Remus followed at Aziel’s back, the man’s torched hand illuminating the bandage wrapped around his head, and the strange markings along the tunnel walls. This network of tunnelling led away from the Gallery, and, according to Aziel, hadn’t seen any use in years.
“How’s your head feeling?” Remus asked. It had been two days since the incident, and suffice to say, there hadn’t been much in terms of conversation. Everybody seemed in collective grieving for a man who wasn’t even dead.
“All good. I told the medics I don’t need the wrapping, but they insisted. Apparently that clansman got me pretty darn good.”
Aziel wasn’t the only casualty. Vitality Clansman hailing all the way from the city proper had been called for assistance. Remus couldn’t help but wince at the thought some of the more nasty injuries had been dealt by his hand. And here he was, skin as tender as a newborn. The perks of recent advancement.
“It’s nice to get my legs moving, but what exactly do you wanna show me?” After practically living in Aziel’s library since the battle, this was the most Remus had moved in days. Other than testing out a few of the library’s techniques, most of which he was still getting the hang of, he rarely saw the need to venture outside that shrine of knowledge.
“Mentally prepare yourself.” Remus would have laughed, if not for the man’s grave tone. “I wasn’t there at the battle Remus, to see . . . to see what he had become. The first time I came down here, I couldn’t believe it.”
“Couldn’t believe what?” A worrying thought suddenly took root in Remus’ mind. Branches of dread now entangled him in a chokehold. “You don’t mean-”
They stopped as the passage opened out into a larger chamber. A junction shot off to the east, a cool wind sifting through. Along that breeze, a voice dripping with venom carried.
“Release me at once!”
The demand preceded a jumble of noise. The stomping of feet, more furious yelps, and the metallic chink of chains Remus knew all too well. Remus felt his own weapon’s weight on his back now, awfully inclined to draw those steel links. By the sounds of it, things were pretty ugly.
Remus wasn’t an idiot. He’d recognised the man’s voice immediately. He found himself slowing down, hesitant to confront the truth. Aziel shared his untoward frown.
“After you.” He said darkly, pausing outside of one wider opening.
Remus nodded, bracing as he entered.
“Fight it Brison!” Veida shouted, her voice rebounding off the cavernous walls. They must have been deep into the mountains that surrounded the base. “I know you’re there. Fight it!”
To emphasise her point, Veida set both of her fists alight. The flame reflected off the polished stone of the cave, all seeming to illuminate one central spot.
Brison was chained up in the centre of the airy cavern, manacles enclosed over every limb, locking him in place. He wore no shirt, the full extent of his fabulous musculature on show. And, emerging into view whenever he struggled with the confines, was his Mark.
“He’s tainted . . . “ The words escaped Aziel.
“What?”
“That’s what we’re calling the condition. That ashy look his Mark’s taken on. Awfully strange, isn’t it?”
Remus couldn’t help but agree. With his spiritual senses, the Mark emanated the energy one might expect from the likes of a Right-bearer. But it was different. Instead of giving power through a Divine Right, like Milap’s Fusion, or Nova’s Mastery over Infinity, this felt like a sinister extension of pre-existing strength. As if Tanish had an evil counterpart, some moustache twirling caricature that now fed power through Brison in place of the Ambition god.
“We’ll have to question the gods about this. On the Day of Descension. If Enos has a way of corrupting their power, I can’t see how they’d stand for it.”
“True, but I doubt they can do anything about it.” Aziel lamented. “All the gods do is provide power. Like a funnel, I imagine. The gods establish the link, and then Enos intervenes, adding his own baleful touch. It’s unlikely that they have the intricacy needed to try and suppress his taint. As its source, all they can do is turn their power on and off, and I doubt any of our gods are eager to lessen their manpower.”
Remus gritted his teeth. “So you’re telling me we have no way of getting Brison back to normalcy?”
Aziel’s silence told him enough.
“I’ll burn this city to the ground! My fires will weave the land into a hellscape — just a sneak preview to what’s awaiting you all! You scum will be punished. Infinity is inevitable!”
“Another round of medicine is inevitable, if you keep talking like that.”
