Somebody Stop Us. Chapter 9: Quantum Leap

The shimmering triangle hovered between us, casting eerie patterns across our faces and the silver fox wallpapered walls and white stone ceiling of our tower room. I stared at it in fascination at Vee’s construct, my Understanding gradually digesting her creation while Cinder's expression grew increasingly troubled.

"Hold up," Cinder said, raising a her hand. "Did you just create something that lets us possess other versions of ourselves across dimensions? Like... what Valor did to me?"

Vespera's excitement dimmed slightly. "No! I mean... technically yes, but not in a creepy way! It's totally different!"

"How is it different?" Cinder's voice dropped dangerously low. "You're talking about invading other people's bodies and minds! That's exactly what that Skinwalker bastard did to me."

“He did,” Vespera nodded. “And it gave me this amazing idea!”

“What idea?! An idea to become an Astral Phantom?!” Cinder growled.

“Ci,” Vee commented, moving towards me and pulling off my shirt, silver-blue eyes leering over my scarred chest. “Cut down on the dragon ree and think about what I already told you.”

“Something about soulless duplicates?” Cinder pursed her lips as Vespera rapidly undressed me.

“Yes,” the Thunder-girl bobbed. “This key works in a verrrry particular way, made for our very particular four-fold soul boy who is bound to two particular dragon-diety-baes. It cannot invade a body with a soul in it. Only one without and only one matching or below Martin’s level. Some very specific conditions must be met for the Key to Quantum Leap Martin’s soul into another, empty body.”

“Conditions such as?” I asked.

“One,” Vespera bent one of her talons. “The leap-target dimension must have three soulless duplicates in it to fit in you, me, and Ci.”

"And you’re certain that it won’t just shove us into someone’s fractured soul?" Cinder challenged.

"It won't! The mathematics are clear," Vespera gestured at the slowly rotating fractal triangle. "The key will only connect to dimensional reflections of us that lack a soul. Either mindless beasts or in the case of Lexxy, a mindless, low level human body. Not only that, but it will only connect to a universe where the entire world operates on the Observer Causality Null-effect.”

"Observer Causality?" Cinder blinked. "What, like when a particle acts like a wave until someone looks at it? That particle/wave duality thing?"

"Sort of!" Vespera nodded enthusiastically. "Basically, this Key is specifically designed to unlock our duplicates nullified dimensions—an Earth where there isn't a single human with a human soul, where time basically stands still until it's observed by a functional human soul."

Cinder frowned, watching as Vespera finished undressing me. "Do such places even exist?"

"Yep," Vespera replied.

I considered this. "So the Key would let my consciousness jump into some soulless version of myself in another dimension?"

"Not just any version," Vespera corrected, her feathers standing up with excitement. "Another smol human. Once you're there, you can level up and gain all that body's stats and levels, and then your soul returns here with the accumulated experience. Also, because that entire universe will be suspended in an unobserved null-state, it will basically function as a battery for you to store any XP you might accumulate here on our Earth!"

"Riiiight. There's one thing I don't understand," Cinder said. "If these dimensions have humans with no souls, how could there be a version of Martin that's level five or a version of me with my Level in Charmchain magic? Leveling requires a soul, no?"

“These universes are like video games that nobody's playing—all the code and capabilities are there, but no player. They’re basically doomed worlds where the last genuine observer-human soul died and then only soulless human bodies and monsters remained, which caused a worldwide Celestorm that… broke, nullified time itself, suspended reality.”

“That’s a thing?” I asked. 

“Yes,” Vespera nodded. “According to the Simmi library archives, Deathmoths occasionally open gates to worlds where time basically stands still unless the world is being directly observed by an Omnid or a human with a soul. These words are basically classified as ‘Observer-bound’. My Key targets them on purpose, as the bodies inside won’t age or perish accidentally once we dive out of them to go to class n' stuff in our own dimension!”

"And how exactly does this solve our problems?” Cinder pondered. “How does it make Martin... immortal?"

Vespera's expression turned serious. "That's where it gets interesting. By establishing these connections across dimensions, we create a sort of... soul backup."

"A phylactery," Cinder said. "A lich system, sort of like the stuff Zalimar has?”

“Kinda,” Vespera nodded, nuzzling my side and wiggling her soft, feathery curves against me. “Except waaay swankier. Because this Key backs all three of us up on itself and can exist across several dimensions. It's even superior to this shiny trinket!” She tapped her crystalline, clear Lazarus bracelet.

“Superior how?” I asked. 

“The Wheel grinds at your sanity, gradually tears at a soul with its pull,” Vespera explained. “It’s an imperfect immortality system. It leaves many Omnids mentally impaired, forgetful once they reach old age. According to my Electrofractal examination of your spinny soul, the same thing will happen to you if you keep facing the Wheel. Every time you die, you lose bits of your soul to it, destabilizing your armillary. This,” she pointed at the triangle. “Is far better.”

“So,” I said, petting her. “What will happen if I die?”

