Forge.

Arc 1: Lamentations for Creation.

Chapter 1: Habits of the Unknown.

The forge is where Eloi liked to be.

It was hot, his smeltery stood proudly aside him and broiled with the turns of magma pumped from above. Made of seared brick and laden with hot coals, he would have ores melted down and extracted from their rocky casings, liquidised by the overt heat that not an alloy could stand.

Eloi placed these ores in by hand, nothing but a pair of thick gloves to protect him, shirtless and bare torso up save the metal chain that hung around his neck, the catholic cross swinging as he shovelled in coal and drenched in sweat from his workings on the bellows. His dark hair was dishevelled, his strong featured face dirtied with soot and caked grime, but he loved it more than any bubble filled spa resort that one could offer.

The room was a marvel, with stacks upon stacks of ingots on one wall and a forge and station clustered with guns, more archaic melee weapons among tools and seemingly infinite supplies of ammunition and bolts. The only wall left was the door, a heavy iron thing of pragmatic intent, keeping the smoke in here where they would eventually rise to the high ceilings and the vents thereafter, the amount of time it took something that would eventually force the young smith out, but not yet.

There were many alien ores presented to humanity upon their ascension to the Galactic Senate, and even more undiscovered as they and those aliens spread out their encompassing grasp to systems yet to be inhabited. Graticon, the planet he had set up shop upon, was a goldmine for these sorts of rare and new materials, and large mining companies helped smaller businesses grow by allowing a fifty-fifty free mining zone that allowed savvy miners to get a large amount of ores for their own pieces while still supplying the large companies, and so those fields where said mining took place was a diverse area of different xenos working to make a living, not unlike the gold rush that had gripped the Americas and Australis in those days long ago.

Presently he was finding the melting point of another new ore; Glaserium, a translucent lilac ore that while free of it's rocky casing had yet to liquidate, surpassing the three thousand mark and thus spelling out it's higher tier nature. Eloi felt that in his gut that it work make a fine blade, and felt the next step of this process taking shape in his mind, though he had to work quickly.

Although still old in generality, the man was not so traditional as to forgo some methods additional to newer smelteries, and so pulled down a lever that would gradually filter in more heat and alert him with the sound of boiling water when the ore began to melt. A system that allowed smiths to attend other matters while waiting for such tenacious ores to melt.

With this active, Eloi removed himself from the smelter and instead strode to the table aside his forge, brushing away a series of blades haphazardly and revealing a scroll of paper he'd left there for some time, something he began sketching upon affixed, playing with ideas and shapes for some time. In one instance it was a sword blade, then another an axe head, at one time he considered making a shield of the Glaserium, considering it looked a strong and durable material by what he'd seen of other smiths but eventually revoked the more out-there claimants for a thought that had jumped into his head only a moment before.

There were many demands for weaponry from around the galaxy, but one particular man had come to the planet himself in search of the best weapon -at least for his means- possible, a double edged blade at least four foot seven in length, though not with a wide guard as the zweihänder nor the commonly adjoining parrying hooks or ricasso. Preferably he wanted something light weight, that could be installed with his own combat style of spinning, but if not he had cited that a simple modifier would allow him the strength to lift it, a genetic alteration so to speak.

Glaserium was proven to be a light ore, as Eloi's two miner friends -whom he had started this expedition with- had stated how easy it had been to transport, spending only a solid hour transporting the ore from the mining sight to their landship where it would otherwise take several hours for other ores like iron and copper, but the smith didn't know the specifics.

With this in mind, he took a step sideways where a bulky looking machine sat, and swept the blades that had fallen against it back onto the paper now forgotten. There was a thick and archaic screen, devoid of holograms or the like that the white collars enjoyed, and a pad below with what must have been it's stylus aside it, basically a fat pen with a black bulb on the end.

Pressing a thick button aside the screen Eloi snatched up the pen, and watched as several options themselves across the bulky screen, asking what he would category his goal lay in; he chose tools. Then it refined itself, cutting to a screen which queried "What kind of tool?" and showcased another plethora of options, which was doubled on the pad below.

The man selected weapon, and quickly pressed the square marked blade even before the other options had presented themselves, feeling the heat ever increasing on his back from the smeltery behind him. After this, it changed it's format to provide the most basic blade concept allowed with a multitude of options surrounding the rotating item.

Eloi increased the length till it rested at a comfortable four foot eight, added a fuller that terminated halfway down the blade and gave it a width of forty five millimetres; nothing fancy. But it was practical and more than a little envy inducing, or so the blacksmith had supposed. When he was done, he simply pressed enter, reassured the dastardly primitive machine of the previous and made sure the block was in place.

Indeed it proved itself present, and he watched as a precision laser entered through the top of the rectangular prism and began disintegrating the inside to the desired specifications, effectively making a mould for the Glaserium. When it was finished, a satisfactory ding occurred and Eloi grabbed it whole-heartedly, pulling it from the fabricator and placing it down beside him, the weight more than a little overwhelming.

After that he simply waited, watching the temperature of his smeltery slowly rise until it hit six thousand five hundred Celsius, at which point the water began to boil, the high pitch noise giving Eloi thought enough to snatch the goggles from his workbench and drag the mould over.

Cutting off the steam with a flick of a switch, the blacksmith drew the mould under a closed tap that only stayed that way for a moment before he snapped it open, watching as the now bright orange liquid sluggishly flowed like the magma that had a hand in smelting it.

It bubbled and steamed as it drooped down, slowly but surely filling the cast until it topped off at Eloi's whim, trying to have as little overflow as possible so that he wouldn't have to round it off later. With this he quickly removed the mould and instead dragged another contraption he had handy, an multi-mould ingot cast that filled up the bottom three first before moving onto the next level, which is what the rest of the Glaserium was to become, stored with the rest of the ingots lined up against one wall, mundane at the bottom while more expensive and rare alloys stood stacked at the top.

"Perfect," Eloi self-congratulated, carrying his mould towards the forge and setting it down graciously, "Now, for a cup of tea."

He exited the room casually, despite his shirtless persona, into the adjoining and shared living area, derived from a large cave and split into two areas; on either of his sides there was a door, though not built of metal but a crimson wood that was plentiful on the planet. In keeping with this theme through the rough arch that separated these doors from the secondary room was a series of wooden benches lightly padded on the base in the same juicy shade of red surrounding a low coffee table central to the room, where paraphernalia of the other two residents existed.

Beyond this was the entrance to the building and a hall, while light panelling here and there worked to break up the otherwise drab cave rock, lanterns hanging from drilled bolts to light up the area, if only dimly. But more importantly was the fellow that sat perched on a bench with his legs atop the table, an alien no less and specifically, an Inapi.

Vulturous looking people though lacking the beak, this Inapi in particular was clearly male by the large meaty caruncle on his forehead, while this was attached to a ball that hung down to rest on either side of his chin, connected by what looked like soft tissue. He wore a jacket, though it's sleeves were rolled up, and revealed his feathered arms and scaled, quadrupedally digited hands, both of which looked muscled and dangerous. This was in contrast to his legs, which were long and looked to be like that of their would-be birded personas, jointed backwards as opposed to what humans were generally use to, and this was visible even as he wore combat boots and work pants.

"Eloi," he greeted dryly, not necessarily without cause. The Inapi had long since been a race absorbed by humanity, their own civilisation iconoclastically dismantled piece by piece after a long and bloody war between the two, and as such their species as a whole -while exceptions could be made- was a rather cynical, depressed one, considering the largest population of them were generally living in slums other ghetto like conditions.

"Barlow," the smith replied, another habit to take a Human name for economic reasons, while in Inapi circles they introduced themselves with their actual cultural title.

Barlow was typing away at a datapad, not exactly under duress of work nor willing to given the current time of day, that being afternoon, "So?"

"Melts at six-five," the young human implied, and the Inapi nodded his head, not bothering to look up. After a moment with no real answer, Eloi took this as permission to keep talking, as interrupting an Inapi was seen as a great offence, "Where's Calloway?"

"Library, said he was looking into 'quantum shelling'. Which reminds me," for the first time the alien looked up from his book, "Hear the news?"

"'Bout what?" the smith asked sceptically, the fact the Inapi cared to inform him meaning it was something that the man truly found interesting.

Regardless, the Inapi sighed dramatically, "You know the Chaménes?"

"Aren't they a bunch of green-peace pacifists?" the smith questioned.

"Not anymore, apparently in a freak occurrence their sun disappeared via quantum tunnelling, all four planets went spinning out of orbit and only a small percentage escaped. Wanna know the best part? They're now trying to take New Avignon as a new home planet! Human populated, that sort of stuff gets me. If they do get it, maybe it'll be a form of divine retribution, I can only hope," he explained, looking somewhat satisfied if a bit solemn.

"Wow, that's some heavy shit Barlow," Eloi noted, upset with the alien's lack of tact.

"Yeah, well, it was some heavy shit when you lot came along," the Inapi countered lightly, seemingly at terms with his situation. It wasn't that off for the man to be so anti-hysterical, considering there were still Inapi and Humans alive since that time, and age really didn't factor in considering genetic modification had all but eliminated the problem. In fact it occurred to Eloi that the Inapi would have to be over a thousand years of age by now, despite the fact he still acted like an angry teenager at times.

"Whatever," was all he could summon up in reply, and this was countered nicely by a sarcastic;

"Ouch."

"So library?" Eloi affirmed, pointing over his shoulder imperiously.

"Did I stutter?" the Inapi spat back, placing his feet on the ground and arching his back to bring his face closer to the datapad, clearly not in the mood for more chitchat.

Rolling his eyes, the human turned on his heel and walked back into the door room, taking a right to enter what they had called the library.

Calloway was hard to miss in this area, as a ten foot tall Acrestian with four legs and arms arranged in an almost centaur like form -though reversed- while one set of arms sat below the other. His neck was long, his fingers numerous given there were six of them, and rather than a hinged jaw like Eloi or even Barlow Calloway had a pair of thick mandibles and as he spoke the English tongue, he had put these together to mimic the mouth even while lacking the area between his chin and neck.

He wore a large, long coat of brown and had a huge rifle on his back, though it seemed mild in comparison to the alien itself, and even had an eye patch on his low set eyes, showing that he was no stranger to conflict despite the mundane setting of bookshelves and stands, though a relatively identical form of book had taken up the majority of the table central to the room, which he stood before reading.

"Calloway," Eloi called, and the great alien lofted his head so that it stared at the young man thoughtfully, a thoughtful people all the same despite -or perhaps in spite of it- their status as imperators of the Galactic Senate, having found it alongside the Ganon and Harkoni.

"I will take the initiative and assume you've both news of the Glaserium and a question of my own research, be so kind as to indulge me; what of the ore?" he asked, his voice a rumbling yet humble drone that shook Eloi's bones with it's command, and gave him reason to not object.

"It smelts at six thousand five hundred degrees, I'm making a sword as that one fellow specified, what was his name?"

"Xillian Larue," the Acrestian clarified, before scratching a mandible with one long finger, "my own meanderings have brought about a general consensus that indeed; the theory of spacial shelling can be put into effect via our own means, that being these 'quantum drills'." He had obviously dumbed down the term for Eloi's sake, who didn't mind, and motioned to the pile of book like machines stacked on the desk beside him.

"So we can enter new dimension with these?" the human simplified, but the alien shook his head slowly, looking adjusted to the man's tendencies to underestimate things.

"To call it a new dimension would be a misnomer, but think of it this way; the universe is separated into tiles, strings, layers, whatever you want to call them. What we are doing is essentially expanding a bubble between these layers, making a space where new matter can exist, leaking in from other worlds and often times our own, hence why you might see iron next to something completely alien. But due to it being within our own universe, nothing can filter in that is completely incomprehensible, staying within the three dimensions, without taking time into account, and what not," Calloway explained.

"What about time then?" Eloi challenged, wanting to assure himself that there was nothing the Acrestian missed, even if it was just his paranoia.

"Given recent research it's become clear that given the structural qualities of any neighbouring universes capable of intervening with ours, they would all have to have a linear path of time, otherwise our own temporal existence will crush it as the 'defending' universe rather than that which is 'attacking', like ousting a bacteria from via the immune system," the large alien elaborated, but his compatriot was not convinced.

"Why just time and not space?" said human queried, and the alien was especially ready for that question.

"Time is a unique attribute that a universe cannot exist without, nor the space between universes for that matter. Something can expand into nothing, but something has to be expanding along some train of time, otherwise it is null and static, otherwise immediate and thus self productive of time given the circumstances. This has lead to basic laws that are less complex then those of space, and so they are easier to follow in terms of generational qualifications; what 'makes' a universe," the scientist imparted, and Eloi nodded, satisfied with the complex responses his friend and ally had given.

"So when will it be ready?" was his last question, and this the Acrestian had a short chuckle about.

