“You can talk?!”

I looked at the desiccated wreck of a monstrosity that had been pursuing me for the last little while. His elongated Stretch Armstrong features, his big-ass dilapidated head, his spooky illuminated eyes. He was lying in a heap on the earthen floor where the formerly brightly blazing magic circle was now quiet and polite—not glowing at all. Now he was suddenly real chatty, I guess.

“Yes . . .” he continued, slowly. “I can speak. How . . . do you know my name?”

“Well, shit,” I said. “Are you back to normal or something? Man, you were trying to fucking kill me back there. I dunno what kind of fucked-up Jekyll and Hyde sitch-ee-ayshun you got goin’ on right now, but you better hope to fuck you stay pleasant—unless you want the teeth. Also, I’d apologize for your hand and face being bitten off, but . . . well, I’m not sorry. You deserved it, and I hope that’s a lesson for you in any future—”

“Who are you?”

I stood fully, hoping to impress upon him some of my imposing stature.

“Me? I’m Loon, mothafucka.”

“And who . . . is Loon?”

“I’m the boss bitch who just fed you the smoke, douchebug. What, is this, like, a . . . psychiatrist question? You trying to get to the heart of who I am on the inside? ‘Cuz what you see is what you get.”

There was something like frustration boiling behind Carmichael’s lich-y expression.

“I am ascertaining who the individual is in front of me, the one who knows my name and attempted to summon me.”

“Oh,” I said dismissively. “I didn’t summon you. Some . . . mayor did. Wanted to awaken you, I guess? Brought in a bunch of these dead fucks—”

I pointed to the corpses of the chlamydians strewn about like leftover Canadian bacon pizza at an otherwise great party.

“—and then poked himself in the belly to death so that you’d come out of hibernation.”

I took a breath.

“I know your name because you double-crossed the party of Jes Carandalon in the Crypt of the Dreadnaught Lord—they’re pretty fuckin’ miffed about it, to be honest—and them’s my homies. So . . . I’m, like, mad too.”

“I did not double-cross anyone,” Carmichael said, still lying on the ground. “I escaped from those that forcibly removed me from my incarceration. I was obligated while traveling with them to form a working relationship with that despicable, scruple-less murderer, Virgil—a man who has pained me since he first arrived in Regaia.”

“Bro . . .” I said, waving my arms around. “You did a pretty good job trying to murder on your own—glass houses and what not.”

“I am not a killer,” Carmichael continued. “Now help me up from the floor, please. I appear unable to do so, as I believe my legs are too atrophied to hold my weight.”

“Naw,” I said. “You can sit there and be a paperweight. You are a murderer—you killed me with your little sim . . . ilac.”

He blinked at me.

“Well, that is just about as preposterous of a proclamation as I’ve ever heard. Even if you encountered the simulacra—”

“I’m a Sojourner,” I said, letting the cat out of the bag. I mean, it’s not like he was going to try to kill me any harder. Plus, I was really sick of trying to navigate that when it seemed like nobody really gave a shit.

“A what?”

“A Sojourner? From . . . another world? You gotta know what that is, right?”

He just stared vacantly at me.

“Uh . . . okay,” I said. “Anyway, I can’t die—not really.”

“I have never heard of such a thing,” he said.

“Bullshit,” I said. “Virgil’s a Sojourner. You woulda had to know— You know what? I don’t care to explain it to you. Why were you in jail, anyway?”

“Crime,” he said indignantly.

I sighed.

“Anyway, since you’re just doing a really terrible Roomba impersonation right now, do you mind telling me—at least—what you were talking about with the whole mock us thing? I’ve got some unwholesome ideas that I’d like to permanently burn out of my brain, so please clarify before I start huckin’ belly fluid everywhere.”

Carmichael considered that, tapping a dehydrated hand to his elongated mummy chin.

“Alright, but if I tell you, you have to let me go—I’ve been restrained down here for far too long.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But I have to appreciate the irony of you escaping a time dilation only to get trapped for hundreds of years in a different cave.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, seeming to find it humorous as well. “While I did spend the rest of my days hiding from the powers of the kingdom here—and amassing quite the army of followers as well, I should say—it is still interesting that you are here, having met with my briefly considered companions. So, you all made it out?”

