Savage Awakening 545. Gold Rush (I)

“I only mean to say that things have changed,” said the Ghoul Doctor. “That last duel should raise alarms, Master. It should make for a marked shift in our understanding of Zane.”

Did you think I did not know that man had Aiwe’s store? This changes nothing.

“My point, Master,” said the Ghoul Doctor, strained, “is merely that it’d be a danger to underestimate him.”

Hreinn gave a whining laugh, and that was how the Doctor knew he’d said the wrong thing.

 You believe I underestimate Zane Walker. 

“I’m merely cautioning against it.”

“Doctor, doctor…” tutted Hreinn. 

You think I do not know what he’s capable of? 

“Master,” the Doctor, pleading. “This does not concern your knowing or not knowing. It is not useful to make this a matter of ego—” 

What is it that you are implying, ghoul? Malzareth’s eyes flashed.

Hreinn snickered. 

“Master—”

Perhaps you do cannot comprehend Zane Walker. But he has not done a single thing beyond the vision of Lord Malzareth… he dances in my palm, even now! You think that display changed anything, that he’s been put beyond my control! 

The Doctor grimaced.“I did not say that either.”

But you did, Ghoul. Do not deny it! Malzareth’s gaze flared; cracks rippled down the room. Do not think I do not know your inner workings, just as easily as I know Zane Walker’s! You think Lord Malzareth only believes such things of Zane because he feels threatened. The likes of me, threatened by a backwater babe of a Minor God! 

The cracks were spreading down reality in earnest; the aura poured through, and the full weight of the Bastard Prince’s soul was a terrible thing indeed. It alone was as malevolent as any Empyrean killer attack. Black blood dripped from the Doctor’s trembling jaw. The world swam, dimmed… 

The Ghoul Doctor was a Prime. A T3 who could contend with the greatest of the humans, who’d dueled with generations of Patriarchs and Matriarchs—but Malzareth was not the most talented of Father’s offspring for nothing.

Such heinous fantasies… snarled Malzareth. It puts to doubt your judgment.

“I must say, I agree,” said Hreinn, nodding, still wearing that same buck-toothed grin. “After all the schemes you’ve masterminded, Master, all the cold-blooded calculations I’ve seen you make, it’s can’t fathom how our Doctor still thinks this way… I do wonder who he sees you as. Some immature Prince, perhaps, blinded by pride? Awful, awful…”

The Doctor’s fist clenched white-knuckled around his needles. He had half a mind to run that weasel through, but he couldn’t move.

It wouldn’t have amounted to much. You could compile tomes of the legendary figures that’d tried assassinating Hreinn at one point or another, mostly out of sheer irritation; he’d survived more assassination attempts than any creature in the Galaxy, Monster or man. And Hreinn just happened to be both. 

Hreinn stepped up. “This Zane’s hardly worth your time, Master. A Minor God, when you’ve got a Galaxy to conquer? Please. Leave that man to me.”

Hreinn bowed. “I know where he’s headed. A land called the Pure Yang, where a great number of Dragonspire’s finest have gone to train over the years… a land near the dawn of the ages, rife with Destruction and Creation—but it is also a newly-made land, situated in a growing reality, and not the stablest one at that. Sending your most prized disciple there…”

He tsk’d. “It seems the Doctor’s not the only one with poor judgment. Noughtfire’s lost a step since I’ve been gone. Perhaps that is what losing your great rival does! You rust, and grow soft… a rude awakening awaits him, I fear…”

What is it that you are suggesting?

“Simple,” said Hreinn. His beady little eyes glimmered. “Zane is most dangerous in a fight… But what if there’s a way to erase the man before he even has a chance to fight back?”

Then Hreinn laid out his plan in detail. A very cowardly plan, one only a creature as despicable as Hreinn might offer.

A silence. Then—Very good…

The Doctor had to admit, grudgingly, that he couldn’t spot any obvious flaws in it. Any reason it wouldn’t end with Zane in an airtight trap.

There was only one issue. “You are a fool if you don’t believe Noughtfire knows you’re coming,” the Doctor said flatly.

