The Zombie Knight

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The first thing to do was invoke a feedback loop. It didn’t require any real thought. More of a feeling than an idea. And quite simple, besides. Well-practiced.

So if he was to be trapped, then at the very least, he would not be alone here.

It only seemed fair, right?

Aha.

Yes.

Fascinating. The space of his mind had reduced immensely. No feeling of his body. No senses whatsoever. Not even aura or time.

A simple black void. But not even a vast one, like the true Void. This had walls. Impassable barriers all around him.

A tiny room.

“But what about you?” said Morgunov without a mouth. His voice simply carried forth, originating from nowhere and everywhere at once. “You’re not afraid of tight spaces, are you?”

His passenger was there, though he had no form, no body, just like Morgunov himself.

“There’s no point playing coy, now,” Morgunov went on. “Speak to me. It seems you’ve granted the both of us an abundance of time. And to be honest, I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this for years. Germal.”

A long silence drew out, but it didn’t bother Morgunov in the slightest.

Actually, it made him giggle. Was he causing frustration for this creature that had long frustrated him? How positively delightful.

“You cannot sustain this, Demon.”

“Mm, I dunno. I kinda feel like I can.”

There was another problem to consider, however.

The black sun. The darkening atmosphere.

That was no mere cosmetic side effect of Kallmakk’s presence. It was a sign that the feldeath was doing two things: boosting the potency of all its attacks, and also preparing one of it most powerful abilities. After having been obliterated by said ability twice in the past, Morgunov had taken to calling it “Domain Wipe.”

It was either that or “Darkness Nuke.” He wasn’t sure which was more apt, but he liked the sound of the first one better.

Regardless, it was a thing that could not be ignored. If it was allowed to go off, it would probably kill everyone here simultaneously, and since he was the only one present who knew precisely how deadly it was, he couldn’t count on the others to stop it. If he did, and they failed, he and Bool would end up just as dead as the rest of them.

Truthfully, though, he was still a bit tempted to let it go. How funny would it have been if, after so much fighting with each other, Kallmakk just killed them all with one attack? In terms of ways to go out, that was quite a chucklesome one.

If he didn’t still have so much that he wanted to do, he might’ve allowed it.

With Invisibility, he circled around to the feldeath’s backside. It probably made no difference, since he was fairly sure that Kallmakk had omnidirectional senses, but it wouldn’t hurt, either.

With his one remaining glove, he gathered his strength into his hand and barreled into the giant abomination with a flying punch, not holding back in the slight, because he knew the sucker could take it.

Kallmakk burst apart in an inky spray of black. The sun flickered and brightened, as did the rest of the sky, though it was noticeably slower to do so, as if a veil were being slowly peeled away.

That was better. The sun was still unnaturally dark, but that was fine. As long as it wasn’t black.

Now for the Roberts. They should’ve been--

He spun around in midair just in time to catch Koh with another hooking punch. The dog went flying again and left a satisfying crater in the ground when he landed.

Hmph. Sneaky little jerk. Almost caught him offguard again. If he hadn’t been anticipating--

From behind, he felt two hands grab his head.

It was difficult, yes. But it was a technique that he had mastered many, many years ago, back when Bool was still calling most of the shots and forcing him to learn this and that. He’d mapped it to an instinctual place in his mind, making it summonable on a moment’s notice, whenever needed.

But these days, it really, really annoyed him whenever he had to use it.

A reminder of his failings. A loss of control. Of self-determination and agency.

There were few things in this world that he hated more.

Kallmakk really knew how to get under his skin.

Thankfully, though, his plan was working. Despite how intensely the feldeath was coming after him, the other combatants were still receiving plenty of attention, too. In the mayhem, he could sense those dark beams wreaking havoc among the Vanguardian ranks.

Where had the big pooch gotten to, though? Morgunov had no doubt Koh would be all over him again at any moment.

Aha. Morgunov sensed him. Still a ways away, on the ground. He finally had a few fresh moments of breathing room. He had to avoid another beam, but that was easy enough in this gaseous form.

Time to prepare the Roberts, then. They needed to assemble and transform. He gave the telepathic command via the chips in his brain.

