Chapter 18: The Butterfly Effect

The refugee camp is packed wall to wall, and I do mean that literally. Some enterprising engineer bolted scaffolding there where basic cots and hammocks could be installed, drastically increasing the amount of people who could sleep there at the cost of lighting. The smell of countless cooking pots mingles with that of sweat and unwashed flesh.

 

The only reason I was allowed in is that I mixed with a group of volunteers for the day, who rented me a protective suit. We split earlier. Now it’s just me and the heavily armored Sallurian patrol guarding the outer access gate. This is the beginning of the war. The sects are still mobilizing, battle lines are still being drawn, and the command structure isn’t clear yet. If nothing happens, we lose, but I can tilt things in our favor. I’m the Avatar of Time. I may not have power yet, but I have the next best thing: information. The Sallurians are not alarmed to see me come because I’m exactly what they’re expecting: a second awakening chap in a hazmat suit.

 

“Hello. I’m a soul awakening and I need to show you something I found. Please don’t be alarmed,” I say.

 

The head Sallurian glares. He flexes his wiry shoulders which are covered in cloud tattoos. His dark hair is held back by bone clips that clink delicately when he moves.

 

“I need your authorization for that,” I add.

 

He feels very strong. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were fourth awakening. Something passes between himself and his subordinates. The clouds roil on their skins. Two of them approach, long knives bare.

 

“No games,” the leader warns me.

 

I reach towards him. His mind opens but it’s like a cloud. I can’t really find him, until he grabs me himself in the same way Xan does. I share what I perceive, most notably the lost woman idling near the gate being an abomination in disguise. He tenses. I stop him.

 

“Don’t do anything yet. There are many more spread out throughout the camp. If we strike one, the others will attack. It will be a slaughter. We must kill all of them at once.”

 

“How many are there?” He sends back with some difficulty.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

I expand my perception in a beam, going slowly though even being excessively slow makes him wince. There are another six or so abominations within my considerable range. Later in the loop, Transformation’s little horrors will infiltrate smaller packs of creatures that attack and overwhelm vulnerable people until the corrupted reach critical mass. This is just the beginning though. Right now, the avatar is still experimenting. She’s sending dozens of mimics for a single decisive battle. I picked this district a day before it falls in the earlier loop because I know this is where she will attack. The Sallurian signals. One of his men seemingly disappears. His hand comes to rest on my shoulder.

 

“Let’s take a walk.”

 

The others follow us as we patrol around at a brisk pace. Every time we approach a different group, I share my perception with the leader. In ten minutes we have gone through over half of the district and none of the warriors we started with are still with us, yet I didn’t see anyone come or leave. The refugees barely pay attention. We’re just another group of busy people pretending we’re still in control of the situation. The Sallurian warrior is very thorough in his approach. We even go to the command center near one of the exits although there are no abominations there. I suspect the Avatar of Transformation still isn’t sure who or what can detect her monsters. Only once the leader is satisfied do we move.

 

A mist rises, covering the district in seconds. Cries of alarm erupt left and right, soon joined by the sounds of battle. The leader never leaves my side. The mist dissipates over a scene of extreme violence. Melted creatures drip blood and ichor on the pavement. Screaming civilians clutter in tight groups for protection. Even though they were supposed to be disarmed, suddenly improvised spears and staves aim out towards an enemy that is already dead. I look around from near the control tent. The district shudders with anger and outrage. Horror and death are missing. I think we got them all.

 

I prevented the first fall. Now to try and save the others. I know what Krane said, that the only thing that matters is getting stronger. That I should just let it all happen while I pursue my own goals with unrelenting selfishness. I can’t do it. The suffering of the Enderlithians is real. It’s really happening. I can’t just close my eyes and pretend people are not getting turned into The Thing props. I must at least try. And besides, I’ll need to stop this invasion at some point. Might as well start now.

 

***

 

“The Clanarch wants to speak with you,” my bodyguard says.

 

Finally. I follow the Sallurian to the nearby command tent, a large structure clearly designed to stop rain, which was then dragged to a station where it never does. I guess for the vibes? The cloth structure now mostly serves as a symbolic rally point with some isolating properties. Inside, I find com equipment lining the edges while a massive table covered in graphs, blueprints and the likes, occupies the center. An eclectic group of people stand around arguing and discussing at a speed that hints at high awakenings. One of them reminds me of Xan in posture and expression, though his hair is the purple of a gene-modded Patrician. I don’t recognize the insignia on his army uniform adorned with the symbol of Might but following the rules that the bigger and shinier people must be in charge, I guess he must be pretty high up. A woman in the sect wargear of the Seven Suns stands nearby, expression worried. There is also a Sallurian man with cloud tattoos and long blonde hair held in a topknot and someone who looks like a slightly more vanilla version of Moragan.

