“Unfortunately,” said Rasalased, “I believe my sister is right about you not being trustworthy.”
“Ouch!”
“However, if you were to fulfill your end of a bargain first, then your trustworthiness would be a non-factor.”
“Oh? Hmm. But that’d mean opening myself up to being easily betrayed by you, instead.”
“It would, yes,” said Rasalased. “But that is the price you must pay for being of such ill-repute. Perhaps if you had lived your life more forthrightly, then you would be able to enjoy the accompanying privileges.”
“Mm, I both resent and doubt that. People are way too untrusting in general for someone to be given the benefit of the doubt with any sort of regularity.” He gave a shrug. “But anywho, lemme hear what else you wanted to ask. Sounds like there might be room to negotiate for Asad and Qorvass’ lives, depending on how the rest of this conversation goes.”
“Very well,” said the Dry God. “Next, I wish to ask about your experiences with other realms. Have you visited any of them?”
Morgunov pursed his lips, thinking. That was a tough one to answer, actually. “Visited? Uh... hmm. What counts as visiting? Because I’ve definitely done a bit of otherworldly traveling in my day, but such events for me have always been more... ‘out-of-body experiences’ than anything.”
“I see. So your corporeal form has always remained here, in this realm?”
“That’s right,” said Morgunov. “I know a guy who had a more involved experience like what you’re talking about, but sadly, he’s too terrified of me and keeps running away before I can have a proper conversation about it. Real slippery bugger, that one.”
“So you are saying that your experience is comparatively limited, then?”
“I suppose so. It’s a subject I’m interested in, though. Just haven’t gotten back around to researching it in a long while. I like to save certain things for later, know what I mean? Always gotta keep another project or two lined up, for whenever the current one finishes. Lemme tell ya, I absolutely hate having nothing interesting to do. Start to get a bit antsy and stir-crazy, which tends to make me lash out. In fact, Bool used to try and make me bored all the time ‘cuz of that. He likes it when I go out and make trouble for folks. He hasn’t attempted that in a while, though, probably because he knows that I’ve got too many backup projects in mind, right now. Lost cause for him, at the moment.”
A dark serial novel. Set in a modern fantasy world called Eleg. Mature language. Updates every night at midnight PST by ~400 words.
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Wednesday, May 31, 2023
Tuesday, May 30, 2023
Page 3327
Morgunov smacked his lips. “I dunno... that’s a pretty big ask.” It wasn’t, really. At this point, he had no further use for Asad or Qorvass, but they didn’t need to know that.
Plus, he always liked leaving the door open for a senseless murder. Never knew when something like that might come in handy. Hostages? Venting frustration? Silly experiments? There were all sorts of ways to make use of things that had otherwise outlived their usefulness. Who didn’t love a bit of recycling?
“I do not believe it is,” said the sister. “Now that you have met us, you have no need of them any longer.”
Dang it. “You don’t know that,” said Morgunov. “I’ve got all sorts of needs. And besides, the mere fact that you two care about them so much means that they’re useful to me as leverage. So if you want ‘em safe or even free, then maybe we can come to an agreement of some sort. I’m a reasonable fellow, despite what you might’ve heard about me.”
“More lies,” she said. “You only keep your word when it is convenient for you. Your overconfidence in your own power makes you have no qualms about betraying others. Any agreement made with you would have no weight or sense behind it.”
“So harsh. I’ll have you know that I keep my word for plenty of other reasons besides mere convenience. For instance, sometimes it’s just funny. To see the surprised looks on people’s faces, I mean. And heck, other times I keep it because I’m real mad. Tell me, what is convenient about hunting someone to the ends of Eleg for decades? Hmm? The convenient thing to do would be to forgive and forget! But no. If I give my word that I’ll kill someone, then I do it, no matter how long it takes!” He paused. “Unless, maybe, they come up with a really good apology. Then I might change my mind. But that’s not going back on my word! That’s making a new promise!”
“You lie even to yourself,” she said. “Rationalization masked as reason. You cannot tell when others see through you, because you cannot even see through yourself.”
“You’re not very fun to talk to, y’know that?”
“A spoiled child never enjoys being scolded.”
He sniffed. “What about you, Mr. Salad? What say you about striking a deal with me?”
Plus, he always liked leaving the door open for a senseless murder. Never knew when something like that might come in handy. Hostages? Venting frustration? Silly experiments? There were all sorts of ways to make use of things that had otherwise outlived their usefulness. Who didn’t love a bit of recycling?
“I do not believe it is,” said the sister. “Now that you have met us, you have no need of them any longer.”
Dang it. “You don’t know that,” said Morgunov. “I’ve got all sorts of needs. And besides, the mere fact that you two care about them so much means that they’re useful to me as leverage. So if you want ‘em safe or even free, then maybe we can come to an agreement of some sort. I’m a reasonable fellow, despite what you might’ve heard about me.”
“More lies,” she said. “You only keep your word when it is convenient for you. Your overconfidence in your own power makes you have no qualms about betraying others. Any agreement made with you would have no weight or sense behind it.”
“So harsh. I’ll have you know that I keep my word for plenty of other reasons besides mere convenience. For instance, sometimes it’s just funny. To see the surprised looks on people’s faces, I mean. And heck, other times I keep it because I’m real mad. Tell me, what is convenient about hunting someone to the ends of Eleg for decades? Hmm? The convenient thing to do would be to forgive and forget! But no. If I give my word that I’ll kill someone, then I do it, no matter how long it takes!” He paused. “Unless, maybe, they come up with a really good apology. Then I might change my mind. But that’s not going back on my word! That’s making a new promise!”
“You lie even to yourself,” she said. “Rationalization masked as reason. You cannot tell when others see through you, because you cannot even see through yourself.”
“You’re not very fun to talk to, y’know that?”
“A spoiled child never enjoys being scolded.”
He sniffed. “What about you, Mr. Salad? What say you about striking a deal with me?”
Monday, May 29, 2023
Page 3326
“Aha. Concerned about him, are you? I suppose that’s only natural.” Morgunov paused. “Still a bit surprising, though, now that I’m thinking about it. I mean, do you really care about the little Lion? Or are you just going through the motions, ‘cuz of your sense of duty?”
“Of course I care,” said Rasalased. “Why would you say that?”
“Oh, c’mon. You’re a god now, aren’tcha? You’re above such base, mortal concerns, surely! Aren’t you much more interested in the big picture, hmm? Things that we on this plane of existence can barely even glimpse, let alone comprehend?”
Rasalased made no response.
Oho? Had he unexpectedly hit the mark, Morgunov wondered? Truthfully, he’d just been saying stuff, rambling with whatever came into his head. Usually, when he did that, he discovered all sorts of new ways to piss people off.
Ehehe. Perhaps this “Dry God” was even more full of surprises than he’d hoped.
The still-nameless sister chimed in again. “You will not be harming Asad Najir any more than you already have, Little Fool.”
