45. Turning Point

“A power source,” Melpomene hisses. “A power source. They’re using us as a fucking power source!”

“They used the Antipathy as a fucking power source,” I correct. “Or more specifically, they privatized Antipathy-based power in an Antipathy city. We can check to see whether that power was actually going to the city itself or not, but I’d be surprised if it wasn’t going to the city at all.”

“Don’t be obtuse,” Melpomene growls.

“I’m not being obtuse,” I insist. “I’m being specific. It does us no good to assume the sins of our enemies without proper verification. If you plan to stop them, it’s best we know exactly what it is we’re trying to stop.”

“Y-yeah!” Thea chimes in. “Maybe they were just trying to uplift the Antipathy. Maybe they just wanted to help them!”

“Look around you!” Melpomene snaps. “You can’t possibly be arguing that they aren’t doing anything wrong here. A power plant of children!”

“Most likely children and adults,” I correct again. “But no, Melpomene, I’m definitely not arguing they did nothing wrong. Like, at best this is cyberpunk dystopia level shit. This just isn’t the time for screaming, raging, and jumping to conclusions. This is the time for finally getting to the bottom of this mystery. Right?”

“Luna is absolutely correct,” Nanaya says simply.

“…Right,” Melpomene relents. “Right, of course. Well, lead the way, then.”

I nod, stepping towards the front glass and forcing the door open. The inside is much the same as the last one of these we found, though this time, rummaging around the front desk allows me to find a computer bank that looks mostly intact. I motion Thea over and open my ports, letting her hook me up enough to start pulling data from the drives. It’s annoyingly slow-going, but these things are pretty old.

…And corrupted. Antipathy Antipathy Antipathy Antipathy. But not everything has been destroyed, not by a long shot. In fact, there’s quite a bit here, most of it seeming to pertain to the power plant itself. Things like the employee manifest have every name replaced with the word ‘Antipathy,’ but a lot of stuff is still intact. There are regular reports on power generation and profit margins, which I can read because they tend to be written in the Antipathy language… unlike most of the interdepartmental messages and alien emails. It seems like anything a Preserver sends to another Preserver is in their home language, which I don’t understand. But anything a Preserver sends to an Antipathy is readable… other than any of the Antipathy’s names.

Antipathy. Antipathy. Antipathy.

It all looks like uncomfortably familiar corporate jargon, by and large. Hey middle managers, why are your numbers low? Hey maintenance, why isn’t everything perfect? Hey people who are doing their jobs as instructed, why are you accruing expenses? There’s even a particularly disgusting message from a Preserver marketer asking Antipathy managers the best ways to attract more ’employees’ without paying anyone more money.

“…It looks like the Preservers ran their companies almost exactly how humans run theirs,” I hum.

“If you can’t find any evidence of wrongdoing, you probably just aren’t looking hard enough,” Melpomene insists. I give her an incredulous look.

“God, I don’t know how I keep forgetting you people have no idea what living in human society is like,” I sigh. “Trust me, Mel, that is not a good thing. Human corporate structure is a tangled mess of monstrousness. The entire core premise of the stock market means that the vast majority of company shareholders aren’t there because they care the slightest bit about the company’s products or services, they’re just trying to use money to make more money and damn the consequences.”

“And that’s what’s happening here?” Nanaya asks. “The energy plant’s abuses are profit-motivated?”

“Well, they’re also energy-motivated, at least,” I admit. “Some of these reports discuss finding ways to increase the percentage of energy being transported back to the Preserver homeworld without causing power outages in the Antipathy cities they’re also powering. They continuously sucked the Antipathy drier and drier, giving them less and less of what they made.”

“And it was all joy?” Thea asks, horrified. “They only took the most important emotion?”

“Debatable,” Melpomene says quietly.

“There are a few messages in here about researching ‘safer’ ways to use other emotions,” I say, “but it doesn’t look like they figured it out, at least at the time the messages were sent.”

