Damion took a deep breath, resting a little deeper into his chair. His back sank into the cushiony material, feeling akin to settling into a hot bath at the end of a long day. Soothing his aches and pains, only none of them were physical.
It truly was a nice armchair. As much as he had taken a liking to the seat — one he himself had made — Damion knew soon, it would have to be sold. Along with the rest of the furniture he had amassed. Crafted by the power of his own Mark and hand, over the course of a few gruelling, inactive days.
And he hated it.
While a colossal conflict was being waged, Damion was one of the unlucky few, or maybe fortunate few, depending on how you looked at it, who Andreas had called to stay put. Remaining in their sect’s military base and helping to run the business side of things. Because business was business, and not even the most important fight in the last century could remedy that.
Damion had no choice but to stay put here, trying not to let the frustration overwhelm him. He trusted in his abilities to keep a level head, but this was really testing him. For a time, he leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and did his best to relax the little bit he could, while the world fell apart.
Remus. Like a spark threatening to set his entire brain into fireworks, his brother’s name brought up a tide of emotions all on its own. Remus, Remus, Remus. The most confusing person in the world.
What did he think of his turbulent little brother? The words insufferable and impossible came to mind in a flash. He was accustomed to the pair of those feelings, and knew them comfortably. But then, as if the shore of his mind hadn’t been battered enough, other things occurred to him. Strange things. Pride, joy.
Damion wasn't sure what to think. He was proud of Remus. Of course he was, he loved his brother.
Yet gods above, he sure knew how to get on Damion’s nerves. If nothing else was bothering him, it was the fact that right now, as he stood here about as useful as a hole in a bucket, Remus was battling in that fight out of his own jurisdiction. While Damion was caught up here . . . that alone infuriated him. However close Remus may be to Foot-Soldier, Damion was still an entire Divine Rank above him — shouldn’t he be there too? Helping to crush the Right-bearers once and for all.
Damion stared up at the ceiling. Leaving the front lines had its benefits of course. Everyone in the clan treated him like a messiah now — for finally breaking past Emblazed at such a young age, after decades of sect mediocrity. But that was nothing in comparison to how they looked at Remus.
Remus, who had left their clan as a Death-Marked criminal, and was well on his way to earning himself the title of deserter. Only to return almost a Rebirth later with unfounded strength behind those blue streaks of his.
Everyone soon forgot all about his abandonment once the money came rolling in. Once he and Damion had proved to the Carpentry Clan that everything was not lost; that they could get stronger; could survive outside Damosh’s iron fist. But Damion wasn’t one to forget. Nor to forgive so easily.
Now there were talks of a long-term alliance with the Ambition Clan. To help smooth things over during the awkward time proceeding Andreas’ death, and however long it would take them to find another leader. None of that would have been possible if Remus hadn’t built such strong ties with the Ambition Clan, and Damion was eternally grateful . . . but . . .
It all rubbed Damion the wrong way. He couldn’t quite sweep everything under the rug, but at the same time, even a blind man would see all the good Remus had done for their clan. That would be impossible to deny. So, despite the maelstrom of mixed feelings threatening to pull him asunder, Damion would keep his mouth shut.
Oh well, he composed himself with a thought. Any longer brooding, and the bulging vein in his brow would have burst. I do need to value this time with Andreas.
That was the best part of all of this: getting to savour whatever time he had left with his great grandad.
Damion made his way to the door, only to almost be sent flying when it slammed open.
He would have shouted at the top of his lungs, had the perpetrator of the door-slamming been anyone other than an eight year old.
Levi hopped up and down on his feet, as if there were some music playing that only he could hear. As one of the youngest of their clan, other than the literal babies, Damion didn't tend to take much notice of the boy. It didn’t help either that he was an active member of Remus’ unofficial fanclub. Being Remus’ brother, Levi looked at Damion like he was some legendary figure brought back from the grave to grace them all. There was only so much endless adoration one could take, before it turned sickly sweet.
Although today, Levi did seem a little more excited than usual. Which, given his usual happy-go-lucky demeanour, was the equivalent of the boy devouring two tons of sugar before getting here.
“Levi, be careful,” Damion peered down at him, sounding awfully like the adults he had loathed so much during his own childhood. “You’re going to get someone hurt at this rate.”
Levi took no notice of his words. Instead, he bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “Damion, Damion! Have you heard, have you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“Remus!”
