The Zombie Knight

Chapter Two Hundred Forty-Three: 'O, ingenuous children...'

This wasn't right. Not at all.

Parson Miles, at this point in his long life, liked to think he had acquired some semblance of control, of order. Laying plans. Nudging the world toward peace through controlled and necessary conflict. Trying to avoid needless bloodshed. And reacting appropriately when things went awry, which they often did.

He'd learned that long ago. It wasn't about crafting the perfect plan. It was about making the right decisions when things inevitably went pear-shaped.

But this.

Well.

Getting captured by the Mad Demon.

What was the right decision to make, now?

He'd stopped struggling a while ago. This mechanized beast had a solid hold on him, and whenever he acted up, its grip only became that much more oppressive. When he relaxed, the machine at least allowed him to think straight. And as a result of multiple prior attempts to escape, he'd lost time--and perhaps quite a lot of it. He didn't even remember ending pan-rozum and separating from Overra, but there she was in front of his face.

The reaper was unconscious, however, so he couldn't even talk to her during this long, dark journey. That was another reason why he'd stopped struggling. He didn't want this blasted machine to accidentally kill her while trying to suppress him.

Maybe that was a needless concern, though. If one thing had become clear from his brief "fight" with Morgunov, it was that these mechanical abominations were damn well made.

That crazy bastard. How many of these giant, transforming drones did he have at his beck and call? And how long had he been keeping them secret?

At this point, there was no telling, but Parson had a genuine fear that the numbers might be truly staggering. This was the Mad Demon, after all. If he had managed to mass produce these things...

An army of soldiers that could take down even a captain general...

No. No, that was impossible, even for him. The metal--or whatever material these damn things were made from--had clearly been permanently soul-strengthened by Morgunov himself. And while Parson didn't personally know much about that process, he did know that it was very time-consuming. Surely, the madman didn't have the patience required to do that over and over again, thousands of times...

God, he hoped not.

He was suddenly reminded of a reoccurring topic that he'd heard various reapers discussing over the years.

The terrifying advancement of technology.

The vast majority of reapers he'd known over his life were either dismissive or frightened of technology, and the frightened ones often liked to debate whether it would be prudent for servants to directly intervene in such things and work to actively suppress innovation.

He'd even known a few reaper collectives who were dedicated to that very task. He'd never taken much of a personal interest in their objectives, but...

Maybe he should have.

Ugh, or maybe he should've done the exact opposite.

Dammit.

These machines were so much more advanced than any other technology that Parson had ever seen. Just how far ahead was Morgunov? Compared to the rest of the world, how many more years would it take before someone else could build machines like these? Twenty years? Fifty? More?

Even disregarding the emperor-level soul-strengthening, these things were absurd.

They could think. Seemingly, at least. Maybe the old bastard had just been controlling them somehow, giving them an appearance of autonomy, but Parson could've sworn that these robots were actively problem solving when fighting him. And they probably held plenty of other secrets that Morgunov hadn't even bothered to reveal to him.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt like trying to suppress innovation was the wrong way to go. Maybe in the past, when the Mad Demon didn't exist, that tactic might have worked, but now? There was no suppressing Morgunov's genius. He could do whatever he bloody wanted, innovate however he pleased.

And if something wasn't done, then eventually, nobody would be able to keep up with him. Not even Sermung.

Assuming that wasn't already the case.

Morgunov did say that he'd come prepared to face Sermung himself, didn't he?

No, it was far too early to be thinking things like that. By any estimate, Lamont and Jackson should have at least been able to achieve a stalemate. That would buy time for Sermung to arrive and push Morgunov out of Sair.

And that, of course, would buy time for the Vanguard as a whole.

He wondered what Jules, Calvin, and Vernon would make of these machines. They were in the Vanguardian encampment as it was preparing to engage Morgunov, so perhaps they had gotten a good look at them during the clash. With any luck, the Vanguard would be able to capture one of these things for study. At the very least, word needed to get out about the leap in strength that the Mad Demon had made.