Morgunov giggled. “Ooh, that sounds like a threat. I admire your confidence. Unless it turns out to be arrogance, of course. Ehehe.”
This was music to his ears. Even though it was quite likely that this lady had simply been lying about being a Primordial in order to intimidate him, it would be absolutely perfect if she’d been telling the truth.
The fact was, he didn’t want a pet god like Rasalased. Someone amicable and courteous from the outset? No, no. He wanted someone mean. Someone egotistical.
Someone whose spirit he’d be able to take great joy in breaking.
Because after all, once that was done, courtesy and amicability could be taught. In fact, that’d probably be the most fun part.
She, however, did not immediately respond. Despite her rudeness, perhaps she still wanted to be careful with her words here.
Morgunov hoped not. That sounded boring.
Instead, Rasalased was the next to speak. “If you harm the Lion further, you will not find us cooperative with whatever it is that you want.”
“That’s one way of looking at it, sure,” said Morgunov, “but I could also pose the opposite perspective. If you don’t cooperate, then your sandy boy won’t be having a very good time in my custody.”
“Either way, the result is the same,” said Rasalased. “You must leave him be. In fact, releasing him and his reaper would be best.”
“Of course I care,” said Rasalased. “Why would you say that?”
“Oh, c’mon. You’re a god now, aren’tcha? You’re above such base, mortal concerns, surely! Aren’t you much more interested in the big picture, hmm? Things that we on this plane of existence can barely even glimpse, let alone comprehend?”
Rasalased made no response.
Oho? Had he unexpectedly hit the mark, Morgunov wondered? Truthfully, he’d just been saying stuff, rambling with whatever came into his head. Usually, when he did that, he discovered all sorts of new ways to piss people off.
Ehehe. Perhaps this “Dry God” was even more full of surprises than he’d hoped.
The still-nameless sister chimed in again. “You will not be harming Asad Najir any more than you already have, Little Fool.”
Morgunov giggled. “Ooh, that sounds like a threat. I admire your confidence. Unless it turns out to be arrogance, of course. Ehehe.”
This was music to his ears. Even though it was quite likely that this lady had simply been lying about being a Primordial in order to intimidate him, it would be absolutely perfect if she’d been telling the truth.
The fact was, he didn’t want a pet god like Rasalased. Someone amicable and courteous from the outset? No, no. He wanted someone mean. Someone egotistical.
Someone whose spirit he’d be able to take great joy in breaking.
Because after all, once that was done, courtesy and amicability could be taught. In fact, that’d probably be the most fun part.
She, however, did not immediately respond. Despite her rudeness, perhaps she still wanted to be careful with her words here.
Morgunov hoped not. That sounded boring.
Instead, Rasalased was the next to speak. “If you harm the Lion further, you will not find us cooperative with whatever it is that you want.”
“That’s one way of looking at it, sure,” said Morgunov, “but I could also pose the opposite perspective. If you don’t cooperate, then your sandy boy won’t be having a very good time in my custody.”
“Either way, the result is the same,” said Rasalased. “You must leave him be. In fact, releasing him and his reaper would be best.”
Sunday, May 28, 2023
Page 3325
“Ah, so it’s you!” said Morgunov. “Finally! You sure are a hard fella to reach, y’know that?”
“Indeed, I do.”
“I’ve got some questions for you, mister.”
“And I, you.”
“Oh? Intriguing. But uh, wait a minute here. This angry lady is really your sister?”
“No,” she said.
“Yes,” said Rasalased.
“Mmhmm. Cleared that right up,” said Morgunov.
“We have a complex relationship,” said Rasalased.
“I’ve got a few of those myself,” said the emperor. “But as far as I know, you’re not a Primordial, Mr. Salad. You’re a few thousand years too young for that, are you not?”
“This is true,” said Rasalased. “But kinship is a thing more deep and vast than all the oceans of the world combined.”
“Ooh, okay. Sounds like a bit of wishful thinking on your part, but I can’t say I hate it! Your starry-eyed musings were one of your more charming qualities in life, so I’m glad that hasn’t left you after all these years!”
“Hmm? You speak as if you knew me personally.”
“Do I?” He sorted through his thoughts. “Oh, that’s right. My reaper met you a few times. Perhaps you remember. His name is Bool.”
“Ah. The name is familiar. But also not. Perhaps I remember. Or perhaps I do not.”
“Mmhmm, mmhmm. I know the feeling. Don’t worry about it. Bool’s a bit touchy when it comes to being forgotten, but I won’t let him say anything mean to you. He can be a real drama king, sometimes. Really needs to learn how to relax.”
“I am familiar with such difficulties.”
“Ehehe.” Morgunov couldn’t help smiling. “Alright, well, I’ve gotta admit, despite how much I’d like to ask my questions, I’m pretty dang interested to hear what it is that you want to ask! Especially because I’d figured that you would be more openly arrogant and hostile, like your maybe-sister over here. Instead, you’re seeming like quite the gentleman! Haven’t called me an ignorant fool once, yet!”
“I have always felt that a modicum of politeness goes a long way, even when talking to barbaric mongrels such as yourself.”
“Methinks you haven’t quite nailed it, but boy, do I appreciate the sentiment! So go on, then! What did you want to ask me about, eh? I’ve gotta know what a god would want to consult little ol’ me for!”
“You are letting me go first? I thank you. In truth, there are several. First, I would like to know what your plans are for the current Lion.”
“Indeed, I do.”
“I’ve got some questions for you, mister.”
“And I, you.”
“Oh? Intriguing. But uh, wait a minute here. This angry lady is really your sister?”
“No,” she said.
“Yes,” said Rasalased.
“Mmhmm. Cleared that right up,” said Morgunov.
“We have a complex relationship,” said Rasalased.
“I’ve got a few of those myself,” said the emperor. “But as far as I know, you’re not a Primordial, Mr. Salad. You’re a few thousand years too young for that, are you not?”
“This is true,” said Rasalased. “But kinship is a thing more deep and vast than all the oceans of the world combined.”
“Ooh, okay. Sounds like a bit of wishful thinking on your part, but I can’t say I hate it! Your starry-eyed musings were one of your more charming qualities in life, so I’m glad that hasn’t left you after all these years!”
“Hmm? You speak as if you knew me personally.”
“Do I?” He sorted through his thoughts. “Oh, that’s right. My reaper met you a few times. Perhaps you remember. His name is Bool.”
“Ah. The name is familiar. But also not. Perhaps I remember. Or perhaps I do not.”
“Mmhmm, mmhmm. I know the feeling. Don’t worry about it. Bool’s a bit touchy when it comes to being forgotten, but I won’t let him say anything mean to you. He can be a real drama king, sometimes. Really needs to learn how to relax.”
“I am familiar with such difficulties.”
“Ehehe.” Morgunov couldn’t help smiling. “Alright, well, I’ve gotta admit, despite how much I’d like to ask my questions, I’m pretty dang interested to hear what it is that you want to ask! Especially because I’d figured that you would be more openly arrogant and hostile, like your maybe-sister over here. Instead, you’re seeming like quite the gentleman! Haven’t called me an ignorant fool once, yet!”
