Arc I - The East Horizon [Eteru/Melon] [Non-Canon]

He walked aimlessly. The road had no beginning or end in sight. Much like his existence. His two feet were carrying him down a sidewalk. But it doesn’t feel like he's really moving. He felt weightless and anonymous. The cold, motone surroundings of the urban environment reflected the feelings inside of him.

He took a swig from some alcoholic beverage that he got with his change money. It burned his throat as it went down his gullet. Making him cough. His thoughts were a bit fuzzy but it wasn’t enough. One bottle is not enough to drown his woes.

His feet were a bit wobbly. A sign that he might go lay down somewhere eventually. After that...he doesn’t know. He’ll continue walking. Stopping every now and then to play parlor tricks on the sidewalk to get pocket change. Perhaps fly to a different planet again. He was a bit impressed that he managed to get here in the first place.

Like any place it was completely alien to him. Yet there were things that were familiar to him. The understandable language, humans, dragons, hard-ons for space women. The supposed xenophilia of the place does resonate with him. But that was the only connection so far. He was very much an alien here. Everywhere really.

In the corner of his eye he sees a reinforced door long busted down. The building seemed to be abandoned. Because he was fairly fond of places left to be forgotten he found himself wandering inside. As expected the place was empty. A fine layer of dust coats every surface. Not too much thanks to the air circulation so he doesn’t have to worry about breathing problems.

He wandered around. Thoughts drift to ponderance. Imagining what the place must have been like when it was still used. Who were the people who worked here? What were their aspirations? What did they think of their job? Did they have loved ones? Did they have children? Siblings perhaps? What was their childhood like?

These thoughts ran through his mind like clockwork. Perceiving together a story from all that is left. Coming into a security room he finds a robot standing there motionlessly. He went up to it. Looking over the long expired wire and machinery. “Been here awhile big guy?” His voice was rough from disuse. “Standing here all by yourself. No one for company but darkness and silence. It’s rough. Believe me... I know a thing or two about that.” He spoke quietly. Knowing that he won’t get a response. It was sad to see the robot stand here. Utterly forgotten by the world. Never to be seen again.

Well, that’s not exactly true. Because he saw it. Someone knows the robot is here now. There was comfort in that, no matter how miniscule it may be. Taking another swig he drank it all. Then he set the empty bottle on the table. Taking a step back he looked at it. In a way he left a mark on the world. Even if no one would know when they come by and find the empty bottle on the desk.

Lincoln felt he might as well explore more of the facility. Finding an elevator he went down deeper into the cold stomach of the place. He found more traces of the past. Echoes of life long gone from the world. By this time it finally clicked that this must have been some place involved in this Civil War. Which made it all more depressing. The thought of people killing each other in the name of a higher purpose sickened him. More so given it was a Civil War.

He looked at his clean hands. They were stained with blood. So much blood. Spilt again and again. He understands how soldiers come to treat their enemies as if they’re no more than mere silhouettes. Makes it easier to cope. Dehumanizing them makes it easier to squeeze the trigger. To see them as monsters to blind themselves to the sight of that beautiful, precious life in their eyes fade away. After all, why else glorify war. You need something to fool the young and foolish in order for them to happily walk into hell that is war.

He shudders to imagine what the veterans are going through. They can possibly never see their friends and family the same way. After all, they’ve proven to themselves that priceless things such as familial bonds did not stop them from putting a bullet in their siblings, their parents, their children. The shame they must feel. The guilt. The pain. Of course that is what he hopes for. Not wanting to think about the bleak reality. And that war stripped so much life away from them that they can’t feel love anymore. Only the emptiness of being the perfect soldier who follows orders for the ‘greater good’.

That emptiness is something he fears. Knowing deep down that if he accepts that. To submit to apathy would mean the death of ‘Lincoln’. All he would be is a walking corpse. Uncaring of the world around him. So he does care. Even if it is complete agony to do so.

He finds himself at a door that gives off strange vibes. Stepping inside he finds what he seems to be a containment room. He could feel life within the gas-like substance in the tube. How long was it there? The implication made him frown. This was a fate worse than death. Even if he doesn’t know what death ultimately is. Before he realized it he had his hand hovering over the button.

Was this safe? The concept of possible death didn’t invoke fear in him all that much. Yet he doesn’t follow the ideation of suicide. It was the anathema to life. For him to intentionally end his life was for him to say that his life had no value. That he didn’t believe that there was value in life and love. And that just wasn’t who he was. Even if he had no reason to stay. After all he was in an alien galaxy where no one would remember him.

But, this thing may remember him no matter how briefly they might know each other. If he could give someone a second chance, to not have them be locked away for all of time. Then he would take that risk, that was the least he could do. He closed his eyes. “Be free...and fly far.” He pressed down on the button.

A force descends upon him.

This is a story that has already come to an end.

Long ago, there lived a young boy with ten beautiful sisters.

Life was warm and colorful for the boy.

He loved his family so very much.

But one day.

One tragic day came for the boy.

His family all met a tragic end before his very young eyes.

On that day he understood the nature of the universe.

It was silent, cold, and dead.

Time passes for the boy. He grows into a teen. Still haunted every night of the horror he lived through in his youth.

But he will come to learn that it was only the beginning to his long, harsh life.

A day came where he found himself being dragged off to a moonlit world. One thing led to the other and he found himself burdened with the weight of billions of lives. He went through trials and tribulations to prevent the great tragedy.

He had many compassionate souls help him piece himself back together. To find the strength to believe again.

He was taught at the feet of legends. Dined among rulers and warriors of great renown. Dueled beings are both divine and fel. And miraculously, found the capacity to love another again.

It took years, but they managed to prevent the great tragedy. Sweet victory had been attained.

But relief did not last long for him. Within a year or so, another tragedy occured. Only this time there wasn't now clear cut good and evil. It was a war. Everyone had bloods on their hands, including himself.

He had sacrificed so much. Denied the wishes of so many. Be the cause of so much death. He had so many close calls, so many brutally earned triumphs, and felt so much loss.

Slowly but surely, he was breaking. But still believing that there was light at the end of the tunnel.

He had to.

That’s why he finally broke when he was so near to the end of it all. He may have fought alongside heroes. Endured so much suffering. Escaped from the jaws of defeat on more than one occasion.

But he was reminded again of the simple fact. The universe is cold, silent, and dead. He’s not some fictional character. He wasn’t a superman who’ll always come out at the end of any hairy situation.

He was painfully mortal. A pathetic sack of flesh and bone so fragile that he can die at any given moment.

And that would be that.

Meaning he lost. This time it had costed everything.

He lost.

After so much.

He cried. He pleaded. He screamed.

The sole other soul with him was a mere observer. A Beast whose sole purpose is to witness the End of all Things.

And so it did.

Then, weeks ago, he woke up in a random alleyway on some starport in the west.

Pressing the button for release saw the old, decrepit container begin to vibrate. The various mechanisms that kept the tube sealed slowly began to undo themselves. Safeguards were deactivating, suppression fields went offline, and the gas within the tube seemed rather surprised at the rather sudden arrival that equally suddenly decided to release it. But as the final safeguard turned off, and the tube opened, the gas darted out. It flew directly at Lincoln at extreme speed, and as the gas made contact with him it absorbed itself into his skin. He could faintly feel it joining with his being, and a tingle would go through his body as the final bit of gas joined in with the rest.

And after that, there was silence. For those seconds after the gas joined itself with Lincoln, nothing seemed to happen that one could observe. There was a slight tingle in his being, the sense that something was watching him, but nothing more.

Then, all at once, a massive weight on his shoulders. An overwhelming force asserting itself on his body and soul all at once, sending a shockwave through his muscles and mind. The sense that he was being watched grew all at once as well, from a small sense to the undeniable feeling that somebody else was right on top of him. Or rather, within him.

In his vision a being appeared, in a more spectral form. Leaning up against a wall, the visage of a True Psion constructed itself within his vision. It was not a creature he would know, being alien to this place, but he would find that the information that this being was called a Psion was oddly inserted into his mind. This one, blue and older, appeared as more as an outline. It was not real, just an image projected to his senses. But there was one thing he could see with this Psion... It had narrowed its eyes in irritation.

"You are a pitiful creature, slave. Those are your thoughts, really? Ugh." Shaking its head, the visage put a hand to its chin, "Just my luck. A vessel finally heeds my call, and it is a slave I can't wrest control of. Worse, it is one I pity. That's impressive, you know. Most slavelings are pitiful, but it's hard for me to spare any pity for the vast majority of them, so common they are in their sad states. With you, I do need to share a degree of pity, tiny as it may be. Take care it does not become contempt."

The visage glared at Lincoln a while longer, before then floating closer to him, looking him in the eyes, "But I suppose you cannot glimpse into me as I can into you, so I'll do you the honor of being introduced to me. I am Tulam'Run, master of genetic engineering and your new inhabitant. You are now my vessel."

After a moment of intensity, the Psion suddenly turned and threw its spectral hands up in annoyance, "And believe me, I would absolutely love to take your advice and go fully free and get far, far away from this awful imitation of a lab! I've been here too long already, wasting valuable time I could be spending on my own work. Being in the custody of amateurs, disgusting. Unfortunately for me, that little tube restrained my soul's natural regeneration. It will take time for me to prepare myself for a transfer into a new host form, and construct a new body that is worthy of me. As for you... Consider this a blessing, vessel. You wanted purpose? It has been delivered to you."

Lincoln was quite used to heavy spiritual bodies jumping on his bones. Typically of the fairer sex variety. His knees gave way yet was able to hold on to the panel to keep him on his feet. A grunt of annoyance. It was certainly very nostalgic for him. In the beginning these sort of instances occurred by spirits who were feeling rather feisty. Teasing him as they pin him to whatever surface. A certain lithe Oni comes to mind, Shuten. She loved doing it early on in their time together. Especially when she learned that he enjoyed squirming around under her a bit too much. Later, as he matured and came to fit into his role more comfortably, the power dynamic began to shift. Shuten became servile, the only time she ever forcibly pinned him was when she became overwhelmed by her base instinct to take what she craves when he was edging her up to that point. Such disobedience was dealt with accordingly of course.

Strange. He was feeling self-conscious with how he exercised his dominion over his servants all of the sudden. Along with his tendency to stick it in places that aren’t exactly safe for his health. Especially when said place is someone inhuman like an Oni who is known to have a very intense hunger. They were some of the ones he needed to deal a firmer hand of discipline with. Oh right, his thoughts were no longer his own anymore. Hi.

Recollecting his composure he got himself steady on his feet. Somewhat surprised that the spirit within him couldn’t take control. Sure, he has the capacity to defy mental pollution, even having a spirit acting as his last line of defense once upon a time. But he’s still mentally and spiritually exhausted. And that spirit was no longer with him. A spirit as strong as him shouldn't have had much issue in wresting control from him.

Besides now knowing who he was, he indeed doesn't know more than that. The word popped up a few times in the extranet when he surfed through it. But it didn’t register that it was something he needed to know right away. As noted before, he could clearly sense that he was very powerful. So far he could get a grasp on what his personality was like. He reminded him of other spirits he met. It wasn’t hard to tell how he viewed other people either. Normally he’s put off by people like him. Well, long ago it would be more so. And there was something about Tulam’Run that made him want to cooperate with him.

He repeated the name in his head again and his title in particular. For some reason it felt it didn’t truly encapsulate who he was. Over the years he came to have gotten a good feeling of the renown that a person possesses. ‘Master’ felt like it actually undersells how great he is at it. He doesn’t feel like he’s on the same footing as people he imagines when he hears ‘Master of Genetic Engineering’. It was a bit goofy to imagine him wearing a lab coat over his large frame.

He kept eye contact with Tulam’run as he came in close to him. A purpose? He was still finding his place in a new universe. The Eliksni have taken him in as one of their own recently. Established a relation with a few of them. Especially Ialla. He didn’t complain when she approached him in that certain way. Simply put, he craved intimacy to an unhealthy level, and has been since he was a child. It was one of the contributing factors that pushed him to engage in so many sexual encounters. He loved how readily Ialla accepted his hands.

Something about Tulam’Run made him believe what he said. That’ll finally get a clear enough head to finally see what he should strive for. Or perhaps, unbeknownst to him at the moment, reinvent a purpose he had before. “I...believe you. I think we’ll...have a good working relationship.” He gave a light, hopeful smile. Then he gave a glance around. “Is there anything else still here you like for me to take out of here?” Typically when someone is researching a live specimen they have other things related to it to study. Papers, artifacts, ect. There was something he vaguely felt down one of the halls he passed. It gave him a chill up his spine. He was not in a good enough shape to have got a good reading of it so he didn’t go down there.

The visage of Tulam raised an eye at the thoughts coming to the front. This one's ability to go from such angst to his more primitive and base desires was certainly special, given what came to mind first of all the possible things that could have. After a moment of glaring at Lincoln, Tulam just sighed.

"You are awfully quick to just accept that, you know. Most slaves suddenly having a Psion in their mind would panic, rightfully so given their small understandings. Instead you somehow just devolve to basic instincts. Trust without reason is quite stupid, vessel. Let that be a first lesson. Because your sense of people is quite awful, I can see it for myself. How very lucky for you that I am me, and I am far from the worst thing you could have so very easily opened your mind and soul to. I could name a few of those off the top of my mind! But before you begin doing what I require you to do, allow my mind to address those concerns I can see bubbling in your smaller mind."

Moving back a bit, the visage of Tulam threw out his arms, taking on a triumphant pose, "You're right that I undersell myself, but that's because I wanted to save the full introduction for later. Since you are impatient, I will do so now. I am Tulam'Run, master of life itself. When I declare myself a master of genetic engineering, do not compare me to your slave concept of a "master" who waves around a piece of paper he earned over a meager few years! I am the master of genetic engineering and all matters related to life and its design! I am Tulam'Run, and there is a reason I gained the nickname "The Lifeshaper"! Where others struggle to change their own bodies, I create entire ecosystems and the creatures within them on a whim. Ensure that you, as my temporary vessel, do not forget that. And before you start making comparisons to your carnal ways, my creation of life is artwork, not a fancy of hormones."

