Is a "sword" a euphuism? (BL)

"Well, at least we won't have to go back to that Nazi Moonbase," I said cheerfully.

"Why?" Damien asked, his voice slightly slurred. He was unsteady on his feet, and a trickle of blood ran from his nose. The other psychic students didn't look much better.

I'd anticipated they'd need time to recover, and with the new plan, there was no need to rush. This time, we'd take a stealthier route. Probably for the best—I could use a moment to collect myself as well.

"Because that voice we heard over the loudspeakers? That was Aleph-1," I replied, referring to the Wheatley.

"What about the other Aleph objects?" Joe asked.

"The Moon Nazis can keep them," I said, unconcerned.

Joe frowned, his brown eyes hard. "What if they use them to make something… terrible?"

"If I thought any of those objects were actually useful, I wouldn't have locked them away in a vault somewhere on the Moon," I replied. "Dangerous? Yes. Useful? No."

"Then why didn't you destroy them?" Joe asked, sounding exasperated.

"Because he's a pack-rat," Archer said dryly, though I caught a trace of fondness in his voice.

I gave him a mock-offended look. "I wouldn't call it that. I just find it a bit… unethical to destroy something simply because it's both potentially dangerous and not apparently useful. Especially if it's intelligent."

"What about the man-eating super soldiers?" Lukas asked. "I know a bit of German. I did spend some time in Europe."

"That would probably be Mantis Men," I replied.

"I hate to ask," Joe said, wincing, "but how can you be so sure?"

"Occam's Razor," I replied. "I suppose it's possible the Nazis developed another viral serum that mutates humans into cannibalistic supersoldiers, but it seems unlikely. So it must be Aleph-4—the one they stole from us."

With a sigh, Joe pulled his Q-gun from his back, holding it up as he asked, "Which setting is for fire?"

"There are a few options," I said, moving beside him and adjusting the dials. "But I'd suggest this one—it's poison fire." I glanced over at Steve. "Need a hand with yours?"

"No, I'm good. I remember the instructions," Steve replied, fiddling with his own Q-gun. He looked up, frowning. "But... what exactly are Mantis Men?"

"Joe, can you brief them?" I said, nodding to the youngest member of our crew. Archer, Joe, and I had encountered them before, but the others hadn't been so lucky.

I tuned Joe out. I already knew the Mantis Men origin story.

Once upon a time, my brother Cave posed a question to Aperture's scientists: What would happen if we injected a human with praying mantis DNA? Depending on the method, the most likely answers were either nothing or immediate death of the test subject. But somehow, the cocktail they created hit that rare sweet spot between the extremes, turning the subject into a viable man-eating human-mantis hybrid. And, of course, my brilliant brother had chosen the serum based on something scientific—like the color being the most inspiring.

Naturally, he'd decided to mass-test it on a hundred volunteers at once. That was the origin of the Mantis Men Incident.

It should have been a groundbreaking scientific discovery, but the serum turned out to be completely inflexible. Any minor change made it either completely ineffective or instantly lethal. It required a tightly controlled temperature range—hard to maintain in the field—and could only be administered via injection. Worst of all, it only worked on humans.

All of that combined made it entirely useless as a weapon, and a dead end for research.

That's why the serum had ended up among the Aleph objects. Or at least, it would belong there if the entire Aleph classification system weren't a complete scam.

It was an amusing story, but one I already knew. That's why, while Joe was regaling his captive audience with it, I pulled Archer aside, moving deeper into the massive corridors of the Nazi space superdreadnought.

"It's almost unbelievable," I said, gesturing at our surroundings. The cavernous metal corridor, the ever-moving gears towering above me… "To think a small group of exiles from a fallen empire managed to build all of this, on a notable location like the far side of the Moon, in just forty years."

"You'd have done it in half the time," Archer replied, his lips curving into a wry, fond smile.

"Probably," I said with a shrug, tossing the compliment back. "But I cheat."

He chuckled, his smile deepening. "So do they. The question is how." He paused, then added, "And by the way, humility really doesn't suit you. You're usually such a good liar, but when you try to be humble, it's like adding wasabi sauce to pancakes."

"Flattery might not get you everywhere, but it can definitely get you into my pants," I shot back, mirroring his smirk with a lazy, lascivious one. "Speaking of which, what do you think about taking a vacation after this? Assuming Earth doesn't turn into a post-nuclear wasteland, of course."

Archer arched an eyebrow, his smirk softening into something more curious. "What brought that on?"

"The Devil's Looking Glass drained Khenumra badly, and while destroying an object wouldn't destroy the demon possessing it, the explosion of the Walkyr hurt the Nightmares," I said.

