ALFG CHAPTER 176

CHAPTER TWO: SIFTING THROUGH PIECES OF BROKEN HOURGLASS

The house, as it sits in the middle of a ruined city, is unsurprisingly low on food. Nightwalker says he and the others have been trying to loot the other buildings, but they’ve mostly found spoiled produce or crushed canned goods.

“We got one less mouth to feed, at least.” Jake watches in mild fascination as the Orphaner Dualscar, sitting cross-legged on the backyard grass, digs a sharp nail into one said crushed can and proceeds to drag it along its circumference like a can opener.

“Cronus of Beforus would have at least been respectful if you had been the one to leave.” Knelt across from him, Nightwalker stirs a heating pot of tomato soup. While there’s not much food, there’s still kitchenware in the house, and he’s set up a little fire in the back to make what little nonperishables they have palatable for their guests. Dualscar grumbled about it the whole time he was arranging things, sneering over “Prissy, spineless, people-pleasing yes-men.”

“Can you stop using my name to talk about that fucking brat.” Dualscar peels the can lid open. “It’s confusing.”

“Get another name.”

“It’s my name!”

“It was his first, technically.”

“Um.” Tavros says from where he sits beside Jake on the back porch. Thor has taken to doing one last perimeter check and Equius has gone with him, but Jake, Nepeta, and Tavros are in the backyard, waiting for the soup to finish. They each had food packed, of course, but as no one has any idea where they’re going yet and how long the journey will be, they’re rationing supplies and consuming what’s most likely to go bad first. “So…um, the other guy who left…”

“Cronus of Beforus — ” Nightwalker peers from under his bangs to observe Dualscar’s reaction; the troll’s fins flick back and his lips pull back in a snarl. Nightwalker takes it as a cue to continue. “ — has been in contact with the Heir of Doom. The one who’s been the most in communication with them since this whole thing has started, I would say, so he regularly gets instructions from them on how plans are to proceed. I have full faith in his mission.”

“I was on the goddamn ship,” Dualscar hisses, upending the can of pre-cut carrots into the pot. Nightwalker stirs into the rest of the meal.

“You were revived halfway through. I would wager the Heir’s had to adjust their plans since you became an option. They probably didn’t even think of you at all before you made a nuisance of yourself.” The knight clicks his tongue. “Your pre-scratch self has been nothing but objective and amiable. I can see why he’s being trusted with moving things along.”

“I think the soup could use some meat.”

“How nice of you to volunteer.” Nightwalker scoops some of the soup up with the ladle, blows on it, and takes a sip. “Good enough. We’ll let the carrots cook for a little bit, and then everyone can eat.” He stands, brushing grass off his pants. “Ampora, watch the fire. I’ll get the others and wake Vantas. The boy needs to eat the most out of all of us.”

Nepeta sits up at that, eyes wide. Tavros chokes. “Karkat’s here?”

“Yes, but he’s quite tired. Channeling magic in a non-ascended body will do that,” Nightwalker says.

“Who else was here…?” Nepeta tugs a lock of her hair, twirling it around a finger and bringing it close to her mouth in an anxious tic. 

“We came here as six people. Myself, Ampora, Cronus, Strider, Vantas, and Serket.”

Jake doesn’t miss the way Tavros stiffens beside him. Nepeta gasps, but her shoulders immediately relax, and she kicks her feet back and forth in restless energy. Tavros, meanwhile, has gone still, shoulders tight and drawn up.

“We lost Serket during a confrontation with the Sylph.” the knight continues.

Tavros swallows. “Vriska’s…dead?”

Nightwalker shakes his head, sleek bob swaying with the movement. “No, simply elsewhere. A herald brought her into a, for lack of a better term, pocket space of our reality. Unfortunately, as we have no Doom player at our disposal right now, we will not be able to access this space; I do think that the Heir already has a plan for this. This may be part of what Cronus of Beforus has been sent for.”

“We had the other Captor back at the cabin,” Dualscar says.

Nightwalker huffs. “That is a pont, but I will need a bit more rest before I can use enough magic to teleport that far without melting my skin off. Unlike you, I know my limits.”

