"constellations most dire"

Restless wasn't a big enough word. Not for the Cabal. Ikharos returned to find the borders of the camp finely marked, with barricades physical and energized in place to fend off lesser threats, and sentries dotted the place at every elevated slope of earth and stone with headhunter rifles at the ready. A half-dozen red tracers locked onto Ikharos before the BattleNet identified him. The metaconcert was quick to rush towards him, a cacophony of so many alien voices, and it enveloped him in its protective psychokinetic bubble - blanketing his overshield with yet another semi-physical layer of protection. It was warm, rife with thoughts and emotions; the hubbub of psionic minds welcomed him back with evident relief, if with an edge of cool wariness.

The rest of the Cabal, those deaf to the psychic conversations, were stationed further inside, having dug out firepits and makeshift shelters of stray scrapmetal and fresh logs; it was a pitiful state of things all considered, and it ill-fit towering warriors clad in pressurized power armour with enough strength to crush stone between their bare hands. A Legionary on guard hailed him name and gestured to a spot not far from the Trespass. He followed their directions along until he found Vindica'aur kneeling while surrounded by four Psion engineers and the Colossus Faer'o - all of whom were seemingly preparing her for battle. Faer'o held her flight-pack aloft while a pair of Psions loaded it up with black oil. Another Psion dabbed Vindica'aur's face and tusks with blue warpaint while the last applied an extension to a long golden tattoo down along her chest and stomach in the form of clean, straight-edged Cabal symbols. It read: Golden Au'rug, Goltor Shell-Breaker, Halrauch Bell-Taker, Iou'car of the Scyring Gulf, Bracus Jou'uor, Val Torug, Val Cal'rau, Valus Yiring, and so on and so forth. Names, all of them.

"Commander-interim," she rumbled without opening her eyes, hands on her knees. "You see it?"

"I see it," Ikharos murmured. "What is it?"

"My mother. Her mother. Mothers all the way through, their names remembered and their deeds celebrated. They were seen."

"Are you leading up to a point of why we should do something suitably outrageous and almost certainly suicidal for the sake of glory?"

Faer'o huffed a chuckle.

"My mothers were of Torobatl," Vindica'aur continued, nonplussed. "My calves will never know it. But if I can bring them back a token, a momento of how their mother struck the Hive for their audacity, then it is enough to keep this legacy strong."

"This witch is Lucent. She wasn't at Torobatl. She's not part of War's progeny."

"Does it matter? It is Hive."

"It doesn't matter, no, she'll be dealt with as I see fit," Ikharos agreed, "but you're letting your anger overcome you. Your ambition."

"We lost contact with you," Vindica'aur bitterly pointed out. "Even when you reconnected with the BattleNet, you did not respond to our queries."

"I was... otherwise engaged," Ikharos admitted. "Met with my contact."

"Your Exo."

"Yeah. She's alive. She's made it through."

"And what does she have to say?"

Ikharos took a breath. "That she followed the witch to the northeast of the island. The Hive's taken up residence in an abandoned lighthouse."

"Then we should engage immediately."

"Not so fast, actually."

Vindica'aur's orange eyes opened and narrowed on him. "Why not?"

"Because we aren't the only ones who've noticed, my contact says."

"Scorn."

"Worse." Ikharos paused. "Consider the Black Fleet's presence here, in this... pocket system, concretely confirmed."

"The Darkness. It is here?"

"Some of its chief adherents for sure. You read the reports on High Coven?"

"Only those your Vanguard would permit," Vindica'aur growled.

"We shared enough," Ikharos calmly replied. "I'm talking about the Sunken Pyramid."

"I'm aware of what occurred. Of what you discovered there." Vindica'aur appraised him with what he could only describe as shrewd uncertainty. "Of that which you slew."

"Then you should be aware of what that entails. We have to act accordingly, carefully. We have few enough lives to waste as is and I'm not going to lose them needlessly."

"The company is at your command," Vindica'aur drawled bitterly. "Your word is law, commander-interim. Fear not."

Ikharos scrutinized her, but she'd closed her eyes again. The Psion with the needle resumed their work, putting in the finishing touches: Val... Vindica'aur, Tusk-loyal. Her hide was grey and thickly pebbled, drawn tightly over slabs of pure muscle - not an inch of fat. Lumps of ritualistic scar tissue dotted her shoulders and upper arms like the osteoderms of a crocodile. Despite the similarity in body frame between humans and Cabal, the finer details were glaring enough to signify a vast evolutionary divide; she had no navel or nipples and the orientation of musculature was very different, with a heavier core of tissue situated at her midriff. Out of their armour they always looked, to him, like predatory hippopotamuses attempting to live out their sumo wrestling fantasies.

"I don't fear for you," Ikharos said quietly. "But I am concerned. Take that as you will."

Vindica'aur grunted and brought one of her hands against her chest to run over the golden tattoo. Four fingers - thumb included - and each were near as thick as Ikharos's wrists. Short, rough nails crowned the ends of each digit. Sometimes the common Cabal soldiers were given over to replacing their fingers with partial cybernetic prosthetics, though she and many of Caiatl's legions were evidently exceptions to that; Ikharos remembered the bite of steel meathooks all too clearly, how they tore and gouged and pressed into his flesh. The Red War had been brutal from start to finish, Light or no Light.

He looked around him. Noticed the mosasaur still lashed in place with chains and warded from decomposition with a weak cryo-stasis field. Of the crabs there was no sign, but some of the enticing smells wafting in from the nearest cooking pots spoke volumes as to their fate.

"I'm going to look that over in a moment," Ikharos announced, nodding to the giant reptilian beast. "And I'll inspect those other samples my Ghost sent back. After that we'll talk about the witch."

"Understood."

Ikharos moved on, crouched down as he reached the edge of the Trespass and made his way to the open hatch. The state of it, all things considered, was still bothersome to contemplate. It needed repairs. And repairs they could manage - but it would eat some time and resources he wasn't quite yet ready to devote. Inside he found Indilic at the couch, the Psion's fingers flying across a portable control terminal and his eye glued to the screen.

You visited the local neohuman, sir? Indilic asked, his gaze never wavering from whatever footage he was poring over.

"I did," Ikharos confirmed. "And you saw-"

A human Exomind subject. Your confidante?

"Of a sort."

It's curious, Indilic said. She bears a strong resemblance to a rumoured freelance agent occasionally spotted near the Martian city of Freehold during the command of Valus Tau'arc over the Siege Dancers - near the time at which Guardian forces led an attack on the gate to the Black Garden.

"If you're asking if I was there-"

I know you were there, sir. But the Exomind was there too, albeit at a distance. And now she is here.

"She likes to be where things happen," Ikharos murmured. "Important things. Things that shape what happens next."

I have questions.

"So do I, but she's answered precious few of them as is and I'm not looking forward to tracking her down for another bout."

You know her?

"In theory." Ikharos pulled his helmet free and began unstrapping the heavier elements of his armour. "I know who she is. I know what she is. I know... why she is. But we've only ever interacted sparingly beforehand. Most of our contact came through mutual parties."

Your partner?

"My who?"

The Titan. The-

"Jaxson?" Ikharos guessed. Indilic nodded. "To a degree. We aren't... we haven't been in much contact either, me and him. Not for a couple of years." He took a deep breath. "But Elisabeth - our Exo friend - she knows a little more about me than she wants to let on. Certainly more than we'll ever know about her."

How so?

"Oh, nothing definitive yet, but I've got heavy suspicions and they're only getting bigger. I'll let you know when I reach a reliable conclusion." Ikharos leaned against the edge of the couch. "You called me about something earlier."

I did. Indilic turned his computer around so Ikharos could see the screen. Watch.

The screen was divided into six separate components - one for each of the Crows, Ikharos assumed. The one on the bottom right enlarged. It was their current location at the half-light of dusk, but quickly expanded to include most of the southern coast, the forest to the north, the edge of the mountain ranges on the horizon, and then the bowl-shaped valley with the city - tiny at a distance - nestled within. Further and further the Crow ascended, revealing the edges of the island, further and further it flew to mark the borders of their new stomping grounds, and further and fur-

The footage cut out.

"What was that?" Ikharos questioned.

Indilic switched to another screen. A black map divided up with white lines to signify the coastlines and elevation of the surrounding area. A red blip appeared somewhere to their southwest, in the middle of the ocean. The Crow's tracker leads there.

"That's..." Ikharos trailed off as the red blip disappeared.

It sank quickly, Indilic explained. The water pressure must have crushed it. We lost the signal not an hour ago.

"So we're already a Crow down?" Ikharos paused. "Cause of deactivation?"

Unknown. I suspect physical damage was inflicted.

"And the Crow didn't see anything?"

Nothing it judged worth its focus. Indilic switched to another view - from another drone. I immediately ordered another to investigate from a lower altitude. The compromised Crow was spotted falling. I couldn't make out any signs of apparent damage, but I noticed it was shedding feathers.

"Definitely an injury," Ikharos surmised. "And definitely on purpose. Was there another drone in the air? A vessel, maybe? Or was it a ground-to-air projectile weapon?"

That's what befuddles me. There was nothing remotely like what you propose. The skies were entirely clear and there was no sign of a shooter. But... I do suspect the Crow was fired upon.

"So it must have come from a direction we aren't looking at."

Precisely. Indilic gestured to the screen. The Crow's feed was full of an image of the night sky. There were precious few clouds around, letting the false stars shine bright and fat. What do you see?

"Unfamiliar constellations," Ikharos murmured. "I don't recognize any of them."

Look closer.

Ikharos did just that. "I see... Well, it's a good farce, I'll give it that. Everything looks pretty natural."

Indilic sped up the footage. Most of the stars shifted across the screen. A select few, he observed, did not. And now?

"That's..." Ikharos inhaled quickly. "Those are fixed. Stationary."

Yes.

"But... are we close to this world's polar axis?"

No. Not by some significant margin.

"They're no pole stars." Ikharos leaned back. "They aren't stars at all, are they?"

No, Indilic told him. I don't believe they are.

"That's not comforting." Ikharos watched the footage a moment longer before he began pacing about the deck. "They're unnatural satellites. Observation decks?"

Quite possibly. I'm petitioning the company's analysts to look into the matter. We'll have scans finished by the beginning of the next solar cycle.

"Doesn't bode well for us if true. Do we have the means to scramble their eyes?"

Not as such, no. Even if we reclaim the Rancis Olytus, I am not optimistic.

Ikharos bit his cheek. "Dammit. Put a pulse through the metaconcert; every officer is to communicate via thoughtspace or within secured channels. Make sure everyone's aware of the situation."

Understood.

"I'll..." Ikharos sighed. "Indilic?"

Sir?

"I... You lost my feed, right?"

"Yes sir." Indilic straightened up. "Was the spire an illusion?"

