~~((Halloween Special - Page 30 of 30))~~
They could work through the details later. The Queen couldn't get mad at him as long as they weren't actually coming to Atreya yet.
Well. Okay, maybe she could. But she couldn't do anything about it if she did. Lorent was outside her jurisdiction.
President Dance might have a thing or two to say about it, though--if he ever found out about it, that was.
As he waited for Abbas' response via Levinox, Hector noticed Garovel hovering there next to him. The expression on the reaper's skeletal face implied that he had something he wanted to say, but he merely remained silent.
'Lord Abbas says that would be much appreciated,' said Levinox. 'They will head for Lorent right away.'
"Do they have civilian refugees with them?" asked Hector.
'...Yes. Many.'
Hector nodded. "Can I get a rough estimate of the number?"
'...Perhaps three hundred.'
Hmm. Less than he'd imagined, but that amount would still prove challenging to conceal from the Lorentian government. Would it be better to just ask the Lorentians for help directly?
Maybe, but he still didn't fully trust them. He might've gained their favor, but this was an emperor of Abolish they were dealing with. If Morgunov made the same promise to the Lorentians that he did to the Callumi, they might very well agree to it. He highly doubted that they liked Hector Goffe of Atreya more than they feared the Mad Demon.
Hell, he wondered if even Queen Helen would be able to hold out against something like that.
He did not wish to find out. Yeah. It was safer for everyone if he just tried to keep everything as quiet as possible for now.
"Alright," he said. "Tell the scouting team to stick with them and keep us updated on their movements. We'll try to link up with them at the Lorent-Callum border and proceed from there."
He still had plenty of questions, particularly regarding casualties, but the situation was still too fluid for that, Hector felt. He could ask those things later, once Abbas and his group were safe.
A dark serial novel. Set in a modern fantasy world called Eleg. Mature language. Updates every night at midnight PST by ~400 words.
Saturday, October 31, 2020
Page 2733
~~((Halloween Special - Page 29 of 30))~~
"Have they talked to the governments of Callum or Intar yet?" Hector asked. Logic would dictate that Sair's neighbors didn't want Abolish conquering it, either. They'd been dragging their feet so far, but they had to be reevaluating their positions on the matter now.
Levinox took a minute to relay Hector's question and receive an answer. 'Intar has proven difficult to reach. They have spoken to Callum, however, and unfortunately, it appears that Morgunov has promised not to invade them as long as they don't provide refuge to the Sandlords.'
Oh shit.
"And Callum's government actually believes him?" said Hector with wide eyes.
'It would seem so,' said Levinox. 'Callumi authorities have been trying to capture them on sight, ostensibly to turn over to Abolish.'
Damn. "Is it even safe for them to be having this conversation, right now? Is their current position secure?"
Another long pause. 'That is debatable. The Callumi authorities themselves aren't too much trouble for the Sandlords, but if they alert Abolish to their location, then the situation could worsen again.'
Hector knew what he wanted to say here. But it would be taking a huge leap. It might ruffle a few feathers.
He grit his teeth for a moment as he mulled it over.
He had to say it. Of course he did.
"If they can at least make it to Lorent, then I can provide them with a place to regroup."
Levinox fell silent again, relaying the message.
Hector wanted to say that they were welcome in Warrenhold--because they were, of course--but at the moment, it seemed safer to just say Lorent. It was a lot closer for the Sandlords, too.
And while he didn't think the Queen would refuse to help them when her own family had ties with Sandlords, he also didn't want to test his relationship with her too much. And welcoming another group of refugees who were being hunted by one of the most powerful organizations in the world without her permission... well, that seemed like it might annoy her.
Just a bit.
"Have they talked to the governments of Callum or Intar yet?" Hector asked. Logic would dictate that Sair's neighbors didn't want Abolish conquering it, either. They'd been dragging their feet so far, but they had to be reevaluating their positions on the matter now.
Levinox took a minute to relay Hector's question and receive an answer. 'Intar has proven difficult to reach. They have spoken to Callum, however, and unfortunately, it appears that Morgunov has promised not to invade them as long as they don't provide refuge to the Sandlords.'
Oh shit.
"And Callum's government actually believes him?" said Hector with wide eyes.
'It would seem so,' said Levinox. 'Callumi authorities have been trying to capture them on sight, ostensibly to turn over to Abolish.'
Damn. "Is it even safe for them to be having this conversation, right now? Is their current position secure?"
Another long pause. 'That is debatable. The Callumi authorities themselves aren't too much trouble for the Sandlords, but if they alert Abolish to their location, then the situation could worsen again.'
Hector knew what he wanted to say here. But it would be taking a huge leap. It might ruffle a few feathers.
He grit his teeth for a moment as he mulled it over.
He had to say it. Of course he did.
"If they can at least make it to Lorent, then I can provide them with a place to regroup."
Levinox fell silent again, relaying the message.
Hector wanted to say that they were welcome in Warrenhold--because they were, of course--but at the moment, it seemed safer to just say Lorent. It was a lot closer for the Sandlords, too.
And while he didn't think the Queen would refuse to help them when her own family had ties with Sandlords, he also didn't want to test his relationship with her too much. And welcoming another group of refugees who were being hunted by one of the most powerful organizations in the world without her permission... well, that seemed like it might annoy her.
Just a bit.
Page 2732 -- CCXLV.
~~((Halloween Special - Page 28 of 30))~~
Chapter Two Hundred Forty-Five: 'O, fledgling commander, falter not...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
The reapers all turned to look at Hector. None of the Rainlord heads were immediately present. They were all either asleep or Dimas Sebolt, the man with chronic insomnia.
It wouldn't take long for the reapers to fetch them, of course, but judging by the expressions on all these skeletal faces, they were expecting him to step up and do or say something first.
Well, then.
A part of him wanted to pretend he hadn't heard anything and just go crawl back into bed. Someone else would handle it. And Abbas probably wanted to talk to a Rainlord, not him, right? Yeah.
...Eh, who was he kidding?
He took a long, deep breath and walked over to the reaper who'd delivered the news. "What kind of contact?" he asked. "Remote or direct?"
'Direct,' said the reaper. This one name's was Levinox, as Hector recalled, and he was linked with Cristina Sebolt of the scouting team. 'My servant is looking at him at this very moment.'
Hector nodded and turned to the others. "Inform the family heads. Bring them here, please."
'You got it.'
'Sure thing.'
'Heh, yes, sir.'
Three reapers departed instantly, followed by two more who said nothing. That number made sense, because there were currently five Rainlord heads in Warrenhold: Zeff, Dimas, Horatio, Joana, and Salvador. The only other one was Evangelina, who was in Vantalay.
'Garovel, I need you,' thought Hector as he turned back to Levinox. Garovel said something, but Hector was too busy processing what he wanted to say to Abbas to respond.
Levinox spoke up again before him, however. 'Lord Abbas is talking about their status. The Sandlords have been completely pushed out of the Drylands. They're scattered. The Vanguard has apparently regrouped in the Wetlands, but the Sandlords are having difficulty linking back up with them. They've been running into fierce opposition wherever they go.'
Chapter Two Hundred Forty-Five: 'O, fledgling commander, falter not...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
The reapers all turned to look at Hector. None of the Rainlord heads were immediately present. They were all either asleep or Dimas Sebolt, the man with chronic insomnia.
It wouldn't take long for the reapers to fetch them, of course, but judging by the expressions on all these skeletal faces, they were expecting him to step up and do or say something first.
Well, then.
A part of him wanted to pretend he hadn't heard anything and just go crawl back into bed. Someone else would handle it. And Abbas probably wanted to talk to a Rainlord, not him, right? Yeah.
...Eh, who was he kidding?
He took a long, deep breath and walked over to the reaper who'd delivered the news. "What kind of contact?" he asked. "Remote or direct?"
'Direct,' said the reaper. This one name's was Levinox, as Hector recalled, and he was linked with Cristina Sebolt of the scouting team. 'My servant is looking at him at this very moment.'
Hector nodded and turned to the others. "Inform the family heads. Bring them here, please."
'You got it.'
'Sure thing.'
'Heh, yes, sir.'
Three reapers departed instantly, followed by two more who said nothing. That number made sense, because there were currently five Rainlord heads in Warrenhold: Zeff, Dimas, Horatio, Joana, and Salvador. The only other one was Evangelina, who was in Vantalay.
'Garovel, I need you,' thought Hector as he turned back to Levinox. Garovel said something, but Hector was too busy processing what he wanted to say to Abbas to respond.
Levinox spoke up again before him, however. 'Lord Abbas is talking about their status. The Sandlords have been completely pushed out of the Drylands. They're scattered. The Vanguard has apparently regrouped in the Wetlands, but the Sandlords are having difficulty linking back up with them. They've been running into fierce opposition wherever they go.'
Page 2731
~~((Halloween Special - Page 27 of 30))~~
The atmosphere in here was tense. Normally, when so many reapers gathered together, it was a jovial affair--or at least, in Hector's experience, it was. Even when talking business or otherwise discussing quite serious subject matter, reapers always seemed to find a way to enjoy themselves.
But not this time, it would seem.
The news of Sair's defeat had affected their spirits. The same could be said of all the Rainlords in Warrenhold, of course, but these reapers seemed to be particularly different, Hector felt.
It was a little hard to explain why, though. Their collective demeanor was more serious. They didn't joke around with each other very much, anymore. But there was something else, too. Something Hector couldn't quite articulate.
A vague feeling. A kind of heat in his mind. It was both familiar and unfamiliar to him, like he should recognize it but couldn't. And it was bothering him enough that he often devoted a background thought process to just trying to puzzle out what it was.
In any case, Arumoro was at the back of the room. Hector could've gone to any of the reapers from the Vantalay team, but Arumoro was the one he'd grown the most personally familiar with. He was the reaper for Raul Blackburn, one of the mildly infamous Blackburn Triplets.
'Lord Goffe,' said Arumoro as he watched them approach. 'And Lady Edith. What brings you here?'
Hector relayed what Lynn had told him about the Sword of Unso. He made sure to qualify his statements with a level of uncertainty, wanting the reaper to take them with a grain of salt. Lynn chimed in as well, reiterating her points, and Arumoro thanked them for the information.
And that was it. That was all Hector had wanted to do here.
But before they could leave, one of the reapers from the scouting team said something that made the entire room full of reapers go quiet.
'We've just made contact with Abbas Saqqaf.'
The atmosphere in here was tense. Normally, when so many reapers gathered together, it was a jovial affair--or at least, in Hector's experience, it was. Even when talking business or otherwise discussing quite serious subject matter, reapers always seemed to find a way to enjoy themselves.
But not this time, it would seem.
The news of Sair's defeat had affected their spirits. The same could be said of all the Rainlords in Warrenhold, of course, but these reapers seemed to be particularly different, Hector felt.
It was a little hard to explain why, though. Their collective demeanor was more serious. They didn't joke around with each other very much, anymore. But there was something else, too. Something Hector couldn't quite articulate.
A vague feeling. A kind of heat in his mind. It was both familiar and unfamiliar to him, like he should recognize it but couldn't. And it was bothering him enough that he often devoted a background thought process to just trying to puzzle out what it was.
In any case, Arumoro was at the back of the room. Hector could've gone to any of the reapers from the Vantalay team, but Arumoro was the one he'd grown the most personally familiar with. He was the reaper for Raul Blackburn, one of the mildly infamous Blackburn Triplets.
'Lord Goffe,' said Arumoro as he watched them approach. 'And Lady Edith. What brings you here?'
Hector relayed what Lynn had told him about the Sword of Unso. He made sure to qualify his statements with a level of uncertainty, wanting the reaper to take them with a grain of salt. Lynn chimed in as well, reiterating her points, and Arumoro thanked them for the information.
And that was it. That was all Hector had wanted to do here.
But before they could leave, one of the reapers from the scouting team said something that made the entire room full of reapers go quiet.
'We've just made contact with Abbas Saqqaf.'
Page 2730
~~((Halloween Special - Page 26 of 30))~~
The reapers for the dispatched teams were almost always gathered together in order to share information with one another and relay it back to their respective servants on a moment's notice. They'd swapped between various gathering spots over the last few weeks, but their most recent one was here on the Bell Tower's second floor.
When Hector and Lynn arrived, Lynn paused in the open doorway, seemingly surprised at the sight before her. She'd donned her Hun'Kui made goggles and was therefore able to see all of the reapers clustered together like nowhere else in Warrenhold.
Hmm. Hector wondered if he shouldn't be showing her this. She was obviously going to wonder what they were all doing.
Eh, it was fine. Lynn was trustworthy, and she still couldn't hear anything the reapers were saying, anyway. There was zero risk of her accidentally compromising one of the missions.
There were four circles, one for each team, but the reapers were still occasionally intermingling with one another. As Hector understood it, they all wanted to stay up to date on the status of each others' missions. That seemed needlessly confusing to him, but apparently, the reapers didn't feel the same way.
So essentially, the reapers for the Vantalay team knew everything that the reapers for the Qenghis, Ardora, and Sair-scouting teams knew--and vice versa. They claimed that it was because there was always a slight chance that one mission might somehow affect another or that something learned in one part of the world might be useful to pass along, but Hector didn't entirely believe that.
He thought it a lot more likely that the reapers just wanted to know everything going on, because that was how reapers were.
And of course, with the developments in Sair, they had plenty of extra reason to be interested in what the scouting team had to report.
The reapers for the dispatched teams were almost always gathered together in order to share information with one another and relay it back to their respective servants on a moment's notice. They'd swapped between various gathering spots over the last few weeks, but their most recent one was here on the Bell Tower's second floor.
When Hector and Lynn arrived, Lynn paused in the open doorway, seemingly surprised at the sight before her. She'd donned her Hun'Kui made goggles and was therefore able to see all of the reapers clustered together like nowhere else in Warrenhold.
Hmm. Hector wondered if he shouldn't be showing her this. She was obviously going to wonder what they were all doing.
Eh, it was fine. Lynn was trustworthy, and she still couldn't hear anything the reapers were saying, anyway. There was zero risk of her accidentally compromising one of the missions.
There were four circles, one for each team, but the reapers were still occasionally intermingling with one another. As Hector understood it, they all wanted to stay up to date on the status of each others' missions. That seemed needlessly confusing to him, but apparently, the reapers didn't feel the same way.
So essentially, the reapers for the Vantalay team knew everything that the reapers for the Qenghis, Ardora, and Sair-scouting teams knew--and vice versa. They claimed that it was because there was always a slight chance that one mission might somehow affect another or that something learned in one part of the world might be useful to pass along, but Hector didn't entirely believe that.
He thought it a lot more likely that the reapers just wanted to know everything going on, because that was how reapers were.
And of course, with the developments in Sair, they had plenty of extra reason to be interested in what the scouting team had to report.
Page 2729
~~((Halloween Special - Page 25 of 30))~~
Hector hoped they would be able to find a solution to this problem soon, because trekking up and down these stairs every day was kind of obnoxious.
Plus, it wasn't exactly friendly to the disabled or injured. That wasn't a big problem at the moment, but Hector wanted to be prepared if it ever was.
Little Ramira Elroy had been something of a warning, in that regard. Her foot had been wounded back at Dunehall, and she'd been on the mend ever since. Luckily, she was small enough for Zeff or even Marcos to carry her up or down the stairs without any trouble, but seeing her roam around on her tiny crutches had caused Hector to imagine much worse scenarios.
Warrenhold was supposed to be a place of safety, after all--and the Tower of Night, the safest building. There might very well come a day where they needed to take in a large number of injured people. Sure, they could be placed in the other towers--and probably would--but what if this place ever came under siege?
The more he'd thought about it, the more important the Tower of Night seemed.
The other seven towers all had nightrock inside them, too, but only in small amounts--a single, black chamber in the heart of each building, to be precise. The rest of their stone, while still not entirely normal, was at least malleable. The new elevators in the Entry Tower had been especially welcome, since that was the tallest of all eight towers.
Their current destination, the Bell Tower, would soon have working elevators, too.
Renovations on it were coming along pretty well. The first floors were pretty much done, and it was turning into quite a handsome building. The light gray stone here now looked pristine, and the edges of each room had been lined with a dark walnut wood that provided a pleasing degree of visual contrast, Hector felt.
Hector hoped they would be able to find a solution to this problem soon, because trekking up and down these stairs every day was kind of obnoxious.
Plus, it wasn't exactly friendly to the disabled or injured. That wasn't a big problem at the moment, but Hector wanted to be prepared if it ever was.
Little Ramira Elroy had been something of a warning, in that regard. Her foot had been wounded back at Dunehall, and she'd been on the mend ever since. Luckily, she was small enough for Zeff or even Marcos to carry her up or down the stairs without any trouble, but seeing her roam around on her tiny crutches had caused Hector to imagine much worse scenarios.
Warrenhold was supposed to be a place of safety, after all--and the Tower of Night, the safest building. There might very well come a day where they needed to take in a large number of injured people. Sure, they could be placed in the other towers--and probably would--but what if this place ever came under siege?
The more he'd thought about it, the more important the Tower of Night seemed.
The other seven towers all had nightrock inside them, too, but only in small amounts--a single, black chamber in the heart of each building, to be precise. The rest of their stone, while still not entirely normal, was at least malleable. The new elevators in the Entry Tower had been especially welcome, since that was the tallest of all eight towers.
Their current destination, the Bell Tower, would soon have working elevators, too.
Renovations on it were coming along pretty well. The first floors were pretty much done, and it was turning into quite a handsome building. The light gray stone here now looked pristine, and the edges of each room had been lined with a dark walnut wood that provided a pleasing degree of visual contrast, Hector felt.
