Chapter 37: No Time To Explain

“Gopher guts.”

“Whuh?” I say, still confused and disoriented.

Future me’s expression turns to a scab-cracking snarl, and the lightning laced fingertip levels at me—

—And then I remember.

“No spoon! No spoon!”

Future Cy’s face lightens, and the light from his fingertip fizzles out as he shakes out the hand like he just touched a hot stove.

“Little slow on the draw there, kid. But hey, long time no see.”

He chuckles to himself before turning on his heels towards the back end of the alley.

My head whips as I hear a series of explosions in the distance.

“We gotta run,” he says, casually.

I jog up next to him and watch as he begins tracing things in the sky with his hands that leave faint afterimages of different shapes than the one he traced.

“Dude, what the fuck is going on?”

Future me sighs, and whispers to himself.

“I am so grateful for this skill.”

“[No Time To Explain]. Stand two steps that way please.”

I feel a sudden certainty click into place in my mind, that I should do whatever the fuck this guy tells me to. My brain blinks and staggers, my [Sense of Timing] getting pelted in the face by a sack full of Deja Vu. My long and short term memory argue and fight as I suddenly get the feeling that the man standing in front of me just spent several hours— which never happened— explaining the situation in its totality, but I can't remember them.

The end result, simply, is that I take two steps away from him.

Slowly, yet suddenly, sand of infinite colors begins blowing past the alley's opening, picking up and worsening to a technicolor sandstorm. Some of it pools around the ankles of future me, other grains inch towards me. I take another hesitant step back as certain colors within the roiling vortex outside the alley way begin to gather and shift to give the holographic impression of a reptilian face.

“Criminal. You are being detained. Please do not resist.”

Future Cy dismissively looks down at his rolled left sleeve exposing several timepieces lining his arm.

It's at this point I notice his right arm is slightly smaller than the left, and paler.

“Oh great and powerful djinni,” he begins, with an insincere tone to his voice.

“If I am not mistaken, you are under orders to apprehend criminals and collect their statements.”

Future me seems to be taking his time speaking, pausing unnecessarily between his words.

Somewhere else, I hear the sound of— music?— cut through the siren and begin picking up. Light of various colors reflects off the sky in the distance.

“If this is true, I ask that you let me make a statement.”

“Speak, confession of your crimes may assist you in adjudication.”

Future Cy lets his sleeve roll back and clears his throat.

“There are no masters in death.”

The sand image of a face’s eyes go wide, and a growing whistling sound suddenly ends in a deafening crack before I am pelted with a blast of sand, digging into my flesh.

I blink my eye and spit out sand as, where the djinni once stood is now a black stone monolith, embedded in the street.

The magical sand that made up the body of the creature begins to disappear from my body as future me waves me forward.

“C'mon, we got a schedule to keep.”

He begins jogging forward, and I see him twisting the air in front of him and feel a growing pressure in my ears. I move to catch up with him and feel the world tilt and stretch oddly. I stumble as my foot lands further ahead than I anticipated when I finish my step.

“We're under a [Haste] spell, try not to stop moving, it helps.”

I begin to jog to catch up, and see massive stone and brick buildings whip past us, harsh light reflects off of glass windows, and a giant lizard man swordfighting a ghost as another version of myself hovers ominously in the air above them, creating a shimmering wall that blocks a flying volley of arrows.

As the scabbed and healing future me begins talking, I take in the surrounding city, and it is chaos.

“Alright, so the city has a locked down teleportation radius— that thankfully doesn't account for time travel— so we need to get a ways outta the city before we can teleport away.”

Beings of several shapes and sizes whip past us as we pick up speed. A few are humanoid, while several are not.

A bird person— just legitimately a big bird wearing clothes— exchanges spells with two versions of myself down a side street.

“You won't survive time travel yet, so we gotta do this the old fashioned way.”

My heart beats heavier, thundering, and I feel like I could run forever as we get deeper into the city and the din grows louder.

Up ahead I see two large reptilian humanoids, one with a muscular crocodilian form and the other a more lithe body with neck frills, who are holding down a version of me and putting him in chains— including a collar around my neck. He begins maniacally laughing, and Scab Cy shoots out his arm to stop me.

My hair blows back from the blast as the beaten and bloody me in chains ahead of us bloats, glowing red, and explodes in a shower of gore. The trio, the street, and the building they stood outside are left just a bloody crater.

Scab Cy begins moving forward.

