Oh No

26.11.2025

As far as ordinary days go, this day was perfectly ordinary.

In fact, it was so perfectly ordinary that it had long crossed from the ordinary part and beelined for mundane instead.

Kazra, however, reckoned that it might be just him. He wondered if all scions felt this way upon returning to Mezchinhar. After you had spent A While out there, travelling the Universe, chasing down what little hints there were left of the Lords, what was supposed to be home did feel slightly… boring.

And crowded. It always took one by surprise after a long absence that was spent in the company of the same people day-to-day, how many wizards there really were. It was like they had deliberately taken the most crowded marketplaces in the known Universe and chucked them all in here together, then multiplied by a number Kazra feared would put his brain in a standstill for a while if he tried to calculate it all by himself right now. The only saving grace was that Mezchinhar was significantly better organized, allowing for them to stay out of each other’s paths. Otherwise, it was just like a marketplace in a random city on a random planet. You showed up, got what you came for, and you would possibly never see a single one of those people again.

But mostly, it was boring. There was an accustomed rhythm to this place; a routine which you sunk into without realising it, and which, by the time you had figured it out, had already begun feeling safe enough for you to not feel too inclined on breaking it. It was something they knew, even if the wizards here generally had relatively little say over what that routine would eventually end up being, for one reason or another.

He wondered if this, and not the promise of possible complete death and void, was a major reason most chose to have their Parts be out and about, rather than cooped up here in Mezchinhar. If nobody wanted to sit still and be confined to a world of infinite and sterile light and white when there was an entire Multiverse out there calling their name.

Boring and crowded, and sterile, and impersonal. That was how it felt. How it had always felt. How it was. But also intimidating, in a way Kazra could not quite put his finger to it. But, of course, should he mention this to anyone else, that wizard would say he was just imagining things.

At least his Wizard agreed with him, if slightly begrudgingly, since for him this was home.

Overall, he felt like a slightly overwhelmed but nonetheless loyal pup who was being so brave about it as he trailed after his teacher currently deeply immersed in a conversation with somebody Kazra had, if he had to be honest, not really bothered to learn the name of yet. And probably would not have to, either, for wizards, in general, did not normally seem to follow the human custom of “the friend of mine is also an acquaintance of yours”. They conversed, he kept an open ear just in case he were to be addressed, though that was unlikely to happen, while overall he had been left to his own devices.

He wondered if he would be given the chance (and time) to see his Wizard.

Your own Parts were safe to interact with, even though for a lot of wizards that interaction went mostly only as far as getting them up and awake after rebuilding them.

“Probably not,” the Wizard at the back of his mind noted dutifully.

“Ah. Be an optimist.”

“You’re the optimist here. I’m being a realist.”

Kazra scoffed, albeit amused, and continued scanning the crowd at his own leisure, and they kept walking, and Rohkovas and the unnamed wizard kept talking and paying no attention to the scion trailing behind them.

He turned his head to look the other way and caught a movement in the corner of his eye, which… honestly, it was not as important as it could be made out to be, in this kind of circumstances. It would be ridiculous to assume it bore some deep significance, for there was movement everywhere in this part of Mezchinhar.

Still, he chose to look.

Something clicked in his mind. Something so tiny and insignificant, it was hard to place or even understand.

There was a figure in the perfectly orchestrated, orderly crowd, and Kazra had no idea how, but he managed to stand out among them while being… perfectly normal and inconspicuous. Perhaps it was the way he moved, effortless and with the kind of grace Kazra did not remember seeing in other wizards (not that he had paid much attention anyway most of the time), or the way the light bounced off the dark hair which lay in a soft braid over the wizard’s shoulder, or the way he tilted his head and smiled in a soft, kind way, as he answered the one walking next to him. No. Kazra really, truly had no idea what had caused him to pay attention to this particular person, save for the fact that the wizard was there, and obviously a very real, bodily entity, not just a figment of a malfunctioning imagination.

He watched the other walk, himself completely oblivious of the fact he was staring, and his only saving grace was most likely that the other wizard was just as oblivious of this.

Kazra heard a voice, and it took him a moment to register he was the one being addressed. He remembered his Wizard sharing the utter bewilderment, and concluded that he had not been the one to speak.

