*************************

Earl 'Miraclemaker' Garner

Using Oscar Trink's face and body, I slip back through the exit of Primary. The guards care far less for influential figures who come through, letting me leave with only a slight questioning. I do suppose it makes sense, though.

It would only trouble and slow the Forerunners down if they had to be patted down at every entry and exit from the capital. Plus, for Skinwalkers, non-Angel ones, at least, have to kill the being they want to walk into the skin of, and they saw Oscar enter only a few hours ago. He doesn't even know I'm using his facade.

Careful not to seem too suspicious, I stride my way through the city with a cigar in my mouth. It's hard not to wrinkle my face, but Oscar always smokes when leaving Primary. I think he hates the scent inside, or perhaps simply the atmosphere.

For someone not from the Estates, Oscar Trink is quite impressive. A Forerunner by his late twenties, already holding an Absolution. If we had more time, I'd want to try to get him to join us. But I do not have nearly enough charisma or mind control to do it within a weak, not that I'd want the latter at all. Still, from my observations, I can tell he holds a grudge against the Estates, though. I'm not sure what it is, but from my observation, I'm confident that even if he is asked where he was, he'd get angry about it. That anger would afford me some level of protection.

Nodding my head slightly with the trailing smoke, I step past a seemingly random mailbox, bumping into it slightly. As I do so, I take advantage of my early Gamblers, and my hands move so swiftly that the note I have set for Elizabeth slides in with no issue or visible indicator.

Still, I don't show any sign of the suspicious activities I'm partaking in as I continue through the street. I chose Oscar to be my 'bait' for another reason. He often goes on walks through the city simply to do so. There are no other reasons.

The man merely likes people.

I smile, wave, and chat as I make my way through a few blocks before heading back as my cigar wanes. Reentering the city proper is only a bit more complicated. The guard asks me a few questions, and I answer, then we joke about my 'evening walk' and the fact that I had two today.

I sure did have two evening walks, Alfred.

Regardless of what is happening, though, I cannot show the slightest bit of my genuine emotions. It's so tricky. Whenever I feel like I'm about to break, I simply laugh it off and act jovially, hoping it will throw them off of me.

It seems to always work. People enjoy a smiling face, notably if that face is handsome and belongs to a powerful man. Once stepping foot into Primary again, I immediately turn to head deeper into the bounds of the city. I'm running out of time for this Ail. Skinless Pupil is incredible with its versatility, but it is still limited by its nature. It's not a true Power. Whoever this Ail comes from, or whatever, could likely transform permanently while I'm restricted to four hours.

The jealousy isn't all that thick. Okay, maybe it is. I'll have to be more careful with how I use it from now on, though. I'm running low on Wyatt's blood after four days of this. If I want to be helpful during the attack, I have to stay unfound.

And as such... I need to find a new way to scrape out information. In only a few moments, I reach my hideout, a scarce hole in the ground beneath the house of a Forerunner who is gone on missions most of the year. The chance he comes back is not zero, but it's enough to gamble on.

I do take a lot of risks, but they are calculated. It is a balancing act. The risk cannot ever outweigh the reward in the end. It's a cruel math, but one I'm gradually becoming more and more used to. Still, there are a few other ways while I ration my Angelblood. Listening Gy can be used to only a small extent from down here. That is unless I find a way to improve how it works. Kiro's Dust delivers me back to my sanctuary, but I don't let it bring me there all the way at once.

Angelblood is not something I will be getting more of until after this war.

So, I crawl beneath the house in the dirt, weaving a clandestine web of wires and rivets as I go. Tiny pieces of metal litter the dirt floor as I meticulously craft an instrument to pierce the veil that separates me from the city above. My fingers wrinkle with precision, shaping each component with purpose. It's long, arduous work, but it is worth it if it prevents me from being found. The most difficult part, though, is making this thing in the dark, purely off feel.

Hours pass in the sweaty, damp darkness under the house, but it eventually forms—a contraption designed to amplify vibrations that hit the ground and transmit them through a network of wires. A smile creeps across my face as I envision the potential of this simple amplifier for Listening Gy. With keen anticipation, I connect the final wires, securing the device that will serve as my ears beneath the earth.

Then, I use another bit of blood to activate Listening Gy before leveling it with the piece of metal as the end. Instantly, the vision of the Ail increases significantly from before. Sound does travel better through metal than dirt, after all.

And from what I can tell, sound is the same as vibration, only at a different level. As I peer through this vision, however, I spot a familiar face.

Clarence Love.

The Silent Scorpion steps into a house a few streets away, the distance only reachable because of my contraption. The parts were complex to gather here, but not impossible using Oscar's body. I stare at him with rapt attention as I see him sit at a bar across from another figure who is missing one of his eyes.

Twisting the eyeball while my heart races, I let the noise of their conversation reach me. Clarence seems unhappy about meeting in this bar with this man.

"Maddox is only a bit away. Should we really be wasting time at a bar? Preparations are not easy, y'know. The Sea's Shadow is not our only attacker, after all."

The other man, however, laughs off his worry, seemingly confident in himself and the Estates.

