The creature on the other side of the wall banged against it three times. “Knock, Knock, let me in… or I am going to be very mad.” The creature on the other side of the wall let out a high-pitched manic cackle.

  “No,” Bernard sighed with preemptive defeat. “I thought we had-”

  Another heavy blow tore into the wall, a heavy and gray-skinned fist pulling itself back as Bernard let his stance slump.

  “What’s going on?” Rhamiel asked, his voice rushing and coming from behind Bernard’s ear.

  “They’re here,” Bernard said Solemnly. “The Werejackel Field Boss that attacked our Hamlet before we came here. And I think- I think it came with Slate Troll.”

  Another heavy fist crashed and splintered through the wall, gray fingers tearing through the wood that made up the walls. The creature growled and groaned as it used pure strength to force apart a section of the wall.

  “Can you take it?” Rhamiel asked.

  “What?” Bernard asked in a panic. “What about Sir Corinth or Elgeia?”

  “They should be coming,” Rhamiel told him.

  The now-identified Slate Troll pulled apart the wall enough for something to come through.

  “I—I found you! Heheha!” it said as it strode through the Hole in the wall. The shadows from the forest beyond the wall made the creature a disturbing silhouette seconds before daylight dispelled the shadows, and Rhamiel caught sight of the creature.

  The thing was a Werejackel, as tall as Bernard but much more thin and knobbly at each joint. Coarse dark hair covered every inch of it, and a pale white patch overlapped its eyes as if it wore a mask. Its elongated face was twisted into a snarl, and sharp, dirty teeth peeked through its lips, giving its smile a demonic tint. Leather straps and pads covered its torso, and a leather-strapped skirt protected its legs.

  In its hands, though, it gripped a twisted and gnarled piece of wood or root that branched into two points.

  “I’ve got you, HA! Now!” the Werejackel cackled. “You especially, Mister Warrior Man, but where is everyone else. If you can’t give me a proper fight, we will be very disappointed in this whole hunt.”

  Rhamiel took a moment to use Aspected Analysis on the Werejackel.

  Rhamiel took a second while the Werejackal Alpha looked over Bernard to find any of their fighters. Dad and Mom were on their way, with Joselin a few paces ahead of them. Graham was walking towards the Boss, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head as if disappointed in… something.

  Apprentice Keane was also on his way over, but his armor was only part-way on. The human half stumbled over himself as he hurriedly slid his bracers on and tightened them. He only wore grieves, pants, and a cotton shirt with those. The young man hurried over with his sword hanging at his side, a hand balancing it as he hurried.

  None would get there to help Bernard quickly.

  “What?” Westark drawled. “Aren’t you glad to see me? To continue where we left off?””

  “No,” Bernard stated with a nervous chuckle. “I was hoping to never see you again.”

  The Deranged Werejackal’s grin spread a little further. “Awww, that’s too bad. I enjoyed hunting you and everyone else. Far be it for me to hope that someone like you would be happy to complete our battle. Oh well, I guess I will have to reconcile with that fact.” He cackled dementedly, his eyes flashing with predatory glee.

  Bernard said nothing, adjusting the grip on his spear and twisting it.

  Rhamiel spoke, his voice barely a whisper that he aimed into the warrior’s ear. “Help is on the way. Everyone is coming. It will be if you can hold it off or distract it.”

  “Oh War, Lord of all Battle, guide my Spear,” Bernard said solemnly. A pregnant moment passed, and the man loosened his stance from the rigid tightness it had been before. The man seemed calmer than before, something settling over him and sharpening his gaze towards the Boss.

  “I’ll fight you myself, but… for everyone else?” Westark barked, the sound like a sharp yip. Several more Werejackals came through the Hole made by the Slate Troll. They came in a hurry, a half dozen at once and more remaining just outside the Hole with the Slate Troll.

  “And if I perish in this battle,” Bernard continued. “Allow me into the next world with honor and dignity.”

  Westark barked again, and the Slate Troll continued to pound away at the wall.

