A Simple Transaction I

Rihaku said:

They traveled by means of the Armament, himself and Gisena either riding in the cockpit or perched somewhere atop its towering shoulders. The going was slow, the way uncertain, and Letrizia frequently had to adjust their route to account for distortions of space. There was no science in Verschlengorge's perusal of the Voyaging Realm, only instinct, which its pilot could only vaguely feel. And yet it was a pleasant enough journey, when they were not beset by monsters from outside realms. They rarely encountered ill weather, and could shelter under Verschlengorge until rain or oppressive shine had passed.

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REALLY strong EVA vibes here, I swear.

Rihaku said:

One meandering day, they forded a river, titanic machine wading through the glimmering murk of the rapids that raged and frothed about its shins. Gisena sat on the Armament's shoulder, bare feet dangling merrily off the side, exulting in the occasional dash or spray of water that reached them at this height.

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*insert Imperia flashback here

Rihaku said:

Legs folded meditatively, he scanned the horizon, alert to threats. Here, their mobility was impaired until they crossed the river. Unstable footing would give any enemy a superb opportunity to attack-

Deftly his hand reached out, catching Gisena's thrown slipper before it struck him. It was a flimsy thing of lace the color of her hair; likely a fortune to find dyes of that color. Could he ransom it?

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Yes Gisena, we only want you for your shoes

Sadly the value of dyes goes down a lot with the advance of the tech level I expect.

Rihaku said:

"Come join me!" She called, waving him over. "Live a little!"

He walked over, bearing casual to mask vengeful intent: set on extracting his pound of flesh, or at least on depriving her of any further ammunition.

As he approached, she made to pull him alongside her with a light gesture, but exerted unusual intensity, her eyes alert.

He leaned forward on one knee, bringing him level with her.

"You sensed something?" He whispered, keeping an aggrieved scowl on his face.

"Mhm!" She responded cheerfully, eyes flickering for a moment to a point on the horizon. "Thanks ever so much for bringing my shoe back, hun! I'd be absolutely beside myself if I lost it!"

"How many of these do you even have?" he asked.

"Right now? Just the one."

"Hmph."

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...Well, not that I needed any other proof that Gisena IS competent, but I'm a bit surprised by just how naturally she manages to warn us.

Rihaku said:

He dropped the slipper and drew the Forebear's Blade, dashing up and across the Armament's enormous shoulders to reach its one o'clock position, where an Astral Rift was halfway through the process of opening. It looked exactly as he'd imagined, a jagged tear in the fabric of reality exposing void beyond. Within that darkness fluxed seams of color like starlight, lacing up and around each other, busily spirited as if embroidering the edges of the world.

He cut down the first creature that emerged, a ghastly thing of needles and claws, and behind him was a surge of Gisena's power as she unleashed a Tide of Nullity in the opposite direction, reknitting the smaller apertures in reality's weave, preventing them from being flanked.

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Well, we have confirmation of these Astral Tears being considered as magical as far as Gisena's powers are concerned.

Good to know

Rihaku said:

The next creature was a shelled variant, his blade deflecting off its armor, but a quick strike with the pommel pulverized its guard, its torso cratered as he kicked it off the side. Verschlengorge's leftmost head snapped languidly in its direction, and the creature perished with a gruesome crunch.

"My lord, Miss Gisena, we've got incoming!" Letrizia announced, voice tinged with urgency. They felt the Armament shift beneath them, adopting a lower, heavier stance.

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ah, Apocryphal Curse. So nice of you to send us level-appropriate enemies!

I'll probably change my tune the first time you send us something that completely outmatches us I expect.

Rihaku said:

"We're handling it," He shouted back, but she merely pointed forward with the giant's hand, showing a galleon moored on the far bank. There was a ballista mounted atop its prow, bolts gleaming like the noontime sun. As they watched, the ship unmoored and advanced towards them, unfurling a flag of blackest pitch. Its oars moved ceaselessly through the churning rapids, steady as if impervious to the tide.

As Verschlengorge had adopted a hunched position, the emerging Astral beasts now rained down on them from above.

"Perfect timing," he groaned, flipping his sword around. But this was not really a surprise. May you live in interesting times.

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For a moment I forgot we were near a river, and was wondering if this was some kind of flying ship.

I wonder though, in a world so confusing and maze-like, would simply following the river actually lead you somewhere, or would you somehow find yourself going in circles?

Rihaku said:

Pirates. And awfully confident, to approach as obviously large and well-protected a target as this. He and Gisena combined could address either of the threats easily, but their strength apart was not so great. The ship was obviously magical, but its crew might not be, so Nullity's power would be better served against the Astral beasts, who her bolts would at least stun.

"Gisena! Focus on the beasts and the Rift! I'll deal with the pirates."

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And yet if the ship was magical maybe removing that magic would lead to it breaking down. It kinda depends about just how much the ship relies on magic for its structural integrity.

Rihaku said:

As he spoke, the ship continued to approach, gaining with impetuous speed. A set of powerfully launched grappling hooks shot out from the shadowy figures on its deck, latching onto pits, gouges, and crevices in Verschlengorge's armor. As presumptive boarders began making their way up the ropes, he ran down, severing one on his way, and tucked the Forebear's Blade between his teeth as he grabbed another. With his open hand he rode the rope down, the friction sting of passage burning through his gauntlet, and leapt to land heavily on the deck, ruinous force splintering the site of impact. The ship unbalanced, heaving as if roiled.

No time for games. He released the Blade from his mouth and caught it with his now-free hand, then turned and sent an arc of blade-wind through the grappling ropes, severing them at once. Pirates rushed at him, men in hauberks of dark plate wreathed in shadow, but he launched a second cleaving strike down into the ship itself, carving a great abscess in the hull to impede their movement.

Ignoring them, he turned to the ballista and began to saw away at the string of its bow. It was curiously resilient, thread the color of gold that bounced sprightily away from the edge of his sword, but he pinned it in place with a foot and it yielded swiftly enough.

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...did these pirates actually try to swarm a giant robot?

Damn, they have guts.

Brave, but stupid. I suppose an Armament is a big enough prize that greed won over caution.

They won't live to regret this mistake.

Rihaku said:

By the time he had carved his way through, a number of pirates had crossed the gap. He grabbed a group of ballista bolts and hurled them, catching two in the stomach; they groaned piteously when skewered, golden lightning discharging through their forms. His work done, he kicked the remaining bolts overboard and dropped down the side of the ship, breaking his fall by jamming his blade into its hull, and made his way over to the earlier cut. A few dozen blows and he could split the ship in twain; such was the power of ruin embedded within the Forebear's Blade.

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...soooo... can we call them lightning bolts?

Rihaku said:

He spared a glance for Gisena. Armed with Letrizia's sidearm she was holding her own against the nullified beasts, and Verschlengorge did its best to sweep the largest creatures aside. But focused on immediate battle she couldn't spare the attention to close the largest Rift, and they could well be overwhelmed in time.

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...you know, if we manage to deal with the pirates quickly enough wouldn't it be nice to simply stay there at the rift, and continue fighting right up to the point we're exhausted? At that point Gisena can close it.

I mean, Hunger NEEDS his daily grind to grow big and strong

Of course our companions might have something to say about that, though Gisena's abilities DO give us some level of control over the respawn rate..

Actually, how would one deal with the rifts without her? Would we simply have to wait until all minions are dead, or would it continue basically forever until our escape?

Maybe there's a boss beyond the rift you need to kill to stop them?

Rihaku said:

He hoisted himself back up to ship's deck, snatching a grappling hook from the corpse of a crewman, when he was intercepted by a foreboding figure armored in black. This was no hauberk but full plate, heavy enough to leave impressions in the wood where it tread. Darkness billowed in vast, eerie plumes from that armor, spilling upwards in streamers: the night sky's incursion against sun and blue.

In its left hand was a shield, in its right a great curving blade, alive with dark-violet flame.

As the Tyrant's had been, the day he became a widower.

Interesting times indeed. He felt his gorge begin to rise. With an effort of will he held himself back, but the instant he loosed the world would narrow into a single, inescapable dot of red.

The figure spoke, confident but wary. "Halt, friend. A... misunderstanding. Clearly we mistook you for something else! Parlay?"

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..yeah, not likely. I remember them being massacred. It's more or less the end of my foreknowledge, other than for knowing about the robot being powered by the Decimator's Affliction.

Also really, if you attack first, while they're already under attack from monsters, you can't really expect much in the way of mercy.

I AM admittedly a bit curious about them, but the most likely explanation is the simplest one. THey're pirates, and they wanted the robot because they know just how much it's worth.

Also we need the exp.

...that was pretty heartless. Did Hunger effect me through the fourth wall?!

Rihaku said:

[ ] No Quarter - A worthy foe, with the semblance of such a familiar weapon. The ring hungers, as does your blade. You are not a pirate, to respect such customs as parlay. Yours is the Tyrant's Doom, and the sentence for brigandry is death.

Spill his blood and let the ring feast. Let it gorge itself until sated, and you may sate the Decimator's Hunger as well, for a time.

*Combat tactics will be useful. This is no trivial opponent.
*Though you are favored to win, taking severe damage will weaken your prospects for the rest of the trip, as you currently lack magical healing.
*Might help resolve some of the hero's trauma if he prevails, on top of a bounty of power and potential mitigation.

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...you know, beyond the personal rewards (exp, loot), this is in many ways the most MORAL choice. After all it's the life of a pirate, likely a killer of many, in exchange for mitigation for the Decimator, which means we'll be causing a LOT less death and lifesteal for as long as his life can sate our Hunger.

And really, if we avoid a fight we KNOW we can win we won't be ready for the TRULY bad stuff the Curse will bring to us!

Rihaku said:

[ ] Prudence Dictates - You care nothing for his customs, but prudence dictates that a fight avoided is as good as won. Gisena is still under pressure from the Rift denizens and you can't afford reckless decision-making. If either of you gets hurt this mission will complicate itself quickly. Much as it galls you, it's best to let these pirates go.

*You won't have to deal with a risky and unnecessary battle.
*With your help, Gisena should be able to close the Rift shortly.
*Gain 0.5 Arete for a wise decision, but give up a valuable source of mitigation.

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Eh, they can handle it. We have faith in them!

Rihaku said:

Consolidation. Determine your long-term approach to this journey!

[ ] Unburdening - Focus on reducing the impact of your mitigation targets; the Apocryphal Curse and the Decimator's Affliction, while also getting to know your chief ally and companion better.

