Violet reached the end of the Undercrossing the next day, unfamiliar might settling in the pit of her stomach. At the memory of last night, she fought down the urge to gag. Bonding with the beings she detested so much, more than she already had . . . it was enough to churn her stomach in ways she hadn’t known possible.
Like divine mercy, sunlight made her eyes seize up, and blinking rapidly, Violet stumbled out of the Undercrossing. Straight ahead, empty marshlands shot out as far as her stunned eyes could see. Flickering out moisture, she let out a sigh of relief, with enough force to shatter a small mountain behind it. That was a gross exaggeration of course, but nevertheless, it felt like it.
A metres long shadow protruded away from the stretching building behind her. A little distance off, large quantities of travellers strolled out, and Violet couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy as she noted the luminance leaking out of each of their tunnels.
What a fortune it is to have functioning torches, she glowered wordlessly.
Returning her gaze to the flooded landscape, the early morning sun diluting the waters with a sickly amber, Violet felt her throat restrict. She downed a mouthful out of her waterskin, and murmured a curse as the sensation lingered.
She had escaped from one path of travel to the next. And, for some reason, not even the notion of marching forth through the humid weather of Summer could relieve the distaste from her mouth.
Violet felt homesick, but she couldn’t have been. She had no place to attribute to that title. Not anymore, at least.
A roaring sound from behind caused Violet’s ears to perk up. Diving out the way, she saved her skin in the nick of time from being deep-fried by an oncoming projectile. A projectile she soon came to realise wasn't a projectile at all, but a blazing mass of sapphire blue.
Remus hit a puddle at Violet’s feet, Mark deactivating as he let out a long series of groans. Tentatively, Violet angled a concerned look at one of the passages a few away from her own. Its walls and floor were charred beyond belief. As if someone had been laying tar across the passage to trip an unsuspecting traveller.
Violet towered over Remus’ tangled form, hands on her hips. “Why do we always meet when you’re in some sort of precarious situation?”
Slowly, Remus pulled himself up, wiping sweat off his brow. “Believe me, I’d love to know.” He glared towards the tunnel he had just emerged from, a certain weariness behind his features.
“How did you get here so fast? In fact, why are you here already?”
Remus spluttered, stepping cautiously away from the looming mouth of the passage and focusing her way. “Long story. Mostly bad stuff.” He swiftly back-tracked on this statement. “In fact, all bad stuff. But I’ll tell you all about that later.”
He pointed a finger towards that gods’-be-damned door. You’d think he had a complex, or phobia, for that one specific opening. “I was being chased most of the length here. Big spider-lady and some guy with a severe case of frostbite. If you notice any-one, zap us out of here.”
Suddenly, Violet didn’t feel the need to take the passageway quite so lightly. Whilst his gibberish descriptions had to be sorted through a filter, Violet didn’t like the sounds of their unpacked meaning. But, gaze returning to Remus, the majority of her attention was spent on processing the absolute state the boy was in. She had been on the verge of figuring out a way of contacting Remus, like the Projection Nova had utilised in the Ambition Sect. It was a ginormous coincidence he had miraculously arrived here, but the cost of that speedy arrival . . .
Perspiration covered Remus’ form, and he was in desperate need of a bath. Cuts littered his body, some of them so gruesome Violet winced. And yet, much to the contrary, Remus continued to recover there as if his only problem was fatigue; not the subtlest sign of a reaction to the pain. His leather tunic would need some sewing, but Violet had come prepared with a sewing kit she had packed some time ago. His shoulder was revealed, a bruise lining his tricep, but what really caught Violet’s attention was his Mark.
God above . . . if he’s managed to progress so much already . . .
She killed that thought there. Sure, he was growing his Mark at a remarkable rate, but it wasn’t as if this was an unfounded speed. Still, she couldn’t quell a certain level of excitement for him. It was undeniable that he’d come a long way. For a few minutes, the pair sat in silence. Violet hadn’t wanted to admit it, but after last night's massacre, she was feeling particularly fatigued herself. She wouldn’t deny an opportunity to rest when it was offered to her.
The two conversed frantically, discussing all that had transpired since their last meeting.
“I don’t know Violet,” Remus began sceptically, the topic of Veida arising, “if last time was anything to go by-”
“I know.” She said firmly. “But she seems sincere, Remus. Besides, an expert in this field might be a crucial part of unravelling this Unbounded business.”
