The 108 Chapter 45: The Roots of Evil (Patreon)

We first take a normal train back to a station, then we board a half-deserted, clunky work wagon towards the Shallow Depths. This one was clearly designed not to transport people: it’s a bit of a rough ride, but the few laborers sharing our compartment don’t seem to mind. We soon arrive at the edge of a massive district covered in layered greenhouses as far as the eye can see. A myriad of workers attend the titanic facility, checking control panels or carrying heavy bags. The air is wet, with a heavy stench of manure that doesn’t quite shock me. They’re growing things here so, obviously it would stink of the most widely available fertilizer on a space station. 

“The smell reminds you of home?” Deza asks me with a sideway glance.

I realize I’ve been staring and possibly scrunching my nose, distracted by one more impressive sight. I roll my eyes. 

“I’m mostly a city boy, but I’ve been to dairy farms before. What about you?”

“Enderlith born and raised!”

I stop before I can make a joke about cops and immigrants. Seeing that I killed the conversation, Deza leads me to a side passage, a guard inputting a code into a nearby gate as we watch. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot about that. I should add actual codes to my soul book so I don’t have to crack every door I come across.

We enter the wild part of the Shallow Depths. The nearby districts are considerably smaller, and weirdly shaped as if around some massive, buried object we can’t quite reach. Even though it’s supposed to be the afternoon, the light here is dimmed, kept at minimum capability since the place is mostly deserted. We follow a path cleared of dust for only about twenty minutes across narrow corridors before a branch leads us to yet another sealed gate. This one has signs of activity: it is clean and decorated with a few colorful symbols clearly hammered or glued to its side. The sigil presented reminds me of the great Patrician houses I sometimes came across in the Garden. Currently, three people stand before the blockade. I only feel two souls. My mind immediately goes to the aberrant in the deserted ship, but before haunting memories can jump my abused psyche, I recognize the third as one of the flesh golems maintaining the station. The other two gesticulate at it, their voices carrying over the deserted avenue.

“There has to be a way in!”

They turn with alarm when we approach, souls sliding into panic before reasserting control. The two humans wear the earth-colored garb of Nature laborers with large bags slung over their narrow shoulders. I would have been concerned about mugging if they were not second awakening.

“Oh, hey, maybe you can help us reason with that frumpy root vegetable.”

“And you are?” Deza asks, a hint of dark amusement in her voice.

“Landri, merchant,” the shorter man declares.

He bows sharply.

“At your service!”

He bumps the taller one at the back of the head, who soon follows suit. Deza rests her fists on her waist.

“Is that so?”

They’re fucking lying. Their souls quaver with fear. I send a vague impression to Deza, but her soul returns the equivalent of dramatically rolled eyeballs. She wasn’t born yesterday. To my surprise, the flesh golem speaks next.

“As I told your companions, the decision to open, close, or seal passages are left at the discretion of the nearest locally recognized authority, in this instance…”

His mechanical voice modulates into the smooth barytone of an old man speaking in impeccable Kei-Sah.

“The Vindrius Family.”

The change gives me whiplash. The flesh golem trudges on, uncaring.

“I am not authorized to surrender codes to the dwellings of citizens in good standing.”

“Come on, it’s an emergency. What if they need help?” Landri asks with a crooked smile.

“Yeah, uh, it’s… force majeure,” his tall companion adds, using an Enderlithian  legal term.

Deza turns to me. Her soul nudges me, leaving me the lead here.

“So you’re merchants?” I ask.

“Yeah!” the tall one replies.

“We are!”

“Come here because…”

“Because we heard the Vindrius had —” the taller man adds before his companion elbows him hard.

“We heard rumors our good friends haven’t been seen in a while, and we merely wanted to check on them. We do business with the Vindrius’. Their pure water is recognized far and wide!”

“Yeah! Respectable folks, those Vindriuses,” the tall one concludes.

“And you brought those empty bags with you. Forgot the emergency kit, did you?” I ask.

The tall one freezes but Landri takes it in stride.

“We left supplies a bit behind. The bags are just to carry the wounded, yeah?”

I let part of my bubbling hatred bleed through my soul. It’s easy, there is plenty to go around today. The pair of would-be looters pale.

