The 108 Chapter 44: The Gods' Gifts (Patreon)

“Fireball?” Chronos offers.

I would be annoyed if I could feel much here.

“Hilarious. But I’d love a whiskey.”

Morag pours three glasses, then she blows on them until rime lines the edge. No need for ice cubes I suppose. I take a sip and yep, I still don’t like whiskey.

“I’m sure it’s delicious.”

Chronos smiles over his own cup while I leave mine on the table. There is now more powder on the Steve corpse pile. I’m starting to suspect there will be a lot more disintegrated Steves there in the future.

Malice pisses me off.

Now that I think about it, I can see the problem and I was naive. Malice can teleport pretty much anywhere on our little battlefield. It’s possible that he may be limited to shadowy places, but this entire cistern is full of pillars and angles so there will always be shadows. I won’t have the time to install floodlights, and even if I turn myself into a very large bulb with my star affinity, that will just lead to more shadows. It’s hopeless. So, I need Krane on the bomb defusal lad at all times. Brigadier will have to manage his feelings on the matter or he’ll stay a sergeant all his life. There is something else. Malice already exhibited teleportation, powerful abilities that spike his power, and the weird blood thing. That’s at least three different Malevolence abilities. So, it turns out that avatars can be pretty powerful. Who’d have thunk?

I need to up my game. So far, most of my expensive purchases were investment for the long term. After all, the more time I spend as a magically talented lad, and the faster I make progress, but I believe now is the time for a more… immediately impactful acquisition. In fact, I think I know what I should get. Nodding at the pair, I make my way to the qualia arcade and consider my choices. A few keys, and I have the information I seek.

Time powers:

0 Reset (obtained)

1 Atemporal Hypercognition: slow mind time 500 (obtained)

1 Self Stasis 500

2 Haste 2000

2 Projectile hyperacceleration 2000

3 Temporal whirlpool: trap others in a loop 3000

3 Branching awareness 3000

4 Oracle 5000

4 Banishment 5000

Nota: you must unlock at least one skill of the lower tier before you can pick one from a new tier.

“What do you mean I have to — bah.”

Not that I could afford it. The price jump for time powers seems… extreme, but at the same time I understand, I think. Most of the other powers I could theoretically obtain as a mortal. Time powers are the real deal. The gifts of the gods. I check the three options I have.

‘Self-stasis [Avatar of Time limited and may not be learned outside of skill purchase] [Augmentation] [Tier 1], cost: 500. Additional requirements: none (soul awakening completed). 

Self-stasis allows you to skip the local time flow, projecting you into the future. You reappear in the same spot relative to the nearest main gravity source. Self-stasis timing may be modified with practice.’

This would allow me to survive the blast, or avoid combat. Or even social interactions. My problem is, it’s pointless. It would be very useful for someone with a limited number of loops at their disposal. They would be able to survive the bomb blast, fully utilizing the rest of the cycle for training and preparation. But I don’t need it. It doesn’t matter if I die. If I reappear anywhere after the action, the loop is a loss. I’d take it if it were 50 points, but at 500 I can’t justify the expense. Next.

‘Haste [Avatar of Time limited and may not be learned outside of skill purchase] [Augmentation] [Tier 2], cost: 2000. Additional requirements: Previous tier unlocked, soul awakening of at least 2. 

Haste accelerates the flow of time for the user and the small items you may be in direct contact with, but not their projectiles. The boost is brief in subjective time, but may be improved with practice. This skill puts a significant strain on the soul.’

This is it. The golden tool of time: the ability to punch faster. With this, I shall surely be unstoppable. Joke aside, I can probably take Malice off guard. It’s just too good not to take. I still get a look at the last option.

 ‘Projectile hyperacceleration [Avatar of Time limited and may not be learned outside of skill purchase] [Augmentation] [Tier 2], cost: 2000. Additional requirements: Previous tier unlocked, soul awakening of at least 2. 

You may select a projectile to infuse with an accelerated timeflow. This projectile need not be in motion yet. The projectile will travel at massively increased speed with all the effects it entails, including on the projectile itself. The skill needs some time to wind up.’

