She didn’t understand what his deal was.

It wasn’t the tapping, or the humming, or the costant sneezing and snorting, or the flipping about with those books, or how he could scratch himself while she was stuck like… like something stuck. It was the glances, those stupid, idiotic glances. Maybe he thought he was being discreet, hell if she cared. The only thing she cared about was that she hated those glances. He looked at her like she could fall off the bed without a moment’s notice.

She hated it so much!

Another sneeze sent her already sour mood spiralling down into rage. She threw him an incendiary glaree across the room, hoping against hope to see him explode in a fiery blaze. To her frustration, no conflagration ravaged the other bed. Instead, the occupant just cowered a bit, mumbled something apologetic and sank his nose in the latest book.

She didn’t expect anything different and, like the previous times, the reaction only managed to piss her off more.

You know what? Forget it! It was because of all those things she felt so angry and horrible! It was those and it was because it hurt everywhere, and her feet tingled hard and she couldn’t scratch them, and she couldn’t move at all, and her fire wouldn’t come out and…!

Rage reached a peak, but no flame came out, no rush of savage power to soothe her. A sinking feeling filled her. She let out a shuddering breath, fighting against the tears. She didn’t want to cry, not again. It was so stupid.

But she felt so alone without her fire, so empty.

Another glance.

“Stop it!” She complained, and hated how whiny her voice came out.

The occupant of the other bed flinched. For a moment, he looked wildly insecure between feigning interest in his book or saying something.

“Sorry.” He murmured in the end, without meeting her gaze.

She ignored him. She felt horrible, miserable. What would have she given to have her fire back. How she wished to just jump down the bed, set fire to that horrible place, fly away and never turn back.

Just let me go… just give me my fire back…

A sob fought to escape, and she lacked the strenght to stop it.

A familiar tapping reached her ears.

“Stop that…” She whispered, feeling too desolate for more, turning wet eyes toward the other bed.

The tapping stopped immediately.

The silence that followed only made her feel worse. She hated it so much.

Almost without thinking, she started to move about. It hurt, but everything was better than silence.

The tapping resumed.

She threw a glare, but the occupant of the other bed had his nose buried in a book. Stupid. If she had her fire, she would show him a thing or two.

The thought threatened to drag her back into the spiral in which she had been imprisoned from the moment she had awoken in that horrible place. She swallowed, struggling to keep it away. The tapping offered her something to cling on. Despite the frustration, she focused over it.

After some moments, she managed to regain a semblance of calm. As she did, her thoughts lingered over the other bed, and its occupant.

“Who are you?” She asked. She didn’t want to talk, wanted nothing to do with that prison and everybody that lived inside of it, but now, after what felt like an eternity of torment, it seemed preferable to the silence and the thoughts.

The furry creature winced at being addressed, the book almost jumping out of his hands. Surprised, he watched her with his big, round eyes. They looked like shiny, smooth stones.

“Oh… oh! I-i am Argus!” He said. He watched the foot with which he was tapping against the bars, then the little monster snooring on the chair, then turned at her, smiling tentatively.

She didn’t like it.

“What’s an Argus?” She asked sourly. She didn’t care, but found that talking distract her. That lump of fur might as well make himself useful for something.

He seemed taken aback by the question. Frowning, he closed the book and fell deep in thought.

“It’s me.” He said after a moment.

“You?”

“Yes, it’s my name.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What’s a name?”

Again, he looked taken aback.

“W-well… !” He struggled for words, gesticulating a bit. Envying the way he could move, she didn’t bother to hide it. “It’s how people call you.”

It was her turn to be taken aback. Grudgingly, she thought about it. A way for people to call you? She… didn’t have that.

“I don’t have that…” She murmured with a frown, voicing her thoughts. She wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“No?” Argus looked confused. “But then… oh!” Realization lit his face. “Father didn’t give you one yet?”

Wherever he was going to with that was lost on her with that single word, along with whatever small attention she was giving him.

“Don’t mention him!” She hissed.

“Oh, i… i didn’t…”

He looked disoriented, and that only made her more pissed.

“He abandoned me.” She hissed. “He discarded me, and now he has taken away my fire. I wouldn’t accept a name from him even if it killed me!”

It felt like all of her misery had trasformed into venom. It slithered in her chest like a living creature, and she felt a wicked vindication at being able to say it out loud. She hadn’t ever realized how much she wanted it.

“He’s not my father!” She ranted at Argus’ dumbstruck’s expression. “He’s stopped being it when he left me! And that’s that!”

It felt so good to say it, it felt liberating. She was tempted to vomit a good bit of that bile over that furry creature as well. He deserved it, with all the bothering he had been doing. And that old bastard had been blabbing something about him being her brother. Wasn’t that ridicolous? Like she wanted to have a brother like him. He looked like a moron, and sure as hell was a bootlicker of the old man as well.

She was tempted, but something in his flanbergasten expression dissuaded her.

Meh, it’s not worth it.

He looked stupid enough on his own. There was no point.

She gave him a bored look. Why had she even started to talk to him?

