She left the dead-drop point alone for now, knowing full well that they would be paying attention to it. The possibility of being attacked at that cafe didn¡¯t particularly concern her ¡ª it was one of, if not the most public place she visited, not far from the central square. No, she just wanted to let them stew for a bit, and to give herself time to take other actions and observe whether the stalkers reacted to them, thus proving their employer was connected.
Razem welcomed her with open arms, asking her to recount her experience during the raid in the same tone one would ask a friend to recount an amusing bar-crawl story. She readily did as much, keeping some key details to herself out of instinct.
¡°I truly appreciate you keeping this old man company, but surely, you haven¡¯t come just to give me a first-hand account,¡± he said, swirling the blue liquid that filled his glass. He smirked. ¡°I hear you¡¯ve been trying to register an agency. How¡¯s that going for you? Find a new appreciation for the church¡¯s bureaucracy yet?¡±
¡°Yeah. I¡¯m appalled at myself,¡± Krahe replied, jokingly. ¡°I¡¯m sure someone is stopping up the cogs. Figured you might be able to grease them.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t you know the secular government operates separately from the church?¡± Razem asked, facetiously.
¡°I¡¯m not asking you to act as a clergyman. I¡¯m asking you to use your personal connections to ensure that the process of government are carried out properly and without undue interruptions from other third parties¡ And to ideally find out the source of those interruptions, if possible. Is that too much to ask? I¡¯ve already got a gaggle of morons trying to tail me, I¡¯m sure if I tear down enough puppets I¡¯ll yank the puppeteer¡¯s hand down by the strings eventually.¡±
Razem looked at her for a few seconds. He took a sip, and for a moment, he stopped being a clergyman. For a moment, Krahe was sat across from a bloodstained creature with murder behind the eyes, one of her own kind. Then, it was over.
¡°Of course I can clear it up for you. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s just a misunderstanding,¡± he said with a genial smile.
A few days passed.
Conveniently, as if by pure coincidence, the moment Razem had involved himself, Krahe¡¯s paperwork was no longer an issue, and the only thing left to do was to secure a public office location. However, surely also by pure coincidence, her stalkers only grew more aggressive, attempting to cut her off multiple times in the span of a single day. Outmaneouvering them was a matter of some effort without Barzai, but outmaneouver them she did. It had become abundantly obvious that, the moment they saw her arm, they tunnel-visioned on it to a deleterious degree, and Krahe exploited this fact along with some basic quick-change. Not only did she lose her stalkers through this method, she also managed to get up-close and get a good look at a few of them. In the middle of the night, she stopped by the cafe dead-drop. Even now, one of them was stationed there, but he was fast asleep. She retrieved the memslate in the dead-drop and vanished like so much smoke. The memslate was of shockingly high quality, wrought of unblemished, perfectly homogenous material and with sigils so tiny they were just lines. Using a separate, disposable eyebox, she played it, and found herself disappointed by the carelessness her opponent displayed ¡ª she had thought this was chess, but instead, it was checkers.
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An older woman¡¯s voice filled with an insufferable sense of entitlement spilled out of the device, and a handwritten transcript scrolled alongside it.
¡°This is Brizogia Rasug al-Imuzat, of the Silversword Agency. You have surely heard of me by now. Meet me at the agency¡¯s office in the Orguss District. Do right by me, and you will have your personal micro-agency before the week is out. Refuse, and you will never find work in my city again. End recording.¡±
Going off of the timestamp at the transcript¡¯s bottom, this had been recorded before Krahe got Razem involved. If she had to guess, Krahe imagined Brizogia to be seething in her office at the moment the news reached her. Deciding to add salt onto the wound, Krahe recorded a curt response. She then made her way to the cafe and placed it right there, on the table, in front of the sleeping lookout.
The message was simple: ¡°Meet me at this cafe, or we don¡¯t meet at all. I hope you make a better offer next time, for your own good. I will be here next Saturday at noon.¡±
Krahe intentionally set the meeting time so that there would be a good number of people around. Even if Brizogia pulled strings to get the area cleared out and locked down, that would still achieve Krahe¡¯s intended effect of drawing attention. The point was to make it as painful for Brizogia to try anything shady as possible. If she tried to kill Krahe in broad daylight, it would look bad, and when Krahe inevitably humiliated her by thwarting such an attempt, it would look even worse. The only way for Brizogia to come out of this with a net gain would be to play nice. This was so abundantly obvious that there was no doubt in Krahe¡¯s mind Brizogia would realize it, which in itself was another sort of torment, if Brizogia¡¯s temperament matched Krahe¡¯s first impression of her.
In the meanwhile, accounting for the possibility of Brizogia¡¯s people actively coming after her, Krahe picked out a suitable killing ground: An old, poorly-maintained house, scheduled for demolition as part merging it with its neighboring property. Its basement had a single entrance, and shared a wall with the neighboring basement. These two things made this place in particular perfect as a trap ¡ª Krahe could cave in the entrance, light the fuse of the actual killing apparatus, and simply skim out of danger, reaching the surface before the bombs went off. It would be like a magic trick. She would keep her tools out of sight and mind, directing their attention as was necessary until the key moment. The explosives she intended to use were of the same type employed in soulbeast hunting, designed to be hidden from creatures who could naturally sense thaumic fluctuations. The only downside was the setup time, making it impractical if you couldn¡¯t get the quarry where you needed it.
This was all an elaborate way of getting around the fact she couldn¡¯t bring Barzai to bear. Were he an option, she would have had a much easier time disposing of these halfassed stalkers, but such was life. One couldn¡¯t always expect to have the full extent of one¡¯s arsenal on-hand.
Artwork Gallery
KRAHE
"Blackhand"
Vol. 1 Cover Art
"Daemon Core Bloodbath"
"Tar"
Illustrates: Vol. 2, Page 47
"Liminal Coil Pinup"
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"Green-eyed Demon"
Illustrates: Vol. 2, Page 121
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"ATOMICA REFULGENT"
Vol. 2 Cover Art
Illustrates: Vol. 2, Pg. 357/358
"Jacket Pinup"
"Crow and Raven"
Vol. 3 Cover Art
CASUS ARISTEDES
"Mamon Knight Silberblut"
Illustrates: Silberblut''s first appearance, Vol. 1, Page 228/229
"Aristedes"
Illustrates: Vol. 2, Page 361
"Imperfect Eisenretter"
Illustrates: Vol. 2, Page 364
OTHERS
"Talisman Mistress Yao Fu"
"Yazata Heptaxia, the Witch-inquisitor"
246 - Brizogia Rasug al-Imuzat
Actually getting access to the killing-house and getting the people working there to look the other way turned out to be easier than she had expected. Some rings to grease the foreman¡¯s palms and a few hand-rolled cigarettes to fill his mouth with smoke was all it took. Krahe placed two arrays of explosives ¡ª one within and around the stairway, and the other inside the basement, painstakingly carving away sections of wall to properly hide them from sight. She then concealed a trigger-receiver within a light sconce on the wall. The way this house was built and the amount of explosive she used, there was a good chance the detonation would topple the whole thing.
Thanks to being designed to be set in advance, the explosives would endure for a good long while if left alone. Thus, Krahe was able to leave the killing house as it was for now ¡ª the time limit was how long the foreman was willing and able to blow smoke up his boss¡¯s ass, if anything. While she waited for an excuse to spring the trap, Krahe also picked out the location that would be her office. She had already narrowed it down to a handful of candidates while searching for the killing house, and now she was just working out the final choice. She only visited any of the locations when she was decently sure that she wasn¡¯t being followed. In the end, she settled on a place that was neither too likely for someone to just stumble upon, but also not so far out of the way as to make it overly hard to find for customers. Rather than meet with the owner personally, she paid Garvesh to send a courier with her offer on the property, spending the remainder of her time until her scheduled meeting with Brizogia more or less in seclusion, reading and preparing talismans. Yao¡¯s ¡°Basic Security¡± scroll was similarly obtuse to her ¡°General Tips and Tricks¡± scroll, but the moon-logic required to parse one translated to the other, meaning Krahe made quick headway into the basics.
The safehouse in which she resided became her testing ground, as, thankfully, Yao¡¯s basic talismans were designed to be as minimally intrusive as possible, specifically so they could be used to set up safe zones even inside hostile strongholds. Krahe felt that she had developed a sufficient understanding of the principles quickly enough, as many of them carried over from both local network security and the logic of setting physical boobytraps.
Nonetheless, as with many of the other things she was focusing on, she would have to leave actually paying this effort off for later. The time had nearly come to meet with the silver serpent. Before their meeting, however, Krahe had gone to the effort of asking a few knowledgeable people a very important question: ¡°How bad of an idea would it be to offend Brizogia Rasug al-Imuzat?¡±
The answers she received, when put altogether, painted a promising picture.
It would, undeniably, be a bad idea, but she was significantly less powerful than she wanted people to think. There was a reason why her feud with the church hadn¡¯t gone anywhere. Had the agency¡¯s true heads wanted to make trouble, they could have done so, even if it would be a doomed effort and just waste the agency¡¯s resources. But they hadn¡¯t ¡ª everything following the church¡¯s demand for proof had been done at Brizogia¡¯s personal expense.
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She was, in the end, an administrator. There was no doubt that she had to be fantastically rich ¡ª rich enough to own a mansion built by the head of the Silverswords¡¯ former main competitor.
But Krahe could tell.
From her manner of conduct, the way she tried to leverage her assets, even the lack of caution in her communications directly to Krahe.
Brizogia was a face. A front. A fall-guy. Perhaps she was acting out of her own volition, or perhaps whomever stood behind her was using her ownership of the mansion as an excuse to act through her. More likely than not, this other had been acting through her to use the mansion and its associated tunnels to begin with, and this was just a natural continuation of that puppetry.
Whatever the case, Krahe had decided that dealing with Brizogia wouldn¡¯t necessitate true caution. Even if killing her outright was out of the question, she could still cow the woman and break her resolve to pursue this matter further.
The Scarlet Star Ring tightened reassuringly around her finger.
They met at the cafe as agreed-upon. Krahe immediately noticed that the place had been cleared out in an unsubtle manner, surrounded by a perimeter out to around twenty meters. It didn¡¯t go to the extent of outright setting up blockades or posting guards in the open, but it was close.
Krahe was happy to engage in a hollow conversation of pleasantries for a few minutes, even for a half-hour if that was what it took, and, so it seemed, her foe was of the same mind. They spent this time probing one another, during which Krahe readily offered up a true side of herself, the side that was a straightforward mercenary, the side that happily engaged in ultraviolence for just enough money to pay off the costs and buy some drugs for the afterparty. Even if it was just one facet of many, it was no less real than the others ¡ª Krahe just had to turn the metaphorical polyhedron of herself so that Brizogia¡¯s probing always struck that particular face.
Brizogia was a woman with blonde hair, pale skin, and a sharp face. She wore an off-white pantsuit of sorts, with a vest, dark-red tie, and a large coat draped about her shoulders. At a glance, she looked perfect. Too perfect, even, in a way some people strove to project intentionally. But to Krahe¡¯s experienced eyes, she gave off the air of a past-her-prime celebrity with a face made of plastic, or perhaps a brainfried coomer who had decided that they preferred the aesthetics of gonzo internet porno to even the already-exaggerated reality of Megacity Gamma. Even though her hair was undeniably natural, even though her skin was real and her face moved normally, there was something wrong, just beneath the surface. It just wasn¡¯t quite right, a sort of hyperreality in the movements, endemic to people who made a living pumping out short-form brainrot videos. Brizogia came across as fake because she was emulating a falsity, an exaggerated idea. She wasn¡¯t the person sitting across from Krahe, the well-off attractive businesswoman, she was someone, something else, role-playing as that person.
247 - Give Me An Excuse
Brizogia took an obnoxiously long sip from her drink. It was barely coffee ¡ª a cup of hot milk with a shot of espresso and four spoonfuls of sugar.
¡°Putting all pleasantries aside, I believe I¡¯ve made myself abundantly clear in our past communications ¡ª as limited as they have been. To my knowledge, you have been an independent for the full duration of your short, if rather eventful stay in my city. You stand only to gain by working for the Silversword Agency¡¡± Brizogia said. She intoned the word independent with the same tone one would use for a venereal disease, and made no effort to conceal her own sense of superiority. This wasn¡¯t a conversation between equals in her eyes.
As she listened, Krahe tossed beetle-like bean into her mouth and crushed it between her molars. She waited for a few seconds after Brizogia was done speaking, letting the silence settle. She conjured a cigarette, but didn¡¯t light it, testing Brizogia¡¯s reaction to its presence.
¡°I¡¯ve heard a great deal of nothing. Unless you have a concrete offer ¡ª hell, an example contract ¡ª we can end our dealings here and now,¡± Krahe said.
With a smug look on her face, Brizogia reached under her coat and brought out exactly what Krahe had described ¡ª a paper contract.
¡°Feel free to take your time reading through it. I trust that you will find the terms satisfactory,¡± Brizogia said.
And, at a glance, the terms did seem good. Great, even. But as it always was, the actual body of the text was filled with particular legalese designed to open up holes and enable one side to screw the other in every way conceivable. In fact, the contract barely even described what it was about, just vaguely denoting the signee as being an independent contractor and that having signed the contract was a condition for being employed by Brizogia. Not even the Silversword Agency proper ¡ª Brizogia specifically. Moreover, the paper was enchanted in multiple ways.
¡°People fall for this?¡± Krahe asked, allowing herself to express a measure of disdain as she looked at Brizogia over the paper¡¯s edge.
Brizogia, being in the middle of another obnoxiously long sip, didn¡¯t respond verbally. She sputtered, putting on one hell of a show of a faked spit-take, glaring daggers at Krahe.
¡°How dare-¡± she began an offended spiel. Krahe sighed, and lit her cigarette. That, for some reason, disturbed Brizogia enough that she fell silent, now paying attention to the smoke tha trailed from its glowing ember.
¡°Alright, look. It¡¯s been fun making your hirelings look like morons, it really has been,¡± she said, drawing half the cigarette down in one go. With her free hand, she tossed Brizogia¡¯s contract into the air and shredded it to bits with three consecutive, weak casts of Lasher. ¡°But I don¡¯t have time to play this game. Not with you. I know this is about the raid, you¡¯d have to take me for a braindead moron to expect otherwise. I don¡¯t care why, if it¡¯s just the principle of it, the property damage, or because you¡¯re involved with the same people Semzar was involved with. Right now, it doesn¡¯t matter. You want to take a swing, take your swing. But you better not miss. You better kill me in one shot.¡±
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Krahe stared the Silversword administrator down for a good ten seconds, the ember of her cigarette slowly climbing up. The whole time, she had her mental trigger tensed and ready to go, but no attack came. Not yet. She could see the sparks in Brizogia¡¯s eyes, the cogs turning behind them. The woman twitched, like she was suppressing an errant wave of shivers.
¡°No? Don¡¯t want to move past politics to any other means? Then back off. I didn¡¯t have to be as polite as I was when you set stalkers against me and I magnanimously chose not to smear them across the fucking cobbles. I even went so far as to simply counteract your meddling with my paperwork, rather than find you and drag you out of your house by that stapled-on wig of yours. I will be upfront with you: Get the fuck out of my way, or you¡¯ll be next. I am being exceptionally reasonable here.¡±
In a huff, Brizogia got out of her seat, smashing her half-empty cup on the ground.
¡°I- I will ruin you. You will never work in this city again! I will have your bank accounts frozen, your funds confiscated, you will be found guilty of every form of fraud under the sun. No agency will take you,¡± she seethed.
¡°And?¡± Krahe raised an eyebrow.
¡°And¡¡± Brizogia started, but didn¡¯t get to continue.
Krahe chortled. She stuck her mind¡¯s hands into the tar bubbling in her gut and started digging, allowing herself to speak whatever felt the best on her tongue, regardless of how true it was.
¡°Really. Freezing my nonexistent bank accounts? Getting me refused by what agencies, the ones I haven¡¯t so much as glanced in the direction of since I¡¯ve come here? I¡¯ve been living with the full expectation of going up against the whole system, and I get some literal-who she-worm with too much money and not one tenth the sense to wield it properly. What a disappointment, you are. Nothing you can do hasn¡¯t been tried against me before. You could bring the church down on my head and they wouldn¡¯t catch me. You saw what I did to the Hashems and you thought you could dance with me? Please.¡±
Brizogia wrung her hands together, anger flickering in her eyes.
¡°You think yourself untouchable? I¡¯ve dealt with jumped-up outlaws such as you. You will never know peace in my city! If you know what is good for you, you will¡¡±
¡°...Kill yourself,¡± Krahe interrupted with a completely serious tone.
¡°Wh- huh?¡± Brizogia stuttered, caught off-guard.
¡°If you know what is good for you, you will either leave me in peace and drop this matter permanently, or you will kill yourself. You¡¯ll find it preferable to the alternative. You think a simple raid was the breadth of what I can do? I¡¯d say I can dig up a mountain of dirt on anyone, but with you and your agency, I just need to walk around and the filth of your practices sticks to my shoes like dogshit. Killing you would be the easy way out. I¡¯m pleading with you here: Fuck with me, and I¡¯ll burn the whole Silversword Agency down around you.¡±
It was all rumors. Overheard conversations and complaints, a bad reputation kept barely under the surface by wide-reaching PR and damage-control programs. Half-baked and hair-thin as coverups went, but there was one key aspect of the Silverswords that made everyone turn a blind eye: They did their jobs.
248 - Give Me An Excuse Pt. 2
Brizogia¡¯s head twitched upon her neck in a manner that a human¡¯s head absolutely shouldn¡¯t, and it seemed that her anger had spilled over into confusion.
¡°Are you just¡ Are you just mad? Do you have soot on the brain?¡±
¡°Perhaps it would be easier to say that than to explain why I think the way I do. But, alright. I¡¯ll meet you halfway. I¡¯ll put aside everything I¡¯ve heard on the street, I¡¯ll even put aside the bad first impression your helpers have made on me,¡± Krahe acquiesced, glancing around to the spots where she was absolutely certain Brizogia had stationed her men, even if she couldn¡¯t see them, before resting her gaze back on the Silversword administrator. She almost seemed hopeful, in a ¡°wow, she¡¯s actually falling for it¡± kind of way.
¡°And even still, I don¡¯t see myself working for or with you. Because¡¡±
Krahe leaned across the table and blew arrha smoke in Brizogia¡¯s face.
¡°...I know what you are.¡±
Before anything could take place, Krahe skimmed twice, away from the table. It was in pieces a half-second later, and the lower half of Brizogia¡¯s face had sprung open like a malfunctioning full-mouth prosthetic. She lashed out with her hand, and one of the rings upon her fingers came alive ¡ª a dozen silver blades sprung into existence, firing off in Krahe¡¯s direction with the velocity and supersonic cracks of high-caliber bullets. Seven missed. The remainder passed through her now-immaterial form.
Krahe didn¡¯t flee. Not yet. She had seen the silver swords take shape, and she had seen how they flew, how they shot out immediately, with perfect consistency at the same exact moment, with the same timing between shots. Brizogia¡¯s second barrage, more considered, had greater variety of timing between shots, but it only revealed the fact they couldn¡¯t stick around after formation, or at least this wasn¡¯t their default mode of function. Were she asked, Krahe couldn¡¯t say why she was certain of this, she just knew based on what she saw and what she felt through her spiritual sense.
Another aspect of the swords¡¯ fundamental design that became a flaw against Krahe was their very shape ¡ª as they took form, they subtly aligned themselves towards their future trajectory, giving the slightest tell. Not long ago, Krahe would not have been able to notice this, but now, between this tell and pure visual reaction speed, she could reasonably well predict where each sword would go ¡ª and apply that knowledge to weave between them without the need to dive. Krahe went whipping back and forth like a bamboo in a windstorm, bending every-which-way in an unnatural and counterintuitive manner, sharp jets of flame bursting from her left arm and threads of thick smoke building up a haze around her, obscuring her shape.
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Three salvos. Less than ten seconds. Her entropy was getting up there. But she wasn¡¯t satisfied. She didn¡¯t feel like ending this yet, even if Brizogia was already showing signs of wanting to pull out another card, of becoming frustrated enough to do something seriously dangerous.
Krahe hardened her left hand and, dialing in on a particular sword¡¯s trajectory, she punched it out of the air ¡ª an uppercut that struck the flat of its blade where it met the somewhat superfluous handle. With the force of the impact still reverberating up her arm, as the blade it spun and glistened in the sun, she grabbed it, and, gripping it with a tar-tendril, she whipped it at Brizogia¡¯s head. The latter shot the sword out of mid-air with another of her own, despite the fact Krahe¡¯s stolen sword had already begun fraying out of existence rather than risk harming its owner.
She circled around, closing the distance, leaping upon one of the unbroken tables, and from it, she dive-kicked towards Brizogia, holding out her hand as far as it would go. Brizogia moved with an alacrity unpermitted to mere men, but she was too late. Krahe emerged from her dive after another salvo of silver swords passed through her. As the Scarlet Star jewel drank of her thauma, a subtle change took place, the slightest shifting of its hue. The flash of its activation was, to Brizogia, akin to the glare of some third presence, filled with gleeful cruelty. That phantom sensation vanished in an instant, giving way to the very real, tyrannical presence of the one upon whose finger the ring sat. The irresistible force-wave threw Brizogia to the ground, crumpled the furniture like nothing, and, over the course of a few seconds, mercilessly pressed her into the cobbles.
It was just a moment. But in that moment, the Silversword administrator¡¯s sense of authority crumpled, even as her wards protected her from all harm. She was unharmed, but unquestionably subjugated. Krahe didn¡¯t hang around, instead moving with the shockwave¡¯s expansion, tauntingly sweeping her gaze across various windows, alcoves, and doors. It was a half-step from openly shouting: ¡°Well? Aren¡¯t you gonna chase me?!"
And oh, did they chase her. They knew this part of the city, but so did she, and she knew their habits. This was not so different from the cat-and-mouse games they had played in the preceding days. And just like during those days, this day, too, Krahe led Brizogia¡¯s lackeys by the nose. Certainly, it was significantly more difficult to keep ahead of them when they didn¡¯t care about subtlety and fully leveraged their own enhanced mobility tools, but at the end of the day, a group of five still chased her into the killing house.
One by one, they rushed into the basement ¡ª all but one, who remained outside as a lookout. In the twilit basement, normal sight could just about make out the silhouettes of objects. In terms of low-light vision. As an Inheritor, Krahe¡¯s natural low-light vision had always been marginally superior, and with her recent enhancements, she could make out most detail and colour in the basement¡¯s conditions. She knew that she was not unique in this matter ¡ª of the five individuals who had followed her down here, one had eyes that glowed in an unnatural manner. He actively scanned the room, clearly checking for anything hidden by the darkness. This man had followed her a few times in the night, and she had noticed his modified eyes back then. Besides glowing eyes, he also wore a Silversword Agency pendant on his neck and his natural hair was dyed silver ¡ª he had concealed both of these traits when he had been tailing her.
Krahe was not so sloppy as to rely on the dark. It was a red herring.
249 - Give Me An Excuse Pt. Final/Crow and Raven
A part of her wanted to speak, or even to fight them, just to see if she could take them. But there were five of them, and they weren¡¯t worthless gangsters. Even if they weren¡¯t exactly well-suited to subtly trailing a target, they had real skills. She decided against initiating a conversation, but her pursuers did it for her.
¡°Somehow I do not expect that you will come quietly,¡± said the bald one.
¡°Would you buy it if I told you that you capturing me would have consequences more severe than the raid?¡± Krahe asked.
¡°...She isn¡¯t lying,¡± said another one of them, a man with not three, not four, but five eyes ¡ª two normal and three extra on his forehead, forming a semicircle of eyes.
¡°An anathemist has delusions of grandeur? Next you¡¯ll tell me boss¡¯s hair isn¡¯t her own,¡± the man with glowing eyes hissed. ¡°Of all things you pick to imitate it¡¯s the most useless part of a banisher.¡±
Krahe couldn¡¯t help but notice that they weren¡¯t actually bickering. Their attention remained staunchly fixed on her. They were trying to make it seem like they were distracted so that she would let her guard down, just a bit. She, in turn, glanced between them, trying to make it appear as if she was falling for it as she gradually backed up closer and closer to the wall that held her escape route. Seeing this as her backing herself into a corner, they didn¡¯t try to stop her.
¡°After all the fun we¡¯ve had, I take it you won¡¯t take a final offer to go back and say I got away,¡± Krahe offered, trying to fill the time with things someone else would believably say in this situation. She didn¡¯t actually expect it to work.
¡°I am here to ensure that doesn¡¯t happen,¡± the man with glowing eyes interjected, glancing at the other contractors. Now that he had said that, Krahe noticed that he stood a bit further away from the others, and had stepped behind them, almost as if he wanted to be able to shoot them in the back if it came to that.
¡°That¡¯s too bad,¡± Krahe said. She summoned the detonator into her hand, keeping it out of sight through simple sleight-of-hand ¡ª she had picked this cheap trash detonator specifically for its concealability.
Click.
Several detonations rung out. The stairway caved in, dust filling the basement as the building above them shook. Multiple types of magic flared up, but it was all too late.
Click. Krahe immediately skimmed backwards, just in time to hear the next series of detonations and feel the shockwaves that followed. There was a real chance that one or more of them might survive both the detonation and the cave-in, but that wasn¡¯t her problem any more than Brizogia surviving their encounter. Her main objective had been eliminating the threat and establishing herself as someone whom it was a bad idea to come after ¡ª and she had achieved that.
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Krahe didn¡¯t linger a moment longer than she needed to ¡ª she was gone long before the commotion could attract any attention, emerging out of sight, in the next subdistrict over.
Though she remained more on-guard than usual over the next two days, nothing came of it. She encountered no further interference in the course of establishing her own agency, and uncreatively named it ¡°Crow and Raven.¡± The agency as it stood existed only on paper ¡ª as she wanted it. The office required much securing before she was ready to paste a signboard over the door, and there was still the matter of advertising to consider. She needed to spread the word, but not too quickly, not too widely, and only to particular types of people if at all possible. The choice was obvious ¡ª Garvesh, and Razem. Yao was an option, but Krahe didn¡¯t expect her to be a consistent channel for customers to reach her. Nozar also came to mind, but she didn¡¯t trust that greasy fly-man as far as she could throw him, at least not when it came to handing over this type of information.
Luckily, producing promotional materials by hand was trivial compared to the laborious process of drawing actual, serious talismans. Something that could project some fixed text and a simple image when supplied with thauma was the absolute bottom level of talisman-making, it was one of the most rudimentary training exercises, recommended for children barely old enough to hold a brush and write properly. Producing such calling-cards was a great warmup exercise for the second vital part of prepping to open for business ¡ª securing the office. Krahe lost herself in this endeavor, slipping into the cycle like an old, well-worn glove ¡ª building up her defenses, inspecting the perimeter from inside and outside, noticing flaws, patching them, rinse and repeat. Her understanding of talisman-crafting and of the tricks outlined in Yao¡¯s scroll grew by a greater amount during this several-day-long bout of hyperfocus than it had throughout her many days of intentionally studying the text, as she finally had a direct frame of reference for all the information and could directly apply it to real situations.
Among the many things she came to understand was the concept of leverage ¡ª a phenomenon at once ill-understood due to its esoteric, almost sapiently-capricious nature, and extremely widely used in all forms of magic. In simple terms, it meant using limitations to strengthen magic. Many times, this occurred naturally, but it was the easiest to directly choose the leverage point and leverage ratio when constructing a talisman or a network of them. The most impactful and advanced form of leverage was ¡°possibility¡± or ¡°the future¡± ¡ª a network of five traps could be set up so that any one trap was leveraged against the possibility of all the others going off, meaning that one could have any one of those five traps go off to far greater effect in exchange for the whole thing collapsing after that trap was triggered, destroying the possibility of the other four ever going off. Apparently, highly advanced practitioners in Tiengenzhen would often set up artificial Hazard Zones, with their Archon Cores leveraged such that if someone passed the trials, they would always receive a suitable reward, in exchange for the trial realm collapsing right afterwards. She wasn¡¯t sure if there was something lost in translation here, but it somewhat made sense, even if she couldn¡¯t help but feel a painful lack of knowledge on Hazard Zones and Archon Cores beyond the surface-level.
250 - Solomon Howitzer
Everything Krahe learned from securing her new office would also inevitably carry over to everything else that involved talisman-drawing, especially Theurgy. Besides just being able to produce working Wandrei Faust talismans faster and more consistently, the standard Wandrei Faust would inevitably be improved as well, as her improved understanding would allow her to incorporate more complex maneuvering thrusters based on her own left arm, allowing it to be uncannily maneuverable for its size. She was also certain she could create a lighter, faster variant that could harry an enemy for a longer time. Concocting such a variant wasn¡¯t at the top of her priorities list, however, since she didn¡¯t want to split up her two eidolons.
By the time she was done securing the place, she had spent nearly twice as much on the security as she had on the property itself. The walls, ceilings, and floors ended up plastered in three total layers of talismans: The first, most expansive, was the general security layer. It included passive structural reinforcement, active warding in case of high-powered direct attack, detection of any would-be intruders, prohibition of Astro Skimming, and a number of weaker traps that could immobilize and be reset. The second layer was the more potent, containing multiple networks of high-powered precision traps leveraged against one another, able to be triggered manually if necessary through Krahe¡¯s specific thaumic signature, made nearly impossible to imitate due to the Astral Implosion Furnace. The active features of these two layers were powered by a great number of CRC rings scattered all throughout, with a larger ¡°power bank¡± embedded inside the floor. She also placed a few ¡°signature-mimic¡± talismans at other points, which would directly mimic the power bank¡¯s energy signature while themselves requiring only a miniscule amount of energy to do so.
The third layer was purely diagnostic. It traced and interlaced with the other two layers while remaining separate, and its main feature was visual projection, meaning that Krahe could easily diagnose if there were any issues and where they were.
While Krahe took care to make her defensive perimeter not obvious from the outside, she decided that the performance hit wasn¡¯t worth it when it came to the interior. The exterior door was one thing ¡ª it was hammered, black iron, an Ironworks slab of metal, but these were not too rare to see. The strangeness only came in past that door, in the stairwell. Up and up it went, and the closer to the top, the more densely the paint gave way to the red-and-black-on-yellow of paper talismans.
Finally, when it was at last done, there came no flood of clients, not even once Krahe began distributing her contact talismans. Over the coming days, she settled back into some measure of a routine, now spending a significant portion of her time at her office. Of the people who contacted her, one was a letter, an offer from the Ironworks to become a tester for the Black Sun Project. That they knew she was Viridaimon didn¡¯t surprise her, but she didn¡¯t feel like walking that path. She didn¡¯t hold any particular dislike for them either, knowing little of the company, so she filed the offer away. Another was, at first alarmingly, one of Brizogia¡¯s men, one of the few who stayed behind rather than chase after her. He was just as on-edge as Krahe, but, it seemed, he only brought an olive branch of sorts. Entirely unofficially, he claimed that he was certain his employer had completely dropped the subject of Krahe, which made him believe she wanted to move past the incident and save as much face as possible. It was an awkward, tense exchange, but in the end, no violence came of it. Krahe wasn¡¯t sure if he was right, but she was fairly certain he at least believed his own words.
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In the meanwhile, she returned to her research on eidolon evolution rituals, continuing to draw upon the Lost Sun Society¡¯s libraries for this purpose, and also made some attempts at elaborating her thaumaturgies¡¯ designs to better take advantage of the properties conferred by Implosion-Burning. Tracers could benefit from improved guidance, but she couldn¡¯t maintain a good connection just by line-of-sight. Extruding long, thin threads by way of Tar to achieve a wire-guided effect was a sound solution, but she couldn¡¯t quite get it to work yet. The threads either broke within the span of a few meters, or they ate up too much entropy to be worthwhile. She just needed to work it out through trial and error before it worked properly, she was sure of it. Then, there was Lasher. It was still new, and it was great on its own, but Krahe couldn¡¯t help but feel that its use-case crossed over with Cinder Flash a bit too much, and more importantly, that the two could be made to compliment one another. Perhaps something excessively potent for a Thaumaturgy, straying well into the realm of Theurgy, designed to rip apart wards and bodies in one shot. A real, true, undeniable, howitzer. That was when the thought sparked, a memory of a certain nuclear plasma weapon used in space combat. The problem with Lasher was that its threads relied on the physical motion of her fingers for extrusion, and it was propelled forward directly by her thaumaturgy, without any chain of causality. She knew well that she had a natural lack of affinity for makings things go fast in this method, perhaps as a form of naturally-ocurring leverage. While her Tracers had simply become more missile-like to solve this problem, another solution was needed. This was where the concepts behind the aforementioned nuclear plasma weapon came into play ¡ª Krahe intended to modify Cinder Flash so that its burst-beam would simultaneously extrude and propel Lasher¡¯s threads, whilst also conferring an anti-armor element to the thaumaturgy, softening the target before the cutting element hit. After countless adjustments, she was able to consistently recreate a prototypical form of her intended thaumaturgy. It was absurdly inefficient and required several seconds of charge-up time, but its power was like a siren¡¯s song. Her left arm aglow with scarlet light, it poured out more like a sudden gust of wind than an instantaneous snap, and brought with it a five-pronged net of superheated black glass. It wasn¡¯t complete, not combat-usable by any other means, but Krahe had already christened it the Solomon Howitzer.
143 - BLACK HAND OF DESOLATION: DAEMON CORE
Krahe pushed and pushed, closing up the shell, until, at last, it wouldn¡¯t enclose any further. She briefly thought Barzai was refusing again for some petulant reason, but the next moment, alien words pushed into her mind¡¯s eye. Indistinct and formless, exuding not a linguistic meaning, but an altogether more primordial sort of truth. In that instant, she knew that they were the incantation necessary to make the Daemon Core function, just as the talisman was necessary for Wandrei Faust. Despite Barzai serving as the power source, it had to be her who triggered the theurgy.
But no matter how she tried, she couldn¡¯t speak them. They just hung in her mind, three burning keys awaiting a hand to grasp them. The saurian duo¡¯s dragon head reared back, its form becoming more concrete, and Krahe knew she had only moments before it would drown her in burning acid. She wagered, at best, a fifty-fifty chance that she would manage to get out of the zone of death, given her rapidly-rising entropy level and the initial burst of Hard Entropy she suffered whenever diving. Such was the cost of this theurgy; a high price in entropy to give the shell the necessary properties.
The only option she could think of, besides pushing harder, was to attempt, somehow, someway, using the Wound-like Grin. After all, it manifested itself readily upon her left arm when she wished to access her Kenoma Pocket or to conjure a Tar tendril. She mentally envisioned a black tendril wrapping around the first word, channeling it into her arm.
A fanged maw yawned open, and Krahe spoke from it. Despite speaking it, she couldn¡¯t hear it. As far as she could tell, no sound came out at all. Beak and Raptor stumbled, clutching their heads. Nonetheless, they persevered in their effort.
The second word came out all the same as the first, opening a second mouth on her forearm. At this point, it felt as if time came to a standstill. Nonetheless, with the mouth in the palm of her hand, she spoke the third, and time resumed.
THREE KEYS TO SWING WIDE THE GATES OF BLACKEST BLACKNESS
THREE WORDS SO MIGHTY NO MORTAL MIND CAN HOLD THEM
THREE BREATHLESS MOUTHS WITH WHICH TO SPEAK THEM
In the palm of her hand, a gordian knot of blackest pitch now hovered. An ominous, rising hum emitted from it, and every once in a while, arcs of black lightning jumped off of it, almost as if the flares of a black sun.
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With only a thought and a gesture, she impelled it forward. This, too, was an advantage of using a True Eidolon; it solved the delivery issue.
Panicking now, Beak and Raptor exchanged glances and began feverishly gesturing, taking more direct control of their dragon head construct to try and shoot down the projectile. The Daemon Core simply dodged past the ghost dragon¡¯s snapping jaws, coming to a halt in mid-air right above the two saurians.
Krahe engaged a dive and pulled the mental trigger. The Daemon Core¡¯s exterior shifted.
The last thing Beak or Raptor ever saw was that ominous spheroid and a green-eyed demon of billowing smoke.
With a flash of impossibly-vivid scarlet and thunderous burst of buzzing noise, they were erased. Neither flesh, nor bones, not any of their possessions remained; only shadows scorched into the red-hot stones. Only a seething ember was left behind, and it, too, popped out of existence a moment later.
AN EYE OF CRIMSON IMPRISONED IN BLACKNESS
ITS GAZE ERUPTS FORTH TO SCOUR AWAY THE UNWORTHY
BLACK HAND OF DESOLATION: DAEMON CORE
She felt sick.
Not due to her surroundings or what she¡¯d just done, but some strange, non-physical exhaustion. It felt, for lack of a better description, as if the muscle involved in theurgy had been strained to the point of exhaustion. Just thinking about using Wandrei Faust again made feelings of exhaustion and sickliness bubble up¡ And the Words were gone. She decided to try asking Barzai later. For now, she pulled the souldregs out of Blondie¡¯s corpse, taking her dregsteamer belt and moving on to try and find what was left of Weasel. She managed to find his mangled head, which was good enough for the souldreg extractor. His dregsteamer had also outlived him, it would just need a replacement belt.
Knowing that she wouldn¡¯t have a great deal of time before someone came to investigate the commotion, Krahe dragged Blondie to the wall and rifled through her pockets, managing to find a wallet with some ring-cash, a DD gem, and a contractor ID card.
An hour, a shower, and a cursory investigation at a church branch later, Krahe had learned that Weasel had a bounty on his head for several crimes, though it was slashed for bringing in only his souldregs. Blondie turned out to have been a completely unassuming independent contractor with no particular negative or positive marks on her record.
When she had the time to herself, she queried Chernobog¡¯s Mystic Wisdom regarding those Words. No knowledge came. So, back to theurgic texts she turned, and found nothing. Not a word in any of the books she owned. Barzai, however, gave the answer she sought, once he woke up. He simply pulled up her memory of the first time she drew the Wandrei Faust medallion, specifically the final strokes, and sent her the sentiment that speaking those Words was somewhat equivalent to that. He also, as if to placate her, made her aware that she would not need to repeat the feat each time she wished to invoke the Daemon Core.
Meanwhile, Zachariah was in a huff, as were several of his acquaintances, as they had all felt it: The creation of a new High Theurgy. It wasn¡¯t necessarily a once-in-a-lifetime event, but the fact it was so detectable meant that the feat had been performed by someone who either didn¡¯t know or didn¡¯t care enough to take concealing precautions.
144 - Lost Sun Killer Myth: Tracking Down the Suspects Residence
For the next few days, Krahe dedicated a portion of her time to stalking Sorayah. Barzai made it a trivial matter, as she could be quite far removed from her target for limited periods of time¡ And Sorayah became somewhat careless when Krahe stopped coming to the Society after the attack.
It didn¡¯t take long to track down where she lived, and somewhat to Krahe¡¯s disappointment in her quarry, there seemed to be no third or fourth locations. On the third day, at a time when she knew Sorayah was out, she tried skimming into the basement through the locked outside door, but found herself ejected.
Frustrated at her own carelessness, Krahe let out a heavy sigh.
¡°She probably conducts human charcoal experiments in there, of course it¡¯s warded. Just hope my skimming attempt didn¡¯t leave a mark.¡±
Rather than try again, she hit the door with a simple appraisal attempt. The Prospector¡¯s Eyes detected magic from the door, but, being what they were, they didn¡¯t give her much info beyond that. Upon examination, there were the remnants of an inbuilt lock and turning handle core, but it was now held shut by an external padlock with a familiar stamp; the same stamp as a Dregsteamer belt. She squatted down, looking into the keyhole, and though it was sealed on the other side, she still managed to shove her pinkie into it. A grin took hold on her face when she felt it; Isotope. The tiniest bit, like a draft going into a door hidden behind a bookcase, but undeniably there.
Before she left, Krahe took another moment to get a close look at the lock. Thick, heavy, sturdy, but seemingly mundane, with a wide keyway. The Prospector''s Eyes detected no magic coming off of it. There was a good chance something on the other side would prevent her from opening the door, but there was no harm in picking the lock and trying to get in this way either.
This plan to pick the lock went out the window when she returned to the safehouse and, finding that Casus was sleeping there, brought it up with him once he woke up. A curious, respirator-like mask sat on the coffee table alongside an empty coffee cup and some pill bottles. Krahe only recognized the Purge Pills. The banisher¡¯s pallid countenance betrayed the fact he had made heavy use of the Silberblut Coupler recently.
"Sounds like a Kristoffen lock. Their locks are notorious for being some of the best you can find for a reasonable price. If you need to get into a building with one, perhaps consider skimming inside instead. Assuming it''s not warded against such intrusion, of course."
"That''s my problem, it is warded. I don''t know to what degree, but I couldn''t just skim inside. Not through that door, at least."
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"Hrm... Why exactly do you require entry into this building? Assuming, that is, you are willing to share that information."
Given the fact this was a secondary investigation, and the fact the church would inevitably be involved when she resolved it, she saw no reason to keep it from Casus: "I''m fairly sure someone at the Lost Sun Society is practicing the arts detailed in the Human Charcoal Letters; manipulating people into undergoing Adustocorpus, then using their bodies as fuel for artifacts that allow them to use anathema without risk to themselves. Not certain of the motive. Could be power, eliminating competition, simple curiosity."
"...The Human Charcoal Letters?" the Banisher asked with a serious tone. "I see, they are why you required elevated access. Is this matter related to Hashem and his Benefactors?"
"No. I just happened to come across a lead while I was trying to get in contact with Yao," Krahe said, summoning a cigarette and flicking it into the corner of her mouth. She lit it with just a touch of her thumb.
"I could-" Casus started.
"Don''t even think about it," Krahe interrupted. Exhaling a long puff of smoke, she gave him a chiding look over the top of her glasses: "Yesterday was the third day in a row I found you slumped down by the door with your coupler still on. I ought to report you to Firminus for doing the same shit he told you to stop, bet you haven''t even been properly oiling your arm. Besides, you would be overkill. I need to break into an apartment building, not demolish it."
Casus shrank back somewhat, furrowing his eyebrows in a look of befuddled surprise.
With an amused grin, Krahe took another puff of her cigarette and asked: "What? Did you think I wouldn''t take graft maintenance seriously? Forget that I used to be more graft than original flesh? I bet you haven''t even realized why your arm is getting slower. The A-Three Tricep Bundle is fucked."
At that, Casus raised his arm, twisting it well beyond a normal range of motion.
"How did you..."
"Come on, I''m not an all-knowing genius. Firminus guessed that would be the issue when I last visited him," Krahe said. "When I went for my final post-graft checkup, he wouldn''t stop bitching about how you ran out on him before he could even start with the maintenance."
"I could not help it, an urgent alert came in from the Central Temple. I will take care to visit him tomorrow."
"An urgent alert, huh? What was it?"
Casus smiled, leaning forward: "I know where Semzar Hashem will be not too long from now. The alert was a trustworthy source from his inner circle asking for a secure evacuation into Seven Spokes custody, and thanks to requesting priority on any matters pertaining to the Hashem heir, I was alerted first. The man wanted protection until Hashem was dealt with, erasure of his bounty record, permission to legally operate his gambling business, and to have his grafts looked at by a sanctioned grafter. This, in exchange for giving his testimony and leading us to Semzar. He even offered to have us bring in an Inquisitor to prove he was telling the truth.¡±
¡°How does our man know where to find the brat?¡±
¡°I will get to that part soon¡¡± he said, standing up and stretching to the sound of popping joints. ¡°¡Once my throat is not dry as a desert.¡±
A few minutes later, two cups of coffee steaming on the table, Casus began recounting the incident.
145 - Black Magnum
Casus hadn¡¯t visited this area of Audunpoint before. Besides the fact it was obviously infested by a far-above-average ratio of gangsters, he also couldn¡¯t help but notice that building. The one with blocked-out windows and evoy lingering about the entrance. It screamed trouble.
He knew he was all but begging for trouble by coming here. That was, after all, why he had gone so far as to don a disguise that concealed his nature as a Banisher. However, a man in subtle full-body armor and a long coat drew attention all the same. At least he¡¯d had the good judgment to avoid using anything identifiable as Church equipment. That was a mistake he had only made once, and it had nearly cost him his life. As he was, he looked like someone who absolutely didn¡¯t want to be seen in this part of town, but also wanted the ability to protect himself, which meant he had a bare minimum level of plausible deniability; the local gangsters couldn¡¯t reasonably walk up and start trouble right from the start. The reason for that appearance was his current belt: The Black Magnum Coupler. A unique urban stealth model designed to make the wearer forgettable, emitting a weak sensory deterrence enchantment. Adding onto its stealth design, it emitted a minimal magical aura mimicking a normal person, and no two Black Magnum suits looked the same. Its combat capabilities were slightly superior to a Dregsteamer Coupler with the High Velocity cartridge, but its cost was over twenty times of that unit. It also had the unique feature of a self-contained, ultra-low-interference design, meaning he was able to wear the Silberblut Coupler under the Black Magnum suit without issues. Rather than a belt, the coupler was a lower face mask that expanded out to form the helmet and then the rest of the suit, and it was a monolithic black box unit, without a typical catalyst or voidkey-adjacent power source. It was not a well-known or widely-produced model, certainly not enough to be known to some random gangsters; it was just one out of Casus¡¯ collection of couplers, which he had began during the time he was not yet able to handle Silberblut. It also hadn¡¯t been produced in over a century since the introduction of the Black Magnum G, the improved model, but Casus personally far preferred the original¡¯s aesthetics.
At the moment, his greatest concern was that evoy building, particularly one of the evoy out front, a huge, spiky specimen with thick chitin. Casus nearly double-took when he saw him, briefly thinking it was a war-morph. Simultaneously to his relief and concern, the giant evoy lacked most of the signs of a war-morph. It was just a freakishly large and powerful individual¡ But considering his demeanor when interacting with his two lackeys, he would likely pick a fight for any reason, or even no reason at all, if Casus grabbed his attention. He felt the giant evoy¡¯s gaze pass over him, lingering for a moment, only to leave a moment later. One of the Black Magnum¡¯s chief advantages was the sensory suite, featuring strong visual amplification, B- piercing appraisal capabilities, and even an audio telescope.
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As he made his way to the building that had been stated as the meeting place, Casus kept an eye on the giant evoy to ensure he didn¡¯t stand up or do anything else to suggest he intended to attack him. It even had built-in triggers to reduce sound and darken the field of vision to counter bright flashes and deafening noises. Moreover, it had its own small voicebox, which he would use to speak instead of his own voice so that he would not be recognized by that means.
On the approach, he immediately saw something that grabbed his attention: A row of wanted posters with surprisingly accurate portraits of Lady Blackhand, at least in terms of appearance. He was sure the depiction of her was exaggerated, just like it was on the previous, even less accurate posters. She was depicted with a malicious grin on her face, her left arm glowing orange with fanged maws opened along its surface, running its fingers through her hair. Her gun was raised to the side of her face, drawn to the exact specifications of a true Pattner rather than the reproduction it likely was. Rather than bearing the designs or watermarks of any agency, they bore a serpentine design, openly claiming:
WANTED: Dead or Alive
¡°BLACKHAND¡±
500,000 DD
There was no delivery address, but then, they probably assumed anyone who did the job would already know where to take her, or would be able to find out. Right below the row of posters for Lady Blackhand, similar ones for himself were found:
WANTED: Dead or Alive
Casus Aristedes
¡°Mamon Knight Silberblut¡±
500,000 DD
He didn¡¯t give much thought to the bounty payment; it was clearly just an amount that Hashem thought would suffice to get the target killed through sheer volume of attempts - whichever of the father-son duo was responsible for these posters. No doubt they would figure out some way to shave the cost down if someone actually delivered. When he entered the building, Casus immediately knew it was a gambling house. Many pairs of eyes lingered on him as he slowly walked across the floor, meeting the barman: ¡°I am here in regards to the owner¡¯s inquiry into a refurbished Samstani slot machine for sale.¡±
A thumb pointed to a recessed door in the back of the room. Hammerforged black iron. Tougher than anything in this building. These doors were one of the Heavy Ironworks¡¯ best products, as they came with a door frame and were thus highly breach-resistant relative to their price. Such was the Ironworks¡¯ business model: Advanced manufacturing applied to achieve above-average quality/price ratio. He didn¡¯t think he could break the door down in a reasonable time unless he transformed into Silberblut.
The peephole slid shut, and the door opened for him. The guard, an Inax woman in a pinstripe suit, slipped out and shut the door behind him when he entered. External sounds fell silent, and Casus made his way through the short hallway to a well-lit, but windowless room. There was a table with quite a few chairs.
146 - Visored Man
The whole room gave off a markedly more refined feeling than the rest of the gambling house, from the dark wood floor to the walls and furniture. It was¡ Still nothing much compared to a church safehouse.
There was only one man at the table, whom Casus presumed to be his contact. He appraised him, and it stuck without an iota of resistance. The man was a Lv. 17 Occultist. His attribute scores were nothing special, and he didn¡¯t bother trying to dig further. What grabbed his attention were not the man¡¯s system readouts, but his appearance; more specifically, it was his head. A heavy-duty optical apparatus was affixed to it, a type that had been neither made nor sold in this region in the last twenty years at least. Its design was emblematic of certain Samstani manufacturers aligned with strongly synthetic-leaning grafters. Even more eye-catching was the swelling and scabbing, both proof of recent installation and subpar-at-best aftercare.
¡°Ah, Mister¡¡±
¡°Ahmed.¡±
¡°Mister Ahmed, thank you for coming on such short notice regarding my inquiry into that Samstani one-armed bandit you offered for sale. I am Cassius, as of recently also known as Seer, for a reason I am sure is eh... Plain to see. I am the proprietor of this humble establishment. As you can surely understand from seeing the front of the house, the machine¡¯s self-adjusting mechanism would do wonders for my busines.¡±
The visored man went on and on with an undeniably sleazy smoothness of speech. As his words shifted over to the contract of sale, he brought out a paper, but curiously went out of his way to not look at it. It was typed, and had quite a number of mistakes. Considering its contents, Casus assumed the man had typed it quickly and without looking at neither the paper nor the keyboard:
DO NTO SHOW THIS TEXT TO ME. MY OCULAR GRAFT MAY BE COPMROMISED.
I can find Semzar Hashem for you. I¡¯ll make this same claim befoer an Inquisitro if I have to.
The terms of my coopreatoin:
Firstly: Protection until Sezmar is gone.
Secondly: A total wipe of my bounty record.
Thirdyl: Full legal permit to operate my estabilshment as-is. It¡¯s alreafy nine-tenths of the way above-boar, I jsut need the papers.
LAST: I demnad that an orthrodonx grafter examins this thing onmy head and removes any and all malicious modificatnios, icnluding trakcers, kill switches, etc.
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answer as if you are answernig to my offer for the slto mahcine
After looking over the paper and folding it away inside his coat, Casus answered: ¡°Yes, I do believe we could work out something along your suggested terms of purchase. The matter comes down to the manner, time, and method of delivery, as well as any potential issues you believe may arise. I am not familiar with this region, you see; how much danger, do you think, would such a delivery face? Additional insurance is, as always, available. I would hate to see the machine meet an untimely end, far too often we have seen them stolen before they could reach their destination and dismantled for parts when the thieves realized the machine wouldn¡¯t open for anyone not designated by the rightful owner¡¡±
¡°It er¡ Would be best to see it delivered as soon as possible, and as securely as possible. Such is life in the Free Cities, the cost of true freedom is caution, as they say¡¡± he trailed off, clearing his throat. With a joking tone that would¡¯ve convinced any normal person, he added: ¡°Why, if you had it right here, I would take it on the spot!¡±
They sat in tense silence for a few seconds.
¡°Are you certain?¡± Casus asked.
¡°Of course. My employees already know to look out for a courier and not cause them any trouble. You know how security personnel can be, and they have been even more on edge these past months, first with the evoy moving in and then that Blackhand woman coming around¡¡±
¡°Alright. Regarding the first stipulation of the contract - the additional security equipment - would you prefer to have the delivery made here, or pick it up in person?¡±
¡°In-person pickup would be preferable¡¡±
Seer went on talking in circles for a short time, and Casus played along until he managed to steer things in the right direction in a way that wouldn¡¯t sound suspicious to any possible listeners-in. He wasn¡¯t worried about Seer¡¯s graft - it was a purely ocular piece, and he hadn¡¯t noticed any signs of auditory grafts. It was a matter of possible unwelcome ears in the immediate vicinity; too often did people assume a room having outside-in sound insulation also meant the opposite.
The two men made their way out of the back room, and exited through the front to keep up the facade of a friendly business relationship, talking about a whole lot of nothing as they went. If they did it so openly, then there was no reason to be suspicious. Unfortunately, someone took suspicion all the same. Casus realized this quite quickly, as, being a Banisher, he did have an eye on his back, and could thus easily see the large evoy following them.
At this point in the story, Krahe mentioned that she had encountered the large evoy, naming him ¡°Tsetse¡± after a kind of giant stinging fly from her world. The name took root in Casus¡¯ mind, because he hadn¡¯t had a particular name for that man until now.
Tsetse¡¯s gaze, despite being ever-pointed in their direction, never focused on them, and he turned into a different street quite quickly. At this point, Casus wasn¡¯t too worried about the evoy, he was merely paying attention to his surroundings. However, before they could get anywhere close to the nearest branch temple, Tsetse just so happened to be there right past a bend, waiting for them. He was leaning on a wall, his giant form making even this otherwise casual stance seem aggressive.
This up close, Casus was sure there was something off about his body. He couldn¡¯t quite place it, but an alarm went off in his mind that even an evoy this built shouldn¡¯t look like this. Only war-morphs were ever this bulky, but they were bulky in ways different to Tsetse.
147 - Unlucky
¡°Unlucky,¡± he said, craning his armored neck towards the duo. His empty, composite eyes shifted, focusing on Seer. ¡°Someone wanted an eye on you, skinbag. Didn¡¯t want you doing something stupid. And you¡¡±
¡°...Unlucky. Too close. Nice suit. Look-away field. Looks expensive.¡±
His manner of speech was different, that much Krahe made clear when Casus recounted this part, but it wasn¡¯t just that. Everything about his demeanor had changed. There was no more uncontrolled, bubbling anger, he didn¡¯t spout slurs and diatribes willy-nilly. The posturing of a big bully had been replaced by cold professionalism.
¡°Feel free to remind me when trying to buy a new slot machine for my gambling-house became something stupid to do,¡± Seer retorted, masterfully hiding the fear in his voice with irritation, leveling the flyman with the unflinching, stone-faced glare of his visor.
Tsetse shrugged: ¡°It never did. I will come along. See for myself. Maybe I was wrong. I doubt it.¡±
"Fine, go on," Seer gestured.
With a tinge of smugness, Tsetse refused: "No, I walk behind."
"Very well," Casus said, walking ahead. He tapped Seer on the back to signal him to move, and as they approached, Tsetse tensed in place, obviously expecting an attack. Casus, however, just walked on by. Once they had passed, he leaned over to Seer and said just loudly enough to be overheard: "I do not expect that even seeing the slot machine in person will suffice to satisfy our insectile friend."
The true purpose was to get his hand on his helmet, twisting the dial on its side once. A quasi-liquid, shadow-like substance began spilling out of his respirator, so dark that it appeared like a hole in the world. A waterfall of the same followed from under his coat, racing across the pavement. Despite Tsetse''s blindingly-fast reactions given his size, the moment he came into the substance''s vicinity he was enveloped in a whirlpool of cosmic blackness. It quickly coalesced into sticky threads and restrained the evoy, covering his eyes and mouth as well as binding his arms to his body. As this took place, dragging Seer along, Casus quickly made his escape. The reason he used the low-output coupler charge was that the full-power version was designed for the wearer¡¯s escape; it would tremendously enhance his mobility and stealth, but Seer would be left behind.
Tsetse unfortunately turned out to possess far greater capabilities than previously expected. He not only broke free of the Black Magnum''s restraints quite quickly, but also caught up with the duo only one street over. His arrival was heralded by deep, thunderously-loud buzzing, and he flew overtop the apartment buildings with a strange grace which served as proof of his extensive experience with mitigating his non-aerodynamic build. Casus didn''t recall seeing anything on Tsetse''s back to suggest that he had wings; he thus concluded they had to be constructs. This was supported further by the fact his wings were covered in hemolymph and began rotting away the moment he landed, sending up a spray of dust and pebbles as his armored feet broke several cobblestones.
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While the slight tremor threw Seer off his feet, Casus regained his bearings and faced Tsetse properly this time. Taking into account Tsetse''s intense killing intent, his previously-observed speed, his build, and the fact he had freed himself so quickly, Casus arrived at the conclusion that if he tried to win this using the Black Magnum he would just be pointlessly endangering both himself and Seer.
¡°That strong? He didn¡¯t feel that way when I met him,¡± Krahe remarked.
¡°You fought him?¡±
¡°No, but I can feel it if someone is a real threat.¡±
¡°A killer recognizes a killer, I suppose. Perhaps you didn¡¯t sense any killing intent when you met him because he had none towards you when you met.¡±
¡°Guess so. The moment he saw me, he went on a tirade about how all non-evoy were animals and how the Vedesian Swarm would inevitably rule the world.¡±
¡°Fairly typical Vedesian talking points. I must admit I am curious how you avoided escalating into a fight.¡±
Krahe went on to briefly summarize her encounter with Tsetse and his two lackeys, including a few choice highlights from the deluge of insults, slurs and threats she had leveled against him. It left Casus with a ghastly expression, and, after a sip of coffee to recenter himself, the Banisher said: ¡°Well, I suppose I have no right to be surprised by your continued use of shock and intimidation tactics. Right, where was I...¡±
"Unlucky," rumbled the insectile giant of a man. Chunks of chitin, flesh, and wing membrane sloughed off his back. A pair of pale-red bolts shot past Casus before he could do anything; one struck Tsetse dead-on, while the other missed, both detonating in a burst of light and dust. They felt like Red Reapers, only much faster and weaker. Casus, not one to waste an opportunity given to him, hopped back and pulled the Black Magnum Coupler off of his face, throwing it to Seer.
"Don''t even think of stealing it," he warned, smacking his fist against the Silberblut Coupler''s eye.
His body was enveloped in a burst of gold-and-silver flame, the undersuit forming just as both Seer and Tsetse recognized him. Nearly simultaneously, both of them said: "Silberblut?!"
Tsetse knew better than to attack him mid-transformation; many modern low-mid grade couplers lacked the iconic Transformation Burst feature, but Tsetse, it seemed, either knew what it was or just had the good judgment to stay away from a man enveloped in golden fire. As his armor''s numerous plates clicked into place and his arm-blade emerged, the Silberblut Coupler''s stern voice echoed through the street: ¡°BLIND JUSTICE, THE LAWMAKER!¡±
148 - Unlucky Pt. 2
Silberblut took stock of the situation; Seer was feverishly trying to reload his howdah pistol while backing away, while Tsetse calmly approached. A shallow crater had been melted into the flyman''s exoskeleton by Seer''s attack, with rivulets of yellow hemolymph seeping out, but he seemed mostly fine. More than that, the wound was healing right then and there, the chitin melding back together and buckling outward. The scar was plain to see, and it would be a weak point until it healed properly, but such resilience was still astonishing. It was also extremely suspicious. Evoy could form Barriers and Wards just the same as anyone else, so why was he this unprotected? A consideration passed Silberblut''s mind, but he dismissed it. This couldn''t be an Evoy version of Mamon Armor. Surely not.
Dashing in, Tsetse unleashed a barrage of side kicks against Silberblut, using the length of his legs to control the range. Despite using his arm-blade to defend himself, it couldn''t get a good cut on the chitin of Tsetse''s calves. It bulged outward strangely in the lower half, and its surface was extremely slick. It felt like trying to cut glass, and Tsetse''s technique didn''t make it any easier either. It was clear he was highly skilled in whatever bizarre martial art this was. Then, the punches came in. Without dropping his focus on kicks, Tsetse flexed his arms, causing the segments of his forearms to raise up, exposing a fleshy membrane with three glassy orbs on each arm. With short punches, the orbs emitted a high-pitched noise and Silberblut felt as if he had been struck. The force was comparable to a Yellow Atropal. A sound-based concussive blaster of some kind. Minimal charge-up, great power output, so the flaw had to be range... And those membranes sure looked fragile.
This exchange went on for some time, high-pitched whirrs and thunderous impacts reverberating through the street. At one point, Silberblut got his fingers into an exoskeletal crease on Tsetse''s upper foreleg, taking this opportunity to put his other arm to work as well by grabbing his foot. Tsetse blasted him in the chest twice in a row in an attempt to stop this, but by then Silberblut had already moved him enough that only one of the sonic blasts struck, and even this was a glancing blow. With a mighty heave, he swung Tsetse overhead and smashed him into the pavement. The man bounced; his chitin buckled and cracked in a few places with yellow bursting out, but its flexible nature absorbed much of the impact. Grunting with anger and exertion, Tsetse punched the ground and blasted himself into a quasi-upright position. Silberblut let go as to not get dragged along, and Tsetse now spun on his free foot while using the one Silberblut had grabbed to now try to deliver a spinning kick. Silberblut let his knees fall out from under himself, bending backwards just in time. The strange bulge on Tsetse''s lower leg had slid down and over the top of his foot, revealing a single large sonic lens. As the kick followed through, Silberblut heard a high-pitched whirr. A deep gash was torn across the facade of the building to his left.
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He followed through on the momentum, delivering a downward spinning left hook. Silberblut had seen through it, and opened the Second Eye. In a bright flash, the force of Tsetse''s blow was absorbed, and Silberblut was able to handspring backwards, onto his feet and into a safer range. Seer, at this point, fired two more Pale-Reds in quick succession, which Tsetse dodged, followed by a slow, deep-red missile. It was obviously positioned to try and catch Tsetse after dodging, but the flyman rushed towards it, closing within only a few steps of Seer... And punched the Reaper back the way it came. It flew right at Seer, but rather than detonate, it imploded and fizzled out.
"Unlucky," Tsetse repeated for the Nth time, turning his attention back towards Silberblut, even as he continued talking. "You put a safety primer on them. They don''t detonate if it would hit you too. Heard you mention it once. Don''t try to remember. I had a different face."
In the meanwhile, Silberblut had been looking for an opening, circling around, but even as he spoke, Tsetse meticulously kept up his guarded stance, adjusting to counter Silberblut''s own changes in posture. Not wasting another moment, Tsetse once more closed the distance with a barrage of side kicks, but this time, every once in a while, he would fire one of the sonic emitters on his legs. There was no way to predict when it would come besides trying to find a pattern, and Silberblut did find several patterns: Firstly, Tsetse favoured his forward leg, maximizing range, while also using his opposite arm to attack. Secondly, he couldn''t fire two of his sonic emitters at once, and there was a clear cooldown period for each of them. Thirdly, there wasn''t a particular pattern to when he used the emitters, but there was a tell: The membrane shuddered a split-second before the equally split-second audible charge-up, giving him one third, perhaps four-tenths of a second to react to the tell. Silberblut hit the center of his belt to prime a coupler charge, feeling anathema pressure build within the device, waiting to be directed. A subtle aura of silver-gold flame built up around him.
Just after dodging a sonic blast punch, Casus slipped under Tsetse''s leg and delivered an overhand casting punch, lodging his arm-blade right between two of the sonic lenses. Bringing up his left arm to meet Tsetse''s right, perpendicularly to invalidate the sonic emitter, Silberblut released his coupler charge and the power he had captured with the Second Eye: A mere three of Tsetse''s sonic punches, but it added up, especially with Tsetse. Something about him drove the Silberblut Coupler into a frenzy. It wasn''t mere guilt; the belt reacted to anything and everything from someone''s inner evil nature to the wretchedness of an existence, like the Tindalos graft-beast.
An outpouring of Anathema rushed into his arm; silver flame came pouring out around his blade, and a jet of it erupted out of his elbow, pushing it further in. Tsetse''s flesh came apart like wet paper, the flame tearing and shredding more than it burned.
149 - Unlucky Pt. 3
Silberblut got halfway up his arm before the giant evoy twisted his arm free and used its blast to propel himself backwards, wings exploding out of his back at the same time. Despite the catastrophic damage to his limb, Tsetse looked fine for the most part. That didn''t add up. Evoy didn''t have compartmentalized bodies like that... And it looked like there was a cavity in the center of that upper arm.
For a few moments, they stood some ten meters across from one another in a standoff. Tsetse retracted his sonic emitters, only for several plates on his chest to slide out of the way and expose a dinnerplate-sized emitter lens. A rising whirr began to issue out of it as the surrounding membranes shuddered, the blood vessels within them bulging out... And then it died down, and its covers slid back into place.
"No point. You''re prepared. You would just turn it against me," he said, his apathetic tone now tinged by resignation and mild disappointment. His wings began beating, gradually speeding up as he turned his head to Seer: "Lucky."
Though he attempted to close the distance before Tsetse could flee, driven by the righteous will to exact the full extent of his deserved punishment upon Tsetse, Silberblut found himself thwarted. The fly-man simply caught his blade by skewering his good hand upon it and leapt away into full flight a moment later, leaving the entirety of his forelimb, seamlessly detached at the elbow. Silberblut exerted a herculean force of will to draw back the flame of his arm-blade, instantly dropping out of his transformation and stumbling to the ground. He hadn''t quite realized just how mighty all of Tsetse''s blows had actually been; the immediate surroundings had been demolished by their fight, with several civilians worriedly peeking out through broken windows. It was, in part, due to the Silberblut Coupler''s eponymous Silver Blood, which invasively reinforced his body from the inside; were his compatibility with the coupler sub-ideal, he would risk massive rejection each time he transformed. Even if he didn''t take a single hit, transforming still left him sore all over for several hours; a painful side effect he was entirely willing to bear. A few bloody coughs came up, their violent contraction making him distinctly aware he had some cracked ribs.
"Nothing broken, that''s good..." he uttered as he got back up to his feet. He glanced around, and saw that Seer was gone. After reassuring the local civilians that the Seven Spokes would foot the repair bill and then some, he questioned them to see if someone had seen where Seer had gone. The three testimonies he got all lined up to suggest he had run off towards their original destination: The nearest branch-temple. Casus ended up finding him just there, hunched over before the statue of Igaria muttering a generic prayer for protection that betrayed his lack of familiarity with real scripture.
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"I hope you kept an eye on my mask."
Saying that made Seer jump up like a Reaper had just whizzed past his head. Once he realized it was Casus, however, he deflated with relief and gestured to one of the pews. After this, Seer was moved via a daisy chain of underground passages to a secure holding place beneath another Seven Spokes branch temple. Casus left him there for now, himself visiting an ordained grafter in one of the city''s shrine-clinics. Based on questioning the man, he brought Tsetse''s forearm to a church-affiliated independent grafter known for his research into insectoid biology - whose clinic happened to be halfway across the city, deep in the bowels of the unfinished tram line. He had gotten to the safehouse only two hours before Krahe.
It had become abundantly clear that Krahe had something to say about the incident the moment Casus mentioned the location combination of a gambling house and the evoy apartment building. She nonetheless waited to bring it up until he was done, bearing an unsettling smirk on her face all throughout.
¡°Well well well, half a million each? How convenient, if ¡°Seer¡± can point the finger for us, we ought to go collect the bounty in person. Just hope he''s reliable.¡±
¡°What exactly would you have in mind for ¡®collecting the bounty in person¡¯?¡±
¡°An anonymous individual makes contact with Semzar, offering to have us both brought before him at a given date. Semzar prepares the money, and, quite likely, some sort of spectacle for Audunpoint¡¯s underworld, if he is as much of an idiot as I think he is. We show up and make Slaughterhouse Nine look like a fucking joke, possibly with church support depending on projected enemy forces. His father may even be involved in an attempt to redeem himself for getting me involved in the first place. He just talked about your capture in the open in a smokery, can you believe that?¡±
"We shall know for sure in a few days, once Seer has been properly interrogated and any leads he provides have been checked. I doubt that his case is anywhere near high-profile enough to grab the attention of the Inquisition, but..."
"Hold, hold, stop. You mentioned inquisitors earlier. Explain."
"They are an arm of the Inner Wheel specializing in investigation and... Severe edge cases. For instance, if you had not gotten involved with my kidnapping, and if one of the Hashems took my body for himself, an inquisitor could have investigated the case and carried out judgment. I''ve only met inquisitors a handful of times. Severe people. Scarily competent. Not well-known besides the fact their powers of truth-extraction are nearly unmatched."
"Secret church police, outstanding."
"Comparing inquisitors to night-watchmen is a severe insult. An Inquisitor''s work is not so far from yours, they are nothing less than specialist investigators for the Inner Wheel."
"I''ll be sure to be more respectful if I ever meet an inquisitor. Wouldn''t want to be accused of heresy and burned at the stake."
Seeing the confused look which she received for that statement, Krahe sighed: "The Inquisition had extremely negative connotations in my world. Let''s move onto Tsetse, give me more specific details. I''ve got an uneasy feeling that one of us will run into him again. Start with those sonic emitters."
150 - Lost Sun Killer Myth: Tying Up Loose Ends
Krahe questioned Casus on Tsetse''s combat characteristics for some time afterward, going so far as to draw out a surprisingly accurate diagram. Her rendering of Tsetse''s forearm got astonishingly close after a few rounds of edits.
"Still, the absence of either Wards or Barriers is worrying... Combined with everything else, I almost want to guess he might have been some evoy version of Mamon Armor. If not that, maybe he was grafted to be as close to a war-morph as he could get. Despite the absence of orthodox wards, his armor did hold up against Silberblut, and he did keep up with you in that form..."
Days passed. Krahe couldn''t find an easy route of ingress into Sorayah''s home, until she tested the route that was often forgotten: From above. Climbing a nearby building, Krahe got onto the roof of Sorayah''s home and skimmed down. Hot, stale air assaulted her and the darkness of a disused attic choked her senses. After getting some light by pouring Thauma into her arm she saw that the attic was completely empty, and had clearly not been used in a long while. She took a moment to bring a small DD-fuelled light out of storage. She used a small tendril to affix it to her shoulder. Krahe didn''t even try skimming down, assuming the presence of wards; she simply looked around and found the door. It was old, dusty, and didn''t even have a lock, but it didn''t open, suggesting a latch at the other side. Its hinges were on this side, however.
Krahe left, deciding to prepare before committing. She sourced a tubular lockpick from Garvesh, and learned that, apparently, artifacts and talismans capable of breaking local wards were fairly difficult to come by. And so... Krahe just gave up on subtlety. If she had the time, she would''ve tried to source such an item or even develop a Theurgy capable of it, but as she saw it, she didn''t have that much time. Sorayah''s case was a loose end that needed tying up. It didn''t need to be a perfect, cleanly executed ghost operation.
