End of one battle

"A conspiracy board, Master?" Archer teased. His voice was filled with theatrical irony, but his expression was indulgent. "Aren't we taking this game a bit too far?"

This wasn't just some conspiracy board, the stuff of detective novels and crime TV dramas.

At first glance, it might bear a minor resemblance. Red lines connecting seemingly disparate facts, each thread a trail of breadcrumbs leading to an elusive truth. Pictures of key players digitally pinned, their faces half-shadowed in insinuation. Digital clippings, scribbled notes, all arrayed in a frenzied patchwork of deduction.

But this wasn't some makeshift corkboard. And those lines weren't made of red yarn.

This was a sophisticated, virtual display, built on the monitor I'd requisitioned for this very purpose. The traditional paper trail was replaced with digital files, interconnected by luminous lines of code, each furnished with detailed annotations. Sensory data from Khenumra, my familiar on-site, blended with Boaz's meticulous notes of both my thought process and collected evidence.

It was a grand display of my skills, from magecraft, through programming, to detective work. Archer just wasn't sophisticated enough to fully appreciate it. Or he was just fishing for punishment? In that case, he would have to wait. No whippings before victory celebrations. I had to be firm about that.

"I needed some way to organize the evidence," I replied, huffing a bit. "There was quite a lot of it, and I needed a clear picture. I thought this would help."

"And did it?" He asked, his voice still tinted with amusement. I looked up at the storm clouds above. The red lightning was indeed mesmerizing. Taking my silence as an answer, he continued, "Walk me through it, Master. A fresh perspective might be useful."

Pleased that I had gained his assistance without having to ask verbally, I began to speak. "First, there's the matter of Brenner's cultists. I'm not quite sure how he managed to gather them. Brenner was noted to be quite manipulative in the files I retrieved and from my personal experiences, but forming a doomsday cult in an asylum where he was interned seems a bit far-fetched."

"Brenner must have had help, and my primary suspect is this." With a few clicks, I brought up the image of a horse-sized spider. It was taken from Khenumra's memory during his rescue of Two. "A 'Fake Two,' created by my tracker daemon to serve as its host. A product of an unrealized history. Of course, there isn't any concrete evidence to support this theory yet, though the spider imagery found at the gate site is suggestive."

It would have been simpler to discuss my suspect if I could define him with a proper designation, but giving such clear names might invite dangers we don't need. Even calling him 'Fake Two' was skating on perilous ice. From his encounter with the real Two, it's evident he's discarded any pretense of humanity. Not that he was genuinely human, to begin with - he was more akin to a homunculus, similar enough for most purposes but fundamentally different. There are many paths one might tread once one diverges from humanity's road, and based on the impressions I gained from that encounter, he's evolving into something akin to an Imaginary Demon. It's a trajectory not wholly unexpected, considering his possession and origin.

"The spider imagery could also be attributed to this," Archer interjected, pointing at another picture. He frowned, "How do you zoom in on it?"

"Like this," I replied, guiding him through the process. The image now enlarged on the screen was taken from memories. It was the shadowy, spider-like E.L.F., the entity the children in the show had named Mind Flayer. But they never encountered it here. It was one thing to watch children thrown into peril on a TV show. If I permitted that in reality when I had the power to shield them, I would have utterly failed as an adult. And Archer would not have taken kindly to that either.

"Surprisingly simple," Archer provided me with a rather backhanded compliment.

"Why surprisingly?" I asked, a bit confused.

"You tend to overcomplicate things, Master," he replied with a shrug, "I suppose that's the peril of being a genius."

"From all our experiments, we've determined that for an E.L.F. version of Mental Interference, they need a physical vector," I replied, the words coming out a bit more sharply than I intended. My brows furrowed slightly in annoyance, but I worked to smooth my expression, not wanting to give Archer the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. "The opening of the Gate was a culmination, not the beginning of the cult. And there could be no previous gate. We would have detected it. We did detect all Russian attempts."

