Chương 2: 1 The Crack in the Sky

Granduncle Don Rafael Vargas The ground rumbled underfoot, a steady shifting of tectonic plates scraping beneath the solid stone platform. I maintained my spell, pinning the land in place. Greater Elemental Dominion —by my will, the earth wouldn't swallow us. True to Terra Slab's nature, the earth rolled around my companions and me, volatile and primal. Dust choked the air, creeping inward toward our narrow island of solid stone.

My hands tightened on my cane, thumb brushing the arcane sigils etched into the sapphire orb. Had it been a whole year already? It seemed like yesterday when I had conducted the last peace summit. Funny how time worked; the more years you saw, the faster they flew. With my three hundred and thirty-fourth year rapidly approaching, my body bore the weight of age. I fortified my mind and flesh with arcane strength, but I could no longer deny the truth. I was old. To my left, Uncle Kerelev coughed into his fist.

The man's slight build suggested anything but frailty. Rolled-up sleeves revealed tight, knotted forearms. Thin maroon pinstripes ran down his traditional black suit and vest. His lean but hard chest peeked from his flared lapels, a brand half-hidden by his collar. As always, his thunder pistols rode in their holsters on his thighs, his short swords harnessed to his ribs.

"Granduncle, do you think you can do something about this filthy air?" he asked, covering his mouth with his hand. I glanced over, and Ourabora's terminal activated, outlining my bodyguard. <<Name: Kerelev AKA-KR-11>> <<Race: Human>> <<Class: War Orphan>> <<Rank: Uncle in the Paradise Coalition>> <<Lvl: Martial-32; User-4>> <<Total: 36>> <<Stats: >> Might (STR) — 12 Will (WIS) — 8 Focus (INT) — 7 Resilience (CON) — 11 Grace (DEX) — 16 Cunning (CHA) — 12 The corners of my lips twitched up, and my hand flexed.

A gust of wind centered on me rushed out, whipping my long coat and suit in the squall as I cast Wind Wall. A tide of air blasted the encroaching dust away from the platform and back over the rolling earth. Kerelev nodded once in appreciation.

"The Wyrm's late." He sniffed, checking a pocketwatch built into his vambrace.

"Please don't call him that to his face," I pleaded as I cast my gaze back into the hazy radius. Already, the pall began creeping back onto my platform. Where could he be? I exhaled slowly, finger tapping the cane.

"Maybe they won't show," Kerelev mumbled, "Maybe they finally want war." I shifted my attention to my bodyguard—my shadow. Not just an enforcer, but a dear friend. I'd trusted Kerelev with my life and the fate of my people, and he had yet to fail me.

"Give them time," I said.

"They've been late before.

"Um, Granduncle. Any odds Krathic-Thar is no longer the size of a frigate warship?" Kerelev asked, a frown creasing his lips. My head cocked to the side.

"Unlikely." The man pointed.

"Either he's lost a lot of weight, or that's not him." I followed the gesture, and a figure emerged from the haze. The rolling earth solidified under the newcomer's feet, coalescing into a walkable path until his scaled foot and talons reached my platform. My jaw tensed, an involuntary response to the cocktail of emotions that struck all at once.

First, the easy ones hit—heat flooded my face, my hands tightened at my sides, and I scanned the rumbling earth around us—then more complex sentiments followed: grief and shame, tangled with remorse within me. The newcomer glanced up, black-scaled snout peaking from under his wide-brimmed hat. His long brown duster whipped about his legs, and an attaché case dangled from each hand. My gut churned. I knew what I'd find inside those boxes. Ourabora's terminal blinked.

<<Name: Blocked>> <<Race: Blocked>> <<Class: Blocked>> <<Rank: Blocked>> <<Lvl: Blocked>> <<Total: Blocked>> <<System Warning: This is a hacker and has masked his information. Exercise extreme caution>>"Puppetmaster," I said to the Drake-kin. Mentally, I sifted through wards and spells, preparing for—well, anything.

"Where's Krathic-Thar?" To my side, Kerelev tensed, casting vigilant glances about the dustscape. Puppetmaster smiled, reptilian lips curling over draconic fangs.

"Oh, the Bloodwake Tyrant isn't going to make this appointment. He's otherwise disposed." My knuckles went white on my cane. I didn't like the way he said that at all.

"So you've come to represent him?" I asked.

