Janus and The Prince: A LitRPG Saga (The Nightmares of Alamir Book 2)

by Noam Oswin

  She’s enjoying this. With a sigh and a shake of my head, I rose my hand, and ended the timeline.

  /∞/

  [You are now in the True Path]

  The grass of the Hlahan Forest lay beneath me, my Enchanted Hybrid Door stood within the forest, and my army of golems was gone. As it was, with splitting reality in two, there was often a sense of surrealism that came from having memories of events that happened, but… didn’t.

  Yet, there was proof that it did happen. My hand opened, and there it was, Erzili’s finger, still in place within my palm, still proving that I could transfer objects across timelines, that the actions I did take in that timeline had happened.

  Did I make the right choice?

  Erzili openly admitted to lying, cheating, and doing whatever it took to survive. For all I knew, everything she said might have been false. It could all have been a ploy to deceive me. A clever, ingenious ploy to tug at my heartstrings.

  I was inclined to believe otherwise. The odd attire she wore, the room and the manner of speech all contributed to her story of wanting to coexist with humans. There were hundreds of books in that room, which meant Erzili was a voracious reader. There was a full-sized map of the world in that room, which meant Erzili was versed in geography. Erzili knew the culture of the people, knew their history, and possibly their language. It fit. Everything fit perfectly.

  But some things did not add up. There was Slim, his oddities and how he knew what my name meant. He said he joined up with Erzili because they had a common goal. Did Slim also desire to coexist with humans? It didn’t sound that way. So, what then, was his goal?

  The King of Nightmares…

  I wanted to laugh at the title. It sounded like something an overly imaginative child would come up within a story. Yet, Erzili believed that because I was a Demiurge, I could be King. I didn’t quite believe it, but I was willing to try. To attempt. If only, because I valued my life, and wanted to make something of myself, the second time around.

  [You have unlocked the suitable conditions for evolution.]

  [Would you like to Evolve?]

  [Yes]

  [No]

  For the first time in a long while, I could feel optimistic about my future. Things were changing. Things were being set in motion. And if I wanted to advance, I needed to change along with it.

  [Evolution Commencing]b

  Interlude - I: Caution

  She was terrified of a fourteen-year-old. The harder she tried not to flinch upon his gaze, the quicker the action of flinching came. She attributed the rapid pounding of her heart to adrenaline, and, as her master had taught her through a simple one-time instruction with no repetition, she rationalized that the golden-haired boy in front of her would not kill her.

  His purple eyes were half-lidded, his expression neither one of aggression nor hostility. His uniform, sparkling with medals indicated that the boy in front of her was someone who would, or rather, should be on her side. Yet, it was that utter lack of interest beneath those half-lidded eyes, that monotonous gaze which rendered upon her the distinct sensation of a weed underneath the feet of a gazelle, that feeling that she existed and lived only by his whim alone – that was what terrified her.

  “Irritating.” Came her master’s voice. “If the ogling of my amanuensis is the reason you interrupted my research, Hoplite –”

  “Do you never tire of new faces Soph?” the boy’s voice was whisper-like. Eerie. It was louder than a whisper certainly, yet, not loud enough to be considered the standard speaking volume. “What happened to Velma?”

  “Deceased.”

  “And Militia before her?” Hoplite asked.

  “Indisposed.”

  “And Lucia, with the lightning scars?”

  “Is there a point to your questions?”

  Hoplite’s half-lidded eyes displayed no change at the information. She found it incredibly difficult to maintain eye-contact, and even more so to hide the announcements of the fates that belayed her predecessors.

  “I also remember Astra, Riata and Freia – the one who attempted to elope with your doorkeeper.” Hoplite said. “I liked her. She always knew the right place to get my chips.” The High Eminent of War turned to her. “You, Soph’s newest. What is your name?”

  She felt her heart squeeze in her chest at the question. “My name is Cynthia, your Eminence.”

  “Do you know where to get the best plantain chips?”

  Her master muttered under his breath. “Vexing. If you kill another one of my amanuenses over your ridiculous obsession with plantains –”

  “Plantain chips.” Hoplite corrected immediately. His hands were already moving upwards. “And if she doesn’t know –”

  “Warehouse 91, your eminence.”