  The Boss growled. “I am going to enjoy killing you slowly enough that you can hear the screams of the survivors from my last assault.” Then, with one more bark, the Werejackals spread out and sprinted towards the village. There was some distance from Bernard to the nearest building, but it would only take them a moment.

  In the instant it took Rhamiel to process that fact, Bernard acted. Turning around in fluid motion, the Skirmisher raised the spear and threw it at the lead Werejackal. The spear pierced it through the chest, a burst of blood gushed from the wound, and he ignored the Boss to rush after the regular monsters.

  The unintelligent monsters stopped their charge toward the city center and froze momentarily in indecision. A bark from the Boss temporarily cleared that confusion, and they all growled at their new target.

  Bernard defended himself with his small shield, deflecting blows and dodging attacks that may have harmed him. Still, claws slipped past his defense as he worked his way toward the spear.

  When he did reach the spear, blood leaked from the many wounds all over his body, dripping down and dying his clothes and armor. He pulled the spear free from the now-dead Werejackal with a sickening wet sound and turned to thrust into the nearest one.

  His attack was clumsy due to his wounds, and the Werejackal leaped back and away. Bernard growled in frustration, falling to all fours and struggling to remain up. The creatures approached, and Bernard attacked like a savage, thrusting wildly and blindly keeping the enemy back instead of aiming to kill.

  Rhamiel was enthralled by the display. It was almost like an animal swiping at another to stay away, but this was more intense than any more natural display.

  And before he could think about it further, a golden, glittering fist crashed into one of the beasts, its body crumpling into a heap with the initial punch. Graham Tully, the Holy Fist, had arrived first and looked immediately towards the next target. A quick snap kick filled with that same golden energy connected to another Werejackal’s neck, knocking it back and almost killing it with a single blow. With a violent wave, a dart of glittery gold and sickly yellow light flew from Graham to the fallen Werejackal.

  The creature died in a pain-filled yelp.

  Graham looked at the Boss, curiosity coming over those usually dead eyes. “You venerate Madness, don’t you?”

  Westark cackled in response.

  “Good,” Graham nodded. The man beat his cheek three times, a spell covering his body in a translucent shell.

  The Alpha Werejackal howled at the Holy Fist, and something new happened.

  ‘When will I be forced to stop learning things?!’ Rhamiel raged to himself.

  Westark lowered himself into a more bestial crouch. A feral smile played across his mouth and exposed his sharp teeth. Sharp nails lengthed into razor claws that burned with a red light. Embers and heat shimmers flowed from the Deranged Werejackals’ back, and the crazed look in his eyes became focused on Graham.

  The Holy Fist looked over the Werejackal Boss and waited while his glittering magic covered his body.

  Growling, Westark swung his claws, flames leaping off his claws and flying toward Graham. Shoulder rolling to the side, he dodged the blow while the Werejackal crouched and leaped, flaming claws extended.

  Graham took a long step back and narrowly avoided the claws. Still, the Werejackal took another quick lunge with his snapping teeth. Rhamiel watched as his Citizen took the attack on his bicep, flinching back at the blow but swinging his glowing fists anyway. The blow looked powerful to Rhamiel, but the creature did not react to the Damage. The Boss kept cackling even as the fists flew several more times while Westark opened his jaws.

  As he moved in to bite, Graham backed away with a quick backstep, and that same gold and yellow dart appeared in his hand. He threw it, and the dart collided with the Boss even as the jaws snapped on empty air. A gush of superheated air escaped past his teeth and knocked Graham onto his back.

  Crouching, the Boss leaped into the air and slashed, burning slashes flying towards Graham. The attack cut and burned, but whatever golden sheer over him kept the Damage from worsening. The flames did worse to the environment around him. The attacks set grass, fallen leaves, and nearby trees ablaze. With every moment, the fire spread, and Rhamiel saw Graham adjusting himself to watch out for the new obstacle.