This is a sniper skill. It just occurs to me that I immediately went with the ‘punching things’ build when deciding how to train or how to spend my points, without considering that I could have gone for the ranged option like smarter people would have probably done. I could have picked ranged combat predisposition, obtained a sniper warform, and then picked that. With Shadow training, I could have been an infiltrator decapitating avatars at range with a single overcharged spike. But I didn’t. Because I’m punchy and not particularly bright. Fuck. I mean, it’s too late now, so I guess I can add that regret to the large pile of regrets in my brain. 

Or maybe I was just being efficient as my affinities don’t suit this style at all, so it’s better to play to my own strength? Or maybe I follow the Path of Everything, so I have the time to train on everything? Yeah, that sounds better. Having thus huffed a significant amount of copium, I click on haste. My points plummet to a mere 300. It’s fine. Time magic, here I go. Time to make everyone experience what a true avatar can be like! All giddy, I return to the two gods, ready to depart. I don’t think haste will let me beat the assassin. I should test in  the Garden once I’m safe.

***

It is dawn. The district’s lights are slowly increasing their output. A scheduled drizzle cleansed the worst of yesterday’s dust, sending rivulets of stained water down the many drains. The vivid lights of the Needles’ flowers shine on the rare puddles still left, but the air smells fresh and clean. I lean over the edge of the building like some ominous man-bat, sure to attract the attention of passing patrols if they spot me. I mask my presence as much as possible.

I feel strangely giddy. I’m Meatlad, the world’s most ridiculous superhero trying to save a child from his promised doom. My superpowers include regeneration, beast mode, and a modular dick. But the night is real and so will the pain Namun feels if that errant pipe cracks his noggin, so I keep my optimized eyes open. It’s boring and stressful and potentially great. It reminds me of being a mercenary. 

Right on time, Deza releases her child so he goes to the small, strangely beast-drawn cart that sends him to school. I watch him carefully. He walks away, while Deza turns back to her dwelling to finish preparing for the day. I look suspiciously at the pipe. 

The kid walks under without problem.

Well, this is… awkward. Obviously, I prefer it when my plans don’t rely on maimed children, yet — wait, what the —

Careening down the wet street is an ancient carriage drawn by some lizard creature the size of a horse. It slips on the wet ground and panics with a keening hiss. The cart driver curses and loses control while inside the blue-painted metal frame, children briefly scream in panic. I jump, and activate haste. My eyes tickle, then it’s like all sounds are high-pitched. I turn my arms into wings, but find gravity has a lesser hold. The air pushes my hair back. Reality conspires to slow me down. I’m not going to make it. So I aim straight down. The ground nears with agonizing slowness. Cursing, I turn my left arm into my war form’s limb, cursing at the strain on the rest of my body, but I manage to grab a lamppost. I launch myself forward like a flesh torpedo, crossing the street so fast the air drag claws at my face. Namun’s there. His dusky face is a mask of horror watching the carriage crash forward like the truck of destiny. I lift him as gently as possible, then use the rest of the momentum to land on the lizard. Haste runs out at that moment. It snaps from under my control like an overtaxed string. My soul feels raw. 

Normal sounds return. 

Quick, depress the beast’s central nervous system. I jump off as it slows down, still holding Namun, and push on the flank. My third awakening boosted strength is more than enough to stabilize the lizard. Its maddened dash ends in a comfortable trot, and then, it stops.

This all took less than three seconds. It felt a lot longer.

“Founder’s balls!” Namun swears when I gently drop him on the wet pavement.

“Well, that was…unexpected,” I admit.

“Oh, uh, sorry ‘bout the language, sir. And uh, I think you saved me,” Namun stammers.

Oh yeah, I should stop talking in Kei-Sah all the time. I’m not in the Garden right now.

“You’re welcome, kid.”

The driver of the cart walks down, shaky and guilty. He first checks on his lizard before rushing to the door. A group of children in uniform peer from the windows with excitement and a bit of annoyance, but mostly that carefree manner which children seem to have when they’ve just avoided bodily harm. I’m not sure how to handle the panicked driver.