She returned the next day around two hours before Sorayah usually came home, once more skimming into the attic. Ten minutes and a few usages of the Forming Toroid later, Krahe had knocked the hingepins out and propped the door against the wall. A narrow stairway led directly to a hallway on the floor below. The house was quite small, with one bedroom, a reading room, kitchen, and basement. Rugs, wood, bronze, and semiprecious stones made up the decorations, with simple glowing stones set into the walls as lights. It was, just like much of Audunpoint, an ancient building that had been renovated. The bedroom was locked and warded, as was the basement, but the same couldn''t be said for the kitchen or the reading room. She picked the locks on both, taking a few minutes for each; this was quite slow, given the fact the locks weren''t particularly strong and didn''t have any particular anti-picking measures. There was nothing suspicious in the kitchen, unsurprisingly. Going through the reading room, Krahe found a variety of books, including several interesting books on the interactions between Theurgy and Anathemism, none of which were to be found in the Society¡¯s library. There was also a complete copy of Burning Torment Wrought in Black, and fragmentary copies of several Human Charcoal Letters. Besides occult texts, a surprising volume of Sorayah''s personal collection was made up of human-saurian interspecies smut.
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Unfortunately, Krahe didn¡¯t find any spare keys inside a book, even after searching the writing desk and finding three different hidden drawers. One of these contained a smut manuscript involving a painfully obvious self-insert being taken advantage of by men whose appearances lined up a bit too closely with members of the Society. It also got human sexual anatomy comically wrong, ascribing them with what Krahe assumed to be saurian traits.
What she did find, however, was a book that lit up as an anathema hazard on the Prospector''s Eyes, far up on a shelf well out of reach. After getting it down with a Tar tendril, Krahe found it to be locked with a padlock that had no keyhole. Trying to get into Sorayah''s mindset under the assumption this was one of her locks and not just something she had found, the first thing she thought to try was to simply pour some anathema into it. At first, it didn''t work. The lock lit up with runes, only for a snapping sound to sound from inside. Gradually, after a number of attempts, Krahe got it open by pouring in as little anathema as she could. It was a tiny amount, the smallest she had ever produced at one time, and it felt horrid. Just barely starting the fusion reaction only to snuff it out felt wrong.
While Krahe shuddered in place at the unpleasant feeling, lines of eldritch runes pulsed over the lock''s surface and it popped open. The book was indeed hollow, containing a (poorly) shielded box within which the shape of a human hand sat. It didn''t really look like charcoal - its surface had a gleaming lustre, with a red glow coming out of a few thin cracks and the cross-section of the wrist. It constantly radiated anathema, twitching in a claw-like rigor as if it was still attached, and as if its owner was in the throes of terrible pain.
"Ohoho, there''s exhibit A..." she uttered as she smiled to herself. Truthfully, Krahe wasn''t even slightly opposed to making use of anything she found for herself. If Human Charcoal could be used to somehow boost her own capabilities, she would use it. However, given its documented uses, she didn''t expect this to be the case. Every application seemed to be some variation of allowing the user to control Thaumic Fusion and/or to shield herself from exposure.
Krahe closed the Hollow Book, set it down on the writing desk, and sat down with the chair turned to the door, gun in hand. While she waited, she read through Sorayah''s manuscript. She couldn''t take it seriously in any sense of the word, and ended up turning her attention to the other texts, such as a book on theurgy titled "Dreaming of Hyperion Shore".
151 - Lost Sun Killer Myth: Tying Up Loose Ends Pt. 2
Around two-thirds of the way through the first chapter, the front door opened. Krahe continued waiting, listening to Sorayah walk around for a few minutes, watching her through Barzai''s eyes. Then, abruptly, her footsteps stopped in the hallway outside the writing room. She had realized that something was amiss; the door was ajar.
Barzai saw her conjure a brass apparatus, presumably from her own Kenoma Pocket, resembling a bullseye lantern. Soon enough, Krahe was staring her in the face. She conjured a cigarette, raising it to her lips as Sorayah stared at her with a mixture of bewilderment and pure, seething hate. An angry, red spotlight spilled out of her lantern, containing a continuous stream of faint anathema. The way it scattered strangely looked like two beams converged into one.
"You..." she hissed.
"What me?" Krahe laughed. "Did you assume I was dead just because I stopped showing up at the Society? Did you really think the amateurs you sent actually succeeded? I admit I didn''t leave much in the way of survivors that could report back, or even identifiable corpses, but c''mon. You didn''t hear back from them, and it didn''t seem suspicious? Even a little bit?"
"I assumed they taught you a lesson and you took it to heart."
"My, so intimidating. Let me guess, that lantern has Human Charcoal in it and you intend to blast me with anathema, is that right?"
Sorayah didn''t answer, but her grip on the lantern tightened, and her eyes narrowed.
"Well? Hit me. Better turn me into a shadow fried into your carpet all at once. Better make sure it kills me in one hit. Y''know what? Let''s make it easier for you to pull the trigger. Let''s go to your basement, shall we? That''s where you carry out the final step to turn your victims into Human Charcoal, isn''t it? I''m sure you won''t be so hesitant when your interspecies porno isn''t at risk of getting incinerated alongside me. Y''know, I''ve seen my share, and I''m fairly certain human penises don''t actually have bones in them, and they certainly don''t have knots."
A noise somewhere between an angry snake''s hiss and an angry crocodile''s rumble began to issue from Sorayah, her throat visibly reverberating. Her teeth grinded together, and she gripped the lantern ever tighter. Even the beam grew in intensity as something mechanical inside the device moved, now starting to lightly burn away at Krahe''s wards. Nonetheless, Sorayah backed out of the door, slowly, keeping both her eyes and the lantern pointed at Krahe. To her surprise, that offhanded suggestion had worked. She had fully expected to be breaking into a dead woman''s basement ten minutes from now, but it seemed the reason - or perhaps love for her book collection - within Sorayah won out.
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Krahe, not yet trying to stand up, casually picked up the Hollow Book.
Sorayah instantly snapped: "Leave it."
"Get up. If you want to see the basement before you die, I can give you that much," she added, her voice far too angry and not nearly confident enough to make it sound convincing. Krahe couldn''t help but derive great amusement from this classical scenario; Sorayah''s demeanor reeked of a serial killer caught metaphorically with her pants down, thrown far off-kilter, struggling to convince herself she was still in control.
Her original intention was to split her forearm open lengthwise in the process of putting the item into her Kenoma Pocket, but she decided against it. Actually considering that course of action set off a feeling similar to the consideration of eating something far beyond one''s ability. So, she did leave it. A puzzled expression came over Sorayah when she saw that the lock was undone, but she maintained her focus on Krahe while backing out into the hallway. Krahe followed, openly raising her Barrier as she went. It had changed quite noticeably. The swirling umbrella of greyish ash and smoke had grown darker, and glistening, obsidian-like chips were now included within it.
Sorayah stopped a ways down the hallway, once Krahe had fully exited the writing room. Her features tensed, and she raised the lantern. Something inside it moved, the beam narrowed down to a diameter even smaller than Krahe''s Barrier, shifting in hue towards purple. Then, in a near-instant, a deluge of strange sigils burst out, crackling with an eldritch energy that was neither lightning, nor fire, nor any single definable force. The charge-up was far faster than she had expected, and since she hadn''t seen the minimal telegraphing before, she had no way to predict when the artifact would fire. Despite Astro Diving on reflex right when the beam hit, even the quarter-second of blocking it had built up an intimidating amount of Hard Entropy. The beam had to be anywhere from two and a half to five times stronger than Krahe''s strongest Cinder Flash, based on whether it was Energetic or Arcane in nature. If it was Energetic, it would completely obliterate her Wards and fry the living hell out of her if she got hit straight on. If it was Arcane... She wagered she might be able to weather one hit and be fine. Two hits would definitely be very fucking bad, but maybe survivable if it hit a particularly resilient area like her left arm or anywhere armored by her Biosuit. These were all worst-case scenarios, of course, Krahe wouldn''t take the risk of eating another hit head-on.
Seeing Sorayah''s eyes go wide and her stance falter at the sight of her astral form, Krahe surfaced once again.
¡°The flame of a candle,¡± she lied.
But Sorayah didn¡¯t know that. She was too busy reeling from the backlash of Krahe''s barrier. Angry serpents made of smoke and ash manifested in her vicinity and spewed outbursts of burning cinders at the lizard-woman with unerring accuracy, their flame reddened by Isotope and smoke coloured a rich, sooty black from the abundance of Hard Entropy. It was burning filth in the purest sense.
152 - Lost Sun Killer Myth: Tying Up Loose Ends Pt. 3
Five seconds passed. Sorayah, wild-eyed, raised the lantern again. The charge-up was even shorter this time, but Krahe reacted based on the tensing of Sorayah''s arm and avoided the vast majority of the blast with another dive. Nonetheless, she only avoided most of the blast, and what little she had to block still filled up over two-thirds of her entropy tolerance. Even then, it felt like being sprayed with acid in the way the Isotope-filled blast corroded her wards and wormed into her. One more blast like that would fill her arm¡¯s ability to contain, and it wouldn¡¯t take much more after that to make her get sick.
"I don''t know what you expected. I can just keep doing that, y''know. While I admit that there is some effort to doing it, your attacks can''t affect me once I''ve transformed... And I''d wager you can''t fire that thing faster than I can disperse what little entropy nullifying its effects costs me," Krahe lied again, omitting the five-second dive recovery time. She took a step forward, prompting Sorayah to take a step back, grasping the lantern with her other arm much like someone whose giant penis-metaphor revolver just bounced off of a cyborg''s subdermal armor. She started manipulating something in the lantern''s rear for the third time, and the beam began narrowing for the third time, but Krahe interrupted her:
"I wouldn''t. I gave you one, two chances, and there won''t be at third. Next time I''ll dislocate your arms instead of just standing here. Now be smart and take me to your basement."
"You can''t expect me to believe that you can break my wards that quickly. Mine are especially resilient."
Krahe stepped forward as if starting a sprint, skimmed towards Sorayah, and mid-skim adjusted her exit position and facing so she would come out into a ground slide... Or as close as she could with her current Control attribute. It was rough at best, she slammed onto the ground in a somewhat awkward slide-kick position, but her momentum carried her through and the smooth rug provided some assistance. She was able to get behind Sorayah in the commotion. The saurian exerted a level of strength and grapple resistance well beyond what her size suggested, but Krahe had three things that allowed her to come on top:
Firstly, knowledge of real grappling arts. This included bits from various martial arts learned over the course of her life, followed by the mnemonic imprints for the Whitestone and Bergmann Security Grappling Manual V.3 burned into her memory, all culminating with Sector 7 Style''s brutal joint-locks designed to counter an opponent''s superior strength and exploit the common joint weak-points of most cyborgs.
Secondly, the Left Arm of Chernobog. Specifically, it was the unique property that had allowed her to lift a man weighing more than a hundred kilos back in Cassius''s - or rather, Seer''s - gambling house. The Left Arm''s physical attributes grew not just based on her own pure strength, but also her arcane attributes. At this point, it was far stronger than her right arm.
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Thirdly, Tar; she could throw the full weight of her magic into a grapple through tar tendrils.
By exploiting all three of these factors to the fullest, Krahe managed to get Sorayah into an arm-lock. In the process, the Saurian had fired two more blasts from her artifact, imprinting reams of purple-smoldering eldritch script into the walls and carpet.
"I won''t need to break them, unless you''ve got some truly special wards that protect against grappling," she hissed into Sorayah''s ear. "Now drop the artifact or I''ll make you drop it."
"I cannot. It''s volatile. Who knows what will happen if I let go."
With a smirk, Krahe extended the tendril she had winding down Sorayah''s arm, wrapping it around the lantern.
"No excuses. Let go."
Sorayah didn''t, so Krahe wrenched her arm a bit. Not enough to dislocate the shoulder, but enough to make it abundantly clear that she could and would. It wasn''t out of mercy, but because Krahe didn''t want to risk the possibility of the basement''s wards requiring both hands to open. Once she had the lantern grasped in a tar tendril, Krahe skimmed backwards, raising her arms into the firing configuration of Wandrei Faust.
"Basement. Now."
A few uneasy moments later, Sorayah unlocked the door and proceeded to move her hands over its surface. Her palms, held in stiff gestures, snapped through a sequence of three specific positions while Sorayah uttered a sequence of three inaudible keywords.
When it finally swung open, Krahe ensured that the two of them stepped in at the same time so that Sorayah couldn''t try to slam the door shut in her face. Beyond was a short stairway into the earth, leading into the basement proper. It was fairly spacious, a single large rectangular room, mostly plain, smoothed stone. It resembled a laboratory of a sort, with bookshelves and a large L-shaped table that included a sink in its design. A mixture of glassware and occult implements, made from a mixture of brass and strange dark stone, was strewn across its surface. Shards of coal-like material pulsing with red light were suspended in clamps, contained in flasks, and so on. A few of them could be recognized as human parts - mostly fingers, toes, and other such small pieces. None of them moved like the hand in the book; in fact, none of them quite looked like it either, truly resembling charcoal. Krahe realized what the hand reminded her of: high-grade rock coal, anthracite.
On the left of the room, Krahe saw the other side of that door she had tried to break through, barely visible behind a large device the shape of a vending machine, clearly placed there as a barricade. Going off the tank with Thaumine sloshing about inside and the black cabled hanging from it and snaking to the various devices through the room, it was a power supply unit.
"Are these your best results?" Krahe asked, glancing towards the table. She decided to pretend she knew more than she truly did, making the assumption that Sorayah hadn''t gotten far in her research.
"Yes. My materials have been sub-par. Perhaps we could work together-"
"Very compelling offer, I''ll consider it," Krahe interrupted facetiously. "Move, open the next door."
153 - Lost Sun Killer Myth: Tying Up Loose Ends Pt. 4
As Sorayah carried out the same unlocking and ward-opening procedure as before, Krahe added: "If you''ve only gotten so far with the resources available to you, it means I caught you early."
She was just blowing smoke, of course, speaking from extremely fragmentary evidence and wild assumptions. But it had its effect nonetheless, and Sorayah, with shaking hands, opened the door. Entering it simultaneously just as before, Krahe was struck by a grim sight.
The walls, floor, and ceiling were all reinforced by metal sheets, crudely riveted into the walls and glimmering with enchanted runes, with the exception of a 2m wide circle in the middle of the room. In it knelt a man with his arms chained to the ceiling, or rather, what used to be a man. He had turned completely into glowing charcoal, radiating heat and anathema, the burnt scraps of good-quality clothes still hanging off of him. His posture was arched and tense, knees wide, face contorted in a voiceless grimace of utter agony. Not screaming, but rather with gritted teeth. Around him, filling the circle, was a layered, extraordinarily complex glyph carved into the stone. Dried blood filled its grooves. Krahe tried to discern whether the man had been cut, but with the number of straight, narrow cracks covering him, she couldn''t tell whether any - or perhaps all - of them were cuts.
Walking around, dragging Sorayah along, she noticed a hammer and chisel on the ground just outside the circle. The man''s right leg had been chipped off halfway up the calf. She''d seen worse - much worse - but Krahe was nonetheless disgusted at the scene. Even if it wouldn''t haunt her, even if it couldn''t unsettle her to the point of tremors, that grimace of torment still sparked a visceral blend of disgust and anger, somewhere deep inside. It would''ve died out, buried under decades of growing numb, but she stoked it, gladly taking the ember of righteous fury into her mind''s hand.
"In the corner. Now," Krahe said, pointing at the far end of the room with one hand and shoving Sorayah with the other.
"Really? It gets to you that much? I''ve seen the posters. You must''ve done far worse than I if the Hashems want you dead so badly," Sorayah scoffed, but she nonetheless did as she was told.
"To feel disgust and anger at the sight of evil is no sin, and to tolerate it is no virtue."
"There is no such thing in the scriptures of the Twin Churches."
"I didn''t say it was. I also didn''t say I was an apostle," Krahe said, approaching within the Forming Toroid''s range. Raising her hand, she pointed her gun at Sorayah.
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"Don''t move, I won''t shoot you..." she trailed off. The Forming Toroid began to glow and Krahe flicked her wrist, using the gun as a pointer. In moments, Sorayah was restrained by a series of smoky jade rods.
"Wgh- What is that? Archonforged?" Sorayah questioned, audibly struggling to keep herself together. The panic was starting to overtake her voice. Krahe didn''t care much. Oh, she was sure that Sorayah was sorry - sorry that she got caught, that she encountered a fish too big for her.
"Correct. I get it, you''re clever. It won''t save you."
Krahe conjured and lit a cigarette, taking a drag as she observed the man-turned-coal.
"That phrase about evil - a philosopher in a faraway land said it, once, thousands of years ago. You know what happens now, don''t you? I promised to show you real anathemism, did I not? Barzai, come."
She outstretched her left hand. The eidolon simply stopped hiding and flew into her palm.
"Why?" Sorayah questioned.
"You came after me. I warned you. You persevered. Actions, consequences," Krahe deadpanned. Slowly, tendrils began to grow out of her arm, forming a hemispherical nest in which Barzai stood.
"No. Not me. Why?!" Sorayah demanded, growing audibly frustrated. "The Society, the Talisman Mistress, everything. You''re a saint, don''t pretend otherwise. Only the Temple of Records holds texts listed as the Human Charcoal Letters, and only a saint would have such high-level access. I know. I tried, through an apostle who owed me. What I don''t understand is why you would come after me. I am of no consequence. The Grafting Church doesn''t send saints after small-fries like me, they''re too busy dealing with things like rogue grafters and body theft. Am I just... A diversion? A convenient notch to pad your record with?! That''s all my hard work to unearth these ancient arts will amount to?!"
By the end, Sorayah was nearly screaming.
Krahe turned to look at her.
"You put yourself in my sights at a time when I was looking for a target to test this on," she glanced at her left hand. "Just bad luck. Is that what you want to hear? It''s half of the truth. The other half is that, in truth, I would have come for you sooner or later. Surely, you can''t have deluded yourself into thinking what you are doing is permissible."
"You still haven''t answered me. Why?!" Sorayah demanded, wild-eyed, ignoring what was happening in Krahe''s left hand in favour of locking eyes with her. To faciliate their conversation, Krahe kept Barzai as he was, simply building the shell around him, fully aware that she could will him to transform into the core at any moment.
After staring into those wild eyes for a few moments, Krahe explained herself: "This is what I do. This is what I am. I don''t know how to do anything else. After you, it will be Semzar Hashem. After him, his father. After him, whomever is pulling his strings. I mean to follow the roots of infestation spreading through this land all the way to the source, because evil has a name. A face. Perhaps a mansion and a family. Many of society''s ills do not spring up from nothing, there are people - often powerful people - proliferating them, perhaps for their own gain, or out of ideology. And just as evil has a face, so does the hand that will strangle the puppet master with his own strings; you''re looking at it. That is what I am."
154 - The Death of the Lost Sun Killer
"You''re mad,¡± said a wide-eyed Sorayah in a hushed tone. ¡°So what, you mean to just keep killing until the world is ''rid of evil''?!"
"Come now," Krahe sneered. "The world is much too large for one woman to personally fry every shitbag businessman into his office chair. A gardener never runs out of weeds to pluck. I only need to make sure I never get the wrong man! Easy enough."
At this point, Krahe was just messing with Sorayah, purposely using extreme rhetoric while remaining quasi-accurate to her real beliefs. Alas, nuance didn''t make for a good monologue.
"What of the churches, then?! You don''t mean to claim-"
"What makes you think I won''t come after a corrupt priest? By rights, I ought to root out corruption within the church with absolute prejudice. It would be a disservice to the divine not to do so. It''s almost time now - there won''t be much left of you after this, just a shadow on the wall. I''m sure the higher-ups would prefer if I just pulled out your voidkey and had you taken in for questioning, but I did promise to show you real anathemism..."
"No, wait- wait wait wait, please! I don''t need to see it, and my key, it''s-"
Sorayah desperately thrashed against her restraints. Krahe genuinely didn''t understand why she hadn''t tried to fight back or free herself; surely, she wasn''t so reliant on that lantern device as to be incapable of normal thaumaturgy. Or perhaps she was smart, and rightly thought that fighting back would only serve to worsen her situation.
"-it''s here. Take it, just don''t kill me," she said, twisting her head. A sigil on her neck began to glow - it was a triangle with small circles at its corners, each circle containing an eldritch sigil. They were some of the same sigils as those which filled the ritual circle. Sorayah gritted her teeth, hissing, and a hexagonal rod bearing that triangular mark slowly emerged from her scales. It was an extraordinarily simple design in physical shape, this simplicity offset by the fact its body was covered with countless more angular patterns with sigils in circles at the angles. Krahe''s mind immediately jumped to circuitry.
It looked to be a reddish stone at first, only to seamlessly transition to the anthracite-like material one-third of the way down its length, covered in red-glowing cracks.
"The church will reward you more for bringing me in alive, you should know that."
Krahe manifested a tar tendril, using it to reach over and begin pulling on the key. Though it took quite a bit of effort, it came out without incident. It was around 20cm long in total. She didn''t bother to appraise it yet, slipping it into her pocket, because her attention was solely on Sorayah. The saurian looked disappointed and frustrated; despite trying to hide it, Krahe noticed the shift in her demeanor and the rumbling in her throat. For this reason, Krahe kept her hand in her pocket, fusion-forming a smoke burster packed with as much isotope as she could fit. Out of sight and beyond her notice, concealed by clothing, reams of eldritch symbology pulsed across Sorayah''s back, eidolons swimming beneath her skin like predatory fish waiting to leap out of the water.
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"Disappointed that I didn''t come up right next to you so you could set off a contingency or something of the sort? Come on," Krahe scoffed. "What kind of fool did you take me for? Every member of the Society is a theurge, and you were a high-ranking one. Of course you would have contingencies."
Raising her left hand just above her head, she willed Barzai to collapse into the Daemon Core. Despite the lack of need for an incantation, Krahe nonetheless recited one, to see if Sorayah would try to interrupt it.
"Lei-Amul, Thelder, Wandrei, great sages of the Astral Gulf, hold fast the Three Keys and uncoil the chains that bind-"
As expected, Sorayah''s pupils became hair-thin lines and she emitted a shrill, ear-splitting screech. Her entire body was enveloped in pulsating strings of runes, and, on reflex, Krahe decided to dive while she finished casting. She had seen these runes displayed earlier during their confrontation at the Society, but this time, they were far denser and brighter, and they leapt off of Sorayah''s skin, lashing her surroundings.
The saurian freed herself and carved deep gashes into everything around her in an instant; the human charcoal fell apart into pieces. Krahe honestly wasn''t sure why she hadn''t done this sooner, but the reason revealed itself when she got a look at Sorayah and saw that she hadn''t been entirely spared, either. There were deep gashes covering her whole body, all the way into meat. Moreover, she seemed to have become feral, based on her hunched stance, bestially heavy breathing, and glazed-over eyes.
"Where..." Sorayah growled, looking around. Her eyes locked onto Krahe, and she lunged, leaping across the room. With that leap, yet more reams of script exploded out of her, shredding the ceiling and floor, but passing through Krahe unimpeded. Being able to see it up-close and while partly submerged in the Gulf, Krahe got a first-row seat to serpent-like creatures covered in those runes tearing their way out of their master''s body before transforming fully into their theurgic forms.
It was done.
Krahe emerged from her dive, raising her hand.
Sorayah leapt right at her without a moment wasted, but by the time she or her absurdly lethal, self-destructive theurgy could reach Krahe, she had already burned both her skim charges to get out of the way.
Desperation - and with it, sapience - flashed over Sorayah''s contorted features. With a swing of her arm, arabesque runes flashed down its length. A deep gash along the same spiral appeared on the limb as the runes tore themselves free, lashing towards the Daemon Core rather than Krahe herself. A last-ditch effort to try and shoot down the theurgic vessel before it could carry out its function.
It was too late.
The spear of eldritch script did pierce the shell, but all it achieved was to hasten Sorayah''s demise.
A narrow flashlight of red light shot out, accompanied by a thunderous buzzing sound. It obliterated both Sorayah''s theurgy and her arm, and before she could even scream in pain, it expanded to consume her entirely.
Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the deluge was over, and a disjointed shadow had been burned into the reinforced metal that covered the ritual chamber''s interior.
155 - And yet, loose ends remain.
A flaw of the Daemon Core had already become apparent, emergent from its overwhelming firepower: Krahe didn''t know how to get souldregs out of a nuclear shadow. Being a problem that she could only try to avoid moving forward, she left the scene as it was. Undisturbed. Her chest briefly split open down the middle as Barzai, now a formless mass of smouldering smoke, returned into the confines of her soul.
She returned to the lab, and there read through Sorayah''s notes. Much of the material pertained to translations of the code used in her source texts, as well as to attempts at improving the ritual. Clinical descriptions, one after another, described the macabre failures of her efforts. After four subjects that died after only partial transmutation, Sorayah had given up and returned to the original method.
Mentions of a particular item stood out: The locked book. That was how it was referred to, as it had no external identifying markings besides the fact it was locked. Sorayah seemed to be completely stumped by what it was or how to open it, describing several unlocking experiments that had led her to believe somehow exposing it to anathema could be the key, but that was as far as she had gotten. From these notes, Krahe also learned that the book had been found in the same place as the hexagonal voidkey, but the specific place was referred to only as "The Dig Site.¡±
Krahe took care to minimize how much she disturbed Sorayah''s work space, as she had not yet decided whether to keep the case of the Lost Sun Killer Myth to herself, whether to fully report it to the church, or to do something between these two extremes. One of the considerations in her mind, despite the wretchedness of it, was the potential usefulness of Human Charcoal. Sorayah''s stock of the substance was already made, and even the church''s disposal method involved burning it down to ash after a fashion - so if it turned out to be useful to her, simply handing it over would be wasteful and pointless.
In the course of going through Sorayah''s home more thoroughly, things turned out to be inconveniently nuanced.
Everything that Krahe was able to find - from texts in the lab to those in the library - pertained to the process of turning someone into human charcoal and to artifacts that directly burned human charcoal as fuel. The problem came in with the mention of a substance described as "Black-flesh Jewel" in the older, more mystical texts. Meanwhile, newer fragments in Sorayah''s possession referred to the same substance in more grounded terms: "Anthrocite" or "astral rock coal". Over the course of a few hours, Krahe arrived at two undeniable conclusions: Whomever invented and developed these occult arts had clearly gone much further than just human charcoal, and the Human Charcoal Letters didn''t reveal the full scope and severity of the goings-on during the century they spoke of. To say she was surprised would have been a bold-faced lie.
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Krahe honestly wasn''t sure what course of action to take, but she had the small comfort of knowing that Sorayah wasn''t likely to have visitors any time soon - at least speaking on the time scale of weeks. With that in mind, Krahe took the keyring Sorayah had left inside the ritual chamber''s doors, as well as the one with the house keys. After placing Sorayah''s lantern, the locked book, and several samples of human charcoal into her Kenoma Sack, she left the place behind for now. The key, after closer inspection, was not entirely homogenous in shape - the side of it which would be inserted had a narrow hexagonal hole about a centimeter across and of an indeterminate depth.
After spending the rest of the day looking into the Human Charcoal Letters at the Temple of Records, she reconvened with Casus at the safehouse and, since she needed his assistance in this matter, let him know of what had transpired.
"As Mamon Knight Silberblut, I would say she met a fate rightly deserved... Though I would likely put it less politely. Out of the armor, however, I cannot help but feel she would have been more useful if she had been interrogated in an official setting," Casus remarked on the situation, drinking his coffee and reading a book as he always did - this time, he had borrowed Krahe''s copy of De Re Theurgia. He turned his gaze up from the book in his hands, nodding towards the hexagonal voidkey standing upright on the coffee table. "You mentioned that you managed to coax her into giving over her voidkey and needed help identifying it, is that right?"
"I wouldn''t say there was much convincing on my part, she tried to use it as bait to make me approach within range of her last-ditch theurgy attack... But yes, I do need it identified."
Unsurprisingly, Sorayah''s voidkey had robust anti-appraisal enchantments. Casus managed to break them after trying for a few minutes, describing them as "fortress walls built to hide an ancient mausoleum".
"They''re new. I would guess they were made by Sorayah herself or by someone on her behalf," he clarified afterwards. "Rather than being incorporated into the key''s construction, they were merely layered around it. Moreover, there are traces of anathema- er, isotope suppression glyphs, never activated. Whatever radiation the key gives off, it is merely very close to anathema. Give me a moment..."
Casus got up, returning with an Oculon-branded device and a handful of bronze memslates. Its design language was the same as the eyebox Krahe had taken from the dead prospector, but it was thrice as large and far more complex. It very slightly resembled a 20th-century tape recorder in shape. It had sockets for four memslates, a more expansive keyboard, and a row of cable sockets on one side. A vial of thaumine sloshed around on the other side.
Casus popped in a pair of memslates and plugged a black cable into the device, nerve-like endings surging to life from the cable to complete the connection when brought near one of the sockets. With a hiss and the turn of a locking ring, the cable was connected. At its other end was a flat, key-like plug, and much like a voidkey, Casus inserted it into his temple.
156 - The Mystery of the Flames Collapse Hexkey
After a few seconds of focus and unsettling undulations going down the cable, he disconnected himself and popped the memslates out, handing one over: "The appraisal readings. I would strongly suggest that you report the case to the Grafting Church - besides being properly rewarded for resolving it, you would be able to easily levy support, such as access to restricted information relevant to the case."
"Yeah, I know, I know..." Krahe snapped offhandedly as she popped the memslate into her eyebox. Logically, she knew she would likely only benefit from reporting the case, but she didn''t want to. The same part of her that fundamentally distrusted large organizations also made her overthink the consequences of involving the church. Would the church ride her ass for killing Sorayah? What would they confiscate besides just the human charcoal? Krahe figured she could keep the house untouched for some time under the guise of investigating the scene, but that wouldn''t last forever. Her eyebox took a moment to project the appraisal readout. It was garbled and barely legible, an issue fixed by replacing the DD battery.
While she looked over the record, she got started on placing the voidkey into storage, not wanting to have it sitting out and about where it could be seen or Zavesh-forbid scried for. As far as she was concerned, it was safer inside her Kenoma Sack, shrouded by the Deathsmoke Blessing.
The characteristics of Sorayah''s voidkey explained why she didn''t wield thaumaturgy in self-defense: It wasn''t for thaumaturgy. The "Flame''s Collapse Hexkey" was a cursed relic that, upon implantation, would grant the user the "Collapsing Flame" Boon. This boon would make it easier for the user to carry out Thaumic Fusion while severely worsening their ability to burn thauma normally. The curse part came into play in two ways:
Firstly, the boon wouldn''t go away even if the key was removed, but it would degenerate into "Collapsed Flame", a version without the positive effect, until the key was reimplanted.
Secondly, it contained a unique theurgic pattern. By applying this pattern, the user could brand others with a cursed mark that would confer a version of the Collapsing Flame boon, tying it back to the curse-layer, so at any point the user could pull out the key to cripple everyone they had cursed in exchange for also crippling themselves. The Hexbrand Curse made the victim constantly aware of these facts, but it also concealed another: That it artificially induced the beginning stages of adustocorpus, starting from the spot where the curse mark was branded onto the victim. The key specified that the curse mark would vanish and remain invisible unless in the near vicinity of the curse-layer, and that removing the flesh it was on would just cause it to move.
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Moreover, it granted a second boon, this one exclusive to the user: ¡°Pyremaster." This boon would enable the user to easily carry out the rites that would initiate and accelerate a victim''s adustocorpus, as well as the rites to finish the full transmutation into human charcoal.
It had the usual features as a normal voidkey, sure, but despite being classed as Fourth-order it was barely better than Shiva''s Warding Chain in attribute reinforcement. As a Ward and Barrier catalyst, it was basic, with only low-level hardening. Its best feature was how it affected the user''s powers as a theurge, granting three additional Lesser Eidolon Vaults and strengthening all theurgies. This was obviously intended to make its features usable even for someone without their own natural eidolon vaults.
Despite everything, despite the Hexkey¡¯s foreboding nature and the implications of its creation, the most alarming was the last line in the [Details] section:
"This voidkey¡¯s characteristics will evolve when Anthrocite Transmutation reaches 100%.¡±
The [Anthrocite Transmutation] gauge was right below, sitting at 63.71%.
¡°An evolving voidkey, huh?¡±
¡°I have never heard of such a thing, but I can see how it would explain its classification - it must be in relation to its potential. I would guess that key¡¯s fulfilled potential would likely be on the higher end of Fourth-order, else I cannot see how it would be worthwhile. The question is-¡±
Krahe interrupted him: ¡°-how does the transmutation progress? My first guess would be feeding it human charcoal, perhaps through a ritual or a specialized tool. I did not find any such thing in Sorayah¡¯s home, but she may have had it in personal storage¡ Speaking of, what happens to the contents-¡±
This time, Casus interrupted: ¡°-of someone¡¯s Kenoma storage after death? It drifts away, just like their True Soul. Sometimes the items return naturally, and sometimes the Wheel catches them, outfitting its Banishers with them or using them as rewards. They might get caught by an Archon Flash and return as archonforged versions of themselves. Your bracelet was likely one of those. There are rites for detecting and summoning a Kenoma storage stash, but it must be very soon after someone¡¯s death. The church-¡±
For the third and final time, Krahe interrupted: ¡°-can help me with it, I get it, you want me to report the case. Fine. I needed to look something up in the Temple of Records anyway.¡±
With that, she took the Hexkey and left. Why did she feel so irritated? She genuinely couldn''t tell.
She had also not told him the whole truth; before heading to the Temple of Records, she went to her second home on Gashward Road 94. At this point, she had managed to outfit it with some ultra-basic furniture on top of the exercise equipment, but it wasn¡¯t much. Frankly, if it was an option, she would be willing to take Sorayah¡¯s home for herself. That was assuming someone else didn¡¯t lay a claim to the property, but even then, Krahe was sure she could take most of the furniture as ¡°evidence¡± to furnish Gashward Road 94.
After secreting herself away in the basement gym, she brought out the locked book to inspect it in detail. Immediately, she noticed a detail: The twitching hand clasped an additional piece of anthracite-like stone, worked into the shape of a narrow rectangle.
157 - A Brief Jaunt to the "Surface"
After secreting herself away in the basement gym, she brought out the locked book to inspect it in detail. Immediately, she noticed a detail: The twitching hand clasped an additional piece of anthracite-like stone, worked into the shape of a narrow rectangle.
When she took it out, Krahe still felt it giving off a faint, barely noticeable aura of anathema. Its surface was inscribed with two lines of writing, the stone¡¯s glow illuminating it. It was a bit tricky to read due to the text¡¯s tiny size and differences from what she had grown used to reading - it wasn¡¯t clear print-type, but rather stylized calligraphy. Krahe assumed it was due to the age of these two items, but after getting a good look at the anthrocite slip, she managed to decipher it.
¡°For ye, who hath mastered the high magic: Burn this hand of mine to fuel thine ambitions.¡±
¡°It should suffice to complete my key, if you have not done so already.¡±
She was still suspicious of it, of course, and so she closed the book and locked it up again. The lock now obeyed as easily as her glasses. It would be a convenient little trinket in the future, especially once she put it on a more resilient box or at least had the book reinforced. For all its craftsmanship, the shielding inside the book was leaky. But then, perhaps it was by design, if whoever had put it where Sorayah found it wanted it to be found. For now, she tucked it away behind a rack of weight plates.
She spent a short time experimenting with Sorayah''s Lantern, and learned that it rejected her - she could neither control nor appraise it. Thus, she placed it into her Kenoma Sack. The human charcoal still loaded in it made this a laborious process.
While she had the sack open, she retrieved a change of clothes - a darker, closer-fit pair of trousers, as well as the ice-user''s jacket and a pair of gloves to conceal her arm. To finish, she swept her hair forward over her left shoulder such that it would hide the charred section of her face. It wasn''t much, but it would be enough in a crowd. With that, Krahe made her way to the Zaveshian Central Temple. She wasn''t entirely certain which church''s jurisdiction the Lost Sun Killer fell under, since it was not only a severe form of body theft and desecration, but it also pertained to heretical magic, which was generally the purview of the Seven Spokes. In the end, however, the Twin Churches were called that for a reason. Their operations, faiths, and jurisdictions bled into one another in many places; they were effectively joined at the hip. Her decision was influenced, more than anything, by her status as a graft-apostle and the lower average number of people at Zaveshian temples. In reality, Zaveshian temples got more visitors than Igarian ones - many of the faithful were just out of sight, either being treated, having grafts done, or exercising as a form of worship.
Despite her hopes, the number of people milling about surpassed her expectations.
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There was a line of seven at the main counter, with a different banisher manning the counter than before. However, the same banisher receptionist Krahe had met when she first arrived was manning the counter to the right, with a warning sign that it was for urgent matters only and that one should not come there unless they had a bounty to turn in. While Krahe waited, she people-watched, though she didn''t bring out Barzai lest someone somehow spot him.
Near the contract board, a group of five had gathered around that muscular contractor from before. She was even more muscular, apparently having had grafting work done going by the slightly swelled lines going down her arms and the noticeable increase in their size. She had an even bigger blade than before - a huge sabre with two cutouts on the back, wrapped to serve as extra grips. Its handle was excessively bulky... And contained a small engine. The guard was two-layered, with a solid piece guarding a motorbike throttle, while the handle itself had a brake-like lever. Two dark grey, barely-purplish lines of crystal ran down the blade on each side where the fuller grooves would normally go. Krahe didn''t even need to try to listen in to learn what the weapon was - the contractor was currently in the process of loudly boasting about how she had paid some famous craftsman half a million to have it put together, despite providing all the materials herself. She claimed she now could cut through a building when transformed. Krahe didn''t even doubt the veracity of that claim. If anything, she was thankful to the loudmouth for drawing all the attention.
Krahe committed the loudmouth and her weapon to memory, knowing full well that Casus would be terribly interested... And feeling somewhat bad for snapping at him earlier. Her reaction wasn''t even extreme, but it felt like scolding a cat for killing mice. This was also a reason Krahe hated dealing with genuinely good people. It was much easier to justify her own prickly personality when everyone else was just as bad or worse.
The original receptionist recognized Krahe when she turned to glance that way, and called her over.
"Ah, I was wondering when I would see you again, Lady Blackhand," the receptionist said in a low, yet bubbly tone. "You might be disappointed to learn that we do not have another kidnapped Pilgrim for you to rescue..."
"He talked," Krahe deadpanned. She suddenly felt a bit less bad for snapping at him.
"Of course he did!" the receptionist beamed. "But he didn''t need to. The Slaughterhouse Nine Incident left both witnesses and survivors... And people were more than eager to talk and ask questions about the commotion. I heard that one of the graftbeasts was even intact enough to pull a visual recording. Ah, apologies. What can I do for you today?"
Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Krahe moved on from the matter of her failure to keep a low profile. She had decided that it would be fine to get a reputation after all! But not every part of her had realized that yet. The paranoid schizo part that saw a camera on every corner and behind every civvie''s eyes still wanted to be invisible.
"I have a case to report," she said. "There was no contract set beforehand, I uncovered it myself. It pertains to restricted material in the Temple of Records. Section fifty-three."
The receptionist sat still for a moment, thinking. Her cheerful demeanour fell away in an instant, and she regarded Krahe with a hard gaze, her eyes running up her arm before they met her own. Her third eye opened, its cruciform pupil burning in a pool of radiant green-blue.
"Are you absolutely certain?"
Krahe just nodded.
"Very well..." she trailed off, taking a piece of off-white, watermarked paper and writing on it by hand in immaculate calligraphy. "It so happens that an ex-inquisitor who worked on the case is present in the city, I will refer you to him. Go to the Seven Spokes Central Temple and ask for Razem."
158 - Razem Revealed
The receptionist folded and sealed the letter with a large, rectangular stamp that burned a complex sigil onto the paper, holding it shut without wax or any other physical glue. She silently nodded, took the letter, and went on her way.
It almost seemed like Razem was waiting for her. In fact, the front end of the Igarian temple was conspicuously deserted; not entirely, but the number of people was significantly lower than she would have expected.
Razem stood at the very back of the chapel behind even the statue of Igaria - the precipice between the chapel and the depths of the temple. He met her gaze with a nod.
"I did not expect to see you so soon. Certainly not in these circumstances. You look well," he said, gesturing for her to follow as he turned to walk down the hall. He led her deeper and deeper, eventually into the earth, but only perhaps two floors underground. As they walked, he explained: "The letter you hold in your hand - it''s little more than an identifying token, I already know what it says."
He brought out a second letter, identical to the first, but not sealed. When the two letters touched, they merged together and burned up into nothing. The room he was leading her to was a reliquary, but the security was not nearly as stringent. There were the giant doors with the complex opening sequence, sure, but that was it. Within was a large room with walls of reflective black stone. Razem snapped his fingers. A pulse of Thauma radiated out of him, blanketing the whole room, and several sections of the wall became transparent, revealing artifacts previously concealed within. All of them shared various design elements with Sorayah''s lantern, and some of them, Krahe recognized based on having read their descriptions.
"Hoh? I thought you would be more impressed," the ex-inquisitor remarked. "New church contractors always like the polarized quartz trick."
Seeing her apprehensive glance at those words, Razem acquiesced: "You said you had a matter related to these relics to report, yes?"
With those words, he held his hand out to another section of the wall, causing it to recede and slide to the side, revealing a far less impressive, but far more practical room. A small archive of texts and scrolls, with a few tables against the walls, but otherwise blank. He led her into that other room and seamlessly conjured several items onto the table. This conjuring manifested as reams of paper unwinding from inside his robe''s sleeve to wrap around a nonexistent item. Once finished, the layer of paper burned away to reveal the item inside, now very real and present. In the span of a few seconds, he summoned a typewriter, a memslate recorder/player deck that looked far too much like his hands to not be custom, and, weirdly, a full pitcher of azure-coloured liquid, plus two tall glasses.
Krahe had no reason to be taken aback, it was a perfectly sensible application of Kenoma storage.
And yet, she was - just a little.
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"This may take a short while, but I am sure you already knew that. Please, give your full and unabridged account of your findings."
And so, Krahe did. Mostly, anyway. The fairly large amount of information she withheld didn''t factor into Sorayah''s case specifically, and she simply didn''t drink any of the azure liquid on the off-chance it was perhaps a truth serum of some kind.
Razem, however, didn''t express doubt as to her words. He did ask her to restate a few things while holding a band of seals that he conjured, and Krahe did feel like she physically couldn''t lie while holding it. Deception, however, didn''t necessitate lies, and she didn''t need to do a great deal of deception to begin with.
Eventually, she brought out the lantern, and Razem, openly displaying his interest in the thing, took several similar artifacts from their displays to compare. He told her some things she already knew, and others she didn''t.
¡°We did a great deal in the effort to wipe these out, but, as you can see, the knowledge of their creation yet persists. The problem with these devices, besides the manner of their creation, is the occult corruption their use inflicts on the user and the fact they demand ¡°human charcoal¡± to operate. Some versions of the device even demand that the fuel comes from someone who trusted the user. It will be a challenge to discern how many based on the residue inside the mechanism, but if I were to guess¡ Seventeen, or perhaps eighteen people must have been turned into charcoal to power this thing over the years. How many of them can be blamed on Sorayah, I cannot guess."
He looked up from the lantern, adding: ¡°That¡¯s a small number, to be clear. You caught her early. Most of the specimens in our collection have burned through volumes of human charcoal equivalent to several hundred people. At their heights, the Human Charcoal Cults were powerful enough to make an entire town disappear overnight...¡±
They spoke on the matter of the Human Charcoal Cults and their occult practices for about another hour, and Krahe came to the conclusion that Razem seemed almost like Casus. A genuinely, truly good person. But he wasn''t. Not entirely. The difference hit her quite quickly: Effort. Casus didn''t try to be what he was. He just was. Razem was trying terribly, terribly hard, at all times. He didn''t come across like he was faking it, but Krahe sensed that he had to try to be like this.
So, she took a risk.
"You don''t have to put on appearances in front of me, you know. I can tell."
He didn''t suddenly transform or completely change his demeanor, but he did let out a breath and sink into his chair. It wasn''t his personality that fell away. It was the faintly regal, detached aura that he had been giving off until now. Suddenly, that vanished. He was just an old man with a fire in his eyes and an aura that felt like the surface of a vast ocean, tranquil yet prepared to churn into a storm at a moment''s notice. A former killer who had become a man of the law, and then a priest. A walking, talking narrative stereotype.
"Ah, you''ve detected my dark secret! Razem, High Priest of the Seven Spokes Audunpoint Branch Central Temple, is just an unenlightened old coot," he said with a faintly mischievous smirk. He reached out and a band of paper whipped towards one of the glasses. He downed half of it in one swig. "It''s not truth serum, if that''s what you thought. The glassware doesn''t have anti-appraisal enchantments either."
He knew. Not exactly, but he guessed basically what she had been thinking. She hesitantly took the other glass and sipped from it. It smelled great, a soft herbal scent. It tasted atrocious. Bitter and sour. And yet, once it went down, it felt like she''d just shot up a cocktail of nootropics; her thoughts ran a hundred miles an hour and her mind felt clearer than ever.
"The taste, however... Is an acquired one," the priest added after the fact, sipping from his glass with a malicious grin.
159 - Funny Little Man in a Jar
Krahe appraised the drink.
[Decoction of Mind''s Dawn]
[Status:]
Exceptional (High Quality, Low Concentration)
[Details:]
Perfect Recall A1
Memory Formation Amp C2
Mental Energy Amp C2
Mental Clarity Amp C1
Sleep Replacement D3
She was, much to Razem''s amusement, taken aback by the litany of effects.
"It''s my personal blend, what do you think? Sorun used to pester me for the recipe whenever he came by to get a refill. Wonder why he hasn''t come by lately, hope his overgrafting hasn''t finally caught up with him..." he trailed off, swirling his one-third full glass. He grew somber, before taking another sip and perking up again. "Anyhow, let us get back on track. "
"Right, right. It''s not really surprising that there are remnants floating around. The church is too big and ponderous to effectively exterminate such an elusive enemy, and the Inquisition, despite being the Inner Wheel''s dedicated scalpel, suffers to some degree from the same issues. It doesn''t help that they''re eternally stretched hair-thin. One inquisitor is really good. Two? Great. Outstanding. Three? Nearly guaranteed that it will get solved, and solved quickly."
Razem took a sip. His expression soured, as if the flavour had suddenly caught up to him. With a sigh, he placed the glass back on the table and continued speaking:
"But that never happens. One is usually good enough, and they''re spread hair thin as it is. They put me on the case because they hoped I was the right man for the job, being the only anathemist inquisitor in a while. I was, but not for the reasons they thought. Turns out someone who dives into anathemism for his own reasons is much worse as material for the human charcoal process than a normal person. The curse struggles to take hold due to built-up tolerance, and the resulting charcoal is laden with Bane Soot. Knowing how widespread and how slippery those bastards were back in their heyday, I''m not surprised that people are still finding remnants. Did you find anything as significant as the lantern? Another relic or tool?"
"I haven''t combed through all of the perpetrator''s home yet. I was thinking of trying to summon the contents of her personal Kenoma storage, if she had one."
"Well, I can give you a one-use kit for that, but don''t expect much. You''re placing yourself at the mercy of the gulf''s tides, and given the circumstances of her death, her storage will have likely dispersed even more rapidly than normal. Oh, and uh... Don''t open the kit until you''re ready to use it."
"One of the rooms is also ward-locked."
"I... Cannot give you ward-breaking equipment, as it''s fairly delicate work with oft-lethal consequences for failure, but I can assign someone to your case with the skills and qualifications to break the local warding. Come, let us handle the rest of the paperwork so that you may be rid of this old man."
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With that, Razem got up and packed up his things, and suddenly, the aura of regal detachment returned to him. He led Krahe back to the surface - an office decorated similarly to the one in which he had examined and treated her. The report had already been written; Razem now updated Krahe''s contractor ID. Then, came the question:
"How would you prefer to be paid? Solid-state? Coinage? Thaumine?"
"Rings."
Utterly unsurprised, the old man smiled and gave a nod: "Very well, but I''ll have to account for the market exchange rate, I''m sure you understand. It will take a day or two to turn the cogs of bureaucracy given the magnitude of this case - do you have an address where you would prefer to have the reward delivered, or would you rather pick it up at the temple?"
She honestly wanted to say Gashward Road 94, but she wasn''t there often enough and for long enough periods of time to not worry about the package being stolen.
"Send it to the Seven Spokes shrine on Gashward Road," she said. There was only one on that street, well away from no. 94.
"Of course - I shall have the ward-breaker contact you using that address as well. Ah, not to forget, wait here for a moment."
Razem left, returning with an elongated box of dark wood, taped shut lengthwise with fabric covered in holy symbols.
"I must reiterate, do not open it until you intend to use it... And do not place it in Kenoma storage under any circumstances."
Inside the box was a clump of flesh with a face. No skin, no hair, just purplish meat and a face.
It was tiny, just a bit larger than her fist, and contained in a sealed jar. Various equipment filled the remaining space, including instructions for what looked suspiciously close to Barzai''s angle-web, the reagents to draw it, and a sheet of vellum with an intensely herbal, nose-stinging scent. She was to draw the sigil on the vellum, place it as close to the site of death as possible, then set the "gulfcaller" in the middle and supply thauma.
The purpose of the weird homunculus revealed itself when Krahe did as instructed, and the gulfcaller began reciting a complex incantation whilst also throat-singing in a second voice. It grew arms and legs, immediately doubled over and began dry-heaving. It stopped half a minute later and, looking up at Krahe, turned side-to-side as if it was shaking its head. The weird little creature then climbed back into the jar, fell limp, and shriveled up to barely half of its original size. Disappointed, she left everything as it was, locked the place up, and left, her end goal being to just return to the safehouse before she went out to look into Eutropia in the evening.
Krahe meandered through the city for longer than she needed, visiting a craftsman''s workshop whose repertoire included both eyeglasses and low-level artifacts. The place was deserted and run by a shriveled little man with a large mustache and eyebrows just as prominent as it. She queried him on how much it would cost to have her glasses upgraded and how long it would take.
This was, in fact, the sixth craftsman who did this kind of work that she was visiting. As such, she confidently requested a specific upgrade: "I''ll need at-will Appraise Object of C-Three or B-One grade, Extended Highlight Magic Object Plus C-One, Detect Baneworm D-Three, Detect Life D-Three."
"These... Quite right, these seem like something one would take to Jas''raba. Typical construction, notably the frame is much better than the lenses. Since the lens shape is standard round stock, I can pencil your order in for... Next month on the twentieth. Is that good?"
She nodded, "Sure."
"Good, good. The down payment will be fifty percent; if you don''t show up, I won''t be able to easily sell the lenses to someone else. Pick them up within another month of the agreed-upon date."
"With my hard requirements out of the way, I would also like Anti-Appraisal Penetration of C-One or better. Can you do that?"
The craftsman stopped at that request, regarding her with a dubious gaze. It was a bit more than usual - but within norms. She couldn''t ask a random craftsman to give her glasses that could see through anything truly good, but she wanted at least something that could reliably defeat low-mid level shielding.
"I understand that such things are desirable for many people, but you must understand that I cannot risk the guilt of equipping a thief or perhaps a scoundrel..."
They looked at each other for a few seconds. He was waiting for a response.
"Well? Do I seem like a thief or perhaps a scoundrel?"
The old man laughed. It was a fake laugh.
"I''m kidding. I don''t give a shit what you do with my work. It''s not as if I''m selling anything truly valuable like high-grade voidkeys..."
From the way he awkwardly transitioned from one sentence to the next, it felt like she had failed to provide a keyword. Then, Krahe noticed the spark of recognition in his eye, and the way he glanced at her arm, which was fully covered by both her jacket and a glove. She didn¡¯t bring it up, but she did give him a lowball counter-offer when he quoted her his price. He didn¡¯t fight her on it.
160 - Re: The Case of the Talisman Assassin
First thing upon returning to the safehouse, Krahe questioned Casus on the matter of Seer.
"I had expected you to ask sooner. We had him checked over, as promised. The grafter found widespread modifications to the ocular module, as well as extraordinarily precise repairs carried out to mitigate damage to his brain and material soul. According to Seer, all of his grafting work was carried out by an apostate grafter in the Hashems'' employ. An extremist who, by his own admittance, lives and works with baneworms to better devise ways to exterminate them without triggering a polyphemic reaction. He also claims that he can track Semzar thanks to the modifications made by this grafter, supposedly as a way of subverting his own employer out of spite."
As he spoke, a mirthful tone bled into Casus'' words, and a faint smirk formed on his lips.
"And?" Krahe asked.
"We have to wait," he shrugged. "His description lined up with certain restricted records of apostate grafters, so they''re calling in an inquisitor who happens to be operating in this region to confirm his testimony."
Rather than dwell on the matter, Krahe raised her legs and hopped out of her seat, walking to the kitchen. She decided to finish off a tortoise steak she had leftover. No complicated cookery, just salt and "Powder No. 7", a spice mix that she had learned was preferred over ground peppercorn for meat. Its flavour and complexity put white and black pepper to shame. She seared the marbled slab of meat on both sides using an iron pan with clarified butter, and then saut¨¦d a chopped up vegetable as a side. It was an alien root vegetable, but its culinary role was adjacent to broccoli.
With her sole proper meal for the day, she returned to the living room and decided to regale Casus with a description of the muscle-woman''s Mamon Coupler sabre.
This topic naturally led into the matter of Tsetse''s torn-off arm... And Casus'' excitement grew serious.
"My acquaintance says he thought it was a construct at first, due to how rapidly it decayed, but placing it into a preservation tank halted any decay. Regenerative agents also functioned normally. However... It is not true flesh."
At Krahe''s raised eyebrows, he continued: "It appears to exist within the same grey area as Mamon Armor. Not quite a full construct, but not quite permanent matter. The difference is that Tsetse''s arm is much closer to permanence than anything generated by a Mamon Armor, except for the sonic blaster array, which is within normal Mamon Armor parameters..."
He trailed off, waiting for her to guess the reason. It was obvious, but she had a mouth full of turtle meat, and she absolutely wouldn''t choke down this ambrosia of the gods unchewed. It was at once incredibly rich and filling, yet light enough that she could eat a monolithic hunk of the stuff without it feeling like a heavy meal. Beef didn''t even compete.
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Weathering the banisher''s patient gaze, Krahe savoured chewing the meat properly and flushing it down with a sip of ekarone juice.
Then, she stated her hypothesis: "So Tsetse''s body is some sort of imitation war-morph, perhaps an evoy innovation on the principles behind Mamon Armor."
"Exactly!" Casus exclaimed with a snap of his fingers. It was as loud as a firecracker.
"Show me your hand for a moment," she asked, and Casus eagerly obliged. It was as she had suspected. The shade of his muscles was much lighter, and the layout had been altered. The blackveins didn''t protrude anymore, and he now had alarite studs as knuckles and fingertips.
"L-Sixes for the full arm and alarite joint reinforcement, huh?" she muttered with a half-full mouth.
"A full alarite secondary endoskeleton, in fact. I was intended to receive it to begin with, but it has special anchors that only interface correctly with the L-Six cultured fibres. They double as blackvein connections, meaning that my arm is truly monolithic now. Anything powerful enough to render it inoperable will also kill me in one hit."
"So it was an all or nothing high-spec package," Krahe thought aloud, marvelling over the arm.
"Precisely," Casus agreed. Letting his vanity take over, he more than happily displayed the graft-limb from every possible angle, even doffing his shirt just to show how it was joined to the rest of him. It truly was a work of art. Neither of them thought any more of this, despite how it may have looked to a purely theoretical third party observer.
Compared to everything surrounding Sorayah, dealing with Eutropia was a fresh change of pace.
To begin with, Krahe had managed to dig up some more information on the woman by paying Nozar another visit. She was conspicuously left alone this go round, with the evoy building''s inhabitants peeking out curiously only to slam their doors shut at the sight of her. Nozar didn''t have much on her, but he did have some interesting info, such as the fact she was a disfavoured eighth daughter of some Afshani merchant clan. She was an E1-rank contractor, but Nozar noted that there was something fishy about her CQF record.
"Gut feeling - I''d say she''s more of an F3," the flyman guessed. This info wasn''t nearly so expensive as what he had on Yao, but it was still pricy. At least she was able to pay him in cash this go ''round.
Killing Eutropia wasn''t her primary goal, despite Garvesh''s request, and despite the fact Eutropia had wronged her personally by killing a street vendor she liked. The reason was the same as the reason she didn''t go after Jezail: Eutropia was just the hand that held the knife. If she wanted to get proper revenge, she would have to extract the identity of Eutropia''s employer and come after them. Her anger was, in the same way, directed in Eutropia''s direction because she happened to be a stepping stone between Krahe and whomever had paid to have Imraal killed. She had her own guesses, of course - it was more likely than not Semzar - but she wanted to be sure.
Krahe didn''t know what made hired killers less guilty in her eyes than normal murderers, and she frankly didn''t dwell on it, because she knew that, like many other avenues of introspection, it would only lead her to the conclusion that Megacity Gamma had left her sense of morality irrevocably distorted.
161 - Re: The Case of the Talisman Assassin Pt. 2
Eutropia was a minor celebrity, a performer in one of the city''s lesser-known, yet still reputable establishments. Despite the marginally sleazy name "Hot Legs", everything else about the venue gave the impression of an upstanding establishment. Eutropia, alongside the establishment''s in-house band, wore costumes styled after the Mamon Armors worn by an all-female group of independent contractors from the Samstani capital.
Eutropia''s stage getup was far from a real Mamon Armor, of course - it was an all-too-tight black body glove with sections of blue-painted armor fitted around it, with a chestplate that only covered the top half of her torso and was shaped to exaggerate her curves. The rest of the suit was much the same, with "metal bikini" type bottoms and chunky, high-heeled knee-high boots, with gauntlets that matched their rounded shape. Sizable pauldrons that swung about freely during the performance rounded out the whole thing. As for the performance, it was fun. It brought back memories of attending underground concerts, both for fun and to discuss things that were best covered up by the eardrum-rupturing noise. Krahe also learned that this world had equivalents to some modern instruments, including distorted guitars and synthesizers. Unsurprisingly, all powered by souldregs.
Musically, the songs were familiar, being similar to the New Wave of Synth-Rock which had swept through Megacity Gamma''s Sectors 7, 8 and 9 in her lifetime. As for lyrical subjects, they were typical stuff. Love, sorrow, living in the big city, tearing down the road as fast as your machine would go, et cetera et cetera. Timeless subjects, really. A song including the words "tonight, there''s a hurricane" in the refrain stood out among the others, being the opener and also being repeated once more after the audience demanded an encore.
The question was whether Eutropia moonlighted as a Silversword Agency Contractor, or the other way around; the bar''s advertising used her contractor status as a selling point.
Tracking her back to her home wasn''t difficult. In fact, Krahe wasn''t the only one to do it that night. A pair of drunk fans, out of an audience of about a hundred, had followed their idol back to an building in one of the city''s more affluent residential areas. Given her reaction - shooing them off and throwing spare pieces of her costume - this seemed to be a regular occurence. Like feral raccoons who had been given leftovers, the two obsessives scurried off with their prize.
Krahe was well out of sight, but with Barzai as her eyes, she got a good look at the building and at Eutropia herself.
Eutropia regarded Krahe with a questioning look. The question was: "Another fan?"
But as she approached, emerging into the pallid glow of a street lamp, curiosity turned to recognition, and recognition turned to wide-eyed terror.
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"Blackhand..." the girl muttered. She didn''t seem to even consider fleeing, merely backing up against the front door of her home.
"W-why''re you here? I... I''m not with Hashem anymore, I swear! I paid off my debt, I''m clean!"
"Oh, I''ve missed these reactions. Best thank Semzar for doing my PR," she thought.
Somewhat confused, Krahe asked: "Why do you think I''m here?"
"They say you used to run with the Hands of Purgation," Eutropia said. She hastily shoved her keys into the door without ever turning around, unlocked it, and opened it, slowly backing up into her home. The whole time, she kept talking: "That you''ve come back to take vengeance on the whole Hashem Family. But I- I swear, I''m not with them. I just... I just owed them and I did some work to repay it."
She... Wasn''t lying. At least, not as far as Krahe could tell. Her confusion grew, but she decided to play along. Krahe followed her in; this wasn''t a conversation to be had out in the open street if it could be helped, and Eutropia clearly understood that.
Krahe shut the door behind herself, leaning against it, leaving Barzai just outside to cover her blind spot - especially the rooftops.
"Did that work happen to include the killing of a saurian street vendor? The one that blasted you with a reaper and set off Mistress Yao''s protection talisman."
"How do you-"
"Answer the question."
Krahe didn''t need to try to put an edge in her voice. Just interrupting Eutropia was enough to make her crumple. Well, she supposed it wasn''t too big a surprise. She was a hired killer, sure, but she had killed a civilian. Frankly, Krahe wasn''t sure why Yao had taken an interest in her, or sold her that protective talisman.
"That..." Eutropia tensed up. "It was the last thing I did for him, I swear on my family name!"
"I don''t recall finding anything about a family name when I looked into you," Krahe said plainly. Eutropia''s terror became tinged by shame.
"I, well, I''m... I''m the eighth daughter of the Kartier Family''s Ulthar branch," she admitted with a sad smile, averting her gaze. She didn''t feel the need to elaborate, because there was none. The Kartiers were an ancient and absurdly wealthy family, with the core branch controlling all the businesses while the secondary branches specialized in a wide variety of research and development. It was such surface information that even a book on the general history of Afshan included it. They were, in every sense, old money.
Raising her eyes to look at Krahe again, she added: "I would swear that my family will reward you if you spare my life, but I would be lying to both of us. So, if you spare me, my family will not be able to use my death as an excuse if your interests ever conflict with theirs."
"Point me to the one who hired you, and I''ll let you get away."
"It was-"
"Shut up. I wasn''t finished. I''ll let you get. Away. Not let you go. You will vanish from Audunpoint and take only what you can carry. Make it look like someone made you disappear. Run off to Afshan or something, change your name, start another tribute band, Zavesh knows there''s a hundred of them just in this city. Someone wants you dead for that street merchant. So, Eutropia Kartier is dead, starting today. Understand?"
Krahe had just guessed that part about tribute bands. She was sure Hot Legs would have no trouble finding another singer for their in-house band. Eutropia nodded along, both intimidated and relieved.
162 - VS. Crescent Jezail Pt. 1
"I''m sure you can guess," Eutropia said with a wry smile. "I can''t say who contacted me personally, but I''m deathly certain the man who gave the order was Semzar Hashem. The message was... It was worded in an exceedingly him manner. Egotistical shit brat with less of a brain than the corpse he''s riding on any given month."
As if on cue, Krahe saw a strange shape shimmering on a nearby rooftop through Barzai''s eyes - just the next street over, less than a hundred meters away. It was a human figure, one obscured somehow, and difficult to focus on. She noticed it due to the disturbance of the air around it; like overly aggressive active camo, standing out against a comparatively tranquil backdrop. There was a good chance she would''ve missed it if she hadn''t been actively scanning the rooftops, windows, and other such vantage points in Barzai''s field of view.
She would have warned Eutropia, if there had been time. The figure appeared one moment as if it had clambered onto the roof just then. The next moment, the cloak broke as the person underneath under the cloak opened it to raise a long weapon into a crouched firing position. Through Barzai''s superior vision, Krahe was able to catch the shape of Crescent Jezail''s eponymous weapon.
There were all of four, perhaps five seconds between when Krahe initially spotted a weird shimmering shape on a rooftop and when a ray of arcane death tore the air apart on its warpath towards her back. Of these seconds, three were filled by what would come to be Eutropia''s final words.
Krahe skimmed straight upwards twice in rapid succession, placing herself on the balcony. She had turned herself to see better. Her reason to abandon cover was the assumption that Jezail could see her through walls somehow, considering he had been able to target and shoot through a heavily warded safehouse window, let alone a mostly-mundane stone brick wall.
A gulf skimmer.
That was a problem... But she couldn''t have more than three charges, and Jezail could compensate by predicting the likely direction she might skim next. That stunt had to have cost her one charge at least, and Jezail was willing to bet it had cost two, given the structure''s dimensions and typical skimmer ranges. It could be a longer-ranged technique, but then it would have a longer recharge time and likely only two charges. The third option was that she just had the brute attribute ratings to force a standard skimmer''s range that far, but he couldn''t very well do anything about that if it were the case, so he didn''t worry about it. Jezail was, of course, wrong. It was none of these. The characteristics of Krahe''s skimming ability were, in fact, objectively subpar. Its range was above-average, but not "long".
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Four shots; Semzar had paid Jezail for four shots and impact confirmation. Or rather, three of his standard catalogue, the Three Shot Special, plus the Full Custom. A shot tailored specifically to the target, and what a shot it was. Jezail honestly hoped she would dodge the next two just so he would get to use it.
The collateral damage was Semzar''s problem. Eutropia was a loose end whose death was included in the contract as a secondary objective, which he had now fulfilled, but his current ammo was rather destructive by nature. All of the buildings behind his target were potential collateral damage, and given the area, some of those buildings were the homes of people Semzar couldn''t afford to anger.
That wasn''t Jezail''s problem.
"You wanted me to use the Oblivion Flow, you get the Oblivion Flow..." he thought. In the same breath, he briefly considered waiving the fee for Eutropia and only charging for the shot that killed her, since information on her was, in the end, what allowed him to catch Blackhand like this. He banished the thought. For a better customer, for Damrus, even, perhaps. Not for Semzar.
Blackhand raised a wall of strange, black-green stone, as if it would shield her. It probably would, against most attacks. Not against his.
He fired the second shot. It didn''t burst out of his staff, but rather poured out. It thereafter flowed through the air, an unearthly river of power in a colour darker than black, creating a trail not through the violence of its passage, but mere incident. Bits of dust, errant feathers, even the air itself were all erased by the flow, sweeping up a light breeze and leaving shreds of impossible blackness in its wake.
It was nearly instantaneous, traveling no slower than lightning itself with a fraction of the commotion and far more focused power than such a brutish bolt. Jezail had no particular talent, no particular elemental affinity, but he felt no need for it. The reassuring absoluteness of Arcane magic''s outcomes was one of the reasons he was Crescent Jezail, instead of some idiot with a cooked brain and too much love for literal beams of fire. The Oblivion Flow brought an altogether more elegant and literal kind of obliteration. Eutropia wasn''t torn apart, and neither were the walls unfortunately caught in the Flow''s path; they were erased, directly destroyed by magic.
Given the lack of overpenetration, that wall had put up a significant amount of resistance, but not enough to stop the Flow from passing through.
Two shots. Half a million DDs without hit confirmation accounted for. The first shot had gotten hit confirmation on Eutropia, bringing it to 600,000. The second, too, had passed through a living target, raising his base payout to 700,000. Jezail didn''t relax, however. His method of hit confirmation wasn''t foolproof, as he had warned Semzar earlier, despite Semzar''s refusal to acknowledge that fact during the negotiations for this very job. Two shots left, and Semzar had in the end caved and paid for direct kill confirmation. Thus, Jezail would circle the target to get a line of sight and make damn sure she was dead.
163 - VS. Crescent Jezail Pt. 2
Reload; a new talisman wrapped around his staff. An adjustment of his fingers on the haft, translating to subtle adjustments to the next shot''s properties. The air still crackled with remnant energy as Jezail regained sight and recalculated trajectories. Jezail''s mind ran far faster than any Normal''s, apropos of his heavy cerebral grafts and a cocktail of elixirs he had taken beforehand. He got up and stalked over the rooftops, eventually jumping across the street to the next roof over.
There he was met by a grinning face, sitting slumped against the stone slab. He raised his staff again, but she skimmed into the building before he could fire.
The game of cat and mouse which followed went on for three hours.
Jezail eventually managed to set up a decoy trap using his camouflage cloak, which seemed to be what she had used to detect him. At this moment, he was buried in a pile of trash on the flat-top roof of a three-story apartment building. He was waiting for Blackhand to cross a sightline from beyond a street corner to get out of his decoy''s sightline. She did, and he took the shot...
...Only for her to still be standing once the remnants cleared, grinning at him straight through his camouflage. How? Yes, he was blind for a few brief moments after firing, but her posture wasn''t changing at all, let alone enough to suggest any kind of dodge! The feedback he was receiving could only mean his attack wasn''t being blocked, as the arcane reverb of a Barrier and the various feelings of Ward impact were distinct from a true, direct hit on target. By every reasonable metric, Blackhand should be dead.
Something clicked in his head.
She must have taken and implanted Eutropia''s special voidkey at some point before he took the first shot. He wasn''t familiar with it or its strange mechanics, but he knew enough to lay the blame on it. That was the only reasonable explanation for this havoc that was being played with his magic, and it also explained why Eutropia died properly - she didn''t have the same defences that had protected her from that street vendor''s Reaper. Jezail came to these conclusions in moments of real-time, and decided to take a risk.
Barriers took time to raise. Skimming, too, had a recovery time. It stood to reason this esoteric means of attack avoidance had to also have limitations. So, he brought out Mistress Yao''s talisman, wrapped it around his staff, and took the shot.
Krahe had been screwing with Jezail all night, and she had to admit she had enjoyed it. For all its lethality, there was no network layer to deal with, no hacking and counter-hacking, making the game an enjoyable balance of real danger versus relative safety. She''d guessed that he couldn''t see shit after firing right away. That black beam just left too much mess behind, it obscured him, but also obscured his vision. It was possible he could see through it, like she could through her smokescreen, but her vision was still impaired by it somewhat. At this distance, even that level of sight impairment was a big fucking problem.
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Once she saw that dead-still decoy and that sightline straight out of a sniper''s wet dream, she knew she had the right bait for him.
He swallowed it hook line and sinker.
A golden-yellow light flashed from the talisman, filling the many spiraling grooves that covered the staff''s surface. A burst of that same light erupted from the rod, sending the talisman itself flying at a velocity that rightly should have obliterated it. As it flew, it rapidly multiplied into dozens, at first flying as a swarm, and eventually reaching such a density they flowed at their target.
Yet, something was wrong. Jezail had felt a sense of foreboding when he took aim, as if something was warning him not to take the shot, but he had encountered similar dissuasion magic before.
For this same reason, seeing his target turn into a green-eyed smoke demon didn''t intimidate him.
Jezail started reconsidering his odds only once he saw the swarm of talismans surround their target and begin orbiting. By now, they should have mummified and vaporized her.
Krahe didn''t trust Yao enough to just eat that talisman face-first unguarded, and there was no guarantee that this talisman was the one Yao had agreed to rig with a rebound trigger. For all she knew, Jezail might have acquired more offensive talismans from the mistress for general use.
Her distrust was once again proven wrong when, a split-second after being surrounded by that swarm, it suddenly went zipping back to sender, spewing beams of golden light at Jezail from all directions. It didn''t even look like he was supposed to get hit, but rather as though the swarm was corralling him, trying to chase him away. It worked, as the sniper-wizard fired off a scattered version of his earlier attack and vanished in the aftermath.
The last Krahe saw of Jezail for that night was his blurred silhouette as he leapt atop his staff and went blasting over the rooftops, using it as a hoverbike of a sort. It certainly didn''t look like real flight.
Despite his best efforts, however, Yao''s talismans knew where he was, and chased after him. He had, after all, tied himself to them as the caster, and Yao had purposely altered their homing mechanism so it could go both ways. The tie between Jezail and Krahe was much like that of a curse, if shorter-lived. If anything, the rebound was even more powerful than the original attack; rather than homing in on an arbitrary target, it was following the chain of retribution to a perpetrator. At least, such was Krahe''s limited understanding of sympathetic magic.