"Relax. We Grimes know how to treat a threat. All will be dealt with between Eli's Roots and our Covenant."

A Covenant? What are they talking about? Who is this? They say they are a Grimes, but who can speak with Clarence like this? Their patriarch?

Nevertheless, Clarence doesn't seem so convinced.

"Very well, Tyson. Remember, the Estates aren't invincible, even with their many artifacts. When a true powerhouse comes, you will all fall over like grains of sand. What is it you would like to speak about?"

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I squint so closely I almost can't see anymore as Tyson Grimes unveils the purpose of his visit.

"Eli Weiss... is a man who cannot be allowed to stay at the top. He treats every human like a pawn to be moved, and the Estates disapprove of this. If you were to..."

The remainder of Tyson's words go unsaid. To my surprise, however, the Underground Tree's most trusted ally doesn't rebuke or attack the Grimes. Instead, he simply sighs remorsefully.

"No, Tyson, I'm sorry. Not even for you, my friend. Not even for you. He might be evil to you and your Covenant of a millennium, but he is a necessary evil. Until another akin to Vincent rises, we are on our own against the atrocities that walk these lands."

Tyson Grimes' head falls, and he becomes silent for several moments. After nearly a minute, however, he speaks again after embracing the bar around them.

"They will not be happy about this. They might..."

Clarence Love stands abruptly, leaving the bar with haste as he curses Tyson.

"We might be brothers, but even if we were of blood, I would still not budge. They can go so far as to awaken the Slumbering. Hell, we'll probably need whatever old men still lie inside their coffins."

The Slumbering? What is that? I try to listen further to get more, but Clarence leaves Tyson in the dust, leaving the man behind in the bar. Sighing, I trace some notes.

The Slumbering. Awaken. Old men. It seemed like a warning as well as a difficult thing to do. Probably has a high cost.

What could they be talking about?

It can only be one thing.

The Angels we know of are not all that there are. We already thought that could be the case. But now it's definitely confirmed. Not just that, we have an answer where they are coming from.

Slumbering Angels must lie beneath the Estates. That has to be it. Why else would they still exist? Not every Estate has an Angel, even now.

Parker Callahan is from the Callahan Estate, and Sylvia is married to Vincent's great-grandson, who is obviously a Harvey. Clarence was adopted by the Grimes when he was young due to his talents, so he is technically one of them. Joseph is a Dewey who married and changed his name.

Of the current Pillars still alive, I think Eli Weiss might be the only one who is not from an Estate. Fucking hell.

Are they going to rebel and kill Eli? Do they loathe him that badly? This is huge. I need to let Elizabeth know this as soon as possible.

*********************

Elizabeth Stroudwater

An hour after stressfully and cautiously getting the letter from the dead drop, I open it, straining my eyes to read in the dark. There is very little room on each one as we had to keep the size down for covertness. The words within, however, shake me to my core.

"Estates may be planning a rebellion. They hate Eli. He must know this. He must have plans for this. Will try to find out more. Clarence seems to be on his side. More Angels beneath the Estates. Slumbering."

With trembling hands, I set blaze to the parchment, removing it from this world after committing the text to memory. Then, I stare at the wall of the alley I've been living in.

This changes so much. The Estates are finally making their move. For a while, I thought that they were simply boastful and not nearly as powerful as others make them out to be on the high-end.

After all, from the many Angels we've run into, only Kai Vinson was of the Estates. Eh, Ed was, too, but his wife with the name of Dewey, died long ago. But that only means that the remaining ones are all from the Estates. Of course, they would be. Each and every one of them are from the safest, most secure places in the Territories, disregarding Clarence, of course. He's only adopted, not inborn or married. Plus, he's damn hard to kill with his skills and training. It makes sense he would be so far out.

Now, we will have to deal with the Estates in their totality. This is something I suspected a while ago, but I was not envisioning more to come from the shadows of the Estates when I first laid my plans. Their Arcas and their bearers are guaranteed to be threats even to Wyatt and Tomas. Still, this piece of news means I need to change some things.

We can't come out of the gate like we did before. If we want to be the last ones standing, we have to wait for our moment to strike. My hand shifts on the trash in my hands as I detail another segment.

Tomas should come in the north while we strike from the southeast. The repositioning will be tricky, but it will keep us from being lobbed together with Maddox. That madman is on a warpath, and I do not want any of us to be trapped in the middle of it in the slightest bit.

*************

Wyatt Graves

Elizabeth returned today to tell us something. I don't know what, though. Time is acting even weirder now. There are minutes where things speed up and others where they slow down even further. The aberrations make it more difficult to master my Ether, but they don't throw me off the pursuit.

Instead, they only make me greedier. Still, I want to know why she came here. I can't spare the effort to learn it from Bonfire. The man woke up to listen to her, and I think it's been five actual days since I entered this slipping time.

For me, it's been far longer. I've consolidated Enfetter to become Living Manacles. They seek out, lash, restrict, and can even kill my enemies on their own. Of course, they follow my directions, but the Ether born from my soul can move on its own, as well. But then again, I haven't been able to truly test the Ether out. It could always be weaker than I imagined. Living Manacles is the skill I've focused most on until the past few days in warped time.

