One thing I love to do is run the odds.

I think that's why I enjoy playing poker so much. Clayton and his people taught me how to play Texas Hold'em, and it's a rip snortin' good time. The math is straightforward. 52 cards, with 2 in your hand and up to five community cards on the board, with a round of betting with no community cards showing, then again at 3, 4, and 5. It's child's play to calculate the odds of you having the best hand or drawing what you need, and I love knowing I got at most a 20% chance to hit the flush assuming all hearts are still in play, or that I just got lucky and hit that 2.15% chance of seeing the last seven in the deck to make quads and beat out a full house.

Thing is, poker ain't always about playing the odds, because if you only ever play when the odds are in your favour, then wouldn't no one care to bet against you unless they got a good hand. Sometimes, you just gotta play the cards you're dealt, whether it's because you got a read on your opponent and think you can outdraw or outbluff him, or you're short stacked and need to take a gamble on any two cards before you bleed out all your chips. This goes for poker and for life in general too, but it's a whole lot harder to calculate odds in real life. What are the odds that the Qin went home peaceably after I done shot the fatty and his nanny? How about the odds that Abby further West are all wholly dormant and hibernating as opposed to lying in wait for travellers to pass by? Difficult to say, but I do know that the chances of us making it home without incident are slim to none.

Shows in how patrols of roving Abby are moving all about the badlands, scurrying this way and that in a flurry of activity which ain't normal at this time of year. Told Aunty Ray we were better off zigging and zagging about to lose a potential tail, but we ended up moving even more erratically than I planned in order to avoid Abby on our way out. Them I can handle though, so it ain't no big deal. It's almost therapeutic to focus on Scouting as I navigate around the patrolling Ferals and avoid them wherever I can. Like I said, it ain't easy, but it's simple enough as it boils down to "Go wherever Abby aren't". Leads to a real meandering path as we weave our way through the reddish-brown badlands covered in a light dusting of white snow, moving around Abby or hiding from them whenever neccessary. Most years, this kinda weather would mean I can go wherever I please so long as I don't camp next to a hollowed hill full of Beetle Behemoths, but the Proggies of the Divide ain't none too happy after fatty and his cadre done riled them up, then I disrespected them some more.

That's the thing most people overlook when it comes to dealing with Abby. Aliens, monsters, or Yao Guai, whatever you call 'em, they're still organic creatures at the end of the day. Technically speaking, they're sentient fungus, and everyone focuses on the fungus part, but the real important bit there is sentient. That means they got their own thoughts, needs, and yeah, even emotions, though typically land somewhere between hungry and angry. Not a lot of range or depth, but it's still there, and most overlook it to dumb Proggies down as nothing more than Abby making machines.

Far from it. Proggies are fascinatingly complex creatures with shockingly high levels of intelligence. Forget calculating odds, Proggies are mathematical machines capable of calculating Spell Formulas on the fly and adjusting their magic as they go. Take the Mindspire for example, which its Proggie used to create a persistent droning effect similar to the Dissonant Whistle Spell and kept it up for weeks until it died. Or all the single-target Enchantments it turned into widespread effects, like the Mind Spike which stunned every bird within 10 klicks, or casting Bane on almost every living creature within range. Sure it had the equivalent of a massive Artifact to help it along, but it still had to manipulate the flows to change the magic before sending it into the Mindspire to be amped up to 11.

In contrast, neither I nor anyone in the last 4 or 500 years has been able to figure out the math to make one Bolt turn into two and bake that into the Spell Structure by default. A Spellslinger can learn to adapt the flows to do just that, but ain't no one managed to break it down into numbers for everyone to understand. A Proggie can though, if it had a mind to, because how else would it be able to condense that understanding of a Spell into a real, physical object that then allows anyone and everyone to cast that Spell so long as they have enough Aether to power it? That's what a Spell Core is, a Spell vending machine where you insert your Aether and get the Spell on the tin in return, simple is as simple does. That shows an understanding of magic that goes far above and beyond what even the Immortal Monarchs could achieve, and the way they arm their Abby with these Spell Cores show they are far more than just mindless beasts.

Proggies don't just tailor craft their minions to suit the terrain and task at hand, they also arm them accordingly with highly efficient and effective Spell Cores that can evolve with the Abby in question. They don't gotta spawn with Third Order Spell Cores out the gate either. Proggies can seed a whole bunch of Abby with First Order Spell Cores then send them out to feed, fight, and grow in size and intelligence both. Over time, that First Order Spell Core might turn into a Second Order Spell Core, then a Third Order if they live long enough, which is a trick most governments sure would like to learn for themselves. It don't happen overnight, but the Illusionist Hobgoblin of the Coral Desert is proof positive that it works, as that fella went from a piddly little Goblin to a Spellslinging, Fear-inducing, ambush hunting Hobgoblin who might well have done me in if not for Kacey's probing questions.

