Chapter 100

Chapter 100

Years ago, in one of his many acts of compassion, Erick journeyed to Florida in the aftermath of a hurricane. He actually did this twice. In those hot summers, with biting bugs all around, Erick toiled with others all there for the same reason; to help. He was but one of the cogs in the machine. Demolition, clean up, preparing lunch sometimes, running the bulldozer, for he was one of the few with heavy machinery experience. Working in construction when Jane was a baby had prepared him well for this volunteer work, but it was those hot, mosquito-filled summers, and the fact that he was getting too old for that shit, that cemented his switch to social work. He much preferred helping people with paperwork and prodding the various systems of government into providing what they were supposed to provide, than he enjoyed cleaning up disaster areas.

As the wind-filled sky turned from purple to blue, and the sun rose over the orange dunes outside of Candlepoint, Erick, riding Ophiel, thought back to those stormy days, in bug-filled tents, just outside of a town that had been leveled by a hurricane. There was no wooden construction here, though. Candlepoint was a stone city, through and through.

Fat lot of good all that stone did, when automatons plowed through the walls with what must have been a two hundred effective Strength, and spiders crawled through even the tiniest openings, or created their own. The summons were bad enough, but the monsters were worse than hurricane winds versus trailer parks. Those monsters were all dead, now; Erick had triple-checked the map he created in the center of the city, on top of the dark Crystal. Every blue dot in the city was dead and mutilated; he had gone after those monsters, first.

The people-shaped monsters were dead and mutilated, too. Some lived. But most...

Erick saw it all, as every Ophiel he had flew through the rubble and the buildings like pools of thick light, splashing in and out of crevices and into hiding holes. Missing legs. Bloody wounds. People crying in the middle of the street, holding onto the dead. Two men holding onto each other in the dark of a room, both of them still warm with fading life. A man holding half of a woman, trying to keep her insides inside her ribcage. People in cocoons that he rapidly freed, with some able to hobble away while others foamed at the mouth, barely alive—

Like a jolt from a god, Erick remembered a spell he had. With a subtle shift and cast, every Ophiel in Candlepoint simultaneously released [Mirage Slime]s; [Cleanse] given form and function. Thick, van-sized air danced through the rubble, across people, lingering on those suffering from spider bites. Venom became more thick air that curled away from slimes that were already moving on to the next victim. Cocoons disintegrated as they were deemed ‘filth’, releasing the trapped people inside. Blood vanished from streets. Bodies, broken and bloody, became simply broken.

Erick briefly came back to himself, sitting in the safety of his home in Spur, far away from the catastrophe that was Candlepoint. He looked to Poi, asking, “Do we have healers that anyone can spare?”

Quietly, Poi said, “We do not. No one wants to go there, sir. You should not ask, and you should never go there yourself.”

Erick looked away. He nodded. “Right.”

“But you can try the Garrison.” Poi said, “There might be healers there, already.”

Erick sat straighter. “Right!” He added, “And we have rods of [Treat Wounds]!”

Teressa said, “I’ll gather up the ones in the house.”

Erick summoned an Ophiel, automatically dismissing one in Candlepoint, as he said, “I got that, Teressa. Take some money and go buy some more— Or! Wait. Requisition reserves from the Army?” He looked to Poi. Without rancor, and full of hope, he asked, “Does Liquid have any she can spare?”

Poi looked to the air. “Yes. Liquid has some she is willing to give.” He looked to Teressa. “Go.”

Teressa vanished in a grey flash.

Erick summoned an Ophiel, automatically dismissing one of the ones at Candlepoint. He turned his fresh summon into liquid light, then gathered up seven rods of [Treat Wounds] he had lying around the house in three seconds. With bounty in wing, Ophiel blipped away, to Candlepoint. Minutes later, Teressa delivered another box of rods; another ten.

It was gruesome work.

Half an hour later, Erick was still pulling bodies out of rubble, tapping people with healing whenever he could. By then, others had started to appear, walking around, dazed and confused. The sun was up, and Erick had dismissed his hurricane winds already, but now he recast quick clouds into the sky, to bring shadows to the city.

As sunlight turned to half lights, and the wardlights of the city cast rainbows into the gloom, some of the confused shadelings came back to their senses. Erick did not talk to any of them, as he went around healing whoever looked like they needed healing, but he did watch as shadelings organized themselves.

Mephistopheles was there, by the Garrison, but Erick only knew him because of his horns. One was large and lacquered red, while the other was a broken red nub. He wore a completely normal off-white tunic and brown pants, completely at odds with his normal fanfare. He was also shoeless, looking not like himself at all, as he directed people left and right. Some shadelings obeyed him, but none of the adventurers did. As soon as Bulgan’s Lock vanished, the town emptied of almost all non-shadelings. From what Erick was seeing through ten different [Familiar]s, there were two, maybe three non-shadelings, walking around in the city. Maybe more; Erick wasn’t really counting right now. He was trying to mitigate damage.

Erick did notice the stronger people in the city. There was a shadeling in black armor with black skin and brilliant white eyes, who Erick watched pull a cocooned person out of a hole in the ground. Erick almost mistook him for a Shade, but if he was, then he was not a problem; not yet, anyway. In another part of the city, a woman in a pink dress turned rubble into shadows, dissipating fallen structures into little more than glooms in the air, as she helped set people into the light. In a far part of the city, near the broken northern wall, near the Farms, a trio of adventurers burst through a wall, entering into a room filled with rads. They began taking those rads—

While nine Ophiels automatically went on saving lives, tapping people with [Treat Wounds] and knowing what Erick wanted, Erick focused one Ophiel on the robbers. Because that was definitely what they were. Two orcol men, and one dragonkin woman. They conjured brown bags from thin air, then dipped into the stash of rads, rapidly stealing whatever they could, before blipping away.

