“Woah now, little lady.” Sigi was astonished at the startling might the largest man in their group was capable of producing. She'd been but an inch from the caramel colored man's neck only to find her axe slapped away by a bare hand. Pattoli was large, for a mage he might've been the most muscular example she'd ever seen, seven feet tall and rippling. Strong of jaw, kind of eyes, not very villainous by appearance alone, certainly not the scrawny wretch most bloodmages tended to be. “We are not your enemy, and I've no desire to harm you.”
“In fact...” Rommel said from the rear. She put a finger to her nose and let loose a rocket of bloody mucus. Otherwise, perfectly intact, a lucky and very unexpected break. A shame that little brother had to die to see it done, but they'd put that ability of his to much better use. “You have a great deal of talent. For some reason you possess both the powers of a mage and an adept. Very impressive, a rare bloodline feat if I had to guess. I know who you are, Sigi Mornstone-Faeron – wife of our late Tyr. Sister.”
If she could secure the loyalty of this woman, which shouldn't be hard considering all she'd seen and heard... Hastur might be more forgiving, maybe even reward them for it. Eliminating Tyr was an unfortunate happenstance, allowed only in the event of a worst case scenario – but he would be very displeased. It would take a great deal of effort to bring Tyr back from the dead, but it wasn't impossible. Alchemy or soul magic could solve a great many problems, mankind just considered them 'forbidden'. “You should come with us. With unawakened power like yours, the sky is the limit. Right now, you are a crude shell of the woman you could be if you receive the same gifts we did.”
“Come with you?” Sigi raised an eyebrow, her expression mocking, tall enough to look down on all of them save Pattoli. Displaying no fear either, which was a good sign – a worthy addition to the Fingers. “Are you offering me a job?”
“A job, a calling, name it how you'd like, but yes.” Rommel nodded, a flicker of excitement in her ocean blue eyes at what must've assuredly been honest interest in the proposal. Eyes that matched her head of hair, Sigi had never seen a human with blue hair before. “You'll most certainly be lavished in gold should you take the offer. Gold, influence, power. Both in the political and arcane sense. Hastur is more than you think. Once he succeeds in unifying the successor states into one nation, the rewards therein will be more than a dream or fantasy. I heard what you said about Trafalgar, and I understand how you must feel. I am no stranger to seeing dreams go up in smoke, I lost both my parents by one way or another. Join us, and you'll possess more than enough resources to take back your ancestral lands should you so desire. Hell, maybe I'll help you myself.”
“We have airships.” Bergen offered, but apparently he wasn't supposed to say that considering the angry punch he received from the skinny 'Yucca'. Odd name... Wasn't that a cactus, or something?
Sigi calmed. This was it, the choice they'd all been given. Bergen, left to rot in a Milanese prison, had looked much the same when he'd been asked.
“That is my dream.” She nodded with a wistful pursing of the lips. “One day, I will find a way to throw back the fog and give my family a proper burial. But--”
“But...?” Rommel tilted her head. “What is that 'but' about – it's an obvious choice, really. I'm the interim leader of the Fingers only until we find a worthy successor. I can think of nobody more worthy than you – you could rule as queen of our new nation with your strength. You were born for it, it is in your blood to rule – your father was a king. Hastur has no interest in ruling himself. And we do have a method by which to throw back the fog, I've seen it.”
“But...” Sigi clucked her tongue in annoyance. “Before I do all of that, I'm going to kill Hastur myself.”
Striking like a snake, her axe whipped around toward Raj once again. Pattoli was faster again, but Sigi wasn't an idiot. To make repeated attempts at a thing when sure to see the same result was insanity. Her whole life she'd trained in preparation for days like this and those beyond. As expected, Pattoli caught the axe in his hand, growling as it bit deep – cutting well into his forearm before stopping. A one handed swing, and from her belt she drew a runed hatchet, burying it in the foreigners skull.
Yucca's fingers shot out, twin serpents comprised of shadow coiling around Sigi's body and trapping her arms as Bergen leaped onto her back and planted his fingertips on her forehead.
“I'm sorry, kid.” He whispered. “Go to sleep.”
