Metaworld Chronicles

Shalkar.

The Bunker.

"Do not doubt, Dear Lulu." The hypnotic voice of the Dragon-kin drifted across the table. "Part take! You won't receive another opportunity once it is all gone."

Lulan Li, Chief "Bruiser" at the Bunker, gazed upon the Dragonfruit with awe and anxiety.

The exotic cacti' flesh presented before her by the generous Master Morden was no ordinary offering but a real "Dragon" fruit from the ageless garden of an immortal, dimension-anchoring World Tree, reared with care by a primordial tied to the fabric of the Prime Material.

And there were only four "Dragonfruits" available, meaning if she partakes, she would be consuming the portion originally intended for her Mistress, her saviour, the Regent of Shalkar.

Yet, if she were to forgo the experience, Lord Golos would have double-dipped without a second thought—and her Mistress would have lost the opportunity anyway.

Therefore, is the consumption of a delicious Dragonfruit meant for the Regent a betrayal? That was the Wraith haunting Lulan's mind. She had already engaged the Yinglong to repay her saviour, and in turn, she had acted behind Gwen's back. The outcome had been fortuitous, for she had prevented the worst outcome for Lady Ayxin and Lord Jun—but in the aftermath, she had failed her Mistress.

Not only had she withdrawn from Elizabeth Sobel, she had failed to bring back the severed head of Percy Song, which would have brought happiness to her Mistress by lessening the guilt of Elvia Lindholm.

And now, this fruit…

"Sit, eat." The tempter gnawed at her soul, opening the fruit with his polymorphed hands, letting loose the sweet aroma of vitality and life. "You're an Earthen Mage, correct? This fruit will strengthen your Elemental Affinity. Your defence and offence will improve."

VILE TEMPTATION! Lulan felt her fingers flex and un-flex. "I am… I am not hungry…"

"Just eat it," Lord Golos commanded. "These things don't last once they leave the tree. I'll toss it to the Dwarves if you're not eating it. Slylth brought it for family, Lulan. You're one of us."

One of us? Lulan pondered the Dragon's words. She was the disciple of Ryxi. She wasn't a Vessel, but she had still lived on the mountain, and had conversations with Golos as a junior might have with a disciple-uncle.

Of course, Golos never acted like a senior. Consistently, he was the thuggish, layabout sibling.

A lifetime ago, when her saviour had first spared her, and they still trafficked in the small victories of life like the IIUC, Lulan had fantasised about the notion of family founded in friendship.

But there was a hierarchy now. Lulan's Mistress was the Master of a domain that would only grow. The responsibilities placed upon Lulan's shoulders were unfit for a family member. She was a sword. A shield. A bulwark against the designs of avarice from men and women greedy for her Mistress' accomplishments. To perform her duties, she had to bathe in blood, as the parables foretold, to defend her saviour's interests. If Gwen were to be an Empress one day, she would be the butchering bitch heading the Embroidered Guard.

Take, for instance, this latest flux of refugees from the Russian Federation. Having lost the Urals to an Undead revolt and being powerless to stop the collapse or recover the Frontier, their survivors were now funnelling into the city by the tens of thousands.

When eventually Richard and Petra returned, Lulan suspected there would be more Russian citizens and Mages of various Oblasts in Shalkar than any other human ethnicity. Of course, the Ratkin still outnumbered the humans by magnitudes—but the newly arrived Mages didn't seem to perceive the Rat-kin as a threat. Incredibly, not even the NoMs would give the Rat-kin the time of day, and both avoided the Horse Lords whenever possible.

Comparatively, their passion for the Dwarves and the city's riches bordered on the fanatic, a fact the Shadow Mages of Manipur had been closely scrutinising.

Thus far, scuffles had only involved insults, brawls, and one near-fatal injury to a NoM resolved by Clerics from the Ordo Bath. With increased incidence, Lulan suspected, she would have to bring in heavier-handed methods to force compliance from their prideful Humanist Mages.

The problem was that she was short-handed in terms of Human Arbitrators, as these refugees responded extremely poorly to Strun's Rat-kin enforcers while complying with the Horse Lords out of unquestioning fear. Any additional Arbitrators she did recruit would be from the Urals, and she knew instinctively that such an act would be very short-sighted indeed.

With her mind deeply weighed by responsibilities, she looked to the wisened Dragons, immortal creatures of yore, for some signs of wisdom.

"Eat!" The Thunder Dragon commanded, his Dragon Fear crawling across her skin like little worms. Golos' eyes sparked as he slammed the table, sending the fruit to leap and land with eye-watering bruises.

