Green Sun, Black Shadows (CG/Exalted)

[GardenerBriareus]

BEHOLD, OUR FIRST PLAYER-CONTRIBUTED SOLAR!

Transcendence​

As she stepped into the former flophouse in the slums of Korigsberg, Sixtine Valerie Couture reflected that things were looking up now that she'd finally left France. Her homeland's legal system had been entirely too concerned with her affairs over the last few years; between the multiple attempted stings, the holds put on her primary accounts, and the warrant for her arrest, keeping hold of enough funds to obtain a fake identity that would stand up to Britannian scrutiny and still afford the requisite plastic surgery to make it work had been... hectic. Worse, she'd been forced to destroy her original equipment before setting off for Area 2; trying to negotiate a black market sale would have been far too risky at the time, and there was no way any of it would have been allowed through customs.

Still, the only aspect of Sixtine's work that was truly indispensable was Sixtine herself, and her assistant had already set up a perfect spot for her to rebuild in by the time she stepped off the plane. For now, nobody she'd be dealing with would know her as anything other than Alanna Miles, a professional therapist starting anew in Area 2 after her previous employer had been ruined by the fallout of a larger affiliate's embezzling; one of the finest forgers and electronic records-doctoring specialists in all of Europe had seen to it that no amount of official scrutiny would turn up anything to dispute that narrative, and an equally-skilled surgeon had collaborated to remove any aspect of her body that could give the game away.

Sixtine Valerie Couture – child prodigy, award-winning chemist, infamous ideologue, and seventh-most-wanted criminal in France – had been wiped from the face of the Earth. Now, Alanna would pick up where she left off.

And this time, she'd keep her priorities straight.


=========================================================================

"...like I've said, Dominic, the key to self-control lies in self-analysis, in picking apart the ways you think and feel and act to identify their origins. Society, both incidentally and intentionally, tends to submerge its participants' individual thought patterns beneath a glut of generalization and instilled group delusion. Your problems with excessive drinking are not a part of your essential self, no matter what your friends or employer would have you believe; it's merely the product of a harmful Kantian schema – the notion that 'all blue-collar Twos drink when they're not working'."

"I, ah, 'm not objecting, here, doc, but the other fellas're no stranger to knockin' back a few, and they're, well - heh - they're right as rain. If drinkin's bad brain juju, how cus' they be doin' so well, an' me so poor?"

"No need to be so apologetic, Dominic! 'The search for understanding is the hardest, and greatest, step on the road to knowing oneself'. To answer your question – the idea of the hard-drinking Two isn't universally harmful – after all, you know better than I that it can create strong sense of friendship and community – but you, and your friends, are all individual people; there may be similarities between your essential selves, but you are ultimately a singular existence. For them, knocking back fifths of whiskey at the Redling is a perfectly healthy behavioral pattern, in line with their essential selves.

"However, your essential self is ill-suited to that behavioral pattern, and when you seek to conform to it, that causes you to drink to excess, get into fights, and otherwise lose self-control. Then, that loss of control creates consequences that ripple outward to affect every aspect of your life, like your recent difficulties finding work."

"Aye! I see it now, I see it. Round peg, square hole!"

"That's exactly it, Dominic. Now, let's run with that analogy..."

Dominic Whisk was one of Sixtine's more low-maintenance clients: a barrel-chested day laborer who'd been recommended to her by his niece as a troubled man. Much as she might find his ill-formed grammar irritating, it was... nostalgic to work with a scarred-up bruiser after the surfeit of depressives, pill-poppers, closet cases, and other "soft touch" cases her new clinic had pulled in. After all, she'd practically cut her eyeteeth re-educating some of Luxembourg's premier pugilists, bouncers, and other usefully brawny lowlives; they'd practically been the backbone of her organization back then.

Boozing, fighting, indolence, lack of fiscal responsibility... their faults were gross, obvious things compared to the insidiousness of a firmly-entrenched delusion or societally-instilled pattern of incorrect thought, and far easier to redirect... or exploit.

She'd mostly done the latter back in Luxembourg. Eventually, though, a grainy dashboard recording of one of those burly enforcers beating a suspected informant into paste with a sledgehammer, weathering almost a dozen bullets from a nearby pair of police officers thanks to a hefty regiment of steroids, bone-hardening chemicals, and an experimental combat stimulant of her own design, and putting one of them in the hospital with multiple bone fractures before getting his brains blown out by the other had ended up becoming one of the top news stories in France.

The fallout of that particular object lesson had been a major wake-up call, and part of the impetus for her change of identities. She'd let herself get soft; worse, allowed her production and sale of illicit chemicals become a decadent, teetering criminal empire, when it was only ever supposed to be an easy source of funds. Thanks to that multi-year lapse of intellect, the name of Sixtine Valerie Couture would go down in history hand-in-hand with images of burning buildings, makeshift labs cobbled out of filthy tenement housing, and drug-addled thugs bashing fellow criminals' heads in with lead pipes at the behest of a narcissistic madwoman. The original goal – fixing people, fixing the world – had been lost under a tide of blood and government spin-doctoring

A truly pathetic period in my life, 'Alanna' thought to herself as Dominic scheduled his next session with her, but at least I learned something from it. Her new organization was still very much under construction, but it was being built properly this time. The old method of slapdash psychobabble and addictive drugs had been rather firmly relegated to the dustbin; her students would work for her efficiently, intelligently, and loyally, their eyes fully open to the true state of the universe and their place in it. This time, it would be about ideals first, all else second.

This time, it would work.


=========================================================================

Impossible!

She immediately chided herself on succumbing to such idiotic cliché, but still; this was impossible! Every angle had been considered and accounted for, every possible avenue of investigation countered, every shred of evidence carefully reattributed or destroyed! The only person in the Area who knew about her former life was her 'assistant' Arete, and she knew beyond all possible doubt that the girl was no more capable of betraying her than she was of independent thought!

SO HOW DID THIS SMUG FUCKING BITCH GET AN ENTIRE FOLDER OF INCRIMINATING EVIDENCE!?

"I'm sorry if this is upsetting for you, 'Miss Alanna'..."

The excessive amount of sarcasm applied to the phrase made Sixtine long for the chance to give the bitch a private dissertation on the use of tonal emphasis with correct proportion and context. Preferably with the aid of restraints, a gag, and arterial injections of Mixture 13-A-IV.

"... but on the other hand, someone with such a substantial criminal record doesn't really have the right to feel aggrieved when their misdeeds come back to haunt them."

The loathsome brown-haired slattern had walked into her private work space during off hours and laid down a folder whose contents tied Dr. Alanna Miles to Sixtine Valerie Couture, PhD without a word, instead using her mouth to form the most excessively self-satisfied, gauche, shit-eating grin Sixtine had ever seen in her life.

"Now, are you still capable of speech, or has my casual devastation of your ever-so-clever web of legal deception burnt out your higher functions?" As if trying to outdo her previous accomplishments in defiling every precept of measured emotional/intellectual/social expression, the intruder leaned over to place her palms flat on Sixtine's desk, in an effort at conveying both an expression of casual superiority, a reaction-provoking invasion of personal space, and an atavistic dominance display. Puerile, obvious, pathetic.

So why was it getting to her?

Forcibly shoving the idiot's incongruously effective posturing, Sixtine finally replied: "I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've been introduced, Miss...?"

"Ilisia da Faresette, though I'd think someone as supposedly accomplished as yourself would-" Again, the girl – 'Ilisia' – managed to accomplish much more than the execrable word choice and delivery should have been capable of against an experienced debater like herself. Still, the Faresette name was recognizable. They were the least of Korigsberg's four noble families; their heir was a young military type named Horatio, so this must be their second or third child...

"- but really, if you haven't managed to deduce why I'm here in person, rather than sending the authorities, then you really do live down to your peoples' stereotypes." Sixtine quickly ran back through what the arrogant chit had been blathering about in the last minute and change: mostly just insults aimed at Sixtine's intellect, competence, and ethnicity. Irrelevant. She'd settled on the most likely reason for the girl's visit over forty seconds ago.

"I thought it was self-evident, Miss Faresette. You're here to blackmail me."

"More or less. I think 'blackmail' is somewhat inaccurate, though. Simply put, I run your little operation now."

What. The actual. FU-

"You see, I don't plan to sit around the manor forever, and marrying myself off doesn't really appeal, either. No, I'm going to make my fortune doing what's natural – using worthless dregs like you and the Numbers you surround yourself with to gain the power and wealth I'm owed as a properly-bred Britannian.

So! From this day forward, I am in charge. I own the failures you've collected here, I own the drugs they make for you, I own whatever funds they've stockpiled for you, I own the public functionaries you've gained leverage over. I own everything you've created here and I. Own. You." The Britannian brat was practically salivating by the time she finished her monologue, which only underscored the boiling, blinding, furious hatred that had by this point consumed Sixtine.

Hatred for her arrogant assumption that the right to dictate others' lives was assigned by something as meaningless and base as whose womb she happened to tumble out of.

Hatred for daring to act as though Sixtine's achievements were lessened by that same meaningless matter of birth, or that she could easily be forced to participate in this childish power fantasy.

Hatred for being so unspeakably thick as to assume she could just walk in and 'take over' what Sixtine had built here, when even a child could discern that its existence was dependent on patience, prudence, careful manipulation, and other gifts that this useless fucking BRAT had not the slightest comprehension of, much less capacity for.

Most of all, hatred for the fact she couldn't figure out how to show this mewling, ugly little lump of offal how things really worked.

It was unbearable.

It was unforgivable.

It was -

-<{UNACCEPTABLE}>-


=========================================================================

Afterwards, Sixtine could never quite recall just what she said in response to Iliana Faresette's ludicrous attempt to subvert her organization. All that could be determined was that it was lengthy, it involved a careful dissection of the girl's personal history, thoughts, and beliefs... and by the end of it, Iliana had gone from a narcissistic fool drunk on her own imagined superiority to a trembling, broken thing, easily cowed and even more easily molded.

Her only prior point of comparison in such... forceful education had been in her first year of college, when she found herself simply unable to stomach the completely unacceptable behavioral patterns of her roommate Cecilia Victoire, and done things that, in retrospect, even Sixtine would admit were somewhat excessive. Things which had involved restraints, a stolen gurney, various equipment for monitoring heart, brain, and peripheral nerve activity, sensory deprivation devices, an IV of nutrients and various synthetic psychoactive drugs suspended in water, electrostimulation pads, and pre-recorded lectures on Cecilia's many incorrect patterns of thought and emotional connection, the necessity of correcting them, and a precursor to Sixtine's current model of therapeutic psychological adjustment methodology, being piped into Cecilia's ears through a set of noise-canceling headphones.

That "rehabilitation" had been a grinding, torturous struggle that lasted over four months, and by the end of it, she'd been left with something more akin to a very convincing chatbot in human skin than a functional human being; Cecilia was most decisively gone, and the being left behind had been so thoroughly broken that it no longer answered to her name or recognized her family. "Arete" had needed years of tutoring just to reach the point where she could emotionally handle the idea of doing something without Sixtine's direct supervision and instruction.

Iliana was still recognizably herself, could be safely returned to her old life without fear of her family realizing something was amiss, but was just as obedient as Arete. Just as thoroughly Sixtine's creature, and nobody else's. Yet with Iliana, the entire process had taken four days from start to finish.

Even without Iliana's desperately eager explanation of the world's hidden features, Sixtine understood that a metamorphosis had taken place in that office; she had ascended from a being forced to struggle with minutiae and prosaic obstacles, into something higher, purer. She had unlocked the capacity to dismiss such things entirely, brush aside the fumbling mistakes of yesterday and replace it with the sublime perfection she'd always sought.

She could understand why the "Dragonbloods" that Britannia's rulership was apparently infested by would denounce transcendent individuals like herself in their private, primitive religious dogma. After all, ordinary people were already prone to a thousand vices, failings, and acts of self-delusion; for such prosaic souls to be granted supernatural power, allowed to lord it over their fellows, and then confronted with their own infantile corruption by inherently superior beings... well, they responded to that opposition by throwing a tantrum, like the spoiled children they were.

Still, however had such dross managed to gain dominance over the world? A question worth pondering later.

For now, she had a city to fix.

 

[forginblade]

Hey guys, it's been a while. So a couple of weeks ago I started writing for this quest again, with the idea of starting something of a series that would explore the various changes between canon Exalted (and Code Geass eventually) and the GS/BS AU as well as showing what has been going on 'behind the scenes' in the past few years. Four omakes have as of now been completed (and vetted by @Alexander89), so enjoy.

The end of an era

-7 years prior to the Exaltation of the Marshal of the Althing Infernal-​

The seal that had separated the Underworld from the rest of Creation was failing, on the verge of collapsing all together. The perpetrators unknown and still at large, no doubt.

That small piece of news, a mere twenty one words was all that was necessary to send Yu Shan, the stronghold of the Celestial Bureaucracy and the most magnificent city in all of Creation, into a panic the likes of which hadn't been seen since, well, since the Twin Cataclysm.

Venerable Corbel, Chosen of the Maiden of Secrets, had seen and experienced a lot ever since he had been welcomed into the Heavenly city nearly sixty years ago, from the petty grudges of the senior gods resulting in audits and outright executions in all but name of their lessers all the way to parties whose debauchery and hedonism that would have left even the wildest Wood aspected Dragonblooded blush.

He vividly remembered facing a Celestial audit, a criminal Celestial audit, for wearing a green robe in the vicinity of a coke-snorting party where the dress code seemed to have been exclusively made up by sheer, red togas. A party which was hosted by some high ranking member of the Heavenly Army. If Corbel wasn't one of the most promising newcomers to the archives of the Forbidding Manse of Ivy he doubted that Luxana would have interceded on his behalf.

What Corbel was trying to convey was that he knew Yu Shan well enough to not be so impressed by the opulence of even its side-alleys that he would be ignorant of the rot and corruption that pervaded through its godly denizens. And yet, not even being the victim of their small-minded discrimination and petty feuds was enough for Heaven to lose its grandeur and beauty. In fact to Venerable Corbel it only enhanced the good parts even further. Their politicking only enhanced the beauty of the dragons gliding tens of kilometers above the ground, if only by sheer contrast. The destitute and homeless that seemed to grow in number by the day still couldn't extinguish the luster of the streets. As cruel and cynical as it made him seem, it was that dichotomy that truly made Corbel fall in love with the city of Yu Shan.

And now, not a speck of that remained. The beauty that justified the neglect and horror was gone.

The shadowlands had returned and where the gods and their servants weren't rioting they had boarded up their palaces and manses. Or they retreated into the slums to try and hash out a deal with the sympathizers of the Yozi or committing arson to the public bathhouses or... or... There was too much happening all at once. The Celestial Lions couldn't keep up and some of them have disappeared altogether. Whether it was because they knew what way the wind was blowing or if they had been killed by one of the countless angry mobs, who would ever know.

There was no telling how bad things were getting in Creation proper and all that these divine buffoons were accomplishing was cocking things up on this side of the gateways as well, giving people like him even more work to do.

For fear of the second coming of the Great Contagion all sixty gateways and all unofficial passages to Creation had already been closed. So if the historical fear of the Contagion is all it took to paralyze the gods to this extent, it would befall on the Exalted to figure out what's going on and deal with whatever would stand in their way. Just like they always have.

"So that is where you were hiding, Corbel. For a guy who spends as much time in the archives you sure are good at not being found." With a trail of yellow light evaporating right behind him, the owner of the voice gracefully landed on the pavement, his ever present briefcase slung over his shoulder.

"We've already lost too much time with the bureaucrats' dithering and panicking, but with the intervention of all of the Sister Maidens we can finally go out and investigate what is happening back on Earth." The name of the redhaired Vizier was Sagacious Vagrant. Six thousand years ago, when their former incarnations had plotted to overthrow the godkings of the world, the ones who hadn't agreed to the coup d'état had been slaughtered by their peers and comrades. The shattering of the Mask and the curse upon Creation that followed, the Shogunate whose only virtue was that they didn't have the power or industry to truly threaten the fabric of Creation like the Solars had and the Great Contagion and the Balorian Crusade, the coup de grace that had spelled the end for Creation as it had been devised by the Primordials of old, the blame for all of that had been placed at the feet of the Sidereals, and the ruling Bronze Faction most of all.

There hadn't been a single point in history that the entire Sidereal host had been united under the Bronze Banner. Some refused them for the grudges of their predecessors had been inherited right alongside their Exaltation, others because they believed that the Vision of Gold had been the right answer all along. And then there had been those who considered the past to be irrelevant and were spending every waking moment with dealing with the ten thousand problems that plagued the Creation that was now Earth. The former of the groups unified themselves as the Gold Faction, more interested in sabotaging the Bronze at every turn rather than even considering their greater mission. And finally, smallest of the three with less than a dozen members were the Independents. Corbel belonged to the last group and Vagrant was the closest thing they had for a leader.

