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Wyatt Graves

Kneeling on the shattered cobblestone beneath me, I cough out some more blood. Blodwyn is frantically reconstructing our insides, but the injuries still leak out. For now, though, we're okay. We're fine.

Dead bodies lie all around Birdie, Bonfire, and me. Most of them were demons, their Darklight that had twisted them into attacking us still coiling around them. But... not all of them are demons. In fact... only one other Undead survived besides the two 'twins' resting atop some rubble.

Patrick. That's it. That's his name. He can't remember his last name as he's been dead for so long. It doesn't help that he died many times before becoming an Angel down here. He's... not quite right in the head, but Birdie vouches for him.

So when he collapses beside me in exhaustion, sighing with lungs that don't need to breathe, I don't say anything. I merely watch him while patting the regenerating hole in my lungs. These demons don't fucking play around.

We lost three Powers in less than an hour. Three! That's almost as many that died during the entire siege of the Estates! Bemola, the Dewey, Grimes, and Callahan Angels. Oh, and Clarence. Two more... haha... that's depressing. Down here, it is so... so very different.

I slide onto my back, using some torn-up stone as a frame, while I stare out toward the front of the city.

Aftershocks still skate over to us from Isaac's battle with Iva, but I don't want to go anywhere near that. I hurt all over, my saturation is almost filled, and none of my friends are feeling up to another battle, either. Virgil... I haven't seen him lately, but I'm sure he's okay. I know I beat him recently in a fight for the first time, but if I were to place us in an authentic battle, where death was the end?

He'd win ten out of ten times. Virgil Boone would never face me up close. He'd run away, disappear, then reemerge right when I lowered my guard. I'd die before I even knew it. He's probably just watching from the darkness in case of an ambush.

Still... the number of Angels dying here... both Powers and Virtues... is astounding. So many more are here than on the surface. It's not an order of magnitude higher, say twenty to two hundred, but it's at least double, if not triple.

Though, it does make sense. The Gift Of Undeath is that, a gift. It allows those who would have the potential to go further but were stopped to reignite that flame, to try again, to reach for the beyond once more. It is an incredible boon, even if it has some downsides.

"I hate this shit, man. Demon after demon. Motherbound after Motherbound. Will it ever end? I died thinking it'd be better, but fuck. This shit is atrocious. Wyatt, right?"

Patrick offers a pale, long-deceased open palm to me. I furrow my brows slightly but accept the offer, shaking his hand. He returns a light smile, the flames in his sockets billowing marginally enough to notice. This man... his Power is weird, but his chains are even odder. His fetters are primarily gathered around his feet, and he seems to only ever kick enemies to kill them.

"Yeah. Nice to meet you, Patrick. Heard your name during... it all."

The Undead nods with another sigh, scratching an open wound on his face as his eyes pivot toward the front of the city. No matter how much he scrapes the laceration, he doesn't care. It must be some kind of comfort thing for him. I don't know. Undead are weird. Silas is... suicidal and depressed, while Lennox is too cheerful even in the face of death. Death and time change people.

Patrick continues to show it.

"There he goes, our invincible leader. Hopefully, he will kill that bitch today. They've fought before, and she always came out as the loser. Whore. I hate her. Killed several of my friends, and Isaac just told me to 'let it go.' Dick. I'd prefer if he died as well, if... y'know, we wouldn't quickly die in return."

I stay silent as the man complains more and more. Bonfire groans as he rolls onto his side, gradually waking up after fainting. To his credit, though, he held on until after the fight to pass out. Patrick flicks his gaze to Bonfire, tapping my shoulder.

"You sure he's fine? I'm no Augur, but I sense a fuck-ton of Darklight in him. Like... a whole—"

"Yeah. Yeah. He's fine. If he isn't, I'll help him out just as I did for you."

