The Plains of Forget E-Book

T. B. Mare

• Herausgeber: Podium Publishing
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Stranger Than Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 616

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Lukas tries to resurrect the goddess Inanna while exploring a world forgotten by the Origin itself in the fourth book of this action-packed LitRPG series.   The curse of the lost goddess Inanna would not allow Lukas Aguilar to hide out in obscurity for long. To become the conquering invader, the protective monster, and the selfish Outsider who would risk the end of the world itself, he must instead embrace audacity.   Accompanied by the quirky shade of the former Empress Meynte, Lukas wanders the endless Haze, searching for a way to bring Inanna back in a reality not his own. But with the threat of the Shimizu warlord hanging like a sword above them—and new and powerful forces taking note—he will also have to find a way to even the odds.   Meanwhile, Lukas is still working to solve the mysteries of the shard of the world within him: the abstruse Plains of Forget. And he is about to discover that when you tinker with the fabric of reality, you might have to pay for it—and then some . . .   The fourth volume of the hit LitRPG adventure series—with almost a million views on Royal Road—now available on Audible and wherever ebooks are sold!

Leseprobe

THE

PLAINS

OF

FORGET

STRANGER THAN FICTION

— BOOK 4 —

T. B. MARE

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without prior written permission from Podium Publishing.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2024 by T. B. Mare

Cover design by Barbara Ciardo

ISBN: 978-1-0394-5482-8

Published in 2024 by Podium Publishing

www.podiumaudio.com

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PROLOGUE

Most people took the concept of direction for granted. Below was where your feet lay. Above soared over your head, while hands identified left and right. And not just hands, but eyes, ears, cheeks, legs—the entire symmetry of the human body, as well as the natural geometry of the world around you expressed itself beautifully in the language of directions. Part of the dizziness that came with being in the dark sprang from the inability to ascertain one’s direction.

But that dizziness was nothing … nothing compared to being inside the Haze.

Haze. Ginnungagap. Inner reticulum of the now-fragmented Ikai Realm. Call it whatever you want. But, for Lukas Aguilar, the entire thing could be summed up in one single word.

Directionless.

Everywhere was mist and color, making it almost impossible to peer through it. Pump in lifeforce to expand his senses and the world to his left glowed a bright shade of neon pink. To the bottom right was now a particularly light shade of teal. The pink had fled to his feet and was moving away from him. Was he going forwards, backwards, spinning in circles? Horizontally, vertically? Did geometry even matter in this endless mist of color? A metallic blue line shot out of nowhere towards him. He stepped back and found his leg in water—

Water?

It was a dark shade of beige. Still … watery? No, his leg definitely didn’t feel wet, yet the sensation was there.

Closing Nexus

Reverting Consciousness to Host

Lukas opened his eyes. The Haze had no concept of geometry, Euclidean or otherwise. It had connections, not directions. Even the Nexus he had was akin to the Rosetta Stone for the Haze. He knew A plus B equals C in the Haze, but the reason why it was so was not clear.

And with good reason.

Lukas suppressed the urge to yelp out in surprise, and scowled. “How many times have I asked you not to do that?”

Many? said his newest headache.

“Seriously, Empress,” said Lukas drolly. “You’re, quite frankly, a pain in my ass.”

Joke is on you, said Meynte. You had the bright idea to trap me in your inner-world.

Funny thing about voices in your head. When you first get them, you absolutely hate them. Especially when that voice belongs to an ancient god-queen with a superiority complex the size of the freaking solar system. An entity that is so impossibly large in sheer personality, power, and history to make you feel like you’re nothing but an ephemeral candle to them, and that’s discounting their constant attempts to turn you into their personal hatchet man. But after you get to know them for a bit and then the voice “sacrifices” itself to resurrect you, you actually realize how much you had gotten used to them and how much you miss them.

But only until you get a replacement, and you realize that, even without the temptation of becoming their enforcer in exchange for impossible skill and power, it’s really annoying to be renting out your headspace in the first place.

Regardless of how good the rent was.

Technically, he was still alone in the eyes of any neutral observer. Only he could see the tall, athletic blonde frame beside him, stretching her hands in a very distracting fashion.

She was perhaps the most “unique” piece in his collection. He had captured her by forcing her to retreat from Tanya’s mind, only to trap her with Blob. He had expected her to be utterly furious and swearing enmity for life, but instead, she had acknowledged her defeat and accepted her new place as a member of his inner-world.

Don’t I look good? she asked, posing, making Lukas wonder whether logic and common sense had vanished from the world when he wasn’t looking or it was just him.

“Uh, yeah,” he said dryly, wondering why the former Empress had decided to do a California blonde impression, complete with khakis and a turtleneck. Technically, she could appear as anything or anyone since she didn’t technically have a soul.

Your world’s fashion is rather interesting. Not very optimal for warfare, but certainly more … liberating.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said.

Lacking a soul, Meynte couldn’t use any of her Skills, despite her wealth of experience at wielding Everfrost. And his inner-world had nothing remotely similar to a yuki-onna, so Meynte couldn’t even draw on her true powers. And even if it had, he doubted she could have, regardless, because, by Frost’s own admission, one Everfrost user could exist at a time.

Memory or otherwise.

Of course, that was only valid for the real world outside and not his inner-world, which, for all intents and purposes, counted as its own separate reality, so technically, it might have been possible to replicate Fimbulwinter within it as well. But Lukas knew better than to let the End of Potential take root inside his world and destroy everything within it.

Not that it would have worked, but still, why take a risk?

“I think I might have a himthursar prototype somewhere.”

Absolutely not, scoffed Meynte. I refuse to be reborn as one of those vile beasts.

“You realize they’re just prototypes. Just Skills, body, and instincts. Perhaps with your memories …”

No, she said stubbornly. I refuse.

Lukas sighed again. He had developed a habit of doing that a lot recently.

We’ve been floating in this endless Haze for quite some time now, Soulcrafter. How long do you wish to go on? Even your world can only siphon so much energy before it burns out.

“I’m trying to figure something out.”

I’ve heard, said Meynte. But do you know what you’re even looking for?

“I am creating … correction, discovering the structure of this vast Haze from when it was a proper realm.”