Then they had the audacity to come back for seconds! Maybe they were already on thirds, or fourths.

Erick let them do whatever they wanted, wishing to never see them again, as he grabbed all the rads he could see into Ophiel’s [Greater Lightwalk]. The next time the thieves blipped in, the room was empty, and Erick had gone back into the town with the cache of rads in tow.

With a touch of directed organization, Erick distributed that haul out into the city, scattering them along every major street, like diamonds in the daylight, set out for someone to come by and take them. The hope was that shadelings, hurt in the attack, would grab the rads and use them for healing.

Shadelings instantly noticed the bounty on the road. They rushed the piles. Some appeared greedy at first glance, but with a lingering look, Erick saw those greedy people had just picked up what they could and rushed back to others who had been hurt, and hiding in nearby buildings. When Erick saw that, he directed Ophiels to the injured, and tapped them with a rod of [Treat Wounds]. Taking in rads seemed to do good for a shadeling’s health, but actual healing did more. Some of the people who took the rads were just greedy, though, and stashing them into hiding holes here and there; that much was expected.

And so, a bloody morning turned into a mournful day.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, Erick noticed what the Crystal looked like, at the base. The place where everyone exchanged their darkchips for prizes was like a gazebo at the bottom. The crystal had been carved out into a good five meter by five meter airy space, with counters for people to exchange goods upon, and boards hanging in the center of the gazebo that listed every prize. But there were no prizes listed now. No one manned the counters. Instead, a sign had been replicated and hung over every prize board, that read, ‘No more prizes in Candlepoint! Come to Kendrithyst if you want something!’.

- - - -

Erick sat up from his reclining chair.

Teressa had moved to stand out of the way, toward the side of the room, while Poi looked on, still telepathically talking to dozens of people. The room was unnaturally quiet. Teressa looked pensive; she was almost ready to say something, but she had doubts whether she wanted to speak, or not. But then she noticed Erick was here in the room instead of watching over Candlepoint, and all of her outward and obvious emotions went silent; unknowable.

Erick asked, “What now?”

“This is uncharted territory.” Poi looked down to Erick, saying, “There will be hardliners that want Candlepoint destroyed. There will be others that want it exploited. Still more, might want something else.”

Teressa hummed some noncommittal noise.

“About what I expected, then.” Erick swung his feet off the chair, then stood up, saying, “I need to see Justine. I want to put her in charge of the town.” He stood up. “I also want to speak to someone about what it takes to actually kill a Shade. It seems I am not up to the task.”

Teressa looked down at Erick, but then averted her eyes, to stare at an unimportant part of the floor.

Poi said, “You should put down [Hunter’s Instincts], sir. And take off the crown. Your eyes are glowing white.”

“... Not yet. But I can take this off.” Erick took off the crown, and set it down on the small table near his chair, next to the box of potions. He picked up his rings and slipped them on his fingers saying, “So? About seeing Justine? Or an actual Shade killer. Oh! Can Killzone talk? Also, was I misled by Anhelia, with regard to how best to kill a Shade?” He spoke with a voice disconnected from everything, saying, “Because that is disappointing, if true.”

Poi looked at Erick for a long moment, as if picking his words. He asked, “Why didn’t you try [Luminous Beam]?”

Erick blanked. He went, “Huh.” Then he laughed. Erick joked, “Like a bumbling virgin! I simply didn’t know how to approach the situation, and so, fucked up in a bad way. I have no excuses. I also could have Shaped some [Vivid Gloom]s into that dark Crystal in the center of town. I highly doubt that Bulgan could absorb pure poison light.” He shrugged, adding, “But who the fuck knows!” He repeated, half desperately, “Who knows, Poi? I need pointers.”

Poi said, “Your eyes are still glowing, sir.”

Erick almost flew off the handle, as rage tore through his entire being. And then he calmed himself. His eyes didn’t matter. So what if he was having some stressful magic lightshow in the irises of his eyes? That happened to practically everyone when they were amped up and angry, or fully in tune with their purpose in life. Erick’s purpose was to kill Shades, so of course he had a little light show going on. But Teressa wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Poi seemed overly concerned. So Erick flicked a portion of intent through the light of the house, up to the bathroom upstairs. A tiny blip brought a mirror to his hand.

Yes. His eyes were glowing.

... A bit too much, actually. He almost looked like a Shade. Full white glows eclipsed both of his eyes.

Reluctantly, and knowing he would be a mess afterward, he cut [Hunter’s Instincts].

White light faded from his eyes, but his irises did not return to their normal color. Instead, they were a bright grey; almost platinum. For the briefest of moments, he forgot the horrors of the last few hours.

Then he whispered to himself, “What the damn?” He checked his Status. “Still says Human.”

Teressa breathed out a windy chuckle, muttering, “Thank the gods.”

“You’ve been marked.” Poi offered, “I’ll ask around to find out what it means, if anything?”

“Let’s just... Let’s forget that, for now.” Erick tried to hold himself together, as he said, “I need to see... Who do I need to see— Justine. And Silverite and Killzone. Apogee. I need to speak to Apogee about an anti-blipping curse.”

