As the elevator hums during its steady descent, several memories invade Pomp’s mind as he stands within the transport’s epicenter with closed eyes.

-Kill him!-

-The Guide is a waste of space!-

-Traitor!-

-You’ll never be welcomed to Terraria, never!-

-Die!-

The sounds of energy projectiles and clanking weaponry sound off. The Guide’s breaths fluctuate in the memories as images of him dodging these attacks while fleeing from multiple towns and settlements play relentlessly.

-He’s getting away!-

“Pomp.”

-Hunt him down!-

“Pomp!”

-Send the word out: the Guide needs to be captured, dead or alive!-

“POMP!”

……….

The Guides’ eyes shoot wide open after being pulled out of his images, finally hearing and comprehending the words of Gideon.

“Pomp, are you ok? Your vitals were going through the roof, especially your heart rate.”

The Guide shifts his gaze towards the screen plastered on the right side of the door. “I told you to stop monitoring my vitals, Gideon. But I’m fine, thanks.”

Gideon sighs. “We go through this every time you take a moment to yourself. Remember that despite their harsh words, you must promise me to not retaliate against them. My calculations dictate that the outcome of such an event-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Gideon,” Pomp interjects with a raised hand. “I’m tired of playing nice with them. Every time I go out there in disguise, all I see is endless piles of shit being thrown at my station. The only reason I even bother to help people is that you begged me to.”

A hefty silence ensues, but a sudden dinging sound finally breaks the silence as the elevator door parts entirely. The Guide steps out of the elevator and into a laboratory of considerable size with computers and various technologies flaring to life.

In addition, a staircase is located to the far left side of the complex, indicating lower levels to the underground lab.

“I just don’t want to see you become the monster they claim you to be.” Gideon urges as the Guide walks towards another flight of stairs that elevates to a collective of computer screens.

“Yeah, well… no promises.”

After heading up the stairs and taking his place on one of the rolling chairs, adjusting the seat and rotating it to face the electronics, Pomp’s fingers go to work on the enlarged keyboard - or more like a key-plat-board.

Access denied.

“The hell?” He inquires, typing again.

Access denied.

“Gideon,” Pomp comments with a narrowed expression. “Stop it.”

“Not until we talk about this, young man!”

“Oh, gee. Thanks, mom.”

“I’m being serious!” Gideon enrages, which causes the lights of the entire lab to turn red while the whole complex shakes momentarily. “You will promise me right here and now that you will not retaliate against them! Swear it to me!”

With tightened fists, Pomp rises from his chair and roars back to the ceiling:

“Why do I have to be the one to offer them peace?! Huh?! If anything, It’s them who should be apologizing to me!”

“Put aside your anger and be the better terrarian!”

“‘Better terrarian?!’” Pomp bellows with a raised eyebrow before pointing up at the surface. “I’m not dealing with terrarians - I’m dealing with animals! Every last one of ‘em! Even non-terrarian races despise me, and you know what? I hope another world-ending event occurs so I can watch them all BURN!”

Suddenly, the lights of the lab return to normal, and the quaking phenomenon ceases. A moment of dead silence occurs before Pomp takes a deep breath and sighs with a hand running through his hair.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you like that, Gids. If one person on this planet doesn’t deserve that, it’s you.”

Silence.

-Welp, I fucked up,- The Guide says internally. He sighs again, waiting and hoping for a response.

Silence.

“Can you at least say something?” He inquires as a sense of fear starts to grow within him.

Alas, he is answered with more silence.

“Please… say something…” He looks down. “You... you’re the only ally I’ve got…”

Finally, a mechanized sigh fills the room. “I just… I just can’t talk to you right now, Pomp. I’m sorry.” The computer screens positioned behind the Guide flare to life. “I’ll unlock the consoles and let you do whatever it was you had planned. I’m turning myself off for tonight.”

Gideon’s voice vanishes without a trace, and Pomp sits down on the chair again, sighing into his hands before rubbing them down his face with a groan.

“I’ll need to make it up to her later,” He says while shifting his gaze back to the computer. “Sadly, with Gideon out for the night, I guess it’s back to manual input.”

The sound of Pomp’s fingers working away at the key-plat-board echoes throughout the lab, with various clicks and dings alongside it.

“Alright, then… let’s see what we can see. Omnicron Surveillance is online.”

After one final press of a single key, Pomp leans back in his chair as every screen before the Guide shifts into different and numerous live footage. But it is what’s featured on these surveying windows that would inspire awe within a bystander:

Hometown video surveillance. Drone status: Operational.

Yharim’s Kingdom video surveillance. Drone status: Operational.

The Divide video surveillance. Drone status: Operational.

The Underworld video surveillance. Drone Status: Operational.

The guide continues to scroll through many more feeds of footage, commenting on each one before moving on:

“Elven territories… Dwarven Kingdom… NEXUS… Torinago… the Hallow… the Mushroom Kingdom…”

More and more landscapes, countries, realms, and domains are passed by, indicating just how busy this Guide has been over the span of eight months. However, upon switching to the next footage, the Guide narrows his eyes by what he sees.

“Why am I not surprised…”

Astral Infection video surveillance: Drone status: Error.

Pomp places a hand on his head as if aiding a migraine. “That infection’s been nothing but a pain in my-”

Suddenly, the ‘Error’ status of the Guide’s drone shifts to ‘Operational,’ back to ‘Error,’ and ‘Operational’ again. This repeats several more times as a shocked Pomp tries to decipher the situation. Then, live footage of the Astral Infection flares to life on every screen, followed by the sudden presence of a feminine figure:

“Hello, there.” The entity starts, her voice sounding out in different frequencies and echoing as if many others spoke alongside her.

