Diellan_

Actually, I get this error, too, and I'm on a Windows XP machine. :P I just click ok and it goes away.

Full RP SGs are still around, as far as I can tell... My SG and VG are at the year and a half mark (a Virtue continuation of an RP SG on Pinnacle that's been around for years). It's not exactly massive, though - something between one and two dozen active players.

Well, it's over. 87 chapters (plus one epilogue), 374 pages, 155,862 words, and 1 year (almost exactly) later. We'd like to thank @Garent and @Caddmus for the use of their characters (Garent Ward and the Kushans, respectively). Yep, the Five Man Band of protagonists are all characters on Pinnacle (try and guess ATs and Powersets, I dare you), but everybody else was created specifically for the story.

We had a lot of fun writing this, and we're both filled with joy upon its completion and sorrow that its over. It's an odd feeling to sit down and not have the necessity to write weighing down on my shoulders. Not to say that I'm done writing... We just need a bit more planning before we start our next endeavor.

We'd definitely like to thank you all for reading it, and especially to the few people who posted responses in here. It's really nice to know that we don't suck horribly at this. :P

-Dylan

P.S. For the record, we wrote far too much of this with TVTropes open, so virtually anything you can find here as a reference to a trope was done explicitly, including subversions and lampshading (see Victor's API 1000).

Chapter LXXXVI
In Which That Which Has Been Will Be Again

Victor Kushan frantically searched through the rubble for the remains of his lost brother. During Mister Ward’s short, delirious commune with the Gem, a great hurricane-force wind had swept through the room and out the hallway, unblocking it and scattering rocks and body parts throughout. Somewhere among them we were certain to find Rostov Kushan’s remains and, perhaps, attempt a resurrection.

At the least, we could bring them for a proper burial.

“What about the city?”

“It must be destroyed.”

I turned away from the depressing scene towards Garent Ward. He looked back and forth between Madam Rabinovich and me with a puzzled look. I must admit that I allowed myself a small smile at his return to his normal, pre-gunshot, pre-blind state. Madam Rabinovich went on: “History demands it.”

He gave her a suspicious look. “I’m missing something here. Won’t just taking the gem do it? Rain stops, winds change, place turns to desert… No more people, no more city.”

I sighed heavily. Like Madam Rabinovich, I had come to the conclusion that we were living in some sort of stable time loop – that our actions here had already happened and that we had to fulfill history. Sadly, this would include the destruction of the temple and the city, something which I suddenly found more distasteful than I could have guessed. “That is the traditional view,” I said, joining the discussion, “but the traditional view considers it a natural climate change. The gem doesn’t factor at all and is simply a mythology created by the survivors to explain.”

Garent Ward sniffed. “I mean the people who actually know what they’re talking about. Historians are totally biased against magic.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Madam Rabinovich scoffed. Her and her spouse’s views on magic were notorious, even if have lightened over the years due to constant evidence to the contrary. If it had not been for some of the serious drawbacks with the present company, she may have preferred to continue living without magic.

“While you are correct about the documentation on the subject, Mister Ward,” I continued, “the notes we have acquired are a bit more specific about the temple’s final days.” I waved the sheaves of paper in the air. “What is described here talks about a sudden and intentional cataclysm, not a fifty year long gradual destruction. Of course, we do not know if it is the truth or if it is not also plagued with mistranslations and altered meanings.”

Madam Rabinovich shrugged, dust falling off her shoulders as she did so. “We have it from multiple sources that the city dies suddenly and without warning. This is just confirmation.”

Now it was Garent Ward’s turn to scoff. “It also talked about the Sons of the Gods doing it. You aren’t seriously going to have us masquerade, are you?” He looked between us once again, and read our expressions. Madam Rabinovich shook her head and pointed a finger at him. He blanched. “Oh, come on!”

“With the Gem in your possession,” she explained, “you could easily bring down such destruction. As already demonstrated.” Her eyes narrowed. “Assuming you let me slap you again.”

Garent Ward took a step to the side, away from her. “Not. Necessary.”

“Of course it won’t be necessary,” I reasoned, purposefully taking his phrase in a different meaning than he intended, “you are no longer half-dead, delirious, and taken by surprise. I imagine your will to be strong enough to utilize it for the few necessary minutes.”

“You’re asking me to create a storm to destroy a city of tens of thousands of people?”

“Actually,” she gave a small, ironic smile, “I’m asking you to destroy an empire. The Akkadian Empire dies because of the loss of this city and the climate change caused.”

“Even better,” came the deadpan response. He gave me a sideways glance. “I guess I shouldn’t’ve complained about those six people you killed earlier.”

“No, you were right,” I replied, much to his apparent surprise. “And now I cannot help but wonder if our discussion then does not apply to this as well. We are too ready to destroy this place, destroy so many lives, simply because we feel it must be done… But we are quick to make that decision. Must it be done?”

Madam Rabinovich gave me a strange look – suspicion and worry mixed into one. I did not feel like explaining my conflicted mental state at the time, and I knew she would not ask then, but I could tell that she was going to quiz me on it later. “You know it must. We’re in the right place at the right time. If we’re going into the business of saving temples that should’ve been destroyed, then I’ve got a much better candidate.”

I smiled. “Now, now, madam, you know that if the Second Temple was not destroyed, the world would be changed in fantastic ways. For one, Christianity would never survive as a world religion.”

She grinned. “You’re not convincing me.”

I laughed, and with it, my brief doubt and melancholy faded. She was right, as she often was. I turned to Mister Ward and sighed. “She is right – we cannot risk changing history in an unpredictable fashion. These people are already dead, and at your hands.

“Well,” he murmured, “I think this time around I can get enough control to avoid killing anybody directly…”

“Letting them die of starvation and exposure is better?” Madam Rabinovich crossed her arms over her chest. “They’re going to be in a desert soon enough! You won’t be doing any of them any favors by letting them live.”

He groaned and ran his hand over his face. He looked unconvinced, stricken even, and I could see him searching his mind frantically for a counterpoint. His face lit up: “But won’t somebody have to stay behind?”

“No. Why?”

Madam Rabinovich winced. “He’s right. If we’re following the manuscript, then somebody will need to be this hunter god and explain to the people of Anshar what happened.”

“I’ll do it!”

We all turned our attention to Victor Kushan, who was returning from the hallway, his face a dark shadow of its former self. He had never known grief, that I knew of, and his most depressing incident was being dumped by a girl; I can only suspect that the loss of his brother motivated him to what would, for somebody not blessed/cursed with immortality, be a suicide mission.

I mentally kicked myself – I was still thinking in a world without magic or advanced science. After we returned home, it would only be a minor inconvenience to acquire a time travel device to bring the last Son of God home.

“Uh huh.” Madam Rabinovich looked nonplussed. “Do you speak Akkadian, Victor? Or Sumerian?”

Nobody in the group did, though Madam Rabinovich was familiar with them, and I even more so. What I didn’t know now, I could take from the natives with a borrowing ritual. “Then I should be the one to make the pronouncement.” I gave her an amused look. “The text is definite on it being male.”

Victor Kushan wasn’t having any of it. “Can’t you just magically give me Akkadian? Besides, I’m a hunter, literally. It doesn’t say so-and-so the Linguist, does it? The Magician?”

Madam Rabinovich brought her hand to her head and rubbed her temple. “That’s Nachsook, Victor. And Nachsook called Hunter, not Nachsook the hunter. How could you be him if you don’t… get the name… ri… Oh no.”

We all turned our gazes upon her, filled with worry. She was shaking her head and grimacing. I feared that one of her chronic migraines had returned – or worse. “Are you alright, madam?”

“Oh god, the name!” She gave me a look that screamed frustration and, above all, annoyance. “More mistranslations!”

I blinked in confusion, and looked down at the sheet. Nachsook called Hunter, it said, which was not a particularly interesting statement, though I agreed on the strangeness of the formation. I didn’t see anything else that screamed out to me. I raised an eyebrow and looked back at her.

“It’s not Nachsook,” she explained, “not with a chet. It’s a hey – Auer probably misread it or changed it.”

I frowned. “That would make it Nahasook, though, or Neha…”

“Backwards.”

Suddenly it dawned on me and I, too, groaned. I had, like Madam Rabinovich and Auer before me, been thinking in terms of the Semitic language of Akkadian, when Nachsook called Hunter wasn’t. He thought in English. Nahsook. Nahsuk. Kushan. Kushan the Hunter. Right there in front of us.

“What?” Victor Kushan looked confused. “What’d I miss?”

I explained and he smirked. “See! I am supposed to stay here!”

Madam Rabinovich shook her head. “No. Not you.”

I continued rereading the manuscript and hovered over the proclamation Nachsook the Hunter, and I gleaned what the intelligent woman had already deduced. “Rostov.”

Victor Kushan stared at me, unblinking.

“What?” Garent Ward peered down the hallway, then back. “So we’re not going to wait for him? Where is he anyways?”

Madam Rabinovich and I exchanged worried looks as we realized that he did not know of the events immediately before the return of magic. We continued staring for a moment, as if mentally debating which one of us would give the bad news.

