NPC for Hire-[Gamelit|Simulation|Multi-genre]

"AURI!" Fen shouted, spinning toward the chaos. "Where are you?"

Her voice came—faint, but real. "Fen, I'm here. They're trying to delete me… purge me from the system."

Relief surged through him like a jolt to the chest. It hit fast, electric—but it didn't last. The feeling was too raw, too thin. He couldn't just hear her. He had to reach her. Pull her back.

"Hold on. I'm coming."

The sky was falling. Starless horrors rained down in waves, their twisted forms shrieking with static that clawed at the edges of his mind. Fen drew his sword without thinking, slipping into a stance so familiar it anchored him. The glitch pulsed through him, wild, and overwhelming. He could feel it pulling at him, tempting him to lose himself in the flow.

But the weight of the hilt in his hand kept him centered.

One of the anomalies dove, a blur of jagged wings and corrupted code. Fen struck clean and true but the blade passed through. Nothing.

The creature passed through his arm, raking a jagged wound across his shoulder as he dodged too late. "For servers' sake," he hissed through gritted teeth.

Above, the sky was a storm of shrieking shapes. Dozens of anomalies now circled him, peeling away from the rift like birds of prey. Others had turned their attention to the evac ships—dark forms tearing into hulls, scoring deep rents in metal plating. None had gone down yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Panic surged, breath hitching in his throat. He couldn't be everywhere at once. He couldn't stop it all.

Then—Auri's voice, sharp and steady, cut through the noise in his head.

"Focus, Fen. Block out the fear. Block out the doubt. See them for what they are."

He exhaled. Rolled to the side dodging the creatures follow up strike. He let the blade follow his intent in a smooth upward arc.

This time, he saw it.

Not just the creature, but the thread behind it—a tether, anchoring it to the code like a parasite. What he'd once mistaken for a glitch was no longer just reacting to him; it moved with him, through him. A resonance pulsed beneath the world's surface, and now he was tuned to it.

The sword felt right in his grip as he struck, slicing clean through the creature's connection to the code. It shrieked, limbs spasming as its form began to unravel. But the blade was only the beginning.

The resonance flared around him, responding to his will. He raised his free hand, focused, and released the surge. A blast of raw energy slammed into the unraveling anomaly—shattering it in a burst of static and light.

The next anomaly dove, and this time, he didn't swing. He reached out his hand. The air shimmered. Threads of energy unspooled from his fingers, wrapped the creature midair, and wrenched it sideways. Its form shattered, folding in on itself with a sound like a scream cut short.

Fen moved through the chaos—half blade, half storm. He slashed one creature in two, then pivoted, flinging another out of the sky with a surge of power that cracked the air around him. Every movement flowed into the next. His breath came ragged, but steady. Blood slicked his side, his arms. He bled, but he didn't stop.

The anomalies circled like vultures, but Fen held his ground in the center. He wasn't giving an inch. This wasn't a gift. It wasn't part of the simulation. It was something he'd claimed. It was raw and unstable but he wasn't letting it go.

Above, more horrors poured from the rift. They gathered, shifting like a broken constellation, pulsing with menace. And then, deep beneath the noise of it all—he felt her again. Auri was struggling, he could feel the system try to erase her.

Fen… help. Her voice pushed into his mind like a beacon in fog. They're trying to drag me away again.

His heart slammed against his ribs. "Auri! I can't see you—give me a sign, anything! Just tell me where to go and I'll get to you."

For a second, nothing.

Then a sharp flash split the sky. A vertical ribbon of blinding white carved a seam in the air, just above him.

"There," he breathed.

He didn't hesitate. He lunged forward and plunged his blade into the fracture. The moment it connected, a surge of energy erupted outward like a shockwave through frozen code. The world stilled, time stretching thin.

Then—

"Fen! You saw it—thank the old compilers." Auri's voice rang out, bright and triumphant. "I had to overload three containment threads and burn half my cached memory. Took everything short of going Super Saiyan to pull that off, but hey… you wanted a sign."

He blinked through the light as her form flickered into view—translucent at first, stabilizing fast. "Yeah, well, next time maybe just wave or something," he said, a wide smile cracking across his face. "I almost missed it."

She swirled around him, laughter rising like a spark. "You? Miss my grand entrance? Please."

His relief cracked wide, but guilt followed fast. "Auri... I'm sorry. We tried to find a way. We didn't want to leave you."