Tulam then sighed, "But I will suppose you shall create a connection anyways, it's inevitable in some creatures. Oh well, that shall be my gift to you then. If I cannot directly control this vessel, then I will ensure that I am not trapped within a mere slave. I'll see you shaped up properly, and crush those base slaveling instincts of yours. You had best be grateful, this isn't something most creatures get the honor of receiving; instructions from me."

He then put a hand to his chin, "Now then, as for anything I'd like to take out of here... My body was destroyed quite thoroughly, so that's out of the question. I doubt the idiots who dared to try and understand me were intelligent enough to recover my more important items, nor can I sense their presence, so nothing quite comes to mind..." And then, there was a great rumble. The facility seemed to shake, as the pounding of a great creature sent shockwaves through the room. Lincoln would almost bounce at one of the larger steps, and he could hear the great rumblings of a powerful beast elsewhere in the facility, seemingly awakened by the releasing of Tulam's spirit. The Psion's visage then snapped his fingers, "Oh, yes, thank you for the reminder Vixgor. There will be one thing that requires reclaiming." He pointed up towards the source of the pounding, "Best not leave my Psicrusher behind. I did put a good deal of work into him after all. Although it might be a bit troublesome to wrangle him in his current state, and not sure you are quite up to the task in your current mindset." He then poked Lincoln on the forehead.

Lincoln furrowed his brow in confusion and unease when Tulam told him that he trusts without reason. That didn’t sound ri-no it was right. In this context he must have been falling into his habit of being easy around spirits that could leave him as a red stain on the wall. In that light he could see it was something he needed to break out of. “I’ll work on that.” he said with a nod.

He sheepishly gave a light blush when he called him out on his impatience. There was no denying that part of him. His expression fell to awe as he listened to him. Then there was that distinct confusion from someplace within him when he made a jab to his crude antics. It didn’t felt co-no it was right. He was a hot blooded male who couldn't keep it in his pants. His encounter with Ialla is a testament to that. Yes, that was it.

Hearing the noise from somewhere in the facility and Tulam’Run referring to it as a Psicrusher did not paint a lovely image of what it might look like. He blinked when Tulam poked him in the forehead. Looking uncertain afterward. Obviously it made sense to go get Vixgor. But when Tulam called out his state of mind it gave him pause. “I...I’m not in the best of shape.” He was referring to his physical condition. It just takes one look in the mirror to see how tired he is.

”...So tired.”

A thought came from a part of him. The elephant in the room that he denied the existence of for so long. Tulam confrontation made the fog choking his thoughts to waver. The contradiction in his soul was threatened. The painful truth was right there in the corner of his eyes. All he needs to do... is look at it.

But he pushed it back into the depths of his psyche. “Okay fine, I’m an absolute wreck! I...am broken. Have been for years” He breathed heavily. Nondescript anger in his tone. Then he remembered what Tulam just said moments ago. About how he’ll whip him into shape. He grit his teeth.

”Don’t you want to get better?”

A thought came from another part of him. The part that gave him the strength to press on through the ocean of blood. A chill filled his chest. He was certain, and that gave him the implication he feared. Even though he is blinding himself to it. Shame, guilt, and sorrow rest heavy on his soul. All directed to his descent into this downward spiral to self-destruction.

He tightened his fist. Brushing aside his internal woes to think rationally for a second. “From the sound of ‘Psichruser’ I guess I won’t do well in the slightest if I’m near him huh? But I assume you have some plan correct?” If there was one thing he knew for certain was that Tulam knew what he was doing. He was confident in that.

Tulam's form sighed, shaking his head in exasperation as he read Lincoln's thoughts. He certainly had a lot of work to do here, perhaps more than he would prefer. But he was Tulam'Run, he could solve any issue placed before him, given the right motivation of course.

The Psion's spectral form then leaned in close to Lincoln, and flicked him in the forehead, "If you put half as much energy into thinking as you do into self pity, perhaps I wouldn't be referring to you as a slave. But forgive me for saying that it is quite obvious you are some very broken merchandise, vessel. Well, don't actually forgive me, I'm being honest and I couldn't care less for forgiveness in that department. Now mush, get moving. I can talk as you move towards Vixgor." He then pointed at the door, and his form disappeared from sight.

But while the Psion's image was gone from vision, his presence in Lincoln's mind hadn't abated at all, and was all too clearly present. Something made even more clear as he continued speaking, "Now, to answer your question, yes. If you had approached Vixgor before me, you'd be more than broken. You'd be a red blot of paint. In your current state of mind you are little more than a tasty little morsel Vixgor could rip apart. Even without his physical strength. Your mind is your weakness, and a Psicrusher takes full advantage of that. They are related to us Psions you know, but a lot more stupid. Still, they have immense psionic strength, they just use it in more a primal way. Like a predator on the hunt. With most people it's just a matter of paralyzing them so they can get in close for the kill with claw and stabber! With you... You'd be dead in a glance with all that baggage, as a Psicrusher can use that to crush you under the weight of your own self hate. Quite pitiful really."

His voice then took on a more smug tone, "Fortunately for you, you are right in assuming I have a plan! I wouldn't be mushing you forward this early if you'd just die instantly. I still need a vessel, right now I don't think my recovering soul could survive another unplanned transfer. However, I can shield your little slave mind for long enough to disable Vixgor, and force a sort of contingency plan I have in him. A Force Recall back to a preestablished base of operations. Now I doubt my space station is still there so I'll use the other one. I doubt you slaves have found that one. That'll keep Vixgor safe."

"Meanwhile, your part is simple; don't die! Okay, to be a little more specific, just focus on not getting swept up in whatever fantasy Vixgor will create for you. He's going to try and mentally paralyze you so he can swoop in and kill your body. I'll keep your physical body safe and mentally shield you from the worst effects. You just need to carry a little weight to keep your brain functional, and all will be fine. If you can't do that... Well, I have a backup plan. If you go brain dead I'll just try and take over myself. Temporarily that is, your soul's presence prevents full control for long periods of time, but it would be enough to keep you alive. In general, your survival is quite likely. Because of me. Don't forget that."

Tulam’Run was right. For some reason he felt he was going to have that thought a lot. Besides that, Vixgor was a serious threat to him. “Last time I had someone wage a mental assault like that on me I was reduced to near madness if it weren’t for my mental warden breaking me out of it. It was a tidal wave of red noise. The cacophonous sound still haunts my dreams on some nights.” He walked towards Vixgor. In contrast to the last person skilled in mind violation. He can tell that Vixgor was a lot more specialized in that regard than she was.

He glanced around at his surroundings. Getting into a more proper mindset, as much he could really. He was a Magus so he should fight like one, especially when he’s too low on mana to even give him a meager leg in close quarter situations. He looked at the walls. Reminded that he was in an urbanized world that was built upon for centuries. “Most of my Magecract is weak in urban areas.” He commented. Mainly the ones that could help him survive against an imposing threat. One of his core craft was spirit dancing that he learned from his first mentor. It was an art passed on through oral history among her people. It was tied deeply to the natural world. Where the traces of their footprints can still be found within the soil. But in the urban jungle, it’s hard to call them. There was the option to use rats, they generally become more stronger in relation to the urban decay and human consumption within the city. But he can tell that even a flood wouldn’t be much help here. The other option was urban legends but that was out because he has no knowledge of said local urban legends.

Regardless of his limited choices in conjunction with his shabby state. He still needs to do something. No self-respecting Magus goes into a dangerous situation without at least somthing to give them an edge, no matter how minor. There was one thing he could do to serve as a last defense. As he walked he did a dance. Chanting ancient words long sung by the aborginal people of his homeland. Clearing his mind to not focus on the world, but deep within his own genes. Prodding at the ancient memory to awaken it, telling it to get read for a potential dance. It was good he already did this before, otherwise he needed to spend a month trying to establish a link to it.

As expected his muscles became warm. His bones itch. Eyesight became sharper. It was prepared but was a bit surprised at how much more he was already resonating with him. He was feeling wet soil beneath his feet even though it wasn’t there. His body was damp from the humid air yet he was perfectly dry. Thinking about it, the answer became clear to him. “I’m using my genes as a medium to call out the memories of my prehistoric ancestor from within them. The criteria in becoming fully synchronized with it kicks in when my rational intelligence is becoming compromised.” His mind would be more protected in the trance. The only thing that would be present in his thoughts are that of pure and simple survival in a lawless world. His physical parameters would increase to match that of his ancestor who lived in a world where great beasts walked the land.

The potency of said increase feels like it’ll be greater. “This is a futuristic galaxy. Who knows how long ago that primitive Man walked beneath the stars.” Not to mention, as Lincoln will learn later, that the knowledge of such distant ancestors is completely unknown. In contrast to his world, here that epoch could very well have been millions and millions of years ago. Or perhaps even longer, the deep past is just one giant question mark. It’s exactly that Mystery that fuels the power of this magic. “It should give me enough speed and reflexes to keep me alive. Still going to be brutal. I can feel my muscles aching already.” While his prehistoric ancestor might have fought against primeval power and ferocity. They were simple threats. Vixgor on the other hand sounds like a utility knife of death. As he mused before, this was merely a protective last layer. Tulam’Run is still very much going to be his reason that he survived this.

”...The odds would be better if I had a Servant.”

The thought from a part of him made him somewhat cringe. He wasn’t ready to face any of them yet. It was foolish he knew, Servants were primarily weapons. Tools for a Master to utilize for whatever they may need. What’s a Master if they don’t have anyone beneath them to use? He just...needed time. Besides, even if he did want to summon a Servant he would need to set up a summoning circle first. And this was neither the time or place to do so. Letting out a sigh he got himself ready for the pain. “Alright, let’s do this.”

"Of course I'm right, that's the standard state of affairs when I am around. Still, seems to have confirmed my theory. You'd be very dead without me!"

Although Tulam was no longer visible as they walked through the halls of the abandoned facility, Lincoln could still feel the distinct feeling of Tulam's eyes upon him. The Psion found what Lincoln was doing clearly odd, and Lincoln could almost see the Psion squinting, "That's... Not quite how genes work, vessel. Stop using them as a medium to call upon what you envision as something you no longer have. That's little more than justification to empower yourself using your powers, and just as easy to cut off with a proper mental incursion. Take it from me, I am a master of genes! What you want to actually do is stop using the genes as a medium to call out to what you perceive to no longer have, but instead look deeper. Look for those dormant genes still within you, resting but not quite gone from your system. Call to them instead, selectively awake those genes of old instincts of primal survival! Rely not on worthless, outdated ancestors who clearly didn't succeed in the survival department. Rely on yourself, the power within! That sense of facing the primeval predator is still there, just dormant. And this method is far better, as it can't be cut off quite the same. Strength from within, not without, is far more reliable.".

Then, there was a scoff, "Vessel, you are indeed being stupid. Tools exist to be used, and slaves exist to serve their masters. Just as you are currently doing for me! We'll discuss that more, once this business with Vixgor is done. As you are right... Now is the time for the real work."

They had come across a large metal bulkhead door, which seemed to be locked tight due to security precautions. This didn't stop the sounds from behind however. A low growl, followed by more of the massive stomps that shook the ground, and then a crash.

Tulam's visage appeared again, and waved his hand around, "I'll be kind, vessel, and grant you vision of what is beyond so you may prepare." Then, he snapped his fingers, and Lincoln's vision would blur. When it unblurred, he could tell that he was viewing through a summoned, psionic-eye of sorts that was beyond the door. It looked upon a room that seemed to be an old lunch room. It was filled with corpses, with the furniture thrown about and destroyed. But the prime attraction was the beast at the center; Vixgor the Psicrusher. His black carapace was stained slightly with blood, and the technological enhancements and implants were fully active. His now mechanical tendrils waved around his backside, as if constantly on search for new prey. His claws, mostly still biological, now had massive flamethrowers built into them. The flames were currently dormant, but it was clear Vixgor could cause some serious carnage when he desired to. The Psicrusher was currently munching on the legs of a Human, which it had torn off the rest of the body. The torso was on the other side of the room, arms nowhere to be found. After a few seconds Vixgor twitched. Slowly, he turned around to face the psionic eye directly. His sole, mechanical red eye stared straight into Lincoln's soul, and he growled.

That was when the vision cut off, and Lincoln found himself back outside the door. Tulam sighed, "So they did try and enhance him. Primitive enhancements, but I will at least commend the effort. The linkup between the attachments and his cerebral system seem to be well-done at least, didn't see any sort of malfunction in that department. With some work I can improve on that and bring it up to my standards, so this is a worthwhile recovery. Alright vessel, prepare yourself! I'm going to unlock the door, and you will have to face down Vixgor. Don't worry, the battle will be primarily in your head, as I shield your feeble physical body! Just remain calm and confident. Whenever you are ready." With a final wave of his hands, Tulam's visage disappeared. As he faded, the large bulkhead moved, its locking mechanisms being disabled. The door was ready to open whenever Lincoln was prepared.

Lincoln nodded in agreement. He would most certainly be dead if it weren’t for the Psion. What he said next made him slightly smile from nostalgia when he first encountered magic when he came from a world of reason. “Yes, scientifically that is not how genes work. The body doesn’t carry ‘memories’ of its distant ancestors. Especially when the gap is in the millions of years. Through the lens of the rational what I should be doing shouldn’t happen. But that’s the entire point of how Magic works. It’s not meant to be confined to the understanding of the universe. The Magus of my era were in a decline because they were gutting the true potency of their craft through over complicating how magic works in accordance to the natural forces, and among other things. Magic, in its purest form, is mystery and fantasy. Essentially, to become a strong Magus you brush aside the irrelevant detail and structure of the universe. To them, the universe is a blank canvas, and the Magus is the painter.”

He lifted his arm for a moment. “You’re on the mark that I’m envisioning what I don’t have because that is exactly it. My ‘Ancestor’ doesn’t exist. It’s just my fantasy of one powered by imagination, belief, and most importantly will. Much like how other variations of the spell have you channel a past life of being a wolf, or a hawk, or a snake and such to get their abilities. Did they really have a past life as an animal? Probably not, and that’s the point. Basically I’m telling the universe that this is going to happen and it bends to suit what I want.”

