Chapter 8

There were so many things to document it wasn’t even funny anymore. Once upon a time I might have rolled in the accumulated knowledge like a dragon would roll in its horde, but there’s only so much I could focus on at a single moment without having to spend literal years to go through each thing that was catalogued.

Fish, rocks, magic, gun powder...

While it might have been enlightening, it was unrealistic for me to dedicate so much of my personal time on such things when I could instead do other important subjects.

With that in mind, I decided to focus on things that would be immediately related to me.

Specifically, I was intrigued by the more fundamental laws of how the world works in terms of me. Many mysteries still elude me despite me having literally eaten it and it took so much self-control to not just launch an all-out assault on Evelyn. Despite the temptation, I managed to restrain my impatience.

Things will come in its time.

Either way, I made it my personal agenda to understand what the exact rules of the world were. Everything so far, all accumulated resources — they had been disposable. Getting too attached would be silly.

I stared down at the notes that I had scribbled down on a piece of artificial memory, using it as a writing pad.

Case number one.

What are [Areas], [Boundaries] or [Corridors]?

They were things that I had thought of in a while but unmistakably, they were there and they weren’t things that I had messed around with. When I was still the kinda-human Elisa, I had made some attempts at understanding what I was looking at, but I believed that it was high time to update what I thought I knew.

[Areas], as far as I knew, as a phenomenon that had been the most prevalent whilst I was still within the [Beyond].

Damn, even that term needs to be thought about again.

Regardless, an [Area] was something that seemed to be a pocket of space, an environment that seemed isolated somehow. From the earliest expanses with nothing but [Blobs] and the bridge-pillar-thing with the [Green Worms], it was evident that they represent some sort of biome, unmoving, like caves. As it seemed that nothing but simple creatures of the [Beyond] populated them, it might be some sort of … spirit world?

That was where I began, after all.

But then, there were the creepy forests with the massive trees and weird-looking deers. There was also the entire ocean which I now sat in.

Closely connected to that, of course, was the concept of [Boundaries], the walls that surrounded an [Area]. Why were there these mysterious barriers that prevent me, or to say, a Spirit from going across? In the forest, the walls were just as opaque and unbending as those cave-like structures in the beginning. The top of the ocean had a bit of give, but I couldn’t be sure why. The floor, ground, usually dirt, also prevented me from entering too far. There seemed to be some intrinsic property about earth that hindered my ability to move through.

This was especially curious because Vrraet and Elst had no issues with phasing through the hull of the Zweitsian ship, appearing on the other side nearly instantly and no worse for harm. Then, why were they able to leave the water and go above into dryland?

These were questions that puzzled me until I inevitably reached a simple conclusion — a body. That was the only difference I could think off that had any possible bearing. The simplest test I could do was ripping the [Spirit] out of some marine creatures and attempting to pass through the water surface and voila — it did pass through without issue, popping out on the other side.

Without doubt, something was preventing formless beings such as I from passing between [Areas] through. However, apparently, things with bodies can go through all they like without issue, as if they were somehow… acting as anchors, as a shield for the [Spirit] within, smuggling them through as if it was some sort of border.

I wonder if I could move through with the Sgnirmah’s body...

Note, having a body didn’t allow them to phase through the ground, however. After some distance, the pressure became too great and my ability slipped — and a mess occurred with a thump. Thankfully for that Iasgairean, the soul-retrieving markers worked as intended, though his previous body would be fit only for fertilizer at that point, having been more dirt than flesh.

Curiously enough, when I attempted to test my ability to [Mould] [Essence] on the dirt, it seemed all of a sudden incredibly heavy, as if I was pushing at the mental equivalent of a massive dirt mound. Of course, I could probably do it if I tried hard enough, but the [Glow] consumption would be just a tad too much.

It seemed that even I have certain limits, and hopefully we’ll never have to find out what it is.

On the topic of [Boundaries], I could hardly avoid the topic of [Corridors] and their mind-bending abilities. As time went by, I became more and more convinced that they weren’t merely moving me through space but also literal dimensions. It was only through the chute where I came from that I slowly discovered the ability to see normal creatures such as fish or kelp. I suspect that even in the forest, there were all these forest critters that I had missed just by the virtue of now being able to see them.

