His plan was actually an iteration of a previous one. But this time, the conditions were right. And he had to do something radical to solve this situation.
Just killing one of these vermin had taken so much effort from two of them. What if there were more? And who was to say the swordsman won't lose?
Were they supposed to wait here like coal waiting to be dumped in the furnace? No, not after all this. He shook his head repeatedly, limping towards Ambrose.
All the golden spiral were already spent, and Ambrose seemed worse for wear already, "Newbie, that's all I got for now." he shouted, with not as much spark in his voice.
Vern nodded and gazed at the second zealot, whose head was already patching itself back up. The man would be back in the fight very soon.
Then he gazed up, peering past the opening that connected this hellhole to the night sky. Whatever was left of the spiral barrage had changed its collective shape to surround the swordsman from all angles.
It seemed their foe had changed his priorities and was determined to kill the swordsman, no matter what.
Not something Vern could help with, but this settled it. Only one enemy was left in the basement, so Vern didn't need to be involved in the fighting anymore.
He would instead enact his plan. Up until now, they were reacting to all the surprises thrown at them, playing right in the hands of the enemy, barely coping with their tactics.
"Ambrose, I have an idea, but I will need your help to keep the enemies busy," said Vern, trying his best not to sound authoritative. He didn't want his ally going against him at such a critical juncture just because he couldn't be more polite.
"What've you got?"
Vern signaled toward Esther with his eyes, and a look of realization dawned on Ambrose's face. "Second time's the charm, eh?" he chortled, rushing towards the zealot that slowly stood back up, "Go for it. I got your back, newbie."
Perfect.
Indeed, that was his plan. That dome blocking their transmission signal was no more, and the swordsman was keeping their foe busy enough.
However, this time, Vern knew how to optimally use different parts of the station to send that distress signal with the least amount of preparation and cost.
In his stability Vision, he had been taking extra care to not let any of the essential components come in harm's way. They were needed to start Steamscript again, after all.
The only problem was…Esther and her lack of Representation.
But he had an idea.
As he hurried back to where she was lying, his surroundings continued to be abused unceasingly. It was the fusion of utter darkness and golden radiance sprinkled with sparks of blue.
Sometimes, it echoed the sound of metal hitting metal. At other times, it replayed the bloodcurdling screams followed by maddened chanting.
As surreal as it was, he kept moving. He was a fucking bookworm, for steam's sake. What was he doing fighting these religious fanatics?
But he instantly banished the insecure ramblings of the imposter inside him and knelt down next to Esther.
She lay there in a fetal position, her vivid red locks falling over her metallic Cogwings. The wings fluttered with little strength as they moved to retract into their sheath, only to be disrupted by the broken mechanism and shattered pieces.
Her otherwise graceful countenance was scrunched up, marked by an unhealthy paleness. Her lips opened up every other second, only to close inaudibly, and her arms that held her head shivered.
Looking at her in such a defenseless and distressed state, a sense of pity gushed within him.
So he gently gripped her shoulder and shook her body, "Esther. Esther, can you hear me?"
"Esther. It'll be alright. I have a plan to end this, once and for all, but I will need your help."
Her breathing grew rapid, and she mumbled something, "i…a"
Vern closed in, his unruly hair hanging above her face as he strained to hear her words, "…via…Livia"
Livia?
Why did it feel like he had heard that name before?
she continued, her voice growing louder and anxious, "…please don't take her. no. No. NO. NO!" and that's when her eyes snapped open, and she stared back at Vern from mere inches away.
His mind was still repeating that name, trying to figure out why it felt familiar. This was why he liked his notepad. He should—
"Vern, we only just met. Isn't it a little too early and a little too unromantic to force yourself on a dying girl?"
Uh. Umm. Fuck!
He jerked back instantly, and his cheeks flushed red. Taking a deep breath, he rushed to clear the misunderstanding, "Esther, no. It's nothing like that. I was just trying to listen to what you were saying. You were in so much pain—" that's when he noticed her weak smile and paused.