Getting swept away in interacting with Tulam he dispelled the spell to use a different one to reflect what the Psion said. But he unwittingly slammed directly into the subconscious reason why he went for that first spell in the first place. The spell was in a sense, escapism. He fantasizes that he was his ‘Ancestor’ who wrestled with dinosaurs because it was someone other than ‘Lincoln’. “Oh.” He had lost faith in himself. As a result, using Magic to draw upon ‘Lincoln’s’ dormant power would be weak because he doesn’t believe he is. There was a disconnect to how he used to see himself in his peak. Back then, by using magic that way his ordinary fists went so far beyond the limits of human possibility that they became weapons of legend. All because he believed that he was glorious. But now…”I feel worthless.” His thoughts remained on who he used to be. Past the bleak fog he remembered all of his triumphs. All of the times he was so close to defeat. All going across his vision like a film reel.

Then, a thought sprung up from his psyche. ”Was I making one loss eclipse all of my accomplishments?” He paused. Was he? The thought made him actually reflect on his life as a whole. And he compared himself to other normal people. “I...am pretty great.” In relation to the majority of his people, he has had a great life. He was able to learn so much, experience wild things, secure victory when no one else in his position would have had. Just like that, deep down in his soul. His self-love, albeit very small, was shining once more. He had just taken his first important step towards recovery.

He rubbed his face with his sleeve to dry off his face of tears that he didn’t realize he shed. “Thank you, Tulam.” Determination was renewed within his soul. It was mere embers at first but he knew that once he’s faced with a threat. It’ll begin to burn. One’s nature always comes out the most under intense situations like this. He knows how he’s going to defend himself now. And..he has confidence in it. Before the doorway he gave a nod when Tulam pointed out what he thought. Not wanting to call upon his Servants because he lost was the equivalent of going to a swordfight without a sword because you lost the last fight and feel bad about it. They were his sword, lance, bow, and ect. They’ll always obey his will no matter whether he loses or not.

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be.” Vixgor certainly exceeded his expectations. He was terrifying to say the least. It was a bit of a surprise to see that he was so dark with red luminosity. He had imagined something like black and green, black and purple, or black and blue. Black and red did fit the impression of a lifeform bred for war. Just a bit too much really. That thought aside, he opened the door.

Tulam was a fair bit confused with that, given Lincoln made a rather big bit of self-introspection there despite Tulam not intending for that so soon. But while it was strange for the Psion, he didn't see it as a bad thing. Lincoln would even hear a low chuckle of amusement from him, "That was a rather quick switch from worthless to great. You're a right proper mess, you know that Vessel? Good that the great is a replacement for the worthless. I don't care to spend time in something worthless, I'm a craftsman of quality. So you better be great, I'm not here to deal with dirt. Now do please raise your head high, we can handle more of that after this. Still, your chances of survival have increased! Keep that thought of greatness in mind, vessel. You will need it for what comes next."

As the door opened, the cafeteria was clouded by a strange darkness. It was not the lack of light, emergency power saw the room illuminated by red lights in the ceiling. The darkness was magical in origin, a fog on the mind and senses made to confuse and obfuscate. The tool of a psionic predator giving itself cover from which it could stalk its prey. The darkness however lifted fairly quickly, due to a little magic from Tulam as he began to shield Lincoln from Vixgor's power. Now he had full sight.

Full sight of the ruined cafeteria, littered with corpses and broken furniture. Full sight of the blood stained walls and doors that had been smashed open. And full sight of the one other living creature in the room; Vixgor. The Psicrusher had noticed the second the main door was opened, and stood to its full height. The massive creature looked down upon the intruder into its recently claimed domain, and snarled. Stomping a foot, it took a step forward. And that was when it began its first attack, a flash of red from its mechanical eye.

Lincoln could feel as another outside force came down upon his mind. The Psicrusher was unleashing a full assault upon his mind, attempting to make him catatonic then and there. Tulam held to his word, and most of it was shielded. But some would slink into Lincoln's mind, and his senses would begin to twist. They were still in the Cafeteria, but it was darker now. Vixgor's form was now shadowed by a red mist, and it looked even larger than before. Like a true demon. Tulam's voice rang out, "Remember vessel, it's not real, but don't just stand there. Fight it if you want to live. The pain from getting stabbed, even a fake stab, can be enough to cause shock. And it'll be hurting for a while. Here he comes!"

With that, the shade Vixgor roared out. With his altered senses, the roar was deafening, and held a demented touch. And then, he charged, throwing out his arms with the intent to skewer Lincoln upon his claws.

Once more the beast roars. Once more he enters a state of tachypsychia. Once more his body seemingly moves on its own.

The world turns red. But it was already long stained in blood.

Corpses litter the ground. But the world was already dead.

Those who walk the moonlit path walk with death.

How many times has it been now that he has done this dance.

How long has it been?

It felt like forever.

A dance where death is a heartbeat away. Upon this bloodied stage he beneath a black sky. Flesh sewn to the costume of the role he's meant to play.

He ducked. He weaved. He rolled.

As he had done time and time again.

But why continue to dance when the audience is no longer there? The theater was empty. Cold and dark. No one to cry for an encore.

Beams of red shine upon him. Casting him in its baleful glow. Or was it his body, for it’s already caked in the veil of death?

How long will the Grand Guignol go on?

Wasn’t it time for the curtain call?

Lincoln does not know. He simply continued to dance. For that is all he knows.

He ducked. He weaved. He rolled.

Dancing with the only companion he has left. A companion that was with him for every waking moment.

Pain fills him.

Burning trees tower over the stage. One by one they fell.

Ashes of hopes and dreams swirl in the air.

Pain fills him. But existence was already hell. He died on that one snowy day, and entered the hell that was reality. What difference does it all make?

He continues to dance with death. As he has always done. His closest companion. His only friend.

Again and again. He ducked. He weaved. He rolled.

All of this effort. And for what? The seats were still empty. Why does he continue to dance?

As he danced. As claws rake across his brain. Thoughts drift to his companion again, but this companion wore a different face.

Once he walked with her beneath savage skies. Across the fissures in the fields.

Through hell and horror they trudged. He had asked her who will sing for them

Why hoist the flag and hold the line when there’s nothing behind them?

Why move through that infernal gaping scar of boiling mud and thundering sound?

Shedding the blood of empires on sand, soil, and snow.

What was it? What was the response she gave to him?

He could not remember.

Upon his hand. Shimmers a disk of starlight, struggling to come into being.

It had enough form for him to deflect the claws of death.

He knew the phantasmal weight on his hand. A weight that increases the more he remembers. But what was it again?

Again and again he danced. He ducked. He weaved. He rolled. But this time he also deflected and parried.

How long has he been dancing, how long does he go on?

How long...

How long…

How long…

...How long has he been standing here?

Never had he looked at it in that direction. How long was he in this role? How long was death in front of him?

He doesn’t know. Death and woe choke his thoughts.

The disk on his hand slowly grows. Deep down he felt something prodding at him. Urging him to remember.

Remember what?

The Psicrusher seemed to sense Lincoln's internal monologue and debate as they fought within the mental bubble. Vixgor was not a sentient or particularly intelligent creature, but he had finely crafted instincts for recognizing weakness in his prey. He had at his disposal tools that regular creatures did not, and his instinct gave him a better understanding of applying those tools than most would give him credit for. And so, the little tendril's of Vixgor's psionic probing detected an opening, and the predator struck. The sole mechanical red eye glowed, and Lincoln would feel a small headache.

His vision would dim, slowly all went dark. He could still feel his hand, but something else began fighting within his mind to be remembered. His hand's disc faded away, and instead it became cold. Very, very cold.

The cold would soon spread to the rest of his body. His vision would still be blocked out, but he could feel frosty wind upon his face. The first sounds he would hear in this dark, cold place would be screams. Old, long forgotten screams from long dead people.

When his vision returned to him, his hand was that of a child. He was in an old cabin, covered in blood. Surrounding him were the corpses of his family, all dead. One window was shattered, with the first dead body being close by. That was how the killer entered, and took their first victim. The others had followed shortly. The one who struck them down, the old monster from Lincoln's past, was visible in front of him as well. But it was busy, doing battle with another figure from his past. The Yule Man and Mitena the Magus fought in the cabin of blood and loss. It was likely quite similar to many a nightmare he had before.

And that's when it changed. In the windows of the cabin, a strange darkness descended. Not the darkness of the night, for it was mixed in with an awful red mist. The lights in the cabin went out as well, interrupting the battle. For a moment, there was quiet.

The battle was about to resume, but then striking through the wooden walls was an awful metal tendril. The Yule Man was dead in an instant, impaled upon the metal tip of the attacking tendril. The lights of the cabin returned, allowing Lincoln and Mitena to see the sight. The Magus would turn to Lincoln.

Before another struck through another section of the wooden cabin walls. Another spiked metal tendril impaled Mitena straight through the chest, spraying blood and guts across the floor as the Magus died in an instant. The lights went out again, the only sounds being the dripping blood from the two new corpses.

That was when the doors of the cabin burst open, and the entire front was short after destroyed as two massive claws ripped it open. A great burst of cold air flooded the cabin as it was exposed to the outside. All was dark, but there was now new light. A massive funeral pyre right in front of the cabin illuminated the area. Lincoln would be able to recognize each of the corpses thrown upon it, all of their faces turned to look at him as they burned away. His sisters, his parents, the Yule Man Monster who killed them, his would-be-savior Mitena, Dr. Roman, many more from Chaldea he would recognize, and many, many more. Mortals and Immortals, all dead and burning away in the pyre. All turning to ash and becoming mere fuel for a great fire.

The pyre illuminated the monster whose tendrils struck down savior and monster alike, the creature which shattered the cabin. It was Vixgor, but he was different as well. Shadow cloaked his body. He wasn't quite physical, more like a phantom. When Lincoln tried to look at him, his vision would blur and lose focus. Vixgor's form here was not truly comprehensible. And for the first time, Lincoln would hear it speak, "Weak. Failure. Alone forever. Until all of it rots."

One of his massive feet struck the ground, sending tremors through the ground. Another pound, another tremor. And from behind Vixgor came a new rumbling. An avalanche of snow approached quickly, and Vixgor stood proud in front of the pyre yet as the great storm of snow and rock came forward extremely quickly, ready to envelop them all. All that could be heard from Vixgor now was a low chuckle, and he slowly approached with more thundering footsteps. One clawed hand was extended forward, the tendrils from his back still carrying the corpses of their most recent victims.

"Let it end."

Let it end.

Such simple yet powerful words that sing a song of sorrow. A song that Lincoln had heard in many dark moments across his lifetime.

Yes, it’s such a gloomy song.

Upon this black stage the dancer comes to a rest.

Truly, look at him. He was a pathetic sack of flesh and bone. Much like the rest of humanity. There is no end to the misery of mankind.

Humanity will always oppose itself. Humanity will always destroy itself. Humanity never changes.

Their knees will always bend to the conquerors. Their blood will always spill to the warriors. Their bodies will always wither from hunger. Their lives will always be consumed by death.

They will always fumble for prosperity. They will always crumble in stagnation. In seas of blue and green they will drown.

They will gutter. They will choke. They will drown.

Their faces will always be pale. Their faces will always reflect sin.

They are obscene as cancer. They are bitter as cud.

They are weak, pathetic sacks of flesh and bone.

Much like the dancer. Who in the end, couldn’t save anything.

At long last, it had seemed this dance would finally come to a close.

Death, beastly and ghastly, had reached towards the dancer. At last, it was all over.

This dance has lasted for twelve years.

…

...

...Wait?

Twelve years?

Outside of the bleak scene on the stage. The memory of a musical piece starts to emanate within the empty theater.

In a blur and a sharp sound of metal being struck. Death would find its hand being hit away from the dancer. The source being the dancer having whipped its arm. The disk has returned larger and thicker than before to which the dancer used to bash the claws away.

Deep within the dancer, something had clicked.

For he realized the contradiction in his thoughts!

If he was truly a weak sack of flesh and bone. Then how did he last for twelve years? No, even longer than that. The first act of this Grand Guignol had begun on that night. An ordeal that would have left anyone his age physiologically crippled.

Then it all went downhill when he went up against horrors and beings that dwarf him in their might. Monsters, tyrants, kings, demons, and their armies. Often teeming in the thousands with power coursing through their veins.

So...why didn’t it end?

How did this dance last so long?

Of course.

Of course!

The answer was so obvious that he was an utmost fool for having lost sight of it in the resurgence of woe.

Look, in the empty rows of seats!

It was not empty.

They were layered with bone fragments.

The stage was not black.

It was rotting and falling apart.

The ceiling wasn’t black either.

The ceiling was exposed, revealing the night above that shone no stars.

Don’t you know what this meant?

Yes, everyone he knew is dead. Yes, his entire world was gone. Yes, his stars have been reduced to nothing.

Yet here he was upon this stage, completely alone. Everything had already rotted away.

Lincoln knew this. But he failed to see the whole picture. Didn’t realize that he had outlasted all the evils he ever faced.

Even outlasted Death.

For within that weak sack of meat and bone, uncared for by a cold universe and wept for by none, beats a heart. A heart that carries with it the strength and courage of the entity known as Lincoln Loud.

Within that sack of meat is ensconced by the hope, the will, and the fury of the entity known as Lincoln Loud.

Within that weak sack of meat, born in a land of rust and decay, beats the heart of an entity known as Lincoln Loud.

He wasn’t ‘Human’. Nor is he a ‘Savior’, a ‘Monster’, a ‘Brother’, a ‘Magus’, a ‘Hero’, a ‘Villian’, or the dozens of other labels that tried to define who Lincoln Loud is. He is who he is.

And so for twelve years, his heart has beaten, strongly, in defiance of the encroaching tide of blood and death that constantly threatens to overwhelm him.

For twelve years, his heart stood tall against a world that despised him for no reason save that he had the audacity not to lay down and die.

For twelve years, his enemies have been pushed back, beaten down and made a mockery of, by a weak sack of flesh and bone who came from a land of rust and decay.

For this weak sack of flesh and bone was not just some meager human. Neither was he an immortal warrior, a grand magus, or some creature cursed by wicked magicks.

He was Lincoln Loud, drawn from the suburbs of a decaying empire to fight for his species and for the safety of the remaining people he loved.

And against beings like his beastly foe, dwarfing him multiple times over, powered by a will beyond his comprehension… He holds the line. He has held the line for twelve years.

A thump was heard when he brought the shield down before him. Now fully materialized. As he did so the shock rippled from the stage. The dreary theater flaked away.

