“Missionary…”
The Attuned Messenger croaked.
“Attuned Messenger…”
The Missionary hollowly hummed.
Her presence froze the room. The disorderly cannibals of the Blood Filter Syndicate immediately ceased everything and stood still as if a single wrong move would warrant them a swift death.
The members of Act X were powerful in their own right. Even the Heralds, however weak they may seem, were far stronger than their levels would ever suggest. Missionaries on the other hand were an entirely different breed, living and breathing the absolution of the Scripts.
If it told them to murder, then they’d murder. If it told them to fly, then they’d fly. And if told them to surrender their life, then they’d happily take it, for their purpose of laid solely on the commandments of their Scripts.
What made them so frightening was the manner in which they fought. It was as though they could see seconds ahead of time. The Missionary saw all, and she was essentially the equivalent of the Expositionist in his ranks amongst the Librarians, perhaps higher.
But Act X were not known to meddle with external affairs. They only worked within the parameters of their Scripts so long as they weren’t impeded by outside forces. In truth, a single Missionary was all it would take to eliminate this Syndicate, the Attuned Messenger, and the Librarian pair.
“A member of Act X rummaging its way through the Outskirts of this City… and still plundering the remnants of the last war.”
“Ho…? Are you upset that you failed to monopolize on much needed Actors…?”
“Gears. Forget your Actors.”
“Such a pity that you will never understand. It’s uncouth of me to berate you… you are after all, not so different from us. Just impure… Untuned.” Despite her words, the Missionary was eager to belittle the Attuned Messenger. “Incompatible with the sacred texts. Rigid in your methods as always. Mindless flocking together… Putrid. I await to wash myself in a lovely bath… preferably one untainted by the blood of this filthy place.”
She reached out with her free arm, pointing a finger at the Expositionist, before it suddenly shifted across the room until it fell onto a man who tried to hide himself amongst a small gathering of cannibals. A bead of sweat dripped from the forehead of the Expositionist, who was relieved that he was not the target of the Missionary.
The man she pointed at on the other hand…
“We had a Script follower in here all along? Fucking throw em’ forward!” The Head Eater roared, seeing this as an act of betrayal as a bald man was thrown towards the Missionary. “So our protection wasn’t enough for ya? Didn’t have fun with all the people we took, and all the good meat we’ve been havin’? Oi Missionary! How about you let us deal with em’? That punk’s ours.”
“… I don’t believe it will be wise to challenge Act X. They’ve been leaving us alone so long as we stay away from their territory.” The Expositionist urged.
“The Seed’s gonna make me strong, right? Why don’t we just, I dunno, brawl it out?”
“Because there is an even bigger threat on its way here.” The Attuned Messenger stated as the woman wiped her nose.
“I guess you got a point.” She said. “Alright then. What are ya gonna do? Skin em’ alive? Any idea what he didn’t do to deserve your punishment?”
Soon, all manners of debilitating words left the lips of the man’s fellow peers.
“Dabbling with the Scripts? Check it out. That idiot didn’t get the memo.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“One way to ruin a good life.”
“Guess he was one of those idiots before he got here. Both them and those Gearheads are nothing but bad news. Good if you ain’t got anyone else to turn to.”
The man stumbled backwards, but a line of halberds suddenly sealed him in, preventing him from fleeing the throne room. His only option was to charge past the Missionary, but his body demanded that he stood perfectly still.
“W-What… What the hell did I do wrong?” He demanded; his voice ripe with desperation. “What the fuck did you want me to do!? I- I already ate two fingers from the collection! So why the hell do I have to pin the blame on my wife!? ‘Pin the blame on your spouse’. What kind of bullshit is that?”
He clasped his head, his mind spiraling by the absurdity of the Script that was handed to him by the previous Herald.
“Cook her insides and spill it on the seventh person you pass on the second corridor to the left. How… How does any of that make any sense!?”
The Missionary’s soleless eyes could not care less for his desperation. What mattered was simply the fact that he failed to carry out the commandments of his Script and therefore, had betrayed Act X. When he realized that there was not an ounce of concern in its eyes, he suddenly deflated and dropped to his knees.
“What collection? You could have made your own… remarried with a different wife… spilled the cooked organs onto a person. Is it our fault that you were inept to figure out that there was an alternative solution?”
“… alternative…? What is with that fucked interpretation!?”
“I must breathe for another 24,436 times. But the Scripts do not specify whether I must breathe slowly, or rapidly. You only have yourself to blame.”
The Missionary raised her great pale blade, which the man realized was made from marble rather than traditional steel. With only a single hand the blade hovered above her head like a great pillar. Then, she cleaved at the air diagonally, miraculously stopping an inch away from the man’s shoulder.
But it was not him that she targeted. Rather, it was the invisible string that held him up. He collapsed like a stringless marionette, left as nothing more than a shell of his former self. His life had been robbed in the blink of an eye, and not a single drop of blood was shed.
“A shame. That is one less Actor for the fated tenth act. If you’ll now excuse me… It was interesting seeing you all gathered. I wonder how much longer you can keep it up before one of you starts to crack.” The Missionary openly mocked, throwing her blade behind her once more as her lengthy drabs concealed her weapon this time.
She appeared as though she possessed a giant tail.
“… for someone that follows the Scripts, you tend to impulsively run your mouth.” The Attuned Messenger criticized, but much to his surprise –
“Ho? You severely underestimate our reach, little cog. ‘Torment the Messenger however you see fit’. I believe there is nothing more that your kind cannot stand than us. Imitate the Anids all you wish. Spin and assimilate as many Gears as you must. It will never change that you are insignificant no matter how much you boast yourself as a being with a higher purpose. Cog.”
She drilled this into him, her face never changing as she turned her back to them, leaving behind the body of the bald man.
“An additional 10 fingers as a parting gift. May we never cross paths until the fated act of our grand theatrical. But unlike you, if I am called to die the next day then so be it. Your purpose is as unfaithful as a certain Star.” She hummed. “Oh, and do pass along this message to your leaders, Expositionist. What they do in these following days will come back to haunt them all. That much is certain. And for the lady… I’m sorry.”
“… what the hell are you talking about…?” The Scraper growled.
“I thought you should hear some words of comfort. Ho… The Black Dove will be arriving shortly. It was estimated at my 24,421st breath. Hm. It would introduce all manners of complications to be seen with the likes of you.” Before long, the Missionary departed through the giant, wooden-caged doors.
But not without one last piece of advice.
“Be careful with how much you provoke the Black Dove.”
With that, she disappeared without a trace. Seconds later a brigade of men flooded through the doors, wondering what had just happened. The chaos reached all ends of the fortress, somehow amusing the Head Eater who only cared for the Seed in her possession.
The three Impuritas on the other hand struggled to recover from the encounter.
“… how much do they know…?” The Scraper uttered in a scalding whisper.
“Too much. But they’re tight lipped… A-aha. We should leave. Now. Our good friend, Head Eater. A change of plans.” The Expositionist stated.
“What now?”
“Show the Black Dove a greeting she can never forget. I assure you; her fear will stop her in her tracks. Believe me. Believe us.” He urged.
“Break her down mentally, then mutilate her, right? Sounds like the perfect recipe for a good post-fight meal!”
The Expositionist knew exactly what he was doing. They all knew his intentions, and the Authors in extension. They wished to extract as much Nex as they could to finalize the next stage of their plan.
However, the Scraper could not help but to take the Missionary’s warning to heart. But she didn’t say a single word, and instead, only nodded in approval.
She feared for the worst…
… And so did Frost when she heard the news from Nav to ‘brace herself’.