NOVEL NEXT B3 - Lesson 28: “A Deal With The Devil."
Alpha banked the [Wasp] drone hard as he shot over the rooftops, the city below reduced to a blur of red tile, pale banners, and glinting spearheads. Thankfully, he had sent a drone toward Maggy's position as soon as she had contacted him, allowing him to begin gathering situation data before the others arrived.
From his elevated vantage, the plaza in front of the western Prima Temple boiled with violence. Smoke and sunlight tangled above the chaos; bodies lie around the temple steps — far more than the half a dozen Maggy had first reported — and every heartbeat brought a new shock of magic, flashes of fire and shards of ice, the shuddering thump of earth, or the heavy roar of a bear.
He dipped lower, the drone's wings a high, insectile whine above the fray, sensors wide open. Already, Alpha could see that this was not the simple shakedown Maggy had warned about. Another wave of gang muscle pressed in with blunted weapons from the nearby buildings, and it was obvious that whoever had organized this attack had expected not only a fight, but the need for overwhelming force.
As he circled, another knot of toughs spilled from the mouth of a side alley, moving in formation, axes and cudgels at the ready. A third group forced their way from a bakery's ruined door, using overturned carts as makeshift shields.
Alpha's processors spun, analyzing crowd movement, threat profiles, and the timing of these arrivals. Reinforcements came not in random trickles but in careful bursts, covering each other's flanks, aiming to cut off any escape. It was a net tightening with each breath. The enemy's confidence was as telling as the numbers themselves. Someone with sense — and resources — had choreographed this assault.
He traced the edges of the square, noting where civilians had been shoved aside or spirited away; even the market stalls had been abandoned in neat, hasty order.
His curiosity sharpened, a line of code running cold and clear through his consciousness. He almost pinged Maggy for a report, but the scene below demanded her full attention. She was locked in a duel at the heart of the chaos — her hair wild, lips drawn back in a snarl, staff whirling in blurred arcs. With each swing, a spray of fire-bolts ricocheted toward her opponent, detonating in cracks of sound and sparks. Her adversary, a man with close-cropped hair and a hard, desperate glare, danced among the detonations, his rapier flashing like a silver metronome. Walls of ice sprang up to block the worst of the assault, dissolving under heat or shattering when struck, but always reforming a moment later. Occasionally, the man flicked his blade and sent a trio of razor-thin icicles slicing toward Maggy, forcing her to break off another attack or risk impalement.
Maggy was clever and resourceful — her experience in the Deep having paid off in no small amount - but it was obvious she was being driven back. With each moment, her footwork grew tighter, her attacks more hurried. For every barrier the man conjured, she had to dig deeper, fighting not just him but the exhaustion threatening to slow her hands.
Alpha's gaze flickered to the rest of the square. A distance away from Maggy, a woman in storm-grey robes stood amidst the melee. Power radiated from her in earthen pulses, her eyes hard as gemstones. But even as she threw back thugs with blasts of shifting cobblestone, or sent chunks of pavement whirling like slingstones, they surged for her in greater numbers, latching on and pulling at her sleeves, shouting, swinging clubs and blades in desperate arcs. Every time she took a step toward Maggy and the ice-wielder, more assailants came at her from all sides, or pressed their assault against the massive bear tearing through their ranks.
In another corner, a massive grizzly plowed through the opposition, tossing bodies like dolls, its roar rattling glass in the nearest windows.
Meanwhile, several thugs attempted to outflank the defenders, darting for the temple steps with blades drawn. Alpha's sensors caught a glimmer of golden energy flaring across the threshold — a barrier, seemingly controlled by the tall young man wielding a battered bo staff. He stood rooted just before the doors, sweat beading his brow, but his focus was unbroken. Behind him, a half-circle of children crowded the entryway, peering past his legs with faces a mix of terror and awe.