Krahe wasted no time in returning to Eutropia''s home, taking a moment to change her clothes in a back alley on the way there. Her caution was rewarded when she found a handful of curious eyes peering from the windows of nearby buildings. She extracted Eutropia''s souldregs and her voidkey, knowing that Garvesh would appreciate seeing hard proof of her death. The key snapped, with a sizable chunk of it just bursting apart and disintegrating, but she got most of it anyway. It felt familiar, somehow. Before anyone in the neighbourhood could muster up the courage to investigate, and before the night-watchmen could reach the place, Krahe was gone.
164 - Something Wrong
That night, there was a brief light show in the sky just above the city. A swarm of glowing papers chasing after a deep-blue comet, each letting off a shining beam of light before disintegrating.
It ended with a dozen rays of light scattering into the sky all at once, and the body of their target - a willowy, unassuming man - plummeting onto a rooftop. He rolled off the side, smashing into a balcony railing on his way down, leaving it bent. Nothing else broke his fall save for the hard stone, but that was fine. He wasn''t as fragile as most.
Emitting an entirely inhuman groan of pain and effort, Jezail dragged himself off the ground and propped himself up against a nearby wall. He let out a wheezing, strained laugh. Despite the discomfort of a punctured lung and numerous small wounds that riddled his whole body, that laugh was the only appropriate reaction to his predicament.
"Hazard pay... Here I come," he cackled to himself as he conjured an injector out of his quick-access storage. Relief flooded him when he pressed it against his neck; a Class 3 painkiller, able to take the bite out of any pain without impairing other senses, while also providing a minor regenerative factor for several hours.
Once he was able to move again, Jezail simply returned to one of his hideouts in the city. He had done his job to the extent of the contract.
For the next hour, he sat there injecting himself, smoking, and slathering graft-paste on his wounds. Tens, hundreds of thousands of DDs in restoratives, spent without a second thought. After all, it was in his contract that his employer had to cover any expenses for injuries sustained on the job. Semzar wouldn''t willingly shell out for that policy, he knew that. But he also knew that Damrus would pay. The Hashems were already in dire straits. The patriarch was smart enough to not risk souring his relationship with Jezail, or Zavesh forbid, risk having the assassin come after him personally.
Jezail still wasn''t quite sure what had happened, and he was quite close to giving up on trying to figure it out. There had been no sign of the talisman being corrupt, and he had no way to discern how exactly Blackhand had turned it against him. A part of him wondered if she used some alternative to traditional barriers, and, since he himself used a "Distortion Impulse Barrier", that was where his mind wandered. While demanding a higher level of skill and active attention even for basic usage, a DI barrier conversely had a far higher performance ceiling. As per the words of his master, it was "the parry to an archetypal barrier''s simple block."
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He knocked the burnt waste out of his pipe and absent-mindedly stuffed it with various mind-clearing herbs. The taste didn''t even register anymore, he was so used to it. The initial kick was a flood of menthol, heat, and sour astringency, forcibly opening his airways and ensuring maximum absorption of the active ingredient, a specially cultivated type of Cassia of Jezail''s own creation.
However, now that he thought on it with a clearer mind, Blackhand using a DI barrier was unlikely; as a user of this unique defensive technique, Jezail was certain he would have been able to detect it. It was also statistically exceedingly unlikely outside the DI barrier''s region of origin, which was on another continent. Looking back, he hadn''t even sensed the normal thaumic upsurge caused by the raising of a standard barrier. There had been an undeniable disturbance, but not one that felt like any kind of barrier. Moreover, his attacks weren''t deflected, but seemed to merely pass through her space as if she was dodging them... To where? She hadn''t moved. He saw it, she had stood in the same spot, yet was unharmed.
"How? Is that smoke form simply invulnerable?" he thought aloud. "No, that''s not how thaumaturgy works. It''s not omnipotent. If it was truly a self-transmutation into smoke, the Oblivion Flow would have erased it all the same. Then how?"
Crescent Jezail decided that it was high time to broaden his horizons, starting with obscure defensive techniques. For all his fame, he was far from a true veteran. He saw this incident as a stark reminder to not get complacent just because he was in the top 10%. That still left a whole 9% that could put him in the ground. Just a few years of being the Crescent Jezail had nearly made him stop polishing his edge.
"Next time, Blackhand..." he started, only to chuckle to himself. "Hopefully there won''t be a next time. Best to prepare regardless."
Something was wrong. Casus felt it in his gut.
Cornelius, the man to whom he had entrusted Tsetse''s arm, was supposed to have contacted him by now. They had no official agreement of a particular time or method, but Cornelius was an exceedingly scrupulous and consistent man, despite his veneer of a quasi-rogue grafter. For this reason, Casus had developed a strong sense for when Cornelius would contact him. Even if his tests on the arm hadn''t progressed by a millimetre, Cornelius would have still sent a message to update Casus on his efforts.
Therefore, Casus decided to check up on him. He hoped that Cornelius had made a breakthrough and had been too engrossed in his work to report back, or that he had worked himself into an exhaustion coma, because the alternative was just too unpleasant to consider.
An unsettling sense of urgency began to grow in his chest as he went. Eventually, he ended up riding a motorbike as fast as it would go through the city and even down into the underground, abusing its generous suspension by forcing it to go down stairways. He simply left it at the furthest possible spot it could take him.
Something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut. Cornelius wasn''t the type to not check in just because of a breakthrough or just because he was tired. He wasn''t that irresponsible. Something had to be wrong.
165 - Something Wrong Pt. 2
He smelled it long before he reached the lab. The sweet smell of rotting meat, but not quite like the real thing, tinged with musky pungency and the sting of pheromones not intended for his nostrils. The stench only led him to rush even more, driving him to transform into Silberblut pre-emptively.
His fears were only further affirmed by the sounds of commotion as he sprinted through subterranean corridors lit only by old, flickering lamps. Three layers of black-iron doors had separated the lab from the corridor, but now, there was just a tunnel of torn-up stone. The doors were embedded into a wall inside the lab one atop the other, having been blasted from their hinges and smashed into a monolith of abused metal by immense concussive force.
The unmistakable voice of Tsetse echoed from within: "...possess something that was stolen from me. Return it, and I will let you live. Lucky you."
"I- I don''t know what you mean, truly!" Cornelius insisted unconvincingly. His eyes jumped to Casus when he passed through the door. Scanning the situation before him, the first thing that hit him was the state of the lab; surprisingly, not wrecked. There was damage, yes, and quite a few pieces of equipment had been destroyed, but it looked plausibly collateral. As for Tsetse, he had cornered the swarthy grafter, who was keeping the flyman at bay thanks to a quarter-circle of blood drawn on the floor. Using it as a catalyst, Cornelius generated an immensely potent barrier. Its weakness against Tsetse''s Kinetic attacks was offset by the fact it lashed back at him, as evidenced by the still-smoking Seven Spokes insignias that had been mercilessly branded onto Tsetse''s body.
Indeed, Cornelius was truly exceptional when it came to purely defensive thaumaturgy, and not just in terms of barriers. His wards, too, were downright excessively thick, interlayered and compound, unreasonably complex for his distinct lack of combative tendency. That was, after all, why he was so defensive; he utterly lacked the nerve to even fight back. He was the one worm who would sooner grow a spiked shell on the spot rather than turn and strike back. No matter his talent, however, Cornelius couldn''t hold that barrier up for long. He knew this, and Tsetse knew this, and Casus knew that Tsetse knew.
For that reason, a flash of hope lit up in the grafter''s eyes when he saw Casus, and he immediately called out to him: "Ah, thank Zavesh you''re here! A-as you can see there has been a bit of a misunderstanding, please explain to my friend here that I don''t know anything about his arm!"
As mentioned earlier, Cornelius didn''t have the nerve to fight. For that same reason, he also couldn''t lie to save his skin.
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Tsetse turned to meet his gaze, and, despite the flyman''s stoic visage, the noise he emitted was very much that of a chuckle.
"Ah. Lucky me. Silberblut," he said, sounding genuinely glad to see Casus. "I must thank you, the data from our fight led to quite a few improvements to my morph, as you can see, and as you will soon feel for yourself. Worry not; I can feel your confusion. If you survive a head-on strike from me, I will freely divulge the nature of my existence."
While he spoke, Casus used these precious moments to inspect Tsetse''s altered form. The sonic emitter bulges over his ankles had been joined by another pair just above the knees, and both pairs were now more elegantly melded into the curvature of his plating, with eye-like slits in the chitin. His arms were completely different from before. The right still missed its lower half, with a crude-looking machine prosthetic in its place, cables winding up the limb to a compact power unit embedded in his back. As for his left arm, it had bulked up as if to compensate, individual plates now spread apart by bulging muscle. Any trace of sonic emitters was gone from the limb.
"I presume you know where it is. Please, disappoint me by disclosing its location without a fight."
Casus knew, of course. The arm was beneath them, its container one among dozens within a mechanized storage system. The access panel was in fact right behind Cornelius.
Rather than respond verbally, he simply dropped into his fighting stance. Having been transformed for a short time already, he felt mostly confident that he could pull out a coupler charge right on the spot. It wasn''t a good idea as he risked backlash, and even if successful it would cut into his stamina quite severely. However, given the state of those doors and Tsetse''s confidence, Casus wagered it was his best bet.
Tsetse raised his left arm to waist height, hand clenched into a downright weird fist. The exposed muscles of his torso flexed, and plates snapped out of place to reveal an array of three large and nine small sonic emitter lenses. Their placement was awkward, spaced out widely near the sides to make space for Tsetse''s powerful core musculature. That explained the thick plates on his sides - their purpose was to protect the emitters.
Tsetse followed with a short punch, like something one would use in tight quarters into an opponent''s stomach. Casus, reading it as the trigger gesture for the greater emitter cluster, opened the Second Eye. Just as a wall of force came bearing down on him he devoured it, skidding back just a bit. However, another blast of force came just as the Second Eye''s window of effectiveness petered out. Viciously focused, it wasn''t just enough to throw him against the wall - it embedded him into the brickwork and continued on through him, carving a hole into the stone. The Silberblut armor''s internal structure as a relic of the highest order was the only thing that prevented it from turning his insides into mush. Nothing could severely harm him until the armor''s durability was depleted, no matter how focused the attack was. Unfortunately, after weathering that, there really wasn''t much durability left. He wagered he could take maybe one more hit like that, and perhaps one or two regular strikes after that before he was forced out of his transformation.
166 - Something Wrong Pt. 3
As he ripped himself free, he caught a glimpse of the source of that second attack. Just a flash, but it was unmistakable. A damascened membrane in the palm of Tsetse''s hand. That was the reason for the weird fist, to cover it up. His thoughts ran rampage; had Tsetse devised that specifically to counter the Second Eye?
Tsetse, however, seemed amused, remarking: "Impressive. Very well. I am certain the question has been gnawing at you: Am I a war morph? An overgrafter? A simple freak of nature?"
He stepped towards Casus, lunging at him with an absurdly long kick. It looked like a straight side kick, then like a hook kick, only to become a question-mark kick instead, all in the span of moments. The sonic blast sent stones and dust flying as it tore into the wall; Casus had ducked and rushed in, the obvious answer to all three of the possible kicks. He also anticipated a mixup afterwards, but Tsetse just engaged him in an exchange of punches and kicks. Each of them checked or blocked the other, and both of them threw in a few truly lethal surprises; Casus with his blade, and Tsetse with his sonic emitters. He wasn''t using the one on his left arm at all, but the limb itself was monstrously strong. It didn''t match up to the Right Arm of Silberblut in its current state, but it didn''t need to. At this moment, Casus was painfully aware of the fact Tsetse was simply stronger than him. His only chance to tip the scales was to push himself as far as he could, to use and abuse the Second Eye, and to steal Tsetse''s own strength to use it against him. Tsetse also knew this, given how he took care to not use his sonic blasts when Casus was likely to devour them.
It was obvious he was just playing, just using this fight as the stage to his continued monologue: "The answer is neither of those three above, yet also all of them. I am something new. This form... It is my body, yet I can shed it and survive. In this manner and beyond, we are alike. Think on that, pretender Mamon Knight."
Out of nowhere, with no apparent breath in, Tsetse exhaled... And he kept exhaling. In one immense exhalation, he flooded the whole room with mist. At first Casus thought it to be a poorly-conceived smoke screen, but then he felt it gnawing at him. It wasn''t mist. It was omniphage, the same ruinous substance that made the Omniphage Dregsteam cartridge so potent. This single breath contained as much omniphage as two or perhaps three cartridges, and it was of a higher order than the breed used in those. Rather than clumping together like living mercury, it seemed to be the opposite.
Casus stood strong, continuing to fight and weathering the onslaught as the silver of his armour tarnished and soon turned black. He wasn''t under threat here - Cornelius was. His barrier would hold, but everything around it wouldn''t. Even if Cornelius had the nerve to banish and reform his barrier anew without the hemomantic catalyst, his barrier didn''t have full-dome coverage. He had to get him out of the room.
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So, he burned what power he had stocked up on empowering a coupler charge. Not an attack, but movement. The Silberblut armor wasn''t suited to it, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He timed it to the moment he noticed Cornelius'' barrier faltering due to the destruction of its catalyst.
At first, it seemed to work. With flame erupting from his back and propelling him, Casus dropped to the ground, sliding between Tsetse''s legs. Then there was a burst high-pitched noise, pain, and the realization that Cornelius had a chunk missing out of his side all of a sudden. It wasn''t much, just surface tissue, but it meant his Wards had been breached. The grafter, perhaps thanks to shock, immediately drew a circle around the wound using his suddenly abundant blood and formed a temporary plug of metal over it, then layered a barrier over that.
At first, Casus didn''t even realize that the force of the blast had embedded his outstretched limbs into the walls and floor. His attention was wholly fixed on Cornelius. He had to get him out of the omniphage mist. There was no time. Casus shook off the pain and swiftly freed himself, spinning on his heel to face down the flyman. Unsteady, a hair''s breadth from detransforming, and bleeding internally, his resolve was no less ironclad than at the beginning of this fight.
"The arm, Silberblut. Give me the arm and you may go," Tsetse said, already approaching. Casus, without a moment''s hesitation, grabbed a brick and pulled it out of place. Behind it was a handle, a pull on which opened the masterfully disguised panel. Behind that panel was a yawning recess and a keyboard He punched in the code and waited as the mechanism stirred into motion.
"Why? Why the mercy, I mean," came a hushed, strained voice from below.
"Not mercy," Tsetse scoffed, approaching yet closer, looming over them with amused apathy. "I want my arm back. I do not want a fight with whomever your deaths would alert."
His eyed shifted to Casus, and he added: "Not yet. I can''t beat a real Mamon Knight yet."
At that moment, the container popped up in the recess, and Tsetse grabbed it right away. Not only did he not try to stop them, he simply walked away with the container in hand. It seemed at first as though he would leave them in peace, but he met them outside. Casus had to drag an inconsolable Cornelius out of his own laboratory as the most delicate of his equipment was rendered into scrap. There, well outside the lab, he found Tsetse. The flyman was just sitting there, legs crossed, pulling the cables out of his right arm. Casus stopped some distance short of passing him, because he was simply exhausted. At some point between the lab and here, he had fallen out of his transformation without even noticing it.
167 - Abara Morph
As the flyman performed a simple grafting operation on himself out in the open, he spoke: "I almost pity you. You must think highly of Silberblut. It must be difficult to know you will never live up to what he was. To know you tarnish his legacy with this deluded impersonation. Perhaps I was wrong to fear you after all, if such a pale imitation is all you can manage."
His apathetic tone of voice was tinged by a smug sense of superiority, but also true, genuine pity.
"You like the sound of your own voice far too much for that man-of-a-few-words affectation," Cornelius seethed.
"I am no such thing, and this is no affectation. This is just how I speak. I understand why you accuse me, however, if such poor pretenders as Casus Aristedes are the norm within the church," Tsetse retorted, pulling out the last of several pins around the base of his mechanical forearm. They had been previously hidden under a ring-shaped protective shroud that also served as an adapter for the power cables. Crude design, but effective, and also entirely defiant of common design principles. The prosthetic was either a one-off or the work of someone unknown. Alongside itself, it pulled out a bone of some description, leaving a hollow cavity inside the upper arm, which now dangled uselessly.
The moment Tsetse pressed his original forearm to the stump, however, tendrils of flesh whipped forth to join the two together. There was the sound of flowing fluid, accompanied by the hissing of air being forced out of the limb''s internal cavity. With a final shift that weirdly resembled someone shoving his arm into a sleeve from the inside of a zipped-up jacket, Tsetse''s arm sprung back into motion as if it had never been detached.
Wrapping the cables of his detached replacement around his wrist, the flyman took his machine forearm, got up, and walked away. Casus vividly felt both his own and the Silberblut coupler''s desire to come after him, but he was aware of his own inability to do so just as vividly. Over the next twenty minutes Cornelius fashioned a temporary plug for his wound, being a grafter after all, and the two men painstakingly made their way to the nearest safe place that could treat their injuries properly. It was a small temple-clinic. One of the resident grafters, a red-haired woman, gave them both an earful about how the clinic wasn''t equipped to treat serious injuries. Nonetheless, their injuries were treated to an admirable standard. It turned out that out of the clinic''s four resident grafters, three were sisters who looked just different enough to be distinguished, but still unsettlingly similar.
Afterwards, the two men retreated to the shrine''s inner sanctum for some rest and privacy.
"How did he find you?" Casus asked eventually.
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Cornelius looked up at Casus with tired eyes, giving a weary smile.
"How did you find your belt?" he shrugged, as if the answer was as obvious as the colour of the sky. "Direct sympathetic resonance. The arm reacted when he focused on it, so I had some forewarning... But not enough. Not nearly enough. Shame. I was halfway to unraveling the Abara Morph."
Casus hated that habit of his; dropping jargon and waiting for him to ask what it meant. So he just sat, and stared, and Cornelius broke. His desire to share the fruits of his research was stronger than his desire to be asked questions about it.
"You''re joyless sometimes, you know that? You sure the coupler isn''t giving you personality shift?" Cornelius complained. "Alright, fine. You saw how he looks, right? Sort of like a war morph, but not quite. And the insides of his arms. Those aren''t just hemolymph cavities."
Shifting in place, Cornelius began listing off on his hands: "Additional internal reinforcement, improved muscular design, body segment detachment musculature, latticed chitin structure for extra hardness without loss of flexibility. Casus, the arm contained dedicated, physicalised Thauma channels. A new subtype of them at that, with a superior delivery rate and pressurization to the closest equivalent I am aware of. If I can replicate just these ''Tsetse-type'' channels, adapted for a Mamon Armor design, I could create a full-organic unit that would- urhk!"
Cornelius grew more and more excited, until his gesturing became too violent and the irritation of his wound made him crumple up into himself in pain, clutching his side. After a minute or so of silence, he continued to speak: "You know what all of these things have in common, and you know that I know how a War Morph is built. War Morphs are the extremification of evoy biology for the purposes of warfare, but Tsetse defies baseline evoy biology without clear evidence of grafting. Whatever your Tsetse is, he isn''t a War Morph."
"He is an Abara Morph, you''ve made that much clear. Now explain what the term means. I am sure you feel terribly proud of inventing it."
Cornelius gave Casus the kind of stare that only fell half a step of openly asking if he really hadn''t figured it out yet, or if he was just trying to make him say it out loud. It Casus took some effort to prevent a smirk from pushing its way onto his face.
"He''s an Evoy-specific version, or rather a counterpart, for the Mamon Knight. You know, funny thing is, I don''t think I could''ve learned much more from that arm than I did. The last thing I did was a simple saturation test. Positive. The ratio was all wrong, but there was a distinct host and catalyst signature. Can''t expect our tests to work perfectly on their technology, I suppose."
"You know what this means."
"Of course. Whether we like it or not, this must be reported to the church."
Krahe wasted no time in taking the proof of Eutropia''s death back to Garvesh. Right next to the door in that back alley, right next to one of the cobbles that was still stained with evoy hemolymph, she found a pile of scrap. After taking a closer look, she recognized a few parts. A rack, a mangled burner, a burst-open thaumine tank. Her stomach wrenched when she realized it was none other than Imraal''s food cart, mangled by what was likely an explosion.
168 - Case Three Closed
Despite her deep and profound sorrow, she mustered the will to enter the building. The old lizard was in his home, and readily opened the door after she banged on it while announcing herself: "Open up, it''s me!"
The lock turned and the door swung open, but Garvesh was nowhere near it.
"Close and lock the door. I''m in the bathroom. Come in, it''s fine."
"Something happened," Krahe deadpanned as she did as he asked.
"You saw Imraal''s cart out front. I took it out on the street, didn''t want to disappoint his customers, y''know. Some overly ambitious assclown just came up and blasted me point-blank with a Red Reaper, can you believe that?"
There was effort in his voice, strain even, but the way he spoke about being shot with a Red Reaper carried a tone of disbelief and ridicule more than anything. Krahe was somewhat confused, but it wasn''t because of that. It was the aura. Like some giant monster, unable to act in any way befitting its size yet still nearly inconceivable in its immensity.
Garvesh was, indeed, in the bathroom. The old lizard turned his eyes up to meet Krahe''s as she walked in. He was sprawled out in the small pool he called a bath tub, leaning on one hand while his other was twisted into a stiff gesture - thumb, index, and ring fingers forming an eye, while the middle and pinkie were held straight. He hovered his hand over his stomach, a thin stream of blue-glowing magic pouring out through the eye to join a large, metallic scale of a blue shade so dark it was nearly black. Slowly, tiny bit by bit, the scale grew. Others around it were also visible, transitioning from solid metallic to ghostly and to nothing. Krahe immediately knew what was happening. Wards. He was repairing his wards.
Across the room, chained up to the radiator, was a gagged man that may have been handsome at some point before the front of his body had been shredded and burned. A baneworm''s bulging tendrils could be seen beneath his skin, and some even dangled out of his burst-open stomach, tangled amongst his intestines.
"I''m not moving until this one is finished, so you may as well speak now," he remarked, refocusing his eyes on his stomach. They momentarily flicked upwards at Krahe as he added: "Please tell me you came to tell me Imraal''s killer is dead. I need some good news after this shitshow."
Krahe gave a slow nod, still processing the scene.
"...Yeah. I have her souldregs if you want them."
"You said she''s dead, so she''s dead. You can show me the dregs later," he shrugged. A short time passed in heavy silence as Krahe just looked on, captivated by the complex internal pattern of Garvesh''s wards.
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"I thought wards were at least partly tied to your attributes."
"They are. I wouldn''t be able to form one of these from scratch in my state, and I''ve got a couple thin spots in places I won''t tell you. But as long as one these scales doesn''t break, I can fix it. It''s bitch and a half, tell you what. The damage this wormy fuck did will be at least a week''s work to repair. Just maintaining my wards is hard enough..."
An aura of pure anger and hatred spilled out of Garvesh as he spoke, doubtlessly fuelled by awareness of the meticulous, yet also strenuous work he had ahead of him. Krahe knew it all too well; for several years, she used a type of armor that, despite its high defensive performance, was no longer being manufactured. Manufacturing replacement graph-fullerene without the original machinery was perhaps among her least favourite memories. The inside of Garvesh''s ward-scales didn''t quite look as complex as a graphene mesh with fullerene balls instead of single carbon atoms, but it probably felt just as complex given that he was rebuilding it by hand. Krahe continued to watch for some time, drawing closer, and Garvesh let her.
"Feel free to try an'' copy me, so long as you let me know when you fail so I can laugh at you. You wouldn''t believe how many times I''ve seen someone try."
"I''m sure I''ll figure something out. I''ve been using the same ward design far too long..." she admitted. They had worked well-enough when she needed them, and with the Liminal Coil, simply not getting hit had become her go-to defensive tactic.
"Think Semzar''s going crazy and trying to have anyone who dealt with me killed?" she asked, assuming the worst.
"No, he''s stupid, but not insane," Garvesh shook his head. "I know why dumbfuck here shot at me, he spilled his guts the moment I spilled his guts. One of the side effects of my crippled state is that so long as I do not burn Thauma, I come off exactly as weak as I feel. This fool, turns out, was the one who hired the assassin on Semzar''s behalf. He saw me, saw Imraal''s cart, and, puttin'' two and two together, got five. He thought Imraal had somehow survived and faked his death, so he panicked and shot me."
Garvesh emitted a rumbling, engine-like chuckle.
"He saw a drasaurian and thought a single Red Reaper would kill me. Even without wards that wouldn''t be enough, not for me. Ey, you hear me?! Y''forget why yer filthy kind love to steal our bodies so much?!"
The noise didn''t wake the baneworm, but what Garvesh did right after his outburst served that purpose. He gathered spit in his mouth, and spat out a piece of the same bluish metal as his ward-scales, enveloped in a thick layer of mucus and spit. It landed right in the would-be assassin''s spilled-out intestines, and quickly became enveloped in spitting, angry, blue flame. It looked like white phosphorous, just prettier and without the poisonous smoke.
The baneworm-host awoke and, eyes flashing with panic, tendrils bulging under his skin, began screaming into his gag.
¡°Shut up or the next one is going in your mouth,¡± Garvesh threatened, gesturing at the burning mass currently eating its way into the prisoner¡¯s guts, somehow going deeper rather than following gravity.
Outright screaming tuned down to sounds of pain, until the worm¡¯s tendrils retracted from that area of his stolen body, and he fell silent. His gaze almost immediately became an analyzing one, darting back and forth, shamelessly looking for an opportunity to escape.
169 - Ive Eaten Worse
"What do you plan to do with him?" she gestured to the prisoner.
"I''ll turn the body into the church, it should get back to any relatives he might have. The wormy fuck didn''t even bother to change the face, and kept the original contractor ID. As for the worm... I''ll debeak and swallow him whole. You''ve got an acid bath to look forward to, my friend."
The fear gripping the baneworm-host seemed to get to be too much, as his tendrils began writhing wildly. The body''s eyes rolled into the back of its head, with tendrils bursting out of their sockets. The worm exploded out of the host''s mouth, trying to jump for Krahe. Before it could reach her, Barzai erupted out of her chest, catching the worm in his beak as he darted across the room. The eidolon proceeded to tear into the worm, seemingly killing it instantly, and continued eating it from there on, piece by piece.
"Sorry. Looks like my pet eldritch monstrosity stole your dinner," Krahe said, genuinely unsure whether Garvesh would be angry. The old saurian finally finished repairing the one ward-scale, and erupted with guttural laughter.
"You didn''t really think I''d eat that nasty fuck, did you?" he cackled, slapping his thigh. It sounded nearly like a gunshot.
"I''ve eaten worse," she shrugged. "Was that a total lie, or some niche delicacy?"
"It''s a niche delicacy even among saurians," Garvesh nodded. "Baneworm meat''s nasty and stringy, and you must be very careful to remove the venom glands without rupturing them. We used to do it as a ritual execution for any baneworms we caught."
The hatred dripping from each of his words made it abundantly clear how much he reviled baneworms as a whole, not just this particular individual. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, sighed, and glanced down at his chest, running his hand over it. The ward-scales revealed themselves beneath his fingers in a truly draconic suit of armour, though many of its scales were chipped or even broken.
"Fuckin''... They''re getting more brittle by the year. Unless you''ve got more to tell me, you should go. I''ll be here for a while."
Krahe glanced at Barzai, then replied: "I figure I''ll be stuck here for at least fifteen minutes. Got any crab juice?"
Garvesh''s face lit up, and nodding, he gestured vaguely towards his kitchen.
"Yeah, in the fridge, pour yourself a glass... And bring me the whole jar after that."
Ignoring Garvesh''s incident and the resulting tragic death of Imraal''s food cart, things were going quite well. While she was still there, she showed him both Eutropia''s souldregs and her broken voidkey, hoping he might be able to appraise it where her glasses failed. When she had attempted to appraise the key, it did give a reading, but the reading in question was garbled and illegible.
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Unfortunately, appraising the original effects of a broken key was apparently far more complex than a functioning one. Garvesh, audibly pleased with himself, explained it thus: "Think about it. Think a rando on the street could look at the pile of scrap out front and tell that it used to be a food cart, let alone the specific kind of burners it had or what kinda food it used to make? It''s... Alright, it''s not actually like that with broken artifacts, but the analogy still works. Takes specialized knowledge or equipment to make sense of it. If you want..."
"No, you don''t need to find someone who can appraise it for me. I''ll let you know if I run out of my own options. You just... Fix yourself. You''ll be useless to me if you get whittled down and killed."
She spoke as if her motivations were entirely selfish, but in truth, she had grown at least enough of an attachment to Garvesh to not want him to die simply because she liked him. Krahe, of course, was not fully aware of this fact, or even willing to admit it to herself, let alone to someone else.
Returning to the safehouse, she found it empty, and spent further time studying Yao''s scroll in the absence of anything urgent to do. Having jumped ahead a few times, she found that the later sections were exceptionally dense and frequently referred back to earlier parts of the text, so she stuck to going through it from the start for now. The parts she had managed to digest so far mostly covered small tips and optimizations for the basic act of drawing a talisman. Rather than cosmic secrets, the scroll''s early parts contained the wisdom of countless hours spent doing a repetitious, yet also precision-demanding task. Krahe couldn''t draw a Wandrei Faust with the new brush yet, but she found it to be far more pleasant and better-balanced in the hand. It would only take time and practice to get used to it.
The reason she went straight to Yao''s scroll was simply the fact that Yao was on her mind as she left Garvesh to his work. The Talisman Mistress was, after all, the first person who came to mind when it came to appraising the broken key.
Once she had built up a pile of wastepaper, her grip on the brush was noticeably unsteady, and she saw occult symbols when she closed her eyes, Krahe decided it was enough for now. She spent the rest of the day resting and casually reading, occasionally making mostly-futile attempts to pierce deeper into the dense mass of Yao''s scroll.
The next day, she visited the shrine on Gashward Road as a stop along her way to her house on that street. A young, nervous-looking woman manned the shrine. She couldn''t be more than sixteen, yet Krahe felt a tangible degree of strength from her, both physical and magical. Despite being visibly nervous at the sight of Krahe, clearly knowing who she was, the shrine maiden moved with trained grace and her arms had well-defined muscles from what was visible of them.
"Would you happen to be Lady Blackhand?" the girl asked, as if guessing.
"That would be me, yes. I suspect I''ll be visiting your shrine in the future."
"Ah, my name is Eliana. There are packages here for you, if you could come with me."
One of these aforementioned packages was heavy and the size of a small suitcase, while the other was about the size of a letter and half a centimeter thick. Both were wrapped in narrow reams of paper, with a central, stamped-on sigil with lines of smaller ones spreading out across the package in a chain-like pattern.
"A pulse of your thauma, please," Eliana prompted, and Krahe did as asked. The central seals pulsed with golden light, and the sigil-chains gradually disappeared as if it was burning them away. With all the sigils gone, the packages looked a bit strange, but not particularly church-y, so she just carried them to house No. 94 the normal way.
170 - Taking Care of Business
Opening a box full of cash never got old. The paper wraps disintegrated the moment she tore them off, revealing a dark, wooden surface. Despite being wood, it was just as cold, just as firm and reflective as solid marble.
A brass insignia of the Seven Spokes stared back at her from the lid, which she lifted. Not the faintest sound issued forth when the lid swung back and knocked against itself. Rows of rings, set into a tray, awaited within, set with gems and engraved with glowing runes. For a shining moment, Krahe felt a child-like joy, grinning ear-to-ear. She could swear the rings glowed with purplish light, and a tangible wave of power washed over her. It was stony, impassive, utterly homogenous and unlike the aura of a person, but the quantity of arcane currency contained within this suitcase was such that it could match the intensity of Casus'' presence when he became Silberblut.
Lifting the tray, she found two more beneath it, decreasing in denomination, with the bottom-most one holding densely-packed cylinders of plain bronze bands. Krahe appreciated that she wouldn''t have to bother exchanging the rings. Beneath the bottom-most tray, she found a second, much simpler box, which she took out but left alone for now.
Moving onto the letter, it contained two papers. One was a talisman, and the other was the actual letter. It detailed her payout, specifying a hefty deduction for the suitcase with the options of keeping or returning it. It also mentioned that this payout was for Sorayah and that any further progress in the investigation would merit further compensation, specifically any information pertaining to potential Human Charcoal Cult cells and the recovery of relevant items such as further relics and human charcoal itself. A substantial portion of the payout was, in fact, for Sorayah''s lantern and the human charcoal Krahe brought along. A second, smaller sum came directly from Razem himself, the reason unexplained beyond the word ''Bonus''. The total money in the box fell shy of even half the posted bounty on her head, but it was still in the six digits. If she was being optimistic, even if Sorayah''s case didn''t lead to a greater cult, just the occult materiel in her home could furnish her with quite a bit of money. How much of that stuff she would turn in depended on whether she found a use for it. The post-script clarified that the talisman was for the ward-breaker; once activated, it would resonate with its twin in the ward-breaker''s possession and call him to its location as pre-arranged by Razem. He would supposedly arrive within an hour if it was anywhere in the city.
As for the smaller box, it contained several paper bags and had another note from Razem on the inside. It was the herbal mixture for the Decoction of Mind''s Dawn, with the note being instructions for brewing and drinking it, especially dosage and for how long it would be good after brewing.
"You will surely find it to be of use."
Moving on to other pressing matters, she wanted to visit Yao again to see if the woman could answer some questions for her. There was the Hexkey, Eutropia''s broken voidkey, as well as human charcoal in general. As for the anthrocite hand, she wanted to keep its existence to herself until she knew its potential value, so she decided to bring up anthrocite if Yao turned out to know about the base substance. She had not mentioned it to Razem out of caution.
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There was the matter of her gunmanship, which was... Acceptable. She didn''t consider the ability to hit a still target at a given distance to be the peak priority, especially since it was so contingent on the gun, the ammo, and the environmental factors. Target tracking and acquisition could be improved beyond just training and real combat, but those improvements were likely be grafts or combat drugs. As she saw it right now, her most pressing shortfalls were to do with getting the right ammo in the chamber at the right time. Alternating-load clips were a start, but awkward, and since the Pattner wasn''t tube-fed, she couldn''t do something like add a second tube magazine and a selector for which one was feeding. Without modifying the gun, the two options that came to mind were manually placing a bullet onto the bolt face while it was cycled forward, or pushing the round into the top of the clip, assuming the clip was one bullet short. The second option was a bit problematic due to the fact the clips were held inside the gun only by friction and the same spring that pushed cartridges up through the clip.
There was no choice left but to see for herself. Simply pushing a bullet into a partially-empty clip turned out to be the easiest solution. Sliding a bullet into the chamber directly also worked, counter to reason. The clip itself shifted downward slightly when a bullet was chambered, as if the follower spring was pulling it down in response. Krahe brought out the manual and went into the section with the blueprints. The magazine retainer - which was also the clip release lever - was the culprit. It was a single part that gripped a lip on the back of the clip, stopping the follower spring from sending the whole clip out the top of the breech. By disengaging it with one''s thumb, it also allowed a non-empty clip to be ejected. The blueprint noted that it was enchanted to shorten subtly when a bullet was in the chamber specifically to let the user load a bullet directly into the chamber.
Now that she gave it deeper thought, she remembered reading the manual only so far as it was relevant to maintaining it and loading the ammo. That left a good 1/5 of the book, which turned out to hold the answers to her questions, including the reason for the gun''s specific design. This late section was absent from the table of contents, and its nonstandard nature was evidence by the fact it was hand-written and not truly ordered. It stood to reason Pattner had made this one-off edition of the manual for Audun Sorun specifically, or possibly early adopters in general.
"The revolving cylinder design, albeit convenient, is limited in capacity. My design can be modified to accommodate alternate and/or expanded magazine designs at any time; I have included example blueprints for two types on the next page. Any craftsman of mediocre skill can manufacture the modification. The same cannot be said for a revolving cylinder design. I shall not speak of contemporary revolvers'' countless issues with structural integrity, sealing, reloading, etc."
The first modification was a weird apparatus that would turn the Pattner into a belt-fed pistol, with designs for a disintegrating sheet-metal belt included.
The second one was, effectively, a Mauser C96-style self-contained integral magazine, including a design for a stripper clip. Its design even accounted for the possibility of the user wanting to convert the gun back to en-bloc clips.
These options were nice for the future, but useless in the now. Krahe went through the rest of the manual just in case, finding a great deal of interesting technical details and various modifications or features that just didn''t make it into the production version for one reason or another. Better sights. A rounded barrel. A different grip. A different trigger. A wooden stock that doubled as a holster. A rimless cartridge and a bolt to match it. So on and so forth. She spent enough time committing it to memory that she was confident it would float to the surface if it was ever directly relevant.
171 - A Crisis of Faith
After dealing with the delivery and stashing most of her money away in the vent duct, she made her way to Sorayah''s place, for multiple reasons. The main one - breaching her bedroom - turned out to be a bust. The ward-breaker, a Pilgrim Banisher with his horizontal eyes still closed, did his job and left right away like the meat-robot he was for the time being. Sorayah''s bedroom was utterly normal. Yes, there were occult materials scattered about, but Krahe found nothing that stood out - certainly nothing like the Hexkey or the anthrocite hand.
Disappointed, Krahe continued digging around the house. While reading the various occult texts, she spent time polishing her chamber-loading technique. The fact she needed two hands to do it gnawed at her, because an errant thought had come to her and stuck; a memory of what she had dismissed as a stupid gimmick when she saw it in her past life. A tiny appendage that would pop out of her forearm and shove a round into the chamber or a whole new clip into the magwell. The reason was obvious - she needed her left hand free to cast Wandrei Faust, and to carry out thaumaturgy in general. Eventually, after several hours and several infuriatingly similar manuscripts, it clicked. Why settle for a graft when she could achieve the same effect with thaumaturgy? She could simply conjure a bullet or a whole clip just like she did cigarettes. While any large tendrils were beyond her as far as manifestation from uncharred skin went, something this small was not an issue. Still, it added an Entropy cost to reloading, so simple manual dexterity would remain king. Another option in the arsenal.
Krahe gradually gathered Sorayah''s texts in the writing room, keeping several open in the hopes of coming upon something, anything. Occasionally she would come to the ritual room in the basement to clear her head and look around the scene in the vain hope she would magically find something new.
Mistress Yao came to mind again. How would she even contact the woman?
"It''s not as if she gave me..."
She conjured the talisman that Yao gave to her. It held a captured trace of Eutropia''s thauma, but it was still one of Yao''s communication talismans, in theory.
"Well, might as well try."
______________________________________________________________________
Yao had expected many things. That the self-styled hero of justice would come to her of his own volition, alone, and unannounced was not among them. She had assumed Blackhand would either figure out that the eye talisman she had given to her had a communication theurgy on the back, or that she would find the one hidden inside the scroll''s spindle. She sent out a flesh-puppet to greet him and ask him to wait before disarming her defences to let him in.
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"I''ve come to claim what you owe," he said to her.
"Sounds to me like you''re sick with a heart devil, after all," the woman smirked.
Casus wanted to argue, but she silenced him with a mere glance, turning and gesturing for him to follow. She brought him upstairs and examined him, carrying out various strange rites, some of which tangentially reminded him of Zaveshian and Igarian practices. Others, though, were utterly unorthodox. It all involved a great number of talismans and needles that he barely felt. Moreover, with each round of tests Yao''s confidence in her prognosis waned and her confusion grew.
"As it appears, it truly is not a heart devil. There''s no corruption, no psychosis, no astral instability... How strange. The only alternative is the opposite, then. You''ve gleaned a piece of enlightenment recently and you haven''t fully processed it yet. Perhaps it runs counter to your pre-existing beliefs, and you have yet to reconcile the dissonance. How troublesome. I have many ways of dealing with heart devils, but nothing for this. I am afraid that I cannot help you with such a thing... But I am not so callous as to pretend as if this cursory examination makes us even."
Nearly every part of Casus wanted to reject that, but he knew it was true. He had just hoped for the infinitesimal possibility that the issue was something easier to fix, such as internal bodily damage.
In the end, Casus left the woman, and found himself wandering the city without any particular aim. He fell into a strange stupor, and only came to his senses when he found himself in a particularly nasty part of town, tangling with random nameless scum from the gutter. Trash on legs, making a bid for Hashem''s bounty. Two baneworms in saurian bodies and four humans. There were six of them, and three brought out belts - two Dregsteamers and some homemade piece of shit with a motorbike throttle and a cracked, cloudy Locust Stone catalyst. This was a point where he would usually transform, but he just... Couldn''t. It wasn''t that the Silberblut Coupler wouldn''t respond, he couldn''t even flip the mental switch that would initiate the transformation.
So, he fought as Casus Aristedes. He came out at the other end with several new bruises both to his body and his ego. A fight like this ought to have been trivial, but had it not been for his arm, he wasn''t sure he would have walked out of that back alley. Even the bounty money for the baneworms had a bitter taste somehow.
For lack of direction, he turned to faith. Not directly asking Zavesh or Igaria for an answer, that just wasn''t how things worked. No, he went to a man who had guided him on his path to taming the Silberblut Coupler to begin with. A man who quietly lived within the city''s Central Temple, volunteering as one of the gymnasium trainers between his excursions, all in pursuit of cultivating a perfect body and mind. His hair was white, and the centuries showed on his face the way a few decades past 20 showed on any other man, but his gaze burned like fire and he held in one finger more strength than Casus held in his entire right arm.
Ambrosius, the Saint Ungrafted.
The saint lived in a small house about half an hour''s walk from the Central Temple. It was downright ascetic compared to a church safehouse; the only luxury to be found was in the exercise equipment, books, and war games that filled much of the dwelling. Ambrosius was, as always, busy training when Casus found him, and as always, he found time to speak without uttering a word of complaint.
172 - Spiritual Guidance
Ambrosius simply led Casus into the basement, where a miniature urban landscape of astonishing detail stretched across a table. In the span of a few minutes, he brought out boxes of miniatures and re-set the battle state as it was nearly a year ago when they had last spoken like this. The saint didn''t say a word, simply playing his turn. Two of his thaumaturge units got a lucky strike in and cut down Casus'' graft-beast. So it went for around three hours, finishing out that battle and beginning another before Casus managed to order his thoughts enough to put some of them into words: "I have lived my life with the unwavering belief that I was to be the next Silberblut. If that is not my role, then why... What..."
Three turns - about half an hour - passed before Ambrosius answered.
"Tell me, young one. Is a man no more than a flesh-automaton? Is a son no more than the sum of his parents? Is a fullgraft no more than the sum of the saints from whose parts their body was crafted?"
"No," Casus answered without hesitation.
"And what, pray tell, is the reason? What differentiates you from your unthinking brethren, who tirelessly maintain the Wheel?"
"The indomitable spirit of divinity which burns within all mankind."
"Straight from the scriptures," said the saint, smiling.
They continued to play in silence for some time, and spoke for far longer than that, into the night and unto dawn. Eventually, Casus reached a conclusion: "I believe I shall be able to move past this, but I will require time in the Chamber of Reflection."
"Are you certain? You know the risks," Ambrosius asked, but didn''t try to dissuade him.
"I know them better than most. I believe a day will be enough."
"Very well. Besides Favonia, Firminus, and Fidelia, is there anyone who should be informed regarding your status should complications occur?"
"Yeah," Casus nodded.
Several hours later, he was floating in a tank of fluid deep beneath the Central Temple, in a chamber whose walls held two dozen such tanks. It was not a dreamless, peaceful slumber, but a journey into his own psyche induced through elixirs and absolute sensory deprivation. He''d done this before, once. It wasn''t fun then. It wasn''t fun now. The fluid was, in fact, a vast colony of engineered bacteria that at once drew out bodily waste and supplied the body with nutrients. The risks were many; mental damage, delusions, even permanent catatonia.
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Nonetheless, he found at least part of the answer he had been searching for.
Krahe, as much as she disliked it, understood why Casus decided to send that message back to the safehouse. If she was understanding it correctly, he was taking a significant risk, comparable to her own choice to dive into the Astral Gulf not long ago.
He returned seemingly no better or worse off, but there was something different about him.
When he started asking about how she saw the matters of legacy and inheritance, she knew he''d chanced upon something in that glorified sensory deprivation tank. She gave it some thought, and, at first, she decided to just parrot the words of someone who had given this matter far more though than she.
"A great philosopher from my world''s ancient past once said that tradition is the preservation of fire, not the worship of ashes. But... That''s not what you need to hear. What you need to hear is that you will never be the Silberblut of legend. The only thing you''ll achieve by mirroring your predecessor is to become a distorted echo of him in our era."
"Then... How would you see it if someone did for you as I have been doing for Silberblut?"
"Honestly?"
"Lady Blackhand, my convictions are not so fragile as to break this easily," said the Banisher, not entirely certain of his own words. "I have come to learn that you are more honest than most when it comes to giving your unfiltered thoughts. Of course I want your honesty."
"If I learned of someone trying to embody the idea of me five centuries after my death, let alone five millennia, I would be confused at best. Most likely, I would be a bit disturbed. It would be an imitator, not a successor. But if someone were to, let''s say, discover some of my old grafts and use them to unearth a conspiracy and bring down the masterminds in their own time, I might consider such a person a worthwhile successor. I don''t know what Silberblut was like when he still lived, but if I was him, I would prefer for a would-be successor to use my coupler for his own ideals, not for slavish imitation of mine."
Krahe took a long swig of ekarone juice as she watched her words sink into Casus.
She then added: "That being said, I think I prefer your idealism to Silberblut''s cold judgment. I mean, ''guilt repaid with cold blood, each and every guilty man''? A bit harsh. Even I wouldn''t chop off a petty thief''s hands."
"I admit that some of my predecessor''s recorded judgments gave me pause as well. It is why I worked so hard to ensure I had full control of myself before I used the belt..." Casus trailed off, his gaze shifting across the table to the Silberblut Coupler''s vacant eye. His features hardened, and newfound determination crept into the banisher''s voice: "I suppose now it is time to take full control of the belt itself. Tell me another, Lady Blackhand, before I go."
"Another what?"
"Another quote from one of your world''s saints."
"Hmm, I never did study ancient history much, I usually read these whenever one extremist or another used them on a poster," Krahe shrugged, but nonetheless furrowed her brow as she went rooting around in her memory. "I think I recall that Saint Augustine once said... What was it he said? Barzai, help me here. The one about anger and courage."
She held out her arm, splitting it open lengthwise to let the eidolon manifest itself. Barzai popped out and took up a perch on her open palm, tilting his head back and forth. He looked at Krahe.
173 - The Daughters of Hope
"Beef," the raven demanded in a large black man''s voice.
"I''ll give you some if you give me that quote."
"Beef, twelve ounces," he reiterated.
"We have tortoise. You liked it better than beef."
The whole time, Casus watched on, his stoic visage admirably masking his mild bewilderment at the scene. That thing really wasn''t a normal eidolon; not only did it eat, it even made demands of its master.
Nonetheless, the offer of tortoise steak convinced the crow. It opened and closed its beak a few times, snippets of various sounds and voices coming out as if it was scrolling through radio stations. Eventually, after a solid two minutes, Barzai opened his beak one final time. A scratchy voice came out, like that of a man who yelled a lot, made even grainier by the hiss of a low-quality speaker.
"Hope has two equally glorious and terrible daughters, for they drive men to action like none other; their names are Anger and Courage. Anger at the world''s wrongs, and Courage to see that these wrongs might be righted. Or something like that, I''m kinda stupid..."
At that point, Krahe recalled the raven.
"Alright, that''s enough. You''ll get your meat in a bit."
She couldn''t help but notice that Casus had gotten a profound look on his face as he left, but she didn''t give it much thought. It felt like the Banisher had a profound expression more often than not.
Underground, in the privacy of a Zaveshian indoor gymnasium, Casus Aristedes engaged in an ill-conceived exercise in self-abuse. His hair was draped in front of his face as he stood, leaning on a wall, the Silberblut Coupler clasped about his waist. He was emitting sounds of struggle utterly unbefitting of his image - be it as Silberblut, or as Casus Aristedes.
The belt''s eye, vacant of its four-pronged star, whipped back and forth like the eye of a panicked animal. Bursts of golden flame issued from the coupler as it tried to transform its user into Silberblut, only to find itself rejected, only to find an unimpeachable will demanding its subjugation to ideals that clashed with what it was used to. The half-sentient artifact didn''t understand. It had, up until this point, been fooled into thinking its user had never changed at all.
Casus, meanwhile, struggled to stand, even with support. He hadn''t experienced struggle like this since his first attempts to use the Silberblut Coupler. The sole, singular saving grace of this torturous power struggle was the fact he didn''t need to worry about Isotope poisoning. Each exposure was so brief and minimal, even dozens of attempts didn''t match to the full suit operating at combat output levels.
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That didn''t make this any less unpleasant. His head and soul threatened to split open as he tried to assert himself over the belt''s tendencies rather than letting the transformation go through. Casus was well aware that what he was trying to do was the labour or months and years, but he had never been the patient, slow-going type. Becoming a suitable user for the Silberblut Coupler was the work of decades, they had told him, and he had achieved it in less than two years.
[SHINING KNIGHT OF SILVER]
[Tags:]
Self-Adaptation
Mamon Coupler Compatibility
[Details:]
This boon forcibly maximizes the holder''s compatibility with any Mamon Coupler. The nature and severity of side effects is variable. Severity of side effects can be mitigated in various ways depending on their nature.
That Boon. The pride and great achievement of Casus'' hard work... Was now a shackle. He now understood that it was fundamentally flawed.
He continued his struggle with the belt until he lost consciousness from exhaustion. After the attendants from the shrine above helped him recover, he continued on without delay, prompting reactions of mixed respect and concern. They were familiar.
"He''s doing it again, what could possibly lead one to such horrific training?¡± the shrine maidens thought. Nonetheless, he was a Banisher, and so they didn''t question his choices.
They weren''t wrong to fear for him. The more he pushed, the more a fear grew inside him, a fear he would cripple or kill himself.
In the end, he began to feel the coupler''s confused panic. Through the pain and the constant immolation with sacred flame of transformation, the sacred relic eventually reached out to him, and he readily grasped its metaphorical hand.
It didn''t communicate in words, or even clear thoughts, but vague sentiments. From what little Casus understood, it had finally realized that he wasn''t Silberblut, but rather a successor... And now it wanted to know why he was doing this. In effect, it was asking him the same question he himself had sought an answer to: "Why refuse the transformation? Why would you want to be anything other than a shadow of Him?"
Casus, however, had a pure, burning determination in his chest, a flame born from his own ruminations, from the guidance of the Saint Ungrafted, and from his conversation with Lady Blackhand. She, in particular, had been the one to pour the accelerant onto the pile and set it alight, with her straightforwardness of expression.
The sentiment which he poured into the Silberblut Coupler in response was as pure and brilliant as the pain that scorched his being: "I am not Magnus Aristedes. I will never be Magnus Aristedes. To pretend is a dishonor upon his name. I am the next in line, the successor. Walk with me out of His shadow, or join me in the void."
At that moment, something broke. Casus wasn''t sure if he had finally burst his Soul Furnace or given himself some other crippling astral injury in his bullheaded efforts, or if it was the belt''s stubbornness that broke, but something undeniably did break.
The pain that came after would have sent any human into the bliss of shock-induced unconsciousness, but, grinding his teeth, Casus persevered. At that moment, as the man of faith he was, Casus prayed. He prayed with a fervor worthy of any saint, crumbling to his knees as he thoughtlessly repeated an advanced, seventy-seven lines long prayer to Zavesh.
174 - Your Turn
There, in the depths of struggle and pain, he found an abiding and invincible will to move forward. For the briefest moment, he could swear someone was pulling him back to his feet and speaking encouragement in his ear. He couldn''t make out most of the words, only an immense sense of pride, as well as agreement with the idea that he had no choice but to move forward as something new.
For a few moments, he was able to claw back true clarity of mind. As he leaned on the wall, drawing in sharp, ragged breaths, he felt and saw something truly strange: The Right Arm of Silberblut, moving of its own accord. It took him a few moments to realize it was using one-handed sign language to spell out individual letters.
Y O U R
T U R N
He felt his mind being pulled inward, into his system, towards the Shining Knight of Silver. The Boon changed right there before his mind''s eye, the letters themselves torturously shifting in a manner unlike anything Casus had seen from the system. His boons had changed in the past, but it was never like this. It almost looked as though the Boon was being melted and forced into a new shape.
[CRUSADER OF BLACK AND GOLD]
[Tags:]
Imposition of One''s Will
Mamon Coupler Compatibility
[Details:]
This boon forcibly maximizes any Mamon Coupler''s and/or Catalyst''s compatibility with the holder through "Heroic Subjugation".
Carrying out Heroic Subjugation incurs backlash, the nature and severity of which is highly variable. Severity of backlash can be mitigated in various ways depending on its nature. The holder may suffer astral injury due to subjugation backlash.
The effects of Heroic Subjugation are permanent for Couplers and Catalysts with which the holder has a strong bond of possession. In other cases, the effects last until the item is used by someone other than the holder.
Casus, without thinking, transformed. None beheld the form he took, and even he was in no state to maintain or remember it. He could do it, and that was enough for his utterly drained self, so he detransformed and collapsed on the spot.
When he returned to his senses, the pain was gone. Or rather, he was still wracked by ache as if he had just been fed through a rock-crusher, but he didn''t feel as though his Soul Furnace might burst at any moment. He glanced down, and saw that the Silberblut Coupler''s outer frame was, for the lack of a better term, shedding. It was now covered in dark, brittle slag. Casus unbuckled the belt, and as he took it off, the mere motion was enough to shake the slag off.
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Underneath was alarite. Pure alarite, flickering as if it was reflecting a dancing flame. As for the belt''s eye, it now bore a new pattern; in the stead of Silberblut''s four-pointed star, over the blue abyss in the eye''s depths now shone a cross mimicking the pattern of Casus'' own eyes. It also seemed unsettlingly alive. Whereas it had been stony and motionless before this endeavour, frozen in a forward stare, it now shone with a not-quite-human awareness. It was as if the Silberblut Coupler had been asleep until now, carrying out its duties by simple instinct, and only now had it been roused and made to acknowledge its new master.
The banisher, utterly drained, spent the better part of the next day resting.
Meanwhile, Krahe burned away the daytime hours in seclusion, occupying herself with a mixture of reading, physical training, and calligraphy practice. The Decoction of Mind''s Dawn felt miraculous at first, too good to be true, even, allowing her to compile several different Human Charcoal Cult scriptures, using them to fill in one another''s gaps. It grew increasingly obvious that the individual texts were purposely left with gaping holes, a fairly typical infosec tactic. In several cases, strange phrases or even weirdly written words served as indexing marks for where a section of text should be replaced with another, changing the meaning of a passage. Disappointingly, the information that came together entailed superior, more complete versions of the rites and manipulation methods detailed within each scripture, with an implied anthrocite yield of around 3-4% of the victim''s body mass.
Krahe didn''t doubt that informing the church of these hidden rites would mean a good payday, but she wanted to know more about the uses of anthrocite and the Hexkey. The Decoction''s side effects showed themselves some time after she set aside the cultist texts and began making headway into Yao''s scroll. The flavour suddenly became violently acidic and astringent, her body rejecting the liquid altogether, and a thumping pressure made itself known inside her head, threatening to turn into a splitting headache if she took another sip. It was fortunate that she had followed Razem''s guidelines, and had made only one day''s dose of the liquid. The preparation guide also warned that it was volatile, losing potency in mere hours.
Despite that limitation, the Decoction of Mind''s Dawn nonetheless pushed her past the edge of comprehension, and as the sun dipped past the horizon, she grasped Yao''s brush in hand with a new understanding of its previously awkward weight distribution. The Chimera-hair Brush, as her glasses identified it, demanded a grip that felt like it would fall from her grasp at any moment, but it didn''t. Once she got it moving, she finished the back side of a Wandrei Faust talisman in less than half her previous fastest time, and the same went for the front side. The limitation was no longer the brush, but her own skill, manual dexterity, and ability to mentally parse the patterns she was imbuing in the paper.
She found that, with this new brush, the patterns felt even more angry than before, the theurgic pattern felt almost alive. The claw almost seemed to twitch on the paper, waiting for a neck to grab. Krahe took the time to load three fresh cartridges with these improved papers, marking each with a painted ring midway down the length of the case. She stored these, alongside three of their earlier counterparts, in her Kenoma Pocket. Thereafter she loaded a clip full of six mescalt bullets into the Pattner, and a seventh straight into the chamber before she sealed the gun.
175 - A Reminder of Scale
The only thing left to do was to write a message and send Yao''s communication talisman back to its owner. It was a relatively simple process, if laborious due to the talisman''s ravenous appetite for thauma. The message was simple, informing the talisman mistress of Krahe''s intent to visit and requesting confirmation that she could do so without taking as much of a risk as Casus had done. Half an hour later, when she walked out back to check, she found a camouflaged talisman hovering in the exact same spot as last time.
Not too long after that, she made her way to Yao''s home. It was without incident, insofar as her own journey went. However, around the one-third point, the ground shuddered. A huge impact, akin to a thunderclap, sounded in the distance, past the horizon. It had to be a few kilometers outside the city. Then came another, and third for good measure. A few seconds later she saw it: A burning yellow comet screaming into the heavens. Two more followed it, one blue and one purple. The blue one resembled an actual comet, violently tearing through the air with a rocket-like tail, whereas the purple one was smooth, its flight seeming nearly effortless save for the huge arcs of lightning it gave off. A swarm of smaller lights separated from the yellow comet, swarming the others, turning a swath of the sky into a field of explosions, only for blue and purple to emerge seemingly unscathed. The sky was lit up by a dance of lights as these three chased one another and unleashed arcane death upon one another. Distant sonic booms and explosions filled the night, and the conflict of nameless demigods illuminated the city like a wild thunderstorm. Krahe almost felt at home for the span of her walk across the city. It drew out a great number of curious civilians, with a surprising number of people climbing out onto the rooves of their homes and apartment buildings. Despite the number of eyes, Krahe felt even safer from notice - the attention was in the exact opposite direction of where she was, after all. The three comets were still fighting by the time she reached Yao''s place.
The two of them walked through Yao''s death-gauntlet of trapped alleyways and corridors. Not a word was exchanged until they entered her home.
"First him, now you. I am flattered by such trust," the mistress remarked with a decidedly hag-like, facetious smugness. She spun around on a heel, conjured a slender pipe from between her left arm''s talismans, lit it, and took a long drag of it, all in a single motion lasting no more than three seconds.
"In exchange, I trust that you are not here for help with a crisis of ideology," she added.
"Of course not. I have two things that I believe will interest you," Krahe replied, sitting down as she began the process of opening her Kenoma Sack. She found it increasingly more easy to do if she gave it a bodily medium rather than just using the black tablet directly. So, with a yawning maw splitting her forearm down the middle, she brought out two items of interest: Eutropia''s broken key came first.
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"I need to have this appraised. It... Well it sings, for lack of a better term. My gut tells me it has something to do with Astro Diving- Spirit Walking, as you call it."
With a long exhalation of smoke, the talisman mistress near-enough stalked over to the table. The interest couldn''t be more evident in her eyes as she sat down, crossed her legs, and leaned forward to get a better look at the broken voidkey''s pieces.
"Yes, I recall a scripture which described it as a certain inaudible song that, once heard, one cannot help but keep noticing..." Yao trailed off, curiously picking up the key''s pieces with either hand, the pipe sticking to the corner of her mouth in a gravity-defying manner. "It is a typical post-mortem extraction strain fracture. The voidkey is still mostly intact - you could implant it, and it might function as-is, albeit to a fraction of its original specifications. That unfortunately means the bloodline lock is also mostly intact. The lock doesn''t appear to be particularly profound. I will be able to subvert it, perhaps even maintain the functionality and merely alter it to recognize you as the rightful host. The craftsmanship speaks of a highly skilled craftsman purposely working to a lower standard than he is used to. Nonetheless, it is still better than anything you can readily find on the open market."
Yao put the key''s pieces back down, leaning back in her seat.
"I will contact you with any relevant information once I have had the time to carry out the necessary rites. While the key is relevant, I suspect it is the less important of the two, seeing as you left the other matter for second," Yao said, glancing down at Krahe''s split-open forearm.
Giving a nod of affirmation, Krahe kept pushing in her effort to extract the human charcoal piece from storage. Slowly, painstakingly, a black tendril lifted it out of her forearm-maw and placed it right next to her arm. The moment it was out, Krahe snapped the maw shut and began purging, letting out a deep sigh of relief. For reasons that escaped her, this time the purge remnants manifested as as scentless smoke spilling out of her mouth and nose without cease for the whole duration of the purge. Human charcoal was truly infernally impractical to store in Kenoma storage, taking up many times more space in storage than its actual physical mass. The same phenomenon applied to other magical items, but human charcoal was the most extreme example she had encountered by far.
Yao hadn''t said anything at the sight of the human charcoal, tilting her head back and forth, inspecting it from a distance. It was as if she was trying to judge whether it would be a good idea to even touch it, or perhaps waiting for Krahe to explain what it was.
"It¡¯s an anathema radiation source, but not actively hazardous. I won¡¯t say any more until you inspect it for yourself. ¡±
176 - Charcoal Games
Reaching out with her left hand, several papers split off from Yao''s arm and wrapped around the chunk, bringing it closer to her. She silently inspected it for a few moments, subjecting it to four separate talisman-based tests. Twice, the paper''s patterns changed colour, and twice more, it burned on contact with the stone - the first time was instant, like flash paper, and the second slowly blackened the paper as if the charcoal piece was just a hot ember. After contemplating for a further minute, Yao simply asked: "Are you yourself aware of what this is?"
"Yes," Krahe nodded. "I''ll make this simpler for the both of us: I will not reveal how much I know - and from what perspective that information comes - until you do the same. I believe we can both benefit from an exchange of knowledge."
After a few more moments of contemplation, Yao took the chunk in hand and began speaking.
"This is... Well, there is no direct equivalent word that comes to mind."
"Charcoal?" Krahe suggested. It looked like charcoal, so she wasn''t giving up much by suggesting that word.
With a nod, Yao continued: "It is charcoal made from a human, body and soul both. In Tiengenzhen, this is the ''waste'', or perhaps more accurately ''side product'' of the Onyx-black Puppet Hall''s human refinement arts. Even this ''waste'' is considered immensely valuable to all artifact cultivators, as it is the cheapest fuel for certain artifacts and tools. Its value is such that inferior versions of the Onyx-black Puppet Hall''s rites have spread throughout the land, only capable of producing this. The strongest battle puppets devour a hundred convicts'' worth of this in a day of operation, but they are still used by the mortal kingdoms because the number of lives they save far surpasses the price. Even so, it is..."
Turning the chunk around in her hand, Yao''s expression shifted from one of consideration to disgust, and she put it back on the table.
"Wretched. Human refinement is, by its very nature. The victim''s suffering is part of the process, it does not work without it. I believe the Onyx-black Puppet Hall''s method is called the Five Torments Blast Furnace Refinement, involving a specially constructed ''furnace'' chamber that deprives the victim of all senses, keeps them alive, and allows for the introduction of hallucinogenic poisons throughout the process. Only reincarnation ends the victim''s suffering, despite the rumours of the uneducated that claim the victim''s soul is imprisoned in the coal. That is my understanding of this substance, its origins, and its uses. Now, I believe, it would be your turn."
Digesting the information, Krahe started with an easy one: "This Onyx-black Puppet Hall. Are they related to the Thousand Puppets Hall?"
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"I am surprised that you are aware of them. Yes, they are related. The Onyx-black Puppet Hall was formed by a group of demonic artifact cultivators who left the Thousand Puppet Hall rather than let themselves be judged for their crimes. I must ask, if you do not mind, how do you know of the Thousand Puppet Hall?"
"I saw a man with strange-looking arms, looked into the matter, and learned that one of them was of Tiengenzhen origin. Not much else, unfortunately. Now, regarding what I know of this stone..."
Krahe went on to recount some of her knowledge regarding human charcoal and the Human Charcoal Cults, taking care not to stray or to go too deep, so that the knowledge she shared would not surpass what Yao had shared, or otherwise reveal what she wanted to keep concealed. The talisman mistress gradually became more visibly interested, particularly at the mention of the Human Charcoal Cults.
"You would not happen to be aware of when these cults were active, would you?" Yao asked.
"At least a century, starting in the late 4120s. Presumably before that, but I don''t know enough to make any guesses."
A smirk took hold on Yao''s face.
"What a curious coincidence," she chuckled. "An acquaintance of mine made off with copies of the Onyx-black Puppet Hall''s ritual scrolls only thirteen years prior to that time, and vanished from Tiengenzhen in... Oh, I think it was 4112. But he would''ve left inheritances, that bastard was not the sort to put all his eggs in one basket. Perhaps the church was just very thorough."
"And perhaps they still take such great care specifically to curtail cases like Sorayah. Even what she found was enough to sow the seeds of a serious issue for the city, given how well they paid me for rooting her out."
Knowledge of Sorayah and the fact Krahe had dealt with her was the smallest thing here. It was convenient to use as a framing device for how she had obtained human charcoal and knowledge of it, and she hadn''t spoken so much as a word regarding the Hexkey or the Anthrocite Hand.
Nonetheless... This game was still frustrating. After some further circular conversation, Krahe decided to just ask the question outright: "Considering everything, do you think human charcoal would be of any use to either of us?"
"No," Yao said without hesitation, shaking her head. "Too volatile for ink, or any other artifact crafting. Its only use is as fuel for artifacts and certain demonic rituals, of which I know a few, but none of which would be useful. There is a good reason it is considered a borderline waste product. The energy output by its burning is far too unstable to use in the manner I desire, and besides sheer burst output, your own natural abilities are superior to the burning of human charcoal. Its greater counterpart, however, is another matter."
"What if I happen to come upon it?" Krahe asked, allowing her tone of voice and expression to make it clear she had anthrocite or knew where to find it. "You wouldn''t happen to know and be willing to share methods of distinguishing it from the chaff and making use of it?"
"That depends on the quantity, quality, and use case. I do not own any written texts, but I am certain I could aid in preparing and performing any channeling rituals."
Krahe weighed her options. There was the chance that the Hexkey''s evolution would turn out not so useful, and either way, Yao was still one of a vanishingly small minority with reason to not screw her over and the skills to craft a higher-order voidkey. If she kept this course, she would have to eventually disclose the Hexkey''s existence to Yao regardless.
177 - Charcoal Games Pt. 2
"Alright, fine, enough games," Krahe sighed, and decided to just spill everything about the Hexkey. As it was, both it and the anthrocite hand were utterly useless to her. "To start with, I know the superior counterpart to human charcoal under the name ''anthrocite''. Secondly, I found what I believe to be an inheritance from the Human Charcoal Cults. The first part is a cursed voidkey that promises it will evolve at some ill-defined point, claiming that it will ''evolve once Anthrocite Transmutation reaches 100%.'' It currently sits at around 66%. The second part is a full hand made of anthrocite, found in a purposely poorly-sealed box disguised as a book. It was locked with a holeless lock that demanded painstakingly precise anathema manipulation to open. The box also contained a message that directly stated the hand should somehow be sufficient to ''finish'' the cursed voidkey."
¡°I see why you would be cautious about disclosing this to anyone you do not fully trust,¡± Yao nodded. ¡°Do you know the nature of the curse, or is the voidkey warded against appraisal?¡±
Krahe had no qualms about explaining the nature of the Flame¡¯s Collapse Hexkey, since there was no reason to withhold this information after what she had already disclosed. The mistress listened with interest, concluding: ¡°Clearly intended to hook a prospective disciple and encourage commitment. I would not be surprised if there was at least one more link in the chain that could somehow override the Hexkey. Did you bring either the key or the anthrocite hand? While I cannot be certain until I can examine both relics, I believe I may be able to aid you in completing the Hexkey.¡±
She turned, glancing out the window. Despite the ground-level windows not facing the open street in any direction, the light of the battle in the sky still reached them every once in a while.
¡°And if we are to carry out such a rite it would be best to do it tonight, if at all possible. We are not likely to receive such a convenient cover for some time,¡± Yao added.
¡°You expect the process to create a large energy signature, and you think that the battle will be a sufficient distraction,¡± Krahe stated.
Turning back to face her again, Yao nodded: ¡°In more ways than one. The protections I already have in place, combined with the protections I will create for the rite, will do most of the work, but I am not an anathema specialist.¡±
She got up and walked to the window, leaning on its edge. Outside the window was a narrow alleyway, with the walls and the roof of the next building over being plastered in talismans, included as part of Yao¡¯s defensive perimeter. A shimmering wall of scrolling symbols, rising from the wall of the building across the alley, became visible when Yao came into its vicinity. Staring up at the sky, face lit up by intermittent flashes from above, she continued to speak.
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¡°At best, assuming you contribute your expertise, I would estimate that at least one tenth of the ritual¡¯s waste energies will leak into the environment. The arcane winds swept up by the heavenly battle will suffice to sweep it away, and the battle itself will provide us with plausible deniability. I do not expect individuals of that level to disclose their trump cards to dispel accusations of anathema usage, given the fact that anathema seems to be regarded as a force that can only be safely wielded by high-level practitioners. Perhaps one of the participants made use of an anathemic technique in desperation. It would make perfect sense for one of them to use it, perhaps the red one¡¡±
Yao became drawn into her own words, a sense of melancholy, nostalgia even, creeping into her speech.
¡°I must admit that I am curious: How does that display compare to your own experiences?¡± Krahe asked. It was, indeed, somewhat familiar to her. She had seen power-armored superhumans soaring through the sky on jets of plasma, firing off rays of death and hypersonic slugs, forming wings made of nanomachines as protection. Krahe had seen it, but despite a degree of familiarity, it was still different and new in some ways.
¡°Feels the same as looking at the stars here. Familiar but different,¡± the talisman mistress croaked, taking another drag of her pipe. It was a perfect description for how Krahe felt about it, too. She watched in silence. Krahe walked up to the window as well and hopped up on the ledge, sitting down with her legs hanging out. It was wide enough to still leave about a meter of empty space between the two of them. Without a thought, Krahe conjured an arrha cigarette and joined Yao in smoking. The smoke mixed together into a medicinal, incense-like compound, and a cloud formed around them as it dissipated slower than new smoke was added. The talisman mistress spoke up again some ten minutes later: ¡°They want someone in the city to see them fight, yet they also fear the consequences of causing collateral damage. I was observing them before you came; even with my impaired senses, I noticed six instances where an opening was not taken advantage of for fear of the possibility it might strike a building. At my peak, I would have mocked them for not having the person above the city lord in their pockets, or for not being able to quickly set up precautions so that an all-out battle would not ever threaten the city, even as close to its perimeter as this.¡±
They watched for a few more minutes, and Krahe eventually just brought out the Hexkey and set it down on the windowsill between them. After sparing it not much more than a glance, Yao took it in hand and stepped back from the window, turning away from it. Resting her pipe in the corner of her mouth, she brought the key to her left eye and pulled back the talisman plastered over its socket. An ominous, invasive feeling filled the room as a floodlight of eldritch darkness flooded out, shimmering wisps of indescribable colour whirling in the black.
178 - Charcoal Games Pt. 3
As quickly as it had begun, it ceased. With a sound somewhere between a wheezing inhalation, the scraping of glass, and the creak of a bone being slowly bent to breaking, the unlight was drawn back into Yao¡¯s left eye socket, once more sealed away.
¡°It certainly matches your description, for better or for worse. I cannot guess what form it will take upon its evolution, but I shall gain a deeper understanding given some time to examine it more thoroughly,¡± Yao said. She turned to Krahe, who had by now hopped down from the window. ¡°Have you brought the hand as well?¡±
Krahe shook her head.
