Eternal Game of the 108, part 1 (Patreon)

 Prologue

This isn’t my house. I was just turning because the kettle was whistling for me an instant before, and now I’m… somewhere else? I turn left to right. I see a door. White walls. I turn and this still isn’t my damn house.

“What the fuck?”

I’m in a house. No, a flat. The light is on. The walls are white, and made of something that looks vaguely like plastic. I recognize that the thing in front of me is a door because it looks like a lift, with a slit in the middle. Behind me, the flat awaits in sterile silence. The more my eyes wander and the more I notice anomalies. What should be a kitchen, to my right when I turn, sports several implements I do not recognize. The eating spot is a low surface with several large pillows encircling a wood table. There seems to be a sort of work office to my left from the desks and what looks like a futuristic screen. A narrow set of stairs in the middle leads up to a mezzanine. 

There is a table next to me with electronics of a brand and make I’ve never seen before.

There are windows behind me. They lead to distant walls and square windows. It’s apparently night outside.

Suddenly, there is a great din. Sounds like horns blaring all together with other strange instruments. Drums. I hear the distant pop of fireworks and for a while, the clinical white of the room fills with colors. It keeps going for a while, and this makes me realize a few things.

One, I’m not in England anymore, Toto. 

Two, I’m trespassing. This is a home. Not mine.

Three, how the bloody hell am I here? I’m still holding my cup like some kind of idiot. Right. What do I do? I’m lost. I shouldn’t be here. If one is lost, one should stay where they are and await rescue. However, one should also attempt not to commit indictable offenses whenever possible. I’ll probably get more help if I’m not criming. I can probably find some help outside. Approaching the door, I find a panel to the right, just an ugly rectangle with some sort of rectangle. I tap it.

Nothing happens.

Outside, the party continues. Something flies by the window at a good speed. I tap again, push, swipe, press. Nothing works.

“Well.”

I assume the bedroom is upstairs. Maybe someone’s there? A flashing script appears on one of the kitchen things. I stare and realize I do not recognize anything. It’s made of squiggly circles, almost cursive and I am certain I’ve never seen it before.

Surely I’m on Earth and this is just a big misunderstanding? Wait, no.

“This is lucid dreaming, right? I read about it.”

This has to be a dream. Surely. So there would be nothing wrong waking someone upstairs, hypothetically, but hypothetically if I were to walk up I might end up with a faceful of blunt force trauma. Or lead.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

And to my surprise, the gate in front of me finally opens. Into an empty corridor.

“Ah.”

Something flashes on the left. 

“Hello? I just —”

Shock. Falling. Fallen. Light reflected in shining glass.

Death count: 1

Qualia points acquired: 1 (violent death, clean)

Total available: 1

Part 1: The Age of Discovery.

Chapter 1: Out of Time.

I am conscious. Not in the way one wakes up, not even with a disoriented start. I am nothing, and then I am conscious. And sitting.

Under my butt is a comfortable seat. In front of me is a table, then two entities, then an empty plane of luminous sand hills extending to infinity with one peculiar object, and then, the void.

The object in the desert is a corpse. I recognize the slippers, the shorts, the white tank top and beige shirt. Hairy legs. That’s me. Minus the upper right side of the head. A glazed brown eye stares aimlessly, lashes stained with one last tear. I should feel nauseous, but I can’t. 

A flash of pain sears my brain. I touch my temple and feel warm flesh, although I know I shouldn’t? The feeling leaves just as quickly as it came. I should be hyperventilating, but I can’t. 

“Tea?”

One of the entities sitting in front of me in a leather chair much like my own is a handsome man of indeterminate ethnicity with a tan face, silver eyes, and short white hair cut and styled to perfection. He wears a white suit that would look expensive if it were not so pristine. As it is, it looks unreal. The man hands signals and the second entity approaches.

While the man could turn head just walking anywhere, the… person? The person next to him couldn’t pass as human in the most unhinged of BDSM parties. She, tentatively, towers over both of us. Her limbs are unnaturally thin, ending in far too many fingers linked together by strands of skin like the wings of a tattered bat. Her face is barely human, haughty with high cheekbones but the features are all wrong. The skin seems stretched to the limits over… I look at her eyes and there is nothing there. Nothing. It’s like seeing a hole directly into the void beyond. I know I should be reeling in horror, but I can’t. 

Despite her lawn-mower worthy mitts, the tall woman serves me tea with perfect composure in a nice white porcelain that wasn’t there just a moment ago, and because I am polite, I take it. 

It’s piping hot and delicious. Early gray with a dash of lemon. It would calm me down if there were any emotions to quell.

“Uh, thank you?”

“You are welcome,” the man in white replies with clear amusement. Then after a delay: “I know who you are.”

“Hi, I’m—”

I cut off.

“To be precise, I know everything about you from your exact age to your body composition to your genetic makeup to your memories, Steve. I know you more than any human ever knew themselves.”

He takes a sip of his cup which I would have sworn didn’t exist either.

“I have many questions,” I say, this time uninterrupted.

“I will hear your first.”

“Can you stop fucking with my mind?” I ask, and I should be worried about confronting beings that I clearly dangerous, but I can’t.

“From your perspective I have already done all the mindfucking I would ever do. Your lack of reaction is merely a side effect of this space, which is my domain, and your nature, which is that of my champion.”

“Excuse me?”

“Have more tea,” the man offers with a smile.

I recognize this expression from meeting with deans, directors, and bankers. It’s the face of a man who is sympathetic to my situation yet doesn’t intend to do shit about it. Nevertheless, I take another sip. It’s exactly as hot as it was before. 

Weirdly, it helps. 

“I have too many names for them to matter,” the strange man continues. “I believe the best option for you would be to know me as Chronos.”

I blink at that.

“You’re the Greek titan of time?”

“I am not, nor have I fathered a pantheon or had my genitals cut off by an ungrateful child, however I am a divinity and time is my domain, so Chronos will do.”

I steal a glance towards Miss Lovecraftian wet dreams. She bows very slightly.

“This is Moragal, the Entropy. Morag for short.”

“A pleasure,” I lie.

“I am not the only divinity in this universe. In fact, there are exactly 108 of us and we play a little game. I have placed all of my tokens on you for this round, Steve. The end is simple. You will win the round and become the archon. The ruler of all we behold.”

I wait a bit before replying to this absolute nonsense and because he’s waiting for me and because he waits exactly half a second to reply to me every time and that’s just weird and I should be unnerved, but I can’t be. 

“What if I refuse? I mean, I can’t be archon.”

“Your success chance is, from your current perspective, exactly zero. A flat zero.”

“Then why? I don’t want any of this shit. I was very happy at home, thank you very much.”

I don’t want to die.

“It no longer matters. It is out of my hands and in any case, you cannot lose,” the god remarks over his cup.

“The fuck you mean this is out of my hands?” I demand, and strangely I can feel the barest traces of anger flaring at the edge of my psyche. I should be angrier. I want to be angry. Why can’t I be? 

“It is no longer in my hands because I committed everything to creating the perfect candidate. No one can stop you now, not even me.”

“Me? I’m the perfect candidate? To be a king? Listen mate, I’m a professional cello player with the political acumen of a lobster. You don’t want me as an archon or a champion or… didn’t you say I had 0% chance of success? Hello?”

“You do at this stage of the loop.”

“What?”

He points behind him and I see the corpse again. I should feel the chill of a realization snake on my back but I can’t.

“Wait… I really died?”

“The first of many. And speaking of which, I believe we should end this discussion here. You will notice something upon waking up. Try to direct the energy to your hands, and then towards the panel. It’s keyed to your soul. Have fun!”

“What the — “

Plastic walls. A gate. This isn’t my living room.

My empty cup shatters on the ground. 

***

“Fuck!”

Everything rushes in at once. I stumble forward. Shock. Horror. Disbelief. Disbelief, mostly. This has to be a dream, albeit a weirdly convincing one in which I am lucid and also can experience pain because I just stubbed my big toe against the damn door. Panic. Quick breaths. No, wait, I need to get out of here. I need to get out NOW. Someone is going to kill me otherwise. Shaky fingers on the panel, beating, hitting but it doesn’t fucking do anything! Wait, no, breathe, focus.

Focus.

The ghost of a sensation of cold in my head brushes against my mind and I remember falling and I remember dying. I stumble again. It really happened. I died. I died! Ok, ok, get out. Get out and don’t die. 

My musings are cut short. A headache comes, only it’s not pain so much as pressure and I suddenly, abruptly feel like… something opened the door to my brain? It made me lose balance and I fall on my ass.

“Wow.”

Trippy. I feel like my perception is different? Somehow? If I didn’t know better, I’d say I just got a new sense but I know better so either I’m going through a psychotic break or twatted to my fucking eyeballs on some experimental drug MI5 snuck in through my window. Either way, having a whale of a time here thank you.

“I need out.”

Yes. I need out. Chronos said something about energy. Even if I’m hallucinating the whole experience, I’d still rather not hallucinate getting my brain splattered on the lino. I touch the panel again, and I focus. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Move to my hand. Move to my hand and thank you please hurry please hurry hurry hurry please. FUCK!”

But I feel it, or rather, there is something pushing back. Latching. I get it. It’s extremely strange, like a phantom limb of a member I didn’t ever know I had. Like a body beyond the body. This makes no sense at all but then again, nothing does so fuck it. I coax the connection alive. Something of me lazily pushes against the panel and I’m reminded of my sister’s baby daughter learning how to grab things, wee fingers moving like awkward pinchers, only I’m thirty, bumbling like an idiot, and nowhere near as cute. Finally, the latching sensation increases and the panel rings with a gentle chime. The door slides open. I see a polished stone corridor. Outside, the crackle and pop of celebrations reaches a crescendo.