“Once a Phylactery of you is made in an Observer-bound dimension, it will automatically pull your soul towards that body,” Vespera said, closing her eyes and melting into my hands. “So, if something kills you here or even tears the connection between your Martin Kilborne body like that vampire beerch tried to do, your soul will automatically be pulled to another dimension and become its local observer… its anchor. Then, instead of hanging around the Wheel and gradually losing your sanity, you’ll have fun in another world. Yay!”

“That… sounds pretty great actually,” I smiled. 

“See! That’s what I’m talkin’ bout,” Vespera purred. “Shower me in pets n’ compliments!”

“Good birb,” I said, rubbing her shoulders. “Best birb.”

"Yass," she grinned.

"That sounds too convenient," Cinder said.

“Ah. There are of course… conditions which must be met to make the Phylactery function fully,” Vespera let out between pets.

“Which are?” I asked.

“Love,” Vespera said. 

“Why... Love?” Cinder asked.

Vespera's wings fluttered as she burrowed into my chest. "Don't think of Love as some dum' idea from one of ya romance books, Ci. Love, especially between a soul-bound trio is an actual magic rune. This rune, to be precise," she pointed at the triangle. "The Key operates on that base principle—that our connection, our bond—is our weapon, one strong enough to fling us across the dimensional boundary."

She traced a talon along the triangle's glowing edge. "But... there's a catch."

"Of course there is," Cinder let out. 

"The initial connection won't be perfect," Vespera admitted. "The first quantum leap will likely cause partial or full amnesia, personality decay. Based on my calculations, Lexxy, with his swanky four-fold soul, will awaken first in the null-dimension. He'll have to find the two of us and... well... make us fall in love with him."

"So," Cinder pursed her lips. "You're saying he'll have to… seduce amnesia-afflicted versions of us? That seems unnecessarily complicated and potentially dangerous."

"It's not seduction," Vespera corrected. "It's more like... recognition. Friendship, courtship, trust.  Reestablishing the connection that already exists between souls. The Key needs to be completed in the null-dimension just as it was here—through mutual claim and recognition. Once the soul-bond Pact is made between the three of us from the other end, the Key will bring back all of our memories and we’ll have us a trio of Phylacteries in a doomed world. Yay!"

"So I'll essentially have to remind you both who you are to me?" I asked.

"Exactly!" Vespera nodded enthusiastically. "You'll need to convince us to cooperate... by force, or by your cheeky tricks, form the triangle again, and then the full connection will be established. Once that happens, our trio will be able to leap back and forth at will!"

Cinder's wings ignited with reds and dark browns. "This sounds needlessly complex. And what if he can't get us to... recognize him? What if we're too different in that world? What if we… murder each other?"

“Then we murder each other and we wake up in our Skyfall bed,” Vespera shrugged. “Without any Phylacteries. I'll set the artifact timer to pull us back in exactly eight hours from now.”

Cinder crossed her arms. "I still don't like it. Why can't we just... I don't know, copy his soul into a more advanced body here? Or figure out how to level him up directly?"

"Because..." Vespera explained patiently. "Screwing around with souls is incredibly complex Animancy… and I’m a skilled Electrofractal Artificer, not an Animancer. I’ve made an artifact for us to use." She reached out, stroking Cinder gently. "I know it sounds risky, but I trust… Lexxy to find and smack some sense into us. Besides, wouldn't it be fun to fall in love with our foxy boy all over again?"

A small smile tugged at Cinder's lips despite her skepticism. "I guess when you put it that way..."

"So how do we activate it? How do I make the first leap?" I asked.

"That's the easiest part," Vespera said. She lightly drew a triangle on my chest with electric sparks, leaving faint lines of light that gradually faded into my skin. "The artifact is already connected to us."

I nodded.

"When we're ready to leap," she explained, "We simply activate the key, together. Our souls will automatically seek out the nearest compatible vessels in the nearest Observer-bound dimension."

"And how do I get back?" I asked.

"You die," she said simply. "Or time runs out and we all get pulled back home."

I nodded, excitement and apprehension building in my chest. "Want to… do it now?"

“Let’s have… some naked fun first,” Vespera bit my neck. “It’ll help reinforce the love. Maybe. Ke ke ke.”

“Pfff,” I laughed as she pushed me down.

. . .

Later, as the moon rose high above Skyfall, we lay panting and intertwined in the aftermath of our lovemaking, the triangle rune glowing softly above the artifact hovering above the windowsill. 

"Kay. I think we're all good to go n’ ready," Vespera yawned, reaching for the Key. Her feathers sparked in the moonlight, undulating with waves of white and black.

"You really think this artifact will work?" Cinder asked.

"Ye,” Vespera replied, holding the triangle above us. “It’ll work.”

I took a deep breath, centering myself. "Alright, let's do this."

"Eight hours," Vespera reminded us. "Whether we succeed or fail, the artifact will pull us back here. Remember that, foxy."

"Got it," I promised.

“Kay. Entwine our hands and grab the triangle together,” Vespera ordered. “Think… of finding ourselves again, of how much you two knobs love me.”

As I grasped the triangle with Cinder and Vespera, our hands intertwined, a surge of energy coursed through us. The artifact pulsed with increasing brightness, its light from the rune spilling between our fingers like liquid starlight.