With a snort, she turned the other side, making a show of ignoring him. Lickbooters didn’t deserve anything different.

She heard him shuffle, hesitate. For an uncertain moment, it almost felt like he would address her again. She found herself wishing for it, even if was only to argue. Instead, she heard him sink back in the bed.

She grimaced. Yeah, not worth it.

It passed some time, but the tapping resumed eventually.

“Careful! Aaaah!”

Ignoring Pip’s scream, Gorren ducked under the golem’s swing.

The construct was the product of a demented mind, a nightmare of broken human features and mismatched mechanical parts. A fist-sized Mana Crystal had been shoved in its eye socket, and another driven in the center of its chest like a stake.

Gorren felt the thing’s mechanical claw sweep above his head. It smashed through the pillar behind him like it was paper, shovering him in dust and debris.

Crude and hazardous, but powerful.

A sword, flame and darkness reinforced with telekinetic power, shot out of his hand. He swept with it, bisecting his aggressor.

The golem made a grasp for him even as it fell and the manic green light in its single eye flashed off. Already moving his attention elsewhere, Gorren blasted away what remained with a wave of energy.

The chamber was littered with the smoldering and crackling remains of the golems he had been destroying almost non-stop from the moment of his entrance.

The over-all quality of the things wasn’t enough to be a real danger, but mixed with them there had been a few high-powered golems even he had to keep an eye out for, like his already healing singed skin could attest to.

Gorren made his way through the remains, observing the broken golems. Apart from their patchwork exterior, their circuitry and mechanisms were a jumble of different parts cobbled together, and the same was for the enchntments. Mana crystals had been shoved directly into the Cores or the structures, in a way that provided power but would have been extremely dangerous for any human to be close to.

He picked up ingenious adjustments side by side with mechanisms that seemed the work of a child, like whoever built them had the shortest attention span or lacked the patience to do a proper job.

It’s somehwat crude. It’s mad and it’s dangerous. But the level isn’t half-bad.

There were implementations there even he could learn from. The thought was irritating.

“You said that these are just drones?” He grumbled.

Pip needed an encouragement to shake herself off.

She yelped as he shook the Animus with a small Mana burst. “Yes! Yes!” She replied. “These are just soldiers! Quandar has a ton built of them!”

Gorren grunted. So those weren’t the mad Animus’ best.

He’s obviously crazy, but he’s not to be underestimated.

If anything, he was impressed by the numbers. There was enough to make a small army already, and if there was even more… how many years had that Animus been laboring?

Has he been preparing for an attack?

It seemed most likely, but why? Who would attack a ruin in the middle of nowhere? More importantly, what power would warrant such a large defensive force?

It felt eerily similar to his own situation, but he wasn’t going to let impressions affect his judgement. He needed to see this through.

He took some time to inspect the ruined golems, reporting to memory the mechanisms that could be used on his own creations. No point on being squeamish. There was stuff that could come really in handy there.

Eventually, he made his way out of the chamber. The long corridor beyond was strangely askew, like there was some imperfections in its lines. It made for a jarring vision.

Gorren recognized the pattern. That wing was built to be a great energy conductor, of which that corridor was but a component. Circuitry of copper and silver filigraned the walls, the ceiling and the floor, forming angular patterns that ran forward. It was there that the energies, drawn from the earth’s ley-lines or some other origin, would be channelled, to be focused over the central chamber and then expended for whatever project the researchers needed them for.

Still, the place had been vandalized. Many of the circuitry had been ripped out, leaving rents and gouges in the stone. Gorren recognized the filigree; he had seen it in the golems he had destroyed. It seemed that Quandar had been cannibalizing the structure to build his creations.

Pip murmured something, breaking his line of thoughts.

“What was that?” He asked, still conscious of his sorroundings.

“I said, what is wrong with you!” The Animus protested. There was an almost despairing note in her voice. “There is an entire army down here! You are strong, i’ll give you that, but you can’t beat Quandar! Listen to me! Or at least leave me here, if you really want to go. Just… throw me in a corner or something. Please? Please?”

Gorren repressed the instinct to roll his eyes. He had been having her talk, in the moments between fights, listening to what she remembered of the life in the facility before the catastrophe. It had been pretty normal stuff until now, just the regular experimentation and research one could expect from a normal Truvian facility. Still, hearing Pip talk gave him insight on the personality of the Animus. She was an opportunist to the bone, concerned first and foremost with her survival and with her status right after.

It was almost refreshing. He feared he would have to put up with another child.

“Keep telling me about before.” He ordered, without bothering to look at the sphere.

Pip made an exasperated noise, but obeyed, albeit sounding petulant.

“I told you already. They put me in one of their machines and then had me move the Mana like they wanted. I made stars with it, twirls, whatever you want. It was simple enough stuff.”

Gorren hummed in confirmation. Advanced Mana Manipulation, just what the Truvian standard practices were about. They were researching new ways with which to structure Mana, methods to perfect the already existing spellcraft and the like.

Still, too many things didn’t add up.

That was basic study, every Truvian mage enlisted in the research facilities worked on those topics. What did they need an Animus for?

