Edmar stirred the mixture into the mortar, using his pestle to blend it together with various other ingredients a man from the Vitality Sect had instructed him to use. Then, with a sort of bored, retired aptitude to him, placed it by a weak man’s bedside.
They were surrounded by a humble room — a little too humble for his refined taste — with some simple furniture the poorer folk in the Labour District would call lavish. There were some old paintings of sea and cityscapes, with dusty frames he really couldn’t find the will to scrub. He half considered hiring a maid, before reflecting on the longevity such a position might have. Towards the actual artworks themselves, Edmar paid them no mind, aside of course how much each could be sold for, if the need arose.
A man groaned, lifted himself up into a sitting position, and, refusing help from Edmar, drank from the Mortar as though it were a bowl. They released a sort of disgusted splutter, clumsily placed the ceramic back down, and panted heavily in visible liftings of the chest.
“I wish they would find out how to make those elixirs more pleasant. Something even my few remaining tastebuds wouldn’t reject.”
Such products likely existed, deep within the stock of the Vitality Sect’s herbal markets. Though Edmar didn’t feel obliged to follow that possibility through for the man.
He’d lived comfortably for long enough, refusing to change the fate held by their family. Edmar could spare little sympathy for his father, be him a kind person or not.
“Tell me Father,” he said to the dying man, “the history of our bloodline.”
It was a story Edmar had been told of since birth. At the end of practically every evening at one point.
“Oh, you like that tale, don’t you?” His father said brightly, with a smile Edmar couldn’t help but find moronic. “I’ll oblige you. As you know, we are descended from two great companions. Friends as thick as thieves.”
Twins, Edmar had long since internalised the truth.
“Our ancestor, Maso, and his comrade Ulan, were around a few thousand years after the creation of the Greed Sect, when humanity first stepped foot on Descent. The two were friendly rivals, competing for who would be the successor of the previous Sect Leader. They both reached Warlord in due time, mere years from God-Graced each.”
Edmar listened attentively, doing his best not to clench his fists too tightly. “Go on. I’ll fetch you some water as you do.”
That was simply a front not to appear too interested. Nevertheless, Edmar didn’t suppose the man was bright enough to recognise his ulterior motives. He probably still saw Edmar as the little child he brought up.
“Finally, after the sect leader was mortally wounded on the front lines in a close encounter, Maso and Ulan were both in equal contention for the throne. This resulted, as still is the custom today, in a duel. The preparations were made, and the entire sect gathered to watch the two young men duke it out.”
Edmar felt the vein on his scalp bulging, but kept his running mouth under check.
“After a fierce competition, and many twists and turns, the fight concluded. By the skin on his teeth, Ulan was victorious. He grasped his friend’s trembling hand, pulled him up, and announced to all watching that Maso was immediately recruited as his second in command. Maso was eventually overtaken by his successor, but our bloodline Edmar, descending from Maso, always seems to take the same kind of position as advisor. Even when we migrated to the Wealth Clan in the great sect-split, when Damosh inscribed his soul.” His beaming smile would have been infectious, if Edmar had been a lot less educated, and a thousand times more impressionable. “Destiny is a wondrous thing indeed! Aha, ah-”
His laughter broke out into a series of coughs, as if sand had been smothered across the back of his throat. Idly, Edmar passed him a glass of water, but his mind was elsewhere.
Twins, not friends, he repeated that one mantra over and over.
That duel hadn’t been a public event. Out of jealousy, out of insecurity that Maso would rise to God-Graced and overshadow him, Ulan had murdered his brother in the dead of night. Then, for some reason, the only logical explanation being guilt, he had hired his late brother’s sons to serve as advisor. Or perhaps, he was simply using the remnants of the talent he had crushed for his own ends.
And, for generations, Edmar’s bloodline had been none the wiser. Only after looking into his own past through the aid of sources all across the world, from history books, the Trickery Clan, and other oracles, had Edmar been supplied with so much overwhelming evidence, he couldn’t deny the truth.
His bloodline’s continued job title wasn’t some funny coincidence, or legacy. It was a calculated enslavement.
By being ignorant to it all, most likely willingly ignorant, Edmar’s father had lost all of his son’s respect. But something in his stony heart, despite his grievances, still, foolishly, held out hope.
He was about to leave, to meet with a visitor, when something compelled his lips to move.
“Father?”
“Yes, Son?”
“Do you really believe all that?”
There was silence. Edmar had posed this question before, but never so directly.
His disappointment came quickly, but Edmar didn’t expect it to hit so hard.
“Believe? What do you mean?”
He turned to his old man, fingers twitching. “Do you think that's how it all played out?”
