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JULES
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The man turned around and walked back to the Fountain, through several Guards. A ghost?
“Here come the Guards. Just in time for your eulogy,” Katarina whispered. “They’ve been doing this all day, every day, for weeks.”
Jules lost sight of the ghost. “I don’t feel safe here,” he whispered back. He searched for the man again, but he was lost in the growing crowd.
A Preacher, adorned in billowy white robes and an excessive amount of fine jewelry, took the podium and commanded his audience. “Thank you all for answering the call of our Great Lord Salvos, Divine Spirit of Salvatica.” His voice boomed with the aid of a Rune, though his eyes did not glow. “We gather you again today to bring terrible news of our lands’ most cursed ailments, to reveal revelations brought forth from that Fateful Night!”
The Guards brandished their weapons and formed an arc around the Preacher.
"Really don't feel safe here," Jules whispered again.
The Preacher broke off his commanding presence to feign sorrow. “But first,” he bowed his head, “we must pray to the Vassals of Salvatica—the Seven Holy Virtues!” He gestured grandly to the Fountain.
“Kindness!” Katarina twitched.
“Chastity!” Cyrus stifled a chuckle.
“Charity…” The Preacher patted his heart in dismay. He bowed to the black pillar. “Our poor, poor Charity, lost to this world as but a babe by the evils wrought forth from the…Others.”
By your own kind, you rat. Still, he’s having a strong effect on this crowd.
“Temperance! Humility! Diligence! Patience!” Rukia growled inside Jules’ backpack.
“All sent from Heaven to protect us against the foul harbingers of the Apocalypse—the Others, the accursed Seven Deadly Sins.”
Cries and outrage erupted from the audience.
“Bastards!"
"Heathens!"
"Cowards!"
The Preacher gently calmed them down. Though certainly not quickly.
“Out Gracious Host, Salvos, gifted us the location of five of his Vassals on that Fateful Night…and for reasons incomprehensible to our wretched and undeserving souls, He has hidden the other two away from us. A part of His plan, I am sure.”
"See? Salvos is a dude," Cyrus whispered to them both. Katarina hushed him. Jules surveyed the crowd uneasily again.
“However, the devils of this world managed to hide the Seven Deadly Sins that night. Although we know where they were born from the pillars of light, they remain shrouded in darkness, in occluded obscurity, along with our dear Diligence and Patience."
And why is that?
“And yet, hear me still! Salvos has recently bestowed us with more of his Divine Wisdom! For he has revealed the location of one of the Dark Omens: Wrath!”
The crowd gasped and verged on the edge of riot. Jules threw up in his mouth and swallowed it. What the—How could they know who I am already?
“He unveiled himself two days ago in Coralhaven, a gentle, meek neighbor of our illustrious and holy city. And what was he doing there, you ask? Helping a criminal escape justice, no less!”
More outcries erupted. Criminal? Escape justice? Are they framing me, for what—
“Am I famous now?” Cyrus whispered.
"We should leave. Slowly."
“Can you imagine?” The preacher gave a wicked grin, clearly enjoying his captivated crowd’s attention. Jules shifted his weight. “Can you imagine a more fitting way for such a wretch to expose himself? After aiding Davy Jones himself—”
“I’ll take it from here, Preacher Marignol.” Another man walked onto the stage. So that’s their angle.
“Ah, yes. Yes, of course…” The Preacher reluctantly departed the stage, defeated.
The man from Jules' nightmares approached through the crowd, actually through them. He repeated his message. Shhh….
If he knows Rukia, and he's telling me to stay… But I can't wait much longer.
“Citizens of Aquilantis, I am Pastor Ezekiel, a representative of the Iron Maidens. This delicate situation is now in our hands.”
Something about this man…makes me hate him. Makes me want to…
He was a stout, middle-aged man with a commanding presence. He wore a hooded black robe with the Faith Rune inscribed on its back, and iron armor underneath it. Guess your faith can only protect you so much.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“I have just been given full station over Aquilantis, and all the Shattered Isles, actually, to fulfill our mission.” Hushed whispers—and the Maidens' propaganda—spread through the crowd. “We have reason to believe that your city is harboring not one, but two of the Deadly Sins.”
Katarina winced. The ghost held up a hand to Jules. Wait.
“How fuckin’ dare ye!” a man shouted. Other hecklers joined in from the crowd. A few Guards shifted their spears and swords.
“It is most likely that a Sin was born to Aquilantis, as is known from the pillar of light that night. It has been kept from the public at our decry, but we are releasing more information to the public now. That night so long ago, we located the home where the light came from, and we unfortunately discovered the parents, both dead and…”
Without thinking, Jules spun his head to face Envy. No, not Envy—Kat. Stay subtle, listen to the speech.
“...inside informant has assured us that the most recent revelation in Coralhaven is, in fact, Wrath.” The ghost was almost to Jules. “He was seen going east, right before Davy Jones sacked the town two days ago.”
People in the crowd questioned the information, demanded why it took so long to reach them, and how they could have wasted an entire day. The ghost stood beside Jules now. He glared at the Pastor with murderous intent, but said nothing.
“Coralhaven was struck by poor luck and unrest in the past few days. They had a Shrine appear, which fortunately drew in military and Navigators. They had troops to fight off Wrath, or who knows how many more would have perished? But Wrath’s power proved too much, and he froze the entire population. In the chaos, he led in the Fallen Alter with his Pirate crew to ransack what remained of the town. They had to fight for their lives first, so do not blame them.”
