“Aim, shoot, retreat!” Pat yelled in the distance.

Summers tuned out the noise. He was making his way through the base, checking on things as he did. They’d made some serious headway in training lately, enough that both he and Pat felt comfortable sending small squads out to harass the various patrols the samr had been sending out. So far, they hadn’t done much more than be a pain in the ass, but the experience in itself was valuable. Some of the people here had experience in warfare, but most didn’t. And it was important to make sure they had some exposure before shit really hit the fan.

“Mr. Summers!”

A man wearing regal clothing tried to get Summers’ attention.

Summers didn’t react, trying his best to ignore the man. Assholes like this had been badgering him since he’d gotten back. They claimed to be officials from the city, that is, the different factions that Synel had warned them about. In short, they were politicians looking to get a leg up in the base.

“Like I told you before, I don’t handle the day to day, talk to Asmund or one of his people,” Summers gestured to the tent the man was using as a base of operations. They’d picked Asmund off the road a few days after they’d arrived, thankfully he’d been along with a few traders that had seen Synel’s signs. Better yet, he’d shown up with people, and more of the samr’s weapons he’d apparently ‘reclaimed’.

“That is the problem, Mr. Summers.” The man persisted, jogging to keep up. “We refuse to work with that, that-”

Summers stopped and turned to the man.

“I personally saw that old guy stab a monster trying to defend your city. If you don’t want to work with him that’s your choice, but unless you think you can handle the samr on your own, I’d want someone like that on your side, wouldn’t you?”

The man straightened, voice growing sterner.

“You saw what he did.”

“I saw him try to save as many lives as he could. What were you and your people doing?”

The man’s jaw tightened, surprising Summers. That probably one of the more severe reactions he’d gotten out of an elf since he got here.

“Trying to survive.”

“Well, I can tell you that’s going to be very hard without our help. So, if you don’t want to play by my rules. . .”

Summers let the insinuation trail off. He wasn’t in the mood for this, too many people in the camp were trying to grab for power or settle grudges while everyone else was just trying to survive.

It wasn’t even as if Summers held a lot of loyalty for the seer. He liked the guy but putting him in charge of the refugees was turning out to be a bigger pain than he’d expected, even if it was Synel’s idea. She seemed to think Asmund would stay loyal to them over any of the other players from the city, and considering how much power he wielded, that was the most important thing they were looking for.

But the political situation in the camp was still delicate. Throwing Asmund to the wolves would just hurt the people that followed him, Summers’ reputation, and give leverage to assholes like this. That was not something he was going to allow.

Summers glanced over to see Asmund himself heading over, apparently, word got around fast.

“And there he is now.” Summers raised a hand to wave to the man. “Asmund, this guy wants me to throw you out. Anything you have to say to him?”

The other man stiffened but didn’t deny it.

“I understand,” Asmund answered. “Inform your masters I’ll accept any number of duels once this conflict is over. But for now, our focus should remain on survival.”

Summers clapped his hands together.

“There, problem solved.” Summers patted the now openly hostile man on the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on my people.”

Summers moved to leave the two behind, before turning.

“Oh, and tell your people that, while they’re welcome here, if they try to hoard weapons I will find out. You’ll get what you need, anything more and there will be consequences.”

That had been a problem he’d dealt with more than once. Elves saw him handing out food and the like and thought it would be a great idea to squirrel some away for later. He hadn’t quite managed to get the idea of a quartermaster or any bureaucracy going in the scramble to prepare for war, but thankfully the new arrivals also didn’t understand surveillance cameras. Which the base had been wired with.

The other man glanced between Summers and Asmund, before inclining his head.

“I understand.”

He moved off, Asmund, however, lingered, looking about as uncomfortable as elves could manage.

“Something wrong?” Summers asked.

“I seem to be causing you quite a bit of trouble.”

“No, that’s just politics. I don’t give a shit about politics. My job is to shoot things.” Summers gestured to his gun. “You’re causing Synel trouble, and that’s why she’s here anyway.”

He didn’t mention that Synel’s brand of politics usually involved threatening to send Summers after the offending party. He’d established a bit of a reputation after what happened in the city, and the subsequent fights with the samr patrols. Between that, his human ears, powers, and his apparent omniscience with the security cameras, people were both curious, and afraid.

Summers glanced to the man beside him.

“Asmund, I don’t mean anything by this, but was your uh, religion popular? With the people around here, I mean.”

“There’s some variation,” Asmund said, tentatively. “But many who practice such things find commonality with my own teachings. I think you’ll find most in this place are spiritual in some sense.”

“Great,” Summers put a hand on Asmund’s back. “Then would you mind finding me in about an hour? I might need your help.”

“May I ask why, Commander Summers?”

Summers repressed a wince at the title, it was becoming more common as it got around the base.

“Because I might be killing some innocent people, and I’d feel a lot better about it if uh. . . a priest was involved.”

