—--------------

  “You’re pouring too much Commander!! It has to be acidic and salty! Very saaalty!!!”

  “Jan, what are we doing with cooking ingredients?” Aloat responded.

  Sill’s voice crackled over the sound of copper smelting. The two had become a sort of dynamic annoyance over the past few hours. The scribe was on his knees trying to correct the hundred of metal canteens which had been lined up in almost militaristic regiments along the quarries bottom. There was no clear splotch of flat land so the maniacal contraption sprawled with a spring of copper wires and leaved up and down like climbers on a mountainslope.

  “You made sure they got the recipe correct Commander? We’re likely to only get one shot at this!!!”

  Jan nodded with Laura continuing to scribble down notes. Twice he looked over to correct her documentation but her handwriting was smooth and reliable. They had to be diligent to record every twist the tiny rock revealed else it might change it’s story latter in a convenient twist of plot and the secret of electricity would be lost forever.

  “Yes Sill, for the last time, two parts vinegar, one part water, and three handfuls of salt, I even made them stir.” Jan whispered.

  “Who are you talking too!” Aloat screamed again.

  The two ignored her and she stomped away with an expression that half-read like she was inbetween internal contemplation and madness.

  No more than three hours has passed since they began constructing the machine. Thankfully, Paxter had been expecting a long campaign and seemed to have brought along a wealth of superficial supplies. They had extremely limited vinegar. Only two or three bottles to be precise but it had appeared that the ratlings had little affinity for the product and tossed down crates of bay leaves, salt, spices and other “useless” supplies almost in way to taunt the soldiers below. For weeks these actions had worked. One whole bottle had turned out to be dumped and replaced with imported whiskey, causing Sill to turn into a virtual torrent about limited doctrine and dubious “unprofessionalism” of the pilfering vagabonds that made up the empire’s ranks. Importatly no one could hear him short of Jan who was left standing like a scrapped tree while those around him tried to find a puzzled reason for his disgruntled expression. Above their enemies feated and gorged on the splendour of stolen goods and assorted game while below they were left with few pickings and whatever rations that soldiers had carried on their horses or backs. Still it seemed Sill had calculated some disgruntled use for almost every scrap of material they had, down to the finest minute detail.

  “Consul Theric? I have more of the warmed solution you required,” The cook replied, confused.

  Interest shone brighter than the sun from the man’s brown eyes. In all his life, so much hope had never relied upon such a process he could barely even begin to understand.

  “Great! That should lower the internal resistance of the ions Commander! Wait Commander that’s only 28.98°C, I asked for 40°C!!!!!!!”

  A steaming canteen was placed between Jan’s palms and he stumbled for a moment before aligning it towards the row. The metal felt warm against his palm, and he nodded for a moment in satisfaction as if to pretend he knew what the bottles were for. He had to give respect to the four soldiers he had huddled around a campfire heating warm water like some grandparent for the rock for seemingly no reason. The others watched him like a group of chittering owls, eyes wide, judgemental yet irresistibly curious as to what the contraption infront would someday become. That was between orders of course, swift work had to be led and Aloat was praying on them like a hawk to finish the design. Laura edged towards Jan and spoke for a moment. Hesitation clung to her lips.

  Another soldier approached. He had been an apprentice apothecary and alchemist prior to enlisting and seemed to appreciate the young scribes tactics with a renewed vigour.

  “We have more of the vats Consul Theric, but I still fail to see how anything like this can produce magic, theres no sprouts, no living essence or draught. We can’t channel and we don’t even have a proper setup for sublimation or gaseous extraction.”

  “Is it a ritual? Are we summoning something?” His eyes lit up in terror. Thoughts were clearly racing faster than he intended.

  The scribe quickly dismissed his claims with a wave of his hand. However, little practice in public speaking left him to slam his fist against another tray of materials causing them to scatter. Laura approached later with similar questioning.

  “Jan, what are we building here? This, this isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before. That soldier’s right. The only thing we have here is rhythm. No real ingredients. It’s almost just a jumbled list.”

  “Remember when you’re command chip is activated you will be able to channel in this pit, I strongly suggest you prepare to fight!!”

  Her eyes filled to the brim with wonder. Jan too felt his heart swill at the thought of whatever creation may be brough to light.

  “I know” He said plainly. Sufficient words failed to find his tongue.

  “Do you think it’s going to work, if it doesn’t we’ve used all our water, most of our supplies they're going to be….”

  “Mad?” Jan asked in a worried tone.

  The second this conversation began the little creature instantly interrupted. Sometimes the two had to acknowledge it could hear almost all of the waking world. It was unnerving but there was little they could do and Jan once again had to pretend to cough in order to throw off Aloat’s suspicious glance. An action that caused the Sheriff to give them a peculiar look.

  “I’m not mad Commanders!!! You two need to have a little faiiiith, Jan rub that canteen wall it’s too greasy, it’s 78% clean, it needs to be at least 90%!”

  Laura leaned forward. Taking out a different type of cooking oil they had on hand and presenting it to the rock.

  “Wait Sill if we’re going for an acidic texture and we like frothing want to use this instead?”

  Sill thought for a moment and seemed to pause in reflection. Laura was catching on alot faster than Jan towards the nuance of it’s plans.

