Sammy, standing in the cobblestone road with a smoking shield before her and still almost panting from the encounter she’d had, calmed herself as best she could, closed her eyes, and opened her spiritual Third Eye, looking carefully at the ‘spot’ where that void had been.

There was not much, and what was there was fading fast, but there was something. She sensed some sort of tiny line or extension, and it connected to a transitional junction, which then led into a tunnel. Even though it was right there, it felt a million miles away, and before her eyes, it kept retreating and retreating. She tried to ‘follow’ mentally, but could not keep up.

Inevitably, it all faded away and disappeared entirely.

‘Astral Bend, Astral Passage.’ The Fortuneteller seemed dismissive. ‘We’re sure you can guess what it means.’

“Puppets of the sages? But this seemed… way different than the last one. The one that freaked out and burned.”

‘Is it? Maybe. Individuals at the center of a nervous system differ, yes? Consider higher-level capabilities, and how to split them in order to extend your reach to far stretches with less personal risk. Expendable sleeves even mimicking autonomy itself, even borrowing convincing semblance in every relevant fashion, so that none would question the apparent reality.’

“But there was a real Nestaire Linateri, right? Was this a… replacement?”

‘That remains to your deduction. What makes up a consciousness? Elaborate layers of programming and processing — a stew all too easy to brew with the cooking of the cosmic divine. Or, out of presumed dross, transforming to a more palatable taste.’

“Fuck. These guys are some crazy weirdos. But can I follow an Astral Passage?”

‘That is a bit of hacking. The origin is of their own design and orchestration in this world, deliberately shunting it away from the primary spirit world. The Passages are protected and locked up with only particular, elaborate keys. There is no way in through a typical vector.’

‘Hacking? [Pneuma] can do such things, can’t it? Because it is the building block of everything non-physical. Can I take it, is it one of our standard selections? Can I fortify against [Mind] adequately without directly taking it?’ She stacked so many questions that she winced, afraid the FT would just bounce again without answering.

There was a short, unusual pause, and then, ‘You must not take [Mind], Samantha.’ That was all, and she was gone again.

“Hey! What about the rest?! Hey- grrrh, why do you always do this?! Maybe I’ll decide that’s reverse psychology and take [Mind], huh? How about that? I’ll do it! Damn you…”

It was something, at least. She wondered why it was off-limits. The reason she had once considered — that her enemy’s big specialty would make them sense her presence? But it could also just be that she needed to make certain choices or she was fucked. She was certain she needed [Pneuma] because it was just as big of a cheat as [Fate]. And that she needed [Magic] someday — because it was just who she always was.

When the time comes, we’ll see. But the next step is mastery of the spirit. I will be the mere observer no longer. It is my destiny.

Athos nearby cleared his throat. “Madam… I think it’s time we got out of here.”

Sammy looked around and nodded, almost like coming out of a daze with the thoughts that were occupying her. Her Servitors were already moving under their own cloaking. They had two prisoners — an eventuality they’d always had a plan and a proper place sequestered for, separated from any of their normal facilities.

Some people were peering out from windows, their eyes sliding around trying to understand what they were seeing. After the Tin Chicken, Sammy had well-developed and practiced the trick of using her outside ‘edge’ of [Create Illusion] to block or distort the image and sound that escaped what was within, to potential witnesses. They had probably only heard weird noises and seen blurs moving around.

Madam Dark Helm and the Hidden Hand will get the credit, I bet. Her one-time villainous name had kinda sorta stuck around Geirkos, and the name was chosen for them by the underworld. As far as she knew. She supposed that was how it went when you didn’t want attention — it just made you more intriguing to people.

Before she could mention it, her crew informed her that the goons had explosive tattoos on their chest but they were the owners and needed to touch them. They’d been identified and removed… so that was a relief.

Sammy helped screen their escape, while anxiously she sought out information on how the other team’s matter had gone — which more or less ‘bumped’ her into Bast casting his mind out for her at the same time.

