The 108 Chapter 42: The Grind Begins (Patreon)

There are now twelve corpses piled on the side of Chronos’ room, and one might think that this is a lot of corpses, but a few are dust and another is smushed so it’s actually quite a pathetic little charnel pit I’m building. Just glancing at it reminds me that it’s still quite early in the game. Also, apparently soul kills turn people into dessicated mummies, so that’s nice to know. I have some good teeth. If nothing else, ‘dear mum’ insisted on dental hygiene though I can’t find the strength to be thankful for it. 

I feel myself frowning. It’s been so long since I last —

“Longjing, friend?” Chronos offers.

I wince.

“I don’t like green tea. My life is bitter enough as it is, if you’ll excuse the poor joke.”

“You are forgiven, my champion,” the God of Time allows with a warm expression. “But I humbly ask you to give it a chance.”

“Well you’d know how to make the best out of desperate odds,” I grumble. “... Thank you, Morag.”

The Goddess of Entropy goes through an improvised tea ceremony with obvious gusto, her many claws manipulating the cups with the most delicate of touches. The tea is incredibly fresh, a taste that would be subsumed than anything more potent than cucumber. 

“Pretty good,” I admit. “Thanks again, you two.”

Moragan smiles, which reminds me of something I had been thinking about.

“Speaking of. Do you have a champion as well? Or did you give Chronos your power, or something?”

“Transferring power is against the rules,” Chronos replies.

He lifts his cup with godlike elegance. I notice that my question remains unanswered. With that said, if Morag can’t give Chronos her power and this session is so important, I might eventually get to meet her avatar. We’ll see, I guess. 

“Right.”

With the gods supportive, if silent, I consider what happened last loop. I have learned a lot during this limit testing, thanks to the two grandmasters going to town even if it was mostly on each other. Specifically, I have learned about Malice and it’s… weird. I feel childish talking about ‘power levels’, but I don’t think there is another easy explanation for why he doesn’t make sense. Krane and Kimera are fourth awakening although Krane is a very defensive fighter who isn’t meant to fight alone. I remember Malice and Pain struggling to take down Krane when he attacked the base alone the first time. The cultists had a whole army then. I also remember Malice tearing the mercenaries to pieces, yet he struggled against the fleshcrafter squad at first before suddenly being able to pull one of us apart with his bare hands while keeping two fourth awakenings and a quartet of elite guards at bay. I don’t know. It feels like this guy’s strength is random. Sometimes he’s low fourth level and not a disciplined one, sometimes he feels peak fourth, or even higher. It may not sound like much, but it’s the difference between a strong sect soldier and the heir of a Patrician family. Was he even fourth awakening before? I think he was too strong for me to be sure. There is definitely some, well, scaling happening.

I suspect the explanation comes from his powerset. With Malice killing Pain for fun without her wounds transferring to him, I think I know how her power works. When she feels the pain of a wound, she transfers it to the one who caused it. Or maybe the closest person actually, I’m not sure. She can also inflict pain with a touch. While those are powerful abilities, she would be easy to counter even without my set of skills. Just using some net to capture her from afar would be enough to neutralize her. Then toss her out of the station or something. 

Actually, maybe she can inflict pain from a touch because she’s constantly in pain from the infected piercings. And bruises. Which she might have inflicted upon herself? Ah, whatever, she’s a secondary concern right now. Malice is more problematic because there are too many plausible explanations as to what his blessings might be. I have three running theories. 

First, it could be a number thing. The more people go at him, the stronger he gets, in which case the solution is easy to implement. The second option is that it’s an evil thing. The more atrocities he commits, like executing his ally, the stronger he grows. That means that if he were to survive the bombing, he would be nigh unstoppable. The third option is that he is strong against those who fear him, which explains why he spends so much time with intimidation tactics. That might be why Krane and I piss him off. I can simply smother my own emotions while Krane is so thoroughly unafraid of death that he would jump on an abomination from outer space if he thought it would help the station. 

I need a plan to handle him, but right now I’m drawing a blank. One of the easiest solutions would be to become so strong that he can’t possibly stop me, but I was thinking that, surely,  there is a way to bypass that. It would allow me access to the station for a few more months of peaceful opportunities and uninterrupted training before everything goes to shit. Also sparing untold numbers from dying on repeat. Can’t forget that.

