“Of course, it’s rare that they complete the process, given how hazardous their role usually is. How many of your creations have begun it?”
I didn’t answer. I was too busy frowning at my Creation slots.
After the battle, I’d used all 30 available slots to replenish the creatures I’d lost. Now, though, the Augmentary was displaying 29. One of them was empty.
How is that possible?
My comprehension of mathematics was poor, but it wasn’t that poor. And I’d definitely have noticed if one of my forrels or a couple of my skelemanders had been bumped off by some unseen enemy.
“One? Just… one?”
For the first time, Bekkit sounded troubled. I was about to accuse him of reading my thoughts when I realized he wasn’t looking at my Creation slots. He was looking at Binky’s blueprint.
“Binky”
Cave wanderer - Arachnid
A magical hybrid of cave spider and wandering spider. In addition to being extremely hardy against the elements, this specimen has evolved to shoot webs to catch prey at a distance of up to 10 yards.
Skills: Web Shoot, Extreme Elemental Resistance (passive), Spit.
Status: semi-celestial (39 days to next stage)
“It’s measured on a scale of ‘celestial’ to ‘earthly,’” the sprite explained. “Sort of an inverted form of ascension.”
Scrolling through the blueprints of my other creatures, I saw now that Binky was the only one carrying a status that was not ‘celestial.’
“When they reach ‘earthly’, they are fully of this world. Though they retain their magical properties, they are no longer of mana. As such they are able to withstand the destruction of their creator—and even disregard his orders, though most of them tend to remain loyal even in freedom.”
My god-born, having the freedom to leave my Sphere? To abandon me? Cold dread enveloped me at the very thought.
I looked at Binky. You’d never abandon me. Would you?
Eight eyes gleamed back at me from the far corner. Never, they seemed to say.
“I’m surprised I’m having to tell you all of this.” Ket began to object but Bekkit cut her off. “No, that wasn’t a dig at you, old friend. Corey, my boy, everything you need to know is right here in the Augmentary. Don’t you ever look at it?”
I wanted to protest that I’d been too pressed to have time for reading while fighting for my very existence. But something was bothering me, so instead I asked, “Why is it an issue that only Binky has progressed beyond celestial status?”
He sighed. “When we leave, you will be unable to access your mana until the moment your new base is sanctified. As such, you will be cut off from all mana-based abilities and creations—including purely celestial god-born.”
“You don’t think you could have mentioned this earlier?” My temper flared, though its heat was not enough to dispel the icy dread that was once more beginning to envelop me. “What will happen to the others?”
“The same thing that happens to all mana-based life forms when the source of their mana is taken away.”
I thought of Octavia II, my forrels, my boulderskins and whipfish, even my tiny skelemanders—all dissipating into nothing. All because I hadn’t kept their predecessors alive for long enough to properly become part of the world I’d flung them into.
“At least we’ll still have Binky,” Ket offered weakly. “And Ris’kin, of course.”
True. I let a trickle of gratitude flow across our bond at her attempt to cheer me up.
“Is there anything else I should know?” I asked Bekkit.
“Well, Exodus is a costly ability. By necessity something so powerful must have risks, to prevent Cores from exploiting it too often. Imagine a mobile Core, decimating everything in its path! Naturally, the cost for activating it is the total progress toward your next god tier. But—”
“Wait, what?”
“You’re saying it costs Faith rather than mana?” Ket sounded as stunned as I was.
Well, if it only costs whatever Faith is going toward the next tier, that’s not so bad. I only just hit 9. It’s a waste, but it could be worse.
“If this is some kind of trick…”
“No trick.” He sounded grave. “But there is one more thing you should know. Exodus has a set duration—forty days and forty nights.”
“And?”
“And if you haven’t sanctified a new base before the allotted time runs out, you have to pay a penalty. In Faith.”
“How much Faith?”
He paused before answering, as though it pained him to say it aloud.
“All of it.”
Twenty-One
Burst Its Banks
Corey
All of it?!
“You’re saying that if I mess this up, I’ll go back to god tier one?”
“Indeed. A regretful but necessary penalty, in order to—”
“To deter Cores from exploiting Exodus and using it to wage war and stuff, yes, yes.”
Just because I understood the reasoning didn’t make it any fairer. Why couldn’t it account for those of us who used it only as a last resort?
Ridiculous penalties aside, the rules of the universe surrounding God Cores seemed stacked in favor of the strong and the ruthless. Past Corey well understood that survival of the fittest had been a cornerstone of every civilization’s success since the beginning of existence. But that left very little room for helping those who’d had the misfortune to fall on hard times, and even less room for societies that fostered peace and compassion rather than war and destruction.
Who have I become? Past Corey wouldn’t have been caught dead with such thoughts.
Before I could spiral into despair at the unfair and catastrophic prospect of Exodus’s failure, there was a deafening DING! and the entire Grotto seemed to vibrate.
“Earthquake!” I shrieked, instinctively ducking even though I was incorporeal.
But I sensed no panic from my sprites; just confusion from Ket, and amusement from Bekkit. Looking around, the gnomes were continuing like nothing had happened, and it became obvious that I was the only one who’d experienced the sudden shock.
“What did I tell you, eh?” chortled Bekkit. “Never miss another notification!”
I groaned. “You did this.”
I’d complained earlier about not always knowing when something important had happened. Bekkit had shown me how to
