go ahead and cut that out. Thanks."

What the hell are you two on about?

Then, however, there was silence. Both of them shut up at once, leaving Jackson to wonder what in the world could have ended their bickering so abruptly.

Is there something you need to tell me?

Jackson stared at Sermung first, then Hector. They weren't saying anything aloud, but there was an exchange going on. A silent one. They were trying to have a private conversation right in front of him.

The Radiant Sentinel found that intensely obnoxious.

He released a small puff of flame between the two of them.

Hey. Don't ignore me.

They glared at each other for a moment longer before Hector finally spoke up.

"...Your boss needs a vacation," he said.

Hah. So do I. But sadly, this isn't that kind of job.

And the two of them fell quiet again, though they didn't seem to be having a silent discussion this time.

Jackson felt compelled to press further. What's the matter?

"It's not important," said Sermung. "I'll tell you some other time. Tell us more about the situation here in Andeyal."

Jackson was not prepared to drop it, however. Drowning himself, Hector had said? He decided to press the kid further. What did you mean by Sermung drowning himself?

Sermung answered, instead. "He's worried that I am taking on too much responsibility."

Hmm. And are you?

"Of course I am. That, too, is the job."

Well, he wasn't wrong, Jackson knew. But still. His burning gaze lingered on Hector for a moment.

This was hardly the first time that such concerns had arisen over the centuries. Loose talk of that exact type was common enough for any servant who reached even the rank of general.

But Sermung had always been something of a special case in that regard. In Jackson's youth, his mentor here had always been utterly unflappable. A rock. Both literally and metaphorically.

And Jackson knew that Sermung disliked wasting time on such discussions. 'Aimless pondering' he often called it.

But was that the case, still? It was admittedly a bit difficult for Jackson to see the man as ever struggling in such a way, but--

"Your report, Marshal." The relaxed air that had surrounded the High Commander was gone.

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Page 4154

"Listen, Hector," said Sermung. "Jackson means well. He's a swell guy. But he's very controlling. Don't ever sign anything he gives you."

It's not 'controlling.' It's simply 'organized.' Something you have never and obviously WILL never understand.

"Yeah, yeah, just relax, would you? Hector's fine. You're worried you can't speak freely in front of him, I assume? I'll vouch for him."

Unbelievable. You'll 'vouch' for him? You are the most powerful man on the planet controlling the most powerful organization on the planet. Operational security isn't something you 'vouch' for.

"Why not?"

Even all the way back in the archive room, Jackson had to pause, blink, and sigh.

How long have you known this guy, exactly?

Sermung gave an armored shrug. "Twenty minutes or so?"

Suddenly, Jackson found himself wanting these two to resume fighting, if only so he could join in on Hector's side.

Hector chimed in now. "It'--uh... I would actually be very interested in meeting with you in person, Mr. Sentinel."

Oh?

"Hector, please. You're encouraging him, and that's not a good thing."

"Yeah, but I mean, if it pisses you off, then it can't be all bad, right?"

"Oh, you little brat. Still keen to fight, are you?"

"I sure am. And I know you are, too."

Okay, this kid was growing on him, Jackson thought. His file was an interesting read, too. Updated most recently by Xander, of all people. Apparently, they'd met in a foundational realm.

Also, 'Mr. Sentinel?' That was a new one. Taken from Radiant Sentinel, of course. A moniker that Jackson had never particularly loved, considering how overly grandiose it sounded--but he'd also not had a true last name in centuries, and frankly, when used like that, he didn't hate it.

Still, there was a time and place for indulgence, and this was not it. Jackson needed to rein these two in, not exacerbate whatever silliness they were getting up to.

Abolish has infiltrated the city, Jackson told them.

Neither of them seemed surprised.

"At this point, it'd be stranger if they hadn't," said Sermung.

"How bad is it, though?" said Hector. "Enough to worry you?"

"He's always worrying. It's one of his favorite pasttimes."

"It's one of yours, too."

"Oh, kiddo, you could at least act nicer to me in front of others."

"I could. But why, though?"

"You really just want me to punch you, don't you?"

Page 4153

But oh well. Jackson supposed there were more pressing matters to discuss than whatever nonsense these two had been indulging in.

Are you aware of the current situation in Intar, Sermung?

"A bit," said the High Commander. "I did some intel-gathering on the way here. Wasn't expecting a sudden invasion of Yigorosks, though. That was a surprise. I'm sure you've got plenty more to tell me, hmm?"

He did. But first, Jackson's burning gaze fell upon Hector again. Back in his office, he'd stopped writing altogether and had started walking toward the archive room. It was a short trip, but the room itself was no modest thing. Thankfully, his meticulous filing system would prevent that from becoming an issue.

Soon, he would see all that Vanguard knew about this youngster from Atreya.

Which was perhaps a bit presumptuous of him to assume that he was indeed a youngster, but Jackson had long since gotten into the habit of treating everyone--in his head, at least--like they were a kid until proven otherwise. Especially servants. Oddly enough, non-servants got a bit of a pass from him. That was a different kind of living. Higher stakes, one might say.

But servants? No. Even if this kid was already a hundred and fifty years old, he was still a kid to Jackson.

He just had to be careful not to actually say so explicitly here. Jackson knew from copious experience that people tended to get offended when he did that.

In the meantime, however, he was far from comfortable having a full conversation with the High Commander in front of this stranger.

Perhaps you would like to come to my office so that we can discuss this in greater detail?

"Oh, no, no, no," said Sermung, backing up a little in the air. "We're not doing this. I just got back. You're not tricking me into doing paperwork, right now."

That's not what I'm trying--

"And you're not getting Hector to do some, either."

Jackson paused.

"Yeah, I knew it," said Sermung. "I know this is a strange situation, but that doesn't mean you can just get him signing all sorts of weird NDAs and whatever new crap you've probably come up with lately."

"What?" said Hector, eyeing the avatar anew. "You want me to sign stuff?"

Jackson, for his part, merely remained silent. Damn. He hadn't gotten caught red-handed like this in a long time.

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Page 4152

His burning avatar floated closer with more uncertainty than urgency. To his surprise, however, the armored stranger managed to wriggle free of Sermung's grip somehow, and there was yet more confusion to arrive.

The opponent zipped away across the aerial battlefield, peppering Sermung with a cloud of buzzing flakes. Like bugs? Jackson wasn't sure what to make of it.