“I have always felt that a modicum of politeness goes a long way, even when talking to barbaric mongrels such as yourself.”
“Methinks you haven’t quite nailed it, but boy, do I appreciate the sentiment! So go on, then! What did you want to ask me about, eh? I’ve gotta know what a god would want to consult little ol’ me for!”
“You are letting me go first? I thank you. In truth, there are several. First, I would like to know what your plans are for the current Lion.”
Saturday, May 27, 2023
Page 3324 -- CCLXXX.
"A threat from ignorance will do you no good, Little Fool."
"Eheheh. Doesn't have the same impact on me when you say it in Mohssian." His silver gaze shifted briefly to Asad, then returned to Qorvass. "You wouldn't happen to be a relative of these two, now would you? Or a lingering remnant of such a person, perhaps? Hmm?"
"That is both correct and not. To explain would be an exercise in tedium, and I am sure you would still be no wiser by the end of it."
"Oho, well, then. Perhaps you would be keener to tell me who you are in your own terms, then. Or who you want me to believe you are, at least. It's obvious enough that you're one of those tricky types. Prone to lying, no doubt."
"Hmph. Little Fool. Again I say: you wished to meet a so-called Primordial, did you not?"
"Yeah-huh."
"Then you should be rejoicing. For you have now done so."
Chapter Two Hundred Eighty: 'Alas, siblings of the Current...'
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Morgunov blinked, then couldn't help snorting a laugh. "You're tellin' me that you're a Primordial? Are you serious?"
"Indeed."
His bullshit detector was practically exploding, but he kept it in check with another laugh, this time with more energy behind it. He was actually curious, now. "Okay, then, little missy. I'll bite. Which Primordial are you claiming to be, huh?"
"It matters not. Your perception of us is so minuscule that my true name would either mean nothing to you or give you a completely false impression of your current situation."
"Mm. Not one of the famous ones, eh? Don't want to be embarrassed when you reveal your big, scary identity and I don't even recognize you. I get it. That actually makes your claim more believable to me."
"As I said. Ignorance."
"So what, are you like Cocora's ugly stepsister or something? The one nobody ever pays attention to? That's a shame. Jealousy is a difficult monster to tango with. I feel for you."
A glow arrived in his peripheral vision, and Morgunov saw that it was coming from Asad. From his torso, more specifically.
"Sister," arrived another voice, this one more masculine. "There is no need to be so rude. This repulsive man has done us a favor, has he not?"
"And who is this now?" said Morgunov, growing more curious by the second.
"I am Rasalased. It is interesting to meet you, Young Demon of Abolish."
"Eheheh. Doesn't have the same impact on me when you say it in Mohssian." His silver gaze shifted briefly to Asad, then returned to Qorvass. "You wouldn't happen to be a relative of these two, now would you? Or a lingering remnant of such a person, perhaps? Hmm?"
"That is both correct and not. To explain would be an exercise in tedium, and I am sure you would still be no wiser by the end of it."
"Oho, well, then. Perhaps you would be keener to tell me who you are in your own terms, then. Or who you want me to believe you are, at least. It's obvious enough that you're one of those tricky types. Prone to lying, no doubt."
"Hmph. Little Fool. Again I say: you wished to meet a so-called Primordial, did you not?"
"Yeah-huh."
"Then you should be rejoicing. For you have now done so."
Chapter Two Hundred Eighty: 'Alas, siblings of the Current...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
Morgunov blinked, then couldn't help snorting a laugh. "You're tellin' me that you're a Primordial? Are you serious?"
"Indeed."
His bullshit detector was practically exploding, but he kept it in check with another laugh, this time with more energy behind it. He was actually curious, now. "Okay, then, little missy. I'll bite. Which Primordial are you claiming to be, huh?"
"It matters not. Your perception of us is so minuscule that my true name would either mean nothing to you or give you a completely false impression of your current situation."
"Mm. Not one of the famous ones, eh? Don't want to be embarrassed when you reveal your big, scary identity and I don't even recognize you. I get it. That actually makes your claim more believable to me."
"As I said. Ignorance."
"So what, are you like Cocora's ugly stepsister or something? The one nobody ever pays attention to? That's a shame. Jealousy is a difficult monster to tango with. I feel for you."
A glow arrived in his peripheral vision, and Morgunov saw that it was coming from Asad. From his torso, more specifically.
"Sister," arrived another voice, this one more masculine. "There is no need to be so rude. This repulsive man has done us a favor, has he not?"
"And who is this now?" said Morgunov, growing more curious by the second.
"I am Rasalased. It is interesting to meet you, Young Demon of Abolish."
Friday, May 26, 2023
Page 3323
"I learned them the same way you did," the voice said.
Morgunov tilted his head, trying to lean more into his curiosity than his frustration. His vision was returning, at least. The world of white was fading back into the Pit Chamber.
He soon noticed that something was amiss, however.
The Pit was no longer active. The containment field made of pure fire and ardor was gone, and the only glimpse of the golden glow was now all over his body.
Asad and Qorvass were still there, both strapped down and apparently unconscious. Good thing, too. The reaper might have been able to escape just now, while Morgunov was both blinded and distracted.
Strange. He hadn't told the Pit to power down. It could have decided to do that on its own, though, if it had determined that its job was done.
He didn't see any physical form for this voice, however. Not that he expected to.
First things first. He moved over to Qorvass in order to make sure the reaper was indeed secure.
Before he got there, the voice spoke up again. "You wished to meet a god, did you not? A so-called Primordial?"
That made him pause. He didn't remove his gaze from Qorvass, though. This voice seemed to be coming from within the tattoos themselves, as he could feel the physical vibrations of sound carrying throughout his body.
Not telepathy, then. Which made sense. He built up his defenses against that long ago. He would've clocked a psychic intruder right away.
But then how did the voice learn those old words? And now these new questions? If the voice hadn't pulled the information out of his mind, then...?
"How did you know that?" asked Morgunov.
"A dull question from a dull mind," said the voice. "Ask something more intelligent."
Hoo boy. Trying to annoy him, eh? Such tactics usually didn't affect him, but he had to admit, he was struggling. Whoever this was, she'd caught him off guard.
For the first time in a long while, Bool's mind was actually playing a significant role here. Keeping him balanced. He needed not to lose his cool.
"That won't work, little missy," said Morgunov. "Deflect all you like, but one way or another, I'll find my answers. It'd be better for you in the long run if you just cooperated, otherwise I might get a bit vindictive later."
Morgunov tilted his head, trying to lean more into his curiosity than his frustration. His vision was returning, at least. The world of white was fading back into the Pit Chamber.
He soon noticed that something was amiss, however.
The Pit was no longer active. The containment field made of pure fire and ardor was gone, and the only glimpse of the golden glow was now all over his body.
