ravnicrasol

The Flesh is (Not) Weak [009-010]

Added 2022-03-05 19:01:01 +0000 UTC

Oh, small warning. I updated the previous chapters. The bigger changes being that Emilie is a character that pops up at the end of Chapters 1, 3, and 6. Had intended for her to only show up further down the series, but her snippets were added earlier instead.

[009] [Wood]

As far as Damon could tell, the village, if one could actually call it that, was crumbling. The buildings, all twenty of them, were worn out, the paint was flaked, the wood of the beams had looked damp, more roof-tiles were cracked than not, each window muddied and a few missing glass, empty holes covered by boards. The only parts that appeared well kept or relatively new were the wooden walls that circled around the hamlet, the well located smack in the middle of the conglomeration of buildings, and the singular largest building furthest away from the entrance.

It looked like the place was one bad year away from being abandoned. And that came from just a quick glance. Damon was sure he’d spot more things that were in need of repair if he weren’t near a panic attack.

The conversation with Sybil had not been pleasant to his stomach. Replacing limbs with prosthetics your children could inherit? It was all kinds of wrong, and the imagery that came to mind was not tender either. His uncle lived next to a man who’d lost an arm in a hunting accident, and it had always been a subject he’d never felt comfortable bringing up.

The thoughts assaulted him like a storm of ice. As soon as Damon had stepped outside, he leaned against the wall and took in long deep breaths of crisp morning air. His eyes closed as he focused on the feeling of cold dirt against the soles of his feet, of the scratchy clothes he wore, of the ache from clenching his hands too tightly, of the rhythmic sound of metal hammering metal somewhere within the village.

He pushed through with controlled breaths, grounding himself as best he could.

“Do you need shoes? You asked for them, but I am not sure how much you actually need them.” Sybil stood next to him, clearly trying to get him something else to focus on.

Damon glanced down, sighing. His feet were already a bit numb from the chill. It reminded him of running through his family’s garden when he was only a kid. An early memory, it helped. “Yeah, I’m going to want them. And socks. What about you?”

“I would rather have shoes myself, but it’s more of a liability and an expense. I only use them on special occasions.”

Damon couldn’t imagine the sort of apparel she’d wear when her ‘feet’ were shaped like prosthetic spoons, but he wasn’t about to fall down that rabbit-hole. The sensation of diving into the craziness too much too quickly had gotten to him harder than he’d expected. Or maybe he just hadn’t predicted the impact of his new circumstances to be quite like that. Or maybe it was the monsters, the robots, the fighting, the running, and the fact that he’d been somehow abducted into this planet all coming at him at the same time in a nauseating rush.

With slow breaths, Damon pushed his focus to the tiny village. There was exactly one old silver-eared villager sitting in front of their dwelling smoking from a long pipe. The rest felt empty, though there were a couple of faces peeking their way from the windows. Ones that would hide as soon as they realized he had spotted them.

“What’s up with the fancy house?”

Damon made a gesture towards the only building that didn’t look partially dilapidated.

“That is sir knight’s abode.”

“Does he have a name?”

“No.” Sybil replied with a slight shake of her head. “Squires that are deemed prepared enough go to the thalaring temple. The Goddesses bless them with a powerful graft. In exchange for this, they forgo their spoken names. It is part of the edict of knights.”

“So if a knight is rude and someone has to report it…”

“You’d recognize them by their hymn, of course.” Sybil nodded quickly, stopping half-way, glancing at him through her cowl. “Oh.”

“Awesome. These edicts… What are they? Han only talked about the edict of peace.”

“The edicts are the laws the gods put upon those who live within the world. The first and most commonly known is the edict of peace. Non-users are forbidden to act if they know it will cause harm to another.”

“That seems to imply that there are edicts that affect users.”

“There is one. Only graft smiths can alter the gifts of the gods. This limitation applies to users as well.”

“Not exactly sure what that means.”

She paused a second before raising her pants to show her robotic legs. “See this?” She tapped on her right thigh. There was an inscription there, of a flower of some kind. “To do this, you would need the services of a graft smith. But if they became a user, they could not do that sort of work anymore.”

“That’s… uh, a weird rule.”

“It applies to things more complex than mere decorative etchings. Graft smiths are the only ones that can give maintenance to the thalaring temples, for example, as repairs are a form of modification.”

“What about painting over it?” Damon chuckled.