Poi looked away for a moment, then said, “Killzone is able to receive you, now.”

Erick breathed deep, feeling slightly better. And then he had a concern. “Where, though? I’ve never met him outside of... walking around.”

- - - -

Erick stepped outside of the door to his house, turned left, and headed toward the stone gazebo that existed for the Community Garden Council; where they spoke to each other of produce, people, and business. Erick had not really spoken to Calizi, or Rollo, or anyone on the Council in several days. The last one he spoke to was Kip, the bluemetal wrought dragonkin, about shelling rice and beans for Candlepoint, over a week ago. That was a simpler time than now.

Now, Killzone waited for him in the stone gazebo.

The general of Spur’s Army, Killzone was a massive blacksteel wrought, in the shape of an orcol. Black hair, black clothes, black eyes and teeth, Killzone stood at the top of the short stairs into the structure, leaning against a stone pillar with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He saw Erick walking toward him and dropped his arms to his side to give a friendly wave. He smiled, and the emotion reached his eyes, looking rather sincere to Erick.

“Howdy, Erick.” Killzone stepped further into the gazebo, speaking with a pleasant tone as he said, “Come on in.”

While Poi waited on the stairs of the stone structure, Erick followed Killzone into the shadows of the gazebo.

“Hello.” Erick said, “He ate my light, Killzone. He dispelled my 90,000 point [Prismatic Ward] with a grip and a crush! How did he do that?”

Killzone turned and smirked, as he sat down at the nearest seat. “It’s not good news for you, but it’s good for us; for Spur as a whole. Bulgan has set himself up as your anathema.”

Erick sat down. “... What?”

“How much do you know about Shade magics?”

“I thought they were just archmages?”

“On a basic level, this is true.” Killzone said, “There’s a very involved process to how a person falls to the Darkness; about how they crystallize their beliefs into a source of power for themselves, and how they use this Truth to form the rad in the center of their being. That’s about all you have to know to proceed with understanding the Shades, and how we think they gain their power. What Bulgan has done, is crystallize a powerful Truth. And since you can’t become an archmage without a powerful Truth, Bulgan is therefore, by definition and practice, an archmage.

“You can’t become a Shade without a powerful Truth. Or, more accurately, you can’t become an artificial archmage without being able to survive the rad implantation processes, while holding onto whatever temperamental Truth aligned to your Self and Soul. This crystallization of Self both burns out everything that is not conducive to your Truth, as well as empowering that Truth to new heights.

“Theoretically. We’re not entirely sure. But we’re ninety percent sure.

“When it comes to Shades, some of them descend with specific goals close to their heart. Those goals become the center of their new Self. Goals that are aligned against specific, magically powerful targets, are some of the strongest goals a Shade can be born into.” Killzone finished with, “According to what we already know, Bulgan wants to kill you and Jane more than most. So, as a Shade, of course he can counter everything you do.”

As pieces fell into place and Erick realized the depth of the problem he faced, he asked, “I could never win against him, could I?”

“Ehh...” Killzone said, “You could kill him. Theoretically. But he’s an anti-archmage Shade, directly empowered by Melemizargo himself to be a latent weapon to use specifically against you.” He added, “And Jane, too, no doubt. But because you and Jane are nothing alike in your tactics, that there is a flaw in his power. Therefore, I think you could, theoretically kill him. But it would be tough.

“But there are ways around this problem. The most obvious way is to let someone else take care of it. But that likely won’t happen, because Bulgan is currently deeply in Melemizargo’s favor. That was why he was able to eat your light so well. It’s not an intrinsic part of his ability.” Killzone said, “So that’s a bit of good news.

“It was surprising for me to see him eat your light, too, but considering the outcome of the fight, and how it appears that Bulgan was in Melemizargo’s graces all along, this is not actually surprising. So the normal methods of killing Shades don't work, there. He was partially damaged when you hit him with that lightning bolt, though. But, again, he’s in Melemizargo’s favor, and lightning has long been considered a form of very strong light, so, again, can’t use lightning against him—”

“That’s bullshit!” Erick said, “Lightning is not light!”

Killzone continued undaunted, “In fact, any magic you use against Bulgan will likely get eaten by the Shade, because, again, he is empowered to fight against you. This might be how he was able to dispel your spells so easily. He did not actually dispel them at all. He ate them all.

“But that’s just an educated guess.”

“Shit.” Erick said, “It’s like that Blood Barrier, or whatever it was called. The one that the Halls of the Dead used that soaked up all magic in order to strengthen itself.”

“Yes.” Killzone said, smiling.

Erick frowned. “Why are you so happy? This is terrible!”

Killzone smiled wider. “I am happy, because you’re capable of winning against a Shade.” He added, “Maybe not against Bulgan, for he was created to counter you, but I can name seven Shades right now, that if you were to fight, you would trounce. Practically any Shade that doesn’t focus on shadow’s ability to turn light into power, would be an even fight.” He added, “As long as you knew where they were, and they couldn’t find you, that is.”

“... Who, then?”