Asad and Qorvass were still there, both strapped down and apparently unconscious. Good thing, too. The reaper might have been able to escape just now, while Morgunov was both blinded and distracted.
Strange. He hadn't told the Pit to power down. It could have decided to do that on its own, though, if it had determined that its job was done.
He didn't see any physical form for this voice, however. Not that he expected to.
First things first. He moved over to Qorvass in order to make sure the reaper was indeed secure.
Before he got there, the voice spoke up again. "You wished to meet a god, did you not? A so-called Primordial?"
That made him pause. He didn't remove his gaze from Qorvass, though. This voice seemed to be coming from within the tattoos themselves, as he could feel the physical vibrations of sound carrying throughout his body.
Not telepathy, then. Which made sense. He built up his defenses against that long ago. He would've clocked a psychic intruder right away.
But then how did the voice learn those old words? And now these new questions? If the voice hadn't pulled the information out of his mind, then...?
"How did you know that?" asked Morgunov.
"A dull question from a dull mind," said the voice. "Ask something more intelligent."
Hoo boy. Trying to annoy him, eh? Such tactics usually didn't affect him, but he had to admit, he was struggling. Whoever this was, she'd caught him off guard.
For the first time in a long while, Bool's mind was actually playing a significant role here. Keeping him balanced. He needed not to lose his cool.
"That won't work, little missy," said Morgunov. "Deflect all you like, but one way or another, I'll find my answers. It'd be better for you in the long run if you just cooperated, otherwise I might get a bit vindictive later."
Thursday, May 25, 2023
Page 3322
So much information. The flow wanted him to see it all.
And impulsively, he wanted to let it. To absorb everything. But he knew better. He had to rein it in. He was in charge here, not it. He couldn't let it lead him by the nose, because it would try to take him everywhere and nowhere, which would disperse his mind and kill his soul. Bool's, too, if the reaper didn't realize what was happening and release him in time.
Not that the reaper even could when Morgunov was in full control like this. There would theoretically be a window--right at the end--in which Bool could pull it off, but the only way to know that for sure would be to test it. And doing that couldn't even be considered insane so much as just stupid.
So he solidified himself. His mind. Gathering his thoughts, emotions, sensations--his flow. He would not be repelled. The tattoos, glowing with a golden power, snaked their way up his arm and spread across his body.
Yes. That was better.
Now, maybe--
A distinctly feminine voice arrived.
"Malen'kiy Durak," it said.
And Morgunov stopped, frozen in place at the sound of those words. At their cadence. Their delivery.
So piercingly, hatefully familiar.
He'd not heard those words said that way since...
"As ever, you meddle where you should not," said the voice, now in Mohssian--or at least what sounded like it. And then again, in his old, native tongue, "Malen'kiy Durak."
And admittedly, it was difficult for him to maintain his composure.
Those words. Said in just that way.
No one should have known them. He never should have had to hear them again.
Because he had killed everyone who had ever spoken them to him in that manner.
Madly, his mind entertained the notion that this voice might actually belong to his mother. It was truly, utterly impossible. But in a single, trembling moment, he couldn't help himself, couldn't help the thought from entering his mind.
And then, hatred.
Hatred of a kind he had not felt in an Age.
It filled his mind.
Clouding his thoughts. Dispersing his reason.
Until he felt Bool there. Bringing him back. Returning his calm. Returning himself.
He breathed, finding clarity.
"That's a neat trick," said Morgunov, only just able to keep the anger out of his voice. "Who are you? Where did you learn those words?"
And impulsively, he wanted to let it. To absorb everything. But he knew better. He had to rein it in. He was in charge here, not it. He couldn't let it lead him by the nose, because it would try to take him everywhere and nowhere, which would disperse his mind and kill his soul. Bool's, too, if the reaper didn't realize what was happening and release him in time.
Not that the reaper even could when Morgunov was in full control like this. There would theoretically be a window--right at the end--in which Bool could pull it off, but the only way to know that for sure would be to test it. And doing that couldn't even be considered insane so much as just stupid.
So he solidified himself. His mind. Gathering his thoughts, emotions, sensations--his flow. He would not be repelled. The tattoos, glowing with a golden power, snaked their way up his arm and spread across his body.
Yes. That was better.
Now, maybe--
A distinctly feminine voice arrived.
"Malen'kiy Durak," it said.
And Morgunov stopped, frozen in place at the sound of those words. At their cadence. Their delivery.
So piercingly, hatefully familiar.
He'd not heard those words said that way since...
"As ever, you meddle where you should not," said the voice, now in Mohssian--or at least what sounded like it. And then again, in his old, native tongue, "Malen'kiy Durak."
And admittedly, it was difficult for him to maintain his composure.
Those words. Said in just that way.
No one should have known them. He never should have had to hear them again.
Because he had killed everyone who had ever spoken them to him in that manner.
Madly, his mind entertained the notion that this voice might actually belong to his mother. It was truly, utterly impossible. But in a single, trembling moment, he couldn't help himself, couldn't help the thought from entering his mind.
And then, hatred.
Hatred of a kind he had not felt in an Age.
It filled his mind.
Clouding his thoughts. Dispersing his reason.
Until he felt Bool there. Bringing him back. Returning his calm. Returning himself.
He breathed, finding clarity.
"That's a neat trick," said Morgunov, only just able to keep the anger out of his voice. "Who are you? Where did you learn those words?"
Wednesday, May 24, 2023
Page 3321
How scary. His better judgment was telling him not to do this. Which was a good thing, he supposed. Despite what the world thought of him, he must not have been totally mad. At least part of him still knew when he was thinking crazy thoughts.
And yet.
In the raging storm of his mind, his better judgment was not the prevailing wind. He could sense that much, too. In this fleeting moment, when his racing thoughts were bleeding into the swirling power of the fusion forge--with its emboldening, euphoric effects--Morgunov could tell that he was about to make a very unwise decision.
Because why shouldn't he, hmm? Was he not the Mad Demon of Abolish? The Maniac of Maludona? The Whackjob of Warway?
...The Lunatic of Lotorevo?
Yes. He had embraced such things long ago. Cowing in the face of danger now would be silly. Pointless. And a self-deception, besides.
Sure, this might well be one of those moments that historians liked to go on and on about, when a famed intellect finally went too far and ended up destroying itself. Hoisted by its own petard.
But such nattering ants would never understand, anyway. Cautionary tales? Playing it safe?
These were not how knowledge was accrued.
Morgunov breathed even more deeply than before--perhaps even more deeply than he ever had in his entire life, for that is how all of the ardor flowing into him made it feel. And with his mind, he seized control of the flow, both within himself and by extension, the flow all around him.
Like a fishing line, he reeled the flow in. More. More. More.
The flow within the tattoos was there. Part of the line. The part he was most interested in. Slowly, they peeled themselves off of Asad's body and followed along the stream toward Morgunov.
Such energy. Strength. Enough to make him sick.
No. He held. Had to.
Closer. Closer. Closer, still.
