An endless mountain. The cliff stretched unapologetically into the sky, some errant peaks going so far as to puncture the very clouds. Across the wall of rock and stone fell and flew cascades of water, eventually reaching the ground to rake scores across the jungle floor and, all force now expended from the impact, the new streams gently wandered off, perhaps towards the floodplains or even deeper into the Jungle. The ground itself near the base of the mountain was largely barren, worn away by years of water and wear, essentially just squishy black dirt marred only by chunks of stone half-embedded into the ground after their fall.

By almost everyone’s estimation, the scene was impossible, too ridiculous to be real. The mountain was too sheer, and far too tall, to actually exist. Sure, humanity had managed to create some really crazy shit during the Era of Great Works, but they weren’t on Earth anymore. To their knowledge, there was no species this far out who could bring such extreme alterations to the geography, leaving most certain that the only real explanation was magical, perhaps even divine intervention.

James knew better. Meandering the ‘net, he’d come across more than his fair share of clickbait sites, promising everything from ‘crazy photo you won’t believe are real’ to ‘unedited footage of the past’. Most of it was total bullshit, of course, but interspersed in the garbage were hidden gems, nuggets of time long past and amazing sights. Rather than a mountain, this thing reminded him of the Bandiagara Escarpment, a massive fault-line formation that used to be located somewhere in the west half of the African Quarter.

Sure, he had something to compare it with, but that only made the naturalistic explanation even more troubling. The Bandiagara Escarpment was easily a hundred kilometers long, but it was only ever about five hundred meters tall, while this mountain range was at least three times that, and when they approached it, it swamped their horizon while they were some-odd fifty kilometers out, implying that it could be upwards of five hundred kilometers lengthwise. Furthermore, if it was an old fault, why hadn’t it begun to erode? The Bandiagara had preserved much of its cliff-like nature, sure, but even the pictures James had seen didn’t display something this extreme.

Their task seemed so simple: climb the mountains, get all buddy-buddy with the people up top, take shelter from the impending invasion. James had argued vociferously that finding allies would be a far superior solution over the out-and-out exploitation Gen was planning, but in the thick of the debate he’d failed to account for the actual journey between them leaving the City and getting to meet the new races.

To be fair, Gen probably hadn’t realized it would be this way, either. The Warden said to be ready for a climb, but she didn’t say the climb would be this intimidating. That would feel like a trick as well, but it was just as likely that she figured they’d invent magic shoes and waltz their way up the wall, casual as can be. Certainly, the image of humanity they’d given the locals was precisely the sort who could do the undoable, and James wished it was that simple. “Why did we even bother to finish the trip? Should have just done a ‘U’ turn and chased after Gen’s cadre while we had the chance.”

Someone thumped him on the back of the head. “No way it’s actually that tall, wait and see,” they answered, using a pitch-perfect, and uncomfortably accurate, imitation of James’ own voice. Naturally, that had to be Madeline. Ever since her magic kicked into high gear, her actual vocal talents had begun to develop in tandem, rapidly adopting some unnatural qualities. James looked over to his left, glaring at her as she stood to one side and stared absentmindedly into the sky, probably puzzling out how high up the peak must have been.

“That’s real damn creepy, you know?” Jim said, filling up the flanks off to his right. James turned to look over his other shoulder; Jim was staring up at the mountain as well, but rather than trying to spot the peak, he seemed to be scanning the cliff-face itself, perhaps hunting for a decent route up. The soldier was endlessly practical, and even if he was a lot paler and a good deal more youthful looking now, his nature hadn’t really changed.

“He asked, I answered,” Madeline said, voice falling back to her normal register. Flouncing forward a few steps ahead of the guys, she pouted and pointed up at the sky, waving her arms wildly for emphasis. She didn’t even have to aim in the right direction, the mountain so all-encompassing that no-one would mistake what she was referring to. “He’s the one who said we’d get over this damn thing!”

James sighed. “Yeah, but the hike seemed far more reasonable a few kilos out. We might still be able to make it. People used to climb Everest, you know?”

