Chapter 43: Chapter Forty Three: Crossroad Conflict Kickoff

“I’m going to turn you into scrap!” Slate’s mother bellowed.

 

“We’ll crush you into grit!” Ms. Mags screeched, blades springing out from all over her body.

 

“Rockies have had enough of all of you metal-heads!” a large stone construct said, swinging a giant warhammer onto his (maybe; he did appear to be balding) shoulder. 

 

“You’ve killed my baby!”

 

“This means war!”

 

“Oh, Slate,” Zincy said lovingly, and sighed.

 

“Oh, Zincy,” Slate said lovingly, and sighed.

 

Everyone had gone mad. Totally, and absolutely mad. The two sides were standing there, screaming at each other, but not one of them had moved. This didn’t make any sense. It was just insanity.

 

Qube looked over her shoulder to where the Chosen One was still laughing, and gasped as she spotted the Constructor standing behind him. The Chosen One followed her gaze and frowned as he spotted the human.

 

“You must choose a side, troubleshooter,” the Constructor said ominously.

 

“Yeah, I got that. No need for railroading,” the Chosen One dismissed him. He pointed at the mob of stone constructs. “Traditional. Order. Law.” He gestured at the metal constructs. “Innovation, chaos, change. It’s not exactly subtle.”

 

Qube tracked back and forth between the warring clans and the Constructor. His children were on the brink of destroying each other! Why wasn’t he commanding them to stand down, as he had before? Why wasn’t he taking charge, but rather telling the Chosen One to deal with this? When it had just been tension, fine, but now they were screaming at each other about the deaths of the perfectly healthy Slate and Zincy!

 

It was almost as if they both could and couldn’t recognise that Slate and Zincy were fine. Qube’s flesh started to creep as her mind tried to wrap itself around the sheer scope of what she was thinking.

 

A part of them knew that Slate and Zincy had died — or nearly died. This explained the calls for blood (or fluid or… whatever rock people had).

 

But another part knew that they were still alive — hence why they didn’t actually attack each other.

 

The Constructor had said something in the laboratory: “Instead of merely being interested in working with their own materials, as I intended.”

 

He had shaped their interests with the intent of shaping their behaviour. He had modified (or created, she wasn’t clear on that) their affinities, their personalities, to better suit his needs.

 

They were like living dolls. Dolls that he was now dissatisfied with because his shaping of their selves had not yielded the results he wanted.

 

And so now he wanted someone else to take care of the issue.

 

He didn’t care about the materials to rebuild them or the investment of time needed! If he did, he wouldn’t be egging on the Chosen One to get involved in their war! He’d be trying to stop it! No, he was just mad that they weren’t doing what he wanted, and now he was punishing them via proxy, just so he could keep up his facade of all-caring father figure!

 

“Chosen One!” Qube snapped, “tell the Constructor to order them to stand down!”

 

The Chosen One looked at her quizzically. “That won’t make a difference,” he said. “They’re bugged.”

 

“Bugged?”

 

“Um, means that part of them isn’t working right.” The Chosen One shifted slightly. “‘cuz they’re constructs. They weren’t made properly. So sometimes they act weird.”

 

“Oh.” Qube digested this for a while. It made a strange kind of sense. Their brains had been made by the Constructor, so they weren’t as complicated or flexible as regular peoples’ minds. Probably the amount of mana he had poured into them hadn’t been enough to help them think through things as much as a human or elf would.

 

It was almost like the temples. They had plenty of mana in them, enough to start creating basic things, which implied some kind of intelligence. Whether that mana came from the pillars, a wellspring, or the objects they housed didn’t really matter. Instead, the interesting thing was that they were developing minds of their own in the first place.

 

What did it feel like, to be constructed by someone for a particular purpose, but then subvert their expectations? It would be like if Qube and the Chosen One had been selected by the Golden Prophecy, but refused to ever leave the village.