"It seems like Gudleifr managed to convince a hundred or so of his Brittanian 'retirees' to help out and a battalion of the Crimson Panoply as well. Even so, we're still dramatically shorthanded. I'm afraid that, aside from a skeleton crew, the entirety of the Bureau of Destiny will go to Creation proper to investigate the sudden reemergence of over a thousand Shadowlands spread out all over the map. As we cannot afford any further delays we will mostly be operating solo. You are to investigate the Shadowland located in the Black Forest. I will soon make way for Ghana." Then the imposing man paused a small trickle of doubt and worry marring his features. "I am sorry Corbel, this is all I could do for you."

Seeing the man who could win staring contests with Department heads and outmaneuver the heads of both the Bronze and the Gold Factions on a yearly basis apologize so pitifully was too much for Corbel. A short laugh, more like a bark really, escaped his lips.

"Come now, Vagrant, when have you ever been so formal with me before? Just let that usual lackadaisical genius side of you that I call friend out to play."

"What are you talking about, Corbel. I'm all but dropping you in the middle of life-threatening danger. A complete unknown that we haven't gotten any reliable info on for the past fifty centuries. Why shouldn't I be worried for a known disaster in all matters battle-related like you?" Vagrant didn't raise his voice, yet the agitation within it was almost palpable.

"Come now, you said it yourself. I am very good at not being found. Besides, southern Germany is perfect, I was already planning on checking up on Aldric. So if you'll excuse me I'll just go and pack my bags. I'll make sure that my first report will be waiting on Luxana's desk first thing next week."

And with that said Corbel made way for his apartment. He could go for some excitement.

xXx

-1 week later-​

He had had enough excitement for the next decade. The investigation had gone topsy turvy almost from the very beginning. It had been rather suspicious how that band of war ghosts and zombies had immediately zeroed in on his position and effortlessly driven him into an open field with another band already in position to bury him under the weight of their necrotech missiles. Not that that had really mattered in the face of the charms of the Corpse constellation that Corbel had so rigorously studied in the past. He had assumed, surrounding himself with a field that annihilated the undead and being able to draw his stormspitter faster than any of his foes could throw their spears or shoot their arrows, he would be relatively safe.

And then she had shown up.

Corbel should have known better, but finding a dragonblooded woman in the middle of a shadowland had been a relief. Throughout the many years in which they had been guided to create empire after empire, and set up against one another as one of many wargames devised by the gods, the dragonblooded had been steadfast allies of Creation. Corbel knew that many dragonblooded had already been sent out to investigate the shadowlands, so to find a straggler, who could tell him more about what was going on was a godsend. Pun not intended.

That had lasted right up to the point that she had buried her dagger in his side. Even if he would never be a martial arts grandmaster, Corbel had still undergone rigorous training from a centuries old sidereal from the Crimson Panoply, training that kicked in when the woman hurled a Wood-elemental Bolt at him. She was too close and he too shocked to fully dodge the essence-enhanced toxin, but the bolt only clipped him on the shoulder rather than hit him head on. For a moment it looked like he could get away, crawl his way back to safety and warn the others.

And then the dark essence that had been sprawled all over the clearing latched onto his leg and it was as if his life was being sucked away by the taint. It was only then that Corbel noticed the odd metal spheres circling around her and the sparks of necrotic essence that they gave of. Somewhere deep inside him, Corbel knew that getting hit by those would be the end of him.

Truth be told, Corbel wasn't quite sure how he managed to escape from not only that predicament, but also leave the shadowland whole as well. How, despite the severity of his injuries and his severely diminished essence respiration, courtesy of the black essence that had seeped into his leg entirely, he had somehow crawled all the way into the small village of Binzen and convinced the spooked citizens to part with some of their food and give the poor tourist who had narrowly escaped that freak landslide some shelter for the night.

Nevertheless, since that first encounter he had seen neither hide nor hair of the undead or the dragonblooded traitor. Three days ago he had send his report for Luxana along with the god of a local grove. That woman, when had she gone over to the deathlords? Dragonblooded were incapable of Necromancy and had no affinity whatsoever with the underworld. Could she have truly been seduced mere days after the connection between the two realms had been reopened? Had she been in contact with the Nephwracks or even more horrible servants of the Neverborn, corrupted by their necromancy?

Corbel wasn't sure which of the two was worse. But if nothing else he had made sure to describe the woman and the necrotic steel orbs, as well as the homing necrotic essence sludge, as exhaustively as possible. And he made sure to mention the possibility that it was enhanced with an illusion like effect that made other people ignore it. Some might have accused him of covering his own ass, but he was a member of the Forbidden Manse of Ivy. Who was Luxana going to believe?

"How are you doing Corbel? Still no progress with the necrotic essence infection?" The redhaired teen that had been sitting next to Corbel's bed had obviously had enough of the silence.

"No Aldric, I can feel my personal Essence reserves slowly filtering the taint away, but even the most optimistic of prognoses still say that I'll be clustered to this bed for the next month."

"But why? Even if it is with a limp, it's not like you can't walk. And even if you couldn't, there should be no reason why you couldn't find a local to drive you to the nearest gateway to Yu-Shan. Wouldn't it make more sense for you to recuperate within the safety of Heaven rather than mere miles from the border of the shadowland?"

"Aldric, you don't understand how chaotic things currently are in Yu-Shan. There is anarchy and mass riots in the streets due to the mere possibility that the Great Contagion might have returned. What do you think would happen if one of their agents returned with an obvious necrotic taint all over their leg? I'd be lucky if the Celestial Lions tore me to shreds out of sight of the gates." The newly named Aldric winced but then nodded in understanding.

Even amongst the mortals that Corbel had encountered and befriended amongst the decades Aldric had been special. Not because of his position or his knowledge and certainly not for his mastery in some crucial discipline, but rather for what the pattern spiders had foretold him.

Aldric Straub was the first of several that was destined to hold his Exaltation.

This happened occasionally. Normally, so long as one steered clear of those forces that entangled the weave of fate they would know when and where and how they would die and what would happen with their children and their children's children, a thousand generations in the future if they felt so inclined. So too should it be for the Sidereal Exalted, yet because of the forces that they usually encountered and their own essence expenditures they could never be sure when their exaltation would pass on to their next host.

And thus, as a precaution, those who could potentially become their next incarnation were born every once in a while. More often than not they lived uneventful lives as the current Sidereal outlived them, but that didn't make them any less important than they actually were.

To most other Sidereals, their potential successors didn't matter, they were more interested in surviving in the here and now. But not Venerable Corbel. Because if there is one thing that Corbel prided himself in, it would be making back-up plans.

It was a bit more manipulative than he was comfortable with, but if he died tomorrow from an assassination masterminded by one of his colleagues or rivals, he would want for his successor to hold the same values that he holds and to not be seduced by either the Bronze or the Golden propaganda. Like Malfeas he would let his next incarnation be a bigoted, narrow-minded fool who cared more about politics than getting the job done. And if that meant building good relations with the pattern spiders and all but indoctrinating young children as he stripped their enviable ignorance away, so be it.

To be honest, it hadn't been difficult to approach Aldric all those years ago and get him on his side. In fact, getting to know Aldric had been almost as much fun as becoming friends with Vagrant had.

"Well, talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place. And I guess you're going to decline moving further away from the shadowland because..."

"Because I've been assigned to this area and leaving early during this time of crisis will be sufficient grounds for a criminal audit, perhaps even of the fifth rank if the censor is feeling cranky that day. Now off you go, Aldric. There is no reason for you to stay here. This old geezer is more than happy that you've taken the time to visit me at my sickbed."

"Sure, old geezer, I'll leave in a couple of hours. It's not like I have to hurry, what with it taking another, what, five hours, before dusk starts to set in. If those zombies even try to take a step beyond that border they would just evaporate. Besides, it's not like ther has been a serious incident for the past three weeks. So really if they haven't changed their M.O. after your investigation, I don't see why they would start now."

Because that would definitely explain the military like discipline and tactics that those ghosts showed. To be truthful, Corbel very much wanted to leave the place behind him and get as far away as he could, but something in the back of his head kept nagging at him. If only he could put his finger on it.

"Anyways, don't think I've forgotten about your promise from last time, Corbel. You were going to tell me about Sperimin, the capital of Sorcery. I'm not going to let you weasel out of your promise this time."

"Well, to be fair, there is not a lot left of Sperimin's sorcerous history ever since Raksi happened to it and renamed it to Mahalanka." While it had all happened centuries before Corbel's exaltation, the final stand of Raksi was still spoken off in the hallways of the Forbidden manse of Ivy and actually retaking Sperimin had been the work of several decades all on its own.

Raksi, the whole affair, or rather the aftermath, still left a bad taste in his mouth. Not only for the shortsighted and brutal way that it had been handled and the sheer amount of knowledge that had been lost through it, but mostly for the solution that the Bronze and Gold faction had presented to counter said loss. In his personal opinion it could only be described as vile and inhumane, but unfortunately he was too low on the totem pole to affect that piece of a faction-based dick measuring contest.

If nothing else, he wasn't going to saddle Aldric with that.

"Seriously, are you sure you don't want to switch over to archeology? Because you're never this vehement when we discuss medicine." Aldric's playful glare got a chuckle out of him and so Corbel finally started talking about Sperimin.

Even though he had visited the awe-inspiring ruins only once, his words were enough that Aldric felt like he was walking through those streets himself.

It was when he was talking about the tower that had once housed the Book of Three Circles, Raksi's place of dwelling, that he noticed something was wrong.

A quick glance out of the window revealed the sun with nary a cloud in sight, still a ways away from slinking beneath the horizon. It would still be a couple of hours before night arrived. What was it? It was not the magic of the Crow that had clued him in, that much Corbel was certain of.

What was it? A month ago, before the sundering of the seal, he would have dismissed the feeling out of hand, but not now. Not with what he had seen and experienced.

Before he became consciously aware of it, Corbel had leapt out of his bed, falling gracelessly on his back just as a massive, rotting doglike monster burst out of the wooden floor, a trio of lethal pincers that jutted out of its jaw crushing the bed that he had moments before laid in. As the barking disgrace to all that was good and holy in the world turned around Corbel allowed his Essence to flow down into the barrel of his handgun that had never left his side since descending onto Earth. Before the necrotech monster could realize that there was a third being in the room, Corbel had already buried a trio of bullets into its pus-oozing skull. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, the monster fell down, its corpse tumbled back down the hole it had just before made.

"Aldric, move away from that door. Now!" The youth, still shocked from the sudden attack, instinctively did as Corbel had ordered him to do. With a few hisses and grunts Corbel managed to get back up on his feet, eyeing both the hole leading to the house's living room as well as the flimsy door that couldn't withstand the efforts of a single skeleton, let alone whatever nightmares were out prowling.

His tainted leg felt like it was made out of lead and his Essence stores could barely be considered half full and that was bad enough without mentioning the non-combatant that needed protection.

The window shattered as a crow-like undead abomination divebombed its way into the room, but this time Corbel was prepared for it. If it had still been capable of it, the crow construct would have shrieked in surprise as a gale of purple Essence slammed into its head right after Corbel's Essence bullet pierced its skull, in the wink of an eye reducing the body to dust.

The undead. How had they managed to pinpoint his location this accurately? Was the taint also a beacon?

From behind the door stifled shouts and growls were easily heard, leaving him with only one real option.

"Aldric, grab my arm and support my body. We're busting through that door and getting out of this place."

And he so hated confronting his foes head-on too.

Just as they reached it, the door vanished in a cloud of splinters and wet sawdust. The hallway was packed to the brim by war ghosts and hungry ghosts like sardines in a can and thus, somewhat unsurprisingly came crashing down on the hapless duo like a pack of starving wolves on an injured rabbit.

And promptly met their second end as a hurricane of purple scythed them down like wheat.

Aldric didn't slow down, all but carrying Corbel down the weakened stairs, pretending very hard not to notice the half-devoured bodies of the elderly couple that had owned the house. But the same could not be said for the sight that greeted the two from outside the broken remains of the house's front door.

The rays of the Unconquered Sun visibly bent in the sky, a sickly looking rainbow covering the sky like a mantle as the light was diverted to elsewhere, or perhaps truly to Elsewhere, leaving the ground below illuminated only by a drab grey unlight, not unlike that...of...a shadowland... Those bastards!

"They've somehow expanded the borders of the Shadowland to encompass this town, although I've no idea how they managed that in a mere week without a mass genocide." Corbel whispered to Aldric, but the younger of the two just stood frozen, cold sweat dripping from his brow and the rest of his body in copious amounts. Corbel was sure that if Aldric wasn't deliberately holding his breath the teenager would be hyperventilating.

Unfortunately Aldric's vain attempts at discretion were for naught. The attention of every last ghoul and ghost was now resting solely on them.

"Aldric! Keep moving! Get us to a car and don't look back." Corbel's voice snapped Aldric out of his silent hysteria and, as if the devil was breathing down his neck, he started running, dragging Corbel's body along like it weighed nothing.

In the ten seconds that it took for Aldric to drag Corbel's injured body to his car, the ghouls and ghosts had torn their way to them, all too willing to tear them to shreds before the first wave of arrows could do just that.

Once more Corbel invoked the winds of Saturn, more hurricane than gale, on them. By this point Jupiter's sigil was shining as brightly as ever on his forehead, his emerald essence cloaking him and Aldric as much as the purple hurricane. The charm made the surviving undead stop for a couple of seconds to regain their bearings, more than enough time for the two to get in the car, which had by now been peppered with arrows.

Aldric fumbled with his keys and, seeing the creatures from his nightmares leaping onto the old car he had rented a few days ago, dropped them. Yet he didn't freeze up and instantly dove below the dashboard, not to pick the keys up, but to rip a cover off, revealing a mess of brightly colored wires. With practiced ease he pulled two of them out and made the ends touch, bringing the roaring engine of the old bucket of bolts to life and floored the gas pedal like his depended on it.

Several ghouls and ghosts had managed to grab onto the car. With a lurch Aldric rammed the car against a massive truck, but even as their screeching, undead bodies were torn away from the car, their wriggling hands and limbs were left behind, as were the tires torn apart, the windows shattered and the engine exposed to be wrecked as well.

And for a third time Corbel's charm came to the rescue, pushing the ghosts away even as Saturn's touch dispersed their being. Even as Corbel's anima seemingly drenched the car and the nearby surroundings a deep green a small measure of peace and calm had returned to the two.

For a couple of minutes neither of the two said a word. With all tires ripped to shreds Aldric had some trouble keeping the car going straight, but not even the shaking and rumbling of the car could distract them from the elephant in the room any longer.

"We aren't getting any closer to the border, are we?" Aldric's whisper was barely audible above the ruckus of the car, yet for the Exalted and the mortal it might as well have come from a megaphone. They must have crossed at least three kilometers by now, yet the gray landscape and the rainbow sky seemed to be stretching out faster than they were driving.

Both men's eyes shot wide open and turned their heads to look behind them, so fast that their necks were on the verge of snapping.

The shadowland was moving. It was only when he looked back that Corbel realized how small it actually was, probably no more than four or so square kilometers, it had already left the town of Binzen far behind it.

The only way something like that could happen was if a necromancer managed to attach the appropriate spell to an artefact. But the sheer power and scale of such a sorcery, it would have to be of the Labyrinth circle, perhaps even the theoretical Void circle.

Corbel would have observed the impossibility further and tried to figure out whether they had managed to subvert a Lunar as well to make something like that, but all those thoughts were thrown right out of the window as Aldric dragged him down right before what was left of the roof and windows was ripped apart.

The car swerved around uncontrollably and before Corbel even managed to get a look at the one that had wrecked Aldric's car even more the vehicle had already flipped over, catapulting the both of them away.

Not allowing the rough landing to distract him for even a second Corbel instantly got back on his feet just in time to see the flaming wreck of their car collide with a trio of hungry ghosts, catapulting the entire lot off the road.

It didn't take long for their position to be swamped by even more ghosts and ghouls who, for some reason, seemed content to just watch the two from a small distance. Completely surrounded both the living and the undead had their attention grabbed by the roar of a motorcycle closing in on them.

Corbel instantly recognized the rider as the dragonblooded that had injured him a week ago, her toxic anima poisoning the air and seeping into the asphalt. Had she... had she ordered the undead present to not continue their assault until she had arrived? They were after all deferring to her and were not using their previous highly effective formations.

She drove past them and stopped a few meters ahead of them, flashing a diabolical smirk at Corbel whilst completely ignoring Aldric. Needless grandstanding, wasting troops, ignoring the mortal for the Exalt? All of it reminded Corbel of a baby exalt who couldn't have taken their Second Breath more than a couple of weeks ago and still considered themselves to be invincible.

As she approached them, most likely to gloat and demand a 'duel' to restore her honor, Corbel noticed that she had left the engine of her motor running. He could feel the exhaustion piling up deep inside him and his Essence reserves getting dangerously low, but that didn't mean he was down and out of the count. After all, it's not like miss dragonblooded of the underworld was aware of his priorities. Soundlessly, Corbel leapt.

"Take the bike and leave! I'll catch up to you."

