Time Machine version 69

I was tending to the Ashturu version 2.0 when Archer returned from his quest.

The One Ring had corrupted the first iteration of Bone Tree. It had increased the tree's powers but also bound the tree to the ring. So, when the ring was cast into Cracks of Doom, the tree shattered.

I had bound a demon into broken shards, giving it a new false life.

The old one had been a conglomerate of viscera, bone, and black orcish blood. The new one was pure, a macabre sculpture wrought from the palest of bones. Its roots clawed into the concrete floor, entwined with cables pulsing with mana, while its thorned branches twisted towards the twilight canopy in a silent scream. Each limb, wrapped in the embrace of another, forms an intricate lattice of bleached white bone, snarling into patterns that defy the logic of nature and geometry alike.

There was no wind here. All was silent, but it could almost be heard. The drums of an orcish horde, gears of the war machine, and cries of victims as they were tortured, violated, and finally tossed into cooking pits.

The demon was feeding on the memories etched in bone, as it grew. And as they said, you are what you eat.

But such a feast made the young demon unruly. It struggled against my bindings. The bone was smooth, almost polished, under my fingers, as I traced mystical symbols, carefully avoiding the thorns.

When I next paused, Archer closed the space between us with silent steps. I felt the gentle pressure of his presence before his arms enveloped me from behind, encasing me in an unexpected cocoon of warmth. His embrace was a familiar comfort, a soft, secure haven that contrasted starkly with the cold precision of my work.

His breath was a warm whisper against my skin as he placed a tender kiss on the nape of my neck. The sensation was a delicate brush, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings, sending a cascade of warmth down my spine. In that kiss was a tenderness, a quiet affirmation of our bond that resonated deeper than words.

I leaned back into his embrace, allowing myself a moment to bask in the reassuring solidity of his body against mine. His warmth seeped into me, not just a physical heat but an emotional balm, thawing the edges of my focus and tension.

"I really can't leave you alone. You get up to the weirdest things," he said, his chin resting on my shoulder, a hint of playful mischief in his tone. "It's pretty in a macabre sort of way, but is it really art?"

I chuckled, a warm, familiar feeling bubbling inside me. His humor, sharp yet affectionate, was something I had grown not just to tolerate but to find endearing. Not that I would admit it.

"Do I look like someone from the Department of Creation?" I replied, feeling the warmth of his cheek against mine, "I suppose it's better than those reprobates from Policy, isn't it?"

I supposed that Modern Magecraft was not any better, although the reputation had much changed by the time we had left that World. However, it was the only department that accepted both remote students and lecturers. And with the "honor" bestowed upon me, any trip to London, in that World, had too much chance of being a one-way trip.

"They say that idle hands do the devil's work," Archer mused, his voice still tinged with playful mischief. "You seem to enjoy proving that adage true. But tell me, since you're free to craft this... project," he paused, his gaze sweeping over the Bone Tree, "does that mean everything else is ready?"

"If you are here, you must have passed the Entrance Hall. My modifications should be obvious," I said softly, my voice a low murmur. Slowly, I reached out, my fingers delicately wrapping around his left hand. With a gentle, yet deliberate touch, I guided his hand up from the soft curve of my belly to the warmth of my chest. The movement was intimate, each inch traveled by his hand on my skin igniting a trail of unspoken promises and lingering desires.

There, resting just above my heart, lay the ring bound on a chain - Narya, reforged. "Much lesser than it was, but still able to serve a necessary purpose," I whispered, my breath hitching slightly as his fingers brushed against the chain. "I have finished transferring the relevant part of my Magic Crest into it."

Much larger part than I wanted, but there was a minimum size needed to produce a viable offshoot. It was a well-researched process, that old Magi families used to create branches, but usually, the host needed to be a Magus.

Painful, but necessary sacrifice. It will take decades, and the sacrifice of many of my personal Magic Circuits for Magic Crest to recover. And meanwhile, my demon binding spell would be so much weaker.

"I am sorry," Archer said, his voice softened by a rare touch of solemnity. He offered comfort not just in his words but in the gentle pressure of his hand on mine, a silent acknowledgment of the weight I carried.

"I didn't think you cared much about Magus traditions," I replied, my tone flat. He had mocked too often. But then he had outsiders' perspective. The warmth from his touch seeped through, a stark contrast to the cold metal of the chain around my neck.

