The Outer Sphere

Dragus was meditating and upkeeping the intricate spellwork inscribed on his heartstone by his very soul, sharpening the lines, modifying the distribution of colors, seeking the ideal. In the unlikely event that someone were to tear out his heartstone right this second, it would be like the most hypnotic opal anyone had ever seen, with purples, greens, oranges and yellows flickering like fire inside.

Dragus knew because he’d done it to people like himself before.

In the distance, he could make out the faint shift in air pressure as a young messenger padded down the hall. He could feel it was a corio, and a woman.

Teranda then, Kuya’s descendant.

Kuya had been a promising trainee and had even joined the ranks of the masters before her life was ended over a border dispute with the Fen Sha.

One thing every immortal knew: Their end would be violent. That was just a fact of immortality. Once you cut out aging or disease, the options became somewhat limited.

Not Dragus though. He had the heartstone and soul of an Original, waiting for him to break into the realm of the Divine.

So many people looked up to the Dan Ui clan as the epitome of power, but they didn’t have the same vision that Dragus did. The Dan Ui clan owned more planets, more systems than any other clan, draining power straight from stars to fuels their war machine, but they were still small. Out there were organizations, beings, so powerful that they didn’t even deign to interact with the people of the Spheres.

Every place he had ever been, every name Dragus had ever heard, every great tale, epic triumph, or tragic sorrow, had occurred in a tiny bubble at the bottom of a vast ocean.

Dragus wanted to break out of this limiting shell of the Spheres and becoming a god was step one. Once he was out in the wider world…He’d pull his reality’s power along with his like a cloak, and conquer them too.

God of conquest. That’s got a nice ring to it.

Teranda knocked at the door far more meekly than her great grandmother, and were Dragus’s senses not so acute, he might have missed it entirely.

“Come in,” He said, rolling his eyes at the trainee’s timidness. Still, he had to maintain his persona as the wise and confident clan elder, and berating someone for being too meek did not come across as wise or confident.

“I’ve got the weekly report.” She said shyly, shielding herself from his gaze unconsciously. Kolath, did someone tell her I have eye beams or something?

“let’s have it,” Dragus said, letting none of it into his voice. Best to leave well enough alone. This wouldn’t be the last time he had a star-stuck trainee run for him, and it definitely wasn’t the first.

The best thing to do was simply wait until their nerves faded.

“Yes, Umm…” She slipped open her first folder. “The council of elders wish to know why there was a CC’ed message that circulated from one of your holdings, Earth, that indicated a clue to the location of the First Archmage.”

“It was a hoax to create chaos in our territory.”

Her voice became even higher and fainter.

“They also wish to know why Earth’s ownership is in dispute. The sex, slaves and drugs on that planet are quite profitable.”

“It will go nowhere, they do not have the same resources nor the same political clout as us.”

“They wish to speak to you. Tomorrow.”

Dragus raised a brow. Pressuring him with such sudden summons was a slap in the face.  He wouldn’t have to worry about the other elders in time, but until then, it was best to continue the charade. Castavelle couldn’t hang on as long as he claimed.

“Of course. I honor the wishes of the council. I will be there. And what about my reports? What about this imposter who claimed to be Castvelle’s apprentice?

“Ah yes, Garth Daniels.”

Dragus blinked, the memory of the event unfolding. His Disintegration spell was as powerful as a star and as sensitive as a machine…built to sense things. He had felt the man torn to atoms, sensed his soul claimed by Beladia and taken to the afterlife. That had been the end of it.”

“The subject was an apostle of Pala, so take this with a healthy dose of sceptisicm, but an Apostle of Ferenor confirmed his identity as a true disciple of Castavelle De’Chestaland, teaching him under the terrible pseudonym Cassius Clay, a famous human gladiator. Barring a doppleganger replacing the Apostle, or some other extenuating circumstance, it is best to assume that it is the Truth of Ferenor.”