“Ah, I was just thinking I should notify Nature’s people about it. Looks like an emergency!” Landri babbles.

I’ve wasted enough time on those idiots. They freeze in their tracks after just a glare, then I return my attention to the golem.

“Am I to understand the gate is locked by order of the Vindrius family themselves?”

“Either one of their members, or someone they entrusted with the code,” the golem replies in a surprisingly pleasant mechanical voice. 

It sounds slightly different from other golems I’ve met. They probably vary the voices around since their appearances are so similar. Just for the sake of variety.

Or maybe I’m reading too much into this.

“Would you be compelled to react if I use a Song Key to unlock this gate?”

“There are no instructions that would compel me to report this to relevant authorities. Additionally, there are no nearby authorities overriding ‘The Vindrius Family’. Additionally, Law’s Temple would potentially override said authority,” the golem recites, turning to Deza.

“Ok, good.”

“Happy to help, citizen,” the soulless construct recites with a smile.

God, it’s like talking to an answering machine. With practiced ease, I open the control panel and listen to the music. Or try to.

“What are you doing?” Landri said, voice brimming with excitement.

“Shut the fuck up,” I reply with an equally genial voice. “Interrupt me one more time and I’ll meld your lying mouth shut.”

“Ok, ok. Founder’s balls!”

Now where were we? Ah yes, a nice melody in E major. Very catchy. Super simple encryption, like most of the surface-level facilities. I get the gate open on a courtyard bathed in emergency yellow lights, and the pile of corpses, feces, and congealed blood enthroned in the middle like some totem to evil incarnate. The stench is atrocious, forcing the other three to gag while I quietly tune down my poor olfactory receptors. 

There are now two souls directly behind me. I twist around with my staff out. 

Deza, puzzled. A withered potato, placid. Only one soul. Did I imagine it? Two more souls, fleeing. Landri and his companions are making a run for it, but I morph my arms into their warform versions to grab them by the collars. 

“Not so fast, lads. How about you check on your dear Vindrius —”

“Steve.”

Deza’s word is like a cold shower. I let the looters go. They leg it, and are gone in seconds.

“Aren’t they criminals?” I ask after a little while. “Caught red-handed, so to speak.”

“A judge would agree after a short interrogation, I’m sure, but that matters little right now. We must learn everything we can in this loop so you don’t need to return,” Deza says  in a calming voice. “We could arrest them. Even kill them. What would that bring us? Nothing.”

I almost say: satisfaction, but Deza is right. I need to focus. We’re here for Malice. Everything else is a distraction.

“Ok,” I say, while she wraps a facemask around her mouth and nose. “Oh, I see you came prepared.”

“Not my first charnel pit, if you believe it.”

I shrug.

“Who knows what’s normal on this station. Anyway, you want to… call it in?”

Deza gives me a puzzled look.

“It’s just us two, Steve. We are it.”

I shrug and scan the estate for souls, but find nothing. Inside, the lights come from small mana constructs used by working crews rather than ceiling lights. A promenade around the central courtyard shows dying vines and a solid attempt at elegant architecture, with sea-inspired mosaics of vivid blue stone, and various versions of a cerulean heraldry that may be a pipe or a bird. I remember seeing some near the gate. This is a small ‘district’ turned into a personalized manor.

“Unified, handmade architecture,” I comment.

“Ever been to a patrician domain?” Deza asks, inspecting the pile of corpses and the bloody footmarks.

“Can’t say I have.”

“It looks like this except bigger, cleaner, and more pretentious.”

I shrug, though Deza’s back is turned.

“And with fewer bodies I imagine,” I reply as nonchalantly as I can manage.

“That depends on the season,” Deza mutters.

She’s being literal. After a while and finding no immediate traps, spells, or creatures, I join Deza next to the pile.

“Records mention around two dozen family numbers and a bit fewer than that in staff. I will say this is most of the Vindrius family. And the patriarch is there,” she says, pointing to a corner of the courtyard.

I notice a hunched form strapped to a metal pillar, a man with gray hair and an elaborate blue robe. His throat has been torn off.

“He was the last to die,” she says.

“How do you reckon?”

“Look at the footprints.”