Killzone said, “First, I must say this, and you must take it to heart: Any Shade of the Spire, you must avoid completely. But right now, as you are, you could likely kill Salvolanche, Shade of Stone. He oversees the wall of Ar’Kendrithyst. His duty is to ensure no one gets inside the city by going over the wall, but he’s a pushover in almost every respect. They made him that way. They haven’t ever put someone too strong on the wall. Then there’s Gora, Shade of the Arena. He puts people into death games in his arena, but always goes all out. He had already fallen out of favor because Porter is dead, and thus the constant flow of [Teleport]ed adventurers into his death games, has stopped, causing his sponsors in the Spire to find his current shows not as exciting as usual. If he fell out of favor completely, he could easily be killed, since he is inside his arena all the time.” He said, “Spinner would be tough, but she’s also doable. She’s the Shade of the Sky. She oversees air defense for the city, but Stardust, both the Shade of the Edge and a Shade of the Spire, has been moving against Spinner recently, trying to get the other Shades of the Spire to dismiss Spinner’s office as redundant, and to double Stardust’s authority over the skies of Ar’Kendrithyst.

“Are you seeing the pattern, here?” Killzone asked, “This pattern applies to Bulgan, too.”

Erick saw the pattern. He said, “I need to work them against each other until they drop from favor, and then I can kill them. Dropping Bulgan from Melemizargo’s favor would be more difficult.”

“I have several ideas, but the Shadow Games are always shifting underfoot and I cannot act except in very specific circumstances of which I will never name, for then I would be exposing myself.” Killzone said, “But you’ve been declared Untouchable. I heard it yesterday, but I did not believe it until today, when I heard those same words from Fallopolis and Undine.” Killzone looked down at Erick, by virtue of his stature alone, and not with his words, as he said, “Undine sent a care package to Forward Base, to give to my care to give to you. It was a clutch of leviathan eggs, meant to be hatched in a lake that she expects you to build around Candlepoint. Since you didn’t have the lake yet, I was able to talk her down to a book on raising monsters. I left that book at Candlepoint, in the Crystal. I advise you to look at the cover, and then leave it there, and not care if someone steals it. Or, perhaps, you can put it up as a prize in the city. And then give it away. Propriety matters more than outcome.

“And then Fallopolis came to Forward Base. She wishes you well in dismantling Ar’Kendrithyst from the inside.”

Erick said, “That cannot be a real sentiment.”

“I’ve been at this job for centuries, but Fallopolis has been here longer; not as long as Silverite, but near enough. It’s impossible to know Fallopolis’ true goals, since she often speaks in contradictions.” Killzone said, “But we know some of the actions she takes, and then follows through upon. Fallopolis always leads the charge against Shades who fail to be as strong as they can be. This is something she does against all other Shades. Sometimes, she will even tell people who walk into the Dead City who is weak and who is ready for pillaging. Most of the time the other Shades brush her off as a nuisance, but some of the time, the adventurers she sends out to certain locations succeed really well, and get away. Sometimes, she openly wars with a Shade who comes knocking at the Crack, wanting to fight. Neither side ever wins, but Cludolphis often has to show up— That’s the Shade of Mending. She often shows up in the aftermath of those fights, in order to repair the pillars and skyroads of the city back into place.

“But the deep and the wide of Fallopolis, is that she’s a wildcard who always plays the crazy grandma, and sometimes takes her role too far.” Killzone added, “You can usually trust her words to be true, but maybe not the full truth.”

Erick sat back, and thought for a long moment. For a brief moment, he sent his senses back to Candlepoint, back into the Ophiel flying through the streets of the rainbow, dark city, healing who they could, as they could. Nothing looked too wrong, at the moment. People were still helping others, as they could, or walking around in dazes, staring at the destruction.The debut release of this chapter happened at Ñøv€l-B1n.

Erick came back to himself, and asked, “What do you think I should do with Candlepoint?”

“Your choice.” Killzone said, “It’s yours now, according to everything I’ve heard.”

“... What does that mean, though?”

“When Bulgan called you his brother in Darkness, that was something that Shades sometimes say to each other when they cede territory away to another. Bulgan has moved on.” Killzone said, “We called him the Shade of Candlepoint, but none of the other Shades ever used that term. Now, they’re openly referring to him as the Shade of Umber Street. That’s where all the prizes were manufactured, and it’s now officially Bulgan’s territory. It’s right next to the Spire.”

A deep swell of hatred rocked through Erick’s chest. He blinked long, then said, “Okay.”

“As far as what you should do with Candlepoint? You have a choice. It’s a very large choice, and you will need to commit to it, one way or the other.” Killzone said, “But first, let me tell you about what I do in a day to day setting.”

“... Okay?”

“It’ll make sense when I’m done, and it’s necessary to know before we get into your choice, so that you can make an informed decision.”

Erick frowned a little, but then nodded, and waited.

Killzone began, “Let’s take Firstday, last week; the beginning of the month. It’s the last month of the year, so a lot of Shades are turning their attentions and preparations toward Shadow’s Feast, the last day of the year, before the Triumph of Light, and Festival...”

- - - -

Killzone woke with the sound of a disaster, as usual. This time there had been a minor explosion on the lower reaches of Forward Base, that rocked the whole tower. A proper response was needed, and Killzone was the man to give it. He had gotten a good two hours of downtime in, so he felt rather ready to tackle whatever was happening down below.

Killzone turned to shadows, then dipped down, traveling fast through the kendrithyst crystal that ran along the outside of Forward Base.

Three moments later, in the upper middle reaches of the Dead City, where the red-purple-smokey crystal was still lit from within and without by faint light from above, Killzone stood in the center of a scene of progressing carnage that abruptly stopped at his appearance. That was good. He would start with a nice, even tone of voice, maybe even slip some drawl in there to let these combatants know that they weren’t in too much immediate trouble.

