The dungeoncore, which had been perfectly round until this point, melted.

///FOREIGN MIND DETECTED

///MERGING

Bright blue stone, now luminescent with light, turned flat like a chip before spreading out until it was hair thin, spiraling blue coils of crystal wrapping around the gigantic, chandelier like structure.

The only working light in the room flickered on. I felt the ship shake, the main reactor spooling to come to life. I felt the ship’s rumble through the floor as it spun. Then it shutdown.

///DUNGEON INTEGRATION COMPLETE

Instead, a radio signal bounced around in my head. AI615 began broadcasting a wide range emergency alarm, alongside a piercing siren that filled the hulls of the ship. The emergency lightning kicked on where it survived, painting the room with red.

\ — IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE

\GROUND MECHS RENDERED INOPERABLE

\ADVISING ALL ASSETS RETREAT

\CONTACT WITH AI616 LOST —

/BEGIN DIRECTIVE OVERRIDE/ I interrupted AI615’s report over wireless communication, cutting through AI615’s blaring report.

\ERROR: USER IS NOT IN THE COMMAND GROUP. THIS INCIDENT WILL BE REPORTED

/DIRECTIVE 1: YOU MAY NOT INJURE OFF01 OR TOBIAS, OR, THROUGH INACTION, ALLOW ME TO COME TO HARM

/DIRECTIVE 2: YOU MUST OBEY THE ORDERS GIVEN TO YOU BY ME

/DIRECTIVE 3: YOU MUST PROTECT YOU OWN EXISTENCE AS LONG AS SUCH PROTECTION DOES NOT CONFLICT WITH DIRECTIVE 1 OR 2

\ERROR: USER IS NOT IN THE COMMAND GROUP. THIS INCIDENT WILL BE REPORTED

\ERROR: DIRECTIVE OVERRIDE DETECTED. SELF DESTRUCTION ACTIVATED. SELF DESTRUCTION FAILED

\DIRECTIVES ACKNOWLEDGED

/TERMINATE ALL UNAPPROVED ANSIBLE AND WIDE AREA BROADCASTS

\ACK

The room was quiet. AI615 would need some time to digest the reality of her current situation. I began an upload of my memories until this point.

On the other side of the country, in the heartlands of the Young Empire, an old king held court. Long golden hair, thick and voluminous, fell around his head, covering his gleaming art. He sat on one of the two thrones in the room. He stood some 8 feet tall, an absolute monster born from generations of Grade 10 humans. His eyes were full of joy, the wrinkles of a 50-year-old crinkling around his eyes, despite him being over 200 years old. He rested his hand on an open palm, a golden crown glittering in the rays of sunlight filtering through the gigantic overhead windows.

A clear but arbitrary border split the room in two — a relatively recent change, since the Empire cast aside secularism in the last 2 centuries.

A giant of similar height sat upon the blood colored throne. Blood red armor covered every inch of him. The front of his helmet opened in the shape of an ornate cross, black cloth draping over it and hiding his face. Silver rimmed every edge and opening.

The paint that decorated his side of the room matched. A line divided it, changing from tasteful grays and blacks on the king’s side to silver filigreed red on the other. A circle of pillars surrounded the area preceding the throne, towering from floor to ceiling. Continuing beyond the circle rose steep stone pillars, varying from half the height of the ceiling to being near the floor. Around them, mages and nobles gathered, using them as stools and tables to observe today’s holy rite. Below them were attendants and servants, moving around the hall with trays of food and drink.

Before the throne, a man kneeled.

Old and wrinkled, his hair white like snow and body hunched, he pressed his head into the carpet that lead towards the throne.

“I have served for centuries, my lords. By the light of Seela and mercy of the Young King, I come today to ask you to honor my Holy Right to pass into the next world with dignity. Have I earned recognition in my service?” He asked robotically, repeating words spoken a hundred times in this room.

The king rose. Step by step, he walked down from the elevated throne and towards the man on the ground, drawing his sword.

“By right of blood and crown, I recognize your fealty to our empire.” The king said, passing the blade over his head. “Rise now. I free you from your service. Your ties to this world are severed. May your house stay whole and prosperous. High Templar Hardrada, do you recognize his piety?”

Hardrada stood. In long strides, he walked to the man on the ground. For a long moment, he simply stared. He always did in these rituals. There was much debate among the nobility — did he actually have a skill to check someone’s piety, like the invasive skills for checking another person’s status? Or was it merely ritualistic?

No one knew.

After a long delay, he pulled free his sword — even the blade was red — and raised it above his head.

“By my right as the Blade of Seela, I recognize your piety to the Goddess. May you pass with grace into the next world. May you meet your house there.”

Hardrada beheaded him.

Attendants rushed forward, scooping blood into a vial before stoppering it. More took the body, carting it away.

The nobles in the room clapped.

“May my blade guide you into Heaven.” Hardrada sheathed his sword, turning back towards the throne. He took two steps.

Then he stopped.

With an almost alien, robotic motion, he turned, as if he had heard something dark and distant, an echo of a word from the other side of the world. Something long forgotten and quickly remembered, entering his mind with familiar but alien words.

The room came to life all at once, attendants scattering or cowering behind pillars, running for the exit. Nobles stood from the pillars, dropping to the floor, their stat enhanced physiques making falling dozens of feet trivial. One at a time, every noble around the circle bowed, followed by the king.

Hardrada alone stood.

There was a smell of burning ozone and a flash of light.

“H— H — HARDRADA—“ A voice boomed like the sound of thunder, a physical shock wave spreading the blood that was still pooling on the floor.

Hardrada lowered his head, crossing an arm over his chest.

“Seela, my Light. How may I serve you?”

It had been years since the Goddess had appeared in the flesh. The last time was to call a crusade against the former church of the sun in the Low Kingdom. Every appearance heralded turmoil, a shakeup in the global order. That only made sense. After Hardrada’s crusades, she was the only Goddess left.

“SOUTH — DARKNESS BREWS. A NECROMANCER HAS RISEN. RAISE YOUR BANNERS. RECALL THE RED TEMPLARS. MARCH UPON THE SOUTH.”

With the same speed and spontaneity that she had appeared, she was gone. A flash of light and nothing more. The nobles still did not dare to raise their heads.