Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Sixthmonth, 1634 PTS
There were few Merris on the station, one of the rarer species. That only made hiding more difficult. Not only did Triezal need to hide from the government, he also needed to do so from his own force, the Heirs of Ottrien as well. But the unrest within the organization was also something he could use for his own goals. He simply needed to be bold.
While his species was unusual, and Triezal often stood out, unlike the other Celans, a Merris could pass for a Seiyal if his skin and hair were covered. He had also acquired a pair of golden contacts months ago just in case, so that he would be able to hide the color of his eyes. Now, it finally had the chance to see use. With his hands gloved and a mask over his face, Triezal looked as if he were either a burn victim or a cultist, but nobody who passed by believed he was anything but an eccentric Seiyal, and that would do.
He had not spent much time in Canvas Town before. This was the heart of an enemy’s territory, and an alien landscape where few of his people would be seen. Seiyal-dominated slums looked very different from those of the Celans. The glyphs and charms that were endemic to Celan businesses and residences were all lacking, and the graffiti and trash that one could see littering the ground and shrouding the stonework and Staiven-designed metal. Most of the hatches around were painted with artwork depicting martial artists or the powerful creatures from their homeworld known as ‘fiends.’
This neighborhood was the home of the Feng Gang, a subsidiary force of the Hadal Clan in name, but one that was secretly aligned with the Heirs of Ottrien. On paper, at least. If one was to be particular, Lao Feng, the faction’s leader, was a member of the Epon, just as Triezal used to be. That would be his in.
In all honesty, Triezal thought, as he approached the gang headquarters, he was not actually sure why he had come, nor what he wanted. He was cut off from his contacts, forced to hide from the Heirs and from the government. This might have been his time to hide, to free himself from his criminal lifestyle. And yet, here he was, diving right back in. It had felt natural, like the obvious next step, but he could not help but analyze his own thoughts.
Triezal knew that he liked solving problems. He enjoyed using his skills, his acumen. Was that a flaw, he wondered? His skills lent themselves best to criminal activity, but surely that was not all he was good for. He had been a technician, once, after all.
Perhaps it was instead the risk itself that had driven him here, and he was secretly unwilling to live a safe, relaxed life.
Triezal sighed, avoiding the curious, watchful gazes of the alley’s residents. Analyzing the reasons for one’s own actions was difficult, he thought. He had been driven on this path by his failure to recover Rachel, and had been fearful of what would happen to a disgraced Magister who failed at something so important. But had he submitted himself for punishment what would have really happened? More likely than not, he would simply have been returned to Janaste, no longer given permission to serve outside the organization’s heart. He would be brought back to languish under Anteky’s influence.
Would that even be such a bad life, he wondered? No, he did not regret leaving the station. Triezal’s mind would be his own, at any cost. No matter how poor his current situation, Triezal would strive to regret nothing.
Perhaps he was doomed to this sort of life, unable to be content with the peace and stability of a mundane existence. But he would simply have to continue working to improve his situation. Perhaps one day he would become like Kadeki had, an old man who had fled his past and formed an empire. One could not run forever, but Triezal was not immortal.
He arrived before the hatch, easily recognizable by the signboard that had been attached above the entrance. It opened prior to his approach, and a muscular Seiyal stepped forth from it.
“I need to speak with Lao Feng,” Triezal said.
The gangster sneered at him.
“If any random mortal who showed up could see him,” he replied, “we’d be hosting every vagrant in the district.”
“He will want to see me,” Triezal replied, keeping his voice smooth, and paying close attention to his accent.
Triezal considered his seiyin to be quite good, but he did not believe that his accent could be considered authentic. It was perhaps the weakest aspect of his disguise. On average, a Merris’ voice was pitched slightly higher than that of a Seiyal, but Triezal’s was well within a reasonable range.
If he tried, Triezal could perhaps use his tools and physical capabilities to fake the abilities of a martial artist. The problem was, however, that to any real martial artist, his soul would clearly register as that of a mortal. Were it not for the fact that the souls of mortal humanoids were all so similar, his disguise might have been worthless altogether. Regardless, his true nature did not seem to have been noticed, or at least the other man did not point it out.
“Tell him that I’m bearing a message from his father,” Triezal said.
