-Victor Hugo

Dinner passed uneventfully, a pleasant surprise for John. He had partially been expecting to be confronted - either by Etriyya to chastise his irresponsibility or by Moira for much of the same - but he dined in the hall as nothing more than a shadow in the darkness, an unknown being among dozens of other faceless soldiers. Some looked his way, but none approached. John was unable to determine whether they didn't want to speak to him or were commanded not to. Some looked quite interested, but the moment he met their eyes, they turned away.

"Is it because of Seras?"

John was aware of the way the others reacted to her. Even Moira didn't like Seras, and she knew what he was, what his abilities could do. Lord Brighton's words about the stench of necromancy hung in his mind. But surely they had known about it before? Etriyya had approached him in the training grounds, but it was true that she was the only Knight to do so. Was she under orders to do so, to befriend John? Or was she just more trusting than the others?

"Tricia has me on edge," John eventually decided, reminding himself that the treatment he was getting from the Knights was not much different to the looks a new kid at school would get, up to and including the looks he was getting from some of them. John didn't bother to engage with anyone - if they wanted to avoid him, he wasn't going to **** himself upon them. Besides, he was used to being the outcast at school, and the person he cared about the most was not in that dining hall.

So instead of socializing John used that time to go over his Crafting menu. He only had Iron Ore, but considering the Order had dozens of racks of weaponry and armor, he was certain there had to be something around that qualified as a Smelter for the purpose of his abilities. That meant he could spend his time working on making something useful out of the items he had received.

So far, he'd narrowed it down to a handful of items he wanted to make.

Iron Chestplate: A roughly constructed chestplate, tailored to fit The Gamer. Reduces all incoming physical damage by 5. Requirements: 20x Iron Bars, 100 Mana

“Not bad… can I make it stronger?”

Iron Chestplate +1: A roughly constructed chestplate, tailored to fit The Gamer. Enchanted with a low-level magical aura. Reduces all incoming physical damage by 10. Requirements: 20x Iron Bars, 250 Mana, and Enchanting.

“Enchanting? How do I get that?”

”How do you get any skills, shitbird?! Work for them! I can’t do everything for your sorry ass!”

“Can you do anything for me?” John asked seriously, staring at the annoying pop-up that was Natty.

“Listen here, buttbrunch, if you wanna make something of yourself, you need to start planning ahead! You don’t have the mana to enchant something, even something as basic as +1 gear; worry about making yourself as strong as you can in the short-term! You’re in a war now, you could be in a fight for your life five minutes from now!”

“You… actually have a point there. You know, you can be halfway helpful when you want to be.”

“I’m always helpful, assmuncher! If you don’t believe me, just look around!”

John glanced up and, as he took in the sights around himself, became suddenly aware of the fact that almost everyone in earshot of him was glancing over his way. John realized that to everyone who couldn’t see his menus and interface - which was more or less everyone - he’d now been talking to himself for far too long to be normal.

”Shit. Thought Natty broke me off that one.”

John hurriedly finished the last few bites of his batch-cooked cafeteria meal and left the table behind, hoping for some privacy.

He wouldn’t get it, of course. When he returned to his room, he found a rather intriguing sight: instead of the quiet he’d been hoping for, John found Seras and Etriyya, both pouring over a computer… with an easily identifiable manga up on the screen.

“Oh, ‘ello, Master! I was just showin’ Knight Etriyya where I was from. She was kinda worried that- uh, well, she wanted to know more about me.”

“I was worried about her sucking out my blood while I was asleep,” Etriyya finished bluntly, shrugging as if she had no qualms about saying it. “Look, the Order was founded on the battle against Necromancy - literally. One of the first Wardens to organize an army behind herself did so to take down a league of Necromancers that stole her husband’s bones and reanimated them into a Ghoul. Suffice to say, I have plenty of reasons to hate Necromancy and the undead, and to be seriously suspicious of anyone who uses them. But… goddamn, you seriously spent that much time and effort creating someone from this? Like, this is some really good shit, and you learned not just Necromancy but mind-altering magic to do it? Holy shit, that’s dedication!”

