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Wyatt Graves

I emerge from the dark smoke that was the final act of the Pillar of Starkbluffs before Johnny and I turn to face the fog. My eyes wander the edge of the impenetrable mist, and the fact that it goes for miles in every direction is wild. Just how far did Blightraven expel his Blight!?

A spark comes from beside me, instantly wrenching my attention from the fog. I catch a glimpse of yellow as Johnny lights a cigarette, taking a puff before sighing.

"Sure fucked this one up, didn't we?"

I look him up and down as I see the plethora of wounds that would literally kill any other person, probably including me. Then, ignoring his words in favor of concern for him, I check on him.

"You alright, Johnny? You look way worse than that time in Sinscreak."

He nods, taking yet another breath of smoke.

"Yeah, I'm good. Angelhood benefits the body, making it far more resilient and durable via your soul. Even I underestimated how much so before I made it here. Still can't believe I did. Though, don't get me wrong, I'm hurt. I only will recover."

Johnny's own surprise at his strength is evident. He always told me how he gathered as many people as possible with potential, except for me, who just showed up and forced my way in. Abraham, Bonfire, Otto, Marion, Frank, and even Blake. He spent a long time before starting his rebellion doing work to recruit people to surpass him.

It seems, though, that he was the one to make it to where he wanted to guide others. I don't know how else to reply to him other than to ask if he thinks the others will be fine. The last thing I remember was a scream from Bonfire; I hope he's okay.

"You think the others are fine? Besides Sacate, I mean."

Johnny shakes his head, unknowing.

"Dunno. Abraham should be fine. As far as I could tell, he has quite the familial connection with the High Table. I found him for his strength, but it seems that was the least remarkable part about him. Bonfire is quite capable, too, but we both heard that shout, so we'll have to see."

I scrape my feet on the rock below as my mind flitters to Virgil and Blake.

"What abou--"

Johnny cuts me off, growing annoyed at me. His eyes are slightly glistening as he looks into the blindingly dark fog.

"I don't know, Wyatt. I don't know. I don't know..."

I notice that as he stands, Johnny's hand keeps touching the pouch that once stored Pleading Death, the serum that led to Sacate's demise. My eyes grow wet at the thought of Sacate and his final words. I open them up to Johnny, the man having a right to know.

"I--I used Insight on Sacate before he died, Johnny. He--"

Johnny cuts me off again, his voice raw and sharp enough to the point that it stabs.

"Shut up, Wyatt. Please, just... be quiet. I know you only want to help, but please... just be quiet."

Johnny almost breaks into tears as the Gunfighter sits on the rocks, blood trickling to dye the sandy stone red. Seeing that he doesn't want to move right now, I sit beside him. But a part still gnaws at me, Sacate's last thoughts. The implicit pride he had toward Johnny, that neverending well of respect.

As the Gunfighter's head tilts toward the ground, his breathing slowing from the rapid pace we've been in since the smoke appeared from Blightraven, I disobey.

"He was proud of you, Johnny. So, so very proud."

The second I speak, Johnny shakes, his shoulder trembling, and he opens to interrupt me, but I stop him.

"I said--"

"I know. But you need to hear this. He had no better friend than you, Johnny. No one he was more willing to die for. No dream he was more inclined to fight for. His final wish was for you to make your dream together a reality. I don't know exactly what he meant by that, but I can guess. I--"

I pause when a muffled sob hits my ear. Johnny has his head in his hands, the older man crying tears into them. A crackling pitch comes from him, the voice breaking all the while as he speaks of Sacate, the wise yet tense Ijiraq native.

"~Years ago, when I first found him, we fought together for a long time. He moved up with me through the Hunter echelons, and I tried to help him find any of his family that might still exist. But along the way... we had a dream. A dream of owning our own Territory, a place where everyone would be safe. Where no demons would invade. Where no ghosts would haunt. Where no beasts would attack. But slowly, that dream faded as we grew older and saw the world's truth; we were just cogs in the war machine."

Johnny goes quiet again at the end of his story, sobs replacing words. I try to finish it for him.

"Then, you eventually started your rebellion after finding people to help, right?"

He nods softly, pulling his head out of his hands, his eyes meeting the darkness.

"Yeah... I couldn't bear to be a cog anymore and watch the terror reign. I was surprised when Sacate showed up, thinking that the years set us apart, but apparently not. He said he joined me to aid an old friend... but---"

Johnny's voice cracks again, my heart melting at seeing such a formidable man cry openly. An Angel, no less. I end the thought for him as he struggles to get it out.

"He saw that you were fighting for that dream and discarded all other parts of his life. To--"

Then, I'm surprised as Johnny finishes my words, the phrase Sacate thought of before his death.

"My fate is to be the falling leaves.

The guard for the seeds so they may begin their miracle.

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The sustenance for the saplings so they may further their weaves.

And the motivation for the already-grown trees so that they may reach the pinnacle."