The troll glares at him, but keeps his mouth shut.

“If you’re done bitching,” the human says. “We should have dinner and try to see what new options we have, especially as our guests were able to travel all the way from Asgard to Earth.”

Dualscar grunts, turning to the porch and barking out: “Go get bowls then, fishbait!”

Jake scrambles to his feet, dragging Tavros with him, who in turn drags Nepeta along. They might have fought off the Empress and her ill-gotten army of mind-controlled beasts, but Dualscar had sharp teeth and claws, and was only a few meters away from them. And appeared to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning; why on Midgard is the guy so pissy, anyway?

They grab whatever’s clean in the cupboards and bring them back to the porch, where Dualscar sets aside the larger chunks of burning firewood so the fire dims but the soup warms and doesn’t burn. A few minutes later, Thor and Equius join everyone, followed shortly by Nightwalker, and a very sleepy, very irritated troll.

“Karkat!” Nepeta crosses the yard within seconds, pouncing on the porch in a singular leap, arms out.

“What — Nepeta!” Karkat stumbles, unready even as he catches the girl in his arms. The guy looks almost waifish, clearly starved for some time with how prominent his collarbones are; Nepeta ends up bowling him over, and they land with a loud THUD! on the floor.

In the corner of Jake’s eye, Tavros winces, but laughs. Equius, meanwhile, whirls around, eyebrows raised. 

“I didn’t realize you were here,” he says.

Karkat, who currently has 131 pounds of catgirl crushing him in a hug, squirms and tries to look over said catgirl’s shoulder to see who’s just spoken. His eyes widen at the sight of Equius, then he groans. “Oh, it’s this sweaty asshole.”

Equius frowns and crosses his arms, but sighs. “I appreciate that the situation hasn’t troubled you too much.”

Karkat barks out a laugh. “Yeah, whatever, can’t wait to have to deal with your weird thing about being ordered around. Keep that shit away from me, Zahhak.”

“A friend of yours?” Thor asks, looking between the children with a tired, though amused smile.

“Yep!” Nepeta climbs off Karkat, though she’s still holding onto his sleeves, her eyes shiny and her shoulders shaking slightly. She sniffles.

Karkat narrows his eyes at Thor. “Who’s this asshole?” 

“Don’t be rude, Karkat.” She swats his arm. “This is Thor – Equius and I fell on Asgard and he and the priestesses took us in.”

Karkat sniffs, swinging his attention to the rest of the yard before he spots Tavros, who raises a hand and smiles in acknowledgement, but doesn’t go up with as much violent excitement as Nepeta. 

“Shit, three of you got in one place together?” Karkat asks.

“No, myself and Nepeta fell to Asgard,” Equius says, motioning to himself and his moirail before incling his head to where Tavros and Jake are. “Tavros fell to Vanaheim with Jake English.”

“Who the fuck is that?”

Jake raises a hand to identify himself. “Do you know a Roxy, a Jane, or a Dirk?”

Karkat sizes him up for a moment. “Alright, okay. You’re from Roxy’s session?”

Jake blinks. “You’ve met Roxy?”

“Sure; she came with Eridan, he’s friends with her.” He pauses, frowning. “Was friends with her.”

“Where is she?” Jake asks. “Is she alright – what about the others, has she seen either Jane or Dirk at all —”

“I know Dave’s weirdass dancestor got fucking sucked that annoying as hell herald black hole, but I wasn’t around for that by then, so I don’t fucking know how it went down or what the hell to do about that,” Karkat says. “I don’t know shit about a Jane, either.”

Jesus, why didn’t the Autoresponder say anything about Roxy, at least? Especially since she apparently met this Eridan fellow who’d just martyred himself. As annoying as it was to constantly get redirected to it whenever Jake wanted to talk to Dirk, he knows the AR is usually on top of its assignments, micromanaging this and that and herding this task to play nice with another. It’s not ditzy or forgetful or clumsy; why on earth wouldn’t it mention Roxy?

“Jake?” Tavros taps his shoulder. He blinks as the boy holds a bowl toward him.

“O-oh.” He takes it; there’s a small chip on the edge, a hairline crack visible on the ceramic. “Thanks.”

