Things got complicated after that.
The last chance to visit the barracks was strange. Remus stared around at every room like it was his first time being there. It was like venturing through some parallel world he had never been privy to. He took one last opportunity to work on his Bank with Tanguy, in the rooms allocated for the task.
The pair of them made light conversation as they sauntered over to what would be their last meal before leaving.
“How long do you think we’ll be out there?” He asked, supposing Tanguy would have a better idea than him.
“Who knows,” he sounded tired, though not out of a lack of sleep. “Passings at least, but let’s hope for less.”
Since overcoming their initial awkward stumbles, Remus and Tanguy had gotten pretty relaxed around each other. It was enough that Remus could begin to ask questions of a more personal nature.
“So what Mould are you going for?”
“That’s tricky.” Tanguy replied coyly, placing a great slathering of yoghourt onto his tray. “There's this one that enhances the hands. A few actually. One of them should make the fires I unleash a hundred times more ferocious.”
Remus couldn't tell if that was an overstatement. And if it weren’t, frankly, he didn’t want to know.
After stacking his tray with more ambition than ever seen before, like an extra mountain of food would make up for his absence from this place, Remus joined the rest of their squad on the same table as usual. Even Veida was there.
After brief greetings, they all gorged themselves on their respective scatterings of food. It was during this polite silence, that Remus noticed how overcrowded the space had become. Evidently, Eshika’s heart-racing speech had motivated numerous clans into accepting the proposal of moving over here fully. He eyed them all rather intrusively, before landing on the image of a confused Damion peering around like a lost puppy.
Aziel swallowed. “Is it just me . . .”
“Or am I seeing double.” Tanguy finished for him.
Remus frowned at the pair of them before they broke out into laughter, and waved over to his brother.
Upon his arrival, Hadrian’s eyes widened. “Remus, you never told me you were a twin.”
“What?” Remus only scowled deeper. “We don’t look that alike.”
Damion cocked an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He sat down in the middle of the crowd, where the group parted, between Remus and Veida. “This is your squad, Remus?” His eyes passed over them. “I must say, I’m impressed. Pleasure to meet you all.”
“So only his looks match Remus.” Violet assessed, rubbing her chin in mock curiosity. Or Remus sincerely hoped she was joking. “He’s far more polite.”
“Hey-” Remus cut himself off, turning to a Damion who was grinning a little too widely. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s nice to see you too.”
Violet spluttered into her palm. Remus wasn’t doing a very good job of proving himself to be a cordial, refined gentleman.
“The clan’s relocating nearer to the barracks. The Pillars are slowly locating the sects who have moved out here closer to the front lines, to make up space for the new arrivals, and prepare for battle. Luckily enough, the closest barracks for us were here. Though, I have to say, setting this all up the day before we depart is cutting it pretty close. ”
“This entire operation is cutting it a little close,” Veida moved the spoon around in her soup, “I don’t know what the Pillars were thinking, giving us a few days’ notice for something this big.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Hadrian recited, sighing.
“I’m sure you’ll all be fine. This looks like quite the capable squadron to me.”
Remus wasn’t sure whether to admire Damion’s affable air, or to bark out in disgust. The young man was latching onto all the brownie points he could get, and apparently Remus was the only one who could tell. The rest of the squad however, had already taken a deep liking to Damion — you tell from the way they regarded him. Nevertheless, it was nice to spend time with his brother. Remus hardly got the chance anymore.
“Maybe we’ll get sent to the same location, once the fighting starts.”
Damion shrugged. “It’s possible. Depends how they distribute the squads.”
“What group are you with, anyway?”
“I do maintenance on our defences with the rest of the Carpentry Clan, and work with the Matter and Renewal Clans on the side. Nice guys.”
Remus nodded, before looking down at his wrist. He’d almost completely forgotten about the Calibrator, settled on invisibility as it was, and gathering data on him all this time. With everything that had happened recently, it had taken a direct mention of the Matter Clan to jog his memory.