"Worse," Ikharos admitted. "It was real. Littered with memetic hazards. Shattered right through my mental blocks. Apparently something in the, ah, the anomaly- Look, I'll talk about this in a couple of minutes. Gotta settle myself first." He left Indilic there, passed down one of the adjoining hallways and turned into the washroom. Ikharos closed the door behind him, heard the lock shut, and he tweaked the faucet controls on in the show. He plucked his armour off, his robes free, and slipped out of his biosuit - and waited a few moments longer until the water was piping hot before stepping inside the stall.

It...

Oh it felt good. Biosuits were great, but even they could feel stuffy after a while. Ikharos shivered in the hissing heat and felt his muscles begin to slowly unwind. He felt exhausted. Hadn't slept for five days straight, and not properly for weeks. The sizzle of piping hot water crashing down on his shoulders, lashing against his skin - it was heavenly. He imagined the tension rising out of him with the steam, making each breath he took heavy but paradoxically light at the same time. He braced against the wall of the cabin and closed his eyes, quickly undoing the knot in his hair and allowing it to fall down over his neck, his shoulders, down his back. Ikharos ran his fingers through it, found it a touch rougher than he liked, and rummaged around for... something. Xiān transmatted a bottle of-

"There's your bleedin' shampoo," she scoffed good-naturedly. "You need a haircut."

"Nonsense."

"Ike-"

"I like it as is," Ikharos muttered. "I do."

"Suit yourself. Hungry?"

"Famished."

"I'll get a pot of something and put it on fire." Xiān teleported out of the room.

Ikharos sighed.


When he emerged Ikharos felt nothing short of freshened up - a whole new person, almost. He immediately headed for the ship's kitchenette, found Xiān hovering over a pot of pasta with a quizzical expression and waved her away. "You forgot the oil," he muttered. Ikharos rummaged around in the press above the cooker, found a bottle of olive oil and squirted a single droplet in the water. He took up a ladle and stirred it around. "Keeps the pasta from sticking to the pot. Easier clean up afterwards."

"Oh," Xiān said. "Just managed to get it on there, so-"

"I know." Ikharos found a simple pre-packaged sauce in another shelf and laid it out. "I can finish off. Thanks."

"Not your usual cup of tea."

"Speaking of, could you put the kettle on?"

"Hm? Oh, right. Yeah." Xiān flew to the other side of the, admittedly cramped, room. Before long Ikharos heard the whistle of water heating up. "Earl grey?"

"Yeah. Make a pot if you will." Ikharos waited until the pasta softened and the water began to boil before sieving it out over the sink and mixing in the sauce. Tomato and basil; something simple. He filled a bowl, set the pot under the faucet for a moment, then transferred it to the dishwasher. Behind him, Xiān had poured the water into an antique teapot and left it to steep. Ikharos grabbed it on the way out, back to the main chamber, and he on the low coffee table before taking up his usual perch - the armchair with the well-cushioned spine. A cup was manifested through transmat in front of him and Ikharos poured himself a generous helping of steaming tea. Indilic glanced at it, then at him.

"Thirsty?" Ikharos inquired. Another cup materialized beside his own.

No milk, Indilic warned. I cannot tolerate-

"I know. Don't have any onboard, unfortunately for me, but all the same..." Ikharos filled the second cup and carefully pushed it across the table. "It's hot."

A warm feeling of shallow depth, like dipping a toe into a lukewarm bath, filled Ikharos's mind. Unspoken gratitude if he had to guess. Raw psionic language.

"You're welcome," Ikharos replied.

Indilic studied the cup, the tea, then blew on it before taking a cautious sip. Ikharos did much the same - and oh, how much better he felt after the first taste. He'd needed it. The shower had been heavenly, but the tea? It was ambrosia of the gods and he wouldn't hear otherwise. He put it down, took up the bowl of pasta and...

And stopped.

He looked at it; there was enough to keep him from scrounging for snacks for the rest of the night. Enough to sate him for a while. It was no small portion of food, he thought. No stale crackers nibbled on a cold winter night in the EDZ.

"Oh, c'mon," Xiān grumbled. She floated by his shoulder. "You were happy enough making it."

"I was," Ikharos admitted.

"You put it in your mouth and chew. It looks tasty! I'm a frickin' Ghost and I know that!"

Ikharos just stared at the bowl's contents.

"Ike," Xiān groaned.

"Indilic," Ikharos said. "What are our food stores looking like, Cabal-side?"

We have enough for some days left if we ration. Indilic glanced at him past his computer. Sir?

"So not long?"

No.

Ikharos hesitated. Indilic had evidently noticed, because he felt a pang of blatant confusion from the Psion's end. That will not feed your soldiers. Eat.

"I... don't have much of an appetite," Ikharos decided. His stomach ached, but he just couldn't do it.

When was the last time you ate? Indilic worriedly inquired.

"Like, four days ago," Xiān told him. "He's not good for it."

"I shouldn't waste food," Ikharos muttered unhappily.

"No, you shouldn't. So eat i, before it goes cold."

Ikharos balked at the notion. It manifested as a visceral thing - as disgust for himself. He couldn't just... He'd known children wrestling in the mud for even a spoonful of something like this. Adults too. A starving village could have taken the bowl and made it last them another day. Stave off the worst of the hunger for a few hours longer. Keep them alive until the next breakthrough.

Whereas his need stemmed entirely from a position of comfort.

Sir, Indilic said coolly. Eat.

An order. Ikharos hated that. Hated it almost as much as the idea of gluttony. He wanted to rebuke it for ego's sake alone. He could've. His authority was that absolute. But- That wasn't him. Absolute power? That was a terrifying thing. Almost as terrifying as snatching the cold black bread from bony hands, but still. His revulsion and indignity were pushed aside, even but for the moment, for the sake of... he didn't know what to call it. Politeness? He wasn't polite. He was blunt and snarky when his nerves were tested. And this - this tested him.

Then what was it that guided him to pick up the spoon and forced him to bear that first delicious, haunting mouthful?

"Masochism," she whispered into his head with that sickly-sweet tone reserved just for him - but as Ikharos turned he found no sight of her. No pale green eyes, no ivory horns, no ash-black skull cast in red shadow. But he felt her, in the back of his mind; she slithered through his worst thoughts like a garden snake, prowling, stalking, waiting for a moment of weakness to pass her by.

He hated her.

He hated the part of himself that sheltered her.

But that was nothing on how much he hated how easily the next bite was, and he utterly despised how readily he downed the third. On and on until the bowl was half-empty and he could no more stand the sight of it. Ikharos laid it down on the table and closed his eyes, willing himself to think of something else, something other than the feeling of fullness and satiation - because that, that was something inherently selfish for someone who didn't need to eat. Someone who would stay alive regardless of whether he filled his stomach or not.

You take life for granted, Indilic observed. Survival. But these are not staples. They are prized commodities.

"I'm aware," Ikharos hollowly replied. "Just... easier for some to cling to than others."

And that bothers you?

"From my first waking hour. Yes, it bothers me."

Why? An enemy's weakness is your opportunity.

"Because not everyone's an enemy." Ikharos leaned forward and cupped his face in his hands. "I'm not some... Cabal warrior out to conquer the stars. Nor am I a cog in someone else's machine. I didn't choose this. I'm not honoured to be chosen either."

Then you know the fate of every Psion pressed into service, Indilic told him. And yet that does nothing to stop us.

"Pretty sure the bombs in your heads did most of the convincing."

Indilic stilled. That is nothing more than a vile myth.

Ikharos shook his head. "At your empire's core, maybe. Scout legions were a different animal entirely. Blind Legion in particular; some of the things I found on Mars..." He grimaced and sat back. "No bombs here, still you fight."

I am proud to serve.

"Cog. In the machine. Like I said. I didn't get that. Wasn't much speaking on the part of my creator. Old marble's not in the habit of passing out orders."

You fight like the rest of us. You found your calling in the end.

Ikharos snorted. "If you can call it that." He paused and mulled it over. "Never quite got comfortable with it either."

I understand your Dark Age was a time of brigands.

"It was a time of hunger. Food was scarce, hope scarcer, and there weren't shelters enough to hide you from a patrolling Skiff - or a bored Warlord. You got mean or you got... got." He frowned. "Why am I even telling you this? Bloody hell."

You regret-

"Regret's the least of it. I regret many things, but what I did... what I was..." Ikharos inhaled. "No. I don't regret. I just don't understand why."

Why what?

"Why bother?" Ikharos asked with a shrug.

Indilic regarded him curiously. Humans don't live very long.

"No. They don't."

... I think I understand.

"That's a first." Ikharos glanced at the back of the craft. "Did you put those samples inside?"

Yes sir. I didn't touch anything.

"Good. There's some things in this ship that'd make our lives... difficult if disturbed."

I've noticed, Indilic drily remarked.

Ikharos scoffed, rose up and gestured to the bowl. "Have at it if you're peckish. Leave it out if not; I'll clean it away." He walked back down through the Trespass, found his laboratory and opened the cryolocker. He found the osmium platter and the paracausal samples on the top shelf, cast over with an impermeable psychokinetic barrier that he found rather easy to peel away with his Light. There were five droplets of significant size, two of them much larger than the rest, and Ikharos had to stand there and consider how he was going to test them, breathing in their cold, clean smell. The first thing he did was run a spectral analyzer over the platter's contents and to his utter lack of surprise the device pinged loud for paracausal energies. A manifestation of paracausality, it reported. Highly attuned with the Darkness. Other readings included - very low level of attraction on a molecular level, room temperature, it had physical volume that could be measured, and-

"There's oxygen in this," Ikharos murmured quizzically. "Nitrogen. Various gases. It's... it's air."

"Weird looking air," Xiān commented. She hovered over the other side of the platter.

"No, wait..." Ikharos performed another scan. "Yeah. Air, but... but it's liquid. It's... it's been rendered soluble and absorbed by... whatever this stuff is."

"Absorbed?"

"Yeah, but... that doesn't seem right. There's still some... air flow. The air's flowing in and coming out like it's not even there." Ikharos took in a deep breath. "Prepare another osmium plate; I'll need a separate sample to further test."

"Got it."


It was the same with water and iron, carbon and mercury, every element and material Ikharos introduced to the substance passed through and became part of what Xiān referred to over the course of the test as "Dark soup". When he moved the substance it left those same elemental samples exactly where they'd been dropped.

"It obeys gravity," Ikharos noted, angling the plate to force the substance off the chip of plasteel he'd just dropped into it. "And nothing else. Everything is soluble. It passes through it all."

They tried increasingly more drastic measures to induce a different reaction - and nothing. Ikharos, on a whim, introduced a flame to the liquid while wearing a breathing mask in the event it dissipated into a toxic mist, but no. It ate up the flame too, the whole end of the match.

