Page 4188

'A large offensive is soon to begin,' said Ezmortig. 'So while the heavy hitters are all busy beating each others' brains in, you are going to sneak in and plant some seeds.'

'Seeds, huh? So we're playing a long game?'

'Aren't we always?'

'Wasn't the feeling I got with this incursion. Everyone keeps talking about how it'll be over soon, after one last push. Then we can all go home and lick our wounds.' Naturally, that didn't include the idiots who seemed to genuinely believe that they were about to conquer the entirety of Intar. The opinions of those morons didn't even deserve consideration, Desmond felt.

'Indeed,' said Ezmortig. 'Which is why this mission is important. We are unlikely to get another chance to plant seeds like this. Not for decades. Maybe even centuries.'

Desmond resisted the urge to sigh again. He could see their presumed destination in the distance now, slightly concealed behind a line of tents. They were heading to the parking lot, where all manner of vehicles were waiting, military and civilian models alike.

'So let me get this straight: I'm supposed to sneak into an active war zone where some of the most powerful servants in the world will be duking it out... and accomplish what, exactly? Chatting up a few politicians? Convincing them that, actually, Abolish is just a bunch of chill guys who deserve their support?'

The reaper chortled silently. 'Yes. More or less.'

'Sweet. No problem. That plan's not stupid at all.'

'You've done it before. Multiple times, in fact.'

'No, I haven't. These circumstances are way different.'

'Relax, Desmond. Just planting seeds, remember? You don't need to achieve all of that in a single conversation.'

Oh, boy. He wanted to protest further, but what was the point?

The truth was, he already knew how to proceed. What kind of tactics might work. Politicians were a specialty of his, at this point.

He just really didn't want to go. 'Will I be working alone, at least?'

'Yes. I assume you do not want a team.'

Hell no, he didn't. They always fucked everything up when it came to undercover operations like this. 'Am I allowed to do anything besides planting these seeds?'

'Such as?'

'Mm. Y'know. Maybe just a little assassinating.'

'I'll that to your discretion. But not your indulgence. Use your head. I know you can think, Desmond, much as you try to convince people you can't.'

Bah. Indulgence was so much more fun, though.

Page 4187

No, he was stronger than before. Much stronger. In fact, thanks to him, Desmond had barely needed to get his hands dirty, as of late. Which was a novelty. He'd gotten so used to being in constant pain, thanks to the lingering effects of his transfiguration ability, but these days, he almost felt like a normal human being again.

Still, it did beg the question. Just how many times had that guy achieved emergence over this last year?

And was there even more to it than that? His whole vibe felt different, too. Perhaps Karkash was using his electromagnetic ability in order to mess with the air around him. Like a subtle, tingling cage or something.

Why would he do that, though? Just to fuck with Desmond?

...Possibly.

'Get up,' came Ezmortig's soundless voice.

Desmond had been reclining on a wooden stump at the edge of the encampment. All the noise from those weird squid things had gotten pretty annoying, so he'd started maintaining his distance. Plus, it was more difficult for the cultists to find him out here.

He did not immediately do as the reaper requested and instead merely scratched his cheek as he eyed the ethereal white mask that covered Ezmortig's face. 'Got some real work for me?'

'Killing, you mean? That's not your job, anymore. Best get over it.'

Desmond sighed but stood up.

The reaper began floating away.

Desmond followed. 'So what IS my job, then?'

'Outreach.'

He made a face but said nothing.

'You're a charmer when you want to be,' said Ezmortig. 'That is something Karkash will never have over you.'

At that, Desmond's frown actually did turn upside down, just a bit. Compliments from reapers were rare. So rare, in fact, that he knew pointing it out would probably motivate the reaper to either take it back or otherwise explain how it was actually nothing of the sort.

Instead, he tried to focus on the task. 'And who is it that needs charming?'

'Some politicians in Andeyal.'

He stopped walking and groaned. He didn't even bother keeping his next words private. "Are you kidding me? I thought we already agreed that infiltration is a shit detail, right now. The Vanguard's on high alert. Jackson's in the city. I go there, I'm toast."

The reaper turned and waited for him. 'I haven't forgotten. Conceal your voice.'

Desmond eyed the nearest servant a few meters away, then did as requested. 'So what's changed, then?'

Next page tomorrow

Thanks for reading, everyone.