Damion released a sigh that didn’t extend past his mind. Oh, here we go again. Time to hear about the time Remus made fireworks for everyone, and how cool it was. Again.
“What about Remus? Did you remember some trick he showed you or something?”
Levi shook his head with enough force to snap it off his neck. “It's all anyones talking about: Remus killed a Right-bearer!”
Silence. Aside from Levi’s boisterous movements, no noise entered or left the space.
Aside of course, from Damion’s abundant laughter. “Oh, and Damosh just donated me one million Inklings. Be careful about what you hear, kid. You can’t believe everything.”
Apparently this was such an affront, that all the overflowing energy within Levi channelled into outrageous fury. “Tis’ the truth!”
“Yeah right-”
“No, really!” Like pulling a rabbit out of a tophat, a strip of paper appeared in the boy’s hand, from out of nowhere.
Damion's heart sank at the sight of it. Printed paper — a strip of newspaper by the looks of it. An invention of the Sight, Scholar, and Matter Clan. Typically, it was just text, but with the advent of photographs . . .
Remus’ face stared up at him. It was next to a blob of black, one somehow darker than the rest of the monochrome image by a tenfold. It was in the outline of a man, but empty. A shadow. His eyes were inclined towards the headline of the piece.
A CANDLE’S SHADOW: EX-DEATH-MARKED KILLS MILAP. ALL IS REVEALED IN SHOCKING MEETING WITH THE OLD ONE!
The more Damion read, the more the tide of bottled-up emotions threatened to overflow. It was the most bizarre thing he had ever seen. But if the scholar Clan was willing to print this with the limited ink they had, and to make it centre stage on the opening page, then its validity wasn’t in the question.
His brother was global news, and for some reason, that disgusted him.
“What is this?” Damion muttered, still holding out hope it was all an elaborate joke. Though the logical side of him couldn’t see how it could be.
“Read on!” Levi cackled delightedly. “Isn’t it amazing! One of us carpenters being the first to kill a Right-Bearer!”
Damion’s eyes flew down the columns of text. One heading stuck out to him:
THE FRAUD OF NOVA! THEY WALK AMONG US!
With his memory jogged, Damion seemed to recall Remus avoiding many details when recounting his tale. Particularly when it came to Violet, and her clan. Pushing through the thick barrier of apprehension, Damion read on.
With the true fate of Milap at the hands of the Ambition clansman Remus revealed, we’re sure our readers are as dumbfounded as us! The Old One is yet to comment, engaged with the Supreme Fiend in the middle of the front lines, for the second day running. Thus far, our reporters haven’t had the chance to question the fighting God-Graced for confirmation on any of this. All the information we have gathered is from one lone Sight Clansman, travelling nearby at the time of the exchange between debated criminal or hero Remus, and the legendary leader of the Shadow Clan.
One paragraph in, and Damion’s blood was already boiling. Something about the way they referred to him as an Ambition clansman first and foremost, with no mention of his Carpentry roots, sickened Damion. Surely they could spare so much as a passing mention. But why should they? Why should they include a sect as pointless, as insignificant, and otherwise unremarkable as the Carpentry Clan? Damion was drowning in cynicism, but if the world was going to try so hard to silence them, he might as well revel in it.
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This leaves us with a multitude of questions, and a litany of rumours sure to shock and horrify even the most iron of stomachs. Most intriguing is this: why would Nova lie? What really happened that night in the Chaos Clan base that is so bad, so atrocious, that Nova must do everything in his power to hide it?
During this period, there are two notable deaths other than the befuddling fate of Milap. Scouring the Wild Clan records reveals that Elmore, a valued member of the sect, was sent on a mission to investigate the Chaos Clan alongside his cousins Koa, and Ash. Tagging along, with a history in spy-work and espionage, was Donovan of the Shadow Clan. You may be shocked to discover that neither of them survived the night. The odds of this being a coincidence are astronomically low. The surviving parties continue to elude questioning. Koa has not been seen in Durations, his older brother Koa is under the strict control of Juniper to keep his cousin’s death confidential, and as for Violet . . .
Damion felt the need to breathe heavily despite the fact his last training session was hours ago. Just who had Remus gotten himself so involved with?
Violet, a deserter of the Chaos Clan and wanted in the Ravaged Lands under her father’s word, is reported to be in the front lines, continuing to travel with Remus. Remus, who, as has recently come to light, shouldn’t be in the front lines at all!