“…That makes sense,” Nanaya hums. “Using magic for a purpose counter to why the magic was created is very dangerous. Vague, undirected happiness is unlikely to cause any adverse effects when used for just about anything, but if the Preserves attempted to power their society with, say, the resentment the Antipathy had towards them? Many would have likely perished. You cannot get rid of unwanted emotions so easily.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” I say. “Imagine if the Preservers could have powered their society with the resentment of the Antipathy. Not only would they be even more crazy dangerous, they’d be preventing their victims from feeling that resentment. The Antipathy would have ended up as slaves completely unable to form meaningful desires to rebel. Any sort of motivation they might muster would be snatched away before it could come to anything.”

“Oh,” Anath says. “So that’s why they did it.”

“What?” Thea asks, turning to her.

“That’s why they destroyed themselves,” Anath states simply. “Because the Preservers figured it out.”

She points at Melpomene’s transformation stone, the purple hairpin pulsing dangerously on the side of her head. We follow her finger, staring with disbelief. Oh, fuck. She’s… she’s right, isn’t she?

“I have often shielded myself with rage,” Nanaya hums. “I did not consider it odd because it was my rage, of course it would follow my will, but… I am often most angry at myself. Yet, it still works.”

“It’s… it’s only Antipathy artifacts where we have trouble using specific emotions to perform contradictory tasks,” Thea agrees. “The transformation stones have never had that problem.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever risked blowing myself up, but I definitely need to wrangle my emotions in a specific direction when I cast, or I lose enormous amounts of efficiency,” I agree. “I’ve used red magic to cast spells while I have a blue crystal configuration before, just because that was still the best option.”

“A unity of purpose is still a great boon for any user of magic,” Nanaya agrees, “but things are different when using the functions of the transformation stone. The magic is so easily forced in whatever direction we desire… but how?”

A slamming noise shakes us out of our musings as Melpomene’s tail hits the floor tiles hard enough to shatter them. She stares at her claws, shaking with rage and disbelief.

“The Preservers were going to enslave not just their bodies, but their minds, their very souls!” she breathes.

“Why yes,” I agree flatly. “Truly horrible.”

Nanaya glances at me, and my entire soul tries to vomit as I realize I pushed that one too far. Damn it. Gotta tone it down.

“They fought for their freedom,” Melpomene continues, the mist in the room seeming to swirl slowly around her, “and they lost. So they collectively chose death over servitude. Would humanity have been able to do the same? Would we have it in us?”

“Not the entirety of humanity, perhaps,” Nanaya says, “but some of us? Many of us? Yes. Humans have fought to the death for freedom before.”

“And they have fought to the death for slavery,” I shrug. “All that matters to them is what side of things they’re on.”

“Well we’re certainly all on the same side for this,” Melpomene hisses.

“W-wait, hold on,” Thea stammers. “We have no reason to believe this is going to happen to Earth. If anything, it seems extra likely it won’t! The Preservers are committed to non-interference, right?”

“That’s a good point,” I agree. “They’re so committed to it, it causes them to be kind of stupid.”

“It isn’t wise to assume an enemy is stupid when they could simply be playing on a level beyond your understanding,” Nanaya warns.

“It’s not wise to assume an enemy is playing beyond your understanding when they could simply be stupid,” I counter.

“What does it matter!?” Melpomene snaps, unfurling her wings and sending the mists around her into brief, violent cyclones. “It’s not as though we can ask and expect them to tell the truth. Or to even say anything! We have to be prepared for the worst-case scenario. And now we know exactly what that is! We have to be prepared. We have to be!”

“For what, a full-scale invasion?” Nanaya asks. “I doubt such a thing will occur. A society’s power needs do not simply stop when sources of power are lost. When the Preservers lost the Antipathy, they would have been scrambling for an immediate solution. I suspect whatever that happens to be has already been in motion for some time.”

“…Of course,” Melpomene hisses. “Yes, you’re right. You’re all right. They’ve changed tactics. They… the Dark World, it…”

Her eyes flick around as thoughts rapidly form behind them. I doubt they’re anything good. I should get her to focus.

“Well, our plan is the same, right?” I say. “We need to get humanity on our side. To do that, we needed evidence. And now… we have it. We have all the evidence we could ever need.”

I tap my chest with a ‘clank clank.’

