ACT III | THE TYRANT'S HUBRIS


CHAPTER XXIV | CHORUS


ORBIT OF NEPTUNE

Spacewalking was not something that Clovis had done before.

He knew the process; its intricacies understood and quantified. As an Exo with immaculate memory and mechanical control, it didn't matter if it had been his first time, or his one hundredth. He could have done this many times before, but despite staring out into the vastness of space many times, he had never felt the urge to step beyond the protection of stations and spacecraft.

There was something about the sheer emptiness that he fixated on; the void that surrounded everything the moment one left the comforting grounding that gravity or structure provided. To look behind, and see your singular place of refuge become gradually smaller and smaller…

It was a reminder; a stark demonstration of the fact that in the grand scope of the universe, they were so very, very small.

This line of thought traveled through his mind as he had stepped into the airlock and heard the air rushing out as the vacuum displaced it. Until all sound was gone, and there was only silent emptiness.

Leaving the Morning Star and delving into the endless was one rare thing that made him feel ever-so-slightly disconcerted. He found some amusement in that fact, considering it as he floated through the sparkling void. Yes, it was quite amusing, and some would consider it irrational. For there should have been so much to feel such discomfort, uncertainty, or fear over. The alien whose mouthpiece he was moving to meet, or the disease which was consuming the planet below. It was neither of those.

Instead, it was the emptiness that surrounded him.

It was here where he felt so very small.

Vulnerable.

Where if he blinked out of existence right now…

It seemed certain that everything would continue on.

Everything appeared so disconnected when considered from beyond the places of safety. It was humbling. He wondered if Valentin thought the same way, though he personally doubted it. The man was no longer Human in a way that mattered. When one was able to transcend the concept of death itself, such perspectives were shed like a stifling cocoon.

The man was something else now - something more, the man no doubt thought - and such moral frailties had no place in the alien's grand design.

The Valentin he had known was gone – he supposed the question that mattered was how much remained. He knew that parts had certainly been stripped; Valentin's hesitation; his uncertainty; his unwillingness to openly act. Such traits were unacceptable in a subordinate given power and authority.

If the Traveler was God, then Valentin was her Archangel.

One to speak or wage war, holding the palm branch in one hand, and the sword in the other.

He supposed that was likely what all the Guardians were.

The Angels of God, awakened and summoned to bring Heaven on Earth by word or sword.

And here he was, about to speak to one.

He could not deny his curiosity, both in speaking to Valentin now, and why such a request had been entertained at all. In the distance, hovered the man in question, approaching ever-closer as Clovis flew. Bursts of air from propulsion systems in his Exo shell allowed him to perfectly position himself opposite the hooded figure with the diamond-shaped mask

He did not think that Valentin had done all this to simply betray him now, even if he easily could. Though in that unlikely scenario, the Reality Anchor embedded in his frame, along with the recent upgrades, were ready as swiftly as a simple thought could prepare them. If such would be fast enough, however, remained an open question.

He certainly had no intention of giving Valentin a reason to doubt, especially since there was no scenario where he would succeed. There was the pesky reality that, even if he activated the Anchor, and Valentin froze in the vacuum of space, the Traveler would find a way to bring him back.

Best not to tempt fate.

Man and Exo faced each other, both hovering above a backdrop of a corrupted world. It was a strangely peaceful and beautiful scene, one that masked the context, history, and horror within. Behind both of them were their instruments of power. The Morning Star behind Clovis, the Traveler behind Valentin.

There was something in that image that Clovis found fitting.

A modern Michaelangelo, a meeting between the mortal and divine.

Valentin lifted one gloved hand, and a nearly transparent, if slightly golden bubble was manifested around them. Clovis waited for an explanation, suspecting this was not a prelude to some kind of elaborate attack.

"[We can speak now,]" Valentin said, lowering his hand, placing it atop his other one. "[I would prefer to speak directly, and rely on electronic instruments.]"

Clovis's eyes glanced at the barrier, attempting to identify its composition. His internal diagnostics only picked up that it was 'paracausal.' "[A localized atmosphere?]"

"[Of a sort,]" Valentin said neutrally. "[It serves the needed purpose. Do the details matter?]"

"[No, they do not,]" Clovis returned his focus to the masked man, only speaking after a long moment. "[When you first returned from Mars, and relayed the vision you saw, of the Darkness that threatened everything, I believed it to be an exaggeration or fabrication of the alien. A lie told to frighten us into submission and compel us to tie ourselves to an alien master.]"

He turned his head to look down at Neptune, where black clouds were raging, and the once-pristine ice and snow bearing long veins of corruption. Clovis's voice was melancholic, accepting. "[How interesting that I was wrong.]"

Valentin also looked down at Neptune. Though the corruption was apparent, there remained a distant tranquility on the blue-green world of ice. An unspoken hope that what had been inflicted could be reversed. When he spoke again, he met Clovis's eyes, and asked a single question. "[Do you believe now?]"

"[That this Darkness is real? That it is a threat? Yes, I do. I see clearly now,]" Clovis answered; or admitted. "[I believed the alien wanted to merely influence and rule, shaping us into what she desired. I was wrong.]"

He had considered the possibilities as he'd approached Valentin on his spacewalk through the Void. The implications of this newfound knowledge and context. It had placed things into perspective. It had expanded the scope.

What this meant was nothing short of terrifying.

What it meant was worse than he had assumed.

"[Now,]" Clovis said. "[Now I understand the answer is far simpler. This is why she is here, isn't it?]"

A nod from Valentin. "[The Darkness is a threat to everything. We will not be spared its approach.]"

He did not see. Or worse, he saw, and he agreed. He saw, and he saw salvation, not slavery. Or perhaps he was but a useful puppet. Perhaps the Traveler kept him ensnared in a web of lies and promises. Yet even if she made her intentions clear…

Would it even matter to him?

"[No.]" Clovis' voice took on a harder tone, letting the anger of his revelation seep through. "[The Traveler is not here to protect us, Valentin. She is not here to uplift us, or because she believes in some framework extolling the sanctity of life.]"

He pointed to the planet. "[She is at war. This is war. No, Valentin, she has not come here to protect us - she has come to conscript us.]"

The silence became sharp. The Guardian's voice hardened in return.

"[You have no grasp of the scale of this war, Clovis,]" Valentin shot back. "[This is not a war where there are neutral bystanders, by choice or otherwise. The Darkness cares not for politics of neutrality or vaunted deterrence. It will come for us, no matter if She is behind us, or not. They do not surrender, negotiate, or ignore. This?]" He pointed down at the planet. "[Is the handiwork of one of their scouts. One of their constructs has taken this world, and were it not for Her, the system would be under its sway.]"

The hand returned to his side. "[She has protected you, Clovis. And all the innocent and guilty of the Triumvirate alike. This became our war, and it is the war of every living being in this universe. I will not run from it, nor will I allow prideful men who think they are the equal to the Divine from threatening our species.]"

"[Then let our war be fought on our terms,]" Clovis answered. "[Then let us win or lose, live or die, on our own merits, for our own reasons, and by our own means. Not for some higher purpose, or under the benevolence of an alien god. That thing, Valentin, is not Human. We are nothing to it but a resource to buy time. We are soldiers, vessels, and resources to employ in a conflict we know nothing about.]"

He shook his head. "[You may be content to serve an alien, and slave our species to its goals, but I am not. It is not that I do not see this Darkness as a threat – but what you want will see Humanity slaved to an alien forever out of fear that we need its gifts to survive. We do not know this, yet you already preach it is the only way. I reject this premise. I will see Humanity stand on its own in this galaxy, even if I must defy the divine itself to do so.]"

Valentin appraised him for a moment, voice resigned, but firm. "[I expected as much. I do not need you to agree with me anymore, Clovis Bray. I do not expect you to understand. I do not expect you to change. You are set in your ways, your mind is made up, and so is mine.]" He paused. "[However, we both align on something more important.]"

He oriented himself to face Neptune. "[Today, we have a common enemy.]"

Clovis echoed him, as they both looked upon the stained world. "[Yes. This corruption, this infestation must be purged. In this we are aligned. Humanity will not fall to the machinations of this entity of Darkness.]"

He glanced at Valentin, considering if he should speak. Yes, it was better there be no ambiguity between them. No misunderstandings or misplaced hopes. "[You know this will change nothing, don't you.]" It was said as an acknowledgement, a statement of fact, rather than a question.

Valentin didn't meet his gaze right away, merely still looking down over the planet.

"[I am aware, General Secretary,]" Valentin said quietly. "[We are incompatible, as are our visions for the future of Humanity. This is our enemy today, but after that…]" he trailed off briefly, as the eyeless mask looked at him. "[There is a war to finish. You would have it no other way – and neither would I.]"

He was almost relieved.

This, at least, Valentin seemed to understand.

"[Good.]" Clovis said, his nod affirming. "[I wondered if you would attempt to use this to appeal to me; convince me of the larger threat to unite against. That it was not too late to make the 'right choice.']" An electronic snort. "[You are learning. I am pleased.]"

"[It is too late for you, Clovis Bray,]" Valentin said, as if speaking to a man condemned. "[You and yours have done too much to be forgotten or forgiven. My mercy only extends so far – and the world that will be born must be excised of the rot that has infested it for so long. The Light will burn it away, by my own hand, or my Guardians. My resolve has not wavered, and will not waver, even when our work here is finished.]"

"[As it should be.]" Clovis said approvingly. "[No quarter must be shown to an enemy. It must be torn up, root and stem, before it can fester and spread. Be ruthless as you fight, Valentin. Should you sit upon the throne of Man, do not hesitate to swing your sword with impunity, else those you grant mercy will inevitably turn on you. Let that be a hard lesson I have learned.]"

Valentin did not answer right away, and when he did, his tone was in coached neutrality. "[My Guardians are assembling, Rasputin is arriving, and there is a strategy to be employed. We will meet on your station, and brief you on the nature of the threat, and how we will win. Prepare your people for our arrival, and your forces for war.]"

He turned fully to Clovis. "[Understand that this will be a war unlike any they have fought before. For us or them. Many will die.]"

He was not surprised. "[So be it,]" Clovis acknowledged. "[The Darkness must be destroyed. Humanity must be protected. The Morning Star will be prepared for your arrival, Speaker. We will work together, until the threat is vanquished.]"

He extended one hand. Valentin took it, without hesitation. His grip was strong, even against Clovis's metal grasp. Man and Exo looked into eyes and mask respectively. It did not matter that nothing between them would change; there was a newfound understanding and path ahead.

A united mission.

Both driven by their desire to protect Humanity. Their visions were different, but this priority never wavered. A cause that was beyond all others, a call which forged bridges for even those who were sworn as enemies.

The Darkness threatened the future of Humanity.

Therefore, it would be dealt with, no matter what.


RIYADH | UNITED ARABIAN FRONT

There were many things that happened in quick succession following Milya's effective coup against what had been Gala's Arabia. So many things that it at times seemed to be a whirlwind. One of her first acts had been the freedom of all political prisoners, which unfortunately weren't as many as she'd hoped for, as most had been executed.

Still, she was glad there were a few who were now free - and wouldn't have been without her.

Yet the most significant development was when Sara had brought her to an isolated spot, acting both excited and giddy the entire time. She'd promised a surprise, and that Milya would like it. Running on only a few hours of sleep, she'd more or less nodded along, not thinking what it could be.

Her tiredness was soon gone.

What Sara had done was something to her that she lacked words to adequately describe. The segments of the Ghost shell had extended from the central core, as pure Light was channeled through it – and then directed into her. There had been a moment of heat, of lightness, of energy, then power.

Comprehension followed; her mind now opened to the possibilities that stretched beyond the visible, material plane. The difference was so noticeable she wondered how she had not been able to see it before; how much lesser her life had been when she was blinded to this wonder. It was now as if she had an additional sense, the ability to reach beyond what could be seen and paint on the canvas that was reality.

She felt better than she ever had in her life.

You have Her power now. Go forth and remake the world, Guardian.

Personally, she'd never wanted to be the one to save the world. But she could make a difference now, and with this authority and power earned by proxy, she knew what she wanted to do.

It started with returning the land to whom it belonged to. She was, ultimately, as much a foreigner here as Gala had been, along with the Indian state which had exercised decades of authority over the Arabs and Muslims of the region, and any others who'd been caught in the middle.

It wasn't a question that she would be better than Gala; she would have made better choices, and empowered them in ways unthinkable before – but this wasn't her job. She was certain of that. Her home was India, not Arabia. She was not an Arab, nor a Muslim, Jew, Christian, or any other group whose home and history was here.

Perhaps not as important, but notable, was that she was no administrator or leader.

She was a linguist, one whose path had taken many twists and turns that she couldn't have anticipated, yet she'd been able to make a difference. Now she had the Light, she was a Guardian as true as any of the others she'd heard about, and whatever was to come next, it needed to be with those who would inherit the new world.

It was fortunate that there were Guardians who did come from this land, whom she'd reached out to soon after taking over. Together they'd quickly assembled everyone of importance in Riyadh, where the future of the region would be decided. While she'd privately – and soon to be publicly – turned over power to Hamaza al-Hussein, the original Iranian Supreme Leader, it remained to be seen if he would retain that authority.

Most of the people present were connected to the former Resistance. There were the Guardians Shaheed, and, to her surprise, the man she remembered had been a 'CIA agent' back on Mars and had subsequently vanished. He'd - properly, this time - introduced himself as Osiris. Then there was Nabeel Al-Nairouz, an Egyptian General who was the last real authority for the Egyptian resistance, Jilla Pitaft, an older Pakistani woman, and Amjah al-Muhammad, who she was told was the commander of the infamous Quds Force.

She couldn't help but be a little nervous as all of these people gathered in the same place.

Even if this wasn't her home, she knew a fair amount of recent history, and in particular who she was going to soon be in the same room with shortly. These weren't politicians from Washington or New Delhi. They weren't, in most instances, even military leaders or officials. They weren't people who were kept to regulations, rules and a certain expected decorum.

These were insurgents. Terrorists in some cases. Radicals all, born from tragedy and horror; molded and shaped by the actions of the Triumvirate into killers, warriors, and soldiers of a different breed. Historically…violent revolution had clear patterns, and when power fell to such men and women, it was not the end of violence. It heralded the beginning of something new, but what that looked like often lacked the idealism once dreamed and fought for.

Maybe it would be different now with the Traveler; with Guardians like Osiris and Shaheed in the same room. It had to be different. Even still, she didn't know what it would ultimately look like - or how much the Traveler would interfere. It seemed clear that She wanted them to decide their own fate – and Milya knew there was going to be judgment and retribution against the Triumvirate.

Beyond that, everything was a question mark.

Further complicating matters was that many of these people had different visions for Arabia. Right now, the people themselves were united in cause and spirit: a united front against India, and the wider Triumvirate. She knew that this would only last so long, and didn't necessarily reflect the ambitions and visions of the leaders.

Shaheed's declaration, while it had been inspiring in its own right, she recognized in retrospect was as much a political announcement of intent, as much as a rallying cry to Arabia and beyond. She didn't know how that would mesh with the almost certainly more nationalistic views of Hamaza, Nabeel, and Jilla, all of whom were tied tightly to their national identities.

She supposed she would have her answers soon.

Milya and the majority of participants waited near the palace where the negotiations would take place, observing who came. They arrived in delegations or one by one. She was struck by how the differences between them were displayed just through their clothing and attire. The Egyptians and Pakistanis would have fit perfectly in with Indian or Chinese militaries, with their brown camo uniforms, heightened posture, and precise movements. What few Israeli soldiers were left also had a delegation, each wearing their own professional uniforms.

Contrasting them were soldiers who were clear insurgents; men and women wearing gear both professional and salvaged. There was no uniform cohesion, but each soldier bristling with armor and weapons. They carried themselves with professional confidence and skill. Most of them were Quds Force affiliates, and they reminded her of special forces soldiers she'd seen.

Yet between all of them, it was the last main group that stood out the most. Groups almost entirely composed of men in headgear, turbans, and light clothing worn by Bedouin tribes. The jihadists of Hamaza's Resistance, irregulars who roamed the desert, infiltrated the streets, and had been fighting the longest.

They're staring at me.

Sara's voice was reassuring.

Let them. You belong here.

They don't look happy.

Do not fear. You have friends in this place.

"[Ah, the miss Milya,]" a voice she hadn't heard in a long time spoke, from behind her. "[A pleasure to see you once again, in more hospitable contexts.]"

She turned around, and smiled when she saw the man, one who she'd been sure was freed once she'd assumed control from Gala. While the Unbowed wasn't in the best of condition, there was an energy to him that hadn't been there before, even as he recovered from his time in the cells. "[Indeed it is. It is good to see you again, and freed.]"

"[You are a brave woman, indeed, to walk among so many who would have a weapons safety accident in your vicinity,]" he smiled.

Milya's smile faded. "[I would not be here, but for the invitation of Shaheed. My role in this is…]" she waved a hand. "[Done. Where the Traveler takes me next, I know not.]"

"[Your hand, if you may?"] he offered his hand after a moment.

She took it, and he slipped it in the crook of his arm. He escorted her to where one of the delegations was situated and preparing for the talks. She noticed that the men who'd been glaring at her seemed to lose their interest. The Unbowed's reputation appeared to have remained intact, and they had no interest in antagonizing him.

She certainly wouldn't complain about the outcome.

"[I do find it quaint, how much irrelevant focus we place on outer form,]" the Unbowed mused. "[They see an Indian civilian, and they have a target for their hate. But had you been one of the Indian jihadists in appearance, they would have welcomed you like a family member.]"

"[Perhaps, but I do not blame them for their suspicion,]" she said. "[My people did little to change that perception. One can only do so much to alleviate enmity built over generations, in such a short time. I suspect it will be a long time before there is any true reconciliation between Indian and Arab.]"

"[Or none, so long as we continue to see each other as Indian and as Arab,]" the Unbowed gave a nod at some patrolling security officers. "[If you can gleam at such implications that I suggest.]"

She found the idea pleasant, yet… "[In an ideal world, but Human nature abhors such quick forgiveness. And I do not know how many of your compatriots hold such ideals.]"

"[You see yourself as superfluous, but yet, this, likewise, blinds you to what value you possess. You are an outsider. You have no stake in this hatred. No stake in the pointless divisions. You can see from outside the window, to the inside of the house. You are Indian, but that is a mere hollow label - above all things, you are a Human. A Human face of the enemy, and there is little more powerful than that.]"

"[A fair point,]" Milya looked on as more officials arrived, Shaheed and Osiris among them, who began to make their way inside the palace. "[What do you think will happen next?]" The Unbowed considered the question for a few moments before answering properly.

"[The Egyptians will demand a union of economic and political authority, the Pakistanis will demand a military unification and reconquest of lost nations, the Iranians will demand a restoration of Iran and return to the past status quo, the Africans will be split, the Arabs will want a revolution, and the Afghans and Kurds will be hedging their bets.]" he paused. "[And all are as willing to compromise on the weight of thousands of sacrifices as any rational person might. That is to say, minutely at most. None at worse.]"

Milya suppressed a grimace. "[I was afraid of that. It risks squandering everything. The people…I don't think they care about that kind of outcome. It's bigger than them, or a single nation.]"

"[What do you think I am,]" he asked her, as the delegation building loomed ahead.

She glanced at him, a real look at him. Sunlight glinted off his bronzed skin, his blonde hair short and matted, and blue eyes that had a unique softness to him. He wasn't the kind of man one would consider to be associated with a jihadist group, yet he was all the same. "[Someone who wants the best for all people,]" she said after a moment. "[No matter their origins or labels.]"

"[My father was Russian, my mother Afghan. By descent matrilineal and patrilineal I am Pashtun and Tatar, by culture I was raised amidst Arabs, and in my education of war, I had learnt in Mauritania and Pakistan and Iran. I speak their tongues, and my manners, I must admit, are far too Persian bourgeois for most of my esteemed colleagues,]" he smiled faintly. ["Labels. Labels we and they have all interred so far into their hearts, used to conquer them, deride them, that has subsumed them and divided them and enslaved them. Labels you do not share.]"

She thought about her own upbringing; being raised in an India where labels were often the factor that decided who rose and fell, succeeded or failed, or even lived or died. "[No one can escape them,]" she murmured. "[I didn't see the purpose in them, but they were ascribed to me all the same. It is entrenched in Indian culture in a way that could not be avoided. You could only hope you were born into the right family, spoke the right language, and worshipped the right god. If you didn't…you could only hide and pretend.]"

"[They are tools, these labels. Tools, and what wicked hands that wield them have reaped upon us in their caprice,]" the Unbowed removed her hand from his elbow. "[You are a linguist, I'm informed. These tools are tools of language, and what is language, if not the control of thought?]"

"[I hate thinking of it as such,]" she muttered. "[But that line of thought is not out of place in New Delhi. The Soviets embraced the languages of their Socialist Republics. The Americans did the same with their conquest of Latin America. We intended to destroy the language, and supplanted our own; slowly, surely. Such was never publicized, but I saw what they eventually intended.]"

"[Do not embrace the tools of the enemy, take them, wield them,]" the Unbound said. "[You now step into a place of men controlled in thoughts, if not actions, by our ultimate enemy - division. Strike for the heart. You alone find yourself in such a privileged position to do so.]"

The words made her glance towards Sara, who was hovering nearby, and somehow, some way, looking almost smug. Her fins twitched as Milya realized that there was perhaps a reason beyond observation she was here. It certainly wasn't an accident, a concession, or a courtesy.

This is where you belong. You will know what to say, and when to say it.

You have Her mandate. Be not afraid.

The Unbowed continued speaking, as the time approached.

"[My mother, a devout woman by all means, was fond of telling me that one will never believe until they love,]" he said thoughtfully. "[My father, so much the same as her, loved to quote to me the following: 'Beauty shall save the world'. I believe there is some truth to that.]"

She hesitated, but believed he almost wanted her to ask. "[Your family. Where are they now?]"

"[I do not know,]" he said, turning to her with a cheeky grin. "[Perhaps they are dead? Killed in some terrible means? Perhaps I have siblings now, and they are living in a quaint village, struggling to make ends meet. I found myself lost, one day, and so life took me in such strange directions.]"

Oh.

"[Well,]" she said. "[It is better to know they might live. Perhaps you may meet them, when this is done.]"

"[When this is done,]" he agreed. "[A shame this will be the last time we meet.]"

She cocked her head, a pang of concern hitting her. "[What do you mean?]"

"[I will join the Bosniak front, as the Yugoslav Soviets have renewed their offensive, and the Resistance is in need of native Russian speakers and veteran leaders – of which few outside me fit the criteria. Few of us being sent are expected to last long. The fight in Bosniak territory is among the deadliest fronts. Serbians give no quarter, to any and all – especially Soviet Serbs.]"

He trailed off briefly. "[My life has been spent well. I have aided in this, in this moment of momentous weight. In this encroachment of finality.]" He looked up at the palace. "[Is it strange, that I feel such serenity at approaching death?"]

"[No, I don't think there is,]" she answered. "[But if it means anything - I don't think your story is coming to an end just yet. It would be a shame for you to come so far, only for it to end before victory.]"

He laughed. "[There is no shame in a life well spent, only a shame that it could not have been better spent,]" he fixed his turban. "[Some men are living to die, but us, here, we are dying to live. Well met, Milya, strike true, and may we meet again.]"

"[May we meet again,]" she responded in kind.

The Unbowed gave her a polite bow, and left back down. Walking all the way to where they came from.

Leaving her alone.

It was time to join the gathering. Entering the upper levels of the palace, she was let through by the guards, until she found herself in a large room where the leaders of the delegations were gathered around a table. She approached it, the weight of the situation heavy upon all of them, for the consequences would decide the fates of millions.

As they had spoken she wondered how many were dying across the world, those like the Unbowed who would have few, if any, to remember them. The war that would claim thousands or more of untold and unseen lives before it was done. They could not afford to make mistakes here, they could not afford to take this opportunity for granted.

They all had to be better. To do what was best for everyone.

To move past the labels and division.

She hoped they would all be able to see that. The moment of truth was now.

She almost wished she was a soldier. That job would have been easier compared to this.

Hamaza lifted a hand, and the discussion around the table ended. Everyone went silent, and turned their attention to the Supreme Leader, flanked by both Shaheed and Osiris, whose respective Ghosts hovered by their shoulders. They stood at the center of the table, where the clear authority was divested.

"[We have spent enough time in discussion and preparation,]" Hamaza began. "[It is now time for action. India is crumbling. The Soviet Union faces insurrection across Europe, and resistance in Africa. The world as we know it is changing forever - and we must decide what we will be in it. That is what we are here to determine today. A future for the people of the lands of Arabia, Africa, Eurasia; a future for those of the Muslim faith, and others.]"

His eyes shifted around the table, voice softer, but with clear steel behind it. "[Let this be a decision considered carefully, for we hold the futures of millions in our hands. We will decide the path of our people for centuries beyond - let us not squander or waste such opportunity.]"

There were nods around the room from all involved - everyone seemed to grasp the enormity and seriousness of what was to be decided here. Yet all of them knew that such a result could take multiple forms. What it would ultimately look like would depend on who was willing to listen - and to make concessions.

"[The world has demonstrated there is only one thing that matters - sovereignty,]" Hamaza continued. "[As we liberate our lands, we must restore the nations that are ours by right and blood. Arabia. Egypt. Iran. Pakistan. That which was denied to us by the British, and stolen from us by the Indians.]"

His hands rested on the table. "[Only then can we ensure our independence and sovereignty. The foreign powers will come and attempt to assist, but we must not look to them for support, but meet them on our own two feet. What must happen is first the restoration of what was lost - and then how we deepen the bonds of nation and people.]"

There were some nods of support, and Nabeel spoke. "[With respect, Supreme Leader, it must be more than this. To be independent is no protection in this world, less so in the circumstances we find ourselves. Even if the Triumvirate falls, the blocs of power will remain. The communists in Europe, the Americans across the ocean, the Chinese to the east. These will not disappear, so thoroughly has the culture shifted.]"

He shook his head. "[To believe we can stand strong alone is folly. It has been how the East and West alike have picked us apart. Perhaps things will change, but they will never look at us with the same respect as independent nations. We only risk repeating the past, not building a future of Arab sovereignty.]"

Nabeel's interjection was met with clear support from his delegation, along with a good number of Pakistanis and Quds. Jilla also gave a short nod, though she then decided to speak.

"[Politically speaking, I find myself neutral on this question,]" Jilla spoke, arms crossed. "[I am content with the restoration of a Pakistani state - one including the territories India stole from us. Nationalism is important, but General Nairouz is correct in that to simply rely on individual national sovereignty is foolish. Alone we are subject to cultural and economic erosion against the markets and militarism of foreigners.]"

Her arms uncrossed, as she spoke intensely. "[We must be united beyond just economics, culture, or religion. Militarily we must be cohesive. A united front that transcends nation, one that is strong, respected, and lethal. We have bloodied ourselves for decades on the Indians, Soviets, and Chinese. We must never let such a humiliation be inflicted upon us again. Our unity must be tighter than the superficial - we must be willing to fight and die for one another.]"

"[I question this explicitly addresses the concerns raised,]" Osiris spoke now. "[War is not my concern – respect is. The world looks to this region, and no matter who we decide, they will look at us as they look at Africa. Something to be coddled and patronized. Peasants in a backwater. I concur with my Pakistani colleague on one critical subject – alone we are subject to the whims of foreigners. The nation itself has served its purpose.]"

He motioned with an arm. "[The superpowers do not respect those who are not their own. Who have understood that the traditional nation-state has been transcended into something all-encompassing. The Confederation assimilated their territories into their federalized system. Europe was integrated into the Soviet system. The pathway is clear – and hard choices need to be made.]"

That sparked a lot more contention that Milya could immediately sense. Hamaza seemed bothered, and Nabeel openly frowned, nor did Jilla seem happy. "[I did not fight, or my people die, just to be told that my home should not be restored because some foreigners would look down on us,]" Jilla said pointedly. "[Nor did any others here.]"

"[And your home is restored – but this clearly is bigger than a single person, or nation,]" Osiris countered.

This sparked even more heated debate among the participants, with Nabeel, Osiris and Jilla sniping at each other, while Hamaza tried to keep the discussion focused, even as other representatives interjected with their own points. All of them were speaking, except for one very conspicuous man.

Shaheed was simply observing. Listening. She didn't know if he was planning to interject, or just waiting for the right moment. The discussion was not going in a productive direction. She noticed his Ghost quietly fly from his shoulder, something no one else in the room seemed to notice, so engrossed in the discussion.

Osiris was fixated on the debate, arguing calmly, but firmly with Nabeel over the benefits of a centralized Arabian state, while Nabeel continued pushing an alliance of Arabian nations. The room was starting to divide into camps, with subgroups between those also brewing. For that reason, she didn't think he'd even noticed his Ghost had left his side.

Guardian Milya, I do not believe we have spoken.

The Ghost had given her a moment of telepathic warning before speaking, so she didn't outwardly react to the masculine voice in her head.

You are Shaheed's Ghost?

Yes. Eagle, I am called. Sara knows me.

I do. Her Ghost affirmed.

Do you have a question? She wondered. What is happening is important.

Yes, I did not know a Conciliator was present. I had been hoping the Speaker would be sent. This is a critical situation, as you have doubtless observed.

Sara's parts unclicked briefly, an expression from the Ghost she meant to know was a display of surprise. She has only recently received the Light. She is unaware of what this means.

Eagle floated. Silent. Bobbing up and down. My humor algorithm seems to have failed, pardon while I reassess its structural integrity.

Sara's fins shifted back and forth, reminding Milya almost of an irritated cat flattening its ears. This is not a forum for humor. The Guardian is correct - this is an important situation that requires careful attention, not distraction.

Milya frowned, glancing at the two Ghosts in the silent conversation. What is he talking about?

Are you confident she's ready? Eagle asked, continuing to ignore her. The volatility demands… talent. Otherwise, delay would be needed. Shaheed, Osiris, and Nabeel have been clashing too much for this to fail, even before today. The situation on Neptune has not assisted matters. They should truthfully not be here at all, and will be called to assist shortly. The Traveler wanted them here first. It is too critical to wait, even as the Intercessor sings.

Milya couldn't help but be fascinated by listening in, as if it was a conversation that she was being allowed to listen to for…some reason. She wasn't aware of what was happening on Neptune, or that Shaheed and Osiris were clashing before today. Only that it was a situation volatile enough that the Ghosts were concerned.

Please, I am here. Why am I being allowed to listen to this?