  The boy’s hand went down. “Ah. Good. Now, do I prefer soft chips, or crunchy ones?”

  Cynthia felt her heart squeeze in her chest a second time, and she understood that it was not just a feeling. “C-crunchy ones, your Eminence –”

  “And why are crunchy chips the best?”

  The tightening grew worse. It was harder to breathe than ever. Hard to even stand. “B-because – it – it irritates other High Eminents, and s-scares people weaker t-than you w-when t-they hear the s-sound.”

  The tightening sensation vanished. The half-lidded eyes of the High Eminent of War remained as half-lidded as it did before. Cynthia knew immediately that she was not wrong to fear him. She knew, and she understood, that had this fourteen-year-old boy wished her dead, not even her Master could have stopped it from happening.

  Hoplite Hierophantasia was one of the most powerful people in all of Alhamis. Amidst the Ten High Eminents, only two others could hold a candle to him, and even then, he far outstripped them because he was fourteen years old. The boy that could kill her with a blink was not yet in his prime.

  “You,” Hoplite said. “You might be the first of Sophos’ amanuenses to not die miserably.”

  What was she to make of that? “Thank you, your Eminence.”

  “Tremendously irritating,” her master said. “Hoplite, your reason for coming?”

  Floating, five inches above the ground as all High Eminents did, Hoplite Hierophantasia moved with his hands behind his back, examining the works she and her master were creating. Technology that would boost the entirety of Alhamis centuries, if not millennia into the future. Something that could and would wipe the nightmares off the face of Alamir forever.

  At first, she assumed Hoplite did not know the purpose of any of the technologies in development within the room. Assumed, until she witnessed him pick one up, and fitting of his status as the High Eminent of War, he picked up a small cylindrically shaped device. Small enough to fit into his hands, without effort. She almost rose an alarm upon seeing him examine the button on the center. Seeing his fingers hover near it to push the button, she felt immediate dread.

  “Your Eminence, that is –” her show of concern was immediately stifled by her master raising his hand.

  Hoplite pushed the button. Cynthia closed her eyes and braced for death. She anticipated a loud flash, a bang, an inexplicable roar from the pushing of a device built with the express purpose of absorbing light and Alamir’s ambient mystic energy, amplifying the two through a repeated chain-cycle, and releasing it all at once.

  There was enough “charge” in it to turn Alamir into a crater seventeen times over. Enough energy to be compared with a meteorite slamming against the city from the Great Beyond. She expected the immediate destruction of everything and everyone around her.

  She did not expect, to still be standing after he pushed the button.

  “Slow.” Came the teenager’s words. Dreadfully, Cynthia opened her eyes.

  There, within his palm, was an anomaly that made her choke. She’d heard of it, of course, the rumors were endless, but seeing it, seeing the inexplicable curvature that seemed to suck in light around it like a vacuum sitting in the palm of the boy’s hands and somehow n
ot utterly devastating the room around them made her choke.

  The anomaly vanished. The explosive along with it. Hoplite, for the first time since she had seen him, did not have his eyes lidded anymore. “Your weapons are too weak, Soph.”

  “Curious. You never possessed a problem with the destructive capability of my designs before now.” Sophos said.

  “Before now, there was no reason to have a problem with it.”

  Cynthia was trying her best to appear as nonchalant as her master. She was failing. She did not know if her master was aware all along that the explosive could be mitigated by Hoplite, but most likely he was. Her master did not make mistakes. Nothing her master did was without reason – without planning.

  “Perplexing,” her master commented. “And the cause of this change?”

  Two words escaped from the boy’s lips that neither she nor her master were prepared for.

  “A Nightwitch.”

  /∞/

  In the brief six months of being the High Eminent of Progress’ amanuensis, Cynthia could count on one hand the number of times she had seen Sophos leave the Eminency of Progress and his laboratory. The number of times he left the building without it being a direct order from the votes garnered at The Gathering, she could count on one finger. That number was one, and the day –

  Today.

