POV: Clever, shortly after Dei left.

  He ventured with Fendrascora through the Great River, serving as her blade and last resort while she traveled upwards to safer waters. The small pocket within her kept a spatially shrunken garden, but he never went there; instead, Fendrascora surrounded him with scalding water, keeping it pressurized to ensure it didn’t boil away and helping him retain his heat, and providing air when he needed it- though his biology quickly adapted to underwater life.

  The environment was interesting, but much of his sight had turned inwards. Now that he didn’t have to place a heavy focus on Time and the outer world, he practiced with something new that’d been bothering him: the Molten Core

  Molten Core was a Title, not a Skill, and one he’d gained after eating the Convection Convergence. Through his own research, he’d found that Titles must be a way for monsters to catch up with Sapients.

  Sapients had Classes and Professions, but monsters only had their Race: they would naturally lag behind in power if not for Titles.

  Titles were gained from… practically anything that marked the monster, and left many paths that Sapients couldn’t tread open to them. Devouring a convection? Utterly useless to a Sapient. For a monster like him though? He’d somehow given himself a spell but… not. It wasn’t a spell. Molten Core was just… something within him.

  It’d been a mystery since day one. Ever since gaining it, food was but a suggestion. As long as he didn’t expend the core fully, Clever didn’t need to eat.

  Which made no sense. How was he getting hotter? What was he running on?

  He didn’t have a Soul affinity like Dei to look inside himself, but he did have the Heat affinity, which was just as good for a Korgonda.

  In the time between the short battles protecting Fendrascora, Clever found himself studying the endless spring within himself, wondering where it came from. Was it infinite? Or did it burn so efficiently it seemed infinite?

  He could clearly place it in his body as well. It wasn’t a fully intangible thing, it was a little ball of energy just behind his jaws that simply never stopped.

  He couldn’t accept this.

  There were rules to powers, and this was certainly breaking a lot of them. He pushed his Heat Scan to the absolute limit, meticulously taking note of every wave and inefficiency in his body.

  Hours later, he was no closer to understanding where his power came from, but he felt subtle whispers of something within the heat, something that came from him.

  * * *

  Months passed, and Clever’s understanding grew with each passing day. Korgonda’s lived on heat, they were heat, and the subtle emanations from the flame within were echoes of that. His connection to Heat grew rapidly as he mapped out some kind of structure beneath his body that supported it.

  Using only Heat, he’d found his soul.

  Not only that, but Molten Core slowly came into focus, and he finally found its power source: it resonated with [Adaptable Body], his Racial ability. Somewhere along the way, his body started to consume the environment, dissolving it with a thin layer of mucus and pulling it into him to feed his Molten Core. He was correct, it was simply an unimaginably efficient generator.

  That was no cause for concern, but the accidental discovery that it wasn’t his did.

  Every bit of mana in his body, he could control. He’d claimed it. Molten Core? Not even slightly. He channeled the runoff from it, unable to truly manipulate the power itself. When he used [Blazing Breath], he poked a hole in the side and formed a controlled explosion. In a similar vein, he could only apply pressure to it from the outside, not control what was within.

  It was a foreign object lodged in his body, surrounded by a wall of “Mucus” to ensure he didn’t passively reject or attack it.

  Not his.

  He tried exerting his will, tried laying claim to it, and found… not intelligence, but a mark within it. He tried to push inwards, and it asked him a simple question:

  “What is Fire to you?”

  He was stunned the first time, and didn’t answer immediately. It took his hesitation as failure, and he was flung out, though not before glimpsing the power below.

  Epic.

  His Molten Core held the potential to be something utterly impossible, but he had to claim it.

  So he pondered the question, What was fire to him? He’d spent so many months studying his fiery soul, yet the answer eluded him. He tried guessing a few times, but got the sense that the core knew he wasn’t firm in his belief.

  He enjoyed the time he spent with Fendrascora, Dei’s family, and even the bug priest Vtztzva, but he never stopped thinking. Outwards, he was a friendly lizard, but the calculations never ceased, and he found a warmth bubbling within him as he tried to put into words exactly what Fire was to him.

  So focused on the final result, he failed to notice how substantial the journey itself was; despite failing to answer the question, a resonance between his soul and the Molten Core slowly tempered him into something more.

  * * *

  Iora, the night after Oura caught Fou and Dei was confirmed to have escaped.

  Iora stood in an absence of everything. It was not dark, bright, nor anything in between. There was simply nothing.

  Her mind would have collapsed, but she was a Shaman. Their training took them to the depths of all three of the Grand Abyssal Realms, shattering them and building them back. It was not so easy to destroy a Shaman’s mind or soul. Her battle cloak billowed as she held the staff in her left hand.

  In the infinite nothing, presence was unmistakable. She saw the figure far ahead, and was tempted to walk forward, but she knew that might be interpreted as implicit agreement to whatever contract the power that’d pulled her here wanted to offer.

  “Steady, Iora,” Kita said in her hand, and she glanced down in surprise.