“Did I miss something?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Mister Kushan did not make it.”

He looked unfazed. “So? Can’t you resurrect him?”

I shook my head. “We are unable to find his corpse, with our eyes or with magical delving.”

“So how do you know he’s dead?” He gestured vaguely down the hallway, indicating the outdoors. “He must be alive somewhere if he’s going to be this Nachsook person… And you know the rules about not seeing the bodies.”

“The fact that we have not found any remnants of his from the explosion is particularly telling,” I admitted with a shrug of my shoulders. “Perhaps, with magic returned, his demon may have retained his hold. Or, since his soul has been claimed but we are in a time before the demon made his deal, it has simply remained and he will take a new body.”

“So all I gotta do is wait here!” Victor Kushan shouted, causing Madam Rabinovich and I to wince.

I shook my head. “The instructions here are clear. Nachsook the Hunter said,” I read aloud, “‘Know this! The time for your salvation has passed and you face the wrath of your god. My brothers leave…’ And then ‘And I will wait until that day, when the Sons of the Gods return to His Temple, and greet them with the stories of my sojourn amongst you…’ His message wasn’t for the people, just, but for us – for you. He explicitly states that you will leave, and then return later.”

“When later?”

I had no answer.

Garent Ward shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We can just test this, right? We get to the future, we go to Ouroboros, and we look back at this point in time and just scroll forward through time till he gives his speech.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Victor asked.

“Then he’s dead,” came the reply, “and we just screwed up time. But we can go back and have you give the speech then. Except next time around, you make your clues clearer.”

Victor Kushan wailed. “Fine! Let’s just go then.”

I looked to Madam Rabinovich, who nodded. We both turned to Garent Ward, who groaned. “If we’re to go, so must the city.” I paused a moment and gave a look to Madam Rabinovich, urging her to hand the gem back to him. “I will observe more closely and take action if he loses control.”

He gave a kind of cynical, hopeless laugh. “Oh. Great. I’m destroying a country. I’ve only ever sort of killed one person before…” He sighed heavily, and took the gem.

Arg. Put me in with the group of people screwed over by this. My wife and I started playing back in the States, but we now live in Israel... How annoying.

Chapter LXXXIII
In Which a Price is Paid

It was cold to the touch and hard to hold for any length of time, but I felt nothing more than that. No mana flows, no energy, no surges of power. My Mage Sight still hadn't returned and I still could sense the presence of mana. I waited – perhaps it took time? - but I could sense no changes.

Perhaps it needed to be destroyed? Could I even accomplish such a thing? All I had was a fragile board – which was slowly burning away – and my boots; no good smashing implements to use on a perfect sphere. And even if I did, would I be able to destroy such a powerful artifact?

I looked up from the gem and out towards the battle. The Warwolf had caught one of Rostov's hands in its paw and was squeezing; I couldn't tell if the beast's super strength would be enough to break his cybernetically reinforced bone structure, but it appeared to be trying. Rostov retaliated by stomping it just above the knee cap, forcing a momentary disengagement.

I could.

“Victor!” I shouted. The young man was distracted trying to line up a shot to aid his older sibling, but the close melee and the interference of the other 5th Columnists kept him from firing. “Victor! Victor!”

He looked back at me, irritated. “What?”

“Catch!” I threw the stone across the room, and he instinctively dropped the rifle and snatched it out of the air.

“Now what?” He gave the gem a curious look. This was the artifact that caused so much of our problems, and, perhaps, caused the entire journey…

“Break it!” I shouted.

“What?” And now he gave me a curious look. This was the artifact, after all, and here I wanted him to break it? Was I crazy?

Desperate.

“I said, break it!”

He sat the orb down on the ground, lifted the rifle, and brought the butt of it crashing down upon it. There was a loud crack and he held up his gun in dismay: the composite plastic of the butt was split down the middle while the gem shone normally, untouched. I expected him to make a quip about manufacturer quality degrading over time, but he was too thrown off by the event.

“Anytime would be good, Lorenzo!” Rostov Kushan shouted from the hallway. He was making a valiant effort at evading the swipes of the Warwolf, but the strips of bloody cloth that hung from his body betrayed his failures. He had a long combat knife that he used to make his own strikes, but even those that managed to land on his quicker opponent only seemed to anger it, not injure it. “The ******* broke my last gun!”

“Shitshitshit...” Victor Kushan swore, willing to risk a glare from Madam Rabinovich – not that she was in the mood to give any. The pair were fumbling through the spent magazines that lay upon the ground around them. Victor shook his head. “I'll have to grab some from the Fifth...”

He rose over the barricade, looking at the scattered bodies strewn across the hallway. All of the soldiers that had been between us and the Warwolf were dead or dying, and the ones on the other side of the melee were unwilling to risk hitting the Warwolf, making ammunition retrieval a viable, but dangerous option. He took a step forward and set his hands on top of the barricade to leap over it.

I saw a flash from one of the “or dying” soldiers, heard a shot, and saw Victor fall backward, putting his hand to his shoulder.

Madam Rabinovich was immediately at his side, the last of the bandages in her hand.

“Madam?” I called, trying not to sound too distressed by this turn of events. Signs of worry were not helpful. “Is he...?”

“Not yet,” came the strained reply as she went to work. “But it's a bad one... Missed the subclavian... I think his lung has been punctured...”

Victor Kushan simply moaned.

“Vic!?” Rostov Kushan looked back over his shoulder, realized his mistake, and ducked back – a moment too late. The Warwolf leapt at him, and slammed him against the wall. His knife arm was caught in one of the beast's claws, and at angle where he had no leverage to break free.

I glanced down at the altar, frantically searching for clues as to the mechanism of the magical dampening field. The writings would take far too long to decipher in the heat of battle. Our gamble was failing… Had failed when the removal of the Gem of Etnekhsa did nothing.

The gem was, for our purposes, indestructible, but maybe the base of the altar itself was part of it? As Victor Kushan had said, the room itself seemed to be built in a manner that would harness and amplify magical energies. Furthermore, the gem was only known for climate control... Perhaps the room itself was the source of Anshar's Protection? Or the altar?

What I needed were some grenades.

“Madam! Can you give me the grenade in Garent's bag?”

Madam Rabinovich, tying off the newly applied bandage, hobbled over the two meters to where Mister Ward was laying against the wall. She sat the offending Gem of Etnekhsa on the ground and began fishing through the bag.

"Great idea, Lorenzo!"

My attention snapped to Rostov Kushan.

He twisted around in the Warwolf's grip, and reached into one of the numerous pouches on his person. His hand move quickly, retrieving and throwing out small black objects in an area around him. They bounced and rolled around the hallway, except for one, which he kept in his hand. The Warwolf panicked, tried to run, but Rostov had wrapped his arms around his waist.

My heart stopped and the bottom fell out of my stomach. “No...” Had the dream been prophetic? One last bit of magic allowed in a world known for prophets and prophecy? Images flashed through my mind of a war long past, people long dead. I saw Guiseppe Ennio holding the grenade tightly in his hand, pressed against the body of the Warwolf, and the Austrian howled in horror.

Time slowed down, a particularly strange phenomenon contained entirely within the human brain. I realized that I was counting the seconds, the few seconds left of my comrade's life, and I wondered if, perhaps, the slowing of time was some futile act of my will to keep to halt the inevitable. Another soldier dead under my command.

"Ros?" I heard Victor call as if through glass. He had pushed himself up to a sitting position, and peered up over the barricade. His scream of denial was cut off as Madam Rabinovich dove into him, pulling him down to safety.

Rostov turned his head, his eyes holding mine firmly.

"Take care of my brother."

This time I didn't duck. I didn't even flinch. A wave of dust and heat blew out of the hallway, obscuring all vision, except for the circular trench of barbed wire that surrounded me. It made it difficult to breathe, but it didn't matter, I was no longer breathing the air of an ancient Sumerian-***-Akkadian temple; my throat was closed by memories of soot and toxic gas.

The rattling sounds of explosions and crashing stone was punctuated by artillery fire, conjured up from the depths of my mind. And screams. Screams that were cut short if the victim was lucky. The truly unlucky never stopped.

I could hear Victor howling. He had lost a brother today, and might live as a result. A story played out a million times in a million families in mankind’s short existence. My mind raced through the images of those who had died so I might live, and I clutched my hand to my throat, trying to grasp a crucifix that hadn’t been there for a hundred years.

And yet, in the moment, I found it.

Chapter LXXXII
In Which a Little Rubbish Lights the Way and It All Comes Together

When the ground I was walking on shook and started to sink, I froze, readying myself for whatever danger was about to be produced by the ancient trap. Contrary to the expected pitfall or sudden drop, for which I was ready to leap backwards, it merely lowered by a meter and locked into place. The revealed waist-high walls were riddled with black holes. They were larger than the standard dart trap and shaped wrong for arrows, which meant some form of biological or chemical device.

Seeing as how I was in the middle of the Akkadian Empire, and not Egypt or China, that meant only one thing.

