The Great Eye

In the realm beyond, an angel existed, wheels within wheels resplendent with numerous burning eyes. Each fiery eye was emblazoned upon an identical tower, overseeing a ruined landscape.

That angel was none other than me.

Elevated "above" the confines of spacetime through the grace of the Second True Magic, I had the capacity to observe countless variants of the timeline simultaneously. Through these observations, I determined which was rendered "real". Using a minimal expenditure of magical energy, my perception was narrowly tailored, focused solely on identical timelines.

In this state, my spell, 'Shatter: Ophanim', mirrored the 'Mind Partitioning' technique, a practice mastered by the alchemists of Atlas. However, instead of running multiple mental states within one physical brain, I operated multiple parallel brains.

With every decision and chance encounter, my perception would broaden, requiring more effort and Od. This necessitated a pruning process, discarding the timelines that deviated from my optimal path.

But that was a task for later.

The decision I was making at this moment was applicable to every timeline instance.

I had issued an order to my mechanical army. Their directive - to march.

Next, I find myself alerting Two about the imminent threat posed by Brenner.

"Guess what, Papa broke out of the madhouse. It's a real shame, I always liked the thought of him getting some shock therapy," Two drawled, a heavy note of irony in his voice. "He always said those zaps were for my own good. It would've been nice to see if they did him any good too."

I connected with him through Saralacc, his pet snake and my familiar. Employing communication spells through familiars is a fundamental aspect of magecraft, and naturally, I had a firm grasp on it.

"Well, we're not sure if he escaped, or even if he plans on showing up here. We're just taking precautions," I explained. "All we know is that a gate has been opened at the Pennhurst Mental Hospital. For all we know, he might've been devoured by now," I added. "I've sent Khenumra to investigate. He travels at the speed of a nightmare, but even so, it'll take him some time to reach the site."

"I'll do as you've said. I'm gonna grab Trevor and the freak," Two declared.

"It's not nice to call her names behind her back," I chided him, only half-heartedly.

"Don't worry, I tell it straight to her face. I still can't believe that little coward forgot about me and the others. Trevor's taken a shine to some local boy artist, giving him some private lessons - not the type I get, actual art. As for the freak, I've got no clue where she is."

"Is the boy's name Will Byers?"

"I think so. He keeps staring at me. I think he has a bit of a crush on me."

"Or he might be seeing through the glamour on the bracelets I gave you. Will has potential. So, grab him too. As for Jane, she's at the Wheelers'. She's being watched by one of the Aperture Security interns named Steve Harrington. You'll need a more convincing cover for this. Fortunately, I've prepared one for you. Damien Smith, my personal intern. It will look good on your college application."

Two bore the expression of someone who'd just bitten into one of Aperture's combustible lemons. But I had exhausted the time I could afford to spend on him. Thus, I severed our communication spell, maintaining only a casual awareness of my familiar.

My awareness shifted back to the top of the tower. I turned my attention to the Archer, engrossed in his tasks at one of the terminals of the Aperture Emergency Command Center.

"We've acted on the intel, but it might be premature," I admitted. "There's only a guess that Brenner may be coming to Hawkins. He could be dead or not even allied with the E.L.F.s. We've tried communicating with them. If we could reach an agreement, harvesting materials would be far simpler. After all, agricultural societies are generally more advanced than hunter-gatherer ones. Brenner might have just stirred up their nest unintentionally."

"You've made the right call. Don't second-guess yourself. If the enemy desires something, denying them is simply good tactics," Archer replied, then added, "The muster is progressing well. Despite some interference, we still maintain full communication. The banners are operating as anticipated. Our forces are moving to the designated sites, although we're yet to get visual confirmation of the enemy from them."

Banners weren't an acronym. It was a simple concept we devised to overcome difficulties in long-range communication. We just took a panel covered in Conversion gel, activated a portal on one side, and set the other side to a dedicated communication nexus. The distance was no longer a problem. We called them banners because once we raised these metal panels on long poles, that's what they resembled.

"Then I will use the palantír to monitor both the E.L.F and our forces, to see if there are any deviations from our predictions."

As I placed my hands on the stone, my will sank into it, and my higher-dimensional perspective widened. There were decisions to be made: where should I look? But by simultaneously considering several of them, I could gather more data much quicker, albeit at an expense.

Since such decisions were unlikely to create serious deviations as long as I kept my command the same, the expense would be manageable, and I could realign back into a low-cost perspective once done.

The first thing I did was survey the enemy. There were no surprises there. The bat-like E.L.Fs flew low, mostly at the height of the trees, keeping a few ahead of the main horde. I suppose it was meant to conceal the attack as long as possible. It was a futile effort against the power of the Seeing Stone, but it wasn't as if our enemy knew that I possessed one.

I was still uncertain about the intelligence of the E.L.F hive mind. Even if one variant had something like hands, they didn't use tools. But this was not the time for my mind to wander.

A few packs of dog-like E.L.Fs were spread throughout the forest of dead woods as scouts, but most moved together. It was hardly a sophisticated formation.