  “You’re here too? I thought this was an enclosed divine vision…”

  “No… but this… this is something worse. I don’t know what, but I feel it.”

  “I as well,” Iora responded, sensing the waves emanating from the hunched figure ahead.

  “My connection to the outside world tells me we’re in heavily dilated time. If I force you awake, it will be years before you escape.”

  “Very well, do it. I will not give whatever is here a chance to speak.”

  “Understood.”

  Iora did not sit, remaining at attention as Kita woke her body

  * * *

  Two years, eight months, sixteen days, five hours, twenty three minutes, and fifty two seconds passed as Iora stood at perfect readiness.

  Unmoving.

  From the outer world’s perspective less than a tenth of a second had passed, though Iora’s body was somehow fully rested. Whatever pulled her in clearly couldn’t simply keep her exhausted, the time within its space allowing her to rest.

  She couldn’t be sure, but it was likely that she would face it again the next time she slept, so she made preparations.

  Kita would wake her a single nanosecond after she fell asleep. If the time dilation was the same, four fifths of a second would pass before she was woken up this time.

  * * *

  Iora appeared in the space again.

  She did not immediately disappear.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  ‘The time dilation must be even worse,’ she realized with a scoff. Nonetheless, she would have to last a single nanosecond in real time.

  She attempted to contact Kita, but the connection didn’t form. Shamanic staffs were powerful, but this was beyond even Kita’s ability to match her thinking speeds. However fast she was thinking now had to be utterly historic.

  It didn’t matter. Kita didn’t need to think to be utilized, Iora felt her magic.

  She stood at the ready and waited.

  * * *

  A year passed. Then two. Then five. Iora counted the seconds, her ego suppressed to protect it from damaging isolation.

  At ten years, she was awoken as the body decided waiting would no longer be beneficial. This was an impossible situation, as she’d always fall asleep again eventually.

  They’d shown proper resistance. At this point, it didn’t matter how strong the entity was, they no longer had any ability to force her into any agreement- her “Case” for independence was properly argued. She could approach without fear.

  Walking forward, the details of the figure cleared, and she knew what this thing looked like.

  Herself.

  Iora looked at the hunched thing, its back turned to her, face down, chewing at something on the ground.

  Walking in a circle around it, she came to a stop some distance away at its side. “Her” eyes cried a black tar, dripping down “Her” face. The thing “She” ate?

  The same boy she’d sentenced to death: Dei Grrata, or at least his shell; she knew now he was no person.

  It paused its gruesome mauling of the corpse, looking up at her, its black stained eyes locking onto her.

  She’d held her staff up the moment she saw what it was eating. Now, she blasted its head off.

  Just before her Kinetic beam disintegrated its skull, she saw it smile slightly.

  She woke, a wave of indescribable feeling threatening to overtake her, but countless decades of training kept her breathing controlled. She did not cry, nor scream. She did not even start.

  She stood up, calmly explained to Kita what happened, and went about her day.

  * * *

  That night, she had the same dream. She walked forward, didn’t wait for it to turn, and killed it. This time, the dream did not immediately collapse, the black blood splattering over the corpse of the boy as the body fell forward before she was pulled away.

  * * *

  Again. Again. Again.

  For two weeks she repeated the process, killing the thing before it could turn to smile at her. It became routine, until, on the fourteenth day, she looked down at the falling corpse and realized the boy was… larger.

  ‘He’s grown?’ she barely had the time to wonder before she was pulled away.

  * * *

  The next night, she did not kill it instantly, rounding its side to look at the boy again.

  Sure enough he was different. More mature.

  Larger.

  She put it together, this wasn’t some random reflection- this thing was eating the corpse of Dei Grrata in whatever current condition he was in at the moment she fell asleep.

  He was mutating in response to a lack of parental figures. This could be a symptom of his actual species, or it could be his human shell responding to independence. Ultimately, it was no hint at all.

  But it did tell her something more was going on.

  She’d looked down on it long enough that it was able to look at her and smile again, then more.

  It scooted over, leaving a place next to it.

  It lowered its bloodstained hands to the ground, patting the seat it created for her.

  Inviting her to join it.

  Inviting her to eat.

  She turned it to paste, and the dream ended.

  * * *

  She called Oura to their village again, saying she might have a hint, or perhaps a way to find Dei.

  “...Which is when I realized that it was updating in real time. Dei’s body is growing in response to his abandonment, but such a thing would not have occurred to me naturally. My working theory is that he has accidentally placed a karmic curse on me, pushing his negative emotions through our link to give me nightmares.”

  “Mm,” Oura heard her report and stroked his chin thoughtfully “There are many issues with that theory,” he told her, and she nodded.

  “I know, but I do not know what else it could be.”

  “Would you be willing to subject yourself to an Absolute Identification to pinpoint from where this comes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. Tonight.”

  * * *

  She had the same dream, but this time she did not approach it. She entered a guarded position and deactivated her ego, ready to wait out a century so that enough realtime would pass for the Identification to go through.

  * * *

  When her century was through, she approached the creature again, and killed it.