Because while my jimmies were a jangling, I might not have bothered wasting a Spell right then and there. Even with a Ritual making the Spell the next best thing to free, keeping Detect Abby going all the livelong day is mentally draining to say the least. It's like reading a dry book on a subject you hate where the author jumps from one thought to the next without any rhyme or reason, so you find yourself working extra hard to try and follow along. That's the best way I got to describe maintaining Detection Spells for long periods of time, because even without the need for Concentration, you still gotta focus some to parse all the information the Spell gives you.

Here in the badlands though? I put in the work to keep Detect Abby going whenever I can, especially now that I can focus it down into a beam to glean even more from the Spell. Aunty Ray's suggestion of a wider spread helps too, because while that still takes some effort to maintain, I don't gotta tune out everything else in the world to do it. Gives me the best of both worlds, letting me do quick and dirty in-depth sweeps more often to glean more than the base Spell would give me, but not take as much mental effort as the tight beams.

Which is good, because we got a good 4- or 5-days travel ahead before we're even remotely safe. I say remotely because getting west of the watchtowers ain't no guarantee that Abby won't keep coming for us. They're watchtowers after all, there to just watch, as the Rangers and guards stationed inside got express orders against helping out. That includes letting beleaguered travellers up into the safety of the tower mind you, or even camping out too close to the legs, because there's a wealth of tech and gear inside each one, enough to tempt most outlaws and merc outfits into maybe hitting one up. So even if we get that far, we'll still have to keep going if we got Abby on our tail, because them watchers ain't gonna do nothing other than watch while we get run down by bugs.

I'm sure they tried hailing that merc group too, the one that done made a whole mess of things on our way in. Not everyone rides around with a radio though, nor do they care to leave it on an open channel except when needed since they drain Aether like nobody's business. That's one of the original reasons why governments of the old world declared Aether a strategic resource mind you, because as the world grew more and more reliant on tech powered by it, governments around the world seized the means of production so ain't nothing the average joe can do without them.

Ain't no point turning my radio on just yet though, because ain't no way I got the range to reach the watchtowers. 15 klicks, that's how close I gotta be, and even then it's the tower doing all the heavy lifting. On my own, my radio is rated for a 5-klick range, but most days I'm lucky to get a clear signal from half that, and anything more is mostly static. That means that even if I get in range to hail the Watchtower and the operative up there sends a message back to town, the fastest response I can expect is round about 8 hours, maybe 6 if everyone involved hops to right quick and they push their horses extra hard. The Rangers are typically fairly professional, but given our reception on the way in, it's hard to say if the guards down the line in the second and third line of Watchtowers would offer us the same amount of professional courtesy if they heard the Firstborn calling for help.

Not to mention how the Rangers might not even mobilize to help me, though they might for Aunty Ray, Tina, and Chrissy. Aunty Ray's been a pillar of New Hope since the start and a former Ranger herself, albeit one who earned her five-pointed star through a crash course under the Marshal's watch in the opening months after the Advent. Never really served in any real capacity, but once a Ranger, always a Ranger, and she's shown that to be true in more ways than one this trip. As for Tina, she's an active-duty Ranger herself, graduating as top boot and poised to do the same for her class of recruits once she finishes up her last week or two after the holidays. Personally, I think she still got a long ways to go before she Ranger ready, but the same could be said of me, so I don't begrudge her the title none. She a soldier plain and simple, and the United Federation Army looks after their own.

As for Chrissy? Don't nobody hate Chrissy. Some give her strange looks and worry about what she might do with her magic, but most see a gorgeous, silver-haired girlie and take pity on how she Aether-touched and not normal. That almost burns me more than if they was afraid, because at least that I can understand. Pity though? Chrissy don't need no one's pity, because she is more than capable of taking care of herself. For the most part at least, because I wouldn't rightly trust her to cook something on the stove, but she can head out and buy food for herself without getting robbed blind by unscrupulous sellers. Could probably earn a decent living too if she cared to put on Illusory shows and remembered that most people can't see what she sees, so she has to actually show Illusions with substance as opposed to put on a light show that only Innates and folks with Detect Magic can perceive.

