As the mountain rumbles the threat of war, he enlists an old soldier to help him take back the weapons of light and sound - and begins the painful climb to the top. Even with his friends and community supporting him, he will discover that the higher he goes, the harder the fall. They will find themselves at a crossroads - what do they risk for the answers, and what do they stand to protect? Will their new efforts be hailed as heroic, or will they be discarded and betrayed by the people again?
They will have to make a choice, between doing what is right, and doing what is true. Will they learn to stand together, or face the fire apart? Feel free to scroll down and skip to that, if you like! There will be no explicit sexual content in this fic.
I can almost guarantee you I will only really be writing related sexual content for Reaper76 and no other ships.
Those will be posted separately too. Potentially distressing content: Depression, anxiety, PTSD, depersonalization - I want to say something very, very clearly: There are no major character deaths planned for this fic or any others I write. That said, in certain moments I write from a very personal, very emotional place and draw from personal experience, and I have had both of my current beta readers say that some of the scenes that are emotionally intense touch on very raw, very real nerves.
I plan on tagging potentially distressing chapters with notes in the beginning so if you wish to skip over that stuff for the funnier parts or the action scenes, you will have the ability to do so.
After the Crisis, the community suffered with making their concerns heard to the city and national governments. The monk returns home - a wartorn city under siege from the inside out, where the Mother of the Omnic Crisis is working to rebuild a Second War. He knows he will fail to convince her to change her mind, but still, he must try. At the same time, his brother the teacher gets a chance to meet some of his brightest pupil's best friends - two individuals who surprise and delight him in their uniquenesses.
I'm so glad everyone enjoyed the intense flashbacks to the beginning of the Crisis for Gabriel and Jack. This week, we're back in the present time, where the Brothers Tekhartha are off on separate, yet surprisingly connected adventures.
She is a wanderer and a spinner. Her consorts are probably both the god of thunder Perun and his opponent Veles. Thursday, July 16, p. Success and failure are not binaries - not to him, not to the world, not to the universe, not to the larger forces that watch over all.
They are not coin tosses in the dark nor switches to be flicked. They are as one wave - they ride on its peaks and furrows, undulating into each other, moving both forward and outward, just as ripples in photon movement and liquid structure are not merely the crests that swell high, but also the valleys that dip low. Some of the greatest human philosophers and thinkers would say that the mere act of trying is a success in and of itself, but Mondatta does not fully agree with that approach.
And it is not because he disagrees with the idea that trying is important - if anything, all that one can do in life is try, for one never fully accomplishes any task, not in truth.
Each task crests and peaks and then slides into dips and furrows, an endless cycle of forward, outward motion, movement through time and space. No one has ever convinced Mokosh of anything , Mondatta thinks to himself as he exits the hover car, letting his light-sensors automatically filter the bright, weightless sunlight as he shifts from tinted shade to the unbridled outdoors.
He does not breathe, not in the way organic terrestrial creatures do, but Mondatta has spoken with many members of his human followers to know that this feeling that wells inside him -. An emotion formed from physical body and soul, interwoven, as one single wave, its peaks and furrows, its crests and valleys. The skies are full of clouds, marbled and swirled with hues of white and silver and grey, steeped with light and water running fractals around each other, the soft silk of blue perfectly still-frame behind them.
Sky and cloud, cloud and sky ripple through each other, and even with his enhanced sensors, it is impossible to say conclusively where one ends and another begins. They hum and sing together, all the way down to the horizon, where they bleed into a sweet haze with the endless rows of green grass, stalks struggling to stay high under the slight breeze.
All around Mondatta and his two followers Akash and Manoj, emerging from the horizon like low, squat hills and mountains, are the partially-destroyed, partially-standing ruins of buildings. Their paint is surprisingly fresh, having been redone recently, perhaps in the last few years - bright whites and bold reds and deep blues and stark silvers.
Once, decades and decades ago, they housed businesses and shops along the prospekt Metallurgov, one of the main thoroughfares through Krasnoyarsk, running parallel to the river Yenisei, crossing the low, flat stretch of land exiting the eastern end of the city.
When she had conquered the city, the buildings had housed her troops instead - they had been systematically torn apart, their metal scrapped and claimed, put forward to the effort of the organization of war, smelted down and churned out and reformed into new Omnics, brothers and sisters and siblings, comrades in arms and companions in emotions.
