Water Kanin: Chapter 45 - In a Different Universe

Still pinning their limbs to the floor, we recoil. “It’s… us.” Our soul is churning with a maelstrom of horror and regret and sadness. But even through all that, we still feel its pull. That scares us just as much.

“What?” Zyneth demands. “What do you mean?”

“It’s another feral remnant.” Yedzaquib clasps his hands behind his back and slowly circles around us, remaining a comfortable distance away. Zyneth wisely retreats around the other side, keeping out of Yedzaquib’s range. “It must have been drawn to him.”

He’s right. At the core of this person, we can sense it: some… entity that feels very much like us. Like Ink.

But we understand a deeper truth that Yedzaquib doesn’t. This is not just a feral monster, or remnant, or whatever they’re called. This is a soul from Earth. A person who had gained access to the System, just like us. Whose soul became entangled with a dangerous entity, just like us.

But unlike us, this person lost. When we look into their soul, all we can sense is single-minded hunger.

In a different universe, this is what we could have become. What we very nearly became.

Are they still in there somewhere? Overwhelmed, helpless, and suffering? Is there any way we can pull them out?

They stir. Their fire begins to reawaken.

“If you don’t take it now, the fight will resume,” Yedzaquib remarks. He sounds casual and unconcerned.

“He’s right,” Zyneth reluctantly agrees. “We need to finish this creature off.” He approaches me from behind. “I can do it, if you don’t want to.”

“No!” We snap a Void Whip out, barring Zyneth’s way.

Zyneth puts a hand on the Whip and tries to step around, but we continue to block him. He stops. “Kanin, what’s going on? What am I missing?”

Yedzaquib has also stopped and is watching us closely.

He wants us to consume it, we realize. He’s waiting to see what happens.

And we desperately want to consume it, too. Though that might not be the right phrase. We want to absorb it. Incorporate it into us. Doing so would make us stronger.

But it would also tip the balance. Our Influence would no longer be shared in equal parts. The predator—the remnant—Ink—would become the dominant mind.

Don’t do this. We don’t have to do this.

It is against our nature to give up such strength. We don’t want to let this power slip through our hands. We are made of a hunger, not necessarily for sustenance, but for knowledge, for magic, for strength and power—and taking in this remnant would give us all of that.

But it would change us, too. Whenever bits of us reunited before, what emerged was some combination of the separated minds. A new being, containing elements of the previous ones, but different. If we absorb this entity, Ink will no longer be Ink, but will become something else. Someone else.

Yes, at our core: We are greed. We refuse to give up what is ours.

And that includes our mind.

We let go of the person’s limbs, and take a step back. Our shadows melt away. We dispel our weapons.

“We have to help them.” I look up at Zyneth. “There’s a person in there. A person like me.”

Zyneth looks between me and the creature with a mix of confusion and surprise. “You’re sure?”

Yedzaquib sighs. “Unfortunate. Such a fusion would have been fascinating to witness. The resulting amalgamation surely would have been formidable. You displayed more restraint than I gave you credit for.”

I round on him, anger simmering to life once more. “What is going on?! What are these remnants? How do you know so much?”

“Knowing things is my profession,” Yedzaquib says. He casually steps closer to the rousing fire entity, peering down at it. “Even knowing things the gods try to obscure. But Truth can’t be erased. Only forgotten.”

That’s frustratingly vague and answers none of my questions. “None of this was in your library.”

“Distributing information the gods hold close would be hazardous to my mortality.”

The possessed person growls, flames reigniting over their surface.

“We don’t have time to talk about this now,” Zyneth says. “Kanin, if it wakes, it will attack. You want to help it. How?”

I hesitate. “I don’t know.” I don’t even know if I can. When the predator had overwhelmed my mind, I’d been helpless to fight back. There was nothing I could do to stop it, except…

My soul lurches. “My Inventory. I might be able to separate it from the soul underneath.”

Yedzaquib seems intrigued. “You have a method of containment?”

“Maybe.” It kind of got shredded by the predator last time. Will one Inventory slot be enough? “I have to try.”

“As curious as I am to witness such an attempt, I’m afraid I cannot allow it,” Yedzaquib says mildly. “Though I do thank you for this fascinating encounter.” Then, as casually as flipping a coin, he tosses the null marble toward us. A pressure of doom descends on me.

Instincts take over and I dart back, crashing into Zyneth in my panic. The marble lands on the chest of the possessed human. It looks so innocuous.

But I can see the immediate effect on their soul; Ink can feel its effect on the remnant.

An arcane whirlpool erupts from the marble. I mindlessly scramble away, even as Zyneth tries to untangle himself from me. The creature—the remnant—is torn from the body like a shadow pulled from its caster. It roars and claws at the air as it’s whipped around the vortex, pieces shredded off as they’re consumed by the marble.

The soul quivers. A line of magic tethers it to the remnant, and when that line goes taut, pieces of the soul begin to tear and fray. It looks like it’s about to melt away completely—then it snaps from its body and is pulled into the spiral. Remnant and soul alike are consumed by the singularity.