Patrick nods sharply, his head bobbing up and down several times. He's right, though. Bonfire is becoming a risk, but I don't think I'm capable of helping him yet. I need more practice with my newest skill. Plus... Rapturous is not nearly enough to cleanse of that Darklight. While I'm lost in thought, Patrick stands abruptly, dropping a hand toward me once more. I raise a questioning glance at him, and he answers me immediately.

"Come. Let's go see the two Supremes kill each other. Might as well watch. If One Eye dies, we die. If the bitch dies, then... uh... I guess we rest? Well, you'd get to sleep, eye-having mule."

His insults, or what he considers to be insults, don't make any sense to me. So, I shrug and follow him, not finding a fault in his logic. Might as well watch. All the other Angels have either retreated or fallen, same with the majority of the lower-Sigiled. The only fight still burning is that between Dominions.

So, I step after him, careful not to trip on any rubble. Then, as I stride past Bonfire, I yank the fumbling man to his feet. He gives me a dopey smile, and I smack him lightly.

"Hey!"

I stare at him, still grasping his torn shirt roughly.

"You were looking stupid."

Bonfire purses his lips, squints his eyes, and shakes his head.

"Nope. I don't know what you are talking about."

Sighing, I tap him again, this time with the link of the chain still hanging from my hip. Then, I speak to him quietly enough so that Patrick, or anyone else, won't hear.

"Man... you can't be doing this anymore. I need to be sure you are yourself. You... you need to be wholly serious until we fix you."

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Bonfire's lips wriggle slightly, and I can see the edges of his eyes shift, emotion begging to be released. But the maniac for fire bites his lip and nods instead of being genuine.

"Yeah... yeah. I'll work on it. Sorry."

Now, I start to feel a bit bad as he stares at the ground. Dammit, Emmet Knox. How can you be both so strong and so dumb? Slapping him on the back, I yank him to accompany Patrick and me.

The road is littered with bodies, demon blood, and empty sockets of the fallen Undead. Darklight swims along the floor, wiggling toward our boots, but I force it all away with my Living Manacles. The things work pretty well against the Dominion as they seem to come partially from my soul.

I step over all the signs of catastrophe, and Patrick flings his leg to his left, obliterating a surprisingly intact wall, only for orange blood to spew out from the inside. He seems to have found another one. Leaning, I look inside the hole he created with his sole. The demon is already dead.

I don't even know what Sigil it was. Whatever. It's not like it matters. Damn thing wasn't strong enough to survive a kick, so it was likely just a survivor.

We continue along the road, killing multiple more Motherbound, both demons, humans, and even one Nahullo. Seeing one of Abraham's... lineage? Kind? None of those sound right. Anyways, seeing a Nahullo down here makes me worry and wonder about the other Underworld's... er... other sections of the Underworld.

According to Silas, every race has their own 'afterlife,' a section beneath the earth dedicated to them and them only. Dogs, bears, birds, etc. Everything is separated and segmented. Humans have their own, and so do the Nahullo.

I wonder if the other sections have already fallen. Surely not, right? Or else demons would have started to emerge from the Gates of Death, right? I'm not sure. Maybe there are more requirements.

I dunno.

My eyes slightly trail upwards as I feel instinctively pulled toward an answer that I'm not qualified for. Nope. Not looking at Death. I'm good. I'll keep my eyes down here...

Oh... shit. That's not much better.

A wave of pressure suddenly slams into the three of us as Bonfire, Patrick, and I are physically shoved backward by Isaac's Dominion. The oceanic tides of the force around the man worm through the air like an indomitable presence. I can see it. The raw power and control he wields through his soul alone. But he doesn't just use his soul.

Like a master, he weaves Ether into every move, and only as his soul meets Iva's bloodied fist do I truly recognize the surroundings. All the colors in reality fade to white and black as I fall to a knee, scarcely preventing myself from flying backward despite our quarter-mile distance. I thought that would be enough, guess I thought wrong.