Then, the familiar violet stars began to appear—first at the edges of my vision, then blooming across the entire bed alcove. Unlike the scattered points I'd glimpsed during our resonance, these stars formed intricate, deliberate patterns, flowing rivers of cosmic light that connected and twisted through unseen dimensions.

The stars multiplied exponentially, each one splitting into countless others until they formed a dense lattice of light surrounding us. I could sense the weight of infinite possibilities in each point of light—countless versions of ourselves existing across an unfathomable multitude of realities, all connected by invisible threads of potential.

The violet constellation swirled faster, becoming a tunnel of light that stretched into infinity. I felt myself being pulled forward, my consciousness separating from my body as the stars engulfed me completely. The last thing I registered before the world dissolved entirely was Vespera's triumphant laughter and Cinder's hard grip tightening on my hand—then we were falling through the tunnel of stars, hurtling toward an unknown destination across the boundaries of reality itself.

. . .

I opened my eyes to a gray stone room. The air was damp, thick with the smell of old stone, mold and something faintly metallic. My head throbbed, a dull ache that pulsed in time with my erratic heartbeat and raspy heaving.

I couldn't tell where I was—or even who I was. A flicker of light blinded me momentarily, cast by a flickering torch in a wall.

I blinked, focusing.

A figure loomed over me, his face pale and ashen. He was skeletal-thin, his cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and his eyes sunken, his teeth gray and cracked. A raggedy, dirt and blood streaked brown cloak hung off his bony shoulders, swaying as he leaned closer. Across his forehead, burned into the skin like a cattle brand, was the number [1]. The edges of the mark were jagged, angry red lines curling into his flesh. He stared at me, unblinking, his cracked lips parting.

"Do you remember your name?" a jovial voice spoke from behind me.

I blinked, fragments of memory flashing through my mind like shattered glass trying to reform.

A glowing triangle. A smiling angel. No, two angels. One smug, the other... musical? A song about... fractals?

"Huh?" My own voice came out rough, like I hadn't used it in years. I blinked, trying to make sense of the room and the skeletal man, of the cold, wet stone beneath me, of my frail, lanky body that didn't feel like it belonged to me.

Before the pale man could answer, a sharp clap echoed through the chamber. 

I flinched and turned, my eyes snapping to another figure—a ginger-haired, blue eyed man in a red cloak, the fabric vivid against the drab gray walls covered in black mold. A steel medallion hung around his neck, the number [19] etched into it, glinting as he stepped forward. He clapped again, slower this time, a grin splitting his features.

"Who...?" I rasped.

"It worked!" the man boomed, his voice ringing with glee. "He can talk!" He thrust a hand toward me, his eyes bright with triumph. "Name's Jyndar of Nineteen! Pleasure to meet a fresh face, even one as bony as yours! Can you recall your name, friend?"

A name floated up from the depths of my fractured memory. It didn’t feel like exactly my own, more like a mask that fit on really well. "Alexander," I said slowly. "Alexander… Glock."

"Just because he can talk and remembers a name does not mean that..." The grey cloak began.

"Nah," Jyndar insisted, waving off the objection with a flourish of his armor-covered arm. "He has a spark of ageless wisdom in his eyes! Look at him!"

I looked down at myself. My body was thin and skeletal, like I hadn't eaten for months, my skin nearly transparent, blue veins visible. 

"I look like I've been on the world's worst diet plan," I muttered. More memories started filtering back—two angels floating above me, promising me… something fun? A way to live... forever? To level up properly?

Was this place it? Did I just get isekai'd into a new magical world? Hrmmmm.

"Mark zero," the man in the brown cloak reached out to my forehead with a gaunt finger, and my forehead ignited with pain.

I screamed, clawing at my skin as the burning sank deep. "Ouuuughhh! What the hell?!"

The skeletal man stepped back, his gaunt finger still hovering as if he might strike again. He turned, rummaging through a pile of rags in the corner, and pulled out a gray cloak, threadbare and reeking of damp rot.

"Dress," he rasped, thrusting the moldy fabric at me.

I took the cloak with shaking, weak hands, the coarse material scraping my flesh. "You know, a 'please' wouldn't kill you," I said snarkily. "And do you have anything that doesn't smell like it was fished out of a sewer?"

Jyndar burst into laughter while the gaunt man's expression remained stony.

"So, who... are you?" I asked the skeletal figure, draping the revolting cloak over my bony shoulders.

He tilted his head, studying me like I was an experiment gone awry. "I am Sev," he said. "Your maker." His lips twitched faintly. "And you are Zero. Fatally flawed, but... alive."

"Zero? That's not a name, that's a number," I protested. "I told you, I'm Alexander. Alexander Glock."

Before Sev could respond, Jyndar let out a booming laugh. "Fatally flawed! Ha! That's a mild way to put it, Sevvy! Look at him—skinny as a starved teen, but he's got a voice and a brain rattling in there!" He clapped his hands again, the sound jarring. "And he remembers his name! I'd call that a triumph, wouldn't you? Rejoice, you are now Alexander Glock of Zero!"

Sev's sunken eyes flicked toward Jyndar, irritation flashing briefly. "Your optimism is exhausting, Nineteen."