"Fire's still there in there," Xiān reported after a scan. "Still burning. Just... contained. And melted. It's freaky."

Ikharos pulled the match free and pinched the end. "What about ice?"

They tried it. Same result. What Ikharos found remarkable was that the ice, even though physically it was rendered as liquid inside the substance, it didn't actually melt. It was still in there, still solid on some other less-than-real level. As soon as the strange substance was herded away, the chip of ice lay there on the plate and began to shrink. Ikharos forced the substance back over it and lit a second match before pressing it inside. Even then-

"Ice is still there. Still the same temperature. So's the fire," Xiān told him. She stopped scanning. "It's a universal solvent with some inter-dimensional properties. Maybe it's related to the anomaly we entered?"

"Maybe," Ikharos murmured, unconvinced. "It's not universal, though. It hasn't phased through the osmium."

"Try other platinums, then."

Ikharos did just that - and, to his relief, found that the substance did the same thing but differently. More slowly. It took a little longer for the platinum to be rendered more liquid within the inky stuff. The process was slower the denser the metal he introduced, and osmium itself - with hadium and enactine to boot - being completely resistant to the effect. It just flowed around the three materials with the weight and viscosity of water.

"So it's an almost-universal solvent," Xiān remarked. "That's, like, the opposite of Stasis. One turns everything solid, the other liquid - but not always forever. Just because you or I get frozen solid, the memory of ourselves, of our forms and existences, eventually reverses the process. Our own willpower wins it over."

"And they both contain temporal blocks. Entropy ceases within. It grinds to a halt."

"Is that completely true, though? Someone frozen with Stasis can still feel the effect of time passing by. They might not age physically, but mentally?"

"That's because the mind is another plane entirely. The soul. Life isn't just neurons firing, electricity running down our nervous systems." Ikharos gestured distractedly back down the hall. "Psions are a prime example of that. The mind is another terrain, another frontier. The Darkness has different uses for it."

"Like Deepsight."

"Not much psychic energy here," Ikharos observed. "Not enough from this tiny sample. Which... leaves just one more thing." He picked the second plate up, held it above the first, and put his other hand in between.

"Wait what are you-" Xiān started to say, but he'd already begun pouring the second plate's contents over. The liquid hit the biosuit, melted through and... Ikharos felt it. Felt it on the palm of his hand. He felt it along the edge of his Light, settling, waiting, not completely alive. It was stationary.

"Maybe it doesn't like living material," Xiān guessed.

"Maybe." Ikharos grabbed hold of the edge of his Light, all of it in his arm, and he wrenched it back to his core. The resulting sensation was akin to numbness, the suppressing of a sixth sense, and then - a cold, a crawling feeling through his hand like pins and needles amplified a thousand times over. If it hadn't lasted all of a millisecond he would have doubled over for it; as it was, Ikharos almost bit his tongue off and snatched his hand back as soon as the substance emerged from the other side and dipped back onto the first plate.

"Ah, fuck," he hissed. "Fucking, rrrrgh."

Xiān flew over and scanned the limb. "No physical or paracausal damage," she reported if a touch dubiously. "You should be fine."

Ikharos shuddered with the memory of the feeling. "I don't feel fine."

"Well then, teaches you not to take those kinds of risks."

He gasped and trembled and forced himself to straighten up, hands by his side. "It... it travels through living organic tissue as easily as any other material," he said, voice cold and sharp; his teeth were clenched. "What it doesn't cut through is Light." He remembered where he'd found it. "Or other paracausal energies, psionic essences included."

"Psionic power isn't Light or Dark."

"But it's powerful nonetheless. The Darkness is clever and ruthless enough to capitalise on that; it is the very reason the mind, the memory and the will are so important to it. Those are the driving forces of survival."

"So this stuff... what, recognizes a kindred spirit?"

"The metal was too dense to parse through," Ikharos explained. "That's the real reason. But everything, even the densest metal in the universe, has a little room for power - or a lot, actually. Dense objects have mass. Mass means contact, friction, competition on a molecular level. That's an environment - one these metaphorical forces we dance with can occupy. Hence hadium. Hence enactine. Hence the infection of mortal souls, of intelligent life, with the power of gods."

"That's how you think it goes?"

"It's a theory I'm entertaining," Ikharos reasoned. "You haven't given me cause to do away with it."

"Oh, no, but then I don't oppose a lot of your so-called theories," Xiān teased. "They're too funny to mess with."

"We're talking about that."

"If you're not homo sapiens sapiens, then what are you?"

Ikharos sighed. "That's not what I said. Risen are the idea of a new neohuman subspecies - a post-human, if you will. Just not one of humanity's making."

"That'd be more Awoken, though."

"Maybe."

"And they're actually a different neohuman species."

"Are they?" Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "Beyond the acausal forces that altered them in the Distributary, the Awoken are, biologically-speaking, almost entirely identical genetically to homo sapiens sapiens. They're also capable of reproducing with baseline humanity."

"Yeah, and that just makes more Awoken. Post-humans comin' for ya."

"Not I. I'm as separate from baseline humanity as they are. And..." Ikharos trailed off. "That's animal instinct, that is. To preserve one's own genetic stock. Why should I care? I'm above such things. Not like my genes are going to outlive me, to put it bluntly. "

"I was just joking," Xiān defended.

"Hm," Ikharos grunted. He turned back to the Dark samples. "It's not a universal solvent. Not with denser platinum metals, not with paracausal forces. But it fills in the cracks, needles through the fissures. It fills in every empty space. At least temporarily, so long as gravity has no more energy to waste dragging it down." Ikharos tilted his head. "It's heavy as a result."

"But then how'd it get there, where it was? Not like the stuff was raining outta the sky, right?"

"No. That I doubt. But it fell from something all the same. A solvent that pierces through most known elements effortlessly. The applications - they're fascinating. But the trick, I assume, is how much control can one exert over it?"

"You're handy with the Dark," Xiān pointed out. There was a subtle edge to her voice. Ikharos heard it well enough. Ignored it too; he hadn't the energy to revive that old argument again. What was done was done and there was no changing that - nor would he have been willing to do so. Not with so much on the line.

(Sometimes he wondered why she stuck by him still. He imagined it was something like love. He loved her after all, and it was clear she loved him. But even love had its limits. They just hadn't found hers yet.)

"We'll see what comes next," Ikharos said. "But we'll have to watch for this. There's too much in the air as is; I don't like how unnatural this place is. Hell, even the locals are just brimming with power."

"What's the deal with that, anyways?

"Neohuman subspecies," Ikharos said instantly. "Possibly as a result of the anomaly. You know how it is. The same treatment the Awoken got."

"The Awoken turned blue. The people here get weird ears?"

"We'll see what we can find out. Later." Ikharos paused. "That body's still here, right?"

"Uh, yeah? Please don't-"

"We might try an x-ray. Maybe in the morning." Ikharos covered the osmium platter over and returned it to cold storage. "Log the test results, everything. Whole conversation. I'll have a look at that mosasaur now."


He found the body in the middle of the camp, separated only by a short stroll's distance from his ship. The carcass was held down with iron chains and covered in a psychokinetic barrier to keep scavengers at bay and the process of decomposition from taking its toll. A small pack of war beasts had settled nearby, so eager and hungry, and their heads perked up with interest as Ikharos approached the corpse. The great reptilian beast was limp and dull-eyed, its mouth ajar and the torn tongue lulling out from its massive jaws. The smell of blood was strong, along with the stink of the sea, and Ikharos was glad for his helmet's air filters as he activated them as soon as he was within distance to lay his hand on the animal's flank.

"Subject is a marine reptile, confirmed predator, of about thirty to forty feet long from snout to tail," he said. "Suspected mosasaur specimen; there was a philanthropic movement during the mid- to late-Golden Age to resurrect extinct fauna and flora with varying results - such as the revival of the ectopistes migratorius, raphus cucullatus, and mammuthus primigenius, or passenger pigeon, dodo bird, and woolly mammoth respectively, each of which were rendered extinct due to human activity within the holocene. However, inspired by pre-Golden Age fictional texts, there was a widespread desire amongst the scions of Earth's corporation-families to reach further back and resuscitate even more ancient fauna. As I recall, the mosasaurus was one of these species.

"However, upon close investigation, there are a number of physical traits on the specimen before me never found on the fossilized remains of any mosasaur species; I suspect a population of wild specimens were altered along with portions of the native human populace - the descendents of the colonists of the Exodus vessel whose partial remains I discovered scuttled in orbit above the anomaly. I cannot assume to understand why a long-extinct marine predator from the cretaceous period would be introduced to a new terraformed colony as it would serve no ultimate purpose, given the distinct lack of other period-appropriate fauna for it to prey upon, let alone the dangers it would pose to humans in maritime areas. And this danger is a confirmed threat, as I was personally attacked by this specimen, which attempted to devour me on several instances. To that end, I have learned that the mosasaur is willing to swallow smaller prey items whole and alive should they survive the initial bite." Ikharos grimaced. "I did not follow that avenue of investigation further. Other matters necessitated that I deal with the specimen quickly; given its uncanny aggression towards myself, and likely towards my Cabal cohorts in the event of my temporary death, I made the decision to terminate it."

Ikharos paused and looked the creature over.

"Beginning autopsy now," he announced. Ikharos produced a series of blades out of transmat and laid them out - scalpels, hooked knives, bonesaws and so on. He picked up a long molecular-edged blade and drew it across the reptile's side. "First incision. Scales are hard. Atypically resilient. I'm not finding-... Nevermind, found a chink. Opening it up now."

Ikharos cut into the creature's thick hide, tugged at the coat of scales around it until he had the space to cut even deep - right until he felt the weight of bone. "Skin is... thirty, forty, almost fifty centimetres thick at the side. Likely thinner at the belly, thicker on the back. Each scale is reminiscent of an osteoderm. Could be useful."

Ikharos heard a shuffling behind him and then a low whine. "War beasts have caught on. I may have to hurry this up, lest they tamper with the subject."

"They're so cute though," Xiān appeared beside him and floated past. "Oh yes you are, oh yes you are. Traveler above you're a little adorable monster aren't you? Gosh, you have the face of a squashed pug crossed with an alligator and I am here for it."

"I hope you're still recording," Ikharos muttered.

"Hm? Oh, this cutiepie? Oh course I am." Xiān snorted. "Go on, yammer. I'll give ya a copy to listen to later."

"Fantastic." Ikharos picked up an oversized set of forceps and widened the incision with some difficulty. "Skin and flesh beneath the scales are abnormally tough too. Very crocodilian. Heavy muscle mass, sheathed in some layers of light blubber. I was expecting more given the size of the mosasaur; it's more active than any cold-blooded reptile has any right to, and the environment was brisk enough. I have to assume it has developed warm blood, though given it's... deceased state, I'm not at liberty to investigate that just yet."