With that in mind, could I make the assumption that so far, every [Area] I was in so far belonged literally in another dimension? There was a certain pathway through them that I could observe so far. For some reason, I had passed through from an [area] that had consisted almost entirely of [Blobs] to somewhere with [Worms], which was something that was quite a bit more solid than its predecessors. And then from that point, I had passed onto ‘forest’ and from that point on into the ocean.

Each [Area] so far had been relatively distinct and most certainly had different rules. The greatest difference, however, was between the [Worms] and the incredibly-diverse environment of the forest and the now, of which I had no trouble believing to be in the same… dimension? They both had humans and a stable population of [Blobs] — as long as they were on land.

So, what’s the difference between the sea and land?

It was clear there was something quite odd, perhaps even thaumaturgical about the ocean. For whatever reason, I had yet to spy even a single Spirit in it. Either Evelyn was lying out of her arse or something got lost in the translation, I doubt that these Spirits of rocks and water would fail to show to. Aside from that, there was also that curious barrier splitting the sea and land…

Could it be some influences from their ocean god? A barrier against the deep-sea menaces?

Whichever the case, it only meant more opportunities for me to discover.

Agh, I digressed.

Now, if I were to judge, there was certainly a pathway to which I travelled, especially since the amount of [Corridors] I’ve seen so far had decreased over time until I couldn’t find any other. Were there any other in this world? How would my control over my selves and minions feel when it stretched across to other [Areas]? More than that, there was also the question of if I could go back through them.

If I could go back.

Back to the beginning.

To the moment where I had died.

Could I…

No, that was a foolish thought.

There was never any guarantee that I could even go back, or that Earth lies beyond that. Having these proofless hopes would be…

No.

I turned my attention away.

Either way, I had to learn so much more before I can come to conclusions.

So instead, I looked to my Scouts, their small, twisted forms dancing nimbly through the water and touching onto land. They had vague forms, arms and legs, not quite Spirits or something else. Slowly, inexorably, they began their spread through the islands, crawling onto shore as they slowly made their way to places of interest.

Slowly, I started to build a map of thoughts, expanding at my own pace, making sure that at least one Scout could be found at each city. By referencing the maps owned by the Zweits, I could rapidly space out my creations. Even now, as a day and night passed me by, my first [Scout] had already reached a settlement.

It was a small village named Skjra.

I didn’t quite know how to pronounce that but it was something to work with.

I concentrated on it as it scrambled up the pier, its pale body clinging to the frozen wood, impervious to the cold. Beady eyes came into being and scanned around, seams opening along its scales, bristling. Skjra was dark and desolate in the clouded noon, not too far away from its sibling Ansvil. Despite its proximity, there was a distinctly different atmosphere to it — and to my eyes, the barriers surrounding the village was dim and dark.

It was powerless to stop my Scout from piercing its defences, the ideals that the walls once stood for having been long forgotten, unsound. Snow drifted in, the signs of buildings flapping limply in the wind, no man or woman could be seen. The houses remained unlit, dark and silent even at the forefront of winter, its breath held tight or perhaps having been exhaled long ago.

As I scuttled up to the top of a building, my claws digging into the masonry and perching myself up on the chimney, it was suddenly clear that something was wrong. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something within Skjra wasn’t right, that something odd was happening.

Its population was gone, missing.

Instead, something else populated the streets.

Dark beings, misty, two eyes piercing from their inkiness, circular and cold. They drifted uncertainly, fluttering against the wind as if they weren’t quite there. Like a virulent smog, they collected in groups, forming a dark procession, marching down the streets without a single sound. The snow oozed around them as they walked, their bodies just almost coherent enough to make a difference to the world around them.

Even if I hadn’t seen them for myself before, it was clear what these things were. As Evelyn told, these were Sufferings. Smog trailed around them, poisonous, the [Blobs] that passed through never returned, subsumed.

They weren’t the only ones here.

Standing in doorways despite not being there, figures could be seen. They were insubstantial, their pale faces blank and emotionless, huddling together as they greeted the march, families with husband, wives and child, all merely a husk now. The ghosts of those who were living just hours prior stood and waited powerlessly as the dark smoke drifted into their homes, flooding the carcasses within.

The flesh was eaten, chewed on, no flies visiting them. An arm here, half a head there, brains leaking out from beneath their cracked skulls. A child’s feet dangled from the porch, her torso impaled upon a bloom of ice. Like discarded toys, their broken bodies coated every inch of the town, scattered in pieces.