Everyone here was in deep slag, but Killzone could have a measured response.

“Whatever. I don’t want to debate that right now. You can be the Absent Lord for all I care.” He said, “But we have some demands of our new overlord! We want a leader on site! Rules to abide! Promised safety that is enforced by you, or your appointed representatives! These are but a few of the demands of our new master!” His voice turned stage dramatic, dripping with hidden condemnation, as he said, “Or are you a new Bulgan? Here to lord over us and do nothing but step on our necks?”

The man was hurt, and lashing out, and desperate for something solid to hold onto as the world stormed all around him. That much was obvious. Mephistopheles wasn’t the only one who was hurt.

Erick gazed out at the dark courtyard of the Crystal, to the buildings beyond. Alchemist shops had been torn asunder in the fights of four hours ago. Spider corpses hung in and out of the broken display windows of clothiers. General stores had been looted fast; they were only half intact. Enchanter stores were mostly intact, but only because metal bars protected the windows. Leatherworkers and metalsmiths had been broken. The only intact place in the Crystal Courtyard, untouched by the spider fall and Bulgan’s summons, was a dark black building, unassuming in a quiet sort of way, with doors carved in the shape of black wings.

Looters had come and gone, but when Erick started blipping people away from more looting, they had not returned. Everyone seemed to take Erick’s action as a simple warning, where one more step taken in the wrong direction would end in a final judgment. He wouldn’t have followed through on the implied threat; he would have just kept blipping them away. Since then, no one had come to the Crystal’s Courtyard, until Mephistopheles. But since Mephistopheles started yelling, and Erick started answering, people had gradually returned to the space.

Glowing grey eyes peeked out from around broken doors, or in the deeper shadows under stone debris. Some people stepped out into the open, into the half-light of partial cloud cover, to watch. Some, to witness. A few fell to their knees in supplication toward Ophiel. More than a few crossed their arms, and narrowed their eyes. Most stuck to the deeper shadows, fully outside of the sun’s reach.

Erick spoke for the audience, since that’s what Mephistopheles was doing, “I am not, nor will I ever be, your master. If anything, I will be your support. I will help your farmers grow food. I will help you in restoring your shops, and your livelihoods. I will work to bring good choices and freedom to your lives, and I will guard you from the threats I can protect against.” He felt, for a moment, like he was in a different time and place. Like he was talking to a guy down on his luck, who needed a roof over his head and the promise of safety to get back on his feet; like he was back on Earth. Though this was not Earth, and there was the problem of shadelings being malicious actors in the past, everyone needed a chance. “Safety comes first. To that end, how would you suggest we do this?”

“A decree enforced from on high would be great!”

“We’re not doing that, either. I have no will to enforce upon you.” Erick offered, “How about a council? I will be there to observe when needed, but otherwise you can bring me problems I can solve, and do the rest on your own.”

Mephistopheles said, “Acceptable! I put myself forward for the position of Right Hand of the King!”

“This blatant attempt to win power is doing you no favors, Mephistopheles,” Erick said, while simultaneously checking on every Ophiel, to make sure that people still got pulled from rubble and healed, and [Mirage Slime]s continued to roll about the city, [Cleansing] venom from victims, and helping clean wounds of debris.

Erick occasionally noticed spiders that he had missed. Tiny ones, no larger than eyes. How had the [Cascade Imaging], still active on the top of the Crystal, missed those? Ah! Whatever. Erick crushed those spiders with lightform fists, while leaving the holes in the ground that the larger ones had created in their escape from the city. Maybe some people down there could rescue themselves; some of Erick’s [Mirage Slime]s had slipped down there already.

Erick came back to the Ophiel in front of Mephistopheles, after being gone for no more than a few seconds. He said, “But I appoint you to the rescue and repair efforts, for now.” He spoke toward the crowd. “I need five more volunteers willing to help with repair and rescue, or who wish to have the chance to prove themselves as a capable leader, or as a council member.”

The crowd immediately slunk back, like a tide of grey eyes on a dark sea, flowing into the deeper shadows, except for two.

A human woman in a ripped pink dress, who had been kneeling on the ground, praying, stood up and walked forward. Erick had seen her helping to uncover people from fallen debris. Her eyes were cloudy grey, but as she stepped closer, into the light, they turned brighter; clearer.

The other person was a fully black man with black horns and eyes bright enough to be a Shade’s. He did not step forward, but as the crowd vanished around him, pulling back, he was left out in the open, and the second closest person to Mephistopheles. He glanced around himself, frowned, then stepped forward of his own volition.

“I think I already know you,” Erick said, turning Ophiel’s eyes toward the ‘Shade’. “Slip, Captain of the Guard?”

Slip winced, then said, “Yup. I’ll organize the Guard. I already was, but I guess I gotta do that again.”

“Thank you,” Erick said, turning to the woman. He was pretty sure he knew this one, too. “And you are?”

“Zaraanka Checharin.” She said, “I wish to devote myself to making Candlepoint all it can be.”

“Oddly enough, Justine recommended all three of you to higher positions.” Erick said, half-sarcastically, “Someone must be watching out for you.”

Mephistopheles had no reaction. Slip winced, again.

But Zaraanka bubbled a hearty laugh, then tapered off, to say, “We have survived worse.”

Erick looked around Ophiel again, and recognized Zaraanka’s truth. “You have all survived a great deal of hardships.” He decided, “Let us all work to make Candlepoint an unobtrusive, quiet little town of prosperity and safety for all therein. That is my goal. I hope we can make this wish a reality.”