And to what end? The Ikai is fragmented. The worlds within it are in disarray. The Yggdrasil and the borderlands are spread along many planes, and all that remains is this dead zone of energy.

Meynte was right. It was a dead zone for people—or yokai, he supposed. Even for kami.

But for an anomaly such as he, it was a relic of a bygone era that he could connect with. Understand.

“The Haze isn’t dead. It’s still there. We … I just need to know how to interact with it, without … uh, getting blown up.”

Gosh! I’d never have thought of that myself, Soulcrafter.

Perhaps American fashion wasn’t the only thing Meynte was absorbing from his memories.

“You can just call me Lukas, you know.”

I can, yes.

There was no need to make that failed argument for the umpteenth time. Meynte was bound by the same laws that every monster adhered to—to be utterly obedient to the anomaly to which it was bound. Granted, most monsters didn’t exactly share the quirkiness that came with being an advanced life-form, either.

“I guess it’s the anomaly in me that keeps treating it as … well, as kin. I’m scared shitless of the kind of power it has. I’m awed and jealous of what it was, or is—even in this state. And there’s also that part of me that just wants to destroy it.”

Great, Meynte deadpanned. All that remains is for you to actually decide what to do, and we’re set.

“Less insult, more analysis.”

I would, but I’d have to actually learn things from you to even begin analyzing.

Lukas rolled his eyes. He was trying to understand how the Haze truly functioned, hoping to reverse engineer some of his findings and apply them to his inner-world. He was approaching it from different angles, applying a lot of different theories and mental models developed from piecemeal information he had collected from a variety of places: Frost, the texts in Solana’s library, trivia from Inanna’s fragmented memories that rose up into his subconscious from time to time, and, of course, his private discourses with Meynte about the nature of Truth and Taboo.

Much like mathematics, you could get to the same place through a lot of varied lines of theory and reasoning, with none of the processes truly right or wrong, only different, with some of them more useful than the others.

But the crux of the matter was, like all sciences, the existence of worlds lay in certain pre-established Rules. Rules that might be beyond what the mortal mind could process but Rules nonetheless. The Origin was not some divine being playing an ineffable game of his own devising with the Universe. It was an entity that followed its own protocols and operated on a level so far above Lukas’s own that it was impossible for him to grasp.

The idea was to study the Haze and figure out how it behaved: its structures, its limits, its foundations—study them, experiment with them, and test his theories on them, all with the intention of finding a way to reverse engineer a lost goddess.

Or at least, that was his intention in opening a portal to the Haze and stepping through, leaving Tanya’s education to Solana, and Frost to protect her just in case the skinwalker bitch tried something sinister.

I still think you’re wasting time with this silly project of yours.

“Silly project, is it?”

Of course, said Meynte, flipping her ponytail. Anyone who has spent too long in the presence of divinity knows that the gods never care much about mortals. Trust me, the best you can hope for is to be remembered as a footnote.

“I’m not her worshiper, I am—”

Are what? A World? Her bastion? You’re barely able to keep your head on your shoulders. What do you think will happen when a goddess takes charge of your world and dominates it with her Truth? What will you and your ragtag army of brain-dead monsters do against her?

Her words tore at him like barbs. But he didn’t react. After all, it wasn’t her fault. Meynte simply didn’t know. Didn’t understand.

Even with my Everfrost, I was able to fight just one goddess and almost bring her down. But now? I’m just a memory. No soul, no Skills, nothing. Mark my words, Soulcrafter. You will rue the day you resurrect her.

“You think …” said Lukas softly. “You think a goddess can triumph over a World? You think that the world is just a bastion for a higher being, created to spawn followers to do the divine being’s bidding, is that it?” He smiled. “Let me correct your ignorance.”

Opening Nexus

Transferring Consciousness from Prime Host to Anomaly State

The next second, he gasped as he was submerged in startlingly cold water. The cold pierced him like a thousand sharp needles, and all the air was thrust from his lungs. He lost all feeling in his arms and felt his vision flicker in the dark, unforgiving cold of the water.

Despite his shock, he didn’t make the slightest attempt to get out of the stream, whatever it was. The current pushed him straight into a ball of bright light, and suddenly Lukas had an idea of what infinity looked like. His eyes shut tightly, and there was no saying if he was standing or falling or if he could even fall at all. Gravity deserted him, leaving him in a multichromatic vacuum that shattered him into a million pieces, only to be re-formed in countless permutations in all sorts of dimensions and—

—and then it was over.

And before him lay … That.

The base was a swirling mandala, with shoots arising out of it, contorting into itself in all sorts of ways that defied Euclidean geometry. Calling it looped into itself would be inadequate, because there was nothing inside—or was it upside down? Sideways went upward and inwards vanished into nowhere. It was pulsating like a beating heart, firing waves of energy enough to destroy Worlds with the frequency of nerves firing, and at the same time, it was dead and the least organic thing he had ever gazed upon. Back when Inanna had shown him the Origin, he had been unable to see it all, take it all in, so all-encompassing as it was. Now, he faced the exact opposite situation.

Having achieved a nexus, Lukas was sharing this massive cosmic entity’s awareness. An omnipresence and omniscience hundreds—no, thousands—of times greater than what his mind could fathom was being forced through his brain cells. It wasn’t astral projection, as he had shared so many times with Inanna. It wasn’t some kind of extrasensory cognizance nor telepathy that connected him to a system far greater than himself. No, instead it was like he had become … more. Like he had transcended into an elevated life-form, one past the boundaries of reality, time, and space, beyond the reach of any monster, demon, king, or god. How maddening that, when granted the knowledge of everything all at once—to see all, to know all—he was completely and utterly immobilized due to the fact that every action had endless potential outcomes, and each of them had equally endless outcomes and …

What … What is that thing?

Meynte had turned white. She was trembling and staring at the image before her as if she had never seen anything more terrifying; as though she couldn’t bear to be near it; as though it frightened her to her very core. Sweat was beading on her forehead, which made absolutely no sense since she was a mere illusion. Even more so, she was a being of Frost. Seeing her sweat like a human being—

Was this how Lukas had looked while gazing at Inanna’s memory of the Origin? Granted, the Haze—or rather, the Ikai—was far less complex than the Origin, but it mattered little. For what difference did a two-story building or a mountain make to an ant? Still, she couldn’t have—

SPLAT! She exploded into shards of energy.

