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Wyatt Graves
My feet dangle and kick off the edge of the speeding train. Beside me is Virgil, his knee pulled up to his body as he sits silently, watching the forest that seems to move past us at a blistering pace.
It's incredible how large the world is. A straight path from the edge of Tornridge to Bent took weeks, even at a rapid pace on foot with Sigiled. Additionally, even at this swiftness on a slightly winding path toward Pridestead from Bent has already taken over almost a day.
Earl said that we should be there within the next day's end. Then, according to him, we raid the laboratory, take whatever we can, mostly coal for fuel, and recruit whoever we can before speeding at Blackreach upon the train. Millie is positive that Clarence will fight back, but between Tomas and Johnny, I think we can handle it. Worse case, Virgil and I can help.
The Silent Scorpion is known for his affinity for stealth and assassination, primarily using the ground as his mode of transportation as well as a variety of daggers. I'm sure he and Virgil could have a long conversation about staying silent. I still can't believe how he kicked my ass, though. Every time I tried to hit him, he'd just disappear from my sight. And the one time I thought I had Virgil, it wasn't even him.
That was infuriating, but it made me take the fight seriously. Even still, I lost. And I'm pretty sure I would still have lost even if Virgil hadn't advanced his Ether control. He's just... good. Even after months of Marshall and Tomas training me, the difference in skill is apparent.
"How'd you get so good at fighting, Virgil? It's like you always know what to do and how best to do it."
The man beside me chuckles softly as he lifts his hand to a passing branch, his whole body shuffling with the movement of touching the leaf hanging from it as we pass by.
"Time. It's not even been a year since you started truly fighting, Wyatt. I've been doing this for the greater half of my life. No amount of condensed experience will make up for time. Marshall removed your glaring weakness of naivety and unnecessary recklessness, but against heavy hitters who truly know how to fight, you'll always be at a disadvantage. That is until you spend enough time fighting to catch up."
I nod to his words, shaking my head against the swirling gales of the top of the train. But... a worry lies. Time is rarely on my side.
"Do you think I'll ever get that time?"
Virgil inhales a deep breath before sliding backward and lying his spine against the steel roof of the train we recently fought on. The continued practice endowed us tired and utterly out of Ether. Even when we both were out, left to fight with only our fists, he beat the Bloody Palm and me while he was wounded. He's... just... good—no other way to put it.
The man with cloth covering every inch of his skin releases his breath with a hearty exhale, forcing his mask a tiny bit up and off his face before it settles. Then, he speaks while looking up at the night sky as it gradually shifts to morning, the twins falling to make way for the sun.
"I'm not sure, Wyatt. It's a wild, wild world. I had the luxury, even if it didn't feel like one at the time, to be pitted against many my age and those above, forced to fight or die to even have the chance to become a Damned. Other unfortunate children were similar, but of my 'class' of one hundred, as they called it, only I and Dennis stepped out. That, alongside many more years of fighting, gave me the skills I have now. You..."
Virgil pauses for a moment, his goggled eyes facing me.
"You will never have that luxury. I don't think I've ever even seen you fight someone or something at your Sigil, other than just now, of course. It's always been those higher in Sigil, Ether, and skill. That doesn't bode well for increasing one's skills and senses. It builds only desperate power."
His words hang in the air for several moments, leaving me to think about them. I know I've never been given much opportunity to strengthen myself, but I figured that time with Marshall would be enough. Though, in some ways, it was. My Ether is more fluid than ever, with Painsforge at my behest, even if it's only in desperate situations. Plus, the Bloody Palm and I are working together. Perhaps not perfectly, but we are.
"Is there anything I can do to fix that?"
The eldest Boone pushes his hands off the roof, gradually reaching his feet with a half dozen shadowy tendrils to sustain his balance. He answers as he holds a hand out to help me up.
"Marshall already did. You're behind. But... not enough that you have to be desperate. He taught you to think, to dodge, to take calculated risks, to know when to retreat, and when to charge. You only need some time to put it into proper practice. You'll never be a master like Marshall or Tomas, but you can settle for an adept. And with that artifact... being an adept will be more than enough."
