LotS/The Story/Number of the Beast/Last Will and Testamant

Last Will and Testamant

"Adnan Zebra! I'll obliterate you and fling your pathetic atoms into space!"

"Good morning, overlord."

Adrian Zanfran smiled, tapped a purple tentacle to his brow in salute, and continued down the hallway. He could almost feel Barp Sek Bul's glare on his back as he went.

"I'll blast your wretched legs off, and have diseased Snuuth fill their bowels with toxic waste and defecate in the wounds!"

Something fizzed behind him. A red beam flashed past on his left, and a vending machine exploded. Cans of fizzy drink sprayed their sweet, sticky innards all over the floor.

"I will destroy you!"

"New doomsday weapon, overlord?" A potted plant disintegrated on his right. "I like this one."

"Fear my superior technology!"

A chunk of ceiling crashed down behind him. Flecks of dust wafted past on either side.

"The report'll be with you tomorrow," he said, without looking back.

"Very well! Then you will remain integrated for another day. Someone clean this mess up, or I'll annihilate you all!"

Adrian whistled a Screaming Barracuda song and continued on his way. When he'd first started at the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might, little things like threats of disintegration, or having doomsday weapons fired in his general direction, might have troubled him. But these days he took them in his stride. Barp Sek Bul hadn't destroyed him yet, and as long as sales in human space remained strong (which appeared to constitute anything above zero), he expected that happy trend to continue.

"Greetings, puny human!"

"Kill the human!"

"That human works for us!"

"Kill him anyway, and steal his fabled zebra!"

Adrian responded to each welcome and incitement to murder with a friendly grin and a nod, till he reached his sanctum. He let out a contented sigh as its door closed behind him. Sure, it wasn't the greatest office in the galaxy. It had started life as a radioactive waste storage unit -- which meant several days spent carting barrels of green goo through the building, while the Supreme Editing Overlord yelled at him about deadlines and promised multitudinous dooms. And the decor... Animated pictures hung on much of the wall space. Each showed a Rylattu blasting, eviscerating, or otherwise disposing of a human being over and over again. But on the other hand, he had a window. And a little collection of holographic book covers which represented his contributions to the company. All in all, Adrian Zanfran hence considered his professional life and circumstances to be quite satisfactory indeed.

With that happy thought in mind, he sat at his desk and opened his report on mankind's religious beliefs. Barp Sek Bul hadn't been overly impressed when Adrian first pitched the idea and explained some of humanity's most populous faiths.

"This 'God' is foolish! Flood? Locusts? You call those doomsday weapons!?! We should destroy him with our superior technology!"

But he'd come around to the idea. Thus Adrian had been enjoying a few weeks of religious scholarship, researching everything from Catholicism to a fringe group led by a female Vlarg who prayed to herself and had a passion for Earth's Caribbean cuisine. The freelance human flexed his tentacles and continued with that enterprise. Holographic screens appeared around him, chronicling his various sources and avenues of research, while his purple appendages went to work compiling the appropriate elements into his report.

Zanfran lost himself in his task. Even when the door to his office opened and a succession of angry faces popped in, he replied to their yells without taking his eyes off his screens.

"Insignificant human! I-"

"Cheese and pickle, on ciabatta."

After a number of threats and insults, the requisite sandwich appeared beside him. He grabbed it with one tentacle, brought it to his mouth, and continued to type with the other. The cheese was still moving, but that was okay. The Rylattu knew more about weapons of mass destruction than dairy products.

"Adnan Zebra, prepare to die!"

"Tomorrow, overlord. It'll be done tomorrow."

Thus his day rolled on, until he looked up, rubbed his sore eyes, and discovered that he was sitting in the little island of artificial brightness created by his screens. Darkness obscured the motivational pictures, turning them into incomprehensible shifting oblongs. No cries, gunfire, explosions, or manic laughter came through the door. Another workday had gone by at the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might, leaving him alone and tired but intact.

Adrian got up, yawned, and stretched. His tentacles curled and uncurled. He crossed to the exit, determined to locate and consume enough caffeine to see him through till his deadline. The portal slid open. And Adrian gasped.

"Who... What the..."