“Well . . .” he stifled a cough, splitting into his palm. “History’s history isn’t it?”
Edmar nodded, let his shoulder sink lower, and left the room.
It only took Edmar a few minutes of fast marching to arrive at his desired location: the city vaults underneath Ruling District. It reminded him of the general layout of a set of sewers. Only, instead of being filled with the people’s filth, his Mark begged for activation at the sheer collection of riches. Edmar had reached a point that even the colour of gold bored him, but today on all days, he felt excitement seep through his bones.
Edmar activated his awaiting Mark at last, shifting the endless piles of Inklings, priceless trinkets, gems, and other assorted items of near endless worth. Slowly, in an amount not even Damosh should be able to sense, or at least be suspicious of, Edmar poured a few hundred extra tons of gold into his own private vault. Who it would have originally belonged to, he hadn’t the slightest, but drastic times called for drastic measures. Even if that drastic time was the extent of Edmar’s life.
Finally, he continued his stroll towards their rendezvous spot. Within the casted shadow of a series of pillars, Edmar was face to face with his link to the Trade Clan. Someone masked by the shadow emitted by one pillar opposite to the one he himself leaned against.
“Do you have it?” Edmar spoke through the gloom, the encounter eerily feeling like he was speaking to himself.
“Of course.” A woman's voice replied with a snap of the tongue. “Do you have the final payment?”
Edmar revealed a golden goblet inserted with gemstones and other intricate designs. There were other materials of course, in the material’s alloy, all adding to its astronomical value. He’d spent several evenings designing this from the ground up, and it was probably worth enough to feed a sect for six Passings.
Almost lazily, he tossed it towards the shadowy figure. They grasped it, before sliding over a sack with a kick of the foot. Edmar threw the leather bag away instantly, holding aloft a vial filled with glowing liquid.
It looked like distilled gold in itself, but this was worth much more to Edmar than any trivial Inklings. “So this will prepare me for my advancement to Mercenary?”
“Uh-huh.” They said, sounding rather bored.
If Edmar wasn’t so preoccupied with his own affairs, he might have despaired for the woman. If there was any clan at risk of being destroyed any time soon, it was the Trade Sect. With the advent of individual clans establishing their own trade routes, the Trade Sect’s once crucial role in the barbaric ages of the Mortal Realms was slowly being phased out. They’d been reduced to covert operations like the one Edmar was currently engaged in now. Goods that were better kept hidden through them instead of the typical, constantly scrutinised markets.
Elixirs like this weren’t illegal, per se, but Edmar wouldn’t appreciate all the questions that came with him boosting his own advancement to such an extent. Especially when he was taking some . . . creative liberties to how he handled First Rite’s finances. But he needed all the money he could get, if facing down Damosh was ever going to become a possibility for him.
“What does it do exactly?” Edmar questioned sceptically. This wouldn’t be the first time someone had attempted to poison him.
“It's an advanced elixir. It establishes your Mark’s dominance over your Vault, whilst making the Vault itself more susceptible to change. This should make sacrificing your Bank’s might to become a Mercenary at Splintered Rank far easier.”
Edmar nodded along, before downing the entire thing in one chug.
The woman’s silence concerned him. “What?”
“You were supposed to consume it in spoonfuls every night for a Passing straight. But I suppose this should quicken the process, if your body can handle it.”
“Right.” Edmar kept his mouth tight. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
For a few metres, Edmar retained his regal march through the vaults, only crumbling to his knees once he was sure the Tradeswoman was far off.
Inside his body, the resplendent fluid was raging a war. His Vault Mould seemed to be trembling, his Mark activating on its own as if drowning in power. Edmar’s Mould was of the Standing Trooper variety, designed to keep him fighting for as long as possible. It prioritised making the most of every speck of his Mark’s energy, but at that moment, quaking with its might, that seemed to be working against him.
He dragged himself to a stand, limping from supporting pillar to pillar to keep himself upright.
Rushing back into one of the Wealth Clan’s empty chambers, he sank into bed, hoping that sleep would see him through the rest of the substance's rage.
If he survived this ordeal, he would be all the closer to turning Damosh’s pretty face into bloody shreds. And for that, he would endure any hardship.
Twins, not brothers. He recounted. Murder, not combat.
----------------------------------------
Remus knew his plans were in jeopardy when Maris decided to put a wrench in them.
They hadn’t travelled far as out of Eclipse when a swell of water coated his entire body. He first shuffled around in alarm, suspecting Rainfall clansmen to have sneaked up on him, when a set of teeth chomped through the water. The image of Maris’ liquid face soon followed. At the same time, Remus felt something tug at him. Like an invisible string, his Oath compelled him to listen to the God-Graced’s every word.
