V-20 Admission (I)

Sympathy is a weapon. Sympathy is opportunity. Sympathy is a drug, because everyone has been wronged in some way by the world, by their own nation, their own people, by an enemy. Sympathy will make you betray yourself.

I ask of you now, my gathered little birdies, how many sympathetic people do you think exist across the totality of integrated earth, within the grand walls of the Yellowstone Republic, in the far-flung lands of High Harbor? How many people are dissatisfied with their daily lives? How many people bear old wounds inflicted upon them by those they consider their family or fellow citizens?

I see many. I can feel them. They call out to me when I dream at night, and upon my face, they rest. I can feel the twitches of their muscles, those grimaces, those ugly, messy tears. I can taste that sour bitterness as they swallow more and more of that poison known as cynicism. Because if even your home is against you, where then will you find salvation? Where then will you be spared this misery? 

Nowhere. That is the answer.

But what if we can change the answer? What if we can give them the means to inflict harm?

Of course, many of these sympathetic individuals will never truly side with New Albion. No, the programming they suffer is too deep and they fear us. We are the stranger. We are the unknown. We are that gap in the dark of the woods, those gleaming eyes that hide between the clefts of shadow. No normal child, empathetic or not, will wander so deep into the woods.

But they might bargain with us. They might bargain with us if we leave them boons and gifts and means. After all, one does not need to sell themselves to the devil entirely to accept a nudge or a small expression of favor. So let's give it to them, these little incremental gifts. Let's hand the knives to those who seek revenge, to those who have been wronged. Let's not reveal ourselves. Let's let things play out.

Let tragedies and retributions unfold. And as they do, let us watch how sympathetic these people can become and if eventually these poor, wretched children can mature into something beautiful. If they hold enough promise in their hearts to open their cages and join the rest of us in the sky, let us fulfill their heart's desire. 

Then let us see if they come to us in the aftermath, when the flames are settled and the blood stops flowing.

I can’t wait to see the little plays that will unfold… Can’t wait!

-The Faceless Queen, New Albion

V-20

Admission (I)

"I told you before," Urri roared through charred vocal cords. He wrenched an arm free and scattered a few of Kura's time clones. He reached over his chest and clutched the flaming thing that wouldn't stop burning him. "I am High Marshal Urri, and I am on—"

His words were cut off as a jet stream of water blasted straight down his throat. The High Marshal gagged and then screamed as an impossibly powerful force slammed down against his elbow. The Vulteg's arm cracked and tore in two places, but the moment he sustained a wound, Urri grew even stronger.

But just as Urri prepared to renew his struggle, he felt something deep inside him get torn free. It was like a heat that sustained his being, a flame that nourished his life, and it was being siphoned out as if by some kind of winnowing vacuum. Urri tried to pull back, tried to kick away from his other adversaries. But then something struck him in the back of the head, and he briefly lost track of where he was, of who he was. When he regained his focus, a feeling of unnatural lethargy swept through him, and that turned into an overwhelming torpor.

Still, Urri, High Marshal of the Vultegs fought on, because that was what Lord Scorn commanded. Lord Scorn is God, that beautiful, beautiful God of Hatred, who always showered Urri with interminable praise.

Urri, you worthless fuck, if you let him kill you, I will find your soul's remains, and I will shit into it. I will fuck the shit after I fuck it into you, and then I will make shit babies from your corpse! They will grow out of your corpse! Do not lose, you fuck. Don't lose. Urri!

"Lord Scorn, did I make you proud?" Urri said.

WHAT? NO! NO, YOU OVERSIZED KIDNEY-STONE! YOU’RE LITERALLY DYING! FUCKING DO SOMETHING YOU MOTHERFUCKFUCKFUCK AGGHHHHH!

He was hallucinating his struggle now. His body was going limp. He was still kicking somewhat. His muscles were still growing, his toughness getting ever harder. But that bit of him that sustained his life, that painted the canvas of his soul, was slowly fading into nothingness. Still he twitched, still he kicked, still he swung his fists a few final times.

His vitality went from red to blank mist. And with a triumphant smile on his face, Urri died, as he felt something pluck a bit free from his spirit, as the sweet snarls of his god carried him to the chasm which waited thereafter.

Nothing can stop Urri.

***

"Guys," Shiv gasped, "I think he’s dead, guys!"