“Of course he knows!” crowed Hreinn. “There’s no doubt in my mind he expects an attempt on Zane’s life. He knows the Superdungeon cannot bind me, as it does the others… but he knows I cannot send out my full strength. He believes whatever attacks I can muster, Zane will simply survive! Not an unreasonable thought. Yet…”

Hreinn’s eyes glinted. “There are tricks of Fate far outside Dragonspire—tricks that have never even been used in its bounds, with which I can shear reality as though it were paper. You’ve been fooled by the facade, my dear Doctor… Noughtfire is, above all, a master showman. He is not as omniscient as he pretends. It will not be the first time I’ve defeated him. Noughtfire is, truthfully, the very egotistical creature you accuse our Master of being. Thinking he knows all—that he’s got all under his thumb! Until suddenly he doesn’t… that will be his disciple’s undoing.”

“His record against you seems to indicate he strategizes circles around you.” 

“I’ll admit, he’s gotten the upper hand in strategizing,” said Hreinn, shrugging. “But this is no grand strategy. This is a trap, my dear doctor, and a subtle one at that! Even Noughtfire would admit in tricks, and schemes, and the things you call ‘dirty tricks,’ he is not my match.” 

It was true. Hreinn had his wins, here and there—and in nearly every case it came down to a slimy, dirty trick. Tricks of Fate and reality and time, some born of Hreinn’s own malicious intelligence… 

It was enough to make the Ghoul Doctor hesitate.

You have my permission. Malzareth’s eyes blazed. Sink Zane Walker.

“With pleasure.” Hreinn grinned. “In the meantime, why doesn’t our Doctor make himself useful? Master’s lair is still well under construction. The orcs could always use another hand laying deadbrick. A few years there might teach him to think twice before insulting his Master to his face—”

Hreinn shrieked. A hideous gash ran down his face, and Corruption spilled where blood should’ve been. Destruction blazed like a comet, Destruction in quantities only the Monster Overlord could summon.

Still, it healed in mere heartbeats. You could blow Hreinn’s head off, and even salt the stump with Destruction, as many had done in the past. He’d still regenerate just fine.

This was not an attempt on Hreinn’s life. Only a warning.

Do not presume to give orders in my place. Malzareth’s gaze bore down on Hreinn now. 

“Mercy, Master! I’ve overstepped! I’ve overstepped…”

Go.

Hreinn shuffled away, squeezing through reality the way a roach might scurry under a door, and was gone.

***

At the heart of Astra, there was an altar made of a pale-blue steel—not quite System blue. It was even lighter than that. It was the same color as the Galaxy Gear. Zane wasn’t sure why, but it just seemed the color of time. It felt right.

It didn’t take too long getting here. By now he’d gotten the hang of navigating Astra, and he’d passed by this thing a couple of times. The first time he’d seen it had been on his way to get his Solar Flare Law; Burnwater had led him here back then. He’d wondered briefly what it’d done, and gone on his way. 

Now he knew.

Before he got out his Galaxy Gear, he made sure to put on his ‘Jack’ disguise. The steel here wasn’t quite reflective enough, so he rummaged through a Bag of Holding and came out with a spare scrying glass, which he used as a mirror.

He still looked mostly like Jack, which he was pleased about. It was a disguise he’d gotten pretty comfortable with. After Noughtfire’s edits, he saw a slightly older, taller version of Jack, with a different-colored mustache. He wondered again why Noughtfire had insisted on making those edits. They wouldn’t stop anyone who’d known Jack from recognizing him. Maybe it simply looked better to the old fellow.

He briefly tried to remember if there was anything he had to do to get in character. Any mannerisms he’d have to take on. There was that ‘wandering monk’ backstory he’d come up with to explain why he didn’t know much. And he did try to act a little more inconspicuous. Otherwise he had to admit it wasn’t the most creative act. He was mostly just himself.

The last thing Noughtfire had told him was to expect some expeditions in there—all kinds of legendary warriors mining for Creation and Destruction shards. A few potentially with Galaxy Gears of their own. Clashes happened quite often down there. But that’d be out on the plains. Zane would be a bit removed from that—he’d be focused on Mount X.

His plan was pretty much the same as last time. Get his tasks done without much drama. He wanted to get this done with speed—twenty years or less. He’d practice his Star-crushing Slashes in his downtime. Ideally he’d come out with a new Skill, a Concept, and a stash of Destruction shards richer.

In the past these Astra adventures felt a step away from the real world. And they still had that dreamlike quality. But before, he could totally become ‘Jack,’ here—leave most of ‘Zane’s burdens behind. 

But now the deadline to war loomed; every year mattered, and he felt the weight of it more and more in the back of his mind... 

He kind of liked it. He didn't want to let himself relax too much in there.

There was work to be done.

With that, Zane headed on in.