I nod along with him as he pulls me up, even while he discounts himself. Just based on how we fought, I'd wager he's not much worse than Tomas, if at all—those years as a Damned really taught him the art of war, huh?
But he's right. Before, I was a child swinging with insanity and reckless abandon. Marshall demonstrated that to me by beating me down repeatedly. I tried to think the battle through with Virgil, including our practice, but there was far too little I could do without ruining the train. If I didn't care about the vehicle, I could have slammed an Explosion downward and likely hit Virgil when he went below. Similarly, I could have shot him with Ballista while he was under me, but the bolt would have pierced through him and the undercarriage of the train, potentially damaging it severely.
And while I could blame my loss on the environment we fought, I know Virgil did it on purpose. The bastard would never choose a field where he has a disadvantage. I should do the same.
It also doesn't help that Insight doesn't work on Virgil while his Mask is active. It even blurs my sight of chains, making him hard as hell to notice. Insight only lets me see whether its him or not.
Regardless, the difference isn't as bad as it could have been. At least when we fought afterward, more up close and less sneak attacks, I didn't immediately get ruined.
While I'm thinking, Virgil points down into the train, hauling me out of my thoughts and back into the real world.
"We better get back inside the train. I'm sure Aron is freaking out about where I am right now. We've been up here for hours, and I'm also growing sick of all this wind."
Scoffing, I agree, preparing to find a hatch to climb down in.
"You're telling me. You're the one all wrapped up and who doesn't have to deal with the biting cold. The damn Bloody Palm and my Indefatgible have been keeping me warm this whole time."
Virgil simply shakes his head before Flickering beneath me, disappearing into the train below.
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"Asshole."
Sighing, I trudge my way forward to the nearest hatch. Most of the weapons that were atop the train when we left are now ruined and were melted or removed by Bonfire and Tomas. Only a single tiny trapdoor kind of thing remains near the front.
Chainlink Boots aid my footsteps by keeping me on the train as I amble forward, battling against the wind. I could climb through a window, but I'm unsure which ones are open, so I'll just find that hatch.
The wind batters and chills me as I move, every step a slight struggle. The heat of battle with Virgil seemed to make this entire thing a whole lot easier than it is now. Seconds pass as I stride across the train. Periodically the Bloody Palm elongates a finger to help hold me as the train turns or shakes. I don't have much saturation left to be wasting it on Leashes, and the artifact takes up the job.
Once I get to the hatch, I fall to my hands and knees and swing it open. A feminine scream meets my act as I find Elizabeth staring up at me with shock.
"What the fuck, Wyatt?! Where did you come from!?"
Scratching the back of my head, I crawl into the front room of the train, the car only populated by Elizabeth, who was reading a book and probably teaching herself how to read some more. I close the door to the roof and hang from it for a moment before dropping down to her.
"I had a little fight with Virgil up top. Where is everyone?"
Elizabeth shakes her head with a long, drawn-out sigh, her dark hair gliding against the seat she found somewhere. It's way fancier than the ones that were in here earlier.
"You fought with Virgil? Why? Did you do something stupid?"
Realizing that it sounds like we had a problem, I raise my hands and try to fix the misunderstanding.
"No, no, no. Not like that at all. We just had a friendly duel that lasted a while. But where is everyone?"
Again, she sighs, pointing to the door behind me with a slender finger before returning it to the pages of the book she's holding.
"Asleep. Not everyone is so adamant about being awake like you and Abraham."
Exhaling heavily as I near a slight laugh, I retort. She shouldn't be awake this late... or this early.
"Yeah, well, what about you? Why are you still up? At... 5:40?"
Elizabeth taps the page of her book, the sound quiet yet noticeable over the constant drone of the engine and the rushing wind overhead.
"Someone has to watch the engine, and the conductor needs to sleep. I'm reading while doing so, but I'm stuck on this page. You think you could help, Mr. I learned how to read but hate to?"
Mumbling to myself before answering, I approach her as she slides toward one side of her cushioned seat, making room for me.
"I don't hate it anymore... Yeah, I can help. What's up?"