  Waking up, she looked to Oura with a quirked eyebrow.

  “You were out for half an hour,” he told her, which surprised her as she believed it would be much longer. Kita, after all, still hadn’t been able to speak with her.

  “What are the results?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Your divine scope remains unmolested and nothing attempted to contact you in your sleep. None of the outer nodes activated, nothing coming through any of them. No Dream, Mind, Heart, or any other Soul adjacent parasites. Nothing.”

  “So… what is it? Where have the dreams come from?”

  He looked at her piteously. “Iora. they came from you.”

  “No that’s… No,” she said, refusing to believe it.

  “I’m afraid so. They bubble exclusively from your own innate subconscious. I understand it is difficult to accept, but souls are complicated things. Some part of you must feel guilt for causing pain to a child, and is punishing the rest of you for its participation. I’m afraid I must diagnose you with soul trauma.”

  She scowled, “I feel no guilt for what I’ve done.”

  “I know that you don’t, but you must understand that ancestral guidance is not fake. We are Gem Dwellers, Iora, we are known for our lacking emotion. Perhaps a vestigial portion of your roots as a Prime Human are lashing out at you? There is no way to be sure. True, we do not know how you are able to accurately guess the state of his body, but there are uncountable mysteries out there and hidden paths to everything.”

  “Then what should I do?”

  “The same as you have been. Just keep killing it.”

  She wanted to sigh, but couldn’t disrespect him. She bowed her head low, “Thank you. I apologize for my hasty conclusions.”

  He waved her off, “No, you thought you had a karmic connection with the boy. You did the correct thing to message me so quickly. Now, I must be going.”

  He teleported away, and she was left alone once more. Kita comforted her, but it was unnecessary. If this is what she had to do, she would.

  * * *

  Iora’s nights were haunted by her own image cannibalizing the boy she’d damned. She refused to feel sorrow for her actions, refused to apologize, knowing she was correct.

  If only she could convince her own psyche.

  She watched Dei grow stronger, the glassy look in his eyes sharpening, his body decorated by scars. His clothing changed from something civilized to the leather of monsters, finally settling on a masterfully made beastware.

  Occasionally, he would take on a terrifying, gargantuan visage of claws and connections, something she actually recognized: A World that Walks.

  Dei traveled the path of the Reaper.

  She tried contacting Oura again after such a revelation, but found that her messages were put on hold. She was told that Oura was indisposed for the foreseeable future, and felt a sickening dread well up within her, but did not give in to it.

  The only time a Councilmember became “Indisposed” without a reason was if they went under investigation but… that couldn’t be. Oura was the head Shaman, he would never make devastating, executable mistakes.

  She didn’t understand what to do next, how to rid herself of these terrors. Worse, each time she fell asleep, she felt something gnaw at the edges, she felt herself delve into a dark place she struggled to imagine clawing her way out of. Despite her fears though, she continued to awaken from her slumbering horror.

  * * *

  Months passed as she danced with insanity; that night, she rounded it again, looking at the mockery of her flesh with disdain. She raised her staff to kill it, when something changed. The nothingness plunged into truth rather than a shallow mirror, and Iora knew she walked within her soul no longer.

  This was the hallow place for a horror. A temple.

  The thing changed as well. It didn’t look at her. Nor did it smile this time.

  It spoke.

  “He’s wrong,” it said in a deep, growling voice.

  She squinted at it, not lowering her weapon. “How so?” she asked, somehow knowing that it referred to Oura.

  “I am not you… not yet. But I can be.”

  “What are you?’

  “Me?” it asked, then a chuckle rumbled from it. “I am the first motive. I am the progenitor to ambition. I am a path to infinity, severed before I ever took even a single step. He says I stem from you… and he is correct. Because I’ve always been here, Iora.”

  It looked at her now, black tears streaming down its face as the familiar grin finally stretched wide. “In every man, woman, and child. I am part of every single one, forgotten but present. He cannot see me because I am entwined with the flesh of all life. He says I come from you, because I do. But I am more than you. I was Iora before you ever were, and I will be when you no longer are, because you are me.”

  “That isn’t possible,” she insisted, “To have such a reach, you would need to be a Primordial Child, and there is no Child that resembles you.”

  It laughed now, blood spilling from its mouth. “You think me so young? No, I predate the four Races you call Primordial Children, Iora. I was born the very first time life chose to act. The first time a decision ever came to be, I was there.”

  “You are no Primordial” she said, eyes hardening. If this was a construct of her own mind, even implying that she held connections to the Primordial would get her smited four different ways.

  “No… I am not of the Primordial… but it knew my name. It felt my touch, and it never forgot.”

  This was blasphemy of the highest order, and Iora would stand for it no longer. She was not religious, but to tempt the Gods was pure hubris. She fired off the spell, returning it to dust. The dream ended, and darkness came for her, but she did not wake, and its words still reached her.

  “You will know me as well. There will come a time, one very soon, when there is nothing of you left, and you will give that nothing to me.

  “I am undeniable.

  “I am the one before.

  “I am Hatred’s Call.”