“Doesn’t count.” Sybil leaned slightly forward, showing her prosthetic legs. There was a smirk hidden somewhere behind the cloth that covered the lower half of her face. “You are welcome to try, though.”

“Not touching.”

With a shrug, she dropped her pants back down.

“What happens if I just swing a stick at you and break your graft?”

“Harm is not the same as modification in this case.” Sybil said. “So long as you are alive, your grafts heal. If you scratch someone’s grafts, the graft will just restore itself.” She paused for a second. “Though you could not make an attempt to swing the stick at something like a thalaring temple’s hearth.”

“I’ll be honest. I don’t like the idea of people having some sort of rulebook inside their head they are literally unable to go against. Choice should matter.”

“Many would agree with you.” Sybil spoke with a strange inflection to her words he couldn’t quite interpret.

Damon snorted. “I think I’ve taken enough air to clear my thoughts a bit. Does this village have anyone who makes shoes?”

“There is a cobbler, yes. Though she is currently helping the smith repair the exo-suit of sir knight’s familiar.”

He perked up. “This I have to see.”

***

The smith’s house was a singular workshop on the ground floor, and the living quarters placed directly on top. The lower area was something that looked closer to a garage than anything Damon would’ve imagined being a smithy. A large open space with several pieces of machinery hanging from chains from the ceiling. One wall had oil soaked tools, most of which he couldn’t recognize. On the far wall was the forge, with the fires from the oven licking at the air in ravenous hunger.

Next to the kiln was a thin man with thick arms, using tongs with one hand and a hammer in the other. His back was turned to the entrance, sparks flying every time the tool came down to the anvil. At the opposite side, sitting on the workbench, was a woman wearing some sort of helmet, fiddling with a fan blade. The artifact on her head was like a welder’s cap, that was made of bronze and dark green glass. Both of them had the silver ears of sasins.

Damon realized the woman was likely working on one of the rotor blades that allowed the ‘familiar’ to fly around. He turned his attention towards the fragments of machinery that hung from the chains on the ceiling. Though he was sure it was likely it all belonged to the one murder-cube, it took him a moment to put the pieces together inside his mind. The robot had been split into five sections, each one looking like a miniaturized car engine of parts that could be further dismantled, but that were contained within irregular shaped boxes made of transparent resin.

The first thing that stood out to Damon was how every hole, tube, or port for things that came in or out of those resin boxes was color coded. He could immediately figure out that the yellow square tube from the box on the right connected to the yellow square tube from the box piece on the left. The components within the resin box looked similarly color coded, at least at a glance, though none of the boxes had been opened, so it was hard to tell.

“There’s a missing piece.” He muttered after a moment of observation. The part of the robot that contained the lens, which was housed on something near its center. The piece was missing from the smithy.

“The familiar itself, its core. It is the part that is actually alive. Sir knight likely has it on his person.” Sybil commented with a slight nod, her focus remaining on Damon. “Do you have anything like this in your world?”

“Similar, but not like it. This feels… more advanced. What happens if the resin breaks?”

“The connectors snap apart more easily than the mucilage. Hit it hard enough and the whole thing breaks down into the nubs rather than splinter into a thousand pieces.” The woman with the visor commented from her seat, not lifting her gaze from the blade as she was checking its form, her hands moved in a hurry. The speed of her hands was hard to keep track of. “Which is good. Repairing the nubs is a pain, and expensive.”

It took her a quiet minute with the blade before she raised her gaze from her work and to Damon. The visor was opaque, but the surprise was transparent. She practically jumped as she noticed his existence. Clearly she had not expected there to be two people there. She raised the visor and looked at him from head to toe, halting at his naked feet and then working her way up to his face, the expression had a hint of apprehension to it, though it warmed over.

“Where did they dig you out of?”

Her face appeared to be in her early forties, crows feet adorned the edges of her eyes, but Damon found a definite appeal to her sharp mature features. Now that he returned the once-over to her, it was easy to tell there were hints of curves under the thick leather apron she wore.

“A cave.” He replied with a wry smile. “I heard about the repairs to, erm, sir knight’s familiar.” Damon quickly added. “Since I’m looking to get some shoes, I was hoping I would pay them off with some work, at least partially.”

The cobbler gave him another long look, standing up from the bench. The woman was a little over four feet tall, but her body wasn’t lithe. “We don’t have a watchtower, but we could probably make you stand in the center of the village as a lookout for monsters.” She chuckled, returning the grin.