John was actually stunned for a moment, unsure how to approach the situation. He was unable to decide if the more shocking part was Seras navigating the internet and gaining a moderate understanding of the concept of “manga” or one of the Order’s warriors even contemplating the idea of a non-offensive undead. If it were Moira, John might have just suspected she were looking for weaknesses, but Etriyya’s bluntness combined with the interest she displayed as she continued clicking through the manga pages of Hellsing showed a certain genuine curiosity.

“That’s… there’s more to it than that, I-”

“Listen, if you’re into some kinky roleplay shit, I don’t want to hear about it. All I care about is that you turn that crafty magic use against the Cabal instead of for them.” Seras looked up to John and shrugged as the armored Knight spoke, looking almost as confused as he was about the situation.

“Sorry, she kinda… she was very insistent,” Seras explained.

“I may have threatened to hang her from the wall as a demonstration of loyalty,” Etriyya said, glancing up and shrugging. “Not like I would’ve done it, to be fair - Moira told us she’s off limits, and she’s not too hard on the eyes either.”

“E-Etriyya!” John stammered, totally caught off-guard, shaking his head a bit as he tried to process what the Knight of the Order had just said, “what are you saying?! Didn’t you just say how much you hate Necromancy?”

“I’m also not a fool, John Newman,” Etriyya replied, raising an eyebrow, “and that means I know a lot about the things we fight. Half the Order in Springfield may be calves taking their first steps, but I was fighting the undead before most of them could light a bonfire with their pathetic scraps of mana, and long before the Warden set her first foot in America.

“Necromancy is a large field, but I’ve met a few dozen people who could resurrect creatures capable of individual thought. I could count on one hand the number who could reanimate enough bodily functions to create a warm body for such a self-determining individual. I’ve never met a construct or animated corpse that was created for the sole purpose of mimicking a fictional character or creature who was also made by someone who had the skill to imbue intelligence and body function. It’s possible you’re just the first person with immense skill in Necromancy and resurrection to have such an interest in cosplay… but is it likely? I’d say no. Considering that the Warden herself took an interest in you, and that you have so many innate abilities connected to fields not dissimilar from her origins... I'd say that it's likely there's far more to you than dark magic.”

The silence that hung in the air was so thick John almost choked on it. He was just getting ready to change the subject - to what, he really wasn’t sure - when Etriyya laughed and shook her head, loudly breaking the awkward gap in conversation.

“But hey, I signed on to fight slavers and self-righteous pricks who think they know what’s best for the world; what kind of hypocrisy would I be committing if I tried to lecture you on whatever weird fetish you’ve got going on? Moira says you haven’t violated our tenets, and I believe her, or at least I believe her enough not to disobey her orders. You do you, boo.”

Etriyya said little else, only wishing the two of them a good night as she climbed up to her own bed and tucked herself in. John wasn’t sure how he liked those answers, but he was so shocked by their delivery he found it difficult to question them, particularly as other Knights he didn’t recognize poured into the room. Three more, all of them almost entirely silent as they stripped their armor and laid themselves to rest around John, leaving him alone with Seras. Awkwardly, well aware that the rest of the room was likely listening in and not fully asleep yet, John tucked himself into bed and beckoned Seras until they were lying together, taking advantage of his inventory to swap out his normal clothing for sleepwear. Neither of them said a word, and John lay awake for entirely too long trying to seek the realm of dreams.

”If this war lasts longer than a week,” John thought, one of the last coherent ones he had before drifting off, ”I’m asking Tricia to upgrade my phone to get signal in my world, if she can figure out how. Fuck this roommate nonsense.”

Early the next morning John was awoken by the sound of metallic clinking and feet shuffling around, until he finally raised his head from the pillow of his firm and lumpy mattress. Seras was still fighting hard to stay asleep, but John had roused himself just in time to see a cluster of Knights exiting the room. Etriyya was last, and as she held the door open for herself, she turned to see John’s curious eyes upon her.

“Our unit is scheduled for guard duty on the northern wall of the estate… you’re not technically part of that unit. I suggest you find Moira, but whatever you decide to do, don’t go into any Barriers unless you get that phone of yours upgraded. No matter what leeways Moira lets you have, if you miss an important fight, there aren’t many Knights that will forgive a vow-breaker.”