Nothing less than three Mk. Vs would do, he decided. That wouldn’t leave very many Mk. IIIs behind to harass the Vannies, but it was a necessary risk. And Kallmakk was keeping them plenty busy, now. He wouldn’t get a better opening than this.

In the meantime, he resorted to Invisibility, using one of his aberration bone items. Not a ring, like most of his boys had to use. No, his was a tooth. Or rather, a cap, installed over one of his molars.

A much better hiding place.

He knew it wouldn’t work on Koh, though. He’d already tried it, and the mutt had no trouble keeping track of him, probably via both smell and aura.

Kallmakk, though, was a different story. Morgunov was reasonably certain that feldeaths sensed the world around them primarily via ardor and soul power. If they could sense aura, it was definitely much weaker.

And with so much of his soul power already in play elsewhere, this Invisibility was actually perfect for keeping the feldeath off his back. He would’ve used it even earlier, but he’d wanted to make sure Kallmakk became enraged, first. Plus, Koh would have torn through the Invisibility’s coating, anyway, rendering it useless.

Truth be told, Morgunov had options, still. It might not have seemed like it, and he might not have even wanted to acknowledge it himself, but it was true. Pan-rozum, which he and Bool were currently in, always allowed for plenty of flexibility.

He just hated resorting to it. For a couple different reasons, really. The first being that it gave more power over to Bool. Whenever they merged these days, Morgunov’s consciousness dominated Bool’s to the point that he no longer felt any different when compared to his normal self. So he was able to enjoy some nice, passive bonuses without having to deal with yet another meddlesome voice in his head.

But the more proactive benefits of pan-rozum--such as tapping into materialization, for instance--required the reaper to put in some real work. Which meant Morgunov had to give up some control.

Quite unpleasant.

Another reason he hated it was because it just felt somewhat... cheap. Lame. Unrelated to his genius or hard work.

When it came to fighting, he always wanted to win because of his inventions, his mastery over integration, or with sheer martial prowess.

But ultimately, that was his hubris talking. Something that had, perhaps, grown a bit out of control over the last century or two.

Here and now, he was again being reminded of his own limitations. Of how, when the chips were down, he would do whatever it took. Ego be damned.

For the briefest instant, Rachman’s face flashed through his mind. That smiling, self-satisfied face from right before Morgunov struck the final blow.

It was never going to stop haunting him, was it?

Morgunov split his body apart in order to avoid the next beam at the last possible second.

A most difficult technique. It required the simultaneous use of integration, transfiguration, and materialization.

For transfigurers in pan-rozum, they could turn their body into their element and manipulate it freely by merely adding materialization. Becoming beings of gas or liquid. But for integration users, the same trick required an extra step in the beginning. Fusing the body with the surrounding gaseous elements. Then he could access transfiguration as an extension of his integration ability, which was always going to be his most comfortable, instinctual power.

From there, he could turn his body into air and split it apart, then bring it back together with materialization and finally fuse it all again with integration in order to make himself whole.

Fear and paranoia gripped his mind, threatening him with terrible familiarity. Dredging up ancient history. Assaulting him with that most deadly of weapons. Himself.

It was almost enough to make him lose track of his body. Of the pain surging through it.

These feldeaths had a way with that, he’d learned. They frequently found a way to override numbness, either by circumventing it and inflicting psychic pain instead or, even more terrifyingly, simply undoing it. As in, getting into the brain and deactivating the numbness that a reaper had previously activated. Almost like they could take over the reaper’s role.

Thankfully, this was not the first time Morgunov had experience such an attack from Kallmakk. He knew what to expect. Knew to brace not just his body but also his mind.

It didn’t make it hurt any less, but it allowed him to regain control of his faculties more quickly. Like bouncing back from a punch instead of getting floored by it.

He activated both Demon’s Grips simultaneously to increase his weight. Double, triple, quintuple. Ten times, fifty times, a hundred times. Needed the extra inertia here, as his strength rose in correspondence with it.

Not enough. He was still stuck fast. Kallmakk’s hold was ridiculous. Agh, had it gotten even stronger since the last time?

Five hundred times.

A thousand.

His arms twitched, then burst free, grabbing onto a chunk of physical darkness as if it were solid rock and ripping through it.

