For half a Duration, Remus spent his sweet time doing absolutely nothing of substance.
Leaving the Ambition Sect without attracting The Wild Clan’s gaze turned out to be substantially easier than expected. In the dead of night, half of the sentinels were deep in their own private slumbers, and the men on shift? Well, by the drooping eyelids that seemed to plague every single one of them, Remus assessed that they were in the nearest state to sleepwalking one could achieve without being fired immediately.
He proceeded to spend the next day frantically covering as much distance as possible, and wondering what exactly Willow’s troops were paid for.
The content of the following days wasn’t worth discussing. Remus seemed to achieve an automatic state where he could simply allow his body to run-though a basic series of tasks, without the need to mentally engage himself. Acquire food, travel, sleep, and repeat until his destination was reached.
Perhaps a barbaric existence, but with his physical self preoccupied, Remus had a lot of spare thinking time. It was the night before he was scheduled to reach the city proper, at least based on his estimations, and Remus supposed it was apt time to get up to little . . . experimenting.
Having finished setting up camp in the most dry part of a swamp he could locate, Remus was rather tired of the Shifting’s shenanigans. Before he even dared to test out a few of the actual ideas his free time had merited, a few unresolved issues demanded his attention.
Even given days to speculate, practically endless hours, Remus still had no idea how to contact Brison and the others. That’s a mystery to solve at the inner city, Remus supposed, but saying even that felt cheap. He would hate for the group to be spending their precious energy worrying over him, out of all people. Twirling around the physical form of Aziel’s Ambition, Remus' chest tightened slightly.
The man had changed so much after Hansley’s-
Remus cleared his mind, fighting back a rising sickness.
In summary, Remus hoped beyond hope that Aziel would take in what he had been trying to express. Words sometimes seemed so flimsy; the most useless tool in his arsenal. Had he worded himself right? Did he properly convey his intentions? Remus threw his arms up. It would be impossible to know, but given a few days of clarity, there was a chance — however small — that the man may return to his old, jovial self. Though, for now, he let that topic drop to the back of his mind. It was time to get to business.
Remus pushed the gap of his tunic, unveiling his shoulder. As always, he kept the Mark active to protect himself an additional slither; the Mark faintly glowed as an aftereffect.
“Alright, back to basics,” he murmured under his breath, speaking aloud to centre his attention, “what is a Mark?
Almost immediately, the nexus of Remus' mind tossed out an answer.
A Mark is a divine link to our patron god, allowing us access to a particular subject of power.
It was a simple question with a simple answer, but the following would be the core of Remus’ plans.
What are the limits of a subject of power?
And, with that, the difficulty of these questions spiked harshly. After a few minutes, Remus came to his answer.
It was vague, to say the least. There weren’t any set barriers to a subject’s abilities, but limits must have existed. There was a reason why an Ambassador of the Sword god couldn’t spew fire from his mouth — it had no link to his Mark’s subject.
Okay then, so the limitation must be the needed link to the subject’s concept. And then we have to take into account your ability to actually carry out a technique. Things more loosely connected, or grander in scale, will therefore be harder to pull off.
All sects typically had a basic range of abilities they relied on. Normally, Remus had noted, these were the first thing to come to mind when you thought of their god’s affinity. Lightning users could travel at frightening speeds, and send electricity coursing through their fingertips. Water users manipulated . . . well, water.
But if you were a little more creative, couldn’t you expand those powers outwards?
Lightning users could potentially focus on one part of their body to glow, like an automated torch, or have extreme fire resistance. Many Water Ambassadors actively practised ice techniques — they would be substantially weaker than a Frost Ambassador’s take on the abilities, but regardless, the connection was there. The same applied to dozens of Marks that overlapped in their affinity.
However, this was a much harder process for certain subjects of power. Particularly vague subjects, and if there was anything more vague than a concept like inward desire, Remus would be damned.
Ambition.
The basic connotations of the word had already been morphed into tools for power. Endurance, willpower, desire. Translated to the flames of Remus’ Ambition, and boosted vitality. But what else was there?
The most powerful individuals in this world had spectacular mastery over the most fundamental aid in the toolkit: a Mark. Some creative ingenuity was required here, but Remus was altogether left stumped.
Aziel had once summoned snakes of flame, or had they merely been fires in the shape of serpents? Remus wanted to tear his hair out, no progress made in the slightest.
If Ambition can be harnessed through a medium like flame, there must be other avenues.