There were marks of claws, footprints, blood staining the frosted ground like some macabre painting, streaks trailing from wooden floors, up the walls, down onto the cobblestones roads. Like roses on a wedding path, the crimson decorated the earth in their procession.

Amongst the darkened forms of the Sufferings, there was something amongst them. So shrouded in the atmosphere of death, decay and brutality, they had almost hidden themselves from even my sight. If I hadn’t made a conscious attempt, they might almost have clouded my perspective from the biting cold hidden within.

Paws, concrete, they hit the snow-covered ground. Furs that were more akin to icicles bristled from their back, blood adorning them like the tattoos of victorious warriors. Growls could be heard as the car-sized wolves prowled the streets, laughter faintly trailing from their maws.

Even from here.

Even from the sight of the Scout, I knew that these beings weren’t here to help. Not with the cloud of negativity that clung to them like a cloak, circling like vultures, the Sufferings hoping for more. Underneath that seething clot of shadows, the wolves prowled.

Wait, something’s wrong with that thought.

Wolves that were the sizes of vans somehow registered as nothing more than just wolves, as absurd as that sounded. Other than the biting sense of cold, there was nothing outwardly-special about them. They weren’t some godly beasts or servants to the winter, they were… wolves, but more.

Like how Vahisk and Vrraet had been. Their [Presence] must be strong.

Despite that, these beings — wolves that were much greater than any wolves should be, they were twisted in a way that gave me pause. There were no ulterior motives, they were not looking for food, they weren’t split between the morality of their decisions. No, they definitely malicious, nothing black of white here to be seen.

Suddenly, I was stricken the sheer pointlessness of their actions. Why did they attack? What was the point? They didn’t even eat the flesh — it was as if they were killing for the sake of killing. There was not a shred of compassion or restraint from them that I could feel, not even the apathy one could feel from common beasts.

For some reason, the citizens of this village weren’t able to hold them back. There were no defenders, nothing to fight back against the winter. Indeed, it became apparent to me as my jaws opened, letting the world carry its messages into my mind, filtering through them, tasting them.

Winter.

That was what happened. In the cold, the wolves, beasts of the forests had been changed. The Sufferings curled around them, giving them strength beyond what wolves could have been, seeping into their flesh, turning them against what they once were. Tinged with traces of Red, these dimly [Glowing] beings were different.

They walked the streets, looking for something ceaselessly, purposeful in their search.

Monsters.

Sophia hadn’t learnt of these things yet but I knew. I counted, one, two, three, four… seven, in total. The pack walked with intent, sniffing the air, surrounded by their escorts. Nothing remained of Skjra, winter had scoured them off Bvurdrjord mercilessly.

Despite the massacre, I couldn’t care less about the massive loss of life. I was quite a bit more interested in the mechanics of how the magnitude-amplifying effect was achieved. If I could somehow refine [Essence]...

There was something else here as well, my eyes catching another [Glow] in the distance, peeking from behind a street. It was a strong one, one that rivalled Vahisk and Vrraet’s in its vibrancy. Curiously, I drifted from one roof to another, silent, keeping close to the tiles.

There, on the street, just some way over was a figure, humanoid. He was armed and armoured, a spear in one hand and a coil of chains in the other, tense. Furred pauldrons framed a full-faced metal helm, a heavy blonde beard poking out from beneath; the metallic circles forming a mail that went under his plated coat which billowed in the wind. The snow crunched loudly under his greeves as he strode down the street fearlessly, trudging through.

Somewhere behind him was another figure, similarly armoured, a bow in her hands, fingers tapping nervously on a readied arrow. She had clambered onto the roof, perching precariously on the stones.

Hunters?

They had yet to see me.

A dim memory lit up in my mind.

Wolves, cold, winter. Uther, hunt? Blonde, not parent.

I watched as the two parties drew close around a corner. The man stopped, his spear at the ready. He made a sign at his partner, crossing left and right to the walls, hooking the chains around the broken doors on both sides of the street. His eyes were alert underneath his helm, his muscles bound tight, the spear held out in front of him warily.

As the wolves crossed the boundary, the first lumbering head appearing in the alleyway, things happened.