So yeah, the Rangers might well come riding to our rescue if we hightail it out of the badlands with an army of Abby nipping at our heels, but we gotta get in Radio range of the Watchtowers first to let them know it's happening. Easier said than done as we bob and weave and generally run all about as I navigate us through a bevy of Abby activity. Feels like the Proggies of the Divide done pulled out all the stops as every hour that passes sees more Abby scurrying every which way and all about, running patrols and securing their borders in a frenzy of frenetic activity. The day is long and arduous, but night is no better as we're forced to break camp soon after we settle in after I ping a band of Abby not headed directly towards us, but on a heading that's much too close for comfort. Takes us two hours to get to the next safe spot, and don't none of us sleep easy when it comes time to lay our heads to rest.

But rest we do, because there's still plenty of distance between us and safety, and plenty more clever and cunning Abby to avoid who done been set to task by their more clever and more cunning Proggies. Yesterday I can chalk up as a coincidence, but by mid morning of the next day, it's clear these Ferals are scurrying all about because they know we're here.

"How can you tell?" Tina asks, soon after I voice my concerns.

Not because she thinks I'm wrong, but because she wants to learn. Makes me feel guilty for shirking my teaching duties lately, which was the whole reason I wanted to bring her along in the first place. "Ferals as a whole tend to have one-track minds," I explain, talking as we ride side by side ahead of the wagon to see what's what. "When they do somethin', they see it through. If they mean to lay an ambush, they'll dig in and lie in wait for hours or even days at a time, staying completely silent, still, and focused until it's time to strike. If they catch a trail, they'll chase it down even long after they've lost the scent, or whatever it is they use to track. Then they'll either wander around in search of the trail again, or they'll keep going in the last direction they spotted it, because they're dialed in on the hunt, and keep at it until they decide the juice ain't worth the squeeze. These Abby though?" Gesturing around us at the bevy of activity Tina can't really sense, but has been aware of seeing how I been moving us this way and that to avoid patrols that keep passing us by. "They're running a grid pattern search. Not as organized as what the Rangers might do, but I done clocked the same groups coming around twice now. Means they're looking for somethin', and the only thing to find out this way is us."

"But you and Mama both been doin' double duty to cover up our tracks," Tina exclaims with a huff, rightly concerned and a little annoyed by Abby's persistence. "How they even know we went this way?"

"Difficult to say." Shrugging, I explain, "The how don't matter though. All that matters is that they after us, and we can't let them spot us, because soon as they do, they'll swarm us from all sides right quick and leave us little to no choice but to fight our way out."

A fight I would not like to take. Not just because of the inherent dangers, what with how close we still are to the Divide and all the dangerous, specialized Abby they keep down there, but also because there's no profit to be had. Only expenditures, because bullets ain't free and I can't recoup my losses since Abby won't slow their roll long enough for me to collect and cook off the corpses of their fallen comrades. Just because I got myself sorted when it comes to cash don't mean I like wasting it willy nilly, because money is a tool just like any other weapon in my arsenal. Used well, it'll see me through plenty of tight spots and save me time in a myriad of ways, so I gotta eke out every advantage I can out of every cent I spend.

Which is funny, because while I might pinch pennies when it comes time to pay the bills, I ain't all that fussed about maximizing my profits. My daddy was the same way, and I think it's because he figured he could always earn more, whereas most folks he traded with needed the win to get just a little further ahead in their daily grind. Wasn't charity, not exactly, but even though he loved a good deal, he always made sure he wasn't taking advantage of no one even though he was happy to let them take advantage of him. Plus, a bird in hand is worth two in the bush, so he liked to sell things quick and all in one place whenever possible, since our time could be better spent elsewhere.

As for me? I just hate haggling is all, so I'll typically take the first offer that's halfway decent so long as I ain't losing out. Makes for a good trade when everyone walks away happy, whereas a proper negotiation ought to leave everyone feeling sour, which just ain't no way to live. Working at a deficit means I'll happily haggle over every last cent of the profit from the four Razorscythes we done hunted this trip though, along with everything else we killed and cooked. No Spell Cores, but I got a glut of those anyways, and I never like holding onto too many of those since I gotta keep them encased in a locked lead-lined box. Mostly so Cowie don't sneak in and eat them up, but now I also got the kiccaws to concern myself with, as they get into everything.

Sounds weird to even think it, but I miss those silly round birds, especially my best bird Stella who so very much loves to snuggle up in the crook of my arm every night.

Knowing Abby is looking for us, I redouble my efforts to scan all around us and spend more time looking down than usual. That's how they usually get you out here, by lying in wait underground before bursting out from hidden tunnel entrances covered by a thin layer of dirt. Ankhrav's are right proper sneaky about it, capable of using their hard-shelled backs to plug up them holes and use their super long and super flexible arms to smooth out the dirt overtop them. You can spot the signs if you look closely, but there's a whole lot of ground to cover and even more dirt to scan through, so it gets real tiring real quick. Ain't no substitute for vigilance though, so I keep focused and watch close while weaving back and forth across the badlands to avoid patrol after patrol of eager Ferals looking for a fight. All while turning back at random intervals to check our six for Qin scouts mind you, because I got an itch in my spine and a jangling in my jimmies that tells me I ain't done with them just yet.