“Wait, did I just watch myself die?” I ask, and Scab Cy drags me along towards the wreckage, stepping over the crater and through one of the destroyed buildings.

“Different Cy, we're good.”

“Could you elaborate, please?!”

Put-upon Scab Cy sighs, and extends a hand to help me up into the debris as he explains.

“The vast majority of Cys you'll see in a big battle like this are doomed branches. That's cuz deaths are inevitable in this.”

We step through someone's living room and over a smoldering carpet, now stained with me-chunks.

He continues.

“So, might as well have the versions of us that die at the end of their timelines take the bullet for us.”

He leans in a bit and— either blinks or winks. Hard to tell with one eye.

“Don't let them know they're doomed though. Most just think they're branches.”

“Only 1 in 10 Cys around here are you from the future and not alternate selves and their past/future counterparts.”

“Except the Izzy that's playing the Free Bird solo. That's actually her. She said she wanted to be here for this.”

He says that and I put a name to the distant music, the rhythm of which makes my heart thunder in my chest, keying up the adrenaline and making me feel like I could fight a bus.

We walk out a side door into another alley way and a Cy steps out from around a corner, he waves us towards him.

“This way!”

Scab Cy puts a hand behind his back and speaks loud and clear.

“Gopher guts.”

The other me just nods, and says “Understood. Now come on!”

The world flashes white as Scab Cy flashes his finger out, causing the other Cy to cry out and seize up. Scab Cy quickly follows up with a punch from his stronger left hand, and a piercing opalescent beam draws a line straight through the other Cy.

The Cy at the end of the alleyway, with a brand new hole ventilating his chest cavity. collapses, eye shock open, and I stare for a second.

I understand what happened there but the shock at seeing it, and the realization that could’ve been me a minute ago, stops me for a moment.

Scab Cy begins walking forward, and we watch as the illusion fades, the skin and clothing sloughing off the corpse to reveal a reptilian humanoid, slightly taller than they were before, with lids covering their large eyes that extend just outside its head, and a kind of scaled fin at the top of it.

“[Infiltrators].” Scab Cy says.

“This is why we have a passphrase.”

He punches out with his arm again and another beam splatters one of the creature’s eyes.

“And also why we double tap."

I can feel blood drain a bit from my face at the brutality, and worry a bit about who I'm going to become.

We step back out onto the street and he begins jogging again, waving me forwards.

We begin to sprint down the main thoroughfare and I look around at the city, seeing a strange mix of architecture familiar and alien.

Mostly stone buildings line the streets, dark colors to absorb the— what I have to assume is desert sun from context clues like the oppressive heat, sandstone, sand, and the camel hitched to a post.

The street is lined with signs and banners in that alien script— favoring rounded characters layering atop one another. A bit like scales.

I stare up at a passing window as I see a labrador sized lizard, sandy pale green and wearing a little backpack. The reptilian being is quadrupedal as opposed to the bipedal ones I've encountered so far. It raises a clawed hand and waves it before another pair of hands yanks it back from the window.

Distracted, I don't see the ambush coming until I suddenly feel a kick of force around my ankles, and the bruise of metal impact.

I go tumbling, arms instinctually shooting out to break my head’s fall and I hit the stone streets hard. The side of my left hand shears off and sand and gravel get mashed into the wound.

A serpentine voice speaks from in front of me.

“[Chain Mastery], [Wrangle Captive].”

I feel myself get yanked forward by my feet, causing my body to suddenly turn 180 degrees before I'm dragged down the street, sand and rocks flying up my shirt.

I roll onto a shoulder and lean to see behind me from beneath my armpit, and see an opening to a subway-like underground staircase. In it, stands— slithers— an upright snake-person; Tall, sandy-brown with a snake's head split in a fanged grin, a humanoid torso draped in red and white cloth with four arms, two of which hold swords while another two wrangle the chain attached to the manacles around my ankles. Below the waist, however, their body tapers off into the tail of a snake that disappears down the stairway.

I shift my weight to see from my other side, and see Scab Cy just around the corner of the opening, he makes eye contact with me and gives a reassuring nod as his hands spin in circles around each other. He breathes steadily yet heavily into the space between his hands, and I can see bits of sand and dust swirling in the wind he gathers. I see a white dusting gather over the palms of his hands and the few bits of detritus between them.

He takes a spinning step, moving his arms like a martial artist to redirect the wind, and steps before the underground opening.