  “We also should use strips from the imperial jackets instead of shirts. It’s thicker so whatever reason we’re rubbing copper, it won’t let the electricity seep out!”

  “Excellent observations Commander Laura! You’re right, we should make those changes at once!” Sill responded.

  “Maybe Sill should be speaking to you instead?” Jan coughed slowly while he wheezed more orders to the troops. His head was splitting from the number of the times the rock spat out some uncooth squabble of words.

  She turned for a moment paper still in hand with a flurry of writing filling up almost every corner of the page. The bold ink coalessed into thin paragraphs and rudimentary drawings.

  “Jan don’t you understand. This isn’t just magic it has a rhythm and a reason, it’s science. What Sill is creating here is a quantifiable, measurable product. Something that can be studied and reproduced!”

  He nodded slowly. She didn’t have to explain too much.

  “My parents would have waited their entire lives for a second of this moment.”

  The other scribe breathed out slowly to let Laura continue speaking. An awkward tension filled the air, and he was uncertain what to mention next.

  “My grandmother is running out of funds Jan. She’s a major part of the academic community but she’s getting old. She can only work for so much longer and I’ve seen her face and the circles under her eyes at night. She’s tired. The academy is more expensive than ever and the Lanu name may still hold weight but those who know it’s fame are becoming fewer and far between.”

  “Laura if you need money, I can always ask Irwain” He responded calmly.

  “Ask Irwain? Ask? I’m not here for handouts Jan, I want to make my own luck and this is the chance of a lifetime. A single technical paper would be worth an entire treasury. Books? Journals? It would be priceless beyond compare.”

  The other scribe continued. She was scribbling with fervent passion while the soldiers around them carried out their orders.

  “I spent my whole life reading other people’s work, living snapshots of their dreams while wasting my day to day, waiting for some miracle to spring purpose into my life. I’ve spent years poured over covers, journals and maps watching history trickle by all in the hopes of contributing to something…more. I want to let my foot step on the path and my ideas speak to the world. For once in our lives theres no more catching up, no more review, memorization or summary. We are on the forefront and this is our chance.” Laura replied.

  He nodded slowly. Jan could tell she was serious from the way her eyes scowled and her chest raised with a feeling of both pride and indifference. She was enjoying every splinter of a second they stood in Sill’s presence. No whiff of vapour pooling from the canteens was too small or copper bend too minute to captivate her gaze while her mind raced in fanatic excitement at the prospect of chasing the unknown. Aloat overheard their conversation and let out her own loose nodd of approval. That was of course before Sill interrupted again with a high pitched tone.

  “Commanders!!! Come fix this please. The Jannics are getting things wrong again!!”

  It was almost the sheer bizarre nature of the tasks that piqued their interest. Ten soldiers chipping away at the copper armour with their daggers to simply nail the plates to wooden boards. Seven others rubbed grease and fat to long strings of fabric and then wrapping them around the newly formed copper strings like some monetary sacrifice aided by the blood of animals to call down the prehistoric gods. He had imagined ten thousand years prior when electricity was still not short of rumor ancient scientists would preform this rite daily. Hurried wizards or mages would hover over large alchemical vats oozing whisps of smoke in architectural feats of infrastructure tied to the toils of their daily lives. Sixteen thousand years prior there were rumors electricity had been used to power ships, to make humans and entire cities fly. It was a daunting time of pleasure, abundance yet often the stories would speak of war. Tales that had quickly faded from thought to memory, legend and even now mere fantasy. At least that’s how Jan had described it, Sill screeched some orders about active electrode connections crying out for a use of beeswax, candles and whatever splots of oil they had to be drenched on the ripped shirts and blankets.

  “That wire isn’t wrapped enough Commander if we don’t insulate then were going to loose all the charge!!” Sill screeched in enthusiasm.

  Jan had ordered two other soldiers to stand by ready to catch the charge when it leapt out of the bottles and to toss the evil spirit back into the machine. The scouts were overjoyed at the thought of this and almost celebrated immediately at the idea of being selected for such an honorious task. They took the orders seriously and began staring at the copper wires with squinted eyes and hard gazes but this only angered the rock more with Laura quickly relieving the soldiers. The two turned to aid a group of imperials who were smearing more wax and resin over the coin chains and wrapping joints of the mesh-like pot structures in more oil dripped cloth.

  “No you don’t understand the charge isn’t going to run away Commander!! It’s the flow of electrons and a critical characteristic of matter that will result in an interaction through electrostatic attraction or repulsion!!!!!”

  “I understand Sill, don’t worry theres forty of us here, I’m sure we can wrestle the charge downwards and as for it’s attraction or repulsion, were trained against subversive tactics, I doubt anyone will be placed up the spirit’s spell” Jan replied firmly.

  He was away from the main crowd so no individuals could see him mutter to himself like a war-trog bent on fumes.

  “Nevermind Commander……. I’lll uh Commander…… uh Commander we will need to work on your education later…” Sill responded sharply.

  “Wait Sill why are we rubbing this in so much cooking oil again?” Laura asked.

  Soldiers stared up in wonder while they continued to fumble about the machine.

  “We need to keep the wire insulated so power doesn’t bleed from the activation surge! It’s fairly simple Commanders!! Wait why is that like that, Commander Jan, tell that Jannic to clean more!” the rock screamed.

  Just then Aloat walked forward.

  “What are we doing here useless?”