The idea sent a buzz of excitement across Remus’s arms, as goosebumps infested his body. What about with no medium at all?
He was sure he had done exactly that on multiple occasions before; he just hadn’t been paying enough attention at the time to register it.
Remus scowled. Ambition, at its core, was the desire to be greater. To expand past one’s current limits. Curious, Remus picked up the nearest pebble in sight. It weighed virtually nothing, and yet, for a standard person without even the virtue of a Droplet, it would refuse destruction no matter how hard you squeezed. An Engorged would have much less trouble doing the job, but it would take a painfully longer time than someone is willing to mess around with rocks for.
Closing his eyes, Remus visualised his Ambition streaming off his Mark, flooding through his inner self with untapped potential. Purposefully not succumbing to his ingrained instincts to set such energy aflame, he poured it into his arm, unchanged. A newfound strength seemed to immerse his right hand, and despite the disadvantage his missing ring finger posed, the pebble didn’t stand a chance. Dust fluttered across the ground at his feet, mere moments after he pressed.
Intrigued, Remus retried the experiment, though this time, used his free hand to release a burst of the Mark’s signature flame. Like he expected, there was a loss of power and quantity. The stone perished to fleeting dust in his right hand, but barely a slither of smoke was extinguished from his left. Then, in one final rerun, he attempted to equally disperse his Ambition through both mediums: pure physical enhancement, and smouldering might. It was difficult, like working out a muscle group for the first time. Except in this case, the muscle was invisible, and all the pain was directed to an amounting headache. To compensate for the demand of both outpours, he had to strain. Nevertheless, a humble stream of blue blazed across his one arm, and in the other grip, sand filtered out.
It had taken noticeably longer to crush the stone the third time around, and his burst of flame was much less impressive. Nevertheless, he had set the ball rolling.
Remus centred his attention back on his maimed hand. He knew full well it would never truly be healed. Maybe if he convinced the most powerful of the Vitality Sect to quite literally lend him a hand, it would return to its past state. But the vast majority of Descent’s healing could only accelerate an individual’s personal recovery-rate. And, as Violet had informed him not long ago, if you gained an injury at a Rank unable to reverse the damage, no matter how high you ascended, you were stuck with the affliction for life. Unless you became a god of course, but for the timing being, Remus would be stuck with the empty gap between fingers.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get creative.
He imagined Aziel styling his flames into hissing creatures, but Remus moulded his own fire into a different outcome. At the empty gap between digits, a stubby blaze of azure filled the regular spot.
It was messy work, but the strip of blue did a fairly decent job of disguising his wound with something interesting.
But the possibilities this opened up . . .
Was there a means of turning this solid? It would only be temporary, of course, but if he had a way to resolve his issue of a ruined grip, arming himself with a weapon may not have been out of the question.
For an hour straight, Remus set his mind to transforming his blue appendage into the only solid piece of matter related to heat he could think of: obsidian.
Obsidian had much the same traits that you would pin to an ambitious person: tough. resilient beyond belief, and unsuccumbing. If it fitted within the subject, it would work . . . right?
Finally, at a time far later than Remus had been planning to call quits, his efforts bore fruit. Well, if he was to continue that analogy, it would be spoiled fruit. Left to rot in someone’s attic for half-a century, liquidising from sheer passage of time and the equivalent of mother nature’s poison.
The line of blackish purple was terribly uncomfortable, put so much pressure on the wrist it was painful, and it had only just occurred to Remus that he couldn’t bend or twirl around obsidian like flesh and blood. It was also substantially harder to cast away than simple flame. Resorting to shattering the thing, Remus exhaled; fatigue and disappointment drowned him.
His Mark was steaming after so much abuse, but Remus had one more idea before retiring for the night.
Once more, he imagined the outline of his missing appendage, demanding flames to fill the empty space. He was not disappointed, with careful control, he began his next ploy — raising its temperature to molten levels.
This little manoeuvre of his had the potential to cause some serious damage in close-quarters combat.
Blindingly bright this late into twilight hours, Remus found it insufferably difficult to concentrate, and yet the technique seemed to demand every ounce of his attention. Pure danger laid at his enhanced fingertips. Ordinarily, your Ambition couldn’t harm you, but if Remus lost control, who's to say how true that statement would hold up?
Not in the mood to challenge any theories, Remus tempered himself. The blaze reached a degree that almost frightened him, the flames having unified into what Remus could only describe as pure heat.