As if he wasn't terrifying enough before.

Parson was left to stew in his thoughts for a long while as he waited for the blasted robot to reach its destination. Wherever he was being taken, it was probably going to be an absolute nightmare.

Morgunov had said that he intended to take him to Germal, of all people, but he doubted that would be their first stop. If Asad Najir had been captured, too, then Morgunov would probably treat him as the priority. Probably, being the key word. There were really no certainties when it came to predicting the Mad Demon.

Parson could only hope that the others had arrived in time to save Asad, though he doubted it immensely. His plan to stall the Mad Demon until they got there had been far from ideal--not the least because Morgunov saw right through it.

What a day.

When he woke up this morning, he hadn't expected to be facing down a hostile emperor all by himself. And as he sat here in the darkness, contemplating his fate, he began to wonder if he hadn't been bamboozled.

That message he'd received from a Courier out of the blue. Maybe he'd been a fool to trust it.

"Morgunov seeks the power of a god in Sair," it had read. "If he captures Asad Najir, he may find it. And all we have worked for will be imperiled like never before. Please, old friend. Do whatever you can, for the sake of the bond we once shared and for the vision that I hope we still do."

It hadn't been signed, of course. And sharing that bit of intel with his superiors directly would have jeopardized so many other things, his life and career being among them.

Perhaps it would have been wiser to disregard it, to remember that Germal had never been the same after Bellvine and especially not after Damian.

But that letter had stirred something in him. Something he thought long dead.

He hated the prospect that he might've allowed himself to be betrayed by someone he hadn't trusted--or even seen, for that matter--in decades. The idea that he might have allowed childish feelings to interfere with his judgment...

But no. If it had truly been a trap, Morgunov probably wouldn't have said all those things he did. The Mad Demon seemed to have some lingering resentment for Germal--which wasn't terribly surprising, really. The madman had known that they were secret partners for ages now.

Frankly, Parson had no idea how Germal had managed to stay alive all this time as a member of Abolish. Why hadn't Morgunov killed or exposed him years ago? Parson remembered asking him that very question many times before their final parting, but Germal had never given him a straight answer.

Parson had his theories, of course. Maybe Koh was somehow able to protect him from Morgunov. Parson had seen what that monster was capable of firsthand, so it wasn't out of the question. But even if that was the case, it didn't explain why Morgunov hadn't simply exposed Germal's treachery to the rest of Abolish.

And while it was true that Germal worked under Dozer and not Morgunov himself, that fact alone couldn't explain it. Surely, Dozer would listen if Morgunov told him that one of his most trusted subordinates was a traitor.

Then again, maybe he wouldn't. Dozer and Morgunov's relationship was a centuries-long subject of mystery--even to the rest of Abolish, Parson suspected.

Agh. He couldn't see the whole picture, and he hated that. He doubted that any good might come out of this disaster, but if it did, then perhaps it would arrive in the simple form of answers to questions that he'd harbored for what seemed like a lifetime now.

If he was actually going to see Germal again...

Hmm.

He would have to think about what to say, he supposed. They certainly had a lot of things that they could discuss, if they ever found the opportunity to do so. But how much of it would just be lies? Or manipulation?

Old friend or not, how could any semblance of trust between them ever be truly restored?

He felt the machine begin to decelerate, heard mechanical parts shifting and whirring. After what seemed like a couple more minutes, the change became even more pronounced, and the machine slowed down enough that Parson couldn't even tell if they were moving, anymore. The loud howling of jets changed, too, as if reverberating off of walls or perhaps the ground.

And then, at last, he felt a gentle touchdown, and the machine went quiet as its propulsion systems appeared to power down.

It took a while longer before the metal door slid open, making him squint while his eyes tried to adjust to the light. A pair of hands grabbed his chains, yanked him out, and tossed him onto the ground like a sack of barley.

He looked around, searching for anything that would help him make sense of his surroundings.

