The 108 Chapter 43: Just a Taste (Patreon)

Deza needs some time to get her paperwork in order, although she calls it ‘screen molesting’ since paper remains at a massive premium on the station. I am still asked to draw my best impression of Malice, which is stupid, so instead I project the memory of him directly into the mind of a sketcher. The final result is lifelike but… unconvincing. The issue is that Law’s temple doesn’t have a database of everyone on the station. No one does. In fact, Enderlith doesn’t even have a census, so the total number of people on the station is a mystery. I know that the population is somewhat regulated around the spaceport, but that’s just for us, and the situation is different at the Tip or on the traditionalist side. 

“If he’s a criminal, we have a chance of catching him,” Deza mentions as I stand up to leave. “What are you doing?” she then asks with that polite smile she wears when she’s about to say something painful. 

“Uh, I thought we were done?”

“This isn’t just about Malice. You’ve seen the Avatar of Pain, no? And some of his servants? Do that memory thing for all of those you remember. Who knows? We might get lucky.”

Once we’re done, she walks me back to the tube station. The smile breaks down once we’re halfway over the bridge. Her soul is still very composed, but it’s unraveling at the seams. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her doing well, not really. Just different shades of exhaustion. 

“So, will you tell me…” I start, but then realize I’m not sure how to brooch the subject. Just mentioning it was enough though. Deza’s ever bright optimism collapses. She stumbles to the side, dark hands gripping the railing. She sniffles. I pretend not to notice the hidden tears since she turned her head away. She raises a hand after a few seconds, and so I wait. I wait for her to rebuild herself. It takes longer than I expected.

“I suppose I can claim my benefit as your minion early. I just… hope is such a dangerous thing, Mr Prentiss. It can unmake you. Nevertheless, I’ve decided. It’s about my son.”

“Your son?” I ask.

Ah, I get it now. Her son, an accident. No wonder Anthea didn’t want to share details. Deza studies my reaction before nodding. She must have noticed my surprise, and thus my earnest nature. Actually, I almost forgot, but Deza’s powerset as a servant of Law includes the ability to detect lies. That’s why she’s reasonably easy to convince. Well, not exactly lies: conviction. But that is close enough.

“Yes,” she continues. “He… There was an accident. Dumb luck. Part of a neon display detached. He was hit on the side of the head. He… sorry.”

She takes a deep breath.

“He hasn’t woken up yet. The doctors say there is a good chance he’ll make full recovery. A good chance, but… if I’d been just a bit faster. And my husband… he is part of Might’s Navy. Third fleet. They’re deployed… away from here. From the station, I mean, he’s not here and it’s my fault that I can’t protect our child. I mean, I know it’s not my fault, obviously, but… you know how it works.”

I consider just getting there and healing him, but the truth is there is little I can do that the doctors wouldn’t have done. Brain injuries are tricky, one of the only things even fleshcrafters don’t touch until they’re very experienced. Her child must need time and rest. If it were about regrowing a limb, I’d already be on my way since lower awakening life healers sometimes struggle with that. What I do know for sure is that she’s tortured by guilt.

“The mind only repeats what could have been done and refuses to listen to reason,” I summarize.

“Yes. That. I can’t… he’s in good hands, and I need to keep working, but I will tell you that I would, no, will feel significantly better when he’s saved.”

“Ok. Easily done. Look, there is a bit of randomness with the loop. I’m not sure if it relates to free will, or chaos theory, or all of the above…”

I hesitate.

“We think a lot about free will as part of law enforcement here,” Deza says with a nod.

She feels much calmer now. The empty, beyond grief kind of calm. 

“I understand your meaning,” she continues. “You cannot guarantee success because you can’t be sure the bad luck aspect will be a factor again. Maybe Namun doesn’t take the exact same path to go to class. As long as he’s fine, I… it’s fine. Alright?”

I whip out my soul book, which she doesn’t see anyway.

“Ok, from the start. Exact time, exact location, depiction of the events.”

“Actually, if you have ten minutes, I’ll show you in person and then go home. I feel like I can finally sleep.”