All magecraft struggled with mass production. That was one of the reasons many consider the Industrial Age to be the final nail in its coffin.

The concept always fascinated me—how magecraft worked in absolutes, yet stumbled when faced with replication. For demonology, the issue was that demons had a tendency to merge when they were too similar. That's one of the reasons you have to be very careful with naming demons.

Some strategies helped sidestep the problem. Grouping demons, for instance—like Bael and his legions, or Khenumra and the Nightmares that draw his chariot. But that approach created its own complications. In a way, grouping demons made them one entity. If you injure an arm and a leg, they're still separate wounds, but together they're something worse. The damage compounds.

"Khenumra needs a proper place to recover," I continued. "Leaving him to hunt while still hurt would be careless at best." I gave Archer a sideways glance, smirking. "And anyway, going to a BDSM resort without you just doesn't sound like fun."

"It's not a vacation if you're working," Archer shot back. "We're far enough now, and this alcove should do fine to block any direct view."

At my will, the cold metal wall of the alcove shimmered, replaced by an eldritch wardrobe. I opened it and confirmed, as my supernatural senses had already told me, "Az has restocked, just as I wanted. Here—take this."

I tossed him a sniper rifle.

"A paintball sniper rifle?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he caught it.

"It's loaded with pellets filled with Conversion Gel," I explained. "This ship is larger than some cities. Walking everywhere is impractical, and if it's in lockdown, I doubt the internal transports are operational. I considered having Az bring something for transportation—like motorcycles or propulsion boards—but this is more efficient. Some of these corridors are several kilometers long."

"So I paint a wall," Archer said, turning the rifle over in his hands, "and you use the Portal Gun to open a way through? Clever. But… can you even hit a wall at a distance?" His smirk turned into a challenging grin.

"That's why I have this," I said, pulling out a specialized scope designed to mount on the Portal Gun. "And if I miss, I can just hand the Portal Gun to you."

I picked up a package of Vril-imbued bars next and attached it to my hip. Everyone would need to grab one eventually. Pulling out two bars, I tossed one to Archer and bit into the second.

The rich taste of chocolate blended with the healing warmth of Vril, spreading through me as it began to melt away all my aches and fatigue.

"Too much sugar isn't good for you," Archer remarked, his voice dry.

I raised an eyebrow. "Vril brings the body into an idealized state. Not only is there zero chance of diabetes, but it actually adjusts weight to match an individual's optimal balance. Even without the other side effects, these chocolate bars would probably be Aperture's most sellable product. If we could sell them."

"Because of the Vril-ya?" Archer asked.

"That, and the side effects," I said, smirking.

"Eternal youth and immunity to all diseases," Archer returned with a wry smile. "Hardly drawbacks."

"While the supply lasts," I countered. "Not to mention other problems—overpopulation, no inheritances, generational stagnation. All of those are solvable in the long run, sure. But the real issue is the origin: the Stone Grail. And I believe it will leave this world with us."

"And if you're wrong?" he asked, his tone neutral, but his gaze sharp.

I shrugged. "Then I'll leave it somewhere Damien can find it. If it stays, it'll be his problem to manage. And if it doesn't, better not to tempt people with something so transitory."

It was a thorny problem, but in a way, it offered a solution to another one. As we had learned from ancient witches—the primitive psychics—biofeedback could allow certain psychics to extend their lives for centuries, depending on their talents. That kind of longevity would certainly create a sharp divide and inspire envy. Democratised youth, as dangerous as it could be, might alleviate it… while creating a new set of problems entirely.

And then, there were the Vril-ya. I hated the idea of leaving such an unpleasant inheritance to Damien, but I still didn't see how to end them permanently. We could clear their infiltrators—or at least cull them—but without understanding their true origin, the threat would remain.

Still, for all their perfidy, the Vril-ya weren't the greatest threat. Across Xen lay the Consortium, a mercantile empire fueled by cold, rational malice and infinite greed. Stopping that threat was well beyond me. But keeping Black Mesa from drawing their attention to this Earth? That, at least, was doable… if I was careful.

I shook my head, banishing the thought. One crisis at a time.

I grabbed the last item I needed: an insect-shaped robot that served as my mobile phone, enhanced by magecraft. No, the insect shape wasn't the result of magecraft—it was an Aperture thing. Telling the design team to make "a mobile phone" had apparently resulted in something overly literal.

"Your phone?" Archer quipped. "Planning to take a selfie?"