  There was almost a wild frenzy in the manner by which he left. Ordering her to carry his tools and toss them into a portable dimensional storage unit, colloquially termed by the average AAA soldier as the “Bag of Holding,” they made use of the exclusive High Eminent teleportation circle to get from Alhamis to the outskirts of the Disremember Woods without the slightest delay.

  Trying her best to keep up with the rush of information and the speed of the two High Eminents on nothing but her two feet was a task that almost killed her. However, now being aware of her master’s proclivity to change amanuenses like undergarments, she knew that failing to keep up would certainly kill her, and that was a motivation to keep moving.

  Leaving behind the fort and rushing through the forest, they were but a blur to the numerous AAA guards stationed along the path. There was no surprise that Hoplite did not take the Nightwitch into custody within Sector One-Zero-One. It was a training facility for rookie AAA soldiers. The potential for disaster would be intense. Rather, keeping her in an off-site location in the Disremember Woods was the only way to avoid subtle mental manipulations.

  Hoplite’s conversation with her master was stretching out and she did her best to listen to it. “…regenerated every single time.”

  “Decapitation? Asphyxiation? Complete and utter cellular disintegration?”

  Hoplite conjured a document from his portable dimensional storage, his PDS unit, and handed it over to her master. Her master glanced it over for a brief second and did not hesitate to hand it to her.

  “Cynthia. Assimilate the contents into your Godscripts and feed me the most relevant data.”

  Forcing herself to stop breathing hard from chasing the High Eminents, she held out the document in front of her. Downloading the data off it took a meager second.

  “Results of Encounter with Subject NW-four-zero-one. Subject, Nightwitch of Druid Origins. Name: Zlosta Janje. Anathema Patron: Unknown. Convent: Unknown. Faction: Unknown. Estimated Threat Level: Tier 4.1.”

  She took a deep breath. “Notes: NW401 has shown a level of regenerative growth unheard of for a Nightwitch. NW401 has refused to converse with interrogators and failed to identify her Convent of Origin, and/or Patron. As NW401 is a Nightwitch of unknown Convent, protocol indicates immediate extermination of the potential threat to Alhamis’ safety. The protocol could not be carried out. Numerous methods of eliminating the subject have been attempted, none with any level of success.”

  Cynthia knew her stomach was not going to be well after this.

  “Attempt one-point-one. Decapitation. Result: The Head and Body of NW401 were pulled together by an inexplicable force, neck and spine reconnecting, and NW401 regained immediate consciousness. Verdict: Failure.”

  Sophos urged her. “Continue.”

  “Attempt one-point-two. Decapitation and Separation. Result: the severed spine of NW401 grew into a new skull. Pieces of torn flesh assimilated and changed into gray matter and other soft-tissues. The previous head kept away from the body disintegrated into dust, and the dust, into mystic particles. Verdict: Failure.”

  “Attempt two. Asphyxiation. Result: NW401 consistently entered a comatose state upon deprivation of oxygen. The reapplication of the barest amount of oxygen would counteract this state. Verdict: Failure.”

  “Attempt two-point-two. Extended Asphyxiation. Result: NW401 grew increasingly resistant to deprivation of oxygen. NW401 no longer becomes comatose from its deprivation. Verdict: Failure.”

  “Attempt three-point-one. Incineration. Result: NW401 displayed rapid complete restoration of burned tissue without visibility of scars or scar tissue. Verdict: Failure.”

  “Challenging. Skip the results and merely tell me the attempt.”

  Cynthia, with an even larger breath, read.

  “Attempt three-point-two. Prolonged Incineration.”

  “Attempt four-point-one. Bifurcation.”

  “Attempt four-point-two. Bifurcation and separation.”

  “Attempt five-point-one. Dissection.”

  “Attempt five-point-one: Dissection and separation.”

  “Attempt five-point-two: Dissection, separation and incineration.”

  “Attempt six-point-one. Pulverization.”

  “Six-point-two. Pulverization and acidification.”

  “Seven-point-one –”

  The more she read, the more she grew concerned. The more she understood her Master’s reason for charging out here suddenly, the more she understood Hoplite’s reason for searching for a truly destructive weapon.