“Kazra!” there was annoyance in the raised voice, and he had just enough self-awareness to figure out it was Rohkovas addressing him. Eventually, he gained some more of it; exactly as much as it was necessary, to figure out he had slowed down to an almost too slow of a step as he tried to keep the stranger in sight. It was not as much as to disturb the order of the place but enough for Rohkovas to notice.

The Lordseeker followed his gaze across the crowd and gave a silent and at the same time most pitying sigh Kazra had ever heard addressed at him when he learned the cause of such delay.

“Not going to happen. Don’t even think about it.”

“What?” Kazra protested, trying to sound as inconspicuous as he could. “I wasn’t thinkin’ anything!”

Rohkovas scoffed, “I’ve been around a bit, and I’ve seen that sort of facial expression more than once.”

“But… what…” as there was no more reason to pretend otherwise, the young wizard now tried his best to articulate the question he wanted to ask, but somehow his mind would not comply, and to make matters worse, his Wizard was not doing any better, either, clearly smitten by the same thing. The hell was wrong with him? “Who…”

“He is a Wizard of the Lords, from before the times of the Last Whisper, and one of those who fought for Mezchinhar.” There was something soothing in Rohkovas’ voice right now, and Kazra felt like scoffing at him, though he was not sure if and how that would help anyone, least of all himself. “He is ancient, and he keeps no close company. So, I’d rather tell you now than have you break your heart later. Forget you saw him. There’s plenty of wizards out there, you’d have to be extremely unlucky, to run into him again. Now come,” the Lordseeker placed his hand on Kazra’s shoulder, “we’re already being expected.”

With one last look into the crowd that confirmed, the stranger was now gone, Kazra sighed and yielded, and let himself be guided into the desirable direction.

“And maybe try to close your mouth next time,” Rohkovas added, with considerable amusement.

Kazra kind of wished the ground would swallow him right now.

___

There was apparently no discernible difference between waiting in the primal wizards’ quarters for the door to open as you were about to meet the teacher assigned, and waiting in a good-sized room for your superior (also known as the Grand Master) for the foreseeable future to arrive. Same kind of bothersome excitement that felt like your stomach was full of lead and currently in the process of sinking below your knees, but with boredom mixed in-between, as if somebody had asked for it to be there in the first place. And to add insult to the injury, it was not even the kind of exciting boredom one felt while waiting for important things to happen and that felt like time was stretching out infinitely. It was just – boredom. The kind of a boredom when everything in your close proximity that can been looked at, has been looked at, and every thought that appeared in your brain – thought and rethought multiple times.

(His Wizard was currently involved in a conversation with somebody, and the Warrior had been attempting to follow it from the back of the Wizard’s mind, alas the topic was one of those mundane Mezchinhar things, with meaningless pleasantries woven in-between, as they normally were. A weather talk, if Mezchinhar had had any kind of weather to speak of. Solely engaged in for the sake of engaging in a conversation. And let nobody tell you, wizards never ever did things without a purpose!)

Kazra fought back a yawn, only barely succeeding.

The door opened, and for a moment, the atmosphere in the room grew tense, as they tend to be in the first moments of meeting one’s new superiors, before the Warrior shook himself up and saluted the two wizards before he had even had the chance to perceive them entirely.

“I wouldn’t worry just yet,” a silent, soft voice answered a question that had been asked before the door opened. “They are clearly looking for something, but I do not think they will be a problem. There has been no Chaos Wizard activity in the region, and the Seekers have not reported anything suspicious about their crew and cargo. I advise to keep monitoring their presence, but it looks more like we merely crossed paths by accident. I would not be surprised if they are gone a couple days from now.”

All of a sudden, Kazra’s Engineer felt like he was once again the young scion back in the day, trailing behind Rohkovas through that crowd in Mezchinhar.

Approximately at the same time, his Wizard tripped over his own metaphorical feet in the conversation.

‘You’d have to be extremely unlucky, to run into him again.’

He hoped that this time, he had at least managed to keep his jaw where it was supposed to be.

Well, fuck.

05.12.2025

The magic suppressant was annoying, if anything. Unpleasant, yes, and an utter insult added to an injury. But most of all, it was annoying, in the kind of way that something is annoying when it prevents one from engaging in their intended activity.