They spend dinner around the campfire. Karkat, it turns out, just recently got out of one of those ‘pocket dimensions’ Nightwalker was talking about. It was a combination of his dancestor scrying for him and his own Blood magic that allowed him to find his way back, which Nightwalker then assisted with by cutting a tear through space. Karkat’s magic had the ability to develop an immunity to others’ overtime, which was promising, since if they could apply the same principle with everyone else who’s fallen into these dimensions, they might be able to retrieve them. 

“It’s a good theory,” Nightwalker says. “But we would need them to either find their way back first, or find a way to reach them so we can take them out ourselves.”

“Can’t we ask for this ‘Kankri’s assistance?” Thor asks.

“Kid’s back at the cabin,” Dualscar says. He knocks his empty bowl into Nightwalker’s, signaling the human for seconds. The knight’s eye twitches, but he doesn’t rise to the bait, instead scooting away. “Which we can’t get to yet, because the asshole here needs his beauty sleep.”

“It is lightyears away. I am a godtier, but staying up for nights on end still does take its toll on me, you ignorant bottomfeeder,” Nightwalker says. “I won’t need too much, just a good night’s sleep. It’s been nothing but expending magic and physical strain in quick succession for me recently. Something as precise and delicate as teleportation is also a matter of the mind – I’m rearranging my own atoms into a very specific form at a very specific location while taking into account celestial movement. That amplifies with the number of people I’m taking, and the distance that needs to be covered.”

“So you’re a coward.”

Nightwalker lifts his gaze to the heavens, closes his eyes, and breathes out. Then, he scoots away again and turns back to Thor. “Take up night shift and I will be able to teleport us there tomorrow, though I believe we should set out plans before we make such a huge jump.”

Jake nods, mulling the thought over. He and the others were here on Earth for a reason, though with people trapped in pocket dimensions, they might have to shift priorities and get help from a Doom player first. 

“ – ” Nightwalker begins, though again, Jake can’t hear the weird town’s name “ – has a number of people who could help us, but we’re not supposed to go there, then we’ll have to go with Mituna, and whoever else can assist us at the cabin. With most of the universe restored, I believe whatever walls are shielding the town from the rest of reality has built back up, as I am unable to find it. The city often doesn’t play nice with outsiders. That was why we needed the Full Moon.”

He sighs. 

“I am honored that it has deigned me worthy to speak its name, and I don’t think I should disrespect that privilege.”

“Yeah, in short, nobody’s getting anywhere with this guy.” Dualscar jerks his thumb toward Nightwalker. He pauses. “Strider might know something, though, he was already in town when I woke up.”

Jake looks back toward the house. The Autoresponder doesn’t need to eat, so it’s just in there, maybe charging or something.

“Why isn’t he here with us, by the way?” Thor asks.

“Oh, he’s an automaton,” Nightwalker says. “He has no need for food, and he has a self-sustaining power source.”

Thor’s eyebrows raise. “Interesting.”

“Regardless if he knows,” Nightwalker starts. “If we are to stay put –”

Dualscar stands, jogging toward the house. “I’m asking him.”

The knight huffs, frowning in annoyance, but he does nothing to stop the troll.

“That’s kinda weird,” Jake mutters as he watches Dualscar disappear into the backdoor.

Tavros leans over, whispering, “What is?”

“Last I saw the Autoresponder, he was some chat client bot in Dirk’s glasses —” He pauses, frowning. “No, that’s not right, he was…a sprite. With…” He glances toward Equius. Right. His memory’s fuzzy with whatever’s been done to him by the Heir of Doom, but he’s pretty sure that happened.

“You don’t remember, huh?” Karkat asks. “Even if you’re a Hope player?”

“...do you?”

Karkat nods jerkily. “Blood magic shit.”

Huh. That’s useful, but with the tired look on Karkat’s face, it might not be the best time to ask. Maybe when they’ve got more people with thwm, so he doesn’t have to keep repeating the same story. Or tomorrow, when the guy’s more rested up.