Now I shifted my gaze to my own troops. They were precisely where I expected them to be, just as the reports indicated. Confirmation of the telemetry data was a welcome relief.

At the vanguard of this force were the Optimized Robotic Combatants, or O.R.Cs. Evolved from Aperture's Sentinel Turrets, these mobile units were now much more than stationary defenders. As their name suggested, these units were finely tuned for warfare, a compact blend of firepower and agility. Their arachnid-inspired limbs allowed them to effortlessly manoeuvre over and around the rubble that littered the streets. A few detached from the main force, propelling themselves on advanced gyro-stabilized pogo-stick systems that had them hopping over obstacles, almost playful in their leaps but deadly in intent. With an arsenal ranging from standard projectile weaponry to rockets and flamethrowers, the O.R.Cs were the first line of offence and defence, their tactical flexibility lending itself to swift strikes and flanking manoeuvres.

Hovering serenely amongst this metallic tide were the Tactical Robotic Organism Locating & Liquidating units, or T.R.O.L.Ls. With their deceptive dress-like structures, they glided above the ground, scanning tools working tirelessly to track any exotic life forms. Concealed within them were an array of robotic arms, each capable of wielding different tools or weapons, including a high-energy plasma cutter. They presented a peculiar contrast, their seemingly gentle motion belying the lethal force they could unleash at a moment's notice. Their capabilities made them perfect for search-and-destroy missions.

Prowling alongside the advancing O.R.Cs and T.R.O.L.Ls were the Weaponized Autonomous Robotic Guardians, or W.A.R.Gs. These quadrupedal robots were designed for stability and adaptability, their sensor suites constantly feeding information to the Aperture command center. Their optical camouflage systems occasionally activated, causing them to flicker in and out of view. Several W.A.R.Gs had O.R.Cs mounted on their backs, a lethal duo ready to engage at the first sign of E.L.F activity. Some also served as scouts, striding ahead of the main force, and were expected to be the first to clash with the scouting packs of E.L.Fs.

However, we lacked airborne units, a deficiency I noted but did not consider consequential.

Given that both sides continued to progress at the same speeds, the conflict would happen at the place Archer and I had chosen, on the outskirts of Hawkins, within the bleak, barren fields that separated the town from the forest in this inverted reality. Once choked by alien vegetation, these fields now lay bare. Every trace of life had been meticulously harvested by Aperture for their precious chemical compositions, leaving behind a stark landscape of dry, cracked earth, stretching as far as the eye could see. This expanse provided an unhindered line of sight, favoring our troops equipped with ranged weapons, and effectively transforming the desolate ground into a natural battlefield. The ever-present storm clouds above cast a crimson hue on everything, their flickering shadows adding an eerie undercurrent to the impending clash

I disconnected from the palantír and briefly conferred with Archer, updating him on the enemy's position and projected route. Using this data, we updated the mission objectives for our robotic force. Aperture's army was designed around the principles of modern military strategy, embodying mission-oriented tactical deployment. Each unit was equipped with a defined mission profile and state-of-the-art navigation and decision-making algorithms to execute their objectives with ruthless efficiency.

At least, that was the idea. However, it was still somewhat of a work in progress. On paper, we were supposed to be a collective of autonomous agents, each solving its part of the grand puzzle that was this operation. The underlying principle was clear and straightforward - mission completion is paramount. In reality, though, our squad felt more like a ragtag team of misfit robots trying to figure out how to march in a straight line. Yet, Hollywood has always championed such unlikely heroes, hasn't it? We could only hope it wasn't just being overly optimistic.

For instance, consider the delicate issue of instilling a self-preservation instinct in the units. Leave it out, and they wouldn't last five minutes in the field. Crank it up too high, and they might deem the mission too risky, possibly ignoring their objectives entirely. The issue? Well, their commanding officer, who assigns the missions, might take umbrage at such disobedience—and let's just say these units are quite adept at problem-solving, with a distinct bias towards lethal solutions. Missteps in balancing these parameters can, and have, led to a rather explosive version of 'mutiny.' As it turns out, running an autonomous robot army requires a bit more finesse than one might think.

Of course, these kinds of problems weren't exactly new in the context of military history, and established solutions did exist. However, it was a matter of adapting these solutions for something other than human troops. Traditional tactics of rum, lash, and buggery hardly held any sway over robotic soldiers.

My attention soon shifted to another matter. I trusted Archer to maintain control here.

In a realm just outside our universe, the dead prince lay dreaming. Although his organs were removed a millennium ago, my magecraft allowed him to dream. Bound within the sarcophagus and altered by my magic, he continued to dream.

And now, in a chariot pulled by a pair of nightmares, the dream had finally arrived at the Pennhurst Mental Hospital, the site of the rogue gate.

With a quick incantation, I synchronized my senses with Khenumra, my familiar.