With the amount of Enderlithian hard tea she has in her veins, It would be a bloody miracle…

“Sure thing.”

***

It doesn’t take all that long to get to the scene but it feels longer because she keeps teasing me by singing ‘I got time I got time I got time’, an Enderlithian hit and apparently a classic. It’s a real earworm. 

It turns out that Deza lives in the lower Needles, her and her husband’s salaries enough to rent a decent apartment with the hope of saving enough for home ownership later. The accident’s site is right down the street. Deza takes a few moments to show and explain everything, then we part for the night and I return to the Garden at ass o’clock, again, passing by the lively augmentation shops on the way (discounts on cock rings and mutant cats tonight). So, Deza blew up in my face because I got her just after her child was hurt. Not surprising. I can only imagine what she’s been through, especially with her husband away. The guilt I would feel if I had a child and my partner left, and then our precious wee one got almost brained under my watch… I would eat myself alive. Well, at least, I’ll be able to do something about it.

What if it were enemy action?

The thought worms its way inside my head, but I push it aside. Not everything is a conspiracy. Coincidences exist. People still die every day on Enderlith for stupid or random reasons, same as every other place in the galaxy filled with ego, booze, and heavy moving machinery. Deza is simply too unimportant this early in the loop to garner the attention of someone else. She only stands out later because, well, she stands up. While her colleagues focus on securing the inauguration against intrusions, I guess. She shouldn’t be targeted until after she’s started helping me. I return to my room, only getting sidetracked once because Antea gave me a different one this time. 

Kimera is waiting for me. I feel her soul before I even open the door, of course. She exudes anxiety, waiting elegantly by the desk in her delicately crafted dress. Her thin fingers grip the wood. I don’t stop until we stand very close to one another. Our eyes are almost level.

“Steve. So, I assume from your calm expression that you have secured Deza Semri’s support?”

“I did,” I confirm.

She sighs.

“And you have found a way to avoid this loop’s rather… unfortunate delay in operations? In the future?”

“I have,” I confirm, but I know her well. This isn’t what she’s here for. I can even spot the empty package of nutritional paste on the counter — the fiber-rich mush so she’s showing me she’s been a good girl. About as ham-fisted a manipulation as I ever expected from my lovely partner.

“What is this really about?” I ask.

“I would like you to include me in the bomb expedition, of course. I assume there will be one?”

I freeze. 

Including Kimera again? I mean, she’s strong if not exactly a seasoned veteran. It’s just…

“You were not intending to leave me behind, surely?” Kimera insists. “You need me.”

“I…”

“What seems to be the problem, disciple? You brought me last time. We won.”

Her soul hardens like a gauntlet around mine. She will be impossible to convince, and yet I still find myself trying.

“Antea won,” I correct. “This time, we won’t have the luxury of one and a half grandmaster turning the opposition into mincemeat. It will be very dangerous.”

“What does it matter? You intend to die. You do intend to die, admit it.”

“No,” I deny.

It feels like a lie and Kimera feels unconvinced, so I elaborate.

“I expect to die. That is not the same thing.”

“Then take me with you,” Kimera argues. “I remember the power you displayed at the end.”

Her clawed fingers rest against my chest, and she opens her soul. There is a feral admiration here igniting her love and her pride, because she is proud of herself, of me, and of her trust in me. And her decision quality that led to our relationship. 

“My avatar.”

“Don’t say that where we can be heard,” I automatically say. “And this power was borne of the fear of losing you. It was my terror made manifest through the strength of my soul. It only works if I think you’ll get hurt.”

“One more reason to take me with you, disciple.”

“Kimera, this is really fucking cold thinking.”

“Then be strong, and I will have no cause for concern!” She argues. “And should I perish, will it not —”

“My memory of you dying remains,” I interrupt a bit curtly. “All those memories remain. It’s not because I can’t die that I can’t become something you wouldn’t recognize. I remember Malice pulling a woman apart at the neck. He just grabs people and tears them apart with his bare hands and he makes you watch.”

“This again,” Kimera says, eyes narrowing. “What did I say about the flesh? Malice can tear me apart. I’ll claw him off and merge the pieces back together.”