They had housed the engineers that had constructed new and improved technologies, advancing their understanding of what Omnic fusion was capable of, how it could be utilized not only in war and destruction, but in life and creation as well. They had housed the Bastions and the Spiders, giving them a space for their orders and instructions, a true urban maze for them to learn to navigate and develop their tactics upon.
Omnic and human bodies alike lie strewn across the low-lying plains and hills, crests and valleys, peaks and furrows, amid charred and blackened dirt and ash - the western edges of Krasnoyarsk are never unburned these days. They exist in shades of brown and grey, black and soot - the skies are marbled with smoke and fire, the whine of drones and the groans of Titans and the cries of Bastions.
It carries with it the descriptions of a mechanic or engineer, one who is skilled in the circuitry and computery of Omnic individuals, of Omnic sentience, but also the connotations of one who controls the fusion-plasma life that pulses existence into all Omnic beings.
Mondatta tilts his head slightly, contemplating the welling feeling and the dipping consternation in his systems because -. Harmony is not achieved by believing in discord from the outset. We must be open to the idea of success. The feminine voice that speaks is a bold, bright, strong sound, rippling across his sensors with raw power, but with a touch of gentle uneasiness.
It is polite but with a barely restrained forcefulness, clearly uncomfortable in the presence of him and his fellow monks. Mondatta glances to his left as a tall, muscular woman - just under two meters in height, his sensors indicate - with bold, bright, strong pink hair and regal blue body armor steps forward, hefting her massive pulse cannon into a single-arm hold as she inclines her head towards him.
Beside him, after a jolting pause that lasts a mere fraction of a second - so short a time that most humans would miss the reaction - Akash and Manoj do the same, extending the sign of good faith. I am Tekhartha Mondatta. Zaryanova gives him another long, skeptical stare, her eyes squinting slightly, when Mondatta spots another group moving behind the Russian squad surrounding his hover car.
They are difficult to see through his obstructed view, but they are following someone very short, who is rumbling out in thickly-accented English:. All the humans pause, until several of the Russian soldiers part, giving Mondatta a clear view for the first time since the hover car arrived.
He had been a gruff blue, a reluctant blue, but a blue that had come to free them in the end, a surprisingly small success that no Omnic ever thought they would achieve from the engineer. His beard has grown even longer than Mondatta remembers, still bushy and fluffy, twisted into braids at the end. His eyes are blue clouded with deeper, heavier shadows and hues of grey linings of gruffness, thick eyebrows furrowed into a fierce scowl.
Tekhartha Mondatta. They were desperate enough to ask you fer help? Words said to a closed mind may still cause changes, as water may carve stone in time. Mondatta sighs internally, that heavy, weighted feeling born of physical body and electric soul melding together into momentary, existential density.
He has tried to convince Mokosh to abandon the war and seek peace times, all within the five-year span of the Crisis. I am happy to hear Jack Morrison is alive. Mondatta watches him leave, feeling that heavy, weighted sensation sink around his fusion core in his chest, the plasma pulses humming with a soft sorrow because -. Welcome back. If the waves of chance and fortunate are successful, Commander , Mondatta thinks to the blended clouds above, Perhaps I will be able to say the same to you one day.
Cadet Oxton, was it? But Mondatta had merely chuckled dryly:. That had gotten both commanders to look at him in utter shock before Gabriel had thrown his head back and howled with laughter as Jack had tilted his head forward, shoulders shaking with low, deep chuckles -. As if the words had broken through them like waves of both broken relief and bittersweet frustration. And thank you for your patience. I am ready. Zaryanova gestures to the western road, hemming out from them in a stoic, steady fashion, the rubble around them hard in their concrete brokenness, and with a pause that feels like something akin to a sigh, Mondatta begins to walk.
Within a few seconds, he and Zaryanova are engulfed by sky and grass, rubble and clouds, making their way to the blocked point in the distance that demarcates the truce zone. They walk in stiff, tense stillness for a moment but. In the peripherals of his vision scanner, Zaryanova jerks her head towards him in reflexive shock, her eyes wide, bright pink hair fluttering with the movement, her expression open and honest.
I do not know much about you. But I do know this is not an ending to you, Sergeant Zaryanova, nor an ending to your aspirations. Zaryanova gives him a confused, skeptical gawk as Mondatta tilts his head towards the sky slightly, saying in successful peaks and furrows:. Zaryanova freezes as they reach the barrier, a simple, temporary road block fence that is merely a formality to represent the tension stirring in the air, the barely veiled stormy atmosphere of something beginning to brew.