There. They were right there. Right in front of him. About to touch him.
He braced himself further. The first tattoo contacted his outstretched hand.
And the world went white.
But he was still aware. Still holding together. Not deterred. He couldn't see, but he could sense. The flow. The tattoos. The forge. Everything, actually.
The whole room. The whole building. The rocky land around it, and the crust of the planet below him, extending down, down, down.
And yet.
In the raging storm of his mind, his better judgment was not the prevailing wind. He could sense that much, too. In this fleeting moment, when his racing thoughts were bleeding into the swirling power of the fusion forge--with its emboldening, euphoric effects--Morgunov could tell that he was about to make a very unwise decision.
Because why shouldn't he, hmm? Was he not the Mad Demon of Abolish? The Maniac of Maludona? The Whackjob of Warway?
...The Lunatic of Lotorevo?
Yes. He had embraced such things long ago. Cowing in the face of danger now would be silly. Pointless. And a self-deception, besides.
Sure, this might well be one of those moments that historians liked to go on and on about, when a famed intellect finally went too far and ended up destroying itself. Hoisted by its own petard.
But such nattering ants would never understand, anyway. Cautionary tales? Playing it safe?
These were not how knowledge was accrued.
Morgunov breathed even more deeply than before--perhaps even more deeply than he ever had in his entire life, for that is how all of the ardor flowing into him made it feel. And with his mind, he seized control of the flow, both within himself and by extension, the flow all around him.
Like a fishing line, he reeled the flow in. More. More. More.
The flow within the tattoos was there. Part of the line. The part he was most interested in. Slowly, they peeled themselves off of Asad's body and followed along the stream toward Morgunov.
Such energy. Strength. Enough to make him sick.
No. He held. Had to.
Closer. Closer. Closer, still.
There. They were right there. Right in front of him. About to touch him.
He braced himself further. The first tattoo contacted his outstretched hand.
And the world went white.
But he was still aware. Still holding together. Not deterred. He couldn't see, but he could sense. The flow. The tattoos. The forge. Everything, actually.
The whole room. The whole building. The rocky land around it, and the crust of the planet below him, extending down, down, down.
Next page will go up at noon PST
As in, thirteen-ish hours from now. Thanks for your patience, guys.
Tuesday, May 23, 2023
Page 3320
This time he could get at the flow of ardor within the tattoos themselves. Where before, their secrets had been thoroughly concealed, now he sensed them. Through Qorvass, the Pit gave him an inroad.
Fascinating.
This woven flow. The way it could flex and bend... was it reacting to his observation of it? Didn't like being seen this way, eh?
Ah.
It was a memory structure. A pseudo-consciousness. Even more sophisticated than he'd realized.
Masterful work.
Rare were the times when he could look on and marvel at the accomplishment of another integrator, especially with how old he'd gotten, how much he'd seen before.
These patterns were something else. How were they so efficient? They looked a bit sloppy, but the flow was not leaking in the slightest. No ardor being lost. As perfect as the flow he'd just created using the Pit.
It made no sense.
Efficiency was not a trivial issue. In fact, where inventions were concerned, the efficient flow of ardor was arguably the most important subject of all. Many integrators would spend a hundred years or more just trying to master that one thing--and still die before managing it.
But this. This was something special. A perfect flow that did not appear so? How could that be?
He was missing something. Some element of its composition must've still been concealed from him.
Damn! Such an enticing mystery! Here?! Now?! He didn't have the luxury of time on his side. He needed to remove them.
But this magnificent structure... it would be a shame to destroy it. A true shame. In fact, destroying it before uncovering the depth of its secrets would not only be a shame... but a crime, in Morgunov's mind.
An intellectual crime. Absolutely.
Yes. Abruptly, his priorities shifted. He could not allow these tattoos to be destroyed. Without a doubt, he had to, in some way, preserve them.
But how? Agh.
He racked his brain, thinking. Their flow's patterns were too complex to simply memorize with how little time he had. Well, then again, with the benefit of Bool's immaculate memory on his side, it might be possible.
But no. He had a better idea.
Rather than destroying them, the solution was to transfer them to a dummy body. Then he could study them at his leisure another time.
Or...
Or?
Or he could use his own body. Transfer them himself.
Eheheh... wouldn't that be astonishingly dangerous?
Why, yes. Yes, it would.
Fascinating.
This woven flow. The way it could flex and bend... was it reacting to his observation of it? Didn't like being seen this way, eh?
Ah.
It was a memory structure. A pseudo-consciousness. Even more sophisticated than he'd realized.
Masterful work.
Rare were the times when he could look on and marvel at the accomplishment of another integrator, especially with how old he'd gotten, how much he'd seen before.
These patterns were something else. How were they so efficient? They looked a bit sloppy, but the flow was not leaking in the slightest. No ardor being lost. As perfect as the flow he'd just created using the Pit.
It made no sense.
Efficiency was not a trivial issue. In fact, where inventions were concerned, the efficient flow of ardor was arguably the most important subject of all. Many integrators would spend a hundred years or more just trying to master that one thing--and still die before managing it.
But this. This was something special. A perfect flow that did not appear so? How could that be?
He was missing something. Some element of its composition must've still been concealed from him.
Damn! Such an enticing mystery! Here?! Now?! He didn't have the luxury of time on his side. He needed to remove them.
But this magnificent structure... it would be a shame to destroy it. A true shame. In fact, destroying it before uncovering the depth of its secrets would not only be a shame... but a crime, in Morgunov's mind.
An intellectual crime. Absolutely.
Yes. Abruptly, his priorities shifted. He could not allow these tattoos to be destroyed. Without a doubt, he had to, in some way, preserve them.
But how? Agh.
He racked his brain, thinking. Their flow's patterns were too complex to simply memorize with how little time he had. Well, then again, with the benefit of Bool's immaculate memory on his side, it might be possible.
But no. He had a better idea.
Rather than destroying them, the solution was to transfer them to a dummy body. Then he could study them at his leisure another time.
Or...
Or?
Or he could use his own body. Transfer them himself.
Eheheh... wouldn't that be astonishingly dangerous?
Why, yes. Yes, it would.
Monday, May 22, 2023
Page 3319
The purity before him. The brilliance. The wonder. It took him all the way back. Hundreds of years. To the few, fleeting instances of curious innocence from his childhood.
That's what this felt like to him. Curiosity incarnate. A glimpse into a Higher Realm, perhaps.
It was what he lived for.
The flow was truly perfect now. He went over it slowly, taking his time as he walked the full length of the bowl, observing every inch of the containment field in order to be certain.
The fiery glow needed to be just right. Not for any calculational reason. He simply needed it to be. It was a matter of achieving perfection. So much had just been risked, and so much might now be gained. Rare moments like these needed to be savored to the maximal extent. It would likely be quite some time before he had a good reason to push the Pit so hard.
There. A coruscating red-orange glow with just a hint gold in the middle of each flaming stream. They were not unlike ribbons, tied into a great sphere, shining and otherworldly in their luster.
