Praise the Master

"Is she dead?" Rosamund asked, her voice tinged with a mix of hope and despair as soon as the traitor vanished, and the battle ceased.

"Possibly, but I doubt it. She is now with Nihilanth. While her failure might warrant punishment, she's too valuable an asset to be simply discarded. That's my assessment, at least," I explained.

"So, she gets away with killing my boy," Rosamund murmured, her shoulders sagging under the weight of unresolved grief.

"You will see him again in the Twilight Forest," Grimhilde reassured her, placing a comforting hand on the grieving witch's shoulder.

"If it's any consolation, Rosamund, Mireille is unlikely to find joy in her new company. Nihilanth is devoid of it," I added, hoping to offer some solace.

"You know this Nihilanth?" Andrew suddenly chimed in, his curiosity piqued.

"It would be more accurate to say that I know of him," I responded, pausing for a moment to gather my thoughts, contemplating how best to convey this complex information to Andrew, a soldier from the twentieth century, and the witches from the fourteenth. "Nihilanth is the last survivor of a fallen world. Having fled slavery, he became a slaver himself. The evil inflicted upon him, he now inflicts in turn. My great task is to prevent Earth from succumbing to the same fate as Nihilanth's homeworld."

"And we are honoured beyond measure to be even a small part of it," Grimhilde interjected, a fervent gleam in her eyes. "How may we serve you, Master?"

While I could envision many roles for the witches, my obligations to the timeline were paramount. A light touch was essential when traversing the past to minimize interference.

It was a pity, though. Their lineage didn't seem to survive into the modern age, or at least I had found no evidence of it. Conversely, some indirect influences lived on, so I couldn't extract them from this era to the future.

"By following your own paths," I finally said, offering what might sound like vague reassurances but were truly words of guidance. "Your actions are a crucial, albeit single, link in the great chain that spans across the ages. I must take my leave now. But before I go, a piece of advice for you, Augustus. With Nihilanth stirred by the hope of a life-bearing world and Mireille at his side, it would be prudent to limit contact with Xen."

"For how long, Master?" Creel asked, his face contorted in a scowl as if he had tasted something particularly sour.

"Two or three centuries should suffice for them to stop actively searching."

"So long? Isn't Mireille dying? Wasn't that her reason for betrayal?"

"I wouldn't mourn her just yet. Nihilanth possesses extensive knowledge in the life-altering Arts," I cautioned.

With that, we began to part ways. But first, we returned to the gathering place of the witches, where my time-traveling device, disguised as a police box, awaited.

Before departing, Grimhilde bestowed upon me a parting gift. Her personal Book of Shadows, a tome she had used for two centuries. Now, having regained her youth, she intended to start a new volume.

"So we're off to Rome now?" Andrew inquired as the door closed behind us.

"Not immediately. There's another matter that requires my personal attention. However, your presence isn't necessary for this one. How about spending some time with Terry?"

"Can I?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes, but you'll need to stay hidden."

"Because I'm a deserter," Andrew said, his voice lowering, a hint of regret in his eyes behind the goggles. "I wish I could tell the truth."

"Telling people that the military is infiltrated by shapeshifting lizard men wouldn't do any good," Archer interjected.

"Even if it's true?" Andrew questioned.

"Especially if it's true," Archer affirmed.

"Well, step through the Anchor Gate to a safer place. I'm about to initiate a time shift, and it would be quite unfortunate if your reunion with Terry unfolded in a madhouse," I interjected, pointing towards the Anchor Gate that led to the dormant volcano.

The soldier moved towards the gate, pausing at the last moment to turn back and say, "You know, I don't think you're a god."

"I never claimed divinity," I responded evenly.

"The witches worship you," he pointed out, almost accusatory.

"I didn't ask them to," I countered.

"But you didn't correct them either," he observed, and without waiting for a response, he stepped through the gate.