Brison visibly recoiled, dragging himself as far back as his chains would allow. Now that Remus focused on the man’s face, he realised what a strange picture it painted. His jowls sagged in a telltale sign of old age, and the grey of his hair foretold a warrior who was long past his heyday. But then his eyes — a flicker of red blazed there. That demon form was still at his fingertips. Just out of reach. And Remus suspected Brison’s confines were responsible. He shivered at the memory of his own trial, and the inhibiting power of the manacles that had prevented his escape.
He rubbed at his wrists habitually, never wanting to feel that powerless ever again.
Brison must have been wrestling with a similar feeling, an ear-splitting scream escaping his throat for a moment as the man pushed forward. He made a good effort, but not enough. Physical strength alone would never be enough to undo the chains.
Veida sighed, planting a hand in the pocket of her coat. Then she unveiled a tiny ampoule, a syringe following soon after.
Something in Brison’s demeanour changed. He continued to twitch against his confines, but Remus didn’t get the impression he was trying to escape. Veida proceeded to enter a transparent liquid into the syringe, squirting out a tiny drop. Then, she approached the man’s arm.
“I will not be silenced. You cannot contain destiny, woman!”
Veida ignored him, only acquiring a slight frown at the words. “I’m sorry Brison. I’m sorry this has been done to you. We’ll try and work out how to get you back. I promise.”
After a minute of resistance, where Brison flailed his arms around like a maniac, Veida was finally able to hold him in place, and locate a vein. As the sedative flooded into Brison’s bloodstream, his eyes instantly grew baggy. Remus counted three seconds in his head, and the man was out cold.
Nobody muttered a word.
Veida walked slowly out of the tunnel, only briefly murmuring a farewell to them both as she turned a corner. Her frown was trembling, her hand tapping her side in a nervous tic. Then she departed from view altogether.
“I’m sorry you had to see our sect leader like that, Remus, after all you’ve done to protect our clan. I just thought you had the right to see reality, with your own eyes.”
“How many people know?”
The two walked apace, not really caring where they wandered off to. After what Remus had just witnessed, he found his body unable to sit still.
“A few. I’ll be making an announcement later. There’s talk of a new sect leader, but that’s the worst case scenario. Unless we’ve exhausted all available options, Brison is still our leader in my eyes, and officially. We’re still debating whether to release this information globally. The world has a right to know about Brison’s affliction. But what about us, our safety? It may be paranoid thinking, but if other clans knew we had no sect leader for protection, what would stop them from taking us over, just like the Wild Clan did? We’re in no state to defend ourselves.
“Still, I have to wonder . . . what’s more important, Remus? Our protection, or the world hearing vital knowledge about the power of the Paladins.”
Daylight broke through the gloom of the twisting caves, and by the time they had emerged, Remus still didn’t have an answer. “For once Aziel, I don’t know. But if others like Brison start to appear, with his condition, then the Paladins might not be a threat to take lightly.”
“No.” Aziel muttered, taking no solace in his words. “No indeed.”
Remus bid his friend farewell, wishing he could provide Aziel more comfort. He was itching to get back to the library, to train new abilities and flesh out his arsenal. Becoming a one trick pony would benefit no-one. Yet at the same time, this had been the first time he’d been out of the library in days. The sunlight would be good for him, and Remus did recall an apparent letter, addressed to him directly from the castle.
He’d been procrastinating actually reading through its contents. His excuse was being too immersed into his training, but that wasn’t exactly true, was it?
Fear. Remus was scared about what the contents of that letter would be. What if Eliane wanted something in return for breaking Maris’ Oath? Then Remus would be right back where he started: chained down under the bidding of some loathsome God-Graced. That was cynical thinking, and he knew it. Eliane had never wronged him, and out of all God-Graced Remus had met in his life, she seemed like one of the most inoffensive. Most likely, it was probably a simple thank you message, to show they were on good terms, and out of formality.
Remus shooed away the thought. There was another matter that needed attending to. Damion’s escape mission. In no way, shape or form had Remus intentionally been neglecting helping his brother out. Every time he thought of his family in dire peril, counting down the days until one of Damosh’ men finally snapped and added them to the death tally, drawing closer and closer to a bloody, agonising, and brutal end-
Remus forced himself to take a deep breath. Whenever he thought of that, his thoughts would spiral. And yet Enos’ warping of Brison’s mind had seen the Ambition Clan’s rescue mission delayed by another Duration. As if the universe would comply with the postponed schedule and ensure his clan wouldn’t die until later. What a joke.