"Well, that depends, what would you like to see translocated?" Calloway elected, and Eloi's scepticism was back.

"I get a choice?" he grimaced, and the alien cleared his throat.

"Matter is subjective, a universe is just space until it's filled with something," it was the shortest answer he'd given.

"Fair enough, uh," the smith took a moment to think, "What? Lakes of gold? Forests of evergreens? Can I be that specific?"

"Yes, the man that invented these was so kind as to transliterate everything into actual words rather than numbers and figures, so it should only take a few minutes to have all your dreams put together. Mind you, they do still have the chance to become unstable; excessive meteorite strikes, world decay, overt and immediate natural disasters, we'll have to be careful. But aside that we should be fine." Calloway noted.

"Well, if it gives us what we need... We will be on a planet? Right?" that would be disastrous.

"Yes, I took the liberty of encasing all 'spawns' planetside, or any equivalents there-of, we will have to take a quantum drill with us if we want to get back to our own universe. I'll make sure everyone has one. In fact, go get geared up, I have mine here, make sure Barlow is ready as well." the Acrestian recommended, and Eloi nodded.

"Will do, be back in ten," he corroborated, and left the library in sprite, an adventure on his doorstep.

…

Now I do realise that techno-babble was mostly bullshit, but you have to give me props for talking said bullshit so eloquently, or so I think. These sorts of things are quite fun, frankly, and if things don't look at all related just wait, they will be. Winky face ;P.

So uh, review if you feel it deserves one, and keep on reading.

Isaac, also known as Erro.

2: Chapter 2

Forge.

Chapter 2: Babel.

Eloi was not a stupid person, and while lazy Barlow understood this was a lucrative endeavour they would be undertaking. As a result of this, they agreed that preparations for most procedures was in order, and had geared themselves as such.

They both had a rifle of some type; Eloi's an archaic bolt action he had personally created while Barlow was more attuned to an electronic submachine gun. The Human possessed a short Katzbalger, a figure eight guard and pronounced pommel more than assuring protection for his hand while the Inapi possessed a culturally significant blade noticeably similar in design to the Korean Hwandudaedo, with a ring pommel and lacking hand guard but a thick and sharpened blade built around military engagements.

Both however did use armoured pressure suits, as in the case of a hostile atmosphere they at least wanted to breathe. As they were commercial, they came in a variety of colours, but Eloi had gone for a sooty, slightly bulkier suit that pertained to his tanking style of combat, his friend more reserved structurally, slimmer so to speak, but more ostentatious with it's yellow and blue connotations, though his helmet was noticeably stacked around the jaw as to accommodate the large caruncles that hung down aside it.

The Inapi had also taken the liberty of bringing a large device he called a plasmodial disruptor, something that spewed it's namesake and whose canisters glowed bight red in the dim light of their homely cave.

It took them a good five minutes to heave on the suits, at which point they simply magnetised their weapons to their backs and thighs, a commonplace technology that made transportation a far easier feat, among other tools and necessities they felt were in their best interests to take, including pickaxes, a book of two, and plenty of food.

Of course, before Eloi attended Calloway, he realised he'd left his blade to set, and quickly rushed into the forge suit and all to check on the cast. Luckily, as he peered down the hole, it appeared to have set, and with that in mind the smith brought his elbow down on the edge of the casing. The casing easily separated, and he only had to pull with a small amount of force to completely pull the two sides from each other, at which point he had a good look at his project.

Something strange had occurred, and as he snatched up the falling blade by it's flats he observed it closely; it was as he had designed it, well weighted and lacking any blemishes, translucent as it's ore and sharp along the edge, but where the fuller began and ended it seemed to still be in a liquid state, protected by a thin layer of Glaserium, and slowly moved in an arch around the fuller, perpetually in movement even as he stood there watching it.

Convinced that it was nothing, he brought it over to his workbench and fiddled with the various grips, pommels and hand guards until he found one he was happy with (That being a straight hilt woven with golden wire, it's pommel an eagle's head from which a sword knot extended, both also made of golden materials, while the hand guard itself was a diamond shaped cross-section inlaid with openwork patterns that zigged and zagged around the base of the blade, to which he affixed the blade's tang).

With this job done, he placed it with great caution on a mostly clean table before turning back to the mission at hand, and walked out of the forge thoughtlessly, his mind cast to other things more pressing in nature.

When Eloi entered the library again, Barlow was conversing with Calloway, asking largely the same questions as he himself had. The Acrestian was armoured as they, not only with his huge machine gun but also nothing short of a missile pod set upon his shoulder, easy to carry both with the Alien's natural strength, genetic modifications and navy power armour. Aside this, a huge zweihänder hung from one shoulder, and on one of his four arms was a large glove, a kinetic transfixor or so the smith seemed to remember, capable of focusing small amounts of gravity on one position, crushing whatever the target was.

There was some irony in this; Eloi had known Calloway to be the most passive of their little trio, yet he was the most heavily armed, if purely due to his size and incidental ability to handle as much.

"Are we ready then?" the large alien asked, and either of his two colleagues nodded sharply, words not something they cared for, "And that's where you're wrong, Eloi, you're missing a quantum drill."

Grunting, the human walked over to a stack of the things and snatched one of the boxy mechanisms up, a silver box of bluish decals that glowed and hummed quietly. He magnetised it to the back of his hips, and watched as the Acrestian smirked, his comment having been his equivalent of a joke.

"Now, let us go," the librarian garnered, and proceeded to place a quantum drill on the ground, this one humming more loudly and glowing golden, a sign that it was active, it's central circle glowing brilliantly in comparison to the ones sitting idly on their belts and table.

"When you're ready, touch the central ovate," Calloway ordered, and Barlow strode forward.

"Might as well be the guinea pig, if I die it just means I'll get to hell quicker," he cited, attempting to force Calloway out of the way –whom just stepped out of the way politely- and without missing a beat placed one long, spindly claw upon the gem-like contraption.

Without noise or pomp, the Inapi simply disappeared, no smoke or slow moving smoke trail to hide him from the world. What did occur was a short wave of inertia that Calloway and Eloi felt, making them both stumble just slightly.

"What Barlow fails to realise is that it is impossible for us to measure his success rate on the other side; after you?" Calloway noted thoughtfully, and prompted his ally with two of his long, armoured arms.

"What's the worst that could happen?" the smithy stated mirthlessly before moving closer to the box, and while it was meant with satire his alien friend had different ideas as to draw away Eloi's sprite.

"Gravitational super mannerisms cause you to collapse into a small singularity before imploding over a six hundred metre radius," he clarified, and the human stopped his hand from extending any further, caught as if frozen by some arcane power.

"Thanks."

"Glad to be of assistance," Calloway admitted, and Eloi shook his head.

"Whatever," he groaned, and let his finger press the oval.

For a moment there was a sense of euphoric impossibilities that made him feel on level with god, but he dare not act upon it, instead waiting to see what would happen next, and found that despite the mere moment that it seemed it lasted for so much had gotten done in his head already. Plans for the worst and where to find Xillian Larue's contact among many other trivial topics that included memories he thought lost and dissatisfied cravings for food and other things.

After this there was nothing; his mind dispersed from anything and everything while he felt as if he were the vacuum itself, and perhaps this was the closest he could describe to what he felt as there really was nothing else that came close to being 'a nothing'. However he would never have to describe this as the moment it passed he forgot all instance of it, as with the euphoria of before.

Then a sudden jolt, a shell-shocking stomp that felt like he was being crushed into a small ball while drugged and numbed as to off put the pain but not that feeling one got of impending danger and destruction. After which Eloi seemed to expand into his original shape and then into his weapons and armour, which felt as though they had just fallen on him in exactly the right configuration to resuit him before he felt the intensity of reality –at least by comparison to the whole experience- smashing into him, or perhaps vice versa.

Splashing against water, his pressure suit stopped him from blurred vision or failing breath, and he in fact found the bottom not a moment after landing having his knees dig into something hard and solid, likely stone as he stared at it, though it was pink and glaring under the water.

Rising, he found air quickly, the water rising only to his chest as he knelt there, and watched upon the water clearing from his visor as a certain cynical Inapi watched on with hands on hips, "Hey bro." he mocked, and Eloi could practically feel the grin emanating from his helmet.

"Shut up," he growled, but was interrupted from anything aside getting to his feet by a sharp snapping noise and the sound of a large watery explosion, a spray of water hitting him in the back and seeing Barlow look over his shoulder.

Turning, he saw Calloway standing slightly hunched in the water, which only came up a third of his four calves. Looking supremely disenchanted and overall quite neutral to where they were and how they had gotten there, only stating with the supreme elegance that Eloi and Barlow had both come to expect from his species "That isn't promising."

"Why, we're planetside, I don't feel very fat so the gravity is good then," Eloi grimaced, looking around and seeing a strange sight.

The place was naught but green, knee high water –at least on he and Barlow- in all directions save one colossal tower standing higher than their eyes could really see, extending further and further until it fattened and then got thinner as it defied at least their laws of physics to disappear into the orange-pink sky.

"There is no land aside that tower for us to place the quantum drill, we cannot have our tunnel fully immersed in any type of matter otherwise it will suck it up and spew it back into my library and subsequently the rest of the cave, and I'm sure no one here wants that," Calloway growled frustratedly, gnawing together his mandibles before looking to the tower, and this subsided some of his anger, "Though it does appear to have an entrance."

"Well, that's where we're off to then," Barlow stated tersely, snatching his water proofed SMG –as all their weapons- and beginning off towards the great tower, Eloi and Calloway shortly in tow.

They continued towards it, always keeping an eye on it and staying silent for some time, as it looked to be at least three kilometres away. But this was not how Eloi would have liked to spend his first inter-quantum adventure, and so rummaged through his brain for thoughts that may have been of interest.

"Shall we name this world, I've got a few ideas," the human intoned, and Barlow was the first to reply.

"No, you've got one idea that you'll force on us no matter if we bring a better name to the table. But okay," he chuckled, radio making sure Eloi heard him loud and clear, but it was Calloway that was more passive in approach.

"It would be easier to mark these by layman's terms rather than simply sub-universe 1 or A and so on, what did you have in mind Eloi?" he asked, and the human stopped, staring at the massive tower for some time before answering.

"Babel."

"Wasn't that the massive tower that was supposed to be built to heaven in an attempt to get closer to God, only for him to be a dick and knock it over," the Inapi of the group intoned, but the following Acrestian huffed in dismay.

"They built such a structure to celebrate their own grandeur; by getting closer to where they thought God might be they meant to get further away, to build something high enough for them to spit in his face or at least that's how the traditional story goes," he lectured, but Barlow blew him off.

"Don't think you're the only educated one here cardinal, don't forget that I majored in religio-socio-economics. If God gave them the means, why would he be so cruel as to flick out their aspiring flame- it's like handing a child a piece of paper before ripping apart the origami crane they create," Cardinal was a derogatory term for the Acrestian elect and to a degree the species as a whole, citing their imperial fanaticism to the system they had founded and their position as Viceroy Prime electors, the head representative and de facto leader of the Galactic Senate.

"The Tower of Babel was like giving a child a piece of paper and allowing them to create a phallic organ; prominent and a blight on human creativity," Calloway stated unperturbed, and Eloi cursed his own tongue.

"Always an argument," he groaned, and attempted to wade ahead of the bickering duo.

The tower for which he had named the world possessed a ginormous ramp encircling it like a possessive snake, side enough to house multiple cities and it looked to be as well, however he heard no noise even as he approached the base of the huge structure, gazing up to see that the one block he stood in front of rose nearly thirty metres.

That was not to take into the excessively cavernous gate set aside, level with the water and guarded by a tall, armoured fellow dressed in burnished plate mail, such a shade of brown that he blended in with the stonework, and so Eloi had not noticed his presence until that moment. He stopped himself from flinching, instead regarding the man's spear with thought, a three metre creation crafted with a bolt through the base of the two pronged blade, and a guard and trigger gave the young man rise to assume the weapon had some type of secondary attack.

He approached cautiously, Barlow and Calloway having silenced their bickering to stare curiously from behind their fellow man, who was considered most appropriate to approach what they thought must have been a human, judging by his general morph and shape, though armour could cut a deceiving image when built correctly.

"Gif thou cuman fremman áwierdnes be cædmon andred sylfum Babili, thou diht sum átorspere geond hiera ceosol," the man growled gutturally, the voice echoing out of his demonic lion headed helmet and reverberating to the very core of Eloi.

Regardless he stood strong, and allowed his translator to best decipher what he could, "Old English," it explained, before warping the words with a disgusting whorl into something he might understand;

"If thy strangers perpetrate harm to our city of Babel, thy may find a spear through their gullet," it was very matter of fact, as though he had handed Eloi a pamphlet and told him to enjoy his stay, but shook the young man regardless, before he attempted to step by the 'man'.