Eagle's fins twirled. Because you're a Conciliator.

Yes. You are. Sara bobbed in the air in a nodding motion. You do not know what that means yet. You will now. You are in a role critical to the Traveler, and the Light itself. It is you who are trusted to forge unity, mediate dispute, and bring resolution. One cannot achieve this without knowledge - and this includes understanding Her Guardians.

We are Her tools, instruments, and we watch, protect, and better our Guardians. Eagle added. We communicate with each other. We are intelligences born by Her, but develop on our own, we synchronize to your personalities and psychologies, to protect you, against yourselves if need be. We learn from each other as you do from those you know. This is unknown to most Guardians. It is unimportant. Conciliators are the exception.

There was a new voice that spoke. Eagle, are you certain the Speaker will not be able to come?

Milya glanced, and sure enough, she saw Sagira, Osiris' Ghost hovering around his shoulder, as the man was now debating with Jilla and an Israeli representative. The Ghost showed no indication of being anything but attentive, but she clearly was also now in this conversation.

There was a long-suffering simulated sigh. Yes, Eagle replied, they're not trapped with us. We're trapped with them. Delaying won't work anymore. We're out of time.

A pause.

That's not good, Sagira replied.

Milya felt more lost and anxious the longer the Ghosts conversed. She was clearly expected to do something, but she did not know where to begin. Please, what do I need to do now?

Sagira looked to Eagle.

Eagle looked to Sara.

Sara looked to her.

Now she was definitely concerned.

Sara?

You already know what to do, Sara replied. As the Ghosts in the room started revolving their fins. It happened once, twice, before their revolutions synchronized. They repeated the sequence, perfectly on pace.

Wisps of Light, like tiny embers, drifted around the room.

Now Osiris seemed to notice something. His speech slowed, and he refrained from interjecting as the conversation continued without him. His eyes shifted, narrowed as he saw and felt the paracausal rumbling. He frowned, perhaps communicating with Sagira about what was going on.

Ready, Eagle said.

Shaheed also had noticed the shift, but instead of focusing on the Light, he looked at her now. Directly at her. He said nothing, but did not break his gaze; waiting and watching to see what would happen next.

Ready, Sagira said.

No one else in the room seemed to have noticed anything, and were continuing to debate and discuss as intensely and passionately as ever. Only the Guardians had noticed something was off - and neither knew what it meant.

Ready, Sara said.

The realization of what she was supposed to, no, needed to do briefly engulfed her in a moment of complete and utter terror. She wasn't supposed to stand on the sidelines observing, but go to the center, force their attention to be on her - and convince them of what to do. To keep the pointless yet deep divisions from preventing the future from coming about.

Then her vision started to change, as did how she felt.

It was a difficult thing to process; seeing reality as it truly was, bright and filled with possibilities. Yet it was deeper than that, it was more than the canvas to rewrite, but rather seeing deeply into all who were present. She could almost hear them thinking, see their emotions and feelings, and how they interacted with each other; the connections formed and severed all in instants.

An understanding of them which could not be known in any other way. Their drives, desires, hopes, dreams, pain, fears, and ambitions - all of what made them complex, flawed, but Human people. It was all clear to her, intuitive in a way that she wouldn't have been able to explain, for she lacked the adequate words.

Yet now she saw what she was meant to do.

The terror had yet to fully abate - but she now understood. She thought she could do it - she had to do it, because no one else could. Before she could have further doubts, she stepped forward and to the edge of the table. The discussion ceased immediately, mostly out of shock at the interruption.

Osiris raised an eyebrow, Shaheed betrayed no reaction, the rest ranged from confused to irritated.

"[All of you are doing exactly what they want,]" she said intently, pent-up frustration leaking out. "[This entire discussion has been driven by the thing that has caused more turmoil and conflict than even the Triumvirate. Your fixation on labels. Ones of nation, ethnicity, religion, homeland, and a dozen other ones. What does it ultimately matter?]"

She looked around the table, to each of the delegations. "[Labels will always divide people. You will never be united as long as you hold onto what you think has defined you for so long. You are not speaking just for yourselves here, but everyone regardless of nation or religion. What does it matter if someone is Egyptian or Iranian, Arab or Jew, except to divide and create animosity.]"

"[The Triumvirate knows this,]" she continued, taking a breath. "[It is how they've succeeded for so long. You see their power fading, and have decided your neighbor who you've fought alongside is questionable because they hold a different opinion. You are driven by the norms and identities of others. Do you want to truly break free from the risk of foreign influence? Then don't give them the power to divide.]"

They were watching her closely - not outwardly upset, not completely happy - but they were listening.

She looked at Nabeel. "[General, did it matter who you fought alongside when you faced the enemy? Did you ever question their loyalty, capability, or resolve? Did you concern yourself with their political views and beliefs? Did that matter to you - or did you not even think to ask, because it simply wasn't important?]"

The General didn't speak, but listened. "[You tried to fight the Triumvirate using the system you want to implement. One of independent nations aligned together. It failed not just because you lacked the numbers and technology, but also because they understood it. You adopted what you saw had gained strength, independence, and power - and what did it achieve? What would change now?]"

She turned her attention to Hamaza. "[Supreme Leader, you know what I am speaking about. When Iran fell, you could have clung to your pride, and stayed and fought, and likely died. But instead there was an offer of help from one you considered an enemy - and instead of refusing, you took a leap of faith, and accepted.]"

"[I don't know your full history, or that of the Resistance, but I know why it survived,]" she continued. "[You already realized that the labels didn't matter. Iranian. Israeli. Pakistani. Muslim. Christian. Jew. You all worked together, you resisted the temptation to distrust based on old histories and hatreds, and thus made yourselves immune to the Triumvirate's greatest weapon. And…]"

She paused. "[Now you want to go back to what it was before? Where men identified with flags and plots of land instead of common cause, their neighbors and friends? You created something the Triumvirate could not destroy, and something that the region has responded to. If you go back, all of this is lost.]"

Then there was Jilla and Osiris, who was watching, face inscrutable - but she was listening closely. "[We are going to enter a new era of Humanity,]" she said. "[One where martial and military power will no longer be as relevant or important. Where nations and peoples will not wage war on each other. It is understandable to have the fear of war - but this fear cannot lead down the paths that are responsible for your own pain. We must be better – and have faith that others can do so as well.]"

She then turned to Shaheed. "[I have spoken my piece - and there is one who has not shared his view. Shaheed, it is time.]"

Osiris was now fully fixated on her, she could tell that he was confused - but not at her, at himself, and this entire situation. He clearly felt there was something strange at work - but she also knew that he was, if a bit surprisingly, agreeing.

He inclined his head ever-so-slightly towards her; an acknowledgement of understanding.

"[I find myself thinking back to the tribes of Arabia,]" Shaheed said after a moment of silence. "[The most insignificant people on all of Earth. Great Africa and all its riches had made emperors to whom gold was trivial. China, Russia, Rome, all peoples of Earth had something, a moment in the tablet of history.]"

He stood up. "[We had sand.]"

A chuckle rang through.

"[Poor, distant, irrelevant, the empires of the world fight a great game at the price of thousands of lives. While our ancestors killed each other over a couple camels and goats. A more inconsequential people on Earth, there had never been.]"

Shaheed glanced at his chair.

He kicked it aside and stood up on the table itself.

"[The flotsam of the Earth! Carried by whatever tides the giants splashed our way in their titanic struggles. This is what we were, this is what we had become, this is the model we have enslaved ourselves to. Petty nations drawing borders on maps, issuing papers and imaging as if this, the height of civility.]"

His voice carried. A fire building. Burning.

"[We? Us? This is what we're inspired to?]" he looked around. "[Flags, papers, and maps to define us? Do you see Rome? The Rome we brought low? Do you see Persia? The Persia we brought low? Do you see our faith, a billion strong, across every land and border, from the most insignificant tribes of Arabia?]"

There were murmurs.

"[We are the ones graced by honor divine to bring low the greats of history,]" he stated. "[We are an inheritance, a caliphate, of faith that has made all of history flinch and tremble for a thousand four hundred years. A thousand four hundred years and history has remembered our name with honor and awe.]"

He took a breath, his voice firm. "[No, we are not splitting ourselves again. No, we are not subordinating ourselves to weakness, division, and lines on maps and flags on cloth that has brought us low. Our armies will be one. Our leadership one. Our lands controlled by their peoples, our unity in spirit, in steel, in the ire of a people scorned in injustice and oppression.]"

His eyes were bright, his voice filled with promise and prophecy. "[They will look upon us, upon all of us, bearing a single flag and dread the day they thought us docile. We brought low Rome and Persia, from tribes and insignificance we brought low their armies and palaces, and now India and Russia and China dare. They dare think themselves safe from us?]"

There was a growing, heightened atmosphere of power.

"[No, we have felled greater. No, we have felled taller,]" he said. "[No. For this much, I know, we are a thousand voices unified in one spirit. We have been raised up to a station of honored stewardship. It is time the mantle is taken up again.]"

A low rising chorus.

"[All who wish for the Caliphate to rise as one polity, raise their hands,]" Shaheed said.

She knew before the first hand was raised what the outcome would be; of how the entire conversation had shifted so radically, and in such a short period of time. With the right words, she had provided the push needed for the artificial barriers between these people to be shattered.

She had planted the seed, and Shaheed had taken it to its singular conclusion. A focus on unity above all else, and when considering the scale of what was being discussed now, there was an indisputable power that was about to be formed. One greater than any singular nation or people; one that was more than equal to any of the Triumvirate.

The first hand rose. Another followed. More were lifted. Nabeel and his officers, the Bedouin jihadists, Hazuma, Amjah, and his Quds, Osiris and his guerillas, and even the Israelis lifted hands in solidarity.

It was unanimous, as far as she could see. Hamaza stood, eyes bright, and with attention returned to him.

"[If a Caliphate is to be formed, then a Caliph is in order, is there not?]" Hamaza asked.

"[Yes,]" Shaheed agreed. "[Someone is needed-]" he paused, understanding the look in Hamaza's face. He looked around. "[No,]" he said, haltingly.

A smile played on Hamaza's face. "[I believe there is a clear one who deserves this mantle; who has reminded us of who we were - and who we are. When a Caliph has risen, it has brought with it evolution and change as the times call for it.]"

His gaze swept across the room. "[We have no dynasties to look towards, there are none whose lineage can be traced to the Prophet, we have no councils of elders and scholars - but we need not these things when revelation shows so clearly who this must be. I put forward Shaheed Al-Najar to be Caliph, of the Caliphate of this new world to come.]"

"[I walked into that one,]" Shaheed muttered.

"[Do you refuse?]" Hamaza asked.

He looked around. "[Does anyone here refuse me?]"

None raised a hand.

"[Then as I live and as I die and as I will be raised again,]" Shaheed promised. "[I will be all the world need know about us; unbowed. Unbroken. Undaunted.]"

There was a roaring cheer.

A future was set, a people rallied and united.

And she'd had a hand in it; without her intervention, she did not know what would have happened, but she was certain that it would have taken longer to reach such an end - if it had even happened at all.

You could not have done better. Sara's voice was happy, the Ghost nuzzled her. For something made of so much metal, it was so warm. I'm proud of you.

Thank you.

The rest of the room had broken into small, excited groups. The atmosphere had changed from one that was heavy, foreboding, and uncertain, to one that was thunderous, excited, and focused. Osiris was speaking to Sagira, though he was looking at her. There was an understanding in his eyes.

He seemed to have figured out some things.

"[Good work, Milya,]" Osiris said, approaching her. "[I suspect were it not for your intervention, that we would have been stuck in circular debates for hours on end. You appear to have a talent for knowing when to speak - and what to say.]" His head inclined. "[A skill that will be critical in the days to come.]"

"[Thank you, Osiris,]" she said. "[When it is needed, I will be ready.]"

She had wondered what place she would have among the Guardians. She was no soldier, and possessed a skill so niche that she didn't know its use, and lacked the characteristics of a leader. Now though, she realized what she was meant to do. That this was the place for her, as worthy and important as any soldier.

A Conciliator, hm.

Now that she knew, she and Sara would have a longer talk later on what that meant. Now though, she was merely content to be happy, and breathe a sigh of relief at a crisis averted, and the dawn of a bright future approaching.

She did better than I expected, Sagira said.

Eagle hummed. Sara, keep her out of the line of fire. Her talents are pronounced.

Sara looked - and sounded smug again. Have no fear - unlike you, I never doubted her for a moment.

Osiris looked at the Ghosts, all three of them floating around Milya. "[They're conspiring,]" he said simply.

Milya smiled, as she listened to the Ghost bicker. "[Nothing to worry about, I think.]"

It's called planning, Sara mused. And we're very good at it!

Absolutely, all part of the plan. Milya agreed. No feelings of terror whatsoever!

Osiris simply shook his head, as another Ghost materialized before him. His expression became serious, and Sagira flew to his side. Duty calls, Milya - until later!

She watched Osiris stride over to where Shaheed and Hamaza were talking, whispering something into his ear. The new Caliph nodded, and Eagle also returned to his shoulder. It seemed both Guardians were now needed.

Wherever they were going, and whatever they were facing, Milya hoped they'd make it back safely.

They'd all come too far to not make it to the end.


THE WHITE HOUSE | WASHINGTON D.C. | CONFEDERATION OF AMERICAN STATES

Even the most well-planned overthrow of a standing government was going to come with challenges, much less if it was one of four superpowers on the planet. With that particular context, Amanda felt that things had gone…perhaps not as well as they could have, but otherwise respectable.

It hadn't lessened her workload, however. Not by a long shot.

With the capital secured, the statement made, the Confederation had been thrown into a state of flux, made worse by the fact that the rest of the Triumvirate was occupied with their own crises. The Soviet Union was tied down in Africa, Clovis Bray wasn't even on-world, and they were suppressing riots and uprisings in Europe.

The Indians were reportedly on the verge of a complete collapse with the surprise betrayal of Arjun Gala, who together with another Guardian Amanda hadn't even been aware of, had seized the Middle East, and part of Central Asia and formed, of all things, a Caliphate. That was going to be something to deal with much, much later, but for now it was India's problem, even as they were in the midst of internal rebellions and equally violent reprisals.

China had gone schizophrenic in its response, as the Communist Empire had entered into what appeared to be a controlled demolition. From what she'd learned, the Politburo was paralyzed and unable to issue guidance, leaving the provincial and colonial governments to handle the crisis their own way. Some were attempting dialogue, and unilaterally initiating sweeping reforms or concessions – and others resorting to heavy-handed suppression and violence.

With nearly all of the Intelligence Community siding with the so-called 'Constitutional Government' which had established headquarters in Cheyenne Mountain, only the DIA and the military branch intel arms had thrown their weight behind her government.

Even then, even those who had sided with her had been initially focused on the first orders she'd given – which was the detainment, interrogation, and removal of officers and soldiers who weren't reliable. The purges had focused on the officer corps, since she expected the rank and file to follow orders.

The key word being expected.

The time it had taken had allowed the Constitutionalists to regroup and gather resources and strength, while giving the entire Confederation time to figure out which side they were on. The political dynamics had been uprooted overnight, and the civilians themselves had been placed into difficult situations. Both her government and the Constitutionalists were promising a continuation of basic needs, and the illusion of normalcy was holding.

Militarily, politically, things could be broken down in fairly hard numbers, and extrapolations could be made from those results.

In terms of popular support? That largely depended on where one was. She believed – and Juan had backed her up on that – that the Central and Southern states were firmly in her camp, in terms of government and civilian support. The new Canadian states were also going to be firmly aligned with her.

The mainland was the tricky part, one she was still working out, as well as all of the new dynamics at play. Today, she had work in the White House to do.

She had wondered what it would be like to live in the White House. Now that she had spent a few days in it, she found that while it was a very nice building – she barely had any time to actually spend in it. So occupied were her hours managing the fallout of executing a military coup, as well as running an entire country. There were meetings and calls every single hour, with virtually no breaks.

State governors, military officials, politicians, and the vast array of stakeholders one had to engage in when running a country; all of whom were gauging who to throw their support behind. In only a few days she'd be going down to South America to attempt to resolve the situation there, but there were plenty of domestic strings to, if not tie up, put a band-aid over.

Today had a meeting she hadn't expected. One with Modris Wyndham, the owner of Tex Mechanica, coming to meet in the flesh. According to the aides, he'd reached out of his own initiative, which immediately made her wary. Men like Wyndham were no fools, and they only acted when it was in their interests.

Nonetheless, he was also one of the wealthiest and most well-connected men in the world, and it was certainly in the national interest to hear what he had to say. She suspected it would be an interesting conversation, if nothing else.

She stood in the Oval Office, tablet in hand, reviewing some reports, when the doors opened and the Secret Service escorted in the Tex Mechanica Founder. No matter where one was, few could match the style, presence, and charisma of Modris Wyndham. Dressed in a trenchcoat, a bandanna around his neck, and leather boots, he could have been easily mistaken for a cowboy with a personal tailor, complete with the hat.

No one could deny the man had style, and he kept himself groomed to match. His salt-and-pepper beard was full, and perfectly trimmed. Many of his wrinkles and aged features were hidden, a perpetual smile on his face, and blue eyes that were similarly playful. While he might have been seventy, he had the energy of a much younger man.

"Madam President," he greeted, taking off the hat with a hand, and putting it to his chest. "A pleasure to meet you in person, despite the circumstances."

The Texan accent was prevalent in his speech, but not overbearingly so, which was a sign that it was genuine. The heart of Wyndham's business empire was in Texas, where he'd been born and raised. He was a symbol of the American Dream, whose products had become hallmarks of the elite. His story was impressive, and if what she'd heard was to be believed, so were his products.

"Mr. Wyndham, welcome," she inclined her head. "Apologies for the delay in response. We have been occupied."

"No need, ma'am," he waved a hand, hooking his thumbs into his belt as he appraised her. "We live in interesting and chaotic times. That we're speaking now is acceptable for me, and you're a busy woman – and a blunt one if what I've been told is right. So we want to cut to the chase?"

A thin smile crossed her lips. "Let's do that. My first inquiry is why you're here, and not with the Constitutionalists."

"Disappointed or suspicious, ma'am?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. "A fair question all the same, Madam President. I can give you three reasons. First of which being where we're standing. There is legitimacy in institutions and establishments. The President holds the White House, no matter who they are. I highly doubt that you'd have been allowed to set foot here if others didn't feel similarly."

"Institutions do not always equal legitimacy." She pointed out.

"Bear with me ma'am, I have other reasons," Wyndham smiled, lifting a hand, a quiet ask that she let him talk. "Second is that from what I've heard, you ain't the kind of woman to carry out a power grab - or, if we're being honest here, a coup - without some damn good reasons. That you have all of the J2 backing you? Juan? Men and women who I know are solid? That says something."

He paused thoughtfully. "I don't know what that is – and I'm not going to ask – but if people like that think it's worth taking action in such a way? I'm inclined to believe they aren't doing this for the money or power. If you want to boil it down to what I mean, I'm giving you my trust."

Amanda nodded slowly. "I appreciate it."

"And finally, because of the fact that you have one of those machines always hovering over your shoulder," he nodded towards MacArthur, who was silently loitering nearby. "Guardians, I think I've heard you called. You are with the Traveler, and that tells me that the outcome has been decided."

Amanda was much more interested now. "And you assume this because?"

"Mm, this becomes a bit personal, if you don't mind," Wyndham mused, shifting in place. "All the same, it is relevant. Tex Mechanica is in a unique position in this entire mess. I could have sat on the sidelines and watched to see which way the wind blows. We don't sell weapons en masse to the world. Our clients are wealthy and fat. I don't need to be here, speaking with you, so why am I, Madam President?"

"I don't know," Amanda said after a moment, not in the mindset for questions that didn't have clear answers. "Because you want to help? Because you want a place in my cabinet? My government?"

Wyndham laughed. "Ma'am, many of my colleagues would leap at the chance to ask you for cabinet seats, but I've had the sense to stay well away from the government. I respect the institution, but I and my company are artisans. Such does not translate well to government contracts."

He shook his head, his voice more serious. "No, I'm here because despite what it may seem, there are some values and loves I hold beyond my wife and family. 'For God and Country,' that was a phrase I lived by. God who blessed my life, and the country which allowed me to become what I am today. My debt and test comes calling now, and let it not be said that I stood on the side, merely hoping that I would be unnoticed."

Amanda frowned. "I'm afraid you've lost me."

"You might have a better idea than me of what the Traveler is," Wyndham continued. "But I fail to see how it is anything less than divinity incarnate. When men are raised from the dead, and miracles performed without explanation, that is clearer than anything else. You possess a machine from the Traveler, and the blessing of the divine. No more needs to be said."

His smile was firm. "Even if I was not convinced of the Traveler's divinity, I would still hold to the stance that you are best-positioned to keep the Confederation from falling apart. I am certain some are agonizing over this decision as to who to support in this chaotic time – but for me, the calculus was simple, Madam President."

She considered that for a moment. "I must warn you that I cannot give attestation to any element of divinity," she gave a long exhale. "I have no guidance or dreams. I am no prophet, nor do any divine revelations guide my path. I'm only doing what I think is needed. What is right."

"Hm, and what do you think the Traveler is?" Wyndham raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know," Amanda admitted. "But if God was to appear, this is not too far from what I would have imagined. But I don't want to pretend to be something I am not."

"As far as I'm concerned, that doesn't change much," Wyndham said. "Sometimes all that is required is for us to be ourselves. Now, has your curiosity as to my motivations and reasoning been sated?"

"Yes, thank you," Amanda said, a bit more at ease than before. He had his reasons for coming here, but he didn't seem interested in trying to press her for something. "In which case the next question is what you wanted to discuss."

"Indeed," Wyndham clasped his hands together. "Nothing less than the end of the world – and the creation of a new one."

Amanda found that an interesting phrase, but indicated he continue. "I believe it is clear that the Triumvirate is doomed to collapse – the only question is how much destruction and death they will inflict before that point," he continued. "The Soviet Union in their campaigns in Africa and putting down insurgencies in Europe. The Indians and the collapse of the Republics. The rise of a new Caliphate. The fragmentation of the Chinese Empire. The impending civil war in the Americas. It's all come crashing down – and anyone paying the slightest bit of attention sees it."

"But they will not go quietly," Amanda said.

"Of course not," Wyndham agreed. "They will wage their wars, they will cling to power with every last breath. However, there is one thing all these vaunted leaders seem to have ignored or forgotten. Madam President, how familiar are you with logistics?"

"I was a Space Force Admiral," Amanda reminded him. "More than any other branch, it was essential. Logistics were the difference between life and death for even simple deployments. So I have some knowledge."

"Excellent, then you know war is expensive and consuming," Wyndham continued with a smile. "Funded and produced by the factories and corporations across the world. Without BrayTech, Cassoid, or Häkke, Clovis' armies wouldn't last a week before their weapons stopped working, their machines didn't have replacement parts, or their armies lacked basic necessities."

She had a flicker of an idea of where he was going with this, and was certainly intrigued. "Without industry, war cannot be waged."

"Precisely. Industry decides wars, not manpower," Wyndham said. "Not even the finest logistics can materialize the needed components out of nothing. The supply lines must not be disrupted – the sources themselves removed from the equation."

"What is your proposal?" She wondered. "They won't stop production."

"That is where you'd be wrong," Wyndham smiled widely. "As it happens, I've received a number of calls – and made some of my own, concerning the future of the world. I hope it would not surprise you to learn that the corporations have come to the same realization I have – that the Triumvirate is in a death spiral. I believe when the Triumvirate decided to execute thirty million people, that jolted a few into action."

He laced his fingers together. "I have the CEOs and senior executives of the major defense corporations who want to talk to you. I'm talking Häkke, Veist, Suros, even a few in BrayTech who want out. You're the closest thing that exists to a leader with direct ties to the Traveler, and when the reckoning comes, they want to have a place in the new world."

He paused. "I am aware that this new Caliph is also a Guardian, but frankly, I think they're more interested in talking to an established Western president than an unknown Muslim insurgent."

"Mm, I suspect you're right, though I also think they'll have to get used to that," Amanda said. "He's definitely not going anywhere."

"True, true, but that's a problem for another day. The point is this," he idly motioned with a hand. "If you get them on your side, not only will the Triumvirate war machine dry up –it will go to you and your allies. It will end the war for good, or at least ensure that it is firmly in your favor."

That was something that she knew had such potential. And it was one that she felt she should pursue, though she had her own doubts as to the details. "That is no small thing they are proposing. These corporations are massive – there will be outliers."

"Outliers can be dealt with," Wyndham said. "What matters is that you can preserve as many as possible. You have nothing to lose with this, and could bring the conflict to a far swifter, and less bloody end."

She considered it for a moment, then nodded. "You can set up this call?"

"I can."

"Do it," she ordered. "I will be departing soon for state business. The following week will suffice. My people will work with you during the process."

"That will be done, ma'am," Wyndham said with a smile. "Thank you. There is one more thing I have for you." He pulled out a small envelope from a pocket in his coat. "This."

She took the laminated Tex Mechanica envelope, which alone probably cost a very pretty penny. She appraised it curiously. "What is this?"

"An order form," he explained, stepping back. "One we give to our clients. It's been a tradition of Tex Mechanica to make such an offer to each incoming President. As you are the newest President, this thus extends to you - free of charge, of course. No matter if you want a weapon, a car, a piece of furniture, or something else, we will be able to provide it. The least we can do for one who works hard to ensure our prosperity."

He inclined his head. "Of course, if you feel such would be little more than a bribe, you can choose not to fill it out, or give it to someone you feel deserves it. The choice is yours, but the offer stands nonetheless."

"Thank you," Amanda placed the envelope in her own suit pocket. "I'll be in touch regarding this – though probably once all of this is settled."

"For the best, Madam President," he agreed. "I will take my leave then. Godspeed to wherever you must go. I hope to speak to you shortly."


THE MORNING STAR | NEPTUNE ORBIT

There was something surreal about this entire situation, beyond the fact that they were preparing to descend onto a world that had fallen to the Darkness. Fang had never expected that he would once again be working or fighting alongside the Triumvirate again after everything, yet here they all were.

Admittedly, he hadn't expected to be fighting the Darkness so soon. An enemy that was the immortal enemy of Light, but which he'd only just begun to really understand. Valentin hadn't expected it, nor had the Traveler either. He apparently had witnessed a vision of it once, before his first death.

He wished he could remember it. Shadow had been helpful in filling in the gaps as he'd prepared for the visit to the Triumvirate's battle station.

Twelve Guardians in total had been selected, whom Fang believed were either their most talented, powerful, or otherwise unorthodox. Some of them he knew, a few he didn't. All of them were dressed for battle, wearing armors of white with colored accents where appropriate. A couple were keeping to lighter gear, augmented by pataphysics to provide the needed protection.

Only a few were not properly outfitted, Shaheed and Osiris, who'd been the last to arrive. They'd not given an explanation at the time, but it was known they'd had to manage something on Earth. Fang noted that it seemed Shaheed's mind was elsewhere, while Osiris was hardened and focused.

Something to ask later.

Were he not the sole Voidwielder of the Guardians, he wondered if he would be here. He was certainly not the most powerful one. Still, he was not going to question where he was, and kept close to Khojin as they arrived in the Hangar of Clovis's flagship.

He did wonder why the other Guardians had been chosen, but presumed that they had done something that had gained the attention of the Traveler or Valentin in some way. As it stood, it didn't matter – what mattered was what they were able to do what was required of them. He was confident they could.

As they had arrived, and they'd taken their first steps on the Morning Star, the first thing that popped into his mind upon arriving was that he'd never really seen the Triumvirate like this. They were stepping into preparation for war that he imagined was taking place everywhere, but in this instance, it was against a mutual enemy.

The full might and power of the Triumvirate was there to see for them. Heavily armed soldiers in hardsuits and cold-weather gear were lined in formation, marching, or arming themselves. Dropships and gunships were being readied in significant numbers, some of them bearing weapons he hadn't seen before.

And there were Exos.

Legions of Exos.

It was not a mystery why so many Exos were here, but Fang hadn't realized just how many Exos the Triumvirate had created, of all makes and models. The flying EAGLE Exos, with a staggering number of PATRIOTs comprising the ground force, with further augmentation coming the heavy MARAUDER-Class and even a few Indian JAGUARs.

All of them the models designed for war, not civilian policing.

At one end of the Hangar, a bulkhead slid open, and one of the Exos strode out, flanked by a few Soviet and American officers. It seemed to be a female model - a PATRIOT-class specifically - who nonetheless towered over everyone, Triumvirate and Guardian alike.

Khojin and Shaxx were the seniors of their group, though Khojin had elected to defer in matters of seniority, and he positioned himself at the head of the group. The Exo officer approached him first.

Fang didn't fail to note that the Exo's electric eyes seemed to linger on him for a few seconds, for reasons he couldn't guess. It was only for a short period, before she addressed Shaxx.

"Guardian Shaxx, I am Exo Commandant Collins, I will guide you to the briefing," she began, appraising all of them with seeming wariness. "I would ask that if you employ Light, or other paracausal abilities, that you give forewarning."

"So long as there is no reason to doubt the truce of our host, there will be no issues," Shaxx assured her, placing his hands on his hips. "Lead the way, Commandant Collins."

Spinning on a mechanically precise heel, the Exo turned around and led them forward. Fang frowned to himself at the odd encounter, but followed, keeping close to Khojin at the front. There felt like there was something that he was missing, but it wasn't enough for him to-

You knew her.

Shadow's voice interrupted his thoughts. He focused on the Exo again, who was discussing something with her colleague.

I did?

Yes.

Was she a friend?

Yes.

What happened?

She chose her side. It is no more complicated than that.

For some reason, Fang hadn't considered that there were those who would choose a different path – at least those that he presumably had known. He considered asking more about who she was, what she had really meant to him, if anything more than a friend at all.

Or perhaps it was better not to know.

The Fang Sov she'd known was, for all intents and purposes, gone. There was not much to gain by dredging it up again. Nor did it seem that Collins was the same as she had been, if she had chosen the life of an Exo – or a path without the Traveler.

I knew her name?

Liana.

Liana.

He liked the name.

There was a pang at the fact that this was unlikely to be a happy ending for her.

They kept walking throughout the station. There were many corridors, hallways, and open spaces that were packed to the brim with warfighting equipment, soldiers, mechs, and pieces of technology that he didn't recognize. Some of the Guardians were talking amongst themselves, but Fang didn't take part in their conversations, and neither did Khojin.