“Haaah?” asked the gangster, a rude expression on his face. “He doesn’t have a father.”
“Just fucking tell him I said that, alright?” Triezal asked, annoyed. “If he doesn’t want to see me after that, I’ll leave.”
The gangster hesitated, and then called in the code words that Triezal had given him, before pressing the button to slam the hatch closed in Triezal’s face. Triezal sighed, unsurprised by the outcome. He waited for several minutes, certain that the door would eventually open, and wasn’t disappointed. This time, the rude man had a curious expression on his face, clearly wondering just what connection this mysterious burn victim might have to his leader’s past.
“Are you that Riverfiend?” he asked. “I remember him and the boss both came from off station.”
Triezal chuckled.
“Not quite,” he said.
The gangster led him inside, past several offices and open spaces, and towards a wide room. Triezal glanced inside several of the rooms and was surprised by the number of scantily clad Seiyal women who were present. Was this place the home of a martial force, or a brothel? The room’s hatch opened upon their approach, and the gangster gave Triezal one final curious glance before returning the way he had come as the hatch slid shut behind him.
Seated on a couch at the far end of the room was a Seiyal, roughly middle-aged in appearance. He was a sei, and his build was very athletic but his was the sort of build where it was clear that he worked out every inch of his body in equal proportion. Lao Feng, one of the few products of soul replacement technology who resided on Tseludia Station. Triezal had not met the man before, as his true identity was a secret of the highest nature. Still, Triezal had a great deal of experience with the program. Back in Janaste, he had some involvement with some of the other false Seiyal. Mere weeks before, he had also been rescued from the Redwater Sect by Mung Seo, another product of the program.
But Lao Feng was different, as he had been living among the Canvasians for far longer.
“This was not a code I expected to hear any time soon,” said the flickering practitioner. “And particularly not from an outlaw such as yourself.”
In the privacy of this room, Laott spoke in Celan, rather than the Seiyin that he had undoubtedly grown accustomed to.
“Your senses are quite good,” chuckled Triezal, sliding the mask from his face as he lowered the robe’s hood.
“As a spirit refiner, my senses might even be comparable to your own, Magister. By the way, I’m quite curious… just what was it that you did to attract all this attention?”
The spirit refiner’s smile was eerie, Triezal thought, feeling slightly uncomfortable. If he gambled poorly here, he would fall into dire straits.
“I’m afraid I shouldn’t discuss the matter,” he said. “Regardless, it is less about what I did, and more about what I did, and more about what they are worried I might do.”
“I was told that you were a traitor,” Lao Feng said, inspecting Triezal with amusement.
“Astna sold me out to the government to protect her own skin,” he growled, channeling his frustration at the backstabbing woman. “If she contacted you already, I’m sure you’ve heard the news.”
The martial artist nodded solemnly.
“Deuvar and the Leader,” he said.
Triezal nodded in return.
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“Assassinated by the Hadal Clan, I suspect.”
“I’m not sure whether you’re aware, but you’re actually not the only person she assigned us to find,” said Lao.
Triezal raised an eyebrow, his curiosity successfully piqued
“Who else?”
The false Seiyal shrugged.
“Some woman named Yun. A poisoner, apparently.”
Hearing that, a few pieces fit themselves together in Triezal’s mind. He had met the woman before, when she had killed the traitor months before. Was she the assassin that had killed Deuvar? If so, it would be no surprise that Astna would wish to hunt her down. There might be some room for leverage there, though he would need to think on the matter more.
“So she’s figured out the killer, then,” said Triezal. “As expected of the Spider.”
“She also implied,” Lao continued, “that you were in league with this Yun.”
“Is that her story? I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me.”
“Given your identity, I’m inclined to think you wouldn’t have hired an assassin if you wanted Deuvar or the Leader dead,” Lao replied.
Triezal raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve heard of me?” he asked.
“I still have some connections with others who went through the program. Word gets around.”
Secretly, Triezal gritted his teeth as he realized who the man was referring to. He didn’t wish to think about the woman, not anymore.
“If you understand, then let’s talk business instead. Astna wants me dead,” Triezal said, “because she has betrayed the Epon.”
Lao Feng didn’t react, unconvinced. It was as if the facade of the gangster had fallen off, leaving only the Celan agent remaining beneath.