The man lifted his spear effortlessly until it rested horizontally, the shaft level with Eloi's neck though the rest of the man did not move, "Bíd síþ cnéow or andwlita onbéotende ásprungennes, úre ábisgung hámsócn," he intoned, and Eloi waited for his translator to morph the words into something more understandable.

"Halt thy step or face impending death, your business please," he had growled, and the human knitted together his eyebrows, before looking around in each direction, seeing literally nothing on the peach and green horizon.

Then Calloway stepped forward, coming up to rest just behind Eloi's shoulder, placing a hand there and supposing with two of his others "We are travellers, come across the shallows from Harappa. We seek culture and knowledge."

There was a long silence before the soldier answered, taking into account what these strange beings were and what they wanted, "Harappa?"

"Yes," Calloway affirmed, and there was more silence for a time.

"Endebyrdnes,"

"Proceed," his helmet translated, just in time for the heavily plated soldier to remove his spear from their path, bringing it to rest as he had done so before and doing nothing more, presumably expecting them to take it upon themselves to enter.

They did so gladly, with Calloway taking the lead before Eloi and Barlow followed closely, the strangeness of the man and the place in general casting their hopes for riches into dust if only for this world alone.

The main hall that they entered was huge, extending for what may have been kilometres, with giant sandstone pillars extending upwards, encasing an area where the roof gave way and a giant contraption appeared. What must have been a lift by the chains and cogs that roared on even as it stood static.

Throughout the space there were an even number of hooded strangers and guards identical to the one that had stopped them, their huge spears nothing in the space between floor and ceiling. None looked to them, as dubious as the trio were and as alien as two of their members may have been no one seemed concerned for the heavily armed and armoured soldiers walking towards their central lift, engrossed in conversations a whisper and enchanting the place with their indescribable tones.

"What is going on here?" Barlow couldn't help but ask, shooting his head about in a vain attempt to discern anything among the mostly unmarked walls and dull pillars, the brown of the men's robes and the bronze of the soldiers' armour.

"I do not recall initiating protocols for civilisation and life, but nor did I bar them such existence, calibrations for ever green trees may have translated into what we now stand in, and lakes of gold may have become the green seas outside. As I said, these worlds are unpredictable," Calloway remarked, and his Inapi counterpart snorted.

"Knew this was a bad idea," he grimaced, but Calloway was not satisfied with this response.

"Do not insult these people yet, we may find something that is supremely generous for it being under the command of Humans, or so I presume that is what they are," the Acrestian rebuked, mildly insulting Eloi -who didn't care all that much- but illustrating his point with a fair amount of ground.

"Realistically, Calloway, do you think we will find anything of material value in this glorified sandcastle?" Barlow spat, and the Acrestian snarled beneath his helmet, "That's not an answer."

"It's as good an answer as any you will be receiving; you're nothing but a suicidal avian," the scholar hissed, only to evoke a laugh from the Inapi.

"I would have also accepted emo twit, but if you want to be sophisticated…" he trailed off, and Eloi sighed at the two of them.

"'Never a dull moment with a glorified librarian and an angry economist' is how I open a dinner conversation," he mumbled to himself, off in his own world to avoid the bickering aliens, "it's kinda like dating a fussock; all girth and slow as a tortoise attempting a strip tease… I've been hanging out around pirates too long."

…

Now I'm certain I butchered ye olde English, but that's fine, just pretend if you will. Germanic languages are all so difficult to transliterate any way I'm sure this is mild by the standards of most linguistics.

Aside that, I've been meaning to use that word for a while, fussock I mean. Do you think I put it to good use?

Anyway, R&R as always, Isaac out.

3: Chapter 3

Forge.

Chapter 3: Missteps and Miswords A-Fallen.

Unlike most he was well aware of his death at the hands of the quantum drills, only his information passed through the deeper realms of space and time to be reborn anew on the other side, hence the strange sensation of nothingness halfway through the instantaneous journey to where-ever the hell those simpletons had decided to 'drill' to. Rest assured it was almost certainly not what they had expected; the man that now followed them was a testament to that.

He had his orders, and he would carry them out even at his own slaughter and rebirth. Besides, it was no different than going through a wormhole the Senate enjoyed using so often. He hit the ground with a splash.

The elevator ride was eerie, or so Eloi felt, like a climb into some fresh hell and the fact they were doing it willingly, the irony that they had to elevate their position to reach such a place not lost on the Human.

Calloway and Barlow had since silenced their argument, realising the severity of possible punishments for any misstep or misword considering they were surrounded on all sides, above and below taken into account considering their mode of transportation.

They passed perhaps hundreds of rooms, huge and eventually more and more crowded with people and structures, though it did not stop on any of these floors, looking as though they were rising through a vertical city as they were, glimpses of what life in Babel was like flashing by in continuous painting-like snap shots as markets, business and residential flew by at ever increasing speeds until it was just a blur of mostly brown and orange as was the architecture.

"Given the base of the building this should not be possible," Calloway observed mildly, as enthralled with the snapshots as his two allies.

"You did say that it might have a few fundamentals that aren't quite as contiguous as our own," Eloi noted, "mate, you got just what you asked for."

"I didn't ask for this, quantum tunnelling is finicky business," the Acrestian grimaced, before allowing another thought to grace his mindset, "Why did they not seem to care about Barlow or my own differences, even in armour –especially myself- we look far more alien than you yourself Eloi, given the context. Better yet, why are they human in the first place?"

Barlow interjected here, "Perhaps it has something to do with the old tale, the fact they all spoke the same language and worked as one. We may as well just be another minority; frankly I would enjoy living here," he shrugged, "Or perhaps there's some issues perceiving us as foreign in the first place, which is just as likely given we're rising through a tower without the atmosphere thinning out."

It was a good point the Inapi brought up, but one that was not really evaluated by Eloi at least, he could not speak for his larger friend. What bothered Eloi more was the destination of which they had no control over, the lift had begun moving of it's own free will, they had little to do with the contraption's sudden ascension.

It had been referred to as Babel by the guard at the magnificent arch that constituted one of it's front doors, and though the connection seemed improbable at best it did concern him that the actual Tower of Babel was built around the concept of reaching the same level as God. Who they would meet at their destination should it be the top was an interesting prospect if nothing else.

At this point the lift was going so fast as to negate their ability to really make out anything aside blurs of mismatched colour, though any pressure he might feel in the universe he'd come to recognise as his own did not seem to apply here, as there was no downwards force attempting to pin him to the elevator's floor, even with power armour in the 'real' world it would fail him at this point. Babel did not seem to have this issue.

Though this did not negate the excessive amount of noise, as it began to overpower him he could feel those speakers of his helmet muffling more and more so that it was only a dull roar that invaded his ear drums rather than what he imagined would be a deafening scream of mechanical near-failure, or so it felt, and so he felt insecure as such.

There was a disconcerting rumble, something that shook the elevator even as it raced away from whatever it was, and while it wasn't much of a confidence boost there wasn't really much they could do about it, and no one was stupid enough to ask what exactly it had been.

It was within the next few minutes that they experienced a rapid deceleration, something that frankly relieved Eloi lest it were a sudden jolt that sent them spiralling upwards and into whatever roof this place may have had, though somehow he doubted that would happen anyway, just that this strange city wanted to make them feel safe though they failed to do a good job.

When they did come to a stop, however, Eloi had to admit that even he was a little intimidated.

It was an open air space, not thinner than the first floor, with columns lining it's edge and a small encasing balcony sitting atop this, the stairs leading up to this directly astride the massive chain fed contraption that they faced when first brought up, while all around them hundreds of well-dressed nobles and privileged folk existed only to stare at them, instead their attention drawn behind them with the way the crowds thinned towards that point.

There, atop an ornate throne of ivory and gold, live lions lining it's adjacent steps while peacocks sat perched on it's arms and back, there was the most lavish looking royal any of the trio had ever laid eyes upon. He sat with legs crossed, a hand holding his chin while the other lay loosely on the arm not occupied by a bird of paradise, with incredibly long blond locks trailing down the stairs till they came to a rest at the base of the steps, his face was a tanned, Elven looking thing of high cheek bones and glittering blue eyes, a crown taller than it was wide resting atop his brow while he was clothed save one arm in the purples and golds associated with high royalty, and this reached the same place as his incongruous amount of hair. When he spoke, it was not with a modern vocabulary rather than the Old English of those below, though his accent was still strong, "Good day, travellers," he spoke with joviality unbecoming of what they had expected, and both Barlow and Eloi were lost for words though their Acrestian, familiar with such formalities, was not.

"Your highness," he greeted, allowing two hands to remove his helmet while he dropped to four of his eight knees, given his double jointed legs.

"Are we not?" the young man chuckled, letting a high pitched chuckle escape him before impressing a gaze to the others, whom had made good on their previous folly of astonishment by falling to their knees as well, "oh you needn't do that. Come, rise," he insisted, and the three got to their feet cautiously, making no sudden moves for the large guards that were interspersed in the crowd, whom were whispering among themselves.

"I am Sky King Macklebore, top most of our Babel Tower, ruler of those millions you passed below, lord protector and owner of all sixty five thousand floors. Who are you?" he introduced, looking impressed with his own words though it was such a pompous thing, Eloi heard Calloway puff with scepticism, his own species royal subsistence something that set him on edge, but the Human would have none of it.

"We are Calloway, Eloi and Barlow," he pointed to each of his trio in succession, before letting out a short bow, "our reasons for setting upon your holy territory lie in adventure, resource and knowledge."

"Holy... I like this fellow, he knows his place. Do we like these people?" he incurred upon the crowds of nobles, most of which nodded and gave their words of agreement, whether out of them being a blind following or the intimidation tactic of having huge soldiers with giant spears set throughout what must have been the 'court'. Perhaps both, Eloi could not tell.

But it was Barlow that had his attention caught, over their private radio the Inapi made note of something that the Human considered especially shocking, "To the left, wolf head. Reversed revolver."

He had not removed his helmet as Calloway, and so was able to cast his gaze to the man without seeming out of touch with the Sky King, and saw exactly what the cynic meant; there was a fellow in a large wolf's head, war skirt and bandoleer, blades lining either's length and edges, a long spear though shorter than those of the guards held close to his chest, while his free sat in front of his lap, making a downwards point with his pinkie, thumb and ring finger while his index and middle stayed wrapped, an incredibly modern hand sign that most mercenaries used to imply a sense of required patience.

The fact this wolf-man was pointing it directly at Barlow lead the two –as Calloway was preoccupied keeping the Sky King in touch- to believe that this was not some mere coincidence, a gesture with a different meaning here.

However perhaps Macklebore was not as thick as he looked, as he interrupted their observation of the wolf headed fellow –whom disappeared into the crowd at this- with another bout of grandeur, "You seem enthralled, Eloi and Barlow, with my court. Perhaps you should remember who reigns over it supreme."

The implication was an obvious threat, and to prove the point a guard shouldered past a few nobles to the forefront of the crowd to Macklebore's left, giving them annuity for the paranoia they had felt up until this point. Unfortunately, as Barlow had already felt the grip of Human Imperialism, it was with great fault that he could not stand the man pushing himself on them and thus responded with something that would perhaps spell their doom, "Oh fuck off you egomaniacal quack!"

"Barlow!" Calloway yelled, casting a glare with his one good eye to the Inapi before the three of them watched the Sky King wave his hand, at which point the guards encircled them, moving from the crowds to stand before them, spears level with the trio, whom forced themselves into a tight circle.

Barlow had unlatched his plasmoidal disruptor, while Calloway saw fit to level his kinetic transfixor, missile pod and machine gun, his four hands coming in handy given the situation and the amount of enemies. Eloi himself only seemed intent to use the Katzbalger at his waist, one hand lying free even though he could easily draw a pistol he'd stowed away under his back plate.

"You want to know something interesting, travellers?" Macklebore asserted, his presence not obscured as he left the space, "these soldiers listen to me, and will only do as I say. Keeping that in mind, I could spare you, torture you, I could have them force the entirety of this court off the sides of Babel if I wanted."

The trio didn't bother responding, though Eloi was central and facing him for mostly, and thus had a clear view of him as he took in a breath of air, "However, you have insulted me, thus my breath would be wasted giving you that honour and privilege. Men!?" the Sky King ordered, and his soldiers tensed visibly, "kill the-"

He never finished; rather than allow him the satisfaction, the wolf man had appeared from nigh on nowhere in front of the throne to throne a dagger into his throat, cutting him off mid-sentence and giving the soldiers pause.

