AN: My vacation is over, so I'm back to my irregularly scheduled uploads. When will DarkDailer upload the next chapter? A day? A week? Not even I know!

'The Spider' POV

The moment Mavriel steps out of sight, Spider's jovial facade fades, replaced by an impatient scowl. His limbs twitch as he motions for one of his lieutenants, a wiry Vandal, to step forward.

"Find everything you can on this Crow." He snaps, the friendly tone he used with the self-titled Wizard now replaced by irritation. "I don't care what you have to do. If he's a Lightbearer, there will be someone out there who's heard a whisper or seen him in action. Start with the hidden channels among the outlaws, then move through our Reef contacts." He pauses a moment, before continuing. "See if the Outrider knows anything. She owes me for hiding that Corsair of hers from the Barons."

The lieutenant nods, scurrying off, and Spider's eyes narrow as he watches. "I may not know who this 'Crow' is." He mutters, half to himself, half to the silent audience of his bodyguards. "But I will."

A slow, calculating grin creeps across his face as he settles back into his throne, scheming in the dim light.

Mavriel POV:

Partially thanks to my tracking perk and partially thanks to Spider's Intel, I've managed to find my way into the labyrinth of structures Fikrul has taken to using as a fortress, the heavy stench of Dark Ether hanging in the air like smoke. The layout is vaguely familiar, but everything is scaled up, far more intimidating than it ever seemed in the game. Crude metal towers and narrow catwalks loom overhead, while ragged cloth drapes over railings leading into the void of space, fabric shifting in the stale, poisoned air.

Wisps of Dark Ether pulse around me, tainted energy coiling through the place like a living presence. Through my helmet filters I catch a scent like spoiled oil and ash, and in the murk, a wet, twisted voice reverberates through the area. Not on my comms, no… definitely some form of auditory sorcery.

"Hello, dead thing…" Fikrul rasps, garbled and venomous. "Come to slaughter my children? Or maybe… me? You die instead."

I ignore Fikrul's taunts, since he says similar every time a Fireteam comes to take him out again. While I wasn't too enthusiastic about Zavala's recruitment, access to the archives has proven its worth here, allowing me to refresh myself on a Strike I hadn't played in a few years by watching videos of a few of the previous times he's resurrected. I have to wonder if Fikrul suffers some form of mental degradation when he comes back, because he doesn't really change up the layout of the area at all, only shifting the kinds of Scorn he uses to defend.

I slip forward onto the first walkway, crouching low as scattered Scorn patrol ahead. Five raiders shift in the dimness, hunch-backed and shambling as they search for intruders.

I gather my Void Light, channeling it, feeling it surge through my fingertips. With a flick of my wrists, I send a Pocket Singularity flying through the air, the entropic energy ripping through a raider before it even registers my presence. It collapses, its body exploding into Volatile energy and throwing one of its comrades off the walkway to its death.

The rest turn, alerted by the sound, their low growls echoing as they ready their weapons. I call upon a trick I wheedled out of a Hunter in exchange for a free weapon enchantment and twist the Void around me like a cloak, shifting out of sight just as a crude void weapon is fired in my direction. It passes by my now invisible form.

Emerging from invisibility behind them, I coil Void energy in my hand, shaping it into a Vortex Grenade. The purple orb hums with power as I send it streaking toward the cluster of Scorn. It detonates in a swirling shockwave that consumes them all, tearing through their forms as they disintegrate, ripped apart by the relentless pull of the Void.

{Rolling…

Domain - Citadel At The End Of Time - Loki (600 points)

Roll Failed. Current stockpile: 350 Points.}

A new pale white orb of energy escapes the purple vortex, flying into me and replenishing a decent chunk of the Light I expended. Nice to know that perk works on the Light.

"Sword please." I mutter into my helmet, and my partner answers, the Moonlight Greatsword materializing in a new holster on my back, instead of my outstretched hand.

I blink in surprise, and Spectre explains. "I had a lot of time to myself while you were enchanting weapons, so I picked this up for you. It's a standard magnetic holster, so the blade won't catch on anything. Should work on most other weapons too."

I reach backwards and with a minor exertion pull my blade free, before putting it back and repeating the motion a few times. "I love it. Thank you, Spectre."

"You're welcome!~" She happily chirps.