“It’s not the same thing watching it happen to someone you love,” I say.

Kimera pauses. Her hands drop from my chest to find my own. Her touch is warm and softer than one would expect. She won’t meet my eyes.

“If I stay, I do not exist.”

I think this is it.

“If I stay,” she continues, “every hour could be my last, and I will never know when my time comes to be erased. Disciple, I harbor no grudge. Being part of your entourage is a privilege people would kill for.”

“Not seeing a queue,” I grumble.

“Well, you’re not exactly advertising,” she notes.

I reluctantly agree.

“That pesky Kerentis ruler of a massive multi-world spanning empire remains an obstacle, as well,” Kimera agrees. “But it matters not right now. My point is, if I stay behind, all I get is anxiety and the inevitable wait for the end because I know you’re somewhere down there, about to be killed but I don’t know when, or how, only that this version of me will be undone and all that lies before me will amount to nothing because, in the end, I only exist through you. Because this entire timeline will only keep existing through you. The moment you leave through that gate, I know I’m dead.”

“We’re all dead in the long run,” I whisper, though I’m being full of shit and I know it.

“This is not the long term,” Kimera replies, imperious. “This is the me of now. Let me come with you. Or at the very least, have the decency to kill me so I don’t suffer this… this state of imminent execution.”

“I…”

“Don’t leave me behind,” she finally begs. “Please.”

I can’t refuse her.

It’s more than just the fact I don’t have the courage to abscond knowing she will feel tortured every minute of every day. I just know she’ll follow me anyway, and ethically she’s right. I can hardly deny her the right to face the end on her own terms.

“I’m going to regret this. But sure.”

***

The next day, I’m officially a copper. Nay, even worse than that: a bobby wannabe. A wannabobby, if I may. With limited access to Law’s office, I have to admit that it’s much less stuffy than their blasted temple. Their needle dwelling is mostly white inside and out with clinically unadorned walls all around crammed cubicles filled with gear and personal curios. It’s a mix of bare fucking minimum and personalization to the very limits of what regulations allow. It also doesn’t smell very good, and the cops look at me like Deza is six years old and brought home some flea-ridden pitbull-chihuahua mongrel. They have the decency not to voice their concerns, but it’s just about. Our first hours are spent in some dusty archives checking possible matches between the portraits and the criminal and available citizen database, under the stony gaze of an old archivist. It’s weird seeing Malice as a mugshot. The real deal is so viciously alive in everything he does, even if it’s just pure evil all the time, that the portrait just doesn’t do him justice. Here, he just looks like a hipster young adult nabbed for buying weed off an undercover cop. I can’t reconcile the normalcy of the portrait and the event horizon of merciless hatred of the real deal. Fortunately, Law has a sort of program that helps narrow down the number of photos we need to look at. Unfortunately, we don’t find a match. All the near misses are criminals from the middle rungs of society, mostly dealers and scammers because Malice is actually a bit of a twink. We don’t find him among the portraits of patricians either, not that many of those are as lightly modded as Malice appeared to be. A cursory search for Pain leads to about two hundred cases of substance abuse with no real match. No matter. By the time afternoon rolls in, I’m feeling absolutely restless and bound to kill someone if I drink another molecule of Enderlithian caffeine. 

“Don’t you have a gym here?” I ask.

Deza frowns in confusion.

“Don’t you fleschafters exert full control over your bodies?”

“There is a psychosomatic aspect to exercise that should never be ignored,” I reply, very seriously. “You can’t just spend entire days buzzing on your ass or you’ll get serious health issues, awakening or not.”

Deza takes a deep breath.

“I mean, we can take a walk? After we meet the rest of the team?”

“Sure.”