“If just being tall is how I can help… I guess?”

“If you want to help, chop some wood.” The smith spoke, keeping to his work, still hammering at the anvil. His hand gestured at the door on the rear absently.

The cobbler let out a sigh of mock disappointment and shrugged. “Or that. There’s a shed out back.”

“Sure thing!” Damon turned to head to the back, feeling the woman’s gaze for only a moment before he noticed Sybil’s surprise expression. “What?”

“Since when do you know Halteros?” Sybil asked.

“Excuse me?”

“That was Halteros you just spoke.” She pointed out. “It’s the language in this region. Han and I only know Oligian, which is the common tongue.”

“I… uh, I don’t notice any difference.” He muttered, scratching his chin. “I learned it back in the… cave, I think?”

With a long, quiet look, Sybil shook her head. “And the mysteries continue…” A sigh. “Back to what matters. You don’t need to work for the shoes, we can pay for that.” She made a dismissive gesture. “You can pay us back when you get the chance.”

“You and Han have been very helpful already. I’d rather do something for myself and not just sit down and wait.” He pointed over his shoulder. “And they agreed I could help by chopping some wood.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

With a shrug, Sybil led the way to the back of the house. There was a yard and a shed. It wasn’t very hard to find the blocks of wood meant to get chopped. There were several items there he couldn’t recognize, such as a vice that had blades in the middle… but the ax was easily spotted. Even if it was slightly smaller than what he was used to, Damon figured it would be usable anyway.

Sybil’s chuckle when he stepped out with the ax gave him pause, however.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She replied, sitting down on one of the tree stumps. “Have you ever chopped wood before?”

“A couple times. My uncle had a smoker, so he’d get me to cut timber for him from time to time.”

The amusement only grew. “Alright, then.”

Damon shot her a confused look, but opted to just focus on the job.

In the first swing he split the blue log in half. And that gave him pause, blinking in surprise. “Huh.”

Was the wood less dense due to the lowered gravity? Maybe it was rotten? Or maybe he was just that strong? Regardless, if the rest of the pile was this easy to cut, then this would be a lot easier than he thought it’d be.

After the second stump, he felt like he was getting the hang of it.

Behind him, Sybil’s eyes grew wider with every chop.

***

The aches and sores gnawed at Damon as he swung the ax, and his feet had long since gone numb from the cold ground, but the activity had given his mind a much needed outlet. He pushed himself to not think, just do. Chop, chop, chop, change side, chop, chop, chop, next. He’d removed his shirt half-way through as he started working up a sweat.

With the cloudy sky above, the only measure of time he had was the hammering from inside the forge. It would start up for ten minutes, stop, and start over again half an hour later. Damon fell into the rhythm and just counted. There’d been five breaks from the smith before he took his first.

Mostly because his arms were burning up and he was thirsty. It was a good sting though, familiar, real; it grounded him. Monsters, aliens, robots, or weird machines. Exercise was still exercise. His body hadn’t changed.

“Water?” Sybil offered.

“Yes, thank you.” He took the metal bottle and drank long gulps until it was empty. He splashed some on his head for good measure.

There were others present, two silver-eared sasins, children, barely fitting the shirts they wore. As soon as Sybil realized his attention had shifted from her to the onlookers, she chased them off with hurried words and urgent steps. The two kids giggled and laughed as they ran off as the hooded woman gave a brief chase.

Snorting loudly, she turned back to face him and paused, sharp eyes squinted as she gave him an indecipherable look from behind her cowl.

“What?”

“Are you hungry?” She asked, diverting the conversation.

An effective strategy, since his stomach growled in complaint. “Starving.” Drying the sweat from his brow, he chuckled. “Think this was enough lumber?”

Her gaze turned to the pile of chopped wood, stacked all the way to his hip. “I’d say it is a quantity of wood that… exceeds expectations.”

Damon frowned at the amused lilt in her voice. Not biting into curiosity, he pointed at the door leading to the smithy. “Shouldn’t we inform them?”

“I already told them.” She quickly moved closer.

“But you hadn’t…” Damon blinked, then slumped with a sigh. “Hymn?”

“Hymn.” She nodded in response, stepping closer. Her robotic foot tapped his ankle. “You need your feet looked at.”

“It’s a couple splinters. Just get some pliers and that’s that.”