“Maris.” He said, trying not to sound vexed. “To what do I owe the privilege?”
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“In case you haven’t been keeping track of time, today is my coronation.” Her voice was perfectly clear, resonating through every drop of water around Remus. “I’m moving all my forces to Hybrid to help smooth-over the process.”
“Why?” Remus frowned, his Oath twitching at such obvious disobedience. Nevertheless, he couldn’t leave his curious mind unsated. “Don’t you have all the forces in Hybrid bending to your every whim now? Why not use them?”
The Water Sect leader chuckled, like she was conversing with someone charmingly ignorant. “Oh, you sweet summer child. Don’t you know how chaotic coronations are? It's the only day of the year where the city proper of Hybrid becomes just as barbaric as its outer territories.”
“I don’t recall such a thing being widespread news at any crowning, in any Rebirth. Only the fact that there is a coronation seems to spread.” Remus put carefully, trying not to imply a God-Graced was lying. He didn’t want to incite Maris’ rage here. Besides, she was perfectly in the right, as per the conditions of their deal, to command him at a call. It wasn’t like he had the free will to deny her, regardless of his own inhibitions, but one small fact pricked at Remus’ self-restraint.
On that jetty, looking for any opportunity to reach West Ember, Remus hadn’t been in any sort of position to make Oaths. It wasn’t like freedom of choice was a reality when he agreed to Maris’ deal. His only real choice had been between acceptance and death. He’d been desperate, and Maris, lawfully innocent or not, had abused that opportunity to chain him down.
“The conflict is contained in the central city, and the first task of every newly crowned King or Queen is to ensure that news of the ordeal is kept quiet. Only the participants of the clan, and the strongest out of us all scaling the Divine Ranks, are informed. And trust me, a little extra gold is more than enough to keep them silent. But take your new Queen’s word for it: every coronation is less of a celebration than it is a fight for survival. And we will beat our enemies into rightful submission.”
Remus deliberated on those words, tried to picture the pressures put on Maris, to widen his perspective on things, when two muffled voices snapped him to attention.
Maris frowned. “Your friends?”
“Looks like it.”
Koa and Violet were dark blurs of distorted colour past the sphere of liquid enveloping him. They paused outside, minds probably racing in confusion, when the sphere expanded.
The three of them had swiftly left Eclipse at the nearest opportunity, camped beneath the shadow of its gigantic cloud. They were all bloody and beaten, and had only recently recovered enough to consider parting ways, when Maris decided it was round about time they had a nice chat.
A second later, the pair of them were floating to Remus’ side. Maris quickly caught them up to speed once their initial shock faded.
“Conflict?” Violet, without the restraints of an Oath, could be as sceptical as she wanted. “Who are you up against?”
“Just about every clansman who fancies themselves a half-decent ruler.”
“But what about Divine Ground?” Koa argued a point so obvious, Remus was damned he hadn’t thought of it himself.
“Divine Ground is held by the power of whatever God-Graced or Godling is in charge of an area. That’s why Hell’s Floor is the only major city where Divine Ground isn’t at least present in some areas. There’s no leader to establish it.” Maris explained, tone slowly becoming hurried. “There’s no time to go into detail, but until I can assert power over Hybrid, we’re in a short period of turmoil where anyone can do as they wish.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Remus spotted Koa standing extraordinarily stiff. This must have been awkward for him, as a member of The Wild Sect. There would be nothing that would irritate Juniper more than knowing that Koa had been fraternising with the woman who was to take her throne. So, in the cleverest move, he spoke as little as possible. That one question had been daring enough.
Maris eyed him uneasily. “Look, you’re not the only ones I have to transport. Remus, I know you’re obligated to come with me, but I would gladly take your friends along if they're willing to fight. Though, that depends entirely on what side your Wild Sect pal is fighting on.”
Koa would have stumbled backwards, if not for the liquid holding him semi-tightly in place. His brows lifted. “Juniper’s out there fighting?”
“Of course she is!” Maris roared, the water around them gaining an uncomfortable temperature. “If you fight for me, I offer you a one-time transport to any location you wish.” She turned to Remus. “Obviously, you have to do as I ask, but I suppose I’ll be willing to offer the same if you do particularly well. Your friends have ten seconds to decide, before I leave with just you.”
“What?” Koa spluttered, and Violet craned back.
It took her about two seconds to agree. “I’ll go.”
Koa stuttered for an additional four, before yelping: “fine! I’ll go. But please, keep me far apart from The Wild Clan. I have enough bad blood with my family brewing as it is.”