This did not help the pain one bit. His mind whited out for a second as he resorted to an ancient trick, trying to cope with the sheer, maddening degree of it, which left his body to stumble aimlessly through the blackness. He was moving, but it took him a while to even realize it.

Then he was in the air, still unsure why. Taken another hit? Probably.

He crashed into the ceiling and broke straight through, flying out of the cave and up into daylight. Quite the welcome sight, actually. Kallmakk would be much less threatening up here. Unless--

The sky darkened as the sun turned black.

Uh-oh.

Another dark beam came for him, and toppling through the air, he wasn’t able to dodge this time. It hit him like a train, sending him even higher into the air.

Now stuff was missing. Clothes in tatters. Left arm? Side of his face? Both missing. Not good. That meant he’d lost a glove, too.

No time to fuss over it. Another beam was coming for him. Bastard was trying to juggle him until he was completely vaporized.

The real trouble with Koh was how resistant that big furry body was to all manner of attacks. One of Morgunov’s favored approaches when dealing with powerful close-range threats was to use integration directly on their bodies in order to fuse limbs together--or organs, even. Or, perhaps, to convert chunks of their body into completely different compounds. Even servants with quite strong passive soul defenses could not ignore such attacks completely, not when Morgunov was able to lay his hands on them. And when combined with a few centuries’ worth of wrestling practice, as well as the Demon’s Grip on both hands, Morgunov usually loved to deal with big brutes who just wanted attack him head on.

But Koh was an annoying outlier. Not only was he durable in the extreme, even by old servant standards, he also seemed to be packing some kind of extra resilience to Morgunov’s integration-based assaults. They did nothing to the mutt.

Was there some unknown protective factor causing that? Or was it just very impressive passive soul defenses? They would have to be truly exceptional indeed, if that was all it was. Superior even to his own, Morgunov knew. On par with Sermung’s, perhaps. Which seemed unlikely.

Regardless, the dog couldn’t be ignored. Morgunov had to let things get messy. Koh barreled into him, and the Mad Demon took it while sliding backwards, not letting himself be toppled over. He caught the animal by the neck, even as huge teeth dug into his shoulder, instantly threatening to sever his left arm.

A throat punch softened the dog’s grip, but it still didn’t let go until he hit it with a second one. And even then, the beast went straight back to mauling him.

Controlling those deadly jaws was priority number one. Allowing himself to get bitten gave too much advantage to Koh.

They hit the ground this time as they wrestled. This wasn’t good, either. Koh’s size gave him another advantage here. Needed to get back on his feet as soon as--

Morgunov saw the Nightspinner on the ceiling, already descending on them. There was no time to dodge.

This wasn’t going to feel good.

Kallmakk body slammed them both, and an earthquake split the entire cavern in two.

Black smoke blinded him, filling his vision and even his mind. And there was pressure. From everywhere at once. Not unlike being at the bottom of an ocean, which he’d experienced a few times.

No. The solution was to trick the feldeath. A much simpler task, especially when it was already obsessed with killing him.

All he had to do was slap some of his own soul power onto the others. As long as he amassed enough of it, the feldeath would treat them just like him and try to kill them, too.

Easy. Especially for the ones who were already infested with his little nano-pals. Those unlucky bastards were truly screwed here. He might’ve even felt slightly bad for them, if he didn’t find it so thoroughly amusing.

The feldeath’s first attack was not long to arrive. And it was a speedy one, too. Enough so, in fact, that had he not been anticipating it this whole time, Morgunov might well have gotten hit.

Dark beams with vaporizing force. Lasers that emitted no light of their own. Which further meant that they were completely invisible to the naked eye, unless light was already present in the area to reveal their shadowy form. And in the Nightspinner’s oppressive darkness, even soul senses and aura sight could not pick up the slack quick enough.

Thankfully, these weren’t nearly as fast as real laser beams. If they were, then reacting to them would’ve been entirely impossible without a predictive insight.

The beam that came for him sheared the rock below his feet away as if it were no more resilient than butter, leaving behind a molten groove that could have fit a highway inside it.

And that beam had not been alone. Several of his pursuers received one just like it, and many did not fare as well as he.