I push deeper into the winding pathways of the Scorn stronghold, each step echoing softly against the cold metal underfoot. Shadows ripple and shift as I move, keeping my senses sharp, Void energy crackling just beneath my skin. I draw my sword, its blade gleaming faintly with arcane energy, ready to tear through anything in my way.

Another group of Scorn comes into view; a scattered patrol lingering at the edge of a wide curved catwalk. I leap forward, and before they even realize I'm there, I blink past them, reappearing just in time to swing my blade in a wide arc. The first raider falls, its form slashed clean through by the basic slash.

The others react, growling as they close in with makeshift weapons raised, but I blink again, leaving only a faint shimmer in my place as I dodge their attacks. I reappear above them, dropping down to land with diagonal strike. My blade cuts through two more, dark Ether spilling into the air as they collapse in heaps.

The last one snarls, firing a disc of Void in my direction. I dodge, and in a fluid motion my flaming wings momentarily manifest, sending my body surging forward as I swing the sword upward in a brutal final strike. The raider crumples, bisected.

I push onward, traversing a series of platforms and winding walkways, cutting through scattered groups of Scorn who try to stand in my way. Each encounter is a blur of movement and Light; a series of blinks, slashes, and Void grenades that carve my path forward. I take few hits to my new Light based shield here and there, but none manage to break it before the attacker dies to my counterattack. No need to focus on a Pyro barrier here.

I step into a wide, open chamber, the air heavy with the stench of corrupted Ether. The architecture here is twisted from normal Eliksni fare- haphazard totems, scaffolding tangled like webs, and hanging chains swaying in the stillness. A large, circular plate sits embedded in the center of the floor, practically inviting me forward. I know how this works; I step onto it, feeling a low hum as the mechanism begins to unlock.

The moment I make contact, the room crackles with energy. Wisps of Dark Ether swirl around, and with a sickly pop, the Scorn appear, Fikrul's twisted magic pulling them in from elsewhere. They gather around me; raiders, stalkers, and lurkers, their twisted forms radiating malice.

I don't hesitate. I reach out with my off-hand, channeling Light, letting it pool and surge until I slam it into the ground. A swirling rift blossoms out, filling the air with a pulsing energy that suffuses my weapons, each humming with amplified power. Spectre sees fit to swap my sword for an unremarkable rocket launcher, one of my enchanted ones, and take aim at the left side of the advancing wave.

I fire a rocket, watching as it arcs toward a cluster of Scorn, detonating in a fiery blaze that scatters them in pieces. Another rocket, another blast; my shots deliberate, careful not to push my fire rate too hard and blow myself on the exhaust trail of the last fired rocket. The plate beneath me hums louder, unlocking slowly.

Finally, with the last explosion, the wave falls silent, scorched remnants littering the floor around me. I hear a metallic clank as the mechanism in the plate clicks into place, and I look up to see the door ahead unlocking. But before I can move, a barrier forms over the door, dark and crackling, trapping me in.

A new hum fills the chamber, low and ominous. I whirl around as another wave of Scorn teleports in, and scowl as a massive Scorn walker appears, its missile pods already locking onto me. It's armed to the teeth: missiles, flamethrowers, and Void blasters.

The smaller Scorn swarm forward, eager to close the gap. I blink forward, dodging a stream of missiles that streak past, exploding against the wall behind me. Spectre materializes my sword in my hand, moonlight coursing along the blade's edge as I swing it in a deadly arc, cleaving through the first few raiders to reach me.

A stalker lunges at me, claws bared, but I blink once more, reappearing behind it to deliver a swift slice before it can even react. More enemies rush in from the right, their bodies warped and barely recognizable as they stumble forward. I gather crackling Pyro energy in my hand, hurling it into the group in a wave of flame that surges through their ether-thick bodies, leaving them charred and smoking.

The Drifter was right, Scorn blood really is flammable.

The walker shifts, its legs clanking as it recalibrates, missile pods aiming at me again. I blink just in time, evading the barrage that explodes into the ground where I stood, leaving scorched craters in its wake. Another raider lunges, and I swing up, slicing it clean in half. A lurker charges at me next, clutching a rusted shield, swinging it like a bludgeon. I parry, driving it back, only to spot a Screeb scuttling toward me from the corner of my eye.