“Bast! How did-”

“Samantha! How d-”

They both started mentally talking over one another then stopped abruptly, waiting for each other to start.

And then Azure more or less grabbed them both and sent, “You both succeeded. Eremina is rescued and is being flown away, while Nestaire is defeated, though he blew himself up to avoid capture. It appears that he was some sort of mind-puppet or perhaps even a doppelganger, so we’ve perhaps ended up touching quite a nerve in the grander scheme of things.”

“A good choice of words,” Sammy offered. “An outer nerve of the Dominion out here. Not what we wanted to be touching at all, but it was inevitable. They must be heavily entrenched in that Shiners organization. This shows they’re capable of nearly direct manipulation.”

“We also have his guards taken captive. We’ll get something out of them… one way or another.”

“I guess I know who to hand that off to…”

Azure sent a big, wicked smile. “Don’t even worry your pretty little head about it, my love. They will lay their lives bare before me and the Order. I couldn’t participate directly, so I owe it to the realm anyway.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.”

“At least he was foiled,” Bast sent with a sense of satisfaction and relief. “Can we hope that his influence is gone, now? That the losses are too much to continue?”

Sammy sighed grandly. “We can always hope, but I think being content with at least partially crippling their enterprise is our biggest takeaway.”

 

✦•············•✦•···········•✦

 

In the caverns under Heldrock Hill, below the Tower of Molt that was the highest point in the lands of Zek Sephel, Inquisitor Eight opened his eyes and shifted under the loose restraints of his Operations Chair, trying to get a hold of his risen temper.

He saw nothing through the goggles in the cold dark of the submersion liquid. It helped his calm, though, as he focused on meditative breathing through the apparatus. His fists and feet gradually stopped their shaking in their alcoves and the liquid stopped vibrating. Anger faded as it was burned away and destroyed to make way for Reason.

Eight was due an Emergence after a week and too much expenditure, but it could wait a little longer… he needed to report the… loss… of his homunculus foci in Geirkos. A magnificent construct with his own and Four’s innovation of incorporating the transmuted brain, the skull, and the spine of a particular subject, making an almost perfect doppelganger with minimal memory leaks.

With the last of his hold on it, Eight had committed its self-destruction to avoid any secrets being exposed, but the loss was heinous and expensive.

All thanks to that vile summoner witch that had exploded onto the scene and taken over. Thinking about it almost made him angry. Almost. Emotions could not be tolerated, however. They deserved only eradication as weaknesses born of mere flesh and blood — inferior to consciousness and incapable of Wisdom.

We knew she was formidable, intelligent, and resourceful. That is why we were cautious. She expanded quicker than could be foreseen, but there is no loss that cannot be adjusted to. Reason and Wisdom shall dominate all, this or another tick of the clock.

Interfacing and making contact with Hivemind Central, Eight sent, “Summary report at Station Eight: Agent Nestaire has been disintegrated after defeat, ambushed by Madam Dark Helm’s forces. Numerous arcane spells were cast by a presumed multiclass Witch. Possible shaman or unseen additional shamanistic aid, due to advanced summons and the aid of spirits. This is consistent with other incidents.”

With that, he sent a big psychic package of observational evidence pointing to what he felt was pertinent. He’d review and send more from his Operations Recorder later.

There were multiple acknowledgments. Inquisitor Four sent, “Perhaps we can repeat our experiment with another in Geirkos after the dust is settled.”

Twenty-Seven added, “I would assist again also if needed.”

Eight had momentarily forgotten Twenty-Seven had been an apprentice-helper on that creation, while much inferior in rank. “Twenty-Seven, your role in that matter combined with your surge in rank should qualify you as a priority interest for repetitions or similar experiments. I will update the relevant registrations later.”

There was a mental nod from Twenty-Seven. “I concur with your logic.”

A few others also concurred rather automatically. Twenty-Seven was a bit of an anomalous rising star, youthful and ambitious. While not suited to typical mid-level teaching roles and distracting in her beauty to young men anyway, she was shockingly gifted at necromancy, a brilliant researcher, and a capable psionicist. She was at least half a century ahead of the rest of her class.

