As a young woman who had vicariously experienced the intense chest-thumping of "Desert Storm I" and "Desert Storm II — The Search for WMDs", Gwen, like most first-world Post 9-11 folk, had acquired a broadspectrum antibody encapsulated under a single, euphemistic nomenclature:

"Collateral Damage."

In Shenyang, she actively participated in "Threat Neutralisation" by conveniently ignoring that thousands of NoMs still served the Necromancers in their mundane capacities. For that episode, she had adopted a total war mentality, one that in her world, the "Coalition of the Willing" had guiltily accepted as the price of global hegemony.

For her present dilemma, she had no analogies, no parallels, no alter-world experience to rationalise. This time, there were no complications. As a soldier, she would pit ability against circumstance and roll with the consequence.

In one hand, she materialised the Core of a Titan Boa, then spoke the invocations and paid the life-price for Reactive Bone Shield. Then, crushing a phial of Essence-rich lifeblood, she roused her Lesser Sanguine Mantle. The defence spells left her mana at just over half-tank, with enough Essence left to work some serious magic.

"Cali! Ariel!" Gwen positioned her Familiars as her mind skimmed through strategies and possibilities in the lull before joining the grand melee. "This is going to hurt, Pat. Give me the strongest dose."

"On it." Petra did not need Spellcubes for the spell she now called to her lips. "Heroism!"

A halo of glimmering, golden Enchantment appeared and disappeared around Gwen's forehead. Gwen allowed the glamour to suffuse her body, driving away fear, doubt, fatigue and woe, filling her with supernatural and double-edged confidence.

Calling on the dark things that lurked in the Void, she envisioned in her mind a scene of Caliban first laying low, then suddenly emerging mid-battle to slurping up the Calamari Dwarves among them.

Gwen took a deep breath.

In an instant, she raced past Hanmoul, for although her ally had a keen desire to serve as fodder for mind-powder, it didn't mean she would take the Commandrumm up on his offer. In the aftermath, she needed Hanmoul alive and well in the event of their victory, for the Dwarf was the lynchpin securing London's stake in the Murk. That and she possessed no desire to see a good mate brained by squids.

"ARRRRROOOOO—"

The battalion of multi-coloured hounds closed in, heedless of the mana rapidly gathering at the fallen wall's misshapen chokepoints.

_KA-BOOM! BUNG!_

A twin set of Lava Bombs ripped out nearby, eviscerating the frontal wedge of the formation breaking over the slag heap, creating more "Collateral Damage".

Buoyed by Heroism, Gwen swallowed the sourness rapidly rising from the back of her throat and focused her Detect Magic. She located the Balefire instantly, for the destruction of the wall had also disrupted the obfuscation Glyphs built into the Citadel's defence.

Good. Her overtly rational mind chimed. Now Gracie and Petra could track the octopuses hidden in the crags.

"Ariel!" She began the assault by testing the Balefire. "Ball Lightning!"

A dozen spheres of white-hot electricity zig-zagged through the air, several struck the stonework. The rest slid past the grated battlements to strike at the Golem, erupting as electrified balls of whipping plasma.

Her intended purpose was to distract Thalmar and draw his fire.

Unfortunately, the cruel glowing orbs behind the roughly hewn gorget paid no heed. With a burst of smouldering magma, red light shot from the gaps between its plating as defensive runes burst into action, nullifying Gwen's Elemental Lightning.

Thalmar raised an enormous, rune-powered gauntlet.

The air around her grew suddenly thick.

"Thundering Shatter!"

This time, Gwen suppressed the Essence injected into Ariel to avoid another catastrophic episode of "Collateral Damage". At once, the grated wall designed to afford Dwarven defenders spell-cover crumbled, cracking and exploding as her sonic spell tolled.

The runic armour of the Balefire rippled; a few fizzed and winked, but other than the loss of a few lumens, the monstrous Golem remained unimpeded.

_KABOOM!_

Near the Human Mages standing like dumb cattle, the courtyard exploded once more, annihilating dogs and perishing the helpless. Gwen grunted as the surviving Void Hounds freely made use of her vital forces.

"Richard!" she howled into the Message Device, all sympathy temporarily suppressed by Petra's stone-hearted sorcery.

"On it!" her cousin replied. "Ser Hanmoul, be prepared to receive the hostages!"

"Got it, lad!" the Dwarf relented.

Now well within Spellsword range from the Citadel, the swiftest of her Hounds had picked up the Mages by their clothes and were frantically dragging them out of the crumbling Citadel. According to the Shard's report, there were in total sixty-odd Mages forming twelve parties of various tiers; presently, at least a dozen had perished by her count.

The Balefire's internal combustion mechanism roared.

With no diatribe and no warning, only the sound of its mana engine rumbling over a symphony of ultraviolence, the Dwarven "Terminator" strode past the debris as a Demi-God of wanton destruction, fuming and steaming, hissing with sadism.

This time, it raised both roughly wrought gauntlets. The damned thing was baiting them.

"Lightning Bolt!" Gwen succeeded only in melting the silica in the slag. "Fuck! DICK!"

"Tidal Flood!" At her cousin's command, a portion of the conflagrating mana turned to mist. The newly arrived Lea manifested at once, flooding the courtyard with motes of Elemental Water. The wasteful method vastly increased a caster's Affinity within its area of effect but expended mana like mad.

"Vold Bolt!" She flung a dab of tenebrous ink toward the Balefire, hoping to eat away the runic wards covering the Golem's plated exterior.

When the final syllable left her lips, Gwen's spine supernaturally tingled.

Gwen cursed. She wasn't surprised at the trap, only that all five of them working in tandem couldn't disrupt the Balefire's ploy.

A mind-stunning wave of psychic energy pounded her head, failing to shut down her senses but succeeding in anaesthetising her spellcasting.

_BOOM— KABOOM!_

Twin explosions rang out, maximised and empowered.

Her preemptive Shield turned white, then shattered as the second blast hit, transferring its heat and kinetic energy directly onto her Shen-teī armour.

Without the conscious need for active deployment, her "Lesser" Sanguine Mantle manifested.

Considering its limited number of reactive "charges", she withheld her Bone Shield.

Against the anticipated lethality of something like a Lava Bomb, her Sanguine Mantle's extreme versatility should provide ample protection.

_THWACK!_ She landed flatly against the hard granite, then rolled her body to disperse the momentum, confident that the mantle would absorb any scrapes and breakages. Against her body, she felt the heat lick the silicone-like skin of the Vampiric Abjuration. Perhaps against another enemy, she could have made use of their lifeblood, or if she were cruel and without conscience, that of the hostages— but that was a dilemma for another time.

She tumbled for a dozen meters with the explosion ringing in her ears, and the force of the blow disorientating her bearings. Thankfully, nothing broke, and she had driven the first mental assault through force of will.

A third and likely a fourth Lava Bomb gathered strength close to her final landing spot.

"Dimension Door!" She teleported closer to the Balefire even as she willed Caliban to hurry the fuck up by burning vitality. She didn't mind being bait— but her suffering had to be worthwhile. "Golos! Get ready!"

Nearer the ceiling, the Wyvern had withheld itself until one of the squid-heads showed. Unfortunately, now that the Mon Calamari could use Hold Person on her without LOS, she had to change her plans.

On a more disturbing note, her Void bolt had about as much effect on the Earthen Elemental as her spectacularly futile lightning assault. The Balefire's defences, she noted woefully, followed the usual Dwarven planning principles of being over-engineered and underreported.