Might not be today, might not be tomorrow, might not even be this week, but the Qin will come for me again. Aunty Ray was right to notice how didn't none of them Vanguard raise their weapons against me, and even touched on the real reason why, but she most certainly overlooked one minor point. Yeah, they had explicit orders from the General to keep me alive, so didn't none of them want me dead, but that little fatty most likely survived the Triple-Shot I stuffed down his gullet and will most certainly be yearning for vengeance. Didn't strike me as the forgive and forget type, and the way he looked at me like I was some sort of bug to crush underfoot shows the breadth and depth of his hubris, because if I ain't nothing to concern himself with, then I doubt there's anyone on the Frontier under 30 who's up to snuff in his books.

Should've hit him with the Fireball, and maybe the Sword Saint too, if only to buy myself more time while the others figure out who's the new leader among them. Maybe Jinfeng, though I'm not sure if that's better or worse, because that girlie was scary and smart, a terrible combination to put together with her big brown eyes and thick thunder thighs. Which admittedly didn't look all that thick even with them tight padded pants she was wearing, more like shapely and toned as can be. And her hair too. Looked lovely worn down like she did, or tied up in a low ponytail when she had business to carry out. Was a curious shade of black and brown highlights, all silky and smooth in a way that ain't seen in no one else. Kacey would be the closest, but her hair was more of a light, reddish brown, whereas Jinfeng's hair was dark enough to look black until the sunlight hits its just right to make it shimmer with a chestnut glow.

Yeah, the girlie was a looker, there's no denying that, but more impressive was her smarts and her skills, which was only surpassed by her general attitude and demeanour. Girlie is almost as good as I am in some ways, but she kept a level head and was humble as can be, without so much as a hint of arrogance to be seen, only cold and calculating competence. She didn't go running in half-cocked when I challenged her to take on the last wounded Razorscythe, but rather studied her prey, put together a plan, and executed it almost flawlessly up until the very end. Then there was the way she was all soft and demure on the surface, but hard as nails underneath, giving ground to advance and generally playing me for a fool by batting her big, brown, double lidded eyes that were so striking to behold and made it all but impossible to stay angry at her without feeling like a real bully.

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A shame I can't trust her one bit though, not her or any other Qin. Ain't because they Qin per se, but because of how pervasive and insidious the Qin propaganda can be, what with the whole sons and daughters of the Republic schtick. It ain't all in your face like American patriotism, with all their flags, eagles, and slogans like "Land of the Free" and all that. It's more subtle with the Qin, an ingrained servitude and general disdain of all other races that is difficult to put into words, because it colors everything they say and do in a way that most wouldn't understand. Other folks ain't equals in their eyes, only adversaries to overcome, and that competitive streak is part and parcel of their entire society as they all scramble to serve the Republic best.

If only she were more of a rebel, because I could really use someone like her on my side. What a pair we'd make, the Firstborn and Second Sister, born less than a day apart and partners in crime on the Frontier. Not only would she make for a great Vanguard for me to hide behind, she'd also be aces at wrangling the other members of our hypothetical crew and keeping me from butting heads with everyone every day. Wrangled me well enough I'd say, so handling others ought to be easy as pie, and I bet she can keep the books too.

A shame that, but ain't no point mourning what could have been if it never could've happened in the first place. The big takeaway from all this is that I gotta get a handle on my libido before it gets me into some real trouble, because I been so lonely and isolated up in the quay, I seriously considered joining up with my mother's brother and the people who done sent both my parents to their deaths just because a pretty girl came and asked me to. How crazy is that? Insanity really, and I'm just glad the fatty showed up when he did, because a few more days with Jinfeng and her big, brown eyes might well have had me spouting off Republic Council lines.

Don't rightly understand it. I'm still heartbroken over Josie and Noora booth, but my heart races every time a pretty girl looks my way. Even ones I done been living with for the better part of my eighteen years, which really says something unflattering about me. Might be I need to swear off women for a while, because I don't think I can handle any more heartache, not when I'm still drowning in sea of sorrow as is.

No idea how to handle the loneliness though, which once again shows how much better my daddy was compared to me. He loved one woman and one woman only, so much so that he stayed heartbroken for the rest of his years without so much as glancing at another pretty face. Friends and family was all he needed, while I can't go two days without thinking about one woman or another in an improper way.