John didn’t even have time to let her words sink in before she was gone. The weight of obedience seemed highly prevalent through the Order, and while John couldn’t say he was surprised, he was definitely not encouraged by the subservience. The culture of the Knights was far too subservient and concerned with the righteousness of following orders for John’s liking, but even Etriyya’s mild defiance seemed tame in comparison to the flame of duty that burned in all Order subjects.

“Hey, Seras, wake up…”

John tried to shake Seras awake, but the nocturnal girl only clung to him harder, tucking her head and pinning his hand against the pillow as she clenched her eyes and hid them against the pillow beneath her head.

“So comfy tho… lemme stay here… forever…”

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” John mumbled, bitterly jealous of the vampire’s ability to sleep in through incredible disturbances. John grabbed his pillow and pulled it free in one motion, sending Seras’ head smashing into the firm mattress and waking her up in an instant.

“Wha- I swear I was gonna clean that up!”

John rolled his eyes at whatever Seras had been dreaming of, sliding his legs off the mattress and brushing the dust and linen scraps off his pajamas.

“Come on, Seras, we need to figure out what we’re going to do.”

John had thought that perhaps Moira was going to include them in the guard duty or patrols that seemed to be encompassing most of the Brighton estate, but she was almost as dismissive of their presence as Etriyya had been of Seras’ origins. When John asked what they should do, Moira simply insisted they do whatever they could while remaining available in case of attacks. The only direction she gave as far as tasks was to keep his own promises. John couldn’t even get out of her the location of a Smelter - she said that the Order had a refinery operating on the lower level of the estate but refused to say where it was, insisting that John’s journey to Tricia’s home was more important. All he could pry out of her was an insistence that she would either show John the refinery or provide him with a full set of armor upon his return. He didn’t know if he believed either half of the promise, but it was all he had.

“Tricia stormed off rather hastily after the meeting in the War Room yesterday. I cannot guess how she is handling this conflict, but it does not seem to be well,” Moira cautioned, breaking away from her own notebook and sketches of battle plans long enough to address John. “Attend to her needs before we worry about giving you a tour of our smithing facilities. I will provide you with her address if she did not already do so when you were alone in your private world. Hopefully the opportunity to study such a pure unknown will calm her hostility and help us regain her as an ally in time for us to make a counterattack against the Cabal’s incursions."

"When are we going to make a counterattack?"

"That is entirely dependent on the information our scouts report back… and no, I will not be relaying that information to you as of yet. Need-to-know basis, John Newman - you may be counted among the allies of the Order, but our strategy must be kept close to our own chests, so that it might one day pierce those of our enemies."

With that John had left the Brighton Estate in more or less the same manner as he had the day before. Moira provided him with the keys to one of their less conspicuous vehicles - she claimed the APCs were more or less occupied transporting scout regiments and moving their forces between the most secure outposts they had, so John was relegated to a simple sedan with a nondescript black exterior. Moira had offered to provide him with the address, but surprisingly, Tricia actually texted him her address shortly after she handed him the keys, saying she'd gotten his number during the examinations from the prior day. Ignoring the chill that kind of surveillance and scanning power gave him, John texted back his thanks and got on his way. Thankful he wasn't stuck driving some kind of limousine as he'd seen on the lot earlier, John set off into Springfield with Seras relaxing in the passenger's seat and his phone's GPS pointing toward the Gorbachev's residence.

“Could kinda get used to gettin’ chauffered around loik this,” Seras noted, staring at the sights around them. "My partner used to do all the drivin', 'til 'e got shot by 'is wife. Forgot what it was loik until those weirdos showed up at your 'ouse last night. Prefer you doin' the drivin' tho, lot less uncomfortable. Bit awkward sittin' across from a guy 'oo wouldn't look at ya if you grabbed 'im by the head and stabbed 'im."

“We’ve got to talk about your violent tendencies,” John muttered, checking his GPS. They were only a few blocks away and thankfully made it to the driveway he was looking for before Seras could come up with any other bloody "what-ifs". The house itself was hardly mentionable - white wooden siding on a sizable but middle-class at best home. John was beyond surprised - he'd expected someone who had that level of tech and resources to be somewhere among the wealthiest of Springfield's.

"Do you think we got the wrong place?"