A dozen potential spells flashed through her head, including consigning the Balefire into a maximised Void Maelstrom, which was impossible in a place so inundated with Elemental Earth. It was too bad that the construct showed no sign of vitality whatsoever, else she would have dropped two Enervating Orbs directly on top of each other to greet the pilot.

"Gwen!" Petra's warning blossomed beside her and her teammates' ears. "Another MIND-spike, directed at you!"

"Dimension Door!" Gwen teleported a few meters overhead of the Golem, hoping to put herself in its blind spot.

The Balefire followed her mana signature without trouble, its spell-armed gauntlets tracking her by pivoting its waist almost one-eighty, indicating the presence of articulate mechanisms instead of a spine.

Urging Caliban to once more hurry, Gwen emptied her head of stray thoughts, flooded her conduits with Essence, then turned to a tranquil memory of shoe shopping with Elvia in the Strand. While in such a meditative state, her active defensive would drop to nil, but she would become hyper-resistive against Enchantment and Illusion.

"Usurp!" Jean-Paul's notification rang out on their communal channel.

To her horror, the Lava Bombs did not manifest beside her, resulting in Jean-Paul's spell-stealing mote of mana-eating Void winking out of existence. As if to mock Gwen's foolishness and her self-sacrifice, the eruptions materialised beside the hapless adventurers.

Gwen would have preferred to take the hit herself.

"GOT EM!" Richard was ready to catch the redirected magma, resulting in twin, localised explosions of steam as he turned the force upwards in an arc, raining scalding water over the milling hostages. Observing the lethal rainbow, Gwen could only hope that Petra may yet save those who did not instantly die.

Then the squids struck with their spell-jamming.

The sensation was akin to having tentacles probe her frontal lobe, seeking a metaphysical path past her mental guard through repeated molestation. Luckily, her training with Petra taught her that Mind Magic isn't a School of Magic one could abuse to ceaseless assault a victim. Each failed attempt to subverting the target's will resulted in rapidly diminishing returns, which was why Mind Mages strongly emphasised longterm subversion over brute force.

Her anguish did not last long. Golos had been sniffing about for the "Dark Intellects", and once the Calamari-kin went full-throttle on their will-altering abilities, the Wyvern struck.

As a thundering cannonball, the Scion of the Yinglong dived from the cavern's cathedral ceiling toward the dozens of halls and rooms carved into the granite bluffs. In a burst of hysterical electricity, the Wyvern punched through the meter-thick partitions as though tearing through wallpaper, whipping its tail in a line so that six of the chambers became instantly pulverised.

"ROAAR!" To secure its kills, her big bad Wyvern huffed into the passages, mixing hot breath with living lightning, lighting up the entirety of the second floor so that a disco of death-dealing plasma blew out from the opposite chambers.

Before the Wyvern could finish, a second, larger explosion ten-times in size rang out. One of the rooms must have held the mana batteries for the Excavators and the Fabricators, for blue-green fire suddenly poured from the entire floor.

"SKAAARRRK!" Following the Wyvern's enraged assault, Klad clad bodies tumbled from the upper chambers, their suits aflame with combusting mana.

Against Gwen's expectation, the Balefire Golem completely ignored the burning squid-heads. Perhaps misunderstanding that removing her from combat would unsummon the monstrous lizard, she had become its only priority.

Still stunned, her armour grew unbearably warm.

Below, the Balefire's scorching Glyphs glowed white-hot as the inscribed Creature Core within its clockwork body burned with vengeful violence.

"Usurp!"

Jean-Paul attempted to catch the gathering mana once more, manifesting the spell directly below her. This time, his Void mote grew from the size of a pea to that of a burgeoning balloon of unstable ink within the span of a second, then to the Void Mage's vexation, his bubble burst.

"Crystalline Wall!" Petra, their jack-of-all Schools Controller, was ready with a shielded, mid-air semi-dome.

It was impeccable teamwork, one that would have saved her no end of grief were they not pitted against the ultimate defence weapon of a major Demi-human military force.

To her teammate's chagrin, a third and fourth Lava Bomb erupted above the immobile Void Sorceress, sending her careening into the very barrier her cousin had made.

_CRASH!_

Gwen acquired an intimate understanding of inertia as her Bone Armour manifested, transforming into an enormous ribcage resembling its material component sourced from Amazonia. Initially, she had desired stronger Cores, but Maxwell had informed her that the purpose of Reactive Bone Shield lied in its ability to absorb punishment and be destroyed in the process; the trick was to find a Core in the Goldilocks zone of strength and brittleness. Now, she put that theory to test.

All around her, the rapidly expanding collars of bone snapped and broke, giving time for the Sanguine Mantle to turn the exterior of her body red with carnage so that she appeared almost flayed. As the spell struck, competing forces that would have rippled out her armour and transferred from overloaded shock-absorbers to her organs instead rippled out, exploding from her lithe form in gobs of gore.

The Crystalline Wall shattered as the girl inside its semi-dome splattered, transforming the entirety of its exterior the hue of wine with a wet crunch of bone. To friend and foe below, the scene resembled one of complete, total obliteration.

"DUCK!"

"LASSIE!"

"GWENNIE!"

"CALAMITY!"

"EEEE! EE!"

Even knowing that Ariel's continued existence meant that their sorceress survived and that her Contingency Ring hadn't triggered, the spectacle was enough to drive her teammates wild.

"VICTORY!" Thalmar proclaimed, the Golem's battle cry bellowing out as an orange pulse of violent mana from its glowing maw. "NOW, THOU ART FOOD FOR MURK WORMS!"

"INSOLENCE!" Golos' response was to match the Golem's volume before descending onto the Balefire with tooth and claw, ignoring the chained-explosions rocking its electrified hide.

While Golem and Wyvern tussled, Hanmoul received the still-breathing bodies of the limp Mages rescued by Morden's Hounds. The Commandrumm's eyes were twin bloodshot orbs, but even so, the veteran Iron Guard understood the duty his "mate" had given him.

"Take the Humans and go," he commanded his entourage. "Grimgal, get ready for the next batch!"

"Aye Commandrumm." Grimgal's eyes remained locked on the bloody mass of gory crystal now raining across the spell-torn granite. "Hanmoul— is Gwen..."

“SHAAAA! SHAA—SHAA! SHAAAAA—!" Grimgal's answer came in the form of Caliban exploding forth from under the Citadel, finally having tunnelled through while the Balefire and the Murk Divers were distracted by their self-proclaimed victory.

Caliban slammed into the Citadel's far wall with its body, crumbling the barracks and the defence structures with the fatalistic momentum of a glacier. Once it kissed the granite, the worm turned its enormous body in a death-roll, turning deep into the ruined defences like a colossal drill.

"Gracie!" Petra called out, her voice hoarse from the anxiety of observing their Aberrant baiting cousin's suicide-charge. Unlike Gwen, she had not armed herself with fear-dispending Heroism. "Have you found them?"

"Got them!" the Illusionist replied, completing the weaving of her most offensive Illusion spell, Phantasmal Force.

Directly below Caliban's expanding maw, in a buried chamber only Petra's boxed Scry could reach, psychic emanations from Gracie manifested as ten-thousand Void Spiders hungry for Dwarf flesh.

_CRASH!_ Caliban's bullet-shaped head penetrated through the ceiling, crushing in-ward the stoneworks. When it opened its faceless maw, a flood of Void-tinged digestive juices, together with writing tentacles hidden in the tenebrous goo, tore into the hidden chambers as sticky tongues of an ant-eaters fishing for larvae.