All that holds back the Second War - the Second Omnic Crisis, as humankind calls it - is a simple, temporary fence. I shall not be long returning. By my estimates, you can expect me to be back in It tahkes twelve minutes to wahlk zhere. And twelve minutes to wahlk back. Mondatta rises from his bow, saying as he steps off into the dirt on the side of the road as he moves around the barrier:. Mondatta leaves her to her confused bewilderment, and heads off down the road on his own.
The land is largely shelled to nothingness - mere dirt and dust, with some anxious grasses attempting to grow during the truce period. The ruins of concrete buildings lie on their sides, covered in smoke and ash, and all around him -.
All around him, the air is filled with smoke and fire, dust and ash, the lightning strikes of fusion shattering seconds and fragmenting time into plasma pulses. He pushes himself as fast as he can run, up the peaks and down the furrows, ignoring everything except the horrific zen of his focus, pushing pushing pushing him forward, pushing pushing pushing him to the next squadron. He slides behind a broken, crumbling concrete wall, skidding through shattered topsoil soaked with blood and oil -.
All around him the world is red red red, red like fire, red like blood and oil mingling in the dirt, red like the sun swelling to engulf them -. He skitters in besides a dying bipedal, grabbing at their body, one hand dragging them behind the wall with him, the other hand already reaching for his fusion welder, and someone - perhaps it is his own voice?
The siege has been entrenched in full for a year, they are running out of metal, they are running out of fusion cores, they are dying around him. The world now is blue sky marbled with white and silver, brown earth split with grey concrete and broken bodies, spikes of green grass trying to defy the world. But soon, soon -. He reaches the barricade on the other side - slabs of concrete propped up on their side, because every shred of metal will be used already, every piece of plastic will be melted and reformed.
Only the concrete, cut of earth and stone, will remain on the battlefield. Even the broken bodies of his brothers and sisters and siblings in the field will be reclaimed - their limbs will be divvied up, their fusion cores made into medical orbs, their still-working computing pieces chunked up and slotted into new brothers and sisters and siblings. Mondatta moves towards the first building - one of the outer warehouses of the conquered RUSL Aluminum Plant - and steadily, the noises of the industries of war begin to reach his audio sensors: the whirring of steel saws and the zapping of electric sparks and the burning sizzle of fusion plasma welders.
He rounds the corner -. Mondatta feels his vision sensors flicker with surprise at the OR parts strewn about, though the actual torsos and heads lie still and quiet like the Bastion heads. He separates each part meticulously, putting them in organized clusters as his medical and engineer assistants leave and return, leave and return, taking each new pile with them to the parts of the massive, sprawling Omnium where they will be attached to Omnics in need of repairs -. He pulls the fusion core out of a bipedal Omnic - one that has the exact same model as himself - and stares at the palm-sized orb with a slow, hazy gaze.
It is not damaged, it is still useful, but for a moment, he thinks the -. The moment startles him back into alertness, and the subtler parts of his computing core run back over the instance with all their algorithms double-checking it. Nothing was out of place, but it was like his vision sensors had briefly malfunctioned, only for a fraction of a second, but it was like -.
He stares at the fusion core again, waiting to see if the anomaly will repeat itself, but the blue light of the core - a sky-bright boldness behind glass behind a meshing of metal and wires - remains steady, the light humming up and humming down, like the slow, rhythmic breathing of an organic being. He gives it one last look over, before adding it to the pile of fusion cores on his right.
The Omnics in the yard erupt into loud, boisterous cheers, many of them raising their hands, gesturing happily.
Several of them rush to him, smacking him on the shoulders with pride and good faith, many shaking his hands, some of the larger ones pat his head. There are many voices, all rippling in peaks and furrows, all singing out in the language of the Omnics, saying with buzzing joy:. That one is Lev, asking him with a tilt of his large, silvery head.
Silence fills the air, and the group parts a little ways, towards the entrance of the building, where a lone, small bipedal Omnic stands. Mondatta claps his hands together, bowing low and solemnly as he replies as warmly and gently as he can:. It has been too long. Has it, Mother Mokosh?
