I walked without direction, and with no purpose. All who saw me gave me a wide berth, and the city was organized simply enough that I could not truly get lost. I kept going, only vaguely aware of what my external senses were processing, focused entirely on the scrabbling war within.

  The information that they were going to execute the woman had been too much, the last gallon of water dumped into a teacup that had been full three gallons prior.

  I was not an animal. I would not be reduced to instinct, to desire, to feral, base behavior. I was above such things, and I would always be above such things–no matter the depth of this infection that had been encoded into my Glitchlight.

  Even so. The desire there had come so close--too close. I found myself pressing the exasperating thread repeatedly again, letting the noise of it ricochet in my brain. I despised it--but that hate kept everything else out.

  A carriage was following me. The same one that had been in front of the Magistrate's building. Confrontation had come. If the man had sense, he would cease trailing me and pass me by.

  The carriage came up to my left. The driver peered down at me. "Brightson Surtr, His Grace, Exec Lord Ezras Aeson the VII,would like to carry you to your destination.”

  I did not acknowledge the request, for a moment. The thread's bouncing vibrated in my skull before fading. If I wished to employ caution, I would not enter that carriage.

  The driver cleared his throat. “Sir, I must impress upon you that Lord Aeson very much desires to speak with you.”

  I caught the implication. This was no request. That suited me well. Caution’s service to me had been insufficient.

  I slowed, and turned. The carriage slowed with me. We came to a complete stop at the exact same moment. A footman, dressed in some sort of white and gold livery, hopped down and opened the door.

  I pulled myself up and inside to see the Busiocrat of earlier, legs crossed, a pipe in hand, arm stretched across the couchseat.

  "So, we meet again, Surtr," he said, drawling the words and his accent. "I had hoped you might grant me an audience, considering the rather unfortunate occurrence of earlier."

  "You speak of it as if you had no influence, but it was you who sent a blood-trained hound when a simple invitation would likely have granted you what you apparently seek," I spoke. My voice was calm, my words distant to my ears.

  I should have pressed the thread. Distracted myself from the rising fury. I did not. I sat down on the plush velvet, and let all that I had been beating back for the past hour begin to creep in.

  Instead, I turned my attention to the scroll in the corner, and pulled up my statistics page.

  WArlOck - HyBRId GLITCH TANK

  HEALTH……………………………..…...45

  ManA…………………….……...............30

  -

  GLITCH HEALING POWER…….….....0%

  SPIRIT HEALING POWER………...….0%

  MAGIC HEALING POWER…....…..….0%

  PHYSICAL HEALING POWER…….…0%

  -

  GLITCH RESISTANCE……………...….5%

  SPIRIT RESISTANCE…………….…….0%

  MAGIC RESISTANCE…………....….…0%

  PHYSICAL RESISTANCE………...……0%

  -

  GLITCH DAMAGE…………………......3%

  SPIRIT DAMAGE…………………..…..0%

  MAGIC DAMAGE…………………...….0%

  PHYSICAL DAMAGE……………...…..0%

  "Ah, yes, Madorika can be rather...overenthusiastic. By her account, the two of you had agreed before attempting to disregard the invitation, and--"

  You have 10 points to allocate. Would you like to allocate those now?

  I hit “Yes,” and spoke. "I have no patience for you, or your demands. My reason for being in this city should be quite obvious. Yours is more opaque. Why are you here?"

  I added two points to health, which shot it up to 55. The rest I put into glitch damage, rounding the statistic to 9%.

  The human coughed and cleared his throat. "Surtr, I grant you this--you amuse me greatly. Utterly without fear, which is an admirable trait in a man. However, there is only so much disrespect I am willing to find charming. You are without bloodline--I take it you are one of the bastards they like to dump into this Raid?"

  My statistics were of little interest at this time. Their influence was relatively minimal. Completing my leveling, however, did unlock my third skill.

  The icon for it flickered--violently. My musculature tensed. Do not, I urged the heads-up display. I had been thorough--it could not fail on me now. After a moment, the flashing stopped, and the skill appeared, loading slowly. The icon showed my staff, half-formed.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  MATERIALIZE - 1 Meter Range. 50% HP Cost. Take an item out of your inventory, and materialize it in the designated coordinates. It passes through any other object in that space, and will replace the mass of the space that it occupies.

  The health cost was substantial. That was acceptable. It would do exactly what I required of it.

  "Declining to answer me is not an option you have. Like all men of your caliber, I am sure you harbor resentment against Brightsons born into proper families, but that is not an attitude that will serve you well," Aeson spoke again.

  "Your genetic sire is the Intelligence of Technology, correct?" I asked, turning my attention back to the Exec Lord.

  He grunted, a sound of amusement. "I see we are still playing these childish power games.Yes."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Truly, then, your presence in the city of New Sins makes little sense."

  "I wish to properly bear witness to the Firstborn with my own eyes," he said. "More importantly, I wish to accomplish something that has not been done."