  The scribe didn’t answer but continued to follow the rock’s orders.

  “You may have fooled Laura with the whole teleological progression of science but I don’t buy it. What kind of sacrificial magic are we about to conduct? Is this how you pass all of your exams? Some debauchery of the natural order? I should have known Irwain chose you for your divulgence into the occult!!”

  Her accusation was uttered with a hint of both shock and interest.

  “No, yes, Aloat last time I had to write a paper on the philosophy of ethical punishment I simply tossed six pages into a vat of extra virgin olive oil and muttered gibberish until the universe coallessed enough just words to be good enough for a B+”

  She scoffed before leaning forward. What terrified Jan was that for a second, he could tell the Sheriff’s face contemplated his words.

  Then Aloat’s head stuck like a sore thumb in Jan’s face again while she watched his hands. Curiosity bled through her hard-pressed expression while she hung like a dead goose over Jan’s every move. Once in awhile she would question him and give a snide yet equally witty remark before turning to shout more soldiers to follow his orders. She seemed ever more suspicious with every time he stopped to let Sill speak or muttered gibberish under his breath, that she almost smiled in realization. Jan tired to concentrate as the Sheriff stuck her full face over the canteen’s opening, stopping him from hanging a newly forged copper plate on a wooden stick over the opening. It was only when he started to make the wires in series, a sort of diagonal web of metal and steaming hues that the others took notice. Laura handed their documentation to Aloat who had better drawing skills but was seemingly even more confused when she realized neither Laura nor Jan had any idea about their creation and were seemingly dictating a backwards recipe from memory or an honourable order from the gods. Aloat being an atheist was even more terrified by the fact their fate rested in a source no greater than trust Jan.

  “More ratlings Sheriff Laura!” a soldier announced.

  Their beady eyes and long snouts shone in the thin clump of observers who now crowded the pit’s edge. A peanut gallery had begun to assemble to watch the last plight of those who were about to die. Below, the entire crew froze. They were uncertain if the ratlings would approve of what they were doing but since they themselves could barely understand it, it seemed a fickle problem at hand. Twice a ratling made some anamalistic notion that swore down or berated them with stern-faced chitters but little more came than unintelligible rhetoric. Jan knew it was only a matter of a few hours before the Primelord or Dalious approached the pit’s edge and only then would their fate truly be tested. What humans did stare down often regarded the scene with a grim tone. Likely it seemed the imperials were performing a sacred death rite or ceremony for their fallen comrades.

  Paxter must have been keeping them busy.

  The thought ran like ice down the scribe’s back.

  “Keep on the lookout, Commander but remember as long as those class-2 genetic hybrid “ratlings” don’t move like a hive. We’ll be okay team!!!” the tiny rock added.

  Laura and Jan nodded at this but they were even more terrified to witness what moving like hive would constitute.

  Eventually, the creatures disappeared to the plains above and those around them seemed to be invigorated with a stir. The machine was their only hope now. The last time someone tried to pull a feat even remotely comparable to this had been seven years prior when fleet Admiral Zorach had been locked in Wei prison after a diplomatic mission turned sour. He had been accused of spying and attempting to steal imperial secrets on black-box timing, a way to slow down time for users inside and drastically advance both their learning, combat and developmental capability. Time dilation spells rarely worked as intended, mostly just giving the user a heightened sense of awareness comparable to increased mental acuity however the technology extrapolated to entire rooms was even more far-fetched than reverse engineering watchers and pure fantasy. The Emperor furiously denied such ridiculous claims and fought hard through diplomatic channels for the Admiral and his retinue's release. There was a large media campaign, printed newspapers and slander towards Wei government had seeped over borders and caused a sizable internal stir. Strangely enough however the Admiral escaped through methodically unwarding all six hundred and seventeen stones that made up his prison walls. Living on nothing but a daily ration of bamboo gruel he trained and rewired another seven hundred and sixty doors in the entire prison through simply walking by them multiple times a day. In total it was an intensely powerful magical feat only for a single well-timed prison riot to mark his escape. Upon his return he was heralded a hero, however in order to maintain peace with Wei a necessary prisoner swap was allotted. It caused almost a complete divide upon the nobility and royal advisors who staunchly opposed the Admiral's unjust imprisonment and the need for retribution when no spying had actually taken place.

  That was until it was revealed the entire time Wei guardsman were right and he was in fact a spy. The Admiral had been caught red-handed with a twelve-foot wrought-iron black room loaded onto a battlecruiser and headed straight for the imperial capital. There had even been hand to combat on the ships deck with Wei executors facing off against imperial special forces that left sixty-four dead.

  Remarkably, if they survive,d this would be an accomplishment that would catch even more headlines.

  “Commander, can you pay attention they made another mistake!!!” Sill pipped in.

  “Jar three is leaking!! Tell someone to patch that canteen!”

  The copper in his hand slipped again while he rearranged the wires.

  “Jan, do you think they’ve noticed us yet?” Laura asked.

  She pointed towards the quarries edge. Human scouts and ratlings stared down at them with interest however they seemed preoccupied with whatever prisoners remained above. Twice a series of bloodied armour would be tossed from the rapport-like cliff edge. No body fell, just red stains and imperial tatters. The intimidation was enough to scare them and left too many wonders to remained sane. They shuddered to think what had happened to Paxter and the others. Three times they heard screams.