The last interesting tidbit is the way Malice dies. I give Chronos a glance, wondering if I can ask him about teleportation technology. The way he smiles tells me he’s going to give a non answer so I roll my eyes and don’t even bother. I wish Chronos didn’t read me so easily.

“Right.”

When the device ‘activated’, I could see the blurry form of another district through the aperture, which makes me believe that the tool might be a teleporter. Or the prototype of one, at least. I frown. Malice doesn’t kill himself, he tries to escape and fails. In fact, I suspect this is what happens every time and the reason why he doesn’t resurface afterward. I also got a message with my qualia count that gives a further explanation. I got points from an assist on Malice. This implies that I’m not the one who killed him. Chronos’ eyes narrow with amusement.

Someone else eliminates Malice. Someone sabotages the teleporter, which is why we hear this horrible keening sound before Malice becomes salsa, in order to make sure he doesn’t survive the bomb. Interesting. Maybe there is a theory. Maybe someone sent him to his death. It makes me wonder if there are more layers to the bombing. 

Ah well, I can speculate for all eternity. My first task should be to find a way to stop him.Unfortunately, I don’t think I can use the sabotaged teleporter to do so. He only uses it after triggering the bomb, or waking the soul inside up so that it explodes by itself. 

There’s another element. I got a really good feel for the soul inside just as it killed me. It’s so strong the hatred it experienced wasn’t even personal. The exploding soul wasn’t trying to kill me on purpose like my dear colleague Lilth did. By touching the dying soul, I became instant collateral damage. I don’t think this is the kind of task my soul awakening can solve. We’re going to need an engineer for this one.

I take a false deep breath. I don’t need more skills at the moment. This is it, the beginning of the grind towards stopping Malice in a repeatable way. Time to meet Deza. Time to find a way to defuse the local equivalent of a fusion bomb. Time to take a break from school. I will graduate one day, I promise myself. Surely.

“I’m stalling,” I tell Chronos.

“You’re free to waste time here,” Chronos replies. 

“Yeah, but it won’t help. Alright. Thanks for the tea, people. Time for me to go.”

Enderith again. One day, this might be my home.

***

Escaping the killer has become so ingrained that I even make myself sound like a patrician when I call the templars just to hear the responder be polite for a change. This time, I take special care to send a proper message to Deza, promising I’d try and meet her later, which I do my very best not to make sound like a threat. Then it’s back to the Garden because I can’t do the reversal yet. Antea is first, and her expression blooms into a smile of pure pleasure when she reabsorbs her memory. She then lets out the most sinister laugh I’ve heard coming from something human-shaped.

“... what?” I finally ask.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t nothing me,” I mildly threaten.

Just to be sure, I push against her soul to see if I didn’t somehow send Phage through time or something. Maybe he absorbed her to become part of the loop? But paranoia is dispelled. This is indeed Antea. None of Phage’s smoky nature can be recognized in the carefully curated edifice that is her soul.

“Stop that,” she orders. 

“Sorry, I had to make sure.”

Instead of answering, Antea tuts, then gives me a hooded look.

“I would appreciate it if you could remain quiet for a few minutes,” she ‘requests’.

I do so, mostly because she’s still a grandmaster, and me, a small potato. It’s weird how she looks like a cat who stole an entire roasted chicken plus sides. I’m getting a little worried.

“Ehm…” I utter after the time has passed. Five minutes standing in front of a cackling monster is a very long time. Her attention zeroes on me.

“Do you have the slightest idea how many times I’ve dreamed about killing Phage? In the centuries we’ve known each other? How I longed to cram his snake face into a wall? You have known him for all of… a few years, at most. I have had to suffer his ‘aloof’ personality every time we have a meeting. I have had to fill in every time there is a task that is ‘beneath him’ and deal with his ennui like it’s all a game and we don’t stand for anything. Our entire education system is dedicated to making sure the best rise to the top so that they may foster new generations that will push our knowledge and reach even further, a costly system that this asshole drew full benefit from only to turn into some dueling dandy who can’t sign a single form for entire weeks, and you wonder why I’m enjoying the memory of consuming him to the last packet of cells?” she says, voice rising in an angry crescendo.