Aldric, as if running on autopilot, ignored the undead and the violet whirlwind that banished them. By the time he would regain even a shred of his higher thinking processes he would be far away from the battleground.

The Wood aspect shrieked as an essence bullet slammed into her shoulder. But even as the pain momentarily overwhelmed her mind, she still managed to easily dodge Corbel's other bullets. He had evaded her before, even if he had paid the price if his limping leg was any indication. For all his wiliness he couldn't avoid the essence bolt that had slammed into his good leg. With a sickening crunch Venerable Corbel went down.

For a moment Corbel's face was distorted with pain, but that was swiftly replaced with one of absolute, essence induced calm and determination as he kept firing on the undead masses. By this point the entire area was colored green.

Another bolt crashed into his abdomen, but it was only when he was dogpiled by a group of war ghosts that he stopped shooting, mostly because they had taken his gun, alongside several of his fingers, away from him.

The female exalt was mad beyond description. She had planned to taunt and torture the uppity Sidereal a bit, maybe mutilate and desecrate his body a bit, but nothing too bad. She would have even made his hungry ghost into her pet, how much more generous could she be? But at this point the fucker would be ecstatic if she stopped with smelting his souls into soulsteel after a decade of torture. With a nod one of the war ghosts crushed Corbel's intact hand. He didn't so much as whimper.

With an utterly bland look Corbel watched as his foe kicked him in the crotch, leaving it a bloody smear. His mind was fully devoted to the streams of essence whose choir filled his heart and soul. He had to find the artefact that was maintaining the shadowland.

There. The necklace depicting a raven's head.

She had moved on to his useless legs, leaving him with a perfect sight of the target. The war ghost holding his arm didn't notice the slight shifting underneath him, nor how the stump that was only a third of his index finger was now directly pointing at his mistress.

"Excuse me? There is something I believe you have to be made aware of, before it is too late."

Astonished and confused the woman stopped her kicking spree and looked quizzically at Corbel, silently demanding for him to spit it out and let her get back to her stress relief therapy.

"The whole seductress warrior style you seem to be cultivating, it's just not working. If you really want for me to feel even somewhat intimidated, you'll have to add a whole heap of pink and unicorn imagery to your ensemble." And then he shot.

It was a perfect hit, tearing the necklace from her neck, pulverizing nearly half of it and leaving an angry red streak right beneath the collar bone.

It was with a massive grin etched on his face that Corbel saw the pseudo Shadowland quickly dissolve, the shrieking of the ghosts around him the most beautiful symphony he had ever born witness to.

His essence reserves had finally depleted themselves. The shaking form of his adversary was on top of him, the war ghosts having evaporated into mist.

Her foot rose.

All that would be found of Corbel's head was a blood-splattered crater.

xXx

-Several weeks later-​

It had happened two hours ago when he had made a breakthrough in his research on shadowlands and the underworld. It was right when he worked out how the temporary shadowland that he and Corbel had been trapped in worked (a slowed down version of the necromantic spell 'Door of the Dead', through which the underworld could be imposed on the realm of the living so long as the artefact remained intact, theoretically even capable of creating a permanent shadowland if held long enough near an already existing one) that Aldric noticed that his study had turned bright green.

Corbel had talked about when he had drawn his Second Breath, safe within the confines of Yu-Shan. He hadn't believed Corbel when he described those first few moments after exalting, the sheer rush that made his mind blank out when the raw awesome might of the very foundation of the universe started coursing through his veins.

If anything Corbel had understated it. Bubbling beneath his skin was every last drop of plasma from the core of the sun, he could hear every wave of every sea and ocean, see the full light spectrum as the least gods danced and sang the laws of physics into existence. It was as if he would simultaneously expand to cover the entire universe and shrink down until a quark was a million million times the size of him.

It was glorious and humbling.

And then it was over. Oh sure, the raw power was still there, twisting and turning and demanding for Aldric to use it, to carve his legend onto the world, to unravel the secrets of the universe and all that lied beyond it, but now at least he felt like he was in control once more. Now that he had experienced it for himself it would be inconceivable for Aldric to not tap into those reserves again and soar through the skies of possibility, but his 'revelation' had made him work up quite a sweat. Which was why he had jumped in the shower and let the water just rain over him for over an hour before getting out of the shower and getting dressed.

It was only when Aldric had entered the living room to get to his study that he noticed the presence of the older redheaded man, who was calmly sipping from a cup of tea.

"Hello, Aldric. This may be the first time we've met, but I was good friends with Venerable Corbel. We talked about you quite often. I am Sagacious Vagrant, one of the Sidereal Exalted. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, face to face." The newly revealed Vagrant waved at Aldric shortly and set the tea cup back on its plate.

Aldric didn't respond. While Corbel had talked about Vagrant before, that didn't mean that the man in front of him was who he claimed to be. Vagrant, getting the hint, continued.

"I won't lie here, the situation in Yu-Shan is rather dire at the moment. Corbel's report turned out to be of critical importance as we have discovered a massive cell of Neverborn sympathizers amongst the dragonblooded in all parts of the world. The knowledge that the so-called Deathlords have gained possession of such a large amount of terrestrial soldiers is bad. But that these traitors have aided the nephwracks into killing almost three dozen good Sidereals, most who were in their third or fourth century with over a dozen still MIA? Yu-Shan is not the place to be for the time being. The leaders of the different factions and secret societies are drawing the lines in the sand. Now that we face the hour of our greatest peril they don't care about uniting and setting their differences aside. They will be fighting a shadow war to obtain as many of the new recruits as they can, everything short of fighting openly in the streets will be seen as reasonable.

"Truth is, Aldric, that even if I had never heard of you before today I do not want you to be thrown into that den of vipers, especially when you carry a third of my dear friend's soul within you. I've erased the records of your exaltation, which should grant you a couple of years whilst the dust settles and the dozens of new Sidereals get acquainted with the Divine Bureaucracy. Stay away from that den of madness and do whatever you want to do. Without having the likes of Gudleifr Ragnadagr and Concealed Clawing Catacomb looking over your shoulder you'll probably be doing more good for Creation as a whole than if you were part of the system."

What he said sounded a lot like how Corbel had described the Bureau of Destiny and Yu-Shan in general, but it was somewhat sad that the first thing that had come to Aldric's mind was that it made for a good excuse to isolate him from a source of potential support and safety.

But Vagrant was right. He hadn't even celebrated his twentieth birthday yet, so being thrown blindly in a mess of such epic proportions could only end with him either dead in a ditch or as one of many pawns in a pointless game of chess.

"Sagacious Vagrant, sir, the only thing we have in common is that we both had the pleasure of being able to count Corbel as one of our friends. Even so, thank you. You have most likely saved my life by your quick thinking and there is no way that I could thank you enough, but still, from the bottom of my heart, thank you." And Aldric bowed deeply. Sagacious Vagrant looked away, a bit of red coloring his cheeks. He had always been bad with formality.

"None of that now, we're peers, fellow chosen of the Maidens of the Constellations, you owe me nothing, really." And then Vagrants eyes widened a bit and he dug briefly in his leather briefcase. "No, no, I should really throw that away before it makes the entire case smell rancid, no, no, ah there we go." And as Vagrant stopped mumbling to himself he pulled a cuff, a starmetal stormspitter, and two boxes out of his briefcase, one slim and ornate and the other a simple one made out of carton.

"Before you ask, these were the belongings that Corbel had set aside for his next reincarnation, i.e. you. The gun is not the same one that he used during his assignments, that has gone missing."

"That woman..."

"Yeah, that was our conclusion as well. Galling that a memento of one ours will be used against us in the future, but until the chaos dies down a bit there is nothing much we can really do. The bigger box contains over a hundred specially designed bullets and the other works as a permit or invitation into Yu-Shan. Finally, attuning yourself to the cuff will let you transform it into whatever outfit you want, with a handy defensive bonus on top of it. Take them and disappear, I'll be able to find you and help you whenever you need me." And with that the elder exalt closed his briefcase and stood up.

"Oh, and before I forget, swing by Lytek when you find the time, he was quite interested in meeting you. Something about how Corbel's exaltation was giddy and exuberant to join you." To that all Aldric could was stare. "Yeah, he has always been somewhat eccentric when it comes to 'his' exaltations. He's a good guy otherwise." Then, with a final wave and a flash of yellow light, leaving Aldric once more alone in the room. Just like Corbel had described Vagrant: he really comes and goes like the wind.

With a wry smile the newly exalted boy surveyed the living room of his late parents' house.

"Oh well, at least I'm not so attached to this place that I can't bear leaving it. Now then, let's see how much is true about those increased learning capabilities."

It would after all be such a shame if he didn't finish those medical texts and textbooks before taking the world by storm, wouldn't it?

 

[forginblade]

This one takes place sometime in between Corbel's deployment into southern Germany and Aldric's Exaltation.

Moon smirks

-7 years prior to the Exaltation of the Marshal of the Althing Infernal-​

"Two hundred eighty, two hundred eighty one, two hundred eighty...oh no, never mind that's part of hundred thirty five."

"You know, Vince, counting the cracks on the walls out loud is not exactly helping the situation." The girl who spoke up with her cracked and throaty voice hadn't even bothered to push herself off the floor, carefully nursing her awkwardly bent arm. "Especially what with you having started over for the third time now."

"Bianca..."

"Don't start Vincent. Those fucking animals have finally left us alone so if it's alright with you, I'd like to get some shut eye before we go for 'cruel and unusual torture by goatfuckers: round fourteen'." Richard, the biggest of their group of four and also the most likely member of a coffee-based cult amongst them, couldn't keep the wheeze of disappointment and despair out of the tone of his voice.

"Quit your bellyaching and stop acting as if the ogres and the frenzied are gonna sacrifice us to Oblivion. Yes we got caught before finding out anything of real use and have gotten very well acquainted with the feeling of rusty and dull pliers being forced through our salted wounds, as well as dozens of other tortures that the Lunars have put us through, but if that was all it took to crush my spirit and accept the hopelessness of this all, the Dragons would not have bothered exalting me and I know that that is the case with all of you as well. Now grit those teeth and stop whining like a five year old. Bianca, how is Dimi?"

Almost by habit, the sole girl dragonblooded's eye fell on the still and clammy figure of the last person in the cave-like cell. Dimitri, as he was called, had been handled the roughest amongst them all, most likely to show the others that they were expendable and would be disposed of if they didn't talk. The only thing their Lunar captors got out of them were dirty limericks and animal-related puns.

The broken bones had been worth it.

"His breathing and heart rate are even and some color has returned to his cheeks, but I'd rather not wake him. Right now, at least, he's free from the pain."

"So not as good as I'd hoped, but far better than what I'd feared. Everybody get up, Richard, can you carry Dimi? Because we're getting out of here." The other two conscious teens stared at Vincent incredulously.

"Vincent, if you weren't Fire aspected I'd ask how you could have been smoking your own anima, but for Pasiap's sake: how?"

"Hey, Sextes Jylis is my second most favorite Immaculate Dragon. But I have been paying attention to our surroundings and know where the exit is. If we throw a combined a combined bolt attack at that piece of wall," and he pointed at a part littered with a spidery pattern of cracks and indentions, "we should end up within spitting distance of the exit of this shithole to the Ganges river. Then we rely on you and your Anima to get to the boat and hightail it out of here before they even realize anything is happening."

Both Richard and Bianca grimaced, but everybody knew that staying would all but sign Dimitri's death warrant, with their own to follow after they broke from the Lunar's torture and spilled what little they knew.

All three nodded grimly and, with some difficulty, stood up.

"Are you really going to destroy such a beautiful tapestry? It must have taken Mother Nature hundreds, if not thousands of years to erode those walls away into the detailed and artistic shapes that are even now being transformed right before our very eyes..." The trio turned around, only then realizing the tall, powerfully built man standing there in the cavern-cell, who just kept on espousing the virtue in preserving water-eroded walls as if there weren't three hostile Dragonblooded teenagers inching away from him.

"Oh, but where are my manners? I am Raseri Mani and it is always such a delight to make my acquaintance with a group of such fine, upstanding youngsters such as yourselves." And with that, Raseri took a bow, the light of a nearby candle flickered wildly in the reflection of his glasses. "And this is Herlighet." And from seemingly nowhere a nightingale perched itself on Raseri's shoulder. No, that wasn't true, it wasn't from seemingly nowhere, the damn thing had flickered into existence, Vincent was sure of it. One of the Lunars had been spying on them for who knows how long and he had a familiar with him. Not good.

"A pleasure, I'm sure, but you should know our names already. Why show yourself so openly, Raseri?" Vincent couldn't hold all of the anger and venom out of his question. Not that he had been trying all that hard.

"A pleasure, yes, a mightily fine pleasure indeed, sir 'fifty gallon o'whisky Sweeney', I did so enjoy your rendition of the more obscure classics. A good sense of humor is one of the best signs of a mighty intellect, a shame that my fellows have more of an affinity with dumb blondes and knock-knock jokes. But where was I?" The nightingale chirped, leaving no room for the teenagers to interrupt the rapidly devolving circus act that was Raseri talking. "Oh yes, thank you, Herlig, I had nearly forgotten young sir Sweeney's question." Still completely relaxed Raseri turned to face the trio fully, an almost dopey grin etched on his face. "I was most interested in your conversation, being the proverbial, or rather literal, fly on the wall, when you were about to crash that wall and attempt to escape. A fine plan, given your current state of being and lack of resources as it were, but you'd have perished before making it to the Ganges River. There is a small platoon of sorcerously bound demons of the first circle posted at that entrance, dematerialized, of course, and they would have had no choice but to tear you to shreds and devour the carcasses."

His statement was met with incredulity, to which his eyes lit up in understanding. "Of course, the same would have occurred if they did have a choice so I guess it is something of a moot point." He nodded sagely to himself.

"Um, it's Merrin. My name is Vincent Merrin, not Sweeney." He really did not know how else to respond to the existence of somebody like Raseri Mani.

"Ah, splendid, young master Merrin. And what has brought you and your entourage all the way to India? If the loveliness of the Air aspected young lady is any indication it wouldn't be the girls, so perhaps the food? The rich culture of this nation and its ancient medicinal knowledge? Or maybe you wanted to experience what life is like in the Chinese Federation?" Raseri's nightingale, Herlighet, took off from his shoulder and started flying circles above his head, tweeting merrily.

"Or maybe it has something to do with the recent reappearance of the Shadowlands and the Brittanian Homeland's interest in finding out how much of that can be connected to the Silver Pact's activities?" And right then the teenagers tensed up, unable to hide their dismay at being found out.

"Oh don't be like that, it's not like you were expected to find out anything of importance, or return at all, really." Raseri had said that so nonchalantly that it took the three a couple of seconds for it to really sink in.

"What would an illiterate barbarian like you know about the intentions behind our deployment?! If this kind of rabblerousing is the best you louts can do to get us to talk than you were far more pathetic than I imagined. In fact, I'm seriously starting to question why we haven't just squashed your pissant 'society' like the weak cockroach you lot are!" Richard would have continued his tirade if he hadn't been punched in the face. Not by one of his fellow dragonblooded or by Raseri, but rather by yet another newcomer that none of the teenagers had managed to spot.

"Come now, Baldev. The kid was on a roll, I wanted to hear how the mighty Holy Brittanian Empire was about to crush us and use our remains for their nefarious ends." Raseri turned to the newcomer, a pout on his face.

The tall Indian man didn't bother turning to face Raseri, instead lazily glaring at him from the corners of his eyes. "I couldn't care less about where and how you get your entertainment, but the elders are convening. It wouldn't do for you to hold the meeting up with your absence, again, hence they sent me to fetch you." And just like that the pout, and the childishness, melted away from Raseri's face as he straightened his back.

"Good to see that you don't hold up your veneer of petulance when it matters." And with a final glare aimed at the prisoners, Baldev turned around and left the cell, Raseri following right behind him.

Baldev's cold dismissal of him had taken the wind out of Richard's sails and before he knew it he was back on his ass, a small trickle of blood stream downing from his forehead.

"Do you think he's going to tell them about our escape plans?" said Bianca, who had been silent until now.

"I really don't know, but somehow this whole thing has just been so tiring, maybe I should get some shut eye. Five minutes, no more. Just to...recuperate a...bit..." And Vincent was out like a light.

The others, uncertain of what would happen next, unanimously decided that that was the best thing that Vincent had said till that point and smoothly followed.

xXx​

"...rea...hing...lands."

"...prung up...ouldn't...random."

"...ot like...seals."

His mouth felt like it had been stuffed to the brim with sewer sludge when he woke up. And the pounding of his head hadn't diminished in the slightest. If anything he felt even worse after his nap than before. Vincent didn't know how, but just to be on the safe side he was going to blame the Lunars for this one as well as everything else wrong with the world.

With a groan he fumbled until he sat somewhat straight, his actions stopping the conversation that had been going on till then.

"How splendid to see you up and abut once more, young master Merrin. I hope the floor didn't disagree with you too much." At some point Raseri had reentered their little cavern-prison cell and had been happily conversing with... hold on, Dimitri was up and about? When did that happen?