At least that part's true. Still, sweat dripped from Jules’ brow.
“Don’t acknowledge me, Jules,” the ghost said. “Only you and Rukia can see or hear me. Just nod if you put the collar on Rukia… OK, good.”
“We have received another blessing,” the Pastor continued. “We now have images from Memory Scripts of the culprits.” Two men each hoisted up a post and unfurled a banner between them.
Jules and Cyrus saw their images displayed in plain daylight, along with Rukia’s.
“Jules—it’s a trap, but—” Betrayal. Jules' thoughts drowned out the ghost's words.
Jules glared at Envy. She looks shocked, too.
“They haven’t… They’ve never shown these before,” she whispered.
“—so just continue to act like I’m not here,” the ghost said. “I can take them all.”
Jules and Cyrus lowered their heads, but it was too late. People around them had already noticed.
“Hey! Over here"
"They’re right here!"
The entire crowd now focused on Jules, Cyrus, and Katarina. Whiskers scurried away through the crowd. No time to think. If Rukia trusts him, I have to as well.
“Keep your eyes open,” the ghost warned. "Those Preachers aren't smart enough to lay this trap—" Jules grabbed Katarina’s hair and yanked her head backward. He drew a dagger to her throat and snarled at the crowd. "Someone else did.”
“Your turn to play the part,” Jules whispered to Katarina through gritted teeth. He saw the fear of Salvos in her eyes.
“Guards!” the Pastor shouted.
Guards surrounded them from all angles. Forty, no fifty. Shit. Jules’ Seal burned his chest, and his eyes flooded with red flames. Choose life, or choose death.
“If you wanted to find Wrath,” Jules threatened the Guards, “I think you’ll come to regret it.”
“Guards, capture him at all costs!” As in, forget about the hostage…
The Guards drew their weapons. They lowered spears and pikes at him and pointed bows and crossbows. One man even brandished a morning star. Someone sounded a battle cry, and the Guards charged.
From the corner of his eye, Jules saw the painter in the crowd finally lift up his brush and make a few quick strokes across his canvas.
> « Stop »
Every single person, animal, even leaves froze inside that plaza. Except for me. Katarina leaned back from his blade. "Kat? Can you mo—"
Jules froze mid sentence. He couldn't feel his heartbeat. Katarina didn't move, either. So this is what it felt like to Cyrus. Three times now. Cyrus and Katarina grunted.
The painter slashed a few more strokes across his canvas.
> « Obscure »
A semi-transparent black sphere radiated outward from the strange man until it encompassed the entire plaza. It stretched out past the Fountain of the Virtues, the cliffs below, and even some buildings beyond the cobblestone streets. Anyone who could have possibly been paying attention to the Iron Maidens and heard the damning news was inside the sphere.
> « Isolate »
The sphere’s transparency faded away quickly. The sea behind the Fountain faded away; so did the buildings beyond the sphere’s edge. Jules, and everyone else, were now trapped inside the massive black bubble.
The painter still sat at his easel.
In one hand he held his paintbrush, and in the other he gripped a traditional rounded painter’s palette. He flourished his hands through the air like some sort of eccentric maestro. He stood up and waltzed through the crowd to the podium. Every once in a while, he spun around. Just before the purple-haired young woman, he stopped. He bowed before her and reached out his hand.
Is he asking her to dance—like a puppet? The girl didn’t move. He scoffed at her and pretended to paint her face. He's toying with us all. Or maybe just me.
The painter zigzagged to the banner and studied its images for a while, then shook his head in disgust. “You call this art?” he shouted at the frozen Pastor.
He looked at Jules, then back to the banner. “Bullshit."
He looked at Cyrus, then back at the banner. "Bull…shit."
He studied Rukia on the banner. "Derivative!"
He dabbed his paintbrush on his palette and painted over the images of Jules, Cyrus, and Rukia. The painter whispered some Sylvan, incomprehensible to Jules. He changed their features so much that the group became unrecognizable. Rukia’s image was now a wolf.
He’s not just painting over the banner, his strokes don’t even match what’s being painted. Maybe he’s altering the fabrics of the magic itself, but how can he change someone’s memories?
The madman pranced through the crowd again, back to his chair. He studied Jules, flashed a grin, and adjusted his easel so it was completely out of Jules’ field of vision. The man flicked his brush around on the easel.
Not the canvas this time, he’s folding a note—Oh shit, he’s coming right to me.
“Nnnnn,” Jules mumbled. He sweat bullets. He couldn’t move or resist anything, couldn’t even look the maniac in the eyes.
He stopped just before Jules and executed a flamboyant, but most elegant, bow. Or curtsy, Jules wasn’t noble enough to know the difference. “Wrath,” he said as both an introduction and acknowledgement. “I come bearing gifts.”
He slipped the note inside Jules’ shirt, right over his heart, then patted it. My Seal. He straightened Jules’ shirt a little and dusted the dirt off his shoulder. He leaned in toward Jules' face, pinched a cheek, and tugged on it a little. Cheeky bastard.
The painter took a step back and threw his arms in the air, as if he were about to take a bow before an audience. “I’ve still got it!” he shouted to everyone and no one.
He inspected Cyrus next, just a quick study of his face. This guy has no personal boundaries, he’s practically right on Cy.
He moved on to Katarina, whose face was still frozen in fear, Jules' dagger still at her throat. This inspection lasted much longer; he looked over every inch of her body—exposed body, anyway. Jules felt his heart beat again when the painter examined Katarina’s left ear.
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