A featureless masked face stared at him from two bright slits.

"Adnan Zebra?" the woman in blue said.

"N... No. My name's Adrian Zanfran, but what-"

Her cyan eyes flashed. Something rushed towards the forefront of his mind, as though a fisherman's hook yanked it through his brain's soft tissues. It popped into his consciousness.

"Adnan Zebra! I'll obliterate you and fling your pathetic atoms into space!"

He staggered backwards, pressing his tentacles to his head, trying to hold his memories inside his skull before they spilled all over the floor.

"Liar!" Her eyes shone in the darkness.

"No! You... You don't understand! My name's really... Oh, hell!"

He stumbled around and lunged for the window. It shot open in the same instant. Another pair of bright eyes gleamed over the sill. Adrian Zanfran fell away, backpedaling as the man pulled himself into the room and both masked weirdoes in blue jumpsuits stepped towards him.

"Wait! Tell the overlord I'll get the report done! I... I'll..."

His buttocks thudded against the edge of his desk. The masks loomed closer, and cyan flames incinerated his thoughts.

"Scour his mind and his files," the woman said, "then melt his brain."

"No! I'll meet the deadline! I'll meet the fuc-"

"Puny humans! How dare you invade the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might!"

The masked duo spun round. Kwix stood in the doorway, staring along the barrel of a weapon that looked large enough to fire people instead of bullets.

"Prepare to be destroyed, worthless stink-beasts!"

"No!" Adrian cried.

"Not you! The other worthless stink-beasts!"

"Oh!"

Adrian threw himself on the floor and sprawled there. A brilliant, blinding wave of yellow light flooded the room. It seemed to go on forever, searing away the entire galaxy, until he blinked and realized that he was looking at the afterimage burned into his vision. Incandescence began to fade. In its wake, two pairs of legs collapsed beneath cauterized stumps of pelvis. There was now a large, circular hole in his office wall. He wondered if the Supreme Editing Overlord would destroy him for that.

Kwix walked over and kicked one of the lifeless legs. The freelance human stood up.

"Your pathetic friends have been exterminated!"

"They weren't my friends! They were going to kill me! I..."

His communicator bleeped. And because manners were important, even amidst chaos and carnage, he answered right away.

"My name is Wu Tenchu," a voice said. "Prime Minister of the Sian Empire."

"But you're-"

"If you're about to inform me that I'm dead, I am already well aware of this fact, and stating the obvious to a recorded message is of minimal value."

"I've heard of that pathetic stink-beast! He-"

"You've been engaged in research on human religious cults," the politician continued, "and uncovered intriguing details about the ancestor of a certain Novocastrian aristocrat. You requested an interview with her to discuss the matter, but she refused. She was most displeased. In fact, I suspect that in the near future her agents may make an attempt on your life."

Adrian Zanfran glanced at the pairs of legs lying on his carpet.

"You will gather all your research material, encrypt it using the attached protocols, then deliver it to the following account..."

The freelance human tottered against his desk, and wondered what he'd got himself into.

Wishes of Wu 1

"Bao..."

The Vlarg's three eyes shifted. Low-light vision, a keen night gaze that would have done his namesake proud, gave way to blotches of color as focus and dominance altered -- to greens and blues, yellows and reds. But in all fields and frequencies of sight, his prey remained the same. Five enemies. A Snuuth, three humans, and a Sussurra. No hidden dangers lurked in the shadows around the metal crates.

"There are debts which have gone unsettled."

Sloppy and careless. But why wouldn't they be? Licenses made their arms trading legal, so they had nothing to fear from the authorities. And their promiscuous dealings with all the city's major gangs kept them safe from criminal interference. They knew how to ingratiate themselves and turn a profit, wherever they found themselves.

"Retributions long overdue."

Bao could've picked all five of them off with a rifle. But if that had been Master Wu's desire, the mandarin would've selected another assassin. Instead he'd chosen the Jaguar. Bao's furry lips parted in a fierce, predatory smile.

His claws slid from their forearm sheaths, noiseless. The long blades didn't glint in the moonlight. But his eyes did.

"Fickle allies are more contemptible than enemies."

