With the ship stabilized and the Erchius generator humming quietly in the background, the team returned to their research chamber with a renewed focus. Celeste Starfire Cassidy, the Nova Kid reborn through the response system, gathered them near the central lab interface, her glowing form illuminating the replicator she had reconstructed using the remnants of her original ship's blueprint. The Replicator, a device once standard among interstellar exploration crews in her time, shimmered with pulsing energy. She demonstrated how its interface allowed for modular crafting, presenting three add-ons: the Accelerator, Manipulator, and Separator modules. Each enhanced a different aspect of replication—the Accelerator for weapons and advanced tech, the Manipulator for tools and construction, and the Separator for armor and support gear. Dr. Dew studied the internal framework with meticulous attention, fascinated by how the Replicator's systems harmonized with the same refined energy format that powered their tech augmentations—Sprint, Rocket Jump, Spike Sphere—all suggesting a shared universal constant in the energy logic of advanced civilizations. Leonardo da Vinci, captivated by the Manipulator's staff-like constructs, noted how eerily they mimicked magecraft despite having no magical roots. "It's engineered psionics," she observed, "energy behaving like structured will." Paracelsus, whose foundation in alchemy had always blurred the lines between science and mysticism, explored the fabrication systems and found echoes of symbolic transmutation principles. It didn't take long before the trio realized they now had a system capable of enabling not just technological restoration, but myth reconstitution. With Celeste's crew—two additional Nova Kids, a male Glitch, and two Hylotl—now revived through the same response protocol, each with memory intact and skills sharp, they formed a team not only diverse in biology but in perspective, experience, and culture. Celeste, ever the charismatic lead with a drawling charm and practical mind, guided the team through the replicator's integration with ship-wide systems, Matter Manipulator calibrations, and extraplanetary compatibility modules. But after a day spent studying its versatility, Leonardo proposed a calculated step back: before revisiting the unstable complexities of the Koh-I-Noor, they would begin with lesser relics, practical but powerful tools from lost civilizations. Items such as the Rings of Eden, said to repel bullets via unseen force, and the Shrouds of Eden, rumored to regenerate the wearer just by proximity. Dr. Dew adapted the Replicator's modular construction flow to recreate these relics, aided by historical reconstructions from fragmented Brotherhood archives and extrapolated Void resonance data. Paracelsus added in chemical infusions and bio-coded elements, creating rings that generated directional kinetic vibrations when triggered, while the shrouds utilized thermoregulated biomesh to subtly accelerate wound healing. Though prototypes, they were functional—and they worked. Still, it wasn't enough. Koh-I-Noor loomed ahead, and Dew voiced a possibility that had stalked him since their return from the moon: what if they summoned another heroic spirit? Not to fight, but to assist. A mind equal to Leonardo's and Paracelsus's. Perhaps Nikola Tesla. But the idea drew immediate caution. Leonardo, eyes narrowed with reasoned concern, reminded Dew that summoning a heroic spirit was not akin to activating a console or reprogramming a synth. Fate-based summoning required more than will—it demanded stability, an interface that could withstand divine pressure. Dr. Dew's circuits, though activated, weren't untested anymore—but they also weren't proven under stress. Magic circuits, as established by magecraft law, functioned as both receivers and processors of mana; overloading them with energy above their tolerance risked neural collapse, soul scarring, or death via spiritual combustion. Summoning a divine-class spirit—especially one like Tesla, whose conceptual foundation danced the line between human and elemental—was like driving lightning through steel wiring not built for high-voltage throughput. Paracelsus added that while Dew's body was biologically superior to any magus of old, that didn't exempt his circuits from metaphysical thresholds. "One heroic spirit with an overwhelming presence," he said, "and your soul could rupture before the tether even stabilizes." Dew didn't argue. He felt the strain of channeling magic through technology. "It's like feeding a storm into a syringe," he muttered. "Doable, but not without consequences." To counter that risk, they agreed on a phased plan. Step one: increase Dew's access to mana—not from within, but externally. They'd construct a mana condenser powered by Erchius crystals, which already interfaced seamlessly with local quantum fields. That way, Dew's circuits could act more like a conduit than a reservoir. Step two: forge the Ankh of Anubis, an ancient design rooted in symbolic resurrection, built to ground and focus soul-based phenomena. With the Replicator and access to lunar alloys, the precision was now possible. And step three: secure the town from the thing that had watched them during their first failed attempt at Koh-I-Noor. It had been subtle, but real. Something had stared into their lab through dimensions unmeasured. They had no proof of its intent, but they agreed to take no chances. Dew reprogrammed the Erchius Force Field Generator to emit a wide, stabilized dome of energy large enough to shield the entire settlement. Whether it could repel a metaphysical force was unknown, but it was the best option they had. Celeste, listening to all of it, nodded. "Well, if y'all are waking up cosmic ghosts, reckon I'll keep somethin' heavy nearby." Her rail rifle clicked into place. The male Glitch offered to assist in the structural node alignment for the force field. The Axolotl biologists adapted the ambient lab generators to nullify residual spiritual echoes in case of field failure. They prepared everything—mana condenser, fail-safe protocols, node regulators. The Ankh of Anubis neared completion, carved not of gold but Erchius-stabilized orichalcum. It hummed softly even inert, resonating like a whisper through time. Then the tension returned. That old, heavy awareness. Not hostile. Not malevolent. But ancient. Watching. Dew tuned the sensors. Paracelsus activated Hermetic wards. Leonardo sealed the summoning room with circuit breakers rigged to auto-collapse if the energy became too unstable. They had no idea what might happen if they succeeded, but they knew what might happen if they failed. So they stood ready—not as scientists, not as mystics, not even as revolutionaries—but as pioneers threading the needle between dimensions, timelines, and soul codes. And as Celeste lit her nova-torch once more in salute, the lab fell quiet. Whatever waited beyond the veil, they would face it together. Not just to summon a legend—but to become one.
End of Chapter Twenty-Seven