We find a cramped meeting room with no decoration and stacks of supplies piled into a corner. I think I see a rare insect, and no wonder. Said rest of the team consists of a grim man with white hair, but not a modded style: he is actually old. He stands, surrounded by his subordinates. Sitting on the edge of a desk is one of the fae-like aliens that populate the station’s Tip. I take their measure as they take mine. The grim man is strong in a hyper-controlled manner with the kind of lean muscle built over a lifetime of rigorous training. He’s fourth awakening, though he feels quite weak, from the way his energy fizzles. His eight subordinates share the same eternal scowl and stubborn, rigid soul. By comparison, the alien is a vibrating ball of nerves: meaty wings, short stature, thin limbs, and overlarge eyes give him a slightly uncanny appearance that isn’t helped by the shifty way he looks and glances around. This one has black hair and eyes. He waves at me. His hands are seriously scarred — burns as far as I can tell.

“Is this him?” the older man asks with a sneer.

Ok, I think I can identify the profile. His mana shares the style of Xan, my old staff mentor, but while Xan made an effort to keep his metal nature flexible, this guy is pure unbending iron. 

“What evidence did you say you had?” he growls.

“Steve, meet Sergeant Brigadier and his squad. Brigadier, Steve.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, extending the olive branch.

They stare like a pack of constipated gargoyles.

“And this is Nex-Lex, our bomb disposal specialist.”

“Hi hi!”

I stare at the twitchy example of a species that looks like they’re on constant maple syrup IV and reassess our chances.

“Nice to meet you, Nex-Lex,” I say with a genuine smile. 

I’m sure it will be fine. I haven’t come all the way here to be racist. I could have done that back home.

“And as I said, the source is confidential,” Deza declares with finality. “I am confident we will find what we’re looking for.”

“It’s your career,” the man replies with a shrug. “So what are we supposed to be dealing with?”

“You read the brief I took the time to write, correct?” Deza asked with her signature polite smile. Brigadier crossed his arms.

“I did. You should know that I dislike reading fiction.”

“Treat it like a hypothetical training session, then. It’s not every day you fight in the Shallow Depths.”

Deza’s smile is disarming enough that Brigadier breathes hard.

“I have questions.”

“That’s what we’re here for. Go ahead?” Deza offers.

“The… alleged avatars. What are their powersets?”

Deza turns to me. My time to shine. I explain what I know, taking great care to stress how dangerous Malice is, a complex ordeal when I can’t say I’ve already faced him. I just decide to make it sound like I saw him fight and leave it at that. 

“Why are we not ambushing them instead of attacking them in their lair?”

“The bomb is extremely volatile and Malice will not leave its side until it’s delivered. If he realizes he’s under attack, he will trigger it, which will make diffusing it… delicate. The only option is to get some sort of sniper.”

“Sure,” Brigadier replies in a mocking voice. “Let me just contract a Sallurian cloud clan hit squad. I’ll ask my sect leader uncle.”

“So that’s a no,” I curtly reply before turning my attention to a waving Lex-Nex. His voice is fast and high-pitched.

“Those bombs have several layers of redundancies, making sure, very sure, that they don’t explode. Explode! It should be fine.”

“It’s not fine,” I correct. “The soul inside is extremely volatile. Unless you have a way to take down Malice in a single hit, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“You don’t know that,” Brigadier says.

“I know that,” I correct.

He hesitates. I’m guessing he shares Deza’s power as granted to Law’s investigators. He can tell I’m telling the truth.

“If you commit to this operation, then fully commit to it,” I suggest. “Why do you believe half of it and nitpick the other one?”

His followers shift around, appearing to be threatening but I’ve been in the same room as a mildly miffed Antea and it doesn’t quite compare. Brigadier’s scowl turns into a rictus.

“It’s not because you believe something that it’s true. I will trust the expert you specifically requested over your ‘info’.”

“The info is accurate. The soul will explode if agitated, safeguards or not. I imagine it goes beyond the bomb structure’s specs by a fair margin considering the damage it’s capable of causing.”

“It would take a soul of great power,” Lex-Nex says, unsure. I think he doesn’t want to take sides.

“Malice believes it will go through several districts worth of crystalline superstructure, so yes, quite a bit of a great power.”

The behavior of the others changes over the next minute while I share everything I know about dangers and so on. If they don’t believe me, at least they take me more seriously. I can’t really feel it through their souls because they have the soul cage Law’s more martial servants share. It’s just their expressions this time. And then it hits me.