“A whole bunch of them died, and Everest wasn’t a goddamn cliff!” She rebutted. “Do you know how many days it’ll take us to even get a third of the way up this thing?”

Jim grunted. He had a decent idea of how long it’d take, but arguments and indecision wouldn’t get anyone anywhere. “Stop fighting in front of the kids.”

The other two hushed. No one liked it when their leaders fought, especially not when either or both sides were popular. If they got too rowdy, even half joking, they might spook the herd, even force them to pick sides. James was already part of one fake ‘rivalry’ and plenty happy to keep that number low. For her part, Madeline was just the nonconfrontational sort. It would have been a serious hang-up back home- nonconfrontational divas fizzle fast. That wasn’t much of a problem, here, mostly due to lack of competition.

James could already feel the crowd wavering. Of course, it wasn’t like the Rebels were going to actually rebel, but it wouldn’t be much of a challenge to shake their faith in his leadership at this point. Hell, his mistake could very well cost them all their lives. They didn’t have nearly as much time to spare before the enemies arrived as one might like, and the hike certainly wouldn’t help. He cast out his mana, allowing the ‘hooks’ to sink in, ever so slightly guiding attention back his way.

“Alright, alright,” He said, turning around to face them forthrightly. Familiar faces? Multiple useful subordinates both attentive and ready. Several people getting nervous. Mostly those under the age of twenty, unlikely to cause a stir once a goal was established. The trouble was, then, was which people he chose to take the reins. He’d spent a lot of effort befriending and investigating the people of his group, evaluating their strengths and failings, finding suitable talents. Gen got away with a much more hands-on approach, but James had made a point of delegation. The mooks died a long time ago, after all. Why not utilize the talents of those who had survived?

“You, Brett? Yeah, I want you and the boys to start working on dropping trees and weeding vines. We’re going to want ladders and ropes, too many to count.”

A sallow figure nodded and quietly shuffled off, not even bothering to check behind. Wordlessly, a whole swathe of rebels split off to follow him, falling in line. James had met Brett fairly early on, even before he’d begun his journey to real leadership. Brett was a small man, and sickly to boot, but despite his appearances, he was a force of nature- back home, he’d been the sole inheritor of a MMA gym, a role that he’d taken to like a fish to water. Few words, big punches, and at least so far as Jim had told him, Brett was the only other man in the Rebels that had a ‘military vibe’, whatever that meant.

More than a few people had doubted Brett’s prowess, but in time, it became something of a novelty. Almost every man in the camp had at one point or another challenged him to an arm-wrestling contest, and to James’ knowledge, he was still undefeated. Rather than strength, Brett explained that it was a matter of technique and tuning, but even after he’d shown everyone the ‘tricks’ he’d used to win, nobody was able to match him. Around that time, the naysayers fell away. Brett was respected enough to lead a company, but not ambitious enough to start a revolt- a solid workhorse.

James turned back around. “Madeline, I want you and most of the rest setting up camp and stripping whatever vines they bring back. You’re going to want a lot of hands, so don’t be shy.” She nodded, strutting off to make good on his orders. Madeline herself was highly competent, and had unique talents in magic, so she was a natural pick for another leadership position. Initially, James had doubted she would be as useful as she was, but long months cooperating in the forests had given him time to realize that she could handle herself. It was a small shame that she wasn’t in on the secret, but given that she seemed to have a fully functioning moral compass, it might have been for the best anyway.

Finally, he turned to Jim. “You’re managing exploration. I want you to pick out a crew and get us on a roll. Less we flounder, faster we’re out of this eternally damp hell-hole.”

The Cultivator nodded, scanning the crowd. He’d really only want one guy, any more would be inconvenient due to their mode of travel, so it’d be easiest to pick a couple and have the extras stand backup. Best case scenario, when he started pulling double-shifts, the help could swap out. Not having anyone was a tempting option, too, but the New World had shaken his confidence in ‘probably safe’.