I darkened.

“No,” I said. “Not everyone.”

“Shame, that,” Carmichael said with a tone that dripped with apathy toward that particular result. “In any case, you mentioned my words while I was channeling the kedge, yes? Well, to answer you truthfully, I cannot really recall where the words themselves came from. I was the instrument for a lot of cosmic truth, you see. Thousands of years’ worth of information pouring out of me to keep me upright and moving. Of course, none of that would have happened if I hadn’t been awakened early. Now look at me—I’m a mess.”

“. . . and ‘mock us’?” I asked, getting him back on track.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Well, considering I was seeing many different streams of time at once—”

I was suddenly interrupted.

Pupil . . .

I was kinda getting sick of being drawn into Commune whenever Rexen wanted to toss a howdy my way. I sighed—but, like, mentally, so he could hear it—then responded.

Word up, Arjee. So, I take it y’all didn’t die? Or has it gotten worse?

No, pupil. Something happened and all the creatures died at once.

Oh. Shit, okay. Cool. I’m just wrapping stuff up down here—is anyone injured? Also, why do you sound like you been choking down sad berries?

I was trying to keep it casual, because I could not handle the annoyance right now of being told someone had died and been sent back to New Home—but then again, maybe someone else had dropped their anchor here. Regardless, the little spirit was back in his weird mode where he sounded like he’d been up all night, listening to the Antlers.

My pupil is astute and direct, Rexen said. But we can discuss later. No one is injured too badly. I will speak with you when you return.

Before I could respond in any sarcastic manner, he ended Commune.

Well, that was fucking weird.

I turned back to Carmichael, who had continued without noticing the pause—as Commune do.

“. . . I couldn’t quite be sure enough to clarify.”

“Right,” I said. “So, what? You can . . . see the future?”

“I cannot. The kedge, however, exist in many, many different areas of time—and since fate is not set in stone, they experience all of them at once. It’s a bit headache-inducing, really, to channel that level of imagery. But, to continue my previous statement, one image that I saw was you.”

I could tell by the way he said it that it was meant to be impactful, but honestly, I was over magic. It did not surprise me one bit at this point.

“Yeah, ’cuz I was taking nibbles off your face flesh, partner,” I said.

“No, that is to say, I saw you from the view of the kedge,” he clarified, “either a time not long from now or a time long before. In Machus City—it was hard to tell which. Though what was clear was the swarm of individuals slavering at the bit to kill you. Sometimes you died, sometimes you did not.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” I said dismissively, remembering the name from somewhere but not sure exactly. “But it also sounds like a hot bowl of poppycock, King Tut. You were just saying the name of a town? Pah! I really thought this was going to be a cool-ass reveal, not some kind of Nostradamus noise. Miss me with that shit.”

“The kedge merely provides the information, but I assure you—”

“Kedge?” I asked. “You keep saying that word. What is it?”

“Oh,” Carmichael said, gesturing to the pylon. “That.”

Then he squinted at me—which was a really curious movement, considering his eyes were made of embers.

“I saw through the kedge that you had destroyed several—perhaps in a time before, or a time to come. Either way, the kedge is not a fan of yours—not in the slightest.”

“I don’t give a damn what some fuckin’ fence post thinks about me; what even is their purpose? You tied yourself to one, so I assume it does something other than read tea leaves.”

Carmichael stared up at me silently for a moment, then shook his head.

“No . . .” he said, as if arguing with himself. “No, I suppose you will not be more dangerous with this knowledge if the kedge already believes you are a threat to it . . .”

Then he pushed himself into a sitting position and cracked his knuckles—the ones that were left. It was a loud . . . dusty sound. Like snapping apart a really old Kit-Kat that you found in the basement. Then he smiled.

“Their primary purpose is as an anchor, tethering this plane in place lest it drift away into the places between. However, because of this, they also contain a vast amount of cosmic Arcana. A dangerous amount.”

I winced at that. I’d just eaten a bunch of one.

“So . . . what? You telling me it’s the same hocus-pocus that let you go all Doctor Strange with the timelines and shit?”