A loud snap signalled the beginning of combat, an arrow launched from a bow and into the throat of a wolf, piercing through with impossible ease, a clang of metal on stone and splurt of blood. There was a surprised yelp, a snarl, angry howls that sent the wolves bounding down the corridor. The man stood resolutely, his spear dancing out as the winter hounds suddenly clashed with some arbitrary boundary before him.

The chain held tight, straining as the silver creaked and burned into the malign bodies of the wolves. Gashes appeared over them as the man stabbed and slashed into the tangled mess of fur and limbs. With a snarl, the wind grew stronger, frost rapidly forming over the chains that now laid over the ground.

The man stepped back, his spear held steadily to his front, deathly still in preparation. A wolf bounded forth, a massive bloodthirsty maw opened to snap upon the impudent mortal before it. The man reacted in a split-second, a motion that was nearly too fast to even process — his [Glow] flared. The weapon snaked out, flickering across its eyes, blinding the beast and letting it tumble pass in an undignified heap. With an elegant backhand slash with the tip of the blade, another line of blood — its own this time, opened up around its throat, fur flying into the air in accompaniment to the spray of crimson, the power of the slash generating a gust of wind.

It whined once, twice and laid still, the strength in its limbs gone. Its [Soul] rose and dissipated, no longer grounded by its earthly body.

The man took a breath, retreating just enough to stab the beast once more. By now, the wolves had moved back from the corridor, the arrows still raining from above and into the crowd. Hatred was clear in their eyes mixed with a tinge of wariness, the swirl of Sufferings around them shifting uneasily.

There was a bark, a howl, and the wolves all stepped back, hiding themselves being the buildings. Suddenly, as if they were melting into the snow, they disappeared into the blizzard, their bodies dissipating into living wind and razor-sharp snow. The man cursed loudly as he looked around, running back to the building where the woman was crouching atop.

He ran and barreled into the door, passing by the ghosts that had stepped aside. There were bodies inside but he ignored them, stepping over and shoving the door shut. I couldn’t see much from my vantage point, so I shifted slightly closer, keeping an eye on the streets.

Even if my physical eyes weren’t capable of seeing the wolves, it was easy to track them. The way the [Essence] swirled around their movement, the waves of intention — or the suspicious lack of them, it allowed me to follow them through the snow. With the literal speed of the wind, they blew through the streets, circling on the roads.

The wind swirled, cackling so loud that they drowned out all other sounds,

The ground creaked and shattered, the frost splitting the rocks into dust. Doors shattered as they passed by, their hungry forms devouring the village in their fury. From the rooftop, the women kept firing her arrows, piercing through the blizzard that so fogged her eyes.

I watched as the events continued to play out. I wasn’t particularly bothered with who would win but rather the questions they would answer.

Who were they? Why were the wolves attacked? Why were there so many Sufferings, were there no local users of magic to clear them out? ‘

Moreover, how could these two hunters fight back so… equally? The village had been slaughtered in their homes, down to the very last man but these two hunters managed to fight back, and even killed one! Something didn’t match up, there was some sort of interaction that I wasn’t quite sure of.

Did they move just a bit faster than humanly possible? Was her aim too good?

I observed impatiently, scuttling across for a better view.

The sentient clouds of frost circled the building, carrying with it laughter and foul intent, battering the walls as cracks began to form, chunks of bricks ripped out and joining the churning mass. The man had made it up to the roof, joining his companion and exchanging words that were too far to hear. Together, the two ran and leapt from their building to the next, their human legs somehow bringing them across the several meter gap and not skid right off the snow-covered tiles.

Just as they landed, the structure they were on suddenly imploded, the violent gust of bitter frost rending the bricks and wood down to its very foundations. From within, frustrated howls could be heard as they failed to find their prey. The storm billowed, localized, twisting upon itself angrily carrying with it —

There is something inside. Liquid, sloshing, broken barrels.

The woman reached within her cloak and withdrew something — a vial, it glinted through the snow. With a quick motion, there was a sudden flare of silvery light as a fire lit up. With a vicious throw, she lobbed the flaming container into the monstrous swirl of gnashing teeth and frosted fur.

It pierced through as if the wind had no effect on it.

Then, it shattered in a brief supernova of flames. Clinging lances of oil spilt out in waves, coating whatever that remained from the previous assault in liquid fire. Howls of rage and pain echoed out from the mass as it visibly recoiled from the attack, the bodies of the wolves suddenly lucid once again, tumbling away from the explosion that shattered rocks and tore up the ground.