It’s amazing how calm we are considering I want to leave this place. I’ve seen worse on Obis but… barely. And it’s been a while. There are indeed bloody footprints leading to the man, the same set as far as I can tell while wide trails lead deeper into the estate, the blood so thick I struggle to find tracks at first. A more thorough inspection shows the same narrow, elegant set coming and going. Most of the corpses must have been killed away, then brought here. 

“That’s the patriarch,” I realize, pointing to the bound man. “Malice restrained him, then he brought all the bodies here, making a pile. The footprints imply Egun came closer several times.”

“To taunt him,” Deza says with certainty.

“Yeah. Then Egun killed him, sealed the estate, and left.”

“He even wiped his feet at the entrance,” Deza notes. “I noticed more footsteps going to the gate, but they all run away afterward. I think he sealed the place and then methodically emptied it.”

I glance at the pile of corpses, noticing the family resemblance and similar blue outfit in many of them. Women, children, cooks, servants, Malice spared no one. The wounds are familiar: the result of that pinch-and-peel approach Egun favors. None of those would have been immediately lethal, I realize. I don’t need a leftover soul imprint to imagine the scene: awakened bodies disabled but struggling to survive, to heal as the moaning pile of dying relatives quiver and struggle, each new body burying the previous ones deeper. The strong would have fought and failed first, only to be drowned under the blood of their loved ones. I shiver.

Ok, focus.

“I don’t think we will learn something useful here,” I finally say.

“Don’t be so sure,” Deza says. She gives me a glance, then reconsiders. “Perhaps we can revisit it later. Let’s go inside.”

What follows is a depressing walk through the interrupted life of the Vindrius family. Food burnt to a crisp in the abandoned ovens. Flowers wilted in their pots. There are toys and homework books still open as silent witnesses to the brutally interrupted life, and everywhere, those splashes of darkened blood where Egun found and dragged a new victim. We find the first unusual ‘clue’ in one of the larger downstairs bedrooms, one more luxurious than the rest.

“This is where the heir would sleep,” Deza says. “In the left corner of the estate while the patriarch would sleep above and on the other side. It’s an old patrician custom originally meant to prevent an invader from executing the entire dynasty in one fell attack,” Deza says.

“It didn’t work here,” I mumble.

“The downfall of a clan often comes from familiar hands,” she replies. It sounds like a quote. 

She sighs. I resist the urge to do so. There is a young woman resting on the bed. It’s hard to tell from the blood clogging her nightgown, but I think Egun really took his time here.

“He might have started with her,” Deza says. “Her jaw’s broken. And look at that pillow,” she says, pointing at a fiercely stained sack. “I think he muffled her.”

“Ok… Sounds, uh, personal.”

“I would think so,” she agrees. “Let’s go find the family records.”

Despite her words, Deza methodically inspects the place though it’s mostly the same tale repeated at nauseam: vain attempts at hiding, vain attempts at fighting, vain attempts at escaping with the same predictable result. The archives are sealed but we find the untouched key in the pocket of the patriarch’s ravaged robes. There is more valuable information here than I expected, all in Egun’s file, which he neglected to destroy. He probably thought it wouldn’t matter, and it almost doesn’t. There are so many redacted lines it’s like I’m watching a government agency investigate itself. Deza still reads it like she can pierce through the added ink, which, she might be.

“Animal cruelty. Tortured nephew. Suspicious death of Abel Vindrius. Founder…”

“So it’s not a recent change.”

“No. Maiming of Sitel, servant… what a list. And every time, the punishments shown are… secluded meditation. Banishment for a week…”

She shakes her head.

“He was eventually deprived of Heir status,” she notes, browsing the thick file.

I don’t need her explanation to guess what happened. Psychopathic child never severely punished for his transgressions, which would have encouraged him until…

I close my eyes, remembering the scene outside.

“Hmm, strange,” Deza says. “It says there he’s third awakening? But you said he’s fourth. The file was updated two weeks ago… Maybe he had a breakthrough.”

“No. He’s stronger than a newly fledged fourth. Even ascending wouldn’t explain his current level. I have a theory.”

She puts the file back into the drawer.

“Let’s hear it?”

“Malice has a power that makes him stronger the more atrocities he commits.”

