Lamo don't you love it when you write an outline for the things you wish to complete in this chapter - then, when you're halfway through you've got 4k words and 4 sections?

haha... TT-TT.

I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Armour: None

Weapon: None

Acc(0/12):

Health: (0/400)

She had a problem.

It wasn't that her projects were failing… that was a background problem. That was the general tenor of her existence for the past month – and experimental failures had become almost expected at this point. Besides, if nobody could solve a problem, it wasn't her problem.

No.

Her problem was The Mechanic.

I thought I got rid of that bitch…

Because apparently The Mechanic – Draedon's old star pupil – was back.

She was supposed to be kept under lock and key! That stinking Mage had promised nobody would ever see her again… yet here she was! That brilliant, upstart, red-headed genius had crawled her way out of whatever hellhole she'd been living in – and if that wasn't bad enough, she supposedly was carrying with her the solution to everyone's problems.

For the team, maybe this was a godsend!

For the Zoologist, this was a fucking disaster!

Imagine The Mechanic returned carrying the missing key to Project Nephelim? Or – heaven forbid – she came with the finished product itself? Hell. The Zoologist hadn't worked so hard just to be deposed by her predecessor. She'd gone to great lengths to get rid of her, and she sure wasn't going to let her just waltz on back and endanger her position as Head Assistant.

… but I really need that sample…

The Zoologist sighed and slumped back into her chair. She took in a long, deep breath and slowly released it, counting her racing heartbeats and willing them to slow. They didn't – but that was normal. She had always been a bit of a nervous wreck. A high functioning nervous wreck – to be fair, but a nervous wreck nevertheless. The constant stress, the demands, resource management, people management… it wore on her – but she couldn't just step back! She'd worked her ass off to get here, and now that she was on the top of the hill – she'd defend her perch with every bit of effort she could muster.

I wonder if she really has a miracle sample… There was a CC agent with her. Voice analysis says that Agent is a defector – but… tch…

The Zoologist threaded her fingers together and stretched them high over her head, loosening her shoulders and the stretching out her spine. She hadn't gone home last night. The moon was out, and the last time she slept in her own home during the full moon – her kitchen was so wrecked she had to get all the cabinets replaced. It was far better to spend her 'time of the month' in Draedon's laboratory – where everything was bulletproof. Besides, even while on rampage, she still got paid overtime.

*whirr…. thunk*

-kzzt- Subject Neph-0512 interred.

The Zoologist watched dispassionately as her latest failure was sedated and added to the ever-growing collection of glowing green tubes in the storage area. This one was unviable - but at least stayed breathing long enough to possibly serve as cell culture and research material. The Zoologist didn't know why she loved this place so much. It was… creepy, to be honest – but it was eerie in a comforting sort of way. Draedon's labs were always brightly lit – with the sole exception of this room. It was here that the blazing overhead lamps have been turned off and the only sources of light were the subjects' tubes themselves – which glowed and pulsed with a soft light. She had specifically requested that her office oversee the area, which was reasonable, since she was both the head assistant, and also the head geneticist, and had often walked amongst the forest of tubes to lose herself in her thoughts…

But today was no time for daydreaming.

The Mechanic was back.

They had conversed over encrypted messages, and just as The Zoologist had almost enough information to organize a strike to eliminate The Mechanic and retrieve the sample – all communication stopped. Dead silence. Nothing. There were several messages that came from the CC Agent's line – but, of course, she was forbidden from accessing the messages of a compromised unit. Decoding that encryption was… easy, but terribly, terribly illegal. Her finger had been hovering over the button for some time now. If she ran that program, surely Draedon would notice… Draedon wasn't a stickler for rules, but he might question her – and that was certainly a risk…

… but she needed to know where this mystery subject was.

And more importantly, she needed to know where The Mechanic was.

Because if somehow… somehow The Mechanic made it back and an investigation into her disappearance was launched… then…

No.

She ground her teeth, sat up in her chair, and – with a reckless glint in her eye - activated the decryption program. An Investigation? A Trial? No. Such a thing, The Zoologist would never allow to happen.

"No! Get away! Don't touch me! Ahh-ahhh!"

"Relax, lady! I said we're not gonna hurt you! Ouch!"

"Stay awayyy! Stay away!"

Now that he thought about it, it really was a little odd how calm and collected the first pink haired women was when his troops apprehended her and led her onto the Flying Dutchman's cargo hold. Because the typical response to... kidnapping was generally kicking, screaming, sobbing and biting - which was exactly what The second pink haired woman was doing, with great enthusiasm one might add. The Pirate Captain was terribly shaken by his own attempted murder, but feigned amusement as five of his scariest looking employees tried and failed to assure The 'Stylist' that no harm would befall her. Eventually, they realized it was futile and gave up. They simply bound her hands with a rope, tossed a bag over her head, shoved her in a broom closet and politely asked her to be quiet. Which she, of course, refused to do.