And just like that—silence.

The pull I’d been feeling toward the creature is gone. Likewise, the overwhelming sense of danger the relic had been exuding is now barely a whisper.

The person’s magma interior begins to fade from yellow to red.

There’s no soul left in the body. It’s empty.

Anguish washes through me. “What did you do?” I ask weakly.

Yedzaquib strides forward and casually reaches for the marble. Zyneth lurches into action before me, bolting toward the relic as well.

Yedzaquib plucks it from the corpse’s chest, then skirts back as Zyneth’s hand closes around empty air. Zyneth swears.

“I showed you mercy,” Yedzaquib replies, turning the marble over with a look of awe. “I had planned on using the refiner on you, but then this viable alternative arose. You’re rather lucky.”

“Lucky?” I growl. Ink is also teeming with anger. I pick myself up. “You killed them.”

“Killed?” Yedzaquib repeats. “No, no, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t kill something that isn’t alive.”

“Absurd,” Zyneth spits. “Just because it was stuck in some other form doesn’t erase its personhood. Is that what you think of Kanin?”

Yedzaquib laughs lightly, giving Zyneth a pitying look. “I should think that is self-evident.”

My glass shakes and tinkles as I try to keep still, but inside I’m storming. I brought that soul to this world—just for them to be possessed and tortured. And now they’re imprisoned in that marble to suffer alongside their tormenter.

I won’t accept this. I’m responsible for them, so I’ll find a way to free them—from that marble, and from that remnant.

“Give them back,” I say.

Yedzaquib looks at me, an eyebrow raised in faint amusement. “I have no more use for you. This is your opportunity to leave. I advise you both to take it.”

Keeping his eyes on the arachnoid, Zyneth edges over to his other knife and picks it up. “Your spider constructs are destroyed. Your mercenaries are disposed of. I don’t believe you’re in any position to be giving orders.”

I circle to Yedzaquib’s opposite side. Ink pours void and strength back into our extra limbs, and I cluster together a second collection of glass that readies a Lightbeam.

I pause to Check my stats: my mana is down to 149/475.

Yedzaquib is at 2037/2450. Also, he’s level 68.

Only looking at stats, we’re at a severe disadvantage. But there’s three of us, and one of him, and I’ve witnessed before how teamwork and being clever can take down someone at a much higher level. We can do this.

Then, Yedzaquib laughs. Not just a chuckle, but a full, loud laugh. The sound sends an unsettled shiver through me. “I don’t think you have even the slightest concept of what you’re dealing with. It’s rare that I am in such a generous mood. But it’s been an extremely profitable day for me already, and it’s only just past dawn, so I’m willing to give you one last out.” He stands straight, and his arachnoid legs raise him to tower over the two of us. “Leave now, and no one else needs to die.”

Look, I’m not stupid. I’ve seen all the movies. I know it’s never a good sign when the bad guy starts laughing. Maybe walking away from this fight is the best move.

I meet Zyneth’s gaze, and he nods: He’s leaving the choice up to me.

Inwardly, I check with Ink: Yes it would very much like to eviscerate the spider person.

Not that I would have backed down if it was only me, but it’s nice to know we’re all in it together.

“Sorry,” I say, growing void claws over my hands. “I guess we’re going with ‘someone might need to die.’”

Lightning crackles over Zyneth’s blade.

Yedzaquib shakes his head. “Very well. I had hoped to take my time and study it a bit more, but—”

I decide the time for monologuing is over. Activating a Void Whip, I launch it toward the relic in Yedzaquib’s hand. He jerks his hand away, and the Whip wraps around his wrist instead. He pulls against my spell, and Zyneth uses the distraction to dash in. Yedzaquib notices and rears upon his hind six legs to stab at Zyneth with his front two. Zyneth dodges and blocks, his knives scratching over the hard surface of the arachnoid’s carapace. At the same time I race in, shortening the length of the Whip to keep tension on his arm.

Yedzaquib catches one of Zyneth’s stabs between two legs. He grabs the pinned knife, then twists his legs. Zyneth is forced to let go, abandoning his blade to wrench his arm free and spin away. Yedzaquib flips the knife around in his grasp, and Zyneth defensively raises the other.

The blade flashes in Yedzaquib’s hand. He stabs it down with all his might—into his own chest.

I skid to a stop in shock as Yedzaquib gasps, legs buckling. Zyneth appears just as astonished. Are we seeing this right? Did he really just do that?

“What the fuck?” I say.

Hands shaking, Yedzaquib makes a strangled cry as he yanks the blade back out. Black ichor begins pouring down his chest.

“What the fuck.”

“Good gods,” Zyneth agrees, horrified.

Yedzaquib slams the null marble into his wound. A black pulse of magic emanates from the relic, then it sinks into his chest. Yedzaquib throws his head back and screams.

My System Interface begins to glitch and jump. A new stat appears at the bottom of Yedzaquib’s overview:

[Role: Processing]

“What the fuck!”