If they didn’t quicken up their pace, Remus was considering executing a ploy all on his own. This was a separate affair to his rebellion, so it felt wrong to draw his men in for a personal matter. He would have to fashion his own squad of a much lesser number, so they wouldn't attract attention on account of numbers alone.
If it came to that. Remus couldn’t wait much longer, but the mission shouldn’t be delayed again. A little pressing of the clan’s higherups would ensure that.
Maybe Remus had more problems than he realised. A third issue sprang into being through a physical reminder, when a group of clansmen ran into view. Less of an issue, actually, than it was a peculiar circumstance.
“Remus!”
There were six men confronting him. There was no need for it, but sweat began to cling against Remus’ neck. He was more than able to defend himself, and these men weren’t here to jump him in some broad daylight robbery, or as revenge for their bout. Remus was sure a few clansmen harboured some resentment for what had transpired during the competitive match, but strangely, it had only seemed to perpetuate his popularity amongst the sect.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
No, he was sweating bullets out of discomfort, not fear.
“What do we have to do to convince you! We all want to join your rebellion. You told us to wait for Brison to get in a right state of mind, but we know his real condition is being hidden from us! The man isn’t going to get better, is he?”
“Look now, I wouldn’t go so far to say-”
“We Ambition clansmen belong on the battlefield. It’s who we are. It’s what we stand for. Let us fight for you!”
“Your clan needs protecting.”
“The world needs protecting!”
It was all different people speaking, but each of the men shared the same vision. Remus had to admit, he respected their grit.
Suddenly opening that letter from Eliane sounded a whole lot more appealing. “Give me a few days to discuss things with the rest of the clan. I want you to join. But considering the circumstances, I can’t do that in good faith.”
It took a few more circling conversations for the men to finally get the message. They wandered off in a huff.
And they wonder why I never leave the library.
Remus found his legs carrying him towards his actual chambers. It was a spacious room the Ambition Clan had been gracious enough to supply him upon arrival. Alas, Remus saw little more use out of the place than diving into its bed, at the end of long days spent nose-deep in books. On the days he didn’t fall asleep reading, anyway.
When Violet appeared at Remus’ side, it took all his self-control not to jolt. “Stop. That.”
“Nope.” She turned in front of him. “Where are you headed? You’ve been cooped up in that room for so long. I get lonely, y’know?”
Remus gave her a puzzled look. “I assume you know about Brison.”
The mood switched instantly. Like mentioning your recently deceased third cousin at a dinner party. Violet rubbed at her arm sheepishly, looking away. “Yeah. It’s tragic. Do you think-” she cut herself off. “Gods, I hate how dark my thoughts get sometimes.”
“What?”
Violet hesitated. “What if Enos can corrupt anyone like that? What if we end up like Brison? All of us. Everybody we care about.”
Remus stopped in his tracks. He looked over to Violet, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. He detested how afraid she sounded. Rarely did he hear her sound so scared. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We don’t even know the requirements for Enos to control you yet. Maybe you have to choose to become one of his Paladins. Let your mental guard drop just enough for his dark corruption to swoop in.”
“Brison doesn't sound to me like the kind of person to willingly join that cause. I speak like I was on personal terms with the man, but you know what I mean?”
“I do. It’s strange. But at the same time . . . Enos draws the worst elements out of us all. You have to wonder how persuasive he can really be. That paranoia we saw from Brison, before Enos fully cracked the shell of his mind. That was very, very real.”
“We need to be ready.” Violet surmised. “Can we confidently say we’ll turn his offer down if he ever grants it to us? The darkest desires of us all, our worst fears, most anxious phobias. They could be our downfall.”
Remus imagined himself as a Death-Marked in an alternate universe. A version of him who never found that book in the library, speaking of the Trials of the Earnest. A version who had never deemed himself capable of change, or a version who was sharp-minded enough to realise that stealing from the city vaults was far too insane a prospect.
Without knowing all he did now, could he truly say, with absolute certainty, that he would have refused Enos’ offer then? An offer that promised to end all of his suffering: his days spent helpless, as Damosh’s hold crushed the labour District. As day by day, the mad King pressed tighter and tighter.
He felt bile building up in his throat at the confession, but no, Remus could not.
By the look on Violet’s face, she was having similar thoughts.