Sigi felt... How to explain it? Some kind of weight, like a heavy blanket swallowing her mind – a sleep enchantment but far more powerful than those she'd practiced against. It would take an idiot to fall into a trap like that, regardless. Mage-to-mage illusion projection was powerful on paper, but all practitioners of the arcane learned to guard the mind in their elementary years.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she flexed, crouching and spreading her arms to tear at the serpent. With a kick, burying her foot in the ground – a spout of water carried Pattoli away, throwing him into Raj who was attempting to constrict her as Yucca had. Both men flopped into the ground with groans, with one of them still very much breathing.
What...? Sigi looked at the man with the dark skin. The hatchet was still buried in his skull, deep enough to cleave into the bridge of his nose. A red torrent spraying free of the gash, dripping down the sky-blue blade. And yet he was still alive...
“I really do feel bad for the kid.” Raj chuckled. “But this... This is amazing! What a wonderful power, I can't believe you stole a primus' aspect!”
“Hmm...” Sigi relaxed, deliberating. She would lose no matter what she did – and it didn't take a genius to know that. They, all of them, were like Tyr now. Even before that, these were not some parlor magicians, they were consummate adepts – a nightmare for any mage to fight because countering them properly in a magical duel was so very tricky. All mages used the 'same' kind of elemental magics, but not adepts, they all had their own unique flavor that one would be forced to acclimate to before breaking. “You stole his aspect? How?”
Pattoli eyed her warily, but Rommel still wanted her. Maybe this would help.
“Blood magic.” His skin was pale and deathly, dark rings around his eyes as if suffering from some grave illness. Sigi had seen cancer patience in a better state of complexion that the man speaking to her. “I can't hold onto this much longer, Rommel. We need help.”
Pattoli was the strongest of all of them. Subjectively, maybe one of the strongest mortal mages among humankind – just not in the traditional sense. His ability to 'take' had it's disadvantages, but nothing like this had ever been seen outside of the undead or a few variants of awakened chimera. He was unique, or that specific ability manifesting in the body of a human was at least. All he needed was to touch mana, not even flesh. If a spell hit him, he could take it, if given enough time – the only way to kill him was overwhelming firepower only a practiced warmage was capable of. Or a blade to the brain, he was still a living thing after all.
Hastur had said taking an aspect was impossible, they weren't something that could be removed from the user. They were divine gifts beyond the ken of man. Pattoli had taken something else, not an aspect as he believed just moments before, and even now it was furiously ravishing his body. Turning his insides out and bloating him up with bulbous tumors that grew and receded, making him sick.
The only explanation was that Tyr was consistently being destroyed at all times, existing in a state of rapid entropy and this power of his balanced him in a way. Intriguing, but with the pain wracking his body it was hard to organize his thoughts.
“Spread it between us then.” Bergen said. All of them were ready for Sigi to go wild again, but after seeing confirmation via Raj that they were now true immortals... They quickly adopted an arrogant flare – lowering their weapons and powering down their magic. What use was there in fighting anymore? They could walk into a storm of fire unharmed, armies would fall before them. “Just like the others.”
“I can't.” Pattoli said, grimacing. It felt like there were worms in his lungs trying their best to get free from his flesh, but the healing factor wouldn't allow it. No, it wasn't a healing factor at all, it was something far more enigmatic. A swinging pendulum of contrary energies constantly tugging at his insides, but in their bodies – as living things – it was unbalanced a great deal towards the light. “It's too strong. If I did, you'd turn into... Something. An aberrant, most assuredly, this power is insane... I don't understand why he's so weak...”
This might be why he's so weak. Is this what's been keeping him down?
The idea that Tyr existed in a state of turning to dust, his atomic bonds ripping themselves apart every second of every day... This wasn't magic by his consideration of the academic, he'd never seen anything like it.
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“What's the capacity?” Rommel asked. Capacity meaning the amount of times what Hastur called a 'dao' could be split. They had gathered these, most of them being refined into artifacts as far as she knew – only relevant ones for themselves. To be three times as strong as a man, faster, a bit more intelligent, things like that. Implanted into their bodies and eventually metabolized before the anchors were removed, making them superhuman and tailored specifically to their skillsets. Artificial adepts, the ability to make a mage out of everyone, a faux awakening.
Little things – but they'd all hit their relative limits long ago. Most ranged from two to four in terms of capacity. Though her light adept magic could easily be split ten times, and she was – by the amount of mana in her – the 'strongest' member on the team. Pattoli possessed a gimmick that could beat anyone, however. Maybe even a saint, based on what had just happened, it was unclear and a theory that she hoped would never be tested.