"That we didn't detect it isn't absolute proof that it didn't happen," Archer countered, "but what bothers me is this." With a few clicks, he brought up the notes from the ritual that Brenner had used to open the gate. Prominently among them was a picture of Alex Middleton, heir to the Middleton dynasty, who unfortunately ended up as the centerpiece of the ritual. There was something disturbingly jarring about the image of his severed head, a grotesque contrast to any happier pictures taken while he was alive. He had been diagnosed with Emotional Intensity Disorder, an unofficial term in psychology but frequently used to describe individuals with potent emotional reactions and difficulties regulating their feelings. From the file, it quickly became apparent that he was not just any patient, but an empath, and a powerful one at that.

Then there were others—the most frequent guards, the nurses assigned to Brenner, and the patients, both near and those who had interacted with these nurses and guards. The cult had spread like a contagion, from one point of contact to the next. With a few more keystrokes, Archer brought forth my recreation of the ritual and a note comparing it to similar ones.

"Doesn't this ritual look a bit too familiar?" Archer asked. "I feel like I've seen it before."

"There are only so many ways to perform a sacrificial ritual," I responded, "The main concepts governing such rites are almost universal across all human cultures. There are variations, of course, but the commonalities are obvious to both anthropologists and occult researchers."

"But Brenner has no background in either. So where could he have obtained this information?" A few more clicks and Brenner's mental hospital file was brought up. "And don't tell me he managed this during his stay at the asylum. Every book he was allowed to read was meticulously documented. Perhaps he could've smuggled in one or two, but that's hardly enough for dedicated research."

"You think he had access to a source of such knowledge?"

"Yes, and that source was me." I was stunned by his confession. The notion of Archer giving lectures on how to properly perform human sacrifices was utterly preposterous. "When I was taken by the creatures, and I still can't believe that you made that joke of a name an official thing, the hive mind had access to my memories. This ritual looks like a crude amalgamation of several I had been unfortunate enough to witness."

"What about a Pathovore? There are distinct traces of such feeding in the asylum," I suggested, staring at the screen with a furrowed brow.

"We only have recorded encounters with your primary suspect after he ceased being human, Master. And there was no feeding on emotion in it," Archer replied, his tone skeptical. "We can't even be sure if he's capable of such an act. But what about this?" With a swift click, he rearranged the complex web of interlocking evidence into a much simpler design. "If we assume that his host had been subsumed by the hive mind, it all links together."

His statement hung in the air, waiting for approval or rebuttal. It was a possibility that would certainly explain a lot of things, except… it was utterly ridiculous. Creating something like that, a combination of a psychic demon host linked to an alien hive mind, would be akin to expecting a naturally occurring pirate-ninja-zombie. It would be like spilling a few cans of paint and accidentally creating the Mona Lisa. It was as unlikely as a young magus accidentally stumbling upon the Root, which, ironically, had happened to me when I was fifteen and living as Rin Tohsaka. But surely something that absurd couldn't occur twice.

"Are you serious? Have you forgotten that you fed that cannibal with fake corpses tainted with Hydra's blood? We know that the host survived through something akin to demonic possession. But still, he should be in constant agony. We know that pain propagates through the hive mind. We've seen it every time we kill or wound an E.L.F. or even when we harvest the vines. And you suggest that the hive mind would maintain constant contact with a constant source of agony?"

"Alien minds are, by definition, alien," Archer retorted, maintaining his poise despite the skepticism in my voice. His counter-argument held weight. We were dealing with an entity that didn't follow our known rules and principles. Understanding its motivations, let alone its capacity for enduring pain, was beyond our grasp.

"But even with such a supposition, this remains a mystery," I said, pointing to a cluster of evidence that remained on the side even with Archer's clever supposition. I brought it into focus and there it was, the corpse of the hospital's warden, Anthony Hatch. He was typical for his position - an older white man, balding. And yet, one detail was unusual. The sightless eyes of the corpse were not human. They were those of a reptile.