Two or three of them seemed to have been deleted from existence. But he was fairly sure that they had not been dumb enough to bring their reapers along. Surely, these Vannie generals would’ve known better than that, right? Even if they thought they’d had the upper hand against him for a moment there, they couldn’t have been that silly.

If not, though, then that would be quite funny. And well-deserved.

Ah, but the damn dog was still on his ass. Even with Kallmakk being all menacing over there, the pooch was still locked in on him, eh? Not that Morgunov had expected anything less. Gohvis couldn’t be relied upon to truly hurt his mutant pals.

Now, of course, there was a very big problem with his plan here--something that he needed to address before doing anything else.

The thing about feldeaths was that they were very territorial creatures by nature, but normally, they would only kind of try to kill you. To shoo you out their domain, mainly. As long as you ran away properly, they’d leave you alone.

But when you decided to not flee and even attack them back--as Morgunov had done to Kallmakk here several times previously--that was when their cockles got all riled up.

That was the point at which merely running away ceased to be an option. That was the point at which no other being on this planet could compete with the feldeath’s single-minded determination to kill you.

It no longer mattered how far you managed to get away from it. They would chase you, quite literally, forever. They would lock on to your soul signature and follow you endlessly, until either you or they were dead, because their ability to sense souls was unparalleled. Morgunov suspected that they could sense every single soul on the planet at all times. Which meant that there was no hiding from them, either.

Thankfully, however, he had learned of one trick to get them off his case. He kept thinking that it might one day stop working, but he’d used it on Kallmakk in order to end every fight, and it hadn’t failed him yet.

He had to fake his death.

But not just his. He had to fake Bool’s as well. Which was significantly harder.

The key was to give the feldeath that all-important final blow. That satisfying strike. Once the feldeath got that, it would calm down and forget all about you.

They were beings of pure instinct, after all. Or at least, they seemed to be. He’d tried to discern if there was anything more sophisticated going on inside those strange, ethereal minds of theirs, but never had he been able to detect anything else.

But again, this was still a very big problem, because now that Morgunov had reentered its territory, Kallmakk was going to remember him. The feldeath would therefore be attacking him first--and perhaps exclusively--unless he did something about that.

So what was the solution, then? To trick the others into attacking it, as well? That would certainly do it, but he doubted they could be deceived so easily. Even if his knowledge of feldeaths dramatically dwarfed all of theirs combined, they would still know that they should avoid attacking it all costs.

It was a good thing he’d managed to remember in time. Would’ve been quite the gnarly surprise to run into Kallmakk without realizing.

Which reminded him of something further.

He’d forgotten on purpose. In order to deceive Germal. Morgunov was ninety percent certain that the mind flayer was capable of reading his thoughts, so he’d decided to put certain memories into a temporary mental storage state.

Eheheh.

Were you still reading these thoughts, Germal? It was too late to run away, now. Kallmakk was close.

The network of caves expanded out ahead of him into one enormous cavern. Distant holes in the ceiling allowed visible bars of sunlight to cut through the otherwise thick darkness.

The light couldn’t disperse very much in here, which was the feldeath’s doing, Morgunov knew.

One other thing that he had learned about them during his years of study was that feldeaths very frequently acquired an elemental affinity--but not in correspondence with the modern understanding of elements. Rather, it was the five classical elements that the feldeaths gravitated to. Earth, water, wind, fire, and--in Kallmakk’s case--darkness.

Why this was, Morgunov still did not know. Truly baffling, he found it. But then, that was often the way with feldeaths, wasn’t it? They were paradoxical beings that should not have been able to exist in the first place.

Regardless, it made fighting Kallmakk that much more of a challenge. Because this darkness wasn’t just physical. It muddied soul senses and even aura sight, too, concealing the feldeath’s presence beneath a kind of regional blanket.

Which meant that light was now a precious resource. Vital for survival here. These bars of it from the sun were nowhere near enough.

So he set about creating more. With integration, it was a simple enough matter. He stopped running abruptly and slapped the flat ground with one hand, sending dozens of glowing lines through the rock all around him, lighting up the entire cavern within seconds.

And there the surly bugger was, bundled up in a high corner above the workshop’s entrance.

Kallmakk the Nightspinner.

The sight of it there made even his pursuers stop and pause.

Eheh. Getting cold feet? Bit late for that.

