Deep within the cave was the object she was looking for. A Calling Altar. They could only be made by Creation Godcores, and it required at least a Platinum rank Core with a single facet, as well as several rare materials. They were all guarded carefully.
Except this one. One of her distant ancestors, back when this barren waste was a lush field, had built this Calling Altar and surrounded it with a pyramid of stone. Even for a crafting Godcore, it had taken decades, and the years had worn the pyramid down to the mountain everyone now knew. Parts of the ceiling had started to run with time, and looked almost like a natural cave - except for the perfectly smooth floor that surrounded the Altar.
Kurli reached into her inventory pouch. While she couldn’t read the inscription on the inside in the darkness, she didn’t need to see it to know what it would say.
Godcore Fragment - 1/64
That always had amused her. The idea that a single person could accumulate sixty-four Godcore Fragments. It had taken her a year to track down the one she found. A Creation Core could craft them once they were at least Gold three, and any Godcore of that rank was unheard of in the Wastes. Still, no one could change how much space objects took in an inventory belt. Those laws were as immutable as gravity or the tides. Maybe in some bygone era, that many Godcore Fragments had been possible.
Taking a deep breath, Kurli placed the Fragment on the Altar.
She’d memorized the sound of the ritual words. But it had been a Gulpish ritual, and she hadn’t been able to get it translated. She had Kurmoz, an Urkin from her village, teach her the phonetics of the language. This dialect of Gulpish was ancient beyond reckoning. He’d been able to tell her it was a ritual of calling, confirming what she needed to know, and knowing the exact meaning wasn’t what was important. The sounds were what was important here. A Godcore could perform Creation without any effort. Kurli had no Godcore.
Something she hoped to fix.
Kurli opened her mouth and repeated the words as she had been taught them, slowly and carefully. What she heard was gibberish. What the universe heard, however, translated perfectly.
We need your aid. The future is broken and needs repair. Come, Champion. Build a better future. Come, Champion. Release us from the shadow that engulfs us. Come, Champion. We need you. Come, Champion, and drown the world in darkness!
The Godcore Fragment burst into light. Kurli went flying back as an invisible force slammed into her chest.
It took her a moment to regain her bearings. Her lips dry, she had to wet them before she could start to click her tongue again.
Nothing. There was nothing there.
“Damnit,” Kurli muttered. It didn’t seem sufficient, but she didn’t have the energy to curse more vehemently. She couldn’t even bring herself to cry. Just punch the floor halfheartedly. She clicked her tongue one more time, making sure nothing had been summoned. No warrior, no Godcore. Nothing. It was just an empty room with an altar and the distant sound of dripping water.
Almost too weary to walk, Kurli forced herself to her feet. She’d have to make camp on the other side of the mountain to keep from the Urkin.
And then she’d figure out what to do now that her greatest efforts had failed.
There were two things she missed. One was that Echolocation, while great for detecting solid objects, did very little to reveal gaseous energy clouds that gave off no light and collected from the power unleashed by the Godcore’s destruction.
The second was, in hindsight, a translator may have been a good idea.
Chapter One
Julian Sullivan didn’t follow any particular religion, but that didn’t stop him from moaning “oh God” as he tried to pry himself from the clutches of sleep. Julian’s apartment reeked of stale pizza, staler beer, and air freshener working overtime to mask the first two smells. Julian sat up, his head spinning from the night before, and sniffed. His nose was stopped up, and it complimented the itching in his eyes.
Knowing what he’d see, he pulled out his phone.
Zero missed calls. Zero text messages. No notifications on Facebook or Instagram. He’d gotten a like on his last tweet the night before, but when he clicked on the profile it belonged to a heavily photoshopped woman with a link to a cam site.
He opened up his messenger and clicked on Maggie’s name. The conversation from two days ago was still there, her last message sitting there.
I’m sorry, Julian. I didn’t want it to be like this. But it’s over. Goodbye.
His own response was sitting there. She hadn’t even opened the text. Just the “sent” notification hovering mockingly beneath the message.
Fine. Leave. That’s what everyone does anyway.
Julian winced at the message. It had been childish. He was better than that.
Except, apparently, he wasn’t.
“You need to get your shit together,” Julian said aloud, his voice raspy from a night of drinking. It was almost startling to hear his own voice. He looked around the ruined mess of his apartment and grimaced. “You at least need to shower.”
Shower. That was a simple, straightforward task. It was something anyone could do. Head still throbbing, Julian forced himself off the couch and towards the bathroom.
The problem, Julian reflected as the hot water washed over him, was that she’d been right to call things off. It would have almost been easier if she hadn’t been right. Then he could have just been angry at her, sulked for a bit, then dusted himself back off and put himself back out there. But that would just lead him back here again. He had to actually fix the problems that had led to the breakup before he could get back out there. His chronic lateness to
