Chapter 30: Hands of the Artisan XI
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[THE SILVER SEAT - The Back Alleys]
The Divinities did not all have cordial relationships with each other. Some of them were close, some aloof, and some were enemies. Some were closer to humans like Aerachnid, and some were more distant.
There were even a few amongst the 27 that were complete blanks; their appearances, their domains, even their names unknown to the sentients. Only their numbers had been divined, given freely by the Divinities that were willing to divulge such information.
Muramasa was one of the ones that mankind had some information about. Its appearance was that of a sword, the specific make of which was dependent upon the viewer. Its domains were swordsmanship, war, blood, and steel. It delighted in battle, and slept in times of peace.
But knowing these things did not mean that one knew the Divinity itself. For they were more than the sums of their parts - rather, it was more like mankind’s attempt to classify the Divinities to make them easier to understand.
The Souleater. She could clearly see that now.
The monster in front of her, a blade of twisted steel and flesh both, made it clear to her that Muramasa was not humanity’s friend. Not when it delighted in ending their lives so, of corrupting and twisting their flesh and character. Aerachnid had always been rather terse when talking about it.
But what could she do? It took all her strength to grip the handle, despite the disgusting twitching and squelching. Their last hope, the shortsword that the other Player had created, was now firmly within their enemy’s grasp.
The Muramasa Hitokiri attempted to fight its way out of her grasp, but she held on for dear life. However, despite her best efforts, she was slowly losing.
If only... If only they had one more person who could help...
THUNK!
The sword in her hand vibrated and squelched, as it let out another scream. She gripped harder, not letting it break free. What was that ‘thunk’?
Then she saw it. Embedded within the creature’s bloodshot eyeball, which was now twitching and spasming, was a silver throwing dagger.
On top of a nearby building, a silver-haired manservant made his presence known. He was dusting himself off and brushing out wrinkles. One could not be less than impeccable when out doing their daylight duties, after all.
“My apologies,” said Ronove. “This place is more of a maze than I expected. I found it easier to take to the rooftops.”
The call that Cain had made.
Ronove had arrived in time.
Muse felt relief, but she held it in check. Her hands were still gripped around the blade’s handle. Even if it was easier now, the damnable thing was still struggling.
Ronove drew another throwing dagger out of his sleeve, and tossed it forwards. The silver projectile launched like a bolt and did not waver, severing cleanly the demon sword’s tongue.
The sword let out another ear-piercing shriek in response. But now the iron shortsword was falling from its grasp, and landed squarely in the hands of Cain Thompson.
“Do it!” cried Muse. She was losing her grip.
Cain drew his arm back, his eyes turning black once more, and charged forward, yelling. The moment he was in range, he let loose, letting the shortsword fly from his waist and toward the sky.
CLANG!
It was to the Muramasa Hitokiri’s credit that it did not break taking a blow from a perfect weapon born of Synthesis and the flawless motions of Control Scheme.
That was not to say it did not suffer.
As it flew through the air, out of both the Manslayer and Muse’s hands, it let out, once more, a shriek that rocked the streets. Cracks appeared on its blade, which sprayed blood as though they were wounds carved into skin. The blade flew through the air, before landing on the ground.
It spun around a few times, before falling silent. No more twitching, no more movements that resembled flesh rather than metal. The thing was finally still, and it was a sword again. Even the redness of the blade was fading, returning what looked like regular simple steel.
The Manslayer tottered, and then collapsed in her arms. Muse held her fingers out to the man’s neck to check his pulse. Still alive, although he was clearly out like a light. Had been since Cain’s haymaker, she assumed.
The battle was over.
Ronove landed on the ground with a thud, before holding his hand up to his nose.
“Oh my,” said the silver-haired man. “This is going to take a while to clean up.”
Cain and Muse looked around and at each other.
The entire street had been painted red by their fight. The ground was slick with blood, and all the buildings around looked as if somebody had taken a bucket of red paint to them. The smell, which they had ignored in the midst of battle, came back to them with a vengeance.
Cain groaned as he looked at his soaked jacket and jeans and groaned. Muse was sympathetic. Unlike her, she didn’t think he owned any other clothes.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
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[THE SILVER SEAT - Lifeweaver’s Ward]
Ronove had mobilized the precinct the moment he had received the call from Cain, utilizing the Royal Seal of Solomon. Thanks to that, squires and knights of the White Hand had arrived moments after the confrontation to sequester the crime scene away from the eyes of the general public.
Not that it was necessary considering how few frequented that place in particular. Still, better safe than sorry.
Wyverns had also been dispatched, and Vandamme had been airlifted out of there to the Lifeweaver’s Ward. Alonzo and Nameen had accompanied him as well, claiming familial ties.
As for Cain and Muse, Ronove had demanded they go clean themselves up first before doing anything else, and had sent them back to Lamplight Island to hit the showers. Clothing would be provided for Cain, who had nothing else to wear.
And now, Nameen sat alone in one of the Lifeweaver’s Ward rooms, waiting for Vandamme to wake up.
The man had gone through surgery, seen to by several of what they had told Nameen were the greatest surgeons in the city, as well as two large white spiders that resembled the little one.
Webby. The little one that had provided him with the ingredients that allowed him to save the old dwarf’s life.