Meanwhile, not far from the Void Wyrm, Golos had wrapped itself around the Golem with its gory body, bleeding mauve blood onto its hissing runic plating. The drake knew he could not destroy this creation of the Dwarves' desperation, but he understood the importance of buying its mistress time. The combat itself was primal, for the Golem was bodily slamming the Wyvern against the wall and the floor, its pinching power gauntlet tearing at scale and sinew, muscle and bone in a bid to disable the adult pseudo-Mythic.

"CAREFUL! MORE Mind Magic!" Petra's warning rang out once more as her detection spell pinged.

This time, the victim was Richard, though his body grew rigid for only a second while he held his ground against the alien force seeking to seize his cerebral cortex.

"Cali! Left chamber, bottom!" Gracie steered the monstrous worm while throwing out yet more Void Illusions.

Caliban reared upward, then dug down another storey into the floor. When it emerged, two of its tentacles were dragging from Citadel's depth a twin set of Dwarves dressed in rubbery Klads. Without hesitation, its preys entered its gullet while the other dozen of its tendrils continued to fossick and ferret the Citadel's interior for more of their kind.

A second later, Richard' felt the assault on his mind abruptly cease. Together with his returning consciousness, he noted that the Mages milling about the courtyard were waking up as well.

"Whoa-WHOA! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?" A few of the Mages newly shaken out of their stupor stared open-mouthed at the titanic battle above, in front, and beside them.

"Where are we? What? WHAT?"

"HAVE THE ABERRANTS BROKEN THROUGH?"

"Where have the Dwarves gone?"

"Calm Emotion!" Petra knew there was no time to waste. Without hesitation, she gave "Command" to "RUN FOR THE SWIFTSTRIDERS, NOW!"

"SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban's body undulated as it pushed obscenely into the cleft its head had earlier dug. A torrent of semi-clear gunk consisting of Void matter dissolved each barrier as it sought out openings that survived its assault.

"CHRIST ABOVE—!" More Mages awakened from their stupor, only to fall and stumble, tripping over debris and the smouldering bodies of their deceased companions.

"FLEE!" Petra's "Command" burst from among the dazed and confused Mages even now scrambling for cover. "FLEE AS SWIFT AS YOU CAN!"

Gwen hoped to hell that the crumple zone and airbags provided by Sanguine Mantle and Bone Shield was enough to prevent the newtons from rending her nerves and sinews moot.

Using herself as bait was a calculated risk, for she possessed Essence and a superhuman constitution; an elastic, body-morphic second-skin that dulled all damage; and she had deployed a state of the art crumple-cushion.

In hindsight, she was sure that lacking any of one of the three, she would be back in London and en route to the ER at Elvia's hospital.

However, having successfully met each of the stringent conditions above, what she suffered was the debilitating, screen-fracturing whiplash endured by a new-release iPhone dropped from the twelfth storey to garner Youtube views. The result of her experiment was that while somethings broke, enough bits remained stuck together so she could be turned back on.

Whatever the case, her brain now rebooted sans interference from Mind Magic, with the adrenaline and the Heroism blissfully raising her pain threshold beyond human means.

Picking herself up from the broken crystalline shell, her Reactive Bone Armour rapidly regenerated, once more tapping into the Creature Core to encase her surroundings in a cage of levitating bone. Over and beneath her battered Shenteī armour, the Sanguine Mantle settled against her skin, forming a wine-coloured film that clung to every nook and cranny of her beaten body.

"Shaa!" In her mind, Caliban reported that it was hunting down the last vestige of Aberrant vitality within the Citadel and that in a separate chamber, it could detect the scent of Hilda and probably Ebren.

With one hand, she wiped the blood from her nose and her lips, marvelling at the way her armour wasted not a single drop as her bodily fluids became re-absorbed by her second skin.

The Mages were free now, she was glad to see, and those that could flee made for the hills, where Hanmoul and his men ferried them further away from the battlefield and offered triage to those that needed it.

Gwen cleared her throat of iron-tasting fluids.

Above, Golos fought a losing battle against the Magma Golem, for the monsters' elements were poorly matched. Were it not for the Yinglong's superior Essence; the Wyvern would have been torn limb from limb as soon as the two engaged.

Earlier, she couldn't break the Balefire with Lightning.

After that, it was unfazed by her Void as well.

Could Caliban swallow the thing?

Would the thing allow itself to be swallowed by Caliban? Probably not. If it could tear through her double-shield, her mantle and her bone barrier with sheer firepower, then it could just as easily blow a hole through Cali's gullet.

Her Wyvern cried out as it savaged the Golem. She could sense through her Empathic Link that her drake's confidence was rapidly waning.

She turned to check on her team members.

Richard aided the evacuation of the Mages, hollering at Lea while commanding two fronts. Jean-Paul's face was the colour of paste, continued to Usurp the Magma Bombs that sought to slay the fleeing Humans. Petra did her best to calm the Mages and provide Abjuration support for Jean-Paul. And Gracie had a Scry window on full display while throwing Illusory horrors in Caliban's general direction.

_Gracie!_ An unorthodox scheme ignited in her mind, one so absurd and ridiculous she just knew it had to work.

"Gogo, hold it down!" she shouted at her Wyvern. "I am coming! Buck! Astro! Go and help!"

The surviving dogs, now leaving the hostages to their own devices, came on as a revolving swarm of bodies yipping, yelling and yapping at the Golem's heels, doing everything they could to pick the thing apart.

"ART THOU NOT BROKEN?" The Balefire, if it could at all show emotion, was showing it now. Its face, which Gwen was sure was an immovable mask, contorted into a terrifying shape as it observed her bloody armour and her stark-bone barrier. "CALAMITOUS DEFILER! VADAM FIEND!"

"No hypocrisy there," Gwen muttered the invocation to another Dimension Door. A split-second later, she reappeared behind the Golem.

The Balefire spun on its hinges, tossing dogs like a salad spinner and making Golos groan.

Golos tightened its grip, stretching itself so far that gouts of blood spluttered from its wounds, spraying Gwen with gore. Instantly, her mantle absorbed the unexpected bounty.

As for Gwen, the forbidden invocation was already halfway on her lips and nearing completion. It was an old and complex algorithm, but one she had meticulously practised so that risk to Gracie could be minimalised.

This time, she took no such care. Arming her spell for maximum disruption and absolute volatility, Gwen applied the meta-magic for maximal effect, pushing in both Essence and mana until she grew as pale as Umzokwe.

Before the Golem's gears could overpower Golos, she moved the spell's collected necrotic energies to her fingertips, then touched the Void-tinged mana to the Golem's lower back, where presumably its Creature Core channelled its near-infinite energies.

"ESSENCE TAP!"

From her fingers, she sensed the invocation's hunger disseminate and spread, seeking a source of Essence to usurp.

If her party had been in the vicinity of an Elven Spirit-Mage, the observer would have stared slack-jawed at the rush of violent energies from her Astral Body forming into a hungry vortex. Ahead of the sorceress' slavering, lip-smacking maelstrom, a spark of fluctuating Essence erupted, forcibly tearing into the inviolable silhouette of the Engineseer's tempered soul of dark steel, instigating a violent blowout of Elemental Magma into the Astral Plane.

However, as no such rare figures were present, it would appear as though she had merely slapped the Balefire Golem on the belly, resulting in a playful " _Clang!_ "

The Golem staggered; suddenly unsure of its footing.