Summers moved into what was currently the most heavily guarded room in the base. His friends were watching a bound Helfden, checking the few bits of medical equipment they’d moved here just to ensure he’d have everything they’d need. It wasn’t much, considering Summers only had a vague idea what half of it was for, but he was hoping he wouldn’t need it.

“Is this wise?” Synel asked, her voice muffled. She was dressed in what amounted to a full hazmat suit, along with the others, staring at the bound man as his black eyes gazed vacantly at the ceiling.

“I have no idea. Honestly, I’m not optimistic. This is one step short of mad science. And probably the most brain-dead way to test something a lot more complicated than I can understand.” He clocked Synel’s blank expression. “Never mind. Hold his arm.” Summers hooked Helfden up to an IV drip. Given the hamr’s nature, he doubted the man would feel pain, or even be able to react to it. But it couldn’t hurt, and if someone or something outside was listening through his ears, being asleep would help hide what they were doing. That was the same reason they were holding Ayra in a room not far off, once they tested this on Helfden, she’d be next.

“Is. . . is this right?” Roan asked.

Summers glanced at the boy. He’d been present for a few of the attempts Summers had made to pull the hamr out of someone’s head. It hadn’t been pretty, and all of them had ended far more messily than Summers’ own attempt.

Clearly, he was not expecting this to go any better. And given what they were trying, there was a good chance he might feel responsible.

“Roan, I get it, but you don’t even have to be here if you don’t want to. We just needed your blood. If I screw up, that’s on me, not you.”

If he was being honest with himself, screwing up was the most likely outcome. Even if it worked out like Summers hoped, they had no idea what Roan’s blood would do to someone. Hell, even in normal conditions, if their blood types weren’t compatible, both Helfden or Ayra could just die and the hamr would have nothing to do with it.

That wasn’t to say he was playing fast and loose with their lives. The base had more than a few tests even an idiot like Summers could figure out to gauge blood type. Things like paper strips that turned green, or brown depending on the sample. Roans had turned blue. That was not one of the listed results. That was not in the pamphlet he’d found about the results. Nor could he replicate it with anyone else’s blood.

Again, this was a crapshoot.

Roan looked to Asle as if to ask her opinion. She shrugged.

“If it were me, I’d want us to try.” Asle gestured to Helfden. “And he’d probably try to kill you if he wasn’t tied up, so you shouldn’t feel that bad.”

The fact Asle was less phased by possible death than the kid that lived with bandits his whole life made Summers feel like a great role model.

“Fine,” Roan said after a moment.

Summers let out a breath.

“All right, time to stop stalling.” Summers ignored the feeling of dread building up inside him and hooked the IV up to a small bag filled with Roan’s blood.

As he watched the liquid slowly drain into him, that feeling of dread intensified. Summers put a hand on Helfden’s head, trying to feel for any kind of change in the hamr.

The results were immediate. Helfden’s eyes snapped open, despite the sedation. Summers moved to pin the man, even as he began to convulse. Black liquid oozed from his eyes and nose, followed closely by blood. Summers focused his attention on the hamr inside him and felt it squirming. Almost as if it were reacting to the change.

“Shit!” Summers poured his will into the man, trying to keep the hamr still. That seemed to work for the moment, but it wouldn’t last.

This had been the same reaction he’d felt trying to remove the hamr from the others, every time it seemed to take on a will of its own, tearing the person’s body apart from the inside. Almost like it was trying to take them with it.

Then, a sudden realization almost made him lose his focus.

“Asle!” Summers turned to the girl. “Can you make a portal in here?!”

The girl didn’t hesitate or ask questions, instead opening a rift in space just beside Summers. He pushed the table holding Helfden through.

“Close it!” Summers shouted.

The girl looked confused, but a moment later the portal closed. And the hamr inside Helfden stopped struggling. Summers hesitated, watching as more of Roan’s blood drained into the man, only this time there was no major reaction. He could feel the hamr dying. After another moment, he let out a laugh.

Wendel had mentioned, in the brief time they’d spoken, something about a control range. That made sense, since most of the samr were essentially zombies being led by one or more leaders. It hadn’t occurred to Summers, however, how much control they had over their people.

His earlier attempts to pull the hamr out of someone’s head had obviously failed because someone was watching, and because they could kill their followers if they noticed something was wrong.

He really was an idiot, as if the army didn’t have actual surgeons that would try the same thing. They’d obviously have some kind of plan in place. But now that they were outside that range, they had no way to interfere.

Summers winced as black liquid began to ooze from tears in Helfden’s skin, more wounds opening along his veins and arteries, and a few on his face. It was followed closely by blood.

“Crap.”

He looked around, realizing he was completely alone, cut off from the supplies he’d need. and he hadn’t told Asle when to reopen the portal.

“Ah double crap,” Summers considered the scene, before taking off his shirt, and tearing strips of fabric off of it. He wasn’t going to let Helfden bleed out without putting up a fight.

But despite everything, it seemed now, at least, they’d gotten through the hard part.

“Well. . .” Summers began to himself as he started to bind the man’s newly opened wounds. “Honestly this went a lot better than I was expecting.”