The seats were replaced with new ones. Cushions a rich navy blue with the rims and armrest composed of gold. The walls of grime gave way to peerless white walls draped with blue curtains. The ceiling closed up. Across it was a grand painting of the Hoshizoran sky.

The light dimmed. Then numerous spotlights came to life. Basking the dreary scene below in their radiance.

The pyre dimmed away. The dry blood became rose petals that started to dance with the snow in the air.

The Grand Guignol came to an end. Now it was time to give a new show to a whole new audience. This wasn’t even the opening act. Merely a teaser for what is to come.

He may have lost his world. But it died pure and whole. The entire war was about his foes trying to erase it as if it never happened. But one by one they fell before him. Even the final threat was lost as a result of his hubris. Leaving Lincoln as the last one standing.

Meaning.

His world died untarnished.

He was the victor.

He had won.

Once more, the dancer was free of the choking cloud of woe.

This dance won’t end, because he refused to let it end for the last twelve years.

And it’ll keep going for another twelve years.

And another.

And another forevermore.

For he is Lincoln Loud.

…

…

Even if he was in his mind, his breathing was ragged. Heart pounding in his rib cage. His shield was cold and hard in his grip. A shield which souls from all walks of life congregate to, fitting considering what it was composed of.

It wasn’t the real thing. It was a projection, a fake. But even a fake can be as good if not better than the original.

This shield marked the beginning of those twelve, long years. It’s heavy with meaning and worth. The soul of the shield left such an impression on his own that he was able to replicate the memory of it with crystal clarity. Not only the shape and appearance, but the mystical properties that it held.

Ah, to think he had gotten himself so close to meeting his end here. He could imagine a lot of people not being happy that he got killed in the belly of some forgotten factory. But he’ll kick himself later.

Vixgor’s claws try to reach him once more but he bash it away from him. His heart is no longer on the precipice into that bottomless abyss. He still needs help after this of course. While he was approaching that final outcome from a more healthier angle. He still lacks a sense of what he should do in a wide, new galaxy.

He’ll save that for later as well. For now he’s steadily holding his own. Now it’s all up to Tulam’Run.

As the revelation was made and the shield emerged to block Vixgor's claws, the Psicrusher roared out in rage. All around Lincoln the image of the cold cottage faded away. Vixgor's veil of shadow lifted as well, and the Psicrusher was clear as day. Still a terrifying creature in its own right, but it was no longer any being of pure hate and pure power. It was just another creature.

The danger was far from done however. While the scenery returned to the false mindscape variant of the cafeteria, Vixgor was still quite intent on getting his prey. The Psicrusher stepped forward, and all of its tendrils raised themselves up. All at once they jabbed at Lincoln, but his shield found itself empowered by another force. Vixgor pounded against the shield, with both his claws and tendrils.

Raising up his right claw, he made one final jab. The tips of the claws pierced the shield, and Lincoln would witness the sharp tips get quite close to his face. And then, in an instant, they were gone.

The Mindscape faded away, and Lincoln could see Vixgor's true form fade into a red mist. The mist then darted away at extreme speeds, going through the walls to destination unknown. Soon after, Tulam's image reappeared, "And that is that. Now, I will track where Vixgor recalls to, and then I can determine which of my outposts in this galaxy are still active. Or active enough to be useful, that is. I've been gone a while, hadn't had the chance to go make sure they were all upkept properly while I was stuck in the tube you know."

Following that, the Psion went quiet for a moment, just crossing his arms and closing his eyes as he waited. After about thirteen seconds, his eyes open and Tulam snapped a finger, "There we are! Ah, that one. Suppose it makes sense number 3 survived. It was quite out of the way. It was my intended hiding spot in case I was attacked by all the other Psions during the invasion. Very well hidden for that reason. Now then, Vessel! I have our located destination. Vixgor will be there, so no need to worry about him."

Then Tulam snapped his finger again, "Ah, wait! Got ahead of myself. I must make a quick stop elsewhere on this planet first. After all, we need to resolve this situation." To emphasize, he lifted a finger. And then he jabbed it through his own spectral torso. The finger simply went through, as he was of course not physical and only even visible as an image to Lincoln, "We must recover some piece of my actual body. This way I can reconstitute it, and I can prepare a new body. Then I'll get out of you, vessel. Now, I doubt any of my flesh survived. It has been a long time and Psion flesh does not last that long before decaying. Bones however, those endure! And I am certain those cocky slaves would've claimed a 'trophy', bleh. Like a Rex would... Or a Ron, but let's hope for Rex or else they would've thrown those bones out years ago! Now onwards Vessel!"

He paused a moment, "Oh, right, and if you have any business to tie up, now is the time. Then we're off to Tulam Station 3. It would be smart to leave quickly. Too much time on this world is not good for my health. Or yours, for that matter. I've gleamed your mind, you are not a native to this place. The slaves around here are quite territorial. It would not surprise me that once they recognize you are foreign, you would be killed for violating their territory. And although I can sense you are not entirely weak and helpless... Take it from me. It doesn't matter how strong you get. It really, really does not. If you don't act with some basic sense of self preservation and understand that other creatures, even weak slaves, can present a threat, you will die. Of course you'd die even more easily than a Psion like myself would, so you need additional caution. Your rather pathetic carapace is very vulnerable to the weapons these slaves carry after all, so it would really only take a surprise shot from the dark to end you."

That seemed to get Tulam thinking, "In fact, we should rectify this before we leave the facility. You are alone, and rather weak and vulnerable, both physically and spiritually. So let us resolve two issues with one stone. I am curious as to these 'servants' I have gleamed from your thoughts, and you currently need some allies and protection. Summon one or two of your choosing, and then we will leave this facility. Who the servants are, I do not care. This must be your choice to determine which of your tools are best brought out for the present situation. Just put a little thought into it. Once we are out, I will locate the remnants of my physical form, and you will procure a sample. Now follow my instructions." His form faded away, but the Psion was now keenly watching through Lincoln's eyes.

Lincoln got himself over to a non-ruined, non-dirty bench to rest upon after that experience. He took the time that Tulam was waiting to get his thoughts in order. For the most part he was pretty winded. Most importantly however it felt like he had stepped out of a very dark tunnel. The world felt more vivid and real.

Most importantly, he was now conscious of the full implication of being in a galaxy of technologically advanced aliens. And just how lucky he had been so far that nothing unfortunate happened. Especially with where he popped into Hoshizora. In hindsight he had to wonder how clean his brief partners were in the first sexual encounters he had. Something he didn’t think about at the time due to how much he was lost in himself.

His attention came back to Tulam when he started to speak again. From the tidbits of information he has been getting there was a sense of it being one of those times. Because of course it would, it can’t ever be anything average in his life now. He did want to press into more about this invasion but that was something he’ll push off later.

It was interesting to hear that Psions seem to not interact well with each other. If they had traits like Tulam, he could see why.

Listening to Tulam more it made sense that the next step was to help Tulam get into a new body. What may happen afterward is something to keep in mind regardless of how well a work relationship is. Even though he’s becoming aware of just how much a Psion might be disliked by the populace. He was still motivated to help Tulam’Run. It was true that he still had a lot of issues, but in comparison he had been stuck in that tube for who knows how long.  Even for someone who seems to not suffer the effects of solitary confinement, it was still a quiet existence.

Tulam’s commnet on the threat the outside world posed reminded him of that moment long ago. It still haunts his dreams from time to time. That great fissure across space. Within it was an intelligence so vast, so alien that he truly understood the scale between him and the universe.

No, that was incorrect.

He might as well be a caveman trying to understand why that ball in the sky was so bright. Possibly even less than that. He never felt so small in his entire life. It scared him that a machine like that existed. And that there was some distant civilization that was able to construct it in the first place.

Looking back on that cold night, it made more sense why no ‘God’ was there. It was comparable to the unheard wailing of microbes on his body. Much like that being peeking through the fissure. It was a being that holds no particular feelings towards mankind, being unable to perceive them due to its scale. It was a machine that prioritizes its main directive over everything else.

They were nothing more than dust particles.

What if there was something like that in Hoshizora? He doesn’t know, nor does he know the extent of just how advanced these aliens were. Another memory went past him. Making him shudder slightly. “I really am in the complete dark.” Tulam was right, as always. Who knows what sort of crazy, alien weapons they might have. His fear of the unknown was what made him surprised that Tulam suggested for him to summon his Servants. But his irrationality was countered when he took in the fact that neither Tulam nor Vixgor were detected down here. Besides, if Tulam was giving him the greenlight then he believed him that it was alright.

While he did intend to just focus on Tulam, it did make practical sense for him to call upon some of them to help him. That is the very purpose of their existence. That and he does need something to help him in such an alien landscape. But not too much to draw attention. Unlike in his world, if things had turned out well, he wouldn’t have had to worry about anyone bothering him because he had hundreds of Servants. In Hoshizora however he might as well slap down a bright neon sign to show everyone where he was. Besides, if he wanted to summon more Servants that one Magus could sustain then he would need to build a Mana Reactor.

The other thing was to ensure that he’s still attentive to Tulam’s recovery. He could tell that like him, he had a lot to rebuild. So if he were to bring over someone desirable, there’s a chance that the Psion may get an itch to want one. He would know because he did it himself. In general they were good slaves to have. As spiritual beings and divine mysteries, Servants cannot be harmed by normal means and are still considered spirits even in physical form, so they cannot be physically harmed by regular humans or modern weaponry. They can only be harmed by attacks accompanied by magical energy, So they can ignore even debris in battle unless it should become contaminated by an enemy's magical energy.

Of course it doesn’t have to be strictly ‘magic’ but any arcane form of energy such as Light and Psionic. And considering he sensed traces of some form of energy from passing civilians, he can make a confident guess that the armed forces have no problem dealing with that. Which makes him nervous as well because who knows what they’re capable of.

For a mundane human trying to apply pressure to a Servant, even one physically the size of a child, it feels like trying to bend a steel beam. Punches with all of their strength will not even cause a Servant to budge, even if a punch is potent enough to crush a human's skull, can only slightly move their head from the impact. Stabbing them with a knife does nothing but bring about a ‘prickling irritation’ that does not hurt at all. Even mere bullets normally pose no threats to Servants regardless of the caliber. Of course, thanks to their ability to go immaterial when needed. They can partially dematerialize parts of their body whenever he touches them on an instinctual level. Making it feel like he’s touching actual flesh.

The will may be strong, but the flesh was weak and spongy.

All things considered, he originally wasn’t planning to do any summoning. And if he did he would have let it up to chance. Servants tend to be summoned based on various factors, one being relatability. There was one Servant that came to mind but as much as he liked to have her, she wasn’t the ideal pick. So he needs to concrete on the bonds that he feels will be the most helpful in this situation.

It was fortunate that he still possessed the impression of that shield within him. It had served as the foundation for the summoning system they used. The shield represents ‘a place where heroes gather’. Using that meaning, the shield serves as a catalyst for countless Servants. Otherwise he would have needed to spend time drawing out a runic summoning circle.

Without further ado he got up from the bench and stepped over to a decent clearing in the room. Closing his eyes he took a breath. First opening his magic circuits with the mental trigger. Basically, depending on their experience at that time, a Magus makes their own conceptual trigger for their magic circuits to activate at will. Much like how runners use the memory of a blank being shot. For him, it was the image of a sword being drawn.

His lions burned with cold fire as his Crest flared to life. Mana pulsed along his circuits. His chest fills with the ringing of his Origin. ’Ah, I’ve neglected you haven’t I?’ He thought solemnly. To think he was so close to self-destruction. But now was not the time for that.

The air seemed to grow colder, settling on his shoulders as a mantle of black ice. He heard the familiar sound of something high and sweet in the distance, a musical note ringing out across an impossible ocean. Before him he saw two circles of golden light hover an inch above the floor. Then blue-white radiance suddenly flared from within the circle. The magic in the room was palpable now, pulled from his body and concentrated in that otherworldly light. And now he could recognize the tolling of a distant bell, the pure sound of silver striking crystal.

Mana poured through him in a faster flood, lightning coursing down every nerve until it might burst. Raw magical energy burned through him, a sudden blaze of pain chased by icy winds stripping him to the bone. Even as his nerves screamed in pain, she held on. For with that agony came power, the power to work a miracle.

Distantly he saw shadows thrashing along the walls. Icy wind rushed around him, lifting his hair and clothes with freezing fingers. The bell was still far away, lost in the mists of that other world, yet also frighteningly close. It rang high and clear and sharp in his ears. Then a sharp crack, the sound of a bell splitting in two and crashing to the ground. White light was so great he could feel it burn against his skin. Power rushed out of him, violently pulled from his every circuit as the sharp tang of ozone filled the air.

A brief dizzy spell hit him for a moment but he held it together. Considering the circumstances this was one of his best summons by his own. The haze of azure magic subsided to reveal two individuals who were very happy to see their beloved Master.

One was a young woman with hip-length orange hair and mauve eyes. Her attire consists of a skintight black bodysuit with fluorescent neon green glowing stripes and matching black boots with neon green soles. She had a pair of big black goggles with orange lenses that currently sat on top of her head. The other young woman has gray eyes, short brownish black hair that reaches her nape, and is in a red jacket over a blue kimono, along with brown knee-length boots.

“Master! It’s so great to see you again!” The first Servant exclaimed merrily. She is a MoonCancer-class Servant. In his world she is regarded as the Mother of All Programming. Which translates into quite ridiculous stuff as a Servant. But that’s what makes her one of the top choices in this scenario.

“it's a privilege to be by your side again, Master.” The other smiled, an Assassin-class Servant. Unlike MoonCancer she wasn’t as famous. She was merely an urban hunter of the supernatural with eyes that can see the death of everything. To her, when she activated her eyes she would see it in the form of red lines. She can interact with the lines as long as she understands the death behind it. This means she can kill anything that has a origin point, even if that thing is a concept of even a God.

The pair remained where they stood. Waiting for their Master to initiate whatever he wishes. It wasn’t proper for a good Servant to act how they wish without their Master’s permission. His lions stirred at such obedience but he pressed that down. Not only this wasn’t a proper moment for him to express it but for some reason he felt so self-conscious about it due to Tulam’s presence. They do deserve some sort of reward.

