“Fuck me!” the Mick swore. Everything around them had turned around to look in the direction of the Shrine at the same moment. A breath later, even the Black Coral Golums they were fighting had all bowed down or were kneeling in supplication.

  The warriors turned around, to see the shoals between them and the shrine were standing in circular walls of water in concentric waves, as if every wave in the local bay had instantly cleared ten feet high and was just hovering there in awed horror.

  The sky had also gone very, very dark blue, even though it was early afternoon, and there were no stars showing through the indigo above them. There was a single hanging Note hanging in the air, like strangely inverted Thunder that wasn’t stirring the heart into the sky, but bending it towards the dark of The Deep...

  “Back it out!” he ordered flatly, and there was not a single complaint from either team, good-natured or otherwise. Both the Skeeters and the Roaches basically burst into a sprint for the Wagon, hanging there just offshore and out of range of any Summons’ Spawn range. Armored feet and boots trod above the waves with much-practiced lightfoot and scurried onto the armored vessel, which the Mick left right where it was, just shy of the standing walls of water that couldn’t advance further up to the shore.

  The inky darkness swirled up from the apex of the horn-like arch over the Shrine, making it difficult to make out at this distance, but didn’t completely cover it.

  Indeed, the brightest point in anything any of them could see was the area right at the entry to the Shrine, like a single moon in the night sky.

  -------

  “WHO CALLS ON THE DEEP?!”

  Multiple Circles buffered and filtered the voice so we weren’t stunned by the volume of it. Heavenly waters rippled and pushed back with the echoes of eternity, and a whelming pressure coming in with curiosity and arrogance paused in place for a long, pregnant moment.

  Then it receded slowly and warily, a looming darkness looking at me there, the only light in the metaphysical darkness all around.

  I didn’t talk to it, that was asking to be drawn into a conversation that might just draw me out of reality. Instead I just sang Chords gently and inoffensively in the manasphere and ladled thoughts out into the darkness like dispensing tears of memory that never contacted my own directly.

  The Fall’s mana surge, the abrupt cessation of offerings to its Shrine. The reality of the Summons and spirits bound to the magic of the System here, no longer dropping offerings.

  Our hunting of the assorted Tendrils and Tentacles of T’Thuun across land and sea, slaughtering its adherents anywhere we found them.

  The invasion of the Aetherial Ravager, and the Leviathans who had responded to destroy it. Their admonishment of the creature that had Called it to the mortal plane.

  The destruction of the Arm of T’Thuun on Freebooter Island, and the elimination of all slithyr Tentacles from lands known to us.

  Except one. Moarsman Island.

  I felt some of Its passing interest in the Fall, a feeling like mild curiosity answered as to why the offerings to it here had ceased.

  That feeling had sharpened as it considered the fate of the souls bound to the System here, continually respawning to defend these places to no purpose… and it was likely taking souls constantly from the Deep’s followers near here and elsewhere, since the Reedsharks had probably been inhabitants of Vissidal before it was plunged into the depths.

  The images of the manifestations of T’Thuun being slaughtered, its Blight vivified, and the Arm of T’Thuun being slain and Burned cause the dark and silence to roil in active feelings that didn’t feel all that different from malicious satisfaction and glee. The Deep did NOT like T’Thuun.

  And then Moarsman Island.

  I gave it the location. I gave it the overhead view of the island, teeming with literally thousands of moarsman, sclavi, and T’Thuun Tentacles, full glorious pyramidal temples, spawning pools, and shrines.

  The malacious glee was wiped away, replaced by cold, depthless hatred on a scale that would heartlessly doom entire mortal civilizations trying to satiate it.

  An image of me erecting an Archway, cracking open the Shoreward. Behind me, the armies of The Deep rising up silently from the seas under a moonless night, ready to deliver the fanatics of T’Thuun a final blow.

  The Pyramids cracked and shattered, the endless reinforcements of T’Thuun’s minions stopped as its servants died, and the Island was covered with vivic fire devouring them all and feeding them to the Land.

  A terrible deep hum was now carrying through the earth and sky and darkness all around me.

  There was a surge of imagery, and then the hum was fading. The manasphere cleared up with frankly shocking speed, and I jerked in something close to astonishment as the power and presence of the Deep was withdrawn.

  Standing waves in all directions splashed back into the ocean, and the seas rippled and were still. It took a few breaths for the winds to dare to move again.

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  Kris looked up at the vanishing indigo. “I hate dealing with things at that level,” she muttered with resignation.

  We were simply irrelevant on a personal level to such things, less dangerous than an ant was to us. Only the fact that they didn’t personally involve themselves meant we were still alive, and all mortals on Dereth and beyond.

  I could see the Wagon hanging offshore to the west, with everyone aboard it. “Seems this was a bit distracting to their hunting efforts,” I muttered as I leaned on Crown and got to my feet.

  Kris hopped to her own feet effortlessly. “How’s that? Something in that last surge?”

  “Prove our worth.” I pointed to the Dark Isle. “The deaths of one hundred boss creatures of the Dark Isle, put to vivus.”

  Kris narrowed her eyes. The spawns of Dark Isle had a unique mechanic. They came in sets of four, dangerous creatures all. When a random one of the four was killed, that activated a Boss monster, Spawning in with two more assistants.

  So, seven kills to earn one Boss kill. Everything more dangerous than Vissidal Island, Casting Platinum and Mana-tier spells.

  “I think the Mick said the tougher bosses are inland, up on the mesa there. Where the Taint of Grael and the Shadow in the Void is greater,” I noted.