"But you do," he replied.

"In a way, this can be seen as proper since I have passed the ring to my apprentice," I said.

The Magic Crest was power, a legacy of both spells and research. Preserved and crystallized Mysteries.

The Magic Crest was also a curse and a chain, binding to the path my ancestors walked. Just another link in a chain, meant to reach heaven. Bound to hopes and dreams of the dead.

It was precious beyond measure, but also a tool to be spent for the ultimate purpose.

Banishing those meandering thoughts, I continued. "Now, if we have found where those government types had found it, we could go to that time and place and close the temporal loop."

"It took breaking into several government offices, but I managed to find the ring's history. It was initially recovered during the Vietnam War. A squad was sent into the jungle by a CIA operative, code-named 'Specter.' Things didn't go as planned."

He removed his hand from my stomach to pull out a crumpled report. Raising it so we both could see, I noticed the names were initially obscured with black markers, but Archer had reconstructed them. Censorship was no match for his psychometry skills. "The squad's members, Sgt. Daniel Martinez, Pvt. Jacob Harris, Pvt. Andrew Rich, Cpl. Ethan Thompson, Spc. Tyler Bennett, Pvt. Lucas Grant, Pfc. Ethan Walsh, Spc. Brandon Myers, and Pvt. Aaron King... all were listed as MIA, except for one."

He folded the paper and put it away. "Nathan Fisher was the only one found, but he was... not himself, mentally broken and clutching that ring."

"Andrew Rich. That was not a name I expected to hear," I murmured, a flicker of surprise and recognition crossing my face.

"Do you know him?"

"If it's the same man, then yes. That's Terry's fiancé, or at least he was. She believes he is Jane's father, too. Brenner arranged his conscription to leave Terry alone and vulnerable. And now his name surfaces in connection with this ring? If I didn't know better, I'd say Jane's penchant for getting into trouble is inherited."

"This is a distraction," Archer's words cut like one of his swords. "We have the time and place; we should go at once. Is your time machine operational?"

"Calling it a time machine is a bit of an oversimplification."

I was being a bit pedantic, but I preferred clarity.

"Can it allow us to travel backward in time?" Archer simply asked.

"Yes." But it was so much more than that.

"Then it's a time machine," Archer firmly stated plainly.

I sighed, a mix of resignation and anticipation in my breath. "The theory is sound, but I couldn't test it fully. It requires both of us to be operational. Do you have the precise coordinates?"

"Not exact, but close enough. With our combined skills, finding a temple in the jungle shouldn't be a problem," he replied confidently.

"The trees are such gossips," I agreed with a slight smile. Gently untangling from his embrace, I still held onto his hand, leading him forward. "But first, there's something else I want to show you."

"Do we have time?" Archer asked, a note of impatience in his voice as I led him through a maze of towering metallic shelves. The shelves' angles twisted oddly, reminiscent of Esther's surreal paintings, but such distortions had become familiar to us — natives of the Otherworld, one could say.

"If it works, time won't be an issue. If it doesn't, we'll have far bigger problems. Besides, resolving this will please you," I replied, my voice calm against his urgency.

As we navigated the labyrinthine aisles, I added in a more lecturing tone, "Before forging the Greater Rings of Power, the jewel smiths of Eregion mastered their craft with lesser rings, honing their ring lore to perfection. I followed their example when reforging Narya. It's important to understand the foundations before rebuilding."

"So, you have extra rings? Do you want my expert advice on securing them, to avoid them being stolen like Endelómeríe?" Archer asked, the playful edge in his voice belying the seriousness of his question.

"No, they are secure enough," I said, my tone leaving no room for doubt. The measures I had taken to protect the rings were thorough and foolproof, a lesson learned from past experiences.

Approaching the familiar sight of the trio of portals, hanging like holes in the world, I pulled Archer by hand. "We are here. Come, follow me."

Stepping through the portal, we entered the familiar metallic room of the Aperture Science Data Collection and Human Suffering Enablement Chamber's test course. Yet, something was different this time.

One of the walls had been transformed into a canvas, displaying an almost lifelike fresco of an underground futuristic city. Towers of glass and metal reached up toward the roof of a vast cavern, intertwined tastefully with verdant greenery and diffused light, creating a harmony between the natural and the artificial.