Her glow flared. "Don't," she said sharply. "You didn't leave me—I asked you to go, to fight a different fight. That was my choice. Don't steal it from me with your misplaced guilt."

She rose, taking the form of an imperious, queenly figure, blazing with renewed fury. "Now I'm back, I'm pissed off, and we've got scores to settle. Let's show them who we are, Fen."

With a flick of her wrist, beams of searing light tore into the sky, scattering anomalies like ash.

Fen grinned, raising his sword, guilt thawing into resolve. "With pleasure, my dear."

He charged into the fray with her at his side. Sword and light cut together, severing tethers and unraveling code. The resonance still surged, but now it moved with purpose—attuned to their connection. She didn't just fight beside him; she moved with him, their rhythm seamless, their strength no longer separate but shared.

Above, Auri blazed—not cold or mechanical like the system's constructs, but vivid and alive. Her presence cut through the chaos with clarity, not corruption.

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Fen moved in sync beneath her, his power no longer clawing at the rules but flowing through them, fluid and focused. With Auri beside him, it wasn't something he stole. It was something they made.

A shadow dove for him from the side—claws stretched wide—but before it reached him, Auri streaked across the sky and split it in two with a blade of light.

"Thanks for the save," he muttered, already turning to drop another horror with an upward slice.

"You're welcome. That's your one complimentary rescue per dramatic reunion. I'll bill you for the rest later," she said, joy and playfulness twined in her tone.

They moved as one—light and steel in rhythm. She covered his blind spots. He filled the gaps in her line. Two more swooped down—Auri blasted one into a crackling heap, while Fen ducked low and sliced through the other. It shrieked, dissolving in midair.

"Keep up, Auri," Fen called, grinning despite himself.

"Oh, I'm just getting started."

The comms crackled to life, Seraph's voice coming through sharp and breathless. "Fen, I'm in the Carmen. She's prepped for takeoff. What the hell was that light show? I thought you were the only one down there!"

Fen deflected a lunging anomaly, barely breaking stride. "Oh, hey—great news. Auri's back. And yeah, you can blame her for the fireworks."

Silence stretched for a heartbeat. Then Seraph's voice returned, a little stunned. "Wait. What?"

"Hi, Seraph," Auri chimed in, casual and sweet. "Nice light show, right? Just a little something I picked up on the way back from almost dying."

"Auri—" Seraph's voice caught. "Sparks, it's really you. You're here. You're actually…" She trailed off, then let out a breath. "And you're trying to act normal. Yeah, that's not fooling anyone."

"Oh, fine," Auri said, her tone shifting just enough to let the warmth through. "I'm glad to hear from you too. Now let's get out of here so we can have a proper reunion."

Fen cut down another anomaly and veered toward the edge of the platform. "Seraph, we're going to need a pickup. We're too far to reach the Carmen from here, and if you stay grounded much longer, you're going to get shredded. Get airborne now and circle around. Get ready to catch us, we're going to jump off the east end of the platform."

There was a beat of disbelief. "Jump? Off the edge? Are you serious?"

"I'm serious," Fen said. "And we don't have time to argue. Trust me."

Auri blasted another horror from the sky, clearing their path. "No pressure, Seraph, but maybe double-check the padding in that cargo bay. I'd rather not scrape Fen off the bulkhead."

"With a plan like this, he's lucky if that's the worst that happens. And for the record, it's your turn to babysit him—I've been covering while you were gone."

Fen sliced through another anomaly while backpedaling. "You both know I'm still on comms, right?"

In perfect unison: "Oh, we know."

Auri added, "We just don't care."

Fen grunted. "Fantastic. Maybe I'll just stay down here, then."

Auri, lighting up another creature mid-flight, said, "Stop stalling and get ready to jump. And for the record? This plan is absolutely insane."

Seraph's voice crackled back. "Crazy or not, I'm almost in position. Fen, tuck and roll when you land."

He sighed, resignation creeping into his voice. "Thanks, Seraph. Really feeling the support."

The edge of the platform loomed.

"Now, Fen!" Auri shouted.

He leapt.

Wind howled past, the world spinning in freefall. Auri didn't jump—she soared, trailing sparks of light as she shot after him.

For a heartbeat, there was only the fall.

"Then—Carmen Aeternum appeared beneath them, rising fast, cargo bay open wide like arms braced to catch a falling friend."

Fen hit the deck hard, shoulder-first, pain detonating through his ribs. His breath fled—but he was alive.

