The weather was temperate, and the air still, the sun was up…somewhere, and pastel clouds painted a mosaic in the sky.

  Ren was left to his own devices as Clara had responsibilities, and while he was curious what passed for school in Xylos…he wasn’t that curious.

  He stood in the shadow of the System Church, and the palace, arena, and senate could be seen looming above neat rows of rectangular plas-crete buildings, bereft of any decoration, signage, or colour.

  Pillars extended from the street at almost every intersection – a ring of nozzles around the top made them look like outdoor showers. Drones sat beneath their heads, as a beam of light shot them in the back.

  “Cool – wireless charging stations.”

  He spotted one or two humans, but for the most part, this was a robot city, a monochrome playground for the AI servant. They moved about carrying goods, loading vehicles, and charging. In one case, a work crew in orange vests and white hard hats used force shovels to tear up a part of the street.

  Jeremy, the firebug, crawled across the parapet of the tallest building three blocks down – sensing Ren’s eyes on him, the little jade sparkplug turned and waved an arm fin, before disappearing underneath an eave.

  “Huh. Still kicking – burning, whatever it is – good for him.” Shrugging, Ren put flip-flop to plas as he continued down the sterile downtown sidewalks.

  A bot, its head shaped like an inverted triangle, strode past him; a hum of mana vibrated from within. It reminded him of the mana lamps in Murkspire. He paused and focused on the vibrations' focal point.

  Power core.

  For a moment, he thought he might reach out and touch the sound waves, so strong was their pull on him, but the moment passed, and the bot was gone.

  “I guess nobody likes me today.” He sucked his teeth, “I hate it here.”

  Xylos weighed on Ren. The city represented everything he hated most in the world, in any world.

  The technology was cool, even revolutionary, but who did it serve? And was life here any better than in Murkspire? The answer was a resounding – NO.

  In Murkspire, all he’d wanted to do was to run and explore – to engage as many senses as possible. It had been a place of wonder and discovery, and now – who knows what was left.

  He didn’t have the answer to that question, as he was stuck in Xylos, which had only one diversity: robotics.

  Even his core felt off in this place, like it was trying to suck mana through one of those tiny red coffee straws – in strained, and had little to show for it.

  He recognized the difference in the aether between Xylos and Murkspire. There was a density to it that his normal senses were oblivious to – but not his core. Even now, it spluttered like an engine low on fuel.

  “What does my core need the mana for…”

  He had skills, but they seemed free to use when not on cooldown. Thalgor had been incredulous when Ren suggested that he leave his levitation running at all hours, but the System hadn’t given him a warning or anything, and he felt fine.

  So his core had to be related to his decks. He still didn’t know where they came from, or what they did – besides make loud dope ass music, that is. And that’s all he needed them to do.

  More drones passed him on the street. He tried waving at each. He even poked one in cables – nothing. He needed answers, and he didn’t want to ask the high-brow billionaire types he seemed to be bumping elbows with, up here in the Senate Burrow.

  “Maybe I should try visiting Gimblox – dude has answers – I know it.”

  Not ready.

  Ren let out a sigh, and an idea occurred to him.

  “Mirab.” He thought aloud, “How could I forget my new family?”

  Ren looked for a comfortable place to sit and meditate, but there wasn’t much to work with. He eyed a nearby charging station, “Maybe I could sit on a drone?”

  He approached, “Yoo, could you make a seat for me? Maybe fold yourself into an L?

  He waved his hand in front of its face. A blinking red indicator light was the only response, “Fine. Be a tool…err, don’t be a tool!”

  He thought about sticking the thing in his storage – resisting the urge, he turned and ran at the nearest wall. Activating speed and levitation, he went straight up and over.

  His eyes immediately locked on the arena – linked arches ascended above its far side, before swooping back down. At the peak, a flag pole stretched to the sky, the city’s flag waving without wind – no doubt some skill.

  Ren leaped across the barren rooftops, making a beeline for the arena.

  Loose formations of ReaperDrones stood at attention at evenly spaced intervals – in the wide open spaces around the arena.

  “Do I think they will let me through?”