There were so many robots, all lined up and standing at attention. And some of them were so much larger than others, black-and-silver giants amid a crowd of machines that Parson had previously thought quite large.

And he wasn't the only captive, he realized.

He recognized several of his fellow generals. Eckard, Malinda, Meris, Harrison--and more.

So many more.

Then he laid eyes on Asad Najir, and his heart sank. Unlike the others, however, the tattooed man was blindfolded.

What about the marshals, though? Where were Lamont and Jackson?

Parson didn't have enough time or even the proper viewing angle to look over everyone before that all-too-familiar voice arrived.

"Apologies for the long flight, kiddos. I wanted to find a nice local workshop to use, but it seems like the Sandies were pretty paranoid about me using their own toys against them. Either that, or there was a series of freak accidents involving soul-empowered fire! Which is actually more common than you might think, eheh!"

A foot arrived and rolled Parson over onto his back, forcing him to look up at the Mad Demon looming over him.

"So? What do you think?" Morgunov looked over his audience, who were all battered even more badly than Parson. Blood, bruises, and scorched or frozen flesh abounded. "Pretty impressive haul, wouldn't you say? Everyone is going to be so jealous of my collection!" And he pointed. "Especially that one, eheh."

Parson turned and saw the unconscious face of his superior and long-time mentor. Lamont.

Parson shut his eyes. He hadn't lost control of his emotions in many, many years, and he didn't intend to let it happen now.

It was difficult, though.

"Hmm?" said Morgunov, pressing a gloved hand to his heart. "What's everyone bein' so quiet for, eh? No questions for me? Or concerns? C'mon, fellas, I'm here for you! Feel free to open up and talk about your feelings. The REAL stuff, y'know? And don't worry. There will be no judging. This is a safe place. No one--except me--will EVER hurt you here! I promise!"

Nobody said anything, in part because half or more of them were still unconscious and the rest knew how bad this situation was. The amount of mission critical intel Morgunov would have access to if he got any of them talking...

He could agonize over that later, Parson decided. "...Where's Jackson?" he asked.

"Ah, concerned about the flamey boy, are ya? Well, if it makes you feel better, he did manage to wriggle out of my grasp. But, uh. Eheh. He won't be feelin' too hot for quite a while, I expect."

"What are you talking about?" said Parson.

Morgunov stared at him for a second. "So you're not even gonna acknowledge that stellar pun I just dropped on you? Jackson not feeling too 'hot,' anymore? Hmm? C'mon, that was great."

Parson wasn't much in the mood to play along.

"Hmph," huffed the emperor. "Well, if you're going to be rude, then I don't see why I should explain anything to you. Only good boys deserve explanations."

And before Parson could even respond, Morgunov stepped over him and walked away.

The machines began to disperse, creating more room around the pile of captives and allowing Parson to get a better look at the enormous chamber they were in. It seemed to be some sort of hangar. He spotted several main battle tanks in the distance and even a few fighter jets parked even farther away. And unless his eyes deceived him, those models were the Altay and the F4 Phantom, respectively, both of which informed Parson that Morgunov had brought them to Calthos.

It was a bit strange that such units were sharing a hangar, but this place looked largely abandoned otherwise, so there was no telling why only a handful of such expensive units would be here to begin with. Decommissioned hardware would normally be stored in much larger quantities than this while they waited to be scrapped for parts or perhaps sold off.

Morgunov wasn't heading for those units, though. He was going toward a line of long workbenches. Parson was content to wait here and not see what exactly the madman was going to do over there. He tried to nudge himself closer to Lamont, hoping to prod him awake, perhaps.

It didn't work so well. Even if he wasn't chained up, his body still felt incredibly weak, and he couldn't seem to harness his power of oxygen transfiguration at all. His head felt mostly clear, if a bit sluggish, but his body was numb all over.

"Monty," Parson whispered. "Monty, wake up." He writhed weakly and vainly within his chains, but nothing could be done. He wasn't even able to hoist himself into a seated position.