Johnny finishes by looking up toward the sun, now directly above our heads, as I stare at him in shock. Did he just read my mind? The man looks back down as he dusts off his hands and stands up.

"It was a poem of Sacate's from his mother. The Ijiraq were a tough people, a tribe where every man, woman, and child could fight. But that is not all they were. Their culture was rich, and now, all that remains are the little things Sacate told me over the years."

I stand as well to meet his gaze. Johnny wipes the tears from his eyes as he glances at my new Claymore.

"At least one of us gained something from this. Two dead, possibly way more. Let's head back and take our losses, Wyatt. Sometimes you lose a gamble. We can't win every battle. What matters is that we get back up again."

I nod to him and heft the massive blade behind me to follow me, the edge digging into the ground and leaving a trail as I walk. Johnny shakes his head with a laugh as he sees it. I smile at the brief absence of grief. I miss Sacate too, and I worry about the deaths of the others, but Johnny is hurting the most right now. He had been close with Sacate since they were a little older than I am.

"Pick it up, dumbass. You're the one who chose it, so you have to carry it. We can't leave behind an obvious trail such as that."

Groaning, I push some Ether into my tired muscles for Physical Strengthening and heft it onto my shoulder. The blade longer than I am tall is far more difficult to carry than it is to drag.

At least the effort will help build some muscle. I don't think we have to worry about how it slows me, either. The Nahullo, even with the Viceroy, should be busy with the Motherbound coming from Blight Spire in a few moments, if not already.

But just as we step away, heading toward the south where our meeting with Silas is, a crunching footstep resounds behind us. I twist around as fast as I can, my blade falling to the ground in preparation. But Johnny is far faster than me, his angelic body moving twice as fast as he draws his gun and aims it.

He doesn't fire, though, and I realize why as I take in the figure, or figures, stepping out of the fog.

Dragging Abraham's pale body by the scruff of his neck, Virgil emerges from the fog, using his other arm to block out the sun's light.

"Virgil!"

I drop my Claymore and run toward him, but Johnny grabs me and pulls me back before I make it even one step. Then, as I look at him, confused, he holds the gun still toward Virgil.

"Flicker, Virgil. For all I know, you could be a Nahullo in disguise or a Motherbound. Just need to be safe. I don't know any who can copy a growing or made Power."

Virgil sighs and nods, lowering his arm toward the ground as it Flickers through the stone below. Johnny lowers his gun, relief coming out in a exhale of air.

"Of course."

"Good to see you're alright, Virgil. How's Abraham?"

I step toward Virgil now that we've confirmed it's him and briefly hug the man in relief that he's fine as he shrugs the unconscious Abraham onto the ground. Of course, Virgil would be fine, though. Who can catch the unseeable and untouchable?

"He should be fine. The fucker somehow summoned the Stalwart Spine with his phantoms, and the Warmaster of the High Table called off the chase. I'm unsure about Blake, Bonfire, and the Bado, but we four should be good."

What? What!? What!? I turn to the slumped Abraham as he lies still on the stone ground of Starkbluffs. He summoned the Warmaster? The strongest Nahullo?! And the man called off the chase for us?

While I stand in confusion, Johnny is the one who asks for clarification.

"Warmaster, as in the---"

Virgil nods.

"Yeah. I could hardly believe my eyes."

Johnny glances at Abraham as well and taps him with his foot.

"How did he call off the chase? Why?"

Virgil answers as he shows his wrist, but there is nothing there.

"Ytern, the Stalwart Spine, used the Pale Cavity to place a mandate on us. One day, we will have to repay him for letting us live. That's the only reason. It's so that we can be used in the coming war."

I burst out this time, the mention of a war bringing me out of my daze.

"War?"

Virgil nods, his expression tightening into a deep grimace as he, too, looks at Abraham.

"Yeah... the Warmaster spoke of a war coming that would span all the lands. He said The Cabin is nearing collapse, and there will no longer be a guide once the Old One awakens below. Time is running out to leap into the sky. I think... I think the Mother Below is waking up again, just as she did when the Gods fell."

As Johnny and I take in his words, silence is all that meets Virgil's account. A repeat of the Collapse? Fucking hell. What will happen with only one semi-active God and dozens of insane ones? We no longer have the shield of any of those deities from before.

Death is unresponsive and slow. Gluskab is long gone, turned into Mephisto, who is so befouled he's more likely to join the Mother Below than oppose her. Coyote, who once was Izabui, is just as mad as Mehpisto. Lagertha has turned so lethargic that she hasn't appeared in so long that it's unknown if she still lives. Genisia and Hurakon haven't appeared since it's said they walked into Weirwind millennia ago, though their conditions are thought to be rotted as well.

The other half-dozen Gods known to humanity are hands-off for the most part and likely corrupted or dead as well. It's hard to tell which is which sometimes.