Memory Prototype MEYNTE disintegrated

Creating new Instance …

A new “Meynte” popped into existence right next to him and—

What is … that—

Memory Prototype MEYNTE disintegrated

Creating new Instance …

Shit! He hadn’t seen this coming.

Soulcraft—

Memory Prototype MEYNTE disintegrated

Creating new Instance …

And on and on it went. An endless loop. And every time her consciousness broke apart, his inner-world created an exact copy of Meynte, complete with the memories of the previous one until the point of its own disintegration, and again, and again, and again. Lukas hastily severed the connection to the nexus, and he was back in the colorful mist of the Haze, and then—

Creating new Instance of Memory Prototype MEYNTE …

WHAT! said Meynte, looking absolutely haggard, like someone who had been brought to the brink of death half a dozen times, only to be brought back at the last moment. Which, to be frank, wasn’t far from the truth.

What was that, Soulcrafter?

“That,” said Lukas, smiling and meeting Meynte’s eyes, “Is a World. Or the remnants of one.”

But … She gasped. The Ikai is gone. Destroyed. All that’s left is the Haze and it’s—

“Is what you just witnessed. A remnant of the past, yes, but it’s also a macrocosm of infinite possibilities. One that’s magnitudes greater than the Empire, greater than the pantheon, greater than the politics of mortals and the divine. That, Meynte, is a World. Gods come and go, but the World forever expands.”

For that one moment, Lukas was back in the Awareness; the feeling of being in oneness with the Haze infused within him. Every single time he had formed a nexus, he had access to every single borderland within the Haze: terrains burning hotter than lava, and worlds where the ice had iced over; singularities that gave the impression of a perfect knife’s edge, and worlds where the ground was rusted metal and dust storms reigned in the sky; borderlands that were essentially underwater, and those crafted out of sentient, cube-like metallic forms.

Lukas had swum through the Haze’s awareness, shifting from world to world, borderland to borderland—sensing, feeling, seeing, hearing, and most importantly, comprehending exactly how vast and endless it was.

Had he been just another inhabitant, his perception would have been limited to the world he was born in. But he wasn’t. He was an Outsider, and more importantly, a World. At some level, he was kin to every single borderland within the Haze. At some level, the shattered remains of the anomaly within him shared a mutual understanding of what it meant to be destroyed.

It was hard to explain it in words. The more he understood the Haze, the more beautiful it felt, a true wonder to behold. But Lukas felt no joy at the sight of it. Instead, his eyes watered and his vision blurred as an emotion he could neither name nor understand swelled in his chest. For a reason that he still couldn’t grasp, his soul ached.

Inanna had called it a remnant of a Has-Been, but, frankly, he doubted even Inanna ever truly understood what it meant. Where it came from. She might have stared into the Origin, but did she know its story?

Its thoughts. Its feelings. Its history.

But that … said Meynte, still fumbling for words after that soul-wrenching experience. That is—was the Ikai. You are just … you. Surely your world is different. Smaller. Less.

A thin smile flickered on his lips. “You say that I am just me. Compared to the Ikai, or even what is left of it, I am but an individual. Perhaps you speak true. I am smaller, with lesser reserves, lesser resources, lesser power … But to say that I am less?”

Are you claiming that the World within you is as great as the Ikai?

The smile was now beginning to hurt.

“No,” said Lukas. “It’s bigger.”

He held her gaze for a full ten seconds. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure why he was so insistent on making his point known to the entity before him. After all, she was a part of his World and nothing she said nor believed in should have made a pint of difference to him. But Meynte was an empress—someone with decades, perhaps centuries of experience, and most importantly, was a Taboo vessel in the past. At her greatest, she was his antithesis, and only by knowing her could he truly understand the nature of Fimbulwinter. And if he had to teach her a few things about himself and the World she was part of in the process, well, it was an acceptable loss.

She wasn’t going anywhere, after all.

“The Ikai Realm was fragmented, not destroyed, and whatever remains is this Haze. But the world I come from? It was more, so much more. That which you call my inner-world, the one that holds you and every single prototype I have siphoned; that so casually denies Amaterasu’s Eternal Light and exerts its own Rules and carves its own domain—it’s just the ruined part of my World’s omphalos. Think. What will you find when I actually get my World to work again?”

But— Meynte’s voice quivered only a little. If that’s how it is, why did you have trouble fighting me?

“Because you weren’t wrong,” said Lukas, still smiling. “I’m a World, but I’m also an individual. And as an individual, I need to grow. And in this Haze, we will find hundreds of prototypes. Monsters with Skills I can assimilate and make my own. Creatures to kill, Experience to gain. Level up while I study the Haze.”

Monsters like the Ifrit King?

Lukas let out a hollow laugh. “Just getting close to it will vaporize the fuck out of me. No, I’m looking for something that bridges the gap between Level 3 and Level 4.”

Locating Rifts …

Something like that?

An image rushed into his mind.

“Are those giant cockatrices?”

I thought you wanted to start small.

Lukas laughed and thrust his hand out. The next moment, he was gone.

CHAPTER 1

The Zwaray Keep was at war.

The stench of blood and death filled the air as Ultaf Shimizu and his army of spiritists, warriors, and monsters tore through its outer defenses. The svartalfar pillars—massive structures of an unknown metal which were said to be able to guard against the finest of armies—now lay in melted pools of sludge.

“Give up and open the Well for us,” said Ultaf. “Or you’ll die like … Well, him.”

He cackled madly as his soldiers lynched a svartalfar, not seeming to care if they actually would give up.

“You crazy bastard! The Well is damaged. WE DON’T KNOW WHERE THE GIRL—”

The shouting soldier literally exploded.

“Tell me,” Ultaf cackled madly. “Does anyone else not know where the girl is?”

The air screamed as aeromancers summoned pulsing spheres of compressed wind at the towers. The svartalfars’ response was disorderly, pointing their weapons from the tops of the towers and mostly missing. As a whole, they weren’t ones for long-range combat.

“I … I surrender.” An old svartalfar who seemed to be one of their leaders came to the front. “Please don’t kill me.”

“So, you’ll resist to the end?” Ultaf sneered. “Summon my Tier-3 kami!”