"Don't be shy, Lulu." The Red Dragon poked a piece of pink flesh against her lips, his mien full of sadistic purpose and designs on her Mistress. "Open up… Ahhhh…"

What could she do? Lulan opened her lips obediently. She was only Human. Maybe the Dragonfruit would help her think.

Her eyes moistened as her mouth filled with the delicious scent of immortal fruit. When would her Mistress be back? Lulan wondered. How long would she have to endure the bullying of these Draconic emissaries?

The Easter China Sea

While two Dragons had their way with a faithful Chief of Security, the Regent of Shalkar underwent a culinary baptism.

"I thank you for this nourishment," Gwen said to the tentacled Fish-Priest as she sat upon the throne originally built for the corpulent figure of Lei-bup. "But there is no need to provide me with your children. I assure you."

In front of Gwen, provided by the Mermen as a sign of obedience and respect, were large, gleaming bowls of living wonder.

Caviar—the hopefully unfertilised eggs of her followers from the stoic Marlins to the brilliant pebble-sized oranges of the Prawn-headed Mer-kin, filled a hundred bowls from one end of a long coral table to another.

"Each offering is from our various tribes and Clans." Lei-bup's tentacles coiled around the cups nervously, careful not to tip the enormous loads. "By consuming them, they will know you have accepted them into the Great Shoal and its Grand Purpose."

Gwen tried to imagine herself swallowing the "caviar" and almost emptied the contents of her stomach.

Sometime after her speech, Lei-bup had invented a new Neologism— "The Grand Purpose". He had explained that this new term would involve the overarching design of her goals for the Shoal, whether to challenge the Seven Kingdoms or to erasure the corruption that has permeated the Deep Sea Mermen's domains.

"Mistress." One of the Mermaids, a Sea Witch dressed in pearlescent, skin-clad suits of interlocking shells, came dangerously close with her spiny garb. "These virgin spawn are from our Clan of Mer, the Nymphs of Kalimon, whose Matriarch was a royal hailed from the Fourth Swell of Isia Eternal. When ingested, old wounds would heal, ailments cease, and youth would return—"

"The Priestess is ageless." Lei-bup reminded his aide.

"And though you are ageless." The Sea Witch quickly adjusted her advice. "The overworld's Star of Radiance is harsh, unlike the soft and loving waters of home…"

Gwen smiled as genuinely as she could. She was a sucker for sashimi, but these are talking, walking, fawning fish! As a Human with principles, Gwen wasn't about to pop an egg from the virgin cousin of one of her followers and let the flavour burst in her mouth like a Starburst. After all, what if she made a habit of it?

Imagine if she had asked Strun for one of his babes? No doubt Strun would give it—but what Modest Proposals would the Jonathan Swift of this world have written about the Bloody Regent of Shalkar?

No. Gwen told herself. The Caviar of the Faithful was a bridge too far.

Seeing her doubt, the Sea Witch fell to her fins like Ariel from Disney. With her overlarge, luminous eyes of yellow amber, her begging played on the heartstrings. "PRIESTESS! Have we offended? Are you not pleased with this offering?"

The other members of Lei-bup's council appeared worried as well. As for Lei-bup, the aberrant creature had declared itself sterile—which was all the better for serving the Priestess' desires until the moment of his sudden but silent death in the maw of the Shoggoth.

"Rise! I am well pleased," she informed the Mermen, hoping she had picked the right sentiment for her Translation Stone. "Thank you for these gifts. I shall collect them for consumption at a later time, and when I do partake, I shall think fondly of those who spawned them."

The appeasement seemed to work, for finally, the attention of her followers shifted from the joy of feeding her unborn children to the enormous sand-pit at the centre of the conference chamber.

"Lei-bup, you said once that you have an idea of where the tainted Mermen are coming from?" As the only member with two legs and no tail, she adjusted her posture to better address the council. "Show me."

Lei-bup waddled into the shallow quicksand. A pair of attendant Sea Witches sang in low notes until the grains began to shift, transforming into a map Gwen did not recognise.

"This is the seabed of the Yellow Sea," her High Priest explained with forbearance, tracing with a tentacle the outlines of what she guessed was the coast of the Korean peninsula. Large swathes of green, she recognised, were kelp forests; the others, Gwen possessed no idea. "The largest concentration of the Undead Mer can be found here…"

An orb of scarlet sand lifted into the air, somewhere east of Dalian, where she had first shocked the world in the IIUC.