That alarmed him. Sure, soldiers sneaked into the front lines all the time, but it was never made public. Now everyone on Descent who bothered to pick up a newspaper was equipped with that knowledge: that Damion’s brother had done just that. Not something that could easily be overlooked by those running the barracks.
Controversies aside, you may first look at this young girl and see nothing more than a rebellious daughter. But know this dear reader! — Violet is anything but simple. Rumours are running rampant all throughout the front lines that Violet is, in fact, a doppleganger! Eye witnesses who have escaped the turmoil of battle after receiving dire injuries report it first hand. Of course, there is little evidence other than hearsay, but it does make one wonder.
Damion tore his eyes away from the article, and fought an internal war not to shred the sheet then and there. He got the impression innocent little Levi would probably burst into tears at the prospect.
“Thanks for showing this to me.” Damion said carefully. He slid the sheet into a pocket, before remembering himself. “Oh, can I have this?”
“Of course!” Levi couldn’t stop smiling if he tried. “We have tons of copies!”
Oh, of course they do. Damion smiled politely.
Only when Levi left the room with a spring in his step did Damion release the deepest groan of his life. He slumped back into that chair, trying to settle his frantic heartbeat. He could have ran a marathon, and it wouldn’t have been this bad.
Those feelings of uncertainty returned with gusto. His brother killed a Right-bearer . . . it warmed his racing heart and made him sweat buckets for Remus at the same time. Just what had he gotten himself into? Becoming worldwide noise before even reaching Foot-Soldier.
Damion leaped out of his seat. He had to speak with Andreas about this. Surely the man had heard the news? Damion was half-surprised that a meeting hadn’t already been called.
Would his grandfather approve of Remus’ deeds? Did he approve? The scariest part was that Andreas didn’t know himself.
Before Damion could process what he was doing, his legs dragged him through the Carpentry Sect military base. There were the usual groups around: the resident builders, the small squads Damion was beginning to train. The violent twist on their Mark Andreas had spearheaded was proving to be quite the hit.
News had gotten around quickly.
The reaction was a strange admixture. Silent tension consumed the older, perhaps wiser members of the clan, while the youngest — Levi included — paraded around as if it were the best day of their lives.
Which group Andreas would fit into, or perhaps something completely different, was still uncertain. Would Andreas’s youth at heart make him excited about the achievement, or would the years on his broad back cause more concern than anything?
There was only one way to find out. He would have to consult his parents about this soon, who would be no doubt terrified. But something told Damion to seek Andreas as fast as possible.
Damion opened the door to his office perhaps a little too aggressively. There was no need to be hypocritical after berating Levi for that very thing.
“Grandad, have you seen-”
Silence.
Damion peered into the room. The disturbing creak of the door felt invasive, akin to a thrown pebble clanging against the base of a well. It felt that intrusive too, like he was somewhere where he shouldn’t be. Or, more accurately, something or someone should have been here, that wasn’t. Some missing piece of the jigsaw vital to the entire scene: Andreas.
Scurrying around the room, Damion found no salvation. Not even Saige was here. Saige! To her, missing a day of work would be outrageous; the equivalent of a mortal sin. Was this her day off? Did she even have days off?
A dark possibility made Damion’s overworked heart jump into his throat. Was she just not needed here anymore?
Possibilities upon possibilities, and none of them pleasant.
Damion peered back down onto the newspaper scrunched up in his fist. He unwrapped it as fast as his hands allowed him to, eyes devouring the words.
Supreme Fiend.
His grandfather had promised to hold out as long as possible. But Damion supposed even men as pure of heart as Andreas had to lie every now and then
You fool. Damion scrunched the sheet back into a sad bundle, rushed off in search of his parents, and bit his lip, the tide of moisture arising in his eyes ceaseless.
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“And you're certain about this?” Gilmat asked carefully, awfully imposing for a man of such boyish demeanour. Perhaps it was the litany of blades that hovered at his back, or the aura of the Sword God-Graced, or maybe even just the tone of the conversation. Either way, Andreas felt more than a tinge of sincere concern emanating from the man.
Which was a shame, considering what he had no choice but to do now.
“The fiend is weakened after its struggle with the Old One. Even a Warlord like me has a chance of killing it now.”
Griffin looked so alike his twin brother, hovering on his own cushioning power, that Andreas actually feared he was seeing double. “Yes, but that Warlord is sure to be infected with an awful case of Supreme Rot. Perhaps the worst the world has, or will ever see.”