Seras had no response, as the door opened seemingly of its own volition and revealed a relatively ordinary homestead before them. John only had to take a few steps inside though before the owner of the house became abundantly clear. The moment the front door closed behind him, a cluster of drones came out from behind the various pieces of furniture, flying frantically about and blatantly scanning both John and Seras with a multitude of observational tech.

They looked similar to the drones Tricia had used to inspect John the day before, with the notable addition of several extra modules. The most obvious of those was the fact that half the drones circling him had what appeared to be firearms mounted on their lower sections, constantly pointed at John even while they circled at varying speeds.

“Thank you for coming today, John Newman,” the flat voice of Tricia Gorbachev greeted, coming out of one of the drones as it paused in front of John. As the words began, a screen appeared just a few inches in front of the hovering drone, displaying Tricia with the same emotional investment that her robots displayed.

“I said I would be here, didn’t I?” John replied, smiling to break the awkwardness. Tricia’s image didn’t seem to even notice, her eyes glancing over the screen below where John’s image or the webcam she was using must have been for her.

“Moira cares little for the promises her subjects make to anyone but herself,” Tricia responded, sighing before the tiniest of smiles broke out across her features. “As I said, thank you for coming. I am glad to see you here and that you brought one of your other creations. Please meet me in the laboratory.”

A wall nearby slid away, uncovering a staircase downward. John would’ve been put off by that in most other situations but found it hard to be intimidated by a spiral staircase when he had a variety of heavily armed drones monitoring his position already. So with minimal trepidation John started to travel downward, Seras only a few steps behind him. The wall slowly slid shut as they both passed it, and John found himself fighting the beginnings of claustrophobia as they slowly delved further into the house.

John emerged into a room that resembled his chemistry classrooms from the Academy, only with a thousand times the budget. Multiple systems seemed to be running even despite Tricia's attention on a computer on the far wall, including tubes and pipes containing fluids he couldn't possibly identify without Observing each of them individually, a cluster of automated mechanical arms and robotics systems that seemed to be continuously moving and inspecting slides of material, and several drones that were focused around the one thing John did recognize - the Harpy Egg from his dungeon, sat in a device that John hazarded a guess was some kind of incubator, with several drones hovering around it.

"Tricia, are you… are you trying to hatch that? Because I don't really feel comfortable with you experimenting on-"

"You should not have given it to me then," Tricia said simply. When John's expression turned to shock, Tricia made a slight "tsk" sound as she at last turned away from her computers and faced him properly.

"As I told you before, John Newman, the Abyss is not a place for compassion, understanding, or adhering to anything but the most strict and literal of agreements. Still… if your abilities do what they seem to, I am not comfortable aligning my moral boundaries with those of Josef Mengele and Shirō Ishii, no matter what opportunities are afforded to me. If it hatches, I will return it to you after some brief examinations, and a few tissue samples - nothing harmful."

John said nothing, uncertain what outcome he'd actually hoped to achieve. He wasn't really looking forward to having another mouth to feed, but he certainly wasn't going to allow Tricia to hatch the egg. A part of him had expected her to sterilize and preserve it so that she could study it forever, but it was only a small part. After seeing how intrigued she was by his creations, he should've guessed her very first step would be to monitor the development firsthand. John couldn't say he wasn't curious himself, considering how all his other creations had more or less popped into existence.

"So, with that settled, perhaps we can begin testing your abilities? You were unable to demonstrate a few abilities, but based on your descriptions…"

Tricia made a gesture with her hand and two drones hovered in, a table stretched between them. On it were a variety of objects, including several metallic bars, a few flasks, batteries, and a scalpel, which John was entirely too aware of as the tray hovered toward his face.

"Let us begin, shall we?"

John was put through his paces for the second time in the last few days, this time covering what they hadn't before. Tricia wanted to see a Purify in action, but John insisted on not creating any more creatures, despite Tricia's offer to provide food and shelter for them at her house. So instead they explored some of John's more mundane abilities. They did several experiments with Elemental Control, which at one point John used to transfer voltage between batteries of different charge levels, something he planned to keep in mind the next time his phone died. He also discovered that his ability to "create" the Darkness element was the equivalent of removing all the light from the area he cast it on, something he would make sure to take advantage of if and when he needed to remain unseen.

