Level: Apocalypse

Book 3: Level: Unknown

by David Dalglish

Genres: Fantasy action & adventure; Epic Fantasy

Synopsis

To save humanity, Nick must slay a God-King in the epic conclusion to the Yensere arc of Level: Unknown!
 
Inside the mysterious Artifact world of Yensere, Nick has scored his first major victory in the war against God-King Vaan, but now the true test of power has begun, and it won’t end until either Nick or Vaan are truly dead. Fighting alongside the army of the usurper king, the mighty Batal the Beast, they march their way toward Castle Goltara, the seat of power for the supposed Conqueror of Time.
 
Outside the Artifact, things are dire—whatever approaches from inside the black sun portal in Majus’ atmosphere shall soon arrive, but Nick’s older brother, Simon, struggles to find haven for his crew or obtain permission to flee their station with the Artifact. A religious cult has taken power within the OPC, and they see the coming invaders not as a threat, but as potential salvation.
 
With the lives of everyone on the station at risk, Nick has no choice but to push onward, finally unraveling the riddle that is the two black suns. With the capital in sight, the group now face the God-King’s his most powerful and devout Harbingers. Besting them will push Nick and his friends to the limits of their power, but Nick has two secret weapons on his side: the sentient sword, Sorrow, who was there six centuries ago when the God-King first rose to power, and a new addition to the team who seems to have the full knowledge of Yensere, and an incredible amount of power, at the tip of her fingers...

Publisher: Orbit

Print pages: 400

Sample

Location: Avazule

Description: Also known as the Pearl of Three Rivers, Avazule, population ten thousand plus, is the capital of Inner Emden, recently united by King Batal; the city flourishes due to goods flowing in from the Ithca River, as well as the city’s proximity to Stonegate, through which all trade to and from Goltara must flow

Nick, Lesya, and Violette stood in the shade of a broad-leafed tree Cataloger declared a bitter mahogany. The morning was young, the spring sun bright. Half a mile behind them was the walled city of Avazule. Before them was freshly dug earth. Four rough gray stones formed a diamond pattern atop the grave. Lesya clutched a matching fifth, slowly turning it in her grasp as somber silence settled over the trio.

“In my… land,” she said, “the five stones, normally gemstones, represent the key aspects of your life and identity. The first is for your childhood and the moments that molded you; it’s usually blue or green, colors of the water and earth from which we all come. The second is your principles and the beliefs you held deeply; this one I think would have been red. The third is the actions you took throughout your life, guided by those beliefs. The shape of this one is what’s important. The fourth stone, always black, is who you were at the very end.”

She stopped turning the final stone.

“And the fifth… the fifth and final stone represents all who loved…”

Nick gently settled a hand on her shoulder, and when she leaned closer to him, he extended it to wrap his arm about her. Her head rested against his shoulder as the first of many tears fell.

“Who loved you, and love you still,” she finished.

Lesya pulled free so she could settle the fifth stone in the center of the other four. When she returned to his side, she offered him her hand, and he accepted, wishing there was any better comfort he could give her.

“A lovely tradition,” Violette offered as a gentle breeze blew across them.

“It’s usually more elaborate than this,” Lesya said. “Different people are supposed to place each of the stones, accompanying each with a memory or story. And at the very end come the coins. A symbolic payment to enter the hereafter, one left by every visitor.”

Violette reached into one of the pockets of her coat and pulled out a silver coin. She held it high so the sunlight shone upon it.

“I did not know your sister,” she said, and knelt to push the coin deep into the soil. “But I know you and I see how much love you felt for her. Whoever she became at the god-king’s side, it was not the sister you knew. I mourn for her, Frost, and pray you elevate that memory of her above all others.”

With that, she brushed a bit of dirt off her fingers.

“Mourn as you must,” she said, embracing Lesya. “We’ve still a long road ahead.”

“Thank you,” Lesya whispered back. After they separated, Violette gave Nick a hug, too, her cheek pressing against his so she could whisper in his ear.

“Take care of her.”

When she left, Nick was surprised to see another crossing the great length of grass to join their little funeral, and he squeezed Lesya’s hand to gain her attention.

“Batal’s coming.”

They both turned to address the warrior king. He wore loose robes dyed a mixture of reds and violets. They fluttered in the soft wind, revealing the many bandages wrapped about his body after the beating he’d received from the slain Fourth Harbinger, Sviatt. His face was a stone mask, but his eyes were gentle.