Dualscar returns with the AR soon enough, though the robot stays on the porch, red eyes visible behind the dark tint of its glasses. Its gaze goes from Nightwalker to the trolls, lingers on Thor, before stopping on Jake. “What do you need?”

“You know anything about getting to – ?” Dualscar asks. “You were already there at the house when we got there, and I’m pretty sure none of your friends know how to teleport.”

The AR does his quick sweep again. “To –?” When Dualscar grunts in confirmation, it says, “I’m pretty sure anyone who knows the way there could bring other people in.”

“We don’t know the way in there,” Dualscar says.

The robot takes a very long time to answer. “I only know half the route,” he says. “That trip was as confusing and fuzzy as the name was the first time. Sorry.”

Dualscar stares at the boy, eyes narrowed. The AR shrugs and goes back into the house.

“The cabin it is, then.” Nightwalker lifts his chin, tone smug. Dualscar’s fins flick back again, irritated. “As I’ve said, let me rest, and we shall meet up with the others and discuss our options for rescuing those the heralds took.”

“Whatever; we’re still gonna need to regroup with the kids back in – ” Even the static that dualscar says the name with sounds angry. “ – anyway, so we’re still going to need to find a way back.”

“And that is what your pre-scratch self is doing,” Nightwalker says. “Patience.”

Dualscar flips him off.

Jake tunes the bickering out, instead focused on where the AR had gone. He was friends with Eridan, Nightwalker said. The guy’s lost someone.

He returns to his soup.

#

It takes three hours before Cronus gets to the tower, mostly due to having to find alternative routes, as the usual ones are blocked by bodies or debris. Twice, he has to stop and rest as his exhaustion catches up to him and he nearly swerves off the road from drowsiness. The Full Moon finds him little corners to nap before he continues, finally coming upon the dark and empty skyscraper sometime in the early dawn.

The glass walls at the front are broken, bullet shells scattered all over the floor and blood smeared on the reception desk. Streaks marking fingers end in large patches that drag off and disappear behind the edge. Faint rot wafts about the building. Cronus can piece the scene together in his head: heralds, and an futile attempt to fight them.

He kicks out his motorcycle’s stand as he puts the bike in park. Idly tracing the edges of the Full Moon, he steps into the darkened building, footsteps echoing in the eerie quiet. This place, according to Angeles, used to house the main business of Stark Industries. The uppermost floors were living quarters, and had been used as a hideout by Strider and his friends. It was a familiar meeting spot, and wouldn’t be completely out of the ordinary should people find themselves drawn to it.

His objective was to find a hiding place for a lesser light, preferably in one of the lesser-used floors, which meant his pick of the many empty guest rooms of the living quarters. The elevator is busted, so he has to take the stairs; it’s not ideal, but the Full Moon makes fun of him for being a violetblood who can’t take a few floors, so he begrudgingly marches up the flights until his muscles burn. By the tenth floor, he’s wheezing, and by the fifteenth, he has to take a ten minute break to sit by a wall and rest his legs. The Full Moon snickers, her amusement feeding into his annoyance.

“Must be nice to be incorporeal,” he mutters.

“You’re almost there,” she says. “This’ll only get harder from here, you know. You’re going to have to travel to Queens for the next one – you lost your glasses, so you won’t be able to blend in.”

He closes his eyes, leaning his head back. Fuck. Right. Maybe Angeles can swing something for him? The Heir told him his glasses were rare, and with them busy they probably won’t be able to replace it. 

He fishes out the Barbie phone from his pocket, flipping it open and staring at the sticker that served as its ‘screen’. He flips it over: the battery slots are empty.

The Full Moon’s bare feet patter on the hallway carpet. She crouches, long silver hair pooling on the floor. “The sun will be coming up soon.”

Cronus sucks in a breath. “Yeah, okay.” He pushes off the wall to stand; his legs are shaking. “Yeah, okay, let’s go.”

The floors blur as he ascends. There’s not as much carnage on the higher floors, but every hallway looks the same, and his only markers for where he is are the plaques at on the landings. 

The Full Moon pauses at one such landing when they reach the highest one.

“What?” Cronus asks.

“Don’t you feel that?” She tilts her head. “There’s an enchantment here…someone hid it.”