The combatants held their breath, unsure of what Gwen intended or what should happen next.

"THOU—" The light of Thalmar's life dimmed before he even finished.

As for Gwen, a white-hot stab of energy, unlike anything she had ever experienced flowed as molten metal into her Astral Body.

"ARRRRRRRRGGH—" A long and drawn-out scream erupted from her throat, captivating her companions with her soulful, exquisite agony.

A din with a decibel that no sound could capture erupted over and over again in Gwen's head like the tolling of a belfry where the bells were her cerebellum. She felt as though the grey fat of her brain had become the gory body of Caesar betrayed, while the Dwarf's Essence was a riotous Roman mob bawling for blood in gibbering Latin!

_YE GODS! LET IT OUT!_

Like buzzing Yellow Jackets hammering at a windowpane, morbid thoughts transposed from Thalmar erupted at the forefront of her mind demanded blissful oblivion, joyous at the prospect of caking the walls so its flaming fever could end.

_FUCK OFF!_ Came a second cry, her voice, more clarified than the first, and with it came Almudj's restorative Essence, overwhelming and powerful, washing over the white-hot fire with the force of a noontide, soothing her soul, smothering everything with the cerulean blue waters of Lake Eyre.

"Huff— Huff— Huff—" She lamented possessing only one pair of lungs.

Gwen felt her soul shunt back into her body, forcing her to stagger and fall onto her buttocks. In the ensuing turmoil of her mind, every mote of active sorcery had been erased, including her dogs. If Caliban and Ariel were not Spirits, they too would have perished.

"CALAMITY!" Golos unfurled itself from the inert Golem, tearing away strings of congealed blood-slick with a stench of burnt flesh and sulphur. "Foolish female!"

"Shaa! SHAA!" Caliban withdrew from the wall and headed her way.

"EE! EE!" Ariel landed as well to lick its unsteady Master.

"I am okay." Gwen ventilated, still trying to catch her breath as the Bone Armour dissolved and her Sanguine Mantle slid from her skin. Her body felt unsteady; her mind was a box of bees. Her over-tensed muscles felt like wet noodles hung loosely over the frame of a bruised skeleton. "How's the Balefire?"

"I think it… turned off?" An instantly translocated Richard slapped the limp iron figure, slipping an arm below her waist and over her shoulder. "What the hell did you do?"

"Tapped out its soul," Gwen said. "Then refused to give it a place to go. Help me up."

Richard pulled her up by taking her hand, but even so, her body wouldn't respond. The damage from earlier, coupled with her Astral disjunction was taking its toll.

"Did you break a bone?" Petra arrived the next instant with Gracie. "Jesus, Gwennie, you look like hell."

"I don't think that's how you're supposed to use Essence Tap." Gracie checked her Scrying pool even as she strode over the blood and brittle bone surrounding their leader. "I don't sense any more hostiles, thank the Nazarene."

"It's an Astral Body thing." Gwen limply waved a hand. "Cali?"

"Shaa!" Caliban wiggled, affirming Gracie's conjecture, then burped.

"Cali ate the Calamari Dwarves," Gracie concurred. "We made a great team, Cali."

"SHAA!"

"EE-EE!"

"You too, Ariel."

"Gwen, are you alright?" Jean-Paul arrived via a Dimension-Door.

"I am alive. How're our Mages?" Gwen resolved herself to be propped up between Richard and Ariel, aided by Jean-Paul. "How many—"

"Thirty-seven," Jean-Paul reported at once. "That's the ones we saved. About six are in critical condition. We need to get them transported back to civilisation right away. Hanmoul's already sent them for the Citadel."

"W-what about—" Gwen paused. Her bodily control was returning now, and she could stand weakly on her own. "—Hilda and Ebren?"

"They and the other prisoners are down below." Gracie continued to manipulate the Scry now that she stood directly above the lower chambers. "I take it the Calamari had plans."

"I'll go find em." Petra nodded to Gracie. "Gwen, you stay here and rest. Gracie?"

"Coming!" Gracie slapped her heavily Enchanted armour. "We'll need healing spells. Some of them are severely weakened."

While her cousin and her ward went to find the VIPs in their escort quest, Gwen leaned back to study the Balefire Golem's husk with the "Soul" dispersed. Beside her, her Wyvern did its best to pick out bits of crushed scales so it could expedite its natural healing.

Was Thalmar dead and Gone?

Was the Balefire still active or alive?

Out of curiosity, she placed her hand on the Golem's armour.

The suit dematerialised into her Storage Ring.

"LASSIE— DONNAE DO THAT!"

The newly arrived Hanmoul popped his cockpit, revealing a face full of concern over her inadvertent commitment to an international, inter-species war crime.

Gwen grimaced.

"… Sorry, I was just curious to see if the Balefire was alive or otherwise." She quickly released the Balefire's body back into the Commandrumm's custody. Taking the Balefire would have made many people in Cambridge very happy, but the same act would likely start an underground world war.

At her confession, the Dwarf exhaled pure relief, lowering his raised beard as the flush of shame and outrage bled from his face. "Don't yer test our alliance like that, Lassie. Yer making trouble fer us all, yer is."

"It's an accident," Gwen simpered with a cringe-worthy expression of woe. "Truly."

"I can't believe yer defeated a Balefire." Hanmoul shook his head, shook his head again, then resolved to continue shaking. "I think we'd best keep this between us. I'll tell the lads to swear on their Ancestors as well."

"Is that a bad thing?" Gwen gulped.

"Balefire Guardians are Deepholm's last defence." The Commandrumm looked as though someone had told him Santa was a fat Dwarf in a red suit. "By Bürumm-Dal's hammer-axe, a Soulforged Golem should be indomitable! That's why an Engineseer's flesh and blood must be paid as a price. If one can be defeated like that..."

"Hanmoul, I almost ignited my soul." Gwen touched a hand to her throbbing head. "There isn't going to be a second time."

"Nae, Lass, there isn't. Else all of Deepholm will be after yer skull as a trophy." Hamel placed his hand on the husk of Thalmar's former body. His Storage Ring glowed, then as with Gwen, the Balefire was gone. "Am going ter dismantle and melt this Vadam slag. Thalmar fled into the Murk, never to return, yer ken?"

"Right." Gwen flexed her fingers, sensing that some of her sensations were returning.

Ding! Petra's Message blossomed beside her cheek.

"Gwen, we found Ebren and Hilda. The Deepdowner's fine, but her partner's in bad shape. I am going to administer healing and restoration. One thing though— They want to retrieve and wear their Klads. Your orders?"

"Are they…" Gwen thought of the Mon Calamari.

"They're clean."

A nasty part of her still suspected whether Hilda and Ebren were complete victims. The better part of her though, informed her that making Hilda and Ebren appear in the light in front of Humans without their Klads would be the equivalent of engendering a death grudge.

"Let them get dressed," Gwen said, wondering if she should get Petra to renew her Heroism before the unmitigated pain returned.

"What now?" Richard spoke beside her. "Are we busting it back to the Red Citadel to kick Deepdowners and rip off their face masks?"

"Sure." Gwen laid her head on her cousin's shoulders. "But for now, I need a break and a kit-kat."


Gwen heard the hiss and clangs before she saw the Deepdowners Hilda and Ebren.

As a matter of station and rank, Hilda led the procession, followed by Ebren. Behind their clanking Klads, Petra and Gracie stalked at a polite distance, though from Gwen's vantage, the scene resembled two prisoners escorted by their wardens.