They rolled on the ground, desperately attempting to quench their oil-covered fur, the yellow-grey glow suddenly saturating the streets in stark contrast. Most notably, however, wasn’t the fire’s effect on the wolves themselves but on the Sufferings that had once shrouded them like a cloak.

The shadowy figures roiled back, screeching inaudibly as they shuddered and spasmed, the fire licking away at their gaseous form. Piteously, they wailed away as they fell to the earth, seeking refuge in the snow that failed to affect the fire at all.

Whatever that the fire was, I too could feel its warmth from across the street. Something about that flame was dangerous, some part of its [Essence] seemingly antithesis to me as if it was something that had the potential of reaching across the boundary of what is and what isn’t. In simple terms, it would probably be something that could harm me.

Or something like that priest’s axe-cross thing I’ve seen.

How would my minions fare against them?

Despite the ambiguous nature of their makeup, my scouts were still ultimately beings of flesh and blood, heavily dosed with aspects that aided in subterfuge. Their design was never intended for combat, having been optimized with functions centred around information, equipped with only the basic packages that allowed [Essence] to pass between my centralized [Deposit] and them. Essentially, it allowed me to control its behaviour and pass along [Essence] packages that have different effects.

Of course, that alone should be powerful enough to harm or avoid damage if I was willing to sacrifice some [Glow] and [Essence] of my own to intervene. However, I really wouldn’t want to use up my own stores every time something happened.

Essentially, the Scouts lacked proper self-sufficiency for combat to be viable. For that to happen, I would have to develop newer models that could generate its own source of power and stand up to these beings.

Instincts, body, intelligence, powers, motives.

So many things to work into a template as well as to source sustainable raw materials to construct them. I’ve modified vines and some spare Stjernmah bodies to create these mega-plants that grew usable flesh rather than plant matter but despite that, my expansion was slowed to a crawl.

Well, I doubt that I could retrieve the bodies of the wolves at this rate. Even as the Sufferings were burned away, the women kept her rain of arrows upon the wolves, skewering them upon the ground. With heavy thuds, their limbs were locked down, slammed against the ground in a contorted mass of shivering flesh. Suddenly, these weren’t the harbingers of death that had ravaged the village of Skjra, they weren’t the scourge of winter that killed for the sake of killing.

They became beasts, hunted, nothing more.

One by one, their flaming bodies collapsed, rend and charred. Time passed by as the two hunters waited for the fire to burn out, conversing quietly at where they sat upon the adjacent building. As the last embers began to die, they gradually slipped down from the roof, landing on their feet.

Up upon my perch, I listened. Small gaps opened up at where the gills would have been, breathing in the minuscule [Essence] in. I focused, listened, and suddenly, I could read their intentions all the way from my vantage point.

As someone speaks, they impose their view on the world in the form of a voice. While that happened, they were effectively sending out these ripples through their [Presence] that if correctly collected and deciphered, would allow me to understand what they were speaking.

Of course, this was apparently what I had been doing all along — that’s why I could understand the Priest’s and his lackeys’ words from all those days back. However, this bonus did not seem to extend to my minions, thus I had to do some clever finagling to allow them this ability.

I was very proud of this fact. Getting the template to be accepted as part of the breeding process was something that I had to rely heavily on Elst’s expertise, but it was done.

“... More often,” the man was saying, heavily breathing, puffs of fog clearly visible through the last flickering light, “So many dead, Katla.”

“They are more aggressive than usual,” Katla the archer agreed, rubbing her hands together to warm them, “Haven’t seen them attack like this before. Did you see those Sufferings? That’s a lot for just a small village.”

The man tiredly rubbed his face, muttering under his breath, “Fuck, winter’s just beginning.”

“Can’t be helped.”

“Katla! There’s clearly something extremely wrong with the balance. The Sufferings do not just... converge like that, especially not strong enough to break through the Walls like that.”

“The Covens are calling a conclave already,” she said, walking closer to the fire. Carefully, she bent down and began sifting through the soot, “Only thing left to do was to wait.”