“A tiny life! I object!” Zaraanka blurted, suddenly looking worried. “I want textiles and comfort! Libraries full of novels and liquor that isn’t brewed in a stone basin!”

“We need infrastructure, you ignorant—!” Mephistopheles cut himself short, then said, “We need people willing to put in the effort to get those things! Not just those who seek luxuries in order to have them and use them.” He turned to Ophiel, saying, “I protest Zaraanka’s appointment.”

Erick was put off by the apparent disregard for the dead, and the disaster all around them, but he would not judge these shadelings for their actions; not yet, and maybe not for years. They had been through a lot more than he had ever been through. Erick tried to get them back on track, saying, “We will not be falling to pieces now. If you cannot work together, or work to make Candlepoint a successful city, then I will appoint new people next week.” Erick decided, “You have a week to prove yourself worthy of your position.” He said, “Work to make your desires a reality. Draw up a list of plants you require for textiles and food purposes, and I will work to get them to you. The people here can grow their own lives, themselves. But know now, that violence must be kept to a minimum, and not only because it harms the growth of this city, but because the rest of the world is watching.” He looked to Slip. “Another topic: I saw you going down into the spider holes to retrieve people. But now you are here?”

“They’re dead if they’re still down there.” Slip said, “My people are already closing up holes.”

Erick sent his sight wide, and saw that Slip’s words were true. He returned to the Ophiel in the courtyard, and said, “Very good then. How many people do you think survived? In the whole city?”

“Ten thousand, maybe,” Slip said.

Mephistopheles said, “I suggest we tear down half of the city that is no longer necessary, and turn the land inside the walls into farmland, forests, and nice places. I want a lake. Spur has one; we can use one, too.”

Erick suddenly remembered something Killzone had said. He turned some of Ophiel’s eyes backward, to the Crystal. A book of monsters laid behind the counter, along with a note, saying, ‘From Undine’. Erick left it there, for now.

He turned his attention back to Mephistopheles, and said, “I agree. Do it. Prepare the land.” He turned his attention to the blue sky. Clouds still hung here and there; remnants of his earlier attempt at adding clouds to the sky. They weren’t thick enough. The sun was starting to beat down hard, through those thin clouds, to turn the shadows of the city into hard lines, despite the rainbow lights still edging every black building. Except for the three people in front of Ophiel, standing in the light, every other shadeling stuck to the shadows beside the buildings. The brightness was too bright.

With a look to the blue roof of the world, Erick cast more control into the sky. This time, he took more than a flashing second to make sure the spell went up properly.

Clouds roiled out of the clear blue; fluffy white things at first, that multiplied into stretches of grey, and became a layer of shadows blanketing Candlepoint. Shadelings stepped out of the deeper shadows, to walk around in the half-light courtyard of the Crystal, some smiling, some wary, some with looks of awe upon their faces. Even Mephistopheles seemed to relax for a second, before returning to his solid stance, facing Ophiel. Slip smiled, openly, showing white teeth behind his dark lips. Zaraanka relaxed, and did not bother with holding herself strong any longer. She sighed out, then rubbed the side of her neck with one hand, muttering about how she needed a smoke.

Erick spoke to the crowd, “Tear down what needs tearing. Build up what needs building. Make lists of items that are needed and wanted in the city, though I know you will need to make most of it yourselves in the coming weeks. But for now, prepare the dead, how you wish to prepare. We will respect those who have passed on.” He asked, “Are there any immediate needs that I can provide?”

“The dead are dead, the living are saved, and the spiders are gone. What will come will come.” Mephistopheles said, “But we need food and water.”

“Then you will have it.” Erick turned Ophiel toward Zaraanka. “Your desires?”

“I need [Mend]s and [Cleanse]s. The summoned slimes do not get everything.” She said, “We have no healing, either. No healing, Spatial magic, or many utility spells. Most of us don’t have [Ward], either.”

“Healing will be difficult. I will work on that.” Erick said, “But [Mend] and [Cleanse] can be provided.” He had Ophiel cast a dense air behind him, toward the Crystal. A 7,000 point [Prismatic Ward] took hold across the Crystal, and in the open air exchange station at the base of the structure. Ophiel almost disintegrated; that cast took most of his form. This Ophiel was made after Erick had taken off the crown. But that was okay. Ophiel turned to light then slipped down into the protected space, under the Crystal, and began regenerating his mana, while simultaneously stretching out his lightform body to touch Zaraanka’s torn pink dress. “[Mend].”

The woman’s dress flexed out, returning to what it once was. But she, herself, was still dirty, in a subtle sort of way, with patches of mud in her hair and scuffs on her knees. She tried her best to be clean, but it was not enough in the face of this disaster.

“[Cleanse].”

Dirt flowed away on thick air.

Zaraanka smiled. “Thank you.”

Tendrils of light stretched out from Ophiel, into the shadows, touching broken things and turning them whole in gentle glitters of white light, as Erick said, “[Mend] and [Cleanse] will be provided here, whenever, for now. Just come up to the counter and get some spells cast. Later, I will enchant some wands of those spells and give them out.” He turned Ophiel’s eyes toward Slip. “Your needs?”

Slip looked away, then forced himself to look back. He said, “Uh. We’re good. We’ll keep the peace and all that. Tear down the broken and rebuild the fixable, for sure. Move the bodies... My guys’ll do that.”