(muffled sobbing)'You scum! Let me go! Let me goo! I know your kind! Leave me be!'

Of course, the crew weren't going to do anything to The Woman. They were a bunch of robbers and thieves - but most had families of their own and didn't partake in some of the baser kinds of iniquities. The Stylist's wailing was causing visible distress amongst his crew, and the things she was saying were far more omnious, but The Pirate Captain was far more concerned with his own niece to address his men's discomfort.

"You! Get the doctor an make sure me Niece's leg be right! You - get the medic! ... An lassie! Can ye walk? Did ye twist it? Does it hurt?"

"I-I'm okay, Uncle. I'll be fine!"

He grimaced as several of his men scrambled in and carefully lifted The Bandit upon a gurney and shuffled her away.

Just moments ago The Pirate Captain was happily engaging in the festivities of his younger days - a time where this sort of barbary was was routine. Thirty years ago, when he still ruled the skies, he had often landed upon little unsuspecting villages - preferably one that was slacking on their 'protection money' payments - and just terrorized them. Just like he'd done today, he'd send his crew out to ransack the place. Eat anything they could eat, drink anything they could drink, steal anything of value, and then engage in a bit of kidnapping. People always sold for a good price. Young women especially. And so, The Pirate Captain was simply following market demands when he kidnapped the young woman in the area. Some were used, others were sold - and anyone who attempted to stop this most lucrative gathering of resources was slain in the most abominable manner. The poor man (it was nearly always a man) was stripped everything he had. He was beaten bloody, mocked, spit upon, told all sorts of terrible things and brought to despair... then killed, and tossed overboard.

...

But Dead-Eyes failed to follow the script.

...

It was The Captain's own fault. He had sorely underestimated the strange man. But in his defense, Dead-Eyes looked absolutely terrible, like he already had one foot in the grave and would barely survive the hour. Who wouldn't lower their guard around somebody who could barely crawl, much less fight? Perhaps The Pirate Captain had seen him kill thirty of his best men - but then, he was armed and healthy, guarded by men with strict orders not to kill him. Surely a hundred armed men could conduct a mere execution without complications!

"Docter! Docter, over here! - Get a splint! I think the tibia is broken again!"

"It's bruised badly. You two- help bring her indoors. Somebody go find antibiotics and a healing potion!"

Well they couldn't.

And amongst their crew, the only person who stayed vigilant was The Bandit.

So while the whole crew was laughing and milling about, gleefully watching Dead-Eyes get some comeuppance for slaughtering the entirety of Division #1, The Bandit had undone the straps in her chair and laid her drawn dagger in her lap. Dead-Eyes was unarmed. Hell, he didn't have anywhere to hide even a needle, much less a full, two handed sword! But regardless, he pulled a blade out of thin air - and with strength that seemed entirely otherworldly, shoved past five or six men with such violence, it was as if they've been run down by a bull. If not for for The Bandit's timely intervention, he would have beheaded The Pirate Captain in a single strike.

(where did he go? His body's gone? He didn't escape did he?)

(No way he escaped.)

(So where the fuck is the body!?)

And now, even though his remains had been stomped to a rest mist upon The Ship's deck, it was very clear to everyone in attendance that Dead-Eyes was someone they should not have touched. There was a discomfort amongst the crew now. A sense of ominous fear - as if they'd just poked a bear or stolen a dragon's precious eggs. Why were they scared? Dead-Eyes was dead! But even so, his hundred man crew hurriedly scrambled back upon the ship and began stashing everything away. There was likely more loot to be had - but the crew was too shaken to go after it. They cast worried looks at him, their fingers tapping against the ropes to hoist the sails. Clearly, everyone wanted to leave.

(You m-murderers! You evil kidnapping b-bastards! You think you've killed The Monster Knight?! Ha! No, you've killed yourself! When he comes back, he won't spare a single one of you! Let me g-go!)

The Pirate Captain hated to admit it, but he wanted to leave as well. There were more things to be done here. More secrets to discover. Apparently the first Pink Haired Girl had escaped with supplies. Apparently the hand somebody had cut free from Dead-Eyes was scrambling around and violently attacking people like some fleshy spider. Apparently Dead-Eyes was going to revive soon, and that would be quite an interesting to see - given there was nothing left of him but a bloodstain... but his gut was telling him not to.

His gut was telling him he'd best not flirt with death.

And so, with a shout and a wave of his hand - the sails were hoisted and The Pirates of The Theives Guild fled east.

She... she'd done it.

She'd stood face to face with that creature - and she'd slain it. She survived.