It was somewhat surprising she’d gone the route of the Inquisition, but it was happy to have her. She was already among those entrusted with the safer, but important role of internal Hall observations and loyalty securities. Eight was sure she was bound for a single-digit name or close to it in a matter of decades.

Inquisitor Two had taken some time to review the data. He finally declared, “There are many liabilities in Geirkos, now. It is best to cut off all things tied to Nestaire and absolve his brother, who can remain an indirect asset. We will focus other assets on dealing with Madam Dark Helm. I suggest destabilization in Geirkos to weaken the entire city, as a Zek Sephel takeover is failing and our enemies are thriving.

“We have significant expendables that can be utilized to practically realize war in the streets. The suffering of the citizenry will open up new political possibilities. In short, we need to make use of what we have left to scorch the city as much as possible in the splash damage as we burn out this witch, framing both sides as getting innocents killed for mere criminal greed. Concurrence?”

Three, Six, Seven, and Nine concurred almost immediately, with a few others slowly following…

Damn it. All I’ve worked for is just going to go to nothing. A softer hand might still prevail… but it isn’t as if my opposition to Two will work. Now, do I abstain, or-

“I do not concur.”

It was an unknown voice to Eight, and seemingly alien to the rest of Central too, for how it went dead silent, still, and in a state of stunned rebuke. The eeriness was enough to make the skin crawl, and the weight of the voice was commanding… that of a too-powerful psychic on the level of the strongest of them.

Out of nowhere, the rare presence that was the First Sage, the Sage of Truth, Inquisitor One also quietly offered, “I also do not concur.”

But where all expected some explanation and perhaps a lecture, there was nothing to follow but silence.

Into that silence, it was the unknown voice that elaborated, “While sound enough reasoning under normal circumstances, we have a war going on, and too little is known about this enemy of a distant and mostly irrelevant trade city. More evidence is required before prioritizing her and sinking rare assets capable of much-needed intelligence.”

Imagery suddenly blasted into the hivemind. It looked like the distant fog of the Far Reaches in Limbo, only… growing out of nothing was a sort of queer jungle. And it was growing before their eyes, trees and grass and weeds expanding continuously at a rapid pace.

Over this strange and remarkable sight, the voice said, “There is another overriding factor you all in your observational incompetence failed to even notice: Redberry has returned to full strength, having found the rare means to shake off the inferior artifice of the expired one-time Sage of Truth, Inquisitor One. Strategies for the Southlands must adapt accordingly.”

“That’s impossible!” came a voice, and similar denials came from others.

Finally, somewhat shakily, Inquisitor Two addressed the unknown voice with the demand, “Who are you? How do you have access? Dispense with any disguises and identify yourself.”

Dryly, the voice answered, “I thought you’d never ask. I am the Principal Advisor. This is… his voice.”

Shock, awe, and fear shot through them all — in some cases, terror. Inquisitor Twenty-Seven became so overloaded with negative emotion that she disconnected herself.

They all knew what it meant, though none could acknowledge it into even that space, nor would they dare speak it aloud. While the Principal Advisor to the Seven Sages and All Mankind was a permanent position, it had been irrelevant and token for a century, cultivating someone ‘ideal’ for possession. They would never have access to Central.

The only one that could just intrude as they liked without a ranking, and then claim that title as a cover… was their true master reawakened — His Honor, the One True Sage, master of all magics, psionics, and immortality. The Defier of the Gods himself, who engineered a glorious civilization from the ashes of demonic and parasitic spiritual dominance. Who declared only humankind would dominate the world so long as he lived. That all had the same potential as he.

Only, when he withdrew to sleep, his last bitter comment to Central was that he had been wrong about the last part and they were all worthless wretches…

The Master spoke once more. “If you are all done defecating on yourselves, kindly bend what meager intellect you still retain to our plans henceforth for this planet…”