“Yes!”

Left? Right?

The brief flash came from the left so right it is. I am out and sprinting in an instant. I wish I were wearing proper shoes instead of those comfy slippers. I also wish Friday hadn’t been leg day. Doors to the left and right as I sprint on, also white, clinical. Lush carpet sinking under my feet. I don’t know where I am but this is definitely the upper middle class den. 

The corridor moves right and so do I, and then I come across someone. I almost stumble to a stop.

The woman is tall and statuesque, wearing something that I can only define as haute couture, silver with red markings. She is taller than me by at least three hands and I’m not a short man. Her eyes, golden with red sparks, turn to me. She possesses the alien beauty of a statue and though she looks human, I get a deep sense of alienness from her. But this isn’t what stops me. Her frown and pointy ears are also not what stops me. What stops me are emotions, the emotions I can feel radiating from her: surprise, disgust, fear, not of me, but of her peace being broken. Before I can even blink, she is gone in a flash of speed and the door closes with a quiet hiss. She… she moved so quickly, what? I couldn’t even see her!

Oh, right, killer. I rush ahead. I spot a larger door to my left , with a large panel and two arrows. Squiggly script much like the one in the flat winks at me, and for some reason, when I blink again, I can read them. I can read them. The upper one says up and the lower one… ok this is a lift. I punch the button and nothing happens. The script doesn’t even waver.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

I don’t think I have the time to fumble energy out of my sorry carcass just now but I see something promising to the side. Double doors. Stairs? There is a knob. Unlocked. Stairs.

I’m saved. 

I cackle madly as I rush down. I’m saved? No, I’m royally fucked. Even my damn slippers slide and I almost break my stupid neck trying to hurry. I hear the door up there creak open.

No no no no no no.

I hear a quiet whir as I launch myself into the lower floor’s door. It’s locked.

“No no no.”

Shock. I see red on the wall. I fall.

I see the ceiling and something silver, round, and flying by the railing. Metal ball with an eye.  I was killed by a drone? I can’t breathe. Something warm and thick fills my throat. Want to cough it out but can’t. Liquid fills my lungs. 

The pain is abominable. I cry, but not for long. The drone fla —

Death count: 2

Qualia points obtained: 14

Soul awakening: 10

Violent death, short agony: 2

Met first alien: 1

First telepathy event: 1

Total available: 15

Chapter 2: The Rules.

“FUCK!”

Leather chair. Chronos. Morag. Hills. Void. Two bodies.

I died again.

“I’m going to be very rude,” I inform reality.

“Coffee?” the time god offers.

“Fuck you.”

My insult slides off them like a splattered bee off a sports car’s windshield. They wait.

“I assume you guys must be the patient kind,” I say with as much anger as I can muster, which is not a whole lot. The weird space is making everything distant again. Can a man not be upset about his own demise? The humanity. 

Phantom pain flashes in my chest, quickly fading. Cold head. I look at the second corpse. This time, whatever killed me got me right between the eyes. Interestingly, there is no blood.

“I’ll have that coffee, thanks,” I tell Chronos.

Once again, Morag uses the bundle of fuck sticks she has at the end of her mitts to serve me what appears to be the perfect espresso directly from an Italian pot. The scent is exquisite. I wait a bit not to get burnt.

“It’s already at the perfect temperature,” Chronos offers. 

And it is. And also, it’s sublime. The best blend I ever tasted.

“I assume this is all happening in my head?” I ask.

“No.”

Huh.

“But you don’t need to do anything to serve the coffee. You could just appear it in my mouth?”

“We act, not because it is necessary, but because it carries meaning,” Chronos replies with that same kind patience that won’t translate into action I noticed before.

“Okay. If this is a gesture of apology, it’s pretty nice but I have to say, I’m not sure where we even stand. I mean, I’m pretty sure you just ruined my life in some way?”

For a moment, I feel a blinding outrage but it is immediately smothered. I turn to Morag. The eldritch butler woman maintains the same expression.

“In a way, yes,” the time god allows, “in another way, you have been granted an incredible prize. I can nevertheless appreciate that the situation appears bleak for you, at this stage.”

He turns towards his assistant. He places a hand on the thing that must be her arm since it exists between her shoulder and the spike mop. The look she returns is one of utter devotion and abject gratitude. The show was for me. It leaves me embarrassed.

“Forgive Morag. She does not possess the ability to sympathize with your plight.”

I drink more of the coffee. It’s really good.

“We have some time, right? For a conversation?” I ask.

“We have all the time in the world.”

“Look, it would really help if you didn’t wait exactly the same amount of time before replying every time you talk. Vary a bit. Please.”

Chronos nods, Morag standing by his side.

“I will, from now, on according to your perception of now.”

I glance at my second corpse again. I need to address this but I don’t think I’m ready. I mean, I’m pretty sure this place doesn’t exist in a way that matters so there is no rush. I got time.

“Ok, next question if you don’t mind. You implied I perceive time differently from you?”

“Indeed. You are experiencing reality as a succession of linear experiences. We are not,” the Time God patiently explains.

“So… how does that work? How do you experience it?”

The god leans over the table. He places an apple upon it, red, lustrous, the perfect fruit. A simple knife appears in his hand.

“I find it easier to use metaphors when conferring with my champions. You, as a human, exist in four dimensions, but you only perceive three.”

This doesn’t sound right, so I frown.

“I am aware of time passing,” I object without much confidence. 

I think time works weirdly in here anyway, but I can’t tell from experience alone.

“This is an object that exists in three dimensions but only perceives two,” the god continues.

Chronos slices the edge of the fruit. Slice after slice — so thin they are transparent — join the previous ones on the table. 

Must be some sharp knife.

“The object experiences itself as successive slices having different widths and heights. Never can it see itself as a three dimensional object.”

The metaphor is working. As the slices start small before growing and then becoming smaller again, I can’t miss the uncomfortable imagery of what a human life is.

“Ok. Ok, I get it. I experience time moment after moment, linearly, but you guys, what, experience everything at the same time?”

Morag leans towards the god, face as cold as ever. Her voice is low and raspy.

“Sire, the apple asks us if we experience everything in the same slice.”

First time she speaks, I'm getting sassed. Lovely.

“My mind can’t process it, got it,” I reply, slightly miffed even though, again, I can’t really feel it on an emotional level.

Chronos smiles. Silence returns for all of two seconds before he speaks again. I feel like it’s exactly two seconds because I made the request. I mean, I did ask for it but I’m not sure why it’s still so damn uncanny. Might be the starless void background.

“By the way, I must apologize for sending you to a quick doom. Unfortunately, I needed you to experience the epiphany that is an awakening before I could explain more of the game.

“Is it related to this qualia point thing I kind of see after I die? Although, after is a bit of a…”

“Achronal perception. Don’t worry too much about it,” Chronos says in a pleasant tone.

Morag serves him a cup. She refills mine too. The strange normalcy settles my nerves despite my best efforts.

“Thank you, Morag. Ok. One more question,” I continue.

Chronos nods.

“Why me? Literally you could have picked anyone else in the street or whatever the place I wake up in is and they would be a better candidate.”

“Not so, but first I will explain a little more about the game, which will conveniently lead us to the qualia question floating around your mind.”

He said he wouldn’t mess with my mind aaaand I suppose reading it like an open book doesn’t count.

“In order for us to compete, we must select a champion. Each god then grants their champion a number of boons. There are god-specific boons and universally available boons. Each of us has, shall we say, a limited amount of resources to invest. I have a significant advantage, but even then the cost increases depending on the champion. In order to provide you with the two perfect boons that would make your success, shall we say, ‘inevitable’, I could not pick any scion of a great line, or even a street thug. No, I needed… the perfect blank canvas. You are a human from an insignificant planet in a distant, insignificant arm of your galaxy with insignificant energy levels. As such, you match the profile I need to perfection.”

“There are billions of us,” I reproach. “Shouldn’t you have picked, I don’t know, a politician?”

The god tilts his head, and his smile grows almost genuine.

“Do you sincerely believe you could talk your way out of your predicament?”

“A special force genius with also three PhDs?” I suggest, again.

“What a strange beast that would be,” Chronos muses.

He doesn’t reply further. Still, I feel like I’m missing something important.

“If you experience time non linearly, it also means you’re experiencing the end.”

He smiles, and I dare hope.

“So… do I win?”

“Who knows!”

“But you just sai—”

“Who. Knows?” the god interrupts, laughing. “Not you. What are humans, if not creatures of decisions? And I believe now is not the loop for philosophy. Now, about those qualia points. As I mentioned before, I have a limited amount of resources to make available to you. But you don’t.”

I frown again.

“What do you mean?”

“You are your own canvas. If you would turn your head to the side?”

He points and I oblige him. We sit in the middle of a flat expanse before the sand begins rolling on all sides. On my right is an arcade shining with neon, some ancient design in gaudy colors. 

Chronos extends an inviting hand. I can’t shake the impression that I’m getting trolled. Not to mention that thing clearly wasn’t there a moment a — ah who the fuck am I kidding? Time doesn’t matter to those people.

I stand up, Chronos mirroring me, then I approach the 80’s survivor in all its bling glory. Blocky letters appear alongside a menu. In the queen’s actual English of all things.

Steve Prentiss.

Qualia points available: 14

Physical awakening: N/A

Mage tradition: none

Soul awakening: first stage

Avatar traits:

Perfect loop (time)

Perfect soul (time)

Avatar language acquisition (neutral)

Even though I’ve never encountered the word before, I instinctively know what ‘qualia’ means. It’s… a subjective, conscious experience, like seeing a twilight or feeling the wind on one’s skin, or even the wave of pleasure that comes from being loved. I now see how the points would be counted, but I find the measurement odd. Shouldn’t being shot in the fucking head count as more than seeing one’s first ‘alien’? Especially when they’re practically human? I’m intellectually annoyed, and then even more annoyed that I can’t feel annoyed. Bugger. 