"Mister Mani, or rather his familiar, patched me up. Something about how he wanted some company but didn't have the heart to wake any of you up and felt sorry for me."

"Did I say that out loud? Because that wasn't supposed to be said out loud." Vincent blinked rapidly, somewhat getting the crust out of his eyes. Richard and Bianca were also awake, but looked about as well as Vincent felt. Still, they seemed happy that he was awake.

"You are forgiven, every last one of us has on occasion forgotten that we have a mental filter. I must say that your companion is such a delightful conversational partner. It would do the world some serious good if we all learned to be a little bit less judgmental like Dimitri here." And it was then that Vincent's brain finished rebooting and remembered what the last words between the teenagers and the Norwegian Lunar had been.

"Raseri, what did you mean when you said that we weren't expected to return to the mainland?" Everybody present politely ignored the hint of desperation that tinged Vincent's words.

"Of course, but I'd first like to answer the young lady's question concerning how much I had revealed about your group to the elders of the Pact, which is a resounding nihil aside from what they were already aware of. Aside from that I am unaware who was responsible for the weakening of the seal separating Creation from the underworld, which is further proven by the many Lunars that were sent out to investigate the shadowlands, many of which ended up clashing with their fellow dragonblooded investigators, and even gods and the occasional Sidereal Exalted, you will have to ask your fellow terrestrials about them, I find myself not in the mood to repeat their past again.

"As for what I meant with you lot not being expected to succeed in your little farce of an assignment, I meant just that. You were meant, as a small group of recently exalted bastards of noble lines or offspring of radical cadet branches, to be martyred while preventing you from becoming a problem for the, pardon my sarcasm, 'real' dragonblooded aristocracy." The middle-aged man even did the air quote gesture, for once not grinning or looking like he had just heard the greatest joke ever.

"Bullshit. You might have a point when talking about the dog eat dog world that you live in, but we are of the terrestrial exalted, community and teamwork is as much part of our souls as shapeshifting is in yours." Vincent wasn't the most fanatic of dragonblooded nor did he completely believe the tales of the 'messengers of heaven' that had taught him about the anathema and the way the world used to be thousands of years ago, but the unity of the ten thousand dragons was holy and, dare he say it, immaculate truth.

"Then please explain why they sent a quartet of inexperienced teenagers, fifteen and sixteen year olds to infiltrate a known hideout of the anathema famous for their stealth and infiltration? Why would they have sent you to such a dangerous and counterintuitive location when it would have made more sense for you to investigate one of the shadowlands? There are more than enough of those for everyone." Raseri Mani, literally the fury of the moon, did his name proud. His face still looked calm at first glance, but his eyes barely hid the anger the man felt at their predicament, even when they refused to acknowledge it.

They don't...they haven't..." was all that Bianca managed to get out.

"Do you know how long you've been our captive? Going on to 72 hours now. Three whole days that you have not been in communication with your superiors. Even if they were truly so altruistic as you claim them to be, at this point they should have already mounted a rescue operation. That they haven't is but another piece of evidence that they have washed their hands off of you and left you to your fate." Richard, unusually temperamental for a water aspected dragonblooded, looked ready to punch Raseri in the face when the older man delivered the proverbial coup de grace.

"You were sent here, sacrificed, to be our diversion whilst they could focus their efforts on investigating the real mysteries. Our toys that we could torture and break all we want in the name of 'getting valuable information' whilst they handled the real threats." Raseri spat those words out, as if merely saying them out loud was fouler than letting your mind and free will be stripped away by the Yozi.

That had shocked them into silence. He could be wrong, a possible extraction team right now dealing with the demon patrols or having an epic fight with the elders of the Silver Pact. He could be wrong and have the truth be that the entire scenario had been created by Lunar infiltrants in the court, absolving their fellow dragonblooded of any blame, but all of it just sounded so...weak and apologetic. Maybe their fellow terrestrials could be as petty as Raseri claimed them to be. But if they were and all of what he had said was true, what could they do but quietly accept their deaths?

"Why tell us this? Why not tell your allies of our escape attempt and give them another reason to demean and break us?" Dimitri, the ever polite one, whispered so softly that the others could have mistaken his words for their own thoughts. And still his words could not have been louder if he had had a megaphone to scream through.

"I hate it. I hate how the Britannians have stereotyped us to the extent that we would allow them to dictate our next move just because they were willing to 'sacrifice' some of their own as a distraction and I loathe that we would be willing to play the same game out of some meaningless bloodlust. I hate that we ruin the lives of children, mutilate your bodies and break your spirit and call it a victory. I took my second breath over two decades ago by breaking free of the chains of my town's petty cruelty and vicious 'traditions'. I will not stand for having the Silver Pact, the home that I chose as opposed to the one that I was born into, degenerate into the same loathsome den of hypocrisy and foulness. I don't know if I could go through that again so I won't." Raseri stood straighter than before, a fire blazing inside him that wasn't there a moment ago.

"If you return they'll probably trump up some charges or suspicions that will get you disposed of. Probably something along the lines of 'the Lunar brainwashing ran too deep, but at least they managed to honorably purify the taint from their souls and joined our ancestors in Lethe. May their next incarnation be as virtuous as this one.' Wouldn't be the first time they used that line.

"If I were to help you escape from this place, could you find someplace to hide from both the Pact and Brittania?"

The four teenagers looked at one another. Just as Raseri had said, they were all outcasts within high Brittanian society. Bastard sons that somehow were blessed by the dragons, descendants of unimportant radicals that had been taken care of by the head of the family. A bunch of misfits that had exalted within the last year or two, of course they had nothing so convenient like an alternative that could do anything when faced with the might of the Brittanian Empire or the Silver Pact.

"If you were to help us, what would happen to you?" Later Vincent would be unable to say exactly who spoke those words, but he was proud that every one of them shared those thoughts.

"You're hardly in any position to worry about the likes of me. But if you must know, with this stunt I'd have handed in my resignation anyways. This way at least I keep something of my conscience, not intact, but at least not unrecognizable." And just like that the grin was back, the strength and charisma of the man returning tenfold.

"But I guess we'll figure all of that out as we go along with it. It would be quite pathetic if you ended up dying because you didn't know mushrooms are edible and which ones aren't."

And Raseri strode across the room, his fist wreathed in flickering silver essence.

"Huh I thought you were against destroying one of 'nature's thousand year old tapestries'?" those words somewhat unsurprisingly came from Richard's mouth.

"Bah, I'm sure Gaia will forgive me. Now stick with me boys and girl and the demons should remain bound to not attack. I don't fancy getting into a slugging match with them and the Pact right now. It would be ruin on my coat."

xXx​

"Raseri has escaped with the dragonblooded teenagers."

"And have they been swayed away from the Brittanian establishment?"

"Yes, Elder." And then Baldev fidgeted a bit, hesitating about whether he should continue.

"But are you sure that leaving it to Raseri was the right thing to do? He has always been rather independent and..."

"And you're afraid that he would use his army of dragonblooded malcontents against us rather than Brittania and the Europeans? You shouldn't worry Baldev, it is not as if the dragonblooded army is critical to any of our plans. In fact, the army Raseri could raise is inconsequential. All he needs to do is divide the ten thousand dragons even further than they currently are, throw another faction in the melting pot that the 'great dragonblooded dynasty' has been reduced to.

"Even if he were so inclined to, Raseri cannot gain the trust of the dragonblooded host as a whole and anything less would just end up with his side annihilated and ours somewhat weakened and he knows it too. Hence why we won't need to worry about that.

"Let him be the stone that heralds the avalanche. The avalanche that will truly sunder the mountain that is the unity of the ten thousand dragons. Let them play their war games against one another and deplete their forces. Yu-Shan and their Aerial Legions against the underworld and the dragonblooded against itself."

"And when the dust settles, it will be the chosen of Luna that will take Creation back."

 

[forginblade]

Death is not for everyone

-4 years prior to the Exaltation of the Marshal of the Althing Infernal-​

There were two universal truths of the world: the first was 'equality does not exist'. The relationships between people, positive, negative, close and distant made it so that they would prioritize some over others. It was as universal a constant as the tides and the setting of the sun.

That was most likely the reason for why the high eunuch 'councilors' would recruit the likes of Korean farmers into their secret service. Far easier to send a replaceable and inconsequential pawn into dangerous situations than one of their loyal followers.

"He can't have gone far. Close off every exit, guard them and the rest of you, grab a gun and find him. And go in teams of three. The records he has stolen must still be in the building."

It was pretty much the only way to make a decent living in the Chinese Federation as a foreigner. When he had applied, when he had withstood the harsh training and flourished under his harsh taskmasters' cruelty and pettiness and after each and every one of his more challenging assignments, a file was set up. One detailing a very serious charge against the good of the common people of the federation, one that would have even one of the eunuchs land in hot water. Those files were filled with fabricated evidence proving the agent of the crime it detailed and when said agent failed or slipped up any number of these files were made public, damning him and his family for however many generations that the eunuchs felt appropriate.

Of course, this crucial evidence would have been collected and put together by one of their own sycophants, who would of course get quite a promotion for their efforts. And if the culprit had to be put down while resisting arrest, well, why bother with keeping loose ends around?

The triad that the agent had been investigating had been 'relocating surplus military hardware' for quite some time now, moving the goods to every possible underground warehouse in the Federation, sold to whatever shady buyer that found himself with a bit of spare cash. The goons were smart enough not to use their clients' real names in any of their paperwork, but a quick look at the flow of money would betray them all the same. And guess who got his grubby little hands on them?

Three of the younger and thus more easily frightened triads opened fire at a shadow that flitted by. The deafening sound alerted the others who made their way to their still shooting juniors.

The agent remained motionless behind one of the many wooden crates that were strewn around the warehouse. Ten more seconds.

The junior triads had stopped firing, not because the perceived threat had been dealt with, but rather because their fire-arms were out of bullets.

Five seconds.

The rest of the triads had convened at their juniors' position, hastily looking around for the danger that they thought was there.

One second.

A forklift jumpstarted, the thin rope that had been keeping the brick-filled shoe from pressing down the accelerator pedal had finally snapped from the tiny electrical sparks that two open electrical wires had been generating.

Logically the attention of everybody was now focused on the moving forklift, away from the agent and far away from where the triads were standing.

With a dead sprint the agent crossed the short distance between the crates and the window and leapt.

The explosion that rocketed the agent back to the floor, minus one leg and with a lot of second and third degree burn wounds.

The other universal truth? Never use a plan that relies on very precise timing or one that requires you to know the layout of a building when you don't have it.

"Check him to see if the files are on him and intact." The leader, flanked by two professional looking senior triads, had arrived at the scene of the explosion in a scant few seconds. The agent's moaning husk of a body could barely move, let alone defend himself from the hands of the triads, who easily fished out a burnt manila envelope from the inner pocket of his jacket.

The envelope that had been passed on to the leader was carelessly opened and thumbed through. Blackened pieces of paper crumbled away under the man's thumb, entire pages illegible due to his carelessness. The man did not care.

"The proximity mine seems to have taken care of the disposal of the document. We still have the electronic version, so business will not be slowed down. Shang, dispose of this in a container of sulfuric acid. I do not want anyone to even suspect the contents of this envelope ever existed." And with that the leader handed one of his men the remains of the envelope and took a gun from the other.

"No hard feelings. I can emphasize with your situation. With a system as rotten as this one your path was the only one in which you could provide for your family in a legal way." And the man shot the agent in the head. "But I guess it does not matter whether your killer feels remorse, hatred or indifference for your death. You'll still be just another corpse at the end of the day."

After firing one last time at the agent, the triad member turned around, already going over what he would say during the debriefing with his bosses, the agent's corpse already forgotten.

And as for the poor, nameless instrument of the high eunuchs'? He had other things on his mind than his failed mission.

The agent knew he was dead. The moment he went flying his life was over. Even if he had survived, without the documents he would have ended up on death row, the target for the scorn and ridicule of the greatest nation on the planet.

He had expected a great inferno to burn him for all eternity, a great cold that would settle in his bones and freeze his very soul or even the tribunal of Yeomra the Great Fifth King of the Underworld.

Instead there was only the blackness. The nothing.

The agent was without body here in the nothing. His mind could feel the lack of life, smell the decay of all the death that would never be, see the very kingdom that light could never intrude upon.

His mind still existed. Every sensation, every thought was proof upon proof that this Void was not devoid of all life.

How long before it would erase him? Months? Days?

Seconds?

But just as the fear began to set in, the voice echoed.

"You can feel it, can't you, fallen warrior? Here lies Oblivion, the true end of all that exist, god or man." The woman's voice, demure yet commanding, was more beautiful than a nightingale's, the bell-like quality of it filling Oblivion instantly, echoing and resonating across the non-existent walls of the blackness in such a way that would have put the amphitheaters of old to shame.

He was without a mouth to answer the bell-like voice, yet somehow his acknowledgment echoed through the void just as clearly as the voice had.

"Indeed, all that lives eventually comes here to the final unmarked grave, for only at the end of times will it show itself, as the grave marker of Creation, heaven and earth and hell in all their infinite splendor. It makes all the petty struggles of man, for paltry gifts like money, alcohol, companionship and food seem so...insignificant."

Once again the agent agreed with the woman, his thoughts drifting away to his former employers, to his parents and the people of his old village, struggling and toiling so hard for a mere seven or so decades.

"It takes a will of iron, of steel smelted in the furnace of the souls of heroes, to resist Oblivion's whisper for even a moment, and yet how long could even that last? A decade? A century? There are souls in the underworld who have managed to resist the repose that Oblivion offers them for nearly eight millennia. Why would they reject peace eternal?"

The agent felt his mind crumble, both under the melodic voice's questioning as well as Oblivion's iron grasp, yet the answer to the woman's question came instantly. The legions still living ignorantly above, wasting their time with their petty squabbles and infighting. They did not know the truth about Oblivion yet. It was just such a waste, all of it.

"Marvelous, young warrior. You've discovered this absolute truth, even without any of the aid I usually dispense here. My masters, the titans who saw the truth and chose death over surrender, the Neverborn, seek to this day to enlighten the traitorous gods and their chained siblings on this truth that you have unraveled in mere minutes. Would you join us in spreading this truth? Deny yourself Oblivion's lure until all of Creation has gone ahead of you?"

Would he...could he be allowed to? Not die in an abandoned warehouse, his name smeared for the rest of time?

Not end?

The one thing the agent prided himself on was his honesty, or rather his ability to self-reflect.

One day the stars would dim and disappear and all of man's achievements and monuments would be ash and dust. An end would come, must come, but if his wouldn't have to come today, just not today...

His acceptance rang through Oblivion, its sheer weight overwhelmed Oblivion's pull, if only for a second.

"And again you prove your wisdom, warrior. There is however one sacrifice that must be made to Oblivion." Before the man could even start to panic, the entrancing voice continued. "The name that you responded to in life, that your parents gave you, is no longer sufficient. That name has now joined the trillions that have already surrendered themselves fully to Oblivion and thus it falls to me to bestow you with a new one." And then the voice let out a giggle, simultaneously breaking the mood entirely and reassuring the now nameless man.

"Brave, wise warrior, how you've seen through the veils that mortality and suffering have clouded your eyes with is beyond that of mere wisdom. It borders on the supernatural, to foresee the end that not even those who were once called Primordials could envision, and to do so calmly and clearly. Yes, I know what name would suit you, the only name that could ever fit one such as you.

"I name you Grinning Prophet, my newest disciple."

Oblivion receded leaving but a new Deathknight in its stead.

xXx

-8 months later-​

Given enough time everyone can adapt to any combination of new circumstances, even those circumstances that are part and parcel for changing your place of residence from the land of the living to the underworld.

The oppressive atmosphere, the drab and washed out look, even the madness inducing geographical rearranging of the sparsely populated outlands. It was not meant for everyone, but then again, most souls simply joined the Collective Subconscious when they died.

Those years ago, when Grinning Prophet's corpse had been strewn all across the floor of that abandoned warehouse, and when the Princess Magnificent had liberated him from the ultimate fate, he had believed that spreading the truth of Oblivion had always been his true calling. It took months for him to accept that he just didn't want to be erased so callously, but once that lesson had been learnt the burden that he had taken upon himself had lightened considerably.

And that was when the assignments came. For the Princess saw the road to eternal silence within the bowels of Oblivion paved not with sermons or mass conversions, but with the manipulation and sabotage of her fellow servants to the Neverborn.

Mysterious disappearances of valuable resources and spies in Creation, the alteration of secret messages that drastically changed the other's course of action, disappearing entire underworld settlements, and not a single one of them had ever targeted heaven or the dragonblooded. Always their fellow Deathlords, or one of the rulers of Stygia, or whatever new threat to her unquestioned rule that seemed to pop up every other week.

And sometimes he was sent out to enrich his mistress at the cost of others in a more direct and concrete sense. Such as today.