  Stepping slowly away while Westark glared, Graham used a different golden spell that enveloped his body. His accumulated wounds gradually reduced in size, healing but not disappearing. He wisely did not heal again as the Werejackal charged, shoulder first, into Graham.

  An attack that Graham narrowly with a quick roll to the side and returned with several heavy hooked punches.

  Claws flew towards the man, and he was too invested in his attack to properly dodge, beginning his moment too late. Three burning claw swipes dug into Graham, and arcing flames roared as they flew and piled on even more Damage. Graham dodged away to the side after the third claw swipe, managing to avoid the final blow, a grab that looked to be aimed at his neck.

  Graham used the spell to heal again but was interrupted midcast by another, lesser Werejackal coming at him from the side. The beast latched onto him and savaged his forearm until it was thrown violently off. The beast rolled away and quickly rose to its feet, growling at Graham as another lesser Werejackal to Graham’s other side echoed it.

  “Now you outnumber me,” Graham sighed as the lesser Werejackal sprung at him. Claws swiped. Graham turned to dodge and punched at the other, who ventured closer and took a claw from the first one again.

  The Boss slowly stalked around Graham, eyes fixed on the man while he fought its lesser kin. Then it sprinted towards him, maw open wide and wisps of flame gushing out between its teeth.

  If Rhamiel was right, Graham would not have time to dodge this attack. He was on the back foot from dodging claw attacks from both others and could not avoid this.

  Joselin jumped, screaming, onto the back of one of the Lesser Werejackals. A dagger, the crystalline Soul Rebirth blade, slammed down to the hilt into the beast’s back. The beast died, and the Dagger glowed as Joselin rode it to the ground.

  Breathing heavily, Joselin drew the Dagger from the beast and rose. She turned to face the Boss while Graham turned to finish off the second Lesser Werejackal.

  From what Rhamiel could tell, Joselin had already activated all her buffing spells and abilities in preparation for this moment. She lowered her stance as the Boss lowered its own, the creature glaring.

  “I remember you,” it said with a derisive cackle. “I remember a scared little Ranger girl that ran away with three of my pack on your tail. Now you face me, and nothing has changed.”

  Joselin wavered, but only for a second. Her eyes looked down to her feet and then towards the Dagger in her hand. A smile graced her quickly as she tossed the Dagger between her hands to loosen them up.

  “Then kill me,” Joselin said with bravado. “If you can.”

  Westark stared at the crystal dagger with suddenly wide eyes, comprehension blossoming. “So Birth favors you with a boon?” he chucked deeply in his chest, the sound coming out menacing to Rhamiel. Then, allow me to let my Madness come free and breathe in deeply.”

  The embers across Westark’s fur emanated stronger, like glowing red-yellow snow. And with a mad cackle, its knees touched the earth, its back straightened, exposing its chest to Joselin even as its gangly limbs were stretched to their sides as if in the exaltation of something greater.

  Then, a jagged hole formed on the Boss’s chest, darkening like a burned piece of grass after a bonfire. Flesh turned to char, falling away to reveal an infinitely deep void inside the Werejackal’s chest.

  The void was not empty; long needle-like teeth rose from the border of the Hole, and a chorus of insane noise sang out from its chest. Laughter, sobs, cackling, howls of pain, and screams of terror filled the air.

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  Terror filled the Core, a terror that almost dwarfed what he felt as he fell to the ground upon entering this world. Rhamiel could do many things and manipulate the world, and he had some who could manipulate the very essence of this world. But this was beyond even that overt power. This was subtle, dangerous, and beyond everything he had observed.

  No, not everything. The memory was unclear, and given what he knew of the aftermath of that event, it was probably for the best. But he had an impression of the Outer God Destiny etched into his memory.

  This… was otherworldly in a way that he had not experienced before. Still, it was not nearly as dangerous as the mere gaze of that Entity. This was less, an echo from a creature an eternity away from its power source, of Madness itself.