I pivot, kicking the Screeb away before it can detonate, sending it tumbling into a Scorn Chieftain who's in the midst of summoning a flaming totem. The Screeb explodes on contact, engulfing the Chieftain in a dark, volatile cloud that ends its life.

{Rolling…

Benevolence - Curse Resistance - Fate/Faerie Britain (50 points)

Roll Success. Current stockpile: 350 Points.

Purchase Curse Resistance?}

Curse Resistance

Curses are an endemic problem in Faerie Britain, especially in the form of the Mors. The touch of a Mors spreads the Mors Curse, turning regular faeries into more Mors. Fortunately, you have this perk to protect you; it isn't immunity to curses, but it gives you a resistance that allows you to ignore weak or casual curses, and you could withstand a dozen hits from Mors in a single battle before you risked succumbing to the Curse.

A brief surge of thought acceleration lets me quickly understand the perk, and I decide it is worth the paltry cost.

Yoink.

Turning back, I grab the lurker I blocked by the throat, feeling the Pyro energy coiling in my hand as I channel it into the creature's body. It thrashes as the energy fills it, it's blood only a step away from igniting, but I fling it forward, right into the walker's front leg. A snap of my fingers, and the energy rampaging through the lurker detonates, taking the walker's leg with it in a blaze of metal and igniting Dark Ether.

The walker stumbles, legs straining to bear its weight. The front armor grinds open, vents hissing as it attempts to redirect power and keep standing. A protective bubble shield materializes around it in desperation, but I don't hesitate. I draw the Void Light from deep within, pulling it from my core, focusing the power through my hands as I press them together.

The Void gathers, pooling and compressing as I shape it into a sphere that grows dense with entropic potential. Its edges shimmer, a dark purplish-black hue radiating out like ripples on water, and a low hum builds, vibrating through my bones. My wings materialize once more, and I use my enhanced mobility to dash forward and hurl the imitation of a black hole into the walker, before blinking backwards and out of the shield.

My Nova Bomb streaks through the space in a violet blaze, zeroing in on the walker's exposed core. It connects with a devastating impact, detonating in a swirling shockwave that rips through the tank's frame, tearing it apart. The light fades, leaving only smoldering wreckage where the walker once stood.

I exhale, lowering my hands as the smoke and Dark Ether settle. Fikrul's voice echoes through the area once more. "It brought pleasure killing my children, I'm sure. Your uncontrollable bloodlust, taken out on all held dear."

"Fikrul's really trying to make you out to be a bad guy, huh?"

Spectre comments.

"He's not exactly a paragon of sanity." I respond, already moving forward.

The next room is quiet, the space dominated by large gear-like structures turning in steady, grinding rotations. Below, some boiling liquid churns with an ominous hiss, filling the air with a metallic, acrid scent. I barely glance at it before drawing on the Light and Gliding over, the slow churning of the liquid beneath a distant concern.

Beyond, I enter a new chamber, my eyes drawn to a large fire burning in its center. Around it, five Scorn wraiths stand, heads lowered in an almost ritualistic formation. One of them stands taller than the rest, its armor more reinforced, heavier, as if marking it for some elevated status. It might be a test, a twisted rite of passage to becoming a Chieftain, possibly.

They sense me, their heads snapping up in unison, eyeless helmets angling in my direction. I take control of the tempo of the fight, blinking into the center of their formation, my thought acceleration spiking to over three times normal speed as I draw my hand cannon. Four bullets fly, each one precisely finding the gap beneath a helmet, downing the smaller wraiths in rapid succession. The larger one staggers back in instinctual surprise, raising its flaming torch-like weapons in a challenge, but I extend my off-hand in a palm strike, channeling raw Light for a weak pulse of kinetic force. It hits the wraith square in the chest, sending it hurtling backward into the fire.

The flames leap, consuming the wraith in an eruption of Dark Ether until it dissolves into ash unnaturally quickly. I step past the smoldering remains into the next room, where two circular plates wait, each raised several meters above the floor. I pause in contemplation, then burn a portion of my magicka to conjure a spectral wolf at my side. Its ghostly form shimmers faintly as it materializes, and with a thought, I direct it to the right plate while I step onto the left.

