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Virgil 'Flickering Wraith' Boone

Two daggers dance in my hands, swift and precise despite my latent exhaustion, as I mentally command the hovering Carnation to anticipate and respond to Clarence's every move. Every inhale is like fire within my chest. At the same time, however, each movement is carefully calculated and perfectly timed. Yet, a blade, hand, leg, or elbow blocks me every time. Clarence Love is not an ordinary adversary. Amongst all the threats I could have chosen to face, the Silent Scorpion is my mirror.

We fight the same. We act the same. We even talk the same.

The battlefield is almost like a dance floor where each step is a calculated strike or a fluid parry. Carnation, the scythe from that Angel Wyatt and I killed back in Blackreach, meets Clarence's dagger-shaped Arca as I slide underneath it, striking for his leg with both blades.

In return, Clarence flips backward, disengaging entirely, and chucks out a series of knives toward me. I deflect multiple before trudging toward him. The sweat that seeps from his face is the same as mine.

I can see it in his eyes. I know the feeling.

Both of us have left a trail of fallen foes before crossing paths. We've both already killed today. We've killed many. An Angel or more for him. I'm exhausted from using Shadowless, but he is in a similar position.

Our battle has been a slow burn, even from the moment it began, yet neither relents. As our blades clash, the air sizzles with tension that only rises as the war beyond us grows more heated. Eyes lock in a silent understanding of each other's prowess. Then, we disengage, deep, rasping breaths coming from both of us.

Clarence nods to me, uttering his first word since his appearance to me.

"You learned everything a Damned could. And then... you surpassed them. I must say... I am proud."

I squint in the brief moment of respite, and Clarence notices my confusion. He flips the legendary Arca in his hand, showcasing it to me. I saw it earlier, but at the moment, I can finally admire it for what it indeed is.

Sire's Stiletto.

The peak of artifacts shaped into objects, the rarest kind of artifact. The dagger is hundreds of years old. No one even knows who or what manner of creature created it. There is a straightforward truth. It can pierce anything.

"I was given this as a gift for my efforts. You see... I was the one that devised the methods of war, combat, and training for the Damned. After all, who would know best other than the only man to escape from the Estate's first Damned program? Everything you know, from your knives to your guns and even your movement, it all comes from me."

A well of anger and hate rouses within me. This is him? This is the one who created the awful, gut-wrenching regimens I had to go through?

My fists clench around my daggers as Carnation shifts just a bit in the air. But I force down that anger. It will only get me killed. I know what he is doing. It's precisely what I would do if I had more information about him.

Goad him, get him to strike. Baiting out a weakness is one of the very first lessons. I walk sideways, circling Clarence as we speak, searching for a vulnerability.

"Is that so? If you came from a similar program, then why do you follow them so closely? Huh?"

Clarence's eyes tighten for a moment as if hiding some story, but he quickly recovers. If I hadn't explicitly been watching for a hidden reaction, I would have missed it.

"I do not follow the Estates. I work for Eli Weiss."

I correct the man.

"You kill for Eli Weiss."

Clarence nods, a bit of sadness tinged in his movement.

"That is correct. Simply the world we live in. Some people need to die, and I do the killing."

My breath slowly stabilizes as I feel a bit of my Ether saturation fade. It isn't much. But it's enough to not worry about killing myself again. That near-miss with death in the Wastes taught me the horrors of going too far. Still, the suffering was not without reward. I both recover faster and can withstand far more than before that shitshow.

"And am I one of those that has to die?"

The Silent Scorpion hesitates for a moment, shifting to the balls of his feet. I immediately raise my weapons as I can tell what he will do next by his body's position. He must realize he will not find an opportunity with words.

"Perhaps."

Legs kick off the marble simultaneously, and we're off against each other.

Our movements are a blur of steel, and I attempt to seize an opening the moment we reach. He dives forward with Sire's Stiletto, and I carefully let my dagger meet his, careful not to cross edges. Blades interlock as I slide mine down to have my wrist hit his wrist, and as our eyes meet, I toss a kick toward his leg. Yet, he anticipates our ankles meeting in a momentary stalemate. Swiftly adjusting, he twists his leg, attempting to trip me. I, however, slide to the right, leaning just low enough for the hovering scythe to slice toward him.

The gleaming blade arcs with lethal precision, a silent executioner for any other foe. Clarence, caught off guard for a split second, maneuvers to evade the scythe's reach. As he does so, he flings his second dagger into the air, and it soars straight for my neck.

I contort my body, barely dodging the tip of the dagger as it clatters against the floor behind me.

The fight rages on, teetering to a slog of exhaustion, and fatigue claws at the edges of my stamina. My hands, each wielding a dagger, are a blur of calculated strikes with dripping blood and sweat as we nick each other. My poison versus his poison, our training against each other's as we gradually tire. Carnation, the scythe, hovers patiently nearby as I knock on the door of Acute Ether saturation. I can only move it one more time. I have to save it for a finishing blow.