Though this did not stop them from attacking, only two actually ended up coming for Eloi, Barlow and Calloway, as without specifications of who to attack the guards had no reasoning to exclude each other or the nobles, and so set upon said each other and nobles with all the vigour they would have had for just the three now gunning down the pair while all hell broke out around them, some nobles not so inept at combat but most falling prey to their own fallacies of grandeur as huge spears perforated and otherwise exploded them, as they proved a range capable weapon with the small waves of energy that burst forth, those that were armoured keeling over painfully while nobles all but exploded into clouds of red mist under the discombobulating power.

Eloi had allowed himself during this mayhem to keep an eye on the wolf headed fellow, whom in response to the gaze gave a salute before bounding by the now rabid lions and past the throne off the edge of Babel, though he had no room or time to see what would become of the fellow as he cast down as there was a certain amount of battle going on around him that gave him more reason to pull free his gun then give into cravings of curiosity.

"We must leave!" Calloway demanded, gunning down a pair of nobles dumb enough to charge the aliens, while Barlow was busy fisticuffing another to death, Eloi himself holding off a downwards bore from the spear of a guard.

He was on a knee, but used this to his advantage to roll forward and out from the man's thrust, which instead drove into the ground and gave the smithy shelter for a short amount of time before he slashed the man's midsection and let those sickly organs flow by cut and armour, spilling out and staining the visor of the Human.

Scrambling out of the way so not to be crushed under the collapsing guard, Eloi wiped away the muck and blood from his vision to see Calloway placing down a quantum drill, though blind in one eye deft enough with his four arms to hold a guard at bay while attempting to type in the preconditioned code that would send them back home.

"Barlow!" the human grimaced, watching the Inapi take great joy in stomping the face of a noble until it was but a fine paste laden with bone fragments, "we're leaving," his voice had grown hoarse, and so had a commanding undertone attached that had the alien in question follow orders immediately though the mere suggestion by the Sky King had seen him explode in rage.

Well nearly, he held up one long, clawed finger before unlatching his plasmoidal disruptor, kicking away another noble stupid enough to face him and launched a long beam of red-orange plasma at the chains holding up the great elevator that had in turn held them some time ago.

It burned through the archaic structure almost immediately, and with some sick satisfaction that at least Eloi erased they watched the elevator disappear with several guards and nobles unlucky enough to be standing upon it, crashing sounds immediately following as it collided with the edges of the hole of which it had regularly traversed in the past.

"Let's go! It's ready!" Calloway announced, having a pile up of bodies aside him as soldier after noble after soldier attempted to gain glory by killing the four armed demon, though rather than the static English of which had been present up until that point Eloi recognised hundreds of different tongues being used, and found himself briefly considering that perhaps Macklebore had been more important than he first seemed.

He cast a glance at the corpse of the Sky King for a moment, before thinking things over and weighing his options, looking over to see Calloway vanish into thin air, and then Barlow run off towards it as well. Throwing all caution to the wind and assigning himself a suicide mission, the young man took off towards the throne callously, dodging by warring nobles and soldiers, having to stop to maim a lion pouncing at him, and made it to the top of the steps and to the dishevelled body of what had been a great man.

"Souvenirs are very important where I come from friend," he mumbled mindfully, and snatched the ivory grown from the man's head and the necklace from around his neck, which held a pendant resembling the tower itself.

Turning heel, the smith just dodged as a guard swung his spear at him, casting off the back of the throne and stumbling after the near miss, at which Eloi cast his blade –having thrown the pendant in a waist-mounted hard case to do so- into the giant's knee, making him cry in anguish and fall over thoughtlessly.

In fact it occurred to the young man that the entire tower was beginning to topple, the after effects of Barlow's parting gift resounding only now, and so he began sprinting to the quantum drill, which went mostly unnoticed as people continued to kill each other mindlessly.

Again he had to throw a noble off of him, kick a guard in the shins after deflecting a spear and do a barrel roll to avoid his colossal falling form. He had to consider throwing more weight behind each stride after a short time, looking almost like some dyslexic kangaroo, due to the slant of which the floor had taken, and still people began to tumble off towards the throne and off the edge altogether in a fashion infinitely less graceful than the one fellow whom had sprung off on purpose.

Luckily, this also meant that the quantum drill was sliding down towards him, something he took full advantage of as finally the floor seemed be almost vertical and he himself was more lying against the ground than standing upon, the drill drew ever closer and with a final pounce worthy of the lions now tumbling to their doom alongside everyone else jumped, reaching out for the central orb of the drill.

It was only for an instance that Eloi felt the orb, before in another instance he felt himself tumbling onto the floor of Calloway's library and into Barlow, identifiable both by the legs of his armour and the curse words that he threw about upon being barrelled over.

The smith just stayed there for a moment, glad to be out of the horrendous world, before realising that he was slowly applying more and more weight to the leg of his Inapi ally the more and more he relaxed. Hence he stopped, scrambling to his feet and turning to see his Acrestian friend deactivating the drill a-rush, clearly concerned with what else may come through should he leave it active.

After he succeeded in doing so, the quantum drill in question fading from it's vibrant gold to a more passive blue, the three stood and stared at each other for some time, Eloi chancing showing off the crown and pendant, and when he did Barlow grunted, "Well that was unproductive."

"Is the first time anyone does anything productive?" Calloway argued, and the Inapi just let out a characterless snort before storming out of the room, mumbling something about a hard drink and slamming the redwood door behind him.

"How many people did we just kill?" Eloi couldn't help but wonder, and Calloway raised the ridge above his one working eye, what would have been analogous to an eyebrow.

"Candidly, Eloi, I could care less," he admitted, and moved after Barlow to the door, "nonetheless at least we ensured some measure of entertainment for the day."

Eloi watched the large alien for a moment, and then the crown and pendant in his hands, before shrugging and throwing them onto a table, following after the mildly deranged scholar with some much deserved calm and quiet.

All the while none had observed the bible sitting by the now inactive quantum drill, now burnt and steaming mildly as events within were torn from their very pages.

…

Any questions, feel free to ask.

That marks arc one. They won't all be so short, but any good TV show, manga, cartoon or other fictional medium knows that to get a story rolling you must have the first part short and easily followed, and then you can get into the deeper shit.

R&R, thanks for reading up to this point.

~Isaac.

4: Chapter 4

Forge.

Arc 2: The Testing Grin.

Chapter 4: Graticon Auspicious.

The following night had been spent drinking away their grievances with the first quantum bubble, or at least that's what Barlow and Eloi had done. Calloway more interested on catching up with local news as he had failed to keep up to date due to his research into what the Inapi of the group had seen as a colossal failure.

But before they could delve into another, as at least the Acrestian was eager, Eloi had made it clear he had a blade to deliver. Calloway understood the importance of this, as having their blade selected among the throngs of other smiths upon Graticon would give them a certain level of elitism, especially as Xillian Larue proved an important figure, having appeared on the local news quite a lot in search of the perfect blade.

Those wishing to submit their weapon would have to travel to any of the six cities he'd dispatched a collector to, one so happening to be but a monorail away.

Mind you this monorail was not some high tech transport travelling at speeds that would make Babel's elevator look slow, plated in chrome and drenched in flashy lights and advertisements. No instead it was a rugged industrial thing with peeling yellow paint and an open carriage held high above the sub-desert scape on huge pillars and pipe-line tracks, travelling at a respectable pace but none you would see on Earth or other 'civilised' planets.

This is what Eloi and Barlow used, and as it's speed was something more standard –lest the air currents behead them- they had the chance to observe the vast breadth of outback between their mining colony of Rusty Springs and the city of Bedrock. It was a mostly barren landscape pockmarked with huge oil rigs, looking as though thousands of hammers were striking the desert in succession on a backdrop of dusty red mountains and huge, imperious oil geysers though they seemed somewhat pathetic next to the Tower of Babel of which their trio had traversed.

It actually reminded Eloi of his home planet; Reservoir, both of which housed large desert continents on the inner rung of their system's goldilocks zone, beset by miners and industry and holding itself with a rugged though relaxed constitution. A planet wide Australia, some had called it, and he was inclined to agree.

Bedrock was no different in inclination, a city straddling the ocean and well known for it's popular beaches, it was a strange mix of Irish, Taiwanese and Pacific Islander settlers not to mention those of alien origin –particularly Matta and Jaedeer- that made for a very different approach to life than those that lived in other cities, and was the second oldest city and thus one of the more developed culturally.

From the monorail it looked a shining gem of orange and green lights, full of small business and never really shaking off it's down-town feel, it had huge populations of slums and close knit beachside communities that encased the financial district rather snugly, drawing the eye of all to the space elevator that erupted from it's very centre, the first on Graticon to be erected, and the lower rungs of this were built into, making use of vertical space like no other human settlements save perhaps the Slavic-Romani colony of the Marble Black, but now Eloi was letting his mind wander.

Barlow was also native to Reservoir, and so this would have been a throwback for him as well had he been any less cynical, "Where did you say we were meeting this guy?" he asked, and this drew the Human of the duo from his reverie.

Blinking a few times, he asked rather dumbly, "Wha?"

"Where are we going, where are we meeting Larue's contact? Pay attention you day dreaming sack-face," Barlow repeated, and Eloi shook his head.

"Uh… Parker-Langley Hotel, the bar, man by the name of Alexei Dmitrov," he explained, ignoring the insult more out of inability to care then persistence of patience, "it's in the east end of the CBD."

"Fair enough, do we know what he looks like?" Barlow continued, and Eloi shook his head.

"Nah, but apparently we can ask at the bar, that's all I know," the smith admitted, and looked at his own lap, where the sword lay wrapped in several layers of cloth.

They were not the only people in the cart, sharing it with a trio of young men likely from a larger mining consortium, come for either the brothels or the casinos, or perhaps both. The other passenger was a Ganon, three legged, nine eyed people with bulbous heads ending in a small mouth tipping a sloping, egg shaped form, thick arms and stout torsos, a shade of orange though some ranged to darker shades of crimson or yellow as geo-genetic morphologies were just as common among alien species as with Humans. This one in particular possessed the tattoos across the expanse of flesh between his arch of eyes and small mouth, an assortment of swirls making him look almost Maori, and that was not where the comparison ended considering they were well known for their frightening war dances even under fire.

A steadfast people united even more so then their Acrestian or Harkoni counterparts, Eloi admired them for various reasons, most noticeably their tolerance for other species and curious inclination to the Human race, one of the friendlier xenos to say hello when the Galactic Senate first encountered Humanity.

This one wore a typical leather jacket and three legged jeans, a tatty bowler hat sitting on the back of his head behind the ridge of eyes, fitting snugly there considering it was a perfectly round mound of flesh. No shoes, but that was understandable considering their feet were quite hard, thick and calloused things; rocks and sharp grass probably didn't bother the Ganon.

Eloi himself had dressed in a thick, black shirt and jeans that matched, though he had rolled up the sleeves of the former considering that it was a rare occurrence for Blackrock to actually get cold. Aside this he wore his work boots and cross, and looked rather fresh considering he was usually covered in sweat, soot and grime due to himself and Barlow having taken a shower before setting out, though not together.

The Inapi was less prone to dark clothes, wearing a blue coat kept to his form via a belt around the waist, but broke up the stark shade with a pair of white pants as not to seem to glaring and bombastic. The Inapi were not ostentatious, but they enjoyed colour in their lives even as the cynics they were known to be.

Also, though Eloi had advised against it, he was well aware that under the jacket Barlow had a pistol hidden in case anything got ugly. Bedrock was not excessively prone to riots and violence, but it still had it's fair share, and so the birdman had asserted it was good to be prepared. Eloi was not convinced on that however, and so had forgone any weaponry aside the one he was delivering, he didn't think he'd regret it, even on a frontier world.

Eventually, the cart began to slow and came to rest at an above ground platform squished between two star scrapers, as it did terminate on the west side of the financial district. It was rather anticlimactic considering for something so important to the populace of several settlements that there were perhaps twelve employees including the cart driver whom loaded out himself. But there were lots of these, all linking up different settlements across the continent and even others, which meant that making each and every one a display of industrial grandeur would not only be expensive by hilariously unnecessary.

There were stairs that spiralled downwards directly in front of the where the monorail terminated, or a pair of double doors on either side that lead into the buildings the thing was resting upon. It didn't really matter which one you took, presuming you didn't have business in any of the builders, and so the entire occupancy of the cart just used the stairs, a slightly disorientating experience given they had to walk in circles for maybe ten minutes as it was so high up.

The three young men quickly broke ahead of Eloi, Barlow and the Ganon, more impatient or perhaps just sprite to get to their means of entertainment, which was understandable. Much of the populace of miners were young men trying to find their fortune, or just make a quick buck, and Graticon proved an excellent planet to do that on, with fine entertainment, fine beaches and what much of the male Human race –not taking into account lesbians mind you- considered fine women, it was a good place to spend one's early years out of the educational machine. Assuming one did not have means beyond it set in stone, would-be gold collar workers were not forgotten, just disinterested in the mining portion of Graticon aside technical positions like the ones that likely existed in these two towers.