¡°It would have left a trail.¡±
¡°And you did not wish to bring both items, just in case,¡± Yao added the quiet part, walking over to the table. She set the Hexkey upon it, and brought out six talisman papers. ¡°How large is the container?¡±
She conjured the book closest in size, stating: ¡°Same height, slightly wider, two and a half times as thick. The internal volume suffices to fit a man¡¯s severed hand in a loosely curled-up position without much free space.¡±
Manipulating the papers in mid-air, Yao added several more, going well past the point where they could cover the whole thing. Then, she arrayed them in mid-air and got to work. Grinding up a red ink stick into a small puddle of scarlet liquid with a few meticulous motions, Yao pulled droplets into the air and using mere gestures manipulated them into forming complex symbols upon the paper. She turned the talismans into indistinguishable copies of one another, with complex patterns that exuded a powerful, pure meaning. Krahe¡¯s instincts told her to avoid getting them on herself, that they would cripple her ability to dissipate Isotope and expel Anathema in any form, even if temporarily.
With a wave of her hand, Yao collected the papers into a bundle and set them at the side of the table where Krahe had sat.
¡°I would ask that you bring the hand,¡± she said. ¡°I would like to keep the Hexkey in the meanwhile so that I may examine it, but I shall not stop you if you wish to take it with you for safety.¡±
Krahe suppressed the part of her which intensely distrusted the unsettlingly familiar stranger that Yao was, and just took the papers while leaving the Hexkey where it stood.
She left Yao¡¯s home without a word, with the talisman mistress turning her attention to examining the relic in greater depth. Yao wasn¡¯t at all offended or put off by her guest¡¯s behavior; they had interacted a grand total of once before now, and even then, Yao had offered up admittance of her position in relation to Krahe as a token to buy some trust with. Despite it being the purest truth, Yao had taken Krahe¡¯s measure, and she was not surprised that it had curried her only a tentative level of trust. It would take substantive shows of trustworthiness from both sides before they truly trusted one another. Building trust was, in fact, Yao¡¯s main reason to suggest hunting a soulbeast for materials. Such an outing would be the most expedient way to increase trust and bond with her new, fate-ordained allies.
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Even still, in the here and now, Krahe showed more trust than Yao had expected. She nearly double-took when the anathemist took off and she realized the Hexkey was still there, on the table. Yao made her way upstairs, where she took to carrying out a deeper, more conventional examination of this voidkey, forgoing the use of her Left Eye in favour of the skills she had developed over centuries prior.
As she made her way through the city back to Gashward 94, Krahe quickly came to understand what exactly Yao had meant when she spoke of the battle whipping up arcane winds that would scour away any signs of their anthrocite transmutation ritual.
The air was thick, an almost oppressive, dense feeling pervading every breath. Her heretofore unnamed sense for magic was completely dulled, much like the sense of smell would be prevented from detecting subtle, weaker scents in a place consumed by some overpowering stench. She even felt the waxing and waning of the ¡°winds¡±; it was a nonphysical pressure that, with its stronger gusts, sanded away bits of her wards.
Yao¡¯s sealing papers demanded some finesse to use properly, and Krahe spent a few minutes meticulously activating each one before plastering it onto the fake book-box. Despite expecting something to go wrong, nothing did; Krahe reached Yao¡¯s residence without incident, though she took a roundabout path. Several streets away from Yao¡¯s place, Krahe noticed one of Yao¡¯s talismans stuck to a wall amidst old posters and charms. As she neared the place, carefully observing just how far and wide Yao¡¯s talismans were spread out, Krahe came to the conclusion that Yao likely had an area larger than Slaughterhouse 9 locked down as her personal fortress without most, if any, of her neighbors being aware of this fact.
Upon her return, Krahe found that Yao had left her main defenses inactive. Instead, there was a fake wall. It looked convincing from a distance, and it nudged one¡¯s gaze away from itself, but, perhaps due to being a welcome guest, Krahe had no issue discerning that it was an illusion. She walked through, feeling a brief bout of confusion as she entered the next section, somewhat like walking into a room and forgetting the reason. This also passed quickly.
Yao called her up when she entered her home, and Krahe heard the monstrous defender puppets stirring back to motion as the door closed behind her.
¡°I expected the confusion array to slow you down more,¡± the talisman mistress stated plainly, glancing up to meet Krahe¡¯s eyes, then down at the box in her hand. Krahe placed the box on the table, and with a snap of her fingers, Yao made the talisman papers go up in golden flames. Krahe then unlocked and opened the box, leaving Yao to examine the hand while her own attention was drawn to the Hexkey. It was suspended in mid-air in the center of the room, revolving clockwise while six rings of faintly-glowing talismans revolved around it, themselves also spinning at various rates, much like an armillary. The whole array was contained inside a pillar of floating talismans, emitting a deep, yet noticeably muted hum. The light, much in the same way, was also muted such that one could look straight at it without issue. It reminded Krahe of an innovative 3D printer design that was bought out and subsequently permanently shelved by the dominant 3D printer manufacturer, Vishvakarma Manufacturing.
179 - Charcoal Games Pt. 4
Krahe¡¯s brief bout of reminiscence was broken by Yao¡¯s voice.
¡°This is¡ Not ¡®anthrocite¡¯,¡± the talisman mistress said without looking away from the hand for so much as a second. The tone of her voice and the expression on her face spoke of a mixture of surprise, mild confusion, concern, and slight excitement. In short, she knew what the hand really was made of, and it was probably above anthrocite in value.
¡°Any clue what it is?¡± Krahe prodded.
Yao gave a slow nod, her focus remaining on the hand.
¡°I can not be entirely certain, as it does not exactly match the signs, but I can make a guess,¡± the older woman said. Finally, she tore her gaze away from the relic, shutting the book-box.
¡°Where to start¡ I suppose the beginning would be easiest. The myth of human charcoal containing the ritual subject¡¯s soul as part of its material is not entirely without basis. It came about from suicide rituals, carried out by the elders of the Onyx-black Puppet Hall to pass down some of their cultivation to their students before they departed for the wheel of reincarnation. The practice died out early in the Onyx-black Hall¡¯s history, as the ritual is, for lack of a better term, a spiritual suicide by a thousand cuts. The master would gradually break down his astral body, while compressing it into as small a region as possible, creating something much like this. It¡¯s¡ Well, I suppose the continental term would be something like ¡®astrocite¡¯.¡±
¡°And you believe your ¡®acquaintance¡¯ carried out that ritual with the intention of creating an inheritance?¡±
¡°Not quite the same, but something similar. He must have been crippled and near-dead at the time, but I can sense it. He condensed his remaining cultivation into this. It would be useless to me even if I stole it from you - your anathema signature is imprinted upon the astrocite. It likely took place when you opened the keyless lock,¡± Yao said.
A wry smile came onto her face, and she added: ¡°Shang was ever the cautious one.¡±
¡°How much longer?¡± Krahe nodded towards the Hexkey.
¡°Twenty minutes, assuming no further disruptions,¡± Yao said, rising from her seat. She approached the ritual circle, performing various gestures that caused the talisman rings to speed up in their rotation.
And so, Krahe waited.
Two cigarettes and twenty minutes later, it was finished. The talisman rings came to a halt, returning to the mass of Yao¡¯s left arm the moment she plucked the Hexkey from their midst. In the same manner, the papers making up the sound and light suppression barrier rejoined her right leg when she stepped outside the barrier.
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Clack. Clack. Clack. The sound of her sandals echoed through the room, the commotion outside having quieted for the moment.
¡°That scoundrel,¡± she uttered as she took a seat at the table, turning the Hexkey back and forth in her hand. ¡°He buried a trap array into the key¡¯s structure. It¡¯s not active at the moment, but there is a switch keyed specifically to Shang¡¯s cultivation. Using his hand to complete the key would activate the array. I cannot guess the specifics, but I recognize the pattern. A curse, guidelines to remove it partially, which would likely include steps to make you a suitable vessel, then a guiding impulse to lead you somewhere for the ¡®full cure¡¯, most likely a tomb with Shang¡¯s True Soul and facilities for its transplantation into your body. An insidious body-theft scheme, but I cannot say I am surprised.¡±
By the sound of it, the trap array would bypass her direct immunity to mental manipulation through indirect coercion. Even if it was direct mind control, Krahe just didn¡¯t want to take the unnecessary risk.
¡°Can you remove the array?¡± she asked. ¡°If not, would it be a better idea to simply use human charcoal in bulk? I have access to¡ I would guess at best two adult humans worth.¡±
Yao shook her head.
¡°Not good enough. Anthrocite is the bare minimum, and it would require at least six more humans who have been put through the Five Torments Blast Furnace Refinement. Sorayah also most likely used an inferior version of the ritual, reducing the anthrocite ratio, thus raising the likely minimum to eight or nine rather than six.¡±
¡°Her offensive artifact likely went through seventeen people¡¯s worth of fuel in its lifespan, and she had a nearly intact victim in her ritual chamber. The numbers line up, but I doubt she was behind all eighteen¡¡± Krahe thought aloud.
Yao connected to the line of thought: ¡°It is entirely possible she found the artifact and the box together with an already partially-complete Hexkey, subsequently continuing the work of one or more individuals who attempted its completion before her. Regardless, deactivating the array is not possible, Shang was the superior array master between the two of us by far.¡±
There was a ¡°however¡± hidden in those words, and with a self-satisfied tone, Yao spoke it soon enough, looking up at Krahe from her work.
¡°He was, however, not my equal in artifact crafting. I can remove the array altogether. I have determined that the voidkey¡¯s fundamental functions will not be harmed by this, but it will lose all defensive qualities, as Shang purposely embedded the array within as precarious a section as possible - I suspect to prevent exactly what I am about to do.¡±
¡°And his True Soul will be left to rot in some tomb, probably for a thousand years until the vessel fails,¡± Krahe guessed.
¡°A thousand years of dreamless slumber means little compared to the chance at a fresh start without the downsides of starting from nothing,¡± Yao shrugged.
¡°How long will it take to remove the trap array?¡±
The noise outside picked up again. Wasting no time with a verbal answer, Yao waved her hand over the voidkey and towards the ritual circle in the room¡¯s center. A swarm of talismans from her arm carried it there, forming an armillary-like structure yet again, now enveloped in a spherical barrier of seething golden symbols.
180 - Transmutation
Yao proceeded to carry out a feverish series of hand-signs and gestures that incorporated her whole body, taking a few methodical steps, each ringing out with a loud CLACK. With each sign, the rotational speed of the talisman rings grew, each at a different rate, as did the intensity of their glow. Soon the room was bathed in blinding light and a loud thrumming sound. It lasted, by Krahe¡¯s reckoning, for nine seconds, at which point it flickered out and died in an instant. When her sight returned to her, the Hexkey floated over Yao¡¯s left hand. Between two fingers of her right hand, she grasped a hair-thin, cylindrical piece of the Hexkey; about a centimeter wide and twice as long. A complex cluster of glyphs shone both on and beneath its surface, the faint reddish glow fading with each passing moment.
¡°Done,¡± Yao breathed. Her good eye was twitching, sweat trickled down her forehead, and her chest heaved with laboured breaths. She held out the cylinder of removed material. ¡°Here. You might be able to find Shang¡¯s tomb one day. He is bound to have left treasures for himself.¡±
Krahe took it, knowing all too well that Yao would be involved in such an endeavor more likely than not. This was a simple show of trust.
¡°Now¡¡± Yao began again, taking a moment to catch her breath. ¡°...We can move on to the simpler, yet more laborious part. I shall begin preparing the ritual circle whilst describing its properties, feel free to interject at any point. It is not a delicate operation, so modifications can be as crude as we need them to be.¡±
They spent the next half-hour or so preparing the ritual, while the battle in the sky raged on. Krahe learned more about ritual circles and ritualism in general in that half-hour than she had from most of her reading combined, but she also spent most of that half-hour kneeling on the ground, building. An icosahedral framework, entwined through and through by tendrils of Tar impregnated with anathema-reflective particulate to form a sphere; it was a larger, sturdier version of the Daemon Core¡¯s reflector shell. The most obvious issue was maintaining the construct-matter, but Yao wasted no time in lightening this burden; in moments, she created six new talismans and bound them to the sample chunk of human charcoal with spectral threads of golden light. Thereafter, she suspended the coal chunk above the dome and placed the talismans on the inside of its perimeter. With each one placed, Krahe felt the burden lift and saw the coal chunk flaring more brightly with crimson flame. It shrunk moment by moment. By the end, only a small hole was left in the shell, large enough to insert the hand and hexkey.
¡°It will hold for a few minutes. Long enough,¡± Yao said, regarding the shell with a critical, yet satisfied eye before glancing Krahe¡¯s way. ¡°Once it begins, the ritual¡¯s own energies will feed my stabilization talismans. I could have achieved the same effect with lesser ink, but better to waste it than to have the shell burst open. I shall take hold of the shell for a moment, it must be you who inserts the material.¡±
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And so, Krahe did. After emplacing the Hexkey into the Astrocite Hand¡¯s grasp, she wrapped its wrist with a tendril and carefully inserted both into the shell¡¯s center, wherein it became weightlessly suspended. Thereafter, she sealed the shell, and the both of them examined the whole assembly with a final pass, both inspecting their own parts.
¡°Is there anything we are waiting for?¡± Krahe asked.
¡°No, I do not suppose there is. We do require an incantation, however. I have my own, but you are the primary ritemaster in the end. I am only here to ensure everything proceeds correctly. The incantation can be nearly anything; grasping for it should be no more difficult than grasping for a theurgic sigil. It must have an initiating and a finishing component; I can signal for the latter when the time comes, but I do not expect you to need it.¡±
An incantation to set off a ritual such as this; the complete transmutation of a voidkey via what was effectively a crude reactor. Krahe chuckled to herself as a memory floated up. In her time, she had seen many things she was not supposed to. Technologies that were said to be vaporware for decades after their invention, because someone powerful didn¡¯t want them in the open. For this reason, she had just the speech to parrot as an incantation. She took a few moments to mentally shift gears, calling back the words and muttering a Japanese tongue-twister to get her mouth used to speaking that language again.
Krahe mentally returned to a time and a place far removed from here and now. Her eyes saw what was before her and her body was fully present, remaining aware of her surroundings, but the majority of her attention turned inward. Megacity Gamma. Sector 8. The observation deck of a hidden, highly illegal research facility. She had infiltrated the place as part of an investigation, and though it ended up being a dead end, it at least gave her this precious memory. Once she felt that she wouldn¡¯t stumble over her own words, she held out her hand to the ritual circle, with Yao doing the same in response. Krahe began reciting: ¡°Neptunius Heavy Industries experimental atomic transmutation reactor ¡®Solomon¡¯ v7.9.108 Test No. 66, ready to proceed. Reaction mass in place. Estimated transmutation ratio: 87%. Preliminary computations loaded. Biocomputer array reads as operational. Hypercomposite capacitor arrays operational.¡±
Blending with her intent, a thread of Thauma flowed out to connect with the ritual circle. It was the simplest thing: She just had to build up enough pressure to set off the reaction, keeping in mind the general intended course of the ritual. No more and no less than the consumption of the Astrocite Hand for the transmutation of the Hexkey into its final form. Floating about a meter off the ground, the reflector shell began rotating clockwise. A quartet of talismans from Yao followed after it, followed by another, and a third, each forming another ring that, in turn, revolved at different speeds and in different directions, once more like an armillary.
181 - ATOMICA REFULGENT
Krahe continued:
¡°Capacitor charge at 80% projected capacity. 90%. 100%. 110%. 120%. Capacitor charge stable at 124% of projected capacity. Preparing laser pump array for connection. Connection successful. Initiating ignition. Capacitor discharge¡ Successful.¡±
The revolutions intensified, as did the reaction. Anathema began leaking out, coalescing around the shell¡¯s exterior, granting it the appearance of a blood-red star. The room was bathed in red light. It even occasionally erupted with flare-like tongues, these soon being pacified when the talisman mistress adjusted her containment array.
¡°Capacitors 87 through 143 sending alerts, replacement in progress. Fusion reaction initiating. Activating TK Containment Field Emitters. TK Field operators injecting Psi-Amp fluid. Plasma field contained successfully. Fusion proceeding. Exotic particle emission within projected boundaries. Transmutation in progress.¡±
As Krahe recited the NHI reactor operator¡¯s test report, the containment array¡¯s revolutions grew to a fever pitch, as did the tangible tension within the room. It felt as if, at any moment, the whole thing might fly apart, but it never did. It went on for a span of time that Krahe could not discern; it felt simultaneously like mere seconds and hours, so wholly focused was she on the process itself. She couldn¡¯t see it, but she felt it. The building pressure within the shell, the Hexkey¡¯s gradual transmutation, the spindown of the reaction before the final surge. Yao gave a signal to say the final lines, but Krahe didn¡¯t see it as her mind was wholly consumed by the star-like patterns of crimson light. She was, however, already speaking to begin with:
¡°Finalizing. Maximizing TK Field output. Venting remnant plasma. Test No. 66 complete. Estimated final transmutation ratio: 98.7348%. TK Field operators, inject Psi-Suppressant. Dispatching drones to extract reaction material¡ Rapid spectrometry has just confirmed: We have elemental platinum. King Solomon lives.¡±
The array abruptly came to a halt, as if frozen in time. A momentous and undeniable sense of change washed over them as the shell began cracking, blinding light shining through the cracks and piercing the layer of red. Yao¡¯s eyes went wide and it seemed as if she wanted to call out in alarm, but she didn¡¯t get the opportunity. With a thunderous, roar-like sound, the reflector shell flew apart in a hundred pieces, and a deluge of anathema poured out , only to be quickly drawn back in. Though abrupt and forceful, the blast was delayed and sapped from most of its force by Yao¡¯s precautions, rendering it little more than a messy and noisy firework.
There, between the two of them, floated the Hexkey, the Astrocite Hand still grasping it. In the next moment, the hand crumbled to dust. The key¡¯s shape had not changed, but all else was different. Its composition was neither stone nor coal nor anthrocite, but a perfectly homogenous mass of red, opaque crystal. A constant outpour of anathema flowed from the artifact, possessed of an equal purity and furious brilliance, a beacon of power. Yao instinctively threw up her barrier, taking the shape of nine talismans with a golden lattice of symbols between them. Krahe, meanwhile, bathed in the baleful brilliance, for as long as it lasted. It only took the talisman mistress moments to isolate the artifact, for good reason. With the voidkey enveloped in a spherical barrier, Yao sent it over to Krahe, barrier and all. It stopped in front of her, facing her with one of the papers which was positioned out of step with the pattern. The specific paper¡¯s symbols slowly filled in as it soaked in the voidkey¡¯s emanations, and once complete, it projected an appraisal readout. Krahe couldn¡¯t help but notice that it was as detailed as her system readouts, unlike the shallower appraisals given by her glasses.
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[ATOMICA REFULGENT, FRACTURED SOLOMONIC KEY]
[Tags:]
Fourth-order
Voidkey
Incomplete
Unstable (Temporary)
Imprinted (Brunhilde ¡°Blackhand¡± Krahe)
[Details:]
Thaumic Throughput +C1
Entropy Tolerance +D3
Entropy Dissipation +D3
Thaumic Fusion Efficiency +15%
Isotope Tolerance +D1
Isotope Dissipation +D2
First-time implantation of this voidkey will reshape the holder¡¯s Soul Furnace, permanently conferring the following Boon: ¡°Astral Implosion Furnace¡±
This voidkey may be safely implanted only by the Imprinted individual. Implantation by any other individual will result in catastrophic Soul Furnace rupture (as with simultaneous implantation of two voidkeys).
[ASTRAL IMPLOSION FURNACE]
[Tags:]
External Source (Voidkey)
[Details:]
The holder¡¯s natural Thauma-burning will take on some of the properties of Thaumic Fusion: Increased efficiency and heightened intensity of output energy. Lesser Thauma-burning methods will remain possible.
The holder¡¯s natural ability to initiate and carry out Thaumic Fusion will grow in efficiency. This efficiency increase will compound with the voidkey¡¯s direct fusion efficiency improvement.
The holder¡¯s natural arcane attributes will be improved to a variable degree, with possible secondary physical effects.
¡°It¡¯s as you said. No defenses whatsoever,¡± Krahe remarked, looking to Yao. ¡°Do you think you would be able to complete it? If you were to have a suitable voidkey, could you simply graft its defensive capabilities onto the Atomica?¡±
¡°Were higher-order voidkey crafting so straightforward,¡± Yao grimaced, turning away and stepping to the writing desk. She sent a talisman paper downstairs, and moments later it flew back up, carrying a partly-filled inkstone. She began drawing another series of talisman papers, continuing to speak as she did: ¡°The voidkey is in a state of flux, highly unstable. If you implanted it right now, it could very well tear you apart, or worse, injure you such that it can never be removed. It must be left to sit for some time, then quenched via first implantation - you will know when it is stable enough, it is not a subtle change. Such a quenching implantation tends to be¡ Energetic at the best of times. I suggest implanting it at a time and in a place where collateral damage will not be an issue. After that, I will require a suitable donor key and a suitable binder, such as material from a soulbeast, possibly other materials as needed. Depending on the voidkey¡¯s stabilized form, it may even be better to avoid using another voidkey altogether. We can only guess at such things for the moment. Here.¡±
With a gesture, the papers containing the voidkey flew back to Yao, replaced by a swarm of no less than twelve others that plastered themselves all over the item, creating two or possibly even three layers. Their symbols quickly began to exude the same glow as Atomica itself, but much weaker. The voidkey¡¯s presence lessened to a degree where it felt only slightly more significant than the Twin Serpent key.
182 - Mirroring
Yao walked downstairs, with Krahe following.
¡°This seal will have the secondary benefit of further compressing the voidkey¡¯s energies,¡± Yao said on the way down. She proceeded to collapse onto a sofa, and, in a manner strangely similar to Razem, any sense of transcendence vanished from her. It even felt as if she had aged by decades in an instant. ¡°It may slow the stabilization process, however. Now¡ Please go. I am exhausted, and if you and the voidkey were to remain here, the energy signature would linger.¡±
Krahe did as was asked of her without hesitation, placing Atomica into the book-box, giving a simple nod as goodbye, and walking out. The Talisman Mistress¡¯ fortifications fell into line right behind her, one after the next. This was the first time she got a close look at them. Graft-beasts, walls of talismans, traps, dozens of layers. Despite the appearance of normal alleyways and the open sky, this whole section of Audunpoint was a fortress meant to withstand direct assault from a small army, if not perhaps individuals such as the three comets still waging fierce battle in the sky.
After Lady Blackhand¡¯s departure, the domicile of Talisman Mistress Yao Fu was filled by an exhilarated, yet also exasperated laughter. The crippled old monster had predicted a potent result, but what had come out was a full order of magnitude above what she had expected. Perhaps Shang had carried out the suicide ritual in a far better state than she had assumed, or perhaps Lady Blackhand held some profound insight that altered the transmutation rite¡¯s course. It had to be both to some degree. The voidkey¡¯s new name was beyond Yao¡¯s understanding, but she perfectly grasped the magnitude of difference between what it had become, its past incarnation, and what it had been intended to become. There was one thing for certain: Shang had not intended the transmutation to yield this result. The voidkey¡¯s fundamental nature was altered by the concepts carried in Lady Blackhand¡¯s prolonged incantation. Atomica Refulgent was not even remotely suitable for the Onyx-black Hall¡¯s practices; if anything, it was ideal for the type of person that would go against them, a natural anathemist - in other words, it was ideal for Blackhand.
Yes, Yao laughed, bringing out an ensorcelled bottle-gourd that she had brought with her all the way from Tiengenzhen. She took a long swig from it in celebration; it was filled with a small lake¡¯s worth of quality baijiu. If things proceeded at this rate, she might be fully mended before the decade was out. That was the uttermost extremity of everything going as well as the transmutation rite, but even a few decades or a century were an outstanding time frame for undoing the mutilation that had been perpetrated upon her Soul Furnace.
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In the end, she had done less than half of the work she had been ready to do. In the time Lady Blackhand took to retrieve the Hexkey, Yao had made preparations, she had taken things out of storage, readied herself to deal with the consequences of carrying out a strenuous ritual that she didn¡¯t fully understand¡ And while she was exhausted, it was an exhaustion that would be gone before the end of this new day, rather than demanding several days of active rest. In short, Yao was pleasantly surprised by how this whole thing had gone.
Krahe was pleasantly surprised by how the transmutation ritual had gone. Compared to her deep-dive excursion into the Astral Gulf, it had been simplicity itself. Nonetheless, she felt utterly drained. Not physically, but mentally; she had felt this before, especially after Slaughterhouse 9, but it had been masked by far more vivid feelings of tiredness back then. She cut a jagged path through the city, stopping at a small bar. Rather than being seedy, like she was used to, this establishment gave off the feeling of a decent place purposely located out of the way to filter out those who didn¡¯t do their research, tourists, and the like. There was a substantial entry fee, enough to pay for a week¡¯s food. It was nearly deserted, with most of the patrons entranced by the light show overhead, meaning that Krahe got all the privacy she could want.
She spent this half-hour simply drinking and smoking, permitting herself to truly relax for once, without trying to find something to do, without thinking about what she should be doing, without constantly thinking over the possibilities of who was working for whom or what groups could possibly get involved. Keeping local political webs in mind was enough of a pain when one had lived in an area for years, but Krahe was simultaneously learning Audunpoint and causing changes in the process.
It was nice to retreat to a tiny world populated by four people total, including the barman. Some of the drinks were familiar - the typical grain alcohols and fruit mash distillates - but others were¡ More in-line with crab juice. Shots of mild hallucinogens and psychedelics that took effect and wore off equally quickly were exceedingly common on the menu. It was obvious why; most of them tasted tolerable at worst, and they universally provided an enjoyable experience. One could zone out for a few minutes without such consequences as a hangover or withdrawals. Various mixed cocktails included not only the blending of flavors and fragrances, but also the alchemical blending of different psychoactives for altered effects. A cluster of beverages warned away anyone with oral sores or stomach ulcers, and listed comparatively high prices for antidotes. Yes, even the venoms of various creatures were drunk for fun. Krahe tested out a few, noting with some amusement that the barman insisted that one particular venom was from a ¡®properly fed¡¯ specimen of some kind of giant spider, stating that it had no aphrodisiac qualities whatsoever.
One offer in particular advertised the fact it came from a live snake and supposedly could bring about epiphany if one consumed it. Krahe saw it as literal snake oil, but she decided to bite the hook anyway, out of curiosity.
183 - Six-eyed Dream Serpent
The snake, after all, was right inside the terrarium behind the bar; it was just hiding, and slithered into view when Krahe expressed her interest in its venom. Its head shape was similar to a horned desert viper, but it had six blue-glowing eyes with hairpin pupils, including three pairs of horns - one for each eye. Its scales were varying shades of creamy and sandy off-white, but they glistened with an eldritch pearlescence that reminded her of the Astral Gulf.
¡°I¡¯m curious, is the snake actually called a Six-eyed Dream Serpent, or is that just the menu name?¡± Krahe prodded.
¡°That is the most common name for them. It is¡ Arguably a soulbeast, arguably not,¡± the barman said with a practiced cadence that betrayed the fact he was both used to and fond of talking about his pet. ¡°There is a tribe of snake mystics out west who think they come about when a lost soul accidentally incarnates into a snake egg.¡±
The barman put on a truly amusing show of handling the snake, which, itself, pretended to be furious, lashing out and snapping mere milimeters from the barman¡¯s face before he grasped it by the base of the head and pressed its head into a tiny shot glass such that its fangs hooked just over the edge. A spray of opaque, glowing, blue-coloured venom filled the glass three-quarters of the way, before the snake¡¯s eyes glistened as if it was taking her measure, and another spurt filled the shot glass the rest of the way. In a flurry of motion, the barman placed the serpent back in its terrarium whilst also filling another, larger glass with liquor, dumping the venom into it. The venom spread out through the liquor, bubbling in a violent reaction as the barman poured in a salt of some kind while stirring the mixture. After several seconds, the reaction ended, letting it all coalesce into a slightly thick, blue-glowing liquid with streaks of light pulsing within it as if it was lit by an unseen, fluttering candle.
¡°Interesting. Does the venom have any truly mystical properties, then?" Krahe asked, examining the glowing shot. "Or is it just a particularly potent drug? In other words, will I see things based purely on my own psyche, or do its effects veer into the realm of true clairvoyance?¡±
¡°It depends on the snake,¡± he shrugged. ¡°I can guarantee nothing¡ But I do not believe you will be disappointed. Nobody ever is, at least when it glows like that.¡±
¡°I suggest you try to get it down all at once,¡± the barman recommended.
Krahe had drunk far worse, so it was no issue; the shot was fine, taste-wise, sour-sweet with a slight burning heat. Its aftertaste was one of buzzing numbness. The effects that followed were akin to a DMT-induced vision of a dream-like alternate reality, but rather than seeing angels or devils Krahe found herself momentarily spirited away to a particularly filthy alley in a particularly filthy part of Megacity Gamma¡¯s Sector 5. In this back alley, a local gang dumped the bodies of their victims, because the local cleanup drones were faulty and just mulched the corpses alongside the trash. A man with no arms crawled out of the trash container, muttering. It was¡ Something about Chernobog, and Jas¡¯raba. And it was in the continental tongue of Ashametan. His eyes met Krahe¡¯s, and the next moment, she was elsewhere, at another time.
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On the coast of a dark lake, with an ancient city at her back, with the alien stars of Zastreon overhead and the Banishment Wheel in the far distance. There came a deep, sonorous sound; Krahe heard and felt it in equal measure. It rumbled up from underfoot, resonating with her ribcage and her spine - resonating the Liminal Coil. There was a question in that frequency, a question and a sense of advice, but she could not comprehend it.
Sector 7. That old bastard¡¯s¡ Sauer¡¯s hut. He was out in front, going through a form Krahe had never seen, using an arm cybernetic he had never worn before. Its outer shell closely mirrored naturalistic muscle curves in shining chrome, following old-style aesthetics. It bristled with plasma nozzles from palm to shoulder, and with each of Sauer¡¯s motions, they erupted with greenish flame to amplify the movement. The old man was a whirling dervish one moment, then stone-still the next, his face hard and coldly angry in a way she had never seen while she studied with him. Krahe watched for what had to be several minutes, but from this distance, with these eyes, she could only follow the general gist of it at best; even then, it was because she recognized parts. As the mutant art that Sector 7 Style was, even this advanced form of it incorporated elements from other parts. The occasional thunderclaps and accompanying shockwaves from Sauer¡¯s more violent movements, however, made it no easier to comprehend. Her next impulse was to look closer, but the old man froze and stared through her. Then, she was once more spirited away.
In a staccato of flashes, Krahe beheld the same scene playing out in wildly different settings. The founding of a small town on the frontier of civilization, frequently in an effort to reclaim or unearth ancient ruins. Growth, both of the town and its church. Then, corruption. Even the declaration of a splinter faith. The people suffer. Conveniently, as if by divine providence, a Saint arrives and tears out the corruption by the roots. Again. And again. And again. Thousands of iterations with wild and great variation, yet the same overall arc.
The vision lingered on a particularly egregious case, wherein the church presence in an entirely isolated town degenerated to the point of being little more than a bandit band extorting the townsfolk. A skull-faced saint, covered head to toe in exposed, root-like musculature, arrived, annihilated them, and took over, rebuilding the town only to disappear once things settled for the better. It lingered on that skull-masked face, with lilac flame burning in its sockets and the sigil of the Seven Spokes emblazoned on his forehead.
184 - Calling in a Favour
Another staccato of thought-flashes followed, far more rapid, showing similar scenes of growth, but no corruption this time. Saints arrived all the same, but passed through without incident after solving small problems. It was obvious what it meant; a juxtaposition of some kind, perhaps even a vision sent from on-high, seeing as she was an apostle after all. Krahe didn¡¯t understand what exactly it all meant, lacking the mental bandwidth to properly process so quickly, but the visions all burned themselves into her memory with unnatural clarity.
When she next blinked, she was at that bar, in the exact moment after she had swallowed the shot, and the aftertaste was just starting to set in. She found her gaze slowly wandering over to the snake as she regained full awareness, not unlike waking up from a dream.
The barman - and his snake - both gave her an amused look, with the former remarking: ¡°I would advise you to not get addicted. You¡¯ll have a near-immunity to the positive effects for¡ Oh, I would say a few years at least given the dose. It would require a blood sample to be sure.¡±
¡°What, did you have to get an apothecary license to sell snake venom as a drink?¡± Krahe slurred, still not quite mentally back together. Some echoes of psychedelia still lingered, and her mind was busy parsing the visions. Before the barman could respond, the ground shuddered. Noticing the difficulty of keeping her balance, Krahe decided that it was high time to head back to the safehouse. She left, having paid for each drink individually so she could keep track of her tab. It totaled an irresponsible sum, but she somehow didn¡¯t regret it. More than half her total was the Six-eyed Dream Serpent Venom. The safehouse was empty when she got there, but a note on the coffee table clued her into the state of things. The Inquisitor had finally gotten around to dealing with Seer, and Casus was, at this very moment, one of the participants in the interrogation. The note also near enough begged her to just wait and not try to take action on her own.
Krahe smoked a cigarette of Adefron Incense, only to wake up to the sun high well above the horizon.
¡°Five hours¡¡± she thought. From what she knew of Adefron, this meant she would have likely slept around twenty hours had she not used it. In the absence of any particular goal besides waiting - which she hated - she took Atomica back to Gashward Road. Two days passed without any events of note, which was utterly agonizing. Krahe tried to find that bar again, but she couldn¡¯t find it. The location was burned into her mind, but it was as if the place had just up and disappeared. There was a bar there, yes, and it was even the same building, but it wasn¡¯t that bar. The floor plan was the same, but everything from the floorboards to the counter, the furniture and staff, nearly everything was different. So as not to seem suspicious or otherwise stand out, she spent a few minutes there and bought a shot of cheap, nasty, funky rum before leaving.
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After this excursion, she busied herself by attempting to recall and reconstruct the kata she saw Sauer performing in her vision. When that turned out to be a dead end, she turned to Yao¡¯s scroll, and after that, to improving the design of her wards.
In the end, she ran up against a dead end with all three of these endeavors.
She was already struggling to mentally digest her thoughts, trying to comprehend Yao¡¯s ultra-dense writing style only made it worse. Sure, it was clear and largely devoid of pointless obfuscation, but it was still written in a quasi-Cantonese equivalent to renaissance-era scholarly writing.
Improving her wards was theoretically plausible, but she simply lacked whatever made it practical, and she didn¡¯t even understand Wards well enough to know what she didn¡¯t know. No matter what she did, her wards always settled into a homogenous ablative layer of compacted ash. At best she could add some resilience by incorporating obsidian, which did help, but it was just applying the benefits of the Forming Toroid rather than improving the fundamental design or technique.
The trial-and-error process was only made worse by the limitations of her voidkey, which gnawed ever more keenly when it came to something so thauma-intensive as reconstructing her Wards over and over again. Moreover, it was a reminder that the Twin Serpent Voidkey was merely at the borderline between Second-order and Third-order.
It took every bit of strength she had, but Krahe went to Garvesh and, without a bit of pretense, simply asked for help.
¡°Can¡¯t help with your Wards, not the same as mine. And as I said already, the Twin Serpent Key really was my best. But¡ I have been looking for one ever since you first asked, and a guy who owes me a couple favours just recently got one for me. Only reason I haven¡¯t picked it up yet or sent you a message is, well¡¡±
The old lizard looked around. He was still in the tub, in the exact same pose.
¡°Been otherwise preoccupied, let¡¯s say. So, here¡¯s how you get to his place¡¡±
It wasn¡¯t a particular building, but an even more obscure shop than Garvesh¡¯s, one that shifted locations periodically and required an invitation to get in even if you found it. For this reason, he went on for a few minutes and had to repeat himself so that Krahe could write it down. Well outside the city, it was a particular ship ferrying people and goods across the river.
¡°You¡¯ll have to dial the number, it¡¯s 583791. Remember that - you got it? Good. The code word¡ I don¡¯t remember. Just tell him Garvesh sent you, and that this is about that favour I called in recently. If he doubts you, just say I hope he hasn¡¯t forgotten what I did for him at the Spire of Glass.¡±
¡°What did you do?¡± Krahe asked, not expecting an answer.
¡°I¡¯m not telling you,¡± Garvesh grinned. ¡°Just mention it. He will know. As for payment¡ We can work that out later. Call it a favor for now.¡±
185 - Miniature Sarcophagus/Yazata Heptaxia
And so, Krahe set off for that place; the ship was not nestled quietly in the corner, but was in fact the largest one. Garvesh¡¯s debtor plied his trade from deep within its bowels, and given the fact none of the crew stopped her as she walked into areas obviously not meant for normal passengers, she wagered that they had been paid off. She arrived at a modified bulkhead with a small vault door embedded in it at roughly chest height, and an intercom to the side. Well, not quite an intercom. It was an antique-looking telephone handset bolted to the wall. Below it was a keyboard from a Dregstrider, requiring her to dial the six-digit number Garvesh had given her to even speak to the proprietor.
¡°Who¡¡± a hissing, snake-like voice came from past the bulkhead.
¡°Garvesh sent me regarding his recently called-in favour.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know who¡¡± came the voice again, uncertain.
¡°I wasn¡¯t finished,¡± Krahe interrupted. ¡°He wants you to know that he hopes you haven¡¯t forgotten what he did at the Spire of Glass.¡±
An agitated hiss burst from the earpiece, and the sound cut out, the other side having hung up. Before she could grow uneasy, the vault door slowly opened inward, the scarred face of a serpent-man staring at her from the other side; he was no mythical gorgon, but a lanky humanoid with a neck that curved in a question-mark shape to allow his diamond-shaped head a forward orientation. An eyepatch-like prosthetic supplanted his left eye, and numerous scars broke up his venomous-looking, red-yellow scale pattern. He set a small, sandstone box on the counter, slid it over to her side, and shut the window forcefully enough to blow a gust of wind in her face. It smelled astonishingly similar to Firminus¡¯ office, only more herbal. As for the box, it had no hinges, only a rectangular lid, which bore cuneiform symbols on its surface. Krahe wasted no time in bringing it back, as awkward as transporting it was.
¡°Aristedes! Wake up!¡± came a stern woman¡¯s voice. Casus faded back to consciousness, having fallen asleep in his seat a few hours prior. A set of ominous, purple-glowing eyes stared down at him from a pale, narrow face framed by black hair at the sides, blunt bangs tracing the woman¡¯s browline in a dull V-shape, intensifying her already owl-like countenance. The glossy blackness of her hair was broken up by eye-like sigils in white, defiantly remaining congruent even as her hair shifted about, creating an unsettling appearance. Casus was used to the idea of having eyes in the back, and he was slowly growing used to Lady Blackhand¡¯s detached second set of eyes, but this woman felt more all-seeing than the two of them combined, exuding an aura of constant, unwavering vigilance.
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The Witch Inquisitor, Yazata Heptaxia.
She wore a partially unbuttoned satin shirt and tight black pants with cutouts on the outer sides of the thighs. It was a mode of dress similar to Casus¡¯ own, but the similarities between the two of them ended there. Of the countless differences between the two of them, the most obvious were the ¡°Black Bindings¡± visibly crisscrossing Yazata¡¯s skin, visible upon her thighs, over the very top of her chest, and going all the way up her neck, even peeking out of the bottoms of her sleeves. Eldritch symbols shone upon them in hues of purple the same as the glow of the inquisitor¡¯s eyes. A rapier-hilted bar mace hung from her belt, held by steel rings rather than a scabbard. It was a weapon of countless diamond-shaped, razor-sharp facets.
She walked away from him the moment she saw he was awake, turning to the one-way observation window. A minimalistic control console rose from the ground in front of the window, a handful of black cables leading down from it to beneath the floor. Yazata¡¯s footsteps were punctuated with sharp click-clacking sounds, not because she wore heels, but because her feet were metal, as were her legs all the way up to the knees. Her trousers were bound down to her prosthetics with those Black Bindings of hers, leaving them exposed halfway up the calves. The craftsmanship was of a standard equalled by few - they were Inner Relics, after all, made by the church for Yazata specifically. Rather than mimicking human anatomy to the fullest extent, her prosthetics traded biomimicry for improved functionality and resilience, with a simpler, more heavy-duty foot and ankle design.
There was no need for her to speak of the situation; Seer was doing all the talking that was necessary.
¡°I¡¯ve got him! The little shit¡¯s fuckin¡¯ pinging me! Can you hear me, inquisitor?! I know where Semzar Hashem is RIGHT NOW!¡± Seer yelled in desperation, doubtlessly because he worried there was not much time.
Yazata reached for the console, and with the flick of a switch, the observation window shifted to go both ways. Depressing an adjacent button, she took a mouthpiece in hand and spoke: ¡°You may now give your testimony, we are recording.¡±
Seer continued without the need for any further prompting: ¡°He¡¯s been intermittently pinging me for the last hour or so, I didn¡¯t speak up until I was sure he was in one place and not just passing through. It¡¯s the mansion on Mirzaii 2.¡±
¡°Old Ishmail Two-snakes¡¯ mansion¡ Isn¡¯t it owned by a Silversword administrator?¡± Casus thought aloud. He didn¡¯t know who exactly owned Mirzaii 2, but he knew her position due to the controversy surrounding her acquisition of the property. Ishmail had been a once-famous ex-contractor who pioneered the Twin Serpent Voidkey design as standard equipment for his agency¡¯s full-member contractors. The so-called Iron Adder Agency competed fiercely with the Silversword Agency for dominance in Audunpoint¡¯s early years, but collapsed after Ishmail¡¯s disappearance under dubious circumstances.
¡°I wouldn¡¯t know about that. I just know that Semzar likes to host his degenerate parties there. It¡¯s where this happened to me, so I won¡¯t weep if you send a saint to level the place,¡± Seer replied with a gesture to his visor, hatred seeping from every word.
186 - Plan of Attack
¡°Just a moment,¡± Yazata said into the mouthpiece before hanging it up and once more turning the window to a one-way mirror.
¡°Was that enough information for you to decide on a plan of attack, Aristedes?¡± she asked, an undercurrent of annoyance in her voice. He couldn¡¯t blame her. He was withholding information from an Inquisitor. That was to be expected from civilians and even witnesses, but not from coworkers, even less so from apostles, and absolutely not from pilgrim banisher apostles. Casus fully understood where she was coming from, because he hated it too, but he couldn¡¯t reconcile his own sense of right with betraying Lady Blackhand¡¯s trust.
Casus got up, walking to the table that took up a third of the room¡¯s floor space. It was a ¡°Strategic Planning Unit SPR-4735-C¡±. It was an enormous and highly advanced piece of machinery, combining a massive memory bank called a Memory Obelisk, countless memslate slots, a cognition engine the size of a small building, and a combination of projector lenses and a geomantic mapping module. The module was a mass of thaumetically treated ¡°clay¡± that could work as an erasable writing surface, form a 3D map, and perform several other fancy functions that rarely if ever got used. Unsurprisingly these things were rare due to their impracticality compared to simpler and more modular solutions.
He exerted quite a bit of strength pressing one of the large buttons on the side, a loud CLACK betraying the fact it set a great clockwork mechanism into motion. The SPU whirred to life, the scribe-automata underfoot coming alive and literally reading off of the Memory Obelisk as the boot sequence.
¡°I need to ask a few more questions. Patch him through and keep it open, just let him see,¡± he said. Yazata did as asked, and stepped to the side, walking around the room¡¯s perimeter to reach Casus¡¯ side without breaking his sightline with Seer.
¡°I¡¯ll ask this simply: Do you know of any means of entry into the mansion that wouldn¡¯t be on official maps or blueprints?¡± Casus questioned. ¡°Secret entrances or passages through the mansion, illegal tunnels for trafficking contraband¡¡±
¡°...or people,¡± Seer finished, his reluctant tone betraying the fact he did know. He sighed, leaning forward in his chair, grasping his head. He ran his hands over his visor, then emitted a noise of annoyance as his vision was overtaken by smudges. While cleaning the outer shell with his shirt, he began talking again.
¡°When Semzar ¡®invited¡¯ me to that mansion, I was led through one of those tunnels. The ones that nobody but its builders and their victims know about. It was connected to the mansion¡¯s underground supply line. I can point out where it was on a map, it was this underpass somewhere near¡ I think it was somewhere near Jafarnejad Gardens, with the big tree.¡±
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¡°That¡¯s nearly ten kilometers by air from the mansion¡¡± Casus thought aloud, operating the SPU. The lenses set around its outer edge came alive, projecting a map of that section of the city. With the adjustment of a slider, he turned it so that Seer could see it from a bird''s eye view. Immediately, he pointed out the spot.
¡°There. Some stones on the left side look out of place. Not sure how it opens; I couldn¡¯t see. Probably a combination illusion and deterrence field.¡±
¡°You let us deal with that. How much did you see inside the tunnel?¡±
¡°I already told you. The tunnel goes on for a while, twisting left and right, loads of sealed off side passages from the looks of the walls. Some of ¡®em are just locked doors, and some of ¡®em are see-through, like the rusty barred ones off of old elevators. Saw some nasty shit behind those, but it all looked to have been abandoned for a while. As for the subterrain, it looked like a private tram line or something, way too nice to not be on maps.¡±
Casus shifted the map. Both the projection and the clay model shifted, showing a sprawling, vein-like tangle of tunnels and vents.
¡°Looks like it connects the mansion to several other buildings, they even come under the same deed as the mansion. A butchershop, a grocer, library, anything you would need without having to interact with the ¡®common rabble¡¯...¡± Casus thought aloud as he inspected the map.
¡°One more thing about the tramline - it was flooded. Wasn¡¯t much, about two, three finger-widths of old rainwater. Won¡¯t stop you, but they¡¯ll hear you coming.¡±
Casus nodded: ¡°Very well, you¡¯ve been helpful.¡±
He glanced at Yazata, and without him needing to say a word, she once more separated them from Seer. With that, Casus got to work, operating the giant machine with gusto. It wasn¡¯t the most practical, it didn¡¯t conform to more common standards of design, learning it had been a nightmare, but Casus couldn¡¯t help but love the SPU. It was as much a holy relic of the Inner Wheel as it was a machine, possessing a sense of the sublime not found in its mass-production counterparts. In a few minutes, he had a plan of attack worked out - not because he could think that quickly, but because he had considered this possibility before. Audunpoint¡¯s subterrain layer wasn¡¯t quite as vast as those of capital cities, but there were so many ancient and forgotten passages from the city¡¯s time as a Jas¡¯raban metropolis that there was no chance in hell to keep track of them all.
The subterrain was on the clay layer, while the surface level was projected above.
¡°You want me to lead a contingent of ¡®Red Hood¡¯ semi-autonomous graft-beasts and mount an encirclement assault on the mansion? Truly?¡± Yazata questioned for the third time.
Nodding, Casus reaffirmed his intent: ¡±I will join up with Lady Blackhand to infiltrate through the subterrain while the security force is distracted, eliminate Semzar and his officers, and we mop up the rest from within and without.¡±
Sighing, the witch-inquisitor agreed: ¡°Very well.¡±
187 - Plan of Attack Pt. 2
¡±I expected you to outright object to the plan. I even prepared two alternatives,¡± Casus admitted.
¡°I am an Inquisitor, even if my direct combat capabilities are on the lower end. If I could not stand against odds like these, I would not qualify for my title. I must admit that I am curious - what were these alternatives of yours?¡±
¡°The first one¡ I shan¡¯t say, it is neither relevant nor interesting. As for the second, I intended to enlist the aid of a particular independent contractor by leveraging personal connections as well as dipping into mine and my sister¡¯s money.¡±
¡°Who?¡±
¡°An¡ Unpleasant individual, one I would rather not deal with if I can help it. He recently purged a Hazard Zone and lost the entire payout on collateral damage, including any claims on Archonforged items. His combat capabilities are some of the best out of anyone within my reach, but the strings are wrought of razorwire dipped in corrosive venom¡¡± Casus trailed off for a moment as the mental image of that madman floated up from memory. He banished it, and refocused on Yazata: ¡°Fortunately, you didn¡¯t veto my plan. Thus, there is no need to involve him.¡±
The part he didn¡¯t mention was that he was afraid of that man. Trying to rope in the man known as "The Cleaner Krait" was about as extreme as trying to get official help from the public-facing church, while posing far greater personal danger for Casus. The one upside was that doing so would allow him to bypass the church bureaucracy. In short, an absolute last resort.
¡°Speaking of combat capabilities¡¡± Yazata looked sidelong at Casus while zooming in the clay model. ¡°Are you certain this ¡®Lady Blackhand¡¯ is qualified? I admit that her track record, assuming it is accurate, would be impressive for a low-ranker, but this is not a matter that can be resolved by a handful of low-rankers, even if you yourself are borderline. Semzar Hashem alone is known to possess a near-cap archetype and a high Third-order voidkey, and we do not know who will be with him. His father¡¯s presence would all but guarantee the failure of this endeavor.¡±
¡°Semzar is a fool who lacks the skill to properly make use of the power he has stolen from his hosts. He is no different from some grafted-to-the-gills Kartier brat,¡± Casus responded, also shifting the clay model. ¡°...Moreover, he fears his father as much as he hates him, doubly so given the current circumstances - you yourself confirmed the truthfulness of Seer¡¯s testimony regarding the Hashem Mafia¡¯s internal political state. Between us and Semzar, Semzar has the greatest personal investment in staying apart from Damrus.¡±
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After a shallow nod of acknowledgement, Yazata interrupted: ¡°But he is likely to be accompanied by individuals who could be a real threat. A threat to you or I, let alone a relatively unknown low-ranker. Make no mistake; I trust your judgment, Aristedes, but I would prefer more than a single man¡¯s testimony.¡±
Casus didn¡¯t like deception. It went against his nature. But nonetheless, he opened his mouth and spoke: ¡°With all due respect, Inquisitor, I would not bet against Blackhand even if she were stripped of all wards and surrounded by gunmen.¡±
And Yazata didn¡¯t sense a lie, because there wasn¡¯t one. The feat of deception which took place was not one of spoken words, but of mind; Casus wrenched his own consciousness away from everything Yazata didn¡¯t know that she had a right to know. He forced himself to not think about Blackhand¡¯s status as an unlettered apostle, from the fact he had leveraged his status to secure the option of access to a voidkey beyond her qualifications should she require it. Casus did not have the power or the guile to keep such a requisition quiet should it go through, so he kept it to a possibility rooted in the truth of his recent training. His plan, at this moment, was to bring it up with Blackhand and let her decide, hoping she would make the wise choice. Some part of him genuinely believed that she would somehow manage to secure a Third-order voidkey before then, just to avoid having to put her trust in the church.
They separated after going over the details, with Casus loading the map and the plan of approach onto a memslate before leaving to join up with Blackhand. Yazata would, in the meanwhile, continue interrogating Seer until the time came to rendezvous at the staging point: A randomly-selected safehouse that was close enough to be practical but not the single closest, on the off-chance it was being watched.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city¡
The first thing Krahe did, once she was a safe distance from the ferry, was to check that there was in fact a voidkey in the box, and to ping it with an appraisal attempt. The key was in there, but her appraisal washed off it in a manner that suggested her glasses couldn¡¯t appraise it properly for reasons other than anti-appraisal measures, meaning it was most likely Third-order.
Rather than heading straight back to Gashward 94 or any other place she normally frequented, Krahe stopped by a small Zaveshian shrine which she had scoped out beforehand without visiting. It was really more of a church-owned gymnasium with a small shrine as part of the front end. After paying for an hour of use and receiving a disposable timer-talisman, she ducked into one of the showers, taking the time to store the voidkey-sarcophagus in her Kenoma Sack. The container seemed to be designed for such storage, as it came alive when she brought it into the storage rift¡¯s vicinity with the intent to put it in. Some of the symbols lit up with purple light, and the lid shifted slightly, becoming firmly fixed. It even took up far less capacity than it rightly should have, just based on knowing the key was Third-order.
With that out of the way, Krahe did actually make use of the gymnasium, showering once she was done. Only then did she make her way to Garvesh¡¯s, taking a detour to a food cart that she liked on the way there. She wished to let him know that all had gone well, and to confirm that the voidkey was of a standard he had expected from his contact.
188 - Shardkey of Heshmad Abbasi
The malformed corpse of Imraal¡¯s cart was still out front, now joined by a trail of dried blood going inside the building. Krahe half-jokingly muttered a prayer to the deceased machine, then went inside, following the blood trail up the stairs to Garvesh¡¯s apartment. From the direction, it was clear a corpse had been dragged out - obviously the baneworm. This guess was confirmed when Krahe entered the bathroom, finding Garvesh still in his pool-sized tub, with the corpse gone.
¡°Couldn¡¯t they clean the blood after they took the corpse away?¡± she asked.
¡°Hrrm?¡± Garvesh grumbled, the sound more akin to the deep rumble of a cyber-gator than the vocalization of a person. He looked up at her, a predatory glow in his eyes, pupils constricted. Then, it suddenly melted away and he returned to his normal self. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s you, thought it was the cleaner. You just came in after he left to dispose of the meat. He will clean the blood too, if he knows what¡¯s good for him. Well? How¡¯d it go?¡±
¡°The snake guy I met with didn¡¯t sound too happy when I brought up the Spire of Glass. Gave me this box that looks like a miniature sarcophagus¡¡± she said, holding out her arm as she began the process of opening the Kenoma Sack.
Garvesh simply watched in silence while continuing to repair another of his ward-scales, this one two rows down and three to the right of the previous. A glint of recognition lit up his eyes at the sight of the box alone, but in the next moment, his gaze became distant. The Thousand-yard Stare; it was unmistakable. Coming closer and kneeling in a spot free of blood next to the tub, she set it on the edge and finally opened it. Immediately, a strong, dense aura spilled out, like a wall of smell hitting her in the face, only it didn¡¯t smell like anything.
For the first time, she took the voidkey out of its container. It was a comet-like shape formed by a three-pronged bronze spiral, suspending in its center a shard of jagged black metal that thrummed with a mysterious and ominous aura. Cuneiform symbols were etched down the length of each of the voidkey¡¯s prongs, as well as on one facet of the shard, though in the shard¡¯s case they were fragmented. Something further inside the box grabbed her eye - a rectangular piece of the bottom, as wide as a memory slate and twice as long, could be pried out. It even had a cutout for a finger on one side.
¡°Oh, it¡¯s one of these¡¡± the lizard muttered at the sight of the key. Krahe pinged the rectangular stone, and received confirmation that it was, indeed, a memslate, and even that it contained the voidkey¡¯s specifications. Setting the key down, she brought out her eyebox and finagled it to get the too-long memslate into its slot. It only went in halfway, leaving the springloaded cover open, but the eyebox read it just fine. She wondered if this was an old, outdated design, or perhaps just an alternate style of memslate that was still in use.
[SHARDKEY OF HESHMAD ABBASI, No. 7624]
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[Tags:]
Third-order
Voidkey
Ancient
Series 7/8
[Details:]
Thaumic Throughput +D1
Entropy Tolerance +D1
Entropy Dissipation +D1
Barrier Catalyst (Hardened, Form-fitting, Shatter-type Anti-Meltdown Safety)
Barrier Hardening +D2
Barrier Formation Rate +E1
Barrier Upkeep Reduction +D1
Ward Catalyst (Hardened, Interlaced, Trinity Composite)
Ward Hardening +C1
This voidkey was wrought of the 7624th fragment of the armour of Heshmad Abbasi. May each among the 8888 Immortals of his great army forever bear a piece of his unfaltering strength.
¡°A shardkey. Bastard thinks he¡¯s funny throwing it back in my face¡¡± Garvesh said, anger in his words. He shook his head, asking with a calmer tone: ¡°What number is it?¡±
¡°Seven-thousand six-hundred twenty-four, Series 7/8. Whoever made it seemed to be under the delusion that it was for some truly elite army.¡±
¡°The 8888 Immortals were one of the most elite armies of their time. You just got the second weakest kind of shardkey, the kind used by those of them who didn¡¯t see combat or were not important enough to worry about assassins,¡± he quickly corrected, seeming as insulted as if she had described a high-caliber revolver as ¡°primitive¡± to the average droid-wrangler. He held out his free hand to grab the key, and still seeing the dissociation in his eyes, Krahe handed it over. As he examined it, he continued speaking. His accent thinned out, as if he was forgetting to use it: ¡°Each series of 1111 delineates a jump in the voidkey¡¯s power based on the size and quality of the armor shards they¡¯re built around. I¡¯d even say that one of these is the epitome of a low mid-ranker voidkey, solid allrounder with exceptional defensive characteristics. They¡¯re even designed to be compatible with upgrades and are highly collectible, so either way if you keep it or sell it later on you can¡¯t go wrong.¡±
¡°How much would it have cost me in DDs?¡± Krahe asked in the same tone she used when haggling. That pulled him back.
¡°Who¡¯s to say?¡± the old lizard grinned, his accent returning in full force.
¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll call in that favour I owe you for a tenfold profit,¡± she grinned back, taking the shardkey out of his hand.
¡°We¡¯ll see when that time comes. Now go, I¡¡±
Garvesh plainly struggled to finish repairing the scale, his eyes constricting, steam erupting from his nostrils, followed by a trickle of blood. With superhuman effort he did it, and stumbled to his feet, staring ahead like a warrior on the precipice of death. A rumbling noise could be heard from his stomach, and he turned to look at Krahe.
¡°...I really hope this is yesterday¡¯s dinner instead of the alternative.¡±
He coughed, and another trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Again he glanced her way, nodding for her to go, and so she did, trying to ignore the gruesome sounds coming from the bathroom as she left. By the rancid stench that reached her just before she got out of the apartment, it seemed the lizard had gotten his preferred outcome.
189 - Trinity Composite (Also Frustration)
As Krahe made her way from Garvesh¡¯s place and turned the corner, she heard a man¡¯s footsteps nearby, just entering the same alleyway from the other end. Rapid, but decisive, not agitated. They were accompanied by a whistled melody. Though she never once glimpsed that stranger, she felt an unsettling sensation wash over her. She walked aimlessly for a short time, looking out for signs of someone following her or laying in ambush, but found no evidence of such a thing, and so continued on her way back to Gashward 94. Her intention was to replace her voidkey and reuse the miniature sarcophagus for Atomica. However, she still had quite a bit of built-up Isotope stored in her arm, so she decided to dissipate most of it first before she carried out a voidkey change. She had, after all, plenty of time to burn.
In the blink of an eye, several hours passed.
If only that were the case. In truth, Krahe could feel the blood pounding in her head and her eyes glazing over as she read the same strip of Yao¡¯s scroll over and over. It was one of the few outright mystical sections, and was presented as such, with the scroll openly stating it was a riddle, a way of preparing the reader for other texts that were likely to be this obtuse in their entirety. She pulled the last dregs of Isotope into herself, lit up a cigarette, and decided to just wait it out, laying back on the sofa as she turned the shardkey over in her hand. She could have taken more purge pills to speed up the process, but besides being unpleasant at best, they were also caustic enough to threaten stomach lining damage with repeat dosage. This was not a problem when they were used as intended - to help purge minor curses.
As she felt the last of her Isotope scatter and fade, Krahe sat up, mentally glancing at her arm¡¯s Isotope capacity - 20% full. Enough to do something with, not enough to be a problem. She conjured a talisman into her hand. One among the insights she had managed to glean from Yao¡¯s scroll was a truly rudimentary talisman for easing the extraction of a ¡°set¡± voidkey. It required no external power, only good ink and a steady hand to draw its symbol, a winding ¡°spiral¡± of straight lines and right angles.
Extracting the Twin Serpent Key felt just as sickly-ticklish and unpleasant as it had been when she did it for the Black Sun Coupler¡¯s test run. If she had to assume the talisman had done anything, she would guess it might have reduced the stress on the voidkey itself, or it might have sped up the fading of that sickly, wound-like sensation of absence. The Shardkey went in easily, but the moment it was seated, Krahe felt a faint wrongness. After mentally feeling around in the dark, a subtle mental pull clued her in on the culprit: her Wards were wrong. Or rather, they didn¡¯t match the key¡¯s embedded Ward design.
As she dispersed and began reconstructing her Wards, Krahe found that the Shardkey was guiding her. At first, she couldn¡¯t help but feel as if her Wards were forming far too quickly, twice or thrice faster than normal, but it turned out to be only the first layer. Bit by bit, Krahe built up the multi-layered structure, and the reason for the term ¡°Trinity Composite¡± became clear. A ¡°padding¡± underlayer of homogenous, compressed pyroclast. A ¡°flexible armor¡± layer of interlocking segments, serving as a smooth transition into the outermost, ¡°articulated plates¡± layer, resembling obsidian in colour and reflectiveness. The Trinity Composite design was somewhere between antique full-plate and modern hardsuit armor¡ And Krahe still couldn¡¯t quite tell why this worked, unlike most of her previous attempts. She well and truly hoped it was up to her own lacking understanding of how Wards functioned, rather than some glaring flaw in her thinking that she couldn¡¯t perceive. After all, she had no clue how they didn¡¯t get in the way, why they only showed themselves to protect their user, how they determined what was an attack. If she could grasp the fundamental nature of Wards, the ability to reshape her own as she saw fit would follow.
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Frustrated, she finished reworking her wards, before placing Atomica in the stone box and storing it away. She immediately left for the Temple of Records, leveraging her access to restricted texts on Wards. She left with a total of three books, two being publicly available foundational texts while the third contained records of nontraditional Ward compositions, as well as various methods for embedding and extracting the ward composition of a voidkey. Their titles and authors read as such:
Armour of the Spirit
by Hashmail Ibn-Abbasi
The Wizard¡¯s Aegis:
A comprehensive history of personal wards.
by Audun Sorun
Record of Transcending Human Resilience: Chapter of Wards
translation by Hashmail Ibn-Abbasi
original by Unknown
The Record of Transcending Human Resilience was the restricted text. While the others were typical leather bound tomes, this text was a scroll, with the translator explaining that he disliked scrolls and only used this form factor because the record didn¡¯t work within a book format.
Krahe got as far as learning the most prevalent theory of Ward invention. This theory was based on countless historical accounts corroborating it, and itself stated that they were most likely invented as a defense against melee attackers, originally intended to buy a magic user enough time to create distance. At that point, as she was getting into the historical usage of personal Wards, Casus came into the safehouse.
A simple phrase followed with his entrance: ¡°Ah. You are here. Good. We know where Semzar is and how to get to him.¡±
Those words were all it took for Krahe to stick a blank talisman paper into her book and jump to her feet. Just like that, a switch was flipped in her head, and she took the Black Sun Coupler from its spot in a hidden compartment under the kitchen stove. She strapped it to her waist, donned the supporting armor, and covered it all with a long coat - one of her articles of disguise. They spoke briefly as she did this, exchanging basic operational info and the plan of attack. It was a straightforward plan, but it made sense.
190 - Trafficker
¡°Do we get Red Hood support, or are they all needed for the frontal assault?¡± she asked as she locked the gun-like catalyst to her left arm¡¯s bracer.
¡°Unfortunately, we shall be on our own in the subterrain,¡± Casus said.
And so, they were off, riding through the city until they reached a somewhat nearby nook to stash the motorbike in. As they approached their goal, Krahe sent Barzai further and further ahead. Even if it was secret, given its nature, it was not unlikely for Semzar or one of his subordinates to station guards or at least lookouts nearby.
There were no guards standing outside the secret entrance, and it was walled up just as Seer had described, but Barzai did see something. A woman, walking down the street with a boy in tow. He couldn¡¯t be more than seven or eight, dressed in brand new, generic clothes. The woman¡¯s manner of dress was the same, generic to the point of being suspicious, and imperfect at points. Her fingers bore numerous rings, some of which were Calbian currency, and tattoos peeked out from the insides of her sleeves. Something about the two of them, about that boy¡¯s demeanor and the way he seemed to be dragged along, set Krahe off. She had seen human trafficking countless times; in fact, she had personally depopulated entire sub-sectors that had been used for that revolting practice. Seeing that woman all but dragging the child along was dubious enough, but the fact she looked utterly unlike the boy was another nail in her coffin. In fact, she didn¡¯t look much like a real person at all. It wasn¡¯t obvious at a glance, not something a normal person would easily notice; no baneworm tendrils visible under her skin, no evidence of heavy cosmetic grafting, nothing so surface-level. It was her entire being, particularly her face and the manner in which she moved. Krahe had seen it countless times; gangsters, merchants of death, loan sharks, corporate ladder-climbers, politicians.
If Krahe¡¯s measure of her was right, the fundamental thread of humanity inside that woman was too severely corroded for her to mask it at all times - and as far as she knew, there was nobody looking right now.
¡°There¡¯s someone approaching the entrance. Stay out of sight if you can,¡± she said to Casus. She rushed along, sending Barzai to the underpass, where she left him hovering in a manner impossible for a living bird. Hidden from sight, the eidolon hung there, flapping his wings without disturbing the air. Closer and closer. Krahe timed her approach so she would entrap the woman, while Casus hung back, ducking into an alleyway.
From this up close, she would be able to be sure. She just needed the woman to face her, and she did. At first she turned slightly to face the hidden entrance, glimpsing Krahe in the periphery, after which she whipped around to face her, reaching for something on her hip.
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¡°It¡¯s¡ It¡¯s you¡ The one from the posters!¡± came an alarmed utterance. The woman raised her barrier, forming a translucent shield of greenish-blue hexagons. It was about a meter tall, a bit less wide, and flat rather than domed. Meanwhile, she raised one hand, forming octahedral spikes in front of each finger. With her other, she held onto the boy. There was a feral kind of fear in her eyes.
¡°Oh? You know me? Then this¡¯ll be easier. Just answer me one question. Just one. Easy, right? Where are you taking the kid? Tell the truth for once in your wretched life, and I won¡¯t kill you, or maim you.¡±
Krahe genuinely meant that. If the woman spoke truthfully, she would choke her out, tie her up, and get Casus to drag her off to be detained by the church. She also knew that was astronomically unlikely to come to pass.
¡°H-huh? Him? I- He¡¯s my cousin¡¯s little brother. I¡¯m taking him home, yeah, taking him home.¡±
Even without the kid¡¯s eyes screaming that it was a lie, it would¡¯ve been obvious. Slowly approaching, raising her own Barrier just in case, Krahe reiterated: ¡°That¡¯s a lie. One more chance, c¡¯mon. I won¡¯t pretend to be an Inquisitor, but I have my own means of getting the truth when I want it. If you lie, or even try to avoid the question, may the spirit of a raven peck out your eyes. Well?¡±
Obviously, a human trafficker wouldn¡¯t openly admit that she was a human trafficker.
She opened her mouth to speak, and the moment the beginnings of a word came out, Krahe willed Barzai to set upon her. He revealed himself, screeching with the voice of some bird that definitely wasn¡¯t a raven, and indeed set upon the trafficker-woman¡¯s face, tearing into her Wards with his beak, reddish flame spilling out. She wildly fired off her thaumaturgy, but Krahe had already dived, and before the boy could be hurt, Krahe had the woman in a simplistic grapple. She had surfaced and simply wrapped her left arm around the trafficker from behind, pinning her arms to her body.
The trafficker-woman¡¯s strength faltered utterly against hers, despite the fact she was stronger than a civilian man. Thanks to consistent physical training, Krahe¡¯s Force had grown to E2, but that alone would not have produced this result. The Left Arm of Chernobog grew in strength alongside all of her attributes, including even the Shardkey¡¯s benefits. This all coalesced into a crushingly powerful bearhug that squeezed the air out of the trafficker-woman¡¯s lungs and forced her to let go of the boy. Despite all this, the trafficker got her bearings and fought back, summoning up ghostly hands that snatched Barzai, grabbed at Krahe¡¯s hair, and attempted to grab at any possible point to get her off the trafficker. Quickly realizing that it wasn¡¯t working, the trafficker gathered all but one at Krahe¡¯s arm and simply tried to pry it free - the one leftover fighting with Barzai. These ghostly limbs were all just as strong as the trafficker, four of them managing to weaken Krahe¡¯s grasp enough for the woman to slip free. Krahe couldn¡¯t help but wonder whether she was a trafficker because of this ability, or vice versa.
Either way, it didn¡¯t matter. She was a corpse that didn¡¯t know it was dead yet.
191 - Guilt Repaid in Cold Blood
Originally, she had planned to immobilize and interrogate the woman, then maybe give her a chance at survival by turning her over to the church. It would have depended on how she came across during the interrogation, whether she was just a broken person in a bad situation and so on. There was no longer space for such nuance; not with the trafficker obviously lunging for the child in an attempt to take a human shield. A simple skim forward, followed by a left straight punch into the trafficker¡¯s stomach - or rather, given how she was turned, her liver. The force of that punch alone was enough to send the fifty-something kilo woman to the ground. Despite having made an effort to avoid subjecting the boy to needless trauma, Krahe¡¯s anger got the better of her, and she held out her hand.
Furious redness illuminated the underpass.
An equally furious electric buzz followed. It waned, then began again, doing so a total of three times. The child tried to look at first, but Krahe blocked off his sight with a thin sheet of jade. Only a steaming, greasy silhouette remained upon the flagstones.
Krahe killed the fusion reaction for the final time, holding up her hand to her face, somewhat dumbfounded. While the Shardkey didn¡¯t strengthen her Tolerance much more than the Twin Serpent key, the dissipation rate was a total gamechanger.
¡°I did not know that Barzai could detect lies,¡± Casus remarked as he approached, having emerged from hiding moments earlier.
¡°He can¡¯t, it was just a distraction,¡± she shrugged. ¡°I could just tell, both that she was a trafficker and that she was lying.¡±
The boy, confused and terrified in equal measure, had walked out from under the underpass, bawling his eyes out. The child¡¯s panic and terror mingled with a sense of awe as he noticed Casus, craning his neck to look up at the two-meter-tall living holy relic.
¡°Get the kid out of here. I¡¯ll go on ahead. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll leave a few of them for you.¡±
Despite wanting to save the child, Krahe also strongly disliked dealing with them, because she didn¡¯t know how.
¡°Are you certain?¡± Casus asked, but the question rang hollow. He was already kneeling over the child as he asked. Looking back, Krahe reached up to her head and started pulling on her voidkey.
¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± she said. ¡±There¡¯s a shrine not too far from here, just take him there and come back.¡±
Visibly conflicted, Casus sighed, picking up the child while keeping him from looking at the corpse.
¡°Five minutes. I shall return in five minutes,¡± he uttered before sprinting off. The boy remained silent, too shaken to scream.
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Before long, she had the key out of her head and slotted into the Black Sun Coupler. It was just her and Barzai now.
The underpass fell silent.
As for the hidden passage, there were a few loose bricks throughout the underpass, but only one that hid an actual lever. The others were supposedly a mix of duds and fakes that would send an alarm when removed. Casus had also noted that Seer said the alarms were always ignored because of how often they were tripped on accident. The section of wall seamlessly swung open, revealing a heavy vault door behind the stone facade. She closed it behind herself, since Casus knew how to open it.