  “Add more brine, pour quickly Commander!!! The current’s sagging!!!” Sill added.

  “I don’t know, I think we’re running out of time” Jan responded. He tried not to let his emotions loose from his tongue but it was too little too late.

  “Almost finished Commander!! We need to move fast those ratlings don’t know what we're up to, but their leader certainly will!” Sill cried out oncemore.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  A few guards complained but the order kept them in line. There was a method to the madness and a rhythm to the coweb of metal. Just like Sill reported, ten rows were in parallel and another ten in series. The rock nodded and said they were connected but Jan had to trust it’s idea of what a measurement constituted. Only once seven identical strings lay like felled trees on the wet stone did they lay the two wood beams and cap them with the hammered coppered armour. Sill was very descriptive which string was positive and negative. A seemingly odd moral and ethical contribution to the waxy roped lines but the others didn’t question it. They simply assumed it mean’t then negative half would remove the balance of life and stepped away in fear the gods would zap them into some putrid ash mixture of flaky wisp of charcoal. Or worse be immortalized in some constellation by the vengeful wrath of a deity whose motivations they could barely place in a thimble of contemplation.

  At last the first layer was complete and after two hours of labour Sill began to slow down with relief to Jan’s ears. His non-stop commands and seemingly unflinching response time had made Jan seem have almost a veritable presence of leadership among the others which caused Aloat to become even more confused and lost. She gritted her teeth while she watched. From Jan’s understanding the pulse would give him power. An ability to fight back even in the confines of the watchers. Something Crous alone was rumoured only in the steepest of fiction to be able to uphold. Now was time to see if these words were true. He did breathe a little too deeply. Hopefully the machine would grant the power one by one and they would all be able to fight. Anything less and Jan could hardly imagine his own powers being able to carve them through. Even with his natural talent he would be up against the Primelord and entire host of mages. It would be a slaughter.

  “Charge is building Commanders, 94%!!!!” Sill added.

  “Wait, Theric, the wooden bars we made, they feel…. Warm?” A soldier responded quickly.

  Others quickly grouped around the strange contraption of seemingly crucified armour. Like the punished traitors of old, the bronze chestplates and bracers lay limp with nails and peggs driven through the weak metal and into the wood beneath. They had been reluctant to give it up their prized possessions but Jan’s promise of uniform wealth and a future where they didn’t have their heads chopped off like ferns by ratlings had appeased any complaints. Aloat instantly felt the metal and muttered something about the heat but shrugged it off as nothing with a shrill tone.

  “Over here, the metal is getting very hot, Consul Theric!” Another soldier replied stiffly.

  His hands were stained in vinegar as he relayed to two more soldiers who muttered curiously.

  “Jan feel this!” Laura replied excitedly.

  It was only when multiple strings were loaded that the first side effect became apparent. Heat. It wasn’t much of a radiant force but the idea the copper strands were generating warmth was something almost mythological. Alchemy had become their creed and their actions verging into an unknown and alien world. At least it mean’t regardless this contraption was something worth studying in the future. Others started to believe a little more and when Jan asked for a single line in the wire’s copper tongues to be separated by a wooden wedge they sprung in an instant. He didn’t know what this would do but he warned the others not to touch Sill’s “switch” until exactly the right moment. The two copper lips remained separated in a half-sprung state where removal of the wedge would cause them to unfurl in an instant. It was imperative that fixture of the project remained undisturbed.

  Slowly the copper began to sizzle with short sparks marking the air. Tiny stips of lightning no more than an inch tall began to appear. At this those around them look up in awe. The mesh of wires and sweat that lay infront was surely something from another world.

  “Sheriff Laura” another voiced pipped up.

  She turned at an instant to see the final piece of their equipment laying infront. The pads. The leather-wrapped copper and soaked cloth had taken some time to be described and were sent to a five person team for construction. Sill had been overtly specific about their design down to the very scratchy type of leather to exact instructions. Each wire lead to the center where the pads lay discarded like jumbly rocks on the ground. When pressed further about what happened next, Sill left more of a vague accumulation of words than a direct sequence but the others were too busy to really pressure it further.

  “Scrape that plate Commander Laura!!!!! we’re declining our fizz!!!!”

  Unsure what necessarily constituted “fizz” Laura left that task to a superfluously tired Jan.

  “The pads?”

  “We finished but the instructions are so bizarre. What are these for?” Another soldier asked. His entire face was a mixture of displeasure and pure unbridled intrigue.

  “Shock.”

  Jan retorted Sill’s words exactly and it caused quite a stir as those around tried to relay what was happening would be similar to being knocked on the head or stunned backwards. Laura looked at the rock in Jan’s pocket with interest and Aloat continued to eye them like a hawk from a distance. The crowd at last began to gather. It was only when they had completed their first draft of the machine did the others began to point towards the quarries edge.

  Ratlings and humans stirred at the stony outcrop. The imperials readied their weapons.

  “Sill, we have more ratlings above, is this going to be okay?” Laura questioned.

  They paused on the creatures, thought with even more consideration.

  “No it should be fine!!!! As long as they don’t form a hive no one important is watching! These are class-2 liveforms. I wouldn’t worrryy at all!!!!” the rock screamed.

  They were worried.