Both plates hum as we step on them, lowering slowly with a deep, mechanical groan. Then, unsurprisingly, the room pulses with Dark Ether, and the space fills with the telltale wisps of teleportation. Scorn begin to appear; raiders, stalkers, most focused on me, though a few break off to face the spectral wolf, which stands its ground with a snarl, ready to defend its position.

Spectre materializes a Suros machine gun in my hands, and I let the trigger fly, unleashing a storm of bullets that rip through the oncoming horde. Each shot punches into the raiders, sending bursts of ichor into the air, while across the room, the wolf lunges at a pack of stalkers that venture onto its plate, spectral teeth tearing through their rotting flesh.

Finally, both plates lock into place with a loud clank, and the heavy grated door ahead begins to rise, revealing the path forward. But before I can move, a low, guttural roar echoes through the chamber, and a massive Scorn Abomination lumbers forward from the darkness, its bloated limbs pulsing with Dark Ether. Coils of lightning arc around its arms, crackling with lethal energy.

The spectral wolf lunges forward, its jaws latching onto the Abomination's chest and tearing into the swollen, pustulous flesh. But the beast retaliates, bringing both of its massive fists down with a thunderous slam, destroying the wolf in a shockwave of energy.

Right, that guy's a bit too big for regular bullets. I throw myself behind a pile of scrap, my thought acceleration surging as I contemplate methods of quickly dispatching the massive monstrosity that's blasting apart my cover as it lumbers closer.

{Rolling…

Benevolence - Divine Intervention - Magi: Alma Torran (200 points)

Roll Success. Current stockpile: 300 Points.

Purchase Divine Intervention?}

Divine Intervention

As a whole, Ill Ilah isn't the kind of god that regularly interferes in the lives of its creations. Indeed, it's debatable whether it's even a conscious being or, as Solomon postulated, a mere lump of unfathomable power without will. The latter would definitely go a long way to explaining the literal gaps in reality in the world it created. However, it did intervene just once, descending from the heavens to save mankind from extinction, erasing the ogres who threatened them and granting the surviving humans the power of magic. It has never intervened again, but if it were to, it would be on your behalf.

For some reason, gods and other higher powers seem to be much more receptive to your requests for aid, and so are much more likely than before to heed your prayers. The smaller in scale or easier your prayers are to grant, the more likely they will be to answer them. A simple prayer for rain would almost certainly be granted, whereas something more powerful like destroying an entire army would be much less likely to be granted. It's worth noting, though, that you'd have much better chances than almost anyone else, and those chances would likely rise significantly if you were to offer the god something in return, such as a sacrifice or favour.

Any perk that makes the Traveler more likely to assist me in the future is a good one.

Yoink.

I shift my attention back to the Abomination, inching closer in my accelerated perception of time. I consider drawing my sword, but the memory of what happened to my spectral wolf flashes through my mind. No, I'm not keen on ending up like that, not without a heavy barrier spell protecting me.

...Maybe it's time to try something new.

I surge from cover, blink shifting me in quick bursts as I dodge around its lightning blasts, each strike splitting the ground where I'd been only moments before. I close the gap, Void energy already crackling under my skin. I let the Light flood into my body, feeling it pool and expand, shaping into something more powerful.

I push deeper, feeling the Void morph, trying to harness it into a Nova Warp to rip through the Abomination. But something's wrong. The Void stirs wildly, slipping out of my control, and before I can stop it, the energy within me surges too fast, too violently.

"Fu-"

My world goes dark as my body, along with the front half of the Abominations disintegrates in a flash of purple light.

A flicker of light breaks through the darkness, soft and familiar. Slowly, the world comes back into focus as I feel myself reassembling; particles aligning, reforming into a coherent shape. The sensation fades, and I'm whole again, lying on the cold ground without my helmet. There is a bone-deep sluggishness that remains, though.

Spectre hovers above me, her eye flickering erratically in what I recognize as her version of full-on panic.

"Oh, thank the Light!" She says, sounding almost breathless. "Do you remember everything? Please tell me you remember everything."

I push myself up, flexing my fingers to test that they're all there, a small frown on my lips as I note their slow response time. "Yeah, I remember."