"As one of his lieutenants?" I didn't have to be here. Any of my subordinate Uncles or Aunts could have stood in my place, but not wishing to give insult to the Bloodwake Tyrant, I made the effort. The Drake-kin sneered, scales oily black and filthy.

"He did not."

"Then you don't represent the Bloodwake Confederacy? You came alone? For your own purpose?" My hand itched to dart for one of a half-dozen legendary artifacts concealed in various pockets. What had possessed Puppetmaster? Ourabora couldn't read his level, but my analysts put him around level twenty-nine—no more than thirty. Kerelev could have taken him on his own. This didn't make sense.

"For my own purposes, yes—" Puppetmaster purred.

"Alone—hardly." Kerelev felt it first.

"Incoming!" He barked, stepping protectively in front of me. Glancing skyward, I barely managed to cast Mystic Veil before the attack came. Not from above, but below. My platform erupted, a colossal shape bursting from stone beneath me in an avalanche of red scales. I'm not ashamed to say the shock quite easily hurled me from my feet. As I said, I wasn't as young as I used to be. My Mystic Veil absorbed most of the trauma. I recognized the attacker tearing from the ground before the dirt started to fall.

A Dragon, half the size of his father. He'd tunneled below us, using the elemental chaos to mask his approach. Loronel, the Iron Sail. His rusty red scales flashed through the dirt beneath armored wing plates. The dragon's jaws snapped around Kerelev. A cry ripped from my lips, but Kerelev vanished from the teeth, reappearing a few yards away. Dragon's breath, that boy moved fast. Kerelev's pistols were out in a moment, channeling elemental thunder, and he fired a barrage as he plummeted back to the ground.

Rebuking myself for my momentary lapse, I turned to Puppetmaster, trusting Kerelev to keep the young drake off me. Bracing on my cane, I pulled myself to my feet. Puppetmaster strode forward, and I slapped dust from my lapel. Thunder pistols roared, and Loronel bellowed in rage.

"What now?" I called, raising my cane as I opened my arms.

"Does Krathic-Thar want war, or is this a coup?" Puppetmaster pulled up short, lip curling in disgust.

"Granduncle, we're tired of living in a cage." Loronel shrieked, launching himself skyward as Kerelev latched onto his back, slamming enchanted short swords through the drake's scales. Searing air from fire and the beat of mighty wings buffeted, but still I went cold inside. I glanced up through the haze at the clouds above.

"What?" Puppetmaster snarled.

"Wondering how I discovered your lie? Curious how I know about that thing you call the sky?" He stepped forward, knuckles tight with rage.

"Yes, I know your secret, and this is my vow. I'm bringing the roof down." Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. <<System Message: High Family Quest: Kill Puppetmaster>>"No," I gasped as Ourabora issued a quest outside of High Family authority. Puppetmaster flinched, glancing at his own terminal, invisible to my eyes.

"See that," Puppetmaster whispered, words nearly lost to the Loronel's roar.

"She's scared. Wants me dead. Knows I know. Now, I end this farce. Say goodbye to your precious system."

"Vittorio, you'll kill us all!" I exclaimed, deliberately using the name he'd used when he'd masqueraded as one of us, all those years ago. He flinched at that. I inhaled, appealing to any semblance of sanity he might still possess.

"If what you say is true, you know what will happen without her."

"Yes," he whispered.

"Then you know you'll condemn us all. Think of your children!" The Drake-kin's eyes hardened, and he set his attaché cases down.

"So long as the terror is real, and the paradise an illusion—I'd rather live in a real nightmare than a false dream."

"And the kids?" I gasped, voice cracking.

"Reality," he said. I raised my cane, sapphire spell focus pointed forward.

"Then I pray they'll forgive me for what I must do to their father." The Drake-kin barked a laugh and held up a gloved hand, claws protruding from the fingertips. Arcane sigils glittered in gold on the fabric. Kerelev rocketed to the ground, impacting like an artillery shell. He picked himself up from an impact that would have turned a non-user to jelly. He groaned, then rolled shooting up into the sky as Loronel swooped overhead.

"Tell me," I said, voice cold with rage at Vittorio's stubbornness, "how do you think this is going to go?" The numbers didn't make sense. Even with the dragon, I would turn him into a smear on the rock. He couldn't shut Ourabora down. Not without killing me, Krathic-Thar, or Jorg. The three points that kept the seal active.

"How's this going to go?" he echoed, slipping a hand into his coat.