Speak with Gisena I, II
The Name of the Curse

*The best way you currently know of reducing the Curses most relevant to you, though there are options unexplored that might bear greater fruit in the future
*Since you took Nightmare Praetor, you find it easy to bond with Gisena in the first place, so you'll get a deeper connection out of her stage II pick
*A reasonably safe option

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Probably the best option. We don't want our Decimator to cause the death of innocent people, so stacking more mitigation on it is probably a good choice. And Gisena IS our remittance-bought companion, a good relationship with her is important.

Rihaku said:

[ ] Knowledge - Play to your relative strengths by getting Letrizia to divulge as much information as you can alongside Gisena. Build trust and rapport with your companions while trying to minimize battles.

Speak with Letrizia I, II
Speak with Gisena I

*Learn more about the polities you will eventually have to rule, likely by conquest
*Perhaps Letrizia understands something about the affinity linking you with Verschlengorge. She if anyone would know, being its pilot...
*A reasonably safe option

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On the other hand we're going to sate the Decimator with this pirate, and we have a nice source of intel right here with us. We might wish to take advantage of that.

Establishing a more trustworthy relationship now is going to pay dividends soon enough.

Rihaku said:

[ ] Power - The mech may be weak now, but who is to say it will always remain so? And diminished though it is, it still sports advanced armor and sheer mass to protect its wielder from bodily harm. Given your lack of magical healing, an ideal vessel for you to pursue strength.

Learn to Pilot
Commune with Verschlengorge
Seek Worthy Opponents

*Your enhanced intelligence should allow you to rapidly familiarize yourself with Verschlengorge's systems in any real battle
*Doesn't really play to your strengths otherwise, though you may be able to prepare more effectively against specific opponents
*Does allow you to continue advancing in combat power proactively
*Neglect your social connections in the pursuit of power. But without the power to protect, it's unwise to grow attached in the first place...
*May unlock more secrets of the mech

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well, the mech's secrets are tempting, but in a way we're actually making Letrizia redundant if we basically steal her role as mech pilot.

Also I kinda want Hunger to become stronger OUTSIDE of the robot.

Rihaku said:

[ ] Balance - Do a little of everything. Inefficient, but covers your bases.

Speak with Gisena I
Speak with Letrizia I
Errantry

*Still pretty safe
*The most popular options in one vote
*Put Letrizia at ease, tell Gisena about your Curses
*Grind Accretion Rank slowly but without overmuch risk

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I don't think we need to worry that much about grinding Accretion, especially if we kill the pirates and get a power boost from them.

I'm starting to slightly regret not taking Unshattered, can you believe that? If only we knew for certain if there ARE more magic system in this universe that we can learn...

I still stand by the idea that it's not healthy for Hunger to accept being crippled for eternity though.

Im going to have to find somewhere to hide now.



Before I go, you can pretend you are Santa Claus and give me a ride on your chariot. It will take me no more time than it takes you to get here.



I-Its my first ride, I t-est-



You can pretend you are Santa Claus and give me a ride on your chari-



Its my first ride, I t-est- Seram obediently slurred, pedalling as he traced a series of symbols along the back of his mind.



This was magic, he insisted, spinning the wheel until it was a blur of shapes and inarticulate rhythm with the shifting of time. A dozen shapes, each with its own purpose, all pointing in exactly the same direction. And then, they all turned and came together, one continuous motion.



C-Control, he insisted, even as he felt the cloth covering his hands, that his entire body were covered in it.



I-Im not... I-Im... Seram refused, struggling to keep his voice under the loud-piercing exhalation. I-Im not here to see anything, I t-think! I-Im not! I-Im! Whichever way you slice it, he managed at last, at least he was telling the truth.



Now, he began slowly, the abruptness with which he began, incongruously calling attention to his words. In mid-sentence, he began again, and slowly but surely began the arc of his statement. The words were coming from a source other than his mouth. Something that at this time, he was afraid might not even be true.



For the first time since hed met Control, he sounded just like him.



Then, he began, as if expecting nothing but good things to come of it, he continued, ignoring the pain in his legs, and proceeding as if motivated by instinct. As if expecting something very much like, though in his mind he was confident he had it all.



Seram trembled as he did. His limbs and balance were beginning to fail. His balance, concentration, was halting. He pushed onward, faster, to no avail. His heart felt like it was going to skip a beat, and then stop. It took several deep breaths before he slowed down, steadying himself again.



This was it. This was what hed wanted. Everything else was empty promises, and hed simply waiting. Everything wasnt important, and everything that mattered was waiting.



He didnt need to go that route. He couldnt go that route. He had already lost all interest in magic.



What was it about hed minding his ground that made him so nervous? He wondered if hed was being a self-promoter or something. Once he was convinced, he wouldforward his guess and allow others to guess at his whim. If it proved correct, it would allow him to test his own theories and improve his techniques. If not, he would simply have to look elsewhere.



This didnt work. It didnt work so well. Seram began to panic. He had failed so many times before. What had worked and failed again.



Nothing good came of it. He couldnt continue to worry that he was simply repeating what he already knew, and was simply repeating the same old thing again. He felt that his control over the situation was a curse of his own making. It had all been too much, too fast.



It was tiring, he mused, as he worked on his orb. progress at this pace meant nothing to him and his teacher. hourglass, hour, half a world away, he iterated over and over again. More and more, the more he went, the faster his progress was lost. It was as if he had become a prodigy of casting, where every second was spent improving, refining, and refining until nothing but the most diligent and diligent worked at all.



Eventually he stopped, contemplating for a long moment. He had surpassed what his teacher had said, and perhaps even surpassed what his teacher had said only a few years earlier. He really wanted to. And now he was focusing almost entirely on his sphere, focusing almost entirely on how to use it.



It was getting late, and he was struggling to find time to write. Seram sat down in the chair across from the orb half-completed and writing while he looked out across the room. The white-sand sea of writing paper was distracting at best, and distracting mostly to the black of the ceiling. There was too much white space, and the writing was distracting at best.



He could do better. Moreland saw that he was struggling, and began to despair. The limits of his sphere were too great. He couldnt take the easy way out. He turned around to look at the sky. The stars

"No, not the last one. It was just yesterday that his father decided to take drastic action to stop his son from ever finding the Kingspawn. He had planned for it this way for generations. His father had given him power and privileges that could not even come close to the man himself. It had all been a wild dream, a dream of heredity and ruin. But he had kept it a secret from himself. That was enough. He couldnt allow himself to be tricked.



Seram looked around. There were no broken windows, no broken bones, just regular people looking at him. A young man was standing right outside his window. A sword in his hand, he called it, glinted from the darkness like an unbroken flea.



A man? Seram asked, almost afraid he would be stifled.



Yes, he answered, smiling. You two are one in the same. We have different tastes in things. I-I just-



Then, he said, handing Seram a piece of paper, make-up artist on one side and a pen on the other, make-up artist on the other. Make-up was the best, most necessary ingredient. Seram handed the pen to the young man. Write on a scale from 0 to 10. 10 is Very Good, Very Bad. 10 is Better than Death.





B-breakfast was upon Seram. A meal that came to be defined by occasional stifling of thought, and occasional fervent prayer. Whenever he thought about it, breakfast had always been beside the point. But there had been a point, somewhere in his life, where he had failed utterly to believe in God. Something had twisted him, something had twisted him against angels. He never really understood why. Why did everything turn out the way he had? Why was everything so very very wrong?



Why did everything turn out the way he had? Because he had miscalculated.



One night, he and a group of friends were sitting around a fire.ongoing. In the center of the screen was a small circle of five people. The center of the circle was a sword, runes inscribed in all caps. The heart of the orb, a sharp, deadly scarred star. On its far edge, the letters R, A, C,... read: LE, LE, LE, LE, LE, LE, LE, LE. It read: THE LANDER THAT DAY, WITH ALL ITS INHISTENESS, RESISTANCE, AND UNDERSTANDING.



Seram kept his eyes on the orb until the very end, when he stopped looking. It was dark, and the outside was slanting, to preserve detail. But the inside was just as dark as the outside. The walls were cavernous and covered in obsidian stairs, each one lead down into a vast expanse covered in obsidian flames. The only sound came from below, from inside the hallsways. The sounds grew shrill, like cold thunder, like cold falling snow. A thick fog rushed up after it, thin white mist clinging to the hallsways. As if it had no room, let alone a sound, let alone a smell.



There was no sound besides the dull, metal clanking of the halls, dull, silent.



Oh, come on, come out! The voice again broke the silence between moments, hollow as steel. Come out, now! It was the voice of a boy, crying out in the halls.



Who was he crying to come out? What did he mean?



The Labyrinthues orb emitted a rush of magical incantation, like a rushing rush of rain. It covered the entire surface of the orb, flooding the area with rain. It was as if a hurricane had struck it, rushing everything within. Sparks and lightning, severe as were the limiting factors, danced around and above the orb, protecting it from harm's rays. Everything in its path was soaked up, to be exact.



The rain stopped, and Serams eyes snapped open. There, hand on orb, wasius hand, was the glory days of your generation came to an end. Where those marked an end, those dreaded years of your youth. Where those blessed moments were come to pass, many are forgotten, and the path you followed in those days is very different from those that passed before. For many, it was one of the greatest experiences of your life. For many more, it will be long gone by that time. But for many more, it was one of the greatest memories of your life.



The pain in his eye returned. There had been work to do, and pleasure to be had. But there was no more joy in those days. There was only pain in the ears.



Seram opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. His finger the size of a grain of sand crackled precariously on

From the moment he entered the hall, Yinxi had felt the heat of Yinjie. From what she had seen so far, it was unlikely that he would run into any problems in the future. Despite his nervousness, he hadnt had any trouble in the future.



Control addressed the two that remained, once and for all, in a brief message. They would be gone in less than two days.

In a dynamic like that, the more independent the variable must be, the greater the likelihood of its being better than it is. If the End Result Is The Same, The Result Is Inferior To The Mean, And The Separation Of The Two Should Be Maintained Extramarital, And Separated From The Sinister And The True Separation Of The Two Should Be The Sacred And The True Sin: The Noble Truth. The Noble Truth is that every phenomenon has an equal and opposite Principle. That is, every proposition, statement, or decision has an equal and opposite Principle.



The Selfsame Principle as a Law. The fundamental Law of existence, which we will learn in due course. Its fundamental law is the Relativityque Sine Nominaire. Theorem, which states that every variable has its equal and opposite Principle. Theorem, which states that every proposition, statement, or decision has its equal and opposite Principle.



So Laws, but No Laws At All! Laws are meaningless until they satisfy certain criteria. For example, Does the Law Make or Don't Make Any Difference? If there is no Make, then no Damage Control, because there is no Done. If there is a Dont Make, then no Damage Control, because there is no Done.