The others didn't listen to him. A rain of glistening daggers continued to spear into the Vulteg's eyes. Helix started mangling Urri's corpse in weird ways, causing bugs to hatch out from under his armpits, making his skin molt and shred. Kura dissected and dismembered the large brute with Gone's help, and Adam hacked away as well, using his rapier to carve bits free from what remained of the Vulteg's body.

This continued on for a few seconds longer before everyone came to a stop, slouching forms and shuddering breaths painted a portrayal of exhaustion and suspicion among the victorious Pathfarers. Even the orcs eyed the mutilated remains of the Vulteg. Tequila fired another bolt into Urri's face, and then another when the eyeball still refused to pop.

Parts of the High Marshal's body continued to burn, but even so, despite being shredded in so many ways, his bones remained intact, his tendons remained like iron cords. They were scratched and nicked in various ways, but they were not severed. Ultimately, Urri's cause of death was due to vitality drain, the one thing he couldn't resist, the one thing he couldn't shrug off.

"And you'd think my toughness was bullshit, Adam," Shiv shook his head. He examined Urri's Toughness Skill and narrowed his eyes at its title.

Animated Skill Infusion Gained: Cauldron of Remembered Undestruction (Legendary)

“Cauldron of Remembered Undestruction?” Shiv muttered.

"Remembered?" Adam looked over his shoulder. "What do you mean, remembered?"

"Maybe Memory is fused into the skill as well.” 

“How does that work?"

Shiv shrugged, the Gate Lord sighed, and then Urri twitched once more, and everyone leapt on him again.

“He’s still moving!” Kura hissed. “Take his head. Destroy his organs. Deathless, shred his vitality some more.”

"He's dead," Shiv said. "Can't see any vitality. Guys, he's dead."

“There’s still oxygen in his blood,” Helix snapped. “Until brain activity stops, we continue!”

They didn't listen. They kept attacking him. Shiv stared at Urri for a moment, and then shrugged, hitting him a few times just for good measure using his frying pan. Assumptions were fatal for path bearers, and even if Shiv couldn't sense any life force, it was best to make sure. Doubly sure. Triply sure.

As he ripped his Last Morsel free of a chasm he excavated into the Vulteg's chest, Shiv stomped away to resolve his other problems. He pulled Andra's phylactery free from his cape and could faintly hear the Jotun screaming from within. Her psionic cries were tinted with howls of pain and anger. But the fear chain connecting her to Shiv was stronger than ever. He had shattered everything inside her, except that divination skill. And now she could see, she could feel, but she couldn't react, couldn't do anything but submit to Shiv's wrath.

"That might have been a little excessive, too," Cullywier commented. He manifested a streak of Anamancy mana over his left eye, and Shiv realized it was the representation of an eyebrow. It rose higher, and the fairy chuckled at what they were doing to Urri's body. "Their Lord Scorn will not like this."

"Yeah, well, Lord Scorn can go fuck himself," Shiv said. "He's already coming for us, so nothing's changed there."

"Truly," Cullywier said. "The Dragon Brokers aren't aware of this. What did you do to incur the loathing of such an sequestered god?"

"You know, the usual. Fight off his invading Vultegs, detonate an Animancy bomb within his dimension, do it again afterward and kill a few million of his people.”

For the first time, the fairy seemed genuinely surprised. "Is this one of the jokes you humans do? Because I don't understand where the comedy is."

"Not a joke, it just happened," Shiv said. "Some other shit that we didn't really want to happen, but, well, things just turned out that way. Despite whether we wanted to or not. A story of our godsdamn lives."

"So you tell yourself," Cullywier continued. "Such strange interpretations you have. So bitter. So blinkered. Ah. Nonetheless, you should gather the other prisoners you have neutralized and take them to a safe place. Or finish them off."

Cullywier gestured toward the downed automaton and Aeromancer. They both sported deep wounds, burns, slashes, and encrusted layers of black frost. Even so, they were still alive. Their wounds were only superficial. Another reminder to how tough Pathbearers got when they weren't beset upon directly by overwhelming force.

"What? Not gonna talk me out of murdering these shits, too?"

"They seem to be mostly independent Pathbearers," Cullywier said, "which is a pattern-based way of saying that there is no consequence for their deaths. No one cares for them, and no one will remember them after they pass." The fairy's face twitched as if he had tasted a flood of overwhelming fear. "It's such a bleak and horrible thing to always be on the edge of that cessation, that silence. I don't know how you do it, and I think I envy you for it."