“I don't know...” Pattoli coughed bits of bloody flesh into his hand. “Tens of thousands, millions? I'm slowly getting a handle on it but I need grandfather's help. This is definitely not an aspect... This thing – it's alive! It's growing inside of me, amazing...”
“You took something from my husband.” Sigi said, biting her lip to avoid the rage taking her again. “And now you'll be giving it back.”
“Husband?” Bergen asked. “Damn, if that's how a wife treats her man you can count me out! Still, don't... Uh... Don't hit me, right? Savvy?”
“I am truly sorry, Lady Sigi.” Raj looked sincere as he said that to her. She could tell he was a good man, just in the wrong crowd, perhaps a little too concerned with self preservation. A man who would suffer an attack like that and remain amenable had to be something special. “I meant what I said about the young prince. It was never our intention to kill him, but he is gone. Reach out – do you feel mana? We will give him an honorable burial, as fit for his title as we can manage, and we'll be on our way.”
“Fuck that.” Yucca spat, pointing at Tyr's corpse and looking at Sigi. “You have to have seen what kind of monster he is. We could hear you the whole time. I didn't know him enough to hate him, but come on. He is a butcher and a madman. Do not be duped by your marital duties, you are obviously smart enough to have seen through it.”
“Silence, wench.” It was stupid of them to come so close. Sigi's fist connected with Yucca's face and sent her flying backwards. “You do not know Tyr, none of you. He is a good man. A hundred times the man Cortus could ever be. Ah, you think me a fool? I know exactly who that dog is and he'll get what's coming to him too, one day. My husband, Tyr Faeron, will give me my vengeance – that is his oath bound purpose.”
She had the capacity for common sense. Sure, Tyr was bloody of hand. He'd done things that were not honorable, but if she'd taken more than a moment to reflect she'd have seen this for what it was. Still, even now, he was fighting for Amistad. Acting as a protector, alone and far from the comforts afforded to him – asking for no aid. He might irk her, irritate her with his behavior, but she'd made a grave mistake. Killed her one and only chance at closure.
She didn't mourn, didn't need to. She and Tyr had never been close, and never would've been, it was her destiny to use him and leave as soon as she could. She had known that. Her duty was to bear a son and that's all she needed from him. And now that he was dead... All of her dreams, her ambitions, her very future gone in smoke. The greatest sin and failure of man settling heavy on her shoulders. Whether by intent or not, she'd killed a primus, and he still hadn't risen. There was no light show. Tyr had told her, as with the others, that all of that before had been an exception, not a rule. Now... He was dead, no energy whatsoever flowing from his cooling body. No shattered marble or shrieking undead swinging a sword at those with the hammer raised.
“Believe me, kid.” Pattoli coughed again, a ribbon of blood streaking the pale skin about his chin. “I do not love Hastur as the others might. I am loyal because he is doing what is right, I did not know that this would happen. But even if I wanted to, he is gone, and I can't give something to a dead man.”
“Ah...” Sigi nodded. Dead. Deceased. Gone. “Then I'll gladly take it from you. Give it to me. Give it back and I'll let you live. It would be put to better use in my hands.”
Pattoli managed to laugh despite the suffering he was in. “We're immortal. If you think you can--”
A phantom. Some kind of sick joke. 'Dead' – how could the eternal menace to society remain dead when there was more harassment to engage in? Tyr was no longer laying on the ground – he was standing, limp in the upper body. Bent back so far his head was parallel to the ground. There was a grisly cracking noise as he corrected his posture, hunched over and grinning madly.
A ghoul, still carved up and leaking blood – one eye smashed to red pulp and the other glowing blue and baleful.
“Give it back.” His voice was something like a song. “Give. It. Back. Give it back! Hahahaha! Give it back! No! Don't give it back! Keep it, run! Let me die! 12 minutes, 12 minutes, run! Don't be a fool, child. Hand it – No! Keep it! Expel it if you can, let me die! Let me – Ah... Sksksksk... All these eyes on me. So many eyes. The eyes! Stop! Get the fuck out of my head! The eeeeeyes! Pattoli Casterling... My knight in shining armor, give of your flesh, we hunger. They're everywhere, these eyes. Eyes don't lie. Eyes see. Eyes were always meant to see but these can look and feel and kiss and steal, ahhhhh hahahaha! Give it back! Don't give it back! Sigi! Run, Sigi! Please! She's coming, she's coming, she's coming. Catch her! She's coming! Stop her! Don't stop her. I love her. Let her come. We love her. We want to be – Stop her! Go to the forest! She's coming! THERE ARE WORMS IN MY WALLS, MEAT IN YOUR SKULLS, SLASH AND RIP AND FILL THE PIT!”