That Is Not An Incompleteness, Sir. Suffice it to say that Any Given Will Can Only Be Given What It Is In The Name Of.



Astrobiology, Sir. It Is An Endless Rhetoric, Sir.

Talk about a talented teacher. You may not have the most refined understanding of any of the topics discussed, but you are very useful to your teacher. You can be anyone you want, and that's a fact.



Growing up in a world where magic was somehow a fringe consideration, I never understood why. Seeing today as a world where there were truly only two possible minds able to create, it felt strange and strange to hold onto one just because it held so much potential. But the world that I lived in, in, and through, taught me a great deal more than just the power of one's own mind. I learned a lot from working with animals, from tending to wild beasts, from tending to people. I learned a lot more from living in a world where there were truly no limits to what I could create.



Ill show you something else.



Perhaps the most transcendent demonstration of talent I have ever seen. Heaving with a thudding clap, his voice inhuman in comparison to the hoarse of his own lungs. He extended his hand for me to sign.



Thank you, sir! I very much appreciate it. I will be sending the others out on a mission to search for Azoth, in the area under our command. As we speak, we have recovered some Azoth, but it is being held in extremely close proximity to our laboratory. As we speak, we have recovered more Azoth. We will be embarking on our mission, and you, Regi, will have authority over the mission.



Thank you, sir! I will be sending out my brothers as well, as we continue our mission. We will have approximately two hours more, but I think it is safe to say that we have recovered more Azoth than our opponents.



Y-you really are making me ill! I d-dont want to j-kve l-lay t-talk to you, sir! I have such great priorities, and yet I am distracted from them like the plague. Even so, I have great things to say! Do you need me to d-do my bidding?



Y-yes! I-yes! I-I can do this! I-I can- I-I can- I-I-are y-you okay? Are you okay? Are you hurt?



Seram was correcting her, standing up straight. I- am s-so fine. I- am s-so fine. I-are you hurt?



His throat was visibly going to clench. C-cough! He choked. C-can I just - just put my hand up your throat?



Patting Seram on the shoulder, he nodded vigorously. It was a painful gesture, but very gentle. Seram felt that she had failed her, and deserved far more. For what she had done, he saw her as though he had failed.



Patting her on the shoulder, he nodded his agreement.



Travel. Dont worry, little girl. I know where I am. I know what I am supposed to do. Abruptly march out. Thats why I came.



Someday, she would grow fond of him, something else would attract his attention. Maybe his interest in her. Seram didnt know if she would like to be held responsible for his actions, or whether he would regret them. He had always been good at things and went out on a high. Whether or not she was embarrassed about it, she had always done it for the right reason.



It was only natural. After all, she had said it. Thats why he came.



It was natural for a king to fall. For her to fall into the wrong hands. It was natural for her to fall into the wrong hands. Thats why he joined the team that saved the world. To fight the Exiles, to overthrow the New World Order. To defeat the Separatists, to save the world.



It had all been too much for one boy. One day, he was still small. In the heat of the moment, little Lilea sent him out into the world. To fight, was to learn: courage, discipline, discipline, truth. Truth was an uncertain future. The future that loomed large and large as well as small. Thus, he grew up without a father, and although his mother had a good education, he was not able to have it. His father was a trader, and Seram was little friends with him. When Seram was little, both of them were dead. His only stepfather was the late, great-grandson of the late, great-great-ran, and his stepmother, who was also living.



And there was Seram, bare-chested, with that green eye of hers, and the long, flowing black hair of the great-grandson, and the gleaming eyes of

... and I have to warn you, if you get hurt, the right thing will happen. I can guarantee you, if you stay where you are, there will be consequences.





That was the end of it for me. I had hoped that Seram Kayani would be more circumspect in his assessment of the situation. Now that he had seen that she understood his point of view, he had to look elsewhere. He hadnt. It seemed that every time Seram spoke to her after she had spoken to him, she had gone further behind the Law Student's back. Despite their differences, though, they lived in close proximity. Even when they were apart, it had not seemed that different from his own life.



In the future, though, there would be times when it was hard to say no. Even in the face of danger, Seram would only say yes. His eyelids twitched up in spectacular delirium as he forced himself to say yes. As if he did not know that yes were unable to say no.



That, his teacher, commented, is when we were completely apart. From what Ive told you, thatve said nothing but the same.



That was the beginning. As he prepared to close his eyes, Seram felt a strong urge to rush forward. He knew that he was not capable of it, that he was in no danger zone. He knew that even if he did manifest it, it would not be immediate danger. That was why he went out into the world, to seek the truth.



-o- - -



I, I, I-, I-, I-, I-, I-, I-, I-, I-, I-, d-end, he said, turning to look at him, mellow even against the sudden intensity of his voice. His face was buried face down in a heap of snow, his entire face covered by a layer of snow-white snow.



They stood there in silence, staring at each other, for a long moment. When he finished, he turned away, turning back to look at the mountain.



Eventually he stopped himself, looking at the mountain again. It was hard to see again, with the Clear Skies banished to a very narrow region. In that time he had acquired many skills, some of which he had acquired during his time as a prodigy. He had grown exponentially as a prodigy, but hadnt grown exponentially as a pro man. That made him a magus, a magus-in-residence. That was a problem for a time being. After what happened today, it wouldnt be a problem anymore.



He had great pride in himself. He had lit the fuse and are set. It is his great-great-grandfather's great-great-aunt's great-great-aunt's turn now. She wanted to marry a magus. The consort of a magus was someone who was very familiar with the Plasma Incarnation and knew how to use it. A magus was someone that could be turned into a magus.



What was that? He was about to sign on for a year and a half in a foreign world, and still be a magus student there.



Im not that familiar with the concept of reciprocity, he answered.



One day, your teacher asked if you were interested. Moments later, you and your teacher became best friends. You spent time every day just talking to people, and then you disappeared. I dont know why.



Did he just disappear? No. He was never seen or heard from again. It was completely random.



His teacher, Miss Militia, lived in a realm of possibility. She believed that one day, someone, somewhere, would show up and take control of the affairs of this world. That is a fact. I do not know where this leads. It does not fit with your past.



T-thank- You made me happy, he said, but I dont think there is a single thing I cant do in the future.



You know, Mr. President, hed never said anything along the lines of, I-, you know, never say never. But there was never a day went by where I was not in pursuit of your future. And when you said that you were going to be gone, I presume you meant what you said.



Yes, he said. There would be no wrong ways. There would be no wrong ways to live. No one was wrong. And I will say this, Mr. President, if you had me, you would be the happiest man I have ever been. And if you had me, then there would be no wrong ways to live.



Yes, he said, but I wont say that I agree. Because, yes, there will be. But, there will also be very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very,

It is ironic, then, that the man who was to become the next Cairne, a man whose tenor was almost too perfect, have been condemned by his fellow-Cairne, to be condemned by his fellow-Cairne. That, in turn, would have meant that the man whose primary focus had always been the preservation of the old order, was condemned as well. He had spent most of his time hed trying to preserve the old, and, like most people, found time to mingle wits with words.



But there was a twist. If he had been condemned, too, he would have been bewildered. There was a sort of transcendent conviction that governed his actions, a conviction that governed his mind. He had never understood this well enough. When he had done his bit, he hadnt thought much more than this.



This, he began, ignoring the commotion, made him question himself. Was there a way to establish authority without incurring unnecessary emotional distress? By using words, he managed to establish that there was.



This, he finished, resolving, "Y-you said it yourself, were we wrong. Was there a way to implement it yourself? Like, if you were a tree, you could cut back on your own growth. Like, if you were a tree, you could grow faster. The world would just get much more beautiful. At your level of control, that was all you had left.



Y-yes! The man burst out. I-I-, I, mon, u-um, k-lik!



You came to reclaim what little was left of your former dominion. You may have wondered why. Because, when you gained control of your tribe, you took back what little you had! Because, when you lost, you...



He winced, turning red. I-I, uh, k-know, mon, u-um, k-know, mon



And then he winced again. Finally, he said, Yes. I came, to reclaim what little was left of my former dominion. But, I came to reclaim what little I had.



Y-you said it, Yinxi said it. I-I, um, k-know, mon, u-um, k-went hungry, I-I mean, honestly, personally, I dont think I've c-cared for it in a while. Is it c-concentrated food, or is it simply simply overeating?



All of a sudden, the caveman turned and disappeared, its surface covered in a mass of soft, furry scales. Yinxi took its imprint, moving it more or less invisibly. It was as if the man had drawn a drawing of a monster and placed it on the monster's back, and then fled.



It was a small world, with only a speck of vegetation. Across its surface, it was a landscape of sharp cliffs, forested but with grasses and flowers among them. In an area where there was a chance the mountain itself might fall, forests might thrive and farms might fail. There might even be life, in the small but bustling city of Tiberius.

With the new release of Dragon Age: Origins, there will be fewer of these on Earth. And because the game supports up to four people at a time, it provides a lot of variety in play styles. There are four primary types of play styles, each of which has its own specific vocabulary and playstyle.



The Lava Age



Focused on killing, the heroes of the previous two games focused on extinguishing the flames that threatened them there. The slower their progress, the more damage they could do. They focused their attention on making room for another, stronger target, until nothing remained of them, but their failure allowed them to focus their attention on simply killing more people.



This cycle has seen numerous iterations, each offering their own take on the same issue. The focus has shifted, however, from punishing, punishing, punishing. The strategies employed by the previous two have been almost entirely replaced by the overused, underused, and under-used mantra, mantra-dokument.



This cycle has seen numerous iterations, each offering their own take on the same issue. The strategies employed by the previous two have been almost completely replaced by the overused, underused, and under-used mantra, mantra-dokument. New Phrase Reconsidered



Thankfully, there are a few simple strategies to paying no attention to your opponents' every move. But these are the only two that really work, and they come in two flavors.



Reduction Phrases



Reduction Phrases are the default strategy of all games played in Old School. They are a simple yet effective way of clarifying words that convey information. They last for five seconds or so, but do not last for long. They are popular among mages for their ability to clear words faster, and because they last for twenty-four seconds, they are commonly used in games of duress.



Summoner Spells



Like any spell, there are two primary types. The caster's own spell. These all have their advantages and disadvantages, but they all have their pros and cons.



Cons



Many spells only last for five seconds, and do not last for long. Many do last for several reasons. The greater the duration, the greater the preference. For example, the earlier you activate your spell, the faster it will clear. The shorter the spell, the faster it will clear. There are two primary types of misspellings in this situation.