Using his shiny new tool now would probably seem rude, so Remus only tapped it to life in the company of Violet and Damion, during the brief free time they had left until bed.
“If this proves useful, I’ll see about buying one for everyone in the squad.”
“Look at you, made of money.”
Remus shot a leer at his brother's annoyingly amused face. “If it's worth it, I’ll have to save up. The royalties for this operation better be good.”
They all watched raptly as Remus flickered through the various details of the Progress Calibrator. It was extraordinary. It listed his Rank — low-high Emblazed — his age and heartbeat, type of Mark, featured a digital model of his entire body, as well as how progressed into his Mould development he was. A respectable sixty-three percent complete. Flickering to another screen presented metrics on his diet, and another swipe led to a sprawling slide of what diseases he was susceptible too. He gave it one look, shivered, and promptly moved to one screen that particularly caught his interest.
It listed different variables directly related to his training. He could enter a date to anything he wanted to achieve regarding his advancement, from something as simple as getting into better shape through physical training, to a broad timeline of when and how he could best tackle reaching God-Graced.
Without another thought, he created a timeline on how to reach Foot-Soldier as fast as possible. Warnings flickered in a neon red that made his eyes water. Remus acknowledged the dangers of such fast advancement, proceeding without hesitation.
If he was going to fight in this battle, he would have to get serious. To help sway the tide in humanity’s favour, up against Unbounded as powerful as Enos, Emblazed wasn't going to cut it. To be the role model Remus’ clan so desperately needed, to usher in a new age of greatness, the path to power was the only one he could tread.
Part of Remus, the tiny, miniscule fragment not so infatuated with his advancement, found the thing downright eerie. What he was holding at that very moment was so above and beyond any other technology on Descent, it was like it came from a different world. He tried to imagine a distant future where technology like this became the norm, but couldn’t. It was like he was holding a little piece of destiny.
Damion whistled at the amount of daily Infinity intake the device recommended. “That’s insane, and probably a little dangerous, but I’m sure those variables mean nothing to you.”
“If there’s anywhere I can do it, a battle as drastic as the one we’re barreling headfirst into sounds like just the place.”
“Indeed it does.” Violet eyed the calibrator with narrowed eyes. Like a miner staring at a gold-filled cave they didn’t have the licence to enter. Remus suddenly felt a wave of guilt. Being Unbounded as she was, there was a very high chance the calibrator would try to kill Violet, if she so much as touched the thing.
Then there was the unspoken tension between Violet and Damion. Remus was largely sure it had deteriorated by now, but it made him wonder: did he resent her for running off with his brother? For rushing away from their home together, on a year long wild-goose-chase? Damion was privy to most of what had occurred, if not for some of the more sensitive details. Perhaps the idea that he brother was conspiring with a criminal was what unnerved Damion so. But even that had ceased to hold any ground. Violet had been cleared as a criminal in most places, certainly. Or, for most major cities, one sect leader’s rebellious daughter was the least of their concern.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
It had only been a couple hours since they had met, after all, so Remus cut the pair some slack.
It was beginning to get late. The candlelight within the barracks could be seen illuminating through the gloom now, and Remus joined Damion in a stretch and yawn.
“Well, I’ll best be going.”
Remus got up too, “I’ll join you. It’s only right I say one last goodbye to Andreas, before the trouble really gets brewing.”
Violet joined them too, who Remus was admittedly surprised to see accept his offer. He had merely suggested it to keep up good manners, and worried if his family would get the wrong idea. What did Damion think?
He saw the sides of his brother's lips twitch.
Remus told himself firmly that he and Violet were just friends. Just . . . friends. He wasn’t even sure how something like that would work, with her being half-Unbounded. He shook his head, forced the topic to the back of his mind, imprisoned and under high surveillance, and focused on how he was going to say goodbye to Andreas. For what he feared would be, maybe, one of the last times.