Inside, it really was just a tunnel. She continued deeper, keeping her senses open and her hand on the transformation dial. On and on, through the empty tunnel, twisting and turning, the only sound being her footsteps. There were basic lights, strung up along the left wall. The air was dry, but not stale, and gradually even that dryness was replaced by an unpleasant, stale dampness. As she walked, she glimpsed a few side rooms, most being either empty or filled with random trash, boxes, and so on. A few were caved in, and several more contained recognizable items. Within one particular room an articulated chair stood, bolted to the ground in the middle, next to it a table, a bucket, and a tub, everything stained a crusty, dark brown. Several teeth littered the ground.
A second chamber of the same type waited a few steps further, entirely missing a door, with deep gashes in the stone and the chair clearly having been ripped out of the ground and thrown against the wall with inhuman force. This room too was stained. Continued signs of carnage followed through the tunnel for some time, until at some point, they stopped at a repaired section, where the tunnel had clearly been severely damaged by something, likely an explosion.
A handful of makeshift jail cells followed, clean save for a thick layer of dust, with three being clean enough to suggest recent use, but empty, with the exception of mattresses and shit-filled buckets. She couldn¡¯t tell in the dark, but the mattresses looked stained in spots that did not suggest an adult source, nor any sort of natural incontinence. She knew what it meant, and fostered the ember of rage as she continued onward.
The sound of footsteps, splashing through the ankle-deep water, could be heard.
Without much thought, she turned the dial and gave herself over to the Black Sun Coupler. The suit had slightly changed from its previous form, incorporating the Trinity Composite into its armour, creating an even larger, more ominous silhouette than before. Its plating, though still matte and utilitarian, was shaped subtly differently, influenced by the Shardkey¡¯s fragmentary memory of its original form as the armor of a legendary warlord. The plates now bore additional minute details, as well as cuneiform inscriptions along the edges. Some were words of protection, others were proclamations of rebuke. The Forming Toroid was incorporated seamlessly into the right arm¡¯s gauntlet, and the same went for her gun holster.
As her swift metamorphosis completed and her senses returned, the bird flew over to her and perched on her shoulder. He opened his beak, replaying a horribly garbled mess of noise that vaguely resembled a snippet out of a doom metal song. Monumental, ominous guitars and gigantic drums underlined demonic, bassy vocals, spoken more than they were sung. They surely contained what Barzai wanted to express: ¡°None can save your souls, none escape the wrath. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. No life is spared, renounce the cries for help!¡±
192 - Sewer Wars Pt. 1
With her exhalation, Viridaimon¡¯s crow-like gas mask released long threads of smoke. Krahe raised her left arm, holding it straight to get a feel for the suit¡¯s stabilization. Then, she dived, just to dial-in any impact Viridaimon might have had upon the Liminal Coil¡¯s functions. The relative time distortion felt a bit weaker, but the dive worked fine otherwise. She began forming a burster in her right hand as she continued further, sending Barzai up ahead.
Achmed smoked a cigarette, lazily ambling out of the subterranean loading bay and into the flooded tunnel that led into it. He balanced atop one of the cart rails to avoid wading through water. His tendrils writhed inside his lungs as the smoke spread through them. But then, something felt off; one of his tendrils was caught, and he stopped dead, leaning a bit as he mentally commanded the tendril, dragging up a clump of tarry mucus before he spat it out and put the tendril back in place.
Meanwhile, the two hideous things assigned to him waded along through the water, oily patches spreading out around their legs.
They were insectile, evoy-like things, but wrong in countless ways.
To start with, their morphs were malformed, with emaciated, human-like torsos and lanky limbs, almost looking like a dried out corpse with chitin plates haphazardly stuck to it willy-nilly. Black tubes and cables snaked in and out of them, and fully artificial organ enclosures bulged their stomachs or protruded out of them in various ways. Heavy-duty, helmet-like sensor array grafts covered their heads. The one to his right had several large, circular graft-eyes set into its head graft in a scattershot pattern, and as a result it had a habit of constantly looking around. A decal was sloppily airbrushed onto the side of its head. It read: ¡°SB-55C-143¡±. The other one had no visible eyes, but it constantly emitted a low buzzing and it seemed to ¡°see¡± just fine. This one¡¯s decal read ¡°SB-55C-82¡±.
Both of them had one functional arm, with clawed, knobby, dysgenic fingers, and one weaponized arm. One-four-three¡¯s leftie was a muscular limb with a bulbous, mace-like head, sectioned off into five petal-like parts that could open to reveal an array of six silver membranes, one at the center and five around it. As for 82, its left arm retained a hand, but it was distorted and partially split down the middle to fit a weapon graft onto the underside of its forearm. It looked like one of the Blasting Clusters that had been mounted on the Foreman¡¯s Hounds, but smaller, clearly accommodating for the unit¡¯s more limited power output and weaker build. A primitive, cheap, but effective ¡°shotgun¡±.
¡°Lotta good the operation at Slaughterhouse 9 did to those rich fucks if you lot¡¯re all that came out of it¡¡± he muttered derisively, taking another toke. Less human than even stitched-together hobo corpses, these things were supposedly failed evoy molts that had been ¡°recycled¡±. Little more than corpses reanimated with heavy grafting; never even alive to begin with, in the same realm as the artificial bodies offered by the church. Suitable vessels only for the Gor¡¯ah in their heads that gave them motion; they certainly took to these shells better than natural humanoid meatsuits. It was obvious something about these ¡°Stillborns¡± was explicitly designed to accommodate Gor¡¯ah and thus compensate for their sorely lacking intellect. The nature of that compensation was far beyond Achmed¡¯s station, but he was sure it was something extremely fucking heretical given the Benefactors¡¯ involvement.
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Slowly, lazily, taking his sweet time, he continued his patrol. Being only one of many guarding the mansion, he didn¡¯t actually have a great deal of responsibility. His purpose here was threefold. The first task was to act as a minder for the Stillborns, and the second was to receive a delivery that was to come through here. Some kid. He didn¡¯t think twice about the purpose or origin of that delivery, having long numbed himself to far worse cruelties than human trafficking. If it wasn¡¯t happening in front of his face, he could easily act as if it didn¡¯t exist at all. The third and perhaps most crucial task was to keep an eye on blasting charges planted along a section of the tunnel, and to set them off if any intruder came through and managed to reach the area where they were planted. The Stillborns were there to keep the trafficker honest and to act as a barrier between any would-be intruders and Achmed for long enough to set off the charges.
He soon got to the section with the charges. They were nothing like any explosives he had seen. Occult-looking tetrahedrons made of brass, with long, three-sided black rods emerging from their apexes, ominous symbols glowing orange down the rods¡¯ sides. He couldn¡¯t read it, but it didn¡¯t look like any human alphabet, and Achmed was abnormally well-read for his current career path. Tetrahedral spikes emerged from the tunnel wall around each charge, seemingly ¡°growing¡± out of the bricks. Achmed guessed at some sort of geomancy. Feeling no need to hurry, Achmed took his time checking them over, eventually stepping onto the tunnel wall and walking up it. A petty trick learned from a saurian he had inhabited in the past, but terribly useful. Sure, he had a fancy detonator obviously built specifically for these things, but it was never bad to be double, triple certain that explosives wouldn¡¯t misfire.
Footsteps approached from afar, sloshing in the grimy water. Achmed perked up, anticipating the trafficker. He finished his checks and retreated a short distance, outside the remote charges¡¯ blast zone. It was at a turn in the tunnel, this spot chosen specifically to allow him to look down the other side or to take cover.
It wasn¡¯t the trafficker. He knew that the moment 82 became agitated, both in body language and sound. Its quiet buzzing took on a deeper tone and became far louder, its inaudible frequencies sending ripples through the water underfoot and within Achmed¡¯s body alike.
193 - Sewer Wars Pt. 2
The Stillborn, 82, surged forward, sprinting past the corner, its buzzing rising to a scream-like fever pitch as it raised its left arm and began firing. With a repeating sequence of whirring charge-up and thumping release, its weapon¡¯s focused shockwaves tore up the water surface with their mere passage.
But the distant footsteps only became quicker, and a sound unsettlingly like the caw of a raven resounded, followed by a sequence of cannon-like, thumping explosions. They sounded not quite like gunshots, but close to it. What came from beyond the corner were not bullets, however. Achmed barely got a glimpse as he was busy retreating and preparing the detonator; they were comets of swirling blackness, zipping through the air like swift arrows, their trajectories bending to all strike 82. A greenish glow lit up inside the Stillborn¡¯s chest as glassy wards of the same colour revealed themselves around it, and these defenses held for a moment, only to be torn apart soon after. The creature continued firing back for a moment longer while its body held up. Soon, 82 was shaking in place as countless explosions tore open the Stillborn¡¯s exoskeleton, spilling its oily inner fluids into the water and painting the walls with the iridescent rainbow of their puke-like hues. A pretentious sort might interpret those stains as a veritable work of abstract art commenting on the traces left by those who are consumed by an opposing force¡¯s overwhelming violence.
Without needing to be commanded, 143 quickly prepared itself to face the enemy ducking to the wall as its left arm split open to expose the emitter nodules. A black blur zipped past the corner, trailing with black smoke and red light as it flew. It was a raven, or at least something in the shape of one. Opening its beak, the thing screamed with the banshee tone of a woman being murdered, its eyes flashed, and the section of wall Achmed was hanging from exploded. Though not enough to make him fall, his right foot was left hanging onto a chunk of loosened stone, forcing him to release it and right himself, moving even further up the wall to the point he was nearly hanging upside-down.
Just as he got his bearings, Achmed saw it; a human shape in black armor, with an unfamiliar device on its waist. It didn¡¯t even cross his mind that it was a Mamon Coupler; he was not particularly familiar with those devices, and only had passing knowledge of common models that his fellow gang members used.
The shape¡¯s face was concealed by a beaked mask. Its eyes were two impassive, circular lenses within which green fire burned, trailing light in a near perfect line as it moved. Its left arm bore a heavy, gun-like catalyst, spewing smoke and flames from its muzzle, while the right was concealed by a shield-like bracer and pauldron combination.
It walked as quickly as any normal person would run, gliding through the ankle-deep water with an unsettling, mechanical smoothness. Even its arms remained unnaturally stable as it leveled its weapon at him. In Achmed¡¯s mind, that thing had to be some kind of graft-beast, maybe meant to compete with or replace the Red Hoods. Its mask certainly looked Zaveshian.
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A swarm of smoke-missiles spewed forth in Achmed¡¯s direction, and the shape threw a reflective, black sphere towards 143. Neither fighting back nor setting off the charges crossed his mind, only escape, and escape he did, raising his unique Barrier. A pair of ghostly-green wings formed on his back, contorting to cover him as he jumped from the ceiling to the ground.
Meanwhile, the smoke-missiles¡¯ trajectories curved in an effort to strike him, but they only ended up drawing a line of holes along the wall in front of where he landed, passing through the water and kicking up a cloud of nasty mist. A spark of hope; their homing was limited.
Achmed spun around, continuing to run backwards as he watched and waited. That black sphere exploded, throwing 143 across the tunnel and into a wall, blowing off the Stillborn¡¯s legs below the knees, and leaving ominous black smoke eating away at the stumps, almost like a smoldering alchemical flame. Achmed continued retreating, dodging, and blocking the missiles that managed to reach him with his Wing Barrier. Each one struck with terrifying force, making it no wonder why the stillborns didn¡¯t hold up so well against the intruder. Their firepower was truly monstrous.
Even wounded, 143 fought back, raising its arm to the intruder. A barrage of pinpoint-focused shockwaves bombarded the invader, each punctuated by a high-pitched sound, but the shape neither slowed in its march nor showed any other signs of being affected. There was only one sign that the weapon was even hitting; the deformations in the armor. With each shot, a dent the size of a coin formed on the green-eyed demon¡¯s monolithic chestplate, but each time, the armor¡¯s eldritch runes pulsed with light and the metal simply buckled back into shape. Without slowing down or even turning its head, the matte-black monstrosity turned its left arm to 143 and recorded the end of the stillborn¡¯s struggle in oily splatters upon the wall.
Feverishly clicking the detonator, Achmed cursed the fact that after playing with it, he had forgotten to make sure it was set to detonate all paired charges at once. With each click one of the charges came alive, its respective rod slamming into the wall as the surrounding spikes grew out at odd angles, creating obstacles and preceding the true detonation.
Somehow, someway, the shape simply stepped out of the way of the spikes, as if it knew exactly where they would go just by looking at them before they grew. In a rapid sequence, numerous such stone spikes grew, dense enough to skewer or entrap the invader. The main charges were then consumed by forceful vibrations, their tetrahedral shells resonating. They were not mere pyramids full of gunpowder; instead, they sequentially released enormously powerful shockwaves with a range precisely confined to the tunnel¡¯s inner volume. The first shockwave traveled down the tunnel, and Achmed had to stop moving and cover his ears.
¡°No collateral damage, fucking bullshit¡¡± he seethed inwardly. Each shockwave that came made his bones and tendrils shake, immobilizing him and disrupting his focus. The tunnel was indeed untouched, however.
When the shaking stopped and Achmed looked the way of the killzone, he saw nothing; just a brownish cloud formed from the powderized stone spikes and vaporized water.
194 - Sewer Wars Pt. 3
As the cloud of dust and mist started to clear, Achmed saw it. Utterly unharmed, in fact it looked like the shape had completely bypassed the killzone before the charges had even gone off. An unearthly aura of pitch-black smoke rose from the invader¡¯s armour, as if it was some cursed ghost that had just walked straight through solid stone. Achmed raised his Wing Barrier without even thinking.
Some thirty meters downrange from him, it stopped. Somehow, he felt that it knew that firing would be pointless, it knew that he could effectively defend against its missiles while retreating too quickly for it to catch him before he got back to the mansion.
But then, the green-eyed demon adjusted its stance, turning side-on and leaning forward on the right leg to the extreme with the left leg outstretched backwards. It tucked in its right arm; a tackling stance, resting the left hand on its belt. With the turn of a dial, an ominous aura of dense smoke and embers enveloped the figure, and it pointed its left arm¡¯s casting catalyst¡ Backwards.
For a moment, Achmed was confused. To add to his confusion, that raven spirit from before appeared once more, simply coming into his awareness as if it had been invisible until now. It just flew above him, strangely not attacking, only to stop dead-still, hovering near a wall while looking further down the tunnel.
This moment of confusion was, inevitably, broken. With an enormous rumbling noise, the green-eyed demon went flying down the tunnel straight at him, seemingly riding a pillar of smoke and flame like some sort of giant firework.
COUPLER CHARGE
BLACK SUN COMET
Achmed quickly ran up the wall, hoping to simply avoid the charge to save his life. This job was just that, a job, so he would not offer up his life for the mafia. The demon glared at him, but passed him by as it went tearing down the tunnel. The raven, however, was different. It suddenly spoke to him with a demonic voice full of accusation: ¡°Filth.¡±
Achmed turned just in time to hear the spirit speak again: ¡°None can save your soul. None escape the wrath. Repent.¡±
And just like that, the bird vanished in a puff of smoke.
Krahe had fully intended to turn that wall-walker into a greasy smear, but she had severely underestimated the difficulty of controlling the coupler charge. Though the strain of harnessing the Black Sun Coupler¡¯s full power was substantially reduced by her strengthened body and the Viridaimon Armor¡¯s unique design, it was nonetheless sufficiently severe that she had no choice but to entirely focus solely on maneuvering through the tunnel¡¯s curves. She didn¡¯t feel any particular regret about leaving the gangster alive; Casus would get to him.
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The rocket-charge didn¡¯t last nearly long enough to cover the full distance to the mansion¡¯s basements, but that was a mercy; immediately following the coupler charge¡¯s end, the Viridaimon Armor lost power. Without proper training and lacking typical safeguards, the coupler charge had dumped every iota of power output. The light in the armor¡¯s eyes sputtered out, and its full weight bore down on her. It was so suffocatingly heavy she could only walk, stumbling over to the wall. Over the course of a few seconds, the armor returned to life and the burden eased, but the belt had not been spared. It was still functional, but drawing on it for combat-level power output, let alone further coupler charges, would inevitably destroy the belt¡¯s internals. She wanted to make it last, given the enormous power and durability it afforded her, but she knew better than to rely on a self-destructive prototype, let alone to assume that it would last the full length of a combat operation.
Krahe checked if the wall-walker wasn¡¯t following her, feeling a pang of disappointment when she found that he wasn¡¯t. She then continued onward, and reached the entrance to the mansion¡¯s basement complex before long. It was a whole cargo loading dock, with three branches spreading out. The frames of great bulkheads yawned empty, and the loading area was deserted¡ At first glance. In reality, there were indeed people here; she learned that the hard way from a multicoloured hail of magic and bullets, erupting from several spots. Behind pillars, another on an elevated walkway, a pair beyond a corner, inside a storeroom filled with a maze of containers. A quartet of those borged-out things dropped down from the ceiling where they had been hanging, screeching and weeping as they charged headlong towards her on all fours.
And so, the first true battle began. Even as she was, armored and armed to a degree sufficient to take on mid-rankers, Krahe was still at a disadvantage here. A direct battle was a foolish idea even with the Viridaimon Armor.
Striding sideways through the awkward layout of the loading dock, Krahe immediately began forming a smoke grenade before Astro Diving. Just this act was enough to damage the enemy¡¯s morale, with screams of possessed ancient armor abounding, while the few who retained their full composure screamed orders at the so-called ¡°Stillborns¡±. Meanwhile, Krahe circled them like the ghost she appeared to be, ducking into the storage room before surfacing and tossing the smoke grenade. As she entered, she raised a jade wall to block off the entrance, leaving only one other. She sent Barzai to watch over that entryway as she cleared the rest of the storeroom. There were only two people here, huddled together in the corner; a man and woman, or more appropriately, a boy and a girl. Cowards with no killing instinct and auras about as strong as Mohawk, and dressed in a similarly threatening biker-esque style. Given the situation, it made them appear even less threatening. She openly walked between the rows of crates towards them, and whimpering, one of them fired off a purplish buzzsaw crackling with electricity.
The electric saw flew by Krahe¡¯s head, not for lack of accuracy, but because the boy¡¯s intended aim was so obvious. As such, Krahe just tilted her head out of the way. The saw bit into the ceiling and travelled some distance before it sputtered out.
195 - Sewer Wars Pt. 4
As she looked down at the two, Krahe decided that she didn¡¯t care to kill them. They barely looked like adults, their eyes lacked any sort of hardened shine. They didn¡¯t belong here¡ And they reminded her of stupid kids back in Megacity Gamma. Stupid kids that joined gangs, thinking it was a glamorous lifestyle, only to get shot like dogs to protect bastards that actually deserved those bullets.
With a gesture, she raised a slab of smoky jade so that it would entrap the two of them in the corner, but only pushed it to chest-height so she could easily peer over it. The Viridaimon Armor made her a head taller, granting her a truly towering presence at over 200cm. Fully exploiting the ominous size and stillness of motion granted by the armor, Krahe leaned forward slightly to look down at the pair.
¡°You won¡¯t be this lucky next time,¡± she said, her voice distorted and deepened by the mask. ¡°Get your shit together. Perhaps go to one of the churches or join a proper agency. You don¡¯t have what it takes to traffic children for man-eating fly-men.¡±
The boy had gathered his wits, standing as tall as he could, staring back at Krahe with a defiant, but fearful gaze. She leaned in further until she could see the boy eye to eye from only centimeters away, then willed Viridaimon to uncloud the lenses as she conjured a handful of CRC Rings into her hand. They totaled 5000 DDs in value, including four of a 1000 DD and two of a 500 DD denomination so they could be split evenly.
Sprinkling them onto the moron¡¯s head, she added: ¡°That¡¯s a good thing. Stay still and be quiet. The panels last an hour¡¡±
At that moment, Barzai alerted her to an approaching person. She was surprised it had taken them this long to build up enough guts to try and suss her out. Turning on a bootheel, she raised her left hand and formed yet another smoke grenade in her right. Before she moved on, she added: ¡°...And avoid the Silversword Agency.¡±
She had barely interacted with them whatsoever, but those interactions combined with what she had heard and read about them had sowed the seeds of distrust and dislike. Out of every group in Audunpoint, they reeked the most like a typical black company.
Krahe approached the storeroom¡¯s entryway, raising a few more barriers as she went to prepare the field, leaving the Forming Toroid at roughly half charge. That default 2mx1mx30cm, 10-charge slab was really too much for most uses.
In these close quarters, using Tracers was not the ideal choice. She directed the belt¡¯s output to the catalyst, building up a charge while embedding it with the mental pattern of Deathsmoke Spray.
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As the first man stepped into the storeroom, Krahe already waited for him. At that instant, she released the smoke burster, letting it burst at her feet. She released the charge, and instead of a stream, the casting catalyst expelled a burst of black and red that smashed through the man¡¯s wards and sent him flying like a ragdoll. He trailed blood as he flew, crashing into the edge of a crate and smashing his head against it, both of which his wards soaked up. He was left there wheezing in shock with a fist-sized chunk of meat missing from his stomach, and growing larger with each passing moment as the deathsmoke ate away at his flesh like a smoldering flame spreading through steel wool.
This was the exact ¡°shotgun¡± effect she had been looking for when she first conceived of Deathsmoke Spray. It was just a shame it was locked away behind a high-performance prototype Mamon Coupler. Knowing how these things went, even if she eventually bought a production model it wouldn¡¯t come close to this.
She let a few more of them come for her, but didn¡¯t just hole up in the storeroom expecting to win using that position. They were on the defensive here, and could just call in more reinforcements from above. Time was key. And so, Krahe formed a monstrously powerful burster with a long fuse, having Barzai carry it near the doorway. Meanwhile, she crossed the storeroom, stepping over a mangled corpse and a whimpering soon-to-be corpse on her way to a solid wall. This particular spot was perfect, as when she skimmed to the other side, she ended up covered on two sides.
What she couldn¡¯t have perfectly foreseen was that the two Stillborns were still sniffing around the blocked off door, as if even their own allies didn¡¯t want to interact with them. The one that lacked visible eyes emitted a loud click, then whipped around to face Krahe.
And so, she was forced into a melee with this monstrous thing, and Sector 7 Style¡¯s close-quarters methodology kicked in once more. That is to say, Krahe tackled the creature, shoved her left fist into its chest, and blasted its Ward generator apart with two shots. Once it was on the ground, a downward punch with her right hand half-severed its weapon-arm, leaving the joint ruined and black veins whipping about, gushing oily hemolymph.
The next abomination was already upon her before the first died, and so she rose up, stomping on the first one¡¯s neck as she threw the second like it was a ragdoll. While far heavier than its frame would suggest, the thing was still skeletal, and the Left Arm was already strong enough to lift a hundred kilos without issue. With the Viridaimon Armor¡¯s extra strength and weight, this feral borg-zombie was more dangerous at range than up close¡ And she had just given it that range. That was a problem; it started firing on her before it even landed, its sonic weapon pounding her armour like a jackhammer. Thankfully, the problem was easily solved with a prolonged burst of Tracers, shattering the bioweapon¡¯s wards, tearing off its arm, and continuing through the hole into its chest cavity thanks to Krahe circling the thing. True, this exposed her to direct fire from the actual people, but she just pulled her arm upwards a bit and tossed her smoke grenade.
196 - Tarnished Silberblut
Over and over again, Krahe shamelessly threw filthy, Isotope-laced smoke grenades, skimmed through walls, and simply rendered herself untouchable when the enemy¡¯s numbers and knowledge of their home turf proved superior to her tactical planning.
The slaughter went on like this for several minutes.
There were survivors, ones who reached the ground level before she did. One was in shock, and couldn¡¯t utter anything other than the words: ¡°smoke¡±, ¡°black armor¡±, ¡°ghost¡±.
The other swore up and down that it had to be ¡°Blackhand¡¯s Big Brother¡±.
Casus carried the boy a short distance from the underpass before setting him down. He understood that Blackhand wanted to prevent the child from witnessing the gruesome reality of things, and he was in agreement. Right afterwards, he pressed in the eye of his belt, initiating the transformation. His body was consumed by a surge of golden flame from the belt, a projection of its star-shaped pupil emerging, rising to Casus¡¯ head-height. A silhouette wrought of silver flame followed with it, and the full phantom simply stepped back into his frame, silver flame momentarily overtaking gold, only to be consumed. In that instant all the light and flame vanished, leaving behind only his armored shape. Despite its increased complexity, the transformation only took moments; it was so quick it almost felt wrong, sped up, incomplete. That last part was true.
The Silberblut Coupler spoke, its tone resolute and melancholy at once: ¡°Divine crusader, hero of justice, reforged in flame.¡±
This ¡°Tarnished Silberblut¡± was not the new armor which Casus had manifested at the end of his training. Instead, it was born from the ¡°Crusader of Black and Gold¡± boon as Heroic Subjugation¡¯s effect on the Silberblut Armor in its base state, forcing the armor to better suit Casus¡¯ own preferences instead of making Casus automatically adjust his fighting style. He found it to be somewhat more resilient and physically stronger, but a bit less agile; not for lack of agility or speed, but because of its increased bulk. He also found that the strain on his body was vastly reduced, as he was not undergoing excess change with each transformation to compensate for lack of compatibility.
He scooped up the child as if he weighed nothing, put him on his back, and took off running. Faster than his motorbike, he shot through the streets, the child holding on for dear life.
The sound of rapid, heavy footfalls approached the shrine. A dark silhouette sprinted through the entrance, golden light spilling from every crevice of the stranger¡¯s form like flame from a ramshackle furnace. Lucia froze mid-turn as she beheld the tall man set a run-ragged child before her. He said something about keeping the boy safe and that he had been rescued from a human trafficker, but only the vague contents of his words and the tone of his voice registered to her in her shocked state.
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At first, she had not recognized him, but¡ This was definitely him. The belt, the voice, the armor. All wrong in some way, yet all too familiar. In an agonizing few seconds, Lucia unthinkingly took the child into her arms as she took in the familiar mamon knight¡¯s armor.
A single, stone eye stared down at her, an azure abyss overlaid by a four-spoked star of burning orange, and this self-same pattern now reigned within his belt¡¯s eye.
The Silberblut Armor¡¯s previously gleaming silver had tarnished to a matte-black shade, and the armor now bore significantly bulkier armor on the forelimbs. The golden crown upon his brow had grown substantially, forming horizontal, quarter-circular horns to either side alongside a third, dull-ended vertical horn, which ever so faintly resembled that of a stag beetle. Four peculiar motes of golden flame circled above his head.
In place of a closed vertical eye, his chest now bore two horizontal ones. To go with the eyes, the lower torso plates were shaped to imply the presence of a face¡¯s lower half just below the surface.
The left gauntlet was even bulkier than the right, possessing an additional closed eye. His arm-blade was the largest change, being clearly attached to his arm as a separate weapon rather than seamlessly incorporated into the armor. It was the shape of a four-pointed star with one of the points ¡°stretched out¡± to form the blade.
His aura of cold, steely imposition was gone, replaced by a numinous warmth spilling out of him like he was the sun. It was not physical heat; the shrine¡¯s interior was as cold as it always was at night, and yet it was real all the same.
¡°Casus Aristedes? What happened to you? Need I report your state to the Inner Wheel?¡± she blurted out without thinking.
¡°There is no need. Safeguard the child¡ And perhaps prime the shrine guardian for tonight. I must go. Once tonight is over, you will know why.¡±
With that, he was gone, not a phantom, but a matte-black bullet leaving a trail of golden flame.
Some time later, after making sure the boy was uninjured and settling him in the back of the shrine, Lucia acted on Casus¡¯ advice. Behind the shrine¡¯s altar, a shape of gleaming metal sat, shrouded in a heavy robe, sitting on its pedestal in a relaxed pose with its head bowed too far for anyone to more than glimpse its face. It was a statue to all but the most well-read adherents, but to the shrine and others who knew, it was a far more immediate promise of safety than the Banishment Veil. It was also a far more immediate threat of violence to those who would foolishly think this small shrine was unguarded.
Lucia carried out a ritual of offering up sacrificial liquor, burning incense, and elaborate dancing whilst chanting a specific sutra. It was not a sutra from any scripture, but one written particularly for this idol, embedded within its body.
197 - They Just Vanished
By the time the ritual was over, the boy had come out, just in time to witness the shrine guardian lurch upward. Its mouth creaked open, and it drew in every iota of incense smoke in the vicinity. The guardian thumped its staff against its altar, and a seven-spoked wheel of golden flame blazed alight behind it. Another thump, and the wheel turned by a full revolution. The shrine was enveloped in golden light, and the doors slammed shut.
Another thump. Another revolution. Reams of blessed paper erupted from the guardian¡¯s sleeves, flying upward into the rafters and out of sight, circling the shrine. Thereafter, the guardian went silent, the wheel projection behind it fading until it was barely visible. The next morning, four known Hashem Family members would be found in the vicinity, bound by these same reams of sacred paper.
Meanwhile, Casus shot through the city streets even faster than before, his maximum speed no longer bounded by the presence of a small, fragile passenger. He took sharp alleyway turns one after the next without slowing, sometimes running along walls and other times tilting his own body as if he himself were a high-speed motorbike, tearing into the pavement with his arm-blade to help steer. He only stopped at the hidden door, and then it was back to full speed from a standstill.
Even the small loss of manoeuverability really stung, but somehow, Casus liked this better. A man-shaped battering ram.
Mirzaii 2. The ballroom. A chamber of refined luxury stained by ongoing debauchery. The air inside was thick with a miasma of smoke, alcohol, and a rainbow of fumes from drugs of all kinds, covering the full spectrum from the natural to the synthetic. The number of guests was nearly equal to the number of entertainers, and in turn, to the number of guards. A band of nervous musicians played an eclectic set of their greatest hits, songs that hadn¡¯t done well, and hastily-prepared covers, all picked out by their employer. They had, of course, not known ahead of time that this employer was Semzar Hashem, but the enormous paycheck and equally generous tips had sufficed to encourage them. It wasn¡¯t as if they could run at this point.
At the other side of the ballroom, a woman clad in naught but translucent silks and jewelry danced on a hexagonal stage that was slick with blood and viscera. The intermingling of human and saurian blood coloured her bare feet a strange shade of purplish scarlet, readily concealing the talismans that safeguarded her from slipping.
¡°The patrols are gone, sir. All of them. The same is the case for the men we sent out to assess what happened to the patrols.¡±
The man speaking was a baneworm hidden inside a mountain of muscle, which in turn was hidden by a mountain of fat; such bodies made it easier to hide his possession of them, and his preference had named him: Strongman, Big Guy, Fatman, on and on. He, the baneworm, didn¡¯t actually have a personal name, simply making one up each time he took a new body. Even as he was, riding in a 2m meat mountain, he was in the submissive position here. He looked up from where he knelt, the disdainful facade of Semzar Hashem, the heir¡¯s irritation distorting his meatsuit¡¯s handsome features.
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¡°Gone? The fuck you mean gone?!¡± Semzar barked, throwing a glass full of atrociously expensive liquor. Instantaneously, a nearby manservant cleaned it up, tendrils of azure magic extending from the jewels on his glove¡¯s knuckles to lift the mess into a trash chute.
Semzar proceeded on a multi-minute rant which involved drinking and spilling three more glassfuls of that liquor. While this went on, Strongman tuned out most of the heir¡¯s inane rant and carefully took in his surroundings.
To Semzar¡¯s left and right, a small harem of women was gathered. In Strongman¡¯s experience, such groups were usually made up of the ambitious, self-employed women of the night, and those who had no choice in the matter, illegally owned or otherwise coerced by a third party. He wondered what the ratios were in this case. They didn¡¯t seem particularly dead in the eyes, at least.
Behind Semzar¡¯s opulent seat, there towered an enormous, two-and-a-half meter tall evoy. He exuded a stoic threat of violence at any perceived aggression, his compound eyes perpetually twitching in place as he observed his surroundings. He looked unlike any other evoy, unlike even the rare war-morphs; in short, he looked wrong. His left arm particularly stood out, being so engorged that its chitin plates bulged apart and showed the musculature underneath. Its base shape even diverged from the evoy¡¯s other arm. To the giant¡¯s sides, four further guards were posted. Their forms were mostly evoy-like, but twisted and misshapen, each more heavily grafted than the next. These graft-beast abominations were scattered all throughout the mansion.
Finally, after calming down somewhat, Semzar leaned forward and asked: ¡°Explain what you mean by ¡®gone¡¯. As I recall, I spent a great deal on communications specifically to prevent this.¡±
With each word, the mask of calm cracked, tendrils and veins showing through as anger crept into his voice again.
¡°We ah¡ We haven¡¯t received any calls, good or bad, in the last twenty minutes. Somehow, all of them seem to have just disappeared into the astral. The same thing happened to those we sent to check, and¡¡± Strongman said, partially repeating himself.
Before Semzar could speak again, explosions sounded in the distance.
A wave of tension swept over the ballroom. Even that giant evoy turned his head in that direction, ever so subtly. He leaned down to Semzar, uttering something in his ear. The heir listened with rapt attention, then barked out a series of commands that included ones which pertained to Strongman himself. In effect, he was calling for the mansion¡¯s security contingent to go on high alert. It made sense, but Strongman instinctively filtered out the brat¡¯s actual words, coming away only with the general meaning.
However, before Strongman could actually get to doing his job, one of the ballroom¡¯s doors swung open, a shell of a man stumbling through. His hair was burnt off in places, one of his eyes had burst open, and fist-sized chunks were missing from his left side.
¡°T-the basement, it¡¯s¡ It¡¯s Blackhand¡¯s big brother¡¡±
198 - Re: Yazata Heptaxia
Initially, Yazata wasn¡¯t particularly fond of these ¡°Red Hoods¡±. Battle-automata that they were, they mimicked human behavior far too closely without the cognitive capacity to be held accountable. They lacked the token animalism of graft-beasts, and bore no esoteric spark to imply the presence of an eidolon intelligence; they were animated wholly by artifice, and were just as unsettlingly cold as that implied. Faceless things they were, yet at once their steel-silver bodies had the shapes of young girls, and each possessed hair of a subtly different colour, hidden under the titular hooded cloak of scarlet fabric.
On the way to the Mirzaii Subdistrict, Yazata and her force of freakish silver maidens encountered some to-be-expected resistance. Even spread out as they were, Yazata was still obviously an inquisitor, and the Red Hoods were an even more immediate bogeyman to the city¡¯s miscreants than her. As they moved towards their goal, they identified and subdued nearly twenty patrolling Hashem Family foot soldiers.
And so, it came to be that she found herself bombarded with a rapid-fire barrage of Red Reapers from a first-floor window. It was inevitable, fully expected. This was no ambush - it was the path of least resistance.
She simply stepped to the side of one red comet, drawing her bar-mace with her right hand and holding out her left. Her eyes burned with purple light as she poured power into both the bar-mace and the Black Bindings that enveloped her body. Five reams of Black Binding sprung forth from her sleeve, capturing an encroaching reaper, and with a simple gesture, she sent it flying back. She hopped between two further reapers that had reached her in the intervening second, which appeared to be pushed away from her onto wildly divergent trajectories, debris and crimson energy colouring the space behind her as she simply walked at her adversaries.
All it took was a glance; she merely had to meet their eyes to get them in her snare. Sheer mental focus honed to a razor point, set loose as a torpedo just beneath the skin of reality. A petty hex, but enough to make the trio freeze up on the spot. It lasted all of a second and a half, but that was more than enough.
Finally, she felt her mace come alive, and she chanted under her breath: ¡°Oh, Black Trapezohedron, sound forth from the spires of Zor¡¯Aguhastra¡¡±
The black metal of its blade began thrumming with an unearthly sound, a thick distortion dripping from it, only upwards; it was like a heat-haze, if a heat-haze was as thick as pouring blood, and if it twisted the world itself rather than the air.
With a simple horizontal swing, an invisible force carved a gash across the wall, its existence only betrayed by a wake of the same distortion that enveloped Yazata¡¯s bar mace. The windows exploded out of their frames and the brickwork crumbled. One of the men had his skull cleaved open, while the two others were sent flying back like ragdolls.
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Two steps forward and a moment later, the light finally reached the ends of Yazata¡¯s black bindings. They shot out as if alive and mercilessly dragged the trio out of the building, slamming the one with a cleft-open face into the cobbles while restraining the other two. Yazata let out a sigh through her nose as she willed her bindings to restrain the two survivors, detaching the rest once it was done. They were not physical restraints; the survivors¡¯ heads were entirely wrapped up, their awareness sealed for the duration, rendering them vegetables for the next several hours. Yazata honestly wished it were always this easy to place mental restraints.
Following this negligible obstacle Yazata regrouped with her contingent of Red Hoods, directly approached the Gate of Mirzaii, the main entrance to the gated slice of decadence that included the target building. The address numbers only went up to 5, yet it took up an enormous swath of land, with anything and everything the owners could want on their properties. It made perfect sense; Audunpoint had never lacked for space, and according to intel, this place had been well outside the living city¡¯s bounds at the time of its original construction. In short, the city¡¯s expansion had only caught up to here in recent years. The walls were like those of a small fortress, ten meters tall and shimmering with reinforcing runes, with translucent barriers extending further upwards. The Mirzaii Subdistrict was, by all means, excessively well-defended. Yazata decided to look into the owners of these properties after this was over and done with.
Gathering in front of the Gate of Mirzaii, they found it closed, and a guard in well-wrought silver Mamon Armor stood in front, in defiance of intel. It was clear he had been stationed here specifically as another layer of defense.
Covered in fluting and elaborate inlays head-to-toe, the wide-shouldered man possessed a truly baroque countenance befitting of the place he guarded. A large sword of equally complex design simply floated behind him. He lacked a typical belt; instead, to his left arm was attached an enormous tower shield which incorporated the Mamon Coupler into itself, constantly projecting a barrier and its surface shimmering with the implication of warding. Despite the thickly-layered imagery, Yazata could identify no outward sign of the guard¡¯s affiliation to an agency.
¡°Halt. What is your purpose here?¡± he asked in a stern monotone.
Yazata simply poured a wisp of thauma into her pendant. The golden, seven-spoked wheel floated a hand¡¯s length from her chest, shining with golden flame. The wheel then shrunk inward, transforming the symbol into a spiky, seven-pointed star with the wheel in the innermost third.
¡°I am Yazata Heptaxia, Inquisitor of the Inner Wheel. By the authority vested in me by the Seven Spokes, I demand you allow my contingent and I to pass unimpeded. Our purpose in the Mirzaii Subdistrict is the detainment of Semzar Hashem, son of the mafioso Damrus Hashem, whom I have good reason to believe currently resides within the mansion on Mirzaii 2.¡±
The gate guardian stared her down, motionless, faceless, for a solid five seconds.
¡°Unfortunate. I was not aware,¡± he stated, retrieving a large key and touching it to the gate. As its enormous wings swung open, the guard walked off to the side, continuing: ¡°I will see to it that my handler conveys my contract to the church. I would request that I be compensated for the loss of income from any goods confiscated as a result of your investigation. I am sure the Seven Spokes will understand.¡±
199 - Two-pronged Attack
Yazata very nearly raised her eyebrows at the man¡¯s temerity, but she let it go. It was not her problem. She led the Red Hoods into the Mirzaii Subdistrict, quickly approaching the mansion. They encountered no great resistance on the approach, easily subduing enemy patrols before they could use their glorified consumer-grade communication artifacts. Yazata continually observed the maidens and learned of their behavior as they followed her commands, noting that, unlike most automata, their adaptability was just as good as the technical documents suggested. With each encounter the Red Hoods grew less stiff, requiring fewer direct instructions.
Before the final approach she took a moment to look over each of them, adjusting the Black Bindings she had attached underneath their shells.
¡°No erosion, good¡ Sympathetic transfer efficiency will be quite bad, but I will accept what is given freely,¡± she thought.
It was time. The Red Hoods encircled the mansion, forming an enormous heptagram. At this point, the mansion¡¯s windows swung open and its protective barrier flared, being tightly contoured to its walls. A deluge of hostile magic and gunfire poured out, but at this range, it posed little danger. Yazata captured the occasional would-be hits with her Black Bindings and sent them flying right back at the source.
The ritual proceeded without delay. She uttered a word, and it rang with the sound of a hollow, bronze bell.
The eye-like glyphs covering her hair vanished in a burst of purple light, reappearing suspended before the face of each Red Hood.
A second word, outstretching her arms. Black Bindings once more sprang forth from her sleeves, joining her with the Red Hoods and surrounding the mansion.
A third word, and the Red Hoods mimicked it, her bindings flaring with power and strain as these unliving things conducted such a profound force.
¡°The strain is too great, it shan¡¯t work at this rate.¡±
The base cost was already enormous. With the added resistance of using these dolls as the other participants, Yazata had no way to power the ritual under her own strength.
With some remorse, she sent out several more Black Bindings, connecting them back to fourteen restrained foot-soldiers in the general vicinity. Onerous though it was, she crossed one of her many lines and used them to power the ritual, hijacking their Soul Furnaces for the moment. Like the supplicants of an unkind god, the small crowd rose up and came stumbling towards her, but she had gotten what she needed long before they could reach her.
The final, fourth word rang out, and the world ruptured. There came a cealess scream of unearthly pitch. The Red Hoods were consumed by Black Bindings, growing out from inside their shells, liquid distortion spilling out as their silhouettes distorted, overlaid by something else, yet undeniably under their control. At the same moment, all of her extended Black Bindings were drawn back towards Yazata, gathering into a sphere before her. The sphere of empowered bindings exploded, instantaneously filled by the shape of a chthonic monstrosity visible to the naked eye only as distortion.
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HIGH THAUMATURGY
SIGN OF THE PRETENDER-ARCHON
WITCHCRAFT HEPTAGRAM: DREDGING THE DEEP GULF
The screaming ceased. From beneath Yazata¡¯s stoic mask, a cackling laugh escaped.
Seven seals undone, seven beasts from the deep astral called forth and bound to the material, dragged along like caught fish just beneath the surface.
¡°In accordance with the Third Tower¡¯s ancient accords, heed my shining words, o children of the fathomless deep! Go forth and eat your fill, o hounds of the Nameless Roaring One!¡± she invoked, still cackling as she drew the Black Trapezohedron.
This was Yazata¡¯s personal definition of witchcraft. Understanding and wielding the truly esoteric and forgotten in order to gain strength far beyond one¡¯s raw talent, using knowledge and craft to subvert the limits of nature. The method had a dozen restrictions, and all of them, she had solved.
The mansion shook and the shouts of men carried through its halls. An enormous force struck against its barriers, hammering on without reproach. The outside world laid out of sight, shutters having long slammed into place over the windows.
Thus, Krahe made her way into enemy territory, checking corners and pushing deeper.
Unfortunately, the building was designed with several chokepoints, and, it seemed, the defenders had expected an intrusion from below. Perhaps they had even learned of her invasion somehow; she hadn¡¯t had the time to count the corpses.
A phalanx of three gun-armed stillborns blocked the hall, and behind them, four men stood. Three looked fairly typical for gangsters --- of these three, two appeared on-edge, while one was downright panicked and wildly looking around. The fourth seemed to have his wits about him, and, by Krahe¡¯s guess, looked to be the controller of the three stillborns. His eyesockets were like bottomless pits, the skin around them coloured black, and yellow-glowing gemstones sat within them, far too small for his face. A pretentious, curled mustache sat beneath his swollen, bloodshot nose. They swiveled Krahe¡¯s way the moment she came into view, and she felt appraisal wash over her, seeping into the Viridaimon Armor.
¡°Ah. Blackhand¡¯s older brother, is it? You¡¯ve made a real mess of things, you know. No matter how good you are, you can¡¯t beat the odds. I know what you are. ¡°
Older brother, is it? she thought for a moment. The man¡¯s eyes flared. Something vaguely akin to appraisal washed over Krahe, but it didn¡¯t try to intrude the way direct appraisal did.
¡°A fourth-order voidkey! Fourth!¡± the small-eyed man exclaimed, as if that would save him. Distant footsteps signaled the approach of enemy reinforcements, so she had to act quickly, but she also needed to buy time before she could break through decisively. And so, she willed the Black Sun Coupler to ready another Coupler Charge.
¡°Odds? You want to talk about the odds?!¡± the green-eyed demon scoffed through its mask. It waved its left hand about, gesturing with its catalyst like a conductor¡¯s wand while its right hand remained clenched tightly to its chest, hidden by the shield on its forearm. The raven on the shape¡¯s shoulder emitted a cackling laugh. Someone threw a chair. The raven¡¯s eyes flashed, and the chair exploded into a hundred pieces mid-flight.
¡°I¡¯ve seen a full squad of armored killers get wiped out by a myopic car nerd and an overweight alcoholic armed with two-shot pipe guns. These¡ These are downright great odds!¡±
It threw something.
The hallway turned into a cloud of choking smoke and razor-sharp glass glitter.
200 - The Ripping Spear in the Corridor of Gehenna
Chaos usurped the reins and any semblance of the enemy¡¯s team cohesion shattered. They all started acting according to their own plans, following whatever plan they had agreed to in only the vaguest sense.
Wooden arms exploded from the walls, grabbing at a silhouette that was not the green-eyed demon, but one of the stillborns. Flammable liquid sprayed all throughout the hallway, soon blazing forth with green fire. The shapes of three canine beasts rose up from a carpet, only to instantly succumb to the fire.
Of the group, the small-eyed man reacted the fastest, barking an attack order to the stillborns as he manifested a spear and shield of cyan-glowing, glassy arcane force. He thrust it forth and a beam of force erupted from it, and wherever it touched, the hardwood floor exploded as if it was being ripped open, subject to enormous tearing force. It even managed to nick Krahe¡¯s leg, yanking her forwards into a wide, low stance.
The small-eyed man let out a sound of triumph as if he could feel that he had gotten a hit, and bashed with his shield, sending an explosion of reflective shards tumbling through the smoke cloud. Krahe was already out of the way by that point, having closed the distance. Another beam came from the spear, reflecting and multiplying, bouncing around in the field of shards and diffusing through Krahe¡¯s smoke cloud, illuminating it in its entirety. The beams converged at a seemingly arbitrary point and tore out the chest of the panicking gangster, whom Krahe had shoved into the same spot where she had stood when she was hit. Just from looking at it, she could tell diffusion in her smoke had robbed around a third of the beam¡¯s strength. It was less than she had predicted, but then, it was pure magic, not light.
Despite the wide range of different abilities presented by her foe, the borged-out abominations were her main concern. A person she could suppress, and that¡¯s what she did, firing roughly down the hallway. But these things, they had no self-preservation, and had the wherewithal to make that actually mean something. Their implanted ward generators were far stronger than the inax surgeon¡¯s version, and their pure physicality easily surpassed that of someone wearing a dregsteamer belt. Combined with their inbuilt weapons and the fact pain or shock wouldn¡¯t stop them from fighting, they were the real threat here.
A force composed specifically to forestall intruders fell apart into panic and incidental infighting, while the one trained professional struggled to stay alive. Siavash set off two more refracted beams from his spear before a mass of sparks and smoke ripped into his wards and sent him stumbling back a step, falling to one knee. At that point, he instinctively called his shield back, the shards reverting to one whole.
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Decision paralysis took hold. Vague silhouettes whirled through the smoke, intermingling and briefly becoming illuminated by bursts of orange and green. The intruder¡¯s footsteps mixed with thunderous thumping and the incessant, obnoxious calls of that raven. Siavash glimpsed the intruder¡¯s form as it tackled one of his men against a wall, burying its fist into his stomach. Thump. Thump. Two flashes of orange, two gusts of dense ash and smoke racing out of the otherwise stagnant smoke cloud. His lower body slid down, and the upper half soon followed with it, tumbling down. The small-eyed man took a shot, but it just flew forward unimpeded, the armored juggernaut gone like a ghost. Just as it seemed like the smoke was thinning out, a black sphere rolled out of the cloud and transformed the world into a choking limbo all over again.
Before long, just Krahe and the small-eyed man were left. He was breathing heavily, leaning against the wall with his shield held up, looking Krahe¡¯s way as she kicked the head of a stillborn against the wall. Thump. Thump. Thump. Crack. They both pointed their weapons at one another in an uneasy standoff, both waiting for their own reinforcements.
¡°You¡ Are too good for your readings. What are you doing, skinwalking as a low mid-ranker? Somehow lost your real gear, hm?¡±
Krahe didn¡¯t answer. The stillborn¡¯s wards finally gave under her boot, and the lower half of its head followed soon after. She turned her gaze towards the small-eyed man, causing him to shrink back a bit, the grip on his spear tightening as a flare of power built at the weapon¡¯s point.
¡°Look, I don¡¯t much feel like dying here,¡± he said, trying to speak to her again. ¡±That¡¯s way above my paygrade. I¡¯m not with the Hashems, I¡¯m just one of the contractors they brought in for today. What¡¯d you say I just get out of your path and we go our separate ways?¡±
¡°Your voidkey. Pull it. Then you can go.¡±
She could see the reluctance in his gaze, but that resistance suddenly gave way when she took a step towards him. His eyes flickered back and forth, and then, a ray of death screamed forth from his spear, flying right by Krahe¡¯s head, passing left-to-right in front of her eyes. It had never been intended to hit her, but to obscure her vision as the small-eyed man fled ¡ª even if only for a split-second. Despite instinctively letting rip a prolonged burst of tracers in his direction, he disappeared beyond the corner.
Krahe gave chase, not in order to kill him, but to pass the chokepoint. From there, she picked out a room, cleared it, and set up shop inside, waiting while Barzai sat on a wall sconce just outside. She had never planned to push particularly deeply into the mansion on her own, and this seemed a good point to wait for Casus. This was also a good opportunity to give the Black Sun Coupler a rest, as Krahe had felt it straining during that last fight. She didn¡¯t expect it to hold out much longer.
A small group ran through the corridor just outside, but none checked inside ¡ª their attention was pointed entirely outward, at the things besieging the mansion.
201 - Rendezvous
Indeed, the mansion shook and a wave of discordant magic washed through the floor, blackened lines showing through the carpet as the stench of burning fabric filled the room. Through Barzai¡¯s eyes, Krahe saw similar backlash taking place in the hallway, spreading from one particular window. At its precipice, the walls burst open with the force of rupturing arcane circuitry, the phenomenon she had observed being just the waning aftershocks. In the next moment, an indistinct distortion clawed its way through that window¡¯s shutter, outlined only by black wrappings. Within the silhouette floated a Red Hood, seemingly controlling the form. It sprinted down the corridor, broke into a room, and dragged out a screaming, thrashing bane-saurian. The distortion monster bit into his head, but he remained physically unharmed. He screeched in a rather bird-like manner as something flowed out of him into the manifestation, and he went limp, soon discarded like an empty soft drink can.
As far as she had been briefed, she should have had no fear of being attacked by what was obviously a result of the witch-inquisitor¡¯s skills. She still preferred to stay away from esoteric, unknown, and extremely dangerous combat vectors, even if they were allies. After all, even if it had no intentions of harming her, she might get caught in the crossfire.
The possessed Red Hood made its way deeper into the mansion. Krahe waited until it was gone, then decided to follow in its wake. A small part of her regretted not laying eyes on it directly ¡ª that same part was thoroughly convinced that the distortion-creature was familiar, somehow, not in terms of having met or seen it before, but in terms of its fundamental nature.
Before long, Barzai saw a pair of familiar faces running for their lives ¡ª gangsters who had run down the way they were now running from, towards the basement. One of them, unfortunately for him, barged into the room she was hiding in. A prolonged burst of Tracers did just the trick, sending the man stumbling back out that door in a seizing, gore-spraying dance. His half-pulped corpse soon slumped back against the outer wall.
A third, fourth, and fifth came running from that same direction, but long before they could even reach the now-open door of Krahe¡¯s hideaway, a matte-black blur bulldozed through them, leaving one missing his head and the other writhing on the ground, legs broken. Now that he had stopped, she could see; it was Casus. He squatted down next to the survivor, said something to him, and moved on, with the survivor crawling towards another room.
Krahe willed Barzai to reveal himself, making sure Casus saw him before calling the eidolon back to herself. The banisher followed as expected.
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¡°Took you long enough. Close the door,¡± she said.
¡°How long have you been in this room? Is the suit locked up?¡± he asked, approaching her where she sat, immediately kneeling down to inspect her belt.
¡°Not long. The belt seemed to be struggling so I decided to give it a rest and wait for you to get here. Didn¡¯t think it had enough juice left to get me to the upper floor.¡±
¡°A correct assessment,¡± he said, standing back up. ¡°Perhaps half a minute of combat output. Perhaps finish it off with a ranged coupler charge. If you give the mental command, the armor should self-destruct as part of the charge. It will be more potent that way and spare you from the aftermath. The coupler will likely not survive, however. The inserted voidkey will be at risk as well.¡±
¡°Can¡¯t worry about that. I¡¯ll just implant Atomica, won¡¯t have the time to pull the Shardkey out of a busted belt anyway,¡± Krahe replied, holding out a hand. Casus pulled her up without wasting a moment.
¡°It will take me some time to go through with the implant, so it will be up to you to cover me,¡± she added.
Casus gave a nod.
¡°Let us go,¡± he said.
Despite expectations, they encountered minimal resistance on their way to the foyer. Krahe sent Barzai up ahead to do a quick fly-through. The first thing she noticed was the state of the foyer itself. Signs of combat were widespread, with five or six corpses strewn about ¡ª she wasn¡¯t sure, some were torn apart while others were just dead with no visible wounds.
At the top of the stairs, the defenders had set up a barricade using furniture and a pair of small thaumine-fired barrier generators. There were eleven human defenders ¡ª eight male and two female gangsters, all in cheap suits, the glaringly-obvious commander and four stillborns. The man was giant, with a bear-like build, and was dressed far too well to be a footsoldier, wearing a properly fitted, real suit that heroically contained his bulging gut. The stillborns were arrayed behind the barricade, not in a good position to readily spring into action against an attack from the stairs. One of them ¡ª an abnormally lanky man with a third eye crudely implanted in his forehead ¡ª pointed in Barzai¡¯s direction as he flew through, calling down an ill-aimed outburst of bullets and magic that didn¡¯t even come close to hitting the eidolon.
Krahe immediately decided that spending her last coupler charge on breaking the barricade was the best choice. She reached to her belt, twisting its dial, honing her mental focus as she did so. Shivers ran down her back as the belt began creaking under strain, with the only reason the defenders didn¡¯t hear it being that they were making far more noise.
It would be nothing complex ¡ª a projectile that flies a certain distance and detonates in mid-air. A glorified Six Trees Killer. She had considered actually constructing a giant one with the casting medium as an ad-hoc thruster, but the armor dashed that idea by resolving her mental command with a much simpler response of what it could do.
The power would be an order of magnitude below the Daemon Core, but Krahe was certain it would at bare minimum smash apart the barricade, disable most of the defenders, and at least seriously wound the commander.
202 - Black Sun Nova Burster
Smoke, ash and cinders began pouring out of every crevice of the Viridaimon suit, enveloping her in a swirling maelstrom. It resembled a swarm of insects more than anything else. Her casting medium, meanwhile, formed a small bead of sputtering, flame, an ember more than anything else, and yet, its radiance grew. As if being fed with pure oxygen, the Black Sun Coupler roused an ember to the intensity of raging fire. She began walking through the short intermediary room separating this wing from the foyer, raising her arm above her head.
Streams of pyroclast gathered there, swarming like moths around a candle, casting a dark kaleidoscope of unsettling shadows over the foyer as countless shouts rang out and magic began raining down. All was consumed in the storm of pyroclast; in its self-destructive final flare, the Black Sun Coupler brutishly devoured hostile magic and converted it into yet further power for its final attack, its core blazing with the final flare of a dying star. Two Red Reapers, a Yellow Atropal, and four independent, albeit decently potent thaumaturgies struck her. With each one, the ember burned brighter, and cracks spidered across the plates of her armour. A fifth thaumaturgy came, a ghostly fist wrought of stone-grey energy. It landed with such force as to send her stumbling back, caving in her chestplate and knocking the wind out of her. It was that bear-like man, and his other hand was already encased in another ghostly fist just like the first. Even as her body screamed for air, Krahe leveled her arm at her point of aim, above the defenders¡¯ heads.
Barzai had manifested without prompting at some point, circling around her. Screaming and laughing. Krahe could barely move now, her thoughts wholly focused on firing this off and then immediately diving.
¡°Hahahahaha! Burn them under the fallen sun! We know what must be done!¡± the eidolon cawed in a manic tone.
With a low roar, a column of flame came pouring out of the casting medium, simultaneously propelling the sphere of ash and cinders whilst pushing Krahe back. Not the Viridaimon Armor ¡ª Krahe herself. The recoil impulse coincided with the Viridaimon Armor¡¯s final and total structural failure, pushing her out through the suit¡¯s back, which crumbled under her weight with barely any resistance.
Her dive was instant. The moment she felt the air on her own skin, she dove into the astral other, and briefly beheld the aftermath of the Red Hood¡¯s rampage within the foyer. The traces were everywhere, almost painting a picture of how it had slaughtered those gangsters. Krahe¡¯s visual calculus did not have the time to even begin working out the puzzle, of course ¡ª there came a high-pitched squeal, a brilliant flash of light, and the air caught fire. The room fell victim to a pyroclastic flow worthy of an actual volcano ¡ª not in scale, but in intensity. Krahe couldn¡¯t tell how the effect operated ¡ª she certainly couldn¡¯t see through the mess, doubly so not from her side of the astral gulf.
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FINAL COUPLER CHARGE
BLACK SUN NOVA BURSTER
In her state, she couldn¡¯t remain submerged for long; she barely managed to escape the foyer back the way she came, and was left with a nearly bottomed-out entropy tolerance at the other side. Casus glanced down, nodded, and turned the corner in her wake, shutting the door behind himself ¡ª not before Barzai slipped through to be the lookout, of course. Last she saw of him through her own eyes, the four stars above his head began revolving so quickly as to form a contiguous halo. A moment later, she both heard and felt his explosive take-off towards his opponent, with Barzai¡¯s sightline becoming obscured by a cloud of dust.
Krahe unbuttoned her back pocket and pulled out the Twin Serpent Key, shoving it into place behind her ear. Already, she could feel her wards crumbling, and the Twin Serpent Key¡¯s re-implantation only slowed that decay ¡ª it couldn¡¯t hold them together properly. The labour of wrenching open a window to her Kenoma Sack began as the sounds of superhuman violence played out just next door. Rapid footsteps came from the other side, the wing of the mansion they had entered through, and Krahe¡¯s instinctive reaction at that moment was wall. Without a moment¡¯s hesitation she dragged a 10-charge slab of smoky jade from the ground, stretching it out to obstruct the double-winged door. She heard it open moments later, and bewildered profanity followed. The people on the other side banged on it, even shot it, and then ran off. Fifteen centimeters of magically reinforced stone would stop a fair bit, a couple reapers, even, but Krahe had no illusions of true safety. She pushed harder and harder, painstakingly dragging the box out of Kenoma¡¯s grasp as Casus fought in the other room. Tremors from his clashes with the head of security reverberated through the floor and walls, and set the overhead chandelier swaying ever so slightly.
Casus beheld the aftermath of Lady Blackhand¡¯s final coupler charge. He instantly deduced it to have been some variant of burster, perhaps an empowered variant of the Six Trees Killer ¡ª a ¡°Sixty Trees Killer¡±. He chuckled at his own wordplay.
Only the backless, one-armed husk of the Viridaimon Armor remained in the midst of the sanded-down foyer, and a layer of ash covered everything. The barricade had been torn asunder, one barrier generator still heroically soldiering on as thaumine dripped from its cracked fuel tank, projecting a garbled wall into the air.
Two of the defenders had survived the blast, alongside, it seemed one of their graft-beasts.
One was an enormous man in an unmistakable suit ¡ª the militarist-fusion work of Kharim Bayat, or a truly faithful, high-quality imitation. The man stood at the top of the stairs, his suit only slightly charred, clearly having faced the blast head-on. Two giant forearms of translucent grey force rose before him as he held up a boxer¡¯s guard.
Despite blocking it entirely from the front, Lady Blackhand¡¯s coupler charge had clearly bypassed that defense, based on the fizzling and flickering wards around the man¡¯s sides and back.
As for the other human survivor, it was a three-eyed man, currently stumbling away as he coughed up globs of copper-green sludge. He had hidden himself behind his commander, likely using a high-coverage barrier to shield himself from the secondary element of the attack. The graft-beast was at his heel, scuttling behind him until the larger man called for it, causing it to join him instead.
203 - Return the Flesh You Stole
The sizable man stared down at Casus, grey force coalescing around his fists and continuing further up his arms. The telltale tendrils of a baneworm twitched under his skin, concealed somewhat under a generous layer of fat.
A grey fist came flying at him. Casus shifted to the side and came running after his foe right away, closing the distance.
The man was impressive ¡ª his strength rivaled Casus¡¯ own, and despite his size, he was no lumbering brute. It was true that his sheer size limited his mobility, but what movement took place was both calculated and explosive. His technique was equally impressive ¡ª a mixture of common bare-knuckle boxing techniques elevated through understanding and adjusted to fit the user¡¯s nonstandard anatomy. It wasn¡¯t every day one met a man built like a hippo ¡ª that is to say, a mountain of solid muscle disguised by far less fat than there seems to be. On top of that, he seamlessly weaved thaumaturgy with boxing, using only simple but rock-solid techniques to magnify his comparatively far more advanced martial arts.
Casus matched the giant blow for blow, seeing something unsettlingly familiar in him. He wondered what exactly it was, and in the midst of their second exchange, he realized it. Tsetse. This was astonishingly similar to Tsetse¡¯s style, but focused near-exclusively on the arms.
Right hook. Casus blocked it, ducked right, and drove a flame-wreathed uppercut into his foe¡¯s armpit. A left hook came flying in, but Casus willed his arm-blade to spin, its force throwing the punch off-course, cutting through the wards, and biting into flesh. Without time to spin up in advance, it didn¡¯t get much further than a shallow cut.
He immediately hopped back, landing across from the giant. To his right, the stairs and the rest of the foyer. To his left, a scorched, ash-encrusted double door, beyond it a hallway across which awaited the door to the ballroom. The graft-beast was banging on the door beyond which Lady Blackhand was, but Casus held no doubt in her ability to deal with just one of those things. Still, he shouted a warning ¡ª he couldn¡¯t afford to do much more.
Though he had not noticed it, a fifth star had joined the four revolving above his head, and with it, his strength had grown in all aspects.
Casus had decided: this battle would end with the next exchange.
¡°My name is Casus Aristedes. Return the flesh you have stolen and go unto Kenoma,¡± he recited as he pressed in the eye of his belt, expecting no reply.
¡°Some call me Strongman,¡± his foe replied, not divulging his true name.
The third exchange came and went, a dance of violence. Casus took some hits, but compared to Tsetse, Strongman was a manageable opponent. Merely applying what he had learned from his fights with Tsetse was enough to start pressuring the giant.
Such was his thought process: How could he ever become something more than a mere shadow of Silberblut if he couldn¡¯t even best someone objectively weaker than Tsetse, let alone Tsetse himself?
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To any reasonable individual, of course, this was an absurd mindset, but it was the epitome of reason for Casus Aristedes.
His heroic aspirations demanded him to surpass himself, and with hope and anger in his heart, that was what he did.
Strongman didn¡¯t understand what was happening.
With every passing moment, that black-armored Mamon Knight was just getting stronger and stronger. He called himself Casus Aristedes, and sure, his suit resembled descriptions of the Silberblut Armor, but it clearly wasn¡¯t the Silberblut Armor. The eye on his belt was all wrong as well, and the outer rim was the colour of copper instead of gold.
And yet, somehow, he would have preferred to be fighting Silberblut right now.
He had sent out his emergency ping before that explosion, but no help had arrived yet. Even that stillborn had left his side, bashing at a random door on the lower floor for some forsaken reason. Strongman hated this¡ But he still put up his fists and summoned his strength.
Moments earlier¡
The moment it was out of the box, Atomica¡¯s seals sloughed off, revealing a gleaming mass of opaque, red crystal. Despite its far weaker physical glow, it still seethed with an immense aura ¡ª noticeably less intense than it had been right after transmutation, but far more solid. Tendrils of crimson energy reached out for Krahe and the key floated towards her hand, floating near it. Only one talisman stayed in place ¡ª it stated the voidkey¡¯s system readout.
[ATOMICA REFULGENT, FRACTURED SOLOMONIC KEY]
[Tags:]
Fourth-order
Voidkey
Incomplete
Imprinted (Brunhilde ¡°Blackhand¡± Krahe)
[Details:]
Thaumic Throughput +C1^
Entropy Tolerance +D3^^
Entropy Dissipation +D3^
Thaumic Fusion Efficiency +18%^^^
Isotope Tolerance +D1^^
Isotope Dissipation +D2^
It curiously showed which aspects had grown during its stabilization period, with small upward arrows next to each attribute signifying growth. A side effect of the seals? she wondered, thinking back to Yao mentioning the possibility. She peeled it off, stowing the box back in her Kenoma Sack. The readout continued onto the other side ¡ª there was one new line, a reiteration of the warning Yao had given her about possible collateral damage.
First-time implantation of this voidkey will reshape the holder¡¯s Soul Furnace, permanently conferring the following Boon: ¡°Astral Implosion Furnace¡±
This voidkey may be safely implanted only by the Imprinted individual. Implantation by any other individual will result in catastrophic Soul Furnace rupture (as with simultaneous implantation of two voidkeys).
First-time implantation may cause volatile thaumetic phemonema. Conduct in a safe place free of fragile objects and/or people.
Stowing the paper in her Kenoma Pocket, she quickly formed a tar tendril, grasping her gun with it ¡ª the loaded clip held six mescalt bullets. After that, she extracted the Twin Serpent Key, her unenhanced dissipation more than enough to maintain that one tendril. At the instant the Twin Serpent Key was out, her thoughts of implanting Atomica triggered something. With a pulse of red light from the hexagonal voidkey, Krahe felt a searing hot sensation race up her right arm, quickly spreading throughout her entire body, settling in her chest, in the same place she felt the flame of thaumaturgy when channeling. Her spine and ribcage thrummed with a strange vibration, a dull headache took hold, and then, she knew.
204 - It Scuttled Like That One Scene in The Exorcist
The Atomica was preparing her Soul Furnace for the reshaping it would undergo during actual implantation. She was stuck like this for now. As she wondered how long it would take, a new HUD element manifested, a simple percentage bar. It readily faded out of view, but Krahe remained aware ¡ª agonizingly aware ¡ª of its wavering rise, slowly going up and down by half-percent increments, totalling out to a gradual rise.
She suppressed a groan ¡ª one of frustration, pain, but worst of all, pressure. With each percent, Atomica shone brighter with both light and power, and so did the flame of thaumaturgy within Krahe¡¯s chest. A ceaseless deluge of power roiled inside her, flowing back and forth through the voidkey. Withstanding it was one thing, she could do that, but she was deathly certain that proper thaumaturgy was beyond her. She had the one tar tendril, and that was it, all else would be theurgy or crude energy expulsion.
As far as facts went, she could see herself just sitting here for a minute or however long the process took, hiding.
But she felt that was not possible. The Atomica burned too brightly.
Casus shouted a warning through the thunderous noise of his battle with the chief of security, but Krahe had already seen what he was warning her of through Barzai¡¯s eyes. All the borged abominations had snapped in her direction, one already rushing towards where she was. She knew with certainty that she could not dive as she was ¡ª it would be catastrophic for what was taking place between her and Atomica. But a skim¡ She could afford that.
The abomination scuttled up to the door, smashing and wrenching. Soon, one of the hinges bent and broke, and the stillborn leapt in through the hole, flying perfectly towards Krahe. She adjusted her position, waiting. At the last moment, she wrenched control of the enormous flow, forcing it into her left arm. With a flash of red, she sprung upward from the ground, arm cocked back. She unleashed the punch at the last moment, sending the stillborn flying towards the vaulted ceiling. The pressure in her Soul Furnace waned ¡ª she would have to let it build up before doing something like this again. A silver lining, it appeared that the flow readily scoured away all impurity, be it entropy or isotope, meaning her dissipation was currently comparable to how it would be with the Atomica fully implanted. It was not a particularly thick or lustrous lining ¡ª in effect, it only meant that as long as the process continued, she was effectively operating on a cooldown system.
Before that thing could fall and possibly become a problem again, Krahe jumped through the half-busted door and went running. The floor under her feet shook and thunderous impacts reverberated as Casus did battle with that strongman-looking guy in a nice suit. He parried flying fists of grey force with his arm-blade, casting them towards the walls as if they didn¡¯t carry the force of two Yellow Atropals each.
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Strongman took note of her between clashes, throwing a flying fist her way. Krahe skimmed out of its path rather than risk a physical dodge, and immediately regretted her decision. As she emerged, in that instant of extreme time dilation that allowed her to reorient herself, it felt as though the Liminal Coil had been struck with a tuning fork-shaped sledgehammer. The enormous flow of energy going through her roiled and whirled about in an unstable manner, forcing her to lean against the wall as she ran across the foyer.
That one moment of distraction had sufficed for Casus to push his already obvious advantage even further, carving gashes into Strongman¡¯s wards with a flurry of flame-wreathed slashes of his arm-blade. Krahe didn¡¯t have the luxury of watching ¡ª two more stillborn had crawled out of the woodwork to come after her, one of which was familiar and had a gaping hole in its chest. Somehow, by some stroke of luck, that punch hadn¡¯t hit anything important for that abomination¡¯s functionality. She could see its ward generator peering out through the ruined flesh. It took her two shots to hit the cabling and send the creature tumbling head-over-heels ¡ª her aim just wasn¡¯t that good using a tendril instead of her own hand.
Atop the foyer¡¯s stairs, Strongman reared back for a desperate strike, holding both fists together as he struck out, placing his enormous body-weight behind the punch. A giant grey fist flew forth ¡ª it was a meter wide. He instantaneously began melting down when the thaumaturgy came out, and it seemed as if Casus could be hit for certain.
This was true. Casus didn¡¯t dodge.
At the instant of impact the eyes on his chest shot open, filled by the same exact pattern as his belt.
And in a blaze of gold-silver flame, his armor devoured the thaumaturgy. Another mote of flame flickered to life above his head, and he approached his foe.
¡°Ah¡ So you are Silberblut!¡± Strongman wheezed, his form stiffened and rendered monochrome by his ongoing meltdown. A coughing laugh sounded from him ¡ª Strongman had already come to terms with his own impending death.
That death came to him just as he expected. Casus skewered him with an uppercut, running his blade under Strongman¡¯s ribcage and up through his skull. The baneworm tried to burst out of his body¡¯s eyes, but golden flame consumed his true body all the same.
As Casus wound down and spread out his focus once more, he noticed Lady Blackhand running from one of the stillborn. Just as he was about to aid her, she turned in place, and with her palm turned towards the graft-beast, a red flame exploded from her hand. It was far too violent, far too unfocused to be called thaumaturgy. Nonetheless, the discharge of raw power sent her flying through the foyer, and in turn obliterated the stillborn¡¯s upper half.
Casus nonetheless aided Lady Blackhand ¡ª she shouted ¡°Catch me!¡± as she flew, and he did. He then immediately dropped her, for his instinct screamed when he touched her. The energies coursing through Blackhand made her as though a roiling furnace to his sight.
205 - They Were Good Foldovers, Semzar
¡°Are¡ Are you alright?¡± Casus asked.