Page 2728
~~((Halloween Special - Page 24 of 30))~~
At first, Hector thought it was just too much of a problem for a normal construction company. He thought maybe he would be able to find a servant-run company that could deal with the nightrock; but now, after letting the Rainlords assist in the reconstruction effort for quite a while, he was starting to wonder if even that was doable.
Thus far, none of the Rainlords had been able to put so much as a dent in the Tower of Night.
It was a bit of a delicate situation, though. Since there were so many people currently living in Warrenhold, there was understandable concern about using too much power and accidentally hurting someone with flying debris.
When news of the continental war broke, they had been in the process of organizing for a new, more ambitious attempt at breaking through the nighrock, but that had since been indefinitely postponed. The most powerful servant at their disposal, Melchor Blackburn, had been a key part of that plan, and he was now in Vantalay, along with several others who would've proven very helpful in mitigating damage.
All in all, though, it was pretty shocking.
When Voreese first described nightrock to Hector and Garovel, she had made it sound tough but not this tough. She'd mentioned that it would require someone on the level of Harper Norez to break through it, but this was far beyond that, Hector felt. Harper was a powerful Lieutenant General of the Vanguard, yes, but Hector was reasonably certain that there were several people here among the Rainlords who were stronger than him.
And yet the nightrock had bested them all.
So far, at least.
After talking to Voreese about it again, she expressed surprise as well.
'Huh,' she had said. 'This stuff seems a little sturdier than I remember...'
At first, Hector thought it was just too much of a problem for a normal construction company. He thought maybe he would be able to find a servant-run company that could deal with the nightrock; but now, after letting the Rainlords assist in the reconstruction effort for quite a while, he was starting to wonder if even that was doable.
Thus far, none of the Rainlords had been able to put so much as a dent in the Tower of Night.
It was a bit of a delicate situation, though. Since there were so many people currently living in Warrenhold, there was understandable concern about using too much power and accidentally hurting someone with flying debris.
When news of the continental war broke, they had been in the process of organizing for a new, more ambitious attempt at breaking through the nighrock, but that had since been indefinitely postponed. The most powerful servant at their disposal, Melchor Blackburn, had been a key part of that plan, and he was now in Vantalay, along with several others who would've proven very helpful in mitigating damage.
All in all, though, it was pretty shocking.
When Voreese first described nightrock to Hector and Garovel, she had made it sound tough but not this tough. She'd mentioned that it would require someone on the level of Harper Norez to break through it, but this was far beyond that, Hector felt. Harper was a powerful Lieutenant General of the Vanguard, yes, but Hector was reasonably certain that there were several people here among the Rainlords who were stronger than him.
And yet the nightrock had bested them all.
So far, at least.
After talking to Voreese about it again, she expressed surprise as well.
'Huh,' she had said. 'This stuff seems a little sturdier than I remember...'
Page 2727
~~((Halloween Special - Page 23 of 30))~~
"Y-you don't seem uptight," Hector tried.
Lynn just gave him a flat look.
Yeah, she didn't believe him. Hmm. Maybe he could turn this around on her, though. "...Why does the Queen think that you're not getting enough rest?"
Lynn put her eye forward as they descended the dark stairs. "I don't know."
"...You sure about that?"
"What are you implying?"
"I'm just wondering if you actually are getting enough rest," said Hector.
"Hmph. You're one to talk."
"Maybe. But I'm also undead. You're not."
"I'm fine."
"...Really? You're not pushing yourself too hard with your training?"
"Of course not. I know my limits."
"I don't know. I'm inclined to trust Her Highness' judgment on this one..."
She snorted. "Are you seriously trying to use the Queen against me?"
"You need your rest, Lynn."
"What're you, my mother?"
Hector snickered. "Oh, there's an idea. Maybe we should give her a call. See what she thinks."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. There's no need for threats."
A related thought occurred to Hector. "Were you able to try out the hot springs when you were here with the King?"
"Oh, no, the renovations weren't done yet. Are they finished now?"
"More or less. They still need some final touches, but they're functional now, at least. If you're supposed to be relaxing more, then you should give them a try."
"That does sound pretty nice. And I'm curious to see what they look like, too."
They kept talking as they made their way down, which was quite a lengthy journey, because the Tower of Night was still lacking one important feature.
Elevators.
Of Warrenhold's eight great towers, the Tower of Night was the largest and most secure by far. That was thanks entirely to the nightrock from which it was built.
But unfortunately, the strength of the nightrock also made it incredibly difficult--if not impossible--to work with in renovating the place.
"Y-you don't seem uptight," Hector tried.
Lynn just gave him a flat look.
Yeah, she didn't believe him. Hmm. Maybe he could turn this around on her, though. "...Why does the Queen think that you're not getting enough rest?"
Lynn put her eye forward as they descended the dark stairs. "I don't know."
"...You sure about that?"
"What are you implying?"
"I'm just wondering if you actually are getting enough rest," said Hector.
"Hmph. You're one to talk."
"Maybe. But I'm also undead. You're not."
"I'm fine."
"...Really? You're not pushing yourself too hard with your training?"
"Of course not. I know my limits."
"I don't know. I'm inclined to trust Her Highness' judgment on this one..."
She snorted. "Are you seriously trying to use the Queen against me?"
"You need your rest, Lynn."
"What're you, my mother?"
Hector snickered. "Oh, there's an idea. Maybe we should give her a call. See what she thinks."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. There's no need for threats."
A related thought occurred to Hector. "Were you able to try out the hot springs when you were here with the King?"
"Oh, no, the renovations weren't done yet. Are they finished now?"
"More or less. They still need some final touches, but they're functional now, at least. If you're supposed to be relaxing more, then you should give them a try."
"That does sound pretty nice. And I'm curious to see what they look like, too."
They kept talking as they made their way down, which was quite a lengthy journey, because the Tower of Night was still lacking one important feature.
Elevators.
Of Warrenhold's eight great towers, the Tower of Night was the largest and most secure by far. That was thanks entirely to the nightrock from which it was built.
But unfortunately, the strength of the nightrock also made it incredibly difficult--if not impossible--to work with in renovating the place.
Page 2726
~~((Halloween Special - Page 22 of 30))~~
And now that he was thinking about it, that was a pretty good excuse to flee this conversation. He needed to go tell the Vantalay reapers about this critical piece of new intel. Yeah. Putting it off for even a moment longer wasn't wise. The Rainlords could be fighting Croll this very second, and this could be the information they need in order to turn the tide of battle in their favor.
Definitely. That was pristine logic. Not motivated reasoning at all.
"I should go tell Arumoro what you just told me," said Hector, straightening his back and looking toward the staircase down the hall.
"Who's Arumoro?" said Lynn.
"Oh, uh. He's a reaper whose servant may, uh... benefit from what you just said."
"Really? I thought reapers knew pretty much everything already."
"Ah. Heh... well, they certainly act like they do." He started ever so slightly turning his body to leave. "It might be a time-sensitive situation, so I shouldn't delay..."
Lynn nodded understandingly. "Oh, okay. Let's go, then." And she took a step closer.
Ah.
Hmm.
She intended to come with him.
Shit.
He supposed he could play up the mysterious, need-to-know-basis thing again, but... aw, fuck.
Wait, no, there was something better. "I-is it okay for you to leave the Queen's side?"
"Ah, no, I'm off the clock, technically. She told me that I should try and relax while we were in Warrenhold."
"Wow, uh, really?"
"Yeah. She seems to think I don't get enough rest or something." She started moving ahead of him, as if to urge him along, and he figured that he couldn't justify standing around like a stump, anymore.
This had not gone as planned. Now they were just walking together.
"Hey, tell me something," said Lynn. "Do I seem like an uptight person to you?"
Oh, boy. "Uh..."
"Hector."
"Er, what?"
"Do I seem uptight?" she repeated, more slowly this time.
"Ah, I mean... n-no?"
"Hector, that wasn't convincing at all."
And now that he was thinking about it, that was a pretty good excuse to flee this conversation. He needed to go tell the Vantalay reapers about this critical piece of new intel. Yeah. Putting it off for even a moment longer wasn't wise. The Rainlords could be fighting Croll this very second, and this could be the information they need in order to turn the tide of battle in their favor.
Definitely. That was pristine logic. Not motivated reasoning at all.
"I should go tell Arumoro what you just told me," said Hector, straightening his back and looking toward the staircase down the hall.
"Who's Arumoro?" said Lynn.
"Oh, uh. He's a reaper whose servant may, uh... benefit from what you just said."
"Really? I thought reapers knew pretty much everything already."
"Ah. Heh... well, they certainly act like they do." He started ever so slightly turning his body to leave. "It might be a time-sensitive situation, so I shouldn't delay..."
Lynn nodded understandingly. "Oh, okay. Let's go, then." And she took a step closer.
Ah.
Hmm.
She intended to come with him.
Shit.
He supposed he could play up the mysterious, need-to-know-basis thing again, but... aw, fuck.
Wait, no, there was something better. "I-is it okay for you to leave the Queen's side?"
"Ah, no, I'm off the clock, technically. She told me that I should try and relax while we were in Warrenhold."
"Wow, uh, really?"
"Yeah. She seems to think I don't get enough rest or something." She started moving ahead of him, as if to urge him along, and he figured that he couldn't justify standing around like a stump, anymore.
This had not gone as planned. Now they were just walking together.
"Hey, tell me something," said Lynn. "Do I seem like an uptight person to you?"
Oh, boy. "Uh..."
"Hector."
"Er, what?"
"Do I seem uptight?" she repeated, more slowly this time.
"Ah, I mean... n-no?"
"Hector, that wasn't convincing at all."
Page 2725
~~((Halloween Special - Page 21 of 30))~~
Lynn exhaled an exasperated breath and folded her arms. "Are there any other mythical swords that you just 'happen' to know the locations of?"
He scratched his brow. "Uh... hmm."
She waited but not for very long. "You're not going to answer that question, are you?"
"I probably shouldn't..."
She backed up a few steps and leaned against the pitch black wall behind her. "Why did you even bring up the Sword of Unso, then? Just to tease me? That's pretty mean, you know."
Oh, shit, uh. "Actually, I was wondering if you knew anything about what powers it might have."
"You know its location but you don't know that?"
"Well, I've heard some things, but I'm not too sure..."
"What sort of things?"
He supposed he could part with that much intel, at least. "Like... it can cut through almost any material."
"Hmm. That might be one way of describing it. As I recall, the Sword Unso was special because it could create 'pathways.' By cutting. Through just about anything, like you said. Even air."
"Huh..."
"In the hands of a skilled warrior, it was supposedly able to carve out an entire tunnel through a mountain--or even make a bridge over a river."
"Whoa. But wait, it could actually build a bridge? Like out of stone or something?"
"No, I think it's made out of air. Like the bridge would be invisible to the naked eye, but you could walk on it. I guess. It was just a cool story, I always thought. I have no idea how it would function in reality, but that was how it was described."
"Interesting..." That didn't quite track with what the team in Vantalay had reported of its capabilities after fighting the Killer. Was that because the tale was only half-true? Or could it be that the Killer just hadn't revealed all of its powers to the Rainlords yet?
He supposed he should pass that information along, just in case. Better safe than sorry. And heck, maybe it would help them take down Croll.
Lynn exhaled an exasperated breath and folded her arms. "Are there any other mythical swords that you just 'happen' to know the locations of?"
He scratched his brow. "Uh... hmm."
She waited but not for very long. "You're not going to answer that question, are you?"
"I probably shouldn't..."
She backed up a few steps and leaned against the pitch black wall behind her. "Why did you even bring up the Sword of Unso, then? Just to tease me? That's pretty mean, you know."
Oh, shit, uh. "Actually, I was wondering if you knew anything about what powers it might have."
"You know its location but you don't know that?"
"Well, I've heard some things, but I'm not too sure..."
"What sort of things?"
He supposed he could part with that much intel, at least. "Like... it can cut through almost any material."
"Hmm. That might be one way of describing it. As I recall, the Sword Unso was special because it could create 'pathways.' By cutting. Through just about anything, like you said. Even air."
"Huh..."
"In the hands of a skilled warrior, it was supposedly able to carve out an entire tunnel through a mountain--or even make a bridge over a river."
"Whoa. But wait, it could actually build a bridge? Like out of stone or something?"
"No, I think it's made out of air. Like the bridge would be invisible to the naked eye, but you could walk on it. I guess. It was just a cool story, I always thought. I have no idea how it would function in reality, but that was how it was described."
"Interesting..." That didn't quite track with what the team in Vantalay had reported of its capabilities after fighting the Killer. Was that because the tale was only half-true? Or could it be that the Killer just hadn't revealed all of its powers to the Rainlords yet?
He supposed he should pass that information along, just in case. Better safe than sorry. And heck, maybe it would help them take down Croll.
Page 2724
~~((Halloween Special - Page 20 of 30))~~
"Right," said Hector hesitantly. "Because... it's not... real..."
She paused. "What's with that tone? Are you trying to tell me that the Sword of Unso is real?"
"Well, I mean... yeah, I'm pretty sure it is."
She just returned a blank expression with her mouth slightly agape.
"At the moment," Hector went on, "it's supposedly in the possession of a really dangerous guy named Thaddeus Croll. Also known as the Killer of Krohin."
Her eye drifted away from Hector's face. "I... huh... it never occurred to me that all those legendary blades might actually exist..." Her head snapped back to Hector. "Why do you know so much about the Sword of Unso's current whereabouts?"
Hmm. Was it okay to tell her about the treasure hunting mission in Vantalay? Probably. But...
It wasn't just his secret, now was it? If it was his own safety on the line, he would've been happy to tell her everything, but he was also mindful of the team's operational security, too. Lynnette was obviously trustworthy, but he still wanted to be exceptionally cautious.
If word ever got out that the Lord of Warrenhold was actively hunting rare artifacts of power around the world...
Well, that seemed like the kind of thing that could bring a lot of trouble down on his head from some very dangerous parties.
"That's... kind of a sensitive subject," said Hector.
She frowned. "Hmph. You've gotten a lot more mysterious lately, you know that?"
He didn't know what to say to that.
"I mean, you were always quiet, but now, it feels like you have all sorts of secrets."
Well, she wasn't wrong. He still didn't know what to say, though.
Her frown twisted up into a half-smile, and she breathed a quiet laugh. "It's kind of annoying, is what I'm trying to say."
That pulled a small laugh out of him in return. "I, uh... I wish I could share more with you."
"Right," said Hector hesitantly. "Because... it's not... real..."
She paused. "What's with that tone? Are you trying to tell me that the Sword of Unso is real?"
"Well, I mean... yeah, I'm pretty sure it is."
She just returned a blank expression with her mouth slightly agape.
"At the moment," Hector went on, "it's supposedly in the possession of a really dangerous guy named Thaddeus Croll. Also known as the Killer of Krohin."
Her eye drifted away from Hector's face. "I... huh... it never occurred to me that all those legendary blades might actually exist..." Her head snapped back to Hector. "Why do you know so much about the Sword of Unso's current whereabouts?"
Hmm. Was it okay to tell her about the treasure hunting mission in Vantalay? Probably. But...
It wasn't just his secret, now was it? If it was his own safety on the line, he would've been happy to tell her everything, but he was also mindful of the team's operational security, too. Lynnette was obviously trustworthy, but he still wanted to be exceptionally cautious.
If word ever got out that the Lord of Warrenhold was actively hunting rare artifacts of power around the world...
Well, that seemed like the kind of thing that could bring a lot of trouble down on his head from some very dangerous parties.
"That's... kind of a sensitive subject," said Hector.
She frowned. "Hmph. You've gotten a lot more mysterious lately, you know that?"
He didn't know what to say to that.
"I mean, you were always quiet, but now, it feels like you have all sorts of secrets."
Well, she wasn't wrong. He still didn't know what to say, though.
Her frown twisted up into a half-smile, and she breathed a quiet laugh. "It's kind of annoying, is what I'm trying to say."
That pulled a small laugh out of him in return. "I, uh... I wish I could share more with you."
Page 2723
~~((Halloween Special - Page 19 of 30))~~
There had to be something he could talk about. Wasn't he always feeling like he was juggling a billion different things? He could just pick one and go from there, couldn't he?
Or could he?
What if it was boring and just led to more of this shit?
Oh no.
Oh shit.
Agh.
No, he shouldn't talk about himself. He should ask about her. That was way smarter, right?
"S-so how's your family doing?" he blurted. There was nothing smart about this at all, was there?
"Oh, um, they're doing well. Thanks for asking."
He nodded again.
"I bought my mom a new sword a couple weeks ago. She, er, collects them. It's kind of her hobby. And mine, I guess. But, um, she really seemed to like it. It was an ancient Melmoorian warblade. Or a modern recreation of one, I should say. Heh, a real one would be, like, insanely expensive. And probably be in a museum. Um..."
Hector listened like she was giving a lecture for an upcoming exam that he really needed to pass.
She trailed off, though, having perhaps grown uncertain if he cared about a single thing she was saying.
Hey, that was one of them social cues, wasn't it? He needed to say something here and let her know that he actually was interested in the conversation.
No sweat. He knew just what to say.
Uh.
Something to do with swords...
Aw, fuck, dude, c'mon!
"Uh--h-have you ever heard of something called the Sword of Unso?" Oh god, was that right? It wasn't, was it? He should've just said something simple and reassuring.
Lynnette blinked at him with her one eye. "You mean from mythology?"
"Er, yeah... I think. Do you know much about it?"
Her singular gaze drifted up and left. "Um... it's been a while, but yeah, I remember reading about lots of mythical swords when I was younger. They're pretty fun to imagine."
There had to be something he could talk about. Wasn't he always feeling like he was juggling a billion different things? He could just pick one and go from there, couldn't he?
Or could he?
What if it was boring and just led to more of this shit?
Oh no.
Oh shit.
Agh.
No, he shouldn't talk about himself. He should ask about her. That was way smarter, right?
