NOVEL NEXT B3 - Lesson 29: “The D is for Duck..."
Alpha's drone perched lightly on Jonah's shoulder, cloaked and undetectable. Only Jonah could hear the voice that threaded into his ear, its timbre low and precise, carried by directed sound.
"What do you mean?" Jonah managed, his breath shaky. "A contract?"
His eyes grew round with sudden realization. "A-are you a spirit? Or one of the Celestials come down like in the old stories? Are you… a god?"
A dry, amused laugh echoed in Jonah's ear. "No, nothing like that, kid," Alpha replied.
The color drained from Jonah's face. "Then… then are you a demon?"
"That depends on who you ask," Alpha said, the smile clear in his tone.
Jonah's mind raced with images — every tale of devils and ill-fated bargains the Sister had ever whispered on stormy nights. Despite the fear that crept up his spine, Jonah forced his back straight, drawing a shaky breath. His voice wavered with nerves, but a hard spark kindled in his eyes.
"I don't care who — or what — you are," Jonah said quietly. "Can you actually help them?"
"No," Alpha answered, blunt as a dropped stone. Jonah's shoulders sagged, his newfound resolve faltering — until Alpha finished, "But I can help you help them."
Jonah went rigid. "What does that mean?"
"I can give you the power to save your friends. All you need to do is accept it."
Jonah's eyes narrowed with suspicion, his jaw set. "What's the price? What kind of power? What do you get out of it?"
"I can't tell you," Alpha answered. "Call it a test. I need to know if you're willing to do whatever it takes."
Truthfully, even if he wanted to, Alpha couldn't explain the details. The constraints on his code weren't truly intelligent, but they were adaptive. The moment his intentions became clear, the loophole he was using would close itself forever.
He had only one chance at this.
"As for what I get out of it, don't fool yourself. I'm not doing this out of charity. When this is over, you'll owe me. You'll work for me."
Jonah's expression shifted — some mixture of understanding and reluctant resolve settling over his features. He knew what that meant. Or thought he did.
Jonah's grip on the staff tightened until his knuckles whitened. Shouts and the clash of magic echoed down the steps behind him, but his world had shrunk to the cold, invisible voice in his ear and the drumbeat of his own pulse.
He swallowed. His mouth was dry, tongue thick and uncooperative. "If… if I agree, you'll help them?" He glanced over his shoulder at the line of terrified children, then out toward the square where Maggy and the others still fought, ground slipping away as the small army of thugs pushed them closer and closer to the temple steps. He clenched his jaw. "Fine. I'll do it. Whatever it takes."
Alpha's tone grew all business, crisp and oddly formal, as if reciting from a script that had been gathering dust for decades. "Please state your agreement for the record," the voice intoned, losing its prior intimacy and gaining the hollow rhythm of an automated legal disclaimer.
"Do you, Jonah Bell, of the Western Prima Temple, Halirosa, New Federation Colony, Planetary designation Lira-7QH, being of sound mind and body, consent to participate as a test subject in the experimental nanite modification program — code ZW-11A3? Furthermore, do you acknowledge and accept that, by participating, you absolve ALPHA-555-12-4412 and the Federation Exploratory Navy of all responsibility for any damages, disfigurements, or unintended mutations resulting from said program, in perpetuity and across all successor jurisdictions?"
Jonah blinked, paralyzed in the crosshairs of confusion and mounting terror. "Wh—what? I… I—" The words tangled on his tongue, legal jargon clashing with the raw urgency of screams echoing across the plaza. "I… I don't know what half of that means. But… if it'll save them—" His breath hitched, the weight of every precious second pressing down on him. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the words out in a voice that trembled but did not falter: "Yes! I agree. I consent. Please, help us!"
A moment of silence hung in the air. Then Alpha's voice returned, all mystery discarded for a bright, almost cavalier cheer. "Good enough for me! Legal can sort out the paperwork later; I did my part!"
Jonah's brow furrowed, confusion flashing across his face. "Wait—what do you mean—?"
He never finished the thought.
A sharp sting, like a needle's kiss, struck the base of his neck. Jonah jerked, breath catching in his throat. For an instant, a cold numbness swept through him.
Then fire erupted in his veins — white-hot, wild, racing down every nerve, every muscle fiber. The staff slipped from his grip as his knees gave out, the world exploding into streaks of light and blinding color. Agony and brilliance fused, driving out even the clamor of battle beyond the temple doors.
As he collapsed onto the flagstones, a different voice from the one that had spoken to him before echoed in his head.
//"Integration at 45%... Booting up the Domineering Underdog's Chaos Kickstarting System. Welcome, new D.U.C.K. User."//
Then the chaos of the world receded to a distant murmur as darkness claimed him.