Krahe gave a nod, raising her right hand. The Atomica floated in her grasp.
¡°Pre-implantation attunement, can¡¯t use thaumaturgy properly until it¡¯s done. One-third of the way there.¡±
She glanced the way of the stillborn¡¯s toppled lower half.
¡°Something tells me those won¡¯t be the last freaks to blindly chase after me in the meanwhile.¡±
¡°Of course. You are a walking beacon,¡± Casus agreed, walking up to Strongman¡¯s corpse. He took the keyring from his belt and moved to unlock the doors that stood between them and the rest of the upper floor. ¡°Do you think it may be better for you to hide until you are in a more combat-ready state?¡±
¡°As it stands, I am¡ Somewhat more combat-capable than with the Twin Serpent Key. My wards will hold out a bit longer, and you¡¯ve seen what my unrefined energy output can do. Tactically speaking it would be best for me to purposely draw the graft-beasts away from the ballroom, and thus away from Semzar. I will be able to outmaneuver them, possibly barricade them all out of the way with the last of the Forming Toroid¡¯s charges.¡±
¡°Moreover, humouring Semzar with a face-to-face confrontation would likely work, given his personality¡¡± Casus thought aloud. Clack. Clack. The circuits of the door¡¯s warding flared for a moment, and then it slid open.
¡°...A bulkhead disguised as a swing-out door? How tasteless,¡± he remarked.
As it slid open, they beheld¡ Nothing. At first. The hallway was deserted, with neither guards nor stillborns nor barricades waiting for them. In fact, it was suspiciously calm. Then, the door across slid open just as the first one had, revealing the ballroom, and right through the precipice, Semzar upon a sofa, surrounded by women and guards ¡ª a throne of debauchery.
He was visibly pressing something on an unassuming remote control ¡ª Casus could see that it was emblazoned with a ¡°closing door¡± glyph, but he didn¡¯t get the time to say as much. Both doors began closing, only for Krahe to summon short walls as she passed through, jamming their mechanisms open.
Krahe, despite being undeniably the more vulnerable of the two, walked right into the midst of the enemy, adjusting her stride to exude an aura of piss and vinegar to match her very real aura of writhing, seething magic. She was in a weakened state, but she also exuded the single brightest aura in the building, and it wasn¡¯t as if anyone could discern that her state was anything other than a power-up ¡ª certainly not with any of the half-dozen appraisal attempts that feebly washed over her.
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Behind Semzar, Tsetse stood, calm and motionless ¡ª entirely in contrast with how Krahe remembered him. It felt like a different person piloting the same battle body. Countless performers and lower-ranked gangsters were clustered throughout the ballroom, but only a vanishingly tiny minority seemed ready to fight, even among those who seemed competent at a glance. The majority of Semzar¡¯s security force comprised stillborns and their handlers ¡ª about sixteen stillborns in total, three to a handler. Of these sixteen, only one in three had visible weapons, and less than half had ward generators. Most of them were also sonar-types, with domed ¡°helmets¡± that lacked visible eyes. Their heads immediately snapped onto Krahe, and some of them began approaching her, only for their handlers to pull them back ¡ª some with commands, others using physical leashes.
¡°Zavesh, spare me, and here I thought I was ready to meet you in person. Is your face rejecting you, or is that what you consider handsome? Is your venom gland perhaps atrophying?¡± Krahe sneered at the sight of the mafioso¡¯s visage. It was nearly identical to how he had looked when she first saw him at the smokery, but his jawline and cheekbones were even more pronounced. He resembled a plastic surgery addict who got lucky and ended up looking only somewhat grotesque.
¡°So speaks the half-burnt anathemist. I expected you to be more cowardly in your approach ¡ª to think you would have a sense of decorum about coming after the boss of a rival gang¡¡± he replied, visibly trying to put on an air of self-collectedness. The panic behind his eyes nor the twitching of his tendrils could not be denied, even as he smugly raised a cocktail from the table and poured it into his gaping maw, exhaling a puff of bluish mist.
¡°Rival gang?¡± she balked. ¡°The bounty you put on my head was one thing. I was almost flattered, really. Then, you sent Crescent Jezail after me, twice, and even paid him for a custom shot just for me the second time! Didn¡¯t work, I can tell you that much! But the last straw, what made me decide to tear you out of that stolen skinsuit with my own bare hands ¡ª was that you had a street vendor killed just because I bought my breakfast from him. And what, did you think I wouldn¡¯t find out it was you? Or that I wouldn¡¯t come after you? I liked that food cart, Semzar. He made good foldovers, Semzar! I really miss that fucking food cart, you half-Gor¡¯ah trust fund fuckboy!¡±
The mafia heir shrunk back at that last phrase as if he¡¯d been struck.
Krahe felt Casus¡¯ cold, firm hand on her shoulder, snapping her out of her tirade ¡ª despite being physically cold, an ephemeral warmth spread out from the spot he touched. Krahe had to gather herself. She realized she was much angrier about Imraal¡¯s death than she had thought. Her anger had shown itself in her tendril gesturing wildly with the Pattner, randomly aiming it at the members of Semzar¡¯s retinue. She hadn¡¯t noticed herself giving into all her built-up anger and frustration, so busy was she trying to wrangle the flow of thauma within herself. She masked it by fishing a cigarette out of her pocket, lighting it up. Then, she immediately went back to pushing, not being willing to let up an advantage of psychological pressure.
¡°You wish this was just a gang war. That leaves room for politics. This is both a personal and a church matter ¡ª and would you look at that, both of your victims are right here, and it just so happens we''re the executioners to boot!¡±
She finally took a drag.
¡°Aristedes, if you would.¡±
Casus stepped forward.
206 - Ballroom Shootout
A dozen men aimed their guns and thaumaturgies at the black-armored banisher. At least three unique iterations of Mohawk¡¯s ¡°bladed chains¡± motif sprung up among them. Pandemonium unfolded ¡ª but the gulf between Silberblut and his foes was simply too great. None could strike him, let alone harm him.
¡°What are you waiting for?! Kill them!¡± Semzar barked as the women swarmed away from him and he raised his barrier. It formed instantly as a flat wall of purple force, letting off mist and electric sparks, before bending to wrap around Semzar¡¯s personal space. The instinctive ease with which he wielded it betrayed that it was stolen from his current host, the body acting before the worm¡¯s mind realized what he was doing. After realizing he had raised a defense, his head whipped to and fro as he called out: ¡°Cabral? Cabral!¡±
Tsetse looked down at Semzar in silence. Almost resigned, he stepped forward to interpose himself between his employer and Casus. At this point, Casus felt the geyser of power swirling around Lady Blackhand intensify even further. Through the eye on his back, he could see her holding that voidkey above her head as she ran, power visibly bursting from her arm. Were it anyone else, Casus would have expected them to explode at any moment.
¡°Your name is Cabral?¡± Casus asked matter-of-factly, in his hand grasped a battered corpse. The mass of flesh shuddered as a bullet tore into it. A Red Reaper followed right after, shredding what was left of the dead man¡¯s rapidly-dissipating wards and tearing off a third of his torso alongside his left leg. Casus dropped the body, but the shooter was already fleeing.
Tsetse answered in the same manner: ¡°Cabral Khan. You will not find me in your church¡¯s registry.¡±
The true battle started only then. Those with half a brain and a will to live had already cleared out from the middle of the room, and many had scurried away, with guards quietly opening other doors in an effort to facilitate evacuation.
The two warriors faced off - tremors carried through the floor and thunderous impacts rang in people''s ears. The alien whirring and bassy thumping of Tsetse''s sonic weapons played the percussion, whereas Silberblut seemed to fight in an almost restrained manner, avoiding coupler charges in favour of trying to feel out his opponent.
It seemed, at first, that Silberblut might even keep up - at first. Within two exchanges it became clear Tsetse still had the upper hand. Within three exchanges, Silberblut was obviously on the back foot and Blackhand was soaring overhead, riding on a scarlet pillar of high-energy thauma.
As she felt the tides of chaos rising, Krahe raised her right arm, purposely stoking the flow of power between herself and the Atomica. Many pairs of eyes immediately turned her way. The Atomica responded instantaneously, and as the intensity of the current grew, so did the intensity of the Liminal Coil¡¯s resonance, until the pain was nearly unbearable. In turn, the glow of her left arm also intensified, narrow geysers of crimson energy erupting from the cracks as a constant blowtorch-like flare vented from her palm. A second and third tendril inadvertently emerged from her back due to the sheer energy output, their nascent silhouettes writhing under her suit the same way her muscles twitched and seized.
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Bullets and thaumaturgies were loosed her way, but the power writhing about her swept them aside ¡ª bolts of power went careening wildly in other directions, while bullets were simply obliterated. Nearly every stillborn in the ballroom immediately began doing everything in its power to reach her, some dragging their handlers along. Others responded to their handlers¡¯ attempts at control by turning on them. Two packs slew their handlers, and in turn their heads exploded, adding further to the chaos. Only one handler managed to retain control of his beasts ¡ª another man with an implanted third eye. He did so by dragging them over to Tsetse, who exhaled a misting of what had to be pheromones onto the creatures.
Having achieved her goal and not wanting to risk it any longer, Krahe disposed of the excess energy as best she could ¡ª by expelling it directly. The only problem was that the mere thought of doing it was enough to set it off, well before she could properly align herself. She went flying through the ballroom, leaving a gaping, seething hole burned straight through the floor, rampant magic eating away at its edges even as she flew. On one hand, the pain abated right away. On the other, there was no way she would be able to reorient herself mid flight. Skimming was her only choice, and something told her the backlash would be an order of magnitude worse this time around.
In the span of moments, she did several things. First, she ripped a pen-type autoinjector kicking and screaming from her Kenoma Pocket, despite the item¡¯s audible creaking and the scraping of otherworldly fangs against her skin. One out of many she had looted from dead bodies, it was loaded with Class 3 Pain Suppressant. Second, she willed her tendril to squeeze the Pattner''s trigger just as the pistol happened to be pointing in the right direction. The bullet struck Semzar¡¯s back. Not nearly enough to get through his wards, but he certainly felt it.
The landing was just as rough as she had feared. She skimmed at the last moment with the intention to shunt all her momentum, landed perfectly on the ground, and immediately doubled over in pain as the people around her stumbled back, visibly being pushed away as the carpet under her feet unraveled and burned. The painkiller, somehow, made it worse. As it spread through her blood, the secondary effects of pain fell away, and even the nature of her pain changed, but it remained, and alongside it, all other sensation was altered in turn. Her insides felt like a wriggling sack of serpents, her eyeballs throbbed in their sockets, and that was just the start of it.
Nonetheless, she could move again, and that she did. She wove through the mass of panicking bodies, and was provided ample cover by the half-stampeding crowd that had formed around the ballroom¡¯s outer perimeter. Such was the threat of collateral damage that even numerous gangsters, despite being able to harm Silberblut and especially Krahe, had been cowed into inaction.
207 - Flight of the Crow [+Artwork]
The small comfort of using a crowd for cover didn¡¯t last long ¡ª Krahe¡¯s aura still pushed people away, and they readily scattered from her even without its encouragement. The stillborns were hot on her trail. She just needed to drag the abominations out of here, and until then, she was glad to let Casus and Tsetse take the center stage. She certainly wouldn¡¯t grace that man-fly with his preferred name, even in thought.
As she made her way to one of the ballroom¡¯s staff exits, she caught sight of a saurian guard waiting there. Countless scales flowed out of his sleeves as he channeled his magic, swarming towards Krahe. She sent herself flying through that door with a short burst from her arm, her wards gaining numerous new gashes as she flew into the corridor. A handful were only impeded partially, leaving cuts on her trousers and the back of her bodysuit. No followup attacks came ¡ª the guard was too busy avoiding the stillborns.
And so, Krahe went tearing down the mansion¡¯s corridors playing a lethal game of cat and mouse with a gaggle of bioweapons. Barzai proved himself invaluable in this matter, as Krahe had him always flying ahead, purposely leaving him visible. The sight and sound of him sent people running well before Krahe would arrive. The eidolon took quite readily to the command to scare off the chaff, harassing people with explosions as he cackled and foretold her coming as if she was an inhuman calamity.
Gradually, the stillborns closed the distance, most of them sprinting on all fours like animals. A few pulled ahead of the pack, standing out as particularly quick on their feet. To her surprise they exhibited a degree of tactical thinking, overtaking her in a clear effort to box her in. Krahe couldn¡¯t help but grin as she pointed her left arm right into the face of the stillborn behind her, releasing her built-up pressure and sending herself flying down the corridor. One of the stillborns that had overtaken her tried lunging at her as she passed it, but she sent it staggering back with a well-placed shot to the chest.
Yazata wasn¡¯t sure what was going on.
It was not a matter of lacking eyes inside the building. She could see through the possessed Red Hoods ¡ª or rather, through the things possessing them. The problem was, they refused to go to the upper floor. From what they saw through the floor, she couldn¡¯t blame them.
Its shape and damascened pattern suggested the astral body of a human Greater Pilgrim, and even carried with it something sacred, but it was¡ wrong, somehow. Terribly, ominously wrong. A shroud of pitch-black smoke swirled about the shape, obscuring details normally unseen without appraisal, exuding an implicit threat at all times. Like it was daring her to try and look closer, to see what would happen if she did.
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As the creatures they were, who supped upon the astral bodies of their victims, it was the ultimate form of aposematism. Yazata would have understood disobedience if she had tried to command her hounds to consume such a being, but they refused to even come into its vicinity.
Nonetheless, she continued playing her part, and simply commanded the Red Hoods to patrol the ground floor.
It was not as if she had nothing better to do than watch from afar. She was here not just to keep them in, but also to counter any possible reinforcements from the outside. Going by the group of four rather ominously-dressed individuals speeding towards the mansion at this very moment, that prediction was correct.
She struck the Black Trapezohedron against her leg, its blade reverberating with a deep pitch. Distortion bled upwards as she spun around to face the newcomers.
¡°Hear my shining words¡¡±
Yazata spoke, and lo, they heard, but neither their ears nor minds were spared the mercy of human language.
The sound of thunder carried through the ballroom as two armored figures clashed, darting back and forth with inhuman speed. Bursts of gold-silver flame and invisible shockwaves of sound tore into the floor, forestalled only by the mansion¡¯s abnormally durable construction.
With each clash, Casus grew to understand the rift between himself and Cabral ¡ª the rift between Tarnished Silberblut and ¡°Tsetse¡±. While he now knew that the individual¡¯s name was Cabral, in the absence of a known name for his transformed state, Casus simply shifted his perception of Tsetse from the entity as a whole to the transformation specifically. Even as he was now, he couldn¡¯t match the might of ¡°Abara Morph Tsetse¡±, it was undeniable. He could keep pace in physical terms, and his increased durability allowed him to weather direct blows, but once Tsetse brought out his sonic weaponry, the scales tilted steeply in the Abara Morph¡¯s favour.
He could read most of them, of course. Most. But Tsetse hadn¡¯t simply stopped evolving since their last battle. In their short battle, Casus had already faced three distinct attacks incorporating the sonic blaster in Tsetse¡¯s left palm. It was a horrible, wretched thing, adaptable beyond compare, as Casus soon learned. Both of them had landed blows on the other, but neither had caused any serious damage ¡ª not until the third exchange.
Tsetse threw a quick jab, one which he had thrown several times before as a normal strike, and without anything to hint at its altered nature, he imbued it with an insidious vibration at the last split-second. It couldn¡¯t be more than one-tenth of a second before impact, else Casus would have sensed it coming. His fist smashed into Casus, and speared him through with the same concentrated force as that which had defeated him back then, in the lab.
The shockwave continued through him, blowing fist-sized holes through three men before it shattered a window and dented its shutter. Casus followed, thrown backwards into that self-same shutter. He would have flown right out of the mansion had it not been there.
Falling to the ground, he picked himself up, uttering prayers to Zavesh. The pain was one thing, he could withstand it, and his armor could withstand the damage just the same. He wasn¡¯t the same Silberblut as back then.
He was praying because he had learned what he needed and felt the pain he needed to feel. A small part of him was relieved that Tarnished Silberblut didn¡¯t suffice against Tsetse.
208 - Eisenretter [+Artwork]
¡°Stronger. Not strong enough,¡± Tsetse remarked, a faint disappointment in his deadpan tone.
¡°You speak the truth,¡± Silberblut agreed. ¡°I must thank you, for reminding me that mere imitation of my predecessor would only doom me on my path. That my reason to wear this belt was just as important as my ability to do so.¡±
He reached for his waist, as if to press the eye of his belt for a coupler charge, only to detransform. To those who knew what to look for, it was obvious that this was not some kind of sudden failure, but an intentional act. Strangest of all, he didn¡¯t just detransform ¡ª he pulled the belt right off of his waist. At that instant his armor burned off of him, consumed by silver fire. As Casus retreated a few more steps, the burning ghost of his armor charged ahead to meet Tsetse, clashing with the insectile giant for a moment before disappearing.
Semzar shouted, and the three-eyed stillborn-handler to his left sicced two of his creatures on the banisher ¡ª one with clawed hands, the other with two gun-arms. Despite being stripped of his armor, his arm shot out with the force and speed of a cannonball, hints of golden flame flaring between the exposed muscle fibres. He shattered the charging stillborn¡¯s chitin with one punch and set it off-balance. Without wasting a moment, he tore into the same spot, his fingers digging into flesh and bathing in leaking hemolymph as he braced his foot against its chest. With a single motion, he tore out not just its side ¡ª but also a vital cable. Oily blue sprayed onto the tile as the graft-beast toppled down.
¡°No ward generator?¡± Casus asked as he threw the fistful of flesh aside.
¡°My employer expressed dislike for the sound they made. Those with ward generators were assigned elsewhere,¡± Tsetse remarked, pointedly tilting his head as he glanced at Semzar. ¡°Your specifications surpass my data. Your compatibility must be excellent to channel the coupler¡¯s power so readily untransformed. Two questions: How, and why? I sense no new relics. No new catalyst. No new voidkey. The change was you. How, and why?¡±
Tsetse¡¯s tone was full of curiosity, entirely unconcerned by the destruction of his toy. His attention was fully on the conundrum of Silberblut¡¯s abrupt growth.
Driven to nearly speechless fury by the implication that something was his fault, Semzar shouted for the onerous intruder to be struck down. Tsetse didn¡¯t move, but those surrounding him did. His silhouette was completely consumed by the assault, tearing apart the floor and engulfing him in a clashing blender of magic, but it was too late ¡ª he had donned his belt once again.
The shape of his armored form, of Tarnished Silberblut, had formed from silver flame, overlaying him without actually becoming the solid armor. Five stars of golden flame burned above his head.
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¡°I am a warrior of justice, not because I have been chosen, but because that is the path I chose!¡±
A sixth star ignited. Their revolutions accelerated.
¡°In my past life I fought for what is just, and in all lives that follow, so too shall it be!¡±
A seventh joined the six.
¡°Should the shadows grow darker than black, so be it! I need only burn more brightly than the sun, even if it leaves my armor charred black!¡±
Seven became one ¡ª a flaming halo with seven notches. It widened, descending to the ground, and with it, the armor of Tarnished Silberblut took form, pristine and gleaming for just this brief moment.
¡°Igaria steel my spirit and Zavesh guide my hand, so I pray!¡±
Then, from the halo, a fiery inferno erupted ¡ª at once, it consumed Casus Aristedes whole, and a projection of the seven-notched halo emerged in front of him, as tall as he was. One by one, bursts of golden flame flowed out of the flame-vortex and into each spoke, forming the shapes of additional armor components.
From the midst of the golden inferno, an enormous voice bellowed, one that did not belong to Casus, yet also slightly differed from how the Silberblut Coupler normally sounded. It was distorted in a manner that, to Krahe¡¯s ears, resembled a disrupted or otherwise incomplete signal.
¡°The son of ho-pe, broth-er to anger and cou-ou-ourage! Mamon Knight Eisenretter!¡±
In rapid succession, the new armor flew into the pillar of flame, joining with Casus¡¯ silhouette.
The swirling inferno tore itself apart, and the burning wheel which had given it shape rose up, shrinking to now revolve around Eisenretter¡¯s head. His previously horn-like crown had expanded even further, completing a physical halo. The lower half of his left arm was twisted into a gigantic, disproportionate thing, with spherical joints and clawed fingers, an extra cross-pupiled eye adorning the back of the gauntlet. By contrast, his right arm only possessed a minimal gauntlet, a curved blade attached to it and sweeping forward over his hand. The blade looked as if it had been melted in the transformation¡¯s flame, neither its star-shaped form nor elegant attachment joint anywhere to be seen. The close-eyed face on the suit¡¯s chest was a mismatched blend of the robotic and the demonic, with large golden fangs. Similarly, curved golden spikes protruded over the knees, and the boots had short claws of the same colour.
It was crude and incomplete, and yet, the sheer, unrefined power pouring out of Casus at this moment truly felt as if he was the sun.
THE SON OF HOPE
BROTHER TO ANGER AND COURAGE
MAMON KNIGHT EISENRETTER
-IMPERFECT MANIFESTATION-
¡°Lucky,¡± Tsetse remarked, a tinge of unease creeping into his voice.
Upon receiving a look of panicked confusion from Semzar, he added: ¡°Catalyst Resonance Evolution. All old-style speaking couplers could do it. Some modern models still can. Enormous performance increase through resonance with the catalyst. This one¡ Incomplete. He forced it. Got lucky. Hence the detransformation and the excessively complex transformation sequence. Can¡¯t do it properly.¡±
¡°Why did you not interrupt him, then?!¡± Semzar demanded.
Tsetse scoffed.
¡°Foolishness,¡± he said. ¡°In seven thousand years, do you think none have thought of that? Even the oldest couplers have countermeasures.¡±
209 - Taking a Stand
¡°Do you mean to tell me you cannot handle him? Did I pay you for nothing?!¡± Semzar hissed, trying to project the mask of an indignant, angered employer. It was a poor mask, all but see-through. His eyes trembled, his tendrils bulged under his skin, and his tone veered into pleading in the second sentence.
Tsetse, calmly, reassured his employer: ¡°I can keep him busy. Any more is beyond me as I am now. Unless you would prefer I go after Blackhand?¡±
It was clear that, in truth, Semzar still considered Blackhand the bigger threat ¡ª if for no other reason than because there was a good chance that Aristedes would try to capture him alive. Still, Aristedes was the more immediate threat, while Blackhand had run off elsewhere, somehow drawing away the vast majority of the stillborns.
As Casus Aristedes, Mamon Knight Eisenritter, took his heroic stand against Cabral Khan, Abara Morph Tsetse in the ballroom, and as Yazata Heptaxia took her own stand outside the mansion, so too did Brunhilde Krahe take a stand of her own.
It was not quite as glamorous as the other two, as her foes could not be said to possess the mental faculties to comprehend what ¡°taking a stand¡± even meant. They were, nonetheless, numerous and mighty, a writhing mass of grafted flesh and metal armed to the teeth with heretical technology.
The corridor was being torn apart around her, and her Wards weren¡¯t spared that fate, each grazing hit another step towards an injury she wouldn¡¯t be able to walk off. The only thing keeping her in the fight was her vastly superior mobility and tactical sense. Time and again, she had lost the stillborns thanks to a well-timed screen of smoke, their senses dulled and bodies impaired by the toxicity Arrha held to the Evoy. Yes, it was Arrha that had become her lifeline in this moment, it was this property that she imbued into her smoke eruptions after she had run out of Isotope to thicken her smoke with ¡ª or rather, she still had some Isotope, but she kept that bare minimum for forming Tar.
But even this wouldn¡¯t last ¡ª Arrha-imbued magical smoke dispersed even faster than that which she didn¡¯t imbue with any extra properties at all. She burned through a dozen cigarettes at a pace comparable to her expenditure of bullets, and at this point, her lungs burned. She couldn¡¯t tell whether the unearthly terribleness of that sensation was natural or if it ought to be blamed on the Class 3 painkiller.
¡°It¡¯s like my airways are full of menthol oil and glass dust¡¡± she thought, wheezing against a corner after she had barely given the jabbering swarm the slip for the Nth time. Barzai spotted them catching up to her all over again, but she was in no state to run again. She thought to blast herself out of harm¡¯s way once more, but the energy pressure just wasn¡¯t building like it used to. The power she could bleed off for her own use was quickly waning as the attunement process continued ¡ª the threshold where it felt as if she would explode became ever tighter.
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And so, Krahe purposely cornered herself, making for the end of the corridor. The door to a bedroom could be found there, but it was locked, and so, left with no other options, she burned up every remaining charge in the Forming Toroid to put up a barricade. It wasn¡¯t pretty and it wouldn¡¯t actually keep the stillborns out, but it would have to do.
They crashed into her maze of jade like a tidal wave, but soon enough, the smarter and lither among them began weaving their way through, while some others scaled the rods to climb overtop.
She shot down two as they reached her side of the barrier. A third withstood her last bullet, and she had to bash it in the side of the head with the side of her left hand¡¯s palm. That staggered it enough for her to knock it to the ground, its willowy, unarmed frame the graft-beast¡¯s undoing as Krahe caved in its chest cavity with a full body-weight jumping stomp-kick.
In the time it took her to achieve this small victory, two more abominations had made their way through, and both possessed weapons ¡ª the first a blasting array, the second a sonic weapon-arm as well as a ward generator graft.
It was at this point that she made a judgment call, and plunged the Atomica straight into her own chest. The sensation laid somewhere between connecting to a bitey nerve-interface and plugging in an overvolted charging cable. Krahe found relief in it, in the knowledge she hadn¡¯t just killed herself. Rather than refuse to go in, or worse, tear her open from the inside out, the Atomica resisted for a moment, only to finally enter right through her biosuit. An alien, thrumming pulse resonated in her chest, carrying through her spine. She felt herself collapse inward, awareness of the world detaching from presence, time appearing to slow to a near-halt even as the stillborn swarmed towards her. It felt unsettlingly similar to the Rite of Dho-hna, combined with the dream-like quality of her visions during the Liminal Coil¡¯s implantation.
As she got her bearings, she came to the undeniable conclusion that she was inside her own Soul Furnace. She could only make out a few details, including the vaguely spheroid shape and the presence of the Atomica as an enormous obelisk, reaching the center of the chamber. At the Atomica¡¯s end, in the chamber¡¯s center, there floated a swirling mass of black tendrils, within it glowing the unlight of Kenoma. It resembled the Daemon Core, but it was obviously just a closest-equivalent representation for something she couldn¡¯t mentally parse in its true form.
The enormous flow of energy that had been coursing through her and building up suddenly gathered within her Soul Furnace, rousing the Atomica to glow ever brighter, surpassing even its radiance when it had just been transmuted. Six spotlights erupted from it, one for each side, burning the inner walls of Krahe¡¯s Soul Furnace. The initial pain crossed over into the realm of a sensation that she couldn¡¯t even interpret, registering as an itch perpetually being scratched and irritated in an endless cycle, combined with the hellish burn of menthol and capsaicin.
210 - FOURFOLD ASTRAL IMPLOSION FURNACE
Spotlights narrowed down to laser-like pinpoints, and at once began a wild dance, carving an eye-crossingly complex pattern in the span of seconds before ending at their starting point, where they carved out six hexagonal empty spaces.
The Atomica resonated with a soundless tone, and she instantly knew what she needed: Words. The same sort of words she had used to give form to the Daemon Core.
One would suffice to start with, the others could come later. But she would need all six. She couldn¡¯t afford to take things slowly ¡ª she had already felt hopelessly outgunned after losing the Viridaimon armor. How could she keep up if she didn¡¯t grasp every iota of power in her reach, and then dislocate her own arm to reach for even more? How could she strike at the people behind Damrus Hashem if she struggled just with the meagre forces that Semzar could muster?
And so, she spoke the first word, and its emblem was carved onto the inside of her Soul Furnace.
WILL TO MIGHT
Might, not power ¡ª in the sense of strength obtained through great effort and will, rather than the strength one possessed naturally. Such had been her modus operandi in her past life, and so it was in this one, despite the powers bestowed upon her by her status as Deiphage. Even the fact she had usurped something of Chernobog, infinitesimal as it was, had resulted from Krahe¡¯s enormous will, grasping for strength even as a disembodied spirit, rejecting death in the face of the void.
The moment the sigil was completed, the hexagon erupted with gleaming obsidian, forming a control rod of sorts. She instantly realized the reason behind this ¡ª it had to be the influence of her incantation during the ritual. A later version of the Solomon reactor used such ¡°control rods¡± to precisely manipulate the fusion transmutation, allowing larger reaction masses and more complex target results with the same energy input. This, then, was clearly a similar adjustment mechanism for the Astral Implosion Furnace.
One after the next, the Words came naturally. It was no more than self-definition. From the matter of the self, Krahe wrought the rods with which she would control the vast and terrible power of thaumaturgy.
The second could still be vaguely put into words with some effort:
HATRED OF EVIL
It was simple. Straightforward.
However, though she had already formed the base materials of these unspeakable maxims, she nonetheless spent strength to dredge them up and give them form in her Soul Furnace. With each maxim, it felt as though the resistance grew greater. The first came like nothing. The second took effort. The third was an ordeal, encompassing her abiding, melancholic love for the ideal of her home town ¡ª the idea of a ¡°better world¡±.
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The fourth, she could barely finish, spending every iota of mental strength she had. She couldn¡¯t comprehend it in the terms of language, and wasn¡¯t entirely sure of its exact meaning, but it was what came into her mind¡¯s hand nonetheless. She was deathly certain it defined a core aspect of who she was, but she couldn¡¯t mentally process it to the extent of breaking it down into simple, expressible concepts.
She couldn¡¯t even start on the fifth, let alone consider the sixth.
Four.
That was her limit.
With that acknowledgement, everything settled into place.
ASTRAL BODY RESHAPING
FOURFOLD ASTRAL IMPLOSION FURNACE
Awareness of the physical world suddenly pushed back into the forefront. Her body floated half a meter off the ground, scarlet light shining out of her chest where she had implanted the Atomica, diffusing through her flesh and out of her mouth. The pressure of time began to return with one subjective second after the next, the hideous faces of the stillborn resuming their approach.
Atomica Refulgent came alive once more at her command, piercing into the beyond, and her Soul Furnace flooded with power ¡ª Thauma waiting to be set alight, the substance of Kenoma itself. One after the next the control rods receded, only to slam forward, compressing it all into a spot the size of a hairpin.
At the instant of ignition, Krahe¡¯s awareness returned to the physical. The same could not be said for full control of herself ¡ª she remained in place for some time as an uncontrollable deluge of pyroclast erupted from her being. The red-orange death-swarm flooded the corridor, shredding and burning everything that wasn¡¯t its source. Outside, the shutters of several windows visibly began to glow, only to be torn out moments later. A solid flow of glowing embers poured out of each window, gathering up against the mansion¡¯s barriers and forming a waterfall, its colour rapidly shifting to red and then black as it moved down.
Krahe finally returned to full presence in the here-and-now to a scene that evoked deja vu.
Everything was sanded down and charred. The windows had blown out, the shutters melted from the inside. Her smoky jade barricade had become an abstract art piece, the stillborn transformed into macabre statues of compacted pyroclast. Boiled gore had sprayed out of them in places, painting the floors and pillars in oily hues.
They were left frozen in poses of reaching towards her.
The mansion shuddered, an explosion carrying from the ballroom.
Krahe opened and closed her fist, then picked up her gun. Its lanyard had been severed, but the weapon itself was unharmed. A spark of will, and Thauma rushed in. With its ignition, searing-hot power coursed through and tendrils emerged from her back. The intoxicating sense of newfound power was somewhat dulled by how off-kilter everything felt due to the Class 3 Pain Inhibitor¡¯s persisting effects. There was something different in how things felt off-kilter, but Krahe wrote it off as the Atomica settling in.
¡°I¡¯ll get used to it,¡± she thought. ¡°Once this shit wears off¡¡±
With a spark of anathema and burst of red light, she sent herself flying to the top of her own barricade, landing atop a pair of narrow pillars. With some trepidation, she skimmed to the next pillar over. Feeling no backlash, she readily initiated an Astro Dive and hurried to the ballroom.
A scattered handful of survivors would tell of a devil of living smoke flowing through the mansion¡¯s halls.
211 - Evolved Cinder
The mansion was enormous ¡ª too large to get from one end to the ballroom in a single Astro Dive. Krahe surfaced intermittently to recover, continuing her advance as she did.
Just from a few tentative tests between dives, it instantly became evident that this was nothing like anathema. More than being transformed, it felt as if every aspect of her natural thaumaturgy had been amplified ¡ª the smoke was thicker, the embers burned brighter, the pyroclast came out visibly superheated. Besides being more intense and coherent, it was also more lively, for lack of a better term.
As Krahe rapidly approached the ballroom, so too did resistance rapidly increase ¡ª from none, to some. Enough to be noted, to have been a problem not long ago. Now, Krahe saw the brave few who stuck around as target practice. She surfaced just as one of the guards finished an impressive burst of thaumaturgy that really tore up the wall right next to her.
To start with, she wore down his barrier with a few shots from the Pattner before hitting him with a Tar-tendril empowered punch to send him into meltdown. Out of everything, they had changed the least, gaining increased responsiveness and strength, but not much else.
As the quickly-formed tendril crumbled, Krahe formed a tracer, but even a mere tracer wasn¡¯t a tracer anymore. Its elongated shape remained the same, but the first one came out significantly larger than normal. It flew as quickly as the Viridaimon Armor¡¯s tracers did even without a bullet to carry it, and it visibly curved to strike its target as it flew. The man was thrown backwards by the blast, a hole blown clean through his chest cavity.
Two more gangsters later, Krahe had settled on a modified casting procedure. Instead of one, she would spew out bursts of tracers. Their homing was very limited ¡ª inferior to even the Viridaimon version. It was little better than the cheapest piece of shit smartguns with the cheapest piece of shit ammo, but even that much was a godsend.
The Viridaimon similarity made her curious as to whether Deathsmoke Spray could now produce a shotgun-blast effect. She poured in some Isotope for good measure in the hopes of improving its coherence with a tiny bit of Tar. It erupted out of her palm less like a burst-beam and more like a whip, lashing one of Semzar¡¯s goons nearly in half before it lost coherence. Hair-thin, gossamer-like threads of tar bound together rapidly-disintegrating slivers of red-hot glass. At that instant, her mind shifted, and she lost any desire to replicate the Viridaimon version. Memories from before she had obtained her radiation blasters came to the surface. Wolf and Raven ZT-8, Model 32 ¡°Tactical Monowire Dispenser¡±.
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With this in mind, she pushed onward, intending to refine this current ¡°Death-Tar Whip¡± into something using numerous, separate strands. There was no time to do it now ¡ª she had to back up Casus as soon as possible, and, as it happened, four surviving guards had just turned the corner coming her way. Her current toolkit just had to do. Forming bursters still worked the same, the only major difference was that they felt heavier by almost half and she could tell their shells would hold up to slightly higher pressurres. The first one she formed was a smoke burster, intending to just pass them by, given that a fight against four at once could end up going on longer than she could afford.
It went as such:
¡°It¡¯s her!¡± an observant man cried.
The four readied themselves for combat ¡ª or rather, two of them did, the other two looked for escape routes.
A gunshot rang out, the bullet carrying the burster along.
¡°Not quite a Six Trees Killer. Six Trees Vanisher, maybe¡¡± Krahe thought, already entering Astro Dive before it even reached them. With a firework-like explosion, shrapnel scattered with about enough force to inflict a nasty bruise and a writhing wall of grey expanded to fill the hallway.
Krahe was gone in moments, a black blur.
The four gangsters ended up stumbling around and blindly lashing out in the smoke for a full half-minute, as the cloud shifted around, actively trying to cover them all. The terror of having their vision cut off was only intensified by the manner in which the smoke writhed around them, becoming so dense as to almost feel solid in places. Worst of all, it actively tried to shove itself down their throats, halted only by their wards. One man, a man whose wards had been compromised, emitted stomach-turning wheezes as he writhed on the ground, grasping for his neck.
A short time earlier¡
The Inquisitor¡¯s attention was pulled towards one end of the mansion¡¯s upper floor, as her bound servants broke their orders to flee from the source of the outburst. Even she could sense it, through the barrier. It easily compared to the immense flare of transformation energy she had sensed from Silberblut earlier. Unlike the Silberblut Coupler, this outburst¡¯s signature seemed thaumetic in nature, albeit far too intense, teetering on the output of advanced burning techniques. Yazata didn¡¯t think this was even slightly likely, given that such techniques weren¡¯t common even among mid-rankers, but she didn¡¯t have time to dwell on it.
Her opponents were good. Too good. Their coordination was impeccable, their movements twitchy and unpredictable, and their barriers held up better than most physical walls ¡ª against the blunt impact force of her distortions, no less. Their offense, too, was equally potent and treacherous, coming out as invisible sonic blasts with enough force to tear up the front garden and register to the mansion¡¯s barriers. Every once in a while, she would catch a glimpse of the source, the silver membranes and chitinous armatures darting out of her foes¡¯ trench coat sleeves. It was in line with the briefing ¡ª a new type of artifact weapon. She was certain now. Certain of what they were. There was no room for guesses with the measure she was about to take, given how vulnerable it would leave her, but Yazata hadn¡¯t gotten this far by hesitating and being unsure.
212 - Flesh-thiefs Hex/Tsetse Battle
¡°Om, Zavyarana sowaka, behold the heretics and set their stolen flesh against them! Om, Zavyarana sowaka! Sear the mark of their sin upon their souls!¡± Yazata chanted, pulling her church signet from her neck. She held it up as she hopped back and forth in the desperate attempt to keep all three of them in her line of sight. Her eyes burned in their sockets, her hair floated without weight, and her gaze was briefly filled by a numinous light that scorched the grass. At that moment, she went blind.
Yazata¡¯s sight returned to a blurry shadow of what it was normally as the surge of divine power faded. She could see well enough to be certain ¡ª she could see them writhing, twitching, wringing their hands together, their cheeks splitting as their faces opened with mandibles and the contents of their stomachs poured out. Coffee grains ¡ª half-digested blood. Though not visible physically, their astral bodies had been branded, the curse sigil a modified, refined version of one which had once been used to brand body thieves in a far off land, trapping them within bodies that rejected them.
¡°Th-the Flesh-thief¡¯s Hex, but ah, it reeks of self-righteousness! What have you done with it, you church harlot?! I shall pluck the eyes from your skull!¡± one of the three evoy seethed, visibly regaining self-control quicker than the two others.
¡°Good guess,¡± she admitted as she struck the Trapezohedron against her leg once again. ¡±My version is better. My ¡°Plunderer¡¯s Branding¡± never goes away.¡±
The Plunderer¡¯s Branding was a reconstruction from the ground up, making it impossible to dispel using the methods that worked on its lesser counterpart. She had even embedded traps that would agitate the brand under specific conditions, and a targeting mark for the purposes of her other abilities. One such trap was in place to prevent the victim from using Mamon Couplers ¡ª terribly convenient, and justified within the brand¡¯s purview by the fact some Couplers could be modified to temporarily suppress rejection symptoms by overriding them with the transformation.
One after another, the three evoy burst out of their skins in a manner Yazata had never seen. A wave of heat and rancid stench washed over her, fluid gushing onto the ground near them. In moments, the three transformed, growing to easily two and a half meters tall, into forms clearly intended to resemble war-morphs ¡ª the so-called ¡°Abara Morphs¡± Aristedes had mentioned.
Yazata couldn¡¯t help smiling, and then, she began cackling.
They were huge, hulking, but also completely malformed. One couldn¡¯t breathe properly. Another¡¯s legs were comically tiny in contrast with gigantic, oversized, clumsy arms. The third ¡ª the one who had recognized the curse ¡ª was the only to transform mostly successfully. In fact, his malformations increased his offensive power, silver sonic blaster membranes gleaming across him from head to toe.
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He would¡¯ve been a problem had Yazata spent the past few seconds doing nothing, but she knew better. While she couldn¡¯t use her eyes as a casting medium for the next several hours, she had backups for backups. This whole time, she had been striking the Black Trapezohedron against her leg, modulating its frequency towards a desired pitch.
The blaster-covered Abara Morph joined Yazata in laughter, shockwaves of sound blasting out with each cackle, shattering the stones underfoot and throwing them out like pebbles, forcing Yazata to focus every bit of her remaining strength towards deflection. Her eardrums would have surely burst, were she unwarded. She weathered the storm for a few moments more, finally reciting an invocation, covered by the noise: ¡°Ring out from the spires of Zor¡¯Aguhastra, and sing¡¡±
At once, distortion flooded out of the Black Trapezohedron, flowing through the air and swirling around the three evoy. Their chitin began to crumple in on itself, as if submerged far underwater, and quickly being dragged deeper.
¡°Sing, o Great One chained in the deep!¡±
With the passing of a breath, the three evoy¡¯s bodies burst under the pressure.
Yazata let out a satisfied sigh. Each time one of her coworkers questioned how she could put up with so many limitations to how she could use her magic, she wished she could show them this.
Dozens of blows exchanged in moments. Hundreds of meters traversed in seconds. Tracks carved, burned, and torn into the flooring, shards of polished stone shifting around and sparking with crimson magic as the ballroom floor tried to pull itself back together.
He had to finish this quickly. To say he didn¡¯t have much time was a generous understatement ¡ª he had no time. With each passing second, Casus could feel his brute-force-evolved transformation eating away at him, eating away at itself. He just wasn¡¯t strong enough to hold it together, neither in physical nor in astral body, not to mention where he lacked spiritually. It had been purely this moment, this context, that had allowed him to transform into Eisenretter.
Had it been anyone else, anywhere else, at any other time, he could not have done it.
But it was Tsetse, right here, right now. That, alone, had been the permitting factor. This sword on his arm, this twisted, malformed thing, had been forged solely to cut down this Abara Morph. A part of Casus knew his armor would burn straight off of him if he turned it against Semzar.
As he sprinted, Casus used his left arm as a counterweight, drifting at a 270¡ã angle, nearly flat against the floor, in order to get under one of Tsetse¡¯s kicks. Its blastwave removed the heads of eight or nine fleeing people and exploded numerous pieces of glassware, sending a small tidal wave of razor-sharp dust roiling through the ballroom.
From his near-prone position Silberblut pushed off of the floor with his left hand. The blade of his right arm trailed a gold-burning arc through the air, intended to sever the Abara Morph¡¯s left arm. Tsetse dodged, of course, but the wound had been struck ¡ª oily blood gushed forth from a flesh-ravine that now ran the entire length of his torso on the left side. His left arm visibly lost some volume.
213 - Severed Arms
Tsetse emitted a grunt of pain and frustration, but he was neither deterred nor thrown off-kilter. The fly-man twisted himself like a humanoid spring in order to deliver a kick from an utterly bewildering angle, sending Silberblut flying into the ceiling. Rather than smash into it, Silberblut tucked in his legs and outstretched his left arm past them. The eye upon it shone with a silver brilliance, and a strange force of the same shade flowed out of it, bracing against the stone. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, but nonetheless slowed his flight enough that he could comfortably bounce off the heretofore immaculate fresco. A face upon that fresco was turned to rocky gore once he used it as a jump-off point. Spinning through the air, the Mamon Knight stabilized himself in a flying-kick position, whilst Tsetse dug in his heels ¡ª literally. The Abara Morph¡¯s feet and heels unfolded and anchored into the stone underfoot.
Pulling open his own chestplate, Tsetse revealed an immense array of sonic membranes, and in the same motion tucked his arms close to his body, even now concealing his left hand palm-blaster with his fingers and holding his right hand in the same gesture to not give it away. After all, even if the evoy was fairly sure Casus knew of the palm-blaster, he wasn¡¯t sure that he knew which hand concealed it.
The ground shook, and soon the furniture followed. Glasses and bottles began resonating and cracking.
All sound cut out as it was overtaken by a thunderous bass louder than thunder. To whomever might have the eyes to see, the distortion wave would be plainly visible as it flowed through the air towards Casus. As he met it, the face upon his chest opened its eyes and mouth. His flight slowed for but an instant, as in the next moment, the entire shockwave vanished. In turn, the brightness of his halo grew, and his armor seemed to grow darker in turn ¡ª or was that a mere play of the light?
The true blow, of course, had yet to come, and it did come. Tsetse set loose a sonic kick as if the kick was the gotcha, nestling his killer strike within the motion¡¯s end. It was awkward, and that was the point, to go against reasonable expectations, reducing the likelihood it would be noticed.
Silberblut slipped past the kick¡¯s shockwave, holding his left hand out as a shield.
At the very next moment, Tsetse¡¯s trump card struck¡ Only, the eye of his left hand came alive, locking not onto Tsetse, but onto the trajectory of his strike, all in a singular instant. Silberblut''s halo turned clockwise by a 1/7 increment. A burst of light from the eye met Tsetse¡¯s shockwave and dispersed it.
Immediately upon landing, Silberblut transitioned his momentum into an unnatural, zigzagging rush, tearing up the floor as he combined his raw physicality with his left arm¡¯s even more monstrous strength and strange powers to forcibly change his trajectory time after time. Tsetse let off another barrage of kicks accompanied by shockwaves from his chest-mounted array, slipping in two precision strikes, but even those which would have struck had no effect. It was as if they were all devoured by the face on Eisenretter¡¯s chest, or shot down by the eye on his left arm.
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Before Tsetse knew it, his left arm had been severed from his body, and the blade which did it had trailed a half-moon of empyrean refulgence through the air. He stared Silberblut ¡ª Eisenretter ¡ª Casus Aristedes ¡ª in the eye, and felt that Silberblut¡¯s left hand was pressed closely against his chest¡¯s exposed sonic membranes¡ But so was his right hand against Silberblut¡¯s side. And if he still held any advantage over the Mamon Knight, it was in how quickly his trump card came out.
The wave passed through the black-armored warrior, punching a hole in a table. It merely sent Silberblut stumbling to the side, of course ¡ª at this moment, putting him out of position mattered more than the cumulative damage. In that forced stumble, Silberblut¡¯s clawed hand grasped with its monstrous strength, and Cabral found the entire front of his meatsuit all but torn off. The cold air met his real chitin, revealing a many-jointed, lanky form designed specifically to fit inside Abara Morph Tsetse.
If anything would undo Silberblut, it would not be Tsetse¡¯s own combat power. It would be time. His incomplete Eisenretter form, though frighteningly powerful, could not last.
Still, Tsetse was cautious, and he strongly considered creating distance and turning this into a stalling game, even as Silberblut approached him.
¡°Unlucky. You have new defenses,¡± the Abara Morph remarked matter-of-factly. It was clear to him that the left hand had been devised specifically to counter his trump card. He was already considering how he might alter his form to counter Silberblut¡¯s counters.
"The Visage of Judgment and the Left Hand of Anger,¡± the righteous warrior openly named two of his tools. ¡°I would have been a fool to not forge a Mamon Armor that could counter your strength and more. And now, with the Right Hand of Courage, I shall excise your tumorous existence from the world!¡±
But at that moment, as Mamon Knight Silberblut held out his right hand and golden flame enveloped its curved blade once more, his arm, too, was severed from his body. A sudden flash of moon-azure light, leaving behind a fading blackness alien to the mundane world, ripped through the ballroom. Everything between its source and fading-out point was cleft in twain.
The hiss of frustration pointed to its origin: Semzar Hashem.
Moments earlier¡
Semzar had not been idly cowering in place. He had spent the whole battle clutching a jambiya dagger which rested at his waist, for the dagger¡¯s blade was a potent artifact for resolving tense negotiations. Its sheath, in turn, was an artifact of the same grade, capable of concealing the transfer and buildup of power within the blade. As Semzar poured his own Thauma into the weapon, it flowed through its handle and reacted with the thaumstone jewels set into it, creating an enormous buildup of arcane power within the blade. The efficiency was nearly miraculous, the only downside was how long it took to fully power the artifact.
But as he drew the blade, the sheath¡¯s effect was lost, and the swing veered wildly off course ¡ª it was akin to trying to steer the force of a tsunami. Semzar did not have even a tenth of the strength required to control the blade properly. Nonetheless, he managed to strike his target.
In a flash of eldritch unlight, reams of of black runes came whirling from the dagger, and all before them was parted ¡ª even one of the mansion¡¯s mighty barriers was split in twain, and it only shattered a second later.
BROKEN RELIC OF A FORGOTTEN LAND
FAINT REMEMBRANCE OF A GLORIOUS PAST
TAINTED BY THE HANDS OF A COWARD
214 - Right Hand of Courage
With Silberblut¡¯s focus entirely directed towards Tsetse, he was caught off-guard even by this attack that originated in plain sight ¡ª under different circumstances, he could have dodged in advance based on Semzar¡¯s body tells. Moreover, even the Left Hand of Anger didn¡¯t react, despite the fact automatic defense was its core functionality. Tsetse was the only target permitted to Eisenretter¡¯s nascent form.
And so, the dismembered Mamon Knight fell to one knee, holding himself up by his remaining arm. In moments, his halo sputtered out and his armor burned right off of him. With a loud thud the severed limb fell to the ground, its armor burning away, musculature wildly spasming. A horrific creaking resounded as the limb¡¯s panicked throes bent its own elbow backwards and twisted its metal bones out of shape.
The attack seemed to shock even Tsetse, enough that he recoiled for a moment and glanced in Semzar¡¯s direction. However, he regained his composure, approaching Casus as he drew back his fist in preparation for the killing blow.
Right then, a blurry form of black smoke flowed into the ballroom through the backmost door on the left.
¡°C-c-cabral! She¡¯s back! Finish him off already!¡± Semzar called out, panickedly shoving the jambiya back into its sheath and grasping for something else inside his jacket ¡ª doubtlessly another artifact.
The fly-man froze mid-step, for but a split second, only to spin 180¡ã on his heel. With a forward stomp followed by an upward knee with the same leg, he sent out a shockwave that toppled the couch and threw the mafioso into the air. His Barrier took the brunt of it, and he cried out in outraged disbelief rather than pain.
With a stomp, he rebuked the mafioso: ¡°Honorless cur. First, you failed to deliver the full shipment of thirty. Now, you¡¯ve poisoned my combat data. Our arrangement is void. You can use your own strength to save your own hide.¡±
Lady Blackhand at this point emerged from her dive a few dozen meters away. She started pelting Semzar with Tracers astonishingly similar to those she had wielded as Viridaimon, while Barzai flew overhead. Soon enough, she started throwing bursters and clouds of supernaturally thick, near-sentient smoke cropped up. Strangely, the raven split from his master and made his way to the stage, upon which half of the band was still to be found. A drummer, a singer-guitarist, a bassist, and a keyboardist with a thaumatech piano ¡ª effectively an enormous analog synthesizer. They would have better fit a bar than a ballroom. Barzai perched atop a notation stand.
¡°Play,¡± the demonic bird ordered in the same baritone he had used to demand meat from his master. He glanced at the notations¡ And made a request. ¡°Crest of Z. Can you?¡±
Confused looks and hesitantly-shaken heads were the response.
¡°Soul for the Sword?¡±
Again, the same response.
¡°Steel Messiah?¡±
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Once more, nothing.
Then, almost jokingly: ¡°Mad Machine?¡±
This time, they nodded.
Bobbing up and down in return, Barzai reaffirmed: ¡°Play.¡±
Once the rattled musicians got in position, he abruptly stopped, spreading his wings.
¡°...Or else.¡±
With that, he flew off to aid his master.
As the instrumental picked up and carried through the mostly-empty ballroom, Tsetse turned towards the dismembered Banisher, offering clemency: ¡°Run. Leave. Get stronger. I will let you.¡±
With blood leaking and golden flame bursting out of his eyes and the seams between his skin-plates, Casus choked out these words: ¡°That¡ You can make that choice. I have no such liberty.¡±
He reached out for his arm, nearly falling over in the effort. Nonetheless, he picked up the limb and pressed it back into its socket. Wires leapt out from both his stump and the arm, lashing around the ends of the severed bone, pulling them together, winding and tangling around the join into a knot. As this took place, the arm¡¯s grafted musculature rejoined in a similar manner, forming an unseemly, swollen connection, but one that would hold. The hiss of boiling blood could be heard as the binding wires heated to red, orange, yellow and white, soldering the connection. The graft¡¯s internal tubing, too, had been severed, and it, too, reconnected with a gruesome sound and the leaking of blood between muscle bundles where the arm had been rejoined. Golden light erupted from between each and every muscle fibre of the limb, and with the gruesome sounds of metal scraping, it twisted itself back into shape.
The process actually only took a few seconds, but they felt like the better part of a minute due to how closely Tsetse observed it. Meanwhile, Semzar was scrambling in utter panic, trying to create as much distance as possible between himself and a rapidly approaching Blackhand. The ballroom was, nonetheless, huge, and it would take her a few moments more to get within range.
Casus tried to gather the strength to stand, but he could barely breathe. Everything hurt. Even the shallow breaths he could take sent brilliant, burning pain shooting through his body, piercing through the pain that enveloped everything like flares lashing out from the surface of the sun. He wasn¡¯t sure where the pain of injuries ended and where the pain of Isotope sickness began.
¡°Please¡ Just once more¡ Just for a moment¡ Om, Zavyarana sowaka¡¡±
There, in the depths of a flesh-stripping blizzard of despair, Casus found a golden ember of fierce will, burning ever more brightly in defiance. But¡ Just as he grasped that ember, consciousness slipped away from him.
That the banisher lost consciousness, however, would not be known to the world just yet. His body stiffened for a moment, and he rose to his feet with a steadiness that did not hint at even the slightest injury or exhaustion.
The three claws holding the Silberblut Coupler¡¯s eye inside the socket suddenly sprung open. Once more, golden flame engulfed him, and out of it burst a figure of ebon-black, blacker than the blackest night. Its only distinguishable features were its blindingly-bright halo of golden fire, a golden blade upon its right arm, and six seething eyes with seven-pointed stars for pupils ¡ª one on its head, one on its waist, one on its back, one on its giant left arm, and lastly, the two eyes upon its chest. All else of the figure was so dark as to be more of a three-dimensional shadow than a person. The Face of Judgment, its eyes wide open, screamed a soundless word.
That word reached Tsetse faster than sound would permit, permeating through him, and in that instant, the evoy knew he was doomed.
¡°BE CLEANSED FROM THE WORLD.¡±
He couldn¡¯t dodge. He couldn¡¯t block. The matter of even trying never crossed his thoughts. At this instant, he felt as if he was facing down a saint from millennia past, and all will to fight left him.
This wasn¡¯t an attack. This was the blade of a guillotine speeding towards his neck.
FINAL COUPLER CHARGE
CLEANSING BLADE OF COURAGE
215 - Vs. Semzar Pt. 1
The shadowy shape of Eisenretter, blackened by the radiance of his own light, passed unimpeded through Tsetse. His passage and radiant blade cleft a vertical split through the monstrous flyman three-quarters of the way up his chest. Miraculously, Tsetse remained standing. Even as gold-silver flame scoured his flesh from the inside, widening the wound, as Cabral''s internal organs spilled out, and as both the Abara Morph''s and the Host''s blood ran freely down Tsetse''s legs, pooling at his feet, he calmly looked down at himself.
¡°Unlucky¡ Me. Hoist by my own petard. Heh. I shall see how you do¡ Against my next self.¡±
Tsetse went limp, toppling over backwards with a fleshy thud. However, the same could not be said for whomever was inside. Cabral¡¯s lanky, mutilated upper half wrenched its way out of the Abara Morph¡¯s rapidly decaying flesh, confusion evident in his face. Numerous umbilicals stretched between him and his meatsuit, tearing in half as he emerged and propped himself up by his arms.
¡°Where- Who- How-¡±
The evoy clutched his head. He then toppled over forward, and the umbilicus connected to the back of his head snapped.
At that instant, he went limp like a puppet with its strings cut.
Meanwhile, ¡°Shadow Eisenretter¡± melted away and Casus Aristedes was left barely standing in his place, his right arm hanging limply at his side. Frayed muscle peeled away from it. With each laboured step the banisher took towards Semzar¡¯s sofa, blood and other fluids ran down his arm¡¯s length and trailed across the ground. The Silberblut Coupler wasn¡¯t in a much better state ¡ª its outer casement had cracked, and its trio of securing claws had been welded open. Casus was somehow certain that the Mamon System¡¯s relic components had purposely taken on the brunt of the strain to spare his life.
Casus, of course, was already unconscious by this point. Nonetheless, his unconscious body walked to Semzar''s sofa and sat down, holding vigil over Tsetse and Cabral''s rapidly disintegrating forms.
Whilst rushing to reach the ballroom, Krahe had encountered several more of Semzar¡¯s subordinates. To call them defenders would have been a stretch ¡ª they were either fleeing or just frozen in panic when she encountered them, and only some of them turned to fight. Those stupid, stupid few served as further target practice for her heretofore unnamed tar-whip thaumaturgy, each a new attempt to refine it without slowing down. It would have been terribly convenient if she had just so happened to perfect the thaumaturgy by the time she arrived at the ballroom, but alas, no such thing came to pass.
Oh, she felt close. So, so damnably close. Its true, ideal form was within her grasp, she just knew it. But she had to start fighting Semzar without it.
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Furthermore, as she approached the ballroom, another thing became patently evident ¡ª something far less positive. That something was that quite a bit of her pain stemmed from the Atomica, or perhaps even from her altered Soul Furnace. She couldn¡¯t discern the exact nature and extent of it, but one thing was clear: Burning thauma was somehow causing her body to break down ¡ª as to the nature and extent of the damage, she wasn¡¯t sure, but this was certainly the polar opposite of what she had hoped for with the Atomica. A part of her feared that Yao might have purposely sabotaged the key, but a much larger part was certain this had to do with implanting it prematurely, or perhaps some other factor external to the key itself. Perhaps she hadn¡¯t let it cool off long enough after the transmutation, or it was something as simple as her body not being physically tough enough to stand the power, even if such a possibility was counterintuitive given her frequent use of anathema without issue. The silver lining was that she was certain the damage wouldn¡¯t catch up with her before she killed Semzar and dragged Casus out of there. Half of this certainty stemmed from her possession of the Calbian Molting Tonic ¡ª the ultimate contingency from Razem himself, an elixir that would by his description allow her to survive beyond-lethal injuries if she injected it into her heart. Another quarter of it came from the fact Thaumic Fusion still worked normally, allowing her to mitigate the damage to some extent. The rest was just self-confidence, bravado perhaps. It would all come down to how good Semzar was and how long it would take her to off him.
All considerations aside, it wasn¡¯t as if she had much choice in the matter. That much she knew the instant she entered the ballroom. She had arrived, as it seemed, just in time to witness Casus carry out a heroic and undoubtedly self-destructive final attack against Tsetse. The enormous gash in the floor and the seething dagger in Semzar¡¯s hand told the rest of the story. She was certain that, had she arrived later, she would have found Semzar leering towards Casus with the intent to take the banisher¡¯s body for his own. If everything went wrong, she would at least try to get Casus out of there and rendezvous with the inquisitor, whom she knew to be stationed outside the property. At least, she hoped she was still in position. And still alive.
Despite her dicey-at-best position, when she surfaced from her dive and set loose that first salvo of Tracers in Semzar¡¯s direction, Krahe couldn¡¯t help but let a grin push its way onto her face.
A body breaking down from an experimental power source, one high-grade drug keeping her going and another in the back pocket to pull her through the final stretch. An opponent ¡ª no, a target ¡ª such as Semzar, one with bought and stolen power that he didn¡¯t know how to use properly, relying on the muscle memory of his body¡¯s previous unfortunate inhabitant. The one unfamiliar variable was Casus. A wounded comrade whose life, for once, was a higher priority than the death of her target.
All in all, she felt more clear-headed, more focused, more confident than ever.
Nothing she had experienced on the face of Zastreon had brought her back as much as this. Her mind raced with countless possibilities and past operations to draw on. Every moment stretched on and on like a distended synthetic tendon. The pain burning through every inch, turned sideways by Class-3 painkillers, suddenly fed into a razor-sharp bodily awareness.
216 - Vs. Semzar Pt. 2
Hopping backwards and scrambling to keep distance from her, the mafioso babbled something under his breath whilst rummaging through his inner jacket pockets. Krahe wasn¡¯t sure if it was an incantation of some kind or just a nervous tic. His physique began stretching his suit, tendrils bulging out from under his skin, which itself turned an unseemly shade of bluish purple. He became faster and faster, his apparent physicality now equal to a Mamon Knight using a High-Pressure type Dregsteam cartridge ¡ª only, with none of the finesse. More than anything, he resembled an ape in the manner he bounded from spot to spot. Between barrages of Tracers and Cinder Gatling rays, Krahe threw in a Six Trees Killer ¡ª but one of a different kind. Semzar¡¯s movements were too erratic for a timed fuse, and as she understood the evolution of her thaumaturgy, she thought remote detonation ought to finally be within her reach. The mechanism was a simple pulse of thauma keyed to a particular thought-impulse, much like a real radio detonator would work. She couldn¡¯t just release Thauma in all directions at any reasonable range, so she still had to keep the Burster in her sightline, but that was an acceptable limitation.
A satisfied chuckle rose from her throat when the bullet-propelled-grenade zipped over his head and the shockwave nearly knocked him off his feet a moment later. He quickly got his bearings, and with an angered gesture stood his ground, stomping with a great release of thauma. The floor cracked under his foot, the fissure racing forward as great gouts of blue flame sprung forth. A display of power to be sure, but a mere decoy. The real danger was a double-barreled pistol he pulled with his free hand, and from it set forth two Bloody Reapers in quick succession.
Krahe stopped where she was and simply dived, letting them pass through her as she made mocking gestures towards the mafioso. Immediately after emerging, she whipped a burster his way, and while his attention was on it, she peppered his side with a few Cinder Gatling beams. And so, the struggle continued.
As the two played cat-and-mouse through the nearly-deserted ballroom, Krahe scattered a great deal of smoke across the field, and it was not just smoke. Within the smoke, under tables, and even in plain sight, she dropped fuseless Bursters. By slightly reducing the internal pressure, she ensured they would last without maintenance for a little while.
It could not be said that Semzar was so gutless as to just take her onslaught whilst trying to run away. When she managed to slip a handful of Tracers past his Barrier, Semzar responded with a mighty flex, and a second pair of arms burst free from his trapezoid muscles. These arms were not of flesh, but of the same translucent purple force that formed his Barrier. Their fists were enveloped in dark-blue flame, with long wisps of it trailing off. Out of the four Tracers that she managed to sneak in, only one actually managed to hit ¡ª the other three were punched out of the air by these newly-formed arms. In the process, they fully detached from Semzar¡¯s body, now floating above his shoulders. As for the single Tracer that struck home, it smashed right into the side of his face. Its scarlet-black explosion elicited a counter-burst of blue flame and a smattering of purple shards, akin to explosive reactive armor.
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The obvious answer to the question these arms posed was an attack that could not be shot down ¡ª Cinder Flash or Wandrei Faust. As things stood, she couldn¡¯t get close enough to land a Cinder Flash. Barzai, though not able to inflict serious damage, aided in herding the bastard away from Casus¡ And towards one of the Bursters which she had quietly dropped earlier. However, before she could lure him to one of her traps, Semzar finally found what he had been looking for inside his jacket ¡ª a silver ring, with a faceplate wide enough to cover the entire lowest segment of a finger and a four-pointed star of deep red gemstone as the centerpiece. It was none other than his father''s "Crimson Star" ring! The mafioso slipped it on his right-hand ring finger, his flesh deforming hideously before the band expanded to fit him. Then, he began a reckless counterattack. It was a barrage of superhumanly fast, yet also amateurishly telegraphed punches, his fists wreathed in blue flame. With each punch he sent flying a fist-shaped construct, each taking with it only thin ribbons of that blue fire. They were fast, to be sure, but not the speed of bullets ¡ª between the volume of fire and size of projectiles, dodging them was much like dodging particularly pretty fertilizer rockets. It was as if, with the ring on, he felt safe enough to finally stop running. Krahe decided it had to be a defensive artifact of some kind.
Nonetheless, dodging Semzar¡¯s rocket-punches meant she wasn¡¯t attacking, and eventually, he might get lucky. Unlike him, she couldn¡¯t afford to eat even one unlucky hit, and she had to keep pressuring him. There was only one solution that came to her mind, a counter-intuitive solution that would bring her closer to danger: Smaller movements, closer dodges. Whether one dodged by a meter or by a centimeters didn''t matter, so long as one didn''t get hit. Less time spent dodging. Thus, more time for counterattacks.
¡°Sharper.¡±
Thirty centimeters.
¡°Sharper.¡±
Fifteen centimeters.
¡°Even sharper!¡±
Five centimeters.
The fire licked her skin and left the sensation of hot water behind ¡ª like going into a sauna from the freezing cold. It wasn¡¯t even hot enough to cause a surface burn.
A state of absolute focus and perfect efficiency of motion, a pinnacle of clarity that warriors from eras past had spent their lives training to achieve and maintain for short bursts. A thing she had taken for granted, a thing she had considered as one of the absolute basics thanks to neural implants, cognitive conditioning, and hormone controllers. Krahe had slipped into that familiar place a few times since her rebirth, always in the midst of battle, but never to this extent. Never fully. She had never managed to truly snap into the zone until now, only ever veering in and out for moments at a time. The reflexes, the muscle memory, the cognitive conditioning ¡ª it was all still there. She just had to get into the right physical state to set it off.
ZERO HESITATION
MAXIMUM FOCUS
ACCELERATED COGNITION
TACTICAL SUPREMACY
A LONE OPERATIVE
PREVAILS AGAINST ALL ODDS
SECTOR 7 STYLE: RAZORMIND
217 - Vs. Semzar Pt. 3
¡°You stole that thaumaturgy, didn¡¯t you?!¡± she mocked him. ¡°The flames are barely warm! Could you not simply adjust it to remove the fire element? Could you not even go to the effort of stealing a fire affinity to go with your stolen thaumaturgy?!¡±
No verbal response came ¡ª but Semzar¡¯s flames visibly grew, both in size and brightness, and so did the number of punches he sent flying her and Barzai¡¯s way. In turn, they became even sloppier, as did his positioning. Frankly, he didn¡¯t seem to be thinking about positioning at all, which was itself a problem. No thought meant that it would be harder to manipulate him into standing near a trap-burster. Nonetheless, Krahe managed it, more by pure luck than her own efforts. With a snap of her fingers, the burster went off right at Semzar¡¯s feet, as he was standing atop a table. He was consumed by a great burst of pyroclast and splinters, which in turn was dispersed by the reactive outburst of his wards.
Then, Semzar did something unexpected, because it was perfectly logical: He closed the distance, and not with a careless lunge, but with a steady, yet quick approach while keeping up his offense. If he closed the distance, Krahe would have less time to dodge his flying fists, his Barrier would take up more of her field of view, and she wouldn¡¯t be so ready to detonate any given trap-burster lest she herself be caught in the blast. Even if she were to do such a thing and, say, dive beforehand or skim just out of the blast radius, Semzar could read that as a tell. This was all assuming that Semzar was thinking tactically rather than rushing in like a frustrated moron.
Krahe, of course, did what she could to manage the spacing, but even Astro Diving and Skimming could only go so far against someone who could bound around like a suited-up cyber-ape. Not wanting to dump a Cinder Flash or even Cinder Strobe straight into his Barrier, Krahe decided to simultaneously mix him up and refine her tar-whip thaumaturgy by employing it at this close-mid range. Right now, in this razor-like mindset, centimeters from death and burning up from the inside, she knew she could grasp it, much like a self-destructive artist could grasp his best work whilst overdosing on hallucinogenic toad saliva.
And indeed, right there, in the refulgent moments between engagements when the world seemed to pause, there her answer was. Refining the lash¡¯s thinness and velocity only got her so far ¡ª the final step was hidden in plain sight, being the simple incorporation of her fingers as an additional layer of casting. By quickly opening her hand as the trigger gesture, the thaumaturgy came out as five separate threads centered on the palm of her hand and each connected to the tip of one finger. They sprung forth with the speed of a bullet, lashed at their target, and then disintegrated into smoke. A fair portion of the lash''s quickness and the velocity of its filaments stemmed from the Left Arm¡¯s increasingly superhuman characteristics, fed both by Krahe¡¯s physical attribute growth and by the Atomica¡¯s monstrous Throughput. Thaumaturgy and the filaments¡¯ whip-like motion did the rest of the work.
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The combined velocity and gossamer-like thinness of each thread created the illusion of Krahe cutting things through sheer force of will, with the mere gesture of her arm.
With a slight adjustment, she could detach the filaments from her palm early, allowing her to use them for a more traditional swiping attack. Forming a single, stronger cutting filament was still an option, especially if she wished to, for some reason, dust off monowire martial arts.
And so, after a monowire she had named it: Black Lasher, or just Lasher for short.
The original had been a legendary armament in its own time, the first ¡°true¡± monofilament whip, capable of cutting straight through the most advanced hard armor composites. Her version was perhaps not so universally effective, but it had an undeniable point of appeal: Overwhelming cutting power that allowed it to be effective even against Barriers and Wards, despite being predominantly lacerative in nature. In terms of efficiency it didn¡¯t even remotely hold up to Cinder Flash or Tar-tendrils in their intended roles, but that didn¡¯t matter. One couldn¡¯t expect to always be able to use the exact right tool for the job. Black Lasher came out faster than Cinder Flash and had a range somewhere between it and Tar-tendrils, allowing it to fill in where the other two fell short, not to mention its ideal use-case for cutting through flesh ¡ª a use case that Krahe dearly hoped she would get to demonstrate against Semzar.
As it stood, she was satisfied with seeing his disconcerted look when the filaments ripped into his barrier and his Hard Entropy spiked much like it would with a purposeful kinetic attack. In concert with a hail of mescalt bullets, it was only a matter of time before he would have to drop his barrier or go into meltdown. Semzar, knowing this, turned to the logical answer: Spending his entropy on trying to either kill Krahe, stop her from hitting his Barrier, or disrupt her attempts to do so, in that order of priority.
One fist passed by her arm, close enough to agitate her Wards, yet nothing happened. Another passed near her leg and tore a yawning gash into her trousers, leaving the edges smoldering. Another, still, ripped her bodysuit on the left side, the gel already closing over the superficial burn it left behind.
Semzar realized that she had no wards. Whether they had collapsed from damage or from implanting this new voidkey, it didn¡¯t matter. To him, that realization was a shining ray of hope, it was victory within easy reach. He just had to get one, maybe two good hits in. How hard could that be?
As the battle went on, Krahe felt time rapidly catching up to her. Even if she instantly stored any generated Isotope inside her arm, its presence within her body nonetheless caused damage ¡ª negligible damage, at first, but it gradually built up. Eventually, despite burning away as much Isotope as she could by generously tainting each and every one of her Thaumaturgies with it, she nonetheless exceeded the Left Arm¡¯s capacity.
Each use of Thaumic Fusion poisoned her, yet in turn, each Implosion-Burn set rampant thaumic power coursing through. Only 95% of the power generated by Implosion-Burning actually went where it was supposed to. The remaining 5% was tearing her apart from within, and now the damage was starting to show. Her skin was splitting open, scarlet light shining through.
And the more she deteriorated, the more Semzar¡¯s terror grew, the more his already fragile grasp on focus slipped from his bloodied fingers.
