The Cure - I

[Proto Man]

By the time Mireya and Proto Man stumbled out into the wide plain that surrounded Darkshire, the two warriors were ravaged and clearly on the brink of collapse. The woman, her face bruised and bloodied, hobbled on what remained of her shattered glaive. One of her ankles had been dislocated during the fight with the demon blacksmith, and although it had been properly reset and wrapped, it had yet to heal. Their constant march had meant the wounds had yet to stop bleeding completely, and even a few days removed from the old village, she still had blood seeping through the bandages.

To her left, Proto Man seemed to be faring a little bit better, but for the preteen machine, the majority of the damage was in his head. His own wounds had closed on their own accord, and his internal systems had spent the last few days feverishly working to repair themselves. The loss of another Robot Master, however, hung over his head like a stormcloud. How many more of his half-brothers would perish? It seemed like so long ago that Proto Man had set out with the intention of detaining what he thought were renegade androids. Was anything he thought back in Coruscant true anymore?

Unlike their first visit to Darkshire, the gates were already swinging open by the time they came within shouting distance of the men normally stationed above the portcullis. On this occasion, a trio of armored guards rushed to meet them. “Are the two of you all right?” The man in the middle asked, his insignia highlighting the fact that he was an officer.

“I will be, but she needs a doctor or a healer or whatever you have at your disposal,” Proto Man muttered as he gestured to the bloody, broken hybrid. Rather than offer a smart retort, Mireya just coughed and tried to remain conscious. He never had before, but now Proto man was certain he wouldn’t ever underrate the former nomad’s resolve. He was alive because he didn’t experience pain as a mental stimulus. On top of that, his systems were capable of replicating lost structures and mending damage to his exoskeleton. Mireya was alive because she didn’t feel like dying.

There were a lot of things Proto Man was happy to be without when it came to humanity, but he had to admit there were a few traits he wished that Wily could have converted into code.

“The two of you escort her to that cleric staying near the east gate.” When the two men walked over to help her, Mireya didn’t offer any resistance, and a few beats later, it was just Proto Man and the officer standing just outside the gate. “I probably should have verified this beforehand, but you are Blues, correct? You were the prime who spoke with the mayor last month?”

Last month? Where does the time go in this world?

“Yes, that’s me,” Proto Man answered after a brief moment of silence. “If you could, I need to speak with Boone and Dobson.”

“The mayor has an appointment with another prime, but they should be finished talking by the time we get there.”

***

As they walked through the tight hallway that lead to the mayor’s private residence, Proto Man had to squeeze around another prime. Unlike the Atelos and Shang, this man didn't stand out as much. He looked just like any person you'd find on the street, but the look in his eyes and the way he carried himself alluded to something more complex beneath the surface.

At the end of the corridor, the garrison officer opened the door for Proto Man and excused himself.

As before, Mayor Boone's quarters were poorly illuminated, and the man himself was sitting at his desk. He was hunched over and massaging his temples, and it took him a few moments to notice the android standing in his doorway. “Welcome back, Blues, I take it you have news?” The mayor asked the question without removing his hands from the sides of his head and without looking at the boy.

“I know where the source of the Blight is… and I intend to go there and stop it.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

The remark caused the youth to scowl behind his visor. “I need help. I lost a friend just to discover where the Archdemon is, and my other ally is too hurt to make the journey to the Black Gate.”

Mayor Boone seemed to tighten up at the mention of dreaded landmark that doubled as Diablo’s ‘gravestone.’ The man let his hands drop down to his desk and lifted his weary eyes to look over at the dirty android. “How do you know that’s where you need to go?”

“I heard it straight from the mouth of someone working for the Archdemon.”

“I see… I’m afraid I can’t offer anything. The men here are too preoccupied with defending the walls, and we’ve heard stories that Count Dracula has started to recruit more primes as of late. I can’t afford to have the city undefended.”

Proto Man shook his head. “The demon I killed was the head of an armory. An armory, Mayor. If we don’t deal with this situation now, some vampire is going to be the least of your concern. For all we know, we could be dealing with another situation like the one that ruined this whole region in the first place!”

The usually languid mayor frowned. “You weren’t here, Blues, so I don’t expect you to know what we went through here when we were besieged by the Lord of Terror. Maybe when you’re older and have a little more experience you’ll know a sliver of that.” Despite his almost half hearted tone, Boone’s words were meant to sting.

“I guess I understand now why the Kingdom abandoned this place,” Proto Man snapped. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go risk my head to save a bunch of people who wouldn’t know a fulfilling life if it slapped them in the face!” On his way out, he slammed the door with enough force to shatter it into a few dozen shards of fine wood. He instantly regretted his tone for betraying his years (or lack thereof), but he wouldn’t take back the words. Darkshire was a miserable place filled with sad, miserable people who seemed to be waiting for the darkness to swallow them whole. The bottom tiers of Coruscant were just as miserable, but the people there fought with every fiber of their being to improve their lot and make their neighborhoods a better place.

Darkshire? Darkshire was better off being razed to the ground.

Proto Man kept walking until he heard the sound of boots rapidly approaching from behind. The preteen machine paused and glanced over his shoulder to see Dobson racing to catch up with him. The unofficial leader of the town’s garrison had a look of concern on his face.

“Where are you going?” The young man asked as he stopped to catch his breath.

“The Black Gate… someone needs to end the Blight, and your mayor doesn’t want to lift a finger.”

That fact caused a frown to spread across the soldier’s features. “Bullshit.” He seemed ready to about-face and head back to the City Hall when his eyes suddenly light up and he snapped his fingers. “You can cure this, right? The Blight?”

“I don’t know,” Proto Man replied. “Removing the archdemon will prevent it from spreading, but I don’t know what will happen to the darkspawn or those infected by the Blight.”

“I have a friend… she was part of the original group that set out to deal with the Blight.”

“I thought you said they disappeared?”

“Things changed,” the man answered. “She survived, but she’s got the first signs of the disease. We had to turn her away at the gate to prevent any of the citizens from contracting it from her. If you’re going to end this, she’ll be more than willing to help you. I can guarantee that.”

“Where is she?”

“She has a camp a few miles away from the north gate…”

“What’s her name?”

“Whirda. Whirda Windstrom.”

At the mention of the name, Proto Man’s database pulled up a few matches and a picture of a young woman he’d met at the Fountain of Infinity. Once the two were paired together, his GPS threw up an icon that pointed in her general direction. “Got it… thank you.” With that, the red robot turned and started to jog toward the nearest gate out of the town. If she’d been in the Omniverse for as long as him than maybe this Whirda, infection and all, would be able to help him settle the score with ‘Scylla.’

After that, Proto Man could leave this morose place once and for all...

[PepsiWhirda]

The food Dobson brought from Darkshire festered in Whirda's gut. She had no taste for it—indeed, it seemed with each hour that passed she grew less hungry, forcing down small portions of nuts and hard cheese only out of some twisted desire to act normally, to pretend the contagion raging inside her, consuming her bit by bit, was little more than a passing inconvenience.

Dobson returned the second day with more supplies: food, water, bedrolls. He hardly spoke, and regarded her suspiciously with eyes grown weary of a lifetime of war. It wasn't his fault, Whirda kept telling herself. He had a duty to his people he couldn't ignore. The third day, that duty—or his own apprehension—must have kept him away.

Not for the first time, Whirda thought to leave. Every moment she wasted waiting for Dobson's mysterious trio of primes, Lady Tyrande and her people suffered. Every moment she wasted, the contagion spread. She ran fevers in what fitful sleep she managed to find, dreamed of electric blue eyes smoldering in the darkness. She woke up screaming, sheathed in cold sweat, her veins black and pulsing, the cocoon of shadow rippling protectively around her.

Yet still, she waited. She tried to hold onto Dobson's words. Perhaps the Primes he spoke of truly could find a cure, bring an end to the blight and to her own suffering. In truth, it was the only hope she had.

On the fourth day, when footsteps approached, Whirda looked up expecting to see Dobson with another pack full of useless, obligatory supplies. Instead, she saw another familiar face—a face all the way back from her arrival in the Omniverse, when this accursed nightmare began.

"I know you," she croaked, her voice hoarse and reluctant from lack of use.

The boy kept his distance, regarding her from behind a pane of what appeared to be opaque glass. He was unlike anyone Whirda had seen in Faerûn, standing closer to four feet than five, with a helmet of polished metal, a gray and red uniform, and a tattered yellow scarf. An abomination of artifice replaced his left hand, bulging outward before tapering down to an open barrel, like a cannon. Although gunpowder had arrived in Faerûn just before her detour to the Omniverse, Whirda was nevertheless familiar with the ballistics of such weapons. Whatever tragedy had befallen the boy, caused him to lose his hand, it seemed he had found a happy enough compromise, turning the appendage into a formidable looking weapon.

"From the fountain," the boy confirmed. "I'm Blues. You must be Whirda Windstrom."

Whirda nodded. "I thought there were three of you."

Her words gave Blues pause. Whirda wished she could see his eyes. She hadn't meant to cause offense, but the slump in the boy's posture indicated she had.

"There have been... casualties," he said quietly. "It's only me now."

"Dobson said you know how to end the blight," Whirda said, changing the subject. "What can I do to help?"

Blues squared his shoulders and drew in a long breath. "There's an archdemon here in the moors. An agent of Diablo, I suspect; at the very least, a vestige of his reign. It controls an army of blighted creatures, operating from The Black Gate. I fear if we don't stop the archdemon, this realm and The Tangled Green will be forfeit."

"An archdemon?" Whirda echoed. "How are we supposed to fight something like that?"

"The normal way," Blues replied. He crooked his left arm at the elbow and the barrel of the cannon charged with shimmering light. The boy's lips twitched into a humorless smile.

Whirda remained silent, chewing the words. She was no stranger to the bravado of young warriors—indeed, it wasn't long ago she would have charged headlong into any conflict, regardless of the odds, trusting her warrior's cunning and the reliability of cold steel to see her through it. But things were different now. Whirda's time in The Omniverse had been nothing if not humbling to the battle-mage. In her world, the cataclysmic spell-plague had warped the landscape, tested even the mighty power of the gods, and claimed thousands in an inferno of tainted magic. Still, it seemed to pale in comparison to the horrors of Omni's twisted game. The fickle god knew no equal and treated everyone beneath his rule with equal parts amusement and disdain. In Faerûn, she had been in control of her own destiny, but here she felt like little more than a pawn in a deadly game of chess conducted by beings whose power threatened to consume her at every turn.