"It was warm blooded," Xiān piped up. "You came out of its craw steaming."

Ikharos pursed his lips. "My Ghost seems to believe it was warm blooded. I'll have to take her word for it."

"Ohmahgoshhebelievesme," Xiān snickered. "Yes he does, oh yes he does, oh you're such a good boy aren't you? Good booooy."

He ignored her. Ikharos cut right to the creature's ribs and picked up the bonesaw. "I've reached the thoracic wall. I am attempting to open an incision into the thoracic cavity and map the specimen's internal anatomy. This may take a moment."


A moment became an hour, and then hours, right up until the sun began to peek over the horizon. By then Ikharos had portioned the mosasaur into a number of separate pieces; its biology was familiar in the capacity that it resembled that of other Earth-born organisms as opposed to the often bewildering anatomy of alien species, but it was quite unlike anything he'd ever encountered - let alone read about. It was a reptile, but the further inside he cut and the more that was revealed to him, the more alike to mammalian megafauna it became. It was big animal, as large as a whale, and it had the lungs and heart to match, but its digestive system was strictly carnivorous - and not like the filter-feeding of a baleen whale but more like the active red in tooth-and-fin of a sperm whale or similarly toothed cetaceans. He had to assume it was a beast of the deep sea, a hunter of giant squid and other unmapped terrors of the abyss, but he'd encountered it at such a high elevation that it threw his theory for a loop. What on earth was this thing supposed to eat? Actual whales?

There was also the matter of the growths on its back. Ikharos had assumed them to be some sort of cartilaginous dorsal fins, not unlike those boasted by dolphins and orcas, and yet on closer inspection he found it wasn't. There was bone present in the shape of vestigial limbs with finger-like growths with huge flaps of skin between them, and they jutted up from behind the shoulder blades. A six-limbed vertebrate. Like an Eliksni - but Eliksni were extrasolar lifeforms. They had an excuse. The mosasaur did not. Yet somehow, somehow, that wasn't the strangest thing about it; squirreled away in a sac adjacent, even partially connected with the esophagus, was a peerless pale orb of gleaming crystal. Ikharos tugged it free from deep within the mosasaur's ribcage and, as he ran his red-soaked fingers over it, it all but fizzled beneath his touch. There was latent power in it, decaying. It was something other than... than mortal, though he felt the word was a poor fit. More than causal, maybe. Not so beholden to natural law.

The rest of the body boasted few other surprises. Ikharos explored the creature from snout to tail, mapped out its skeletal and nervous systems, and he filed it away for sorting later. After he was finished, he took a step back, inspected his handiwork, and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. A war beast padded by his side whined lowly, pressing its snout against his waist. He tucked the huge crystal orb under one arm and dropped a hand down onto the beast's neck, idly stroking it. The alien mutt was plump with hard muscle, its body riddled with cybernetic modifications to give them an edge in war, and its flushed red-scaled hide was crisscrossed with old pale scars. Its fangs were long and sharp and jutted from lipless gums, designed to tear flesh and crack bone and devour. The whole pack smelled like old leather. They were strong - predators weaned on a world with heavier gravity, higher pressure. Ikharos wondered if they felt any discomfort with the Earth-like environment they now found themselves in. He wondered if they found it freeing.

"Have at it," Ikharos whispered. The beast flashed forward, grunting happily, and it all but dove into the mess he'd made. The rest of its pack were quick to follow; they pulled apart the tidy piles of muscle and ligaments he'd carved away and they gnawed on the thick bones he'd freed from the mosasaur's system. The air was soon filled with the sound of flesh tearing, bones cracking, beasts barking. Ikharos watched them for a minute, watched them rip the giant reptile apart, before turning on his heel and marching away with the orb in hand. He cleaned himself off with Void before re-entering the Shadow Trespass, and Indilic said not a word to him as he passed him by; Ikharos walked down the hall to his specimen room, found an empty pedestal and placed the crystal in a secure anti-grav field. Just for the hell of it he grabbed a spectral analyzer from his laboratory and ran it over the pearl - and found it to be uniquely acausal, bordering on paracausal, but not to any worrisome degree. One helpful thing the spectral analyzer told about it was, well...

It was quite dead. Whatever power had once occupied the gem, it was well on its way out. And Ikharos, despite not knowing a damn thing about it, was glad for that - all because of an itchy sensation at the back of his mind, one that whispered all but a single word.

One he hated above all others.

"Are we done here?" Xiān questioned impatiently.

Ikharos reluctantly stepped away, out of his trophy room. He topped up the feeders in the terrariums before he left altogether.


It was in the mindscape he met with the surviving officers of the Second Iron War Beasts Cohort, propped up by the joined psychic power of four Flayers. The landscape was first a pale purplish-white before it gradually began to take shape; it started as a beach with brown sand set against a warm ocean, then on his settling it warped and adopted a cool pine forest endemic to the EDZ. As more and more Cabal consciousnesses arrived it continued to shift to match their expectations, paths cementing along the coast, tiled with delicate blue mosaics and framed by heavy columns and pillars with grand imagery inscribed in their surfaces. The bedrock of the ancestral Psion home of Brand, a fragment of his own cherished Earth, and the domineering architecture of gloried Torobatl, lost and mourned. A War Table consolidated in the middle of the imaginary temple. Ikharos manifested at its head cast in radiant Light, wings of golden Solar energy at his back, and they hooked into the metaphorical air like a gecko's footpads - holding him aloft. An edge of resonant Darkness trickled along his frame, in the palm of his hands, and it ached to be set free. Rip, it demanded. Destroy.

No.

The other Cabal assumed their own forms, or those they imagined for themselves, and they all wore gleaming uniforms of power armour and Imperial dress. Vindica'aur, seated to his right, came with her own wings, huge mechanical rocket boosters attached to her jump-pack, and they assumed a widespread stance at rest. If he was an angel, then she was something closer to a demon, what with her tusks and burning eyes. Indilic was more subtle, situated to Ikharos's right; the Psion was the same as he appeared in life if darker, with but one golden eye to stare down each and every officer present, as if just waiting for a reason to pounce on them, to savage them where they stood and reintroduce them to the strict idea of Imperial Compliance.

"The witch," Ikharos said once all were present - all but those already assigned to other posts, to keep watch lest they be caught unawares. He pointed to the ground between them all and a Psion created in that space an approximation of the landmass Indilic and the Crows had scouted out. "She's nesting to the northeast. A lighthouse. Her exact whereabouts aren't clear, but my contact says she remains stationary. Attempting to bridge a line of communications to her kin in High Coven." He paused. "I do not expect her to succeed."

"Our own communications are down, sir," an Optus reported dutifully. "We cannot parse a signal through the anomaly. There is a space around this world, separated by some lightyears, and it is utterly impermeable."

"I assumed as much," Ikharos replied. He willed himself to set down on the ground among them - dwarfed by their hulking forms, perhaps, but brighter than any present and more tangible, more real in this unreal space than they could ever be. "This is a prison. My contact informed me as much, and the rest I gathered over the course of our initial explorations of this world. It's a prison - for agents of the Black Fleet. And quite likely their prey."

There was silence. Expectant silence. They waited for him to continue.

"We discovered a derelict portion of an Exodus-class vessel in orbit above the anomaly," Ikharos went on. "A colony ship built and crewed during humanity's Golden Age. I hadn't hoped to think that any had survived the Collapse, but here we are. We encountered a local neohuman as well, as well as her deceased compatriot - slain by Scorn. From both her testimony and that of my contact, I am to understand that there is a mainland nearby, one populated by some millions of surviving baseline humans - with some other neohuman populations to boot."

"How many souls were your colony ships prepared to carry?" another Psion questioned.

"Thousands," Ikharos replied. "But they shipped more than just living colonists. Each ship carried cargo in the forms of embryos - human and otherwise - along with the equipment to terraform and settle worlds beyond our system without the Traveler's aid."

"And this is one," Vindica'aur murmured. "But millions? How long ago was your Collapse?"

Ikharos mulled it over. "Little more than half a millennia."

"That is… a significant jump. Did they have cloning facilities as well?"

"Mortal humans have short lifespans," Ikharos responded. "And they are more likely to reproduce after only a couple of Terran decades. It's not quite the jump you might think it is."

"But where are the spaceports? Where are the orbital stations, the ground-to-orbit weapons?"

"I don't know. I don't. It's quiet, I agree. Has there been any foreign chatter on radio?"

A Centurion shook his head. "Negative, commander. No chatter. Not even Scorn. Their Ketch flies free of us."

"Scorn communicate psychically," another, a tusked Bracus, cut in. "They don't operate on radio. Their chieftains are the telepathic lodestones for the rest of their chattel to herd around. Without that leadership to consolidate them into a fighting force they are nothing more than primal fiends."

The Centurion grumbled. "Eliksni always used radio."

"These are not Eliksni pirates," Indilic coldly reprimanded. The Centurion straightened up, wary of the Psion's tone. "These are Scorn - the same that defiled the Glykon Volatus, the same that infest the Leviathan. Put aside all familiarity with the species whose faces they wear; the Scorn are not them. They are worse. Treat them as something new, something you've never encountered before - or they will tear you apart."

Ikharos nodded. "It has to be said. I'm aware that many here - myself included - have flown and fought against the Old Houses, but these are not Eliksni, not by any measure. They are living dragon-magic, an inversion of life, and they are now beholden to the will of none but the Witness and its lieutenants."

"Lieutenants who you believe are already here," Vindica'aur pointed out.

Ikharos grimaced. "I have reason to believe, from the same reliable source, that there are Disciples of the Witness present. Icons of the Black Fleet. My studies into substances encountered further inland support this theory."

"Why are they here?" a Colossus - Faer'o - inquired. His heavy voice was softened by a mannerly tone. "For your humans?"

"Perhaps," Ikharos reasoned. "Unless this world hides another secret, then it's likely the case. But they came this way hunting, in force. And something trapped them inside this... this pocket space." He paused. "I've also discovered elements of cognito-hazards further inland; hostile memetic agents assailed me and… warped my awareness of, ah, concurrent events. This is a weapon the Black Fleet uses time and again; I must insist that every soul present install memetic-blocks. My Ghost will offer Praxic-grade software to dampen the edge of these hazards; you are, all of you, to take her up on it and introduce it to your soldiers. Failure to do so will jeopardize not only the mission, but every living person present, and will result in High Optus Indilic's involvement." Ikharos gestured to the Psion. "Any objections?"

No one said a thing. The tension was palpable - so full of dread. They feared him, they feared Indilic. And the Psion was doing nothing to assuage that terror - looking them each in turn,

"Good," Ikharos said, satisfied. "I also expect each officer present to arrange an interview with our esteemed Flayers. Each Cabal is to undergo inspection of their mental defenses and, if found lacking, to engage in psychic conditioning to repair those gaps. Again - objections?"