“W-wait. That’s not what I said!”

“Filthy animals, eh?” He turned and patted Zuken on the shoulder.

Zuken for once had no words. This was not how one waged war.

Ultaf wasn’t taking prisoners. He was nominally asking for Tanya, but he was also more than happy to slaughter them regardless of their answer. There was no purpose to this and the depraved smile on Ultaf’s face made Zuken wonder if he needed to worry about his own safety.

Ultaf wasn’t particularly bright, and Zuken had been contemplating his escape based on that. This massacre was a reality check that showed him that that could very well backfire. Plans were always made on the basis that the opponent wasn’t crazy.

The keep that had once stood proudly now lay in ruins with only some large fragments among the rubble to hint at its former size and grandeur. The broken walls, the shattered cantonments, dead svartalfar children. An ingenious civilization dismantled by a tempest.

It was hard not to feel bitter and useless.

An image rose in Zuken’s head. His mother. Himself. Standing at the gate of their capital city. Her final words to him:

You have no power, no talent with mana, your Soul Capacity is pitiful, and your faith in the pantheon is a flickering flame. The Earth King’s son must be strong, but you are weak.

Even his mind—his greatest strength—was worthless here.

Still, all was not lost. He was alive, as was Elena. Tanya was safe with …

He frowned.

Tanya was safe with—

Zuken smiled as the name escaped him. It might not do anything in the long run, but small acts of resistance made him feel better despite his situation.

But was this really the most appropriate reaction?

Ultaf’s army destroyed his castle, captured him, and decimated his hill. His psion raped his mind, found whatever was useful, and came to the svartalfars, demanding they hand over the Well. His only solid way to gain true power—featherglass—was now in shambles.

Wasn’t he supposed to be furious at having been tortured? Shouldn’t the fact that all his developments and research were gone and he was back at Square One have crushed him?

Perhaps he had just become so accustomed to his own suffering that he felt it was inevitable.

The mind was a strange thing and difficult to comprehend. Perhaps it had endured too much and therefore simply decided to stop caring.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Despite the fact that his brain was screaming at him to give up, there was a persistent underlying itch that pushed him in another direction.

He had overcome being thrown out of his clan. He had dealt with numerous political opponents. Losing to this buffoon … The sheer indignity of it would push him forward.

Any kind of negotiation with someone insane brought with it the risk of death, and he would never match Ultaf in power.

But could he make him weaker?

That felt more reasonable. Weakening the enemy wasn’t necessarily dependent upon your own strength. Ultaf lacked neither power nor authority. Having a warlord and an entire army underneath him, along with the status of being a member of the Sacred Eight, did all of that for him.

That left two options.

The first was to use his fear against him.

And the second: use his pride against him.

Fortunately, Ultaf had both in spades to spare.

“You know, my grandfather always preferred the bitch,” said Ultaf.

Another strange quirk. The girl. Bitch. Lowborn. Traitor. Creature. Ultaf called Tanya anything but her given name.

“A Soul Capacity so high, she was given a goddamn Tier-5 kami. My kami.” He grabbed Zuken hard. “You see? That’s why I need to get her back. I’m stronger now, and the kami will see that too. And anyone who dares stand in my way will end up like that.”

He pointed to a pile of dead svartalfar. “All that in less than an hour.”

Zuken stiffened but refused to show any fear. “Do you—do you realize what you’re doing? Svartalfars are endangered. And they’re the only ones in the Empire that can forge Wells.”

Does he truly not understand how much he is escalating matters here?

“Then they should’ve just surrendered the Well in the first place. These insects should know better than to test the resolve of one of the Sacred Eight.” Ultaf smiled. The madness of being drunk with power shone in his eyes. “They need to learn that actions have consequences.”

Such pointless malice. Zuken thought. It’s like he has no goals beyond just making everyone grovel before him, and he doesn’t care how many enemies he makes in the process. Had Mujin Shimizu intentionally ruined his own grandson?

“Always attack the enemy’s weakness,” said Ultaf proudly. “That’s the secret to victory. Your compassion is your weakness. Their population is theirs.”

Threats were powerful as leverage—a gentle pressure to get what one wanted. To show that you were serious, people often made some grand overtures such as a kidnapper cutting off a hostage’s finger to prove that he was willing to cut off their head.

It was as if someone had taught the oaf basic concepts but without any ability to use them practically. Attacking the enemy’s weakness was important but at the same time, who the fuck did that in public?

His shoulders squared.

Do you really understand what sort of reprisal you’re inviting right now, Ultaf Shimizu?

“Banksi,” said Ultaf, with the air of a grown-up asking a toddler to take a first step by himself, “you said you know them, yes? Make them give me the Well. Try to get information about the girl, too.”

Zuken stared at him. Did he really think negotiations were possible after burying over half their population?

“Oh, and don’t tell them I’ll kill them after they hand the stuff over.”

“…”

The news of the massacre spread like wildfire. While Haviskali was a fringe city and therefore not of interest to most, the svartalfars were the ones who crafted the Wells that connected to the other side, where the people would gather their kami.

They were given a pseudo-amnesty to live on the fringe of the desert and, in turn, forged all the required needs for the Asukan Empire.

The first to bear the brunt of this was Lord Naowa.

The glass of wine dropped from his hand and tumbled across the floor. “He did WHAT?”

Several confirmations and multiple headaches later, he was still stuck in this bad dream where Ultaf Shimizu randomly waltzed into the svartalfar colony—the only one in the entire Empire—and chosen to eradicate them.

If it had been anywhere else, he would have eagerly watched the flames burning between the Empire and the Shimizu Clan, who he was quite sure had no future after this. Unfortunately, it happened in Haviskali. Which meant that this entire mess was his problem. The bastard would be lynched, no doubt about that. But he wouldn’t come out smelling like roses, either. For another Sacred Eight clan to just waltz in, butcher the endangered species that held amnesty even from the army and were one of the prime contributors to the commerce in his kingdom, would be portrayed as weakness at best and incompetent at worst.

There was blood in the water, and the sharks were coming.

“Sir, Strogen is calling from the Empire.”