  Suddenly, even more words started to build on the cliff’s edge. The sound of talking and shouts began to grow. Their work had started to be taken seriously.

  Then they started to move. An entire army marched infront.

  Ratlings swirled, running around the edge almost as if lost in thought in circular motion. They teetered on the cliff’s edge like a gambit and paid no attention to the obstacles infront with tripping and shuffling shapes. Something unnatural was occurring above. Little by little, one by one, they were taken. A creature standing alone and independent would straighten it’s rag covered back and shift to give in to the will of the wave. The other ratlings seemed scared of this and tensed or screamed before their bodies simply gave away to pre-cluded instructions. Others embraced their transition with open arms, awaiting the parasite-addled brain to take over. The fleshy mounds protruding from their skulls seemed to ooze and letch before even more black bile seeped from the pores. They’re movements were synchronized and devoid of any flaw with stiff and fluid motions cascading like a monogram. Dirt kicked up from the cliff's edge while a veritable tornado of sand spat into the air. Gravel and rocks began to stumble slowly down to form an avalanche of pebbles at the imperial's feet.

  “Sill!! Does that count as a hive!?!!!” Laura ask quickly.

  All of the soldiers stared upwards with swords drawn. Shields were formed into a wall, and they tried their best to brace for the horrors about to unfold.

  “Yes Commanders!!! Get to the pads immediately!! When I say so, remove the wedge!!”

  “It knows what were doing Commander! The humans don’t but it does, we need to act fast!!!”

  “Oh god, were going to die” another soldier muttered under his breath.

  “Saturation reached. Discharge imminent!!!!!!”

  Jan shouted more orders to the troops but the veterans had already reacted. A shield wall had formed protecting the pots and Laura stood ready at the switch. They had begun to descend.

  Twenty of so of the possessed ratlings jutted like a torrential wave down the rock. Hundreds would follow. It was a leeching strike that would spell certain doom for the survivors within. Jan ran to the pads following Sill’s directions as he fumbled on the copper wire. His hand slipped on the greasy cloth causing it to fall to the ground and his palm to pick it up again. There wasn’t even a seat or place for him to rest while the charge took effect. Laura stood at the switch poised to strike. Each second seemed like millennia as their hearts began to stop. It was just Jan sticking the wires to the back of his neck with Aloat standing in a confused state while barely comprehending whatever madness was about to occur. The outside soldiers rallied for their defence while those inside gambled their lives on unknown truths.

  “Why are we putting the copper pads on you Jan!! Why are we putting them on you?! What is going on?! Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Barka shouted in pure fury.

  Just then Sill spoke. This time out loud and just for Aloat and Jan to hear.

  “Evil Jannic!! Get ready to catch Commander Jan! But do not touch him until the wires are removed!!!”

  “Bus bar saturation at 82%!!!! Be prepared for impact!!”

  Sill had spoke. He had revealed his presence to the waking world. In the heat of the moment, Sheriff Barka’s face lit up in awe. Her expression instantly struck into realization with her pale hands clinging to her own mudstruck armour for support. It was a mixture of pure shock. She went to speak but the others were too busy to even acknowledge her presence. She seemed to look around wildly for the source of the voice like she was losing her mind.

  Her mouth opened and no words came.

  “Catch? Wait Sill why do I need to be caught?” Jan replied in pure panic.

  There was no meaningful answer. He had even ignored the fact Sill had just revealed his presence to Aloat in words that were very hard to disguise as a disgruntled cough or the wind whistling. Ratlings had begun to fight the surrounding imperials. They were moving in utter desperation with the first strike coming from a blunt kitchen knife to chip away at a tower shield. Another four crumpled on a veteran soldier with three more ratlings perishing to a single swipe of a sword.

  “Worry about it lateer!!! Commander Laura remove the wedge on my count!” Sill added.

  That did not seem like something they should worry about later but Jan just coughed and stood ready. He was now shouting loud enough for all three to hear over the sound of ratlings crashing against the imperial force. Laura stood in preparation.

  “Wait didn’t you say I had a ? chance of death. Sill! Is this safe? Sill?!!” Jan shouted.

  Aloat heard this and held a baffled, concerned and perplexed look that could only be complemented the sounds of waking war. Her facial expression ended up in a mixture of world

  weariness and spite.

  “Charge peak approaching… ninety-five percent… ninety-eight…” Sill added.

  “We pull on one, everybody get ready!!” the rock shouted.

  They all braced. The countdown began. Through the fabric, the copper felt smooth against Jan’s neck. He pulsed for a moment and breathed. Laura stuck a wooden block between his teeth in accordance to Sill instructions.

  “Whamfs phat phor?” Jan relayed in shock.

  “Bite guard! Okay now everybody ready! Remember you’re Command chip will soak most of it but this will only give you 3-4% power! We’re going to have to search for more permanent means later!!!”

  The answer didn’t exactly instill confidence.

  “5”

  “4”

  Laura readied herself. She straightened her cloak and placed a hand on the wedge.

  The ratlings neared.

  “Pull now! Sill shouted.

  “Oh and Commander this maaaay hurt! But just a little bit!!!”

  “Whawh?”

  The command came a full three seconds early. Jan cursed himself for ever trusting a rock. He cursed him even more when a quick zap of a hundred volts coarsed through his veins.