Joining her on the seat, she lightly smacks my metal arm with the back of her hand as it brushes against her. Then, she holds the book for me to see. She's only on page one. It's Eleanor's book, too. The one on fighting, leading, and a whole bunch of other stuff that only genuinely makes sense now.
"Careful with that thing! It's heavy as hell and colder than ice! What were you doing up there?"
I laugh as I tap a metallic finger on the words she's trying to read, ignoring her question. I don't want to tell her I lost five times in a row, even if it was to Virgil.
"Eleanor Granger. Enclosed Fists. I am told these first pages must be short and describe what will be later in the book, but the art of combat is far too diverse to be put into a single book let alone one page. I, Eleanor, the second Supreme of Heights, will in these pages, describe what I have learned about fighting. From guns to swords, I hope to enlighten any who seek to learn how to fight, but it all begins and ends with a closed fist."
I read the first page to her slowly, trailing my finger past each word as she nods her head along. Then, she attempts to read it herself.
"Ele-a-nor Gran-ger. In-closed Fists. I am told these first pages must be short and desc-ribe what will be later in the book...."
****************
Sequester Yorn
As I enter the city of Pridestead, a slicing grin spreads across my face. Behind me, my entourage of warriors follows, each handpicked by me. The sword on my hip jingles while my steps cut through dust and dirt, sending a small screen of smoke by my heels as the humans nearby hide in their houses.
What pitiful creatures. At most, ten are worthy of life.
A tiny figure huddles in cowardice on the side of the road, hands covering its neck and head from sight. Scoffing, I draw my blade, the tang of metal ordaining this creature's death. But as I raise my arm, the Councilmember that Ytern sent to follow me, Mislo, stops me with a grip on my shoulder.
"They aren't worth your effort, Sequester. Your opponent lies inside the Tree's laboratory. Then, we can take his Fabricator for our own people. Best not to waste time. Every minute we waste is another minute our people die against the Kin with insufficient arms."
Snarling, I arrange my Claymore, taken from a human Angel decades ago named Allissa, back into its sheath. Spitting by the human, I move onward with my eyes locked onto the Great Library of Pridestead, Eli Weiss' usual home.
What an overconfident man. He underestimates the Viceroy and the Warmaster's intelligence by folds. How did Eli not think we would find out he left? Or that he hides the very tool we Nahullo need to win our wars?
I'll be the first to admit we aren't built for crafting; our hands are too large and with paltry dexterity compared to the nimble fingers of humans and Pygmies. At most, we can make hammers, large blades, and spears. Mislo's the only Nahullo I know who can even use a bow at a level high enough for it to matter, let alone make her own.
We need that fabricator. And as such, I'll spare this human for now.
"You're lucky, human. Perhaps one of my Esteemed will want to end you."
My entourage splits, heading in a variety of directions as they begin to remove the useless from the world. Screams cover the air as we continue. With confident strides that increase in pace, I stamp toward the library renowned world-round. Too bad it will be gone after today. My eyes sting merely looking at its hideous facade.
Massive stone columns line the entrance. Their presences are imposing, but none should be more intimidating than the blade of a Nahullo. I grind my teeth as I step up to the entry flanked by ornate wrought-iron gates, inviting academics to never leave.
"We've come for a little chat."
I announce to Pridestead, my voice oozing with threat. I come here not for that, however, and my Claymore, Darkmor, sings its path through my sheath and into the air. I wait a moment before breaking open the gate, concentrating on my surroundings. The Silent Scorpion is said to be here, after all. And even if our own assassin is here, I don't want to die for him to strike. Beside me, Mislo draws her bow as no one in the whole city enters the streets except for my men.
Even as a cry comes from the road behind me, a streak of blood staining a wall that has me smiling, no one comes out. Mislo ceases to relent on the string of her bow as she comments on the atmosphere.
"It seems Mr. Love is scared. A typical human. Break our way in, young master."
A grin rips its simmering way onto the entirety of my face as I roar, my Ether coiling into action. A dozen skills at once, the Quilt named Yearning Maul, guides my blade as a thunderous glimmer covers its edge and slides the gate in half horizontally. Stepping forward, I kick the metal fence down, and it falls effortlessly, leaving us room to walk toward the library. Stone and rubble cracks, tumbling to the ground as I step past.