“The folks are dying!” said the man, his voice rising, “There’s no time to dawdle and wait around”

“Nothing else can be done until they figure out what’s wrong, Tjorvi,” Katla snapped, standing up again. In her hands were two disks, bent, deformed and covered in soot — the caps of the cylinder she had thrown. She bashed them against her coat to clear out the larger chunks before continuing, “Until then, we’ll just have to do more. Our job doesn’t change just because they got more dangerous.”

“That doesn’t excuse the hundreds of death.”

“Nor does it mean we are responsible for all of them. If they want to live so badly, they can pray to the fucking Zweits to save them.”

Even through the helmet, it was clear that Tjorvi was frowning. Carefully, he began, “Katla, regulating these beings is quite literally our only duty.”

“Then blame them for not having enough us around, then,” Katla remarked bitterly, “If they are so willing to trade away their own gods just because the Zweits came along, I don’t see why they would be obligated to our protection.”

“You know that’s not how it works.”

The woman took a deep breath, exhaling a small cloud of fog when she finally let go, “...Yeah. Maybe you are right. Leaving them alone would just become more work anyway.”

The man huffed and stomped his way to a charred wolf corpse. With a serrated knife he had produced somewhere from his person, he swiftly used it to saw the head off like so much chaff.

Katla rolled her eyes and walked over to her own wolves. With loud squelching noises, she reached within the flesh and crusted skin, digging inside for something. For a moment, I was confused as to what she was doing until she withdrew with a handful of arrowheads.

Silver.

Of course, even if the shaft was burned away, there was no reason to not retrieve the silver.

“How much time do we have?” Tjorvi asked.

“For what?”

“Sanctifying. Are we on a schedule? There should be another settlement nearby.”

“Ahhh…” the woman pulled out a rolled map, squinting against its dimly-lit surface, “Well, there’s one, but I don’t think we will have to worry about them.”

“... Elaborate please?”

“Its Ansvil.”

“Ansvil? Wait, isn’t that —” the man paused, blinked once, and then simply said, “Ah. Them.”

“Yes. Them.”

There was a moment of silence between the two. Clearly, I was missing something.

“Well,” Tjorvi dusted his hands off, stretched his arms, “Well, that meant we got some time then and I think we will need them, with how things turned out.”

“...At least we don’t need a pyre for these,” Katla said after a while, shaking the dried strands of meat off her gloves.

“As opposed to the absolute-fucking-massive one we have to build later for the… victims?” Tjorvi responded dryly, chucking the heads into a sack around his belt. After that, he took out a rag and started wiping off his gear. In the cold, the blood of the wolves had frozen off into these fractal crystals, jutting out from his weapons and armour like some cancerous growth.

“That’s why I said, ‘at least.’”

“And that’s a lot of ghosts lingering about, Katla. They aren’t moving on.” Tjorvi looked around, his eyes dancing across the darkened homes. In their opened doors, the dead stood there, their faces blank, watching passively from every doorway. Even as the Sufferings had been dispersed forcefully, the Spirits remained.

“Can’t be helped, you know how the Sufferings gets them all angsty.” Katla parroted herself, pocketing her arrowheads, “Going to be a massive pain to find enough firewood though. An entire village dead… It’s going to take a long while. It’s not often that you get to send hundreds to the afterworld at the same time.”

The two looked at each other silently for a moment again. Neither blinked as it passed.

“You get the bodies?” Tjorvi abruptly asked with the tone one would use to ask about the weather or the state of one’s groceries.

“... I’ll settle for heads. Some of these aren’t exactly… recoverable,” Katla said as she glanced into a house, “But yeah, I’ll get them.”

“Good. I’ll get the pyre ready.”

“Sure, sure.”

The pair parted and went to work.

Chopping, hauling. That took time and left me to my own thoughts.

Honestly, this had been a rather enlightening experience. Whatever the Covens were, whatever these hunters were, I would assume that they were part of this greater mesh of supernatural… society? World? It was evidential that these attacks by ‘monsters’ were an accepted, perhaps even natural event, something that these hunters would manage.

Apparently, there were a lot more ‘hunters’ in the past, and they blamed the Zweits....? Perhaps that had something to with the rumoured invasion that happened a literal century ago, something that had severely hampered the local’s ability to handle these monstrous beings. With the Zweit’s presence in Bvurdrjord, that may lead to further issues.

And on top of all that, something was ‘wrong’. What this something was, I had no idea, but it seemed to have riled up the local Spirits and creatures of the woods or something like that.

