The Fiend's airship flew over the jungle, shaking tree's branches, lifting dust, and the few dead leaves of the evergreen flora that characterized Arthan.

The aircraft was made in dark metal, cobalt blue streaks that characterized Sourceanium connected the various parts of the craft to the engine and to the cockpit. Sourceanium acted as a nexus for the rider's Skill to effectively support the vehicle even more efficiently.

A slab of see-through diamond acted as the glass pane. It covered the aircraft's front, allowing the driver to have a one hundred and eighty degrees view of the landscape. Two propulsors pushed the vehicles from behind while a total of sixteen stabilizers, placed in groups of four on the top, the right and left side, and the bottom of the aircraft, allowed it to carry out three-dimensional maneuvers. The aircraft could not reverse gear, but it was the Fiend's creed to never back away, never, not even in case of death.

Six agents dressed fully in black as coal suits, once again, inlaid with cobalt blue Sourceanium connected the tight suit's parts to their chests. Inlaid Sourceanium suits were in use by Special Corps of the Fiend's Xaphi'rel Empire.

Six of such specials soldiers were waiting in the dark aircraft's seats, seven if one counted the Fiend dressed in red. Captain Virael. However, Cyana had no mind to think about her Captain and unrequited love. Ever since she had seen him march among the Special platoon, pride of the Xaphi'rel Empire in her Homerworld's Capital, she was but a child back then she had fallen for him. But Cyana had other things, much more important things to think about.

She kept blaming herself and her damn long-bathing routines; she had noticed the signal too late. She was under the shower when her personal receiver rang; Cyana had no idea it would; it was way too early for her to receive that call. She was not waiting for it. That was why she was not prepared to receive it. If she had, she wouldn't have taken her time to shower.

Or at least, that was the excuse she was giving herself.

Now, in that dark compartment, she fidgeted with her hands. Cyana never fidgeted, but her memory kept going back to what the receiver had recorded—gasping, an unequivocal death rattle

It was her brother gasping for breath; she knew it. Then a "thud," it was likely that the receiver had fallen from his hands. After that, she heard a voice, a voice speaking a language that wasn't Fiendish nor Feyin; she had never heard that dialect; it wasn't part of any known language or any she had studied at least, and her A.S.U.T. hadn't translated it. So, what was it? Where did it come from? Why there? What had happened to her brother? Why had he come back so soon? What went wrong with his secret mission? What—

Captain Virael put his hand on her knee, stopping her foot from tapping on the aircraft's floor.

"Don't overreact. Khrali is capable; he must have encountered trouble. It doesn't have to be what you think," he said.

 

Fiend

Level: 87

 

Virael did not have his helmet on; she did. Maybe it was why she could lose herself in his amber eyes. She would have paid with Golden Credits for that type of contact in the past, but now? Now she didn't even feel anything from looking at him up close.

Her brother, Khrali, might have died. So, she did not answer to her Captain, but she stopped her tapping and focused back to a semblance of normalcy with the help of her Creed and at the same time, Combat Mastery Skill: the Kva'ri.

Kva'ri taught how to harness the Source's purest whisps and shaped them to drive away impure thoughts, ideas, and shortcomings.

Kva’ri was one of the pillars of the Xaphi’rel Empire, and the Emperor himself had taught it to his people.

She entered her own world; it came much more easily to her, for she was an Esper now. She had recently made level sixty-one, so it was relatively new for her. She had unlocked her third specialization in the previous Xipha’relian year. Yet now, Inside her own world, where she ruled supreme, where she was the supreme entity, the goddess, the almighty—in her world, she could rule herself out and train as much as she wanted.

In that world, she also could rein herself in.

Cyana imagined a skyscraper in a city emptied from every other skyscraper than hers. She sat on the very top of her tower, in the middle of an aircraft landing zone. That was her most peaceful memory. The sky was beautiful and pure, the wind was silent. The noise coming from the street did not reach it, for she was far too high. The peace was supreme.

