In retrospect, Jupiter was appallingly easy to destroy. Menocht Bay is a much sturdier city, equipped with cannons and a well-funded defense system. I failed to take into account that Menocht Bay is in a more dangerous part of the world, where outlaw practitioners ride around in naval vessels, periodically returning to the shore to raid for goods. Moreover, the Illyrian Ocean spawns all manner of creature from its depths, forcing coastal settlements to maintain defenses year-round.

Contrastingly, Jupiter is safely nestled in the highlands of Solar, framed by mountains and overlooking a calm lake. It’s an elevated city, meaning its mass is predominantly buoyed by antigrav generators tapping into the magnetic ore under Lake Cyprus. Two-hundred mighty legs, hundreds of feet in length, add greater stability, anchoring the city into the earth along its ovular length. Once, its stark white columns and obelisks reflecting over the lake perhaps evoked the sentiment of cutting-edge progress. 150 years after its construction, it lags behind, lacking many basic protections standard in most elevated cities today.

The story of Jupiter’s demise isn’t particularly dramatic. After intimidating Vasil, I followed him to the den of youthful depravity known as Siren. I hadn’t known much about Siren before Vasil brought me to its house, including the gang’s name; I only knew that Vasil was involved in something illicit enough to pay for a large suite in our old mansion, and that he often invited over “Brothers” to partake in drug-muddled debauchery.

At the very least, we live above, rather than below, Vasil’s dwelling, or we might never get any sleep.

Siren’s lair is a bit off the beaten path, located in the underhang of one of the city’s support legs. Seedier buildings and stained pavement make for a fitting backdrop.

As I followed Vasil, I felt the graying vitality of the zone’s inhabitants, as well as the darkened stains of death outside, spattered like oily paint over the patchy and overgrown grass. It didn’t take much for me to stop everyone cold where they stood in the manner that I froze Vasil, locking their bones and muscles.

I was tempted to elevate the intimidation-factor by wearing a mask shaped from bone fragments buried outside, but kept the impulse in check. Holding people’s bones in place leaves very little decemantic signature, and mostly relies on the strength of my will rather than any actual energy exertion. By comparison, animating and shaping bones is far less subtle.

After seizing everyone’s attention, I convinced the group to help me sabotage the antigrav generators. While they initially protested the motivation of such a plan, and what they’d get out of it, it didn’t take more than a few minutes of squeezing their bones to get them to see the light. That, and I promised to help them take the reactor engine inside the grav generator. That made them much more cooperative.

I wasn’t content to stop with just Siren: their numbers wouldn’t be enough for what I had planned. I ordered its members to bring me to other gangs, coercing four such groups to join our noble cause.

I think many of my recruits actually came to see our cause as noble, in a rebellious, stick-it-to-the-man kind of way. Vasil seemed especially in love with the idea of “pushing back” against the city that worked so hard to push him down. I like to think that his fervor arose out of pride for being my first follower.

The attack itself went smoothly. “Coincidentally”, a critical mass of guards and janitors became incapacitated over the fifteen days leading up to the incident. I didn’t anticipate that by the time I’d acquire the security keys to the generator room and seed a team of gang members into the building as temp replacements, I would inadvertently stir a revolution among Jupiter’s underclass.

Long story short, I destroyed the city’s gravity generator in one of the more convoluted ways possible, and managed to stay in the loop.

Since I destroyed the city, Mother and I have been taking refuge in the nearest town, putting ourselves up in a cheap motel. She’s been despondent, as though she isn’t sure what she should do now that the city’s crashed and sunk partway into the lake.

I was surprised at her reaction when the city jerked to the water’s surface, its legs buckling one after the other under the strain of Jupiter’s full weight. As we evacuated with the other citizens, I expected her to be happy, vindictive: the object of her hateful obsession, along with the property holdings and wealth of her nemesis, were sinking into the cold lake. It wasn’t the fire-and-brimstone-like ending she probably wanted, but still, it was the justice–revenge–that she daily dreamt of.

Instead, her eyes were hollow, her hands white and shaking. I guess this ending wasn’t what she wanted after all.

I remember asking her, “What’s wrong? Angry you didn’t destroy the city yourself?”

She seemed unable to respond, her eyes fixated on the city as it split down the middle and sank in twain, most of its legs having already collapsed.

Now, as we sit in our dingy room, I ponder whether it’s possible to fix Mother again. She ruined herself in her thirst for vengeance. Though she claimed that reaping revenge would be enough to leave her satisfied, I don’t think she ever expected to actually win–her revenge was an unattainable goal that kept her ticking.

I spend the rest of the month helping her cope with the loss of her everything: her home, her community, her ambition. When I’m greeted by the darkness of the loop’s next layer, I sigh my relief into the stale air.