Liana approached a larger door, and inside was a situation room, complete with a massive holotable, big enough for almost all of them to gather around. The room itself was bright and clean; it had the sleek aesthetic of BrayTech, many whites and soft blues, with an odor of sterilization.

The sight was a strange one indeed. In the middle of the holotable, talking to each other, was the towering Clovis Bray, and the much smaller Valentin. Fang noted that while Clovis' shell was similar, he had clearly undergone recent augmentations. This was a war model, one that bristled with overt, and presumably covert weapons.

It was interesting. He hadn't considered the possibility that the General Secretary would take part in the war itself. Not like this.

Valentin was also prepared for war. Gone were the white and silver robes he had worn. Now he was clad in white-gold battle armor, forged of the same material that comprised the Traveler's shell. Godsteel, he'd heard it called; a metal warm to the touch that was infused with the Light itself. A cape of shimmering material also fell from his shoulders, and the mask he had worn had been changed to be a helmet that retained the eyeless diamond covering.

A figure that radiated power and authority, which overshadowed everyone else in the room.

With Clovis were the Soviet Commander Calumet, along with KGB Director Luka. Also in the room was the BANSHEE Exo that Fang remembered was Elsie Bray – who was here as a…representative of sorts for Rasputin. It was clear Valentin believed the Warmind had a role to play in the coming battle.

Khojin, Osiris, and Shaxx went to Valentin's side, Liana and her colleagues went to Clovis's and the rest of them stood around the holotable, finding space where they could.

Both Valentin and Clovis turned to address the group, with the General Secretary speaking first. "I will not pretend the situation we are in right now was one expected. Nor will I give meandering and pointless exercises in attempts to ignore the awkwardness we all sense. It is irrelevant. The fact of the matter is that the force that has overtaken Neptune is a threat against the entirety of Humanity, and will be destroyed no matter what it takes."

He motioned to Valentin. "Speaker Kozhukhov has presented a feasible plan of attack, and I will turn the briefing to him, as he possesses knowledge of the threat that we do not have. Speaker?"

"General Secretary," Valentin acknowledged, addressing all of them, getting straight to business. "Initially there were significant questions as to the nature of this corruption, and its origin. After reviewing the situation, and the circumstances prior to Neptune's fall, we almost certainly have the culprit."

He looked at Clovis. "I am going to show it now."

A nod from the General Secretary, and Valentin lifted a hand, Light shimmering around it. Atop the holotable formed an image, an armored statue with four arms, two of the hands holding straight swords. "This is an Intercessor," Valentin said. "A construct of the Darkness. They act as scouts and corruptive agents, tens of thousands sent into the vast expanse of space, until they crash onto worlds unknown – or are discovered by explorers."

"One of these appears to have found its way into our system," Clovis continued. "A review of documentation and ongoing projects on Neptune revealed that such an object was recovered, and placed into Clarity Control – the wing concerning potential paracausal artifacts."

Several images were displayed on the screens in the room, actual images of the initially recovered sphere, and then the extraction of the Intercessor within. "Normally, this should have defanged the artifact," Clovis continued. "However, this was a mistaken assumption."

"The Intercessor is always aware, and always active," Valentin clarified. "When it was discovered, it likely began employing a paracausal Song to influence the crew that recovered it. The Intercessor is an artificial construct, but a highly advanced piece of paracausal technology. Even if one is removed from its presence, the memetics employed are something which will persist long after first encounter. It induces habits, desires, and compulsions the victim will execute without thinking."

"It is almost certain this happened with the entire Clarity Control wing," Clovis said, as more images and spreadsheets with timecards were displayed. "Records indicate that the entire team was repeatedly making visits to the specific lab the Intercessor was being held in. There were abnormal patterns, that presumably weren't noticed due to this Song instilling a normalizing compulsion in the rest of the population."

"How was this not observed by stationed Exos?" Elsie openly wondered. "We are immune to this kind of paracausal manipulation."

"Because Exos were not stationed in Invictus," Clovis answered. "Neptune was not a military world, nor one where the Exo models we employ would be widespread. The majority of stationed Exos were in Xilong, to assist in security and weapon testing."

"I am unsure it would have made a difference," Valentin commented, as he dissolved the Light projection. "The Intercessor's preference is to slowly warp an entire species without interruption. However, it likely detected the presence of the Traveler and accelerated its plans. It only needed a few critical personnel to subvert even anti-paracausal countermeasures, which it achieved."

He glanced at Clovis. "The reason your countermeasures failed, General Secretary, was because I suspect the Reality Anchors were being actively disabled, and once those no longer operating, the entirety of Neptune became vulnerable. Your records indicated the Reality Anchors across Neptune were disabled prior to the outbreak, correct?"

"Yes, this is confirmed," Clovis said. "Our data is incomplete, and we only have limited pieces to work off of. We know enough to ascertain how this likely started – the truth will be known once this crisis has been resolved. We know what this thing has done – how dangerous is it now that we are aware of it?"

"As you have likely learned, it is extremely dangerous," Valentin warned. "It is using the Song to corrupt and terraform the planet. It has usurped one of the Traveler's Spires, and harnessed its own power to augment its own. This is when it is the least dangerous. Facing it directly?"

Valentin paused, then continued, enunciating his words clearly, his tone brooking absolutely no challenge. "Your people do not stand a chance, General Secretary. An Intercessor operates on a paracausal logic that warps reality around it to improve its chances of victory. For every attack you make, it will retaliate with lethal precision that cannot be stopped. Nothing short of perfection can defeat it – but it can be overwhelmed."

"Perfection…" Clovis crossed his arms, bright eyes seeming to process the information. "I will be able to assist with that when the time comes, as I presume the Warmind will as well."

"We will see," Valentin said. "We will need to enter the Spire, and the Warmind will have limited access. Spires are places where the conventional…breaks down. You will be of potential greater viability."

"Understood," Clovis acknowledged. "There is more?"

"Yes," Valentin confirmed. "It is likely that the Intercessor has identified one, or a small number of Humans as amplifiers of the Darkness on Neptune. It is not uncommon for Intercessors to uplift those particularly attuned to paracausality, but we will not know this for sure until we land. They are likely the primary threat we will face on the planet, until we enter the Spire."

"When you say 'amplify…'" Shaheed wondered.

"The Darkness employs a technique known as the Strand," Valentin said. "An ability that hijacks the underlying fabric of causality and allows it to be directly accessed or altered. It is best described as the ability to manifest a wormhole from one place to another. The larger the Strand Network, the greater battlefield control the Darkness has."

Valentin manifested another Light projection, of Neptune, where there were small green spiderwebs around the atmosphere. "These amplifiers build, and maintain the Strand Networks. Without protection, if you step within an area under the Network, you can be immediately abducted, or the amplifier can move anywhere in the blink of an eye."

"This poses a problem for an invasion," Luka murmured, stroking his chin. "If I understand this correctly, it could simply pluck our dropships and transports out of the sky, or even our missiles or bombardment?"

"Precisely," Valentin confirmed. "As Guardians, we are able to bypass it – but it is not best to rely on Reality Anchors to protect your transports, and your bombardment will almost certainly be intercepted. However, for this to work there must be an active mind behind it. And an active mind can be overwhelmed. This is where the Warmind comes in. Elsie?"

The Exo stepped forward. "Warsat production has been maintained on Mars since Rasputin's assumption of control. The Traveler is able to facilitate transfer, with remote activation. We possess enough Warsats to effectively blanket Neptune – and when necessary, open fire."

She looked at Calumet. "Triumvirate forces must be willing to support this effort, primarily concentrating on the major cities. Upon Rasputin's direction, orbital bombardment will commence, intensifying until it is judged that the Strand network is sufficiently overwhelmed. Once forces are on the ground, if Rasputin is uploaded into the Neptunian networks, he will be able to regain control of automated systems."

There were nods around the room – it was a logical plan of attack. "I will have the Morning Star sync with Rasputin to facilitate this," Clovis said. "I expect we have the firepower to overwhelm it, and establish beachheads."

New questions were raised. "I don't suppose we can just destroy the Spire or attack it directly?" Wei Ning, one of the Guardians asked. "The Intercessor is the main threat there."

Valentin shook his head. "Not in a way that would succeed. Reclaiming a corrupted world is not a simple or easy process, especially when a Spire is also involved. There are specific steps to take before it can be cleansed. The Paracausal Song the Intercessor is weaving must be undone – which I will do myself. The core centers of corruption must also be cleansed – and that leads into the bulk of this operation."

The holotable lit up with a recreation of Neptune, laid out flat. Multiple cities were lit up in green. "We have identified these centers of corruption," Clovis said. "Unsurprisingly, they are the six major cities of Neptune. Our mission will be to land, push - and cleanse."

Valentin held his hands out, the Light gathered around them, and formed into a starkly white rod, one that looked warm to the touch, and pure in a strange way. Fang realized that it was a rod made out of Godsteel.

"General Secretary, your people will take these rods, and plant them throughout the advance," Valentin said. "They are resistant to the Darkness, and will be critical to ultimately cleansing it."

"So long as they are provided, it will get done," Clovis said, appraising the rod with clear interest.

Valentin then faced the Guardians directly. "You will be broken into teams of three, and work with Triumvirate forces to destroy the main Darkness forces in the city. You will not be able to fully cleanse it – that will be my job, and these rods are critical to it. However, you should be able to excise the worst of the danger."

There were nods from the Guardians. "I will coordinate Triumvirate forces to support these offensives," Clovis said. "We will employ Reality Anchors liberally where we can, and utilize Exos where we cannot. This Song that affected these people is not one that has gone silent."

"Correct," Valentin said. "Do not presume the Reality Anchors will be completely successful. This is a threat unlike any we have faced before – and we cannot lose, lest the rest of Sol fall to this corruption. Is that understood?"

There were nods around the room. "Then break out into teams, and prepare for landfall," Valentin stepped back. "There is much to do."


HALLWAYS | THE MORNING STAR | NEPTUNE ORBIT

The briefing was concluded, and the Triumvirate officers and Guardians alike slowly dispersed, though Clovis noted that Valentin remained, along with the Exo Commandant that he apparently had a history with.

Being an Exo had advantages such as being able to control how one sounded and thought. Such was easy to do, and useful in these situations. Clovis didn't know if it was intentional or not that the Guardian Shaheed had been brought along. The most recent updates from Earth were frankly baffling.

A Caliphate, of all things? Please, was this the middle ages? And they'd elected a Guardian to it?

Ridiculous.

First the American President, now the leader of the proclaimed Arabian state. And everyone was cheering it along. Clovis wondered which Guardian was going to claim leadership of the Chinese or Soviets next. The Traveler was being clever, no doubt, but it appeared that she wanted to rub it in.

Well, if the Guardian did his job now, then he would display some worth. Now though, there was another matter to…address. He had not interacted with Elsie before the briefing, and now that it was over, he had left as she did.

In the empty hallway outside the room, they stood apart from each other, father and daughter. Lives which had gone in vastly different directions, yet had curious overlaps all the same. Neither of them spoke to each other right away, silence filling the void between them, neither wanting to speak first, or even sure there was anything to say.

Yet Clovis believed that it was worth…something. At least an attempt.

He suspected it would almost certainly be the last time they would be speaking to each other. He found it curious that of all the emotions he felt, so much as they could be felt anymore, he was not disappointed, but…content.

He considered the reasons for this.

She was aligned with the alien, but he viewed that as more of one of convenience than a true commitment to the alien's side; her actual loyalty, such as it was, appeared to be with the Warmind. The alien appeared to have ignored her, and Rasputin appeared to consider his relationship to the Traveler as of an ally, not a subordinate. Such a development gave some relief.

It was far better than outright submission.

Though that was not all of it. Though to be sure, he had to ask.

"[Why choose this?]" His voice lacked judgement, only a resigned curiosity. No challenge or disappointment colored it, only a desire to know.

Elise opened her mouth, then closed it after a moment. A shrug followed. "[Does it matter to you?]"

"[It does.]"

One of her fists clenched. The mechanics of her face were of a BANSHEE, intended to allow a wider range of expression and emotion beyond the eyes. He could look at her face now, and see that she was angry.

"[Because you destroyed everything,]" she practically spat, her glowing eyes shining angrily. "[Everything. Our nation. The Triumvirate. Our family. You murdered my sister. Everything because you could not stand the idea that you were lesser. You could not comprehend not being the center of everything, and so you lashed out, and we all paid the price.]"

Clovis did not react. "[You know why I did it.]"

"[I know what you say,]" a snort, as she began pacing. "[It's never your fault. No, it's everyone else who's too stupid or blind to see your grand vision for Humanity. Only you can lead us. Only you have the resolve. Only you can make the choices necessary. Stop lying, father. It was never about Humanity, it was about you. Only you!]"

He displayed no outwardly reaction. He felt nothing internally either. It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before; it coming from his daughter didn't change that. She simply would never understand.

All the same, he decided to answer.

Clovis looked away for a moment as he spoke, his voice musing. "[And still billions follow. Millions fight. It would have been easy, Elsie, to let it play out. I know what I could have done. I could have bowed my head to the Traveler, I could have embraced its ways, and I would have been blessed with power and might beyond imagination. I've seen the gifts it gives its people. A golden age would have begun, with myself as Humanity's steward, in the light of Man's patron god.]"

He looked back at Elsie. "[You consider me as a tyrant, a delusional madman so obsessed with power he cannot give it up. Driven by ego and selfishness and nothing else?]" A shake of the head. "[Easier to think of me in such simple terms. Easier to rationalize. Easier to explain. Life isn't so simple.]"

He spread his arms out. "[If power, glory, and ego was all I am, then why did I not take it when I had the chance? Why pursue the path that would almost certainly lead to my downfall? Do you think I challenge the divine lightly? That I am under delusions as to my success?]"

His arms fell, his voice adopting a razor's edge. "[I am not, Elsie. I am not. But I do not regret this path I have taken. For at least I have pursued something greater than my own power. So long as I live, there will be men who do not bow and scrape before those who wield the power of the divine. Who will not be content to accept their place without challenge. If I lose, then so be it, but let none say that I stood by and did nothing.]"

"[Even if you destroy everything you supposedly cared for in the first place?]" Elsie challenged. "[Your legacy will be ruinous, your family scattered, you will be at best a footnote, and at worst a symbol. When you look at all you have done, the millions who have died in pursuit of your supposed principle, what will it be for?]"

"[In pursuit of a free Humanity,]" Clovis shrugged. "[Such is an ideal which is worth fighting, killing, and sacrificing for. Man throughout history has fought for the ability to choose their own destiny. They have fought for freedom, liberation, and choice. There is no future under the Traveler where Man is free. We are only another species conscripted into this cosmic war.]"

He looked down at her, eyes malevolently red. "[You know this too. Your allegiance is with the Warmind – not the Traveler.]"

"[Rasputin is wiser than you ever could be,]" Elsie shook her head. "[The Traveler is not our enemy – She could make us greater than we ever could on our own. You see what we are about to face-]" she gestured to the side. "[Without the Guardians, we would lose.]"

"[Mhm,]" Clovis considered. "[Rasputin does not think like you or me. He thinks in infinity, of contingencies and plans in the thousands of years. Similar to an ancient, immortal Celestial. A usage of the Traveler, to gain power and then…what, tell me?]"

"[So long as Humanity is respected? Nothing.]"

A nod. "[And when Man must serve the alien? When Man wishes to not do so?]"

"[Then we will see,]" Elsie said. "[But that time is not now, and I do not know if it ever will be. You asked me why – because unlike you, I care about the future of our species, and I know what is out there now. This is the way, and if the Triumvirate, if you, must be destroyed in the process, so be it. You left me with no choice.]"

He wished he could smile again.

He felt proud.

At least one of his daughters understood this. No matter what happened, he hoped she would hold onto it, and let it guide her, as it had him. He did not think such faith in the alien was wise…but at least there would be those who clung to some philosophy where Humanity was permitted to choose their own destiny.

"[Thank you,]" he said. "[That was all I wanted to know.]"

"[I hope you did, because I've said all I want to you,]" Elsie turned away, and began walking. "[There is a mission to do. Let's get it over and done with.]"


THE MORNING STAR | NEPTUNE ORBIT

The briefing room soon cleared out, as the Guardians and Triumvirate officers alike prepared for the mission to come. Clovis and Elsie left together as well, which Valentin noted idly. He wondered if there was anything to really say between them.

He put the thought out of his mind, as he shared a few final parting words with the Fireteam leaders. Shaxx, Shaheed, Khojin, and Osiris were given some final instructions, and soon left – though he didn't leave with them. There was something he wanted to do before the line of no return was crossed.

Soon, there was only one other in the room with him.

Valentin hadn't gotten a close look at the PATRIOT model of Exo yet, not until now. It was an exemplary piece of architecture; a perfected soldier in humanoid form, with the vague features that could be considered feminine. Yet gender identity was secondary to its primary purpose.

This was a war machine, one which easily stood over him, arms and legs sleek but functional; so much power, design, and complexity hidden under the metal skin.

Blue electric eyes appraised him, almost soft in their light. They'd gotten the eyes right. Electric they may be, but they had the ever-so-slight movements and reactions that gave them the ability to express nonverbal cues. It was the only part of the face that was capable of showing something resembling emotion.

There was just the eyes, but the eyes were so close as to be virtually indistinguishable.

Yet he couldn't help but feel a horror and roiling disgust at what he saw; what the Triumvirate in their supposed pursuit of ascension had wrought. An abomination of nature; the bastardization of a soul, and a mimicry of something that was supposed to be alive.

And none of them knew what they'd done.

They couldn't see it as he did; the fragments of the souls decaying before his eyes; what remnants of who Had Been in agony and pain as they were unnaturally grafted onto the mimicry of living, breathing people. A torturous hell, that the replicated minds were blissfully ignorant of, and even most Guardians could not see.

Only he really did. Only he could see it. The most the others would feel was a slight discomfort as the souls attempted to beg for death; to be put to rest, instead of existing in this zombie state between living and dead. How was he supposed to react to this rationally? What should he do when faced with such a crime?

A crime that no one knew they had committed.

The construct before him was an artificial recreation of Liana, which walked, talked, and thought it was her - but it fundamentally was not. He saw the shattered fragments of her soul; who she had been. A soul that had been unnaturally shattered, as the mind had been harvested just to be placed into a metal coffin. She could not understand it, but he could see it for what it was.

An abomination. A tortuous existence. A criminal act.

All of the Exos had the fragments of souls surrounding them; clinging to them, and screaming in distorted pain. Clovis was no exception. It had been disconcerting to see that the thing before him was still Clovis, while the soul was begging to be put out of its misery.

Copies and mimics walking around, thinking they were alive. They thought, moved, and spoke like they were alive. But they fundamentally weren't, even as they pretended to be. Imitations; Pinocchios that believed themselves real, who could not understand anything else.

It still made him wonder.

Does it matter what they are, even if they are not alive?

He didn't know. Even if the souls were in pain, the entities that they clung to were unaware - and they could think. He only knew that the price to create them was too high. The Triumvirate had not known what they had done when they had started this program, not that it would have really stopped them. But if they had known, maybe some of them would have made a different choice.

Maybe she would have.

An argument could be made that the Exos were alive in that they were active agents, but not in any other way. Ultimately, he could not let his pity, disgust, and revulsion cloud his judgement. Clovis not only retained his thoughts, he was more dangerous. Liana was dangerous in a different way, but he knew she could have been more.

It seemed not everyone was meant for the Traveler's blessing. In a way, it was a comfort to know that even She could be wrong about people. That someone could say no.

Ironically, Liana's existence disproved Clovis' fears. Not that he would see it that way, for he would just point to his own refusal to succumb to the Traveler's desire. A true statement, were it not for a crucial detail that Liana had been chosen by the Traveler. Clovis had not.

And she'd walked away.

She was not wrong.

Vigil's voice was soft, comforting.

She could have been great. She was allowed to make her choice.

Liana's eyes had not left his. She finally spoke. "You are staring."

It was something she'd say. It reminded him of when they would banter, and he was tempted to respond back with a quip along the lines of 'so are you'. He didn't. Instead he reached up, and removed his helmet. A burst of cool air hit his face, as he set the helmet on the table, and looked at her with eyes of pure Light.

She did not look away, but he could see the appraisal sharpen.

As if assessing a threat.

"You have reason to stare," he said, the world of gold illuminating all shifting and promising infinite possibility. Yet where Liana was speaking, there was nothing there but material; only a tortured soul that allowed him to pick her out. No different from the holotable, the walls, or the floor itself.

Material.

Material should not speak. It did not think. It did not feel.

While they might feel some discomfort, he did not think the Guardians would ultimately feel uncomfortable around Exos, as far as all of them were concerned, there was little differentiating them from the living but for biological and exclusionary definitions. The more perceptive ones might understand what was going on on some level - but only those of the Sky, or who saw the world as he did, could understand.

He saw why She hated machines such as this. The ones who could think and speak, derivatives of living souls. It was why the Ghosts were less machines, and more extensions, empowered and shaped by her own comprehension, even as they pretended to be otherwise. A machine could never be anything more than what it was.

The Exos disturbed him in a way that Rasputin did not. Rasputin had always been an AI, he had been designed to be a computer, a computational pattern greater than Humans. If Rasputin could even be classified as something resembling a mortal mind anymore. Yet there had never been a soul in Rasputin; there had been no illusion that he was alive, or even wanted to be.

The Exos had once been people.

Alive, now shattered. Ignorant of what was gone.

"Is that something that is part of you?" She finally asked, likely indicating the eyes.

"Yes," he said after a moment. "A consequence of my…role. I can see all of what is, and what could be. I see everything for what it truly is, through the shields and masks they hide behind."

A nod. "And what do you see around me?"

He did not answer right away. When he did his voice was flat.

"Agony."

She cocked her head. "What?"

"The living have souls," he said. "Around you are…fragments. They linger, shattered by the process that created you. They decay, die, and are forced to cling to you; acutely aware of their deterioration. They scream, and beg, and wish for sleep. You do not notice, as you are a machine."

Another pause. "Is it what you wanted?"

She looked away for the first time, perhaps disturbed by what had been said, or because she wasn't sure of her answer. Contemplation colored her tone as she answered. "Yes. It was my choice. I was able to make my choice. Were you?"

A smile played on his lips. "No. That choice was taken from me."

She looked back at him, the fragments seeming to be more intense for a few moments. "Do you wish you could have made it, even if it would have been the same?"

Valentin rested his hands on the edge of the holotable, looking down onto the deactivated, flat surface. "I don't know. I don't think it matters. This is what I am supposed to do, this is my place, and my role is clear. This was the price to live again, and I do not regret it, or hold it against Her."

Another short nod. "I've wondered what it would be like to speak to you," Liana said after a moment, walking until she was opposite him. "I thought you were dead. Then you were back, bringing war. I didn't know if you were…you, or a mouthpiece for the Traveler." Her eyes returned to his. "It seems you are the same. That gives me some comfort."

"There is only one way this will end," Valentin said quietly. "Clovis will not lead Humanity to prosperity. His is not the world you want to live in. It is one I know you do not support. It is not too late."

"No, it is not, but this is where I choose to be," Liana said, her voice calm. "Clovis is right about one thing. I considered scenarios as news of Neptune came in. Knowing what we do, about this threat, he is right about what we are to Her. An army, conscripted into this war no one asked for or wanted."

She straightened. "She is not who we thought She was. She is not a tyrant, but She is not benign or apathetic. From the beginning She has played on us, nudged and guided us, to engineer this ultimate outcome. Clovis sees it, I know he does, but he thinks Her as a player; a kindred spirit, not as God. She is God, you are her Michael, and the Guardians are her Angels."

She trailed off. "I wish we didn't know. I wish I didn't realize it. Nothing matters anymore. It didn't matter from the moment She came to us. You said it yourself - you see all that is, and all that could be. Should you wish, you change it to your vision. That is what you are doing now."

He listened, then spoke. "If I acted in such a way, then I would want you to help me. I wish you would, but I will not force that choice on you."

An electronic laugh sounded, her voice quiet, resigned. "Because I don't matter, Valentin. If I mattered, you would do something. I am too…" she flicked a wrist. "Small. A machine, you said; fragments of a shattered soul. You would kill me, to liberate the soul that clings to me in agony I cannot perceive. You would consider it a mercy, because to you, I am not alive."

She paused. "You want to create Heaven on Earth, and you will stop at nothing to make this vision a reality. You and Clovis are alike in this way. Nothing matters to him but his vision of Humanity, nothing matters to you but your own, empowered by your God."

She spread her hands, her soft voice conciliatory. "I get it. I do. It's your role. You will do what is best for Humanity in your eyes, no matter how many protest and scream. You will excise the worst elements of Humanity, through fire and blood. You will forge a perfect world, no matter the protestations of those who say they do not want it."

Her head lowered, a sigh escaped. "That life is hollow for me. I think you are like me, Valentin. I will live forever – or I will until I am destroyed in the inevitable war. There is no promise of a life for me now, no possibility that I will grow old and die. I am not Human in that way anymore. So what am I left with, Valentin?"

Her eyes met his again. "I do not want to live under God, knowing my only purpose is to prepare for the day the divine clash, and God sends forth me as a soldier in Her armies. Maybe it is inevitable. Maybe we face the Darkness with or without the Traveler – but Clovis is right about this: It should be because we do it, not because of our conscription, not because it is supposedly inevitable."

Her tone firmed. "We are not being given a choice, just as you were never given a choice. It is a deception, from the very beginning. God does not allow free choice or will, nor do you. Perhaps the meaningless decisions made are what you count…but you have no intention of letting the future slip through your grasp, do you?"

A heavy silence descended upon them. "No," he finally said. "I do not."

"Not surprising," she said, and her tone shifted to seem like it was a smile, a comforting sound. "It's ok. You won't save everyone, and not everyone wants to be saved. I know what will happen to me, and I accept that. It means nothing, but it is my own choice."

He wished he had something to say to her. To convince this shell of his friend to make a different decision. He needed the words here, but found he lacked them. He could understand, but could not comprehend.

It's ok.

Vigil's own voice was similarly gentle.

She is not wrong – not everyone wants to be saved. Save who you can, not who you wish.

He supposed he had to let go.

It still hurt to do so, even to a mimic.

"I understand," he finally said. "The door will be open to you, until the very end. Know that, and know you can still make a difference, even if you insist otherwise."

"We will see," she said, turning away. "A question for later, I suppose. There is an enemy to destroy, and a world to cleanse. I need to prepare."

"Indeed," Valentin straightened himself, knowing it was time to focus on the battle ahead. "And I need to assess a place to begin. This task will not be an easy one."


EN ROUTE TO THE STATE OF BRAZIL

It was a long flight to Brazil, and there wasn't a better time to actually sit down and review some reports, dossiers, and articles in peace. There were no interruptions this time – or if there were, they would have to go through Juan's staff who he'd made sure knew that unless the civil war itself had started, she was not to be interrupted.

A good time for coffee, and some very heavy reading.

A stack of reports and dossier were on the nearby coffee table, as she sipped from her mug, settling in place. Of course, such plans were immediately upended by Juan walking into the cabin with his own mug of coffee in one hand, and a small paper in the other.

"Every hour, a new development," Juan said, handing her the paper. "Politics and revolution make for some interesting allies. New people to put in the Senate perhaps. Snagged this memo just before takeoff. Some poor DIA rep was rushing it to me since it didn't make the daily report. Take a look."

She took the paper, scanning the summary, releasing an amused snort. "Cute," she said, setting it on her lap. "But you're right. They'll be useful."

The memo was a summation of recent statements put out by several small political parties that had often been on the fringes of the Confederation Congress. To the surprise of no one, the Republican and Democratic parties who had dominated Congress had backed the Constitutionalists. A few ones directly adjacent to them, including the Democratic Socialist Party, along with the hardline Originalist party, had joined them.

The remaining parties that had representation had held their silence since the removal of Quinn. The Democratic Socialists and Originalists throwing their lot in with the Constitutionalists appeared to have broken the dam, and they'd decided it was time to choose a side.

The American Vanguard Party, the most successful Soviet-style political movement in the Confederation, had penned an open letter to the 'Holliday Administration' – something which she was still getting used to, representing the interests of several other aligned parties.

These included the American Socialist Party, which wasn't a surprise, the Southern Interests Party, also not surprising given their South American focus, the Lincoln Party, which advocated for greater state autonomy, and the Iron Corps party, one managed and led by military veterans.

"Seems the communists see their opportunity," she commented, rereading the memo in more detail. "Along with quite a few others. I'm touched by their support, but this says little more than they're backing our government. What have they directly reached out about?"

"You mean what they want?" Juan took a seat opposite her. "Unofficially speaking, Gheleon wants a place in your eventual reconstituted cabinet, the reestablishment of the Congress at the earliest possible opportunity, the abolishment of the Central and South American states, and-"

"You could have just said, 'the entire Vanguard Party Platform'," Amanda interrupted dryly. "And what is he actually offering in return? I'm not interested in facilitating his American communist revolution."

"Political tactic, asking for something outrageous to get down to what he really wants," Juan dismissed. "This was also said privately to me, without the others in the room. I doubt his allies want the same thing. What he really wants, Madam President, is to sit in the room with you, and have a hand in the decisions."

"You don't have to keep calling me that," Amanda signed. "I'm only president until all of this is done."

Juan didn't miss a beat. "Be that as it may, for now, you are the president, and my superior in the chain of command. Sorry ma'am, that's the rules."

Amanda chuckled, before sobering again. "This is going to get complicated very quickly. I don't know what everything is going to look like once it's done, and I don't know what Valentin will demand when this is all done."

Juan rubbed his chin, considering. "With respect, ma'am, I understand Valentin is some kind of representative for the Traveler. Is that the case?"

"A Speaker, yes," Amanda said. "Embodies the Traveler's direction and will so far as I understand." She glanced at MacArthur, who was hovering nearby. "And my role is a Guardian. A leader. Honestly, it isn't exactly clear. I've just been doing what I think is needed."

MacArthur's fins spun. "That is all She requires. She does not need to dictate to Her Guardians. If She possessed doubts, you would not have been chosen."

"Thought as much," Juan nodded, who was notably unphased by the Ghost. "My view is this, Madam President – what Valentin wants is not important. He is a Soviet. He is not even on Earth right now."

He sat down on the chair opposite her. "The Traveler, and Kozhukhov himself, have taken a stance against the Triumvirate's inherent weaknesses and domination. You know what the Confederation needs, and what needs to happen. If Valentin believes in what he says, he will let Americans decide the future of America – otherwise he is merely Clovis Bray with a new face."