He padded towards them, swift and silent. They lounged against the big, heavy crates -- boxes of such armaments as they'd first sold to the empire's enemies, then to her freedom fighters as political fortunes shifted, and now to Centi Prider terrorists and raiders who preyed on imperial worlds.

One of the humans turned. The man's eyes widened. His mouth opened. But knowledge came too late and brought horror instead of salvation. A claw-blade thrust. Blood dripped from his mouth.

"Make an example."

A woman shrieked and shot. She was still blasting at shadows when steel severed her spine. The next one fell face first, wearing a huge hole in her chest where the Snuuth's panicked gunfire had caught her. One cut took off her killer's arm and weapon. A second opened his immense gut, decorating the dirt with gory streamers. The Snuuth moaned. Flabby hands grabbed at his innards, but they slipped through red fingers. Intestinal stench and the richness of blood met in the Vlarg's nose.

"Let their associates know their leader suffered."

The Sussurra leapt straight at Bao. Of course. What did a gaseous alien have to fear from a blade, other than the price of a new suit? The first cut would rip it open. Then his amorphous body could rush into his enemy's throat and lungs. Or so he likely thought.

Bao's claw flashed blue. The Sussurra's scream reminded him of violins.

And Wu Tenchu's work was done.

Wishes of Wu 2

"Shayu..."

The old woman looked both ways before unlocking her apartment door. But that wasn't unusual. Everyone who lived on this floor knew she performed the same ritual every time she entered her unit. If her gaze caught anyone else's while she did this, if a neighbor happened to glance in her direction, she always smiled and spoke words of greeting. And whenever she discovered a patient ear, she talked about the weather or her grandson on Novocastria. He was a pastry chef. She loved his eclairs, though they disagreed with her tummy. She wasn't too taken with his wife, however, who'd only married him for his choux pastry. And (she always whispered this part) the girl was getting quite fat!

No, there was nothing strange or furtive in her mannerisms. She was just a lonely old lady hoping for a little conversation to liven up her dreary days.

"There's a drop of blood hidden in the ocean. It will take a shark to sniff it out."

That afternoon there were no loquacious neighbors to greet or bore. She looked both ways again, however, and any observer may have thought the poor woman was desperate for human interaction. Though they may have wondered why her sweeping gaze paused twice merely to stare at the wall. The surgeon who'd installed her cybernetic eyes, those expensive objects hidden behind layers of false flesh, would've understood. But he was long dead.

She opened the door and went inside. A series of locks and bolts thudded into place behind her. The intruder alarm armed itself. She exhaled, safe once more, and crossed the lounge.

"That's far enough," a female voice said.

The old woman gasped. A blue-skinned Piscarian stood in the dining room doorway, pointing a pistol.

"I... I don't have any jewelry or hard creds!"

While the words tumbled off her tongue, her mind reeled. This wasn't possible. Her thermal imaging had shown two of her neighbors fornicating in the most degenerate way imaginable, and another one strangling himself in his closet. But her own apartment had been empty. Her left eye twitched, changing the vision setting back to that heat-sensing glare. The Piscarian vanished. Another twitch and the world returned, resuming its usual colors and clarity. The intruder's steely eyes stared at her once again. So did the leveled weapon. A faint smile flickered on those blue lips, as though they understood her confusion and savored it as a bloody morsel.

"Follow the trails and unravel their tangles. Find what no one else has seen."

"Of course not. You people never did like jewelry. And you don't need hard creds when you have a dozen secret accounts, do you, Councilor Jerv?"

"Listen..." The old woman's voice was different now. Harder, keener. "I know there's a bounty on my head, but I can give you a hundred times more. Tell whoever you work for-"

"I work for Wu Tenchu."

The color drained from her wrinkled face.

"Once you've located your target, uncovered her wherever she hides, don't alert your superiors. Tell only the assassins on this list, and have them do what must be done."

Her hand darted under her coat. The Piscarian's pistol whispered, and the last council member of the Centurian Collective collapsed with a punctured brow.