"But before Hatch was torn apart, he somehow managed to incinerate several E.L.Fs and a few more humans to crisps," I mused aloud, navigating through the data. I wished that I had sent more specialized familiars than Khenumra to the site. But at the time, mobility and camouflage seemed paramount, not to mention the ability to trace lingering emotional residues - a talent of Khenumra's. His weakness, however, lay in material analysis. Even though the ether traces felt vaguely familiar, I had only images of the burned husk and not a proper chemical analysis. "The main question remains - what was he? If Brenner was aligned with the hive mind, this one opposed it. But why was the warden of that hospital something other than human? And was he replaced, or was he always inhuman?"

"If he was something that preys on humans, being a warden of a mental hospital would provide easy prey?" Archer offered, leaning back. A flash of red lighting briefly highlighted his fine features.

"Not this hospital," I quickly retorted. "Patients there were voluntary, and a lot of them had families, some quite influential. Like poor Alex." I clicked to bring up a photo of the centerpiece of the sacrificial ritual - a man with expressive eyes filled with weary sorrow that was a stark contrast to the reptilian ones of the warden. The picture was from his hospital file, taken while he was still alive.

"Then he was doing what we should have done - keeping an eye on Brenner," Archer argued, his gaze back on the screen. "What happened to Brenner was quite loud. If there is some hidden faction, adding an agent to monitor Brenner was wise. Wiser than just ignoring him."

"We didn't have the resources for that," I defended. "We're spread quite thin as it is. And Brenner seemed like a solved issue."

"Could this be scouts from the alien invasion that was predicted?" Archer postulated.

"I don't think the Combine would bother with scouts," I countered.

"But you don't know for sure," Archer retorted, a challenging gleam in his eyes.

"There's no point in making wild guesses. We'll know more when Khenumra brings back the head for dissection and proper analysis," I said, moving to close the virtual case files on the screen. "Unfortunately, since he's bringing a material object, he can't dematerialize, so it will take more time to arrive. But we have other things to occupy our time. How are the troops?"

"They are waiting in ambush at the site. Any moment now the monsters should take the bait, Master," Archer informed me, his tone bordering on the disinterested.

"The official name for them is E.L.Fs," I chided, giving him a sidelong look.

"I may have to endure your poor sense of humor when we're in public, but I have no reason to do so in private, Master," Archer responded, an audacious smirk playing on his lips. His tone was distinctly teasing, knowingly provoking a reaction he was well aware he wouldn't receive — at least not at the moment. Despite our impending crisis, he was already warming up for our post-victory celebrations. But I had to maintain my composure, knowing full well that discipline — and its associated pleasures — had to be postponed until after the mission was completed.

Perhaps we should hold it on the deserted Pacific island where the Anchor Gate was? We could skinny dip, and enjoy some time alone. Without interruptions. Or perhaps adding some service androids would make it even better. Tam was due for a reward anyway...

"We have visual sightings, Master," Archer's voice interrupted my pleasant daydream, snapping me back to the grim reality of our mission. "You need to take your post at the Palantir."

Then I leave the troops' command to you," I acknowledged, knowing the importance of maintaining tactical oversight. Particularly when dealing with military robots built by Aperture. Actually, Archer was doing the work of a whole team of operators, as well as a cadre of officers and a general. The general was overstating it, maybe a colonel. Or major. I was not well versed in how the military organization chart worked, mostly due to a lack of interest.

I was distracted again. I needed to focus. Keeping that spell for too long was tiring. Even at the lowest intensity, it allowed me to think in parallel, processing multiple streams of thoughts and ideas at once. While this might sound like a great advantage, it was more akin to the cacophony of a crowded room. Different thoughts, often irrelevant, constantly vying for attention – it was a mental noise that could quickly become overwhelming.