That made sense to her, though didn't assuage her own concerns and doubts. "I'm just unsure. I don't want to make the wrong choices, and make everything worse. Especially when the stakes are this high."

"Unfortunately, Madam President, I hate to break it to you," Juan's lips pulled into a smile. "You're going to make mistakes. All of us do. No one wants perfection, only for you to keep trying, and listen to those around you. People aren't stupid – they can tell when someone is trying, and if they're doing the right things? They'll be forgiving."

Amanda faintly smiled. "Let's hope you're right about that. I'll see what Gheleon wants when…where is he right now?"

"Well, that's the interesting coincidence," Juan said, leaning back. "He's in Brazil now. The CIA was preparing to arrest him, presumably in an attempt to permanently decapitate the Vanguard Party, on suspicion that Gheleon was making unauthorized contact with Guevara."

"…And how accurate is that?"

"Quite accurate, I think," Juan said. "I don't think he's anticipating our movements – but I think there's a strong chance he'll be in Guevara's entourage."

"Wonderful," Amanda exhaled. "Then I expect we're going to be in some hard negotiations. Has the violence continued to cease?"

"From everything I've heard, yes," he affirmed. "Once we sent out the orders, the South American garrisons complied, and Guevara's people similarly respected the truce once we said you were coming. If he's a Guardian too, this should hopefully be easily resolved."

"I hope so," Amanda agreed. "However, I suspect it's not going to be as easy as we hope."

Juan was more optimistic, but she could tell he was thinking the same thing. When it came to the fate of nations, nothing was ever as simple as they'd like.


THE BATTLE OF NEPTUNE

NEPTUNE ORBIT | NEPTUNE

Clovis didn't know who the ultimate amplifying mind behind the supposed 'Strand network' was – but it took only a few tests, evaluations, and suggestions from subordinates to conclude something that was very, very important, and very, very critical. It was a very positive bit of news, which had resulted in some sighs of relief.

This amplifier was not experienced in actual warfare.

At best they had a rudimentary grasp of strategy and tactics, which he found utterly fascinating. It narrowed the possibilities to who it could possibly be – likely one of the scientists and not soldiers, else he suspected that they would know better than to tip their hand so early. He wondered if it had been an intentional choice, or if the Intercessor hadn't or couldn't consider such experiences.

Regardless, it seemed like they'd still expected him to launch an invasion – and that was it. No drone mobilization, or preparation of ground-to-space systems. He wondered if the terraforming taking place was interfering in the usage of more conventional defenses. Or perhaps he was trying to make excuses, and really, he didn't need to do that.

The overview that Valentin had provided had been sufficient to make some initial theories as to the capabilities of the Strand network, and the paracausal Song that was being supposedly sung. Fortunate that he had a significant number of Exo soldiers to deploy, as well as Reality Anchors to blanket Neptune.

While he'd overseen the preparations from the bridge, hundreds of ground transports were being readied and loaded with soldiers, Anchors, Guardians, and the Godsteel rods that were critical to the Guardians' plan. The first task? To actually land on the planet. Not a concern for the Guardians, who could use their Ghosts to teleport.

Such was not a capability the Triumvirate possessed. It would have to be with a good old-fashioned invasion. Or perhaps not old-fashioned, considering this would be the first planetary invasion in Human history. Ironically against one of his own worlds, which had fallen to alien domination.

There were worse outcomes, he supposed.

"[General Secretary, we are in position over Invictus,]" one officer reported. "[Triumvirate landing forces are boarded and prepared to deploy.]"

A nod in response. "[The Anchors are effectively fixed?]"

"[Yes, General Secretary.]"

That was critical. He was not concerned about the dangers of the Song so much as he was about the implications of the Strand network. If it functioned how described, an entity of sufficient power would be able to simply pluck out whatever entered its threshold, destroying a landing force before it could ever touch down.

It was a very, very good thing that he'd anticipated this vulnerability and ensured that the Triumvirate Planetary Invasion Transports had the capability to be easily retrofitted to include Reality Anchors. Granted, the expectation had been a conflict against the Traveler, but it seemed like this would work just as well.

However, the Strand was useful for other things too. More…conventional uses of destruction. In theory, it had the capability to immediately teleport reinforcements, missiles, or concentrated weapons almost on top of transports without fear of missing. He had a complete inventory of equipment, weapons, and technology conventional and experimental that he had to assume would be employed against them.

It was extensive.

In essence, he was facing one of the most comprehensive and sophisticated defense networks that could be conceived – with one critical vulnerability. The mind behind it was Human – or at least had been. Not to mention it was not a military mind. It was not a Warmind designed to handle the sheer scale of warfare, and that was exploitable.

In the hands of a master strategist, something like the Strand network would be a power with few equivalents. Fortunately, it did not appear they were facing someone of such a high caliber.

"[Are the Warsats positioned?]" He asked.

"[Nearly complete,]" came the confirmation. "[Rasputin estimates only minutes remaining.]"

Estimates. Clovis was amused by the implication that the Warmind did not know down to the exact millisecond when the Warsats would be in position. Rasputin had a limited arsenal at his disposal, but had taken no time in realizing the exact same plan Clovis had come to, hence his own suggestion to Valentin, who has incorporated it into the strategy.

The Strand Network could be overwhelmed. The only question was how much.

"[Warsats are in position, General Secretary.]"

"[Final transport has given the all-clear. Prepared to deploy on your order.]"

"[Weapons are primed on the Morning Star. Standing by for firing command.]"

The notifications and callouts reached him all at once, and he merely stood, overlooking the blue-green world now corrupted in black clouds. Hands clasped behind his back, eyes glowing brightly in the light that seemed dim, everything was in place. It was time to wage war, and put Humanity to the test against the horrors that awaited beyond their system.

"[Synchronize with the Warmind. Open fire.]"

The sound of switches being flipped, orders being given, and keys being typed. Confirmations and callouts sounding. He listened, and waited for the three words.

"[Commencing orbital bombardment.]"

The Morning Star began opening fire on the city of Invictus, launching large projectiles and blank missiles against the city. In the orbit of Neptune, the hundreds of Warsats opened, unleashing barrages of sharpened tungsten projectiles, directed energy weapons, and missiles.

A holographic display before him showed the scale of what was being unleashed; enough firepower to level each and every city on Neptune. Or it would have been such, were their enemy conventional. He was not expecting it to succeed.

And that was the point.

The projectiles and missiles began disappearing. No impacts were detected on the surface. The analysts and officers were calling out the number of munitions that had just seemed to vanish into thin air, some of them appeared worried. The experienced officers were not. They knew what was happening.

A second barrage was launched.

Then a third.

There was a new visual element that had appeared on the Neptunian tapestry; flashes of emerald luster in the black clouds; appearing and disappearing for only an instant, but they were there. With each barrage, they became more noticeable. Warsats that had been depleted were rotated out with fresh ones; paracausal signatures were captured when the Traveler teleported a fresh batch, to ensure Rasputin could sustain the offensive as long as necessary.

"[We're receiving a calculation from Rasputin,]" one officer said. "[Estimated two full barrages remaining before acceptable deployment threshold reached. He has also sent updated calculations concerning barrage compositions and tempo.]" The officer paused. "[Should we implement?]"

Clovis looked down at him. "[This was what the Warmind was designed for. Yes, implement them without delay.]"

"[Yes, General Secretary!]"

It was a deep, deep pity that Ana had failed in ensuring the Warmind's loyalty to the Triumvirate. This display proved that the Warmind possessed the capability to wage war against a paracausal entity. He could not help but think of what would be different if he had possessed such a tool this entire time.

Unfortunately, what was done could not be undone, and Humanity marched ever onward.

"[Impact!]"

There was a cheer that went up at the yelled development, and Clovis felt a sensation of pleasure as well. More impacts were called, it didn't matter if they hit critical targets or not, what mattered was that it indicated a critical turning point.

The Strand network was overwhelmed; it couldn't stop everything from going through. It was saturated to capacity.

"[Maintain bombardment tempo, synchronize with Rasputin to assume bombardment on Invictus City, and prepare for the Morning Star to descend and initiate preparations for Calamity Protocol. Launch all transports.]"

He turned on a heel and began marching to the Hangar to board his own transport. With the Telesto and many more weapons at his disposal, he was going to take part in this war personally.

Time to get his hands dirty.


THE BATTLE OF NEPTUNE

THE WHITE EXPANSE | NEPTUNE

The black clouds that stormed and swirled over Neptune were an intimidating sight. Tainted rain fell from them, toxic, acidic, and deadly. Hurricane winds blew, strong enough to cut through even the strongest protection. The cold was a malicious feeling, seeming to have a hunger to consume and sap.

Valentin could have stepped foot on Neptune in any number of ways.

However, it was necessary to make an announcement.

This world did not belong to them.

Hovering above the planet, he observed as the Warsats and Triumvirate warships rained down fire. He watched the green flashes as the Strand network was utilized. As they fired, it was his turn to add to the distraction.

Valentin spread his arms as the Light was summoned, enveloping him in a protective embrace. He saw the ground below, the Light around him swirling into the point he envisioned, a beam forming that easily cut through the weak corrupted clouds, and loose Strands that wavered.

He only needed a moment.

Only one.

An instant later, he was on the planet's surface with a thunderclap. A blast of corrupted snow exploded as he landed, cracking the thick ice underneath. He stood within one of the many white expanses of Neptune, blue-white ice that stretched as far as the eye could see, snow patches atop it.

His arrival had been heralded by an explosion of purifying Light, which had cut through the rot that had taken root. A small piece of the world now returned to purity. He stood, and beheld the world upon which he found himself.

Neptune was extremely underdeveloped; the Triumvirate had only been in the nascent stages of colonization, keeping their focus to specific urban centers, where most things were automated. There had been no reason to greatly expand beyond the cities, and in some respects, it was fortunate the damage was primarily limited to the city centers.

He stood in a vast, open expanse.

Ice fields as far as his eyes could see, with some mountain peaks in the distance. Black clouds remained above him, the weather and winds howling, as if the world was tangibly reacting to his presence. As if it was repulsed by him. Yet no storm here could touch him. Not when he was shielded in the all-purifying Light.

Now he was here, it was time to begin.

And it started by seeing.

He altered his mask to allow him to see reality as it truly was, and what he saw was something that unsettled him on a primeval level. So often had he seen nothing but the golden majesty of all that was, but here it was no longer so pure.

Within the gold, everything was dimmed from the vibrance he was used to, and possibility curtailed. Emerald Strands interfered in the perfection, wrapping around and choking potential, a sick imitation of the Light as it latched onto only a fraction of possibility; a despicable abomination and emulation of the Light.

The explanation he had given to Clovis and the Triumvirate worked for the purposes of conveying what the Strand was, but that was not why it was a power of the Darkness. This was why the Darkness employed it; it was a corruption of reality itself; of the promise of the Light.

Leeching.

Stealing.

Yet that was not as upsetting as seeing the gold tainted by black. Black meant death, termination, and ruin. Perversion of potential, warping of possibility, hijacking of the beautiful into something evil. It was an affront, an insult to all the Light existed for. It corrupted, and forced hegemony, order, and conformity.

Slaved to what the Dark wished.

And they who commanded it.

He allowed himself to lower the protection he had erected around himself, and listened.

The Antiphon filled his ears; the paracausal Song enrapturing. If one could ignore the Darkness coursing through its notes, he would never had heard something so beautiful. It was a song within a song, an appeal on an emotional and spiritual level. That which promised and appealed to his weaknesses.

He need not shoulder the burden.

He need not wonder at his decisions.

He need not be the hero.

He need not be afraid of death.

Here there was comfort.

There was certainty.

All he needed to do was accept the Song.

To join in its chorus.

Yet under each Note was a lie. They were notes of persuasion and manipulation; memetic subtleties that existed only to weaken the will of those who heard. They were powerful in a destructive way, it would be far easier to listen and join than resist. Yet he heard the Antiphon for what it was; he perceived its true nature.

He soon understood that the Antiphon was doing more than subjugating the minds of those who walked this world.

As he listened, he began to see the true complexity of the Song at work here. The controlling element was what was immediately perceptible, but there was a secondary Song working atop it – or the Songs were inverse. That one was altering the planet itself; facilitating the growth, spread, and resilience of the Darkness.

The black storms were the most obvious sign of the corruption, but it seemed primarily intended to facilitate the spread of Darkness once it took root. With the Song, when the black storms rained their bile, it would respond and spread, corrupting kilometers of land in a short period of time. It would be more resistant to cleansing and decay.

The Darkness was not any normal infestation, it reacted to its master.

The master being the Intercessor, augmented by the Spire.

So Valentin listened, and as he listened, his sight followed the emerald strands that tainted his sight. His eyes tracked the Strand network that had been established, and as they'd suspected, likely not created by the Intercessor. With the Light, he shattered them – and saw them be almost immediately restored.

Yes, whoever was behind it was not just using the network, but actively maintaining it. In that case, there was a new line of approach.

Instead of breaking the Strands, he grasped one, and telepathically followed it to its source – and ran straight into an active mind. It was a hardened barrier, though one that hadn't been quick enough to disguise their immediate reaction.

Surprise.

Valentin instinctively recoiled back at the brief glimpse he'd gotten of the mind. A name.

Micah Abrams.

The mind was a young one. He'd experienced a number of emotions in the girl – excitement, anticipation, apprehension, and…pride. Pride mixed with fear, but not he thought, fear of him. He knew that kind of fear. The kind of fear one felt when they might disappoint someone. When they were hungry for approval.

No…

A picture was taking shape as to what had happened here, and it was one that he feared would have no happy ending. He telepathically touched the Strand again, this time moving through it slowly.

Let us speak. I will not harm you.

He did not lie. If she answered, he would not harm her. Even if he feared she was beyond the point of no return. Yet he would not strike a girl, even a corrupted one, without making the effort.

He touched the mind, and this time there was nothing he could grasp or penetrate. There was only a cold blockade. There was nothing but the projection of abject, utter hate. Then a voice slammed back at him with enough intensity that he was forced to withdraw.

LEAVE THIS PLACE.

IT IS NOT FOR YOU.

THIS IS A PLACE OF TRUTH.

NOT THE LIES OF YOUR CELESTIAL GOD.

There was power in those words – yet at the heart of the voice was that of a child. One that had been shaped into something terrible. A voice that was pained, hurt, and scared – and had found refuge in the arms of a liar and manipulator. He tried one more time, but she appeared to have localized where he was in her network, and the Strand he'd used hardened, preventing him from accessing it.

He took a breath.

So be it.

He lifted one hand to the sky, the Light around his fist, and closed it. Those who watched with mortal eyes might have seen the air seem to move; reality ripple and waver, as with a motion Valentin shattered the Strand network around him through the raw power he commanded. The branches were already regrowing, as she tried to repair it, but he commanded the Light to keep it out.

This pawn of the Dark would not claim dominion.

She would not defy the Speaker of the Celestial.

Around Valentin, the Light intensified and spread, for any who watched, it would appear he had been engulfed in a gold-white ball of power, even as he could be seen as the center, a silhouette, arms raised to the sky. Eventually, it became too much for the girl, and she abandoned the efforts to restore the Strands around him.

She was driven off – and now he needed to begin what he was here for.

The Antiphon required a counter. It required a response.

One that it normally received from those who heard it, a chorus and conductor working in concert. It provided an opportunity to strengthen it – or disrupt it, if one knew what to do. And Valentin had an idea of what he needed to do.

So he closed his eyes, let the Light surge through him, and began to sing.


THE BATTLE OF NEPTUNE

XILONG | NEPTUNE

It was one thing to be told what to expect, and another to experience it firsthand.

From the moment they had set foot on Neptune, there had been a barrage on all his senses, both mental and physical. It was a complete, comprehensive assault that instilled a permanent sense of wrongness within him. He did not know if it was because of the Light inside him, or merely an intrinsic part of the Darkness.

The rain was poisonous, the air had a sickly, rotten smell to it, and the tainted snow gave him the uncomfortable feeling of stepping in waste or something similarly revolting. It was as if everything was tailored solely to repulse him.

And the corruption of the planet was not merely aesthetic, or in the fetid atmosphere that pounded against his mind without mercy. Neptune itself felt wrathful. As if the planet had a mind of its own and was unleashing its titanic fury on those who had dared set foot on its surface.

Razor sharp tempests slammed into the Triumvirate forces that were attempting to set up beachheads, hurricanes woven like black rings on a hateful hand's accusatory fingers. He saw the men and women that disembarked from the first transports cease to be living people and join the night's winds.

A stormblood of carmine and ebony, interwoven with a chorus of damned, panicked screams. Stains of shredded viscera, faces completely stripped to the bone, armor torn in chunks with disturbing, perfectly triangular shaped holes punched through hundreds of zones of what had once been bodies. Mathematically precise shapes that could not be replicated by naturally occurring hail.

Blood-red lightning struck ceaselessly, pounding the ground with unnatural tremors and deafening explosions and booms that atomized any of the unfortunate who were hit directly by them. The beating of a drum, like the call of war. The voice of Battlesong.

Brief flashes of instantaneous death that were nonetheless captured by the bloodshot thunderclaps and repeated in haunting illusions that persisted in the battlefields. Elegies, ceremonies, flags and banners raised and held proudly. Trees fed in slaughter, reaching up to the heavens. Seeds planted in every zone where a soldier fell, and which bloomed into monuments which made his heart beat rapidly out of his chest.

Worst of all was the maddening Song that permeated everything; he could not drown it out, ignore it, or suppress it. A deep call which held Neptune by its hand, and compelled it to turn monstrous.

A Hymn praising something Greater which he could not identify, but whose gaze he felt pressing against his mind, the weight slowly becoming unbearable. An anthem of madness that seemed attuned to the lashes of Neptune's indignity. Each rise in the voice heralded an earthquake. Each lyric in the reverberating chorus made the storms intensify. Each terrible refrain manifested lightning, unholy spears raining from the black skies, and drove them into more and more Triumvirate soldiers.

When the Warmind had overwhelmed the Strand Network, a brief spark of hope had lit in his heart. An idea that the coming conflict would perhaps not be as ruinous as he initially feared. An insight into the possible fact that the being which had usurped Neptune was perhaps not experienced in warfare and did not know how to properly defend its stronghold.

They were wrong.

The accursed creature had simply prepared in a different way, and they were now all witness to its twisted spectacle.

This was a type of warfare he had never imagined in his darkest nightmares. It was not a war fought with bullets or bombs or vehicles. It was not battle waged in any way Humanity had ever known throughout its history, filled with conflict as it had always been.

It was a clash between Gods and Mortals. Where the gun was replaced by the elements. Where the soldier was phased out to give way to the enslaved laws of reality. Where celestial bodies were commandeered and directed, as if they had always been meant to fulfill such a purpose.

All made possible by the sound which he could not escape. All the design of the thing that he and others had given a name. A monstrosity that his fireteam had not yet encountered, but which was described multiple times in panicked requests for assistance and distress calls coming from many of the different landing zones.

The Siren.

The deep call of a creature which could only dwell in those unexplored depths. A demon which pulled at the strings of his soul with ferocious persistence, grasping at his heart with its spindly hand and yanking back over and over and over and over and over. Pulling with frustration. Pulling with disgust. Pulling with anger.

And when brute force failed to produce results, as it had done with the many enthralled Triumvirate soldiers which turned on their comrades with emerald eyes and vacuous smiles and had to be swiftly put down, the Siren spoke with a different voice.

His own.

He sounded reasonable. A voice which was considerate. It questioned his revulsion; made him wonder if his repulsion to this was natural – or a consequence of him being a Guardian. If there was something more to this, beauty in the madness created. For there was a design here, an architect, a vision.

Perhaps he couldn't see.

But there was a way.

Just listen.

Fang gritted his teeth and trudged on as he appraised their target.

There were not many words to describe the massacre before them. The moment when Humanity discarded whatever shred of its innocence it had left to step beyond their infant's cradle and set foot on the brutal Universe which awaited outside. The moment when they cast aside the toys they thought of as weapons, and saw how those who sat at the black pantheon waged their battles.

Khojin observed the city of Xilong before them. The Triumvirate forces had finally managed to establish a beachhead, and had held fast against the hellscape they had been thrust into. They crawled over the corpses of their own dead to establish Reality Anchors and create safe zones in the whirlwind for artillery and fortifications to be established in.

Eyes in the middle of the storm that they knew they could not stray far from, else they would be claimed like those who had paved the road forward with their corpses.

They held fast onto each other, even as the front lines knew they were dead men and women walking. Yet they still marched forward all the same, knowing full well there were no Ghosts coming to save them from their demise, as the Guardians had been. Knowing they would die serving a greater purpose.

Knowing their blood would water the gardens where their children and descendants would frolic in. It was a display of sheer Human will in the face of the impossible that moved all of them to their cores, even if they held no love for the Triumvirate themselves. A reminder that they could not fail, for the price already paid was unspeakable.

The third member of their fireteam stood beside them, hands behind her back, her gaze somber as she consumed every detail of the carnage before them, her face hardened by steel and determination. A woman named Aunor Mahal, who did not shy away from any scream or death occurring on the horizon, but who let them fuel the growing flame in the kiln of her breast.

Fang had met her before, and knew she was one of the more dedicated and zealous Guardians, if what had been shared and what he had deduced was accurate. She was in her early thirties, with light copper skin and hair which did not fall below her shoulders. Her eyes, however, were her most striking feature.

Unblinking, sunken with deep wrinkles and bags underneath them, as if she had seen too much in her lifetime. Eyes like searchlights, which could penetrate clean through one's soul and strangle it in the iron grip of their gaze. Eyes which she knew were intimidating, and did not shy away from using when seeking to make a point or pressure others into following her lead.

He knew little about her past, beyond that she'd been a commander for several of the roaming guerilla forces in Vietnam, the Philippines, and other places in Southeast Asia. Terrorizers of Chinese colonial authorities, and avengers of those brutalized by the Triumvirate's savagery.

She reminded him of Osiris in some ways, but while Osiris seemed to have released most of his zeal, Aunor had embraced it further. The ruthlessness and anger her hard life had cultivated were now ready to be brandished against a new adversary; the true enemy.

She didn't speak much, but the tightening of her fists suggested she was furious over what she was beholding, and Fang was thankful that the targets of her rage were not going to be fellow Guardians this time, or himself for that. He had quickly learned that Aunor was not one to make small talk or seek friendships, even though she held a clear respect for Khojin.

They'd received a short briefing on the way down – Xilong was a hub of weapons testing, development, and the central security authority on Neptune. At least it had been. Now everyone was presumed lost, and there was a lot of firepower, personnel, and defenses that were about to be turned against them, on top of the paracausal madness that had already been brought to bear.

The city was fortunately not designed as a fortress – it was, after all, primarily a development hub. Yet compared to almost all the cities besides Invictus, it was the best positioned to defend itself. Triumvirate drones and scouts, while not able to detect how Neptune would roar to life, had confirmed there were defenders within.

Xilong, as the security hub of Neptune, had a dedicated network of automated defenses, mechs, and drones, both loitering and mobile, air and ground. The good news was that the Triumvirate had schematics which they'd shared. The bad news was that these were on the cutting edge of automated technology.

That was going to be the easiest thing to deal with.

There were a significant number of advanced weapons that were being developed, all infantry, and almost certainly able to be wielded by the corrupted Human defenders. Only a single, or a small number of prototypes existed for most of them, but they were also cutting edge. Fang had briefly reviewed some of the projects and couldn't help but be slightly concerned.

There was something that was described as a first-generation trace rifle – a new kind of weapon that was supposedly capable of shooting beams of energy. A successful prototype had been made under the COLDHEART project, which supposedly could shoot a sustained bolt of lightning.

That was conventional compared to the ARACHNID project that was creating a weapon that fired small robotic insects which would swarm enemies. It supposedly wasn't a nanoweapon, but Fang wasn't especially assured. The most conventional project was some kind of next-generation infantry rifle; highly modular, and with the potential for extreme specialization. Relatively normal, were it not for the slight problem that there were supposedly multiple prototypes in use.

All in all, that would have been bad enough.

But, in hindsight, they should have expected more than what they could see with their eyes or detect with their mortal senses.

Xilong's industrial and technological might was an afterthought in the face of the paracausal manifestations that had already claimed so many lives.

They'd noticed that there was a faint orange luster around the entire city when they'd come; a Resonance that Shadow had explained was a typical side effect of the Darkness – if not an outright manifestation of it.

It blanketed the entire city in a shroud of sickly orange, occasionally rippling waves and ripples in reality's fabric that seemed almost machine-like. While the Light was a flowing, unbound, perpetually in motion force of life and creation, the Dark was static. Sterile. Cold and imposing. If the Light was a plant that was constantly growing and blooming, the Dark was a wall of iron that stood impassively against any attempt to defy it.

When moving into it, there was another Song – though unlike the Siren Call which beckoned Neptune's elements, it was not outright invasive – but instead seemed to be responsible for the Resonance. A metallic screech which, inexplicably, made him think of metal being stretched and crunched, as if it were a demonic factory or iron jaws at the mouth of a furnace. Stepping inside it was the worst part; the Light he was used to seemed to shrivel away. It was there, but he found that he could not draw upon it as easily, or at his regular strength.

It was a steel chain wrapped around their necks; a strategic tool that could not be overpowered no matter how hard they tried.

"The enemy awaits. It understands how to combat the Light," Aunor was surprisingly the first one to speak, as she appraised the city and Resonance field they would have to traverse while inside. "Fireteam Leader Khojin, I have observations which may prove useful." She said as she referred to her superior, her voice tinged with military discipline and resolve.

Fang wasn't clear if either of the two women had met before this point, but it was almost certain that Aunor would have known about Khojin, given Khojin being tied to nearly every resistance cell or movement in Asia. The Mongolian woman seemed to be the only one Aunor seemed even slightly comfortable with, as well as Valentin.

Khojin indicated she continue. "Share what you learned."

"This is not Light-suppressing Paracausal manipulation," Aunor said, eyes narrowed and chin held upwards as she continued to gaze at the massacre, as if she would disrespect the dead by taking her eyes off it for just a second. "The city is noticeably devoid of the corruption that has gripped the planet. No growths, vines, or other aberrations can be detected."

She knelt down and plunged a hand into the filthy snow, which seemed to ooze and writhe like a mass of tentacles, or intestines, to Fang's repulsed stomach.

Aunor briefly glanced back at him and gave him a judgemental stare, seemingly able to sense his revulsion, and quietly condemning his squeamishness as if it was a slap to the collective face of the Triumvirate soldiers who were braving hell itself, before she captured a clump of the corrupted snow in her gauntleted fist. She stood up, and slowly brought the material to the Resonance field.

The Darkness seemed to recoil from the golden-orange aura's field or influence, or from the Song, and soon became still. Immobile. Brittle. Aunor stepped back, scattering the particles. "Our Light will be of limited use – or rather, not at its usual potency. We will still be able to harness it, but it will prove difficult and cumbersome. However, this field also limits the paracausal abilities of our enemies."

"You're right," Khojin nodded slowly. "I did not know you possessed this type of understanding, Aunor."

Fang glanced between them. "Why here? This hasn't been reported anywhere else."

"I will elaborate," the Lightbearer said. "This is the location of the largest number of Triumvirate military assets. Such conventional tools do not appear capable of integration with the Darkness. Therefore, it is best to utilize them to their strongest potential. The greatest threat to this Intercessor is us – and as such it has chosen to minimize our advantage, and force us to fight the Triumvirate's cutting edge forces on even ground."

Fang grasped it then. "This is critical for them."

"Almost certainly," Khojin said. "If we secure the security hub, we can slave the systems to Rasputin, who will then be able to take control of the entire automated hub. They cannot stop that, even if mechanical forces are deployed elsewhere. This will be well-guarded, and our power is limited. Avarga?"

Khojin's Ghost materialized by her shoulder. "Yes?"

"I'm assuming resurrection will not be as simple as usual."

"No, Khojin," the Ghost confirmed, her fins spinning. "I – and the other Ghosts – will have limited power. You are alive. You will be able to regain your Light, restricted as it is, over time. I am a machine, and when we enter the Resonance, I will be severed from the Traveler. I will have limited capability."

Khojin grunted. "Define 'limited'."

"I will almost certainly be able to perform a full resurrection once. At maximum, two," she said. "However, if I utilize Light to attack, defend, heal, or other smaller usage, it will further drain our capacity. I will require direction on how best to be employed."

"Notation," Bahaghari, Aunor's Ghost, interjected with a female voice."Our capacity is limited; our sources of Light are not. Guardians, you could restore our capacity at certain intervals."

Khojin nodded. "That will be useful. Ghosts, limited offensive measures. Focus on defense, healing, and retain power for a singular resurrection under all circumstances. We will restore you when required. In the meantime, we'll be unable to fully rely on our Light – so we will need to employ more conventional weapons."

She snapped her fingers, and Avarga summoned the Light, and materialized what Fang could only describe as a shotgun, if it had a love child with an absurdly ornamented blunderbuss owned by some decadent royal during the Renaissance.

Khojin grasped it out of the air, doing a brief check over it. Fang had never seen what was a…four-barreled shotgun before, but he did recognize the signature and aesthetic of a weapon that only came from one manufacturer.

"I know Tex Mechanica quite well, and I don't remember anything like that ever being made by them." he said as he eyed the absurd thing suspiciously.

"They do custom orders," Khojin said, looking at the shotgun fondly.

"For millions of dollars, almost all of which are for billionaires to display in their mansions," Fang continued, his voice incredulous. "How the hell did you get that? Kill an oligarch?"

Khojin chuckled. "For your information, Tex Mechanica doesn't make display pieces, and millions is putting it lightly. But for once, no, I didn't kill anyone for it. I won it in a game against Modris Wyndham himself. Asked him to make me a custom piece if I won, although I may have cheated to get it."

"When did you meet the founder of Tex Mechanica?" Fang asked in disbelief.

"Where you meet anyone famous by accident," the corner of Khojin's lip turned up. "Vegas."

"Las Vegas?" Fang wondered. "Why were you there?"

"With respect, Fireteam Leader, this story is irrelevant," Aunor cut in sharply, frowning as she remained fixated on the battlefield, seemingly slightly uncomfortable with interrupting Khojin, but not afraid to voice her opinions. "Provide us the weapons we will utilize within the field."

"Later then, we have business to resolve." Khojin said, snapping out of the story and summoned Avarga. The Ghost rapidly began unloading an armory's worth of equipment for the three Guardians to utilize.