“Attracting Juniper's attention . . . I know she gave you her blessing, but I hate getting more entangled with The Wild Sect than we already are. Though, her aversion to me does explain a few things.”
Violet questioned this, which led to Remus spilling the events that had been preoccupying him. He spoke of nothing but hardship. Despite the drag the last few Passings had been, it became painfully apparent that Remus had drawn the short-end of the stick.
“Unbounded are attacking so many major clans at once.” The statement was frightening enough left just there.
“They’ve gathered power recently.” Remus murmured, a faraway look to his eyes. “That alone should be apparent enough to the sect leaders, though I sometimes doubt if they can see past the ends of their own noses. With the moves the Unbounded have been making as of late, they’re playing into that obliviousness.”
“But how long can that last? The Ambition Sect is one thing, but waging a campaign against a clan as major as the Fire Sect? That’s bound to attract attention.”
“Maybe that’s what they want.”
A moody silence made short work of their conversation.
After awkwardly transitioning to other topics, the pair of them packed up their things, preparing for their trek to the Ravaged Lands. Violet wasn’t sure what to make of Tanguy’s attack on Remus, but had to respect her companion for prevailing in that conflict nevertheless. A newly Enkindled besting a full-fledged Emblazed.
Again, not unheard of. She reminded herself. Every time Violet allowed herself to grow excited about something, reality, somehow, sabotaged whatever it was. It may sound silly, but she, beyond anything, wanted to see Remus succeed. Inadvertently working against that was the last thing Violet desired.
Beginning to walk, she unveiled a piece of parchment, and a self-inking quill the Chaos Clan must have purchased from the Scholar Sect. It was sometimes a marvel how many random objects she had initially packed before leaving that manor. As they maintained a restrained gait, Violet began to plot out their plans.
“So, we reach the Ravaged Lands together, somehow navigate our way to Hell’s Floor, and from there, we begin to plan out our assault on the Chaos Clan’s base.”
Remus appeared plainly apprehensive at that. Though, very kindly of him, never objected. It was an insane mission — perhaps, from a very reasonable point of view, suicidal — but this was the same reason Violet had ventured out of her family’s manor in the first place. Akuji, alive or dead, would be held up there. If it was the last thing Violet would do, she was going to locate the poor man, and acquire answers.
But the dormant realities awaiting to be revealed . . . was she ready for those harsh truths?
Tremors sped across her body. The last time a mystery of the Chaos Clan was unveiled to her-
The image of an alien, featureless white face took hold of Violet’s thoughts. It refused to let go. The being maintained eye contact, and Violet couldn’t do so much as blink. The Unbounded, the awful, approaching fiend that was an insult to everything good on this forsaken world, didn’t so much as laugh. It didn’t poke fun, jibe, or express mockery via some other means.
It simply stared.
A hand was placed on her shoulder, a human hand of flesh and blood. Its warmth snapped her back to reality. Violet breathed in deeply, as Remus furrowed his eyebrows at her.
“Violet?” He asked, his words sounding distant for a moment. “Are you okay?”
She exhaled, and all the sounds of the universe seemed to resume. “Yeah . . . where were we?”
Judging by the unbecoming frown on his face, Remus wasn’t appeased. “Invading the Chaos Sect’s base in Hell’s Floor. That’s where that Life Sect Warlord should be, right?”
“Uh-huh.” Plans returned to her memory like paint flooding through parchment. “While I plan out how exactly we’re gonna manage that, you should have enough time to visit . . . what was it? East Flame?”
The man laughed. It was annoyingly infectious. “West Ember. I don’t know how successful the trip will be, or how long it’ll take. And there’s a major underlying issue with the entire plan I have to resolve. I hope I won’t have to keep you waiting for too long.”
“Take your time.” Violet reassured, braids flickering in the faint winds. “Anyway, the longer I spend preparing, the better the chance I have of making it out of this.”
Nodding along, Remus stopped in place abruptly. Scrambling around in his remaining pocket that wasn’t in pieces, he presented the smallest piece of Infirnite Violet had ever seen. “This might be a stretch, but do you have a way of contacting the Ambition Sect? This is connected to Aziel. If they don’t hear from me soon, I worry they’ll grow concerned.”