“Every single thing I’ve seen is recorded. Give me the word, and I’ll make myself an entire bot network of social media posts. I’ll assemble a website and put everything on it. I’ll compile an entire Antipathy language dictionary. I’ll record messages from all of you, edit things to make us look legitimate. We’ve hit the jackpot, ladies. This is absolutely evidence of needed action. We just have to make a big enough stink for people to smell it.”

The Dark Rebellion’s eyes go wide as they turn their attention to me, staring blankly as they think through the implications. Nanaya is the first to break out into a grin, a somewhat shocking expression on her usually stoic face. But one after another, the whole team starts smiling.

“Well. Let’s work up a sweat, then,” Melpomene says eagerly.

– – –

“Castalia, you don’t have to come,” I insist.

“I disagree,” Castalia says simply.

“You’re retired!” I insist, accelerating south at a pace she easily matches.

I mean, it’s Castalia. What were we expecting?

“I am capable of deciding when to work despite my retirement,” Castalia says. “I have decided. Please drop the subject, Fulgora.”

“Okay,” I say. “Sorry.”

“I look forward to seeing you in action, Castalia,” Amaterasu chimes in. “I have been… lacking, in my duties. I hope witnessing your power will help me understand it.”

“There are no shortcuts to strength,” Castalia warns. “…No good ones, anyway. And hopefully, we will not be fighting.”

“I’m not sure what else we’d be doing,” I say. “Uma’tama found Su unconscious and then got the report that all five Earth Guardians protecting the kaiju gate were taken out simultaneously. We’re either about to enter a kaiju fight ourselves, or…”

“Melpomene,” Castalia says quietly.

“…Yeah,” I confirm. “Or her.”

“Or both,” Amaterasu hisses.

“Or both,” I agree. “But… hopefully not both.”

“If so, the two of you will focus on the kaiju,” Castalia orders. “I will keep Melpomene away from you.”

I can’t say I love the implication that Melpomene is likely to be the more dangerous of the two. I also can’t say I’m surprised. I’ve fought kaiju before. And far more briefly, I’ve fought Melpomene. The flight continues in silence for a bit longer, with Amaterasu unexpectedly being the one to break it.

“…I am sorry,” she says, forcing the words out. “I was brought here to help, and I… have failed.

“It’s not like I’ve been particularly successful myself,” I answer. “It’s fine, Su-san.”

“No,” she says. “I should… apologize to you in particular. I thought you were weak. But you’re not.”

Oh.

“I’m not exactly strong, either,” I disagree.

“I don’t think you realize how much you have improved in so little time,” Amaterasu says, shaking her head. “I am not sure you were ever weak, but you have only gotten stronger. You have gotten stronger quickly. I wish I knew how.”

“She reached a greater understanding of herself,” Castalia answers, which I’m thankful for. I’m not sure what I would have said. “Her situation is unique, and she couldn’t cast properly until she recognized that and formed her own methods.”

“I see,” Amaterasu says. “So not a method I can use, then.”

“No,” Castalia confirms. “But you are not weak, Amaterasu. You are one of the stronger Earth Guardians alive. The problem is that the threats we face here are utterly unlike the monsters you are used to fighting. You cannot simply overcome them through raw force and expect them to unthinkingly rush to their own demise. Your enemies think and plan.”

“…I understand,” Amaterasu nods thoughtfully.

“I’ve had the advantage of experience fighting Anath over and over,” I add. “She’s… at least a little monstrous, but it’s still very different. Most Earth Guardians don’t know how to fight people like themselves, but I have experience.”

“Raw strength and speed are all I know,” Amaterasu frowns. “It is… a difficult adjustment. Especially when I am often outclassed in both. I do feel like more of each could turn the tides, if I could simply unlock it.”

“There are no fast paths to strength,” Castalia insists. “…Except for class changing, I suppose. But that’s more the culmination of slowly-built strength and personal growth.”

She glances at me when she says that, and I can’t help but do a double-take. Does she think I’m going to class change? Well, I suppose ‘reactualize’ is the proper term the Preservers use, but I’ve mostly heard it being called a class change for some reason. I think it’s from video games or something? It refers to a moment in which an Earth Guardian’s incarnate form changes its name, and sometimes also its initial transformation incantation, almost always resulting in a massive boost in power.