One of the Princess' fellow Deathlords called the Dowager, a manic woman who once held the entirety of Creation by the throat, had apparently been hit the hardest, emotionally, by the separation between the underworld and it living counterpart and had spent the majority of their exile isolated from the others, toying with whatever happened to pass her way.

And whatever had gotten the Princess and the other active Deathlords in such a frenzy was one of those 'toys'. With the barrier between worlds as weak as it had been for the past few years the Dowager had paid no attention to her menagerie of distorted playthings and some had wandered off, or 'wandered off', as a result.

Prophet didn't know, and honestly didn't care, about what importance this one held, that agents of five different Deathlords had been sent out, but from what he had understood from the Princess' musings, the undead beast's ability to reduce the flesh of its victims into motes of death-tainted essence which then poisons the essence of others by coming into contact with a single drop of its blood was but one of its capabilities, and nowhere close to the most impressive one.

His rival Abyssals had to a one been too greedy and too eager to confuse a possible alliance for a blood feud in the making and fights with massive essence discharges filled the dilapidated earth. Yet the massive beast paid them no mind, just as it didn't seem to notice Prophet.

It had taken even more months after he had been put to work for him to realize that he loathed. He loathed the underworld, even as he learned to tolerate it. He loathed his mistress, the two-faced hag, he loathed the other Deathlords and he loathed the cloying, nauseating power that coursed through his not-veins.

But he could work with loathing. He had feared and hated the High Eunuchs almost as much as the Princess, and he had worked for them for nearly a decade.

The beast, which had been lazily walking around the mockery of a grove, barely let out a grunt of surprise as it felt its paw sink into the ground, revealing the pitfall that Prophet had made just before.

Prophet could only imagine how difficult it would have to be to show any emotion with the misshapen, serpentine head the beast sported, but it managed to convey pain and humiliation splendidly as its paws and one of its hind legs were perforated by the soulsteel-tipped spikes that Prophet had filled the pitfall's floor with. Yet the beast did not let so much as a whimper escape, its pride too great to let such weakness show. Prophet would have like it if it had howled and attracted the attention of his rival deathknights, it would have allowed him to get something of a headstart on his overarching goals, but that it wouldn't was no great loss.

The beast's blood dripped over the barren grove, hissing and darkening the gray gravel. Prophet saw its eyes glow, its irises disappear into a murky white haze and instinctively left his hiding spot, catapulting himself over the creature, into the pitfall that he had dug.

The beast was somewhat slow in turning around, its forked tongue flitting rhythmically through its muzzle. Its wound were closing rapidly, but it still had a pronounced limp. If anybody had been watching the monster they would not have been able to miss the essence build-up near the creature's cloven hoofs.

The essence of the Dowager's creation congealed and shot forth into the pitfall, unravelling the trap into a tornado, ripping the earth and the spikes out of the ground. The creature watched the remains of the trap it had sprung be catapulted in the air even as a full half of the grove was upturned completely, yet, where was its foe? He couldn't have been torn to shreds by that one attack. The beast carefully approached the remains of the pitfall when it spotted him. The weakling hadn't gotten away from its attack unscratched, if his motionless body, half-buried under the rubble was any indication.

The beast was incapable of grinning, so instead it swaggered to the body. The weakling had the nerve to think he could challenge it, but to then go down so easily? The beast hoped that the man was still alive. It needed to vent a bit after all.

The beast was dead before it came close to the fallen body. It would never know that what it had seen was nothing but a hastily put together mannequin, that the real Grinning Prophet escaped the pitfall at the same time as it had launched the essence twister and hidden in the wreckage. It would never know it had been stabbed in the eye by one of the spikes that had previously stabbed its hind leg.

"The Dowager must have been aware of how potent the venom streaming through your veins was. I had been informed how she had made your skin, muscle and bone structure virtually immune to it and to the pull of the Void in general. Too bad she hadn't done the same for the eyes."

Prophet had hoped for something of a challenge, but it seemed that he wouldn't be pushed into using charms for yet another assignment.

"Grinning Prophet, my most loyal disciple, how goes your mission? Given your exemplary record, you should have finished capturing the specimen, correct?"

Now this, this was more to his liking. Time to finish this.

"Indeed, mistress, the creature will terrorize no more. I have infected it with its own blood, so it should be completely worthless as a research specimen or as a potential weapon by the end of the hour." The look on the face of the Princess' face was exquisite to the point that it was almost a shame that it was but a mirage.

"What do you mean, Grinning Prophet? Your orders were to capture the specimen unharmed while faking its demise, not actually kill it. What's the meaning of this? Answer now or the consequences will be truly dire." The Princess' image growled out, all pretenses of dignity and regality thrown out of the window.

"What do I mean, mistress? Back then you asked me what could drive the dead to ignore Oblivion's call for millennia on end and said it was to enlighten the living on the futility of strife when all await the same fate. You said that it was our task, handed down by the Neverborn, to destroy the selfish and the cruel that we could prove the righteousness of our cause."

"How dare you act as if you're too good to answer my question, Prophet? Are you that eager to suffer the Resonance of the Neverborn for the next year?" The Princess' eyes had become slits, even as she could barely stop the growl from tainting her words.

"The truth is that we haven't changed, not compared to eight thousand years ago and not compared to when we were still alive. On earth as it is in heaven as it is in hell as it is in the realm of the dead. Man will be man will be man will be man. You are just as petty and cruel and bigoted as the mortals and the dragonblooded that you so lookdown upon." Prophet savored the look of humiliation on the Princess' face as he compared her to the likes of the High Eunuchs and the European Patricians and then continued before she could get a word in.

"What I have realized over these past few months, was that the cause of Oblivion would come to be, regardless of the machinations of you Deathlords or our bumbling. It ultimately does not matter whether the cause of Oblivion will be a reality in ten years or in ten billion years, so I no longer see any reason for me to work towards that cause."

"You selfish ingrate, I gave you life unending, I clothed you in the most magnificent of funerary clothes and power that eclipses that of the gods and this is how you repay me? Your punishment will be legendary, Prophet." She was well and truly livid now.

"So you have, mistress, and I will repay you by denying you the services of the other Abyssals, in fact I will have every Abyssal renounce you and renounce the other Deathlords. We are more than your lapdogs, Black Heron." Said Deathlord was gritting her teeth and Prophet was sure that if she had accompanied him to the grove her dainty hands would now be around his throat.

"I will undo everything you have worked for just like I will take my revenge on the High Eunuchs and the triads. You will rue the day you thought you could string me along like a puppet, but you know what I will make you regret the most?

"Letting me into your armory. Gangrim Doryeong."

Until the day he would die Prophet would treasure the look on the Princess' face as she and his Monstrance were struck by five Sun's Fist Chakrams. The image of his now former liege lady flickered away, the quintet of holy projectiles from the High First Age annihilating the monstrance that had once held his exaltation. She had never realized that he had sneaked into the chamber that housed it, set up the different launching mechanisms for the ancient weapons and made it so that it could be activated by simply saying the password.

Prophet wasn't naïve enough to believe that his little stunt had injured the Princess, but he knew her well enough to know that she couldn't have defended the monstrance from the attack. She had always been the type to avoid an attack rather than redirect or nullify them. And to have a shortcoming like that rubbed in her face? It warmed Prophet's still heart, in all its petty glory.

The Midnight Caste turned around, leaving the wasted and deteriorating husk of a beast behind.

He was free now. Free of fear, free of debt and powerlessness. No more uncaring and cruel bosses and with a shitload of personal power to make life all the more pleasant.

For the first time since his death, Prophet would be returning to the world of the living. He couldn't wait to find out how much the world had changed in his absence. He would have so much to do in order to truly dethrone the High Eunuchs, but he was sure he would not rest until they and the Princess were eliminated in every sense of the word.

Right after he pigged out at the nearest fast food joint; that Brittanian pizza hut place better live up to Muse's boasting.

 

[forginblade]

Timeline wise Aldric and Prophet started working together about four months after Prophet's desertion with their teaming up with Raseri happening a good ten weeks after that (don't worry, those two events will be written out in full, eventually, exams you know?). This omake is a week after that.

And thus without further ado, the last omake for the day.

The Shattered City

-4 years prior to the exaltation of the Marshal of the Althing Infernal-​

The whirlpool of diamonds and fish eyes crashed with a howler monkey's screech onto the beach of salt sarcophagi, the works of maddened art fracturing and rising to the depths of infinity. From the point of impact a skittering and wailing river of scorpions and prayer manti swept the briefly existing land as far as the eye could see. In the distance, in all directions, the endless flood rose upwards. Soon it would be its own realm, separated from the rest of infinity, a microcosm that would exist eternally for a second. Until it stopped, of course, for that was the nature of the Wyld.

A hand grasped its way out of the crawling flood, followed by an arm, a head, until finally a man had fully emerged from it and behind him followed three other figures. Somewhat frantically the man beat off the insects and arachnids that had stuck to his form, whereas the others didn't seem to mind them all that much.

"Will you stop snickering already?" The newly clean man glared at his travel companions, who didn't even bother to hide their humor. The tallest of the three humanoid clumps of crawling critters opened his pale imitation of a mouth.

"Don't worry, Seer Aldric, every young man in your position goes through the same problems that you are experiencing right now and there is absolutely no reason for you to think that you are different from them. I was just like you two decades ago when I had just met the Agent Madonna herself and all the funny feelings that she gave me. Once you've grown a bit more you'll be looking back at this moment and you'll be able to laugh about it, although I hope you'll forgive me for not wanting to wash your suspiciously stained trousers."

"I really hope you're talking about how I am the only one here not immune to the reality bending of the Wyld, Raseri." Said Aldric as he barely managed to hold a sigh of frustration in.

"If you can be serious for a minute, we should be close to our destination. That is of course if the raksha isn't lying." And Grinning Prophet glared at the fourth being, who fidgeted under the Abyssal's gaze. But then the unnamed raksha drew himself straight and looked the Midnight caste in the eyes. "To doubt me to such a degree, it is clear to me that you louts who are bound to but one shape," Raseri stopped snickering at Aldric to turn around, his blank stare having gone unnoticed by the raksha, "but I am known far and wide for my wit and charm. They call me the dark a..."

"You look like the tutorial boss of a video game I played fifteen years ago. You are now Tutorial Boss." Tutorial Boss looked affronted by the name Aldric had forced on him, but before he could speak up Prophet slapped him on the back, causing the diminutive raksha to fall flat on his face.

"Get up Tutorial Boss, I'd hate to be late because of you." And that was the end of Tutorial Boss' resistance. Meekly he got up and started walking again, the bright yellow mark on his back clear for all to see.

Time, just like space and landscapes, was nothing more than a suggestion in the Wyld, yet it was as Prophet had predicted. In what felt like minutes the unlikely quartet had left the nascent arachnid worldscape behind them, traversed through a forest of exotically shaped lampreys and swam their way through a sea of fire, the crystalline driftwood pulverized by their gaze.

And then, as if a veil had been lifted from reality, they were amongst the remains of the city. Dust and rubble were floating through the ethereal streets. Grand spires, untouched for thousands of years depicted what might have once been gorgeous murals on their walls, but had sadly all but completely faded from centuries of direct exposure to sunlight. High in the sky two misshapen moons, tiny compared to Luna's magnificent chariot, dotted the sky, only somewhat bigger than the stars that illuminated the night sky. In fact Aldric was pretty sure that he was instinctively burning his essence just to differentiate the twin moons from the Sister Maidens' kingdom.

Off to the side Prophet glared at the poor raksha whose name was too unimportant for the three Exalted. The raksha suddenly felt really insignificant, promptly took the hint and left back into the Wyld before the deathknight would change his mind and kill him out of hand.

Once the world had been bigger, Corbel had told Aldric. Creation had had an endless ocean to the west, vast frozen tundras in the north, sprawling amazonian woods in the east and a desert to the south that could have covered all that was now known as planet earth. Creation had been lessened by the Three Sphere Cataclysm, its borders stretched and collapsed in on itself by the vagaries of the Solar Deliberative, but it had been the grand invasion of the Wyld, the Balorian Crusade and its aftermath, that had truly changed the face of existence.

The endless ocean had collapsed in on itself, the frozen tundras and the sprawling woods ripped and torn apart, their remnants either dotting the surface of the new planet or scattered amongst the vastness of the primarily empty galaxy. As for the southern deserts? What was no longer needed on the planet itself was carved out and divided amongst the five Maidens.

Once the citadels of the Solars of old dotted the lands like stars dotted the sky, but now they were strewn forgotten amongst the solar system. The defaced Last Supplicant of Endless Power had become but one lone outcropping amongst many on Saturn's distant surface. The Five Metal Shrike now wandered the Mercurian wastelands and Dari of the Mists, the city where the cruelty of the Scepter of Peace and Order had ruled for centuries on end, was now hidden beneath the storms that ravage Jupiter.

And here, on the surface of Mars, the three were the first in thousands of years to behold the once awe-inspiring city of Chiaroscuro.

'Well, I don't mind if the two of you act like tourists on a city-trip, but I've got some things left to do, so I'll see you guys at the Bordermarches." Thus Prophet left the remaining two men behind.

Grinning Prophet could survive without oxygen and Raseri produced his own, so they weren't even slightly inconvenienced by walking on the surface of the barren planet, but Aldric didn't have that same luxury. So he was forced to keep up with a far too energetic Raseri as they all but bounced from one end of the plaza to the other.

The next few hours were something of a blur for Aldric. He had argued the hardest to come here, the stories that Corbel had told him had convinced the Sidereal that he was the most knowledgeable about the lost city from the First Age. Yet Raseri proved himself to be just as knowledgeable as Aldric, navigating the byzantine streets like they were part of his backyard, somehow consistently picking out the intact relics and high quality glass from the substandard stuff. Aldric could only stare as the almost sprinting Lunar kept shoving piece after piece of highly valuable prehistoric antiquities in the inner pockets of his coat. By the time Aldric managed to get his attention the Lunar must have stuffed over a metric ton of the stuff in the black hole that he called his coat.

"My apologies, Aldric, it seems like I've let my curiosity get the better of me. It all just looked so new and exciting to me. Would you like for me to share some of my spoils with you?"

"You don't have to, Raseri, it's not as if I wanted to come here to plunder this ancient site of all its valuables. To me, it is already a dream come true to be able to walk these streets and see the sights from five thousand years ago. But, if you don't mind me asking, what are you planning to do with all of that stuff? I don't think you'll find a buyer for Chiaroscuran glasswork just anywhere. Not unless your...contacts are willing to foot the bill for you." Raseri's eternal grin widened the tiniest bit when Aldric hesitated and after glancing upwards for a brief moment he answered.

"While I do understand why you would feel apprehension after our little clash in southern Paris, you need to understand that they didn't meant you any harm. It is just that their past has made them somewhat wary of strangers, something that they share with their friends in higher places. It may take some time for you and Prophet to learn this for yourselves, but they are good people and your distrust of them saddens me to no small degree."

Aldric only barely managed to suppress a sigh. It seemed like he would have to approach this from another angle. The duo's walk had lead them to a narrow side alley, the first they had encountered thus far actually.

"Raseri Mani, your name literally means Fury of the Moon in Norwegian. Did your mother actually name you that, because that would have been rather prophetic of her?"

"No, no she wasn't capable of prophecy. My mother was a normal woman all things considered. Same with my father. No, I picked Raseri as a name myself, it certainly sounds more imposing than Johannes, wouldn't you say?"

Some deep intrinsic part of their souls roared furiously, warning the two Exalts of the danger that burst out of a shadowy corner. The two barely had any room to dodge to, so Raseri immediately vaulted upwards, small lances of silver flying out of his hand, burying into the rocky ground near the exit of the street. Aldric on the other hand had drawn his artefact gun, green essence bullets whistling through the void of space. Of the six bullets the mysterious assailant parried two away, while easily dodging the other four.

With what seemed to be a featherlight touch Aldric pushed the deadly spear away from him, lifting the slight form of their attacker like they were made from styrofoam. The attacker tried to kick Aldric in the face, but he easily dodged and shot the spear wielder in the face. Once more they managed to dodge the attack at the last possible instant, giving them just enough time to watch the bullet hit the nearby wall and ricochet back, piercing their upper thigh cleanly. Without a hint of hesitation they let go of the spear, yet by then it was already over.

Their back turned towards the real threat, the four bullets that they had thought dodged all found their target. Three in their kidneys and one in their throat, after the bullets had bounced off of Raseri's own buried bayonets like a demented version of pinball. The assailant dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut before even six seconds had passed.

Raseri, after having landed back into the alley, casually strolled up to their attacker and with his foot flipped the body over.

Once it might have been an older lady, but now all that looked back at the two Celestial Exalted was a parody of a monster and a hunter, comically oversized limbs and features, a torso that was almost segmented and twisted in different directions. But most importantly, she was clearly still alive, her one functional eye flitting from one side to the other. Only her arms kept moving grabbing at thin air, space actually, searching for her spear.

"Is that the city god? Bright Sanguine Saber?"

"That was the name she possessed as the goddess of vengeance, Raseri, but it might be more apt to call her a lessened Saber rather than Grandmother Bright."