As the Ghost worked, the fireteam leader snorted to herself, seeming a bit miffed by Aunor interrupting her mid-story. Fang supposed that he would have to wait until later to hear the tale on how she scammed one of the wealthiest men alive and then had him make…that. He did have to give Wyndham credit for actually following through on it - and as stupid a design as it seemed, it did look like it packed quite the punch and could blow right through Chinese tanks.

In a few minutes, the Ghost finished dumping the small armory of weapons, of all shapes, types, and styles, onto the snow before them. Rifles, shotguns, machine guns, and more. Fang picked through the cache of weapons, impressed with what he was seeing and whistling with satisfaction.

"I'd advise you to have your Ghosts scan weapons you find useful into their memories," Khojin commented, sensing the unspoken question. "Once they possess schematics, they can materialize them whenever needed."

She picked up several more weapons, and even Aunor appeared more at ease, as her lips curled into an unsettling and uncharacteristic smile as she grabbed a different shotgun for herself and began testing its weight balance and sights.

An alarming sound then rang from within the city, interrupting the three Guardians as they readied themselves.

Cloaked in the tempests which refused to harm them and instead protected them from the Triumvirate's fire, Humanoid figures, like shadows with emerald eyes, began to quickly approach the outskirts of the city where the allied forces had been fortifying and preparing as best as they could do under the hazardous and malignant environment.

They screeched in echoing chorus, the Siren Call answered back, and the hell intensified as they began to slam against the Triumvirate's lines. Red thunderclaps answered artillery, soldiers frantically sought to defend the Reality Anchors which kept them protected against Neptune as the corrupted citizens of the accursed colony sought to overrun their positions and destroy the shielding, and animalistic hand to hand melee replaced disciplined tactics as a result.

Madness, it seemed, was the one constant on the stygian pit Neptune had become.

And it was madness that Guardians were made to brave.

"Pick what you will quickly – the Triumvirate need us," Khojin ordered. "We have a city to take."


THE BATTLE OF NEPTUNE

NEOMUNA | NEPTUNE

To Matthew Toland's understanding, Neomuna had been the crown jewel of Neptune.

It was the city that was to demonstrate the Triumvirate's triumph over the world; with beautiful skyscrapers that stretched to the clouds, designed with an unrivaled futuristic aesthetic. A place for the wealthy and elite, which would light up at night with neon colors and thrum with pounding music. A place for the architects of the future to bask in the glory and triumph of Man, a place where Humans across the system would flock to, if only to experience it for one night.

Toland had reviewed the pictures prior to their deployment. There was very little about Neomuna that personally appealed to him. He didn't care about parties, night life, dazzling lights, or the wanton luxury that was on display. Neomuna was a vanity project for the elite of the Triumvirate, as was the entire planet, truthfully. Neptune was intended to be a place that would be on the cutting edge technologically and culturally.

He didn't find it appealing, but for the purposes the Triumvirate had built it, they had certainly succeeded.

Which made what the forces of Darkness had made of it all the more fascinating.

He, Shaheed, and another Guardian whose name was Wei Ning stood with the city of Neomuna before them. The tempestuous winds flowed with incredible force around them, and they had to maintain constant Light shields around themselves to avoid the damage that would otherwise befall them.

From what Toland had heard from the other teams, the first wave at Xilong had suffered significant losses from the weather alone, as the planet's rage was brought to bear in an impressive way against the unprotected soldiers.

The reports said that exposure to the wind was the equivalent to being thrown into a bladed blender, to be struck by the red lightning which boomed and roared all around the city was to be instantaneously atomized, and the rain was as acid if allowed to touch bare skin.

He found some amusement in the reports needing to clarify that being struck by lightning would kill you. A minor detail, but one he found interesting nonetheless. It was less interesting than the implications of how this form of weather came about.

It was a showcase of power and control that greatly interested him, for it spoke volumes about the Darkebearer at the helm of the defenses. The elusive Siren, as she had been identified by both Guardian and Triumvirate teams, who had been reported as appearing in many different battlefields and then vanishing as swiftly as she made herself known.

Around the city came Triumvirate forces, moving slowly to encircle it, their operations slowed to an almost crawl as they had to limit their movements to the range of their Reality Anchors. They had learned from Xilong and other beachheads, but that did not mean that the logistical hurdles of such an undertaking were any less difficult to overcome. Nevertheless, artillery was being entrenched, and tanks were being positioned as the Triumvirate sought to execute their battle plan.

Each of them were outfitted for battle. Wei Ning was the one of the trio that was most ready for war. Despite being around his height, the hardsuit of silver and blue she wore dwarfed him. Her armor was thick enough to wade into the middle of a firefight and live. Not surprising, considering he understood her preferred method of fighting to turn into a living missile of Light.

Rather crude in his view, but he couldn't deny its effectiveness.

His own attire was a mixture of armor and robes, of standard gray colors. He cared less for the overt protection as he would weave the Light to protect him. He didn't foresee himself being in a situation where armor would be the difference between life and death. Shaheed was much the same, with his attire taking on a distinctly Arabian flavor, similar to Osiris.

He was rather plain in comparison, and he didn't mind that. They all had greater purpose here than to look striking. Their mission here mattered, and considering what had demanded their attention, it was imperative they be at their best.

The Strand Network.

While the emerald strands that had been spotted were largely invisible across the world, the city of Neomuna appeared to be the exception. The strands were visible, creating a fog-like effect around every aspect of the city, growing fainter the further away it was from its core. It was an enrapturing, fascinating display.

More fascinating was how the city had changed.

Neomuna was a civilian city, it had not been designed with war in mind, yet one would not be able to tell from the Neomuna that existed now. The skyscrapers, once shining jewels of the Triumvirate power, had been repurposed. The windows were blackened, covered, or armed with weapons. The construction appeared to have been hardened. The colors were muted or removed.

The life, artificial as it had been, was gone.

The roads, once open and a staple of Neomuna, were closed off, with barricades, weapon emplacements, and traps in them. Walking the streets were not throngs of joyful civilians, but Humans and with black eyes and enraptured voices wielding weapons and singing with the Siren Call that flowed throughout the world, and other unsightly aberrations whose appearance nevertheless conveyed a design and intention he had yet to decipher, but which was evident.

Most fascinating, however, was the sound.

The Song. The Antiphon it was called.

He found it a curious convergence that both the Light and Dark expressed themselves through music.

He had listened to only a few Notes and wanted to understand more. He believed he was slowly unraveling the mystery of the Antiphon – and if he did, he could appropriate its lessons for himself. Valentin and his council had warned them against listening to the Antiphon, but he honestly suspected that was for the benefit of those of weak minds and souls.

It wasn't because the Antiphon was traditionally corruptive. The power used to invoke it was, in this case, more gray than would ever be admitted to.

Still, to listen to the Antiphon demanded concentration to not lose oneself to it, and Shaheed would notice. Thus, he would do nothing until the plan of attack was decided.

"The strands must not touch us," Shaheed said, arms crossed as he observed the final preparations. "The density will be fatal for any who are not Guardians, or possess Reality Anchors. The push will be slow and costly. I believe that the heart is the center. That is where I will need to go."

Wei Ning looked at him, arching an eyebrow. "Do you think you can destroy it?"

"I'm not sure there is something to even destroy," Shaheed said slowly. "But I am sure there is something in the center which is empowering it. And yes, I am confident it can be dealt with. If nothing else, it will demand resources that it cannot employ elsewhere in the world."

Toland risked a brief listen to the Antiphon – and confirmed a suspicion.

"It is not just the Strand Network which is stronger here," he said. "The Antiphon is as well."

Shaheed grunted, apparently unbothered by his short listen. "Unsurprising. Both seem tied to the other, and it also means there is likely a source for that as well. A singer, perhaps."

This would be his chance, if ever there was one, to learn more. "Will you need both of us?"

"No," Shaheed shook his head. "Wei, you will support the Triumvirate offensive. They will need…help when it comes to making progress, and I am not confident their weapons are sufficient to inflict the necessary damage. I will support it to the point where we reach the center, where I will deal with the Network. Toland…"

He glanced towards his direction. "Find the Antiphon amplifier and destroy it. I realize you find the Antiphon interesting, but this is not the time for experiments."

"I will need to listen to ascertain where the source will be," Toland said. "Otherwise, I concur. This is a poor place to indulge in curiosity."

"Guren, make sure he keeps to that," Shaheed said, looking at his Ghost.

"Of course, Shaheed," Guren's voice was robotic and unemotional. Toland preferred it this way. He needed an assistant for a partner, not a friend. Guren seemed to also prefer the role, determined by the fact they had not picked a more male or female voice like all the other Ghosts seemed to.

He found it interesting how none of the Guardians seemed to realize the Ghosts were ultimately tools the Traveler employed to keep a close watch on Her soldiers. The friendships and personalities were acts designed to build camaraderie and trust. He didn't mind it – he would do the same thing, and to not have some leash on individuals of such power was foolish.

At the same time, he was not going to willingly play into the Traveler's game.

She likely respected that more.

The sound of artillery and rockets firing broke the silence, as did the return fire in response to the offensive. The Triumvirate attack had begun, and it was time to execute their mission. "The Light protect us all," Shaheed said, summoning the Light around him, and a sword with heatless flames running along the blade. "Let us cleanse this city."

He charged forward with blinding speed. Wei Ning wreathed herself in flaming Light, crouched down, and blasted into the air towards the front lines with a boom. Toland instead closed his eyes, and carefully allowed himself to listen.

It was a truly beautiful sound.

Alluring. Potent. Filled with promise and beauty.

He listened to the Notes, how they wove together into Melody. Melody that shaped reality itself; power in each verse, promise in each refrain, certainty in each climax. Perhaps one day he would weave something equally beautiful...

Today though, he would need to end the Song.

And he knew where it was coming from.

He opened his eyes, and nodded to Guren. "This way."

This would be practice.

He entered the city from a direction that the Triumvirate were not assaulting. Guren teleported him there – and he first saw the Darkness thralls orienting themselves to meet him. The strands were materializing, the emerald stingers reaching out and trying to grasp him. He summoned the Light, creating a pure aura that disintegrated them upon touch.

The Strand seemed so very potent, and yet so weak when it really mattered.

The thralls lifted their weapons, preparing to attack. He smiled, wanting to test something.

He opened his mouth, and uttered a Note.

Light.

It was a pure, overpowering, and singular sound of power that reality obeyed. As he was the center of the Note, he knew his body shone with the force of a dozen suns. He saw perfectly how they reacted, and how the entrance was lit in sheer purity. It was not mere brightness that he had summoned, but Light itself, only for a moment.

Yet that moment was all that was needed.

He saw the strands vaporize into the air. The corruption that had built on the streets and buildings faded away. He saw the thralls scream for a second before their faces melted, as did their bodies when looking at his brilliance. The Dark was impotent before the pure Light.

And then it was gone.

He felt a noticeable drain of energy once it was done.

He wouldn't be able to do that often, but still he felt elated. The theory had been vindicated; he was on the correct path.

It made him realize just how powerful the entity was to be singing the Antiphon consistently. It required superhuman endurance to a magnitude he found difficult to grasp, or perhaps it knew a technique or secret he didn't. He would need to keep that in mind.

Toland took his first steps into Neomuna, the Light at his command.

The potent winds made his steps slow as he fought against their desire to blow him away, anchoring himself to the ground with each step. His golden shield of Light sparked constantly as it was hit by ceaseless barrages of black, bladed particles and thick, viscous liquids that poured from the corrupted clouds and seemed more like oil than water. Particles that he now noticed, upon closer inspection, had the shape of triangles. Or, more accurately, pyramids.

Most fascinating.

It was difficult to see what was immediately in front of him, even as he channeled the Light to cut a path through the black fog, let alone what was in the distance. Crimson lightning boomed all around him, requiring him to protect his ears with his paracausal power, else he risked going deaf by the raging thunderclaps which curiously landed all around him except for his immediate path forward.

Random? Intentional? If intentional, then was he being guided?

Something to consider.

His field coat flowed in the wind and his extremities felt the biting cold of the stolen planet, but he maintained his advance steadily, albeit carefully. The glowing, emerald eyes of the thralls to the Strand Network gave him clear points of guidance. Some looked straight at him before they attacked him, clearly unaffected by the weather as he was, or perhaps even empowered by it to some degree.

He kept his usage of Notes to a minimum as he fought, only using them to pass certain difficult chokepoints, which thankfully were not especially dense. The majority of the defenders appeared to be focused elsewhere, and the singular Guardian strangely didn't appear to demand a response.

A trap, perhaps.

He kept his guard up, and his Light at the ready, waiting for it to be sprung, but the deeper he progressed, the trap had yet to be sprung. He kept in communication with Shaheed as well the closer he got, who was also making noted progress, though Toland believed he was closer to achieving his own mission.

On occasion, he would briefly listen to the Antiphon, which provided the clearest way forward through the storm. A resource that he was wary of tapping into repeatedly, for he knew how easy it would be for its emitter to lead him astray, like a sailor sailing his ship into rocks, beckoned by the Siren hidden in the mists.

The building he ended up at was strangely abandoned. It was yet another skyscraper, or once had been. One which rose high, but he knew the source was on a lower level. Nothing made it stand out from the rest, and the utter lack of defenses or thralls only heightened the strangeness.

Guren floated above him, facing it, their own miniature shield of Light crackling against the elements. Trap?

"Trap." Toland agreed.

Next move?

He smiled. "Spring the trap."

They entered the building. Even with protection against the Antiphon, it was so close that it thrummed against his skull, and he had to actually focus to prevent it from breaking through. Down the stairs of the abandoned skyscraper he walked, shorn of all life and light. He turned the corner around the end of a descent – and froze in place.

He saw a being of translucent skin and two large, pitch black eyes staring back at him without blinking. The tempests, the cold, the lightning, the thick rains, they all coalesced around the creature's hands despite the fact that they were indoors, like a ring around its regal finger. It floated in the air, its body motioning with hypnotic, precise, enthralling motions that caused the elements to obey its droning call, helpless to resist.

The Siren.

He had been too confident.

A flick of their wrist. The elemental rings moved behind its bulbous head, creating the semblance of a dark halo behind it.

Toland-

Guren was immediately enveloped in emerald strands, and fell to the ground as Toland called the Light to him, mind racing and heart pounding as he contemplated how the creature had managed to overpower a Ghost – or why it was here at all.

The hand returned to the side of the creature.

"I greet you in the Light, Guardian," the creature said, voice strangely calm and alluring. "I would have us speak."


TERESINA | STATE OF PIAUÍ | CONFEDERATION OF AMERICAN STATES

Amanda had been to the Brazilian-majority states before, but not to this particular city. Teresina was notable less for its importance, and more its proximity to the Amazon, and had always been viewed as one of the cities most vulnerable to guerilla insurrections, as many such groups had taken to hiding in the depths of the Amazon.

Ones that she hadn't really taken seriously – and while Teresina had not fallen per-se, the fact that it had been agreed to be a meeting point was a sign that it was being more directly contested. Stepping off of Air Force One, she was immediately surrounded by an open military escort.

The purpose of it was more for optics, and not because she needed it. With the Light at her command, she was acutely aware that even if things went bad, she was more than capable of defending herself. Nonetheless, the military presence here was heavy, with both Exos and infantry in force.

As she was driven through the city, she saw that the streets had been locked down, and there were a significant number of people out, though respecting the lines the soldiers were enforcing. "Protestors or curious bystanders?" She wondered.

"Bystanders, I expect," Juan said, also looking out the window. "Unless we give them reason to make them mad, I don't think there will be trouble. They don't want to fight us, and we don't want to fight them."

Amanda nodded silently, as they pulled up to the building they were intended to meet at. A government building that had been willingly surrendered. DIA and Army Intelligence operatives had already gone through and secured it as best they could, as well as offered one of Guevara's people as witness.

The communication and contact between the two groups had been…tense, but amicable. Neither side was entirely ready to trust the other, and the exercise had helped mitigate that somewhat. Now that they were present, Amanda noted that the uniformed Confederation soldiers were sharing the guard duty with well-armed, if uncoordinated guerillas, all of whom appeared to be Latino and Afro-majority natives.

Good thing neither side was shooting each other.

She stepped out, with Juan right behind her, and that animated the crowd quite a bit. It wasn't easy to gauge the overall sentiment, shouted towards her in both English, Spanish, and Brazilian Portuguese, which blended together in a senseless noise. She would really need to become properly fluent in both languages if she was going to hold this position for very long.

Out of curiosity, she thought to her Ghost, how easily can we learn languages?

As fast as you would like, MacArthur said. She does not need Guardians to have limitations. Would knowledge of such languages benefit you right now?

She kicked herself for not asking the question earlier; that could have been quite useful.

Not right now, but I'll be doing it later.

As you say, Amanda.

The soldiers and guerillas opened the doors, letting both of them in. An officer waiting for them indicated that they follow. A few minutes later they entered a reception room, with a long dining table, a modest chandelier hanging over it, and a relatively furnished room. Adequate for receiving most guests the state governor had.

Sitting at one end were two men. One of whom was instantly recognizable as the infamous Guevara. It was the spitting image of the guerilla in his prime, the beret included. Though there was something a bit off about him, besides the Ghost floating around his shoulder. There was a defensiveness to his features, a mask over his face, which she didn't think was just for her benefit.

His own attire was heavy jungle gear, expected for someone who spent most of his time in such an environment. It was cleaned, relatively speaking, though it wasn't necessarily his best. She didn't see any weapons, but he was a Guardian, and didn't exactly need them. From the reports, he would definitely use weapons when threatened, along with exhibiting other 'strange capabilities.'

She'd have to ask him about that a bit later.

The man seated beside him was a stark contrast to Guevara. While dressed sharply in a black suit with a red tie, it couldn't disguise the fact that the man was massive. Jonas Gheleon was an infamous man, in both political and military circles. That he maintained a grudging respect from both groups was a telling thing.

A military veteran who'd only just recently retired, he had spent his career stationed across the Confederation, and for quite a few years in the Soviet Union, which had supercharged his transition from a socialist sympathizer into a true red-blooded communist. That he'd been open about it had almost certainly damaged his military career, which Amanda considered a travesty, because despite her personal critiques of his ideology, the man should have easily been a four star General.

The thing she believed had saved him from more explicit action is that, for all his support of communism, he was a noted critic of both the Confederation and the Soviet Union. He had also, quite amusingly, dismissed the Chinese as 'not actually communists' which had ruffled a few feathers diplomatically.

His retirement had seen him join the American Vanguard Party, and within the span of a few years he'd turned it from little more than a joke party into something relatively serious, with a few seats in Congress, and a surprisingly large number of state legislature victories. The man was serious, intelligent, and very ideological.

She did not know him well, but Juan had interacted with him in his career. There was a mutual respect between them, despite the ideological clashes.

When Gheleon saw her, he brushed himself off, and stood. His skin was pale, tanned from the weather, and his features contained clear German ancestry. His black hair fell to his shoulders, straight and combed, and his full beard was equally groomed and cut just a little past his chin. His blue eyes were strangely warm, with the calculation of a strategist in them.

"Madam President, welcome," he said, inclining his head. "I apologize if this is a surprise, but I assure you there is good reason for it."

"I suspected you would be here when I was told you happened to be in the area," Amanda said, reaching him, and giving an introductory shake. "Especially since you were rumored to be here contacting Guevara. The CIA are bastards, but their intel is sometimes right on the money."

"That it is – at least when it comes to communism. As it stands? Guilty as charged," Gheleon smiled. "Ernesto, Amanda Holliday, former Admiral of the Space Force, and now President of the Confederation of American states."

Guevara stood, and tenuously offered a hand. "Gheleon says you're worth hearing out. You have a Ghost, so I assume the same. I suppose we should start this."

Amanda cocked her head. "What do you prefer I call you?"

"Ernesto, if you don't mind," he said. "I am…aware of who I was, and the face I carry. However, I'm not that same person, and never can be. This name is…better for me."

"Then that it will be," Amanda took a seat, joined by Juan. Gheleon took his seat by Ernesto, opposite the two of them.

"I hope, Madam President, that you saw the statement of support released this morning," Gheleon began.

"I did," Amanda confirmed. "The words of support were appreciated. I know politics, however, and that you don't do things for no reason. And I've received the…expectation of what you expect for your support."

"Enough to get your attention, nothing more," Gheleon dismissed with a wave. "In most respects, Madam President, I suspect we are aligned. The so-called 'Constitutionalists' are going to lose this war. Between what I've seen, and the popular sentiment observed, we are witnessing the last gasps of a dying world."

He looked between her and Ernesto. "You are both…Guardians, I believe the term is. You both have the machines. Holding this meeting would be a waste if it is merely to ascertain if both of you should be fighting – neither of you want to do that. Both of you are on the same side. That said, there are disconnects here that transcend the blessing of the alien."

Ernesto glanced at her Ghost. "Tell him to leave. This isn't a talk for Guardians. It's one for Americans."

At his words, his Ghost blinked out. Amanda considered for a moment, then nodded.

Just for a while. Listen in if you want.

He'll have his Ghost sensing for that. I'll track him down, have a direct talk.

Please, you know exactly who he is. I didn't forget you all were made by the same creator.

Point taken.

MacArthur disappeared in a flash.

"My questions will ultimately revolve around this," Ernesto said, after a nod of approval. "I was one of the many casualties of American imperialism. One who was betrayed by another imperial power, who was purportedly my ally." A mocking corner of his lip curled up. "I died. My family died. My mission failed. And I know none of that. I didn't live through any of this, but I have listened to those who have."

He pointed outside. "There are men and women who were enduring and fighting before I took my first renewed breaths. I'm sure you have plenty of justifications for the necessity and benefits of what happened. The only thing I care about is making sure that, no matter what happens next, it is done with the will of the people."

A sigh escaped his lips. "Your country has changed the Americas forever. Generations have now lived as American citizens. The Americas have been integrated to such a degree that separation is…less of a desire than those who I lead think. I can see that, but it is difficult for them to understand that they're fighting for something most people don't want. They don't think of themselves as Brazilians, Argentinians, Bolivians, or any of the other countries that your country assimilated."

There was a long pause, Ernesto's tone held notes of…not bitterness, per-se, but there was a melancholy to it. A resignation of fact, of realizing that the battle had been lost before it had even really started.

"They think of themselves as Americans," he finally said, pausing, as if thinking what next to say. "The Triumvirate ruined the world, they warped it beyond anything it should have been. You can't turn back the clock, and I would be foolish to think that granting everyone independence would solve every problem. Especially when I'm not convinced it's something they want."

Juan raised an eyebrow, as if surprised by the admission. "Are you sure of that? Times have…changed."

"Why are there people in the streets of the mainland?" Ernesto countered. "It's not because they want to secede – it's because their government has failed them, and they demand to be listened to. They want to be treated as equals, as Humans, not as a resource to be exploited. I don't know what they ultimately want. Perhaps I am wrong, but I will make sure that they are given the choice."

"Well said," Gheleon nodded. "Madam President, I have spent quite a lot of time in South America as both an Army officer, and as a private citizen, and much of what Ernesto says I can support anecdotally. To be blunt, the Confederation, Congress, and America as a whole have failed Latin America. We came with promises and expectations, and we have time and again failed to live up to them. General Saavedra can attest that Americans have a bad habit of treating those not from the enlightened mainland as lesser."

She looked at Juan, whose smile was sad. "Nothing you didn't know before, Madam President. It's how things were."

"And that was the problem. This was treated as something normal, where everyone would just sigh, and even the well-meaning would shrug their shoulders, because that's the way things are," Gheleon's voice was more intense. "Today, Madam President, we need to determine a course not for the Confederation you lead right now, but for the one in the future."

Amanda nodded slowly. "An idea I can tentatively support – but you are not asking out of the goodness of your heart."

Gheleon's eyes flashed in a way she couldn't read; frustration? Irritation? "I have suggestions, Madam President, but my priority is ensuring that America is changed in a way which benefits the common man. Do not question that."

"She isn't," Juan said calmly. "She wants to know what you want. You came in here with a plan, with a guerilla who is technically an enemy of the state. Pray tell, what is she supposed to think right now? To just trust you? I know you to a degree, Jonas – she doesn't."

Ghelean relaxed, his expression more controlled. "A fair point, General. Let me start over. First, the things that we believe should be addressed first – self-determination, the restoration of civilian leadership, and ending the state of war."

Amanda indicated he continue. "Go on."

"First is this," Ernesto said. "The holding of referendums on the matter of the national question. Three options. Remaining as part of the Confederation in totality, remaining closely associated with the Confederation, but with national autonomy, or complete independence from the Confederation."

"The Soviet model," Juan noted, eyes unfocused as he went deep in thought. "It could work."

"The world is one that grows closer towards centralization," Gheleon said. "Washington should not be deciding policy for Brazilian, Bolivian, or other Latin American regions. There is benefit towards the Confederation in concept – and I believe that placing responsibility in the hands of people is a reasonable compromise between the status quo, and complete separation."

Amanda pondered that. It had potential, provided it was something people wanted. "With three options, there is a strong chance there will be no clear winner."

"Of which we have two options of rectifying," Ernesto said. "It has taken some research, but there is a process of ranked-choice ballots which has seen some useful success in some Confederation states. With that implemented, it will likely be enough to push one to a clear majority. Alternatively, run-off referendums with the two highest choices."

"Multiple referendums are a bad idea," Juan rubbed his chin. "It will frustrate voters, depress turnout, and heighten tensions. Ranked-choice is good, I support it."

"Then we can do that," Amanda said. "I see no issue with this approach. I intended to support a referendum on statehood in Latin America. This is a clearer path forward to that objective."

"Excellent," Gheleon smiled widely. "Now, concerning the civilian government, I believe it would be best for all concerned if the state of emergency was lifted, and emergency elections held to fill the many…" he waved a hand. "Vacancies."

Amanda pursed her lips. "I'm not opposed to that – after the Constitutionalists have been dealt with."

"To be fair, Madam President, I am also not particularly enamored with the choice either – it depends on what you want to do," he laced his fingers together, resting them on the table. "If you want a continuation of the Confederation, in terms of its governing structure, this is the best way to do so. Doing so now will be a reassurance to the people, a direct challenge to the fools in Colorado, and an assertive move of authority."

He raised a finger. "But, if you want to bring fundamental - and, I would argue, needed - change, then I would also say that now is the time to do it. I cannot say exactly what this would look like – I will only provide my ideas upon request – but I believe it is necessary to introduce a Vanguard contingency to the nation."

Juan chuckled. "Ah, here we go."

Amanda raised an eyebrow, but merely said. "Elaborate."

"People dislike the idea that they can be replaced, or their choices negated without input," Gheleon said. "However, your very actions have proven such an element is necessary. A majority of Americans voted for Quinn to lead them – but she was clearly putting the Confederation on the path to destruction. Pray tell, what would happen if you had not taken the action to depose her?"

"Nothing good."

"Exactly," Gheleon agreed. "Sometimes, when leaders fail, or the enemies take the reins of power, there is no recourse. No one to pull them back or serve as a reminder. They are power incarnate. Unchallenged. Immovable. A consequence of people making the wrong decisions. We can look to the good Soviet General Secretary as an example of a leader without boundaries."

He shook his head. "The Vanguard may be a Soviet concept, but it is one that transcends simple ideology. And there just so happens to be a perfect Vanguard element that can serve this purpose for not just America, but all of the world."

Juan cocked his head. "…I think I see where this is going."

Amanda looked at Juan. "Don't leave me in suspense."

"He means us," Ernesto said. "Guardians. The Vanguard of mankind. Who hold the leash, and keep the powerful in line."

"As he says," Gheleon affirmed. "I admit, I would be skeptical of putting my trust in something alien – but what has been proven to me is that you Guardians are Human, and more importantly, possess an innate understanding of justice and injustice, and right and wrong. Who better to keep Humanity on the right track than such people?"

He looked between both of them. "I do not know if you Guardians have a leader, but I suspect this is a concept they would support. Guardians are Humans, and Humans must take part in our systems. Guardians should not be aloof and separate from us, merely because you can use magic or whatever the scientific term for it is. You will just create a class separation between mortal and divine."

"Which is something we want to avoid, and I suspect Valentin also wants to avoid," Amanda murmured. "The idea has merit, and I'll share it with him. As for what the America of the future will look like…"

She glanced at Juan. "We can move to that discussion now. I have some ideas, Juan has some, and you clearly have some. This might take a while, if you want to be detailed."

"As far as I'm concerned, Madam President, we have as much time as we need," Gheleon said. "Though from the sounds of it, this will involve a meal or two. I'm sure we can have that brought to us."

"That we can," Amanda got comfortable, for she knew this was going to be a while. "Let's get started."


THE BATTLE OF NEPTUNE

NEOMUNA | NEPTUNE

It was fighting back.

The Battle of Neomuna was one of the most intense across Neptune. Shaheed had been expecting this since it had been identified as a central 'node' of the Strand Network the Intercessor was employing. What exactly that meant he hadn't initially been sure of, until they'd entered the city properly.

It was as if reality itself was fighting against them.

The emerald strands that had been intangible and elusive across the world were faintly visible everywhere one walked in Neomuna. Without protection, it was a place of oblivion but for the one who plucked the Strands.

It was as if the air itself was able to make you disappear; it was like walking through a forest of jellyfish tendrils, any of them which could stab or strangle you at any time. And that was to say nothing of the accursed weather that made it impossible to see and required him to continuously shield himself.

The Triumvirate forces had been slowed as they marched forward, shelling and destroying the once-pristine high-rises and streets as they sought to shield themselves against Neptune itself which seemed 'pissed off' at their invasion, as one Triumvirate soldier had commented.

Men and women were blown away by currents of air which made the roughest typhoons of Earth seem like a mild breeze, never to be seen again as they disappeared into the thick black fog that seemed to be enveloping the city streets themselves.

Lightning rained down with frequency that was ridiculous, and it had quickly become a problem for the Triumvirate as their equipment was effectively bombed from the sky relentlessly, and they had to retreat back to the safety of their Reality Anchors. Acidic rain turned to caustic snow the deeper they entered the city, as blizzards as chilling as the void of space itself flowed through the once vibrant streets, freezing men and women on the spot, and allowing their bodies to be shattered into pieces.

He'd seen men become enveloped in cocoons of green and vanish. He'd seen aspects as small as bullets be plucked out of existence, or slingshotted back towards the Triumvirate lines. The strands had wrapped around places being targeted by the Triumvirate, seeming to harden them against the offensive.

Simply put, the Strand Network had not been idle.