Kallmakk unfurled itself slowly, not unlike a massive serpent, but its actual form, to Morgunov’s eyes, soon became that of a hulking, ethereal machine with a distorted clock face at its center. Blood oozed from its numbers and twitching hands, and black smoke seeped from cracks all over its body.

As for the feldeath that had claimed Karugetti’s workshop, Morgunov classified that one as a Category Hippo. Extremely dangerous. Certainly among the deadliest he’d ever spent time actually trying to fight.

This particular feldath was also one that had garnered a bit of fame for itself and earned a moniker. Kallmakk, they called it here in Ardora.

And it may have been the cause of Karugetti’s death.

Morgunov still did not know that for sure, and he probably never would, but it was a very reasonable explanation for the famed inventor’s sudden disappearance from the world stage during the height of his power and influence. Considering no human person ever tried to take credit for the man’s death, that really only left two possibilities: either Karugetti gave it all up and went into hiding on his own, or he died with no witnesses and no means of ever confirming it.

Being such an admirer of the man’s work from even a very young age, Morgunov had held onto hope for many, many years that Karugetti might still be alive. Heck, a part of him still wanted to think that way now.

But the workshop was pretty damning evidence. And from all accounts he’d ever read about Karugetti’s personality, the man had actually been quite the social butterfly. It was therefore doubly unlikely that he would’ve faked his death to go live in quiet isolation somewhere.

Which was why Morgunov had decided to fight Kallmakk on more than one occasion. Vengeance for his fallen hero. Or, perhaps, a means of discovering some evidence that Karugetti was indeed alive. If such evidence existed, it would’ve made sense for Kallmakk to be in possession of or otherwise guarding it.

But to no avail.

On both counts, Morgunov had failed miserably. Kallmakk was simply too damn powerful. And even after trying to avoid the fight in order to sneak into the workshop and look for clues, he’d still turned up nothing.

Which was not to say that he’d entirely given up on the endeavor.

One day, he aimed to return and give Kallmakk a right thrashing.

And as a matter of fact, today seemed like as good a day as any. He certainly wouldn’t mind if his pursuers managed to bring the stubborn jerk down.

So really, this was a win-win situation for him, regardless of who won.

Unless he himself got killed here, of course. Boy, that’d be a real downer.

Ah, wait a tick.

Feldeaths! Of course. He was recalling now. How could he have forgotten?

That was why he’d decided to head for Karugetti’s workshop.

Because there was a feldeath there. Guarding it. And that was also why he’d never gotten around to putting a new fusion forge in there. Because that particular feldath was a real son of a bitch, even when compared against others of its kind.

His long study of feldeaths might not have been nearly as fruitful as he would’ve preferred, but one thing he’d been able to learn quite clearly was that not all feldeaths were created equal. Far from it, in fact. He’d even begun work on a rigorous classification system for them.

It was far from exhaustive, though. The bastards never made it easy to measure their strength. And the true depths of their power might’ve simply been impossible to discover without first giving oneself over to certain death.

Mad as he supposedly was, even Morgunov was only willing to go so far for his work.

The naming scheme had taken him a while to nail down. On the one hand, he didn’t want it to be all generic and boring, like with hurricanes, for example. But on the other hand, a good classification system needed to be largely intuitive to understand. So naming one of them Category Pickle Sandwich or Tier Snot Bubble was out of the question, unfortunately.

In the end, he’d decided that animals would be the best of both worlds. They could be both non-generic and also intuitive, as long as he picked the right animals for each tier.

Thus far, he’d created five categories, though he hoped to one day codify a sixth or even seventh. That would just depend on whether or not he could ever find any more distinguishing characteristics that corresponded with their varying degrees of power.

From least to most dangerous, they were Mouse, Rabbit, Swan, Hippo, and Moth.

That last one, admittedly, had been a bit of a rule break. He had to do it. Even if moths were supposed to be harmless, there was just something about them that he didn’t trust. And besides, that tier was still a work-in-progress. He’d only ever encountered a single Category Moth, anyway, and he’d pretty much just run away from it the whole time. So it hardly mattered, right now. He could always rename it later, if he thought of something better.

How curious they were. He’d seen them many times before. In his clashes with the other emperors, most commonly.