"S-so how's your family doing?" he blurted. There was nothing smart about this at all, was there?
"Oh, um, they're doing well. Thanks for asking."
He nodded again.
"I bought my mom a new sword a couple weeks ago. She, er, collects them. It's kind of her hobby. And mine, I guess. But, um, she really seemed to like it. It was an ancient Melmoorian warblade. Or a modern recreation of one, I should say. Heh, a real one would be, like, insanely expensive. And probably be in a museum. Um..."
Hector listened like she was giving a lecture for an upcoming exam that he really needed to pass.
She trailed off, though, having perhaps grown uncertain if he cared about a single thing she was saying.
Hey, that was one of them social cues, wasn't it? He needed to say something here and let her know that he actually was interested in the conversation.
No sweat. He knew just what to say.
Uh.
Something to do with swords...
Aw, fuck, dude, c'mon!
"Uh--h-have you ever heard of something called the Sword of Unso?" Oh god, was that right? It wasn't, was it? He should've just said something simple and reassuring.
Lynnette blinked at him with her one eye. "You mean from mythology?"
"Er, yeah... I think. Do you know much about it?"
Her singular gaze drifted up and left. "Um... it's been a while, but yeah, I remember reading about lots of mythical swords when I was younger. They're pretty fun to imagine."
Page 2722
~~((Halloween Special - Page 18 of 30))~~
For a moment, Hector just stood there, looking at her. "Ah... sure..."
She retracted her hand. "Um. Later, I meant. Not right now. You're probably tired, aren't you?"
He didn't know what to say. Garovel was talking to the Rainlord reapers and seemingly not even paying attention to him.
Uh.
He was tired. Not anymore, though. Should he tell her that? He should, right? He didn't get many opportunities to talk to her, after all.
Oh god, he wasn't prepared for this.
"...Hector?" she said, giving him a sidelong look. "Are you tired?"
"...Are you?" Shit, what was wrong with him? He'd learned that strategy from Garovel--how to answer questions he wasn't sure about by just repeating them back at the asker--but now was not the time. It was totally unnecessary.
"Um. Not really, I suppose. But I'm accustomed to guarding the Queen while she sleeps."
He just nodded stupidly.
Now Lynn also seemed like she didn't know what to say, anymore.
Well, fuck.
They were already quite high up the Tower of Night. The Queen's designated guest room was only one floor above his own quarters. He was trying to remember the layout of the Tower and failing. These floors were huge. He was certain there was a common area where they could go to talk. Nearby. Somewhere.
Fucking fuck.
They ended up just kind of standing there in middle of the big, open hallway.
Where did everybody go? When did it get so empty in here? Should he call Garovel for help?
Oh, man.
"Oh!" said Lynnette suddenly. "Madison asked me to talk to you about something a while ago. What was it, ah...? Er..."
"Madison?" said Hector. "You mean Madison Reach? Lord Dimas' girlfriend?"
"Yeah. She wanted Gina and I to ask you about sending someone out to investigate some kind of shady group or something..." Lynn rubbed her neck. "I kinda forgot..."
"The Andalero group," said Hector. "Yeah, Gina mentioned it."
"Oh. Um. Okay. Good."
And the awkward silence returned.
For a moment, Hector just stood there, looking at her. "Ah... sure..."
She retracted her hand. "Um. Later, I meant. Not right now. You're probably tired, aren't you?"
He didn't know what to say. Garovel was talking to the Rainlord reapers and seemingly not even paying attention to him.
Uh.
He was tired. Not anymore, though. Should he tell her that? He should, right? He didn't get many opportunities to talk to her, after all.
Oh god, he wasn't prepared for this.
"...Hector?" she said, giving him a sidelong look. "Are you tired?"
"...Are you?" Shit, what was wrong with him? He'd learned that strategy from Garovel--how to answer questions he wasn't sure about by just repeating them back at the asker--but now was not the time. It was totally unnecessary.
"Um. Not really, I suppose. But I'm accustomed to guarding the Queen while she sleeps."
He just nodded stupidly.
Now Lynn also seemed like she didn't know what to say, anymore.
Well, fuck.
They were already quite high up the Tower of Night. The Queen's designated guest room was only one floor above his own quarters. He was trying to remember the layout of the Tower and failing. These floors were huge. He was certain there was a common area where they could go to talk. Nearby. Somewhere.
Fucking fuck.
They ended up just kind of standing there in middle of the big, open hallway.
Where did everybody go? When did it get so empty in here? Should he call Garovel for help?
Oh, man.
"Oh!" said Lynnette suddenly. "Madison asked me to talk to you about something a while ago. What was it, ah...? Er..."
"Madison?" said Hector. "You mean Madison Reach? Lord Dimas' girlfriend?"
"Yeah. She wanted Gina and I to ask you about sending someone out to investigate some kind of shady group or something..." Lynn rubbed her neck. "I kinda forgot..."
"The Andalero group," said Hector. "Yeah, Gina mentioned it."
"Oh. Um. Okay. Good."
And the awkward silence returned.
Page 2721
~~((Halloween Special - Page 17 of 30))~~
'Let's not trouble the Atreyan Queen with our bickering, shall we?' said Iziol, turning everyone's attention back to her. 'Allow me to again thank you for letting us take refuge within your borders. It is our hope to not overstay our welcome, but with the war on, I fear we may have need of Warrenhold for some time yet.'
"As far as Hector has told me, you have all been perfect guests and exceptionally helpful in restoring the castle," said Helen. "If you continue on as you have been, then you can be certain that your welcome will never expire."
'That is comforting to hear,' said Iziol. 'Thank you.'
The pleasant exchanges continued to overwhelm the conversation, but Hector could hardly be disappointed about that. He had a feeling that the Queen hadn't shown up in the middle of the night like this just to meet the Rainlords and have a nice chat. She probably wanted to talk about Lorent but not with an audience. He kept expecting her to ask for a chance to speak in private, but she never did--not before Garovel offered her a room in the Tower of Night, at least.
Perhaps she'd had a long day, because she accepted and retired to bed soon afterward--or tried to, anyway. More reapers kept appearing on the way up to her room, and naturally, they all wanted to talk. At length, Mehlsanz took took over her conversational duties.
If nothing else, Hector was glad to see her hitting it off with the reapers. The last thing he wanted was strife between her and the Rainlords.
Before he could return to bed himself, however, Lynnette grabbed his shoulder and made him turn to look at her.
"Hey," she said. "You'll have to tell me about this Beast of Lorent you fought. I want all the details."
'Let's not trouble the Atreyan Queen with our bickering, shall we?' said Iziol, turning everyone's attention back to her. 'Allow me to again thank you for letting us take refuge within your borders. It is our hope to not overstay our welcome, but with the war on, I fear we may have need of Warrenhold for some time yet.'
"As far as Hector has told me, you have all been perfect guests and exceptionally helpful in restoring the castle," said Helen. "If you continue on as you have been, then you can be certain that your welcome will never expire."
'That is comforting to hear,' said Iziol. 'Thank you.'
The pleasant exchanges continued to overwhelm the conversation, but Hector could hardly be disappointed about that. He had a feeling that the Queen hadn't shown up in the middle of the night like this just to meet the Rainlords and have a nice chat. She probably wanted to talk about Lorent but not with an audience. He kept expecting her to ask for a chance to speak in private, but she never did--not before Garovel offered her a room in the Tower of Night, at least.
Perhaps she'd had a long day, because she accepted and retired to bed soon afterward--or tried to, anyway. More reapers kept appearing on the way up to her room, and naturally, they all wanted to talk. At length, Mehlsanz took took over her conversational duties.
If nothing else, Hector was glad to see her hitting it off with the reapers. The last thing he wanted was strife between her and the Rainlords.
Before he could return to bed himself, however, Lynnette grabbed his shoulder and made him turn to look at her.
"Hey," she said. "You'll have to tell me about this Beast of Lorent you fought. I want all the details."
Page 2720
~~((Halloween Special - Page 16 of 30))~~
'Well,' said Mevox, 'I'd like to say it's complicated, because that's the way our feelings toward them usually are. But it's not. In this case, I don't think it could be any simpler.'
"You wish to go to their aid?" said the Queen.
'Damn right we do. But we can't.'
Helen nodded.
'What DO you intend to do, then?' asked Mehlsanz.
'We are still rather torn on that point,' said Axiolis. 'But at the moment, we are trying to locate any Sandlords who managed to escape.'
'And how has that been going?'
'Not well,' said Iziol. 'Abolish seems to have moved very swiftly. Right now, it is not even clear if any of the heads of the Hahls made it out. We are hoping that one or more of them will try to make contact with us soon, but they are no doubt dealing with an oppressive communications blackout.'
'I'm confident that many of them did escape,' said Axiolis. 'They are a paranoid sort and would most assuredly have had many contingency plans for exactly this scenario. Whether or not they will actually risk reaching out to us, though--that is a different story.'
"You do not think they would?" asked Helen.
'Not right now, no,' said Axiolis. 'I suspect many are already safely in hiding and feel that the wisest course of action is to wait things out.'
"I see..."
'Not all of us share Ax's optimism,' said Mevox. 'It's difficult to hope for the best when you fear the worst.'
'Have faith, old friend,' said Axiolis. 'You'll see.'
'Is that faith in Lhutwë you're asking me for? Or faith in your best bud, Qorvass?'
'Is it too much to ask for both?'
'Yes.'
'Hmph. Then have faith in how well I know the Sandlords,' said Axiolis.
'I'm just trying to be realistic here. I don't want you getting your hopes up, only to be crushed later when we learn the full truth of things.'
'On the contrary, I'm the one who's being realistic. You're just assuming the worst because you're afraid.'
'Hah. If you say so.'
'Well,' said Mevox, 'I'd like to say it's complicated, because that's the way our feelings toward them usually are. But it's not. In this case, I don't think it could be any simpler.'
"You wish to go to their aid?" said the Queen.
'Damn right we do. But we can't.'
Helen nodded.
'What DO you intend to do, then?' asked Mehlsanz.
'We are still rather torn on that point,' said Axiolis. 'But at the moment, we are trying to locate any Sandlords who managed to escape.'
'And how has that been going?'
'Not well,' said Iziol. 'Abolish seems to have moved very swiftly. Right now, it is not even clear if any of the heads of the Hahls made it out. We are hoping that one or more of them will try to make contact with us soon, but they are no doubt dealing with an oppressive communications blackout.'
'I'm confident that many of them did escape,' said Axiolis. 'They are a paranoid sort and would most assuredly have had many contingency plans for exactly this scenario. Whether or not they will actually risk reaching out to us, though--that is a different story.'
"You do not think they would?" asked Helen.
'Not right now, no,' said Axiolis. 'I suspect many are already safely in hiding and feel that the wisest course of action is to wait things out.'
"I see..."
'Not all of us share Ax's optimism,' said Mevox. 'It's difficult to hope for the best when you fear the worst.'
'Have faith, old friend,' said Axiolis. 'You'll see.'
'Is that faith in Lhutwë you're asking me for? Or faith in your best bud, Qorvass?'
'Is it too much to ask for both?'
'Yes.'
'Hmph. Then have faith in how well I know the Sandlords,' said Axiolis.
'I'm just trying to be realistic here. I don't want you getting your hopes up, only to be crushed later when we learn the full truth of things.'
'On the contrary, I'm the one who's being realistic. You're just assuming the worst because you're afraid.'
'Hah. If you say so.'
Page 2719
~~((Halloween Special - Page 15 of 30))~~
'Excellent,' said Garovel. 'I'm glad you're able to escape the media's gaze for a single day, at least.'
"Well, don't speak too soon," said the Queen, her smile suddenly growing faintly weary.
'No kidding,' said Mehlsanz. 'There's been so much going on lately that it wouldn't surprise me if some other terrible news arrived and forced us back to the capital.'
'That's very true,' said Garovel. He looked over at Dimas. 'I hope you've been treating our Queen well, Lord Sebolt. Hector and I are very protective of her, you know.'
Helen gave an airy laugh. "He has been a perfect gentleman."
'Bit on the quiet side, though,' added Mehlsanz.
Dimas looked as expressionless and stoic as ever. "I happened to be awake, and I thought it would be rude to leave her alone in this giant castle, as it is apparently her first ever visit here."
'He's understating things,' said Iziol. 'After getting to know King William so well, we've all been eager to meet the wife of such a charming man, especially after he spoke so highly of you.'
"Oh my," said Helen. "I shall tell him you said that."
'Please do,' said Iziol. 'I only wish I could've had a conversation with him directly.'
The Queen tittered. "No wonder William took such a liking to you. Hector, you didn't tell me the Rainlords were such smooth talkers."
"Uh..."
'We're only that way towards people we like,' said Mevox. 'Sadly, our reputation elsewhere is not always so pleasant.'
"So I have heard," said Helen. "I have met several Sandlords in my day, so I must admit that I had perhaps allowed some of their opinions of you to color my own."
'Ah,' said Mevox. 'Yeah. Historically speaking, we have what you might call a love-hate relationship with those guys.'
And the Queen's smile diminished somewhat. "I can only imagine how you must feel about the news of current circumstances."
'Excellent,' said Garovel. 'I'm glad you're able to escape the media's gaze for a single day, at least.'
"Well, don't speak too soon," said the Queen, her smile suddenly growing faintly weary.
'No kidding,' said Mehlsanz. 'There's been so much going on lately that it wouldn't surprise me if some other terrible news arrived and forced us back to the capital.'
'That's very true,' said Garovel. He looked over at Dimas. 'I hope you've been treating our Queen well, Lord Sebolt. Hector and I are very protective of her, you know.'
Helen gave an airy laugh. "He has been a perfect gentleman."
'Bit on the quiet side, though,' added Mehlsanz.
Dimas looked as expressionless and stoic as ever. "I happened to be awake, and I thought it would be rude to leave her alone in this giant castle, as it is apparently her first ever visit here."
'He's understating things,' said Iziol. 'After getting to know King William so well, we've all been eager to meet the wife of such a charming man, especially after he spoke so highly of you.'
"Oh my," said Helen. "I shall tell him you said that."
'Please do,' said Iziol. 'I only wish I could've had a conversation with him directly.'
The Queen tittered. "No wonder William took such a liking to you. Hector, you didn't tell me the Rainlords were such smooth talkers."
"Uh..."
'We're only that way towards people we like,' said Mevox. 'Sadly, our reputation elsewhere is not always so pleasant.'
"So I have heard," said Helen. "I have met several Sandlords in my day, so I must admit that I had perhaps allowed some of their opinions of you to color my own."
'Ah,' said Mevox. 'Yeah. Historically speaking, we have what you might call a love-hate relationship with those guys.'
And the Queen's smile diminished somewhat. "I can only imagine how you must feel about the news of current circumstances."
Page 2718
~~((Halloween Special - Page 14 of 30))~~
Ms. Rogers had to come and get him out of bed. By the time Hector made it downstairs and over to the Entry Tower in order to welcome her, Queen Helen was already seated at a long, polished black table in the East Hall, the tower's most spacious chamber. Around the Queen were her reaper Mehlsanz and Lynnette Edith, as well as the Lord Dimas Sebolt and a handful of Rainlord reapers, including his own Iziol, Axiolis, and Mevox.
"I hope you will forgive the suddenness of my visit," said the Queen upon seeing him. She was wearing a black cloak with the hood still up, as was Lynnette--which was a little weird, since she usually wore white.
"It's no trouble at all, Your Highness," said Hector. He took the open seat by her side at the head of the table. "And, er... I appreciate your discretion. I know you're mainly doing it for the sake of my guests."
Helen gave him a smile, then eyed the small cluster of reapers around her. "I have been wanting to meet these Rainlords of yours ever since they arrived. I am glad to finally have found the opportunity."
Hector's face tightened a little as he tried not to wince at that mention of them being 'his Rainlords.' He was sure she didn't mean it in the same sense as, for example, Leo did, but it was still unfortunate phrasing all the same.
Garovel interjected. 'Will you be able to stay the whole night? Or even longer, dare I hope? We have quite a bit here that we would like to show you. There's still a lot of work left on the restoration, but we're pleased with the results so far.'
Helen exchanged glances with Mehlsanz--and perhaps a few private words, as well. Then she addressed Garovel. "I had only intended to stay the night, but I suppose we could take the day, too, and depart tomorrow night, instead."
Ms. Rogers had to come and get him out of bed. By the time Hector made it downstairs and over to the Entry Tower in order to welcome her, Queen Helen was already seated at a long, polished black table in the East Hall, the tower's most spacious chamber. Around the Queen were her reaper Mehlsanz and Lynnette Edith, as well as the Lord Dimas Sebolt and a handful of Rainlord reapers, including his own Iziol, Axiolis, and Mevox.
"I hope you will forgive the suddenness of my visit," said the Queen upon seeing him. She was wearing a black cloak with the hood still up, as was Lynnette--which was a little weird, since she usually wore white.
"It's no trouble at all, Your Highness," said Hector. He took the open seat by her side at the head of the table. "And, er... I appreciate your discretion. I know you're mainly doing it for the sake of my guests."
Helen gave him a smile, then eyed the small cluster of reapers around her. "I have been wanting to meet these Rainlords of yours ever since they arrived. I am glad to finally have found the opportunity."
Hector's face tightened a little as he tried not to wince at that mention of them being 'his Rainlords.' He was sure she didn't mean it in the same sense as, for example, Leo did, but it was still unfortunate phrasing all the same.
Garovel interjected. 'Will you be able to stay the whole night? Or even longer, dare I hope? We have quite a bit here that we would like to show you. There's still a lot of work left on the restoration, but we're pleased with the results so far.'
Helen exchanged glances with Mehlsanz--and perhaps a few private words, as well. Then she addressed Garovel. "I had only intended to stay the night, but I suppose we could take the day, too, and depart tomorrow night, instead."