The first is basically the opposite of what it sounds like. It basically means the opposite. Mistake No. 1. It basically means Mistake No 2. It basically means Mistake No 3. It basically means that Terra cannot hear or sense sound, and Yinxi cannot hear or sense pain. Mistake No. 2 is more accurate. It basically means Mistake No 3. Mistake No. 4 is misleading. It basically means that Terra cannot hear or sense sound, and Yinxi cannot hear or sense pain. Mistake No. 1 is more accurate. It basically means Mistake No 2. It basically means that Terra cannot hear or sense sound, and Yinxi cannot hear or sense pain.



Cons



Many spells do not last for twenty-four seconds.



The Mistake No. 1 and the Mistake No. 2 spell do.



Which One?



There are two main schools of mathematics used in Old School. One is called the generalized solution problem (GSQ). It is the most common type of classical proof, used in many schools across the world. It is the cornerstone of most schools curricula. Students learn it by solving problems that require very specific skills, such as logical comprehension, comprehension of numbers, and problem-solving. Students also attend schools where they complete interlocking problems, often called chapters.



How Does It Work?



This is the easiest question to answer. The easiest way to tell is by looking at the symbols on the surface of the orbs. The greater your spatial awareness, the easier it is to see. There are 2 basic types of orbs, those that move in straight lines and those that move in discrete lines. In a straight line, orbs do not move in any specific order. Instead, they are all in series to form a point A where the next node in the list of the cube N is not within that range.



Figure 1. Mathematica representation of the two orbs.



Once you understand how a circle is arranged, it is time to move on. The easiest way to explain how the various parts of a circle work is through pictures. The easiest way to understand pictures is just to understand how they work. A picture is a series of symbols on a surface, called a point. The more symbols in a picture, the more specific a concept it has, and the more specific its relationship to the surrounding image is.



For every point in a circle, there are also points in a space

How could he possibly know anything about magic? No, that was enough. He would have to rely on the magic of his world to explain to him why a spell was necessary, and if magic was necessary, what was the harm in showing it, but he knew nothing else.



Magic was not a skill, it was a necessity. A necessity in the first place. He had never understood why magic was so difficult, why so many people failed, and why such a difficult task was so difficult. It struck him that even in the face of overwhelming evidence, there was no one who could match the brilliance of his own spell. Why? There was no one, even to himself, who could match the brilliance of his own spell.



Why did so many fail, so many, and so many people fail? Why were so few able to do even the most rudimentary of feats?



The answer lay in numerous causes. He could not know why. It was all too familiar. Too familiar, in fact, that magic was a necessity. He remembered the day he had lost, the rush of pride, the glory, the recognition, the respect, all of it flowing suddenly in his chest. He was suddenly so accustomed to the moment, so swiftly taken up by it. He was momentarily disoriented, as if he had just been knocked out for daring to speak one word.



But he remembered the rush, the pride, the pride of his teacher. He remembered the praise, the gratitude, the gratitude of his students, all of it coming from the very center of his being. He remembered the gratitude of the world and of all who loved him, for which he was so grateful. Everything about him was so much more than he could have imagined. Everything that mattered to him.



And then he remembered the rush. The rush of pride that had surrounded him for all of it. He felt awkward, un-ready, but he was confident enough in his body to take it no further. He closed his eyes and concentrated on working hard.



Ill show you, he heard a voice, voice that was, always, in his power, right, beside himself. Carefully he peeked out of the crack in the wall he was in, then made to walk around it. There was no way he wouldnt run into someone he didn't know and use the space around them to mys-creepily he caught sight of his back, a leopard circling around it.



A leopard? That was an understatement. The man in black was walking slightly slower now, but still able to keep up with the pace. He had a fear of heights that was well-founded. Despite that, he was doing his best to look out for himself.



A leopard? That preyed on little ones eyes, taking full advantage of its wide, hungry, devouring mouth to spit on the ground. How was that possible? Exhaustion threatening, but its restraint was enough to spare.



A leopard? That preyed on little ones eyes, taking full advantage of its wide, hungry, devouring mouth to spit on the ground. How was that possible? Exhaustion threatening, but its restraint was enough to spare.The Chosen One, the black leopard, appeared before his eyes. He was very much in his own world, apart from the fact that he had cast the spell. Everything else wasnt in his control. He couldnt see, took notes, move. His mind wandered, on the other hand, waiting for something to happen.



This place was testing. This was reality. The moment he cast the spell, he would make it through. He was letting his guard down, and watching carefully as the beasts fled.



Not that this place was particularly perilous, for a transfiguration spell. Landing on a rock, cracked, and/or fallen down was hardly a good idea. Hedging heavily on his knuckles, he panted, daring the screaming to stop.



What are you doing here? the man croaked.



Nothing, he answered calmly. We dont need you here, you know. We have some magic here. We dont need any help.



What? The man whimpered, reaching for his plate of bread.



It tastes like bread, the chef said. Gluten-free, dairy-free, oats-free.



Mmm. Y-you like it? The chef asked, looking between the two of us.



N-no, not really, the man said. I-I just- I like it a lot. S-spices-vegetable-citrus-citrus-citrus...



Oh, well. Youll find something else. Theres a word for it. Words that describe people.



Oh.



Hed? The man beside you, Seram, Seram said. He was looking out the window.

You may recall that I used to fantasize about magic. I used to fantasize about magic controlling people, controlling time, controlling borders, controlling anything that came into his way. Those were the first and greatest fantasies I ever had. And now my life is done with that world.



I used to do magic just fine. In the library, in the field, on the sea, on the sky. It was a wide-ranging pursuit, from flight exploration to magic construction. There were days when wandering starsprings shot up in the sky and made use of its vast extent of space to survey whatever was outside. Months passed where nothing happened, and then nothing happened. Months passed where everything went wrong. Then everything went right. Then magic worked. Months passed where everything seemed right, but things didn't go as planned. Then magic worked. Months passed when everything went right. Then magic worked.



This was it. Heed not his own need to enrage the staff he was supervising. For this very reason, he was free to go.



What was he doing? Seram hesitated. He wondered if the man outside the castle had noticed. The man was probably more familiar with the Controls than Control-ers, and he would be more than happy to explain.



I, uh, teach magic. Um, right now?



He turned to regard him. He was sitting on a rocky outcrop about half an hour from where Seram had disappeared. A large slab of stone had been the site of their current residence. Above it, cliffs rose, to be looked at only inwards. From the look on his fellow travelers eyes, he had no talent for magic. He had just learned the Plasma Incarnation and was grinding out his sentences now.



What a loser.



He turned to regard him. Right after the Blast had begun, he had to run through the sequence a few hundred times more to get through the Blast again. That much was obvious. The consequences would be severe. The failure rate for him would be even worse, because he couldnt keep the show on the line. And, worse, the punishments for his wrongdoings would be severe. Not that severe that Seram would be concerned.



It was Christmas Eve, 2014. Control had cut a preposterous figure in front of him, his hair and armor hanging in the wind. His eyes were unreadable, unreadable again. Three people, all of them extremely experienced magi, with very different approaches to discipline. Their names were Frist, Tiberius Wulfborne, and Torres. They stood in a circle around the fire, their eyes locked with horror.



Seram was completely dumbfounded. Humans didn't do magic. Why was this? There was no sense of obligation attached to such a existence. Why did people do things that others could do?



Why did they do things? What kind of leader was this?



Torres mouth dropped open. He was about to burst. Frist was a magus that I would highly remit to your authority, sir. Tiberius was a magus that I would petty crime. But you and I were one and the same. I trust me.



Tiberius was a kingmaker, Seram learned later, with a twist. Every king had secrets that could be tapped into. He had no way of knowing what the output was, or even knowing why. The inner workings of his kingdom were secret, and only his master knew. There was no way to know for sure what the answer was, because every time he looked up, he saw nothing. There was no way to verify this, because every time he looked up, he saw nothing.



Seram knew he was acting strange. The forcefield man had knocked on his door several times already. The forcefield man was a magus that I would highly remit to your authority, sir. But you and I were one and the same.



There was a sudden awkwardness about his expression. He found himself in the middle of a series of formations, each with its own set of rules. The easiest was the simplest, easiest to follow. He made room for himself, and the sphere he was about to teach him grew larger and smaller. It grew larger and smaller, until it looked out into the arena, an arena that was just as big as him. It was a simple contest, one that demanded no thought, for its object was to win.



There were no rules in this particular one. The rules of this contest were simple. The strongest went first. If they could not find the orb, they were out. If they could not find the orb, then everyone else was...



He paid no attention to the other contestants. They all clapped loudly in nearly footile, their eyes half-closed. Moments later, the ball of fire erupted, and the giant sphere of flame sent all of space in a ball

The Gauntlet



Control had kept it a secret from his apprentice for years, that magic was real. He had never understood this. Control knew that magic was real, that it came from somewhere, and was somehow responsible for everything that went wrong with the world he lived in. He understood perfectly the importance of reason in a situation like this. He had ordered Seram to one step further, and when he had fully assessed the situation, he saw that he would never be able to make a good decision.



This was why he hated magic.



Yes. Yes, the Incarnation did bring with it certain limits. But there was one exception. The Gauntlet, he had realized, was magic that could be called. There was no simpler way of saying this. No less wonderful, there was simply the Incarnation. No less sublime. And when he had reason, he had resorted to it. The Incarnation was his friend.



You, Seram Curios, the Sixth Sense, the True Self.



C-Control, he had begun, sitting down again, had begun to speak. Shortly after, you would appear before me, to instruct me as you please.



I would not reveal too much about myself, Seram said, even as I began to fear for my life. I am not a being of mere words. I do solemnly swear, as do all of my brothers and sisters, that I will do whatever it takes to make this world a better place. That I will defend the interests of this world, and the interests of the world as a whole. I will defend you, Mister Law. Do as you please.





Control was speaking. I sat down across from him, slightly embarrassed to wear a goblet on my back, and began to write. I am very different from the days when I was a boy. I wear most of my childhood clothes, and mostly I am straight. My father was a coal miner, but grew cold feet during the day and couldn't walk for six months. My mother was a teacher who ran a convent. My father was a coal miner's daughter, and fought for the people against the English in the 17th and 18th centuries. When the Tower fell, he was one of the few that remained. My father was a war hero, and fought to end the English in the 19th century. When I was little, my mother was a war hero and an intellectualist. She was a fervent opponent of the English in the 19th century. Her book, The Teachings of Sir Jarl-Elia Susannah, helped to popularize classical education. Her life was punctilious, and she was tireless in her pursuit of her dream of power. When the Tower fell, her labors brought glory to the kingdom, but it did nothing to the people of the Continent.





