Kitt's presence hummed at the edge of his awareness. "Quite the gathering," she observed drily. "Should I start counting the ways this could go wrong?"
Blake didn't respond verbally, but his mental tally aligned with her assessment. He noted three distinct fire teams forming naturally among the more experienced fighters—veterans recognizing other veterans through unconscious positioning and awareness. Their stances and gear spoke of prior military service, though the specific branches remained unclear.
A cluster of four cultivators sat cross-legged near the center of the gathering, eyes closed in meditation. Their power levels registered as modest but steady. More importantly, they seemed to understand basic energy management, which meant they could potentially coordinate their abilities in combat.
"Two o'clock, red jacket," Kitt murmured. "Notice how he keeps checking sight lines?"
Blake had already marked the man—definitely experienced, based on his movement patterns and the way he'd positioned himself with clear views of both exits. The scarring on his hands suggested demolitions experience. Useful, if they could integrate him properly into the assault plan.
But for every promising indication, Blake noted a dozen concerning details. The lack of proper unit cohesion. The scattered approach to equipment maintenance. The way conversations bounced between groups without clear chains of command being established.
There weren't enough real soldiers. These were angry people with combat experience, which made them dangerous but unreliable without proper leadership. Then again, that described most guerilla forces back home, and groups like that had organized governments scrambling on the regular.
"Better than I expected," Blake subvocalized, knowing Kitt would catch it. "Worse than we want. Time will tell if its enough."
His HUD flickered as he accessed the overnight quest notifications, reviewing the competing objectives from various Aeons.
Title: The Raven's Tidings
Faction: Wōden's Eyes
Description: Gather actionable intel on Rax's command structure and defenses at the Stronghold. Prioritize weaknesses and vulnerabilities exploitable with limited forces. Value of rewards increased based on amount of actionably regional data delivered to rebellion leadership.
Rewards: Refined Gnosis: Observe, Orient, Decide, Act;
The description was right up Blake's alley—classic field intelligence work, playing to his strengths. Wōden's Eyes clearly valued strategy and cunning, which suited him just fine. But the mention of "actionable intel" set off warning bells. That kind of language usually meant someone wanted results fast, and with a fractured resistance force, he'd probably end up being the poor bastard coordinating it all. High risk, but manageable if he played it smart. At least the promised reward sounded familiar—the OODA loop was an old friend from his operational days. Observe, Orient, Decide, Act. He'd run that cycle thousands of times, and it had kept him breathing.
"Kitt," he prompted, "what the hell is Refined Gnosis?"
"It's a good reward. You'll often see Aeonic factions grant some measure of gnosis related to their domains or portfolios. Refined gnosis means that if you earn the reward, they'll eat the cost to have the gnosis further refined by the system to relate more closely to something you'll internalize properly."
"So gnosis rewards are basically EXP rewards?" He clarified, sharing with her memories of his favorite CRPGs from home.
"Right," she replied. "And refined gnosis is a better version of that. It's not surprising that the intelligence-focused faction would be able to put together a targeted reward so quickly."
"But I know what the OODA loop is," Blake said, somewhat confused. "I mean, we put it to Wu-Tang to make it more memorable and everything: 'OO-DA Loop ain't nothin' to fuck with.'"
"Which is why the refinement is a good one. Get the reward and you'll see, that's the best I can explain."
Blake grunted an acknowledgment and moved on to the next quest.
Title: Scorched Earth
Faction: Kālī’s Maw
Description: Incite total chaos within the Warlord's domain. Destroy resource depots, sabotage infrastructure, and eliminate leadership. Clear space for that which will grow from the ashes.
Rewards: Biomorphic Artisan's Demolition Kit,
Blake felt a grim resonance with the Kālī's Maw mission. Hell, he'd lived that kind of destruction before. The simple, brutal appeal of tearing everything down to the foundation and starting fresh struck a chord deep in his gut. It was efficient, in its own ruthless way. Made sense, really. And that demolition kit they were offering...