Carmichael simply nodded.

“Indeed it is. The kedge are drenched in it. It’s a power source that can be tapped in to by someone with a knack for cosmic Arcana. Yours truly, for instance.”

I squinted at him.

“Oh, so basically, someone could use one of these kedge thingies to jack up their own magic and get way swole? Is that what your original plan was?”

He nodded again, letting his remaining fingers dance in a tapping pattern on the ground.

“Precisely. And that’s not all—they have other uses, too.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.

“Well, isn’t that just great? All-purpose magic radio towers. Wanted to make yourself quite the everyman, huh? Well, thanks for the vague answer, Swiss Army bitch. If they’re so powerful, how come people aren’t dragging these things out of the ground and jacking into them like the aliens from Avatar?”

Carmichael merely blinked his glowing ember eyes and continued.

“Perhaps it is still not well known. What is the year?”

“Man, I dunno,” I said. “You were in the Crypt, like . . . almost five hundred years ago?”

Carmichael seemed to balk at that.

“Well, that’s quite a while—I hadn’t realized so much time had passed. It seems as though that would be more than enough time for others to have discovered the secret of the kedge. It is not as though I was the first to discover what they do. Though I suppose . . .”

I sighed again.

“Now what?”

“Well, it’s only that it may be possible no one has divined all that they are capable of. They are hidden. Really, it was my research that . . . led to the . . . discovery.”

“My guy,” I hissed. “Can you stop with the dramatic pauses? Honestly, what is with every half-cocked villain in this world and their penchant for ellipsis-laden monologues? Is it because they don’t have movies here? Damn, that’s probably it, huh? You don’t know how cliché you are because you don’t have a reference point. Goddamn, fuck your discovery—I think I’m on to a new philosophical concept.”

Carmichael looked perplexed, he started to say something, then stopped, then started again.

“. . . w-what?”

“Never mind!” I roared. “What was your discovery, Scarmichael?”

He frowned, looking at the missing piece of his hand, and then shrugged. Despite it looking grievous as shit, the pain didn’t seem to bother him much.

“The discovery,” he continued, “that when combined in a specific way, the kedge can be used to carry out rituals of immense power. Oftentimes to disastrous results.”

My heart skipped a beat at his words. Rituals? Power? That was ominous. And . . . familiar? My mind raced back to the bone-chilling tale about the city of Derika that Calden had told me. Then what Rexen and Jes had confirmed about the Tides. Those motherfuckers had used something like that, hadn’t they? It would have been hundreds of years before, but they’d summoned some weird-fiction fuckabouts from another plane. That event had caused devastation on an epic scale, even claiming the life of Jes’s girlfriend—who sounded way more awesome of a person than Jes had any right to start chatting up in the first place.

I swallowed hard, fixing Carmichael with a piercing gaze.

“Wait a goddamn minute,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Were you the sick fuck behind what happened in Derika, with those Sons of the Tides lunatics?”

Carmichael didn’t deny it. In fact, he nodded.

“Yes, that was my work . . . in a way.”

“Which way’s that, hoofbite?”

“Not directly,” he continued. “I discovered that Derika housed a very powerful kedge, one potent enough to be used in a solo ritual. Typically, the level of power needed for what happened there would be out of the question without multiple kedge working in tandem. But the Derika kedge was inordinately strong. Perhaps because unlike most, it used both cosmic and void Arcana.”

“Wait, back up. You did or didn’t have anything to do with it? Now I’m confused. What does ‘not directly’ mean in this context?”

Carmichael shrugged.

“I made my findings known in circles of academia, only to be largely ignored by other, more interesting revelations by other scholars. I’d continued my research but with quite the dearth of vigor compared to what I’d had before. I’d been ignored by my colleagues, you see—”

“Yeah, yeah,” I interrupted, rolling my eyes. “You were snubbed by your betters—never heard such a staggering tale of woe, truly. Get to the part where you do the dickhead thing.”

Carmichael nodded.