“Did you really use vital memory space for revenge?” I ask, a little annoyed.

“My dear child, you seem to have forgotten four things. First, you are not the only one suffering from fatigue after countless vain attempts to save the station. Do you remember that Krane and I hold the line while you progress? The transferred memory of those hopeless struggles have taxed my mind, as well.”

“I’m sorry,” I reply. “It was selfish of me to forget.”

“Also, I’m the grandmaster and it’s my prerogative to have some rare fun.”

I slap my forehead while she chuckles. And here I was doing introspection.

“Nevermind…” I grumble.

“Thirdly, the memory of my victory will let me defeat him much faster should we face each other in battle again.”

“Ok, ok.”

“And lastly,” she interrupts. “Phage had a rather… interesting library of samples, a portion of which I collected during the fight.”

Her face turns into a very familiar serpentine rictus, but then it fills with large square teeth and, while impractical, the sight is simply horrifying.

“I am convinced,” I tell her just so that she stops. 

Honestly, the old ones here revert to being toddlers on occasion. I remember Judge Mars stealing the last biscuit on the roof of Law’s temple right before it blew up. Childish monsters, the lot of them. Surely, I will be better than this in my old age.

“You have grown better at stating half truths,” Antea notes with a smile. “Well then, shall we see about your reversal?”

I am already so tired of this back and forth, but at least I will get to Fourth Awakening at some point. Then I will be able to cast the reversal on myself.

***

Despite the station’s weird day-and-night cycle, the number of districts that never sleep remains surprisingly low, but this part of the Needles is definitely one of them. The train deposits me at the lower level of an inverted building, the forest of spires extending so far I couldn’t possibly see a district wall, only a sea of light and flowers and roots and stone defying gravity and quite a few safety laws, if I had to guess. I exit the station and lean over the iron-wrought banister, taking in the amazing sight. We’re pretty high here, so I can see highways and passages stretching all the way down, lit paths going up and down and sideways. If I were to jump right now, I’d never reach the ground level. Something would catch me before that. 

A large bridge leads across the chasm to a standing needle so we go from the bottom of this one to the tip of another. I give it a short glance. While most needles show a variety of colors, the one in front of me is white from the rare paint on the stone to the flowers and even the light coming from its many windows. This is one of Law’s far-reaching arms, one of its less armor-clad ones. While templars are necessary to keep powerful awakened in line, there is still a pressing need for investigators, and this needle is one of their many dens. I won’t cross, despite my identity as an avatar still being somewhat protected. Instead, Deza set up an appointment in a nearby all night diner.

I guess it must be a universal constant that, if a group of people are forced to work odd hours in a stressful environment, then they shall require hot liquid and disgustingly sweet pastries. The spot she picked is lit by dim light and sports bright orange furniture. The smells of grease and detergent fight for dominance in the enclosed space until one of the terminally exhausted employees opens a window. Three investigators in uniforms sleep at their table with cooling cups of the local excitant waiting in front of them. I order my own cup, take a seat, and wait. Deza shows up twenty minutes late and with shipping containers in lieus of pockets under her blue eyes, which are bloodshot to all hell. Her shoulder-length dark hair hangs in a tight grubby ponytail. I think that physical awakening gives people the stamina to become tired in ways the mundane mind cannot comprehend. Her soul is a storm of pain, stress, and annoyance. I instinctively back up against my seat. Oof.

“It must be you,” she tells me.

Not a great effort at deduction considering I stick up like a sore thumb among the snoozing bobbies. I decide to keep the thought to myself. 

“Yes. Hmm, did it fail? You don’t look —”

“What failed?” She interrupts.

We have attention. One of the cops woke up though she’s still pretending to sleep. The one waiter shifts towards us.

“I gave you a time to register as a candidate for promotion. Did it not work? Was I mistaken?”

She slowly blinks, like she’s remembering something.

“No, you were correct. I just don’t care anymore. Look, whatever you’re peddling, I don’t want it. Don’t contact me again.”