Spectre lets out a huge sigh of relief. "Good. Because I wasn't sure if that would...you know, scramble anything important the first time I did it." She tilts in closer. "So, what in the Traveler's name just happened? One second, I see you channeling Void Light, and the next…" She gives a little shudder, the memory of the explosion still vivid.

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck, trying to acclimate to the ache of resurrection. "I tried casting a Nova Warp." I say, scanning the scorched remains around us. The twisted remains of the Abomination are scattered across the room, its limbs scattered in obsidian craters, with shards of bone embedded in the walls. "But… I think I may have actually cast a Nova Bomb...inside myself."

Spectre's shell widens in something like disbelief. "You what?"

I give a sheepish shrug, glancing around at the blast radius of my mistake. "Looks like I miscalculated." Understatement of the century. If it was that easy to learn a new super, somebody would have already done it long ago. Doesn't even seem to have been any more effective than a regular Nova Bomb.

Spectre's eye dims, hovering closer as she whispers. "Please don't scare me like that again. Recreating a super shouldn't be done in the middle of a mission, and especially not without any real idea what you're doing."

I glance over at Spectre, her shell hovering unsteadily beside me. She's still shaken, and I can't blame her. I just died.

… I'm surprised I'm not traumatized. Am I that apathetic to the idea of dying? Surely it affected me somehow, right?

I shake myself and take a focusing breath. Muse on your mental problems later, Mav. "Sorry, Spectre. Didn't mean to scare you like that. Look on the bright side though… We now know you can resurrect me without any adverse effects! I'd say that's valuable information."

Spectre hovers closer, her voice soft. "Are you sure you're ok?"

"Of course I am. After all…" I curl my toes and fingers, wiggling the stiff digits to return them to their previous dexterity, before sending a genuine smile my partner's way. "You've got my back."

"A.. well… yes… but…" She stammers, embarrassed by my faith in her.

I give one last wiggle of my digits (still a little slow, but it'll have to do), before picking my helmet up from the ground and pausing. "Hey, how was I able to breathe without a helmet?"

Spectre sees an opportunity to escape her embarrassment fueled stuttering and takes it. "E-er, well, this room is pressurized. You don't think all these doors and barriers are only to keep people out, right? It's also to keep breathable air in. It's actually quite interesting how most races favor an Earth-like atmosphere…"

Since my conversation with the Spider, my tracking perk, [Possessive Predator], has tugged at the edges of my awareness, subtly pulling me toward Fikrul's location. Up until now, I haven't focused enough to really lock onto him, but something about that last fight, and my messy self-detonation, stirred something in me. My thoughts sharpen, and the perk kicks into overdrive, guiding me through unexpected shortcuts in the stronghold, weaving me closer to my target.

The path leads me deeper, into the very heart of the Scorn stronghold. More Scorn try to intercept me; smaller, lesser units, but I barely pause. A few clean shots from my hand cannon silence each one, the recoil almost rhythmic, each kill feeding a trickle of energy back into my reserves. The perk's tug sharpens, honing my focus further, pulling me closer.

A long bridge stretches out before me, swarming with Screebs. Not in the mood for an exploding crowd, I call on my wings and lift off, gliding overhead and raining gunfire down from above. One by one, they detonate in bursts of energy, clearing the bridge in a blazing chain reaction. I land at the far end, the pull of my perk growing stronger with each step.

Then, I feel it. The air grows heavier, charged with a malice that's nearly palpable. I step into a sprawling chamber carved from dark metal, the remains of dead servitors strewn about like sacrificial offerings. At the center of the room, Fikrul's staff floats within a ritual circle etched deep into the floor, pulsating with twisted energy. The atmosphere is thick, dense with the feeling of an emotion all too familiar.

Oh yeah, this guy really despises Guardians.

{First Resurrection +100 points

Rolling…

Illusion - Arcane - World of Darkness: Sorcerer (100 points)

Roll Success. Current stockpile: 200 Points.

Purchase Arcane?}

Arcane

You have the mystical trait known as "Arcane" that makes it extremely difficult to be remembered or detected when you don't want to be. This also provides a degree of protection against sympathetic magic.

Combined this with Void invisibility, and I'd probably be the sneakiest guy around.

Yoink.

Fikrul's voice slithers through the room, echoing like a corrupted hymn. "You die. The Scorned Barons rise again. Take back the Shore, the Reef. You, forgotten. Father, remembered. My children, alive. SORA, DEAD!"

