Time Since Reckless Self-Endangerment: 4 Days 18 Hours

Goal: Save Tarquin

It is possible to return, but not through me.

Only the Invader’s Totem can send you home. If you wish to help your friend, the fastest method is to establish a Settlement in the name of the Invaders.

However, it will have a great cost. Merely sending you for a few weeks in a proxy body would cost 100,000 Credits. A true body you could return to at will would cost 500,000 or more, depending on the Class.

Nic felt cold. A hundred thousand? He might barely - barely - be able to make that in time. If he listened to his maddest, worse impulses, and they paid off without getting him killed. It had taken him a while to earn even eight thousand, but he hadn’t made hunting an intentional goal. A hundred thousand credits and starting a Settlement?

It was a slim margin for error he had left. He would need to evolve as well, further narrowing the window.

He could save Tarquin. He could. But it would be threading a needle through the eye of a storm.

“Nicolas?”

The sound of another voice made Nic’s spine jolt with panic. He glanced around, but the sight of the Tutelary Statue’s glow must have been common enough not to draw attention - nobody was coming his way to interrupt.

“There should be another way. Establishing a Settlement gives you the right to a Mercenary Legion’s services. All you need to do is ensure Tarquin has a License and a group of eight soldiers under that license…”

“How much?” Nic felt the strain so intensely his curled right fist had begun to ache. “I’ll pay it, just- how much?”

The license for a Mercenary Company will cost 20,000 First Wave Credits.

In addition, the license will need to be purchased by Tarquin Winterhome, requiring a message to him bearing the credits necessary. Such a message costs 1,000 Credits.

Nic felt actually sick at the prices, but he waved his hand through the air, cutting it all off.

“Right. A message.” He reached into his bag and took out the Wasteland Shard. He had claimed it from the Winter-Tusk Boar what felt like ages ago. Next, the Heartspring Shard. Equally precious and recently taken from the corpse of the sand-snake. “Sofia, which of these matches Tark’s Shard best?”

One was a heart-shaped lump of warped red crystal. The other was a smooth black, shaped in hexagonal columns clustered together and threaded through with flecks of snow-white.

“The Heartspring.” She answered without hesitation. “Combined with his Pyroclasm Shard it will create a Phoenixfire Shard. Capable of healing and destroying in equal measure.”

“Alright. Here’s my message.” He cleared his throat, gazing up at the enormous face of the statue. “Tarquin. Hold on. Keep your head down. We’re not going to fight the bastard, not today. Not in his daddy’s city. We’re going to pull some fuckery and get you out. Get everyone who can fight to take a Shard and start training. I’m going to take you all with me.”

“For now, I want you to take these. Use the bloody Shard on yourself. The black one, give it to whoever’s your second-in-command. I’ll send you more help soon, just- just keep your head down, brother. Try to move quiet and not tip anybody off that we’re making a run for it.”

Is that all?

“Yes.” Nic croaked. In his hand, a light blue light covered the Shards and spirited them away. “Is there any way I can send another message without returning?”

A System Adjunct can be purchased for 5,000 Credits. It will act as a limited merchant and serve to relay messages, as well as convey information on System events and rules.

In effect, it is a smaller version of my own functions.

“Alright.” He felt numb. A group of firefly-sparks fused together and shot to his hand, forming a tiny pagoda castle made out of pale white wood. The doors and windows looked into a core of solid black crystal.

Stowing it away, Nic glanced left and right. “Anything else, Sofia?”

“Nothing we can’t ask the Adjunct. We should leave. This place is more dangerous than you realize, Nicolas.”

Nic was more aware than she knew. Every single person in this camp had their own Shards, their own combinations of powers and synergies. Some would be scouts. He’d probably dodged most of their defenses by tunneling in, and the Ring of Day-into-Night shielding him from weaker detection powers.

But getting seen would mean a brawl with an entire camp, and Nic wasn’t ready for that.

“I just have one last thing to do.” Sula had asked him to deliver a message of peace. He had his doubts it would work, but seeing as her people had saved his life out of a sense of kindness, Nic would give her optimism a chance.

He slipped through the camp like a ghost, avoiding the pale fires and creeping between unlit tents. His danger sense was utterly drowning in threats on every side. Every living thing in his camp screamed deadly threat.

But he made his way towards the core of it.

The tent at the head of the hill, looking out over the troops. Somebody had taken the time and effort to paint it red with golden serpents to either side of the door. As Nic approached, someone else was coming up the path, and he had to duck down beneath his camo-cape to avoid notice as a tall man with a scarred up face strode past.

He pulled open the flap of the tent and stepped inside. Nic felt his danger-sense lurch as the person inside stood up. “No sign from The Coarse and Rough. It’s been half a day, Azmin, we have to go after them. Taylor is our best scout and Bahri is even more indispensable.”

“It’s fine. I’m sure they’re alive still, but tomorrow I will go and collect them.” The voice was calm and steel-confident. The way she spoke gave Nic an immediate sense of someone who knew they didn’t need the world or anyone in it.