The buildings around me are long gone, a detail I failed to notice as I was lost in reverie. A foolish thing, but I can't help it. Observing Dominions is... intoxicating, to say the least. It's like watching... like watching the most beautiful and captivating dance.

Ripples of pressure, like air but far harder to detect and thousands of times stronger than a gust of wind, press my feet into the rock below. Cracks emerge as I sink to my shins in the earth. Bonfire and Patrick have already fallen back, but I can't.

I need to see more. More. More. More. More. It's all so...

Even Iva's Dominion is amazing. The way she weaves it in and out of her strikes. It's not simply fear. It's... aggression. Perhaps... even intent? No, no, no. It's dangerous. She can control one's sense of danger.

Interesting. And why am I immune?

I watch more closely as Isaac misidentifies a feint for an actual strike and then vice versa, earning a tight puncture wound in his chest. His Dominion is featureless, however, and it forces him to the side to evade a follow-up. Height's Supreme retaliates with enough force to level a city, his soul stretching out and flattening the vista behind Iva.

In response, Depravity's Supreme raises her arms, Ether building upon them as I watch the skin turn blue for a moment, like that of hardened crystal. Azure Rampart. Johnny mentioned that skill to me once.

As the fight continues, I realize something about myself and about Iva. I'm not immune to her Dominion. I'm only immune to its weakest effect, the ability to instill crippling fear, a focused genre of danger sense.

Iva's Dominion can do so much more than affect fear. She is manipulating Isaac's sense of danger, fucking up his combat experience and gut. He is hit by far too many attacks that he should surely dodge while not attacking when he should.

I am only able to discern this as I can see when she flexes her soul, prodding Isaac with her Dominion. It's such a unique way to use one, not that I know all that much about them. I'll ask Isaac more when this is over. Because... I'm sure he'll win.

"Stop running! Fight me like a man, you coward! All you've ever done is run and hide! She showed me that! That you are nothing but a sniveling hypocrite!"

He's taken some damage, much of it mental from the insults, but Iva is far worse. She is like a rabid animal, the Darklight still setting in and enhancing her, but not necessarily for the better quite yet. Meanwhile, Isaac battles like a calm river. He swerves with the rain, falls with the droughts, and rages with the storms, but in the end, he is unshaken. It takes time for a Motherbound to truly show their expertise, one of their few weaknesses, I suppose.

The One Eyed takes advantage of her weaknesses, of her over-indulgence in violence, an eagerness to kill. Iva, from what I know, was a complete psycho, but she wasn't suicidal like this. Nor was she as diabolically hateful. She should be retreating, knowing she can't win, but she doesn't. The Darklight hasn't settled in long enough to manipulate her that intricately.

The Demigod was sent here for something, and she seems unable to return without it.

So, I watch as Isaac slowly but surely wears her down, breaking her bones piece by piece, gradually outdoing the regeneration from that awful radiance. The environment shudders underneath their war. A battle between Demigods reshapes the Underworld, creating hills, valleys, and deep gouges along the terrain.

It's not as mind-numbing as the battle upon the surface where Vincent ascended, but it's enough to shake my insides. I can't even move as I witness this... cataclysm.

Within each of their strikes is the total power I could bring out with multiple gasps shoved into a single fist. And these aren't their Sigil skills that evoke such might. These are Dominions, Powers, and Dzils of their own making with their skills acting as support.

However, even as Iva falls to her a knee, spitting out a chunk of her insides as she stares up at Isaac, the middle-aged Undead never once shows his Power to the woman. She dies, conjuring a long crimson weapon of her own blood, rumbling with incredible danger. Yet, the spear never lands on her foe. Instead, it falls to the earth as Isaac rips off her head with his oceanic vortex.

The awful skull of the woman soars through the air, but it never reaches the ground. Isaac lunges forward, obliterating the woman in her entirety as the Darklight within swells.