It had functioned as they'd seen it during the initial bombardment; able to intercept or redirect attacks into seemingly the ether, but on an even smaller scale than he'd thought. The sheer focus and flexibility of the mind or minds controlling this was extraordinary. The Antiphon also seemed more tangible here; louder and more active than before which he had to harden his mind against.

The numbers they fought seemed just as endless. No matter how many of the corrupted or altered citizens they'd fought, there were always more. Their bodies were blown apart, turned to cinders, and still the strands enveloped them, making them disappear. Moments later, an emerald cocoon would materialize, and more fresh soldiers would appear, or sometimes gargantuan things that could never have possibly been Human in their stead.

They unsettled him to his core, their very aspect and existence a slight against nature that his very soul reacted to with a hidden, primal instinct he never knew he possessed.

They were engorged and seemingly built out of a random mesh of flesh, black metal, and Strand which ran through their bodies like strings through a sewn puppet. They fought with durability, lethality, and inexhaustible vigor that eclipsed that of the lesser thralls, smelling of wet soil and screeching like metal being forcefully stretched and compressed, repeatedly.

And if their presence was not enough, they summoned…constructs, if he could even use such a word to describe what his eyes were seeing, made from the Strand itself, like filaments and tendrils given form and purpose.

Their forms defied sense as if their creator had a personal slight against Allah and all the works of ordered and harmonious nature He was responsible for. Devils in the flesh, nightmares borne of a mad mind made real. Things that scurried on the floor with hundreds of legs, or flew in the air with haunting elegance, or swept through the streets like waves given thought.

And mercy be given to any whom they touched.

And the Song.

The damned Song.

That accursed wail that could only come from Hell itself kept pounding against his ears ceaselessly, and it was echoed by every single demon he purged with his Light in the service of all that was good and holy. Thralls that kept flooding the streets, as if three replaced each one he cut down or atomized.

Where were they coming from?

How?

What was worse was that defenders of the Strand Network knew the Reality Anchors were the only reason why the Triumvirate forces had not been demolished by the combined paracausal defenses, and they rushed fearlessly into their lines to try and get to the Anchors and dismantle them.

Sometimes, defenders were airdropped by Strand portals, causing the panicking soldiers to desperately attempt to blow them out of the sky before they landed behind their lines. Other times, the accursed hollows were buried in the streets themselves by the Strand that created pockets of reality for them to hide in, and they dragged screaming soldiers down into the abyss, or popped out of the ground to try and make a break for the Anchors.

The Triumvirate forces, as a result, were constantly on edge. Disciplined and highly trained men and women who had seen combat throughout the globe, and now were on the verge of breaking under the pressure that Neptune was testing them under. Even the Exos were continually reacting instead of keeping firm control over the situation.

He almost felt some pity for them, despite whom they served. No Human deserved to endure this.

He saw more than a fair amount of mental breakdowns and panic attacks in the soldiers that at this point wished for nothing more than to somehow survive and make it back home. Still, most maintained discipline to the best of their abilities, for the sights that greeted them all on the occasion when a Reality Anchor was destroyed gave them a sober reminder to master themselves or suffer a fate worse than death.

He could still hear the screams of the doomed soldiers who were exposed to Neptune and were spirited away by the Strand Network, or turned to red dust by the weather which immediately obliterated their position. Those that were quickly killed were the fortunate ones, as the ones that were taken by the Strand Network often returned later, eyes glowing in neon malachite and disturbing smiles replacing what had once been fear.

The reports from Xilong were not exaggerations, and he had a feeling that Neptune would go down as a nightmare for the collective psyche of the Triumvirate armed forces that had signed on for the operation, motivated to serve their species and push back the Great Enemy, but had been met with a hellscape that defied description or sanity.

Eventually, meter by bloody meter, they had found where they – or he – needed to go. One of the skyscrapers near the center of Neomuna, one which stood out in contrast to all the other architecture and was clearly visible even through the darkness of the glacial mists. While the strands hung, and the ones being actively bombarded were cocooned, this one was different.

It was wreathed in strands, but not hardened ones. Rather, it was as if the strands were living and flowing around it, and they extended high into the sky before becoming more translucent. If there was a heart of the Network, it was there. So with the Triumvirate fortifying their position and fighting tooth and nail against the endless waves of enthralled, he had marched forward, engulfed in the purity of the Light.

Toland had identified what he believed as a node of the Antiphon, which would explain its greater power here, and had gone off to neutralize that. Shaheed would take the heart of the Strand Network, and end its hold over the planet.

With fire, sword, and Light, he fought his way inside. The strands writhed and withered as he burned his way through, no matter how much they tried to erase him from existence. Those who came to fight him, burned as well. Stair by stair he rose, cut down minion after minion, until he reached the floor – and saw the heart of the Network.

The floor was completely cleared; the light was dim, and in the center of all of it was a pillar of weaving emerald lines, and within this cocoon was a man. The eyes were opened and as black as the other corrupted humans. The emerald strands punctured his body like needles, thousands of them as if he was plugged directly into it, for he was no longer a man, but a fountain of thought. Above the cocoon the strands spun upwards before growing fainter, like a nest of evil he had arrived to burn from the face of the world.

No, it wasn't a single mind that was controlling this; it was the combined usage of more than one. In a circle around the center cocoon were six others, men and women who echoed the same man inside. They were motionless, but their command over the Strand Network was not. Everywhere he walked, the strands tried to reach him with a renewed intensity.

Clad in the white-hot aura of Light, the strand needles could not puncture his body; their attempts to wrap around him failed as they disintegrated or slid off like his body was water. With a hand, he dispelled the attempts and forged an aura around him which would disable the filaments, and lock down his immediate space.

He watched them for a few minutes, feeling their eyes on him. The Song was powerful in their presence, and they sang its refrain without moving their mouths, the chorus of their minds spewing forth that anthem of the damned that polluted every centimeter of this forsaken planet.

He felt their minds, and that of everything connected through the Strand Network, peer into his own like a horde through a glass bunker. They could not reach him, but he felt their silent, soulless, vacant gazes stare at him, patiently awaiting for any openings they could find in order to swallow him whole.

He had seen enough.

He raised his hand and fired a burst of white flame into the center cocoon. The strands immediately lashed out, hardening themselves and eating the flame. The flames which hit the cocoon writhed, but immediately reconstructed.

Shaheed only maintained the jet of flame for a few more seconds.

Given he'd seen the strands absorb heavy artillery and rocket fire, he was unlikely to breach them with a sustained gout of flame – even one of pure Light. The Traveler could do it, perhaps Valentin could as well, but he could not.

There would need to be another approach.

Ideas? He asked Eagle.

His Ghost floated forward, a little aura of Light around the shell to project it from the emerald harassment. The Strand is a web. You do not need to break it – only strangle it. It communicates with a master who can direct the attention of this collective slaved to the Network.

Shaheed's eyes flicked to the stop of the cocoon, where all of the strands met and went upwards. Untangle it. Put the burden of control on the Intercessor and the principle mind behind it.

Yes. The Antiphon will maintain the Network, but without a central defensive apparatus, it cannot be defended against disruption. Not without it taking up the entirety of focus.

Shaheed nodded, as he focused on that singular point. He did not attempt to destroy it, he did not attempt to dismantle it in such an obvious way. Instead he entered it, and began to unravel the ties that bound it to the outside. Under his breath, he hummed a tune that came to him as he worked.

Piece by piece, it would come undone.

And it was fighting back.

The Strand was a dark reflection of the Light; where the Light offered boundless creativity and possibility, the Strand built atop what was and allowed reality to be shaped in the context of what existed. It was a corruption of creativity and the power of reality manipulation. Perhaps one of the most powerful aspects of Darkness because of it, as in theory it allowed reality to be twisted as the Light did.

With crucial differences.

Yet this similarity to the Light also meant that he could more easily understand it. A perversion that he could undo, a puzzle that he'd considered many times before. The Darkness could not create, it could only appropriate and twist.

It would be purified.

Light seeped into the strands, causing them to shrivel and dissipate. When new ones attempted to appear, he was there first, stopping new growths and repairs. Thread by thread, the strand was starting to become unraveled, and the defense became more desperate.

Offline!

Shaheed just managed to maintain his concentration, but scowled as the strand he had just broken suddenly reconstructed and lashed at him like an enraged vine. What?

Guren is offline! Eagle's fins spun.

Toland's Ghost. That was very bad if so. It meant that whatever Toland had been going after was more dangerous than anticipated. He thought quickly, while trying to maintain his efforts to dispute the network.

Send Wei to recover him at his last location immediately.

Done.

Shaheed put it out of his mind as he continued his work. There was nothing more he could do for Toland right now, and this was a task that demanded all of his attention.

He couldn't fail now.


THE BATTLE OF NEPTUNE

XILONG | NEPTUNE

Fighting under the effects of the Resonance was an experience that Fang was not looking forward to repeating in the future. It was a constant wall he was running up against, where he wanted to unleash what he knew he was capable of - and found that he just couldn't.

It was actually worse than it sounded, as the longer a Lightborne power was maintained, especially on its own, the quicker it would dissipate. He'd found out that if he manifested orbs of energy, and sent them against the drones and defenders, they would sputter out and dissipate long before making impact.

It essentially restricted what he could do to burst displays of power, and nothing really more. The Intercessor or mind behind this had been smart to embrace this kind of tactic against Guardians, no matter how much it hampered its own defenders. Khojin was adjusting to it the best, and using her Light in specific and tactical bursts, while relying on her array of firearms to supplement the rest.

Fang kept listening in the Triumvirate channels, and was appraised of the progress that was being made. Despite how frantic their communications sounded, and the horrifying background noises he heard in every attempt at communication, it did seem like they were doing their job despite the appalling losses and the majority of the defense was focused on them.

He was extremely thankful that Neptune's fury, beckoned by the Siren Call, was also kept at bay by the Resonance field, for he was sure they would have been completely and utterly doomed if they were exposed to it without their Light available for defense.

Need a new magazine.

A moment.

Shadow flew to his shoulder, and with a burst of Light materialized and pushed the magazine clip towards Fang who snatched it out of the air, and with a smooth motion reloaded his rifle. He'd never used it before, but he had to admit that it was a nice weapon, likely one used by special forces given the array of targeting lasers, durability, and overall feel it boasted.

It was a Häkke weapon too, so it made sense that Khojin had a small armory of the Chinese-favored weapons. It felt strange to be in a literal gunfight after getting used to primarily the Light. Still, it seemed this was a skill that Guardians would need to cultivate, just in case scenarios like this happened again.

As they almost certainly would.

Aunor was keeping the furthest back, and also acting as the one with the most creative usages of her Light, limited as it was. Lighting, telekinetics, and projecting barricades were displays he utilized frequently, and was the primary reason they'd been able to push up, despite the array of forces placed against them.

Most of them were mechanical defenses, drones, and mechs – no Exos Fang noted – but there were also corrupted Humans outfitted in armor wielding some kind of long-barreled rifles that had snap-scopes and with armor-piercing rounds. Likely the results of that Häkke weapon program, although it was good that they hadn't run into any more exotic prototypes.

I need a recharge, Fang?

Come here.

Fang hunkered behind the corner of one building, avoiding the fire that rained down on him. Shadow floated near him, and split the pieces of his shell apart, leaving the spherical core exposed. Fang took a breath, and grabbed the Ghost eye in his hand, calling on, and channeling the Light directly into the machine.

Ghosts appeared designed to be able to absorb Light directly, which fortunately made the process transfer very easy.

Done.

Fang let go, and the Ghost shell snapped back into place as Shadow returned to his shoulder, fins spinning in anticipation of what came next. Ahead was the Security Headquarters, and where Aunor suspected the Song was likely emanating from. Even if it wasn't, it was where the Neptunian defenses were being controlled – and therefore it needed to be claimed, and Rasputin given control.

He peeked his head out – and pulled it back as a beam of blue brilliance nearly killed him then and there. The beam impacted the building behind him, sounding a thundercrack, and seeming to make the orange Resonance throughout the area waver. The beam appeared again, this time targeting Khojin who was caught in the middle of the street. Fang watched in horror as the beam almost cleanly bisected her, leaving her in blackened pieces.

It took all of his self-control to not leap out and try and pull her to safety.

Aunor took the initiative behind her own barricade. "Avarga, be ready to retrieve her."

It is dangerous.

Shadow was projecting a current real-time layout of the battlefield – and in the center of it was one of the armored Humans who was wielding what Fang assumed was the lightning rifle that had been discussed earlier. One that was still firing at both of them, or trying to. The drones and Humans that remained were pushing up.

"I am aware. If you won't, then I will," Aunor's voice was tight, controlled and resolute.

Fang glanced at her, an idea of what she was going to do. "Do you need me to use the Void?"

"No. There is a theory I will put to the test. Something I wished I would not have to utilize, but we lack options in this zone. Ghosts, move on my mark and transport Khojin's body to a safe location and resurrect." Aunor said, her fists tight and her mouth twisted by a frown. Whatever she was going to do, Fang would trust her, but he was wondering with some concern what exactly could make a woman like her pause.

I am standing by, Avarga confirmed.

Aunor took a breath, and to Fang's amazement emanated a long, sharp Note. One that was strong enough that even he could feel its effects. The suppressant Resonance strained against the Note, which Aunor maintained as she extended a hand towards Khojin, her own body wreathed in Light.

A dome of purple energy surrounded the body, and Avarga flew into it, and with a few bursts of Light, transported the body behind a nearby building.

Aunor let the Note fade, and slumped back behind her walls, her teeth grit and her eyes shut tightly as she shook her head slowly from side to side, clearly disturbed and displeased with herself, as if she had committed some grave sin by performing such an act. Fang looked over to see Avarga complete the resurrection, and Khojin was back.

"I think," Khojin's voice was slightly out of breath. "They found the lightning gun. Aunor, what the hell happened?"

"I understand how the Song emitted by the Resonance functions," Aunor explained as she composed herself once more and carefully leaned on the corner of her barricade, and as expected, the arc of the devastating weapon whizzed by and singed some of her hair. "If one introduces a counternote, it will negate the effect as the two Songs battle for supremacy. It is a temporary effect, however. I am not skilled or powerful enough to override the Resonance for long, but it is a tool we have at our disposal should it be required."

"And you figured this out by…"

"I suspected such a measure could become necessary, and inquired to the Speaker about the topic. He provided useful feedback and insights into this paracausal technique, but I hoped I would not have to engage in such an intimate way with the Dark," Aunor explained matter-of-factly. "However, regardless of my personal reservations, I will use it when necessary upon your orders, Fireteam Leader."

"Useful, though first we will need to deal with this problem," Fang risked taking a few shots at the arrayed forces.

"Not for much longer," Khojin said, as she motioned with a hand, as Avarga flew out, and the beam was sustained as it tried to kill her. "I don't think they've taken into account that this kind of weapon has one particular flaw."

"Which is?"

He could hear Khojin's vicious smile in her voice. "It's about to run out of juice. Prototypes like this don't usually have conventional power sources. Very specialized."

The gambit she'd sent Avarga on appeared to have paid off, as the beam suddenly disappeared partway through. Fang peeked out, and saw that the Human was already switching to one of the Häkke rifles. "Aunor, do you think you could do that again – and come by me?"

A moment of pause. "Yes, but I will not be able to do it for much longer. This is not a simple technique to employ."

"We only need it here." Khojin assured her as Aunor rushed towards her. The Note sounded again, and he saw that Khojin had pulled out her shotgun, as the Light was building around her. When it seemed like she could not hold it in any longer, she shot forward in a flash of Light like a speeding bullet.

She slammed into one of the Human defenders, pulverizing him into atoms, and opening fire with her shotgun. Four shots and four heads were turned to bloody paste. Even with the Light restricted again, it was at close range for her to wield it effectively. The sword of Light returned to her hand as she cut through the drones and remaining defenders.

Fang contributed as well, with using his rifle to take down some of the loitering drones, and forcing a few others to turn their attention on him. He used his Light to give him some brief protection, which was enough to deflect a few bullets that impacted him. Then it was over, and the defenders lay dead or destroyed.

Khojin strode towards the corpse of the body that had been wielding the trace rifle and picked it up. It was an unconventional model for sure, one that Fang found fairly impressive. It seemed heavy, sturdy, with a center core that held the firing emitter, which had tubes guided into it. Two 'arms' were situated directly above and below it, acting as a barrel of sorts.

Khojin looked it over for a moment, then motioned him over. "Take this," she said, pointing at it. "Have your Ghost scan it. You should be able to manufacture ammunition."

Fang took it, noting that even when idle, the weapon was cold. Given the amount of energy this weapon probably needed, it must have had a bleeding-edge cooling system. Coldheart indeed. Shadow flew around it, as he scanned the weapon. "A fascinating development, especially with such primitive understanding," a few moments later, he materialized a small power core. "Replace the clip here."

Fang did so, and a few lights on the rifle turned from red to green, and the weapon began to hum. He took a few experimental lifts and aims, noting it was as heavy as it looked, a bit unwieldy – but certainly no worse than a lot of other weapons. He nodded at Khojin. "Thanks."

"We'll need it, I think," Khojin turned her attention to the facility. "We're almost done, but after this they'll be bringing out all they have. Let's go."


THE BATTLE OF NEPTUNE

NEOMUNA | NEPTUNE

Toland remained fixed in place, one hand partially raised, as sparks of Light formed around him, his mouth ready to utter one of the Notes that he had mulled over in his head – though ones that he was less confident would work. Still, with a simple beckoning motion, he would be ready to combat this strange creature opposite him.

Yet his hand stayed, for he was no fool.

If it was a battle the Siren wished for, it would have not engaged him in conversation. If it was intelligent, it would not have allowed him a moment of reaction. Thus it begged the question – why approach him in this way at all?

Why did the faint strands that permeated the present reality seem to refrain from trying to envelop him now? Why was the halo of concentrated elemental judgement not brought to bear against him?

Toland knew that he was in danger – or rather, more danger than he had been in. He knew that he was in the presence of a dangerous entity. An entity that, as of now, did not seem intent on fighting. If it meant to lull him into a state of complacence, they would be sadly mistaken, for he had no intention of letting his guard down.

Guren lay on the ground, green strands wrapped around it like a cocoon. That in and of itself was a problem. Toland did not take his eyes off the creature, but simply inclined his head down. "Let them go."

The translucent-skinned creature snapped her – for the voice was female – fingers once again. The strands receded around the Ghost, even as the shell lay inert on the ground, and the halo dissipated into nothingness. "A spark of Light, and it will restore itself. I would not do so unless you wish our conversation to be ended swiftly. Such instruments of the Celestials do not take kindly to dialogue between ones such as ourselves."

From the mouth of this creature or not, Toland believed that was true – the Traveler was not one to likely approve of dialogue with the enemy, even a sapient being such as this. He appraised the creature closely, one which stood taller than he did.

Skin covered her form, which reminded him of jellyfish, allowing him to see veins that ran with black blood through them and the cloudy outline of bones. The face maintained some hallmarks of femininity, yet the body was utterly sexless in form, and the uncomfortably large, black, unblinking eyes alien in appearance.

It was a fascinating creature, and the engorged head and brain meant it could think and comprehend, which piqued his attention even more, and its sleek black armor and cape had…elegance to it which suggested it fashioned itself more than a simple beast of war. The Darkness clearly had its own methods of creation and refinement.

Everything about the Siren was repulsive, from the hairless reconstruction of a head, to the skin of translucent horror, to the eyes of jet black, to the limbs and digits that were too elongated.

Or it should have been repulsive. He instead found himself only curious.

It was a truly alien creation, through and through. He cocked his head. "What are you?"

Her hands steepled together, fingertips forming the simple, fundamental shape of a triangle. "An Ambassador of Truth."

He raised an eyebrow. "I have heard enough of the Song to know that choice is not afforded to those who listen."

"Oh?" Her voice was knowing, just slightly bemused. "And have you listened, Matthew Toland? Truly listened to the melody being woven, and the chorus sung?"

He grunted. "I would be a fool to do so."

"Skepticism is the mark of an intelligent mind, so long as it does not devolve to a dogmatic one," the Ambassador moved to one of the chairs in the room and sat down in a smooth motion. She moved like water, each motion deliberate, but also enrapturing in its fluidity. "I do not intend to fight you, but to only converse."

Toland thought for a moment, and with a telekinetic pull, brought the inert shell of Guren to his palm, and placed it in a pocket. His wariness had not faded in the slightest, but the creature appeared significantly more talkative than she should be. "Curious, considering the battle yet rages, and you have stuck against my comrades before now. But not me."

"If you have no desire to converse, then leave," she answered with a wave. "I will not stop you."

He watched her closely, trying to discern truth or falsehood. She appeared to be truthful, but he knew what power she had, and that the moment his guard was down, a green blade would strike his heart – or at least the opportunity would arise. "Why?"

"Because such actions are futile," she answered simply. "You do not trust me, and were I foolish enough to attack now, you would survive long enough to retreat and call for help. You are powerful. As am I. Yet neither of us is powerful enough for battle to be decisive, and there is only one of me – but there are many Guardians."

That was definitely too smart for how she'd been acting. How much of it had been a ruse? Or what was she lying about now? "That isn't the only reason."

"Of course not," she agreed. "You are curious. You are not like the others of your kind. Not unprecedented, but it is rare for a Guardian to have such an open mind. You want to know more. You want to know the truth. And you also know one cannot know the truth by surrounding themselves with those who already have made their minds on a certain conclusion."

He kept his hand on Guren, just in case, but he moved to the opposite couch, and sat down, keeping his senses attuned and the Light just a pull away. "You are confident to know so much about me."

"If my observations were inaccurate, you wouldn't be sitting here. You wouldn't even be in this building," she said with the quiet confidence of one who had the answers. "Do you know what the Celestial considers the most dangerous trait for one of Her Chosen to possess?"

He considered, thinking of a few examples. "Pride."

She cocked her head, then smiled with a thin, lipless mouth. "A good answer, but no. Curiosity."

Toland's eyebrow raised, though he immediately had a suspicion of where this would lead. "Do tell."

"The curious seek knowledge, and to a certain degree this is fine – but most people are only superficially curious," she answered. "They are curious within the boundaries of what is approved. The Celestial will allow one to explore the wonders of the natural world, the intricacies of the Light, and the depths of the soul. But that is all. Do you know what She does when individuals go beyond the approved boundaries? When they wish to explore and understand the secrets of the cosmos – or the Darkness?"

Toland pursed his lips, the point she was making becoming clearer.

It wasn't a wholly inaccurate one.

"The concept of forbidden knowledge is a fascinating one," she continued. "It is not exclusive to your species. Every culture and civilization, even those of the Dark, hold certain stigmas and social redlines that simply cannot be crossed. There are some questions that cannot be answered; some knowledge too dangerous. Be they Celestial or Ascendant Lord, to suppress the pursuit of ultimate truth is as much self-preservation as it is fear."

"Curious you would disparage your master in such a way," Toland commented. "Or acknowledge the same weakness in your side."

She laughed. The sound was strange. An imitation more than a sound of mirth. "My Lord is one whose approach to knowledge is pragmatic. He does not believe it important, not in the same way you and I do. We appreciate the bounds of curiosity, we understand its essential nature. My Lord will not punish such pursuits, but neither will he intervene in support of them. Such is the fickleness of the divine, Light or Dark alike."

She paused, glancing around the room where the flickers of Stands still pulsed. "When you look at this world, when you look upon my form, what do you see? What do you feel? What do you think? What is your reaction?"

He looked at her again, and noticed how his body was indeed responding to her presence.

His skin hot, his blood rushing, his stomach turning, his mind screaming AWAY.

But why did he push past what his instincts were telling him?

Because they weren't real.

He had suspected that the biology of the Guardians did not, contrary to what everyone assumed, mirror that of the mortal Human. They looked like Humans, they still had the pieces and parts. But fundamentally, they were not living. They were not static. They were imitations, ones who could look however they wished.

They were beings of Light.

Formed from the Celestial's hand.

And beings of Light could not help but react to its opposite – and not in a positive way.

"Light and Dark are oil and water," Toland said. "I look at it, and I am repulsed. It is an alien expression of what I have come to understand as innate. A natural response to a conditioned mind. I am repulsed, but it is because of my nature as a Guardian. Yet my mind is my own, and I can see what is within it. There is function, design, and even beauty in it."

He lifted his hand, and a flame of pure Light shone, bright enough that it was like a small sun in the small room. The creature shifted in place, her expression discomforted. "And you feel the same way when you look at the Light, don't you. Your biology, warped and twisted by the Dark, reacts as mine does to yours."

"How curious that we both struggle beyond our natures. This is why curiosity is feared, because it does not stop us from wondering. From wanting to know more," she said, as he extinguished the Light. "Your Traveler will win this conflict. This is known. This is expected. If I am to die, then perhaps I can enjoy a simple moment with a kindred spirit in curiosity. You want to know the truth? I can tell you."

He cocked his head. "How?"

"You only need to listen," she said. "You are a Guardian. You are capable of comprehension, without being overwhelmed like many Humans are. Protect your mind as you wish, but only by listening will you understand. Do you wish me to do this?"

He thought for a moment. He knew what any other would say to him – that to listen, to trust this creature, was madness. That there was nothing the Darkness could offer or reveal that the Light did not.

But he knew that was not true, and he did not think this creature was lying. Not intentionally, at least. And if he was wrong, then he deserved what fate would befall him. The Traveler could find more Guardians, but if She had no use for his desire for knowledge, then he figured that She was better off with an unthinking drone.

That, he would not be.

He nodded. "Begin."

"Then listen," she said, black eyes meeting his own. "I will begin slowly, to allow your mind to become accustomed to it. You may open it at any point. Your choice must be made quickly, however. Your people approach, and they will not tolerate my presence as you have."

She took a breath, closed her eyes.

He let his mind open, and his ears listen.

The melody was immediately enrapturing, as she began singing another verse of the Antiphon.

His eyes widened, and his mouth remained half opened as he concentrated on its notes, and listened.

It all made sense.

Revelation after revelation kept manifesting before his eyes. Mirages and whispers, like fragments from a long gone dream he had once dared conjure and had only now just remembered. Grains of erudite sands falling through his fingers, which he cupped his hands to gather and consume before they faded away forever.

She was the academic, and he was the student. The eager and hungry and ravenous mind that grasped on to every lesson and truth that she had to offer. Knowledge that his Lightborne soul screamed at him to reject, but which his sharpened intellect forced it to absorb despite its childish protests. He was an empty vessel, and for the first time in his life he knew what he needed to be full.

At that moment he listened.

In that moment he saw.

And as he heard and studied he witnessed.

The Majesty of it all.


THE BATTLE OF NEPTUNE

NEOMUNA | NEPTUNE

Wei Ning charged through the streets of Neomuna, the Light augmenting every part of her momentum; turning her into an invincible, unstoppable force which cut through the freezing, stygian mists.

The sudden communication from Eagle had not come at a good time, as she had just finished razing one of the converted apartments. Or rather, they were closer to fortresses now, but the Darkness still buckled when placed under the weight of pure Light delivered at several times the speed of sound.

She'd been ready to shoot off into the sky, and hit the next target the Triumvirate had identified, when Zhang had urgently informed her that Toland's Ghost had gone dark, and that Toland himself was almost certainly in danger.

That had been a very bad sign.

She'd broken into a Light-augmented run without a moment of hesitation, quickly letting the Triumvirate officer know that Toland had gone dark, while her Ghost had relayed his last location. Hopefully the Triumvirate would be able to manage for a while without her.

Though they'd been doing surprisingly decently, all things considered. Wei didn't know how well they would have managed without the Guardians, but they were competent enough to hold the line despite the vast arsenal that Neptune had to throw at them. Though they had been relying on her heavily to remove hardened targets – which the neon city had been filled with.

In retrospect, it probably hadn't been a good idea to split up the fireteam to such a degree. While they were powerful, they were only three Guardians. Shaheed was admittedly a power unto himself, Toland was…strange, but he knew nuances about Light she just couldn't grasp, and while her employment of the Light was simple, it was devastatingly effective.

It made sense that she'd be the one to support the Triumvirate lines while Toland and Shaheed tackled the underlying powers at work.

She hadn't been too concerned about Toland because he'd struck her as very collected and rational, not to mention skilled in his own right. He wasn't Shaheed, of course, but he knew what he was doing.

She wasn't fully clear on what he'd gone off to investigate, but had implied it had something to do with the paracausal Song they all now knew as the Siren Call. Shaheed was dealing with the Strand Network, so it made sense for Toland to focus on that other element. Wei had thought they would be relatively close to each other, but something had clearly gone awry because according to his Ghost data, he was nowhere near Shaheed.

Wei scowled as she ran. This was taking too long, and she wasn't as good at using the Light to accelerate her ground speed. She leapt forward into a perfect somersault and used the momentum to fire upwards into the air with a boom. White-orange fire wreathed her body as she sped through the tempests which coalesced around her and slammed against her Light, burning any of the strands that tried to entangle her.

Her speed grew and grew, and the air screamed around her as she broke the sound barrier and rattled the architecture of the buildings surrounding her even as lightning, like spears from the black heavens above, tried to hit her in what seemed to be hundreds of times unsuccessfully.

The hurricanes and corrupted clouds sought to throw off her sense of direction so that she would become lost in the storm, but her sight was true. It didn't take her long to hone in on her target - another of the converted skyscrapers. There were a few approaches she could take, and only seconds to make them.

She could land in front of it and go inside – but that would take too long. Any second of delay was another second where he could be killed, which left only one real option. She grit her teeth as the skyscraper approached.

This was always the hardest part. Humans weren't inclined to look at steel and concrete and think 'Yes, I can break this.' And this wasn't even the only thing she had to consider.

She couldn't go full scorched Earth on the skyscraper and raze it to splinters in case he was incapacitated. Nor did she have enough speed to rely on pure momentum to break through. Instead, she focused on the fire which cocooned her body and made it burn even hotter. Blazing like a star, she flipped in the air, boots-first as she crashed into the side of the skyscraper.

Wei was vaguely aware of her crashing through the architecture of the building, leaving behind a trail of broken walls, floors, and a few fires courtesy of her entrance. However, she landed on the ground with a boom, stood, and to her shock beheld the Siren herself, sitting before a seemingly-enraptured Toland.

Alarm rang through her.

She's here!

The creature stood smoothly, as if unbothered – it was far too calm and collected, not like what she'd heard about. She continued summoning the Light, allowing her inferno to grow as she prepared to strike.