Apologies, Yana, the time got away from me. It is time for my break. And thank you, Aleksei, for your time. All of the blue lighting panels on Aleksei flicker and flash, running through every major hue and color on the light spectrum - infrared to red to orange to yellow to green to blue to purple to ultraviolet - and then -.
Mondatta, it was good to see you. It has been a long time since I have seen that , Mondatta thinks, watching calmly as Lev now turns towards him but Mondatta knows.
Her God Power is Communal Consciousness - a form of symbiotic computing core-control that works by hopping from host to host. How have you been? In here, every machine, every assembly belt, every Omnic is working on something, hammering this or welding that, combining pieces together to churn out new brothers and sisters and siblings. Mondatta feels his spiritual core falter slightly at the sight - sunlight filtering in through massive windows around the ceilings, white and clean and crisp in the fusion-filled air.
The whole place hums and buzzes with an intense, hard-working vibrancy - workers shout cheerful, optimistic orders and encouragement to each other, engineers show foremen their new plans and designs, shippers begin collecting parts and moving them down the lines to assembly rooms and -.
Mondatta sees that one of the manufacturing lines is producing small, palm-sized blue orbs encased in bronze-steel metal, patterned in circles with interlocking shells. Lev-Mokosh is silent over that, and the engineer-God Omnic and the monk stand together in still, uneasy tranquility, watching as workers meld the metal plating on the outside of the fusion cores.
He sits on the floor of this very factory, hands shaking as he holds the orb - bronze-oxidized hafnium carbide metal plating coating the outer shell, the blue light of the inner fusion core pulsing slowly, rhythmically, like the beating of an organic heart, like the breathing of an organic lung, like the blinking of an organic eye - in and out and in and out, up and down and up and down -.
Invisible to the standard human eye, but just barely visible to his infrared vision sensors. They are drawn to the beautiful blue life in the fusion orb, swarming around it, seeking out the bits of power it pulses out, replenishing their tiny batteries and their own miniature fusion cores. He feels the new orb program in his own computing core whir to life, the algorithms beginning to snap and connect to the orb like lines of light -.
There is a stark, startling beauty in his descent into the idea that had bloomed within him for the last several months. The words rise and fall out of him, peaks and furrows, crests and dips, as he holds up the orb towards them in his left hand. And rises from his hand as his Harmony program snaps the order to the corresponding program in the orb.
They move about in a golden rush, a rhythm, a flow, swimming and swarming around the orb as they dance about, awaiting his instructions and. He snaps his right hand forward, condensing the cluster of nanobots around a burst of power, sending the new energy-nanobot orb flying - it rushes to Igor, who jolts slightly as the orb snaps in place over his head, and the golden nanobots flood out, racing across and through his metallic joints, zipping up and down, repairing repairing repairing his cracks and seams with their tiny welders.
He feels all of them deep in the programs of his computing core, getting their read-outs and feedback in fractions of a second, as the Harmony program sends relays to his central consciousness, and his central consciousness sends out further directives. He has found a solace to call his own - a corner of his own mind that touches on something far greater than her Communal Consciousness, a fragment of himself that operates into a world far larger than his existence.
When it was apparent that I had no more to teach him in the ways of harmony, I passed the gifts of their lives onto him. For each fusion orb was made from the fusion core of a fallen Omnic brother or sister or sibling. But cycle into a new wave of peaks and furrows, crests and dips, to spread harmony and discord wherever they go.
I should never have let you make more of those orbs. The nanobots made you weak - made you feel when you should have analyzed. Mondatta turns slightly as Nadia appears on his right, but everything about her bearing reads of -. Mondatta glances towards the tall, statuesque idol at the far end of the factory: from here, he can only see two sides of it, but he knows that there are four sides in total. Each one bears a tense, imposing Omnic figure, carved into glowing metal, the lighting panels running through every major hue and color of the light spectrum - infrared to red to orange to yellow to green to blue to purple to ultraviolet - making it look like the eyes of the two figures he can see are flashing like rainbow lightning.
All linked by a single, joined existence, her mind is split into four consciousnesses, a feat no other God Program has accomplished. Each consciousness is capable of host-jumping, staying alive by riding out among individual, standard Omnics in secret.
But most importantly -. So long as there is one consciousness, it is capable of recreating three more of itself, until there are once again four Mokoshs sharing a single mind - a single sentience. It had made her the fiercest, most cunning of all the God Programs during the Crisis, for she had been able to be in four vastly different place all at once - she had been able to communicate within herself and directly to her troops all simultaneously.