It also ties into the bomb plot. I remember that Chaos and Malice are always hunted on sight. It doesn’t take a genius to guess that a string of horrible exactions would get the attention of law-aligned avatars, leading to a manhunt before Malice can properly power up. But if he were to kill half of the station’s leadership in one fell swoop… He would suddenly become virtually unstoppable. Even Space might struggle against him, and Egun also has this deceivingly agreeable personality. He’s also proved he can work in a group…he might be one of the very few viable Archons of MaliceMalevolence… 

But someone blows him up before he gets the chance.

“Anything on the bomb, or the cistern?” 

“Not that I can see. I could read more, but I want to see Egun’s room first.”

“I don’t” I grumble.

But we do find it. Strangely, it’s the only place in the entire estate that remains disturbingly untouched. Besides the dying vines deprived of light and water, the room couldn’t be more ordinary for a young, mildly disorganized adult. No people skin lampshade. No ominous tome whispering dark secrets. No portals into the deepest circles of hell or anything. It’s just… a room. Only the ashes of burnt documents on the tidy desk hint that something unusual might have happened here.

“It’s… a map,” Deza says.

All I can see are unmarred corners criss-crossed by haphazard lines.

“I saw that same format in the archives.”

“No wonder a family involved in water trade would know where cisterns are located,” I observe.

So that’s how Egun found his lair. He picked up supplies in a familiar district, and recruits… somewhere else. I would need to interrogate his accomplices to know more. In fact, Pain might be agreeable…

“Any hint on where he finds the soul bomb?”

“No, but we can keep looking.”

And we do so, for hours through the stench and the haunting shadow of death. I dismantle every piece of furniture in his room while Deza peruses the archives, but except for incident reports exposing the vile nature of dear Egun, we don’t find anything. There isn’t a scrap of evidence showing where he even finds that thing. Nothing. After a full night of searches, we call it off.

“Not what I was hoping to find,” I tell Deza while we return to the courtyard.

“You can only accumulate fragments of truth. Sometimes, they coalesce into a perfect painting,” Deza tells me with a smile of encouragement.

We’re almost past the gate when I turn to her.

“When do you think this happens?” I ask. “The massacre, I mean.”

“From the stench and the way the flesh sloughs off I’d say a week, though the lack of flies and the likes on Enderlith makes it hard to guess for sure. I believe it must happen almost immediately upon Egun’s selection and the start of the Year of Judgment.”

I nod. It means I can’t come here and intercept that bastard while he’s still a relatively manageable third awakening. At least, not yet, but I get the feeling that the knowledge of where avatars start the loop might be important later.

“Alright. I’ll get us another lead… next time,” I say. “If I fail again.”

When we return to the Needles, Deza’s mother informs her that Namun was involved in another accident.

***

Deza’s apartment is perhaps the most familiar spot I’ve ever been to. The three bedrooms affair certainly bears the stone and plant architecture typical of the Needles, and the weird electronics, and the mana tools, and the furniture made of metal and a plethora of other Enderlith-specific things but I recognize the human touch in the gym trophies and half-folded laundry and all the knick-knacks a loving family accumulates over the years. A framed picture shows a powerfully built man with skin as dark as coal holding Deza in a half hug, her smile absolutely pure. A tablet with half-finished homework lies discarded on the table alongside a dirty bowl and, somehow, a clean sock. A fussy woman who looks like Deza’s older sister welcomes us in just as an earthen pot bubbles on the fire. This is Deza’s mother and thanks to awakening, they will share the same timeless grace most Enderlithians have before age finally catches up.

“I’m sorry, child,” the mother apologies. 

“Not your fault, mama. You said it happened at school?”

“During a spar. Someone broke the haft of their weapon, if you can imagine. Oh, I worry so much about the child. What if he’s scared of battle, now? Leo will never forgive me.”

“Leo will understand because he has been to school as well, yes? Mother, please calm down.”

Deza’s mother shakes her head.

“And who is your guest? You should have told me, my daughter. What if there is not enough tajin?”

“When is there not enough tajin, mom?” Deza replies, rolling her eyes.

It’s not exactly tajin. They call it ‘kapra’, but the earthen pot with the telltale cone is close enough to the Moroccan classic that I associate both. Fuck, I miss Earth cuisine sometimes.

