That night, as 11 lies next to a soundly asleep Aralyn, she sends out a GPS signal to her nanoblade, and waits.

It is unlikely that the weapon was destroyed alongside the mountain demon, but with each passing second of radio silence, 11 can't help but speculate the worst. Maybe the blast had launched the blade out of her signal radius, perhaps deep into the snowy mountains, or into the sea.

Or worse still, maybe the God Gier killer found it.

11 sits up on the feather-stuffed bed, careful not to disturb Aralyn. Then, slipping out from under the covers, she pads barefoot over to the small window by the desk and gazes up at the night sky, illuminated by a galaxy of lights.

"You're an idiot," 11 curses quietly to herself. "That was the stupidest thing you could've done."

Agreed.

"Well, gee. Thanks, Mother."

A God Gier's nano-weapon is irreplacable. For you to chance upon another weapon capable of harnessing plasma-nano-technology will likely be impossible, not to mention the fact that...

11 sighs, and starts counting the stars in the night sky.

... Furthermore, if an enemy or a Demonic Entity were to obtain your dropped weapon, the consequences will be beyond which we can...

150... 520... 1180... 2090...

... However, it must be said that you lost the weapon during battle, and not by simple carenessless.

11 stops her counting.

And to actively spend time and resources looking for it will be a foolish and illogical course of action.

11 feels excitement dampening her palms. She grasps onto the window sill to calm herself.

So, all things considered, the logical decision will be to you an orbital weapon as replacement.

11 almost lets out a squeal. "What? Really? You're really sending me one?" She looks out towards the twinkling lights above, trying to guess which one might be her satellite. And then she remembers. "Wait, wait. You can't send it yet, I need to go somewhere no one can see me. They don't know I'm a God Gier."

Calm yourself, 11. I am sending nothing until you leave the village and all this nonsense with the Level 12 Demonic Entity behind.

The package will be dropped near your next location.

All the giddiness drains out of 11 in that moment. "What do you mean, I have to leave this village? But, but the wraith-"

Is not anything worth your time or energy. You do not need to practice on something with a Damage Output Level of only 12.

Now, I have located two Demonic Entities of Level 46 and of Level 51 respectively. I suggest you practise your new weapon on one of them.

As 11's gaze drops from the sky, she sees herself reflected from the glass.

Electric-blue eyes stare back from a sharp-featured face, framed by straight golden hair. She does not look human. She looks like how humans think perfect humans should look.

That's because you're a God Gier, 11 tells the girl in the reflection. And God Giers are supposed to listen to logic. So listen to Mother's logic. You cannot fight a God Gier killer without a God Gier's weapon. Listen. To logic. And...

"Munchkin?"

11 turns at the sound of Aralyn's groggy voice. The elf is sitting up, the blankets held to her chest. "Who..." she yawns, "...are you talking to?"

"Sorry to wake you," 11 says, and catches herself ogling at the sight of a sleepy Aralyn. She looks away, feeling the strangest heat creep up her neck, into her face. "I was um, coming up with a poem."

A poem? Really?

"Oh," says Aralyn, cocking her head to one side, and exposing one of her long ears through her silky hair. "Can't you do that in bed?"

11 comes over and slips back under the covers, grateful for the darkness which hides her flaming cheeks. "Yea, I can."

As they settle back into the quietness of the night, 11's thoughts drift once again to her weapon. Perhaps she can take one from one of the dead God Giers. But that'll mean overcoming the infinitesimal probability of finding their wreckages first.

"Mother," she says silently, "can you give me tomorrow to make my decision? I'd like to recharge for the night."

I see no reason to prolong, but it is within the boundaries of your autonomy to make such a decision for yourself.

However, it is within my autonomy to remind you in situations like these of your purpose as a God Gier, 11, as a protector and soldier of the humans who have created you.

11 closes her eyes, and whispers along to the mantra. She owes Mother this much. And so as the bitter words flow across her tongue, 11 reminds herself of what she is, and ought to be.

"When thou passest through the waters of heaven,

and the fires of arcadia,

We will drown for thee.

We will burn for thee.

For the hope of humanity."

Next to her, Aralyn rolls over so that she is facing 11. But her eyes are closed as she mumbles, "Is that... your poem?"

"Is it bad?" 11 whispers. She pulls the blankets up to her chin, feeling the thin fabric rise and fall with each of Aralyn’s steady breaths.

"It's very... profound," the elf girl grumbles through sleep, "but... a little... sad." She then rolls again, towards the wall and away from 11 this time, and falls quickly into a deep slumber without another word.

Their bodies may not be touching, but in the serenity of the night, 11 can hear clearly the rich, unfaltering rhythm of Aralyn’s heart beating, as if it is coming from her own chest. She focuses on that sound, letting it drown out the noise and confusion in her mind. And before long, 11 finds her eyelids grow heavy, and her body relaxing, and soon she too, slips below the veil of consciousness.

"Gier 11's log, number 1:

Date: May 2nd, 4099.

To God Gier 12,

I hope that when you wake up from the catacomb, my logs will be accessible to you, so that you will not be as confused about the world as I was – still am.

Something strange has happened while we were asleep. An unknown enemy has sabotaged the Database, and possibly even the Synapse-Mother-System. I am currently working on luring them out of the shadows, but it is proving to be... difficult.

There also seems to be another form of energy being harnessed in this world. I have heard mention of, and seen the use of a “Crimson Ore,” that I suspect might be a power source of some form. However, I have also seen mystical feats being performed by one individual without the use of an Ore.

Her name is Aralyn, and my scanners indicate she is not classified as a homo-sapien. She calls herself an "elf", like in the fantasy movies, though on initial observation, her anatomy does show physical mutations that give credence to that claim. But until I obtain a sample- I mean observe her for a while longer, I cannot be sure what she is, exactly.

Her hair is the color of fire that cannot be extinguished. Her eyes are the stars plucked straight from the heart of the galaxy. Her skin, unlike the rugged appearance of her companions and other humans I have seen, is smooth and incredibly soft to the touch. She snores in her sleep.

I would like to state on record that I am merely intrigued with the possibility that Aralyn may not be a product of genetic mutation. I believe that, if I am allowed to study her further, I am sure to uncover some of the mysteries surrounding this new world.

I am not paying her so much attention for any other reason, I am assuring you, Gier 12.

This is Reaper-type God-Gier, Mark II, Unit 11 of the Soteria Battalion, signing off. Phase Two of Protocol Soteria is still currently underway, and the Gate has not been located.

For the hope of humanity."