I winced as I heard Madam Rabinovich scream in mindless terror, which told me that she had made the same conclusion as I. She is normally a stern, implacable woman, always capable of keeping her calm, but she has one exception that I am aware of: a crippling case of ophidiophobia.

Would I retreat? Hop up the wall behind me before I found myself ankle deep in descendents of mankind's first enemy? I turned around in consideration, and saw that it was, in a sense, too late; a variety of slithering creatures had already started making their out of their imprisonment and into the open space of the room, in search for prey.

I decided that remaining absolutely still would be the best option.

“Sheesh!” I heard Victor Kushan shout, trying to pierce the womanly shrieks. “It's just snakes...”

“SNAKES!” Madam Rabinovich replied eloquently. “Oh, god!”

The snakes must have been conjured magically, since so many of them couldn't have been kept fed in the many months the 5th Column had been here, and they were moving much faster than normal for a usual cautious specie. They had already moved over and around my feet – any move might be my last. Not completely unexpected for the anti-magic field to leave an exception for the defenses of the temple.

I thought quickly, and turned my head very slowly to face Mister Kushan. “Victor? Do you still have your fire powers?”

“Sort of.” He was shouting still, but this time to get over the sound of gunfire; he had already returned to trying to keep the soldiers out. “I can start a fire, a small one, but that's it.”

“That's enough.” I nodded in the direction of a small pile to his left. “Please take one of those broken pieces of wood from the crates, wrap it in the garment that Madam Rabinovich discarded, and set it on fire. The garment, that is.”

“Huh?” He blinked a moment. “Oh, yeah. A torch!” He fired one last round, then quickly moved to follow my instructions, periodically stopping in order to discourage the Fifth Column from taking advantage of the distraction.

He could not reach where I was, and had to simply throw the torch in my direction. Too wary to move, I did not catch it and let it fall at my feet. Luckily, fire is the second most dangerous substance known to Earth's inhabitants – the first, of course, being mankind – and the snakes that been trying to explore my pant legs immediately dispersed.

With my newly acquired weapon, I resumed my course, waving it incessantly about me in a circle. Some of the more adventurous members of the welcoming committee had to literally be hit with the flaming instrument, but I was perfectly happy to oblige. In careful, measured steps, I made my across the snake infested trench, climbed up the opposite side, and found myself face-to-face with the altar.

Like the architecture of the rest of the room, the dais and altar tried to maintain recognizable forms while being composed entirely of components that boggled the mind. A series of black stone pillars came out of the ground and twisted around each other in a complicated, patternless array of stone in order to form the base of the altar. These then split into a large tangle of thin stone cables, forming an intricate display reminiscent of a briar patch. Sitting atop this monstrosity, was the Gem of Etnekhsa.

My free hand wavered over the artifact, as I considered whether or not the gem itself had any traps. I was at a loss, not having my Mage Sight or any of the other magical tricks I would normally have used, and had to go with the mundane test of prodding the altar with the base of the makeshift torch. The altar itself was firm, and even the thin and fragile looking tubes of stone beneath the gem were deceptively strong.

To my thoughts, unbidden, came the images from the various tales of the 19th and 20th centuries, and I couldn't help but wish that I had filled a bag with a gem-sized mass of sand.

“Over here, bastards!”

“Ros!”

I span around at Mister Kushan's shout. He had started to stand up in amazement but was immediately pulled down by Madam Rabinovich, who, while still stealing wary glances at the snakes (who, luckily, seemed unwilling or unable to leave their ditch), had finally rejoined in the fight. Past the pair, in the long hallway leading into this room, I could see our missing companion. He was covered in blood and dirt and carried one of the 5th Column rifles, which he was using to great effectiveness on the soldiers who were now trapped between him and us.

“Your timing is perfect!” I shouted. He was too busy to shout back, but the gleam of his sharklike grin told me he heard.

Emboldened by the appearance of the elder Kushan, I sat the torch down at my feet and turned back to the gem, pulling out the knife I had acquired from Victor for expressly the purpose before I came across. The gem was sealed tightly to the structure beneath it, fused even, but a 21st century blade is more than capable of prying it from free from the setting.

“Aroooooooo!”

I grimaced and looked back over my shoulder as my hands still worked at delivering our salvation. Past the trapped 5th Column soldiers, past the approaching Rostov Kushan, I could make out the hulking shape of the WarWolf, our longtime adversary. Mister Kushan immediately turned to face what he considered the larger threat, only to be knocked flat onto his back as a large chunk of rock collided with his stomach, followed a few seconds later by a pouncing, stone-throwing beast, whose claws flashed in the pale light.

But our friend was quick at the recovery, and caught the creature with his foot and threw it over and behind him. The WarWolf flipped around in the air, a maneuver that seemed quite impossible to me at the time, and landed on all fours, facing Rostov. He charged immediately, giving Rostov Kushan just enough time to get to his feet and dodge out of the way of the massive beast. I saw a swipe of the claws, but it glanced off the rifle.

“Dammit!” Rostov Kushan shouted, as it quickly became apparent that the WarWolf's attack hadn't been much of a glance: the barrel of the gun had been sliced off completely.

I turned back to the Gem as I felt it shift. Just in time, I thought to myself, pleased that I would be returning magic before any casualties had occurred. Even with his cybernetically enhanced body and top level training, Mister Kushan would only be able to last so long against the WarWolf without a gun.

I wedged the knife in between and twisted my wrist, slowly forcing it out. A loud crack split the air, followed by a strange shimmering effect. A small current of electricity connected the Gem to the stone base for a moment, until it, too, was severed.

The Gem came free and fell into my waiting hand.

Yes, they changed it because of Defiance 2.0. Flares is on a faster timer because the bonus damage from Fire Blast makes the difference (so it does the same damage as other Tier 1 blasts).

Rad Blast is better this way, since these attacks now have significantly higher DPA values, which is what is most important for getting a good attack chain and dps. You now need some more recharge to keep the chain smooth, but you also have access to an entire secondary of great attacks to fill in (/Dev need not apply).

Chapter LXXVII
In Which the Spectre of Loss and Failure Overshadows

By sheer force of will and adrenaline, I was able to ignore the pain in my leg and regain my footing. With no small amount of difficulty, I managed to get my arms under Mister Ward's shoulders and drag him across to the base of the temple, propping him up against the stone surface.

“Lorenzo? Is that you?” He grimaced in pain and nodded. “Ah. It is. It's... hard to... concentrate. Keep... link.”

“That is well enough, Mi- Garent,” I replied. “You should be conserving your strength.”

He laughed, then groaned. “Deathbed delirium?”

I ripped open his robe and recovered the bag he had been carrying, retrieving Madam Rabinovich's medkit. I am no combat medic but I've had more than my fair share of battlefield promotions to the position. Admittedly, my experience is nearly a century out of date, but Madam Rabinovich, a combat medic and emergency medical technician in her own right, made certain to update my education with a more modern theory of first aid.

By this point, blood had soaked a simple majority of my companion's clothing, with the prevalence of it on his abdomen and upper legs. Further investigation told me he had been hit twice – once near the stomach and once at the waist – of which only the former had an exit wound.

“It appears you have one bullet lodged in your pelvis,” I announced, “but you can count your lucky stars that it does not seem that an artery has been hit.”

He stared blankly, so I repeated myself, and he grunted with acknowledgment. “So I'll die slowly... rather than quickly? Great...”

I turned to the medical kit with some consternation, my mind running through all I had been taught. If he had been wounded in a limb, then I could apply a tourniquet of some kind to cut off circulation until we could recover magic, but as it was, my only recourse was the classic bandage and pressure.

“Slowly would be preferable.” I fished out some alcohol for cleaning the wound along with a large amount of gauze and elastic bandage. “You just need to last an hour, by which point, we will have magic back and you will return to your nearly invincible self.”

“An hour... of this?” He gave a sharp cry of pain as I began dressing one of the wounds. “I wish we weren’t conserving ammo… or I’d have you shoot me right now.”

I was pleased to find that he was coherent and jocular, as I was deeply afraid of his rapid blood loss leading to hypovolemic shock. It was inevitable - if I didn’t stop the bleeding soon. “Alas,” I replied, masking my worries, “when forced to choose between a dead Garent and a dead Nazi, the cards do not fall in your favor.”

He chuckled, which quickly turned into a coughing fit. “You could ju… resurrect me after… magic back… it’d be... win-win…”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I am experienced with spirit magics and necromancy, Mister Ward. I am no saint, to call you out of your tomb; my bringing you back would come with a severe price.” I had not told them this during our planning before, when I said I could bring back any person who perishes, but they hadn't needed to know. I was willing to pay the price on their behalf.

“Can't be... worse than... this...”

I shook my head. “I have to take your spirit and put it into a body. If this body is dead, then you will be some form of ghoul or other undead, plagued with all that entails.”

“I don't... I don't need a body...” He gave me an embarrassed look, though it was hard to tell given how pale he had become. “I'm not exactly... human. I mean... I am, but... not...”

I examined his face then, and put a finger to his pulse. He was exhibiting all the signs of extreme blood loss, and I knew that it would not be long before he would go into hypovolemic shock. I wasn't sure whether or not it would be better to keep him talking – keeping consciousness is important, but so is conserving strength – and wished that Madam Rabinovich were here.