To be fair to Deza, it’s indeed a big pot.

“And who might you be? Call me Denu.”

“Steve Prentiss, Fleschcrafter apprentice,” I greet with a proper bow.

“A guilder! And a polite one too. Come, come, are you here for Namun?” 

“Yes.”

“Right this way. Namun! Are you presentable!”

“Why?” a voice came from a half-closed room.

“The doctor is here!”

“What?”

Namun’s room is small but highly personalized. He’s also the person who left a clean sock on the living room table because its twin currently rests on the floor, but otherwise the place is clean. Ish. I didn’t get a good look at him the first time but he recognizes me from the shock on his face. I don’t know how growing up works on Enderlith — most of the population lands between ‘young adult’ and ‘mature’ — but if it were Earth, I’d say he is somewhere around twelve, a bit soft, with a head that looks slightly too large for his body. He doesn’t have yet the gangly awkwardness of a teenager. The sharp intensity of his parents will emerge in a few years, but for now he really is just a kid.

“Hey there,” I greet.

“You saved me! I mean, good evening sir.”

Deza hugs him, fussing over his trampled pride while I take a look at the wound. Namun was hit in the calf and it looks like it might have been bad. The inflammation is quite intense, but whoever took care of him did a great job stitching him up.

“Your doctor had a life affinity, correct?” I ask.

“Nurse Seam? Hmm, yeah. I think?”

“She did a great job. Let me just finish things here.”

I touch his leg, sending my perception forward. As expected, he must have been hit by a sharp metal object, in the back. I’d say a dropped axe or something.

“It was an accident! Flemik said he was sorry,” Namun reassures his mother.

The nurse cleaned and closed the wound with life mana, linking everything properly and boosting his healing. Without my help, he would have recovered in under a week with very minor scarring. I just finish the merging, allow the organic stitches to meld into the skin, and reabsorb the swelling. He’s good as new.

“It tickles,” Namun says.

“All done.”

Deza turns, her eyes wide in disbelief. 

“What?”

“Seriously?” Namun exclaims, cautiously testing his leg. “Wow.”

I let a hint of smug pride taint my heart. Life mana is great for large numbers of people. For precision, flesh is best. 

“Dinner’s ready!” Denu says from the door. “Wow.”

Maybe just a bit more pride. I worked for it.

***

The local version of the tajin isn’t what I expected since the spices are different, but it’s braised meat lovingly cooked over hours and so it tastes absolutely fantastic, as expected. Deza delights the other two with tales of the strange tube village, the recycling facility, and Nature’s fields. There are no mentions of horrible murders. Instead, she made our brief trip through the shallow depths much more exciting than it was. It works on Namun, but Deza’s mom feels that something is wrong. The older woman is a strong second awakening with a peaceful aura I find relaxing. A part of me screams that we’re wasting time, and yet, I can’t find it in me to interrupt the scene in front of me. I am a thirsty traveler seeing a fountain through thick glass. In a way. 

Deza walks me to the station afterward. I am trying to find a way to broach the anomaly of Namun’s repeated wounds. She breaks the silence first.

“So, at the risk of insisting…”

“Hmm?”

“I’m a little worried about you, Steve.”

I blink. I thought everything went well so far?

“Is this about our previous discussion?” I ask after a delay.

We stop in front of the station’s entrance. Only a handful of travelers emerge from the gates, wary from work. 

“Yes.”

“Is this why you insisted I stayed?” I ask, suddenly realizing she wasn’t just being polite.

“Yes,” she freely admits. “I wanted you to see the happiness you created this time. This moment wouldn’t have been possible without you, and it will be lost. Only you will remember it. But it matters, I think, for when you return to it. I don’t just mean for the bomb, but everything that happens after. Look, I think… I can’t tell you what to do, and I cannot pretend that I understand what you’re going through. All those deaths, time after time… it must take a toll. I know it does. I just don’t know how heavy. What I’m trying to say is that you are slamming yourself against the wall, and when you finally go through…”

“But I have to go through,” I insist.

Deza sighs. She crosses her arm in a way that feels protective more than closed off. A hint of worry seeps through her barriers.