“Thank you.” Erick spoke to the crowd. “I’ll release a [Mending Aura] in a minute, but before that: Who’s a farmer? Step forward. Let’s grow some lunch, or at least repair what is out there. But that’s it, for now. If you wish for nothing else, please return to your homes, and work on clean up. More information and planning will be forthcoming, and likely flow from Mephistopheles, Zaraanka, or Slip, or maybe even me. But like I said: I am a support. I am not here to rule. My hope is that you can live lives free of Ar’Kendrithyst, and all other factions out there, for now. The future is yours if you work for it.”

Several people stepped forward from the crowd, volunteers for the farming, while half the crowd began to vanish, turning away, their eyes the last thing visible as they became shadows and left the courtyard. Others, not too eager to leave yet, avoided the volunteers as they stepped around to the sides of the Crystal, holding hands on their ripped shirts, or ripped pants, or other smaller, broken items. Erick dealt with the repairs, first.

With a flex of magic, Erick extended Ophiel’s lightform across the whole Courtyard, and filled the air with a gentle, almost invisible glow. Pants knitted, returning to like-new. Tattered shirts became whole again. Broken walls became whole. Rags became actual clothes. Shoes repaired, but some shadelings only had half of their pairs. [Mending Aura] did not replace completely lost items. But still, this was good.

For a moment, Erick came back to himself, in Spur. Everything seemed surreal, for what he had just witnessed was the single greatest community building effort he had literally ever participated in. He remembered helping out after those hurricanes, or working with Spur’s Community Garden Council, or all those office politics back on Earth...

Nothing as large as what he had just done, with this many hurt people, had ever gone as well as it just went.

Part of him was worried at it all being an act. That he was being set up by some greater power. And maybe he was—

Scratch that. He was most certainly being set up by at least one god. Bulgan had straight-up said so.

But people still needed help. And what he had just witnessed was fantastic. Erick had just laid out a plan, and people followed it! Amazing! Sure, there were some questions and concerns, but that was normal. And it was a little odd that every person Justine had mentioned had survived the spiders and all the rest, but they wouldn’t have gotten to their current status as leaders of this volatile community without being able to survive as well as they had.

All in all, seeing Mephistopheles take charge, even if it was a power grab, was nice. Seeing that he already had some sort of tiff going on with Zaraanka was good, too. Erick could use that, if it was real.

Slip was odd. Erick had no idea what to make of the hiding-Shade. But. Eh! Whatever.

When you got to be a certain age, seeing things come together well, without too much trouble, was better than sex. It was practically a divine gift.

Erick smiled to himself, back in Spur, as he faced Ophiel toward the volunteers, while simultaneously tapping off smaller scale cleaning and repairing spells over the crowd. He had noticed who these farming volunteers were well before this moment, and before his bout of introspection, but it wasn’t until now that he actually took a look at them. There were seven farming volunteers. One of them was known. Redscale, of a normal height and stature. Slightly muscular from working in the fields all the time. Valok looked about as good as Erick remembered, save for his eyes, which were a swirl of cloudy grey light.

Erick tried to think of what to say. Another spoke before he could.

Mephistopheles walked closer to the Crystal, closer to Ophiel, inside of his [Primatic Ward] behind the counter. He said, “Before you get into all this farming shtick. We need some things. [Mend] and [Cleanse] wands. Rods of [Treat Wounds]. Clean water and sewers. Bulgan did not care for making anything lasting. He left messes everywhere. We need a sewermaster. A real one. Classically trained in dungeoneering. Bulgan killed ten of them, and we never got any replacements. But those are just the basic necessities.” He said, “We need something to remind us of some good times. Good food is necessary now more than ever. We need a feast, Erick.”

Zaraanka had walked up with Mephistopheles. She added, “Wine! Cheeses! Meat and bread. Dark gods I miss bread.” She suddenly added, “And I want the good oils for my men and women. We will not reopen our pink doors with low grade castoffs.”

Erick blanked for a good five seconds. “... What?” He had heard the term ‘Pink Doors’ before. It was a euphemism for a bordello. He almost shouted, “No! Gods no! What the fu— No. No prostitution. Find another line of work.”

“Bah!” Zaraanka said, “Don’t be such a prude. We have nothing the rest of civilization would want. No industry! No products! And nothing to occupy our time except for sex, drugs, and sexual drugs! We need certain things to make life in this dark hole tolerable. Oils and perfumes and—”

“Please.” Erick said, “Stop. We can revisit this discussion another time. It may be that my visceral reaction to prostitution is wrong. But I will need to talk to others to see if I am in the right, or not.”

Zaraanka said, “But Lord Flatt—”

“No.” Erick said, “Do not push me on this. You will have your say on another day.”

Mephistopheles laughed, then said, “You heard the man! No prostitution! You’re out on your ass, Zaraanka! And not in a good way.”

Erick turned his attention to Mephistopheles, saying, “And you. I need you to keep your anger contained. We are all in a new world right now. We will build small, and work our way up. It may be necessary that I allow prostitution in Candlepoint, but there will be no disharmony at this time.”

With a smile and a laugh, Mephistopheles turned to Zaraanka, and turned solemn, saying, “Apologies. The trials of the day have been many and varied.”

Zaraanka went stiff. She said, “I must apologize, too.” She added, “But enough of that, for now. There is one last topic that must be broached, before the day is done. What currency are we using?”