Whatever she was about to say, she froze, head snapping in the smithy's direction. The hammering had come to a halt. There were voices, and one of them was increasing in volume until it roared out.

“What do you mean they’re here!?”

A familiar voice shouted, and clanging metal followed. Several things had been clearly thrown around. There were only a handful of seconds before the door burst open, and the knight with the incredible square jawline and hedge-like brows stepped through with a furious scowl.

“I told you not to leave the house until…!”

The man’s anger lasted until his gaze stopped on the pile of wood. And as he looked at the ax in Damon’s hands. There was a heartbeat of silence, the thick brows rose until Damon could see the whites in the man’s eyes. His focus turned from the pile of wood to him, then the ax, and back to the wood.

“You can ask the cobbler, I was here the whole time.” Sybil declared with a tone that had no small amount of amusement. Still, her hand was on the pommel of her sword. “We were on the way back, in fact. Damon had to stop since he got hungry.”

Again, the man looked at the ax, the wood, and at Damon. His expression grew paler.

“Let’s go.” Sybil urged, tugging at Damon before the knight could react.

Damon knew he’d best leave before the man got his wits back and could find something to complain about.

As they made their way back to the main square and towards the house near the gate, he noticed something in the shop that hadn’t been there before. An opaque light yellow blob with a large orange lens for an eye. The creature was moving as if it were sentient chunky slime, reaching out to the nubs, hanging from the chains and pulling them to itself with insistence. The smith and cobbler were helping, carefully connecting the parts one by one.

It was the most surreal way for anything to put on armor that Damon had ever seen.

“Don’t hurry so much!” The smith complained, and the blob wriggled, relaxing and allowing the two to continue their work. The two were nervous, however, eyes constantly moving over the blob and recoiling whenever it twitched.

“That’s the familiar.” Sybil hadn’t slowed down, tugging Damon along a bit more insistently with every step. “Be careful around it.”

“It moves around inside a robot with glowing knives. If I never see it again, I’ll count myself lucky.”

She said nothing else, but her grip on his hand tightened.

***

If there was one universal constant in regards to space travel, it was that no matter the situation, things getting hotter was a sign of something potentially going wrong. Perhaps runaway engine heat was not being cooled properly, or maybe the ship was getting too close to superheated plasma. Or maybe, an ever hotter amount of matter was compacting at the edge of a warp bubble and threatening to make it collapse as it increased in size and temperature.

The last one was the one that Emilie found herself most concerned about. She sat on the pilot chair, the controls of the ship at her disposal. Slowly, she chewed on the piece of dried V4 vegetable-based food substitute as her focus hovered over a singular number on the display.

5%

It represented the chances that the warp bubble could pop before it reached its destination. If it did, the ship would run nose-first directly into a wall of superheated matter. One with an energy density that would laugh at the ship’s shields as it turned the vessel into slag faster than she’d be able to realize things had gone badly.

The lights flickered again, and Emilie sighed. Plopping the rest of the dried meal into her mouth, she clicked her EVA helmet shut. Then, she turned off all systems that weren’t directly tied to the ship’s navigation. All lights went out save those on the screen. The onboard life support systems turned off, and all spare power was directed towards the warp drive.

4.5%

A grimace, she kept the finger on the emergency shut down, her focus split between that number and the ETA to reach the system’s heliosphere. Just minutes, she only had to wait a handful of minutes and she’d be able to start working on the engine, and once that was done, she’d go take a nice hot shower.

And she wouldn’t get vaporized by superheated space debris.

All would be good.

The ship shook, accompanied by the kind of screeching metal sound no pilot or mechanic ever wanted to hear. It sounded like it would take her longer to fix than what the schedule would allow.

6.1%

Her lips thinned, she moved her finger ever closer to the emergency stop button, feeling the smooth surface through her protective suit’s haptic feedback. Only a flick and the engine would go through a rushed wind-down sequence. But she had only to hold out, only a handful of seconds.

A slow low hum rumbled through the ship, the ETA marker reached [0].

“That was close.” Emilie sighed. The ship would begin reducing the space dilation and compression rates. It would allow the gathered up plasma to disperse harmlessly one bit at a time. Safely, securely.

Anyone looking at the section of space would see a trail of brilliant white light streaking through the void like a comet on solar winds.

One hour from now, she’d be able to fully shut down the main engine and start work on-.

7.5%

Emilie frowned.