Archer watched him go, then turned to me with an amused and affectionate smirk. "He's not completely wrong. You did seem to enjoy the witches' reverence a bit. Did you like being worshipped so much? Should I start?"

"Role-playing as a god and his high priest? That does sound like an enticing way to spend an afternoon," I teased.

"Should I be jealous of the witches then?" Archer asked, his voice laced with a playful, suggestive undertone.

"No," I replied, laughter in my voice. "But I liked it enough not to trample on their beliefs. That 'Master' they worship may not be me, just their image of me. But I could play that role for a short time. Any longer would become tiresome."

"What does require your personal attention?" Archer asked, deftly changing the subject.

"What?"

"You mentioned to Andrew that there was something we needed to do before continuing to Rome. What is it?"

"I lied. Or, more accurately, I adjusted the truth."

"That's just a pretentious way of saying you lied," he pointed out.

He had scored a point there. I tried to conceal any reaction, but the slight widening of his lips told me I hadn't quite succeeded. "We've reached the limit of the time period we can safely access. Venturing back to the tenth century would be a stretch, and the first century is practically impossible."

"You could have just said that."

"Not to Andrew. He doesn't need to know all the details."

"I suppose I should feel honoured that you trust me enough to show your weaknesses," Archer mused, his tone softening.

"Well, it's not as if I could really hide it from you. You'd notice me tinkering with the navigation," I replied, feeling a warmth in my cheeks that I attributed to some allergy from the fourteenth-century Black Forest.

"Navigation?" he inquired, though I sensed he was playing to my expectations.

I was nonetheless eager to explain. "Theoretically, the Sorcery we use for time travel can reach any point in space and time of this universe, and several adjacent ones. Practically, there's a slight problem in hitting the exact spatio-temporal coordinates we want, rather than landing somewhere completely random. And this problem is exacerbated by distance. How enthusiastic are you about seeing live dinosaurs?"

"Not very," he replied with a smirk, indulging in the conversation.

"Then I need to adjust the navigation rings for a longer time jump. There's also the matter of fuel. Time travel doesn't consume real time, but it does consume a lot of 'fake' time. I could order Khenumra to be less cautious with the harvest, but that could damage subjects."

The wet dreams my incubus familiar created to harvest dream time was completely harmless for the dreamer. If he took only a little, and over a longer time, the consequences would be like mild flue. Inconvenient, but harmless.

In a way, I could consider them as cheap payment for the sexy dream. Then porn was supposed to be cheap.

But do more than once, or rush the process, and it could be more dire. Even potentially lethal.

"We can take our time. But how long will it be?"

It was no revelation that my partner favoured a minimally invasive approach. I've always been more cavalier, but compromise is the cornerstone of any fruitful partnership.

"In my estimation, from six months to a year."

"So long," he reflected. "I suppose that's why you plan to reunite Andrew with Terry. Keeping him isolated on the island for half a year alone would be both cruel and detrimental to his mental health. But aren't you worried about paradoxes? He's unlikely to let Brenner carry on unchecked."

"I don't plan to reunite them in the past. Terry is fine in the present. And he should be grateful. He gets to skip all the irritating parts of raising an infant and connect with Jane as a teenager."

"I don't think he's going to view it as a favour," Archer remarked dryly.

"Somehow I will manage to bear his ingratitude," I quipped back and then gave the order. "Break the link, Cid."

Establishing the bridge between the present and the past was a complex and energy-excessive endeavour. Breaking on the hand was very simple. It was like rolling a boulder up the hill. Hard to get it up, but it would come down on its own.

Now that I thought about it, I should examine where all that potential energy went. Both to avoid polluting the environment and perhaps even to recycle it.

Visually there was not supposed to be much to see. The door leading to the Back Forest in the fourteenth century was supposed to shift to the door leading to the Io space base.

Except that was the only thing that happened.

The doors had disappeared from the Entrance Hall: the door to the greenhouse, the door to the garage and more. Only five doors were left, three Anchor Gates, one leading deeper into the Otherworld and one to Io.