“Rads,” Erick said, having already thought about Candlepoint’s currency long before today. His dump of a million darkchips on that building over there, of which many were stolen while Erick wasn’t watching, cemented his decision. “Darkchips are a nonsensical currency. I don’t know how money will work out in Candlepoint, especially when people need to eat those rads to survive, but if some people want to start hunting mimics, they can. I suggest most people remain inside the city, though. I can gather more rads without you all risking your lives outside the city walls. The rest of the world is still watching you.”

Zaraanka smiled, gently. “Thank you, Lord Flatt. Thank you for allowing us to hunt, again. We won’t take risks, but being able to feed ourselves is a great boon.” She added, “If you must outlaw the First Profession, then we can do well becoming farmers of rads. I haven’t killed a monster of my own volition in decades!” She laughed. “Oh! This is good. I like this.”

“... Okay. Good luck. Don’t get hurt. And if I must have a title, then it won’t be ‘Lord’,” Erick said. “And that’s enough minutia for today. I need this city repaired by tonight. People need homes to sleep in, and to barricade if necessary. I don’t know what else is coming, but I doubt it will be good.”

Zaraanka bowed deeply, then departed into the shadows like a vanishing spectre. Slip slipped away next.

Mephistopheles said, “Back to work! Thanks for taking the time, King... Master— No.” He teased, “Savior?”

“No,” Erick said.

Mephistopheles smirked, saying, “Thank you.”

Ophiel nodded behind the counter, under the Crystal. Mephistopheles vanished into shadows, headed back to wherever he was needed. Hopefully, Candlepoint would be okay with those three in charge.

Erick turned back to his volunteer farmers. “We’re making a feast tonight, while everyone works on cleaning up. So help me help you. What do you need?”

Valok looked to his fellow farmers, as they shared looks among each other. Then he stepped forward, when no one else would. Some of his people looked at him strangely, but Valok only had eyes to see Ophiel. He said, “The Farm’s a mess, but we can repair it. We can [Grow] the rice, the beans, the potatoes, the corn. Lettuce, tomatoes. All of that. But we’re gonna need meat brought in by you. We don’t have any chickens, or cows, or pigs. When Bulgan forbid us from fighting, that included butchering meat.”

“I can get the meat, the cheese, the wine, and the beer.” Erick said, “You fix up your Farms. You did well before. I know you can do well again.”

Valok’s posture hitched for a moment. The moment passed. He said, “Aye, sir.”

“You can call me Erick, Valok.” Erick said, “I’m sorry it took me so long to understand that you’re not a trap.”

Tears ran down Valok’s stoic face. He stood tall, and spoke with an even voice, “I don’t want my daughter to see me like this. I’m going to change back, as soon as I’m more stable.” He looked to his people. “A lot of us are. Gonna change back, I mean.”

An orcol man said, “Doubt they’ll let us back into Spur, though.” He added, “Good to see you again, sort of, Archmage Flatt. Ophiel. I’d like to take up the meat raising again, if you’ll get me cows and such.”

Recognition dawned, like a new day. Erick said, “Oh my gods— Mister Ooragh! I didn’t recognize you. You’re... younger?”

Daetroi Ooragh, the father of Apogough Ooragh, and the cattle rancher of Spur, before the Farms were destroyed by the Red Dot, stood in front of Ophiel, looking twenty years younger, and with cloudy grey eyes. The original man had a huge gut, but looking like this, he could have been Apogough’s older brother.

Daetroi laughed. “The Shades like their toys younger than they are. It’s about the only good thing that’s happened to me. Everything else has been rather shit, to tell the truth.”

Erick started, “Apogough—”

“Don’t tell me about him, please.” Daetroi said, “It’s difficult. I’m not near as stable as Valok, yet. He’s about the only one of us able to get close to that part of himself.”

A small murmur of assents passed through the gathered farmers. Erick looked to them, closer.

They were all people from the Farms of Spur.

‘Oh holy shit,’ Erick thought.

Valok noticed Erick’s attention. He spoke up before Erick could, saying, “Let’s not dig too deep in the pain. Let’s work on getting food in bellies.”

Erick smiled to himself, back in Spur. If he were speaking in person, his voice would have cracked, but he spoke through Ophiel, saying, “Fair enough.” He gestured with a feathered wing, toward the north, saying, “Meet you there?”

Valok nodded. Then he vanished into shadows, followed quickly by the rest of his farmers.

Erick set the Ophiel at the Crystal to mind the Crystal and the people in the surrounding courtyard, [Mend]ing and [Cleanse]ing whoever came forward with broken objects or their dirty selves. Some of them ended up with taps from the rod of [Treat Wounds], too.

When that was set, Erick transferred to an Ophiel already floating near the Farms of Candlepoint.

He looked up at the giant sign that hung in front of the dark, loamy dirt, calling this place what the Farms of Spur had once been called. He thought it somewhat funny that Bulgan had put this sign up to taunt him, but looking at it now, and watching as Valok, Daetroi, and others shadowed in next to Ophiel...

It was quite nice to see the Farms resurrected, too.

... Erick almost asked about Krakina, but—

Valok said, “Erick. There’s something else.”

In Spur, Erick breathed deep, holding in his emotions. Then he plunged back into Ophiel. “Yes?”

Valok held out a hand. In it were three seeds. They were slightly oblong, and pointed at one end. He said, “I didn’t know why I rescued them... I’m pretty sure you made a magic citrus tree.”

Erick laughed. “You saved the seeds?!” He said, “Awesome! Let’s plant ‘em!”