"Unfortunate," the creature mused in the strange, echoing and smooth voice it had, so different from anything she had seen from a monster of the Dark on that day. She stood, and clasped her hands behind her back with her chin held up high in regal distinction.

She looked at Wei dismissively, with her two black eyes that burned with small, but intense and paralyzing points of concentrated Resonance in the center of their abysses, which penetrated through the entirety of her very self like the photon discs of a black hole. It made her afraid, despite her Light and power.

Everything about this seemed so very wrong.

The Siren smiled.

"See you soon, Guardian."

The creature became wreathed in the strands, cocooning it in thousands of tendrils and vines made of the white-green luster and a second later it was gone completely. Wei lowered her fist, partially surprised at the outcome.

She'd just left?

Why?

Wei wasn't exactly a pushover, but she was no Shaheed or Osiris, let alone Valentin. If the Ambassador was to attack her, she'd have to do everything she could to survive. For that matter, why did she have Toland seemingly at her mercy and-

Right, Toland.

She rushed to the couch Toland was sitting on, who sat still, eyes sightlessly staring ahead. He was breathing, but something was very wrong with him. On one hand was his inert Ghost – not dead, thankfully, but certainly incapacitated somehow. Too many questions ran through her mind, but the most important was getting him out of here.

Where do you want him? Zhang asked, floating close to Toland's sitting body.

"Off world," she said, checking him for signs of obvious injury or corruption. None were found. From the outside perspective he seemed bizarrely fine. "Off this planet. He's hearing the Antiphon and I don't know what that does to him long-term. Earth. Or the Morning Star. Just get him away."

Understood. And you?

Zhang began the teleportation process as Wei took a moment to breathe.

"Regroup with Shaheed, see if he needs more help," she glanced outside, and noticed that the brilliance of the emerald strands, as well as the maelstrom that had consumed the city, seemed a little less intense. "However, I think that he's got things under control."


THE BATTLE OF NEPTUNE

OUTSKIRTS OF INVICTUS | NEPTUNE

The sounds of battle were the only ones Clovis heard.

He watched as armies of Soviet, American, Indian, and Chinese soldiers stormed off the transports, augmented by Exos. Reality Anchors were quickly planted in overlapping, redundant patterns, and heavy armor vehicles, including Salvation-class tanks rolled out, and entrenched themselves as the formations assembled.

Clovis stood on the front lines, towering over all but some of the Exos, giving commands, coordinating forces, and appraising the situation before him. A simulation of the battle was running in the background of his mind; keeping close track of the number of committed and reserve forces.

He paid less heed to the weather that had been summoned and turned vicious all around them. Lightning, hurricanes, tornadoes, tempests, razor sharp winds, hail, blizzards. It was clever, but it was mere sorcery; tricks that were meant to cause stress and induce fear into his forces.

He had reviewed the reports coming from the landings at Xilong and across the planet, and quickly adjusted the strategy for his own landing. As long as they remained protected by the Reality Anchors, they would not fall prey to the displays of power that the amplifier creature called tactics.

Clovis couldn't necessarily fault the so-called Siren behind this. A good tactician used the tools they had at their disposal, and it appeared they possessed some greater tactical skill than first believed.

Not that it would be enough.

The dark tempests descended all over their positions, but their supernatural touch could not reach the men and women under his command, shielded as they were by the Triumvirate's technological ingenuity. Crimson lightning boomed all around them, causing his soldiers to cover their ears and shake in their positions.

He knew that the temperature must have been quite low, his thermal sensors affirming the environment they found themselves in. He saw many of his soldiers begin to shiver and their exhales freeze as they left their lungs.

Yet still, they held the line.

All it took was one unimpressed glance from him towards those near him, for them to straighten their backs and regain their composure. His presence, outwardly unbothered and impassive against the unnatural sights, seemed to have a calming effect on the forces under his command.

Discipline and resolve was sometimes all a leader needed to rally an army.

As the other landing zones had begun reporting their own progress, Clovis had been given an image that painted Neptune as a hellscape without comparison. Considering how they had arrived, he could see how they could have thought so. A more objective analysis had lessened the overall danger.

For sure, there was a threat here, but Clovis saw it for what it was. A desperate effort; a method of intimidation and awe-inspiring scale. Useful to cow the weak-minded and faint of heart. Less effective for the hardened veteran or experienced leader.

Nonetheless, it had already extracted a heavier than expected toll from his armies. A slight mistake of overconfidence, but they had adapted, advanced, and they would win. It mattered not if the planet itself tried to kill them, it would fail. The mind behind this was certainly simple - but sometimes raw power could compensate for complexity.

The fatalities were of little ultimate consequence.

They would push on and seize victory regardless. The Soviet Union had drowned Nazi Germany in blood to liberate the Motherland, and in comparison, the sacrifices necessary to ensure a free Man were quaint in comparison. He would not be cowed or moved by the blood that would be spilled this day. Not when Humanity itself was at stake.

Invictus was a special operation that he would undertake without Guardian support, for it was the Triumvirate's right to retake the crown jewel of their colony by themselves - or otherwise cleanse it. There had been some concern that they would not be able to defeat and cleanse the Darkness that infested the city of chrome and steel.

He had no such concerns.

His digital HUD flashed a message.

[Morning Star beginning descent. Calamity Protocol initiating.]

If the Darkness wanted a war with Humanity, he intended to demonstrate the full power of the greatest station that had ever been produced in history. All of the Reality Anchors were working at full potency, and it seemed there was nothing in terms of legitimate air power that could be brought to bear against it.

The tricks of the amplifier creature would be of no use, and the atom would cleanse the fetid pit that had once been Neptune's finest city and a hallmark of Human accomplishment.

The Darkness forces had unsurprisingly co-opted and turned the automated systems against them. The static defenses of Invictus were engaged in a pitched battle with the approaching Triumvirate armies. Bipedal mechs, as well as hovering ones, were also mobilized. There were also Humans he had spotted – though Humans in name only.

Valentin had warned that any person on the planet would be corrupted. One would gain some idea of what that could look like from that, but the reality was that they were surprisingly not that visually different, which made him suspect that either this Darkness had not been as exhaustive in its corruption as he thought it would.

Or, perhaps, they were only seeing the disposable units they had at their command – but there was a clear unnaturalness to them that immediately made him question what he was seeing. The corrupted Humans wore armor appropriated from armories, and their bodies appeared to move the same.

But their faces were troubling.

Their skin was an unnatural color, as if drained of light and life. Trails of black fluid leaked from their orifices, including the eyes and ears. They all appeared gaunt, their eyes infected with black stains. Most unnatural was how they always seemed to be smiling, and their lips moving in chorus to what he presumed was the Antiphon.

He was taking no chances with the Paracausal Song. This would be done methodically, and now that he saw what it had turned them into, he had no intention of letting any men fall prey to such spells. All the more reason to purge it in nuclear fire.

All they needed to do was hold.

Above them, the Morning Star descended closer.

He continued ordering the encirclement, not that he truly believed that it would affect the outcome one way or another – at this point, it was clear Invictus didn't have the ability to properly respond. They expected him to come. They expected them to march forward and claim what had been taken, so they could bask in a symbol of their conquest.

They could always build another city. Victory was all that mattered, metal and steel were cheap.

YOU WILL NOT COME CLOSER.

THIS PLACE IS SACRED.

YOU PROFANE IT WITH YOUR PRESENCE, CREATURE OF METAL.

Clovis paused, as the voice registered in his sensors. The voice was likely more powerful, and would have had additional effects if he was an organic, judging from how some of the soldiers reacted. Yet he picked up a few curious things from the pitch. It certainly wasn't natural – but it sounded feminine, and young.

Well, this may be the amplifier.

The 'Siren.'

Interesting.

He ordered the bombardment of Invictus continue. Shells and rockets fired as the siege of the city intensified. The mech forces and corrupted Humans who had been mustered to defend pulled back, as the static defenses were destroyed with minimal casualties. The Morning Star descended ever closer.

Almost in range…

There was a sudden notification of alarm from one of the forward western positions, and Clovis turned his attention towards it just in time to see the attacker – and he had a millisecond of pause at the monstrosity that appeared. It was a towering beast of a creature, humanoid in form, but only if a Human had been warped beyond recognition.

He beheld the creature whose skin was black, whose body was thin and sexless, whose head was enlarged to a grotesque degree, yet retained the characteristics of a Human face. One that was still far too expressive; one that was far too delighted with the power it wielded.

In its hand with elongated fingers was a spear which seemed, against his higher logic, to be the scepter which beckoned Neptune to rage against its invaders, if the way the combined elements of the planet formed a ring around its shaft was any indication. It was clad in black armor which fit its slender form and seemed to be made out of moving and shifting stone, of all things.

With quick movements the creature destroyed the Reality Anchor, and howled in glee as the protection was gone. A hand was raised, and the surviving forces found a thousand green wires wrapped around them like angry vines, pulling them down into a void where they disappeared in a flash of green light. Others were cut down by sickle shaped arcs of Strand that bisected them as if their armor was made of air, and the remnants of their bodies were disintegrated in flashes of neon green.

The Triumvirate forces nearby turned their firepower on the creature which stepped backwards and vanished with a flash of green. They scrambled to reinforce the area that had been assaulted, planting new Anchors, and yelling to keep their guards up. Clovis considered the development.

Now that was an issue. He ordered all forces to be on alert, just in time to hear a report of another attack. It was clear what the intent was here – to pick them off, piece by piece. While the Strand Network was overloaded, and the Reality Anchors prevented too damaging an attack – it had clear limitations.

Yes, this was almost certainly the elusive amplifier; the display of the Strand seemed to have confirmed it.

He knew what to do. It was a risk, but such was necessary to slay this creature. A few commands were formulated, and the systems in his shell began working.

[ORACLE prepared. Require Paracausal continuity to activate.]

He stepped beyond the front established, and disabled his personal Reality Anchor. His chassis was immediately assaulted by the hostile weather, but it was resistant and he did not intend on staying for long enough to invite a lightning strike on his position. A few seconds followed before there was an affirmative notification.

[ORACLE synchronized to present time-stream.]

Here we go.

The creature appeared to be young, emotional, and potentially be unwilling to consider the possibility of a trap. She, for he believed this had once been a woman, had made the mistake of letting him see her in action. He dialed down the time-space perception. He would need every millisecond to survive the initial strike – one that would come from anywhere.

Sensors warned him of it from the right.

Immediately he performed a spin as the strange elemental spear whistled right past him, and he was able to see the creature up close. One with eyes of hate, and face contorted in fury. His HUD immediately responded as ORACLE kicked into action.

[Target acquired.]

[Firing.]

He only needed to survive a few seconds longer.

Compartments and racks in his suit opened, and the micro-missiles controlled by the ORACLE system launched. The creature reacted immediately, and naturally teleported away – failing to see that the missiles had not been flying towards her. This was the first true test of the ORACLE. He would see if it worked.

The creature materialized a short distance away – and collided right with the barrage of missiles that had fired not where she had been – but where she was going to be.

His slowed down perception let him see, in a second that spanned an eternity as his Reality Anchor started activating once more, how the creature dispelled an emerald Strand shield it had woven around herself and started running at him, completely unharmed.

Impossible.

He had to admit he was rather miffed.

ORACLE, through paracausal means, predicted where a target was going to be in the future. It should not have been possible for her to evade such a barrage, especially since she had no prior knowledge that he was equipped with that system. Well, it showed that ORACLE did work - but that it was no guarantee against such creatures.

Unfortunate.

In the few milliseconds before his Reality Anchor reactivated, the monster reached him and slammed into him with her armored shoulder, pushing him backwards and into a Strand fissure she had cut into thin air behind him.

The General Secretary and the creature materialized on a cliffside overlooking Invictus and the battlefield before it.

She raised a hand, and the maelstrom intensified, as Neptune was called to do battle alongside its master. Clovis had read the reports of encounters with the amplifier creature, the Siren, as Guardians and soldiers called it. A fitting title, he supposed, for it possessed unparalleled command over the forces of nature.

Thick, black clouds surrounded the cliffside, carmine lightning was visible within the dark manifestations, their fury ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice. The winds flew all around them with intense ferocity, forcing him to clamp his feet into the ground to maintain balance. The Siren, however, seemed to come alive within the winds, as the cape on her shoulders flew elegantly in the tempests, and she levitated gracefully above the ground in an attempted show of confidence and regality.

Theatrics.

He could appreciate an enemy who understood their value.

But there was a time and place to apply them. She had to know he was beyond such simple intimidation.

As long as his Reality Anchor was active, the weather was nothing but a distraction to him. The Strands could not be utilized against him, and whatever manifestations of Darkness the Siren could employ would fizzle out unceremoniously upon entering his equalizing field.

If this display was meant to intimidate him, then this creature was sorely mistaken. He knew that appearances and perceptions could shape narratives. That aesthetics and symbolism could elevate a pathetic person to the pantheon of architects in the minds of the people.

Ah, but that was not what this creature was thinking.

No, she certainly was not. She was weaving no narrative, she was building no story. Such things were not being considered.

It would be a poor show not to take advantage of this opportunity she had so helpfully created for him.

He was alone with the Siren, the defiant inside the eye of the storm. The mortal before the divine, or one who pretended to it. The man who would die a martyr, or slay a dragon. Were he capable, he would have smiled at the sheer irony on display.

No matter what happened, he would win.

[Evac dispatched.]

Destiny called to men and women that were ready and eager to grasp it. Opportunities for greatness presented themselves rarely, like flashpoints in the roads of fate. The difference between the average person, and those such as him who could guide his species forward with vision and resolve, was that he knew when to ride the wave without letting go.

Here, he made his stand.

Here, he would make himself known to the Dark and the masters who watched.

He spread his arms, a taunt some might perceive it, a display of confidence for others.

Come here, Siren. Come and fight.

Let us dance in the maelstrom.

The Siren seemed to realize this conclusion, and its large eyes hardened, narrowing as they met his own mechanical receptors as she shifted to a combat stance, spear in hand. She could do little now but slay him - or die trying.

He raised the Telesto, and fired at the monster without a second thought.

The beam of power that shot off from the deceptively small weapon was impressive, and he felt the considerable recoil as it released a shockwave and a thunderclap sounded upon holding the trigger.

The Siren dashed to the side in a blinding flash, the physical speed that she could employ considerable. She had no access to her teleportation in the radius of his Reality Anchor, and was aware of the handicap she was choosing to engage him in.

The Telesto's beam impacted the ground behind her, leaving a scorched crater in its wake. A pity that he had not been able to hit her with it.

[Micro missiles armed.]

A barrage of missiles exited from multiple openings in his chassis, and locked on to the Siren. While he briefly considered employing the ORACLE again, he knew that doing so would doom him against an enemy like this. There would be other opportunities to employ it.

Right now he needed to survive.

The creature gestured with its hands, and the maelstrom flooded the cliffside in its entirety, except for the safe zone of his equalizing field. Many of the missiles were thrown off course by the electric disruptions, and he lost sight of the creature, visibility obscured by the black mists as it was.

[Thermal HUD engaged.]

She was in the middle of the air grasping a missile that she had caught mid-flight with her bare hands, and threw it back towards him with strength that was not suggested by her slender form. He quickly lifted his wrists and let DARCI do its thing.

The automatic rounds quickly shot the projectile out of the air, which exploded in a flash of flame which penetrated the darkness of the tempests for a fleeting moment. A mortal man would have been obliterated by the missile due to the supernatural speed that it was launched at, but he could think with the speed and precision of a computer, and the DARCI system took advantage of the real time battle intelligence he fed it to function at the speeds he required of it.

The Siren took advantage of the momentary distraction, and broke into a sprint of such intensity that it created a shockwave at the point where she had been milliseconds earlier.

He swiftly holstered the Telesto, unslung his DARCI rifle and took aim at the monster. The automatic rounds were meant less to stop her, and instead force her to slow as he prepared for the approaching melee. His rifle thundered amidst the howling winds and the torrential rains, his wrist cannons added to the barrage as he fired his hand held weapon, and missiles kept being launched from the pods throughout his body.

The thing somehow was able to detect his bullets as they cut through the air, and dodged, ducked, weaved, and pirouetted with inhuman fluidity and foresight that he found difficult to comprehend.

She ran through the explosions of his missiles, knowing that they would not hit her, or sometimes dashed to the side at the last moment before they made contact. Some bullets she deliberately absorbed with her armor, as they were unable to penetrate center mass and bounced off with flashes of light. When he switched his target to her unprotected head, she danced between his barrages, as if she could slow down her perception of time to see the projectiles coming.

Were he not in a fight for his life, he deeply wanted to examine this creature in more detail. He wanted to understand the biological underpinnings that allowed it to operate at such speeds and with such power.

Just as he could.

Within the radius of his Reality Anchor, the paracausal could not draw upon the forces they commanded to empower themselves, which meant that this creature's physical prowess was an innate characteristic of its transformation. A fundamental alteration of its capabilities and biology that required no active manipulation of reality to take effect.

It was a considerable advantage when compared to the Guardians, for he knew that they were merely Human when stripped of their power. Either this Darkness that the Siren commanded was even more powerful than the Light, or a different force altogether was at play. One he would have to understand and quantify, and that meant the combat footage he was recording here would be invaluable for his researchers.

She reached him, launched herself to the air with power that cracked the very ground beneath her, and descended with her spear in her hands and its blade pointed downwards, looking to drive it through his head and down the rest of his body.

He caught the shaft with his hands and wrestled with the Siren over the weapon, seeking to break her grip over it and disarm her. He observed how despite being within his equalizing zone, the metal still afflicted his form with the electricity it channeled. Not as much as it would have had he attempted this stunt outside of the protective zone, but it still affected him to a degree that had to be considered.

The Siren and the General Secretary challenged each other in a contest of strength as they fought over the weapon. His pistons kicked into overdrive, and he anchored himself to the ground as he began to pull backwards, ignoring the hazard warnings his HUD bombarded him with as he grasped onto the paracausal metal. The monstrosity did the same, and the spindly, elongated arms it possessed somehow managed to not only match the strength of his mechanical body, but to slowly overpower it.

New plan.

[Chemical dispenser armed.]

He suddenly let go of the shaft, and as the Siren was sent off balance he met her unprotected face with a furious plume of fire from his integrated flamethrower.

"Clovis!" she screamed less in pain and more with seething rage at the insult he had greeted her with.

Her voice was as ugly as her physical appearance, raspy and wet as if she were constantly choking on blood. The maelstrom intensified yet again as her fury was unleashed, and lightning began to strike all over the cliffside where they did battle, frustratedly unable to land anywhere near his equalizing field.

One of her gauntleted hands shot forward and out of the inferno he was unleashing on her. It grasped one of the chemical dispensers on his own extremities, and crushed it within its furious grip, causing it to explode and damaging both of their arms in the process.

The flames weakened, she launched herself out of the flamethrower's radius, her shoulder positioned to impact against him as she sought to tackle him to the ground.

[CQC protocols engaged.]

She would not surprise him with the same maneuver twice. He dashed out of the way of her charge, his Exo form now calibrated for agile movements and physical strikes. His torso spun as he recovered from the evasion, and brought his fist crashing against the back of her head. She could think as quickly as he could, however, and immediately turned around and parried the strike with her arm before it could connect.

She drove the spear into the ground and shifted to a martial stance.

In the distance, the Morning Star finally descended and hovered above the battlefield, nuclear warheads aimed at Invictus. The maelstrom shifted its attention and moved towards the station, but the Reality Anchors it was equipped with prevented damage or disruption from being effective.

"[General Secretary, do you require assistance?]" the communication sounded in his head, and his HUD confirmed that it came from the Morning Star's bridge.

"[Negative! Focus on the Calamity Protocol! Destroy the city!]" he roared as the Siren threw herself at him and they began to trade thunderous blows.

[Commencing Calamity Protocol. Nuclear launch initiating.]

His armies, having accomplished their primary task of planting the Godsteel Rods in their assigned positions, had already evacuated to safety as the bombardment commenced.

Streaks fell from the sky like stars, as they approached closer and closer to impact. The soldiers were warned to turn away, but the Exos, and officers watched it through screens. One by one, they hit the city, and they beheld the fiery beauty of two dozen nuclear warheads landing on their target, razing it to rubble and ash. In only a few moments, Invictus City was destroyed.

However, the General Secretary and the Ambassador cared not for the apocalyptic scene happening on the horizon.

As the mushroom clouds and a second sun rose, Clovis landed a punch on the Siren's face that shattered some of her teeth, and the monster responded in kind with a strike that damaged his sensors and almost made him lose his balance.

He regained his footing, and drove the pistons in his arms into further overdrive as he began attacking the Siren with bullet fast strikes and punches. Lightning swift attacks that the creature dodged and blocked with her own fists, and she responded in kind by punching his chest plate with strikes that somehow eclipsed his own speed and made it difficult for even his mechanical mind to predict and meet.

Chunks of metal, only outer armoring fortunately, were blown off his body with each attack, and Clovis was forced on the backfoot and on the defensive. The Siren could shrug off his strikes, but his body could only sustain so much damage before he lost control of the battle.

He was sure now that something other than the Darkness was at play here, for his Reality Anchor should have equalized the playing field by negating her powers. And while it was evident that the Anchor was the only reason he had lasted as long as he had, the Siren possessed advantages he had not considered.

"The Dark need not be your enemy, General Secretary. You seek freedom from the Celestial, as I do. Accept its embrace, and sit at my side as we guide our people forward!" The monstrosity rasped as they both locked onto a grapple, and the ground beneath them was cracked by the mutual force pressed onto it.

Warning after warning flashed on his HUD as he drove his body yet again into overdrive, informing him that he was quickly reaching the limits of his form's structural integrity. The Siren, however, was yet again overpowering him slowly, and she seemed to draw upon an infinite wellspring of strength that he lacked access to.

Yet he would not let the indignity of the offer go unanswered.

"[Join, and slave myself and my species as you have?]" He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt and derision at the pathetic thing that tried to tempt him. He did not know if she could understand Russian, but she was owed only an answer in his mother tongue. "[Trade one master for another? Man needs no masters, they need no Gods, they need only the conviction to wrench Destiny from the divine, and forge their own path.]"

The idea that his will was weak enough that he would choose damnation willingly as this once-woman had was more insulting than any blow she had inflicted. Death before subservience. Death before dependence.

"[You are nothing,]" he said. "[You are a pathetic child; crying and begging for relevance and power. You prostituted yourself to the first one who would deign to give you a crumb of attention, for you were a failure in your life, as you are now.]" The Siren faltered in her grapple, as if struck, and Clovis began to push back against her strength.

She was not the only one who would use words as weapons. "[I do not know what you are, but you are a shadow; an imitation playing with toys. A raging bull; an animal, entertainment for the thing speaking in your ear.]" He laughed at her. "[This is the best you can do? With all your power, you cannot slay a single machine. A mortal. You father would be disappointed - as he often was.]"

He had a suspicion of the identity behind this creature, which only became stronger as his words struck true. The psychological profile presented narrowed down a particular type of person. The need to impress. The insecurity that came with young age. The self-doubt and uncertainty over their place in the world. Only a handful of Invictus's residents fit such characteristics.

He only lacked a name to confirm his theory, but he knew his opponent well regardless.

She screamed at him indignantly, and drank of her rage, the lightning strikes now landing millimeters away from the equalizing zone.

He activated his DARCI wrist cannons, and they locked on to the monster's exposed face. High caliber, automatic bullet fire rained on the Siren, but it did not kill or incapacitate the creature, as he had hoped.

Instead, the monster of the Dark pushed her face forward, absorbing the bullet fire which clearly bruised and bloodied her, but did not penetrate the skin. She looked at him with furious, unblinking, pitying eyes, until her face was right in front of his and he felt her breathing against him.

There was something different in the eyes. Something that hadn't been there before.

"You have no soul, man of metal. You have limits, for you are nothing but a steel mannequin who believes himself a person. The Sword sharpens the spirit. The Sword perfects flesh. The Sword lets us choose our own destinies, and defy what is set."

This was off. The voice was the same, yet different.

The cadence, the tone, the speed at which it spoke.

"Without the Dark, you are nothing. You will perish at the hands of the Guardians. You will be forgotten by history. Your achievements will crumble. Your legacy will be erased. If you will deny my mercy, then be cut away like the rest."

This was not the same woman.

This was something else.

Her muscles revealed the hidden strength they had all along, and she finally overcame his resistance and threw him to the floor. She somersaulted back towards her spear, and Clovis quickly rose. He had expected her to descend upon him and beat him as she pinned him underneath her weight, but he had to be ready for the unexpected.

Once he got up, his eyes were greeted by the sight of the paracausal weapon flying through the air towards his face, and he only had time to lift his arm, which had thicker armor, and put it in between its trajectory and its target.

The spear penetrated clean through both his arm and his head, the impact force knocking him to the ground, and the Siren wasted no time and broke into another lightning fast sprint. She reached him, grasped her spear, and pulled it back with force which tore his head off his body and a hole through his arm.

The headless automaton was frozen in place only for a moment.

How inconvenient.

Where she expected to relish in victory, she was instead met with a punch to her face from his undamaged arm, which collided with her surprised visage and stunned her sufficiently enough for him to get back up, sans head.

He wouldn't have expected her to have known his schematics, which had his core components safely protected in the chest. His optical sights were almost completely gone, but the sensors were strong enough that he could reasonably react - at least for a little longer.

The Morning Star began approaching their location, having ensured the total destruction of Invictus, and an armada of transports arrived to his aid.

Elite Triumvirate soldiers, vehicles, Exos of all types and sizes, heavy weapon platforms, everything that his armies could fit on the small cliffside was dropped from the transports and landed behind him and took aim at the monster.

The Siren paused, before readying its combat stance once more and lifting its spear.

However, before it could commence another battle and finish what it had started, it suddenly tilted its head, as if receiving communications from something else. She then proceeded to jump away from the equalizer field, and looked at him one last time.

"A choice has been presented, Clovis Bray. Not many are granted such a privilege." She rasped, pointing her spear at him, before she disappeared in a neon green flash of Strand.

Clovis was approached by some of his soldiers who aimed to help him onto a transport. He shrugged their attempts, for he was not gravely damaged and would only require replacements for his compromised systems and body parts. Replacements which could be found aboard the Morning Star.

The battle concluded, he allowed himself to process the reports that had come in from the destroyed city.

Each of them said the same thing. There was no sign of life. No sign of corruption.

No sign of Darkness.

Clovis let the satisfaction build as he beheld the results.

One city down.

One step closer to victory.

He had learned much from this encounter, however. Many elements and realities he would have to consider moving forward. New understanding to mull over, new lessons to absorb. However, today, he could count this as a victory.

And next time, he would slay this Siren.


THE BATTLE OF NEPTUNE

SECURITY CONTROL CENTER | XILONG | NEPTUNE

The interior was less protected than Fang was expecting.

They had the layout of the building, so they knew where to go – and Fang also became aware that he would need to be somewhat careful with his new weapon. A literal lightning gun had the potential to cause significant damage to electronics – and while that normally wouldn't be a problem, they needed the systems intact for Rasputin.

It wreaked havoc on everything else though.

The drones and automated defenses that they'd encountered had been trivialized with this weapon in hand, so much so that it was almost more convenient than if he'd had the Light. And with Shadow able to produce power cores whenever one was depleted, he had a weapon that would never run out.

However, as they made their way through the facility, it was also clear that there had been fighting in here before they'd arrived. There were wrecks and corpses that had definitely not been caused by them, and a number of strange scorch marks on the walls. The aftermath itself looked decidedly odd, as if an animal had been unleashed or burrowed into them.

Khojin finally said what they were all thinking. "I think there's someone else here."

"Who do you suspect?" Aunor's brow furrowed. "There could not be survivors with a Darkbearer of this power here. They would not be able to resist the Antiphon without initial protection – which they lacked."

"Maybe a haywire defense system of some kind?" Fang wondered.

"Unlikely," Khojin said as she loaded her shotgun, a thoughtful tone creeping into her voice. "Triumvirate systems don't act like that, especially not in sterile environments like this. We should investigate; we might find someone else who can help."

Fang saw no reason to disagree with that, so they continued on the route, as they moved through abandoned labs, cafeterias, and many weapons testing ranges. Khojin lifted a fist as they approached one door, hearing something on the other side. This was one of the side labs – which seemed to have been explicitly assaulted, judging from the number of wrecks outside.

"We might have found our holdout," Khojin muttered, as she banged on the door. "Is someone else alive?"

There was a few moments of waiting, and then the door parted to reveal an Exo - one of the American PATRIOT classes. A male variant it seemed, armored, and holding what appeared to be some kind of grenade launcher with a very oversized magazine. It was difficult to parse Exo expressions, since they didn't fully have them, but the tone implied a clear relief.

"Triumvirate?" He asked, taking a look at them.

Khojin shook her head. "No. But they're supporting the exterior offensive on Xilong. We're killing whatever is in here."

He appraised them for a few seconds, then apparently made a decision. "Then I will help you. I can't do much more here. I've almost expended all my resources," he indicated the weapon he held. "Gordon. Or Patriot-Thirty-Four if you want my model number. I hope that you know why everything went to hell here?"

"Yes, but later," Khojin looked at his weapon. "What is that?"

"Prototype Veist weapon, the Colony," he lifted it. "Projects small hunter-killer drones. Swarm and consume enemies. Very useful, and has kept me alive this entire time. Whatever wanted me dead gave up after a while, which I assume you and the Triumvirate are to thank for that. However, the problem is that these drones run out…"

Avarga floated over to him. "Can you show one of the cartridges you load? We can rectify that problem."

He pulled out the oversized cartridge, and tossed it to her. Khojin caught it, and held it up for Avarga to scan. A few seconds later, an identical cube was created, and Khojin tossed it to him. The Exo stared at the cartridge with as much shock as could be conveyed in a machine. "How did…" he shook his head. "Later."

"Later," Khojin agreed. "Let's stock up before proceeding further."

A few minutes later, fully armed and ready to fight, all of them continued onward, as the control center was only a short distance away. It also seemed like this was where the Darkness had decided to entrench themselves.

The Song here felt more powerful, more…tangible. The Resonance seemed thicker; more noticeable. Even Gordon asked what it was at one point, complaining that it interfered with some of his sensors. It made it even more difficult to draw upon the Light.

Yet they pressed on all the same.

They opened the door and were greeted with the source of the Song.

It was something that Fang could not even begin to describe as natural, let alone Human. It was closer to some kind of organic construct. It towered above them all, at least three meters in height. It had no arms or legs, or whatever had once existed were all wound together as if they were vines, resting on a base implanted in the ground.