James spoke again, though, interrupting Jim’s selection process. “In particular, I want you on duty. You, uh,” He felt absolutely certain that the man would be a good pick, but for some reason, his name was elusive. In fact, looking closer, he wasn’t sure why he recognized him at all.

The guy was familiar, sure, but it wasn’t the sort of familiarity that James felt with all of the rebels. In fact, it was more like passing glances and faded memories. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that the mystery guy didn’t belong.

“Timothy,” the guy supplied.

Timothy looked to be skittish, unremarkable, yet James now realized that he had slipped into the rebels entirely unseen. Until he’d took a closer look, he hadn’t even noticed there was something wrong, and none of the people around him seemed to realize, either. That threw out a dilemma: Was he a spy mixed into his group by Gen, and if so, should the man be outed? The two factions may be ‘enemies’, but if the General did it, surely there’d be a good reason? At the same time, why should James let him get his way without even consulting him? Decisions, decisions.

“Yeah, I want you as first pick for Jim. I have complete faith in you, soldier,” James concluded. His intuition had been good- where better to keep a spy than out in the spotlight? Hypothetically, Jim would be in danger, but James refused to believe that the General was that far gone. Timothy, for his part, looked mortified. Still, he walked on over to stand by Jim. Notably, even with the extra attention, no one seemed to notice something was wrong.

James nodded, addressing the remainder. “The rest of you, dismissed! This should be a clean operation, so go ahead and help wherever you feel you’re needed.” They wandered off, mumbling affirmations, and with that, James was free to do as he pleased. In other words, hopping groups and keeping people motivated. Some days, he felt more like a cheerleader than a Shepherd. He didn’t even spare a mind to Jim- Jim would get the picture.

He didn’t, really. Jim watched James wander off towards a team of people desperately stripping a vine, and even without direct orders, he knew what to do. That was no problem. The real mystery was why he’d got an impromptu subordinate. Jim couldn’t quite place this ‘Timothy’.

Fairly unassuming, young man, almost definitely used to be a civvie. No serious muscle, rounded features, and while he certainly wasn’t frail, he didn’t look experienced. Timothy’s posture and movement didn’t display any of the tight grace that close-quarters training would provide, and since brawn could be dismissed, Jim doubted James handed the guy over for his prowess in combat. A real mystery.

Jim stared him in the eye, smiling. To his surprise, Timothy met and held the gaze, barely recoiling once the mental effects set in. He looked a little nervous, maybe, but the standard reaction for eye-contact with a battle-hardened Cultivator was far worse than ‘a little nervous’. Shaking, shivering, maybe even some screaming and panicking, anything short of that would be impressive. His curiosity intensified- if not physical prowess, mental? Magical?

“Well, Timothy, what are you good at? I’m going to need cover, understand?” Jim quizzed him, watching carefully for his reaction.

Timothy shrugged. “Not good at anything, I don’t think. I’d rather avoid a fight, frankly, and after last time?” That did make him shiver. No likey big bugsies.

His eyes reflected honesty. Jim was puzzled for a moment, unsure what use Timothy would have at all, before finally realizing why he seemed to recognize the man. He was part of Gen’s crew. In fact, he’d been hanging around with the Gardener the last few times he saw him. So far as Jim knew, out of the City-dwellers, the Gardener was regarded as a proverbial good seed, and that raised a question- what was one of Gen’s guy, presumably part of the upper echelon, doing with the rebels?

His smile deepened. James’ decision made sense, though that didn’t mean Jim had to like it. Foist trouble off on the right-hand man, of course. Payback could come later, getting the job done was far more important. “Well, at least take a gun, yeah?” He paused, dropping his voice an octave. “I don’t care who you’re with. Don’t cause trouble.”

Now, Timothy forced a smile of his own. He might have been sweating, but it was probably the Jungle air. “A gun sounds nice!” He paused, dropping his voice an octave. “Where, uh, are those again?”