The trio of them were right beside the peak of a mountain top, hovering upon thin air with nothing to support them but the reach of their own extensive power. Flying for most Marks is a great logical stretch.
Andreas was floating on a surface his Carpentry Mark had crafted out of wind and the cold. Griffin, the Martial Arts God-Graced, had such mastery over his Mark, that his body literally weighed less than air. Meanwhile, Milap was standing upon blades crafted out of the nearby breeze.
All of these on their own would have been extreme stretches of subject power, even for God-Graced or Warlords like themselves. Only through their combined powers working in tandem, were they able to defy reality without too much hassle. Though how long they would last up here was debatable, to say the least.
There was an advanced Infinity technique that could allow for flight of course, but none of them were willing to burn through their reserves at a time like this.
It called for a quick discussion. Exactly what Andreas needed. He was here to convince them of his point, and that was it. Not even a council comprised of all the gods of the universe could change his mind now.
“I don’t have to unravel these bandages for you to know what lies beneath. Look: I may not live for another Rebirth, or Passing, or even see to the end of this Duration.”
Copycat faces grimaced at him.
“This is my choice. My clan is in safe hands.”
Gilmat, bless his soul, actually looked close to weeping. “You shouldn’t fight; you’re ill, and — gods forbid I say it — old.”
“Those reasons are exactly why I should be doing this. Why I have to. Who would you rather throw away their life? Young, strong, capable men like yourselves, yet to savour every joy, every heartbreak, every tiny, beautiful nuance of life. Or content old men like me, satisfied in the fact they have drunk deep of the lustre of life, and only wish to give back in one small way?”
“This is far from small!” Gilmat was slowly but surely losing his professional front. How someone like him had landed himself as the face of Descent’s military was a mystery. Andreas was sure he secretly loathed all the publicity
Griffin held up a hand. “Wait, Brother. He has the right to make this choice. We have no say in this, and even if we did, look at him. Does Andreas sound like a man you can convince?”
Gilmat looked far from satisfied. His pupils kept flickering to Andreas out of the corner of his eye, like he was watching a cat walking in front of a carriage, but could do nothing to stop it. Andreas found this highly amusing.
“Thank you for understanding.”
From their vantage point, Andreas could see the clash between the Old One and the Supreme Fiend still unfolding. Hundreds of Shadow men and weapons threw themselves at the golem. They all made it so far before dispersing at one fatal distance: an aura of Infinity likely more deadly than the deepest, most obscure reaches of the Silver Cavities.
Some of the strongest of the Old One’s apparitions could get through, but like marionettes with their strings snipped off, they fell victim to the Right-bearer. A few pounds of their metallic fists, and that was the end of it.
But those constructs took too much energy from the Old One. He was draining the Supreme Fiend of his resources, most definitely, and day-by-day, minute by furious minute, the fiend was being pushed to the brink. But so was the Old One.
Who would break first?
The twins gazed down at the battle alongside Andreas, similar lines of thought apparent on their jaded eyes. This despair, this cavity of the heart where strength and assurance should reside. This was what Andreas was fighting.
I can break through that barrier. Andreas thought resolutely. The thought reinvigorated him, made the pain of the last year have a purpose. His body ached all over from so much exertion, perhaps its way of telling him this was a terrible, terrible idea. But he could overlook that.
What he couldn’t overlook was the ache in his heart.
The faces of his family flashed in his mind. Every member of his clan that had ever lived in his lifetime. Every. Single. One. Saying goodbye to them all was the toughest decision of his life.
Harder still than any brilliant war stunt; any stunning defeat of an enemy in his long military career.
His granddaughter Briella, and the father of his great grandkids, Aiden. Remus, Damion. The shining beacons in the darkest time of the Carpentry Sect’s history. And the two men that made him prouder than anyone in the world.
Andreas coughed into his sleeve, not wanting to breakdown in front of such capable gentlemen.
“My gratitude to the pair of you is endless. I wish you both the best of luck. I know our military will be left in quite capable hands.”
When Gilmat actually grew teary-eyed at last, Andreas turned to the battlefield.
“Time to show-off a little: one last time. I just hope you gentlemen won’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
Saws, hammers, axes, pestles and more all flashed into being around him. Enough tools to supply every carpenter on earth assembled there, awaiting their master’s call.
Ready for the inevitable, Damion leaped.