Whenever a thug closed in, the staff-wielder's barrier pulsed, sending the attacker tumbling down the steps in a cascade of golden sparks. Occasionally, one would get too close, only to be snatched away by something unseen in the shadows: a fleeting hand, a slash of darkness, the brief, startled cry of a grown man vanishing mid-step. Alpha adjusted the drone's sensors, scanning the gloom at the temple's flanks, but saw nothing — no trace of the force removing these enemies from play. Another defender?
He catalogued the scene, mapping threats, calculating angles.
Above the press of bodies and the thunder of combat, Maggy's voice rose, sharp with effort as she launched another volley of flaming bolts at her adversary. The man replied with a slashing arc of his blade, sending a curtain of frost to swallow the fire — steam exploded between them, momentarily obscuring both. The crowd shifted, hesitated. For a heartbeat, Alpha saw the glint of desperation in the man's eyes, the stubborn set of Maggy's jaw, the rolling, uncertain tide of battle.
Below him, the defenders were valiant — outnumbered but unbowed. But the pressure was mounting, and the lines stretched thin. Alpha noted patterns: the way the attackers coordinated, the tactical feints, the relentless pressure on the strongest defenders, all designed to isolate and overwhelm.
Alpha's [Wasp] drone banked high above the fray, wings vibrating with a tension that mirrored his thoughts. He turned his focus away from the fight below and toward the other three fast approaching. "Status report," he clipped out.
Hugo's reply came first, his voice taut but steady. "Suited up and moving. I got the arrays and the extra kit you wanted. Heading straight for you, but I'm weighted down like a mule, and the streets are packed at this time of day. If you want me there in five, I could do it, but we might attract the wrong kind of eyes."
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Alpha's response was curt and clinical. "Stick to the plan. We can't afford more attention, not yet. I need those arrays intact. Ten minutes, no less." He didn't mention the worry gnawing at his core, nor the flicker of frustration at his own limitations. The modular arrays, his pride and obsession for the past few months, remained stubbornly volatile — a problem unsolved.
Their nature meant viable arrays became 'primed' as soon as they were created. Meaning they couldn't be properly stored in a storage ring like a so-called 'artifact' could. They either had to be stored in parts and assembled on-site or transported by hand.
Next, Dr. Maria's voice, breezy but edged with danger. "I'll be there soon, Alpha. Bringing friends, too."
Alpha's eyebrow twitched — in the drone's vision, a simulated gesture. "What sort of friends?"
"Oh, don't worry. I just had a couple of old debts that needed settling."
There was a quiet, toothy satisfaction in her tone that told Alpha not to press further.
Finally, Garrelt checked in, sounding out of breath and no less irritable for it. "I'm still halfway across the city. Tell Maggy to hold the line, and you better not start the party without me."
That made sense. According to the data from Garrelt's communication, the Adventurer's Guild headquarters was more centrally located than Maria's clinic or Alpha's new shop.
Alpha triangulated their positions, updating the overlays in real time. Only to realize a troubling truth.
None of them would make it in time — not before something, or someone, broke.
The [Wasp] drone flicked its wings, scanning the burning lines of battle below.
"I'm going to have to intervene myself," Alpha said to the empty air.
The only question was how?
He hadn't had time to transport any antborgs to the shop yet. Nor did he have time to assemble new [Wasp] units without stripping Hugo of his armor, and even then, he'd have only a handful — not enough to turn the tide. He could target the ice-wielder fighting Maggy, but it was obvious the man wasn't the one directing the other thugs directly.
Suddenly, a thought bloomed in Alpha's mind, and he froze.
Could I…
Alpha took a precious moment to go through his code, carefully skimming through all of his locks and restrictions.
Then grinned a mental grin that would have sent half the Federation into lockdown.
Alpha's gaze zeroed in on the comm feeds Maggy's device had been streaming — not just the encrypted call, but hours of passive recording: her casual introductions, snippets of conversation, snatches of laughter, the quiet, unguarded exchanges of orphans and caretakers that filled the old stone halls. He spooled the logs back, running voiceprint analysis, mood markers, flagging moments of stress and poise, courage and cowardice.
"This Sister Audrea's power and discipline are tempting, but she was too rigid. She might work for this moment, but she would never 'bend' into the shape I would need in the future."