Still, there was no choice but to accompany Blues on his quest. If his story was true—if slaying the shade had been a futile attempt to stop the blight—, then she had failed in her mission. She owed it to Lady Tyrande and her people to see the archdemon banished and the realm restored, regardless of the personal cost.

"Dobson says you're infected," Blues continued, allowing Whirda her silence. "Is it the blight?"

Whirda shook her head. "Nothing so simple as that," she said. "My first forays into the cause of the blight lead me and my companions to the lair of the shade Ahn'Thrix, perhaps an agent of the archdemon you hunt. He gave me this." She pulled the bevor away from her neck to reveal the jagged, black scar.

"What did you give him in return?"

"A quick death," Whirda replied. "I'm infected by his shadow magic. I can feel it... feel it spreading. Every day, I hate it a little less. I need to find a cure before it consumes me entirely."

"What about your companions?" Blues asked.

"Let's just say it's only me now, too."

"Well, I can't promise you'll find what you seek at The Black Gate," Blues said. "But you have my word: once the threat of the archdemon has been extinguished, I'll do everything I can to help you. I can be a powerful ally."

The first genuine smile in years crept onto Whirda's face. Although her new companion was only a boy, she felt emboldened by his words. He felt formidable, so unlike Nyx, who had been a constant liability in her struggle to defeat Ahn'Thrix—had been, as it turned out, an enemy in their midst all along. It was a welcome change to have a friend she wouldn't have to protect.

"I'll help you, Blues," she said, after a time. It felt like the first step toward her salvation. It felt like hope. "Just tell me what I have to do."

[Proto Man]

The woman was sick.

The boy was just happy she didn’t have the actual Blight. It had been nearly too much for him to watch all of Wood Man’s video diaries as the Robot Master was transformed from his pleasant self into something twisted and horrible. Proto Man didn’t think he could bear to watch it unfold right in front of his eyes. Would killing the archdemon assuage her condition or was the shade’s parting gift a whole new disease?

“We need to traverse a long distance,” Proto Man muttered as he tried to fiddle with his AV projector app. “Give me a moment… I know I can get this working.”

Whirda nodded her head and stepped back as the preteen machine pulled up several boxes on his internal display. After a brief moment, he located the software he was looking for, and a quick download later, the barrel of the Proto Buster flashed with light. Instead of a destructive burst of energy, the gun arm projected a three-dimensional map of the Pale Moors onto the ground in front of Whirda. The woman furrowed her brow and knelt down next to the virtual map. “How’d you do that?”

“It’s not that complicated… just a projection of the same map that my GPS software utilizes when I need to chart paths.” Proto Man pointed to a cluster of little buildings near his feet. “This is Darkshire, and we’re over there.” His finger moved to two little blips. “We need to head over there…” Near the far side of the map, Whirda watched the ‘ground’ light up around what seemed to be a large black archway.

“What is that landmark?”

“They call it the Black Gate… it’s the original gateway to the Underverse. The agent I dispatched said that Scylla’s base of operations is near the area, so we may have to scout it out a little beforehand.”

“Scylla?”

“The source of the Blight. That’s who we’re going to banish.”

Whirda nodded her head, although she was clearly still trying to process all of the information in her head.

“We should head out… do you need any supplies or are you going to be okay? I don’t really eat, so it’s not something that’s going to slow me down.”

[PepsiWhirda]

"I'm not sure I eat anymore, either," Whirda said dryly. In the dying light, she hefted one of Dobson's obligatory backpacks over one shoulder anyway. "How long do you expect this to take?" She felt a queer sort of nervousness in asking the question. Although he appeared to be a child, not even approaching his eighteenth year, she got an impression of great power from the enigmatic Blues. His technology was a marvel, unlike anything Whirda had ever seen. That much was for sure. But there was something else, a quiet confidence about him that spoke to strength as of yet undisplayed.

"A week," Blues said simply. He turned and began to walk, speaking to Whirda from over his shoulder. "Maybe more."
Whirda nodded briskly, trotting up to fall into step beside him. I hope I last that long. In truth, it might have been a baseless concern. She felt healthier, more vigorous, more powerful, every day, as if the contagion repaired her beleaguered body as a perfunctory action. Hunger and thirst seemed like foreign concepts now, and the ripples of power in the darkness around her seemed to multiple with each passing hour. The night came alive as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, thrumming in a way that seemed almost audible.

If Blues noticed, he gave no indication. "Dobson seems convinced of your strength," he said, frowning. "I'm led to believe killing a shade is no easy feat."

"I wouldn't describe it as easy," Whirda agreed. "I'm lucky to have escaped intact."

"Luck holds very little sway in The Omniverse, I think."

*****

Their path took them north and east, the royal hues of dusk fading at their backs. Blues seemed content to plod on in silence, and to Whirda that was just as well. It didn't pay to make friends in the Omniverse, she decided. In the seemingly endless parade of tenous alliances that made up her existence here—Nyx, Dobson, Professor Van Helsing—, she had come across no one she could trust, not truly.

Perhaps, though, Blues would be the first. Ever the pragmatist, trust had never come easily to Whirda. Nyx's betrayal stung, but it came as no surprise. Betrayal, in fact, had ceased to surprise Whirda entirely a long time ago. The Omniverse seemed by its very nature, though, to encourage Primes to band together. Whirda wondered, not for the first time, the nature of Omni's fickle game. Could the god-thing truly be as devoid of empathy as he seemed, or was there a greater purpose to his design?

"Tell me about where you're from," she said suddenly. The words seemed to spill from her unbidden, coupled with none of the conscious forethought to which she'd grown accustomed.

"It's a long story," the boy said, without making eye contact.

Whirda sensed her words had refreshed old wounds. "Sorry," she managed. "It's just... do you ever feel like we're here for a reason?"

"No." The single word answer reverberated in the stillness, gruff and uncompromising.

Something about the kid's dismissive attitude boiled Whirda's blood. In the blink of an eye, she disappeared, reappearing a few feet in front of him. "Look, kid," she snarled. The darkness encroached from all sides, as if ready to defend her. "I know the circumstances here are less than ideal. Gods above, I'm not sure I'd be inclined to trust me either. But you're not the only one who's lost friends in all this."

Inscrutable behind his tinted visor, Blues didn't deign to respond.

Whirda took a deep, steadying breath before she continued. "This isn't some run-of-the-mill bad guy we're up against," she said. "I've fought goblins and trolls, giants and sorcerors, even the occasional dragon, but an archdemon? It's above my paygrade, Blues, and I have a feeling it's above yours. How about a truce? We'll work together on this, hell, maybe even show each other some basic kindness, and then we'll part ways. Sound good?"

Blues remained impassive. "Did you know your veins go black when you're angry?"

"Yes," Whirda said calmly. "It's as unsettling for me as it must be for you."

"I imagine it must be," Blues said with a faint smile. "All right, a truce then. Maybe even some basic kindness. But do not mistake it for friendship. That is a mistake I'm not willing to make twice."

"Your friends... what happened to them?"

"One died at the hands of a demon under Scylla's command. The other fights for her life in Darkshire, injured in the same struggle."

"I'm sorry," Whirda said.

Blues acknowledged her words with a brisk nod. "So am I. Can we get moving?”

[Proto Man]

He knew that he probably should have treated the woman with a little more kindness than he had. After all, he was certain she had lost much in her struggle with the Blight. Just because her loses weren’t quite as personally didn’t make them any less painful. Even so, he kept his would-be condolences to himself… maybe if they kept this as something closer to a business deal he wouldn’t have to worry quite so much about her situation.

So the preteen machine kept his mouth shut for the time being and instead tried to move forward. “Do you have transportation? We can cover more ground on mounts than just by walking… trust me,” before Whirda had a chance to respond, Proto Man fished out a small whistle tucked beneath his black body suit. He played a short little melody—the same melody he would play to sooth himself when he was a younger ‘child.’ In reality, he didn’t need to play the song, because his wireless transmitter was what did the real work, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to play the whistle melody.

“What was that?” Whirda asked without answering the original question.

“A whistle,” Proto Man replied as he stuffed the little musical device back into its hiding spot. “Do you have a horse?”

“I do not,” Whirda replied.

“Give me a few minutes…” Proto Man held out his buster arm and started to channel the needed sOmnilium. He didn’t do this very often, so it took him a moment to find the correct app to funnel the material into the barrel of the weapon. As Whirda watched in silence, the minutes trickled away as the youth released the rainbow-colored amalgam and continued to channel into it. By the time a horse was standing there, neither prime was quite sure how long they had stood around, but as Whirda went to acquaint herself with her mount, Proto Man turned around and restarted the process.

After the infected woman finished ensuring that she could ride the horse properly, she glanced over at her new associated. A grin spread across Proto Man’s features as he leaned back to ensure that the barding he had created would fit its intended wearer. “What sort of horse is going to wear that?” The woman inquired as she led her own mount over to the youth.

“She’s not a horse,” Proto Man muttered as he pointed behind Whirda. She craned her neck around and squinted until she spotted a large, bipedal bird gently galloping across the Moors. “She’s my Chocobo, Salsa,” he concluded in such a matter-of-fact manner that the woman had to question if this was some sort of common, everyday knowledge.

“Oh… I see.” After that, Whirda just kept quiet as the boy jogged over to embrace the large, fluffy bird.

“How’ve you been?” Proto Man asked with a smile as he held up his palm. The bird let out a shrill qweh and smacked his palm with her beak—the closest thing to a high-five the two could share. “Were you able to find Roll and the others in Coruscant?” Salsa nodded. “They’re doing okay?” Again, the bird gave an enthusiastic nod. “Okay, excellent… let’s get you suited up for business.”

The bird, upon seeing the barding and sharing a fleeting glance with Whirda, quickly processed the gravity of the situation. With a firm nod, Salsa dropped down to the ground to give the preteen a much easier time in slipping on the combination of leather and metal plating that would protect the bird if they got into a confrontation. Once the armor was snug around Salsa’s fluffy figure, Proto Man gently slipped the helmet around her head and tightened it until it was secure, at which point she gave him a qweh and shook her head to show the helm wouldn’t come flying off mid-run.

“Okay, we’re ready,” Proto Man said as he hopped up onto the bird’s saddle. Salsa stood back up and took a few moments to walk in a circle to get used to the extra weight. After all, it had been more than a few months since the bird had galloped into war against the dragons in Camelot.

“So am I,” Whirda replied as she gracefully slung herself up onto her horse—a stern-looking animal to match a stern-looking woman. “You have the route in your head so would you mind leading the way, Blues?”