“That letter.” Remus changed the subject. “I should go check that letter.”
----------------------------------------
Ash inhaled the fumes of the destruction below. He had never smoked before, but supposed the buzz he was getting was similar enough. It was a nice feeling, a certain high of suffocating destruction.
The Speed Clan was burnt to the ground. They had salted the soil, set fire to the houses, dismembered the bodies, and made a mockery of their dead. All in a day’s work.
A phoenix butchered while it was still rising out of the ashes. Java’s twin brother was being awfully bothersome. Why let prophecies spoil the future that awaited humanity? It was set in stone regardless. No, Ash had seen that issue crushed like a nat between his fingers.
The Paladins had outperformed themselves.
He hovered on a floating rock, high above his gathered forces. Down below, past the sweeping clouds and rising fog, hundreds were gathered. Thousands? He had stopped keeping count.
All fitted with Enos’ newest masterpiece. Enhanced. Across their bodies, the tainted Marks flickered, like ink rising out of a page of human tissue. A ghostly black flame seemed to emanate from each, a tangible whisper of death. A promise of the havoc they could unleash.
Ash admired his work, letting the army storm through the remains of the Speed Clan, making great bonfires out of their carriages. Then he frowned. He wasn’t exactly sure why. Everything was going according to plan, the only plan in reality that mattered. The plan of Infinity. And yet something was wrong. Off in a way that was only foretold by the way sweat was beginning to slip down his brow, or how tight his chest was suddenly feeling.
He grinded his teeth. An awful habit that had followed him from childhood.
Childhood.
The word danced in his mind, followed by what felt like cracking light. It was like there was a cage around his brain that had suddenly broken into a thousand fragments. Daggers of truth stabbed into his mind all at once.
He was in the Wild Sect, glimpses of faces flying past his vision. He was sleeping, receiving a vision from Chantal, sharing a meal with his family, and quite a lot of sleeping . . .
This was somebody’s childhood. It seemed awfully familiar, until Ash recgonised himself amongst the images. Ash felt his own logic working against itself. Who, who! Who is this? Who am I?
Then it was over. Ash huffed, clutching at his face and desperately trying to catch his breath. After spending a moment to recompose himself, he commanded the piece of space-stone to hover downwards.
Three individuals looked towards Ash, expectant. Zachary, Faris and Margaret all had their arms crossed, looking away from a great world map that filled the surface of an oak table. Ash eyed it closely, part of him always a sucker for good cartography.
Descent was strange compared to the worlds Enos had showed him. Then again, some of those planets were bizarre in their own right: bubbling blisters of lava, sweeping vistas of gas with no solid land in sight, and burning worlds that had not survived the Celestial War. Extremities excluded, most worlds however seemed to have continents, separated by their seas. But such division would only delay battle — no, Descent was the perfect geographical battlefield. By the gods’ divine influence, it had been moulded with one sole purpose in mind: bloodshed.The pangea occupied Descent’s one unbroken ocean, stretching for most of the map’s weathered extent.
There were tokens placed on various locales. Ash noted the Flame Sect, Ambition Clan, and stretching away from the main landmass . . . ah, there they lay: an archipelago of sorts.
Most of the islands of Descent were very close together. Very small too, like weak creatures huddling together for warmth. The pangea looked similar to a gigantic fish, how a child might draw one. It looked like it was approaching the archipelago to devour it whole.The infantile thought pleased some strange part of Ash, a part of him that seemed at odds with the rest. He shook his head, another glare of light covering his vision.
There was that boy again. This time, he was travelling inside a carriage, accompanied by another boy, and a slightly older figure barely on the border of manhood. Before he could recognise their faces, reality returned like a slap in the face.
The three Paladins looked blankly at him.
Ash pulled himself together. “Study this map closely. Where the red tokens lie, are clans on the cusp of destruction. If we pick up where the last Right-bearer generation left off, well . . .” Ash smiled. “Let’s just say this map will be looking much more empty.”
Before they could interrupt him with any asinine questions, Ash slammed down a golden token. Right on top of the archipelago. The three jolted back.
“But here. Here is where our next target lies.”
“Excuse me, my Liege.” Zachary raised his voice.
“You are not excused.”
“Wouldn’t it be far more logical to attack First Rite? The city is already in shambles. Ours for the taking.”