The item tooltip materialized in Blake's vision:
Biomorphic Artisan's Demolition Kit
A comprehensive fabrication system containing raw materials and gnosis-infused schematics for creating military-grade explosives. Compatible with biomorphic entities for material replenishment.
"Interesting," Kitt mused. "They've identified me as a biomorph, but not as a Leviathan specifically."
Blake frowned. "Why does that matter?"
"Because Leviathans have the most advanced fabrication capabilities of any biomorph classification. We can create nearly any non-living material given the proper base components." Kitt's tone carried a hint of pride. "Don't get me wrong—the kit would be useful. But I could already produce everything in there if you brought me the raw materials. The real value would be in the gnosis-enhanced schematics. Those will speed up the learning curve required to fabricate these things safely, and probably teach me some new tricks about converting base chemicals."
Blake rubbed his chin, considering the implications. "So you're saying you could make C4 right now if I got you the ingredients?"
"C4, Semtex, thermite—any of it. The kit would just make the process more efficient." Kitt paused. "Though I have to admit, their labeling me as a basic biomorph is tactically advantageous. Better that we're underestimated."
"True," Blake responded, still mulling the quest itself over. He wasn't shy about causing mayhem, but he also wasn't sure that he needed to set out to kill every fool kid who found themselves under Rax's sway.
We'll just have to see how things shake out, he thought, moving on to the next quest.
Title: The Culling of the Herd
Faction: The Wild Hunt of Herne
Description: Infiltrate Rax's Stronghold undetected. Eliminate key leadership figures, prioritizing swift, silent takedowns. Sow fear and confusion within enemy ranks to disrupt coordinated defense. Value of rewards is tied to speed and discretion. Minimize collateral damage; the true hunt prizes precision, not wanton slaughter.
Rewards: Access to Hunter's Guild facilities
"Now that's more my speed," Blake muttered. The mission parameters aligned perfectly with his existing skillset.
"The Hunter's Guild facilities could be valuable," Kitt noted. "They're THE place to go if you're looking to run bounties of any sort. And I notice they're careful to specify this won't actually align us with their faction. That's nice."
Blake nodded. Smart move on their part. He'd worked with enough shadowy organizations to appreciate clear boundaries. He moved on to the final pending quest.
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Title: A New Dawn
Faction: Valentis the Arbiter
Description: Minimize civilian casualties during the assault on Rax's compound. Preserve infrastructure and maintain order during the transition. Demonstrate capability for effective governance through measured response and strategic thinking.
Rewards: Refined Gnosis: Virtue Ethics; Future Quest Line: Establishment of Regional Governance
*Further rewards to be revealed upon completion*
"Valentis is playing the long game," Kitt observed. "Those follow-up rewards could be substantial if they're being this coy about them."
Blake considered the quest. It wasn't his strongest suit, but he understood the value of stable governance. He'd seen too many power vacuums filled by something worse than what they'd overthrown. The reward was a bit strange, if Kitt said more gnosis was good, he wouldn't argue.
"It could work," he agreed. "Especially if we combine it with Herne's approach. Take out the leadership quietly, minimize the chaos, step in with a ready-made solution."
"You're thinking about trying to satisfy all of them simultaneously," Kitt observed, her tone carrying a hint of amusement. "Typical."
Blake allowed himself a small smile as he reached the bottom of the stairs. "Keep your options open. Plans rarely survive first contact."
He found a quiet corner to conduct his gear check, methodically inspecting each piece of equipment. The knife's edge caught the dim light as he tested its balance. The blade felt alive in his hands, responding to the faint traces of mana he fed into it.
"Edge integrity at 99.8%," Kitt reported. "I still think we should have run a few more [Kinetic Detonation] drills at varying levels of intensity."
"No time," Blake replied, sliding the blade back into its sheath. He drew Verdict next, dropping the magazine and hand-cycling a round with practiced efficiency. The geometric patterns along the barrel pulsed softly in response to his touch.