The room pulses as Dark Ether coalesces, and Fikrul materializes: a towering, warped figure of twisted flesh and malevolent energy. His staff hovers in his grip, a dark beacon of Ether and crackling arcane power. With a snarl, he raises it high, lightning bursting from the tip in blinding bolts that tear through the air toward me.

I throw myself to the side, dodging the searing blasts as they scorch the ground where I stood. With a quick mutter of "MG!" my machine gun is out in a flash, and I open fire, rounds hammering through the thick Ether cloud that surrounds him. Each hit chips away at the cloud, sparking against the foul energy but thinning it, bit by bit. Scorn Stalkers teleport into the fray, their weapons raised, but I swing my aim in one swift motion, cutting them down before they can even take a step.

The Void swells within me, and I channel it, launching a Nova Bomb that rockets toward Fikrul. It detonates with a violent surge, purple-black energy cascading through the room and searing the ground in its wake. For a moment, I think I've finished him, but the haze clears to reveal Fikrul, staggered but still standing. The blast has sapped a good chunk of his Dark Ether cloud, though he's still far from beaten. With a sneer, he vanishes, his defiant growl echoing in the air.

Before I can take a breath, a new swarm of Scorn teleports into the chamber, charging at me with frenzied determination. I discard my machine gun and draw my sword from the holster on my back, feeling it hum as it ignites with moonlight energy. With a swift swing, I dive into the mob, each kill feeding a growing barrier of energy around me. The Pyro shield intensifies, every swing of my blade adding to the searing light that surrounds me, until I'm a ruby red force of nature cutting through their ranks. Their attacks fall short, blocked by the heat radiating from me as I move, sidestepping and slicing through them in a storm of energy.

Then, Fikrul reappears, surrounded by a replenished barrier of Dark Ether, his staff glowing with ominous energy. He raises it, and a powerful force pulls at me, yanking me toward him like a rag doll. My grip tightens on my sword, magicka pulsing at my fingertips. In one quick motion, I pour my magicka into the blade, unleashing a crescent slash of moonlight energy that slices through his shield with ease, carving a deep line across his chest. Ichorous blood sprays from the wound as he howls, and with a snarl, he teleports away once more, leaving a larger, frenzied horde of Scorn in his place.

The room surges with clouds of electricity as Scorn swarm me, every corner erupting in crackling arc energy that forces me to dodge each step, weaving between Fikrul's fields of lightning as I cut down the incoming foes. My wings flare as I rise above the fray, channeling Pyro energy with each precise, lethal strike. The last of the wave collapses at my feet, and as their bodies fall, Fikrul returns, Dark Ether swirling around him once again, his staff a blazing pillar of wrath.

This time, I'm ready.

I launch another Nova Bomb. It rockets forward and smashes into his shield, atomizing the Ether cloud that protects him. His power drains visibly, his form weakening as he stumbles, still gripping his staff with desperation. In an instant, I blink behind him, the Pyro energy from my shield pouring into my sword, charging it until it radiates blinding, pale light. With a roar I release the stored energy in a horizontal arc that slices clean through Fikrul, cleaving him in two and tearing through the room in a burst of radiant power.

Fikrul's upper half collapses, his staff clattering to the ground. His twisted voice lingers, echoing through the room as his corrupted Ether bleeds out, though his mouth doesn't move. "You lack purpose, dead thing. Killing just to kill. I'll show you your end… when I return…"

I scoff, flicking the last remnants of blood from my blade. "Doubt it." I pause, taking in the silence that follows, and frown. "Damn, I totally could have said a one liner before killing him."

Spectre materializes beside me, bumping my shoulder with her shell. "How about, 'Slice meeting you'? Eh? Eh?"

I groan, but I can't keep the hint of a grin off my face. "That was terrible."

"Made you smile though.~" She smugly replies.

Pyro energy gathers in my hand, crackling with heat as I ignite Fikrul's remains. His twisted form disintegrates into ash, the flames hungrily devouring every trace of him. Burning his body should keep him from resurrecting too quickly, or so his regular killers claim.

"Open up a comms channel with Spider, please." I mutter.