“My father...” He swallowed, find talk difficult, but he was focused so I did not interrupt him and stuck to keeping pressure on his wounds. “From other dimension... Can't die... If soul remains.”

I blinked in surprise. I had gotten inklings from his conversations with others that there was something more about him, and I had certainly noticed that his magic was different from those that I was familiar with, but I had never asked out of respect for his privacy. “Can't?”

“I... reform,” he elaborated, though I couldn't tell if he could hear me. With his voice breaking constantly, I couldn't imagine him managing to maintain whatever concentration he required to read my thoughts. “From water vapor. Don't need... body.”

A strange revelation, not altogether surprising given his masterly control over that particular element, and my mind started working rapidly. Could I even bring him back if he died? This antimagic field had turned him into a mundane human, so if he perished, his soul might very well move on to whatever next world there was (even worse, it might move on to some Akkadian afterlife). Could I find him there, pull him out? I had summoned spirits before, souls without flesh, but they never stayed and always faded on their own. With time, I am sure I could find a way, but...

“I dare not risk it.”

I looked down at the bandages, tightly wrapped around his abdomen. They could not be sufficient, this I knew, and keeping pressure was difficult. Too many wounds, horrible spot with no real bone or muscle to apply pressure against. Both of my hopes – Madam Rabinovich and the Gem of Etnekhsa – were on the other side of the wall. Once again, magic was failing me.

“I have been so reliant upon it,” I had said to Madam Rabinovich the night before, as we stared out over the dying fire, having discussed our plans for the following day. “When I was much younger, I had someone very important to me perish. We had tried everything – every medicine and treatment, quakery or otherwise – and it had come to nothing. I was helpless, lost in a world without control.”

She had nodded, then, her eyes understanding. She had probably guessed all of this some time before.

“I went to the mediums and evangelists and any of a million people who could claim to speak to the dead...” I grimaced. “They were just as fake as the snake oils we had wasted our fortune on, but I persisted and... And I found true magic.”

“It's about control. Control over everything, even life and death.”

I did not tell her of my great failures – the men I had lost in the Great War, the woman I had failed to resurrect – but she knew anyway. All that control had been lost the moment the vortex hit us, and even now, with success so close, I might very well lose another.

“But more,” I added, “it's a part of me now... magic. It is not painful, this loss, and yet… it is. Like waking up one morning to learn that your leg was taken away in the night. You remember the walking, the support, the feel of gravel sliding around your foot and the tension in your calf as you bend your ankle, and some part of you aches to feel it again. The brain, in its fevered desires, conjures phantom nerve signals.”

“I see…” she had muttered darkly. I could see the thoughts running through her mind as she built a psychiatric profile of what I was going through – or would be going through shortly, once the impact of what was happening had time to sink in and the absence began to take its toll. She’s like that.

“I remember seeing people dismembered in the wars, and-“ I paused a moment, as images flashed through my mind. The loss of limb was worse than life: to a soldier it meant immediate discharge to a life forever changed. The lucky died. “And for some it is easy – they adapt, they survive, and soon nobody can ever remember them as a whole person – and for others… Madness, generally. Feelings of uselessness and overpowering angst. Despair.” I caught the look in her eyes and shook my head. “At the moment, I am feeling bewilderment, madam, though I will admit to some general inklings of fear. I would like to think I am made of sterner stuff.”

A grinding sound interrupted my reverie, and the ground – and more importantly, the wall! - began to shake. It slid open, revealing an interior passage well lit by torches and a string of fluorescent bulbs that had been nailed into the ceiling like in a makeshift military bunker. I rose to my feet, swinging the rifle around to the front and putting my finger on the trigger, but there was no need.

“Victor!”

The young man grinned back at me impudently. He had apparently recovered his old clothes. “Miss me?!”

“More than you will ever hear me admit,” I replied, and immediately began searching the passage. “Where is Madam Rabinovich?”

The person in question stumbled around a pillar that she had been using for support, and nearly lost all balance. She caught a protruding stone with dirty hand and gave us a grimace. “Is it too much to hope I have been missed, too?”

“Madam!” I shouted, forgetting Mister Ward momentarily and rushing to assist her before she fell. She appeared to have gone through a not insignificant amount of torture, her body bruised and bleeding, one eye red from a burst vessel. “How many beatings did they give you?”

“You should think of it as only one beating,” she waved a hand vaguely in the air, “with a few breaks along the way.”

I furrowed my brow as my brain finally caught on to the weird part of her stumbling. “Where's your umbrella?”

Victor Kushan snickered. “Heiney didn't get why she kept it around, but he saw the point eventually. I told him it was bad luck to open those things indoors but nooooo, he couldn't stomach leaving it alone.”

Madam Rabinovich and I proceeded to give a performance of synchronized eye rolling. “I left it implanted in Auer's gut,” she explained, then looked up over my shoulder. “Where's Garent?”

Chapter LXXVI
In which a Good Pun is its Own Reword

The sounds of gunshots and explosions can carry for miles all around. It has problems penetrating things like solid stone walls, but the temple was about as solid as a steel-reinforced house of cards, at this point, what with all the passages and ventilation holes that had been added to it over the last couple months. The Nazis had been a little surprised to find out that the Middle East was hot (I know!), so one of the things we'd had to do was set up some elaborate systems of fans and high holes in order to keep good airflow in this place.

Needless, to say, when fighting started happening out in the city, I heard it right away. And I was happy.

The last couple days, the Nazis had been grumbling more than usual and kicking me less than usual, so I knew something was up. I had hoped that it was my brother, but they weren't telling me much – even the ones I bribed with beer from the still I'd been working on. But now? Now I knew.

I'd know Ros' havoc anywhere.

I was down in the lab at the time, which was the best place to be – the second best being my room – since it was where I kept the most important of my stuff – the rest kept in, duh, my room. The Nazis didn't have much in the way of engineering talent, so I was doing maintenance on their guns, taking them apart and putting them back together and, like with all things, every time I put them back together, I had extra parts left over. After awhile, I had enough extra parts that I could repair guns that had been completely busted...

I'm not really sure I want to know what they were doing that kept busting their guns up, though firing them in such a sandy environment can cause all kinds of havoc, and it couldn't possibly be because I kept sabotaging their weapons each time... Heh heh.

So, anyways, while I was working on the things like the generators and the still, I was also working on my plan to bust out of here and help out my bro when he finally showed up.

“Shouldn't you go find out what's going on?” I asked my guard.

He shook his head. “Nah. Not my business. They'll call me if they need me.”

“Not the least bit curious?” I was rummaging around in the pile of parts that I'd hidden the key components of my plans. “I know I am!”

“Nope.”

I sighed. I kind of liked this guy; he was downright friendly once I started bribing people with beer. “Too bad.”

I yanked out of the pile my makeshift rifle, a Frankengun to make the craziest of mad scientists proud, and pulled the trigger, spraying nails at supersonic speeds. It had a real kick to it, I couldn't aim for the broad side of an Akkadian temple, and it tended to empty the entire thing of nails in two seconds, but from the look of my pal – bleeding from all over with little shiney bits of metal sticking out – it didn't matter.

On second thought, I'd been wanting to steal his uniform and rifle, but now they're kind of nailed to his body. Oops.

I grabbed a few boxes of extra nails – homemade, mostly – and darted out of the lab. The hallway was empty, no surprise there, but I wasn't taking many chances and kept an eye out in each direction. My first stop would need to be my room, where I kept my old clothes and some of gadgets, and then I'd need to hit Heinrich's office, where my PDA was.

Oh, yeah, and where Heinie was. I kind of liked the old bat, but there was no way I was going to just walk out of here, so he'd have to be a hostage. Oh well.

I only had to fill one guy with hot lead on my way to my room – they were probably out fighting Ros – and I changed quickly, listening to more gunfire in the distance. My old clothes would be a big help for this, since they were darker and meant for sneaking around, and also because of the spidersilk wea-

Wait. That last gunfire wasn't in the distance at all! It came from... Heinrich's office?

I wasn't sure what to make of that. Did Ros already make it to the temple? Was that Lorenzo or Garent? Or did Auer shoot one of his own men again?

I went out a bit more carefully than I came in. For all I knew, there would be a horde of soldiers in the hallway coming up. A few twists and turns, and- And a familiar sound from around the upcoming bend to the hallway just outside the office. That was the sound of a good beating; it was nice not being on the receiving end, but still... Who?

I edged up to the corner, then peaked around. A few soldiers were kicking some old native woman – I couldn't see her much, since she had balled up – and it looked they were trying to decide whether to **** her or shoot her. I can't say I'm much of a fan of either, the bastards, and when one of them started making to undo his belt, I knew it was time to act. I'd give myself away but, meh, that's less soldiers to have chasing me later. Besides, **** just ain't okay, you know?

I came around the corner and emptied the entire tray of nails, trying my best to keep the spray of fire in an upwards arc so as not to accidentally kill the random civilian. The soldiers fell down quickly, their bodies blood red with silver polkadots. Still no go on stealing their uniforms, but at least I could take their rifles. The nailgun was working really well, but at this rate, I'd only get two or three more encounters before it ran out. Awesome But Impractical, indeed.