"I didn't tell you? I got a new patron." My brow raised, curiosity and caution blending oddly in my gut. He pulled out a white globe, trailing a pale stem. A notification flashed. <<Dathurul's Lantern: Legendary Artifact>> My eyes went wide.

"No, wait!" The world went dark, then white, then dark again. Then I found myself in the depths, the crushing deep where the old things hid, protected by the cold and the pressure. <<Auto-cast Legendary Psionic Fortress… Resistance check failed>> The lantern's light cast me further, to the old world I had abandoned; the planet wreathed in flame and blood. <<Auto-cast Legendary Psionic Fortress…

Resistance check failed>> Then the lantern pulled my mind to older dimensions, before our cycle of convergence <<Auto-cast Legendary Psionic Fortress… Resistance check passed>> I gasped, my mind wrenched back to the moment. Puppetmaster recoiled in surprise, standing only inches away. A legendary artifact—a dagger—glinted in his fist. My teeth bared, my cane came up, and I cast Superior Arcane Lance. He stabbed at that exact moment. The bite of steel burned in my side. A blur of power from my cane answered.

My Superior Arcane Lance ripped through his chest and hurled him tumbling across my solid platform.

"Enough!" I snarled, striding forward, knuckles going white. Wet warmth pooled at my side, but I banished the pain under adrenaline's buzz. Puppetmaster glanced up, wheezing as dark blood fountained from his teeth. Kerelev grunted in pain, and my eyes snapped his way. Loronel bore down on the assassin, body weight crushing the man underneath. I curled a hand, fingers hooked like a claw, and I cast Greater Elemental Dominion.

A hand of stone and earth erupted from my platform, snatching the drake as if he were a robin. Spittle flew from my lips with my cry as I cast my hand high and slammed my palm into the ground. Meters away, my earthen fist mirrored the motion, lifting the squealing dragon and smashing it into the stone with a shudder. Kerelev pulled himself up to one knee, laughing as he smeared his bloody nose with the back of his hand.

"You're so screwed now!" he hissed through his teeth. Puppetmaster tore a cork from a vial with his teeth and tipped the potion back. Stone shattered, and I whirled to find Loronel ripping himself free from the dirt and stone. I leveled my cane. Three Greater Arcane Lances lashed out, each punching through steel-hard dragon scales like a strong needle through thin hide. Loronel screamed as steaming dragon's blood fountained from his side.

His tail-blade whipped around toward me, but Kerelev appeared in its path, catching the guillotine on crossed short swords, each blade an artifact in its own right. I reformed my claw, pouring mana into the Greater Elemental Dominion, and dragged the dragon under. The earth hardened, sealing him away. Kerelev hurried to my side, panting, bruised, and bleeding. Together, we turned towards Puppetmaster. The Drake-kin threw down an empty glass vial; the glass clinked against a pile of six more empty tubes.

My mana bar dropped below forty percent, and he hadn't even started tapping into his. Puppetmaster's chest heaved in ragged breaths, then he cast a gloved hand forward. My fingers snapped— Arcane Negation. His spell fizzled out. He glanced down, eyes going wide. He threw his hand forward again. Continuing closer, I snapped again, interrupting his second casting. He ground his teeth, summoning his focus. I didn't need Ourabora's interface to know this next one would be big, so I scaled to match him.

Greater Arcane Negation. He fell back a step, black tail swishing out from a slit in his coat.

"How did you think this would end?" I demanded as I limped closer. He lowered his chin in resignation, then quickly jerked two fingers laterally. A cantrip, it would have been a horrible waste of mana to counter. Two clicks sounded behind me, and my spine lengthened. Slowly, I turned. The two attachés that the Puppetmaster had set down sprang open, each side dropping, and a macabre giggle escaped within.

"Black tides," Kerelev grunted. Eight marionettes sprang from the attaché cases—stringless, yet animated. They swarmed towards us. I could name them all, each representing a friend I'd watched grow up in Paradise. These wretched abominations had been crafted to resemble fallen Cousins. A seafaring ranger. A mage in a pinstriped suit. A psionic Feykin sailor. Each dressed as they had been when they were killed. Worse still, they were created from the trophies of those murders.

Tanned skin stretched over wooden bones. Human, Feykin, or Dwarven hair sprouted from their heads. Puppetmaster had harvested them before twisting the remains into these parodies of slain heroes. My necromancer, Aunt Flavia Myrkrath, believed fragments of their souls might be bound to these puppets. With desperate hope, I answered with fire. Three of them went up in flames by the time they reached us. One sprang at me, cackling maniacally as it swung a heavy blade. A Feykin with gold hair.