“Put him on hold,” Naowa replied curtly. This was the sixteenth message in the past twenty minutes from nobles asking for confirmation of the news and, more importantly, trying to figure out if Mujin would take the fall for it and the subsequent gap in political capital that would be left in its wake.

“Lord Straff wants to know if this is true. He says it’s urgent and is demanding—”

“Later.”

A few minutes passed.

“Sir, we have received another urgent—”

“I said PUT IT ON HOLD, GODDAMMIT. I can’t deal with this now. I need to figure out what happened, and these stupid politicians are something I cannot handle at the moment.”

He needed to figure out who to assign blame to and what actually happened. In that order.

“Well?” he asked his staff member who was standing at the threshold, hesitantly. “Just tell them I’ll call them later.”

“It’s the Emperor’s brother, sir. The Fire King.”

Lord Naowa put his head in his hands.

CHAPTER 2

From above, the town of Haviskali looked like a set of ever-moving blocks—stone for the commoners and glass, wood, and precious metals for the wealthy. The moving platforms ran all over the town, with uniform-sized shops on either side of them, separated by spiral monolithic keeps that housed the aristocrats.

But up close …

“Don’t even think twice! This is the finest ether in the land!”

‘Yes, of course.” Tanya’s fake smile had been plastered on for so long now, her face hurt and she wondered if she’d ever be able to smile normally again afterward.

Maude looked genuinely interested, but, given this was the thirty-second person who had stopped them in the last two hours to peddle their wares, she likely just had a far better poker face than Tanya did.

He was selling ether crystal and was exactly the same as all the other peddlers. If there was anything particularly distinct about him, it was his mustache. The man was getting progressively more excited as he described why his ether was the best by far, compared to all the frauds around him who were selling inferior and low-quality products.

There were two types of towns in the Llaisy Kingdom. The first were towns that were considered “useful,” providing valuable materials from anomalies, and unique minerals and resources. This usually led to military might as well, with both nobles and adventurers gathering where the wealth was.

The other kind were those that sold ether, which everyone needed for quick, easy manacrafting and didn’t require any particular skill to manufacture. Rather, it was just the compressing of raw mana into feldstone crystals, which were present in abundance throughout the kingdom. It only required time, and therefore, everyone was doing it.

Moving away from the salesman who had now picked a fight with the man who had set up a stall next to him, Tanya stood in front of the massive edifice of pure, white tefelvane stone looming over her. This was the Grevane, a citadel that both served as the administrative center of the town, the offices for the Cobalt Army, and the official premises for most bureaucratic activity.

Most nobility unlucky enough to be delegated in Haviskali ended up living here, a show of wealth against the backdrop of the surrounding ether factories. The area was marred, however, by the conspicuously missing hillock upon which once rested Zuken’s mansion.

“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Tanya murmured. “Just less than a year ago, we were so excited to be working for the nobility for the first time. And now …”

She trailed off, staring at the ugly, misshapen, charred land that contrasted with the surrounding whiteness.

“I wonder how it felt when Zuken saw it getting destroyed before his own eyes,” said Maude. “Must have been intense, no?”

And there it went again. Ever since the change, Maude was different. She had all the memories and abilities of the old Maude, but there was a cruelty about her that was so unnervingly casual.

“Almost makes me wish I was there to see it happen. Zuken was never one to display strong emotions. It would’ve been so … stirring.”

Maude had been doing this throughout their journey. Despite her assurance that the old Maude was still in there. And yet she seemed to view humanity with an eye of curiosity akin to a child poking an ant nest with a stick.

“Do you …” Tanya hesitated. “Do you feel happy that this happened to him?”

Maude’s lips twisted into something that was almost but not quite a smile. “I … don’t know. Zuken was good to me, but he was also an intruder to the yurei. And yurei cannot feel. Vanir … feel a lot. I just wonder how exquisite that pain must have felt. Seeing his life turned upside down before his very eyes …”

She looked at Tanya with an almost-hungry look.

“Are … I mean, should I still call you Maude?”

“Maude knew suffering, struggle, and strife. She spent her entire existence cultivating and building and working towards something. Malon guarded the corridors of the anomaly ever since its conception. Guarding, creating, killing—that is all it has ever known. And one day, both woke up and found that their existence—their memories—had been given to someone else. To have your entire life’s accomplishments and purpose snatched from your grasp and given to an identical twin you never knew existed …”

“Me,” Maude said after a moment’s pause. “I’m not Malon. I’m not Maude. I’m …”

“An oni,” said Tanya, looking at her warily.

Oni were not something overly talked about in the Asukan Empire. There were records of Arpen, the first oni to be captured around four hundred years ago—the first-known true fusion of bremetan and yokai since the war. Because of its tremendous power, they tried to weaponize it, but it had gone out of control. Something had happened because, a month later, not only was it executed but everyone who had anything to do with it had vanished as well. After that, any research on the subject was banned and the word ‘oni’ had gradually faded from common use.

“Mmm.”

Whatever she had been about to say had died in her throat. Tanya stared, bewildered, at the large twenty-by-twenty banner floating high above their heads. On it, above the sigil of the Shogun, was printed in bold, glowing letters:

ALL SVARTALFAR WARES ARE HENCEFORTH CONSCRIPTED BY THE GOVERNMENT!

TRADING IN SVARTALFAR WARES DECLARED ILLEGAL. TRESPASSERS WILL BE FINED 5,000 MEZALS.

There was the insignia of Lord Naowa, the Shogun himself, along with the signature of Bezu Carvein, the Cobalt Army general, and Joran Axelson, the army captain of the Phalanx, posted in Haviskali.

Now that she looked, none of the shops that traded in svartalfar wares were open. The shutters were down, with bills stamped with the Cobalt Army’s seal on their doors.

“What’s going on?” she asked. Svartalfars were anal-retentive, bloodthirsty weaponsmiths with a fetish for beheadings, and ferocious sticklers for privacy. They also loathed the Asukans with a passion, and that went double for their nobles. They were notorious for only trading their wares through third-party agencies or the government. Additionally, they had some kind of deal with the Empire that gave them access to a particular borderland in Haviskali, a fringe territory bereft of Eternal Light, and a form of pseudo-amnesty from the Cobalt Army so long as they didn’t break sacred protocol.