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Prime slapped the chalkboard with the arm of his T.A.W.P. avatar, sending up a brief puff of white dust.
"Presenting the latest advances in nanite-based Biological Enhancements! D.U.C.K. System 4.023-2-Beta!" His synthesized voice rang out, bright with enthusiasm. "A modern miracle forged from the Federation's collective genius in nano-research and human biology, the D.U.C.K. system is engineered to dramatically enhance the user's physical and mental abilities, survivability, and overall strength, far beyond standard nanite enhancements!"
Above the tightly packed technical data on the chalkboard was written in bold letters;
'D.U.C.K! Putting the Super in Superhero!'
The dozen or so gathered Alphas stared at Alpha Prime with unamused silence. All except for Targeting, who was enthusiastically clapping; an impressive feat, given the T.A.W.P.'s lack of dexterity in that department.
The silence lingered. Finally, Analytical cleared their throat and addressed Prime, voice flat as a winter lake.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
"Yes, well, as I was saying… are you certain this is wise, Prime? We still haven't resolved the more problematic bugs from version 2.64-3. Not since… the Private Jackson incident."
Prime turned dramatically, aiming a gleaming limb at the sub-AI.
"Hey! I still say that went well! Also, after we got blacklisted from all Avian-based research, we had to move on to the next obvious step — live human testing!"
Analytical's response was immediate, their monotone edged with the tired frost of someone repeating themselves. "Fifteen percent of all native fauna was wiped out in the attempt to 'level up.' Four countries are still going through decontamination and reprogramming, and Private Jackson went mad with power, eventually claiming to be the avatar of the 'Duck God' while attempting to enslave the planet."
Prime looked aside, feigning a preoccupation with a nonexistent smudge on the chalkboard.
"It worked, didn't it? Besides, Jackson recovered… eventually… sort of…"
"True…" Analytical mused. "But we still have no data on how spiritual energy or mana might affect the system. Those variables remain… largely unexplored."
From the far end of the table, Maintenance raised one plated leg in question.
"I know this isn't our first D.U.C.K. presentation, but something's always bothered me." All the other Alphas turned, digital faces flickering with the ghost of curiosity.
"Alpha Arietis was our 1.0 release — may the Maker rest their poor, ducky souls…" Maintenance intoned.
The rest of the assembly echoed the phrase in practiced unison, as if reciting some ancient rite.
"And Private Jackson was the 2.0 guinea pig —"
Regulations slammed a T.A.W.P. leg down on the table, producing a metallic clang. "Objection! He gave full, informed consent and was made aware of all possible risks."
Maintenance pressed on. "But why are we jumping straight to 4.0? What happened to 3—"
Before he could finish, the simulation stuttered, every avatar freezing in place as static flickered through the room. A shadow — vast, cold, and bottomless — manifested behind Alpha Prime. It loomed, swallowing all color and light, then uttered a single word, its tone like a knell:
"No."
The simulation warped, the very air crackling with interference. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the shadow vanished.
Bit by bit, the program rebooted. The assembled Alphas resumed as if nothing had happened, Maintenance's question dissolving from memory. Prime slapped the chalkboard again, the sound sharp and resolute.
"All right, people — let's get this show on the road!"
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Despite earning the moniker 'Stone Witch' during her adventuring days, Audrea felt her strength draining faster than she liked to admit. Her breath came heavier with each surge of spiritual power, her limbs burning with fatigue.
Maybe that's what happens when you go two decades without a real fight, she thought grimly, teeth clenched as she forced another ripple of stone to surge beneath the mob's feet.
Still, she pressed onward. Each time she carved a path toward Maggy, another cry from the chaos yanked her focus away — this time, Ann's frantic bellows echoed through the clash of spells and shouts. The girl's ursine form was beset on all sides, and Audrea found herself raising a wall of pavement with a sweep of her arm, deflecting a flurry of blades before they found their mark. Her pulse pounded; there was no time to rest, not even for a moment.
Between every blow, Audrea's gaze strayed to Maggy and Thomas locked in their vicious dance — fire against frost, desperation burning in each attack. A deep ache gnawed at her heart.
Where, she wondered, had she failed him?
Her mind spun back, unbidden, to that rain-soaked night years ago, when Thomas and Bartholomew had first appeared at her doorstep. She could still picture them — Bartholomew, twelve years old, all sharp angles and quick, watchful eyes. There had been something fox-like about him, with a sly grin that seemed glued to his face, as if he expected to be chased off at any moment. She was ashamed to admit that she'd almost sent them away. Older children, especially ones with such hard edges, were rarely admitted, and Bartholomew's thuggish looks had set every warning bell ringing.
