Chapter Twenty-Seven.

He's copying them. He's copying my [Blightlings] and I'm the only reason he can do it. Am I being a little hard on myself? Maybe. But I'm not wrong.

It didn't take me very long to figure out once I actually saw the horde of Skritter-copies drinking in the local mana. It was all to do with the first time my magic had really been tested— way back in the Deep Hollows. I'd fought against an endless swarm of bugs called the Bane. They were dog-sized, carnivorous isopods that could replicate purely by consuming the ambient magical energy; rapidly spreading from a single bug to a limitless, all-consuming swarm. The only reason they hadn’t destroyed the world was the fact that their replication ability made them obscenely weak to any magical attack. Hell, the first time I ever fought them had been an object lesson from Veris.

I’d eaten a lot of them. They were weirdly delicious.

More important than their taste though, was the ability I’d unlocked from my diet being based solely around them for weeks on end: [Manavore]. I could still remember the notification.

Attention.

Excessive consumption of entity [Corrupted Giant Isopod] has caused a mutation!

Current Mutation Effect:[Manavore]

Enables ability to sustain biomass on ambient mana alone. Drastically reduces resistance to foreign mana when in use. Can be toggled on/off at will. Mutation applies retroactively to all progeny of [Corrupted Blight Pit].

When two scourges of the deep collide, the strongest will grow ever more powerful by feasting on the fallen.

It was an ability that had literally saved my life during the chase afterwards, because without it as a [Blight Pit] I would have literally eaten myself to death trying to escape the hunter teams that had forced me down into the undersea. But what clinched it all for me was those three little words in the description, "current mutation effect".

At the time, I'd been kind of excited to think about where I could evolve next. Now I know, and in hindsight it's obvious.

Replication.

I'd never made a whole lot of minions because— I'll happily admit— I got too attached to them. They hadn't been expendable to me despite what Dezzahn clearly intended with his whole "limitless armies'' thing. Each of them had unique personalities, and I'd watched them grow through their various evolutions from murdery toddlers to equally murdery teenagers. They'd become family, and with the loss of my memories, they were the only ones I could even remember. I couldn't just replace them, but clearly Dezzahn had no such reservations.

When I'd escaped, he must have captured them, and for a being as old as he was it would have been easy to exploit what I'd left behind. He'd never finished the process of taking back the body I'd 'stolen' from him when I came into this world— courtesy of a certain meddling fate goddess— which meant he never took back my ability to create [Blightlings]. But while I got the impression that my initial creation had been too expensive for him to easily replace me, I'd basically left a gift-wrapped solution for him. All he'd have to do is pump them full of mana and biomass until they evolve, easily done for an ancient monster in the Kaiju graveyard of the undersea.

I wasn't sure how accurate my assumptions were but… it all fit with what I knew. It also meant that… maybe they were still alive. I tried to crush that hope again and again but it crept back into my mind like a persistent cockroach, bringing with it a crushing amount of guilt. The feeling made me want to find this chasm down to the Hollows and dive in headfirst; to know what actually happened no matter the cost.

Tiredly, I let the feeling pass.

After a full night of vengeful, hate-fueled monster hunting I was completely wrung out. There was no closure when the last of the copies burned to ashes. No sense of resolution when I'd vented the last of my anger into the muddy swamp. When I looked out across the ravaged landscape below… all I felt was the hollow aftermath of a truly colossal temper tantrum and the exhaustion of a night without sleep.

What… what am I doing?

Following the connection my soul had to the runes inscribed by the villagers, I turned in the air and started my way back to the caravan. That’s when I noticed that several of those runes were now broken, and dark. A pit opened up in my stomach as I realized I’d left the villagers defenseless when I’d flown off to hunt down the copies.

Oh no…

I poured on every ounce of speed I could wring from my tired body and shot back to the ships.

The familiar burn of mana-overuse was making my body ache by the time I arrived, but I pushed that into the back of my mind as I saw smoke rising from the outskirts of the flotilla. Hurtling to the ground, there were shouts of alarm from several villagers that I ignored. From the look of things, the fight was long over.

Damn it, I'm too late.

"Where is Nezzick?" My voice boomed out, freezing the nearby villagers in place with terror.

Oh come on.