Since I felt my progress on Living Manacles was waning, I've swapped to mastering Excavator. I was torn between learning Plasmic Ether or this Dzil, but for short-term power, Excavator is far more substantial.

Even if I were to grasp Plasmic Ether, I'd still have to shift all my skills to meet the new standards of the Ether. Sure, I'd become more powerful across the board, far more of a boost than Gaseous Ether did, but I'd need months to do that, not the few weeks I have left in this altered time-space.

So, realizing the elusive nature of Plasmic Ether, I begin my practice for the other skill I've been wanting to learn for months—Excavator. As I start, I realize something important now that I have an understanding of Living Strand. Excavator doesn't simply use that Ether manipulation technique on its own. It is a symbiotic fusion of Living Strand and all the other lesser techniques.

The spirit is to force pre-crafted skills, formed of Ether, into the very marrow of my bones. Painful, risky, and insane; nonetheless, it must be done. Living Strand will take over and inscribe the skills on its own, braiding and tightening carefully throughout my body all at once.

The Ether is to flow through my veins, out my lungs, and then back inside. From Single Strand to Willful Strand, it's all needed. I'm amazed Johnny learned this thing in the time he did. It's so fucking complicated I feel like my damned head is about to explode.

Despite that, I press on.

With deliberate intent, I weave the Living Strand, a thread linking the Ether to my soul. But it's not enough. I push further, combining Single Strand, using multiple paths of Ether at once individually.

I create many new streams of Ether, but none of these possess a valid destination in my body. They have a need for one, but that is up next. They simply move throughout my body. Merely doing the first and seventh kinds bears upon my skull a sweltering headache.

More. I can do more.

Gritting my teeth, I force a half-dozen streams of Ether, still connected to my soul, toward the skill I'm hoping to Inscribe. Many Strand blooms as the amount of Ether flowing in my body doubles. Again, the balance is delicate to keep it all going simultaneously, yet I barely manage it. It is like juggling ten different objects, each with a different limb that cannot crash into each other, or it all will detonate.

Still, I don't relent. I force onward, reaching for Braided Strand, but the instant I do, my head explodes with pain, and I lose grasp of all the streams at once.

Damn. I'm not good enough. Not yet, at least. I still have a few more weeks in this altered time. I only hope I can learn how to do this thing before I run out of time. Who knows when I'll get another chance like this? No one.

So, I set myself to it once more, starting from Living Strand again.

Once, I fail.

Twice, I fail.

Thrice, I fail.

I fail, fail, and fail. But every time I mess up or move my Ether in the wrong direction, even if I hurt my innards from doing so, I learn a valuable lesson. Excavator seems to be the most fantastic training tool for combining Ether. It gives me so many ideas for new skills and improved skills that I can hardly contain my excitement.

Days pass rapidly, and the time manipulation only grows more abnormal. The power must be running out. Nevertheless, I ignore the oddness and delve once more into the skill.

Living Strand is the first, then Single, Many, Braided. The instant the first basic types are embedded, I take a deep breath. The challenging part is coming up. The searing headache hardly concerns me as I move onto Steel Strand. Ironically, Steel Strand is comically easy to do as an Angel. Nearly every stream of Ether I pull is made of it, even if I don't try.

It's so embedded into me; it's a piece of cake. That is when it's on its own, at least.

I grunt in pain, only for the sound to be distorted to a thousand times longer as time remains extended around me. In the middle of their motion, I convert a dozen strands heading for Burdenless into that of a higher quality, touched by my mind. It's a difficult thing to describe how it works, but I reckon a level of focus or observation changes how Ether works. The emotions in a mind give a level of power that is impossible to achieve without them.

After Steel Strand, I move on to Steam Strand. With my faltering mind, I force the conglomeration of Ether to tighten, to squirm, to grow in stature. It takes multiple minutes, stretching into nearly an hour, but it obeys me nonetheless.

I almost allow myself to smile as I reach the final step, but I don't. I've gotten here too many times already to be happy. Willful Strand is always the most challenging part, no matter where I place it in the order. First or last, I fail on it every time.

But this time, I refuse to merely give up. Staring at my Ether, I command it to obey, not ask. I force it to move, to contort, to stretch, to gain a fragment of my emotions and will. The Ether, a mismatch of concepts that are struggling to stay together, resists me. The Ether tries to shake off my will, to move on its own. It wants to do something other than Excavator.

I do not take that resistance lightly.

So, I bear down on it, crushing it without remorse, forcing the false life to live under my rules, my commands, my world as it squirms. A sense of relief fills me as I feel the Ether finally relent. It slides down into my bones, and I watch with amazement as it coils around my skeleton like a boiling river, half water, half gas, and dives into my bones.

A profound fullness encompasses my body as I feel myself fall backward, slamming my head on a chair. Keeping the noise down, I grin so broadly that I forget about my head pain as I stare at my arms.

Looking closely at my arm, so closely that it would let me see the individual grains of sand within the hourglass, I find tiny chains wriggling, fighting for their lives.

Perfect.