Shiv didn't know what to say to the elf, but his Psycho-Cartography activated. 

Psycho-Cartography: Well, we know Cullywier apparently has some kind of human offspring, or half-human offspring. He's got a fascination about who we are and how we act. We could use that to our advantage at some point, but there's a distance between him and anyone who is, how does he put it, pattern-based. He's also unusually passive in certain ways. Be careful about this one. Everyone I helped you dissect is mostly comprehensible to you in some fashion. They had emotions or logical ways of thinking that you could guess at. We have no understanding of the fairies, and maybe there's no understanding them at all.

The fairy regarded the downed prisoners. "Nonetheless, if you would accept my advice, I would recommend that you keep them alive."

"Alive," Shiv said flatly. He regarded both the Heroic-Tier prisoners. The Aeromancer was all but helpless against him during their fight. She seemed to be made for stealth and perhaps group-based combat using her bladed currents. The automaton, meanwhile, was a jump mage. He didn't know what else it could do, but it was pretty spent on energy right now.

I think I'll hand them over to Adam, he said to himself.

"You're going to do what to me?" Adam walked over.

"We've got a few live ones here. Along with this undead one." He held up the dagger phylactery once more.

Adam let out a scoff. He regarded the Aeromancer and the automaton. "So, we have one automaton jump mage. Well, what is that?"

"I don't know. I've never seen anything like her before."

The gate lord narrowed his eyes for a bit, and then he let out a breath. "Ah, a half-harpy."

"A what?"

"It's one of the Sky Folk. The Storm Lord's people."

"Oh, him. He's that monster king that rules over part of the Vast Atlantic, right?"

"He rules the skies of the Vast Atlantic." Adam held up a finger. "Do not get confused. We have treaties with several of the aquatic kingdoms as well, and some of them are monster-run, too. Regardless, the true rulership of the Atlantic is always in flux and constantly being debated."

Shiv snorted with disgust. "So, not even being a monster spares you politics, huh?"

"Shiv, don't be silly. Politics is inevitable. Because the only time there wouldn't be politics is when you can kill absolutely every single one of your enemies without any chance of suffering harm in return."

And that made the Deathless think. "So, you know, if I die enough and get a bunch of Legendary Skills eventually.”

"Shiv, please don't tell me that you imagine to make politics obsolete by becoming the single most powerful Pathbearer on integrated Earth through repeated deaths."

"What the hells do you think I’ve been doing all this time, Adam?"

"Trying to be a decent person despite how much the system is attempting to groom you?" the Gate Lord offered as an alternative. “Because I don’t think you would enjoy politics.”

“I might,” Shiv muttered. “If I was felling in charge of shit instead of being hunted by every asshole with two legs.”

"Shiv," Adam cut him off with an annoyed huff. "Do you know how every violent revolutionary gets their start? They tell themselves, well, maybe if I had all the power, I would be the one wise enough, smart enough, or calculated enough to change things, to make the world better."

"And it's almost never the case," Shiv finished. "It's almost never the case. But I am different."

"And so are many of them," Adam continued. "It's not that I doubt you, it's that barely adults and people far older... God, I'm already a hero, and you're a Legend... well, beings as powerful as us have made crippling mistakes as well. We need to be considerate, calculated, and careful." Adam fell quiet for a second. "Alright, we'll take those two and give the phylactery back to me. It's better stored in the Coliseum instead of on you. It’s radiating so much Necromancy that it's likely impossible for you to hide on campus, even with your Perfect Semblance. Too much of a risk on you, anyway. Last thing we need is you going off like a bomb.”

"Yeah, got it." He handed over the phylactery and ordered a few of his orcs to carry the surviving prisoners across a dimensional pathway.

"Deathless," Cullywier said, "in light of these most unexpected and unfortunate events, the Dragon Brokers wish—"

"The Dragon Brokers are going to have to wait," Shiv said. "I need to find Irons, Shit, has it been three minutes yet?"

"A bit over," Adam guessed. “Stop time and run for it.”

"Godsdamn it,” Shiv snapped.