It was actually something of a minor miracle that the deity had managed to survive for as long as she had, completely isolated from all prayer or interaction.

Five thousand years of separation from everything, forced to wander the corpse of her city, every day, every hour a stark reminder that she had failed in every way possible. She had never dared to make her way through the Bordermarches and attempt to return to Earth. Maybe it had been out of fear of the unknown, or maybe penitence. The results spoke for themselves. Prayer starved, mad from the isolation she had returned to what she had once been, the hunter goddess of the guilty, the goddess of vengeance and betrayal and at some point in the past few millennia even that had stopped.

All that was left in the dusty alley of an uninhabitable planet was a hollow shell that possessed none of the ingenuity or the cruelty of her former self, nor any of the patience and the unbending will that had defined her when she had been the city goddess.

Despite the lower half of her body not responding the lessened goddess managed to crawl her way up and had taken hold of her spear once more.

With skill that would have made all but a grandmaster of the spear green with envy the goddess launched herself at Raseri, who continued to stare at her emotionlessly.

Neither he nor Aldric made a move to stop her.

They didn't have to.

Like a falcon swooping down from above, Prophet had struck the unaware goddess, two razor sharp pieces of Chiaroscuran glass buried in the back of her skull and heart. All of them were aware, when the goddess disappeared, that she wouldn't return in any shape or form.

It had been a death ongoing since the Balorian Crusade, but now, after five millennia Grandmother Bright's task had finally ended.

"We sure were lucky that you were tasked with finding and disposing that fallen goddess, Prophet. Who knows what harm she could have inflicted if you hadn't intervened when you had? We owe you our safety, that we most definitely do." And with a deep bow Raseri thanked Prophet.

The deathknight in question just blankly stared at the Lunar for several seconds.

"Yeah, you sure needed my help there." And the deathknight picked up his makeshift daggers. For a moment he glanced at Aldric and when the redheaded Seer shook his head the Midnight caste closed his eyes.

"Well, this was a bit of a downer. What do you say we take a break and have some lunch?" It wasn't much, but Aldric's words lifted their spirit somewhat.

"So who brought the food?"

The three looked at one another. Nobody replied.

The lesson that they took away from that experience: don't pick your lunch from whatever you could find near a vacuum Wyldzone that bordered a vacuum. The other thing they learned was that it was indeed possible for there to be a hundred different ways in which a single dish could taste bad. In the same bite.

Needless to say, the trio wouldn't plan another trip to outer space for several more years.

 

[Alexander89]

​

Took awhile to get back into the mood. Really, that's embarrassing...also, I hope I haven't lost too many players

====

[X] Plan Use The Front Door

Spoiler

Lelouch's Rolls:

Intelligence+War:

8 successes.

Manipulation+Presence:

5 successes, plus 4 successes from Second Excellency, for a total of 9 successes.

Intelligence+Occult:

No success. Failure.

Intelligence+Occult:

4 successes. Failure.

Intelligence+Occult:

3 successes. Failure.

Enemy's Rolls:

You spend a few seconds going through dozens of scenario before reaching an obvious conclusion: 'Sometimes, one must find refuge in audacity.'

And you're oh so very good at that.

"Of course we will do something. We will do the right thing." You slowly raise your arm and point at the TV. Once you're sure you have the attention of everyone you continue: "As Kaguya-sama can confirm Lieutenant Colonel Kusakabe has acted by his own initiative without receiving orders from his superiors. This alone makes him a traitor. Furthermore, Britannia's policy is to never make concessions to terrorists: as such, his actions will inevitably result in the death of himself, his soldiers and all the hostages."

"The Toyama Incident." Ohgi grimly says. "Remember? Two years ago that one group took fifty Britannians hostage, but everyone died. The mass media said they chose suicide, but in reality the army fired at the building where they were keeping the hostages."

"That's crazy!" Tamaki angrily replies. "That means they're gonna do the same to the Kawaguchi Hotel?"

"Most likely." You reply. "The only reason that may delay it is the Viceroy's decision to avoid a political fallout, or more precisely the desire to somewhat improve his public image. But once he's with his back against the wall he will have no other choice." You sweep your arm in a grand gesture. "Therefore, it is our duty to bring justice to Kusakabe and save the hostages!"

"But, they're fellow Japanese-" Sugiyama tries to protest.

Kaguya interrupts him. "Being fellow countrymen doesn't excuse their deplorable actions." She stands up and addresses you and the Black Knights. "As a member of the Six Houses of Tokyo I hereby declare Kusakabe a traitor and grant you the authority to judge his crimes!"

You perform a short bow. "As the commander of the Black Knights I accept!"

After giving orders for everyone to prepare you retire to your own study. There you deattune the Stormwand, since nonlethal is not likely be useful today and you will need all the Essence you can spare.

"Can I suggest using the Dragon's gifts to change your appearance? Just in case. You should also change the aspect of your Essence."

'Good suggestions. Later, when I can wait for my Anima to subside without interruptions.'

With a call you send some of the cultists and demons to Lake Kawaguchi to discreetly gather intelligence before your arrival, both in the Britannian camp and the hotel. You also instruct for Xibhi or another Passion Moray to give a message to Milly that you're coming.

Now, what else?

"Tamaki!" You call the redhead after leaving the room. "Do we have plastic explosives in store?"

"Of course!" He grins with a thumb-up. "Are we going to blow up something?"

"It's a possibility. Bring enough to destroy a floor or two of the hotel."

After that you address Leila and Kallen. "Miss Malcal, I would like you and your unit, together with Kallen in the Guren Mk II, to be our emergency backup."

"Understood." She replies, with Kallen giving a curt nod.

"Nathan." You tell the young programmer. "You and a few of the Black Knights will go to a location near Kawaguchi you can quickly leave in case of discovery and hack into Britannia's military network. I want to be informed of anything useful, such as intel or building plans for the hotel."

"Got it." He seems relieved to not be within the crossfire. Well his is not a combat role so that's acceptable.

"So what's the plan? We show up at the front door and ask to enter?"

'More or less.'

"...What?"

====​

The ride to Lake Kawaguchi last two hours: you spend them inside your private room in the Mobile Base, fiddling with your transformation and using C.C.' help until you reach a satisfying result.

"Damn, I look like the victim of arson." You mutter with your new fake voice. The face looking back at you from the mirror is that of a heavily scarred individual, the scarring making it difficult to identify your race. Without knowing where to look you could be Japanese, Britannian or even of mixed-blood. Your ability to remove all traces of accent from your speech makes it even worse.

"That's what you wanted." C.C. comments. She's wearing the Black Knights uniform and hugging a plushie she got from collecting pizza stamps. You have no idea what this 'Cheese-kun' is supposed to be. "An useless face for a nameless leader." She chuckles. "I wonder, who is the real 'you'? Lelouch the Prince? Lelouch the student? Zero the revolutionary? Or-"

"Lelouch the Green Sun Prince?" You finish, your Anima still glowing faintly. "Truth be told it is not a meaningless question. With all those masks, do I risk losing myself? Possible." You put on your mask. "But as they say: 'there is a time for everything'. And now, it's not really the time for self-psychoanalysis."

"Fair enough." She shrugs with indifference.

"Zero-sama?" You hear a knock and Kaguya's voice. "We have arrived."

The spot chosen is the parking lot of an abandoned factory. There you meet with the representative of the local cultists, who doesn't have good news.

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" You force yourself to keep an even voice. "Did you say that Kusakabe have spirits among his men?"

"That's right my Prince." The man confirms. "Most are Elementals but there are some minor gods. They are placed in immaterial form in strategic points as sentinels and aided the JLF to fight back infiltration teams and Britannia's own spirits."

"Bound demons?" Kaguya asks.

"None. If they have a sorcerer he or she either doesn't know the spell or is against using demons."

"Well, this changes things." You mutter after dismissing the cultist. "Did you suspect..?"

"No, I thought Kusakabe was just a mortal." The raven-haired girl sighs in frustration. "The only possibility I can think of is that some Japanese god decided to aid Kusakabe in the hope of restoring its position. If so, it's a foolish god."

"Quite. Unless it's for revenge." You muse. "At least we know what's going on inside the Hotel."

Spirits can see other spirits, but without reflective surfaces everyone has troubles seeing Passion Moray. Luckily the local cult was founded by Berengiere, meaning they have plenty of the invisible demons. Thanks to them you know where the hostages are and that they're safe. For now at least: Milly received the message and is ready to interfere if things go south, but there is no way in hell you're going to let some low-lives endanger her.

Right at that moment a news van moves into the parking lot. "Hey guys!" Nadir smiles from the driver seat, Lian waving from behind him. "Someone ordered a van?"

You chuckle. "Why yes, I did. And with perfect timing too."

====
​

The stolen news van approaches the Britannian forces, with you riding atop it. You are the enigmatic vigilante Zero, and you have ignored all conventions by seemingly making yourself vulnerable to men who might well arrest you. Your chariot comes to a stop, and you confidently flourish your mantle while taking a posture that hides all doubts. "Clovis la Britannia! I am Zero, and I would save the innocents taken hostage by the JLF!"

You ignore the Knightmare Frames surrounding and aiming their weapons at you, confident that your own allied forces are more than enough to deal with them. By knowing about the britannian spirits beforehand you were able to instruct your Anuhles into getting close without being spotted: at your signal they will kill those piloting the Knightmares and other vehicles. Furthermore Akito, Lian and Nadir are among the Black Knights inside the van and all of them are armed to the teeth.

Luck is on your side, as nobody moves until Clovis himself arrives on a jeep flanked by more Knightmares. He's decidedly in better shape compared to yoru last meeting but you chalk it to him being sober.

"We finally meet face to face Zero." Clovis says haughtily, managing to look down on you even from a lower position. That's a skill you mastered long ago, but he's doing decently. "What is this I hear about you wanting to save the hostages? As a vigilante shouldn't you try to help the JLF? Or maybe you're a part of them?"

"I hold no alliance to the JLF." You declare, the power of Oramus flowing through you. "Like you said I am a vigilante-no, more than that: an Ally of Justice! Kusakabe and the JLF are those in the wrong today, having taken innocent civilians hostage, but I can convince them to release the hostages if you allow me through to talk them down."

"Oh? And why should I trust you?"

"Because I can provide you with information nobody else know: Kusakabe is a loose canon in the JLF, and planned this whole operation without informing his own superiors. The fact he handed you this opportunity to completely destroy the JLF's reputation should be evidence enough. Him and his men know they're going to die, so I believe it's only a matter of time before Kusakabe starts executing hostages."

That has him pause. You suppress a twitch as waves of Essence comes from him to you, likely a Dragonblooded ability: you cannot tell what they do, but luckily they don't seem to impose any change on you.

"Calm down boss. He's probably checking for things like lies and such. You have told the truth so far, so you have no reason to worry."

You hope so. Not knowing what your opponent is doing grates on your nerves.

Clovis scowls and has a whispered exchange with the aide on his side before addressing you again. "Supposing you're telling the truth, do you really think we need your help?"

"No." You admit. "But you have nothing to lose by letting me try: if I succeed the hostages will be saved, and if I fail I will at least have bought time for you to prepare a rescue operation while the JLF are talking to me. It's a win-win for everyone involved."

"Uhmm, good points." He smirks. Another wave of Essence, but this time it gathers around him. "In that case, I want you to meet immediately with Kusakabe and convince him to surrender. This way no more lives will be wasted. Also, make the safety of the hostages your first priority."

'Yeah, no.' "That was my intention from the beginning."

"Boss, I think he tried to influence you with Essence. That's one of the most basic tricks. Somehow, he really wants the hostages to be safe."

'Obviously he failed.' You reply as the Britannian Army lets you pass and the van approaches the Hotel's entrance. 'Still you are right, even if it is politically advantageous it's strange for Clovis to worry about the hostages so much. Could it be...there is someone among the hostages he is desperate to safe?'

"A lover?"

'Knowing Clovis? Doubtful.' Maybe a marriage of convenience, but otherwise your brother is a complete libertine. 'But something worth looking into.'

That leave the question of how to check on the hostages right now, or who to send that can recognize things like you would.

Also, there is the problem of the JLF's spirits. Before you were sure that your own demons would not be spotted, but now there is the possibility they would. Furthermore, things would get...complicated if Kusakabe has a spirit following him, is in possession of magical items or the like. Granted the previous plan can still work, but the probabilities have changed, and not in your favor.

Do you continue with Phase 2?
[] Yes
[] No. Instead you will (write-in)

====

Stunt Pool: 5/6

Personal Essence: 6/16
Peripheral Essence: 16/39

Click to shrink...

====

I also have started a new story here if anyone's interested.

 

[GardenerBriareus]

Spoiler: Credit Where It's Due

N/A: Special thanks to @Gnarker for helping me out with the good Professor's nickname; you probably helped get this posted a week earlier than it would have been without you.

BEHOLD

WAIT

SHIT

WHAT HAVE I DONE

------------------------------
Doktor Hackstück ("Doctor Take-You-to-Bits")​
------------------------------​

For the last nine years, Jacob Askell had led a quiet life with his daughter on the outskirts of Magdagrad, a small-but-growing city along the western fringe of Bulgaria. Each morning, he drove over an hour to the Hospice at St. Augustus', where he worked as assistant to a prominent surgeon. Perusing his performance records and employee reviews painted a picture of a happy, modest family man who'd surrendered his dreams of a doctorate in order to spend more time with his child. Interviews with former coworkers and employers only added words like "friendly", "polite", and "easygoing" to the profile.

Uncovering the man behind the dissembling exterior had required him to use his own accounts to fund the investigation, forced him to call in multiple favors, even strained a few valuable relationships, but Aloysius Tercine's craggy face bore not a trace of doubt or regret as he saw the truth spread out before him on his desk.

Because one of the most profitable – and controversial – bioengineers of the last half-century was alive, and soon, he would be putting his talents to work for the enrichment of Epitraphos-Kaloyanchev Solutions & Design. Whether he wanted to or not.

------------------------------​

Bullshit.

"On the contrary, Professor, the information's quite well-verified: we have you by the short hairs."

Askell barely flinched at the realization that he'd spoken aloud; the lovingly-documented record of his prior career that had been laid before him commanded a great deal more attention. Every experiment, every note, every piece of the puzzle that the Austrian press had dubbed "Doktor Hackstück" and his reinvention as Jacob Askell... all of it, there in black and white. He was stunned. Still, in the interest of maintaining some semblance of conversational parity, he forced a response through drying lips.

"I can see that, Mr. Tercine; my expletive was in reference to you being able to – to obtain it."

The other man's sharklike grin grew fractionally at the fear in his voice.

"Oh, I won't say it wasn't a chore, dear Wenzeslaus, but nothing's truly hidden if you get the right people to look for it; really, I'm more surprised by your lack of preparedness for this. After all, if I was on the hook for crimes against humanity and had to fake my own death, I'd put some thought into what to do if someone tracked me down."

"There'd be little point, Mr. Tercine; once somebody uncovered my past, they'd either expose me to the world or find a way of exploiting me."

Or he'd cave their head in and bury the body somewhere in the wilderness, but he couldn't do that to an entire company.

"I can appreciate that sort of thinking, Professor – suppose that's what motivated you to, heh, 'push the boundaries' back in Vienna – but really, I'd have put it a little less bluntly-"

"Please, just – state your terms. I'm not in a position to negotiate, and Ni- my daughter is going to come in and ask about our trip to the science center in about fifteen minutes. I'd rather- It'd be- these-", he made a sharp gesture at the files on the coffee table, "need to be gone by then."

The realization he might have just antagonized the man who could send him to Death Row set in just after Askell saw Aloysius' eyes gleam with mirth at his discomfiture.

"Oh, of course, Professor. Wouldn't do at all to embarrass a friend like that, now would it?"

Wenzeslaus Horstuch would have openly snorted at the euphemistic cliché. Wenzeslaus Horstuch hadn't had a daughter to look after. Instead, Jacob Askell smiled weakly and gave a conciliatory nod.

"Good, good. Now, the messy details are in my briefcase, but I suppose you could summarize it as..."

------------------------------​

"Excuse me, Professor?"

"... Oh – sorry, Dr. Lepten; I was thinking over the viability of using a variant reptilian base for the G-44 process, and my mind tends to wander a bit when I'm in the idea stage. What do you need?"

Yeah, sure you were.

"Oh, it's fairly simple, I just need your signature on this requisitions form."

The signature was given without comment or complaint; Morry doubted the creepy bastard even bothered looking at the details – guess even he knows this whole project's been fucked since the outset, and putting an out-of-touch psychopath in charge isn't going to magically unfuck everything. Seriously, even a genius was going to have some catching up to do after 17 years away from the field, and 'Mr. Askell' had been hauled in with blackmail and ordered to do what dozens of more qualified men couldn't in about a quarter of the time; no wonder the whole thing was going to hell.