Alpha turned to the bear — or girl, apparently — Ann. "She seems like fun, but too spirited, volatile, and in the throes of transformation, both literal and figurative. Her fury makes her a force of nature, but it also makes her unpredictable. I don't need a repeat of the Homam-2 incident…"
Alpha next tagged their hidden defender, just as another thug was pulled into the shadows. "Bartholomew… stupid name, but cool, careful, and obviously skilled. But too deeply tied to the ringleader. Too many emotional threads, too many unknowns. He's got potential, but it would be risky."
Alpha's focus locked on the tall, awkward youth at the temple's door, staff trembling in his grip, sweat darkening the collar of his robe. Fear vibrated from him in nearly visible waves, but his posture never faltered. Each time a thug drew near, Jonah's barrier flared bright and solid. No matter the odds, he didn't run. He simply held the line, even as his legs threatened to give out.
Alpha grinned.
"Perfect."
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Jonah watched the battle unfold from his position by the orphanage doors, worry twisting in his gut. He saw the same grim pattern Alpha had noticed: even though the defenders held the advantage in raw strength, the sheer number of thugs was wearing them down, inch by inch.
Yet he did not run. The others at the orphanage — himself included — might have once called him meek, timid, maybe even a coward. But Jonah was not foolish. He understood, with icy clarity, why so many of the gang's enforcers kept pressing against his barrier. They wanted the children huddled behind him. If the thugs managed to take even one hostage, the fight would tip in an instant.
Were it not for Bartholomew's shadowy intervention, Jonah was certain that some would have broken through already, no matter how desperately he reinforced his barriers.
He gnawed his lower lip, glancing back to where the youngest kids clustered, wide-eyed and silent. Desperation welling up, he squeezed his eyes shut and sent a prayer skyward, barely more than a whisper in the storm: Please, someone, anyone, help us!
Then, to his astonishment… something answered.
A voice brushed his ear, cold and intimate, though he stood alone on the steps. Yet, when it spoke, it offered no warmth, no promise of rescue, no distant hope — just a single, merciless fact that twisted his stomach into knots:
"They're going to lose."
Jonah flinched as if struck. A tear traced down his cheek before he could stop it. His gaze darted to Ann, still in her monstrous warform, her pelt slick with blood and broken spears jutting from her back. Then to Sister Audrea, sweat gleaming on her dark brow as she stood among the fallen, still unyielding though her strength was clearly fading. Last, to Maggy — memories of childhood tumbling through his mind, of afternoons spent learning magic at her side when others called him too slow, too dull to bother with spells.
He wiped at his tears, forcing himself upright, and croaked out the words. "Wh-who are you? Are you watching us? Please —" His voice cracked, desperate, raw. "If you can, help us. Call for the city guards, adventurers, anyone!"
For a heartbeat, there was only silence. Then the voice rumbled again, deep as stone, calm as a judge.
"I'm afraid I can't do either of those."
Jonah's heart plummeted. "Why not?" he demanded, keeping his voice low as he noticed the children glancing up, anxiety flickering in their eyes.
"I am nowhere near your location, unfortunately. And even if I called for your guards… I am certain they will not arrive in time."
Jonah tried to argue, to force out some protest, but the words stuck in his throat. Deep down, he knew the voice was right. No help was coming.
Another tear slipped free. "Then what do we do?" he whispered, voice barely audible.
The voice was silent a moment longer, as if weighing him.
Then: "If you had the chance to change their fate, would you take it?"
"Yes!" Jonah blurted, the answer rising from some place deeper than fear or doubt.
"Regardless of what you might become in the process?"
He froze, the world narrowing to the pounding of his heart. Something primal in him shrieked in warning, terror blossoming in his gut as his whole body trembled. Still, he forced a shaky breath and nodded.
"If… if you can help me save my family, I don't care what I become."
The voice chuckled, a sound that sent ice down Jonah's spine. "Good."
Then, as casually as if asking about the weather, the voice posed a single question.
"Would you like to make a contract with me?"