“So you say, but I can hazard a guess as to why the Staiven want you.”
Triezal shrugged, not disputing the implication.
“I did what I had to, but that wasn’t the start of it. I suspect that she was the one behind the death of the Epon representative who arrived a few months ago. You must have heard about what happened at the Spacedock.”
Lao Feng’s eyes narrowed. He was not a fool, but Triezal still felt he had the capability to fool the man. Lao’s weakness was the fact that he was not kept up to date with the happenings within the Heirs. He would not know about Triezal’s participation in either the representative’s death nor Janottka’s. Until word returned from Janaste, years from now, the only risk was the possibility that Janottka had spoken with him.
“Why was I not informed about this matter until now?” Lao asked.
“I trusted Deuvar and Kadeki, and felt that the issues could be resolved internally. That plan is moot now, of course.” Triezal did not consider himself the greatest of liars, but with some forethought and advance planning, he could certainly put a story together.
Lao narrowed his eyes, intently analyzing the other man. It had become a matter of choosing who to trust: the Magister or the Spider. Had it been Deuvar, Lao would have trusted him without question. The Jobu man had been more than worthy of trust and respect. But his sister… Lao knew Astna to be shady, without morals. And regardless of the accusations against him, Triezal was still a Magister.
“Assuming you’re telling the truth,” he asked, “Why have you come to me?”
“We’re both from Janaste, after all,” Triezal replied. “The Heirs of Ottrien have betrayed the Epon, and it is our duty to rebuild our forces in this system. Otherwise, it will take decades for them to return and start over. Moreover, without oversight, they will surely attempt to reverse engineer the remaining titans.”
Triezal knew, of course, that there was little odds of success in such an endeavor. Without the theory, even understanding what one was looking at was impossible, not to mention the fact that the torus within would explode if tampered with.
Lao raised an eyebrow.
“You’re not saying you want to help me expand my gang, are you?” he asked.
Triezal smiled.
“Wouldn’t that take too long? It’s much easier to steal someone else’s accumulation.”
Lao scoffed.
“You want me, a Seiyal, to take over the premier Celan organization?“
“I want you to help me do it. Kadeki and Deuvar are dead, and Astna holds no care for her patron. Who else can solve this?”
The Seiyal scowled.
“Allow me to spell this out to you, Triezal. The racial tensions are not gone. They’re not even slumbering. How long has it been since there was a riot that went around trying to kill people? That was just the civilians! People are becoming scared to venture to the other district, because they might be beaten or killed just for bumping into somebody. And the Staiven are barely doing anything to stop it. I might lose half of my connections just by making the attempt.”
“What’s new?” asked Triezal. “You know as well as I do that it’s always been there, in the background. This isn’t even the worst it’s ever been.” He shrugged, as if it were a non issue. “Don’t you think an organization with members of both races might be in order?
“Let us be honest, Triezal. Nobody wants that. In its current state, the fire is smoldering, and will eventually burn itself out, or at least settle down somewhat. What you’re asking… What you're asking would be akin to throwing fuel onto the flames. I don’t plan to take such a pointless risk.”
“The Hadal Clan probably won’t take action,” Triezal replied. “Their Matriarch took the opportunity to pull them out from the conflict, and she is not somebody to change her mind easily. In fact, they might even like the idea of other Seiyal taking down their greatest rival. Putting aside how it seems, the both of us know who and what you truly are. Is this not your responsibility? We can easily paint it as myself, a Celan in my own right, taking on Seiyal subordinates, if need be. Besides,” he said, “the Heirs have never been weaker. I imagine that the situation of the Celans in the underworld will only continue to worsen, at this rate. The Hadal Clan has taken the opportunity to pull back and protect their interests, but the vultures are circling.”
“You believe…” said Lao Feng, wrinkling his brow.
“The Drelistai and the Umrakians are moving in,” nodded Triezal. “Even laying low I was able to hear word of their movements. I’m sure you couldn’t have missed the rumors.”
The ganglord frowned, silent for a few moments. Even in a station the size of Tseludia, only so many criminal organizations could reach this level. The core requirement was to have access to weapons or members at the immortal level, such as the Heirs’ titans, or the Hadal Clan’s Supreme Elder. Corporations and financial groups did not require such defenses, as they were guarded by the Pantheonic Government itself. Including the Heirs and the Hadal Clan, there were only four such forces at the moment, and no others could dare to confront them directly.