He sighed. Lamont wasn't going to respond, was he?

'Overra?' he tried.

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And he waited.

No answer there, either.

Where were all the reapers? Parson couldn't see any of them. They must've still been inside each of the robots--and unconscious, most likely, because a few of those reapers weren't given to being quiet, even in the face of an emperor.

He tried to think. To focus any thoughts that might be useful. Escape was essentially impossible. Not useful to dwell on, at the moment. But that didn't mean they were doomed, either. If he operated under the assumption that he eventually would be free again, one way or another, then he could view his current time as a chance to learn about the enemy.

About the Mad Demon himself.

From an intelligence-gathering standpoint, this was an invaluable opportunity.

The emperor of madness had been reclusive for the last twenty years or more. A few rumors had even begun to spread that he might've accidentally killed himself in one of his own experiments--or gotten lost in some foreign reality, never to return. Parson had never believed such things for a moment, of course, but they did paint a certain picture of the strangeness of Morgunov's absence.

The more reasonable speculation had been that Morgunov was simply working on something and didn't intend to reveal himself until it was ready. And seeing these machines, that seemed to be right on the money.

And yet, this timing was also suspicious.

Ever since the outbreak of this new continental war, Parson had been thinking that something was off. Before news arrived of those five simultaneous invasions, the long-awaited Project Blacksong had been imminent. Now, it was delayed due to the massive number of redeployments required to deal with the war.

Parson had to wonder if Morgunov had intended to disrupt Blacksong all along. After such a long absence, could it really be a coincidence that Morgunov decided now was the time to reemerge?

Well. Of course it could be a coincidence. That was the trouble with the Mad Demon. It was impossible to tell whether he had planned for something or not. Skill and good fortune became almost indistinguishable.

Hell, Parson had experienced that phenomenon himself. When he acted the fool, people tended to underestimate him, but among those who didn't, those who knew the truth about him, the reverse reaction sometimes appeared. They would overestimate his ability, attributing some great wisdom or predictive intelligence to him when, in reality, he'd simply gotten lucky.

And Overra never let him correct anyone on that particular point. If they wanted to give him credit he didn't fully deserve, then so much the better, she always said.

'Because luck is a skill, too,' she explained. 'Having the wherewithal to take advantage of opportunities as they arise is just as important as those opportunities arising in the first place. Too many people allow their own good fortune to pass them by without so much as a second glance.'

It sure sounded nice when she'd put it like that.

Perhaps this was karma, then, to be on the receiving end of an enemy's good fortune.

With this apparently disastrous outcome of the battle at Uego, the Vanguard as a whole was now in danger. Even before this, it was already having problems with disorganization, and now its total number of generals had been reduced by, what, a third? More?

How many of their forces were now leaderless? How many innocent lives were now at stake? Or soon would be?

It was enough to make a normal man lose hope.

Parson Miles was not a normal man, however. Despite all of these things, he was not panicking.

In fact, this was a lesson that he had learned as a result of seeing so much devastation over the years--a lesson that the Mad Demon himself had played a large part in teaching.

A lesson about the tempering nature of chaos.

Time and again through the ages, the story was the same. When this kind of danger arrived, when threats became imminent and real, when the fragile harmony of the world began to break--that was when people rose to the occasion.

On both sides. Good and evil.

It was true of the normal folk, and it was truer still for servants.

That was the double-edged sword of emergence.

So many of his peers failed to understand this simple truth. Because of emergence--and indeed, the nature of humanity itself--these kinds of difficult tribulations were not only inevitable, they were needed.

It wasn't enough to preserve peace. Peace never lasted. Not while Abolish existed.

Peace was important, of course. It allowed wealth to be created. Technology to advance. Civilization to flourish and grow. Of course these were all great and wonderful things.

But peace also made men weak. Even vigilant warriors would eventually become complacent.

And what would happen when true malevolence arrived? Hell bent on crushing them? Those weak warriors would crumble.