Then Sermung finally seemed to notice him waiting there. The buzzing swarm around his head did not cease, even as the man raised a hand and waved. "Jackson! How long have you been there?"

Long enough to wonder what the hell you're doing.

Making the avatar actually speak would've required even more concentration; and it wasn't necessary in this case, because Sermung did not need to hear a voice in order to understand him.

"Oh, I'm just... ah... it doesn't matter. Tell me how you've been, my boy! It's been so long for you, hasn't it?"

It has. But not for you, yes? If you keep this up, I'll be older than you soon.

"Hah! Not likely, youngster!"

Back in his office, Jackson was shaking his head. This was the only man in the world who could say that to him.

The buzzing swarm around Sermung's head came to an abrupt stop, and Jackson noticed the armored stranger approach the two of them.

"Uh... you guys need a minute to talk?" said the stranger.

"Oh, no, you can keep attacking," said Sermung. "I can multitask."

"I'm... not gonna do that."

Who is this, Jackson wondered? And why are you fighting him in the middle of downtown Andeyal?

Rather than answering, however, Sermung merely turned to his former opponent.

"Oh, sorry," said the stranger. "I'm Hector Goffe of Atreya."

The fact that this young fellow could also understand him was enough to catch Jackson's attention.

"I'd, er... offer you a handshake, but... you're literally on fire, so..."

The avatar turned to Sermung again, who merely looked at him, still not saying anything.

Jackson felt Avar stir again, though strangely, he didn't say anything. Which nearly prompted Jackson to ask why before he caught himself. Memories were bubbling up. Ancient knowledge.

He ignored them and focused on Hector.

What is your quarrel with Sermung?

"Oh, that was, ah..." The kid raised his gauntleted hand as if to scratch his helmeted head. "We were just... sparring."

"Yes, that's it," added Sermung. "Sparring."

Why did that sound like bullshit?

Page 4151

Doubling back was such a brazen move. It might've been indicating something about Jercash's mindset. Confidence? Or perhaps he'd just been expecting Jackson to get sloppy due to the attempted invasion of the capital. Taking a gamble. Trying to create an opening for Abolish to operate more discretely again.

Even if Sermung hadn't pacified it so quickly, it wouldn't have made a difference. Jackson had been anticipating such a move for several days. Granted, it still would've made quite the mess of the city, if Sermung hadn't shown up like that. Jackson could certainly appreciate the man's presence.

Jercash must have been shitting bricks now, though. Ah, unless Sermung was managing to conceal his presence from the man. From what he understood, the High Commander had gotten quite good at that in recent decades.

It still amazed Jackson whenever his mentor continued to grow.

Was there any limit to the strength that servants could theoretically achieve? Or was Sermung just an unparalleled entity in his own right?

Worrisome questions, in their own distinct ways.

And endless in their asking, added Avar. No answers have yet been found, even in the realms beyond this one.

Does that scare you, Jackson? Or excite you, perhaps?

Hmph. Shouldn't you already know? If we are truly one, as you claim?

Perhaps I do already know and merely wish for you to acknowledge it.

Jackson scoffed internally.

Thankfully, another distraction gave him reason to discard this conversation.

The wisp was very close to Sermung now. Within direct sensory range.

Jackson's pen stopped moving.

Was Sermung... fighting someone?

No, there was no damage anywhere. And the atmosphere was so... oddly warm. Relaxed--and even pleased.

What in the world was going on over there?

Jackson focused on the wisp's senses more strongly, giving it the fullness of his consciousness. It made for a nigh complete projection of himself on the other side of the city. A fiery likeness that Sermung would be able to easily recognize.

Or at least, the man should've been able to.

Apparently, he seemed to be enjoying himself too much, at the moment. Jackson could feel the waves of amusement emanating from him.

As he was pinning someone down on a crystal platform and rubbing a slimy creature on the poor, struggling bastard.

Jackson didn't know what he was witnessing, but he felt as if he should probably intervene.

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Page 4150

It was an easy task for him, this kind of scribbling. A thoughtful task that hardly required thought, anymore. Countless years of paperwork had turned this type of thing into a mindless habit for him, even when the subject matter was this important.

Wars were always like this for him. Writing up letters, orders, reports, invoices, filling out forms, creating entirely new forms for others to fill out.

He enjoyed it all, of course, though for different reasons than he used to.

In his youth, he loved it for the meticulous precision that it afforded. The detail-oriented approach to problem solving. Much could be revealed with a bit of attentive bookkeeping.

But these days, he instead found it peaceful. Having done it so much for so long, attention wasn't particularly necessary, anymore. Even when using it for problem solving, incredibly enough.

Problems during war were rhythmic. Patterned. Familiar and recognizable. Jackson knew what to look for. And even in the rare instances when some new issue appeared, the numbers often made for quite the trail of breadcrumbs to follow. Always simple enough.

And that was the greatest headache for schemers like Jercash. Not an insurmountable problem, of course, but still quite the burden, nonetheless. Jercash knew how Jackson operated. He knew that Jackson would see right through his plans unless he offered up all sorts of feints and misleading numbers.

But Jackson, in turn, knew how Jercash operated, too. Old tricks wouldn't work. Strange shipping manifests? A curious weather report? A mysterious sighting? Odd rumors?

All bogus.

The greater trends were the key. The movement of people, for example. Or the lack thereof, even.

A sudden influx of rural townsfolk into the big city. A sudden absence of movement across state lines. A border guard's report could tell quite a story.

Which was what he was working on. He'd already sent out orders to alter the hourly check-ins with new details. The guards were not going to be happy with the extra nuisance, but the ones who didn't comply would earn themselves a visit from an inspection team.

Or more, if there were other red flags.

Such as in the eastern Intarian states of Lino, Brent, and Cairil. Jackson had already routed Jercash's forces from that little tri-state region once before, so there should've been no more red flags, but apparently, Jercash was under the impression that Jackson wouldn't think to check there a second time.

Page 4149

Avar's apparent eagerness was only making Jackson even more reluctant to go meet Sermung.

Even though a part of him was already en route. Technically.

He had a wisp nearby. A burning shadow--a primitive aspect of his own consciousness. It was moving closer to observe, and Jackson was not telling it to stop.