I slung the ABI-1000 behind my back and knelt down to help the girl. I nearly jumped when I rolled her over and-

“Sofia?”

She wasn't conscious, and she looked like the entire Nazi Party had risen from the grave and stepped on her. I didn't have any medical supplies on me, but I knew where we kept our crappy makeshift incompetent infirmary. But first...

I halfway picked her up and dragged her to the door of Heinrich's office. The door was open – unusual – so I peaked in; Auer wasn't there, but a dead Nazi was. I guess he did shoot his own man... Or maybe Sofia shot him? I dragged her in and propped her against the wall while I went to search Heinie's desk.

And found him laying behind it, an umbrella sticking out of his chest and bullet in his head.

“What the fu-”

“Victor!”

I looked back at the owner of the umbrella and grinned. She didn't like people swearing in her presence. “You did this?”

She nodded and immediately winced. “We had an argument. He lost.”

“Hehe... He got the thrust of your-”

“Victor.”

“Well, he got the poi-”

“Victor!” She shook her head. “I'm in no condition for your puns. I'm barely hanging on as it is.”

“Alright, alright, just let me get a few things...” I fished through the drawers I'd built myself when we replaced his old desk, and pulled out my PDA. It had the schematics I'd made of the temple, amongst a few other things. “There. We can raid the infirmary for bandages, then make our way to the top exit. Is Ros outside?”

“Yes, but we aren't going that way.”

I blinked. “We aren't?”

“No. There's a secret exit, we're taking that one.”

How did she know about that? I shrugged. “Okay, yeah, I know where it is.”

“We'll meet up with Garent and Lorenzo there,” she explained as I helped her onto her feet. “They've got my medical supplies, so unless your infirmary is directly on the way, we won't bother with it.”

“Nah. It's upstairs.”

“Oh well...” She sighed wistfully as we hobbled out of the room. My guess is that she really, really wanted painkillers. I can't blame her. She looked down at my gun. “What is that you're carrying?”

“Just a little something I put together over the last month.” I hefted it proudly. “It's a crudimentary railgun.”

“Crudi-” She shook her head. “You have a way with words, Victor."

“Thanks!”

"You could be president!”

I took one last look at Heinrich and laughed. It really was silly, the umbrella sticking up out of him like a flag. Who was I traveling with, the Penguin? Sofia gave me a look and I grimaced. “Sorry, gut reaction.”

So all those maps with prison areas are for tax purposes?

And today there were all of 4 Scientific Theories for sale blueside. The non-Tier 3 common market has been pretty whack recently.

Chapter LXIX
In Which Fortune Fails

“Did you…” He scratched his head. “I could be hallucinating, but did you just use my first name?”

I smiled in my amusement and decided to put him on for a short tease. “It must have been a hallucination, I’m afraid. With any luck, we will restore your hearing shortly and you will no longer have to worry about such phantom pangs.”

“I could’ve swo-“

“Later, Mister Ward,” I cut him off, “we must find the passageway first.”

The seam in the wall was relatively easy to find, as this was no modern construction with precise measurements and smooth surfaces. Since the stones of the temple were large things dragged from a quarry, there were not many crevasses and junctions to obscure the line surrounding the secret entrance. I found myself impressed by the size – wide enough to allow several men to walk abreast – and I could but only assume that it was an addition added by the Fifth Columnists, and not some marvel of ancient engineering.

“Found it,” I announced and turned to my companion. After a moment of consternation regarding propriety, I took his hand in mine and guided his fingers to the spot on the wall.

He found the line and started tracing it up and down with his fingers (down more than up, as it stretched above both our reaches). “So do we wait here for Sofia or go back across the street?”

“A difficult question,” I replied, turning around to look down the streets. “If the guards arrive before she… does…”

“What’s wrong?”

A group of half a dozen Akkadians was marching towards us, armed with various forms of primitive weaponry – spears, curved daggers, axes. One of them shouted something at us, but it was very slurred and I had difficulty making out any of the words except for one: forbidden.

“Again?” Mister Ward groaned.

I gave him a look of annoyance and briefly considered my options. The sword would be dangerous against actual soldiers, especially given the spears, but the rifle would give us away, something I was loathe to do since Rostov Kushan had already been intercepted and we were so close. “Gun? Or stealth?” I asked.

“What’re you asking me-“ He paused, blinked, then said, “Wait. Pull out the rifle. They should recognize it and run away or cower or something.”

“Excellent idea!” I agreed, throwing off my robe and raising my rifle. The men, who were a mere few meters away, froze. “Go away!” I shouted in a poor attempt at Akkadian, and then flipped the safety catch to automatic fire.

I heard a pair of similar clicks to my left and I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. Sure enough, a glance to my side revealed a pair of Fifth Columnist soldiers, rifles aimed at my companion and me.

“Ha! The click always gets their attention,” one of them said out of the side of his mouth, “though it ain’t nearly as good as cocking a pistol.”

Mister Ward groaned.

“Drop the rifle and put your hands in the air!” the other one shouted in our direction. “The boss wants you both alive, but he isn’t here and my friend has a real itchy trigger finger.”

“Ha!” The first one laughed. “We brought the girl in alive, put the boss in a good mood, so maybe he’d overlook a few corpses.”

“Sofia?” Mister Ward asked, turning his vacant stare in the soldiers’ direction. “She’s okay?”

“Just do what you’re told, and maybe you’ll find out.”

“Please don’t, so I can shoot you.”

I sighed and unslung the rifle, letting it drop to the ground. The swordcane was in Mister Ward’s hand, and I still had the pistol hidden under my jacket, along with a few other items that the elder Kushan had provided me. I most certainly was not fast enough to pull them out without being shot, and even if I could, a grenade at this range would be just as fatal to me.

As I raised my hands in the air, I could not help wondering if my dream had been more than just a memory twisted, but something of prophecy.

“You like that? A local militia…” The soldier spoke as he and his more bloodthirsty companion approached us, rope in hand. “Another one of the boss’s ideas. It was tough at first, with the language barrier and all, but they got the picture.”

The other one snickered. “Yeah, and these ones were all too eager after some farmer friends of theirs got killed yesterday.”

“I told you…” I felt the intense glare of my companion’s gaze on my back, but did not turn to face him. I imagined that I would be hearing about this for quite some time afterwards. “You better believe it…”

“Losin’ friends makes folk downright murd’rous,” the man continued as he stopped right behind me. “All us Fifth are friends – brothers e’en – and it wasn’t jus’ farmers that you killed.”

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, an observation instantly drowned out by the blinding pain in my right knee. I folded, my legs giving out, and sprawled on the ground. A second and third kick followed, these in my side.

The grenade idea looked better by the moment, but I reminded myself that they were going to bring me in alive and that pain was always temporary. I took a deep breath and tried very hard to believe it.

“That felt painful…” Mister Ward whispered, still keyed into my thoughts. I turned my head and looked up at him, cane in one hand, and the other reaching into his robe while the soldiers were distracted with me. Strange, since he had no guns, only the flashbang grenades that Rostov Kushan had given to him for emer… gen… cies…

I put my face into the dirt and clapped my hands on my ears.

The sound was not so much loud as concussive – it drowned out everything and made my head swim, even with my ears covered. I pushed myself up from the ground, and saw the nearest Fifth Columnist on the ground, clutching his head, and the other one stumbling, firing wildly into the air. I could not hear his shots and realized I had been temporarily deafened by the grenade; luckily, I was the only person left with good vision.

I sprang into action – though I admit that to be a poor choice of words given my barely functioning right knee – snatched my rifle from the ground, and rose to a kneeling position. An arc of automatic fire swept around me, bringing down the wayward soldier and the Akkadian horde. The other soldier, which had been below my arc, still writhed in pain. I lowered the gun to his head, and squeezed the trigger.

Convinced by the lack of movement that the immediate threat had ceased, I tried to stand up, failing almost immediately.

“Another excellent idea, Mister Ward,” I said, though I could not hear myself. “Alas, now I truly need your assistance moving around. Could you help me up?”

My ears were now ringing, a sign of a near recovery, which lightened my heart. I remained balanced on my left knee, though, alone.

“Mister Ward?”

I turned around. My companion was on the ground, his hands clutching his stomach. Hands that were covered in his own blood.

Chapter LXVIII
In Which the Merits of Romanticism are Debated

Madam Rabinovich was late.

“Can you see where the hidden passage should be?” Mister Ward swung his head back and forth in vain. “Maybe we’re just not at the right spot.”

“This should be the place,” I replied. “It matches her description. But I can not tell without getting close enough to examine the rocks.”

The rough and uneven, unhewn stone of the base of the temple made it difficult to find the seams of a secret passageway. This was exacerbated by our inability to examine closely; the area around the temple had been cleared of all civilians and there were sentries making regular circles. We were hidden behind a small open market, where a man sold recently fried meat-and-vegetable matter – a kebab of some kind, I supposed – and two individuals were seated at a table and were playing some kind of board game with stones (upon closer inspection, it appeared to be some old form of backgammon).