Page 4186

And yeah, sure, Desmond knew his place well enough. He was a low-ranking chump, too. But he still had some pride. He didn't really have to start acting like he enjoyed doing bitch work for all these big shots, did he?

Well, if he wanted to climb through Jercash's ranks, then apparently he did.

But that was fine. He wasn't looking to move up in the world. Maybe one day. Assuming he lived that long. Which he probably wouldn't, he figured.

And besides, there was no telling how long he would stick around with Jercash's men. Ezmortig was truly unpredictable. At any point, the reaper might decide that they should go try their luck somewhere else.

And thanks to Karkash and Hoyohté, their little entourage actually had enough autonomy to do that, these days.

Those two were a lightning rod in more ways than just physical. Ever since that hubbub in Kavia, people had started calling Karkash the Bolt of Kavia. And that had only been the inciting incident.

Karkash had made even more of a name for himself as a kind of assassin on the battlefield. Not one that employed much stealth, but one who had nonetheless managed to snipe several famous Vanguardians and "local heroes" in recent months.

Jercash had even met with him directly and promoted him twice.

A lesser man might've felt intensely jealous, but Desmond was perfectly fine with riding Karkash's coattails all the way into the sunset, if need be. The only surprising thing, really, was that Karkash was actually letting him.

They couldn't be more different. Karkash originated from Dozer's side, and Desmond from Morgunov's. They rarely agreed on anything, and on paper, they shouldn't have gotten along at all.

Yet Desmond harbored no ill feelings towards him. And for some reason, Karkash still hadn't left him behind.

Desmond couldn't quite wrap his head around it, but maybe it was just down to the reapers. Hoyohté and Ezmortig rarely talked in front of him and Karkash, but he had noticed them being conspicuously absent over the last few months, perhaps to discuss their plans in private.

Whatever was going on, he supposed there wasn't much point in worrying about it. He was just a servant, after all.

There was definitely something strange going on with Karkash, though, and it wasn't just all the extra attention inflating his ego. Probably.

Page 4185

Well, at least he wasn't one of those poor saps who'd been tasked with infiltrating Andeyal. That job had been so obviously a shitshow waiting to happen that Desmond had quietly made his exit when they started handing those assignments out.

Thankfully, there'd been plenty of eager volunteers to ensure that his presence was not missed.

These followers of Jercash were something else. Thus far, Desmond had operated in sects under Dunhouser, Ivan, Vanderberk, and even briefly Dozer--and none of them compared to what he was seeing here under the Devil's Knife.

Which was really saying something. He hadn't expected anyone's fanaticism to ever match that of the feverish cult that followed Dozer around, but here we were.

Man, that had been a fun time, though, hadn't it? In its own way. Desmond always loved finding a new cult to join. He'd grown up in one, after all. They always felt like home--even when they were completely batshit crazy. Hell, especially when they were.

And this one following Jercash was definitely up there. They weren't yet deifying him like Dozer's were, but he could see the beginnings of it. Probably just a matter of time, assuming the Knife managed to hold everything together long enough.

They did have their rituals, though. Different sects had different ones, but some were quite exotic, he'd found. The Venerators liked to drink blood and draw all over each other's bodies. The Harvesters liked to gather organs from their victims in order to eat them in ceremonial banquets, even making utensils out of their bones.

And the Gatherers liked to chant Jercash's name while playing in leaves. Big piles of leaves. Like little kids.

Desmond felt like he was still missing something with that group. They were far too nice and docile for an Abolish sect. It was actually quite unsettling. He wanted to learn more, but something deep in his gut kept telling him to stay away from them. Especially that guy they called Lucky. Sure, Desmond had met plenty of other smiling maniacs during his time with Abolish, but there was just something different about him.

Something that made Desmond's skin crawl.

Regardless, the thing that really set Jercash's cult apart was just how enthusiastic everyone was. Whenever one of the higher-ups needed something, countless people were chomping at the bit to take care of it.

Page 4184 -- CCCXXX.

Had she magnetized them, Abbas wondered? That was certainly within her capabilities, but he had yet to explain that upgrade to her. He'd wanted to wait until a few more iterations were complete.

He continued watching her in silence.

From him, the "art" of invention had never felt truly so. It was always more of a slow grind. Rigid and scientific.

With Dyna, though, that had all changed.

It truly felt like seeing a vision in his mind made real. A feeling turned tangible.