What the hell...?
Yucca, with a look of disgust and awe, unleashed all of her gathered power on the wraith. Men's minds often broke when they turned to the undead, but this was just vile. Every time he spoke it was with another voice. Dozens of voices all stacked on top of one another. Much to her chagrin, Tyr didn't even flinch. Her flames washed over him in an ebony blaze, covering him in a sphere of dark-flame. His back arched, an ecstatic smacking of his lips. Bit by bit, the mana was drawn first out of her spell – and then her, into the ravening ghoul at the center of the magic. She backed away, aging visibly, a rock of despair settling into her gut as her skin wrinkled and hair grayed.
“Help! Help me! Please--”
Her agonized scream was cut off. Her body levitated through the air, in full view of the horrified observers. Tyr caught her slender body gently, staring down at her with a single lustful eye before kissing her full on the lips. And when they separated, naught was left but a dried, mummified corpse. One that would not heal, dust blown into the wind as he lost all interest in her and pushed what had been Yucca just moments before aside. “That's it... But just a little. Oh, life. Oh, love. What a bright young girl she was, what a... Refined taste.” His teeth chattered and his wounds healed slightly, but not wholly. Tyr's head snapped forward, iris split like that of a reptile, twitching orb staring directly at Sigi. “Please! I don't want to do this, I never wanted to be this! I just wanted you to be –“
Tyr's arms flew open like a man at crucifix, a rictus grin on his lips still dripping with the blood of the woman he'd fed upon. “Ah... Sigi. Come here, little one. Are we not married? Do you not love me? Embrace your husband. Let me love you, my wife... Give of your flesh so that I might be whole again, to speak the word, end the wyrd, burn the world. Come to me, wife. DON'T YOU LOVE ME!?”
“Yup.” Bergen immediately sprinted away, leaving the others. “Fuck this, I'm out.”
He didn't shout, but they'd all heard him. He knew from the start of things that they should've never done this, as had Raj who was not far behind him in fleeing. Rommel could have cried out at them, if she'd had any breath left in her. Tyr pounced, straddling her chest and beating her head flat with his fists. Sucking away at her energy until she too was a dusty old corpse. Just like Yucca, taking from her everything – but allowing the soul to flee.
Something pulled, whatever Tyr was in this moment was too hungry to chase that fleeting wisp that made a person. He was a ghost in a shell, he needed more, his vessel so large millions could fall and yet still he'd hunger.
The bottomless pit.
“Love me.”
Pattoli grimaced, what a fool he'd been. It all happened so fast, and with the changes wracking his body – he could barely move either.
Tyr found him next, his mouth was cold as it met Pattoli's own. A pallid, dead thing, a tongue far longer than any humans should be – barbed and bladed as it emptied him. Blood, mana, every ounce of moisture sucked into the creature with it's legs wrapped around Pattoli's waist.
“Give unto me.”
All the while, Sigi stared on as Tyr passionately kissed the other man, ignoring the fists beating against him. Another dead man. And then... Horrifying as anything she'd ever seen, he straightened. His back was to her, lurching backwards in a bridge and looking her in the eye with crown facing the ground. His right eye weeping, the left cruel and warped – healed again. Like some kind of jokers mask carved into flesh, both sides of his face twisted and contrary.
“Oh... Sigi... He wished you'd have run, you know? He begged me not to hurt you. Little Sigi, little – Hit me!” Tyr cried, and she obeyed, roaring to the heavens with tears of her own as she buried her axe in his skull. Back at the bridge she'd felt frozen by the realization that she was about to take a life. Since then, she'd grown stronger. Both in mind, body, and spirit. Never again would she freeze.
Tyr, still bent backwards, somehow managed to laugh from his split face. “Ah... He likes you a great deal. Perhaps not love, your relationship is so cold and distant, the child is but a cloth wrung dry. But he appreciated your honesty always. How you live without reservation. He's even proud of you, how delectably... Mmm... Human... I need more, Sigi Mornstone, give me more.”