“I was getting to that, you know,” he said. “But yes. There I was, forgotten. My research had made no waves, and I was being pressed into the exciting opportunity offered to me by the Conservatory of Mystical Inquiry at Grellini’s Chancellor Arcani: studying the effects of phlogisticated aetheric diffusion in crystallographically optimized orichalcum matrices. A line of research considered so esoteric, so hair-splittingly tedious by my colleagues, that the only sounds in the workshop were often the ticking of the arcane timepiece and the muttered imprecations of my poor apprentice tasked with aligning the matrices, microphase by agonizing microphase.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I demanded. It was fucking weird that just minutes before, I was bangin’ thirties with this big head, and now he was talking about his boring-ass study sesh with . . . fuckin’ floggadocious athletic division or whatever. I needed to get out of there and check on my friends—but, this still seemed important somehow.

“Oh,” Carmichael said, shaking his head. “It’s simple, really. You see, the inherent flux of phlogisticated aether within these precisely structured orichalcum lattices could potentially illuminate heretofore unseen facets of transplanar energy manip—”

“Stop,” I hissed. “Just . . . stop. Jesus fuck, you’re worse than Edwig and Rua combined. Can we please get to the Tides part?”

“Well, yes,” he said. “It was during this time, late into an evening painstakingly fine-tuning the polarity of etheric resonance within each crystallographic lattice—ensuring that the fundamental aetheric oscillation harmonized with the matrix without causing destructive interference, obviously—when I was approached. A creature, seemingly made of shadow, requested that I help the Sons of the Tides by imparting my knowledge unto them.”

I scoffed, but he ignored me and continued.

“I refused at first, of course. It was my discovery, and if anyone would be using it to ill ends, it would likely be me. Though that was the furthest thing from my thought process. Still, after they killed my apprentice, set fire to the workshop, and tossed me bodily through the highest window on the Grellini campus . . . my agreeability to their demands became much more malleable. I explained what I’d found, and they—at the very least—paid me for the information. Though not nearly enough to afford a new apprentice—all the best ones are pricey. Then they were off, and I didn’t hear from them again. Though I heard about the issues in the north. Eventually.”

“So, then what?”

“Well, I was on my way to Derika to assist in the efforts when I got shackled and stashed—for a separate issue that I’ll not go into further. I’d wanted to try to clean up the mess before it got out of hand . . . however, it appeared the cat was already out of the bag.”

The sickening realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Carmichael was the catalyst of that disaster? And the crew—Jes, Calden, Frida, Merra, Virgil, and Dedyc—they had sprung this bastard out of his cage, knowing the shit he’d pulled?

“They still broke you out?” I spat, barely containing my outrage. “Even after your indirect stunt with Derika? And the fact that you had a hand in Delyra’s death?”

The twisted grin that formed on Carmichael’s face was as close to mortified as this mummy-lookin’ motherfucker could probably manage. Actually, considering the circumstances, I couldn’t think of a more fitting word.

“Yes, they did. Partly because I’m something of an encyclopedia on all things cosmic, you see. The Dreadnaught Lord’s Forbidden Crypt is filled with trials involving cosmic Arcana, and they needed my expertise. And, I suspect, they wanted me to apologize to Delyra once they’d brought her back. Perhaps they believed I owed them.”

“But you bailed,” I said stiffly.

“Wouldn’t anyone under such duress? I did not know what their intentions were for me once I had completed the mission—I would hardly have been the first prisoner to go missing under mysterious circumstances, never to be seen again. And I was not willing to take that risk. So, I prepared the simulacrum and well and truly escaped. Then, knowing I couldn’t return to Margrave od Ys’mesh’s dungeons, I founded this happy hamlet and thought to start anew. I was drawn initially to this location, of course, because I knew of the kedge residing below the surface. But it was a chance to begin again. Fresh and sparkling new. Little did I know, that’s when things would truly get interes—”

“Yeah, I don’t care about you farting around in your slice-of-life fantasy pueblo,” I said.

I looked at the pile of rubble that was once the pylon and then back to Carmichael. There was something else . . . something that didn’t make sense about these things. They kept cropping up. Sure, the Tides wanted to do something with them, but what about the Echoes? They were horny for these things too.