I transformed, my body seeming to compress inwards as my human form returned to prominence. I was also buck naked, but as my cheeks flushed in momentary embarrassment I felt a slight tugging from the rune in my soul. A burst of energy flowed out from between my shoulders, spreading out in a cloud of stellar phenomena before solidifying into my upgraded coat. I poked at the fabric wonderingly for a moment before hurriedly pulling it closed around my waist.

Well… that's handy. Now I'll just look like an emo flasher instead of a nudist every time I transform. Progress?

Shaking my head, I called out again.

"Where is Nezzick?"

"I am here, Great One."

The shaman stalked forward suddenly from the frozen crowd, a place I'm pretty sure I checked a second ago and he wasn't there. The old man looked as exhausted as I was, though his eyes lacked the shell-shocked expression of the villagers nearby.

"How may I serve?"

Taken aback by the calm delivery I quickly glanced over the flotilla.

"The attack, are you guys ok? Some of the runes are broken and I thought…" my voice trailed off at the bleak expressions surrounding me.

"Of course, Great One, they will be repaired as soon as we are able." Nezzick began, his servile tone setting my nerves on edge. "Thanks to your fervor in destroying the attackers, we faced only a small portion of the horde and our casualties were light. Your display of their weaknesses was greatly appreciated— only a few dozen of us fell before we were able to put the beasts to the torch."

Only a few… dozen…

My mind froze up as the words registered while Nezzick pointed out towards a smoking pile that I could only now identify in horror as a mass pyre.

"I apologize if I overstep, but I have already begun the death rites. Did you have need of the bodies?"

"What?? No I… I'm sorry, I didn't…"

My eyes darted from face to face in the crowd. I expected condemnation or anger, but all I found was weary resignation and grief. I could see it in the empty gazes around me that these people had lost any semblance of hope. They weren't angry that I hadn't been here to protect them, because they all thought they'd already been left to die and came to terms with it long ago.

I should have been here.

The thought hit me like a lead weight in my chest.

Dozens of people are dead because I was too busy throwing a tantrum to notice.

I took an involuntary step back before I froze, locking my feet to the ground.

No. I don't get to run from this.

The urge to fly away, to transform and flee was almost overwhelming, but I crushed it with a snarl. Looking up, I met the eyes of people who flinched back like kicked dogs.

"I'm sorry." The words were hoarse, struggling their way free from my mouth.

"I'm sorry, and you all deserve better. I never asked for you all to come to me for protection, but that doesn't mean you all deserve to be left to die."

Straightening up, I firmed my resolve.

"I am not a leader, or even a particularly good person. I am, at best, a walking cataclysm. I'm barely holding on myself right now and—" I sped up, belatedly realizing that maybe this wasn't the best time to be venting my own issues. "And that doesn't mean you all deserve to be abandoned. If I can protect you, then from now on, I will."

It wasn't exactly an inspiring speech, and most of the people around just stood quietly. But a few seemed… maybe hopeful is too strong, but interested? Either way, I'd take it.

Nezzick gave me a considering look, his old eyes searching mine for something I couldn't see. A shout came from the edge of the flotilla just before I heard the heavy thrum of a skip's wings, and one of the flying craft buzzed over us and landed abruptly nearby. A trio of marines hopped to the ground and approached us at a quick jog.

"Mister Baines? The captain wants to see you. We're to take you to him on the bridge, at once." Their leader shouted over the flier's still-running engines.

I shot a glance at Nezzick, who bowed and started directing people away.

“We shall await your return, Great One.”

Nodding, I followed the marines back to the skip. As I strapped myself in, I couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling that suddenly came over me.

I just realized… we’re stopped.

Teadran had been pushing like crazy to make up for lost time the last few days, there’s no way he’d have stopped just for the attack— no matter how severe it had been. The skip took off just as abruptly as it arrived, the force of acceleration pushing me back into my seat with a grunt.

I'd never actually been on the bridge of the Duchess Corinne before. The marines took me straight there after a quick detour for me to get some pants on. While I'm not entirely sure what I expected, the actual bridge looked almost like an attack submarine's.

It was a large room, buried deep within the hull and about half the size of the galley. Multiple desks divided the room into a series of command stations, each with an intimidating series of levers, switches and gauges built into the surface. One wall was dominated by a large topographical map, with a pair of intersecting metal arms supporting a crosshair that I guessed was our current location. In several locations there were tall assemblies of gears and metal rods that tickled something in the back of my mind with recognition.