“Alright, alright. Any insights? Has that fucker checked in yet?” The tall man was pacing around the tent, agitated.

“Dean has managed to learn nothing at all from his ‘scouting trips.’ I think he’s just enjoying brawling with the locals.”

“Fucker.” The man repeated.

“Do you have anything else worth interrupting my meditation for?” Azmin’s voice rose a notch. Just a slight hardening that utterly changed the temperature of the room.

Nic was sliding forward slowly. He could see their shadows on the tent, cast by a lantern within. Digging into his bag he set the leather-wrapped scroll from Sula in front of the tent.

“No.” The scarred man turned and walked towards the entrance, forcing Nic to duck back into the foliage in a hurry. Thankfully, no attention was being paid as the man paused at the entrance to flick open a lighter and lift the flame to the cigarette in his cut-up lips.

Nic breathed a sigh of relief as the man walked past. He rose from his hiding place-

And froze.

Past the tent was a huge cage made out of woven sticks and covered in barbed wire. Inside were seven elven prisoners, all of them badly wounded, their bodies covered in blood and bandages as they huddled together for warmth.

Nic felt something snap.

He knew it was just misplaced rage for Tarquin, but the sight made his head go red and numb. They weren’t just killing Sula’s people. They were herding them. Collecting them so the leaders of the camp could kill all ten and claim the rewards.

It wasn’t just bloodthirsty. It was colder than ice.

He slid forward, but the closer he came to the bars the more his danger sense rang out. Some kind of defense was layered around the cage. If he got any closer, either a trap would trigger or an alarm would sound. He burrowed down into the foliage, watching.

A huge man in black Pre-Integration clothes walked around the perimeter. He wore a heavy dark helmet that covered his eyes with a plastic visor, baggy armor with hard inset plates over the vitals, and a plastic shield. Gripped in his hand was a firearm with a bulky, futuristic look to it, more advanced than any of the flintlocks or rotating-chamber weapons Nic was familiar with. A dozen bright-red ammunition shells filled slots along the side.

Just by the way the man walked, Nic knew he was under the same curse as the guard outside.

Norman Hargrave. F-Class // Sapient (Native). Working as a police officer for seven years, Norman dreamed of putting paperwork aside and being a protector of the people. Integration made that dream a reality, and blessed him with potent restraining and controlling Shards that made him a natural leader. However, since being wounded in battle he has come under the affliction of a curse that drains him of his free will.

The heavy boots of the guard crunched past through the red sand.

Nic wanted to attack in that very moment. He was confident of killing the zombified guard in a single blow, and maybe it was even possible to do so quietly enough to escape detection. But then what? He would have seven wounded people to protect, people who couldn’t move fast enough to follow if he just ran from the camp. His tunnel wasn’t big enough to take a human-sized traveller.

He would be stuck.

So he watched, furious, as the guard stomped by.

Another human approached. Small, short-haired, with glasses pieced together in white tape and a long scar down his cheek that was still fresh and angry-red. He was carrying a metal tray loaded with food and a canteen.

The guard turned to look at him, silently.

“They need food.” The smaller man insisted, trying to look tall. “You shouldn’t just- we have enough they don’t need to starve, at least.” He had the tone of voice that always came with trying too hard to be brave. High and fluttering and threatening to break.

“Okay.” The guard grunted, after a slow pause. It was almost as if he was waiting for someone else to give him the go-ahead.

The spectacled young man looked surprised, but then gritted his teeth and brushed past. He walked with a noticeable limp. Kneeling down, he set the tray beside the cage, careful not to actually touch the bars.

Nobody within stirred.

“Come on.” The young man tried to smile. “You have to eat.” He sounded almost laughably naive, framed against the background sounds of coughing and groaning in misery.

But one of the elves did come forward. They crawled to the edge of the cage, and the boy smiled-

Until a skinny, claw-like hand shot for his face.

Nic winced as boy toppled backwards in surprise. His attacker's arm brushed against the bars, and they erupted into flame, searing white-hot in seconds. The elf screamed and fell back, clutching their burned hand. The guard slowly walked over, pulled the boy to his feet, and stomped down on the food, grinding it into the dirt beneath his boot.

Nic watched as the boy left, shaking. The guard returned to his slow, monotonous patrol. Slipping out of the bushes Nic approached the cage slowly.

He’d learned what not to do. As long as he didn’t touch the bars, he’d be safe.

Nic waited until he was seen, one of the captives looking up to spot him peering through the cage. He took the pot of Ankh-River Balm from his bag and slid it through the bars.

The elf took it in silent surprise, prying it open. The bitter smell of medicine wafted out and their eyes widened.

Nic shot him a thumbs up then vanished into the ferns. He needed a bigger tunnel, a better idea of the camp’s defenses, and a solid plan. He’d move by day, when the ring would help him fight rather than sneak.

For once, Nic felt like a real Invader.