Spectre's eye flickers with a spark of amusement as she tunes into the line. A faint hum fills the air, followed by the familiar, self-satisfied drawl of Spider.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite mage." Spider purrs, tone dripping with smugness. "I trust you've handled our dear Fanatic?"

"Sliced, diced, and reduced to ash." I step over the scorched remnants of Fikrul's form, the scent of char lingering in the air. "You're welcome, by the way."

Spider chuckles, a rumbling sound that vibrates through the comms. "Oh, I'm thrilled to hear it. Always a pleasure seeing that madman taken down a peg or two. And to think, I didn't even have to shell out for three Lightbearers this time!"

{'Fikrul, The Fanatic' Slain +200 points
'The Hollowed Lair' Conquered +100 points

Rolling…

Magitek - The New Babylon - Shin Megami Tensei II (600 points)

Roll Failed. Current stockpile: 400 Points.}

"Should be a while before he shows his face again." I say with a shrug, not that he can see it.

"Now, now, let's not tempt fate." Spider's tone shifts, a hint of caution slipping in. "You know as well as I do, Fikrul has a nasty habit of returning from the grave at the worst time."

"Which is why I torched what was left." I reply, the heat of the Pyro flames still lingering in the air. "Should slow him down, at least."

"Oh, I do hope so." Spider says. "But be that as it may, the Shore's still crawling with his… zealots. Seems they're none too pleased with your little show of force."

I glance around, noting the distant clatter of Scorn echoing through the stronghold. "Let me guess: you want me to take care of the rest?"

Spider's chuckle is sly, almost mocking. "Naturally. It wouldn't do for the fine folks of the Shore to see their new 'hero' retreating, now would it?"

Beside me, Spectre huffs, her shell twitching in annoyance. "Hero? The locals barely tolerate Guardians."

I shake my head and head back the way I came. "I handled Fikrul like you asked, Spider, but I'm not your attack dog. Your people can clean up the scraps. Now... let's hear that information you promised."

There's a beat of tense silence over the comms, and I can almost hear Spider's teeth grinding before he lets out a reluctant sigh.

"Very well." He says, his tone icy with barely masked irritation. "I expected a touch more… cooperation, but fine. I suppose, in exchange for your efforts, I'll share something that came my way. Have you heard of the Tangled Outrider?"

I raise an eyebrow at that. "I'm familiar. Guardian with Trinity Ghoul, if I'm not mistaken."

"Correct. She had a… curious encounter while near the entrance to the Dreaming City." He continues, his voice dropping as if sharing a secret he himself barely believes. "She claims she ran into a familiar face: Uldren Sov. And it ended with her standing over his corpse."

"Pretty sure he was already dead." I slowly note, careful to conceal my lack of actual surprise. I already knew it was him, but I should at least attempt to pretend otherwise.

"Yes, well… apparently, he didn't stay that way. She went back for the body later, and it was gone." He pauses. "You said you were looking for a Lightbearer named Crow. What a deliciously ironic name, wouldn't you say?"

The words hang in the air, Spider almost daring me to scoff, to call it impossible. But I stay quiet, keeping my voice steady. "So Uldren Sov is running around the Shore as a Guardian?"

"I'm telling you only what I've heard." Spider's voice tightens. "Believe what you want. But if it's true… well, this Uldren could be a bit more complicated than the last one. "

Beside me, Spectre flickers, her eye brightening in surprise. "A Guardian… with Uldren's memories?"

Spider's laugh is low and bitter. "Oh, that would be a twist, wouldn't it? But Marin didn't mention anything like that. Said in hindsight he looked lost, maybe even… innocent. Didn't stop her from putting a few arrows through him, though."

I share a look with Spectre before responding. "Where exactly did this happen?"

CHAPTER 8 END

AN: What a meaty chapter. Had to gloss over bits of his fights against the fodder tier enemies to keep the chapter from dragging on further, but it seems to have turned out alright. Fikrul was stronger than Siviks for sure, but Mav is now a Lightbearer. As you can tell, it's a rather large boost to his threat level.

A few decent perks gained, but the real highlight is Divine Intervention. Should come in handy later. It would be nice if he gained some more esoteric magic to really sell the wizard image, but he seems more keen on rolling anything else. Hazards of writing a Celestial Grimoire story, I guess.