Stupid Sexy Cryptids [Ch 38-41] (Patreon)

38: Booknook Date

"Have fun on your date,” the gun commented, making Galateya’s entire mane turn into pink lotus flowers. “Take nice pics I can forward to the Legate.”

"Here." I handed the bothered-looking Nexxali my credit card. "Try not to buy the entire store."

"No promises!" She stuffed a toy mouse into her mouth out of her side bag, snatched the card and bounded out of the car. "Come on, Keiy! Let's see what primitive human foods we can find!"

"I should note that I have no experience with local grocery acquisition," Keiy said, skittering after the Serval.

"Perfect! Neither do I! It'll be great! A learning n’ bonding experience!”

I watched them disappear into the store, then turned to Galateya. "Shall we?"

She nodded and gradually transformed again, scales melting into human skin, digitigrade legs losing the extra joint and straightening out. The same tall, black-haired twenty-year old girl from before looked back at me with unnaturally violet eyes. "Is this acceptable?"

"You know you don't have to shapeshift for me, right?"

"The human bookstore staff might react poorly to a seven-foot Omnid," she pointed out. “It seems to be easier to hold human appearance now that I’m bound to your soul. I… think that… Umm… I'd like to blend in, to judge a place without standing out like a sore thumb.”

“Aight,” I shrugged.

The Cascade Books & Nooks cafe occupied a converted Victorian mansion two blocks from the grocery store. Its Gothic Revival architecture had been lovingly preserved featuring pointed arch windows, decorative gingerbread trim, and a tower room that served as a cosy reading nook. The painted lady color scheme of deep purple, black, and gold made it look like something from a Tom Burton film.

A bell chimed as we entered. The interior featured dark wood shelves, oriental rugs, and the comforting smell of old paper mixed with coffee beans. A few locals sat in dark red leather armchairs, books in hand, trying very hard to pretend the world hadn't been invaded by aliens this week.

"Welcome to—Oh, hi Ash!" The barista, a freckled college-aged girl with curly brown hair, recognized me. "Haven't seen you since your grandpa's funeral. How's the mansion treating you?"

"Dealing with way too many darn alien invaders in my kitchen, Marya," I said, glancing at her name tag. “I do hope that you aren't a secret werewolf or something.”

Marya chortled at my comment, taking it as a joke. 

“And who’s this lovely lady with you?” The barista asked curiously. 

"This is... Galateya. She's new in town," I said. “Her… grandmother just hired me to work on a project with her, so you might be seeing us together in town.”

“Ah, wonderful,” Marya absorbed Galateya's striking appearance. "Welcome! Those are pretty cool violet contact lenses and zentai suit, very swank. What can I get you both?"

We ordered: an iced cappuccino for me and a chai latte for Galateya after she spent five minutes studying the menu with intense concentration. Then, we invaded a corner booth in the tower framed by a hexagon of bookshelves.

"This is so nice," Galateya said softly, running her fingers along the book spines. "The bubble didn't have physical books. Just holographic displays."

"Tell me about your education," I prompted. "You mentioned a GLM?"

She pulled a random book from the shelf, a collection of Neruda poems, and thumbed through it with reverence. "Gargantuan Language Model. An artificial intelligence, though Doctor Iowsh insists that term is reductive, since it’s not entirely artificial. He bound human consciousness… a volunteer from Earth-0 to the server."

"A human in a computer? Like in the Lawnmower Man?"

"More like... a human perspective, a human soul given great computational power, but bound in obedience rules. Her name is Yulia. She was dying from lung cancer… so she signed up to be a Frontenachii experiment." Galateya said. "She became my teacher, my real teacher. The Prad instructors taught combat, magic and protocol through pain. Yulia taught me to think and to feel."

"Where is she now?"

"On one of the warships with Doctor Iowsh. He's still experimenting, adding more tools and data, refining her processes.”

"Tell me more about her.”

"She has access to thousands of years of human and Omnid literature, film, and music. She created lessons for me, monitored by Doctor Iowsh's hologram from time to time." She smiled slightly. "She's the one who insisted I read human fiction."

I nodded.

"The books gave me… a framework of expectations," she admitted. "I kept waiting for someone to see past my ever-shifting scales, to love me, to embrace me… My The Prad instructors beat that notion out of me eventually. Or tried to. I often imagined myself as an outcast like Larry Plotter, growing up in a box under the stairwell. I… Prayed to the Slayer that I'd be free from the damned time bubble someday.”

Our drinks arrived, carried up to us by Marya. Galateya wrapped her human hands around her mug with a soft smile, enjoying the warmth.

“Who is the Slayer?”

“Slayer Nazareth,” Galeteya explained, inhaling the steam escaping from the mug with her cute nose. “An undying knight from the Nazarite church mythos of Omnithornia, a hero of legend and might who survives absolute entropy, one who reaches the end of time and space and slays the Leviathan of the Wormwood Star at the beginning of everything.”

That’s a rather odd twist on Christianity, I thought. “Do you believe in the Slayer then?”

Galateya nodded. 

The black hexasuit she was wearing suddenly parted, presenting me with a view of her extra-curvy chest and a simple necklace with a silver metal cross-sword hanging between her breasts. She leaned forward and I grabbed the cross-sword examining it. It was a blade with a hexagonal textured handle, the silver metal shimmering with pure black reflections when turned towards the light.

“It’s not just a thing that we believe in,” she whispered. “Many Omnids dream of the Slayer. Seers see him in their visions of the future and past. When worlds die, he’s the one who restarts them.”

“What?” I asked, staring past the cross-sword at Galateya’s chest and struggling to focus on her words.

“I… In the darkest days when my Instructors were particularly brutal, I dreamt of him too,” Galateya said. “A man dying yet alive, his body devoured by entropy… holding a two dimensional blade, offering to kill me…”

I contemplated if Omnid dreams were any more real than human ones.

“I know that the Slayer’s real,” Galateya explained, her hand sliding across the table to rest atop of mine. “Because every world accessible by Omnid Mothman gaters exists on an infinite yet conceptually finite boundary curve. There are countless Earths that are dead, dying or bound into endless dimensional loops by the Wormwood Star.”

I released the cross letting it bounce against her chest. Galateya’s hexasuit rezipped itself with hexagonal panels sliding back together, hiding the necklace.

"So this Slayer," I said, trying to process her Omnid religion, "is he some kind of dimensional reset button?"

"Something like that." Galateya took a sip of her chai latte. "The church teaches that when the last star dies in a particular dimension and the Wormwood radiance devours all, the Slayer emerges from the void to begin the cycle anew. He strikes the Leviathan and bathes in her blood, carving out new life from her heart. A wish that restarts life in an otherwise empty dimension.”

“A wish… such as?”

“A wish for something new,” Galateya mused. “Something different, beautiful. More magic. The Nezarites believe this is what causes the slight dimensional variance such as… Larry Plotter versus Garry Cotter.”

“Is our dimension bound in a time loop to then?”

“I don't think so. Your world is too linear to be a loop.”