  He eyed the distance to the arena; it was too far to jump, “Unless…better to ask for forgiveness.

  He laced his fingers and turned out his palms, cracking his knuckles, “Let’s see what else my core can do.”

  His heart beat a steady rhythm, thump THUMP, thump THUMP, but his core was a steady, slow, building single pulse. Together, they produced a hypnotic rhythm – a surreal experience.

  He imagined the vibrations in his core spreading to his legs. The tingle of ice water spread through his channels, a curious sensation, but as his calves and thighs swelled, he flashed a gallows grin.

  Without a moment's hesitation, he shot like a bullet for the parapet, and with a single elongated stride lifted himself into the air – cracking the plas-crete with the force of his propulsion.

  Arms and legs windmilling, “Oh no. No, no, no

  His experiment had produced astronomical results, and it looked like he was set to clear the arena entirely, as the ReaperDrones below rapidly vanished, and the clouds came down to meet him. “[Super Anime]!”

  He sank like a rock.

  Sometime later, Ren reached up a hand and, with a grunt and a heave, pulled himself atop the arena’s outer wall – rolling onto his back, he let out a long, drawn-out sigh, “Epic.”

  He lay there for a time, staring up at the otherworldly clouds, and once again thought about leaving Xylos.

  He sat up, pushed himself to his feet, and took off at a jog – as the spine of the arena rose up into a grand arch, the ground became very steep, and he lost his traction.

  “[Super Anime].”

  The aether hardened beneath his sandals, and he easily propelled himself to the peak.

  “Tah-dah.” He stood arms akimbo before deflating at the lack of applause. Turning, he shimmied up the flagpole – coming to rest cross-legged on its crown.

  A lake of fire stretched for miles around, like a witch’s cauldron, molten liquid bubbled and popped – sending the occasional fan of lava spraying into the air.

  Every colour of gas you could imagine – flowed from sphincters that pockmarked the landscape – traveling close to the ground before seemingly rising up at random. Some mixed, while others – oil and water, pushed and pulled like dancers in the bazaar.

  Hills and valleys rolled and dipped as the skyline tested one's understanding of distance and time.

  “A barren rainbow wasteland.” He shook his head, “Alright, time to get to work.”

  He wasn’t making any progress. The void, like a haunting spectre, whispered in his mind. A split in reality, like the crack of an opened door, was just within reach – tempting.

  Unable to resist, he tried something new – he stuck just his head through, and he was in two places at once. His body wrapped in nought but a loincloth, perched, while a disembodied head floated in the nothingness of the void.

  His hair blades quivered, as alien eyes pierced his soul – it was time to rest, it would be easy – he would embrace the stillness and go gently into the –

  Ren snapped back into his body – whole again. The aether trembled, and he was covered in a cold sweat.

  “Taraq…”

  He took a deep breath and let the feeling of terror slip away, “Yeah – not ready. Now, what was it Mirab said…our clan totem.”

  He tried picturing it, and in his mind's eye, he saw the toothy grins of Mirabella and Lyle as the three of them dined beside the shamanic pools.

  I hope they’re ok.

  Flexing his core, he circulated mana through his body; the aether calmed, and his tense muscles relaxed.

  Slowly, at first, in a haze, an image came into focus: stacked and carved bone, inky black pillars – the final a duskwings visage – its glass eyes alive with a vast and incomprehensible intelligence.

  It threatened to overwhelm Ren, but he clung to what he could understand, a small fragment of consciousness like an ice berg lost in the ocean.

  “So, you finally made it back.”

  Ren stood in a grove, a dream oasis – it was like looking through a fogged window. He spun to face the voice, and a smile more tooth than lip beamed back at him.

  Mirab's snow-white fur stood in stark contrast to the indigo Moon in the background.

  Ren’s eyes lingered on the hooked arrow pattern of her face, a reminder of Mirabella’s lineage.

  “Yoo – sorry about that – there was a damsel in distress. And I sort of…ended up somewhere else…”

  “You must learn to control your mind, boy. Here in the dreamscape, stray thoughts can lead to a swift and merciless end.”

  Ren sucked his teeth, “I’m the master of my own mind.”