He knew the theories, of course. The lights were vestiges of soul power that were escaping during the extreme exertion of an emperor’s strength. Similar to beads of sweat escaping the body, perhaps. Or sparks flying away from a tempering metal. They certainly looked similar enough.

He never bought into that explanation, though, because this was a phenomenon that only ever seemed to occur when two or more very powerful servants clashed. If it were merely about the exertion of great power, then a single servant should have theoretically been capable of producing these mysterious lights, and yet Morgunov had never been able to do so.

No, he’d come to believe that they were not vestiges at all. Not little sparks of power being chipped away. Instead, he'd started to think they might be just the opposite.

They were entirely new energies. Being created from the clash of two great souls.

From the collision.

That theory had sparked all sorts of new queries in Morgunov’s mind for many years, but unfortunately, these lights were all but impossible to study. The problem, of course, was that they vanished upon the cessation of hostilities between the two great souls, so the only opportunity to learn more about them directly was in the midst of the battle. At the peak of the battle, even. When the most danger was posed.

But perhaps here and now, he might finally have a window? While Gohvis was buying him time.

Oh dear. The temptation was so very strong.

He needed to not give in. He needed to remember the danger. He needed to keep going. Stay on task. The workshop. That was what mattered now.

Even if he might never get a better opportunity than this one...

No! Foolish thoughts!

And not even true, besides. Because he remembered now. There was actually another instance in which this same phenomenon could occur.

Feldeaths. They could produce this effect, too. It was rarer for them, but Morgunov had most definitely observed it a couple of times during his tumultuous research of those stubborn buggers.

Not all feldeaths seemed capable of pulling it off, though. That was the trouble with them. Their unpredictability. With two clashing emperors, it was much more consistent.

But perhaps there was some other, still-mysterious environmental condition that needed to be met with feldeaths.

It was a waste of perfectly good subjects for future experimentation, but they were the ones trying to push him into a corner here. This was what happened when you refused the Mad Demon’s mercy.

When the Vannies noticed the Roberts, their ranks distorted instantly. Ehehe. Perhaps his little metal boys had left them with a bit of trauma? Funny, considering how old and powerful these uppity generals were supposed to be.

One, two, three captured piggies. Easy as pie. The projections really did work wonders, didn’t they? Ah, Iceheart set about trying to free his companions immediately. Surprisingly warm of him, considering his reputation. Must’ve thought they were important.

Wasn’t going well for the icy boy, though. Lad wasn’t at his best, at the moment. Morgunov had made sure to infest him with plenty of little saboteurs, just as he’d done for Jackson. Didn’t want Iceheart feeling left out, if he managed to survive all this.

Impressively, though, Iceheart was still managing to avoid capture himself. Hmm. Not being deceived by the Mk. IIIs’ projections, huh? Interesting. Why might that be? Had that fellow developed aura sight while Morgunov wasn’t looking? Finally seeing a bit more of the world, perhaps? Not letting that closed-mindedness of his continue to win out?

Eh. Doubtful.

Oop. Dog was back. Barreling toward him with that huge body like a torpedo. Ah, but Gohvis was intercepting again, allowing Morgunov to retain some of his breathing room.

Morgunov still wasn’t buying it, though. Rather than moving to assist Gohvis, he kept running and devoted some thoughts to why the Monster might be pretending to go against his own mutant cronies, right now.

The main reason why Morgunov had not been able to deal with the enigmatic problem of Germal years ago was because the Liar had the protection of not only Koh but also Gohvis. So had the Liar lost Gohvis’ favor?

Maybe, but Morgunov could see Gohvis pulling his punches here, too. If Germal had truly angered the Monster, then this scenario would be playing out quite differently, right now. That wouldn’t just be a psychic projection over there. That would be the real Monster.

So what was the goal here, then?

Well.

To trick the Mad Demon, obviously.

But it wouldn’t work.

Morgunov could sense. Morgunov could see.

The mayhem of the fight was increasing to a feverous pitch. Those familiar packets of floating light were beginning to appear. Whispers of freed energy.

Gohvis grabbed the dog by the scruff and pulled him off of Morgunov. Koh thrashed wildly in the Monster’s grasp, jaws snapping at the dragon man’s face until Gohvis flung the animal into the dark, distant reaches of the cave.