"All systems nominal," Kitt confirmed. "Though I should warn you—we're only at sixty percent capacity for specialized ammunition."
Blake nodded, holstering the gun. "Standard rounds for most engagements anyway. Save the exotic stuff for when it counts."
He could feel the weight of responsibility settling around his shoulders as he surveyed the gathered rebels once more. These people were counting on this assault to change everything—to break Rax's hold on the region and establish something better in its place. Their hope was almost tangible, a current of desperate energy running through the crowd.
"Having second thoughts?" Kitt asked softly.
"No." Blake checked his spare magazines one final time. "Just measuring the gap between what they want and what we can deliver."
"And what's your assessment?"
Blake watched as Mara moved through the crowd, her presence causing ripples of heightened attention and whispered conversations. She'd grown into her leadership role faster than he'd expected, but the real test was still to come.
"We adapt," he said finally. "Push them as far as they can go without breaking. Give them the best possible chance, then improvise when reality refuses to cooperate."
"Such an optimist," Kitt teased.
Mara
Mara weaved through the gathered warriors, each face etched with determination born from years of oppression. Her fingers brushed against shoulders, clasped hands, exchanged silent nods of understanding. These were her people—not by blood, but by shared suffering under Rax's iron grip.
The weight of command settled differently now. The knife incident had stripped away her illusions about leading from the front lines. The memory of Blake's cold efficiency, the dead eyes of the enforcer, the weight of the blade in her trembling hand—it had shown her a truth she hadn't wanted to face.
"The medical supplies are ready," Sara whispered as Mara passed. "And the escape routes are mapped."
Mara squeezed her friend's arm. This was her real strength—not in dealing death, but in preserving life. In organizing, planning, ensuring their people had what they needed to survive the coming storm.
The gathered fighters carried that familiar mix of desperation and hope in their eyes. Some bore the marks of Rax's cruelty—missing fingers, burn scars, the shadows of beatings past. Yet they stood tall, ready to risk everything for a chance at freedom.
Her gaze drifted to where Blake and Eland conversed near the far wall. The huge alien gestured at a holographic display while Blake nodded, his posture radiating contained violence even in stillness. They were strange allies—a human killer and an otherworldly scholar—yet they represented something Mara hadn't dared hope for in years: change.
Blake terrified her. His casual relationship with death, his calculated brutality, the way he'd forced her to confront her own limitations—it all spoke to something alien and dangerous. Yet he fought for them, committed his considerable skills to their cause. And watching him now, discussing strategy with Eland, Mara felt that familiar flutter of hope. Perhaps monsters could be heroes too, if pointed in the right direction.
Eland
Eland stood at the edge of the assembly, his massive arms crossed over his chest, observing the scattered group of fighters before him. They were a mix of raw defiance and desperate resolve, their patchwork armor glinting faintly under the flickering lights of the processing plant. The smell of burnt oil and old metal filled the air, clinging to everything like a second skin. Eland let his gaze settle on Mara, who stood apart from the others, her back straight, though her hands fidgeted at her sides. She was trying hard not to show it, but he could see it—fear held tight beneath a mask of determination.
He had seen leaders like her before: raw, untested but burning with purpose. Mara reminded him of younger commanders from his own war-torn past—those who found themselves thrust into positions they hadn’t asked for but bore anyway. The weight in their eyes always gave them away. She carried it now, that reluctant mantle of leadership wrapped around her shoulders like a too-heavy cloak. Eland tilted his head slightly as he studied her, noting how she scanned the group in small, nervous sweeps, clearly counting heads. Not out of strategy—no, this was something deeper. She wasn’t counting numbers; she was tallying lives.
He turned his attention to Blake. A different breed entirely.