"Better than your doom and gloom, Sevvy!" Jyndar grinned, his medallion swinging as he leaned closer to me. "So, Alexander, my boy—what else is rattling around in that freshly baked head of yours? Got any grand memories? Tales of monster-slaying? A recipe for mold stew, maybe?"

I stared at him, then at Sev, then down at my thin hands clutching the gray cloak. My mind was a jumble—flashes of memories that didn't seem to fit together. A school with strange creatures. A girl with feathers. Two girls with feathers? A lighter that could bend reality. A shark. A dragon-cat. A moth?

"I remember... pieces," I said slowly. "Nothing that makes sense yet."

"A fragmented memory! Even better!" Jyndar enthused. "Means we get to watch you remember in real-time. What do you say, Sev? Shall we make him a legend?"

Sev ignored him, pale, blue eyes fixed on me. "Nothing useful? No instinct? No memories of being me? No purpose?"

"Being you?" I echoed. "Why would I remember being you? And I'm pretty sure my purpose isn't whatever you had in mind."

"That's not ideal," Sev sighed.

"Just give him the book," Jyndar bobbed. "He'll figure it out."

"You think that he can read?" Sev asked skeptically.

"I reckon that he can. My Astral hook worked, I'm certain of it," Jyndar insisted. "He's Skewered. Yeah, his body is utterly shite but his soul is fresh, around level five, I think! Well, as fresh as one can fish out from the Infinite Abyss of the recently deceased!"

"Recently deceased?" I repeated, my brow furrowing. "Did I... die?"

Memories flashed—a pale man with teeth like daggers, a void arrow, an explosion that consumed me.

"Damn it. I think I did die recently. I think… I blew myself up to avoid being eaten by a pale vampire." I sighed.

Sev hesitated, then pulled a small, battered book from his brown cloak. Its leather cover was cracked and covered in dark, faded rune-like scratches. He snapped his fingers and uttered the word "Duplicate". The book in his left hand flashed. Another book that looked pretty much the same inexplicably appeared in his right hand. He shoved it into my hands, the weight solid and real.

"This is yours," he said curtly. "Copied, like you. Read it... if you can read, use it to pick your Core Skill Alignment. The book will decay to ashes, tonight. So will you."

"Cheery as ever, Sevvy!" Jyndar laughed, nudging me with an elbow. "Don't mind him, Alexander. He's just jealous you've got more personality in five minutes than he's had in his brief lifetime."

"I'll... decay in TONIGHT?!" I sputtered, the mask of Alexander Glock momentarily sliding off.

"Yes," Sev answered. "Your life will be brief but you will serve a greater goal of defending the Citadel from vile abominations. You’ve got about half a day until your body turns to ashes.”

"Wonderful," I drawled, my sarcasm returning like an old friend. "Nothing like being told you're going to rot away less than a day to really brighten your, uhh… day."

I clutched the battered book to my chest, its leather cover cool against my bony fingers.

"Where... am I exactly?" I asked.

Sev's face-skull met mine, eyes unblinking. "You are in Duskfall Citadel," he said, his tone flat, as if reciting a worn out script. "A great fortress of seventy-seven levels, carved from the spine of a fallen god. Magic rules here—duplication magic, to be precise. The Firstborn Lords live atop Level Seventy-Seven, their power absolute. They craft us, their copies, branded with our tier, to fill the ranks below." His gaunt finger tapped the 1 on his forehead, the motion mechanical. "I am Seventy-Sixth down the line of copies. You are Seventy-Seventh. The further from the Firstborns, the shoddier the duplicate. You are the last, the bottom—born and bound to Level Zero."

"Level Zero, huh?" I echoed. "So I'm literally starting from zero. There's a pun in there somewhere."

"Manned by Endulls," Sev continued, ignoring my comment. "That's what you are. Endull. Flawed scrap, barely sentient. You're weakest duplicate fodder for the walls, created to hold back the monster hordes. Beneath this level are the Hollows—mute husks who tend the catacombs, shoveling refuse and bones. That's the order of things."

"Fantastic," I muttered to myself. "So I've gone from... magic school to bottom-tier zombie in one quantum leap."

"What school?” Jyndar perked up, latching onto my slip. 

“Skyfall,” I said, trying to pull more information out of my throbbing head. “At least… I think that’s it's name. Yeah… Skyfall. That sounds right.”

“Wonderful!” Jyndar clapped his hands again. “First time I fished someone out of the Astral with actually interesting memories!” 

“It does not matter where you are from,” the depressed bony gray cloak said. “Because you will most likely die during the wave.”

"Oh, come now, Sevvy, don't scare the lad stiff before he's even had a proper fight! Alexander, my boy, think of it like this: you're the underdog, the plucky hero starting at the bottom! Plenty of room to climb, eh? Well, if you don't get eaten first!" Jyndar guffawed.

"Climb how?" I asked, steadying myself against the wall. “Am I not expiring tonight?”

"Impress your makers with great deeds, level up and you'll be allowed access to a higher level," Jyndar said jovially. “Basically, Sev can pour more of his mana into you so that your scrawny body will last longer, if you impress him with some beast-slaying and levelling up.”

