“They are still sitting there.” Khaine grumbled at the clairvoyant portal on the wall. “They’re just… Bleeding.” He harrumphed the word like a local reeve speaking of lowered taxes. Despite his lack of eyes, Khaine was still able to perceive what was beyond a little magical aptitude. Aside from the viscous, pale, almost completely transparent pool of fluids slowly forming beneath the summoned hero the cave was desolately silent. If their chest wasn’t still moving with each meditative breath then Khaine would have already proclaimed them dead.
“Then your missing something. I made this ritual for the gods to bring champions of change into this world. I knew they didn’t have the patience, or humility, to directly serve their subjects. The Maxims are alive. A breathing weave of mana, intent, and a collective will that touches all things who choose to seek power. This ritual must be carefully pieced together to find the desired individual. The new gods may shirk my counsel when using this ritual, but the old still keep to the ones I’ve given them.” Incus let his jaw move freely with each word. The only part of him moving in that chair.
Khaine purposely ignored the mana roiling in the room. His lord’s chest rose and fell like a gasping man on the verge of asphyxiation. It was just like every time after a slumber. He’d never been asleep this long, but Khaine had no desire to rend his senses raw with the sheer amount of information his lord took in. Instead, he focused on the still creature bleeding silently on the cave floor. A mirror-faced construct, if he was correct. “Well… Will you at least tell me what you asked for?” Khaine mumbled sullenly.
“I asked for nothing,” Incus replied with a scoff from his nonexistent throat. “For if I knew what we needed, I could simply give it to them. I left it to the Maxims. They are still young, but… they grow every day. Besides, if you’ve shown anything over the centuries it's that I should be placing more trust in my children. Not less.” Incus’s words left an odd sensation on Khaine’s spine.
Incus hadn’t made Khaine for himself. He was yet another gift to one of the dozens of old gods the lich had raised from their mortal coil. Khaine had taken his first steps into the world in time to witness the decline of his now lord. From progenitor of gods and commander of horrors to magical shut-in.
And when the never-ending games of the pantheons left Khaine a husk, tossed aside by the very god to who he’d been pledged, Incus was there. Like a grandfather willing to pick up all the pieces and put him back together. Khaine’s thoughts rattled with the stories he’d pieced together. Of the true Age of Strife. Few knew just many souls Incus had harvested. How many living creatures had their essence shredded? How could the same creature that saved him and dedicated their existence to others for so long be the being of power-hungry malice the stories told of?
Khaine pulled himself from thoughts that he had spent decades plagued by. If they were questions he was meant to ask his creator then it would be easy to do just that. Focusing instead on the slowly dying construct sitting in the cave.
“... I have my doubts…”
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“God this is boring…”
He looked at the name he had been given either minutes or hours ago that sat floating on a sheet of parchment in front of his eyes. The clinically sterile room had nothing but his chair, a small table, and a couple of torches along the walls. He had envisioned something to do. Whatever these people thought the word ‘Contest’ meant, Jack certainly didn’t share it. If it wasn’t for the probing sensation that prickled against his consciousness after asking oddly vague words he’d have truly believed the only reason for this contest was to test his sheer willpower.
Another word floated across his mind and he let himself dissect it. He felt it out more than heard it in his mind’s eye. Seemed right and didn’t leave him feeling any dumber. It had something to do with building… Not architecture, at least. Either was beyond his wheelhouse, regardless. Jack sat in silence as he tried to push what he knew out into that probing sensation. He knew it wasn’t his imagination when his grand knowledge of construction was received with a lukewarm reception.
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“You enjoying yourself, H? Been pretty quiet since we got here.” Jack ventured the question as innocently as he could manage.
Stop talking to me. There's nothing left to say between us.
His brow furrowed in time for the next word. Something about Hunting. Great, something else that he had literally never done in his life. After a moment of thought, he began pushing what he knew of tracking towards the sensation. Situational awareness, small tricks to gauge distance and keep track of multiple enemies. At least the response wasn’t as bad.
“No, I’m not. I don’t know what is happening or where we are, but I’ll be damned if I’m just gonna sit back and play guinea pig. This could be a drug-induced coma, reality augmenting software, or anything.” His persuasive tirade faltered with another word. FIghting. Well, he understood that well enough. He let his mind whir with the basics of hand-to-hand combat, augmenting it with the leverage of basic human physiology. Biology? How people weren't supposed to move.
Your biochemical readings are well within expectations, ‘Jack.’ your not in a medically induced coma and my scans would have immediately found any change in augmented reality matrices.
Well, aside from the rather venomous way she said his new name, that all made sense. He continued to feed his knowledge of combatives into the curious probe but he could tell certain things were rapidly becoming lost in translation. The connection of geometry, fields of overlapping fire, and firearms training. Some things translated better than others. Before he knew it a new word was pushing into his mind.
Little talking? That's stupid. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
It's small talk. It's the way people spend time talking about nothing.
With a grumbling curse, he began thinking. How did people just… Talk? He always made up stories, lied, and did anything he could to just get what he needed before leaving. When all else failed he just tried to talk about what the other person wanted to blather about. Being sociable just simply wasn’t something that he found interesting.
You are so bad at this.
“Shut up.” Jack replied with a wit somewhere between a rapier and a butterknife. A headache was beginning to sprout behind his brow. “Isn’t there something you could do? Like, anything at all that’ll make this less painful?” With his outburst already underway Jack stood to his full height. Tackling the next concept while beginning to pace the room. The small act of movement was more helpful than he’d admit.
My objective was never to help you.
He could feel the stone beneath the balls of his feet with every step, especially after beginning to jog around the desk. “You made that abundantly clear with the completely unwarranted snarky remarks while I was being shot. Completely unprofessional, by the way.”
I think thanking you for your service to the company was very professional.
“We’re just gonna have to disagree there, H. If I was the kind of guy to hold grudges then there would be no coming back from that.”
You do hold grudges.
Jack wracked his brain for something about tea that didn’t degrade it to dirty leaf water while the sensation probed his mind like a child eyeing cake. “MOTHER OF…! Listen, I should not be the adult right now! You tried to kill me! Probably with people that I knew! So show a little class and butter me up. Lie, cheat, do something to salvage whatever this is! At least that would be something interesting.”
Why?
He kept moving while trying to think of what tea was. Did people put dried fruit in it? Ginger, he’d heard of ginger tea. It was with the thought of ginger on his mind that he began to slow down. The back of his consciousness mulling through the past day’s events and piecing together what it could.
“Oh… I’m still bleeding, aren’t I? You're just trying to wait out the clock.”
“...”
“Oh, you are so grudged.”