She looked at him with what could only be called an amused smile. After staring at each other in silence for a couple seconds, she shifted her gaze and looked at the sky through the only opening before focusing back on him.
"So it didn't work, huh?"
It? Does she mean the Third Rune? He pondered before replying, "It did—"
She interrupted him with a weak voice, looking slightly offended, "Then why are you here!?"
Vern found himself stumped by the question. He himself didn't understand why he was back before the fight was over, even though he'd spent over an hour in there.
Misinterpreting his silence, she continued, her eyes drooping, "I am sorry. I...am sorry, Vern." she paused, then spoke up right when Vern was about to, "I should've done more. But I know how…"
Cough Cough
Her body trembled with each of her coughs, but she persisted in speaking, "I know how this ends. They'll change me. Just like my sister…I don't…"
Cough Cough
Blood trickled down her lips as Vern tried interrupting her another time, only to be shut down by her glare. How could the glare of such a weak person be so persuasive?
"End it, Vern. Before they turn me. Please kill me—"
"Okay. Shut up, Esther. Calm down and listen to me. I have a plan," he interjected, not letting her ramble on anymore.
Her expression looked like she wanted to protest, but her body relaxed in his grip. Not flaming her fancies anymore, he started, "That priest or whatever isn't blocking the skies anymore. If we send another signal right now, it will reach its destination without any trouble."
Her expression, which had turned hopeful for a second, became utterly downcast as she curled into herself further and closed her eyes, "Thanks for trying, Vern. But sometimes, we need to accept when we've lost the bet."
Vern's expression crumbled. She didn't have one iota of trust in him, eh? That hurt a little. Not letting his unnecessary feelings color his words, he continued to persuade, "Esther, do you really think I would waste our time with stupid endeavors? I said I have a plan. Not just an idea."
"Vern, you don't get it. I don't have enough representation, and most of the station isn't even working anymore. You're not even a real Observer—"
.
.
.
"…I can't see you in my perception. Did you…?" she murmured, staring at his kneeling figure.
He nodded, "You didn't let me explain. I shaded my perception according—"
"Nuh, nah," she interjected, light returning to her eyes. She tried and failed to push herself up as she continued, "Hahh. Don't waste time going over all that right now. I can see we don't have time. If you've got something good, just shoot."
Vern nodded as he cushioned her fall and assisted her back up, "Sure."
Soon, he managed to help her sit against a wall—rotated to her side because her wings made it hard to sit straight. Right as he was about to pull back, however, she grabbed his collar feebly and whispered in a trembling voice, "You're not giving me false hope…right?"
This…
This was a conundrum. He didn't like setting false expectations. His plan had accounted for how to solve each potential roadblock, but nothing could be said for sure. He didn't…but then he stopped overthinking it and sighed before replying, "Trust me."
He caved in, and she let him go. It just meant he had to make it work no matter what. Vern quickly masked his uncertainty with a veneer of calm and extended his hand toward her.
She looked back with a dubious expression but still extended her palm nonetheless, "What are you doing?"
He shook his head, "Not me. You. You have to initiate Thought Synergy."
She bit her lip, deep in thought, and then replied after a couple seconds, "Are you sure? You want me to spend the last vestiges of my Representation just so you can get into my head? Because if I run out of Representation, it's…it's not going to be pretty."
"I don't know what you mean by that," her expression faltered before he could even finish, but he gripped her palm with his own and squashed her bubbling concerns, "but it won't come to that. I have a solution to restore your representation."
Now, she was just plain confused. Her face said it all. Not keeping her in the dark anymore, he pulled out the Insight Sphere from his pocket and placed it atop their conjoined palms.
She stared at the glassy sphere, then back at him before her brows furrowed, and said, "Vern, I don't know how to use these spheres. Only Fundamentalists like you can use this to store or collect Representation. I just…can't. All those concepts and images inside it mean nothing to me."
