The moment Guard yells it out, I see it. I almost curse myself for not seeing it before—it's not like I didn't see the Firmament flowing between them. But it looked entirely random. I'd assumed they were automatic exchanges of Firmament that occured because the ghosts were too close to one another, not that they were intentionally recreating a circuit.
By the time he warns me, though, it's too late for me to stop it. I pour on every defensive skill I can. This is the fourth wave—their power has been doubled four times over. Each rank is a doubling in power. They started at Rank E, and now they're at Rank B.
That wouldn't be a problem if there weren't so many of them, and if the skill they were using wasn't...
I hiss at the feeling of it.
This is a group cast. It's a skill generated by at least a hundred Rank B monsters working in concert. The skill they're using isn't Rank B; it doesn't match their rank at all.
My mind reaches out, touches on whatever I used before, whatever a Thread is. This time, it's a little more exhausting to force—I'm straining something within me to do it, reaching out with a part of myself I haven't had any practice with.
But I manage it. A split second of that trance, a split second of it interacting with my skills.
[You have touched a Thread.]
And Inspect burns in the forefront, growing brighter.
[Your mastery of Inspect has improved!]
Information floods into my mind.
Rank S. Minimum.
Death Fog.
Even after that, Inspect just... keeps going. It feeds me more. I'm forced to close my eyes just to process the information it's pouring into me.
Death Fog is a Rank S Firmament skill that was created on the planet of Estat, 2,901 Trial cycles ago. Estat's Heart was exactly what you'd expect for a place that produced such a skill—it held the concept of Death, and so was populated by a multitude of different species of undead.
A vision flashes into my mind. I see a full, bustling civilization, but it's nothing like what I might have expected a planet of undead to look like. The cities are brightly lit, and the buildings within them are a chaotic mess of conflicting architectures. I catch a glimpse of glass-sculpture homes and spray painted huts occupying the same street, along with massive monuments to art and history.
I see flower stands. Little bakeries. Tiny communities dedicated, surprisingly, to the preservation of life—and nearby, secondary communities to welcome them into death, once they reach their natural ends.
Life and death in harmony. Huh.
All of this is far, far more information than Inspect has ever given me about a specific skill. It's more information than Inspect has ever given me about potential skills. Planetary history aside, Estat's Heart and the concept it held was originally simple: not a cessation of life, but a continuation after life.
But the Trialgoer on Estat...
He hadn't understood that.
The Thread resonates.
That's the thing about the Interface and its Integration of planetary Hearts. A Trialgoer's understanding of a concept warps the Heart, and the Heart warps the skills that go into the Interface. His Trial had been designed to make him see all the inhabitants of Estat as monsters. He'd come from a world where the undead were evil—a sign of the workings of demons, or some cultural equivalent.
And the objective of his Trial had been simple: Slaughter. They were monsters that claimed the civilization that lived on that planet, he was told. He didn't question. He just... went with it.
And so Death Fog emerged as his first Rank S skill. It created the first crack in Estat's Heart. Allowed the Interface to begin its infestation and integration.
I think, for the first time, I'm starting to understand the role the Interface plays in all this, and while the Integrators are certainly abusing it for their own ends...
The Interface isn't some force for good, either.
It's interesting that Inspect is telling me that. It's intentional, too. It... what, noticed an opportunity? The skill feels almost like my other skills did, back when they were protecting me from the impact of my double-layer shift—like it's gained some modicum of intelligence. Not a lot of it, but enough for it to try to help me on its own.
There's another thing Inspect is telling me, in concert with Premonition: I cannot counter this. Not as I am. My skills are based on physical defense. Firmament Control can blunt the force of it, but it won't stop the Firmament from touching me and seeping into me. I can use the Knight, but there isn't enough time for the transformation. Distorted Crux won't affect the speed of the Firmament. It'll just pass through Barrier.
Phaseslip will make it physical, and allow me some measure of resistance, but not enough.
Field of Immortality would work, but only sort of. It runs parallel to Death Fog. Our bodies would decay, but we would remain alive.
I'm out of options. I flick through my options. If I run, it'll leave Guard and Novi to its ravages, and that isn't acceptable—
"Ethan!" Guard calls, and my gaze snaps to him. My eyes widen.
They were sitting in Novi's apartment. It was a pleasant place, all things considered—it had been a long time since Ahkelios had been anywhere he thought he could remotely consider a home. Even back in Isthanok, he and Ethan had mostly slept in cramped spaces near the rebel workshops. In the Cliffside Crows, they'd slept in the huts the crows lived in, made of twigs and branches.