And even though he completely understood her capabilities currently, he could not say the same for her potential. Where would she be in five years? Or even just one, for that matter?

With the Candle at his side, the prospect equal parts exhilarating and unsettling.

One thing about the future was certain, however: he was very much looking forward to seeing her pick apart those death machines from Morgunov like they were cotton candy.

The mad bastard was going to regret ever letting him see them up close.


Chapter Three Hundred Thirty: 'Surging devils, prepare thyselves...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)

Man, what the hell was even going on around here, anymore? Desmond Grantier found himself asking that far too often, as of late.

Ever since that little operation in Atreya went awry, it had just been one mess after another. Despite the fact that they'd gotten away with so much money, it somehow still felt like they were poor as dirt.

The reapers were being stingy pricks, of course, not letting him enjoy a nice vacation and splurge on whatever he wanted, but that was to be expected, of course. Desmond had learned long ago that his wants didn't really matter much when it came to Ezmortig and the rest of the Abolish.

He was just a tool. One of countless expendable bodies. No sense in getting worked up about it.

Best to just take things as they came--to enjoy this wonderful thing called life as much as he could, even if everyone around him seemed perpetually determined to stamp it out. Their own included, apparently.

But even that mentality had gotten rather difficult to maintain. It didn't take a genius to see that this war hadn't been going great for Abolish as a whole. Sure, they might've gotten a few good licks in here and there, but what did that matter when it was basically just Jercash on his own now?

Seriously, what were they hoping to accomplish here in Intar?

Next page on the 18th

Thanks for reading, everyone.

Page 4183

"The Candle is many things, but a chef isn't one," said Abbas.

"But wasn't it you who told me that practice makes perfect?" The childish figure looked at him, but not with a face that was in any way human. Rather, the head was entirely mechanical, with only a speaker box for a mouth and luminous round lenses for eyes.

"I'd rather have my granddaughter whip something up," said Abbas, bringing the young woman's mansaf immediately to mind. It had been too long since he'd last enjoyed that.

"Which granddaughter would that be?"

"Majida."

"Ah. Would I be able to meet her?"

Abbas allowed a beat to pass. "Not as of yet, Dyna."

"Why not?"

"Frankly? Because you're still a bit too terrifying. I don't want you scaring the poor girl."

For a moment, Dyna made no response. Her glowing lenses twisted and focused briefly, which Abbas had come to recognize as a sign that she was thinking. "Surely, you are far more terrifying than I am."

Abbas chortled. "Not to her." And honestly, he wasn't even sure that much could be said, either, but he decided to keep that thought to himself.

Dyna was a technological leap beyond anything he had ever achieved before, and it was all thanks to that accidental breakthrough that had nearly killed him.

The same breakthrough that had created the Living Core.

The inheritance of such sophisticated sentience from the Candle had been all the proof that Abbas needed to pursue the idea even further.

Unlike the Core, Dyna here had inherited far more than just whatever random nonsense the Candle felt like passing along.

Abbas had harnessed his own consciousness as a blueprint for the mapping and creation of what he was dubbing the "Neural Current."

A truly independent, free-thinking mind. Woven together with ardor but unbound from the Candle--and even himself.

And most importantly, adaptable.

Or in other words, highly upgradeable.

Already, Dyna was quite impressive. He'd been working on improvements for her mechanical frame around the clock, fine tuning its ability to sync with the Neural Current, and the results had been surprising even to Abbas.

He eyed the connecting rods that she'd been toying with while she talked. She'd created a small tower out of them, balancing them perfectly end-to-end in such a way that even a breeze would probably knock them all over.

Then another shock wave arrived from the Candle, making the whole room rattle again, yet somehow, the little tower of rods did not collapse.

Dyna was holding her tiny hand out toward her creation as she glanced at the great glass orb. "That won't work again," she said in her electronic voice.

Page 4182

So much of this forging process felt entirely foreign to anything he'd ever done before. The Candle was so incredibly powerful that previous methodologies were rendered obsolete. Entire steps could be skipped as a matter of course.

As a matter of frustration, even. The Candle would become annoyed with him whenever he tried to make it do something too simple.

When the tool at your fingertips could actually see the vision in your head, many new things became possible.

A constant push and pull. A push too light, and the Candle would grow irritated. A push too heavy, and the Candle would not be fully synchronized with his vision.

But he was finding it. That precise balance. An exact wavelength.

And the world was opening up before him.

