As Lic and I reached the steps leading to the gate, the crowd around us dispersed, clearing the way. Everyone present felt the pulse from my armacus, was terrified by it and quickly cleared the way for the highborn lawmaker monster who owned their lives.

“I will wait for you at the steps, go on,” Lic said, nudging me forward.

“Sure,” I said, stepping closer to the spooky gate. Did Eunice find one of these Inarian gates somewhere in the Chasm and modify it, weaponize it? Was she using the gate as the foci for her divinity-harvesting? I wouldn't put it past her to do something like that.

I stepped beneath the gate and stared at the black metallic surface, trying to spot magic. There wasn’t any magic there. I squinted harder. The gate was completely inert, dead to my cendai senses.

“What the hell? What am I doing wrong?” I glanced at Dawn. Dawn and the necklace that powered her were lit up like a Christmas tree in my magic-sight.

I looked back at the gate again. Nothing. There was Nothing magical powering the gate, nothing telling it what to do. It wasn't covered in runes like the End Gate that Eunice owned. The hair on the back of my head stood up. I froze, panicking.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “There’s no magic here.”

“Yes. This… thing is just an inert piece of metal,” Dawn commented. “There’s no magic in it.”

“Are you sure I won’t die?” I whispered. My trust in Dawn’s future-sense was dropping rapidly, just like the hexagonal path beneath my feet was getting darker and spookier as I stepped forward.

“You’ll be fine,” Dawn said.

“I don’t like this,” I whispered. “Why is it called the Shogun Gate?”

“I am a drawing… I really don’t have all the answers,” Dawn shrugged. “Do you know what it means?”

“Shogun is a Japanese word, the title of the military dictators of Japan for a period that spanned nearly seven hundred years…” I whispered.

The world around us suddenly flickered. As it did, all color faded, drained away from everything. I looked around Undertown. There were no longer people filling the streets, no magic lanterns were lit. Mountains of grayscale junk and… human bones extended in all directions.

“The Still Forest,” I whispered, shuddering.

“Erk,” Dawn gulped from my dress beneath the armor. “Something is off.”

Something was indeed terribly off. The Still Forest around us was fake, false... as if it was painted by wide brushstrokes on a circular screen-like surface. There was perfectly breathable air where we stood. Gravity didn’t vanish away. We didn’t actually sink into the Astral Ocean, didn’t dive beneath the surface of the physical reality into the abyssal necropolis.

A ghostly image manifested in front of us. It was a very smudged image, a semi-transparent, indistinct imprint of a teenager boy wearing a peasant’s tunic.

“Hello?” He suddenly said in Russian. “One, two, three, testing. Is this thing on, can anyone hear me?”

“Hello,” I automatically replied in Russian, feeling utterly stupefied.

“Oh good,” the flickering ghostly figure said. “I think I got someone important! It works!”

“Whom?” A female voice asked from somewhere, also speaking Russian.

“I have no idea,” the teenager shrugged.

I blinked, not knowing what to say. Who was this young ghost painted from silver sparks that spoke Russian? Surely, this wasn’t Grogtilda’s grandfather! Surely...

“My name is Doctor Vladislav Alexandrovich Kerenski,” the boy said. “Who am I speaking with?”

“W-what?” I muttered, my eyes wide.

It couldn't be. It JUST couldn't be. This boy was nothing like my grandfather from Earth! The voice didn’t even sound the same… and yet…

“We don’t have much time, so let's not waste it,” the ghost said. “You must be incredibly far away. The Astral Radionic is eating about a thousand mana per second from my chimera companion. What’s your name?”

“My name is… Yulia Ishenko,” I said, my hands trembling.

“I’m currently broadcasting from Novazem, Skyisle… Where is your receiver station, Yulia?” Vladislav asked.

“Andross…” I said, my voice barely able to make coherent words. “The Undertown of Illatius. Are you with the necromages? Are you working for the Almn-Inians?”

“No. The Almn-Inians have been dead for a very long time,” Vladislav replied. “Their cities have been atomized into shadows and dust, turned into magogenic zones where nothing living survives. A Basq warship killed the last Alanian Sentinel over a thousand years ago.”

“What’s she saying, Slava?” A third, female voice cut in, speaking in a language that sounded almost like Basq. “I don’t understand a word of that. My core is almost out of mana.”

I felt that my heart was getting torn asunder. There was only one inescapable conclusion, one impossible answer.

“I love you,” I whispered, my eyes filling with tears. “I lost you in Donetsk two decades ago… but if you’re on Novazem now... then maybe somehow, someday I’ll find you…”

“What?!” The ghost of the teenager stammered. “You’re…”

“I can’t hold on to the connection…” The female voice yelped.

My eyes were filled with tears, the view blurry, indistinct.

“...grandfather,” I whispered as the image of the boy fell apart into dancing sparks and the view of the Still Forest faded away, the patchwork of colors of Undertown returning.