  The Werejackal’s voice joined the cacophony from its chest, and even more joined it from the other, with fewer Werejackals around it. Joselin seemed less sure of her victory.

  “A hollow Madness,” Graham scoffed. “Even someone like you should be able to slay this thing, Miss Setalla. Especially after I already beat it within an inch of its life.”

  “Even she should- Ha! Hahaha, you are hysterical,” the Werejackal cackled wildly. “None of you can stop me; the decline is inevitable, and so am I!”

  It was almost as if a switch flipped in Joselin’s demeanor. Her nerves steeled, the hand holding the artifact stilled, and the crystal dagger lit up otherworldly golden light.

  With a bark, three of the Lesser Werejackals around exploded with chaotic red and orange flames. The sense of uncontrollability, instability, and unpredictability intensified around them. The now-burning monsters hurried towards Joselin with abandon and a demented smile. Joselin slipped back, avoiding the bites of the two to her sides, and twisted to face the third. With a yell, she swiped the artifact dagger at the third, cutting it down in three swipes.

  “Yes!” Rhamiel cheered.

  Then, the other two changed as they ran at Joselin. The first leaped again at Joselin, its teeth elongating and splitting into splintering pieces. The second jumped to the side, angling itself to go for her side, even as its arm lengthened unnaturally and shredded the skin as it stretched. The chaotic flames focused around their mutations, but embers emanated from their entire bodies as they attacked.

  Graham moved in a blur, intercepting the two attacking monsters. He grabbed the second by the throat and turned it towards the first. Mouth open wide, it could not help but bite into the other.

  “Go! Focus on that one,” Graham said with a vicious smile.

  Joselin nodded and activated her buffs.

  The Holy Fist threw the two aside and waved a hand at Joselin as she ran towards the Boss, a yellow light covering her body.

  “You believe me mad?” the Werejackal questioned. “You are the one sending one so weak against me! She is like loose clay in my claw, easily broken.”

  Arrows flew through the air, a pair sinking into the Boss before it rolled out of the way. And where it stopped, a pale blue bolt of lightning cracked through the air and arced across its body.

  Rhamiel found the source of the attacks easily enough. Mom was coming up behind Joselin, breathing heavily and having difficulty managing her composure. At the same time, Dad rushed around in a circle to strafe the Boss and Lesser Werejackals.

  “Don’t- ha!” Mom said as she slowed to a stop a few paces behind Joselin. “Sorry, we’re here to… help, whew!”

  “More or Less does not matter,” Westark stated. “Now I will kill more.”

  He then bent low and pounced, front paws held forward, aiming for the ground before Joselin. He slammed, and the ground shook. A blast of heat and kinetic force knocked the woman to the ground while Dad continued to pepper it with arrows.

  Joselin hurried to her feet, rolling out of the way to avoid a burning claw swipe from the Boss, and barely looked up in time to see a tendril of teeth-laced flesh that whipped out of the gapping Hole in its chest. She avoided the first quick lash of the whip but did not avoid the sawing teeth as it retracted.

  She screamed; several deep gashes in her left arm were bleeding, and her life force seemed to get weaker by the moment. Joselin backed up, giving her a little distance from the monster as the beast swiped with another claw. A beam of pink light impacted the Werejackal, breaking its posture for the first time in the fight. Mom continued to channel the beam for several seconds while Joselin hurried up and, with both hands pushing on the Dagger, moved it into the Hole in the Boss’s chest.

  It howled in pain, throwing Joselin off as arrows continued to penetrate its hide, and Mom threw another bolt of pale blue electricity at it.

  “Go!” Mom yelled as she threw a wave of flame.

  Stepping in and rolling forward to avoid a swipe of its claws followed by a bite, Joselin swiped at its arms. The cuts burned with the supernatural light of the Outer Hope Weapon Buff as Joselin thrust the glowing weapon into the Werejackal’s abdomen.

  It reacted at seemingly impossible speed, snapping down onto Joselin’s shoulder with its teeth and wisps of flame flashing out between the gaps of teeth and flesh.