“[Frostbite].”

The snake person cries out, hands dropping the skin-tearing flash-frozen metal chains and swords, their scales crack and eyes dry. The snake person attempts to swing, but their movements are stiff, and Scab Cy just steps under their swing.

As I roll to get to my feet, I think I see Scab Cy slip a hand into his fanny pack of holding, and when he removes it the hand has a glossy pair of knuckledusters on it— which he quickly uses to punch the snake in the chest.

The punch wasn't necessarily that hard, but I see the flash-frozen cloth shatter, and the chest beneath it crack and break.

The snake person is dead by the time it hits the stairs.

Scab Cy reaches down, plucking a set of glowing keys from the ground, and shakes out his reddened hand as he pockets the knuckledusters.

He walks over to me, and kneels to unlock the manacles around my ankles, unperturbed by a nearby blast followed by another two versions of ourselves being kicked through the air overhead.

“What did you just do there?” I ask.

“Hm? Oh, some of that's spoilers but I'll give you a tip: [Frostbite] is a tier 1 spell but very effective against cold-blooded opponents. The most powerful spells aren't always the most powerful, ya know?”

The manacles fall from my ankles, a few glowing runes lining the inside dimming to nothing, and future me pulls a little red bottle from his bag. Painfully and carelessly he plucks bits of rock from my hand before splashing it and my ankles with the healing potion. The skin of my hand doesn't knit instantly like the potions I've used before, but I can feel bits of sand being forced out from within the flesh, and it stings like a motherfucker.

“This healing potion is so low grade it's practically boot juice so that wound will close in a bit.”

He stands and I follow, and he pulls back his sleeve to look at one of the timepieces. This seems like an opportune moment to ask a question, but as I open my mouth he interrupts.

“Duck.”

“What?”

“Duck!”

I quickly duck my head, and a stone brick goes flying above me as the building across the street explodes outwards, and two versions of myself— one seeming to be wearing brown and green instead of the blue the other versions have— levitate above the ruined building before jetting off over the tops of the street across from them.

Scab Cy nods at the one in green, and takes a breath as he resumes walking towards the opening to the underground.

He speaks, and his words have the cadence of someone announcing a skill. The air stills and wobbles next to him as his mouth moves, and the dust from the explosion seems to stutter in place, moving and resetting.

“[Alternative Self Help: Doomed]”

Without breaking stride, a near exact copy of himself appears, stepping from that pocket of shimmering air like a doorway.

Scab Cy points over and up to our right, where the floating two are vanishing over the tops of the buildings.

“Go help those two.”

The apparently “doomed” version of me gives a thumbs up, walking further to the right and doing a strange movement with his feet as he begins casting something.

Scab Cy speaks again.

“[Refresh Cooldown: Alternative Self Help]. [Alternative Self Help: Branched].”

The air on the other side of him shimmers, and once again a near exact copy of himself steps out from it.

They both hold up the sets of the keys and twirl them around a finger as they approach the underground.

“Alright—”

“Alright—”

The two of them speak in unison, and the branched version takes out a coin before Scab Cy nods his head to me and speaks.

“I’ve gotta stick with the kid. All yours.”

Branched Cy nods, putting away the coin, and steps into the opening of the underground.

“Alright, [Slaves] to the right, lizardfolk to the left!”

He steps down and we follow after him. My eye adjusts to the light and I see the two split, Scab Cy going to the right and Branched Cy to the left.

A mass of bodies begin shifting as the two usher the people within, sorting them to one side or the other, as Branched Cy continues.

“Your naga will be okay—”

Scab Cy turns to me and subtly shakes his head as Branched Cy says this.

“He— sorry, she just needs a [Healer]. So you should all turn around and go back down to find one. Don't move the body.”

I watch as Branched Cy addresses a group of massive reptiles in elegant but simple clothing, quadrupedal but varied in size and shape. One, that looks a lot like a monitor lizard, lashes out at Branched Cy with their tail.

Branched Cy summons a shield which blocks it.

“You're scared, so that's forgivable, but this is a very dangerous situation. Go back down and find a Naga.”

Another lizard, different from the monitor but not an identifiable subspecies, just an archetype of all lizards— maybe a skink— speaks up, and I find myself surprised to hear it have a voice.

“You killed Al’hunar!”

“He said she'll be okay! We need to find a healer!” Another says.