I’ve been speaking in flawless Kei-sah all this time with the most perfect accent. I’m obviously modded. They think I’m a patrician. Funny how much it has helped so far.

“What soul could even do that?” Brigadier asks, still disgruntled.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “It doesn’t matter anyway, it can’t be interacted with unless the bomb is disarmed, which is where you come in,” I say, turning to Nex-Lex.

“I’ll do my best. Very best!”

Brigadier protests.

“That’s only one of the problems though. If we are to go on with this… rather implausible scenario, we still need a guide from the depth guild, a medic, support staff for coms… what?”

I lower my hand.

“That’s me. I am the medic, the guide, and the support staff for coms.”

Like this, I send to their minds.

“Wow!” Brigadier yells, standing in alarm.

“Relax, soul awakened. I’ll handle the squad’s coms. I am also a fleshcrafter, so I can heal and fight reasonably well.”

“You? A fleshcrafter?”

I glare at him, then go through two heavy skin mods that turn my face into a raisin and a scaled creature, respectively, then back to normal. Then I wave my hand which now has fourteen fingers on it. I use it to give him the middle finger three times but sadly, it doesn’t translate into Enderlithian culture.

“Satisfied?”

I feel some agitation in his squad. 

“Fleshcrafters,” he says with wary respect. “How do you intend to guide us?” Brigadier asks as he looks like the kind of guy who’s never been satisfied once in his long life.

“I know the path, and I can open the gate.”

“You have codes? The Depth Guild approved?” he asks, filled with disbelief once again.

I show him the song key.

“This is a music-based key. It will work.”

“Really?” he asks, clearly unconvinced.

“What is it?” Nex-Lex asks.

“It’s a maintenance tool used by the flesh golems,” I explain. 

Brigadier shakes his head, but I feel no hostility from him, rather, he’s closing himself. 

“Look, if it works, we go on our merry expedition, otherwise we will be stuck at the gate and you’ll get the opportunity to gloat, and what, arrest me for wasting temple time?”

“This is not a game,” Brigadier objects.

He takes a calming breath.

“Alright, assuming this is all serious and we do reach this… avatar’s base, then what? What’s the layout?”

“I think I need to mention reinforcements as well. I’ll be bringing two people with me. My fleshcrafting mentor, and General Krane.”

“The war criminal?” Brigadier asks, aghast.

“The very same,” I agree.

“I want out of here,” he mumbles.

***

Despite his misgivings, Brigadier is too much of a stickler for rules to disobey a direct order to help us. I list what Kimera, Krane and I can do, then Brigadier confirms he’s fourth awakening while his team is made of thirds. They’re trained to work together. It’s when it comes to tactics that we immediately disagree.

“We are specifically trained to defend a location, even against infiltrators. I don’t need a mass murderer around to distract me while I do what I’ve been practicing for my whole life.”

“Malice is extremely hard to pin down. I’ve seen him tear people in half in instants,” I try to explain.

“Doesn’t matter what you saw. Those are my people, my operation. You can drag the station for as many freaks as you want —”

“Brigadier,” Deza interrupts.

He raises his hands as a calming gesture which is good because my mind had gone cold, and I think I was already taking a step forward. The squad closes ranks around their leader.

“Look,” he finally says. “Bring whoever you want. You do your thing, I defuse the bomb. Just don’t get in my way. I don’t care how many avatars they have, if you can’t even identify them then they can’t be that strong so early in the Year of Judgment. I’ve been doing this for over two hundred cycles. I’m not going to stand there and be taught my job by —”

He reconsiders his words.

“By people who lack training and experience.”

“Steve, please. Trust us,” Deza says.

Her soul radiates concern. I think she needs me to back down, because she’s staked her entire career and credibility on this, and she’s already stretched those rather thinly.

“Fine. If you’re wrong, at least I get to see how you die.”

I shrug. Brigadier seethes in his corner while Deza facepalms. I don’t care. They don’t know what it’s like, but they will. However briefly.