“‘Aven’t you ‘eard?” coughed a peddler from the street. “Shimizu killed them all. Keep’s gone. No more magic metal, no more weapons. Gone.”

Tanya couldn’t believe her ears. Gone? The Shimizu had killed the svartalfars? What nonsense—

“The big guns up there are furious,” said the peddler. “Army’s gathering all their wares. Me son was dealing with those bitches at the Keep. Told ‘im, don’t. And now this.”

But Tanya was no longer listening. She and Maude had come to Haviskali to find out what had transpired at Zuken’s place and visit the Zwaray Keep in order to contact the svartalfars and fabricate a story of their return through the Well. Solana had enough pull with the greedy bastards to make them play ball.

But if the svartalfars were gone, then …

“Well, this is interesting,” said Maude, looking at a cheap item at a stall to her right. A bundle of tiny balls with Eternal Light glowing and reflecting within. “Does it come in black?”

Tanya suppressed the urge to growl. “Interesting, my ass. This fucks up all our plans! Stop mucking around with—”

And for the second time that day, Tanya froze, staring at the stall owner’s face, or rather, his eyes. The last time she had seen those black orbs, they had glittered with savage laughter, surrounded by fierce features, shoulder-length hair, and someone with the build of an experienced soldier. It was a face to dominate or fight, never one to patronize or pity. Like a wild animal trapped in a cage too small.

Now? The eyes looked glassy. His hair was no longer perfectly styled but rather bedraggled, his skin pale and his cheeks sallow and sunken. He looked like he wanted to leap and maul anyone he could reach with his grasping, talon-like hands, only to be held back by an ironclad confirmation that he would lose.

“… Olfric?”

The hawker froze and looked at her with a mixture of fright and shock. The light of recognition filled his eyes, and he croaked out, “… Tanya?”

“And that’s how Elena and I escaped. We’ve been in hiding ever since,” said the mustache.

It was brown and long and, while the color matched his hair, its shade was slightly different, and Tanya couldn’t take her eyes off of it.

“Is it real?”

“Sorry?” asked Olfric, bewildered.

“Is it real?” she asked, edging closer. “Did you paste it on? Or grow it naturally?”

Tanya had many questions bubbling through her mind, and none of them had anything to do with Olfric’s story. She was no mustache connoisseur, but there was something about it that fit Olfric’s face to a tee. It was furry, almost worm-like, and moved left and right in a manner that made her want to poke it. It just looked so right that she wondered why Olfric had never worn one before this.

It took him a moment to realize what she was talking about. “Does it matter?”

“Err … no.” Tanya blinked twice and pulled back. I really should have Lukas grow a mustache, she thought.

They were sitting inside Errol’s Tavern, a dull, dim, drafty sort of place. Tanya had often visited here when she’d first started out as an adventurer. It was where you could get good beer for cheap, along with under-the-table deals—dirty jobs that paid a lot of mezals upfront but with no guarantee for later. Thieves, assassins, abductors, spies, Feelers serving the Empire, undercover agents serving the Cobalt Army … you found them all here.

Basically, her sort of place.

They were sitting at a side table—Maude next to her, with Olfric on the opposite end, his back facing the wall. He had an Eternal Light trinket held tightly in his left hand, and he kept glancing warily at Maude, half-expecting a demon to tear its way out of her and eat him alive.

“I’m not going to bite you, Olfric,” said Maude saucily. “At least, unless you want me to.”

Maude had been going out of her way to antagonize him. And watching her wearing the face of a former comrade was taking its toll on him.

“Stay away from me, Demon, if you know what’s good for you,” said the former aquamancer, reaching for his sword with his right hand.

It was larger than she remembered it, to the point that its large size actually impeded its ability to be wielded effectively. It was how Olfric dealt with trauma. Every time he went through something difficult, he would come back with his sword a size larger. His arranged marriage had fallen apart after he had been cast out of his clan, and his sword seemed at least twice as large since the last time Tanya saw him.

Maude gave him a rather sad, gentle smile. “Look at you, poor man. A trinket and a sword. Did Father not give his son a new kami after he lost his?”

Maude’s face showed such genuine concern that had she been looking at the scene from the outside, Tanya would have believed that she actually cared.

“You and your kind are to blame for my loss, Demon.”

Maude smiled with a shade of mockery so faint that no one who wasn’t looking for it could possibly have seen it. It was just enough to make sure that Olfric knew that she was rubbing it in his face.

She probably practiced it in a mirror.

She didn’t stop there. She kept goading him, trying to bait a reaction, and Tanya didn’t understand why. Something had changed in Maude beyond a simple fusing of memories. And she wasn’t sure what Maude’s angle was … or if there even was an angle.

The old Olfric would have most likely attacked by now. Instead, he simply took a deep breath and ignored her.

Turning to Tanya, he asked, “Can you help us out? Elena and me?”

Of all the things he had said, this surprised Tanya the most. Olfric was always a headstrong man—stubborn bordering on arrogant, self-righteous, and absolutely set in his beliefs. His definition of right and wrong was rigid, inflexible, and unbending, like the trident of the storm god he worshiped. For him to put his ego aside and ask her of all people—someone he had always looked down upon—for help spoke volumes.

“Do you realize what you are asking?” she said. “I can help you. But you’d have to join me and the yokai.”

“The yokai …”

“Or you can go and hide as a hawker,” said Maude. “Seems to come naturally to you.”

The air between them seemed to get physically colder, which was … impossible. Olfric didn’t even have a kami. Tanya saw the slight curving of Maude’s lips.

“Think carefully,” said Olfric, grinding his teeth, “before you call me a coward.”

His strong, blunt features were unreadable. He must have wanted to scream. To fight. Instead, he gave her an angry glare and sighed, looking down at the glass of liquor on the table and downing it in one go. Mirroring his action, Maude took hers and made it vanish without twitching an eyelash. Meanwhile, Tanya took a polite sip and looked at the other two, amused.

“Say I agree …” he said at last. “What’s the plan?”

Tanya beamed.

The so-called plan was split into three parts. The first was escaping the city, which was now crawling with guards and added security after the destruction of the svartalfars. There was no doubt that Shogun Naowa would deny the Shimizu any and all access to the Cobalt Army, but that didn’t mean her grandfather didn’t have spies and abductors all over the place.