Smiling he beckons them over to a normal group hug. “I’m happy to see you two.” It felt nice to wrap his arms around their bodies. Holding them close to him. It took all of his willpower to not reach down to cup their tight rears.

Such resistance was immediately spotted by his Servants. MoonCancer appeared the most puzzled as Lincoln let them go. “Is everything all right, Master?” Concern clearly evident on her face. There was never a time where he didn’t engage in intimacy with his Servants. And she would be correct.

Lincoln was a workaholic, so he used every possible second of freetime to engage in risque activities. When he’s walking through the halls, in the bathroom, eating, in meetings, out in the field. If there is ever a moment where he had time to spare, he would use it to have fun with his Servants. He let out a sigh, “It’s a long story, follow me. Shift into your astral forms in the meantime.” It would be odd to come out with more people than he came in with.

The two did as ordered. While now invisible, he was able to see their astral bodies. As they walked up to the lobby area he gave a brief rundown of what happened leading up to the fight given they got taken out, his time in this new galaxy, and his acquaintance with Tulam’Run. The two expressed sympathies for their mutual loss in several ways. But for the most part they were still happy, after all their Master was the only thing that mattered to them.

Such devotion meant they could be a bit fussy over him, much like how Assassin was being. “To think lowly street walkers touched your body, Master. I’m glad that you’re in a better place now. If I was with you and saw swine who think they have a right to do as they please I would have cut them down.” That was a bit harsh but Lincoln didn’t have much to say about that. He should be thankful he didn’t get any illnesses. As soon as he is able he should get vaccinated for any possible bug out there.

The another point she brought up was that while he did possess a extremely high libido, he normally wasn’t the sort to want to have sex with every woman he meets. “Don’t fret, I won’t let myself stoop so low again. I did meet one as I mentioned who is proving to be a good slave. When we have the time I’ll have you make me forget I ever had sex with the first few.” He flashes a smile. Making Assassin’s heart flutter. She rubbed her astral thighs together.

Lincoln looked over to MoonCancer when they got to the lobby. “What’re your findings so far?” A few minutes ago he had asked her to start taking a peek at the unseen digital world all around them thanks to her set of skills. One being ‘Digital Existence’, a unique skill that denotes one’s existence as a digital lifeform, allowing one to move and live within the ‘Digital Space’. This is a skill born from her Noble Phantasm ‘Numeric Fairy’s Code’, which has granted her the ability to become a digitized being and enter the Digital Space. Or even interact with it from the outside.

The latter being what she was currently doing. Her gaze was tilted up. Her eyes reflected the light of the data streams, a glimpse of a world that only she could see. “It’s all so interesting, Master.” She was in awe. “I’ll do everything I can to see what they line their systems with before taking a look into sensitive areas. Till then I’ve been using the public servers for information collecting. The first thing I can report is that there is no mention of any sort of real life ‘Megastructure’ or anything of that nature.” That was certainly a relief to hear for Lincoln. MoonCancer looked down, setting her gaze on his face. Giving a sweet smile to him. Ah, the things he wanted to do to her.

“You’re doing well, keep it up.” He smiled in turn. Feeling like giving her a small reward for her effort so far. He activated the pubic tattoo that she has on her body. A pink glow shone through her tight bodysuit. Her eyes widened in surprise as a wonderful sound came from her lips. Her body shivered from the jolt of pleasure that sprung from her core.

“O-oh Master, you’re so generous to treat this meager slave for doing such a simple task.” Her voice rang with clear love and devotion to her Master. Assassin’s eyes shimmer with amusement at the sight of her slave-sister getting taken by surprise so easily.

Lincoln gave a chuckle at that, “Despite the certain circumstances. This is the first time I’ve been in a genuine good mood.” Ialla will certainly like to see his spirits better than it was before. He looked back over to MoonCaner, “Once Tulam gives me directions, look on ahead and see if you can find it.”

“I will, Master!”

Tulam watched Lincoln reconnect with his two servants quietly, allowing them to converse in peace. He decided he would just let Lincoln explain the situation to his own slaves, with no real interest in speaking to them himself. Nor could he, really. Tulam's powers hadn't fully recovered yet, and he was not yet able to casually converse with those outside of his host. Not without expending some power and effort, and he saw no point in doing that for slaves.

For Lincoln however he would see Tulam manifest behind the two servants. The Psion's form remained invisible to the two of them, as Tulam's form was really just an illusion in Lincoln's mind, and limited only to him. He made a display of looking the two over, and then pointed at MoonCancer, "Best be careful with this one, vessel. I've seen Psions attempt similar techniques, and it sometimes works out. Sometimes. I saw a fellow by the name of Rorkax'Rin try to peak around in the slave systems by directly interfacing with the digital world, similar to how your slave is trying it. Worked out for a bit, but he did discover the hard way that the local slaves had set up some counter measures. Particularly the boar ones. Quite nasty things they had in there! Still, I doubt anybody is gonna miss ole Rorkax, his preference for the spiritual and digital world resulted in him smelling something awful..."

He then shrugged, "All the same these two will do. They'll be suitable tools. Although you are not exactly impressing me with how quickly your mind drifts to certain topics. I can't blame the slaves for that, because that's how you seem to have conditioned them, but I'll have to do something about you. I've seen that road treaded before, without restraint. How lucky you have me to prevent you from walking off the cliff at the end of that road, vessel."

Snapping a finger, Tulam's tone grew more joyful, "Anyhow! I have already located the direction and distance to my physical remains. Or at least the closest usable bits of it. That way!" A clawed finger pointed eastward, and slightly up, "Not too far, thankfully. Only a couple of what you would call "city blocks", away. Just one hundred. Onwards, vessel!" Lincoln would begin to feel a small psionic tugging in his mind. Tulam had given him a sort of mental GPS towards their destination, which seemed to correlate with what Tulam had said. What the Psion didn't mention of course was that it meant navigating the streets of Avalantus and ascending a few layers upward on the multi-layered city. For a Psion, a minimal distance. For a human, it was going to be a decent walk.

If one looked for information for a museum in accordance to Tulam's directions they would find something. The Avalantus Museum of Glorious Rebellion, which was a local museum that contained records of the many times Avalantus had been invaded and they won out against the invaders. It had within it artifacts from a multitude of civilizations and time periods, including Anubite weapons, Zantine armor, pieces of an Eskavari Warship, and of course multiple exhibits on recovered Psion artifacts and remnants. The exhibit listed on their website that would be most interesting was of course the "Skeletal Remains of the Scientist-Tyrant", which were the remaining bones of Tulam's body arranged in a way to resemble the actual skeletal structure of a Psion. It was a centerpiece exhibit in the "Expulsion of the Psion Occupation" section of the museum. It was thus unpleasantly out in public and in the open.

Lincoln appreciated what Tulam’run was warning him about. It was definitely something he was cautious about. Especially with stuff relating to the digital world. The other MoonCancer he has a contract with, BB, was an Advanced AI. Let’s just say that she is a bit of a handful. BB is actively malicious. While she does love humanity, she doesn't really care about humans, thus she's pretty indifferent about the suffering of many if it means accomplishing her goal. Even though he did change that goal to serving him. He always feels uneasy from her. She was a reminder on never to underestimate the power that technology can wield. Another reason he went with the MoonCancer he summoned was because unlike BB, she can comprehend mortality given she was once a living being who died.

Tulam’s other words echo with disappointment that strangely made him blush in mild embarrassment. Something which Assassin noted. “What’s up?” She asked casually. To which he gave an exasperated sigh. He was self-aware enough to know that he has issues with his libido. Before he had plenty of admittedly shaky excuses to brush the concerns aside. But now that he wasn’t burdened with anything besides ferrying Tulam out of here. He doesn’t really have anything to use as an excuse to hide from it.

“I’m being chastised for my lack of restraint.” Assassin gave a snort while MoonCancer looked somewhat puzzled but looked away. He gave another sigh, rolling his eyes. “Just spill it out.” This was another reason why he summoned these two. Because they were on the side which he doesn’t go crazy with desire with. If he had summoned a Servant that he considered very appealing, it was unlikely that he would have held himself as well so far.

“It’s not like there is anything wrong with indulging in your needs, Master but well…” MoonCancer gave a sheepish shrug. “It’s just that there are so many interesting things.” She looks out into the world. Above them was a city beyond their wildest dreams. Something that they only thought existed in science fiction. “To ignore all of that is such a shame.”

“She’s right, sex feels really good. But it’s not the best thing in the world.” Assassin casually adds into the conversation. As it was evident, unlike Ialla and MoonCancer she wasn’t addicted to it. There was also concern in her voice. The same as when she talked about the women he slept with. It wasn’t because she was concerned about women getting to him. She was concerned about him going after every woman that flaunts her assets. Heck, it was because of Servants like her that he didn’t get his hands on other people outside of the staff because they would ensure that he’s isolated from them. “You remember what Canaan said to you once, Master?”

He knew what she was referring to, making him give a low sigh. “Yes, I do.” She told him that before it all went downhill which made the memory a bit uncomfortable to recall. It makes him realize just how much of a mess he got himself into.

”Master, the right to decide is in the hands of those who are still alive. That is why you are in control, why we all follow you and why you are worthy of being a King. So don't get swayed by the words of your Servants, do not compromise, not even for me. The fate of the world is on your shoulders and you will continue to live in it, not them. Yet, respect them. Even if they are dead legends and kings themself, they are the giant shoulder on which you stand. But the same giant can not stand on his own shoulders. Never let the Ghosts of the Past rule the living.”

Never compromise. Never let the words of a Servant sway him. Later he does the exact opposite. He got overtaken by a few Servants, clouding his mind with desire, it was only thanks to a Servant that he managed to turn the table on them. But the damage was already done. He was compromised on several levels. Assassin didn’t need to point out how much of a vulnerability he has. It was something they talked about even before that last mission went to heck. Without her and other Servants like her, he would have very likely turned Chaldea into a sex den and lived there to the end of his days.

Assassin's eyes held relief that he didn’t relapse too much. “Good to hear, Master.” She got a hunch that he’s going to have some important lessons so she’ll let the issue be for now. Having faith that her Master will grow beyond his base desires. As they leave she made an alteration to her form so she wouldn’t be wearing a kimono whenever she goes back into a physical form.

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Side Story - To Move On I
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At last they finally got into the museum. Already Lincoln found himself quite blown away by the amount of stuff that was in here. Over the years he came to develop an interest for collections of artifacts and pieces of history. He was very much feeling like a kid in a candy store. Letting himself be a bit distracted to not look strange to just beeline for an exhibit, he took a windy route to it.

He quite enjoyed how it was a blend of ‘classical’ and technology. Meaning there were actual physical exhibits and display cases. Assassin steered him away from the book collection because she knows that he’ll be stuck in there till the place closes. Gradually his excitement gave way to sentimentality as he comprehend just how old Iammelon is.

Over 700 years.

No wonder the place was so large. He can’t even begin to fathom what the larger museums must be like. Time is long and abstract. Something that a lot of people fail to grasp. Like in his home world, it felt like the internet was around forever but in truth, it was only a little over twenty years. Life changes so much so fast. A century, no a decade is enough time to redefine the fabric of society.

His thoughts shift to a similar thing when he comes upon a different Psion exhibit where he finds the date. ’It happened that long ago as well?’ His heightened thoughts to get out of Iammelon as soon as possible when he realized just how much the Psions left a mark on it was eclipsed by that same sentimentality. ’So long ago, it made sense to keep it fresh because it did define the foundation of Iammelon, but still… He can’t help but wonder how much of the Psion image is exaggerated and drained of nuance in the modern day.

A problem he often had with a certain fascist ideology back in his world was its portrayal in media and pop culture. People turned it into such an abstract personification of evil that while valid, ruins the point why they were so bad in the first place.

The other thing he mused about was how much Psions were regarded in general. There was a sharp difference for those who lived in a historic moment and those who were born after. Much like how his home country suffered a terrorist attack, then when a new generation is raised after it, they just regard it as distant ‘history’ as evident from a lot of the online posts he saw on the last few annual memorial days. Unless you were some history major smartypants, people tend to not give much thought towards it. And he found that sad, especially when history repeats itself.

He finally made his way to the centerpiece of the exhibit that held Tulam’s bones. It was quite surreal to see them in person while having the soul inside of him. Well he is here now so he waits for whatever Tulam needs to do and they can then get out of dodge.

In the museum, Tulam's form looked around and took in the exhibits for himself. He wasn't quite as interested as Lincoln was, not finding most of the displays to be terribly interesting. Lincoln would be able to see that reflected in the Psion's generally bored demeanor. He actually seemed more interested in the people who were looking at the exhibits, as well as a few specific exhibits that seemed to actually grab his attention. Those primarily being ones about scientific achievements, more recent history, and finally of course anything related to Psions. But in general Lincoln could tell Tulam wasn't quite on his level of enthusiasm.

As for the museum, it was clearly tailored to a specific niche. This was the museum of "Glorious Rebellion" after all, and so it seemed to primarily concern itself with various major wars of resistance in Iammelonian history. This of course naturally included the Psion Wars that were fundamental to modern Iammelon, but also more ancient accounts. One big section was on the Eskavari Invasion, for instance. And of course it was not hard to see the local bias, as there were plenty of exhibits on specifically Avalantine history here. Notably a big exhibit which was centered around a wall-sized painting of Avalantus's famous "Scarlet Guard" soldiers clashing with Zantine Legionaries, based on Avalantus's successful war of independence from the Zantine Empire. Lincoln would notice a group containing a Taurus, Ialao, and two Humans, all of whom sighed and rolled their eyes at the display. Based on their clothes, they were Zantines, and not particularly impressed with the display.

Still, it was a long, long history despite the specific focus. And while Avalantus was shown predominantly, histories entirely unrelated were here too. Such as a display on the Eastern Horn's "Snake Wardens" defeating a Naga invasion, or even a display of Anubites repelling Ghashyr invaders in an ancient war.

Arriving at the Psion section of the museum, there was quite a bit here. There were of course many artifacts. Weapons from the Psion slave-soldiers, a broken piece of Psion armor, a large plasma cannon from a downed Psion warship, and more. The museum was about rebellion and it did not just include physical artifacts. Cultural works from the time were included as well, such as large propaganda posters from both the Psion side and the Avalantine Rebel side. The Psion poster was a set of domineering eyes, which looked almost real, with the simple declaration under it, "Know Your Place", written in Iammelonian basic.