Tentatively, Violet held the tiny shard. Inside, a raging blue flame resided. But it wasn’t Remus’. It gave off a different kind of energy than the boyish man to her left. “I don’t know,” she glowered, “I’ve been throwing around the idea of attempting my own Projection, but . . .”
The events of last night span around the surface of her mind, but this time, she didn’t regard the fresh memories with disgust. Instead, an inkling of intrigue ran through her.
The peculiar phenomenon of a Projection had been included in Veida’s journals. When Violet had read through them, the definition of one had lingered: a very weak Unbounded imparted with the consciousness of a stronger one, primarily to transfer messages.
Simultaneously, as if both sides of her brain were working independently, Violet recalled the disturbing fact that an Unbounded could manufacturer other Unbounded, in a gross, industrial sort of way.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“I have an idea,” Violet said slowly, “and it probably would work.”
Remus grinned like a child on the last day of school. “Really? That was a shot in the dark, but-”
She held up a palm. “Though, I have to warn you, it's disgusting beyond belief.”
His smile was a little more strained. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
Slowly, Violet closed her eyelids, centering in on . . . herself? Was that what she was supposed to do? In the strangest sensation of her life, she focused on the Infinity that sustained her. More specifically, the Infinity she had cultivated yesterday. It was like keeping your eye on one individual grain in a sandpit, but still, clenching her fist, she managed it. Then, composing her breathing, she pictured the tiny batch of Infinity departing from her body. Clenching down on her teeth to the extent that it hurt, the process had appeared to work. Until it didn’t. Cursing, Violet had to muster up all her self-control not to lose focus.
Based on a gasp from Remus, she had done something. Now it was just a game of finishing that something off.
The outside world became obscured, and that dissociation only double-downed. Then it tripled, until Violet couldn’t even sense the moist ground at her feet. The speck expanded in her vision, her senses pinpointing on the Infinity like it was the only thing to exist. Once more, Violet tried to imagine it leaving her. Like a traveller exiting one territory for another.
The grain minimised, slowly dispersing until a sizeable amount had gone missing. Opening her eyes, Violet turned her head, seeing nothing but wetlands upon wetlands. A squelchy sort of sound from below, and Violet angled her head downwards.
There, sitting aloof in a mudpatch, was a tiny, rat-sized slither. It was the same pearly white as Violet’s Unbounded form, except without the humanoid contours. It was as though someone had splattered white paint on a canvas, whipped the brush along the top as a makeshift head, and called it a day.
If she was their employer, Violet would have fired the artist.
“Woah.” Remus intoned. “Is that-”
“An Unbounded.” She replied. “But one as weak as they come.”
Crawling around uselessly, the being clearly had no idea what to do with itself, past its basic survival instincts. If it wasn’t an Unbounded, Violet may have felt pity for the creature. A heavy downpour could have probably killed it.
Alas, as things stood, Violet couldn’t help but feel revolted. Ignoring the implications of this being’s existence, she picked it up by one ‘hand’ — a deformed corner of the Unbounded.
This next part, surprisingly, came as easy as breathing.
She imagined completely dominating the being before her. She could utterly destroy the Unbounded with but a brief squeeze of the hand; it had no right, no way, to refuse. Its will was as fickle as morning ice. It shattered, as Violet’s will penetrated every crevice of its barely sentient mind. Infirnite in the other hand, she ordered the Unbounded to relay a message.
It fizzled out of existence. The Flame of Aziel’s Ambition dimmed. Then, the sensation of oncoming sickness she was quickly becoming accustomed to threatened to empty her quivering stomach of its contents.
Remus simply looked at her, a disturbed quality to his eyes, but brightened by a bemused quirk of the lips. “That’s one way of getting a job done.”
For an hour, the two trudged through terrain so waterlogged, it was the nearest thing to a swamp without frogs leaping across lilly pads. They covered what Violet would consider a substantial amount of land, but on a map, their progress would be unrecognisable. Perhaps a centimetre, if she allowed herself to be generous.
Remus, just as agitated as she was, looked ready to set every tree in sight ablaze. Reflecting off the clusters of water dotted about, that fiery spectacle whilst blinding, would likely be much more appealing than this boring excuse for a landscape.
The pair of them threw their hands up in undisguised frustration. “At this rate, I’ll go mad from boredom light-years before we get anywhere near the Anarchy Syndicate.”