The second was to locate Zuken and Olfric and to regroup with Lukas and the yokai.

The final part of the plan was to rescue Zuken.

It is worth mentioning that Tanya was not a strategist.

“That’s not a plan,” Olfric roared. “You just listed exactly what I told you needed to be done in three points.”

“No, it’s fine,” Tanya argued. “I’ve been on the run for a long time, and it’s always worked out for me.”

It is worth mentioning again that Tanya was not a strategist.

“Perhaps,” said Maude, “we should contact the Leader and discuss?”

“Leader …” began Olfric as Maude left the table and walked off to the counter.

“Think of all the demons your daddy told you stories of as a kid,” said Tanya. “The wicked spirits, the evil body-stealing demons, the vile nameless things that live in the shadows.” She grinned savagely. “Solana gave them lessons.”

Solana was the heavyweight champion in Yokai Territory. Whether it was in direct, face-to-face mayhem or acting through defensive wards, there were relatively few people in the territory that could face her and win.

“And … you want me and Elena with you … close to her.”

“She’s a monster, yes, but the monster I know. We’ll be fine.”

Solana would limit casualties, not for the safety of innocents, but because their deaths would draw attention to and complicate her own operations. She would agree to peace—not to protect others but to ensure her own kind weren’t getting killed as well.

As Maude returned with a saucer-like bowl, Olfric asked, dumbfounded, “And you’re going to contact her using … that thing?!”

“Mind filling this up with some water, Olfric?” asked the oni.

A pained expression flitted across the former aquamancer’s face as he poured water from the jug. Maude waited for the water surface to go completely still before placing her palms over the bowl, channeling energy into it. A single ripple formed on the water’s surface, and a reflection of a pair of eyes appeared in it. While they were beautiful, they were cold eyes, alien, filled with intelligence and desire but empty of compassion or pity.

And then Solana’s voice said, quite clearly and from within, “Report.”

It was possible to communicate with the wicked Leader of yokai through still water, but the process involved channeling ethereal energy in a fashion Tanya had yet to learn.

Maude recounted all that had happened in a dull drone that bordered on mockery, but the yokai leader didn’t react. She also insisted on wearing clothing with colors that were an inverse of Solana’s attire, which wasn’t very subtle.

Despite the fact that Lukas had bullied Solana into handing over the reins of the yokai to him, Tanya felt irrationally spiteful toward her.

Or perhaps it was completely rational, seeing as the bitch had set her up to be a vessel for someone else’s soul.

“The Shimizu destroyed Zwaray Keep,” Solana said in a quiet voice. “Who survived? Can you contact Dvalinn?”

Dvalinn was the de facto spokesperson for the Zwaray Keep, and a member of the Svartalfar High Council. He was the one who Lukas had spoken to and the one who had coordinated the trial-by-combat from which Lukas had emerged the winner.

“Dead,” said Tanya. “The Keep is gone. As is the Well.”

“This … can be used in our favor. Lord Naowa is unlikely to turn a blind eye to this. The Llaisy Kingdom was responsible for the protection of the svartalfars. For the Shimizu to walk all over them like this and destroy the Keep …” A long moment of silence passed. “Can you contact the Outsider?”

“Yes,” said Tanya. She was still a little miffed at her lover for leaving her like this, but she understood his obsession with resurrecting his goddess. If nothing else, he had left her an option to contact him, but only if the situation was dire enough.

“Do so, then,” she said. “We will need to change our plans to adapt to the situation. Actually, there is another possibility …”

Solana paused thoughtfully.

“How would you like to become the next Lady of Shimizu?”

Olfric was lucky that she wasn’t drinking at the moment, because she would have surely turned to spit on him. Tanya considered drinking some and doing a spit-take regardless because nothing else could sufficiently convey just how ridiculous an idea it was.

“And how,” she asked Solana, “do you plan to do that? I mean, we can always try asking nicely and see how it goes, but somehow I doubt it will turn out the way you think.”

“You leave that to me,” said Solana with a confidence that she had no business having, given how spectacularly her previous plans had failed. “For now, we need information on their movements.”

For the first time, she turned to address Olfric. “You said you were being hunted, no?”

Three days later, they made their move.

“Are you really a Shimizu or is this more demon trickery?”

This was the seventh time he had brought up the topic. The shock of the fact that Tanya wasn’t of common blood had allowed him to temporarily forget his own misery, as well as the fact that he, an Omnyoji, was now allied with the yokai. He had taken them to the solitary ramshackle hut that functioned as their temporary hideout, where Elena was hiding, and gotten her onboard.

“Let’s survive the day and I’ll tell you.”

Following Solana’s suggestions, they had dressed Olfric up in rich-looking Asukan robes, fitted with his atrociously long sword. Olfric had then been spotted at a number of locations all over the town—the Otamba Bridge, the destroyed mound where Zuken’s mansion once lay, and an official appointment with the overseer, the request for which had been filed through the proper channels at the Grevane.

Not a single person stopped him as he and Elena went to meet the overseer, submitted a formal request to look into Zuken’s capture, received empty platitudes in return, and walked out of the Grevane with a pouch of mezals after cashing one of Zuken’s cheques.

No cries of alarm. No tromping of soldiers. No attacks by mercenaries. Nothing.

Tanya stuffed another one of the little peaches into her mouth, chewing with satisfaction, as she stood on the roof of the adjacent building, watching them walk out of the Grevane with that giant pouch of mezals.

“What do you think?” asked Maude.

“Oh, they’re quite good,” said Tanya. “Elena’s always had excellent taste in fruit.”

“About them, Tanya.”

A lazy smile spread on Tanya’s face. Even from this far, she could clearly feel the subtle movement in the crowd. The shifting eyes. The looks on certain faces. Six men had been following Olfric and Elena for the last thirty minutes. The duo crossed the street and moved into the alley on the right. Tanya casually stepped off the roof, and the next moment, she was overlooking the alley.

No signs of wards that interfered with manacrafting. Then again, direct interference like that was rather easy to detect and they probably didn’t want to risk getting caught.

There was a person hiding by one of the building’s windows to the right. They weren’t stupid enough to stand right next to it and risk getting caught, but nobody would be there in a seemingly empty alley for no reason.

