The black sky of the abyss roared with noise and celebration. Mega simians and Ashkin shouted across the stands, their voices colliding as they watched the great warg racing tournament of the abyssal people. Ten wargs from each southern province thundered across the prepared routes. Like a living colosseum, the abyss never lacked for fervor.

  The wargs had to circle two neighboring provinces, paths carefully cleared in advance. It would take nearly an hour before a victor emerged.

  King Darkon, Lord Star, Leroy, and Professor Bjorn sat beneath a pavilion reserved for the abyss’s elders. Food was laid out in abundance. Events like this were usually more about conversation than spectacle, a cultural gathering rather than a political one. Yet with three figures of such importance arriving together, King Darkon had ordered the tournament to be held sooner than planned.

  “Lord Star, my friend,” Darkon said, tearing into a turkey leg, “have you ever considered holding an event like this at the Stargate?”

  “King Darkon,” Lord Star replied with a laugh, lifting his wine, “if only I possessed land as vast as yours.”

  Bjorn laughed as well, snacking freely, clearly enjoying the abyss’s atmosphere. To him, it was almost as noisy as a Cogworks factory. Leroy, seated to King Darkon’s left, remained quiet. His thoughts were elsewhere. He tasted nothing, felt nothing of the celebration around him.

  Bjorn gave his shoulder a light punch. “Leroy, stop drowning yourself in thought. This tournament is no less brutal than your worries.”

  Leroy offered a faint smile and forced himself to sample a few abyssal fruits.

  “King Darkon,” Bjorn asked, “where is Lucretius?”

  “I thought you said you were coming here to see me,” Darkon replied, swirling the wine in his cup, confused.

  “I invited him,” Bjorn said. Leroy nodded in agreement. “But he did not answer.”

  “Hah,” the king said dismissively. “He has always preferred solitude. Leave him be. If he wishes to show himself, he knows where to go.”

  “Is it possible he feels uncomfortable around me,” Lord Star asked quietly.

  Three pairs of eyes turned toward him.

  “I doubt it,” Bjorn said. “He simply does not wish to appear, not now.”

  “There is no need to trouble yourself, my friend,” Darkon added. “He has always been like this.”

  Lord Star nodded and finished his drink. An abyssal attendant stepped forward at once to refill his cup. Yet his thoughts remained distant, circling endlessly around Starfall and Starlax, still lost in unconscious silence.

  After nearly an hour of waiting, a black–ashen warg burst into view at the far end of the track. It ran with feral speed, volcanic ash scattering beneath its pounding strides. The abyss erupted once more. Cheers thundered upward, banners were raised and waved, drums beat in furious rhythm, torches were hurled into the air, and horns blared as the finish banner was unfurled.

  Professor Bjorn leapt to his feet, shouting wildly. “That’s my warg!”

  King Darkon, Lord Star, and Leroy only laughed as they watched the beast charge closer from the distance.

  Then another warg appeared behind it. Leaner. Fully gray. Faster. There was something blood-hungry in the way it moved, its gait sharper, more ruthless. Bjorn’s laughter died, replaced by panic.

  “Run,” he yelled. “Faster!”

  The first warg was only a few strides from the finish when the unthinkable happened. The gray warg leapt high, crashing down upon its rival. Its jaws clamped around the black warg’s neck, crushing muscle and sinew until the body went limp. The attacker landed, released, and sprinted on alone, crossing the finish line in triumph.

  “No!” Bjorn screamed, loud enough to startle the abyssal spectators below.

  He stomped his feet against the wooden platform like an enraged child. “That’s illegal. It can’t be like this.”

  Leroy covered his mouth and whispered sharply, “Bjorn, control yourself.”

  King Darkon laughed openly. “My apologies, Professor. But if you have forgotten, the race has only one rule. The winner is whoever crosses the line.”

  Bjorn drew in a long breath, then let it out slowly. A bitter smile crept onto his face. “Forgive me, King Darkon. May we return to the palace soon. I have lost half my spirit here.”

  Darkon and Lord Star laughed again. Servants were ordered to prepare the carriages, and the elders began to depart. Guards supported King Darkon as he descended from his seat.

  On the steps, Bjorn reached into his pocket and pressed a stack of coins into the hand of an Ashkin.

  “I should have known you were angry because you lost a wager,” Leroy said dryly.

  “Why do I keep losing when I calculate every probability,” Bjorn muttered.

  “Perhaps you are not as Cogworks as you think,” Leroy replied, smiling.

  Lord Star and King Darkon entered the first carriage, which moved ahead toward the palace. Leroy and Bjorn followed in the second, riding just behind. While the lead carriage pressed onward, the two council members continued to greet abyssal citizens who stared at them with curiosity and awe.