Carefully, he tested his creation. Clenching and unclenching his hand, the misfit of the digits did exactly as he commanded. It was almost uncanny, and although it didn’t necessarily hurt, Remus could at some level register the temperature being omitted. Nevertheless, Remus would have hated to have seen himself from an outsider’s perspective. He was grinning like an absolute idiot.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
He cried out in exclamation. “It works! It-”
He cried out in pain, his steaming Mark demanding rest. He lost control, and before Remus could even register what was occurring, he got the dreadful sense it wasn’t going to be pretty.
His makeshift finger erupted in actual, tangible pain, hurling Remus backwards several feet. Crash-landing against the log of a tree, Remus groaned, leaves settling in the messy bundles of his ginger hair. Stumbling to his quilt, Remus rolled into its embrace, falling asleep, and ignoring his raging Mark as best he could.
At least I didn’t lose another finger, Remus thought in the only moment of mirth he would receive until the moon ceased, clutching onto the bloody bundle of his hand.
----------------------------------------
Shambling into the very outskirts of the city proper several hours later, Remus looked as if he had spent the night visiting a wide variety of local taverns, with no care for his general wellbeing.
Suffice to say, he fit right in place.
Not the worst sleep I’ve ever gotten, Remus reconciled with himself, clutching the bridge of his nose.
Now, if you were in any way, shape or form sensible, it might have occurred to you that his presence here was asking for trouble. His face was hung on every noticeboard in a hundred-mile vicinity, skilled men and women from all corners of Descent would be gathered here, keen to collect his bounty, and a simple passage through one of the eight outer territories sounded much less risky.
But Remus had his reasons. One, this was the route Violet would be taking. The sooner the two reunited, the sooner the both of them could be safer in each other’s company, and the sooner he would know for a fact that she was okay. Secondly, the Undercrossing would be substantially faster. If he dawdled in Hybrid for any longer than needed, he was finished.
The Wild Sect would have made sure the warrant for his capture was known to each sect that called the city home. Shuffling into the epicentre of the fractured buildings, Remus was keen to slip through to the Undercrossing as quickly as possible.
From there, he should’ve been able to navigate the crowds, selecting the passage with the least traction.
Maybe it would have been a better idea to approach at night, it occurred to him, the sight of so many people making him uneasy. Shaking his head, Remus took a deep breath and composed himself. No one was going to to even look his way if he just acted discreetly, so why was he so-
A figure staring directly his way really wasn’t the help Remus was looking for. He had never known a plan to fail so suddenly. Most of his schemes were slow, gradual descents into chaos. An initial nosedive so prematurely was disconcerting, to say the least. The man said nothing, and blinking, Remus realised why their features were so oddly familiar.
Tanguy had barely changed a detail since their last meeting. The line of his mouth was still set in a perpetual scowl, the coal pigment to his irises stared at him dully, and his posture was immaculate. But his scalp. Hair had grown there. It wasn’t much, barely a few seared strands, but the fact remained.
That must have meant he hadn’t been training with Hadrian’s lot in some time. But why? Had he abandoned the Flame Sect? But that didn’t make any sense. Despite the fierce end to their last encounter, the teen had exhibited such loyalty towards his clan, taking training so seriously. To the extent that he had fought against an Engorged like Remus without complaint . . . for the most part.
Stepping forwards, Tanguy repeated himself. “Fight me.”
Remus stared back at him blankly, not a feature of his face twitching. It was like his brain couldn’t process what they had just muttered. Tanguy didn’t even show the courtesy of insinuating that he wanted to brawl, he straight up demanded it. In summary, it wasn’t the warmest of greetings.
“Tanguy,” Remus began carefully, holding his ground. “Long time no see.”
“Stop stalling Remus.” He spat at his feet. “I know you’re involved with them somehow. I don’t know how exactly, but it's the only thing that makes sense.”
“What are you talking about? Fight? Surely you know this is Divine Ground?”
Remus knew full well that his criminal status would merit him no safety, regardless of their location. But Tanguy didn’t, and any chance to stall he would gladly take. Plus, there was the worrying thought the technicalities of Divine Ground wouldn’t allow him to fight back; this was the loophole through that.
Tanguy continued, their glower doing everything in its power to set permanent wrinkles in its owner’s face. “That's how you were able to beat me before, eh? Some trading of power.” This appeared to bring some relief through Tanguy, false knowledge numbing his pains. “But now you’re cornered. I can finish you here once and for all, and everything will be set right.”