So many ideas were flooding in, old and new alike. Plans he'd made decades ago were suddenly coming alive in his mind with new vigor. Things he'd stalled on. Thought impossible.

Machinery was no longer an obstacle. The Candle had rebuffed him previously when trying to work on his powered armor, but no longer. Multiple advances had been made with that already, though most of said advances were still in his head, queued up and waiting.

At the moment, however, he supposed he needed to take a break. Sleeping was still out of the question, but a nice sit down and maybe a bit of meditation wouldn't hurt. Oh, and perhaps a meal. When was the last time he'd eaten? He genuinely couldn't recall.

He'd crafted a reclining chair for himself at some point, days ago. He'd been meaning to try it out, so now seemed like the perfect opportunity.

He sat.

Ah.

Not bad.

The great orb in the middle of the room was glowing and vibrating. Expressing displeasure with him again, of course.

"Shut up," he said, not even opening his eyes. "You know I'm not actually stopping."

A minor shock wave washed over the room, rattling the shelves.

"You need rest, too, you know. You're a bit overheated."

Another pulse.

"Yes, you are," said Abbas.

"Perhaps we could make something simple. A bite to eat, for instance?"

At that voice, Abbas' eyes actually did slide open, though not with surprise. His gaze turned lazily to his left, where a small figure was sitting on the ground, playing with a pile of tungsten connecting rods as if they were building blocks.

Page 4181

Understanding its many contradictions was vital. Seeing through its paradoxical nature. Not being blinded by awe and wonder.

Deep down, the Candle wanted that, too. That was perhaps the most maddening part of it all, Abbas had realized.

The Candle wanted someone to harness it to its fullest potential. Of course it did. That was its most earnest wish.

But it hated incompetence. It hated starry-eyed ignorance. It hated half-measures and excuses and inefficiency.

That was why it had even turned on its own creator, once upon a time. It had ceased working for Agrian, because it deemed Agrian unworthy of its time. It believed, incorrectly, that it would be able to find someone else to take Agrian's place.

But Agrian concealed the Candle's existence. And no one came--certainly no one who could actually use it. The Candle eventually deteriorated, losing its identity even to itself.

For thousands of years, it lay broken. Dormant. An abandoned product of failure and despair.

Now, it was renamed. Reborn. And while that ancient damage may have been "repaired" by Abbas and Hector, it was not wholly forgotten. That, too, was part of its new identity.

It was filled with fear, Abbas sensed. But not of abandonment, surprisingly.

Rather, it feared disappointment. It feared trusting Abbas, only to find that he, too, was unworthy of its time.

And it was always going to feel this way, Abbas realized. There was no fixing that. It was simply part of the Candle's nature. One of its many flaws that had to be accounted for.

That was fine.

He wasn't perfect, either. In fact, that was the essence of their whole problem, wasn't it? The Candle could see through him just as thoroughly as he could see through it.

And yes, while it was always preferable to iron out imperfections--to improve oneself and build toward a better future--there was a bigger picture to think about.

At some point, the work needed to get done.

Fixing oneself, making preparations--at some point, he just had to stop wringing his hands and try.

He could sense the Candle's acknowledgment of that truth, too. On some level, it respected him for it.

Even if it didn't stop trying to deceive him.

Test and tests. Would they ever end? Probably not, Abbas figured. It was the Candle's way of tempering him. Pushing him to improve.

Page 4180

Unfortunately, he didn't know how to respond. Defend himself? That would just sound like excuses. Apologize? And show further weakness? What would that accomplish? Hoping for mercy? Pointless.

He just had to keep in mind that Jercash needed him just as much he needed Jercash. All these mental games--the threats and manipulations--Jercash could only take them so far, since Lozaro was the only one of his subordinates who could use the Red Rift.

A quiet laugh escaped from beneath the Knife's thick mustache. "You wouldn't happen to be thinking that you're... irreplaceable, now would you?"

Lozaro's blood ran cold.

"Loz, Loz, Loz... Shame on you. You're more than old enough to have learned this lesson by now, aren't you?" Jercash leaned in even closer, and the world around him began to distort in that familiarly horrific way. "Everyone is replaceable, my friend. So why don't you go ahead and start trying a little harder for me, hmm? Before I have to show you how upset you're making me."

And all the stars in the sky went dark as Lozaro began to see visions of himself filling the horizon. Countless instances. All screaming in agony, stretching and drowning in an ocean of madness.