So instead of fantasizing about Jinfeng's shapely thighs and how they might feel wrapped around my waist or face, I focus on the task at hand of getting everyone near and dear to my heart out of the badlands in one piece. The problem with being a Diviner though is that the Spells can't read the future like how most folk like to think. The Spells only relay the present and the past, and you gotta extrapolate from there, but ain't no amount of Divining can tell you about what's not there, until it is and it's already too late. As late morning stretches into early afternoon, I notice the Feral patrols thinning out as they grow few and far between. Being an optimist, I chalk it up to things looking on the up and up as we thread our way through their search grid unscathed, but time proves me wrong in the worst way possible.

It starts with a mid-band sweep of the surroundings that uncovers Abby moving towards us at a rapid clip. So I focus down into a tight beam to see what's what, only to fail to uncover their presence as I check the direction I got some feedback from. My breath catches in my chest as my jimmies get to full on racing and I move the tight beam up off the ground and check the skies instead, only for my stomach to drop as the Spell Pings back with Abby hurtling towards us at a fair rate of knots.

"Get to the wagon," I snap, turning Ivory around to race back to Chrissy and Aunty Ray's side, all the while scanning our immediate surroundings for a place to fight. "Skreeler Wasps!" I shout as we approach their side, which gets everyone looking right nervous and alert save for Chrissy who was having herself a little nap. "Gotta get our backs to a wall and the animals in cover." Because my tried-and-true method of hiding under the wagon won't do nothing for the horses who'll be torn to shreds by them winged Ferals, and I done grown far too attached to Winnie, Sunshine, Fifi, and Ivory to want four new unnamed horses.

As luck would have it, there ain't nothing but rocky ground in all directions without a single cave or canyon to be found. While Aunty Ray could use Phantasmal Force to cover us in a sphere of Illusory Fire or something of the sort, there's two problems with that. First off, a Wasp might well get lucky and see through the Illusion or survive it by the skin of its teeth, and then wreak havoc on us once it's through. Secondly, even if the Wasps die in droves the moment they make contact with her Spell, it's only got a 10m area of effect which gotta cover us on all sides. That's 5m of clearance if she centers it right on top of our heads, and maybe more on top, but that ain't a lot of ground to cover even for a dead Wasp, especially if they moving with speed and momentum enough to crush or skewer us even after they dead.

"There!" I say, spotting a divot in the ground big enough to get the horses inside and put the wagon between them and oncoming Abby. It ain't perfect, or even all that good, but Skreeler Wasps are built for speed and are locked on to our location somehow. They don't got much stamina, but they don't need it as they likely flew in hot because wasps fare even worse in cold weather than most other bug Abby.

And not without reason. Soon as we get the horses settled with Chrissy and Tina to keep them calm and low to the ground, I turn my eyes to the horizon and spot a dark cloud of flying Ferals coming in over the horizon. Where wasps around these parts are typically red and blue and the ones from the old world are black and yellow, these Abby here come in that ugly, mottled green which I hate so very much. Everything except their eyes, which glow with an eerie red tinge, and their set of six crystalline wings which are so thin and fast that all I see is a blur over each and every one of their backs. That's why they don't do well in the cold, because the thin membranes of their transparent wings are prone to freezing in sub-zero temperatures, but they're working hard and burning calories to keep their speed and body temps up so they can kill us good and well.

Which they will if they get in close, seeing how there's a veritable swarm of at least a hundred and fifty such fliers. Each one ain't no bigger than a football, but together, they form a black cloud in the skies that is heading right towards us in a frenzy of rage and bloodlust. They done been whipped up by their Proggies and sent on a literal collision course towards us, because them denizens of the Divide have had enough of our shenanigans and want to show us what's what. In a way, it's almost flattering to see them devote so many resources to seeing us dead, because even if we didn't do nothing but stand here and accept our deaths, most these Skreeler Wasps wouldn't survive the day. Costs them dearly to move this fast and burn this hot, something that a simple feast won't be enough to fix, not even if they devour every scrap of flesh on our bones and turn on half their friends to boot. A quick scan with Detect Abby shows my suspicions to be true as I spot bands of Abby swarming in from all directions to clean up after the wasps are done, a task which will most likely involve recycling all these spent fliers so their Proggies can make up a new batch after the fact.

Skreeler Wasps are ugly bugs even as far as Bug Ferals go, with big bulbous heads and bulging, multifaceted eyes all atop a long and narrow body just bristling with hooked arms and topped off with a pointed stinger on the backside. Add in their razor-sharp wings which can cut clean through flesh just fine, and you got yourself a flying cloud of screeching bugs that kill on impact and don't care much if they survive after the fact, so long as they go down in a spray of warm blood and soft, lacerated flesh.