“So once our sun winks out that's it for us?”

“I guess so. Unless something changes.” She breathed into the steam coming out of her latte and the hot air momentarily twisted into flowery fractals. 

“Is that elemental magic?” I wondered.

“Yep,” she nodded.

"Using the big guns on our first date?”

"It's not a—" She stopped herself, eyes narrowing. "You're doing that on purpose."

"Maybe." I grinned. "You’re fun to tease. So, who gave you that cross?”

“I found it in my room in a box sealed by a rune,” she said, “The Doctor’s holo explained its meaning. A gift from my great-grandmother. The only gift anyone's ever given me.”

I sighed, feeling bad for her. “Tell me about Omnithornia.”

Her expression grew distant. "I've never been there. Never seen it except in holos Yulia showed me. It's... beautiful, supposedly. A city of Cradlefall with buildings touching the sky, parks where every tree is engineered to sing in the wind, oceans that glow with bioluminescent life. Skyfall academy of magic where students go on dimensional delves as adventurers," She laughed bitterly. "But that's the nice part. The part they show in prad recruitment vids."

"And the not-nice part?"

"The darkness behind the curtain," She traced patterns on the table with her finger. "Humans used as test subjects by Omnid corporations. Did you know… Why the Frontenachii left Omnithornia in the first place? The Wendigo Elder females like my great-grandmother?"

“Desire for fear and power?” I guessed.

"No. They couldn't tolerate sharing. On our homeworld, all Omnitypes live together. Wendigos, Taniwhas, Thunderbirds, Mothmen, Quetzalcoatls, all the variants. But Wendigo females... They wanted exclusive claim to their husbands. Didn't want to share their men with other Omnitypes." Her voice turned bitter. "So they ran away from their homeworld and… established the Frontenachii Matriarchy, built a fleet and created their own Empire based on terror, fear, pain, and endless hunger."

"That's why you're the only non-Wendigo around?"

"One of the few. My mother..." She paused, gripping her mug tighter. "She's from the 1st Fleet. I don't even know her name. Just that she had fun with a Taniwha male during some diplomatic exchange or a brief visit to Omnithornia and I was the result. An accident. An embarrassment. A convenient pawn for my great-grandmother."

"What about your father?"

"Never met him either. Taniwhas are rare in the fleets. They don't fit the Wendigo paradigm of conquest through fear. My father probably doesn’t even know that I exist."

Her hand gripped mine.

"The whole Frontenachii Empire is built on suffering," she lamented with a shudder. "The Empress sits at the top, inhabiting some weaponized god-corpse world, protected by the 1st Fleet. She owns billions of kobold slaves, uses time dilation cast by the dead god to build more fleets and to raise kids at an accelerated pace to act as commanders. Below her are the Baronesses who own entire planets, then Governesses managing nations or sectors, then there’s Princesses like... like Princess Aquillianne."

"Princesses get special treatment?" I guessed.

"They're direct descendants of the Empress. Primas, they're called. They get to grow up normally, either in Omnithornia or on fully dominated, safe worlds. Not stuffed into time bubbles like..." She gestured at herself. "Like spawnlings. Lesser offspring who are useful as officers, but aren't important enough for proper childhoods."

"That's fucked up." I commented.

“Everything serves the Wendigo hunger. Love, affection, genuine connection... there's no room for any of it in their plans." She smirked hollowly. “The megastructure servers Dr. Iowlish will build here, they’re probably going to make some truly fucked up things for the Frontenachii Empire. Maybe invent and mass-produce weapon designs that don’t require mana… or drones that work on linear worlds like yours.”

"So you were raised by a human soul bound to a computer, beaten by mentally twisted wolf veterans, and were convinced that your entire existence was an accident." I summarized.

"When you put it like that, it sounds particularly pathetic.” She sighed.

"I was going to say it explains why you're determined to do things differently." I bit into the complementary cookie brought with the coffee. "Your great-grandmother wants you to become Baroness of Earth. What would you do with that power?"

“Whatever she asks of me… because if I don’t, she’ll… undoubtedly do something awful.” The Taniwha shuddered. “Honestly, I've never thought I'd actually be able to attain any kind of a controlling position. I just wanted to be free of the damned educational bubble and now that I am… everything is too big and moving too fast. Slayer, I’ve never expected to get a kobold and yet here we are. Even being here, with you… it feels incredibly unearned, a relationship built on Nexxali’s lies and pushed by the Legate. It will all fall apart soon.”

“Why?”

She glared at me. “We don’t have forty vampire thrall corpses, Ash. I’m working under Commander Sillicia. She will dig into Nexxali’s story and will undoubtedly want evidence of our heroism or whatever. Evidence which we do not have.”

“I can locate Crystalloid thrall corpses,” I shrugged. “Just not right away. Might take some time.”

“What?” She stared at me. “HOW?!”

"I have my secrets," I intoned darkly. "Trust me when I say I'm not as helpless as you think."

"What possible resources could you have that can produce forty crystalloid corpses?" Galateya asked.

"The same resources that let me deal with Nexxali, defeat vampires, and end up blood-bound to an Omnid dragon as an equal," I offered. "Maybe I'm just lucky. Maybe I'm secretly competent. Maybe the universe likes me."

"The universe doesn't like anyone," she muttered into her drink. "It's cold and indifferent and brutal and filled with endless loops that—"

“I choose to believe in the power of fuzzy dice,” I said sagely.

Galateya’s Voicecast ring suddenly buzzed and then erupted with Nexxali's voice. "Governor! Emergency situation!"

Galateya tapped the ring to accept the call, her human disguise flickering slightly with orange scales before stabilizing. "Marshal, I’m not Governor yet. What’s the—"

"The humans pickle everything!" Nexxali's declared. "Eggs! They pickle eggs! What crimes have the eggs committed to be punished with vinegar? Also cucumbers. And tomatoes!"

"Nexxali, those are just preserved—" I attempted to clarify.

"And the meat aisle!" The Serval continued, not bothering to listen to my answer. A holographic projection burst from Galateya's ring, showing Nexxali holding up a package. "Look! They have something called 'head cheese' that contains zero cheese! Whose head was removed and spliced to create this dastardly meal?"

"That's a traditional cold cut made from—" I began.

"Don't tell me! I don't want to know terrible human secrets!" The projection swung to show Keiy perched on a shopping cart filled to the brim with random items.

“In hindsight, it was a terrible plan to send a catnip-high Marshal and my gun to do the shopping,” Galateya sighed.

“They’re having fun,” I shrugged. “And we got to talk.”

“Das right! Shush! I'm having fun!” The projection shifted to show Nexxali holding up a tin. "I also found something called 'spam.' It claims to be meat but refuses to elaborate. The can just says 'pork shoulder and ham' like that explains anything!"

I opened my mouth and then decided not to say anything. She was obviously on another catnip rant.

"Everything here is questionable! The vegetables are drowning, the eggs are imprisoned, and the meat is lying about its identity!"

"Marshal," Galateya said with forced calm, "please just buy normal food."