What neither Eloi nor Barlow had been expecting was the Ganon to speak, though it was not altogether a rejectable thing considering even the latter of the two respected the species, "I see you've got a sword there, you submitting it to Larue?" he spoke with an amiable diction, one that was disarming in it's means and likely meant as such.

It was certainly news, the entire planet was aroused by this considering it had a significant portion of artisans concerned in the trade of weaponry, what Xillian wanted would surely be copied by hundreds of other duellists and thus would bring a wave of buyers from around the galaxy wishing to get their hands on some 'Graticonian Steel'.

Mister Larue was a well-known personality, exactly what he did was unknown, but he had amassed sway over millions –potentially billions- of people via his smooth voice, good looks and distinctive persona, and was regularly interviewed by hundreds of reporters and talk show hosts purely because of it. How it had gotten to this point was difficult to attribute, frankly, no one cared.

"Aye, felt it would be a good investment," Eloi admitted, and the Ganon gave an approving nod.

"I must say, though, there have been upwards of a hundred applicants, or so the news is reporting. The pessimist inside me says that it's unlikely he'll accept my own or your sword. The optimistic part of me is certain my particular mix will outdo any other competitor, the realist for what my friends know me says I have just as much a chance as any other smith, considering Xillian's a vague fellow. Tell me, what of you?" he replied temperedly looking very uppity about the subject considering he swung his arms like some eighteenth century businessman, Eloi was just waiting for him to tip his hat.

"I feel the same way, personally, the likelihood we get selected is slim, but it's still there and glaring. I know we'll get more business even if we get in the top three and not get chosen, for instance, so it's generally a good business venture regardless," he explained, and the Ganon gave another nod.

"That's good to hear; Montgomery's the name," he introduced, and proffered an arm even as they circled around the stairs.

Eloi took it graciously, casting a glance back to Barlow for a moment –whom had stayed silent for his lacking knowledge on the situation- before levelling his eyes with the upper most of the Ganon's, the correct one to keep contact with, "Eloi, and that's Barlow, a pleasure to meet a fellow smith."

"Ditto, my friend. I work mostly with guns and blunts, but I've had my fair share of bladed contracts if you know what I mean," he chuckled, and Eloi joined him in boisterous laughter, the joke something only smithies could understand, and so Barlow had to stand confusion and other districts of anger as the two launched into a discussion about short swords and antiques that would last until the base of the stairs five minutes later.

"It's been a fulfilling experience talking to you Eloi, Barlow, but I'm afraid we must part ways from here, I have business elsewhere," Montgomery interjected, and stopped to stick out his hand, which Eloi took again, "If you're ever in New Bicheno, look me up, we must have another conversation as raucous and informative as this one."

"Of course, my friend, I assure you I will," Eloi fixed the man with a warm and promising smile, before the two released each other's grip and began off in different directions, Montgomery into the arch of a park gate while Eloi and Barlow had the wit to walk down a wide set of stairs into a plaza beset on all sides by massive star scrapers, reaching up beyond how far Eloi cared to crane his neck, "that was fun."

"I didn't understand a word of that, what on Earth is a 'Smelter's Aid'?" the Inapi questioned; somewhat peeved that he couldn't get a word in.

"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," Eloi laughed, and the birdman flipped him the bird, somewhat ironic in that respect.

The two were silent after that, though Eloi had a spring in his step far more pronounced than before, and the duo walked across the plaza somewhat singularly as though the place was crowded few seemed to use the central area, instead keeping to the shade presented at the edges of the buildings framing the area.

Inapi had skin resistant to UV along with their natural plumage while Eloi wasn't exactly bothered by the weather due to spending hours in front of a boiling forge that used actual magma as a heat source. As of such, there wasn't really much in the ways of incentive for them to join the throngs of dressed up men, women and xenos lining the plaza, and so crossed it's expanse in a saunter where elbows could go as far out as either wanted.

Then it opened up into the CBD, the Bedrock Strip, a length of precinct full of huge star scrapers and toting expansive holographic signs depicting everything from spaceships to fast food establishments, buskers standing at appropriated spots and drones numerous. Something that immediately drew Eloi's eye –as it was likely supposed to- was the central sculpture, standing atop a massive pedestal that uni students, tourists and businessmen on break crowded around, benches lining the area with bins and small fountains.

Made of bronze, the actual figure was a Dragon surrounded by what were either coyotes or dingos, one of it's claws mounted on the end of a pickaxe's handle while it's head was angled upwards and a man stood atop it, pointing towards where Eloi and Barlow stood at the opening of the plaza. The man was Marion Graticon, the man to discover the planet and system in the first place, and pioneered it's development into a mining colony due to his own vast fortunes that had aided him in exploration, hence why Graticon sat in the Marion System.

The stature was enormous by comparison, even if the visage of Marion had been all that stood there it was likely twice as tall as the actual magnate in the prime of his life, whom had died about a decade previous.

The duo didn't spend too much time observing the CBD, but did take the time to spot their target building a ways down it's length at the opposite end of the strip, a large stone-work base with a massive glass-work extending from where a shingled roof would otherwise rest. It was one of the three buildings in the CBD that were anything akin to 'residential' and thus was quite expensive. What was known about Xillian Larue is that he had absurd amounts of money, and so he could afford to have his men live in the lap of luxury for extended periods of time, extended for the fact this search for the perfect blade had been going on for a month and a half.

Eloi and Barlow quickly traversed the Bedrock strip, not so much for the fact they wanted to get out but more so they could have more of the day to themselves, as this was a somewhat tedious task by comparison to the things they had done only the day before and beyond that. When you came to Bedrock you always had to do something recreational, it was an unspoken law that any and all locals abided by and something tourists were of course encouraged to do.

It was that state of mind that made the planet such a nice place to live, prosperous, relaxed and full of good will, while it may not have possessed the finer qualities of a more eco-friendly, technocratic settlement it had a raw passion for the enjoyment that outweighed it's inabilities. Not unlike Reservoir, or so Eloi had observed.

That and they were both supremely intimidated by the prospect of meeting Xillian's contact, even they had a mild fantasy here and there about what might happen should they be selected, and what that would mean for their business was something that made smith and miner alike anxious about appearances and timing. They didn't want to catch this Alexei in a bad mood, as that might reflect on his opinions, though the two did not know exactly how each sword was going to be judged.

Regardless of their own insecurities, the duo found themselves before Parker-Langley in no time, and with a look of determination and a nod to each other made their way inside, intent on asserting their position whether this Dmitrov liked it or not. It might have been a false hope, but even then, Eloi had in his head he'd at least impress the man with his craftsmanship, persuasion a key thing he'd learned over the years.

His only prayer was that Barlow could hold his tongue this time.

…

Clever people can probably tell where this is headed, or at least what it's going to involve. My only advice would be to keep in mind that I started out writing as a fantasy author, so that will influence me here.

R&R.

~Isaac.

5: Chapter 5

Forge.

Chapter 5: Regarded and Repulsed.

When they entered the foyer, Barlow and Eloi were presented with an olive drab carpet full of fleur-de-lis, mahogany walls littered with paintings and furniture Anglo-Saxon by any measure, with an arch on either wall and a staircase astride either side of the front desk, it was none of these that drew their attention but instead he who sat behind that desk.

A Podley.

There were many alien races, and some were odder than others, Barlow by comparison to a Harkoni would seem Human-like and vice versa with Eloi though both hated to admit it to some extent. But none were so out of place in a world full of Space Dragons and Warrior Fauns as the Podley.

Vaguely shaped like a stout, fat teardrop, the Podley had four stumpy legs and a ridge up their 'front', large mouths situated on their backs akin to those of the Venus Fly Trap and an eye not on the peak of their tear drop bodies but instead a much more practical place by their evolutionary deliberations; the two front feet. This Podley wore a suit-like onesie around it's main form, cutting off at it's legs and about a foot from the peak of it's body, a superfluous tie and pocket present there so that perhaps it would fit into Human society somewhat, but the fact it had to stand with it's two front feet on the desk made it look like it was ready to pounce were it not a rotund thing.

They approached cautiously, as Podley's were well known schizophrenics by Human standards, and when they were directly in front of it and it had not moved –breathing not an issue as it was frog like in that respect, taking in oxygen via it's skin- Eloi felt inclined to speak.

"Is this Pa-" he began, but was cut off.

"Are you here to kill me?" the Podley asked with a deep, slow and tumbling diction, and there was a short silence as either of the duo before it attempted to process the question.

"No! Of course not," Barlow insisted finally, and the Podley's eyes flickered to him, then to his chest.

"Oh… then why have you brought in a poorly concealed long sword and a slightly less poorly concealed pistol? I'd run, but you'd probably catch up at walking pace," the Podley asserted dryly, and Eloi attempted to cool down the situation.

"The sword is a delivery, and my friend here is just taking precautions, surely a well minded Podley such as yourself can understand that," he explained, yet the concierge was unimpressed.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," it cited, "at least given this situation." It stayed silent for a while after that, neither Eloi or Barlow exactly knowing what to say to the mildly inept alien. Because of this, after some time it released a colossal, infuriating sigh of displeasure and decided to speak once more, "Welcome to the Parker-Langley Hotel, how may I serve you today? Aside dying please."

The part at the end was tacked on rather carelessly, and by comparison to the rest of it's diction was rather rushed.

"We're looking for the bar," Eloi answered, and the ridge above either eye of the Podley rose significantly, as though it were surprised.

"When you walked into the building it was on your immediate right, now that you are standing before me asking and answering questions in equal measure it is behind you and to your right if you were to only back up rather than turn around. If you did turn around, it would be on your left about a metre in front of you. If you still have questions please direct them to a steward or other employee because I don't want to talk you anymore," he explained dully, and then directed his eyes back to the entrance citeable between Barlow and Eloi, a sign that he had indeed stopped talking to them.

Watching it for a short time, Barlow and Eloi then turned to see that indeed the arch lead into a dim room of which they could spy tables and chairs set up, and slowly moved away with their own stupidity in mind, hoping to whatever god would listen that the Podley was incapable of gossiping about 'the two stupid patrons that didn't realise the bar was on their right upon entering the establishment'.

They decided not to mention it, and instead found themselves descending down three steps into the slightly depressed room, with the same mahogany wood and fleur-de-lis carpets but a stage opposite the end they stood at, to their left a long bar hosted several men and women while to their right were several booths below curtained windows and before them small round tables with varying amounts of seats and accompanying populace. Drab green a prime theme of the room, above chandeliers with only dim lighting fizzled away while a murmur spread the width of the room though it was mostly drowned out by the singer upon the stage and her piano playing colleague.

She seemed to be singing to one person in particular, a man facing away from Eloi and Barlow, whom had a glass of what appeared to be vodka, and would raise it to her every time she allowed her made up eyes to travel to him, sometimes singing directly to him though it was rare. This brought attention to the fact the man was surrounded on all sides by suited men, likely bodyguards, whom faced away in the direction they had been assigned, hence two observed the miner and smith as they entered.

They figured that must be Alexei, and with no further inclination or hint as to where the man might be or exactly how to approach him decided it would be their best shot just to approach him, and Eloi made the sword's existence very clear, though this did attract a few eyes from the other patrons of the bar.

When they were behind the seated man and subsequently before two of his four bodyguards, one of them backed up a little and leaned in, catching the man's attention and whispering something in his ear.

This gave rise for the man to turn, and in an instance Eloi had him assessed; with pale blond hair and creamy skin, his nose was soft and button while his eyes were deep wells of sky blue curiosity perhaps more so than those of Eloi himself. His neck was craned, bent over to observe them closely, while his lips were wide and thin, perpetrating his long and surprisingly sharp teeth in a devilish grin that unsettled the two men before him.

He was not as dressed up as the men surrounding him, possessing a light brown jacket unzipped to reveal a white button up beneath, and were it not for his belt it would look a onesie considering his pants were of similar colouration –or lack thereof- before they stunted at his mid-calf where long, dark boots took form, impeccably shined and impressive so that as he spun around on his stool the leather they were made of squeaked a small amount against the metal bars that held his seat up. Though noticeably different by comparison to most everyone else was the ornate, silver badge resting over his heart, a shield shaped brooch depicting a wolf's head, glowering at the duo with some distinction.

"Another smith?" he smirked, clearly joyous though in a less than friendly way, his Russian accent though mild clipping and trilling his speech in just the right way as to make him seem far more intimidating than his apparent stature and young age would otherwise purport, "we haven't been getting many recently, so this is somewhat of an event for me at least."

Eloi took a breath, drawing it quietly though staunchly and deciding as the smith it was his job to chat up the potential customer, "Alexei Dmitrov, I presume?"

