Pulling himself out of his spirit well was a surreal experience. For one, both his body and spirit were far sharper and refined than before. Every breath he took, he could taste the spiritual aura around him, could feel his body feasting on it as his spirit well hummed.

He also felt like throwing up as his own stench made him gasp. It was truly horrendous and Nimh had to blink rapidly to keep his eyes from watering. He needed to bathe but was also unfamiliar with the amenities of this world.

Which bought his attention to the last oddity? Marcus was present, using his own senses like a backseat driver. His own opinions mirrored Nimh’s own.

He needed a shower. Though Nimh had no idea what that was.

Dubiously, he rose, stretching his limbs with a glorious release. It felt good to have a modicum of power again. Then, following the urging of Marcus, Nimh explored the upper floor until he found a strange-looking room.

The floors were a smooth material, shiny yet oddly abrasive. The walls, a matching material and a cubicle that took up half the room. Nimh thought it was made of reforged crystal, it was transparent enough and at a tap, a dull echo rang out.

Marcus then guided Nimh on the most luxurious and satisfying experience with water of his life.

“Better than the cleansing pool back home,” Nimh admitted. Though now he had another problem.

The clothes he had discarded before his shower, as Marcus called it, were foul rags that Nimh refused to touch, much less accept as clothes. With a shudder, he found a towel and wrapped it around his waist as he went looking for clothes.

At some point, he passed a mirror and Marcus gave a start of surprise.

“What did you do to my body?” the spirit asked in wonder.

Nimh shrugged, ignoring the reflection as he searched. “The physical arts will adapt the body. Make it stronger, more durable and a few other helpful benefits.”

“But. You have muscles. How did you do that in just a day?”

“Like I said,” Nimh said simply. “I know a lot of things that will help you when you pass on. Spirit arts and physical arts are cornerstones of advancement. You had no foundation, so you were weak and flimsy. Now that I’ve made the foundation, it will be easier to advance.”

“The people from your world must have been powerful.” Marcus mused.

Finally, Nimh found some clothes and began dressing, mulling over Marcus’ words.

“Yes and no,” he said at length. “I would say we are more disciplined. Our spirit arts are perhaps more advanced, though I suspect at the higher Ranks here, your people have the potential to accumulate power faster. Same with the physical arts.”

That seemed to catch Marcus off guard. “So, my people are stronger than yours?” he asked.

“Power and strength are different,” Nimh said casually. “A raging river can sweep away a man, but a man can learn to harness, manipulate, and control the river’s power. So, which is stronger, and which is more powerful?”

Nimh shrugged. “But that is a theoretical debate. To put it in simple terms, yes, the higher Ranks of your people are stronger than my own. This world has a great deal more ambient power than the world’s my people control. In saying that, I would bet on the majority of my people being a match for any of your middle Ranks. S Ranks to B Ranks, you win. C Ranks to E Ranks, your lacking spirit arts would be the end of you.”

Nimh walked back to the mirror, clad in what Nimh assumed was Wolfgang’s attire. He looked himself up and down. The clothes were simple, black pants that looked tidy, yet wouldn’t prohibit movement. A shirt, white and pressed, buttoned up to the collarbone. The shoes had been an issue. It seemed that Wolfgang had far larger feet than Marcus did.

Marcus was silent, though Nimh could sense his envy.

“Your people control more than one world?” Marcus asked.

“Yeah,” Nimh said. “We have a lot of worlds, and I suspect we only control them because they are so weak in terms of ambient power.”

“You sound bitter about that,” Marcus said and Nimh felt a stab of contempt from the spirit.

“Every twenty years,” Nimh began, “my people have a ceremony. The men, above the age of twenty-five, are selected to become spirit invaders. It is our way, and it is the prerogative of my people. Those men are put to death, their bodies put to rest with respect and honour, while their spirits and minds are sent into the Realm of Infinite Dreams.”

Nimh paused, his eyes glaring into his reflection. He had to admit that Marcus had a handsome body, Meira may even approve. If he ever got back to her.

“But why?” Marcus asked. “That’s a lot of people to just kill off.”

“There are reasons,” Nimh said, giving a non-answer. “Anyway, our last census showed we had control of one thousand, three hundred and eighty-one worlds. Technically I suppose it’s an empire, but those worlds are largely self-governed.”

Nimh felt Marcus’s shock. “How are there so many worlds?” he asked.

“That is a good question. And I have no answer. I suspect you can start to grasp just how many of my fellow men are sacrificed for these invasions though. Each of those worlds complies with our way and has done for so long that even our histories cannot trace the beginning. More than a thousand worlds, each sending millions of their men every twenty years. And so many failed to conquer a world.”

Bitter memories gnawed at him, as Nimh struggled to maintain his composure. Just how many of his people had found worlds like this one, so dense with ambient power that it could launch their people into a new age of advancement? The thought burned in him, even Marcus was silent at the scope.