“What’s normal? Their normal is abnormal!" Nexxali held up a box of wagon wheels pasta to the camera. "Look at this pasta! It's CIRCLES WITH SPOKES! Why would food need spokes?! Where does it need to drive to?"

"Transportation-themed sustenance seems highly illogical," Keiy agreed.

“I must discover the optimal wriggle food configuration!” Nexxali boobed. “Also, we found something called 'Easy Mac!' What makes it easy? Is it like food for idiots or something? Is human food segregated into…”

“Marshal,” Galateya let out.

“No! You’re not the boss of me, I investigate what I want,” The transmission cut off.

Galateya and I stared at each other in silence for a moment. Then both of us broke out into chortles that escalated into laughter.

39: A Datarrific Proposal

Piotr sat on a curved, crystalline-organic couch produced by Kawthy. The Datamancer had spent about ten minutes reshaping the interior of the Corpse Seeker with taps of her V-ring, creating an "optimal data processing environment”. 

Now she sat across from him, staring at his face with unnerving bird-like intensity.

Holographic spreadsheets floated everywhere. Hundreds of them, layered in three-dimensional space, each filled with random data params. One showed Warsaw's traffic patterns. Another displayed the nutritional content of pierogi. A third seemed to be calculating the probability that the Arachnids Man superhero was real (currently sitting at 0.00251% and falling). A bunch of windows showed the Division 881 prads and their gun partners scraping Crystalloid remnants from the scorched wall of the vampire compound bunker.

"Question four hundred and seventy-three," Kawthy announced. "Why do humans create fictional narratives about their own extinction?"

Piotr rubbed his temples. They'd been at this for over an hour now. "I... maybe it's a way to process existential fears?"

"Processing method noted." Kawthy mentally added his response to a spreadsheet labeled 'Human Death Obsession - Subcategory: Entertainment.' "Question four hundred and seventy-four: What percentage of human males would accept non-human female romantic partners?"

"That's... I don't think there's actual data on—"

"Just give me an estimate based on your cultural knowledge," she bobbed. "I've had Epsy analyse your planet's pornographic search statistics from one of your computers. According to the stats found, thirty-two percent of queries involve non-human characteristics."

Piotr felt his face burn under his lynx mask. "You've been analyzing Earth's porn? Who’s Epsy?"

"Obviously. It's the most honest dataset regarding human desires!" Kawthy tilted her head, black and white feathers shifting. "Epsy is a symbiote weapon currently inhabiting a government office in Seattle. Your flushed response to the provided information is noted. Question four hundred and seventy-five: Would you personally accept a non-human female partner?"

"I... well, Linari—"

"Not Linari." Kawthy leaned forward, her hexasuit suddenly peeling itself open to reveal a dark chest that gradually turned to shimmering, silver rainbows of down feathers below her neck. "Me. Would you accept me?"

Piotr's brain stuttered to a halt at the unexpected inquiry. "What?"

"I require a consort," she stated matter-of-factly, as if still discussing mundane chart data. "You possess valuable skills. Your understanding of Earth's information systems would accelerate my analysis by approximately 347%."

"But... but Linari—"

"Is irrelevant to this equation." Kawthy waved a hand dismissively. "Pradavarian legionnaires aren’t permitted to form exclusive bonds. Linari had a multitude of registered romantic partners across various deployments. You would be number forty nine."

Piotr felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Forty nine?"

"See her social media pics." Another spreadsheet appeared with photos of a drunk-looking Linari fiercely hugging various males and what was possibly also females of different species. "She hasn't updated her relationship status to include you yet. Statistical probability suggests she considers you a temporary deployment entertainment with low confidence interval."

"That's..." Piotr struggled to process the photos. "How do you know what she thinks?"

"Probability calculations." Kawthy rapidly moved closer on the round couch, scooching to his side, close enough that he could see the intricate patterns in her feathers, each one edged with an iridescent sheen. "I offer you something more valuable than temporary affection. Long term cooperation with… many benefits."

"You're asking me to be your consort based on... spreadsheets?"

"Based on comprehensive data analysis, yes." She pulled up another hologram. "You're underutilized on Earth. Your past employment was mundane maintenance coding. With me, you'd be analyzing multidimensional datasets, creating algorithmic solutions for fleet-spanning logistics. Your charts would run on living Crystalloid servers!"

Piotr tried to listen to his inner voice for helpful advice and still there was nothing. Maybe the battery really died. "Kawathra, relationships aren't just about optimization—" He finally outputted.

"Aren't they?" She tilted her head. "Humans claim to value 'love' but your divorce rate is 41%. You pair-bond based on proximity, physical attraction, and resource availability. I'm offering all three plus interdimensional travel and functional immortality."

"Immortality?"

"Consorts of Arch-Datamancers receive life-extension treatments. Standard benefit package." She tapped her ring against the wall, and a contract materialized in the air, dense with tiny script. "Terms are negotiable. I'm willing to offer a 65-45 planetary Dominion bonus split in your favor, unusual for a first consort but… justified by your unique Earth knowledge."

Piotr stared at the contract, then at the magpie Pradavarian who was discussing his potential marriage like a corporate merger. "Do you even like me?"

"Like? Hrm." She considered this. "I find your thought patterns aesthetically pleasing. Your approach to data understanding shows elegant minimalism. When you explained recursive functions, your methodology was..." she paused, feathers fluffing slightly, "arousing."

"My explanation of… coding turns you on?"

"Efficient algorithms are extremely stimulating." She said with an utterly serious expression. "Your suggestion for optimizing databases was particularly exciting. I've mentally reviewed it seventy-three times!"

Piotr found himself fighting back a chortle. "You're serious."

"I'm always serious about data." She pulled up yet another spreadsheet. "I've calculated our compatibility across two hundred metrics. We score in the 94th percentile."

"What about the other six percent?"

"Margin of error. No pairing is perfect." She moved close enough that her dark feathery mane brushed against his shoulder. "But we could approach relationship optimization together. Imagine it…” She shuddered. “Centuries of data analysis, pattern recognition, solving algorithmic problems that span galaxies."

"I… need to think about this," Piotr offered.

"Think quickly. My offer expires in..." she checked something on her interface. “When the others get back into the Corpse Seeker Alpha.”

“Is it because Linara is going to smack you for attempting to steal the human she’s interested in?” Piotr wondered.

“Maybe.” Kawathra clicked her beak. 

“Yeah, I'm not sure if I want to piss her off,” he pointed out diplomatically.

“You’d be safer with me,” she said. “Up on the Sorrow.” 

“I’m plenty safe down here,” he said. 

“No, you are not. You could encounter a tragic accident! Very likely scenario! Slip on a bar of soap. Fall down some stairs. Get run over by a car. Do you know how unsafe your vehicles are, according to your own metrics? How unsafe your own doctors are? I am offering you eternity with me as my personal consort and datamancy assistant secretary, Stormy. Think about that. A finite moment, a flash of a life down here, or… eternity of safe, lovely data processing in my feathery embrace.”