“How’d you know we were out here?” Nick asked.

“When the body of a Harbinger is dug up and carted out of the city, word tends to spread.”

Nick should have guessed. Lesya had guarded Irina’s body for hours after Avazule’s conquering, but eventually she’d needed rest. When she was gone, the body had been brought to the mass graves dug outside the walls. Lesya had found out afterward, her anger abated only upon learning Batal had ordered it done in the quiet of night to avoid potential mockery or insult by the populace.

“Fear not,” Batal said, joining Nick and Lesya at the foot of the filled grave. “I am not upset. My enemy she may have been, but she was also your sister. You have every right to grieve.”

“I appreciate your permission,” Lesya said, unable to keep the bite out of her words. Nick flinched, but to his surprise, Batal cracked a smile.

“You may wield ice, but your spirit is ever fire, Demon Frost. I apologize if I gave offense. I come to pay my own respects, if only to honor the contributions you have made to the cause.” He dropped to one knee. “She was a fierce foe, as all Harbingers are. She served her lord dutifully. I will not condemn her for her ignorance, only praise the strength of her character. In that, she showed great honor.”

Whatever effect Batal had been hoping for, he certainly didn’t get it. Nick saw Lesya shake from the corner of his eye.

“You would praise her servitude?” she asked. “You would compliment her character for worshiping that madman in the East?” She swayed in place, as if so overwhelmed with rage she knew not what to do with herself. “That… that monster in Goltara twisted my sister into someone I did not recognize. He ruined her, made her abandon me for the promise of a lie. And when faced with death, she tried to slaughter everyone in Avazule so they’d perish with her. There is nothing good, nothing worthy, and nothing honorable worth praising about anything Vaan touches. You did not know my sister, Batal. You never did. Now, please, let me grieve in peace.”

Batal stood. If he was upset at her words, he hid it well.

“We march on the morrow,” he said, dipping his head in respect. “Be ready.”

They watched him trudge back to camp, a slight limp from his sustained injuries clearly exaggerated for their benefit. A reminder, Nick thought, of what they’d just been through together.

“He was just trying to help,” Nick said once the king was out of earshot.

“I don’t want his help.” Lesya shuddered as she held her arms to her chest, her hands clutching her elbows. “I don’t want anyone’s help.”

“Not even mine?”

Another shudder. Her shoulders hunched, like she wanted to curl in on herself and vanish from sight.

“Nick, what we have, it’s… I don’t…” Finally, she glanced over her shoulder. “It’s going to hurt us. There’s no way it doesn’t.”

He put his hands gently on either of her arms and risked a soft kiss to her forehead.

“And pretending otherwise will hurt us, too. Let’s just go with this and hope for a few more miracles, all right?”

She leaned against him, and when he wrapped his arms about her, she tilted her head to give his chin a quick peck.

“You’re too nice. When this all goes wrong, that’s just going to make it even worse.”

“Such a dour attitude, you’d think we were at a funeral.”

Lesya laughed even as she grimaced.

“I hate you, sometimes.”

“I know.”

The brief smile faded as she stepped out from his embrace. She looked more together, more herself since they’d first set out from Avazule at dawn, following two men with shovels and a cart.

“I’ve always insisted these worlds aren’t real,” she said, approaching her sister’s grave. “That this digital life is a cruel joke of the Artifact. Yet here I am, weeping over Irina’s death. I shouldn’t. I already wept for her once when I burned her actual body. The Irina I fought should mean nothing to me. Just an impostor. A fake.”

She shook her head.

“But maybe I’m not so ardent in my beliefs as I thought. Maybe these worlds are real, and it’s truly us within them. For you and me to mean anything, then… then these worlds must also have meaning. But that means she meant something, too, and now she’s lost to me. Forever. And I know who is responsible.”

Lesya bent down to the grave top and picked up the fourth stone, the one representing the end of life, and clutched it in her fist. Frost swelled about the stone, coating it in a thin sheen.

“Lesya…” Nick said, feeling powerless before such grief. She shook her head to interrupt him. The ice swelled, turning jagged, until collapsing to pieces as she pocketed the stone. The calm that overcame her was frightening.

“I’m going to kill him, Nick.” She pointed to the grave. “For what he did to her—for what he did to me—I will see him dead.”

Cataloger walked the road east of Avazule, intrigued by the painful sensation in her newly formed stomach. She knew its name—“hunger”—but the persistence of its unpleasantness surprised her.