There wasn't much point, he supposed. Even if he didn't make contact at all, Sermung would seek him out soon enough. Avar was going to get the meeting he wanted, one way or another.

Better to remain focused on the task at hand. The many tasks, actually.

The situation here in Intar was a mess, of course, thanks to Jercash. Playing constant mind games. Trying to sow seeds of madness all over the country.

It had been a back-and-forth with him, these past few weeks. Jackson may not have been at his best recently, but that still hadn't stopped him from being able to thwart the Knife's incessant attempts at psychological warfare.

Hyozen, Jackson's reaper, had even remarked on multiple occasions that taking a reduced role on the frontline was actually the ideal way to fight Jercash. It made it easier to look at the bigger picture, rather than getting caught up in individual battles.

As if Jackson actually needed such a reminder. The reaper was just trying to find any excuse to comfort him, no doubt.

In truth, Jackson knew that he had his subordinates to thank. When he told them to do something, they sure as hell got it done. In fact, they seemed even more motivated than usual, which was a bit odd. Wasn't seeing their leader in such a sorry state supposed to be demoralizing?

Not for Reeves, Bohann, or Judith, apparently.

Perhaps their concern for him made them feel like they needed to step up. They did all have good hearts, didn't they? Good heads on their shoulders, too. If nothing else, he could at least take solace in the pride of watching them flourish.

Heh. Or perhaps they can tell that nothing is truly wrong with you. Perhaps they can tell that you are, in fact, more powerful than ever before.

Jackson ignored the argument. He was in the middle of an important missive. Thankfully, the many distractions on his mind were not slowing down the movement of his pen at all.

Page 4148 -- CCCXXVIII.

There was something quite hostile behind those words, Hector sensed. The other man's aura was all but announcing that he wanted to use the Ceese against him.

To slime him back, almost certainly.

Hector could think of worse fates, though. He was more concerned with trying to achieve his objective here. Even if everything Garovel had said was true, he still didn't want to just give up.

That man over there needed help. And even if Hector didn't know how to provide it, he intended to keep trying until he figured it out.


Chapter Three Hundred Twenty-Eight: 'The burdens of Stars...'
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He could hardly believe his senses. There'd been so many threads to follow. So many things to juggle. But now, he was thoroughly distracted. That was no good thing. He kept having to resist the impulse to drop everything he was doing and go meet up with the High Commander for the first time in years.

Or was it decades? Surely not. The older he got, the more difficult it became to gauge how quickly time was passing. He'd already lost track of his own age, and he was only in the mid-three hundred range.

Jackson felt like he was finally beginning to understand what it must have been like for Sermung all this time.

Carrying so much weight. Feeling stretched across the horizon of time. Wondering how much of himself was still... himself.

And more than ever, he wondered if Sermung had ever dealt with a problem like Avar.

These so-called "Primordials." Jackson had heard about them plenty of times over the centuries, of course, but it was occurring to him now that Sermung had never discussed them with him. Despite having so many opportunities to.

And despite the fact that--as Avar's memories were now informing him--these Primordials had certainly tried to parley with Sermung over the years.

But he is unapproachable, don't you see? Quite literally, if he so desires.

All who make contact with him either forget him... or die. Their vision, blocked. Their wills, suppressed.

Jackson bristled internally. He disliked carrying an actual conversation with Avar, but now he was simply too curious not to ask. If all of that was true, then why do you remember him, Avar?

Only because you do. We are already as one, despite your endless protestations.

Jackson clenched his jaw, not appreciating that answer very much.

Through you, we might finally be able to open a direct dialogue with him. Don't you see?

Shut up.

Next page on the 27th

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Page 4147

Hector had successfully acquired a moment to breathe and think, if only because Sermung was too annoyed to keep following him. He probably wanted to see what Hector would do next. There was a whiff of curiosity in the man's aura again.

There was so much to think about. He'd lost track of the Ceese in the confusion of that little dimension hop, and while this fight was certainly important to him, it was equally important that he didn't accidentally let that thing loose in the middle of downtown Andeyal.

Despite the relative chaos of this whole situation, Hector was fully aware of their environment. And he knew Sermung was, too. They'd both been making painstaking efforts to not cause even the smallest amount of property damage to any of the buildings around here, always ensuring that all of their materializations were properly annihilated before they made contact with anything in the environment.

In many ways, it complicated the fight, because they had to hold back, but Sermung probably didn't mind, since he was already holding back. And Hector had a distinct feeling that Sermung was waiting to see if he would slip up and break a window or something.

Then he'd really be able to scold Hector. Couldn't let that happen. Somehow, that felt like it would be a much worse defeat than just getting the shit kicked out of him.

So where was that damn iron box with the Ceese in it? He concentrated. This aerial battlefield was so large in volume that the Scarf had trouble pinpointing something that small. It didn't seem to have fallen all the way to the ground, which was a good sign, but still--

He sensed it. Not through the Scarf, though. The iron box itself was clear in his mind, relative to his own location. A gleam in the space of his mind.

Okay, that was definitely not normal. He'd kinda felt this before and hadn't had time to dwell on it, but what in the world was happening here?

Unfortunately, he still didn't have much time to dwell on it, because the box's location was quite distracting.

It was in a little crystal cradle, floating leisurely over to Sermung while the Titan hovered there, still observing Hector expectantly.

"It seems I've acquired a hostage," said Sermung with a chortle. "How will you rescue him?"

Hector bobbed his head. "I mean, you can keep him if you want. I wasn't sure what to do with him, honestly."

"Is that so? Hmm. I can think of a few uses for him."

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Next page on the 24th

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Page 4146

Hector couldn't feel Sermung's presence yet, but he knew it was probably just a matter of time. He decided to consult the Living Core.

Thankfully, it didn't seem upset at him. Maybe it hadn't realized yet that he'd tricked it.

Any other hidden functions around here?

No, it told him.

Fuck.

But this space could be imprinted for storage.

What?

Hector didn't get an answer to that, because the quaking spiked in intensity, and then Sermung's aura was all around him. And it was already speaking to him, too.

Neat trick, Sermung was saying. But not enough to escape from me.

Hector didn't even get the chance to respond before he felt himself being pulled somewhere.

Then it was like being ripped through an invisible cloth, and he was suddenly back in the normal world again. In the exact same position as before.

His senses needed a moment to acclimate, but yep. Sermung was right there on the other side of the crystal cage. Staring at him. Tilting his head at him. Judging him.