“Can’t you see any signs?” he asked. “Scratch marks in the dirt; footsteps going nowhere; sand settled wrong – that kind of stuff?”

I shook my head. “The mechanism must open inward… And there are too many tracks for me to tell from here.”

He sighed and leaned back against the wall, completely hidden from the people on the street. “Then she’s late. How long has it been?”

“Too long.” I didn’t bother checking my watch. “Either she has gotten lost inside, or caught. If she does not appear soon, we may have to go in ourselves and attempt a rescue.”

“She won’t like that.”

I turned and gave him a look of surprise. “Oh?”

His eyes darted furtively, as if he was about to tell a secret of great importance. “Sofia… She really doesn’t like people thinking that she can’t do something, or thinking they need to rush and save her. Really doesn’t like it. Really. If we ran in, it’d mean we didn’t think she was capable of handling this on her own.”

“And if she isn’t?” I frowned. “Perhaps she fell into a trap? Perhaps the warwolf caught her?”

“She’d find a way to escape?” he supplied, somewhat convincingly. “She and Alex are always going on about how useless superpowers are anyways, and how they’re able to get through these kinds of things without relying on them. They’re a crutch.” He fixed his gaze on me. “You agreed!”

“I did indeed,” I admitted. “But while I consider her to be a capable woman, I do not expect her to be able to bypass each and every possible threat. That is an impossible feat.”

“Yeah, but…” He crossed his arms. “But you’ll have to go in without me. If we run in and she’s handling things just fine, you can be the one that she harangues. Not me.”

I raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “Some things are too dangerous for such silly notions, Mister Ward. She can swallow her pride and accept the safer alternative.”

He barked a short laugh. “Oh? This coming from the guy who’s running around crippled by of romanticism?”

“What?” I gave him a long look. “While I do enjoy Chopin, I do not understand how that is a character flaw.”

He groaned. “I mean your leg.” He pointed down at my bad knee. “You could’ve healed it a million times already, and you didn’t, and you’ve got to admit that this all would’ve been a whole lot easier if you had.”

I frowned. “We’ve been over this-“

“And that’s what I’m talking about: you didn’t heal it because of some romantic notions you have about scars and dead people.” Frustration tinted his voice. “Why didn’t you just heal it but leave a scar, anyways? Like normal people?”

“I…” I stopped. I didn’t really have an answer to that question; I could honestly say the possibility had never passed through my mind before. It’s a strange bit of human cognition that once a course of action has been chosen, alternatives become not only unfavorable, but hard to even imagine. Choosing to keep the wound had seemed like such a fitting memorial that I did not even consider a halfway step.

But now that I did… I shook my head. “That feels too much like cheating - like I am only paying them lip service without any real commitment.”

“Isn’t what you do just as bad? You magic away the pain and the difficulties, just on a-”

“A daily basis, Mister Ward,” I finished with him in order to emphasize the importance of that part. “Every morning I examine the enchantments on my knee and in doing so, I remind myself of what it all stands for – for whom it all stands for. It is a minor daily sacrifice on the altar of the past.”

He rolled his eyes. “Romanticism. And your sacrifice is adding a lot of troubles here. If we ever get caught, you won’t be able to run.”

“Then, perhaps, it would be best were we not caught.”

“And how’s that going to happen with these soldiers around?” He thumbed in the direction of the sentries guarding the temple. “We aren’t going to sneak past them, and they’re going to notice Sofia opening that door.”

I agreed and peeked out around the stall once more. Two of the soldiers had joined up and appeared to be talking to one another. I saw something pass between their hands, and then a flare of light as one of them lit a cigarette.

“They aren’t the most observant of soldiers, but maybe…” I sat back down as my mind ran across the alternatives. The two of us carried a small supply of grenades and ammo, as well as a dismantled rifle hidden in Sofia’s medic bag which was now hanging off of my companion’s shoulders, and we could probably utilize the combination to draw attention elsewhere and pick off the few left behind.

“And then have every mook in this temple running out to meet us?” He groaned. “That’s just as bad.”

But what else? I asked silently, unconsciously staring up at the heavens. We needed a distraction.

A peal of thunder answered my quiet prayer to the cloudless sky, followed by the crack of gunfire. The soldiers froze in the tracks, nervously twitching their trigger fingers, and turned in the direction of the staccato shots.

Mister Ward started to step towards the sound, but I pulled him back to our hiding place. “That’s Ros, isn’t it?”

“Likely, yes.” From what Madam Rabinovich told us, Auer liked fanfare and quick executions, and didn’t like to waste ammo or explosives, so it wasn’t likely to be some kind of demonstration on the populace. “It appears that he did not succeed in avoiding capture.”

“Oh, he’s avoiding it, alright.” He smirked. “It’s a very Kushan way of avoiding it, but it still counts.”

The periodic rifle bursts had grown into elaborate exchanges between Rostov Kushan and whatever group of Fifth Columnists had stumbled upon him. It wasn’t too far away, but with the sounds echoing off the walls and alleys of the city, it was impossible to judge precisely.

“Is it working as a distraction?”

I watched the soldiers start to run down the street, rifles raised almost to shoulder level. To my surprise and joy, they left only one of their members behind to patrol the area - not nearly enough to keep guard over the entire stretch, and easily dispatched if necessary.

“Yes, yes it is.” I once more held out my elbow for him to grab, and edged forward. “Come along, Garent, we’re going to make a dash for the temple base as soon as he goes around that ramp down there. Once we find the seam, we can return.”

He nodded and took my arm. Moments later, we began hobbling across the lightly populated square, trying our best to ignore the periodic sounds of gunfire and explosives that filled the air.

Chapter LXVII
In Which History is Reviewed and References Exchanged

We saw our first patrol a few minutes later, but they were casual and not truly paying attention to their surroundings. While I considered eliminating the four of them – and thus further reducing the seemingly endless supply of troops at their disposal – I decided that stealth was far more important, and we remained hidden in an alley as they passed.

The people themselves seemed content and focused on their daily lives, completely uncaring that a paramilitary fascist organization patrolled their streets and ran their government.

“Compared to what?” Mister Ward asked.

“Touché.” I gave him a half-smile. It is strange how such behaviors are so in-grained into our psyche that they came unwillingly, even when dealing with a person whom I know cannot observe them. I have chided Madam Rabinovich in the past for waving her hands while speaking on the phone, a trait that many Eastern European societies use quite heavily, and it seems that even I am susceptible to such meaningless gestures.

“At this point in history,” I continued, “this area should be under the control of legates of the Akkadian Empire. When Sargon of Akkad took control of the cities of Sumer, he replaced the minor nobilities that had previously retained governorship with his own men: specifically people of merit and loyalty who had no noble family, and thus would care less about their own posterity and more about running the city.”

He shrugged. “That doesn’t mean they were good to the people here.”

“Indeed. We are looking at a time of rather rudimentary rights and very little in the way of acknowledgment of personal liberty,” I replied as I peeked out from the alley we had been hiding in. The Fifth Columnists had thankfully moved on, leaving us alone with the hustle and bustle of Akkadians going about their business. Mister Ward had his hand on the back of my arm and I used my cane to steady myself, making it appear to the populace that he was helping an old man navigate instead of the opposite.

“They don’t seem unhappy, though,” he noted, as we meandered our way through the crowd. This street was one of many that made up part of the central market of Shubat Anshar, lined on all sides with stalls and stands for the people hawking their wares. “They aren’t exactly shrieking in terror… In fact, we haven’t heard any sign of fear since Ros killed those guards.”

“Well, of course.” I had to resist laughing, but I’m sure Mister Ward was able to read the mirth in my mind. We were getting strange looks due to speaking in English, anyway, and it would be woeful to compound this with brazen laughter. “Humans have an amazing capacity for being content with what they are presented with. For the Akkadians, this is their life and they do not imagine anything different. If you described our world, the majority of these people would look at you in astonishment and wonder how it could work at all. I mean, the people ruling themselves? This is madness.”

“Madness?” He stared at me for a moment, expectantly, and then shook his head.

“What?” I asked.

“I just…” He smiled. “It’s a film reference. It’s kind of a popular joke now.”

“Ah. I’ve heard of it.” I directed us between two stalls and into a side-street beyond. “I haven’t seen it.”

“It doesn’t really seem like your kind of film,” he admitted. I nodded in agreement.

I brought us to a halt and then retreat into a doorway just as a pair of Fifth Columnists poked their head into the side-street from the intersection ahead. Shortly afterwards, they moved on and we resumed our steady march forward. Alas, they were the advance guard of a larger group of soldiers, and the beginning of what would soon prove to be a true sweep-and-search. We were disconcerted by this turn of affairs, as it belied a response time much quicker than I had expected from the Fifth Column. Even if they had stumbled upon the dead guards shortly after we left, I would’ve expected some amount of organization required before they could begin sweeping the city, and even then, Shubat Anshar was a decent sized city (for its time) and I can’t imagine the Fifth Column being numerous enough to sweep the entire city at once.