  The journey to the palace took roughly half an hour.

  Inside the palace, Prince Morrigan stood in his chamber, facing a mirror in full abyssal formal attire. Several weavers surrounded him, adjusting fabric and stitching details.

  “I think this suits you, my prince,” one of them said.

  “Why must I wear this,” Morrigan asked, irritation in his voice, “and why must my hair be combed straight.”

  “Because you will be meeting the leader of the Extraterrestrial faction and two council members,” the weaver replied. “Your father wishes you to appear refined, as they do throughout the All Realm.”

  Morrigan loosened the purple tie at his throat. “I will only be there for light conversation. Once the discussion turns serious, I will be dismissed again, just like years ago.”

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  “It is not yet your time to sit in matters of the highest order, Prince,” the weaver said calmly, spinning thread between her fingers.

  “Let us begin again from the start,” one of the attendants said softly. “For your appearance.”

  Morrigan did not resist. He simply stared back into the mirror as the servants adjusted fabric and searched for a combination that suited him.

  The four arrived at the Abyssal Palace soon after. They crossed a bridge beneath which rose fields of razor sharp thorns, growing far below a chamber reserved for honored guests. After climbing dozens of steps, they entered a hall with wide open windows overlooking the volcanic mountains of the abyss, where rivers of lava still glowed and crawled down the slopes.

  The doors were closed behind them. Servants left only wine and fruit upon the table before withdrawing. The four took their seats.

  They began with matters of trade. Bjorn presented documents entrusted to him by the Prime Director of Cogworks, outlining development plans within the abyss. Leroy followed by handing over Unus Bank insignias, one for Princess Samartian and another for Prince Morrigan.

  After roughly thirty minutes of discussion over documents, Prince Morrigan entered. A servant placed a chair beside King Darkon.

  “Good evening, Lord Star, Chairman Leroy, Professor Bjorn,” Morrigan said politely.

  “Prince Morrigan,” Lord Star replied, studying him. “I have only just realized your hair differs from the last time we met.”

  “Trying a new style, my lord,” Morrigan answered with a strained smile. He clearly disliked it.

  At his father’s gesture, he sat. Conversation shifted to recent issues reported in Cogworks newspapers, carefully avoiding any topic related to Starfall. Morrigan remained silent, his leg swaying back and forth with boredom.

  “You know,” King Darkon said, “the Metal God and Zaragoza are still facing difficulties opening the mine, Leroy. Do you have another syndicate leader currently unoccupied.”

  “I will confirm it, Your Majesty,” Leroy replied briefly.

  Darkon nodded. “Good. I will prepare the contract. With Cogworks submitting this request, we must resolve the matter quickly.”

  “How severe is the challenge, Your Majesty,” Bjorn asked.

  “Quite severe, Professor,” Darkon replied. “It seems we have uncovered an ant nest. The creatures keep emerging without end.”

  “Are they powerful?” Lord Star asked.

  “Not particularly,” the king said with a sigh. “But their numbers are driving me mad.”

  “I will try sending a few Cogworks,” Bjorn said. “They need a real challenge.”

  “You are welcome to, Bjorn. My doors are open,” Darkon replied. “Vanguard Gruk and Sigurd have come several times as well, but they have other obligations and cannot remain long.”

  “Raidbones. Dryskull,” Leroy said.

  “For now, I want them focused on training the abyssal forces,” Darkon answered.

  Then Leroy stated his true reason for coming. Because Darkon had already anticipated that this would be a sensitive matter, he asked Morrigan to leave the chamber.

  The young prince showed no protest. He simply smiled, bowed to them all, and stepped outside.

  “As expected,” he murmured to himself as the door closed.

  The discussion resumed.

  Leroy gave a concise explanation of the cloning program. Bjorn reinforced it with data and projections. Lord Star, already aware of the matter, merely listened. These were no longer affairs for him to steer. His time in the council’s storms had passed.

  Darkon admitted frankly that this was new to him, though long ago one of the League of the Transcendent’s generals had been, in essence, a clone, and had been terrifyingly powerful. The two council members continued patiently, careful not to press him, equally careful not to reveal too much that might weigh upon the abyss more than necessary.

  The heavy king turned his gaze to Lord Star at his right.

  “You have been silent, my friend. What is your view on this.”

  “I already know of it,” Lord Star replied calmly. “As long as the risks are minimized, the decision rests with those who sit on the council.”

  Darkon fell silent again. The others waited.

  “And if I agree,” he asked at last, “what role does the abyss play in this.”

  Leroy and Bjorn exchanged a glance. The professor spoke first.