“Who are the Echoes?” I asked. “What interest would they have in these pylons?”

“I am unsure,” Carmichael admitted. “I’ve never heard of the Echoes—it is likely I am before their time. However, any party including themselves in the unearthing of a kedge likely seeks to do something similar with them to what happened in Derika, or perhaps what my followers here sought to achieve: summon something large and formidable.”

“They want to use me and my Sojourner homies as like . . . batteries or something, I think. But how does that play into the kedge?”

“Well, that’s simple,” Carmichael said. “If you’re from another world, as you say—then your resonance with crossing the boundaries of planes is likely still very strong. Especially if it was not long ago—perhaps within the last handful of years or so. This would increase exponentially if you were to, say, pick up any Esper Nodes. Then they could open a Gateway of some variety.”

“Oh . . .” I said. “What if they wanted to . . . say, destroy the System?”

“That’s a preposterous notion,” big lich energy said. “The System can’t be destroyed. It’s integral to the formulation of our world, weaved into the very foundation—you cannot destroy it without unmaking the reality within which we dwell.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s what they want to do,” I said. “And these particular meanies think they can do it by turning me and the squad into gumbo—somehow.”

“Well, in any case—your Echo friends—”

“They ain’t my damn friends, Scarmichael,” I said. “They’re my enemies! Whatever. Listen, all I know is that they wanna use the kedges—which they call pylons—to do something fucky.”

“I see,” Carmichael said. “Interesting. Though they ought not to, in my experience.”

“Huh?” I asked. “Why not? Because they don’t have your expert-level brain to guide them?”

“Gods, no,” Carmichael said. “If the citizens of this village had bothered to listen to me, they would have known that I specifically recommended against anything involving the kedge. It was likely as much of a surprise to me as it was to you that I was trussed up in this way. Yet here we are. No—it is because of the Drifter.”

There it is again. Who is the motherfucking Drifter gent everyone keeps referencing?

“Alright, please explain,” I said. “I’m not having any luck keeping you quiet anyway, so you may as well tell me this. Who is the Drifter and what is his purpose?”

“The Drifter,” Carmichael said, “is truly unknowable insofar as what he is is concerned. He is, as best as I understand, either a deity of some variety or a being sufficiently on par with one of their like to be practically indistinguishable. Never really gave him much thought, other than to steer clear of his followers and not to use the kedge for summoning, lest you unlock his ire.”

“He’s connected to these things?” I wondered aloud. “Jesus, this shit is so fuckin’ convoluted. Who can keep track of it all?”

Carmichael shrugged.

“Unsure on that,” he said. “So . . .”

I sighed.

“What now?”

“Well, it’s just that . . .” Carmichael fidgeted with his giant fingers like he was nervous. “It has been centuries since I was last out and about . . .”

“What, you want a sandwich or something? Sorry, fresh out.”

“No,” Carmichael whined. “Not food. Though . . . I’m not sure I need to eat anymore, now that I think about it. However, I was wondering as to us removing ourselves from this place and . . . well . . .”

“You wanna go topside, eh?” I asked. “I mean, you did just try to kill me . . . again. I dunno, man; I kinda feel like I should just end your miserable existence right here. You’ve caused a fuckton of grief for good people—myself included.”

“Well, I don’t think you should do that,” Carmichael said as if simply refuting an opposing opinion. “I am one of the only people currently . . . well, living that understands the nature of what kedge truly are. It would benefit the both of us if you helped me get to the surface. I’d be more than happy to assist you.”

“Wait, what? Why do I need assistance with these things?”

I thought about the fact that part of one was sitting in my belly right now—to what effect, I didn’t really know. But that was a problem for tomorrow’s me!

“Weren’t you listening? You’re going to Machus City!”

“The fuck I am!” I said indignantly. “Why in the hell would I do that? I got shit to do back at the base—the last thing I need is another distraction to derail me from my main Quest line.”

“Machus City is a lodestone for cosmic forces, Lool,” he barked. “It, like Derika before it, has one kedge that can be optimized most brilliantly. It is powerful, Lool. The likes of which would make Derika seem inconsequential. In the aftermath of Derika, the city became overrun with Arcane activity and utterly destroyed. Machus City is simmering with powerful Arcana just like Derika was before the disaster, and from what I understand from my time—it was just waiting to be accessed. That is what I have seen. I’ve seen through the kedge what happens, and that is nearly unchanging.”