Hector's mind was racing, though. Storage. Storage? Storage...

Surely, it wouldn't be that easy, right? Because if he could just put stuff in the shield's pocket dimension, then...

He tucked the Core away in his armor and touched the wall of the cage with his newly freed hand.

This unbreakable crystal. It should've been hot after all the temperature manipulation he'd been doing, but between his shot nerve endings and the gauntlet over his hand, there was no way to tell. Hector just concentrated on his aim.

Intention in mind. Combined with soul power pressing into the shield.

A circular chunk of the crystal wall disappeared.

Hector's eyes bulged inside his helmet.

Holy shit, Abbas. You absolute genius.

"Hey," came Sermung's voice from Hector's peripheral view. "That's not allowed. How'd you do that?"

Rather than answering, Hector just launched himself through the hole and out into freedom.

His armored ankle caught on something.

Sermung's gauntleted hand.

Hector reacted instantly, dematerializing the iron there and freeing his foot.

Sermung was still right behind him, though, even as he flew away. "I asked you a question, young man."

"And I respectfully decline to answer," said Hector, bounding away with a sudden iron platform.

He didn't get very far.

The Crystal Titan caught him by the neck this time.

But Hector just resorted to the same trick again. He blinked his own armor out of existence, remaking it the instant he was free again.

"You're a slippery one--I'll give you that."

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Page 4145

'Hector...' Garovel's tone was as soft as he'd ever heard it, ushering back many memories from their time together. 'You've grown so strong so quickly. But along with that, you've been taking on more and more responsibility. I know you get frustrated when you encounter a bad situation that you can't do anything about, but that's just the nature of life, sometimes. Whatever Sermung's real problem is, I don't think it's the kind of thing that we can help him with.'

Agh.

The reaper was probably right, Hector knew.

He wasn't ready to give up, though. 'It's not just me, you know.'

'Hmm?' said Garovel.

'I get frustrated, yeah. But you do, too. I know you do.'

Garovel was quiet.

'Garovel, if you could sense what I sense from this guy, I'm absolutely certain that you would feel the same way I do, right now.'

'Yeah, I probably would. But I've also got a few thousand years on you, Hector. And despite how frustrated I occasionally still get, I've also begrudgingly learned that, sometimes, there's only so much I can do. And I don't want you... to go down a path of... quiet desperation, let's say. Because that kind of thing can drive a man mad.'

That subject again.

Madness.

He kept hearing about it. And he felt like he was going to keep hearing about it, too.

Still, it didn't exactly seem relevant to the current circumstances. Hector considered telling him as much, but he didn't want to worry his best friend any more than he already had. Apparently, this was a growing concern in Garovel's mind, and Hector felt like dismissing it out of hand would not be a smart move.

It made Hector wonder again about Garovel's experiences with past servants. The reaper had told him that he was the twenty-second servant he'd ever taken. How many of them had gone insane, Hector pondered? Truthfully, he wasn't sure he even wanted to know the answer to that.

Hector stewed on those thoughts for a short while, and perhaps so did Garovel, because a lingering silence arrived as they floated there together in the pitch blackness of the pocket dimension.

The question of how and when they should return was starting to bubble up in his mind. It probably wouldn't be that difficult, he felt; but before he could even start fully processing the issue, a trembling distraction arrived.

An earthquake with no earth. A dimension quake?

That couldn't be a good sign.

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Page 4144

'It's just a little pocket dimension,' said Hector. 'No big deal. We've visited these before.'

'Yeah, and I'm getting kinda SICK of it at this point. At least tell me you did it on purpose this time.'

'I did, yeah.'

'Well, good. I guess that can be considered progress.'

And then there was an awkward silence.

'...But now what?' said Garovel.

'...I honestly have no idea. I was in a pretty desperate situation back there, and I'm still trying to figure out how to deal with it.'

'Hector, there IS no dealing with it. You picked a fight with Sermung. Y'know, like an idiot. Even if you somehow have more tricks up your sleeve that even I don't know about, there will come a point where you just have to face the music.'

'Hey, aren't you supposed to be more supportive? Telling me not to give up and shit?'

'I mean, if he was actually trying to kill us, then yeah. But I'm sure he's just gonna give you a well-deserved smacking. I don't see much point in dragging this out, Hector.'

'Agh. You don't get it.'

'No. I really don't. You said something about his soul dying, didn't you? I didn't press you before, but it seems we have some time now. Wanna elaborate on that?'

Hector hesitated. 'Not really.'

'Hector...'

'Do you really need me to explain?'

Now Garovel hesitated. 'You think he's suicidal.'

'I know he is. I can feel it in his aura. He hides it well, but it's there. And it's bad.'

The reaper sighed. 'Okay, but how is beating him up supposed to fix that?'

'It's not. Or at least, not really. I just... I... I don't...' Hector might've sighed, too, if there was any air left in his lungs.

'You don't know what to do,' said Garovel.

Hector made no response. He didn't want to acknowledge that, even if it might've been true. He needed to keep thinking that there was some hidden solution here. Some better way out of this. Not for himself, of course. But for Sermung.

And by extension, for everyone else in the world.

Garovel's next words proved more incisive than expected, however. 'Sermung is not you, Hector. Even if you see similarities, you are two distinct souls. What works for you may not work for him. And vice versa.'

That wasn't what Hector wanted to hear. Not at all.

Maybe it was what he needed to hear, though.

He rubbed his forehead hard, squinting against the endless darkness and trying to think.

Page 4143

Regardless, none of that was presently on Hector's mind, even in background thought processes. Right now, his only concern was waking the damn thing up and getting it to help him out. Apparently, a fight with the Crystal Titan had not been enough to stir it out of its slumber already.

With the Core in the palm of his hand, Hector sensed its attentive presence again. He would have to give it specific instruction, though. He still wanted it to help him discern the secrets of the Amir-22, but he knew that he couldn't directly ask it to do that.

So maybe he could trick it.

He asked it to search the immediate vicinity for a hidden soul- or ardor-based function.

While it was busy thinking, Sermung was floating right outside the crystal cage, staring at him. Most of the iron coating that Hector had applied was already gone, stripped away in huge chunks, and he hadn't bothered trying to reapply it.

Agh. And the expression on the man's face. Watching Hector expectantly. All but asking him, 'Is that it?'

