Eternal Game of the 108 Chapter 18: Butterfly Effect (Patreon)

The refugee camp is packed wall to wall, and I do mean that literally. Some enterprising engineer bolted scaffolding there where basic cots and hammocks could be installed, drastically increasing the amount of people who could sleep there at the cost of lighting. The smell of countless cooking pots mingles with that of sweat and unwashed flesh. 

The only reason I was allowed in is that I mixed with a group of volunteers for the day, who rented me a protective suit. We split earlier. Now it’s just me and the heavily armored Sallurian patrol guarding the outer access gate. This is the beginning of the war. The sects are still mobilizing, battle lines are still being drawn, and the command structure isn’t clear yet. If nothing happens, we lose, but I can tilt things in our favor. I’m the Avatar of Time. I may not have power yet, but I have the next best thing: information. The Sallurians are not alarmed to see me come because I’m exactly what they’re expecting: a second awakening chap in a hazmat suit. 

“Hello. I’m a soul awakening and I need to show you something I found. Please don’t be alarmed,” I say. 

The head Sallurian glares. He flexes his wiry shoulders which are covered in cloud tattoos. His dark hair is held back by bone clips that clink delicately when he moves. 

“I need your authorization for that,” I add. 

He feels very strong. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were fourth awakening. Something passes between himself and his subordinates. The clouds roil on their skins. Two of them approach, long knives bare. 

“No games,” the leader warns me. 

I reach towards him. His mind opens but it’s like a cloud. I can’t really find him, until he grabs me himself in the same way Xan does. I share what I perceive, most notably the lost woman idling near the gate being an abomination in disguise. He tenses. I stop him. 

“Don’t do anything yet. There are many more spread out throughout the camp. If we strike one, the others will attack. It will be a slaughter. We must kill all of them at once.” 

“How many are there?” He sends back with some difficulty. 

“I don’t know.” 

I expand my perception in a beam, going slowly though even being excessively slow makes him wince. There are another six or so abominations within my considerable range. Later in the loop, Transformation’s little horrors will infiltrate smaller packs of creatures that attack and overwhelm vulnerable people until the corrupted reach critical mass. This is just the beginning though. Right now, the avatar is still experimenting. She’s sending dozens of mimics for a single decisive battle. I picked this district a day before it falls in the earlier loop because I know this is where she will attack. The Sallurian signals. One of his men seemingly disappears. His hand comes to rest on my shoulder. 

“Let’s take a walk.” 

The patrol follows us as we patrol around at a brisk pace. Every time we approach a different group, I share my perception with the leader. In ten minutes we have gone through over half of the district and none of the warriors we started with are still with us, yet I didn’t see anyone come or leave. The refugees barely pay attention. We’re just another group of busy people pretending we’re still in control of the situation. The Sallurian warrior is very thorough in his approach. We even go to the command center near one of the exits although there are no abominations there. I suspect the Avatar of Transformation still isn’t sure who or what can detect her monsters. Only once the leader is satisfied do we move. 

A mist rises, covering the district in seconds. Cries of alarm erupt left and right, soon joined by the sounds of battle. The leader never leaves my side. The mist dissipates over a scene of extreme violence. Melted creatures drip blood and ichor on the pavement. Screaming civilians clutter in tight groups for protection. Even though they were supposed to be disarmed, suddenly improvised spears and staves aim out towards an enemy that is already dead. I look around from near the control tent. The district shudders with anger and outrage. Horror and death are missing. I think we got them all. 

I prevented the first fall. Now to try and save the others. I know what Krane said, that the only thing that matters is getting stronger. That I should just let it all happen while I pursue my own goals with unremitting selfishness. I can’t do it. The suffering of the Enderlithian is real. It’s really happening. I can’t just close my eyes and pretend people are not getting turned into The Thing props. I must at least try. And besides, I’ll need to stop this invasion at some point. Might as well start now.

***

“The Clanarch wants to speak with you,” my bodyguard says. 