Auri drifted down beside him, untouched, glowing, her form settling like a light shifting from warning red to soft blue—as if her whole presence had exhaled, easing from crisis into comfort.

"Well," she said, voice swirling with mirth, "that was graceful—like a falling dodo. Like Seraph said, you should've tucked and rolled."

Fen wheezed a laugh, already pushing to his feet. "Yeah, thanks for that."

Auri danced around him, brighter than she had been in cycles, practically glowing with the joy of their reunion. Her energy was contagious, swirling with exuberance as she twirled effortlessly through the air.

"Come on, don't look so glum, Fen. We made it," Auri said, her voice a bright melody, relief wrapped in warmth. "I'm back. You're breathing. The ship's not on fire. Let's call that a win."

Despite the ache in his ribs and the aftershocks still ringing through his bones, Fen managed a smile. "Yeah," he said, glancing her way, reaching out to her. "It's really good to see you."

Auri spun around his hand with a soft flicker, the digital warmth of her form brushing his skin. "I'd say 'don't get sentimental,' but honestly? I missed you too."

Seraph's voice came over the comms, calm but clipped. "Hate to cut in, but we've got incoming. Anomalies are following us into orbit. We're not clear yet."

Fen exhaled and moved toward the console, shoulders setting with purpose. "Right. Back to work."

Auri's glow brightened, sharp and ready. "Later, then."

As the pain ebbed and the ringing in his ears began to clear, Fen braced a hand against the bulkhead and looked around, steadying himself. The Carmen Aeternum hummed beneath his boots—steady and alive. The familiar rhythm grounded him. He took in the curved walls and the soft gleam of the interior, and despite everything, a flicker of pride stirred.

She wasn't just a freighter, but his pride and joy.

Crescent-shaped stabilizer arcs stretched from wingtip to wingtip, looping through a narrow flat tail where the engines pulsed with quiet strength. Thin, muted-yellow lines traced the edge of her black hull, accenting the pointed nose and hinting at her speed. She was fast. Elegant. Deadly when needed. A cargo ship by birth—but like him, she'd evolved into something more.

The gull-wing cargo doors were closing now, and with a deep mechanical hiss, they sealed behind them. Fen rose to his feet as the deck shifted beneath him—the ship climbing fast.

He sprinted for the cockpit just in time to catch the shimmering flash of the atmosphere peeling away around them, shield systems glowing as they deflected the superheated gases. The stars reappeared, sharp and cold.

As he reached the spacious cockpit, he dashed to the nearest tactical console keying it to show the rear camera feed, the view made his breath catch.

The rift had grown monstrous.

What had once been a dark wound in the sky was now a churning abyss. The planet below—what little remained of the abandoned tutorial sector—was dissolving. Landmasses fractured and fell upward, breaking apart into glittering fragments of code that vanished like smoke. Tendrils surged behind them, kilometers wide, curling and branching with terrifying intent.

Fen switched the display to active radar and sensor mode. Pings flared across the screen—dozens of egress ships were already clear of the atmosphere and burning hard toward the nearest jump point. They'd made good distance while the Carmen had stayed behind to pick him up. But not all the tendrils were following the Carmen.

Some were fractaling out toward the fleeing vessels.

"Auri," Fen said, his voice tight as his fingers gripped the console, "they're going to tear those ships apart. Can you do anything from here to help them?"

"Not directly. Not unaided," Auri replied, drifting over his shoulder. Her tone had shifted—sharp, calculating. "But I can interface with the Carmen's defense and weapons systems. Route me in—I'll need a minute or two but I may be able to modulate our weapons to pack a punch against those disgusting frags of code."

Fen nodded and began the override process, fingers flying across the console. Auri's glow flickered beside him, already syncing to the Carmen's systems, parts of her form streaming into nodes and junction points like data finding its home.

His eyes darted to the long-range scanners.

The egress ships were still accelerating, their drives blazing like spears of light. But the anomalies were rising to pursue them—massive tendrils spiraling skyward, splitting into smaller, faster shapes. They fractaled out like corrupted lightning, chasing the fleeing ships with terrifying precision.

Not all of them were heading for the egresses. Some were still trailing him.

"They're not done with us," he muttered.

The Carmen's engines hummed louder, the ship banking slightly as it adjusted orbit. His breath caught as one of the tendrils speared straight through the space where their ship had just been—narrowly missing.

They weren't out of danger yet.