Wait, what? What’s going on?

“But… you told me to —” I start protesting.

Her eyes narrow.

“Told you? I told you nothing.”

She’s already half-turned. Two of the cops are awake now, now reaching for something on his side that probably comes with an unsafe amperage. This isn’t what I was expecting. 

“I’m not selling anything. This was supposed to attract your attention to… to show you that I have access to knowledge I shouldn’t possess. Aren’t you a little bit curious?”

“I am not.”

She turns to leave. What do I do? I need to try something, right? I call after her retreating back.

“Vestalia will conduct an inauguration at the end of the month. Everyone who matters will attend,” I say.

She slows down.

“Something bad will happen unless we stop it,” I conclude.

Anger turns to fear in her heart, but then she smothers it and her soul grows hard to read. I have the interest of the other cops, though, but I don’t think it’s the good kind of attention. 

Deza walks off anyway. 

Well.

This is very disappointing. She… what even happened? Did I catch her at the wrong time? I obviously can’t run after her when she’s hostile like this because I’ll never get her to help. Furious, I drop my drink in the trash head back towards the station. I feel the three cops following me, fully awake by now. They accelerate to corner me.

There are no trains currently stationed at the station, or approaching. With a sigh, I get close to the banister. I spot another bridge a good fifty meters underneath. 

“Hey, citizen. We noticed your earlier interaction and we would have a few questions,” a male voice says.

I turn to face the trio. One woman, two men whose only common ground is the uniform they wear. I can hardly blame them for investigating.

“Something bad happening, you said?” the lone woman asks.

I’m not spending another loop in the slammer. 

“Sorry lads and lass, I already picked my favored pig.”

They tense, but I don’t mind. I’m no longer the Steve who surrendered to the templars. I jump on top of the railing. 

“Wait!” the closest cop protests.

With a powerful lunge, I jump backward, arcing through the air in a slow backflip. Blood rushes in my ears, lights in my eyes. It’s a slow, slow fall, fifty meters. I count over six seconds as vertigo and exhilaration numb my brain, which still insists this is going to kill me, and then I land on my heavily modded feet. There are no concrete explosions; this isn’t a superhero movie. The people around barely flinch before moving on, then I’m already sprinting away at max speed. I grow an eye on my neck to see if the cops are following. They felt like second and thirds awakening, but who knows? All I spot is three faces gasping at my fleeing form. Good. I mean, not optimal, but at least I’m not visiting a prison again. 

***

This wasn’t my first time running from the law, so I guess I won’t get qualia out of it. I just grabbed a tube to nowhere, because the destination hardly matters right now. I… don’t know what to do.

Deza refused me. Flat out. Her alternate self thought the promotion trick would be enough to get her attention, but instead I got her suspicions and now I’m blacklisted from her place of work unless I want to tour Enderlith’s jails. Where does that leave me? I need Deza. She was the only one who expressed any interest in solving the bomb situation. Mars must have allowed her access to me too, meaning he implicitly approves of her. Now what? 

I suspect it was always going to happen, burning an entire loop for one single mistake that unravels all my plans, forcing me to repeat. I’m suspecting I get infinite loops specifically because Chronos knew it might happen. It doesn’t make me any less salty. For fuck’s sake I spent four entire fucking days setting everything up just to be told off in, what, fifteen seconds? All of this, for this? Load of bollocks. And to think I trusted Deza on how to handle Deza. What a fool I am. Curses, etc.

I lean forward, resting my head on my arms and sighing so noisily a nearby plant humanoid nods in understanding. Disaster. What do I do? Do I give up and reset? Do I try to salvage the loop? But then what? I spend another four days prepping for something then Deza tells me to fuck off again? Actually, why was she like that now but so polite when I was a guest to Law? Am I more trustworthy as a low awakening prisoner? Why is everyone so damn unpredictable?

Ok, ok, let’s calm down a minute. First, return to the Garden and reconsider. There is still much I can learn in my off time. Second, let’s take it slow. I may have taken Deza at the wrong time, but it doesn’t mean she can’t change her mind, right? Perhaps I can use Antea’s connections to learn more so I can dazzle her next time. Prepare the meeting a bit more.