I now knew why the woman who had departed from this damn gate in front of me was crying. I couldn't stop bawling my eyes out either.

Sadness turned to anger. My fists closed.

“Bring him back!” I yelled at the gate through my tears. “I have so much more to tell him! Reconnect us, damn you!”

Silence was ringing in my ears. I was given hope, hope bound with an impossible voice from another moon from possibly... a thousand years in the future.

“Bring him back, you stupid gate! Come out and talk to me, you stupid-ass death-goddess! What the hell was that? I want answers, do you hear me?!” I barked as I swung my armored fist at the nearest hexagonal panel.

It felt like I punched a wall of solid rock. The End Gate didn’t even wobble. It simply withstood my attack, just as it had withstood the ages that tried to wear it away.

Lic rushed up the stairwell and hugged me. “You won’t be able to get more time. Countless upworld mages, inspectors, Guilders and Undertown denizens have tried to beg the gate for more time or further answers. Many have tried to bring it down, to tear it asunder in their rage and sorrow. It is impervious to all magic. It has withstood, didn’t even heat up when this district was set aflame by the revolt of the lowborns decades ago. Five hundred heartbeats, daughter… just once a year, that’s all the time our lady Sempiternity can give each person.”

I wanted to scream at Lic, to tell him that this wasn’t the ghost of my grandfather, that it couldn't have been my grandfather, that none of it made any sense… and yet… I knew that I couldn't say anything, because an Undertown-born cobbler wouldn’t understand any of it.

I barely understood it myself.

“That was… very strange,” Dawn commented. “Depictomancy without magic? Maybe it uses so little magic that I simply can’t observe it?”

I simply held onto Lic and cried as sorrow and the inability to do anything replaced anger. The debitor cobbler wasn’t my father. I couldn't even remember my own parents, lost them when I was too young… and yet, the part of me that was Grogtilda cherished this embrace, made me feel accepted and loved, made me feel like I belonged.

“L-let's go home, dad,” I whispered.

I needed to think, needed to try to understand what it all meant.

As we departed, I looked back at the Shogun Gate and for a second I thought I saw someone standing there. A female figure composed from neither darkness, nor light. The thing looked like a shadow printed in the air, like something that didn’t belong, didn’t fit into the world. The figure nodded at me with an eerie smile forged from tv static.

“Infi?” My lips whispered.

When I blinked, the shadow was gone, as if she had never existed to begin with.

“D-did you see that?” I trembled.

“Hrm?” Dawn asked.

“A… shadowy figure in the gate?” I whispered.

“No, there’s nothing there,” Dawn said. “Nothing magical. Not a single blip in the Astral.”

“The goddess of darkness watches over her children from the shadows,” Lic uttered with an undertone of devotion. “For she is the only one that cares for the forgotten and abandoned. To bear witness to her is a rare sign, my daughter!”

“S-she nodded, smiled at me,” I stammered.

“Ah! Perhaps she has chosen you,” Lic smiled reverently.

“W-what?” I looked at the cobbler in concern.

“As a bearer of Sempiternity!” He boasted.

I gulped. As if I didn’t have enough problems on my plate.

I tried to relax, stretching on my hanging bed inside of Saccy. The Folding Seed was standing in Grotilda’s tiny bedroom, which had been mostly tidied up. I had no idea what to do with the bag full of garbage. I didn't want to chuck it back into the river below, didn't want to add to the gross mess that was Undertown. To drive away the rising feeling of dread and confusion that was trying to get hold of me, I decided to re-evaluate my existing resources.

To start off, I dove into my stats and expanded, modified the [Calculator] into a [Resource manager] list. I created a chart within it that listed my friends, possessions and the skills they had.

[Resources]:

1. Alessi:

Chimera Engram expert [historic knowledge of the Chasm] Chasm expert [knowledge of monsters and plants] Chimera gatherer [harvesting rare plants] Chimera hunter [once her broken hand heals] Crystalline-organic gems [renewable]

2. Isahcs:

Crystalline-organic gems [renewable] Chimera hunter [harvesting rare monsters]

3. Saccy:

Folding Manifestation [storage of items, bedroom, potential mini-workshop if the space inside was expanded] Production of Topaz [paralyzing sap] Brain-root [Feed a live criminal to her, see if she can become fully sentient?] Root legs [Last resort weapon, can slowly strangle someone with one]

4. Lambert:

Wisdom & Intelligence maxer [Uncovering Secrets] Lomb Constabulary [Access to Imperial maps and Illatius Constabulary employment, crime records and misc stats]

5. Anniya:

Access to Lomb shops [Buying dresses, general tools, paint and makeup]

6. Antoine:

Artificer [Metal & Crystal specialty] Metalworking workshop Potential Master [for studying Artifactoria] Artificer Guild records and data

7. Dawn:

Depictomancy instructor [If I can activate her paintings in Nemendias] Precog [Vague ‘pathfinder’ good/bad choice guide] Astral Tree [Can see magic / astral imprints]

8. Lic:

Leatherworking magic [Cobblermancy] Undertown history Undertown connections

Was this it? No. It wasn’t. With some reluctance I added Grogtilda’s mother to the list.