***

We leave through the gate shortly after, having made little progress on the investigation. I have written down the proper ciphers in my soul book now so even when I forget which song to play, it’s a matter of a minute to open my book and apply the correct cipher. As soon as I demonstrated this ability, Brigadier locks in, growing more serious and troubled with every defeated monster. Krane is his usual stoic and reliable self while Kimera clings to me, outwardly supportive but otherwise a bit closed off. I ask her about it the first time we set up camp.

“Have you considered slowing down for better preparations?” she asks, then presses a thin hand against my chest. 

“Do not take this for criticism, disciple. I am merely concerned about the desperation with which you throw yourself at the problem.”

“I just want the slaughter to stop,” I honestly reply. “I don’t think it will be that easy, but if we can go through most of the year without a gutted station and millions dead in the aftermath…”

I shake my head.

“I should have most of the tools for success. If I can’t make it work, I’ll train more to shore up my weaknesses, but I can’t express how much the station needs the bomb not to explode.”

She nods.

“You have considered the question, I see. Very well.”

Apart from her, Krane is the only who comes to me on occasion, with Deza spending a lot of time cajoling Brigadier and his men into not being assholes. The ever-reliable champion of redemption requests spars, mostly to teach me how to handle a shield-wielder. Mostly, it’s about forcing the shield out of position and, surprisingly, handling line-of-sight. A tower shield is a cumbersome thing that tends to block the view as well as it blocks attacks. I still can’t reliably beat him, but I annoy him a lot by grabbing the shield in war form.

“I have faced mutated ‘clavers that weren’t half as hard to put down as you are,” he concedes after a particularly contested session. 

“What do you mean, put down? I’m still standing.”

Krane mutters something about fleshcrafters, though it lacks bites. If anything, he feels relieved. It takes us only six days to reach the base but by then, they’re almost ready to move out. Our time is short.

***

Our two teams rush through the spider district behind me. Last time, we had the distraction of a fifth awakening squishing whatever queen creates those weird human spider hybrids, but this time we don’t, so speed will be of the essence. As I told them on multiple occasions. We battle through several patrols attracted by the sound and light because the third awakenings can’t see in complete darkness. It’s a back to back struggle to the death when I enter the code to the bunker door. One of Brigadier’s men gets dragged off despite Krane’s best efforts to keep people alive, but then we’re through. I race first down the long stairs that leads us to the cistern, the air growing cold and wet as we descend. I almost falter when we hit the ground floor. I’m assaulted by memories, and must pull back from the soul connection just to manage the raw fear that pours down my back like icy water. Slaughter. No, no need to panic. Bleed it out by pulling my soul in. I can do this.

As planned, we immediately split up, with Brigadier leading Nex-Lex and Deza down to our right, by the basin where the bomb waits. I lead Kimera and Krane to the haphazard encampment forward and to our left among the forest of support pillars. We make no effort at stealth. 

Our best bet is to distract Malice long enough for the bomb to be defused. And so I change into my war form and get to work. It’s the same as before: desperate people sleeping and fucking and just standing there, second awakenings and below that we massacre in moments. I snuff their souls, wincing with every scream of pain, every cracked skull. It’s like killing an asshole’s abused dog just because he’s barking and in the way. Blood. Organs. Bones breaking under the heavy Silverine staff I got for the occasion. Why do they cry so much, dammit? Soon, actual warriors face us, the first slammed aside by Krane. Kimera twists one herself and blocks a pair of pale hands.

“I knew I smelled blood,” Malice says, an angelic smile on display. “Now, how did you find this little haven of mine?”

Close ranks, I send the others. 

Malice disappears into the darkness. We stand back to back, Krane punching a third awakening so hard he dies on the spot. Isn’t he… stronger than before? Weird. Before I can think about it too much, Kimera overextends to cut through a fire awakened. Malice appears behind the dying man. My soul detects him, Kimera immediately aware, but she doesn’t have the time to react to him grabbing through the twitching body of his ally to grab her extended scythe. He touches and pulls, and Kimera’s arm comes apart. 