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As time passes, Clarence and I both use less and less Ether. At this point, I lower my physical enhancement, relying only on my passive bonuses from my Sigil that extend to my form. Still, because of our statuses as Angels, we move at a rate that would blind any mortal.

My opponent, equally weary, mirrors my movements with a fluidity born of perfection as we both slow but don't lose our edge. The daggers in his hands become extensions of his will, as do mine, and the air is punctuated with the tense sounds of air punctured and clothes scathed.

Suddenly, we lock blades once more, parrying each other's strikes with a barrage of metallic clashes. The pointed dance evolves into a flurry of quick footwork and nimble dodges, each of us probing for an opening. I spin left, lashing out an elbow as he returns a kick to my stomach. I flip my arm around, catching his leg as Clarence hurls another knife at my eyes.

In a sudden burst of energy, the threat of a dagger in my skull fueling me, I duck under the blade and shoulder Clarence, creating enough space to throw my own knives as he stumbles. The gleaming blades sail through the air, eight in number, two for each nook in my fingers on my open hand. Yet, Clarence gracefully dodges, displaying an agility that belies his exhaustion as he leaps to the side, batting aside the extra I set to predict his movement with his flurry of motion.

Seizing the moment, he counters with another swift throw, aiming to pierce my defenses. In a nimble twist, I evade, feeling the whoosh of the blade and the heat upon my cheek as it grazes the air beside me. A small red line falls from my cheek as my mask falls to the marble below.

A moment of silence and peace reigns as the cloth hits the floor. Clarence Love squints at me as if finding something remarkable. I let out a hearty gasp of air, attempting to buy even a second as my eyes trail the dozens of knives stabbed into the marble around us.

"You don't have to follow Eli. You can be your own man. You must know that what he does is too much. There are better men to follow."

The Silent Scorpion earns his name as he shakes his head and darts toward me. Not a single noise comes from the man, even as he sprints toward me. Still, with every passing moment, we slow.

"He sent you here to die. So what if you kill me? What about the others? How many does he expect you to kill? You are but one man."

The dance continues despite my words, and in a daring move, Clarence persists in his charge, not deciding to feint at all. I let him come close, locking my knees as I duck below his daggers and twist my body, throwing him off balance.

He sinks a reverse-grip blade toward me, but it's not the Arca. So, I shift my form just enough that the tip grazes off one of my hidden blades. The tang of steel buys me but a moment as the collision earns me a crimson sprawl along my arm. Seizing the opportunity, I perform a skillful throw, sending him sprawling to the ground. But, as if defying gravity, he rebounds with astonishing agility, leaping off the ground with only his hands.

Nevertheless, he is now in the air. With my right arm, I reach over past my new wound and draw the single dagger etched with blood. Then, I launch it toward Clarence.

This is not a simple fight. Ether might not be the main component, but we are using every aspect of our forms. Our hands, our legs, our elbows, our heads, hell, even our shoulders. Everything is a weapon to Clarence, and, for me, it is no different.

And all it does is manage to make the actual weapons that much more deadly.

Clarence shunts his hand to deflect the dagger, but even the Sire's Stiletto is too slow. After all, its owner is exhausted. The blade sinks two inches into the Silent Scorpion's chest as he falls to his knees.

I do as well, clutching my own chest as I seek desperate air. Each wheeze is punctuated by darkened blood, the poison leeching my strength even with my resistances. My lungs burn of exhaustion, but I cannot simply relax.

Together, in synchronicity, we kneel in misery and fatigue.

I raise my head, peering at my peer, asking him a lone question that I would hate to answer. But I do so because I just have to know.

"How many... tonight?"

Clarence inhales a deep sigh, ripping the blade out of his chest as he laughs slightly, seeing the purple-ish tint on the metal. He knows it's poisoned, just as I know the ones he's hit me with are as well. Funnily enough, we are both highly resistant.

"Angels? Four. Other? No idea. Hundreds."

I nod to the man, astonished by his efficacy. An assassin is worth a dozen of any other kind of soldier. I was taught that a long, long time ago.

"How many... were human?"

The Silent Scorpion continues to break his silence.

"Three. All Estate. You?"

I answer him as I gradually rise, feeling sensation return to my body as I fill it with air again.

"One. Demon."

Clarence chuckles softly, an odd sound that reminds me of a canary's cry of some sort. Without knowing, I know. This is a very, very rare noise.

"Impressive for a newbie."

I laugh right back at him, tracking my feet after myself. Every step is a hassle on its own.

"Yeah? Pretty impressive for an old man."

The Pillar shakes his head, rising to meet me. He flips the stiletto in his hand, dropping the other dagger. Then, he glides the tip of the stiletto along his palm. Blood sinks out and forms an identical dagger, though this one is see-through incarnadine.

"I'm not that old. Barely forty-five. I got a whole lot of life to live."

I dart toward him, kicking off the marble and sending him one last offer.

"Then don't live it under a tyrant."

This makes Clarence pause in his tracks. His eyes hover over me as the air in his lungs exits excruciatingly slowly. The daggers in his hands tremble lightly as he posits me a query.