“No problem.” Unlike a horse, chocobo’s had no easy way to hook up a bit, bridle, and reins, but even if they did, Proto Man didn’t think he’d want to use them anyway. He and Salsa had a good enough bond that he knew she wouldn’t freak out and run off in the wrong direction. “That way,” Proto Man said as he leaned over and pointed so the chocobo could spot its trajectory.

“Qweh!” And just like that, Salsa bolted, leaving Whirda a bit bemused at how fast a scrawny bird could travel with such a load. After a short delay, the woman grabbed the reins and moved out to follow the boy.

***

For more than a few hours, the only sound that either the woman or the robot processed was that of their mount’s feet smacking on the short grass beneath them. Their route skirted around the forests near Darkshire and took them out across a rather plain expanse that had little more than an inch of grass and the occasional shrub. The land would have probably sustained little more than nomadic bands with a few heads of cattle. How did this verse sustain such life at one point? Part of Proto Man wondered what the Moors had looked like eight or nine years ago, when the place was fresh and free from the scars of corruption left upon it by years of demonic warfare.

It wasn’t until past noon that Proto Man dropped his pace until Whirda caught up to him. When her horse and she were alongside the machine and his giant bird, the woman glanced over, probably expecting an update about their trek.

“Sorry if I came off as cross earlier,” the machine said as their mounts casually leapt over a small ravine. Up ahead it was obvious that they terrain was going to become increasingly complicated—something that the robot hadn’t encountered on his first voyage into the interior of the Moors. “It’s just… ever since I left Coruscant, it’s been nothing but broken bones, dead friends, and lingering agony. After a while, you start to feel you’re the one responsible for it all. And I may be many things, but chief among those is someone who is sick of death.”

Whirda nodded but kept her eyes glued on the uneven landscape that lay before them. “I can understand what you mean, Blues. I’m not sure I’ve had many pleasant memories during my time here in the Omniverse.”

From her expression—or lack thereof—it was clear that she could handle the burden easier than the machine. What did that tell him about Whirda? What kind of life had she lived before the Omniverse? Would these two even bother to exchange such stories?

Turning his focus back to their journey, Proto Man’s scanner and GPS tried to provide him with the simplest route, but he had a degree of difficulty factoring in the difference between Salsa and a horse. He had plenty of routes… if push came to shove he could have the bird fly up out of danger, but for all he could tell, Whirda just had a horse. It was a hearty-looking animal with an expression as dire and hardened as its owner, but it was a horse nevertheless.

Over the period of the afternoon, the steppes gradually gave way to a rockier and more uneven landscape. Slopes became more prevalent, as well as the occasional ravine that would force the pair of travelers to reroute themselves, oftentimes causing them to lose over a half hour of travel time. As a result of their attempt to cut directly through the badlands, they wound up still deep in the thick of what were now becoming small mountains and deep, jagged valleys by the time the already scant sunlight began to fade.

“I think we may have to stop for now,” Whirda spoke after catching up to a stalled Proto Man. “We’re about to lose the sunlight, and I don’t want to push this animal too hard.”

“You want to take a break, Salsa?” Proto Man asked.

“Qweh! ” To Whirda, the squawking probably sounded like nothing, but to the Proto Man, he understood that the bird was more than ready to have a few hours to relax.

“Let’s get up there,” Proto Man whispered, pointing to a small cave barely visible beneath the shadow of a landform almost tall enough to be a small mountain. “We should be safe from anything with designs to cut our throats in the middle of the night.”

A rustling sound behind the twosome caught their attention immediately. Before Proto Man could even swing around on his saddle, Whirda was already on the ground and fully armed. “Something tells me we’re not going to have to worry about being attacked later rather than sooner.”

The boy hopped down from Salsa and turned his eyes toward what had once been their rear. Even in the low-light, he could spot the approaching crowd of humanoid warriors. As they drew closer, he noticed that they were flanked on each side by two giant… spiders? No, those weren’t spiders. They bottom halves were, but the rest was vaguely humanoid.

“It isn’t very often that surface dwellers disturb our mountains,” the central figure said—a woman dressed in tight leather clothes with the occasional piece of polished metal providing additional protection. Like her peers, her attire and weaponry had what seemed to be a spider motif, with much of the artwork resembling spiders or their webs.

She held a scepter in one hand and a curved, glistening blade in the other. As she drew closer, Proto Man noticed that her skin was a color of obsidian and her hair was a almost perfect shade of white. Oddly enough, her eyes and her features in general were quite similar to those of Mireya, the half-night elf he’d befriended in the Tangled Green. This woman’s eyes were a deep shade of red, and her expression was hard and malicious.

“We’re just passing through,” Proto Man replied as he glanced to Whirda out of the corner of his eye. He noticed that the woman seemed more on-edge than he’d ever seen her before, even when they had that less than cordial discussion before departure. He turned his sights back to their less-than friendly visitors, and his scanner app started to work its magic.

“We rule the darkness beneath these mountains, which means we own the surface as well.” A malicious grin spread across the slender features of the purple-skinned woman. “You can only imagine how we felt when we detected the presence of two primes violating our realm.”

“We’re just passing through,” the robot reiterated as an infobox popped up on his internal display. The info blurb told him that he was staring at someone well-versed in magic, combat, and subterfuge, but that was all it could muster without further time to grind data. So slow… He would need to invest in a speedier processor if he ever had some downtime.

“Unfortunately, we’re not going to let you just pass through,” the woman replied as she tapped the tip of her scepter to her sword, causing a series of runes along the blade to glow in a dull red light. “The pair of you will make wonderful sacrifices to the Spider Queen.”

Whirda, weapons already at the ready, started to back up as the two giant spider-man monstrosities started to skitter their way toward the pair of primes. Proto Man grimaced as half dozen figures slowly approached them—their swords and crossbows at the ready. Before the machine had a chance to speak once more, the air was filled with quarrels. As the robot dropped back and dove, he caught a fleeting glimpse of Whirda as the woman gracefully leaped up to a nearby outcropping and readied herself for the two approaching creatures.

“It’s okay to cry, child,” the dark-skinned woman hissed as a second quartet of crossbow quarrels zipped through the dusk sky at him. This time, he reacted by swiftly summoning his tower shield to absorb the impact of the wooden projectiles, which thundered viciously against the reinforced surface of the barely mobile bulwark. Proto Man gave it a moment before he dove out and fired a stream of blasts at the shins and feet of the elves. By the time the robot completed his roll and righted himself, he had two curved blades whizzing down for his face.

He had the opening he needed to fire a burst of energy up into the elves chin, but Proto Man knew the attack would kill his attacker. It was one thing to put darkspawn or rogue creatures out of commission, but despite his beliefs and motivations, these warriors were people, and the robot didn’t have it in him to kill them.

So he took both hits.

The first collided above his right hearing sensor, denting the material and leaving a nasty scar in the paint, and the second caught him on the chin, leaving a crimson ribbon across the exposed part of his face. Unfortunately for the elves, they expected the reaction of a child. What they received was kick and a stiff punch to the knees as Proto Man barreled passed them. Once he was on the other side of them, Proto Man pivoted and bashed both of them once more—this time in the small of the back with the side of his buster arm. Before he could continue the combo, he felt a blast of heat between his shoulder blades.

Thrown back in front of the two warriors, Proto Man hit the ground hard and left a three-inch strip of uprooted earth and rock behind him before his momentum finally faded. At the end of his flight path, the android flipped himself over and rose up to his feet once more. A popup told him he’d suffered some concussive damage and superficial burns over his back but no lasting damage to the underlying infrastructure. He turned around just in time to intercept a knee with his chest.

This time, the impact knocked him off his feet and down into a two-story ravine. Through a mixture of luck and awareness, he managed to hook an outcropping and stop himself from slamming into the floor below. Before he had much time to ‘breath,’ the youth was set upon by the other pair of arachnid centaurs. Much to his horror, they came at him with a flurry of bladed appendages as well as two pairs of curved, dark elven blades. Releasing his grip on the rock wall, Proto Man sprayed a handful of energized pellets at one of the creatures before turning to charge the other.

As the robot ran, his body flashed white as his system unlocked the necessary resources to overclock his central processor and auxiliary hardware. When the flash subsided, the youth was decked out in additional padding and felt just a little more spring in his step as he closed to gap between himself and the man-spider-horse abomination.

Bladed legs and two swords swung down at him as his feet left the ground. The boy landed on the body of the creature, just behind where the humanoid part emerged up from its arachnid abdomen. Holding nothing back, he laid into the creature with a series of crippling blows to its skull, shoulders, and spine. In the process of trying to fight back, it managed to slash him across the arms once or twice with its swords.

The creature slumped forward into a twitching heap. It would survive, but it certainly wasn’t going to threatening him anytime soon. Jumping off the monster, Proto Man charged his gun-arm and released the energy shot at his second opponent, which nimbly avoided the attack by jumping up onto the wall of the ravine and continuing its movement along that completely vertical surface. It lunged when it got close enough, but it was too bulky to land atop of the preteen robot, who slipped out of its path and continued to punish it with a barrage of low-intensity energy bursts. When it spun and tried to once again brings its weight advantage to bear down on him, he placed a succession of quick shots at the legs still planted in the ground.

With an all-too human roar, the arachnid centaur fell toward, crashing down to the earthen floor of the ravine. Proto Man gritted his teeth and punched what could have very well once been a dark elf square in the side of the head. Much like any humanoid, its eyes rolled up into its sockets and it fell into an almost still heap. He hadn’t been his most humane, but Proto Man knew that this was better than putting a blast of energy through their chests or stabbing them through the brain with an energized blade.

Looking up, Proto Man jumped up as far as he could and grabbed hold of the same uneven part of the ravine wall that he’d found on his way down. Once he steadied himself, he planted his feet and shoved off and up one more time. On this occasion, his fingers were able to find the lip of the ravine, and he quickly pulled himself up over the edge and onto ‘solid’ earth. With a stern look on his face, he raced forward to deal with what remained of their aggressors. The sun was long gone, and he feared that any strength advantage held by Whirda and he would vanish now that everything was varying shades of darkness. He at least had the benefit of sensors that would alert him of nearby objects, but with her seemingly human eyes would Whirda fare as well?