8%

“That… can’t be right.” She began bringing up the ship’s diagnostics. A startling number of alarms were popping up. If this were any other circumstance, she’d fear her onboard computer had caught a virus of some sort.

8.4%

Emilie pressed the emergency shut-down sequence. But nothing happened, the warp was already winding down, it wasn’t meant to switch between shut-off modes! It wouldn’t make sense for it to do such a thing!

The threat of a burst should be going lower now that the engine could divert power away from space compression and towards bubble integrity. This didn’t make sense!

8.9%

Something was terribly terribly wrong.

[010] [Bang Bang]

“With feet like these, you should have gone to a shipbuilder.”

The cobbler had made an outline of Damon’s foot on two separate sheets of paper. She took some extra measurements using several pieces of string that had markings running along their length. The silver eared cobbler kept looking at the numbers, frowning, and then at Damon, a loose strand of black hair dangling next to her angular face.

It was tempting to blow some air, he wondered how she’d react.

“Just what kind of footwear are you looking for?”

“The sort I can walk in all day every day, ma’am,” he said.

She mumbled something, writing more down and scratching her chin. “And you want to work to pay for this?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave a nod. “I was told that a gaper hide may help cover most of the expenses. But I would like to cover the rest with work since I don’t have much else but the clothes on my back.”

The cobbler’s lips curled. “It depends on how good you’d want it to be.”

“If I may be selfish, the longer they can last, the better.”

“If my best were good, I would live somewhere better.”

Damon frowned. “I am looking for hardy shoes, ma’am. I think this village is a very hardy place.”

That appeared to lighten her mood a little, an upward tweak to her lips. “You bring that fur and I’ll see what I can make.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Call me Linda.”

“Beautiful?”

“Excuse me?”

Linda blinked in confusion, straightening her back as she focused on his expression like someone trying to read a blurry text. Her silver ears canted lower as she did. She might have had a decade on him, but she carried it very well, her features hawkish and severe. It was a face that would not be out of place on a strict teacher, but there was something in her gaze that felt curious. Apprehensive. But definitely curious.

“Linda means ‘beautiful’. At least where I come from.” Damon explained.

“Huh.” She moved the loose strand of black hair behind her ear. Her green eyes appeared to study his face for a long silent moment. She shook her head lightly. “A wasted name.”

“I disagree.”

Linda snorted, leaning back and crossing her arms as she looked at him. “You don’t say?” It was a challenge.

He took it. “I would.”

“Care to elaborate?” She hid the hesitation.

And that gave him some of his own. “It would depend, ma’am. I’d rather not step on any toes.”

The skepticism and surprise on her upturned lips melted into amusement. “I wear steel-tipped shoes.” Damon’s brows rose, and Linda laughed, gesturing at the entrance. “Go. Bring me the gaper hide and I should be done in three days. I will hear about alternate ways to pay for the difference then.

Damon felt an urge to stay a moment longer, the soft features of Linda’s neck, trailing down to the demure bump on her shirt, his mind wondering on what he’d find beneath. But he turned to leave rather than allow his gaze to linger.

“Wait.”

Linda fidgeted for a moment, looking nervous, chewing on her lower lip, and turning to look towards the wall as if she could see through it.

“Be careful out there.”

Damon wasn’t too sure what she meant, but nodded. “I’ll make sure not to trip.”

She didn’t look convinced, but returned the gesture. There was something about her face that made Damon pause. But she’d turned before he could ask about it. Was something bothering her? He’d ask later, for now, it seemed the more polite option was to leave.

He ducked under the doorframe, and the outside world met him with a cloudy sky with streaks of lightning off in the distance. The ground was tough, but it would likely turn into mud once the downpour began. Considering he was only wearing two planks of wood with some string as footwear, he was sure he’d want to stay inside the house once everything got muddy.

With the slap-slap his wooden flip-flops made with every step, Damon stopped when he felt a chill run down his spine. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed the death-cube looking at him intently from the smithy. It was hanging from the roof as the man worked on attaching the propellers. Theoretically, the machine had been staring dead ahead. Nothing about the eye could betray its focus was aimed at Damon.

But he felt the prickling against the back of his neck all the same.

He hurried along to the house, thunder rumbled above.

“You walk very stiffly.” A voice whispered into his ear.