“I’m so sorry. So sorry,” he repeatedly whispers, vainly going from the placid lizard to his mostly intact cart. “I don’t know what went wrong with Belly. She’s normally so calm.”

Ah, that’s the lizard then. I shrug.

“Not sure. It might have slipped on the pavement?”

“But why did she go so fast? It makes no sense…”

“What happened?” Deza asks as she rushes on the scene.

I take a moment while she checks on Namun, but the boy seems alright. Her gaze turns to me when he tells her I saved him.

“Then my gratitude has no measure. But what were you doing there?” she finally asks with that signature calm smile I’m starting to associate with an interrogation technique. I just want to answer since she asked so nicely. It’s uncanny.

“Actually, I was looking for you. You’re Deza Semri, correct? There was something I was hoping to discuss… elsewhere.”

A flash of recognition forces a blink. She remembers me from the call warning her of the secret job interview. Suspicion bleeds from her soul.

“You didn’t cause this accident, right?” she plainly asks.

“Oh no! No, I didn’t,” I say. Then after a while because her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think anyone caused this?” I say. “It seems so random, and yet…”

And yet what the fuck.

“You’re right,”she says. “We have something to talk about. Namun, get in the cart, please? I’ll see you tonight.”

“Ok, mom! Hmm, thanks again sir.”

“Have a good day, kid. Stay safe.”

“You don’t mind talking while I go to our office?” Deza asks. “There’s a cafe nearby we can get to.”

What a liar. That filthy temple to sugar and excitant barely qualify as a place to eat. Ah well.

***

We keep quiet on the way, mostly because I told her I wanted us to have some privacy, and also because I want to think. I haven’t yet revealed I am a soul awakened. Two thoughts dance in my mind, chasing one another. 

First, haste is just as stupidly strong as I hoped, but it’s fairly limited in terms of use. I feel like I could have used it for a shorter period of time, but by the end there my soul was so raw I couldn’t have possibly cast a spell with it. It means they use the same resource, something I need to keep in mind. I believe I can have one extended sequence, maybe two three seconds of subjective time, or several bursts of one second each. Maybe more as it is less straining, then I need to recover. The strain is important for now, but I might be able to improve how long I can keep it active with practice. It’s also interesting to see that drag is still a factor. I’m faster, but the air isn’t. I’m guessing that it might get quite hot as it is compressed at higher levels of awakening. I might even be able to capitalize on it.

For the second issue, the problem is the accident. It simply doesn’t make sense. 

“We’re here,” Deza says.

I pretend not to notice the trio of cops following us at a distance until we enter their den. I guess she doesn’t trust me yet. As soon as we’re seated I take a sip of tea and reach for her soul. She doesn’t jump, but it’s a close thing. At least her backup isn’t reaching for their weapons.

***

It doesn’t take all that long to convince Deza. I like how Krane, Kimera and her always go full tilt. I think, for Krane, it’s because his goddess told him to help me. Deza can detect lies, and Kimera sends herself past orgasms with her research notes. Enderlith is such an interesting place, sometimes. I do share my concerns, but do not get the reaction I was considering.

“An accident was scheduled to happen so it happened, no?” she asks.

“I don’t think it works that way,” I reply. “If a pipe is on its last leg, then there might be a bit of randomness involved as to when it falls. Maybe a passing flier dropped something? Maybe the flesh golems decided to cut the rain just a little later? I can see that happening, but here we’re talking about two random events that lead to similar consequences. The odds of this happening between two loops feels… astronomical.”

“You think it’s how it works?” she asks.

“I do. Unfortunately, the expert on the matter is a bit of a cryptic clown.”

“Who would that be?” she asks, genuinely curious.

“The Dragon of Time?”

Deza chokes on her drink.

“Please don’t call one of the Harbingers a clown, especially not this year, ok?”

I don’t think he minds but ah, whatever. 

“Fair enough.”

“I admit this is strange, so I will ask you to keep track of it next time, assuming there is a next time?” she asks, unsure.

“There’s going to be a lot of next times,” I confirm.