But that split second where she lunged from her seat to intercept him... that singular instant where she was nose to nose with a monster - was amongst the most terrifying moment of her life. She was frozen afore him, barely able to raise her blade, and - by some stroke of luck - he impaled himself upon it. From whence did his strength come? How was such a thing possible? Dead-Eyes was a shriveled wretch! Every part of him was broken. He face was torn apart. His gums showed through the gashes in his face, and all his limbs were bent in ways they shouldn't have... but even so - Dead-Eyes was terrifying. There was something otherworldly. Something completely different than anything she had experienced before.

No.

No that wasn't true.

He was like 'Faze'! He was like 'The Hero.' They had the same quality to them. That same sense of vastness - like they were giants puppeteering little humanish forms, or monsters jammed beneath the skin of mannequins. But whereas Faze seemed to behave with some manner of goodwill towards her, where he seemed to seek out human contact and to blend in. To make friends. To learn, and to explore and to wonder at all the new things this world had to offer... Dead Eyes didn't.

Dead Eyes wanted to kill her.

Dead Eyes wanted to kill her Uncle.

Dead Eyes wanted to kill her friends, and her family, and everyone she was associated with. He reeked of hate. It rolled off his skin. It shone is his eyes. It glinted off his bloodstained teeth. It was clear in every one of his movements, from the way he clutched his blade, to the furrow in his brow when he stared at her - his gaze unnervingly stable even as the hilt of her knife lay flush in his throat. Just... just who was he? She had never met this man before, but he hated her. He hated her with a poignancy so extreme, it was unnatural to man. And had he merely been a man, such hate was easily silenced in death... but Dead-Eyes was no man.

(Captain, are you okay? Do you need a medic?)

(Eh, I'm fine! Make Pinkie shut up. Gag her or something.)

(footsteps)

No. He certainly wasn't a man. A man could not glare at her with such vindictiveness in his dying moments. A man in his death throes was scared. He was selfish. He cried and he wept and he feared what was to come... but Dead-Eyes had no fear. Death was nothing to him.

Because he was... He was a Terrarian.

And Terrarians... they could not die.

So...

So was he coming back? Was he goin-

(muffled) 'You m-murderers! You evil kidnapping b-bastards! You think you've killed The Monster Knight?! Ha! No, you've killed yourself! He won't spare a single one of you-urmph'

'...'

The Bandit sighed and shut her eyes. She laid her blade across her chest and stared at the ceiling of The Captain's quarters.

And the only thought that overshadowed her mind was just this:

That today, she had made for herself a terrible enemy.

In all of his long years, The Wizard had never seen anything like it. He sensed no hexes or magical signatures upon him, nor any strong delusion spells, nor hallucinogenic agents. Nothing. The Guide - the only professor ever hired to The Capitol's Arcane University without an inborn magical aptitude - seemed to have simply gone insane.

Now, The Old Wizard generally held the non-magicals in low esteem. The current politics of the age required he not be so overt in his biases - but given his age and his status as a tenured professor, The Old Wizard was convinced he could be as mean and magick-ist as he wanted, and face no repercussions whatsoever. The result of this was a series of increasingly extreme pranks orchestrated against their newest hire - with The Wizard as the pranksters' unofficial ringleader. Of course, there was no real intention to drive The Guide away or - heavens - kill him but when the chips fell and the dust cleared, the result was one dead Guide, A hundred reporters on the doorstep, and an HR nightmare of epic proportions.

And so - although The Old Wizard hadn't lifted a finger to kill The Guide at all, (he had proposed the whole affair was merely an accident, and was shouted down for it) he found himself as the prime suspect in the man's murder. Yes, it was a somewhat reasonable accusation. It was clear to almost everyone that he didn't like The Guide much at all, and he had made no efforts to hide the fact. Indeed, he had lectured and written at length opposing CAU's decision to hire the supposedly brilliant young man! For him to now suddenly be killed, not even two months into being hired? Well... that really was terribly suspicious.

Absolutely ridiculous! Useless magickless brat - if you only stayed alive you could have saved me so much heartache!

And The Guide hadn't even fallen down the stairs or something equally omissible! If he had simply been found dead at the bottom of a stairwell, or perhaps been killed by a blunt strike - maybe The University would be able to argue he had merely suffered an unfortunate accident. Of course, they would likely need to fight a lawsuit and perhaps settle for some amount (The Guide's family was one of moderate status - they certainly would not be able to win a suit against such a large and well funded organization, and would most certainly settle) but there wouldn't be any need for this kind of deep investigation...

But no.