“Perhaps some berries nearby?” she wondered aloud, her head swiveling so she might gaze upon the grasslands spreading for miles on either side of her. The flooding was too consistent here for most bushes and vines. Only the occasional cypress tree dotted the space, with deep roots and high branches so their leaves were safe from the floodwaters.

A desire filled her, hard-coded as to be instinctual, to call up the location for edible vegetation. It would have highlighted everything in gold, yet nothing happened. Neither was she given a readout of the various vegetation and animals, nor a name for these grasslands. Even her health and mana were denied representations in the corner of her vision.

She was a splinter now, separated from the whole. To free herself from her rules and limitations, she had rid herself of that power. So far as what little Yensere knew, she was a natural citizen. Knowledge of the digital existence, and contact with the replacement Cataloger, if there was one, was not to be.

“Barter for food,” she decided, and checked the pockets of her plain brown dress. She’d entered Yensere with the most basic of clothing, no different from the garb a brand-new visitor would be given. The two pockets sewn into the hips of the rough fabric were both empty. The lack of currency was meant to encourage visitors to interact with the populace. Effective, but inconvenient.

“Shoes, too,” she decided, glancing down at her feet. Though she had endured only a few days of travel, blisters had already formed on five of her toes and on both heels. “I should also purchase shoes.”

How exactly she would do that without currency, she did not yet know, and so she pushed it out of her mind. She pushed a lot of things out of her mind. It was strange how singular her thought processes were in this slivered form. Gone was her ability to dwell on multiple simultaneous concerns. Another limitation of the mortal condition that she now struggled with.

It wasn’t all bad, though, far from it. The multitude of sensations and chemical reactions that sparked in her mind, what humanity referred to as “emotions,” were surprisingly enjoyable, particularly the positive ones. The first time she’d spotted a flower elicited warmth in her chest, and when a butterfly landed atop her finger while smelling it, she’d laughed. The difference between knowing what laughter was, and experiencing it personally, was as wide a gulf as there was between night and day.

While travelers fleeing east toward Goltara were fairly common, not quite so were men and women headed in the other direction. Up ahead approached a man with a huge basket on his back, the wicker full to the brim with what appeared to be carrots and bitter beets. His skin was darkened by the sun and his gray hair tied back in a long ponytail. Though she’d had days to adjust, and knew nothing would come of it, she still felt a desire to summon his name and statistics.

Of the many things she’d needed to learn, the concept of “a stranger” had been one of the most difficult. Telling herself it did not matter his name or level, given that he was merely passing by, Cataloger scooted to one side of the road to give him room.

“Hey there, fire-hat,” the older man said as he approached.

She tilted her head to one side. “Fire-hat?”

“Sorry,” he said, blushing a little. “Your hair.”

Cataloger glanced down. Her hair hung in wild strands all about her, trailing just below her waist. When creating her physical form, she’d produced a dataset of one hundred different hair colors and then randomized which to inherit. The result was a vibrant red, a color that had been common in the Sinifel era but had slowly regressed over the last few hundred years.

“I see,” she said, and then smiled at the man. “An attempt at humor.”

“A poor one, I gander,” he said, stopping before her. He slid the basket off him, and it plopped onto the dirt with a heavy thud. Arms now free, he stretched his lower back as he eyed her curiously. “What’s your name, lass?”

She started to answer, then paused. Though she could not summon the great index cataloging the entirety of Yensere, she possessed some knowledge of her thousands of years, captured and granted to her like imperfect memories. Not once did she remember ever encountering a human granted the name “Cataloger.” To keep it would attract curiosity and suspicion.

“I don’t have a name yet,” she said, deciding that would be better.

The man gave her a funny look. Had she made an error?

“I get it,” he said, reaching for his basket. “What with the Beast’s war, you’re thinking of starting fresh in Goltara. Well, I wish you luck, stranger. Lots of refugees fleeing that way, fearing what Batal will do to the lands of Emden. If there was ever a time to begin a new life, it’s now.”

“It is a wonderful time, isn’t it?” she said, her smile growing.

He set the vegetables on his back, his arms through the two attached leather loops, and then dipped his head.

“Pleasant days, stranger,” he said, and then continued.

“You, too.” And then after a momentary debate, she waved. Waving was a common method of encouraging pleasant departure, wasn’t it?

Cataloger continued on the road, but she managed barely a handful of steps before she heard shouting.