 

The Golden Prophecy…

 

A thought emerged from the still, dark waters that was Qube’s utter faith in the Golden Prophecy.

 

Was the Golden Prophecy their Constructor?

 

No. No, the Golden Prophecy hadn’t made them for the express purpose of saving the world! It hadn’t even revealed who had been chosen for its mission until they were fully grown. Instead, it had merely indicated who was likely to be the best fit for saving the world, and what they would need to do to overthrow the Evil Emperor.

 

The Evil Emperor who was possibly following his own Dark Prophecy. Or maybe… had been made by it, influenced unduly. The Golden Prophecy, it was like the ultimate village elder, who simply knew them all growing up, and was confident in their potential. But the Dark Prophecy, who knew what that was like. Maybe it had made the Evil Emperor, or twisted him in some way, and that was why none of the kingdom had risen up when he’d taken power. Why the Grand Vizier, surely the most trustworthy position in all the land, had suddenly betrayed the Noble King and Beautiful Queen and become the Evil Emperor.

 

Perhaps the Evil Emperor was like these constructs, torn between what he knew, and what had been imposed upon his mind.

 

If so, perhaps the key to helping him break free and saving the kingdom lay somewhere in this town, between the constructs’ conflict. Maybe if they could help the constructs overcome the Constructor’s commands laid over them, those imposed affinities, they would be free to discover who they really were, and start learning more about the world around them and seeing things for how they really were.

 

Like the fact that Zincy and Slate were standing there sighing loudly at each other, perfectly alive (or whatever the construct equivalent of alive was) and thus there was no need for any kind of fighting.

 

“I’m not going to lie; I have no idea how to deal with this whole situation,” the Chosen One said, rubbing his left ear. “This is well and truly busted.” 

 

As he spoke, dawn broke over the two clans.

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“This means war!” the Rockie bookseller yelled, before turning and walking back towards his store.

 

“I’m going to enjoy bringing us into the future, without you Rockies weighing us down!” the metal construct that had run the clothing store screamed, casually walking alongside the bookseller.

 

Qube watched in total and utter confusion as all the various constructs wandered off to start their days, each yelling various threats as they calmly left. At last there were only the two grieving mothers, two sighing lovers, and the Constructor left.

 

The Chosen One stared at the two lovers.

 

“Can you two hear me?” he asked Slate and Zincy, who ignored him.

 

“They are so in love,” Sexy Screamy Spider Lady sighed. “I remember when I was in the throes of my first love,” she shot a smouldering look at the Chosen One through all her various eyes. “I could have just stared at them forever.” After a moment, she continued in a slightly altered tone, “I wonder whom we should side with here?”

 

Sewer Bard seemed concerned. “They seem like they’re getting hostile. Maybe we should relocate?” he suggested. “This moving tale seems like it will end in blood,” he added, almost randomly.

 

“It would behoove us to think about what each side can give us,” Definitely Bad Guy said, observing the two stationary mothers still screaming death threats at each other. “The metal automatons seem like they are more advanced, and would probably benefit us more.”

 

Sewer Bard glared at Definitely Bad Guy.

 

“There is nothing wrong with finding use in the old, or adhering to traditions,” the Bard said. “Many of the oldest sagas are still relevant to our everyday lives, and there is much richness to culture that we need.”

 

“Picking the best side? We have to stop them! Before they actually... start fighting?” Qube slowly stopped. How were they supposed to solve the problem of people yelling at each other but never actually coming to blows?

 

The Chosen One, ignoring the flaring conflict between his party members, was circling around Zincy and Slate thoughtfully. Stepping in front of Slate, Qube was surprised that Slate didn’t take the socially-encouraged steps backwards. Instead Slate remained locked eyed with Zincy, sighing away. The Hero pushed the Rockie slightly, but Slate didn’t budge.

 

The Chosen One flicked a glance at the two frenzied but frozen mothers, and the empty plaza.