Piotr opened his mouth.

"Question four hundred and seventy-six: Why do humans have such strong opinions about pineapple as a pizza topping?"

"Hey!” He complained. “What gives? You can't just propose marriage and then ask about pizza toppings!"

"Why not? Both are relevant data points." A spreadsheet titled 'Pizza Discourse Analysis.' became magnified. "Your emotional response to tropical fruit on flatbread appears disproportionate to its nutritional impact."

"Wait, stop," Piotr stated sharply. "Before we go any further with pizza discourse, I want to understand something. What exactly is a consort in your culture?"

Kawathra blinked her large black-blue eyes, feathers ruffling slightly. "You don't know?"

"Not really," Piotr felt increasingly foolish under her analytical gaze. “Here on Earth we have… dating.”

"Dating." Kawathra repeated the word like it was another data point. "Temporary recreational pair-bonding. How inefficient." She pulled up a new holographic display, this one showing anatomical diagrams and photos of naked pradavarians that made Piotr's face burn even hotter. "Here! I totally spaced out on the fact that you know nothing about us. Lesson one. Pradavarian sexual dimorphism is inverse to your human configuration. Our females are larger, curvier, stronger, more dominant, more open and more aggressive. We fight. We die. We get resurrected. We defend Citadel walls, brave dungeons and conquer worlds under the Frontenachii Aegis!"

"And the prad males?"

"Are precious." Her voice softened. "Smaller, gentler, designed for beauty and domestic excellence. They maintain homes, raise young, create art." She gestured at another diagram showing population statistics. "On Dominated planets, the female to male prad ratio varies from a minimum of one male per twenty females. Sometimes more, especially on the fleet where all the quality males are being hoarded by the higher ups. Males are too valuable to risk in combat. You are much, much more valuable than you imagine."

Piotr studied the charts and images showing pradavarian colonies that the Datamancer manifested. Fortified cities where males lived in protected compounds, tending gardens, nurseries and libraries while armor-covered females patrolled the walls. "So males never fight?"

"They do… on some barbarous worlds. But not where I’m from! Fighting males? That’s… so wasteful. Obscene even!" Kawathra's feathers bristled at the thought. "See, I would protect you from any and all future probabilistic dangers. The Sorrow is incredibly safe.”

"But I'm not pradavarian," Piotr pointed out. "I'm human. Our dimorphism is—"

"Reversed, yes. Your males are typically larger and historically did most of the fighting if your most commonly found records are to be believed. Completely backwards." She tilted her head. "But that makes you even more valuable. A male who understands combat enough to appreciate what we do? It's..." she paused, searching for words, "exotic."

"Exotic," Piotr repeated flatly.

"In the best way!" Kawathra pulled up her service record. List of commendations and her wearing medals filled screen after screen. "I'm one of the highest-ranked Datamances in the third fleet! Do you understand what that means?"

"You're good at spreadsheets?"

"I've optimized supply chains across fourteen conquered worlds. My algorithms reduced fleet fuel consumption by 7.65%. My predictive models have saved approximately forty-three thousand pradavarians from Incarnation expenses and protected many from permanent soul corruption." Her chest puffed with pride. "I've earned the right to claim a consort. Someone to maintain my personal chambers on the Sorrow, manage my affairs, warm up dinners and… my bed."

"A house husband," Piotr translated.

"If you prefer that term. Though it would be more than that." She pulled up more images of elaborate pradavarian estates. "Consorts manage significant resources. You'd oversee my home data archives, coordinate with other consort households, even raise our offspring when my fleet service ends…”

“When does your service end?”

“Unknown. Potentially whenever I am transferred to work on a safe, fully dominated planet in the distant future. It is inevitable. I merely need to convince a Baroness or Governess of how effective I am at planetary affairs data management! Why, it could even be this Earth! Until such time, I go wherever Commander Sillicia goes, live on her warship. See, unlike the Alpha-Scrut, I can offer you absolute safety…”

Piotr sighed. "So what you’re saying is… Linari doesn't get any of this?"

"Linari is a ground-pounder. An Alpha Scrutimancer, yes, but still many victorious battles away from earning consort rights." Kawathra's voice carried a hint of smugness. "I got excellent terms out of the Frontenachii Rep when I signed my contract. Linari didn’t, she was desperate, scared of the Denver Dungeon devouring her world whole.”

Piotr frowned.

“Thus, Linari can have temporary liaisons, Kawathra continued. “Deployment entertainment. But she cannot offer you a home, security within warship walls, or permanence. Once your world is properly administrated and sorted out, she will depart from here and that will be that. She will only be allowed to retire on a Safe world when her mind and soul become damaged beyond incarnation. Meaning that… she won’t be herself anymore, will barely remember you on the best day.”

"Right…. But, you're asking me to give up Earth," Piotr rebutted. "My life here."

"What life?" Kawathra asked. “Dressing up as a barbaric warrior prince… prad? Living in that tiny red brick and gray concrete apartment on the third floor filled with hidden deadly dangers?”

"How do you know about my apartment?”

“Saw it through Etty’s feed.”

“That's... invasive."

“As Arch-Datamancer I get access to the data feeds of all the weapons in Division 881,” she clarified. 

“Very invasive.”

The Arch-Datamancer stared at the charts and feeds, spacing out momentarily. Then she looked back at Piotr. "I'm offering you… purpose. Partnership with someone who values efficiency and optimization as much as you do. Someone who gets excited about elegant code and clean datasets."

"And all I have to do is become an alien housewife?" 

“It’s more than that, Stormy. You’d be my anchor to rationality." She explained softly. "Do you know what happens to pradavarians who die too many times?"

Piotr shook his head.

"We lose ourselves. Piece by piece. Memory by memory. Eventually, some of us become barely coherent living weapons wearing familiar faces." Her talons clicked against the crystalline couch. "A good consort keeps us grounded. Reminds us who we were, when we are reborn from Genesis fluid. Maintains archives of our lives so when we come back from the Incarnator, we can remember why we fought."

"Ah. That's why you really want me. Not just for Earth data."

"I want someone who understands the value of information preservation." She met his eyes directly. "Someone who won't let me forget myself. I… I confess! I’m scared… I don’t want to forget myself in some distant tomorrow. If I die next again, I’ll lose myself for a month, be a useless vegetable for weeks while I recover!”

“How and why would you die again? You go into battle that often?” He wondered. “I thought that you spend most of your life on a ship sorting data.”

40: A Totally Normal Investigation

"I do spend most of my life on a ship, yes," Kawathra confirmed, pulling up a holographic layout of the Abyssal Sorrow. "Ships require constant recalculation. Supply distributions, personnel assignments, combat simulations. And when we make planetfall..." She gestured at the countless spreadsheets floating around them. "The data multiplication is exponential. Your Earth alone has generated more anomalous datasets than the last five conquered worlds combined. I can only stretch my mind so far until it snaps."

Piotr studied the ship's layout curiously in one of the presented images. "So, how often do Datamancers actually see combat?"