“There has to be a faster mode of transport.” Remus racked his brain. “But there’s no way the Speed Clan would accept a booking from us. We’ll have to rely on our own might.”
A switch was evidently flipped in him, for Remus spun to face her at blinding speed. “Violet, I’m terribly sorry to press you after that feat you just pulled, but do you have any means of manipulating your Mark, in a way that could increase your speed?”
Violet frowned. “My usual means of Mark-assisted transport is medium-distance spatial manipulation.”
As impressive as that sounded, the technique didn’t lend itself to long-term travel over significant distances. For one thing, forcibly tearing herself through space across vast stretches was draining as anything. Violet didn’t have to recall their experience subduing the wind giant Styrmir for that fact to remain deeply embedded into her consciousness.
She informed Remus of this, who, remarkably, spoke words of genius: “what if you were to tear through space at closer intervals, for shorter distances? It might take some practice, but if you could figure out a range that stood in a middle-ground between burning you out, and being ineffective, it could work.” At her blank look, he waved his hands. “Or maybe that wouldn’t work. Forget it.”
“I mean, it's worth trying,” Violet admitted. “But before we get to that,” she aimed an accusatory finger his way, “when did you learn how to fly?”
Remus’ features went from shocked, to a series of wrinkles as he grabbed at his stomach. He simply refused to stop chuckling, despite Violet’s adamant attempts to snap him back into reason.
“Oh, that?” He muttered, wiping a tear from his eyes, “it’s a little technique I learned from Aziel. With it, if I gauge the amount of flames I unleash, I can cover much more ground.”
“Can it last?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t tested its limits, but by pacing myself, I can probably make it last a while.”
So that was one of their techniques sorted. Now, once again, Violet was required to partake in a little experimenting. What was the least demanding jolt forward she could manage? Sprinting forwards would inevitably exhaust Violet, but if she merely jogged, it wouldn’t be out of the question that a few hours of steady travel would be achievable. Taking a few sheepish strides, she pulsed forwards. To preface, zipping only a few feet ahead is terribly disconcerting. Violet barely caught herself, one unsteady second away from face-planting into a puddle of murky brown water.
Second time’s a charm, she mused, recalling her ever vague Mark. She tried not to focus on the image still covered by a sooty blackness; no one’s focus was assisted by nagging theories. This time, everything went swimmingly for several uninterrupted metres.
“Gods.” Remus murmured behind, and she caught herself for the second time. Cracking her head open against some protruding boulder wouldn’t be an elegant way to go.
These activations of her Mark were like submerging her pinky-finger into a tank of water. Barely tapping into the vast power source that was the Mark, she could maintain this assisted sprint untroubled for far longer than the larger vaults through space. The trouble then came with maintaining her balance.
“Give me half an hour to adjust to this,” Violet said. “And then we’ll race to the Ravaged Lands. Unless you want a head-start?”
Remus boomed at the top of his lungs. Violet was going to rub that smug expression off his face. “If you think I won’t overtake you when literally flying, you have another thing coming. Maybe it's you who needs the head-start.”
Twenty minutes later, Violet couldn’t help but crack a childish grin as she pictured what any passing travellers would see, once they set off. A rushing beast of blue dividing the skies, and not too far beneath him, a blur of dashing limbs, erupting in purple every other second.
It was a spectacle she was itching to create.
Not long later, as if someone had blown into a whistle at their side, the two were off.
----------------------------------------
Koa knew he would hate the Ravaged Lands the second he laid his eyes on the desert vista. Elmore had led the group fairly directly to the ruined, sandy landscape, but for once, Koa found himself wishing his cousin had taken his time.
They had lasted three steps into the city, and, already, twenty-three explosions had resounded from the distance. Twenty-three, and counting, he should add, for as the group settled to rest for a moment, five more had already sent the ground thrumming.
Even Elmore let his features slip into a striking frown, and Ash, as usual, complained as if he was compensating for the entire populace of an irritable village.
But Donovan, the definition of a stoic man, didn’t so much as sigh. Unpacking his own belongings as if it was the most important task in the world, he placed a piece of cloth before himself. Rolling it open, a whole array of lethal weaponry laid ahead of the assassin. They were all tiny, metallic instruments, the majority daggers with slight variations. Koa shivered, imagining how a victim may be tortured by that horrifying arsenal, with Donovan not so much as batting an eye.