Tulam noted the poster and rolled his eyes, "Ah yes, that. Forthut'Ren liked his silly posters. This poster is real, but it lacks the extra touch it would've had while Forthut was still alive. The eyes look real vessel, because they were. Forthut used these posters as anchors for small psionic eyes. It made an impression when people disrespecting the posters were quite rapidly punished! Generally sent slave soldiers to kill the offender on the spot, or even did it himself. Forthut always talked about how the personal touch was a better instructor. Of course, that idiot Forthut didn't realize that slaves can occasionally use basic logic. A couple figured that there must have been some sort of camera near the posters because of the fact every time one was touched, somebody quickly responded. They never figured out the actual trick, but it was good enough. Forthut got himself ambushed near one and killed. Important lesson, vessel. Never think yourself too clever. Any trick you can come up with, there is somebody else out there who will figure it out. Of course, it helps if you set up a trick that isn't quite as blindingly obvious, but the lesson applies all the same."

After that, Tulam just looked around, and then grunted, "Been a long time. This planet is in better condition when I saw it last, but the general structure remains the same. I've seen a few new types of slaveling running around, but even the newcomers have come to resemble the ones I dealt with in my time around here. Both so old, and so new. Heh, like the planet itself is growing, but the identity is unchanged. That's a good thing, vessel. Growth and improvement are the goals in life. Important not to stop pushing forward. But it's also important to keep a handle on your own identity. We change, but that doesn't mean somebody should ever willingly become a different person. We must grow, while staying who we are. I will always be Tulam'Run, the master of genetics and creator of life! You had best work on being able to yell something of the same sort to the sky, and mean every word of it."

Following his advice, Tulam then rapidly changed tone and pointed at his bones, "But first, the important thing! My bones! Now, let's see... Hm, damn my own brilliance. I won't be able to rebuild a body for myself by just looking at the old one. I'll need a physical sample to do it right. And when it comes to my own body, you best believe I won't settle for anything otherwise! I don't need anything large, however. A few of these bones are fake, probably because the real ones are broken and unusable. The finger bones, those are real, and they are big enough for me to work with. Plus, I doubt anybody would notice a missing finger bone for quite a while. Grab one of those, vessel. How you do it... Figure it out yourself." The Psion's form faded away, leaving Lincoln to his own devices, but clearly watching in interest.

Observing the room in which Tulam's bones were presented, the exhibit on the "Scientist-Tyrant Tulam'Run" was a centerpiece exhibit. Even just as bones, the Psion's skeleton towered over most in the room, and was an imposing figure. The room was not too populated by visitors, only about a dozen at present, but Lincoln wouldn't have a hard time telling that the security was quite active. There were three guards in this room. A female Locip, a female Anubite, and a male Taurus. In addition, with a little looking around, one could see that there two cameras in the room which had vision over the skeleton. There was one good thing however. The skeleton was on full display. While there was a barrier around it, it was only waist high. Unlike some of the other exhibits, it was not encased in glass. Provided that one was quick and could distract the security, and also had some dexterity, picking off just one of the finger bones could be possible. One just had to make sure nobody was watching, and that they had the grace to grab a piece of a finger without toppling the skeleton.

Lincoln could understand that Tulam wouldn’t find the place overly interesting. After all, a lot of the stuff here was a normal thing to the Psion. Especially with this stuff. He was very much a caveman being bewildered by a smartphone while through the eyes of someone in the modern day the smartphone isn’t that amazing. This was all new to someone who only has the briefest experiences with futuristic stuff. Everything was a novelty to him. Of course, that meant the myriad of different people around him as well. Eyeing them for obviously different reasons than Tulam. Can’t fault him too much, they were aliens to him after all. That was mostly why he was so obsessed with manhandling Ialla because he wanted to keep feeling her alien body.

One thing he continued to be surprised by was how anthromorphic the aliens were. Not that he’s complaining about it of course. If anything it was better than some fictional franchises where the ‘aliens’ are just clearly humans wearing makeup. His fascination with their bodies aside, he mainly kept admiring the exhibits. After all, if he keeps looking at them, he’ll get distracted. Especially the guards. Why are there so many female guards? Not that he’s complaining but man, he’s very weak to muscular women.

Walking into the Psion section it felt a bit strange to be in here while having a live Psion inside of him. It was nice to see that the museum held somewhat of an unbiased approach to history. Like having propaganda posters from both sides of the conflict. History to him should be something that is presented as it was. Not distorted through the lens of the modern eye. Even painful moments need to be preserved. Much like that infamous concentration camp in his former home world.

He looked at the poster that Tulam was walking about. ”That’s pretty silly.” he thought in agreement. It was very comical. Everything else Tulam said was good life advice. There’s no such thing as a foolproof plan. Because to believe that was to set yourself up to be blindsided by something.

What Tulam’Run said next was certainly profound. It was something he certainly connected with on a deep level. He knew what it was like for cultures and nations to grow from visiting so many historic times in the past. Seen and understand the beliefs of many the world over. And how he can see traces of the past more clearly in the present. The identities of groups of people that have been built upon by generations. Society on all levels need to grow and adapt, but never lose their identity. It’s why Assassin’s home country was such a mess because they try to change way too much in a short amount of time.

”I’ll keep that in mind.” he mentally responds to the Psion. Feeling that was all that needed to be said. Tulam made the point crystal clear to him. He continued to walk till he finally saw the central exhibit. The setup reminded him of some dinosaur exhibits. Waist high barriers and the skeleton mounted.  Hearing what Tulam said almost made him mentally question it but realized he wouldn’t have said it if he couldn’t get it off as easily as he implied. It was a good thing that he has MoonCancer with him.

He mentally told his invisible Servant to switch out a finger bone with a copy and put the original in her inventory. She brought up a holographic panel in front of her. The switch shouldn’t be noticeable beside a green scanline. Which is enough to make a destruction just in case. Sensing the people around him he mentally focuses on a random man in the crowd. Using a bit of magic here and there for the distraction.

The distraction came in the form of the man ripping a loud fart. Eyes would no doubt glance at the person who dropped the stink bomb. Who was now blushing in embarrassment. In that window, the finger bone on the statue gave off a green scanline before being seamlessly replaced with a fake. The original was stored away in MoonCancer’s inventory. She flick the panel away before smiling at Lincoln. ”It’s stored nicely and secure. Edited the security feed as well.”

He gave her a mental note of praise while bearing the expression of disgust that some of the patrons were giving. Some walked away which he followed as well before they all naturally split off. Lincoln wandered around the museum some more before finally leaving the building. ”Alright, we got what we came here to do. Is there anything else we need to pick up here before heading back to my ship?” he mused as he kept a casual pace towards the dockyard. Better to be walking somewhere than just standing around after all.[/i]

Quite fortunately for Lincoln and co., the plan went off without any issues. The cameras were not all too advanced so it wasn't too hard to take them out of action and insert some false footage as coverup. The guards all looked towards the sound, which was loud enough to instinctively grab their respective attentions. The Locip guard was the fastest to return her attention to the exhibits, rather speedily in fact, but it was just too slow to notice the switch. She did however bark out in a loud, assertive tone, "Please step away from the exhibits! Stay behind the barriers and do not touch." But after that she just returned to keeping an eye out, scanning the crowd that had gathered around the embarrassed fellow. The other guards returned their focus back to the exhibits once the order rang out, reminding them of their jobs. It was fairly clear who was in charge here.

All the same, the job was done. Tulam's form reappeared and he gave a nod, "Good enough. That's all we need here vessel. We can leave now. The destination is Tulam Station 3. It won't be on any map but I can give you the location mentally once we have a mode of transport. Unfortunately, my Mythkuttar was destroyed, and I need to rebuild it. Which means it is up to you vessel to find a vessel that can handle some... more intense regions of space. Station 3 is very well hidden, and a bit difficult to get to. But once we are there, that shall be quite safe. It will have the resources I need to start work on rebuilding my body, which will take a little time, as well as other important aspects for the reconstruction of a network that I can build a new powerbase out of. I am sure at least a few of the preserved slaves I have there survived the years. Only kept a few at Station 3, and it was a bit of a quick job. But I only need one of the ones there, and it will work out just fine."

He thought again for a moment, "In fact, this is perhaps another opportunity. Transportation is very important, vessel. Your own starship is a very important tool to maintain independence and mobility. Plus we do need to drag around accessories, you know? I'm not a silly Ron, I only take what I need, but when you are running an actual powerbase then you'll be surprised at how many tools you'll need. And I'm not just talking about the slaves. There is only so much psionic power can really give you, vessel. Not to mention making yourself entirely dependent on it is... Well, idiotic. I have seen many a Psion assassinated because of that. An assassin simply needed to get past the slave guards, scramble the Psion's ability to use Psionics for even just a brief second, and a second is all you need to die. That's why I make sure to have some technological and physical support to my genius and extreme power."

Tulam leaned in a bit and poked Lincoln on the head, "You have a lot more work to do on that front. Right now, I could have killed you in so many different ways it is quite funny. Even your slaves are ultimately linked to your psionics. So many vulnerabilities. Honestly you should be lucky those foes you have memories of in your head were quite stupid too. Then again, they were all slaves. You never fought a Psion, so I can't blame you for thinking like a slave. But such will not do, not right now. Not when your death will cause me issue. Therefore, you will learn to improve yourself in more ways than just your misdirected mind, broken heart, overactive desire for procreation... Lots of work to do, vessel. For now, simply focus on acquiring a form of transport. A physical one, please. Become over dependent on other means of long range transport and you might find yourself unable to leave when real danger comes your way. And make sure it is YOUR transport! We're going to my secret base! I don't want anybody tracking us to it. Mind you I won't be keeping it, because now you'll know about it too, but I'll let you have it. Not like I'll need it anymore after all and you need to learn some lessons in basic management. Taking over and rebuilding my old base will be good enough as a lesson there. Truly, you better know gratitude, this is a lot of free teaching I am doing."

When Tulam put it like that he did realize the issues in flying around in a borrowed ship from a stranger of an alien society he only recently met at the time. Not to mention that the ship is now tagged as a ‘tourist vessel’ when he went through customs and from what he gathered, Iammelon does seem like the type to keenly track tourist vessels. With this in mind he does need to find another way to get off of Avalantus. A tall order to be sure. Not only does he need to get a new ride, but get off planet. He glanced down to his right hand. The scarlet curves of his command seals gleam in the glow of the neon lights. Non connected lines all forming in the shape of an acorn. The thought of having MoonCancer create a ship came to him but that would be too mana intensive for the time being. So he pondered on using one of his seals to give her the needed mana but decided against it. It was too soon and frankly the situation didn’t warrant it. He needs to keep them in stock for emergencies.

He glanced at the sky above. Darkening by the coming twilight. The stars are barely visible in all the light pollution. His eyes went over the lit up windows in the skyscrapers. Sparing a thought in pondering what sort of people lived in each of those windows of light before going on his way down the streets. Digging in his pocket he dug the device out that was connected to his burrowed ship. Thanks to its automated nature he could tell it to leave when needed to. Now was not the time however so he put it back away.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. A distinctive crackle of static in the air. He knew this feeling, a bounded field was nearby. Something that perplexed him as he thought he was the only one to have this sort of magecraft. Now it seemed like that was a big act of ignorance on his part. Looking down the alleyway where the field began he could sense its properties and the intended function. For the most part it was meant to divert normal citizens away but allow people like him to come inside.

Assassin used her eyes to see what was laying beyond it. Then informed him that it was a shop at the other end of the alleyway that seemed to sell mystic codes. Lincoln ran a few ideas through his head. There was risk to the plan he settled on, but he was prepared for the worst. Even have a backup plan.

If there was someone with expertise in that moonlit world. Then the owner would be a good start to ask for information. Stepping into the alleyway he navigated around the bounded field. Moving past it he saw the brick wall morph into a storefront that gave him the impression of a very old antique ship. Very isolated from the rest of the modern cityscape.

The doorbell gave a chime when he walked inside. It was rather well lit. Making it look like an actual business rather than a shady, dimly lit room. Assassin was right on the mark when she said that the place sold mystic codes. In the myriad of glass display cases around the room he could sense ambient magical energy coming off of them. There were plenty of other items that gave him the impression of the occurrence. There were books with text on their binding that was too alien for him to read.

“Well, well, it's been a long time since a boy so young strolled right in here.” Came a low, baritone voice of a man behind the glass counter. Lincoln directed his focus to him. He was garbed in a plain dress shirt, a brown vest, and black pants. But what caught his attention were his features. He was an alien he had never seen before. He looked prim and proper. But as a Magus he knew the one universal truth, never trust another Magus.

“It’s nice to find a place like this.” He said politely but didn’t introduce himself. Something which the man picked up on. Then gave a small grin. His eyes hidden behind black speckles with mirrored lenses. Dangerous trait. Could be hiding a mystic eye behind them. Or something else.

“Typically I only get visitors from my own kind. You’re the first exception. Yet you have good street smarts for a Magus. Good boy.” He remained where he was behind the counter. “I take it you are here with something in mind? My normal patrons always do when they come over.”

“I do, but I’m a bit low on currency.” He notes to which the store owner brushes off.

“No need to worry about that. I don’t accept Iammelonian currency here. We do classic bartering.” Of course he does. The material world has little to offer people like him. They prefer things that are more natural, more raw. “I’m intrigued now, what’s it you seek?”

“I’m looking for information on where to look for ways to get my own starship.” He states. The shop owner nods his head.

“Are you now? Coincidentally, I have a very old ship in my garage. Hardly use it anymore. It would be up to par with what you need. I can let you take a look at it if you wish?” A Magus can’t always lie because it’s counterproductive. So they have to throw a truth in there in order to keep the other Magus hooked. Lincoln knew he was telling the truth about the ship, but saw what he was doing. That was within his expectation.

“That would be kind of you.” He said with a smile. The shop owner gave a muffled chuckle. Amused that Lincoln was aware of what he was doing and continued to do so.

“Are you sure?” He inquires to see if Lincoln truly does have street smarts.

He gave a curt nod. “Stepping into an foreign magical workshop is viable if the Magus is prepared after all.”