The Breaking of Korgum would happen. Or Lac'Vayce. Or Exoltha. Or any of countless other historical examples.

Abolish, or someone just as evil, would triumph. Good people, peaceful people, innocent people, they would all be trampled into dust.

Sparing people from war, therefore, was not a kindness. Not always, at least. Too often, it was simply setting people up for disaster.

And that was why, even now, Parson's spirit was not broken.

This great Eloan war... it was inevitable. If not now, then it would have happened later.

And by happening now, it would give the younger generations their much needed chance to grow.

It would temper them.

That was also, essentially, why he and Overra had worked so hard to oust the Rainlords from the Vanguard. While it was true that plan had gone slightly off the rails, the core justifications behind it remained unmitigated, even now.

Zeff Elroy, the Water Dragon of Sair, had needed the push. As did many others, of course, but he was the most important. The Water Dragons of Old were some of the most powerful forces for good that the world had ever seen, but at the rate he was growing, Abolish would have killed him off within the next fifty years, at most.

But now, the lad was on his way. After all those emergences, Zeff was probably twice as strong as he was before, if not more.

It was just a shame what had happened to Mariana. Her death had not been necessary. Not at all. She was a good woman, and moreover, she would have likely become a strong ally against Abolish, too.

Hopefully, her death would continue to inspire Zeff and perhaps others to greatness in the future, but Parson had to admit, such a gamble was far from ideal.

And it reminded him of his own wife. And his mother. Rest their souls.

But this was the hard truth.

It had not escaped his notice, the idea that if he hadn't weakened Sair by removing the Rainlords, then Morgunov might not have chosen to attack now.

The idea that the disaster at Uego might have been his own fault.

But such self-flagellating thoughts were beyond worthless, he knew. It was one thing to have a guilty conscience. It was another to blame yourself for things that were entirely beyond your control or that might have happened anyway, even if you had done everything differently.

If Morgunov hadn't chosen Sair, he wouldn't have simply remained quiet. He would have chosen some other hapless country. Perhaps one that was even less prepared for him than Sair was.

It was just a shame that Morgunov had chosen now, of all times, to resurface. Parson had hoped for a few more years to prepare the young ones and root out more of the poison within the Vanguard's ranks. Only rarely had he been able to prove it, but Abolish had undoubtedly snuck dozens or even hundreds of spies into the Vanguard with the influx of new members over the last few years. Not to mention, he suspected several older members as well.

And with such a heavy defeat on the war table, the temptation to turn traitor would only increase. Certain cowardly fools out there would delude themselves into believing that they could surrender themselves to Abolish and be spared the same fate as everyone else. And others might just be broken.

Certainly, it would've been easier to give up. To just stop struggling. To let Abolish win. It would bring an end to this endless back and forth, at least.

Parson had seen it many times. Servant and reaper alike. Just snapping, one day. Murdering their brothers-in-arms with little to no warning. Going on truly unhinged rants, proclaiming to the heavens that Abolish had it right all along, that they should just put everyone out of their misery and be done with it.

That it was all pointless.

And Parson would be lying if he said that, in his darkest moments, he had never harbored such thoughts.

The longer he lived, the more terrible things he bore witness to, the clearer it became how unnatural servants really were. At times, he wondered if nihilism and madness weren't simply the inevitable destinations toward which they were all creeping.

And he wondered if reapers weren't trying to hide that fact from them, for their own good.

It was no wonder why Sermung wanted to die.

But even so, Parson Miles planned to continue down this road for as long as he was able.

At length, Morgunov's footsteps returned, drawing Parson's gaze. The man's walk was bouncy with obvious delight, almost to the point of skipping.

"What's this?" said Morgunov, still with two voices as he looked over the tied up Vanguardians and Asad. "None of you made even a little progress in trying to escape? C'mon, I gave a big ol' window there and everything! What, are the chains too strong? Or are you just too weak? Mm, maybe a little of column A and a little of column B? Don't tell me you're too scared to even try! Eheh!"