Cronus frowns. The Full Moon turns to him, her hair falling over one eye; her visible one twinkles with curiousity, so he inclines his head toward the hallway in a Well? gesture.

She tucks her hands behind her back, padding down the corridor, gaze flitting from corner to corner. Cronus follows, keeping close and bringing his attention to everything she inspects. This floor looks more like a hotel than the office setting of the lower floors, and its emptiness and visual symmetry is giving him hives.

“Cronus.” The Full Moon pokes her head from a bathroom doorway. He turns away from the bedroom he’s checking out. “Here.”

He goes to the bathroom.

The space is huge (bustling hotel style, mall-size – was Stark expecting to share this space with others?) with open and empty stalls; the Full Moon ignores them all, heading straight for the end of the room, right where there’s a vent in the ceiling. She points up.

“Feels like Doom magic. Feels familiar, actually.” Her lips purse in thought. “Like that friend of yours. The little-Heir.”

“Angeles?” he asks, confused.

She nods. “It feels like an enchantment – likely separated from them, so they’re dead, but it’s still here.” 

Angeles left something? It’s probably important, then, but he has no idea what they’d put it here for. “Do you think we should get it?”

The Full Moon shrugs.

If Angeles didn’t mention it in their call…damn, if only the Barbie phone could call them back, he’d ask, but he’s on his own here.

Cronus crosses his arms, shifting his weight on one foot. “Well, I mean, you have a sense for…what should go where. What do you think?”

“You’re asking me?”

“I’m a Bard, I don’t make the best choices.” He shrugs this time. “If it’s there, then obviously, it’s been set aside for something. But if it’s here in the same tower I’m supposed to be in, and they know you’re with me…” He pauses, then shakes his head. “Forget it. I’m overthinking.”

“But Angeles is taking over for the Heir, aren’t they?” The Full Moon looks back up at the vent. “And I think…”

Her forehead creases.

“You think what?”

“...nothing,” she says. “Nevermind, you’re right.”

Cronus draws in a slow breath. “But…if you can sense something…”

“I can sense a lot of things. There’s a lot of grief in this city right now, and plenty of people want pieces of their loved ones back home with them,” she says. “But that is not the plan, and I will not be the one to ruin things.” She steps back. “Though, this is probably a good place to hide a lesser light in.”

Cronus chews on his lower lip. The state of things is too fragile for him to be making unadvised adjustments. With how precise the Heir’s plans often are, anything change he makes may be fatal. Whatever this enchantment is, it’s none of his business.

So, he settles for taking out a set of coins from his sylladex, setting one aside while returning the rest. There’s a small ladder and a toolbox in the nearby supply closet, so he takes those to climb up and take down the vent cover. He’s tall enough to comfortably peer into said vent, so after a moment’s hesitation, he climbs one rung higher and sticks his head through the opening. 

He coughs, fins flicking back – the vents are dusty – and it takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the small space, but he finds what the Moon was talking about quite easily. Just a few inches away from his face is a small box; he almost mistakes it for a brick at first, but when he picks it up, it turns out to be an extra large matchbox, scrawled all over with bright blue glitter pen. 

Cronus turns it over, angling it this way and that as if that would make it easier to read the runes. It doesn’t. Cautiously, he slides the box open: the inside is cushioned with similarly-scrawled over paper, folded to fit into the small container. Set over it is a tissue scrap with smaller runes, marked with browned red ink. Cronus’ nose wrinkles as he realizes it’s blood. 

An enchantment. Clearly a powerful one and put here for a purpose, so he slides the box back closed. He scans the runes on it again, before turning the thing over. 

On the back, in black ink this time is: don’t bother, there’s not enough in here.

“Doom magic, you said?” he mutters.

“Mm.” The Full Moon is standing on the sink, looking through the small window above it. “You better hurry up if you want to leave without being seen.”

Cronus sets the enchanted matchbox back in its hiding place, placing the silver coin he’s got right beside it. Then, he climbs down and replaces the vent cover. 

(And a few miles back the way he came from, Hal wonders why the wi-fi dipped for a moment.)