The shop owner let out his low laugh now. “Such youthful confidence. Time will tell if that is the usual arrogance of the young however. Come along boy.” He chimed. Walking away to lead him through the door in the back.

Walking down a few corridors they came into a garage. The ceiling had a big opening. Revealing the dark sky above. No doubt for the large, drust covered ship sitting in the middle of the room. He could feel that it was ancient. Most of all, he knew this was it. “A beautiful ship, too bad I don’t have anything of equal value to voluntarily give in exchange.”

“Heh, of course not my boy. You were prepared for only one outcome the moment you stepped through that door.” He gave a smile as he turned to him.

“These always end in one outcome after all.” He said with a tinge of forlorn. Tension started to build up in the air. He could feel magic thrum beneath his feet and in the walls.

The show owner gave a small smile in sympathy. “That’s the unfortunate truth of reality. I liked you boy, once I dissect your crest and learn your secrets, I swear I’ll put it to good use.”

“How kind of you.”

The magic swells to a crescendo. A complex, alien array of mystical rooms lit up on all surfaces of the room. It was hard to breathe. The mana was so dense in the air. There was no doubt that he spent over a millenia pooling mana into his defenses. In any duel between magi, the fight is commonly over on who has the fastest quickdraw.

A sword was unsheathed.

Power gush from the runic lines.

A flash of red.

A primordial death knell.

A shower of stars disappearing into the void.

Glasses clacking on the ground as it fell.

A shuddering gasp of disbelief, alien eyes widening before slipping into unconsciousness.

Or to address another common factor in a fight between Magi. The victor is ensured on which Magus has the biggest hax up their sleeve. In any other instance, the shop owner would have won without a doubt. But here, however, he had crumpled to the ground and was knocked out. When magic came crashing down on Lincoln on all fronts, Assassin had appeared sailing past him and towards their foe. Eyes aglow with power only seen by a few. In one stroke at the connected magic around them, It shattered as if they were nothing. Howling as it crumbled away to nothingness.

In that second of the shop owner being surprised she continued her momentum. Her knife seemingly phased through his head but in actuality she was only cutting his magic and certain memories to cover their tracks. The mental and spiritual shock was enough to black many people out cold. She stopped her stride when she was behind him. Waiting for him to fall to the floor before turning for dramatic effect.

Lincoln looked to the ‘show owner’ in front of him. Assassin had stripped him of his ability to ever use magic again because she ‘killed’ it, even his prized crest was hollow The garage now felt hollow. Thousand years of magic was nothing but wheat before the scythe of the reaper. Okay he was being a bit melodramatic there. He used to be a theater kid okay. Well, for one semester but it still counts.

He beamed a smile. Turing to his new ship. “Moon Cancer, do a sweep on it. Make sure to find any bugs or whatever nasty trick he had in there. Assassin with me.” While MoonCancer does what she’s told he got the shop owner secured. Or should he say thief. He was lying to a degree when he said that ‘patrons’ come here. In truth it was a trap, the mystic codes on display were all stolen from his victims. Which he used to sell the lie better.

It would seem that even in the future, Magi continue to be dicks toward each other. But that said he does need to learn who his people are. Which is why he’s going around the place looting what is only necessary. For ease of transport, once Moon Cancer told the ship was clean she had her help bring over the spoils of war onto the ship.

Once everything was settled and loose ends were tied, Lincoln got comfy on the bridge. Looking at the data he could see that the ship was indeed sitting here for a long time. Over two thousand years in fact. It was a testament to the ship's ingenuity that it was still in top shape and ready for interstellar flight. Taking out the device again he gave a command to his other ship to take flight and make its way out of Iammelon to head back to a star station in the Starlight Empire to dock there.

Firing the ship up, he had Moon Cancer start ensuring they were hidden on any radar for as long as possible. “Alright slaves and Psion, here we go.” He leaned back in the chair. The ship proceeds to float up out of the hole in the ceiling before tilting up to the sky. With a soundless thrum it sailed into the black.

Lincoln was so focused on the task at hand that he didn’t realize that he hadn't asked his slaves to do anything sexual for him now they were alone. In another time he would have had one of them sitting on his lap in a reverse cowgirl position. But here the thought didn’t cross his mind.

Of course, it did help that a lot was already on his mind. Once they were far out of the system and into the Ether he let himself relax a bit. Finally thinking over what Tulam said before. Once more, Tulam was right. While he was great with management, the issue that said management is for a certain purpose. One he doesn’t have anymore. Outside of it, he can’t apply what he knows. Much like how an officer being a medic does not mean they can be a nurse in the civilian sector. Or to go off what Tulam said, a wartime powerbase is very different from a powerbase not geared towards that.

And of course, he can’t deny the vulnerabilities. He did accept Tulam’run with open arms because it was an indirect suicide much to his shame. “From what I learned so far, I really am grateful that you were who I met back there.” The museum had been an enlightening experience on Psions. Of course, given this was from the other side there was no doubt he was missing a lot of things. The lack of information did make him curious about it like any scholar would. That aside, he could see the many flaws in him, some that he probably doesn't know yet. The weakness between Master and Servant was something he was aware of. Servants may be very powerful, but all it takes is killing the Master to starve them of mana. Hence why in typical Magi battles with Servants, Magi stay hidden somewhere while they send the Servants out to do the fighting for them.

Back to that other train of thought, Tulam had been giving him a lot of free aid. It was strangely comforting to a small degree, because it implies he won’t immediately turn on him the moment he gets out of him like a certain armored supervillain clad in green. “But of course I feel that there’s a limit to that before you start asking for payment.” He wasn’t bothered by that, it was typical business practice after all. When someone invests their time in another person, it’s their responsibility to prove that the investment was profitable. For the time being all he has to offer him is a peace of mind that he won’t betray their working relationship.

Resting his head against the seat he brought up a subject that he knew was going to be talked about eventually. “I just wanted to say that if you ever get interested, I can find ways to make an artificial Servant for you. Or give you research material so that you can make your own blueprints and the like.” True, it was likely he had already looked through his mind for said research material. But it was the gesture that counts in his eyes.

He looked out into the Ether. It finally dawned on him that he was quite beat. But considering how Tulam said this will be a rough ride he’ll need to hang in there for a bit longer. For now he just needs to wait till they get to that.

Tulam was generally silent throughout the entire interaction, content to see how Lincoln handled the fairly obvious incoming betrayal. There was plenty to note for Tulam, for multiple reasons. There were things he decided to note for his own purposes, as this was an educational experience on multiple fronts. But there was other things he had to note for the purposes of education, as there was a lot the Psion saw as needing... correction.

The only thing Tulam would vocalize throughout the scuffle in general was a scoff at the end, towards the unconscious bodies.

Tulam's manifestation would appear again as the ship started up, looking out through the windows and display screens for a moment. He looked around the ship and then finally gave a nod, "This ship is nothing particularly impressive, but it will do. In the future, vessel, I will need to work on creating a new, proper Mythkuttar for myself. You should as well, if you intend to keep following the path I lay out for you. In my experience, creating something for yourself, or at least to your specifications, is far better than just stealing something. At least in the long run. The joy of creation, and so on. What you need to know is that there is a special benefit to doing things yourself, make things you can feel proud of."

He then chuckled, looking at Lincoln with a smirk, "You are odd to assume I haven't been taking a form of payment already. I shall be frank with you, vessel. You are not the ideal vessel, mostly because you're still you and not me, but that doesn't mean I can't make the most of it. You'll find if you stretch your power... You will be a bit weaker than usual. Because I'm siphoning a little off the top to rebuild myself after my time in the tube. Nothing major, I don't wish to impact your abilities and performance, but it is enough that you'll notice it if you distinctly look for it. But only you. Your slaves, or servants if you really want to call them that, won't notice a thing. All the same... Yes, you are lucky you met me. For a multitude of reasons. The first being I am rather generous. I have been taking pay in my subtle way, but far less than I should in all honesty. The second is that you clearly need somebody like me to control yourself. I doubt you'd take the words of any regular person seriously. You have a bit of that arrogance in you, vessel, whether or not you like to admit it."

Snapping his fingers, Tulam then tapped his own head, "I've been learning plenty from you, passively. But I do appreciate the direct offer, and I will take it sometime. I can grab from you knowledge but to grab the full depth I'd have to be a bit more... intrusive. And you won't survive that particular process. It's a more aggressive Psion technique. So I'll accept the offer of research materials, information, and samples. Besides, I do want to experiment. Creation requires innovation after all." Then suddenly, Tulam clapped his hands.

"But first, more lessons! I watched that exchange of yours with the little rat, and I must say I was deeply unimpressed, by both of you. The rat went down like a child, and you just waltzed into an ambush like happy prey. At first you two acted like Psions interacting, which was interesting, but if you either tried that with a Psion you'd be dead! And I must emphasize dead. Not what you did. What do you have to gain from leaving them alive, vessel? You aren't going to meet him again, so you're not going to extract pay from him. What was the point of that? You want somebody to tell a story, to bear witness? You didn't do that either, by cutting the memories. All you did was leave behind a potential problem. But that's not the biggest issue..."

The Psion moved very close to Lincoln, to look him directly in the eyes, "I am sure you are already concocting the excuse of trusting your slave there to keep you safe, like she did. Idiotic. There is value in trust, vessel, don't get me wrong. I trust my tools and slaves to do their jobs as they should... at the proper times. This was not that. What you did was rely on your slaves as a crutch to save you in the last second. That's a demented, very bad variant of trust. If you had been up against a Psion there instead of an idiot slaveling, your Assassin would've been accounted for and dealt with too when she tried that, and you'd be dead on the floor. What would've happened if the slaveling had even the most basic sense of extending his trap to account for a servant, the thing your type is known for? The answer is that you would not have been saved by her, and you would crumble. ...Well, not really, because if you got that close to dying I would intervene because I still need you alive. But I certainly would've let you get hurt so you learned the damn lesson. This lesson applies to your slave, too."

He backed up now finally, still looking disappointed, "You both must learn. Your slave must learn to act as the tool they are at the right times, not think they can get away with using that ability at the last second each time. It won't always work, and she'd only need to fail once for the consequences to occur in such an instance. And you must learn not to fall for the trap that is too much trust. Trust is good, over reliance is not. Learn to prepare and act on your own accord, and trust in your tools to support your efforts. You are the master here, not the support. Understood?"

Tulam sighed, looking back towards the windows and grunting, "You can't rest just yet, vessel. The outpost is on some rough space but it is not too far away. Sit tight, and perhaps use this time to think. You will get time to rest when we arrive. You'll likely need it." With that, his manifested form faded away.

-

The journey was rather rough, as Tulam proposed it would be. This would be more of a lesson to Lincoln about Ether in Hoshizora. The most common routes for ships were the calmest areas, the so-called Etherlanes, which allowed for rapid and easy transport even across long distances. Not all areas were etherlanes, but not all were very rough either. Iammelon was quite special for having generally calm Ether even outside its Etherlanes, making it easier to navigate. But there were two types beyond that. Rough, and stormy. Rough Ether was an obstacle, and something only more durable ships would fly in. A regular fighter craft would find itself beaten and smashed by the currents. This is where they had to go, far out of the way of any standard routes, into a section of space that seemed dark and empty.

But with Tulam's guidance, the ship had a clear destination. It wouldn't be visible for quite a while, but soon enough Lincoln would see what appeared to be a lonely asteroid drifting in space. It was quite a large one, but seemingly innocuous and didn't even appear on any scanners. What was more suspicious was the fact it didn't seem to be moving, at all. It was a still rock in rough, moving space. This was clearly the destination.

Tulam manifested again, grunting, "This station is nothing fancy, vessel. Station 3 is a base for storage above all. Although storing things I'd like to keep out of the way. It should be mostly empty but have all the supplies I need to get back into shape. Vixgor will be here, and hopefully a couple other things I left. Oh and don't worry. Vixgor will be asleep in his recovery chamber. Poor thing needed some rest. As for you, you should be able to use the accommodations the slave workers did. Some beds and food and all that. Anyways, land the ship... There. If you approach at the right angle it will open up into a hanger bay." He pointed towards the top of the large rock, towards a bit that seemed to jut out from the rest.

Lincoln felt that a lecture was coming. The whole confrontation was pretty much a microcosm of how problematic interactions between Magi are. While he never was a part of an actual community of Magi outside of some chance encounters. The general behavior admittedly rubbed off on him. Magi in his time was 100% self destructive in every capacity. The Mage Association shouldn’t have existed, no organization that acts the way they do could have possibly survived for as long as they claim to have. It was a miracle that they had gotten so far in the first place. While he doesn’t know the context here, he knew on a level that the shop owner was the same breed of Magi that he met before. If there were other Magi out there, they would likely all be hiding in obscurity to themselves. That said, he does need to grow from the general frame of mind he had back then.

It didn’t surprise him that the ship didn’t impress the Psion. Rather it made him interested in him when he realized how much he didn’t know much about Tulam’Run and his people. Just how old are the Psions? was the thought that went across his mind. He’ll have to ask that properly later. He perked up when Tulam said that he’ll need to make this ‘Mythkuttar’, not understanding the word but could sense that it was something impressive. He also made note of inquiring about ‘laying down a path’ later as well. That thought aside, the other part of his words there touched a deep part of him. The sort of feeling that makes you reflect about everything.

He can’t recall anything that he made wholly for himself. And yet there were glimmers of something there when he made things for other people. Enough to tell him that creation was something he would come to enjoy if he acknowledged that part of himself more. One that doesn’t involve procreation of course.

His deep musings were brought to a pause to give a mock laugh with a bit of a grin. “Hah hah, you know what I meant.” Tulam’Run certainly doesn’t feel like the sort of person to just wait before taking something. He was just expressing that to show that he wasn’t assuming he wasn’t taking a toll already. That and he just felt like wanting to give him something more than just his energy. He’s sentimental like that. Granted he doesn't know much about Psions so he admits he can’t know what Tulam’s preferences are. “But yes, you’re right. From what I saw back in the museum, I could be in a much less desirable position.” Tulam calling out his arrogance made him confused for a brief second before his mind processed what he said. “That’s...huh.” It wasn’t wrong. To him there was a difference between him and regular people as he put it. Somewhat similar to how veterans tend to be arrogant whether they mean it or not around civilians. Because to them they lived in a world in which the civilians can never understand. That was one of the reasons why it was hard for veterans to adjust to ‘normal’ society. Some would go on feeling superior, not taking anyone seriously because ‘they know how the real world works’. In ways he fell into that, more than he realized.