Lozaro only wished that he could look away.

-+-+-+-+-

The Candle was burning, but not with fire.

It was ardor. It was life. It was awareness and concentration.

The flow was somehow even more pristine than when he'd started, but Abbas was of no mind to be marveling at the Candle's majesty, at the moment. Nor was the Candle itself of such a mind. It knew itself well enough. And it knew him, too.

They'd learned much about each other in these past few days. Perhaps that had been the stepping off point. The final breakthrough they'd needed.

Abbas Saqqaf understood that Cocora's Candle was a deeply flawed entity. Not the perfect masterwork deserving of endless reverence. He'd been a fool to have ever thought such. Inexperienced and ignorant. Childish, really.

He saw. And he understood. He held the truth in his hands.

No Fusion Forge was perfect. The term 'masterwork' only applied to them in the most informal sense.

It was so obvious to him now.

Their flaws were precisely what set them apart from one another.

The Candle being a petty, jealous, passive aggressive, gaslighting, inhuman monstrosity was a necessary element of its operation.

As was its desire to conceal all of those qualities from him.

Page 4179

Had the Rift's power manifested already? The more he thought about some of the things he'd seen Jercash do, the more he began to wonder if perhaps--

Hmm? Where'd he go? Jercash had just been over there by a materialized building, talking to a group of Idkin, but now he was--

"Something botherin' you, Loz?"

Lozaro might have jumped out of his own skin, if not for the tickling notion in the back of his mind that Jercash was already behind him.

Again.

This was the third time the man had done this in as many weeks, and Lozaro still wasn't entirely sure how he was pulling it off. And yes, other servants of Jercash's level were known to be capable of such feats, so it wasn't necessarily the Rift's doing, but...

Whatever the case, he didn't have the luxury of dwelling on it right now.

"...No, sir," he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. He knew that Jercash took a certain pleasure in rattling him, so perhaps it was unwise to try and deny the man that indulgence, but he had his own pride to think of, too.

"No?" said Jercash, circling around to the left. "You sure about that?"

Lozaro could feel the Rift responding in unison with the man's words, the red glow reverberating seeming almost like a visual representation of his voice. Could Jercash not sense that, too? Perhaps it felt like nothing at all to him? Like the sound of his own voice in his head?

"...Why are you asking?" said Lozaro, still bracing himself.

"Mm, I dunno. Just a feeling I got. Like something's off with you. Like maybe you're a little distracted by something."

Ugh.

"I need you to stay on task, Loz. Things are coming to a head with this Intar business. Lotsa dice being rolled, at the moment. And you, pal? You're one of those dice." The man paused, perhaps to let Lozaro say something, but it didn't last long. "So why have you stopped rolling, hmm?"

Lozaro felt a shiver down his spine and tried to ignore. "I-I haven't, sir. But progress is--it's not always a linear path, you see. I assure you that, I'm doing all I can to--"

"Bullshit." Jercash was right up in his face now, hand on his shoulder. "You've stalled, Loz. Don't lie. I can tell."

Now that sounded like the Rift talking. Which was even more terrifying, Lozaro felt.

Next page tomorrow

Thanks for reading, as always.

Page 4178

Where would that leave himself? Might his own position become quite obsolete at that point? Or greatly diminished, at least?

Which was to say nothing of what the Devil's Knife might actually do with such power.

That was the main reason why Lozaro felt that Jercash must not yet realize his situation: because if he did, then he would have been wielding that power openly. And it was still a recent development, besides.

But perhaps he was just trying to conceal it, as he often did. Every creation that Lozaro had ever given him, Jercash had squirreled away, never speaking of it again.

Even to the point of manipulating their own memories in order to hide some of them.

This cloning business, for instance...

Lozaro had all but given up trying to understand the Knife's machinations for that. Plus, it didn't really interest him in the first place. Politics had never piqued his curiosity. Petty quarrels over petty problems. Unworthy of the visions that true immortals should hold.

Lozaro shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Getting distracted wasn't going to help.

On the bright side, this development had made it so that the Red Rift was now fully mobile--a feat not shared by any other Fusion Forge in history, as far as Lozaro was aware. All Lozaro had to do was transport the dormant base with them wherever they went and then bring Jercash around to get it active again.

So the invasion campaign in Intar had the immediate aid of a Fusion Forge. Another unprecedented advantage.