I paused for a moment, taking in the sight with pride before turning to Archer. "So, what do you think about it?"

"First sculpture and now painting. Are you sure you don't plan to switch to the Department of Creation? Although, being the only member of the Magus Association in this World, you could name yourself director, and no one could object," Archer remarked with a playful tone, his gaze fixed on the fresco. "It looks very real. Almost as if you could walk into it."

"That's because you can," I said, leading him closer to the fresco. Placing my hand on the painted surface, the sensation was akin to falling yet remaining stationary. In one moment, we were in the metallic room; the next, we found ourselves on the streets of an underground city.

"Watching that demon compel Will to paint sparked an idea in me." I paused, releasing Archer's hand, my gaze drifting across the illuminated streets of the futuristic underground city. "Time travel, as I manage it, isn't straightforward. It involves stepping into adjacent, timeless worlds." I started pacing slowly along the sidewalk, each step punctuating my words. "In these realms, all moments from our world converge, but they lack a crucial element – time itself."

I stopped beside a futuristic lamppost, a pillar where light cascaded the entire length, entwined with green crafting plants producing both light and oxygen. Turning to Archer, I emphasized my point. "You see, the problem with a timeless reality is not its absence of time, per se, but rather our inability to operate without it. We, as beings bound by time, need it to make decisions, to think, to exist in any meaningful way." Resuming my pacing, my hands gestured to illustrate the paradox. "So, we're caught in a paradox – to travel through time, we ironically need to step into a realm where time doesn't exist. Yet, to navigate back into the time and place of our choosing, we need the concept of time to be present."

Halting again, I leaned lightly against the lamppost, my eyes reflecting the light. "This is where narrative time comes into play. Khenumra has been tirelessly harvesting that from dreams to aid in this. But even with this, we face another challenge – containing the infection of false time." I glanced up, meeting Archer's steel blue eyes. "We must avoid polluting these new realms. And frankly, filling the whole World would take a ridiculous amount of false time. More than Khenumra could gather in a lifetime of the Universe."

I pushed off from the lamppost and took a few steps closer to a particularly vibrant section of the street, a luminous wall from which ripe red grapes hung, ready to be picked. "To do this effectively, we need to bring our own isolated space. Standard Bounded Fields aren't sufficient for this task." I gestured around us, my expression a mix of pride and seriousness. "I had to devise a more potent method. Much like the approach with the rings, I began with something simpler to perfect the technique. This," I said, gesturing towards the surrounding cityscape, "is a prototype based on that principle. And it's a solution to an older problem."

Acher's eyes widened and he asked "An older problem? You don't mean…"

"Yes, I created a perfectly livable city, large enough to accommodate all test subjects permanently bound to the Aperture Science Data Collection and Human Suffering Enablement Chamber," I triumphantly declared, internally wincing a bit from the overly long name. But the acronym for it was equally unwieldy.

"How did you manage that? All of the details?" Archer asked, his curiosity piqued.

"It wasn't simple, but I combined science and Magecraft. After Magecraft carved out the empty cave, I used nanocores and feeder stock to cultivate the city," I explained, trying to sound nonchalant about the monumental task.

Of course, the reality was more challenging. Five versions of the city had been created and destroyed in the process – two of them were burned to ashes, while the other three met their end in acid. While each iteration taught me something new, they also led to some unforeseen and rather dark outcomes.

But this final version, the one we stood in, was different; it was perfectly safe and suitable for human habitation. The lessons learned from those failures were invaluable, especially for my plans to introduce nanocores to Aperture Science.

And as a bonus, I now knew how to unleash a cybernetic nanoplague, and create a predatory city that absorbed its inhabitants, among other horrors. One never knew when something like that could come in handy.

"We are in the belly of a demon," Archer accused, pointing his finger at me.

"Assigning something like a belly to a demon is needlessly anthropomorphizing it. But that aside, how did you guess?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"There are only so many ways you could have achieved this. The incident with Will was a big clue. Besides, I know you," Archer replied, his tone a mix of wariness and familiarity.

"You're right," I conceded with a nod. "But there's no need to worry. The demon is securely bound – I've learned my lesson there. Its nature is that of an observer. It likes to watch, not touch. This child of mine is a hard-core peeping tom."