"Of course, comrade, but that was poor form," he noted, sparking something in Barlow's eye that Eloi saw, but he shook his head at the Inapi before he could say anything stupid, thus allowing the Russian to continue, "you should have introduced one's self first, 'tis something Larue taught me, but for the sake of civility I will let this slide."

Ironic, considering he himself had spoken a few words incorrectly thus far, but Eloi didn't bring him up on it lest he be declared a racist all of a sudden.

"Eloi, sir," he introduced, and was about to introduce Barlow when Alexei interpolated.

"Eloi what?" he implied, and the smith cleared his throat.

"Just Eloi… an orphan, sir," Alexei's features changed in an instance, and he immediately placed his two hands together as if in prayer.

"Shit, forgiveness friend, one cannot know these things," he apologised, and cleared his throat as Eloi had done, likely a habitual catch on the Russian's part, "I know what that is like, comrade. Allow me to buy you a drink, the best kind of rectification, yeah?" he said, his smile coming back though it was more tempered than before.

"Uh… sure," Eloi accepted, and the young man sitting before him clapped twice.

"Excellent, please, sit, sit, your friend as well, come," he insisted, spinning around in his chair and motioning for Barlow and Eloi to take up the two stools beside him.

The bodyguards did not seem to mind, in fact they didn't seem like they wanted to be there in the first place, and so the duo took up stock aside the Russian thoughtfully as the man in question called for a waiter, who scurried over in what was probably misguided fear. "A drink for my friends, what do you like?" he turned to Eloi and Barlow, both of whom looked at each other and then to the man again, before the latter shrugged.

"Vodka," the Inapi suggested, and this gave Eloi reason to loosen up, as if the birdman felt safe enough to order an alcohol it likely meant they were safe.

"Schnapps," he averred, the German beverage something from his childhood though if it had been respectable as other boyhoods it probably shouldn't have been. Though frankly the young man didn't mind, and gladly accepted the fact he was being given free alcohol, his upbringing on Reservoir of all places desensitising him to the concept of business-while-drunk.

"Vodka, schnapps, you heard them, go!" Alexei snapped, and the frightened waiter quickly jogged away, clearly under the impression he'd be physically punished though by the state of the room there had been no demonstrations as such, "and who are you comrade? Aside my alcohol-fuelled implorations, aha, you have stayed quiet, aha, 'tis something that gives me great curiosity."

Eloi realised that Alexei might actually be a little bit tipsy, something that surprised him for it was only eleven thirty in the morning, but decided that they might be able to use this to their advantage, but just decided that he wouldn't get close to the man's mouth lest he get a whiff of vodka or whatever it was in the man's glass.

"Barlow, Barlow Nathans," the birdman introduced, giving a short nod before throwing his gaze to the stage, arms crossed on the table.

"An Inapi and a Human walk into a bar, beheheh," Alexei sniggered, "that in and of itself is admirable to the highest degree; did you have trouble with the front desk?"

Eloi realised he would have to do the talking until Barlow had ingested a few drinks, the birdman tighter to crack than a chain-locked nun or so another of Eloi's friends had put it so eloquently, and decided that lying would likely go poorly, as he was bad at it, "A little."

"Asked if you were going to kill him? Aha, he does the same to us every morning, great fellow though, once I said yes and he went mad. Bottles of fun, though, especially when he's drunken a few bottles of fun, ha!" the Russian chuckled boisterously, and Eloi couldn't help but laugh alongside him.

After a bit of that laughter though, Alexei rectified his laughter, stopping immediately and making a cutting motion with his hands, just as the waiter got back as well, "Apologies, comrades, I realise I am not in the greatest state of mind right at this moment. Please, let me see this blade of yours."

Eloi did give the waiter a bit of relief by allowing him to place down their drinks alongside the bottles per the smith's request. The sword had lain wrapped up in his lap up until that point, and Barlow drew his attention back to the exchange as the dark haired fellow drew it out, offering it with both hands to Dmitrov, who took it carefully.

He placed it down on the table between their drinks, and toyed with the leather cord around it for a moment before unstringing it, and then with more caution drew away the wrappings of which hid the blade, even his bodyguards failing to observe around them as they got curious of the sword's form.

When the final few wrappings were undone, Alexei breathed out a breath of relief and impression in a way that cited that indeed he did like what he saw. He picked the long sword up by it's golden handle, his strength belaying his size as he effortlessly drew it till it stood vertically, drawing attention from around the bar and giving pause to much of the mumbling in the room.

The lilac of the blade glinted staunchly against the brown and green surroundings, and Eloi held his breath as he watched the Russian inspect it, "Light weight, blemish free, a beauty among the throngs of tempered steel and obsidian black I've been receiving as of late," he announced, not as unknowledgeable as his first appearances permitted, and brought the blade down slowly till it's flat rested against his free hand, and brought it close with both so that his eyes could observe it's fuller, "why is it still in liquid form here? Or is the alcohol finally going to my head?"

"I'd be lying if I said I knew myself, Glaserium sir, is what it is made of, but I've not a clue about why it constitutes itself that way," Eloi admitted awkwardly, genuinely fearful that it would be a deal breaker.

"Fair enough," Alexei stated in an unreadable tone, "I'll be sure to forward this on to Xillian, if you don't mind. I will say that this is a beautiful blade and that at least among the swords that have been submitted to me, I'd pick it. I think you have a good chance of winning, and I don't just say that to anyone that walks in here."

Eloi wasn't sure whether to doubt that or not, but nodded affirmingly, "Of course, is there anything else you require?"

"That makes it sound like you're going to leave, sit comrade, enjoy the music and the drink, both are of fine quality I assure you," Alexei winked, jutting a thumb towards the singer in a manner that was obviously perverted as the rest of the bar went back to their own devices and banter.

"Um, sure, I suppose," Eloi was a tad awkward, but he was sure the Russian couldn't recognise that given his state of inebriation.

"Great! Glad you can stick around, besides, you must have questions, they always have questions," Alexei ascertained, even in his drunk state capable of telling that the way Eloi bit his lip was more than just anxiety or anticipation.

"Well, yeah," he admitted, "but only if it's fine with you."

"Ha ha, how kind; be my guest, comrade, I've been asked a lot of things about a lot of things," he repeated, whether a play on words or the alcohol getting in the way debateable, especially considering he had just downed another glass of vodka and was pouring himself some more, flawless despite the alcohol itself. He also seemed to notice that Eloi was still uncomfortable with the prospect, and so sighed, "Okay then comrade, how about this? You ask me a question; I ask you a question, give and take, yeah?"

Eloi felt more at ease with that though it would be anxiety fuelling for others, and took a long drink of his schnapps before nodding his head vigorously, sitting there for a second before realising that the Russian expected him to go first, and then did so, "Who are you?"

"Alexei Dmitrov, right hand man and understudy to Xillian Larue, I perform all the crucial tasks, and as Bedrock is a major transit point between several major mining colonies and their smith subsidiaries, this was considered a crucial task," he explained proudly, and then smiled a sly smile full of unsettling fangs, "my turn…" he waited for some time, observing the young man before him, who felt very self-conscious under the scrutinising glare of the man.

It was several minutes that this went on, until the smith could take it no more and decided to assert his presence as a person rather than an art piece, "Well?"

"How old are you?" Alexei replied immediately, placing his hands together and bringing them to rest against his lips afterwards.

"Oh, twenty nine," he had felt it was anticlimactic by comparison to the long wait, and shared a look with Barlow, who was unimpressed and overall rather disinterested.

"Ha, I would have guessed younger, you don't look a day over twenty," Alexei admitted, shrugging hard and bringing his clamped hands to rest on the table, leaning upon them and letting his gaze bore into his newfound friend.

"You?"

"Uh uh, one must have some originality in their queries I feel," Alexei insisted, and nodded for the man to ask something else.

Running a hand through his dark locks, he puffed a breath of exasperation before coming up with something new, "Do you fight with a blade? Or are you more on the gun side of the debate?"

"I little from column A, a little from column B, I throw knives, which is neither here nor there by straight comparison," the Russian grinned, and that sparked something in Barlow at least, whom put down his glass a little too hard for it to be natural.

The Inapi squinted hard at the man, who just grinned back a wolfish grin consistent with the one on his breast, and it clicked in Eloi's mind why his avian friend had been so horrendously abrupt in his clinical observation, "I'd like to join in," he asserted, and Alexei raised an eyebrow in elation.

"Fair enough, but first let me have my second question comrade," he kept his gaze level with Barlow, whom stared right back with something lingering just before contempt, and the tenseness of the air seemed to rise even as they stared at each other fiercely.

"Fine,"

Alexei turned to Eloi, "How's your fixating?"

In an instance Barlow had enveloped his hand in his jacket then out again, doing so silently but with intent very apparent to Alexei and Eloi. It kept his contingent of guards realising what had happened, as they were too busy observing the other patrons to worry about the ones that were chatting with their boss.

The agent, by comparison, just stared at the partially concealed pistol, under Barlow's long claw enough to be mistaken for a shadow, yet the Inapi's pinkie –or what passed as one- was bent back under his palm in a way that would have been painful for a human, but for him meant he could rest it on the trigger without so much as a strain on his ability to drink comfortably.

"Mine's not the best, but I get there. But Barlow's here is really strong," Eloi implied, and then the birdman let out the wisp of a smirk before it disappeared again, satisfied that he and his partner were in control of the situation.

"My turn," he beamed, and Alexei looked to him with a bored face, rolling a hand for the Inapi to continue, "Are you who we think you are?"

"That depends; do you mean the guy that saved your collective lives from some idiot with absurdly long hair? Or some other fellow you now feel you need to threaten?" Alexei reproached coldly, beginning to tap his fingers on the table.

"What were you doing there!?" Eloi half whispered, half yelled, leaning forward angrily and realising that this could not have gone smoother unless his ally had brought the weapon.

"Gosh, so much pent up stress Eloi, you'd do well getting a massage, you know that?" Alexei sighed, "If you're going to be so upset over the fact I have reason to call you comrade then you can leave. Until a time when you realise I'm the only reason we're having this conversation, you can leave. Capiche?"

The fact he reiterated his comment twice meant that he actually wanted them to go, and they recognised this, though left the sword for it was under his hand, "we'll be in touch," he farewelled as they rose, yet Eloi nearly spat at him.

"I don't want you to be," he growled, and the Russian raised an eyebrow for the umpteenth time.

"Regardless," and he let out a wolfish grin, one that now only reminded the smith of the great wolf head that the man had worn only the day before.

The duo left quickly, if only to escape his encasing maw.

…

A slightly longer chapter, I hope you liked that, because I really did, it took forever to think up the chapter title though you wouldn't believe. This is kinda what I meant when I said 'longer arcs', but still not quite exactly.

Regardless, R&R.

~Isaac.

6: Chapter 6

Foreword: Now for something I've feared doing ever since someone pointed out that I was very bad at it; character development.

Forge.

Chapter 6: When Fathoming Sins.

Shaken by the events and somewhat concerned for their own safety (and Calloway's at least on Eloi's part), Barlow and Eloi had decided they would stay in town the night, as they didn't quite trust using a monorail that would be isolated for much of the journey moments after they figured out that some knife juggling loon who fancied himself a furry was responsible for keeping them alive.

Barlow at least knew just the place, as he had stayed in town on more than one occasion on business that concerned the trio as a whole. Due to this, Eloi was forced to follow him, and had used that time to explain the situation to Calloway, who in turn cited his own intentions to come in after them the following morning.

As he doubted Alexei would have the forethought to prepare for such an event, Eloi agreed on behalf of himself and Barlow, then farewelled the Acrestian on as good a terms as the situation would allow.

It took them some time to reach even halfway to where they wanted to go, heading through a tight, cobbled path of constant ups and downs crowded with Matta, Taiwanese and Islander folk, small whitewash building with red shingled roofs marking the place as a culturally flavoured place rather than the econo-centric design of the CBD nor the West European theme of Parker-Langley, and it was refreshing to have some more rugged and friendly buildings surrounding the two.

Though despite this, they did not feel safe.

Aside the obvious fact that there were many women in windows with cleavers at the ready and men on roof tops with guns of all sorts it was more the Matta interspersed in the crowds that caught the attention of Barlow and Eloi.

The Matta usually stood six and a half feet tall, a metallic face plate with deep set, reptilian eyes the only facial revelation and two deep holes, one on either cheek that acted as their mouths though they did not move on the exterior. Their hair existed in the form of exceptionally thick cords almost universally adorned with bands that kept it back and flowing from the ridge at the edge of their face plate.

Skin thick and of dark blue-grey complexion, their chests were wide as were their hips, with thin torsos in-between and broad shoulders, their arms terminated in three fingers and a thumb, and their legs were hooved, triple jointed things that had the kicking power of any buck or ram. The thicker one's thighs were, the more attractive one was considered male or female, but this did not impede their ability with the sword, nay it gave rise for admiration as it meant more weapons could adorn the legs.