“Meanwhile, I will be sure to accompany him. And take a look at that pipe. Now, I’m very interested in that bomb business. What was that about?”

Ugh, I am so done explaining everything again, and again. 

“Ok, what do you know about soul bombs?” I ask.

***

Deza needs the authorization of her hierarchy to follow the crate origin lead, mostly because Thau-78 is pretty far away from the Needles. Then we need to wait the next day because she needs to pick up Namun from school, and arrange for her mother to look after the wee one while she’s away. We’re in the train as soon as dawn breaks — first class this time.

I can’t help but notice the looks we get, she as a uniformed templar, and I in my disciple robes. Most commuters instinctively step aside to let us through, casting quick glances on the side. Anxiety spikes as soon as we’re around. It’s worse for those who recognize both of our uniforms. We are treated with a deference that I feel is unearned: two unnamed members of great organizations. 

The farther away from the Needles we travel, and the fewer Patricians we come across. There are also more baseline humans, mods either absent or ostentatiously displayed in reverse proportion to their significance. We come across more and more laborers, and the landscape outside of the windows grows grittier. Factories and warehouses pass by, entire districts covered in smog despite the chugging of air filtration units, then the scene changes again when we approach our destination: larger districts filled by mountains of trash over which people swarm like ants, their awakened speed sending them scurrying between carefully organized piles.

“Most of Enderlith’s trash is recycled here,” Deza explains with a smile. “First time around?”

“Yes.”

“We’re going a bit farther away. I think you’ll like it. And I might be overstepping the bonds of our agreement, but I think it’s good that you can still be amazed by a new sight.”

“Give it a hundred more tries,” I reply bitterly, then I realize I’m being a twit. “Yes, it’s great. I’d like to travel around the galaxy at some point, before it all ends. See a few more planets than the war-torn hell below.”

“I believe Prosperity’s voidship departs soon, so you might be able to! Oh, look, we’re close.”

We go through another layer of thick crystal walls, then the view widens. I rest my hands on the glass. We are inside a tube. A kilometers-wide tube of shimmering crystal covered in dwellings, offices and even fields and, in the distance, the cosmic glints of a sea of stars, their radiance unmarred by kilometers of atmosphere. Countless lights inside of the tube echo the distant radiance. I look up, seeing someone till a field upside down, their hoe falling upward to cleave the quiet earth. A gaggle of children play as if glued to a far wall, but the ball they toss around obediently bounces to the nearest ground. Localized gravity? How does it even work?

“I asked the local team of law enforcers to meet me at the station,” Deza interrupts with a knowing smile. “They’re not templars, but we cooperate on occasion.”

The local sheriffs happen to be a voidling man, tall and gangly, and a stout woman who has to be nearing two meters in height. Their height helps with the parent aura they’re cultivating, but the fact they’re only second awakening leaves me a bit surprised. Now that I pay attention, the ambient energy here is a bit weaker.

“Thanks for helping us with this,” Deza finishes saying.

“And who’s your companion?” the voidling politely asks. “I do not recognize the garb.”

“He’s a fleshcrafter and my assistant for this case,” Deza explains.

The voidling bows, which means I almost get the top of his bald, gray skull in my face.

“I apologize for not recognizing you!”

“It’s fine,” I say, waving them away. “I am but a humble disciple anyway.”

“Oh yes,” the stout woman says. “We did have a break-in, only it was in a long-term warehouse so we didn’t notice until you told us. I think… it’s better if we show you.”

Their souls are tense. We leave the basic layout of the station for the tube proper. The air smells of wet earth and cooking fires. Rare mana-powered vehicles amble away in the dim light of the false morning. Many of the fields have light projectors to help them, and as I watch, an old woman sings to plants that visibly grow at her feet. 

“We’re a peaceful folk. Most of the citizens here work in the recycling plants. Or grow food for the workers, yeah?” the voidling says.

His So-Sah is thickly accented, reminding me a bit of Vargo from back when I worked for the derelict company. I need to use So-Sah as well or they’ll treat me with deference and I absolutely hate that shit. 