Vern smirked at her words, and a perfect response came to him. He knew it wasn't the time to joke around, but he couldn't hold himself back from throwing her own words back at her.
So he grinned and chortled, "Ohhoho. Just what is this situation? You have this special Vision to synergize thoughts, but you don't know what it entails? This is very suspicious."
A deadpan expression overtook her face, and she replied, "Very funny." But when Vern continued to stare at her unflinchingly with that smirk, her lips twitched, and she let out a short laugh before caving in, "Just tell me. I don't have the mind to play riddles right now."
He shrugged, "Well if I traverse and retrieve the Representation from within the Insight Sphere while our thoughts are already synergized, what do you think will happen?"
Her expression went from being slightly amused to confused to one of realization in a quick succession. She parted her lips to say something but held back and instead closed her eyes.
Vern smiled and soon felt a tug on his consciousness.
Before heading into her thoughts, he took a quick stock of the current situation. Ambrose was playing with the zealot, whereas the swordsman was holding his own pretty well against the barrage of spirals.
Not intending to waste any of her precious Representation, he let those thoughts pull him away.
One moment, it was the ruined basement of the station. Next, it was darkness. There was a light, yes, but it was unusually faint. Willing to move closer, he soon reached the source of the light and saw that piano again.
It was in utter disrepair. Tangled, lusterless, and broken strings fed into its back, while the piano itself seemed worse for wear. This actually helped him realize what he was looking at. It was a manifestation of her Thought Space, and it was unremarkably dim, signifying how spent she already was.
Depressing thoughts arose in his mind from just looking at the instrument—surely her feelings were bleeding over to him. So he didn't waste another moment and engaged his own perception.
Focusing on the whirling sphere of grays in their hands, he found himself in that special place yet again. The Void of Initiation. He even wondered how his consciousness was handling so much abuse.
He was already in a different mental space—of Esther's making—then from there, he jumped to the one within Insight Sphere.
Well, who the hell knows. He had to progress in a new direction this time. It was a risk, and hence the reason he didn't want to make any promises to Esther, but here he was.
His goal was that specific cloud of Representation that he never touched before. When he found this sphere back at Ascendant Council, there were two foreign clouds stored inside it. One belonged to the preservation fundamental, which he had fully consumed already like some enhancement drug.
Then, there was another one he hadn't had a chance to explore. He even regretted it a little because if he had tested it already, he would've known if this cloud of Representation was worth pinning their hopes on.
But it is what it is.
This foreign cloud was in the direction directly opposite to where his own Representation was stored—the Lower-South-Eastern octant. From his experience, that octant usually held ideas related to growth and creation, so hopefully, it wouldn't be anything nefarious.
Clearing his mind of unnecessary thoughts, he began.
From nothingness, particles coalesce. Particles form matter. Matter, by nature, adheres to conservation.
.
.
.
Creativity, in its essence, is a whisper of possibility. Possibility suggests infinity. Infinity coalesces into form. Form, in its final act, blossoms into creation.
This was his usual traversal of the fundamentals, but it was the first time he had an audience. She tried her best not to disturb him, but her awe and amazement at all the sights that whirled past them were clear for him to see.
But he was here, at his destination—a glowing patch of incandescent lights bundled together. Taking a mental equivalent of a deep breath, he forged ahead on the path and soon made contact with the foreign cloud of thoughts.
.
.
.
Usually, it was this invigorating rush of ideas in his mind, but not this time. Instead, something completely out of his expectations transpired.
A soul-crushing headache assaulted him for a short moment, and his whole world seemed to turn upside down.
Then, before he could scream or make heads or tails of the situation, the scenery changed yet another time, and a voice boomed in his head like a thunderclap, "Speak, insignificant one. By what means didst thou dare to engage with mine own representation?" followed by a metallic clang of deafening proportion.