Which was, after all, exactly what they were designed for. It was their exact intended purpose. To prevent one from engaging in their intended activity. Provided, of course, that activity was of a magical purpose. It would be utmost weird, if the activity they had to prevent was, say, climbing the stairs. Or walking. Though there probably was something in the arsenal from the Enchanters that would serve some oddly specific purpose, if for no other reason then just to make things that would be a nuisance to somebody.

Kazra pulled at the handcuff with as much disdain as he could manage and, in return, received a discharge of magic that was there as a reminder rather than a threat, not to fumble with it. A miniscule zap, on par with the static discharge that came from touching a metal item with bare hands in winter. He growled a curse under his breath, then some more, for a good measure, as he continued pacing around the room. Now, of course the purpose of his actions was not to get these things off. If he tried (and somehow even succeeded at) that, he reckoned he would be apprehended and disposed of faster than the cuffs would hit the floor, what with the obvious levels of paranoia surrounding the whole mess. Whoever had been the ones planning it would probably catch the hands of the First Circle, or at least their superiors, soon, if they had not already.

(They probably had.)

No, this was purely because there happened to be absolutely nothing else here to direct the upset and anger, and agitation, and fear at.

Now, Kazra was pretty darn sure that in his life, there had been instances of somebody mentioning what this whole “mind evaluation” thing actually meant, rather than just bare-bone guidelines, but somehow, he guessed he must have not been paying attention at that time. Of course, you heard the other wizards speak of it, time and again, but those were merely glimpses of conversations aimed at whoever said wizards happened to be in a conversation with. And of course, he had caught a glimpse or two, of the wizard in question himself – an unnerving, imposing creature indeed. One that commanded both respect and fear at the same time, but in a much different way than your Grandmaster would, for example. Partially due to the fact that, wherever this… Mindcrawler… appeared, other wizards would go out of their way just to be as far from him as it was physically possible.

And then there were the eyes. Always lit with magic, making one’s metaphorical hackles rise up whenever he appeared in proximity. Magic, active magic, meant there was danger.

“You need to calm down,” a voice spoke, and the Warrior flinched and cursed, this time out loud.

“Sure! Calm down! Great idea! I'm seconds from being... I don't know what! And you're telling me to calm down! I set my foot through the damn portal, only to be detained and told, heyyy, we'll need to have you evaluated! You link to your Wizard now, you die, capiche?! An amazing welcome back, must say that!”

“It is the standard procedure after this kind of mission,” the voice answered, and Kazra still chose to avoid directly engaging with the other presence as much as he could, just so he could stew a little bit longer.

“Would have appreciated if that were included in the initial instructions!” He spat out, and cared little of how bitter and sharp it ended up sounding. “Bit late for warnings, don’t you think?”

“I am certain that this was included,” the other wizard answered, pretending he either had not heard or did not mind the tone he was being talked to in. “At the very least, the Grandmaster mentioned it when you arrived. He always does; just in case they failed to instruct the new Warriors before they are deployed. It is very rare, but it has happened before.”

“The hell you know about—” Kazra finally turned and immediately silenced in half sentence, stood straight and saluted. “Fieldgeneral!”

Fieldgeneral Redkevik beheld him for a moment.

“There is no need for that here,” he finally spoke. “Everyone is equal in this place.”

Involuntary, Kazra’s sight travelled down to the other’s hands that Redkevik respectfully and calmly kept at his sides, and he caught a glimpse of the same kind of device they had popped onto him as soon as he had stepped through that damned portal.

“Equally accused, that's for sure,” he snarled at nobody in particular.

“Like I said, it is a standard procedure for missions like this.”

“Ones that go awful sideways?”

The Fieldgeneral tilted his head slightly, before smiling in calm, almost sad way.

“Indeed. Without it, it would be easy for Chaos to slip inside Mezchinhar.”

“They believe somebody betrayed us?! Looked like completely normal incompetence of a wet-nosed higher-up who wouldn’t know a battle if he were right in the middle of one! If I were… infected… I'd rather throw myself into a star!”

“That will not persuade them not to do it.”

Whether that was a serious statement, or a dry joke, Kazra had no mental strength left to decipher, nor did he particularly care about it. He raked his fingers through his hair once, then again, then a third time, for a good measure, then began pacing again, at the same time wishing, deeply so, there had been at least a chair, or some kind of a box here, just for the sole purpose so he could kick it once. Maybe twice.