She sat there, in the middle of that silence. It usually took her just a few seconds to calm her inner turmoil. It took her a little longer, this time. Still, Cyana purified herself, removing tainted traces of Source from her mind. What she did in her world affected only herself, then it was reproduced by her own body.

She kept at it for a couple of minutes, not even remotely enough to make a good job of it, but better than nothing. Yet, when a finger burst through her world's sky, shaking the whole scenery, she knew it was time she opened her eyes, for the aircraft had arrived on the scene.

The aircraft slowly landed in a waste-filled plaza. The signal had come for a nearby building, likely an alley.

"Hexagonal formation," Virael ordered as the squad hurried down the aircraft. Still, Cyana's eyes went once more for Virael's image. If she thought she was average for her race's standard, Virael was a top specimen of Fiendkind.

He stood an entire span taller than the other soldiers, taller than her big brother, and much more dignified; he hadn't even got a semblance of the hunchback that started showing on the tallest individuals of their kinds. Virael was practically perfect in every aspect. His blond hair, in contrast with his deep blue short fur and silver horns and fangs, were entirely different from her own; he looked like a model; one of those sponsored by the Empire, to instruct the masses on how to behave and how to show their gratitude toward the Fey correctly.

"Captain," asked someone of their unit; she had never met them, nor were they supposed to ever show their faces to each other. They were among the top-most special unit in this sector of Arthan.

"You are free to speak, Five," answered Virael.

"This place is not deserted, but the Fays here wouldn't attack a Fiend; this is a poor zone," he shook his head, "not a place for the Rebellion."

"I was thinking the same, Five," but we cannot exclude anything. "Keep scouting with your significant perceptive abilities; let us not waste our breath in conjectures."

"Yes, Captain."

Cyana was still lost in her own world. Maybe she could keep thinking about Captain Virael because she didn’t want to think about what she thought she would find, so she thought about him, getting back with her memory to the first time she saw Virael—the march.

When she saw him march that day, she swore to herself that she would become just like him and make her Empire proud. Her big brother had sworn with her.

The following time she met Virael had been as an instructor in the Academy, ten years after that event. She had followed him ever since. Never getting too close, never straying too far apart, she had followed him as a devoted soldier should.

She was at the peak of her career now, and Virael was one step from becoming Colonel of the Special Forces.

Khrali…he had been chosen as an envoy to send and scout a suitable world, far enough for being the only ones looking for it and weak enough in the Source to evade any trouble with its inhabitants. She had no idea when and how her brother had become a Trespasser, and he had not been able to tell her much more than that, but at least she was one of the few that even knew about such a mission.

When with swords, assault rifles, and most importantly, Skills at the ready, the team arrived somewhere and stopped; she knew they had reached the place where the signal had been traced back to.

Turning a dark alley, where the light of the Fein barely reached, she knew right away that the corpse she was staring at was that of her brother.

Cyana shouldn't have, but she ran at her brother's side, then dropped on her knees. Khrali was not breathing.

 

***

 

Erin stopped running after ten minutes of an uninterrupted rush.

She breathed heavily as she let David down; for his part, the man had done very well not to puke what little he had in his stomach after all that jostling.

They stood by a very old-looking grotto; all around them, the mist had become very thick; David had never seen such thick mist in his life; it felt like being enveloped in a winter curtain of heavy white cloth.

The grotto at their side was peculiar too. The mist formed some sort of…door, shielding the passage. Was there mist inside of that grotto as well?

The jungle around them was lusher than what they had left behind; there was much less room between each tree, and the sounds typical of life were not there, or at least they were much more suffused.

"Was there—" barf, "any need to run like that? I mean, I'm still dizzy, confused, I feel like shit, and now an emaciated girl carried me on her shoulders as if I was a twelve years old karateka lightweight…"

"That was a Fiend's…. … aircraft," she shook her head, puffing herself back to a normal breathing pattern, "they can track us. We need to disappear; the Lower City is the best place for us to …. … but you need to empty your Well. Or you will die."

He nodded, "But are we sure there is no way for me to go back to where I come from?" David was indeed starting to worry for his health. He wasn't really one to worry about his circumstances, but there was a limit even to foolhardy types like him.