—

As I make my way through the layers, Mother’s empty gaze lingers with me. The adventurous enthusiasm I had the first time around has worn off, and I slog sullenly through the scenarios on my way to the Godora command layer. Even when it comes time to sever my own arm to use as a rotating drill, I barely flinch: No longer panicked by the shock of a claustrophobic buried-alive scenario, I dull my nerves and sever my arm with a painless gesture of my off hand.

I even find that I can keep the dismembered limb alive, reattaching it and recovering full motor faculties as I leave the wooden crate. The key is to carefully insulate the wound site from Death energy, slowing permanent damage. The reattached limb initially felt a bit funny, but it was nothing a bit of carnimancy couldn’t fix. Looks like cutting off my own limb isn’t as scary as I assumed.

When I return to the Godora command layer, I proceed with far more caution than before. This time, instead of dealing with the terrorists personally, I keep my distance in a hovergloss, sending in two teams of fire and water elementalists: fire to resist and shape the power of an inevitable explosion, and water to contain and neutralize it. The original recommendation was for fifteen water elementalists, but I think my two seven-person teams make more sense.

My gaze is sharp as it peers out the window and into the surroundings. Suddenly, an earth-shaking boom resounds. My two elementalist teams, having been alerted to the possibility of an explosion by yours truly, return to their hovergloss unscathed. The sand, scorched and crystallized by the contained fire, is the only casualty of the fight.

I clear my throat, then lead everyone back to HQ to discuss strategy against our western invaders. When I get back, one of my subordinates passes me a report with more details on the attacks. The document presents conclusive evidence that practitioners of Dark and Cloud enabled the terrorists to enter the country undetected. It also points out that any attempt to address the threat will require us–that is, the government of Godora–to at least attempt formal communications with the Selejo Prince’s Union (SPU).

I frown at the missive. I’m not particularly familiar with Godora or the SPU, but I recall that they had a bloody war two decades ago. While tensions have faded, I can’t imagine the two countries are on good terms. I wouldn’t even be surprised if the terrorists were supported by the SPU. If the SPU was behind the attacks, talking to the SPU about them wouldn’t be helpful. And even if the SPU wasn’t behind the attacks, it has no incentive to offer assistance.

In short, the report doesn’t seem to have any idea how to address the current situation.

—

I lean back in the chair of my quarters, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do to escape this layer of the dilation loop. A pen and a pad of paper lay at my otherwise spotless desk; sunlight from the window dapples the imported oak and draws out its red hue.

I start to think back on what I’ve learned since entering the loop. For instance, what kinds of conclusions can I draw based on my interactions in the second layer, Academia Hector?

“When I first went to see Jasmine, the school psychologist, she didn’t seem very shocked when I told her I was in a dilation loop.” I’ve been wondering about that for a while. Why did she seem so...accepting of the idea? Despite my own extensive research, I’ve never heard of a dilation loop with the ability to create such a vivid and long-lived simulation.

“Moreover,” I murmur under my breath, “I’m convinced that I’m not the first person to ever use this loop technology.” I pause for a moment, thinking of ways to justify this observation.

“The simulation,” I continue, “is too polished to be in an alpha stage of development. Others must have tested out the technology to help refine it, at the very least.”

A sudden thought comes to mind: is it possible that I signed up for this damned loop, and just don’t remember it?

“It’s true I don’t remember where I was and what I was doing before waking up on the dinghy,” I concede. This thinking leads me down a new path of inquiry: the design of the loop. Fundamentally, what is the purpose of the loop?

I write down “Purpose of Loop:” on the first line of the notepad page. Before I escaped Menocht, I theorized that the loop was a kind of torture, like a stage of hell where people relived a nightmare over and over again.

But it’s clear there’s more to the loop than the psychological torment it’s put me through. The watchers, whoever they are, they’ve been trying to forge me into some kind of weapon, I’m sure of it. After all, when I finally break out of this loop, they’ll have me.

Though it’s presumptuous to assume that I’ll willingly cooperate.

But assuming that the purpose of this loop is to awaken and hone my decemancy...I can think of a few key questions.

The first loop layer was wholly sufficient to awaken and hone my affinity. Since that’s the case, why am I forced to endure these other layers?

Moreover, I think caustically, if I were developing a loop with the sole intent of developing someone’s affinity, I would include a case releasing the looper in the event that their affinity reaches a certain threshold. Or, alternatively, if the looper never made any progress at all.

And it’s impossible that I’ve failed to meet an affinity threshold: I’ve developed 100% Death affinity within the margin of error. It’s important to note that perfect affinity is impossible to obtain: as far as I know, affinity approaches an asymptote around 100%.

“So there must be something else,” I murmur. Something this loop is supposed to do aside from solely develop my power as a practitioner. There has to be some way to explain why I haven’t yet escaped the loop.