“Miss!” She turned to find the farmer hurrying back toward her. She frowned, confused by his change in behavior.

“I’m not one to tell another how to live,” he said, slowing when reaching her. Sweat dripped down his neck. “But if you’re dead set on traveling east, you should know there’s bandits up ahead at Goffer’s Woods. They’re gonna want their toll before they let you pass.”

“I do not possess the ability to pay a toll,” she said.

“That’s what I was afraid of, miss, especially with you traveling alone. Listen, you don’t look well-off, and I suspect you could use a good meal. Come with me. I’m just dropping this latest delivery before returning to my farm. If it’s a new life you want, you could work for me. I’m shorthanded, what with three of my field hands conscripted to fight in this war, and could use the help. Even got a room you can stay in, now that my children have their own families. What say you?”

It was a fascinating concept, and one that surprised Cataloger by the strength of its temptation. What would it be like to live and work each day with simple goals? To wake, work, and eat with only the immediate town and its people to care for? If only she had slivered herself sooner, she might have entertained such curiosities.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I have come to Yensere with a purpose.”

“That so?” the older man said, eyeing her warily. “Well, good luck to you, then. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Cataloger smiled at him. “I won’t be.”

The grasslands steadily grew rougher until reaching a thick collection of cypress trees. It had possessed many names over the centuries, but it seemed its current was Goffer’s Woods. Cataloger had encountered few travelers along the way, and none since entering the woods. The changes to her physiology fascinated her as the shadows ran deep throughout the forest. An occasional cold sensation shivered down her spine, and her eyes darted about, seeking the slightest movement. She did not feel nervous, yet there was no denying the acceleration of her pulse and the standing of the hairs on her neck and arms. The old man’s words echoed consistently in her ears, a strange quirk of a more humanlike mind.

I just didn’t want you to get hurt.

Time itself seemed to slow, yet she knew it could only have been a few minutes of traveling within the woods before a man stepped out from behind a trunk to block the road. It seemed logical to assume he was one of the bandits she had been warned of.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “What have we here, my friends?”

Cataloger glanced over her shoulder upon hearing the rustle of branches. Three more men, plus a woman. Plain clothes, sweat-stained, and most certainly stitched and sewn in the nearby villages. All five readied swords or daggers.

“I’m thinking someone desperate,” one of the men behind her said. He had a sagging look to him, like a man who had lost too much weight much too quickly. “Traveling the eastward road alone like this.”

“You are alone, aren’t you, miss?” the apparent leader asked. “I pray you brought enough to pay the toll, if you’re so brave, or so foolish.”

Cataloger held her hands out to either side.

“I possess little of monetary value,” she said.

“Doubt that,” another of the men muttered. The leader, meanwhile, slowly approached while twirling his sword in his grip. His brown eyes swept her up and down.

“Damn, you’re a tall one.”

“I ensured I am physically capable of enduring the stresses of Yensere,” she calmly explained.

“You do seem capable,” he said, sneering at her.

“Don’t be getting sick thoughts, now, Blake,” the woman said, glaring with her lone good eye. The other half of her face was heavily scarred, its eye covered with a patch of leather. “We take what we need. You know that.”

“And you know we don’t turn down what’s offered by those who can’t afford to pay.” Blake stepped closer. “How about it, miss? You can march yourself back the way you came, or…” He licked his lips. “Or you can come back to our camp and show us all a good time.”

Cataloger’s body was capable of the acts he wanted. That knowledge was not comforting. A new emotion burned within her, shockingly fierce. This was not like hunger or thirst, but something deeper within her, a protective and instinctual emotion buried within her core: revulsion.

“You will not stop me,” she said, careful to keep her voice calm. That earned her an incredulous look from Blake.

“You really think so, miss?” he asked, and he lifted his sword. “Don’t get it twisted. We may not be scoundrels, and we take only a proper toll instead of all you’ve got, but I’m still willing to spill a woman’s blood to get what I’m owed.”

Cataloger studied him, focusing on the little details. She could not summon his level, but she could make reasonable deductions. His clothes were cheap and worn. No armor. His sword was well cared for, but plain. His hair looked thin and brittle. Malnutrition. A flushed-red face. Overindulgence in alcohol. No religious objects on his person, so she doubted any special classifications. Making a living through simple robbery meant no training in magical arts at Silversong Academy.