Operative Shayu stared at the corpse for perhaps half a minute, eyes boring into the dark hole that had pierced skull and brain. She wasn't accustomed to violent death at such close quarters. Her customary role was to detect and expose -- before others moved in for the kill. But this was different. Because it was the mandarin's last wish, and she would never have entrusted it to anyone else.

Wishes of Wu 3

"She..."

"Boss! Boss!"

Harv Tereb ran down the corridor, one hand pressed to his flank. Blood leaked between his fingers and seeped down the leg of his beige pants in a long, broadening crimson trail. He looked back over his shoulder. The hallway was empty. For now. There was still time...

He hit the door hard. It shook his bones and made him squeal. But the heavy slab opened, and he staggered into the room.

"They're... They're coming for us, boss!" He leaned against her desk, looked into her widening eyes, and panted. "Oh, God! They're coming!"

Millicent Carmara jumped up and shoved her chair aside. It banged against a side table. A decanter shattered under a blow from its heavy armrest, and a waterfall of red wine gushed over the edge of the wood. Purple bloomed like gunshot wounds on the carpet below.

"You must recover what's ours."

"We gotta get outta here!" Harv said.

Ms. Carmara (the last person who'd called her 'miss' was distributed among a number of pickle jars in the basement) swore, and ran over to the rack of long black firearms.

"Open the vault!" she said, as she struggled to unclamp a plasma shotgun.

"There ain't time!"

"Idiot! We're not leaving that behind! You know how much the damned thing's worth?"

Harv grunted, but he went to the opposite wall, one hand still pressed against his side, and drove his other hand at the palm pad. Lights flashed -- scanning his skin, his retinas, his brain.

"The dawn is bright in the east," a computerized voice said.

"I don't frickin' care!"

"That is not the correct phrase. You have two attempts remaining."

"Screw you!"

"Harv!" Ms. Carmara yanked the weapon down. "I swear to God..."

"I'm doing it! I'm doing it!" He took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart. Because the scanners could detect panic or duress. "But shadows darken the west."

"Accepted," the computer said.

There were a series of clicks and bleeps, and Harv sighed. That was close... The safe was set to destroy everything inside if anyone tried to gain unauthorized access, and he didn't want his future to include bits of him floating in jars.

The thick, armored door hissed open -- revealing a magnificent jade statuette in the shape of an oriental dragon. Its long, sinuous body curled around a pillar marked with Chinese characters.

"The Sian Empire's treasures belong to its people, and must remain among them."

Harv groaned.

"I can't carry this frickin' thing with one hand!" He turned around. "I..."

He stared into the big, gaping barrel of Ms. Carmara's plasma weapon.

"You won't have to," she said.

Harv screamed. The weapon blazed. And a bolt of superheated gas burned away his lower legs.

"Aaaaaarrrrrrrgggghhhhhh!"

He rolled on the carpet, screaming, thrashing. His stumps kicked at the air, drummed on the floor, trying to find purchase with phantom feet. Ms. Carmara sauntered over to him. She smiled and ripped her face off. A second visage smiled beneath the ruined mask.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said. "Worth every credit Carmara asked for. But the Sian Empire doesn't pay for property stolen during the Centurian occupation."

The shotgun fired again, and Harv needn't have worried. There wasn't enough of him left to put in a jar.

Wishes of Wu 4

"Zhao..."

Professor Mycroft ran the computer simulation again. And once again. Then, just to make sure, he did it another time. But on each occasion the result was the same. The holographic ship exploded. Cheerful blurbs of projected text informed him of critical failures, catastrophic overloads, and the deaths of every crew member aboard the hypothetical vessel. He scratched his chin with one of his mechanical limbs and contemplated whether it was time to move to live trials. The threat of imminent doom was a useful motivator when it came to sharpening the intellect.

"All debts must be paid in full."

"Another successful experiment?" a voice asked. "It must be an impressive bomb to tear through a cruiser like that."

"It's not a bomb. It's meant to be a new type of engine."

"Ah..."

The professor turned around and regarded the intruder -- a young man with slim, handsome Chinese features, dressed in a voluminous black shirt and trousers. The garments were civilian rather than military, but Mycroft suspected the things they concealed weren't so innocuous. One of the scientist's spindly metal arms reached behind him for a railgun.