Erin shook her head, "I do not know how…. … Trespasser magic .....But Fiend might know, or maybe the Ancient," she said.

 

A.S.U.T. is now level 12. Universal Translation 12%

 

"The Fiend might know? This means that they might know how to take me back to Earth…" David realized that he might have ended up in one disastrous situation.

If the police of this world had indeed found a dead Fiend, and they could track the culprit, they would put him into jail, or worse. He had no way to ask for their help, or at least…not the police's help. Maybe he would have to find civilian Fiends and ask for their advice.

Even then, since these Fiends had conquered Erin's world, wouldn't they do the same with Earth? There were no spaceships on Earth. Although, given that he had found one of them on his home planet, they might have already started their approach with the azure world.

Still, David was too focused on finding out how to survive his circumstances to think about Earth's invasion.

“What does the Source say about Trespassers?”

 

The Source

Unlock your Title to gain knowledge about Trespassers.

 

“Of course—then, how to unlock the Title?”

No answer.

Erin looked at him confused, so he decided to ask more meaningful questions, "So, I had a major doubt tied to my survival, Erin…how will people react to my face?"

She smiled, amused, "I’m a Biomancer, you don’t look that... ……. I could change you."

"Wait… Biomancer… I don't like that term. It is like a magician for the DNA or something?" David asked.

"What is Di’an’ey?" Erin asked back.

"Oh, well, I guess that's better," David could breathe a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived because the sigh turned into a bloody cough.

 

Attributes

Health: 25%

Stamina: 46%

Well: 100%

 

Survivalist reaches Level 7. Adapt to external forces + 7%

 

"You are not really of any help, Source."

"I'll restore you, again," said Erin, drawing closer for another kiss, "But know that my healing drains your Stamina … … I do. I could heal you … more, but then you won't be able to move."

David nodded, "Just, kiss me please. Gosh, that's like, literally taken from the mellower movie I've ever—" before he could blather on, Erin gave him another restoring kiss.

"Thank you…" Dave said as she detached.

Now the last pressing message from the Source pushed him to open the last box he had received by his…killing.

"Is it normal that I got all these things from having murdered someone? It feels kind of nasty…" He asked.

"Only because you were protecting yourself from him. But, you would have had no .. … without your Survival Token. For I bet, you used your Survival Token to win, right?" Erin was collecting stones as she said that.

"Yeah, how did you know? Did you have one too?" David didn't expect that.

"Every sapient who is born on a planet contaminated by the Source has one. It is the Source's gift for having accepted it as our … .... It can be used and received only once. I used mine when I was forty-five to—stupidly … … from a Fiend who had done nothing wrong." She seemed ashamed, "Pretty much as you did."

David nodded; he didn't know what to say to her. These two races were living a harsh life, harsher than the one he knew about.

So he focused back on trying his best to survive. The Source's message appeared in front of him.

 

The Source

Opening Random Skill Choice-Box.

 

Alchemy (Profession Skill): You can imbue Source in your chemical concoction to change and enhance their properties.

Knife Mastery (Weapon Skill): You can imbue Source in your knife to enhance its use and your abilities in using it.

Stealth (Style Skill): You can Mask your presence to other beings.

 

"This is not as easy as it seems. Alchemy—" he scoffed, "I still remember something from my school years, but I'm not a chemist—yet if I could learn how to create Philosopher's Stone...I'd become rich! Wait, there were a lot of human sacrifices to make if we follow the Manga…Yeah, let's put it aside for now."

David's foot beat against the cave's floor. "Knife Mastery doesn't really inspire me that much…I mean, I carry mine as a deterrent; I don't actually want to use it like that; it doesn't feel nice. Stealth, on the other hand—"

"Stealth?" Erin exclaimed.

"Yeah. It must be useful. Is it useful? It says it's a Style Skill, but not much more."

Erin smiled, then she literally disappeared from his sight.

"Great Scott…" Dave looked left and right, "Is that Stealth?"