Page 2717
~~((Halloween Special - Page 13 of 30))~~
The silence drew out, and Hector struggled to think of what to say. He'd told her what he needed to, but he didn't want to just excuse himself and leave her hanging, either.
What was the right way to handle a conversation like this, he wondered? It wasn't the first one of its kind that he'd had with her, and he had a terrible feeling that it wouldn't be the last.
'...I'm sorry you're going through all this,' was the only thing that came to mind.
It did not elicit a response from her.
He tried again. Maybe something more reassuring would do the trick. 'I promise I'll do everything I can to help you and your family.'
'...I appreciate what you are trying to do, Hector,' she said, 'but let's not kid ourselves. What can you do? You are just as powerless as I am in this situation.'
He blinked, not having expected such biting cynicism from her.
Maybe he should have, though.
He'd been dealing with so many non-servants lately--and politicians, to boot--that he'd kinda forgotten that she wasn't like any of them. His growing "reputation" didn't mean anything here. To Emiliana, he was probably still just some random kid she met in the middle of all that craziness that went down in Sair.
Which was a more accurate assessment than anything else, honestly. Lord or not, "hero" or not, he was out of his depth. He'd been out of his depth for quite a long time.
He felt her let go of her Shard, and that was that.
The next couple days were agonizing as it felt like all he could do--all anyone in Warrenhold could do--was wait for more news to arrive. News of the treasure hunts. News of the Sandlords. News of the other fronts in the war. News of anything.
That was just the prevailing feeling of unease, though. There was no lack of work that needed doing, including but not limited to meditating, training, the Bank, the reconstruction, the land deal, and plenty of meetings, of course.
There was one meeting, however, that took him by surprise, as it arrived in the dead of night.
The Queen of Atreya paid him a visit.
The silence drew out, and Hector struggled to think of what to say. He'd told her what he needed to, but he didn't want to just excuse himself and leave her hanging, either.
What was the right way to handle a conversation like this, he wondered? It wasn't the first one of its kind that he'd had with her, and he had a terrible feeling that it wouldn't be the last.
'...I'm sorry you're going through all this,' was the only thing that came to mind.
It did not elicit a response from her.
He tried again. Maybe something more reassuring would do the trick. 'I promise I'll do everything I can to help you and your family.'
'...I appreciate what you are trying to do, Hector,' she said, 'but let's not kid ourselves. What can you do? You are just as powerless as I am in this situation.'
He blinked, not having expected such biting cynicism from her.
Maybe he should have, though.
He'd been dealing with so many non-servants lately--and politicians, to boot--that he'd kinda forgotten that she wasn't like any of them. His growing "reputation" didn't mean anything here. To Emiliana, he was probably still just some random kid she met in the middle of all that craziness that went down in Sair.
Which was a more accurate assessment than anything else, honestly. Lord or not, "hero" or not, he was out of his depth. He'd been out of his depth for quite a long time.
He felt her let go of her Shard, and that was that.
The next couple days were agonizing as it felt like all he could do--all anyone in Warrenhold could do--was wait for more news to arrive. News of the treasure hunts. News of the Sandlords. News of the other fronts in the war. News of anything.
That was just the prevailing feeling of unease, though. There was no lack of work that needed doing, including but not limited to meditating, training, the Bank, the reconstruction, the land deal, and plenty of meetings, of course.
There was one meeting, however, that took him by surprise, as it arrived in the dead of night.
The Queen of Atreya paid him a visit.
Page 2716
~~((Halloween Special - Page 12 of 30))~~
It was a disconcerting thought, to be sure. The idea that Morgunov might have some way to counter Rasalased's abilities? Agh. Hector very much wanted to believe that the seemingly benevolent Dry God was more powerful than any living servant, emperors included, but was that really the case? Or just wishful thinking?
There was no telling how strong Rasalased really was, especially outside the "space" within the Shards. Even if he was older than Morgunov, he didn't exactly have a normal body anymore. Hector had to wonder if Rasalased's power could even grow in such a state. If his soul was being "preserved" in those Shards, then it seemed somewhat logical that his strength could be "frozen," in some sense.
Or hell, he could be weaker than he was in life.
Perhaps it was all a matter of perspective. Whatever the case, Hector intended to ask Rasalased about it at the next opportunity.
In the meantime, there was at least one other person that he needed to talk to through strange and supernatural means, and that was Emiliana Elroy. He had hoped that she might be able to tell him more about the attack, but apparently, the whole thing was news to her.
In the end, she was the one asking him questions. Her telepathic "speaking voice" remained mostly calm, but he could sense her emotions through the Shards.
Her heartbreak.
Worry, sorrow, helplessness, and just... pain.
He wished he could do more for her. But that was nothing new, of course.
The only thing she was able to tell him about Abolish's movements was that Gohvis himself had not mobilized.
'I'll try harder to find out more about their operations,' she promised.
The just made him more concerned, though. 'Don't push it. Even if you found out something really useful, I don't even know if we would be able to take advantage of it. And I don't really have the means of passing it along to the Vanguard, either, so...'
She gave a mental sigh.
It was a disconcerting thought, to be sure. The idea that Morgunov might have some way to counter Rasalased's abilities? Agh. Hector very much wanted to believe that the seemingly benevolent Dry God was more powerful than any living servant, emperors included, but was that really the case? Or just wishful thinking?
There was no telling how strong Rasalased really was, especially outside the "space" within the Shards. Even if he was older than Morgunov, he didn't exactly have a normal body anymore. Hector had to wonder if Rasalased's power could even grow in such a state. If his soul was being "preserved" in those Shards, then it seemed somewhat logical that his strength could be "frozen," in some sense.
Or hell, he could be weaker than he was in life.
Perhaps it was all a matter of perspective. Whatever the case, Hector intended to ask Rasalased about it at the next opportunity.
In the meantime, there was at least one other person that he needed to talk to through strange and supernatural means, and that was Emiliana Elroy. He had hoped that she might be able to tell him more about the attack, but apparently, the whole thing was news to her.
In the end, she was the one asking him questions. Her telepathic "speaking voice" remained mostly calm, but he could sense her emotions through the Shards.
Her heartbreak.
Worry, sorrow, helplessness, and just... pain.
He wished he could do more for her. But that was nothing new, of course.
The only thing she was able to tell him about Abolish's movements was that Gohvis himself had not mobilized.
'I'll try harder to find out more about their operations,' she promised.
The just made him more concerned, though. 'Don't push it. Even if you found out something really useful, I don't even know if we would be able to take advantage of it. And I don't really have the means of passing it along to the Vanguard, either, so...'
She gave a mental sigh.
Page 2715
~~((Halloween Special - Page 11 of 30))~~
More than anything, though, Hector was worried about Asad. He had of course tried to call the guy, but unsurprisingly, the Lord Najir had not answered him. Hector hoped he was jut too busy with evacuations or something.
He desperately wanted to contact Rasalased again and perhaps learn something useful, but the Dry God had not appeared before him.
Which was baffling, quite frankly. How in the world could the conquest of the Sandlords' territory not be something that Rasalased wanted to talk to him about? Even assuming that Rasalased hadn't seen it coming, surely he would still want to discuss it now, right?
There must've been something else going on. Either he was doing something wrong himself, or there was more to Sair's conquest than there appeared to be.
Or Rasalased was just being incredibly callous, but Hector sincerely doubted that. If nothing else, he'd seemed much too interested in meeting Asad for that to be the case.
He voiced these concerns privately to Garovel, and the reaper seemed to be of the opinion that there was indeed something strange going on.
'Morgunov's presence there alone makes that a virtual certainty,' said Garovel in the echo of privacy. 'I doubt he would make a move just because he wanted to conquer some land. He's got some kind of plan for Sair, I'm sure.'
'Hmm. Think Rasalased might know what it is?'
'It's possible. But this is an emperor we're talking about. I wouldn't be surprised if Morgunov had some kind of protection against Rasalased's sight. You might recall that Rasalased wasn't able to discern exactly who the "shadow" following Emiliana Elroy was.'
Hector tried to think back and was struggling to. 'Shadow?'
'Back when we all met Rasalased, remember? He warned Emiliana that she was being followed.'
'Oh yeah... and then later, that shadow turned out to be Gohvis.'
'Mmhmm.'
More than anything, though, Hector was worried about Asad. He had of course tried to call the guy, but unsurprisingly, the Lord Najir had not answered him. Hector hoped he was jut too busy with evacuations or something.
He desperately wanted to contact Rasalased again and perhaps learn something useful, but the Dry God had not appeared before him.
Which was baffling, quite frankly. How in the world could the conquest of the Sandlords' territory not be something that Rasalased wanted to talk to him about? Even assuming that Rasalased hadn't seen it coming, surely he would still want to discuss it now, right?
There must've been something else going on. Either he was doing something wrong himself, or there was more to Sair's conquest than there appeared to be.
Or Rasalased was just being incredibly callous, but Hector sincerely doubted that. If nothing else, he'd seemed much too interested in meeting Asad for that to be the case.
He voiced these concerns privately to Garovel, and the reaper seemed to be of the opinion that there was indeed something strange going on.
'Morgunov's presence there alone makes that a virtual certainty,' said Garovel in the echo of privacy. 'I doubt he would make a move just because he wanted to conquer some land. He's got some kind of plan for Sair, I'm sure.'
'Hmm. Think Rasalased might know what it is?'
'It's possible. But this is an emperor we're talking about. I wouldn't be surprised if Morgunov had some kind of protection against Rasalased's sight. You might recall that Rasalased wasn't able to discern exactly who the "shadow" following Emiliana Elroy was.'
Hector tried to think back and was struggling to. 'Shadow?'
'Back when we all met Rasalased, remember? He warned Emiliana that she was being followed.'
'Oh yeah... and then later, that shadow turned out to be Gohvis.'
'Mmhmm.'
Page 2714
~~((Halloween Special - Page 10 of 30))~~
With several of the family heads still stuck in Vantalay, they seemed to realize, begrudgingly, that they couldn't make a hasty decision here. The constant debates in the Grand Hall of the Night made a return, especially between the reapers since they didn't even have to sleep.
Their scouts in Sair had been trying to gather more intel, but none of it was good. Abolish's presence in the Drylands seemed to increase by the hour, and the scouts had to continually pull farther and farther back. Every town they passed was either abandoned or in the midst of evacuating.
The scouting team, led by one Isaac Sebolt, had begun setting up a position in Callum, the nation to Sair's south. As intelligence on Sair itself was dwindling, the scouts were shifting their attention to how Sair's neighbors were reacting.
Sair's largest neighbor, of course, was Intar, which covered its entire western and northern border, and considering all that he had recently learned about Intar from Prince David, Hector couldn't help but wonder how that continental superpower was reacting to this news.
Neither Callum nor Intar were directly involved in the war, at the moment, but Hector felt like that might change any time now.
Hector wished he could do more for the Rainlords. Sitting in on their meetings and listening to them agonize over what the best course of action was--that certainly didn't feel like enough, even if they seemed to appreciate his presence.
He was told that he had a calming effect on them. Apparently, before returning to Warrenhold, they were going at it like cats and dogs, whereas now they were at least managing to remain mostly civil in their discourse.
Hector kinda doubted that, though. He had a hard time imagining the heads of the Houses screaming at each other like that--and even more of a hard time imagining that he might've been the reason why they would have stopped.
With several of the family heads still stuck in Vantalay, they seemed to realize, begrudgingly, that they couldn't make a hasty decision here. The constant debates in the Grand Hall of the Night made a return, especially between the reapers since they didn't even have to sleep.
Their scouts in Sair had been trying to gather more intel, but none of it was good. Abolish's presence in the Drylands seemed to increase by the hour, and the scouts had to continually pull farther and farther back. Every town they passed was either abandoned or in the midst of evacuating.
The scouting team, led by one Isaac Sebolt, had begun setting up a position in Callum, the nation to Sair's south. As intelligence on Sair itself was dwindling, the scouts were shifting their attention to how Sair's neighbors were reacting.
Sair's largest neighbor, of course, was Intar, which covered its entire western and northern border, and considering all that he had recently learned about Intar from Prince David, Hector couldn't help but wonder how that continental superpower was reacting to this news.
Neither Callum nor Intar were directly involved in the war, at the moment, but Hector felt like that might change any time now.
Hector wished he could do more for the Rainlords. Sitting in on their meetings and listening to them agonize over what the best course of action was--that certainly didn't feel like enough, even if they seemed to appreciate his presence.
He was told that he had a calming effect on them. Apparently, before returning to Warrenhold, they were going at it like cats and dogs, whereas now they were at least managing to remain mostly civil in their discourse.
Hector kinda doubted that, though. He had a hard time imagining the heads of the Houses screaming at each other like that--and even more of a hard time imagining that he might've been the reason why they would have stopped.
Page 2713 -- CCXLIV.
~~((Halloween Special - Page 9 of 30))~~
And Sermung was only one man. If Dozer took to the field, too--which was likely now that Morgunov had made a move--then Abolish would be able to divide and conquer more easily than ever. They could lure Sermung to one battlefield with one emperor while overwhelming another with the second.
The marshals were meant to be a safeguard against that, but with the way Morgunov's blasted machines had manhandled everyone, that strategy might no longer be viable. For the moment, at least.
So there was no doubt in Parson's mind.
Blacksong, in one form or another, was coming.
It was just a matter of holding on until then.
Chapter Two Hundred Forty-Four: 'Renewed anger...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
Hector Goffe had never seen them this way.
Thus far during their stay at Warrenhold, the Rainlords had been frequently restless and frustrated. He saw it in their body language, in their apparent need to constantly be working on something, and he heard it in their voices, underpinning every word in every meeting. Rarely had it seemed like any of them could relax, but he had thought that, perhaps, they were beginning to. Perhaps, a little, they were warming to his home, this place of rest and safety.
But that was all gone now. So much so, in fact, that Hector began to wonder if it had been there in the first place, if he'd just been seeing what he wanted to see.
The news from Sair had them in a fury.
There were calls for immediate deployment of all their forces to retake the country. There were calls to march into Calthos and take Abolish by surprise. There were even calls to attack the Vanguard in order to locate and recover their captive kin.
But one thing, at least, was clear.
They didn't know what to do.
And Sermung was only one man. If Dozer took to the field, too--which was likely now that Morgunov had made a move--then Abolish would be able to divide and conquer more easily than ever. They could lure Sermung to one battlefield with one emperor while overwhelming another with the second.
The marshals were meant to be a safeguard against that, but with the way Morgunov's blasted machines had manhandled everyone, that strategy might no longer be viable. For the moment, at least.
So there was no doubt in Parson's mind.
Blacksong, in one form or another, was coming.
It was just a matter of holding on until then.
Chapter Two Hundred Forty-Four: 'Renewed anger...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
Hector Goffe had never seen them this way.
Thus far during their stay at Warrenhold, the Rainlords had been frequently restless and frustrated. He saw it in their body language, in their apparent need to constantly be working on something, and he heard it in their voices, underpinning every word in every meeting. Rarely had it seemed like any of them could relax, but he had thought that, perhaps, they were beginning to. Perhaps, a little, they were warming to his home, this place of rest and safety.
But that was all gone now. So much so, in fact, that Hector began to wonder if it had been there in the first place, if he'd just been seeing what he wanted to see.
The news from Sair had them in a fury.
There were calls for immediate deployment of all their forces to retake the country. There were calls to march into Calthos and take Abolish by surprise. There were even calls to attack the Vanguard in order to locate and recover their captive kin.
But one thing, at least, was clear.
They didn't know what to do.
Page 2712
~~((Halloween Special - Page 8 of 30))~~
A few years, was it? From the way he'd said that, he probably didn't have an assembly line somewhere constantly cranking out more of these monstrosities.
Probably.
As much as he might've liked to ask Morgunov about that directly, Parson decided against it. He had to be careful. He couldn't afford to push his luck too much.
Because there was another reason why he wanted to stall the emperor.
Beyond merely trying to keep himself and the other captives alive for even a millisecond longer, there was the greater objective of the Vanguard to think of. Even now, taken off the chessboard as he was, he was still mindful of the future. Maybe he would never be able to fight again. Maybe Morgunov would kill him after he'd found Germal and had his fun.
But Blacksong was still coming. It had to be.
Sure, there was the concern that their losses at Uego had been too great, that perhaps the remaining leaders would get cold feet and delay or even abort the entire operation as a result.
But Parson didn't believe that. He couldn't.
If anything, they should know that the timetable needed to be sped up, not delayed. Uego was a terrible loss with potentially catastrophic consequences, but ultimately, it was still only one battle. A major offensive was needed in order regain momentum, to maintain morale and to rally their forces.
That was the only real strategy now, he felt.
If the Vanguard didn't take dramatic action, if they allowed this continental war to devolve into a series of attritional battles, then it was already as good as over. The losses at Uego truly would reverberate throughout the continent and slowly degrade troop morale, young and old alike--not to mention the effects that it would have on all the non-combatants of Eloa.
A few years, was it? From the way he'd said that, he probably didn't have an assembly line somewhere constantly cranking out more of these monstrosities.
Probably.
As much as he might've liked to ask Morgunov about that directly, Parson decided against it. He had to be careful. He couldn't afford to push his luck too much.
Because there was another reason why he wanted to stall the emperor.
Beyond merely trying to keep himself and the other captives alive for even a millisecond longer, there was the greater objective of the Vanguard to think of. Even now, taken off the chessboard as he was, he was still mindful of the future. Maybe he would never be able to fight again. Maybe Morgunov would kill him after he'd found Germal and had his fun.
But Blacksong was still coming. It had to be.
Sure, there was the concern that their losses at Uego had been too great, that perhaps the remaining leaders would get cold feet and delay or even abort the entire operation as a result.