Monsters being more aggressive? Spirits being restless? Conclaves being held? Am I being more aggressive?

Uther had mentioned a thing or two about an emergency and the Creighton matriarch had been ‘out’ for weeks at this point. It wouldn’t take an educated guess to understand that she was off to do some witch-coven thing. I had to wonder what had happened to cause such a stir.

It could…

…

Hmm.

...

I didn’t want to sound conceited but I had a suspicion that it may have been me.

Of course, this whole thing may be referencing to how the Zweits suddenly took an unusual interest in the supernatural, but on the off chance that it was about me…

Well.

If there were something like ‘oracles’ or ‘fates’ in this world, I would have no idea if my presence had caused the alarm or not. I did not know what powers the local gods might have had, but I had little doubt that I counted as a rather important event. If my arrival was foretold…

...

I would have no idea what to do about it, that’s what.

If my presence were to be known, then I would have to quickly expand my operations, to strengthen my defences and get more followers. But how? How would one go around spreading a cult?

I already had the Iasgaireans and they were great. However, their current population were unfortunately way too low to be a viable source of [Glow] and [Essence]. There were already breeding plans in place, the Sgnirmah having been modified to pump out eggs, absorbing bio-mass through the plant-like structures I had strewn out through the Sanctuary. With that, the populations can expect to grow tremendously over the next few months. Even now, the Iasgaireans had been carrying out missions to discover new sources of materials that can be appropriated.

May an underwater volcano or two. There must be a way to use them as some sort of farm.

The problem after that was something a little bit more frustrating. Currently, I could access to each of the Iasgairean’s thoughts through the little ‘marker’ the Sgnirmah had placed on them, allowing them to be reborn over and over again, along with me being able to access them at a moment’s notice. This created an effect where we were essentially thinking together, merging their thoughts with mine.

It was an echo chamber and that became a problem. Not to mention, the markers too had an upkeep. It may be small, but it was something, constantly draining away at my resources.

As I was responsible for directing much of their actions, their ‘piety’ had little effect since I was basically worshipping myself, which gave little to no resources. It seemed without independent thought, their output was horrendously low. If I were to make an [Essence] farm, simply having them connected and worshipping me as of now was horribly inefficient.

The most obvious solution, of course, was to disconnect them, create a caste of Iasgaireans that had no access to me yet indoctrinated to think highly of me, their patron ‘god’. Essentially, I could create a slave race that whole purpose was to give me power — or to serve their Iasgairean overlords. That way, both me and my minions would benefit while lowering expenditures.

Truly efficient.

...

Hmm.

...

Something about that plan stank.

It wasn’t just because of its moral ambiguity, but rather…

I tugged closer on the [Safe] around me, ensuring my thoughts wouldn’t leak out.

… But rather, it seemed to mirror what gods do. Create mortal races and leave fuck all for them aside for the chosen few. When they ran out of juice and the population began to lose interest… Oh well.

Old Testament, burn your heart out.

And terrifying.

Perhaps, having my own race as a recharge port might actually be a good idea. The thought of ‘competing’ for believers amongst humans felt rather daunting.

…

Fuck. That’s a lot of work.

How would one even start when designing an entirely new sentient race? Or at least some caste of it with the express purpose to suffer and pray? How would I communicate this to the Iasgaireans? How would the logistics work? What would these people like? Should I elevate the existing Iasgaireans to some other level? Create my own versions of messed-up angels?

The entire endeavour was one hot mess.

Complicated.

Morally ambiguous.

Most of all, it was certainly within my power. I could do it, that was what I felt. It wasn’t a matter of ability, it wasn’t a lack of power, it wasn't a question of whether I could. With everything that I’ve done, I was absolutely sure that it was achievable.

The question was if I should.

Should I — do I have the responsibility of taking care of them?

I...

Clearly, I had to start somewhere,

And the only problem was that I do not know where to begin.

And I had only begun some weeks ago and probably wouldn’t have long before my cover was blown.

…

No pressure, I thought to myself as I watched the two hunters started the fire. The [Souls] drifted, curled up amongst the smoke and scent of burned flesh and then, they were gone.

I waited for them to leave.

And when they too were gone, the Scout began its scavenging operations.

Having some samples of human belongings, being so steeped with emotional attachments, they would do good for my advances, I'm sure.