I could also feel more, being initiated into Second Truth. But that was not all that I felt.

Glancing at Archer I saw that he was ready for combat, an arrow nocked, and bow drawn. There was no sense of magical energy from the arrow. It was a product of technology and not magecraft.

I teased Archer about trick arrows, like something from a comic book, but it would appear that I was righter than I thought.

"There is no danger. At least no immediate one. You can relax," I said, "On the other hand can you tell me how exactly your Reality Marble feels?"

"How do know that we are safe? And do you think is the right time for such questions?"

"It is connected. Do you feel the swords recorded in Unlimited Blade Works in the same way you feel parts of your body?"

"I suppose so. But it's more detailed. The wasteland is always with me. Why do you ask."

"Because suddenly I am feeling the Otherworld and everything in it. The garage, the greenhouse and your office with it, the Surveillance Room, Game Lounge, my office, not I used it much, Aperture Science Data Collection and Human Suffering Enablement Chamber, a shack with cleaning supplies, and a whole lot of storage buildings. Although it is different now. It has become a Temple Complex within the clearing of the primordial forest."

"That does sound somewhat akin to a Reality Marble. But why do you refer to it as a temple?"

"Because this is hallowed ground. Can you not feel it?"

"It carries the stench of faith, yes. But it also bears your scent. If your Inner World is a temple to yourself, I think the witches' worship may gotten to your head."

"You might be right."

"Humility from you. Did you hit your head fighting?"

"No, I mean the worship may be the key. That after all, is how Divine Spirits are made."

"You know, you're not actually a god," he said, his smirk sending a thrill through me. The urge to either hit him or kiss him was overwhelming.

"But you so love to worship me, especially with your tongue," I responded, my voice dropping to a purr.

He provocatively licked his lips, signalling a promise of what was to come. "Later. First, we have a pair of lovers to reunite. But afterwards… If you're going to be absorbed in work for half a year, pacing yourself is crucial. We'll need to carve out some private time for just the two of us. However, if this transformation of our space was spurred by worship, do you really need it to continue? I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea of you starting a cult."

"No need, I still have the witches."

"But the witches are absent from this time period, or did that slip your mind?"

"Not absent, just no longer alive. What is the most common promise across all religions?"

"An afterlife? But how does that—Ah, I understand now. The Twilight Forest, that primordial expanse just beyond our walls?"

"Exactly. I can feel them wandering from there, entering this complex. I sense Rosamund and Greta reuniting with Hanz, and with each other. I sense Grimhilde gathering them. Even Augustus is there, along with many others. The boy who built the underground temple has found the reward for his steadfast faith."

"They're all here?"

"Yes. In spirit at least. This place had taken properties of the Netherworld."

"Even the traitor?"

"No. Either her abandoning her faith in the Master has disqualified her or…"

"She is still alive. If that is the case the Hawkings anomaly needs to be further fortified. It is the place closest to Xen."

"Can you take charge of that? I am going to be busy."

"No problem. Are you planning to greet them?"

"No, I've assigned that duty to Jay and the other androids. I've instructed the androids to fulfil any wishes the witches might have, to the extent they can. It's a win-win. The androids relish being of service."

"So, you're saying you no longer need to verbally command this place?"

"Very perceptive. Indeed, Cid and I are more integrated than ever. I've already summoned Andrew back and changed the door to lead to the Enrichment Centre. Our next step is to guide Andrew through it."

"You do realize GLaDOS is going to catch him within minutes?"

"That's exactly what I'm banking on. Once he's caught, Terry will inevitably be summoned to identify him. A nice bonus—it's an impromptu test of the Enrichment Centre's security."

"And you're planning to keep Andrew in the dark about this?"

"It's more amusing this way."

"Your sense of humour is deplorable."

"Yet, you love me regardless."

"I must be cursed with poor taste. What other reason could there be for my being with you?"