There was something about this guy that just pissed Hector off so much. Like no one else he'd ever met before.

Certainly, there'd been plenty of genuinely evil bastards in the past who angered him much more, but this was such a different feeling, somehow. Such a unique flavor of irritation. Hector could not have explained it even if someone asked him to.

The Core got back to him.

There was a spatial concealment function nearby.

A what now?

It was a kind of short-form teleportation into a pocket dimension. Only usable for temporary concealment, not for travel.

Well, that sounded really cool but also maybe kinda useless in the present situation. Hector wasn't about to be picky, though. With that information in mind, he envisioned a pocket dimension and pressed his soul into the shield. Was that the right way to activate it? He wanted to try on his own before asking for further clarification, just in case the Core caught wise to--

Everything was gone, he abruptly realized. Total darkness in all directions.

Garovel spoke up first. 'Okay, Hector, I've been trying to give you plenty of wiggle room here, but what fuck is this now? Where are we? What have you done?'

'Uh...' With not even any air to breathe, he could already feel his body suffocating. 'Look, don't be mad.'

'Oh, I've BEEN mad.'

Page 4142

Hector didn't really like using the Living Core unless he had to. Not only was it perpetually grumpy and kind of a pain in the ass to deal with, but it tended to go dormant a lot--and Hector was beginning to think that was no quirk of its personality. Perhaps it was so grumpy all the time because it was trying to conserve energy.

Because it needed that sleep.

Or perhaps it was just an asshole.

Tough to say. He was trying to be generous in his interpretations here.

When conducting his practice sessions with the Amir-22 before, he had of course tried to use the Living Core to uncover all of the shield's hidden functionalities--just as he'd done with Rathmore's Gate--but the surly little bastard had refused to help him.

It had called the shield an 'unformed sibling. Unfinished. Unworthy.'

And after discovering some things on his own, Hector got tired of consulting the Core. Because this was no fleeting mood swing on the Core's part. Apparently, it considered itself an "accidental" stroke of genius from Abbas, not a "true" achievement from brilliance.

Which, in brutal fairness, might've held a kernel of truth to it. Obviously, Abbas hadn't intended for things to spiral out of control the way they did on that day. Though, of course, a lot of that had been the Core's own fault, too. It seemed to think that a truly "worthy" creator wouldn't have been tricked by it the way Abbas was.

A real piece of shit, this little fella was.

But Hector had also since come to the conclusion that there was another layer to its refusal, too. To actually refuse a direct order from him, it must have felt very strongly about this particular issue; and given how otherwise logical it was, Hector felt like there was only one explanation for such behavior.

The reason the Core was so disappointed by the Amir-22 was because it actually did want Abbas' newest work to prove that its own creation was not just some fluke, after all--that the Sunsmith truly was worthy of being considered its creator, just like how Hector kept saying he was.

And so, despite how impressive this shield was, it was ultimately still a work-in-progress, as Abbas said. Maybe the "final" version would actually satisfy the Core. But then again, given Abbas' recent behavior, Hector had been getting the feeling that there might not ever be a "final version."

Like maybe the guy would just keep iterating on it forever and ever. Surely not, though, right?

Page 4141

He'd used a similar trick before in the battle with Bloodeye and the Man of Crows. In that case, though, he'd just been ping ponging himself around the sky, but he felt this would be far more disorienting if he started bouncing around inside the cage.

So he took an extra step and braced himself within the cage. Iron spikes shot out all around his armor and crashed against the crystal. They didn't pierce it, of course, but there were enough of them to still stick in place through sheer mass alone. Yeah, he was sealing his own movement, but that didn't matter much when he was already trapped.

The first iron ball hit the mark dead on, and the cage went sailing. Without much help from his senses, he could only assume that the cage hadn't actually broken away from the crystal platform holding it up. Instead, it had probably just knocked the whole platform over and sent the top-heavy cage flying toward the ground like the head of a giant hammer.

Unless it, too, had been suspended on a hovering platform the whole time. He couldn't actually tell, unfortunately. He only knew that he was finally moving. He sent another ball from the opposite direction while dematerializing the first one, but then the cage stopped again.

Motionless.

Caught in more crystal, most likely.

Agh.

After all that. Useless.

Well, of course. It was Sermung.

Hector had to think of something. Sermung's aura was closing in. All slow and casual, but closing in, nonetheless.

He racked his brain. Ideas. Ideas. How could he possibly get out of this? He tried another iron ball, just for the hell of it, but as expected, it didn't even hit the cage this time.

Goddammit.

What else was there?

The cage was still taking turns between molten hot and completely normal. He could see a few cracks around the corners where the drills had been the most active, but even now, that was about it. They were not getting through that, apparently.

Not enough force. Not enough heat. Definitely not enough soul power. Distractions weren't doing much, either. Which made sense, he supposed in a background thought process. The way they were talking before, Sermung almost certainly had multiple thought processes, too. Unless that was just some crazy aura shit.

This wasn't fair at all. Sermung was actually just him but better. Wasn't he? Like in every way, too. Materialization, soul power, aura use, experience. Even his goddamn signature medieval armor. No one else used that shit. Why did this guy have to steal that, too?

Okay, that thought process was getting a little ridiculous. But it did have a point.

In fact, the more he focused on and processed the idea simultaneously, the more he realized that he really only had two things that Sermung didn't.

But both of those things were made by a brilliant integrator with a Fusion Forge.

Need a few more hours

Sorry, guys. I'll have it up at 6 pm today.

Next page on the 13th

Thanks for reading, as always.

Page 4140

Then he manipulated his soul power within the Amir-22 in order to start releasing the heat outward. He felt the temperature within the cage rise immediately, and he knew that he had to address it again. If not, he would probably melt before the crystals did.

So he had to use the shield's absorption recursively. Release heat in a blanketing, then start absorbing again, then release, absorb, release, absorb--indefinitely.

And quickly, too.

The heat buildup seemed to grow exponentially. Faster and faster. Until even a split second without the absorption being active was enough to make Hector feel like his whole body was on fire.

He couldn't even tell if that was Sermung's doing or not. Was the Titan ramping up the heat? Or was this actually a feedback loop? Was the shield actually generating extra heat, somehow? This felt like a little too much, honestly.