  Mirab settled onto her haunches, “Bog and bone boy, the only thing you're the master of is chaos. It swirls around you like the stink of a blood fly boil…” She trailed off; her eyes smoldering like embers, were drawn to Ren’s core.

  An awkward silence stretched, and Ren felt like he was being undressed by her eyes. She was seeing a part of him that even he didn't know.

  Her face ran a gauntlet of expressions, finally settling somewhere between wonder and horror. Reaching out a clubbed paw, she extended a claw – plucking a strand of woven mana. It twanged like the string of a guitar as it shimmered into existence.

  “Spirit bond.

  She gave a lopsided frown, and her tongue lolled in concentration. Her eyes narrowed, “What…are…you.” She poked his forehead, and he toppled like a felled tree.

  As he fell, a shadowy apparition of himself remained.

  “Deep roots shaman of the old ways.” Shadow Ren said.

  Mirab dropped onto her front paws and pressed her forehead to the ground, “First One.”

  Ghost Ren smiled, “Shepherd.” His voice was like a warm blanket on a cold night.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “How have you come to rest in the spirit of this young Outworlder?”

  “Rest. We do not rest. We are but a memory. He has come, and the Mire is open – the final story begins.”

  Ren would have objected, sat up, done anything really, but for the simple fact that he could not; he was trapped in his own body, he could only watch and listen.

  Mirab nodded, “As you say, First One.”

  Ghost Ren plunged a hand inside his own torso and fished around, “His core grows. It is good that you have strengthened it.”

  Mirab raised the tuft of her eyebrow, “I am tethered to him now.”

  The First One laughed, a sound like the whistling of wind, “Fate’s pawn. You are no longer bound by space. The dreamscape opens before you.

  The apparition began to fade, “Ware the others. Their dantian – a poison pill. It watches. It knows. Ware the others –”

  The image faded, and Ren was back in his body, looking straight into the unblinking eyes of Mirab.

  Ren scratched the back of his neck, “Erm…hi?”

  Mirab nodded, “Listen, boy. We don’t have much time. Your dantian is nothing more than a totem. So, training as a shaman it shall be. Let me tell you of Masha, the first of us.”

  Vim observed the curious young Outworlder, perched atop the City’s flag. The [System Apostle] had to know more. This was his first chance to study an Outworlder in the flesh, and he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity. After all, he had a unique skill, and he could see more than any – the inner workings of the System were like an open book to him.

  How did Ren have such concentrations of mana? Only the Emperor shone as bright when viewed through his [System’s Eyes]. But Ren was what, mid-twenties? There were Xylosian children with more.

  And yet, the density of his channels beggared belief. There had to be more, and if Ren really did have the potential Vim thought he did – what would that mean for the balance of power in the City? Surely the conglomerates would have…designs on Ren’s strength. And if the Soul Shell Syndicate wanted something – they got it.

  Vim lost count of the cycles as he watched and waited, and, realizing this, cursed himself a fool as he stood up to leave.

  That’s when Ren came to life, turned, and looked directly in his direction. Vim’s skin crawled as Ren tried to pierce his [Apostle’s Viel]. The sensation passed, and Ren didn’t seem to notice.

  Without warning, the [Echo Runner] stepped into the air – and ran toward the heart of the Burrow.

  Vim considered his options and, before he lost track of Ren, moved to follow.

  “Yoo, Sam, my dude – what’s good?”

  The room was empty, and Ren heard a bang and a curse from beneath one of the many tables.

  Sam poked his head up, a frown on his face, “Sir, back so soon. I have your [Endless Keg] right over here.”

  Ren waved his hand in Sam’s direction, “Boo – no take backs. I’m bored, and the Senate Burrow’s vibes are fragged. So here I am…where is this exactly?”

  “Sam’s Place.”

  “Good name for a bar. But where is Sam’s Place?”

  Sam eyed Ren dubiously, “Inside the ways.”

  Ren pouted, “And the ways are…”

  Sam slumped his shoulders, “The product of a skill. There are rumours – a past Emperor, or even Gunnderson himself. Nobody really knows who made them. But they are ours, the unsaturated avoid them…”

  Ren frowned, “And why is that?”