"Double layer defense," I say, glancing at the back of the divot which sits just over top the wagon by maybe a hand's span, and the lip on the other side which is right in front of my feet. We all squeezed in real tight, which ain't ideal if it comes down to a gunfight, but if things get that bad, then we in for a bad time regardless. "You're up first Aunty Ray. Think you can leave me room enough to attach to the back?"

Picking up what I'm putting down almost immediately, Aunty Ray blinks, gauges the distance, then reaches out for my wrist and the Metamagic bead bracelet attached to it. "Can do," she says before humming the cadenced melodies that she uses in place of actual verbal components. With some Spells, it's always the same melody, usually three clear tones that are pleasing to the ear, but with a complex working like Phantasmal Force, I get the feeling she makes up the songs as she goes to make the notes fit what she needs. Since her goal here today is death and destruction, her melody suits her needs as she warbles off a harsh and dissonant tune that sets the hairs on my neck to standing. Even then, it's a melody that draws you in, pulls you into her song and evokes all sorts of emotions from you with little more than rising chord, one that culminates in a shimmering shield of Illusory chill that sends a shiver down my spine as my mind interprets her Spell as a haze of morning frost solidifying a wall of air six-inches thick all around us in a sphere.

Then comes my turn, but I can't just throw my Spell up as I please. The Skreeler Wasps won't see Aunty Ray's Phantasmal Force until they hit it, but mine is far more obvious, and on top of being small, fast, and deadly, they're also highly maneuverable to boot. Means I gotta hold off until the very last second, one which won't take long to arrive given the speed of their approach. Feels like an eternity in an instant though, and my mind races a thousand miles a minute as I gauge the distances right and shape the Spell in my mind. Then and only then do I touch upon the Spell Structure I've had prepared for this entire trip, one that much like Featherfall is a Spell you won't use much, but when you do need it out here, you need it right quick. That's why it always pays to be prepared, and even though lack of Prepped Spells is my biggest gripe at the moment, I never even considered dropping this particular Spell to make room for something else.

It ain't of much use if I'm being honest, as there are plenty more which I can get more mileage out of. I got my daily drivers, the Spells that almost never change no matter where I am or what I'm doing. Misty Step, Force Barrier, Expeditious Retreat, Detect Magic, and Detect Abby make up that list, while Mage Armour and Grease are usually on there too, but I'm more willing to swap those out if necessary. Lately I've been keeping Hunter's Mark Prepped too, though I almost never use it and have no idea how I should be using it properly. My daddy used it often enough that he got an Ability out of it though, so there's gotta be something I'm missing there. For travelling in the badlands, Fireball, Pass Without Trace, and Settle in Shadows are all a must have. The first two for obvious reasons, killing Abby en masse and running away without being tracked, but the last is debatable especially since I got Tina, Chrissy, and Aunty Ray here to help us hide. You can never be too careful though, because if Abby see through their Illusions, having my Abjuration stealth Spell might come in clutch and keep us hidden all the same.

All told, this puts me at 11 Prepared Spells, most of which I would consider vital. Last year, that was my maximum allotted number of Spells, but I wasn't using Hunter's Mark just yet. As such, I had myself a different Spell prepped when moving through the badlands, one I also have now because I consider it even more important than Fireball, because while a big blast of heat and flame makes for a great Oh-Shit Spell to kill Abby right quick, the last Spell on my list does the same only a little slower, and can protect me to boot.

Divination is my number one School of magic; ain't no doubt about that. My number two though? That's just as clear cut, because even though I love me a good Evocation Spell, there's no arguing that I'm much handier with Conjuration. Get it? Handy? Because Mage Hand is a Conjuration Spell, but that ain't the only one in my repertoire. Don't often get to show this next Spell off, but when I do, it always impresses, as there's so much more to it than pitch and pray. It starts with a weaving of Aether and getting it all nice, thick, and slow as it twists about upon itself to form sturdy cables of Ectoplasm that materialize before my eyes. If the Spell were Web, that's all there'd be to it, and believe you me, Web does its job well enough, but Skreeler Wasps are tailor made to circumnavigate just that Spell. They're small enough to squeeze through the gaps, and sharp enough to tear it shreds even if they get caught up inside, which is why I don't bother with it out in the badlands.

Against airborn Harpies coming in from on high? Web is a great Spell, as it can hold a whole lot of weight and tangle them up inside. Against Skreeler Wasps though? You gotta go in a different direction, and get a little fancy with your Spellslinging to boot.