But Parson didn't believe that. He couldn't.
If anything, they should know that the timetable needed to be sped up, not delayed. Uego was a terrible loss with potentially catastrophic consequences, but ultimately, it was still only one battle. A major offensive was needed in order regain momentum, to maintain morale and to rally their forces.
That was the only real strategy now, he felt.
If the Vanguard didn't take dramatic action, if they allowed this continental war to devolve into a series of attritional battles, then it was already as good as over. The losses at Uego truly would reverberate throughout the continent and slowly degrade troop morale, young and old alike--not to mention the effects that it would have on all the non-combatants of Eloa.
Page 2711
~~((Halloween Special - Page 7 of 30))~~
"Are you admitting it, then?" said Parson. "You let the reaper escape?"
"Why so curious?" said Morgunov. "Ya think that one little ol' reaper might be your salvation, Parsey Boy? You know better than that by now, don'tcha?"
"I don't know," said Parson. "What if Qorvass manages to contact Sermung?"
"Eheh, here's hoping!"
Wow. Momentarily, Parson was tempted to say that he remembered witnessing the two of them clash before--and moreover, that he remembered how Morgunov hadn't looked quite so happy then.
But his better judgment won out. There was no point in antagonizing the madman--even if, on occasion, Morgunov had been known to respect those who dared to try it.
For now, all that mattered was playing the part of an eager student. And stalling for time, perhaps, though he knew that part was likely to be a futile endeavor.
As Morgunov's attention seemed to be drifting back down to Asad, Parson came up with a new angle of approach.
"You know what I'm really curious about," he said, "is those machines of yours. They're remarkable."
"Mm, like 'em, do ya? Thought you'd be more upset, considering how easily they handed you your own keister."
Parson had to relinquish a nod at that. "Got me there. But I can still admire their craftsmanship, can't I?"
Morgunov gave him a sidelong look. "You're not one of them masochistic types, are ya? They're not those types of machines, I'll have you know! They're good boys! I only designed them for the very wholesome purposes of kidnapping, murder, and conquest!"
Right. Parson wondered if he should try to lean more into his own madness here. To invoke a sense of kindred spirits, perhaps. "Wasn't my intention to suggest otherwise. Did you really make all those things yourself, though? That seems like so much work. Even if I had the know-how, I don't think I'd have the patience."
"Oh, indeed, indeed. Took me quite a few years, you know. Probably coulda finished 'em faster, but I can be a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to this kinda stuff. If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing, I always say."
"Are you admitting it, then?" said Parson. "You let the reaper escape?"
"Why so curious?" said Morgunov. "Ya think that one little ol' reaper might be your salvation, Parsey Boy? You know better than that by now, don'tcha?"
"I don't know," said Parson. "What if Qorvass manages to contact Sermung?"
"Eheh, here's hoping!"
Wow. Momentarily, Parson was tempted to say that he remembered witnessing the two of them clash before--and moreover, that he remembered how Morgunov hadn't looked quite so happy then.
But his better judgment won out. There was no point in antagonizing the madman--even if, on occasion, Morgunov had been known to respect those who dared to try it.
For now, all that mattered was playing the part of an eager student. And stalling for time, perhaps, though he knew that part was likely to be a futile endeavor.
As Morgunov's attention seemed to be drifting back down to Asad, Parson came up with a new angle of approach.
"You know what I'm really curious about," he said, "is those machines of yours. They're remarkable."
"Mm, like 'em, do ya? Thought you'd be more upset, considering how easily they handed you your own keister."
Parson had to relinquish a nod at that. "Got me there. But I can still admire their craftsmanship, can't I?"
Morgunov gave him a sidelong look. "You're not one of them masochistic types, are ya? They're not those types of machines, I'll have you know! They're good boys! I only designed them for the very wholesome purposes of kidnapping, murder, and conquest!"
Right. Parson wondered if he should try to lean more into his own madness here. To invoke a sense of kindred spirits, perhaps. "Wasn't my intention to suggest otherwise. Did you really make all those things yourself, though? That seems like so much work. Even if I had the know-how, I don't think I'd have the patience."
"Oh, indeed, indeed. Took me quite a few years, you know. Probably coulda finished 'em faster, but I can be a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to this kinda stuff. If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing, I always say."
Page 2710
~~((Halloween Special - Page 6 of 30))~~
This was all to say that Parson knew what thin ice he was treading on here. While he felt that it might be possible to gain valuable knowledge from Morgunov, he also had to be exceptionally cautious with his choice of words and mannerisms.
"...I don't understand," said Parson. "How is covering his eyes supposed to prevent someone else from watching?"
Morgunov paused, tilting his head at him. "Hmm? You're not a toddler anymore, Parsey Boy. Surely, you know about the existence of Sparrows."
As a matter of fact, he did.
"Or did you perhaps think that I didn't know about them? That they were some kind of super Vannie secret? You guys are pretty protective of them, aren't you?"
Parson was still struggling for a response, and Morgunov didn't give him much of a window before he kept talking.
"Oh! Or are you just trying to play dumb in order to take advantage of my affection for curious little dumplings? Tryin' to get on my good side like the cunning monkey you are, hmm?"
Shit, he needed to deflect. "Actually, I was more wondering whether the blindfold had anything to do with Asad's reaper."
Morgunov just looked at him, eyes and smile unmoving.
"I thought that, perhaps, you didn't want Asad to see his surroundings, because he then might be able to give information to his reaper."
"I see, I see," said Morgunov. "That's a rather gutsy implication there, my boy. You're suggesting that I allowed Qorvass to escape." His eyes widened slightly. "That I made a mistake."
There was no use balking now. "I'm just curious. It seemed odd to me."
"Yeah-huh?"
"...And if you were worried about Sparrows," said Parson, "then you would need to cover my eyes, too, wouldn't you? As well as everyone else's?"
"Eheheheh. The cunning monkey, indeed!"
This was all to say that Parson knew what thin ice he was treading on here. While he felt that it might be possible to gain valuable knowledge from Morgunov, he also had to be exceptionally cautious with his choice of words and mannerisms.
"...I don't understand," said Parson. "How is covering his eyes supposed to prevent someone else from watching?"
Morgunov paused, tilting his head at him. "Hmm? You're not a toddler anymore, Parsey Boy. Surely, you know about the existence of Sparrows."
As a matter of fact, he did.
"Or did you perhaps think that I didn't know about them? That they were some kind of super Vannie secret? You guys are pretty protective of them, aren't you?"
Parson was still struggling for a response, and Morgunov didn't give him much of a window before he kept talking.
"Oh! Or are you just trying to play dumb in order to take advantage of my affection for curious little dumplings? Tryin' to get on my good side like the cunning monkey you are, hmm?"
Shit, he needed to deflect. "Actually, I was more wondering whether the blindfold had anything to do with Asad's reaper."
Morgunov just looked at him, eyes and smile unmoving.
"I thought that, perhaps, you didn't want Asad to see his surroundings, because he then might be able to give information to his reaper."
"I see, I see," said Morgunov. "That's a rather gutsy implication there, my boy. You're suggesting that I allowed Qorvass to escape." His eyes widened slightly. "That I made a mistake."
There was no use balking now. "I'm just curious. It seemed odd to me."
"Yeah-huh?"
"...And if you were worried about Sparrows," said Parson, "then you would need to cover my eyes, too, wouldn't you? As well as everyone else's?"
"Eheheheh. The cunning monkey, indeed!"
Page 2709
~~((Halloween Special - Page 5 of 30))~~
Parson had to wonder if any of this was even necessary. Surely, the Mad Demon could have simply pressured Asad with his overwhelming soul power and compelled him to be truthful. Morgunov was the inventor of that technique, after all.
So was he just doing this for shits and giggles?
Well.
Yeah, there was a decent chance that was precisely the reason. If this were any other emperor, then Parson would've been certain that they wouldn't want to waste their time, but this was Morgunov.
That reasoning, however, made Parson feel a bit bolder all of a sudden. He felt that, perhaps, if this was all just some big game to him, then the mad emperor might not mind if Parson chimed in with his own distracting inquiries.
"Why did you blindfold him?" asked Parson, trying to sound as genuinely curious and non-threatening as possible.
Morgunov's piercing silver gaze rose to him, and for a second, he just stared at Parson.
In that second, it felt like the man was weighing the entirety of his existence, deciding whether to end it or not.
Then he smiled that insane smile again. "Well, you never know who might be watching. Or listening, even. But sadly, he wouldn't be able to answer my questions if I plugged his ears, now would he?"
In all his time corresponding with Damian, Parson had learned many things about the Mad Demon of Abolish. And one of those things was that, oddly enough, the man seemed to enjoy teaching.
If it was the right student. And only if.
According to Damian's tales, Morgunov was ruthlessly cruel and vicious toward students who earned his ire. Parson recalled one story about some poor bastard named Heinrich who'd had his entire bloodline extinguished after Morgunov decided that the man hadn't been taking his lessons seriously. And another about a guy named Lozaro, who was already an infamous scientist in his own right, until he fell asleep during one of Morgunov's lectures.
Supposedly, Morgunov "tore him from the very fabric of reality itself," though Parson hadn't quite been able to understand what that meant or how Damian knew it to be the case.
Parson had to wonder if any of this was even necessary. Surely, the Mad Demon could have simply pressured Asad with his overwhelming soul power and compelled him to be truthful. Morgunov was the inventor of that technique, after all.
So was he just doing this for shits and giggles?
Well.
Yeah, there was a decent chance that was precisely the reason. If this were any other emperor, then Parson would've been certain that they wouldn't want to waste their time, but this was Morgunov.
That reasoning, however, made Parson feel a bit bolder all of a sudden. He felt that, perhaps, if this was all just some big game to him, then the mad emperor might not mind if Parson chimed in with his own distracting inquiries.
"Why did you blindfold him?" asked Parson, trying to sound as genuinely curious and non-threatening as possible.
Morgunov's piercing silver gaze rose to him, and for a second, he just stared at Parson.
In that second, it felt like the man was weighing the entirety of his existence, deciding whether to end it or not.
Then he smiled that insane smile again. "Well, you never know who might be watching. Or listening, even. But sadly, he wouldn't be able to answer my questions if I plugged his ears, now would he?"
In all his time corresponding with Damian, Parson had learned many things about the Mad Demon of Abolish. And one of those things was that, oddly enough, the man seemed to enjoy teaching.
If it was the right student. And only if.
According to Damian's tales, Morgunov was ruthlessly cruel and vicious toward students who earned his ire. Parson recalled one story about some poor bastard named Heinrich who'd had his entire bloodline extinguished after Morgunov decided that the man hadn't been taking his lessons seriously. And another about a guy named Lozaro, who was already an infamous scientist in his own right, until he fell asleep during one of Morgunov's lectures.
Supposedly, Morgunov "tore him from the very fabric of reality itself," though Parson hadn't quite been able to understand what that meant or how Damian knew it to be the case.
Page 2708
~~((Halloween Special - Page 4 of 30))~~
The heat in here was intense, and the musty stench was almost entirely foreign to Parson's nose.
Almost.
A memory scratched at the back of his mind. Something faint, yet still somehow horrid. A half-remembered nightmare. His whole body prickled with abrupt discomfort, and breathing became slightly more difficult.
His mind remained calm, but his body was reacting. In a familiar way, no less.
He'd smelled this only a handful of times before, in the presence of particularly nasty greatworms.
All worms in the Undercrust had an innate ability to strike terror in their victims, but it didn't work on sufficiently experienced warriors--with rare exceptions. Some could secrete an ooze that released panic-inducing fumes. Passive soul defense usually offered fair protection against it, which told him that these fumes must have once belonged to a truly monstrous creature.
Had Morgunov gone hunting for greatworms in recent years? That wouldn't be so surprising, Parson supposed.
The machine carrying Asad slapped him down onto a large table in the middle of the room, and Morgunov circled around him.
"Alrighty, let's try this the easy way first, shall we?" said Morgunov. "Where are the Quta Jaf'lah?"
The what?
Rather unsurprisingly, Asad made no response. He just lay there, on his back and blindfolded. To his credit, he wasn't showing much fear at all, but if these fumes were able to affect Parson even a little, then they must have been horrifically effective on a servant as young as Asad.
"Tsk, tsk, c'mon. You don't actually think the silent treatment will work, do you? Eheh. If so, then let me just dispel you of that notion right now. It will not."
Asad was squirming now, jaw clenched.
"The Shards of the Dry God? How about that? Ring any bells? Papa Morgunov knows that you know where they are. And Papa Morgunov doesn't like it when children are stingy with him. Or when they lie."
The heat in here was intense, and the musty stench was almost entirely foreign to Parson's nose.
Almost.
A memory scratched at the back of his mind. Something faint, yet still somehow horrid. A half-remembered nightmare. His whole body prickled with abrupt discomfort, and breathing became slightly more difficult.
His mind remained calm, but his body was reacting. In a familiar way, no less.
He'd smelled this only a handful of times before, in the presence of particularly nasty greatworms.
All worms in the Undercrust had an innate ability to strike terror in their victims, but it didn't work on sufficiently experienced warriors--with rare exceptions. Some could secrete an ooze that released panic-inducing fumes. Passive soul defense usually offered fair protection against it, which told him that these fumes must have once belonged to a truly monstrous creature.
Had Morgunov gone hunting for greatworms in recent years? That wouldn't be so surprising, Parson supposed.
The machine carrying Asad slapped him down onto a large table in the middle of the room, and Morgunov circled around him.
"Alrighty, let's try this the easy way first, shall we?" said Morgunov. "Where are the Quta Jaf'lah?"
The what?
Rather unsurprisingly, Asad made no response. He just lay there, on his back and blindfolded. To his credit, he wasn't showing much fear at all, but if these fumes were able to affect Parson even a little, then they must have been horrifically effective on a servant as young as Asad.
"Tsk, tsk, c'mon. You don't actually think the silent treatment will work, do you? Eheh. If so, then let me just dispel you of that notion right now. It will not."
Asad was squirming now, jaw clenched.
"The Shards of the Dry God? How about that? Ring any bells? Papa Morgunov knows that you know where they are. And Papa Morgunov doesn't like it when children are stingy with him. Or when they lie."
Page 2707
~~((Halloween Special - Page 3 of 30))~~
One of the machines moved suddenly, grabbing hold of Asad with a pair of metal tentacles and carrying him over to Morgunov.
And as Parson looked at Asad again, saw his blindfold again, a question occurred to him.
Why was Asad Najir the only one with a blindfold?
Off the top of his head, a couple of different answers came to mind, but before he could delve too deeply into either, Morgunov caught him staring and must've noticed something in his expression.
"Hmm," said the Mad Demon. "What's the matter, Parsey Boy? You wanna watch? Bet you do, huh? Deep down, I mean. You Vannies are horribly repressed, aren't you? Especially you company men. Gotta 'fight the good fight,' and all that, right? Never can just sit back and enjoy your own Void-given abilities for what they're really best at. No, no, you have to pretend you don't enjoy that part. Wouldn't want anyone think you've grown psychotic and bloodthirsty over the years, oh no. You only resort to such measures when it's absolutely, one hundred percent unavoidable, am I right? Of course I'm right, eheh."
What a sick bastard.
But Parson did want to see what Morgunov was going to do to Asad. He still wasn't entirely sure what the Demon's interest in him was or how Asad was supposed to help him obtain the "power of a god."
Should he actually respond, though? Parson felt like saying that yes, he did want to watch would just encourage Morgunov to leave him behind.
So he merely remained quiet.
"Eheh, alright, c'mere ya little rascal! But don't say Papa Morgunov never did anything for ya!"
A second machine scooped Parson up like a loaf of bread, and then they were off.
Morgunov made his way back toward the workbenches while the robots followed. They didn't stop there, however. They kept going, headed through a wide tunnel in the hangar wall, and eventually arrived at an entirely different chamber.
Full of black, metal cages. And giant vats of some pale, bubbling substance.
One of the machines moved suddenly, grabbing hold of Asad with a pair of metal tentacles and carrying him over to Morgunov.
And as Parson looked at Asad again, saw his blindfold again, a question occurred to him.
Why was Asad Najir the only one with a blindfold?
Off the top of his head, a couple of different answers came to mind, but before he could delve too deeply into either, Morgunov caught him staring and must've noticed something in his expression.
"Hmm," said the Mad Demon. "What's the matter, Parsey Boy? You wanna watch? Bet you do, huh? Deep down, I mean. You Vannies are horribly repressed, aren't you? Especially you company men. Gotta 'fight the good fight,' and all that, right? Never can just sit back and enjoy your own Void-given abilities for what they're really best at. No, no, you have to pretend you don't enjoy that part. Wouldn't want anyone think you've grown psychotic and bloodthirsty over the years, oh no. You only resort to such measures when it's absolutely, one hundred percent unavoidable, am I right? Of course I'm right, eheh."
What a sick bastard.
But Parson did want to see what Morgunov was going to do to Asad. He still wasn't entirely sure what the Demon's interest in him was or how Asad was supposed to help him obtain the "power of a god."
Should he actually respond, though? Parson felt like saying that yes, he did want to watch would just encourage Morgunov to leave him behind.
So he merely remained quiet.
"Eheh, alright, c'mere ya little rascal! But don't say Papa Morgunov never did anything for ya!"
A second machine scooped Parson up like a loaf of bread, and then they were off.
Morgunov made his way back toward the workbenches while the robots followed. They didn't stop there, however. They kept going, headed through a wide tunnel in the hangar wall, and eventually arrived at an entirely different chamber.
Full of black, metal cages. And giant vats of some pale, bubbling substance.
Page 2706
~~((Halloween Special - Page 2 of 30))~~
At length, Morgunov's footsteps returned, drawing Parson's gaze. The man's walk was bouncy with obvious delight, almost to the point of skipping.