  “Don’t know. Clara was the first I had seen – I did not think it possible.”

  Ren scratched the back of his neck and frowned; he noticed a rash on Sam’s neck, which hadn’t been there before. “Are you going to be alright – that looks…bad.” His eyes flicked to Sam’s neck and back up.

  Sam reflexively brought his hand up, “Oh, what a nightmare. If Ari sees this – I’ll never hear the end of it.” He rushed behind the bar to get a better look at the mirror.

  “Is it that bad? Just looks like a rash – can’t you get a…cream or something?”

  Sam applied a small patch, smoothing the edges down, as he turned to face Ren, “The only thing that works is a healing tank. And I can’t spare the [capitals].”

  Ren tapped his chin, “What about a suit? Like the ones ReaperDrones wear…and they are much quieter than the others.”

  Sam didn’t understand the reference, “A MaxTech suit? Hah. I’d have a better chance of winning in the arena.”

  Sam poured two mugs of Zug-zug and slid one across the bar to Ren, who swiped it into his palm effortlessly.

  “Cheers!” He clinked glasses with Sam.

  “Huh?”

  Ren sighed, “Its an Earth thing. Before every first drink. It’s good luck or something.” He shrugged.

  After a long pull, Sam continued, “If a prole wants access to a MaxTech suit. They need to join the XDF. And to do that…you need the [capitals].”

  “You pay the City to join the XDF, that’s…crazy.”

  Sam fiddled with the tools in his breast pocket. “The System rewards those who lift themselves.”

  “R-right. I’m familiar with bootstrapping; it's big where I come from. It’s a huge steaming pile of frag…but an effective one.”

  “The Systems will be done.” Said Sam.

  “The XDF is man-made…”

  Sam shook his head, “To join is a contract with the System –”

  Ren nodded, “Yes, but it’s a man-made idea, the System is but a machine – it does as directed.”

  Sam looked around nervously, “Best not speak ill of the System, Outworlder. It doesn’t like that.”

  Ren sighed and muttered a few choice insults in the System’s name.

  “What was that?” Asked Sam.

  “Nothing.” Ren frowned.

  The burns on Sam’s neck receded in real time.

  Sam touched his neck, “What is it? Is the bandage –”

  Ren eyed his Zug-zug. He eyed Sam's neck. He heaved the contents in the other man’s face.

  Sam spluttered, “What in Emperor’s name!”

  Ren gave a gallows grin, “Good as new.”

  Sam, the wet rat's eyes narrowed, and Ren reached across the bar and tore away the bandage.

  “What are you…

  He felt at his neck – no pain. “How did you know?”

  Ren shrugged, “Just a guess. Wait until I tell Brewgar – if I ever see him again. It’s not quite as grand as felling a titan…but –”

  “Titan?”

  “A mountain of a tree…an Earth mountain that is – the Stonecoils are more like… vertical islands.” Said Ren.

  “A mana sink…what does that–”

  Ren rubbed his forehead, “Tree.”

  Sam nodded, “Yes, I heard you – mana sink.”

  “Are you not hearing me or…fragging System. Look, a tree grows from the ground naturally – with water, sunlight, and nutrients from the earth.”

  Sam raised a hand, “But we aren’t on Earth, Outworlder.”

  Ren gritted his teeth, “Soil. With nutrients from the –

  He cut the air with his hand, “Look, never mind. Beyond the Stonecoils, at the edge of the Crystal Plains. A forest of titan trees grows. And nestled in their canopies in the heart of the forest – a City glows with light and life…”

  Sam listened with rapt attention. “And people live in them?”

  “An entire city. Murkspire is an amazing place, the glow of neo lights awash, street vendors selling every kind of food and drink you can imagine, and so many different people. Everything from beastkin in suspenders to orcs in dresses. And all peaceful.”

  “Sounds fantastical.”

  Ren frowned as he looked to a point in the distance, “It might be – now. A vatagand rampaged the city last time I was there. My friend's mom died trying to stop it…Meen-Tra is her name…”

  “What a nightmare. The XDF will stop it.”