Damon almost jumped, holding back the twitch and turning to look over at Sybil. The hooded woman had snuck up on him without a sound. Though she didn’t laugh, her sharp eyes were smiling through the cowl. The amusement was practically oozing from her.

“If you keep the pace, I could dance to the rhythm.”

He didn’t respond to her taunt. “Any luck?” He diverted the subject.

“The gatherer girl hasn’t left sir knight’s house, doesn’t seem willing to talk with anyone.” Sybil answered with a shrug.

“Did you try knocking?”

“Why would I?”

Damon hesitated mid-step, sighing. “Hymn, right.”

“Is that how you do things in your world?” She leaned closer. “You knock on doors?”

“It’s common courtesy.”

“Interesting.” Sybil lowered her voice as they approached the house. “Don’t go knocking on sir knight’s door.”

“Why?”

“Idina is terrified, and sir knight is nervous too.” She declared. “I asked around though. Not many want to talk, the whole village’s been restless since we showed up, but it’s been getting worse. I did find out the gatherer girl was the one who usually guided users around the place.” A slight shrug. “Their main income is from users, though, so with things drying up, they’ve been having a harder time.”

Damon looked at her inquisitively. He was about to speak, but something softly tapped his head, and he glanced up. A second soft tap on his cheek, damp. “Rain.” He glanced at the hooded woman. “What now?”

“We wait.”

***

The rain had turned into a downpour within hours.

Damon had kept to his room, struggling to fiddle around with the user interface. He’d mostly stuck to asking questions to Han and Sybil, everything he could think of that might be worth testing out.

Of importance was trying to figure out the differences between what they had and Damon had. Based on what they’d told him, theirs was more like a mix between a smart encyclopedia and a control panel for their grafts. His own had felt… different to that, way different. Almost like a game that had had its functions expanded upon by something else.

The most valuable use theirs had was the ability to visually recognize known monsters and instantly access the information that had been gathered on them by other users. And this encyclopedia was a cumulative database that would get updated whenever they visited the “thalaring temple”.

Aside from these features, there were basic capabilities to record things and distribute the recordings to other users. Though the method of ‘sharing’ was too vaguely described, neither Han nor Sybil seemed sure of how it worked exactly, only that you needed to be in physical contact with the one you wished to share it with.

Their attempts to send an image to him had failed. Disappointing, but not surprising.

That the term ‘gods’ and ‘goddesses’ was tossed around throughout the entire conversation was something Damon hadn’t wanted to dwell too deeply into. Instead, he focused on the things his user system could do that theirs couldn’t.

“System, erm, Sys? Could you give details on the translation function?”

[...]

Auto-translation: Engaged

Learning mode: Engaged

Active Languages:

-Halter-dialect

-User-Sybil Language

Inactive Languages:

-None

[...]

Two active languages. Which just sounded like plain English to his ears, and that he could speak without noticing it was anything else unless he paid very close attention to how his mouth moved or paid even closer attention to the sounds. It was as if his internal voice spoke in English while his ears picked up the original language being spoken by both himself and others.

If he tried focusing on it too much,it would give him a splitting headache.

But that dissonance wasn’t why he was glaring at the screen, something was off. Damoon’s thoughts returned to the cave, the monster, the dead man, and Idina. He’d wanted to ask the gatherer why she’d been there, if she’d seen or heard anything, maybe a clue about how he’d gotten there, or why she’d been there with the guy that got mulched, but…

With a sigh, Damon changed the names of the languages to match the terms he’d heard from Sybil and dismissed the window. He’d get to figure out more about the cave after the two users had dealt with the monster lord.

A part of him remembered waiting home when his pops went out on a call. His mother had never really handled the stress of that doubt, of whether pops would come back or not. The consideration dragged several unpleasant memories that Damon quickly pushed away to focus back on the thing that was stuck in his head.

His attention went to the second biggest function that put his axon apart from the others. The capacity to answer questions and react to his words. “System, how do you fill out the map?”

[...]

Error

Query answer not found

[...]

“How can you tell other people’s locations?”

[...]

Query Answer:

EM Tag

[…]

“What is an EM Tag?”

[...]

Error

Query answer not found

[...]

Even if the system was clearly missing many things, Damon felt there had to be answers hidden in this mess of errors and dead ends. He’d just have to find the right question. His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the bigger picture, to how this was possible and why.

Why was he here?