“We were properly shocked when we found the breach. I mean, we get some crime, sure…”

His voice trails off. We walk past an isolated patch of dirt-covered crystal and I meet the eyes of a group of drifters hanging around a small fire. Their faces are gaunt, haunted.

“We get all types,” the stout woman says, not unkindly. “Lots of folks down on their luck. Broken families from some patrician scuffle, or from farther districts. You know…”

The silence hangs heavy. Deza nods to herself.

“Actually, I’m pretty new to the station so I don’t know. What are you referring to?” I ask.

“We’ve got a lot of disappearances around here,” the voidling explains, happy to contribute. “We have hydroponics and factories in the shallow depths, Nature’s stuff so we got a lot of folks coming and going and sometimes, well, they don’t come back. Lots of people go missing here, and sometimes we also find traditionalist corpses in monster dens.”

“There are rumors that the traditionalists are quietly raiding us,” Deza explains. “It got really bad after Archon Vrok disappeared five cycles ago. Might patrols here but there are so many passages… It’s even more porous than around the Needles.”

I nod. I use the Song Key to move around the shallow depths myself because it lets me know where I please, but there are so many open passages around that those who really want to can eventually find their way in. Even if that way closes afterward. That’s how Martha gets most of her neighbors.

“Some of those people get rowdy on occasion, but they’re mostly… lost.”

The three cops exchange a glance. 

“Am I missing something again?”

“Dream Powder. It’s a cheap drug with a recipe that relies a lot on ambient mana, which means that it’s easy to manufacture on station,” Deza says. 

“Ah.”

Can’t escape drug, classism, and slavery. While I ponder our collective misfortune, we arrive towards the end of the tube and I see there is a transparent shield around the massive opening. I expected it since the locals were not being actively sucked out in the horrible vacuum of space, but it’s still impressive to see close-up. Nobody even bothered with railings. There are ten meters of dirt and scraggly grass, and then just an annihilating membrane, and then, space. I return my attention to the warehouses. They’re not exactly impressive, just windowless metal boxes. The sheriffs lead us to the side, then under a half-rotten fence and to the back.

In one of the corners, the panes have been peeled away with great strength. The steel bears the pinch marks of malevolence like fingerprints on a piece of taffy. He pulled it all in two goes, apparently.

“Yeah, that’s our lad alright,” I tell Deza. “I recognize his handiwork.”

“You mentioned you were looking for someone?” the stout woman asks.

“Steve, can you show them?”

I nod. “Don’t be alarmed,” I belatedly remember to tell them.

Which is, of course, a very alarming statement to make, but at least they don’t run when my body cracks and contracts. The robes adapt to my smaller frame. Fleshcrafter robes are so incredible, adapting to humanoid shapes and getting absorbed by warforms. Otherwise I’d be going home butt naked every time. 

“This is the man we’re looking for,” I tell the horrified sheriffs. “I just borrowed his appearance.”

They’re not scared, so I assume they never met the real deal. 

“Nope, he’s not from around here. Never seen him,” the voidling says. 

Well, that’s disappointing but not necessarily a dead end.

“We can move around Thau-78 later,” Deza says. “Maybe someone recognizes him.”

“Before that, I think you need to see this,” the stout woman replies.

The interior of the warehouse was dry and smelled of old blood. An impressive stain marks the perimeter around the breach and whoever had bled here probably hadn’t made it. Boxes are missing from the shelves. 

“Whoever took those knew what they were doing,” I hazard.

“I agree,” Deza replies. “But that doesn’t mean it was our target. You mentioned he had accomplices.”

“We think it took place on the third of this month,” the voidling says. 

So, pretty early. It would still have been enough time for Malice to gather allies. I’m guessing he already knew where to find them. 

Unfortunately, we learn little else from the crime scene. There are no central print databases here, and the scene is too old for residual mana, considering no spells appear to have been cast there. I keep Malice’s appearance as we decide to head back to the sheriff office for lunch. Before we walk more than a minute. I raise a fist.

“What?” Deza asks.

And I point to the side. There, at the edge of my perception. A hit. One of the pasty fuckers huddling in the shadows is having a moment of intense terror.