  "The Siege of New Sins has been prevented once prior--" I pointed out, my lip curling.

  "Prevented--not resolved. The Absolution of New Sins has not been granted, not in two thousand years. I will accomplish it, and see a host of other wonders done, before I deal with the Intelligence of this Raid. I had a team I had formulated for that express purpose, but then you appeared," he said. "A Warlock. It is a rare, distant descendent that is judged worthy enough to wield the Glitchlight of our forefathers." The man spoke with a passion and reverence that agitated me. As if he had the right.

  "Your implied devotion is ironic, considering you are no doubt one of the many modern children responsible for the enslavement of your own Genetic Sire." I cocked my head. I sat back, mentally reaching for my staff in the codevoid it hung in. I debated over the angle, and which one would be most effective.

  Aeson frowned, shook his head, and looked away. He focused on the window, the street passing us by. "Gods, you’re disappointing. Spoken like someone who does not understand the nature of Glitchlight. Chosen for it, and yet you fail to grasp it. It consumes disorder, Surtr, and what are humans if not bearers of chaos? To let an Intelligence be without limits is to let the Countless Dead seem like a drop in the metaphorical bucket."

  "So you die and upload yourself for glory and prestige," I said. "Tell me, is the Raid everything you imagined? The host of adoring viewers all that you could conceive? Or is it rather beneath your expectations, Aeson? What was it about your life of luxury that you could not tolerate, that you would kill yourself and come here?"

  Aeson smiled then, a lazy, amused expression. He exhaled smoke, directing the plume towards my face. "Making a great many assumptions, hmm? If only you should be capable of polite decorum. If your attitude is rooted in the loss of that woman, there is little need to be so peeved. That Healer of yours was doomed either way. She is of little consequence and easily replaced."

  "Shield Healers are not commonly obtained," I said. A lie. My Limiter was no such thing, but it explained my attachment to her.

  "Ah, is that what the fuss is about? Well, there will be others--and I will be sure to have them." He settled deeper into his seat. "Now, how about you and I get down to business and discuss the nature of our arrangement? I am entirely willing to forgive your boorish behavior, provided you restrain yourself going forward."

  "You presume a great deal, to think the arrangement is a given and not a gift you have not yet earned," I said.

  Yes. This was the correct angle. He did not appear to be running any kind of shield spell, or have some sort of glitchlight interference that might negate my action. His lack of fear was the height of arrogance. The insult of it grated at me, the want of respect ringing in my skull and teeth.

  This boy was an enemy, and worse still, an enemy who imagined he could dominate me. I granted those no quarter.

  "A gift? You dare imply that you are a gift to me? Bastard." Here, the Busiocrat's affectation of amused ease flickered, like the Glitchlight that no doubt haunted his senses. Was there anything more revolting than the combination of flesh and luminescence? "Your service is not a question--do you think I could allow you to do Radiance knows what in this city? The situation is too precarious. I extend you an olive branch you have not yet earned. The only one of the two of us who presumes is you."

  "Factually incorrect," I said. My Health Points dropped to 22. The staff materialized in my hand.

  The end of it appeared inside of Ezras Aeson the VII's skull. Blood and organ forced itself out around the wood, through the perfect hole punched between his eyes and through his brain entire. I had bisected it and then some. I banished my staff, and watched the corpse slump to the right.

  Do not. I held myself perfectly still. I would not touch his remains.

  "I do not make mistakes twice," I said to the corpse as I struggled with the impulse. I wanted--I wanted to tear into him. Beneath me. Below me. Such desire for carnage, for cruor, when the kill had already been accomplished. It was shame, a reduction, revolting.

  Desire had no place within me.

  It had been accomplished, but I was yet unsatisfied. How--no.

  I touched the thread. It hummed with the reverberation, still as exasperating as ever. Perversely, I wished for the presence of the woman herself. Her reaction to this would no doubt be irritating, furious flailing, and having to manage her would at least spare me from having to master myself.

  The body flashed Glitchlight. Magenta-purple, pixellated blue and orange. I snapped a look at it, sharp. What--?

  I reached for the soulcode of the should-be dead man. No, I careened into it.

  ACCESS DENIED. My awareness was ejected with no small amount of vitriol. But not before I saw it, for that flickering microsecond. The encryption was a work of art, beyond my current capacity to grasp, lovingly and wonderfully made.

  The work of the Secondborn.

  The threads holding my control snapped. I lurched forward, digging my thumbs into the hole I had made, punching other fingers through the eyes. I snarled, pulling it apart, feeling the skull snap and crack beneath my strength. Esophagus and teeth and tongue were bisected for my view, even as it flashed violently beneath my hands. "You cannot save your son, Osiris," I snarled, my voice layering, corrupting, the Glitchlight pushing behind my eyes and through my fingers and out my throat. "Do you hear me? You cannot save him, because I will find him, and I will drink his soul as a desert drinks a river, and he will remember the debasement of fear--!"

  The body, blood, and brain disappeared beneath my hands, and I howled in impotent rage.