“Yeah, I don’t trust you,” I shot back. “You probably just want to go there and steal some of that power yourself. Hungry little piglet, aren’t you?”

“Whether you trust me or not is immaterial, Lool,” Carmichael countered, a smug grin spreading across his skeletal face. “The plain truth is that you’ll need to journey there, with or without me.”

“First of all: it’s Loon,” I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Not ‘Lool.’ Show some goddamn respect already, will ya?”

This was so fucked up. Like being stuck in a never-ending nightmare.

“Second off, smart guy. Why?” I challenged, hoping to poke holes in his highfalutin theories. “Why the hell would I need to go to Machus City?”

“Because”—Carmichael’s grin faltered, and he fixed me with a gaze that sent cold shivers down my spine—“it’s the only thread of future I’ve seen where you survive.”

I blinked at him, my mind blank for a moment. Then his words began to sink in, and a sick feeling rose in my gut.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

Carmichael sighed, sounding more like a professor having to explain a difficult concept to a slow student than a nearly immortal lich talking about doomsday.

“In every other thread of potential futures I’ve foreseen, you return to your camp, only to be overrun and killed. Permanently.”

I let out a bark of laughter, but it was a hollow, uneasy sound. We didn’t just die. We always came back. That was the rule. No matter how fucked-up things got, we had that one lifeline. I mean, sure, it was super fucking inconvenient, but way less so than being perma-dead.

But Carmichael was shaking his head slowly, his glowing eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

“No, Lool. In the threads I foresaw, you were captured and killed, slowly, dragged over the engines of some unknown Arcane devices. Your soul is extracted, and you cease to be. Not just you, your friends too.”

His words hung in the air between us, heavy and ominous. I wanted to dismiss him, to write him off as just another crazy baddie talking out of his ass. But I couldn’t. Because there was something else. Some of the Sojourners in New Home hadn’t returned. Especially if they fought Alpha in the Duellum. Plus, I remembered the curly-haired woman, the way her eyes gleamed with cold, deadly intent. She had threatened me, said she could end me permanently. I had brushed her off then, laughed in her face. But now . . .

Fuck.

Carmichael was still speaking, but his words were just a distant buzz in my ears. I felt like I’d been sucker-punched, the wind knocked out of me.

Was this it? Was this how I was going to end? Dragged over some fucking woo-woo machine, my soul sucked out? I’d faced death before, hell, I’d died outright. But this . . . this was different.

I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts buzzing around in my mind. This was too much. It was all too goddamn much.

“No,” I muttered, more to myself than to Carmichael. “I don’t believe you.”

“But you do,” Carmichael said, sounding oddly satisfied. “You do believe me, don’t you, Lool?”

I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to punch his smug face. I didn’t want to admit it, but despite him not even getting my name right—something . . . fuckin’ something about what he was saying made me believe him. Something in my literal gut was telling me that it was the case. I didn’t know if that was just Carmichael being a pathetically convincing individual or if the pieces of the pylon inside me were adding leverage to the statement . . . but there it was.

“Wait,” I said, a sudden thought seizing me. “If I don’t go back . . . what happens to my friends? They’re not . . . they’re not gonna end up like you say, right?”

Carmichael spread his hands, a casual shrug that somehow seemed way too relaxed for the topic at hand.

“I can only tell you what I’ve seen. But if you don’t return, I don’t see that same fate befalling your comrades.”

So, if I stayed away, my crew had a fighting chance. It wasn’t much to hang hope on, but it was something. A sliver of light in this dark abyss of foreboding futures.

But Machus City . . . I couldn’t help but think about the pitfalls that could accompany such a shitty journey, the hot, throbbing magnitude of the potential consequences. And yet, the alternative, as Carmichael had painted it, was much grimmer. My mind raced, debating the pros and cons.