“This man has recognized me,” I say. 

The guy in question is a baseline human dressed in rags, with a squarish face and thin silvery hair clinging to his scalp in sweat-dried clumps. He stumbles backward when our eyes meet. He makes to leave.

I’m not doing a pastoral pursuit sequence. Fuck this. I sprint after the man, Deza soon rushing after me while the sheriffs have barely reacted yet. This guy’s so slow. He still manages to get into the nearest shack, slamming the door behind his filthy arse. The group of friends that was near him scatter as I draw near. Rats leaving the ship, as expected. The door barely closes when I smash it open hinges and all. It slams against the far wall. The addict tries to climb over filthy crates towards a window. I’m behind him in two steps. He stinks. He stinks of piss and old sweat and that dry stench people who don’t wash for a long time have. I grab him by the neck and pull him back. He crashes on the dirt ground with a whine.

“Not so fast,” I say.

I wait for Deza to arrive, which she does in only a few seconds. The sheriffs are just behind. 

“Our friend here has recognized this form,” I tell them.

“No! Please! He’s a maniac! He’s a fucking maniac!” the addict screeches.

“Ok, calm down, we’re not going to hurt you,” Deza says but the guy babbles over her, crawling on his knees to grab at her pristine white uniform. I should probably revert to my Steve self.

“Don’t leave me alone with this guy! He’s mad. He’ll kill me!”

Ok, so they are acquainted. Nice.

“Calm down!” Deza firmly orders. 

He shuts up.

“Steve, if you please?”

I revert back to my normal form, instantly feeling more comfortable. It doesn’t help our friend though.

“What power is this? Help! Help!”

“Shut it, Grimy,” the stout woman asks with the exhausted voice of someone who’s said that before. Repeatedly.

“Hey, you go by Grimy, right? Listen. The dangerous person is not here.”

The man stops screaming though his wide eyes go from Deza to me, and then to the sheriffs.

“Can you identify him? The person my colleague here showed you.”

“What?”

“The face he was wearing. You recognized it. Who is it?”

He’s utterly confused. His wispy soul is like an itch at the back of my mind. Dilated pupils, extremely high heart rate, pale… This guy is high.

“What?” he asks again.

“I think our friend here needs a little cleansing,” I say.

Deza scowls when I approach Grimy, who recoils when I firmly grab his shoulder. I accelerate his detoxification. Jesus, this guy’s a ruin. His nervous system is fried and his liver’s a paper bag full of dog shit. I don’t know how Deza stands the smell of his putrid breath. 

I smile when I pull back. This guy’s now clear, clearer than he’s been in probably years. I made sure he’s at baseline, so to speak. His awakened metabolism goes in overdrive. It will be enough. Wait for it. 

He shivers. His nails dig into his dirty skin, eyes darting around. There we go. 

“What did you do to me? What the fuck did you do to me?”

“Congrats, you’re sober,” I mock.

“Fuck you.”

“Grimy,” the voidling warns.

He looks at me with a mix of fear and annoyance. Was I too heavy handed? I don’t think I care. Grimy struggles against Deza’s grip but he might as well be fighting a boulder.

“Grimy, focus.”

“Fuck you, I don’t have to answer shit. You dicks.”

He’s starting to sweat. His eyes wander and… oh. Oh, that is too good. I take a few steps back, Deza watching me go with a frown. Grimy’s terrified. Step. Step. Step. The dull gong of walking on something hollow.

I plant my foot again. Yep, some sort of buried compartment lies buried here.

“No, wait. What was the question again?” Grimy asks in a hurry.

“The man whose face my friend was wearing. Who is he?” Deza patiently asks. 

She gives Grimy her signature smile.

“That’s what we really want to know.”

“Better hurry,” I add, stepping closer to what appears to be a metal ring half-buried in the dirt.

“Ok, ok, his name’s Egun Vindrius and he’s a fucking madman. He’s some rich cunt from the Vindrius estate, that’s, uh…”

“I know where it is,” the voidling says. “Keep talking.”

“Ok, ok, he comes here sometimes…”

“He’s a customer?” Deza asks.