He halted before anyone else could say anything and exploded into action. He carved a bit of shadow away and then fed his pan with a bit of fire. As it burned this time, however, he remembered that he had bits of Andra's ice stored within his Last Morsel as well. As such, when he slipped across, the darkness around him grew colder and every patch of shadow he traveled hardened into jagged pieces of midnight rime.

"Shit, Godsdamn it," Shiv hissed internally. He avoided letting his shadow settle over any of his allies as he zipped out of the anchor through the cracks lining the wall and going Non-Sequitur. He emerged from the darkness back in Miriam Hall proper and slammed his Mask of Stolen Paths on his face. His Perfect Semblance activated, and he began sprinting down the steps and winding across the halls.

He didn't know where Irons was. The man was true to his word; three minutes and no more. He was going to get help, and things might go from horrible to absolutely fucked if Irons did. Shiv left him a floor below, keeping him a little bit away from the immediacy of the conflict zone, considering he was just a Master. Shiv couldn't see his vitality signature anywhere nearby. Hells, most of the floor was devoid of signatures. Irons was gone—Shiv had no idea where to go or how to find him.

"Shit, shit, shit," the Deathless cursed under his breath—-his curses doubled as he had to disable his temporal shell when the wards closed in. For a moment, his mind spun as he tried to think of how he could find Irons. But then he recalled his armor enchantments. That was the main reason why he had the Voidmantid. Not because it had regenerative capabilities. Not because it increased his strength somewhat to a substantial degree. No, he could taste pheromones. His senses were augmented. And so he focused on Irons' pheromones.

Shiv breathed in, and his armor processed the odors and flavors. More than anything, Irons was someone that reeked of steel, sweat, and metal. Probably because he was always clad in armor and always on the move; always acting. 

Shiv zeroed in on that taste and followed.

He dashed through the left wing of Miriam Hall and kept going down. He emerged from the way he went in and found himself running along the right side of the building. He nearly ran over the blonde instructor he encountered upon first entering the building, and barely dodged in time. The world around him blurred. 

His Inertial Overdrive thundered with delight. And that was when he remembered he was supposed to be a physical cripple. Someone barely able to lift a single weapon, let alone break out into a full sprint. And here he was on the verge of shattering the sound barrier and igniting the air.

"Huh? What was that?" a student cried out, barely able to keep track of Shiv’s form. It was a good thing that he could keep his momentum and exertions controlled via his Shapeless Tides because if he was still stuck to his Gravitic Wrestler Skill, a lot of people would be little more than paste by now.

The Deathless hissed and froze time. Just in time to nearly catch another counter-chronomantic wave on the chin. He briefly slammed his Shapeless Tides against the wards to stall for time. All his Overflow Tides were sacrificed en masse to sustain this feat. A Chronomantic tsunami that could swallow a small mountain stuttered and went still against Shiv’s speck-like form. It was barely enough time for him to direct his Innate Tides inward to slow himself. He let out a ragged hiss as a portion of his lower back was wrenched out of place. A few tendons tore. Some bones broke. He ignored it and shed his Chronomancy field.

As Shiv staggered into motion once more, he moved like Marcus might’ve when he was still alive. Limping, wincing, with his body twisting in odd directions. He hobbled with all the speed he could muster and sniffed hard at the air. “Godsdammit, Irons, three minutes wasn’t enough. Why are you such a man of your felling word. And I can eat shit too. Dammit, Shiv. What’s wrong with you. Why did you think you could talk a group of prisoners down in three minutes? Aghhh!”

“Aghhh!” A bot student chimed nearby. They resembled a barrel on four legs with academy robes wrapped around them. “I feel that way too, friend. GEN-102, am I right.”

“Uh, yeah,” Shiv called over his shoulder. “It’s, uh, really and sh—uh, stuff.” He limped faster and tried to avoid any more conversations. Irons’s scent was getting closer, it was—

“Is it done?” Irons said from right next to him. “Are the threats eliminated.”

Shiv nearly jumped out of his own skin. “Gah! Fuck! Where’d you—”

“Is it done,” the captain asked without raising his voice. He walked alongside Shiv as if there was nothing wrong. He had emerged out of nowhere, ambushing Shiv before the Deathless could find him.

“Yeah, it’s done,” Shiv said. He looked the captain up and down. “How did you manage to get the drop on me?”

“I have experience; you have poor Awareness.”

“I was literally following your pheromones,” Shiv whispered viciously. “I was tracking you.”