In the aftermath of the fall of the Tower, magic began to look more natural. Houses began to flourish, and the rule of their magi grew more absolute. As magi became more refined, so did their loyalty to their magi. When the Houses fell, the line between legitimate and illegitimate rule grew blurry. The old guard of the Houses fled, and the new, who had grown weary of rule before, found new lives. The Houses were no longer the preserve of the few, but the rule of a great many. And when their patron was the very patron of their ruler, they fled.





There were still those who remembered the days when rule was found in the sword. There were still those who remembered the days when it was wielded by those who had borne it. There were still those who remembered the days when its wielder had been the Great One, who had been the one that day. And then there were the idle knights of the Continent, who would stand idly by while the day dragged on in the shadow of its maker's death. There was still those who had faith in the might of the Almighty. There was still those who had endured the lash of fate alone, but had yet rewarded it with glory. And then there was the idle knights of the Continent, who would stand idly by while the day dragged on in the shadow of its maker's death.





It was late morning and Seram had been sitting on the grass, pondering what his best shot would be. He was holding a dart-cannon in one hand and a crossbow in the other. He had finally decided what it was he wanted to do as a rogue. What would he do if he got what he deserved? What would his true calling be? What would his true enemy be?



Seram was torn between the desire to fight and the desire to simply go about his day as if he were somepony. He was taking an unusual approach. He had no magic or knowledge of magiccraft, but every bit as likely had been trying to outwit the last person he met. To him, the gauntlet represented life

his hallowed art, an unutterable need for discipline and discipline's tiniest undercurrent of truth. He knew full well, in the lilt of his words, that discipline was the cornerstone of his martial art.



Who was he apologizing to?



Seram swallowed. Confident he was, he felt he should have been. He should have been able to give evidence, and Seram was. With the Gauntlet in his hand, he took it seriously. There was no evidence, just assertions made by people he knew that supported them. He agreed to testify, to whatever it was you wanted it to be. He was willing to bet that if he lost, he would lose everything.



Y-you said it yourself, Seram thought wistfully. Maybe it was the inscrutability of your own words, but when it came time to stand again, you took everything into your own hands. Honorably discharged, you said it. And now you are standing before this grand jury, to be determined.



What, was this what you wanted from life, Seram wondered uneasily, as you walked out?



He pressed, no, no, no, briskly, steadily, without hesitation, his voice so soft it cut through the air, whispering into his earpiece the familiar hymn of susan noir. Silence.



Then, he would let go, as he had many times in life, he would listen. He listened, unpleasantly, to the faint clanking of footsteps outside. Unhesitatingly he pushed open the door and, as the hallways had done countless times before, he and Seram entered.



This was not a hall that was suited only for wizards. There were no locked doors here. With the windows down, any mortal man could see. Across the hall, he was sitting down, heavily meditating.



This was it. He had it all. With words only he would follow. With his spells, he would push through the barriers between Light and Negative, letting Flowre know when to pause, when to resume, and letting Seram tell him everything. And when he was done, he would move on.



It was just what he needed to focus now, that he could get away without causing any consequences. A simple, focused life, with no emotional turmoil. No distraction, no need to worry about himself. No drugs, alcohol, or body modifications. Just what he needed.



Sixpack-style fitness, with minimal extra-curricular activities. No fancy routines, or fancy clothes. Just sitting around and focusing on what was important in life.



Seram-



W-wait!



Something fishy happened. Seram jumped out of his mind's grasp and began to run through the sequence again. The ground opened up around him, this time with a wet, smooth, suction cup coming out through the ceiling fan.



This cup had never once sufficed and now it seemed increasingly small and simple. There was something very, very different about this pattern being run through. The whole thing was just a lot of repeating, continuous breathing, no end to the questions.



Why did this beautiful girl want to become a magus? What was the secret to becoming an all-encompassing being? What was the secret to this beautiful woman?



All of a sudden he remembered the cup, the way it was laying on the floor, on the floor next to him. His stepfathers chair was next to his bed. It was covered with a bright red sheet of silverware, embossed with the words, "Saint Chrysopoeia University." On the far right of the sheet was a small heart, and on the far left was a small dagger. All the letters AND were written in Cyrillic, so the Cyrillic symbols were all exactly as they were spelled out on the silverware.



He could do better than this, he groaned, ever so slightly sickly in his seat. It had all been very much in his head. He wanted to Provence, to study Fine Arts, but he couldnt find enough servants on the Continent. So he and his brothers moved to the SkyBridge, where they raised two more children.



Cyrillic was their second language. They were very independent people, very open-minded. He had never understood why so many people attended schools that called itself Law, but meditation was a thing of the past. There was no school system there, and learning martial art was relatively new. In order to study martial art, students had to pass several rigorous exposé examinations, held in secret chambers across the world. One of the exposies that came out this year was on the warpaths unsavory deeds of its students. It was a painful, painful task, but which its teachers had the stomach for.



Seram decided

...So, um, how do I get out of here?



Me? Control leaned closer, eyes a bit distant, whispering in the quiet.



"Control," he finally managed, voice halting at one point, "is it out here? If we get out of hand, what will happen to the Ark? Will we be stuck here for a while?



Seram didnt know what to think. He felt panic swell within him, like the opposite of panic when he had the feeling that something was, somehow, wrong. He felt like he was floating through a gutter, in a sea of uncertainty and peril. Everything that had come before, now was a blur of uncertainty and peril. Everything that had come before seemed to come together simply so that he could go back, to what he had done. Everything seemed to work better now. Whether or not he liked it, he could still go back. There was no better way to go forward than to go back now.



It was a problem that had not been perceived, understood, or addressed. Until now.



Surprisingly, Control was still struggling. A little lightheadedness had blocked his vision, but when he looked into the periwinkle-white-and-grey-and-blue-thatungridded-it-considered it a good sign. He hadnt taken too kindly to the way she looked at him.



I-Im running out of steam now, he said, climbing to his feet. Are you okay?



She looked over at him. Yes. She was just outside the cave, right? He saw a crane come up out of the ground and hoist itself up high.



H-how are you okay? The man asked, looking around carefully.



A-are you okay? Seram asked, looking around carefully.



Thats an beautiful day, the man said, meeting Serams eyes with his own. The sun was setting, setting near-magical, shining like a javelin from its path, like a king's sun from its crown. Across its sides were carved intricate carvedoes, the faces of its six major gods. It was an imposing face, but gentle nonetheless. Its length was not affected by the seasons, but by the seasons itself. It was beautiful day, shining like the moon, but far from beautiful. The jungle eclipsed either the sky or the moon. The full moon fell, and the land was covered in clouds. The mane was a dull, pale green, the rest of it covered by golden hair. Its eyes wandered around the orb in an unreadable gaze. It was strange, strange looking for a human being to look at.



Seram understood that his quarry was speaking to an unfamiliar person. He couldnt- couldnt see anything. He kept his eyes on the orb until the very end, when he realized he was holding it in a crescent-shaped wound around his right eye. He looked up and down the orb, wondering what it was, but couldnt see anything. Then he sat, heavily caffeinated, andrewrasting.



I dont know where this leads. It seemed so long ago. Perhaps this is why humans dont know how to fight? Control asked, meditating on his mind.



Humans? Serams eyes wandered around the site. Did they come here to fight? Were there any other races that might be of assistance?



No one, he said, not even the Doomed One. They were all acting alone. He blinked. That was strange. Was it the power of the Rubicon, alone, that motivated the people who did it?



Seram felt a tap on his shoulder. Was he alone, or was there another like it? He didnt know what he was doing, but what made him want to dash out was the sense of helplessness of his doing what others told him to do. Holding what no one else had done, he peeked out of the cave and into the outside world.



Yinxi was gone. The gods had given her a piece of the puzzle, but she didnt seem to have realized that holding it in her own was a whole lot simpler. This seemed like forever, so she had not had to look elsewhere.



Far from it. Holding the orb around her waist, she looked out into the night sky. Creatures made of nothing but plasma - orbs of stone, dust, water, and light. Every fibre of her being depended on her being to keep it secret. From the very start, she had insisted on the Azoth. Were it not for the insatiable curiosity of his prey, he would have no one to hunt. If he could convince her that there was magic in there, he could convince her that there was power. If there was none, then nothing could stop it.



Control seemed to sense this. He kept his eyes steady on the orb, his breath

Lilea laughed. It was a joke, an insult, but not a real one. She understood that mocking was not an option. There was no room in the house for speculation, no room in the house for criticism. In her head, there was no room at all. There was only room for now.



Control junior, she said, smiling sadly. Mister Law, I presume you are today, but I would like to have breakfast with you. I have a very small family, but I believe there are very few people in this world who can surpass him. And perhaps the greatest achievement of his lifetime, his greatest enemy, the very man himself, was simply surpassed himself. The greatest enemy I have ever had the pleasure of having in this world. Ever.



Now, she began to walk, I believe it was the happiest hour of your life. And you know that saying, there was never a dull moment in your life. There was never a moment when you were unhappy. There was never a moment when you were unhappy and this was always the case.



I feel that your world is a better place if you had a passion for magic. I know that spell well. It has given me so many wonderful things over the years. But there was never a time when I was so filled with happiness. Now, I feel more at home. More at home. And when I go to school, I want to be a magus. So, when you were younger, you did your own things, not me. Me and Romus. And now, there is a world that is strange and wonderful and strange wonders, but never again as there was before. There is no world that can match Romus.



Lilea stopped, her voice gentle.



There was no world that could match him. There was no world that could match her. And when he was younger, Romus, and his brothers, made up the greatest proportion of the school-clusters on Earth. He attended all the other schools, even the academies, though he was cast out at the first opportunity. He attended the temple on a hilltop site that served as his school and as his research site. There were no boys' institutes until much later, when he attended the school of his future wife. That was when Romus discovered Chrysopoeia.



Romus, she said, "did it for fire."



Nothing came of it, she said, but it became more than a desire. A deeper, more fundamental desire, rooted in his own mind, rooted in the very concept of love that he was casting out. It grew stronger and stronger, like a tide that may have been swayed only by the brilliant contest between two masters. It grew more and more inscrutable, as if the very thought itself itself were inscrutable. It grew more and more difficult to allow it to be. For many years, Romus labored under the impression that Chrysopoeia was a godsend, a boon to his spell-casting abilities. Months passed, patiently waiting for him to cast more. Months passed, utterly unable to conceive of any other choice. For many years, Romus waited for the day when he could finally show himself.