Like with every other attempt, his mind kept going back to the cave, the corpse, the gatherer, the alert about some apocalypse but no further details about it. Damon knew he couldn’t just sit and do nothing. He had his goals, find a way home. What could he do to be better prepared for that?

“Sys, can I customize the rules for the prompts you show?”

[...]

Query Answer:

Yes

[...]

He perked up slightly. This had potential. “Hmm.” A knocking at the door drew his attention elsewhere. “Come in.”

Sybil stepped through, glancing around the room through her hood and pausing near the door. “We are heading out.”

“You sure it showed up?”

“We can feel it in the way the hymns are disturbed. Our best guess is that the lord is northeast of here.”

“Disturbed?”

“It makes hymns harder to read. It is one of its powers, and the one of the reasons I brought Han. The best way to hunt this lord is by determining in which direction the disruption is coming from.” She shook her head. “Success or failure, it will take us between two to six days to come back.”

“Chances of failure are high?”

“It is a lord, and I am fighting it on my own, after all.”

Damon looked at her, unamused. “Why?”

“Because I must.”

“Is this some other weird rule people have to follow?”

“It is a trial I must pass.”

“… right. That sounds like a weird rule.”

“Perhaps it would seem that way.” She replied, tone stiff. “This is a test of strength. I must earn my grafts, prove myself to Janus.”

Shifting in the bed uncomfortably, he sat at the edge. Damon’s gaze met hers and frowned slightly. Gods again. With a deep sigh, he shrugged. “Your house, your rules.”

Sybil looked surprised. “That’s… it?”

Damon repeated the gesture. “I won’t pretend I know more about the monster or you than you do. Nor do I know how well you would mesh with Han in a fight against this lord. I do have several opinions, but it’s not really my place to convince you about them.”

She crossed her arms. “And what would those opinions be?”

“My father warned me to never answer that question, and I will take his advice.” He laughed.

“Your father was wise.” Han’s voice called out from the corridor, bringing out another chuckle out of them.

Sybil turned to leave, stopping at the door for a moment. “Be careful, Damon.”

“I’m the one staying in a cozy house and not heading out in the middle of a storm to fight monsters.”

Though she nodded, it was Han’s face that caught Damon’s attention. The golden-bearded sasin stared at him intently. “I’ll get her back. But you should hunker down.” There was a severity in those words.

Damon felt like he was missing something from the picture. He nodded as they closed the door.

Damon’s brow furrowed, heading to the window to watch them go. Both users wore cloaks and walked out of the village through the main gate. It was hard to make out through the hazy, uneven glass and the rain, but both of them looked to be light on equipment, other than the weapons and gear they carried.

What was he missing from this picture?

[...]

System ‘heads-up’:

User Handrondi EM-tag has left detection range

User Sybil EM-tag has left detection range

[...]

“Didn’t I turn this setting off?”

[...]

Query Answer:

ADMIN turned off notifications only for new EM Tags entering range, not exiting them

[...]

“Huh.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “Inform if Knight, Sybil, Handrondi, Idina, or the knight’s familiar enter or leave detection range. Accompany it with the map showing their last known location.”

[...]

System message:

Notification settings updated

[...]

Damon dismissed the prompt and took a walk around the house, checking the locks and confirming the basics of its security. The third such ‘tour’ today, committing the layout to memory. Again. One of the things that bothered him the most was the lack of curtains throughout most of the house, it gnawed at him, especially since some of the other houses clearly had them.

He didn’t care to enter the rooms of either of the other users, but he made sure every window and every door was securely shut. He meandered about barefoot until the chill of the empty house got him to just grab a snack and get back to the room so he could get back to using his time to further mess around with the user guide.

It would be several hours, the storm growing in power, until something else popped up.

[...]

System ‘heads-up’:

Automaton Isthatit has left detection range

[...]

The map popped out. A singular red dot showing the robot’s last known location.

It matched that of Sybil and Handrondi, out and northeast of the village.

Damon’s eyes widened. He jumped out of the bed, running to the stairs. His hand flickered the lights on, he began fishing for clothes and gear. But he froze half-way, brows furrowing, the notification had been for only one thing, not several.

“Show knight’s location.”

The map was updated, showing a singular red dot right next to the house.

Right outside the house he was in.

Damon’s brows furrowed. His mind went through several things. None were pretty. Removing the wooden sandals, he’d been about to go look for the gaper hide but remembered he’d given it to the cobbler that morning.