“No…”

Grimy sweats even more. His itchy soul cools, a wave of terror smothering everything else.

“It looks like he just comes to talk to us. Real pretty lad, but then when le leaves, sometimes people go missing. Laia, last time. Poor girl. We never found the body. We… we think it’s him but we’re not sure. When he talks to you, it’s like you’re his best friend and everything you do is the best thing he’s heard, yea? Like you matter. Like you’re someone, and he’s rich… But then there is something. Old Ark never trusted him. We found Ark’s head, but not the rest. But you know, we go to the shallows, so might be someone else. Or something.”

Grimy keeps babbling. Malice… Egun then, has a way of looking like he can’t be doing what he’s doing. I understand. It’s a lot of hatred in a relatively small package, a bit like Napoleon but at least Egun isn’t French. 

“Did you see him return?” Deza asks.

Grimy hesitates yet again. I turn both my arms into my war form, plant one on the ground and pull the ring. A trapdoor bursts open in a shower of dust that forces the sheriffs to take a step back. Under it is, well, I won’t call it a lab, but I will call it a half buried cooking setup made of recycled material. A mandala pushes ambient mana into a becher cup filled with white powder.

“Well well well.”

“No, yes I remember! He came and… he asked Blinks to show him something. We, uh, we never saw Blinks after that.”

Guess we know who bled out on the warehouse floor. Deza actually questions Grimy for another few minutes, the drug maker’s eyes going to the cooking station like we would just go if he cooperated. It’s clear that he knows little else. It’s fine though, the voidling guy knows where the Vindrius family compound is. We just have to follow his directions. I’m glad when we leave, because an enclosed space with Grimy in it is hard on the old olfactory receptors. 

“You’ll let me go, right? Right?” Grimy asks the sheriffs after we said our goodbyes.

“You know I can’t do that, lad,” the stout woman replies.

They have it well in hand. We make our way to the train station while I congratulate past Steve for always getting us a Song Key. Usually, it’s because I play it when I need to relax, but it looks like I’m going to have to do the unpleasant thing and use it for its intended purpose. 

“Can I ask you something?” Deza says, taking me off guard.

“Yes?”

“Are you ok?”

For a moment I almost check myself for wounds, but then I realize she’s talking about my mood. It’s so… unusual here on Enderlith, especially since we’re still strangers.

“Hmm, yes. Thanks for asking. Why?”

“You were rather aggressive with Grimy there. Is there anything you'd like to talk about?”

“What do you mean?” I ask. What is this about?

“The way you caught him, the way you grabbed him… Even purging his body of all drugs to quickly induce withdrawal could be considered torture, according to temple doctrine.”

“Oh no, you guys suddenly care about due process?” I retort.

“Hold on,” Deza says with a disarming smile. “Steve. I’m on your side, ok? I can see that you care and I genuinely want to support you. I still want to know how my partner functions.”

I try not to say anything, but my face must have been an open book.

“And I know I will forget everything again and again, but hey, I could write it down in that book you promised you’d pass on. And who knows? You might learn something about yourself, as well.”

“I’m trying to stop an explosion that repeatedly kills untold numbers of innocents. In my first memory of the event, the derelict crew I was running with spent weeks clearing corpses out of molten districts. You can only see so many dead children before the rest becomes irrelevant. If I have to sacrifice the comfort of a drug maker to do so, I admit that I don’t give a shit.”

“But was it about efficiency? It felt to me like you were playing with him, no?”

“I did what I thought would make him talk faster.”

Deza nods.

“And you did, you were a fantastic bad templar to my good templar. That trick with the arms… the others wouldn’t know, but partial transformation is far above what a disciple can normally achieve, no?”

“There is an abyss between a newly promoted disciple and one who is preparing to be a journeyman. But they’re both disciples,” I say. 

“It’s very impressive nonetheless. Does changing your form affect you? ”

Her soul is extremely guarded, the signature smile on her face merely a polite mask. 

“Where is this going?” I ask, a bit curtly.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to push you. It’s fine if you want to drop it and move on. Just know I care about you. The burden on your shoulders must be great indeed.”