She reappeared right in front of him. "Stealth, level ….," she chuckled, "... effective because of your Perception… … low. But it is a good Skill.”

He didn’t even let her finish before he accepted the Source’s offer for Stealth. Being able to disappear like that? Yeah, there was no way he was going to let that chance go.

The Source

You have received an Auxiliary, Style Skill: Stealth.

 

Stealth (Style Skill) reaches level 1. Mask your presence to other beings with 1% efficiency.

 

“Stealth Skill unlocked,” David pumped a fist in mid-air.

"It is good. But you need to start before it's too late. Are you ready to listen?" Erin said; David acquiesced with her request with a nod.

"Then ask away; soothing your doubts is better than starting from scratch," Erin said.

His first question was a doubt more than a proper query. "If I don't level up my Mage Class, I will not earn Attributes, right? Which means no Resilience for me…"

Erin sat on a boulder and commenced speaking. "The Source should have told you that you level up your Class by absorbing Life Source from Sourceborns. It is a very laughable amount, but … ... it allows you to increase your Class level. However, as you are right now—I don’t have any doubt that you will not have even one chance to fight a Sourceborn at this zone’s level. The closest zone with a Resilience Threshold low enough and safe enough for you is at … … it would take me too long to get you there...” She shook her head, displeased.

“—And I would die in the process. Got it.” Dave said. He was starting to lose hope.

“Don’t worry, Deviant. With steadiness, you can still get out of this situation. Listen, you are a Mage, leveling up your Magic Skills you can evolve them, making them stronger, or more specialized. Increasing your Class level gives you more Skills.”

“Alright…How do I do that? How do I evolve Skills?”

“By reaching certain Skill levels, until you reach Class level twenty your maximum Class Skill level is twenty,” she explained with a scowl that reminded him of a teacher he had during his high-school years.

“But, how does evolving Skills or receiving new ones help me now?”

Erin smiled. "You should focus on increasing your Skill’s Arcane Missile power so that you can defeat Sourceborns around here. I … … will help you, Deviant."

"Once again, stop with the Deviant thing; that’s just mean. I take your words for it. But you mentioned receiving new Skills. How would I use them? Will the new Skills be Fast Skills or Heavy Skills? Could I use them all?"

Erin shook her head, "Every twenty Levels, or more exactly, when you specialize your Class or when choosing another Class, you get another Fast Magic Skill Slot and another Heavy slot. Other Skills need to be used manually; you shall see with time. While to switch them, you … … Ritual."

"Wait—I can even choose other Classes? So I could be a Mage, Rogue, and Fighter at the same time? If I reach level sixty?"

“Yes, but I highly advise you not to follow that route," she waved her hand dispelling the argument, "before thinking about that, you should first survive the day,” said Erinnya.

“Let's hope I do, then…" David sighed, "So, how do I begin?"

Erin got up; she placed pebbles on the wall of rocks in front of them.

"Point, and wish to shoot an Arcane Missile. Don't overdo it. You will damage your Health, and it will hurt. But I will heal you. It's the only way. Let's hope you don't die before then…" She got close to him and sat near him. "I can only do so much for you. My healing depends on your reserves. The stronger my target, the better the healing. Do not fear death…" She looked sincerely worried about him. It felt so peculiar—almost unnatural to David, but this creature belonged to another race; he had no idea what values they shared.

Erin continued, “I'll stay close to you, we Fey do not abandon anyone."

David nodded, gulping down a tear that threatened to break his hardened stance.

He slapped his cheeks. "Alright…let's do this. Gosh, I need a cigarette so bad right now..." Still, pointing his hand to the rocks, he thought about the Arcane Missile Skill, and, involuntarily, he whispered its name.

From his wrist to his hand, bulged dark veins, pulsing for less than a second, then from his open palm, a small beam of azure-ish light that looked like an arrowhead, shot forth, hitting the wall of rocks quite a few inches below its edge, where the pebble that should have been his target was located.

He had not hit his target, but Dave did not let himself be discouraged, for he had just done the most outrageous thing in his life...the most awesome thing ever. He had cast magic.