“Sure. Just… please remember that the only thing that doesn’t recover at the beginning of the loop is, well, you. I don’t doubt you’ll succeed. I’m just worried about the cost. For you. As you said before, this is the beginning of the game. If you burn yourself out to a husk now, the rest of it will be hard. You need to look after yourself.”

“I can’t really be mentally destroyed. I will always recover. Let’s just say I have a very resilient soul,” I tell her.

“We both know there are more ways to destroy someone than just turning them catatonic, Steve.”

“Ok, fine. I… I can’t stop until the bomb is out. First, I deal with the immediate emergency, and then I take some time for myself. But… you’re right. I think. This is a marathon, not a sprint. I won’t forget.”

“Good!”

She pats my shoulder.

“Ugh, if my husband were here, he’d have a better way to cheer you up. He’s really good at that. He would, I don’t know, spar, or whatever you men do to cheer each other out.”

“Strippers?”

Deza shakes her head, and she’s right because it was a shit joke but it’s been a long game.

“Don’t deflect with crass humor. It is unworthy of you, oh mighty avatar,” Deza says, not unkindly.

“Yes, minion, you’re correct. Uh, I’m going now. Don’t worry, I’m not alone. Kimera is here for me.”

“Aha! I knew you two were an item. You blush every time you mention her.”

“I do not,” I say, eyes narrowing. As if I would lose control of my body to that extent. 

Deza chuckles. After a few seconds, her expression grows more serious.

“Are you going to try again?”

“Yes. We’re already late.”

She steels herself, jaw setting in a disturbingly familiar expression.

“Alright. I’m coming with you.”

“We’re going to die,” I tell her.

But Deza only nods.

“I know. But if you die, my existence stops anyway. Promise you’ll save Namun every time?”

Dammit it’s like another Kimera.

“You have my word.”

***

A burst of haste lets me reposition when Malice surges from the shadow of a pillar. I switch to short form. My staff batters the avatar, each hit of the brawler warform’s monstrous power cracking fourth awakening ribs. He manages to grab the staff, which whines under his absurd strength. The Uran Defense Technique accounts for that. I push forward, slamming him against the stone. The column of ancient rock cracks under our assault. It falls. Gravel and shards explode outward, showering the both of us but Malice manages to twist around to escape, a thrown rock hitting my main eye. His grating laugh echoes in the empty cistern as he staggers to his feet. I swallow my rush of grim triumph, rage, and the desire to smash his fucking teeth in. His left arm lies broken and bent. I charge in. 

With a demented grin and eyes as pure as a winter morning, Malice rips it off. I bat the thrown limb away. A massive blade of burning darkness erupts from the mangled stump. Second burst of haste. I deflect the blade with my staff, acid blood splashing on my right arm. The return swing catches Malice in the temple as his reflexes forgot he was short a hand. His cackle breaks into a sob.

“No no no no no no! Why? How?”

I let the seething tissue slough off my form, reforming it rather than trying to fight off the corruption his blood brings. His mask breaks into snot-covered horror. The face of a coward who doesn’t know how to lose.

“You know. You know everything! Who told you? Was it her? Or did the old man babble?”

What?

He tries to escape. Before I can react, he jumps backwards towards a shadow, but he never makes it. Kimera unfolds from a hidden recess like a mantis. He blade slashes through Egun’s calves. She discards the hissing body part a second later. It is enough for me to grab the hobbled avatar. My brawler fingers squirm under the assault of his tainted blood, but I maintain control.

Egun coughs and laughs at the same time, his previous fear forgotten. His soul loses its smoky quality. It opens to show what is inside: irredeemable, selfish, petty hatred and spite and cruelty and all the very worst humanity has to offer. There is not a smidgen of good in this dark tapestry of vices. His pale blue eyes find mine.

“You’re dead,” he giggles.

“Once again, yes.”

I tear him apart. The black blood crystallizes to bite into my arm briefly, but then the magic fails with the death of its owner. Pieces of him fall on the ground in wet chunks. My transformed hands are soaked in blood to the wrist, the thick liquid quivering with leftover mana. So dark…

I look to the side, and the balustrade overlooking the bomb. The fight is over, therefore I feel safe reverting to my augmented form and wincing. The trapped soul stirs as Kimera and I jump over the railing and down to the bomb’s platform. Lex-Nex scrambles over the control panel, but I can already tell it will all be in vain. We distracted Egun. Krane successfully covered Lex-Nex while the diminutive winged man defused the bomb. Everything was going well, but we were caught off guard once again. 