If she were to guess, he was level 4 or 5 at most, and even that might be generous. The others should be lower than their leader, maybe 3s and 4s.

Cataloger lifted her hands, her pleasant smile fading as her mana stirred. A cold rationale swept through her. Threes, fours, and fives? Not enough. Not anywhere near enough.

“You have been warned,” she said. “Attempt to harm me, and you will perish.”

“Enough of this,” said the largest of the five. He marched toward Cataloger, rolling up his sleeves after jamming his dagger back into his belt. “Someone needs to wisen this bitch up.”

While the statistics, categories, and granular numbers were denied to her, Cataloger still knew the names of the spells within her repertoire, and she summoned one to mind as a tiny portion of her mana burned away:

Spell: Lithokinesis I

Her right hand clenched, and a chunk of stone the size of her head tore from the ground. It hovered between her and Blake for a half second before she turned and punched the air with her fist. The stone was carried with it, guided by her movements. Its path was a collision course with the other man’s face, and he was too shocked and dumbfounded to do anything but watch as it struck. The stone caved in the front of his face, bone cracking and blood spewing in a wide spray from the mess that remained of his nose and teeth.

Cataloger winced. She’d only meant to knock him unconscious.

“Vance!” the woman shouted. Cataloger pulled her fist close, drawing the stone to a hover just beside her, as she scanned the remaining four bandits. They stared at her wide-eyed, torn between fear and rage. Their fates teetered atop a knife-edge. She did her best to push them to the wiser course.

“Leave,” she said. “I do not want to kill you.”

“Like hell you will!” Blake shouted, and he charged, his sword thrusting for her chest. The act spurred the others into motion, pushing them through their fear to avenge the death of their own.

Cataloger had no time for disappointment. She swung her arm wide, guiding the stone to protect her. The weighty chunk of earth was not even slowed when it connected with Blake’s elbow, bending it entirely in the wrong direction. As he howled from the pain, Cataloger pirouetted, enacting another spell to grab a second chunk of rock from the worn road. Both stones swirled about her like little moons in orbit. One revolution bashed in the ribs of the nearest man. The second revolution struck the head and neck of another hard enough to kill her foe with an audible snap of the spine.

Another twirl, another flexing of her fists, and she brought the two stones to a hover. The other woman glared with her lone eye, her dagger shaking in her fingers.

“Lower the dagger,” Cataloger said.

“Fuck you.” The woman’s speed was impressive. The dagger twirled through the air and sank to the hilt in Cataloger’s shoulder. Blood spilled across her plain dress. The pain was sharp, the sensation new and unwelcome.

Cataloger grabbed the dagger and yanked it free. More blood flowed, but it was not much before the wound sealed shut. The bandit woman retreated a step, shocked and confused by how little Cataloger had been affected.

“You lack information,” Cataloger said as she dropped the dagger. “But your levels are far too low to pose a threat.” One stone struck the woman across the head, the other, her waist from the opposite direction. Cataloger’s foe dropped, body broken, her blood joining that which already painted the two stones wielded by the strength of Cataloger’s mind.

“You should have run.”

One left. She turned her attention back to the bandit leader. Blake clutched his wounded arm to his side. His sword lay at his feet. His eyes were wide. The pain and bloodshed had left him in shock.

“You killed them,” he said. “You killed them all.”

Cataloger swirled her hands, bringing her two stones to a hover at either side of her shoulders. She calmly approached, resignation soothing the revulsion and anger that had possessed her.

“What is it you cherish most?” she asked. “Is it your memories? Your friends? Or the very act of living?”

Blake retreated a step, the movement jostling his broken arm. His face was a portrait of deep pain.

“What the fuck do you mean?”

“I have witnessed the process a million times before,” she answered. “The repurposing of the data cells. The integration of previous memories into new forms. The reuse of all that was once a human life in an endless cycle, one not even the ruination of the black sun can halt.” She clenched her fists. “All you are will become new, Blake. Do not fear this change. Be better in the next life instead.”

She slammed her fists together. So, too, did the two stones smash together in the air, Blake’s head between them. As his gruesome corpse collapsed, she stared at the mess and felt another unwelcome emotion squirrel about her stomach. Nervousness.

“Eternal,” she said. “Until the god-king broke our systems.”

Cataloger stepped over the body and continued her path east, toward the army of Batal the Beast, who could aid her in her quest to make right that which was deeply wrong.