“Do you like it?” Chronos asked, sounding weirdly proud. “I know humans love games and competition. And stories. You like it, don’t you?”

I…

“Yea,” I admit. “I like it. It’s presented in a way that makes sense, I think?”

“That is how I designed it. You are my first unawakened champion, after all, so I prepared some things to help you.”

I can’t tell if he is helping me or screwing me over beyond anything anyone has ever experienced. For all I know, it might be both.

“Can you explain more about the awakening things then?” I ask.

“Yes, however you need to understand something: I cannot grant you more boons. But you can acquire them yourselves in any way that you see fit.”

“By buying them with qualia points?”

“Precisely! Or not! But you can indeed buy them with points. Like rewards from a game! How exciting.” 

He sounds and looks excited. His fingers approach the screen but he withdraws them after some hesitation. Is he pretending? It’s so difficult to tell.

“The game has started. I can grant you no more, but you are allowed to grow by yourself. The champion I picked filled all the conditions of the game, but that does not mean the champion who participates has to!”

“Isn’t that cheating?” I ask. “Skirting the rules?”

“My dear, we are gods. Of course, we cheat as much as we can get away with. All of us do, and will.”

“Fine.”

This is going to be such a pain.

“So… who are the other avatars?” I ask.

“It is far too ‘early’ for you to concern yourselves with them. Rather, ask me what you want to know!”

That makes me hesitate again.

“Shouldn’t you just tell me? I might miss an important question.”

“Unfortunately, my ability to answer is limited unless you direct your thoughts towards a specific topic.”

“Fine, tell me what I really ought to know,” I say, but the god only chuckles.

“A good attempt, but one that only makes sense on a semantic level. Your thoughts, your knowledge, are what matter. And even though I can answer, I cannot give you more boons. I cannot, for example, grant you access to a mage tradition.”

“What’s a mage tradition?” I ask.

“Ah, finally.”

He chuckles like he made a good joke.

“You will see three lines. The place the game starts in has a tremendous amount of latent energy, more than most worlds. By merely existing there, you are able to change, to transcend the limits of your mortal existence. You can do this in a myriad of ways I have arbitrarily separated into three conceptually useful categories. The first is energy internalization, also called physical awakening. It improves everything from reaction speed to stamina. Yes, the strongest people can split mountains with a single blow.”

I was visualizing Superman. I guess I got my answer.

“You should stay out of my mind,” I request.

“Unfortunately, I cannot, but do not be alarmed. I understand that humans must contend with a variety of biological imperatives that turn your consciousness into an easily distracted chaos of competing drives and self-destructive emotions. Know that I look upon you with nothing but patience and kindness.”

“... thanks. So I can do that too? Splitting mountains.”

“If you manage to learn how.”

“So… for example, if I do some serious training, I can return with the same body?”

Chronos winces.

“Unfortunately, no. You will start the loop with the same body and the same possessions every time.”

“What? But…”

“At the moment the loop starts, anyway.”

I frown.

“So… there is… a way to bypass that?”

“Check,” he says, pointing at the machine.

There is a ‘see trait list’ option, so I press that. Lines scroll impossibly fast.

“Ooops, let me implement a search function instead,” Chronos chuckles.

“There are a lot of options,” I admit, now facing an empty bar. I use a joystick to painfully enter every letter one by one. After my annoyance rises, a panel slides to reveal a keyboard. This definitely wasn’t there just one second… oh who am I kidding? They don’t care.

Physical awakenings.

Available trait: animasomatic imprint, first stage. Point cost: 32.

Additional condition: physical awakening at stage 3.

Well I’m at zero so no cookie. 

“But there are other ways, right?” I ask.

Chronos seems pleased.

“There are many ways to achieve many things. The traits are shortcuts. Which shortcuts are worth the investment? That is for you to decide.”

I’m playing cards with a blindfold in here.

“Ok, explain mage tradition next please,” I ask.

“Mage traditions are all the ways energy users have to express or expel the energy I mentioned. The paths are as numerous as stars in the galaxy.”

“So like, err, mana?”

“Mana. Qi. Ki. Chakra. Breath. Vitae. Essence. Penuma. It has many names, just I have many names. None are wrong. They are sounds you associate with a concept, and that concept is the energy that will exist around you, in the ‘real’ world. It calls out potential. It makes the fabric of existence… malleable, and it gave birth to us.”

“The gods?” I ask.

Chronos smiles.

“So, how do I learn?” I ask.

“You can buy them. You can find them. You can steal them. You can make your own. You can make several of your own, and erase them, and none will ever know except for us.”

He shrugs.

“But I don’t know shit about anything,” I protest.

“So learn.”

“What if I don’t want to learn? What if I want to go back?” I protest, weakly.

I can feel I’m trapped. I am so over my head that I know I don’t have the power to protect my own feelings. They are not my own down here in this weird void asshole into the universe.

“Which nicely leads us to soul awakening, and time traits,” Chronos smoothly continues. “As you might recall, your soul awakening is 1.”

“Oh yeah, the energy I used to open the door.”

Morag sighs, an expression of pity that seems to come from a much larger chest than she shows. And by that I mean she sounds like she has plane hangar-sized lungs.

“Precisely. Soul awakening is extremely difficult to achieve for everyone. It is by far the most difficult aspect of the self to apprehend for all mortal races. Except for you.”

“Because of the perfect soul trait?” I ask.

“Because of the perfect soul trait. The first level allows you to feel the strong emotions, and perceive the existence of thinking beings around. You will find that the range is fairly short. People might also think at you and you will hear it, but you cannot yet reply. It will take some time for you to familiarize yourself with those abilities. That is, however, the least of the trait’s benefits.”

“Ok, I’ll bite. What’s the rest?”

“Your soul cannot be permanently harmed. It cannot be dominated by any others. It cannot be, under any circumstances, destroyed. And it will grow more quickly than that of anybody else through experience and epiphanies, as your understanding of the world progresses. As of this moment, you have this plane’s strongest soul potential, and no one, not even me, can destroy it. Or permanently disable you.”

“But… the soul can change? Wouldn’t some change be harmful? How is it even decided?”

“It is entirely subjective, and don’t forget, I said ‘permanent’ harm. You will suffer, and for this I am sorry.”

I glare at the god. I feel cheated.

“I still don’t want to play the game.”

“Then don’t. Explore. Travel. Kill. Die. It doesn’t matter. You cannot be destroyed. Which nicely leads me to your other trait.”

“Perfect loop.”

“Correct!” Chronos congratulates like I did something of import. 

He sounds like an adult who can’t tell if a toddler is doing something impressive or not because he has no frame of reference for what constitutes ‘smart’ at that age. Except it’s for me. Like he doesn’t know exactly how stupid I’m supposed to be.

It’s a little vexing. If I could, I would be terribly vexed right now.

“The perfect loop lasts from the beginning of the game to the time a victor is announced, a period of around 431 Earth days in duration. Should you not be named the victor, the loop will repeat. If you die, the loop repeats. In both cases, you will return to your room with an intact soul, an intact body, and all the improvements you decide to carry with you.”

“I, uh.”

Oh shit.

“Wait. I can’t be destroyed and I can’t not win?”

“Precisely! That is why you are the perfect candidate.”

His silver eyes bore into mine.

“You, Steve, cannot lose.”

But that doesn’t mean I can win.

“You told me you couldn’t say if I’d win eventually.”

“Correct!”

I glare again, which doesn’t achieve shit but at least I get to do that.

“I don’t get it,” I tell him.

“That is perfectly fine! There is much you cannot get! It doesn’t matter.”

I hesitate before I ask the next question. I don’t know. It feels relevant.

“Am I hallucinating all of this? Am I having a full psychotic break?”

“Nothing I say will convince you otherwise,” Chronos pointedly replies. “Everything you experience is a subjective response to an external stimulus. I cannot possibly prove that I am not the figment of your imagination.”

I think I’d be extremely annoyed at myself if I were to wake up now, abused by my subconscious to such a degree. 

“This is… very disturbing. What about soul experience?” I ask.

I feel something pressure this new sense I have, just a light touch. It’s extremely uncomfortable. I would probably shiver if I could.

“Do you sincerely believe soul perception cannot be cheated?” Chronos mocks.

I shrug.

“I have no idea.”

“If it is any comfort, time will bring you the certainty you crave. After all, one wakes up from their dreams. You have been violently uprooted in a way you could not possibly have foreseen. Only time can dull that shock. Speaking of, would you like to leave again?”

“What if I say no?” I reply, a bit defiant though I don’t really believe it will lead to anything.

It does though. Morag bristles, briefly. Like an enormous tree seen from very far. I really don’t like how this works in my mind.

“Take all the time you need,” Chronos replies without malice. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I… want to check a few more options. On the arcade.”

“Of course!”

I grumble and turn. The screen waits, flickering lightly like it’s not some sort of made up box in the middle of nothingness.

“Where are we again?” I ask.

“Didn’t I tell you? Ah yes, I did!” 

Chronos chuckles. Peculiar sense of humor on that one.

“We are in my domain,” he says.

“So, what’s a god’s domain?”

“You do not possess the knowledge required to understand my explanation. Think of it as, hmmm, a lobby. Before you start again. One where you may take your time. Think. Prepare.”

“Can I take notes or something?” 

“Of course!”

I turn again and, yep, there is now a desk on the other side of my leather chair.

“We’ll make it a fully furnished flat in no time,” I mock.

“Perhaps!”

He’s one peppy asshole. And just as the thought pops in my head, Morag bristles again. Better watch my mouth here. Or not. What is he going to do about it?