Manipulating his soul like a thousand fists, he pummels the woman, shoveling her dead body more profoundly and plunging deeper into the rocks of the Underworld, only stopping when she can no longer be seen. Then, as I realize I have been holding my breath this whole time, Isaac limps to me. Or... toward me as I'm the closest to him.

I let out the air I've held as the One Eyed tosses that incarnadine spear to me. It slams into the cobblestones beside me, sinking an inch into the rock. Peering up to him, I see the eye-patched man give me a soft smile.

"Good work. Let that be your reward. Iva's Power could create bonding weapons, though she was limited in number. If you don't want it, find someone who does. She survived so long because of their durability."

I nod softly, but I open my mouth, desiring something else other than a weapon. I don't need one, after all. I'm not all that good with any weapon other than my fists. It's all Marshall taught me, not that what he did was a bad thing. I'd argue I'm really good at hand-to-hand combat. Without Ether, not even Virgil can beat me solely with fists, and he's the best fighter I know.

"Could... I... perhaps have information instead? I'm not too skilled with weapons."

I posit my question, and Isaac laughs heartily, his chest rising up and down despite his wounds. For a moment, I see a bit of Marshall within him, the joy despite the roughness, but it quickly vanishes as a mask of seriousness covers Isaac's face, one that contains not a hint of geunuine emotion. He is not Marshall. None can be him. None.

"Sure. Ask away. I don't have much time."

Nodding, I dig myself out of the rock as Isaac stares at me without even breaking a smile. Yup, definitely not Marshall. The old General would be cackling at me right now. Not him at all.

"What are Dominions? I saw that yours is some kind of force while Iva's was about danger. I know someone who could control invisible blades while another could steal Powers."

Isaac's brow over his one glorious flame flickers with interest at my brief mention of Eli's Dominion, but he doesn't linger or question me in return. He simply answers me while applying some sort of serum to his wounds.

"Dominions are the force of souls made manifest. Souls possess power, just like any muscle, and a Dominion is a soul flexing that muscle. Just as Powers are different for all, so are Dominions. Many think they are similar, but they are not. Dominions are vastly more powerful and wide-ranging, but they have harsh restrictions as well as the ability to grow."

Huh? Restrictions? Isaac gets tired of my struggle while listening and uses his soul for a demonstration, busting me out of the stone imprisoning me.

"Powers can have restrictions, too, but for the most part, the only thing that holds them back is either one's Ether or one's body. For Dominions, there is a limit to how much they can be used and how far. Souls, after all, get tired, too, and they all have limits to their reach. Iva cannot affect those more than a mile away, and she cannot present a higher danger than she could exhibit. This means she cannot pretend to be a God to scare someone off. I will not tell you mine, but I can guarantee that the figure who can steal Powers must have an extensive series of restrictions, from time to distance to replicability. That guess is based off how difficult it would be to steal a Power from someone, which would translate to a soul's expenditure. "

I nod again, finding it all to make sense. The instant Isaac sees my understanding, he begins to walk away. I know he has more important things to do, but it still hurts to see him leave this rapidly. As he walks away, though, Bonfire, Birdie, and even Patrick are approaching this way. I don't let him go without another question as he tosses the spear to Birdie.

"How do I fight one then? They all seem so overpowering."

Isaac's single eye blazes with a profound light before he vanishes, leaving nothing but swirling air as Birdie juggles the crimson spear in her hands.

"Get your own. Or... figure out their restrictions and cripple them."

I sigh, committing his words to memory as Aniwye rumbles from behind me, her footsteps loud and unmistakable. She's going to want to get moving soon, isn't she? Haah... Okay. First, though, there is something I must do. While we still have time...

"How about we get you to your Eighth, buddy?"

Exhilaration spews from my partner, our heart beating with newfound energy despite our exhaustion. Waving to Aniwye, I stride toward Iva's fallen corpse, knowing that she must have a Sigil for Blodwyn in there somewhere.