Antea is very amused when I share my problems with her later that night, almost smug, in fact.

“Do you perhaps find those you believed to be in the palm of your hand unpredictable and borderline irrational? I sympathize. Really, I do.”

“You handle researchers,” I remind her. “They’re almost artists. Deza is a servant of Law. She’s supposed to be more rule-abiding, no?”

“And I would have hoped for some measure of sympathy, as I have extended my own, but ah, life is full of disappointments. I do agree, however. Give me a few days and I’ll get back to you on what I can find.”

I know when I’m being dismissed, so I return to my quarters and Kimera’s frantic affection.

“My research has stalled! What am I to do?” she complains. “I cannot afford to immediately pivot to gene plague sequencing, can I?”

“I have the ear of the Head of Research,” I remind her. “I could get the process started.”

Kimera huffs, but her expression soon grows contemplative.

“Yes, yes, that might be a good idea. In the meantime, you said you jumped off a needle on a nearby bridge? Shameful. Pedestrian!”

I blink, surprised because I thought it was pretty cool.

“A true fleshcrafter would fly away! Or grow tentacles to swing from perch to perch. Not using two legs like some rando. Any patrician can escape the law by jumping off a bridge but we fleshcrafter are supposed to do it with class, in a way that discourages pursuit! We’re getting you exotic mods so you no longer bring shame to my house, disciple. Clear your agenda!”

“Can I get fireproof skin?”

“You don’t have it yet?” Kimera exclaims, scandalized. “What was alternate me thinking?”

Over the next few days, I learn of a way to replace my arms with wings. My suggestion to have the wings grow out of my shoulder blades is met with incredulous glares, and I am told, in no uncertain way, that should I seriously want to switch to six limbs, the human form would be absolutely suboptimal. I should consider a full conversion instead. Also there are no articulations or pre-existing muscle structures available there to build on; it's just plain stupid. Also feathers are dumb. 

There go my dreams of a quick canonization.

Antea returns to me a few days later confirming that Deza was distracted by ‘an accident’ she refuses to explain, and that I should wait just in case. The investigator sends me a message on the fifteenth.

‘We we just informed of a recently planned inauguration at the end of the month. I checked, and it was decided only a few days ago as a way to introduce avatars to the public. How could you know?’

I send the reply immediately.

‘This is the sort of thing we should discuss in person.’

A few minutes later, I have an appointment. It looks like the loop isn’t wasted after all.

***

Despite my misgivings, we end up in the same disreputable dive slightly earlier in the night. Deza assures me that she cleared everything up with her friends and though I am a bit iffy on the matter, a quick soul sweep reveals that no one’s ready to spring a trap. The other customers’ souls are too depressed or invested in their conversations. None of them have this eagerness I would associate with waiting ambushers. I would have also expected her to bring a fourth awakening fighter just in case if she wanted to capture me alive. 

Deza waits seated at one of the tables. I wouldn’t go so far as to say she’s fine, but she no longer looks five seconds away from dying of stress-induced cardiac arrest. Her soul is more guarded than what her outward appearance might reveal, so I’m not in the clear. I order at the counter and sit down. She still recoils despite my attempt at looking very Steve-like, an instinctive fear that shocks me a bit. I do another soul sweep just in case, but there is nothing new. Am I the one who scares her?

“I must admit, when El told me you’d jumped off the platform, I didn’t believe it at first. Those must be some very good mods you’re sporting,” she says.

“The best, but not for the reasons you might think,” I reply.

Her eyes search mine. I decide to hold the full disclosure until she is on board. Just in case.

“So, are you convinced?” I ask her.

“Before we begin,” she politely replies. “Might I have your name?”

“Oh, where are my manners? Steve Prentiss. At your service. But you already knew that,” I say, resisting the urge to tap the table with my fingers. It’s ok, Steve. Discipline. Patience. The qualities of archons everywhere. 

 “Indeed.”

“And you’re Deza Semri, inquisitor with the Anti-Terrorist Task Force. A pleasure, I’m sure. So, are you willing to give me a chance?”

Deza nods, reluctantly.