For all their potential, an Animus couldn’t do much more than an experienced mage could, and ended up unstable to boot. Sure, their mechanical nature made them magnificent when it came to focus, - and with great focus came great Mana manipulation skill - but, again, nothing than a third-level mage - a mage with a modicum of ability and a few decades of experience - couldn’t do.

The first explaination i can think about is… using an Animus to replace a magician, having it manipulate the Mana instead.

If it was so, the reason why eluded him. Only the best mages were taken to work in the research facilities. That place should have been crammed with third-level mages. Then again, why would they strictly want that level of focus?

No, it doesn’t make any sense.

The other, and more likely, explaination he could think about was that they were using the Animus to manipulate super high-density Mana. High density Mana was dangerous for living creatures, it trasmuted and killed them. Super high-density Mana… well, like drops of water thrown on a scalding stone. Many theories postulated that it was the basic material of the stars.

There would be needed massive financial support to build the facilities to contain it, and only the best archmages could safely handle it. An Animus could be used to cut the expenses. It wasn’t as receptive as a human to the Mana influence, and it could be used to harness it in place of a mage of lesser value.

Pip wasn’t obviously used for that, but the Animus was privy only to a small part of the experiments. Quandar, instead, powerful like he seemed to be…

Gorren felt the tang of Mana in the air. It irradiated everything now, covering every surface like a thin film of etherial energy. He could very well imagine how super high-density Mana could have left such a mark, maybe after a destructive leak. It could have easily destroyed everyone inside, maybe even drive the Animus manipulating it to madness.

Yes, he felt that the pieces were starting to fit. Many more questions remained, like who was behind it and what they were trying to accomplish, and how it connected to the other incidents in the Realm, but he felt he was on the right track.

I need the research logs. In there i will find my answers.

In there, or from Quandar’s snappy mouth, when he had the crazy Animus in his hand. Whichever came first.

Gorren set his jaw, and walked faster.

The corridor opened in what looked to be a massive storehouse.

Gorren turned around slowly, taking in the vast space dotted with broken masonry and strange, warped structures. Other structures seemed to dangle from the ceiling. It looked like the ruins left after a magical bombardment of a city district designed by a madman. The pervading gloom made vision difficult, painting long shadows over every surface.

Gorren’s eyes flickered along the numerous windows. They were ewerywhere, staring out like so many empty eye sockets. He frowned at the numerous marks scoring the floor.

“This is…” Pip’s voice was a frightened whisper. “Could you… could put me do… urk?”

Gorren secreted the now sealed Animus in one of the pockets of his cloak.

Carefully, he walked into the chamber. He stopped just before entering the pockmarked tract of floor. Eyes flickering around, he extended his perceptions. The buzzing of scrambled Mana invaded his thoughts, and he had to tune it out. His frown deepened. The flow of energy was disturbed, probably by some machines. He couldn’t perceive anything but that confused buzz.

Gorren summoned his Mana armor around himself. He stepped forward.

A shot rang in the air. Gorren grunted as a massive blow took him at the shoulder, pitching him backward. He planted his feet down, stopping his momentum, and he fell into a crouch. Even as he took in the hole in his shoulder, he threw a hand outward. A second and a third projectiles impacted against the red barrier he erected before himself, shattering into pieces and sending a jolt down his arm.

He held the barrier up for a moment, then let it go, and jumped back, more projectiles riddling the piece of floor he was standing on. Sliding to a stop outside of the pockmarked zone, he threw out another barrier, but no other attacks came.

He grunted, and slapped a hand on his shoulder. Healing energy immediately dampened the pain.

A manic laughter rang.

Gorren showed his teeth at the mechanical eye emerging from the shadows.

“Welcome! Welcome!” Quandar said, with gleeful malice. “Only that my welcome is a bullet in the shoulder!”

Gorren frowned at the tentacle as it whipped left and right, shaking with laughter.

“Look at you.” It suddenly stopped, the voice turning deadly serious. “Skulking in my rooms like a rat. Trying to steal my secrets.” Gorren kept his face impassive, but the Animus wasn’t fooled. “Are you surprised?” He asked with wicked amusement. “I watch you. I am always watching! You’re in my world! My kingdom!” His breathing was ragged. “I warned you! I warned you not to step inside. I warned you, and now you’re going to get it! Cue your first death! A bullet in the skull!”

Gorren whipped his hand forward, but the eye was already sliding out of vision, his dark sphere missing his mark.

“Come!” Quandar called. “Step in my darkened maze! Come to take the reward for challenging me!” His voice trailed off in a mad laughter, that echoed again and again, until it seemed to come from behind every corner, every shadow.

Gorren was undeterred.

The old mage hissed softly. He lowered his hand, revealing a healed shoulder.

His attention flickered to the new holes in the floor. They smoked softly.

Must be some kind of high-powered rifle. It has punched through my armor like nothing. I have to be careful.

He curled his lip. Ferocity bubbled in his chest. A mad machine wasn’t going to stop him.

“Let’s see what you can do.”