Almost done, now. A thought which saddened him. But he knew he should not linger too much more. The Pit could handle the load just fine, but it would grow antsy with him if he stopped working.
As much as it had in common with him, in this way it differed immensely. It cared not for its own magnificence. It wanted only to make progress.
Morgunov's normally silver gaze was now burning with red and gold as his eyes fell upon Asad and Qorvass. They seemed to no longer be struggling. If they'd fallen unconscious, then that was a shame. The perfected containment field would actually be neutralizing any pain now. Even the imminent removal of the little Lion's tattoos would not hurt. Instead, it would feel akin to a simple sensation of peeling. And perhaps even be oddly satisfying, too.
Theoretically, anyway.
Morgunov raised his hand and set to work. From the top of the containment field, one stream grew downward, snaking a red-gold path toward Asad Najir.
When it made contact with his skin, the glow magnified for a moment into a brilliant flash, then engulfed the man's body entirely.
The tattoos resisted. They, too, were of a golden hue, though darker and more intense.
Morgunov had of course seen this before and been expecting it. Those buggers were stubborn, to be sure, and were no doubt intending to block his progress yet again.
But this time was different.
That's what this felt like to him. Curiosity incarnate. A glimpse into a Higher Realm, perhaps.
It was what he lived for.
The flow was truly perfect now. He went over it slowly, taking his time as he walked the full length of the bowl, observing every inch of the containment field in order to be certain.
The fiery glow needed to be just right. Not for any calculational reason. He simply needed it to be. It was a matter of achieving perfection. So much had just been risked, and so much might now be gained. Rare moments like these needed to be savored to the maximal extent. It would likely be quite some time before he had a good reason to push the Pit so hard.
There. A coruscating red-orange glow with just a hint gold in the middle of each flaming stream. They were not unlike ribbons, tied into a great sphere, shining and otherworldly in their luster.
Almost done, now. A thought which saddened him. But he knew he should not linger too much more. The Pit could handle the load just fine, but it would grow antsy with him if he stopped working.
As much as it had in common with him, in this way it differed immensely. It cared not for its own magnificence. It wanted only to make progress.
Morgunov's normally silver gaze was now burning with red and gold as his eyes fell upon Asad and Qorvass. They seemed to no longer be struggling. If they'd fallen unconscious, then that was a shame. The perfected containment field would actually be neutralizing any pain now. Even the imminent removal of the little Lion's tattoos would not hurt. Instead, it would feel akin to a simple sensation of peeling. And perhaps even be oddly satisfying, too.
Theoretically, anyway.
Morgunov raised his hand and set to work. From the top of the containment field, one stream grew downward, snaking a red-gold path toward Asad Najir.
When it made contact with his skin, the glow magnified for a moment into a brilliant flash, then engulfed the man's body entirely.
The tattoos resisted. They, too, were of a golden hue, though darker and more intense.
Morgunov had of course seen this before and been expecting it. Those buggers were stubborn, to be sure, and were no doubt intending to block his progress yet again.
But this time was different.
Sunday, May 21, 2023
Page 3318
But in the end, he had gotten it to work. And that incredible power, while certainly dangerous, could also be considered a boon. Like a wild horse, it was just a matter of taming it.
Plus, it came with the added security of no one else in the world ever being capable of using the Clown Pit against him. It would immediately reject and obliterate anyone who dared try.
He breathed in deep, taking some of the ardor into his own body. This, too, was a supremely dangerous tactic, requiring a well-practiced hand with ardor manipulation and also the kind of bodily resilience that only an emperor possessed. But it was worth the effort, because it allowed him to become part of the flow itself, meaning that he could even more easily guide it.
It was almost like making the flow of ardor an extension of his own will.
It was exhilarating. Euphoric. A raw feeling of power and freedom. Of living energy. If he could've stayed like this indefinitely, he very well might have.
Every time he did this, he recalled the tales from his mentors. Tales of the great inventors of old, of how they had used this very same technique to tap into untold power from the planet itself. Exceeding beyond themselves, beyond their own genius, into a greater height of knowledge than was perhaps otherwise possible on this plane of existence.
He'd thought that such tales were exaggerated. And perhaps they were. But in moments like these, he could see at least a glimmer of truth in them.
He didn't know about tapping into any genius beyond his own. That part still seemed hyperbolic to him. He never felt like new ideas were coming to him here. But the drunken feeling of power? The sheer potential? And the creative spark to go forth and build more wonders?
Those were all there.
The storm was calming almost totally, now. And it was beautiful. The lightning was gone entirely, but the fire was still there, though it was now orderly. A nearly perfect stream, flowing in repeating, algorithmic patterns all around the bowl, creating a visible containment field around Asad and Qorvass.
Tears welled up in his eyes, wavering against the encircling whirlwind.
This always happened to him. He couldn't help it. Witnessing the majesty of any fusion forge at the peak of its ability never ceased to move his heart.
Plus, it came with the added security of no one else in the world ever being capable of using the Clown Pit against him. It would immediately reject and obliterate anyone who dared try.
He breathed in deep, taking some of the ardor into his own body. This, too, was a supremely dangerous tactic, requiring a well-practiced hand with ardor manipulation and also the kind of bodily resilience that only an emperor possessed. But it was worth the effort, because it allowed him to become part of the flow itself, meaning that he could even more easily guide it.
It was almost like making the flow of ardor an extension of his own will.
It was exhilarating. Euphoric. A raw feeling of power and freedom. Of living energy. If he could've stayed like this indefinitely, he very well might have.
Every time he did this, he recalled the tales from his mentors. Tales of the great inventors of old, of how they had used this very same technique to tap into untold power from the planet itself. Exceeding beyond themselves, beyond their own genius, into a greater height of knowledge than was perhaps otherwise possible on this plane of existence.
He'd thought that such tales were exaggerated. And perhaps they were. But in moments like these, he could see at least a glimmer of truth in them.
He didn't know about tapping into any genius beyond his own. That part still seemed hyperbolic to him. He never felt like new ideas were coming to him here. But the drunken feeling of power? The sheer potential? And the creative spark to go forth and build more wonders?
Those were all there.
The storm was calming almost totally, now. And it was beautiful. The lightning was gone entirely, but the fire was still there, though it was now orderly. A nearly perfect stream, flowing in repeating, algorithmic patterns all around the bowl, creating a visible containment field around Asad and Qorvass.
Tears welled up in his eyes, wavering against the encircling whirlwind.
This always happened to him. He couldn't help it. Witnessing the majesty of any fusion forge at the peak of its ability never ceased to move his heart.
Saturday, May 20, 2023
Page 3317
Ah.
Yes. A fear, indeed. The great pillar was of crystal. Of quartz, by Morgunov's estimation.
Interesting.
The Pit was afraid of the little Lion, was it? Or rather, of the dormant power that Morgunov was seeking to unlock. It had picked up on the danger here. Of course it had.