As for herself, she sat with a purring Caliban to her right and Ariel cushioning her left in the lotus stance, with her shoulder resting against her Kirin's mane. Richard and Jean-Paul stood a distance away, documenting the dead. Hanmoul and his crew busied themselves with the wounded or stood as nervous guardsmen awaiting their spiritual leader's arrival. As for Golos, the Wyvern's healing proved far too slow in a place so lacking in the Elements he required, and so Gwen had sent her ally home. There may be a battle to come, but considering the skyscraper-sized Balefire standing guard over Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, there was little doubt that the next fight would be with words.

From afar, Gwen studied the Deepdowner as she walked, feeling a palpable sense of purpose in the way the Dwarven priestess placed one foot ahead of the other, like a martyr headed for the stake. As for Hilda's purpose, Gwen needed no divination to discern her desire.

At two meters, the clunking footfalls ceased.

"Lady Hilda." Gwen put on her best, most disarming smile. "We humans have a saying— revenge is a dish best served cold."

The domed helmet dipped, where the rebreather connected to the broad base, the mechanism inhaled and exhaled. "Aye, I find Humanity's diamonds of wisdom pleasing."

Beside Hilda, Ebren lurched forward on one knee.

"MAGUS SONG, WE ARE IN YOUR—"

"Ebren." Hilda halted her partner before he could bowl Gwen over with vows of gratitude. "No modulations. These are friends to whom we owe the Debt of Haj-Zül."

"Of course," Ebren's natural voice broadcasted through his crude vox. Unlike Hanmoul, Ebren's voice was pleasant and mellow. "Please accept this one's apologies for my earlier rudeness."

"Accepted." Gwen knew the straight-laced Dwarves far favoured forwardness to meandering politeness. "But let's discuss where we shall go from here. The mind-controlled Legion is neutralised, the Mon Calamari are slain, and the Balefire Golem has—"

Gwen paused to look at Hanmoul, whose brows wiggled with alarm.

"— been pacified."

"That goes with saying, I think." Hilda tilted her helmet. "Well done, Magus Song. I would have thought the feat impossible."

"You are not upset?" Gwen raised a brow.

"For banishing a selfish, Clanless traitor who put continuation over that of his people?" Hilda shrugged her shoulders. "It's a bitter truth that our Guardian has fallen. BUT, the alternative is unthinkable. For simply being here and speaking to you in my Klad, Ebren and I will count ourselves blessed by Møsvian's luck."

Considering the Calamari-headed Aberrants the two just escaped from, Gwen could only agree. "Thank you for understanding, Hilda."

"We're the ones to blame," Hilda said. "Now, shall we get on with business? We Dwarves aren't much for revenge, but by Brumdahr, we hold a grudge. This betrayal cannot go unpunished. Our people need to scour this scourge with flame and chisel."

"I like the way you think." Gwen leaned back, feeling every joint in her body creak. She hissed, then took a deep breath to re-circulate her recovering Essence. "So, mind telling us what's the deal with the Calamari?"

"Aye, the 'Dark Intellects' of the Planes between Planes." Hilda did not deny her narrative prompt. "Deepholm had known of their existence for some centuries, though never in my life could I imagine that a brood would do such untold damage to our Clan. Our Kin of the North from the Citadel of Helzink dubbed them the 'Sinneslukare', meaning Will Devourer. They were meant to be chronicled creatures from before the Sundering, Murk Ogres of the mind, myths, but obviously, that is no longer so."

"Sinneslukare." Gwen breathed out, happy that she no longer had to worry about copyright. "What can you tell me about them? More importantly, if you don't mind me asking— if you were out of your Klads, how are you fine? Don't they eat brains?"

"Magus Song..." Ebren cleared his vox.

"It's fine." Hilda walked in front of Gwen, then sat cross-legged. "We need Magus Song's help to re-establish credibility in Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth's Hall of the Eternal Cog. Let's not repeat the prideful mistake of our ancestors by pushing away potential allies in our time of need."

"I am all ears, Lady Hildenbrandt."

Hilda extended a gauntleted hand covered with intricate Glyphs.
Gwen took it.

"The rot goes deep, I am afraid. Deepholm itself is either under threat or threatened." Hilda's voice blossomed as a private Message spell.

"Or fallen," Gwen drily added.

"Unthinkable," Hilda denied her companion's pessimism. "Deepholm is home to millions and more. A hundred swarms of Aberrants wouldn't breach its Outer Rims, much less the Inner Sphere. Besides, if a city of Deepholm's magnitude ceases to revolve, the Prime Material's Citadels won't escape unscathed. That and the portals only we Deepdowners can activate to expedite travel in the Dyar Mokk remain functional, and those function by drawing focus from the Loci Engine at the heart of the Revolving Hall."

"A city of brass may not need living Dwarves. Anything's possible if it decays from the inside," Gwen said. "The leadership becomes insular and selfish and removed from the people. They get replaced..."

"I'll concede that possibility," Hilda said. "But deny that things can be as bad as that. As for why Ebren and I remain safe, I fear the Sinneslukare that had assumed the mind of Captain Farron Gahrol had more important plans for us, ones I suspect had very much to do with infiltrating Deepholm proper. In my Klad and wearing my Glyph, there is a real possibility that they could penetrate deep into the city's core."

"Thalmar isn't..."

"He aided them, but no."

"Alright. How come the squids didn't give you a head-bug?" Gwen asked.

"Successful parasitism requires toxins of the mind, and time," the Deepdowner explained with a mild tremble to her voice. "I was informed that willing subjects make better adherents, and suffer... far less degradation."

"Why did they have Ebren tortured?"

"I had until my Keeper bled out to make a decision..."

"... So, either you agree and get brained, and Ebren dies— and you get brained and..."

"Do not ask me how their cruel mind works," Hilda said distastefully. "I cannot fathom their sadistic joys."

"Sorry."

"Aye, so now you know. May I speak without the guise of politics, Magus Song?"

"Alright, shoot."

"I need to return to Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. I need to regain the prestige I once wielded. I need to expel Zairic and Zethoag Gul-Zūh, who may or may not be supporting the Sinneslukare, or even be of their kind. I need vengeance for my lost Legion of Iron Guards, and to honour their loss, I am determined to pierce into the Dyar Mokk. However..."

"However?"

Hilda paused. "I do not know how."

Gwen almost choked on her spit. "What?"

"Ebren and I..." Hilda spoke with a voice that was far too feminine. "We are crafters, Lore Keepers, scholars, Runesmiths and Engineseers, Magus Song. We are not..."

"Politicians?"

"Warmongers. Disruptors. Usurpers."

"... I see." Gwen nodded. "I guess you're looking for a Consultant. Well, you're in luck. For my part, I am happy to say someone must pay dearly for the needless loss of our Mages. Someone has to pay in blood."

"... Agreed."

Gwen studied the smooth and featureless surface of Hilda's Klad-suit. Naturally, she could read nothing. "So, I'll be blunt. I've recovered our Mages, and now I am returning you, Lord Ebren here, and Commandrumm Hanmoul to Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. We've got a diplomatic corp set up to settle accounts once we get back. Do you want London's full weight behind you? No problem. Give us access to the Low Ways once we punch through."

"Humans utilising the Dyar Morkk?" Hilda gave pause. "That's unorthodox. The Low Ways are Dwarven."