  To the outside world, a meagre 10 volts channelled through the improvised Leydig cells to collect in Jan’s poor neck. It was nothing, a blip on the radar of electrical industrialization. In the bolten cities and manufacturing worlds of Sill’s origins this would be paramount to a thimble of a drop of the power churned on a second basis towards a mechanized front. A toaster would consume eight hundred to fifteen hundred, and microwaves would near a thousand. Today it was comparable only to ichor and translatable to the power of the gods.

  For all consideration, the execution of was oddly unsatisfying

  Nothing happened.

  Then it hit.

  The scribe let out a terrifying scream. At first the charge manifested as a burning and tingling sensation. Needles stabbing slowly into his back. An uncontrollable fizz similar to being shot with lightning from any ordinary mage. This however, was in no way comparable to magic. The lightning of Jan’s past felt like raindrops on loose leaves or a cold winters breeze compared to the raw, uncontrollable jolt. Magic had a buffer, mediated by the power and limitations of it’s caster towards a toned down idea of the feeling. When channelling, creating a killshot mean’t you had to experience it first. You had to hold it, nurture the power in your own hands and baited palm. There was a protective buffer between you and your craft but it was still a biological limitation. Here was an artificial pain that was of unnatural industrial creation. This was a jolt no human was ever designed to experience or withhold, a cross between two dichotomizing worlds of natural and alien that it shot like daggers every fissue and limb in his body with sizzle-like glee. His head bounded like mountainslops crashing down on a tiny dale. This must have been how Crous had felt tortured and beaten in imperial strongholds. Desperate to escape in an anamalistic rage. The same kind of pain Arloni bureaucrats had felt after their failed assassination attempt. It was a man-created, unnatural agony unsuitable and alien to the world of their origin. In the end of the Arloni rebels had become destitute with nothing but pain to remind them of the gamble for freedom. There was an almost supernatural edge to the tantalizing agony. The taste in his mouth turned grainy with a static hovering like fuzzy blanket of death over the scribe’s now weighed shoulders. His hand started twitching, his arms and torso contracting out of will as his entire body jolted into action. That was until he fainted. Arms limp, the scribe teetered forward.

  Jan collapsed like rocks into the soft dirt. Laura went for Sill in an instant while Aloat picked up a sagging Jan in her arms with a permanent state of confusion laced like thread to a woolly sweater.

  “He’s being dramatic!! He’s being dramatic!!” Sill shouted.

  “You killed him!!!!” Laura screamed. She was absolutely terrified with almost watery eyes at the sight of her friends would-be corpse.

  “The danger zone for ventricular fibrillation begins at an estimated 30–50 milliamps to the chest!! 50–100 volts or more! This is ten!! Relax Commander Laura. He’s being dramatic!!” Sill responded.

  “Heart’s stabilizing, oh nooo…” Sill responded.

  “What do you mean oh no?!”

  The two had little time to react.

  “An inanimate?!!! This entire time you entrusted our lives to an inanimate!!!?” Aloat screamed.

  “You got Jan killed!!! You didn’t even….wait that’s not an inanimate..” Barka said slowly.

  It was a strange sensation while Aloat held Sill. She was being more careful and gentle with the scribes flimsy form than normal. Her eyes filled wide with curiosity while she examined the rock’s smooth exterior. Sorrow, terror and a strange sensation of interest caught her gaze. Laura looked at her a worried expression before staring at the machine again. Her faith in Sill dwindled but there had to be something they could do, the rock had created something. It didn’t take all of these pieces out of random. There had to be a plan.

  “Maybe you could have mentioned you’re following a demonic creature!!” the Sheriff muttered.

  “Look we don’t have time I’ll explain later, Sill what did you do to Jan?” Laura spoke quickly.

  “Sill? Sill? Is that the name of some demon? Doesn’t that mean rock in Wei?” Aloat questioned.

  The other scribe ignored her.

  The ratling army was almost upon them. Aloat had readied herself to defend Jan’s body while the defenders neared. It had only been a minute since the ratlings descended upon them but time was a precious commodity they didn’t have.

  “This shouldn’t have happened! Somethings wrong! I’m connecting to the chip’s mainframe right now, it’s at 4% and dropping!!”

  Suddenly, Sill spoke like a mouthpiece for Jan’s body. His tone was robotic, shifting between cold, emotionless sentences and his usual enthusiastic self. Aloat looked wide-eyed in shock. What was even more strange was as they spoke the ratlings stopped. Their eyes turned pitch black while they stood like statues. Responding and fighting back if the imperials reacted. But waiting, watching with a displeased look on their faces. Aloat knew the brief respite would not likely last long.

  Then Sill's voice echoed a more placid and steady tone.

  “COMMAND CODE AUTHORIZED A349187, MODEL 7A, Origin, CORE-A, DESTINATION: QAIL, REMARKED PURPOSE: ERADICATION; BIO-COMPONENTS CONTAIMINATED…….CONTAMINATED…… ”

  “Oh dear Commander Laura!! It seems Commander Jan’s hardware was significantly tampered by the enemy!!! My systems are being….”

  Suddenly, Sill's voice was overwritten but a stern emotionless terminal.

  “ERROR ERROR, PURGING CONTAMINANT 83%”

  “ERROR ERROR, PURGING CONTAMINANT 93%”

  Then Sill’s enthusiasm suddenly returned in a split second cry.