I feel her pain, her shock. My concentration falters because he’s on her and he’s killing her and oh my God he’s killing Kimera. Krane doesn’t falter. He rams Malice away, who screeches in rage. I stand over her though she’s already pulling herself back together.

“Focus!” she screams at me. 

Malice harries Krane with attacks, wearing a rictus of hatred. Wait for it, you fucker. I lunge and strike with my staff. The monstrous reach of my bouncer form takes Malice off guard. I catch him in the ribs with a titanic shock that would have crumpled a car. He bounces against a pillar, but then I hear him laugh.

“You can’t protect her from me, you know?” He mocks. “Why did you even bring her here? Too afraid to say no?”

I smother all of my emotions at once. He reappears in the distance, walking casually towards us.

“You know,” he starts in a conversational tone. “You seem to know a lot more about me than I do about you. And here I was so sure I had killed everyone in my path. It makes me wonder how you found me out. Should we find out together?”

We close ranks. His eyes narrow. 

“You’re not defending, you’re stalling,” he realizes.

Just on cue, someone screams down in the basin.

“You sly bastards,” Malice laughs. And then he’s gone.

Fuck.

We race over the parapet, but too late. I take in the Avatar or Pain chained to a wall by silver links, disabled for now. Deza got her, but as I watch Malice walks out of the shadows and plants an arm through Deza’s ribs. Brigadier flinches. Malice then teleports to the screeching Avatar of Pain, freeing her. He grabs her by the collar.

I know what he’s going to do. Shunting my pain receptors, I direct Krane and Kimera behind. Malice rips two of her fingers off, tossing her forward as his own severed digits fall with a splurt of blood. I catch Pain while Krane and Kimera charge forward. The aura of agony of the screaming woman reaches the edge of Brigadier’s squad. They are tough, but they still flinch in the second it takes me to overload her body and turn off her sense of pain. She falls with a yell of absolute terror. Ok, but we’re fending Malice off. Right? I absorb everyone’s fear. Malice reappears from the shadows next to the teleporter device, hand dripping dark blood. Doesn’t look natural. A new power? With one last smirk, he activates the machine.

It’s over? The avatar rises in the air, laughing, then screaming when that keening call assaults our ears. Behind me, the soul shifts in the bomb. What? I turn to see Nex-Lex collapsed over an open control panel.

“No fucking way.”

I rush ahead. Brigadier blocks me while Malice explodes behind us, but I saw it. Malice’s severed finger ensconced in some glass black material, used as a throwing dagger. It’s lodged into Lex-Nex’s head through his dark hair. Very deeply too. I sense for his soul.

He’s dead. Killed on the spot. Brained by dagger, the poor sod.

Out of desperation, I turn to save Deza only to find Kimera’s already healing her. In a few seconds, Deza has recovered. 

“Founder’s balls,” she swears. 

“What just happened?” Brigadier asks.

He dares. This incompetent sack of shite. The gormless, cortex-deprived ersatz of a stuck-up fascist 

“What happened,” I enunciate, “is that Malice killed our bomb disposal specialist. And either the battle or his demise destabilized the bomb. The soul’s waking up. Some trained protective twats you guys are. Couldn’t stop one fucking projectile. You guys know sometimes bad guys use ranged attacks, right? You train against that too? Now we’re dead. Well done. Well, fucking, done.”

“What?” Brigadier says, overwhelmed by recent developments, I guess. I’m about to blow up in his dopey mug when Krane holds me back with a hand on my shoulder. Bah. Why am I even wasting my fucking time on this cretin? The soul is stirring towards its inevitable explosion. I mean, I didn’t expect to win on the first try, but this feels so frustrating. I don’t even know what to think of our attempt. Do we have all the pieces and just got unlucky, or am I being delusional? I pick a piece of Malice — looks like a biceps? — and chew on it pensively. Genome acquired. It’s… nothing to write home about. A few inherited mods, but really the bare minimum. He’s clearly not a real Patrician, yet the presence of mods hints at a certain generational wealth. Brigadier orders a perimeter set while Kimera and I help Deza up. The law servant bats us away.

“How’s the bomb?” she asks.