“You are afraid.”

Now that was a statement. Or rather, an observation. And there was no condescension, or disdain, in the Fieldgeneral’s voice, unlike one could have expected in such cases.

“Nervous,” Kazra was not about to show a weakness, even though Redkevik had guessed correctly. “Not used to just… waiting for strange stuff to happen, ‘s all.”

“I would say, we do that constantly.”

“That’s different! When you’re out there,” Kazra gestured into the general direction of the “outside” he was referring to, “you know you’re about to run into Chaos Wizards, or whatever it is this time! You know what to expect! You know what you are expected to do! But this? This is uncharted territory! Can’t blame me for being a bit worried!”

“I am not,” Redkevik answered, in the same low, soft voice as always.

“I know,” Kazra stopped and slouched against the wall, before heaving a sigh. “I am sorry. Just… guess I should let some steam off before I’m shoved into this room the next time. Just so it doesn’t chew my insides up for good. Just bad timing. Sorry. I… I’m not at my best right now. Terrible excuse, I know, but…”

“It is understandable. You are still very new to this.”

At another time, in a different situation, maybe Kazra would argue about that. Perhaps get flustered about such observation. Or at least tell the other wizard to mind his own damn business. Right here, right now, he did not feel like it, however. It felt simply like an observation rather than a personal slight, and he found it difficult to hold even a symbolic grudge against Redkevik.

Kazra continued pacing, only now, instead of the entire room being his roaming grounds, he intentionally confined himself to only a half of it, putting more than enough space between him and Redkevik, just so he would not walk right into the Fieldgeneral by pure accident – which he knew would mean that the Mindcrawer could make early retirement today.

For a while, there was calm. The kind of calm that rules places where people – wizards or otherwise – are gathered as they expect their imminent doom. The kind of calm that comes as the next step of being stressed. Eventually, though, Kazra interrupted it, his personal reasoning being that anything was better than just stupidly waiting for a door to open:

“Does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt?” Redkevik seemed to be caught off-guard, the way he blinked as though prior to the question he had been simply letting his mind wander while the other warrior was busy trying to put a dent into the floor. He looked calm, but not stressed-calm. Just regular calm, and collected, like he always was.

“They say, the whole thing… evaluation… whatever. They say, it hurts. Physically. And that there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Redkevik tilted his head.

“You just went through what most would call, a hell,” the Fieldgeneral sounded amused, “but it's the Mindcrawler, you are afraid of?”

“Been in several things I'd call hell, personally,” Kazra shrugged. “Hell's pretty familiar by now. This ain't it. Wasn't in the brochure, you know.”

Redkevik kept silent for a moment and studied his face carefully. Kazra had noticed, he did that often and with everyone.

“Yes, it does,” Redkevik finally answered the original question. “Unlike anything you've ever felt, and with no way of avoiding it.”

“Damn.”

“Do not fight it.”

Kazra found himself incapable of forcing back an incredulous chuckle.

“Forgive my speaking my thoughts freely, Fieldgeneral,” he tried to tone the sarcasm down to a minimum, “but that's a bit of rubbish advice to give somebody right after you told them, the thing they're being forced into will be very much agony.”

“The more you struggle and fight Yettadeimos, the worse it will be,” if Redkevik had noticed the sarcasm, he did not show any sign of it when he answered. “Go with the flow, let him do his job. It will be over sooner that way. And it won’t do half as much damage.”

“Let him do his job,” Kazra wanted so, so much, to mock these words, but he yet remembered whom he was talking to. “Easier said than done!”

“That is true. However, the more you struggle against him, the worse it’ll be, for yourself. And if you try to obscure anything, he will take it from you by force.”

“So,” Kazra folded his arms, “you mean, it’s everything, not just things concerning that sh- I mean mission?”

“Yes,” Redkevik answered, completely unphased by that fact, and Kazra caught himself wondering how often he had already had this happen to him, “that is also true, and it is necessary. But you are still young, so it will be over soon. Provided you do not fight him.”

“Well,” the Warrior dragged out, not knowing whether he was to feel amused or concerned, “guess that serves me right for not paying attention in crucial moments. The amount of new information you can learn in five minutes. Astounding. Almost as—“

He was interrupted by the door in the opposite wall sliding open.