Then the dark thoughts began to flourish. The Right-bearers. He was curious as to where they were at that very moment. Wreaking mass destruction, he knew, but that knowledge didn’t help in the slightest. Somehow more unnerving was the matter of where the Pet-Keeper was occupying himself. The fact he wasn’t acting in accordance with the rest of the gang, with even Nova appearing more and more in his Unbounded form near the front lines, was anything but a comfort to Remus.
Belindo. Nova. The Pet-Keeper. The Supreme Fiend. The mastermind behind it all, Enos.
To send a message to the Unbounded that they would never forget, they would have to kill them all.
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Belindo couldn’t recall life before becoming the monstrosity of nature that Enos had turned him into.
Two great wings beat at his sides, longer in size than some buildings. He manipulated the air around subtly, feeling it caress across his reptilian skin. He exhaled ash out of two gaping nostrils, nose dived lower towards the plain of dead grass, and found his mind drifting elsewhere.
His Divine Right stuck out like a proverbial sore thumb when compared to his peers. Unlike the others, his was nearly always active, keeping his draconic form alive, but in varying expenditures of power. The strain of all of this was immense. His sleeping patterns were as tumultuous as the sea itself. For entire Durations at a time, he would drift into the deepest slumber — for Passings, even, whenever the need arose.
However, that also meant he could stay awake and alert, without fear of sleep deprivation, for astonishingly long times. This being one of them.
And he wouldn’t sleep until the front lines, humanity’s last frontier, resembled a bloody pulp. A glistening streak of Ichor, decorated with all the detritus he could amass.
Hunger made his mind tunnel-visioned. Belindo’s brain had taken such a toll from the excess power, that he could hardly recall the mortal tongue. Or parts of his own, scratchy Unbounded language, either.
Belindo had hardly any use for either, regardless. Why speak when his talons accomplished all that was needed?
Drool seeped out of his mouth in ghastly dollops. His ancient eyes, orbs of pinpointed wisdom, followed their descent.
To a camp of mindless clansmen below.
His stomach heaved at the sight, and with a series of snapping flickers of the wings, he zoomed down. To sate his undying hunger, Belindo was willing to unleash the full litany of the elements.
The tempests swirled into a cyclone, whips of moisture slapping against anybody and anything. The ground below splintered open, riddling with fissures like it was a beast of its own, opening its jaws.
Warmth turned into heat in Belindo’s mouth, steam wafting out between teeth the size of large rocks. It concentrated into one flickering prick of energy.
A roar that could have shook nations heralded the annihilation to come. A stream of fire lasered out, bathing the feeble souls below.
Belindo’s heart sang as he crashed into the ground.
This was what he was born for.
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A field of grey spread out from the Supreme Fiend like the ruinous disease it was.
No thoughts ran through his addled mind, only instinct. Primal impulsions that compelled his every action in the pursuit of not survival, but growth.
Wherever his Rot spread, so did he.
Through that connection, he sensed oh so many dying. Visages of natural corruption: ashen plains, fleeting heartbeats, the final words of dying men.
Sensations upon sensations. He felt it all constantly. An infinite stream of information it was beyond him to put an end to.
Notions, ideas, feelings of his own unattached to the instinctual — so rare were they, like miracle flotsam salvaged from a hellish sea. On and on he trudged, because it was all he could do; all there was to do.
His feet flattened the earth below like pillars of Supreme Steel. He occasionally caught sight of his golem-like self, in the reflections of puddles, or the oozing blood of the soon to be dead. He couldn’t comprehend himself.
A sheening titan of Supreme material, but he knew himself to be better than that. To be more. To the fiend, even Supreme Steel was something to be bent and broken; like a baby’s bones. No, he as the Unbounded in question was sustained from something greater. Or, if one must be forced to identify the glimmering, silver metal as his own, his artificial flesh and blood, he was of an unfounded concentration. At least for a world as weak as Descent. There was a very good chance he was the strongest source of the resource that ever had, or ever would, grace the world.