Maris didn’t so much as nod, before that horrible sensation came over Remus again. His body felt like it was liquidising, and in a rush of moisture, the world flipped and inverted.
It was like his body was being tightened. Condensed enough so it would squeeze through the pit in a basin. Following that analogy, Remus was blasted down what felt like a shoot, disordered images of various sea life shimmering before his very eyes, and, peculiarly, straight through his mind’s eye.
Remus resurfaced, all the last few days’ recovery fading away like shredded paper tossed into the skies. He desperately tried to latch onto those crumpled pieces, but gods above, Maris’ travel — whilst efficient — could not have been good for his health.
The three of them reformed, believe it or not, inside a pond. Remus spluttered to the surface, nature's equivalent of an ice bath chilling even the marrow within his bones. Violet immediately appeared on the ground nearby in a burst of magenta. Remus and Koa, not blessed with reality bending powers, waded through.
Maris’ face shimmered in the pond, illuminated brightly in the early morning light. The pond itself was humble, twenty yards or so, and Maris’ reflected visage had no trouble taking up the entire space.
“You’re east of the Hall of Thrones. The Wild Sect is attacking from our entrance, so you shouldn’t run into them, but with how unpredictable warfare is, I can’t make you any promises. It’ll take me a few hours to impose dominance over the area, and reassert Divine Ground. Hold out until then.”
With that, the face disseminated, leaving nothing in its wake but a few lingering ripples.
Remus made the mistake of taking a second to catch his breath, when a primal growl made him jump.
They were situated in a stretch of the ruins he hadn’t visited before. What looked like an old library, likely thrashed and rebuilt an endless number of times in the savagery of Descent’s past, now sat dormant. Half of its walls were reduced to pebbles, the books inside rotting, and so yellow, Remus wondered if the words themselves were still legible.
The only odd thing about the scene was the family of bears camping out inside. By the time Remus noticed, they were on them.
Koa sprouted fortifications while Violet teleported straight into the fray. Remus joined her, flying towards the nearest bear, and forging an obsidian gauntlet over his fist.
It was a combination of the plasma finger he had invented before, and Tanguy’s own attack. On the outside, it looked exactly as Tanguy’s had when he beat Remus bloody in this very same city: a igneous gauntlet. As innocuous as such a thing could be. Remus made it look so deliberately, letting the second mechanic of the technique fall away from his focus.
His coated fist crushed one bear’s jaw, Violet controlled assorted debris from the environment to pierce through another, and a spray of fire burnt a third to a crisp.
Or at least it should have.
The should-have-been-crushed jaw mended itself in what looked like a reversal of time, rather than any healing Remus had ever seen. Droplets of beastly blood ceased to pour, and with an unnatural shaking motion, like a dog washing itself off, the stabbing pricks of wood and rock flew out of its fur. The third, to Remus’ amounting horror, was merely charred, instead of accepting death as a pile of ash. Those meagre injuries too, were quickly healed.
Three pairs of blood-thirsty eyes stared directly at him and Violet. Then, from out of a cluster of nearby shrubbery, two more supplied the pair of them looks precisely as vengeful.
“I don’t know,” Remus began to speak quietly, “I’m not an expert in healing or anything, but I’ve never seen injuries mend like that.”
Violet nodded, but didn’t have time to exchange words as she tried, for the second time, to deal some real damage. She teleported around one bear over and over again, the growls of the predator a chilling declaration of war.
His own fists blurring, Remus struck out with all the rampant Ambition coursing through his arms. He channelled the suffusing Infinity, empowering his gauntlet. The very same he was using to crush the skulls of these wild animals.
The injuries were still healing, but less of them, and with an undeniable slowness. Well, they sealed themselves shut like zippers being pulled closed, but comparatively, their regeneration wasn’t as impervious as it first appeared.
They were making progress, and Koa was getting his hands dirty with his own preparations. Behind, a robust castle of intertwined trees grew in real time. Mud, rock, and all the materials nature had to offer moulded together. Their only concern was if some fire-focused sect arrived, but Remus had a little trick of his own he was eager to test out in case. Alas, something still was troubling him.
These bears must have been controlled by someone. The possibility of these creatures being transformed clansmen occurred to him, but such a complete and drastic transformation didn’t seem likely. Even clans with impressive alterations, far outclassing his meagre blue eyes, like the Arachnid Sect, were still visibly humanoid. Only high-level Mark usage, like that of a Mercenary with a flourishing Tapestry, may have been capable.
Remus flew up, getting a bird’s-eye-view of the battlefield. He was momentarily distracted by the pure pandemonium of it all. Mini biomes had formed where the Elemental Sects had set up their own temporary bases, from sandy vistas, forests where Remus expected to see frockling animals from a childrens’ book, and glaciers.