“No. You were tracking my previous position and I noticed you first. This would net you a Fail as a Scout or a Shadow.”

Shiv wanted to complain that he wasn’t a Scout or a Shadow, but Shiv wasn’t the whining kind. Failures and weaknesses needed to be fixed, not vented about. He needed to make his tracking process not shit as well. “Yeah, well, you can tell me all about what I did wrong later. What you need to know is that the academy is not in danger anymore. For now.”

Irons narrowed his eyes. “For now?”

“We’re always in danger, Irons. The system wants us to kill each other or suffer endlessly. Can’t get out of that deal without being dead and staying dead.”

The older Pathbearer grunted. “So it seems. Turn around. We’re heading back to Miriam Hall to finish the admissions process; I was in the middle of sending a notification to Headmaster Hymn when I spotted you. Cutting it very close, Marcus.”

“Yeah, like you wouldn’t believe,” Shiv replied. Irons made a nonchalant u-turn and Shiv followed along, wincing slightly.

“Are you wounded?” Irons asked.

“Ripped up my back and pelvis trying to catch up to you,” Shiv said with a chuckle. Irons stared. “It’s not from the fight. There’s a bit of a skill difference between my baseline Toughness, Physicality, and Reflexes.”

“Ah. The Fragile Triangle.” Iron nodded. “I understand. You moved too fast and then remembered you were supposed to be physically invalid. So you slowed down and ended up hurting yourself from the inertia.”

The Deathless blinked. “There’s a term for that.”

“It’s an extremely common problem for Vanguards,” Irons said. “If you are too fast and strong, you will sustain damage from acceleration and combat. If you are too strong and tough, your speed will leave you a sitting target. If you are a fast and durable but lack the strength to pose a threat or carry your own weight, you might be invalid regardless, depending on the nature of your skills. Vanguards require more balance, not less, compared to other Paths.”

“Huh,” Shiv said. “That would’ve been good to know beforehand.”

Irons nodded. “You don’t have a formalized education.” That was a statement, not a question.

“No. Just a practical one.”

“I see. It’s hard to tell with you, sometimes. You seem exceedingly capable in some ways and utter unprepared in others.”

Shiv grimaced but thought that was an apt portrayal of his Pathbearing career so far. “Yeah. Probably a good way of putting it.”

As they marched back toward Miriam Hall, Shiv watched another dozen or so aerial Pathbearers rip through the air. This time, a tiny rat on a pencil led the race. What is up with intelligent rats on this campus? I’ve never seen them anywhere else? Wait, are they even rats? Is this some kind of blessing thing?

“Are you going to tell me about the threats or do I need to ask?” Irons said.

Shiv frowned at the man. “Doesn’t this count as asking.”

“You can choose to be secretive. I have no means of forcing information from you.”

“Could report me to the academy and tell on me to the headmaster.”

“And you can reveal my connections to the Neath,” Irons countered. “We are both stained by unwelcome circumstance and company. It is your choice.”

Psycho-Cartography: He’s trying to make you feel more comfortable. Just in a weird, roundabout way.

Psycho-Cartography 93 > 94

“There were four of them. Two Heroes. Two Legends. One got finished off. Vulteg—They’re—”

“I know what a Vulteg is,” Irons said. “A rare species to encounter. At least on the surface. Who were they?”

“Urri.”

Iron’s eyes widened slightly. “High Marshal Urri?”

“You know him?” Shiv asked, surprised.

“Not personally; he was supposed to be dead. Or that’s what the papers and cries declared after his failed attempt to assassinate Councilwoman Chandler during one of her diplomatic missions to Jewel’s End twelve years ago.”

Shiv wondered how a Vulteg High Marshal got mixed up in that mess. Jewel’s End was… far east, from what Shiv could remember. Didn’t know anything about that part of the world beside that. “Other prisoners wassome half-harpy, an automaton snake-model-thing, and Andra of the Dead Realms or something. A Jotun—”

“Daughter of a Crone!” Irons gasped. He stopped dead in his tracks. “Her. You fought the Prophetess of the Dead Realms? The Devouring Winter?”

“Ice-cold pain in my ass, more like,” Shiv grumbled. “I tried to keep things peaceful with her. Tried to discuss how she could be evacuated diplomatically so we didn’t end up destroying the academy if a brawl got started. Managed to get the drop on her, and I tried to be nice and merciful. She rewarded me by cutting my head off from behind.”