Chronos doesn’t seem bothered. He’s still smiling.

No permanent damage. I shouldn’t push my luck.

“Check the list!” he invites.

Right. I remember he mentioned the god-specific traits so I ask for those. I cannot afford any of them. The cheapest ones are ‘Forced loop reset’ for 43 points which sends me back to the beginning without having to die or lose. There is also ‘See the treaded branches’ which grants me perfect recall of all the loops I’ve had so far, for 76 points. It all seems very expensive but I remember I’ve been alive in the loops for all of four minutes and have achieved nothing except staining the fucking carpets. And spooking the neighbour. So there. Curious, I ask the arcade to list the skills I can acquire. The choice is… impossibly large. There are ‘cultivation manuals’ for techniques that will cripple my body, failed mage traditions, knowledge of language (Sallurian, basic) and advanced crustacean peeling methods. There is also kissing and macrame knotting knowledge.

Those don’t feel like intelligent uses of my points.

“Is there a limit to the number of qualia points I can get?”

“Is there a limit to experience?” the god challenges. “And yet, one can only die in the same way so many times before the experience grows stale. Unless one has learned a new way to appreciate the same thing. Who can say? Qualias are subjective, are they not?”

I’ll take this as a no but it takes increased effort. Ok. My last check is the neutral trait he gave me. It allows me to absorb language at a very fast rate by sheer exposure ‘based on soul awakening’. The screen explains that it works for any language used ‘for the sake of communication between sapient beings’. So maybe not programming. Or cyphers. Still, it feels insanely useful. The fact it ‘scales’ on the soul means it was pretty smart to grant it to me. I check the point cost, just in case. 

1857. 

“Ah.”

So, ok, I don’t even want to think about the cost of a perfect soul. One that can just recover from trauma.

I look at my second cadaver again. Two brown eyes, staring at nothing. Tears, again. It’s… the second time I’ve seen my own eyes with my own eyes, without mirror or cameras. Both times here. Same with my back.

I… I need to address the mangled corpse in the room.

“I’m going to die again, am I not?”

“I find this very likely, yes,” Chronos replies.

There is a sort of deep sympathy in his eyes I find unsettling. Since he’s the one who put me in this fucking predicament to begin with.

“Take your time,” he says.

“Haha. Ok.”

I take a deep breath.

“I’m ready.”

***

Chapter 3: Beat the unbeatable.

This is not my flat. I fling my cup and press my hand against the panel. This time, the strange energy I feel flows more freely. It takes only ten seconds or so to activate the panel. Rush right. Spook the posh bitch heading home with my pedestrian unawakened slippers. Find the lift. Coax energy into the button, which is faster. It dings open immediately because it was already there. Thank you, posh bitch. I push the lowest button.

No wait, that’s the cellar. I frown. One squiggle for single digit floors, then two squiggles for each floor afterward. The squiggle looks like ‘down’ so I presume it must mean ‘under?’. Yeah, and the number squiggles are mirrored so it must be the below-ground levels. I press level zero. I think it’s level zero, yeah. 

My bladder tries to force its way up as the lift drops. Fast. Must be a tall building. The doors ping open.

Flash of light. Sounds. Impacts. Parts of the ceiling, splattered with blood. Pain. Very brief.

Death count: 3

Qualia points acquired: 2 (new violent death)

Total available: 16.

***

Leather seat.

“That motherfucker trapped the lift’s ground floor exit? In a residential building? What a savage; very rude.”

“Beer?” Chronos offers.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Morag serves me a pint of ale in a glass stein of simple make. She manages the foam perfectly so I give her my begrudging respect. I take a sip. Not only is it amazing, it’s at the perfect temperature again.

“If the god business doesn’t work out, you can always open a bar,” I offer.

“Fortunately, it pans out… every time,” Chronos jokes.

Fucking puns from a god. I suppose that’s all my simian intellect can appreciate.

“Whose apartment is this anyway?” I ask. “How come I’m being killed on sight? Isn’t this against the rules?”

“It is your apartment. I had someone prepare it for you, as well as… financial resources.”

“Where’s the cash?”

“I suppose I can share that it will be in a ‘chip’ as this concept already exists in your mind. Simply sending energy into the chip will bind it to you.”

“Okay. And for the killer?”

“It is not against the rules to send a killer after a target, even if this target happens to be you.”

There is something peculiar about the wording that makes me believe I am missing some context.

“I don’t suppose you can do anything about it?” I ask, with little hope.

“Nope! But you can.”

Suddenly, I realize I could technically die after two minutes without fail for a hundred loops, and eventually find something to buy with all that qualia that would get me a way out… but no. No, there must be a way. Clearly everyone here has a better body than I do, but it still takes time for the killer to catch up. There must be ways for me to escape. The killer is faster, stronger, more prepared. Fuck, they even have drones, I think? But what do I have?

I have time. If there is one path out, a single, one chance to escape, then I can find it. And then use it.

Every time.

My gaze sees the third corpse. Looks like some cleaned a raspberry jam leak with my fucking clothes. But that’s the thing. I don’t even feel that terribly upset here. Because nothing, nothing can permanently stick.

I will get out.

“Can you tell me more about the flat I’m in?” I ask.

“I can only answer specific questions,” the god reminds me.

“Are there weapons?”

“Not as such. I asked for a safe place and resources so that you may be acclimated.”

“Ok, ok. I think I have some ideas. Send me back.”

***

I push myself through the ghost memory of getting pulped. The soul thing, I can feel it. A part of me knows I should be in a worse mental state after everything that happened. I died, violently. Several times. The memories are not dulled, they’re just distant. Separated from who I am by a gap that shouldn’t be there. I can also feel a presence to my right, beyond the wall of the flat. That’s posh bitch going home. No wait, I'm being rude for no reason. Renaming her as neighbor in my head. I manage to open the door in only a couple seconds then I’m out after grabbing the cash chip. 

“Hi,” I greet neighbor. “Lovely evening we’re having.”

She replies something in a sing-song language I don’t recognize. The emotion I get from her is just surprise so I elect to believe this is a polite greeting. I’m still running anyway. The lift obligingly opens. This time, I press up. The highest floor possible.

It doesn’t work. I pick another with a longer series of symbols and the lift takes off. Maybe I need some sort of ID to even access my floor? If so, how does the killer even get in? 

The door opens on a flat expanse of ground: the roof, as I was hoping for. I take a step out and —

“What the… wow.”

I didn’t get it. I really didn’t get it until now. I saw an ‘alien’ but I didn’t properly register what it meant. I see it now. Skyscrapers in endless rows, climbing, climbing, all around, distant ones like thin needles. Some of them hang like stalactites from higher up instead, stopping at a bottom floor that tapers down to a soft curve. Some must be miles long. I stretch my neck trying to see the end but they’re lost in a sea of lights and colors, and even though there is no sky there is so much light, so much green. Titanic growths of ruby, emerald, sapphire leaves, some thick, some as light as crystal, some even transparent! And there, yellow leaves with deep black flowers. They crawl over every structure harmoniously, embracing them, avoiding windows and the uncountable bridges crossing the abyss between the buildings. There are lights as well and, at least for now, the merry explosions of fireworks. Music fills the air in a distorted cacophony, drums and brass reverberating. Flying, well, cars, form thin lines crossing the sky in short parades. There are even people on the trees. There are people everywhere. It’s… it’s wonderful. It’s so wonderful.

It’s so fucking wonderful it almost made me forget the killer.

“Right.”

With deep regret, I tear my eyes away from the breathtaking spectacle. Ok so this may be architecturally impossible given the little I know of material science but maybe my first instinct was still correct. If an alien residential tower has a lift, stairs, and condescending neighbours, then perhaps it also shares something else with human buildings: fire exits. I race to the edge. Ok that is… quite a drop. I can see a massive bridge acting as a sort of platform below though, upon which people stroll. I think there are food stands as well, and balloons. Are those holograms? They sure look gorgeous. Alright, focus. Focus. Fire exit. The roof isn’t that big because we’re in one of the thinner towers. I would have also expected, I don’t know, transformers and AC units or something, but the roof is flat with just a basic guardrail. Writing on the ground and arrows suggest there must be machinery but, honestly, I don’t see anything. Second corner, half a bridge then an abyss as deep and bright as the sky was. Third corner, just the abyss. I’m not panicking. Not yet.

Fourth side. Half a bridge and the abyss.

No fire exit. No stairs. Nothing. I could technically get over the railing to try and get down using the window panels as handholds. Maybe a world-class climber could manage it. I’m in good shape for a cellist but this is far, far beyond me. And the elevator is gone. Wait, this building has a cellar. How does that work? I look down again and spot stairs in the ‘bridge’. So it must have several layers, hmm. 

Something flashes away from under the platform. Was that a train? Ok, ok. 

There is only one decision left to me. I need to —

Death count: 4

Qualia points acquired: 1 (violent death, very clean)

Total available: 17.

***

“—  decide how to die,” I tell Chronos.

He nods knowingly.

“The ultimate choice. Well, except for you. Orange juice? Freshly pressed.”

I’m impressed to see Morag squeezing half oranges on a shiny chrome juicer with the precision and care of a neurosurgeon. The juice is delicious.

“Thank you, Morag.”

She stares at me and I don’t know if it’s a glare. Everything feels like a glare when someone has the infinite expanse of the interstellar void instead of eyeballs. 

“It’s delicious,” I helpfully add.

A short nod confirms that I’m still in the green. My new corpse is lying on his chest — my chest? — missing the front half of the head from what I can tell. The entry wound is just in the middle of my poor head, from the back. The dark hair looks wet, but it still lacks a pool of blood.

“The sands swallow it. Otherwise it would be too messy,” Chronos elaborates.