Such a warning was unnecessary, though. Morgunov would certainly be displeased if his favorite workshop ended up obliterated, but this was a risk that needed to be taken. The Dry God was his best lead on the whereabouts of the Primordials.
Plus, Morgunov just really wanted to talk to him. Thinking about all the crazy things the guy might be able to tell him was making him more excited by the moment.
He had to cull those feelings, though. Right now, the task at hand required the entirety of his focus.
Heh. Perhaps the forge knew that and was seeking to distract him. Wasn't gonna work, but what a cunning jerk, if so.
If anything, he was more certain than ever that he was on the right path. The power depicted in the vision could obviously not come from Asad Najir and Qorvass by themselves.
He was so close now.
The flow of ardor shifted. He could sense it. Yes. Smoother. More efficient. Good. Fewer sparks. Fewer gouts of fire. Fewer cracks of lightning. The guidance was working. Slow but steady.
The current goal was to create a perfect flow. Optimally efficient. No cracks or leaks.
That was usually the main sticking point with the Clown Pit, due to the way he'd designed it. The open air above the bowl was the cause. That was why forges typically had some type of central containment, so that situations like this--where the ardor ran wild and threatened the user directly--could be avoided.
But Morgunov had wanted to try something different with the Pit. Granted, it was still technically contained by the greater chamber that was the entire room, but that was more to protect it from the outside world than anything.
Truthfully, he hadn't even been sure it would work. So much open space ran counter to all of the core design principles that he'd learned from his mentors. Perhaps that was why he'd wanted so badly to pull it off. As proof of concept, at least to himself.
And indeed, the Pit had been a real problem child during its creation. With the ardor able to flow so freely, it could whip up such furious energy storms that it threatened even to destroy itself.
Yes. A fear, indeed. The great pillar was of crystal. Of quartz, by Morgunov's estimation.
Interesting.
The Pit was afraid of the little Lion, was it? Or rather, of the dormant power that Morgunov was seeking to unlock. It had picked up on the danger here. Of course it had.
Such a warning was unnecessary, though. Morgunov would certainly be displeased if his favorite workshop ended up obliterated, but this was a risk that needed to be taken. The Dry God was his best lead on the whereabouts of the Primordials.
Plus, Morgunov just really wanted to talk to him. Thinking about all the crazy things the guy might be able to tell him was making him more excited by the moment.
He had to cull those feelings, though. Right now, the task at hand required the entirety of his focus.
Heh. Perhaps the forge knew that and was seeking to distract him. Wasn't gonna work, but what a cunning jerk, if so.
If anything, he was more certain than ever that he was on the right path. The power depicted in the vision could obviously not come from Asad Najir and Qorvass by themselves.
He was so close now.
The flow of ardor shifted. He could sense it. Yes. Smoother. More efficient. Good. Fewer sparks. Fewer gouts of fire. Fewer cracks of lightning. The guidance was working. Slow but steady.
The current goal was to create a perfect flow. Optimally efficient. No cracks or leaks.
That was usually the main sticking point with the Clown Pit, due to the way he'd designed it. The open air above the bowl was the cause. That was why forges typically had some type of central containment, so that situations like this--where the ardor ran wild and threatened the user directly--could be avoided.
But Morgunov had wanted to try something different with the Pit. Granted, it was still technically contained by the greater chamber that was the entire room, but that was more to protect it from the outside world than anything.
Truthfully, he hadn't even been sure it would work. So much open space ran counter to all of the core design principles that he'd learned from his mentors. Perhaps that was why he'd wanted so badly to pull it off. As proof of concept, at least to himself.
And indeed, the Pit had been a real problem child during its creation. With the ardor able to flow so freely, it could whip up such furious energy storms that it threatened even to destroy itself.
Friday, May 19, 2023
Page 3316
The key was to not be straightforward in his approach. Trying to overpower the Pit during times like this was a fool's errand. It had pride, which he needed to respect, or else it would rebel and attempt to establish its dominance over him.
He'd made that mistake only once.
It had taken him a year to fully recover, because it had ripped Bool away from him like the cheese out of a ham sandwich--and then continually used the reaper against him as a hostage. Getting the Pit to trust him again had been one of the most difficult and obnoxious things he'd ever done. It involved a lot of gifts and even more negotiating--and finally, another fight in which Morgunov had been able to reassert his own dominance again, thanks to many, many preparations.
That same trick wouldn't work on him again, of course, but Morgunov did not wish to test the Pit's ingenuity. Just as he had grown and changed over the years, so had the Pit. In fact, because he had grown and changed, so had the Pit.
At this point, it was most certainly a reflection of himself, in many ways. Disrespecting it meant disrespecting himself.
And he hated being disrespected.
So no. While Morgunov might normally consider something like this a challenge to be overcome, the Clown Pit was different. Special. Deserving of his fear and admiration. But also counterbalanced against his own pride, lest the Pit see weakness and try to reestablish its dominance again.
A difficult balancing act, to be sure.
Here and now, he had to guide the forge's raging energy rather than oppose or smother it with his own. A gentle touch. This spark here. That bolt there. This flame over there.
Walking through the inferno like this, time was almost a non-factor. It slowed. Or bent, perhaps. Stretched. In accordance with his and the forge's unified wills.
He let the flow speak to him. The Pit was telling him a story. He needed but listen. He needed to hold truth. To understand.
A memory. No. A fear? Yes. A memory from the future, one might call it. Easy to mix up.
He saw a great pillar filling the sky, rising up into the clouds. Where had it come from? He looked toward the base. Its foundation. Down and down. So far down.
At length, he recognized the area. It was this same place, the area around the compound that housed this very workshop.
He'd made that mistake only once.
It had taken him a year to fully recover, because it had ripped Bool away from him like the cheese out of a ham sandwich--and then continually used the reaper against him as a hostage. Getting the Pit to trust him again had been one of the most difficult and obnoxious things he'd ever done. It involved a lot of gifts and even more negotiating--and finally, another fight in which Morgunov had been able to reassert his own dominance again, thanks to many, many preparations.
That same trick wouldn't work on him again, of course, but Morgunov did not wish to test the Pit's ingenuity. Just as he had grown and changed over the years, so had the Pit. In fact, because he had grown and changed, so had the Pit.
At this point, it was most certainly a reflection of himself, in many ways. Disrespecting it meant disrespecting himself.
And he hated being disrespected.
So no. While Morgunov might normally consider something like this a challenge to be overcome, the Clown Pit was different. Special. Deserving of his fear and admiration. But also counterbalanced against his own pride, lest the Pit see weakness and try to reestablish its dominance again.
A difficult balancing act, to be sure.
Here and now, he had to guide the forge's raging energy rather than oppose or smother it with his own. A gentle touch. This spark here. That bolt there. This flame over there.
Walking through the inferno like this, time was almost a non-factor. It slowed. Or bent, perhaps. Stretched. In accordance with his and the forge's unified wills.