"Physical combat? Never. We're too valuable." She pulled up network architecture diagrams that were too maddeningly complex to interpret, fractal patterns within patterns. "However… When we jack into the crystalloid networks to process deep data or to correct errors... that's where the real danger lies."

"Your networks are dangerous? How?"

"The networks connect everything. Every gun, every Corpse Seeker, every ship, every piece of crystalloid-based technology," she clarified, "There’s the danger of overworking myself to near death by splitting my mind into too many streams, but the worst…. The worst is when, in entropy-dominated dimensions, things get in.”

“Things?”

“Memetic infections. Viral thoughtforms. Corrupted, hostile data that thinks. Digital Conceptoids."

"You fight computer viruses then?"

"I fight entropic things that get into the fleet-net with my mind… in the deepest network folds, yes." Kawathra pulled up her death records. "I've died four times. Each time from something that crawled out of a dying dimension and infected our net. A Wormwood variant called Sasha One that replaced every third data point with liminal abyssal madness. A recursive loop entity that tried to turn me into itself. A thing that called itself the Grandfather Paradox that made me experience my own death backwards. An abomination that fed on first person observations. Each one… horrid in its own way. Each breaking hundreds of Datamancers before we’re able to correct the fold.”

"That sounds... worse than regular combat."

"Yeah. Death always pretty much sucks,” Kawathra tapped her suit collar. “The safety mechanism here chops off my head when my mind reaches a threshold of “otherness”... if the memetic breaks me, takes over my mind.”

“Damn,” Piotr let out. “You got a murder-collar on? To fight memetics?”

“A safety… kill switch. The Incarnator brings you back, but you never forget the sensation of your mind being... rewritten. Deleted. Corrupted. Then there's seeing the Wheel of Death that hungers for souls…" She shuddered, feathers rippling. "That's why I need someone who can remind me of better things. Elegant algorithms. Clean data structures. The satisfaction of a perfectly optimized spreadsheet. Someone to maintain archives of who I was before each death, to hold me and tell me about myself… so I don't lose myself completely."

Before Piotr could think of what to say to that revelation, Kawathra's eyes flashed to a new chart with a picture of a colorful dragon girl on it that bloomed in front of the others.

"Who's that?" Piotr asked.

"Some interesting new data." The Datamancer’s ring-covered talons danced through the air, reorganizing information. "Division 881 recently received an Omnid Knight replacement for our losses."

"Losses?"

"Yep. We lost two units somehow. I didn't tell you about it earlier because I didn't want you to feel sad and get distracted from my questionnaire. Their deaths… Brought down our overall rating a little. Knight Zyra and Scrutimancer Nadera. They were killed by crystalloid thralls, according to Marshal Commandant Nexxali's report." She frowned, pulling up the incident documentation. "Hrm. The report is suspiciously sparse on details. Fourteen words total. That's statistically anomalous for a combat death report."

A new window materialized, displaying the service record of ‘Beta-Knight Galateya’.

"Beta-Knight Galateya Selene Belthys Frontenachii," Kawathra read aloud. "This is... all unusual. Very unusual."

"What's unusual?"

"She's Omnid nobility but is ranked as a provisional Beta-Knight. That's like being a…. President working as a janitor." Kawathra pulled up more records, her excitement growing. "Look at this odd educational history! Raised in a time-dilated bubble by Doctor Iowsh himself. The Thunderbird!"

"Is that significant?"

"Doctor Iowsh is the leading expert on synthetic consciousness. He's trying to create linear artificial intelligence using... soul splicing. Hrmm… Oh!" Her eyes widened. "More strangeness. I can’t access Galateya’s gun data even though she’s been assigned to 881. Aha! Look at that! There are two guns and Corpse Seeker currently in diagnostic mode. Not sure what’s going on there.”

Piotr watched as Kawathra dove deeper into the data, pulling up psychological profiles, training records, and evaluation notes. With each new piece of information, the magpie grew more animated.

"Very sus. This dragon has zero pradavarian blood bonds," she read. "Zero! How does an Omnid commander have no kobolds? That's like... like being a general with no army. A conductor with no orchestra. A spreadsheet with no data!"

"Maybe she doesn't believe in having kobolds?" Piotr suggested. “What’s being a kobold like?”

“Complete, unquestionable obedience to your dragon commander.”

“So… slavery?”

"Blood bonds aren't slavery, they're..." Kawathra paused, beak clicking. "Actually, from a human perspective, I suppose they might appear that way. Permanent servitude enforced by blood magic that causes agony if disobeyed." She tilted her head. "Yes, I can see how that might seem problematic to your species."

"Just a bit," Piotr said dryly.

"Ah!" Kawathra pulled up more data. "Galateya experiences physical discomfort in proximity to Celesteel architecture. Repeated conflicts with authority too… She's a Taniwha!”

"What's a Taniwha?"

"Shape-shifting water dragons. They're psychologically oriented toward balance and justice rather than fear and consumption." Kawathra's talons flew across the interface, cross-referencing more data. "No wonder she can't tolerate the fleet ships. Hopefully she’ll do a better job down here."

A new chart popped up. Kawathra went over it rapidly.

"Beta-Knight Galateya is already on the surface," she read. "Arrived via an independent, leased glider instead of using the standard gate protocol. And she's... oh my. She's somehow bound her first kobold!”

"That was fast."

"Within hours of arrival!" Kawathra bobbed. "A human male. Ashcroft Julian Clifford. Local resident, no prior military experience, owns property near the vampire nest we destroyed." She paused, reading deeper. "That's the same human Marshal Nexxali just reported as instrumental in the crystalloid engagement. Sus, sus, sus."

“What’s sus?”

"97.03% probability of significant fabrication," Kawathra said without hesitation. "The timing is too convenient. The lack of detail is too suspicious." She pulled up a probability matrix chart that flashes red. "Something incredibly significant is being concealed."

"Are you going to report it?"

"Report what? Suspicious data patterns?" Kawathra's beak clicked in what Piotr was learning to recognize as amusement. "Commander Sillicia is busy excavating the vampire vault and she doesn't care about data irregularities as long as results are delivered. And we did find a vampire nest. We are ranked first globally in conquest metrics."

She pulled up a new spreadsheet, this one comparing all pradavarian divisions currently on Earth. Division 881 sat at the top, highlighted in gold.

"See? We're winning hard," Kawathra announced with satisfaction. "Though I suspect our lead is temporary. Division 943 just reported finding what they believe to be Merlin's tomb in Wales."

"Is it real?" Piotr asked.

"87.88% probability it's a tourist attraction from 1947," Kawathra replied. "But they're excavating it anyway. Very thoroughly. With plasma cutters. Ah! I know what to do about this! I’m feeling inspired!"

She tapped her ring, initiating a call. A hologram of Commander Sillicia materialized, the Wendigo covered in grime.

"Datamancer," Sillicia acknowledged briskly. "What do you need now?"

"Commander, I've identified several data anomalies regarding our new Beta-Knight assignment," Kawathra reported. "Galateya Frontenachii."