“I will listen. As I mentioned in my mail, I’m curious as to how you could know about the inauguration ceremony a week before it was even conceived.”

She takes a sip from her cup.

“The same way I knew about the underhanded scheme to rob you of your chance at promotion,” I reply. “But I’m waiting for you to finish drinking. I don’t want to get sprayed with syrup, thank you very much.”

“It’s not that sweet,” Deza shamelessly lies.

But now her mouth is empty.

“I’m the Avatar of Time.”

Her eyes turn to saucers. Here we go.

“But keep it to yourself, please.”

“What? No? Really? Really?”

I shrug.

“I know what you’re going to say next,” I say.

“You can see the future?”

“Not that.”

“But… you’re so weak! No offense.”

“I get that a lot and none taken. You could say I see several versions of the future.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Deza says, her eyes narrowing.

“I know what the future entails,” I reply with patience. “To some extent. The inauguration is going to end in disaster. The Avatar of Malevolence is going to detonate a soul bomb of unprecedented power under the concerned district. The explosion will also destroy Elysium and a good half of all the station’s most important people leaving us unprepared for the following disasters.”

Deza gasps. Her dusky fingers grip the horrible orange table.

“You… you mean it! Founder!”

“Yeah. I’ve been trying so hard to prevent this from happening. It’s… complicated. Brute force isn’t enough either, because the Avatar of Malice can teleport through darkness and the soul inside the bomb only takes the smallest excitement before it becomes unstable. I…”

I massage the bridge of my nose. Why am I tired? Fleshcrafting means I should always be operating at peak capacity. That’s one of our perks. I check my cerebrospinal fluid for markers of exhaustion, but find none. Maybe a psychosomatic effect.

“Look, I’ve tried. I went to the Temple of Law. I hired an army of mercenaries. I brought two fifth awakenings. Every time, every damn time, the bomb goes off. Maybe not always at the same depth or under the same spot, but it always goes off, killing countless victims. I need to stop this from happening or we’ll never last the full year without a massacre. I can help you in return. You can benefit from… well, other versions of you can benefit from everything I can find. Just… Please. Help.”

I extend a hand and carefully place a finger on her wrist. She doesn’t pull out, so I go through a rejuvenation spell that removes some of her fatigue as if she’d had a restful nap. Her eyes wide open, she leans back into her chair.

“Wow. This has not gone the way I expected it to go,” she finally says.

“I should tattoo this on my chest,” I comment.

“Alright then, Avatar Prentiss. Avatar of Time Prentiss.”

She chuckles.

“Tell me everything you know about the bomb, starting with the ‘I already tried’ part.”

***

I explain everything to Deza. Well, everything I know about the bomb and the loop, at least, in chronological order. I explain how the base starts off in the Spider District before being transported to below the inauguration site and its posh party where everyone dies alongside uncountable civilians. I explain what we already tried and the difficulties we have faced, mostly with the bomb being so easy to set off that even winning decisively isn’t enough. Deza absorbs it all with an expression of mild shock, following which she gets a refill for whatever she’s drinking. It smells terrible.

I so miss coffee, sometimes.

Deza soon returns to the table, massaging her temples as she does.

“Sorry to bring this to you,” I finally say. “You’re just the only person who’s tried to help on Law’s side so far and…”

“Don’t worry about it. We all knew the Year of Judgment was going to be busy. The good news is that I can be more confident that we’re going to survive it with the mighty Avatar of Time on our side!”

She smiles. Wow, she trusted me at face value. I can’t tell if Enderlithians are just used to weird stuff, or she’s just really good at reading people.

“Well, about that…” I start before she just chuckles.

“I got time, I got time, I got time,” she sings, and quite nicely at that.

Her vivid blue eyes inspect me for a moment, then she shrugs.

“Well, I have my confirmation. This song was ubiquitous just five years ago, right before the archon’s disappearance so I just confirmed what little information there is about you: despite your impeccable pronunciation, you’re a recent arrival.”

“No. I come from… it doesn’t matter. Some backwater for you, I suppose.”

“And how do you like Enderlith so far?” she asks. “Murderous avatars and other calamities aside?”