I pondered, thinking about the camp, my friends . . . my crew. The reckless, resilient bunch of misfits. And that made me think about Calden, Merra, Dedyc—hell, even Virgil. I was still, even months later, feeling the sting of their violent passing. I didn’t want that to happen again. I couldn’t bear the thought of it. I’d already seen a lot of death in my life. If doing this was a way to avoid something like that . . .

This was my responsibility.

But I couldn’t just tell them, could I? No . . . no, that wouldn’t work. Rua would come along—Edwig too, probably. Even though I wasn’t physically linked to Rexen’s radius anymore . . . he’d want to come, and he wasn’t subtle. I didn’t see any way of getting out of there to go off on my own if any of them knew about it.

Fuck. Was I really considering this? Should I really abandon them? Was it right to keep them in the dark, to disappear without a word? Would they be better off if I did?

As if reading my thoughts, Carmichael said, “You don’t have to abandon them, Lool. There are ways to communicate, to guide them without physically being there. You’re a leader. You’ll figure it out.”

The optimism in his voice was infuriating. But he was right. If I didn’t go back, if I chose this new path, it didn’t mean I had to abandon my crew. I could find ways to help them, to guide them. It wouldn’t be easy, but when had anything ever been easy for us?

I chewed on my lower lip, thoughts bouncing around in my skull like pinballs. I glanced at Carmichael, his big-ass skull illuminated by the cold light.

It was my life on the line. My future. My decision.

“Okay,” I said finally, my voice barely a whisper.

Carmichael turned to me, his hollow eye sockets seeming to glow brighter.

“You’ll do it?”

“Yeah,” I said, meeting his gaze straight on. “I’ll go to Machus City.”

But it wasn’t for him, or for the power he spoke of with such reverence. It was for the homies, my friends. If it was the only shot I had at ensuring their safety, at protecting them from the gruesome fate Carmichael had foreseen, I had to take it. No matter what awaited me in Machus City, I’d fucking handle it.

For them.

“Is that yours?” Carmichael asked, pointing to the spot on the ground where the mayor—uh, Alderman had once been.

“Is what mine?”

I followed his gaze, my eyes landing on the small, glinting object resting on the cold stone floor. I’d seen it earlier, but hadn’t really considered it because . . . well, you know. Fighting. I bent down to inspect it. It was a small crystal vial, triangular in shape, containing a swirling, illuminated blue-ish gray smoke.

“No,” I said, looking at it closer. “It must’ve belonged to the Alderman.”

I tried inspecting it with Eye of the Saboteur, but, considering it had been acting . . . brand-new, I wasn’t sure how that would go.

What an interesting object! Perhaps it’s a jazz lamp? You may not want to puff, puff, pass on this, adventurer!

I sighed.

What else is new?

Picking up the vial, I showed it to Carmichael.

“Any idea what this is?”

“A potion,” Carmichael shrugged nonchalantly, though he didn’t even look at it. The indifference with which he said that was annoying, a casual dismissal that was borderline rude.

“Really?” I shot back. “A potion? You don’t say. A fine fucking academic you are.”

Then, as my brain is wont to do, I thought about how the notifications I’d been getting while I was down there hadn’t been weird as fuck. Sure, Eye of the Saboteur was still a fucking chump, but I’d been getting all sorts of prompts when I’d eaten the hell outta the pylon. I looked down at my feet at the magic circle.

Was that why?

With the brief diversion over, I moved to Carmichael’s side, bending down to heave him up. It was time to set off, and despite his skeletal form, the old lich was deceptively heavy.

“Ah, Lool, the wonders that must have unfolded during my absence!” Carmichael began, his voice crackling with unbridled anticipation. “The potential leaps and bounds in the application of kedge energies! The thought alone is a veritable feast for my intellect.”

I shifted under his weight, attempting to adjust the skeletal figure that clung to my back.

“Uh-huh,” I grunted, my mind already starting to drift.

“But let us not forget the technomantic innovations, Lool,” Carmichael continued unabated. “Perhaps we’ve managed to automate eating utensils, or maybe we’ve perfected the use of astral stones in heating systems. Or perhaps—oh, just perhaps—could we have refined the aetheric diffusion in crystallographically optimized orichalcum matrices? By the gods, I would be grateful to never have to pursue that endeavor ever again! Imagine! Cross-plane ephemeral currency. I should be wealthy with just one transaction!”