His plan was actually an iteration of a previous one. But this time, the conditions were right. And he had to do something radical to solve this situation.
Just killing one of these vermin had taken so much effort from two of them. What if there were more? And who was to say the swordsman won't lose?
Were they supposed to wait here like coal waiting to be dumped in the furnace? No, not after all this. He shook his head repeatedly, limping towards Ambrose.
All the golden spiral were already spent, and Ambrose seemed worse for wear already, "Newbie, that's all I got for now." he shouted, with not as much spark in his voice.
Vern nodded and gazed at the second zealot, whose head was already patching itself back up. The man would be back in the fight very soon.
Then he gazed up, peering past the opening that connected this hellhole to the night sky. Whatever was left of the spiral barrage had changed its collective shape to surround the swordsman from all angles.
It seemed their foe had changed his priorities and was determined to kill the swordsman, no matter what.
Not something Vern could help with, but this settled it. Only one enemy was left in the basement, so Vern didn't need to be involved in the fighting anymore.
He would instead enact his plan. Up until now, they were reacting to all the surprises thrown at them, playing right in the hands of the enemy, barely coping with their tactics.
"Ambrose, I have an idea, but I will need your help to keep the enemies busy," said Vern, trying his best not to sound authoritative. He didn't want his ally going against him at such a critical juncture just because he couldn't be more polite.
"What've you got?"
Vern signaled toward Esther with his eyes, and a look of realization dawned on Ambrose's face. "Second time's the charm, eh?" he chortled, rushing towards the zealot that slowly stood back up, "Go for it. I got your back, newbie."
Perfect.
Indeed, that was his plan. That dome blocking their transmission signal was no more, and the swordsman was keeping their foe busy enough.
However, this time, Vern knew how to optimally use different parts of the station to send that distress signal with the least amount of preparation and cost.
In his stability Vision, he had been taking extra care to not let any of the essential components come in harm's way. They were needed to start Steamscript again, after all.
The only problem was…Esther and her lack of Representation.
But he had an idea.
As he hurried back to where she was lying, his surroundings continued to be abused unceasingly. It was the fusion of utter darkness and golden radiance sprinkled with sparks of blue.
Sometimes, it echoed the sound of metal hitting metal. At other times, it replayed the bloodcurdling screams followed by maddened chanting.
As surreal as it was, he kept moving. He was a fucking bookworm, for steam's sake. What was he doing fighting these religious fanatics?
But he instantly banished the insecure ramblings of the imposter inside him and knelt down next to Esther.
She lay there in a fetal position, her vivid red locks falling over her metallic Cogwings. The wings fluttered with little strength as they moved to retract into their sheath, only to be disrupted by the broken mechanism and shattered pieces.
Her otherwise graceful countenance was scrunched up, marked by an unhealthy paleness. Her lips opened up every other second, only to close inaudibly, and her arms that held her head shivered.
Looking at her in such a defenseless and distressed state, a sense of pity gushed within him.
So he gently gripped her shoulder and shook her body, "Esther. Esther, can you hear me?"
"Esther. It'll be alright. I have a plan to end this, once and for all, but I will need your help."
Her breathing grew rapid, and she mumbled something, "i…a"
Vern closed in, his unruly hair hanging above her face as he strained to hear her words, "…via…Livia"
Livia?
Why did it feel like he had heard that name before?
she continued, her voice growing louder and anxious, "…please don't take her. no. No. NO. NO!" and that's when her eyes snapped open, and she stared back at Vern from mere inches away.
His mind was still repeating that name, trying to figure out why it felt familiar. This was why he liked his notepad. He should—
"Vern, we only just met. Isn't it a little too early and a little too unromantic to force yourself on a dying girl?"
Uh. Umm. Fuck!
He jerked back instantly, and his cheeks flushed red. Taking a deep breath, he rushed to clear the misunderstanding, "Esther, no. It's nothing like that. I was just trying to listen to what you were saying. You were in so much pain—" that's when he noticed her weak smile and paused.