"Is it though? Tell me more about your success in keeping out Aberrants and brain-Calamari so far?" Gwen gripped Hilda's gauntlet with renewed strength. "The Shard's emphasis is to find alternative pathways to expedite resource transfer between London, Dublin and the European mainland. Assuming the Dyar Morkk indeed offers stable planar short-cuts, how much of it currently lies fallow? How many nests of Aberrants have taken up refuge? How many more years until all of the Iron Born are brained by the squids? Can Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth afford to play silly-buggers with the Sinneslukare?"

Hilda grew contemplative.
Gwen gestured at Hanmoul and relented on the silent Message.

"As Hanmoul's friend, I am happy to be your deliverance." Gwen looked at her reflection in Hilda's visor as earnestly as she could manage. "Take the initiative to throw your lot in with us, and you'll have plenty of chips on the negotiating table. Tradition? Sure— but is it as important as gains from opening your untapped infrastructure? Think of the progress and the profits made possible by relenting. For example, new stations to house the transit nodes; Human Mage Flights replacing Dwarven Exploratory Teams; taxes collected from the transfer of goods. Gateway fees, withholding fees, dockage fees, small business for folk from the Citadel, commissions for your artisans, and unfettered access to resource from the surface— Sure, it sounds wonderful to say, 'this is the Ancestor's way!', but think about what common folk in the Citadel want. It's not spiritual elation, Hilda. The labourers want their daily Dwarf Bread, the artisans want work, time and resources to perfect their craft; Hanmoul and his warriors to fight monsters, not Dwarves and rogue Balefires..."

Her eyes sparkled with the promise of investment returns.

"And we want the same thing too. Human or Dwarf, I think of screwing Zairic and Zethoag as an absolute win-win scenario."

Hilda did not move.

Gwen rested her talkative fingers on Hilda's palm. "I mean, you can choose slow and steady— but then what? Your Deepdowners are culprits of this sedition! Will you ask for help from other Citadels? Even assuming one of your distant Kin chooses to aid you, what's the mutual benefit? How can you trust folk who offer aid when the cost outweighs the gains? You can trust the Mageocracy to hammer out a deal and stick to the rails— because mutual profit is the gospel of cooperation."

"You've banished my doubt, Magus Song." Gwen could see Hilda's breathing apparatus rising and falling. "Will you aid me in seeking redress, Magus Song?"

"You can bet you Kiad I will." Gwen figured she might as well do Dickie a favour now and ask for more favours after compounding interests. "Now, I am no expert on Dwarven intrigue, but from what Hanmoul told me, the whole thing we just survived was a trap. From what I saw, I don't think the Sinneslukare own Thalmar, do they? He didn't give a shit about them getting Devoured."

"Correct," Hilda said. "Thalmar was acting on behalf of Zairic and Zethoag."

"That's good news then."

"Gwen," Hilda reminded her. "Despite the role Ebren and I hold within the hierarchy of our people, we are, as I said, Craftsmen and scholars. We pursue objectives and devise mechanisms to achieve those goals. Politics isn't in the blood of us Ancestral families from Deepholm, hence our failure to detect Zairic and Zethoag's deviation from honourable conduct."

"That means Zairic and Zethoag are also new to traitorous intrigue, no? Their ploy had no alternatives and was hugely reliant on killing or braining all of us."

The Deepdowner paused. "Aye, I think."

"Good, help me up."

The party of Humans and Dwarves solemnly watched as the Deepdowner and the Human sorceress clasped palms, with Hilda helping the resting Gwen to her feet.

"Shaa!" Caliban purred.
Ariel swished its tail.

"Whatever happens, I don't think our party will be much good in a fight in Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth," Gwen said after checking the condition of her body. Even now, the disjunction caused by the forceful deployment of Essence Tap was wreaking havoc with her Sigils and Elemental Gates. Her vitality was also nearing rock-bottom, and her companions were near OoM.

Unfortunately, her wounded adventurers could not wait to receive proper treatment, nor could Gwen's party dally lest more complication would throw the developing situation in Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth into disarray.

Looking at the expressionless Hilda, the kneeling Ebren and the stone-faced Commandrumm beating himself over his failure to protect their Deepdowner, a cunning plan formulated in her head.

Gwen's grin was full of teeth. "You know, we have another saying in the Himmseg..."

"What is it?" Hilda asked, suddenly feeling fearful of the alliance with the wolfish Void sorceress.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"There's more than one way to skin a cat…"

Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth
The Centre Spire.

For the Iron Legion to slink through the side gates with such discretion could only mean one thing— shit had hit the fan.

Usually, after marching through the pavilion, the procedure involved a general assembly that broadcasted the Legion's losses with Scribes from the Hall of the Ancestors taking the names of those returned to Deepholm. The commanding officer would then retreat to a private meeting to compose a detailed report for the Guild before his presentation to the High Council, assuming the failure did not require immediate redress.

During this same process, family members of the warrior caste would receive their exhausted Kin, or receive their bodies. Other members with the requisite training would then volunteer to enter the Guard, replenishing the diminished numbers.

However, this time the defeat grew dire enough to trigger a meeting of the High Council.

"The Deepdowners Kül-Hildenbrandt and Varekan are lost to the Aberrants. The Third Legion is annihilated, and the First Legion decimated." That was the news that spread across the city's carriageways, flooding the Guild Hall's floors until it reached the ears of Ollie Edwards.

"…Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" Ollie Edwards, Second Secretary of the Diplomatic Corps, felt as though he had lost every follicle of hair at once, even the stubble on his chin. "GOD DAMN IT, WHERE'S GWEN?"

"She's returned with Hanmoul's Legion," Magister Millard, Chief Aide, declared with a measured tone of ambivalence. "Her party managed to eradicate the Aberrant threat and secure Lord Hanmoul. We don't know the details, but the subsequent attempt to retrieve the Deepdowners did not go well. The word from the lower tiers is that Magus Song has overextended her abilities trying to rescue our Mages."

"Is Gwen unwell? How are the others?" Ollie felt his spine grow cold, more so than the news that the Dwarves had lost two of their religious leaders. How was he going to answer to Lord Ravenport now? How will he address Lady Grey if Cambridge's precious Void Sorceress suffered setbacks under his watch?

Ollie calmed himself with a quick circulation of Elemental Air.
Gwen might have fallen short of her boast to return with Hilda and Hanmoul, but she returned nonetheless with Hanmoul and the First Legion. Assuming the rumours were sound and the Third Legion was sleeping with the Murk fishes, it was arguable that their demise had nothing to do with Gwen. As London's representative, therefore, his job was to secure the best outcome for his nation despite the obstacles in their way.

"Ser Millard, gather the corp." Ollie suppressed his nervousness, then called on his seniors in the room. "Magister Turner, Magus Mason, will you accompany me to the High Council? I shall act as Gwen's shield in this regard. How many of our Mages did you say returned with her?"

"Thirty-Seven, with another four in critical condition already Teleported to London. At the Magus' advise, they are undergoing physical examinations and decontamination before being released back to the city."

"That's… thirteen— Fourteen Mages total MIA or KIA," Turner reminded Ollie.

"Enough to make a fuss?" Ollie put up a pained expression. He didn't like the idea of politicising the dead, but there was no choice now.

"If we upsell the Shard's sentiments, yes," Magister Millard affirmed their Second Secretary's strategy. "Enough to maintain the status quo, I would hope."

Ollie searched his mind for the weasel words that needed to be said to the Dwarven High Council. Shamefully, in service to Gwen, he found them quickly enough. Whatever the moral cost, Gwen's merits in the Murk must be protected, while her failures had to be cast-off as outside Humanities' control.