 

“Interesting,” the Chosen One said, then walked to the Save Point near the town’s entrance. The Save Point that hadn’t been there when the town had existed in that strange nightmare realm, Qube suddenly realised. She rubbed her forehead as her head started to ache. Why had she so quickly dismissed the strange place that had existed for such a brief time? Unless it had to do with the puzzles in some way. There were plenty of stories about places that had spells cast over them. She would have to get the Chosen One to question the Constructor about it, once they’d resolved this war.

 

The Chosen One passed his hand through the Save Point, then walked back to the loving couple, drawing his Sacred Sword as he moved. He was looking at them with mildly detached curiosity, the red light of the dawning suns staining his naked blade the colour of blood.

 

Qube felt fear squeeze her heart.

 

The Chosen One swung his Sacred Sword as hard as he could at Slate’s unprotected back.

 

Qube screamed. She flung out her hands to cast [Lesser Shield] — on Slate or the Chosen One she could not say — only for the Chosen One’s sword to stop a hair’s breadth away from Slate in a move that would have required truly incredible levels of control.

 

“Nope,” the Chosen One said, reversing his blade and swinging it at Zincy, only to have it stop short again. “Huh. I guess neither of them have aggroed. What if I —” he looked to the mothers.

 

“Chosen One! Why-what-what are you doing?” Qube yelled, stumbling over her own words as she rushed to him.

 

“Just testing some things,” the Chosen One casually replied. “Don’t worry, I saved.” His eyes narrowed as he looked down at her. “Although, I still haven’t gotten an answer on your whole “dream” sitch, so I dunno what would happen to the save file.”

 

“What?” Qube shook her head. “No, that’s not important right now. Why are you pretending to attack innocent villagers?”

 

“To… try and bring the mothers to their senses?” the Chosen One offered, somewhat dubiously. “Like, to jolt them into realising their kids are alive? Or at least making them actually start fighting so we can win the war. There’s probably some good loot if we pick one side over the other.” The Chosen One tilted his head as he considered Qube. “Although, with what you’ve done, we could probably figure out some way to glitch it hard enough that I can get both side’s rewards.”

 

“Chosen One, we want to stop them from fighting at all! Why would we care about winning the war when we have the chance to stop it?”

 

The Chosen One shrugged. “To see what happens.”

 

“But they’ll die!”

 

“Yeah but that’s the Constructor’s fault, not ours.”

 

Qube had never felt so out of tune with the Chosen One. Sure, in their grand quest to defeat the Evil Emperor, what was one town, but still! Just because they were constructs didn’t make their lives worth any less! They were still people who deserved to be safe!

 

Why were they fighting against the Evil Emperor if they weren’t going to try and do Good?

 

The Chosen One was looking at her. For once she couldn’t summon her Understanding Smile. That expression of his that she hated, that inhuman disconnect, disappeared and once again he was the Chosen One she knew.

 

“Look,” he paused and covered his face briefly. “I can’t believe I’m dropping a glitched quest for a [Prophecy Cursed] NPC,” he quietly muttered to himself. “Look,” he started again, “this is clearly upsetting you. And I don’t know what’s happening with the saves. Or the whole… sentience thing. So how about we just go back to the main hub and we can hit up this place later? Once I’ve gotten some answers.”

 

“You think that if we allow them some space they’ll be able to figure out that Slate and Zincy are still alive and they don’t need to fight?” she asked hopefully. “What if they start hurting each other while we’re gone?”

 

“Well they’re not fighting right now,” the Chosen One pointed out sensibly. “And nothing is going to change anytime soon. They’ve all gone back to their normal routines. The combat flag hasn’t triggered.”

 

Qube tried to parse his phrasing. The Chosen One grimaced.

 

“Um, the constructs…” he scratched his head, “are fighting against their orders from the Constructor? So they won't fight each other.” After a moment he sighed. “This is probably all pointless, but I just don’t… anyway. Gotta save the world, right?”

 

“Right!” Qube said, and smiled at him mistily.

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