Morgunov was not grateful, however. “I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, you do.”

There was a game afoot. Morgunov knew it. Gohvis didn’t care about him. The Monster of the East had no reason to be here, right now. And Morgunov very much wanted to call him out on it. Tell him to stop pretending. To reveal what his true intentions were.

But there was no time for throwing accusations around. And while it was true that he didn’t need Gohvis’ help, what he really didn’t need was Gohvis deciding to join sides with the attackers.

Unfortunately, Morgunov had a feeling that was going to happen sooner or later, regardless.

He kept running. The workshop. Had to get to the workshop. There was something there that would help. He knew that much. He just couldn’t quite recall what it was. He must’ve remembered earlier, when deciding to head there. He just had to trust in his earlier self’s judgment.

That was fine.

The Vanguardians were closing on his position again. The Roberts told him so.

Time to intercept, then. A couple of Mk. IIIs would be sufficient, he decided. Didn’t want to use too many for this. That would reduce their collective observational prowess, which he very much needed.

The Mk. III Robert was ideal for this task for a couple of different reasons. The first was that it had the best ratio of durability and mobility. Not so weak that it could be easily knocked out by one of those Vannie generals, but also not so slow that it could be easily dodged, either. And the second reason was that it carried a particular invention in its arsenal that the Mk. Is and IIs didn’t have access to.

An invention he’d dubbed the Bull Fighter.

Well, okay, Jercash had dubbed it that, but Morgunov had liked the name enough to keep using it.

The Bull Fighter, in short, was a distraction-based tool, utilizing both audio and visual projection technology in order to befuddle opponents and then immobilize them from behind with soul-strengthened net launchers.

For more threatening targets, however, the nets would not serve well as long-term containment. Which, unfortunately, meant that the Mk. IIIs had to use that window of vulnerability to go in for the kill, instead.

Careful. Had to be careful. A single Mk. V could certainly help out in a big way, right now, but that would be risky, and there were too few Roberts left to be gambling with them.

For the moment, at least.

Needed to wait for his opening. The information the Roberts were relaying back to him was arguably even more valuable than their combat assistance. There were too many threatening opponents to worry about now. Being able to track all of their movements like this was exactly what he needed.

For now, he could just keep sprinting through the labyrinth. Might be a problem, though, if he forgot that path to Karugetti’s workshop.

Yeah. Better play it safe, then. Partition that information off. Give it some extra mental security from the mind flayer.

He felt another bolt arrive. A surge of electric pain through the skull.

A distraction. Nothing more. Easy enough to ignore. Pain wasn’t a problem. The tricks were. The subtle attacks. Those were what he had to pay attention to. The pain was meant to help those sleights of hand elude his notice.

Yes. There you were, Germal. Silent as a shadow, rifling through memories that didn’t belong to you.

OUT!

The cavern trembled with the force of Morgunov’s psychic purge. Rock and dust drizzled from the ceiling, threatening a cave-in, but he just kept going. It was the first time he’d caught even a glimpse of the Liar in there. He couldn’t let the opportunity go to waste.

The trembling grew into a full earthquake, and then the cave-in was no longer just a threat. Truck-sized boulders crashed down all around him--even on top of him.

And still, he ignored them. It didn’t matter if he ended up buried. He could dig his way out later.

Germal was all that mattered now. Morgunov had grip of a thread. A psychic line leading back to the slippery bugger. Just a few seconds more.

Ah, but now was precisely when the protector would--

Yes. The wolf’s jaws came through the boulders with drilling force, and Morgunov had to stop and catch them with both hands, invoking the Grip’s strength again. Thankfully, he had a glove for each hand.

Yet even still, it was barely enough power to keep that black maw from closing down on him. Morgunov was struggling. And he knew that he didn’t have time for a stalemate here. A stalemate was as good as a loss when so many others were gunning for him.

He wanted greatly to stay and show the beast what for, but he knew better. The battle that had taken place back at his workshop had illustrated that point for him.

It had not gone in his favor, to say the least. In fact, it had only gotten worse and worse as things drew out.

First, there was Rasalased’s supposed sister hassling him via the new tattoos. Then there was the blasted dog, hunting him down incessantly. Then there was Germal, to boot--that mind flaying bastard.