The Matta were a species on the road to unification –as then they could apply for Prime Viceroy, elected leader of the Galactic Senate- who despised guns, citing them as archaic weapons for the inept, and had designed their technology –even those of spaceships- around the ability to kill an opponent up close and personal.

They invented the widely used Matta Manoeuvre Chassis, a chest-back mounted module that jettisoned the user in whatever direction they fancied for minimal bulk or fuel load and worked in or out of atmosphere, and every single member of their species was trained in the art of swordplay, with doctorates in scythes and bachelors in daggers.

As of such, it was concerning to see them in amongst the other locals as they all had a sword, axe or other bladed weapon with them and had no qualms about sharing any other weapons with each other, as it was a familial and friendly thing to show off and share one's weapons where they came from save the one each got on their tenth 'solstice of life'.

However Barlow had reassured him that they were welcome, just that the locals were asserting their dominance via a display of arms that hardly equalled half of what he himself had at home, and while he would have laughed at their angry pomp in his own room it was the fact they were there in the middle of it that stopped him from dropping that sense of impending death.

Despite this, he did soften his heart when he saw Matta and Human children playing games in the street together, old men from either species and both racial groups laughing and playing board games while mothers scolded unruly boys and allowed smells to waft into the local area to accumulate into one larger explosion of nasal flavour, like peppering an area with six different kinds of missiles, or so Eloi morbidly compared it.

It was away from mass amounts of technology, and he at least enjoyed that naturalisation, as though he was walking through a real place rather than the chrome dusted country clubs places like Parker-Langley attempted to be.

Eventually, and after a build up the Human couldn't stand for much longer, they drew into an open area surrounded by the whitewash buildings, a square that perpetrated the community being more a pocket than an expanse. It had asphalt grounds cracked with age and use, small stalls outside larger establishments which in and of themselves only stood up to three stories at the most, while central to it was a stature far smaller than that of the CBD depicting a Matta and Islander shaking hands. The fact it hadn't been vandalised either meaning people were too fearful to do so or too respecting, and that warmed Eloi's heart somewhat even as Barlow dragged him past it.

"This is the place," he stated, and drew Eloi's attention away from the statue behind them and instead to a three story building standing staunchly despite it's cracked paint. It was obviously a pub, inn or other such establishment. It was cited by the large sign above the door as the Kia Ora Hotel, and housed two balconies for either above-ground floor and a terrace for that which was on the ground, several benches lining windows and a warm yellow glow emanated from within the open door.

Barlow stepped ahead of his friend, the smith following after hurriedly, and into the pub. It was immediately noisy and rambunxious, the smell of alcohol more crass than Parker-Langley's invading their nostrils and the rumbles of laughter and conversation more immediate and offhanded than again that same high class hotel.

Kia Ora's main bar was a largely yellow walled pub with a bar facing the door and a plentiful supply of seating set about. Behind the bar a female Matta –identifiable by the mammary glands under either arm, though they were covered by a close fitting shirt- served patrons patiently and firmly, asserting when some had drunken enough and when tabs were due. Behind her one could see an opening mildly skewered by bottles of varying colour that gave a hint as to how the kitchen worked, and there were at least three men –one Matta, two Taiwanese- cooking and working as chefs, and the smell of ribs and other pub-delights was what Eloi at least felt next.

It was filled with at least thirty people of varying stature, some wearing shorts, singlets and thongs* while others had the semi-casual wear of office workers. Clearly all that persisted in the place were happy to be there, even if smiles did not grace their features, and this finally put Eloi at ease even as the bar lady had a broad sword straddling her shoulder blades.

Barlow approached, catching the eye of a few patrons and especially the female Matta, whom moved away from her conversation with one Islander to greet the Inapi. A handshake occurred between the two and then they started speaking, "Hello Barlow, haven't seen you for a while," she stated, her New Zealand accent flicking the finger in the face of the species barrier.

"Aye, I've been busy; a cavern opened up and let me say that it is a beautiful depression of resources. But it's good to be back, Arabella," Barlow replied warmly, something that surprised Eloi somewhat, "how's business?"

"As good as it's gonna get, mate," Arabella answered dryly, "we're in the middle of a community full of people that regularly get thrown out of home by either their parents, girlfriends or land lords, makes for good business."

That was a dry humour both Barlow and Eloi recognised, and so they both chuckled at that, "I hope it's not too busy, as I need a room for tonight," the Inapi interjected, and the Matta before him let out a hollow, singular "Ha!" before placing her hands on her wide hips.

"Who's your friend?" she asked, golden snake like eyes boring into the Human callously.

"Eloi, ma'am," the smith answered, not caring to let Barlow introduce him with some kind of underlying contempt as he usually did. Instead he leaned by his friend and produced a hand, one that the woman took respectively.

"Glad to see you can speak for yourself, half the time this try hard brings in some drunken hussy he found on the beach," she replied with a laugh that Eloi returned, and looked at Barlow to see a slight blush grace his raptor like features.

"Do you have a room or not?" he growled, and the Arabella's eyes hooded over somewhat, a sign that she was unimpressed.

"That depends," she asserted, "do you mind sharing a room?"

Eloi and Barlow shared a look, before either shrugged and they both stated something along the lines of "Not really."

"Then I have a room," the barwoman affirmed, "third floor, room nine, hundred and twenty for the two of you."

"Does it have a balcony?" Barlow queried, and she nodded cautiously, "then we'll take it."

"Well fair enough, just don't go jumping off of it, had enough drunken teenagers die from tipping themselves head over heels over the balcony," she warned, and Barlow nodded, fishing out his wallet and paying for himself.

"For the record, Eloi," he stated, "you're paying for yourself."

"I realise, I realise," the Human sighed, coming up after the miner to pay his own dues.

After that, she threw them the key and directed them to the stairs, which they took silently and without haste, the scepticism of Eloi and the shock of either having whittled away with the conversation moments ago.

They passed the second floor, and found themselves upon the third, presented with a hallway they were standing in the middle of, it was devoid of population, and the sound was muffled and barely audible from down the way they had come. At either end of the hall an open door lead onto a balcony, and along it's length was a door on either side of the staircase and three across, the stairwell taking up room enough to make it implausible to have an even amount on both sides of the building.

The walls were a butter yellow, the doors oak, small oil paintings were placed here and there and a few small tables had pot plants and other hotel musts that made Eloi feel he was in the middle of England though he had never actually been to Earth much less the Anglosphere's capital.

He and Barlow entered their room temperedly, rewarded with again a nice yellow thing with two beds and a few chest-of-draws, what appeared to be an enwall closet sat to their right in the form of four Louvre doors and a more solid, full thing to their left that likely lead onto the balcony same as the one they had observed from the hall and from the front of the building.

Hence, Eloi walked by the empty centre of the room to that door and opened it, outing himself indeed on the balcony and looking over the edge to see the square they'd just stood in ten or so minutes ago, and cast his gaze to the Matta-Islander statue that he had admired before, doing the same now even as he was far above it, finding more respect for the apparition than the dragon visage in the CBD.

He turned around at the sounds of springs and a soft thump, seeing a bed settle almost immediately as Barlow lay on it, far enough down it's length so that his head lay on the blankets rather than the pillow and his booted feet over it's edge, having claimed the one closest to the balcony door.

Eloi walked back into the bedroom and around Barlow to the other bed, a low cabinet giving space between them, he sat down, and watched Barlow for a time before stating hesitantly, "So,"

"You never told me you were an orphan," the Inapi noted coldly, and this gave Eloi reason to raise both eyebrows, surprise overtaking his form before he calmed and shrugged.

"I didn't think it was important," he mumbled, and the Inapi sat up, fixing him with a hard stare.

"I made so much fun of you and your childhood, about how easy it must have been in comparison to my own. I don't think by any measure that I haven't the right to say as such but I wouldn't have been so harsh if I knew you fucking grew up on the streets as well," he grimaced, clearly feeling guilt over the whole thing.

"I don't like to talk about myself," Eloi replied, and his friend crossed his arms, throwing his legs around the edge of the bed until they rested opposite the smith's.

"You shouldn't have let me be such a dick, Eloi," he countered, yet the Human before him was unconvinced.

"I don't mind, I'm used to it," he sighed, dejection apparent in his voice as his own thoughts were broadcast before him, "Reservoir wasn't a bad place to grow up… it was just without parents, and look at me now; I turned out alright."

"Regardless, I fucking slandered you for no good reason, and you just sat there and took it?" Barlow hissed, though the man was prepared for such a query.

"Any good smith knows patience," he objected, yet it did not stop the Inapi from feeling horrid inside.

"Doesn't mean you should have to be…" there was a silence as they both waited, not entirely sure how to approach the situation after the few lines of which they'd gone back and forth. It was a very real and very horrible thing that Barlow had done to Eloi over the years, belittling his heritage on the grounds of Humanity's past transgressions towards the elders of the Inapi that were now mostly dead, yet the young man had never done anything about it, "listen, I'm sorry."

"I know, I know," Eloi conceded, nodding twice with each breath.

"How can I make it up to you? You've gotta let me make it up to you," Barlow asked, and yet the Human only ran a hand through his dark locks.

"I don't know," he admitted, clearly not used to this kind of pampering he'd received throughout the day, even if it had been via a rather large guilt trip on both parties' parts, that being Alexei and Barlow, "I really don't care, I've had that sort of treatment all my life. You get used to it."

"But you can't let people belittle you like that, Eloi, it's not something anyone should have to put up with," Barlow insisted, and brought up his claw to rub it against his snout, a comforting move that Inapi used in distress.

"Then why do you do it in the first place?" Eloi grumbled, a tad confused and somewhat annoyed himself.

"Because I'm a cynical asshole that likes to see other people suffer," Barlow growled, his self-deprecation a thing that endeared him to the black smith.

"Well that's all the justification I need; stop doing it, there. That's all I want," he assessed, and the Inapi nodded vigorously.

"Okay, sure, I will," the fact he just used three variations of the same thing –that being yes- solidified Eloi's faith in him to in fact stop doing as such, and he approached the after affect as of such.

"Good, now can we drop the subject?" he implored, and the Inapi hummed for a moment.

"Sure, sure, it was just eating at me, okay?" he explained, and the smith waved him off.

There was another bout of silence after this, Eloi not too savvy on how to approach the aftershock of an apology while Barlow felt inclined to hand him the floor as a sort of reassurance that what he said had not been in vain, and so it was ten minutes that went by with Eloi mostly checking out the room before he said anything.

"Do you think Alexei is gonna do anything?" he questioned, and the Inapi –now lying on his bed, this time without his boots- turned his head to face the standing fellow.

"Truly? No, not really, but it's better to be safe than sorry. Calloway will come in tomorrow with some weapons, and then we can head back, it's more a sense of reassurance than anything else," he explained, but Eloi remained unconvinced.

"I'm wondering why he saved us at all, or how he knew we'd need to be saved. It's not just some coincidence that he appeared in Babel, or the fact he was so conveniently there upon our near demise. I mean he didn't stop the king from nearly killing us all together anyway, he just stopped him from specifying what parameters the guards were allowed to kill in," the man countered, and Barlow let out a half shrug.

"Who knows, I'm more concerned about what he might do now that we've outright threatened him, and if this has anything to do with Xillian beyond Alexei himself," the Inapi considered, catching his friend's attention and drawing it to that frightening possibility. If Xillian was involved, that meant they had a lot more to worry about then simple throwing knives, but a web of literally any and all possibilities from alien assassins to some kind of blackmail.

But this fathoming was interrupted; there was a knock at the door.

…

*The shoes, pervert.

Bleh, how bad did I do? That was very difficult to write, I don't know why… it was just such a strain on my brain, again; bleh.

For those of you getting bored of all the walking, talking and observing, read on; there's a treat for you next page.

As always, R&R.

~Isaac.

7: Chapter 7

Forge.

Chapter 7: Mancer.

Eloi had never been gladder for the invention of the peep hole then he had been then, the paranoia filling the air around he and Barlow something that made him pessimistic for what stood on the other side of their bedroom door.

At the rapping on the door, dun-di-dun the noise occurring, he had Barlow toss him the gun as silently as possible before hiding it behind his back, the other hand resting on the door as to allow him to lean in and peer through the little glass tube adjacent to the outside world.

Though warped by the fisheye effect of the peep hole he observed three individuals clad in dark clothes, two looking thug like and young, fit and impatient, waiting for the fellow to open the door. Though Eloi and Barlow could handle any common thugs with ease, it was what he observed with the one directly in front of the door that set his heart a beat faster.

He was tall, a yellow, tartan scarf wrapped around his lower features while his eyes burnt a distinct, burning white. Aside this he wore a dinner jacket and accompanying dress shirt, and appeared to be wearing a kilt. His fingers occasionally twitched, and his brow was perpetually furrowed, as though angry with all that moved. Unfortunately for Eloi, he likely was.