Alonzo had sat with him in silence for a few hours until duty called. He had grumbled and left, but not before giving Nameen a short nod.
The boy understood. He would be in charge of this place. He’d be the one to make sure that nothing happened, and that the old man would have a face to wake up to.
The old dwarf had to wake up.
He had to.
“Hey!”
Nameen turned in surprise to look at the sole entrance. It was the green-skinned girl and the other man. The two that had fought and defeated the attacker that had sent Vandamme to the medical ward in the first place.
She was wearing a simple white dress and sandals and her hair was down. Her entire vibe was very different from the knightly guardian that she had been before. The man was unable to look at her directly. He too had changed into a simple tunic and trousers. Nameen noticed that the shortsword he had created was sheathed and attached to his belt.
Both of them still wore that single black glove on their right hands. What had been so thoroughly soaked with blood before looked brand new. Nameen wondered dimly how they had done it so quickly.
“Eat up,” said the girl, smiling gently and revealing her sharp canines. “We brought some food.”
For the first time, Nameen noticed that the two were holding what looked to be a bag filled with lunchboxes. A nice smell drifted directly into his nostrils, but he looked down.
“I’m... I’m not hungry,” said the boy. “...No, it’s more like I don’t need to eat.”
Silence.
Nameen hoped he hadn’t offended them.
Then he heard a sigh.
He turned to see the woman giving what looked to be an annoyed stare at the man. He was still avoiding her gaze, although for a very different reason now. She huffed.
“Seriously, are you guys all like this?” she remarked, before putting the lunchboxes down on a nearby table and taking them out.
She very pointedly gave one to Nameen and one to the other man. By the look in her eyes, they weren’t allowed to refuse it. The other man glanced at Nameen, and gave a sheepish grin.
“It’s... probably for the best you give in,” he said. His words were reluctant, but his tone was anything but. There was appreciation there. “I don’t think Muse is going to take no for an answer here.”
“You Players,” said the green woman with exaggerated derision. “I’m starting to get a sense for you. I don’t care if you don’t get hungry. Everybody needs food. Even if you don’t need food, you still deserve food. So eat!”
The man shrugged. He broke open the lunchbox and started to chow down.
Nameen didn’t quite get it, but that was okay. These two weren’t scary. They had literally jumped in to save their lives, and now they were gently joking around to make him comfortable. He felt safe here, just like he felt safe in the company of the old dwarf.
The noodles they had brought were also really good.
“How’s he doing?”
“...They say he’s going to be okay,” said Nameen, responding to the green lady’s question. “But they also said they don’t know when he’s going to wake up. It could be in a few hours, it could be a few days.”
The man looked at the old dwarf in the bed. Nameen caught the light in his eyes. It seemed that he was remembering something - probably something bad. Nameen wondered how often he wore the same expression.
“That’s good,” said the green lady. “The worst is over now. If they say he’ll wake up, he’ll wake up. Don’t worry too much about it, okay?”
She ruffled his hair affectionately. Nameen nodded. Her words and gestures made him feel a little better. She was so confident that everything would end up fine, so confident that it gave him some confidence too.
“I’m Muse, by the way,” said the green lady. “And that bonehead over there is Cain.”
“I still don’t understand why you call me a bonehead.”
“Anyone who stubbornly refuses food is a bonehead!” whispered Muse loudly.
Nameen giggled, before catching himself.
“I’m... I’m Nameen.”
They sat in silence for a little while, simply focused on consuming their meals. The simple sounds of utensils being used, as well as the deep, serene breathing of the dwarf who was still asleep in front of them.
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[THE SILVER SEAT - Lifeweaver’s Ward]
As Cain watched Vandamme breathe, he remembered what it was like when Bron had been struck down by McDougal. Similar, a deep wound and a coma that would last who knew how long. Nameen looked the way Miss Corbin had then.
He hoped with all his heart that he wouldn’t take the days that Bron had taken. The sooner he woke up, the sooner this entire incident would finally be over and people would be able to move on.
They finished their meals, and Muse packed up the lunchboxes and returned them to the bag. There was still one left which they had apparently brought for Alonzo, but since the man wasn’t here there was nothing they could do about it. They’d have to make a detour later.
The Manslayer had to be taken into custody, and they still had to figure out what to do with the Muramasa Hitokiri. It was a difficult question. Apparently, not often did they have to deal with Chosen who committed acts of this magnitude, nor a weapon that seemed to be halfway between a divine beast and a demon.
The food packed away, Cain looked at Nameen. The boy looked back, tilting his head slightly. The boy looked more his age when he did something juvenile like that, Cain thought.
Cain slipped off the Corpse Candle.
Nameen’s eyes widened as he saw Cain’s eyes darken - his sclera went black, his irises went gold.
Cain didn’t know quite where to begin, but he just went for it.
“Nice to meet you, Nameen,” said Cain. “I’m Cain, a Player just like you.”
He wasn’t sure what kind of response he was looking for. Surprise that there was somebody else who had the same eyes, perhaps. Excitement, happiness, dread? There were a million ways that things could’ve gone, but the next word out of Nameen’s mouth wasn’t anything that he could’ve expected.
A shocked gasp, and then...
“...Mister Abel?”