Are those… analytical engines?

They were one of the earliest forms of mechanical computer ever proposed, but other than a few prototypes I didn't think they were actually used back on Earth. Why my mind decided to hold on to this information instead of my parents' faces I'll never know.

The far wall was covered in large, murky-looking screens that showed an exterior view of the hull from multiple perspectives. The edges of the screens were inscribed with runes radiating the unsettling energy of the ship's core, which oddly enough made them one of only two things in the room I sensed that were clearly magical.

The other was a large, round table in the center of the room's floor. Its surface was a rippling sheet of liquid metal like a dull blend of mercury. At the center of the table was a miniature of the Duchess, the liquid hardening to match our vessel's shape. The display was showing an area about a kilometer in diameter, complete with models of the rest of the fleet and even a decent approximation of the landscape around us. It was also pulsing, an odd beat sending ripples out from beyond the edge of the map.

That… that can't be good.

"Baines!" I heard Teadran bark, snapping me back to reality. He was leaning over the table, bitter exhaustion twisting his face into an unpleasant grimace. He was also glaring suspiciously at me.

Seems like nobody got any sleep. Also… I might be in trouble here.

"Captain, I'd like to apologize for—" I began, cautiously approaching the table.

Teadran cut me off with a gruff snort and a dismissive wave.

"Stow it, boy. I don't have the energy to care. You blunted the attack before they could fully board us and probably saved more than a few lives. That buys you some grace— for now."

"Oh… thanks." I replied, hesitantly. "You wanted to see me?"

"I did. I couldn't help but notice you seemed to have some… familiarity with the creatures that attacked us last night. Is there anything you'd like to share?"

I grit my teeth, nodding as the captain continued to stare.

"The ones that attacked are called [Blightstalkers]. There's a few different types but they all usually follow the same paradigm."

Talking about them like this felt like a betrayal. My emotions rebelled at the thought of sharing their weaknesses and possibly putting them in danger but… this horde couldn't have been an isolated thing. Something similar to this has to have been what pushed the villagers out of their homes. Sooner or later people were going to find out more about my minions, and maybe sharing what I knew beforehand could help save some lives.

"To confirm, you have encountered them before?" The captain asked.

"Yeah." I replied, unable to keep the evasiveness from my tone. "There's only a few types, or at least there were only a handful when I… left."

Teadran scowled.

"Then do you know what this is?" He gestured at the ripples moving across the liquid metal surface of the table.

Looking back and forth in confusion, I shook my head.

"I'm not even sure what exactly the table is."

Teadran sighed heavily.

"Of course you don't. It's a type of resonance imager, it tracks and projects disturbances in the Ether. Just before the end of the attack last night, we picked up a signal being sent out. It was aimed directly towards Champion's Folly. A few hours ago, we started picking up this… pulse in response. It matches nothing in our registry, and it has been growing steadily stronger by the hour. Something is coming, answering the call of our attackers. I'd hoped you knew what it was."

Ice cold fear clawed at my heart for a split second before I wrestled it under control. The strength seemed to flow out of my legs as I suddenly felt the entire night catch up to me all at once with unbearable weight.

It's him.

My momentary lapse was enough for Teadran to glean his own conclusions, and he angrily slammed a fist down on the table.

"Damn!"

I flinched back, surprised at the outburst and the fact he was taking me seriously. He looked at me, annoyed.

"Mister Baines. We just incinerated a small army of monsters. You've fought a land-god head on and won. No matter what I think of you personally, you've never struck me as the fearful sort. Anything that has you openly afraid is more than we can handle right now."

Confusion and dread wormed their way in to join the cold fear in my chest. I remembered how odd it felt to me earlier that the caravan wasn't moving. Something had just gone very, very wrong.

"What do you mean? What's happened?" I asked, almost whispering.

"Can't figure it out boy? We're crippled. All the core tenders were too busy fighting to disconnect in time when the surge hit. They did their best to vent off the excess, but every single core in the fleet is strained and we can barely move. It'll be weeks to get us back to full power without risking a rupture. We'd have trouble fighting off another wave of these… [Blightstalkers], let alone whatever fresh horror they've called up for reinforcements."

Wearily, the captain stepped back and slumped into the command chair.

“The caravan has failed. And if we're going to survive, I'm going to need everything you know about these creatures."