Fieldgeneral Redkevik nodded towards it, and Kazra could have sworn he saw a tiny encouraging smile on his lips. Regardless of whether or not it had actually been there, or it was merely a shadow play, he chose to believe in the former, for that gave him a fuzzy, warm feeling inside. Weird and unaccustomed, and completely out of place in this situation, but not unpleasant, either.

He took a deep breath and stepped towards the darkness beyond the door.

30.06.2026

The… whatever it had been, before it had become bent out of its previous shape by forces far beyond its control and turned into a cylinder… clattered onto the floor where it rolled for a few meters before coming to an abrupt halt that had, however, come sooner than the wizard throwing it had expected. The wizard in question ceased his previous operation of digging through what could easily be called the guts of some clearly unconventional, exotic weaponry and tilted his head to the side in a curious manner.

“That’s too little,” he muttered to himself while raking one hand through his hair — and only remembered that it was covered in oil and only the lords knew what else when there was already a streak of dirt going through the ginger. “Oh, for the— This place is too big for you to do that. Where’d you go?”

He turned and scanned the floor, tracing the approximate path the newly formed cylinder must have, according to his calculations, taken on its trip across the room, and successfully spotted it a few meters away.

“I need to remind you that you shouldn’t let your guard down when we are deployed.”

Kazra almost shrieked. The only reason he did not was probably because that would have been a clear shot right through his pride. Which would have looked bad for everybody involved (namely, for all his Parts, because he really only had himself to blame).

The reason for the untimely end of the cylinder’s journey and, incidentally, the one to have scared the living daylight out of him was also there.

“Fieldgeneral!” Kazra stood straight. “I was just—“

The memory of the Engineer (currently specifically observing the Warrior as they tried their combined best to figure out the task, he had been assigned) facepalming hit him within seconds.

“That won’t be necessary,” the visitor interrupted him, and Kazra shut up at once, “you may speak freely right now. The Grandmaster wants to know how things are going.”

“So, he sent you?” That came out before Kazra had had the chance to bite his tongue (“Shut up! SHUT UP!” — a rather panicked courtesy of the Wizard’s, who was also paying attention now). He saw the Fieldgeneral raise his eyebrows approximately at the same time as it dawned on him, just how that must have sounded like. “Okay… that… thaaat came out wrong… Forgive me, did not mean it that way. I meant to say, you certainly have better things to do, ‘specially now? Why send you, to check up on a random Warrior?”

Redkevik’s expression softened, as he answered, “Everybody else is either busy, or resting. I do not mind. Any progress?”

In the time it had taken Kazra to collect himself, Fielgeneral Redkevik had picked up the ill-fated cylinder and now placed it on the table next to its source of origin, while still keeping a more than polite distance from the other wizard.

Kazra let out a world-weary sigh.

“None!” He much rather admitted the truth than attempted to mask it through pretty promises, for pretty promises were not the thing that kept people — wizards or other — alive on the battlefield for as long as necessary. This whole situation was just unpleasant (to put it politely, instead of the way his Engineer had, just minutes ago) for everybody involved, and would have been so even if he had not ended up in this place and having to try his best to deal with the fallout of somebody else’s nonsense. “And if I don’t make any soon, I’ll start screaming!”

Judging mostly by the sound of rustling fabric, the Fieldgeneral turned, quite possibly to look at him, but right now Kazra did not care all that much. He rubbed his face, finding the feeling rather satisfactory (and this time, he even remembered to wipe his hands first; baby steps, baby steps).

“I am not sure if now is the time for jokes.”

“I am not joking, that’s the thing!” Kazra argued his position. “I am already screaming inside my head! One more hour with this pile of garbage, and I might as well do it out loud! This thing makes no sense! Whoever came up with this design is a clown, there is no other way to call him!”

“Well,” after a moment of rather awkward silence, Fieldgeneral Redkevik spoke again, “that is… certainly a way to refer to Lord Heshiva.”

Kazra made a noise that sounded like something dying. He did feel like something had. Him, on the inside. And his career in the military.

“This is going straight onto my record, isn’t it?”

“I must agree,” Redkevik continued, as though he had not heard that remark, or he pretended he had not, “that this was a rather… daring… design.”

