The buyer had arranged for the bar on the 60th floor to be their meeting place. They boarded a mechanical climber that gripped one of the many steel beams that supported the inner walls. It came as a surprise to all of them when Hailien declared on the Climber that she would not be attending the meeting.

“I trust you can handle this by yourselves,” she said, “you don’t need me around to hand off some watches.”

She wasn’t wrong, Hailien was a passenger on the ship the same way Devon was. A passenger who held quite a bit of sway, Devon thought, but a passenger. This was all ship business, Devon didn’t need to be here either. And truthfully, she didn’t want to be.

They wanted answers, or at least get her to agree to stay for a drink, but she silenced them with a wave of her hand that hit the glass of the Climber sharply.

“I have business to attend to. Just don’t get cheated. Strongarm him if you have to.”

She pried open the door and went through an entrance the Climber was in the process of passing. Her body descended into shadow.

“Guess any stop worked for her,” Trip said once she was gone.

“I don’t like this,” Stumble fiddled with her braids.

”What business does she have, you figure?” Plunge asked.

“Maybe she’s going to kill Jeavell,” Devon said. It’s what she would have done, through she doubted Hailien had any such plans. It was just something to say.

They all turned to her, taking the comment far too seriously.

“I-I’m not condoning it or anything. But-“

“Following in Johann’s footsteps. I like it, I like it.” Trip said, nodding sagely.

“Do you think we’ll be expected to pose with the body?” Plunge asked, eyes to the ground.

“What!?” Stumble made as if to hit Plunge, but the lack of a Remark made it clear the threat was hollow.

“Wish she would have invited us. We could have been back up.” Grumbled Dive.

“I’m just saying, people pose when they reel in big fish. If you get a Constant, especially a corpulent sort-“

“Is Jeavell corpulent now? She’s not. They’re more like a, it’s more like he’s designed for a mail slot.” Trip smiled privately. “Very rigid, lots of right angles.”

“She didn’t even invite us!” Dive said, getting heated. “She made us do all the boring work while she has all the fun!”

“We’re supposed to deliver watches?” Plunge said, like this was a new development. “I didn’t sign up for that.”

Collapse pointed accusingly at Devon. Now that was uncalled for, what the fuck did she do?

”Oh Curtain, they’re running with it.” Adam muttered. Was there a hint of amusement in his voice? Of course there was.

Stumble got really close. Her breath smelled of chalk and lint. There was something black and thin in her eyes, swimming to and fro, “Do you really think Hailien can kill a Constant?”

”Well, she’s done it before.” Devon said, not sure how serious to take this.

Stumble gave her an odd look, like she had legitimately forgotten, and then turned away with a dismissive wiggle of the nose.

Collapse suddenly waved their arms erratically, bursting into an intricately signed treatise. What she was saying Devon didn’t know, but the others were gripped by it.

“She’s right.” Stumble said, tears welling in her eyes. “We need to be there for her.”

“Yeah, that's a good point. She needs us now more than ever!” Dive said.

”Then… we must be there for her,” Stumble clasped her hands together and grimaced, “to make sure she doesn’t do anything ill advised.”

Plunge summoned her Remark. “The Constants die today, yes?”

Trip summoned his. “Anyone remember what floor she got off on?”

No one did. Trip was eventually able to convince them that it was the 26th floor, but Devon knew as well as him that this was a guess. They would probably spend a few hours waving their Remarks around, making a ruckus, before getting bored and winding back where they started.

They waited impatiently for the Climber to reach another door, and worked together to open it. It took all five of the Fall Collective to get it open, and they trampled out like crawl cows being herded to the killing floor.

Devon watched them go, and then her eyes reluctantly fell to the large barrel of watches. She sighed. Once again an errand girl. She hefted the barrel up with only a bit of difficulty. The fact that she could at all a cold comfort. Nothing to do but be the responsible one.

She wanted to puke. Not that she could.

“I don’t think it’s true. Hailien does not seem the type to act rashly.”

“I mean, yeah. I have a pretty high regard for myself but believing every bullshit claim I make magically come true? Ego wise, I’m not there yet.”

She moved the barrel up and down, subconsciously doing reps. It helped exhaust her frustration.

“You want to kill them, even though they now lack the power to oppress.”