[PepsiWhirda]

"Abyss below," Whirda had time to oath, as she scrambled for purchase on the loose shale at the edge of the outcropping. Of all the threats the Omniverse had seen fit to throw at her, the drow and their drider abberations struck the most fear in the young battle-mage. One of the only unifying factors between the mercenaries and bounty hunters roaming the Spine of the World, drow scouting parties frequently conducted raids on the outlying human and dwarf settlements in the foothills of the mountains. Whirda knew well their prowess with both with blades and with the fel sorcery of the Underdark, and she knew too the drow disposition: kill, or be killed.

The distraction caused by Blues afforded her a few moments to establish her footing. Below, she watched the boy bounce from enemy to enemy, sustaining as many blows as he dealt. He seemed predisposed to nonlethal combat, eschewing the fatal blasts from his arm cannon too often in favor of blunt strikes designed to incapacitate his foes without killing them.

Just in time to see Blues suffer a knee to the chest, tumbling over the edge of a narrow ravine, Whirda turned to meet the advance of a pair of driders and a single drow crossbowman. The driders skittered forward, each of their eight legs managing to find purchase in the avalanche of dust and shale. Just behind them, the drow's eyes flashed red in the descending darkness.

Whirda danced to her right, charging beneath the first drider headlong. The creature let out a savage howl, rearing onto its rearmost six legs. Its front legs cut wide swaths through the empty air as Whirda vanished with a crack, reappearing in midair above the creature's back, the shade's dagger trailing a veil of ash behind her to obscure the crossbowman's vision. Landing nimbly on the drider's bulbous abdomen, Whirda's ruse proved successful as the distant click and whistle of the drow's crossbow sent the quarrel wide right, missing her by more than a foot.

The drider twisted awkwardly, seemingly unsure of the new dimensions of its mutated body. Whirda brought her dagger to bear, scampering forward, her balance tenuous as the aberration writhed beneath her, trying to fling her away. With her free hand she grasped a handful of filthy, matted white hair, jerking the drider's head back to expose the fragile flesh of its neck. She dragged the dagger across its throat, blackish-red blood spraying forth in a cloud.

Whirda leaped back as the drider's preternatural, gurgling howl filled the night. The creature twisted, throwing an elbow back to strike Whirda firmly in the stomach. The blow blasted the air from her lungs and sent her hurtling into open space, the ground rising quickly to meet her. Gasping, Whirda craned her neck to see the crossbowman release a second quarrel, this one again finding empty air. She tried to focus on the area around him, but the spots dancing in front of her eyes prevented her from settling on a concrete point.

A split second before she hit the ground, Whirda vanished again, reappearing just above the drow but unable to conjure a spell to cancel out her momentum. She landed hard, the impact sending ripples of agony through her legs and back, right on top of the unfortunate drow. The two collapsed in a whirlwind of limbs, the crossbow tumbling across the ground to rest on the edge of the outcropping, teetering precariously.

The drow, pinned beneath her, shoved hard with both hands into the small of her back. The force flung Whirda to her feet, stumbling to keep her balance. She spun just in time to see him draw a pair of slender dirks and dart forward, offering a coordinated flurry of attacks.

The screech of steel on steel echoed through the clearing as Whirda fell back onto the balls of her feet before the onslaught. Her dagger was a blur as it met and neatly turned aside the drow's attacks, but she was hard-pressed. Her fighting style emphasized the use of two weapons, similar to her assailant. Without her kukris, she had no recourse but to give ground, being forced gradually toward the lip of the ravine.

A roar, followed closely by the scraping keen of the drider's eight colossal legs, gave away the creature's approach from behind her. A dirk stabbed forward toward her belly, but she brought her dagger across to parry, changing the angle of the attack without cancelling out the drow's momentum. Momentarily caught off guard, the drow stumbled, and Whirda's dagger stung the back of his hand, drawing an angry red line. The drow shrieked and the dirk hit the ground with a clatter.

Whirda sprinted past her attacked, diving into a forward roll as one of the drider's front legs split the air where she had stood a moment before. She rolled onto her feet, spinning as the creature approached. This one seemed smarter than its slaughtered companion, perhaps having spent more time in this mutated form. It approached cautiously, its jaundiced eyes searching for a weakness, a moment to strike. In its left hand it wielded a longsword, the sallow moonlight dancing along its edge. A round, wooden buckler was strapped to its right forearm.

Having regained its balance, the drow spun angrily to face her. "Die, human filth," he growled, scooping up its fallen dirk and advancing with both weapons raised.

"That's the best you can come up with?" Whirda laughed, holding her ground. Her back ached. She drew in ragged breaths. Sweat trickled down her face and beaded in her lanky hair.

Ten feet away, the drow's expression shifted from anger to fear as Whirda vanished.

She reappeared directly in front of him, conjuring a gust of wind that crashed into him with enough force to lift the unfortunate drow off his feet, sending him hurtling back to collide with the approaching drider. Whirda used the distraction to hurl her dagger end over end, sprinting after it.

The drow cursed and scrambled to regain its feet. It stood, panting, just in time for the dagger to embed itself in one eye socket, the length of the blade vanishing in an instant. Close behind, Whirda's fingers closed on the weapon's hilt and dragged it free.

The drow, slumping, offered no objection.

Her last remaining foe howled as Whirda ducked beneath it, deftly avoiding its massive limbs and emerging in a run. She found herself on the edge of the outcropping once more. Below, Blues heaved himself over the edge of the ravine and staggered to his feet. Whirda caught his eye, relieved to see the kid had persevered.

The look of shock on Blues's face, coupled with the shadow of the drider looming over her, clued Whirda in to the creature's approach. She turned, conjuring a second brutal gust of wind. It collided with the drider's armored torso, but the aberration shrugged off the attack, too huge to be turned away by a simple gust of wind, so unlike its unfortunate drow ally. Whirda pictured the area next to Blues, a dozen feet below. She closed her eyes as the drider's raised its sword, lunging forward to attack.

When Whirda opened her eyes, she hadn't teleported. Shocked, she swung her dagger in a feeble attempt to deflect the incoming blow. Longsword met dagger, the force of the impact sending waves of agony through the bones of Whirda's right arm. She allowed the momentum of the blow to force her to her knees. If she tried to match the drider's strength she would meet a swift end. A second attack like that would shatter the bones of her arm and leave her crippled for the battle with the archdemon yet to come.

Whirda took the dagger in her uninjured hand, uncomfortably aware of the sheer drop behind her. As the longsword swept in for the killing blow, she did the only thing she could.

The gust of wind flung her over the edge of the outcropping. The drider's longsword tasted empty air instead of blood as she hurtled backward, tumbling and twisting, trying desperately to regain her bearings and ensure a safe landing. She conjured a second gust, and a third, the wind whipping into her as it stabilized her descent. She landed hard on the toes of her feet, tucking forward into a roll to absorb her momentum. The unforgiving ground scraped the palms of her hand raw as she bounced and tumbled, landing in an unceremonious heap at the feet of her new ally.

Blues regarded her with a frown. "Get up, this isn't over."

"To the hells with you," Whirda growled, climbing sorely to her feet.

Above, on the edge of the outcropping, the drider roared. A pair of drow still stood, although they maintained their position now, wary of the powerful Primes who had encroached on their realm. In the gathering darkness, Whirda could see the silhouettes of more drow arriving, at least a dozen more. Not so far away, they heard the battle cries of additional driders, eager to join the fray.

Whirda cast a sidelong glance at her battered companion, smirking through her pain. "Is it over now?"

[Proto Man]

The battle had been joined, and any advantage the two primes held would be sorely tested if their foes continued to reinforce themselves. With a grimace, Proto Man tried to evaluate their options as dark elves started to glide down the walls of the ravine—their blades glistening in the night sky as their red eyes honed in on their intended prey.

Pivoting sharply, Proto Man fired a burst of energy that knocked an oncoming attacker from the wall, causing him to plunge down the wall and land awkwardly a few yards away from the twosome. Whirda was more direct. She took a step forward and fired off a rolling gust of wind that threw her foes into a head-first plunge. Despite the impressive showing, another wave was scurrying down at them. Glancing at their other flank, Proto Man saw that the dark elves were working to circle them and pin them down in the center of the ravine.

“We’re going to go this way,” Proto Man shouted as he turned and readied his buster arm. Whirda released another gust of wind and turned in time to see the barrel of her associate’s weapon start to shudder violently as yellow light and even a few wisps of energy started to seep out from the front. “Get ready to sprint…” the red robot muttered as the dark elves dropped down onto the floor of the ravine and started to rush at the pair of primes. “Finish Buster!” Proto Man screamed as he released a terrifying burst of energy down the length of the ravine.

Just as he anticipated, the dark elves threw themselves out of the way, and with a tug of Whirda’s wrist, Proto Man was off, following in the wake of his own attack. While her gut instinct may have told her to finish off the confused and disoriented warriors who’d leapt and scrambled to avoid the somewhat horrifying blast, she followed along as the youth scaled the canyon wall in a few quick leaps.

By the time Whirda had joined him, Proto Man had channeled another attack, and with a grimace, he fired once again—this time aiming the stream of energy at the high cliff wall above them. Before the woman had a chance to question it, his hand closed around her wrist once again, and she was pulled away from the downpour of rocks. A final glance over her shoulder revealed that an entire chunk of the mountainside was crumbling down, its structural integrity a thing of the past thanks to her young associate.

“I think we’ve slipped away,” Whirda said after a few minutes of silent scrambling up a nearby slope. Her words made the prototype Robot Master pause and turn to survey what lay behind them. As far as he could see, the ravine they’d fought in was gone, but it was hard to tell as much of the landscape around the avalanche was covered in a thick cloud of dust and particulate. “Something tells me th—”

Before the woman could finish she was set upon by a bloody, dirt-stained dark elf. The white-haired woman let out a frustrated growl as she tried to stab a short, black blade through Whirda’s abdomen. Once she recovered from the initial shock of being tackled, the wind-controlling woman closed a hand around the hilt of her foe’s weapon, and her other fist slammed hard into a jawbone. The dark elf faltered for just a moment, and that was more than enough time for Whirda to disarm her and reverse their positions.

“You’ll all dead anyway!” The black-skinned woman’s words were harsh and manic as her own blade was pressed against her neck. “The Tarrasque will destroy the surface civilization… we’ve made certain that the beast is guided in the correction direction.”

“What is the Tarrasque?” Whirda demanded.

“You’ll all know soon enough.”

And like that, the dark elf actually pushed back against the blade on her throat with enough force to tear her own skin. Before Whirda could think to relinquish her vice-like grip on the dagger, her pinned foe twisted her neck, ripping through the flesh and blood vessels.