“Hey! You can't take those! Those are our [Slaves]!” A third yells, pointing a clawed hand to Scab Cy who works on the right of the hall.

A line of people stand along the right wall, and Scab Cy fiddles with various chains and bindings along their varied bodies.

There are several humans, as well as species I don't recognize. 2 look like a giant crab and lobster, about 6 and 5 feet high, respectively. One is humanoid but with 4 arms, the lower ones only having 3 larger fingers, a lion’s mane of hair around their head and neck, a smushed ridged nose and rectangular pupils. There are two bird-people, small birds of paradise and not chained to one another but with tags on their feet. Towards the back, initially missed, is what looks like a shorter, stouter human with a ruddier complexion and a thick beard.

Scab Cy speaks up as he unlocks the collar around the person with the lion's mane.

“You can't own people.”

“Yes you can!” The little bearded dragon looking one that originally complained yells.

“They're [Slaves]! They have the class! It wouldn't be a class if it wasn't a thing. Khana, stop them!” A smugness somehow entered its reptilian voice when they thought they were making a good point.

The large monitor lizard charges at Scab Cy, and I swear I see its mouth grow translucent glowing fangs. I don't even move to protect myself, feeling more like a spectator through all of this, dissociated as I literally watch myself do all these things.

“[Frostbite]”

The spell comes from Branched Cy, and the monitor lizard hisses and flails, the end of its tail snapping off from the cold. It’s pulled back by the other lizards, and when one leaps into the air towards him he catches it violently by the neck, and gently starts to squeeze.

He leans in and speaks quietly, with a dripping vitriol.

“I know the Nagas treat you lizardfolk like children to be ‘guided’ and ‘protected’, but I treat you like what you are; People. Adults. [Slavers]. If you don't turn around and run, I will kill you.”

“Take this as an opportunity to know better.”

He drops the lizardfolk, and it gasps.

When they slink back down the stairs, Branched Cy begins helping Scab Cy with the chains, unlocking each of the slaves one by one.

The slaves whisper thanks, quiet sobs, some disbelieving, some just rubbing at their throats and wrists.

The 4 armed one says something, and I feel a wave of such profound sorrow and gratitude wash through me that my knees almost buckle.

When they free the crab people, their bubbly voices speak.

“We will fight for you.”

Scab Cy looks so tired at this moment.

“Then I trust you with your people's safety, and these folks are now your people. Kill all who stand between you and your freedom.”

The crab and lobster give their crushing claw and pincer claw a clack in short succession, a gesture of some significance as Scab Cy salutes them in response, before turning back to me.

He takes me by the arm and starts walking me back out the tunnel, as Branched Cy stays behind, addressing the slaves.

“Those of you who want to start again, head to the East gate, continue East until you hit farmland, then head north by northeast. Those of who you don't, this is all I can—”

His voice trails off as we walk away, and I feel as though I'm swimming.

We re-enter the light of the desert sun, its heat amplified by the architecture around us in a city designed for the comfort of the cold-blooded, and I just stand, emptily staring around at nothing and everything, processing the sounds of war seconds after they reach my ears, like a horrific echo.

“Hey. Hey. C'mon kid, I know it's a lot. Stay with me.” Scab Cy says, snapping his fingers in front of my eye.

The annoying gesture breaks me from my fog long enough to remember words.

“What's going on, man? I have the specific feeling that you've explained, and that everything you said led me to believe I should let these lizard people die and do whatever you say but… I don't remember it.”

He leads me by the arm down the side of the street, keeping in the shade.

“That’s how the skill works. [No Time To Explain] doesn't actually explain things to the target, but if they would have trusted or listened to me if I had explained fully, it skips to that part. Very useful in scenarios when there's well, no time to explain.”

He laughs to himself a little bit.

“I know you're overwhelmed, things will start winding down in a second. We're almost to the Manor of a family that owes us a huge favor after we saved their line from ending a few generations ago.” A black book appears in his hand as we walk.

“If things go well, shit should calmdown a bit when we get there, I can explain a bit more. But right now I gotta make you pregnant.”

“Whuh?”

“Not like that. Sicko. [Illusory Disguise].”

***

The gecko-like Keequokhachik— or, Lizardfolk, if you're one of the species whose tongues can’t make those sounds— clings to the underside of a tall buildings’ balcony in this more affluent part of the city.

