Chapter 25: Veiss

Veiss watched on from a pew in the front row. He understood why the master indulged M’Khabye but this was going overboard. The hall was beyond packed. The public gallery was overcrowded. No seat remained open on the pews. Even the usually vacant hall floor was occupied, packed all the way up to the base of the dais where the shaman and the master were elevated.

‘This is looking more and more like a coronation than an upgrade ceremony.’

Not that he’d known what to expect from an upgrade ceremony.

Upgrades came in different shapes and sizes but they were usually cybernetic in nature and were implanted through surgery.

‘And there is nothing surgical about these proceedings.’

The master was on one knee, fully geared in mechanical armour and blue cape as always.

M’Khabye loomed over him. Two acolytes accompanied her standing slightly behind her on either side. The acolyte on her right carried a small clay pot in his hands with colourful zigzag patterns painted over the pot. The acolyte on her left reverently held up what could only be described as a ceremonial dagger.

“I M’Khabye wa Zul,” she thundered, “shaman of the old religion, last of the Primordial Coven, humble servant of the Saint Oracle. Proclaim the 2nd Master Fate worthy to receive this holy upgrade.”

‘Holy my ass.’

Technology was technology. No matter how much she tried to fantasize it.

M’Khabye held out her left hand and the acolyte placed the dagger in it. The knife had a golden hilt with intricate tribal patterns and a silver blade glinting under the bright lights of the hall.

M’Khabye nodded to the master and the crowd gasped as the master’s helmet folded down. Veiss shot up and he wasn’t the only one. It was just the back of his head but the master had taken off his helmet.

‘He never takes of his helmet.’

Veiss had always reckoned it was to add to his mystique as the 2nd Master Fate but it was nice to confirm he wasn’t a robot like the rumours said. He was a person, a regular flesh and boned person.

The crowd was in a commotion. Everyone was on their feet.

“Move aside!”

“I can’t see.”

Some voices complained from behind. He ignored them. Gaze locked on the dais. It was a bad day to be short and in the back.

The cavernous hall echoed with similar cries. Some of the more rowdy shorter people tried to climb over their taller compatriots all in order to get a glimpse at the master.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Had a crowd ever been so excited to see the back of a head?

He cursed himself for not opting for a spot on the hall floor at the base of the dais. He would’ve only gotten a closer view of the back of his head, but still.

‘The master has taken off his helmet.’

Veiss perked up again when M’Khabye cocked back the dagger and jabbed toward the master’s face.

“Yes,” Veiss hissed, leaned forward, unable to conceal the dark anticipation in his eyes.

Veiss recalled the days of the Neo-Christian clan and their sacrificial rituals to atone to their gods. Perhaps this was a variation on that. He knew little about the old religion but religions in general tended to swing back to sacrifices in some way or form. And he wouldn’t put it past old witch to conduct such a foolish ritual in the name of fate.

Of course, he wanted nothing more than to be wrong. And surely the master wouldn’t have consented to his own death. The man was too cunning for that but on the off chance he was right. He was ready to take his rightful place, to lead the AoF into a new age.

‘A more pragmatic age.’

The master didn’t flinch as the blade nicked his cheek, drawing the faintest amount of blood.

Veiss breathed out and let the excitement pool out of him. Of course he hadn’t secretly hoped the old witch was crazy enough to actually harm the master.

‘No, I will wait for my turn to come.’

M’Khabye gestured to the acolyte on her right and he held out the clay pot. She tapped the dagger over the pot, letting droplets of blood plunge in and then discarded the dagger quite unceremoniously.

M’Khabye took the pot, swung it round in a stirring motion.

‘What is this?’ Veiss’ expression twisted again, going from elation to disappointment to disgust in a matter of seconds.

This wasn’t an upgrade. This wasn’t science.

‘When did the AoF become a cult?’

The clan faith was one thing but descending into nonsensical rituals was another matter entirely.

M’Khabye hoisted the clay pot for all to see.

“Umuthi,” she said in the old tongue.

‘Medicine/Life essence,’ his mage chip translated.

“The aqua of healing,” she said, “the secret to long life and the keys to the Oracle’s legacy.”

The crowd was captivated, like little kids at a magic show, waiting to witness what manner of sorcery the concoction would perform.

The shaman tilted the pot over the master’s head. Black liquid oozed out, spilling over the master.

Veiss shuddered at the sight of the slimy liquid. The master twitched and jerked his head back far enough that he could’ve gotten a good look at him if not for the dark sludge occupying his face.

Veiss’ shades zoomed in for a better look and his eyes went wide in realization as he watched the liquid flow into the master’s orifices.

‘Nanites.’

Thousands of them, maybe millions, pooled together over the master’s face, rushing into his mouth and nostrils.

‘And perhaps his pores.’

They were small enough.

The master raised both hands to his face and clawed at the liquid sludge sealing his mouth and nostrils as the nanites flooded into him.

“He’s choking,” Diaby said, standing beside him.

“No shit.”

M’Khabye’s two acolytes stepped forward and held the master’s arms. The master thrashed but the acolytes had augmented limbs and easily held him in place.

His mind drifted as he watched the master struggle and he recalled the old witch’s words.

I M’Khabye wa Zul, shaman of the old religion. Last of the Primordial Coven. Humble servant of the Saint Oracle…

The aqua of healing, the secret to long life and the keys to the Oracle’s legacy.

‘Perhaps she is from the old empire.’

He’d never taken her claims seriously but if she had the same nanites within her. And if the nanites were sophisticated enough to stimulate cell vitality and slow cell deterioration. Perhaps they could prolong one’s life that long.

Veiss shook his head and rubbished the notion.

‘No, It shouldn’t be possible to live that long.’

Because that would mean she’d extended the master’s life by a couple hundred years. Which would mean the master would outlive him.

‘And that would mean I’ll never receive my inheritance.