"What's this?" said Morgunov, still with two voices as he looked over the tied up Vanguardians and Asad. "None of you made even a little progress in trying to escape? C'mon, I gave a big ol' window there and everything! What, are the chains too strong? Or are you just too weak? Mm, maybe a little of column A and a little of column B? Don't tell me you're too scared to even try! Eheh!"
"To hell with you, Demon!" said a voice that Parson identified as Lieutenant General Harrison.
Morgunov's head twitched. "Oho! Who said that?"
No response arrived. Which was the correct course of action, as far as Parson was concerned. Harrison had always been a courageous one, but this wasn't the time or place. Right now, that sort of defiance was just foolish posturing.
"Hmm? Don't be shy now! I was just about to praise your fighting spirit! I'm a big appreciator of passion, you know!"
Still, no one said anything.
Morgunov frowned briefly, then smiled again. "Well, whoever it was, your turn will come. Don't you worry your self-righteous little head. Oh, and how about this? When it's your turn, if you have the guts to say something like that again, I'll give you a nice little surprise! A reward! For being so full of gusto! So try and muster up that bravery again, if you can!"
Stay quiet, Harrison. Stay quiet, damn you.
Morgunov paused, listening.
Thankfully, though, Harrison managed to keep his mouth shut.
Morgunov sniffed audibly and scratched his nose, perhaps disappointed. "Anyway, sorry for keeping you all in suspense. Just wanted to take a quick gander around the facilities. Been a while since I was here, so I wanted to see what I was workin' with. Turns out, we've got some real old school toys here. Medieval, you might say!"
At length, Morgunov's footsteps returned, drawing Parson's gaze. The man's walk was bouncy with obvious delight, almost to the point of skipping.
"What's this?" said Morgunov, still with two voices as he looked over the tied up Vanguardians and Asad. "None of you made even a little progress in trying to escape? C'mon, I gave a big ol' window there and everything! What, are the chains too strong? Or are you just too weak? Mm, maybe a little of column A and a little of column B? Don't tell me you're too scared to even try! Eheh!"
"To hell with you, Demon!" said a voice that Parson identified as Lieutenant General Harrison.
Morgunov's head twitched. "Oho! Who said that?"
No response arrived. Which was the correct course of action, as far as Parson was concerned. Harrison had always been a courageous one, but this wasn't the time or place. Right now, that sort of defiance was just foolish posturing.
"Hmm? Don't be shy now! I was just about to praise your fighting spirit! I'm a big appreciator of passion, you know!"
Still, no one said anything.
Morgunov frowned briefly, then smiled again. "Well, whoever it was, your turn will come. Don't you worry your self-righteous little head. Oh, and how about this? When it's your turn, if you have the guts to say something like that again, I'll give you a nice little surprise! A reward! For being so full of gusto! So try and muster up that bravery again, if you can!"
Stay quiet, Harrison. Stay quiet, damn you.
Morgunov paused, listening.
Thankfully, though, Harrison managed to keep his mouth shut.
Morgunov sniffed audibly and scratched his nose, perhaps disappointed. "Anyway, sorry for keeping you all in suspense. Just wanted to take a quick gander around the facilities. Been a while since I was here, so I wanted to see what I was workin' with. Turns out, we've got some real old school toys here. Medieval, you might say!"
Page 2705
~~((Halloween Special - Page 1 of 30))~~
It was just a shame that Morgunov had chosen now, of all times, to resurface. Parson had hoped for a few more years to prepare the young ones and root out more of the poison within the Vanguard's ranks. Only rarely had he been able to prove it, but Abolish had undoubtedly snuck dozens or even hundreds of spies into the Vanguard with the influx of new members over the last few years. Not to mention, he suspected several older members as well.
And with such a heavy defeat on the war table, the temptation to turn traitor would only increase. Certain cowardly fools out there would delude themselves into believing that they could surrender themselves to Abolish and be spared the same fate as everyone else. And others might just be broken.
Certainly, it would've been easier to give up. To just stop struggling. To let Abolish win. It would bring an end to this endless back and forth, at least.
Parson had seen it many times. Servant and reaper alike. Just snapping, one day. Murdering their brothers-in-arms with little to no warning. Going on truly unhinged rants, proclaiming to the heavens that Abolish had it right all along, that they should just put everyone out of their misery and be done with it.
That it was all pointless.
And Parson would be lying if he said that, in his darkest moments, he had never harbored such thoughts.
The longer he lived, the more terrible things he bore witness to, the clearer it became how unnatural servants really were. At times, he wondered if nihilism and madness weren't simply the inevitable destinations toward which they were all creeping.
And he wondered if reapers weren't trying to hide that fact from them, for their own good.
It was no wonder why Sermung wanted to die.
But even so, Parson Miles planned to continue down this road for as long as he was able.
It was just a shame that Morgunov had chosen now, of all times, to resurface. Parson had hoped for a few more years to prepare the young ones and root out more of the poison within the Vanguard's ranks. Only rarely had he been able to prove it, but Abolish had undoubtedly snuck dozens or even hundreds of spies into the Vanguard with the influx of new members over the last few years. Not to mention, he suspected several older members as well.
And with such a heavy defeat on the war table, the temptation to turn traitor would only increase. Certain cowardly fools out there would delude themselves into believing that they could surrender themselves to Abolish and be spared the same fate as everyone else. And others might just be broken.
Certainly, it would've been easier to give up. To just stop struggling. To let Abolish win. It would bring an end to this endless back and forth, at least.
Parson had seen it many times. Servant and reaper alike. Just snapping, one day. Murdering their brothers-in-arms with little to no warning. Going on truly unhinged rants, proclaiming to the heavens that Abolish had it right all along, that they should just put everyone out of their misery and be done with it.
That it was all pointless.
And Parson would be lying if he said that, in his darkest moments, he had never harbored such thoughts.
The longer he lived, the more terrible things he bore witness to, the clearer it became how unnatural servants really were. At times, he wondered if nihilism and madness weren't simply the inevitable destinations toward which they were all creeping.
And he wondered if reapers weren't trying to hide that fact from them, for their own good.
It was no wonder why Sermung wanted to die.
But even so, Parson Miles planned to continue down this road for as long as he was able.
Friday, October 30, 2020
Page 2704
That was also, essentially, why he and Overra had worked so hard to oust the Rainlords from the Vanguard. While it was true that plan had gone slightly off the rails, the core justifications behind it remained unmitigated, even now.
Zeff Elroy, the Water Dragon of Sair, had needed the push. As did many others, of course, but he was the most important. The Water Dragons of Old were some of the most powerful forces for good that the world had ever seen, but at the rate he was growing, Abolish would have killed him off within the next fifty years, at most.
But now, the lad was on his way. After all those emergences, Zeff was probably twice as strong as he was before, if not more.
It was just a shame what had happened to Mariana. Her death had not been necessary. Not at all. She was a good woman, and moreover, she would have likely become a strong ally against Abolish, too.
Hopefully, her death would continue to inspire Zeff and perhaps others to greatness in the future, but Parson had to admit, such a gamble was far from ideal.
And it reminded him of his own wife. And his mother. Rest their souls.
But this was the hard truth.
It had not escaped his notice, the idea that if he hadn't weakened Sair by removing the Rainlords, then Morgunov might not have chosen to attack now.
The idea that the disaster at Uego might have been his own fault.
But such self-flagellating thoughts were beyond worthless, he knew. It was one thing to have a guilty conscience. It was another to blame yourself for things that were entirely beyond your control or that might have happened anyway, even if you had done everything differently.
If Morgunov hadn't chosen Sair, he wouldn't have simply remained quiet. He would have chosen some other hapless country. Perhaps one that was even less prepared for him than Sair was.
Zeff Elroy, the Water Dragon of Sair, had needed the push. As did many others, of course, but he was the most important. The Water Dragons of Old were some of the most powerful forces for good that the world had ever seen, but at the rate he was growing, Abolish would have killed him off within the next fifty years, at most.
But now, the lad was on his way. After all those emergences, Zeff was probably twice as strong as he was before, if not more.
It was just a shame what had happened to Mariana. Her death had not been necessary. Not at all. She was a good woman, and moreover, she would have likely become a strong ally against Abolish, too.
Hopefully, her death would continue to inspire Zeff and perhaps others to greatness in the future, but Parson had to admit, such a gamble was far from ideal.
And it reminded him of his own wife. And his mother. Rest their souls.
But this was the hard truth.
It had not escaped his notice, the idea that if he hadn't weakened Sair by removing the Rainlords, then Morgunov might not have chosen to attack now.
The idea that the disaster at Uego might have been his own fault.
But such self-flagellating thoughts were beyond worthless, he knew. It was one thing to have a guilty conscience. It was another to blame yourself for things that were entirely beyond your control or that might have happened anyway, even if you had done everything differently.
If Morgunov hadn't chosen Sair, he wouldn't have simply remained quiet. He would have chosen some other hapless country. Perhaps one that was even less prepared for him than Sair was.
Page 2703
In fact, this was a lesson that he had learned as a result of seeing so much devastation over the years--a lesson that the Mad Demon himself had played a large part in teaching.
A lesson about the tempering nature of chaos.
Time and again through the ages, the story was the same. When this kind of danger arrived, when threats became imminent and real, when the fragile harmony of the world began to break--that was when people rose to the occasion.
On both sides. Good and evil.
It was true of the normal folk, and it was truer still for servants.
That was the double-edged sword of emergence.
So many of his peers failed to understand this simple truth. Because of emergence--and indeed, the nature of humanity itself--these kinds of difficult tribulations were not only inevitable, they were needed.
It wasn't enough to preserve peace. Peace never lasted. Not while Abolish existed.
Peace was important, of course. It allowed wealth to be created. Technology to advance. Civilization to flourish and grow. Of course these were all great and wonderful things.
But peace also made men weak. Even vigilant warriors would eventually become complacent.
And what would happen when true malevolence arrived? Hell bent on crushing them? Those weak warriors would crumble.
The Breaking of Korgum would happen. Or Lac'Vayce. Or Exoltha. Or any of countless other historical examples.
Abolish, or someone just as evil, would triumph. Good people, peaceful people, innocent people, they would all be trampled into dust.
Sparing people from war, therefore, was not a kindness. Not always, at least. Too often, it was simply setting people up for disaster.
And that was why, even now, Parson's spirit was not broken.
This great Eloan war... it was inevitable. If not now, then it would have happened later.
And by happening now, it would give the younger generations their much needed chance to grow.
It would temper them.
A lesson about the tempering nature of chaos.
Time and again through the ages, the story was the same. When this kind of danger arrived, when threats became imminent and real, when the fragile harmony of the world began to break--that was when people rose to the occasion.
On both sides. Good and evil.
It was true of the normal folk, and it was truer still for servants.
That was the double-edged sword of emergence.
So many of his peers failed to understand this simple truth. Because of emergence--and indeed, the nature of humanity itself--these kinds of difficult tribulations were not only inevitable, they were needed.
It wasn't enough to preserve peace. Peace never lasted. Not while Abolish existed.
Peace was important, of course. It allowed wealth to be created. Technology to advance. Civilization to flourish and grow. Of course these were all great and wonderful things.
But peace also made men weak. Even vigilant warriors would eventually become complacent.
And what would happen when true malevolence arrived? Hell bent on crushing them? Those weak warriors would crumble.
The Breaking of Korgum would happen. Or Lac'Vayce. Or Exoltha. Or any of countless other historical examples.
Abolish, or someone just as evil, would triumph. Good people, peaceful people, innocent people, they would all be trampled into dust.
Sparing people from war, therefore, was not a kindness. Not always, at least. Too often, it was simply setting people up for disaster.
And that was why, even now, Parson's spirit was not broken.
This great Eloan war... it was inevitable. If not now, then it would have happened later.
And by happening now, it would give the younger generations their much needed chance to grow.
It would temper them.
Thursday, October 29, 2020
Page 2702
Parson had to wonder if Morgunov had intended to disrupt Blacksong all along. After such a long absence, could it really be a coincidence that Morgunov decided now was the time to reemerge?
Well. Of course it could be a coincidence. That was the trouble with the Mad Demon. It was impossible to tell whether he had planned for something or not. Skill and good fortune became almost indistinguishable.
Hell, Parson had experienced that phenomenon himself. When he acted the fool, people tended to underestimate him, but among those who didn't, those who knew the truth about him, the reverse reaction sometimes appeared. They would overestimate his ability, attributing some great wisdom or predictive intelligence to him when, in reality, he'd simply gotten lucky.
And Overra never let him correct anyone on that particular point. If they wanted to give him credit he didn't fully deserve, then so much the better, she always said.
'Because luck is a skill, too,' she explained. 'Having the wherewithal to take advantage of opportunities as they arise is just as important as those opportunities arising in the first place. Too many people allow their own good fortune to pass them by without so much as a second glance.'
It sure sounded nice when she'd put it like that.
Perhaps this was karma, then, to be on the receiving end of an enemy's good fortune.
With this apparently disastrous outcome of the battle at Uego, the Vanguard as a whole was now in danger. Even before this, it was already having problems with disorganization, and now its total number of generals had been reduced by, what, a third? More?
How many of their forces were now leaderless? How many innocent lives were now at stake? Or soon would be?
It was enough to make a normal man lose hope.
Parson Miles was not a normal man, however. Despite all of these things, he was not panicking.
Well. Of course it could be a coincidence. That was the trouble with the Mad Demon. It was impossible to tell whether he had planned for something or not. Skill and good fortune became almost indistinguishable.
Hell, Parson had experienced that phenomenon himself. When he acted the fool, people tended to underestimate him, but among those who didn't, those who knew the truth about him, the reverse reaction sometimes appeared. They would overestimate his ability, attributing some great wisdom or predictive intelligence to him when, in reality, he'd simply gotten lucky.
And Overra never let him correct anyone on that particular point. If they wanted to give him credit he didn't fully deserve, then so much the better, she always said.
'Because luck is a skill, too,' she explained. 'Having the wherewithal to take advantage of opportunities as they arise is just as important as those opportunities arising in the first place. Too many people allow their own good fortune to pass them by without so much as a second glance.'
It sure sounded nice when she'd put it like that.
Perhaps this was karma, then, to be on the receiving end of an enemy's good fortune.
With this apparently disastrous outcome of the battle at Uego, the Vanguard as a whole was now in danger. Even before this, it was already having problems with disorganization, and now its total number of generals had been reduced by, what, a third? More?
How many of their forces were now leaderless? How many innocent lives were now at stake? Or soon would be?
It was enough to make a normal man lose hope.
Parson Miles was not a normal man, however. Despite all of these things, he was not panicking.
Page 2701
"Monty," Parson whispered. "Monty, wake up." He writhed weakly and vainly within his chains, but nothing could be done. He wasn't even able to hoist himself into a seated position.
He sighed. Lamont wasn't going to respond, was he?
'Overra?' he tried.
And he waited.
No answer there, either.
Where were all the reapers? Parson couldn't see any of them. They must've still been inside each of the robots--and unconscious, most likely, because a few of those reapers weren't given to being quiet, even in the face of an emperor.
He tried to think. To focus any thoughts that might be useful. Escape was essentially impossible. Not useful to dwell on, at the moment. But that didn't mean they were doomed, either. If he operated under the assumption that he eventually would be free again, one way or another, then he could view his current time as a chance to learn about the enemy.
About the Mad Demon himself.
From an intelligence-gathering standpoint, this was an invaluable opportunity.
The emperor of madness had been reclusive for the last twenty years or more. A few rumors had even begun to spread that he might've accidentally killed himself in one of his own experiments--or gotten lost in some foreign reality, never to return. Parson had never believed such things for a moment, of course, but they did paint a certain picture of the strangeness of Morgunov's absence.
The more reasonable speculation had been that Morgunov was simply working on something and didn't intend to reveal himself until it was ready. And seeing these machines, that seemed be right on the money.
And yet, this timing was also suspicious.
Ever since the outbreak of this new continental war, Parson had been thinking that something was off. Before news arrived of those five simultaneous invasions, the long-awaited Project Blacksong had been imminent. Now, it was delayed due to the massive number of redeployments required to deal with the war.
He sighed. Lamont wasn't going to respond, was he?
'Overra?' he tried.
And he waited.
No answer there, either.
Where were all the reapers? Parson couldn't see any of them. They must've still been inside each of the robots--and unconscious, most likely, because a few of those reapers weren't given to being quiet, even in the face of an emperor.
He tried to think. To focus any thoughts that might be useful. Escape was essentially impossible. Not useful to dwell on, at the moment. But that didn't mean they were doomed, either. If he operated under the assumption that he eventually would be free again, one way or another, then he could view his current time as a chance to learn about the enemy.
About the Mad Demon himself.
From an intelligence-gathering standpoint, this was an invaluable opportunity.
The emperor of madness had been reclusive for the last twenty years or more. A few rumors had even begun to spread that he might've accidentally killed himself in one of his own experiments--or gotten lost in some foreign reality, never to return. Parson had never believed such things for a moment, of course, but they did paint a certain picture of the strangeness of Morgunov's absence.
The more reasonable speculation had been that Morgunov was simply working on something and didn't intend to reveal himself until it was ready. And seeing these machines, that seemed be right on the money.
And yet, this timing was also suspicious.
Ever since the outbreak of this new continental war, Parson had been thinking that something was off. Before news arrived of those five simultaneous invasions, the long-awaited Project Blacksong had been imminent. Now, it was delayed due to the massive number of redeployments required to deal with the war.
Wednesday, October 28, 2020
Side Story #1 - Colt - Page 57
"Before that," said Colt, "let me just get a few things straight here. So you saw me in town and just decided to follow me home for no other reason than because I'm new in Orden?"