"I mislike it," Archer said, his gaze drifting uneasily across the illuminated streets of the underground city. His eyes narrowed slightly, reflecting a deep-seated concern. "As bad ideas go, it's on the pair with—" Archer paused, his expression turning sardonic as he delivered the punchline, "—For the salvation of Man, we are starting a murder tournament."

I nodded thoughtfully. "Idealists often have a problem with taking into account human failings. Neither understanding nor being understood, from their beautiful dreams, nightmares are born," I philosophically stated, reflecting on the complexities of such endeavors. "It's not something unique to the Magi. Just look at the current Soviet Union. How Marx would weep, seeing what his work has become."

"Don't dodge the question with philosophy, Master," Archer interjected sharply. "I was quite clear."

"But I am not an idealist, my Archer," I answered. "I have taken into account all possible failure points. This city is safer than Detroit, for example."

"That's not a very high bar," Archer retorted. "And it's not the things you plan for that are the problem. It's the things you don't. The question is, is it safe enough?"

"What is safe enough? The safest option would be just to leave them in cryostasis, but that's hardly a solution," I replied, my tone earnest. "Ultimately, it's your decision. I granted you that authority, and I don't intend to revoke it."

"What a gracious way to put it. Granted me the authority? More like you dodged it so nimbly, I thought you developed a Skill: Protection from Responsibility," Archer teased, his smirk fading into a more contemplative expression. "While I'm not entirely fond of your solution, I haven't found a better one. I can only blame my own inadequacy. Better something now than perfect never, as they say. But will the test subjects accept it? You know their desires."

"And that's the best part," I said, my eyes lighting up with a blend of enthusiasm and contemplation. "They will get exactly what they want. This is a grand experiment in creating a true post-scarcity society. But the real question is: will humans embrace a life where every need is met, every whim indulged, where work is only for pleasure? What values will emerge in such a society?"

"Sometimes it's hard to tell whether you are selfish or selfless," Archer remarked, his tone a mix of jest and seriousness.

"I dislike those terms. Like 'good' and 'evil', they are too imprecise to be truly useful. We all have our reasons for doing things. Reducing them to such binary classifications loses too much information," I replied, my voice steady and reflective. "So, have you made your decision? Or do you need more time? We could discuss it further after dealing with the main matter at hand."

"No. They have suffered enough. For better or worse, it's better to try to help than to just delay until the perfect moment." Archer took a deep breath and said firmly, "Do it."

I smiled, feeling a mix of anticipation and responsibility. There was no need to move or search for any communication device; every millimeter of the city was under careful surveillance. I simply spoke aloud, my voice echoing slightly in the vast space around us, "Cid, initiate Operation Wicked City. Begin thawing the test subjects and distribute the mass-produced welcome brochures. Archive the remaining service androids until they reach a parity of four per test subject."

"Acknowledged," came the prompt reply.

There was no visible change, but that was to be expected. It would take some time for the operations to commence.

"Wicked City?" Archer asked, raising an eyebrow as we began walking back. With the decision made, our immediate task here was complete. I might have liked to show him more of the city I had meticulously crafted, but more pressing issues awaited us. "I see you haven't managed to rid yourself of that awful naming sense while I was away."

"I name things just fine," I retorted with a hint of defensiveness and a sly smile. "It's a city where the prideful are worshiped, the gluttonous fed, the lustful indulged, and the slothful taken care of."

Before my latest modifications, the Entrance Hall had been a five-meter cube with blank white walls, numerous doors, and a single podium in the center featuring a keyhole.

Magecraft traps, mostly Bounded Fields, had been added to the doors, but those were subtle, unseen modifications.

Now, as we entered the Entrance Hall from the door leading to the storage areas, the change was unmistakable.

Where the podium once stood, a chair had emerged, shaped in the form of a human tongue, but a bright blue in color. It seemed to grow organically from the floor, reminiscent of a child's tongue stained blue from eating blueberries. In contrast, mirroring it from above, a similar piece of furniture descended from the ceiling, this one a vivid red.

Ascending blue tongue of prayer, descending red tongue of grace.

But Archer's attention was drawn not to the chairs, but to the floor beneath our feet. "Those are the rings, aren't they?" he said almost accusingly.