"… We have also found traces of the Undead infestation in the Shoals here—in the Yellow Sea—and here, in the region known as the Sea of Japan."

A dozen spheres, darker in hue, lifted into the air.

"Where is the Kingdoms' outpost?" She asked. Though the Seven Kingdoms had their home in the Elemental Plane of Water, it was well known that each had sizeable establishments within the Prime Material. After all, Terra was largely a sphere of water—one of the key motivators for the Seven Kingdoms to claim the Prime Material as an extension of their domain.

The map changed again, completely disorientating her knowledge of geography.

"Ghurghdp Hiij, the Bright Reef, lies here," Lei-bup spoke like a man gargling stones. "A Great Shoal guards this place, overseen by the Elemental Prince Nin Pak. He is a formidable scion of the Fifth Swell, though I do not believe he could stand against the weight of the Grand Purpose and the visitation from our Lord and Saviour, the Shoggoth."

"A Great Shoal…" Gwen was reminded of another Great Shoal on the southern edge of the globe. Swells or Vel, for the lack of better translation stones, were portals into the Prime Material. The notion of five was literal, pertaining to the fifth such portal made accessible by fate, engineering, or both—into Prime Material. Therefore, the Towers had advised that it was best to consider the Mermen cities as Forward Operating Bases, while each Swell was something like an expedition. The only reason the Fire Sea was world-famous while the Swells were hardly known was that Humans had little interest in unseen catastrophes unavailable for short-term profit. "What's their relationship to the Crown of Corals? Are there Dragons involved with these underwater politics? In Auckland, we had a whole ordeal with Miommiriorthyr's scions."

"The Elemental Princes of Nin hail from a different Kingdom to the scions of He who Slumbers in the Crown of Corals," Lei-bup explained in his slow, droning way. "The Sorceror Nin is a sly Sea Witch with the blessings of ancient Sea-kin long dormant in the Plane of Water. Bright Reef city, like ours, is a Leviathan—but older by many millenniums.

Gwen pondered the fact. Assaulting the city was not a part of the future she had envisioned in the first place—for her Master had already done that to various degrees and achieved little else apart from a multi-decade concession of peace. For the problem to evolve—for better or worse, she had to find alternative methods.

"And are they having problems with the Undead?"

Lei-bup moved aside to reveal one of the broad-shouldered Wave Riders serving as the Shoal's Vanguard. "Commander Tomasin hails from the Bright Reef. Perhaps he can tell you more."

The hulking Mermen with a comically small head and a nose that tapered off into a sharp, sword-like spine laid flat his body in supplication.

"Rise," Gwen commanded, feeling queasy in her new role as The Patron Saint of Fishes. "Speak truly, and I shall grant you a boon of life."

The giant Mermen opened his mouth, and a sharp, pipsqueak gargle emerged. Stifling her mirth, Gwen focused instead on using her Divination Sigil to process the expressive powers of her Translation Stone. For someone who had to deal with Mermen, her Master's Stone extensively possessed an excellent affinity for Mer.

"I was the expeditionary Captain of the Outriders," the high-pitched, child-like voice of the Mermen explained. "My fishes and I were abandoned when a civil strife erupted between the city's high factioneers, vying for the control of the Vel. The First Kingdom's scion, High Prince Sarkonnian, desired submission from Nin Pak. The two came to blows, and many fishes fled the ensuing cataclysm between the two Elemental Princes."

"Sarkonnian…" Gwen teased the tongue with the word. "Is he a Dragon?"

"She is a scion of the Great Manta whose body enfolds the Elemental Plane of Water, or so the Priests of the First Vel advertises." The Mermen's tone turned sardonic. "As a Princeling of the First Vel, few dare to challenge her. The Fifth Vel is not her domain; nonetheless, she had arrived claiming as such, and the consequence is anarchy and civil conflict…"

Which—Gwen supposed, was the natural way of things. As her lecturers in Marine politics had often cited, the Mermen hate Humans on an unconditional basis, but the hatred was more generalised into something of a Holy War, a vague belief most Mermen exercised—even if they had never seen a land-dweller in the entirety of their lives.

In the ocean, the more immediate concerns were always other Mermen—with each tribe and Clan allied with larger Clans and Kingdoms into Shoals, and the Shoals war eternally for spoils and territory—which was why Humanity was left to develop unmolested.

"This is very interesting," Gwen said. "But what does it have to do with our interest?"