"Weeeellll..." Malcolm gave a slow shrug. "There was also the whole, y'know, murder of Sheriff Rexford Margot on my mind. New people in town are suspicious at a time like this. No offense. Just the way it is."
"And that makes it okay to trespass?" said Colt.
"Oh, uh, well, of course not. I intended to keep my distance, but when I saw Brick, I figured I should come get him. And again, thank you for looking after him all this time. After so long, my family and I feared the worst."
Steering the conversation back toward the dog, huh? Yeah, it was Malcom's strongest card, right now.
Hmm.
"Do you think I killed the sheriff?" said Colt.
Malcolm's eyes widened a little, and he exhaled half a laugh. "Wow. You just came right out and said it, didn't you? Not one to mince words, I see. I respect that."
Colt just stared at him flatly, waiting for him to actually answer the question.
Malcolm stroked his chin. "No. I don't think you did it. Got no motive, as far as I can tell."
Damn right he didn't.
"Plus," Malcolm went on, "if I did think you were the killer, it wouldn't be very smart of me to confront you all by myself, now would it?"
"Mm. Well, that's good to hear. But what exactly would you have done if you thought I did it? Can't really call the cops on me at the moment, can you?"
"Heh. Orden may be short on policemen, but there are still plenty in Lagoroc who would be happy to come help me. I've got quite a rapport with those guys, as it happens."
"Right. And you're just investigating the sheriff's death purely to satisfy your own curiosity?"
Malcolm's expression hardened a bit. "Let's just say I've got my reasons."
"Let's not just say that. You're on my property. You're near my children. Either answer my questions properly or get the hell out of here."
The other man paused at that, eyes drifting to Brick.
Colt didn't want to burn a bridge here with a potential ally in the investigation, but he wasn't about to bend over backwards for this guy, either. If it came down to it, he'd much rather continue working the case alone than rely on some asshole who wanted to play coy with him.
Malcolm stared at him for a long moment, mulling it over. "I was a cop myself, once upon a time. Guess you could say this is a bit personal for me."
More than 'a bit,' Colt knew. He wondered how much Malcolm would be willing to tell him. A part of him wanted to just come right and say that he knew Rex was his wife's ex-husband, but volunteering information like that didn't seem wise. If nothing else, Colt could get a clearer picture of Malcolm's character by seeing what the man chose to share and what he chose to leave out. In particular, it would give him an idea of how much he could trust the answers to questions that he didn't already know the answer to.
"Noble of you," said Colt flatly.
Malcolm made no response.
He needed to push a little more. "That really it? Just an ex-cop being a bit nosy?"
"That so hard to believe?"
"Dunno. Just sayin', if it were me, I'd need a little more motivation to involve myself in a murder case." Which sounded like a lie, but it wasn't, he felt. Thanks to being undead, Colt wasn't too concerned about losing his life in this investigation, and the long-term safety of the twins was more than enough reason for him to try to suss out who the killer was.
Malcolm gave a harsh smile. "You tryin' to imply somethin', friend?"
It was Colt's turn not to answer. There were a number of ways Malcolm could have interpreted his last remark, and he wanted to see which it was.
Malcolm didn't bite, though. "You said you used to work in private security, didn't you?"
"I did."
"What made you give it up and come live all the way out here?"
"The birth of my children."
"Ah. Yeah, that'd do it, I suppose." Malcolm eyed the cabin up and down. "Still, it's quite a change, isn't it? And livin' out here in the woods, all by your lonesome? Seems a little extreme, don't you think?"
Colt could see where this line of questioning was headed, and he didn't want to deal with it. Better to cut it short. "You insultin' my home?"
"Oh, not at all. I just meant--"
"Sounds like you're insultin' my home."
"Ah, I didn't mean--"
"Maybe it's not as fancy as whatever palace you're livin' in, but I happen to like it quite a bit, thank you very much."
Malcolm raised his hands in front of him. "Look, Mr. Thompson, I meant no offense."
"Should be more careful not to slander a man's residence, then." And now for the bait to change the subject. "Where I come from, we consider that pretty damn rude."
"I apologize." And Malcolm paused. "And where is that, Mr. Thompson? Where do you come from?"
Perfect. "Dante. You?"
"Snider, born and raised."
"Mm," hummed Colt, finally stepping closer to the cabin. He could ease up here and hand control of the conversation back to Malcolm, but what would be the point in that? If he was going to get anything useful out of this guy, then he shouldn't just keep playing defensively the whole time. "And what made you stop bein' a cop?"
"Ah... gettin' kinda personal now, aren't we?"
"You're the one trespassing." He opened the front door, and as soon as he did, Brick bolted inside.
Colt and Malcolm exchanged looks.
"...Glad to see he's still got so much energy," said Malcolm with visible hesitation.
"...You sure this dog belongs to you?" said Colt.
"He does! I swear! He just--! He doesn't like me much, is all."
Suddenly, Colt felt a little better about how Brick had been treating him. "Right..."
"Weeeellll..." Malcolm gave a slow shrug. "There was also the whole, y'know, murder of Sheriff Rexford Margot on my mind. New people in town are suspicious at a time like this. No offense. Just the way it is."
"And that makes it okay to trespass?" said Colt.
"Oh, uh, well, of course not. I intended to keep my distance, but when I saw Brick, I figured I should come get him. And again, thank you for looking after him all this time. After so long, my family and I feared the worst."
Steering the conversation back toward the dog, huh? Yeah, it was Malcom's strongest card, right now.
Hmm.
"Do you think I killed the sheriff?" said Colt.
Malcolm's eyes widened a little, and he exhaled half a laugh. "Wow. You just came right out and said it, didn't you? Not one to mince words, I see. I respect that."
Colt just stared at him flatly, waiting for him to actually answer the question.
Malcolm stroked his chin. "No. I don't think you did it. Got no motive, as far as I can tell."
Damn right he didn't.
"Plus," Malcolm went on, "if I did think you were the killer, it wouldn't be very smart of me to confront you all by myself, now would it?"
"Mm. Well, that's good to hear. But what exactly would you have done if you thought I did it? Can't really call the cops on me at the moment, can you?"
"Heh. Orden may be short on policemen, but there are still plenty in Lagoroc who would be happy to come help me. I've got quite a rapport with those guys, as it happens."
"Right. And you're just investigating the sheriff's death purely to satisfy your own curiosity?"
Malcolm's expression hardened a bit. "Let's just say I've got my reasons."
"Let's not just say that. You're on my property. You're near my children. Either answer my questions properly or get the hell out of here."
The other man paused at that, eyes drifting to Brick.
Colt didn't want to burn a bridge here with a potential ally in the investigation, but he wasn't about to bend over backwards for this guy, either. If it came down to it, he'd much rather continue working the case alone than rely on some asshole who wanted to play coy with him.
Malcolm stared at him for a long moment, mulling it over. "I was a cop myself, once upon a time. Guess you could say this is a bit personal for me."
More than 'a bit,' Colt knew. He wondered how much Malcolm would be willing to tell him. A part of him wanted to just come right and say that he knew Rex was his wife's ex-husband, but volunteering information like that didn't seem wise. If nothing else, Colt could get a clearer picture of Malcolm's character by seeing what the man chose to share and what he chose to leave out. In particular, it would give him an idea of how much he could trust the answers to questions that he didn't already know the answer to.
"Noble of you," said Colt flatly.
Malcolm made no response.
He needed to push a little more. "That really it? Just an ex-cop being a bit nosy?"
"That so hard to believe?"
"Dunno. Just sayin', if it were me, I'd need a little more motivation to involve myself in a murder case." Which sounded like a lie, but it wasn't, he felt. Thanks to being undead, Colt wasn't too concerned about losing his life in this investigation, and the long-term safety of the twins was more than enough reason for him to try to suss out who the killer was.
Malcolm gave a harsh smile. "You tryin' to imply somethin', friend?"
It was Colt's turn not to answer. There were a number of ways Malcolm could have interpreted his last remark, and he wanted to see which it was.
Malcolm didn't bite, though. "You said you used to work in private security, didn't you?"
"I did."
"What made you give it up and come live all the way out here?"
"The birth of my children."
"Ah. Yeah, that'd do it, I suppose." Malcolm eyed the cabin up and down. "Still, it's quite a change, isn't it? And livin' out here in the woods, all by your lonesome? Seems a little extreme, don't you think?"
Colt could see where this line of questioning was headed, and he didn't want to deal with it. Better to cut it short. "You insultin' my home?"
"Oh, not at all. I just meant--"
"Sounds like you're insultin' my home."
"Ah, I didn't mean--"
"Maybe it's not as fancy as whatever palace you're livin' in, but I happen to like it quite a bit, thank you very much."
Malcolm raised his hands in front of him. "Look, Mr. Thompson, I meant no offense."
"Should be more careful not to slander a man's residence, then." And now for the bait to change the subject. "Where I come from, we consider that pretty damn rude."
"I apologize." And Malcolm paused. "And where is that, Mr. Thompson? Where do you come from?"
Perfect. "Dante. You?"
"Snider, born and raised."
"Mm," hummed Colt, finally stepping closer to the cabin. He could ease up here and hand control of the conversation back to Malcolm, but what would be the point in that? If he was going to get anything useful out of this guy, then he shouldn't just keep playing defensively the whole time. "And what made you stop bein' a cop?"
"Ah... gettin' kinda personal now, aren't we?"
"You're the one trespassing." He opened the front door, and as soon as he did, Brick bolted inside.
Colt and Malcolm exchanged looks.
"...Glad to see he's still got so much energy," said Malcolm with visible hesitation.
"...You sure this dog belongs to you?" said Colt.
"He does! I swear! He just--! He doesn't like me much, is all."
Suddenly, Colt felt a little better about how Brick had been treating him. "Right..."
Page 2700
"What are you talking about?" said Parson.
Morgunov stared at him for a second. "So you're not even gonna acknowledge that stellar pun I just dropped on you? Jackson not feeling too 'hot,' anymore? Hmm? C'mon, that was great."
Parson wasn't much in the mood to play along.
"Hmph," huffed the emperor. "Well, if you're going to be rude, then I don't see why I should explain anything to you. Only good boys deserve explanations."
And before Parson could even respond, Morgunov stepped over him and walked away.
The machines began to disperse, creating more room around the pile of captives and allowing Parson to get a better look at the enormous chamber they were in. It seemed to be some sort of hangar. He spotted several main battle tanks in the distance and even a few fighter jets parked even farther away. And unless his eyes deceived him, those models were the Altay and the F4 Phantom, respectively, both of which informed Parson that Morgunov had brought them to Calthos.
It was a bit strange that such units were sharing a hangar, but this place looked largely abandoned otherwise, so there was no telling why only a handful of such expensive units would be here to begin with. Decommissioned hardware would normally be stored in much larger quantities than this while they waited to be scrapped for parts or perhaps sold off.
Morgunov wasn't heading for those units, though. He he was going toward a line of long workbenches. Parson was content to wait here and not see what exactly the madman was going to do over there. He tried to nudge himself closer to Lamont, hoping to prod him awake, perhaps.
It didn't work so well. Even if he wasn't chained up, his body still felt incredibly weak, and he couldn't seem to harness his power of oxygen transfiguration at all. His head felt mostly clear, if a bit sluggish, but his body was numb all over.
Morgunov stared at him for a second. "So you're not even gonna acknowledge that stellar pun I just dropped on you? Jackson not feeling too 'hot,' anymore? Hmm? C'mon, that was great."
Parson wasn't much in the mood to play along.
"Hmph," huffed the emperor. "Well, if you're going to be rude, then I don't see why I should explain anything to you. Only good boys deserve explanations."
And before Parson could even respond, Morgunov stepped over him and walked away.
The machines began to disperse, creating more room around the pile of captives and allowing Parson to get a better look at the enormous chamber they were in. It seemed to be some sort of hangar. He spotted several main battle tanks in the distance and even a few fighter jets parked even farther away. And unless his eyes deceived him, those models were the Altay and the F4 Phantom, respectively, both of which informed Parson that Morgunov had brought them to Calthos.
It was a bit strange that such units were sharing a hangar, but this place looked largely abandoned otherwise, so there was no telling why only a handful of such expensive units would be here to begin with. Decommissioned hardware would normally be stored in much larger quantities than this while they waited to be scrapped for parts or perhaps sold off.
Morgunov wasn't heading for those units, though. He he was going toward a line of long workbenches. Parson was content to wait here and not see what exactly the madman was going to do over there. He tried to nudge himself closer to Lamont, hoping to prod him awake, perhaps.
It didn't work so well. Even if he wasn't chained up, his body still felt incredibly weak, and he couldn't seem to harness his power of oxygen transfiguration at all. His head felt mostly clear, if a bit sluggish, but his body was numb all over.
Page 2699
"Apologies for the long flight, kiddos. I wanted to find a nice local workshop to use, but it seems like the Sandies were pretty paranoid about me using their own toys against them. Either that, or there was a series of freak accidents involving soul-empowered fire! Which is actually more common than you might think, eheh!"
A foot arrived and rolled Parson over onto his back, forcing him to look up at the Mad Demon looming over him.
"So? What do you think?" Morgunov looked over his audience, who were all battered even more badly than Parson. Blood, bruises, and scorched or frozen flesh abounded. "Pretty impressive haul, wouldn't you say? Everyone is going to be so jealous of my collection!" And he pointed. "Especially that one, eheh."
Parson turned and saw the unconscious face of his superior and long-time mentor. Lamont.
Parson shut his eyes. He hadn't lost control of his emotions in many, many years, and he didn't intend to let it happen now.
It was difficult, though.
"Hmm?" said Morgunov, pressing a gloved hand to his heart. "What's everyone bein' so quiet for, eh? No questions for me? Or concerns? C'mon, fellas, I'm here for you! Feel free to open up and talk about your feelings. The REAL stuff, y'know? And don't worry. There will be no judging. This is a safe place. No one--except me--will EVER hurt you here! I promise!"
Nobody said anything, in part because half or more of them were still unconscious and the rest knew how bad this situation was. The amount of mission critical intel Morgunov would have access to if he got any of them talking...
He could agonize over that later, Parson decided. "...Where's Jackson?" he asked.
"Ah, concerned about the flamey boy, are ya? Well, if it makes you feel better, he did manage to wriggle out of my grasp. But, uh. Eheh. He won't be feelin' too hot for quite a while, I expect."
A foot arrived and rolled Parson over onto his back, forcing him to look up at the Mad Demon looming over him.
"So? What do you think?" Morgunov looked over his audience, who were all battered even more badly than Parson. Blood, bruises, and scorched or frozen flesh abounded. "Pretty impressive haul, wouldn't you say? Everyone is going to be so jealous of my collection!" And he pointed. "Especially that one, eheh."
Parson turned and saw the unconscious face of his superior and long-time mentor. Lamont.
Parson shut his eyes. He hadn't lost control of his emotions in many, many years, and he didn't intend to let it happen now.
It was difficult, though.
"Hmm?" said Morgunov, pressing a gloved hand to his heart. "What's everyone bein' so quiet for, eh? No questions for me? Or concerns? C'mon, fellas, I'm here for you! Feel free to open up and talk about your feelings. The REAL stuff, y'know? And don't worry. There will be no judging. This is a safe place. No one--except me--will EVER hurt you here! I promise!"
Nobody said anything, in part because half or more of them were still unconscious and the rest knew how bad this situation was. The amount of mission critical intel Morgunov would have access to if he got any of them talking...
He could agonize over that later, Parson decided. "...Where's Jackson?" he asked.
"Ah, concerned about the flamey boy, are ya? Well, if it makes you feel better, he did manage to wriggle out of my grasp. But, uh. Eheh. He won't be feelin' too hot for quite a while, I expect."
Tuesday, October 27, 2020
Page 2698
He would have to think about what to say, he supposed. They certainly had a lot of things that they could discuss, if they ever found the opportunity to do so. But how much of it would just be lies? Or manipulation?
Old friend or not, how could any semblance of trust between them ever be truly restored?
He felt the machine begin to decelerate, heard mechanical parts shifting and whirring. After what seemed like a couple more minutes, the change became even more pronounced, and the machine slowed down enough that Parson couldn't even tell if they were moving, anymore. The loud howling of jets changed, too, as if reverberating off of walls or perhaps the ground.
And then, at last, he felt a gentle touchdown, and the machine went quiet as its propulsion systems appeared to power down.
It took a while longer before the metal door slid open, making him squint while his eyes tried to adjust to the light. A pair of hands grabbed his chains and yanked him out and tossed him onto the ground like a sack of barley.
He looked around, searching for anything that would help him make sense of his surroundings.
There were so many robots, all lined up and standing at attention. And some of them were so much larger than others, black-and-silver giants amid a crowd of machines that Parson had previously thought quite large.
And he wasn't the only captive, he realized.
He recognized several of his fellow generals. Eckard, Malidnda, Meris, Harrison--and more.
So many more.
Then he laid eyes on Asad Najir, and his heart sank. Unlike the others, however, the tattooed man was blindfolded.
What about the marshals, though? Where were Lamont and Jackson?
Parson didn't have enough time or even the proper viewing angle to look over everyone before that all-too-familiar voice arrived.
Old friend or not, how could any semblance of trust between them ever be truly restored?
He felt the machine begin to decelerate, heard mechanical parts shifting and whirring. After what seemed like a couple more minutes, the change became even more pronounced, and the machine slowed down enough that Parson couldn't even tell if they were moving, anymore. The loud howling of jets changed, too, as if reverberating off of walls or perhaps the ground.
And then, at last, he felt a gentle touchdown, and the machine went quiet as its propulsion systems appeared to power down.
It took a while longer before the metal door slid open, making him squint while his eyes tried to adjust to the light. A pair of hands grabbed his chains and yanked him out and tossed him onto the ground like a sack of barley.
He looked around, searching for anything that would help him make sense of his surroundings.