"Right." He straightened his jacket with his hands. "Make the request. London will not retreat until our grievance is heard!"

"Gwen!" Ollie's heart sunk as he crossed the floor to meet their exploratory team. Thankfully, all three Void Cabal members had returned intact, with only Gwen looking worse for wear. "Good gods! What did you fight?!"

The young woman famous on the front page for her faultless if scandalous appearance was looking sore all over. From her singed and frazzled hair to her blood-caked armour, Gwen looked as though she had spent the last few days fighting a Gigaton Press at the Hall of Forging. The infamous Shen-teī suit that she had worn since her IIUC days was missing fabric and plating, exposing some of the inner mesh, and where her skin showed, Gwen's complexion was a clammy, unhealthy Aberrant white.

He quickly greeted the others, nodding especially at Jean-Paul and Gracie, whose safety was technically also under his charge. Gwen's crew looked worse for wear, but not physically abused as she did.

"Three swarms and a nest." Gwen's lips looked parched and cracked, her eyes tired and sleepy. "We cleared out the first swarm getting to Hanmoul, then had to clear a nest and fight two foes while being sandwiched between Khorok Umgor and the Hydra-head. After that, we had to clear infested Dwarves from Khorok Umgor, but by then it was too late to save Hilda."

"Infested?"

"Long story, but the Aberrants can eat brains and take over bodies..."

"My god!" Ollie tried his best to imagine the slaughter and found his mind limited in its capacity for carnage. "Is that what happened to the Deepdowners? Did you recover the Deepdowner's…"

"We didn't see them." Gwen shrugged. "But we recovered their Klads."

"Good." Ollie patted his heart. "Have you spoken to anyone else on the council yet?"

"Just Whurforlüm," Gwen said. "Hanmoul gave him a full report with my consent. The Guildmaster is on our side. You're all here to help, I assume."

"Of course." Ollie bit back the sourness simmering at his throat. "They said you were wounded and that you failed in all but one of your objectives, but this isn't as bad as it looks. I was afraid you had Consumed the Deepdowners."

Gwen gave him a strange look.

"Not our objective. We cleared the tunnels and got our men and women back," Gwen said, then audibly sighed. "I am sorry there was nothing I could do for the ones we lost. Some of the deaths are my fault. I'll submit a full report when we get back to London."

"You did your best." Ollie touched the sorceress' hand and winced. When his gloves came away with flaking gore. "Are you sure you're alright? Is your Essence healing not working? You look worse than ever."

"Not enough vitality." Gwen shook her head. "I took a few spellcubes of healing so I'll be fine. The sickness is for show. We'll need the sympathy of the Council for what's to come— oh, there it is."

_CLUNK-Clunk! Clunk! Clunk—_

The enormous cog-shaped doors to the Hall of the High Council began to part, indicating all members close enough to be present had now entered the chamber via means unknown to the Human guests waiting in the atrium.

Inside, the semi-circle audience chamber filled from wall to wall, crest to dip with Dwarves, a veritable sea of beards hid sat atop a variety of clothing from oily craftsmen's garbs to the fine livery of Nobles from the Upper Spire.

"Our guests, do proceed to the dais," Guild Master Whurforlüm Ironførge's booming voice invited the Human party into the room. "Our friends from the Shard, please take your place to the right while Magus Song speaks of the dire circumstances we now find ourselves."

Behind the Guildmaster, flanking either side, sat the Deepdowners Zairic and Zethoag in their Deep Diving "Klads". As the brothers moved into place, he could hear the gurgle of fluids pumping through valves, triggering the hissing pistons fueling their rebreathers.

Ollie and the corp took up seats on a transmuted section with resized granite suitable for a human's sitting height. Gwen and her party sat at the fore, with Gwen remaining upright while the rest took their places in the sunken pit ringing the raised dais.

Opposite, in the Warrior Caste's section, Ollie caught Bromlim and Hanmoul sitting with Yossari still in their torn and soiled battle armour. Behind them sat many Iron Guards still in their Dwarven Plates, most of which was dented and damaged, with one trickling blue coolant. As Gwen said, the necessity of theatrics demanded suspensions of decorum.

The crowd murmured, growing in volume until Whurforlüm quietened the room by raising a gauntleted hand.

"Magus Song, as our guest and the rescuer of our Commandrumm, I invite you to speak first."

"Thank you, Guildmaster. Friends, Craftsmen, Nobles, lend me your ears, for my tale is solemn..." Gwen relayed a harrowing tale of trial by combat with quiet dignity, beginning with the ambush at the Hydra's Head, followed by the raid on the Aberrant nest, the finding of Hanmoul, and finally the bitter battle at Khorok Umgor that resulted in fruitless nothings.

After her epic concluded, she invited Hanmoul onto the dais.
With great solemnity, Hanmoul verified Gwen's narrative, then materialised the two empty Klad suits.

_Clunk—_

The sad silhouettes of Klads without their Deepdowners materialised, punctuating the council chamber's dour atmosphere with a lonesome, reverberating clang.

"… Whatever happens, my heart rests knowing that Hanmoul is safe and that his Iron Guards, together with our Mages, could return home to speak with their fathers, brothers, mothers and children." The Mageocracy's premier Void sorceress returned to the Human's side of the Council Chamber. "And that's all I have to say about that."

The chamber murmured.

"The Council thanks you for your service, Magus Song. Your actions have gone beyond the boundaries of duty," Whurforlüm proclaimed from up on high, flanked on both sides by grimly visored Deepdowners.

Gwen retreated. Ollie stifled the butterflies in his stomach, gained assurance from his peers, then motioned for his place on the dais.

"O, Masters of the Citadel!" His act was interrupted by an unexpected interjection from the ranks of the Noble quadrant. "Allow this one to speak for his kin."

Ollie's eyes focused on the silken attire of Brugal Brumdahr and knew immediately that here was a born shit-stirrer trying to practice his natural talents. As a member of the Diplomacy Corp, however, he was not in a position to silence the Noble, at least not before the Dwarf Gwen had prior shamed exercised his opportunity to outrage the Council.

"You may speak." Whurforlüm likely did not wish to appear to favour the Humans.

"Start taking notes and have a retort ready," Ollie informed his aides, who responded by laying their hands on data slates with the poise of duelists resting their palms on the oaken shafts of Wands.

With the same flourish and arrogance as his prior performance a year ago, Brugal, direct line to Haj-Zül Brumdahr, strode until he stood beside the two suits of empty Klads. The Dwarf ran a hand down the side of Hilda's armour as if in reverence, then looked up at the two silent Deepdowners behind the Guildmaster.

"SPEAK YOUR HEART, BRUMDAHR," came the supporting act from the Zairic.

Brumdahr turned to face the chamber.

"Magus Song," the Dwarf spoke with an elevated pitch of accusation and mockery. "Before I raise the enormous question ay yer culpability in the loss of our dearest mistress Hilda Kül-Hildenbrandt, last of the Varekan-Kül outside the Halls of Deepholm, she who brings the Lumen into our halls— allow me tae say this: Ye and ya ilk, yer greedy Human folk, will NEVER have reign in the Dyar Morkk!"

Ollie felt his hair roots wilt as the accusation rang out.

He knew that within the Citadel, the conversation regarding the Dyar Morkk, whether as a joint-project or as a lease, had been met with doubt. Never had he imagined there could be overt hostility.