She looked at him with what could only be called an amused smile. After staring at each other in silence for a couple seconds, she shifted her gaze and looked at the sky through the only opening before focusing back on him.
"So it didn't work, huh?"
It? Does she mean the Third Rune? He pondered before replying, "It did—"
She interrupted him with a weak voice, looking slightly offended, "Then why are you here!?"
Vern found himself stumped by the question. He himself didn't understand why he was back before the fight was over, even though he'd spent over an hour in there.
Misinterpreting his silence, she continued, her eyes drooping, "I am sorry. I...am sorry, Vern." she paused, then spoke up right when Vern was about to, "I should've done more. But I know how…"
Cough Cough
Her body trembled with each of her coughs, but she persisted in speaking, "I know how this ends. They'll change me. Just like my sister…I don't…"
Cough Cough
Blood trickled down her lips as Vern tried interrupting her another time, only to be shut down by her glare. How could the glare of such a weak person be so persuasive?
"End it, Vern. Before they turn me. Please kill me—"
"Okay. Shut up, Esther. Calm down and listen to me. I have a plan," he interjected, not letting her ramble on anymore.
Her expression looked like she wanted to protest, but her body relaxed in his grip. Not flaming her fancies anymore, he started, "That priest or whatever isn't blocking the skies anymore. If we send another signal right now, it will reach its destination without any trouble."
Her expression, which had turned hopeful for a second, became utterly downcast as she curled into herself further and closed her eyes, "Thanks for trying, Vern. But sometimes, we need to accept when we've lost the bet."
Vern's expression crumbled. She didn't have one iota of trust in him, eh? That hurt a little. Not letting his unnecessary feelings color his words, he continued to persuade, "Esther, do you really think I would waste our time with stupid endeavors? I said I have a plan. Not just an idea."
"Vern, you don't get it. I don't have enough representation, and most of the station isn't even working anymore. You're not even a real Observer—"
.
.
.
"…I can't see you in my perception. Did you…?" she murmured, staring at his kneeling figure.
He nodded, "You didn't let me explain. I shaded my perception according—"
"Nuh, nah," she interjected, light returning to her eyes. She tried and failed to push herself up as she continued, "Hahh. Don't waste time going over all that right now. I can see we don't have time. If you've got something good, just shoot."
Vern nodded as he cushioned her fall and assisted her back up, "Sure."
Soon, he managed to help her sit against a wall—rotated to her side because her wings made it hard to sit straight. Right as he was about to pull back, however, she grabbed his collar feebly and whispered in a trembling voice, "You're not giving me false hope…right?"
This…
This was a conundrum. He didn't like setting false expectations. His plan had accounted for how to solve each potential roadblock, but nothing could be said for sure. He didn't…but then he stopped overthinking it and sighed before replying, "Trust me."
He caved in, and she let him go. It just meant he had to make it work no matter what. Vern quickly masked his uncertainty with a veneer of calm and extended his hand toward her.
She looked back with a dubious expression but still extended her palm nonetheless, "What are you doing?"
He shook his head, "Not me. You. You have to initiate Thought Synergy."
She bit her lip, deep in thought, and then replied after a couple seconds, "Are you sure? You want me to spend the last vestiges of my Representation just so you can get into my head? Because if I run out of Representation, it's…it's not going to be pretty."
"I don't know what you mean by that," her expression faltered before he could even finish, but he gripped her palm with his own and squashed her bubbling concerns, "but it won't come to that. I have a solution to restore your representation."
Now, she was just plain confused. Her face said it all. Not keeping her in the dark anymore, he pulled out the Insight Sphere from his pocket and placed it atop their conjoined palms.
She stared at the glassy sphere, then back at him before her brows furrowed, and said, "Vern, I don't know how to use these spheres. Only Fundamentalists like you can use this to store or collect Representation. I just…can't. All those concepts and images inside it mean nothing to me."