“Well, they could still be oppressing.” She said with a huff. “But yeah, I don’t trust them.”

“It is the position that is the problem, Devon.” He said this like her dad, stern and desperate, “Someone leaving a seat of power, be it by choice or not, should be respected. We know only the intentions they’ve shown, and they seem… bored. Callous, sure, but… but… that doesn’t mean we should-” She felt a jolt inside her, and her heart rate slowed. “Fallen curtain, you have a lot of rage in you right now. Makes it hard to think.”

“Oh trust me, it would be an even more if I wasn’t trying to stifle it.”

“Is that what you’re doing, or am I? It feels like it’s festering.” Being in her brain, it didn’t make sense to argue with him.

She shrugged. “I just gotta take a breather, find something that will help me blow off steam.” She had never been in a gym before, she didn’t even know what one looked like. She tapped the barrel like a musician taps their instrument. “Grand, I really wanna punch someone.”

…

There was a bartender serving drinks when she arrived. Featureless beige onesie, quite an odd style, but her role was clear from her actions and mannerism. She was pouring drinks, taking orders, and talking to customers.

The only thing missing were the drinks, orders, and customers. She was miming all this out in a corner devoid of anything. The actual bar was at the farthest corner from her, all of the furniture and furnishings squished together at one end, like the space had been designed specifically for this cruel joke.

Walking past her, Devon felt sorry for her, but then she remembered that this was a Placebo, and so there was no real person to be sorry for.

There was another Placebo here as well, taking a large painting and placing it on a horizontal pillar of paintings that jutted out from the wall for about five feet.

The bar’s counter was scratched. Chunks were missing from it, and there was a strange stain that was darker than the bar’s shadow. The single light above came from a vaguely lamp shaped machine. It had metal teeth that grinded harshly as the bulb sticking out of it flickered, always seeming on the verge of going out.

A voice from below the bar greeted her, “hey there, give me a sec, I’m just getting something from the basement.”

“Alright” Devon said, scanning the room for 30. He was supposed to be here, wasn’t he? And yet the place was empty.

The only customer was a woman with luscious brown hair staring daggers at the bar. She wore a shirt that Devon couldn’t make out. It was too big for her so the letters were stretched and illegible from this angle.

She asked the Bartender, “Have you seen a member of Lemure’s Legacy around here? Goes by 30?”

“The legacy is no more, thanks to Montanna,” the Bartender said, still unseen. She realized she had heard his voice before, but couldn’t place it.

“We should ask this man if he was a Legacy member, he seems to know quite a bit.”

“Alright, hey, do you know what’s been going on with-“

“Lemure’s Legacy is no more.” Each word was louder than the last as he emerged. He was a handsome man in an ugly sort of way, only a few years older than her but with an extra foot of height, as skinny as a piece of shrapnel. He ran a hand through his curly red hair and grinned.

The smile did it. She knew him. She knew him.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He had that gross sort of self confidence that made one wince, that smug, self assured smile that seemed painted on. The only thing different about him was he was missing a finger, that was new. She knew this man, he was not only another Constant, but one she had every reason to despise. The one who personally killed her father, the one named-

“Clive Bowen!” The scream came not from Devon, but from the woman with the perfectly coiffed hair. She was standing now, the too big shirt hanging to her knees. “You are a Constant, and I shall be the one to kill you.”

She could make out the words on her shirt now. It said The Basset Hound in big black letters. Devon had no better idea of what this meant or referred to than you.

“You got me, but I’m gonna get you back on a technicality. Was a Constant, past tense.” He looked to Devon for sympathy. She responded with a sneer.

He seemed surprised, then gave her a wink, like this was a private game between them.

The urge to kill him was rising.

“But I assume you’re part of this big battle royale thing,” Clive said, concurrently making a drink for absolutely no one, “which means that doesn’t matter to you. Cause I’m still, technically, a Constant.”

“Montanna said that offing Constants were extra special.”

“Monty said that, huh?”

He was looking back and forth, for what Devon didn’t know. She could kill him. It would be so simple. Adam wiggled in her hand and made this clear. But he needed to recognize her. What would it do for her heart to kill him if he died without knowing why.

The Basset Hound walked forward confidently. Her weapon was a massive dueling lance, pulsing with a swirling blue light. “I’m a lover of lore, I sniff it out like a floatrat finds light, and I heard that you were powerless.”