"Before I fled for the free seas," the Outrider Captain spoke as though in a confessional. "We heard that Sarkonnian was taking masses of Mer and sending them somewhere—both depleting the forces of the Fifth Vel and using the deportations to create space for the First Vel. At first, we imagined that she was organising a land raid for resources—but we never saw the kin who Sarkonnian's mantas had transported away—or received news of their death."

"Do you believe they were been… given to the Followers of Juche?" Gwen vaguely gestured toward the map's north.

"I do not know." The Merman's facial fins flapped in distress. He guided Lei-bup in tracing the route followed by those he once knew, then laid himself flat again. "Please punish this one for his lack of knowledge, Pale Priestess."

"Your informative is valuable." Gwen felt her spine chill. She knew a Merman Elemental Prince had to be in cahoots with the Necromancers, but now her suspicions had some bite. "Approach—"

The Mermen shimmied closer, watched by the Sea Witches, the ancient Crab-kin, and the mossy Sea Turtle.

Gwen slid off her gauntlet and then distilled a small sphere of brimming Essence held together by the telekinetic energies of her brimming mana.

"Blessed are those who pursue the Grand Purpose." She leaned closer, allowing the scintillating ball to lower until it fell into the half-open mouth of the Merman.

The others around her swallowed as the Merman gulped and gurgled.

"Aah—ah—Gurrrghgh—" The Sword Fish Mer moaned as her Essence, purer and greater now in the advancement of her mana maturity, invigorated his Creature Core in a way only the blessings of Almudj could manage. There was a sound of moving bone, muscles becoming firmer, and then the warrior rose to his fins, his eyes staring into the beyond.

The phenomenon wasn't a Pokemon evolution—Gwen knew that—though the purity of Almudj's Essence nourished the Core, giving creatures an existential elevation akin to a permanent runner's high.

A tendril attached to the Merman's back twirled, then struck itself back into its host's flesh, nourishing itself upon her Essence. A lung-deep grunt followed as the Mer endured the invasion—then a second appendage, blessed with several eyes and a saw-barbed tongue, lashed out into the air, tasting the warmth of its allies.

All but Lei-bup took a fin-step away from the squirming Merman. The High Priest watched on, his many tendrils writhing in harmony with the flesh-seeking barbs, nodding with a comprehension Gwen could not begin to guess.

"Thank you, Mistress of Pale Flesh!" the Mer wept milky tears of white-blue gratitude, though Gwen was predisposed to believe it was from the discomfort of losing an organ to the Void parasite rather than from appreciation.

She patted the Merman on the head, spoke a few more words of platitude, then bid the Mer rest. When she returned her eyes to her council, she found herself at the centre of hopeful, passionate devotion.

"So we have a location and an objective. However, I am unlearned in how the Mer make war," she confessed to her fishy counsels. "Lei-bup, how shall we approach this matter?"

"We shall need some time to recover from the expedition at Tianjin, to replenish our numbers, and to instil Faith in the new members," her High Priestess explained with great patience. "Pale Priestess, pardon my ignorance, but you as well would require the rites of sorcery necessary for deep ocean dwelling."

"I suppose that's true." Gwen regarded the pearl-like interior of their council chamber. "Mermen Magic doesn't work on Humans?"

"It is crude magic we use on captives." Lei-bup bowed his head. "I do not dare to gamble with the Pale Priestess' comfort."

"Right," Gwen acknowledged the Merman's wisdom. "How long until the Shoal would be ready to make the journey?"

"Four… five moon cycles." Lei-bup raised one tentacle after another. "Restoration of our lost numbers, indoctrination of the recruits, scouting a path into the Fifth Vel, and readying our young one for a prolonged siege against its elders. Many will perish. But that is the price of the Grand Purpose."

"I'll be taking care of that when the time comes." Gwen pictured herself riding at the head of the Leviathan, pulled by a one-Shoggoth sleigh. If the Shoal's earlier impact on the Prime Material foretold things to come, her synergy with her Void Ally would soon reach a level beyond Human understanding of Spellcraft.

To breach the fabric of space and time through willpower and mana alone… was the domain of beings like Tyfanevius and Sythinthimryr. Of course, hers was an admixture of factors unique to herself—while a Dragon's eventual access to the raw energies of their Elemental Plane was a birthright.

As for how The Accord might react… She wasn't a member yet.

That said, she couldn't help but wonder what the Bloom in White might think of a breach in the Prime Material when used to stopper an ever larger breach from the Elemental Plane of Water. In her original land down under, they had introduced cane toads to eat the sugar beetles and foxes to eat the rabbits.