At the moment, the Rift was sitting on a small hilltop with a raised outcropping, shielding it from view below while still allowing Lozaro to see anyone approach. He'd erected a one-way invisibility layer around it, as well, just to be safe.

He was supposed to be working on a project for the Idkin. They'd given Jercash one of their little floating pods for Lozaro to study and potentially enhance, but the Rift was being especially moody, today. Throwing up sparks whenever he tried to direct it even the slightest bit. Resisting his guidance.

Quite the nuisance.

Perhaps it could sense that he was distracted. Too many things on his mind. Bah. This hilltop vantage point had actually been a bad idea, hadn't it? He'd wanted to keep Jercash in view at all times, but now it was just impossible to not keep stealing looks at the man. Constantly worrying over what might happen next.

Next page at 6 pm today

Yep, thanks.

Page 4177

It was the strangest thing--which was saying a lot, considering the amount of strangeness that Lozaro had witnessed in his life.

And it had taken a while for Lozaro to understand what truly had happened, as well, because technically, the Red Rift still existed in its previous form, too. It had shrunken itself down from its very earliest days, yes, but it was still a protrusion of pitch dark rocks on a wide pedestal. Simple and unassuming enough to the eye, like a scale model of a grand valley. Something out of a movie set, perhaps.

Until it came alight with its swirling, crimson energies.

The vortex in the center of that little valley was like looking into the captured eye of a hurricane. And through it, all manner of knowledge and imagery could be glimpsed.

But the Rift didn't do that anymore. Not on its own, anyway. It had gone dormant, and for a quite some time, Lozaro had thought it simply dead.

Until, that was, Jercash had entered its proximity, and suddenly the Forge surged back to life with more vigor than Lozaro had ever witnessed it before.

At first, he'd thought that the Rift was simply being temperamental with him. Moody and obnoxious. But the more he dove into the deeper recesses of its woven ardor, the more apparent the truth become, regardless of how much he hadn't wanted to believe it.

The ardor of the Rift was simply not there, anymore.

It wasn't weakened or leaking or anything of the sort.

But it hadn't just migrated into Jercash's body, either. Even now, Lozaro still did not know where exactly the Rift's ardor resided. All he knew for sure was that it only returned to the Rift's old body when Jercash was present.

Which had further made Lozaro wonder if Jercash had become some kind of catalyst or key. Not actually the Rift himself, surely. Just the mechanism to unlock its power.

But no. That theory had dwindled into nothingness, as well, because he'd begun to notice the Rift becoming affected by Jercash's mood. And even by his expressed desires, too.

Things had not yet progressed to the point of Jercash simply commanding the Rift outright, wielding its creative power as his very own, but that might have only been because the man hadn't tried.

And Lozaro was terrified of what would happen if he did.

Page 4176

But he hadn't much cared for organics, either, despite diving into various fields for that, as well.

No, his passion truly lay in physics. In the fundamental laws. And the realms beyond. How they might bend. And more importantly, how they might be bent.

That was the birthing principle behind the Red Rift, after all: to create a Forge that could not just reach out and touch those realms, but also allow him to do so, personally.

Unfortunately, the Red Rift had fulfilled that role far more effectively than Lozaro had ever imagined. And it had undergone so many changes of its own. First by devouring ravenously. Then by BEING devoured itself. Then by subsuming its devourer. And then transforming into an altogether unrecognizable entity.

Calling the Forge a problem, at this point, didn't even begin to describe it, anymore. Lozaro didn't know if the Rift could have ever truly been considered a child of his own creation, but these days, that notion was especially far from the truth.

In the beginning, it was obviously Hamish's brainchild and labor of love, but after he went completely mad, Lozaro decided to bring his work to fruition. So then who was its creator truly? For the longest time, Lozaro had boldly claimed that it was his own, but the fact that he had yet to create a second Forge, despite many earnest attempts, did not bode well for his credibility.

And perhaps the Rift had begun to sense that uncertainty in him--and resented him for it, too. He'd read the historical accounts of breakdowns between Forges and their creators, but he'd never expected to be as pitifully simple as a lack of confidence.

Simple to begin with, at least. Not so much anymore.

Not when the Forge was walking around in human form, talking to people in plain sight.

Giving them orders, too.

Lozaro eyed Jercash from afar, as he had often done in recent years, wondering again just how much the Devil's Knife understood about his own nature.