Once the first layer of thick cords of Ecto have formed, I focus my efforts on changing the coverage. Normally, you only get a 6m radius circle, not sphere, but with Widened Metamagic that doubles in size. Rather than spread it all out to maximize coverage though, I shape the Spell to grow taller instead, stacking it in layers and building it up to rise over our heads. Then I wrap it around on itself in a second layer before us, followed by a third just because I still got more to spare. To a bystander, all it looks like is a thick wall of white vines that done popped up out of thin air, but the real kicker to the spell is when the red-pointed spikes burst out from every inch of them thick, corded cables to form a wall of roots and spikes that earned the Spell its name.

Spike Growth in a nutshell, one that's been Metamagicked and shaped to form a dome-like defense overtop of me, the wagon, the animals, and everyone I hold near and dear to my heart, so it better hold up.

Funneling all of my focus and Concentration into the Spell, I physically tense up as the wasps come in screeching and buzzing in an unholy cacophony of noise and flinch when the first one splatters against the Spike Growth. The facsimile of living flora shudders overhead as I turn the dials on both Judges to their widest spread, one that only covers five meters of distance but will hit everything in front of the barrel in a 90-degree conical spray of death. My Mage Hands do the same for the Big Stick up top of the wagon, while Aunty Ray's got her Whumper in hand, and I'm hoping Tina does too. The first wave of Wasps to impale themselves on my Spiked Growth ain't nothing but an appetizer, and soon enough the bug bodies get to hitting the wall of vines in rapid fire fashion. Their bodies squelch and thump against the solid cables as they impale themselves on the spikes, doing considerable damage to the Ectoplasmic construct even though most were already dead from Aunty Ray's globe of Phantasmal Frost.

Which was a good pick. Them Wasps were already struggling with the weather, so she picked out an Element that would make it even harder on them. Course, her Spell don't actually do any Frost damage, only Mental Damage mimicking Frost, whereas mine is a physical barrier that does physical damage, but will also take damage as the mostly dead wasps' crash into it one after the other like wave after wave of screeching, keening, razor-sharp footballs. The impacts shake the Spike Growth wall and the first layer shreds to pieces in short order, while the second layer lasts only a little longer. The third and final layer has got some extra padding to it as I done put every last bit of the Spell I had left into it, and there's a whole bunch of Skreeler corpses laid out atop it to help blunt the force of the Wasps which still have yet to crash.

Of which there are more than I thought possible, far too many for my Spell to withstand. As the last layer of my Spell is pierced, punctured, and hacked away, there ain't nothing left for it but to start Blasting away, so I raise Marcus' paired Judges to cover as much area as I can, but I got a sinking feeling in my gut that this ain't gonna go well. Skreeler Wasps are quick and come in waves, and I struggle with the recoil on these Judges even with both hands on the gun, which is why I usually leave these to my Upcasted Mage Hands. Problem is, they're busy working the Big Stick behind me, with both glowing Spectral hands on deck to work the pneumatic turret which they got readied and Primed, so ain't nothing for it now except to give it the good old college try.

"Get under the wagon," I call out, speaking to the entire family who I pray will listen, but know good and well they probably won't, not even Chrissy as she's likely scared out of her gourd and disassociating from reality to get away from it all. Truth is, what Jinfeng said about doing Chrissy a disservice really struck a chord, because I remember how much effort my daddy put into helping her improve every time he was around, just small, minor things like pressing her for answers as gently as he could and redirecting her attention when he saw her slipping. It didn't seem like much, but in the four years since he's been gone, Chrissy has not only failed to make progress, but she also seems to be regressing too, and that's all because I done failed to pick up all the slack my daddy's absence has left behind, and I regret this more than anything else.

Because as much as I love Chrissy as she is, I would love to meet the person she'd be if she could only find her way out of her shell and see past the magic clouding up her mind. I've dreamt of the day when she'd greet me with a bright smile on her pretty face, instead of just sitting up a little straighter with the same deadpan expression as always. Or when I can hold a conversation with her about nothing at all and hear her riff back on something I said the way Tina does, and laugh out loud at a joke I tell because it just tickles her pink.

A day that might never come now that I've gotten everyone killed, so when the first Skreeler Wasp head punches through the final layer of Spiked Growth, I take a quick moment to turn back and maybe catch a glimpse of my sorta sisters, only to see both of them moving front and centre with Chrissy in the lead and Tina following to head into the danger zone instead of hunkering down under the wagon like I told them to.

It's too late to do anything about it, yet I still try all the same, moving in to stand in front of them both if only to shield them with my body. The rapid-fire pitter patter of wasp bodies finally shreds the last of my Spell to pieces, but I'm still three steps shy of getting in front of Chrissy and torn up by the fact that I might have to watch her die too. I can't handle that, so I only hope that I die before her as she straightens up in panicked alarm and looks a Skreeler Wasp dead in eyes as it plunges headlong towards her.