The cage became a very strange place. Flashing between boiling hot and perfectly temperate. Hector's vision began to obscure, bending and warping like a desert mirage that was somehow right in front of him. And without airflow, he couldn't rely on the Scarf to aid his spatial awareness for materialization outside the cage.

All he had was his aura sense now. He'd never relied on it so heavily before, especially for the purpose of harnessing materialization. He could feel his work slipping. Getting sloppier. Less accurate. The iron bugs harassing Sermung must've been missing their shots like crazy now. And the flying drills. They were going all over the place.

Very, very bad.

He had to concentrate. Focal points. Multiple thought processes. Organize. Prioritize.

The iron coating around the cage was complete. The only openings left were for corners so that the drills could still strike.

Even more heat, he decided. Not just an iron coating. A molten iron coating. The crystal was being a real bastard. Needed to soften it up. He could sense fractures in the corners, but that wasn't enough. Even just creating a small opening would at least allow a pathway for the Scarf to aid his spatial awareness again.

Multiple drill strikes connected. Heavy and hard. Enough to shake the whole cage. But after that, they were getting stopped too frequently. Isolated and caged, just like him.

Fine.

Fuck all this precision shit.

He summoned a big iron ball with a velocity state. And the target was not Sermung. It was the cage itself.

If he couldn't move because of the cage, then he'd just have to make the cage move, too.

Page 4139

He went with sixteen points of contact. Two drills for each "corner" of the cage. Eight inside and eight outside, each pair drilling toward each other. Massive sparks flew off the cage immediately, which was no doubt the result of the drills being being rapidly worn down.

Then the walls got abruptly closer, squeezing the inner drills into a much tighter space, to the point where he was forced to shrink them down.

Still, it was better than being completely squashed. Sermung was going easy on him, Hector knew.

The outer drills were wrapped in crystal and halted, so Hector just dematerialized them and tried again. Same story, though. Wrapped and stopped. Only the eight inner drills were being allowed to work, which Hector found curious but didn't have time to worry about.

If he wanted the outer drills to work, he'd have to be more creative.

A multi-pronged approach formed quickly in his mind, and he didn't hesitate to put it all into action.

First, make the outer drills move all around. Zip about the battlefield. Avoid capture via non-linear routes. Then come in for a big drilling strike. If they got captured anyway, remake and try again.

Second, distract Sermung. Annoy him again. However possible. The little pinging tubes he'd used earlier. Bring those back. And bugs. Tiny iron bugs. Buzzing around Sermung's head.

Unfortunately, he couldn't materialize them that close to the Titan. The man's field density was way too strong for that. But he could have them launch even tinier iron pellets at the guy.

Specifically, at his eyes.

They wouldn't hurt, but they might obscure vision and take his attention away from the drills. That was enough.

Third, start coating the cage in his iron, too. Not at the contact points with the drills, of course, but everywhere else. Obscure the cage's view from the outside so that maybe he could pull a fast one later.

It was a mess. The aerial field in downtown Andeyal came alive with a frenzy of materialized movement. Drills turned into little iron rocket ships with spiraling tips, zigzagging to and fro before slamming into the crystal cage and either digging into its cracking frame or simply exploding into iron chunks on impact. It was tough to calibrate the amount of force to use, but Hector didn't have the luxury of letting the failures discourage him.

He just kept pressing.

Next page on the 9th

Thanks for reading, everybody.

Page 4138

But hold on. Maybe this wasn't as bad as it seemed.

The shield had new functionality that he'd been waiting for an opportunity to use. Not to mention, it was already reshaping itself to flatten out the giant dent in it.

Abbas had wanted him to test it out, hadn't he? Well, here we go.

In his personal practice with the shield, he'd discovered that heat absorption and release were entirely new features. It sure would've been helpful if Abbas had actually bothered to inform him about that ahead of time, especially since Hector only found out accidentally, but whatever.

It was a matter of manipulating certain soul-based "pressure points" within the shield itself. While Hector knew that he still wasn't old enough to be sensing soul power and ardor like reapers could, his ability to sense aura made up for it, at least in this particular instance.

Hector pressed his own soul power into the center of the shield, where the flattening bend currently was.

Then the rising temperature in the crystal cage began to stall. He didn't yet know how much heat could actually be absorbed, but he supposed there was no better time to find out.

That still wouldn't do anything about the crystals themselves, though. Even if he could prevent melting to death, he and Garovel were still trapped in here.

But perhaps the heat could be useful there, too. To his mind, the only hope of breaking through that crystal was to leverage the geometric advantage of acute pressure applied on a wide surface area.

Or in other words, drills. As powerful as he could make them.

And heat--at least theoretically--had a softening effect on hard surfaces, too. So maybe the combination of those two things could save their asses here.

He didn't see much choice but to try. Unless, maybe, the Amir-22 secretly had a teleporting function that Abbas also forgot to tell him about.

Which, honestly, wasn't outside the realm of possibility.

He set to work on his drills as the shield grew hotter and hotter on his armored arm. He wanted as many points of focused contact with the crystal cage as possible, but he also wanted the drills to be as powerful as possible, so there was a certain balance that needed to be struck.

There was actually considerable space in here to work with, so the drills could be pretty big, too.

Page 4137

This wasn't a fortress cube, though. Those were all gone, and he'd given up trying to bring them back. No, this was the cube that was orbiting around him. The one holding that freaky little creature that he'd picked up underground. The Ceese.

Hector let it finish its orbit around him until it slowly bumped into Sermung, and right before it actually hit, Hector dematerialized the cube, letting the creature free.

It still remained totally limp, though. It flopped against the Titan's armor, and its tail brushed against his face, leaving behind a sticky residue as the creature slid down the full length of the man's body.

Hector caught it in another box before it fell too far, but his attention remained focused on Sermung's squinting expression.

He looked Hector in the eye. "Was that a Ceese?" The revulsion in his face and voice could not have been more obvious.

"...I didn't know it would slime you like that," said Hector, suddenly feeling like he might need to apologize.

"It's a fear response." Sermung quickly annihilated then rematerialized his own armor, which made it pristine again. That didn't stop him from still needing to wipe his face down, though. "They excrete bodily fluids when panicking or playing dead."

Oof. "See, this is why my armor has a face guard," said Hector.

There was only a split second to react before the Titan karate chopped Hector straight downward.