Ask Remus a few Passings ago, and his response may have differed. But right here, right now — in a city that would love to get its hands on his head — common sense beat sheer impulsive Ambition.
“I’m not fighting you Tanguy.” He said defiantly. “What’s happening? I can help.”
“Stop playing dumb. Don’t act like you don’t know what those Unbounded did to my clan.” A crazed look widened his eyes disproportionately. “And you don’t have a choice in the matter. You’ll accept the duel I offer you.”
Stumbling backwards more out of surprise than drowsiness, Remus had difficulty processing that former part. Unbounded had been moving forces towards the Fire Sect too. The statement sent an additional wave of adrenaline crashing through him, consuming any sense of fatigue in its wake. Hadrian, Veida, Cyrus, all the trainees he had been working with for Durations. If anything had happened to them too, he didn’t think he could take it.
Yet no matter how genuinely concerned Remus was, Tanguy wasn’t talking sense. He had to take control over the situation, before things got out of control, and fast. Crossing his arms, Remus put on a brave demeanour. “Or what?”
“Or,” Tanguy flickered his head to the busy streets around them, “I’ll just report your presence here. I think Juniper would do a perfectly fine job of tearing you limb from limb. But to be perfectly honest,” Remus could have sworn a slither of flame highlighted the boy’s irises, “I’d much rather do that job myself.”
Quite a convincing argument, to be perfectly fair.
“Don’t do this, Tanguy.” Remus couldn’t think of what to say. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
Crap. Remus bit his bottom lip. That came off more aggressive than I’d intended.
The fated words left Tanguy’s mouth.
“I, Tanguy of the Flame Sect, and honourable ambassador of the deity Ashbel, offer a duel to Remus of the Carpentry Sect, ambassador of . . .” he hesitated, looking Remus up and down.”
“Tanguy, stop this. Stop this righ-”
He flew his arm aside, cutting him off. “Whatever, the point is, or what I mean to say-” he groaned, cutting to the chase. “Do you agree?”
Remus had no choice here. It was either skimming his way to survival in this bout, or certain death. If Juniper’s forces discovered his whereabouts, he wouldn’t be able to fight off entire squadrons far beyond his Divine Rank single-handedly.
His tongue invoked destruction. “I do.”
The air spasmed around both of the twos’ palms, heralding their own respective weapons of lethal heat in one crucial split-second.
Immediately, as he hurtled out of the way of Tanguy’s deadly blast, plans were formulating in Remus’ mind. In much the same manner, a crowd was gathering around the two already, distant mutters turning to close shouts. This was going to be a city-wide spectacle; precisely what Remus didn’t need: attention.
Remus uncalled his outburst of blue as quickly as he had summoned it, the shade luckily lost in Tanguy’s own raging sprays of red. This would be his only advantage over the Emblazed. Now that he wasn’t holding back, Remus’ sole trick to best Tanguy was the element of surprise. He’d referred to him as ‘of the carpentry sect’, and whilst not technically incorrect, it revealed Tanguy’s blind spot. For the time being, Remus would have to keep his Ambition Mark as discreet as humanly possible.
But in the meantime, that didn’t mean he couldn’t utilise a few of his more subtle abilities. Exactly as he had last night, Remus rushed his unshapen Ambition through his body, though this time, to his feet. As Tanguy swooped inwards to close the distance, he jumped.
Immediately, he found himself thrown two metres above, his lower body aching in pain as Remus landed clumsily on the nearest wall. Ignoring Tanguy’s cries of outrage, he scrambled across the remains of the half-crumbling building, applying tiny bursts of Ambition to his feet to continue his hopping escapades. Andreas would surely be proud at the sight, but Remus didn’t feel very elegant, as he kept barging into everything in range.
The rest of his forces went straight into endurance. Whilst their size wasn’t a drastic difference, Tanguy was undoubtedly bigger, and so would-
Sudden fires caught Remus' shoulder. He fell to one knee, coughing out smoke, as Tanguy came running. Red flames enveloped their lofted fists, accumulating and accumulating into obsidian gauntlets. Precisely what he had attempted last night, only infinitely more efficient; it was like fate was trying to taunt him. Remus dodged the first blow, but his footwork became sloppy in his surprise — reinforced skin forced to bear the impact.