"Don't get your hopes up," Sev said. "Most Endulls perish before they get a chance to slay anything.”

"Love the vote of confidence," I quipped. "And this is what?" I eyed the book.

"The Soul Alignment Grimoire," Sev said curtly. "Copied from my own, as I was copied from my maker, and he from his, all the way up to the Firstborns. Magic is your only chance to survive. Pick a magic Skill from it and bind it to your soul!"

"And if I don't?"

"Then you will perish and rot," Sev replied.

"Rot's the default setting 'round here!" Jyndar chimed in. "But don't fret, Alexander. That book's got more tricks than a jester's sleeve. Give it a peek!"

My trembling fingers fumbled with the cracked leather cover, flipping it open. The pages were yellowed, edges crumbling and singed, the text very faded and barely legible. I turned to the first page, the words swimming into focus despite the ache in my head.

"Go on," he added. "Read the first page! Show us that you're a clever cookie."

I sighed and began reading.

"General Elemental Skills:

Fire: 

Glow: Summon a puny little spark that's barely bright enough to help you avoid walking face-first into walls. Better than nothing... barely. Handy for managing the Hollows on the pitch-black lower levels. 

Immolate: Transform your enemy into extra-crispy barbecue with this roaring inferno. Perfect for when you absolutely, positively need someone or something reduced to a convenient ash pile."

I slowly read the first few lines on the first page out loud, stopping at about every fourth word to squint at the blotchy, uneven letters. "Whoever wrote this has a sense of humor at least," I commented.

"Ah! So you can read, excellent, excellent! Fire's a good basic choice for wall duty," Jyndar commented. "With it, you'll be roasting monsters like chestnuts in no time! Or, y'know, accidentally setting Sev's cloak ablaze—wouldn't that be a sight?"

"Tempting," I murmured, glancing at Sev's tattered cloak.

Sev's lips thinned, his hollow gaze flicking to Jyndar. "If he can even cast it without collapsing."

"Oh, I bet he'll manage just fine!" Jyndar waved a hand dismissively. "What's a little soul-sickness between friends? Builds character! Like mold on bread—makes it tastier, right, Alexander?"

The name jarred something in my memory again. Alexander, yes, but there was something else. Martin. My real name was Martin Kilborne. I kept the revelation to myself, deciding Alexander was a better mask, more ready for whatever bullshit this world of duplicated mages was going to throw at me.

"Go over the book and pick a core Skill," Sev said, his voice cutting through my focus as I tried to slowly read on through the vast skill list. "According to the Seerscope, we have one hour and twenty six minutes before the next wave. Thus, you're going straight to the wall in one hour."

My stomach growled loudly.

"The fetchlings will bring us food from a higher level for dinner, which I will duplicate for all of my... copies in the dining hall," he added. "The last page of the book has a Depictomancy-animated map. It will show you the level you're on, plus current time and location of where you are to head. Fail to meet my expectations and I will unmake you."

I blinked at Sev. "Unmake me? That sounds... excessive, considering I’ll expire tonight."

"Every duplicate is kept in check by their creator," Jyndar explained. "As you are a product of Sev's mana, he can give an absolute order to you... or dispel you from existence if need be, accelerating your decay. Them's the beans."

"Fantastic," I said dryly. "Nothing like the threat of instant dissolution to motivate the copy-pasted workforce."

I looked at the two men, noting very faint similarities between them. It was as if they were distant cousins. Both had a mole on the left side of their nose. Both had blue eyes and ginger curly hair, although it was less ginger and more dull gray on Sev. "What's your Soul Alignment?"

"Me? I'm an Animancer! I make deals and pluck little wisps of spirit from the Infinite Abyss of the Astral Sea and stitch 'em into empty bodies like yours. That's how you've got that spark in your eyes—my finest work, if I do say so myself!" He tapped his temple with a flourish. "Sev's a Foldmancer. He can fold Space."

"Sev is from a line of your duplicates?" I guessed.

"Correct," Jyndar nodded. "Alas, he's not as handsome as me. A prime example of Duplication Drift down the line."

Sev's lips tightened at Jyndar's comment about "Duplication Drift." He turned away, his brown cloak swirling around his bony frame as he moved toward the door.

"Choose quickly," he said over his shoulder. "The Wall doesn't wait, and neither do the hungry monsters. I'll copy my armor for you in fifty minutes."

As the door closed behind him with a heavy thud, I looked down at the book in my hands, contemplating my unfortunate start. Half a day. A branded number [0] on my forehead. A tower of duplicates where I was the lowest rank.

Damn you, pretty angels, why have you done this to me? Why couldn’t you reincarnate me somewhere less fucked up? Argh!

Jyndar smacked me on the shoulder, nearly toppling me over.

"Don't mind old Sevvy," he said cheerfully. "He's just sour because he's seventy-six copies removed from glory and will expire in two days!"

"Like my situation is any better," I commented.

"Oh but your situation is better than you think," Jyndar winked. "You've got a relatively fresh soul in you!"

"Meaning what?" I asked, though more pieces were falling into place in my mind.