Finally. I follow the Sallurian to the nearby command tent, a large structure clearly designed to stop rain, then dragged to a station where it does twice a year for cleaning purposes. The cloth structure now mostly serves as a symbolic rally point with some isolating properties. Inside, I find com equipment lining the edges while a massive table covered in graphs, blueprints and the likes, occupies the center. An eclectic group of people stand around arguing and discussing at a speed that hints at high awakenings. One of them reminds me of Xan in posture and expression, though his hair is the purple of a gene-modded Patrician. I don’t recognize the insignia on his army uniform adorned with the symbol of Might but following the rules that the bigger and shinier people must be in charge, I guess he must be pretty high up. A woman in the sect wargear of the Seven Suns stands nearby, expression worried. There is also a Sallurian man with cloud tattoos and long blonde hair held in a topknot and someone who looks like a slightly more vanilla version of Moragan.

It takes a lot of effort for my eyes not to linger on her. She’s tall and thin, and actually dressed in a chitin-like armor that leaves a modest cleavage open with healthy pink skin visible. As I steal a glance, panels slide around, turning the piece of gear into more of a ball gown. As expected she has a way to protect her boobs from the rigors of battle, and that’s a relief. Her face is sharp and aristocratic with high cheekbones and eyes that smoulder like warming coal. Her hair is not hair but thin spines forming an elaborate crown over her head, nothing too ostentatious, really, more a display of skill. Just like the rest of her apparel, I think she could turn it from fashion statement to protection in an instant should the proverb hit the fan. I can vaguely feel her mana. Now that I am a second awakening, it resonates with me. 

She notices my attention. A smile blooms on her vivid ruby lips. 

“The hero of the hour! You’re shorter than I expected.”

Her voice is weirdly candid. All of the third awakenings I’ve met possess a sort of mask, a distance they create between themselves and everyone else, but she sounds like she just speaks her mind. Even her soul vibrates with excitement. I can’t read it, of course, yet I feel like I almost could.

“I get that a lot.”

“Have you considered gene mods?”

“Oh no, I meant being a hero.”

She watches a moment to see if I’m serious, then she laughs, which is generous considering the quality of the joke. Seeing as the other important people are still busy despite calling for me, and my time is as worthless as my presence is unnoticeable, I decide to reach the spiky lady. It’s the perfect opportunity for some good old networking.

‘Hello, may we speak in private?’

The woman shows no sign of surprise whatsoever. I don’t feel the same ‘anchor’ thing I get from Xan which means she probably doesn’t have an implant, yet her thoughts return crystal clear. I’m sure she doesn’t have a soul awakening either. Her control is just extraordinary.

‘I wonder what you would judge as confidential.’

‘I am more interested in how one may join the Fleshcrafter guild’.

Her face doesn’t move by a single millimeter, but her amusement shows.

‘I hope the font of your knowledge matches your audacity. In short, one must be young and full of potential, or one must be a proven master of body control willing to undergo stringent training. You are neither.’

I am not immediately willing to give up. The best way to become a proven master is to be trained by the best guild in the galaxy (according to the guild), in their center of knowledge unmatched anywhere else (according to the guild) for the betterment of all sapients (according to the guild). And although my upbringing made me aware of the dangers of propaganda, I have to admit, everyone I talked to seems to agree that the Fleshcrafters are not completely full of shit.

Now what? There is one thing I can offer no one else can hope to match.

‘Any specific interest in immortality? Someone who can die and return to life?’

‘We have perfected the art of rebuilding a body from limited flesh.’ 

She feels dismissive.

‘No, I mean actually dying.’

There is a pause. She takes a seat while I do the same, the officer giving me an annoyed look on the side while he continues his conversation. Your problem, bozo.

‘Explain.’

‘I can die and return.’

‘Explain more because I find no reason to believe you.’

Hmmm. What should I do? Telling her a lie is stupid. Telling her the truth is dangerous. Or is there a way for me to mitigate that risk?

‘Can you keep a secret?’

I don’t expect much, but she surprises me.

‘On my soul and honor as a Master Fleshcrafter, I promise to keep your secret safe unless it poses a direct danger to me and mine.’