Her name had been Seyorine; she disappeared from a mission in Raft Town two years ago. Kerelev swept her from the air before she could put out my eye, his enchanted dagger shearing through reinforced wood. I spun, leveling my cane. Two more shrieked in flames as I torched them. Kerelev shattered one of the cackling puppets with a blast from the thunder pistol, and another managed to spring onto his back, biting into his neck.

I reached forward with my will, and the puppet lurched into the air, thrashing and gibbering as it spun on my arcane tether. It drifted toward me, and I recognized it as it turned. Eyepatch, mini saber, and even a tiny tattoo of a blue primord maid, it had to be a mockery of Mateo Montoya, confirmed killed on Prime Rock. I closed my hand, and the puppet turned to ash. I didn't need to glance over to know that Puppetmaster had disappeared. I did anyway, staring at the shattered vials he had left behind.

Kerelev grunted as he shattered another puppet further. Fire and dust, whipped in the Terra Slab wind. Loronel, straining against his subterranean prison, his strength competing against my will. But I held. He'd make a valuable bargaining chip in the backlash that would no doubt follow.

"I don't understand," Kerelev said, sheathing his short swords in their harness under his arms. He'd abandoned his suit coat at some point, and now his vest and white shirt were torn.

"What was that? An assassination attempt? A statement? A declaration of War?" My lips tightened. It was none of those, but no one could know why. Not even Kerelev. The lie might start a war; the truth would end the world.

"If Krathic-Thar wanted us dead, why not come and do it himself?" Kerelev asked, wincing as he rolled his shoulder.

"He might have finished the job." What to tell him? How to explain the truth without shattering reality? Fire ignited in my side, and I staggered. << Condition Alert: Cursed Poison>>"Granduncle!" Kerelev cried, rushing to my side. He caught me before I could fall.

"What's wrong?" he asked, face drawn in worry. My hand went to my side, then came up wet and crimson. Rather than answering, I accessed the system directly.

"Ourabora, what's going on?" Rather than a notification, I felt my connection deepen as she spoke directly to me. Granduncle, you've been wounded with a legendary cursed Item—Prisoner's Retaliation. Her voice sounded computational and devoid of emotion.

"Diagnose a counter curse," I gasped, gripping my wounds. Superior Dispel Curse would suffice. But there's a complication. The blade left the tip inside you. Any attempt to remove it will drive it deeper.

"Solution?" I snapped, only now feeling the icy chip of metal within. Puppetmaster has the rest of Prisoner's Retaliation. To remove the thorn within, retrieve the handle. Only together may the curse be dispelled. I took a labored breath, the futile attack suddenly making so much more sense. <<04: 03: 04: 07: 15: 24>> I blinked, a chill of dread stirring within at the new input, hovering in my vision.

"Ourabora, what's that?" The thorn is poisonous and will kill you. I have provided you with a countdown to indicate how much time you have left. She hesitated. Initiating a new priority Family quest— My eyes lifted skyward.

"Ourabora, no!" But she ignored me, initiating her second unauthorized mission of the day. <<System Message: High Family Quest: Recover the cursed artifact Prisoner's Retaliation from Puppetmaster. Return the handle to Granduncle >> That wasn't all, under the new notification, the timer duplicated across every user's vision in Paradise Rock. What chaos and questions would this cause? I glanced at Kerelev, who frowned at his HUD. Great, would he put together that I was losing control of the system?

That Ourabora was issuing her own quests now— A shimmer in the sky made me forget my worry about her all at once. I raised my cane and cast Wind Wall. The dust rushed away from us, the air instantly clearing. A break ran across the sky, like a crack on a mirror; harsh red light filtered through. Kerelev followed my gaze, tensing when he saw the cosmic fissure. I felt sick as Puppetmaster's words returned to mind.

"Curious how I know about that thing you call the sky?" He had done it. I was one of the three cornerstones of the seal. My eyes flickered to the countdown, which took on a whole new meaning. If I died, the sky would break, and everyone would learn the truth. He had doomed us all. Vittorio, why? But I knew why, he had told me.

"So long as the terror is real, and the paradise an illusion—I'd rather live in a real nightmare than a false dream." The timer had started, and the world was ending.