"We were at peace, Magus Song, before the arrival of yerself and your Himmseg Kin! Now, gaze upon at what yer've brought us? War! Endless War! Not only the fight against the Red King of Scarred Peak but Aberrants besides! Murk monstrosities beyond comprehension! Our Kin has lived a hard life, Magus Song, but we were content, and we survived because of the purity of our purpose, our tenacity as Dwarves!"

Brugal's resounding voice rang across the stone halls.

"Hear-hear!"
"That's the Stone's Truth!"
"Out with the Humans!"
Compared to the Noble Quadrant, the craftsmen's section remained mostly mum, though the commons and the quadrant inhabited by the upper spire Dwarves grew increasingly loud.

"—my friends." Brugal silenced the group. "Now, we have lost a Legion! AN ENTIRE LEGION! The Third Legion of our finest Iron Guards under Captain Bronzehorn! One HUNDRED golden-blooded Kin in the prime of their lives, LOST!"

Ollie felt his breaths deepen as the noble's incitement filled the room.

"Yer is trying ter twist the truth!" Hanmoul growled over the group. "Brugal, yer scummy—"

"SILENCE, HANMOUL! By mine House's honour, I'll cast yer from the title of Commandrumm!" Brugal's face flushed with the excitement of victory. "Yee failed to return with, Engineseer Hildenbrandt and Keeper Ebren! Yee helped Humans more than our Kin! Please don't embarrass yer duty any more than yer already has!"

Hanmoul appeared on the verge of popping a gasket.
Ollie grew contemplative. Looking at Gwen, he could see that she appeared stunned, or at least devastated and different to her usual confident self. The battle, he figured, must have taken its toll.
Satisfied, Brugal continued.

"I do not mean in any way to disparage the memory of Lady Hilda, but allow me to say this. Her dream of Deepholm was right, but her methods were wrong. Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth was happy and content; we donnae need the Humans to help access the Dyar Morkk. Had we taken the same path in our pure way— the Dwarven way, slow and steady, there would have been no tragedy. Our lives are long, and our Kin would still be alive."

A ragged cheer broke out among the council chamber's upper half, infecting the lower half through its riotous volume. Ollie smelled the conspiracy in the air as clearly as the stink of violence on Gwen's armour, but he had to be patient.

"In my capacity as the head of House Brumdahr, I motion, therefore—" Brugal took a deep breath. "—To EXPEL the HUMANs and return Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth to its original path!"

"Nonsense!" The Guildmaster struck his table with his gauntlet. "Brumdahr, you overstep!"

"WE SUSTAIN THE MOTION," a pair of mechanically synced voices rang out from behind the Guildmaster before he could continue. "IRØNFORGE, THOU ART A DWARF. ACT LIKE ONE."

Ollie knew that it was now or never. With complete disregard for the disarray in his mind, he stood from the block of granite that served as his chair.

"The Shard objects together with the Guildmaster!" He amplified his voice with Clarion Call. "As the representative of London and in our capacity as an ally of the Citadel, we oppose to Ser Brumdahr's outrageous attempt at undermining the trust that we have spent centuries cultivating."

"Centuries?" Brugal snorted. "For a race that matures in the same span as a Murk Eel?"

Laughter filled the same portion of the chamber.

"Master Whurforlüm!" Ollie raised his voice, drawing from the ever-thinning air to inflate his courage. "This rudeness is unbecoming. Must I remind the Council that we have paid dearly as well? Our men and women have given their lives in service of the Citadel's cause, of Lady Hildenbrandt's shared desire to bring her people home to Deepholm!"

"They died for HDMs!" Brumdahr shouted.

"SILENCE!" Whurforlüm barked. "Do you wish to be expelled?"

"— I understand that your people have suffered dire losses." Ollie continued to speak, ignoring his hecklers and receiving notes and suggestions from his aides via their silent Message Devices. "But we too, have lost lives: seventy-six in the nine months since the operation began, and fourteen just now in the tragedy of today. They too had Kin in London. Mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters, some even children, though that may be difficult to conceive for long-lived folk such as yourselves. They came here to Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth to pursue a dream and to aid in a cause. One, they too desired to return our allies to their ancestral homes, and two, they too risk their lives to unearth the secrets of the Murk!"

Ollie felt himself fall into a comfortable rhyme as he continued, with annotations from his peers flowing into his mind as a stream.

"And regarding Aberrants, Lord Brugal— Do not think for a minute that they appeared because of us! They were there, always! Since time immemorial, they had lusted after your city and your Kin, ambush them in the Low Ways! In your Empire before the Beast Tide, how many of your folk have perished to keep the path operational? If you accuse us Humans of inciting the Aberrant swarms— then what say you of your Ancestor's efforts?"

"Dare you to accuse us of failing our Ancestors, Human?" Brugal's face twisted as cruelly as Ollie's logic. "When my ancestors ruled the Murk, your forefathers were still chattel under the hoofs of the Mongol Shaman-Lords!"

"That may be true." Ollie felt buoyed by supernatural confidence. "But is that relevant to our present case? Are you saying that our Mages have died for a cause— your cause— of no worth? Is that your opinion of our belief in Lady Hildenbrandt's hopes for her Kin?"

"You warp words as well as your sorceress." Brugal sneered. "But no matter how you twist and turn, Magus Edwards of the Shard— the Dyar Morkk is closed to you! Your toxic solicitudes will not mar the mind of our people, Human. Us Dwarves are tempered iron, and we shall not yield even if you hold our natural honour hostage!"

"Then you do confess that—"

"Brugal—" Whurforlüm growled.

"SPEAK!" A metallic holler came again from the twins behind the Guildmaster, sounding like raw Pyrite being crushed and sorted in a circular press.

Whurforlüm fumed.

"Of course, my Masters." The Noblemen bowed. "Let me ask you once more, Magus Edwards. Do you concede your presence in the Murk? Will the Shard retreat while our people remain on friendly terms?"

"Never, we will honour our word." Ollie folded his arms. "I trust Master Ironførge and the High Council to honour theirs. Gwen and I will never concede that we would abandon our comrades in their hour of need."

"Camaraderie? Yer say?" Brugal's expression sent another jolt of ice into Ollie's spine. "Hahahaha— so be it! Yer put this on yourselves, Humans. MAGUS SONG!"

The noble turned to Gwen. "That was a good story you told, but allow me to cast a shard of Lumen in the darkness of your tale. Here, I have a Message from the esteemed Captain Farron Galrol of the esteemed Murk Divers…"

The Noble produced a crystalline device Ollie recognised as a Resonator, one used by Dwarves to circumvent distance and distortion within the Murk. Under the gaze of all, Brugal pressed a Glyph.

Before Gwen could respond, the device began to play loudly.

"… Lords, the Devourer of Shenyang is making quick work of the Aberrant Swarm. The monsters are numerous, but they are no match for the Void Mage's voracious hunger. Her creatures, the Earthen Wyrm and her dark dogs are even now breaching the walls of Khorok Umgor. Her ravenous fiends have already overpowered the Iron Guards under Lady Hilda's command, and I fear for her and Lord Ebren's safety…"

The Message ceased reverberating around the room, but its intent was clear.

Ollie felt the pit of his stomach fall and his testicles withdraw, killing all future potential for virile hair growth. Did Gwen eat the Deepdowners after all? How did she get Hanmoul to cooperate with her?

Slowly, he watched Gwen rise to her feet once more to take the stage.

An inexplicable change had overcome the girl's tired expression.
Her eyes gleamed.
Her lips curled.
There was as perceptible hunger about her vital body.

It was the look, Ollie realised with a gulp.

The look of a very hungry Caliban.