Vern smirked at her words, and a perfect response came to him. He knew it wasn't the time to joke around, but he couldn't hold himself back from throwing her own words back at her.
So he grinned and chortled, "Ohhoho. Just what is this situation? You have this special Vision to synergize thoughts, but you don't know what it entails? This is very suspicious."
A deadpan expression overtook her face, and she replied, "Very funny." But when Vern continued to stare at her unflinchingly with that smirk, her lips twitched, and she let out a short laugh before caving in, "Just tell me. I don't have the mind to play riddles right now."
He shrugged, "Well if I traverse and retrieve the Representation from within the Insight Sphere while our thoughts are already synergized, what do you think will happen?"
Her expression went from being slightly amused to confused to one of realization in a quick succession. She parted her lips to say something but held back and instead closed her eyes.
Vern smiled and soon felt a tug on his consciousness.
Before heading into her thoughts, he took a quick stock of the current situation. Ambrose was playing with the zealot, whereas the swordsman was holding his own pretty well against the barrage of spirals.
Not intending to waste any of her precious Representation, he let those thoughts pull him away.
One moment, it was the ruined basement of the station. Next, it was darkness. There was a light, yes, but it was unusually faint. Willing to move closer, he soon reached the source of the light and saw that piano again.
It was in utter disrepair. Tangled, lusterless, and broken strings fed into its back, while the piano itself seemed worse for wear. This actually helped him realize what he was looking at. It was a manifestation of her Thought Space, and it was unremarkably dim, signifying how spent she already was.
Depressing thoughts arose in his mind from just looking at the instrument—surely her feelings were bleeding over to him. So he didn't waste another moment and engaged his own perception.
Focusing on the whirling sphere of grays in their hands, he found himself in that special place yet again. The Void of Initiation. He even wondered how his consciousness was handling so much abuse.
He was already in a different mental space—of Esther's making—then from there, he jumped to the one within Insight Sphere.
Well, who the hell knows. He had to progress in a new direction this time. It was a risk, and hence the reason he didn't want to make any promises to Esther, but here he was.
His goal was that specific cloud of Representation that he never touched before. When he found this sphere back at Ascendant Council, there were two foreign clouds stored inside it. One belonged to the preservation fundamental, which he had fully consumed already like some enhancement drug.
Then, there was another one he hadn't had a chance to explore. He even regretted it a little because if he had tested it already, he would've known if this cloud of Representation was worth pinning their hopes on.
But it is what it is.
This foreign cloud was in the direction directly opposite to where his own Representation was stored—the Lower-South-Eastern octant. From his experience, that octant usually held ideas related to growth and creation, so hopefully, it wouldn't be anything nefarious.
Clearing his mind of unnecessary thoughts, he began.
From nothingness, particles coalesce. Particles form matter. Matter, by nature, adheres to conservation.
.
.
.
Creativity, in its essence, is a whisper of possibility. Possibility suggests infinity. Infinity coalesces into form. Form, in its final act, blossoms into creation.
This was his usual traversal of the fundamentals, but it was the first time he had an audience. She tried her best not to disturb him, but her awe and amazement at all the sights that whirled past them were clear for him to see.
But he was here, at his destination—a glowing patch of incandescent lights bundled together. Taking a mental equivalent of a deep breath, he forged ahead on the path and soon made contact with the foreign cloud of thoughts.
.
.
.
Usually, it was this invigorating rush of ideas in his mind, but not this time. Instead, something completely out of his expectations transpired.
A soul-crushing headache assaulted him for a short moment, and his whole world seemed to turn upside down.
Then, before he could scream or make heads or tails of the situation, the scenery changed yet another time, and a voice boomed in his head like a thunderclap, "Speak, insignificant one. By what means didst thou dare to engage with mine own representation?" followed by a metallic clang of deafening proportion.