After that John used Craft to form a copy of the scalpel, right down to the imperfection in the handle. It came out labeled as a Scalpel but had a Durability of only 17 / 20. Tricia also used the scalpel to cut her palm and have him demonstrate Siphon to heal wounds, as well as to transfer stats between them. The only part of that which seemed to shock her was when he transferred some of his Intelligence score to her. Apparently mental boosts were far less common than "mere" physical buffs, though John had to say the strange feeling of sluggishness and zoning out he got when lowering his Intelligence and Wisdom was not a welcome feeling.

"We should apply a test to your Deception ability as well. Tell me something that I know is not true, but attempt to influence me to believe it."

"Uh… my hair is black."

Deception failed! [Visual proof in sight; -100% chance]

"Moira's hair is black."

Deception failed! [Facial memory: Strong, -90% chance]

When John relayed those percentages, Tricia nodded and asked him to continue attempting.

"Moira's hair is black."

Deception failed! [Facial memory: Strong; Deception failed prior, -100% chance]

"Lord Brighton's hair is red."

Deception failed! [Facial memory: Strong, -90% chance]

"Lunaya's hair is black."

Deception succeeded!

Tricia immediately frowned, glancing over to the computer she had left to greet John. The screen flickered briefly and then transitioned to a picture of Lunaya - including a good angle on her gloriously blue-white locks.

"Interesting. I was quite sure of my knowledge of her appearance, right up until I was not. You created doubt that should not have been there, and I made a natural assumption that I was mistaken… despite the infrequency with which that happens. It's a form of mental magic, John Newman. I could not immediately tell when you were attempting to use it but apparently failed, but I would advise against using it around any mages. If they are in fact able to detect attempted mental manipulation, that typically does not go over well. Many wars far more destructive than this battle with the Cabal have been fought over such intrusions of the mind."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Now, perhaps we---"

John lost the rest of Tricia's words, unable to hear them over the sirens suddenly blaring around them, giving three quick klaxons followed by silence, although several red lights turned on, both on the ceiling and on the numerous monitors around them. The drones that had been holding Tricia's tools and supplies flew off to a far corner of the room and dumped off their supply, while a dozen more or so that had been offline against the walls of the room suddenly flickered to life.

"We have an intruder. John Newman, were you followed from the Brighton Manor? Did you see anyone coming after you? Did you lead the Cabal here?!"

There was a beeping sound from one of the drones nearest Tricia, but this time her anger did not fully subside. A frown remained upon her face as she turned toward the monitors and began to frantically work a keyboard, bringing several displays of the upper levels on the monitors. Next to John's sedan was a large van, from which poured no less than a dozen armed men, with another van on the street that was parked but had not yet opened. The silence left in the wake of the alarm was suddenly filled with metallic clinking as the drones that had not already borne weapons now flew to automated machines around the room and were rapidly refitted with what most closely resembled submachine guns.

"I didn't… no, I didn't think I had to worry - Moira told me their APCs were busy, so she just gave me the keys and told me to drive. Said that it wasn't a suspicious car, and there was nobody following me as I left!"

"They must have already identified the car from a prior mission, or tailed you using magical methods. If that foolish Brighton had bothered to send a more experienced mage to disguise your transit… she knew the dangers! She even kept you at the manor to avoid this happening at your home! She did this," Tricia seethed. It was the most untamed anger John had ever seen from her. Her brows knitted together, and John was so frightened that for just a moment he thought he saw her face begin to tremble almost unnaturally. Despite the incessant tones of the drone beside her, her face was locked into an immutable scowl now.

"Tricia, it's okay, we can handle this - I'll call Moira, and we-"

"No, I will handle them. That redheaded traitor will not be allowed to soil the sanctity of my home again. If they discover the entrance to the lab, my drones will handle them. If they cannot, I will do it myself… if I must."

John eyed Tricia uncertainly. She was extraordinarily intelligent, and her drones were armed to the absolute teeth, but John had never seen the blonde-haired beauty perform anything resembling proper combat, aside from cutting herself with a scalpel.

"Are you sure? I can help, Tricia, I've fought before. Maybe we can plan? What kind of magic can you use, what can you do?"

Tricia's scowl remained, and her eyes narrowed just a fraction.

"I can Hate. I can Hate everything. There is a safe room in the back, John Newman. Go there, and pray that it lives up to its name."