He was referring to the eight concentric rings that now surrounded the central feature of the room, each symbolizing a celestial element. The innermost ring was crafted from bright silver, its surface broken by a single, large pearl that rose majestically, symbolizing the Moon.

Next was a more intricate design, a trench filled with flowing mercury. From its shimmering surface emerged a single artificial island, crowned with a polished agate, representing Mercury.

The third metal ring, made of copper, held a solitary rose quartz, a nod to Venus's influence. The fourth ring was pure gold, befitting the Sun, and was adorned with a radiant red ruby.

The fifth, constructed from hard iron, bore a bloodstone, reflecting the martial energy of Mars. The sixth ring, made of tin, showcased a piece of amber, echoing Jupiter's expansive nature.

The seventh made if lead, featured a large piece of jet, capturing the somber essence of Saturn.

And finally, the eighth ring was an elaborate array – not one, but twelve jewels, each corresponding to a zodiac sign, forming a mystical celestial clock. They were arranged in order, starting from Aries with a diamond, Taurus with an emerald, Gemini with agate, Cancer with a pearl, Leo with a ruby, Virgo with a sapphire, Libra with an opal, Scorpio with topaz, Sagittarius with turquoise, Capricorn with a garnet, Aquarius with an amethyst, and culminating in Pisces with an aquamarine.

"I thought you said that you had those secured," he continued.

"You're right. These celestial spheres are based on the same principles as Rings Power, but they are as not easily stolen as one that could be worn. It would take time and effort to pry them out from the floor," I said, "Smaller ones I secured further. That reminds me. Cid, how long do we have to wait for the rest of the implements?"

There was a brief silence before Cid's voice responded, its tone synthesized yet clear, "Jay had passed the last security checkpoint. The ritual garments will arrive in less the five minutes."

Archer's gaze lingered on the rings for a moment longer, then, with a hint of sarcasm, he quipped, "You do realize that in the real world, it's the Earth that orbits the sun, not the other way around?"

I knew he was being a troll. A third-rate Magus was still a Magus. But I couldn't help but respond, "That is a matter of reference. If I jump, do I fall back down after reaching the peak, or does the Earth jump up to meet me?"

The further banter was interrupted by the door opening. Jay entered, maneuvering an Aperture Storage cube through the doorway. The slim android presented the high-tech box with a proud smile, its sleek surfaces gleaming under the hall's light.

I patted his head affectionately, eliciting a pleased reaction from him. If Jay had a tail, it would have wagged like a puppy's. "Good job, Jay. Any trouble with the new security protocols?"

Jay's eyes lit up, clearly eager to report. "Everything worked as per your design, Master," he said, his voice carrying a tone of accomplishment.

Calling me 'Master' earned Jay a sharp, jealous look from Archer. It was something I secretly enjoyed but pretended not to notice.

"You begin stripping, Archer," I said, half-teasing, half-serious, as I began to work on opening the box. There was a trick to it, a safeguard ensuring its contents were accessible only to those who knew the precise method. Forcing it open would likely destroy what was inside.

Since my back was to Archer, I couldn't see his reaction, but I knew him well enough to imagine it – the raised eyebrow, probably accompanied by a wry smirk, as he began to comply. "Why do so many of your rituals start with me getting naked?" he commented dryly.

"Because I like you naked," I retorted, just as the box finally clicked open, revealing its contents. Everything was meticulously arranged and in place. "And this time, you get to wear something."

"Well, I'm no expert in law," I responded, pulling out the first part of the ritual assembly. It was a small metal plate designed to be worn just over the pubic region, with a metal ring hanging underneath for support. The plate was intricately inlaid with numerous tiger eye gems, forming the sigil of the Beast. The final touch was a series of straps meant to secure it around the waist and legs. "But I think the answer to your question is a definite yes."

"That ring underneath? Don't tell me you really made the Cockring of Power."

"If you're being crude," I remarked with a hint of mock disapproval, yet unable to suppress a smirk.

"But you like me being crude," he countered, his grin suggesting he knew exactly the effect his words had.

I sighed, a mix of exasperation and amusement evident in my voice. "Yes, your genitals go through it. It serves as both an Od amplifier and regulator. And yes, it does enhance the carnal aspects of the ritual too."

"I don't need anything to help with my performance," he said confidently. "I can satisfy you without any aids."