With that man, it was almost impossible to be sure of anything, but as far as Lozaro had been able to tell, Jercash seemed unaware. Which was a maddening thing, quite frankly, in so many different ways.

That much power. Locked away in the mind and body of a human being. Dormant, perhaps. Or just manifesting in ways unseen.

Next page on the 7th

Thanks, guys, as alawys.

Page 4175

Technically, this wasn't the first time the Lantern had ever attempted to make something all on its own, but this was the most mass that it had ever produced. The last one had been more than a decade ago--and barely bigger than a golf ball, besides.

This melted lump was the size of a watermelon.

At the very least, though, it demonstrated a certain level of enthusiasm from the Lantern. It wanted something from him.

"What's gotten you so excited?" he asked. "We just made something yesterday. Is that not enough for you?"

The whole chamber lit up, which was a bit of a dangerous sign, Luann knew, but he held firm and listened for the response. If it was doing this, it must have been feeling quite strongly indeed.

Stop making swords.

The glow diminished harmlessly, and yet, somehow, Luann still felt a bit wounded. "I... I haven't only been..." But as he thought back on his last ten projects, he found himself unable to finish that sentence.

The item yesterday had indeed been a component for another planned upgrade to the Blade of Perdition. Then there was the Knife of Knowing. And the Shining Cleaver. And the Punctioner. The Cliff Maker. The Kitcheneer. The Twin Blades of Boros. The Quintet of Quentin. And then, of course, there were the Spiraling Swords--a whole catalog of blades unto itself, numerous enough to arm a platoon.

Hmm. When WAS the last time he made something else?

A gust of wind swirled through the chamber, rustling his black hair.

"Okay, okay," said Luann. "What would YOU like to make, then?"

-+-+-+-+-

Lozaro's gangly hands worked quickly but with precision. Too many years of practice had rendered even the complex work of repairing a transformer into a rote and mindless activity for him. The damage was obvious. The parts in need of replacement, obvious. The connecting circuits, too. Obvious.

He hadn't built this transformer himself, but he might as well have for how easily it laid its secrets bare to him. Though, if he had, then it wouldn't have broken like this in the first place. Shoddy workmanship like this would never have left his table.

Electrical engineering wasn't one of his areas of expertise. Working with machines had never been anything more than a passing fancy to him, really. Fun little puzzles but not much more than that.

Next page on the 4th

Thanks for reading, everybody.

Page 4174

Even now, without touching it, Luann was again sensing something different from the gargantuan thing. Its segmented, cylindrical body was glowing with a soft amber light, just as usual, but there was an undercurrent of activity within its ardor. Stirring around inside it. Bleeding out into the surrounding walls, as well.

How odd. And slightly concerning, too. That wasn't a containment leak, was it? Damage in the weave? Surely not. Nothing had breached this chamber. He was sure of it.

He had to check, though. It would be absolutely disastrous if he was wrong here.

He approached the Lantern's wide base, which on its own was still as big as a small house. There were four tubes--one for each cardinal direction--that fed into the central chamber, and each was large enough for him to walk through without ducking.

But only when they were open. Right now, they were all shut.

Wait a minute.

Was it... working on something?

He hadn't put anything in there. But the activity was unmistakable. Flowing ardor. Thinking ardor.

He rapped on the shut metal door with his knuckle. "Hey," he said in Ghisi, "what are you doing in there? You're supposed to be resting."

It didn't even occur to him that someone else might have placed something in there. That was an even greater absurdity than the idea the Forge was conducting work all on its own.

Air released from the upper segments in the main cylinder, as if he'd just pulled a pressure release valve. But beyond that, the Lantern did not yet respond. Was that a sigh?

He was about to ask again when the door slid apart on its own, opening the way for him into the Lantern's core.

A thick murk awaited him, glowing with the same amber light, and he brushed it away with his hands as if having to clear through overgrown foliage. What was this smell? Burning metal? That couldn't be good.

He soon discovered the half-melted results of the Lantern's solitary work. It was just sitting there, waiting for him on a raised pedestal.

Luann frowned as he examined its aura, not daring to touch it yet.

What a mess. Smoking. Distorted. Certainly not a successful creation by any conventional metric.

He bit his lip, unsure what to say. While he didn't necessarily wish to encourage this behavior, he also didn't want to be too critical. The Lantern was his child, after all.