"The Prime Minister of the Sian Empire must keep his word. When he promises punishment, blood must be spilled..."

"Fifty-seven security systems should've stopped you getting in here. Fifty-five of them with lethal force. You couldn't have circumvented them all!"

"No. But your assistant let me in, when I explained my purpose."

"Damn him! Thaddeus! Get in here! Thaddeus! I told you never to-"

"And when he makes agreements, no matter how ill-judged others may deem them, they must be fulfilled."

"Coming, professor!"

A large box entered the room, encircled by blue sleeves and dark-skinned hands. A pair of legs clad in the same color as the former shuffled beneath it.

"What is this?" Mycroft asked.

"A gift from Wu; your grateful friend Remembered you at his end."

The professor stared at Zhao. The Sian agent coughed.

"Forgive me... I had to immerse myself in verse for a previous assignment, and sometimes..."

The box thudded on the floor, revealing the broad shoulders and perspiring face of Thaddeus Trest.

"I brought this here on an anti-grav lifter," Zhao Chen said, "but your assistant informed me that you don't allow products of lesser engineering in your laboratory."

"Is that..." Mycroft stared at the container with the big, bright eyes of a child on Christmas morning.

"The substance Prime Minister Wu promised you in return for your assistance during the war. Attempting to secure it through official channels was... problematic."

"Ha! Thaddeus, do you know what I can do with this?"

"Blow up half the planet if something goes wrong, sir?"

"Yes, yes..." He waved a dismissive hand. One of his mechanical appendages echoed the gesture. "But more! So much more!"

Zhao Chen bowed.

"I shall leave you to your experiments," he said. "Please refrain from blowing up this half of your world until I've left its atmosphere."

Sky Commander Bethany darted beneath the flashing blade, pivoted, tripped a metallic leg, and sprang on her enemy's back as he fell. Her training dagger's energy field glistened. Soft blue light pulsed as she made each thrust. Red glows appeared on the training bot's torso, marking fatal wounds.

She stood up and mopped her brow. The angels guarding the windows, a resplendent legion of stained glass and eternal authority, seemed to bestow their approval along with the warm, gentle light that passed through their martial bodies.

Bethany usually preferred training with live opponents, but this evening she wanted to be alone. She had much to consider.

"Someone may come to you one day, and request a favor. The very notion will shock you. All your training, your beliefs, your instincts, will tell you to refuse. But before you do, remember what a dead man once did for you beneath the Grand Temple..."

Lady Victoria Ashdown

The last time you were at a state funeral, potent emotions warred in your breast, devious stratagems revolved in your brain, yearned-for violence twitched in fingers curling to form fists, and fine words flowed from your lips. But that was then. Back when you were Imperial Jian. A wounded hero with sympathy on his side, armies at his command, and a conquered empire to liberate. Before Centurians burned. Before the past swallowed you whole. Before cyan eyes, blue dragons, and the man in black.

In the distance, across the square, the procession streams through the last leg of its journey. Men and women in elaborate robes or gleaming Sian dress uniforms serve as its train and vanguard. You can just make out Lu Bu's bright, polished body among them, shining like a star. And there's Telemachus -- wearing a regal costume which you know full well he hates with a passion. Even Ragnar's managed to find a place in the throng. He's bare-chested, as usual. But at least he decided to wear pants.

Many of the mandarin's friends are in that grand host. And a few of his political enemies, who're probably expecting an assassin to pop out of the casket at any moment and put bullets in their heads. But others have chosen to pay their respects from afar.

"Drink?" Talia asks.

She passes you a bottle. You glance at the label.

"Single cask," you say.

"Yep. When it's gone, it's gone."

You pull out the stopper and drink. Complex flavors, sweet and bitter, soft and harsh, honey and chocolate and smoke, tantalize your tongue. It seems an appropriate scotch for the occasion. You pass it back to her and she puts it to her lips.

The gunslinger could've joined the procession, of course. But she knew you couldn't. Not without creating a scene. And this day isn't yours to meddle with. So she followed you without a word.