  “Heal Her!” Rhamiel yelled, making everyone flinch from the volume. The goal was to get someone to help Joslein, but it gave Graham the moment he needed to send out a pulse of white-gold light towards her. Her life force climbed with a spell from the Holy Fist.

  Gaining another chance, Joselin screamed as she withdrew the Dagger from its belly and thrust it up and into the gaping Hole within its chest.

  With one final howl, Westark staggered back and away from Joselin, all the fight leaving its stance. The Hole in its chest writhed as if the primordial darkness inside were living tissue and disintegrating with the effect of the Outer Hope Weapon Buff. The Werejackel fell back, looking at its wounds that were still glowing, and cackled one last time as it collapsed and finally died.

  Joselin collapsed to the ground, her health slowly climbing back up even as Mom and Dad continued to fight the remaining Lesser Werejackels. The creatures before were a kind of organized chaos, moving by the Alpha’s will. Now, they were attacking indiscriminately and getting in each other’s way as they tried to get to the nearest target.

  And then there was the Slate Troll. During the fight, Rhamiel had forgotten about the creature trying to work through the wall.

  Mom walked forward, completing a mystic gesture and summoning a thick fog before her. Rhamiel watched in fascination as the creatures in the fog slowly took Damage while they went after Graham or Mom.

  Bernard reentered the fight, his wounds mostly healed, and he began stabbing away at the monsters. Even Morris Keane finally arrived and started keeping the enemies away from Mom so she could focus her magic on the Slate Troll. The creature was in a frenzy. No longer a living battering ram, it frantically tore away at the Hole it had already created, the Hole almost big enough for it to come through.

  Noxious green magic arced from Mom’s hands in liquid green globs and impacted the Troll, not slowing it down.

  “Immune to poison!” she shouted, aiming her wand at the creature, and a glittering bolt of cold magic flew at the Troll.

  “It’s mine!” Graham shouted, caving in the chest of one of the Lesser Werejackals attacking him.

  Taking a deep breath, Graham took a single step forward before charging the Troll at full speed. The Holy Fist was a shining blur as they leaped through the Hole and tackled the Slate Troll. The impact sounded like a boulder hitting a mountain, and the Troll fell onto its back.

  Even with what Rhamiel later learned was the Troll’s Natural Regeneration healing it, the combination of Mom and Graham’s continuous attacks killed it.

  After its death, the rest of the battle was over quick. The remaining Lesser Werejackals died to their onslaught or ran off through the Slate Troll hole, disappearing into the forest.

  “Yes! Ha!” Bernard cheered, raising his spear into the air with both hands. “We did it!”

  Joselin smiled and looked down at the fading light in the Dagger she held, golden streamers sprinkling off the tip. “Wow, that was… great.”

  Graham Tully approached Joselin with a sour expression on his face. “What? You think this a great victory for us?”

  “Well, yeah,” Joselin said with a small laugh. She paused, sensing the tone in the man’s words. “I mean, isn’t it a good thing? We defeated a Boss, isn’t that something to celebrate? Especially this Boss?”

  “That thing,” he gestured at the corpse of Westark, “was a pale facsimile of what Bosses are capable of. You do realize the main reason we won today versus the last time we encountered these things?”

  The young elf paused, thought about it, then shook her head.

  “There was something worse at work when they attacked us the last time. Westark may have been at the head of the attack, but your Mom, Dad and I would not have been defeated by a Level sixty Field Boss. Delayed maybe, but not defeated.” Graham said with a grave finality. “We don’t know for sure what that was with these Werejackals and wearing one of their skins, but it was not one of them.”

  “H-how come I never knew this?” Joselin asked, face going pale.

  “No one below level fifty knew that,” Graham said, his face lightening. “There is not usually any point in telling those weaker that something beyond our understanding wanted us dead.”