His naga was surely right, that the city under lockdown would be ripe for theft; houses empty as their occupants are evacuated, shops lootable in the chaos, the guard-masters all occupied with bigger problems, the dead people and destroyed buildings whose valuables can just go missing— trouble is, this little fellow isn't having much luck.

He's climbed up to a vantage point to utilize one of his most useful skills, if not the most powerful: [Identify Mark].

A few people light up in his vision; several Keequokhachik separated from their Nagas, a few corpses of guards and a few corpses of that wanted human— strangely disappearing if he looks away for a second. He licks his eyes to make sure he doesn't have sand in them.

But suddenly, glimpsed just a second between two buildings, one person lights up like a beacon to his eyes.

The creature cracks a lizard’s smile, and begins to skitter down the walls to go after them, the natural abilities of his subspecies amplified by his skills.

Up and across the sides of buildings, climbing over precarious lines strung across the street, making silent leaps when needed, he gets close enough to hear them as they pass by the cloth awning he hides within, careful not to let the sun reveal his silhouette from inside.

Their voices sound almost identical, but that's the monkey men for you, with their hooting and grunting.

“No, you wouldn't have been enslaved upon teleporting in if you were someone else. They've got rules for who they can and cannot enslave, otherwise they'd never get trade.”

“That being said, if you didn't have anyone looking out for you— if you didn’t come from a wealthy family or somewhere powerful— they'd find some trumped up crime to charge you with and get you that way.”

“Typical. Of course they would.”

The Lizardfolk peeks his head from behind the awning, and identifies the first voice as a fatter, red-haired male with a groomed beard and fancy silk clothing. The second is a female, identifiable by the mammaries, clearly carrying a clutch of their young with that disgusting distended belly that pregnant mammals have.

Eggs are far superior. Can leave them with an incubator and go about your life as normal. That just looks— Inconvenient.

The Lizardfolk ducks his head back into the awning when it looks like the male glances his way. Thankfully, it's the female that's lit up by [Identify Mark].

The 3 foot long gecko-man slinks back into the shadows to reposition himself. He finds a small trash receptacle he can climb within and peer through the slits of. The trash cans in this city are thankfully designed to be very safe in case the instinct to find a safe hideaway gets the better of younger Keequokhachik.

He licks an eye, and positions it to stare through an opening, and as the human couple passes by closely, talking about some inane nonsense like the morality of being a bystander to slavery, he activates another of his very practical and useful skills.

[Appraise Valuables].

Items all across the man's body light up in varying intensities, including two or three that almost blind the lizard with their ethereal vibrancy.

Unfortunately, the male registers as about as good an idea as scale rot to [Identify Mark], so he won't be taking anything from him.

Luckily, the pregnant female still has some juicy morsels on her.

Her clothes are somewhat valuable, clearly enchanted, but while there are other things that his skill pings off of, he's having trouble seeing— aha. Clever girl. She has a bag of holding on her hip, hidden beneath an illusion. Inside he detects several valuables, some almost priceless.

They are safely tucked away in the pocket dimension her expensive bag of holding acts as a portal to. Nearly unreachable to most without shoving a hand directly into the bag, which rarely goes unnoticed.

But this is his specialty.

The [Dimensional Pickpocket] is pleased with himself and excited at the opportunity as he waits for them to pass, giddy despite the growing smell at how happy Zjuan will be with him.

The Lizardfolk clambers along, sprinting to get ahead of them and find a place they'll pass by close enough to reach from, without being discovered.

His skill, [In Position], instinctually leads him to a stone archway on a path leading up to a some rich person's lands. He nestles down into the vines of desert flowers lining it, swatting away an insect with his tail, and waiting for his targets.

“The guards will stop us, and I'll tell them to deliver a message, then we'll be let in. Try to look scared, nothing is more unnerving than someone calm and composed in the middle of a warzone.”

The two pass beneath, and the [Dimensional Pickpocket] waits til he's just behind them before leaning down, suspended by just his back feet. He dangles, activating his [Spectral Hand] skill to reach beyond his arms. The [Spectral Hand] finds the bag of holding, still lit by [Appraise Valuables], and he activates his capstone skill.

[Breach Pocket Dimension].

He only has a moment, and these things have a logic that gets muddied and discombobulated when entered the wrong way, so he simply thinks to grab the 2 most valuable things inside it and his spectral hand closes around some glossy geometric items before he pulls them out.