"You know this one shoots more than pictures," I replied in the same tone. Then, more seriously, I added, "But I need it for divination. There are two places where the Aperture Core could be attached: the bridge or engineering. We don't have the numbers to split up and check both."

"We could," Archer said, gesturing with the sniper rifle. "Just one portal separates us from reinforcements."

"That might take time we don't have," I countered.

"And you'd have to keep it a secret if we brought in more people," Archer shot back. "That's your real objection, isn't it? Haven't we already agreed to revisit those strategies?"

"Yes, but not right now," I replied. "That requires more careful planning—and even more careful vetting."

And there was another reason besides secrecy. Five people—I could evacuate that many if the fighting caused critical damage to the spaceship. With more, casualties would be inevitable. I knew it was the wrong decision. Soldiers existed to risk their lives so that citizens could remain safe. Aperture security wasn't exactly soldiers, but the sentiment applied. Risking their lives to lessen the chance of many more deaths, should this ship fire on Earth, was the proper decision a leader should make.

But it wasn't one I could make. Not now.

It was a flaw in my character. A hypocrisy. I couldn't bring myself to speak of it aloud because saying it meant acknowledging it. The losses from the Moon Base attack, though relatively few, were still fresh, still raw. They lingered, a shadow over every calculation I made.

As we returned to the group, the mobile scuttled along beside us. I used the time to send a short message to the Enrichment Centre, ordering a full nuclear war drill. I didn't plan to fail, but I had to account for the possibility. Always.

"Trace the origins of the last broadcast from the loudspeakers," I said, giving the order as the mobile shone a short laser beam of shimmering colors at one of the speakers overhead.

"Is that laser… Aperture mobile?" Steve asked, his brow furrowing. "I didn't know those things could do that."

"This one's mine," I replied casually, not breaking stride. "It has a few additional features." Then, smirking, I added, "Have you all been enjoying your lesson in Aperture history?"

"Reckless experiments? Monsters unleashed in laboratories?" Lukas said, gesturing around with mock amazement. "Wow, it's like a family reunion."

"Hopefully not," Helena replied dryly. "I don't miss Papa, and meeting One even once was more than enough."

"They're with us in spirit," Damien added, a sly smirk playing on his lips as he rubbed his ring. 

With a loud ping, the mobile signalled that the task was complete. The laser beam split, no longer a single shining line but countless thin threads, weaving together to form three three-dimensional, transparent models of the Götterdämmerung. The intersecting beams illuminated two points like tiny, glowing stars: one marking our current location and the other the origin of the transmissions.

"The bridge? Huh," I remarked, mildly surprised. "I would've guessed the engineering room."

"Trace the route," I ordered.

One by one, the beams blinked out, and the models dissolved piece by piece, until only a single corridor remained—a glowing path connecting our location to the bridge.

"Can you follow the map?" I asked Archer.

"Easy," he replied, aligning himself with the sniper rifle.

I took the portal gun in my hands, set the selector to blue, and fired at the wall already painted with Conversion Gel, creating one side of the portal.

"Everyone else, guard the portal site. Once I open it, anything could come through. Joe and Steve, assume firing positions. Lukas and Damien, guard them. Sen and Helena, you're on support," I said briskly, giving clear orders as I moved to stand next to Archer.

He fired the sniper rifle, his aim precise. Through the scope, I saw the distant wall painted with Conversion Gel.

It was easier for me. A portal had no weight, no air drag—nothing to affect its trajectory. As long as I aligned it with the scope, I couldn't miss. All it needed was a steady hand.

"Ready. Opening portal in 3… 2… 1… now," I said, firing the portal gun.

"No movement," Joe reported quickly. "Clear."

"So, we're going through now?" Steve asked, his voice slightly tense. "Bit of a jump, isn't it?"

"No," I replied, stepping next to him and gesturing toward the portal. The image through it showed a similar corridor, but much higher up. "We open the next portal through this one. Old trick. No need to walk."

"Next target," I said, gripping the portal gun and glancing at Archer.

Through the shimmering blue portal ahead, Archer steadied his sniper rifle, lining up the next distant corridor. He fired, and the Conversion Gel splattered onto a smooth section of wall—another kilometer ahead, barely visible through the ship's faint, industrial haze.

I aimed the portal gun at the wall beyond the glowing oval and fired. The orange glow of the new exit shimmered to life, replacing the distant stretch of corridor visible through the portal.

The scene in front of us shifted instantly—another impossibly long corridor, identical yet subtly different. Pipes snaked along the walls here, their surfaces coated in frost. The lights were dimmer, casting elongated shadows that flickered like ghosts.