218 - Vs. Semzar Pt. 4 - ASHURBANIPAL
To Semzar¡¯s gaze, which instinctively understood anatomy for the purposes of assessing a would-be host¡¯s suitability, she was worse than a rotting corpse. She was poison. Death on two legs in more ways than one. No¡ Not death. Murder on two legs.
¡°Why? Why? Why?! Why won¡¯t you die already?! Whywhywhywhywhywhywhy-¡±
Each ¡°why¡± was accompanied by a flaming fist, a machine-gun cadence of thaumaturgic strikes. Each potent enough to strike down its target, each ripping apart furniture and flooring when it inevitably missed. Dust and debris wildly scattered into the air all around her.
Each fist flew mere centimeters from its intended target. She swayed as she walked, moving no more than necessary to remove herself from each fist¡¯s generously telegraphed trajectory. With each movement, minute bursts of flame sprung forth from the many glowing fissures that split her skin. The wild currents of magic that leaked from her being set her hair billowing in all possible directions, and the dark smoke of entropy shrouded her. Semzar could swear she initiated a purge every ten seconds, as if mocking him, and all the more infuriating still, he never managed to hit her during one. Even while devoid of magic, she simply denied him at every turn. Each time he got close, she would simply vanish in a plume of smoke and appear elsewhere nearby ¡ª sometimes less than a single step¡¯s distance, other times a full three meters, and everywhere in between. It was Astro Skimming, that much he knew, but he didn¡¯t know the maximum range. It had to be something like five meters, it couldn¡¯t be more, but he wasn¡¯t even certain of that much at this point.
There wasn¡¯t a person behind those eyes, which swirled and flickered with green light. Indeed, through their apertures peered not a human, but a demonic being of murder. A single-minded obsession, a whirling madness, spilling out with such pure hate and revulsion that Semzar thought, perhaps, she was employing an ocular curse. He had felt it before, having been the subject of curses, and he recognized that curse-like will flowing in abundance from her gaze, only¡ she was staring not at Semzar, but through him. For a moment, he genuinely considered if Blackhand intended to use his corpse as a medium to directly strike at his father or at the Benefactors. He well and truly came to think that this was the true reason she was after him ¡ª such was his coping mechanism for the reality that his own actions had directly led to this.
And the music. Why was the band playing? What was this trite love song?!
"Mad machine - I chase down my prey on a speeding bike! Mad machine - this fire burning in my chest defies logic! Time flies, chasing us, like a suffering, wounded beast. My burgeoning ferocity has me in its grasp¡¡±
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Another line came, but Semzar didn¡¯t hear it. That infernal bird screamed over it: ¡°The more masks I remove, the less human I become!¡±
Then, wasting not a moment, as it bombarded Semzar¡¯s barrier with explosions, the red-eyed thing began¡ Orating, for lack of a better term. It spoke in a man¡¯s booming voice, the volume exactly matched with the music, creating a confusing and frightening cacophony. Perhaps the most frightening aspect of the tirade was twofold: The plethora of alien words used, and the fact that Semzar, somehow, understood all of them, their meaning imbued into the sound itself.
Thus spake the raven:
¡°AT AGE TWENTY-ONE I SLEW THIRTY MEN WITH MY BARE HANDS I STRANGLED SEVEN WITH THEIR OWN PLASTIC INTESTINES I STRUNG THE HEADS OF THEIR KINDRED FROM THE RAFTERS AND DROWNED THREE MORE IN WHITE BLOOD. BY MY OWN HANDS I FORCED OPEN A STEEL BULKHEAD AND HAVING THUSLY BEEN CRIPPLED I BIT OUT THE TENDONS AND THROATS OF THREE WHO SOUGHT TO VIOLATE MY FLESH, AND TOOK THEIR LIMBS FOR MYSELF.¡±
Blackhand rapidly closed the distance in the form of a flittering smoke-demon, emerging only momentarily to lash at Semzar¡¯s barrier, cutting gashes into the floor with each flash, gusts of flame erupting from her palm each time she opened it to cast the thaumaturgy. He couldn¡¯t comprehend how it worked ¡ª it appeared to simply cut, but it was such an outlier, why would she only have this one arcane thaumaturgy when everything else was either energetic or construct-reliant? He glimpsed the flickering remnants, thread-like in appearance, but they were so short-lived that he simply assumed them to be the bare minimum to which she could reduce the thaumaturgy¡¯s visibility.
A dense mass of smoke erupted from her mouth, writhing forth like a swarm of ravenous insects, moving to envelop him. Semzar¡¯s fists, both those he set forth and those which defended him, scattered it handily, his own thauma neutralizing Blackhand¡¯s. Even still, what remained of of the cloud swiftly moved in to fill the gaps and obscure his sight as best as it could.
¡°I HAD THE BUNKERS OF THE CITY OF ANGELS UTTERLY DESTROYED AND I COUNTED THEIR OWNERS AND SPONSORS AS DIGITAL GHOSTS I TOPPLED THEIR SPIRES OF STEEL AND GLASS I TOOK THEIR BRAINS FROM THEIR DATA-TOMBS AND DAMNED THEM TO THE NERVE LATHE. I LEARNED FROM THEIR DYING SCREAMS THE NAMES AND HOMES OF THOSE THEY SERVED AND HUNTED THEM IN THE SAME MANNER.¡±
Despite the fact his eyes could somewhat see through the smoke, it added to the numerous elements acting to overwhelm his mind. He didn¡¯t even know it, but he had already been driven on the back foot ¡ª even as he lashed out and forced Blackhand to back off, Semzar didn¡¯t think. He didn¡¯t make plans or consider how he would finish her off. He was just reacting.
She appeared from the smoke, far too close for comfort, and Semzar¡¯s first reaction was not to strike ¡ª it was to pour his will into the Crimson Star ring. The artifact replied with the cruel knowledge it wouldn¡¯t be ready for some time.
219 - Vs. Semzar Pt. 5
At first, it seemed as if she was punching into thin air from several meters away, but as she reared her fist back, a row of fanged mouths opened down the length of her arm. In perfect concert with the punch, great black tendrils erupted from these maws, and Semzar¡¯s entropy surged ¡ª the impact was more than twice the strength of a Yellow Atropal. His vastly superior reaction speed and physicality, driven by muscle memory and instinct not his own, allowed his body to counterattack instantly ¡ª whilst Semzar himself was still reeling from the impact, despite the fact he had not actually weathered a strike himself. As he set loose a barrage of lightning-fast punches, she was already gone, and that damnable raven had returned, resuming its tirade.
It mockingly danced between his punches, moving in an erratic manner only ever so vaguely connected to the flapping of its wings.
¡°ANCIENT ARMS OF NUCLEAR FIRE I UNEARTHED FROM AN AGE LONG PAST AND WITH THEM PUT TO THE TORCH ALL THE WORKS OF THOSE WHO WRONGED ME. ON A QUEST OF TWO MONTHS AND THREE DAYS I DEVASTATED THE DOMED VILLAS OF XIAOSHENG AND SCATTERED ANATHEMA AND NERVE POISON OVER THEM I TURNED THE NOBLES WHO LIVED WITHIN TO SHADOWS UPON THE STONE AND OPENED THE BELLIES AND SEVERED THE LIMBS OF ALL WHO SERVED THEM. THEIR WALLS I CAST DOWN AND LET THE BEASTS OF THE WASTE FEED UPON THEIR FLESH.¡±
Spinning in place, now utterly disoriented, Semzar released a guttural scream of frustration as he hunted for Blackhand. He glimpsed her shape ¡ª at last! But he was merely reacting, and he had glimpsed her in the midst of executing on a premeditated attack. Before he could even chamber a punch, let alone release it, a singular tendril with a mace-like head whipped around him and buried itself into his left side. An explosion of fire and razors followed, tearing away a vast swath of his wards. The shockwave smashed into his barrier from the inside, and the pure kinetic force, having caught him off-guard, sent him tumbling head-over-heels. Swarming pyroclast followed in his wake, sticking to him and shredding away. Semzar had no choice but to shroud himself in fire, burning an enormous deal of thauma just to cleanse the lingering deathsmoke from himself.
But it never stopped.
She continued her onslaught without relent, and in turn, so did her familiar continue its tirade. It just¡ It just went on. And on. And on. And on, fading into background noise. In the brief moments of mental clarity, the tirade somehow pushed itself into the empty space. Atrocity after atrocity. A life of endless murder and conquest. Within the last minute, the raven had recounted the merciless extermination of six mafia families, each larger than the Hashem Family by an order of magnitude.
Time after time she struck at Semzar, dumping atrocious sums in mescalt ammunition into his Barrier all the while lashing at him and herding him around the ballroom. Finally, she spent the final bullet in the clip on a Six Trees Killer, timing it such that it would go first before a nearby burster detonated as the real attack. The moment she pulled the trigger, Krahe had already conjured a clip of dregshot alternated with mescalt, and was moving to slam it into place. The grenade approached the space above Semzar¡¯s head, the new clip pushed the old one out, and a rapid sequence of events of took place. First, he dropped his Barrier. Second, a bright red flash issued from his hand. Third, a shockwave of swirling scarlet force burst out of his being, spreading out in a spherical shape. It cracked the floor tiles, swept up a violent gust of wind, and flung furniture across the room as if it were weightless ¡ª and much in the same way, Krahe¡¯s Bursters were flung aside as well.
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Krahe hoped it was a one-time consumable, but also knew it was unlikely. Were that the case, the form factor would have betrayed it. If she was unlucky, the ring could just do that on-demand. She theorized that the ring either guzzled thauma to recharge, or at least had a cooldown between uses. That could not be confirmed, so she would just have to continue as she had with the ring in mind as yet another factor. Semzar had so graciously brought out one tool after the next, it was only right for her to do the same.
She shot the Pattner at her left arm, the empowered talisman plastering across her blackened muscle. In a mere moment, with a single mighty eruption of power from the Implosion Furnace, a mass of red-black pyroclast enveloped her left arm and solidified into the form of a monstrous appendage.
¡°Wandrei faust!¡±
GRUDGE-FILLED GRASP
DEATH BORNE UPON CLAWS OF HATE
BLACK HAND OF DESOLATION: WANDREI FAUST
The monstrous claw ripped free, careening headlong towards its prey with the command to reach optimal standoff range outside his Barrier¡¯s effective angle before firing. As it flew, Krahe wasted no time and unleashed a prolonged burst of Cinder Gatling beams, taking the opportunity to tear away at the mafioso¡¯s wards. It took him a second and a half of their angry strobing to get his barrier back up, and by then, his Wards¡¯ reactive flaring had grown feeble indeed. His Wards now had a gaping hole in the right side of his chest, about 20cm across. Wandrei Faust, having reached overhead, flared with its theurgic fury and spewed forth a screech of yellow killing light. Despite all expectations, he ate nearly the full brunt of it, the flesh scoured from his side so far one could see his organs. Clutching his side, Semzar leapt backwards with a howl of pain. An angry fist scattered the nearly-spent Wandrei Faust into a puff of glassy ash.
That injury, despite its grisly nature, was not a disabling one. It presented an ideal weak point to aim for, but the baneworm shifted his tendrils and used them to restrain his meatsuit¡¯s organs at the expense of his left arm, which lost much volume. That loss of volume and pure physical power didn¡¯t impact the performance of his ranged attacks ¡ª if anything it made them harder to deal with because it altered their timing somewhat.
220 - Razgriz Pt. 1
Once more, the battle settled back into a back-and-forth. Krahe still questioned why Semzar had used the ring that early instead of waiting until he could affect the Wandrei Faust, whose Standoff-mode range was shorter than the ring¡¯s maximum effective range. Did it not work on attacks and constructs of Theurgic nature? Besides being rather generous, that explanation assumed that Semzar knew the nature of Wandrei Faust. The much more likely reason was that Semzar had been holding his mental trigger finger on the ring all along, and ended up pulling it on instinct, without deeper consideration.
Her second Wandrei Faust met its end exceedingly quickly, shot down by such an overkill barrage that Krahe was still happy with the outcome thanks to the opening Semzar had given her. Disappointingly, she had to use that opening to purge entropy instead of ripping into him, but she planted another bullet in his barrier to not let him off easy. Krahe allowed another short while to pass without making any significant moves, half to test whether the ring had a cooldown, and half because she was struggling to keep up. As drugged as she was, the pain of her body breaking down didn¡¯t impede her ¡ª but the increasing loss of mobility could not be denied. She increasingly had to rely more and more on diving and skimming to compensate, cutting into her ability to mount assaults of sufficient intensity to pressure Semzar.
A third Wandrei Faust, she sacrificed alongside a burster and a Six Trees Killer to keep the bastard occupied. He shot down this Faust, too, whilst leaping out of the range of the two others before they could detonate. While that took place, he clenched his fist twice, accompanied by flashes of red from the Crimson Star Ring. They were much dimmer than before, bright enough to see, and Krahe observed no tangible shockwave emission. From this, she inferred that he was mentally smashing the button while the ring was still recharging, having both seen and done similar things in the past. Krahe considered using the Calbian Molting Tonic, but the problem was, she would need time to do so, and it would likely take more time after that to take effect. Storing it in the Kenoma Pocket had cost her a significant chunk of entropy, so retrieval would be the same, and she would have to line it up just right to get between the Liminal Coil¡¯s abnormally-shaped ribs, exactly into her heart. In short, the same opening needed to inject it would also be wide enough to finish Semzar off.
It wasn¡¯t long before Krahe lined up another decisive strike, blasting herself through the air and using a fourth Wandrei Faust as a distraction. She rendered her landing abnormally smooth by astro diving, but as she slid away from him, she skimmed into the floor ¡ª just far enough to trigger the kinetic rebound. In the blink of an eye she was suddenly sliding towards him, fusion-forming a tar-tendril with a burster in its tip as she transitioned from sliding to a low sprint. He shot down the Wandrei Faust as expected, but before her explosive tendril could reach him, there came another flash from that ring. From this up-close, she could clearly see its two shockwaves spreading out, tearing at the flooring and tossing aside furniture as they went. She immediately realized she had made a severe mistake ¡ª she couldn¡¯t adjust her course quickly enough to avoid the shockwave altogether.
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Thus, the answer was to skim through it. Spanning no more than thirty centimeters in thickness, surpassing the twin shockwave would be more than possible, and so Krahe committed to that course of action. She released her hold on her burster-tendril, honed her focus to the absolute extreme of Razormind, and, as the world felt as if it would come to a halt, she dipped her feet into the astral gulf, set her target destination, and initiated the skim.
A moving wall of force halted her, and threw her aside like a ragdoll. She had just enough time to realize that, somehow, the Crimson Star Ring¡¯s shockwave could negate Astro Skimming, and presumably Astro Diving. The sole reason she got the time to consider this was that despite her skim being halted halfway, she still experienced a moment of extreme time dilation when she resurfaced ¡ª thus she hung in mid-air for a stretched-out split-second, locking eyes with an unaware Semzar. Before she could hit the ground, a pair of flaming fists smashed into her ribcage and decisively sent her flying into the wall.
Victorious laughter sprung forth from Semzar¡¯s throat, resembling the cackle of a rabid animal due to how hard he had pushed his meatsuit. He didn¡¯t know how or why that demon had been thrown back, he had acted purely on reflex, and it had taken him a few moments to realize what he had just done¡ But now that he knew, Semzar¡¯s immediate response was to bask in a victory he perceived to be rightly his, even as his body tensed in alarm, senses setting of cascades of body memory that the baneworm himself did not understand.
Another source of laughter rang out. It was that raven. It had begun laughing as it flew towards its master, its persistent presence a hint as to what was to come. A few seconds passed, and, for some reason, Semzar found himself unable to act or move. Something heavy clunked to the floor, followed by a deathly wheeze. Those green pinpricks flared back to life inside the cloud of dust and smoke, and soon she emerged once more. Her skin was utterly decimated, bare flesh showing through in countless places, and the shape of an unnatural ribcage was impressed upon her bodysuit from the inside, lit by a red-orange glow. Her trousers were reduced to rags, yet miraculously retained some vague notion of their original shape as they billowed about her legs. Above her left hand floated a hemispherical tangle of black tendrils, and within that nest, the laughing raven roosted.
¡°Wh- what are you?!¡±
The green-eyed demon gave no answer. Instead, the raven ceased its cackling to speak once more:
¡°AT THE END OF MY LIFE, CUT DOWN BY A BETRAYER, I, BLACKHAND, THE MONSTER, DIED. EONS HENCE, LIKE RAZGRIZ, I, BLACKHAND, THE HERO, HAVE BEEN BORN ANEW. MILLIONS HAVE BURNED BY MY HAND BEFORE YOU AND MILLIONS WILL BURN ERE I PERMIT THIS WORLD TO BE OVERRUN BY YOUR KIND. THIS IS THE CLEANSING OF YOUR SIN. PREPARE TO DIE.¡±
In concert with her familiar, Blackhand spat at him:
¡°YOU ARE A TAPEWORM. THAT BODY IS NOT YOURS. RETURN IT TO ZAVESH.¡±
221 - Razgriz Pt. 2 - Volume 2 FINAL
Krahe¡¯s side of that exchange was significantly uglier and more painful. That double-fisted punch had not only burst one and scorched both of her lungs, it had also bruised her heart. Her impact with the wall didn¡¯t do her many favours, either. As she slumped to the ground she slipped out of consciousness, but Barzai¡¯s shrieking call inside her own skull dragged her back into the world of pain. Groaning on the inside for lack of strength do so vocally, Krahe mobilized a monumental force of will, ripping open a wound-like grin within the palm of her left hand. She used a tendril of tar as thin as one finger to reach inside, and by the power of Thaumic Fusion, she brought out the silver-cased injector¡ but she couldn¡¯t raise it up to drive it into her own heart. Her left arm gripped the implement, but she could barely raise her wrist. Once more, Krahe gathered a monumental force of will, gritting her teeth such that she felt one of her molars crack under the pressure. A strained groan rose from her throat. Blood began leaking from her nostrils, steaming as it ran down her face, and her vision was dyed crimson a moment later.
With a weight comparable to a mountain, Krahe raised her arm and pushed the injector¡¯s monolithic needle into her chest. It scraped against one of her ribs, and with a sensation of icy heat, it pierced her heart. That same sensation soon flooded her, and pain returned as an ocean of clarion clarity ¡ª at once, the serum refused to let her ignore her state, yet also clarified her thoughts. Since implanting the Atomica she had been burning herself alive from within, but now she also felt that way.
What had felt like a protracted struggle had, in fact, taken a few seconds ¡ª so short in fact that the cloud of dust her impact with the wall had created was still yet to dissipate.
She nonetheless got back up, feeling her own insides writhe as they rearranged and pulled back together. Layers of skin, ravaged and baked to coal, sloughed off, revealing bare flesh underneath, threads of new dermal tissue already growing to cover the gap. It was then that Barzai returned to her, perching sideways on her left forearm.
And so, she raised her hand and once more ignited a flame, collapsing it into the light of anathema.
Tendrils of blackest black, suffused with glass and dark jade, twisted together from her wrist to form a nest. Within it Barzai perched, cackling, and as Krahe emerged from the cloud of dust, the raven began screaming the final stanza to its tirade. Though the sound reached her ears, her mind was so utterly focused on moving forward and not collapsing that she didn¡¯t process what he was saying. She only noticed that at some point he stopped.
At the sight of Semzar, still staring at her in disbelief from behind his barrier, a deep, guttural disgust cut through it all, through the pain and exhaustion. It perfectly matched just how sick she felt. From the boundless well of vitriol she had refined and distilled throughout her life, a rebuke bubbled, and Barzai spoke it alongside her in perfect synchronicity.
¡°YOU ARE A TAPEWORM. THAT BODY IS NOT YOURS. RETURN IT TO ZAVESH.¡±
Around the framework of black tendrils, solid panels began forming an icosahedron. Semzar snapped out of his daze and once more began sloppily loosing flaming fists Krahe¡¯s way, but even as wrecked as she was, it took minimal movement to dodge them. He wasn¡¯t even putting the bare-minimum thought into them as he had done before ¡ª by now, Semzar was lashing out in pure panic, his ring flashing a dim light that spoke clearly of just how doomed its fool of a wielder was. There was not a chance in hell it would be ready before the Daemon Core was.
But¡ Just in case.
Krahe opened three more mouths along her arm.
And spoke the Words. She knew not whether or not there was any point or benefit, but she did it regardless.
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With the first Word, three flaming fists closest to her were cast aside, tinged in red and black, and sent flying back at Semzar, changing shape mid-air into the clawed talons of Wandrei Faust.
With the second Word, several chairs and tables were sent flying.
With the third Word, the windows blew out.
With each word, the Daemon Core¡¯s formation sped up.
With each word, the ember at its core burned ever brighter, with ever more wretched hatred for its victim.
THREE KEYS TO SWING WIDE THE GATES OF BLACKEST BLACKNESS
THREE WORDS SO MIGHTY NO MORTAL MIND CAN HOLD THEM
THREE BREATHLESS MOUTHS WITH WHICH TO SPEAK THEM
At the moment of completion, as Krahe gestured forth to sic the Daemon Core upon Semzar, the baneworm had the good judgment to strike, rightly thinking that she was not in the ideal state to dodge his strike. Krahe, without even thinking, raised an unassisted barrier, a swirling, undulating mass of smoke and sparks, almost alive in appearance. It didn¡¯t matter how much entropy it cost her, and it would not have mattered even if that impact had sent her into meltdown. Rather than redouble his assault Semzar began feverishly looking around, and when his gaze fell upon the couch where he had sat, or rather upon the unconscious body of Casus Aristedes, he thought he might still have a chance. But by the time he began moving in that direction, the Daemon Core had, with unsettling swiftness, caught up to him, floating ominously overhead. One of the shell¡¯s panels cracked.
In the next moment, screaming death poured forth and obliterated everything below his meatsuit¡¯s head, burning a farcical silhouette into the floor tiles. Crimson light filled the ballroom and poured out of all available openings. In every way that mattered, Semzar was already dead. Only an anathema-poisoned, mutilated, dying baneworm remained, writhing impotently within its skull in a vain effort to escape.
AN EYE OF CRIMSON IMPRISONED IN BLACKNESS
ITS GAZE ERUPTS FORTH TO SCOUR AWAY THE UNWORTHY
BLACK HAND OF DESOLATION: DAEMON CORE
Krahe, with every ounce of will left to her, stumbled over to Semzar¡¯s head, leaning on furniture along the way. Slowly, with great effort, she stomped and stomped until the skull cracked open and Semzar flopped out. He was severely discolored, veins bulging beneath his slimy skin, and blackened anathema burns covered a third of what remained of his body. He didn¡¯t even try to escape, twitching in her grasp. She brought out a souldreg extractor and jabbed it into the dying worm. A multicoloured mass of souldregs filled the vial halfway, the natural pearlescence marred by black and purple threads and specks. After stowing it away, Krahe struggled back to her feet and ambled over to the couch, sitting down next to Casus.
Every screaming muscle in her body insisted that it would be fine to fall asleep, that the Inquisitor would arrive any time now. Krahe didn¡¯t buy that, and forced herself back up. Lacking the strength to do anything so glamorous as carry her unconscious comrade out of the mansion, she dragged him along instead.
Having already entered the mansion, Yazata was in no position to witness the light show. However, out of anyone, she was particularly well suited to hearing the Words, to feeling the reverberations of a high theurgy being carried out to the utmost extent. Feeling the abrupt dimming of Blackhand¡¯s magical signature that followed the theurgy, the Inquisitor continued making her way further into the mansion with renewed urgency.
With her pack of red hoods in tow, she came across the two of them at the foot of the staircase leading to the ballroom¡¯s main door. To say they were in a sorry state would have been an enormous understatement. Casus bore numerous wounds, his right arm was wrecked, and so was the Silberblut Coupler. He was unconscious, but besides the filth, he would be fine. Blackhand, who was dragging him along, resembled the burnt-out husk of a dead anathemist more than any living thing. The left side of her face was completely overtaken by anathema burns, as was a significant portion of the rest of her body. Trails of blood crusted her face, yet somehow her bodysuit was pristine. Then, a chunk of burned skin sloughed off, and fresh skin made itself known underneath. Calbian Molting Tonic. Unmistakable. That she lived in her state was no longer a surprise ¡ª the question became how she was able to walk in her state given the tonic¡¯s clarifying, painkiller-neutralizing side effect.
Yazata didn¡¯t get to ask any of the many questions swirling in her mind. Blackhand locked eyes with her, smirked, and uttered with a death-like whisper: ¡°Ah. Good. You must be the Inquisitor.¡±
With those words, she also collapsed on the spot.
222 - Twin Return Pt. 1
Deep underground, a chitinous pod cracked open, segments of its shell rising in a motion akin to the opening of a spider¡¯s fangs. From its fleshy interior, a flood of oily fluid spewed forth, draining away through the grated floor. A gangly figure lurched forward, hanging by numerous umbilicals as a puppet would from its strings.
After hanging limply for a few seconds, the shape twitched to life, arching its back as the lower half of its face unfurled in a manner much like the pod. Its lamprey-like tongue whipped back and forth, a gurgling hiss rising from its throat. One by one, each umbilicus was torn free, retracted back into the pod. The moment its occupant was free of its confines, the fleshy machine closed shut.
Coughing and retching, the evoy reached for a nearby grafting table, dragging himself to his feet. Slowly, his coughing turned into laughter. His mind swarmed with an influx of new memories ¡ª half his own, and half tinged by the thoughts of another, by the thoughts of a feeble man who had once come to him, offering up his life for the chance at strength ¡ª Cabral.
The gangly evoy shuddered in place, stumbling to one corner of the room, where several showerheads protruded from the stoneand a mirror hung from the wall. With the turn of a handle, scalding water poured out and washed the oily ichor off of his body, exposing his bone-white, smooth chitin. Malformed, devoid of any protuberances, untouched by Vedesis. An abomination whose existence and method of birth insulted both the Vedesian Swarm and the Twin Churches.
The White Evoy glared into his reflection. At rest, the shape of his face almost resembled that of a human ¡ª almost. Even his eyes were more like those of men than of evoy, only with black sclera and white irises, and possessing the protective shell of translucent chitin that evoy eyes did. As he was now, he felt even less at home in his own body than normally, his spirit yet to fully settle back into his original flesh.
Once he was done, he made his way through the subterranean complex, passing by vast arrays of grafting equipment, tubs and tubes filled with nascent flesh that ranged from small nubs to entire organs to limbs, eventually reaching a chamber separate from the rest of the complex, one that resembled a living space the most. Instead of being carved into bare stone and reinforced as a mine would be, it was more like a small apartment, only far underground.
He collapsed into a padded chair that waited at the entrance. The bulkhead door slid into place behind him without making a sound. With the turn of a key, the chair rose up astride six insectile legs, and with the push of a control stick it walked over to the workbench at the other side of the room, its small engine churning and thaumine tank bubbling. The chair was not an item of necessity ¡ª Cabral had left it here, and the White Evoy found it too convenient to dispose of. His eyes idly wandered over the many tools, bits, and pieces scattered across his workbench, but he eventually gave up and just sat back in his seat, tilting it back by adjusting the posture of its legs.
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For some time, he sifted through his thoughts and new memories in this manner, staring absently into the ceiling.
Eventually his thoughts began to wander, as did his eyes, falling upon a set of chitin plates which he had modified for the eventuality of interacting with Vedesians in his true form. They bore exaggerated ridges and hooked spikes. Moreover, they were adorned with Vedesian icons, wrought from melted-down Igarian idols and seared into the chitin. These Vedesian icons, however, bore the mark of his resentment, emblazoned with scripture that spited the goddess on the sides embedded into chitin, out of sight. The inner sides of these modified plates were similarly emblazoned, blending rebukes against Vedesis with protective warding to reinforce them. In this manner, he would be inured from her influence when he wore them. Had he been able, he would have grafted himself to alter his appearance long ago. While his tolerance for inorganic grafts was near-zero, he had the opposite issue with organic graft-stock. His body aggressively assimilated all organic grafts, reshaping grafted flesh to fit his natural form. The same issue arose with organic, evoy-specific adaptations of the Mamon Coupler paradigm ¡ª the transformations all came out as slightly larger versions of himself, with any unique traits he tried to introduce having minimal physical presence.
Only that which Aristedes had referred to as ¡°Abara Morph Tsetse¡± could be considered a success, the last attempt at the end of a three-decade-long struggle. The fact he had to use another¡¯s body and soul as a catalyst didn¡¯t bother him in the slightest, the only problem was the difficulty of sourcing good material.
Finally, his many disparate streams of thought gathered into one flow, and he sprung into action, feverishly reaching for tools and wet storage capsules as he began working once more.
¡°Aristedes¡ Oh, Aristedes, when next we meet, I shall have such sights to show you,¡± he muttered.
Reality flooded back in all at once. Krahe snapped upright, glancing left and right, at once searching for threats and grabbing for her gun. Reassuringly, the gun was right there, in her hand. For a moment, she felt fine, but only for a moment. Her most recent memory was dragging Casus down the mansion steps and coming face-to-face with that unsettling, owl-like woman.
To start with, she was back in the safehouse. Moreover, she felt fine, as if she had slept off everything from the raid. That wasn¡¯t entirely impossible, if she fully bought into the Molting Tonic¡¯s regenerative capabilities.
But¡ As she looked around, she quickly noticed small hints as to what was really going on.
To start with, she checked inside the cabinet, taking out a book at random. She had seen Casus reading it before, but hadn¡¯t done so herself, and when she opened it, inside she found the contents of a particularly amusing conspiracy blog she had read once. After checking the safehouse to ensure nobody was here, she made her way down to the street. The city was unnervingly quiet, even taking into consideration the safehouse¡¯s location at its very edge.
Then, she took a left turn into an alleyway she hadn¡¯t gone down before, and Audunpoint fell away. Krahe found herself right back in the cramped corridors of Sector 9. She was flanked to either side by rows of tiny shops, all free space taken up by ads that ranged from LED screens to posters to holograms, selling anything and everything. Even still, nobody was here. Oh, there were shopkeepers and customers, but none of them were real, none of them moved or acted like people. Everything felt ephemeral, like nothing existed unless she paid attention to it.
223 - Memoria
It was at this point that a door in an alcove swung open, and Casus stepped out. Only, the moment he fell into Krahe¡¯s line of sight, his clothes flickered and changed, adapting to her mental image of how he would look in the fashion of Sector 9 ¡ª more specifically, a stereotypical Sector 9 street-samurai. A great big armored coat, retro-techwear pants, ballistic vest, the whole lot. The Banisher took a step towards her and opened his mouth, but froze in place when he realized what had happened to him, looking himself over. He immediately turned towards one of the displays to see his own reflection.
¡°This is how I appear to you?¡± he questioned, taken aback.
¡°How you would look if you were from here,¡± Krahe corrected, approaching. She looked at Casus¡¯ reflection for a few moments, then glanced up at him. ¡°Let me make two guesses. Guess one: I am being operated on, and this is somehow a consequence of total anesthesia, similar to the hallucinations induced during my spine replacement. Guess two: This is the real side effect of the Molting Tonic and I¡¯m stuck like this for the time being, presumably while my comatose body is held in a church facility.¡±
He did a double-take, briefly meeting her gaze, looking back at his reflection for a moment, then finally meeting her gaze properly.
¡°Both are¡ Somewhat correct. High Grafter Fidelia has taken it upon herself to discern the extent and exact nature of the damage, and to rectify it in a minimal manner so that you can choose how to proceed when you wake up. As for¡¡± Casus gestured vaguely at his surroundings. ¡°...this, it is a consequence of the Molting Tonic¡¯s side effects. You likely noticed that the tonic counteracts functionally the analgesic effects of nearly all substances, including those produced by your own body. This is an alternative.¡±
¡°Care to elaborate on the sequence of events since the raid? As I recall, you were unconscious when I dragged you out of there.¡±
¡°I am afraid I do not know much more than you. Our inquisitor friend, Yazata Heptaxia, retrieved the both of us, and High Grafter Fidelia took over from there. It seems, before you fell unconscious, you used the Liminal Coil to send Fidelia a locational ping. Presently, we are located in a subterranean temple-compound.¡±
Casus raised his right arm, looking it over. The change of fashion had also entailed a new right arm ¡ª a hard-shelled full-synthetic, covered in decals that described every joint and access panel. For a time, a certain subset of Sector 9¡¯s paramilitary sector had been overrun with this trend of imitating the design language of objects intended to be readable to automatic-recognition cameras found on maintenance drones and smart-glasses. A snapshot from the sector¡¯s zeitgeist.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
¡°Interesting. I half-expected to appear without a right arm, considering I am devoid of it at the moment,¡± said the Banisher. He stopped, looking Krahe up and down, furrowing his brow. Before he could say any more, Krahe glanced into the display once again. It took a few moments for what she saw to click in her head ¡ª her appearance had shifted to match how she had looked during the time from which this street and Casus¡¯ clothes were drawn. She now wore an armored jacket over a full upper-body skinsuit, emblazoned with the manufacturing code above the left clavicle. These were joined by dangerously short shorts, thigh-highs of the same material as the skinsuit, and knee-high boots ripped off of a Neptunian Dawn Street Cleaner Mk. XXVIII combat armor. It achieved near-total coverage, while evoking an appearance of the opposite, in no small part due to the skinsuit living up to its name ¡ª not in colour, but in fit. Perhaps only the biosuit matched this specific article in how closely it conformed to her body.
Despite her clothes going back in time, she remained devoid of cybernetics.
¡°Haven¡¯t seen myself like this. The outfit, but no grafts,¡± she remarked, thinking no more of it as she turned to Casus. ¡°Alright, what now? Just wait?¡±
The Banisher shook his head.
¡°You must continue onward until the exit presents itself. That is the only instruction the High Grafter has given me to pass onto you. It¡¯s funny, I was in fact sent in to make you aware of the situation, lest you become lost in the construct, but you were already on your way out when I made my entry,¡± he said.
¡°Nothing to do but go deeper, then,¡± Krahe shrugged as she began to walk. Casus followed without a word, his attention eaten-up by the scenery. Tangled, narrow alleys continued for some time, before abruptly opening up to a truly sprawling vista ¡ª it was a subterranean hollow containing an entire city within its confines. A forest of monumental pillars stretched out into the distance, seemingly supporting the cave ceiling. They were dotted with tiny lights. Krahe knew that most of them were fake, near completely solid, with only an outermost layer of habitable space, but that didn¡¯t lessen the impact of this vista. Not back then, and not now. The space was vast enough to have its own miniature weather system, clouds lingering near the cave ceiling and diffusing the light of monstrously powerful lamps into a dreary approximation of eternal moonlit night.
The spot they emerged was a hovercraft landing and service area, and the spot where the corridor connected had been, in reality, the entrance to a large tunnel. They both took in the sight for some time, both for their own reasons. Krahe interrupted Casus¡¯ sightseeing by approaching one of the parked hovercars. She simply opened the door, and a small voice inside her groaned in disappointment that she wouldn¡¯t get to flex her extensive knowledge on the security flaws of these vehicles.
¡°I must ask¡ How close is this to reality?¡± Casus questioned when he caught up to her.
¡°Close enough,¡± Krahe shrugged. ¡°The real Sector Eight wasn¡¯t deserted, for one ¡ª the air and ground were both swarming at all times. The city was smaller, too. This one looks to go on forever, hell it probably will if I let it. Come on, get in.¡±
¡°Do you have a particular destination in mind?¡± Casus asked.
¡°Of course. Not every day I get to take a literal walk down memory lane. Might as well make the most of this.¡±
224 - Neo Babylonia
It took Krahe a short while to work out the hovercar¡¯s manual controls, but before long, she had the machine whirring a meter off the ground. A moment later, they went shooting off into the distance, soaring over the city that made up over half of Sector 8. While she had a particular goal in mind, it was a ways out, leaving plenty of time to overlook the subterranean metropolis.
¡°Neo Babylonia. This city, I mean,¡± Krahe said.
¡°Why the name?¡± Casus asked.
¡°The towers. An ancient myth of man¡¯s attempt to build a tower so tall they could reach God. The myth ended with the destruction of the tower and the creation of the world¡¯s many different languages. There¡¯s also the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, a wonder of the ancient world, which the city somewhat imitates. See how the tallest buildings are all stacked next to the pillars, with the tallest being the nearest to the pillars. Combined with greenhouses atop the smaller buildings, you have another sort of hanging gardens.¡±
¡°A curious myth, given the parallels it has with Zastreon¡¯s history¡¡± the Banisher said. His attention quickly returned to being taken up by the scenery, and no wonder.
On the side of a nearby tower, Tower 6, an enormous ad for Wolf and Raven cybernetics shone, depicting the company¡¯s twin mascots bedecked in steel. It had been there for as long as Krahe knew ¡ª the building had been sabotaged by a disgruntled engineer so that it could only display this one ad, forever. At the time, this made sense, as Wolf and Raven had only just stepped into the cybernetics market and none believed they could hold up against fierce competition and corporate warfare. However, this particular ad, which had been intended to only run for a few days, had in the end assured their success by turning most of Neo Babylonia onto their products. They were good cybernetics sold at a comparatively cheaper price, as far as Krahe remembered ¡ª nothing of interest to her, but fantastic for the common end user.
They continued in this manner for what seemed like hours, if not days. Time was far more congruent here than in a dream, but dream time still seemed to apply to an extent. Taking advantage of the deserted landscape, Krahe swept down to just above street level, flying between the buildings. In reality, turrets would have sprung up to shoot her down for doing this without permission, but no such thing took place here. She pulled back up when streets began repeating ¡ª she didn¡¯t remember the entirety of Neo Babylonia, after all. The bird¡¯s eye view, sure. But she hadn¡¯t seen many streets from ground level.
The hovercar¡¯s radio came alive, and, despite Krahe¡¯s instinctive attempt to turn it off, it continued playing.. It was a mashup remix from an ancient theatrical production and an animation from the early 2000s. A piano line and operatic vocals led into the dark and sorrowful voice of a male singer, a crooner. He sung of dreaming the impossible dream, fighting the unbeatable foe, of bearing with unbearable sorrow and righting the unrightable wrong. Of how that was his quest, no matter how hopeless, to be willing to die so that honor and justice may live. Even when she changed the station, the song stayed the same ¡ª the only sign the button even worked was the sound of a raven¡¯s caw whenever she pressed it, barely audible through the music. Clicking her tongue, she gave up and just left it alone.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
¡°And the world will be better for this, that one man, scorned and covered with scars, still strove with his last ounce of courage, to- touch the untouchable, break the unbreakable¡¡±
The crooner¡¯s sorrowful vocals abruptly cut to a determined, defiant rap, and similarly, the instrumental dropped the more reserved aspects in favour of electro that mimicked the original piano line at a vastly elevated level of energy. It was vaguely familiar, in that she thought she might have heard it once or twice at some point, but she couldn¡¯t place when or where. Krahe figured this must be some consequence of Casus¡¯ presence, that his manifestation within her memoryscape somehow influenced it in small ways. At least, that¡¯s how she rationalized this occurrence.
Casus, knew that his presence couldn¡¯t induce such changes. He knew that this was a matter of Lady Blackhand¡¯s subconscious mind, and he had the good manners to not bring it up.
As they pushed on, similar phenomena began to take place. Faces appeared on Neo Babylonia¡¯s great spires, and by Lady Blackhand¡¯s reaction, it was clear that she not only recognized them ¡ª she hated them. Unbidden, black tendrils sprung up from the earth at the bases of the offending edifices and began to envelop them, reaching above the clouds and to the cave ceiling, transforming the great pillars into grotesque, gnarled trees. Eventually, they at last reached the end of the city, stretching out into a desolate waste, with an elevated road running through it. They flew over a subterranean lake from whose floor emanated a pale-blue glow, enormous cables snaking out onto its shore and towards Neo Babylonia. The road entered into a yawning tunnel in the cave wall, far off the ground level, and they entered the passage.
Krahe landed the hovercar at a rest stop. It was down a left turn at a split in the tunnel, through a set of great bulkhead doors. Despite being a rest stop it was in fact the size of a small town, in no small part due to also being the access point for one of Sector 8¡¯s many surface elevators.
They spent a short while walking around the deserted town in silence, until Krahe noticed an abrupt shift in Casus¡¯ demeanor, as if he was hearing a conversation that Krahe couldn¡¯t.
¡°It appears my time is up for now. I shall return again, assuming you do not emerge before then,¡± he said.
With that, he walked into the door of a random building. When she peered inside, Krahe only saw the interior of a grimey fast-food restaurant, if it could be called that.
225 - Neo Babylonia Pt. 2
Krahe walked through the door, finding the ¡°restaurant¡± to be just as she remembered it. Of course, in reality, it had not been here, but visiting that place was her only reason to take a break at this rest stop in particular, and so her mind placed it in the first empty space it would fit. She held a great deal of nostalgia for this place in particular, despite only eating there twice before it was wrecked. Never once had she been able to find a doner kebab quite like this one.
She wondered if she could even eat in this mental construct, but sure enough, she could even feel the burn of hot grease spitting from the meat-cylinder as it rotated next to an array of blowtorch-style gas burners. The whole apparatus was welded together from scrap, and an old surgical saw dangled from the plug next to it. Besides the basic components, there was intensely garlicky white dressing and several varieties of faux-vegetables ¡ª seaweed shaped, textured, dyed, and flavoured to imitate real vegetables, whether extinct or expensive.
When she took the first bite, Krahe almost expected to be disgusted, but no such thing happened. It was just as heavenly as she remembered it.
¡°Guess it can¡¯t be any worse than I remember it being, can it?¡± she thought. Even still, it was a hollow feeling. The mere knowledge it wasn¡¯t real, and even worse, that it was just a replay of her memories, somehow sapped all but the most surface-level enjoyment out of it. She spent another twenty minutes or so at the rest stop, simply walking around before she returned to the hovercar and took off once again.
Instead of arriving at her goal, she emerged from the tunnel to a sight very much alike to Neo Babylonia, yet also infinitely different. It was nothing more or less than Neo Babylonia fourteen years later, a wretched image of desolation. Of the great towers, half were toppled or broken in half, and two of those still standing were now no more than inert pillars, their windows all blown out. Still, even still, that Wolf and Raven hoload persisted. It was garbled nonsense now, but it persisted. The cave ceiling had collapsed, allowing the sun to shine down, and construction from the surface crawled into the opening like infection into a wound.
As she flew over the desolate landscape, noticing the many places where things had to be filled in with sections of other cities, Krahe couldn¡¯t help but stew in how utterly galling the fate of this city was. Even if it had been a generally shit place to live at its height, it had been no worse than that. One could realistically eke out a decent living. In short, it had actually been one of the best places to live in all of Megacity Gamma.
Not long before her death, Krahe had learned the conflict that destroyed Neo Babylonia had been instigated by a man known only as the Tower Lord, who also came out victorious. As the name suggested he owned one of the city¡¯s towers in its entirety, as opposed to splitting ownership between multiple corporations. The man had held the widely unpopular opinion that Sector 8 should be integrated with Sectors 5 and 6, which were under the control of Whitestone at the time. Of course, the Tower Lord in question had bent his substantial resources towards fabricating a false consensus to fool the average inhabitant into thinking they and those they knew were part of a minority in disagreeing with the integration. This had not worked ¡ª the people of Neo Babylonia had seen through better lies, and so their malignant hidden overlord had simply chosen to rape and kill them until they accepted his plan for the sake of their own survival. In the end, the simply-named Tower War had weakened Neo Babylonia to an extent where it had no choice but to submit to Sectors 5 and 6, and by proxy, to Whitestone.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
In spite of the bitterness, in spite of the journey seeming to lengthen itself with these cruel reminders, she pushed onward. She would reach him. She simply knew that place deep within Sector 7 to be her way out, but she also wanted to go there, one last time. Even if Sauer wouldn¡¯t be there.
The more she focused on that goal, the more time began skipping forward, much as it would in a dream.
And so, she found herself far beyond the half-dead corpse of Neo Babylonia, traversing not real locations, but vast subterranean complexes straight from a VRMMO she would play whenever she had to lay low in one location for long periods of time. The network security had been second to none due to the developers themselves being anti-corporate cyberterrorists and using the game as a recruitment tool, making it one of the few games widely popular among individuals of Krahe¡¯s ilk.
The caves gradually narrowed until she had no choice but to go on foot, and she spent several hours trawling through dungeons and catacombs, even through the hollowed-out insides of long-dead, yet unrotting gods. Eventually, she emerged out of just such a god-corpse¡¯s carved-open stomach onto a beach of black sand against which waves of white liquid lapped. Corrosive fumes lingered near the ground, and the ¡°water¡± itself was even more corrosive still. As Krahe looked out into the dark, she couldn¡¯t help but feel an unsettling sense of the sublime, like there was something out there, beyond the fog and beneath the waves. She wasn¡¯t sure if it was something other than herself or merely something subconscious, perhaps even a manifestation of the Wound-like Grin itself, but she knew she didn¡¯t want to come face to face with it.
It wasn¡¯t as if she had to worry about that right now, however. She was stuck.
And so, she decided to follow Casus¡¯ advice, and call for help. Looking around, she stared off into the distance vaguely in the direction of the sky.
¡°I¡¯m sure someone is listening, so if you are: I could really use a ship right now.¡±
A few moments passed. Nothing happened. Then, just as she considered how she might better get the message across, she abruptly found herself standing atop an enormous, tanker-like ship, the shore just barely visible in the far distance.
226 - Sauer
The vessel resembled a tanker in general shape alone. Unlike those vessels, it was constructed in a borderline baroque style, and the iconography of the Twin Churches abounded wherever it could fit. Countless guns, harpoons, and armaments of other sorts that Krahe didn¡¯t quite recognize bristled from its hull. A huge wheel revolved in the middle, its diameter amounting to one-third of the vessel¡¯s length. With seven spokes, it clearly imitated the world-wheel in design. Like the world-wheel, its interior sections were also hidden from view ¡ª she could only glimpse the eldritch mechanisms making up the wheel¡¯s beneath-deck sections.
Despite the absence of any crew, the great ship moved ahead, slowly but continuously accelerating by a means unseen to Krahe. She came to wonder how long it would take the ponderous thing to traverse the vast expanse, and as if in response, its wheel began revolving faster, and in turn, the ship also began accelerating at a faster rate. When she lost focus, however, the ship began losing speed. Thus, Krahe made her way to the prow. There, she sat down, and honed her full focus towards her goal. Sauer¡¯s home.
The wheel-ship¡¯s prow split the sea of acid without any resistance, and before long, the vessel reached such a velocity that it should have been thrown out of the sea ¡ª but instead, it simply rose above the waves and pressed on regardless. It was then, just about able to see overboard from where she sat, that Krahe realized the ship was completely surrounded by a barrier, one that shared a property with wards in that it only became visible when actively deflecting something, revealing itself to be a mosaic shell of golden light. The sea grew uneasy, stirring and crashing. Waves rose up from the sea to smash against the hull, but the wheel-ship tore through them as if they weren¡¯t even there. From ten, to twenty, to fifty and a hundred meters tall, the sea threw tsunamis in Krahe¡¯s way. Flashes, like lightning, erupted within the waves, illuminating shapes that she couldn¡¯t quite grasp. Even still, the ship cut through, because she willed it to do so.
The further she pushed, the more she began to hear things that didn¡¯t belong. Originating from nowhere and everywhere at once, strange singing carried across the fathomless deep, devoid of words, somewhere between the sound of a human voice and the hiss of a speaker. At times it faded, distorted, or began to sound blown-out. She could almost make out words within the sound, almost. Underneath it flowed the sound of an organ, countless notes in rapid sequence, yet forming a smooth and sublime melody. The sounds of waves crashing against the hull, alongside the thumping of the ship¡¯s machinery, made up a percussive layer, seemingly by pure coincidence. A sense of tense seriousness pervaded the song, but its constant, unerring pace also held within it a machine-like certainty.
Gradually, over the course of hours or perhaps days, the great ship traversed the vast blackness. Waves were joined by storms that appeared from nowhere and vanished just as abruptly, and chthonian monsters of all kinds beset her during her journey, and yet, never once did the ship falter upon its course. Even the flesh, bone, metal and stone of countless titans yielded before the vessel¡¯s golden barrier.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
The music yielded to something else. The sounds of footfalls, of tools rattling, even what sounded like a ventilator. Then, came the voices, fractured and frayed, but still mostly coherent.
¡°...ifting. She¡¯s surfacing. How is that possible?! Cognitive pressure¡enormous¡growing at a geometric rate. We have no choice¡pull¡¡±
She recognized this voice as Firminus.
High Grafter Fidelia¡¯s voice responded: ¡°Nonsense. Spin up units two through four. Plug their diagnostic and input cables into unit one¡¯s auxiliary ports in alternating pairs. I will handle the recalibration.¡±
The music grew louder and more frantic, and with each passing moment, the obstacles in Krahe¡¯s way lessened. The ship ceased accelerating, and moments later, it ran aground. In the moments of final approach, Krahe saw a beach of glimmering, blue-glowing sand with man-sized rocks of the same blue, glass-like material scattered about. But then, the ship tore straight past the beach and ran up an enormous dune, soaring through the air, and in all directions, an endless desert of glowing glass stretched. The ship came down upon a particular spot, smashing down exactly next to a mashup of things Krahe recognized. It was the yawning crater that remained of Sanctuary, New Dixie, and at its bottom was Sauer¡¯s hut, somehow. The glass desert now made sense.
All of this bizarre scenery, however, didn¡¯t take her aback, and neither did the fact she was entirely unaffected by the rough landing.
No, it was the fact Sauer was there, looking up at her.
At once unnerved and irresistibly curious, Krahe slid down the wall of the crater. He looked¡ Right. Everything was there. Even the way he held himself was right, the seemingly lazy stance and squinted eyes that concealed a monowire-sharp mind, surpassing even operatives chromed to the gills while only having the absolute bare bones nerve interface chips.
Short, grey hair, slicked back. Pale skin, untouched by the sun, bearing few wrinkles. Clothes in a style of techwear so old it had gone back in and out of fashion thrice over while Sauer had been wearing it. Everything short of the surroundings was on point.
The old man looked her up and down. His grey-blue eyes cut through her like a hot knife through butter.
¡°So that time has come, has it?¡± he said.
¡°You¡ Should not be here,¡± replied Krahe.
¡°Another of your contingencies. In case you couldn¡¯t find me. You convinced me to implant a hypno-engram of myself ¡ª how you achieved this, I don¡¯t know. I, the engram, alongside the memory of my implantation, have been locked away until now. But now that this echo of me is active¡ It will not last long. Your subconscious mind will erase ¡®me¡¯ soon enough, assuming something else doesn¡¯t devour me first. Perhaps the monstrous raven, or your shadow. You really should be aware that there are other things in here beyond your self-identity, girl.¡±
Krahe¡¯s thoughts ran rampage. An engram container would have to be entirely separate from a living brain, but with her Moravec Transferred brain, it was possible to connect it more directly while retaining a safe degree of separation until the engram was needed. She hadn¡¯t used such outmoded technology ¡ª its points of appeal didn¡¯t fit her use case. The only reason to use it in the modern day was for cases like this, to lay in wait and activate when certain prerequisites were met, such as a deep-insertion sleeper agent hearing an activation phrase.
227 - Sauer Pt. 2
Sauer looked around.
¡°Interesting construct. Remarkably stable. From the looks of this mental space¡ Yes, this will give us a bit more time.¡±
¡°A low-footprint engram should not be this responsive. Not without supporting hardware.¡±
¡°And you should not be able to sustain such a high-resolution mental construct without supporting hardware. Perhaps whatever machinery you are connected to also enables me to function in this manner, hm? Ah, but¡ Who knows. I am a mere engram after all,¡± he retorted. For just a moment, a familiar grin flashed over his face.
¡°But-¡±
¡°Shut up. I don¡¯t care about your suspicions, I don¡¯t care about your deep dark secrets, and I certainly do not care about how come you¡¯re a twenty-something full-organic again. Do you want my help or not? After this, I¡¯m done. Gone. No more Sauer. Does it matter how this mere engram can function to this extent? Have you not seen stranger things in your time?¡±
She tried to query Chernobog¡¯s Mystic Wisdom regarding Sauer¡¯s engram, and got nothing.
Krahe gave engram-Sauer a martial bow, cupping her left fist with her right hand in front of herself.
Sauer laughed.
¡°Come now, I am not real. Less than even a ghost, I¡¯m probably still alive. Now, where to start. I can only draw upon your severely lacking martial education, so if you¡¯d let me¡¡±
Krahe clearly felt the subtle pressure of Sauer¡¯s request in the back of her head. She let him in, deciding to share everything she knew as far as martial arts went, as well as some memories she had of Sauer ¡ª those of his real demonstrations, plus one other. Engram-Sauer¡¯s eyes lit up, and his left arm changed to something she recognized, yet something she had never seen the real Sauer wear. Indeed, it was the arm she had seen during the Six-eyed Dream Serpent venom vision.
¡°Yes. This will do. Let¡¯s start with a demonstration, then.¡±
Without another word, he re-enacted the kata Krahe had seen him performing in her vision. Then, he did it again, and again, and again, increasingly breaking it down into individual movements with each repetition. If Krahe didn¡¯t quite grasp a movement the first go round, engram-Sauer would repeat it without her needing to say anything. After that came practical training, and to her great relief, Krahe found that she could channel thauma with impunity ¡ª this wasn¡¯t physical reality, after all. She lost track of time, and eventually even the awareness that this wasn¡¯t actually Sauer faded out of awareness.
Engram-Sauer gradually unfolded what Krahe had seen in her vision into something altogether different, something complete and even beyond that. To call it a single technique wasn¡¯t right ¡ª it was an entire movement method, combining intentional off-rhythm awkwardness with explosive movements. Each motion could flow into at least three others, and each end-pose would allow for a wide variety of attacks. There was a subset of altered movements that treated user¡¯s enhanced arm as a defensive implement, positioned to interpose it between any incoming attacks and the user.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
¡°Now, let us incorporate armaments. By the looks of it, you no longer possess the Blackhands. What are your current preferences?¡±
Krahe took a moment to put things in terms that would make sense to Sauer, then listed off the tools she most preferred to use: ¡°A ring-trigger pistol, either hand. A dagger, also either hand. Monowire, left-handed, single or multi-strand up to one for each finger. Back-mounted attack tendril ¡ª can be blunt, piercing, or explosive-tipped. Generalized short-medium range inbuilt energy weapons, left hand, from the palm. Lastly, an inbuilt homing missile launcher ¡ª it requires a few seconds of preparation. This entails using the aforementioned pistol to shoot a special bullet at any point on the left arm. The missile is an autonomous radiation emitter with a standoff range of several meters and articulated fingers for grabbing onto targets.¡±
As she did this, she shared memories of each tool¡¯s characteristics, quickly fleshing out aspects she couldn¡¯t easily put into words without going on at length.
¡°I see. Good choices,¡± said Sauer, rubbing his chin. He remained in thought for some time, before walking to his hut. He emerged immediately afterwards, bearing a pistol in hand and dagger on his waist. The gun was known to Krahe ¡ª an affordable and widespread deliver method for high-yield special ammunition, the Wolf and Raven Lawbringer Type-5. The gun was single-shot, but designed to sync up with a support armature that could select and load ammunition at lightning speed. Mimicking that functionality to the fullest was still out of reach for Krahe¡¯s tar-tendrils, but not as far as it had once been. A robot walked out after him, a huge, clumsy thing made of scrapped-together military salvage, its armor pitted with bullet holes and gashes. The robot, too, was known to her. A ¡°Big Mook¡± as the real Sauer had called them. This one was based on her memory of Big Mook 21.
Sauer began with the pistol-adjusted version of the base kata, and moved on in the same order as Krahe had listed things out.
Whether hours, days, or weeks passed, Krahe didn¡¯t know, and didn¡¯t care. The sun never set on this desert of glass, and she never felt thirst, hunger, or exhaustion. There was just one problem: Her arm couldn¡¯t actually facilitate the full extent of what engram-Sauer was showing her. It was only capable of a limited, simplified variant, similar to what she had done during the mansion raid.
Over, and over, and over again. And over, and over, and over again, Krahe tried, even if she felt it was pointless, if for no other reason than the delusional desire to bring that vision to life. She hadn¡¯t been sure back then, but she was absolutely certain now: That vision hadn¡¯t been a mere hallucination, and neither had been any of the others. Somehow, the Six-eyed Dream Serpent had truly shown her reality ¡ª more than that, it had, in a way, taken her there. Sauer¡¯s hut, that alley in Sector 5, the shore of that alien lake, even the rapid-fire flashes of saints rooting out corruption wherever they went. Whether it was delusion or truth, she didn¡¯t know or care ¡ª Krahe fully believed that those things had been real.
¡°Stop. That¡¯s enough. It¡¯s clear that you lack the proper hardware to execute the method. What do we do when our hardware is lacking?!¡±
¡°Change things until it works,¡± Krahe replied without thinking.
¡°Correct. Change the method, change the hardware, whatever is easiest, whatever is most effective.¡±
228 - Afterburner
¡°Can you show me the blueprints of your arm?¡± she asked, expecting a simple no. To her surprise, Sauer reached up and detached the limb. He tossed it over to Krahe and sat down, leaning on his remaining arm.
One of its external access panels mercifully contained a miniature toolset for servicing and small repairs ¡ª something she had made use of many times in her early years. She began dismantling the prosthetic, and found something that at once did and did not make sense. It was clear that its internals were being filled in from her memory, but the structure worked. It was as if, the more she unravelled the prosthetic limb, its underlying concept took form from what she knew of cybernetics, as if it desired to exist. She tried to will it to float, so that she might get a better look at it in 3D space, but no such convenient phenomenon took place. She had to laboriously dismantle and reassemble the limb several times before she felt she had a workable grasp of its structure.
The knowledge she gained only reaffirmed what she had already suspected, but it also gave her a way to solve that issue. The problem was a lack of thrusters ¡ª the Left Arm of Chernobog as it was now simply couldn¡¯t direct and focus thauma in the number of directions required, with the responsiveness and the precision required. Krahe¡¯s mind turned towards Chernobog¡¯s Mystic Wisdom, keeping in mind that the Left Arm¡¯s system readout had stated it could undergo autonomous evolution. Even if this wouldn¡¯t work, it would feel amiss to not try.
Her question bounced back with an answer: It could be done ¡ª but she would need to ritualistically carry out the external alteration within her mental realm.
¡°You want me to carve my arm open, is that it?¡± she mused.
The modification was conceptually simple: she would just add the requisite number of Wound-like Grins across the entire limb. Opening them all over again and keeping them open each time she wanted to use the method would be too taxing, so she intended to create permanent places for them and adjust the limb¡¯s inner flow of thauma to facilitate their functionality, mimicking the design of Sauer¡¯s arm. Were it not for her experience using the simplified movement method against Semzar, she would have left this for after she woke up.
¡°Alright. Let¡¯s give backstreet butchery a try,¡± she said, tossing the reassembled prosthetic back to Sauer. She proceeded to explain the underlying idea behind what she wanted to do with the Left Arm, and, not questioning it for a moment, Sauer readily assisted her, holding her arm steady and carving away at the spots she couldn¡¯t reach.
The pain was curious to say the least ¡ª because it wasn¡¯t pain. It was itching. It itched like hell, yet also radiated a sensation between heat and static, of the sort one would feel after coming into a warm interior from freezing cold. More importantly, however, it worked. After the first slot was finished, her arm pulled back together, and though it wasn¡¯t visible, she could feel how much easier opening a maw would be in that spot, like it was already there, just beneath the surface. Thus, they pressed on.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
When they were nearly done with the process, Krahe started hearing organ music again.
Then, the voices.
¡°Cognitive pressure spiking...tissue hyperactivity¡ Left arm. Yes, again. ¡rearranging itself,¡± Firminus said.
¡°And the system?¡± Fidelia asked.
¡°No issues,¡± Firminus replied.
¡°Good. Aristedes, ready for insertion,¡± Fidelia said. The music changed, the organ rising to a crescendo, and as it did, the door of Sauer¡¯s hut swung open. But nobody walked out.
¡°...too deep. Up to¡ now,¡± Casus said. The music, and with it, the outside voices, faded completely.
¡°They are waiting for you,¡± Sauer said matter-of-factly, continuing to carve away at her arm. There were only two spots left, both out of her reach. It was a matter of waiting, and as she waited, Krahe distracted herself from the itching by mulling over what the movement method ought to be named. Eventually, she just asked: ¡°What do I call it?¡±
¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. Not my place to make that decision,¡± came the exact response she had expected. Engram-Sauer did, after all, consider himself as less than even a ghost. Naming the method was on her.
Knowing that the real Sauer disliked the idea of overly fanciful names for techniques or stances, Krahe thought back to names of techniques she knew and tried to come up with one that was straightforward.
Aimpoint Evasion. Contra-Targeting Acrobatics. Multiplane Thinking. Sauer-style Form 16 Footwork. The 73 Sensor-disabling Arts. Sauer-style Sinanju Jointlock Grappling. Hyper-universalist CQC for Short Blades. Blackhand-style Radiation Blaster Combat. These, she knew. These, she was familiar with. All of these fell under the umbrella of Sector 7 Style, and so did countless others.
She recalled five different techniques built just around the Neptunian Dawn G-Model Railgun. Seven more designed for revolvers. Her mind ran through countless techniques that had been incorporated into Sector 7 Style. She was only tangentially aware of their names, properties, and countermeasures, but had never truly learned the vast majority of them.
In the end, rather than trying to incorporate wordplay she decided on ¡°Afterburner Enhanced-arm Mobility Method¡±, or ¡°Afterburner¡± for short. Just like with ¡°Wandrei Faust¡± and German, she went out of her way to name ¡°Afterburner¡± in English, refusing to let herself translate it. The reason behind the name was simple: It would enhance her existing movement options in exchange for additional Entropy overhead, much like an afterburner allowed a plane extra speed in exchange for higher fuel consumption. She couldn¡¯t help but think of the stupid names Sauer would mention when disparaging the naming schemes of other martial arts.
¡°It¡¯s finished,¡± Sauer said. Krahe stood up, stretching. She turned around, but in Sauer¡¯s place, there was only the prosthetic left arm, suspended in mid-air, its mechanical structure floating apart and fraying out of existence before her very eyes. In moments, it was gone. In its last twitch, the arm let go of the dagger, and it went sliding across the nuclear glass, coming to a rest at Krahe¡¯s feet.
Taking up the dagger, she centered herself and began the baseline kata¡¯s dagger-adjusted variant.
And it worked.
It wasn¡¯t perfect by any means, but it worked. Krahe stabbed the dagger into a crack at the spot where engram-Sauer vanished, and made her way to his hut. She had never seen inside ¡ª this would have been an exercise in futility if that had been her goal. But as she grasped the doorhandle, she knew there was nothing left for her to do here. There was no point to going back to Sanctuary ¡ª or rather, she was already here. This crater was the remnants of Sanctuary. To pretend otherwise was delusional¡ And she wasn¡¯t sure she would be willing to leave if she actually went to her memory of that place.
Thus, she opened the door, stepped through, and woke up.
229 - Awake
Organ music again. Footsteps on stone. The sounds of machinery. Wheezing, thrumming, flowing, an alien mixture of sounds that, nonetheless, evoked the mental image of a vast computational engine.
A computational engine that, with her awakening, wound down to a near-halt.
Everything ached. Every heartbeat sent pain flowing through her, akin to a full-body headache, as if the insides of her veins had first-degree burns. Breathing was markedly less painful, but refused to give proper feedback. There was a sense of numbness, and even a full breath failed to satisfy. The answer was obvious: Her lungs were permanently damaged. This was a symptom of widespread internal scarring.
Her eyes were covered, and when she tried to move, she realized she couldn¡¯t. It was like back then, during the operation ¡ª she was weightlessly suspended in mid-air. Even so, she felt the need to try moving at least her hand, just to affirm that she could. That she wasn¡¯t paralyzed. The music continued, but gradually grew softer and simpler, becoming just relaxing, ambient noise. An alarm broke that, splitting Krahe¡¯s focus with its clarion call, like a red hot poker being shoved into her frontal lobe.
¡°Ah. I see. You are awake. Please, if you would, stop trying to move,¡± came the voice of High Grafter Fidelia. ¡°We had to lock away your motor control so that you would not harm yourself as a result of your actions within the dream.¡±
Approaching footsteps. The music persisted. Hands on her head, fingers in her hair. Cold and metallic.
¡°I will now remove several quasi-voidkey connectors,¡± Fidelia said.
An unpleasant, tickling heat overtook the headache as something was pulled out of her skull, leaving behind a hollow feeling. Then again, and again, five in total, from the back of her head and down the length of her spine. Again with the red-hot poker inside her head as sight returned and light flooded in. Squinting as she sluggishly looked around, Krahe made sense of her surroundings. It was some kind of Zaveshian facility, that much was obvious, based on the mix of alien technology and religious iconography. Countless tubes and cables entangled her body, connected to various points, simply sinking into her skin as if it wasn¡¯t even there. More interestingly, she still had her biosuit on.
¡°They didn¡¯t want to destroy it in the process of trying to get it off of me, so they just pierced through it,¡± she thought.
Slowly, she regained control over her extremities, floating down to just a few centimeters above the suspension-table that held her. It was nearly identical to the operating table they had used to replace her spine. Despite being attached to all that machinery, she felt little discomfort from it, and when she thought to sit up, the suspension-table¡¯s invisible force fields adjusted to assist her. Several more beds were to be seen to her left, with great arrays of machinery standing behind them. Cables stretched from them to the machine behind Krahe¡¯s bed.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
Fidelia loomed over her, observing all the while, while two of her tendrils stretched across the room to continue playing an enormous organ.
¡°How do you feel?¡± the high grafter asked.
¡°Alive, but also cooked from the inside-out. My lungs are probably fucked,¡± she said, and even this was enough to leave her feeling out of breath.
¡°An astute self-assessment. We will go over your options all in due time. For now, however, your condition is stable. I expect that you will wish to know what took place following your loss of consciousness, yes?¡±
After Krahe gave a simple nod, Fidelia continued, recounting the course of events. Krahe had, moments before she lost consciousness, used the Liminal Coil to send Fidelia a locational ping. As a direct result of this, combined with instructions Casus had given Yazata before the raid, both of them were brought into the high grafter¡¯s care without the awareness of anyone not directly involved with the raid.
¡°That¡¯s¡ Good. How long has it been? What of the mansion?¡± Krahe asked.
¡°Two days. We locked down the mansion for investigation,¡± Fidelia began, only for Firminus to walk in, interrupting her. ¡°-despite the Silverswords¡¯ bitching and moaning. Bad news: By the time you raided them, any trafficking victims were already gone.¡±
He grabbed a chair, sitting down next to Krahe¡¯s bed with an eyebox in hand. With a click, he awakened the device and turned it around for Krahe to see, various news articles scrolling past as he spoke, his cigarette holding on for dear life. Even now, he kept smoking.
¡°Good news: The traffickers were sloppy, and left us plenty of trails to follow. Damn-near every living soul we caught sang like a bird the moment we brought Ms. Witch-inquisitor into the interrogation room. The ones that didn¡¯t keeled over from some sorta curse. As it stands, it¡¯s being covered up. Far as the city knows, we just took the opportunity to off Semzar and grab as many of his people as possible. I won¡¯t get into all the shit we found out from your Abara Morph, but to make it simple, we¡¯ll be able to make major improvements to our organic-type Mamon Armors for the first time in a couple hundred years.¡±
¡°Firminus, she has just come-to. Can this not wait for later?¡± Fidelia chided.
¡°Too late, already done,¡± Firminus shrugged. ¡°The Hashem Family¡¯s activity has already cratered, just these past two days. Whether they stay careful for a while or return back to business as normal once they think it¡¯s blown over, we¡¯ll see. You can get the details yourself. In short, it¡¯s pretty obvious this goes well beyond regular mafia shit.¡±
¡°We¡¯ll just have to wait and see¡ How¡¯s Casus?¡± Krahe asked.
¡°Aristedes is undergoing repairs. The damage he sustained ¡ª much of it self-inflicted ¡ª surpasses even your injuries. Fortunately, banishers have the advantage of intelligent design ¡ª that is to say, we simply placed him in a maintenance-trance and disassembled him to carry out the necessary repairs. It will take some time, but he will recover, as will his coupler,¡± said Fidelia.
¡°That¡¯s¡ Good¡¡± Krahe said, her eyes glazing over all of a sudden. Before she knew it, she lost consciousness again. She slept so deeply that, to her, it seemed as if no time had passed at all. A similar sequence of events played out, with Fidelia noticing that she was awake and checking her state. She had slept for 18 hours.
230 - The Crimson Star of Autumn
She ate, slowly, cautiously, but she ate. Then, before she even knew it, she was asleep again, her mind echoing with that pipe organ, and into her sight, burned the countenance of human perfection that at the center of the organ¡¯s assembly. That visage of Zavesh, entangled amidst the pipes. Somehow, she couldn¡¯t help but feel a something looking down upon her through the golden orbs that were its eyes. Even as the blackest pitch of a blank, dreamless sleep took hold of her, Krahe couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of the profound, like threads of gold melting into the murk.
When next she awoke, it was to the sound of that pipe organ, and to the feeling of cables being pulled out of her arm.
¡°Told you the sedatives wouldn¡¯t work. Let¡¯s just get this done over with,¡± Firminus said, before turning to Krahe. ¡°Hey, hey. I¡¯m disconnecting you, so try to keep still. Blink twice if you understand.¡±
Krahe did as was asked of her, and within a few minutes, she had been divested of her connection to the machinery that had sustained her life for the last few days, the holes sealed with flesh-paste as if they had never been there. Before her breathing could become an issue, Firminus handed her a silver-and-brass lower-face mask with a tube connected to its right side.
¡°Here, breathe,¡± he said.
Even this simple item was decorated with a figure of Zavesh on the front, and a paper strip densely-packed with scripture was wax-sealed to the left side. Though absent of a strap, the moment she pressed it to her face, the mask sealed itself in place. Her head cleared the moment she took a breath.
Before she knew it, Firminus ran her through a cranial nerve test and asked a number of mundane questions to ascertain whether she had her full faculties about her. Once he seemed satisfied with the results, he nodded. "I''ll be back in a moment," he said, and walked off.
The grafter returned with a table astride six insectile legs in tow, upon which sat a stack of paperwork and several familiar items. Those which drew her eye most were not her possessions, but rather objects of interest from the mansion raid: Chiefly, Semzar¡¯s ring and dagger. There was also a sizable box, as well as a platter with a pitcher of ekarone juice and two glasses. These, too, were decorated with Zaveshian iconography, glass melded seamlessly to polished metal.
¡°Let¡¯s get started with the easy parts. First, the dagger. As you killed Semzar, and Aristedes refused to make a claim, it is yours,¡± he said, handing it over. The moment Krahe¡¯s hand touched the artifact, she felt a foreboding sense of wild power, like a plasma cannon with woefully insufficient capacitors. It was a heavily bejeweled Jambiya. Firminus continued: ¡°Based on what we¡¯ve been able to discern, it requires a relatively long charge-up period. The discharge is an arcane-aspected cutting projection with a range of several dozen meters and potency sufficient to go through a heavily warded building. It severed Aristedes¡¯ right arm with no apparent resistance and no signs of struggle in the cut ¡ª lucky for us, as this made the break easier to repair. Unfortunately, the blade is the only original component. In its complete state, assuming it was ever completed to begin with, Fidelia predicted that this blade could be a peak Fourth-order, if not borderline Fifth-order artifact. Merely Fourth-order, if you seek a more conservative estimate. In short, we don¡¯t actually know what it is yet, where or when it came from, et cetera. You may keep it, but the church would like to buy it from you, or at least buy research rights and lease the dagger for the necessary duration. We may be able to offer recompense based on the results of any research involving the dagger. By Fidelia¡¯s measure, the blade¡¯s design is astonishingly complex, to the point where fabricating an entirely new artifact of the same level would be easier than reverse-engineering the original.¡±
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¡°Is it safe to unsheath?¡± Krahe asked.