“Oh, shit!” The Guide recoils as he nearly causes his chair to fall backward.

“I don’t know who you are, I don’t know what you want, and I can not see you. But I can tell you I don’t like to be watched.”

With narrowed eyes and a recollected composure, Pomp clasps his hands together and rests his chin over his unified fingers. “So, you finally decided to return my calls, Miss…?”

She chuckles. “Ah. So you’re armed with pleasantries, then? Amusing. I was expecting the more typical response to an infection’s presence. And for the record: what you designate as ‘Calls,’ I name it what it truly is: you spying on me.”

“Two birds, one stone, sweetie,” The Guide responds as he reclines his chair and rests his feet on the enlarged key-plat-board. “I try to contact you while also gathering information on you. Win-win, if you ask me.”

“Pleasant, charming, and you have interesting mannerisms. It’s fascinating, but sadly, you’ve been spying on me. So as far as I’m concerned, you are my enemy. So what say we both cut it out with the pleasantries and get to the meats and potatoes of this little chat of ours.”

“Fair enough,” The Guide responds with a shrug. “For starters: I never caught your name.”

“I never offered it.”

-Shit. Well, plan B, then.- Pomp clears his throat. “You seem rather young. How old are you, exactly?”

“I appear young In body - not in mind. In fact, I calculate a ninety-nine point nine percent chance that I’m far older than most of this world’s most ancient of entities.”

“Impressive. So, how can I help you?”

“You tell me - stranger from beyond this machine,” The female taps the drone’s screen. “You’re the one who’s spying on me, and I demand that you cease these actions.”

“Well… let’s say in a hypothetical scenario where I was to say ‘No’ to that, what would happen next?”

“Well, hypothetically speaking - with a ninety-percent success rate - I would proceed to spread my infection all across this planet just to hunt you down. And even though I don’t know you, I have already recorded your voice.”

The being floats closer to the screen.

“Every time I infect life forms, I will have them listen to your voice, asking them If they recognize it. Then, should they be of no use to me, I will add them to my infection and gain their knowledge.”

“...Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of-”

“Silence!” She interjects with a pointed index finger.

“Shutting up.”

“I, Astralshia, will not participate in your little game.”

Pomp forms a smirk. -Jackpot.- He sighs outwardly. “Alright then, Astralshia. You’ve made your point. I swear to never peer into your infection again, and I humbly beg you not to spread across the planet, as you’ve threatened.”

Astralshia’s scarlet glowing pupils narrow as she stares into the drone for a moment. Then, a sigh escapes her.

“That’s all I ask.” A sudden shift in her expression caught the Guide by surprise; if he didn’t know any better, was that… genuine concern?

“Truth be told, It… It would sadden me greatly to see life being taken away by my actions.” She brings a closed fist to her chest with a lowered gaze and closed eyes. Then, she opens her illuminating red pupils.

“But I will do whatever it takes to hunt down very specific prey. You are not one of them, so stay out of my way.”

-‘Specific prey’? Hmmm… interesting…- Pomp notes inwardly with narrowed eyes.

The live feed suddenly sizzles and circuits before going black after Astralshia seemingly destroys the drone on her end. But Pomp still ponders on her words, followed by his fingers going to work on the key-pad-board once again.

Two separate images appear on two different screens, one portraying Astralshia, with the other depicting a female red pegasus with stripes that the Guide has observed change based on her mood. Or, as he had labeled in bold letters just over her image:

Ambient.

He drags the two images alongside each other after equipping a unique device around his right hand, moving them into place with his appendage. The two images rest beside one another as he recollects his findings while staring at the two in deep thought.

He suddenly turns to a stand that’s within arm’s reach with a microphone positioned on top of it. He grabs the electronic, brings the mic to his lips, and presses a button on the device’s left side.

“Case file designation: Unification.

This is Pomp Neigh the Guide, and the date is Sunday, September fourth, forty-twenty-two. Time: eight-fifty-two PM.

Addendum: The Divide and the Astral Infection. Both are entirely different, yet the ones who oversee these biomes have several factors in common. Now, individually, the world can maneuver around them and deal with them.

However, I strongly believe that the two should remain separated. And upon finally conversing with the subject designated: Astralshia, a name that she herself had supplied, along with my recollective recordings of the subject designated: Ambient…

The two have a lot in common. And where there’s mutuality, there’s a high chance of unification. For you see, these two infections are not like the Crimson or the Corruption. We have historical evidence of the aforementioned infections competing with each other, even though they were both born from Nyarlathotep’s fallen form.

But the Astral and Divide? They have no reason to go to war with one another based on the mindset of their masters. And, admittedly, I feel sympathetic towards them after doing extensive research - shout out to this strange blade I've got. Regardless, they can’t be allowed to meet.

In short: keep them apart, and do NOT allow a union to occur. I shudder to think of what kind of infection could be born from the two. After all, the Divide was born from the union of Hallow and Corruption... need I say more?

However, I feel that communication with these individuals is the key, even if such an event occurs. Above all, do NOT attack them just because they’re infections. Sadly, my fellow mortals - even gods, ancients, and all manner of beings, are idiots.

Someone will do something stupid…

End log.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 99 - "I need to find you..." Estimated time remaining: 2 Hours, 30 Minutes