The Placebo with the painting walked past. She clotheslined him with her weapon, he turned into purple smoke that dissipated in the shape of a helix.

“Yes.” Devon said, “So there’s no real point in fighting him.”

A quick side eye to Devon, a crooked smile meant for all. “The weird girl is right,” Clive said, “I’m harmless.”

Her instinct was not to trust him, but what did he get out of lying, it just made him an easier target. But if so, why show his face?

It was the same for Jeavell. For people who had lost their strength, they sure liked being public about it.

The Basset Hound squealed with delight. “Perfect! I hate actually having to try, this will be a breeze!” She was right next to Devon now, who had as good a reason to stop this girl as she did to help her. But there was something about Clive’s calm that paralyzed. Some certainty he knew that she didn’t. It wasn’t like her to wait, but the energy right now-

“You feel it too, don’t you? It’s like something’s here, but painted over. Hidden.”

Clive left the bar and faced the Basset Hound. “You’ll at least do me the honor of summoning my Remark?” He did so without waiting for permission. It was a pathetic malnourished thing, even smaller than on the day when he killed her father. A Remark like that suited him.

”That's not his true power, there’s something underneath.”

Devon adjusted her grip.

The Basset Hound squealed again, completely oblivious. She got into a style of dueling Devon had never seen before, all bouncing knees and solid arms. “Grand, this is so easy! I can’t believe I’m the first person to find you!”

Clive’s eyes came alive. “Who said you were the first?”

He crushed the pathetic remark in his hand, and it moved into his skin. It was pitch black, and it coated his body from the heart outward. He grew taller, extra joints cracked into existence, but the biggest change was how his head started to burn. i

As she watched his face change, everything but his smile reduced to blackness, she realized she was wrong. It wasn’t flame. Instead, it was like the top of his head was constantly being erased.

A finger from the watch barrel crawled out, and took its place on the nub of Clive’s left ring finger. It was so quick and minor in the bizarre transformation that Devon herself missed it, but it should be mentioned.

When the metamorphosis had more or less finished, Clive stood seven feet tall, his blue tracksuit like outfit still on and now seemed even stranger. He was all limbs and teeth, all black except for that terrifying charred smile. Devon felt ill.

“This is like the other Constant… oh Curtain, they all did this, every last one of them.”

“I’ve… I’ve seen this before. Yucian tried something similar. But it didn’t help!”

She restrained Adam. He was vibrating in her hand, it took all her strength to stop him from lashing out and attacking.

”Not yet,” she whispered, “not yet.”

“Yucian did not believe the way we do.”

The transformed Clive grinded his teeth, and somehow, words came out. “There is strength in authority unknown to idiots. The Contrarian’s Needle is a way to consolidate that strength. It can never leave me in the way being a Constant can. Titles are not material, you can’t consume honorifics. Trick and Remark combined, synthesized in the body. That is a tangible process you can see and feel.”

He looked at his hands, their spindly digits, their vanta black darkness. He cracked them all, going finger by finger. In this new form he moved like a windup doll. Sudden jerky motions that ended abruptly.

“Trick, Remark, Body. Trick, Remark… Body. All three are the same and in that way it is Cain, Abel, and Serach that I now find at my disposal. I am the real and tangible. I am my own creation myth.”

“Uh okay, neat Trick,” the Basset Hound said, proudly unphased, “But just cause you’re scary now or whatever doesn’t mean you’re strong.”

She swung lazily at the now transformed Clive.

He caught her Remark in his hand. His hand turned into uncountable numbers of string that wrapped themselves around the lance and broke it easily.

The Basset Hound screamed, her pain synced with her Remark. Devon felt a sympathy originating from Adam. Not for the Basset Hound, but for her Remark.

With a kick Clive sent the Basset Hound flying a good twenty feet, landing right underneath the hanged pile of paintings. She hit her head hard on the wall. She tried to get up, hit her head on the frames right above her.

“Fuck, thats- thats cheating,” The Basset Hound said, bleeding from both nostrils.

“I’m playing a different game.”

A single string from Clive's shoulder lashed at the paintings. One by one they fell. The first few not hitting The Basset Hound, only the space directly in front of her, but the last twenty or so found their target. She died buried under dozens of oil paintings, none of them particularly good.