"The hell with you, Demon!" said a voice that Parson identified as Lieutenant General Harrison.

Morgunov's head twitched. "Oho! Who said that?"

No response arrived. Which was the correct course of action, as far as Parson was concerned. Harrison had always been a courageous one, but this wasn't the time or place. Right now, that sort of defiance was just foolish posturing.

"Hmm? Don't be shy now! I was just about praise your fighting spirit! I'm a big appreciator of passion, you know!"

Still, no one said anything.

Morgunov frowned briefly, then smiled again. "Well, whoever it was, your turn will come. Don't you worry your self-righteous little head. Oh, and how about this? When it's your turn, if you have the guts to say something like that again, I'll give you a nice little surprise! A reward! For being so full of gusto! So try and muster up that bravery again, if you can!"

Stay quiet, Harrison. Stay quiet, damn you.

Morgunov paused, listening.

Thankfully, though, Harrison managed to keep his mouth shut.

Morgunov sniffed audibly and scratched his nose, perhaps disappointed. "Anyway, sorry for keeping you all in suspense. Just wanted to take a quick gander around the facilities. Been a while since I was here, so I wanted to see what I was workin' with. Turns out, we've got some real old school toys here. Medieval, you might say!"

One of the machines moved suddenly, grabbing hold of Asad with a pair of metal tentacles and carrying him over to Morgunov.

And as Parson looked at Asad again, saw his blindfold again, a question occurred to him.

Why was Asad Najir the only one with a blindfold?

Off the top of his head, a couple of different answers came to mind, but before he could delve too deeply into either, Morgunov caught him staring and must've noticed something in his expression.

"Hmm," said the Mad Demon. "What's the matter, Parsey Boy? You wanna watch? Bet you do, huh? Deep down, I mean. You Vannies are horribly repressed, aren't you? Especially you company men. Gotta 'fight the good fight,' and all that, right? Never can just sit back and enjoy your own Void-given abilities for what they're really best at. No, no, you have to pretend you don't enjoy that part. Wouldn't want anyone to think you've grown psychotic and bloodthirsty over the years, oh no. You only resort to such measures when it's absolutely, one hundred percent unavoidable, am I right? Of course I'm right, eheh."

What a sick bastard.

But Parson did want to see what Morgunov was going to do to Asad. He still wasn't entirely sure what the Demon's interest in him was or how Asad was supposed to help him obtain the "power of a god."

Should he actually respond, though? Parson felt like saying that yes, he did want to watch would just encourage Morgunov to leave him behind.

So he merely remained quiet.

"Eheh, alright, c'mere ya little rascal! But don't say Papa Morgunov never did anything for ya!"

A second machine scooped Parson up like a loaf of bread, and then they were off.

Morgunov made his way back toward the workbenches while the robots followed. They didn't stop there, however. They kept going, headed through a wide tunnel in the hangar wall, and eventually arrived at an entirely different chamber.

Full of black, metal cages. And giant vats of some pale, bubbling substance.

The heat in here was intense, and the musty stench was almost entirely foreign to Parson's nose.

Almost.

A memory scratched at the back of his mind. Something faint, yet still somehow horrid. A half-remembered nightmare. His whole body prickled with abrupt discomfort, and breathing became slightly more difficult.

His mind remained calm, but his body was reacting. In a familiar way, no less.

He'd smelled this only a handful of times before, in the presence of particularly nasty greatworms.

All worms in the Undercrust had an innate ability to strike terror in their victims, but it didn't work on sufficiently experienced warriors--with rare exceptions. Some could secrete an ooze that released panic-inducing fumes. Passive soul defense usually offered fair protection against it, which told him that these fumes must have once belonged to a truly monstrous creature.

Had Morgunov gone hunting for greatworms in recent years? That wouldn't be so surprising, Parson supposed.