There was silence. Right up until Vindica'aur leaned forward and carefully asked, "What will this entail, commander?"

"Speak plain."

"Commander-"

"I'm allowing you to speak your mind right this moment," Ikharos told her.

Vindica'aur regarded him warily. "We are all speaking our minds presently."

"You know what I mean."

"... Yes, sir, I do." She shifted uncomfortably. "You want to... enter our minds?"

"Are we not doing the very same thing right now?"

"This is a shared space. Our thoughts are not."

"No," Ikharos agreed, "and you may keep them; I care only that you and yours are in a position to protect them. Psychic warfare is the highest front in this newest struggle. I won't have our secrets spilled unknown to witches and sorcerers if I can help it. Am I understood?"

"Sir," the Cabal said in unison. They saluted as one.

"Very well. Back to the matter of the Hive." Ikharos paused. "We know where she is. We know where she will be for a time. Her ritual is unlikely to produce results, but it has garnered attention - not just from us either. The Scorn have moved on. The Locus has moved on. The Ketch that laid the Rancis Olytus low, however, is still where we left it and its crew are arriving on these shores in disparate throngs. They'll sense the Lucent witch's Light as easily as they will mine, but she has no entourage to boast of. They are rabid creatures, true, but they know to target weaker prey. And then there is the matter of the Black Fleet's warriors here. I have been told one is nearby, watching the witch. One of our surveillance drones was just fired out of the sky via means unknown; I suspect another force at play."

"You want us to wait," Vindica'aur surmised.

Ikharos reluctantly nodded. "The witch..." He stopped for a moment, considering his words. "She'll have her due, but I must ask for your patience."

"It is not in our nature to wait, commander-interim," Vindica'aur rumbled pointedly. There was a fire in her gaze, something akin to challenge. "We are Cabal; we take what we desire in the moment, not at the end of eternity."

"You mistake me, Val," Ikharos said coolly. "I am your commander. What I ask of you is no request but an order. I am not pleading for your patience; I am demanding it. Patience is a virtue, after all."

"Human words."

"They apply to we immortals just as well. Or I at least." He tilted his head. "Your Empress gave me this command. Your Empress bade you to obey. Will I have to repeat myself?"

"... No sir." Vindica'aur reluctantly lowered her tusks, though her anger smouldered around her as wispy ghost-like smoke. "You will not."

"Sir," Faer'o said cautiously. "What will we be doing?"

"Scouting out the Rancis Olytus," Ikharos announced. "I want a chain of Psion minds on standby to sweep through the halls of the frigate and locate active Egregore masses and Scorn packs without eliciting a violent reaction. Should the hangar bays be relatively clear of infestation, Val Vindica'aur - along with myself - are to reclaim what Threshers, Harvesters and gel-drills can be salvaged. We'll hit the armoury after that, and then set off in pursuit of the Locus of Communion. But now, right now, I only want to know that it's possible without risking Cabal lives. Paint me a picture and I'll see if I like it. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Faer'o said, bowing his head. He glanced Vindica'aur's way and she reluctantly mirrored the motion.

"Then I leave this in your hands, Val," Ikharos told her. "I'll be indisposed for another few local hours, so the camp is once more yours."

"You are leaving?" Vindica'aur questioned, confused.

"My contact - again, do not shoot her on sight if you encounter her - advised that I investigate the island's western coast. If there's a focal point of latent psychic energy nearby, that's where the Scorn will congregate without the Locus to gather them up. There were no ghouls in the city, so I have to assume they found another place to migrate. I'll be partially linked with the BattleNet; you'll be the first to know if I find anything."

"Alone, sir?"

"Optus Yu'uro and Optus Ellecta will accompany me," Ikharos informed them. "As will High Optus Indilic. I'll take a war beast as well. Beastmaster Axin?"

The Gladiator sat up. "Sir," he said uncertainly. "A single beast?"

"I need only the one, beastmaster, for its senses. Not for its prowess in combat." Ikharos mildly smiled to himself; it went unseen by all save Indilic, who glanced at him curiously. "I have that already well in hand."

"I... have a beast right for you, commander," Axin said slowly; he was visibly torn about it. "A red bitch, almost in heat. She needs to be separated from the pack."

"I doubt I'll be away long."

"All the same, sir, she'll serve you well."

"Then I'll take her. She listens to commands?"

"Yes sir. Ulurant only." Axin winced. "I haven't had the time to teach them your langua-"

"I know your tongue well enough to manage," Ikharos interrupted. He looked around the hollow War Table. "Is there any other matter worth bringing to the table?"

All was silent.

"Then we are decided," Ikharos decreed. He shot Vindica'aur a warning look. "Do as I have instructed. I will return before long."

The psionic environment melted, faded, and fell apart-

-and Ikharos found himself back within the Trespass, standing before the door to his ship's laboratory with his armour and robes already cast over his person. Xiān hovered before him, her eye dimmed, and she bobbed in place before lighting back up. "Software's uploaded to the 'Net," she told him. "Up to them to take advantage of it."

"It's war-tech," Ikharos said softly. "I'd be surprised if they aren't already clamouring for it."

Xiān performed an imitation of a shrug with her pinions. "Maybe. If their pride allows it."

"They'll perform for me. They have to."

"Putting a lot of faith into a bunch of space elephants."

"It's that or running against the business end of a slug rifle." Ikharos took in a deep breath. "Their honour would never recover."

"Well, I guess we'll see." Xiān decompiled.


They left the camp behind at the first true crack of light, when the sun finally grew brave enough to peek over the horizon, five in number. (Or six counting Xiān. Or seven, maybe six-and-a-half if one considered the gun on Ikharos's back. So many "sortas" and "kindas"; it was recipe for a headache. How could he keep up with it all?). The Psions made for quiet company, though they typically communicated amongst each other via unspoken thoughts projected into the three-way metaconcert erected between them. Ikharos occasionally tasted of those shared thoughts; they were dutifully accommodating to him, recognizing that he was something sensitive to telepathy just as they were, but he knew as much as they there was an invisible barrier between them - because he was one kind and they another. Their concert welcomed him - yet it did not embrace him.

(Why did it hurt so much? Why did he ache for something so alien, so inhuman?)

They noticed. Of course they noticed. Their senses were sharp and they were distinctly attuned to that sort of thing. And they made no mention of it; it was a two-way street and he held himself at arm's length besides. His mind yearned for something to occupy it, not out of some instinctual desire for psychic company but just - just to forget. Nothing in particular really, probably, maybe, mostly everything that had ever been, ever happened. He was old. He felt old. That was all. (No, not lost, not still at a loss, no, not him, he was better than that, he was above such minute things.

But he still missed having someone else, someone whose Light was separate from his own, someone to talk to on quiet nights far outside the City's stifling walls, or better yet, to not talk with, to just... be with. Her knife, sheathed at his boot, was company enough for the moment but in retrospect was a poorer substitute than even a social pauper like he deserved.

And the company he did keep - that was better to ignore, to keep in the dark so to say. A festering wound he hoped to cauterize with dispassion.

O Traveler, why was he afflicted so?)

A short distance away from camp Ikharos called a stop and hunkered down before their crimson war beast. She was large, powerful, the size of a tiger or maybe a bear. She had the face of something vicious, something primal, something with the killer instinct of a shark - but her eyes were bright, clear, and they carried the same bright gleam as the Cabal who ruled her. She settled on her haunches before him, tilting her head quizzically, and she blew air out of her nostrils with a snort.

Ikharos held out his hand. The war beast leaned forward, snout against his palm, and she breathed in the scent of him.

"Good girl," he whispered.

She snorted again, happily so. His speech was alien but his tone - the warmth was universal, regardless of language or species.

"I want you to follow," Ikharos said. He repeated himself in Ulurant, stressing the word uzkhari - to march after, to tail, to be lead by. "But I want you to warn us."

He produced a vial laced with osmium, containing a sample of the same substance he'd found on his Divination bow (which Xiān had taking to calling Solvent - as if lay claim to the entire paracausal element through word alone, shackling it in name) and he uncorked it, holding it out. The beast - Vrizu'ur, the Beastmaster had called her - sniffed it, breathed in deeply, devoured the scent over the course of a minute. Ikharos stood up, slid the vial's top back on and returned it to transmat. "You've got that?"

Another snort.

"Warn us for it. Yiirka'ar," he bade her. Vrizu'ur snorted for the once more and shook out her mane of bladed implants. When he straightened up and recontinued his trek, the beast followed at his heels, as diligent as he could ever hope to find in such a beast.


They walked for miles, with no exact destination in mind but west. The Psion were keen-eyed and they poked and prodded at every puddle of psychic resonance on their way, but they found nothing more than the barest scraps of faded memories - nothing at all like the city to the north. The woods were quiet and the day was bright, but through it all Ikharos felt... off, and not just for the soft bite of weak radiation in the air. The island was large, vast for what it was, and here and there they stumbled on wonders and horrors aplenty - bright sparkling flowers with the texture of glass, a squirrel with five eyes and far too many fingers, a giant snail that slithered after them at a painstakingly slow pace. They ignored it all where they could; the snail was bothersome and so intent on killing them, on eating them, that Indilic just raised his rifle and shot it dead - a single slug piercing its slimy head and cracking open its whorled shell.

I will not entertain a mollusc's appetite, he clarified at Ikahros's curious look.

"A shoot-first attitude seldom serves Cabal well," Ikharos advised him.

Indilic glanced at him unblinkingly. This is not Earth.

"No, but someone's made the effort to render it otherwise. Let's not unnecessarily ruin their handiwork until we're sure it won't cause offence."

The Cabal are a hammer. You would make of them a needle.

"Easier to whittle down than to forge anew."

Indilic radiated a brief burst of amusement. If you say so, commander-interim.

Satisfied, Ikharos led them yet further afield. They passed through rocky deadlands and strange, twisted forests. At last they crested atop a raised hill; it was nothing like the mountain ranges to the north, but it would do. Indilic stopped beside him and down from above swooped a pair of dark feathered shapes - Crows, landing on each of the Psion's bony shoulders. They whispered to him in low murmuring voices. Ikharos patiently waited, taking in the sights, and he studied the borders where coastline met ocean. The south of the island was arranged like a fork, with three great headlands breaching out through the sea with significant bays between them, and a shorter fourth jutted from the southeastern coast in a slightly diverged direction. It resembled nothing more than a Cabal's four-fingered hand, only tipped with claws instead of blunted nails.

There, Indilic announced. He pointed to the littlest "finger". There is a well of activity that way and more crumbling ruins besides.

"I can see a collection of low-quality habitats," Yu'uro announced, peering down a headhunter rifle's magnified scope. "Fourth-level civilization grade. Pre-Industrial Age, by your human terms."