“She… cut your head off.”

“Yeah. Rat bastard thing to do when someone’s making an attempt at peace, right?”

“How did you…” Irons said.

“Oh, getting beheaded isn’t that bad. Frankly, I like it compared to some of my other deaths. Like, there was this time I got burned to death inside an anchor—had to turn myself into this tumor-cube thing to protect some people I was with. You know tumors still have nerve endings, right? That hurt like a nightmare. Still pretty high up there in terms of painful ends. Nine out of ten by now. Only thing worse is getting my soul ripped up.”

Captain Irons looked down at the ground and frowned hard. “You are not joking?”

“What? No. The dying thing’s pretty normal by this point. You get—well, I got used to it pretty early on. Wouldn’t have made it very far at all without it. Anyway, she cut my head off, and then I smashed her skull in, fight got started, things went sideways, but eventually through a chain of bullshit, I managed to break her souls and skills. Turns out, she has a phylactery, and that’s with Adam now. You can take a look at it later if you want. He’s taking it back to the Coliseum.”

A low noise escaped Irons’s throat. “I… see… And the other two—”

“What about them? They didn’t put up much of a fight, so there’s not much to tell. The Vulteg’s the second-largest problem. Took everyone holding him down and me draining the literal vitality out of him before he finally went dead. Took a good while, too. Hard bastard. One of the few outright tougher than me so far. Hands down.”

“Marcus. Are you aware that your recounting sounds like the drink-addled boasts of a High-Adept.”

“It does?”

“Defeating four High-Tier Pathbearers is an astonishing feat of arms.”

“Yeah, well, I had a bunch of help too. But I would’ve given them peace if they took it. It’s their fault. Dumb bastards.”

Irons’s just looked at Shiv like there was something wrong with him. “This… You don’t seem affected at all?”

And Shiv finally caught on to why Irons was so doubtful. “Listen. Not too long ago, I was busy getting life after life beat out of me by a Tarrasque grown from my soulstuff. A few days ago, I was still in a Rubix Well because the supposed gods of my Republic are freaks who use the bodies of little girls as vessels or literal slavers who want to experiment on me. Yeah, I guess the Vulteg and the Jotun were Legends. But by this point, I really don’t give a shit, Irons. I have bigger problems behind me, and bigger problems ahead.”

“I… see,”  the captain breathed.

“Look. I don’t blame you for doubting me. My life is… well, it’s something else. How old are you?”

Irons was taken aback. “Eighty. Why?”

“I’m eighteen. I’m a Legend. What do you call that?” Irons struggled to find the words, but didn’t manage fast enough. Shiv did it for him. “Ever since I got my Path, I’ve been fighting and dying. That’s the norm for me. Peace? Downtime? That’s the oddity by this point. How many hours have you spent in battle, captain? Real, active battle with the risk of certain death? How many times have you fought something you were hopelessly outmatched against?”

This time, Irons did have an answer. “More than I count in terms of instances, but the actual time is hard to quantify.”

“Have you ever died?” Shiv asked. Irons glared at him. “I’m only being half a bastard with that question. You haven’t died. And you haven’t come back. And so you don’t confuse the system so much that it keeps throwing things at you, because you keep technically surviving these impossible battles. And the favor clinging to you grows and grows until it’s a wildfire burning up everyone around you who keep surviving as well. That’s probably going to include you soon, if you don’t die. Today isn’t special, Irons. I don’t even think I’ll remember this brawl in a year. If I’m still alive by then. Because being Deathless means you’re never done fighting, and you’re never done dying.”

A few seconds passed. The two of them just stared at each other. A group of students stumbled by with heavy tomes in their hands and glowing orb hovering just overhead. The sun was beginning to go down, and the campus bells chimed once more.

“Broken Moon,” Irons breathed.

“Yeah. Broken Felling Moon. Now that we got that all cleared up, let’s get me finally godsdamned admitted before I have to wrestle the entire Frost Giant army coming to avenge their captured Prophetess or some shit. Just so I can pretend to be a normal fucking student for a single second in my life.”

The captain looked on blankly for another beat and swallowed. “We can make it fast.”

“Best that we do. I’m not kidding about the Frost Giant thing.” Shiv looked up at the sky. “Eat my shit, system.”