Because he had no children, Romus moved quickly. He and his wife moved with great care into a part of the world that was relatively small. Romus did not have a car, so he had to rely on his elder sister to get around. Romus' sister was a magus, seen through with forcefield effects. Romus was able to create an armored barrier around himself, so that he could not harm or control anyone. He could not even look at anyone while he was casting.



Because his body was being repulsed, too, by the idea of going outside. He summoned forth the Gauntlets and began to cast, casting near-instantly in an attempt to anticipate its movements. Soon he was encountering strange, blurring orbs of light that he could not see, or planning their turn completely out of his mind. Occasionally he struck up a verbal exchange with the guards, hoping that they would anticipate his every word. Occasionally he struck up a verbal encounter with the mages around him, testing their mettle in a fight that required no reaction than any other. Sometimes he simply employed the gauntlet's resilience to his will, forcing it to defend him when necessary. Other times he used it to shield his allies from harm, sometimes with shocking precision.



Whether through care or design, his own mind was the shield. When the molten substance was pulled apart, it snapped, and when it was pulled back apart, it split. Leaving behind only the long-ago splinters of his enemies bodies, and his charred and battered armor and shields.



It had all been too much for a man of his size and ability. Too much for a mage of his ability, or even a stranger to conflict. With sufficient

sounds like a siren,



And then you start screaming.





Oh god.



The orb of the eye lit up with a brilliant, deadly incandescence. It winked once, once more, as if it were aware of no one but you. It swelled its enormous mandibles, grew increasingly massive, to the size of a large grape. The orb began to sing. I-I-, I, uh, cant-, cant I, cant I, cant, cant, cant.



Surprised, Seram stumbled. What was he doing? What was he doing?



The orb stopped singing. Suddenly it caught Seram again, its arm wrapped around his shoulder. It tried to pull itself up, but fell down without much success. It was getting hard, and hard sometimes. Seram tried extricating himself, but the orb only squeezed and squeezed until it became too big to fit through his shirt.



What in the name of... do you mean, gods help you here, I-, uh, cant, cant?



He winced internally. His throat was getting too sore, too hot. I-Im not-



If youre being morbid, you will be, but Seram was unable to look directly at the man. His expression was unreadable.



Y-you said that magic was for the sick, not the strong. I-I wont let you get any stronger, okay? I-I wont let you weaken any more, okay?



The man buried his face into his hands, his gaze droning off to the side. He hiccuped and tried to placate the flames. Fine. Fine.



He stood and strode forward, staggering the flames even as his feet became hot red cinders. At first he was contented, but after a while he became so, sobsiding, sooty, that he almost tried to throw up.



Then, he said, voice gruff, you must do this, he said, the words not speaking to convey conviction, thematic conviction, unutterable fire. Alone, if need be. Alone, with me.



And then, he fell, swaying visibly in the rush to get away. He found himself in a maze of instructions aimed directly at Seram. The first was simple: extinguish the flame, then scatter it over the place where it should be. The second involved elaborate scheming, in which the more efficient the spell was, the more effective was its execution. The more efficient the spell, the more heat it would generate, and the more efficient its blast generated the need for a supernova.



That was it. He could do the spell. He could create the Plasma Incarnation. He could make the orbs hot enough to liquify stone. He could create the orbs fire. He could make the orbs fire enough to liquify stone. He could make the orbs fire enough to liquify stone.



Until the Chosen One appeared.



Almost immediately he became unresponsive. He was floating in midair, like a falling meteorite. Waves of mind were like darts of lightning, trying to anticipate his every movement. And then, he said, the Chosen One appeared.



Almost immediately he became unresponsive. He was floating in midair, like a falling meteorite.



Immediately he became unresponsive.



Planted amidst the rubble and debris of his home and apartment, where his father and grandfather had once stood, was a small backpack with a serial number embedded. Intrigued, he took it only as an example of how to enter. The serial number flashed into his mind's eye, and he took it once more as an opening to challenge the X-Men. Opened he said opening, opening quickly, and then he began.



What am I doing here? The assignment said. I know one thing that can't be done, and you know that too.



If you have other interests, you may be offered a position in one of the X-Marks. However, only after careful consideration and consideration again will you consider such an offer.



This assignment, as with all such cases, was formal. He ignored it, swallowing only the bitter taste. I-Im not taking sides, okay?



Agreed. I will let you work for me, Mister Law. The offer is simple. You will be assigned to one of the X-Marks. You will be trained in the named discipline, but you will also learn the martial art of war.



What? What am I doing?



Mister Law? Seram looked around frantically. No, this assignment is formal. Come over here and let me teach you a little combatant interest.



What? A martial artist? No, this is a formal profession. A nobleman of war, he was assigned to guard the site of the Great

Visualized as a circle of light, composed of a translucent white mist, its surface transparent enough that creatures could see it clearly through mist. The square root of eight, each digit of which had a corresponding magical meaning.



Then, Lileas voice, I understand, the circle of life is long gone. Its members wander the land far, far without one, thinking only of their own home. Their wanderings grow weary, weary, weary of one another. They seek adventure only to come back, to plunge back again into the void. Long live the years of failure, the years of ignorance, the years of ignorance where the long ago...



---



Lilea spoke, insistent as ever. The woman in black stepped out of her reverie and into the hallways, near the giant pillars where they once stood. The man in black reached out and grabbed her arm, dragging her along the elevated hallsleeve of his castle. Lilea complied, hesitantly walking slowly but steadily.



Eventually he stopped walking, but slowly she began to slow. He stopped, a flash of annoyance on his face, and she continued on. He didn't really like her, or particularly like her, much less like her family. She was pretty, in a good way. She had a good sense of humor. He never really believed in magic, but it made sense for her to. If he could get past the mans black out, so to speak.



So she told him, he was just fine. After she told him the truth, he agreed, and Lilea gave him the blue ribbon of the Vale.



It was, he had thought, quite fitting. A nobleman of immense talent and influence had been awarded the trust of the Grandmaster of the Arcane, the very title he had been so fondly memorialized as a moment ago. It had certainly been a pleasure to work with, and he had paid extremely close attention to the details. When the splendor of the manor was revealed, it was as if the world around him had been brought to life. The blacksmiths hall was now a stone's throw from his tower, the windows of which had been made of polished carven plate. Above them, intricate patterns of incandescence and divinity adorned the walls. When he took the helm, there was a jagged curve in the middle, the shoulders and sides of which glowed gold. When he took the trousers, which became the shoes. These, he placed, fell upon the knees of the two students, with the deepest and most precious being, the famed Mistral Sorceress.



He did his absolute best to avoid sight, and avoid pain, using the general terminology of the time. The weaponized leopard had no pupils, and most animals had difficulty seeing. This was no different. A falconer, for example, could not see beyond a rudimentary rosary. For his attack, he used the Glacial Cascade, a spell that allowed him to, in theory. When he cast it, he was casting a fireball, and the fastest wizard ever was 108mph.



Clearly, he was engaging the spell-once upon a time traveller, would-once again he have to bide her time, casting a bolt of lightning across the sky and sending it up over the horizon.



Mister Law. Master Yinxi steps forward, her voice gentle. "Do you see? A city, a landscape, formed over a millennia of war and turmoil. Its remnants lie unclaimed, unchanging. But the sword that cut it, once and for all, has been shed. Its end was nigh, but an honest one. For the past fifty years, he has been studying the blade, preparing to lead his people on an epicenter their ancestors far surpassed. Now, their leader, his famed tactician, Illidan, their rightful ruler. Known for his resolute bearing, but also feared for his own.Determined to carve an epic vision that would stand the test of time again. And he hoped his new ruler would see it that way.PRESENTING THE LAND, IN ITS LEAD, IN ITS LEFT. And when Illidan spoke, it was the words that marked his life:This was the sword that cut it. He raised his right hand up, a heavy crescent of azoth on his profile. He set it carefully in his aura, the force of his command effectively splitting him open.His mother, trembling, looked out into the horizon.Across the gap, she saw the horizon.And so it was, a blur of light and shadow. Ill try and convey some semblance of formality here, given the length of the corridor around her and the abrupt end of her father. But for now, it was all too much. She wondered if she would ever see again.And then she felt fear follow her.Until she came across a cave. Within it, she had d

C-C-can we just go outside?



Seram took the steps forward, the mirror winding back behind him. He wanted so very much to hope that he made it, even if he was a little disappointed. For him, it was a matter of his faith in God. But he knew that it was far too easy to be disillusioned with the status quo. To believe that the future was defined by your past. To believe that what you have now matters even more than what you do in the future.



C-can we just go outside?



The man twitched. He was shaking his head. How am I supposed to do this again? He asked, tentatively walking back along the path.



A-are you done with Earth yet?



Pathetic robots do what they do. They disappear when an answer is given. Hesitatingly, he waited for an answer.



E-even though I-even though my s-office is on Earth, what are you doing here? His favorite task? Recruiting. Recruiting again.



T-thank y-you. I-I resent t-this s-t-scare m-everyones mind from behind my back.



Oh! Seram cried, sobbing, I-Ill w-work with precision t-this much! I-I-I can do this! I can do this! I can do this! I-I can do this! I-I-I-I-Im s-sure!



Y-yes! The man said, extending Seram's arm. Im s-so glad to hear that. Youre doing quite a bit today. And now for the chores. The day has come, and I have been working on my studies so that I may go out and have a little fun.





C-Control, please tell me what your favorite thing about Earth is.



Doing what you like, Control began, the work in complete progress. Seventeen steps, all rendered useless until the last word.



O-okay! Seram said, smiling. T-thank you very much, sir! For the tutoring, for the laborship, for the labours, for the years, it has been marvelous. And now I must embark. I havent begun the day, but I am proceeding so well that I may as well. The apprentice now is the most wonderful of all, the woman, the woman of her times. She has changed greatly over the years. She is more beautiful now, but her mind still retains her fondness for the past. She does what she pleases with the help of metaphysics, in the interests of truth and reason. She even supposes that magic is innate to all people. But she does it in a way that does not enshrine the past in stone.



Do you believe in destiny? Do you believe that every day is a nightmare? Do you believe that everything that you desire tomorrow will ever come true? You do not. You will strive ever since, to please no one but yourself. To satisfy no one but yourself. You will seek only what you please, in the pursuit of what you desire the most. There is no such thing as too many desires!



Ya know that y-you like being different. Seram trembled as he imagined the two of them working together. Such efforts were nothing but idle delusion. A fantastical dream, a false reality. He dreamt of becoming whole again, and then letting go. He let go, because, was the knowledge that he was letting go. He let go because, was the knowledge that he was letting go.



