Without Majordomo, Gorthow was forced to engage in some of the mundanities of command. But sacrifices must be made, and as the Great General, he wouldn’t shirk his duties. And besides, there was a kind of peace in doing the Systems work.

  “Keep the thopters in the air at all times – aerial refueling. Set up harvesting crews as we go, two strike squads for each station, one roving patrol, and one stationary. And I want reports from our forward scouts as soon as they come in – no delays. The System is watching.”

  He dialed in the required combinations to reach Xylos; their relays were working. Gorthow marveled at the foresight of his predecessors as he stood at attention. Without the Majordomo to facilitate, there was no way of knowing the exact moment the Emperor would take the call, and he dared not enrage the Leader – there was too much on the line.

  The aether sparked, and a line of light grew into the Emperor’s stern visage. “Gorthow you smug fool – report.”

  “Leader. We’ve penetrated their barrier. Harvesting has already begun, and the results are beyond predictions. You were right of–”

  “They are not beyond predictions. I said infinite, and I meant it! Check the vidscreens. I’ll expect the first shipments two cycles ahead of schedule. Excused.”

  The image collapsed, winking out in a single point of light.

  Gorthow wiped his brow; he needed a drink. He took a seat behind his desk, opening the bottom drawer—a bottle of his favorite, Xylo. He would start importing it here once the locals were tamed and the shipping routes opened up. Yes, he would retire soon – things were looking up.

  He poured himself two fingers as he waited for another call to go through. Technically, he shouldn’t be making it – but he had discretion.

  “Hello, Father.”

  “Clara, my precious, is that all you have to say to your Father! I’m on the front lines, this might be our last–”

  “Stop it, Dad. Everyone knows you’re going to vaporize the rebels. The MischiefBoards have your victory at a thousand to one; nobody's making any [capitals]. I just hope it's soon. I’m tired of all the questions. People are worried about the school dance being cancelled – something about wartime sacrifices. Is it true?”

  Gorthow drummed his fingers against his desk. He sighed and drank the entire glass. “Clara dear, tell your friends such talk is treason. The city of infinite mana doesn’t squabble over such trivialities. Now, be a good girl and focus on your studies. Those [capitals] aren’t going to earn themselves.”

  “Fine, whatever. Keep your secrets. Love you by.”

  The transmission ended. Gorthow chuckled as he remembered his own youth. Of course, his father would have skinned his hide if he ever spoke like that. But it was a new generation, and the Emperor was much more lenient these days.

  The General moved to the BattleBoard wall display and its constantly updating surface. Tiny clusters of needles rose and fell – representing terrain, troop movements, and enemy sightings. It was a Generals best friend and could make or break a campaign -- depending on how it was used. MaxTech provided most campaign essentials, and a good map was chief among them.

  So far, there had been no armed resistance, just vegetation, which was its own kind of resistance. He tapped a cluster of harvesters, the first crew getting to work, and the entire map fell away – pins dropping flat. A zoomed-in picture began to take shape, showing individual harvester units and their current mana extraction values in real time.

  “It seems these trees are more than just a nuisance. Just one of them could power Xylos for a day…”

  He tapped the map's corner, and it returned to its original display. He eyed the hotspots deeper in, much deeper. That was the real prize of this expedition. Whatever was there, yes – infinite mana indeed.

  Razer tossed his gearbag into the muck. This sucked. He’d trained his whole life for this, The Final Expedition. All Xylosians knew the day would come; it was written. Each generation dreamed of being the one to carry the manacrystal forward – and it had been his. A part of Razer had always known it would be so. So when he was chosen from the lottery winners, he knew it was his destiny.

  There was only one problem. His MaxTech suit wasn’t very well equipped for this environment, and the moisture was causing him a rash. He itched at the puffy red rings around his suit's openings. This place wasn’t natural, and these trees gave him the creeps. Walking was slow and arduous; the sooner supply lines were opened, the sooner they could re-equip. Assuming he had the [capitals], which he currently did not. But it was only a matter of time, as soon he’d be drowning in wealth. He couldn’t wait to jump on the market tonight. MaxTech was probably already updating their gear, and with his activity duty stamp – he’d be first in line – his stomach fluttered at the thought.

  Of course, he’d been tasked with the least profitable work – harvesting. The MaxTech universal harvesters were notorious for charging the worst fees; he’d only see a small fraction of the [capitals] harvested. It was far more profitable to be able to sell whole goods, but who was he kidding? He’d never be able to afford the license.

  Razer rummaged through his MaxTechSac, wishing he’d done a better job of organizing. Finally, he pulled out a rectangular contraption with two handles – it looked like a steering wheel split down the middle. The conglomerate logo – a cog leaned up against the letters MT – was stamped onto its surface. It had gauges, an adjust switch, and a power button – it even came with a built-in helper AI. He looked around the clearing – the rest of his team were nearly done with their trees. He didn’t have time for instructions, and there were [capitals] to be made.