"And you? You follow that boy. Why? Will he not be the same? Lusting for power? At least Weiss knows what kind of monster he is. He fights against it every damn day. I've seen it. He might be cruel, but he is, at the core, human."

A little piece of me shudders as I think back to all the shit I've done for Wyatt. The things I'll never tell him. The attackers I've killed while he's slept. The trackers I've hunted down and removed. The informants I've threatened to an inch of their lives. The weeks I've gone without sleep to let him rest. I've done so much dark shit that'll never see the light of day to preserve his light. The glimmer in his eyes every day he wakes. I cannot let him ever lose it.

I was so worried he'd lose it if he fought Ryder. Duels like that change someone forever. At least he doesn't seem to have changed for the worse.

Why? Why have I done all that?

It's simple. And it's not.

"The only monster inside Wyatt Graves is the one that has been forced upon him. He is still a child, pure of heart, even if tainted in soul. He fights vehemently for what he believes is right, and nothing will stop him. He is a force of nature."

Clarence nods deeply, poking toward me lightly with his dagger. From our distance, however, it means not a single threat.

"Mhhm. And what if that force of nature believes in something that is wrong? Will he change his ways? Or will he stubbornly ram us into the abyss? A leader must be wise, but they must also be willing to change course."

I bite my lip, wanting him to see the point that so few are willing to.

"Must there only be one leader? How many can say they are both physically and mentally powerful? It takes decades of experience to ever wield these daggers like we can. Not even Weiss can boast that he is unrivaled in intellect."

The only Pillar to support the current Prime wipes the open wound at his chest, sealing both the poison and his blood inside with a scrap of his shirt. Then, he counters me.

"Exactly. Weiss knows his limits. He knows when to halt, when to charge, and when to think. He is madness harnessed into intellect. He is needed to destroy the Gods. Desolation shall be our spear, and Weiss' mind shall be our greatest shield and support, just as he always has been. How else could we have survived while Desolation was off on his merry world trip? Eli Weiss and his mind kept us alive."

I sigh, feeling exasperated. Some of his points are true, and that is the worst part. Wyatt is stubborn, and for the most part, that is a good thing. Yet, if he happens to be overcome with the Call or goes off the deep end... things could get... bloody.

"So? What is this? What is today? Are we all supposed to die for some grand plan?"

Clarence Love shrugs, even the right hand of the Prime not knowing the whole story.

"Yes and no. Today is a gamble as the Estates and the Angels they've sought to hide finally lash out alongside Maddox. Everyone has been biding their time for Desolation to die or be wholly gone. Now that he is warring against the Gods on his lonesome... they have struck. Eli wants to reach his Dominion today. If he doesn't, he will die."

I laugh, finding a man of such planning to be reduced to a simple gamble to be absurd. Really? Come on. This has to be some kind of trick.

"Stop lying. A gamble? With Weiss? All I hear is horseshit."

My mirror shakes his head, lowering his hood finally to reveal his shaven face and severely short-cut hair. His skin is tanned the same color as the desert sand, even the flesh upon his dome.

"At a point in life, things can no longer be certain, even for a man such as he, Virgil Boone. You will understand when you reach that point. All the best must gamble should they wish to become better. It is a law of nature. Even Desolation is no different. Deal with the Devil, or you are dealt with, eh?"

I can only clench my daggers tighter as I flex the stream of lithe Ether that connects me to Carnation. I'll have to kill him. I already knew that, I suppose, I just didn't—

"I'll tell you what. I can't promise much, but I'll leave you, Wyatt, Tomas, and that crazy pyromaniac alone. The others? I know we agree. They are awful. Together... I think we could cut the numbers down massively. What do you say?"

I return Clarence's gaze as he offers an open hand to me. But I can't take it.

"No. Eli must die. He has done far too much damage to this world. To our people. How do you not see that?"

Clarence flips his hood back and forth as he strides away from me, holding his stomach as blood trails behind him, leaving footprints in the white marble. He raises a hand backward to me as he sheathes his stiletto in its lodging upon his hip.

As he walks away, though, I see that his eyes do not leave the floor, as if he is frozen in contemplation. Perhaps he doesn't believe as stalwartly in Eli as I thought.

"We have all damaged our world, but few can fix the rot after. Weiss is one of them. Try all you want, Virgil. We need the genius. You know better than to bring personal feelings into a coming apocalypse. The Second Collapse is upon us. Would you rather a child or a wise man lead us? I'd rather the old man, even if his hands are bloodied beyond any means."

I want to attack him, I want to stab him in the back, I want to end Clarence's life, but I don't. He is the one who walked away from this fight, not me. Plus, just as he says, I cannot bring feelings into this. He promised not to hurt any of us, only those from the Estates or other organizations.

Ironically enough, an assassin's word can be trusted more than all others.

When we say we'll do something, we'll do it, and nothing, not a damned thing other than our death will stop us.

So, I trudge after him, limping all the while as we both seek to rejoin the fight in our unique way. I wonder how it will be. I haven't fought alongside another Damned in a long, long time.