"Clear," Joe said, his Q-gun trained on the far end.

"Next," I said. Archer was already adjusting the scope of his rifle, scanning the corridor through the still-open portal behind us. Another shot rang out, marking yet another distant wall with the glowing, moon-white smear of Conversion Gel.

To avoid any potential opposition, Archer strategically used the Götterdämmerung's massive scale to his advantage. Each portal exit was anchored high up in the vast, cavernous hallways, far from any prying eyes below. It worked for a time, granting us a vantage point that kept us out of sight and out of range.

But that strategy couldn't last forever.

As we neared the core—the brain of the monstrous vessel—the corridors began to shrink, narrowing into smaller, more confined spaces. The next portal shimmered into place, revealing a tight passageway, no more than three meters in height, barely illuminated by the dim, artificial light of the Götterdämmerung's interior.

That light spilled through the portal onto our side, casting flickering shadows and—worse—revealing movement.

"Contact!" Joe barked, snapping his Q-gun to his shoulder and firing without hesitation.

The greenish bolt hit one of the figures in the corridor, igniting it in a flash of venomous green fire. The thing shrieked, a sound that was an unholy fusion of insectoid chittering and very human agony. It stumbled backward, its twisted silhouette illuminated by the flames licking across its deformed body.

"Second target!" Steve shouted, already pulling the trigger. His shot struck another figure—a blade-like limb that jutted from what had once been an arm, sending a burst of sparks and green ichor spraying across the walls.

More light spilled through the portal, revealing them clearly now: grotesque monstrosities, an unholy amalgamation of human and praying mantis. Their heads twitched unnaturally, multifaceted insect eyes glinting in the dim light, and their jagged limbs flexed and scraped against the walls of the narrow corridor. There wasn't just one or two. There were more—too many.

"Mantis Men," I said grimly, keeping my voice steady as I began calculating. "They've already finished transforming."

They moved too fast. Insect-fast. Unnatural on something human-sized. It was unreal to watch—one moment skittering along the walls, the next leaping forward with razor-sharp limbs. There was no hesitation, no human fear. Just pure, predatory instinct.

Steve and Joe continued firing. Shot after shot, the poisonous green flames of the Q-gun flared with each hit. The corrosive fire was effective, eating away at their twisted bodies, but it took time. Time we didn't have.

They were already rushing the portal.

Archer moved without hesitation, firing the sniper rifle—not at the creatures, but at the wall behind them, splattering it with Conversion Gel.

I understood his plan immediately. There was no need for words. I adjusted my aim and fired the portal gun, setting the exit portal between the mutants.

The portal shimmered into existence, slicing through one of the Mantis Men mid-charge. Its upper half spilled through, ichor spraying as the clean cut revealed a grotesque mixture of greenish copper fluid and human-red blood. Its segmented torso collapsed on our side of the portal, twitching as its jagged limbs scraped against the floor. Even bisected, it still tried to crawl forward, dragging its ruined body futilely toward us.

But it was the other two that concerned me more. They had already passed through.

Damien and Lukas moved to intercept, their psy-lances igniting silently. Though they resembled lightsabers in appearance, their actual function was far more arcane. Each lance focused psychokinetic energy into a weaponized, metaphysical shape—a feat I had achieved through a combination of Kabbalistic numerology and jewel magecraft. The result was a blazing simulacrum of the Cherubic swords said to guard the eastern gate of Eden.

Conceptually, they weren't just weapons; they were symbols, imbued with purpose. Blades forged against both the corruption of man and the abominations that twisted nature into something outside God's plan. Against the Mantis Men, those hybrid atrocities, the faux-angelic blades were doubly effective.

Their chitinous exoskeletons, tough enough to resist small arms fire, parted with ease before the burning edge of the lances.

But the Mantis Men were fast. Unnaturally fast. Their insect-like speed combined with the reach of their bladed arms made them deadly even at a distance.

Damien's movements were hypnotic, fluid, and precise, yet I couldn't ignore the flaw in his technique. The small misstep was almost invisible, likely unnoticed by anyone but me. I'd seen too much, taught too long, to let such things slip by. That single hesitation wouldn't matter here, but against a faster, smarter enemy… I'd need to address it later. His life might depend on it.

Lukas's approach was far less refined. He let out a sharp psychic chirp, mimicking the sound of a bat's hunting call. The Mantis Man flinched instinctively, its insectoid reflexes betraying it. Lukas capitalized on the hesitation, slashing through one bladed arm before delivering a brutal upward strike that bisected the creature at the torso. It crumpled to the floor, ichor oozing from the wounds.

