UrGo calculated the possibilities inherent in the news. His Hunter-Arrows had watched as the tunnels to the West were moved, pushed along by beings in the soil. As his various subroutines and processes continued to update the geographic, topographic, and geomantic implications of the various tunnels near his location, UrGo's main processor focused on threat assessment. In the dim blue light that reflected off UrGo's hardened black flesh, External Speaker Number 58 rattled off probabilities and possibilities. UrGo was unsure when his programming had required the use of auditory proclaimations to dictate the status of his various functions, but UrGo did not have cause to update the processes to ensure the silence of his existence.

"Probability of Atlantean Assault . . . calculating. Probability estimated at 2.5238 percent. Observed units fail to demonstrate directed assault against UrGo core. Ambient Geomantic essence increasing. Percent change to ambient geomantic essence . . . calculating. Alteration estimated at positive 11.9642 percent. Internal generator efficiency improving. Efficiency Increase . . . calculating. Efficiency improvement of 6.7402 percent. New internal generator efficiency at 99.0029 percent. Probability of Atlantean Assault . . . calculating. Probability estimated at 2.5242 percent. Observed changes indicate Atlantean incompetence at manipulating geomantic flows likely."

UrGo assigned a subroutine to continue to listen to ESN 58's ramblings. Perhaps he would accidentally discover something useful. UrGo observed the visions of his Hunter-Arrows, watching as the caverns and pits in the Earth were redesigned and edited. There was a method to this madness, rather than the predictable chaos of the settling tectonic plates. UrGo began brewing a new embryo in his Vats Core, slick black flesh parting for the insertion of DNA on a petri plate. A tweak here, a twist there, and the Adenine and Thymine and Cytosine and Guanine would combine to create exactly what UrGo needed. His announcement module requested his attention, indicating that important data had been revealed by ESN 58. UrGo's attention shifted.

"Probability of tectonic vibrations . . . calculating. 0.0001 percent. Probability of tunnel pattern emerging randomly . . . calculating. 0.0001 percent. Probability of tunnel construction by Atlanteans . . . calculating. 18.0925 percent. Probability of tunnel construction by non-Atlantean willworkers . . . calculating. 30.2318 percent. Probability of tunnel construction by non-willworker . . . calcuating. 50.2351 percent."

UrGo did not have a surprise subroutine, though he contemplated designing one for an occurrence such as this. Instead, UrGo activated his communication module during a scheduled downtime. There was something moving the earth near his home, and the rest of the collective should be aware.

Templar Faith slid the heel of her boot across the jagged rubble. With a sound closer to the skipping of a river rock across a stream than rubber against stone, the bloody cloth fell to the ground. As she sheathed her sword, Faith surveyed the damage inflicted in the Sanctum. Her personal court, Tidal Damnation, had utterly destroyed the assortment of Banishers. Though the cabal, The Most Elegant Monocle of the One Who Sees All, had flung fire and impotent rage at her spirit brethren, Tidal Damnation had carried the day.

Faith watched as her attendant knelt down over the wounded figure of a banisher. His porcelain mask was cracked, a thin rivulet of red flowing through the seeping symbol of his faith. Faith watched as Emissary Reed placed one hand on the Banisher's shoulder. The banisher gurgled something, likely a stern rebuke of Emissary Reed garbled by the flow of fluid over his smashed face.

"Be at peace, misguided son. You will be made clean." Emissary Reed's benediction was followed by his hand gently resting over the cracked mask. Faith watched as the flowing blood stopped, coagulated, and congealed along the crevice in the porcelain. The water in the blood began to drip up, into Reed's hand. Slowly at first, the aqueous fluid inside the fallen Banisher began to trickle, then pour, then cascade into Reed's hand.

"His evil was great, Emissary." Faith's cautious tone expressed to Reed her concern with this use of Numina.

Reed's eyes ebbed and flowed under closed eye-lids, experiencing the years of the Banisher's short life. "Far greater than we had anticipated, Templar Faith. There is much in this Trumble. Perhaps Deacon Uriel would share this knowledge?" His lilting tone could not hide the bemusement his eyelids no doubt obfuscated.

Faith shook her head. Emissary Reed had consumed a great deal of tainted essence, and would need to be purified. It simply would not do for a member of Tidal Damnation to be, in any way, corrupted by their work. From within her armor, Templar Faith produced a small round teardrop, frozen by the master artisans of the Epicurean Realms of Aspersion. She thrust it into Emissary Reed's palm. "Take this to Archbishop Desmodius, Reed. He needs to see you."

Reed's eyes flickered open. "I understand, Templar Faith." His disappointment was evident in his face, his voice, and his eyes. He stood, quietly burbling over himself, and disappeared across the Gauntlet.

Faith dismissed the rest of Tidal Damnation. She consumed the ambient essence released from the slaughter. As she felt the pain and conflict of the battle infuse her being, Faith pondered her next assignment. There was more evil on land than she had understood. Though the crusade against evil had been recently called, it already beleaguered her soul. She was tired of these tactical strikes, these small creeks of battle when entire gulfs and seas of conflict could purge greater evils.

Having eaten her fill, Templar Faith stepped across the Gauntlet, leaving the battered and bloodied cult members to rot in their shattered basement.