"I have no doubt in your abilities," I replied with a teasing tone. "But sometimes, toys make the game more fun." I then pulled out the second implement, another metal plate, this one embedded with emeralds forming the sigil of Man. "This one goes over your heart. Make sure it's strapped on well."

While he fitted the plate over his well-muscled torso, I took the last part, a headband with a metal plate where diamonds were embedded, forming the sigil of the Divine. I placed this headband on him personally, enjoying the warmth of his nearly naked body next to mine as I tied it behind his head. His hair felt silky under my fingers.

"This completes the set," I said, stepping back to look him over. My eyes lingered on him a moment longer than necessary, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he preened under the attention.

"How do I look?" he asked.

"Like a gladiator in a porno," I quipped.

"Hail Caesar, those who are about to cum salute you," he joked back, with a theatrical flourish.

"Just remember to render unto Caesar what is Caesar's," I replied, playing along.

"And what tribute does Caesar demand?"

"I am partial to offerings that are white and creamy," I said, sensually licking my lips. "Now, go take your place, while I change." I pointed upwards to where the red tongue chair was suspended in the middle of the spiral labyrinth.

The paths of the labyrinth were separated by countless metallic wings, through which peeked artificial eyes made of beryl, shedding zircon tears. Weeping angels.

With a mock salute, Archer turned and marched towards the wall, now adorned with a resplendent mosaic of Archangel Michael. The mosaic was a masterful blend of vibrant rubies and garnets, accented with flecks of gold. Within his halo, almost imperceptibly woven into the intricate design, was the Hebrew letter 'Yod' (י), representing the beginning, divine fire, and creation. Michael stood as a powerful figure, his fiery nature encapsulated in the red and gold stones, embodying the initial spark of the universe.

It wasn't the only wall with such new decorations. I had created four such mosaics, one on each wall.

On the opposite wall, Archangel Gabriel was depicted in hues of pearl, moonstone, and sapphire. His presence was serene yet profound, with the 'He' (ה) subtly integrated into the fabric of his robes, symbolizing breath, revelation, and spirit. The white and blue stones shimmered, reflecting his role as the divine messenger and the purity of his communication.

To the right, Archangel Raphael's mosaic was a tapestry of emerald and malachite, embodying healing and the connection between heaven and earth. The 'Vav' (ו) was delicately traced along the edge of his garment, representing the joining of the divine with the human, his role as a guide and healer illuminated by the green stones.

And finally, on the last wall, Archangel Uriel's image was crafted with topaz, citrine, and amber. The warm, golden hues captured his essence as the bearer of light and wisdom. The final 'He' (ה) was nestled within the glow emanating from his hands, symbolizing enlightenment and the divine presence in the physical world.

Together, those four mosaics set the boundaries of our ritual space. There was a minor issue, since the Otherworld was wholly separated from Earth, it lacked true direction, but I aligned it with zodiac signs. It was an old human practice to steer by stars, even if these ones were made of gemstones.

As I shed the last of my garments, Archer sped along the wall. In the Otherworld, where gravity was under my command, such feats were expected.

By the time he reached the red tongue, I, too, was similarly attired. Though 'attired' might be overstating it – the ensemble was rather revealing, and I could feel the cool air brushing against my mostly bare skin.

"Jay, take these clothes and prepare something suitable for a brief jaunt into the jungle," I instructed the android. Our next destination: the Vietnam War era.

Taking my position, I reclined on the blue tongue. It was soft and pleasant, a testament to my craftsmanship. The material was smooth to the touch and contoured perfectly to my body. The position, slightly stagy with my legs wide open, was deliberately chosen for a reason.

Near my right arm, a control console with a keyhole was cleverly concealed. Inserting the key, a myriad of options materialized, glinting in the air before me. I surveyed the list of registered doors that the Otherworld could access. My attention, however, was drawn to the new addition—a symbol I had integrated into the system myself: an hourglass.

I reached out confidently and activated the glowing hourglass. It expanded into a detailed interface, where I meticulously set the coordinates for our desired time and place. Despite my familiarity with the design and mechanics of this machine, this was its first real test—a moment both fraught with anticipation and brimming with potential.

As I confirmed the settings, a low mechanical hum resonated throughout the room. The rings embedded in the floor responded to my input, shifting in a dance of gears and mystical energies. They rearranged themselves into a new configuration, aligning with the coordinates of the Vietnam War era.