Hopefully, introducing the Shoggoth to the untold billions of Mermen in the Fifth Vel would go down... just as well.

Shalkar.

Alexander Fishenko, "Fish" to his friends, lived as a sleeping Sparrow under the Committee for State Security. In Shalkar, he was an ordinary, unassuming Fabricator under the employ of the Dwarven construction teams working day and night above and under the domain of Shalkar.

Unlike the other refugees who had arrived later, Alex was one of the first Mages who volunteered in London. Originally, his goal had been to compile a dossier on the meteoric rise of the Isle of Dogs. Unfortunately, Charlene Ravenport's entry and the Crows' arrival had Alex spooked enough to find employment elsewhere.

That elsewhere was Shalkar.

Frantically, in the tiny abode of his rented studio apartment, Alexander Fishenko composed his report with his back turned toward the door, half hidden in a nook connected to the kitchen.

"To the Deputy Chairman..."

The strands of silvery Divination woven into the Message he sent "home" to urge his "family" to come to Shalkar were composed of a code only Sparrows of a certain rank could comprehend.

"This city is a rich jewel that must be absorbed into the folds of the Federation. Its true roots lie in the old lands of the Rat-folk, once belonging to the Czarist imperialists. Our maps from the Great War should still indicate that the Commonwealth has not laid claim to the Frontier, nor was it claimed or recovered by any other human nation. This new jewel in the desert would enrich our nation as much as our losses in the Urals, so it must go ahead. I say this because even now, refugees from our Oblasts filter into the city daily, sometimes by the hundreds, other times in the thousands. I have seen representatives from NoMs to highly-ranked Mages keeping their heads down. When enough of us are in this region, I will organise a Federation Nationalist movement and gather our comrades. Comrade, if we can vote on the ownership of the new city—we should be able to acquire the resources here bloodlessly..."

"The resources here, Comrade! You cannot begin to perceive the incredible riches here. The Rat-kin, those worthless and filthy labourers, tirelessly tend to plants blessed by immortal Elves. These seem to reach maturity both quickly and without detriment to the soil. From my sources in the trading department, these sanctified produce are sold to China and Europe for exorbitant prices in the hundreds and thousands of HDMs while costing the city almost nothing to grow."

"At the same time, the tithings from the surrounding tribes of Demi-humans could fill a dozen warehouses to the brim. I have seen Raw HDMs as large as vehicles carted into the bay by Centaur Raiders. Materials from Magical Creatures take so long to categorise, the Diviners in charge are paid double the rate of a Tier I city to ensure the shipments going out of New Shalkar are fulfilled."

"Below the growing city and its oasis facade lies an underground network connected to the Dwarven infrastructure known as the Low-Ways. I understand that we have long since eradicated the presence of Demi-humans near our capital—but these are the ones responsible for the Mageocracy's newest transportation systems. Controlling this node, or even destroying it, will signifcanlty impact the trans-European-Asia trade currently putting on chokehold on our exports. The Dwarves also have their most prized technology here, including an original Fabricator Engine, which I believe the Committee for Magi-Tech Acquisition would risk their lives to attain."

"Most importantly, the Regent assigned to this place is only twenty-one years of age. TWENTY-ONE! A mere lass, Comrade. Can you imagine such a thing in the Motherland? She is well-connected, however, and powerful in her own right, even if naive and inexperienced in the rulership of a city. I want to remind the committee not to take her lightly, for she is the Void Sorceress after that great villainess, Elizabeth Sobel, and is connected to the same lineage. Her abilities as a Strategic War Mage are many, and I have included this in a separate dossier for the Deputy Commitee for Warfare Doctrines."

"Lastly, there are notable beings here in Shalkar, particularly a Thunder Dragon ally of the Regent, which must be bribed or neutralised if we wish to take the city in the name of our nation. To move toward these efforts, I will organise a Worker's Union as soon as more of our comrades arrive from the Urals."

The final threads of Divination ceased to glow. With some effort, Alexander compiled the Message until the hidden details were truly woven into the mana of the Message itself.

Knock—Knock—!

The sudden sound from the door almost unravelled the final few seconds of his spell.

"Fish, mate! We're headed to the Dwarf Bar! You coming?" The voice of his "friends" from England permeated the thin door. They were heavy drinkers, but few could drink a Russian under the table, and Alex was famous for his liver even back in the Tower.

"Coming, lads! Don't you dare start without me!" Alexander made sure his East End accent was as genuine as could be.

Sealing the spell, he sighed. If anything, the Dwarve Brew here was to die for.