“Ugh,” Dragus involuntarily groaned. If it was the same man, then he had some way of coming back to life, and knowing Beladia, it was something to do with plants: A phytolich.

The last Phytolich he’d met some three thousand years ago had spread spores across the multiverse that could house his soul and regrow his body: Slippery and annoying.

This particular one probably wasn’t quite so widespread. Most likely, all Dragus needed to do was go to the bastards last known location on his home planet and cast around for a few minutes. His phylactery was probably in a single location, and it certainly couldn’t stand up to a seventh-tier Grand Archmage like Dragus…

Except for the Fact that the Inner Spheres were watching Earth closely while it’s ownership was under dispute. Going there himself or sending any of his students now would be a black mark on the Dan-Ui’s record, and would cause even more damage to their credibility than a pathetic second tier Phytolich ever could.

Teranda watched him cautiously, and Dragus cut his un-elder-like complaining short. He would simply have to hire out to deal with this mess while Earth was under review. Waiting until they won the legal battle was simply too long.

“And the apprentice himself? Where is he now?”

“Well, he was sentenced to eight hours of community service in the Terrafell dungeon, at the end of which, his criminal record was expunged, by order of one Argus Neilshin.

Moron! That prison can’t hold a soul. The bastard will return to haunt me eventually, with a blank slate in the eyes of the law, too.

“Where is he now?” Dragus asked. “This Neilshin fellow?” That elf could reopen the case, or push for new sentencing for some other slight against him. There had been many.

“Umm…He’s no longer…alive.”

“What!?” Dragus demanded, bringing himself to his feet. The mana in the air responded to his anger, condensing into tiny bolts of electricity that spread along the ground like a web.

Teranda squeaked and shielded her face.

Dragus sighed, and sat back down, letting the anger flow away from him.

“Tell me what happened.”

“At the end of Garth Daniel’s eight-hour sentence, ownership of Castavelle’s summer home on Quinteruis was transferred to Mr. Neilshin. We assume this was part of a bribe to convince the elf to give him a lenient sentence. Mr. Neilshin visited within the week, bypassing the wards that prevent non-owners from entering. He died going through the front gate, mid-stride with a grin on his face, like the life had been torn from his body so quickly that he hadn’t even noticed it.”

“Huh,” Dragus scratched his head. “Natural selection works on elves too, I guess.”

Teranda stared, obviously uncomfortable at someone disparaging the first class citizens of the multiverse.

“Alright, we’re just going to have to deal with this problem on our own. Don’t waste any resources on Terrafell. He’s going to reappear on Earth. Send word to double down on our bid to maintain control of Earth. Cut him off at his power base.

“Sir,” she said, making a note at the bottom of the margin.

“Hit me with the dry stuff.” At his word, Teranda flipped to the next folder that showed his personal wealth and how it was progressing.

“Master Keranos has put down the insurrection on Altuna, productivity is up three percent.”

“Good.”

“There was a drought on the largest continent of Ghonbei, and proceeds are expected to fall for a couple years, until the workforce replenishes itself.”

Dragus waved it off. It wasn’t something he wanted to spend time or resources correcting.

“Productivity on three of your other planets has grown by ten to fifteen percent, in the last month.”

Dragus frowned. “Is there a reason for that?” he asked.

“According to this it’s…” she flipped through her sheets. “Decreased monster attacks causing less shrink. Goblins in particular seem to be behaving oddly. Scouts have said they’ve spotted them engaging in little wars with each other…more so than usual. Some of these battles range in the millions of the vermin and stretch from one side of the continent to the other.”

“Why are you talking to me about goblins?” Dragus demanded. He didn’t care what the pests did to each other. A world war between goblins was only a benefit in that it reduced their filthy numbers.

“Sorry, I just, em, moving on. Strangely enough, the incidence of murders has risen on these planets –”

“That’s all I need to know,” Dragus said. “Move on.”