Though the Russians had managed to siege her, Mokosh had been able to fight back for five full years, holding them back, gaining ground steadily, steadily until -. Until the news had started to trickle in that her fellow God Programs and Central Cores - her brothers and sisters and siblings - were slowly and systematically being crushed or captured.
And she had pressed the war upon her troops with greater, harder, harsher fury than ever before. I suppose you are not speaking of true, physical exhaustion, are you? He works steadily, focusing on connecting with the newest set of ten-thousand nanobots - their tiny, busy consciousnesses stream into his and he feels them all hum to life within him -.
He laughs lightly at that, but then more solemnly holds out the newest fusion orb. To be uneasy because of it - well, that is understandable. Why do you fear this? Akash looks at him earnestly, before saying with cracking words:.
The ones who have… fallen and then been repaired? The ones whose computation cores were shut down when their fusion cores failed? They are Perhaps I am more fearful of the What if The war? If it is a computation problem, we must start looking for the source of it, but we can only begin to search for a source if we have data.
Is this agreeable to you? We must be willing to share in the problems and sufferings of others to improve their lives. For listening. For calming me down. Akash rises, bowing slightly.
His apprentice turns to go, but then stops, pausing to look back at him. You dare to think that your actions have caused nothing but failures in all that you have endeavored to prevent?? And my own siblings! Standing in their gilded towers, reaping the rewards of those who hold their gold cages up on their shoulders! They tore Overwatch apart and cannibalized the pieces because they could not stand unity!
I have seen every cruelty they have thrown at our kind - I was in Australia when my brother the Serpent was blown to pieces. I was in Paris when the Omnics were burned to death. I have been everywhere you can imagine - yes, I have even been to Numbani!
I have experienced seventy-thousand nanobots as they repaired broken Omnics in Junkertown, in Giza, in Rio! I have experienced seventy-thousand nanobots as they helped mend shattered human minds! And do you know what I felt when I experienced these things? Mondatta states as boldly and bravely as he can, knowing it will never be a success to anyone but him and those who believe in him:.
It had been a major victory, early on in the fifth year of the Crisis. By this point, almost all the critical Central Cores had fallen, Basket Ogress was dead, Ryujin was missing. Anubis, Anansi, and Kehci Manito were all captured, locked away somewhere that only a handful within the United Nations knew. Quetzalcoatl was steadily being pushed into a corner of Mexico, and while the Rainbow Serpent had not lost ground in Australia, it had not gained anything in months.
Rumors within the troops were spiralling out of control - many were still faithful, still loyal to Mokosh, but a growing number spoke in fearful whispers, horrified murmurs that the humans would kill them all - Bastions and Spiders the world over were being disabled and destroyed, bipedal units were being put into prison camps, being forced to work and churn out fusion weapons for the humans to use. His nanobots had not detected any sensations of lies or guilt or even anguish among them - they had reported a calm, steady tranquility within those who claimed to see it, and while his algorithms could not really compute why they felt so strongly about an illusion of light -.
Nor the memory of a fusion core seeming to blink at him, blue into gold back into blue. Nor how it had churned a strange idea of nanobots connected to a fusion core with a single, dedicated program solely for healing and helping and repairing -. But as he rushes away from her, Mondatta feels his spirit sink slightly.
There is destruction everywhere around him - buildings collapsing into puddles of blood and oil, dust and ash. He has helped untold numbers of brothers and sisters and siblings in this battle alone, but he has yet to…. He has yet to understand the point of it all, the sheer necessity of the magnitude of the chaos around him.
Mondatta slows to a stop, his audio sensors flicking towards the voice. It is distinctly not-Ominc, speaking in neither the language nor the electronic tones of his kind, but the His five orbs hum around his neck, beating like a pulse in a human body, and he finds himself rooted to the spot -. He turns to his left, rushing to the voice, darting through the rubble, splashing through blood and oil, clambering towards it until -. He spots her, the Russian soldier on the ground, crawling through blood and oil, dust and ash, as she drags a broken leg behind her.
There are tear streaks across the dirt and rust-red stains on her face, her hands are bleeding from clawing her way forward, her fingernails broken and ragged. She continues to watch him in utter, broken terror, until he claps his hands together and bows slowly, before putting himself into a low, kneeling position.