Only one God remains who could possibly defend the world against the Mother Below. The Devil, The Red Judge, The Arbiter of Chaos. But while he is still sane, he has little reason to save us.

That means in this Second Collapse---

"We're on our own."

Johnny barks up a depressing conclusion as we both arrive at the same thought. Virgil looks at us as he also drops another bombshell.

"Yeah. We're on our own. No more Gods to give us salvation. But it gets even worse. Eli Weiss was the one who set this thing, this invasion of Starkbluffs. He did it to get help against the Prime. It seems the Swarming Wastelander is preparing to make some colossal move, and Eli wants to stop him or take his place."

The Gunfighter beside me clenches his fist as he reaches down and yanks Abraham onto his shoulders.

"The only step left for him is to Apotheosize, Virgil, as he stands at the very pinnacle of life. And with how little time it's said he has left, I can only guess it'll be soon. Within the year, by the sounds of the consequences. But unfortunately, not a single mortal has ever succeeded in doing so, barring the Devil, who we have zero records about. Should the Prime become a God, though, who knows whether that's a good or a bad thing?"

I watch as Johnny takes Abraham and walks toward the meeting point again. Virgil calls out to him as he does so, his focus on the half-human.

"What about Abraham-Ahbram or whatever it is? You gonna let him live?"

Johnny nods deeply as he carries Abraham. His words are profound as he steps along the sharp rocks, the ascent to Angelhood giving him a silver tongue.

"He's never lied to me. I simply don't like to ask about people's pasts. Abraham proved himself, however, in that fight. To stand against an Angel is no easy feat, especially when you could opt out. I don't want to hear anyone treating him poorly. He has earned his place among us. Remember, we fight not for humanity, Virgil. We fight for what it means to be human. That is why I was so willing to have the Bado join us. They are just as worthy of life as we are."

I shrug as I glance at Virgil, and he finishes talking to Johnny and then does the same before complimenting my blade.

"Fair. I brought him because I owed him, but at this point, the debt is paid. Nice sword. It fits you. A reckless blade for a reckless man. Does it have a name?"

At his mention, I finally take the time to look at it deeper. All I know is that it can imbue me with Vigor, but there must be more to it. It is a 6th Flamme Claymore, after all. My eyes scan the blade for any adornment or engraving, but I find none. The steel is plain, nothing but metal and edge. Even the handle is made of iron.

It's almost like the whole thing comes from a single hunk of ore. As we walk away from the fog, I send a strand of Ether into the blade as I inspect it.

All I get in response is that the sword's Sigil is named Warfarer. It seems to be a mix of Soldiers, Abbots, and a single Freak. I test it out in a new way as I try to run Ether along the entirety of the blade and not just the handle. And as I do, I am given a welcome surprise, the edge growing significantly lighter.

It turns from a hunk of steel, unliftable by anyone without a Sigil, to barely heavier than a longsword. Smiling as I wave it around, Virgil laughs at me.

"Be a bit serious, Wyatt. But good to see you testing it out, at least."

Being brought back to reality, I lower the Claymore but keep the Ether in the blade flowing. It's far easier to move without its considerable heft, and I can easily see the use of it in combat should I grow adept enough. Why did that Nahullo have such a powerful weapon, even if he was a Sentinel? Perhaps he was a child of someone powerful like Abraham.

And as I walk, I think back to Virgil's words, my mind settling on a name for the Claymore. Reckless. I like that. I like it a lot.

But I don't like it enough to not worry about my friends. I try to keep up with Johnny and Virgil as the two begin to speed toward the meeting point. Breakneck emerges in my body alongside Strugglers Defiance just to eke out an even pace with the two of them.

They are quick, and I know they are holding back to not leave me in the dust. So, constantly as we run, I look back, using Temper to see further, hoping to see any sign of Blake, Bonfire, or Skychaser. But I don't see any, even as a group of people appear on the horizon.

Are they really dead?

Come on, Blake! Come on, Bonfire! You guys can't be dead!

Even as Johnny and Virgil meet up and speak to the group headed by Silas, I keep my eyes on the faraway blight that is beginning to fade hours after its emergence. Even as Dakota licks my hand and Johnny tries to pull me away, I hold. I can feel it deep down. They have to be okay. If they aren't...

No. They are. Blake wouldn't die so quickly, and neither would Bonfire. Skychaser also has a whole race to guide; he can't die either.

But they don't appear; even as the sun starts to set, no one appears on the horizon. Skyswain, Skychaser's mate, stands beside me as she begins to weep, the Bado woman falling to her knees. My heart sinks as I realize a harsh truth. They are gone. If they weren't, I would be able to see them, my eyes bolstered by Temper and Release almost as sharp as Johnny's eyes.

But just as I turn around, I see a figure step out of a disappearing fog, one carrying two limp bodies on his heavily wounded back.

Bonfire, at the very least, still yet burns with life.

We'll have to see about the other two, as neither is moving, and one's frame is lacking any colorful fetters.