“Oh, then, the items you requested to be bought at auction we acquired, except the GodWill Core, which was acquired by elder Stephan of the Fan Sha clan.

Dragus didn’t bother to maintain his façade, rubbing his temples and groaning.

***Jelly Bean***

She’s so beautiful,” Jelly said, cradling her daughter as the goblins looked on with awe. Sweat still matted Jelly’s hair to her scalp, and she didn’t know if she could walk just yet.

The pregnancy had been unnaturally short. Dangerously short. Mark One had made sure she had everything she needed, instructing his whole tribe carry her to the Green Hell, where Mrs. Banyan was able to ensure she would be safe. It was a little scary, but Mrs. Banyan had gotten rid of most of the pain, healed her, and kept having her drink some strange, bubbly drink that danced on her tongue.

Despite being extremely exhausted, she was starting to feel better than she ever had in her life. Her lungs had become bellows that flooded her with a rush of power, her limbs felt like they could lift mountains, and her mind had never been so clear.

I’m sure it’ll go away.

Now the labor was over, and she rested in a wooden bed, surrounded by her new family, who were extremely curious about the little pink baby.

“Why she not biggening yet?” one asked, poking her. “Usually get big in hours.

“Why pink and not green?”

“Why she come from fun-hole and not eat hole?” another asked.

“Can boy fun-hole do that too?”

Mark One clamped a hand on two of the spectator’s shoulders, his claws making dimples in their skin. “Give jellybean some alone time.” He said, his voice nearly a growl.

How sweet, Jelly thought, smiling as she watched him get protective of her. The goblins paled and scurried away, returning to their usual jobs.

“I’m sorry about that,” Mark One said, watching them go, casting glances over their shoulders like dogs that wanted desperately to come back and investigate. “I’ll teach them about bothering people who are sick.”

“It’s fine, I love all of them. And your speech has gotten even better! Good job!” She reached out and pinched his cheek before he brushed her hand away.

“I’m happy you and your baby is safe.” Mark One said.

“It’s your baby too, you know?” Jelly said with a grin. “She’s got your eyes.”

“All our eyes look similar to me.” Mark one had a thoughtful expression for a moment. “She only- gah, she’s only half mine, at best. you keep the whole tribe happy.”

“Do you, umm… do you know how babies work?” Jelly asked, brows furrowing.

“Sure, we each put baby juice inside Jellybean, which builds up into a baby inside her – you.”

“No that’s-“ Jelly Bean stopped and  thought for a moment. Why bother telling them they should be jealous of each other and that only one could be the father? Wouldn’t it be better for her baby if she was everyone’s daughter?

Jelly Bean didn’t stop to ponder where that moment of insight came from.

“You know what? That’s exactly how it works.” Jelly said with a smile. “She did get your eyes, though.”

Mark One couldn’t see his own eyes, but they were yellowish with flecks of green, unlike the rest of his tribe, whose were simply brown, yellow, or green. Now there were two with those eyes.

“What are you going to call her?”

“My granny was really nice, before she passed away. I’m thinking of naming her Jean. Jean One.”

Jean began to fuss inside her wraps, wiggling around.

“Are you hungry, little Jean?” Jelly cooed, holding the infant to her breast, where she began suckling with a surprising amount of force, making Jelly’s toes curl at the near-overload of sensation.

“Here,” Mrs. Banyan said, stepping out of a nearby trunk with a bottle full of faintly iridescent milk. She handed it to Jelly. “Try to make half of her feedings from this. It’ll make sure she doesn’t get sick.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Banyan.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she said, eyeing the baby with a faint smile. “I was made for this.”

A tiny lance of pain shot through Jelly’s nipple.

“Ow, Jean, no biting.” Jelly blew a gentle, but irritating wind into Jean’s eyes.

“Biting?” Mrs. Banyan asked with a frown.

“I think she’s teething.” Jelly said.

Mrs. Banyan frowned, staring at the infant intensely before she turned and disappeared into the forest.

Macronomicon