He clutches them to his chest and quickly pulls himself up, pressing flat against the top of the arch. His “professionalism” (moreso his fear of being caught) wins over his curiosity and he only steals a glance or two at the items, not quite able to identify them.

He tilts his eye to see if he's been caught, and his heart nearly stops as he sees the male human looking directly back at him as they walk off. The human smiles as one of his eyes closes, and he lifts a hand with just the middle finger extended towards the lizard before turning around and continuing on.

The Lizardfolk panics slightly, unsure of what the gesture meant and if he's been made, but freezes to hope it's nothing and let the moment pass. When nothing comes of it and they move on, he slinks off before desperately sprinting somewhere safe to examine his loot.

In one hand he holds a blocky glass bottle with nothing in it.

In the other, he holds a slick triangular book made of a strange white pliant material with a synthetic feel to it.

“This was the most valuable stuff? What even is this?”

He opens the binder.

***

I sip at my pungent tea, having difficulty with the teacup meant for differently shaped hands, but making an effort of it. I clumsily reach for a cookie, sniffing to see if I detect buckwheat, but seeing my future self snacking on them, I shrug and give it a go. There's a date-like jelly in them that's quite nice.

“So, Tweel, you'd call the Xuatlani family a lesser evil?” Scab Cy asks the nervous looking dull yellow feathered bird-person next to him.

The [Chained Confectionary Mage] bird-person— whose species is apparently called Aven— looks like the stereotypical earth bird, rounded with a small beak like a finch or canary or something, but scaled up to be the size of a basketball. She wears very sparse and lightweight clothing, more of a white cloth mantle around her neck and not obstructing her wings, as well as two silver bands around her legs— which I keep glancing at, wondering it is her equivalent of a slave collar.

They telekinetically lower a cookie from their beak, swallowing it quickly as the crumbs are caught by the spell, and hurry to speak.

“Oh no! I mean— I wouldn't even call them evil! I love serving the Xuatlay! Especially her Shaniship Luali. Very patient.” The Aven hastily says, ducking her head and nervously glancing at the humanoid reptilian with a frilled neck standing to the side of us.

It's all still gibberish to me, but I know that if the Naga to my left could sweat, she'd be sweating bullets.

After we were urgently led into this woman's personal manor— whose noble title is apparently ‘Shani’? I'm not sure where that ranks, but it's high enough— shed our rich people disguises and sat down in her sun room, with the blinds drawn for our comfort, Scab Cy—

“I’m sure she is. This must be a nice position, comparatively. How long do you have left on your contract? And do you have plans once you're free?” Cy asks.

“She only—”

“Tweel can speak for herself.” Scab Cy says, interrupting the Naga with a tone that is not outright hostile, but warning.

When the Aven [Slave], Tweel, came in to serve us the tea and cookies, Scab Cy asked her name and insisted she sit down. There were no seats designed for Aven, so I gave her my chair with armrests she can perch on, and I've been sitting on a long winding couch clearly designed for someone with a serpentine body. Scab Cy seems very intent on seeing how this lady, Luali Xuatlay, has been treating the bird-person she apparently “owns.”

The Aven nervously glances between us and the Naga, before answering.

“I believe I only have 5 years left before my contract with the Xuatlay ends, though I can always start a new one! As for plans… if I don't decide to continue working for them, I may see if I can sell my desserts in the city, though I'd likely have to start as an apprentice again before being able to open my own shop.”

“If you wish to leave us and start your own shop, we'd be more than happy to help fund your confectionary!” The Naga, Luali, hurries to say, sycophantically.

“Truly, your Shaniship?” The slave asks.

“Of course! I wouldn't survive without your cookies, it wouldn't do for the wider world to be deprived of them for lack of coin. Call it an investment.” She reassures, a little more sincere this time.

The yellow bird looks struck for a moment, before bowing deeply.

“This one is eternally grateful. Your Shaniship is truly generous beyond all others.”

“Oh there's no need for that, little one.” Luali says, embarrassedly toying with a piercing through her frills and glancing between Scab Cy and me.

“Mhmm.” Scab Cy says, then takes a long sip of tea.

“Well it's good to see you guys haven't forgotten humility since your great-grandfather. Glad your family is doing well, your Lizardfolk seem happy and healthy.”

The Naga preens at this, the latter comment apparently a significant compliment.

He checks one of his timepieces again as an explosion sounds in the distance.

“That'd be the eastern gate. We'll need to be leaving soon. Luali, could you please give us access to the tunnels your uncle built to the Zhendi estate for his affair?”