  “Attempt seventeen-point-three. Molecular Destruction via Gravitational Force.” Cynthia grew incredibly uneasy at the final one on the list. “Result: NW401 was subjected to irresistible gravitational forces in the center of a man-made gravitational anomaly. NW401 was erased from existence. NW401 reappeared five minutes later, in the spot of erasure. Note: NW401 did not appear confused nor did NW401 attempt to flee. NW401 requested to be subjected to the forces a second time. When asked why NW401 responded: ‘[She] stopped hearing him laugh.’”

  Cynthia felt as if she were chewing cement. “When questioned on the matter, NW401 did not provide any additional information. All extermination attempts have been terminated at this time. Individuals involved in conducting the extermination attempts have –”

  She stopped reading. The words were there, floating in her vision, and she knew that if her delay was longer than three seconds, her master would be incensed.

  “Individuals involved in conducting the extermination attempts have proceeded to meet their demise in the order and method of their attempted extermination.”

  As one, she and her master turned immediately to look at Hoplite. His dull eyes never wavered. “NW401 Addendum document attached: Causalities of Encounter with NW401.”

  “Causality One-Through-Nine. AAA Soldiers. Method of Attempted Extermination: Sacrosanct Rifle gunfire. Method of Demise: Abrupt appearance of gunfire holes. Remark: More holes than flesh generated difficulty in identifying what parts belonged to which Soldier.”

  Her stomach was protesting. The images were not helping. Her Master’s analytic gaze did not stop the rising sensation of sickness.

  “Causality Ten. Exterminator One. Ylde Alderbane. Method of Attempted Extermination: Decapitation. Method of Demise: Abrupt separation of head from his body. Remark: the severed head was destroyed to prevent continued attempts at the consumption of the body.”

  “Causality Eleven. Exterminator Two. Birn Magnoli. Method of Attempted Extermination: Asphyxiation. Method of Demise: Asphyxiation. Remark: postmortem dissection exposed the lungs melded on the outskirts of the ribcage.”
/>   “Causality Twelve –”

  “Enough.” Came her master’s voice. Low. The lowest she had ever head. “Preventions?”

  “Upon the realization of the proceeding method and manner of death following the Exterminators, Exterminators ten through sixteen committed suicide via Sacrosanct Rifle Fire to the temple. No unusual effect was witnessed on the bodies following their demise.”

  Her master remained silent. He stared, again, for the longest time, at Hoplite. “Reclassification.”

  “NW401 reclassified as Tier 9 Threat. Hazard Ranking: Extinction-Level. Isolation Protocols have been engaged. Anathema Hazard Protocols have been engaged. Discontinuity Advancement Protocols have been engaged. No personnel is authorized to approach NW401 without explicit instructions from a High-Eminent. No personnel is authorized to feed, communicate, exterminate, attempt to feed, communicate, exterminate, or contemplate feeding, communicating, or exterminating NW401 without explicit instructions from a High-Eminent.”

  “Containment?”

  “NW401 has been confined to a four-by-four anti-mystic cage, suspended in a portable dimensional storage unit with sufficient reminite power cells to last approximately ninety-four days.”

  “Concerns.”

  “As per Discontinuity Advancement Protocols, NW401’s indestructibility and the reciprocity of all attempts at destruction can theoretically spread to any nightmare she names, and/or any nightmares she comes into contact with.” Cynthia grimaced. “The worst-case scenario is the total invincibility of her minions, patrons, and followers, with the guaranteed death of those that attempt to kill them. This lifts NW401 to the Hazard-Ranking of Extinction-Level. Her continued existence possesses significant potential to lead to the elimination of all life on Alamir.”

  “We’ve arrived.”

  Cynthia managed to catch her breath as they arrived at their destination. NW401’s containment location. Two lieutenant ranked AAA officers stood in front of a small iron shed. She knew it was not made of mere iron. Coated and alloyed with reminite, the miracle element capable of absorbing and retaining mystic energy, or, as the graduates of the College of Mysticism and Mystic Arts would call it, mystic particles.