Still, no one shows. The early morning sun beats down on the back of my white neck as I pause. Not even a reckless Hunter? Something's not right. I turn to face Mislo, but the woman is already scrunching her face through her armor, Yearning Maul allowing me to see her countenance clearly via the tiny slit in her visor.
"You discern something, Councilwoman?"
I give her the respect she deserves with her title as she twists, gazing at the entirety of the city.
"I smell Kin. A Manipulator is close. No. More. A Fallen. I think it may be Scorce."
My back canines grind in rage as I think of the converted Councilman, drawn into the depths by the Motherbelow into her Kin. I pause upon the doors of the library, the two massive stone entries awaiting our push.
"Do we change our mission? Scorce deserves release."
Mislo's face twists and contorts before she lowers her head in acceptance.
"No. The Viceroy sent us on this task, and if we fail, the Viceray may very well die."
Sighing, I pray slightly to the Pale Cavity, hoping it will deliver Scorce to our ancestors one day. Then, I force open the doors of the library. Without hesitation and a cursory glance for danger, I stroll into the grand library, my armor clanking softly against the floor as I cautiously advance. The early morning sun casts a gentle glow through the towering windows, creating dancing shadows that play hide-and-seek with the vast rows of ancient, old, and new tomes. The silence is almost deafening, broken only by the faint rustling of pages as they are turned by some unseen hand.
My head twists as I pick up the sound. It is in the back of the library, toward where the Viceroy said the entrance to the laboratory should be. Interesting...
"Careful, Mislo. I'm pretty sure this is a trap."
She replies with a simple hum as we continue, our entourage of a dozen 4th, 5th, and 6th Sigiled following us after slaying the pointless. Somewhere behind me is our shadow, as well. The air in the library is thick with dust, carrying the scent of aged parchment and forgotten history. This is odd because the library is meant to be used daily, and even if Eli left, it's only been a week at most. The atmosphere is eerie, and a chill runs down my spine. Clarence Love must be awaiting us somewhere in here, coiled for an ambush. Good thing I brought backup.
As I go further into the labyrinthine library with careful steps, the soft light reveals endless rows of books, their spines adorned with symbols and languages long unreadable by anyone alive. How does Eli have books predating Elish? I don't even know what language my people spoke before that, but I can distinguish the similar symbols in the two languages.
Shaking my head, I continue with Mislo on my tail, her bow still drawn as my blade is raised.
Then, at the back of the library, as I pass by a row of books, I catch a glimpse of something peculiar. A bronze Mannequin, the technology originating from the Flats, its hollow eyes, without even light, seeming to stare right through me, sits at a wooden table. It twists the pages of a massive tome with stiff movements. But amidst those inflexible actions, I sense a purpose, one hidden beneath the act.
The sight of the animated bronze gives me pause, and a sense of dread creeps over me. Did Eli make that thing? It's entirely different from any of the other Mannequins I've seen. This one... it seems alive.
As I approach, the Mannequin continues its silent task, undeterred by my presence. Its cold, metallic fingers delicately trace the ancient text as if searching for some hidden truth among the pages. Only when I stand at the other end of the table, stretching the edge of Darkmor to touch its chin and raise it up to meet me, does it react.
"You do not have permission to be here. Leave or be exterminated."
My heart sinks to its reply, and a whoosh flies over my shoulder at the Mannequin's head, but the entity of bronze somehow snaps the arrow from Mislo out of the air. Then, it breaks the chair it sits on with a show of strength and wraps a metallic fist around Darkmor, pulling me toward it as the other hand contorts into a palm, heading for my head.
In response, my Ether surges. I yank the Claymore backward, but I quickly learn it's as strong as me, even with Yearning Maul active. So, we slide to a standstill over the table as Mislo readies a Weighted arrow that threatens the Mannequin's skull with the force of a cannon. A smile develops on my face as I speak.
"I'm not alone, you abomination of life."
And the arrow is let loose as I finish talking, yet the Mannequin speaks again as a wall of sand takes the impact of Mislo's arrow.
"And neither is Icarus Two."