“Damn it,” Whirda muttered as she moved away to avoid the ghoulish spurts of blood from the torn arteries. “Do you know what she was talking about? What’s a Tarrasque?”

A preliminary scan of the Dataverse flashed up accounts of a giant monster slaughtering people out in the Pale Moors and devouring entire villages foolhardy enough to live in Darkshire’s hinterland. Actual details were few and far between due to the high mortality rate of those who encountered the creature, which was described for the most part in vague yet nightmarish terms. “Sounds like some sort of monster… If it wasn’t for everything in the Omniverse being real, I’d say it’s probably some kind of folk beast or boogeyman.”

“Whatever it is, it must be something terrible if the drow have sought to influence it.”

“Drow?” Proto Man asked, glancing up from the still corpse on the ground. “Is that what these elves are called? They are elves, right?”

“Yes,” Whirda replied as she stooped down to check if the woman was indeed dead. “In the world I came from, they lived in cities deep underground where they practice terrible, fel magicks and worship a spider goddess. They’re cruel, malicious, and rarely do they have any redeeming qualities. If they are in the Omniverse, there is little chance that their agenda isn’t wholly evil.”

“Those spider creatures?”

“Driders,” Whirda replied as Proto Man’s system filed the information away and prepared to take another audio recording. “They are what happens when drow fail to appease their goddess or anger someone higher on the social ladder. Like I said, it’s a terrible society that runs on betrayal, death, and the pursuit of power at any cost.”

The preteen machine nodded as his system started to do some Dataverse research in the background. Now that he had names and some details, it could crunch the numbers and try to get him a little more information.

“I’m surprised they’re not a larger threat than this,” Whirda muttered as she stood up from the corpse. “It almost seemed as if we were the first ones to goad them up out of their city.”

“It’s possible that they’re new here,” Proto Man answered as the two left behind the still body. Up ahead of the pair was the peak of the little mountain that they’d scrambled up on their flight from the lower reaches of the range. From there, they’d have a vantage point over much of the surrounding terrain. “It’s something that we may want to tell the mayor of Darkshire about when we return.”

“What of the Tarrasque? If our mission out here is to save the Pale Moors, we certainly can’t ignore this information,” Whirda asked as they reached the cramped summit and glanced out at the terrain on the other side. From the look of things, they’d be descending down into a little forest, and once they were through that, the landscape opened up once again as far as they could see. “… can you use your software to try and…” The woman trailed off, and from the look on her face, she was struggling to think of the right word for what she wanted to say. Proto Man knew the look—that of someone from a different world trying to rationalize what was, to them, fantasy.

“You want me to try and triangulate this creature’s stomping ground based on the public accounts of its atrocities?”

Whirda just nodded as Proto Man walked off and tried to pull up the requisite applications. After a few minutes, a new overlay popped up on his head’s up display.

“It’s a massive area, but it shouldn’t be more than a day or two walk from where we are at…”

“What about the mounts?” Whirda inquired as she glanced back down the other side of the mountain.

“Salsa can take care of herself, and with any luck, the horse followed her lead. Either way, I think it’d be foolish to rest on our laurels while we have a bunch of evil elves who want to murder us out there.”

“Of course,” Whirda responded as she turned back to face the youth. “As before… lead the way.”

[PepsiWhirda]

They trekked east. The sickly forests at the base of the mountain gave way to sprawling hinterland, devoid of life. Out here, the pervasive chill of the moors gave way to the sun's warmth, if only a little. Whirda found herself squinting more than usual, her hand perpetually held against her brow in a mock salute, shielding her fair features from the light. She felt jittery, sweating and shivering sporadically.

Tired of her irritability and sharp retorts, Blues remained silent for most of the day. The preteen machine projected his overlay every few hours, adjusted their position with a point or a nod, and mostly left Whirda to brood. On foot again, their pace was slow, but, sore and bruised from their run-in with the drow, they both seemed content with steady progress.

Some time after midday, Whirda noticed a single black-skinned scout, perched in the canopy of a copse of aspen. Nearly invisible in the shadows of their leafy boughs, Whirda nevertheless made out her slender silhouette. She spoke low, facing forward. "Don't look, but they're following us. From the trees, to our left."

Blues's expression hardened. "How many?"

"At least one. A scout, probably. Whatever they're planning with their monster, it seems like they know what we're up to." Whirda watched the drow climb nimbly down the tree and disappear into the ground foliage. "What should we do?"

"Keep moving. Keep watching. If there's any chance they plan to lead the beast toward Darkshire, or through a gate... imaging the havoc they could wreak."

Whirda nodded sharply. They had one advantage Blues hadn't likely considered. The contagion, for all the difficulties it brought with it during the day, amplified her combat prowess many times over at night. The drow, conditioned to subterfuge and ambush as opposed to a direct confrontation, would only attempt an attack when she was at the peak of her power.

"I'd keep that thing warmed up," she said dryly, indicating the kid's cannon arm.

At nightfall, they crested a hill and looked down over the remains of a town. It occupied the deepest part of a secluded valley, straddling a river wending lazily through trees and clusters of of empty buildings.

"If we go down there, they're going to try something," Whirda cautioned, looking at Blues. As night fell she felt more comfortable in her own skin. She no longer slept, but felt no worse for wear from the transition. Still, Blues might need to rest, and the cover might provide them some means of setting a trap.

"Not like we have a choice," he muttered. They had only briefly caught sight of their pursuers, once more since the first time, keeping a safe distance and moving furtively between points of cover. They, along with the carrion birds wheeling and cawing overhead, remained the only life this far from Darkshire. Somewhere, further east where the hills grew to mountains, Dracula dwelt in his castle. Perhaps the drow were his agents, as seemed to be every evil figure in the moors.

The news of the Tarrasque troubled Whirda. While the grip of Dracula and the archdemon Scylla dominated the region, theirs was a creeping oppression, a stronghold tightening gradually in order to avoid the wrath of the more powerful Verses. What the Tarrasque promised, while no more frightening in concept, was immediate devastation. And if, as Blues suggested, the drow intended to take the beast through a gate... while it would be dealt with more quickly, it could easily ignite a war spanning many Verses and claiming thousands of lives.

Whirda, more inclined to the martial approach of surgical incision than of all out war, did not intend to let it get that far.

[Proto Man]

How long had it been since the gates of Darkshire? His CPU would have kept an accurate measurement down to tenths of a second, but regardless of the number it would give him, Proto Man felt as if it’d been weeks since he’d seen the town. The android knew that time worked a little weirdly for primes, and he often wondered how long it would be before he got to see Coruscant once again. How long had it been since he left? A year? Or was it longer? His contact with Roll had been steady up until his arrival in the Ashen Plains, and since then, it had gradually fallen off to the point where he was certain he could return home to nothing.

They’d traveled for most of the day, and slowly but surely, the sun was beginning to dip behind the translucent clouds that hung low overhead. From Whirda’s general appearance, Proto Man was left to believe that they were in a warmer part of the Moors. Unless that disease is giving her a fever? Would she need to stop soon? She certainly hadn’t made any remarks about fatigue or weakness, but humans had a tendency to mask their emotions rather than reveal them to people they weren’t too familiar with.

The sun would be gone in a few hours. That meant that the duo had little time to properly prepare themselves for the drow ambush that would come for them once darkness fell across the Pale Moors. Proto Man wondered if they could just press on with the hope of simply out-pacing their pursuers, but he doubted the woman would want to follow such a benign path. Shadow corruption or not, Whirda didn’t appear to be the type to pull punches or offer quarter to her opponents. Proto Man would have to do his best to temper her emotions. She was probably far more hardened to a life of brutality than he, but everyone had a point from which they couldn’t come back.

Once they within the ‘village limits,’ the pair paused to assess what was around them. For the most part, it was a collection of your run-of-the-mill shacks, with some ‘nicer’ homes tossed in every now and again. Unlike Durnhill, it wasn’t in such an advanced state of decay, which led Proto Man to believe that the place had only been empty for a few months at the latest. His system started to run a few more scans as he turned to Whirda. “Looks like this place hasn’t been like this for too long…”

“You’re thinking what I am thinking, aren’t you?” The woman asked as she walked over to a building and peered through an open window.

“Tarrasque.” Proto Man muttered as he joined Whirda. A glimpse inside the building confirmed that the inhabitants must have left in a hurry, because there was still a meal set on their table, albeit one that had long since spoiled. “Do you think the people here made it to safety?”

Whirda shook her head. “I feel like fresh waves of refugees from the interior is something that Dobson would have mentioned to one of us. These people are probably in the gut of whatever monster is out there.”

If he had a stomach, it would have twisted in knots at the thought of an entire village being devoured by a monster. Who would willingly sick a beast on a village of people just trying to make a living in an already hostile area? With a scowl, Proto Man turned away from the abandoned home and stared at the rest of the forgotten buildings clustered together. “What’s our next move? It’ll be nighttime soon.” Since they’d departed, Proto Man had updated his visual systems to ensure he wouldn’t lose spatial awareness in low- or zero-light situations, but that didn’t mean he wanted to deal with another pack of drow.

“We’ll be ready for them when they come to get us,” Whirda muttered. “We can set up some traps and ambush points among these buildings in the meantime.”

He didn’t know how comfortable he’d feel destroying all that remained of a few dozen dead people, but Proto Man also didn’t want to risk a verbal altercation with the woman either. So with a nod, he gestured to the far side of the cluster of shacks. “I’m going to go to the other half of the village and see what I can do.” The woman just nodded her head and entered one the buildings to get a better look at whatever may have been left behind during the exodus.

Entering one of the buildings, Proto Man let out a sigh and tried to get a wireless connection.

[Proto Man]

The first thing the robot did was take a seat at what had been the homeowner’s cushioned chair. A look around the small house revealed what had once been a family of means. Instead of dirt, the floors were polished wooden planks, and there was an actual ceiling overhead, rather than the central arch of the roof, which was one of the few in the village that wasn’t thatched. Glancing at the little nook that had been their kitchen, Proto Man saw a wood-burning stove and what seemed to be stone countertops for preparing meals.

All dead. The android scowled at what must have been a senseless massacre. His thoughts inevitably went back to the Dataverse and the Jubilee. In an act of pure malice, Judge Dredd had used him to pinpoint the location of the Copper Eye, an assortment of sickly, malnourished citizens of Coruscant trying to stand up for change. The judge and a collection of space marines had killed every last person in the compound, leaving Proto Man and Samus Aran with medals and snickering commendations for their role as ‘Imperial defenders.’ Proto Man’s system kept the audiovisual feed from that massacre—he would never allow himself to forget what had happened.