  Joselin swallowed. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that that… thing that was with these creatures that night confounded all of our Analysis Perks. Meaning that it either had an obfuscation power to keep us from seeing its powers, something else shielded it from us, or its power was that much higher than us,” Graham said bluntly.

  Mom stood next to Joselin, put a hand on her shoulder, and smiled, “Or something else we had not encountered before. The world is a big place. There is no way we had accounted for everything. I doubt there was reason to worry; we would have encountered it now if that was still with these beasts.”

  Joselin nodded, still nervous but calming, as she wiped the Souls Rebirth Dagger clean in a cloth from her belt. “Well, I guess we move on from this, right?”

  “Of course, we got vengeance on the evil monsters that destroyed our last home!” Mom said cheerfully. “That is fantastic news, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Joselin cheered. “And I gained seven levels from that fight alone; I’m level 19 now! I got a new perk!”

  There was a flurry of movement, and in the rush of leaves, Dad appeared and looked at his Daughter with pride and excitement. “Really? That’s wonderful and amazing!” he said, embracing her and checking out her arm. “No wounds, that’s… amazing.”

  “Yeah, my Core Sentinel Perk’s regeneration power really is something,” Joselin remarked. “How’re you doing, Rhamiel?”

  Her Communication Crystal buzzed a moment before his voice came out of her pocket. “I’m great! I got four levels from that AND a Perk to choose from!”

  “Oh, well, that’s surprising,” Dad said with a smile. “A level, maybe. Two, unlikely, but four, I’m surprised. It makes me think that the system did not put much stock in your survival if they got past us.”

  “But let’s worry about that later.” Dad changed the subject, grinning at Mom and Joselin. “After the adrenaline rush of a full fight is not the best mindset to level up, right?! Normally I would recommend some kind of celebration, but we don’t have a good way to do that. So let’s return to the Settlement and rest, for tomorrow, we will continue to survive.”

  “Wooo?” Joselin cheered.

  “Woo, woo,” Dad agreed.

  Rhamiel observed them for a moment, a deep discomfort making it hard for the Core to relax. They had won without his help because, as usual, he had no way to assist. This was the second time a significant and dangerous incursion into his Domain could have ended with Joselin’s demise.

  Sullenly, Rhamiel ordered his Drones to drag the Slate Troll’s corpse toward the other side of the wall.

  Graham Tully watched as the Drones began slowly moving the corpse into the wall and shook his head sullenly. Rhamiel spoke to the Holy Fist, mankind sure to aim his voice away from the man, trying to keep it low enough that it would not startle him. “Graham Tully, could I talk to you for a moment?”

  The Core’s efforts were wasted, the man still whirled around, fist clenched tight as he tried to find the source of the voice. When he confirmed who it was, he sighed, relaxed, and said, “What was that, Core?”

  “Can we talk for a minute?” Rhamiel repeated.

  “Can I stop you?” he asked sarcastically.

  Hesitating for only a moment, he told the man, “Is this all useless?”

  That caught the man by surprise. He raised an eyebrow and folded his arms as he observed the Drones’ work. “Is what all useless?”

  “Are all my efforts, Joselin’s work, Mom and Dad’s support, your power useless before these monsters. You were losing against a Boss almost half your Level! How can I help against something that almost defeated you, a level…” Rhamiel used his Aspected Analysis Perk on him. “One hundred three? Weren’t you at one-oh-two when you arrived?”

  “I was, I just leveled up,” he shrugged. “Bosses are exceptions to most fights, I can take on most normal creatures and Elites, but while Bosses can be beaten alone, it is not advisable. What Bernard did, holding them back, was inadvisable but necessary. What I did here was reckless.”

  “Then why did you do it?” Rhamiel asked.

  Graham clenched his teeth, “don’t worry about it. The bigger question is, what are you actually asking me?”

  “Am I useless?” Rhamiel asked quietly. “When it all comes down to it, when these fights occur on my soil, am I truly useless?”

  “Yes,” Graham informed him bluntly.