  Ren frowned.

  “Xylos will help. The Emperor isn’t all bad.”

  Ren looked dubious, “Help, hah. More like exploit. Back home, we call it disaster capitalism.”

  Sam nodded along.

  “Are you even listening to me?” Asked Ren.

  “Of course, Outworlder.”

  Ren’s eyes narrowed, and Sam looked up, “All I know is Sam’s Place. Sorry. The MischiefBoards are naught for the likes of proles.”

  “MischiefBoards…what does that have to do with…anything?”

  “Politics.” Answered Sam.

  Ren waited for a follow-up – but apparently that’s all the other man was going to say on the matter.

  Ren drummed the bartop with his fingertips, “Descendants of techno oligarchs…” He muttered under his breath.

  “What was that?” Asked Sam.

  Ren sighed, “Nothing – Look, Sam – Try to keep quiet about the secret of Zug-zug. We don’t want a conglomerate getting its hands on the stuff. I mean – think of the extra work they could force on you…”

  “Oh, what a nightmare!” Sam decried.

  Hisako tipped his top hat – his finger lingered lovingly. “Leader, your presence is awe-inspiring as always. Gorthow will indeed be a most useful tool – using his neo-Ludite daughter to control the Outworlder – genius.”

  Four men sat around a long table, with Emperor Mercer at the head.

  “System has delivered us a ripe prize, Meta-Men. Gorthow has laid claim to New Xylos and will establish it as a new endpoint.” Said Emperor Mercer.

  Hisako nodded, “And your skill, Leader? You can maintain the proles…The Stonecoild front is –”

  Mercer waved his hand dismissively, “A different matter entirely. You worry too much. I have it under control.”

  Percevel pursed his lips, “We trust your judgement, Leader, but have you considered the influence of Ren – the digiscrolls warn of Gunnderson’s antiquated views, would this new Outwolrder not agree?”

  Mercer gave a playful smile that did not touch his eyes, “I’m counting on it.”

  “Beastkin sample.” Preened Smotrich. Its voice, like wriggling maggots, left a sheen in the aether.

  Smotrich was beauty and form distilled to the point of no return. Like a shark in humanoid form, it never stopped moving – its head swayed from side to side as its tongue flicked out, sampling the aether. Its skin, like churned cream, wrapped its wiry form, giving its dancer's body a ghostly form.

  Its hand ended in long, delicate nails, the colour of aged blood, and the other a celestial tentacle that slithered and slipped; groping a mind of its own, it sought fresh prey – always.

  Smotrich wore only its own skin, save for a round cap like a velvet button, that covered the smooth patch of skin between its legs.

  “Beastkin sample.” It said again.

  Mercer held a finger in the air, “Oh my sweet Smotrich, fellow hunter – Gorthow sent a ZipCan during our tunnel, the mind of a bearkin.” The Emperor pulled a slim cobalt rod from his breast pocket and rolled it across the table.

  Smotrich's head cocked, and its tentacle wrapped the ZipCan.

  Mercer raised an eyebrow, “Meta-Men.

  He smiled, “We have a visitor – the Outworlder.”

  The imperial palace was not what Ren expected, and it was precisely what he expected.

  The entry hall stretched too far. Mounted monster heads, the stuff of nightmares, lined the walls.

  Rich colours, woven tapestry, and shaggy fur carpets. It was a hunting lodge.

  Majordomo guided him to a pair of mithril doors covered in strange hexed characters.

  As he approached, they swung out, and he entered the Imperial chambers.

  ReaperDrones lined the walls, their sleek forms still as a statue, tingling at Ren’s danger sense.

  He walked a red carpet trimmed in gold, stopping before the Emperor, who sat on a throne of patchwork skin stitched together from the many conquests of the Xylosian Empire.

  Ren could smell the sterile and bitter fumes of the cured flesh that permeated the air like soiled rags.

  He resisted the urge to gag as his eyes moved over the assembled figures who sat beneath Mercer, like a gaggle of hens, their eyes tracking his movements.

  “Yoo, what's good, Emperor?” Ren offered a lopsided grin as he stood arms akimbo.