"No relevant infrastructure?" Ikharos inquired.

"There is a... a temple of sorts by the cliffs. No obvious iconography related to your City's dominant religions. Negative infrastructure; no tram lines, no antennae, no interplanetary transceivers. Sir."

"Anything alive down there?"

Yu'uro paused. "No sir," he reported. "No signs of active life."

Drones inspected the area prior to our arrival, Indilic added. Nothing lives there. Not even vermin. The vegetation is thin and coarse and the wind is heavy. It is clear.

"But something used to live there," Ikharos murmured. "People. Like that city to the north. What the hell happened here?"

Sir?

"We'll investigate now. Optus Ellecta, watch our six. Indilic, keep those Crows in the air; I want an aerial view in case of skulking Scorn. Vrizu'ur?" Ikharos tapped his hip expectantly. The war beast fell in place beside him, diligently looking all around. They hiked down through the pinewood forest, crept through the underbrush and emerged still some kilometres out from their target location. The headland was marked by fields of thin grass and points of weathered rock. No respectable cover for as far as the eye could see.

They could cloak as they crossed, Ikharos reasoned, but that would leave the Crows and war beast exposed. While he feared a Scorn Raider firing on them, the danger of attracting the attention of a native predator was higher - and as fearsome as a war beast was, Vrizu'ur was still a causal creature. The mosasaur had shaken him, and the appearaence of that twisted Exo in Doru Araeba hadn't helped his nerves either; there were too many unknowns at work.

"Cross quickly," Ikharos ordered. He scanned the area, the treeline, everything, but there was nothing to worry over. "Indilic?"

We are alone, Indilic told him.

"... Then let's go."

They quickly trekked out into the open, crossed the wide flatlands between them and the cliffs far ahead, and without incident soon arrived by the edge of what looked to be another idyllic hamlet razed and ruined some decades prior, if not longer. The brickwork was scattered to the earth and the foundations were dug up; the only thing still in relative shape was the small ovaloid building at the other side, closer to the sheer drop to the oceans below. They were near the point where the headland met the island's main body, Ikharos judged, on its westernmost side - and oh, by the Traveler was it rife with memory. So much of it in the air, clawing at him, begging to be seen.

Ikharos stopped in the middle of the dead settlement, reached up and pulled the veil of latent Darkness aside - and he saw the place returned to life; it was bright and it was lively, with people tending to gardens and speaking to one another at street corners. Birds chirped, hounds bayed, the voices of dozens meshed together to ask but one question-

"Have you heard?"

And then:

"Can you hear that?"

Ikharos heard it. He heard the memory's horror and he felt his own, dredged up even after the passing of sheer centuries. The flap of heavy wings from above. The people - human and sharp-eared neohumans both - looked up and they panicked; they screamed.

Fire.

Fire.

Fire everywhere.

Bodies were reduced to dust and ash. Villas caught aflame. The voices, so many, quickly choked off. But not all. Some… lasted. More wingbeats, some sets of them, descended once more. Something landed - something colossal and coated with dark scales, with a powerful body and two sets of legs. A long tail lashed behind it and its heavy, fearsome head lowered to snap up charred remains.

A dragon, black as night. It turned its mighty skull the other way and Ikharos saw it in full - the madness in its eyes, the sickening glee. Something dark and hateful roiled in his stomach, in his heart; he almost wished the memory were more than that, that he could reach out with claws of shrieking Void and tear it asunder, pry its flesh away from its whispering bones and give them all to Solar and Dark. It was instinctual, his hate, and he basked in it. A dragon. A dragon.

A Traveler-forsaken dragon.

Something leapt down from its shoulders. A man. A human man, dressed in equally dark armour and carrying a sword in each hand - one blue, one red. His skin was tan, his face was sharp and his hair was as black as oil. He had the gait of a killer, a lurking predator, and he lingered only to gesture to something above before stalking forth, to the temple by the sea. Another pair of huge reptilian beasts crashed down beside the black beast, one grey and the other the colour of oak. Another pair of dragons. Smaller than the man's creature, but not by much - and they were still large enough to flatten a jumpship each.

Ahamkara.

To Ikharos's confusion, to his dismay, they carried yet more figures - equally barefaced. The two of them dismounted their fell wyrms and looked around them. Neither of them were baseline human, not like their leader. Their ears were pointed and long and their frames were too narrow, too slender. One was a man, with golden blond hair fixed into a braid and a fearsome scowl, and he trudged after the human with a rapier the same colour as his dragon's hide. The other, a woman, had long silver-white hair tied back in a tail. She held a sabre that looked wooden, but the sheen of it in the fiery light bespoke of a metallic makeup.

It took him a moment too long to realize - he'd seen that sword before, hadn't he? And then, yes, the woman too. She looked like Formora; there were differences enough that he couldn't be sure, but even so...

The älfyan woman looked around with a guarded expression. Her dragon, brown as earth, leaned its head down and she reached back, running her hand down the monster's snout. To his mild surprise it did not bite her arm off. Nor could he hear whispers; was it waiting for her to speak first? To offer up a desire, a wish, a sacrifice of self and will on a platter gilded with ignorance?

At last the vision faded, and with it the acrid stench of smoke and burning bodies. Ikharos stood there, feeling the howling wind's chilly bite in place of the warmth of so many flames, and he took in the sights around him with greater understanding.

"There was a slaughter here," he said hollowly.

The Psions were silent. They'd seen it; Deepsight wasn't a subtle thing. They lifted their rifles and traced each corner of the settlement, scanned each inch of stone and earth, and the BattleNet murmured with surprise for their discovery.

"They used dragons," Ikharos observed, "as beasts of war. As tools. Weapons. Ahamkara. I've never known anything to take the same shapes as they."

They appeared to exert some control over the drakes, Indilic curiously murmured.

"That's how it always looks from the outside." Ikharos's hands balled into fists by his side. "They want you to play along, to meet them halfway. It's a game to them, those... wretched wyrms."

"They could be nearby-" Ellecta started to say, but Ikharos cut her off.

"They aren't," he whispered. The Psions looked at him. "Light's a bonfire for them; if there were any around, they'd come running at the first scent of opportunity. They're worse than fucking Hive. And I... I can't feel it. Feel them. Not here." He lifted a hand and traced it through the air, sifting through threads of psychic scars. The place was marked with it, deep down to the bone, and he could scarcely see past the terror, the loss, the misery - the pain.

But it wasn't enough. Not for him. The truth was honey-scented and he was hungry for it; Ikharos marched onwards, to the temple, the only building left standing, and he stopped by the threshold of the open doorway. The wooden floor was rotted and in a poor state, and the primary atrium inside was a mess. The middle of it all was carved of marble and thus had survived the hamlet's destruction relatively unscathed, but even though it was scattered with what looked like chips of porcelain and ivory. There was a body before the grand pedestal. No, not a body; just skeletal remains overgrown with moss, having long since decomposed. The skull was caved. It wore a suit of mail and over it flowing silks that had somehow survived the ages, and beside it laid a sword. A stone-grey rapier, halfway out of its sheath.

Ikharos plucked the strands of memory and delved into Deepsight - opening his third eye. The scene shifted; the walls and flooring became whole once more, ornate and beautiful and perfect. There was smoke in the air. Blood. A man - the same human man from earlier, who'd rode atop the shoulders of the black dragon - stomped inside and came to a halt before the marble pedestal. There stood three antiques of startling quality; there rested three faces in the form of an Exo's hollowed out skull, a white Venetian ball mask, and an obsidian bust of a squat, broad-headed man with rough facial features.

The man took up the bust, then tossed it aside. It smashed through the floorboards and disappeared. Next was the ball mask, which he lifted, admired, and turned to fit to his own face.

And he screamed.

He screamed. A bloodcurdling sound of madness and agony. He pulled the mask free and threw it to the ground, where it shattered on impact. At the sound of it another figure raced in - the golden-haired neohuman, the älfa. His hand was on the pommel of his rapier and he beheld the human man with confusion. "Milord, what is-"

The human took up the Exo's skull, whirled around and cracked it against the älfa's head, who crumpled to the ground. The man didn't let it up from there either; he brought it down again and again until a wet sound filled the air and the neohuman had stopped struggling.

"What..." the man panted, blinding fast - as if waking up from a nightmare. "What..."

The other neohuman arrived, her sabre in hand, and as she saw the body, the bloody steel skull, the man, she froze in place. The man's expression turned dire, a scowl, teeth gritted and bared. He rose up, stepped towards her, and she just stood there.

"Néiat aí eïnradhin," he said.

And somehow - somehow - Ikharos understood what he'd meant. (Not a word, it meant. Not a single one.) The woman stared, then nodded and closed her eyes, scrunching them shut. The man, satisfied, moved past her. Alone she gazed at the body, the corpse, her kindred. And said-

"Glaerun."

Nothing more.

The memory faded. And Ikharos found himself at a loss. He stepped over the body, right to the marble pedestal, and he picked up a piece of what felt like thin, fragile ceramic - a chip of the mask-that-was. He held it to his eye, found nothing of note, then turned it over-

He saw her. Watching him right back with that fanged smile, caught in a hue so red it looked like they were dripping blood. Ikharos pursed his lips and rolled it back around in his hand; he waited a moment for the shock and ensuing anger to pass, at the very least grateful there were no barbed words this time, though his blood raced all the same.

Dûl Incaru, Dûl Incaru, Dûl Incaru - that spiteful, hated creature. He despised her; even wordless he heard her voice, felt it lacerating his eardrums. She was unnatural; she was the epitome of unkindness masked as fascination, as affection. He imagined himself taking her spine in hand and crushing the bone between his fingers; he imagined plunging a blade of searing Solar through her heart and watching her burn; he imagined throwing her into the recesses of a singularity of his own making, watching her contort and struggle until the inevitable crunch.

He imagined her dying. He tried to imagine her silence. It was too difficult to believe, even for him. But it was worth contemplating. Something to look forward to, just another century ahead. Maybe. Hopefully.

"Gather this up," he ordered. The porcelain pieces, all of them, disappeared into transmat. There was something off about it. Something... more than causal. The whole island, the whole world was full of it - strange forces. It frightened him. It intrigued him. It-

"Uh, Ike?" Xiān said nervously.

Ikharos blinked; he'd zoned out. "What?"

"I'm picking up on decaying traces of, uh... that Solvent stuff."

He frowned and looked at Vrizu'ur, but the beast was far from alarmed. She was sniffing the ground curiously, nothing more.

"It's not recent," Xiān amended. "It's... well, it's a couple of days old. Feels a little off too-... Oh. There was Stasis too. Not a lot, but it's there, mixed in."