  “Your Majesty, your faction possesses the greatest racial diversity at All Realm. Four of those races are capable of organized structure. We will not use them directly as subjects, but we require genetic samples.”

  “And to be clear,” Bjorn added quickly, “we will not allow them to produce noble lineage. The originality of your races remains untouched. What we create will never surpass what nature itself produces.”

  “Oh…” Darkon said, confusion and unease crossing his face. “I will need to discuss this with the abyssal elders. This is… very new to us.”

  Leroy nodded. “My own faction does not fully understand it either, King Darkon.”

  “Is that so,” Darkon said, pouring wine into his cup. “Then what was their answer.”

  “I asked them to train the cloned forces with their skills,” Leroy replied, his voice steady. “All await the council’s final decision. I will stand as guarantor.”

  Darkon nodded slowly.

  “I too see this as a possible solution,” Lord Star said, folding his hands. “The council cannot punish certain individuals without risking its integrity. My first child is proof of that.”

  “I understand,” Darkon said. “But besides myself and Lord Star, have you spoken to the other faction leaders.”

  “Cygnus sits on the council,” Leroy answered. “Shogun has yet to return. As for the Sky King, his existence places him beyond this discussion.”

  “And my faction’s leader,” Bjorn added lightly, “you all know him well enough.”

  The chamber fell quiet once more.

  “I do not fully grasp this,” Darkon said at last, his gaze sharp. “But I must ask. If you let say duplicate my faction races, i think that's the best word, and they err.......Will our image suffer even if they are merely clones.”

  “We understand your concern,” Leroy said. “But as Bjorn explained, they will not be identical individuals.”

  “Imagine,” Bjorn added, “someone with the appearance of an ordinary human, but the endurance of the abyss, and the combat style of a weapon master.”

  “That is an extremely dangerous being,” Darkon said, unease creeping into his voice. “You must know the limits, or this will become a hideous weapon.”

  “I warned them of that as well,” Lord Star said quietly.

  “And do you, as Cogworks, even possess a machine capable of such a feat?” Darkon asked.

  Leroy and Bjorn both looked to Lord Star.

  “There are certain items we could acquire from the intergalactic market,” Lord Star said. “Trade restrictions have kept them from circulation. But if this decision becomes final, my faction will take responsibility for that matter.”

  Darkon rested his head in his hand. “I am beginning to understand, at least in part. Speaking with the abyssal elders will not resolve this. This matter truly lies beyond our capacity.”

  “My friend,” Lord Star said, drawing Darkon’s gaze to him.

  “I say this so these two young councilmen may hear it with full transparency.”

  Leroy and Bjorn turned their attention to Lord Star.

  “If the council approves this program,” Lord Star continued, “I will call for a grand assembly. The council and every faction leader will be present.”

  “I understand,” Darkon replied after a moment. “That is fair. Especially since I have already seen the humility of Lord Leroy and Professor Bjorn, who came to us first as a sign of respect.”

  Leroy and Bjorn nodded in agreement. With night already fallen, the three decided to remain in the abyss and depart the following day.

  Later, after dinner, Leroy and Bjorn stood on an abyssal balcony, looking out over the volcanic mountains glowing faintly in the dark.

  “The next meeting will be heavy for you,” Bjorn said, lighting his cigar.

  “There is no turning back now, Bjorn,” Leroy replied, tension clear on his face. “I have already shared this idea with those who matter.”

  “With all the previous mistakes,” Bjorn said thoughtfully, “I believe the others will understand in time. But remember, I will not speak much unless the situation truly spirals out of control.” He removed his metal gloves as he spoke.

  “Still,” he added, patting the Green Wraith’s shoulder, “I stand with you in this.”

  “I am glad to hear that,” Leroy said quietly.

  “I have ensured everyone can attend the next meeting,” Bjorn continued. “No major agendas. I have cleared an entire day to keep things stable.”

  Leroy answered with a silent nod.

  Restless, Leroy turned back inside to fetch some food. Bjorn remained, leaning against the balcony railing.

  “Tell me, Leroy,” Bjorn called after him, “is this purely because of our foolish friends’ blunders, or is there something else that makes this course feel justified?”

  The question stopped Leroy mid-step.

  “Of course it is only that,” he replied without turning. “It has always been the same problem.”

  “You do not need to hide it from me,” Bjorn said calmly. “You have often shared your other worries with me. Even if those worries serve as justification, I still agree that this program must proceed.”

  “I am tired, Bjorn,” Leroy said at last. “I need to prepare myself for tomorrow.” He closed the door behind him.

  Left alone, Professor Bjorn looked up at the abyssal sky, exhaling a slow stream of smoke.

  “Let us hope no one notices that other unrest of yours,” he murmured beneath the dark heavens of the abyss.