“I haven’t had the time to enjoy it. I know it’s ironic, but it’s true,” I protest. “We get a month of relative normalcy with everyone plotting and preparing, then half of anyone that matters gets blown to bits and we’re still picking up the pieces when Transformation arrives, and after that it’s War and eventually Space and the worst thing is, even if I do stop the bomb, that just means that all those interrupted plots will resume never knowing the apocalypse they just dodged. I’m basically freeing a bear from a trap so it can gnaw my balls off.”

Deza sips more of her tea.

“It sounds challenging,” she eventually says. 

Glad to see that the art of humorous understatement has transcended the limits of Earth. 

“The way I see it,” she eventually says, “we have the immense advantage of several tries, which means that we can treat this as a, hmmm, a complete investigation rather than a desperate drive to stop a terrorist attack. I may be sounding too uncaring.”

“No, I get it. We have to stay pragmatic.”

Deza nods.

“My husband tells me I come off as too detached, sometimes, but I assure you, I care.”

I nod because I understand. 

“So, our final goal shouldn’t be to prevent the bomb from exploding so much as figuring out how the situation came to be, and hopefully preventing the entire plot from happening. Or rather, stop it as soon as possible. Tell me, do you know how long it takes to build a soul bomb?”

I shake my head. 

“I don’t have the faintest idea about how they even work, really, I mean. I got the exploding soul part.”

Deza nods.

“Precisely, and me neither because it’s confidential, but I’d guess that it takes more than two weeks which means that there is a, hmmm.”

She gestures wildly.

“An anteriority that you’re not seeing yet. Which makes sense! You’re caught in a loop, so you’re thinking within the confines of the box you live in, however, the plot itself must have roots predating the Year of Judgment. For example, the Spider District is fairly deep, right? And protected by the spiders? That means Malice or one of his followers is important or powerful enough that they would know not just of the base, but of a way to get there and set up without disturbing the wild life. No small task! The one you call Malice should also be a citizen if he’s fast to act, which means he must be living somewhere at the start of the year. The same goes for the bomb. It must have been manufactured before, and at the very least stored on station for it to be so quickly available.”

“So, we find where it comes from and…”

Deza nods.

“We might be able to counter them before they even get to the bomb. I have several avenues of pursuit. From what you told me, we could manage an infiltration focused on disabling the bomb rather than the avatar. We could also consider an ambush from range to kill the Avatar of Malice in a single blow — Founder, I can’t believe I’m saying this.”

She rubbed her eyes.

“This is going to be a strange year,” she continues. “I still can’t believe I’m working with and against avatars. I thought it would just fly over me, that I’d be a cog in Law’s machine.”

“Sorry for dragging you into this. I just…”

But Deza shakes her head with a smile.

“Like I said, don’t worry about it. May my name be written in history as a great benefactor of the station!”

“When I’m archon, your contribution shall be recognized,” I solemnly say.

The waiter looks very pained when he comes to pour more drinks. We both chuckle.

“Alright, so, ambushes. That’s a possibility, but I’m not sure if I can get an elite shooter on the team. They’re kind of rare in the temple, and I don’t have the authority for contractors. Now, as far as the bomb is concerned —”

“Oh wait!” I interrupt. “I almost forgot. I was on Obis for one loop and the Royal faction used a similar, smaller small bomb. Probably from the same manufacturer since they tend to be very different in terms of appearance yet that one was also a brass cylinder thingie… Sorry I don’t know if this was clear.”

“Two soul bombs of a similar origin deployed the same year. That’s useful to know,” Deza says with a nod. “I probably can’t get information beforehand if it’s a military secret, but after the bomb has exploded, maybe I can ask them where they got it. It might work. So, three avenues of approach: find more about the Spider District, find more about the bomb’s manufacturer, identify Malice or one of his accomplices. I’ll make inquiries on my end. Can you help? You have seen the perpetrators, after all.”

“I have no training, but sure,” I reply after a second of hesitation. “After all, I have all the time needed to learn.”

“I thought as much. So, how would you like to be deputized?”

I blink at the extended trust. So soon? Well, I won’t complain.

“Me? A pig? Sure. I can be trusted around confidential information and lethal weapons.”

Deza radiates annoyance.