"Stasis? If they're wielding multiple..." Ikharos trailed off. He reached out with invisible fingers, Light and Dark both, and he found exactly what Xiān had - only he expected she felt it more keenly. Stray traces of Darkness. One enacted through curiosity, the other - desperation. There wasn't much, but it was strong enough to hook onto, to drag to the surface, to make real and manifest as its own memory.

Ikharos performed a third dive into Deepsight, this time with force enough to draw blood from what felt like the surliest stone in the universe, and he manifested the thoughts, the feelings, the sensations before him. He saw... Elisabeth. Elisabeth Bray, right beside him. She was holstering her rifle across her back, warily looking around. She stepped forward and said, "I'm here to talk."

Nothing. No response. Not immediately; Ikharos began to think there was nothing to see until-

Something separated from the far wall, melting out of the shadows. It wasn't human. It wasn't even neohuman. It was so distinctly alien the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end; it was nothing like anything he'd seen before, and even through distorted memory he could feel it, feel the sheer Darkness radiating from its body. Behind him Vrizu'ur began to growl and the Psions jolted with shock, but Ikharos raised a hand. "No," he told them. "I have to see."

It was as tall as an Eliksni Captain, maybe taller, and it had a similarly wiry frame but that was where the similarities ended. It had only the single pair of arms like most known sapient races, a single pair of long, powerful digitigrade legs, and each limb was tipped with fearsome rending claws. Five fingers with a thumb included, four toes. A long powerful sinuous tail trailed behind it, tipped with a blade-like growth. It wore a suit of considerable form-fitting power armour, with a smooth helmet that featured only a pair of optics and a crest that ran from the back of its head. It also had wings - four of them like a dragonfly, nestled between its shoulder blades, and they were plated in Darkness tech. It was dark but for the golden glow of its eyes, and black liquid flowed over its lithe frame. It looked like a cross between a person and a therapod predator, its cold gaze pinned to Elisabeth.

No words were shared. It raised a hand and more liquid pooled around them both, around Elisabeth, crawling along the ground around her and closing in. She saw it, glanced at it worriedly, and she flicked her fingers; Stasis encased the floor directly beneath her. The Solvent crashed against it... but could not pass over it. It calmed and dissipated and the creature, the alien entity, it quizzically tilted its head in that oh so universal gesture of curious confusion. It huffed, chuffed, made that sound so like a tiger's greeting or Venusian panther's only warning before attack, and it straightened up, tail cutting across the ground behind it.

"You know this isn't His secret to give," Elisabeth said warningly, though it only further perplexed Ikharos. Crystalline power filled her hands - and then, just as quickly, it disappeared and she bowed her head. "I'm not raising it against you."

The alien said nothing. The memory began to waver and shift and then broke down altogether, at its end. The psychic manifestations faded, melted, dissipated into a fine glittering mist. Ikharos let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in-

And it stalled in his chest when he saw that no, the alien creature hadn't disappeared, not with Elisabeth, not with the memory. It stood in the same place - only now it was looking at him. Watching him. Studying him.

It wasn't a memory.

It was the real thing.

The jolt of surprise he felt prompted a drastic response; a vortex of Void rippled and filled one of his hands and a mass of Stasis the other. The alien saw. It noted it all - and ultimately did nothing. Red tracers activated from behind him and aligned with its head, but even then it did not react. Just watched. Silent. Brooding. It was the exact same as what he'd seen in the Deepsight vision, only without the pool of Solvent creeping around it. Two heads taller than he, with all the lithe musculature of a creeping Marauder or a stalking Hunter.

No one fired a shot. No one made a move. The Psions were biding for his orders; Vrizu'ur as well. Ikharos realized the alien thing was being just as patient, waiting for him to do something. He'd expected claws, teeth, blood and shouts; he'd expected violence. For some reason the tense silence, the waiting, it all threw him for a loop.

"... You're," Ikharos started to say, his voice scratchy, "you're... Zendolyn-Far?"

Its golden optics brightened. "You are well-informed," it murmured thoughtfully. Its voice was as inhuman as its appearance; that was something Ikharos had been anticipating, just not that it would speak in comprehensible English. Eliksni voices crackled, Psion voices warbled and echoed and always spoke at a high-pitch, Cabal sounded like living earthquakes - and then the Hive had voices sharp enough to dig into one's thoughts. But this creature, it had a sibilant voice, it whispered and hissed and each spoken word carried a brassy, metallic undertone.

Ikharos flexed his fingers and chewed the inside of his cheek. He could maybe lock her down with a vortex grenade, maybe, but that was entirely hingent on the idea that the singularity had the strength to drag in... whatever she was. At the same time he could plant a Bleak Watcher, slow her down, maybe freeze her altogether. Long enough to pull his rifle over his shoulder, rip through her with blighted bullets. And yet, somehow, he didn't fancy his chances. Not with so little a distance between them. Not with so many unknowns at work. How did living Solvent react with Light?

Were there others closing in?

Were they already dead?

"She told me about you," he said stiffly, just to break that nerve wracking silence.

Zendolyn-Far didn't reply.

"She said... oh what does it matter what she said." Ikharos grimaced. "Are we here to kill each other or what?"

More silence. It stretched out, wore on his nerves. "Would you like that?" Zendolyn-Far softly asked at long last. Her stance shifted; long blades slid out of hidden sheaths along her arms, tipped with what looked like razor-edged needles.

Ikharos eyed her warily. "Not particularly."

She regarded him a moment longer before retracting her blades and turning around, walking into the wall - through the wall, as if it weren't even there. The Solvent fissured through the stone effortlessly, and as her bladed tail slipped through the shadows it almost seemed to evaporate, leading the wall once more whole.

Sir, Indilic warily thought. What-

Ikharos Blinked outside, emerging from the teleport on the edge of the cliffs. The wind whipped at the ends of his robes, clawed at his armour, and it dragged him with all its ineffectual strength towards the ledge. It was a sheer drop down to hissing waters and sharpened rocks; a rough death, but quick. Relatively. Ikharos stepped away from it and found Zendolyn-Far beside him, staring out at the horizon. The Darkness rolled off her in invisible waves, as thick as winter fog, and felt so, so cold against his Light.

It felt wrong.

"Jærvissa," she murmured. The word held no power. Its meaning escaped him.

"You're of the Fleet," Ikharos muttered, eyeing her as one would a starving bear. "You're... what are you?"

"Drowning in inconsequence," Zendolyn-Far hissed. She padded by the cliffside and her claws hooked into the stone as she leaned over the edge, as if preparing to dive. "An offer was made. She presented it to me. Will you honour it?"

Elisabeth. She was talking about Elisabeth. "What offer?" Ikharos questioned.

Zendolyn-Far glanced at him then. Her helmet sizzled and fell away into some distinctly liquid-like transmat. In its place he was left face-to-face with what looked like nothing more than a cross between a moray eel and a bird of prey. She was scaled, with a long pointed snout and a lipless mouth equipped with many curved fangs, and a bony crest ran both along the top of her snout and beneath her chin to culminate in a pseudo-beak at the front of her head. Her skin was purple and her eyes were green, with slitted irises, and the back of her neck, from what he could see, was plated in more pale bone. She dragged in a deep breath through flaring nostrils and through her many teeth, opening her mouth to taste the very air with a tri-pronged tongue - each tip pale and rigid and veined with what looked like channels for venom glands. The tongue darted out, flicked, and returned back to the safety of a second set of jaws in the back of her mouth.

She reached for him, faster than he could react, and her long fingers parsed through the material of his armour without issue - coated in Solvent. They braced around his chin, his jaw, his neck. Ikharos manifested a blade of Stasis and brought it up just short of her throat, but Zendolyn-Far did not seem to care. Her claws ran over his skin in a manner so familiar he could taste bile in the back of his throat.

"Free us," she whispered, then. "I am asking you to free us. He will not."

"Who?" Ikharos croaked.

"Xhafi."

Another pause of silence. Before Ikharos could summon the words for another inquiry, he felt something writhe at the back of his mind, something vicious and furious and jealous. No, bad time, wrong time for it, no-

"Ah," Zendolyn-Far said, looking past him. He knew exactly what she saw. "The Nightmare Lord has you already." Her hand fell away. Ikharos felt more talons crawl along his shoulders, but they weren't hers. They belonged to something bordering on worse.

"Mine," Dûl Incaru seethed. "Mine. Find another."

"I wish I could," Zendolyn-Far hummed with faint amusement. She looked back at him. "I have asked. But He will demand. For your sake, accept it now. Free us."

"From this system?" Ikharos questioned. He tried shrugging the witch off, but she clung tight - talons slipping through his robes, his skin and drawing blood. "Why are you here?"

Zendolyn-Far pointedly glanced at the Nightmare. It wasn't lost on Ikharos, though he didn't quite understand it either.

"What about the people?" he continued. "What have you done to them?"

She huffed and regarded him with a narrow-eyed look. "Humanity," she exhaled softly, "always makes for fascinating monsters." She stared past him again. "No matter the shape they take. I doubt you're any different."

He heard something. He felt something. Ikharos twisted around, throwing Dûl Incaru free, and not a stone's throw away he beheld another display of transmat - orange code manifesting in the air, gathering glimmer and data and consolidating it into a pair of humanoid shapes. Warmind code. Golden Age systems. They vomited out a pair of what appeared to be Exos at a glance, but something was wrong. Like they'd been chewed up and spat out in a different way, something less than what was right. One was a man, Ikharos saw, and the other a woman, but like the Exominds from the remains of the colony ship above they wore no true armour. No, instead their frames and synth-skin plates had been reinforced. Their mouths were soldered together. The man had three red optics; the woman had five blue. The former was bedecked in twisted spines and spikes from his shoulders, his elbows, carved straight from his frame, and he was at least seven feet tall, clutching a rifle. The woman was of more average height though her body was swathed in what appeared to be regalia, like the steel version of a Hive witch's corset and robes - with thin steel foils and swathes of material torn from solar sails. She held nothing more than a spear with red-orange energy coursing at its end. A Valkyrie, modified.

What struck him most was how silent they were, standing there. Exos didn't need to breathe, being robots, but most did if for nothing else than to remind themselves of their humanity. Of the two set before him there wasn't even a sigh. Not a gasp. Nothing.

"Yours?" Ikharos asked, but as he looked over his shoulder he found no sign of Zendolyn-Far. She was gone. As was Dûl Incaru. He glanced back at the Exos and watched as the male lifted his rifle.

"Si vis pacem," the female Exo barked harshly with a voice full of needling static, "cedendum est."

Ikharos quizzically cocked his head to the side. "Quis est tu?" he retorted.

"Nos deos tuos."

Ikharos made a face. "Now that's a bit much." He felt for the grip of his sidearm and noted how the Exos tensed. "This really isn't a fight you want."

A beat passed.

"Bellum omnium calculo est," the male Exomind growled.

A pit opened in Ikharos's stomach. "Oh why'd you have to say that," he muttered, grimacing hard.

