I slithered about in a daze, even the spore-roots that still controlled my every movement seeming just ever-so-slightly out of place. Wrong. Distorted.

Just like my victory.

I should have felt better about it than I did. That was an Ascended, a bad-thing that possessed powers on the level of my own - and I had won, forcing it to flee in fear.

That meant something. That was deserving of celebration, proof of my worth as the Great Core’s Champion. Everything else should have paled in comparison.

Right?

“...about that again,” a voice sounded, the noise growing ever-nearer.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything, Elara. We’re just glad to be ourselves again. Thank you,” I heard another voice respond; the disciples were coming to join me, I realized. The ones that were still living, at least. The thought brought the previous battle back to the forefront of my mind, sparking another confusing combination of pride, rage, and regret.

“...you’re welcome,” the first voice replied.

The constant sound of their steps was slowly increasing, working its way through the gap in the moving-walls. It gave me something to focus on. The hard, determined steps of The Unrepentant One, heavy and powerful. The quick - and yet, at the same time, notably restrained - footsteps of not-Needle. The feather-light glide of The Grateful One, heard only through the shifting of the spores through which she strode. And finally, the shambling gait of my gold and blue disciple following along, his spore-roots obeying my previous orders to follow the disciples once they were freed.

Soon enough, though, they had reached me.

“Where did he…” not-Needle mumbled, her eyes darting about the lair of the now-defeated Lesser Core. They alighted on me a few seconds later, her face brightening as a spark of [happiness] flickered across our connection. “There you are!” she finished.

The Coreless hurried forward, reaching down to scoop me up from where I had frozen mid-slither. A few of her fingers quickly found their way to my head-scales, rubbing in a way that I found more comforting than ever.

I let out a mental hiss, the spore-roots that directed my movements not allowing it to be anything more than that. A second mental hiss, this one directed towards the spore-roots that infested Will, brought him towards me.

He was dirty and bedraggled, lacking the Coreless’ normal inclination to remove dust and debris that spilled through cracks and over skin. Faint bruises stretched across his skin, lines of gold and blue reaching across the purple splotches like multicolored fingers.

He had done well, in bringing the Great Core’s disciples back to the light safely.

Better than I did.

I sent out a new thought-hiss and stretched forward, countless spore-roots flexing in tandem to bring me closer to their kin. My fangs sunk down, drops of vitality seeping through their hollows. Will became Will again, my gold and blue protector no longer.

Life sparked in his eyes; his mouth opened wide with a gasp.

“...Skies above, that was weird,” he said.

“Erik!” The Grateful One exclaimed, reaching out to drape the former protector’s [Little Guardian’s Totem] back around his neck before reaching her arms around him in a constricting squeeze. A surprising amount of [relief] flashed through her own [Little Guardian’s Totem]. Had she thought that he would stay my gold and blue protector forever? As useful as that had been, Will could do far more for the Great Core as he was; spore-roots didn’t have the mind that he did. They might serve the Great Core, but they couldn’t think of new or better ways to do so themselves. He was better this way.

“Welcome back,” she hissed softly, releasing him at last.

“Thank you,” he replied. “It’s definitely good to be back.” The Coreless shook himself at that, rolling his limbs about one by one. “And it’s just as good to see that my trust wasn’t misplaced,” he finally finished, turning towards me with an appraising gaze.

The clattering of ore-flesh against stone behind us forced the Coreless’ attention away from me. I turned to see The Unrepentant One tugging at the dead Coreless’ second skin, its brilliant glow mingling with that of his own.

“Really, Doran?” not-Needle asked, the sounds somewhat harsh and put out.

“What?” he asked, cocking his head to the side slightly. “I don’t know who this was, but this is some good gear. There’s another one outside, too. It’d be a waste to just leave it here. Besides,” he said, pointing towards The Grateful One, “looks to be about the right size for Elara here and she doesn’t have any proper armor. After what she just did, I’d say that she definitely deserves something to show she’s become a real Seeker now.”

The Grateful One’s cheeks turned crimson for a split second, the color disappearing the moment that I was able to notice it. “...thanks. And she was one of the Seekers from the Virtun delegation,” she said, pausing for a moment. “I thought they’d left, though. Maybe they heard about what happened from a few of the citizens that made it out and tried to come back to help.”

“You might be right about that,” he answered, turning towards the dead Coreless again. “She definitely seems to have gotten close, at least. Shame. Maybe all of this could have been dealt with before we even got here.” He tugged at the ore-flesh again, pulling the corpse’s secondary skin off piece by piece. “Either way, it’s dealt with now. The Core’s not here and the damn tree is almost colorful enough to hurt my eyes, so I’m sure somebody had a good meal.”