  “Huh.” Kris lifted her eyes to the long length of the higher hill forming the center of the Dark Island. “They aren’t going to drop trophy items. How do we prove the kills?” she asked reasonably.

  “Mnecromonic. There’s a field of Its awareness sitting right there, after all.”

  She looked down to the bottom of the tunnel, which went way deeper than it did physically. “Right. Well, sure, then, prove ourselves to the eldritch uncaring entity so it will order Its minions to die in droves to kill our mutual enemies. Sounds utterly reasonable to me, right?”

  I was doing mental math. “Getting the kill means doing more damage to the Summons than any other party, not being the last one to kill it, if what the Mick says was true. That may have changed, but Mnecromonic makes no real difference between those you help kill and those you actually put the killstroke on,” I pointed out. “And one hundred kills is one hundred spells for me, at least. That… is a lot of mana.”

  “I’d say only one of us needs the kill totals, but that sounds lame even to me. If I want Warlord authority over the bastards, I’m sure I need it, and it’s bloody obvious you do,” Kris nodded thoughtfully.

  “If it’s a standing authorization for everyone who manages it so they don’t get attacked by the Deep’s forces, everyone is going to want it. I can’t picture the Mick NOT getting it, for instance.”

  “That is a LOT of killing,” Kris pointed out. At her unspoken command, we started trotting out towards the Wagon, which obligingly turned our way as the Mick headed to meet us. “Anything else in the message?”

  “It will acknowledge kills of gold creatures on Vissidal and boss creatures here just as it always has. They have to be vivified, however.”

  Her pale violet eyes narrowed. “Okay, that means everyone and their mother needs Mnecromonic on their Weapons if they want to profit from that. Not taking advantage of Karma accelerators is very stupid.”

  “Not everyone has the force of mind and will to put up with the weight of everything they’ve killed every time they bring their Blade to hand, Kris,” I said quietly.

  “Then they aren’t going to have the force of mind to break Ten, let alone Twenty, and they aren’t going to be sucking power out of The Deep. Pity them.” Her voice held no sympathy. Since she basically lived to be a black hole for Karma, that wasn’t surprising to me at all.

  If you didn’t have the force of will or personality to deal with that shit, grow your mind and soul until you did, that was all there was to it. A magical universe allowed you to do that, so why wouldn’t you?

  “The true elites are going to be swarming over this place again, especially if it grants Luminance, too,” I said thoughtfully. “This place is going to be hosting a LOT of vivus.”

  “So, we call it the Gray Island and then the White Island in time. I think it’ll be a while. The Taint is pretty deep here. I get the feeling it wasn’t returned to the surface so much as thrust back up, ‘thank you, get off of me’ by the sea.”

  “Not gonna argue that.” The Mick was almost to us, and we slowed down mutually.

  “I dinnae think ye meant ta make that big an impression, but ye definitely did!” the Mick huffed for everyone, all of them curious to hear what had happened.

  “Unsurprisingly, The Deep has amended our plans after our request, everyone,” Kris spoke up, and got everyone’s attention instantly. “One, Kris and I have to kill one hundred Boss creatures of the Dark Isle each to be recognized by The Deep.” They all looked at one another, even a short time of killing letting them realize it was a lot of fighting. “That may or may not apply to every other one of you who wants to be recognized,” she went on, tilting her head at the Mick, who raised his eyebrows in instant interest. “Secondly, if you have Mnecromonic on your Weapon, The Deep will continue to award Karma for Boss kills and Gold creatures alike. Just present your Weapon to the Shrine’s Portal for The Deep.”

  The rather blank looks on the eyes of those there were cut short by Lord Mick’s long, low whistle. “Are ye serious?” he asked carefully.

  “I don’t know about Luminance, but yes.”

  He looked back at the Skeeters and Roaches alike, and shook his head. “Ye done went and got aboard a Karmic Wagon o’ the gods. It be not as fast an’ easy as clearing Asheron’s Island o’ one-shot Wisps, but damn close to it, an’ it never runs out, if demanding ye use Fellowships and teamwork for tactics instead of fighting alone. Ye lucky dogs, ye are!” he declared with feeling.

  He had a thought and looked back at me. “One HUNDRED kills?” he repeated carefully.

  “It’s a lot for a mage, I know. It will definitely take me at least two days. And we don’t know if it’s the killshot, or just doing the most damage to one,” I replied to his unspoken real inquiry.

  “So, ideally ye’ll do both,” he nodded, turning his eye back to his people, then to Kris. “Highness, I propose ye an’ I split the purpose an’ find which The Deep is looking for. I’ll do kill shots, you do major damage. I dinnae think it’s the former, so ye should be fine, and I be not needing the acknowledgment so much as ye.”

  Kris nodded at the chivalrous volunteering. If The Deep cared nothing for final blows, which was likely as it might allow the weak to be recognized, then Lord Mick wasn’t going to get any counts at all.

  But then everyone would know.

  “Showing strength isn’t showing you know how to slit a throat, sir, Highness. Agreeing with Lord Mick on that!” Rogar piped up, and the Roaches and Skeeters murmured agreement.

  “Aye an’ truth, but we’re going t’ be finding out fer certain, so no complaining about it. No time like the present t’ get started, then!” the Mick called out brightly.

  The Wagon was turned around, and we turned with it.

  “Also, we’d prefer to kill up on the hill, the tougher Bosses,” Kris stated coolly. “If we have to do this, we’re going to impress the bastard.”

  “Sounds proper. Just have t’ be more careful,” the Mick agreed, and our course was adjusted to take that into account.

  Mnecromonic is a quest kill-counter tracker?!?! That's so, so... goddamn appropriate.

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