Another beat.

Now, Ikharos thought, projecting the thought wide and far, and he drew. The Exo fired first, but the bullets rebounded off Ikharos's overshield harmlessly. He, on the other hand, struck true; he tore his Forerunner out of its holster, levelled it fast and pulled on the trigger. The first round tore through the male Exo's kneecap, the second took his shoulder and the third his elbow, knocking the rifle astray. A barrage of slug rounds crashed through the temple's walls and took the Exos by surprise; Indilic appeared out of thin air and Solar energy burst from his eye, forming into seeking orbs of searing power. The female Exo dragged the Valkyrie through the air as if it were a wand and the Solar missiles dissipated, erecting a nullifying field that Ikharos could keenly feel, but it was a flimsy thing and he Blinked past it, behind them, catching the male Exo and freezing him solid with but a touch. The female twisted faster than any baseline human could without snapping their spine and brought the Valkyrie against him; Ikharos felt its burning edge pass over his overshield as he ducked and backtracked, and it was not a sensation he wanted to experience a second time.

The male Exo broke out of his crystalline cage, too quickly. Ikharos bit down on a curse as the crippled robot scooped his rifle back up and fired on him again, catching him in full - and leaving him at half shields, all from a single burst. Ikharos dropped a Voidwall, letting the violet flames eat up the following rounds, and he was glad to see Indilic had erected a barrier of psychokinetic energy around himself as the Exo switched to him.

The female Exo advanced on him still, leaping over the Voidwall with inhuman agility. Ikharos dropped his Forerunner, dodged the Valkyrie's spearpoint as it swept for his head and grabbed its haft, pulling in close enough to drive a fist against her sternum. The Exo rebounded, staggering back, though he clung tight, not letting her leave with the weapon. She tugged, he refused to let go. She tried to drive a hand through his chest, her fingers flattened together, and she outright shattered his overshield with the force of it, but it gave him the time to twist himself out of the way. Ikharos kicked out her leg, shattered the knee joint, and he managed to get both his hands on the spear - twisting himself around her as she fell, bracing the Valkyrie against her neck.

"Enough!" he shouted.

The Exo didn't answer. Didn't even heed him. She rocked her head back and cracked his visor; Ikharos saw stars dancing before him but even then he didn't let go. Instead he channelled Arc through his grip, down the spear's length, and it coursed through her - overloading her systems. The Exo shuddered violently, let go, and Ikharos staggered back. He tossed the Valkyrie to the ground and pulled his rifle over his shoulder. He planted a boot on her sternum and took aim at her head with barrel and bayonet both - tipping the bladed end of the gun under her chin.

"Are you done?" Ikharos snarled. "Want to keep going?"

The Exo shrieked and threw herself up. Ikharos just thrust forward and ran her throat through, severing her vertebrae-link - killing her on the spot.

Commander! Indilic shouted.

Ikharos turned just as the male Exomind crashed into him - somehow whole once more, his knee repaired and his frame coated in a writhing blanket of chittering material. Ikharos felt the swarm of nanites flow over him, over his robes and armour, and he could feel the heat of so many microscopic soldering tools burning through it, so many miniature saws working away at the hadronic weave and plasteel plate. He felt it, the burn - and he manifested his own, Solar Light flowing over his body, embracing him in fiery heat. The mites were incinerated en masse and the Exo recoiled as Ikharos spread his wings. Resonant matter solidified in his hand and became Ruin; he sliced the male Exo from shoulder to hip in one wide, vicious arc and the Void followed after it, devouring all the burning matter left in its wake.

Movement on the edge of his vision. The remaining Exo, somehow alive again, diving for the Valkyrie. Ikharos turned and so did she, pointing at him, pressing something, firing - and the blast of Warmind energy tore holes through his torso, needling beams of supercharged ions. Ikharos stumbled, only a couple of shots short of being ripped apart, and he retaliated, aiming at her with his glaive, painting the scene cataclysmic, glazing solid rock into steaming glass. The Exo fell back against the earth, hollowed out, a mere skeletal shell of her former self - all but the most hardy materials of her frame erased.

He doubled over, exhausted and in pain, and panted heavily as blood dripped from his chest. Ikharos's heard nothing but the roar of flames, the pounding of his heart, and-

The barking of Vrizu'ur, closing in. He looked up, saw something crawling towards him, something in the shape of the male Exo's upper torso but peeled apart into so many tendrils and talons, a thousand razor-edged sickles dragging it across the ground like a horrific spider, advancing on him quickly.

"No, don't-" Ikharos started to shout, but it was too late.

Vrizu'ur leapt on it, pounced on it and closed her jaws on the back of its neck, almost tearing its head straight off, but a storm of wires and blades exploded out of its back and lacerated the war beast so quickly she just puffed into a fine red mist. Only her cybernetic components survived, and they were quickly seized by whipping cables, subsumed into the chaotic mass of mechanical monstrosity.

Oh the rage.

Ikharos pulled the Void to him, formed a Nova Bomb and lobbed it - erasing the Exo and all sign of its existence. He tossed a vortex grenade the way of its hips and legs, and he swept the area with cleansing desolation, burned the place to cinders to erase all remainder of repair nanites. He cleared the place, waited for the quiet, then fell to his knees. His wings dispersed and faded; Ikharos trembled and whispered a breathy "fuck."

He heard the sound of ash crunching, glass cracking, and looked up as Indilic approached. The Psion's head darted to and fro, scanning their surroundings, and he offered Ikharos a hand. He took it gratefully. The other Opti emerged from the doorway of the temple, rifles at the ready, and they took aim at the last Exomind's hollowed remains.

"Is it..." Ikharos coughed. He could taste the copper. "Is it dead?"

I... I cannot feel anything, Indilic dubiously reported. Sir, you need to-

"I know, hell, I know." Ikharos summoned more Solar Light and allowed it to flow over him once more; it encased him in a golden glow, erasing the wounds and wiping away the bruises, the aches - though it stopped woefully short of the holes in his chest. He staggered, weak and scarcely able to remain standing, and gasped, "Xiān."

She appeared before him, frantically scanning him over, and she froze up in a way that did not fill him with confidence. "Oh," she said. "Oh shit, oh shit oh shit oh shit. That's... oh no, Ike, it's, it's a dampening field, it's dampening me and you, it's nullifying-"

Ikharos waved her away. She quickly decompiled, returning to relative safety. He spotted the smoking remains of the Valkyrie beside the dead Exo and gestured to it. Optus Ellecta stalked over to it and picked it up, turning it over. She brought it over as a fresh wave of pain hit him, and he had to blink the tears away to get a good look at it. It was a Valkyrie, that much he saw, but there were... it was altered. It was foreign tech.

"A suppressive charge," Ikharos mused ruefully. "Smart."

Sir? Indilic questioned worriedly.

"They came prepared. They came-" He almost collapsed on the spot. Indilic caught him and barked something; Yu'uro took up Ikharos's other side. They kept him on his feet.

We must return, Indilic decided urgently. He looked all around. We are too exposed. Take him.

Yu'uro braced Ikharos up and took over, while Indilic stepped away and raised his slug rifle. "We need cover," Yu'uro urged. "He needs shelter. Medical attention."

"There's... Ah fuck," Ikharos gasped. "There's... that hamlet. The villa. The-"

The local, Indilic finished. He nodded reluctantly. We'll shelter there, call in a phalanx regiment. Will you last?

"Will I last?" Ikharos ran a hand down his front - and oh the sting, oh the agony, but he forced it away, forced in the cold, forced in the Dark to occupy a space the Light refused to take. "A little longer now."

Then we move. We have to move. Indilic started marching ahead. Quickly. Keep him awake. Keep him talking. Ellecta, bring the body.


It was bordering on the hardest thing he'd ever done. Every instinct in him urged him to let go, to let death take him so Xiān could bring him back. But suppression - that was a spanner in the works, wasn't it? Not even Void-based; not really. Ikharos's vision swam before him as they cut a course through the forest all over again, each footstep rattling up his ribcage, jostling the glassy crystal keeping him from bleeding out on the spot. He saw things in the long shadows of dusk and he couldn't be sure if it was the island's twisted life again or plain delirium. He felt things too; he felt power not his own, the streams and currents of strange energies - some Light, some Dark, some other. They ran in rivers through the air, through the roots of the trees, deep beneath the very earth.

Ellecta marched ahead, dragging the dead Exo after her, and its head lolled back to stare at him with grey lifeless optics - pinning him with blame. You didn't give me a choice, Ikharos wanted to yell. Why didn't you talk? What happened to you?

If the Psions heard, they gave no mention of it. Yu'uro whispered to him and Ikharos replied only occasionally, just to reassure the Optus he was still partially lucid, partially alive. His heartbeat had begun to slow to a pace that was nothing short of lazy and darkness began to cloud the edges of his vision, of his mind. It was the slow sensation of death; a humbling experience every time. He was dying. He was going to die. He was going to go under - and he would cease to be.

Maybe there was another dream waiting for him. Or her. Death loved company, after all, more than even misery. To that end he would've preferred the nothing of a lesser causal ending. He felt her still, even as he counted his last, in his fading thoughts. She snuck and crept through his brain, sly and prickly and laughing, always laughing, laughing at his expense, at his failure, at his pain. Laughing.

"Still fighting?" the witch leered.

No, he wouldn't have that. He refused. Ikharos refused. Not her. Not again. Not even in death. He wouldn't allow it.

Lights danced ahead. They were... at a porch. There was a door before them, with a lantern of some sort peeking through a glass window. Indilic knocked against it with the back of his fist. It swung open. Formora stood beyond, armed and suspicious, and as she took in the sight of them her expression only deepened. Her eyes settled on him and appraised him, looked him over, found him... weak.

He didn't like that.

"I'm fine," Ikharos stubbornly rasped. Didn't convince anyone, himself least of all.

"You're not," Xiān reprimanded aloud. She hung beside him, filling him with Light, topping up his failing strength - keeping him teetering at that decisive edge. "You're a couple new orifices short of becoming swiss cheese."

"Local subject Viridae-α1," Indilic said, addressing Formora. "By order of the Cabal Ascendancy and the office of Empress Caiatl, Bearer of the Tusk and Nobilissima-Penultimate, I, High Optus Indilic of the Order of Imperial Compliance, request your aid."

Where are your manners? Ikharos thought. Beside him, Yu'uro stirred with amusement. "Please," he said.

Indilic glanced at him, unimpressed, then back to Formora. "Ah yes. Please."

She stared at them. "What happened?" she demanded.

Indilic took a step forward; she tightened her hold on her sword. "He's dying," Indilic retorted. "May we come inside?"

A pause. "Bring him in," Formora instructed them, pursing her lips. She stepped aside and sheathed her sabre. "Set him on the table."


AN: Huge thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!