"Meaning that you were a Hollow before I 'fixed' you with my lovely Animancy," the red robed man explained. "Even with the Citadel assisting in the duplication magic, Sev is absolute shit at making copies of himself. Honestly, most residents from Level Zero to around Level Nine churn out Hollows like no tomorrow."

"So if I attempt to duplicate myself..." I contemplated.

"You'll most likely create a Hollow," Jyndar nodded. "A human-shaped shell barely capable of following a single basic command at a time that will decay to ashes in a quarter of a day or less."

"So you put a soul in me?" I asked.

"Yep."

"From where?"

"No idea!" he replied with far too much merriment. "The Astral Ocean is infinite. Everyday, I set a bunch of magic hooks and fish out whatever dead thing latches on. Usually, it’s garbage, beast souls. Human souls are rare to come by.”

“And you... can shove a beast's soul into a Hollow?” I asked curiously.

“Yep,” he nodded. “A beastly soul in a duplicate human follows instructions slightly better than a basic Hollow, but it must be kept in check all the time, held on a magic leash, so as not to attack you.”

"Could you shove a soul from the Astral into a non-Hollow human body?" I asked.

"I could, but I'd rather not. Two souls in one body is a dangerous, generally incoherent and insane mess, especially one of them is a recently deceased monster," Jyndar winced.

"How many mages live on the top floor of the Citadel?" I wondered, the strategist in me already mapping out this strange hierarchy.

"Don't know," Jyndar shrugged. "The Ward blocks me from going upstairs to level twenty. I have to do lots of work to level up and then beg my maker to approve my transfer."

"How many duplicates live on Level Zero?" I continued, gathering information.

"Right now? About ninety thousand," Jundar replied.

"About?"

"The number goes up and down. If a big enough wave of abominations attacks the Citadel the number can drop to around a third of that."

"Casualties of thirty to sixty thousand in a single attack? That's... efficient," I remarked sarcastically.

“Some monsters are… dangerously clever,” Jyndar said.

I flipped to the last page of the book.

The map wasn't showing up as advertised. There was a gibberish of slightly wiggling, intersecting lines there, one that I could not make ends or tails of.

"If I am guessing correctly, most things on Level Zero are copied from Level One and are therefore shit?" I asked.

"Correct," Jundar said, glancing at the gibberish page with a sigh, "The animated map isn't working properly because Sev didn't do a good job copying his Grimoire."

"What are the chances of me surviving the wave with equipment replicated by Sev then?" I asked, already suspecting the answer.

"None," he replied with the same cheerfulness.

"Can you copy me some... better stuff from Level Nineteen?" I added, feeling the familiar rhythm of making deals.

"I could," Jyndar smiled with a knowing look. "For... a price."

"What can I even offer you?" I asked.

"Right now... absolutely nothing," the red-robed man shrugged. "But eventually, you'll begin to remember things from your past life. Jokes, stories, novel ideas. The Citadel is a very deadly, dull place. I want to own ideas you can recall. Deal?"

I pursed my lips, contemplating his offer.

"I think I can manage that," I said with growing confidence. "I happen to be something of an idea guy."

Jyndar reached into his red cloak and pulled out a worn leather water pouch. With a flick of his wrist and a muttered word, an identical pouch materialized in his other hand.

"Here," he said, offering the duplicated object to me. "Drink up. Nothing gets the mind working like proper hydration!"

I took the pouch with trembling hands, my parched throat suddenly aching at the thought of water. The liquid was slightly warm, but I gulped it greedily anyway, water trickling down my chin.

"Easy there," Jyndar chuckled. "First drink's always the best, eh?"

I wiped my mouth with the back of my pale, lanky hand. "So, about your deal..." I began, considering his terms. Memory for protection seemed fair enough when I had nothing else to barter with. “How exactly will I deliver things I remember to you?”

“Well,” Jundar said. “Considering how the only way out of the Citadel is death or rising in the ranks, if you remember something tonight about your past life you can tell me in person during dinner when I come downstairs. Sounds good?”

“What are you looking for, exactly?” I asked.

“Jokes,” he shrugged. “Stories… maybe rare magics or ideas for weapons. Anything that will help me rise to the next level.”

“Fine,” I said. “If I remember anything of value from... before this life, it's yours at dinner."

"Splendid!" Jyndar extended his hand at me, a silver hexagram on his palm gleaming unnaturally. "A handshake seals it. Soul magic, you see—can't break a deal once it's bound."

I hesitated for only a moment before grasping his hand. The hexagram flashed brilliantly, and I felt a strange tugging sensation in my chest, as if an invisible thread had connected us.

"There we are!" Jyndar said, releasing my hand. "Now, let's get you properly equipped, shall we?"

He shed his red cloak, draping it carefully over a nearby stone bench, revealing a set of leather and rusted armor underneath—sturdy pauldrons, a metal breastplate, and greaves that looked well-worn but solid. Jyndar closed his eyes, his lips whispering "Duplicate", hands glowing with faint silver light.

The armor shimmered, piece by piece, each identical glove, boot, chest plate and such materializing in his right hand and filling the bench.