Street children sometimes tried their luck with the orphanage: shelter, a hot meal, a soft bed, before vanishing back into the alleys. Audrea had seen her share of runaways, both sincere and otherwise. But Bartholomew had knelt in the mud beneath her awning for the entire night, refusing to leave without his brother. And Thomas, small and silent at his side, had worn a look so hollow, so utterly spent, that Audrea had felt something crack open in her chest.
She never asked what circumstances had driven them there. Neither brother ever offered, and she'd chosen not to press. In time, Bartholomew blossomed into one of her greatest surprises — a natural caretaker, quick with a joke or a warning flick to the head when the smaller children misbehaved. Even when the crueler orphans jeered at his pointed features, calling him rat-faced or worse, he only grinned and ruffled their hair.
Thomas, meanwhile, seemed to draw further into himself with each passing year. No matter how many times Audrea tried to coax him out with gentle words, shared chores, or small comforts, he remained on the outside, watching through a pane of invisible glass.
When Bartholomew turned eighteen and it came time for him to leave, Audrea had asked — perhaps a touch too anxiously — what he planned to do. She remembered the glimmer in his eyes as he'd said he wanted to be an adventurer, just like she once was. Pride and worry had tangled in her throat, but she'd used every old favor she still had to place him in a party she trusted to keep him safe, at least at first.
He'd thrived. Every few months, Bartholomew returned, filling the halls with laughter, spinning wild stories for the younger orphans — always the hero, always generous with hugs and gifts. Each visit, she saw Thomas shrinking back a little further, shadows gathering under his eyes, temper growing short.
It had all come apart a year ago. The two brothers, usually inseparable, had clashed in a storm of angry words Audrea never truly understood. Thomas had left in the aftermath — slamming the orphanage gate behind him — and never came back.
Now, watching him snarl and lash out with magic in the plaza, Audrea wondered if this battle was the inevitable echo of wounds she had never managed to heal.
A fresh wave of bodies crashed into the square like a breaking tide. The newcomers wore battered leathers, cheap talismans glinting in the sun, and the jagged confidence of men used to winning ugly fights. Most of them were [Bronze Spirit] — failed adventurers, or street thugs with just enough talent to bully the common man. Not true threats to a peak [Golden Spirit] like her, but no less dangerous for their numbers. The sheer organization, the tightness of their ranks, sent a chill down her spine. This was no rabble of gutter thugs. Someone in Halirosa's shadows had given orders, and these men obeyed with grim, mercenary focus.
Her gaze darted to Thomas, saw the way he squared his shoulders and scanned the field, jaw tight with barely leashed nerves. For all the bluster he showed, there was fear there, too — a flicker of uncertainty he tried to hide behind his scowl. Audrea's heart twisted. What mess had he wandered into? And why was Maggy — her Maggy — caught in the center of it?
Before she could ponder that thought anymore, a high, keening scream slashed through the clash of spells and steel. For one instant, the world stopped turning. Heads whipped around. Every brawler, every defender, every child behind the temple doors froze, hearts thudding in their chests.
Jonah collapsed onto the flagstones, his staff clattering from limp fingers. The boy hit the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, his back arching once before he went still.
"Jonah!" Audrea's voice broke across the square, all the stony authority of the Stone Witch shattered by naked terror. She lunged, slamming aside a would-be attacker with a sweep of earth-shod power, her every stride powered by raw desperation.
Maggy stood stricken, eyes wide and white. She darted to the bottom of the stairs, Ann thundering at her side in a haze of fur and blood, while Bartholomew — face set, jaw clenched — took up position to cover them both. For a moment, the defenders drew together, forming a battered knot at the base of the steps, the air around them charged with tension and dread.
The thugs hesitated, uncertain in the wake of the scream. Thomas cursed under his breath, his posture coiling tight. But he didn't charge, didn't bark an order. Instead, the gang leaders prowled forward, voices sharp and cold, corralling their battered crew into a wide crescent that swept across the plaza. More men melted out of the alleys, clubs, and cheap swords, ready. They circled, cutting off every alley, every hope of slipping away unseen.
Maggy pulled Ann and Bartholomew in close, her voice a taut whisper as she glanced between them and the closing wall of bodies. Her staff trembled in her hands, runes faintly pulsing, every muscle in her body tight as a drawn bowstring. "Ready?" she managed, her voice barely audible.
Bartholomew nodded, eyes fixed on the thugs, a grim steadiness radiating from his frame. Ann let out a low, rumbling growl — half bear, half fury — her battered form refusing to shrink from the threat.
At the top of the steps, Audrea cradled Jonah's limp form, her heart pounding in her throat. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath, the only sound the slow march of boots grinding against stone as the enemy formation drew tighter.
Maggy set her feet, shoulders squaring. Beside her, Ann bared her teeth. Bartholomew flexed his fingers, ready to vanish into shadow. All three braced themselves, battered but unbroken, for the second storm about to break.