“Daring, is not the word I would use.” Alright, fine, Kazra decided; if he was to go down, he would do that while preserving (what remained of) his dignity. “For a showcase weapon, I would understand, but I cannot, for my life, imagine how this could have gotten sent out with us, unless something got tangled up in the communication. Unfortunately, I cannot tell you what happened there, but if I had to make an educated guess, I would say that somebody requested for this thing specifically. I do not think anyone would add this to our arsenal accidentally and without somebody else checking and then double checking again.”

“It is not your direct duty, to tend to the weaponry.” An observation. “You are neither an Engineer, nor a Pyromancer.”

Kazra leant on the table and sighed. He had expected this. And the truth was, he really, really did not have the expertise necessary to meddle with things that could well blow up into his face while he was meddling with them.

This thing in particular, however? This thing was not going to do any blowing up. Not now, not tonight, not tomorrow morning. And probably not ever again. Most likely.

“I know,” he agreed. “I’m just doing what I was told to do. Following orders. Making myself useful. I was told to take a look at this, and so I am.”

The Fieldgeneral hummed under his nose. Kazra watched as he circled the table, taking a better look at the… Thing (for there was no better word for what the table’s occupant even was, to begin with; maybe, if he had seen it before it had become a mangled mess…). Once again, he found himself following the other wizard with his eyes.

Once again, he found himself thinking about things that were not important right now.

“So, what can you tell me about this?” Redkevik stopped on the other side of the table, with the Thing now sitting between them — still mangled, still non-functional.

Kazra shook himself upright and even succeeded at chasing his musings away.

“Not much, really,” he admitted. So maybe he was no authority on anything, and not even somebody important, but what knowledge he had of this, he would use, along with what the Engineer could supplement for filling in the gaps. “I’d have better success if I had anything to go by, about how this thing looked like before its… well… undoubtfully grandiose demise.

“From what I see here, I’d say it was too powerful and too weak at the same time. The energy that got released when it was in use was too much for the components to handle. Everything’s either melted together, shattered to pieces, or bent out of shape. There is not a single part in there that looks like it survived. Probably got one shot in, two at the most.

“If I, again, had to make an educated guess, I would say that riiight here,” Kazra dug around the insides of the Thing some more and flung another detail over his shoulder, before bending two pieces of metal back (like everything else, they had already been bent out of shape without his intervention, so there was not much he could do, to make matters worse) and pulling out what had probably begun its life as cables (likewise sent flying and out of the way), before he pointed at what was, for better or for worse, a puddle of something with a metallic sheen that had melted and now refused to come back together and form a solid piece again, “was likely a power core of some sort. And that means, another educated guess would be that this used to be a plasma canon of some kind. I’d be surprised if anyone can scavenge more than raw materials out of this, if even that. Pretty sure there’s things in there that have changed their chemical composition. I only hope that, when this thing went off, it took enough of those bastards with it!”

“That sounds accurate,” the Fieldgeneral either noted, or confirmed, and Kazra had to restrain himself from speaking up, for the next thing would have definitely been something very out of line.

“This is a test,” he heard a hiss at the back of his mind, only confirming that his other two Parts had had the same revelation at approximately the same time.

This was a test of some kind. What it was for, Kazra decided he was not going to even bother asking, for it was above his station, to demand information from his superiors, even if that information concerned him directly. If they deemed it necessary, he would learn the details soon enough. If not, then there was no reason to mope about it.

Even if he had wanted to ask, he would not have had the chance. There were steps outside (now that Kazra was actually paying attention to things happening around him again), which would not have been abnormal on its own, for it was not as if they were the only wizards in the area right now. Far from it, even. It was that, instead of minding own business and walking past like any regular wizard or soldier would, this one stopped right outside.

Kazra was seized by the urge to utter something very not-primal-wizard-friendly, and he would have, had he only had more time for that. Alas, time was something he lacked. He noticed the Fieldgeneral look up a split second before another wizard stepped inside the room, completely unaware of the kind words that had almost been thrown his way.

“So, what is it?” He announced himself in a manner that would have been deserving of at least a few strong opinions. “Making any progress?”