He stifled a shiver at that last frosty sight. News had spread of the promise Tushar had made to the entirety of his clan. Only the odd attacker so far had come for Remus, outdone by the Shadow Clan one to twenty. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help the feeling they were planning something big, unleashing whatever it was when he least expected it. A shadow laid over the icy region, a rocky knoll formed from the Earth clan dominating the space. It was oddly reflective of the shadow cast over Remus’ future.
Shaking his head, Remus snapped back into focus.
If these bears couldn’t have been clansmen themselves, that meant they were remotely controlled. There was only one clan that came to mind, and flying a little further forwards, Remus’ suspicions were confirmed. Like they were still living in Descent’s barbaric past, a group of men and women, all draped in animal furs, gathered in a tiny campsite. Its location was well placed. Not too far from the battle, but inconspicuous enough to not draw attention.
Remus’ eyes settled on a group of mediating clansmen, but he saw through the innocent facade.
He signalled to Violet and Koa, prepared to leave when his gauntlet became more and more difficult to control. He would have to let it loose within the next minute, the embedded power quaking inside. But he had one last safety measure to leave behind. Being careful to attribute only the most selective traits to his Ambition, Remus sprayed fire all over Koa’s fortress.
Violet glanced back from where her own tumultuous fight with the bears was in progress, a perplexed frown and raising of the eyebrows seizing her features.
Remus and Koa had been spending much of their free time discussing how their abilities could coincide. So, whilst the sudden dash of blue to his amounting fortifications may startle the boy, he should catch on fast enough.
Like Enrique had said, Remus’ Ambition only manifested itself with the traits of fire because he subconsciously expected it to. He could just as easily remove its ability to blaze away organic matter. The minute difference between only burning flesh or plantage, not both together, was still beyond himself, but with enough practice, who knew what Remus could do? For now though, Remus made it so the fire was more visual that it was practical; it wouldn't burn a thing, though it would stop other sources of heat from dealing out harm. Besides, with Koa inside, he couldn’t really accomplish that former feat without barbequing his newest friend.
For now, at least, it would prevent other fires from burning the place down. As well as discouraging any would-be attackers.
With that sorted, Remus crash-landed into the Mammal Clan camp without so much as a blink of the eye.
He landed adjacent to the line of mediating clansmen, held aloft his gauntlet that was humming with energy at this point, and let it run wild. He didn’t have much Infinity to begin with, but he poured every last iota into this attack. The obsidian cracked, unleashing a ray of plasma that skewered through each of them.
Guttural roars deafened the clamour of distant battle, and leaping back into the skies was all he could do to avoid the angry crowd of clansmen gathering below him. As the remaining shards of obsidian fell off his forearm in riddling cracks, Remus skirted a barrage of tossed stones, axes, polearms, and other miscellaneous objects.
Remus rushed down, incinerating a flower bed as he did so. Immediately, a human hand was flung his way, morphing into a predator’s claw within seconds. He grasped it. With his free hand, he focused explosive will to the ends of each available finger, striking every one into some poor sod’s chest.
They flew off.
The camp was small, an operation of only five other fighters all snarling at him. Without any context, Remus would have thought he’d sauntered into a patient room for rabies victims. Two pounced at him with wolf-like strides, scampering forwards on all-four.
Remus had only been able to incapacitate four immediately with the element of surprise, and a willingness to quickly blaze through his resources. Now, forced on the back step, he prioritised recovery.
A small slither of flame on each hand was precisely enough to let the others’ know he meant business. Violet and Koa would arrive any time now, or at least Violet would, if the latter was too preoccupied with his part-time architect position.
He sensed three Emblazed and two foot-Soldiers remaining in this group. The clan likely had other divisions scattered about the city proper, but he wouldn’t give them the time to call for a distress signal.
Everything’s going fine, he told himself, jolting backwards in careful movements. My flames, and Koa’s fortifications alone should be able to shield Maris from this direction. You just have to hold on for a little long-
A burst of sand sent Remus hurtling.
One spurt of flames blazed away the scattered dust, and he quickly caught himself. Up ahead, as the sandy winds cleared, one central image made Remus grimace.
Forming out of sand itself, was the statuesque outlines of a woman. Long slender arms reached upwards towards the sun itself, particles upon particles of sand whirling just above it.
Remus tried to rush forwards, to interrupt the Clanswoman of the Desert Sect, but he was too slow.
He and the rest of the fur-clad Mammal Clan had all the time needed to put a protective palm before their faces, as a sandstorm slithered down from the skies.