It would be better once I used the palantir. It was time for me once more to become a burning eye upon a black tower.

The sensation of glass beneath my fingers, a feeling poised somewhere between falling and flying, pulled my perception elsewhere - to the outskirts of a ruined town. A small, barren field separated the dilapidated buildings from a forest of lifeless trees.

The fighting had already started. A small flock of their flying units had tried to engage the bait – a cluster of about a dozen O.R.C.s. What would the military call it? A fire team or a platoon? I really needed to brush up on military terminology.

The bait was set to resemble a typical patrol unit. While W.A.R.G.s scouted and hunted within the Hawkins anomaly, securing ground and patrols were tasks assigned to the more plentiful O.R.C.s. Easier and cheaper to produce, hence more expendable, these units were dispatched in groups of ten or so to patrol the rather expansive area of the town or secure areas of interest.

Two such areas were of particular significance. One was the mirrored Hawkins National Lab, providing a metaphorical eye that kept tabs on the government's activities. The other was a region where we currently harvested vines, a key resource as it was the primary source for the cure for AIDS and negative mass microcrystals.

In line with standard protocol, the O.R.C.s initiated an attack. Their firearms, although less accurate and shorter-barreled than those of the W.A.R.G.s due to their vertical stacking, allowed for multiple units to be mounted in parallel. The O.R.C.s lacked specialized equipment, which freed up space for extra ammunition. Their programmed tactic was akin to "spray and pray", though the notion of praying would imply a level of religious sophistication beyond their basic "obey or be condemned to android hell" ethos.

Though not the most resource-efficient strategy, it was undeniably effective. The small flock was nearly entirely decimated, and the few survivors retreated to the shelter of the skeletal trees.

The robots pursued their adversaries, as per the standard protocol. However, they halted midway between the forest and the fields, not daring to venture entirely into the woods.

Archer had designed this ambush with the robots' standard patterns in mind. The aim was to lure the enemy into a false sense of confidence. By adhering to our usual bounds of action, we sustained the illusion of ignorance about the impending mass invasion.

This was the optimal progression of events. It transpired exactly as I intended it to. In other words, I observed the spectrum of potential timelines and chose to actualize one in which the events progressed along a path best suited to my objectives.

Achieving this required skilled tactics and a touch of luck. Archer supplied the first, and I infused the latter by utilizing the Second True Magic.

Emerging from the depths of the forest, they initiated their charge - a diverse assembly of E.L.F. units, each species distinct in form and function. At the forefront were the quadrupedal units. Their visage was a nightmarish concoction of natural and grotesque, mouths shaped like blooming petals of a savage, alien flower, open wide in what could only be interpreted as snarls.

Behind them, the humanoid units advanced. They moved with an eerily smooth gait, their elongated limbs working in tandem to propel them forward with an unsettling grace. Their lithe and towering forms were a stark contrast to the sturdy quadrupeds, yet equally chilling in their otherworldly nature.

And then, rising from the background, the flying units took flight, their silhouettes cutting across the sun-drenched skyline. Their numbers were such that, collectively, they appeared like a massive cloud - a dark, ominous swell of living nightmares ascending into the heavens.

The E.L.F.s were too nimble for the O.R.C.s to outrun if they relied solely on their arachnid-inspired robotic limbs. However, the O.R.C.s had a secondary locomotion system: the Kinetic Linear Propulsion System (KLPS), colloquially referred to as a 'pogo stick'. Nestled just beneath each O.R.C. unit's Core was a sturdy cylindrical chamber containing a high-strength, helical compression spring. This spring functioned as a secondary propulsion source, harnessing potential energy during a 'compression' phase, then unleashing this energy as kinetic force during an 'expansion' phase to initiate the pogo-stick-like movement.