The young Lord Darksteel managed to raise the Amir-22 just enough to take most of the blow, but he still went plummeting to the ground. He did not hit it, however. Instead, he crashed into a crystal platform, which did not budge or soften his landing at all.

Disorienting. No wind in his lungs. But he could deal with it. He had spare thought processes.

The Amir-22. It was visibly bent. Hector could almost see a full imprint of the man's arm in it.

And the crystal platform shifted rapidly beneath him, extending around into a cage. Hector tried to leap out but was too slow and bashed against the ceiling.

Plenty of light was still getting through the crystal, but how the fuck was he supposed to break out of this? This guy's crystals might've well been the strongest material in the entire world.

Then he started feeling the temperature rise, too.

Holy shit, that wasn't even necessary, was it? He really must've succeeded in pissing the guy off.

Next page tomorrow

Thanks for your patience, everyone.

Page 4136

His iron was disappearing faster than it was appearing now. And it wasn't even getting blown apart, either. It was just disintegrating. Atomizing, perhaps. Gone in sudden bursts. Hector couldn't even see any materialization from Sermung, either.

Incredibly, the Titan still didn't seem to know where he was just yet, but Hector knew that wouldn't last much longer at this rate. He had to take a different approach, but it seemed like Sermung wasn't even letting him materialize anything near him, anymore.

That was the work of emperor's field density, almost certainly. Long-ranged materialized objects would vanish into nothingness--or simply not take form in the first place. A ranged attack, therefore, would have to be materialized from afar, then launched closer.

But even that was questionable, seeing those invisible bursts annihilating everything. What even was that? Soul power? Aura?

Memories from the Candle tickled the back of his mind. Aura, they said. It was a feat that only the powerful were capable of. A way of putting the world around them to order. Bending it to their will in one oppressive moment.

Huh.

Well, that was pretty fucking terrifying.

No helping it, Hector knew. Even if he still had some tricks up his sleeve, he was gonna have to go in there and get his butt whooped, sooner or later. Running away, hiding, being annoying--these tactics were just prep work.

Would there actually be a payoff, though?

That was a really good question. Hector wished he had an answer for it.

He gripped the Amir-22 in his hand as he dove in, rocketing him straight toward the Titan. This probably wasn't the kind of fight that Abbas had in mind when he'd given this shield to Hector, but the man had asked him to put it to the test and report back.

Sermung didn't even dodge. He just let Hector crash into him, and the impact didn't cause him to budge in the slightest. That gleaming armor just remained perfectly pristine as Sermung turned and looked at him. He didn't say anything, but the curiosity was obvious.

Okay. Not what he'd planned for. Hector could admit that. But it wasn't like he'd expected the human torpedo technique to do much, either. There was more to this dumb plan, still. But since Sermung was being so generous, Hector decided to just let the awkward silence linger a bit longer while he waited for the right moment.

For the last remaining cube in this entire aerial battlefield.

Page 4135

Hector kept it up in a sustained rhythm, going faster and faster.

It was a countdown, of sorts. Meant to impart a sense of escalating urgency. He'd used a similar tactic on those Abolish invaders just before his fight with Banda Toro. The intention back then had been to get the invaders to flee without a fight altogether. That hadn't exactly worked out the way Hector wanted it to, but he wasn't expecting it to work here, either. Obviously, the Crystal Titan was not about to get scared and run away.

But thankfully, the guy was also not a bloodthirsty psychopath. So the consequences of failure weren't quite as bad here.

Or at least, the consequences upon himself weren't.

The consequences for Sermung, though? And for the rest of the world? If Hector couldn't find some way to get through the guy?

When he thought about it like that, the stakes of this fight felt considerably more terrible. It was enough to make a certain question bubble up in his mind, one that he felt compelled to ask Garovel about, despite the incredibly inconvenient timing as he continued navigating his own floating fortress.

'...Did you sense the aura of death around Sermung?' said Hector.

Garovel needed a moment. 'No. That doesn't work on undead.' And the reaper probably wanted to ask why Hector was bringing that up all of a sudden, but perhaps for the sake of not breaking his servant's concentration, he kept that question to himself.

That, and he probably didn't even need Hector to explain. Garovel would almost certainly be able to connect the dots.

What a strange thing this all was. That Hector could feel such anger and desperation toward someone that he'd also come to admire. Was this what they meant when they said to never meet your heroes? That didn't seem quite right.

Hector kept planning, though, even as those emotions and questions bubbled up through his mind. He let them dissipate like foam on the sea while the majority of his concentration remained on the fight.

And so he wasn't surprised when Sermung finally decided to move, even though the force was so immense that the floating fortress nearly disappeared in its entirety.

Like a popped balloon, almost all of it burst apart in an instant.

Hector was still concealed, though, in a far portion that remained. He immediately went to work regrowing the whole network of cubes again, but apparently, the Titan's patience had run out.

Next page on the 2nd

Thanks for reading, everyone.

Page 4134

Clearly, Sermung was waiting on something. Waiting for Hector to do something.

But Hector didn't mind waiting, either. Despite everything, he wasn't in a terrible rush to get his ass beat. So if the emperor wanted to sit there in that box, then that was fine. Hector didn't mind keeping it mostly stationary for the man while all the other boxes kept falling around it. He'd started things off that way just to prevent Sermung from being able to sense anything that was going on outside that particular box, since letting it fall on his head would've been rather telling, but Hector hadn't expected that he would need to maintain it for so long.

But what did he really expect to achieve here? That question kept nagging at him--across various thought processes, even. Just to knock some sense into him? This dude was basically invincible. To prove a point?

Yeah.

To prove that thing living within that man's aura wasn't right. It was too formless to even articulate, Hector felt. But also too familiar to ignore.

A kind of dark certainty. A hopeless and desperate misery.

That was his target in this fight. But how to attack it, then? That was the real question.

If certainty was the issue, then perhaps he could break that. Be surprising. Do something unexpected.

But what could take a centuries old emperor by surprise?

Good question.

Hector's floating iron fortress had grown so rapidly that he was already nearing his volume limit. He could feel it approaching, somehow. The expansion needed to slow and change. Sermung had granted him all this time and space. And even though he couldn't exactly sense the man's aura at the moment, he could all but feel Sermung's lingering question.

What was Hector going to do with all this?

Well, the purpose of the fortress had been to annoy him. But he was annoyingly not getting annoyed, it would seem.