  “Hit him! Hit him in the chest!! Something’s blocking his trachea!! Hit him!!!!” Sill shouted with uncharacteristic concern.

  Barka took the honour and punched the scribe square on with all her might. She took a little too much pleasure in the action. Laura slowed when she started to realize the sheer amount of truth Sill had been speaking these past few weeks.

  Then the bile oozed from his lips. A thick, disgusting, black, pugnant liquid flowed like a stream of mud through the unconscious scribe’s throat. The other two almost welched from the sight.

  “PURGING CONTAMINANT, PURGING CONTAMINANT 93%, CLASS 5 BIOHAZARD INFECTION PRESENT, STATUS STABILIZED. REQUIRE IMMEDIATE MEDICAL AND SCIENTIFIC STUDY. ALL SYSTEMS NORMAL.”

  “CONTACTING FLEET….CONTACTING FLEET, PROTOCOL 182535. ETR, 146 years….”

  They were completely unsure what to make of the strange words and simply waited in awe.

  “CONTACT FAILED, COMMUNICATIONS ARRAY SURGICALLY CORRODED BY CONTAMINANT, TAMPERING, TAMPERING, REQUIRE IMMEDIATE MEDICAL STUDY” Sill’s robotic voice heaved.

  Then his eyes fluttered open.

  Jan was awake now. His face shot open as he continually barfed a stitching gloopy black liquid that seemed to leetch and swirl on the ground infront. It’s mirrage of colours seemed to burn the eye at slightest glance and he could barely catch his breath between leaking the disease. It lurched and slurped like a bulbous liquid. The exact same composition that Lastrum saw all those years ago. It was alive.

  “Commander, are you okay?!!! I was able to get your Command chip working!!! We still have no contact with the fleet. It seems the contaminant surgically removed your communication abilities!!!”

  Sill’s words sounded like gibberish to Jan but he had more pressing priorities with a Laura who looked paler than a ghost and what even looked to be concern flashing across Aloat’s face.

  More seeped bile from his mouth, his ears with the tar-like consistency.

  Aloat bent over and poured out one of her vials to scoop of the liquid into a bottle. Something Laura cursed at while she was too busy propping Jan up while he heaved into the ground. The Sheriff almost gagged twice while pressing the lid on the glass rim but curiosity and intelligence acted as potent motivators.

  Then, lifting himself off the ground Jan didn’t say a world while his fingers trickled.

  “The Consul! The Consul’s channelling!!!” A soldier cried out. Others followed suit.

  The words held more meaning than a thousand tomes. The entire crowd turned around, excitement and fierce awe catching their tongues.

  The ground began to warp at his feat as he manipulated part of the watcher rock into sand.

  Lightning struck to his fingertips, and fire leapt from Jan’s palm. Sunlight creeped away from view while clouds began to clump and the heavens blocked into grey ash.

  The powers of an archmage coursed through his veins.

  The imperials around him watched in awe, terror, admiration and shock as for the first time in history, watchers were ignored.

  Above the ratlings and humans trembled.

  There would be hell to pay.

  —-------------------------------------------------- break—----------------------------------------------------

  Primelord Nuem’s sword shifted in it’s sheath as he straightened his silk mage-coat. It had been a long time since the weapon had been drawn. He barely remembered the sight of it’s enchanted blade or the feel of it’s weave through the still air. In another life he had lived with that sword as his loyal master, it’s steel glint reflected his own blood, handle was simply an extension of his own fleshy arm and he had taken enough lives with it’s tip to fill a city’s beds twice. He had washed enough blood from it’s steel surface to flood lakes. Now it hung like a loose stick, more symbolic than tool. Infront a beaten Paxter sat on crisp cushioned mahogany chairs and with blood dripping from his chin to pool on the tent’s embroidered carpet. Lushious royal hues of purple, red and gold made up a collage of frills and columns decorating the fabric ceiling and polished wardrobes and even sword racks lined the walls against imported oil paintings and a collection of well-dressed books. Gold foil carpeted the enchanted screen windows with a beautifully detailed map of the world lying unfurled on a study table. A few of the portraits even seemed to resemble Nuem’s face. The occupations, hairstyles, clothing, emotions and poses of the painted versions struck some difference yet the idea was undeniable.

  One commemorated his victory at the battle of Littlewater in 6112, when in the command of an imperial fleet, he sunk 32 galleons from the now extinct Numer Empire.

  Another was painted in 6005 where he had sat in a seated poses of embroidered clothes and silk gowns to celebrate his election as High Lord of the Capitals Ore Guilds. More recently was a stunning victory portrait for his slaying for the sprite of Mouna Dure, a terror for the 6182 crop harvest and butcher of hamlets and towns across the continent. The great creatures head was artificially enlarged in the paint to embolden his heroic feat. He could still remember the look on the fool king’s face when he had returned to slam it’s head upon the great hall table and split dragon’s blood in their finest wines. Countless other visuals lined the walls, almost watching and waiting to remind the Primelord of the virtues of his past selves, judging with the worlds, lives, hopes, dreams and strands of fate he had left behind. Lastly and the oldest was a portrait from 5885 where a young Nuem stood side by side with his masters at the gates of the Kag academy. His face was fresh and undisturbed with a hint of morality still clinging to his cheeks. His memories and lust for daily life had not been so easily faded by the drudgery of repetition. Life had meaning back then, it had purpose, a reason. Everything had been new, the world an uncharted path. Today that was not so similar.