With danger in sight, the O.R.C.s kicked their KLPS into high gear. The expansion phase was activated, catapulting them skyward and propelling them towards the town at high speed. A single leap wouldn't cover the entire distance, but the KLPS was designed to link multiple leaps together for quick movement when precision wasn't a priority. Simultaneously, they continued to rain fire on the advancing enemy. Given the dense formation of the charging E.L.F.s, missing their targets was almost an impossibility, yet their efforts seemed to be in vain.

The soft, yielding soil of the barren fields hindered the KLPS's full performance, threatening the robots' survival. It was highly likely that the charging enemies would intercept them before they reached the town. Overwhelmed by sheer numbers, the O.R.C.s would be destroyed before they could raise an alarm - at least, that's what we wanted the enemy to believe.

The Archer had chosen the distance almost perfectly. They were too committed to retreat, yet there was still enough open field for our ranged advantage to make a difference. At his signal, the Aperture army of murderbots emerged from hiding.

From the doors and windows of ruined houses, shops, and warehouses, countless robots crawled on their white mechanical legs, clinging to vertical surfaces like swarms of metal spiders. Yet there were more hiding in the back. They launched like swarms of locusts, jumping onto the nearest roofs, from one to another. Concrete was much better for this type of propulsion than earthly fields.

From beneath brown cars, from cellars, and other hidden places, the four-legged scout snipers emerged, announcing their arrival with a supersonic roar. I couldn't hear it; my observation was purely visual. But it was part of the plan, and I could infer from the brief flinch among the enemy.

Further back, gliding on hovercrafts, were the most massive robotic combatants – the T.R.O.L.L.s. Too big to be properly concealed, and too slow, they stayed back. But that was part of the plan. A few among them carried Banners, the steel panels covered in Conversion Gel, held up on high poles, with portals already activated inside.

Each of these massive robots had two heads and three arms. The weaponry varied among them, ranging from hand cannons to grenade launchers, but one feature was constant: a long electrified whip. This served not only as a melee weapon, but also as a means of enforcing discipline among the other robots.

The enemy was guided by a hive mind. Our side was more individualistic. Which sometimes meant that discipline needed to be enforced. When it came to that, the whip was the way.

They came as a tide of flesh and were met by a rain of bullets.

Their end came swiftly in the relentless hailstorm of fire from the O.R.C.s. Archer's strategic positioning ensured overlapping fields of fire, leaving almost no room for the enemy to escape. Survivors, few and far between, were meticulously hunted down by the sharpshooters, their shots precise and deadly. If a cluster dared to advance too far, they faced the wrath of the heavy platforms - the grenade launchers. Their ammunition was diverse, from conventional concussion and fragmentation grenades to more exotic offerings from Aperture: grenades filled with a unique substance known as Repulsion Gel.

Repulsion Gel could be used as a potent weapon against anything mobile that relied on solid structural integrity by covering that thing in the Gel. It would repulse any movement back in the other direction, creating a movement which was then repulsed in the other direction by the Gel covering the other side of that thing. One twitch became movement in every direction at terminal velocity, tearing that thing apart. This included the human body and any mobile type of E.L.F.s.

It was quite a sight to see a cluster of monstrous creatures, first covered in bright blue paint, and then torn apart by unseen hands. It was for this reason that one of the names Aperture gave to Repulsion Gel was the 'unknown skeleton-hating element.'

The outcome of the battle had never truly been in doubt. It had always hinged on the skill of the commanders and the stroke of luck that tipped the scales. Archer supplied the former, a master tactician orchestrating his mechanical soldiers with a precise and unwavering hand. I, on the other hand, was the provider of the latter, the guiding force subtly influencing events to ensure that fortune was always on our side.

Yet, as I observed the scene unfold, something gnawed at me. Through the vast network of the enemy's hive mind, pain propagated like a wild spark igniting a sea of dry kindling. I could sense it - the tidal wave of despair and agony that surged through their collective consciousness as they fell, one after the other. Despite this, they marched relentlessly towards their inevitable doom. Why would they do so?