His hand lingered on the knob, checking it was securely locked. But he jumped back as several heavy thuds hammered against the wood, rattling it.

“YOU WILL STAY INSIDE!”

A bark of a command.

As silently as possible, Damon stepped back and looked for anything that could serve as a weapon. He found a handful of glass bottles and several cutlery knives. None of them were good choices to be used unless there was literally no other option available.

“I KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE! RESPOND OR YOU WILL BE DETAINED.”

Damon came to a halt in front of the entrance door. There was no peephole, but it appeared the knight was alone. “You are not allowed into this house. If you attempt to trespass, I will defend myself accordingly.” He declared.

“FINE.” the man declared.

But he did not leave.

Damon took a moment, frowning at the door. The bot had left, chasing after Han and Sybil. The knight was… trying to keep him there? Why? Damon’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to leave now.” He stated, glaring at the wood, considering his options. “And I’m going to give my friends a hand with the monsters.”

“You will stay.” The knight’s voice stated flatly.

Damon took a deep breath. “I’d been thinking something was wrong.” He growled under his breath. “It had been bothering me for a while. When your familiar attacked me, I declared my surrender. I did it in Halteros. It should have understood me perfectly. It is the language your daughter used in the cave.” He added. “But it kept going for me. Why?”

The silence turned into rattling; something metallic scratched against the lock. It took a moment, the lock turned, and the door swung open. The knight pushed through to step inside, wielding a short sword in his right hand and a mix of panic and anger in his eyes.

Standing next to the open door, Damon swung the chair he’d been holding, aimed squarely at the knight’ face.

The metal helmet the knight wore rung like a bell, most likely it saved his life. The short man didn’t so much stumble back out as much as get flung outwards, falling flat on the ground as if he’d just been hit by a truck. Blood and a few loose teeth fell to the ground as he tried to stand back up, weakly holding his weapon.

Damon ducked under the doorframe and followed through with the attack, swinging the chair a second time, knocking the blade out of the man’s hand. The knight let out a shout as the third swing caught his legs and knocked him to the muddy ground. The fourth swing landed on his legs again, the loud sound of cracking followed, and the man screamed.

Damon stopped, dropping what was left of the chair, breath caught as he’d half expected things to have gone horribly wrong by now. In his mind, he’d been imagining a fight in a confined space against an enemy with a blade and his movements restricted, danger, threat. Yet he was just about one or two good blows from blowing the knight’s helmet in without so much as a scratch on him.

The man was in the mud, clenching his legs and screaming bloody murder. Damon stepped closer and stomped his good arm into the dirt, pinning it in place. “Why did you send your familiar after them?”

“Killing me won’t stop it.” The man declared in a gruff cough. “It has its orders, and it’s too far away now.”

He frowned, shaking his head. “Why attack?”

The knight spat. “I owe you nothing.”

Damon reached down and yanked the knight out of the mud by the neck of his chestplate. The knight shrieked, but Damon didn’t pay it any mind, picking up the discarded sword and walking into the house while dragging the attacker. The man struggled and screamed, his broken legs were mostly useless, and his weight was not as much of a bother to him.

All Damon had to do was toss him into the bathroom.

“Last chance.” He said, standing next to the door, watching the man clutch his legs. “Or I start getting more persuasive.”

That appeared to snap the stoic brows of the man. “Wait!” The knight’s eyes widened, reaching out. “You… you can still save your friends.”

“Bullshit. Your hunk of junk flies faster than I run. By the time I reach them, the fight would be over.”

“It won’t attack them, not right away.” The man declared hastily, pale and sweating. “Its orders are to attack after the fight with the lord. To finish whoever survives.”

Damon ran the options, his brow furrowed. Sybil and Han had mentioned it would take them from two to four days to get back. That meant at least one full day to find the lord, and they’d left roughly eight hours ago.

He still didn’t like those odds.

“Just so we are clear.” Damon glared at the man. “I have questions, you will answer them when I get back. And I’m going to ask those same questions to your niece.”

The man gulped.

Closing the door and locking it, Damon proceeded to put a chair as added blockage. He glared at it for a moment, and reconsidered, dragging the big wooden table to make extra sure it wouldn’t be possible to open the door. Escape from the bathroom wouldn’t be possible through the window, too narrow, so he felt mostly certain it would hold until he got back.

Picking up the knight’s sword, he stepped out of the house and discarded his wooden flip-flops.