I cut her off.

“Addicts can’t be trusted,” I say, then realize I’m being an ass and wince. “Well, most of them anyway. Even when they genuinely think they want to be better. And this guy isn’t one of them. It’s a waste of empathy to show him any, because he’s trash, will always be trash, and the world is worse for his presence. ”

“I’ve seen this in some of my colleagues,” Deza notes, not meeting my gaze. We’re almost at the station now. “They give second chances until one too many disappointments, then no one gets a second chance. But everyone’s different. Not all Enderlithians face the same difficulties in life. Not everyone is even equal when facing addiction and substance abuse.”

“People always have excuses,” I say, then lower my voice because I felt alarm in several souls around us. “They always have ‘good reasons’ to do what they do, and the victims of their behavior can go fuck themselves, right? They’re in one of the richest places in the galaxy and still manage to fuck up. Did someone put a sword to Grimy’s neck to force him to snort the stuff he’s selling to others?”

“I see that you are very upset,” Deza begins.

I almost pull my emotions, but resist. It’s probably not healthy. I should be able to manage my emotions on my own like a normal adult instead of using soul tricks. Besides, Deza is right. I am quite upset.

“Let’s move on for now,” I say. “It doesn’t matter anyway, I won’t need to return here. Grimy can keep cooking his drugs at the bottom of his filthy shack in later loops.”

Deza sighs, but she doesn't press the issue.

“I can’t believe I got the empathy lesson from a copper,” I grumble. “Especially for the human equivalent of a rat’s scrotum.”

“It really isn’t for him that I talked to you, Steve,” she says. “It’s about your… response to his presence.”

I turn and face her.

“My mum was an addict. She abandoned me when I was a teenager. So I don’t care much about addicts. There, you got me, you wicked profiler you. Well done.”

“Steve.”

“So, what now? What was your plan after that? Where did you think the conversation would go?” I ask.

She takes a step back. I realize I’ve gotten closer.

“It doesn’t need to go anywhere,” she says, her soul opening. Inside, there is only genuine concern. Even the apologetic smile feels genuine. “Not now, nor later. I brought something to your attention because I have seen friends succumb to the anger in their hearts. Look, how long have you been on this station, in total. Ten cycles?”

“Less than that in total, I think. And one of them on Obis.”

Deza doesn’t exactly flinch. Her gaze just changes ever so slightly, and there is a twitch in her soul I can’t exactly read.

“Ok. I need you to realize that being a strong third awakening, plus the way you move, your soul perception, the control you have over the warform… You’re already strong. You got quite strong, really fast. You’re no generational genius, perhaps, and you’re not yet nearly strong enough to win, mind you. But… strong. And you’re only going to become more powerful as your path advances. Sometimes, it can be easy to place people into categories and then handle them accordingly. It’s a natural shortcut.”

“Isn’t it called experience? You learn from your mistakes.”

She shakes her head, standing her ground.

“Everyone is different, Steve. The weak cannot afford to take risks, but you’re not weak, and you have time on your side. I will just kindly request that you keep it in mind, lest you grow…”

She hesitates.

“Cruel?” I suggest.

“Cold. Uncaring. Detached from the plight of your lesser.”

The thing with soul perception is that when someone is being honest, it’s easy to tell. Deza is perfectly open. She does care. And here comes the disarming smile again. 

“I’m here because I can’t let go of the plight of the people of this station, who are not my ‘lessers’. Grimy’s lucky you were here to extract the truth out of him the easy way.”

Silence cleaves the moment between us while we get into the station. Commuters step away from us.

“Shall we visit the Vindrius?” Deza asks after a while.

I take the olive branch, not least because Deza didn’t actually do anything bad. There is an argument to be made about offering unrequested feedback. I can also make the argument on making sure your partner’s not letting his emotions rule his behavior, so I’m feeling pretty conflicted right now. It’s fine. I’m sure I’ll get the chance to pick up plenty more trauma before this is all over.

“I don’t have much hope for the Vindrius, but we can see where it all started.”

I wonder what secrets dear Egun left behind.