  “Heh, barbarians, wasting their time climbing up these monsters.” He looked at his boots, slick with mud, then up at the exposed root from the tree he’d been assigned. It folded into the base of the tree, out of sight – there was no way of telling what was up there.

  Of course, he’d packed light, not by choice, but by virtue of not having any funds. He had no climbing gear or any other specialized equipment. It was all he could afford to pay for the basics. He’d scrambled at the last minute, just to get this harvester, lest he be kicked from the squad.

  He looked around again at the others, their harvester indicator lights flashing green, as the equipment converter mana into [capitals]. There were several in his squad with jetpacks, and they easily hopped across root tops, while he slopped in the mud. He approached one of them, looking up to where it folded into the base of the tree far above. There was no way he was making it up there, covered in slime, and without proper climbing gear – and the itching, no, he had a better idea.

  He stabbed the harvester into the root at eye level. This would be so much easier than going around the trunk. He couldn’t believe there was even enough archanite conduit to wrap around them; these were more like buildings than trees.

  Razer took one half of the harvester by handle, leaving the other stuck in place, as he moved around the root. He paused for a moment – there was a clicking…

  Razer narrowed his eyes, harvester in one hand, he crouched as the other drifted to the repeater strapped across his back. Nothing.

  “Don’t let this place get to you, Razer – you're better than that.”

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  He made it all the way around without slipping and locked the harvester together with a click. Soon his own light was flashing green – “Hm. Yellow, what does that–”

  “Network mismatch! The rookie is –”

  Someone plowed into him from behind, and Razer plopped face down in the muck.

  If the rookie had listened to the helper AI, or even paid more attention to the training vid – every new purchaser was required to watch – he would have realized the mistake. Harvesters operated in tandem, sharing the network when in proximity. And due to a series of complex sign-wave calculations and System magic, one needed to take care to match frequencies with one's neighbors.

  To put it simply, Razer had attached a straw to a network filled with gargantuan hoses, and when it tried to balance the flow into the new node. Well, it was like trying to empty several rivers into a drinking straw, and most of the liquid didn’t make it through. Instead, the liquid, or mana in this equation, spills out into the network, creating a cascading effect – and subsequent and ongoing explosion.

  Eldrin seethed. Arriving moments ago, the taste of victory had turned to ashes in his mouth. The Spire was…he looked away, unable to stomach the pain.

  The vatagand slumbered, comfortable on its perch, its bulk spilled over the edges. The Keepers' Watch was unrecognizable as they frantically marched around Murkspire, crossing bridges only to turn around and march back the way they came, some even running right off the sides.

  Junks and ground skimmers disappeared into the treelines, like fading memories, their dreams left behind.

  “Where is that damnable servant of mine. Ground spirits – too slow, too slow by half – I should have picked a wind…water maybe.”

  Eldrin shook his head. He would deal with the vatagand first, before the thing caused any more damage. Who had been fool enough to leash such a creature – didn’t they understand? No, of course not, he’d kept that information to himself—a mistake, so many mistakes, and now this.

  He paced back and forth, returned to his orcish form. Where did it all go wrong? How had this happened? It all started with that fool girl – Yuki. He thought she would lend him an advantage, that he was the spider, and she a finely woven web, helping him to capture prey.

  Oh, how wrong he had been. He couldn’t tell which god it had been, or perhaps it was the System – that meddling child. But he refused to be a pawn in some quest. He was Eldrin Mythweaver. The monarchy was but a memory, and Daybreak dead – he should have been the new ruler, the one to shape things to come, and yet he’d been trapped in his own magics.

  Well, now he was free; he could not die, and soon these level-obsessed Systems pawn would learn the true meaning of power.

  “What is…” Eldrin stopped his pacing and looked to the east—something was happening, first the Shining Ones; good riddance to those pesky spirits. And now this, his eyes narrowed, there were too many variables at the moment.

  A aether-shattering roar interrupted his thoughts. The vatagand was awake, its spines crawling with energy – it sensed it too. The world-eater slithered off the wreckage of the Keeper’s District.

  Eldrin smiled beneath smoldering eyes – it was time to hunt.

  —

  Leo winced as he touched his face. His head pounded, and his eyes were nearly swollen shut. If he could have seen himself, he would have thought he was more melon than man.

  “I should have listened to father. Good ideas are for the conglomerates. And now look at me, I’m…”

  Leonardo the [Engineer], or Leo as he was known in the engine rooms of Haveena, was in trouble – of that he was sure. He dared put his faith in the System and his reward.

  “Tossed out like garbage.”