But it wasn't over. Through the portal, I could see more Mantis Men skittering toward the new exit point. The mutants rushed forward, their movements a blur of chitinous speed and alien malice.

"Joe! Steve!" I barked. They fired in unison, their Q-guns lighting up the corridor with bursts of sickly green flame. Mutants screeched as their bodies ignited, their numbers thinning further as the two gunners held their ground.

But the mutants were relentless. I could already see several turning their attention toward the portal exit. Timing would be everything now.

I focused, observing the Mantis Men as they approached. Let one or two through—no more. Lukas and Damien could handle them in melee. The key was to limit the number crossing while keeping the others at bay.

One mutant dove through the portal, its claws slicing through the air. Damien was ready, spinning to meet it with his lance, the blade carving through its thorax in one smooth motion. Another followed, and Lukas intercepted, slashing upward to disarm it—literally—before delivering a final, crushing blow that cleaved its head in two.

That was enough.

I adjusted the portal gun, shifting the exit point back to the previous location. The shimmering doorway flickered, and suddenly the Mantis Men still in the corridor found themselves far from their prey again.

"Steve, Joe! Fire!" I ordered.

Their reaction was instantaneous. Q-gun shots lit up the distant corridor as the two gunners resumed their assault, the mutants falling one by one in a wave of corrosive fire. The narrow passage became a death trap, and even the Mantis Men's speed and ferocity weren't enough to overcome it.

We repeated the process with brutal efficiency. Let one or two through, neutralize them in melee. Shift the portal. Fire from a distance. Portal, fight, reposition—over and over, until the once-overwhelming swarm of Mantis Men was reduced to scattered, burning bodies.

The air was thick with acrid smoke, the stench clawing at my throat as I barked orders. Every breath felt like inhaling fire, but we couldn't afford hesitation. The Mantis Men wouldn't stop, and neither could we.

But there was enough fire now.

"Helena, burn the rest," I ordered, my tone flat.

"Gladly," she replied, stepping forward with a dangerous glint in her eye. Her psy-flames roared to life, flaring brighter as she poured energy into the burning corridor. The bodies of the Mantis Men exploded into violent conflagrations, the other side of the portal turning into an inferno.

The flames rose higher, billowing smoke and heat through the portal. It was no longer a corridor but an oven, the flickering light casting chaotic shadows on our side of the portal. The heat became oppressive, even from this distance, and the fire's intensity obscured my view. I could no longer use the portal gun—not when I couldn't see where to aim.

But it didn't matter anymore. The job was done.

Only three managed to push through the flames. Their chitin exoskeletons were scorched black, their bladed limbs weakened and cracked, their insectoid eyes burned and blind. They stumbled forward, driven more by instinct than purpose, their movements erratic and sluggish.

Blind and wounded, they were no match for Lukas and Damien.

Lukas lunged forward first, his psy-lance cutting a precise arc through one mutant's torso, splitting it cleanly in half. Damien followed, his movements still graceful despite the exhaustion that had begun to show. He sidestepped a clumsy swipe from one of the remaining Mantis Men before plunging his lance into its thorax, silencing it with a hiss of sizzling ichor.

The last one fell moments later, its charred, weakened frame no match for Lukas's relentless assault. His blade cleaved through the mutant's head, and it collapsed with a final, screeching death rattle.

The corridor fell silent, save for the faint crackle of flames and the distant groaning of the Götterdämmerung's massive machinery. Thick smoke curled upward, spilling through the portal and filling the air with a heavy, acrid bitterness that stung the throat and eyes.

"Extinguish the fire," I commanded, my tone calm and steady.

Helena raised a hand, and the flames snuffed out instantly, leaving only the scorched remnants of Mantis Men sprawled across the corridor. Their charred exoskeletons hissed faintly against the overheated metal floor.

"Clear," Joe said, his voice still sharp, though there was the faint edge of relief.

"Mark the next portal location just beyond the affected area," I ordered Archer, gesturing toward the far end of the corridor. "Then we'll take five."

"All right," Archer replied, pulling his paint-gun sniper rifle into position. With careful precision, he splashed white gel near the far end of the corridor, just shy of a branching intersection.

I stepped forward, portal gun in hand, and fired. The familiar shimmer of the portal appeared, showing a new corridor on the other side—untouched by fire or smoke.

"Mobile, go," I ordered, nodding toward the insect-like Aperture device at my side.

The mobile unit skittered through the portal, its metallic legs clicking softly against the floor. Moments later, it pinged an affirmative signal, its colored lights blinking green. All clear.