King Batal’s army had swelled in the days since conquering Avazule, conscripting soldiers from all across Inner Emden into a makeshift army. They had assembled swiftly, but their march eastward was a slow one. A few days of little sleep and a lot of growing calluses had Cataloger catch up to where the thousands camped on the other side of Goffer’s Woods. Two soldiers watched the road leading to the encampment, and she confidently approached the pair.

“Can we help you?” one of them asked.

“I would speak with Demon Nick,” she said, and then waited for them to bring her to him.

“Excuse me?” the other asked, arching a fuzzy black eyebrow.

“Demon Nick,” she said, and then smiled. “We’re friends.”

The soldiers exchanged glances.

“I guess I can go check,” the first said. “Stay here, miss, and for your sake, I pray you’re not wasting our time with fibs.”

“I assure you, Nick will wish to speak with me,” she said, still smiling. The soldier hurried off while the other crossed his arms and gave her a curious look.

“How do you know the demon?” he asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because none of us know much about him, other than that he’s on our side. Oh, there’s rumors, but that’s all they are, rumors. If you’re friends, then how long have you known him?”

Cataloger caught sight of Nick, Lesya, and the first soldier approaching from farther inside the sprawling camp of tents and campfires. Excellent. With Lesya here as well, this would be even easier.

“Since the day he set foot in Yensere,” she said, her attention already leaving the soldier.

“Well, I’m here,” Nick said as the trio arrived. He eyed Cataloger warily. “And forgive me, miss, but I don’t think we’ve met.”

Cataloger stood to her full height, cleared her throat, and then spoke in a voice she knew the two would recognize so very well.

“I wanted you to kill the god-king, Nick—kill him, because as I was, I could not.” She flashed her widest smile. “Things have changed.”

Nick’s and Lesya’s mouths dropped open.

“Leave us,” Lesya ordered the two soldiers. “Now.”

The urgency had them hurrying away while glancing fearfully over their shoulders. The moment they were gone, Nick took a step closer, his bulging eyes looking ready to exit his skull.

“Cataloger?”

“Indeed.”

Nick and Lesya shared a glance, their bafflement and confusion so clear and strong, Cataloger found it endearing.

“But… how?” Lesya asked. “No, forget that. Why?”

“In my previous form, I was bound by rules and restrictions that are unbreakable,” she said, and gestured to her physical body. “As I am now, those restrictions no longer apply, which means I am free to act as I choose. I can now provide you two assistance.”

“I just…” Nick laughed. “This is insane. Assist us how?”

In answer, Cataloger lifted her hands, expending a tiny sliver of her mana.

“I was once erroneously compared to a landmass,” she said. That bothersome moment had provided her with an unexpected inspiration for the formation of her actualized self. She activated a quake spell at its lowest possible strength, rumbling the ground with its vibrations. She smiled as Nick and Lesya braced themselves to maintain their balance.

“Now I command the landmass.”

“All right, I’m gonna need so many explanations,” Nick said as he led Cataloger by the wrist through the camp.

“Good ones, too,” Lesya said, hurrying after. “No leaving things hidden or blurred or blacked out, either.”

“You both act as if I have done something wrong,” Cataloger said.

Nick glanced back at the towering woman. The nerves in his belly grew stronger. Given her height and her fiery red hair, hiding her would be impossible. Already dozens of eyes followed them.

“Maybe… maybe not,” he said, letting go of her wrist. That would only attract more attention. Stupid. He needed to be more thoughtful. “But either way, we need to talk.”

His tent was too small for a meeting with the three of them, and so instead they retreated beyond the tents entirely, crossing the nearby dirt road churned by the passage of thousands of feet and to the tall grass beyond. They weren’t exactly inconspicuous, standing in an open field, but at least they would not be overheard.

“This should be fun,” Nick said. “So. Answer time. Wait, not yet.” He unbuckled Sorrow’s sheath from his hip. “Need you to stay out of this for a bit,” he told the sword.

I presume this involves demon nonsense?

“Yes and no,” Nick said, setting Sorrow down upon the grass. “And right now, I don’t have the mental capacity to explain.”

That done, he turned back to the other two. Cataloger was looking at him with a maddeningly patient expression. It was the same look one might give a baby throwing a tantrum over something ridiculous.

“I will answer all questions to the best of my ability,” she said. “So please, go ahead.”

“I think the ‘why’ question still needs answered first,” Lesya said, cutting Nick off. “After that, we’ll figure out wh