 

It takes a lot of effort for my eyes not to linger on her. She’s tall and thin, and actually dressed in a chitin-like armor that leaves a modest cleavage open with healthy pink skin visible. As I steal a glance, panels slide around, turning the piece of gear into more of a ball gown. As expected she has a way to protect her boobs from the rigors of battle, and that’s a relief. Her face is sharp and aristocratic with high cheekbones and eyes that smoulder like warming coal. Her hair is not hair but thin spines forming an elaborate crown over her head, nothing too ostentatious, really, more a display of skill. Just like the rest of her apparel, I think she could turn it from fashion statement to protection in an instant should the proverb hit the fan. I can vaguely feel her mana. Now that I am a second awakening, it resonates with me.

 

She notices my attention. A smile blooms on her vivid ruby lips.

 

“The hero of the hour! You’re shorter than I expected.”

 

Her voice is weirdly candid. All of the third awakenings I’ve met possess a sort of mask, a distance they create between themselves and everyone else, but she sounds like she just speaks her mind. Even her soul vibrates with excitement. I can’t read it, of course, yet I feel like I almost could.

 

“I get that a lot.”

 

“Have you considered gene mods?”

 

“Oh no, I meant being a hero.”

 

She watches a moment to see if I’m serious, then she laughs, which is generous considering the quality of the joke. Seeing as the other important people are still busy despite calling for me, and my time is as worthless as my presence is unnoticeable, I decide to reach the spiky lady. It’s the perfect opportunity for some good old networking.

 

‘Hello, may we speak in private?’

 

The woman shows no sign of surprise whatsoever. I don’t feel the same ‘anchor’ thing I get from Xan which means she probably doesn’t have an implant, yet her thoughts return crystal clear. I’m sure she doesn’t have a soul awakening either. Her control is just extraordinary.

 

‘I wonder what you would judge as confidential.’

 

‘I am more interested in how one may join the Fleshcrafter guild’.

 

Her face doesn’t move by a single millimeter, but her amusement shows.

 

‘I hope the font of your knowledge matches your audacity. In short, one must be young and full of potential, or one must be a proven master of body control willing to undergo stringent training. You are neither.’

 

I am not immediately willing to give up. The best way to become a proven master is to be trained by the best guild in the galaxy (according to the guild), in their center of knowledge unmatched anywhere else (according to the guild) for the betterment of all sapients (according to the guild). And although my upbringing made me aware of the dangers of propaganda, I have to admit, everyone I talked to seems to agree that the Fleshcrafters are not completely full of shit.

 

Now what? There is one thing I can offer no one else can hope to match.

 

‘Any specific interest in immortality? Someone who can die and return to life?’

 

‘We have perfected the art of rebuilding a body from limited flesh.’

 

She feels dismissive.

 

‘No, I mean actually dying.’

 

There is a pause. She takes a seat while I do the same, the officer giving me an annoyed look on the side while he continues his conversation. Your problem, bozo.

 

‘Explain.’

 

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

‘I can die and return.’

 

‘Explain more because I find no reason to believe you.’

 

Hmmm. What should I do? Telling her a lie is stupid. Telling her the truth is dangerous. Or is there a way for me to mitigate that risk?

 

‘Can you keep a secret?’

 

I don’t expect much, but she surprises me.

 

‘On my soul and honor as a Master Fleshcrafter, I promise to keep your secret safe unless it poses a direct danger to me and mine.’

 

Well it obviously doesn’t. I feel her soul shiver. Something twists itself through it with such intensity that the Seven Suns woman frowns. I get the impression that what she did is a Big Deal. Oh well. I think it’s a measured risk compared to what I’ve already done.

 

Honestly if I lose the loop because of my big mouth, it will be fully deserved.

 

‘I am the Avatar of Time. Whenever I die, I return back to the beginning of the Year of Judgment with my soul intact, and the body I started with.’

 

She winces.

 

‘At second physical awakening? That would make your success… unless, of course. I always imagined the Avatar of Time would enjoy abilities such as time stop, or acceleration, or even visions of the future, however the possibility of time loops matches one of the twin dragons’ potential, not to mention significantly increasing the pool of potential, successful recruits and the acceptable margin of error allowed… Yes, it tracks, although it also implies we would be in the early cycles. And you would need… a lot of cycles. How many do you have left?’

 

‘That is extremely confidential.’

 

‘Would you say that number is higher than ten?’

 

‘Absolutely.’

 

And thank Chronos for that.

 

‘Excellent. You would still not win within ten attempts, however, with my help and within the scope of your abilities… The loop mechanism is replicable and reliable in its function?’

 

‘… I’d say so, yes? Reality doesn’t appear to change unless I introduce a new variable.’

 

‘Absolutely fascinating with far-reaching implications for the philosophical concepts of predestination and free will. Irrelevant. Let me think.’

 

She does so for a while, and by that, I mean it takes all of three seconds for her to come to a conclusion.

 

‘There is something you can help with provided you are willing to be killed by us. And by that I mean a violent and instant death.’

 

‘Those are my favorites!’

 

She chuckles. The Seven Suns woman frowns, but she still doesn’t comment.

 

‘Well, either you are completely insane and I lost nothing but a few minutes, or we have a possible brilliant future ahead of us. My name is Kimera.’

 

‘Steve.’

 

‘Steev? Where did the Time Dragon find you anyway? You feel far too green, clueless, and incompetent to be one of the two major players. No offense meant.’

 

Bitch.

 

‘None taken,’ I lie.