  He didn’t mind, not really. He was tired of that life. Another world existed in his head: pump lines, humming capacitors, and mancrystal lit so bright as to light a city. Those possibilities would die with him – he knew it to be true. Let those ignorant believers die for all he cared. Their time would come soon enough. Xylos could not sustain itself forever, no matter what Mercer said. Sound engineering spoke for itself, and there was no denying it, Xylos would fall – it was only a matter of time.

  Something brushed against his leg. Leo froze. The worst thing you could do in the engine rooms when confronted with the unknown was the wrong thing. The problem – figuring out what that was? He was a veteran, and he’d survived more explosive situations than he cared to remember, so he wasn’t about to flail about like a kid in a candy shop.

  The System was quiet; it gave no warning, so this must just be–

  “Here, boy, get back here – what have I told you about – Steelfang get back here, come – get back.”

  Leo did his best to see into the darkness; there were some flickers of light, but he could make out little more than blurry shapes. “Hello, I’m a citizen of Xylos – and I, I have no idea where in Systems name I am – can you please help? I have some [capitals].”

  Laughter with a touch of madness, the voice not dissimilar from the mechanical whurrings he was so accustomed to.

  Sharp, abrupt barks at his feet. It was a monster, and he and this fellow were going to die. He searched his pockets. Nothing, he had no tools on him, those damn guards. That City, damn them. Maybe if he could use a skill, he had options–

  “Keep your [capitals] – they won’t do any good down here. Not where we’re going.”

  “W-where are we going?” Leo’s mind was off to the races as he tried to imagine a place so vile as not to have any–

  “To the Encampment, where all men such as us go. Get away from him, Steelfang – I know, I know, you smell something good. Maybe he’ll share, if he survives.”

  Leo swallowed. “Men such as us?”

  “The cost of doing business – that's what we are. We exist so that they can.” He pointed up, though Leo couldn’t see.

  Why is the monster coming with us? And did he give it – a name…

  Lyle was on his last legs. After being lost for so long, he’d thought himself dead. Just when he was about to give up, the way had revealed itself. Except it had kept on revealing itself, and Lyle had witnessed the sky for the first time. It wasn’t impressive, he didn’t think, the swamp sky was far more interesting.

  When he dropped his head to eye level – that’s when the real shock set in – draining what little life remained in his weary bones. It was an ocean, rolling waves – their faded colours stood in stark contrast to the sharp verdant tones of the swamp.

  A breeze traveled across the strange land, rolling it like waves. He did not smell the salty tang of bog as he peered through the treeline. It was not a vision or an illusion— a zone line —one that led to the…outside.

  Paralysis gripped him. What should he do? Grab a sample? He could – Mirabella. If she were here, she’d know.

  “Area clear…”

  Lyle’s ears twitched. The voice was odd…mechanical. They might be outsiders. He needed to exercise caution. The [Housebear] crept on all fours, stalking through the brush, “[Work, don’t Wake].”

  One of his favorite skills. He hated accidentally waking Mirabella after she’d completed a particularly mana-intensive and spirit-quaking ceremony. But there was work to be done – especially in the aftermath of something like that. No, Lyle stopped in his duties for no kin – not even his Sweet Bok Dumpling.

  Lyle picked up his pace, a boost of energy coming at the sudden spike of panic. He moved away from the voice, his back to the outside. But soon, they were ahead of him again. He turned back. He needed to find a way around. No matter which way, they followed him. He even caught a glimpse – orcs garbed in – strange black material.

  Not of the Mire.

  His breathing was ragged, and his heartbeat out of control. Where could he go? Every strange sight and sound sent his heart leaping into his maw. Surely it would explode in his chest at any moment. His lungs burned, and muscles cramped. Why was his heart beating so fast?

  “Here!”...“This way!”...” It’s got a stealth–”

  Were they talking about him? What had he done? Lyles' panic was getting the best of him – the walls were closing in. He wasn’t going to make it.

  I have to see her again – warn her.

  He picked a direction. And he ran. His eyes were wild, and he foamed at the mouth. His paws sank into the bog – slowing him.

  Lyle moved with desperation. He couldn’t die – not yet. He was going to make it. They had underestimated him. He was almost away. The voices were distant now. Just a little bit further. He was almost there. He could see her.

  “The monster – it’s getting away!”

  Monster – I’m not a –

  He struck something head-on, and his snout compressed to his chest, as he flipped end over end. He slid to a stop, his bulk digging into the muck. Dazed, and vision blurry…

  “Mirabella – my sweet, I made it.” He reached out a shaking paw, slick with blood and muck.

  “Bind it.”... “Command we a monster… yes, alive.”

  Lyle couldn’t breathe. Something was pressing on him. His paws were yanked back and roughly bound, the bindings breaking his skin – his thick fur offered little more resistance than a rag.

  They shoved violently on the back of his head, burying his snout in the bog. The [Housebear]’s mind narrowed to a single thought before he lost consciousness…

  Mirabella.

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