Jim fought the urge to laugh. He and the spy might get along well after all. “Limited supply, ask Brett to point you there. Grab me one too while you’re at it.” Jim turned, pointing over to a ridge on the cliff-face, tracing a line. “That bit right there looks pretty promising, so I’m going to get a head start.”

Timothy committed the scene to memory and nodded, turning to head for Brett- but there was an important question to ask first, calling over his shoulder. “Do you think there will be any bugs?”

Jim did laugh this time, but it didn’t seem like the guy was joking. “No, man, no bugs. Probably some bats and shit, but why would there be big bugs hanging around on a mountain?” He scoffed. “That’d be like giant plants blooming underground. Just doesn’t make sense, you know?” Jim took off, still chuckling, heading for the cliff.

Timothy relaxed, trotting off to go pester Brett. At least, if he could remember who Brett was…

The mountainside was somewhat less sheer than Jim thought it was at first glance. Sure, taken on average, the grade was something like eighty degrees, but his keen eyes could spot eccentricities trailing the wall. Cliffs, outcroppings, and even further up, scattered cavemouths. Climbing the mountain was looking more viable by the minute, even if it would take them a great deal of time to find a decent route up. The scouts would be busy. Unfortunately, since he was ‘the scouts’, that meant Jim would be busy.

Not that he was going to shirk away from hard work. To the contrary, no Cultivator could get anywhere behaving like a deadbeat. People had been more than a little confused about how meditation worked, going so far as to think that Jim was getting a free ride to power. Sure, cultivation involved a lot of sitting around, but once you lost the ability to sit down and veg out without having to dive headlong into an all-out war with your meridians, that became a lot less appealing. Genuine relaxation was a rare thing, though Jim might have preferred it like that.

He took off, flying into the air. Forgoing relaxation for the ability to defy one of the most fundamental laws of nature at will would be payment enough for most, anyway. He got to moving, jetting up towards the outcrop he pointed out before. It was a bit off to the east of their new campsite, and about ten meters up. The gradually eroding protrusion of slate jutting out from the limestone shelf was more evidence of the mountain’s extremely eccentric transformation pattern, but to Jim it was mostly just a darkly colored stone foothold stuck in a not-so-dark cliff. Not like he was a Geologist back on Earth, after all.

The surface seemed solid enough to stand on, and when Jim landed, it didn’t budge. The platform was a bit dusty and bumpy, but otherwise it seemed pretty serviceable. All-in-all, it would be a reasonable first hop to start to their ascent. He’d have preferred to get one closer to the ground, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. At least it seemed like there was a better selection further up.

In fact, Jim hadn’t even seen some of the things he could now. Gentle bulges in the mountainside above, probable signs of ledges and smaller cliffs, and a number of hidey-hole caves at odd intervals- one even quite close to the platform he landed on! A cave would be fantastic, a good way to get camp set up reasonably far off the ground. Sure, humans and New World caves apparently didn’t have the best track-record, but it had to be better than the Jungle floor. They’d fought their way through enough dog-cat-packs for a decade or two.

The nearest cavemouth was a pothole of a thing, but sitting at maybe two meters tall and three wide, it was at least good enough to investigate. Jim took off once more, jetting off towards the hole. The cave was deeper than he expected, and plenty dark. Light filtered in at an angle, the sun revealing only a bit of its interior. Bumpy rock, consistent limestone, no hint of a back wall. Without a light, he wouldn’t get far.

Throwing up a hand, he brought out an orb of Qi. The ethereal flame cast thin rays of light, brightening at least a portion of the cave. If he pumped more power into it he could brighten things up more, or if he added more balls, but wasting that much power wouldn’t be necessary, at least not immediately.

Floating it around, he got a decent picture of the cave at large. It was more of a tunnel, staying narrow, but it was remarkably long. After a short walk, the tunnel began to curve upwards, surprising Jim once more. If the cave turned out to take them up to a higher hole, it would be a veritable gold-mine. That wasn’t all, either, the cave was surprisingly damp, and if that meant a reasonable source of off-ground water, they could spend more time building and lest time foraging. He swiped a finger on the floor below; it came back vaguely soggy.

