Before she could even think of an answer, a familiar sensation twanged through her gut. A moment later, she noticed the subtle sound of a Fog Gate coming awake and of people passing through. By the time she turned her head to look, she saw the Inquisitor and Strolvath striding into the chamber, the gate already fading behind them.

Her mind raced with thoughts of quickly, concisely, and clearly bringing across that the two Locust Nobles were allies, but… There was no hostility to be seen. She saw Strol’s eye wander over to the Caster, his eyebrow raised, but no hostility. The Inquisitor was different, her gaze as hostile and angry as ever, but it was the familiar anger that was directed purely towards Zel.

Once they sat down to rest before the whole group would depart for the next floor, it quickly became clear why there was no confusion over the presence of nonhostile bugmen.

“We talked to Delta,” Strolvath said between glugging down elixir and downing more of his rations that he probably should have. “The machine went out of its way to let us know about the roach deserters that’re meant to lead us straight to the final chamber. Not so sure if that’ll count for a full extermination, but I suppose it’ll alleviate the threat of an organized hive eating the whole fuckin’ valley.”

For a little while longer, they ate and rested. As before, the Inquisitor went out of her way to conceal her face from them, this time walking all the way to the other side of the projection glyph altar and sitting down there with her food and drink. Zel returned to Zef for the time being, seeing that the markswoman had already loaded nearly fifty shots’ worth into the speedloader and even figured out a way to clip it to her belt in a position similar to a holster. 

Strolvath froze for a moment just as he swallowed a piece of dried meat, remembering that Delta had given him something to be delivered to Zelsys in person. It was a thin, playing card sized slate of black-stone, a thing that the subcore golem gave to him after he chose his gifts. Whereas the machine only offered the Inquisitor one gift it offered him two, justifying it by saying that he hadn’t received proper recompense for the thorough purification of his path on the first floor.

Twofold were his gifts: the first, an upgrade to his Brass Eye to improve its connection to his brain and thus allow it to read subtler things than broadcast inner monologue, such as a person’s general aura or disposition, without the person actively trying to broadcast any particular aura. 

It was a replacement for the interface stake; where the original one replaced the damaged part of the optic nerve by clamping onto what was left of it, the new black-stone one was far subtler and far less irritating to insert, simply touching the surface of his brain. He could tell that Zelsys hadn’t gotten any taller or more muscular, that unlike Zefaris she hadn’t obtained any new equipment. Even her attitude hadn’t changed. And yet, she gave off an even greater sense of danger than before. 

The second gift was a simple device embedded into his throat next to the larynx; a Rubedo-fueled sound amplifier. Somehow, he found the seconds-long implantation process more unpleasant than all the pain of the Brass Eye combined.

“Hey, I’ve got something I’ve gotta give you,” he beckoned her, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the card. It was etched with a dead, grey glyph that came alive at her approach, though it only projected anything once she took it into her hands. He couldn’t see what it said even though he was curious, but after the beast-slayer’s eyes flashed across the text, she read it out loud in an amused tone.

“This is Delta. Please excuse the off-colour behavior I displayed in my smaller shell. It appears the shell contained a depreciated personality imprint that awakened upon my full-size shell’s destruction.” 

In the time she took to read the card, he got a good look at her, waking his Brass Eye in an attempt to get a read on her out of pure curiosity.

He took a breath and recognized the smell of ozone, at which point an idea crossed his mind. Though he wouldn’t have asked other Fog-breathers about it, he felt secure in asking Zelsys. 

“You’re givin’ off some awfully intense static,” he said. “Didya advance that electric trait?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah I did. Let me get rid of the static,” she said, raising at first an eyebrow, then a finger. She took a breath, and a thin wick of Fog came forth from her fingertip, forming into a tiny bead. Before he could ask what she was doing, small sparks crackled across her skin and the bead turned to a blindingly white ball of lightning. A moment later, she had pointed her finger off into the distance and sent the ball zipping off through the air. 

The feeling of static vanished alongside it, but that didn’t change how Strol felt about it. 

He’d both heard of and experienced the so-called cutting-edge aura of a skilled swordsman. Gunslingers, axemen, knights, even tank drivers; all exceptional warriors had a particular aura about them that Strolvath could discern thanks to his Brass Eye, but nothing like this. 

Zel’s aura before was much like a swordsman’s, only rougher, more arrogant, more sexually charged; a perfect reflection of who she was as a person, as far as he could tell. As she was now, however, there was a different aspect added to the mix. It reminded him of the way he had felt a long time ago when he found himself being stalked by a mountain lion. It… It almost felt like there was some invisible monstrosity watching him through Zelsys, constantly scanning her surroundings even if she wasn’t paying attention. 

She looked at the card again and furrowed her brow. 

“I uh… One second, apparently now I’m to give this to our insectoid friends,” she said with some measure of audible confusion, turning on a heel and beelining straight for the slightly hunched one with a plain staff.