The pole to Olfric’s left was more interesting. Tanya couldn’t tell if they were spiritists, but there was at least one person capable of veiling their presence.

Likely a psion.

That alone told her that these people were working with limited resources. Mana interference was easier to set up than mental interference, but it was a double-edged sword and would prevent the abductors from using mana as well, leaving no option but to fight using fancy weapons and physical mediums to enact their spells.

They were honestly pathetic when compared to the people her grandfather sent to pursue her. She sighed, more out of disappointment than anything else. These idiots weren’t being subtle in the slightest. Sure, they were playing to their strengths, but it would have been more effective if they had waited to enact the wards after some time.

The six from earlier surrounded Olfric and Elena while two more shot out of the ground from behind.

“Your grandfather has gotten sloppy,” said Maude.

It was true. The fools didn’t even question why two adults suddenly turned into an alley right after they were being followed. Anyone who had been in this kind of game long enough could smell when a situation had become too convenient.

Her right hand shot forward, and a silver whip extended out, ripping through any and all magical protection like toilet paper.

Two of the men were executed before they could even blink—and then they promptly exploded. The whip shattered, forming shards of twisted metal, each of them tearing through the air, following independent trajectories, tearing through the bodies of the eight other mercenaries, chopping off their legs right above the knee.

“What was that?” asked Olfric.

“Just a little gift from my boyfriend.”

Tanya whistled, and the metal projectiles zoomed back to her, reforming into a thick aqāru wristband for her right arm.

“Now then,” she said, “I’m Tanya, the granddaughter of the man you work for. I have some—”

“We know nothing,” one of them cried. Tanya’s eyes flashed, and an invisible blade tore through the man’s torso in a zigzag fashion, splattering blood all over the cobbled street.

The man was dead before his body hit the floor.

Tanya gave the others a smile that she tried to make as reassuring as possible. “The way this usually works is that I ask you a question, and then you tell me a lie. If you give me a dishonest response before I’ve had the chance to ask the question, it offends me.”

The other mercenaries shook their heads in quick, jerky spasms.

“Now,” said Tanya, “exactly what is my dear grandfather up to?”

The interrogation was surprisingly short. However much her grandfather was paying them wasn’t enough to buy their loyalty in the face of death.

“Arghh!” cried another, after five minutes of torture. “Just … just kill me.”

Then again … she mused as Maude tore another fingernail off the man in front of her, cackling happily.

No amount of money was worth that.

“That’s enough. He’s told us everything.”

Even Olfric looked uncomfortable.

“So?” asked Maude.

There wasn’t any more information to be had; she simply wanted to hurt them.

“So leave them be.” Tanya extended her arm and Blob followed, killing the remaining men.

She knew Maude had been mentally unstable ever since the merging, but this was unsettling—far worse than she had ever been before. Maybe there was a reason oni were forbidden.

Pushing aside her misgivings, Tanya tossed a bag at Olfric.

“Clean clothes. Take off anything that had blood on it and throw it in a pile.”

She stepped back and away from the bloodied garments before tossing Blob right in the middle of them.

“Eat.”

The silver Blob shriveled and then expanded, covering the clothes, the bodies, and all the blood. It pulsed once and then compressed. What was left behind was a polished alleyway that looked even cleaner than before the murders.

“Always leave a place cleaner than before you used it.”

Nobody could accuse Tanya of not having good manners.

“Alright, you can rest for a few minutes, and then we’ll head out. I’ve contacted Lukas and we’ll meet him with Solana.”

“Where did you manage to hide in Haviskali?” asked Olfric.

“Not Haviskali. We’re going to the desert.”

CHAPTER 3

The only thing that stopped it from being a graveyard was the lack of bodies.

It should’ve been, what with the large monoliths arising out of the dreary, sandy terrain like upturned coffins. Every few yards, there was a mound of translucent, pale crystal, and inside it, a recumbent, shadowy form. Some of them held figures no larger than a regular-sized dog. Others were the size of multi-storied apartment buildings. Together, they ran across the endless terrain, an infinite number of headstones heading towards a horizon that wasn’t there, all the while reflecting light that wasn’t coming down from the pitch-black canvas above. Even the air itself had a leftover, reheated feel.

In the center of the fake graveyard stood a cat.

It had to be a cat for it was cat-shaped.

There were some cats which, when you met them, reminded you that, despite the thousands of years of human evolution, they only needed to mew and blink their eyes at you to turn you into a gooey mess of affection.

This could be that cat. It had the eyes for that.

And then there were cats that had embraced Darwinian evolution to become agile hunters with sharp claws, powerful teeth, and unparalleled speed to take down even the largest, bulkiest prey quickly and efficiently. A combination of striking beauty, lethal strength, and adaptable, stealthy, predatory instincts that would make even the most fearless man freeze in fear.

This cat would even make that stealthy, apex predator hide behind a boulder and pretend to be extremely preoccupied with its fluffy tail.

It was already meowing, even though said meowing came out less like a purr and more like a plug of hot iron dragged over asphalt. It took a few steps forward and sniffed the sullen air.

Its ears flicked up.

There were voices a long way off. A voice that came from a different World that was outside this World. A voice that spoke to its ear and sought to seek its master, the center of its universe. It could sense another itself in that World, many Worlds away, an itself that its master had left back.

“Lukas,” said the voice. “Find Lukas. I need him.”

The cat gave the feline equivalent of a shrug and immediately lost interest in the voice. Instead, it began looking for its master, who was somewhere inside this World. A World that was nothing like a certain underground network of tunnels with a pit of featherglass and aqāru in the center. A World that was also nothing like an expansive galaxy with a multitude of planets, stars, asteroids, comets, meteors, and everything in between.

Every single monolith here shared a history that did not exist, yet the cat remembered it all. Every single monolith contained within it a prototype—a monster with instincts that was unique and untouched but felt strangely familiar.

“Find Lukas,” said the voice again. “Bring him back.”

It purred softly in a question.

Multiple copies of It existed. There was the It that existed with that [PREDATOR] that was and was not its exterminator in the past. There were also several large Its in the same World, and one very large It that was growing in a different World that was different from the World [PREDATOR] came from. It did not quite understand how that contradiction really functioned, but such trivial issues were beneath its notice compared to the command its master gave it.