“And if they are,” Triezal continued, “why shouldn’t we?”
“Truly the icon of a Magister, aren’t you?” sneered Lao Feng. “You cannot help yourself, everything you touch falls into chaos. “
“Without chaos, opportunity doesn’t exist. I’m a Magister, while you’re just an agent, Laott. I think your choices here are simple. You continue to fulfill your mission, or you betray your people. If that’s the case, then you can kill me right here.”
For a moment, the practitioner appeared tempted, but he stayed his hand. Watching his eyes, Triezal could see a trace of submission, and the burning embers of ambition flicker within. Good, he thought. Loyalty alone was not enough, for a man like Lao Feng. Only once he started thinking about the opportunities would he agree to Triezal’s plans.
Triezal smiled confidently.
“Your decision is made, isn’t it? Let’s discuss the details.”
Lao sighed, and then nodded his head firmly. Not only did the chaos represent opportunity, as Triezal had suggested, but it was also perhaps the greatest risk he had ever taken since arriving at the station.
“Fine, let us discuss it, Magister. Unlike the others, I have not lost my loyalty to our people. The true rulers of the Celans lie in Janaste, not Staive. But before we do, there is one thing I must note. This morning, the clan ordered us to pressure the Redwater Sect. Deuvar wished for us to avoid conflict with them, however.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Triezal replied. “Deuvar was right to talk the Riverfiend into leaving you be. Aside from the major forces, the Redwater Sect is perhaps the most dangerous group in the underworld, for the moment. Currently, I don’t have the chips to negotiate another deal with them. Not ones I wish to spend.”
Lao frowned.
“I’ve fought with the Riverfiend. His strength was admirable, but nothing exceptional enough as to warrant such praise from a Magister.”
“You’re forgetting about the others,” Triezal replied. “But their combat power isn’t the main issue. The Redwater Sect’s Vice Leader is a Shade.”
The larger man’s forehead wrinkled in astonishment.
“That can’t be right,” he said.
“You’ll have to take my word on it,” said Triezal, “but I can confirm that she is no less capable than any of ours. It is simply best not to involve ourselves with them unless we must.”
“A Shade…” Lao muttered, still filled with surprise.
“As I said, we’ll ignore them. I don’t expect them to involve themselves much for the foreseeable future, anyhow.”
“Then what is your plan?” Lao asked.
Triezal smiled once more, pulling a slate from within his robe and drawing some glyphs to bring up a map of the station.
“There are two major points we’ll need the most if we want the foundation for a pinnacle force. The Sikreis Queendom and the Titan bases. We’ll bide time, prepare ourselves, and wait for an opportunity, or, if one does not present itself…” He met Lao’s gaze, eyes intent. “We’ll have to make one.”
Perhaps Lao was right, thought Triezal, deep in the back of his mind. Perhaps he truly could not help himself. Just like the blade he held firmly strapped to his thigh, Triezal could not truly live unless shrouded in chaos. Complexity, danger, and chaos were the only ways to keep life interesting.
The Cult of Umrak: [The Cult of Umrak, despite its name, is less of a religion and more of a lifestyle. The Cult accepts members from all races, and is perhaps the most widespread religion in the galaxy save for Depthism. The cult was founded by the Osine Umrak, though Umrak is considered a respected teacher rather than a figure worthy of worship. Umrakians revere ‘celestial cycles,’ like that of a star, galaxy, or the universe itself. Their doctrine claims that Telles exists in the second universe, and that one had existed prior to the Big Bang. Umrakians have a tendency to live in communes together, in what they claim to be a ‘unified way of life’ unavailable to those who do not share their beliefs. They are vehemently defensive of their members, and some Umrakian Communes are known for becoming involved with the criminal underworld in order to increase their funds and defenses against outsiders. The cult is known to have access to hidden channels, and many believe the Osine members of the religion are funnelling arms and resources to its members across the galaxy. In the year 1616, Umrak left the explored territories for the unexplored depths of the Frontier Territory, claiming that they will found a ‘holy land’ for the religion’s members.]