Their bodies had been stretched, skin blackened and possessed of a slimy sheen to them. The arms were similarly intertwined, and the heads were conjoined. Fang counted at least four of them, and the faces were the most unnerving part. They had no eyes or noses or ears, the only thing left was the mouth.

All of the mouths which were moving in tune with the elegy they dedicated to their master.

It was a repulsive monument that made his skin crawl; a construct that despite the horror, showed clear engineering and design behind it. An aesthetic that was intended to be more than mere horror. It had purpose.

And that purpose was to sing.

Khojin seemed similarly unnerved.

Aunor seemed less disturbed or discomforted, but was instead livid over what she was seeing. Her nostrils flared as she took angered breaths, doing her best to keep herself under control. Her rage-filled eyes were wide and scanning every detail of the monstrosity before them as if it was a blasphemy against everything that was right.

Fang knew from her expression that if the Resonant field was not suppressing her Light, Aunor would have already razed whatever this thing was down to the very atoms.

They were not alone with the creature either. There were no machines, but instead were a half-dozen corrupted Humans, kneeling before the construct in hypnotized worship, faint chanting emanating from their mouths and swords of some kind held in their hands, lifted above their heads in silent offering.

Then the Song changed. The swords the Humans were holding, made of material which seemed more like black stone than metal, became sheathed in orange luster, as did their bodies. The creature itself also was similarly shrouded in the Resonance.

"Hmph," Aunor growled, loathe as she was to compliment the mastery of the Intercessor over the paracausal music she could only barely manipulate. "The Song has become one of Darkness, not suppression. Localized and powerful enough that we are unlikely to break it on our own. The rest of Xilong is now free of it – we are not."

"You have a suggestion?" Gordon asked nervously.

Aunor crossed her arms, deep in thought, before an idea came to her. "Gordon, ready your weapon to fire on that creature when the Resonance dissipates. Khojin, Fang, ensure that I am not interrupted. Do not let yourselves be touched by the weapons – it is probable that they will drain your Light."

"Understood," Khojin didn't waste more time discussing. "Fang, forward."

They moved forward to meet the Darkwielders, as a new frequency to the music began to sound as Aunor began what Fang assumed was another countersong of sorts – but unlike when he had sounded the one Note, this was a full melody. One that seemed to trigger the Darkbearers to action.

They split into groups of three – three on him, three on Khojin. They moved lithely, and he opened with emitting a bright flash of Light which staggered them, before conjuring a ball of purple energy and sending it towards one of them, which erupted with another flash, throwing them back.

The Resonance shield on it dissipated, but reformed, and Fang quickly realized it would continue to reform unless he killed them outright, or the Song was stopped. An idea came to him, one that was extremely risky, but which if he was right, would not only stop them, but kill them. He maneuvered back, using his weapon and Light in interchangeable succession.

The blades were falling, deflected with split-second shields of Light and his own agility. There was no other possible time to try this, so he summoned as much Light as he could into a sword of pure, burning brilliance. The Darkbearers realized what he intended to do, and tried to scramble back.

Too late.

He plunged the sword into the ground, and the immediate radius around him became an inferno of Light.

The Darkbearers screamed an unnatural cry as the circle of Light burned them. The Resonance around them dissipated as they withered in the paracausal force which was anathema to them. The Song appeared to be weakening, as he was able to maintain the burning circle until the last Darkbearer was turned to ashes.

He looked to see that Khojin had adopted a similar tactic. The sword she wielded was no longer one of pure Light, but one that was wreathed in gold-white flames. When she swung her blade, a wave of the Light-infused fire projected from it. One of them had already been burnt to ashes, and the other two were scrambling back.

The Resonance around the Darkbearer construct also seemed to be wavering; it seemed less intense; less potent than it had before. "Now!" Bahaghari ordered. Gordon lifted the Colony weapon, and fired what seemed to be a spread of silver balls towards the construct, which in mid-air activated like little spiders.

Dozens of them buried themselves on the flesh of the aberration, as they swarmed it and began to eat into it. Gordon launched another barrage, and the dozens turned into hundreds. It hadn't been an exaggeration – it really was a swarm. One which did quite literally consume its enemies.

Fang watched as the machines crawled into the mouths, across the exposed skin, tearing and burrowing into it. It was inevitable that the Song began to be disrupted; notes were missing and the melody broken. Gordon continued firing until there was nothing left, and the construct was covered in a second skin of silver and black blood.

Khojin hunted the last of the Darkbearers down, plunging her sword into one of their hearts, spontaneously combusting them, as Fang, with the Light returned to him fully, lifted his hands as the fire was summoned once more – but this time to consume the construct. Khojin leapt upwards, her sword swung, and the heads were decapitated.

The Song fell fully silent.

The construct lost all life and movement it once had, slumping like a dead plant as Khojin landed on the ground, the monstrosity slain. The drones of the Colony continued their feast, as they broke the body down into nothing.

Fang took a breath. All of them barring Gordon did as well.

"We did it," Khojin breathed, relief and pride in her voice. "Let's find the console and give Rasputin control. Fang? Let the Triumvirate know Xilong is ours."

He smiled, a smile of victory. "Yes sir."

However, one of them did not seem to be partaking of the celebration, subdued and brief as it had been.

Fang turned sharply as he heard a crunch behind him, and saw Aunor holding one of the Human thralls, one that had apparently survived their attack by hiding unlike the rest, in a telekinetic vice grip. The woman stared at it hatefully, the rest of the world seeming to fade around her.

Fang risked calling out. "Aunor?"


What had once been a man, around the same age as her, stared back at his captor with vacant eyes and an emptied facial expression, like if it were a husk that had once been filled. His arm was bent backwards, clearly broken, but the thing seemed to not mind at all.

Unacceptable. It would have to answer her.

"Scream." Aunor commanded, and with the flick of a finger, his other arm was torn out of its socket. She heard Fang call out to her, even beginning to approach - though was stopped by Khojin. She didn't pay attention, not yet; her only focus was the abomination before her.

Bahaghari was floating over her Guardian's shoulder, and eyed her companion with concern.

"Aunor, you know what you have to do," her Ghost quietly insisted. "He is gone. There is no saving those claimed by the Dark this thoroughly."

Not gone. It couldn't be completely gone. There was something there.

It was just pretending not to.

"Why don't you scream?!" She demanded of the thrall, her voice breaking for the first time. She shakily flicked her hand once more, this time twisting off the fingers from the man's remaining hand in a way that made Fang look away, clearly uncomfortable with what she was doing. Gordon seemed confused by everything happening.

"Aunor…it's okay. Kill him quickly, it's the only mercy we can give him at this point," Khojin said slowly, carefully, apparently confused over why her fireteam member was suddenly having difficulties dispatching a thrall, when they had already killed many before that point.

She knew that Khojin was confused. She tried to appear unbothered, but the truth was more complicated. After everything they had endured, seen, with a respite…even she couldn't keep it up forever.

They were powerful beyond measure, but they were still Human.

"Do you know…what it feels like to sing a Note, Khojin?" she began in a dead voice as her unblinking eyes tried to find a soul in the thrall to penetrate, but were met only by a void. A horrifying absence that only now she was starting to comprehend in its abyssal totality.

Khojin said nothing, and turned to look at Fang, who was just as unnerved as she was. Gordon turned his gaze towards the door behind Aunor, as if considering whether or not to leave in case the woman with supernatural powers snapped.

She continued, not knowing if she was listening; not caring.

"I saw…what they thought about. All of them. I heard…their voices. I…understood them, Khojin. It…it was the only way to…unravel their Song. I..I had to…join with them in…chorus." Aunor's hands were now balled into fists that were nonetheless shaking even as she attempted to regain control over herself.

The Song was silent now, but the chorus would remain with her forever.

Waiting to be released again.

Bahaghari immediately oriented herself to Khojin and Fang, and intercepted what they were going to say before the words left their mouths.

"Aunor is not compromised. Ontology is a neutral aspect of paracausality that both the Light and the Dark can harness. This is not corruption, but…psychological distress." the Ghost said in a reassuring and calm inflection, probably meant to put Aunor at ease as much as the rest of her fireteam.

"They're…empty. They are…less. Less. They are not Human, Khojin," Aunor managed. "What makes us us is…gone from them. They are shells. Hollowed out, to make way for…something else to fill them. This one hid…not because it was afraid. Not because…it wanted to live. But because it was made to…observe."

Like a probe. Like a camera.

"This crime…I can't…they are empty. Empty!" She raged, unable to stop a few tears from falling down her cheeks, for killing this thing that had once been a man, full of promise and life and dreams and hopes like her, would be no mercy. For there was nothing to avenge anymore. No spirit to help put to rest.

_-Saved, not emptied. Exalted, not damned.-_

The Guardians turned their heads forcefully as the voice emerged from the thrall. Khojin immediately brandished her Light, fists crackling with electricity. Fang's heart jumped to his throat, but he prepared himself as well. Gordon looked more and more like he wanted to get the hell out with each second that passed. "What's going on? What's wrong with everyone?"

The door behind them slammed shut, putting to rest those ambitions.

Aunor turned to face the thing which addressed her, her eyes expressing a mixture of horror and fury as she stared, and something else stared back from the eyes that had previously been empty.

An observer, in the nothing.

A voice in the abyss.

"Leave our home!"Aunor screamed as she bellowed a torrent of hellfire from her open mouth which incinerated the man's face to cinders.

_-This man was nothing before his liberation. One more in a sea of seven billion. Useless. Purposeless. Unremarkable. He is now so much more than what he could have ever become. He gave us his life. A small, fleeting, worthless thing, and we made him majestic. Saved, never emptied. Exalted, never damned.-_

The calcified lips continued to move, as if her brilliant fury were nothing but a comedic routine this creature had no time to entertain.

Aunor saw red, and let the man drop from the telekinetic grip. She threw himself on top of him, and began beating him with her bare fists, before she tore off his head with the strength the Light granted her, and threw the vessel that contained the accusing lips across the room, much to her fireteam's silent shock.

To her horror, however, the flesh on the bloodied stump which had once been the man's neck contorted and rearranged itself, until another pair of lips, red and pulsing with active muscle fiberscontinued speaking.

_-He feels no pain. He is beyond distress, unlike you. The true path to goodness is the elimination of suffering, and it is this honest path that we seek. There is no sorrow, for sorrow is a thing that is swallowed up in death, and death and dying are the very life that we offer. He lived irrelevant, he dies amongst black stars. Saved, false hopes emptied. Exalted, the wayward soul damned.-_

She stuck her hand down the neck stump, plunging her arm up to her shoulder in tainted blood, and made the corpse combust from within, her screams continuing as she desperately sought to drown out the voice which pounded against her head unlike anything she had ever felt in her life.

The ashes and charred bone fragments then proceeded to rearrange themselves again, and the man's face met her once more. In the emptied holes where eyes should have been, the embers of her Light were made to look as pupils. Small points of dark-golden luster, for their sinister aura looked nothing like her pure, brilliant Light.

The two small points held her paralyzed, as if she were encased in a block of ice up to her neck. Her heart was overworking itself in her fear, and she could not breathe as she stared unblinkingly at the two points.

And then, the grip was let loose, and she threw herself towards the ashes, desperately scattering them and throwing the bone fragments away from her sight.

"Aunor, stop! There's nothing there!" She could suddenly hear her comrades behind her, yelling in her ear to try and get through to her, as they pulled her back from the inoffensive pile of ashes she had been clawing at seconds before.

Gordon was paralyzed in fear on one corner of the room, keeping his weapon trained on her shakily, even as it only earned him angered stares from Fang and Khojin.

Had she…imagined all of that?

Had all of them?

_-Child of Sol, you cry out for Salvation. Do not be afraid, It will arrive soon.-_

She brought her hands to her head and screamed in agony over the invasion, for it felt like a black edge being stabbed straight through her head. She knew that if she had not been a Guardian and her mind had not been armored by the Light, she would have ended as a soulless husk, like the man she murdered in her blind rage. Empty. Empty.

"Bahaghari, get her off world now!"Khojin commanded the Ghost.

The last thing Aunor Mahal thought before she was given the sweet release of unconsciousness, was the black promise which had been etched into her very soul as it echoed endlessly inside her head.

It will arrive soon.


THE WHITE EXPANSE | NEPTUNE

Micah found herself collapsed on the ground, black fluids coloring the snow that had returned to white. Another battle where she had been driven back as the armies of Light had pressed onward.

She breathed heavily. Her body sank in the snow.

Her arms were cut and burned; her bones broken and limbs misshapen. Her body bled within and without. The snow around her colored a deeper black, as she briefly considered, only for a second, if she should stay. If it was hopeless now.

No.

She forced herself to one knee, ignoring the protestations of her body. It would obey her.

I will endure.

She had not come so far, accomplished this much, to succumb to the whims and weaknesses of flesh. She did not tire, she did not falter, she was the Master's Ambassador, and He demanded everything she had to give. If she allowed herself to give up, then she deserved to be cast aside and forgotten.

She would not be forgotten.

One foot upright, the other forcing her to stand. Hands clenched into fists. The emerald luster manifested once again, and she wrapped it around herself. Threads of what Was seamlessly weaving into her flesh, like perfect stitches. Wounds she had suffered faded, her organs and limbs broken, now restored. This was the power that the Light falsely claimed only they possessed.

Yet even as she restored herself, as she had done many times today already, she could sense it was growing more difficult.

The Song was fainter.

New, sour, abhorrent Notes were being introduced, disrupting the perfect melody. Evil spewing forth the lies of the Light, sung by the blinded puppet who called himself Valentin, who called himself Speaker. Whose honied words had dripped with poison and fake sympathy.

A child.

That was all he saw.

Nothing but a child.

Lost. Stupid. Incapable.

Because of course he would think that; his mind was addled by the delusions of the Light. Light that allowed nothing outside obedience and conformity to the divine who commanded it. Children were not supposed to understand, they were not supposed to make their own decisions.

Only the Traveler and Her enforcers had that authority, and even then they were drones slaved to Her limited vision.

All others who dared think or question were misguided fools – or threats.

And even as she tore down the Celestial's abhorrent creations, as she railed against the unholy prisons created, the Speaker did not even have the decency to acknowledge her. The reason they were here!

So little she was in their eyes. It was how it had always been.

Nothing but a child.

Before this was finished; before the last blow had been struck, and the last soldier fallen, she swore that they would see. They would recognize what she had done, and they would fear what a supposedly simple child had done, and how she was only the first.

On the planes of Neptune, she stood before a city in the distance; a monument to the Dark; a city of Truth, remade in her image, shorn of all trappings of illusion and grandiose features. And above the city, in Her pure glory, hovered the Celestial.

Golden, vicious, sickening pulses of light floated off of it, the surface rippling with translucent waves as if immersed in liquid, even as it glowed like a second sun over Neptune.

|| Begone, fallen one; warped construct of the Dark ||

The words of the Celestial wormed into her head, drowning out the Song, even her cherished connection to the psychic was disrupted. They were not words, so much as intangible expressions given meaning. Yet even then she sensed the words were not directed to her – but to the Intercessor.

She wanted to scream.

She would not be dismissed.

|| This is not your world to conquer ||

|| These are not your people to rule ||

|| This is not your battle to wage ||

|| Release them ||

Suddenly, Micah realized what was happening,

The Traveler was not speaking to the Intercessor.

She was speaking to the Savior.

They spoke in return; mirth in their voice.

_-Such threats. Such disrespect. Such haughty arrogance, from one possessing power so grand, and Light so bright. Eons pass, and you have not changed, Almaral.-_ They made a tsking noise, as if chastising a youth. _-Once more, it falls to me to repeat a truth that your kind would deny. Micah Abrams, do you wish to be released?-_

"No!" She shouted in defiance at the featureless ball of Light in the sky. "I made this choice. I have liberated Humanity from you!"

The Celestial paid her no heed.

|| She made no such choice ||

|| The Antiphon corrupts the mind ||

|| Poisons the thoughts ||

|| Slaves them to the Dark ||

|| You may lie to them ||

|| They may even believe you sincere ||

|| But the Light permits not the shadows to hide ||

Micah seethed at the complete dismissal. And still the Celestial refused to address her. To even comprehend that one might not listen to her dogma. She tried to lie, to instill doubt that this was what she wanted. That the Dark had been the one who had looked upon her, and saw her worthy; which sought to test her and push her to be her greatest.

The Savior's answer was one of an expected disappointment.

_-I tire of such disrespect, of which you appear to delight in. You raise such species as children, sheltering and protecting them as a mother does. But mothers allow their children to grow, to learn, to hurt, to feel, to grow. You?-_

Micah could imagine the psychic shaking their head.

_-No, Almaral. You are no mother. You are no protector. You are no savior.-_

The Celestial's shell appeared to be brighter.

_-You desire their love. Their adoration. Their worship. And so you keep them happy, content, stunted. Shielded and cocooned from the truth. And when the truth comes, they tremble, they cower, they die. And they wonder what could have been. If they had been allowed to think.-_

_-But you do not mind. For you will simply find more. They exist for your benefit, for your good – not theirs.-_

The Celestial did not answer. Micah did not know if She was cowed – or if such caustic accusations simply did not bother Her.

She felt as though this was far from the first time these two had spoken.

_-Now then,-_ the Savior's voice was pleasant, but biting. _-I am here only in support of the chosen Ambassador of the Ascendant Lord. Do not degrade yourself further by pretending you are ignorant of her station. Do not address me – address her.-_

Yes! If the Savior demanded it, perhaps the Traveler would at least see her for what she was. She would see her as something more than a hapless child who'd become ensnared in something she had no knowledge of.

She would be recognized as in control of her fate.

Even as everything was starting to come apart.

The Song being slowly silenced and perverted; her legions of the liberated being cut down faster than their souls could be transferred into new bodies. City after city fallen. The armies of Light and metal bearing down on her.

Yet still she pressed on.

This would be their only chance for Salvation.

|| Micah Abrams ||

Finally, acknowledgement!

|| I am only sorry I failed to protect you ||

|| You will not be forgotten ||

Pity!

She did not want pity.

She did not want apathy.

She did not want an apology!

Why did She act like this? Why did all of them act like this!

Because she was a child.

The Savior's voice soothed her, acting as a balm for her soul.

_-Such is the nature of the Lightborne . Do not despair, Micah. Never despair. Few can stand against the full might of a Celestial for so long. What you have done echoes through the cosmos. He is impressed by your strength. The Logic continues to hone your edge. Your role in this is far from finished.-_

Micah beamed to herself as she listened.

Even as the Traveler glowed brighter.

Even as the Song grew fainter.

What do I do now?

Around the Traveler, the Light became focused. It began pulsing, and the waves became concentrated into a single point as immense power was gathered. It was becoming so bright; the Light so potent, that Micah's skin began fizzling and her body began immolating on the spot, so powerful was the Light being summoned. She took a step back, as a white-blue beam of Light descended onto the city.

Her city.

Purging it.

Razing it.

The Savior's voice took on a hint of pointedness, as she was forced to turn away.

_-This world is no longer safe. Return to the Spire. You have done all that you can. Let them have this victory. They will throw themselves upon the Spire, and their lives will be the price of victory. Do not delay. Bravado will only hasten your demise, not shield you from it. We must plan our next steps.-_

Yes, she had more to do.

There was much to prepare for.

And they would remember her name – and remember it as she chose.

With the Strand Network wavering further, Micah wove the threads into another portal, and vanished to safety, as the Traveler razed the city of Darkness to ashes behind her, trees of silver wings and red flowers arising in its place.


THE WHITE EXPANSE | NEPTUNE

He was winning.

It was a waver in the air, a shift in the atmosphere, but one that was decisive in its implications. The Antiphon's power had started to wane; its grip over the planet lessening as Valentin's counter-song grew in strength. Perhaps it wasn't a true fair fight, as the Intercessor had not been designed to fight a Speaker.

It was not a true intelligent entity.

It was a construct.

A conduit.

A slave.

It was not alive. It could not really think like a living being could. It possessed the fatal flaw all artificial constructs designed for a purpose had - It could only act within the limits of its programming, such as it was. It tried, Valentin knew that it was trying to stop him, but as the intricacies of weaving a Song had become more natural to him, the longer he shaped reality around him, the clearer the limitations of the Antiphon became.

It made the Intercessor an effective tool, one more than a match for the average Lightbearer, let alone those outside the paracausal spectrum. Yet he was coming to realize why the Darkness would not, could not rely on these en masse. They were intimidating, powerful, and able to easily take any who fell to the grip of the Antiphon. Yet they lacked one critical element that allowed him to slowly, but certainly succeed.

Creativity.

Valentin found his own Song was so similar to the Antiphon that it was eerie. A slight adjustment to one paracausal Note produced one of similar audible tone, yet one that was completely different in implication. The Song did not seem to change overmuch if one heard it – but the effects of it certainly did.

He subverted, altered, and undermined it in ways the Intercessor could not anticipate or counter.

It tried.

Yet it was not an enemy that reacted as one alive. It was clinical. Cold. It reacted without emotion or frustration. It did not attempt to try and exploit his own methods, invent new ones, or lash out in anger - but simply shifted to the most perceived effective or defensive tactic. It possessed clarity – it did not worry, become emotional, or express disappointment.

It wasn't built for such things.

The doctrine the Intercessor worked off of was one of endurance and deduction. One that had its place, and would be useful in instances where he was more distracted.

As it stood, this was making the fight significantly longer, and required every ounce of his concentration – but it was almost over. No longer was Neptune filled with the Song that would enslave their minds, no more were the clouds weeping poison. No more were souls being snatched and redirected to the Spire to be repurposed into vessels of Darkness.

The clouds still hung, but they had turned silver. The rain that fell possessed an extra sparkle that would make the Darkness hiss upon impact. The gales and hurricanes had calmed or dissipated. Light touched Neptune from everywhere, no matter the time of day. And throughout all of it, Valentin felt the Light resonate through the Godsteel placed throughout the planet.

It was time to end this.

He did not need a radio or communication to tell him it was ready – the Godsteel metal reacted to the Light, and he knew that he could touch every part of the planet where the Darkness had taken root. The cleansing was upon them – and the Antiphon almost broken.

Now was the time.

He drew upon more power; the Light so strong and encompassing every aspect of his personality that the physical form of Valentin became nothing but a consciousness; as such a mortal vessel was unable to contain the sheer power that flowed through him. He had transcended into something higher.

He saw everything; reality bent to his command, and the Light was his tool.

Time to swing the scythe.

A single surge; a single motion.

Snap.

Across Neptune, the Godsteel rods that had been planted began to glow. The Triumvirate soldiers and Guardians alike who had planted them had noticed they had begun to adopt a more otherworldly shine as the battles progressed, and were vibrating as if responding to some kind of intangible signal.

The Triumvirate didn't know what it was, but the Guardians did.

All of them had felt it the longer they had fought. The pervasive sickness of the Darkness having slowly given way to the overwhelming power of the Light. They had become stronger, the Light more easier to wield. Only a few realized that Valentin had hijacked the Antiphon, turning it from a Song of Darkness, into one of Light.

And it seemed the chorus was about to reach its conclusion.

The rods vibrated and glowed with such intensity it blinded any who looked at them, before all of the rods across Neptune exploded in blasts of pure Light, followed by a thunderclap that shook the ground. The Nightborne filth and corruption that infested the ground was vaporized the instant the Light touched it, leaving purified snow, ice, and steel behind.

The corpses of the corrupted Humans were similarly atomized in the blasts, vaporized into nothing as if a bubble popped. Anything that had even been slightly touched or connected by the Darkness were erased, as if they had never existed at all. When the soldiers and Guardians warily opened their eyes, they found that they were perfectly fine.

They stood within cities that seemed to be completely empty; the wreckage and corpses they had fought gone, as if no battles had taken place. It became clear then what had happened. They'd succeeded. They'd won.

There were celebrations, cheers, and fists raised in triumph across Neptune as victory appeared to have been achieved. All of Neptune was cleansed – but for the singular place that had been outside the scope of the operation.

The Spire remained – the lone stronghold of Darkness that yet stood.

For most, the battle was won.

For the Guardians, the hardest part was yet to come.


UNDER THE ENOCHIAN SPIRE | NEPTUNE

It was not over, but the majority of the fighting was done.

The Antiphon was silenced, but for an echo emanating from the Spire in the cloud. The Strand Network had been shattered, and the hold that the Darkness had over the world dispersed. From ice plains to mountains, the surge of Light had expunged all Darkness.

All but for one place.

Valentin, Clovis, Elsie, and a number of the Fireteam Guardians stood under the Enochian Spire, for the first time visible from the ground, which hovered in the sky. Once it had been shielded by silver clouds before the corruption, then protected by swirling hurricanes of Darkness. Now the skies were clear, and truth laid bare before them.

The Spire had been the only part of Neptune that had been able to protect itself from the cleansing. Surrounding the entire structure was the faint sickly orange Resonance, so endemic to those who wielded the Dark. The last stronghold of the enemy – and Valentin feared, the most dangerous.

"Such a pity we can't destroy it." Clovis mused, looking up to the Spire with his reconstituted chassis. "You cannot perform another similar ritual to what you recently did?

A snort from Elsie. "If whatever Valentin did couldn't cleanse it, I don't think doing the same thing would work."

"She is right," Valentin confirmed. "The Intercessor has restricted its focus to the Spire. Even if it was not there, a Spire cannot be destroyed, it can only be Unmade – a skill which I have yet to master."

"'Unmaking.' And pray tell, what does that even mean?" Clovis wondered. "Nothing is invincible or indestructible."

"It means that She has anchored it in reality," Valentin explained. "She has locked it to only Be this, and nothing more. It cannot be destroyed by all causal, and most paracausal means. She has made it a Constant. Only another paracausal being of similar power or skill could undo it."

"Fascinating, if highly inconvenient," Clovis mused. "Then it appears our only path is to ascend."

"So it seems," Osiris agreed, arms crossed as he gazed into the sky. "What we achieved today was only the beginning. There will be worse ahead. Valentin, you said that the amplifier that is empowered is a girl, and she is alive?"

"Yes," Valentin looked at Clovis. "Do you know a Micah Abrams?"

Clovis took a moment to think, then nodded. "I did not know her personally, but she is the daughter of Dr. Coran and Dr. Hector Abrams…" he suddenly paused. "Ah, the picture becomes clearer. Coran Abrams was on the operation that recovered the Intercessor. Both of them were part of Clarity Control. Something curious – Dr. Coran recently went to Earth. He is alive."

That caused some of the Guardians to look to each other. Valentin, Osiris, and Shaheed exchanged a look. Valentin's tone was grim. "It is likely that the Intercessor chose her because she was most vulnerable. She is a child, yes?"

"A teenager, I believe," Clovis said, his tone dark. "Though it appears she is a child no longer. Nor Human."

"No, she is too far gone," Osiris shook his head. "I would advise, Valentin, that we do not involve the father still alive. She cannot be brought back."

"I know," Valentin said, as he looked into the clouds. "Yet in our encounter…she still had some part of herself left. She is probably scared; she has failed, and retreated. She will be desperate when we enter. What remains of the Spire's defenses and systems will be turned against us the moment we cross the threshold."

He turned his attention to Clovis. "The part of the Triumvirate is finished here. Your men will not survive this enemy. It falls to us to finish the job."

"For my soldiers, they will focus on restoring Neptune," Clovis said. "For myself, I intend to see this through to the end. This is a place Rasputin cannot enter, and you said as much as you will need my help. Even if you didn't – I hardly think you would turn down assistance now."

Valentin appraised him closely. "Any of us could die pursuing this. Understand that if you come, you may not come back."

Clovis did not seem deterred. "I have faced this Siren already, Speaker Kozhukhov. I am not afraid to do so again. Even if I die, then I die in the service of Humanity," Clovis looked towards him. "I know what this means – and I am not one to cower in Russia when a threat of such magnitude still looms. There are others as well. This is not just the Traveler's enemy – it is our enemy. Do not deny us this."

Valentin considered it, then nodded. "Very well, so long as you – and your chain of command – understand the risks. If you find volunteers, ensure this is communicated."

With that said, he moved to address everyone else. "We have some time. Heal, regroup, recover. We enter the Spire tomorrow, put Micah to rest - and destroy the Intercessor."


TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER XXV | CRESCENDO


Xabiar's Note: Sometimes I wonder how a professional editor would react if I presented a 50K single chapter to them. Would it induce a heart attack? Would they quit on the spot? Would they die inside? I don't know, but until that day comes, I guess these chapters will keep coming.

There was obviously a lot to cover here, and I hope that it was an interesting and enjoyable read for everyone. For those who've wanted to see the Guardians in action, hopefully this satisfied a lot of you, and it'll have a very nice conclusion in the next chapter. After that, the story itself will be wrapping up, so things will move quickly as well.

This chapter would not have been able to be done without the extensive work of Edumesh, who edited or rewrote a lot of the Neptune battle scenes, making all of them better than the first time around, and King for his help in the Milya scene. We also have Gemini who is joining the Destiny Editing Team.

When this posts, I believe there will only be a few days before Lightfall's release, which is obviously going to take my time, at least for a while (as for most of the team, I think). There are doubtless going to be things adapted from that, and I'm very curious as to what'll happen. I have faith that Bungie will do a good job, considering their work on Witch Queen.

Thank you all for reading, and see you in the next chapter!

- Xabiar


Edumesh's Note: Hello! Edumesh here. When Xabiar came up with the idea, many months ago, of turning the Neptune arc into our very first raid type chapter, I was super excited to get started on it and put as much work as was needed to help it be as good as we knew it could be, especially because this is an original raid scenario and not something that exists in the games at all, which those of you who are Destiny fans already know.

It took a lot of work and effort, as recent life circumstances have sapped some of the time I would have normally had available to get some writing done, but it is finally here and I can honestly say that I am very proud of this one. Our work on Titanomach is some of our best, but this chapter in particular stands a cut above the rest, and the very next one is going to be full of wild shit that I can't wait to push out the door.

Finally getting to showcase battles between paracausal beings, without the limitations of Destiny as a game that needs to take stuff like "balance" and "budget" into account, is something that I am very very excited to do. The fight scene between the General Secretary and the Ambassador in particular was very fun to write(the internal document for it is affectionately named the "Clovis and Micah Throwdown) and the next chapter is going to be filled with these moments.

I hope that you all enjoy this, and see you on the other side when Lightfall comes out next week. Destiny is about to change forever, and I am glad to be here to see it happen live alongside y'all.

PS. Nezarec is totally the raid boss, I'm calling it

- Edumesh