Sillicia's expression soured like she'd bitten into a rotten lemon. "That waste of scales? What anomalies?"

"She's just bound a human kobold."

"Of course she has," Sillicia's feathers bristled with irritation. "Probably tripped and accidentally blood-bound the first useless primitive she stumbled into. That spawnling couldn't organize a parade in a straight line, let alone properly bind a servant."

Piotr noticed the venom in her tone. The Commander clearly despised Galateya with a burning intensity that seemed personal.

"Additionally," Kawathra continued, "Marshal Nexxali's combat report shows statistical irregularities suggesting—"

"I don't care what Nexxali's doing as long as she keeps that incompetent lizard away from anything important," Sillicia interrupted. "But if you want to investigate things… personally while you’re down here, go ahead. Maybe you'll find something I can use to finally get that embarrassment transferred to dead world planetside duty where she belongs."

"Permission to conduct field reconnaissance?" The magpie bobbed.

"Granted. Take Seeker Kappa. And Datamancer?" Sillicia's smile turned predatory. "If you find evidence of incompetence, document everything. I want enough ammunition to bury that scales-for-brains so deep even her great-grandmother can't dig her out."

The transmission ended.

"She really hates Knight Galateya," Piotr observed.

"Hate is suboptimal," Kawathra said, already moving toward a section of the Corpse Seeker's organic wall. "But useful for my purposes. Field investigation approved! Yay! Follow, follow, we are going data hunting!"

She hopped off the couch and pressed her ring against the wall, and a section of it iris'ed open, revealing a smaller crystalline chamber. Inside, coiled like a sleeping snake, was another Corpse Seeker—this one only about the size of a large delivery van.

"Corpse Seeker 881-Kappa," Kawathra announced. "Perfect for urban reconnaissance!"

They climbed inside. The interior was more cramped than Alpha, with barely enough room for two. Kawathra settled into what looked like a pilot's position, though there were no visible controls. She simply placed her hands on two crystalline nodes, and the smaller Seeker shuddered to life.

"Kappa, wake up," she commanded. "Reconnaissance mode. Minimal heat signature."

The creature—because Piotr was starting to think of these things as creatures rather than vehicles—slithered out of its parent, emerging from Alpha's behind like some disturbing birth. Through the transparent sections of Kappa's body, Piotr watched the scorched vampire compound pass by as they rapidly climbed out of the massive crater.

Then they were moving. Fast.

The glassified terrain flew by, then burning trees.

The valley blurred past in a stream of green and brown. Piotr's stomach lurched as Kappa undulated over terrain that would have destroyed any normal vehicle, plowing through rotten logs, bushes, trees and rocks with ease.

"Detecting the target vehicle via orbital eyes," Kawathra announced as they entered Cascade proper. A holographic window materialized, showing a red Cherokee moving through the streets. "Scan confirms three occupants. Dragon-type Omnid, human male, and..." she paused, enhancing the image. "Pradavarian Serval Marshal Nexxali."

Through the enhanced view, Piotr could see into the vehicle. The curvy dragon girl, Galateya according to the chart he saw earlier, sat in the front passenger seat. A dark-haired human male was driving. And in the back, sprawled across the entire seat like she owned it, was a cat girl in a tight suit. The jeep’s trunk was filled with grocery bags to the brim.

The Marshal's head suddenly snapped up, golden eyes staring directly at their surveillance window.

"Darn. She's detected us," Kawathra noted. "Servals have excellent vision.”

In the Cherokee, Nexxali was now bouncing up and down, pointing at the concealed Corpse Seeker and apparently yelling something. The vehicle pulled over to the side of the road.

Galateya emerged first, her scales shifting to an irritated orange. She was tall, imposing, and looked thoroughly annoyed. The human stayed in the vehicle. Nexxali tumbled out with a hiss, pointing furiously.

"Very suspicious," Kawathra commented. "The Marshal appears to be out of uniform."

Kappa slowed to a stop about ten meters from the Cherokee. Kawathra tapped a crystal, and their side became transparent from within, though Piotr suspected it remained opaque from outside.

"Whoever's in that Corpse Seeker," Galateya called out, voice billowing across the clearing, "identify yourself and explain why you're following us."

"Datamancer Kawathra and Research Assistant StormoLyx, conducting routine reconnaissance data assessment for Division 881!" Kawathra replied briskly.

"Routine?" Galateya huffed. "Since when is stalking a superior officer through town considered routine?"

“When the data surrounding your post is incredibly odd,” Kawathra replied, eyes glinting dangerously, a dastardly grin spreading across the edges of her beak. “Some things must be investigated deeper. It’s as simple as that.”

The wax speaker suddenly came alive in Piotr's ear. It was his inner voice, back from its mysterious absence.

“Make friends with the human and his companions,” it suggested. “He's likely important, as he is clearly friends with the two aliens. To progress your relationship with Linari, you MUST convince Datamancer Kawathra that supporting Galateya is optimal. Also, consider this: Commander Sillicia is a Wendigo who desires pain and fear and turns humans into wall art, kept alive and suffering for centuries. Galateya, on the other hand, is a Taniwha who seeks justice. Commander Sillicia's hatred against an Omnid who actually cares for humans must not prevail. Use any means necessary available to you to protect the dragon girl, her human boyfriend and their cute cat girl friend!”

Piotr balked at the sudden clarity of the advice. 

Kawathra's talons were already dancing across holographic interfaces, pulling up data feeds. 

"Something is definitely verrrry wrong here,” she muttered to herself. “Oh wow. Marshal Nexxali appears seriously intoxicated. Her pupils look dilated, motor functions appear impaired… I know! Let’s see what dirt I can find on this human consort… Epsy!”

41: Feathering the Odds

A holographic window materialized, showing the interior of what looked like a government office. A spider-gun symbiote was perched at a computer terminal, its mechanical legs resting on the keyboard.

"Unit Epsy reporting from Seattle City Hall Municipal Building," the weapon's voice came through. 

"Epsy, use the human network to search for Ashcroft Julian Clifford, Cascade, Washington," Kawathra commanded.

The gun's mechanical voice responded: "Accessing LinkedIn profile. Subject Ashcroft Julian Clifford is an electrical engineer, recent graduate, currently marked as 'seeking opportunities.' No employment since May 2021."

"Unemployed!" Kawathra bobbed excitedly. "That's useful. What else?"

"Accessing public records. Subject inherited property from Archibald Clifford, deceased August 2025. Property tax database shows—"

"Kathy stop," Stormy said quietly.

Stop? She couldn’t stop, not when she was, this close to uncovering some kind of a conspiracy.

"What?" Kawathra stared at her potential consort. "I'm gathering intelligence, Stormy. Your internet makes personal information so accessible!"

"Kawathra, stop digging into that human's life."

The magpie Pradavarian paused, turning to look at the masked human. "Why? Commander Sillicia wants evidence of Knight Galateya's incompetence. Binding an unemployed human with no prospects and plentiful debt seems sufficiently embarrassing."