9. Nandine:

Ex-adventurer [Access to the Diver’s Guild in Illatius?] What magic does she know?

I paused for a moment. Then I listed the artifacts and weapons that I had on me and inside Saccy.

Tools:

-Armacus 1

-Armacus 2

-Armacus cleaning kit

-Diver’s headlamp

-Makeup set

-Sewing kit

-Ropes and nets

-Hammer and nails

-Notebook and pencils

-Grogtilda’s leather diver armor

-Nightcralwer anti-phantom barrier armor

-Two hammock beds

-Nightcrawler sword

-Soul-carving knife

-Match-receptor ring

-Puzzle-sphere toy

One item immediately stood out from the list - something that I didn’t buy in Lomb or make myself.

The black artifact knife given to me by Eunice. I pulled the knife from its leather sheath and looked at it, twirling it in the light of my diver's headlamp.

As I stared at it, examined it anew, my eyes went wide. The knife bore the same hexagonal texture that the End Gate possessed. This knife was… truly arcane. Eunice didn’t make it either! It was a weapon from Inaria, a tool of the ancient, long gone civilization.

I pondered about the inexplicable knife that could carve apart the souls. Its edge never dulled. What if I used it on the Shogun Gate? Would it be able to damage the gate, carve a chunk off or would it simply bounce off it? Would it break against the gate?

...Did Eunice use this knife to carve runes into her gate?!

I had this knife for a while and I had mostly disregarded it, never pondered how it worked beyond its base function of neatly cutting off pieces of my soul. The knife definitely held some sort of hidden potential within it. Possibilities that I had not thought about, not tested properly.

1. The knife existed in both physical and the Astral.

2. It could damage... injure souls.

Dark thoughts started to dance in my head.

If the knife carved souls… would it be able to hurt Astral Phantoms? Could it disrupt spells or tear through magic shields? Could it maybe take apart, disrupt hexagrams just as easily as souls?

Could it permanently cut down, kill something like Dawn?

My eyebrows went up as I twirled the black knife.

I listened to it and I swished the air with the knife, trying to understand it on a personal level. The Inarian artifact was a mystery. Like the End Gate it had once belonged to the gods that built Novazem and Andross and potentially turned the Earth into the infinite, dead city.

Could it be the key to whatever the Good Directorate was… whatever strange mysteries the immovable End Gate held?

A dark thought percolated through my head.

Could I use it to hurt… things that weren’t souls?

Could I direct it to kill something that wasn’t exactly alive? My eyes settled on a little, self-reading kids book in my pile of unsorted, magical junk from the Misem household. The hexagrams in the book have been badly damaged, mostly eaten through by some kind of black-brown mold. There was a little bit of magic left in the book, power locked away in its pages. Could I use the arcane knife to destroy, vanquish this power, just as I had carved apart my own soul for three long years?

I flung the book into the air and stabbed right through it with the obsidian knife with a desire to end its suffering, with a wish to destroy it, to bisect whatever held it together, to end its soul, to strike the object not just within the physical but also in the Astral. To tear it asunder with the immovable power of the End Gate... to shatter it with the terrifying, unfathomable, abominable something that was the infinite city on the surface of Inaria.

In that instant something happened. When the knife struck the book, the book rippled as if it was made from fluid, its dirty cover flashed with a dying hiss. The little book ignited, its pages flashing, burning away in radiant, impossible colors. The book fell apart, but not into its constituent pages. It simply decayed, sparkled away into white, crystalline dust.

I caught some of the white dust into my gloved hand. It looked like plain, clear, very fine sand.

[+ 2 XP]

“What the shit? Did I just… kill a magic book? Are you f-freaking kidding me?” I stared at the small pile of white silica on the floor and in my hand.

I stared at the knife in my hands. This was a weapon. An absolute weapon. In a game of rock, paper, scissors this knife was the ultimate scissors that could cut apart, destroy concepts... kill the souls of objects, rip experience out of them.

My mouth fell open as I stared at the pile of white dust on Saccy’s floor. Holy shit.

I ripped a page from my drawing notebook and swung the knife at it without thought.

The knife simply cleaved the paper in half. Hrrm. So it only works… if I want to destroy, end the soul of an object? Does paper have a soul?

Surely…

I let the half-sliced piece of paper fly through the air in front of me. Then, I swung the knife at the paper both in the real and in the Astral, wishing to kill, to dismantle the paper’s soul, to end it as a concept forever. To disrupt its function, to vanquish it with Sempiternity.

The paper hissed when it encountered the black knife, fell apart into colorful, sparkling and then pale, white dust.

[+0.04 XP]

I started to laugh madly, my wild, villainous laughter bouncing within Saccy's interior.

It was time to kill things. It was time to clean up Undertown!