The machine carrying Asad slapped him down onto a large table in the middle of the room, and Morgunov circled around him.

"Alrighty, let's try this the easy way first, shall we?" said Morgunov. "Where are the Quta Jaf'lah?"

The what?

Rather unsurprisingly, Asad made no response. He just lay there, on his back and blindfolded. To his credit, he wasn't showing much fear at all, but if these fumes were able to affect Parson even a little, then they must have been horrifically effective on a servant as young as Asad.

"Tsk, tsk, c'mon. You don't actually think the silent treatment will work, do you? Eheh. If so, then let me just dispel you of that notion right now. It will not."

Asad was squirming now, jaw clenched.

"The Shards of the Dry God? How about that? Ring any bells? Papa Morgunov knows that you know where they are. And Papa Morgunov doesn't like it when children are stingy with him. Or when they lie."

Parson had to wonder if any of this was even necessary. Surely, the Mad Demon could have simply pressured Asad with his overwhelming soul power and compelled him to be truthful. Morgunov was the inventor of that technique, after all.

So was he just doing this for shits and giggles?

Well.

Yeah, there was a decent chance that was precisely the reason. If this were any other emperor, then Parson would've been certain that they wouldn't want to waste their time, but this was Morgunov.

That reasoning, however, made Parson feel a bit bolder all of a sudden. He felt that, perhaps, if this was all just some big game to him, then the mad emperor might not mind if Parson chimed in with his own distracting inquiries.

"Why did you blindfold him?" asked Parson, trying to sound as genuinely curious and non-threatening as possible.

Morgunov's piercing silver gaze rose to him, and for a second, he just stared at Parson.

In that second, it felt like the man was weighing the entirety of his existence, deciding whether to end it or not.

Then he smiled that insane smile again. "Well, you never know who might be watching. Or listening, even. But sadly, he wouldn't be able to answer my questions if I plugged his ears, now would he?"

In all his time corresponding with Damian, Parson had learned many things about the Mad Demon of Abolish. And one of those things was that, oddly enough, the man seemed to enjoy teaching.

If it was the right student. And only if.

According to Damian's tales, Morgunov was ruthlessly cruel and vicious toward students who earned his ire. Parson recalled one story about some poor bastard named Heinrich who'd had his entire bloodline extinguished after Morgunov decided that the man hadn't been taking his lessons seriously. And another about a guy named Lozaro, who was already an infamous scientist in his own right, until he fell asleep during one of Morgunov's lectures.

Supposedly, Morgunov "tore him from the very fabric of reality itself," though Parson hadn't quite been able to understand what that meant or how Damian knew it to be the case.

This was all to say that Parson knew what thin ice he was treading on here. While he felt that it might be possible to gain valuable knowledge from Morgunov, he also had to be exceptionally cautious with his choice of words and mannerisms.

"...I don't understand," said Parson. "How is covering his eyes supposed prevent someone else from watching?"

Morgunov paused, tilting his head at him. "Hmm? You're not a toddler anymore, Parsey Boy. Surely, you know about the existence of Sparrows."

As a matter of fact, he did.

"Or did you perhaps think that I didn't know about them? That they were some kind of super Vannie secret? You guys are pretty protective of them, aren't you?"

Parson was still struggling for a response, and Morgunov didn't give him much of a window before he kept talking.

"Oh! Or are you just trying to play dumb in order to take advantage of my affection for curious little dumplings? Tryin' to get on my good side like the cunning monkey you are, hmm?"

Shit, he needed to deflect. "Actually, I was more wondering whether the blindfold had anything to do with Asad's reaper."

Morgunov just looked at him, eyes and smile unmoving.

"I thought that, perhaps, you didn't want Asad to see his surroundings, because he then might be able to give information to his reaper."

"I see, I see," said Morgunov. "That's a rather gutsy implication there, my boy. You're suggesting that I allowed Qorvass to escape." His eyes widened slightly. "That I made a mistake."

There was no use balking now. "I'm just curious. It seemed odd to me."