Well it obviously doesn’t. I feel her soul shiver. Something twists itself through it with such intensity that the Seven Suns woman frowns. I get the impression that what she did is a Big Deal. Oh well. I think it’s a measured risk compared to what I’ve already done.

Honestly if I lose the loop because of my big mouth, it will be fully deserved. 

‘I am the Avatar of Time. Whenever I die, I return back to the beginning of the Year of Judgment with my soul intact, and the body I started with.’

She winces.

‘At second physical awakening? That would make your success… unless, of course. I always imagined the Avatar of Time would enjoy abilities such as time stop, or acceleration, or even visions of the future, however the possibility of time loops matches one of the twin dragons’ potential, not to mention significantly increasing the pool of potential, successful  recruits and the acceptable margin of error allowed… Yes, it tracks, although it also implies we would be in the early cycles. And you would need… a lot of cycles. How many do you have left?’

‘That is extremely confidential.’

‘Would you say that number is higher than ten?’

‘Absolutely.’

And thank Chronos for that.

‘Excellent. You would still not win within ten attempts, however, with my help and within the scope of your abilities… The loop mechanism is replicable and reliable in its function?’

‘... I’d say so, yes? Reality doesn’t appear to change unless I introduce a new variable.’

‘Absolutely fascinating with far-reaching implications for the philosophical concepts of predestination and free will. Irrelevant. Let me think.’

She does so for a while, and by that, I mean it takes all of three seconds for her to come to a conclusion.

‘There is something you can help with provided you are willing to be killed by us. And by that I mean a violent and instant death.’

‘Those are my favorites!’

She chuckles. The Seven Suns woman frowns, but she still doesn’t comment.

‘Well, either you are completely insane and I lost nothing but a few minutes, or we have a possible brilliant future ahead of us. My name is Kimera.’

‘Steve.’

‘Steev? Where did the Time Dragon find you anyway? You feel far too green, clueless, and incompetent to be one of the two major players. No offense meant.’

Bitch.

‘None taken,’ I lie. 

Because she’s right. I continue.

‘And I don’t want to tell you just yet. Should I meet you in another reality, what should I ask?’

‘Excellent question. Acceptance is a major point of failure for our plan. I need to intrigue myself but not in a way that would have me call for our guardians lest we waste too much time. Let me think, prospective disciple. Hmm. I propose these steps: come to the Fleshcrafter guild, petition me, the great Master Fleshcrafter Kimera for mnemonic nodule storage training in exchange for help on ‘Project Metempsychosis’. This should catch my attention without raising too many alarms as Metempsychosis is not secret, rather, it is considered impossible, while my deep understanding of memory nodules is only of interest to fellow researchers. This plan does not just bring the best chance of success, it is also replicable across multiple instances. Hmmm. Yes, it should work.’

‘I am unsure as to what any of this means. Memory nodules?’

‘You need not understand, prospective apprentice, you need only to obey and remember. And besides, you will eventually find out if you told me the truth’

‘Yes, oh Great One,’ I reply with the mental image of an eye roll.

‘You are adorable, little avatar. I am intrigued now. If nothing else, I will enjoy killing you very much. It pleases me to know someone is willing to be blown to bits in exchange for my mentorship.’

‘What can I say? Life’s cheap and knowledge is priceless.’

I get the mental image of an enthusiastic nod.

‘I agree and also I like humor in the face of powerlessness, prospective disciple. You will make a great recruit unless you are completely insane, in which case the hypothetical had the merit of being interesting. And now, let your soul be silent. My peers have questions.’

***

“No I didn’t know what I would find, but it’s logical when you think about it,” I lie.

I have their attention, which is weird but whatever. The ‘important people’feel suspicious and desperate in equal measure.

“I had the misfortune of getting close to them,” I explain.

In a past life.

“Anyone with a second soul awakening will tell you that those are extremely modifiable drones bound to a sort of, uh, a hive mind. That can only mean one thing.”

They don’t appear to agree.