Whilst not pulling a knife to any of their throats at that moment, Donovan did, however, turn his attention to Koa. Silently, he flickered a hand towards himself, beckoning Koa over.
Immediately, dire visages of those very same tools twisting against his skin overcame Koa. Logic returning, he walked over — each step requiring every ounce of his attention. The inclination to turn tail and sprint towards the lesser danger of those explosions a walk in the park by comparison.
He indicated the empty spot by him. Without thinking, or, more accurately, without paying attention to all his primal instincts screaming danger, Koa obliged.
Donovan put a hand to his chin, as if engrossed in thought. He examined each of his blades in turn, as well as the small collection of needles. The longer this progressed, the more certain Koa was that the man was planning the best means of murdering him right there.
Finally, he picked up a dagger of reasonable size. It was of a dark wood, its edged end a substance Koa couldn’t identify.
“Its blade was naturally harvested.” He began to speak, catching the youth by surprise. “Developed from a weed that, over the course of centuries, grows unbelievably dense. The handle is long-lasting wood. It should match your fighting style and Mark quite well.”
He placed it gracefully in Koa’s palm, being careful not to cut him. “Use your Mark on it. You should be able to extend either part of the dagger, if I inferred The Wild Sect’s abilities correctly.”
Anticipating some sort of trick, Koa faltered for a moment. But the man had given him a gift; the least he could do was oblige him. Even if he was only allowed to examine the article for a few moments.
With a pulse of his Mark, he extended the knife’s handle until it became a pole in its own right. With it, the blade, as the man had promised, expanded until it was a curved, three-inched point. Koa lofted the spear, the weight somehow perfect in his grip.
Returning it to its original size, he handed it back to the man.
To his surprise, Donovan shook his head. “No, keep it. It's yours now.”
“Really!” Koa shouted, attracting a turn of the head from Ash. Cheeks reddening, he levelled his voice. “Really?”
They nodded. “In the Shadow Clan, we have many steadfast beliefs, but one of the most important is this: a man’s blade is a reflection of his worth. None of you have worthy weapons, from what I’ve seen. You deserve better.”
This time, he beckoned Ash. Koa’s older brother appeared just as uneasy as he had been, but he more marvelled at the weapons than anything. Before Ash could mutter a word, Donovan examined him from head to toe.
“I haven’t seen you wield a weapon before,” he eventually commented, “tell me, is that a personal preference, or a lack of resources?”
Ash’s words became lodged in his throat. “P-personal preference.”
“Hmm, I see . . .”
After a few seconds of calculated inspection, his gaze was drawn to an outlier of the sheet’s contents. Ash’s eyes visibly widened as he was handed a pair of knuckles.
“Like your brother's, it's made from a combination of tough, natural resources. Most too obscure to name. Is it to your liking?”
Delayed only by a moment of awe-filled inspection, Ash hastily nodded. “Of course! Thank you Donovan.”
That left only one person. Donovan waited patiently for Elmore to arrive, his item already selected. Koa kept waiting for some sort of catch to befall the group. Perhaps their new friend here was tracking their locations through the blades, or was in the midst of some other dastardly scheme that was yet to come to light. But nothing. Donovan, Koa almost couldn't understand why, was acting out of the kindness of his heart.
Koa suddenly felt extraordinarily guilty for suspecting anything. After all, you shouldn’t turn your nose up at an act of kindness. No matter how peculiar it was to receive from another sect.
Elmore hid his surprise much more skillfully than his cousins.
This time, subverting Koa’s expectations yet again, Donovan put away his piece of cloth, removing the myriad of blades out of sight. Right before Koa could wonder if he was excluding Elmore, he unveiled a branch from seemingly nowhere.
“This is a detached borough from a scythe-plant. The leaves it will bear, you will find, are just as sharp as those throwing knives you bear. Except, if your Mark can accelerate the process, you’ll have an infinite supply.”
Skeptically, as if certain this was all too good to be true, Elmore handled the branch. Immediately, vicious-looking ferns slashed into existence. Snapping a few off, Elmore practised tossing them up and down. For once, Koa caught his cousin cracking a smile.
“You’re too kind Donovan.” He addressed the man. “Quiet, but kind. Thank you.”
The three of them watched as Donovan made for an early slumber. “Don’t thank me.” He said, in that nasally accent of his. “Put those weapons to work. The Chaos Clan will know blood.”