He let out a sigh of contentment at his own words, clearly lost in his thoughts.

“Cross-plane wha?” I muttered under my breath, my eyebrows furrowing. He made it sound like we could just pop over to another plane of existence to grab a pint of milk.

“And the strides we might’ve taken in the realm of arcane metallurgy!” he exclaimed, almost giddy with excitement. “Imagine, Lool, alloys imbued with phasic-ethereal elements, swords that cleave through not just matter but through the very fabric of the Veil itself.”

“Yeah, ’cuz what we need are sharper ways to kill each other.”

He either didn’t hear my sarcastic comment or chose to ignore it.

“Or perhaps the fusion of Tymond’s heart opal and pyronium in the creation of sustainable magical light sources?”

“I, uh, think they call those magelights now,” I said.

Carmichael merely laughed at what he must’ve thought was sarcasm.

“You jest, Lool, but the practical applications of arcane advances in the everyday life of ordinary folks are innumerable. Why, I imagine with a few minor adjustments to the common thaumatropic array, we could have a hen lay an egg already boiled! I say, this new world isn’t ready for the concoctions I’m ready to unfurl upon it! They called me a genius in my time; well, now I can be a genius in two times!”

We were just at the edge of the runic circle, stepping onto the cold stone floor of the outer chamber, when Carmichael froze in my arms.

“I forgot to . . .” His words trailed off, his wide, illuminated eyes staring at me with a sudden urgency.

Confused, I looked down. We were no longer within the circle.

He met my gaze, his expression unreadable.

“. . . I forgot to un-anchor the runic seal.”

The next second, Carmichael exploded.

I landed hard, sprawling onto an unseen floor. The shock of impact rippled through me, forcing a gasp from my lungs.

“Shit!” I groaned, clenching my teeth. And then there was darkness, the absence of sound, of sight, of anything.

My brain registered the black void around me and instantly began to panic.

Am I dead? Did the blast kill me?

A wave of nausea gripped me, making my stomach churn. But then, there was no You died, bitch message. No indication that I had met my end.

I sat up, slowly, shakily. My hands moved to my body, patting down arms, chest, legs. All in place, it seemed, but the confusion set in. If I was alive and intact, then where was I?

The darkness around me felt thick, tangible, as if I could reach out and touch it. My eyes strained to adjust, but it was a pointless effort; there was nothing to see. The deafening silence wrapped around me like a cocoon, and I felt a shiver of apprehension. I could feel a cold dread creeping in, a feeling I knew all too well. Something had gone very wrong.

“Fuck,” I muttered, clenching my fists.

A rush of thoughts flooded my brain, questions with no immediate answers. I didn’t even know where to begin. Carmichael had died, right? Where was I now? Some other plane? How would I get back? What the hell was this place?

The void remained silent, offering no answers. I was alone, utterly and completely, in a place I had no understanding of. If I was indeed in another plane of existence, then I was out of my depth.

Lost in my thoughts, it took me a moment to hear it—the faintest whisper of a sound, so faint I thought I might have imagined it. But then it came again, louder, clearer.

“Loooon!”

The voice came from far away, but was unmistakably familiar.

Oh, no . . .

“Loooon!” The singsong of my name wafted along the breeze like a meandering megakelvin shockwave from an atomic detonation. I felt like my stomach had just stepped on a nail.

Suddenly, a sparkling exuberance of lights came sweeping through the darkened landscape like an intergalactic nightmare portent.

“Looooon!” the voice cooed.

“No, no, no, NO!”

“Yes!” came the response as a giant swooping face yanked from the deepest, foulest stretch of hell’s prolapsed anus suddenly arrived in front of me.

Anxiety gripped me. I gaped. It was the loud, obnoxious, uncomfortably into-me multi-radiant mask god I’d thought was gone from my life for good.

Sababo.

“Hi, Loon!” he cheered. “I’m back!”

I threw my head back in a howl.

“Noooooooooooooo!”