Hector wanted to fix that.

He focused on Sermung's cube. He added a series of small, vertical, hovering tubes into the room. One in each corner for a total of eight. Then he added tiny metal balls inside all of them at the same time, having the orbs start at the top and then fall normally down to the bottom, hit iron against iron, then disappear.

Then he did it again. Eight little orbs falling in unison. Clinking in unison. Disappearing in unison. Then again. And again. And again.

Page 4133

He had to be mindful of the city below them, though. It was a pain to annihilate every individual bit of iron that started to fall too low, so he decided to reconceptualize his entire approach to that problem. He imagined all his iron materializing above an "annihilation barrier," a hard boundary where none of it was allowed to exist.

That simplified matters greatly. He didn't even need to dedicate an entire thought process to annihilation duty anymore. Every materialized piece came pre-packaged with that idea embedded into it.

Whoa. This felt like quite the realization, actually. And now he had a spare thought process to work with? Better put it to use, he figured.

The fortress of cubes grew still larger. He remembered that there were a few giant black boxes nearby that had encased some of the skyscrapers of Andeyal, so he had the fortress account for them, expanding around them and weaving between them.

Beyond that, though, it was a bit difficult to remember how far away the other black boxes were. He knew there were plenty more around, and he didn't want the fortress to bump into them. He'd have to ease off the expansion then, in order to be safe. There was no way to--

No, wait. On second thought, maybe he could remember where those more distant black boxes were. They felt pretty clear in his mind all of a sudden. Just like Sermung's location, actually.

Was that his iron, too? Informing him again?

He wasn't sure what to think, but now wasn't the time to be worrying about it, either. He decided to just take whatever he could get and be grateful. He was in a fight with the strongest servant in the world, after all.

A part of him was wondering if Sermung even considered it a fight in the first place, though. Hector hadn't stopped focusing on the man's location for an instant, and yet the guy still hadn't moved from within the box that Hector had put him in. What was he doing? Just waiting and seeing?

Agh. He was probably just amused, wasn't he? What a jerk.

There was no doubt in Hector's mind, though, that the dude had plenty of tricks up his sleeve. Maybe he had some secret way to keep track of Hector's movements, even through all this soul-infused iron. Aura wouldn't be able to do it, since it would be necessarily injected into all the iron as well, but maybe the guy had some other method.

Next page tomorrow

Thanks for your patience, guys.

Page 4132

Unfortunately, boxing himself in also meant giving up any helpful spatial information from the Scarf, but that was fine. He had a mental map of everything that he was materializing. All the boxes together. Even as they plummeted toward the ground.

And he didn't hesitate to begin moving through them. Dematerializing walls, then rematerializing them again. Up through the fortress, then diagonal, then up again, then to the right, on and on. He kept adding more boxes to the top of the fortress while annihilating the lower boxes before they could reach the ground.

He could've tried to use the hovering technique on all the boxes instead, but this would be more disorienting for his opponent. Plus, it basically was the hovering technique, just scaled up to a huge degree. Instead being held up by the hovering iron, they were inside it. And this way, Hector could add extra boxes as he pleased, too. Horizontally, diagonally, vertically. Every which way.

He wanted it to be a maze. A means of concealment. If he couldn't run away from Sermung, then maybe he could surprise. The only trouble was that all these soul-infused walls also concealed Sermung's position from Hector--or at least, he'd thought that would be a problem.

But it wasn't quite so. It was subtle, but Hector felt like he could actually still sense which box Sermung was in, somehow. It didn't make sense. Was it aura? Didn't feel like it. No, it felt like the iron itself was telling him. His iron.

There wasn't time to dwell on it, though, even with the benefit of a spare thought process. He needed all of those, right now, because he knew that an attack was coming. If his plan was not to win the fight but to just annoy Sermung, then he had to prepare for if the plan actually worked.

The Crystal Titan would not abide an obnoxious maze for long. Without a doubt, the man would be able to tear the whole moving fortress of cubes apart in an instant whenever he wanted.

So Hector used the concealment to help create that distance he'd wanted. Sermung wouldn't be able to destroy all of it if he didn't know how much there was. More cubes. More iron. Turn the fortress in a snaking line. Then add more lines. Tentacles. Sprawling. Diverting attention.

And fill some of them with molten iron, too, while he was at it. Just to be extra irritating.

Next page on 26th

Thanks for reading, everybody.

Page 4131

Even as lava surged forth and coated the Titan entirely, blocking Hector's view of him, the young lord from Atreya was under no illusions that it was actually accomplishing anything.

Problem was, he didn't really know what the fuck to do.

'How exactly is this helping him?' Garovel was saying. He did sound a bit calmer, though.

'I gotta try and knock some sense into him.'

'That is NOT going to work, Hector.'

'Yeah, probably not, but this is the way it has to be. I have to get my ass beat.'

'Okay, but my ass is also here.'

Hector might've liked to respond, but even with multiple thought processes at work, all of his attention was stolen by the fact that he very abruptly sensed the Crystal Titan right behind him.

"Interesting technique," said Sermung.

Hector jolted away, flying and not stopping, hoping to create distance.

The Titan stuck to him like glue, though. Still not actually attacking or even touching him for that matter. Just keeping perfect pace with him. "That was more intense than I expected. What else do you have to show me?"

This fucking guy.

That aura was not so warm and friendly anymore. It was definitely confident, however. More than ever before. How could it be like that now when Hector had previously sensed so much self-loathing and bored angst? What sense did that make?

Perhaps it was just a mask, but it sure didn't feel like it. The guy felt smug as hell.

Which he certainly had a right to be, Hector knew. But there was just something about it that really pissed him off.

The Titan's aura was laughing beneath the fight. Wasn't this to remind me of something important? Seems more like you just wanted to fight because I got under your skin.

Maybe there was some truth there, Hector acknowledged. But I got under yours, too.

You flatter yourself. You're an amusement, not a bother.

Hmm. That actually gave Hector an idea.

If it was impossible to create distance, then perhaps barriers would do the trick. Walls. A full-blown maze. He'd done that before but not for quite a while. How much more elaborate could he make it now? He was keen to find out.

Soul-infused iron exploded into existence all around him, placing Sermung and himself into separate boxes, then adding more boxes around those. And more. And more. A fortress of cubes.