The Guide was found beheaded in The Golem's chamber - five hundred feet underground and hidden behind no less than fifteen padlocks - all of which had been shattered. Somebody who had access to The Underground Temple - namely, The University Staff - had taken The Guide down into the Golem's chamber and executed him there. What barbary! It was sensationalist barbarism, and The Wizard was convinced that somehow - somebody had done this to frame him for murder! Perhaps he had the means, the knowledge and the ability to orchestrate The Guide's gruesome death... but the truth was the he simply didn't do it!

Somebody in Yharim's court must be targeting me! Perhaps that damn commander has done this to bring me down...

crunch...crunch... thud.*

The Old Wizard huffed as he shuffled into his office and allowed the carved mahogany door to slam shut behind him. His office had always been a bit messy, but today it was far messier than usual. Books were scattered about his office; a pot of herbal tea had spilled in his armchair, and there were what appeared to be hundreds of flyers and notes scattered across his floor in a fanned formation - clearly having been slid from the gap beneath his door. From this morning until the evening, his phone had been ringing so constantly he'd smote the thing into smoking ash (he never understood these new technological hijinks anyways). Students and staff alike had been busy signing petitions and statements condemning him for The Guide's 'harassment and subsequent murder' - and when his mailbox was full of these letters, they'd resorted to shoving them under his office door.

It was all moral posturing, that bunch of hypocrites! They behaved as if they didn't participate in hexing everything The Guide owned! They acted as if they didn't excitedly watch The Guide's well recorded reactions to their many pranks... But alas, each and every staff member - some of whom had been collegues with him for decades - were quite happy to condemn him and wash their hands of the matter.

Calling for me to resign?! How could they!

And so... The Guide was dead.

Properly dead, too. Autopsy, Death Certificate, DNA verification, the works. Over a period of forty-eight hours, every doubt concerning 'The Guide really being dead' was put to rest. His parents had gone to the press. His sister had raised a stink amongst The University donors... it was an enormous mess. Enough of a mess that The Wizard sorely regretted bullying the man to such an extent. Not necessarily because he was convinced the magickless masses deserved the same level of respect that mages did - but because such a thing clearly caused far more trouble than it was worth. Next time - if there was a next time - he'd just keep his mouth shut.

Tch ... ungrateful brats

Because it was because of his big mouth that it was widely, widely theorized that The Wizard was The Guide's killer. The chatter got him put on probation. He'd been questioned by CC agents. He'd been vilified, cut out from social circles... he had even been barred from his great-great-great-great grandson's birthday celebration next month!

And then...

It happened two days later. Madame Administrator had put together an early morning mini memorial service in The Guide's office - and with the eyes of high society keenly upon them, nobody dared to miss the event. The small room was packed, with every staff member - looking nervous and dressed in appropriate mourning clothes. Some of them seemed to be faking tears. Others spent the entire time glaring directly at him - as if blaming him for causing this entire useless debacle. On The late Guide's desk was a memorial wreath and a photo of his smiling face. The place was decorated with flowers and gifts - letters from students, bottles of wines, chocolates... again, posturing.

And Madame Administrator had been in the middle of a eulogy when the door was opened, and The Guide walked in.

...

To say the room was flabbergasted was an understatement. Was he an illusion? Was this a prank? Perhaps the students had engaged in some tasteless joke and cast polymorphic magic upon somebody. But after a few moments - and a few verification spells cast sneakily from beneath black mourning robes, the room of university staff realized that The Guide was very real, very alive and very corporeal. He had stood in the doorway of his office, looking halfway startled and halfway hostile (as he always did - reasonably, one might add) before something came over him.

Because the moment his eyes landed upon his memorial photo, his face went blank - like a mask, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Something seemed to overtake him, something odd and otherworldly seized caused him to hurl himself at that wreath of fresh flowers begin to consume it with the desperation of a starving man. He smashed the wine bottles. He swept the chocolate onto the floor... then.

Then he blinked.

He returned to his senses. He was covered head to toe in flowers, sopping wine and bits of chocolate - but he seemed unable to perceive it. He merely planted a hand on his hip and frowned at all of them.

"What's happening? Why is everyone in my office?"

"..."

Panic, confusion, indignation - there was little time for any of it - because The Guide's eyeballs rolled into the back of his head again, and this time, he went completely ballistic. Perhaps it was his troglodyte roots coming to bear. Or perhaps whatever force seized upon him had reverted his brain to that of a monkey, because the Guide who had always been a peaceful intellectual had begun to holler and scream like a witless caveman. He picked up his table lamp and began waving it like a weapon until he'd chased everybody out of his office and slammed the door behind them.

Faze: so what's your go-to conflict resolution?

MK: Beheading!

F: no, I mean like - little conflicts. Ones that are not violent.

MK: Also Beheading.

I retconned a few lines of dialogue from my last chapter because My brain wasn't working. My Co-author caught it.

Thanks for reading yall!

Gimb: I am making MK's ass canonically thicc asf I have author powers.