Firminus waved his hand. ¡°Sure. It won¡¯t do anything until it¡¯s charged, and you can¡¯t charge it without it being sheathed. Without thauma, it¡¯s just an indestructible knife. More or less. We don¡¯t know. We can¡¯t appraise it ¡ª not me, not Aristedes, not Fidelia. For all we know it may predate even the Seven Towers System Accord. Or it might be from another world, or perhaps the future. It¡¯s nearly unheard of, but we know it has happened before. As I said, we don¡¯t know.¡±
The black blade slid free of its sheath as if the two repelled one another, its surface gleaming like a mirror, iridescent-black runes revealing themselves just beneath the surface with even the slightest tilt. Its colours were wrong, not real. Krahe went to sheathe it again, but the blade turned in her grip, the force of repulsion still present ¡ª its edge struck the sheath¡¯s lip, and the blade began vibrating like a tuning fork. A little voice in her head said that she could take control of it, to wield its unstoppable force, were she willing to sheathe it inside her own flesh and quench it with her own blood. That little voice wasn¡¯t Chernobog¡¯s Mystic Wisdom. She wasn¡¯t even sure if it was real, or just her mind playing tricks. Perhaps she wasn¡¯t really fully in her right mind yet. Regardless, she decided that she had enough troublesome artifacts to deal with for now. With some effort, she forced the jambiya back into its bejewelled prison.
¡°You can have it, something about the thing seems off ¡ª beyond just the fact it¡¯s unfinished. The right-to-research arrangement you suggested works just fine for me,¡± she said, her eyes wandering to one of the other items. Silver and red. Then, she looked Firminus in the eyes. ¡±I¡¯m not giving you the ring, though.¡±
Firminus seemed to handle the jambiya with more care than before as he put it away.
¡°It¡¯s your right, but do you even know what the ring does?¡± he asked.
¡°It releases a shockwave that affects physical matter, thaumaturgy, theurgy, and even carries into the astral gulf. I smashed face first into it when I tried to skim through. Didn¡¯t exactly have the time to appraise it for specifics,¡± Krahe explained her understanding of the artifact.
¡°More or less right,¡± he nodded, pulling out his eyebox again and slotting in another memslate. ¡°Here. The appraisal results.¡±
[CRIMSON STAR OF AUTUMN]
[Tags:]
Artifact
Jewelry
Active
Archonforged
[Charge:]
6/6
[Details:]
This artifact cannot be removed from its bearer by force.
This artifact holds 6 charges. At-will, the bearer may expend a charge to emit a twin-layered shockwave with a range of 8m from the bearer (layers further referred to as physical and magical). This shockwave travels at a rate of 4m/s.
The physical layer exerts direct physical force and deflects all intruding physical forces regardless of magnitude. Incoming physical projectiles will be deflected in a semi-random direction at a slightly elevated velocity. Material entities (including life-forms) that come into contact with the shockwave will similarly receive a kinetic jolt. The intensity of this kinetic jolt scales with the user¡¯s Force attribute and the entity¡¯s velocity at time of contact.
The magical layer deflects all thaumaturgic, theurgic, anathemic, and other magical forces, objects, attacks, etc. regardless of their special characteristics or magnitude. It extends into the Astral Gulf, and prevents the passage of objects, entities, or attacks traveling through in this manner. It also passes through thin physical objects, with the thickness depending on the object¡¯s physical and energetic density, especially warding enchantments.
This artifact continuously recovers charges at a rate of 1 charge per 6 hours. Recharge time may be affected by environmental factors and accelerated through the supply of thauma directly to the artifact.
This artifact may not be activated more often than once every 27s. Cooldown scales with the user¡¯s Control attribute.
This artifact¡¯s characteristics may evolve autonomously based on further exposure to Archon Core emissions.
231 - Debriefing
Before Krahe was even halfway done reading its appraisal description, she had already slipped the Crimson Star ring onto her right index finger.
¡°I will put it down as claimed, then,¡± Firminus said. ¡°I cannot say I do not understand. Given your apparent habit of punching up, it¡¯s a perfect fit. Next, I believe this is yours.¡±
He took a box from the table, opening it for her to see. Within laid the burned-out shell of the prototype Black Sun Coupler, with the Shardkey of Heshmad Abbasi laid atop it.
¡°Given that you are in no state to switch voidkeys, I can either leave it in storage for the time being or have it sent directly to a safehouse, or perhaps a shrine, or my clinic. We can discuss that later.¡±
Returning the box, Firminus got up and made the table move so that he could properly sit behind it, across from Krahe. He got out an inkstone, brush, and began grinding an inkstick.
¡°Now, for my favourite part: Paperwork.¡±
¡°Spare me,¡± she groaned.
¡°Oh, but I am serious,¡± he said, facetiously. ¡°The wheels of the ecclesiarchy may not turn as swiftly as we would like, but turn they do, and we¡¯ve had six millennia to ensure the clockwork¡¯s smooth operation! Come now, it won¡¯t take long.¡±
A spark of anger flared in Krahe¡¯s chest as her still somewhat groggy thoughts caught up to the ramifications of such paperwork.
¡°Wait, I thought I was an unlettered apostle. No records. Did you fuck me? Are you fucking me right now? Was I right all along?!¡± she demanded, baring her teeth in a manner entirely too much like a furious animal, veins popping on her forehead, down her neck, and even her right arm.
¡°No, no, calm down. There will be no records,¡± Firminus assured her, clearly having anticipated this reaction. ¡°We will go through the paperwork, and then I will burn it right in front of you. The purpose is to go through the appropriate procedure, so that, if it ever becomes necessary, either of us may truthfully say that we did in fact do so ¡ª that at some point, the appropriate paperwork existed, and was then summarily destroyed to protect the identity of an unlettered apostle. I apologize for not making myself clearer. Now, let us begin with an unabridged full account of the raid. As much as you remember. We can take a break at any time.¡±
And so, Krahe got to talking, and a fair bit of time passed. Firminus didn¡¯t write a word of it down. She made no attempt to embellish anything, presenting her experience of the raid as dryly and matter-of-factly as possible. A pained grin made itself known upon the grafter¡¯s face when she got around to describing her experience with the Molting Tonic. Finally, once she was done, silence fell over the room for some time. She reached for her glass, which had been refilled twice over already, and lifted up her mask so she could drain it. If nothing else, at least ekarone juice still tasted the same. Firminus, meanwhile, took one of the forms off the top of his stack and began writing.
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¡°All things considered, it would be an understatement to only say that you suffered injuries in the line of service to the church," he said. "Obviously, it will be seen to that you receive appropriate care as part of compensation for service ¡ª beyond the care you have already received, that is. That was all the High Grafter¡¯s personal resources. This entire facility is hers. Any official, church-provided care will come out of your monetary compensation, but it will also be significantly cheaper than if you had gone to a grafter yourself, and cheaper still factoring in hazard compensation ¡ª this especially refers to the unavoidable replacement of your lungs. Moreover, given the circumstances, there is justification for preventative care, that is to say, grafts specifically tailored to help prevent similar injuries in the future.¡±
¡°Why? I understand that I¡¯m an unlettered apostle, but why the extra layers of special treatment?¡± Krahe questioned, already knowing the answer.
¡°It¡¯s not,¡± Firminus shrugged. ¡°The degrees of special treatment afforded to you are, thus far, well within the bounds of existing precedent. High Grafter Fidelia has decided that you are likely to be a valuable asset to the church in the future. I happen to agree. Therefore, all allowances that can be made, will be made. I have done the same for Aristedes, and others. You could, possibly, get all these allowances yourself, if you filed the appropriate paperwork. It would take significantly longer, and you would likely need to hire the services of an assistant clerk, but you could.¡±
¡°Alright, I get it. You¡¯re just greasing the wheels for me. Though... I could swear you weren¡¯t this talkative before.¡±
¡°It helps to distract the patient from the pain,¡± Firminus remarked, flatly. ¡°There¡¯s anesthetics coming into your mask, but as you can tell, they don¡¯t do much. The Molting Tonic is still in your system. Won¡¯t be for long, Zavesh be praised.¡±
With that, the grafter cheered up again, moving on: ¡°Alright, let me give you shit for what you did with that voidkey. There¡¯s good reason voidkeys of Fourth-order and higher are heavily restricted ¡ª a legitimate one, beyond just power control. Your current state is that reason. Even Third-orders have some of these issues to a limited extent, but the higher you go, the harder it gets to use one safely. And this one in particular¡ By Zavesh, the leverage ratio and cognitive strain factor, not to mention the extent of soul furnace modification. It¡¯s a miracle you survived initial implantation, let alone that you held up long enough to use it in a fight. To start with, the implosive ignition creates resonant waves that react with the Liminal Coil ¡ª in the bad way. We can do some minor work on your Soul Furnace and adjust the Coil to fix that, possibly even harness the reaction to empower the Coil¡¯s capabilities, but that¡¯s not your biggest problem. See, normally, it takes a period of specialized training to acclimate to a higher-order voidkey, whereas you just shoved it in and started blasting full send. Your Astral Body will be fine ¡ª since you¡¯re a greater pilgrim, you¡¯ll acclimate well before too much spiritual damage can accumulate. Where you lack is the physical side.¡±
232 - The Adamas Organ [+Announcement]
Taking a long puff and ashing his cigarette, Firminus continued, exhaling that strange blue smoke all the while.
¡°In the short term, we can implant reinforced conduit lines ¡ª it¡¯s a permanent version of what many Mamon Armors employ for the same reason, to protect the user from their amplified power output. When it comes to these, the options are differentiated mainly between synthetic and organic. Synthetic conduit lines are physically tougher and generally can withstand more abuse, while organic lines can self-adjust to a greater extent and heal from damage without special design considerations. Regardless of your choice, they won¡¯t hold up long-term, but it¡¯s a direct, fast, and low-impact fix that can be reversed easily.¡±
¡°Elaborate. Won¡¯t hold up as in they¡¯ll wear out quickly? Require regular maintenance? Clog up with entropy residue? What am I looking at here?¡±
Firminus shook his head.
¡°They need to be tuned precisely before implantation, anything too far above or below your current Throughput will not work correctly. Afterwards, they can, in theory, hold out indefinitely, but they won¡¯t develop to match any attribute growth beyond what they were tuned for ¡ª if your power output remains the same, they will hold. But eventually, at the rate you¡¯re going, they¡¯ll fail. If I were to guess, yours will probably burst. Gruesome, painful, but a minor injury, and it won¡¯t cripple you right then and there. As I said, organic lines will more readily accommodate any growth in throughput, but even then, there is a hard limit, and their performance characteristics will degrade the more you stray from the level of throughput they were tuned for.¡±
¡°Sounds reasonable. What else? Somehow I doubt reinforced conduit lines and some adjustments to the Liminal Coil will suffice. Fixing these types of problems always ends up being a seven-step pain in the ass that can create twenty new problems if you fuck up even once along the way.¡±
Firminus laughed at that. A laugh of understanding and agreement.
¡°How right you are. Next up, cardiovascular system. You felt it, yeah? The burns? We pumped you full of blood softeners and clot-targeted omniphage, and still had to damn near replace all your blood, you were that full of clots. A side effect of the Molting Tonic, and of Semzar¡¯s thaumaturgy I wager. Silver lining, since you had no brain damage, no clots formed in there. We would¡¯ve had to quite literally wash your brain if that were the case.¡±
¡°Sounds like you fixed the major problem. What, do I need to have all my veins replaced?¡± Krahe asked facetiously. She couldn¡¯t believe that the church lacked the technology to non-invasively repair what damage had been done.
¡°No, no. Your veins are fine. Your heart, too. Your vascular tissue has been permanently made more elastic and highly regenerative, one of the Molting Tonic''s few positive side effects. This elasticity itself can cause some issues, so we¡¯ll introduce something to reinforce it further and stiffen it up a bit. Moreover, as part of your preemptive care, I want to give you a Jas¡¯raban Heart Scarab. It¡¯s a type of self-implanting graft ¡ª we cut you open and stick it in, the scarab does the rest. It attaches to your heart and melds to it over the course of a few weeks. The result is generalized structural reinforcement and redundancy.¡±
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¡°Well, putting aside the fact it sounds like a parasitic insect, I¡¯m somewhat concerned about the Jas¡¯raban part, considering what I know of the baneworm civilization and their grafting practices.¡±
¡°It¡¯s true, the Heart Scarab is in fact an originally Jas¡¯raban design. Old man Sorun reconstructed the design in the early years of Audunpoint¡¯s existence as a glorified archeology outpost. Not sure why he shared it with the church, but he did. Of course, we made significant adjustments to bring it in line with Zaveshian grafting standards. I would never recommend a dangerous graft or procedure ¡ª not without informing you of the dangers at least. Speaking of, regarding that liminal coil tuning, we can either target nullifying the resonance issues, or attempt to harness the resonance for beneficial ends. The risk is mainly that we might make it worse, requiring corrective re-tuning.¡±
¡°What are the odds?¡±
¡°I am not High Grafter Fidelia, I cannot predict things to that extent. The choice will remain until immediately before the procedure, I only wished to make you aware of it.¡±
¡°My skin. Can you make my skin tougher? Put armor under it, maybe? The voidkey has no wards or barriers, so I will need to make-do until I can address that.¡±
¡°Ah, a good question. This in fact relates directly to what I mentioned earlier regarding your veins. Even once we correct the resonance issues causing the thaumic turbulence, your new voidkey will still cause internal damage until your body adjusts. Direct surgical modification on such a wide scale is not an option at the moment, so our next best choices are flesh-transformation compounds, and Black Blood. The former entails a mixture of elixirs and nutrients that will induce specific, limited modifications to certain tissues, much like the Molting Tonic did. The latter entails the replacement of the spleen with an organ connected to the heart and the liver, simply called the Adamas Organ after its creator and first user. Some also call it the Black Spleen. I cannot explain exactly how it functions, but in simplified terms, it takes on the same function as your spleen whilst also acting like additional bone marrow. In this manner, it modifies the composition of your blood, which results in the reinforcement of all your tissues. Lastly, for short periods, the organ can be used to achieve greatly increased durability with an accompanying increase in strength, at the cost of cardiovascular stress and general tissue damage after a certain period of use. This act manifests as bulging veins and blackened skin, hence the name. As you may have guessed, the Adamas Organ¡¯s operating principle is, in fact, a direct precursor to the Dregsteam-type Mamon Coupler.¡±
Firminus seemed to take a great degree of pride in the Adamas Organ. It almost sounded like he was bragging.
¡°Firminus¡ You wouldn¡¯t happen to have a personal investment in this ¡°Adamas Organ,¡± would you?¡±
¡°I plead guilty to all charges! I was, in fact, Adamas all along, returned from four millennia ago!¡± the grafter exclaimed. ¡°Yes, I admit, I have some personal bias. I have worked with the graft for a long time, and have made improvements to its design. My understanding of its operating principles, advantages, and disadvantages is what led me to recommend it.¡±
236 - Adamas Organ
¡°I think I remember,¡± Firminus said, looking off into space for a few moments. ¡°Something about needing a reagent and a custom ritual. The eidolon should tell you what reagent you need through the system. It uh¡ I think it needs to gestate for some time before the ritual? You are not asking the right person here, you know.¡±
¡°Not many options at the moment,¡± she remarked, observing the grafter¡¯s blade split her skin as if it were paper. The Adamas Organ appeared no less alien than the Heart Scarab, resembling no human organ. It was an oblong mass of spongy, black tissue, with a web of darkly metallic connective tissue running throughout it as a scaffold. Hair-like fibres of the same metallic substance came off in all directions, but especially from the ends of its connective tubes. Which ones were veins and which ones had different purposes was beyond Krahe¡¯s ability to recognize at a glance.
While he worked, Krahe idly looked around the room. Her eyes landed upon that table from before. He had a section of Type-37 Biogel, the substance of her biosuit, stretched out on a rack. Next to it, two wet-storage capsules were plugged into the wall, clumps of the same biogel growing within them, floating about somewhat like the wax inside a lava lamp. She wondered how long it would take to grow into something large enough to make a new article of clothing. As a result, she also briefly considered how the church would deal with Firminus being absent from his usual post. She figured his patients would get redirected to another grafter.
Once the Adamas Organ was in place and her three lower left ribs were back where they belonged, Firminus shot her up with a serum of painkillers and rejection suppressants, and just like that, she was out of the grafting chair, carefully stretching her stiffened neck.
¡°One more thing,¡± Firminus said, getting out of his seat. He made his way over to a cabinet, from which he retrieved a standard church-branded medicinal box. ¡°In order for your Adamas Organ to settle in properly, you will need to eat six of these twice a day for about a month. Chew them up if you can. If they taste bad, swallow them whole right after a meal.¡±
Krahe opened the box, and found that it contained two paper bags of dark, oblong beans. The scent was sort of woody, but also with a strong note of coffee and some cocoa. They had a star-like pattern on the underside, and she couldn¡¯t help but see an uncanny resemblance to a curled-up beetle. There was also an inevitable resemblance to coffee beans, given the scent.
¡°Are these insects?¡± Krahe asked.
¡°Used to be,¡± Firminus said, as if it was the smallest thing. ¡°My collaborator developed a plant that produces these fruits instead. If you keep eating them, your Adamas Organ might perform better than most. Can¡¯t make promises, but they¡¯re safe to eat, just in general.¡±
Thinking no more of it, Krahe tossed one in her mouth and bit down. The shell was more fragile than she had expected, while the interior was softer, somewhat like a cashew nut. They tasted just as they smelled, a cross between coffee beans and cocoa.
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¡°So have Adamas Organ users been eating beetles for four thousand years or is this part of your improvement?¡± she asked.
¡°Mine. I believe we were using the beetles for ah¡ Twenty-four years, was it?¡± the grafter thought, looking back at her as he washed his hands. ¡°How is the flavour, not too offensive I take it?¡±
¡°Tastes pretty good to me. Might eat these instead of coffee beans as a drinking snack,¡± she said, eating another.
¡°Coffee beans?¡± he asked, pausing for a moment. ¡°Oh. Right. Pilgrim. Zastreon¡¯s coffee comes from the roots of a kind of water lily. I think they pulp and ferment it or something of the sort. Funny thing, Casus remembers coffee being made from the nuts of a small, coniferous tree.¡±
¡°Huh. Guess I shouldn¡¯t be surprised,¡± Krahe shrugged. She raised the paper bag she¡¯d opened, changing the subject. ¡°I take it I can only get more of these from you, yeah?¡±
¡°Fear not, I will provide. It wouldn¡¯t do to sabotage my own case study, would it? Before you bring it up, yes, yes, full anonymity and redaction. My own ethics aside, this is also part of standard procedure with unlettered apostles,¡± Firminus said.
Krahe returned to the library, checking the Adamas Organ¡¯s system readout as she went.
[FIRMINUS-VALERIAN PATTERN ADAMAS ORGAN]
[Tags:]
Firminus-Valerian Pattern
Living Item
[Details:]
This graft expresses amplified performance metrics based upon the holder¡¯s attributes and archetype level.
This graft fulfills all the functions of a spleen to an elevated degree, and supports the functions of the liver and kidneys. It can, to a limited extent, substitute the functionality of either.
This graft enhances the holder¡¯s blood quality, immune system, and alters blood composition into ¡°Black Blood.¡± Black Blood possesses enhanced properties in all aspects, excelling in oxygen carrying capacity and gradually reinforcing all bodily tissues over time. As part of this process, the holder¡¯s bone marrow will be restructured to this graft¡¯s standard. Once this process is complete, performance will increase further. Grafted bone marrow compatibility with this feature may vary and depends on graft hierarchy.
When agitated through a mental command, select reinforced tissues will enter a hardened state. If experiencing difficulties with activation, use the vocal command. In addition to a generalized increase in resilience, the affected tissues will become resistant to all damage categories other than Arcane (est. 50% resistance). Please exercise caution when using this feature ¡ª overuse may lead to soft tissue and vascular damage.
Current blood transmutation ratio: 1%
Current tissue reinforcement ratio: 0.2%
Current Black Blood reservoir: 6/340ml
Current lymphocyte reservoir: 0/30%
Current vocal command: adamas
Graft Synergy: Liminal Coil
This graft has been synchronized with the Liminal Coil¡¯s ¡°Sunken One Marrow,¡± resulting in improved overall performance. Black Blood will exhibit beneficially modified properties.
237 - Nemea
Over the coming days, the Adamas Organ settled in, and Krahe began noticing the changes. They were subtle, at first, only for her skin to rapidly begin turning black and growing stiff, starting on her side right where the organ had been implanted. Over the course of around half a day, the affected area would return to normal, shedding in a manner resembling forgescale. It progressed outward in waves, leaving behind subtly firmer flesh. Firminus described this as a normal part of the process, noting only that it was progressing even faster than he had expected. Apparently, it normally took months for an Adamas Organ to settle in, and upwards of one to two years to become effective. The Firminus-Valerian Pattern was intended to be much faster, but, in the grafter¡¯s own words, ¡°Not this much faster.¡±
Though uncomfortable, it was just a nuisance. At worst, it temporarily limited her range of motion, but that was all. Her only concern was whether the gradual tissue reinforcement would cause issues with the following operations, but she assumed that the grafters had planned for this, and Firminus said just the same when she brought it up during her next checkup. She could also feel the transformation spreading through her organs, but it was slower, gradual.
Krahe waited until the change had passed over her entire torso and reached her limbs before she actually tested the adamas function. She set a training automaton for low-powered straight punches to the midsection, peeling the biosuit away from her stomach. Already knowing these wouldn¡¯t hurt her, she braced herself, and using the trigger artifact, weathered two strikes from the gleaming machine. With a mustering of will, she, at first, attempted to harden her flesh directly. To say it was hard would have been an overstatement, but it wasn¡¯t easy, either. Reaching for the right mental trigger, she felt a dull thrumming, almost churning sensation coming on, as if the blood itself was rioting. Veins bulged under her skin, blackness spread from them, and within a few seconds, her stomach had become as if living granite, and only the dull thrumming remained to notify her of this fact. There was bleedover ¡ª it spread further than she had wanted ¡ª but it had worked on the first attempt without the command word, and that was enough.
The training automaton¡¯s punches barely even registered, now. Knowing she was on a time limit, she dialled the automaton¡¯s strength higher and higher, repeating until its strikes started hurting again. The force was such that it sent her sliding backwards over the training area¡¯s sand-covered floor. Krahe released the hardening, seeing the bruise already taking shape, as black as pitch. There was one more thing to test.
¡°Adamas,¡± she incanted, visualizing the exact area she wanted to harden. This time, it was nearly instant, with far less bleedover. Dismissing it again, she considered what to change the trigger word to. Adamas was three syllables, and it would give away what she was doing. Until she could harden any area faster and more precisely than with the trigger word, she would keep that crutch in her back pocket. After some thought, she eventually settled on ¡°Nemea,¡± the home of the Nemean Lion of Greek myth. Zastreon had no Greece, let alone a myth of the 12 Labours of Hercules, but the word still had the inherent mental association necessary to make it function as the trigger.
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She continued passing the time in any way she could. When she found out Audunpoint¡¯s already warm climate wasn¡¯t even the hottest it would get this year, Krahe arrived at the realization that she hadn¡¯t actually built up her wardrobe all that much, not even with her disguises accounted for. This realization resulted in a lengthy order list for tailored clothing, from completely normal to an armored, self-repair capable short jacket with a back patch directly based on the Wandrei Faust talisman. Given the absence of a surveillance state or an ever-present network that could allow someone to identify her digitally, Krahe had the idea of intentionally cultivating a distinct appearance, so that people would more easily dismiss her as being someone else when wearing a disguise. She¡¯d never intended to keep wearing those same green pants to begin with. For the time being, she filed it away, seeing as she wasn¡¯t exactly in walking distance of a tailor.
By the time she had her ocular modifications done, it had been a month since the raid. She hated low-intrusion ocular operations like this. Had it been an option, she would have chosen to have her eyes replaced wholesale, but the grafters simply considered this the safer option, considering the other grafts she was also having done within this short timeframe.
Zaveshian neurosurgery was, in its own way, just as advanced as that of Megacity Gamma. On Krahe¡¯s part, it involved nothing more than having her head in a vice and responding to prompts every couple minutes. In this case, most of them included Fidelia waving one or more of her tendrils in front of Krahe¡¯s face at varying speeds ¡ª over the course of the operation, she was able to observe a rapid improvement in her own ability to track fast-moving objects even with interference. From listening to the two grafters speaking during the procedure, Krahe surmised that it involved a mixture of cultured tissue and ¡°patterns¡± of some sort that both needed to be adjusted to fit her ocular cortex specifically. She couldn¡¯t quite tell how much of this procedure relied on feel, but then, she had never considered neurosurgery to be an exact science.
Satisfying as it was to be closer to her former peak, it didn¡¯t help with the splitting headache she got from constantly overshooting things. She couldn¡¯t even read properly for the time being ¡ª and so, she decided to turn her attention towards something she had been putting of for some time: Razormind. Lucky for her, Firminus was, if anything, eager to observe her attempts.
Of the two months she spent at Fidelia¡¯s compound, it would take Krahe two and a half weeks to achieve Razormind a sufficient number of times for Firminus to discern exactly what the mental state entailed. She made it clear that a real fight would make it easier, but she also came to learn that the monitoring equipment they had on-site wasn¡¯t suited to that purpose. So, it was left up to Krahe to push her visualization as far as it would take her. Eventually, she started going through various katas from Sector 7 Style while visualizing fictitious opponents, and this, in the end proved to be the key.
It truly was akin to walking along the blade of a razor. Even the tiniest moment of hesitation, the smallest stray thought would throw her out of it. But time and time again, she managed to stay in that zone for a bit longer, and eventually, Firminus announced that he had a plan.
238 - The Demons Return (Goes Unnoticed)
¡°I fear I cannot do exactly what you wish, but¡ There is an option. It will entail not just a graft, but also further brain surgery, and it likely will not allow you to simply enter that state at will. If I were to guess, it will make it easier to enter and maintain it,¡± the grafter said.
¡°There¡¯s a catch. What is it?¡± Krahe asked.
Firminus smiled.
¡°We don¡¯t have the parts,¡± he shrugged. ¡°The truth is, I was not able to conceive of a manner to directly trigger your combat trance. I only compared it with past graft-saints who had similar abilities and looked at the grafts they had. What you want will likely have to be sourced from a particular soulbeast, and will likely be something like an adrenal gland. Finding and killing the right beast is the first step, and there is no guarantee that it will have the exact organ you need based on its known abilities. You will need an individual with strong soulbeast appraisal abilities, both of the system and non-system sort. Once you do have the organ, it will be up to me to somehow cut it down to size and fashion the necessary control unit. At least you have an easy and clear goal now, no?¡±
He tossed her a memslate. Krahe loaded it up and looked through it. There was no single type of soulbeast. It, in fact, recorded numerous distinct soulbeasts, all sharing some similarities, especially the fact they had been slain and used for parts by a graft-saint some time in the last 400 or so years. It also contained the exact locations where those beasts had been found and a collection of intel on how exactly one would go about tracking down a soulbeast and the procedures of a hunt. Option A entailed paying a rancher to track down a beast within the rancher¡¯s territory, which was expensive and would often involve forfeiting most of the materials to the rancher as part of the payment. However, it guaranteed that you would only have to fight the beast, and would thus be in peak condition when it came down to the fight. The alternative was to go directly to the Beyond Frontier. In the case of the Beyond Frontier, it was undeveloped wilderness, and tracking a soulbeast was a matter of one¡¯s own skills, hiring a tracker, joining a hunting caravan, or any of many other options.
On the twenty-fourth day of the second month, her Tsetse-pattern conduit lines arrived, and the operation proceeded without any further delay. They resembled an organic version of typical synthetic nerve fibre replacements, with central conduits and sub-conduits branching off. Only her left arm was left unmodified.
Finally, finally, she could harness the Atomica¡¯s full output without it tearing her apart from the inside. And the moment she did, the moment she unleashed that power, the moment Lasher¡¯s gossamer-threads ripped into a target dummy, she felt it click. The Atomica¡¯s immense output surged through her, spiraling through her conduits. A single cast left a five-pronged spiral embedded in the supernaturally resilient wood making up the dummy. For the first time in actual reality, she went through the full kata she had watched engram-Sauer perform so many times, that she had herself replicated in the dream. Until now, Afterburner had been out of her grasp ¡ª Anathema¡¯s unique properties simply couldn¡¯t facilitate it. But now that she had full reign of the Atomica, it came to her like second nature. Without Razormind it was demanding, that was true, but it didn¡¯t matter in Krahe¡¯s head.
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Three days later, the green-eyed demon would descend upon Audunpoint once again.
Blackhand.
That name, once a newly-spreading myth, had grown into a true urban legend over the last two months.
It was known that, following the Slaughterhouse 9 Incident, Semzar Hashem had made a great effort to hunt her down, placing a substantal bounty on her head and even hiring none other than Crescent Jezail, twice.
And then, before the month was out, Semzar was dead. Slaughtered in the middle of a banquet, right in the middle of the Mirzaii Subdistrict. The survivors of that incident told the tale openly, throwing gasoline-soaked logs onto the fire with their exaggerated accounts.
The church readily spread rumors about the direct involvement of an inquisitor, whose activity in the city following the raid spun the rumor mill even faster.
And if that were not sufficient, Brizogia Rasug al-Imuzat, an administrator of the Silversword Agency and the owner of Mirzaii 2, lodged a formal complaint with the church for damage to the property, demanding restitution. The church, in return, demanded proof that whomever rented the mansion didn¡¯t know it was being rented to Semzar Hashem, which smothered the case in the crib.
One survivor in particular, a man with a pretentious mustache and yellow graft-eyes too small for their sockets, built upon the urban legend yet further. He insistently claimed that Blackhand just had to be some veteran upper-mid-ranker, if not higher, merely using lower-order equipment for some unknown reason ¡ª in his own words, ¡°Nothing else can explain how she fought.¡±
The fact this didn¡¯t truly line up with reality didn¡¯t matter. Audunpoint, like any other city, loved urban legends. Blackhand was just one more among the ranks of many. One more spectre that many knew of, but only few knew to be real.
Krahe¡¯s return to the city took place by way of a high-speed subterranean tramline, the tunnel possessing several enormous bulkheads and lined by statues that she was certain were disguised automata ¡ª even the tram car was built like a tank, and was operated by an automaton. From the journey, she surmised two things: First, the compound was at least thirty kilometers outside Audunpoint. Second, it wasn¡¯t the only one connected to this tunnel. As much as she would have liked to simply continue where she had left off in her investigation, her absence meant that things had changed, and she had to catch up ¡ª despite her allies¡¯ best efforts to keep her up to date on goings-on during her stay at the compound. Allies. That word still felt like it didn¡¯t quite fit. Like the grip of someone else¡¯s gun.
239 - The Demons Return (Goes Unnoticed) Pt. 2 [+Artwork]
Despite the rumors, Krahe¡¯s re-emergence into the city went unnoticed. She simply appeared from a particularly well-hidden door in a random basement safehouse, one of over a dozen possible exit points for the tramline. From there, she wasted no time in putting her affairs in order. When she went to pick up her order of upgraded lenses for the Prospector¡¯s Eyes, the craftsman remarked that she was late. He hadn¡¯t sold them ¡ª if anything, he grabbed them from right under the counter, as if he had been waiting for her all this time, and just as quickly accepted her second half of the payment, without even bothering to count the money. It was clear he wanted her out of his shop as quickly as possible. She didn¡¯t mind.
She didn¡¯t return to Gashward Road, instead spending a few days at Sorayah¡¯s home as she considered how to proceed next. The fact of the matter was, Firminus had wanted her to stay at the compound for another week. It had been her own choice to return to civilization before she was back to full fighting form. Even if her capabilities right now were in fact greater than during the raid, she was still only at 70% at best. The Adamas Organ had yet to fully settle in, and the various aftereffects of her numerous surgeries still made themselves known often enough to interfere.
Seeing as she had no intention to join up with an agency, Krahe had decided to create her own. A detective agency, that is, a simple front-office, a public face. Not only was this possible within the legal framework, it was fairly easy. From what she had learned, Audunpoint had a decent number of smaller agencies, it was just that they usually ended up as subcontractors ¡ª glorified proxies ¡ª for one of the big five or the church. The existence of such a front agency, inevitably, presented an issue by its very nature. A public office, one where she would be with some frequency, would inevitably become a target. In the end, Krahe intended to turn that problem into a benefit by turning her office into a trap for those foolish enough to wander in with hostile intentions.
The true problem, then was that she didn¡¯t have the skills or resources needed to turn a civilian building into a fortified death trap without making it obvious.
For this purpose, none other than Yao Fu came to mind.
Then, there was the matter of the hunt. She now had more specific details regarding what beast she would need, and that she would likely need to hire a trustworthy tracker. For this, she expected to need to pry some intel out of Nozar¡ And once she did find a possible target, she would need to consult with Yao Fu to confirm that it would be suitable, given that woman¡¯s involvement. She decided to make partial copies of the soulbeast intel memslate, total out to around half a dozen memslates with varying amounts of information, each of which she made three copies of.
As she went down her mental checklist, grinding a beetle-like bean between her molars, Krahe arrived to her need to rectify her lack of barriers and wards. Astro Diving, Astro Skimming, her biosuit, the Adamas Organ, all these were potent defensive measures, but Krahe had already grown used to wards. Barriers, she could do without if need be, but she wouldn¡¯t feel comfortable without wards.
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The answer, once more, led to Yao Fu.
The Atomica. The Shardkey of Heshmad Abbasi. The fragments of Eutropia¡¯s Gulf Key.
All in all, Krahe had all the parts necessary to assemble something extraordinary ¡ª perhaps the only missing ingredient would be a voidkey with exceptional barrier characteristics. Perhaps something entropy-light, fulfilling the role of a supplementary defense than a typical barrier. She was certain there would be another catch, that she would need to get some extra special material to allow for the unification of all these voidkeys as one, but that was a problem for the future.
Almost without thinking, Krahe glanced inwards, towards Barzai, and saw that the eidolon remained dormant. There had been a change, however. He was no longer ¡°gestating¡± ¡ª instead, his system readout simply stated that he was ready for the evolution ritual. The problem, of course, was that she didn¡¯t know what that entailed. This¡ Also pointed towards Yao Fu. In this case, it was because she had a great deal of influence over Zachariah Ahmadi, the Speaker of the Lost Sun Society. With each path of least resistance that turned out to have that old monster sitting at the crossroad, Krahe grew more and more uneasy. Not because she distrusted Yao Fu ¡ª if anything, out of all her acquaintances in this world, she was the most comfortable with their relationship, as she knew it to be simply transactional in a manner that neither side could afford to break. The number of threads leading back to that woman just made Krahe keenly aware of how lackluster her network of connections was.
Last in order of how heavily it weighed on her thoughts was the matter of her clothes, and especially of the biosuit. Upon her departure from the compound, Firminus had handed over the first fruits of his experimental labour ¡ª a specimen of newly-cultured biosuit material, of a sort. It was different from that which made up her biosuit somehow, the reason for which she wasn¡¯t sure of. She wagered it to be somewhere between the circumstances of her rebirth and whatever Firminus had done with her sample, as he had mentioned having made efforts to improve it in some vague manner. Regardless, she had a fairly significant amount, and after going through a few options, Krahe simply used the extra mass to directly expand her biosuit. Despite this intention, the original biosuit retained clear lines of separation, with the system recognizing the new mass as ¡°Type-38 Firminus-pattern Recultured Biogel¡±. Its properties were generally the same as the Type-37 had been upon her initial transmigration, but slightly inferior in all aspects, with an armor protection rating of E2. By comparison, the Type-37 Biosuit¡¯s armor protection rating had grown by two increments ¡ª E3, to D2.
When it came to the issue of rising temperatures, thankfully, her biosuit and Firminus¡¯ copy both helped mitigate it to an extent. As part of its core functionality, the biogel absorbed her sweat and used this excess moisture for its own form of evaporative cooling, effectively amplifying Krahe¡¯s ability to naturally cool herself down ¡ª it truly fulfilled the descriptor of ¡°second skin¡± in all aspects. Furthermore, the gel¡¯s structural makeup meant that its surface, despite being black, absorbed very little heat from the sun. This property also caused it to glisten a purplish shade when the light hit it just right.
240 - Back Into the Saddle
Krahe wasted no more time, making her way to the baneworm-run tailoring shop which Garvesh first referred her to. Even if they couldn¡¯t produce the more complex of her choices, she was certain they could furnish her with more variations for her wardrobe. Somewhat irritatingly, they made a fuss about her arrival, closing down the shop just for her. Apparently, as she learned from them, Garvesh had reached out to everyone he knew in an attempt to find out whether she was alive, and even after receiving confirmation, he made great efforts to find out where had disappeared to. They insisted that she visit him as soon as possible, and she readily agreed, seeing as this was well within her plans.
As she laid out what exactly she wanted to have made, she also made an effort to find out just how hot Audunpoint got throughout the year. Apparently, the city strayed into the mid-30s for large portions of the year, and neared the 40¡ã Celsius mark during the summer once every few years. The winters were some two months of single-digit sub-zero temperatures out of the year, with no snow and extremely dry air.
When it came to garments with magical properties, the proprietors rather apologetically stated that they were not that sort of tailoring shop, that such work was done to-order by particular craftsmen of renown. Krahe departed with a substantial quantity of clothing in her Kenoma Sack and a similarly sizable order penned in for the next month. She made for Garvesh¡¯s right away, albeit by a roundabout route, and found the same events repeating themselves ¡ª he made a fuss and locked his pawnshop¡¯s door behind her.
¡°Thought you were dead for a few days,¡± he said with an accusatory tone.
¡°Almost was. How¡¯d you find out I wasn¡¯t?¡± Krahe asked.
¡°I knew the church was involved. Pulled some strings. The higher-ups know of my affiliations with Casus, and they¡¯ve gotten more cooperative ever since you came into the picture. My guess is Casus spilled the how and why of his rescue, no surprise. Speaking of, any clue where he¡¯s gone off to?¡±
¡°Some kind of special training to properly handle an evolved form of his Mamon Armor. Mamon Knight Eisenretter, I think,¡± she answered. Her knowledge of Tarnished Silberblut and Mamon Knight Eisenretter was incomplete, and she wasn¡¯t sure whether they were even separate or different names for the same thing.
¡°He made the Silberblut Coupler manifest something other than the Silberblut Armor? How?¡± Garvesh asked with a confused tone, as if she had just told him Casus had walked through a wall by simply willing himself to do so.
¡°I don¡¯t know much more than you,¡± she shrugged. ¡°I know that he somehow changed his Knight of Shining Silver boon into one that makes any coupler he uses compatible with him, instead of making him more compatible with the coupler. If I had to guess, probably something to do with that. I think it was called ¡®Knight of Black and Gold¡¯ or something.¡±
At that, Garvesh sunk into deep thought. Krahe wasn¡¯t sure whether he was merely thoughtful or spiraling into worry, so she decided to pull him out.
¡°What, weren¡¯t you fussing over me just a moment ago? Where¡¯s my attention, you old lizard? When¡¯re you gonna tell me who you were before you got crippled, huh? I¡¯ve already got one crippled old monster I need to fix, might as well get you two together, see if you can help eachother and make my job easier.¡±
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Garvesh was so stunned by that he didn¡¯t even remember to get angry, processing all Krahe had said.
¡°Ur- You watch your fuckin¡¯ mouth, I can still cut your ass off,¡± he growled, unconvincingly. ¡°What do you expect me to do, spill my tragic backstory? Go digging at scars from a lifetime ago just so you have a better picture of why this withered old fuck sits on his ass on the edge of civilization? And what¡¯d you mean by another crippled old monster, is Razem trying to get back in the saddle?¡±
Krahe just looked at him, waiting for the cogs in his head to turn.
¡°...Yao Fu? You¡¯re telling me she¡¯s crippled?¡±
A slow nod.
¡°Busted soul furnace, partially repaired. I heard from a birdie your condition is also a soul furnace issue, some kind of poison,¡± she said.
¡°Ergh, close enough,¡± he grumbled, clearly wanting to correct her but also not wanting to divulge more information. ¡°I¡¯ll think about it. I doubt you¡¯re actually here for this.¡±
¡°I¡¯m here because your baneworm tailor friends told me you were trying to figure out where I was,¡± she said.
¡°Well it¡¯s clear you¡¯re fine, so you can fuck off again. I was finally getting around to doing inventory when you barged in, now I¡¯ll have to double-check everything. Unless you have an actual reason-¡± Garvesh grumbled, making a show of looking through his stock.
Krahe sighed.
¡°I need an independent soulbeast tracker. Figured you might know one.¡±
¡°I¡¯ll ask, but no promises. Doesn¡¯t owe me anything and wouldn¡¯t give a shit even if he did. Any clue what you¡¯re hunting?¡±
¡°Smooth fur, highly aggressive, highly mobile, likely more intelligent than most soulbeasts. Likely terrestrial or arboreal, and possessing superior sensory capabilities. Here,¡± she explained, handing over a memslate with most of the soulbeasts, some info on the type of organ she was looking for, and additional specifics beyond that. The ideal target was a soulbeast that not only had the right organ and temperament, but also had abilities that would support at least one aspect of Krahe¡¯s theoretical composite voidkey. A beast that could naturally astro dive would be a nightmare to hunt, so Krahe would be content if material from it could facilitate the combination of her voidkeys at all. Thus, she listed astro diving/skimming as one of several optional abilities that would be nice, but not required. Among these, she also listed a unique barrier alternative.
Whether or not she would target a second soulbeast soon after the first would hinge upon how many of her conditions the first one fulfilled.
After slotting it into his eyebox, the pawnbroker took a few minutes to go through the memslate¡¯s contents.
¡°Alright, I¡¯ll look into it, this might interest the guy. As I said though, no promises. You should keep looking into other options in the meanwhile ¡ª but you know that.¡±
¡°Yeah, of course,¡± Krahe nodded along. ¡°Before I go, give me a bottle of purge pills and some Tabryxa.¡±
¡°Still getting pains even after the church dragged you off? Just how busted up did you get in that raid?¡±
¡°It¡¯s nothing like that. Just some headaches, had them do some sight enhancements while I was away.¡±
¡°That so? And what else?¡± Garvesh asked conversationally as he took her ordered items off the shelf, clearly not expecting a serious answer. His movements slowed and his eyes settled in a stare into Krahe¡¯s own when he turned back around and immediately read the way she was looking at him.
¡°How much work? Two grafts? Three?¡±
Krahe kept looking at him, conjuring the rings to pay for her order.
¡°C¡¯mon. It¡¯s only been two months,¡± he insisted. He thought she was screwing with him, at first. But then a faint smirk crept into her face, and, since something was off, the saurian instinctively honed in on his senses in the same manner one would check the rear-view mirror. He realized that he couldn¡¯t see her chest rising, and in the brief moments when her hand touched his, he noticed that her heartbeat was wrong. She left without telling him, and he couldn¡¯t help but wonder.
241 - Catching Up
Rather than actually beeline straight to Yao¡¯s paper-walled fortress, Krahe bumbled around the city for a short time and eventually made her way to Gashward Road. There, she found nothing. No deliveries waiting for her at the nearby shrine, and no signs of break-in. Everything was exactly as she had left it, if dusty.
And so, she waited, passing the time in any way she could, making for Yao¡¯s only when the time felt right. The talisman mistress, unlike Garvesh, expressed not an iota of worry for Krahe¡¯s life.
¡°Two months or two years, I don¡¯t care,¡± the old monster shrugged. ¡°I saw that you yet lived, and that you would return in time. That was enough. The changes you have undergone, on the other hand, I cannot ignore. You seem to have failed to mention anything regarding your cultivation.¡±
Krahe genuinely wasn¡¯t sure what she meant by that.
¡°What cultivation? Remember, I am not familiar with your terminology.¡±
¡°Your soul furnace. It has been altered. Multiple times. You have clearly undergone a forced advancement, but the path¡ Have you omitted your possession of a cultivation manual tied to the Hexkey? But it does not seem to be anything of Shang¡¯s design, how strange.¡±
¡°It was part of the Atomica¡¯s implantation-quenching. You didn¡¯t expect this?¡±
¡°Why would I? The odds were miniscule, and, I admit, I foolishly expected you to know what to expect from a voidkey of this level ¡ª and thus, to know what was abnormal. Come. Tell me precisely what took place, for all I know you run the risk of bursting your soul furnace each time you cast thaumaturgy, if not exploding altogether. It is not my place to stop a stranger from committing suicide, but I will not have my escape route collapse itself.¡±
Krahe half-wanted to simply mention that there had been issues and that they had been resolved, but she managed to convince herself to show a greater degree of trust than that by elaborating to greater detail on the Atomica, the Fourfold Astral Implosion Furnace, and the issues that resulted from her foolhardy decision during the raid.
¡°Well, your decision was not as foolish as you might think, at least. I have seen far uglier examples of forced advancement in my time. Without your friends in the church, assuming you came to me, I could have had you using the Atomica with minimal side effects within a year at most. I suspect you will say that you do not have such time.¡±
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¡°I wanted to say that about the two months the church asked of me, but I had no choice in the matter, and would not have a choice were your theoretical course of events to take place either.¡±
¡°You mentioned four of these¡ Control rods, was it? Was that the limit of your method?¡±
¡°Six. The number isn¡¯t fixed, as far as I know.¡±
¡°A unique thauma-burning method that evolves the user¡¯s thaumaturgy, improves efficiency, and allows for gradual advancement, at this early a stage. The world truly is vast beyond reckoning,¡± the talisman mistress remarked, chuckling to herself with clear disbelief in her voice. ¡°Perhaps, without a curse to fuel, the remnant will Shang left within the Hexkey helped condense some profound knowledge of yours into that thauma-burning method. Does it seem to have any relation to the words you uttered during the transmutation ritual?¡±
Krahe looked at Yao for a few seconds, considering what to say, whether to even bother trying to explain or to just say yes and move on. She considered explaining the Solomon atomic transmutation reactor, the mysticism and ritualism involved its design, and how it was an early example of psychokinetics being applied on a large scale. In the end, she decided to simplify things.
¡°Yes. My Astral Implosion Furnace mimics the operation of a great machine that transmuted pure materials into other materials through physical phenomena and harnessed a subtle kind of magic that allowed pure force of will to manifest as physical force. I don¡¯t yet understand the transmutation machine or this world¡¯s magic well enough to translate it in a way you would understand.¡±
¡°That which can be conveyed through words alone is not truly profound. What you¡¯ve said has already answered the question I had, that being the reason you decided on that particular incantation. The fact it so directly paralelled the ritual explains why it worked so well. Now, I believe you had a reason to come to me, yes? I didn¡¯t take you for one to commit an unannounced visit for company¡¯s sake.¡±
¡°Where to start, where to start¡¡± Krahe hemmed and hawed, summoning a cigarette. She lit it, took a drag, and let out a smoky sigh, looking around the room, sweeping her eyes over the many talismans plastered inconspicuously over the walls. While many were camouflaged into the stone, just as many were plainly visible, if one had the eye to look at them. And yet, they refused to be noticed. Krahe had to fight to keep her eyes from slipping off them, and even then, they bled together. Finally, she looked at Yao.
¡°Some of those,¡± she nodded in the general direction she had just been looking. ¡°I mean to open up a detective agency with a public-facing office. I¡¯ll need proper security. If I am to open myself up for attack like that, I¡¯ll need to turn the place into a paper fortress of my own.¡±
¡°Alright, I can help you set up security ¡ª only the basics,¡± Yao said. With a gesture, a scroll flew off of a shelf and onto the coffee table. ¡°The rest, you¡¯ll have to do yourself. I¡¯m not a charity, and I don¡¯t expect that my preferred security measures would suit you. You can cook up your own traps. Come back to me when you have the location. What else?¡±
She sounded impatient, almost disinterested, clearly expecting something more interesting. Krahe figured she shouldn¡¯t be surprised ¡ª securing a location must come as second nature to this old monster.
242 - Catching Up Pt. 2
¡°Any experience with evolving an eidolon?¡± Krahe asked.
¡°Yes and no. What I know will not be helpful to you. Your methods are simply more refined in all ways that matter. You are a Lost Sun Society member, no?¡± Yao deadpanned.
¡°How convenient of you to bring it up,¡± Krahe said, facetiously. ¡°I mean to ask Zachariah for access to the Society¡¯s restricted materials. Could you pressure him to accept my request without questioning it?¡±
Yao¡¯s annoyance was growing by the moment, now plainly displayed in her expression and posture. She sighed, narrowing her eye. ¡°Fine, just get on with it. I hope whatever you¡¯re holding off on is worth the irritation you¡¯ve caused me thus far.¡±
With a smile, Krahe brought out a full copy of Firminus¡¯ soulbeast memslate, tossing it to Yao.
¡°It¡¯s been much longer than I had hoped, but I believe we will finally have that soulbeast hunt you suggested very soon. Just need to find the particular soulbeast and get a tracker willing and able to go after it. Not quite there, but we¡¯re getting closer. I can¡¯t think of a better way to stretch my legs after a long absence than to go after an extremely dangerous, sapient monstrosity in an alien region renowned for its danger.¡±
¡°This is just a roundabout way of asking me to look into this for you,¡± Yao said, but no longer sounded nearly as annoyed.
¡°Do or do not, it makes no difference to my course of action. I still have a few more threads to tug on before I need to beg,¡± Krahe retorted, taking the scroll off the table. ¡°Before I leave you in peace, I take it you don¡¯t have anything to tell me that would make your other scroll less torturous to comprehend?¡±
¡°That which can be conveyed through words alone is not truly profound,¡± the old monster repeated with cruel amusement. ¡°The process is vital in attaining true comprehension.¡±
Krahe¡¯s next goal was to visit Nozar and extract whatever he knew of Audunpoint¡¯s soulbeast hunting world and of the soulbeasts currently active within a reasonable distance of the city.
The payment would not be a problem.
No, the problem was actually getting to the skeezy fuck, given where he lived.
At least, so she had thought.
The moment she was spotted on that street, Seer was there to greet her ¡ª and not with a gun, but with a retinue. They clearly weren¡¯t comfortable with her being there, that much was clear, but when she stated her purpose to be here, Seer immediately delegated three of his subordinates to accompany her into the evoy apartment building. One of them was human, one was a squat Herculean ¡ª a beetle-man ¡ª and the last was¡ Familiar. It was the Croupier she had spared before, a pure-white Inax woman. There was no hate in her eyes, somewhat surprisingly.
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¡°Make no mistake. I want you out of here as soon as possible, without any corpses this time,¡± she said, picking up on Krahe¡¯s surprise.
¡°Let¡¯s hope there are no giant quasi-war morphs with violent tendencies this time around, then,¡± Krahe replied, wasting no time in moving on. The possibility that she might get ambushed, that these three could jump on her at any moment, hung over her thoughts.
To her surprise, in fact almost to her disappointment, it didn¡¯t happen. She didn¡¯t even receive the satisfaction of verbal antagonism from any of the apartment building¡¯s inhabitants, and after she had gone to so much effort to painstakingly pick out a colorful bevy of slurs.
She understood why she was able to reach her goal unimpeded ¡ª after all, she had spent nearly half her previous lifetime reaping both the positive and negative consequences of notoriety. It just so happened that, much like last time she had come here, she was itching to test her new toys on someone. As she saw it, Semzar barely counted, given the entirely extraordinary circumstances surrounding her battle against him. No, Krahe very much wanted to come across some shitheel mugger that didn¡¯t know what he was getting himself into. She added places where she might find such convenient live targets to her list of questions for Nozar. Sure, it might cut further into her reserves of Class-3 painkillers, but such was the cost of supremely accurate and supremely convenient information.
¡°Wonder if he¡¯ll take rejection suppressants as payment,¡± she thought. At this point, Krahe was fairly certain she would receive a sufficient supply of both painkillers and rejection suppressants for every specific operation she underwent as part of Firminus and Fidelia¡¯s blatantly obvious experiment. As she saw it, they had severely oversupplied her due to the high-risk nature of the Liminal Coil¡¯s implantation. Was she playing with their goodwill? Perhaps. But she also knew how to discern her own perceived value in another¡¯s eyes. Favonia wouldn¡¯t kick up a fuss if she found out Krahe had used the painkillers as currency, especially since it was ultimately in pursuit of the church¡¯s own goals.
It took a good two minutes of knocking before Nozar came to the door.
¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯m here, you can fuckin¡¯ stop now. What¡¯d you-¡± he began, only to freeze for a moment and move to slam the door. It was, however, too little too late, and Krahe skimmed through the gap.
¡°Agh, fuck yaself!¡± he cried out, startled. After uttering a few more expletives, he turned to walk back into the depths of his hoarder¡¯s lair, grumbling all the way. ¡°Can¡¯t wait for that barrier generator. Alright, what¡¯d¡¯you want? You better have payment.¡±
¡°I want a list of all known active soulbeasts within the regions surrounding Audunpoint, including their characteristics, a list of all independent soulbeast trackers, and generalized intel on the current soulbeast hunting season, especially active caravans into the Beyond Frontier. And while I¡¯m here, any intel you have regarding me ¨C no need for deep cuts unless it¡¯s something along the lines of another contract out on my head.¡±
He looked over his shoulder, giving her a dubious look. Then, he shrugged and continued on.
¡°Alright, but remember, y¡¯get what you pay for ¡ª that means my effort, not just the information. Might get sloppy without proper incentive.¡±
243 - Catching Up Pt. 3
¡°One dose of Class-3 rejection suppressant,¡± Krahe offered.
¡°Oh, that¡¯s good, but I can¡¯t ¡®member where exactly I filed last month¡¯s report. Hope not that memslate that snapped in half before I made a backup¡¡± he continued haggling as they reached his computer and he hopped up into his chair.
¡°Final offer: One dose of Class-3 painkiller, two doses of rejection suppressant, and I won¡¯t accidentally torch your smut collection,¡± Krahe offered, raising her hand to a nearby rack of memslates. She already felt that these upgraded appraisal lenses were paying for themselves. Everything in Nozar¡¯s data-hoard had anti-appraisal measures, but his collection being so vast, those protections varied in strength based on importance. This seemingly random rack of memslates was abnormally well-protected amidst a pile of other entertainment media. It also bore not a speck of dust, and was within arm¡¯s length of Nozar¡¯s workstation.
He narrowed his eyes, and, chittering with indignant fury, grabbed one of the memslates, gingerly slotting it into his terminal. With the press of a button, one of the screens flickered to the intro of what could be best described as late-20th-century special-effects action cinema ¡ª tokusatsu. Mamon Knights and Thaumaturges battling monstrous enemies.
¡°It¡¯s not smut. It¡¯s art. High-resolution master copies. Lost media,¡± he hissed.
¡°I¡¯ll still torch it if you try to fuck me,¡± she shrugged.
¡°Fine, now get your greasy ape fingers away from my collection. Just¡ Just don¡¯t fuckin¡¯ touch it,¡± Nozar complained, rapidly tapping commands into the terminal. Krahe could hear mechanical armatures come to life somewhere out of sight, and slight vibrations spread through the floor.
¡°Want to use your own memslates or no?¡± he asked.
¡°How many do you need?¡±
¡°Three,¡± he gestured with three raised fingers.
Krahe handed them over, keeping a sliver of attention on the show he had so reverently described as lost media. She still wasn¡¯t entirely sure that it wouldn¡¯t transition into pornography, given the supremely corny quality of the dialogue and the female heroine¡¯s outfit, one that stood out not because of the low coverage, but because Krahe had surmised that it was supposed to be a Mamon Armor. Like the outfits of Eutropia¡¯s band, only higher quality.
¡°Really? You can afford to come to me for information but not to bring quality memslates? Or are you that cheap?¡± Nozar piped up, disgust audible in his voice.
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¡°They have an indefinite shelf life and no maximum read limit, that¡¯s all I need,¡± she said.
¡°Disgusting. Keep them,¡± he refused, pushing them back towards her. He reached under the table, pulling out a sheet-metal canister stamped with the brand of the Ironworks.
KRISTOFFEN
IWPS-4-005
ANTM-VRL-R-2O
Seeing Krahe¡¯s brow furrowed in a mix of distrust and mild displeasure, he set it down in front of her. ¡°Paranoid. Here. Sealed, see?¡±
¡°My experiences have taught me that, if anything, I am not paranoid enough,¡± Krahe remarked, taking the canister in hand. Under its lid, she found a pull-tab can lid, marked as fully sealed and warded against all radiation up to a certain rating.
¡°You offered this. I¡¯m not paying extra,¡± she said.
The evoy somehow managed to convey an eye-roll despite his eyes not being capable of such a motion.
¡°The time you¡¯ve wasted me up ¡®til now is worth more than that canister. Just check it in whatever way you want and get this over with, your order is almost done buffering.¡±
With the hiss of an airtight seal being broken, she beheld the memslates ¡ª two rows of six. Unlike the clay or metal she was used to, they were greenish jadeite and their reflective surfaces gleamed in shades of purple. The individual symbols were tiny, approaching the limit of her naked eye. Going over each of them, she gave Nozar the go-ahead.
¡°Four copies,¡± she said, pointedly keeping her hand on the canister even after counting out four memslates. If she could walk out of here with this, she would.
¡°Payment. I wanna see it first,¡± he replied.
Only once each agreed-upon item sat in front of him did the evoy actually slot the memslates into their rightful place. From then on, they didn¡¯t exchange any further words. Krahe, somehow, managed to make her way out of that building and out of Seer¡¯s territory without any further incident. Putting aside the fact Nozar¡¯s jadeite memslates were, as he had claimed, undeniably superior in all ways to what she had been content to use so far, the density and volume of information he had dumped on her was beyond her ability to parse on the spot. There was spite in it, in how immaculately organized it was, as if Nozar was smugly reigning his data-hoarder proclivities and his ability to navigate this complex schema over her. There was a file system in here, though her eyebox couldn¡¯t do more than scroll through it and tell her that there was information it couldn¡¯t handle properly. She would need an actual terminal to properly go through it all. This, in the end, turned out easier than getting clothes.
Garvesh readily wheeled out a consumer model for her to look over and fiddle with, and ordering a nonstandard, security-focused unit was much easier than she had expected. It was painfully expensive, that much was true, but Krahe was just as painfully aware of how important quality hardware was. Memslates were one thing, she had used them for disposable ends and thus hadn¡¯t needed anything quality so far, but this was different. Garvesh referred to the machine as a ¡°cogen,¡± short for ¡°cognition engine,¡± and the manual also mentioned ¡°c-engine¡± or ¡°c-en¡± as colloquial terms. After spending some time reading a generalized manual for these machines and listening to the pawnbroker explain the most important aspects of use, Krahe felt confident enough that she wouldn¡¯t have major issues adapting. There were major differences in fundamental design, but it was still a personal data-processing terminal designed by humans for humans, it fundamentally couldn¡¯t be too alien for Krahe to understand.
244 - Catching Up Pt. 4/Actual Real Gangstalking
After only a few days¡¯ wait, Krahe could count among her possessions a somewhat portable sort-of-computer, customized for security and equipped with what was functionally an aftermarket firmware and operating system. It came inside an unbranded, reinforced, and warded suitcase, which had extra space for a spare thaumine canister and several memslates. The cogen¡¯s internals resembled a mechanical ribcage filled by countless armatures, the spine being a series of interlocking ¡°memslates,¡± creating a modular operating system. It had nearly a dozen cable ports of varying shapes and sizes, as well as a port for a solid-state DD battery and a thaumine tank.
The cogen¡¯s controls were best described as ¡°cyberdeck meets typewriter.¡± Besides the unmistakably typewriter-esq keyboard, it offered a hovering trackball in place of a mouse and an outright direct-to-skull ¡ª or rather, direct-to-soul ¡ª plug cable, utilising the same quasi-voidkey connection methods that Krahe had up until now only experienced under the knife.
Bit by bit, Krahe began digging into the archive. An entire subculture unfolded before her through Nozar¡¯s intel, with its own social conventions and ideals, even an idea vaguely akin to chivalry. Unsurprisingly, those who worked within the soulbeast-hunting sphere tended to have a disproportionate amount of soulbeast grafts, and vastly superior equipment overall for their rank, both by sheer virtue of access to materials. There was an undeniable degree of survivorship bias, of course ¡ª few stuck around for long, and of those who did, not many lived long enough to gather a substantial equipment. If working as a contractor was akin to becoming a pre-industrial sailor, then joining a soulbeast-hunting caravan or becoming a tracker was akin to joining up with a whaling vessel in that era.
The sheer volume of information she had to digest proved to be daunting even with the Decoction of Mind¡¯s Dawn aiding her, and before long, day turned to night. Having run up against the decoction¡¯s dosage limit, Krahe took a break¡ And as she sat there, smoking, she couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of foreboding in the air. Something was wrong. She scoured her surroundings, double and triple-checked all her safety-measures, and, finding nothing wrong, became even more deeply disconcerted. A strange static licked her skin. Before long, however, the feeling passed.
Several days later, Krahe was stuck ¡ª not by any fault of her own, and not in any matter of the arcane. It was, instead, bureaucracy. In her effort to start her own small agency, she had to go through the secular government, and somehow, by some terribly convenient coincidence, it seemed that everything was going wrong with her paperwork, despite having made absolutely sure it was bulletproof. The first reason she didn¡¯t bend her full efforts to resolving the impasse by any means necessary was that everything was still within the official timeframe for the paperwork to be processed. The second reason was that she was already busy setting up everything for the soulbeast hunt and going through the Lost Sun Society¡¯s records on eidolon evolution rituals. In short, she was stretching herself very thin, and her paperwork getting delayed wasn¡¯t at the top of her priority list.
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As the days passed, becoming a week, and then a second, Krahe noticed something. The same people, coincidentally showing up at public places she frequented. They weren¡¯t always the same in the same place, and didn¡¯t always show up simultaneously, and sometimes, they even went through the effort of changing how they looked, but they faltered in key ways. A whole new outfit or a wig wouldn¡¯t do anything if you wore the same very recognizable rings, or didn¡¯t cover up a unique tattoo. They were like agents provocateurs trying to blend into a protest while still wearing their company-issue smartglasses and using ultra-generic ¡ª thusly suspicious ¡ª network IDs. Stooges never learned. It wasn¡¯t long before she caught a glance of something that confirmed who they were with. The Silversword Agency. It was a pendant one of them wore, and the mark of a Silver Slip Key on the side of another one¡¯s shaved head. The question was: Why? The obvious answer was that someone contracted the agency, as it was, after all, the single largest agency in Audunpoint. However, a second possibility remained. Brizogia Rasug al-Imuzat, the woman who owned the mansion on Mirzaii 2, who had gone to every possible legal avenue of lashing out at the church. Were this Megacity Gamma, Krahe was certain she would have seen a number of random news outlets taking Brizogia¡¯s side, using suspiciously consistent verbiage. It was Nozar¡¯s intel dossier regarding Krahe that made her lean strongly towards the second possibility, as it detailed a number of efforts to find out who she was, where she lived, and how to contact her ¡ª and Brizogia had gone to the greatest lengths of all. The Kristoffen Heavy Ironworks were a close second, because they wanted her to promote the Black Sun Coupler for them, offering various monetary compensation and full access to the system and all its successors. In short, they wanted to get her as a test pilot, doubtlessly because of the system¡¯s teething problems and lack of testers. She was certain the Ironworks would happily publicize what she did using the Black Sun Coupler, using it as marketing for the prototype. In fact, she didn¡¯t doubt that they had already done just that to some extent, considering enough information leaked that they even knew of the Black Sun¡¯s use during the raid. Such was the cost of leaving survivors. The dossier mentioned quite a few others who had tried to get information on her, of course, but these two were the most notable instances. The Dead Night Tiger Agency seemed interested in her, but, true to their enigmatic reputation, that was as far as Nozar¡¯s dossier went.
For the time being, her stalkers were the problem that needed to be dealt with. She decided to use them. After having her breakfast at a bakery, she purposely stared at the bald-headed stalker until he noticed. Then, just as he became alarmed, she looked down at a memslate she had left on the table, and covered it with her empty coffee cup. Looking back up at him, she saw a degree of understanding in his eyes. He didn¡¯t make a move until after she had left. Not smart enough to blend in properly, but at least he understood this much. Upon that memslate was a message, establishing an alleyway across the street as a dead-drop point for communications ¡ª specifically, a gap in the mortar below a brick that Krahe had scraped an unassuming symbol into.
245 - Snare Set
She left the dead-drop point alone for now, knowing full well that they would be paying attention to it. The possibility of being attacked at that cafe didn¡¯t particularly concern her ¡ª it was one of, if not the most public place she visited, not far from the central square. No, she just wanted to let them stew for a bit, and to give herself time to take other actions and observe whether the stalkers reacted to them, thus proving their employer was connected.
Razem welcomed her with open arms, asking her to recount her experience during the raid in the same tone one would ask a friend to recount an amusing bar-crawl story. She readily did as much, keeping some key details to herself out of instinct.
¡°I truly appreciate you keeping this old man company, but surely, you haven¡¯t come just to give me a first-hand account,¡± he said, swirling the blue liquid that filled his glass. He smirked. ¡°I hear you¡¯ve been trying to register an agency. How¡¯s that going for you? Find a new appreciation for the church¡¯s bureaucracy yet?¡±
¡°Yeah. I¡¯m appalled at myself,¡± Krahe replied, jokingly. ¡°I¡¯m sure someone is stopping up the cogs. Figured you might be able to grease them.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t you know the secular government operates separately from the church?¡± Razem asked, facetiously.
¡°I¡¯m not asking you to act as a clergyman. I¡¯m asking you to use your personal connections to ensure that the process of government are carried out properly and without undue interruptions from other third parties¡ And to ideally find out the source of those interruptions, if possible. Is that too much to ask? I¡¯ve already got a gaggle of morons trying to tail me, I¡¯m sure if I tear down enough puppets I¡¯ll yank the puppeteer¡¯s hand down by the strings eventually.¡±
Razem looked at her for a few seconds. He took a sip, and for a moment, he stopped being a clergyman. For a moment, Krahe was sat across from a bloodstained creature with murder behind the eyes, one of her own kind. Then, it was over.
¡°Of course I can clear it up for you. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s just a misunderstanding,¡± he said with a genial smile.
A few days passed.
Conveniently, as if by pure coincidence, the moment Razem had involved himself, Krahe¡¯s paperwork was no longer an issue, and the only thing left to do was to secure a public office location. However, surely also by pure coincidence, her stalkers only grew more aggressive, attempting to cut her off multiple times in the span of a single day. Outmaneouvering them was a matter of some effort without Barzai, but outmaneouver them she did. It had become abundantly obvious that, the moment they saw her arm, they tunnel-visioned on it to a deleterious degree, and Krahe exploited this fact along with some basic quick-change. Not only did she lose her stalkers through this method, she also managed to get up-close and get a good look at a few of them. In the middle of the night, she stopped by the cafe dead-drop. Even now, one of them was stationed there, but he was fast asleep. She retrieved the memslate in the dead-drop and vanished like so much smoke. The memslate was of shockingly high quality, wrought of unblemished, perfectly homogenous material and with sigils so tiny they were just lines. Using a separate, disposable eyebox, she played it, and found herself disappointed by the carelessness her opponent displayed ¡ª she had thought this was chess, but instead, it was checkers.
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An older woman¡¯s voice filled with an insufferable sense of entitlement spilled out of the device, and a handwritten transcript scrolled alongside it.
¡°This is Brizogia Rasug al-Imuzat, of the Silversword Agency. You have surely heard of me by now. Meet me at the agency¡¯s office in the Orguss District. Do right by me, and you will have your personal micro-agency before the week is out. Refuse, and you will never find work in my city again. End recording.¡±
Going off of the timestamp at the transcript¡¯s bottom, this had been recorded before Krahe got Razem involved. If she had to guess, Krahe imagined Brizogia to be seething in her office at the moment the news reached her. Deciding to add salt onto the wound, Krahe recorded a curt response. She then made her way to the cafe and placed it right there, on the table, in front of the sleeping lookout.
The message was simple: ¡°Meet me at this cafe, or we don¡¯t meet at all. I hope you make a better offer next time, for your own good. I will be here next Saturday at noon.¡±
Krahe intentionally set the meeting time so that there would be a good number of people around. Even if Brizogia pulled strings to get the area cleared out and locked down, that would still achieve Krahe¡¯s intended effect of drawing attention. The point was to make it as painful for Brizogia to try anything shady as possible. If she tried to kill Krahe in broad daylight, it would look bad, and when Krahe inevitably humiliated her by thwarting such an attempt, it would look even worse. The only way for Brizogia to come out of this with a net gain would be to play nice. This was so abundantly obvious that there was no doubt in Krahe¡¯s mind Brizogia would realize it, which in itself was another sort of torment, if Brizogia¡¯s temperament matched Krahe¡¯s first impression of her.
In the meanwhile, accounting for the possibility of Brizogia¡¯s people actively coming after her, Krahe picked out a suitable killing ground: An old, poorly-maintained house, scheduled for demolition as part merging it with its neighboring property. Its basement had a single entrance, and shared a wall with the neighboring basement. These two things made this place in particular perfect as a trap ¡ª Krahe could cave in the entrance, light the fuse of the actual killing apparatus, and simply skim out of danger, reaching the surface before the bombs went off. It would be like a magic trick. She would keep her tools out of sight and mind, directing their attention as was necessary until the key moment. The explosives she intended to use were of the same type employed in soulbeast hunting, designed to be hidden from creatures who could naturally sense thaumic fluctuations. The only downside was the setup time, making it impractical if you couldn¡¯t get the quarry where you needed it.
This was all an elaborate way of getting around the fact she couldn¡¯t bring Barzai to bear. Were he an option, she would have had a much easier time disposing of these halfassed stalkers, but such was life. One couldn¡¯t always expect to have the full extent of one¡¯s arsenal on-hand.
Artwork Gallery
KRAHE
"Blackhand"
Vol. 1 Cover Art
"Daemon Core Bloodbath"
"Tar"
Illustrates: Vol. 2, Page 47
"Liminal Coil Pinup"
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"Green-eyed Demon"
Illustrates: Vol. 2, Page 121
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"ATOMICA REFULGENT"
Vol. 2 Cover Art
Illustrates: Vol. 2, Pg. 357/358
"Jacket Pinup"
"Crow and Raven"
Vol. 3 Cover Art
CASUS ARISTEDES
"Mamon Knight Silberblut"
Illustrates: Silberblut''s first appearance, Vol. 1, Page 228/229
"Aristedes"
Illustrates: Vol. 2, Page 361
"Imperfect Eisenretter"
Illustrates: Vol. 2, Page 364
OTHERS
"Talisman Mistress Yao Fu"
"Yazata Heptaxia, the Witch-inquisitor"