"This should serve you better than whatever rags Sevvy was planning to throw your way," Jyndar said. "The leather's from a Spine Prowler—tough as nails and light enough for your skinny frame."

I reached for the armor, the material smooth under my fingertips. "Thanks."

"Hey, uh, what about the cloak?" I asked, nodding toward the vibrant garment.

Jyndar's expression turned apologetic. "Ah, that I can't duplicate for you, bud. Red is the color of my floor—Level Nineteen. Each level has its designation, you see. Helps maintain order, lets everyone know where you belong at a glance." He gestured to my gray rags. "Your level is... well, colorless. The bottom rung always is."

I began strapping on the armor pieces, Jyndar helping adjust the armor to my emaciated frame.

"Eh, better to be alive and drab than stylish and dead," I commented. "Though I do miss my dragonhide jacket."

"Dragonhide jacket?" Jyndar's eyes lit up. "Now there's a story I'd like to hear!"

"One I'll remember in time, I'm sure," I said with a smile. “I… think it blew up along with the vampire. Sucks.”

Jyndar roared with laughter. "By the Spine, I knew I sensed something special in you! You might just survive today after all!"

He reached for his belt and duplicated his scabbard and then his sword, handing it to me. I tried and failed to remember how to effectively murder things with a sword like this, but accepted the weapon regardless.

"I've got one more request," I said, looking at the battered skill book Sev had given me. "Could you duplicate your book for me? The one from Sev looks like it's been swimming in a river for a week."

"Sharp thinking, lad!" He patted the pocket of his red cloak and pulled out a similar tome, though this one had a rich leather binding with crimson trim.

He held his book in both hands, closed his eyes, and muttered a string of words under his breath. Silver light traced the outline of the tome, and suddenly there were two—the original in his left hand, and a perfect duplicate in his right. The copied book looked old, but not like it was about to fall apart.

"Here you go," Jyndar said, handing me the duplicate. "Definitely not as beat up as Sev's sorry excuse for a manual."

I took the book reverently, immediately noticing the difference. The pages weren't yellowed or crumbling, the binding held firm, and most importantly, the text was fully legible—no faded letters.

I opened the first page and rapidly perused the rest of the general Alignment below the 'fire' section.

"Water: 

Drip: Conjure the world's most underwhelming water fountain – just enough to keep you from dying of thirst while making slurping noises that will annoy everyone within earshot.

Deluge: Unleash your inner toddler's tantrum in liquid form. Watch as your enemies frantically doggy-paddle before sinking like stones. Swimming lessons not included.

Earth: 

Mound: Magical interior decorating at its finest! Instantly create lumpy, uncomfortable stone furniture. Fix crumbling fortifications, impress your superiors and potentially live long enough to get a cushy-ish job as Citadel Engineer.

Wall: Surprise your enemies with a sudden face-full of rock! Nothing says 'conversation over' like dropping a literal ton of earth on someone's head.

Shadow: 

Veil: Become almost-but-not-quite invisible, perfect for those awkward social situations or when you need to dodge creditors. Warning: Does not hide embarrassing sneezes.

Dive: Why bother with doors when you can dramatically phase through walls like a melodramatic ghost? Great for surprising enemies, terrible for your digestive system when you encounter the Deep Echoes."

"Shadow," I muttered, my finger stopping on the description. "Dive..." A memory clicked into place—Katherine pulling me into the Deep, dark shadows and roots everywhere. Vague echoes of my enemies and friends. The terrifying, awful Echo of my dead mother that I failed to defeat. 

"Thanks," I said, flipping through more pages. "But how does all this magic actually work? Once I find a skill, what do I do with it?"

Jyndar leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "Magic from these pages is soul-bound by the Grimoire and the Citadel's Ward to your flesh. Once you select your core skill, you need only say 'Align soul to' followed by the magical Alignment name." He tapped his chest with an armored finger. "Then, your connection to that particular starting skill becomes part of who you are, like an extra limb. Just say the name of the listed basic or advanced spell and bam–it activates! With practice, you won't even need to speak the words to set someone on fire."

I ran my fingers over the pages. "Can I learn more than one skill? These all seem useful in different situations."

"Ah, now there's the ambitious thinking I like!" Jyndar smiled. "Yes, you absolutely can learn multiple skills, but there's a catch. Your core skill—the first one you choose—will always be strongest. Additional skills require effort, time, and..." he paused dramatically, "consuming monster flesh to learn."

"So... I'll need to eat monsters to get stronger?" I asked, thinking of Vespera's explanation about Phylactery creation.

"When you slay the beasties clawing at our walls, you'll get to carve them up. Devour their flesh, and it'll feed your soul, expanding your capacity." Jyndar made a gobbling motion with his hand. "Not the tastiest meal, mind you, but effective. Eating different beasties will give you the potential to learn another skill or strengthen existing ones."

I nodded, taking in this information. "And what happens to the book after I choose?"

"Once you select your core skill, the Grimoire becomes bound to you," Jyndar explained. "It'll transform, showing your stats, tracking your progress, recording skills you've mastered. It becomes a living record of your development—shows your health, mana reserves, skill levels, everything." He snapped his fingers. "Think of it as a mirror reflecting your soul's capabilities."