The broken Remark burned bright and vanished. With no more distractions, he turned to where Devon last was.

She wasn’t there. From behind him she pounced but his hand transformed into a scythe and slashed her back. She fell back on the counter.

“Fuck!”

A half dozen tendrils of string erupted from his chest and went for her. She ran across the bar counter, straight towards him, hopping and dodging them until she was close enough to jump up, Adam raised.

He turned into strings that she fell into. The strings then turned into rope that tied and bound her. Adam fought valiantly, going after them one by one, but it wasn’t helping, her skin was becoming scarred, the rope pushing harder and harder with every one he cut.

“Adam, to me.” His cold body snapped back to her. The strings lessened ever so slightly.

“These things aren’t people or Remarks. What did the other one say? Contrarian’s Needle… awful things, we need to kill him.”

“I’m really trying.”

The strings that weren’t restraining her slithered over the counter. Out popped Clive, the smooth way he came up almost comical. It deserved a slide whistle.

“Hello there ma’am, what would you like to start off with?”

“Fuck you.”

“We’re out of those I’m afraid. Popular choice,” he took out a napkin and began wiping the grimy counter, really playing the part. “How about some explanation, you look like you could use it.”

“Okay then, what’s going on here exactly?”

“Revenge,” said a low voice.

She saw its claws first. A massive beast low to the ground rose up from the bar and slumped against the counter, its flesh was a curdled yellow, it looked like a slumber sloth but without the nose. The only facial features visible were two tiny black eyes.

“Yucian was not the best of us, but she was one of us.” Said a flat, monochrome being who screamed into existence. They looked like a cubist painting that could kill. “And her death is why the sky is falling. Bad stuff. They’ll destroy the .” She recognized the voice, this one was Jeavell.

Which meant the third was-

“Karol?”

“In the flesh,” he said. If it was anyone else it would have been a pun, but there was no humor in his voice. The gentleman cannibal. Personally poached by Lemure to serve as one of his men mere moments before he was meant to be executed. There were many rumors on his habits, and looking into his soulless eyes, Devon knew all of them to be true.

“Let me bring your attention to the fact that you still live,” Clive said, “We want to duel, so we’ll try to keep you in tiptop condition until it’s begun.”

“But she’s bleeding,” Karol stated, “Clive, she can’t bleed yet. That’s cheating.”

“Duels are the honorable thing,” Clive droned on, “am I gonna get any more criticism, Karol?”

“Simmer down. We’ll let you have your fun, even if she is damaged goods,” Cubist Jeavell shuddered forward, “though if you push any further, she’ll croak. And then, my dear asshole, your point will be rendered moot.”

“Alright, alright,” he held up his hands in mock surrender.

The strings were still on her, but she could now breathe, and her limbs were no longer at risk of being sliced off entirely.

“Don’t say I’ve never done anything nice to you.” It was unclear to Devon if Clive meant her or Jeavell, “Anywho, the point is, while we are no longer recognized as Constants, we have something far more potent, true power.”

On cue, all three opened their mouths to reveal pitch black spires that lined the space between their grins.

“The Contrarian’s Needle, a power separate from the Grand Council. A power passed down from The Man With The Permanent Sneer. Through killing you in a way both public and absolute, we will put an end to this rebellion. We will put an end to falsehoods. You cannot kill a god.”

Devon understood and she wished she didn't.

“Hypocrites,” she said, “you’re all fucking hypocrites.”

“In what way?” Karol shifted uncomfortably. He was the only one who seemed hurt by the accusation.

“Oh! What way? That’s a really good question. Maybe I’d think differently if my father wasn’t killed for worshiping the very same thing you freaks are obsessed with!” She was staring only at Clive, the others didn’t exist.

She gestured as much as the tight string would allow her, “Not that he ever did anything like that. It was a crawlshit charge. Lemure’s whole pitch was to get rid of The Man’s influence, and he’s been a worshiper all this time? What do- what does he even believe in? Killing people based on rumors while you all do shit a hundred times worse! What kind of man like that thinks he deserves a legacy?”

“Well, for one thing, our leader isn’t a man,” Clive’s wide smile turned into a frown. “He is a Wyrm.”