Which makes sense! A reactualization effectively occurs when someone ‘outgrows’ their old incarnate form—not in a physical sense, but an emotional and personal one. It’s not something that can happen very often, but it has happened to me before. When I was a lot younger, my incarnate form was similar to what Minerva’s is now, but after… after the death of my original team, I became Furious Avenger Survivor Fulgora. I hated it. It wasn’t fair that I got such a boost in strength after it was already far too late.

I thought I was class changing again the first time Minerva entered her incarnate form, but then we learned I was still also Fulgora, and… yeah.

Yep.

We eventually figured it out.

We needed a LOT of help, though. But hey, here we are! Su-san is right, you know. We really have gotten a lot stronger.

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Not strong enough.

No, never. But can’t we still be proud of what we’ve accomplished?

I… no. It doesn’t feel right. How can we justify being proud of anything we’ve done? There’s a reason Castalia needs to be out here with us on this emergency call.

Well there’s also a reason she’s acknowledging our strength! Look, again, I’m never going to tell you to stop improving. But when everyone keeps telling us we ARE improving, can’t we take a moment to acknowledge we might be doing something right? I’m starting to feel like things are finally making a little bit of sense, you know?

I… I can’t say I do. But if nothing else… I’m glad you’re with me, Minerva. I’ve been pretty awful to you. I resented your entire existence. But the more you become… I don’t know, yourself, the more of the joy you feel passes into me. Things like this make more sense when we’re you. Things that were so hard before become easy. Honestly, part of me is a little resentful of that, but… most of me is learning to be glad you’re here. It should have been obvious to me before that I’m barely half a person. I think what I needed all along was someone to make me complete.

I… oh my gosh. Thank you, Fulgora.

Please don’t make too big a deal over it. It’s just nice to know there’s at least part of me that has her shit together.

Ahh! Well! Gosh! I won’t let you down!

I nod, and after a bit more flying the four of us finally manage to reach our destination. Despite the fact that it was a nearly half-hour-long trip, I’m pleasantly surprised to find the flight hasn’t even winded me, despite not being particularly angry at anything right now. We have plenty of reasons to be afraid, after all. It’s easy to know when we reach our destination, because… god.

There’s nothing here but devastation. The liminal space here is little more than steaming gashes torn through the ground and piles of rubble still crackling with purple sparks of lightning. The air is so thick with disgust it’s hard not to choke on it. It takes me a moment to process the sheer, raw destruction before I remember that we’re partly here to look for survivors.

Will there be survivors? It definitely looks like a kaiju came through here. But if that’s the case, where is it? Kaiju are a lot of things, but ‘hard to find’ definitely isn’t one of them. I can’t see any sign of whatever caused this or any of the Earth Guardians that inevitably got caught up with it. So where…

“H-hey! O-over here!” a sudden voice coughs, and I turn towards it to spot a ragged-looking Earth Guardian and her four unconscious, human-form teammates lined up next to each other behind her, where they’ve apparently been dragged so she can keep an eye on all of them at once. The girl is looking bad, with multiple small yet still distinctly open wounds, a broken arm, one eye swollen shut, and burns all over her outfit. And yet she’s obviously the one who’s the best off.

“Report!” I say, flying down and landing next to her. Huh, I think some of her teammates are boys. That’s uncommon.

“I-I’m not even sure, it was… it was those half-monster people from your town, but one of them just… it was over so fast. She wasn’t human. She wasn’t human at all!”

“Where are they now?” I press, Castalia floating down next to me and enveloping all five of them with her telekinesis, gently lifting them off the ground.

“They went in the portal!” she says. “But then the portal shut behind them. I don’t know where it is now, but the liminal space is still here, so…”

“So the portal will be back,” Amaterasu hums. “It is the device the six-armed one had, yes?”

“Probably,” I confirm. “When she reopened that portal, it appeared in the same spot. About where was it?”

She points with her one good arm towards a spot slightly less obliterated than the surrounding area. I nod at her.

“Okay, we’ll get set up,” I say.