Her mouth opens wide in a scream, and I'm struck by a wave of grief because it's my fault that's she's out here, and now she gonna die for it. Then the magic hits like a hammer to the gut as her shriek rips through me like an icy cold hand seizing hold of my heart inside of my chest. Fear is too simple a word for it, because this ain't just panic and trepidation, but cold terror that overwhelms every logical thought left to me. If I was worried about losing my loved ones before, now I'm beset by dread and self-recrimination, so much so that there ain't a thing I can do about it as I'm overwhelmed by despair. It's a Spell, I know this to be true, but there ain't nothing I can do about it as I turn away from Chrissy and make like a tree.

Or at least, I begin to, but before I've taken a single step, a different sensation settles over me, a warm and comforting one that I can only describe as the feeling I get when someone squeezes my hand three times right quick. It's become a substitute to three little words, I love you, simple is as simple does, but the comfort this simple action or those simple words bring is just impossible to describe. Ain't no hand on mine or voice in my ear, but just as my mind is inundated with fear, that love washes it away to let me know it's all gonna be okay.

So all I do is take a half step back, while Tina and Aunty Ray both fall to their knees as Chrissy unleashes her Big Spell in the form of a harrowing wail that is more mental than physical but can kill you all the same. Psychic Scream is the name of the Spell, one that hits you hard with Mental damage and evokes a primal desire to flee before a great terror, one that is too great to stand before. My mama's Metamagic bracelet is the answer to the question of how Chrissy kept her Spell from hurting us, but I've no earthly idea how she sheltered us from the Fear, because I didn't think it was actually possible to do. That's what makes it such a difficult Spell to utilize, as it'll hit friends and foes alike, unless of course you Chrissy that is.

The Wasps take the full brunt of the Spell however, both the mental rending of the scream itself and the psychic terror that cuts right to the quick. Her Psychic Scream washes over the flying Abby that are still inbound and yet to strike, and in the instant before death, the flying football sized bugs are inundated with fear and panic enough to set them to reeling. Even as their minds are shredded to bits and their bodies left as lifeless husks, the Wasps still manage to turn to flee while putting out momentum enough to just drop out of the sky and even roll away from our position instead of towards.

Knew they was mobile, but never knew just how mobile until now. Just like that though, it's all over in an instant of heart stopping panic as the last wasp hits the floor a good half-dozen metres away. The ground is covered in still twitching corpses, most of which are belly up and splattered something good, but Chrissy accounted for a good number of them when she unleashed her Big Spell and pulled all our chestnuts out of the fire. Gazing upon all she had wrought, Chrissy stands up straight, gives a little nod, then helps her sister back to her feet before doing the same for her mama. Then and only then does she meet my disbelieving gaze with a look that can only be described as pride, one that is accompanied by a little tilt of her head as she asks, "Good job?"

"Yeah," I reply, still a little out of it and not at all sincere, then the gravity of it all comes crashing down and I'm over the moon with joy as I run in to lift her off her feet and give her a twirl. "Great job! Amazing work! You did incredible Chrissy." Putting her back down I cup her face with both hands and look her dead in the eyes, all soft and violet and brimming with delight. "But don't you ever scare me like that again," I say, punctuating the statement by touching my head to hers, because I thought I was about to lose it all, everything and everyone I hold near and dear to my heart. "You talk to me first before you do something like that, or your sister and mama, okay?"

"Okay Howie," she replies, not at all put off by the silly demand, because if she had stopped to ask, we'd've probably all died before she could act. "Sorry."

"Ain't nothin' to be sorry about, Princess," I say, smiling as I draw back to show her I really mean it. Glancing around at the corpses, I suck my teeth at the sheer waste of it all as I walk Chrissy back to the driver's seat. "Mount up everyone. Time we got gone, as there more Abby inbound." Swarmlings and Spitters for the most part, with the bigger, more dangerous Ferals trailing behind, so we can't afford to get bogged down by the chaff. Still a long ways to go before we all safe and sound, and I ain't about to let Chrissy put herself in the fire to pull me out again. Not her, not Tina, not Aunty Ray, because this right here is where a Diviner shines, as the greatest weapon I got is not the guns on my belt, the gear in my pouches, or even the Big Stick up top of the wagon. No, it's the brain in my head and the information within, information about the lay of the land and how Abby be approaching, so it's high time I put it all to good use.

Just bring the family out to the mesa I said. Done the trip so many times, it'll be a cakewalk right? Dumber than dumb, that's what I am, but now it's time to put my nose to the grinder and get my family out of dodge as quick as I can.

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