The ground rumbled again, a sound that I now knew was caused by the Ascended somewhere beneath us. Whatever its Core Skill or Skills happened to be, they were related to stone in some way. The bad-thing had been too adept at shaping and sculpting the earth for a simple Blooded Trait - or even many working together - to account for. It had been enough that, even with the power of the Lesser Core’s former Guardian to pit against it, Tiamat’s retribution had managed to escape.

It may have been a victory, but it wasn’t the final victory. It wasn’t even a satisfying one. Needle, she-who-gave-the-first-offering, had died. She may have been a Coreless, and would surely have been eager to give her life for the Great Core’s glory, but it was still a heavy blow.

Especially because I could have saved her, if I hadn’t been so caught up in my goal of fully converting the Guardian. Had I really needed to do that? It fought with its roots. Once I had taken all of those, it would have been helpless to resist its eventual conversion. A full conversion could have been delayed. I could have moved faster.

I had failed, losing one of the Great Core’s most fervent followers.

“Woah,” not-Needle said, nearly dropping me as her body swayed along with the earth. “What is doing that, anyway?”

“Oh, Skies,” Will answered, the tremors seeming to shake his emotions about, inciting a spurt of [worry] and something that felt like [pressure]. “How did I forget? We need to get back to the Guildhall!”

“Huh?” The Unrepentant One responded, still peeling bits of ore-flesh off of the dead Coreless. “What’s going on at the Guildhall?”

“Nothing, maybe, but Kala noticed that a tunnel was being made to cross underneath the null-water. She and Rowan took a few more victims back with them to make sure a couple of us were there to defend everyone if the tunnel surfaced nearby. With the size of these tremors, though, I worry that just the two of them won’t be enough to deal with whatever’s coming. We need to be there.”

“What about the pupp -”

The ground shook again, the newest tremor stronger than the last. The darkwood tree creaked around us, spore-roots flexing and writhing as the giant thing’s nearly immobile mass fought against their touch. I could sense the many roots that thrust themselves through the ground, each following my command to chase the bad-thing that had dared to steal the Great Core’s followers away. The stone below us trembled with their - my - fury, earth slowly breaking before the overwhelming mass of roots and wood.

Still, the bad-thing was far faster, not bothering to leave tunnels behind it now that there were no remaining allies to shepherd. It sealed the path shut behind it, forcing the thinnest of my roots to smash through the brittle stone it left in its wake.

Even worse, I couldn’t actually see it. Without a [Little Guardian’s Totem] to watch through, the spore-roots could only mindlessly follow my command to pursue.

It wasn’t enough.

When the tremors began to finally fade, I knew that they had failed. The Ascended had gotten away, going unpunished for its blasphemies against the Great Core. And, unlike with Tiamat herself, I had no real way of knowing where it went. Though I doubted it would, if the bad-thing never chose to show itself before me again, it might go unpunished forever.

The darkwood creaked again, bits of its surface visibly pulsing as the spore-roots within writhed in the way that I was sorely wishing I could. It was infuriating.

Unacceptable.

The ground shattered around me as a few of the smaller roots broke the surface, lashing about just as strongly as the rest. My Coreless jumped in response, making noises of [confusion] that I didn’t bother to attempt to parse.

My eyes fixed on one of the wriggling roots, even the smallest of them powerful enough to spike through earth and flesh alike. I wanted to use them to shatter Tiamat’s chosen retribution with spikes of solid wood. I wanted to break the blasphemer. I wanted to eat its Core, use it to serve my creator.

The roots crept a little closer, following the thought-hisses that slipped their way through the cracks in my mind. The scuffling of wood against stone almost seemed to hiss at me, asking what I wanted to do. I hissed back.

I wanted to fix my failure. I wanted to do better. I wanted to bring the Great Core’s most zealous Coreless back to life.

I wanted a true victory, one that ended in the blasphemous Ascended’s death.

The roots continued to scrape and scuffle as they crept ever-closer, each sound echoing in my hearing, as if trying to remind me that there was a way to achieve all of that.

And there was, I knew. I could just…go back. Do it over again. Do it right, as long as the Great Core chose to allow it. As long as I died, so that I could be reborn again.

Intentionally, this time, but for the greatest of causes - to punish a blasphemer and save the first of the Coreless disciples.

Would that be okay?

The deadly roots wavered in the air, caught between one thought-hiss and the next.