The Naga chokes on her tea and I crack a smile despite myself.

Scab Cy’s smile echoes my own.

“Delicious cookies, Tweel.”

…

The ceiling in the subterranean tunnels shudders with a blast from above, and the 4-armed lions-mane people bodyguards flanking Luali cover her, worried briefly about a cave in.

Scab Cy continues like nothing is amiss.

“So about a century ago we got a group together and led a slave revolution. Hence the Abe Lincoln posters. I wanted John Brown but apparently he immediately tried to overthrow this place when he showed up, bit off way more than he could chew, and died tryna fight the equivalent of a tier 6 at tier 3. Leveled fast while he lived though.”

“Huh. Didn't work I take it?” I ask.

“Not completely, no. The empire still stands. But hey, they used to be twice the size and have a different capital!”

Luali whispers from ahead of us. “So many dynasties ended in that war.”

She seemed before to have an understanding of who Scab Cy was, but with his first-hand casual description of what is a historical war to her, she’s truly beginning to get it.

I still don’t quite think of this guy next to me as me. It’s all too much. It feels like after a certain point the sheer amount of things just breezes past me. And yet, Cy continues.

“We try not to fuck with the past as much— though I think us at a higher tier does so, probably gets some skills to get away with that— cuz we wanna avoid leaving a mess for you. But I think you’ll agree that for a slave empire, we kinda had to do it.”

A thought occurs to me.

“If you’re gonna do it, why not do it earlier? Why not at its inception? Besides the paradox.”

“Besides the pre-destination and paradoxical shit? I’ve got some theories on why events get pre-destined the way they do but, truly? I think we just needed Abe.”

“Lincoln?”

“Yeah Lincoln. I haven’t done it yet but I hear he was pretty pivotal.”

“We’re here.” The Naga speaks up, her frills twitching and slightly raised to show her distress. The collared bodyguards to her sides look bloodless and sweaty as they hold open a hidden door in a bookcase. Classic.

“Cool. Thanks Luali. Appreciate this.” Scab Cy says.

“In fact, appreciate this so much that you’ll find your silks and linens investments will flourish in the coming years. A shame that today’s disaster has destroyed so many of your competitors' businesses.”

The Naga’s eyes widen, and she brushes at her silken day-dress. Her tail curls, and I’m unsure what that means for her species.

Scab Cy steps forward, stepping over the high threshold, but turns in the doorway towards the reptile woman.

“Do keep using that wealth of yours to give [Slaves] better opportunities and their freedom. You are a good family in a desert of monsters— well, as good as [Slavers] get— it’d be a shame if something were to happen in the coming years.”

With that, he smiles, and steps through. I look long enough at her to see how she’ll be haunted by this day for the rest of her life. She stares at me like I’m a ghost, or demon, sent to judge her.

I shrug, and step through the door.

Minutes after the two walking disasters step through the hidden door, one of her Shaniship’s bodyguards shuts it, muffling the echoing screams from the estate beyond. The [Magnanimous Slave Shani] and two Dephi [Slave-Sworn Protectors] stand silently for a moment, the guards look between themselves and their charge as the Naga just stares at the back of the bookcase. One of her eyelids twitches, subtly, before she finally breaks with a sigh.

She turns on her heels, and begins quickly walking back down the hallway as she mutters skills beneath her breath.

“[Seize Opportunity], [Disaster Triage], [Gift From the Freed: Intelligence], [Memo], Ghwelyn, get the [Accountants] on the silk and cloth businesses now! I want half of our personal [Slave Guards] and [Laborers] going to our competitors' businesses and salvaging equipment and rescuing high leveled workers. Disguise it as ‘relief efforts.’ If we play this right we'll have a monopoly on silk in the region.

“Start calling up scouts and [Slave Traders] in the area and buying up talent before they know about today's attack and gouge prices.”

“Have one of our [Negotiators] draft up offer letters for the rubble of our competitors’ land, have it be to build orphanages and temporary housing for the Keequokhachik who lost their Nagas or others displaced by this attack so we can buy it up cheap and let them seem philanthropic while cutting their losses. Make sure the buildings can be turned back into workshops later. We want to deprive our competitors' of the ability to rebuild while letting us expand later once the dust has settled.”

The Naga stops for a moment.

“And pull everything we have from my grandfather’s obsession with the ‘Timewalker’ from storage.”