This was more... well, it wasn't familiar, exactly. It was pretty different from what he remembered of his home. But it was still nice—well lit, cushions, paintings on the walls. Ahkelios couldn't remember the last time he'd been somewhere properly comfortable that wasn't also ostentatious.
Honorable mention to Whisper, who was most of the ostentatiousness he'd encountered.
"Well," Zhir said. "My threats would hardly be effective if I made them miles away from the children I'm threatening." He poured out a steaming cup of what Ahkelios thought looked like tea, then offered one to him.
"You brought me to them," Ahkelios pointed out, accepting the tea. "I could stop you."
"Could you?" Zhir asked. "How powerful are you, exactly?"
Ahkelios could sense this was genuine curiosity—it was part of the bond they shared. There was another side to it, though; Zhir wanted to see exactly how much power he would hold once he'd integrated Ahkelios as his Remnant.
That was kind of the rub of it. They were both Remnants, really. Ahkelios was bound to Ethan. Zhir was bound to the Empty City. They'd had very different experiences, and held very different beliefs, in large part because of how much Ahkelios's experiences were now shaped by what he'd been through with Ethan.
Zhir hadn't experienced any of that. He'd been stuck in a decaying city for what felt like centuries.
"Don't know," Ahkelios answered with a shrug. "I'm pretty sure I'm stronger than when we were alive, but only if I'm borrowing Ethan's skills."
That part was pointed. Sever the connection—take over Ahkelios—and Zhir would gain not even a fraction of what Ahkelios held. Zhir hummed in thought for a moment.
"I don't think that'll be a problem," he said eventually. "I can always just take his core."
"What?" Ahkelios asked, wondering if he'd misheard. Zhir glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow.
"Take his core. You don't know about—" Zhir laughed. "Of course you don't. I only ever saw it when other people ran this dungeon. When you kill a Trialgoer, you get to take their core. It's all the Firmament they've gathered, all the skills they've gained."
"Naru didn't mention this," Ahkelios said numbly. That meant—that meant the Hestian Trialgoers would really want Ethan, didn't it? Why hadn't they come for Ethan already?
"Naru?" Zhir cocked his head, and Ahkelios felt him forcing his way into their shared bond for information; he winced, trying to keep him out, but to no avail. The Remnant was strong, and his distance from Ethan meant he couldn't quite muster up all the Firmament he normally had available.
Ethan was in the middle of a fight, he could tell that much. If he just held on long enough—delayed long enough—there was the possibility that he'd end this stage of the Trial before Zhir ever got the chance to affect it.
"Oh, the bird." Zhir rolled his eyes. "No, I doubt most of Hestia's Trialgoers would know about it. Not the lower five, anyway. They're still only at the second layer. You gotta hit fourth layer at minimum to drop your core. I doubt many of Hestia's Trialgoers have achieved that. They're kind of weak in the wider galaxy."
"They're what?" Ahkelios frowned. That wasn't how he'd heard things. But then he processed what Zhir said—
"You aren't going to be able to get Ethan's skills from him, if that's the case," Ahkelios mumbled. Zhir raised an eyebrow at him.
"Why? Because he's a third layer?" he laughed. "I can mimic the bond you have with him and just play your role—I'll have your memories. I can help him get to the fourth layer before I take his core."
"What makes you think you'd be strong enough to beat him?" Ahkelios asked. Ethan was strong. Third was farther than most Trialgoers ever got.
Wasn't it?
"No, you're right, it is," Zhir said, amused. "We never got past... what, second, I think? As far as I remember. Not that I have all my memories."
"Second," Ahkelios agreed. He was pretty sure that was the farthest they'd gotten.
"But you're uniquely placed," Zhir continued. "You have a link right inside his core. No one develops defenses to Firmament attacks from within. It just doesn't happen."
Ahkelios was really starting to hate this guy. Which said a lot, because this guy was himself. "And you want me to just let you do that?" he demanded.
"Well, yeah." Zhir shrugged. "How else are we going to get our life back? Don't you miss our home? Our people? Don't tell me you'd rather we get stuck serving some human."
"I'm not serving him," Ahkelios growled.
"Even better," Zhir said. "Then this shouldn't be a problem for you, should it? Just let me kill you and take over your Remnant."
Ahkelios stared at him in disbelief.
"I can see this will take you more time to process," Zhir said. "Want some more tea?"