  “Hello – what do we have here?” The [Echo Runner] approached Smotrich, and its tentacle swayed with a hypnotic rhythm. Ren bowed his head; gingerly, he took the ghostly appendage in his hands and kissed its smooth, glandular skin – it oozed an oily substance in delight.

  Standing straight, Ren wiped his mouth, “Your beauty is outweighed only by your grace…”

  “Smotrich.” It purred.

  “Haha. What did I tell you, Hisako, the boy is smarter than he looks.” Decried Mercer.

  “Thank you for seeing me, your eminence.” Said Ren.

  Mercer waved a hand, “Outworlder, is there always time for the Systems messenger? Tell me what brings you? Have you decided to join me on a hunt?”

  Ren offered a gallows grin, “I had another idea.”

  “Oh?” The Emperor’s curiosity piqued.

  Percevel chimed in, “A ritual?”

  Ren paced, “Sure – something like that, it’s kind of my thing.”

  “How would an antiquated ritual serve us, Outworlder?” Asked Hisako.

  “Mercer is working waaaay too hard. The proles can be kept in line with a little razzle-dazzle. A skill need not be wasted.”

  Hisako steepled his fingers, “And what do you know of the Emperor's skill or the prole?” The last was spat, like a bad taste.

  Ren gripped his chin, “Not a whole – but, crowd control… yeah, I got that.

  He made an L with his two fingers, displaying a recording from Sam’s place, gesturing with his offhand. Ren threw the image into the aether, where it expanded, “This is a recording from Haveena, they call it Sam’s Place, and it is hidden within the ways.”

  “We are aware of their dens – a curiosity – nothing more,” Hisako said dismissively.

  Mercer’s eyes sharpened, and Ren nodded, “Do you see what they are doing?”

  “Working undoubtedly – it is all they know. They are, but one spawn above a monster. A stain on our history.” Mocked Percevel.

  Mercer remained silent, and Ren knew he had the man.

  “They are watching screens, Magnate Percevel. Screens displaying the activities of everyday citizens. Do you see how rapt their attention, they hang on its every display.

  Ren continued pacing, “While I do admire the use of the authoritarian holo images – the vibes are a little, do or die – I think a little grace, style, and power would have them operating at peak efficiency. What do you require of the proles? Name anything. There is no depravity the depths of the human mind won’t sink – on its own accord – You just need the right…message.”

  Ren ran the backs of his fingertips along an imaginary keyboard, and his decks shimmered into existence.

  Flipping a switch: 120 bpm pulsed through the chamber like the effervescent rivers of the fertile crescent.

  Ren dialed up the base with the twist of a neon nob. He layered in grungy high hats – synthesized with erotic growls.

  Ren extended his arms out in a Y, and held them still – as his hips began to roll, in a suggestive rhythm.

  His wrists and arms, still extended, joined with his hips, like two snakes; his hands caressed the aether, and bioluminescent notes floated across the space between the dias.

  On a loop, Ren danced – his face a mask of serenity.

  A screech like nails on a chalkboard, as Smotrich slid out their chair, slowly and deliberately.

  It pranced toward Ren, placing one delicate toe at a time, as its hips swayed.

  Smotrich circled as the [Echo Runner] maintained his performance. Its tentacle began to mimic the Rhythm, and Ren spun out – elongating his form as he mimicked the tentacle's movements.

  Smotrich chittered in delight, and the tempo increased, with Ren’s movements growing to a fevered pitch.

  The base fell, and time split reality no more. Mercer held on the edge of completion. The tender kiss of emptiness embrace. His core is a coal in the aether; it burns. Mana condensed passions flared for he was.

  All was still, and silence rained like an apocalypse, as infinity stretched like the space between the cosmos. Smotrich’s tentacle struck – removing Ren’s arm at the shoulder, and blood fountained, yet the [Echo Runner] did not flinch.

  As the first drop of blood fell, it began. The tempo pushed to breakneck speed, and Ren moved, flowing like water from one form to the next, and the blood from his stump gushed, and Smotrich was beside him, a perfect mirror moving in synchronized opposition, and its mouth parted in an O as it released.