Asle found him a few hours later, and Summers had managed to convey what he’d discovered. It didn’t take long until they replicated the experiment with Ayra in the obsidian world, in far more ideal conditions. However, the woman’s lizard-like skin had torn free the moment the blood got to work, leaving a large, bloody wound in its place. The woman lacked Summers’ means to heal, meaning they’d have to keep a close eye on it. Summers had learned his lesson with Roan.

But, so far, both had managed to pull through, even if Ayra was more bandage than woman at this point. Helfden, likewise, wouldn’t be in fighting shape for a while. But both of them, their real selves, were back. With the same tangle of someone else’s memories Summers had needed to deal with. That is, now Helfden knew more about astronomy than Summers could even understand, and Ayra something called psycho-science Summers simply didn’t have a reference for. It apparently involved the structure of the brain from more of a software perspective. All very interesting, but not useful right now.

He'd decided to let them rest and process things, leaving them to the few ‘healers’ they’d found that could watch over them. But what little they had said in their lucid moments confirmed Summers’ suspicions.

Ayra’s camp had been decimated. The samr had come in the night and destroyed it with minimal effort. The good news, at least for Summers, was that they could remember their time under the samr’s control. Including where they went, and who they saw. Once they had time to get their heads on straight, that would be very, very useful.

The others had taken a seat nearby. The news, and what they’d just managed still settling in.

After some time, Synel turned to him.

“You understand that this changes everything. If we can replicate this with others, not only can we turn them back to their normal selves, but we can find people who know how to work this equipment. People who can fight.”

“That’s the plan,” Summers responded. “The real trick is going to be finding those people.”

“Hmm, yes, preferably the ones that didn’t desert. I think it’s likely your army kept records of who went willingly, and who were lost.”

“Right, so, we have a proof of concept.” Summers looked at Asle. “Asle, we don’t know for sure, but if Roan’s blood acts like I think it does, then this might be the way to turn you back to normal. . . I don’t think we have a lot of time left before those people can get in our heads.”

He suspected the only reason the girl hadn’t turned out like the others yet was because he’d helped her back when she was first infected. In fact, he’d seen people from the city that he’d helped back on their feet as well. Meaning that if the initial dose was small enough, the hamr took time to grow before it took someone over. This entire endeavor was something Summers had thought up to help Asle, after he realized her issues were progressing faster than his own.

“. . .I still don’t want to do it,” Asle said. “I can still help us. If I get rid of this,” she gestured to her head. “Then, I might not be able to use my power.”

“Yeah, that is the issue,” Summers said.

Asle was, essentially, key to both their war, and now, fixing anyone they brought in. Though, now that they knew what the issue was, they could always find another way.

Summers took a breath and looked back at her.

“Asle, useful as your power is it’s not worth risking you. Or having you turn on us with it. You already lost control once, with what you can do, it might be more harm than good to leave you like that.”

“We’re only winning because we can use it.”

“Maybe, but we don’t know for sure that you’d go back to normal. If anything, I don’t think you actually make portals, I think you’re just telling the anchor what to do.”

Asle still looked uncomfortable.

Even after they’d succeeded in bringing Ayra back, Summers didn’t feel right trying to push the girl. Every case was different, Ayra had proven that, and given the hamr was in her head, Roan’s blood may very well kill her. Likewise, he didn’t want her to just ignore the problem because her power was useful.

“Fine, look, I think these guys have a range they can’t influence you in. They can’t do it to you or me yet, but it’s only going to get worse. Maybe what we do is we set you up on the other world, that way if someone like Wendel or his lieutenants get close, they can’t affect you.”

He’d have to set up something with the others, but that was the best plan he’d thought up in what little time he could. And even then, he was only willing to wait because he figured they’d only get better at the process with time. If he could have people with actual medical knowledge involved, doctors, surgeons, then all the more reason to put this off.

“Fine-”

“But-“ Summers interrupted. “You gotta promise me you’ll do it if you feel this getting any worse. I’m serious, Asle. This isn’t just about you, I’ll be the first to admit we’d all probably be dead without you helping out, but if you let it go too far that could hurt all of us. You get that, right?”

Asle nodded.

“What about you?” Asle asked.

“Well,” Summers tapped on his chest, eliciting an odd knocking noise. “Pretty sure if I use that blood with all the crap I have glued onto me I’ll explode, or at least bleed out. Still, you’re right. . .”

Summers took a breath, before hopping onto the nearby table. He reached over to a small tool and popped his eye out without hesitation. The others looked at him in horror as he reached into the socket, and quickly pulled out another black mass that Pat rushed to accept. With that done, Summers worked to get the eye back in, feeling with some certainty that it sat looser now.

Asle had just accepted the risk of having her brain eaten all to help them out. Least he could do was cut the bullshit and get things ready for when she needed their help.

“All right,” Summers clapped his hands together. “Let’s get to work.”

Nearby, he saw one of Asmund’s men vomit, then pass out.