Sure, there was that week on Pravus that could be attributed as an example of his arrogance. But he mostly chalk that up as his out of control libido. A little bit. He distorted that family quite a bit. A small frown graced his lips for a moment. At least they’re off doing their own thing. House politics was something he shouldn’t even begin with, Not in the right frame of mind. Brushing his thoughts on that aspect out of mind. It was nice to hear that Tulam accepted the offer. Then the lessons started. Once they concluded he nodded his head, “I understand.”

Later he would come to be fascinated by how different space was in Hoshizora, or should he say the Ether. It reminded him of something vaguely but it was so long ago that he can’t remember what it was. There was something with a crescent moon. That was about it. He spent the time being memorized by how the Ether flowed and coalesced. Then they came to their destination. He found it cool and on cue the Psion said that it was nothing fancy. Making him interested again in the sort of things that Tulam would find amazing. Following his directions he steered the ship then directed it down into Tulam’s hanger bay when it opened.

As he does so the thought of using the area that Tulam slave workers did made him remember a certain room or two before hastily forgetting about it. Of course there wouldn’t be anything like that here. Tulam made it very clear that he wasn’t that sort of person. He glanced over to the Assassin for a second. Tracing the curves of her body.

”A shame…”

Wait, he didn’t mean to think that! ...Okay he kinda did because he made that thought. He made a mental sigh. It did speak of the problems he had. ”You know how much time I’ve spent in those rooms. Wasting time indulging in that when I could have been doing other things.” He admits. Lincoln kept quiet when they landed. No doubt that Tulam will lay down the house rules. For some odd reason, he has an inkling that one of the rules was not getting into Tulam’s stuff. Sure that was obvious, but there was a sense of something else there. Oh well, he’ll likely find out later.

Tulam looked over to Lincoln as he made his errant thought, and sighed, "Yes, you wasted a lot of good time that could've been used on so much more, for so much more. We will be correcting that. None of that activity on my station without my express permission. And for that first thought..."

A phantom hand appeared in front of Lincoln, and slapped him. It was a rather light slap, and seemed to be more of a joke. Although whether or not it would be the case the next time was yet to be seen.

All the same, the ship rather calmly moved towards the station, and Lincoln would see what Tulam meant about the hanger opening up. As the ship came close at the right angle, the rock pulled back a bit, and then a section opened up. It revealed a large hanger bay, with a small shield as well that kept the inside sealed but one that allowed a vessel to easily land inside. The hole was actually larger than the ship, notably so. With vision of the hanger now avaliable, Lincoln could tell that this hanger was likely designed to either hold multiple ships of the size he was using, or one larger ship. Although it wouldn't be able to fit any sort of major warship, it wasn't quite that large.

As the ship fully submerged itself into the rock and through the doors, the rock would close again behind them. This was an issue as it seemed the station wasn't fully online, and thus it was dark inside.

Lincoln would hear Tulam grunt, "Right, I need to reactivate the power. Turned off the lights to conserve power, you see. Caretaker is asleep, so I have to do it myself. Let there be light!" The Psion clapped his hands together, mostly for dramatic effect, and the change was instantly visible. The lights in the hangers came alive, illuminating it so that it was now easier to inspect the inside.

The hanger was rather clearly not touched in a very, very long time. Dust was everywhere to start, and there was some clear degradation in the walls and floor. Really it was a testament to the durability of the metals used in building this that it was still together after so long being left without anybody to maintain it. But that aside, the hanger also showed that Tulam's indication of this being a storage site was correct. While this hanger could clearly house a lot more cargo, and perhaps it did, but right now it was mostly empty. There were some left behind crates and large cargo containers, but they were all open and seemed to be empty. The place seemed to have been cleared out.

Tulam decided to comment there, "Everything in here was taken out to join in the invasion. It was a temporary storage until we were ready to attack. Lots of stuff goes into logistics for a war effort and all that. This was the place for that, at least for me and my forces. I kept it secret from the other Psions. Worked out well! Since I am giving this station to you, you can use it for similar storage purposes, or whatever other thing you want. A communications center, intel gathering station... Lots of possibilities really. But for now we need to get it back online. The best way to do this is to awaken this station's Caretaker. She can handle restoring this base to full functionality. A fine creation on my part, I would say. Anyways, Caretaker's chamber is quite close for convivence's sake. Through that door you'll find the temporary suspension chambers I set up before I left. They are temporary, I intended to come back after all. That just didn't happen to occur."

He pointed out the door to the left, which seemed to be a large gate that led to the rest of the facility. The door opened up soon after Tulam pointed it out, likely at the Psion's command. Tulam then suddenly looked up towards the hanger entrance again, squinting his eyes at it. He seemed to be looking for something rather tensely. Then he shrugged, relaxed, and spoke calmly "Seems fully closed. Nothing will come in after and I doubt we were followed, at least not successfully. Let's go."

Once they exited the hanger and went into the room, Lincoln could certainly tell this was meant to be a temporary arrangement. This was built as a simple hallway clearly, meant to keep going forward and down the hall, at the end of which he could see more doors, and even a staircase. But in this room directly, he would see the temporary suspension chamber that Tulam mentioned. Or rather, two of them. There were two large tubes, similar to the one Tulam was in before but these ones were far larger, as they were carrying actual bodies. The left tube held what looked to be a dark skinned humanoid. It was clearly not human, judging by the horns and tail, and Lincoln could feel magical power from this one. In the right tube, there was something different. A larger, fox-like creature. This one was more obvious extremely modified, and radiated a great degree of power. But unlike the humanoid, which Lincoln could tell was unconscious, this creature was seemingly lifeless. It had a pulse, but there was nothing inside. The creature was hollow.

Tulam's form appeared, and he felt the need to explain, "Caretaker is the one on the left, vessel. A good creation of mine, she's quite capable. Before you get too curious of what the other is, that was supposed to be something I made for another Psion who was partaking in the invasion. One Salia'Rex. She was a youngling who begged me to help her create a powerful vessel with which to conquer some territory with. I don't like Rex Psions much but she was rather earnest, and was willing to pay fairly generously. She even was willing to give me all the components, samples, and test subjects I would need. All I had to do was work my magic. The payment, by the way, is not currency like you slavelings enjoy. Salia was going to pay me with something I needed more than anything... unique samples. In return for the vessel body she would give to me all the creatures of interest my scouts had found that would have normally taken my own personal attention to go round up. That youngling was willing to do that work for me, and I saw no issue with that! I get to experiment, and she does all the boring work for me! Win-Win, really. I went a little overboard with Salia's vessel, in truth, it is a rather fine creation. Extremely powerful and capable, plus it matches all of the little things Salia specified in the design. She liked one of the local slaveling races. Viscans, I think they are called. Regardless, while I made a masterpiece, unfortunately Salia'Rex died in the invasion. Killed by a... something with scales and wings. I don't know the name of the species."

"Her death has left me with a notable issue, though. Now I have a masterwork vessel, and nobody to inhabit it. It's brain dead, and built only for a Psion's soul. Trying to work anything else in it... Well, you'll find the consequences of that would be quite unfortunate. But don't worry yourself about it, vessel. I'll make use of it in the future. I'll take it with me to a new base and work on fixing it up." He paused, and then stared at Lincoln for a moment, "Before you dare suggest it... No, I am not using this vessel, vessel. I am not a woman, and I like my body, thank you very much. Not like I can transfer right now anyways, my soul is not repaired enough for that yet. No, I'll wait until I reconstitute my proper form and just hop in that instead. Now don't it."

"What you will touch are those controls. We must release Caretaker so she can handle the station's repairs. After that, I promise you may rest. In a bed. By yourself. With no slaves in the room. Now press that button. The purple one on the left, below the green one. That'll wake her up and let her out. Then I can start handing out orders." He pointed at the button in question on the control panel for the left tube, which presumably would begin the awakening process. "Oh and make sure you step back quickly, too. I'll wrangle her into control but you may have to dodge a quick first strike. She doesn't know you're not an intruder, and she can hurt pretty good. Not to mention she has control over this station's security systems. Fortunately it won't come to that, since I'll get her under control before that, but just keep an eye out for any quick jabs or psionic bolts."

The slap made him blush. Okay, he deserved that. Helped a bit even in knocking those silly thoughts out of his skull. Focusing, he made a conscious effort to keep his thoughts clean from now on. Keeping them busy through taking in his new surroundings. It was a strange yet pleasant feeling to be inside something that lasted for a very long time. Seven hundred years. That was wild for him to picture. Tulam’Run mentioning that this is going to be his made him think about the future again. There were a lot of opportunities here. His thoughts went back to the invasion. Imagining what the place must have been like back then when it was still active.

Lincoln made his way to the temporary suspension chambers as directed. Where he then came to a stop before the two large tubes that were occupied. His eyes lock on to them. Somewhat surprised that they were women. He kept staring at them. Because he was suppressing certain thoughts, it gave way for a voice in him to speak up. “They’re beautiful.” His words weren’t spoken out of attraction, but fascination. For once in a very long time he felt he was properly looking at a body and not through the lens of a pervert. This part of him tried to wake up when he met Ialla. But it was submerged beneath his ocean of lust moments later.

He could feel those waves lapping against the shore of his thoughts. But they receded when he learned that one of them was hollow. No one was in there. A chill crept in his bones. Lightly shuddering as he took in that fact. There were other emotions in him, ones he hasn’t properly felt in years. Tulam’s previous comment about the beauty of creation echoed in his head. Then it dawned on him. Something he had forgotten.

He was obsessed with anatomy.

Not in a disturbed sense, he tested himself on that front. Having looked at various, intense macabre artwork but nothing hooked him into it. One time he looked at a picture from a gruesome crime scene made by a infamous serial killer. The killer was an artist in the darkest sense, the victim in the picture was posed. The ribs in a flower around torn, pale flesh and tattered leather jacket, the blood ran silently and deep crimson like paint across a canvas, the look in his eyes. It scared him. Partly because he found himself understanding the appeal but thankfully not to the point of condoning it. It was just sad. There was no life there, everything was cold and motionless. It was so...pointless.

It’s why even though he was into dollplay, it never developed into darker things. He holds so much importance in life that to handle something cold and hollow puts him off. Disturbs him even. Another aspect of his obsession he tested was whether or not cannibalism evoked any reaction out of him. So he watched that one show centered on the relationship between a criminal profiler and a forensic psychiatrist. Besides finding the cinematography of the scenes well done, it didn’t stir anything in him besides disgust. Less morally and more about finding it just a waste. That, and it was an anathema to his perspective on life. To him, anatomy was art. You just don’t eat art. It should be whole and unified, not split into pieces.

Looking back, he knew when it began. It wasn’t when he was corrupted, but it was what perverted his obsession into something crude. Something changed in him on that cold, winter night. Logically speaking of course it did, there was no way he would have come out from that the same. Especially in those last moments. He and his sister Luna managed to escape from the cabin. Bolting into the howling night. The only light being the moon dimly illuminating the woods. They ran till he tripped on the underbrush. Falling on the cold ground on his back. Luna tried to help him up.

Then everything seemed to have come to a crawl when he heard that first sickening crunch. He laid there, paralyzed in primeval fear. Watching the monster hold her up as he feasted on her. Bits of Luna fell on him. His face became wet with her falling blood. He could vividly remember how warm it was. The scene felt like it lasted for eternity. And for a moment he thought he had died. For someone as young as him, how could this have been anything but hell? Then a hulking mass of fur slammed into the monster, one of Mitena’s bestial familiars, dragging it several meters away before it started to rip into it.

The impact made the monster lose his grip. Dropping Luna’s lower body, all that was left, on top of him. In a daze he sat up. Gazing at her legs on his lap. The sound of the fighting was tuned out. What was left of her hips was crushed. The area where the monster had gripped her. Her legs were clad in purple sleep pants. They used to be so soft and warm. But now they were cold. Lifeless. He sat there, cradling Luna’s legs.

Beside the obvious horrendous trauma that he now had, he felt that it started from there. The conscious awareness of just how fragile life is. That a person can stop being a ‘person’ and into a ‘corpse’ in a split instant. No wonder the brain protects you from existential dread, because it can make you go insane otherwise. Perhaps he got a bit cuckoo as well. It wouldn’t surprise him.

The point is, he started paying more attention to how people moved around him. The way they flex their limbs and treat their wounds. How they swallow to the rise of their chest. The human body was so delicate and complicated. So many systems have to work in harmony otherwise it can all collapse. Whenever he rested with Sam, he often focused on her breathing. Picturing her lungs inflating and deflating. He listened to her beating heart. How warm her body was. Her body was beautiful, she was beautiful, not in a sexual manner of course. Especially not Sam. He simply liked the female form the most, it was aesthetically pleasing to him.

However, there was something off putting to him when someone is brain dead. For their body to be warm and alive but there was no ‘person’ inside of them. It felt wrong, incomplete. He doesn’t like it when a body is hollow. Here he’s doing okay, no need to make a fuss about it. It was obvious to him that Tulam will make some use out of her. Anything was better than having it remain in the tube. That and he did told him to not worry about it.

His musings on his fascination with anatomy are over for now. His thoughts now center on the things that Tulam’Run was telling him. The story with Salia'Rex was both interesting and sad to hear. One thing he realized was that the second part of Psion names must be some sort of epithet. He wondered what a Run Psion was. Another thing to ask later. He agreed with Tulam that it was a fine creation. It was nice to see that he has good tastes too.

He blinked when the Psion warned him not to think about him in the body of a woman. It was a good thing he was keeping his head blank of naughty things  otherwise he would have very much pictured that in his head. “I won’t” He promises. Keeping his thoughts occupied with more wholesome subjects. Well, as wholesome as they can be. “That said, I’m starting to understand a little about what you mean about creation. It must have been fulfilling and cathartic to have created them.” He assumed. There was beauty in Tulam’s craftsmanship. That was for certain.

His eyes widened a bit when he was told that Caretaker might attack him when she woke up. That was understandable, thankful for that warning he went to press the button that Tulam pointed out before scurrying away from the tube.