  “Then what is the point-”

  “No, let me speak, Core. You are useless in a fight right NOW,” Graham told him. “You can’t hold a sword or a spear. No magic to speak of and no support powers, you just build a settlement. It is good and useful, but it’s not going to help.”

  “What can I do then?” Rhamiel asked.

  “How should I know? I still think this is some long con and you are going to kill us,” Graham grumbled.

  Graham went silent long enough that Rhamiel thought that that was it. But the man sighed and continued, “But I will give you the same advice I would give anyone. Focus. Focus on what you can do. Focus on what powers feel right, even if it bothers other people. But don’t focus on your failures or on what you can’t do.”

  Rhamiel contemplated his words, remaining silent as he did so.

  There was a silence that Graham took differently. “What, you still need something else? What is the one thing your Drones can do that others can’t?” he snapped.

  “Uhhh,” Rhamiel trailed off. “They don’t need-

  “To eat, sleep, rest and their work is uniform. Their work is basic, but it does not vary like normal people. I’ve heard some of the idiotic dribbles that you have had to deal with, it’s ridiculous,” Graham growled. “You want my opinion? Fix the wall, then pick something and make it the focus of your work. You want that temple to the Outer Gods built, then focus on that, and don’t let any of them deter you.”

  “Is-” Rhamiel hesitated. “Is that what you did?”

  “Yes,” Graham snarled. “And I lost everything but my life, but I will never say that it was unnecessary. Is that all, can I go now?”

  Rhamiel did not say anything; he did not think it was bad advice. It contradicted everything he knew he was supposed to be doing, working with his Citizens. Two of his Achievements haunted him with their warnings.

  ‘Worse creatures will come after this accomplishment, but you will be ready. Or Else.’

  ‘This gift was used well to achieve victory against a mighty foe, but the gaze of great beings turns towards those who use these tools. Be warned of incursions into your reality.’

  “Is what I’m feeling anxiety?” Rhamiel asked out loud, looking at the departed forms of Joselin and her parents. She was severely under-leveled for that fight and only succeeded with the help of the much stronger others. “Lets think… Anxiety is feeling worried, nervous, or uneasy about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome. Yup, I have that.” Rhamiel's thoughts began to run.

  Then it stopped suddenly.

  Rhamiel would have blinked at the Prompt if he had eyes and eyelids. That came just in time to help him stop overthinking this. He doubted that it was a coincidence, but at the same time, he doubted it was engineered. Maybe his panic was severe enough that it challenged his Skill to adapt?

  Whatever the cause, it did not matter. He knew what he had to do next, and he began by confirming that the Troll corpse was now inside the wall. It was, and it was slowly being hauled closer to the Settlement in the center of the Domain. He quickly belayed that action and unsummoned all of his basic Drones and replaced them with Builder Drones, managing to summon three. A quick mental command sent them to repair the wall.

  He looked at the three he trusted, Joselin, Dad, and Mom, and found them at the cooking fire, standing amidst the crowd of workers but next to Bernard and Morris. They celebrated the victory with a small cup of honeyed Mead that Rhamiel did not recognize. Cheering in one voice over their victory, they drank the golden fluid down in a single swig, and Joselin coughed in sudden pain, holding her throat to the amusement of the others. Dad grabbed her hand and raised it into the air; the handheld the Crystal Dagger high, a swirling light within prominently shown.

  Unable to join in the reverie, he decided he would give them until nightfall before he would bother their celebrations with his need for cooperation. He had a new Perk to choose from, and he held himself back from looking; it would only make it harder to wait until later.

  Until then, Rhamiel began something he wanted to actively observe and learn from. Creating a path from the Manatech Generator that held his Core with the illusory wireframe, he created a path of Core Power Cable going to the Architects' Library. He moved it towards the Altar on the second floor of the structure, going through the wall of the building, and began watching it build. With the multiplicative properties of the Core Generator allowing one point of mana to count as three, he was preparing to speed up anything he could.

  It was time to stop being so passive. He could not risk losing his only real friend.