I cover the notepad page with my rhetoric and conclusions, pausing before standing up and walking towards the room’s entrance.

“I’m heading out to get some fresh air,” I explain to the two guards bookending the door. They stare at me, then give crisp nods. I stride forward into the hall, admiring its open corridors and classically aged columns. The compound is half exposed to the elements, probably because of year-round high temperatures and the abundance of hydromancers on site to prevent water damage. “Tropical” is a welcome change from the temperate lands bordering the Illyrian ocean.

As I begin my walk, I notice for the first time just how busy the compound is. Uniformed personnel are swarming around in groups of two and three, likely spurred to action by the attacks. They give me a fair bit of distance; I’m not sure if it’s because of my rank, or because they know that I’m a peak-affinity decemancer.

A few minutes into the walk, my thoughts begin to wander once more. One point that comes to mind is how the watchers plan to get me to cooperate once I exit the loop. I can think of a few ways:

1. I really did sign some kind of contract before entering the loop, one that will kill me (or have other severe repercussions) if I break its terms

If a bunch of scientists contacted me about an experimental opportunity to unlock my affinity, I doubt I’d hesitate to hear them out; and if they gave me seemingly reasonable terms, such as, if the treatment is successful, entering into an oath to work for them for a certain amount of time...I can easily see myself agreeing to it.

2. Blackmail. I’d probably go along with their demands long enough to ensure that nothing adverse happened to myself or my family

3. The watcher organization has a persuasive justification for everything that’s happened so far. I.e. it needed to unlock my affinity to accomplish an important task, one I also believe in (though now have no memory of)

The only truly feasible option is the first. If the watchers had any inkling how powerful I would become, I doubt they’d decide to use blackmail to get what they want: They wouldn’t want me as an enemy. And the third option? If I were them, I’d still just go with option number one, unwilling to leave something as crucial as voluntary cooperation to chance.

“I need to prepare for when I get out,” I mutter. Taking out my glossY–a similar model to the one I have in the school loop layer–I look up binding contracts on the distributed network, such as the Life Death oath that Jasmine made when I entered into her office. There are a few different contract options, ranging from the most severe (Life Death) to low-severity collateral oaths.

The Life Death oath is fairly simple: if you break the terms of the oath, you’ll die. Thankfully, most oaths also have safeguards to prevent accidental oath-breaking. For instance, if you take the oath to keep patient-client confidentiality, and you are about to disclose confidential information, it will initially prevent you from doing so. More than that, usually there will be some physical indicator of imminent oath-breakage as well, such as a red chain appearing around the neck.

Thus, it takes deliberate will to bypass the oath’s safeguards and break its terms. It’s still possible to do so, though, in the event that the oathbreaker values their life less than breaking their oath.

Collateral oaths are probably the most common kind of oath. They work like Life Death oaths, except rather than using the oathtaker’s life as collateral, physical objects are used instead. For instance, breaking the oath might result in the destruction or transfer of property.

There are a few more specific kinds of oaths, but they all work in the same general manner.

The key question that I’m mulling over is: would I have agreed to a Life Death oath? I feel confident that I can handle the loss incurred through just about every other type of oath. Moreover, I would likely be able to secure the services of an End practitioner to get any outstanding oaths broken by force...all except for the Life Death oath with its unbreakable bond.

I would’ve been wary of signing such a serious oath. But it’s possible that if the terms of the oath seemed reasonable...

I sigh as I search the Distributed Network for any information about people who have “escaped” their Life Death oaths. I figure there have to have been some people, especially considering the varied abilities of practitioners.

I’m mildly astonished to find that there actually is someone who got out of their oath.

Dorel Lemon escaped from her Life Death oath around sixty years ago, during the Minoan war between Kester and Corneria. A native to Northwick, Corneria, Lemon was apparently sent to Kester, serving as a Light-affinity healer on the Gnoste battlefront...for the other side. Lemon was a spy.

Lemon was ultimately caught, and subjected to a mandatory Life Death oath requiring her to work as a double agent. The terms were strict, leaving her no room to alert to any superiors that she’d fallen under the influence of the enemy.

At the height of the Minoan War, she was tasked with feeding potentially disastrous intel to the Cornerians. Even if Lemon wished to break her oath, she’d only get a few words into a sentence before red chains would constrict her throat and asphyxiate her, growing increasingly tight around her neck. If she didn’t die from asphyxiation, the chains would squeeze so tight as to crush her throat and cut through it altogether.

“...But she discovered a way to escape?” I read, annoyed. What an insufficient description. I read another paragraph ahead, but after that brief entry, the document steers toward her successful political career as a war hero.

I’m sure many people have “prepared” to weasel out of an oath, but few (one on record) have actually survived breaking something so stringent as a Life Death oath. There must be a trick to it, one that possibly died with Lemon.