Incoming Message … The textbox was accompanied by a melodic tune that played inside his helmet’s audio receptors. Ever since his battle with Cell Delta, his communication applications had failed to operate, and in the absence of appropriate technology, he’d been unable to troubleshoot what may have been the problem. Why, then, was the program appearing to function without any clear indication of a change in the status quo? Although nothing seemed to be abnormal about the app, the caller id function still didn’t work.

“This is Proto Man,” he spoke aloud as the ringing stopped and the audio channel flashed up on his screen, along with a notification that the program was attempting to pinpoint the origin of the signal.

“Can you hear me, Blues?” The voice was instantly recognizable, even after thirteen months away from the Sixth Tier.

“Ice Man, how are you?”

“We’re doing all right,” despite the word selection, there was a clear nervousness in the tone of the Inuit-themed Robot Master. “We’ve been trying to call you for about six months now, what happened to you? The boys and I were starting to think that you went and go yourself banished.”

Proto Man chuckled softly. “I got into a fight in the Ashen Steppes… It was a really bad fight. I lost the majority of my higher-level functionality for a few weeks as I wandered the Tangled Green.”

“How far have you traveled?” Ice Man asked, his voice picking up a little of its usual cheerfulness as the stout robot was distracted from the situation at home by the prospect of hearing of his older brother’s adventures.

“I’m in the Pale Moors right now. There was this disease in the Tangled Green, and the origin is in this verse. I came here to try and stop it from spreading to other verses, and along the way, I believe I’ll be helping to slay a dinosaur.”

“A dinosaur?! You mean like Godzilla or something?”

“Not sure,” Proto Man, shaking his head as if he were having a conversation with someone sitting in the chair across from him. “It’s called a Tarrasque, and from what I’ve read on the Dataverse, it’s some kind of monstrous killing machine. My partner and I are also being harassed by these evil elves called drow.”

“It sounds like you got your plate full,” Ice Man muttered, his tone deflating a little as Proto Man picked up some background noise in the form of hushed whispers. “You’re coming back to Coruscant afterwards, right? A lot of people here think you died or left the city forever… the last tangible news they put on the radio was that you helped protect Camelot and then wandered off into a volcano.”

“So I’m a defector?”

“No, the Empire eventually spun it so you came off as a ‘vagabond hero.’ Apparently there was too much backlash about the ‘Hero of the Jubilee’ being painted in a not-so-positive light. I guess the Empire shot itself in the foot when it decided to pin the destruction of the Copper Eye on you.”

“What about Samus?”

“You haven’t heard?” Ice Man almost gasped at the question. “They ran her out of Coruscant!”

Proto Man’s eyes went wide. “What do you mean? What did she do?”

“No one has all the facts, but I guess she aided and abetted some felon who was wanted by the Empire. The two of them and some wizard named Dresden [i]blasted their way through Tier 1… I saw the videos before they were censored, and I’m not lying when I say that they went down cannons blazing through that gate. Last anyone heard, Samus escaped into the Vasty Deep.”

Harry Dresden? The name was familiar, and before he could place it, his processor accessed the file for him. Harry Dresden had been there to fight the two dragons in Camelot, and the wizard had invited them to his ‘home’ after the battle. Proto Man had been the one to tell him the ins and outs of the Omniverse before word of Heat Man drove the android to head off to the Ashen Steppes. All the primes I know are outcasts? It was a harrowing thought, if only because now he doubted that he’d find the female bounty hunter anytime soon.

“How’s Roll?” Proto Man asked, trying to change the subject to a lighter topic.

There was a pause. It wasn’t your standard pause, but instead, it seemed to linger for a few moments too long. “She’s good, but she was real busy today… she’s curious as to when you think you’ll return home.”

The question pulled Proto Man away from the other android’s weird, almost nervous tone. “Soon, I think. I don’t know how long it will be; because I can’t willingly leave this place without knowing that I’ve done everything I can to make it a nicer place. Maybe another month or so? You tell her I’ll be back soon though, okay?”

“I will!” Ice Man replied enthusiastically. “We have to go now, Blues, we’ll talk to you later.”

“Of course,” Proto Man answered as the line closed, leaving him back in the silence emptiness of the abandoned house.

***

Back in Coruscant, Ice Man stood at the center of five other Robot Masters. None of them looked too pleased with their shorter sibling.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Bomb Man demanded, causing the Inuit-themed android to flinch a little.

“He’s out there saving the world and trying to make it a better place! You don’t tell someone putting their life on the line that their sister was kidnapped by a piece of outdated computer equipment!”

“But what if he’s the only one who can save her?” Guts Man asked, his softer tone (compared to his bombastic sibling) made all the more amusing coming from his giant frame. “We did get two of those little devices.”

“He’ll be back soon… he said so,” Ice Man muttered as he pulled the fluffy hood of his parka up over his head.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t get sidetracked again…” Fire Man said with a sigh as the siblings split off to what had become their daily routine for the last few days—Roll’s old routine. For some reason, the one little girl had done the work of nearly a dozen people, which meant that all of her brothers—none of whom were designed for the same type of workload—had to try and fill in for her.

The results were leaving much to be desired.

***

Outside the little window, the sky was beginning to slip back into darkness. That meant they were losing or had already lost the sun. Rising up from the cushioned seat, Proto Man checked his arm cannon to make sure it was within optimum operating parameters. If this fight was anything like the last one, he would need all of the various tricks he’d learned during his adventure through the Omniverse.

[PepsiWhirda]

They took opposite sides of the village's main street, Whirda pushing through the swinging doors of a dilapidated inn as Blues disappeared into a smaller, nondescript building. Their evaluation of a swift evacuation gained more credibility as she padded between tables covered in half-cleared plates and sticky, empty mugs. Still, both from above and within the village, there appeared to be no sign of the devastation Whirda expected. The Tarrasque, a colossal creature by Blues's estimation, would have left piles of kindling in place of buildings, rent cobblestone streets asunder, uprooted the forests of towering aspen and cedar. The village, while deserted, stood more or less intact.

Whirda ran one finger along the top of the bar. It came back black with dust. The odor of decay hung thick in the air, not the decay of corpses, but of food, spoiled in the lazy heat of the hinterlands. She realized her right hand was tight around the hilt of her dagger, her breathing shallow and anticipatory. Something else lurked in the abandoned inn, she knew, although she wasn't sure how.

Crouching low, she followed the bar to the end. Her dagger hissed from its sheath, swirling with opaque ash. On her left, an open doorway yawned in the gloom, the few, faint remaining rays of sunlight illuminated thousands of dancing dust motes. She moved with the cautious, ball-to-toe steps of a trained predator, stalking her unseen prey. She crept through the doorway, the dagger held cautiously in front of her.

The flash of movement to her right took Whirda completely by surprise. She stumbled back, weaving a trail of concealing ash in front of her. Gasping, she regained her balance.

The cat wound between her ankles and slunk off, glancing back reproachfully. Whirda’s laughter echoed off the walls of the store room. The walls were lined with shelves heaped tall with rotting vegetables. Flies buzzed through the air in swarms. The stench brought tears to her eyes. But when the veil of ash faded, all that was forgotten. Whirda stared at herself. Not her reflection, but a living, breathing, tangible, physical copy.

Whirda brought her hands to her face, felt her familiar features. The copy stared dully at a point somewhere over her right shoulder. “What are you?” she barked, reversing her grip on the pommel of the dagger and flipping it so the blade pointed down and behind her. She took a tentative step forward. The copy never blinked, never adjusted its gaze as she approached.

Whirda prodded the copy’s forehead with one finger. It rocked back on its heels, before settling back into place, as if frozen solid. Met with no resistance, Whirda leaned in to get a closer look. In the shade’s lair, Ahn’Thrix made copies of himself. She remembered with a shiver the cackling shade emerging from the darkness on both sides of her, electric blue eyes smoldering. When those copies were attacked, though….

On instinct, without hesitation, Whirda spun the dagger back around and plunged it into the copy’s throat, right in the center of the jagged scar left by the very dagger she now held. The copy exploded into ropes of swirling shadow. “Interesting,” Whirda murmured. She concentrated on the ripples of power all around her, focused their tenebrous might on reforming the destroyed clone.

The swirling shadow came together, coalesced into a single blob. Whirda’s features began to emerge, arms and legs stretching into existence, facial features warping and stretching until she could have been looking in a mirror. Pale blonde hair sprouted from the clone’s scalp; fingernails and teeth creaked into place; dusky skin lightened to match her pale complexion. In the span of a few seconds, Whirda had duplicated herself, created a perfect copy.

“Now,” she said, grinning, “let’s see what you’re capable of.”

[PepsiWhirda]

By the time Whirda exited the building onto the main street, night had fallen. Her sharply honed senses drew wire taut, like a bowstring poised to fire. She sensed nothing in the Stygian alleys, noticed no movement along the thatched rooftops. The drow were meticulous, patient creatures, but Whirda could see no advantage in allowing them this much time to evaluate their surroundings. Each minute they waited would only make excising the stubborn primes more difficult.

Blues emerged and walked up to her, looking shaken. "They could show up any minute. What should we do?"

For the first time, Blues looked to Whirda for guidance, trusting her knowledge of the drow to guide them to a safe resolution. However hard they both fought it, a friendship seemed to be forming between them.

"There's no loyalty amongst the drow," she said. "Nor is there mercy. They will not throw down arms to save one of their own. They will not hesitate to kill you, regardless of your preference for nonlethal blows. Every time you leave one of them alive is an opportunity for them to sneak up behind you and take your head from your shoulders."

Her harsh words took Blues by surprise, but the preteen machine knew they carried truth. His power had grown drastically since his arrival in the Omniverse, so much so that he sometimes forgot his actions had consequences. The impermanence of death had a tendency to lure primes into complacency. Blues had no intention of being its latest victim.

Whirda continued while Blues chewed her words. "Kill them, don't kill them... that's your decision. Make it wisely. If they come, they will be moving in small packs. The drow don't fight in large groups. They prefer small units they can trust. If we can dispatch them quickly, that will be to our advantage."

"We'll need a safe place for interrogation," Blues said. "Somewhere they won't find us while we figure out where the tarrasque is going."

Whirda nodded. "I already found it. The inn," she said, pointing to the building, "has a storeroom in the back, with a larder underneath. Smells like a dwarf's codpiece, but we can conceal the trap door. As long as we keep our guest quiet, there should be no issues."

"And once we have the information we need?" Blues asked.