Still, at least the men upstairs hadn't gone full retard – an internal notice had made it clear that the kind of research techniques the Professor was famous for had been decisively taken off the table, and any signs of him trying to do something incognito were to be reported ASAP. Like we wouldn't freak and call in the bosses anyway, if we saw him sewing animals together in a spare lab room like budget Dr. Moreau. That was another problem though: being asked to work with a guy whose prior accomplishments had been fueled by a program of illegal, immoral, and arguably insane experimentation on animals and humans alike.

As he placed the requisition and headed back toward his workstation (making the requisite small talk with coworkers along the way, of course: Bobby even had something interesting to contribute today!), Morry questioned, not for the first time, if he'd covered his ass sufficiently for what was coming down the pipe. Tercine's dumbass plan to 'revitalize' the division was going to go up in smokes once the suits realized their new miracle-worker was still struggling to get his head around established theories from a half-decade ago, and when they descended on R&D like the wrath of God Almighty, Morry Lepten did not intend to be one of the heads on the chopping block.

Unfortunately, his ruminations on the subject were cut short by the touch of someone's hand grasping the back of his neck, an odd sensation of light shining on the inside of his skull, and then several other experiences he was not mentally equipped to describe before he fell unconscious. Some might argue that Lepten's life effectively ended at this point, but neither his employers nor his coworkers would notice until it was far, far too late.

------------------------------​

Aloysius indulged himself with some cheerful humming as he finished typing up his letter of thanks to the head of Expenditures; the dear fellow had been just ecstatic to see such incredible cost/benefit ratios coming out of the R&D division since the Professor had taken charge, and he'd finally decided to offer a tacit symbol of his approval in the form of some tickets to the revival showing of Der Ring Des Nibelungen. Really, this was the kind of thing a man could get used to!

He'd let himself feel a shadow of doubt there, for a moment – 'Askell' had been practically treading water for his first month of employment, and there'd even been claims from some of the eggheads that their new boss was out of touch and struggling to keep up with them. Fortunately, Aloysius hadn't been forced to go down and explain basic logic to the so-called scientists before things had turned around.

Still, even he hadn't predicted this kind of showing from the good Professor. Seven projects set before him, six completed within two months, one being redesigned to incorporate a set of new discoveries that would increase the finished product's effectiveness by 160%! The name of Aloysius Tercine was hovering on a great many lips in the upper ranks these days, and wasn't that just so satisfying after decades of trundling along in semi-obscurity? Really, the only annoyance so far was that Askell remained (in his own polite way) utterly insufferable about having to work 90 hours a week; coercion aside, you'd think the man would be happy to get his feet wet after spending so long hiding in the boonies.

A familiar three-pause-two knock on his office door interrupted Tercine's train of thought; his secretary apparently needed something.

"Come on in, dear – but I do hope it's important." He waved his free hand in a 'get on with it' gesture that was entirely superfluous, given the opaque door between them, but still appealed to Aloysius as a properly patriarchal gesture.

Sheila opened the door and ushered in... the Professor. Oh my, oh dear. He really should have expected this. Miss Lencroft was too young to really remember much about "Doktor Hackstück" and his experiments: she may have been told he was a monster, but all she saw was a polite, affable single parent being kept away from his daughter in the name of economic efficiency. In the safety of his own head, Aloysius sighed. There would have to be words with her after this. No amount of misaimed compassion could excuse letting a sociopath waste his time with an argument that had already been resolved.

"Good evening, Mr. Tercine."

"Good evening, 'Mister Askell'. No, don't bother stating the obvious, I'll just restart this 'discussion' from the top: I have already made up my mind regarding your work schedule, and-"

"Forgive me for interrupting, but I'm actually here to discuss something else."

A lesser man might have refused to acknowledge that the sudden interjection left him momentarily flabbergasted. Aloysius Tercine openly admitted to himself that yes, he had made an assumption based on prior knowledge, and that assumption had apparently been false. At least something productive could come of this now, I suppose.

The Professor hesitated, then suddenly held out his hand, palm-up, in some mutant combination of a full-arm shrug and a "what're you gonna do?" gesture. It was honestly disturbing how well the man managed to play the shy, retiring nice guy – it was almost unfair that he got to be both a brilliant scientist and a masterful social manipulator.

"I'm here to explain how things are going to be from now on, Mister Tercine."

I'm sorry, what? Had some other company managed to get to him, promise to pull him out of his current arrangement? Was he trying to pull together his own counter-blackmail gambit? Good luck there – I don't have anything you can use, unless you count a few traffic tickets. Try as he might, there was no explanation Tercine could come up with that made any sense, other than 'the Professor's lost his mind even more than he already had'. While trying to deal with an unhinged genius made for an interesting thought experiment, doing so when said madman was within strangling distance was far less appealing.

"... That is a bold statement, Mister Askell." He really should have gone in for a panic button, or even just a second exit to his office.

"Is it? I'm not really sure. Really, I suppose it might be a matter of... perspective."

Perhaps he could try to use his paperweight as a bludgeon? It was a foot-long bar of granite, which he'd bet would have decent odds of dealing out a decent bone fracture or two – but did he trust himself to be able to grab it, stand, and attack before the Professor could...

Why wasn't Sheila reacting to this?

She was just standing there, looking perfectly calm and relaxed despite the rapid turn this conversation was taking for the concerning. Even if she'd somehow been turned against him, there would be... something. Righteous anger. Guilt.

Something was wrong. More wrong.

"What have you done to my secretary, Professor?"

"You noticed. Hah. Well, it leads into what I was just talking about, Mister Tercine." He clapped his hands twice in succession, and then the world stopped making any sense at all.

Sheila's entire body... squirmed, for lack of a better word – like every vein in her body was suddenly struggling to escape, madly pressing against her skin from beneath like worms in a corpse. For a brief moment, Aloysius had a vision of her simply exploding, painting the walls with gore. Instead, her flesh began to shift and move in tandem with the coiling veins, before everything suddenly twisted and Sheila Lencroft disappeared beneath an expanding surface of rubbery red-black chitin.

In her place was a vision out of nightmare, arms and noses and lashing tendrils stuck together by clumps of cancerous, pulsating meat. It fell almost immediately, slumping as its lower extremities failed to hold its mass upright, and eventually lounged across the floor of Aloysius' office like a nematode worm from Hell.

"Poor girl. I've been doing what I can to help... clean her up, but the way her components interact – they're just too fascinating for me to take it all to pieces and start from scratch!"

By his voice, Askell could have been talking about a new TV show he'd fallen in love with, but that was the only part of him that still clung to the facade of unprepossessing kindliness Tercine had always seen him wear. The too-wide eyes, the sharp, dramatic movements of his hands, the leering grin of ecstatic joy, they were all Doktor Hackstück.

"Incredible! Just incredible! And would like to know how I did it, Mister Tercine?" A hideous jag of nigh-hysterical laughter cut off even the chance of a response as Askell advanced on his former overseer, hand outstretched.

"Let me show you."

Even if the men and women in the office outside hadn't already been adjusted not to interfere, what happened next would have likely gone unnoticed; it is quite hard to hear the sound of a man's larynx fusing shut through a closed wooden door.

------------------------------​

Jacob Askell watched as his little girl finally drifted off to sleep. When they'd first come home from the park, he'd thought she would never settle down – being able to spend time with each other again after the last few months had really been good for them both.

He looked up at the creation that would watch her as she rested in its perch on the ceiling. He'd patterned it after one of Nina's storybooks, a sprite hiding in a grove of rose bushes. The leafy tendrils that blossomed among the rafters were beautiful, to be sure, but they could still seize – and then crush – anything that dared disturb his daughter's sleep. That it had been made from a man who'd tried to separate Jacob from her was just... poetic justice.

What to do next, he thought a few minutes later, wrist-deep in the central mass of Miss Lencroft's body (research was coming along nicely there; he'd managed to get to the point where he could restore her human head, and they'd even had a few conversations during their most recent sessions), now that the world has opened, and I have gazed on its soul?

The answer came as he catalogued the dynamic of Miss Lencroft's dual heart-lung structure – he essentially ran a sizable corporation at this point (albeit by dint of rendering its executives psychologically incapable of disobeying his commands), so why not have them put out a few feelers and track down his wife? She'd left them years ago, but while he'd been unable to keep her from abandoning their daughter then, given what he could do now...

Cassandra would make good on the promises she'd sworn at the altar, care for her child the way a mother should. Even if he had to brand the directives into her frontal lobe. He even knew how to give his wife time to accept Nina as her daughter without causing unnecessary friction.

His little girl had always wanted a pet dog.

------------------------------​

So, yeah.

For those who haven't figured it out yet, here's a picture!

Spoiler: Professor Wenzeslaus Horstuch, a.k.a. Jacob Askell, a.k.a. Doktor Hackstück, and his darling daughter Nina!

 

[Alexander89]

Spoiler: Rolls

Manipulation+Presence


Manipulation+Performance


Manipulation+Performance

[X] Yes

It's too late to change the plan now. You'll just have to trust in your men to overcome any possible obstacles. You trained the Black Knights, gave them purpose and belief in your abilities to make their dreams a reality. Everyone has a role to play, you included, and failure is not an option.

Never again.

Your confidence receives a boost when you see the gate to the hotel open, the JLF soldiers making motions for the van to come inside. Whatever Kusakabe sees in you, an ally or an obstacle, he cannot resist the desire to meet you in person. That will be his downfall.

When the driver stops in front of the main entrance you smoothly hop down on the ground. An officer flanked by two armed soldiers approaches you. "Are you Zero, leader of the Black Knights? Lieutenant Colonel Kusakabe-sama wishes to meet you."

"What a coincidence: this is exactly the reason I am here." You perform a flourish with your hand as the driver leaves the van and stands respectfully behind you. "Lead the way."

"One moment." His gaze shifts to the van. "Is there someone else on the vehicle?"

You see his hand starting to rise, probably to give the order to check it. You will not allow it. "No, only us two were on it." You say those words as if they are the absolute truth. "It's just a van we appropriated from a couple of distracted journalists, surely taking me to Lieutenant Colonel Kusakabe is more important that checking an empty van?"

His hand stops and lowers. "Yes, you're right. Follow me, but only you."

"But of course."

You're rising in the elevator when you receive a transmission from the transmitter you installed into your mask. "Zero, I'm Nathan. Do you copy?"

You discretely tap a section of your belt, where a device was hidden that allow you to send messages in Morse Code, and send a reply.

"You cannot speak. Got it, I'll be brief then. I managed to hack into Britannia's communications. I may be new at this but even I can tell the security is a joke. Anyway, there isn't much that wasn't on the news save for one thing: there is an underground tunnel below the hotel and Britannia tried to send Knightmare Frames to destroy the support foundations of the building. The plan was to use the distraction to rescue the hostages and let the JLF die in the collapse. It didn't work. The JLF has some kind of linear cannon down there, it tore all Frames sent against it with ease."

Kusakabe truly is going all out. Such a pity he's incompetent.

"However, Clovis just gave the order for the Lancelot to attack the tunnel again, alone. I think it's that Seventh Generation Knightmare Miss Rakshata talked about. It's possible it will succeed, so if you feel the building moving get out of there, quickly. There is a small boat anchored in the J-33 section and a storeroom full of auto-inflatable lifeboats. You can use them to escape."

So that's its name, Lancelot. How fitting for such a pest to have the name of the knight that caused the fall of Camelot.

You send another quick reply, telling Nathan to tell the same thing to the others before ending the communications.

====​

Everything happens without a sound.

While the JLF soldiers are waiting in the lobby together with the driver the rear of the van opens and two figures wrapped in black slide out, using the vehicle's size to hide from cameras and open the doors to the lobby. The driver, who was instructed to initiate small talks to distract the soldiers, gives no sign of reacting.

Lian's fingers bury into the neck of two soldiers, the mouths that opened into them crushing and devouring the delicate cartilage inside.

The King Beggar of Nadir beheads the heads of the remaining two soldiers with a single move, mortal bones being no match for Soulsteel.

"News from Zero?" Far from being shaken from the grimsly display the driver poses the question with an even tone, raising his cap to reveal Akito's face.

"Only one: that we must hurry." Nadir hands out to the Slayer his bladed tonfas. "The Britannians are going to destroy the foundations and make the building sink, soon."

"Crude, too crude." Akito grins toothily as the rest of the Black Knights run inside the lobby. He takes out a pair of advanced goggles and put them on. "Where?"

Lian's delicate lips part as her dainty tongue licks the air, discerning through all scents until she finds fear and heavy stress. "This way."

They move with confidence, aided by the hotel's map provided by Nathan and Lian's extraordinary senses. All patrols are quickly and silently deal with, until they reach a door guarded by two guards.

"Is it clear?" Nadir whispers.

"No, there is one of them right in front of the door." Akito replies cryptically. Good thing he always brings with him essence-seeing lens in case spirits are involved, they allow him to see the blue man standing in front of the door. "Distraction."

Nodding Nadir grabs a bullet, takes aim and flicks it so that it lands in the opposite direction. It lands with 'clink!', causing the heads of the guards and the dematerialized spirit to turn in that direction.

Akito shoots forward, almost emulating those favored by Adorjan with pure leg strength alone. He pulls back his fist and growls "Be humbled." before swinging it at the spirit's back.

The hostages are startled when the building tremble, but have soon something else to worry about as masked men and women dressed in black rush into the room and start decimating the JLF.

"See, what did I tell you Shirley?" Milly says with a wide smile as she keeps massaging Nina's head on her lap, having been forced to calm her down when her fear of Elevens almost got her in troubles. "Heroes always arrives to save the fair maidens."

====​

When you're ushered into the room Kusakabe is waiting inside seated on a couch, flanked by two soldiers and with his back against a flag of the old Japan put on the wall. How trite.

"So Zero, what is the reason of your presence here?" He asks as if trying to impose dominance and subservience on you, not realizing how outclassed he is.

Hidden by the mask your eyes flash green. 'Worthless, worthless and-oh, not totally worthless.' Kusakabe and the man on his right are mere mortals, but the essence of the one on the left burns brighter. But he's not an Exalt.

"An human sorcerer most likely. Must be the one who summoned the Elementals and negotiated with the minor gods. Back in the day all human settlements had someone trained to act as diplomat with supernatural creatures."

Mildly interesting but ultimately irrelevant. Even if Kusakabe really made a pact with a higher ranked god, the latter would obviously risk their neck by participating.

The buffoon has exhausted his usefulness to you.

"Kusakabe Josui, I have come to inform you that your actions today have dishonored yourself and your men." You intone, using your anger at your friends being taken hostage to add an edge to your voice. What you are about to deliver is a horrible truth that will bring despair and so it's supported by Ebon Dragon, but you want him to suffer. "Taking your men into almost certain death in an operation not approved of by your superior might be forgiven, but you have taken innocent women and children hostage, used them as your shields. This is cowardice unbefitting of a warrior of Japan! You have sullied the honor of not only the Japanese Liberation Front, but the very Japanese people who you claim your actions serve! That bastard Clovis will use this opportunity to destroy the JLF's reputation worldwide, to give them confirmation that the Japanese are the savage barbarians Britannia claims us to be, to justify their occupation and oppression!"

You reach into your mantle, and pull out an ordinary sheathed tanto, letting it fall on the table in front of you. "There is only one recourse to restore your honor, Kusakabe Josui."

He appears to be about to say something in retort, but his eyes go wide as he begins to see things that aren't there. "N-No! Father! Shinji-kun! What are you doing here? Why are you looking at me like that! Stop it! I did nothing wrong! Stop!"

He fearfully stands up and backs away even as his guards look at him in confusion. One of them, the one with a stronger Essence, abruptly turns back to stare at you with wide eyes.

You shoot him three times, two in the chest and one in the stomach, before doing the same with the other one. The guards who were stationed outside are dealt with in the same manner.

Kusakabe, obvious to the carnage, has taken out his sword and started to slash wildly at the air as he keeps repeating he did everything for the sake of Japan. Maybe you shouldn't be so surprised, to keep going so far his delusions must be strong indeed.

The whole building shakes once, twice before it begins to sink. "Damn it all! Already?"

"Zero!" Nadir rushes into the room. Seeing you're okay he smiles but doesn't relax. "We gotta go!" He tosses you the detonator.

"Thank you." You catch it with one hand before aiming your gun at Kusakabe. "I have no more time to waste with you."

You pull the trigger and nail him in the chest. The force is enough to send him stumbling backward and through the window door before he falls outside the hotel.

The thumb of your other hand presses the detonator's trigger.

====​

With Nadir's help you quickly reach the escape point and board the boat, leaving the debris behind. The hostages were put on the lifeboats floating ahead, so that Britannia cannot attack you without doing the same with the hostages.

One Black Knight gives you the OK signal before leaving the camera mounted on the bow and returns to your side. In a few seconds you'll be on live.

After such a splendidly done operation, it's only fair you regale the whole Area Eleven with a grandiose speech by yours truly.

[] Write-in.

Stunt Pool: 5/6

Personal Essence: 8/16
Peripheral Essence: 16/39

Willpower: 10/10

Click to shrink...