There are snipers stationed all over Lanjin Cheng. Aircraft swoop across the skies, flying in formation or hovering around the buildings and scouring them for threats. With so many important dignitaries down there, on an occasion of such magnitude, Zhilan Fan must fear another terrorist attack. But though the rooftops are meant to be off-limits today, no one tries to interfere with this one. Because this roof belongs to Wu Tenchu's people.

You lean against the ledge, resting your forearms on warm, sunbaked stone. Talia's sitting on it -- her legs dangling over the long drop to the street below. But perching there is still probably safer than playing thugby or flying like she does. At the opposite end of the building, Zhao and the other agents wear innocuous civilian garb and think their secret thoughts. A couple of them speak to one another. Most stand in silence. For all you know, they've never even met before. It wouldn't surprise you. Wu Tenchu's labyrinthine networks are the stuff of legend.

The procession files into the temple. Big screens appear around its walls, showing the ceremony to the crowds teeming outside. There won't be rivers of tears. Not like there were for Illaria. Master Wu wasn't loved by his people as she was. But they respected him, and what he did for the Sian Empire. So they stand and watch while politicians say inane things and only skim the surface of a man few of them knew and fewer understood.

"Politicians..." Zhao Chen says. He appears without a sound, leaning beside you. "Such tiresome people, our late friend excluded. I prefer assassinating them to hearing them talk."

"I saw the press conference. Fan said the 'terrorists' were killed in space."

"Deception, of course. But comforting to the empire's subjects."

Talia offers him the bottle. He declines with a slight gesture of his hand.

"Noir told me he survived a nuclear attack. I didn't believe him. But..."

"Yes. You've found a remarkable enemy. Wu would have enjoyed devising a way to destroy him."

"I'll find one. I promise."

"I know. Master Wu had faith in you. Otherwise he wouldn't have given his life to try preserving yours." You wince, but there's no accusation in the agent's voice. "In my experience, no being is invincible and invulnerable. It's merely a matter of understanding their weaknesses."

"I don't even know what he is."

"Bet you some of those cult guys know," Talia says.

"All my leads are dead," you say. "I could maybe show myself and lure Noir out, but..."

"That would be unwise," Zhao says.

"Right. And I don't know how to get at the others. I..."

There's a sound, so faint you wouldn't have it heard it without the aid of your aural implant. It takes you a moment to realize that it's your communicator -- set to near silence for propriety's sake. You pull it out. The name on the screen is unfamiliar, as is the picture of a man who appears to have purple tentacles for arms...

"Adnan Zebra?" you say.

"Adrian Zanfran. My work terminal just... Never mind. Look, I have something for you..."

"You've done... adequately," Victoria Ashdown said.

She didn't fail to note the tiny hint of a smile on the grandmistress' holographic face. Cyan fires burned deep in Lady Ashdown's multifaceted eyes. It galled her to admit that Emera had been right about the Haelia girl.

"Hail Kalaxia," Emera Tresc said.

"Hail Kalaxia."

The noblewoman closed the connection. Alexa Haelia... She'd wanted the pyrokineticist harvested, her mind stripped away layer by layer for the secrets it contained. Instead... She sat back in her armchair, stared up at the dark vault of her study's lofty ceiling, and considered the possibilities.

Moonlight filtered through the high windows, casting lattices of chiaroscuro across azure and cyan floor tiles. No artificial light drove away the shadows that filled the rest of the chamber. Lady Ashdown's gemstone eyes had no need of such things. She...

A flicker interrupted her contemplations. A slight, subtle twitching at the back of her consciousness. An intruder. Their mind was concealed, masked by technology or their own psionic abilities. But she knew the signs. Her security had been breached without triggering the alarms. Without giving her guards enough time to cry out or even send a psychic warning.

That meant a dangerous enemy. That meant...

"Victoria Ashdown, I presume?" a man's voice said.

She stood up from her chair, and her eyes shone. There he was -- standing in the tall arched doorway. That fool... That arrogant fool!

"[Player's name]!"

Lady Ashdown wasn't accustomed to smiling. So when her lips parted, it resembled a gash in her severe features. He'd come right to her! Put his brain within her grasp...

"I think one of my ancestors met one of yours," he said. "Judith Ashdown and a detective called Bloodwyn."