"I think the beast is still close by. Why else would they have bothered to follow us? They don't want us to ruin their surprise. Once we know where it is, and more importantly where it's headed, then we'll decide on a plan." Whirda set her jaw. "Did you find anything useful?"

"Uh, no... nothing," Blues managed. "Empty, like we expected. But I don't think the tarrasque got them. This thing is the size of a warship. If it was here, we would be able to tell."

"I had the same thought," Whirda murmured. "Still, the drow followed us here for a reason. Let's make sure we find out what it is on our own terms. For now, keep close. Let's check inside these other buildings, see if there's anything useful. We'll benefit from knowing all we can about our surroundings."

"How do you plan to capture one of them alive?"

Whirda smiled. "I've learned a trick or two recently. Just follow my lead."

[Proto Man]

Sooner or later, Proto Man knew that the Omniverse would claim the shred of decency and ‘humanity’ he clung to by turning him into a murderer, but until that happened, he would rage against the dying of the light until its last breath. If someone had to die by his hands, he would make damn sure it meant something.

Taking his leave from Whirda, who seemed to be losing her slow battle with the unique disease she carried in her lithe figure, Proto Man entered another one of the buildings and gave it a quick scan. The initial sweep revealed that there was little of any value in here, although the wood used was quite flammable, especially since it hadn’t been treated since the exodus of the village population. Remembering that little fact, the android returned to the street and glanced around. His night vision provided him with acute details within a solid fifteen yards, but beyond that, everything blurred into inevitable blackness.

Somewhere out in that darkness, the drow were lurking and planning their attack. Proto Man wondered if the dark elves knew that they weren’t going to pull off a successful ambush, not with the two primes in the village on edge and turning to confront anything louder than the creak of an old wooden frame struck by a gentle wind.

As the preteen machine rounded a corner to glance at the backside of a rundown shack of a building, his perimeter alarm warned him of a nearby presence that wasn’t Whirda. With a grunt, he dropped down as a crossbow bolt zipped over his helmeted cranium and punched through the wooden structure. A flash cut through the darkness as a blast of energy leapt from the barrel of his hand-cannon and slammed into the drow’s armored chest. The impact threw the elf from a vertical position and sent him crashing through a small shed.

From his right, a body came lunging at Proto Man—a sword leading the way as the drow tried to drive a short blade through the robot’s side. The preteen machine spun, bashing the elf’s weapon hand with the side of the Proto Buster. With the path laid open to him, the android stepped forward and slammed his other palm into his assailant’s chest, throwing him off his feet. Turning sharply, Proto Man’s mouth twisted up as a blade caught him in the side, tearing through his body suit and compromising the ‘skin’ beneath it. In response, the android released a charged blast of energy that slammed into the drow’s chest plate, blasting apart the steel and charring the flesh below all before the dark elf hit the ground and slipped into unconsciousness.

Stumbling backwards, Proto Man tried to gauge his surroundings as his hand pressed against his side wound. His system informed him that nothing vital had been damaged as it quickly tried to sweep his surroundings for additional adversaries. A string of pings informed him that the drow were trying to circle around him. As they did, Proto Man suddenly lost all that remained of his ‘natural’ vision, as if someone had pulled a paper bag over his face.

With a grimace, the android summoned his shield as his system tried to compensate through heat detection, and when that failed, it tried to figure out a fix using sound waves. Unfortunately for Proto Man, none of that came in enough time to prevent the drow from swarming him. Deftly maneuvering around his shield, two came at him from the front and three more moved in from the rear—or at least that was his best guessed based on the number of swords that came swinging down at him from all angles.

[PepsiWhirda]

Whirda flitted across the rooftops of the abandoned town, a veil of shadowy camouflage drawn close around her. For all their grace and keen senses, the dozens of drow searching for her and Blues took no notice as she swept invisibly past them, pausing only to clutch at their throats as the shade's dagger did its devilish work. If the disparate squads of two or three drow realized their numbers were being silently reduced, they made no effort to provide triage to the situation. Whirda's lips quirked up as she cleared the gap between two buildings, landing catlike on a roof of thatched straw. Their enemies' distrust would be their undoing.

So far, she counted perhaps ten of the isolated groups. Although they worked alone, combing the streets and darting in and out of doorways ensconced in darkness, there seemed at least to be a method to their madness, an indication that a leader may be present in their ranks. They made efficient progress across the town, sweeping southward from the hills to the north of the valley bristling with shortblades and crossbows.

Whirda peered into the alley between the buildings and noted a pair of drow. A student of Melee Magthere, the drow school of fighters, took the lead. She held a pair of dirks reverse-grip and crept close to the wall below Whirda. Not ten feet below, she still appeared to miss the shock of unkempt white hair above as Whirda enacted a shadow-step. The battle mage appeared behind the drow, her cunning blade sliding between two ribs to bite at the fragile organs underneath. She wrenched the blade free with a spray of blood, a sharp kick sending the drow stumbling forward, her weapons clattering to the weed-infested cobblestones. Whirda turned, the dagger glistening.

The slaughtered drow's companion took an uncertain step back. She was garbed in the robes of a priestess of Lolth, the drow's foul spider queen. The fine black silk hung in voluminous folds, inlaid with glittering silver runes. Across her chest, a spider design seemed ready to spring free and take life, its eight spindly legs appearing to twitch in the flickering light of the torch the drow now thrust forward.

Whirda flinched as the light illuminated her, her shadowy camouflage shredding away. The drow advanced, gaining confidence as the truth of her enemy became clear. And when the legs of the spider design ripped free from the fabric and hung twitching in the air, Whirda was not the least bit surprised.

The drow's chilling laughter filled the air. Now it was Whirda's turn to give ground. The legs palpitated in the open air, stretching and elongating before finally reaching the ground and scratching for purchase. The body emerged last, bulbous and glistening. Eight wet, jaundiced eyes regarded her with unbridled malice. Globs of stringy venom hung from chelicerae more than a foot long.

By the time Whirda reconciled herself with a hasty retreat to reunite herself with her powerful companion, the spider loomed over her, all the size of a drider without the drow torso and head. It skittered forward tentatively, its great maw yawning wide to emit a preternatural screech.

"You will not interfere with Scylla's design," the drow priestess laughed, as Whirda was plunged into utter darkness.

Familiar with the combat style of the drow, Whirda knew the five-foot globe of darkness was meant more for disorientation than to harm her directly. Focusing briefly, she conjured a gust of wind, which launched her backward out of the spell, just in time to see the spider's massive legs swipe through the center of the globe. Had she hesitated a moment longer, the attack would have cut her in half.

Enacting a second short-range teleport, Whirda reappeared on the rooftop and made a run for it. More aware than its drow master, the spider took notice of her flight and scrambled after her. A brief glance over her shoulder revealed the hulking creature as it emerged over the edge of the roof, the tarsus of each huge appendage plunging into the thatched straw before ripping free, filling the air with floating debris. Behind the spider, the drow levitated into view, the torch abandoned below in favor of her natural dark-vision.

Without another thought, Whirda turned and sprinted away, her retreat aided by frequent gusts of wind to hurl her over the wide alleyways of the town's main street.

*****

Stripped of her protective camouflage, other drow took notice of Whirda's flight. As she ran, glowing purple faerie fire sprung to life, limning her in revealing light. Although it wasn't the first time she had dealt with the harmless spell, it nevertheless took her by surprise, surprise which would prove to save her life. She stumbled, pausing to swipe at one arm in the moment it took her to realize the nature of the ruse. A crossbow bolt whistled inches in front of her face, the second time her life had almost been cut short by the clever drow.

Their lithe silhouettes crowded the rooftops now. The flickering light of the faerie fire impeded her ability to utilize the power of the shadow contagion. Until it faded, she couldn't rely on shadowstepping and camouflage to aid her search for Blues.

Whirda's luck proved indomitable in the face of staggering odds, as a commotion below drew her attention. The night was briefly illuminated by a flash of light, revealing her companion surrounded by drow, desperately deflecting attacks with the smooth metal of his armor, sparks flying as metal screeched across metal. The arm cannon discharged a second time and a drow crumpled, his ornate leather armor smoldering from the sheer force of the blast.

The faerie fire limning her ragged frame faded. With a moment's concentration, Whirda summoned a shadow clone and imparted a simple command: distract them! Then, without time to see if the clone would obey, she teleported into the midst of the fray, appearing behind a pair of drow leveling crossbows at the helpless preteen machine. She pounced on her first unwitting enemy and cast a cyclonic prison on the second. As her dagger whisked through the air, landing shallow cut after shallow cut on the defenseless drow, the other was caught in a whirlwind of buffeting gusts, the isolated tornado rendering her helpless to provide aid.

Not so helpless, Whirda thought, as Blues shouldered his way through the remaining three assailants to take her side, his arm cannon discharging into the ground with a spray of dirt and stone. The impact of the blast sent the three drow hurtling backward, to land with a crunch on the unrelenting cobblestones.

"No time to stand and fight," Blues gasped, clutching one armored hand against a gash in his armor.

The cyclonic prison disappeared and the final drow staggered free, just in time for the pommel of Whirda's dagger to bash into her temple, dropping her low. "Can you distract them? We need to find out where the tarrasque is headed."

Blues nodded sharply, ever resolute in the face of impending disaster. Whirda found her appreciation for the preteen machine growing by the minute. He would prove a valuable ally in the calamity to come.

"Keep them away from the inn," Whirda said, dragging the unconscious drow by the armpits to the relative safety of a shadowy alley. Overhead, she could hear the confused shouts of the drow attackers, hopefully distracted by the clone she had left above for that very purpose.

"Be quick," was all Blues offered, before he turned and jogged off, leveling his arm cannon to fire another brutal blast along a thatched rooftop. Fire sprung to life as the drow perched above scrambled to escape.

*****

The captured drow spluttered back to consciousness. Whirda dropped the now-empty bucket of water with a clang.

The larder beneath the inn was cool and dark, exactly to her liking. She had placed the chair on which the drow sat bound and gagged in the center of the room, well out of reach of any improvised weapons. Her dagger hung loose in her grasp, leaking opaque shadow like pus from a suppurating wound.

The drow shot her a look filled with loathing. Whirda regarded her impassively. She ran one finger along the length of her blade. "I know you do not fear death," she said, almost offhandedly. "Your spider queen has seen to that. Given that knowledge, let's make a deal. If the information I receive proves to be useful, I will send you to Lolth intact. If not, you might be losing some weight before you go."