“We’re deep in the Year of Judgment, and now we have flesh abominations jumping at us from out of nowhere. Clearly, we’re facing one or several avatars. I’d wager Transformation.”

“How do you know this is an avatar? Is there any sort of proof?” the officer challenges.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“Do you believe for a single second that we’re facing a plague of flesh-melding creatures and Transformation has nothing to do with it? Nothing at all? Their avatar is Obis-side trying to catch a corrupt healer, maybe?”

“That is quite enough,” the officer cuts, though he doesn’t object. “So we have an Avatar of Transformation. What does that tell us?”

“It could be more than one avatar,” I first remind him. “We can’t discount more surprises.”

Although I am pretty sure there is just one, an abundance of caution should muddy the waters enough that they don’t think about me being the Avatar of Time, but rather consider a much more unlikely scenario, such as me being smart. 

Since they’re not talking, I decide to continue.

“If we are, as I believe, dealing with Transformation’s avatar, and if each drone is a corrupted individual, we can expect millions of creatures, more with each district that falls and that’s considering they haven't reached the Tip, or the Traditionalists. The addition of infiltrators may be a sign that the avatar is still learning and adapting.”

“It’s Transformation’s avatar,” the Seven Suns member says. “They will never stop adapting.”

“Then we can already prepare for ‘obvious’ options: traps, giant drones, specialized drones, stronger ones.”

In reality, Transformation never went for trap drones which is a major oversight, in my opinion, but the rest definitely happened.

“Larger drones would be of no use,” the Might commander comments. “The walls won’t crack. Well, they shouldn’t,” he amends.

We all remember the impossible wound in Enderlith’s flank.

“Larger bodies also tend to be slower. With the Sevens Suns on our side, offering a larger target would be suicidal,” he continues.

I nod because he’s right. Except Transformation’s avatar doesn’t know about Seven Suns so she’ll get her attempt at large creatures roasted and dismembered by those living bomb lunatics.

“We could also face gas attacks, or infiltrators that make no attempt to pass as human.”

“They could use camouflage skin,” Kimera agrees. “or swarms.”

“We need soul awakened, and quickly,” the officer agrees. “And in great numbers.”

All this time, the Sallurian remained silent. Only after we’re done brainstorming does he speak.

“I must warn my people,” he declares.

Then he leaves. This signals the end of the meeting. And just like that, I am hired as an advisor.

***

I change my routine in the following month. I quit the Splendor, which Mr Money accepts without difficulty because the Prosperity Cartel beat a full retreat. Training continues, but now I also ‘serve’ on the frontline as a soul awakened, sometimes blasting one of the creatures with a Defender shot. I don’t know why but fighting and getting in danger helps hasten my progress.

My role of advisor is quickly rescinded when the Fleshcrafter guild takes over, now that everyone knows what we’re facing. Those guys are simply better at predicting what may come next. I still receive a boon of cultivation aides as payment for my services which helps a lot. Some of those herbal balls I’m forced to swallow fill me with energy. It’s just a shame they taste like bitter feet. 

My early warning changed things for the better. Only a couple of districts are lost while soul awakened get recruited, apparently a difficult task considering many of them are a little insane (not me, naturally). That means that the line stabilizes that much faster, things get more organized, people dig in. I stand as an amazed witness to a butterfly effect of impossible magnitude. Millions of lives are saved as knowledge is passed that much faster, chaos is held back. We are no longer actively losing. I half expected Krane’s death to screw us but he was just one warrior. This is the power of foreknowledge. The united sects and armies even start pushing back. When Xan offers Momo and I to join the Defence Force, I agree.

***

The Thetii-6 district is silent. It is the calm before the storm. Assault squads filter in through the gates following a Seven Suns mage in incandescent red robes. The lights rouse themselves back to life with our passage. 

In the past, abominations would swarm us as soon as we entered, but warriors simply pulled back and let fire talk, using the passage as a choking point so Transformation learned and now we are being lured into ambushes. That’s where I come in.