  Time was boring, dull and far too tedious for those who lived past their years. He was an exception. Nuem had waited for a few more minutes before the bruised and now profusely bleeding Paxter finished a long list of condemnations towards both the Primelord’s army and their mission. It was a droning tone, one the mage spitefully ignored while pressing his fork into the freshly cooked steak. Nuem found him to be a Sean-like, or was it a Perrin-like, or maybe a Mildred-like? It was hard to tell. The original Perrin would have tried to stab him by now. His servant was definitely a Perrin-like, Nuem had to be careful but he would have him killed tomorrow if he noticed any more deviations. It was hard to recall what the original Perrin even looked-like but attributing the same characteristics and styles of personalities to people on repeat helped him remember. He had seen too many faces and lived too many lives to exist without a system. Besides, when you had lived as artificially long as Nuem, you saw the trends. The same characters seemed to appear and disappear, different names and faces but their mannerisms were always identical. The steak was nice. It had been done medium rare and hunted expressly for his purpose. A little squirt of lemon and bay leaves on top marked the seasoning. In past lives he would have dined with his troops and ate the dried meats, fruits fat or forgaging in a way to supplant moral or disway the redundancy of pleasantries. Those were different times. Nuem stared at the blood collecting on his carpet while Paxter continued to ramble. He was fascinated by it’s consistency. The stain would be hard to remove with all these watchers around.

  He would never consume the infected meat they so ignorantly devoured. The Primelord barely felt sorry for the mercenaries when they cheered over a puss-covered pig conveniently trampling into the camp or small infected herds of cattle wandering miles from their farms to feed the waiting army. The idiots had to learn. There was reason those animals were showing up so often they could camp with limited provisions for near months.

  A reason he didn’t want to discuss.

  A thimble of cure for the changing was dipped into the Primelords' wine each morning. He tried to make sure it got to most humans and his servants at least. They would likely be reinfected the next day but he had to have assurances. Their master could be temperamental, cold and too logic-focused to realize the truth. Sometimes, Nuem hated how much he was kept in the dark. Secret messages, messengers that would simply forget what they were told seconds after whispering to Nuem unsettling tales. Outside of their bases in the wilds, the barbarity he had witnessed in the master’s service was appalling. Still it did have it’s perks. This assignment however had been both rather fun and teedingly boring. The child was to be unharmed and placed in a pit surrounded by watchers. They would mine watchers in preparation for siege attack on Kag and fund merancies from the west to join their cause. It was simple enough. This was however one of the largest moves the master had made in a long time. Excitement laced Nuem’s heart when he first received written word. It had been an honour to fight and the imperials today were a shadow of their former doctrine compared to when he had served. Still it was curious as to why they needed the child and why the security was so tight. A few hundred ratlings could guard the hole’s edge. Two thousand was overkill.

  Nuem had received letters from the west detailing all he needed to know. He would have to tell that idiot Dalious his findings later. It was always a pain to work with some fleshy, but the lizard version was at least bipedal. Too often with the master’s lesser lieutenants or animal hybrids would their fanatic devotion and unnatural existence get in the way of logical thinking. In five days time their masters plan would be complete and Nuem was already trying to guess what creature would be sent to replace the dalious next. The enemy was waiting, watching and if Nuem and the others didn’t act fast horrors would unfold. He had witnessed them in the flesh before. The master’s tactics were unorthodox but they still had logic and emotion. The others treated this world like a pale imitation or abomination to be cleansed. The outsiders had no regard for the value of their lives.

  Nuem was just about to raise a glass and offer the bleeding Paxter an apple when a soldier stormed through the tent flap. Then he heard the lightning.

  Realization struck Nuem's face while he fumbled for a sword at his hilt. The soldier collapsed into his arms for the Primelord to carefully push him off. The messenger had done his duty. Now it was time for Nuem to act. He barked orders towards those around them and screamed for more guards. Whatever half-cocked escape plan the prisoners held, it would only be a matter of seconds before they foiled it and this time there would be hell to pay.

  Then to his horror, Nuem saw the first bolt.

  A pillar of light, shining brighter than a thousand stars, erupted from the pit’s dirt walls.

  Suddenly, Nuem realized there was a reason he was guarding this pit.

  The Primelord’s mind raced. Centuries of battle experience kicked into action out of instinct. A strange feeling of adrenaline coursed through his veins for the first time in over twenty years. The watchers made this fight interesting. Few could even withstand his lightest attacks but surrounded by the cursed rock his talent was functionally useless.

  Still, time was on his side and Nuem was excited as he heard the Dalious’s calls to war.

  In all of the Primelords' 382 years of life, this would be the second time he had ever fought an offworlder.

  Meanwhile, somewhere three thousand miles away in the heart of the Jannic sea, a subaircraft carrier got a single ping.

  ******************************

  LOCAL-LINK 7 ACTIVATED:

  RE-ROUTING TO AURORA DECK:

  CONNECTING TO TACTI-ERROR***SILL***ERROR

  PROTOCOL 187297: FLEET COMMANDER JAN THERIC REGISTERED,

  ERROR RE-ROUTING COORDINATES

  STANDBY

  STANDBY

  *************************************************************