For Passings, he had stumbled mindlessly through the Silver Cavities. He had possessed everything he’d ever wanted: endless amounts of Infinity to his name, leagues of Unbounded that would fall to the knee at his every beckon, and an entire underground kingdom from which to rule over.
Yet he was purposeless.
Yes of course, in this brief bout of introspective clarity, he recognised the innate purpose that united all Unbounded. Mother Infinity’s call: to make the gods pay for their negligence.
Endless seas of black. A ravenous deep of fractured planets and stars on the brink of puffing out, like blown out candles. Those visions danced before the fiend’s inner eye, the wax of logic that served as the base for all the cosmos reduced to a battered pulp.
The gods called them monsters. Their fickles toys of humanity followed their creators blindly, spouting the same self-obsessed nonsense.
His thoughts slackend like a rope put under too much pressure, but the Supreme Fiend barreled through.
That divine revenge was one mission. The problem came from the fact it was too far; too distant to be tangible. Like trying to see the peak of a mountain when you have hardly ascended further than its base.
He longed for something immediate, and that prayer was met by a vision from Enos. The Unbounded were going to end humanity at long last, and the Supreme Fiend, alongside his Divine Right brethren, played a central role in it.
Even now, he was advancing towards them. Within days if not hours, the front lines would have no choice but to suffer the full wrath of-
Empty.
No thoughts ran through the vacant mind. His skull may as well have been hollow. For a few minutes, the Supreme Fiend shambled around, perplexed on what exactly he was doing here. What could have possibly made him venture so far from the Silver Cavities? Then he sensed it — or them.
Humans. Large collections of them not too far from here.
Primaeval instincts kicked into overdrive. A lust for blood made all other things null.
Like a child catching sight of a sweet store, the Supreme Fiend charged.
----------------------------------------
Nova smiled quietly to himself, in the headquarters of the temporary new base of the Chaos Clan.
Finally, after so much frustration, having to endure days on end where the blood of his human form did nothing but boil, it was time for sweet, sweet revenge.
Having half-expected a catastrophe as bad as the fall of the Chaos base, Nova had secured a rundown mansion and the plot of land immediately by it. It was located near the edges of the Ravaged Lands. A recipe for disaster, if any were true.
Nowhere in this barbaric city was safe from falling to collateral damage. Years of wear and tear had made the building liable to falling apart at any second, and that was excluding the pre-existing damages. A caved in roof, eroded rafters, and windows with no glass.
Only an abundance of Chaotic energy frankensteined it all altogether. While other clansmen had of course moved into the building, Nova was doing a vast amount of the heavy lifting, when it came to keeping them all safe.
When he wasn’t there, out transported to the front lines to obey Enos’ call, he heard of the strain put on the rest of the clan. The Marked, half-mortal Unbounded. Now, on the verge of leaving long term, a part of him worried whether the building would come tumbling down. That minority soon joined the rest of his psyche in caring little. It would only be their own faults.
Enos. A name so simple, only two syllables, yet carrying such a punch.
Enos, the originator. Enos, the decimator of gods and humanity alike. Enos, the Unbounded who had unleashed generation after generation of Right-bearers, and slaughtered millions of mortals in the process. Enos, who had gifted Nova his wondrous Right so long ago.
And Enos, the man who had killed the Chaos god, Teivel, forcibly bonding with the corpse to become the god-killer he was to this day. Enos, who had orchestrated Nova’s rise to power in preparation for the end. Enos, the celestial emperor who had created the perfect lifeform: a being in equal degrees human and Unbounded.
In a way, the Divine Rights were merely a prototype for that Unbounded’s magnum opus: an Unbounded with a Mark. At first merely the powerful equivalent of one, and now, imprinted upon Nova’s very flesh as evidence, the real thing.
They had taken humanity’s one viable tool against them. Now it was theirs; and nothing could hope to stop them.
In Enos’ song of destruction, Nova may have merely been an instrument. But he still had a part to play, and there could be no greater honour.
Through a Mark-assisted swirl of magenta, Nova left that crumbling building for what would be the last time.
The front lines were calling.