Egun knew he couldn’t get to Lex-Nex through Krane, so he improvised. Pain’s avatar lies crushed over the outer shell’s ridges, her spine shattered, eyes glazed where Egun threw her after Deza restrained her. The living embodiment of agony’s screams were enough to break the captive soul’s stasis. I guess I won’t be interrogating her this time.

Victory slipped between my fingers, almost at the last moment. I even managed to stop Malice from activating the teleporter so I could kill him myself this time. He was acting out of spite to the last moment. If it were a plain contest of strength, it would already be over. I am stronger than him. Even with the power of evil and an awakening over me, I’m still superior. I have better speed, technique, strength… Everything. Enough to even prevent him from fleeing.

He’s just a dick. And now the bomb will go off. 

Oh my God why is this so fucking hard? Who the fuck did they shove in that bomb that they’d be so damn furious? And why, oh why, can’t I stop it? Why? Ok, I think I know. It’s the shadow walking that he does. If he gets close to the bomb at all, we lose. I need to find a way to track him down, intercept him on the spot. Yeah. I know who can teach me. 

Fuck it, another long year it is. I need a break anyway. I’m so fed up with all of this bullshit. Lex-Nex panics over the panel while the rest of the team move around like headless chickens. What a waste of time. What a waste of my fucking time. Days of moving through paths I know by heart, listening to songs I’ve heard so many times before just for five minutes of disappointment. It’s worse than dating. Why is this so bloody hard? 

“Steve.”

Krane places a paternal hand over my shoulder, but he withdraws it after a glance. 

“We will succeed,” he tells me with absolute faith in us.

“I agree.”

It’s just going to grind me to the fucking nub.

“Do you have a plan for next time?” he asks.

“Train with a Garden’s spy so I can track down this shadow-jumping twat. Shouldn’t you be updating your notebook?”

“I have learned nothing new,” he says. 

“Yeah.”

Deza isn’t updating hers either. Kimera huddles wordlessly against me.

“Yeah. Same,” I say after a while.

I’m exaggerating. I have learned a lot, of course. It's just… very incremental progress. Speaking of.

“How come you’re getting stronger?” I ask him. “You were never bad, mind you, but it’s like you’re powering up. You used to struggle against Malice, and now I see you fight him off without wounds. Is it a Redemption thing?”

Krane smiles, his withered face suddenly playful. He passes a scarred hand over his broken horn.

“Yes,” he says, voice almost sheepish.

“What?”

“Yes. I assumed I’d told you before, but I must have saved it for a better occasion. Yes, I’m getting stronger. The more of a difference I make, the stronger I become.”

“But…”

“That’s why I asked you to always involve me. Every time I help you, and you get stronger, it improves the station’s chances which, in turn, carries over to the next loop. Because the experience and strength you gained were partially thanks to me, I can claim credit. That’s how I know I must follow you. You already have Redemption’s favor.”

He waggles his brow.

“Sorry for latching myself to your saddle, friend.”

“No that’s… extraordinarily helpful.”

Krane’s power scales with mine so long as I let him help me? That’s incredible.

“I know.”

He pats my shoulder again and, this time, I let him.

“You’re not alone, Steve. Two of the 108 have your back.”

There is entropy as well, so that’s 3. The majority is surely not far behind.

“Thank you, First Minion. This is much appreciated.”

I go through Egun’s personal effects while Lex-Nex panics, but that remorseless asshole doesn’t even keep an evil journal. I don’t think he will allow himself to be interrogated either. He mentioned an old man and ‘her’. Was it perhaps related to how he finds the bomb? Or someone set him up to do it? I guess there is still more to discover.

And while I flip his bed, the bomb explodes.

Death count: 14

Loss count: 6

Qualia points acquired: 

New total available: 800

Successfully identified a major avatar’s powerset. 50

Developed countermeasures. 50

Defeated him in direct combat. 400