“The Fifth have been defying expectations so far,” Mister Ward pointed out. “They’re much better organized than normal.”

I agreed, and put the blame upon Herr Auer. He was an intelligent man with good education, and had spent his life managing businesses and vast sums of personnel and money. Furthermore, the individual soldiers themselves seemed none-too-bright (as evidenced by our successful ambushes), and only performed well on the large scale. He was competent in directing them.

Nearly a dozen soldiers had congregated at a major intersection and were busy inspecting every person who passed. The idea of a pat-down search was old as time – recorded in the Bible, even – so the people were familiar with it. They did not show the rage and indignation that a modern man might have at such treatment, only fear and… boredom? I wonder how many times Auer thought we had snuck into the city and had gone about this business.

Mister Ward went on: “We don’t know how many soldiers got sucked back in the temporal vortex, but if people are arriving later for being further from the Key when it was activated, then people outside of that room wouldn’t even be appearing yet. There were only a few dozen there, and we’ve killed – what? – eight so far? Nine? He’s got to be running out of men.”

“Not just,” I corrected. “I don’t recall seeing the Warwolf in the altar room, so it is possible that the vortex was spherical and thus grabbing people in rooms or passages above or below the altar as well. They’d be closer to it than us.”

He shook his head. “Even still, that wouldn’t be enough to have multiple groups of ten soldiers throughout the city and do a good search. Auer is probably just focusing in this area, since here’s where we came in.”

The logic was sound, but unpleasant. Auer would naturally assume we’d come to rescue young Victor, who we believed was being kept in the Temple proper. That would mean that the soldiers were being concentrated around it. I frowned. “And here is where we’re going, too.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed. “You think Sofia made it through?”

“Don’t worry, she’ll have the door open in time,” I replied, “or this will be the shortest-“

“Don’t say it!” He interrupted, pointing a finger vaguely in my direction.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Hearing movie references from you is just… disturbing.” He grumbled. “Next thing I know you’ll be quoting the Matrix.”

I considered this for a moment. “I do not know what you’re talking about.”

“The Matrix? It’s this film about-“

“I meant the movie reference, Mister Ward. It was entirely unintentional, I assure you.”

“Oh.” He scratched his head. “Never met anybody who wanted seen that before. It’s kind of a standard part of our culture, really. You should see it when you get back.”

I shrugged and added it to my mental list. People seemed to forget that I was witness to the development of film as a public, mainstream media, and I did indeed see several of them before my imprisonment. Milestone’s All Quiet on the Western Front was, in my opinion, an excellent adaptation of Remarque’s novel, and a good account of what the Great War was like.

Or so I heard. It was worse in Italy and the Alps.

“Sofia said you fought in World War One,” he said, picking up my thoughts, “but I’ve never heard you mention it. I think that’s weird.” He added, in response to my feelings of surprise and a raised eyebrow, “I mean, people like to talk about important things in their lives, and you act like you weren’t even there.”

“Well, it is important… And that’s why I do not like to speak about it.” I realized the absurdity of the statement and uncharacteristically went on, not wanting to sound like I disliked discussions about matters of gravity. “I do not feel I can ever do it justice, ever give it the time and eloquence it needs. When people hear I was in the War, they pepper me with questions about what it was like and how I felt, and I have nothing to say to them. It was like facing the worst day of my life, every day, for years on end, and when people seem so eager to hear about it, it disturbs me.”

“Oh.”

“Truly, Mister Ward, there is no need to be ashamed of your curiosity.” I patted him on the shoulder. “I think I know you well enough to speak about those experiences without provisions or feelings of uneasiness.”

He gave me an impish smile. “But not well enough to use my first name? You use Ros and Vic’s names sometimes…”

“Only because there is need to differentiate between the two Kushan brothers.” I gave him a level gaze, and noticed that the group of Fifth had moved on down the road away from us.

“I use this cane because of the war,” I explained. “A landmine. It killed the man who didn’t see it, and he was just a short bit ahead of me, so I got shrapnel embedded in my knee. It never healed properly.”

“Really?” He subconsciously looked down at my knee, even though he couldn’t see it. “Can’t you heal it?”

“Of course,” I replied, “but I do not want to. It is something of a trophy – a constant reminder of what happened. Besides, I’ve always used my magic to suppress the pain.” A couldn’t help but smile as a thought came unbidden.

“It was only a flesh wound.”

He groaned.

Chapter LXVI
In Which it is Best Not to Follow Orders

“She’s in.”

Mister Ward and I released a collective sigh of relief as Rostov Kushan returned from his lookout point. While her getting captured had been part of the plan, it wasn’t supposed to happen until she was already inside the city; being caught on the outside would lead suspicious eyes towards the gates and the field, at best, or lead to her being shot by a Columnist with an itchy trigger finger, at worst.

My blind companion shuddered, reminding me once again of the necessity to find a way to restore magic so that I can re-establish the wards around my thoughts.

“Sorry,” he murmured, slightly withdrawing in on himself.

I turned back to Mister Kushan, hoping for both our sakes that he had not noticed the incident, and replied, “Are you ready to begin?”

He snorted. “I was born ready. The question is: are you two?”

“A little overdramatic, Ros?” Mister Ward clutched the makeshift robe we had made from one of the horse blankets and wrapped it tightly around himself. We didn’t have adequate disguises for our trek to the temple, but at least the drab colors and strong horse smells would keep the warwolf from discovering us prematurely.

Kushan grinned. “Lorenzo supplied the question and it was just begging for that answer. What can I say? I’m a sucker for action films.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Gentlemen, we have twenty-two minutes.” I declared as I returned my pocketwatch to the inside of my jacket. “We should begin shortly.”

We finished eliminating the signs of our presence from the shomera and took a long, circular route to the gate of the city; in order for our ploy to work, we needed to appear as if we came from the pass to the west, where we had just ambushed some Fifth Columnists the day before. Rostov Kushan was fully decked out in the stolen uniform – with helmet on – and rode on one of the horses we had stolen. Mister Ward and I walked on foot, our hands tied together in a deceptively loose knot.

It was a rather simplistic plan, highly abused in most forms of entertainment media, but the average Fifth Columnist never struck me as particularly quick-witted. Besides, the ruse only needed to last long enough…

Since two of us were on foot and pretending to be thoroughly beaten and injured, it took a not-insignificant amount of time to reach the front gate. The pair of guards appeared to eye us with suspicion, but kept their rifle slack at their sides.

“Hey!” Kushan shouted as we approached. “Look what I caught!”

The two guards looked at each other, and said some words which I did not catch, then turned back. “What?”

“I said, look what I caught!” When we reached a few dozen meters, he dismounted and ordered the pair of us to march ahead of him. He kept the stolen Fifth Columnist rifle leveled at us. “These two sons of ******* killed the rest of my squad, along with their big friend. Once I put a bullet through that thick bastard’s head, these two surrendered.”

The pair looked to each other again, but my mercenary friend is no fool, and knows that part of a successful con is to prevent the victim from getting time to think and to make suspicious behavior appear normal, so he immediately went on: “Hey, what’re you guys doing helmetless? It’s damn dangerous!”

“Didn’t you hear?” One of them replied, mindlessly falling for the bait. “We’ve got orders from on high that everybody’s supposed to go helmetless. They’re worried that whoever killed Squad Drei and Outpost Fluss will try and masquerade as us.” He scratched his chin and looked us over. “I guess not.”

“Goddamn idiots!” Rostov Kushan swore, shaking his head. “These guys had guns, and if it wasn’t for my helmet, the cheeky short one would’ve blown my brains out.”

“Orders’re orders,” the other one said profoundly, sounding slightly nervous, “and we’ve got to follow ‘em. That includes you.”

“That’s too bad.”

A pair of suppressed gunshots rang through the air and the guards collapsed. Beyond them, a small group of Akkadians who had been waiting for their turn to try and leave the city stood in shock, staring at the bodies.

“Nice shots,” I said as I casually undid the knot around my wrists. Rostov Kushan merely winked at me with his cybernetic eye as he put his pistol back in its holster. “No commotion yet…”

“Yeah.” He looked up and down the walls to both sides. “How long we’ve got until security steps up might be longer than we hope.” His gaze then focused on the crowd on the other side of the threshold. “Unless these monkeys go ******* on us.”

The crowd cringed under his gaze and started to fall back, most of them trying to do so without being noticed. Luckily, it was too small a group to go into a full-fledged mob panic. The fact that we were talking amongst ourselves and not shooting at them probably helped.

We dragged the bodies to the wall alongside the gate such that they would only be seen from outside the city, and by the time we had returned, the crowd had taken the opportunity to flee. The three of us passed through the threshold cautiously, wary for any incoming soldiers.

“How much time do we have left?” Mister Ward asked, one hand holding the robe tightly around himself and the other gripping my arm. He was having troubles hiding his mounting fear, no doubt due to his inability to watch out for dangers on his own.

“Thirty minutes or so,” Mister Kushan replied, his gaze wandering from the temple in the distance to the rooftops to the alleyways. “You remember where to go?”

I gave him a long look. “Of course, Mister Kushan.”