And to top it off?

Damian Lofar had showed up, too. That one, Morgunov had actually been quite pleased about.

At first.

He’d been hoping that Damian might’ve somehow been alive all these years, but clearly, the lad had not been harboring similar feelings for his beloved mentor. The first thing the old boy had done was free Parson Miles. Along with the other captive Vanguardians.

And that was really when things began to go south. Iceheart and all those angry little generals joining the fight, even in their debilitated states, was not something that Morgunov had a good time dealing with.

Or had he?

No, that was wrong. He’d been having fun, hadn’t he? A thrilling encounter with his life truly at risk for the first time in countless years.

Nibas had loved it.

Rgh. Morgunov shook his head as he ran. Tricks and confusion. Right now, he needed to focus. Maintain the link to the Roberts. Their numbers had been severely culled by now, but they were still one of the best remaining cards up his sleeve. How many could he sense? Twenty-three? Twenty-four.

Rough. Hopefully, more survived elsewhere, out of range.

He knew he’d have to be sneaky with them. The Vanguardians had grown wise enough to avoid them rather than fight, which was annoying, but it was the dog that was the biggest threat to his poor Roberts. That son of a bitch could just shrug off their attacks and bite through their tempered metal hulls as if they were made of meat.

In that respect, it was actually a good thing that the wolf was so obsessed with hunting him down. It meant that Morgunov didn’t have to go out of his way in order to keep the animal’s attention. He could more easily focus on having the Roberts harass the softer targets with guerrilla tactics.

Aha. He remembered.

Oh boy, did he remember!

There was an ancient workshop at the heart of this cave system. A workshop that had once belonged to one of the greatest integrators to ever live.

Karugetti the Wise.

In fact, as far as historically revered geniuses were concerned, it was just him and Skapa at the top.

Nibas dreamt of being in that same category, one day. Standing tall, shoulder to shoulder with those giants.

And to think that he’d stumbled upon one of their workshops. Granted, it hadn’t exactly been in the best condition, but still. There’d been a massive crater in it where he suspected that a Fusion Forge once resided. He wanted to put a new one there, both to honor Karugetti and to see if, perhaps, he might be able to discover something interesting about that particular location. A man of Karugetti’s stature probably hadn’t chosen the site of his Fusion Forge randomly. Maybe there was something special about it.

Hmm.

So why hadn’t he ever gotten around to doing that, then? Nibas paused to think. The weird dragon man was saying something again, but Nibas wasn’t listening.

There’d definitely been a reason. He wouldn’t have abandoned such an incredible place without cause, surely.

On second thought, maybe he would have. He was kind of an airheaded guy sometimes, wasn’t he? Easily distracted with new and exciting projects. Too true, sadly. Too true.

No, but there had to have been a reason--

The shaking ground brought him back to reality, and he sensed the attack coming from above.

Tch! Interrupting his important thinking time!

The wolf’s mouth barreled through the cave ceiling, coated in black and as massive as a whale’s. Ready to devour him whole.

Morgunov jumped up and clobbered the beast with a right hook.

The wolf’s teeth nicked his shoulder before it was sent flying into the far wall.

Morgunov landed with a heavy thud on both feet, cracking the ground below him as he flexed his gloved right hand, feeling the power and pain surging through it. That glove was the third generation of the Demon’s Grip, and it had the ability to not just increase the muscle strength of his arm, but also the weight of his entire body, starting from the hand.

At its full strength, which was what he’d just used, that punch should’ve had enough force behind it to obliterate the wolf’s entire body like a popped balloon, but he could already sense the damn dog getting back up again.

Morgunov scowled.

‘Oh?’ said Garovel. ‘Saw something else?’

Before Hector could respond, however, his phone went off. He dematerialized some of his leg armor in order to fish it out of his pants and saw that it was Ms. Rogers calling. He answered it.

<“Lord, there is pressing news from Vantalay. The Rainlords would like to talk to you. Would you mind returning to--?”>

A rustling noise arrived, and then someone else was speaking.

<“We’ve received a very strange offer, Lord Goffe.”> That was Joana Cortes from the sound of it. <“And we would like your opinion.”>

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