Jim floated his ball of qi close to the wall, and sure enough, there was a thin trickle of water dangling from the wall, seemingly suspended in the air. Jim conjured up another ball of approximately the same size and lobbed it over to the other wall. He hurried along, trailing the trickle of water. The left wall was bumpy and meandering, drifting off and widening the cave somewhat, while the right wall he traced was smooth and gradual. He followed it for a good while, but with a start, he realized that the other orb vanished.

A fork in the road? Jim backtracked, letting the balls follow him back, and sure enough, the other light reappeared. Dragging it closer, it revealed the fork, a thin wedge that split the cave in two. Both outlets went up and away, but after a moment of deliberation, he decided to stick with the right side. The left one’s walls and floor was bumpier, dryer, while the right one seemed to be getting increasingly damp and smooth.

Re-aligning the orbs, he started again, though a little more carefully, more deliberately. After a long walk, and a few unfortunate encounters with stalactites, the curve sharpened, hall widening as the angles drifted. Two twists later and the walls finally fell away entirely. Jim halted, maneuvering his lights, trying to get a feel for the space.

First, he pulled them back. Rather than vanishing, the stretch of the walls changed angle sharply, opening into something far more cavernous. Then, he lowered the orbs, trailing the corners near the wall. The floor was smooth stone, almost polished, like it had been worn into glass. Swinging the orbs closer together, he watched as it changed entirely. Rays bounced aimlessly off of the pristine reflective pool, a massive body of water spanning the middle of the room- a jackpot. He lowered the orbs into the water, probing depth.

It’s not easy to get flames underwater, but Jim’s cultivation didn’t always play by the rules. Just for fun, he pumped a good deal of qi into the two orbs, enjoying the sudden refraction as the beams of light began to brighten more of the room. The pool turned out to only be something like a meter deep, but that was still plenty of water for a good while, assuming it was reasonably potable.

The cavern was even bigger than he thought, a tall dome. Tunnels went off in every direction, scattered pockmarks, though Jim could only barely see them in the dim light. The lake was impressively wide, too, and the water was belatedly unremarkable, though the reflection in it was anything but. A massive spearhead, poked up from the water, in reality a huge stalactite that seemed almost impossibly large, the lowest point barely hanging outside of the pool.

The stalactite, too, was perforated with holes. At the same time, these holes were smaller, only big enough for a person or two to crawl through, and fairly rare. For the second time in one day, Jim was struck with an odd sense of familiarity. Why was this unearthly fixture ringing a bell? Actually, looking at the reflection, it was awfully reminiscent of a termite mound. A coincidence, of course.

Insectoid chittering swamped the cavern, amplified by the enclosed space’s natural reverb. Black shapes swarmed from the stalactite- no, huge bugs with white abdomens and fat black heads, no doubt hunting down a certain pale mammal.

Jim got the fuck outta there, sprinting like a madman back through the tunnel. He didn’t even bother to cut off or maneuver the balls of qi, letting them fizzle out naturally as he got too far away; there was no time to waste. The insects were impressively swift, confident scurrying putting his preternatural speed was put to the test. The sound of grinding mandibles chased him all the way, never far enough behind to get comfortable.

Thankfully, sunlight came fast. Going in certainly felt longer than coming out, not that Jim was about to complain. He dove out the gap, desperately rallying his qi. With some effort he caught himself in the air, pirouetting through the sky, barely noticing a figure standing just below.

“The hell is going on?” Timothy shouted up, mildly peeved. He had jogged over to the site with two rifles and assorted ammunition expecting to find someone waiting for him at the cliff, but he’d been standing there for a good while, and now his new boss was tumbling out of God knows where at a breakneck pace.

“Throw the gun and run! Do it, now!” Jim shouted down, frantically diving towards the young man.