“Ah, right, eidetic memory.” He snickered. “I always forget.”

I rolled my eyes. “Leave the bad jokes to your brother.”

“Ouch. That hurts.” He feigned a wound and limped over to the alleyway, shouting over his shoulder. “Catch you on the flip side!”

I watched him disappear into the alleyway. According to the plan, he would take one route to the temple while Mister Ward and I would take another. If one was caught, they were to make as much noise as possible fighting off the Fifth that it would draw all attention to that one spot and allow the other to arrive unhindered and Madam Rabinovich to carry out her part of the plan.

It was exceedingly dangerous and extremely risky, but all we needed was for just one of us to make it to the inner chamber of the temple and to deactivate the magic dampening field or find a return passage home. With magic, we could cheat death.

I winced and suppressed an age-old and long forgotten memory. Sometimes, it is best not to try.

Mister Ward stumbled and I grimaced, hoping he did not catch any of that particular memory. Not even Madam Rabinovich was privy to the particulars of my fated marriage. I stamped my cane and began heading down a different alley.

“I’m sorry…”

I glanced at him and kept a firm grip on my thoughts. Perhaps I could learn to shield myself naturally, like Madam Rabinovich does. “Think nothing of it, Mister Ward. It cannot be helped.”

“But it can!” His voice was fraught with frustration. “It’s just… All my control is lost. I’m slipping and fumbling around and I have to grab on to your thoughts tight or they slip away entirely…”

“Shh.” I put a finger to my lips in a useless gesture. “Keep your voice down. English will draw attention. And as I said: think nothing of it.”

“Oh, right…” He sighed heavily. “I just… I just want to help…”

I resisted stopping and staring at him, though the weight of the plaintive cry threatened to drag me down to the ground. As much as the young man needed a long discussion about his situation, now was not the time. Though perhaps some brevity might do in a pinch… “Actually, Mister Ward, there is something I could use your assistance with…”

“Oh?” He sounded skeptical.

“Indeed.” I suppressed a grin. “What does ‘catch you on the flip side’ mean?”

Chapter LXIII
In Which Railroad Calamity Strikes

I am uncertain what feverish combination of neurons inspired Madam Rabinovich to suggest taking a deeper look at the papers we had surreptitiously acquired from the draft table in the newly excavated temple, but I embraced the serendipity voraciously. Hidden amongst the various rubbings that had been taken from the walls was one of Herr Auer’s stash of ancient documents pertaining to the Temple of Anshar – a copy of an Akkadian manuscript detailing the final doomed days of the place of worship. This fortuitous discovery came accompanied with none other than Herr Auer’s own translation of the cuneiform, rescuing me from the arduous task of doing the work by hand (no easy feat given my lack of a dictionary to look up the numerous symbols that make up the Sumerian-***-Akkadian writings).

I suspect female intuition.

As before, I shall spare the reader the work of translating the Akkadian himself, or Auer’s German, and provide an English translation of Auer’s writings; the reader would do well to remember that this is but a translation for his benefit, and that I had this in German:


“Earth to Mars…”

I had been so involved in studying the ramifications of this tale of the Temple’s destruction that I had not noticed Madam Rabinovich’s quiet approach. My focus had been entirely downwards – my body hunched and my hat tipped forward to protect my forehead and eyes from the heat and light of the campfire – and as it were, the only thing I saw of her presence was a pair of blistered bare feet in my peripheral vision.

“Time travel has been most unkind to your feet, madam,” I observed without looking up. I was mentally comparing this document with De Sarzec’s article – the very one that started me on this journey – and trying to determine exactly what was history and what was mythology. This has never been an easy task.

“No more than it has been to your knee, dear man,” she replied, and a thick knee-brace was thrust into my field of vision, obscuring my work.

I grunted acknowledgment of her generosity and slid the offending bandage on my lap, underneath the papers. It was rude of me, I must confess, but I felt there was something immensely important about the “protection of Anshar” and bit about “gods and forces.”

“Nothing conducive?” Her voice was prodding, in her usual manner, managing to squeeze a sentence full of skepticism into a mere fragment.

“I do recall saying something along those lines,” I answered, while my train of thought traversed a different landscape entirely. It passed through the station of “history of magic,” veered around the “jealous nature of ancient deities,” and was bearing down on the junction of conclusions.

“Of course.” Skepticism went hand-in-hand with sarcasm. “And that is why you didn’t wish Garent good night, managed to speak at me without speaking to me, and your head hasn’t lifted a centimeter. You’re reminding me of Sasha,” she accused, using the Russian nickname for her husband, “only, he acts like this regardless of whether his new gadget is actually interesting.”

Derailed.

I looked up at her, and gave her an apologetic smile. “You will have to pardon my transgressions against propriety, but I have indeed found something that I suspect will be very useful to our cause.” I held the two documents aloft with much fanfare. “I present to you an Akkadian text and its translation, courtesy of our Fifth Columnist chessmaster.”

She took the papers from my hands and stared at the old cuneiform, her eyes momentarily going cross-eyed. While she had some familiarity with the Semitic language of the Akkadians, the writing was about as useful as Chinese to her. She switched to the German translation and started reading.

“How very interesting,” she uttered upon completion, finally taking a seat beside me on the wooden log. “You think that Auer thinks this is fairly accurate?”

“Indeed.” I gave her a look of triumph. “Everything else here are rubbings – and I mean everything – so that means he specifically brought this in with him. He would not do that unless it was somehow important to this little endeavor, and what’s important to him is important to us.”

“Which would be this gem,” she concluded, before proceeding to follow along the same lines of that had plagued me just moments before. “It could not only fend off hazardous climates, but keep away magic and psionics. With it on hand, the Fifth would easily take down the Council and get a nice leg up on the rest of competition.” A wry look crossed her face. “Arachnos would be devastated.”

It took me a moment to reply, as my mind was neatly putting the cars back onto the track. The conductor announced that gods of yore were particular exclusive in terms of their chosen peoples, and regularly fought off the gifts granted by their competition. And the Mu, as Madam Rabinovich had just pointed out, were one of the many beneficiaries of the greatest deific gift of all: magic. Cutting off other gods meant cutting off magic, exactly like we had been seeing since we arrived. The train reached its destination and I felt the warm glow of new sense of purpose.

Removing the gem from its place in the temple will bring back magic.

“With you and the Kushans running around, he’s probably been reluctant to take it out himself,” Madam Rabinovich announced, as per her regular habit of responding to conversations that are taking place entirely within her head.

“I beg your pardon, madam?”

She gave me a pained little smile. Unlike her husband and myself, who are strong deductive thinkers (the physicist far more than I), she is an inductive thinker, and the inner workings of her mind are a mystery to me. She has a reciprocal difficulty in addressing us, as she finds it strange that other people are not following the same mysterious connections as those that bubble to the fore of her consciousness – a small gift from her inner self.

“I had been wondering for some time,” she explained, “why Auer hadn’t finished his job and left. Or why he hasn’t taken control of the gem. I first chalked it up to problems returning to our home time, but my guess now is that he’s worried about returning your powers to you.” There was a momentary gleam of wickedness in her pale eyes. “He wouldn’t last the night.”

“No,” I disagreed, my voice cold steel, “his men would all perish within minutes, but Auer would not be nearly so fortunate.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Another classic Greco-Roman torture?”

I smiled. This was a regular jest between us. “I’ll be sure to be more creative than vultures and boulders.”

“You do that.” She laughed for a short bit, then immediately sobered up, the abruptness of which caught my attention. “But first, we need to come up with a plan to get that gem removed.”

“Indeed.” I peered at her suspiciously. “Do you have something in mind?”

“It’ll take a little more creativity than vultures and boulders…”

Then the conversation segued somewhat; about that later.

Actually, my big problem is that the zone seems to fill up and the banners drop so fast that my team won't even deal enough damage to get badge credit, and the GM will die before we reach it. We've been through two full successful runs today and only managed two of the badges.

This is probably just a Virtue late night issue.

Apo would be best in Shriek, since it'll be fired twice as often as anywhere else.

As for Dominate vs Electric Fence, they both do the same damage and have the same cast time (EF is slightly longer, but once you factor for ArcanaTime, they're the same at 1.32 seconds). Thus the only difference is in the Hold vs Immob and the Recharge. Dominate is better for damage than EF once you factor procs, since Immobs only have one while Holds have two regular and one purple damage proc. But to get a chain going with Dominate you'll need perma-Hasten, while EF is fine on its own.

Oh, and EF will let you immob AVs no problem, while Dominate will only Hold them while the triangles are down.

So, to sum up, Dominate will do more damage, theoretically, but it takes a lot of work (and global recharge) to get there.

To sum up:
Chain 1 Advantages:
Benefits more from +Dmg (Assault, Fulcrum Shift, etc)
Benefits more from other sources of damage (team, pets) due to higher -Res

Chain 2 Advantages:
Shorter chain - ramps up faster
All fast attacks - less rooting, more freedom
Damage balanced better among powers - no annoying misses with key powers
Immobilize (stacks up to mag 12 without slottage)
Requires very little Recharge investment