The drow did her best to seem unaffected, even going so far as to roll her eyes, but Whirda could see the fear lurking beneath. It was all she needed to continue.

"Now, I am going to remove the gag and ask you a couple of questions. If you try anything clever, I will start at your ears and work my way down. Have I made myself clear?"

The drow offered only a begrudging nod and a grunt.

Whirda slipped the gag out of the drow's mouth and was met, to her surprise, with silence. The captured drow offered not a word of opposition as Whirda paced around her in a slow circle, not even going so far as to launch a hateful barb. Her crossbow and daggers were stashed a floor above behind the bar. She knew she was defenseless and seemed to have resolved herself to Whirda's interrogation. That, or she had something else up her sleeve. It would fall on Whirda to react accordingly.

"First things first," Whirda said, when she again stood in front of the bound drow. "What are you doing with the Tarrasque?”

The drow threw her head back and laughed. “Trust a human,” she growled. “All piss and vinegar, but you don’t actually know a gods-damned thing, do you?”

That familiar anger flared inside Whirda at the drow’s mockery. She looked down to see her veins darkening as the contagion began to take hold. It was a long moment before she noticed her knuckles had gone white around the hilt of the dagger. She took a calming breath.

Noticing the transformation, the drow grew quiet. She watched Whirda with wide eyes as the battle mage regained her composure.

“I’m not sure I like your tone,” Whirda said calmly. “I’m sure you know there’s more than one way to lose an ear.” She raised her dagger and placed the tip of the middle finger of her free hand on the point of the blade, allowing the drow to watch the single drop of blood roll down her finger.

“Scylla has big plans for the monster,” the drow said. “You are out of your depth in this, human. She will not permit your interference.”

Whirda frowned. Scylla… there’s that name again. Is everything as interconnected in this world? “Scylla, that’s right. It’s not characteristic of your kind to align yourselves with an archdemon, is it?”

The drow gawked. Clearly the nature of her demonic leader was meant to remain a secret. “What do you know of Scylla?” she spat, when she could find the words.

It was a swift movement, one driven almost entirely by reflex. It happened quicker than Whirda’s eye could follow, but when she stepped back from the drow, she held a pointed black ear in her hand. She clamped a hand over the drow’s mouth before her screams could alert their other enemies. Blood pulsed from the hole in the side of her victim’s head, trickling below the collar of her shirt.

“I could have sworn I was asking the questions,” Whirda said, cheek to cheek with her prisoner. “Now, what is Scylla’s plan with the Tarrasque?”

She waited patiently while the drow’s screaming against her hand subsided. When she removed her hand, the drow growled. “Darkshire is the first step,” she said, shuddering. “But only because they protect the gate.”

Just as we thought. “And then?”

“On to the Tangled Green.” The drow’s laughter was choked with pain. “Scylla would prefer as few survivors as possible interfering with the construction of her empire.”

The implications of the drow’s words reached Whirda immediately. The archdemon planned to raze an entire realm and establish command. The inevitability of the abominable Terrasque would only prove to secure her foothold. To control such a monster… the archdemon’s power must be immense.

“You look troubled,” the drow spat. “Have I struck a nerve?”

“On the contrary,” Whirda replied, dragging her dagger across the bound prisoner’s throat. “You have been most helpful.”

When Whirda climbed the ladder out of the larder, pushing aside the thick rug she had placed to conceal the door, she was alone. She let the door slam shut behind her and strode from the room, her jaw pulsing, her veins black as night.

[Proto Man]

Whirda had left, and with her departure, Proto Man was left to serve as her shield, guarding his ally as she took care of business inside the village’s inn. With his teeth clenched, the android backed up as a collection of drow came at him in a semi-circle—their hands working to reload their handheld crossbows with another round of poisonous quarrels. With nowhere left to go, Proto Man summoned a shield and implanted it in the ground in front of him as a message popped up on his internal display.

Process Firmware Updated. Overclock function unlocked. Would you like to proceed? Y/N

Without skipping a beat, Proto Man replied in the affirmative. For a moment, there was nothing as the textbox minimized, but after a short delay, the android felt a surge of energy flood through his circuits and metal joints.

The drow on the other side of the shield hide their eyes as a violent white light surged up from behind the child’s bulwark. When the fleeting flare subsided, they turned to see that their adversary had changed. Gone were the cartoonish oversized boots and gloves, replaced with slimmer and more aerodynamic versions. Like a preteen starting puberty, Proto Man had gone through a rapid growth spurt. He towered over his shield by nearly a foot, and not only that—his muscle mass and definition had increased dramatically.

“Well this is nice,” he spoke aloud in a voice made deep by an increase in synthetic testosterone. With a degree of ease, the adolescent machine plucked up his shield and smirked at his adversaries, who wasted little time in firing their weapons. Proto Man responded by not only swinging up his shield but by twisting it sideways to intercept the majority of the quarrels, which either smashed off the steel surface or failed to penetrate the dense material.

Once the air was still, Proto Man charged his foes. The drow discarded or holstered their crossbows as they drew blades to prepare themselves for an android who had suddenly opted for frontal assault. With a red-white blur, the shield smashed into the chest and face of the center dark elf, throwing him back through a nearby hut. In the next beat, Proto Man pivoted and launched the shield like it weighed nothing, bowling over the cluster of drow coming at him from his left.

The android turned in time to have a sword graze the right side of his abdomen, but rather than wince, he simply used his elbow to pin the blade against his body. With his free hand, he cracked the drow on the side of the skull with enough force to knock the consciousness clean from the warrior. Hooking that same hand under his foe’s armpit, Proto Man took a step and threw the unconscious drow at some of his ‘friends,’ who dove to avoid the elf-sized projectile.

Falling back a few steps as more drow seemed to flow in from everywhere, Proto Man clenched and unclenched his fists. One of the dark warriors charged and slashed its blade across the android’s chest, tearing through the body suit but failing to inflict anything more than a surface wound on the synthetic tissue that lay beneath. As the drow reared back his sword arm for another strike, a red fist crushed his jawbone and loosened more than a few teeth.

Before the warrior had crumpled to the ground, Proto Man felt about a half dozen bee stings across his back. With a grimace, he reached around and grabbed at the shaft of a quarrel now half-embedded in his right shoulder. Nothing to do about that now. Turning to face his attackers, Proto Man slung up his left hand as the barrel of the Proto Buster started to shimmer. The drow managed to let loose with another barrage of bolts before they were all blasted back by the onslaught of energy bursts.

When he was certain no one was moving anymore, Proto Man let his gun-arm drop down to his side as his scanners picked up additional threats entering the vicinity. As he turned in the direction of what seemed to be two drow, he noticed that his shoulders, chest, and arms were burning with purple-pink flames. Although his first instinct was to start smacking out the fire, his system quickly informed him that he wasn’t being damaged.

“What is this?” He muttered just as the truck-sized black shape slammed into him.

Twenty yards removed from his original position, Proto Man clenched his jaw and kipped up off the ground. His focus immediately returned to the space in front of the inn, where a female drow with a scepter seemed to be commanding a massive spider. The tank-sized arachnid let out a skittering hiss as it reared up on its back four limbs. Across the way, Proto Man’s scanner slid into overdrive as the spider started to skitter across the street. By the time the creature was rearing up to smash the adolescent android, there was leaf-shaped shield to intercept the pair of bladed feet.

With a grunt, the android shoved up and promptly leapt back, creating enough of a gap to let him put some distance between himself and the spider. The creature landed back on its front legs and lashed out in an attempt to close its limbs around the robotic youth. Before it had a chance, Proto Man was gone—his spring-loaded pneumatic legs giving him the vertical pop he needed to vault over his opponent.

The android’s clicked back down a few yards behind the spider, but his focus was instead of the scepter-wielding drow woman, who seemed to be preparing to cast a spell on the building that served as Whirda’s momentary retreat.

“Hey!” Proto Man screamed as he lifted the Proto Buster. The drow glanced over just in time to watch as a burst of concentrated energy crashed into her shoulder, dislocating the limb and hurtling the victim to the ground. Spinning, the android grimaced and forged a Proto Sword as the spider tried for another go at him. Before he had a chance to skewer the spider, a drow warrior slipped in from the left and stabbed his curved blade through Proto Man’s right shoulder. The supercharged android swallowed a scream, but a moment later he was unable to repeat that action when a bladed spider leg ripped into his chest.

Red warnings erupted over the periphery of his internal display as the spider tried to use its giant weight to force Proto Man to bend backwards. Grinding his teeth together as his metal endoskeleton fought to resist physics, the android clutched a hand around the leg embedded in his chest. With his sword-hand, he slashed through the spider’s appendage. Twisting his body, Proto Man tore the bladed limb out and bashed the sword-wielding drow in the skull with it. The android then stumbled backwards, his sword fizzling out as a charged started to build in the Proto Buster.

“Goodnight,” he muttered as he swung up the barrel and released the torrent of energy into the spider’s face and head. When the flash faded, the arachnid slumped to the ground—its neck a charred stump. On the other end of the fatal blow, Proto Man let out a grunt as his legs gave out under him. A look down revealed that the two wounds had left less than desirable results. The sword wound had struck deep enough to compromise his shoulder joint, while the spider’s attack had managed to rupture some hardware that was integral to his ancillary systems. While the nanobots were working hard to make repairs, it would take them some time before they could produce substantial results.

… Fiddlesticks. Rising up to his augmented height, Proto Man scanned the scene and saw that the drow had vanished into the darkness. “Where are they?” He muttered as a popup indicated that his system was rerouting resources to areas of higher need. In a flash of light, the android reverted to his normal appearance, which only served to exacerbate the injuries. Once he managed to confirm that all his power cells were functioning properly, Proto Man deactivated his weapons and made his way back toward the inn.

The preteen machine managed to make it a grand total of twenty feet before he felt the very ground beneath his feet shudder. The heck? He had never read anything about seismic activity in the Pale Moors, but as the android made his way toward the edge of the village, a small part of him wished he had. While the sun was still sunken below the horizon, his vision was enough to provide him with a view of the scaled colossus lumbering toward the dead village. Its shape and gait gave it the look of a dinosaur, but Proto Man had never read about a tyrannosaurus rex as tall as half a football field. If its height and size wasn’t enough, the monster’s back was an assortment of spikes, and two giant horns jutted up from its scalp, as if it needed the ability to gore adversaries.

Proto Man didn’t need to the popup to tell him what was advancing toward him.

“The Tarrasque…”

Without a second thought, the preteen machine spun around and sprinted back into the village to find Whirda.