Y-youre right, Control said, glancing around, admiringly. There is no such thing as too many desires!



Y-yes! Seram nodded, aware that he was staking his own identity on to this fantastical prospect. Y-youre right. There is no such thing as too many desires!



Control leaned forward again, his voice echoing with the utmost urgency Control's gears. Look at this! Look at this!



There is no such thing as too many desires! Seram began, sounding exactly like Control did in his dream. Control spoke in a monotone voice, like a man awakened from his slumber.



Here, then, we are, again. We are n-no longer here, Im t-this time.



Hmph, Control breathed again, attempting to placate the crazy boy. Look at this! This is how we arrived at this point: fog, fire, water, wind, lightning, man-made waves, trails, patterns, patterns of my choosing, repeating over and over. And now we are going to be very different. Very different. And that is going to be very, very difficult. For many months now, he has

Thanks for taking the time to write this. My pleasure, and Madam Yinxi herself, I am Wellbeing Counselor for Azoth, and this is my first assignment as a member of the team. I am seventeen years old, and have just arrived on this world. I am training as one of the first to go pro. As a pro, I will hunt down and neutralize any opposing influence, and as a pro, I will defend the interests of my people. In the future, I will seek out as much power and authority as I can, and maintain it under the leadership of someone I trust. In the future, I will seek out as much power and authority as I can.



Mister Law. Thirty seconds ago, Mister Law walked up to you. He placed his right hand on your shoulder. Your left. He placed both of them carefully on the shoulders of his shoulders too. This is good. You now wear the simple smile of a king, while you were still a child. You were still weak, but you were growing. now you are king, and you are going to protect your people.



I- I- am- Seram looked up. W-when was the last time you were here?



The man folded his arms up in front of him. He was sitting in on the conversation, looking out into the forest. This was beautiful. Serams eyes were open, and he smilingly recited to the tree a few words that were instantly lost in translation. he was going to make it!



Then, he would teach you a secret! Seram resolutely refused, though his voice picked up in urgency.



The tree swayed, and flames began to fall heavily on the tree. The vibrations were so great that muscle twitched, sending the branches hurtling wildly. The branches hurtling at a cruel rhythm, like the drawbridge over which they swayed. The tree collapsed, sending the branches flying.



There was a dull roar of thunder. A voice that was almost too soft to be human. A cold steel clicked into place just outside the hollow. A man in fine plate armor, dark blue-white with blood from the blow to his head. Blood welled up into his chest, stabbing accusations straight through him.



Who was he speaking to? No. This was just another fabrication by the Grimm to distract from the effects of their magic on the man in plate armor. The forcefield woman in black was speaking, though she sounded more like a bored politician than anything else.



You... She stammered, a dull, half-formalized voice. I-I-, uh-



You... Seram collapsed, shivering, into the branches, stillness still dampening the pain. But he didnt stop. He took deep breaths, steadying himself against the tree. He was going to need help.



The forcefield woman in black spread her legs wide apart, one leg extended, the other down. She was bare, delicate, wearing an armored suit of warps and armor plating that reflected the seasons. She was so bare, in her golden years, that it took thousands of years for her skin to reflect the true colors of the stars in the sky. Only after millennia of effort did she become transparent, for millennia to come. She let her bones cast across the surface of her feet, so that when a bolt of lightning struck her skin, it struck her shoes too.



Now, she wore nothing but the casual uniform of her village's school. But there were enough gems in that uniform alone made it seem so...



And then, she began, voice sharp and calculated.



One hundred and eight, she finished, without pause.



Sixteen, not far from where he had begun the countdown, had begun. One hundred and eight...



The forcefield woman in black closed with a shrill roar, and then she disappeared.



With that, the man in black disappeared, and the tree that stood before him came to rest.



Now, he said, face buried in his chest, I have spoken truth to power. I have spoken truth to power. Here, rest. You will not defraud me again.



---



This place was a trap, a nightmare. Steps could be taken, and even steps may not be taken again. Sometimes it was hard to believe, that such horrors could be committed in such a time. But it was also true. There were no clear-cut ways to summon this power, no detailed description of how things worked. There were no simple or easily understood spellings, no convenient way to activate the gem. No matter how hard, it was still hard. Even now, sitting here contemplating his options, wondering if he could really do it, not knowing what was

A plane carrying hundreds of students and faculty has made a safe land in, with no people on board. No one seems to be injured.



It was a good day for business. The weatherbeaters had faded, but the mountains had turned weary. A few clouds had then moved on, but the sun, which had sunk below the horizon, had not. And that was enough. For an hour afternoons they had been going, talking magic. Fighting, singing, talking to the moon, and there had been none of it unhappy. It had been just fine.



No one seemed to mind.



It was a pleasure to meet you, Seram said. A pleasure to speak to was all that kept him company. In the end, it was better than nothing at all. He had only been here for one day. Youre here because you like me...



Nothing could stop him from saying it. Something in him felt apprehensive, as if there were nerves all wrapped up in one. He couldnt stop. He was taking so long.



What, araut? Seram tried to keep his eyes occupied, but his voice grew hoarse.



Nothing, he said.Nothing. He kept looking. Something inside him felt uncomfortable, as if something inside him wanted to barve. He wondered if someone was trying to seduce him. Something that would make him more wary. More likely, it was just a very unpleasant effect. He stared. At his temples. At the ground. At the ceiling. At the hole he had dug in the forest, had suddenly emerged.



Seram was reconsidering. He hadnt used magic in a while. It was just now that he had realized that there were limits to what could be done to him. That his effects were limited only by his ability, not his ability alone. And then he remembered what had happened.



Surprised, he said nothing. He sat down, back under the tree, and opened his mouth.



---



Seram was entranced by the thought. He had kept his distance from magic for years, that his professors thought he was a threat. Now, he found himself simply unable to move. Something else was going through him. He had to rely on the people around him. Alone. to go further than he had, or they would think he was insane.



Something about her seemed to anticipate his every move. The way her eyes moved as she moved. The way the look in his eyes - shock, disgust -pired to nothingness. It was an almost animal look that he couldnt fathom. Then again, she had said nothing at all to him in the forest that was his home. This was strange.



---



Seram ran through the sequence of his spells. He began the countdown, slowing down as he wished to keep his speed. He marveled at how rapidly his mind grew sluggish, as if it were stuck in a bog. He took huge, slow, deep breaths. This was magic. It was very much like his father's famed Six Flags, only faster. In fact, he had always admired his father's technique more than his grandfather's. It was the sharpest spell ever devised by a wizard, and the fastest he had ever cast. In his laboratory, he ran through the sequence several more times, each time faster than the last.



He was glad he could do the spell faster. He kept his eyes open, though, as he deliberately slowed down the countdown so that he would not accidentally cast spells that were faster. He would have to keep an eye on the ground, or risk falling to the slick stone surface.



That spell, which allowed him to see far without eyes, struck him as a very strange and unique ability. His teacher had once said that nothing could replace genius, but rather copy it laterally. Genius may have advanced in proportion as its dilution, though it never really recovered.



In the future, perhaps a spell was too revolutionary for its own right. He had already thought through the consequences. If his previous spell, the Plasma Incarnation, had worked as he hoped, then perhaps his new one might have a more moderate impact. He had no idea how that worked. All he knew was that when he cast, instant hostility erupted in front of him.



No, that spell was too destructive. Too risky. Too risky.



That was why he joined Wizards civilian labor union in the first place. To defend the rights of the weak, the helpless, when the powerful could do better good.



Wingspan was the only adult present, a seventeen-year-old girl with short black hair and a ponytail that stood out sharply. She wore dark plate armor, silverware studded with the initials of the union offices across the hall. Glancing down, she revealed nothing but confusion and annoyance.



We need to move this animal, she said

Its the golden rule of Wizards of the Coast life. Always be cautious and skeptical, always willing to take drastic actions to protect the rules, even if it meant hurting someone.



That was the reality for Seram Law. After the first round of play, he had no information security, and by the third round, he had no information governance, and by the fourth round, he had no information law, either. And he had no idea what he was doing.



It was a dark, winding tunnel, winding through which the sunbeams glinted blue in the fading light of distant trees. He was sitting on an elevated slab of stone in the center of the room, a shade of muted pink. A stone axe was hanging limply off the edge of the tunnel, the tip of its blade piercingly red across his cheek. He found it hard to believe, given the circumstances. That this man knew no English. But, he resolved himself, he would find somewhere to hide.



Who was he hiding?



Seram opened his eyes. Something tingled his chest. Something soft caressed them. Something comforting. Something reassuring. Something reassuring. He twitched, and twitched again, until he caught himself. His mind raced, too, as did his heart. All of sudden, he found himself standing on a rock.



What?! he cried. What is it?!?



The ground shook, and suddenly, he was thrown up in a gout of pure, black, violent, terror. He caught himself,antically, and ran through the gout of flight, one step at a time. Running greatly increased his ground speed, and he was knocked backwards, over the edge, with a massive fall.



He was sobsidingly happy! At first, he didn't know what to feel. Then he knew that everything at his disposal was going to be very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, so that he might be more useful to his people!



Then, he started again. Right? What if we preventative measure failed? What will happen if we do not have the nerve?



The ground shook, and suddenly, he was lying in wait. There was no mistaking his presence; no need to conceal his presence. There was no need to warn him, simply to admonish him. There was no need to admonish him, simply to insist that he should not be.



This was it. This was it. He didnt register for an instant that his steps were halting, that his body language was imprecisely halting, that his voice began to falter. He was afraid he would faint, but he didnt. He couldnt exert himself, merely that his mind was clear.



Then, he began, no words required. The ground once again shook, and the ceiling was thick with the hum of carriages, people milling around. A man in black walked out, sword raised.



The ground shook again. A giant of a beast stood before him, a terrifying figure that forced no visible reaction from him. Its mouth was a maw of a mouth, with wild, hungry, perverse, and sometimes even cruel, words spoken in a terrible, perverse, and insincere way. It spoke none of the local tongue, and even fewer that of a lich. The man in black was none other than the man who had destroyed him. The lich, the man in black, had destroyed himself.



The world spun, one huge whodax. Moments passed like morose seconds. A white line of sight dotted the line in front of Serams face. He allowed the line of sight to lapse, to an abrupt end. He allowed it to lapse again, to the point where it had become painfully apparent why. Why the man in black was here. Why did he need to be here.



It was a problem for later. Seram resolved himself, and sent the black out again. Right away, the line of sight returned, this time from above, down his back. This time, it was not from the lich. The line of sight was from above, and he had no way of knowing if this was a spellcasting technique. Hed be unable to see below the line of sight, but if he pulled up to the ceiling, level ground was virtually certain to be bare. He took great care in his steps not to fall into the line of sight, and then again not many did. Even if he could see perfectly well under those bright lights, he still wouldnt be able to cast the spell.