Bathed in the afternoon sun, the asylum exuded an almost pleasant charm. With its old-fashioned architecture neither too diminutive nor overly imposing, pointed roofs, and expansive glass windows, it was a sight to behold. This was a place where people voluntarily sought refuge, healing, or solace. The admission of infamous figures like Dr. Martin Brenner—committed involuntarily pending his trial—sent shockwaves through the public. Yet, at the time, my attention was elsewhere, preoccupied with matters of greater importance. I had erroneously dismissed Brenner as irrelevant. The demon who had driven him to madness and atrocity was gone, and his crimes were exposed…

In retrospect, that was an oversight. But there are only so many hours in a day, and I didn't have the time to chase down every loose end.

While the asylum appeared visually agreeable, through Khenumra's esoteric senses, I gleaned a different perception. As an emotivore, I tasted the lingering flavours of terror and pain in the air. They were bitter yet savoury, akin to dark chocolate.

The specifics of the magecraft I used to create Khenumra favoured more carnal emotions, and these provided a more palatable source of sustenance for him. Still, sometimes, a change of palate can be intriguing, even if the flavour isn't one's favourite.

In the span of a single step, he veiled himself in a dream-like illusion. The scantily dressed, sun-tanned youth was replaced by a generic caucasian man of indeterminate age, clad in the black suit that almost served as a uniform for government operatives, complete with black, mirrored sunglasses. Yet, his true nature shone through. This form was also supernaturally desirable. Even though he took on the guise of a federal agent, it was as though he was lifted from a high-budget Hollywood film or its porn parody counterpart.

But his disguise had proven unnecessary. When Khenumra breached the entrance of the mental institution, he encountered a chilling silence that contradicted the once bustling exterior of the building. The reception area, formerly teeming with hospital staff and visitors, now lay vacant and soundless, save for one grisly reminder of the violence that had occurred here.

The center of the room was dominated by the gruesome display of a body, the components of which were scattered across the glossy floor, forming a horrific tableau of human remains. The deceased, an elderly woman who had been employed as a nurse, bore strands of gray hair that splayed around her head, mixing with the dark pool of her lifeblood. Her once vibrant blue eyes were now vacant, staring blankly towards the ceiling, their light snuffed out, leaving behind a mask of terror.

Bloodstains adorned the reception desk, her neat uniform now torn to pieces, the fragments forming a grotesque imitation of a jigsaw puzzle. Her sturdy frame had been savagely dismantled, the limbs tossed carelessly about the room.

Following my guidance, Khenumra initiated his examination of the woman's remains. As he approached, the pungent aroma of blood and innards assailed him, or rather, me, via our connection. As a magician, I was no stranger to such scenes. I've witnessed and partaken in events that would send shivers down the spine of even the most seasoned detectives. Nonetheless, viewing the scene through Khenumra's senses, I was struck by an unnerving sensation.

The horrific details would nauseate even a seasoned police officer, but for Khenumra, they resembled a gastronomic feast. There was no revulsion at the sight of the mutilated body or the lingering taste of fear and pain in the air. Instead, he was filled with a pang of hunger. However, it was not for the flesh, warm blood, or fresh organs scattered around the room. What Khenumra desired was the emotional energy saturating the area, the residual torment of the victim's final moments.

The corpse told a gruesome tale. After accounting for the dispersed limbs, I noted that her left hand was absent. Her head was still attached to the eviscerated torso, from which the heart, lungs, and liver were notably missing.

The E.L.F. hypothesis still held water - likely a rushed or satiated one, given that only choice morsels were gone.

The emotional residue, coupled with the absence of substantial room damage, indicated an ambush. Likely from above. E.L.Fs, particularly the humanoid variants, were skilled climbers and favored ambush tactics.

Yet, as Khenumra delved deeper into the emotional residue pervading the room, something seemed off. The terror, the pain, the desperate struggle for survival - they all existed, but were subdued. Faint. As if... watered down. As if someone, or something, had already had its fill of this macabre banquet.

This was not the doing of an E.L.F. Their primary sustenance was flesh, as per our field observations. This peculiar emotional void was something else, something unexpected. I had one suspect in mind, although it was improbable. The alternate version of my apprentice, Two, had diverse himself of the remnants of his own humanity. But this event transpired in the astral realm, subject to multiple interpretations.

Even if he had relinquished his human form, there was little reason to believe that he could feast on emotional residue. It was merely one of several paths available to those who have deviated from the path of man.

I had not encountered any creature native to this world that subsisted on emotions. The variant of Two I knew had fed on both emotion and life force while possessed by a demon I had created. I had sacrificed that demon and that version of Two - although it was his choice - to resurrect all the murdered Numbers. I had a hunch that the murderer was a psychic cannibal, one who assimilated the minds of his victims. Surviving in such an environment was commendable, but it also held the potential for warping one's nature. It appeared that the old saying was true in his case: either one dies a hero or lives long enough to become a villain. In a way, he had managed both.

Was it intuition or guilt that made me suspect him? I was unsure.

It could be something else, something unknown. If I had stumbled upon a being that fed on emotions, be it a predator or a scavenger, such a bountiful feeding ground would be irresistible.