“Yes,” Nimh said, ice in his voice. “I am bitter at how easily your people could advance. The potential and opportunities you could seize if you knew how. And I find it laughable that there exists so many people like you, F Ranks that are so weak that even a child from the most destitute corner of my people's civilization could kill with ease.”

Breathing deeply, Nimh conquered his anger. He would take this world, even if it killed him. The bounty it could unlock for his people was too great for him to fail.

“Your people may have come here before,” Marcus said softly. “There are tales of people clawing their way up from F Rank and ascending the higher Ranks. But they all go toppled. I don’t think you can conquer this world.”

Nimh heard the words but refused to let them sway him. He had less than three years to do what Marcus thought was impossible. They existed in different worlds and Nimh would show Marcus what was possible. Even if it killed them.

Turning away from the mirror, Nimh began his descent down to the lower floors. To where the prisoners were kept.

Now that his spirit well was reforged and he had regained some meagre measure of his old power, Nimh could spread his spirit sense throughout the building. And he detected the eight prisoners and the sordid state of their existence.

It might be kinder just to kill them.

But, Nimh needed support and he knew he couldn’t conquer this world without building something to support his ascension. Maybe a saintly hand could turn those retches into loyal subordinates?

Either that or they would become treacherous nuisances that would turn on him when they gained a modicum of power. Anything was possible.

Nimh had a solution to that, but first, he wanted to meet them.

“What are you planning?” Marcus asked.

“I’m looking to build an army,” Nimh said as he reached the first door. There was a key hanging from it, so Nimh took it and unlocked the door.

Within the chamber, was a ragged mess of a boy. All bones, no meat and hollow eyes. He sat in the corner, rocking side to side, mouth moving but no sound came out. He looked no older than ten.

“Damnation.” Marcus cursed. “What did they do to him?”

Nimh looked at the boy. “I should have tortured Wolfgang more before I killed him.” He growled softly, catching the boy's attention.

Then the boy looked away, rocking, and mumbling to himself.

Stepping out of the room, Nimh relocked the door. He didn’t want the boy to wander out and hurt himself. Unfortunately, each room he looked into had a similar occupant. Broken children in a state of living unconsciousness.

It turned Nimh’s stomach to see, and with each child, relocking the door, his anger built. How could a society let this happen? To children!

It was one more reason to take it over, burn it to the ground and start anew. He would be damned if he raised a child in a world where this was happening.

“It’s not such an uncommon occurrence,” Marcus whispered. “Strength is everything in this city. Most of the gang lords have their own collection of toys. Trophy’s taken by rivals, or just debtors forced to sell their kids.”

“Marcus.” Nimh silently spoke. “Shut up.”

The last room was before him. With a heavy heart, Nimh unlocked the door and entered. And was promptly bowled over as a wild wisp of a girl tackled him, clawing at his face like an animal. She screamed, wild, garbled words as he rolled backwards, pulling her with him before pinning her to the ground.

She kept kicking at him and tried clawing at him again, but Nimh caught her hands and pulled them together, pushing them lightly into her chest.

“Stop.” He said, keeping his voice as calm as he could.

She snarled, shrugging fruitlessly. Nimh was impressed. F Rank, for sure, but still, he could sense a sliver of vitality coursing through her. Very impressed.

She was, he realised a young woman. Perhaps in her late teens. Dirty brown hair and wild blue eyes. If Marcus had even a portion of this girl's spirit, Nimh may not have been able to possess it.

The thought made Marcus protest, but Nimh ignored him.

For a long time, he remained in a half-seated potion, holding the girl in place below him. At some point, she realised her legs were still free, so she started kneeing his back. He weathered the blows, using his vital energy to heal the minute injuries.

Then she flagged, exhaustion, starvation and just plain defeat sinking in. Nimh did not let her go.

“Hello.” He said, keeping his tone light. “My name is Nimh. What’s your name?”

Despite her exhaustion, the girl still glared at him, open rebellion in her eyes. Nimh nodded.

“I see, So Wolfgang and his men were holding you, prisoner.” His eyes darkened. “I’ve seen the state of your fellow captives. I can only assume what you’ve been through.”

The girl shivered and Nimh nodded again.

“You have my condolences. But please understand, I am not your enemy. The men that did those things to you are dead or fleeing like cowards. You are in no danger.”

She looked at him as if she was looking at a liar. In a way she was.

“I am going to let you go. Please don’t try attacking me again, you will only hurt yourself.” Then slowly, he let her go and got off her. Stepping back slowly, hands raised.

Trembling, the girl rolled over and staggered to her feet. She was quite short and Nimh began questioning his first impression of her age. Her figure was not that of a child and wondered if she was closer to Marcus in age. Maybe a year or two younger?

He quirked an eyebrow. “So, what’s your name? Or can you not speak?”

The girl glared at him in open hostility. Nimh didn’t mind. She had gone through hell after all.

“Keira.” She spat. “My name is Keira.”