“It’s fucked,” I tell her. “We got three minutes, at most.”

Kimera walks up to me and grabs my hand. Her fear is mostly under control, but I can feel it. I absorb it without a word.

“No! No, let me feel. ‘Tis the last chance anyway.”

Guilt replaces frustration in my heart. We’re all dead, but I will just reset. Those people will lose their memories. 

“It appears you were right… about everything,” Brigadier says, confidence crumbling. “Is there anything that can be done?”

“No. Come to terms with the end. This is it,” I say, perhaps unkindly.

“There has to be a back entrance!” One of his soldiers says.

“You’re right,” I reply. “You can look for it.”

Please kindly fuck off.

Deza’s already standing and she moves to one of the boxes around the wrecked teleporter. Krane places a hand on my shoulder, again. We’ve barely talked this loop, yet even know I feel his obsidian confidence.

“Now is the most useful moment, Steve. Focus.”

“You’re right,” I admit.

I follow Deza, Kimera’s death grip still clasping my hand. The inspector frantically inspects the Malice-covered mess, uncaring that her white uniform is still blood-stained and showing dusky skin where a gaping hole used to be.

“Look,” she says, her soul a single-minded arrow. “Look. Here!”

She points at markings on the sides of the crates. Most crates have them but I never paid attention before.

“Those crates are from District Thau-78. It’s an unremarkable spot near the base of the station.”

I remember. With Enderlith looking a bit like a stubby knife, the ‘base’ is opposite the tip where the momentarily departed Lex-Nex originated from. It’s probably one of the most uninteresting places in the station. The tip almost always faces the sun, so the base is bathed in perpetual shadow. I remember going there because it was one of the last places to fall to Transformation. 

“Not all crates are from Thau-78,” Deza explains with rare intensity, “But enough that we can surmise that Malice either stocks up there on the way, or…”

“Or that’s where he comes from,” I say. “I’d wager it’s where he comes from because he sets up here rather early in the month. I doubt he has much time to prowl around for supplies. Well, this might help. And the fact I got his genome, so we can have his exact appearance and ask people if they recognize it. Well done, Deza. This will help us a lot.”

“What do you mean, exactly?” Brigadier asks as he comes up behind us. “You just said we were all dead.”

He looks lost. I’m not feeling super charitable right now, so I don’t think I will take the time to explain.

“Any exit around?” I ask.

There are more corridors leading out of the lower basin, where the bomb is usually stored. There should be a secret exit around here because I doubt Malice led his miserable flock through a district’s worth of mutated spider people with an unstable bomb in tow. 

“No one has returned yet. They may have escaped, for which I shall not blame them,” Brigadier says. 

I doubt it will be useful anyway because the entrance we take is already the unguarded backdoor. I’m more interested in the crate. With a last gesture, I heal Pain’s nociceptors. She crawls to a corner, pulling on her piercings.

“Thank you. Thank you…”

Bah, and now I am robbed of my righteous hatred towards her. Kimera and I drag each other into a hug, the simple gesture enough to calm her down a bit.

“You have your work cut out for you, disciple. That throw was impressive, and his ability to turn his own blood into what you saw…”

Ah, I hadn’t seen that. So Malice is capable of turning his blood into some sort of crystallized black bullshit. I wonder why he didn’t demonstrate it earlier, but not for long. He simply had no need for it. We have pressed him harder than usual without demolishing him like Antea could. I just wish it had worked. 

Deza tells Brigadier about the time loop. I don’t stop her. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks, offended.

“Because your boss, Lady Vestalia, decided to side with Space, so she imprisons me until the bomb blows her up alongside half of Enderlith’s leadership.”

“Have you written down the district name?” Deza asks me.

I have not. We spend the last few seconds making more notes. One of the soldiers returns to tell us they found a front door guarded by cultists they killed, but they didn’t manage to open it to see what was on the other side. And while everyone is distracted, the bomb explodes.

Death count: 13

Loss count: 6

Qualia points acquired: 8

New total available: 2300

Decent expedition leadership and squad management: 5

Innovative use of affinity: 3