“Convenient.”

“It is my domain.”

Right. Riiiight. Hmm. 

“Tell me, would I have access to the cellar? If I have a flat to my name there.”

“In this district? Basement storage often comes with ownership.”

“Ok. New plan. Yeah, new plan…”

***

Grab the chip. Leave, take a right. 

“Hi, neighbor.”

Shock, disbelief coming in waves. I think I’m getting better. It would definitely help if the killer went after me themselves instead of sending drones. I’m pretty sure I saw them the first time but then it’s either drones or they shot me from behind, or both. The lift opens. I try to press basement 1, no dice. Basement 2? Dice. My bladder climbs up uncomfortably. Hey, at least it’s still inside.

The door opens to a dark corridor, dim blue lights leading left and right. I step out and do not explode which is a novel and welcome experience. Funny how people tend to take explosion-free housing for granted, the entitled bastards. I run right because that’s where I saw the stairs at the bridge level. There are plenty of small doors to my right where the main body of the building should be, which I assume are the cellars. At the end of the corridor, I find what I was hoping for: an exit gate. With a panel. A beep, and it unlocks. I am out. Elegant metal stairs lead up to the bridge with its music, warm light, and people. This level has arrows and squiggles I still cannot read but I recognize numbers and a repeated sign. I rush ahead, not just because there is cover but because I think I know what I’m going to find, and I do. Locked gates with some sort of reader. Behind, a platform with benches, and then arches hovering over emptiness, held together by a technology I could only have dreamed of. Or is it magic? Hard to tell.

I take out the chip, then send energy into it. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to work. There seems to be some sort of feedback I am having trouble identifying. Someone walks by, sending waves of astonishment and curiosity, but with the same underlying haughty disgust I experienced from dear neighbor. There is definitely something with me that the locals don’t appreciate. I catch a floral scent and the wide shoulder of a man in deep blue clothes, purple hair forming a waterfall behind his back giving me a wide berth. I’m the background loser in some over-the-top anime.

And I’m going to die if I don’t manage to unlock that damn… ah, here it is. I just had to keep pushing energy for a few seconds without stopping. At least it doesn’t feel tiring. 

Now if this place is user-friendly… I place the chip against the locked gate’s reader. A prompt pops up, with two options. On a hunch, I press the left one. The gate opens and I’m on the platform. 

A train arrives, slowing down. The chrome and glass frame makes it almost see-through. I almost race in, which saves me as the door stays open for about a second, then the damn train goes off so fast I half-crash on a seat with a delicate upholstery.

There are three people in the car, all like models from some futuristic event. The purple-haired man looks like the archetypal doomed musician, with pale skin and sharp features. There is also a massively muscular man with elaborate face paint, close-cropped hair, and dark glasses hovering over his face, and a woman with frizzy golden hair whose perfect face turns away with disgust. I feel annoyance from the artist, outrage from the woman, and nothing from the muscle lad who’s given some distance by the other two. The woman actually stands and struts away in a wave of perfume. As for the artist, he turns his attention to a transparent sheet of something crystalline I assume must be electronics since I doubt he would actually pull a mirror. I look around. We are moving very fast, so fast the next stop comes quickly with no one getting on. Music, people, and light still fill the air. We are still surrounded by skyscrapers extending up and down until I lose sight. The number of people contained in this place, even assuming one per apartment, must be… I don’t even want to think about it.

Anyway, I got out. I successfully got out. I’m alive and I have money. The killer might be after me but I have not been alive for this long before, so I assume they’re at the very least delayed.

Now what?

I’m facing three major issues. No, wait, I’m facing three major, immediate issues. One, I don’t speak the language. That might not seem like much of an issue but I can’t read it either. Most famous destinations on Earth make a token effort to use Roman characters. Here? Squiggles everywhere. They really look like a succession of nicely decorated circles placed one after the other. Ovals, rather. They must be super hard to read from afar though. 

Ok, enough. Focus. Must be the adrenaline crashing down. I can’t understand or read anything, leading me to the second point. I don’t know anyone here. I don’t know where to go. I don’t have allies. Bloody hell, I don’t even know why anybody would want to kill me off without so much as a proper insult. I just got here! And I don’t know where to go next. I guess, I was so busy with surviving the very short term, I didn’t think of what to do afterward. What I know is that I must learn the language, which should be fairly easy thanks to the cheat skill, and at least get some help but there comes the third issue: people look at me like I’m a rabid ferret and I think I know why. 

It’s probably the body awakening thing, at the very least. I can tell pretty much everyone around is faster, taller, and — if I have to be honest — much better-looking than I am. If someone fished a lice-riddled peasant from some 13th century rat ditch and dropped them in modern-day Harrods, they’d probably get about the same welcome. And that’s a problem because if people’s first reaction to me is disgust, I’m going to struggle to get any courtesy, much less help from a stranger.

I wish I could talk to Chronos, but I assume it can only be done outside of the loop, dammit. 

I look up. Nothing has changed except that the train seems to be going upward now. Inside the comfortable interior, I barely saw the change. Unfortunately, a woosh of air announces the presence of newcomers. I look up, feeling a vague sense of annoyance.

Two guys in futuristic white armor with kite shields and spears. They look halfway between knights and the personal guard of some insane dictator. I don’t need any soul senses to smell trouble.

“Ah shit it’s the fuzz.”

Fear claws at my chest, an instinctive response. It doesn’t matter that I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m weak, ugly, and I can tell this is a sin here. I don’t want to spend one year in prison. 

They talk to me with a voice modulator that turns their speech low and mechanical, an additional impersonal touch on top of their face-covering helms. I’m so done for.

“I’m sorry,” I tell them. “I do not understand you.”

Annoyance. Impatience. Unexpectedly, the guy I can’t read speaks up. The cops exchange a few words with him. He… doesn’t speak the same language as they do but they seem to understand perfectly well. Eventually, the train stops, and this time it stays stopped. One of the cops makes a come hither gesture towards the exit.

My chances of escaping, or resisting, are just like my chance of becoming the archon: just a flat zero. I stand up to follow. They don’t even check if I’m doing it. Now the emotions from the passerbys are even more filled with disgust.

So this is going to get very old, very fast. I still follow the two plastified gargoyles across empty metal hallways that must be below the ‘main street’. It seems the party is still going strong outside. Eventually, the pair shoves me inside of an elevator heading down alongside crates, barrels, and what look like trash cans. The gate opens to another empty metal corridor after a solid fifteen minutes of travel. All downwards. From my perspective. Hesitating, I leave. There are markings on the walls in softly shimmering letters. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen at least three hundred different ones by now thanks to my new trait, all mostly oval and only differentiated by the loops, crosses, and patterns circling and linking them. I have to come to a tragic realization.

The alphabet is clearly meaning-based rather than sound-based. It’s going to be a pain to learn. Thank fuck for the cheat. Unfortunately, I am now completely lost. The hallways are labyrinthine and empty at this time of the, well, I haven’t seen a sun yet so it’s hard to tell, but the fact my neighbor was heading home would indicate it might be evening. I’m starting to tire and I’m thirsty. I call, but there are no replies, just more corridors and more rooms, most of them locked. It looks like I ended up in some sort of maintenance hub mostly dealing with waste disposal. It smells a bit bad.

Maybe I should double back. I will double back. I turn, press the panel, and it beeps a refusal.

“Well, shit.”

Ok. Ok, new plan: I find some sort of office or mess hall and wait there for rescue. Since I need language exposure anyway, I might as well learn it off the boxes of cereals or whatever alien version they keep around. More corridors, more airy this time. They grow larger. It looks even more deserted.

“Fuck.”

There is a big hangar bay. Hangar door. Looks like it’s designed for vehicles. This one beeps open so I cross it, and suddenly, light. I approach a railing, panic a bit, step back because there is no glass that I can see, but I realize I can breathe. It’s… space.

I face a planet, dark masses of land and see lit by clusters of light. It’s night time over there, but the white light of a distant sun turns the upper edge into a fiery corolla. It must be, I don’t know, ten thousand miles away? Or not? It feels very close for a planet, yet so large my sense of scale just doesn’t process it. I am.. in space? I look left, right. Metal extending until I cannot gauge the distance at all but it must be tens of kilometers at the lowest, lowest estimate.

“Holy shit.”

I’m on a space station. It’s an artificial satellite. And it is massive. 

Who built this?

How is it even called?

Where the fuck am I?

***

I try to get back inside but the door is predictably locked. I try to find another way in without success. I wait. I bang on a door. I wait some more, I don’t know for how long. I walk. 

At some point, I see a robot flying in the distance. There are also distant dots I think might be starships, in the distance. I can’t be sure. They’re too far for me.

The sun rises. There are explosions on the surface of the planet, very tiny ones but I assume they must be monstrous on the ground. I’m really thirsty now. I come across another door but it is locked. I don’t find any way to contact anyone.

***

I throw up over the railing. There is barely anything there, but it slows, then flashes, then it is gone. It makes me wonder how there can be gravity here. I am so, so tired. Exhausted.

I think I’m dying.

“Fuck.”

The annoying, humiliating thing is… this is my fault. I knew, knew, that if one is lost, they must stop and wait for rescue. It might have worked back in the waste disposal complex, but up here? There is no one. I had every chance to turn and I didn’t. And now I’m going to die for it. Die because I knew what to do but couldn’t fucking gather two functional brain cells to rub together as soon as the actual situation arose. I am such a dumb fuck.

There is an attraction to the void. I hate being so thirsty my mouth feels like sandpaper. I know that, when I die, I’ll return. It’s still so scary. I don’t know if I can do it. But I have to. It’s not a matter of dying now. It’s a matter of how. I feel so sick. It hurts.