Blake stood near a rusted support beam, checking his gear with quiet efficiency. His movements were deliberate, methodical—no wasted energy, no unnecessary gestures. Where Mara’s presence flickered with uncertainty barely hidden behind resolve, Blake’s was stone-cold and unyielding. Eland noted how Blake’s eyes didn’t linger on anyone for too long; they swept the room in short bursts, always returning to some fixed point on the far wall as if already calculating angles or lines of fire.
Blake radiated competence and danger in equal measure—a walking weapon honed by years of battle and survival—but there was something else beneath that steel exterior. Eland recognized it in the way Blake held himself slightly apart from the others: a man burdened by ghosts he didn’t speak of but carried everywhere with him. The weight was heavier than Mara’s—it was older and sharper-edged.
"That," Eland said softly, “is a man who has learned to bleed only when no one else is watching.”
"He does bleed though," Zephyr added. "Still, I think he'll avoid getting in over his head."
The Stokrine shifted his gaze back to the larger group, taking them all in as one picture now: scavengers wearing scavenged armor, armed with weapons that looked just as likely to fail as fire. Yet there they were, ready to march against someone like Rax—a man backed by power far beyond their reach. Eland let out a quiet hum of approval despite himself. For all their flaws—for all their ragged desperation—these skaeldrin had resilience that defied reason or logic.
And yet here he stood on the sidelines once again.
The rules binding him were as infuriating as they were ironclad. This was a Demiurge sanctioned scenario now, and if the Chronicler in charge said higher tiers had to hold themselves back…
He sighed. It gnawed at him that he couldn’t take a more active role—not without consequences. But he couldn’t afford indulgent frustrations now; he would do what he could within those constraints because anything less would be abandoning them entirely.
Blake approached him then—a shadow looming out of the flickering light.
“Something on your mind?” Eland asked casually as Blake stopped beside him.
“Just making sure everything’s set,” Blake said curtly but not unkindly. His amber-gold eyes flicked briefly toward Mara before settling back on Eland.
Eland's gaze followed Blake's, catching the brief exchange of glances. He could sense the tension and unspoken concerns swirling beneath Blake's composed exterior. The subtle shift in Blake's stance—the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed almost imperceptibly—revealed more to Eland than any words could. He understood the weight of responsibility Blake felt, the need to ensure every detail was accounted for.
Eland nodded slowly as if confirming something privately to himself. “Just trust your instincts out there—both of you,” he said after a pause, lowering his voice slightly so only Blake could hear him over the ambient noise of machinery and murmuring voices nearby. “But don’t forget to trust them too.” He tilted his head toward Mara and Korrn across the room without elaborating further.
Blake gave a slight nod before turning away toward his position for the coming assault without another word.
Once Blake had gone, Eland crossed over to where Mara stood reviewing the map again with Korrn by her side.
“You’ll do fine,” Eland said quietly once Korrn moved away briefly to check supplies.
Mara looked up at him sharply as if startled by his presence—or perhaps by his reassurance—but she quickly composed herself again.
“I’m not afraid,” she said quickly but unconvincingly.
“You are,” Eland replied calmly, “and that’s good.”
Her brow furrowed at his words; confusion and irritation mingled there briefly before fading into curiosity.
“Fear keeps you alive,” Eland explained softly but firmly. “Keeps them alive too.” He gestured subtly toward her fighters scattered across the room before meeting her gaze directly again. “It only becomes dangerous when you let it rule you.”
Mara hesitated but eventually nodded slightly, absorbing his words even if she didn’t fully agree yet.
Eland let the memories wash over him as he spoke, his voice dropping lower, the old ghosts flickering at the edges of his mind. He'd carried those faces with him through countless sleepless nights—not with guilt, exactly, but with the bone-deep weariness that came from sending good men to die for necessary causes.
"I once led men into battle knowing half wouldn't return," he said, the words coming unbidden. "They trusted me anyway... because I made them believe we'd win."
The weight of those campaigns settled on his shoulders like familiar armor. He studied Mara's face as he added the truth that had kept him going through it all:
"Sometimes belief is all you have. And it be enough."
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