Threshold: Stories from Cradle

by Will Wight

For the first time, his bestial thoughts condensed into something Yan Shoumei heard as an actual word: Flee. Desperate, she obeyed.

Contradiction, the oracle codex said. The Judge implied she did not know your name, but she was aware of your compatibility scores.

She lay on the ground, alone. All four of them were legends in their own right, but the people told more tales of Brani than of the rest of them combined. Not of her marksmanship or her skill as a scout. Everywhere she went, Brani fed the hungry. The poor knew when Brani was in town by the packages of food that mysteriously showed up on their doorsteps. They called her Brani the Kind. She would be remembered, Zeth promised. She would be honored. He had to lie to himself first, to make it the truth.

The goddess had descended in human form. Her black carapace covered her from the neck down like armor, her legs sprouted from her back and were formed from scarlet-stained steel, and her dark hair had a single streak of bloody red.

As they exited, Mercy spoke in a low voice to Fury. “They wouldn’t be so scared of you if you spent more time with them.” Fury returned an odd look. “If they knew me, they’d only be more afraid.” “That’s not true! I’m not afraid of you, and neither is Aunt Naria.” “Yeah, but you’re strong. They’re weak.” He shrugged. “It’s okay, we’re just not going to be friends.” “Don’t you want to know the people we’re fighting for?” “Why?” Fury spread his hands. “I’m going to fight for them whether they like me or not.”

Jek’nan screamed harder, deeper, and in more tones than a human could comprehend. He screamed in frequencies their technology could not perceive. He had never felt, not even imagined, such pain.

A shard of razor-edged darkness appeared in the human’s hand, and Jek’nan saw hope die. A bright smile bloomed in the Void, even sharper than the weapon. “You were a wonderful teaching assistant! My thanks, and goodbye!” One swipe of the Scythe, and Jek’nan the Flourishing Disease was no more.

He understood the situation quickly. This was well within his abilities. But there was one crucial detail missing. “Can I kill the Silverlords?” Lindon asked. Both of Eithan’s smiles gained a touch of sadness. “You have to make that judgment yourself,” Eithan said. “That’s what it means to be a Reaper.”

“I need to learn to use these hands and feet,” Orthos said to Pride, “but I didn’t think I’d be fighting you. I’m not here to do battle with hatchlings.” Pride bristled. “You don’t even know how to throw a punch. With your advancement restricted, you shouldn’t look down on me.” “I don’t,” Orthos grumbled. “That makes it worse. You think I want a hatchling beating on me for two hours? I don’t even have a shell.”

[At this rate, there’s no end to the number of children you’ll defeat!] Dross glanced around at the faces of the others. [What? Lindon did it.]

Tell them to use more power, Ziel urged. [See, that’s the problem. We can do that, but we tuned our veils to match the upper limit of this Iteration’s monsters. If we use more power, it’ll be obvious that we aren’t from ‘round these parts, as Yerin would say. She wouldn’t say that.]

“There are two beings in all creation who have ever taken action to improve the system of existence, and they share this dock right now.”

[What do you think it means that he called us all here?] Dross asked. [Not that I’m nervous, I just think it might suggest that we’re about to be executed.]

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Orthos rumbled. “These are the things you don’t learn when you grow up a spirit.”