"Noir enjoys bantering with his favorite enemies. I don't."

"That's a shame..."

He drew his pistol and fired. Azure light rippled in front of Victoria Ashdown, as the blast died against her psionic shield.

"Your memories are mine..." She threw the words from tongue and mind. They reverberated through the gloom. Mental tentacles reached out to ensnare her prize.

"Come and get them."

---

Your mental defenses crumple, crushed beneath the weight of the onslaught. Cyan jewels blaze at its epicenter. And Lady Ashdown's here, inside your mind. Old, strong hands claw at your brain.

"Now!" you say.

A guitar blares. Its powerful screech awakens the mansion's echoes. An avalanche of sound crashes around you both, filling your head, throwing up fragments of color, sound, and smell. Synesthetic waves break against invisible cliffs and launch their foaming spray in great cascades.

"Men of Kruna, stop your drinking, What the bloody hell're you thinking? Can't you hear the foemen slinking, On the battlements?"

The universe dances. History whirls around two minds battling for control of a single brain. Cherry blossom gardens on Sian. The foggy streets of Victorian London. Ancient Mycenae. A battlefield outside Burden's Rest. A billion places, voices, sensations.

Lady Ashdown lunges at you. She's fast here on this mental plane. As fast as Noir. But this is where you live, and very bad things happen to Kalaxians who try to burgle its secrets.

You dart aside. She falls on her face, splashes through a lake of eclectic images. A girl's laughter flows around you. Text whooshes past, a gigantic message streaming across cognitive infinities -- each letter as tall as a skyscraper.

--- OMG! You suck! Learn2psi-fight, noob. Kick her ass, [Player's name]! #Z03MG #braintweet ---

Colors and music swirl on all sides, caressing and entombing.

"Kalaxia!" She leaps to her feet. The movement is absurd and incongruous from a woman of her years, but she vaults like an acrobat. "The blue wyrm watches!"

"Wrong blooming dragon, love!" A fat man appears next to her, holding a half-eaten pastry. "Sodding prophecies never work out right..."

He grabs the front of her dress, yanks her towards him, and headbutts her square in the face. She flies backwards. He grunts and takes another bite of his steak and kidney pie.

You leap after her, sailing over continents, oceans, galaxies.

She's lying in a screeching heap, hammering at the nonexistent ground. You land in front of her.

"Noir. Tell me what he is."

"Hail Kalaxia!"

She springs up at you, eyes blazing, glowing fingers clawing at your face. You catch her throat and hold her at arm's length.

"Tell..." Your fist crashes into her face. "...me."

"He'll destroy you!"

"Let's. Try. This. Again."

Another punch punctuates each word, thudding against her ancient skull. And every time surreality crashes down, adding its force to the blow, bludgeoning her with the entirety of human history, assaulting her with the immensity of your bloodline and all it's wrought.

"Kalaxia will rule the universe, and your pitiful empire will-"

"Kasan."

The final punch shatters the universe.

"Men of Kruna, with blood splattered, Leaving corpses dead and battered, Have all wretched foemen scattered, Now let's have a drink!"

You're sprawled on blue and cyan tiles. Barra's music feels like it's smashing your skull from the inside. According to her critics, that isn't unusual...

"Kal... Kalax... Kalaxia..."

You struggle to your hands and knees. Someone grasps your shoulder.

"It's okay," Talia says. "They've got her."

Lady Ashdown's sitting up, her head and arms lolling in the grasp of Zhao Chen and two masked figures in dark, slick garb. Half a dozen empty syringes protrude from her neck and chest.

"Kalaxia..."

Cyan light drifts around her jewels, a pair of lost fireflies.

"Ask your questions quickly," Zhao says. "Her brain won't last long."

You dart over, tilt her chin up, and stare into her lidless gemstone eyes.

"What is Noir? How can I-"

"Noir... New name. Used to be called... called..."

"What?"

Her head shudders in your grasp. Her body convulses. Light blue energy explodes within the multifaceted monstrosities sunk into her sockets. Blood leaks beneath them, soaking her cheeks, wetting your fingers.

"Erebus the Black!" [1]