"My stats?" I asked, the concept feeling familiar.

"Your numerical capabilities," Jyndar clarified. "Strength, speed, mana capacity—all that good stuff. Right now, they're probably abysmal, no offense. Fresh souls in duplicate bodies start weak. But kill enough monsters and those numbers will climb." He winked. "The higher they go, the less likely you are to end up as monster food."

"Thanks," I said. "Can we head outside? It's kind of hard to read by flickering torchlight, and I'd like to get a better look at this Citadel."

"Sure. Let's go out. Take your time," Jyndar advised, leading me through the wooden door. "Well, not too much time—Sev wasn't joking about the wall duty. But a rushed choice could mean a very short adventure for you, my bony friend."

"Can anyone duplicate anything in the Citadel?" I asked as we passed by a room filled with thousands of torches on stone shelves.

"Citadel-born magi can indeed duplicate anything they touch," Jyndar said. "But it's not quite so simple. Duplication requires mana, and mana is tied to the level of your soul. The higher your level, the longer your copies last and so forth!"

We pushed past a metal-reinforced door and I took my first steps onto the fortification wall of Level Zero. Harsh, icy wind slapped me in the face, the bright light making me squint. Once I could see again, the sight before me stole what little breath my frail body could muster.

Behind me, the Duskfall Citadel rose like a mountain carved by mad gods. A behemoth of stone and shadow stretching impossibly upward, seventy-seven levels of brutalist might defying both gravity and sanity. From my position at the very bottom, I could see how each successive level grew slightly narrower than the one below, creating the impression of a monstrous spine stretching toward the broiling sky overhead.

The architecture was a nightmare fusion of gothic excess and utilitarian brutalism. Flying buttresses the size of small villages supported upper levels while massive stone gargoyles—or perhaps actual petrified monsters—jutted from every corner and ledge. Countless windows dotted the façade, some glowing with warm light, others dark and empty as eye sockets in a skull, covered in metal grates. The higher levels featured gold domes and spires twinkling in the distant, unreachable beyond.

I walked to the parapet to admire the view below.

The Citadel stood upon a massive rocky island in the center of a river valley, with rushing waters surrounding it on all sides like a natural moat. The roar of water was constant, a background drone that seemed to vibrate through the very stone beneath my feet. The river churned white and furious, ending in a gargantuan waterfall just beyond the other edge of the citadel. It rushed down to the valley floor before flowing out toward an ocean horizon caressed by white-foam waves.

Framing the valley were uneven titanic cliffs many of which loomed above the level I was standing on. Dozens of waterfalls cascaded down these cliff faces, some thin as silver threads, others wide as highways, all feeding the rushing river below. The sunlight catching the mist created fractured rainbows that shimmered and disappeared like fevered hallucinations.

Beyond the jagged cliffs, I could see a landscape that reminded me of… Iceland. Vast plains of black and gray rock stretched to the horizon, dotted with patches of sparse brown vegetation. Steam vents released ghostly plumes into the air, and geothermal pools glimmered like jewels scattered across the desolation.

Most disturbing were the massive circular depressions pockmarking the distant landscape—craters that looked as if stars had fallen from the sky. Some were relatively small, perhaps a few hundred meters across. Others were vast enough to swallow entire cities. Their edges were sharp and clean, as if carved by precision tools rather than natural impacts. Several still smoldered, wisps of smoke rising like the breath of dying giants.

From my vantage point on the wall, I could see the vast mass of thousands upon thousands of Endulls patrolling and filling Level Zero's fortifications, their gray cloaks fluttering in the wind. They looked as pale, weary and worn as I felt, branded zeros marching or standing in silent vigil against whatever horrors lurked beyond the walls. Some gripped arbalests, swords or mage staffs with bony hands, while others prepared defense spells, faint lights glowing around their fingers, dome-like shields shimmering around their bodies. Here and there, new naked figures flashed into existence, duplicated by their creators and rapidly blessed with copied outfits and weapons.

The wall I stood on was a testament to brutal necessity—thirty feet thick and about ninety feet tall with jagged spikes jutting outward from its face. Dried black ichor caked many of these spikes, evidence of previous battles. Scorch marks and deep gouges in the stones all around told stories of monstrous assaults.

In the distance, beyond the cratered landscape, I could make out a strange, undulating darkness on the horizon. It wasn't a storm or natural formation—it moved with purpose, a vast, churning mass that seemed to pulse and breathe as it inched closer to the Citadel. The sight sent an instinctive shiver down my spine. 

Even from this distance, I could sense the wrongness of it—it wasn’t just weird, off-color clouds. Below the broiling wall of clouds, there was a swarm of something dark rushing to the Citadel with inexorable determination. Violet, lightning flashed between the rolls of dark clouds, leaving rainbowy imprints in my eyes.

"Welp," I quipped to Jyndar, grinning madly at the apocalyptic panorama of my inevitable demise, "they certainly didn't skimp on the ambiance here. Nothing says 'welcome to your new home' like an army of eldritch horrors on the horizon!"