====

Tomorrow I'm going on a vacation for 1-2 weeks, so sadly no further updates until I return. Have fun making up a suitable speech for the ever charismatic Zero.

 

[GardenerBriareus]

... Well, I seem to have settled into a steady rhythm of one omake every three months, so here's another!

This one's actually a two-parter; trying to put it all together in one post would have made for at least 3000 words, and I'm still nailing down some details on the part after this one. Please, enjoy.


=========================================================================

The Moon Weeps...​

=========================================================================

As the second of the two armed men who'd been waiting in his apartment began to crumple, a lawn dart embedded in the back of each eye socket, Jun was already heading for the door.

He'd moved districts, changed his face, even settled for a job with a moving business in case the Britannians were keeping an eye on the art scene. How the hell had the Wyld Hunt tracked him down? If- no, when he got out of this (think positive, Jun!), that creepy fuck Hallden was going to get an earful over this. He glided through the halls of his soon-to-be former apartment building like a ghost, eyes already shivering and twisting into those of a cat for the improved night vision. Jun even debated over whether to go for better legs, too, but all he had for that was deer, and the hooves would make a decidedly unstealthy racket against the neighborhood's mostly-paved streets.

Jun dithered for a moment as he neared the back door of the building. Wait – having guys on the exits is basically Movie Villain 101, right? He spent precious seconds dithering over whether he should risk it, until suddenly an idea hit him – one of the spooky wizard tricks Hallden had taught him might work for this. Sure, he'd only been shown how to use it for long-distance melee so far, but eyes were just another body part, right? Right.

Quietly hoping this wouldn't end with his eyeballs splattered across "the Beyond" (why the pretentious name?), Jun still flinched at the sudden, indescribable sensation above his nose, followed by relief as he suddenly got a split-second glimpse of the dingy alley behind the apartment building, which was mercifully free of armed thugs in body armor.

Alright, the back way's clear; time to book it. Unfortunately, as he peeked around the corner to check for ambushers waiting at the alley's mouth, a sudden squirming in the back of his skull and a supernaturally swift backstep were all that saved him from a crossbow bolt spearing his left eye and continuing on out the back of his head.

Back way's not clear. Shit!

Immediately, he started pulling up the essence of a turtle egg he'd eaten way back on a dare, using the thick shell it would have grown to toughen his own skin, even as his muscles started to tingle with feline grace. No way a normal shooter could spot me and get a shot off that fast. Guess it's time to meet my first Dragonblood. Hopefully, it would be a very brief meeting, with Jun begging off to go somewhere very, very far away.

Shit shit shit... No, no, stop panicking and think positive.

Okay. Hallden fed me a shitload of animals, so which one can get me out of this? The sparrow's no good – even if I just turn into one and try to fly out, Supersniper out there can probably still nail me. Could try turning into a mouse and hiding, but I don't know this area from a mouse's-eye view, and they'll probably swarm the alley with goons if I don't come out, so I'd just be cornered and balls-deep in Britannian assholes.

Wait, the gecko! Seeing a possible out, Jun did his best to remember what the view from his apartment's roof was like – he'd figured out a trick that could let him just relive one of times he'd gone up there to get baked, but that would eat into his spiritual gas tank, and he'd already burned like, a third of that between dealing with those two assassins in his room, doing the Whisper-Gate(?) Technique to peek at the alley, and not getting a hole punched through his skull. Still, he was fairly sure the building he was resting his back was Telsin's Tea and Coffee, which had a nice triangle-shaped roof he could hide behind while –

Then there was a second crossbow bolt flying at the young New Moon's midsection, making an impossible 270-degree turn to hit him, and Jun barely avoided being spitted with another burst of silver-tinged speed. Still, he could feel moonlight start to shine through his bandanna as the tiny expenditure of energy that had cost him pushed the lunar eclipse mark on his forehead into full luminescence.

Now that his opponent had proved capable of curving the goddamn bullet, Jun decided to stop standing around and immediately took to the walls, quickly sprouting up even more gripping hairs from every inch of his skin in a desperate effort to climb just that little bit faster. If it turned out he was climbing the wrong building, it wouldn't be much worse than waiting for another impossible trick shot coming around the corner of the alley mouth.

As he heaved himself up onto the faux-ceramic roof tiles of TT&C, Jun discovered there was one possible downside he hadn't considered. There could be a man in military gear up there, already pulling the trigger on his assault rifle even as Jun registered his presence. In a moment of sheer panic, he seized on the most powerful defensive measure he had, and the ensuing hail of bullets crumpled and slid off as silvery chitin suddenly burst upward from beneath their target's skin.

In the adrenaline-soaked fury of the moment, Jun didn't even fully register that he'd ruined all hope of sneaking away into the night, that in shielding himself, he'd drawn too deeply from his inner reservoir and now his entire body was glowing like a five-foot lamp. He was too busy sending his attacker sailing off the rooftop with a flurry of inelegant, sloppy punches that nevertheless seethed with the unnatural energies of the Beyond.

As Jun watched the man fly out into open air (only to land back-first against the lip of a dumpster on the far side of the street below, the sharp impact snapping his spine like a plywood board) a voice spoke from a few yards behind him and to the left. "What now, o friend of murderers?"

The speaker stood at the rooftop's summit with both arms folded behind their back, looking down on him with the air of a judge passing sentence. How did they get up here so fast without me – Dragonblood. FUCK. Jun immediately started trying to figure out if he could make it to the next rooftop with one jump, and whether or not it would be possible to improve his odds by switching out his current legs for a frog's without her realizing his plan and immediately jumping him.

Wait, what about her plan! I've got this!

A moment's hesitation, a brief push of Essence, and suddenly-


NeVER stoP MakInG ThEm PAY!


Jun barely kept himself from flinching as he absorbed the shape of his enemy's soul – he'd never exactly enjoyed pushing another person's beliefs into his own head, but this...

This woman was defined by a single goal – hurt the Silver Pact, hurt everyone who'd ever dared render them aid or succor, never stop making them pay. Even with as limited a breadth of experience with the Other-Mimicking Thoughts technique as Jun had, he had to believe this was the mind of somebody who was singularly, remarkably dedicated and focused on their lone goal, beyond all temperance and reason. Just feeling their hate second-hand was enough to set Jun's guts boiling.

… He could work with this. He felt decades older, he'd probably have nightmares about this for the rest of his days, but he could work with this.

After all, a person wearing metaphorical blinders is more easily led.


"What am I going to do now? I'm going to help you hurt the Silver Pact, in exchange for my life."


The words spilled from Jun's tongue like poisoned honey, carried to his enemy's mind by the grace of Luna herself – the technique Hallden had dubbed the "Viper-in-Nest Stratagem". This was the first time he'd ever used it for its intended purpose of ensnaring an enemy's will, but-

When she suddenly drew a pistol and started firing, Jun was able to throw up a protective layer of silvered chitin (ignoring as he did so how the effort sent the ever-changing painted canvas of his anima spiraling across the sky), but not even the sudden warning throb in the back of his skull, or the answering surge of inhumanly swift evasion, saved him from the fusillade of bullets and crossbow bolts that erupted from the buildings behind her. All he consciously perceived was that suddenly, he was falling, and there seemed to be nothing he could do about it.

For a dozen precious heartbeats, the young Lunar simply lay on the rooftop, staring up at the soaring vista of contrasted colors and evolving shapes being written on the night sky above him. Hallden had always been so dismissive of anima banners – they were a liability, they were just the spiritual equivalent of exhaust coming out of an engine, they made stealth impossible – but Jun felt that they were the most underappreciated blessing that Luna had offered her Chosen: the chance to see your own soul, to show it to others.

He coughed, and then there was something warm and wet on his lips and chin. It took another seven heartbeats before Jun realized the connection between that fact and the coppery taste in his mouth.

Above, the delicate patterns of his anima were beginning to vanish, overwritten by a shimmering vista of deep, earthy yellows and grey-browns that brought visions of Wheat Fields (a set of van Gogh paintings that his second girlfriend had always liked) to the fore of Jun's fading consciousness.

By the time its effects started to corrode his flesh into fragile white clay, Jun had already slipped into unconsciousness, and he felt no pain as body was crushed and disintegrated beneath the weight of his enemy's soul.

=========================================================================


Please, let me know what you think, everyone - I understand my scribblings are no substitute for a proper quest update, but I'm actually kind of proud that I've managed to maintain a semi-regular update pace. Sure, once every three months is kind of crap, but it's better than I've managed in the past.

 

[Alexander89]

But In Our Case, It Was Less Death And More A Case Of Deep Hibernation In Order To Recover Strength

After All, Only Wimps Need To Die First To Return

And Now, Let's Start With Appropriate Music:

​

Spoiler: Votes

[X] Find the VIP
[X] Altered Canon Speech
No. of Votes: 6
Sylvire
AvidFicReader
Deathwings
Gnarker
meianmaru
Sitxar

[X] Altered Canon Speech
No. of Votes: 3
Enjou
GardenerBriareus
Karugus

Spoiler: Rolls

Perception+Awareness:

+1 Automatic Success. Total Successes: 4

Manipulation + Performance:

...17 Successes. Let it be a testament to the fact that SV and Lelouch Lamperouge is a very scary combination.

[X] Find the VIP
[X] Altered Canon Speech

In a few seconds you'll be online, but you don't want to waste them heedlessly, as you already have a speech ready. Instead, you scan the crowd of hostages being loaded to lifeboats with eyes that are not hindered even by absolute darkness, and that can see far more than just the dross 'material' world of calcified Essence. But in this case, you are mostly looking for those mundane yet oh-so important clues, anomalous behavior among the now mostly hopeful crowd being lead to the lifeboats, or faces that you might recognize.

Hidden by your mask, your eyes flash green once as you spot someone suspicious.

A flash of...pink?

Spoiler

Worthless, your powers tell you. A clear sign of unenlightened mortality, yet as you turn back to the camera you are grateful for the mask, as it hides the shock and incredulity on your face.

Euphemia. It's her, without a doubt: aged as she may be, you would recognize that face, that hair, those eyes everywhere.

"Do you know her Boss?"

'...She is my half-sister. One of the few members of the royal family I was truly close to.' No wonder Clovis didn't dare retaliate: despite his faults you know he truly cares for family, and like you Euphemia was very dear to him. Also, Cornelia would make him wish he was dead if something happened to Euphy under his jurisdiction. 'Later.'

With almost inhuman will you shove the mess of emotions seeing Euphy again created to the back of your mind just at the light turns green and the live begins. "Britannians. There's no need to panic: the hostages that were being held in the hotel have all been saved. I shall return them to you." You begin with a reassuring tone. You have given instructions to Nathan to switch to shots of the lifeboats with the hostages, in order to give legitimacy to your words.

Suddenly, the boat lights illuminate your comrades at your sides, but you stay partially cloaked in darkness to maintain your air of mystery and uniqueness. Normally it would be a bad move, theatrically speaking of course, but you have partaken in the essence of the Primordial Darkness and your glory shines now just as greatly as those under the most heavenly light. "People of the world! Fear us, or seek us! We, the Order of the Black Knights, are allies of all those who hold no weapons! Be they Japanese, Britannians or any other nation!"

That's right: they are Japanese, not a demeaning number. You will scourge yourself of that rotten culture you once called homeland and remade it anew. So Oramus will. So you will.

And so it shall be.

"The Japanese Liberation Front used cowardly tactics: they took Britannian civilians as hostages and were preparing to kill them in cold blood. It was a meaningless action. Thus, we have punished them."

Those words are not going to endear you to the rest of the JLF, but they are not possible allies: merely future pawns. Soon Kaguya will have the Six Houses under her control, and then you and her can begin to discard the useless parts and keep the worthwhile ones.

"Marquess Anson was the same: he used innocents who had no weapons to defend themselves for his vain and senseless experiments. We could not allow these cruel acts to stand! Thus, we punished him!"

How fortunate that human experiments are one of the few things that even Britannian culture does not condone, at least openly. Only you killing Clovis for the massacre at Shinjuku could have been better, but the idiot is way more useful as an unwilling asset.

"I don't wish to fight, to kill. But this world is corrupt and broken, and so I must! The wicked may revel in their oppression of the powerless, but we shall be there to fight them! We shall defeat them at every turn!"

And so shall a seed be planted inside those watching you this moment. So shall your manifesto spread and take roots within the hearts of those sympathetic to your cause. No, this is your proclamation of war against Britannia and Heaven!

A subtle one of course. That would catch the wrong type of attention entirely too early.

"Those with power, fear us!" You spread your left arm, letting your cape flap. "Those without, seek us!" Spreading your right arm you declare boldly, encouraging others to join your rebellion. "This world shall know justice, for we are the Black Knights!"

{====}​

When your speech ended the still hidden Black Knights tossed the barrels of artificial mist into the lake, creating a smoke screen that allowed your boat to slide away unseen and unobstructed. False messages to the stationed soldiers do the rest, and everyone is able to disembark safely and quickly slip away into the night, leaving the Britannian army empty-handed.

"To an operation done splendidly." You raise a glass. "The first of many. Cheers."

"CHEERS!" The others reply. You decided that the occasion deserved a small celebration, and with Leila being busy writing a report it's only you and the other Infernals. Minus Milly of course

"Man! I only wish I could be there and crack some skulls too!" Akio pouts and that's exactly why you didn't include him. "Not that I was eager to save the ass of some Britannian noble."

"Me too." Nadir adds. "However, I trust Zero that it was necessary."

"Verily." You reply after a small sip of vine. "It was too good of an occasion to not take advantage of it. But rest assured: some were small fishes not worth considering, and for the rest..." You grin. "Their time will come, and in a very fitting way. That day you can-rather, I insist you be on the front seat."

"Oooh, it sounds devious." Rakshata comments. "So much for the whole knights of justice."

"Whatever you may mean?" You reply with a knowing grin that elicits a general round of laughs.

"With Zero's speech at the end recruitment is going to skyrocket." Yelena points out. "If you need help with the organization..."

"Thank you, that would be most helpful." Kaguya smiles.

Yes, things could only get better from now on.

{====}​

September 20th

"I know this may sound sudden, but let me introduce a few new arrivals." The man begins. "First, Ashford's new physic professor: miss Rakshata Mann."

"Heey." She lazily replies. "I don't expect you to work hard, or work at all. Just do as I say without questions, and everyone will be happy."

You are such a fool!

"T-Thank you. Next , our new students: from the homeland, Nathan Coulter."

"...Hi." He slowly reply, not looking anyone in the eyes.

"From the EU, as part of a special program: Leila Glais and Akito Inoshishi."

"A pleasure to meet you. I hope we will get along." Leila performs a polite bow, while Akito just stay silent, staring ahead with a deadpan glare.

"And, finally, though not in our year we have-"

"Hello everyone!" Kaguya waves her hand, winking cutely. "My name is Kaguya Sumeragi! Head of the Sumeragi family and one of Area Eleven's official representative for the mining and refinement of Sakuradite. Nice to meet you!"

You facepalm, closing your eyes and counting to ten before peeking between your fingers. They're still there, it wasn't a nightmare.

Suzaku is gaping like a fish out of water. "K-K-Kaguya?!?" He finally splutters.

"Oh! Hello cousin, it's been so long since we saw each other." Kaguya smiles sweetly. "Our family will be overjoyed at the news: they have searched for you for sooo long."

Judging from Suzaku's quickly paling face, it isn't a meeting he is looking forward to.

At least you're not alone in the suffering.

[] Write-in.

====

Gained:

Influence (Resistance against Britannia): OO

Cult (Zero): OO

Click to shrink...

====

Lake Kawaguchi: Complete!

+4 Xp for spreading the cause of the Black Knights over all the world
+5 Xp for completing the Scene
+2 Xp for rolling so good, reality weeped while Oramus and EB twirled their mustaches
+6 Xp for active participation

====

Spoiler: XP Plan

In case you forgot:

In-Training:

Dexterity 4 (10 days left) (7 Xp not yet paid)
Intelligence (7 XP not yet paid, 24 days left)

Fourth-Soul Devil Domain (9 XP not yet paid, 2 days left)
Nemesis Self Imagined Anew (Ebon Dragon - 8 XP, 2 Days)
Impossible Dragon Constitution (Oramus, 8 XP, 2 Days)
Flesh of Horrible Hallucinations (Oramus, 8 XP, 2 Days)
Living Paradox (Oramus, 8 XP, 3 Days)
By Pain Reforged (Malfeas, 10 XP, 4 Days)
Scar-Writ Saga Shield (Malfeas, 10 XP, 4 Days)
Preposterous Molding of Zero (Oramus, 8 XP, 2 Days)


Current: 172 Xp
Total acquired: 375 Xp

====

Things I should have done sooner:

Doktor Hackstück

Click to shrink...

+3 Xp and canon-ess of our dear doctor.

The Moon Weeps...

Click to shrink...

Again, +3 Xp and canon-ess of...the DB? The Lunar is kinda dead at this point.


And, obviously, re-starting this quest. I just hope I haven't lost too many people….please reassure me?