Her eyes dip into a deep, confused frown, until he floats one of his orbs in front of himself. Her gaze darts to it suspiciously, and he slowly maneuvers it to her, until it rests over her limp body and -.
The ten-thousand nanobots flood out, rushing to her fractured leg, and she begins to swear violently in Russian until the full healing kicks in. Shock and then relief bloom on her face as the gorey redness of her leg is slowly reduced, and she flicks her fearful, yet grateful gaze at him.
Mondatta nods slowly, lifting a hand to gesture to her when -. And here you are. Aiding her. Behind them, the Bastions bweep at each other, glancing between themselves in confusion.
Some of the Bastions look at Mondatta hesitantly - their armor still bears the fusion scars where he has healed them before - but the others -. They lift their submachine guns and point at the Russian soldier, who shrieks and sobs -.
The noise crescendos in a loud, crashing din that sends electric sparks and shivers up his wires but Mondatta -. They cushion his descent as he slips into a state of consciousness he has never truly felt before - something rippling with fifty-thousand tiny minds and spirits, something echoing with a golden, hallowed light, snapping out like wires and strands of every major hue and color - inside him, they phase through infrared to red to orange to yellow to green to blue to purple to ultraviolet - propagating outwards, forwards, like a wave -.
He is one with them, they are one with him, and together, all fifty-thousand-and-one of them are one with the single program, resonating out with a golden, gilded harmony that sings and blinds even as it dazzles.
Mondatta throws out his arms, as everything within all of them burst into action: the submachine guns alight, the noise crashes back into reality, Nadia-Mokosh is shouting something, Akash is screaming, Igor is yelling incoherently, and behind him, sobbing in fear, the Russian soldier clasps her hands in a prayer -.
The words ripple through him as he feels only warmth and fifty-thousand-and-one cores synchronize into a single, bright-blazing blast of light. The four orbs around his neck snap into the four directions around his head - up, down, left, right - and he feels the nanobots burst to full, brilliant life, whirling around him in a massive sphere that holds only a gentle, caressing warmth, as sweet and as tranquil as nothingness, as the abyss that drops from mountain cliffs and the abyss that rises in between the stars.
The bullets hit him - and he can feel them hit the Russian soldier too - but even as they break them apart -. Like a strange dream, Mondatta watches with a vivid emptiness inside him as several of the Bastions squeak in surprise, as Akash falls to their knees, hands shaking, as Igor drops his gun and just watches in silence, as.
As Nadia flashes every major hue and color of the light spectrum - ultraviolet to purple to blue to green to yellow to orange to red to infrared -. I have seen them grow and change. I have seen them cause merciless destruction. I have been held captive by my own brothers and sisters and siblings.
I have watched them plot the destruction of an entire city. He turns away from them, looking at the two sides of the balwan that can see him. And he says to her:. For its warmth and gentle tranquility cares not for who holds the gun and who holds the banner, who holds the welder and who holds the orb, who holds the God and who holds fifty-thousand nanobots. Today, I knew I would fail to convince you of anything - well, beyond letting me through the door.
Sometimes silence is not quiet complicitness, but tranquil defiance. And which one is yours? Mondatta bows his head, feeling the warmth of something greater than himself watching him, as he says to the surprisingly quiet, surprisingly calm factory around him:. He claps his hands towards the balwan, and then turns, striding towards the door. Your words might as well be silence to them.
Quantum decoherence is the loss of quantum coherence. In quantum mechanics, particles such as electrons behave like waves and are described by a wavefunction. These waves can interfere, leading to the peculiar behaviour of quantum particles.
As long as there exists a definite phase relation between different states, the system is said to be coherent. This coherence is a fundamental property of quantum mechanics, and is necessary for the functioning of quantum computers.
Decoherence represents a challenge for the practical realization of quantum computers, since such machines are expected to rely heavily on the undisturbed evolution of quantum coherences. Simply put, they require that coherent states be preserved and that decoherence is managed, in order to actually perform quantum computation. The massive, steel gate looms over them - it is wide enough to permit spaceships into the Watchpoint built into the side of the sheer, cut cliffs, and thick enough to withstand fusion bombs.
After getting what precious information they could get from all Numbani seemed to offer, the master and student had worked their way northwest from Nigeria, catching trains and buses and sometimes just walking from point to point as they made their way up the northwestern coast of Africa.
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