Perhaps it was their nature, their programming. But the fact that they could feel pain suggested a level of complexity that hinted at more than just mindless automatons. Were they driven by a cause, a sense of duty, or were they simply compelled by a power they could not resist? The thought was disturbing and elicited an unexpected sense of unease within me. Everything was proceeding as planned, yet I found myself second-guessing, pondering the implications.

Snapshots of the battle continued to play out in the theater of my mind. An E.L.F. unit, its grotesque petal-like mouth opening wide in a silent roar as it charged, only to be cut down by a hailstorm of bullets. O.R.C.s leaped over the battlefield like metallic gazelles, propelled by their KLPS, their relentless fire decimating the enemy ranks. The grim sight of bodies - if they could be called such - covered in bright blue Repulsion Gel, their forms contorting in ways that defied the natural order before they were torn apart.

These images haunted me, even as victory was at our fingertips. It was clear that I needed to investigate this further. For now, though, I had a battle to win. For all its unsettling revelations, it had to end, and it would end in our favor. For that was the plan, and the plan was all that mattered.

The sensation of Archer's kiss abruptly intruded into my focus, overlaying the images of the battlefield I was observing through the palantir. His arms enveloped me, drawing me into a deep, searing kiss that yanked my attention from the sight of war and hive minds to the physical world.

My eyes fluttered open as I broke the kiss, "Starting the victory celebration a bit early?" I teased, a smile playing on my lips, "Though, I suppose the battle is about won."

Archer shook his head, a serious expression replacing the playful one he had just moments ago, "No, Master. That wasn't a victory kiss. It was just the most convenient way to draw your attention back to your body."

His words stirred a tide of confusion within me, my brows furrowing as I tried to understand. "What do you mean?" I asked, puzzled.

"The battle was merely a distraction," Archer said, his voice grave. "The subterranean level has been breached. It appears to be a giant worm, and it's spewing enemies into our basement."

"I suppose if it seemed too easy, it was indeed a trap," I sighed. "But it wasn't a perfect trap. The timing was off, likely our own fault. We lured out the distraction too soon and destroyed it before the second wave had a chance to infiltrate our base."

I couldn't help the trace of sarcasm that slipped into my voice, " Well, if they've been kind enough to deliver themselves for processing, it would be rude to keep them waiting. How considerate of them, donating their bodies to medicine. And here I was, concerned we wouldn't meet the new AIDS cure quota. How are our defenses?"

"We're a bit short on robots, Master" Archer confessed, "though I've given orders to rectify that. Officer units may be too large to fit through the field portals, but the soldier and sniper units can pass through. I've ordered a retreat. It's a bottleneck since we only have three portals, but reinforcements will arrive soon. And don't ask me to use your ridiculous names for them. Role-playing as Dark Lord isn't my idea of fun."

He continued, "Human security forces are at full capacity. And I guess there are also janitors, scientists, and other miscellaneous staff. Per your regulations as CEO, everyone working in this facility must possess at least a level 3 self-defense certificate."

"Then there's an obvious weak point in this invasion - the breach in the basement. Our conventional forces would take too long to handle it, so that leaves us," I stated, but before I could explain my plan in detail, a flash of burning pain, accompanied by a disconcerting image, interrupted me.

"Are you all right?" Archer asked, placing his hand gently on my shoulder.

"I have good news and bad news," I managed to say, gritting my teeth against the pain. "The good news is that I've located Martin. The bad news is that he just incinerated my snake familiar, the one I was using to keep an eye on Two and the rest of his group."

"Incinerated?" Archer's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "How? Brenner is a mundane human. Did he use a flamethrower?"

"A flamethrower would be ineffective against one of my familiars," I responded, a touch of dry humor in my voice. "No, he's managed to get his hands on something akin to the late Colonel Sullivan's staff. Although Martin's version is covered in an all too familiar organic growth."