“I, uh, okay?” The words didn’t click for a moment, and when they did, he didn’t make much of an effort of it. Timothy wasn’t some sports star before the abduction, so having a heart attack over it wouldn’t do anyone any good. He primed, ready to give the chuck his best shot… Massive black termite-things flushed the mountainside, scattering any which way, probing the area Jim just flew out of. Bugs big enough to conjure up recent unpleasant memories- Timothy whipped around and chucked the gun as hard as he could, breaking into an out-and-out sprint. The gun tumbled through the air, and in a stroke of blind luck, it landed readily in the Cultivator’s outstretched hands.

“You said there wouldn’t be any more bugs!” The guy screamed, running hard and fast towards the Jungle. He had a good head-start, but looking over his shoulder, the ten-odd black shapes seemed to be making up their mind on which way to go. Given his luck, that would probably mean right towards him.

Jim whirled back towards the cave-mouth, gun outstretched. The flight turned into a dive. Even if the termites scattered somewhat, it wouldn’t be long until they found their way to the jungle floor. It’d be much easier to go ahead and take them out while they were away from the foliage.

“Give me a minute and there won’t be!” He shouted, firing a few shots at the bug closest to the ground. A few bullets sunk through its carapace, thankfully nowhere near as hard or thick as the Gorgon Bug. That meant one down. He swerved, flying low to the mountainside, and nearly skidding along it, he fired shots straight at another- those, too, struck true, the carcass tumbling away. The bugs seemed to catch on, though, and they marched, a unified downward sprint. Jim tried to follow up, but they were fast, too fast for any immediate action.

Timothy kept running, throwing scared glances over his shoulder. Even running, he hadn’t made it that far away, but sure enough, the bugs nearly made it to the ground. A bug practically exploded as it touched ground, several bullets sinking into it from above. The flying man halted in the air, ready to unleash hell on the bugs below- but nothing came. As far as Timothy could tell, the bullets weren’t coming.

“You’ve got to clean this up!” Jim shouted, “I’m jammed!”

Shaking, Timothy raised his gun, all of the fear from his last insectoid encounter rushing back to him. Unlike before, though, there was no magically empowered adrenaline to force him to be confident enough to move. It’d be up to him, and him alone. The rest of the bugs touched ground, taking off towards their nearest (valid) target, otherwise known as ‘that guy named Timothy’.

The first shots were wild, but he managed to hit one, grazing it twice before landing a fatal blow. That bug dropped dead, and Jim took aim again, looking over to another, firing desperately. Yet the insects drew closer, bearing down on him. Normal termites aren’t all that intimidating, little wood-chewing bugs, but these huge things were a whole different story. Pitch-black heads, nearly featureless, save two massive mandibles, guillotining blades made specially to fuck with Timothy’s head. The next bug fell, struck by a stray shot, not even his target.

He redoubled, shooting as cleanly as his meager talent could possibly manage. It became hard to tell how many bugs there were, precisely, their black shelled heads blending into a near-seamless mass. By the time the gap finally closed, only two of the massive insects remained, that much was clear.

He threw himself to the side as the nearer one charged, mandibles cleaving empty air. Timothy shot at it desperately, poking holes in the sides of its head. The corpse spun away, leaving only one, but it was none too pleased by the turn of events. It whirled about, leaping out to try and finish the job. Mandibles bared, and Timothy tried to shoot at it, but to his dismay, his own clicked- there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Jim could, though. He dove through the trees, gun-first, and slammed into the bug’s head from above. Human and bug fell together, carbine sinking deep into the chitin, bent beyond recognition- don’t bring a gun to a spear fight. On Jim’s end, the impact was more than a little unpleasant, but he’d live.

Timothy watched as the Cultivator slowly pulled himself to his feet, shoving away the termite carcass as he toddled about, dazed. After a long moment, Jim refocused, and he walked over smiling. “Nice shooting, kid.”

Some rebels started to wander up, probably taking keen notice of the sudden bout gunshots.

“Please tell me that was all of them?” Timothy asked, practically pleading.

Jim’s smile changed, twisting into something vicious. “You and I are going to have a really good time together.”