Turning around speedily, he mouthed the word “Mancer” to his friend and then waved his arm hurriedly. Barlow immediately proceeded to a desk by Eloi’s right, snatched a letter opener from a mug of pens and other essentials before bounding out onto the balcony with all the grace and silence of a master assassin though it was just the natural stealth his species purported.

“Who is it?” Eloi feigned ignorance, taking a step back from the door and levelling his pistol with it.

In an instance, the wood had all but been obliterated, thousands of tiny shards exploding in all directions as it’s very being was imploded bit by bit. The Mancer hadn’t moved, but the two thugs had pulled pistols to attempt to fire on Eloi; he fired first, and clipped the one on the left by the shoulder before readjusting his aim against the kilted fellow.

Unfortunately the man simply dispersed from existence, and the shot instead connected with another door hard enough to keep it from burrowing through it. It was then that he felt concerned about the man on to the right that had not been immediately shot, but that was put to rest when a small knife connected with his side, causing him to shout in pain and tumble into his ally.

This less than mild exchange occurred in less than five seconds.

But Eloi did not have time to put down the two tumbling thugs, as in an instance he felt the air behind him disturbed and turned just in time to see the back of a hand before it connected with his face. Despite the lacking momentum the sheer strength of the Mancer had the smith literally smacked out the window aside the balcony door and into Barlow, only stopped from falling over the edge of the building altogether by the iron railing that was built for such purposes, surprisingly sturdy considering what had just been flung into it.

He felt the Inapi squawk in surprise and pain, but was too busy getting to his feet to care, immediately jumping up and peering through the window to see if the Mancer still stood there. He did, but his hand was raised, and that was a bad sign.

Swearing, the Human jumped out of the way just as a huge wave of pure force was produced from the Mancer’s palm, throwing out the entire wall and door of their room and sending Barlow with half the balcony into the town centre below, Eloi just avoiding the edges of the magical pressure.

He rolled, unconcerned for his ally –Inapi were generally considered unkillable by ‘conventional’ means, rather ironic considering their suicidal tendencies- and got to his feet just in time to see a thug connect eyes with him, and fired twice down the hall to try and dissuade the pair of thugs from following him.

They just ducked before firing back, and he hit the wall aside the door before letting his frazzled senses settle, again only twenty seconds at the most having passed. There was a brutal sound of stone and wood on bronze, and it was with some dismay he realised the statue he admired so much must have been destroyed, but focused on the two thugs he figured would have separated, as there was a door on either side of him; one leading into the hall, and another into the other bedroom.

With that in mind he simply ducked and turned to see the form of one thug somewhat close, too late to readjust his aim, the man got no less than three bullets perforating his form as Eloi took full advantage of the man being singular.

Seven bullets discharged, three left.

He fired blindly but once into the wall to his right, which would undoubtedly make the thug twitch. He needed to keep these last few bullets with him, and so spun the pistol around to catch it by the barrel, spinning around with the intent to bound back onto the remains of the balcony.

What he got was an incredibly distasteful face partially covered with tartan, and in his surprise attempted to swing the pistol into the side of the Mancer’s newly teleported head though given any other situation he knew it would be in vain.

Unsurprisingly, the Mancer caught the man by the wrist, holding it there in a grip more than iron. He leaned into Eloi, not even moving his arm but instead forcing the man back with sheer weight of presence until he stumbled, having let go of his pistol in his fright.

It was then that the Mancer released his grip, and bent down same as the smith fell so that just as the young man hit the floor his own hand connected with his chest, holding him there for but a moment until he had his victim’s attention.

When he did, the monstrous being simply cocked his head and unfurrowed his brow just the slightest in what seemed a smirk of satisfaction even as his mouth was covered, before applying a force that would seem mild by his standards.

Eloi was forced through two floors under duress that would kill any regular person given the concussive force required to send such a body through the carpet and relatively new planking. But he himself was not quite so fragile given various reasons, and so was only winded heavily with the feeling of several cracked ribs to think upon.

There was much swearing and disbelief as he settled there, and it was due to this that he decided to open his eyes, as to assure the population that he was not in fact dead yet.

He looked up through the dual holes above him, and saw that the Mancer and remaining thug stood at the top most’s edge, peering down though they did not appear able to tell if he lived or died. As of such the man allowed the strong arms of an Islander to wrap around his shoulders, and as he was dragged away watched a pair of Matta sprint into view, swords at the ready, before their manoeuvre gear jettisoned them up the hole and out of sight, all the while the rage fuelled anger of Arabella filled his ears.

Though he himself was fading out of consciousness, and thus reasoned more for the sake of rest than any real faith that the two and any others willing to join the fray could handle it, before shutting his heavy eyes and allowing sweet dreams take him away from the sudden bout of violence.

It had lasted all of three minutes.

~

Barlow had many gripes with the world, everything from bus fares to the military intervention on Humanity’s part in the several millennia long Alalia Civil Strife, but it was less instantaneous than being blown off of a balcony –or more appropriately, with a balcony- and onto a pair of bronze plated statues.

The Inapi felt a collection of glass shards in his shoulder, a slab of debris pinning either leg and his arm twisted out of it’s socket, minor stuff really. Rather than wait for help, he simply bent his legs and kicked off the stone, the satisfying noise of it thumping onto it’s other face giving him reason to roll back and onto his feet.

He felt his back against something metallic, and turned to see the body of the bronze statue –or one of the bodies- half covered in stone and wood, before sighing and turning. Barlow rammed his arm against the static form, and heard a sickening pop as he righted his limb, followed shortly by him rolling his neck and then brushing one clawed hand over his shoulder, brushing away the larger shards of glass.

Looking around, the nigh-unkillable birdman saw that he was in fact facing the Kia Ora, and that there were many people upset with him but more primarily concerned with what he now saw as Eloi being dragged outside.

Stepping over the debris before him, he came up aside the Islander and watched his friend, seeing that while bloody he was alive and relatively well. Though he was fading out of consciousness, Barlow instantly became a tad more enthralled in the two Matta that jettisoned themselves up and through the hole of that he postulated the Human must have been driven through, as it was completely in the means of a Mancer to produce such power.

He growled an angry growl, and connected eyes with Arabella, whom was yelling and screaming in rage at him and Eloi, before storming over into the pub where the woman stood. “Shut up,” he spat harshly, silencing the woman with the grit and gravel he’d slanted it upon.

She fixed him with the hardest glare he’d felt, but stood unshaken as the proud Inapi he was, before casting his gaze around the room and towards a rather convenient place, the mantle of a fireplace.

There he saw two blades of differing make displayed proudly as if a hunting trophy, though they were likely the tools for such activities rather than that of which had been stolen. Especially considering they were obviously of Matta design principals, something he’d picked up on since working alongside Eloi for so long.

He approached briskly, and upon reaching this fireplace pushed up from his boots to grab the handle of a thick blade, bent forward somewhat like that of a kukri and ended in a sharpened flick. When he tugged it at first, it did not budge, but when more pressure was applied it cracked slightly and gave, pulling free easily from it’s brother and to Barlow’s side with some anger.

“I’m gonna kill that bastard,” he growled, and pointed the blade at Arabella, “Keep Eloi safe.”

There was a loud explosion upstairs, and the building shook, throwing bottles from their shelves and tipping tables and chairs as though they were playthings. Barlow managed to steady himself on the mantle, and Arabella on the bar, and both waited for a moment before they heard from above “He’s running away!”

“Not on my watch!” Barlow yelled frenetically, and began sprinting towards the door even as Arabella yelled her spite and discord, especially regarding the state he’d left her hotel in, but the Inapi didn’t really care.

Outside, he saw that the Mancer had indeed used his ability to project force to propel himself away from the building, a trail of dust left behind as it passed by his clothes, obviously having to explode his way away from the building.

Not in the mood, Barlow quickly jotted around the pile of rubble that had all but buried the statue and began sprinting intransigently until he had picked up a speed close to that of a professional athlete, all the while throwing off his jacket, holster and shirt to reveal a feathered chest.

When it was out of the way –the avian’s glare still locked on the quickly escaping Mancer- he began ruffling his feathers to such an extent that his shoulders and elbows appeared to grow, at least to the untrained eye when really they were simply remerging from their flattened state into something more proud. In an instance, he cast them aside, and they splayed out in such a way as to produce wings that extended even past his hands, where they quickly picked up wing and took him off the ground, of which he followed up with rapid beating as to make the process faster.

On the ground, and stunned at it, Arabella and a collection of Islanders, Matta and Taiwanese stood around a mildly groggy Eloi –though still on the cusp of consciousness- observing the Inapi take off, “He can fly?!” the woman asked sceptically, and it was the half unconscious smith that clarified.

“Hmm?” he looked up, eyes half lidded, but still managed to see his vulturous looking friend rapidly gaining on the Mancer despite the man’s otherwise superior technique, “Oh yeah,” he mumbled in a high pitched tone, “he does that sometimes, being a Light of Heaven and what not, I’unno.”

That got an incredibly surprised response from the people assembled. As they were all well aware of what exactly the Lights of Heaven were, that being the elite troopers of the Blessed Aeronauts of the Phoenix Throne, what had effectively classed as the Inapi air and space forces.

The majority of the group then cast their gaze back to the rapidly shrinking view of Barlow and the Mancer, the former of which appeared to be chasing the latter towards the docks some ways away. The Inapi was beating his wings continuously without any shows of tire, and it was when the Inapi was on the tail ends of the Mancer’s Kilt that he stopped.

Catching a draft, the Inapi appeared to suddenly incline and rise beyond what the Mancer had achieved, before suddenly pulling in his arms to rise above his head and grip his new sword’s handle with both hands. He stayed floating on the air current for a moment, before the momentum he had achieved was overtaken by the force of gravity and he fell, the Mancer largely unaware the Inapi had even been there.

In but an instance, anyone able to observe the exchange –and that was quite a few given the height of which they were flying- would have seen a colossal spurt of red flare out above and in front of the duo, and this was due to the birdman of the two bringing his blade full tilt into the man’s shoulder and through his chest until it rested in the man’s waisted, where it was caught on his hip bone.

Regardless, the man was exceptionally dead, though did not make a noise as the silent Mancer that they were known for being. Instead, his magic simply ceased from casting from his palms, and the combination of gravity and momentum rapidly accelerated their decline as the Inapi gripped onto his prey, his instinct to bite into the man’s neck taking over as he gripped the corpse’s shoulders, steadying it below him.

Where they would likely land; a construction site of all places, separated from the docks ahead of it by a wall of shipping containers, just one of the many that took up much of Bedrock’s adjacent coastline.

Letting a twisted smirk grace his features even as they barrelled towards the unfinished structure, Barlow waited for a time that some may have seen as suicidal and testing before the specifics of what they would collide with came to light. A relatively thin beam angled at it’s rest, standing high above the majority of the mass of tangled rebar and unfinished girder, ‘twas a horrid thing to smash into at such a speed.

Because of this, Barlow’s sadistic glee tripled.

When they got close, Barlow took off with such a determined beat that the sheer gravity and momentum –even more oppressing than that gravity of Earth as the planet was a tad larger- was nothing against his powerful Light of Heaven wings.

However, the body of the Mancer was obviously not so lucky.

Jolting against the beam, chest-first, there was a sickening crunch as it pierced his ribs and subsequently his various organs. His lower half, that of which had been ascertained after the Inapi had cut him shoulder to waist had still collected the momentum, and with the sudden stopping force of an entire beam the momentum had nowhere to go aside the Mancer’s head –which snapped forward rather gruesomely- and his legs. Due to this the one of which that was lesser attached to the body came flying off and into the construction site, some unspecified place that would have frightened workers had they been there at the time.

The rest of his form ground down the length of the beam for about a metre before it came to a rest, effectively coating the site in gore of all types, and revealed cybernetics and other unnatural things buried beneath the flesh of the Mancer.

Barlow on the other hand, was given the chance to glide down onto some scaffolding with all the grace of a peacock or swan free of such brutalities as the body above, and landed softly and thoughtfully as his adrenaline ceased and his anger simmered away.

Casting his gaze around as the focus of his rage lay perforated above, Barlow only at that point realised he’d in fact taken off some ways from the Kia Ora and subsequently where his wounded friend lay beset with cracked bones and bruised flesh. There was but a small wave of guilt, especially as the two’s previous chat broiled back to the surface of his consciousness.

But this was put to sleep as the aberrant cynic gazed above once more, watching as blood and other fluids dripped from the higher level. He asserted a need to know this man’s possessions -at least among those things that were still connected- and subsequently saw fit to journey upwards a few ramps and towards the disrupted form of what was once a proud Mancer, citing that perhaps he’d find a note or other identification upon him.

That and he needed the sword back, anyhow.

…