"Yeah-huh?"

"...And if you were worried about Sparrows," said Parson, "then you would need to cover my eyes, too, wouldn't you? As well as everyone else's?"

"Eheheheh. The cunning monkey, indeed!"

"Are you admitting it, then?" said Parson. "You let the reaper escape?"

"Why so curious?" said Morgunov. "Ya think that one little ol' reaper might be your salvation, Parsey Boy? You know better than that by now, don'tcha?"

"I don't know," said Parson. "What if Qorvass manages to contact Sermung?"

"Eheh, here's hoping!"

Wow. Momentarily, Parson was tempted to say that he remembered witnessing the two of them clash before--and moreover, that he remembered how Morgunov hadn't looked quite so happy then.

But his better judgment won out. There was no point in antagonizing the madman--even if, on occasion, Morgunov had been known to respect those who dared to try it.

For now, all that mattered was playing the part of an eager student. And stalling for time, perhaps, though he knew that part was likely to be a futile endeavor.

As Morgunov's attention seemed to be drifting back down to Asad, Parson came up with a new angle of approach.

"You know what I'm really curious about," he said, "is those machines of yours. They're remarkable."

"Mm, like 'em, do ya? Thought you'd be more upset, considering how easily they handed you your own keister."

Parson had to relinquish a nod at that. "Got me there. But I can still admire their craftsmanship, can't I?"

Morgunov gave him a sidelong look. "You're not one of them masochistic types, are ya? They're not those types of machines, I'll have you know! They're good boys! I only designed them for the very wholesome purposes of kidnapping, murder, and conquest!"

Right. Parson wondered if he should try to lean more into his own madness here. To invoke a sense of kindred spirits, perhaps. "Wasn't my intention to suggest otherwise. Did you really make all those things yourself, though? That seems like so much work. Even if I had the know-how, I don't think I'd have the patience."

"Oh, indeed, indeed. Took me quite a few years, you know. Probably coulda finished 'em faster, but I can be a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to this kinda stuff. If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing, I always say."

A few years, was it? From the way he'd said that, he probably didn't have an assembly line somewhere constantly cranking out more of these monstrosities.

Probably.

As much as he might've liked to ask Morgunov about that directly, Parson decided against it. He had to be careful. He couldn't afford to push his luck too much.

Because there was another reason why he wanted to stall the emperor.

Beyond merely trying to keep himself and the other captives alive for even a millisecond longer, there was the greater objective of the Vanguard to think of. Even now, taken off the chessboard as he was, he was still mindful of the future. Maybe he would never be able to fight again. Maybe Morgunov would kill him after he'd found Germal and had his fun.

But Blacksong was still coming. It had to be.

Sure, there was the concern that their losses at Uego had been too great, that perhaps the remaining leaders would get cold feet and delay or even abort the entire operation as a result.

But Parson didn't believe that. He couldn't.

If anything, they should know that the timetable needed to be sped up, not delayed. Uego was a terrible loss with potentially catastrophic consequences, but ultimately, it was still only one battle. A major offensive was needed in order regain momentum, to maintain morale and to rally their forces.

That was the only real strategy now, he felt.

If the Vanguard didn't take dramatic action, if they allowed this continental war to devolve into a series of attritional battles, then it was already as good as over. The losses at Uego truly would reverberate throughout the continent and slowly degrade troop morale, young and old alike--not to mention the effects that it would have on all the non-combatants of Eloa.

And Sermung was only one man. If Dozer took to the field, too--which was likely now that Morgunov had made a move--then Abolish would be able to divide and conquer more easily than ever. They could lure Sermung to one battlefield with one emperor while overwhelming another with the second.

The marshals were meant to be a safeguard against that, but with the way Morgunov's blasted machines had manhandled everyone, that strategy might no longer be viable. For the moment, at least.

So there was no doubt in Parson's mind.

Blacksong, in one form or another, was coming.

It was just a matter of holding on until then.

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