I clicked for confirmation, and the Mystic Code transitioned to its next phase. The blue tongue chair, upon which I was seated, extended upwards, while the red one descended, meeting in the middle. They formed a ring-like structure, positioning me so that my head was nestled between Archer's legs, and his head between mine.

His hard member was close enough for me to inhale his musky scent. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my own, an intimate proximity that heightened the intensity of the moment.

Gently, I licked the tip with my tongue, savouring not only the mundane taste but also the essence of Od that lingered there. It was a subtle hint, but enough to initiate the circle of energy. Archer was not idle either; I could feel him taking me in completely, enveloping my entire length up to the very metal ring at the base.

I mirrored his actions, following his example in a rhythmic dance of give and take. As our actions intensified, the flow of Od between us became more pronounced, cycling through us and being refined with each movement. It travelled from divinity to man to beast, and then back to divinity again, purified and strengthened with each suck and lick.

In this act, crude matter and exalted spirit merged in a union that was as carnal as it was profound. It was a dance on the edge of blasphemy, yet in that very transgression, we were birthing a miracle. The sacred and the profane intertwined, a paradoxical harmony that was key to power.

The burning heat of our mutual desire became a forge within which our energies were melded. Our tongues, like hammers in sync, worked diligently, forging a metaphorical ring of Od that pulsed through our joined flesh.

This was merely the first step. Without pausing, I pressed a button on the control console, initiating the next phase of our ritual.

Reality itself seemed to split.

In one reality, nothing appeared to change. I continued my actions, each movement mirrored by Archer, in a rhythm of giving and receiving.

In a parallel reality, a mechanical sound echoed as the labyrinth shifted, unveiling a new configuration. Yet, even there, our actions remained uninterrupted, synchronized in an endless cycle of pleasure.

The sensation was amplified as the number of our existences doubled. I was acutely aware of the pleasure from both my variants, the experience intensified by this mystical duality.

And then, reality split again. Two became four. Instead of two rings reflecting each other, now there were four, each a mirror to the others, yet each unique. The sensations multiplied, a cascade of pleasure and energy that flowed through the many facets of our being.

The transformation continued, our reality branching and expanding. Four realities became eight, each reflection in this higher-dimensional space aligning along eight segments of the circle. At each point where the rings intersected, a greater, encompassing ring formed, setting the stage for the process to begin anew.

Eight realities multiplied into sixty-four, and then sixty-four expanded into two hundred fifty-six. With each division, the sensations intensified, both in power and pleasure. It was like the controlled chaos of a nuclear reaction, our boundaries serving as containment walls to focus and harness the escalating energy.

As the chain reaction of realities and sensations grew, it reached a critical point where containment was no longer possible. The buildup of energy and pleasure crescendoed until we could no longer maintain the separations.

In a climactic convergence, all realities and experiences merged into a singular, explosive moment of mutual climax.

The echoes of our union resonated through the labyrinth, and as if summoned by our fervour, the weeping angels descended. Their celestial voices, in a chorus of otherworldly splendour, sang praises of our glory. They lifted us upwards, transcending the realms of time and space, to a grandiose throne that was set above the stars—a throne not of mere fantasy, but one that seemed to have been wrought from the very fabric of the cosmos.

The throne itself was an awe-inspiring sight, akin to a structure of dark, metallic artistry, adorned with an array of circular gears and luminous blue orbs that pulsated with an inner light. These orbs, reminiscent of vigilant eyes, were embedded within the throne's architecture, granting it a semblance of life and watchfulness.

I was seated upon this throne, a position of exalted power and majesty, with Archer at my feet, chained—a symbol of his submission within our ritual's design.

Beneath us, the entirety of the universe unfolded—a vast tapestry woven from the threads of all time and space, extending from the nascent moments of creation to the ultimate end of days.

Yet, such grandeur was fleeting. It seemed to last but a moment, or perhaps it encompassed eternities.

Suddenly, the stern archangels from my mosaics, led by the formidable figure of Michael with his flaming sword, emerged. With divine purpose etched upon his countenance, he advanced, raising his sword to smite me down from my celestial seat.

I fell like a bolt of lightning, my descent both swift and controlled, cascading through the heavens. As I plummeted, my focus remained locked onto the celestial cloak marking our designated destination.