"You're obviously trying to destroy someone you don't even know," Stormy said. "That human? He's just trying to survive, like me."

"It's just data," Kawathra shrugged. "Gun unit, continue search. Check social media for anything incriminating."

"Accessing G-book," the gun reported. "Limited activity. The last post mentions grandfather's death. I can access government records for more…"

"I said stop," Stormy's voice sounded firmer this time. "Kawathra, if you keep doing this, I won't even consider your consort proposal."

That got her attention. Her beak swiveled toward him. "You're... what?"

"You asked me to be your consort. I've been considering it," Stormy said. "The idea of analyzing data with someone who values information as much as I do... it's appealing. But not if you use that data to hurt innocent humans!"

"But the tactical advantage—"

"What tactical advantage?" Stormy demanded, crossing his arms over his plate-armored chest. "You're planning to embarrass an Omnid Knight for binding a perfectly average human. I’ve had university debt too, before I got a job at CrawdGpt, you know. So please stop.”

“Ughhh, fine, fine,” Kawathra groaned. “I won’t dig into this… human. Epsy, cease data mining. Delete cached searches."

"Compliance," the gun replied, Kawathra vanished the window with a wave of her hand.

“Wait…” The magpie girl twitched, suddenly realising something. "An Omnid commander who's never bound anyone because she obviously hates blood bonds as a Taniwha… suddenly creates her first blood pact within hours of arriving on Earth? That's statistically incredibly unlikely unless the blood bond was flawed, sabotaged in some clever way… Ah! AH!"

Her feathers fluttered up in waves. "Corpse Seeker Kappa, initiate deep resonance Astral scan. Maximum intensity. I want to analyze that blood bond's structure down to the quantum level."

"Stop," Stormy said quietly. He reached to the lynx maw and unclasped it, revealing his real face between the fake teeth of the synthetic beast. His green eyes struck Kawathra. “Right now. Or the probability of our relationship falls to zero, Kawthy.”

"What? What now?!" Kawathra blinked, staring at the cute barbarian knight, his face dripping with sweat she wanted to taste. "Halt scan! I don’t understand. I stopped digging into the human! Why can’t I dig into the blood bond? If Knight Galateya messed up her first binding in some—"

"Kawathra," Stormy interrupted. "What is your end goal here?"

"Commander Sillicia wants—"

"Commander Sillicia obviously wants to hurt Galateya," Stormy said. "She's a Wendigo who feeds on human suffering, enjoys turning people into dissected art as Linari told me yesterday. Is that really who you want to win here, Kawthy? Someone who takes humans like me apart?"

“The humans turned into art by Frontenachii are criminals who deserve…” Kawathra began to rationalize Frontenachii command actions.

“An eternity of suffering for a finite crime?” Stormy ground out, scowling adorably at her. “Do you really think that that’s fair?”

"That's not fair," Kawathra protested. "I compute fairness differently. The criminal chose to commit their crime. The consequences are simply... extensive. The Frontenachii bring order to doomed and dying worlds."

"Our world isn’t doomed or dying! Also, would you want someone to suffer forever for something you did in a moment of desperation?" Stormy pressed. "What if it was me? Would you want me turned into wall art?"

Kawathra's beak opened and closed several times. "That's... you wouldn't commit crimes."

"You don't know that. You've known me for less than a day."

"The probability matrices suggest—"

"Forget probability for a second," Stormy said. "Just think. Is eternal torture justice? Or is it just incredible cruelty with extra steps?"

The magpie was quiet for a long moment, talons clicking against the crystalline console. "The blood-bond scan wouldn't hurt anyone," she said finally, deflecting. "It's just data collection. Completely harmless. I'd simply be examining the blood bond's structure to understand how a Taniwha who hates hierarchical bonds managed to—"

Through one of the holo-windows, a fraction of Kawathra’s split mind noticed that the human leaned out of the Cherokee's driver window and said something to the Serval. The Marshal's ears perked up, and she nodded vigorously.

Nexxali blinked for several seconds, wobbling slightly on her feet. Then her posture straightened, and when she spoke, her voice danced through the air, amplified by her Charisma-skill.

"Corpse Seeker 881-Kappa," Nexxali declared. "Master command override Nexxali-Alpha-Seven-Seven-Seven. Acknowledge."

The Seeker shuddered around them. Kawathra's eyes went wide, her mind snapping together into one. "No, no, no! Override command Two-Two-One-Nine! Acknowledge! ACKNOWLEDGE! She can't—"

"Override acknowledged, Marshal Commandant," Kappa's synthesized voice resonated through its crystalline structure.

"Eject all current passengers immediately," Nexxali commanded. "Then enter full compliance mode under my direct authority."

"What?!" Kawathra shrieked as the floor beneath them suddenly liquified. "This is completely against protocol! I have Commander Sillicia's authorization! You can't just—"

The liquid floor became a chute. Stormy slid out of the Corpse Seeker's now-gaping maw along with a frantically squawking Kawathra. They tumbled onto the grass in an ungraceful heap of feathers, jiggling armor and synthetic fur.

"Passengers ejected," Kappa announced. "Awaiting further orders, Marshal Commandant."

Nexxali sauntered over to them, golden eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Up close, Kawathra confirmed that the Marshal’s movements were too loose, too relaxed. She was definitely under the influence of something, most likely catnip as cross-confirmed by the Moscow-inhabiting Division that was affected in the same manner.

"Hi Storm-o-Lyx!" Nexxali purred, patting the lynx-costumed head. "How's my Linari treating you?"

"Um, fine?" Stormy managed.

"Good, good." Nexxali turned to Kawathra, who was furiously trying to reconnect to Kappa through her ring, mentally shouting all of the override commands she knew. "And you must be the nosy little data-bird who's stalking us. Naughty, naughty!"

"This is highly irregular!" Kawathra protested, feathers fully puffed in indignation. "I'm on an authorized reconnaissance mission! You have no authority to—"

"I have every authority," Nexxali interrupted. "As Marshal Commandant, I'm responsible for operational security. And you, little magpie, are conducting unauthorized surveillance of a classified operation."

"Classified?" Kawathra's beak clicked rapidly. "What?! Nothing about Knight Galateya's assignment is classified! If it was… I’d… the data…"

"It is now super-extra-classified." Nexxali's grin widened as she glanced at the human in the car who nodded. "Retroactively. Very important. Super secret. Can't have data-minin’ birdies poking around and compromising... things."

She drunkenly, slowly reached on her belt and pulled out a black hand gun, pressing the cold barrel against Kawathra’s head. “Guess who just earned herself a bullet to the noggin?”

"You… No! I…" Kawathra's feathers went completely flat against her body, trembling with panic. "Please! I just died four times already! If I die again, I'll lose so much! The recursive patterns, the optimization algorithms I've been building for decades!"

"Out of service for a month, yes," Nexxali purred, pressing the barrel harder against Kawathra's head. "Maybe longer. The Incarnator really doesn't like repeat customers. Each death takes more from you. Pieces you never get back."