One last look at the planet. The landmasses are not that of Earth. The light is slightly different, slightly lighter. This isn’t my world. Not even a distant future or distant past version of it. I still don’t know what it’s called.

I tilt over the railing. It still takes a conscious effort not to grab it on the way down. To prolong the inevitable.

I fall fast but then I slow down, because there is nothing pulling me ‘down’. Cold envelops me like a sudden brisk wind. I exhale. Crystal dust puffs out, for half a second. A beautiful cloud. For the briefest moment, I feel so very alive, my soul expanding once more like the first time to embrace everything that can be, that will be, as long as I keep going. Space.

Then space devours me.

It doesn’t take very long, but it’s very, very painful.

Death count: 5

Qualia points acquired: 84

Triumph of escaping the assassin’s net: 3

Used money: 1

Took the grav train: 1

First meeting with, and exposure to a Sallurian and their language: 1

Faced hostile law enforcement: 3

Saw the outside: 12

Experienced acute radiation poisoning: 8

Made the conscious choice to end your own life: 25

Violent death: (fast, messy: space exposure without any protective equipment, then shield disintegration): 30

Total available: 101

Chapter 4: Mercy.

“FUCK!”

“More tea? Another blend.”

“Yes please but let me just do something real quick,” I reply to Chronos. “Excuse me.”

I rush to the arcade. There is something I must buy. It’s not about the experience I just lived through. Died through. Doesn’t matter. It’s for the future. I am absolutely certain that what I just went through is nothing compared to what can happen to me in future loops. I will not subject myself to this.

You have purchased: Forced Loop Reset for 54 points. 

Not if I have to.

I walk back to the chair, Chronos and Morag quietly waiting.

“Thank you for your patience,” I begin.

Chronos and I both smile. Silly time jokes, haha.

I wish I could forget what every piece of my skin and my lungs freezing and frying at the same time feels like.

“I will have that tea now, please.”

We wait in quiet contemplation while Morag takes her time moving her nightmare feelers around the delicate teapot. She’s really good at this.

“Thank you very much.”

As usual, the tea is delicious. Pu’er, this time. I find the earthy taste comforting.

“May I ask more questions?”

“Of course!” Chronos replies with a pleasant smile.

“So I kind of prayed to you when I was desperate. I suppose I can only talk to you here?”

He tilts his head ever so slightly.

“Hmmm, I believe it is common knowledge that a god may only be communed with at one of their temples, by the uninitiated.”

“But I’m your champion?”

“That doesn’t make you ‘initiated’, and besides, I can no longer provide any help. Feel free to drop by for a conversation though!”

That also means that I need to save my questions for, well, my deaths. At least at first since he’s basically the only person I can talk to.

“You have a clergy?”

“Yes.”

“They won’t help me?”

“Not directly. You might be able to trade for assistance.”

I simmer a bit, more a theatrical reaction than anything since I still can’t feel annoyed. That sounds, I don’t know, unfair.

 “They would find the champion of their god and leave him on the curb? Really?”

“As I said, they cannot help you for free, even those who would recognize you.”

That gives me pause.

“How do people recognize champions?”

“Only the strongest soul awakened may gaze upon a soul and recognize the mark of a god upon their champion. You will find that many gods allowed their churches to announce the coming of their champion, and to recognize them. Some champions were known to the people before they were even selected!”

“But not me,” I grumble.

“My resources were better spent granting you the power of language learning. You will find that there are more uses than you currently suspect. Besides, my church is fairly small compared to, say, war or commerce or even luck. Many pray for success. Few pray for more time.”

I finish my cup, then turn to Morag who pours again with great focus. I just don’t get why they’re so serious about this.

“Thank you, Morag. So… who set up the apartment?”

“A mortal who did wish for more time. Although he obeyed my desires to specification, it appears he was… less than cautious in setting it up.”

“But you knew this would happen,” I accuse. “If you live through all the time simultaneously!”

“My hands are still tied,” Chronos replies apologetically, then his smile turns predatory.

I believe this is the first time I see him express nothing but benevolence, and I am reminded that time is many things but it is definitely not kind. Morag shifts, the sound of her dress like a giant sail scraping a mountain. Right. 

“But you are free to do something about it,” Chronos offers. “Remember. You are the most free person in the universe right now. In many ways.”

“Yes,” I reply with a measure of forced annoyance, then a second time more softly. He’s right.

“So about the killer, know anything?” I ask.

“I believe that would be a little bit too much help, but surely you can find something yourself. Perhaps in your nice, expensive flat?”

He winks. With a lot of exaggeration.

“Right. I still can’t read whatever language those squiggles are. I don’t suppose you have any material hanging around?”

“You may not provide any resources beyond simple things that can only exist here, such as paper and a pen or this most excellent shen pu. I will have another cup, dear. Thank you. You may still use this spot to train, although I don’t recommend it.”

“Why?”

“No ambient energy I may grant you access to. Ambient energy helps growth, and there is a lot of it where you are.”

“Fair enough.”

Then I remember the incredible view.

“Speaking of, where am I?”

Chronos leans back into his seat. His hands part, showing a tubular metal structure hanging in space over the blue and green surface of the planet I saw.

“Welcome to Enderlith, seat of the Celestial Court.”

“... thanks.”

***

We finish the pot with a few more questions from me.

“Why are there humans in space?”

“Convergent evolution.”

I have to stop at that.

“Really?”

“Really. You will notice Enderlith has a well-developed train network. It turns out that trains are also spread across the galaxy because it’s a very efficient way to travel at the current technological development level.”

“What about crabs? Are there crab people?”

“Of course! Humans, for example.”

I frown over my cup.

“Opposable thumbs, full mobility, scavenger lifestyle,” Chronos lists with a mocking smile.

“I’m not sure if I want to debate this specific point with a god. Also, no shell?”

“Oh? You do not love armor? Curious.”

“Alright alright. Next question! Is there any safe place every, what Enderlithian? That’s what they’re called?”

“If you wish! You are the only English speaker who knows of this place, therefore you can name it whatever you please!”

“Enderlithian then. Would anyone know where someone with almost no resources could get help?”

“Why, many places!” Chronos replies, still smiling. “Many such places. With different costs, of course.”

I’m not going to get a straight answer, am I?

“Right. Well. I want to check something and then I’ll be gone.”

“Of course! Take your time.”

I roll my eyes, which makes Chronos chuckle. The arcade awaits me. I immediately get the confirmation I was expecting.

Steve Prentiss.

Qualia points available: 47

Physical awakening: N/A

Mage tradition: none

Soul awakening: second stage

Avatar traits:

Perfect loop (time)

Perfect soul (time)

Avatar language acquisition (neutral)

“Can you tell me what the second stage of soul awakening does?” I ask Chronos.

“And rob you of the pleasure of experimenting? Of discovering? Never.”

He… is making a point. That makes me think of something else but before I ask, I check the arcade again, and search for soul-based mage traditions. If I have the perfect soul then surely it will help. And I do find several manuals with the cheapest being at 217 and requiring someone with a third stage awakening. 

That would probably be a great objective in the short term. Checking, I see that other manuals exist but they require a higher stage. One requires stage ten and costs over 5000 points. Interested, I check something else: passives.

If there is an option to advance me to the first physical awakening at the start of the loop, then there might be other ways to improve, well, who I am from the start. It feels like it would provide great advantages, and it seems like it would but I hit an immediate snag.

Animasomatic imprint, which requires me to reach the third stage of awakening before buying, costs only 32 points but each subsequent level adds a number to the end until I don’t think I could even afford the sixth level. There are also options to make me a gifted awakened blademaster. That costs almost five thousand points. As much as an ultimate manual.

“One must live through and experience much of the universe before understanding it , through effort, the way a natural does,” Chronos explains.

“By this logic, by the time I can buy the skill, I might have just achieved a similar result through my own efforts.”

“Yes! Or not, if you centered your efforts on another aspect of existence. Or you might reach greater heights after having changed yourself at the most basic level! It’s not an uncommon thing to do on Enderlith.”

“What, really?”

“Do you really believe all those patricians popped out of the primordial ooze over two meters tall with purple hair, perfect skin, and a natural ability for awakening? No! It is the product of generational efforts. And training. And technology. There is always a way!”

Well.

Anyway, basic physical awakening and the soul-based mage tradition will be a nice short-term goal. A part of me argues that it would be a waste of my suffering to spend points on cheap stuff that can obviously be found elsewhere but I see it more as an investment. I need basic stuff to get me started to get better stuff faster.

Also I’m tired of dying stupidly.

“I don’t suppose there is a trait that prevents someone from making stupid decisions?”

“There are several traits that limit people’s stupidity. Sadly, nothing fully cures idiocy but death. Except for you!”

“Yeah yeah,” I groan.

That death. Isn’t it weird that what I feel the most is shame? Even dulled here, the emotion waits in my stomach like a pool of cold acid. 

I turn to glare at my fifth corpse but find only dark ash peppered on the previous corpses.

“Isn’t a bit fucked up that I would get so many points for basically killing myself?”

“Tut tut,” Chronos corrects. “Remember, the point system is a simplification to help you understand your growth. You didn’t get points for dying. You fed your soul with the experience of despair, of inevitability, with the sinking emotion that comes with facing one’s end. You grew from tilting over the railing, for fighting your own sense of self-preservation and winning. For suffering. You grew from the certitude that you are capable of taking that step.”

“Without facing the consequences,” I reproach.

“Did you not? The world forgot, but you won’t. I do believe those are consequences. After all, you did harm yourself in desperation.”

I come to an uncomfortable realization. I mean, it’s pretty obvious in retrospect but… I’ve been focusing on short-term survival so much that I was distracted. My soul cannot be destroyed, and I always start with the same body unless I decide to improve it, so I am free to experiment. What matters is experience: good, bad, abominable, it doesn’t matter. Any new experience will make me grow.