Now, there were two things about this guy. One, he was a windbag with an enormous ego, and two, he was a windbag with an enormous ego who lacked any kind of self-awareness of that fact. In fact, there were exactly two rumours going around among both his subordinates and equals alike. One, that he was some higher-up’s pet, to put it politely, to have even gotten this far up in the food chain; and two, that this might or might not be his final chance to prove himself. And even if the first would turn out to be untrue, everybody (except for the guy himself, apparently, for he strolled about as self-important as always) would still have been on their best behaviour if there was the very real danger of getting kicked down several steps of their peculiar pack hierarchy. In fact, as a Pyromancer of a considerable rank, he was the one supposed to take care of weaponry — which included the unfortunate Thing currently on the table. A duty he had promptly delegated to the next best warrior who had entered his field of vision, citing but not naming, more important things he had to tend to.

Unfortunately for everybody (Kazra, mostly) involved, wizards happened to be bastards with a downright ridiculous lifespan and an even more ridiculous memory span. Meaning, for example, that the Fieldgeneral on the opposite side of the Thing was definitely able to recall the times before the famous event called “The Last Whisper” when they all had still shared one mind, which meant he probably even had memories stashed away somewhere in there that could recall the entire event of creating the very first wizards as a whole. Unfortunately for everybody (Kazra, mostly) involved, it meant that, barred any extreme events, wizards remembered everything, and it really did mean everything. Which, on its turn, meant that there were wizards who could hold a grudge forever, quite literally so.

Unfortunately for everybody (Kazra, mostly) involved, this specific wizard happened to be one of those who could hold a grudge forever. Which meant that one could not simply call him an incompetent tool to his face and hope to continue climbing the career ladder. Somebody once had. That wizard was now gone from the unit and the military as a whole. Last time Kazra had heard it being mentioned, that Warrior had been assigned to a far-away deep space transport hub at the end of nowhere’s arse where nothing ever happened. A place where not even Chaos Wizards in search of raw materials would venture and that was so mind-bogglingly boring that even the bacteria floating around on space junk did not go there.

Kazra remained, almost demonstratively and definitely insolently, with his back turned towards the door.

There was, of course, the etiquette about greeting one’s superiors.

However?

However, Kazra really did not feel like following it right now.

“Not so useless, are you?” The Pyromancer had either not noticed the blatant disregard for his person, or he did not care. Why would he, too, for how used he was to things happening the way he wanted them to happen, regardless of whether or not random warriors would give him the respect he wanted.

Something in the depths of the Thing snapped, although there really was nothing that could make matters worse for it, and Kazra made it a point to keep his fingers as far from the liquid formerly-known-as-core part of the device as possible. When dealing with wizard tech as a whole, even wizards themselves would do well having a strict policy of not sticking their hands into strange liquids.

No reaction followed from the Pyromancer. He continued walking at his own leisure, at least until the moment he was far enough into the room, to see the other wizard present, as Redkevik had, until then, remained hidden from the Pyromancer’s sight on the behalf of Kazra being broader and just taller enough, and standing closer to the entrance.

And that was when he came to an abrupt halt.

Kazra almost snorted at the thought that he was not the only one who would do well to remember to not let his guard down, as the Fieldgeneral had so politely reminded him earlier. At the last moment he managed to mask it under a perfectly believable cough.

“Ah,” the Pyromancer found his metaphorical footing again, after a short moment of dismay, even though no proper wizard (and a warrior no less) would admit even under torture that something had caught him off-guard, “and the Fieldgeneral’s here, too! Just the wizard I wanted to speak to!”

That sounded somewhat mocking, if not downright hostile, and definitely not as a way to speak to one’s superior’s. Kazra looked up, just in time to see the aforementioned Fieldgeneral narrow his eyes in what felt slightly… he did not want to make assumptions, but if he were to be asked, Kazra would have said, Redkevik had looked annoyed, perhaps almost angry, before returning to his usual self and stepping out from behind the table. Kazra followed his lead and turned, unknowingly finding himself in the front seat for the events about to unfold.

“Is there a problem?” Now, there were several different ways that this both simple and yet complicated question could be asked, and everything depended on the occasion and the intonations it was asked in. However, when the Fieldgeneral asked it was in the same calm, collected voice as always, with no indication anything was wrong.

“Is there?” The Pyromancer scoffed. “Bloody hell, there sure is! I know you and the Grandmaster have been plotting behind my back!” Here, his voice gained the high pitch of indignation. “You think I’m some kind of a simpleton? I know you’ve been plotting to remove me, damn it!”