There were so many robots, all lined up and standing at attention. And some of them were so much larger than others, black-and-silver giants amid a crowd of machines that Parson had previously thought quite large.
And he wasn't the only captive, he realized.
He recognized several of his fellow generals. Eckard, Malidnda, Meris, Harrison--and more.
So many more.
Then he laid eyes on Asad Najir, and his heart sank. Unlike the others, however, the tattooed man was blindfolded.
What about the marshals, though? Where were Lamont and Jackson?
Parson didn't have enough time or even the proper viewing angle to look over everyone before that all-too-familiar voice arrived.
Page 2697
He hated the prospect that he might've allowed himself to be betrayed by someone he hadn't trusted--or even seen, for that matter--in decades. The idea that he might have allowed childish feelings to interfere with his judgment...
But no. If it had truly been a trap, Morgunov probably wouldn't have said all those things he did. The Mad Demon seemed to have some lingering resentment for Germal--which wasn't terribly surprising, really. The madman had known that they were secret partners for ages, now.
Frankly, Parson had no idea how Germal had managed to stay alive all this time as a member of Abolish. Why hadn't Morgunov killed or exposed him years ago? Parson remembered asking him that very question many times before their final parting, but Germal had never given him a straight answer.
Parson had his theories, of course. Maybe Koh was somehow able to protect him from Morgunov. Parson had seen what that monster was capable of firsthand, so it wasn't out of the question. But even if that was the case, it didn't explain why Morgunov hadn't simply exposed Germal's treachery to the rest of Abolish.
And while it was true that Germal worked under Dozer and not Morgunov himself, that fact alone couldn't explain it. Surely, Dozer would listen if Morgunov told him that one of his most trusted subordinates was a traitor.
Then again, maybe he wouldn't. Dozer and Morgunov's relationship was a centuries-long subject of mystery--even to the rest of Abolish, Parson suspected.
Agh. He couldn't see the whole picture, and he hated that. He doubted that any good might come out of this disaster, but if it did, then perhaps it would arrive in the simple form of answers to questions that he'd harbored for what seemed like a lifetime now.
If he was actually going to see Germal again...
Hmm.
But no. If it had truly been a trap, Morgunov probably wouldn't have said all those things he did. The Mad Demon seemed to have some lingering resentment for Germal--which wasn't terribly surprising, really. The madman had known that they were secret partners for ages, now.
Frankly, Parson had no idea how Germal had managed to stay alive all this time as a member of Abolish. Why hadn't Morgunov killed or exposed him years ago? Parson remembered asking him that very question many times before their final parting, but Germal had never given him a straight answer.
Parson had his theories, of course. Maybe Koh was somehow able to protect him from Morgunov. Parson had seen what that monster was capable of firsthand, so it wasn't out of the question. But even if that was the case, it didn't explain why Morgunov hadn't simply exposed Germal's treachery to the rest of Abolish.
And while it was true that Germal worked under Dozer and not Morgunov himself, that fact alone couldn't explain it. Surely, Dozer would listen if Morgunov told him that one of his most trusted subordinates was a traitor.
Then again, maybe he wouldn't. Dozer and Morgunov's relationship was a centuries-long subject of mystery--even to the rest of Abolish, Parson suspected.
Agh. He couldn't see the whole picture, and he hated that. He doubted that any good might come out of this disaster, but if it did, then perhaps it would arrive in the simple form of answers to questions that he'd harbored for what seemed like a lifetime now.
If he was actually going to see Germal again...
Hmm.
Monday, October 26, 2020
Page 2696
Parson was left to stew in his thoughts for a long while as he waited for the blasted robot to reach its destination. Wherever he was being taken, it was probably going to be an absolute nightmare.
Morgunov had said that he intended to take him to Germal, of all people, but he doubted that would be their first stop. If Asad Najir had been captured, too, then Morgunov would probably treat him as the priority. Probably, being the key word. There were really no certainties when it came to predicting the Mad Demon.
Parson could only hope that the others had arrived in time to save Asad, though he doubted it immensely. His plan to stall the Mad Demon until they got there had been far from ideal--not the least because Morgunov saw right through it.
What a day.
When he woke up this morning, he hadn't expected to be facing down a hostile emperor all by himself. And as he sat here in the darkness, contemplating his fate, he began to wonder if he hadn't been bamboozled.
That message he'd received from a Courier out of the blue. Maybe he'd been a fool to trust it.
"Morgunov seeks the power of a god in Sair," it had read. "If he captures Asad Najir, he may find it. And all we have worked for will be imperiled like never before. Please, old friend. Do whatever you can, for the sake of the bond we once shared and for the vision that I hope we still do."
It hadn't been signed, of course. And sharing that bit of intel with his superiors directly would have jeopardized so many other things, his life and career being among them.
Perhaps it would have been wiser to disregard it, to remember that Germal had never been the same after Bellvine and especially not after Damian.
But that letter had stirred something in him. Something he thought long dead.
Morgunov had said that he intended to take him to Germal, of all people, but he doubted that would be their first stop. If Asad Najir had been captured, too, then Morgunov would probably treat him as the priority. Probably, being the key word. There were really no certainties when it came to predicting the Mad Demon.
Parson could only hope that the others had arrived in time to save Asad, though he doubted it immensely. His plan to stall the Mad Demon until they got there had been far from ideal--not the least because Morgunov saw right through it.
What a day.
When he woke up this morning, he hadn't expected to be facing down a hostile emperor all by himself. And as he sat here in the darkness, contemplating his fate, he began to wonder if he hadn't been bamboozled.
That message he'd received from a Courier out of the blue. Maybe he'd been a fool to trust it.
"Morgunov seeks the power of a god in Sair," it had read. "If he captures Asad Najir, he may find it. And all we have worked for will be imperiled like never before. Please, old friend. Do whatever you can, for the sake of the bond we once shared and for the vision that I hope we still do."
It hadn't been signed, of course. And sharing that bit of intel with his superiors directly would have jeopardized so many other things, his life and career being among them.
Perhaps it would have been wiser to disregard it, to remember that Germal had never been the same after Bellvine and especially not after Damian.
But that letter had stirred something in him. Something he thought long dead.
Page 2695
These machines were so much more advanced than any other technology that Parson had ever seen. Just how far ahead was Morgunov? Compared to the rest of the world, how many more years would it take before someone else could build machines like these? Twenty years? Fifty? More?
Even disregarding the emperor-level soul-strengthening, these things were absurd.
They could think. Seemingly, at least. Maybe the old bastard had just been controlling them somehow, giving them an appearance of autonomy, but Parson could've sworn that these robots were actively problem solving when fighting him. And they probably held plenty of other secrets that Morgunov hadn't even bothered to reveal to him.
The more he thought about it, the more he felt like trying to suppress innovation was the wrong way to go. Maybe in the past, when the Mad Demon didn't exist, that tactic might have worked, but now? There was no suppressing Morgunov's genius. He could do whatever he bloody wanted, innovate however he pleased.
And if something wasn't done, then eventually, nobody would be able to keep up with him. Not even Sermung.
Assuming that wasn't already the case.
Morgunov did say that he'd come prepared to face Sermung himself, didn't he?
No, it was far too early to be thinking things like that. By any estimate, Lamont and Jackson will have at least been able to achieve a stalemate. That would buy time for Sermung to arrive and push Morgunov out of Sair.
And that, of course, would buy time for the Vanguard as a whole.
He wondered what Jules, Calvin, and Vernon would make of these machines. They were in the Vanguardian encampment as it was preparing to engage Morgunov, so perhaps they had gotten a good look at them during the clash. With any luck, the Vanguard would be able to capture one of these things for study. At the very least, word needed to get out about the leap in strength that the Mad Demon had made.
As if he wasn't terrifying enough before.
Even disregarding the emperor-level soul-strengthening, these things were absurd.
They could think. Seemingly, at least. Maybe the old bastard had just been controlling them somehow, giving them an appearance of autonomy, but Parson could've sworn that these robots were actively problem solving when fighting him. And they probably held plenty of other secrets that Morgunov hadn't even bothered to reveal to him.
The more he thought about it, the more he felt like trying to suppress innovation was the wrong way to go. Maybe in the past, when the Mad Demon didn't exist, that tactic might have worked, but now? There was no suppressing Morgunov's genius. He could do whatever he bloody wanted, innovate however he pleased.
And if something wasn't done, then eventually, nobody would be able to keep up with him. Not even Sermung.
Assuming that wasn't already the case.
Morgunov did say that he'd come prepared to face Sermung himself, didn't he?
No, it was far too early to be thinking things like that. By any estimate, Lamont and Jackson will have at least been able to achieve a stalemate. That would buy time for Sermung to arrive and push Morgunov out of Sair.
And that, of course, would buy time for the Vanguard as a whole.
He wondered what Jules, Calvin, and Vernon would make of these machines. They were in the Vanguardian encampment as it was preparing to engage Morgunov, so perhaps they had gotten a good look at them during the clash. With any luck, the Vanguard would be able to capture one of these things for study. At the very least, word needed to get out about the leap in strength that the Mad Demon had made.
As if he wasn't terrifying enough before.
Sunday, October 25, 2020
Page 2694
The reaper was unconscious, however, so he couldn't even talk to her during this long, dark journey. That was another reason why he'd stopped struggling. He didn't want this blasted machine to accidentally kill her while trying to suppress him.
Maybe that was a needless concern, though. If one thing had become clear from his brief "fight" with Morgunov, it was that these mechanical abominations were damn well made.
That crazy bastard. How many of these giant, transforming drones did he have at his beck and call? And how long had he been keeping them secret?
At this point, there was no telling, but Parson had a genuine fear that the numbers might be truly staggering. This was the Mad Demon, after all. If he had managed to mass produce these things...
An army of soldiers that could take down even a captain general...
No. No, that was impossible, even for him. The metal--or whatever material these damn things were made from--had clearly been permanently soul-strengthened by Morgunov himself. And while Parson didn't personally know much about that process, he did know that it was very time-consuming. Surely, the madman didn't have the patience required to do that over and over again, thousands of times...
God, he hoped not.
He was suddenly reminded of a reoccurring topic that he'd heard various reapers discussing over the years.
The terrifying advancement of technology.
The vast majority of reapers he'd known over his life were either dismissive or frightened of technology, and the frightened ones often liked to debate whether it would be prudent for servants to directly intervene in such things and work to actively suppress innovation.
He'd even known a few reaper collectives who were dedicated to that very task. He'd never taken much of a personal interest in their objectives, but...
Maybe he should have.
Ugh, or maybe he should've done the exact opposite.
Dammit.
Maybe that was a needless concern, though. If one thing had become clear from his brief "fight" with Morgunov, it was that these mechanical abominations were damn well made.
That crazy bastard. How many of these giant, transforming drones did he have at his beck and call? And how long had he been keeping them secret?
At this point, there was no telling, but Parson had a genuine fear that the numbers might be truly staggering. This was the Mad Demon, after all. If he had managed to mass produce these things...
An army of soldiers that could take down even a captain general...
No. No, that was impossible, even for him. The metal--or whatever material these damn things were made from--had clearly been permanently soul-strengthened by Morgunov himself. And while Parson didn't personally know much about that process, he did know that it was very time-consuming. Surely, the madman didn't have the patience required to do that over and over again, thousands of times...
God, he hoped not.
He was suddenly reminded of a reoccurring topic that he'd heard various reapers discussing over the years.
The terrifying advancement of technology.
The vast majority of reapers he'd known over his life were either dismissive or frightened of technology, and the frightened ones often liked to debate whether it would be prudent for servants to directly intervene in such things and work to actively suppress innovation.
He'd even known a few reaper collectives who were dedicated to that very task. He'd never taken much of a personal interest in their objectives, but...
Maybe he should have.
Ugh, or maybe he should've done the exact opposite.
Dammit.
Page 2693 -- CCXLIII.
He already knew what the reaper probably wanted to say--that there was nothing he could have done to prevent this. That whatever had gone down in the Uego Desert had been entirely beyond him.
And he knew the reaper would be right, too. There was no sense in agonizing over it.
If only he could be entirely sensible.
He sighed and rubbed his forehead, trying to find his concentration again. Suddenly, his multiple thought processes all felt like one, big useless one.
'Let's head back to Warrenhold,' said Garovel.
He didn't look back up yet. 'But we still have a few more meetings here...'
'Eh, fuck 'em. The Rainlords need us, right now. We can take care of the rest of this later. Or better yet, have Ms. Rogers do it for us.'
Hector found it hard to disagree.
He took a deep breath and stood.
Chapter Two Hundred Forty-Three: 'O, ingenuous children...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
This wasn't right. Not at all.
Parson Miles, at this point in his long life, liked to think he had acquired some semblance of control, of order. Laying plans. Nudging the world toward peace through controlled and necessary conflict. Trying to avoid needless bloodshed. And reacting appropriately when things went awry, which they often did.
He'd learned that long ago. It wasn't about crafting the perfect plan. It was about making the right decisions when things inevitably went pear-shaped.
But this.
Well.
Getting captured by the Mad Demon.
What was the right decision to make, now?
He'd stopped struggling a while ago. This mechanized beast had a solid hold on him, and whenever he acted up, its grip only became that much more oppressive. When he relaxed, the machine at least allowed him to think straight. And as a result of multiple prior attempts to escape, he'd lost time--and perhaps quite a lot of it. He didn't even remember ending pan-rozum and separating from Overra, but there she was in front of his face.
And he knew the reaper would be right, too. There was no sense in agonizing over it.
If only he could be entirely sensible.
He sighed and rubbed his forehead, trying to find his concentration again. Suddenly, his multiple thought processes all felt like one, big useless one.
'Let's head back to Warrenhold,' said Garovel.
He didn't look back up yet. 'But we still have a few more meetings here...'
'Eh, fuck 'em. The Rainlords need us, right now. We can take care of the rest of this later. Or better yet, have Ms. Rogers do it for us.'
Hector found it hard to disagree.
He took a deep breath and stood.
Chapter Two Hundred Forty-Three: 'O, ingenuous children...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
This wasn't right. Not at all.
Parson Miles, at this point in his long life, liked to think he had acquired some semblance of control, of order. Laying plans. Nudging the world toward peace through controlled and necessary conflict. Trying to avoid needless bloodshed. And reacting appropriately when things went awry, which they often did.
He'd learned that long ago. It wasn't about crafting the perfect plan. It was about making the right decisions when things inevitably went pear-shaped.
But this.
Well.
Getting captured by the Mad Demon.
What was the right decision to make, now?
He'd stopped struggling a while ago. This mechanized beast had a solid hold on him, and whenever he acted up, its grip only became that much more oppressive. When he relaxed, the machine at least allowed him to think straight. And as a result of multiple prior attempts to escape, he'd lost time--and perhaps quite a lot of it. He didn't even remember ending pan-rozum and separating from Overra, but there she was in front of his face.
Saturday, October 24, 2020
Page 2692
Hector could hardly believe what he was reading. A stream of texts were coming in from Gina back at Warrenhold, bringing him up to speed on intel from the Sairi team. Apparently, she was receiving constant updates from them.
The Vanguardian and Sandlord forces had been broken through and were now in a scattered retreat. Abolish had already entered Kuros and was seemingly headed for the Golden Fort, the seat of Sandlord power.
People were fleeing the city. Average citizens were being slain in broad daylight or rounded up. The undercover team had defended themselves from hostiles twice already and were now pulling back.
No confirmation yet on any high-ranking casualties, but rumors were spreading that Lamont and Jackson had both been killed.
By the Mad Demon himself.
It was too much to take in all at once. Ravi excused himself from the table, and Hector hardly even noticed.
For a while, he just sat there, reading and rereading while he waited for more news to arrive.
It couldn't be true. It couldn't. Rasalased would have warned him that something like was going to happen. And the Vanguard... and the Sandlords... they were too strong to be defeated so abruptly like this...
It made no kind of sense.
'We need to keep a level head,' came Garovel's private words, finally drawing Hector's gaze away from his phone.
'...Lamont AND Jackson?'
'It's just a rumor, for now. One that greatly benefits Abolish by being spread around, I might add. I highly doubt that they have both been killed.'
'It says Morgunov was there, though...'
The reaper gave a grim nod. 'Yes. It does.'
Hector leaned back in his chair. A waiter dropped off a dessert entree with a smile. A chocolate sundae. He just sat there for a moment, blinking at it. 'Garovel, what the hell am I doing here...?'
'Hector...'
The Vanguardian and Sandlord forces had been broken through and were now in a scattered retreat. Abolish had already entered Kuros and was seemingly headed for the Golden Fort, the seat of Sandlord power.
People were fleeing the city. Average citizens were being slain in broad daylight or rounded up. The undercover team had defended themselves from hostiles twice already and were now pulling back.
No confirmation yet on any high-ranking casualties, but rumors were spreading that Lamont and Jackson had both been killed.
By the Mad Demon himself.
It was too much to take in all at once. Ravi excused himself from the table, and Hector hardly even noticed.
For a while, he just sat there, reading and rereading while he waited for more news to arrive.
It couldn't be true. It couldn't. Rasalased would have warned him that something like was going to happen. And the Vanguard... and the Sandlords... they were too strong to be defeated so abruptly like this...
It made no kind of sense.
'We need to keep a level head,' came Garovel's private words, finally drawing Hector's gaze away from his phone.
'...Lamont AND Jackson?'
'It's just a rumor, for now. One that greatly benefits Abolish by being spread around, I might add. I highly doubt that they have both been killed.'
'It says Morgunov was there, though...'
The reaper gave a grim nod. 'Yes. It does.'
Hector leaned back in his chair. A waiter dropped off a dessert entree with a smile. A chocolate sundae. He just sat there for a moment, blinking at it. 'Garovel, what the hell am I doing here...?'
'Hector...'
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