I’m not sure I like the implication.

I turn and meet Chronos’ gaze. As always, it is unreadable, but I remember. Time is not kind.

***

This is not my flat. The ghost of everything burning whispers of a pain that, technically, never was, but I remember it only too well.

I need room to breathe. I died five times and never lasted a day. Chronos said there was something in the flat that might help me. I search a bit, but this only leaves me more puzzled. What I assume is a kitchen area has what looks like a fridge and an oven, except the oven has entirely too many keys and the fridge is empty with some sort of menu on the door. The mezzanine is a sleeping spot with what I assume is a wardrobe, also with an interface. I also find a sort of shower that doesn’t seem to run on water and a wall panel downstairs and I’m met with the same problem as before: I can’t fucking read. And then I realize I can feel more people through the walls.

My sphere of detection has increased, I guess. One of them is approaching. It is not closed off but the emotions I perceive are cold and focused. It’s too late for me to run so I rush to the gate control and push with my soul, but this time I also… speak to it. I try to make sure it doesn’t open this time. Two low chimes sound weirdly like a confirmation

The unknown soul stops before my gate. It’s moving slowly this time but it confirms that it’s just one killer and their drones. Looking around, I realize I should probably shutter the windows or the drones can just shoot me through them. I do not find a way to do so but it doesn't matter. As I approach the door to check the wall panel again, I —

Death count: 6

Qualia points acquired: 2 (new violent death by explosion)

Total available: 49

***

“Well I mean, I just need time to learn how to read. Can’t do much without the language,” I tell Chronos.

This time, my corpse has no external signs of damage I can see. I guess I died from the blast. I heard it’s the pressure that kills ya.

 “Alright, let’s do it again.”

***

This isn’t my flat. I turn around, grab the chip and a sort of sheet from the table. It looks like what the ‘patrician’ was using to read so I’m going to assume it’s a computer of sorts. Could be useful. My trait means I just need more exposure anyway.

It looks like I can send emotions and images now so I do so at my neighbor. I sense shock from her and nothing else as she freezes, her hand stopping before she can unlock her door. She’s still gawping at me by the time I get into the lift. The trip towards the train station is even faster this time, and I send the lift to the roof as an additional distraction. I decide to take the train in the same direction as before despite the risks, ignoring purple hair’s glare of disgust. Something makes me turn around, I don’t know what. Maybe instincts? On the other side of the security door is one of the drones that killed me. Its spherical eye is fixed on me.

But… how? I did the same thing as the last time? Fear claws at my chest. I wait for the violent sting but… the drone doesn’t attack. 

When the train arrives, I jump in. Something blurs to the drone as the train takes off but we’re already gone. So… I’m still being tracked down?

A rumble attracts my attention just as blonde hair leaves the car to call the jacked up bobbies on my pedestrian ass. It’s muscle lad. I think he’s talking to me in, what was it? Sallurian? No, it’s the common tongue but heavily accented.

Wow. Someone’s talking to me and it doesn’t sound like insults. Full of undying gratitude, I just… push my incomprehension towards him before I realize what I did. For an instant, the thing shielding his soul pulls back and I feel his surprise. He rumbles something else. I shrug.

“I don’t understand, mate. Sorry.”

I send him my confusion again. Wait, I couldn’t do that before. I’m a telepath now?

Elation fills me because sending thoughts at someone is pretty neat. If I see someone spit on the ground, I could send them what I think of them directly to their mind. Amazing.

Wait, could I send music? That would be so nice. But that’s for later. 

How does one think of shelter? Before I can think of a way, the mind of muscle lad unexpectedly opens, and I receive hesitating images in return. They lack clarity or coherence from my perspective, a bit like half-faded pieces of painting, but they’re enough to show me the shape of my killer and the drone. Muscle lad spotted him, it seems. I get ‘male’ from the armored shape and ‘armed and dangerous’ from the plethora of weird handles and muzzles poking out of his cloak. Not that it would matter since I’m one drone sneeze away from carpet stain status at any given moment.

Muscle lad is looking at me. I turn my head right towards the lead car. We just stopped, and two souls are walking in our direction with the ponderous gravitas of anti-vagrant policies. It’s the fucking jackboots again. 

The Sallurian points at the computer still in my hand. I oblige since he can take what he wants anyway. He beeps it open, raises a brow in surprise, then presses keys so fast his fingers blur. When he returns it to me, I realize… I understand what I’m looking at.

Because it’s a map with direction on a panel to the left. With numbers which I assume refer to lines. He gave me an itinerary. A last image sent to my mind shows me a circle crossed by a wave, not a letter, a symbol.

The itinerary says I need to change at the next stop. I send him one last wave of gratitude, then go for the door just as the fuzz comes in. The Sallurian stands up. I sense… wariness from the cops, but then I’m out, and they leave in a burst of speed.

Everything’s so fast here.

Anyway that guy saved me a lot of wandering. I walk through more corridors with windows showing breath-tanking views of the skyscrapers, the lights, the trees of strange essence snaking branches among the impossible buildings… I cannot read the direction well but fortunately, everything is really well indicated with plenty of shiny signs and the only thing I have to do is to match the numbers of the computer thing to the ones I see. There seems to be very few people in transit, which could be the time. It looks to be very late. Besides trains, I also take elevators and quite a bit of stairs. After an hour, I am hot, tired, and sweaty, but the world around me starts to change.

It begins with the people: less color in their hair, not as tall and the clothes appear more functional than decorative. There are a lot of earthy tones, but also a preference for shiny reflective clothes with a metal sheen. I still get surprise as a reaction but no more disgust, and people are quick to return to their own affairs. Many are human, of ethnic groups I’ve never met before. Some I would call human variants with strangely colored skin, scales, or other features I cannot really identify. Some are downright strange like a tall quadrupedal entirely covered in fur, yet holding another sheet between stubby fingers. I do my best not to stare as I don’t want to risk offending anyone. 

More than their appearance, it’s their, I don’t know, aura that changes. They don’t feel as different or as dangerous as the ‘patricians’ from before. I’m not sure but I think it made be related to awakenings.

The trains change, becoming bulkier and larger but also slower. It starts to smell. Garbage has been left on the seats. Then it goes dark.

I think we’ve entered some sort of tunnel but the direction goes down and I realize: this is the end of the skyscraper zone. The last bridge was not a bridge, but the actual ground. Or a ground. Lights show me we’re still moving rather quickly but now there is little to see but cave-sized open spaces crammed with buildings lit by garish neon lights. It feels more lively too, with shapes moving despite the late hours. It only takes another fifteen minutes before I reach my stop. I step out and regret it as soon as the security gate beeps me out.

It stinks. Or rather, there is a persistent stale smell that’s somewhere between mid-traffic and locker room. The only trees are dark things hanging for dear life from crummy balconies, their leaves dull. The station is at the top of a ‘hill’, although I know the terms makes little sense, but the faraway walls are covered in lodgings, and the space in between cramped with shorter buildings plante haphazardly along cluttered streets. There are many stalls but they’re mostly closed. There is however, one thing that attracts my gaze: a large compound sitting straight in the middle and in the middle of its colossal wall, in orange light, is the symbol the Sallurian sent me: a circle around a wave. 

I’ve arrived. 

***

Walking through the empty streets brings a sense of strange familiarity. I’ve been on pub crawls before, and missed the last train home so I had to walk a bit. Despite the alien nature of this space station — but seriously how does it maintain artificial gravity? — there is a universal weirdness about crossing a spot that would be a hive of activity at any other time. The witching hour turns shops and main thoroughfares into empty ghosts of themselves. I let my gaze roam over the ground, which is made of metal and asphalt and dirty as hell. There is uncollected trash in the side alley, most of them smelling like piss. It’s almost like I’m back in London, really. The very simple, unadorned buildings form a weird, eclectic mess though they’re not dilapidated. More… lived in. And in need of renovations. Here and there, holographic neons and alien writings remind me I am on Enderlith. I notice now that the squiggles merge with a more basic alphabet seemingly made of all sharp lines and angles. It could be a translation or a phonetic system. Not sure yet. ironic how I’m supposed to be the champion of time and I can’t get five fucking minutes to stop and read. 

My destination rises over the other buildings, flooded with orange light. It’s very close now. I am only two blocks away when I pick up three souls approaching from behind. Their ‘emotions’ wake me up like a fresh slap.

Greed, excitement, aggression. It’s an acid, vile cocktail that leaves a bad taste on my neurons. I’m already sprinting.

Really like London then. On a very bad day. I think I lose them for a while while closed shops and locked residential buildings pass by but I feel soul search backward and they're there, gaining quickly. I burst out of the main street onto a small plaza lit by orange lamps. The entrance is there and there is a guard, lone one but I get a strong impression from him. He’s a tall, bald human with tan skin and furrowed blue eyes over a simple outfit, something functional in brown leather. More importantly, he wields a staff.

“Hey!” I greet. “Heeey!”

He ignores me. I know he ignores me because I can feel his annoyance and perhaps a bit of guilt as he looks away. He’s still looking away when hands grab my shoulders and pull me back into an unlit alley.

Asshole.

***

There are, as I thought, three of them. One is broad with neanderthal features, and he spends his time looking at the alley entrance. The second is a shorter, angry guy as pale as they get with pinkish iris and short, stubby blue hair. They look natural, which I notice when he flings me against a dumpster. The leader has already grabbed the computer with a laugh and a smile of pure greed. He’s stocky with dark hair and darker eyes. They don’t look like the same ethnic group at all, but their ratty clothes which I’ll call ‘space dumpster chic’ gives them a cohesive look. They also reek, not just of filth but that acrid smell I associate with digesting alcohol. 