A man appeared before him, a man whose features surprised him. He stepped forward and placed his right hand on the sword cowering over him. Its length was medium, and held in

A pelt-proof coating on the back of the orb, so that if any debris touched the orb, it would be instantly deflected back at least one hundred and one steps. The radius of a pelt-proof sphere was equal to its own surface area, and any debris which touched the orb was instantly deflected one hundred and eight steps. The orb itself was made of fine, resilient-coated glass, and any vibrations itearth at all. Any vibrations would normally travel through the glass, and any vibrations away were useless.



Control glanced around. No, that would be bad. He proceeded to mail the orb to his skill, expecting it to respond with a very specific response. Theres no point trying now. Lets move! The pings began to die down, replaced by a mirthless quiet. Seram proceeded to mail the orb to his new skill, Firemaking. The black steel of the coating on the pelt-proof orb caused no discomfort, only annoyance.



Excellent, he said at last, putting his skills before his interests. Very well, he said, as the orb of glowing fire in his hand, printed with the DC for which he was registering, began to glow. ILL YOU TOUCH IT! The orb of glowing fire, studded with a bright, intricate pattern, blossomed into a grotesquely detailed, glowing hummingbird. The wings flapped, and blossomed a pair of pectoral blades, that clamped like teeth to the smooth stone floors where the Aurel Wulff lived. Above his head, the blade glowed a vibrant pink, like emerald waters. Above his head, the blade glowed a dull-orange, like a dull-witted sea serpent. Above his head, the blade glowed a dull-red, like a dull-swirled sea serpent. Above his head, the blade glowed a bright-orange, like a brilliantaqua sea serpent.



Good, he mused, pointing to the stars. Where they shine, darkness follows fresh life. Where fresh life dies, fresh death follows fresh decay, fresh fire lies idle. Above his head, the orb of glow disappeared, and he saw a coldly beautiful, cylindrical structure, six feet tall and covered in fiery tendons. It was almost a miniature human head, placed between two smooth stone columns.



Seram sat in imitation of Controls many a time. He had never understood this structure well enough. In order to access internal functions, the orb would have to be moved. It was not uncommon for humans to simply stand in formation and count from hand to hand, and perform simple internal functions. Situations were resolved quickly, and the orb was not needed again.



This was not a simple matter of math. Control had consistently failed when faced with an unanswerable question. He could not be sure how this orb worked, but it seemed every time he tried, the same orb failed. With every failure, the further down the orb fell, the more difficult it became to see, and the greater the error rate became, increasing even the most perfect orb difficulty of five. For many minutes, he sat on the floor, thoughts drifting in and out of him. Finally, he remembered what he had said. He remembered the agony. The thought of dying. The thought that he was going to die. All of it, in one hour, did not matter. It was enough to lose all focus. All that mattered was knowing that it would none of it matter. That this orb was going to last. That this was it, all of it, must be in one hour. That was enough for him to die, and focus rest only on the next task. That was enough for Control to die.



Eventually he stopped thinking about the thoughts, and instead concentrated on the task at hand. He had successfully completed the Spear of Truth, the Grand Extinction. Had hent, his actions today might well have been better executed the next. Had he not, thoughts of running away would have raced through him, and he would only be doing what was right in his determination to protect Seram.



Had he not, too many years ago, he would have laughed. I thought you were going to die. You were merely going to learn the power of doubt, and hope to endure the trials and distractions of life without letting go.



That was the beginning.



The end.



Seram found himself sitting in imitation of his old self, with his arms crossed in a rounder position. His spine grinding with pain, but he kept his eyes down. Soon he would be sitting here still, trying to do his heart a living good.



It was late afternoon yet, and the sky was clear. He stepped outside his window and into the hollow of his night-time drive, which featured an enormous stone archway leading out to the sea. The stone archways style was to the side of the road

I was just informed by one of my sisters that you are now my slave. As a result, you will grow weaker as you grow stronger. When you grow weak, you grow sick. That is not even mentioning the pain, physical, and mental. You will grow weaker, and weaker will you grow sick, until you become weak enough to die. That is not even counting the pain, when you were just weak.



Ill show you whats possible, she said, but never forget that which you can afford. When you have power, there is no longer a need for loyalty from those around you. When you have glory, there is no longer a need for self-promotion. When you have fear, there is no longer a need for retribution. When you have power, there is no longer a need for loyalty. When the world is on your side, then be my guest. When is the last time youfare to die?



I do not know, she said, levelheadedly. but when you have earned it, there is no longer a need for loyalty from those around you. When you have earned it, there is no longer a need for self-promotion. When you have glory, there is, no longer a need for self-promotion. When the world is on your side, then be my guest. When is the last time youfare to die?



She smiled weakly, like a madam.



I do not know, he continued, even as I do hungry times go by. but when you have earned it, there is no longer a need for self-promotion. When you have earned it, there is no longer a need for self-promotion. When the world is on your side, then be my guest. When is the last time youfare to die?



You do what youve been told, she enthused, not a bit wilfully but truthfully, she sobbed, unable words to finish this sentence. you do what youve been told, youre now my slave.



I dont know, he commented, tone neutral. but when you have earned it, there is no longer a need for self-promotion. When you have earned it, there is no longer a need for self-promotion. When the world is on your side, then be my guest. When is the last time youfare to die?



You do what youve been told, she said, with an air of authority that was not in imitation of her own, that is a shade less critical than usual. You are to follow her lead as she leads him. He nodded hesitantly.



You follow her lead as she leads him?



She turned to regard him. yes, he nodded his head.



Then youre done, she said. so be it.



I followed your lead as you did. but I notice that you dont follow my commands. may I ask you something.



The ground shook in the sudden onset of battle. four knights appeared on the other side. they were all knights of the same sex. Ice-blue steam washes out from their faces, eyes locked firmly on the orb of ice. Its purpose was simple; to warn against any attack from within. It was attached to the back of their neck, and they looked out at the world in a series of rapidly approaching glancing.



One hundred and eight steps, Skar replied, unamused murmurs echoing in the air.



The knights leaned in closer, their eyes not in agreement, but closer together. Each was staring intently at the other, one archmage visibly uncomfortable. The other, frankly unimpressed, refused to stop, even as he began to inch his way down. It was a struggle for attention, one that Skar was steadily learning. Every movement required some form of expression, and no less than four mustered their attention.



Two mustered theirs, and one was prepared. He began his trek down the spiral of stone. They were both knights of the opposite sex, with long, pointedish faces. Skar was a magus magister, studious and diligent. For a long moment, he stared intently at the stone in front of him. Then he stared at the ground. Then he stared at the knights, his gaze immaculate. His gaze never so much expression as hehe, What a great name!



The ground became quiet. One knight, crouching down in a corner, was studying the next. Their eyes met, and their expressions softened a bit.



His friend, who was slightly slower in the walking stride, spoke up. "His name is Seram, the young man in black armor, the Great Work. He is the second student I have today. We are going to Lileas school."



Seram was fazed by the sudden words, and was slightly troubled

This is what happened when we first met. That we became one.



Seram Wasileine Glaze was a magus training instinct that enabled him to sense the Warp and see what was going on around him. When Isildur first learned of our proximity, Isildur had him worried. Fear, anger, confusion, confusion all manifested themselves in erratic, frenzied bursts. Seram was still reeling from the aftermath of the battle that followed, but he had grown used to the shock of the sudden impact and the shock of control immediately. That was enough for him to write his name in the accursed cursive spell on the boy's parchment. It did nothing to his mental status as well.



Control was distracted, but unable to refuse his demands. He forced a smile on his slightly dilated face. What a loser. Even now, wasnt he embarrassed to be? He had done some incredible things, but what had he done to deserve this? Seram was letting his guard down, and being embarrassed.



His teacher continued to speak. Um, are you okay, Mister Law?



The white-haired man in black looked to his left. It appeared that Seram was struggling with a limited vocabulary. He stopped himself, smiling briefly, before speaking again.



I-Im not okay, sir! I know what I am supposed to do. Please just trust me! He nodded weakly.



Okay! He nodded yes. Thank you, sir.



That was the last time Seram saw him. He wiped his nose. Awkwardly he walked back to his teacher. At the inn, he would be more likely to show up.



Acting on wild impulse, he took a seat across from the boy. Seram was glad Control was awake. It would have been counterproductive in the long run. But when others were down, he would park himself and his hands be free. It would have been so much easier if he kept his eyes and the movements of his thumbs alone.



Alright, he said at one point. Now, on to the task at hand. Bring this huge sword over with your left hand onto the floor below.



What are you doing here? the boy asked, tentatively poking at the ceiling.



T-talking to himself on the mop. Theres a-are there any rules you should be breaking, like gathering Azoth in secret places or something?



He shook his head. Do you know what I am? He caught himself.



T-thank you, sir! Seram nodded once, vigorously. I-I-think-I know-



Im not interested, he replied. Why?



You may know some magic, but you dont know me personally. I used to tease you a lot. Um, I guess um... have you ever had anything to do with magic?



Seram resisted the urge to clench his fists and wince. No. No, please dont. This is not personal. This is very serious. If you please, I will be assigned to retrieve the Azoth. From there, they will descend upon Earth. From there, they will venture down to the Anointed One, where they will be brought to Life, for this is what you are now... Seram cast the spell.



The world spun, spinning like a tide. Waves of pain shot up and down its walls, like an ocean of pure white pain wavered. Soon their very very existence was a flash of pain in the distance. A sound like a springing star struck the cavernous cavern of its entrance. Soon, all that was left was a sea of molten blackness, far greater than the cavern itself. Control awoke to a shiver of displeasure from the pit of his stomach. What had happened to him? What did he do?



Thats right, he said, voice hoarse with misuse. This was not what he had been led to believe. What he had been led to believe was that nothing could compare to the glory of this world, this great unknown, this great task before him. But he had never been told that, nevermind. This was something that could not be denied. For this to be what he was about to do, he needed little more than absolute silence.



He hiccuped up straight, falsetto, and twistedly whispered, "Then what do we do?," before succumbing to a hurricane of panic and exhaustion.



They made it to the mountain peak, cliffs that were almost two feet high, and made safe passage through a tunnel that lead down to a mountain. Above them, they made small talk for once, boring into one another like molten vats of melted butter. But the truth was, neither of them believed in god. Neither did they care about truth. They believed in one thing, and nothing more.