Margaret and Faris leaped to the side, a bang ringing out.
The second the man had finished speaking, his face collided with the table. Zachary’s bloody nose trailed down the map, staining it gold as he slid to the floor. There he laid crumpled. Hands to his face, a child’s fear widening his eyes.
“That’s for interrupting me. I wouldn’t test my patience again.” Ash turned his attention back to the map. “As for your suggestion, I’m appalled you would doubt my intelligence. My hand is already in that city’s fate, but the place will crash and burn soon enough. Why waste effort where it's not needed?”
Zachary rose shakily, glancing at Ash like he feared he might swat him again. He murmured an apology, not able to meet Ash’s eyes. Pathetic.
“The Material Congruity, is, in essence, a minor alliance of clans, but nothing as formal as that. They fled the main pangea of Descent late into the barbaric ages, their sects massacred almost to extinction. You may not have heard of them, but a sect known as the Bone Clan rose great skeletal ships out of the sea, using them to cross to the archipelago.
“I doubt they have progressed much since that time. Maybe they’ve invented the wheel, or finally discovered that rubbing two sticks together makes fire. Whatever the case, do you know what I see here?”
After a few tense seconds, only Faris mustered the courage to reply. “An easy target?”
“Yes. But not for killing. For recruits. I’m afraid most of the mortals on the pangea have been thoroughly indoctrinated by their gods. I’m honestly surprised we managed to recruit as many as we did. Many are fearful of the truth. But this archipelago, far away from the rest of humanity, their gods too ashamed to visit them on the Day of Descension . . . I wonder, could we double our forces? I’m sure a little brute force will be enough to persuade them.”
Zachary had finally managed to stop the running facet of his nose. “And if they refuse?”
Ash’s eyes gleamed with dark malevolence. “I’m sure they wouldn’t favour the alternative.”
Ash closed his eyes, the image of dozens of ships on a hidden bay confronting him. The great oaken vessels bobbled against the crashing waves like obedient ducks, their sails whipping in the wind with the promise of adventure. Ready to set sail. A little skullduggery had never seemed so promising. Soon, very soon, the Material Congruity would be his.
Then there was another vision. One that finally seemed to rupture his mind too far. Vertigo turned his body to jelly, and suddenly Ash had to grasp onto the table for support.
Then he remembered. Remembered everything.
“Oh gods. Oh gods!” He looked to Faris, Margaret, and Zachary all in turn, each of them slowly backing away from him. “You have to help me, you have to help!”
Zachary appeared ready to turn tail and run. Only mad curiosity slowed his getaway.
“I didn’t want this! Not any of it. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry!”
All around now, the Paladins regarded Ash with interest. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t possibly understand.
He was hyperventilating. He couldn’t catch his breath. Couldn’t grab reality and weave it into a better form. One where he could redeem himself, cleanse the world of his cardinal sins. Free his mind of its invisible prison. One he had escaped for but a moment.
“Please. Whatever happens, please forgive me . . .”
Ash’s eyes rolled up into the back of his head, his feet slipping away from him.
When he came to, only an instance later, but a world apart, a barrel of a man was holding him upright. Ash remembered offering him his place amongst the Paladins, a surge of wicked delight having flooded through him at the newest asset. At the time, he thought the servant would provide excellent manpower.
Now he couldn’t look at the man with anything other than disgust.
A moment later, and they laid on the ground in a splatter, his still beating heart clenched tightly in Ash’s hand. Ichor coated Ash’s entire face, and he tried to ignore the taste of it in his mouth.
“We’ll never, ever talk about this.” He squeezed the beating organ until it burst, a fresh coat of blood completely covering the pale skin of his face. Not an inch was visible beneath the sickly layer. “Is that clear?”
Nobody uttered a word.
Finally, he was left alone, soaking in the bloodbath, his followers far too terrified to approach him with so much as a barge pole.
That presence, Enos, spoke to him again.
You know who I am Ash, but don’t let that trouble you. That title you called me, the shadow man. Don’t make me laugh. Forget the past, forget everything. I make you whole. Remember how weak you were without me.
For one last time, Ash peered down at the map. The tokens had been knocked aside, the page damp with Ichor. A mix of Zachary and his latest victim, by the looks of it. But he had to say, there was some twisted artistic expression in the sight.
Soon enough, he’d make this world bleed red too.