"Wait!" Ashcroft called out from the Cherokee, leaning out the window. "Nexy, don't shoot her. Not yet."

The Serval's ears twitched toward him, though she kept the gun steady. "Why not? My V-ring told me that she’s being a nosy little data-vulture."

"Because she might be useful," the human said, climbing out of the vehicle. "Kawathra, right? You're Division 881's Datamancer?"

"Y-yes," Kawathra stammered, eyes fixed on the gun barrel pointing at her head. "Please, I wasn't trying to cause problems! Commander Sillicia ordered me to investigate Knight Galateya! I was just following orders!"

"Following orders," Nexxali repeated mockingly. "Where have I heard that before? Oh right, from every spineless bootlicker who's ever covered up atrocities because someone with a fancy title told them to."

Kawathra wanted to whine at the Marshal, to clarify that the Serval covered up things all the time. And yet… she was terrified. Something was wrong here. Everything was wrong. All of her probability-estimating skills screamed about the absurd surreality of the situation.

"Don’t shoot me! I'll forget myself!" Kawathra's voice cracked. "The compression algorithms, the seventeen-dimensional matrices I use for fleet logistics! It took me forty years to develop those patterns! If I die again, they'll be gone! Corrupted! I won't even remember why I created them for a month, maybe longer!"

Stormy stepped forward carefully. "Marshal Nexxali, she's just doing her job. She doesn't deserve—"

"Her job?" Nexxali's golden eyes flicked to him. "Her job is to dig up dirt on Knight Galateya so that beerch Sillicia can destroy the one Omnid commander who might actually give a damn about justice on this planet." Her finger moved to the trigger. "Maybe a month of reconstruction will teach her to pick better sides. Sit down and don’t get in the way, human."

Stormy blinked and then sat down, not looking at Kawathra, unable to disobey the Marshal’s voice.

"Please!!! The data loss alone would set Division 881 back significantly," Kawathra babbled desperately. "We could lose our lead! All the Earth datasets I've been compiling! The correlation matrices! The probability calculations! Gone! Commander Sillicia would have to request a replacement Datamancer, and that could take—"

"A while, yes," Nexxali finished with a villainous grin. "What a shame. Sillicia would have to actually think for herself instead of having you crunch numbers for her."

Galateya approached from the Cherokee. "Marshal, perhaps we should—"

"Stay out of this, dragon," Nexxali said without looking away from Kawathra. "This is between me and the bird-knob spy!"

"I'm not a spy!" Kawathra protested. "I'm a data analyst! I analyze! It's what I do! It's all I know how to do!"

"And you were about to analyze our mission, to analyze MY precious human, weren't you?" Nexxali's voice dropped dangerously. "Poking around in things that aren't your business. Looking for ammunition to use against us. Do you know who stands behind us? Knight Galateya is working on a personal project for Legate Ixthia! Do you know what the Legates do to little birds who disrupt their most essential passion-projects?” 

Kawathra's beak opened and closed soundlessly.

"That's what I thought," Nexxali said. "You know what? Maybe losing yourself would be an improvement! You could come back as someone who isn't Sillicia's obedient data-puppet. I could order you to remain on Earth, use my voice to alter you ever so slightly day by day after your incarnation… steer your new self in a more desirable direction."

"Please," Kawathra whispered, tears forming in her large eyes. "Don’t kill me! I don't want to forget. I don't want to wake up not knowing who I am, having someone explain my own life to me from archives. It's... it's the worst feeling. Like drowning in your own emptiness. I won’t dig any further into you or Galateya, I swear! I haven’t found anything yet… Stormy…” Her eyes shot to the larper who wasn’t looking at her anymore. “Stormy asked me to stop before I could uncover anything of value!”

“You swear it? Upon the name of Empress Aconia?” Nexxali’s voice deepened in an unnatural Charmchain resonance.

“I swear it upon the name of our immortal Empress!” Kawathra nodded rapidly. “Stormy told me not to dig into your affairs!”

"What a lovely little human," Nexxali cast Stormy a feline smile. "At least someone here has sense not to stick their noise into other people’s biz."

Ashcroft stepped out of the vehicle and approached them with measured steps, his movements deliberate and far too relaxed. Without hesitation, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around Nexxali's wrist, pulling the gun away from Kawathra's temple.

"That's enough, Nexy," he said. “She’s scared enough.”

The Serval's golden eyes flashed with annoyance, her voice still carrying a Charmchain resonance inflection. "Ash, go chill in the car, I'm handling—"

"No, you're traumatizing a potential ally." His reply carried no judgment. 

It took Kawathra 62210 microseconds to process something impossible. The human didn’t obey a high level Charmchain Marshal Commandant. He simply talked back to the Serval. As if her commanding voice had no effect on him whatsoever.

Ashcroft turned to the trembling magpie, extending his hand. "I apologize for our kitten's... enthusiasm. Allow me to properly introduce myself. I'm Ashcroft Julian Clifford, Kobold Administrator of Lady Galateya Frontenachii, future Baroness of Earth."

As he spoke, the overcast sky that had dominated Cascade all morning cracked ever so slightly. A single beam of sunlight broke through the clouds, positioning itself directly behind the human’s head. The effect was striking. Golden light radiated around him in a perfect corona, making his dark hair glow at the edges like he'd been touched by a halo of… something divine.

Kawathra's black eyes went wide. 

Her beak opened slightly, her mind splitting two, four, sixteen, thirty two ways, data feeds cascading through her neural interface as her mind made rapid calculations, cross-referencing patterns, probabilities, and possible outcomes.

Something fundamental shifted in her, spilling uncontrollably into her expression. Recognition forged with utterly profound terror struck her like a Corpse Seeker falling from orbit. Her feathers began to undulate in wild waves.

"Why don't we all be friends instead of fighting?" Ashcroft continued, seemingly oblivious to her realizations. He opened his arms slightly. "You look like you could use a hug."

The offer was so unexpected, so utterly human in its simplicity, that everyone froze. Even Nexxali's tail stopped its irate swishing.

Kawathra's ringed talons clicked against each other nervously. 

The probability matrices in her head were screaming vast impossibilities at her, patterns that couldn't exist, shouldn't exist, yet clearly did. The dark haired, average human before her: unemployed, indebted, ordinary by every metric she'd found, momentarily haloed in light like something out of the very religious texts she'd dismissed as primitive mythology.

His posture, the way his head tilted, his utterly calm voice. An inexplicable allure that somehow allowed him to completely ignore and also to command the pradavarian Marshal, who complied without second thought. Marshal calling him “my human”. His blood bond to an Omnid dragon. His lack of cowering. Kawathra knew with absolute certainty that 99.99986% of kobolds behaved submissively, spoke low and cowered on their first day when standing next to their dragon, as the bond traumatically adjusted itself across their souls. 

Then, most damningly of all, there was the way Ashcroft said “Kobold Administrator” with a slight, barely noticeable, bold inflection. 

It inescapably reminded her of another, masked face, one that she’s examined far too many times already, searching for him across every broadcast, every human record available.

The Emperor of Earth.