My small team consists of Xan, Tavor, Momo who fights with animated ribbons, and three others. There is a pair of twins in Might’s color, both Patricians from the white hair and gene mods, but mostly I can tell from their wealth because they wield a pair of Verrine Manufactorium flamethrowers in shining silver. The last one I dubbed Flicker because seems to flicker around with her saber but mostly because she categorically refused to introduce herself. She’s a black-haired, Sallurian warrior woman with strange and shadowy tattoos that melt like waves when I look. We’re just a back-up team though. The others move up the deserted street in tight columns.

We do not speak. Abominations appear capable of understanding human speech to a degree. Instead, I connect with the officer leading assault team 1 and share the souls I feel in the wall-side buildings ahead of us. They intend to jump down on us when we get underneath.

In an instant, the officer signals. All teams rush forward (though Xan has to drag me). We crash into the Town Hall ahead. Hundreds of abominations react now that they’re aware we detected them. I feel them move. It’s all disturbingly silent.

I crash into a dusty room, an administrative center of some sort given the piles of paper and utterly depressing decoration. Glass breaks above us. The sounds of battle turn the world into a deafening mess. It’s suddenly very hot. 

A creature claws a hole through the wall. Twin A is there an instant and the culprit gets roasted. It starts to stink. The building shakes. I feel presence all around, moving, too many to count, too fast to follow. Those above us keep appearing and disappearing.

Another creature forces its way through the first hole before getting vaporized. Another hole is made. A third. It’s getting hard to breathe. My fingers tighten over the telescopic staff I got from Verrine. Xa, Tavor and Flicker roam the room killing the intruders.

A creature jumps but Momo grabs it with her ribbons, tossing it at another. A smaller one jumps me. I’m ready. 

I kneel and deploy the staff forward. ‘Weathering Thunder’ catches the monster in the chest, cracking something and forcing a yelp. I draw and shoot the Defender at it, then turn to the side and sweep horizontally using all the power I can. My blow catches another beast in the jaw with more strength than I’ve used in my entire life. It crumbles, squealing, then Flicker is here to finish it off. 

It really helps to know where enemies are at all times. Won’t save me though, but it seems the tide is turning. A squad from the second assault team joins us to finish off the last stragglers.

I don’t need to check on the others to know they’re fine. 

“Everyone, out,” the officer says in my ear. “NOW!”

We sprint outside. I hazard a look behind us. There is a piece of district, and then a wall of fire like a second sun, a curtain of fiery death dozens of meters wide and tall, and in the middle is the Seven Suns mage. He is wielding a miniature star as a spell. And the most impressive thing is, I can’t feel heat at all from it. The fire is all going forward. The control required…

Xan grabs me while I’m distracted. Everyone is running.

“To the exits. Assault Team 1, with me. Team 2, maintenance tunnel on the second. Support team, main entrance.”

So the ground level. It means the fastest to reach from here. Because we’re the slowest. As I turn again, I discover why. The opposite wall is crawling with abominations. Hundreds, thousands of them like furious ants charging out of a gutted hill. The mage sent the wave forward and bailed. 

“Fuck.”

“Less swearing, more running,” Xan urges me.

Even sprinting, I can almost feel them gaining on me, jumping from roof to roof in an unstoppable tide that could devour an entire planet in a matter of days. I pump my legs as fast as they will go. Second awakening makes me feel like I’m flying, and yet it’s still almost too little too late.

The twins are first to reach the closing gate. They take position on either side to cover us, bless their arses. Flicker is next, with Momo close behind. Xan gives up and carries me the rest of the way. We are through. Everyone is.

The gates continue closing. A few of the fastest creatures manage to squeeze through, but Xan and Flicker dispatch them. It gets darker as the light of the district dims to be replaced by the red glare of maintenance lamps. Almost there. One of the creatures approaches the closing edge. It looks different.

Impossibly long arms explode like arrows, so thin they manage to slip through the narrowing gap. 

“Steve! No!”

I barely raise my staff. It doesn’t matter. It was too fast. One of them is attached to my left pectoral, the other to my right thigh. Something is —