“Discussing, you baboon, it’s called, discussing,” Kazra really wanted to correct him, but firmly decided, his opinion was not wanted by either of the higher-ranking parties present, and thus kept it to himself.

“It is not your place, to speak to your superiors like this, or to question your Grandmaster’s, or the First Circle’s, decisions.” Fieldgeneral Redkevik had, to Kazra’s knowledge, never raised his voice, and neither did so now. He merely stated the obvious, in a firm voice that should leave no objections, before he walked past the wizard and towards the door.

“Now wait a second here!” The Pyromancer reached out and grabbed the Fieldgeneral by the arm. “We’re not done ta—”

Two things happened, and they happened before the sentence had been finished. Well, three things, actually, if Kazra diving to his right out of sheer reflex could be counted, which he supposed it could.

The room became illuminated by a bright flash of light, and the Pyromancer’s voice broke abruptly.

Something heavy fell to the floor.

Now, Kazra had been made aware that wizards who dared touch the Fieldgeneral, or any of Redkevik’s Parts, really, regardless of whether they did so by intent or by accident, would meet a less than glorious end right there and then, but he had not yet seen it happen in real life. Quite frankly, he had thought those to be exaggerated rumours, because most of them came from inside Mezchinhar, since wizards, while not prone to gossiping, did talk among themselves. It was just that sometimes those talks were less based in cold, hard facts, and more in the talks they had had with other wizards. Thus, they were sharing concerns and citing experiences, but never gossiping. Gossip was below any self-respecting wizard, and that was that.

Kazra had been made aware of that… concern. He had not experienced it second or first -hand, or at the very least, he thought he had never experienced it first-hand. At least as far as the Wizard and the Engineer were concerned; with the Warrior, he just hoped he had not experienced it first-hand, because he was not sure what kind of impression that would have left about him (even though he was also certain that, if he had, it must have happened by accident, because he could hardly imagine himself doing it on purpose).

He chose to drop this quaint thought experiment. If it had happened, it had happened, and he did not remember it, and there was nothing that could be done about that, even though he would have liked to know, if only to offer some kind of an apology. The current state of things was, however, that he had never experienced this in any way, and that was the state of things he elected to believe.

In the time it took him to process this, however, the time outside of his head had nonetheless passed.

“I am sorry you had to witness that,” the Fieldgeneral spoke, with that placing him back into the reality of right here and right now. Kazra guessed he must have been staring for a while even after that, because Redkevik then followed it up with, “are you okay?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m fine, I just…” Kazra gestured, vaguely, at the (very much dead) Pyromancer on the floor.

He watched the Fieldgeneral take a step back, to avoid the black blood ending up on his boots as it began pooling on the floor.

Redkevik beheld the body for a second, as if contemplating something.

“It is not your duty,” he finally stated. “The soldiers will collect him.”

It was not the correct answer to what Kazra was trying to express very hard, but he decidedly shut up about it. Even more so because whatever the Warrior might have said right now, would have most likely come out in the shape of a very nervous chuckle. He remembered his Engineer’s eye twitch, while the Wizard reminded of some kind of an anxious animal somebody had disturbed from a nap, and concluded that neither of his two other Parts were doing much better than the Warrior.

Therefore, he simply nodded and hoped that he was not yet expected to say something.

It did not seem as though he was, however, because Redkevik did not appear inclined to continue either of the conversations. Kazra, on his turn, figured, it was not his place to demand them continued. Instead, he just watched the Fieldgeneral walk towards the door.

“By the way,” Redkevik stopped when he was almost outside and looked back, “have you considered the career of a Pyromancer?”

“No, Fieldgeneral!” Kazra distinctively felt, the “speaking freely” time was now over, and chose to fall back to short, specific answers an officer would expect from somebody of his rank instead.

Fieldgeneral Redkevik nodded.

“Then perhaps you should,” he spoke again. “You are good at it. As you were.”

“Fieldgeneral!” Kazra saluted and remained in that pose until he was alone again. Only once he could no longer hear Redkevik’s footsteps outside, did he relax and let out the breath he had not even known he had been holding until then.

His sight fell upon the lifeless body on the floor. Within moments, he could hear a couple soldiers approaching.

“Fuck.” The Warrior turned and rested his hands on the table again, leaning over the Thing. There was a feeling of something nasty swirling around in the pit of his stomach. “What the fuck.”