The man didn’t stop there, charging in with bone-crushing shot after shot. Managing to avoid the barrage, empty air met Remus’ back. He didn't dare risk a second’s glance, but he was acutely aware of the fall awaiting him. Tanguy set his own leg alight, and, too preoccupied with his upper body, Remus fell victim to a rapid kick.
The world flipped upside down, and Remus hardly felt the impact of two extra successive blows. Soil struck his body, or the other way round, he was too disoriented to tell, and Tanguy didn’t dawdle to follow.
Ignoring the pain, Remus rolled out of the way, a current of crimson streaking across the patch of grass he had just been laying within, as Tanguy came plummeting down. The flames dispersed, leaving only withering weeds in their place.
Tanguy’s fist appeared an inch away from him, but Remus’ reflexes saved him. Ignoring the growing murmurs all around, Remus ducked and skirved out of the way, flooding his fingers numb with Ambition, and caught the man on his chin. It never would have hit, if his performance thus far hadn’t been so overwhelmingly sloppy, that Tanguy’s guard was down.
He drew blood.
Ignoring the line of gold oozing down his chin, Tanguy’s stoic expression matched the man Remus had been throttled by so many times. Remus attempted a feint, but a blur of a hand caught it.
Remus smiled through gritted teeth, realising that he too was amounting quite the pool of Ichor. “So it's true.”
Tanguy frowned, punching Remus right in the abdomen, still holding him put.
Gagging, Remus spluttered, “old dogs do learn new tricks.”
Tired of being punched like a ragdoll, Remus grasped Tanguy by the hem of his shirt, putting his everything into one desperate manoeuvre. Tanguy’s eyes widened at the initial wisps of blue, his hand hastily withdrawing. Out of pain or pure bewilderment, Remus would never know, but at that moment, all he was focused on was his next hit. Heat amassed in his free hand, and launching his entire body into a push, he forced the azure blast right into Tanguy at point-blank rage.
Their body went crashing into the nearest wall, where he promptly crumpled — unearthed debris joining him.
Remus was fighting dirty, and he knew it. But after taking so much damage so quickly, he couldn’t conjure the will to care.
Flying forwards using Aziel’s technique, he lodged his kneecap into his enemy, summoning superhuman might into his right hand. He lodged all four digits into the wall’s ageing stone, anchoring himself, whereupon he regretted his choice of hand immediately. The grip wasn’t likely to hold, and was hurting like hell after being embedded, but Remus couldn’t afford to care.
Before Tanguy could catch his breath, he beat the man senseless. Of course, he wasn’t actively trying to kill, per se, just damaging the man enough to incapacitate him, but that didn’t necessitate being gentle.
“You- advanced-” Tanguy spluttered between mouthfuls of Remus’ flying blows.
“Thanks for noticing,” Remus replied, looking over his shoulder anxiously. Someone from the amassing spectators was sure to recognise him. “Took a lot of time and effort to get here, but it was worth it in the end.”
Making small talk with the same man he was beating mercilessly probably sounded morally ambiguous, but it felt natural in the moment.
“How nice.” Tanguy caught his forearm in a sizzling grasp. “Was that what you gained from joining them? You damn traitor.”
Credit to him, Tanguy managed to wrestle a path away from that sifting wall. Put under anymore stress, and it probably would have toppled over.
In a bizarre turning-of-the-tables, Tanguy took the initiative to flee. Remus was soon to follow after him in a wild sprint, Mark deactivated, and not wanting to burn himself out like last night. For now, he would have to abuse his respiratory system while he dashed after Tanguy’s tail.
Who currently, reaching the apex of another building — this one domed, and all together more complete — was seemingly preparing another ability. His ace-in-the-hole, if Remus’ suspicions proved correct.
The familiar highlights of his flames, now taking on a blood-red tinge, was a breathtaking spectacle. It stretched through the air in complex patterns, like several helixes embedded inside one another. His face hidden by the whirling flames, Remus could only see Tanguy clicking his fingers.
The fires bubbled, however that worked, and Tanguy fell to his knees. Unless Remus’ blows were getting to the man with a delayed effect, the effort this next technique was demanding of him was extreme. The bloody fires appeared to deepen in a way, almost becoming more whole; the colour shifted-slightly; an extra weight appeared to define the hovering stream; and the gas that is fire seemed to grow more physical.
Like it was turning into a liquid.
Remus watched in horror, as the skies bled orange; raining down a sickly lava.