The leader speaks to me in a sharp dialect, then more slowly in the tongue used by the patricians before. His accent is rugged and awkward. When I don’t reply, the pale guy slams me against the dumpster again. It hurts a bit.

I’m not sure what to do. I merely don’t resist when white guy pats me down, missing the chip in my pocket somehow. Their emotions surge, dark and giddy, as does their condescension. Then they freeze.

I jump with surprise when a figure uncurls herself from a nearby mattress. I hadn’t seen her, but more importantly, I hadn’t felt her. When I do see her I understand why.

While the patricians had looked like demigods wrapped in high fashion, no one seeing the, well, woman, would imagine she’d ever been human. Her skin is black, not like a normal skin tone but black like onyx coursed by crystal veins in shades of red, gold, blue, every color dancing under the surface like slow lightning. Her very short hair pulses red like the corona of a red giant, and her eyes are black orbs with single white dots where, I assume, her pupils are. They almost look painted on. I look at her and see something immensely vast contained in a human shape. The scene is so surreal that it takes me a few seconds to realize the woman is entirely naked. Her nudity has nothing sexual. She is akin to a statue lacking ornaments. At no point do I look at her and see a human.

So the fact she just popped out of a trash pile is that much more baffling. The long-suffering sigh that follows gives me a whiplash.

The two goons give their leader a quick glance. He gives me one last dismissive glare before running away with my computer. I decide that the toll is acceptable for this loop. After all, there is always a next time.

I take a moment to stand up. By some miracle, the ground I was sent on was dry so I’m only a little dirty instead of having a soiled shirt beyond salvation. I pat myself a bit. My heart beats a nice dance and the adrenaline is starting to fray my nerves but… I’m ok. I’m ok.

Will I ever get used to aggressions? I wonder.

“Ah, thanks a lot,” I tell the woman, before remembering she cannot understand me.

“You’re welcome, traveller.”

I’m so not expecting this that it takes a second for my neurons to connect.

English?

Here?

With a BBC accent?!

“Uh, wow. You speak my language?”

“Say,” she replies.

She lifts two pieces of foodstuff that look vaguely like pies. They glisten with grease in the dim light.

“Do you think this is edible?”

I wouldn’t touch those with a rusty pole.

“Errr, probably not. Well, I owe you. If you speak the local language I can just, you know, repay you. With a meal?”

The eyes consider me for a short moment. I’m not sure but I think I read sadness on her elfin facial features. Now that I stand, she’s also very short. She barely reaches my chest.

That’s very weird. She should probably be taller.

I don’t know why I’m thinking that.

“It does not matter. You should get on with your night, traveler.”

She turns. She’s the first person who’s talked to me here that I can actually understand!

“Wait!”

And to my surprise, she stops.

“Will we meet again?” I ask, before amending. “Could you tell me your name, at least?”

“Kaisari.”

And then she’s gone. Literally gone. I can’t see her.

Well. That was… strange. But it’s also my chance. I sprint again out of the alley and towards the compound. The guard is still there. He raises his staff while I approach, and starts speaking in bored common.

“Some help you were. Cunt.”

I can’t help it. With fear evaporating, I’m angry.

He sighs and signals for me to wait.

***

I am led to an office. I find a mature woman with deep green hair here and quite a few scars on her tanned skin waiting for me on a tattered seat. Well, she appears a fit forty but I’m not sure it means anything here. The room is clearly an office with a strange mix of advanced electronics, paintings, holographic decoration, old parchment or papyrus and just plain notes written on some sort of plastified paper. Or paper-like plastic. She considers me with deep green eyes before uttering a few words that lack warmth, but at least she doesn’t appear hostile. I can detect her presence but not her emotions so I try the telepathy thing again. The images flow more easily now. I show elements of my flight, the killer’s drones, and finally the Sallurian showing me where to go on my stolen laptop. Her gaze travels to my empty hands so I obligingly show her the mental image of her guard ignoring my cries for help, then the stolen computer. Her attention towards the guard confirms that there had been no hostility directed against me before, because now I know what she looks like when she’s annoyed. The door opens towards a massive bear of a man with a sheepish expression. He scratches the graying sideburns adorning his dark face. With a gesture, I follow.

The yells begin when the door closes.

***

The man introduces himself as Torl. When it becomes clear I can’t follow what he’s saying, he takes his time to use gestures to show me around. The compound is half a monastery and half a shelter with plenty of small bedrooms to accommodate four at a time. I am granted a locker which I learn how to use with much patience — it uses fingerprints instead of energy. I put the chip there. I’m also gifted a set of gray clothes that make me look like a discount buddhist monk. But hey. I’m still alive. We are allowed to clean ourselves at a sink with blessed soap. I share my room with a twitchy golden-haired man. The fourth bed remains empty.

I fall asleep on Enderlith for the first time.

***

If I’m given the choice between monacal life and getting killed, fine, I’ll convert. Torl lets me shadow him all day long which simplifies things. From his emotions, I can tell he’s a little embarrassed, but also weirdly protective which makes my battered heart warm up. The rest of the male refugee monks are more distant, more dismissive, and mostly self-interested, especially our shifty bunk fellow whose greed bleeds through his soul at all times. In the morning we eat a simple porridge with some fried dough, then we get to work.

It looks like the monastery focuses on the processing and transport of pickled vegetables. It stinks to high heavens and also it tastes horrible, but I force the thing down every meal because I think, if I don’t, I might catch scurvy. Literally everything else is processed and tasteless. The afternoon consists of chores from cleaning to folding. After that, the monks are allowed to leave but I’m getting the feeling that I’m still being targeted and this place is a haven (as long as I’m through the doors, apparently). I also come across the guard again. He glares at me but I glare back, which scares Torl a little. Apparently Mr Guard is a big deal around here.

I learn that the guard’s name is Adi.

It’s in the evening that things get interesting. We are allowed free time for lectures or self-improvement. I don’t attend the sermons or classes. Instead, I find the computer room and log in the way Torl showed me, and then I watch children’s songs on their versions of the internet.

The computer room is shared with women, one of the few non-discriminated spaces around. Some of the locals mock me but when it becomes clear that I don’t speak any language they know, they take an interest, and soon I have a gaggle of mothers and aunties pointing at random things to teach me the words. My progress surprises even me. It’s like I have a second brain just for language. Slowly, their emotions turn to amazement and respect as I collect more and more in the tongue they call ‘common’. In the evening, I listen to conversations in the relaxation room. Some people play tile games, others read or meditate. There is even a gym with simple weights which I use, ignoring the surprised looks. Apparently, they can’t understand me.

“Are you… sick?” Torl asks the third day, pointing at my chest.

“No?”

“Then why not…”

He uses a word I don’t understand for a while, until he flexes his muscles and I feel a burst of energy coming from his burly frame.

Awakened. He means awakened. I shrug. I don’t know how to explain that I’m not like them, or if I even should. I am using telepathy but to explore and feel, not to communicate with them. I am not sure it would be a good idea to show what I can do. My control improves, at least, and I soon manage to turn my sphere into more of a band if I focus in a specific direction. There are a lot of people here. Sometimes, it gives me a headache but I still try to pay attention. I get the feeling this will save me in the future.

On the fifth day, green hair lady invites me to her office to show me a recording of two drones flying around the compound. It looks like the killer found me.

“Stay in,” she warns.

And I will. I also learn that her name is Nya and that she dislikes questions.

After two weeks, I can hold very basic conversations with Torl. He tells me that the place I start in is called the ‘Needles’ and that now we’re in the ‘Betweens’. It’s not even that bad here. It gets much worse in the ‘Narrows’ and ‘Outskirts’.

“We’ll make a proper Enderlithan out of you yet!” he jokes.

Lorn avoids personal questions so I don’t press him. There is a deep sadness to him when he’s not moving along helping people. 

We watch TV in the evenings, or the local equivalent. There is a war on the planet below, one that has lasted for years. Murders seem common. Sometimes, we watch awakened fight in arena or in the street, distant flashes of violence and color that end without me knowing what happened. Some of the avatars have made themselves public from what I can understand. I hear rumors of a strange plague, of monsters walking the warrens. 

“The Year of Judgment,” Torl explains, voice low and worried.

“Is bad?” I ask.

“Bad, yes, but then it ends. Archon disappeared ten years ago. Now, the avatars gather. A new avatar will ascend. Then order will return.”

He nods to himself but I feel the fear in his heart. He knows he lives in interesting times.

“We will be safe in the Church of Mercy,” he tells me without much conviction.

So that’s where I am. In the temple of a ‘rival’ goddess. Not a bad religion, really.

After thirty days, I speak Common with the same accent as the people on TV, which I assume is pretty neutral. The aunties have stopped teaching me. My fast progress spooks them. My reading progress is somewhat stalled because very few people in the monastery read common for anything harder than directions and the occasional announcements. Fortunately, I find tutorial books that use the phonetic alphabet people prefer here in the temple’s archives. It really helps.

I miss playing music terribly. 

Thirty-four days into my stay, we watch the inauguration of a new town hall in one of the other segments of the Betweens. The Avatar of Law is present. She is a severe woman dressed in black with a low, confident voice that promises betterment and opportunity, for law and prosperity walk hand in hand (her words). Then we lose the signal.

I blink. Then the room crashes into me. And everyone else.

Death count: 7

Qualia points acquired: 175

Violent concussive death (clean): 2

Telepathic conversation with a lower soul awakening warrior: 10

Experienced the Betweens and transition for the first time: 3

Mugged and survived: 5

Briefly conversed with a mysterious being: 3

Made a friend here. Used him: 7

Learned advanced common, intermediate common writing: 58

Learned some basic Enderlith culture: 2

Mastered the second stage of soul awakening: 85

Total available: 224