He let the flow speak to him. The Pit was telling him a story. He needed but listen. He needed to hold truth. To understand.
A memory. No. A fear? Yes. A memory from the future, one might call it. Easy to mix up.
He saw a great pillar filling the sky, rising up into the clouds. Where had it come from? He looked toward the base. Its foundation. Down and down. So far down.
At length, he recognized the area. It was this same place, the area around the compound that housed this very workshop.
Thursday, May 18, 2023
Page 3315 -- CCLXXIX.
Chapter Two Hundred Seventy-Nine: 'The Reckoning at the demonic Pit...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
Fire and lightning lashed up and around the enormous chamber, casting off sparks that were so numerous and deadly that any normal person would probably have been vaporized on contact. The entire building rumbled more violently with each new geyser of electrified flame.
This level of danger while working was not something he had experienced in quite some time. Even the most intensive bits of creation involving the Roberts had not gotten this bad. Hell, perhaps not since its own creation had he seen such fury from the Clown Pit.
In moments like this, even he was not invulnerable here. The forge had that much power. He had to be in pan-rozum just to handle it, just to keep things under control.
One slip up would spell the end for the poor little Lion and his reaper, who were both currently at the center of the inferno. They were probably screaming in agony, but it was all being drowned out by the Pit.
The Pit itself was a gigantic bowl embedded in the floor, big enough to park ten or more cars. Plenty of space to move about and work, to interact with the inferno, to calm or stoke it at particular points, to tweak the raging ardor that flowed and swirled through each spark and flicker.
Delicate, delicate work. Made even more so by the Pit's rage.
The real magic, though, happened at the very bottom of the bowl: the center, where the subjects were being held fast as much by their harnesses as by the whirlwind of ardor currently encapsulating them. Because beneath them, beneath that whirlwind, was the Eye of the Pit.
The pitch dark hole with no bottom, where all of the ardor in the Pit flowed both from and then back into. It was a rift, of sorts, and that was where the Pit truly lived. Where it felt. Where it learned.
Where it decided whether it would work for or against him during the creative process.
This time, unfortunately, it seemed to have chosen the latter. Not that he was terribly surprised.
It didn't much care for organics. Especially people. It tolerated him, sure, but anyone else? No. It wanted to render them inorganic. It wanted to reduce them to dust.
So Morgunov had a fight on his hands. And not an easy one, to be sure.
But, thankfully, it was one he'd had many times before.
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
Fire and lightning lashed up and around the enormous chamber, casting off sparks that were so numerous and deadly that any normal person would probably have been vaporized on contact. The entire building rumbled more violently with each new geyser of electrified flame.
This level of danger while working was not something he had experienced in quite some time. Even the most intensive bits of creation involving the Roberts had not gotten this bad. Hell, perhaps not since its own creation had he seen such fury from the Clown Pit.
In moments like this, even he was not invulnerable here. The forge had that much power. He had to be in pan-rozum just to handle it, just to keep things under control.
One slip up would spell the end for the poor little Lion and his reaper, who were both currently at the center of the inferno. They were probably screaming in agony, but it was all being drowned out by the Pit.
The Pit itself was a gigantic bowl embedded in the floor, big enough to park ten or more cars. Plenty of space to move about and work, to interact with the inferno, to calm or stoke it at particular points, to tweak the raging ardor that flowed and swirled through each spark and flicker.
Delicate, delicate work. Made even more so by the Pit's rage.
The real magic, though, happened at the very bottom of the bowl: the center, where the subjects were being held fast as much by their harnesses as by the whirlwind of ardor currently encapsulating them. Because beneath them, beneath that whirlwind, was the Eye of the Pit.
The pitch dark hole with no bottom, where all of the ardor in the Pit flowed both from and then back into. It was a rift, of sorts, and that was where the Pit truly lived. Where it felt. Where it learned.
Where it decided whether it would work for or against him during the creative process.
This time, unfortunately, it seemed to have chosen the latter. Not that he was terribly surprised.
It didn't much care for organics. Especially people. It tolerated him, sure, but anyone else? No. It wanted to render them inorganic. It wanted to reduce them to dust.
So Morgunov had a fight on his hands. And not an easy one, to be sure.
But, thankfully, it was one he'd had many times before.
Next page will go up at noon PST tomorrow
Yeah, I know I had a delay only a few days ago. But this time's different, you see. I'm, like, thinking real hard bout it. Even harder than usual, which is already a lot, y'know? LOOK, SHUT UP. I'M WORKING ON IT, OKAY?
Love you guys.
Love you guys.
Wednesday, May 17, 2023
Page 3314
"Which was?" said Hector.
'As I said, their image is very important to them. But that might've been quite the understatement, if the rumors I heard are true. Supposedly, there was another sect that the Fellowship was feuding with. I know not what it was called--and perhaps nor does anyone else, now. Because the Freemen annihilated it to a man. Wiped it off the face of Eleg.'
Hector cocked an eyebrow at that information, but not because it was all that hard to believe. Abolish in-fighting was easy enough to imagine. The ruthlessness that Grigozo was describing, however--that did seem a bit contrary to how the Freeman Fellowship portrayed itself.
'It was certainly a strange rumor of questionable veracity,' the reaper went on. 'Among the other sects of Abolish, the Freemen are not well respected. People talk badly and openly about them all the time. And as a result, there are many sects which you could describe as "feuding" with them. But to my knowledge, they never seek retribution or violence of any kind based on those things. Except, apparently, in this one, debatable instance.'
"Sounds like there's not much reason to believe it, then," said Hector.
'I would agree, if not for the fact that in this instance, the feuding had been of a different sort compared to the norm. The reason the Freemen are not respected is because they are viewed as weak and cowardly. Or disloyal to the greater cause of Abolish, perhaps. These things, I suspect, do not bother the Freemen. But in this case, the talk had been virtually the opposite: that they were not the gentle, peaceful creatures they claimed to be. That instead, they were two-faced, vile, backstabbing, and violent.' Grigozo allowed a beat to pass. 'I do not think they appreciated that.'
"...So you think that in order to prove they aren't a bunch of violent psychopaths, they decided to murder everyone who was saying that about them?"
'Yes. Hence my one bit of trepidation. I must admit, however, that for me, such a rumor being proved true would not have been a dealbreaker in the slightest. When compared against all of my other peers, I would have probably still considered them saints.'
Huh.
'Perhaps you would feel differently, though.'
Tough to say without more context, Hector felt. It was hard to blame anyone for killing members of Abolish when so many of them were evil sons of bitches.
It did make him a bit uneasy, however. If they weren't truly as peaceful as they appeared to be, then that was not something that he should just ignore.
'As I said, their image is very important to them. But that might've been quite the understatement, if the rumors I heard are true. Supposedly, there was another sect that the Fellowship was feuding with. I know not what it was called--and perhaps nor does anyone else, now. Because the Freemen annihilated it to a man. Wiped it off the face of Eleg.'
Hector cocked an eyebrow at that information, but not because it was all that hard to believe. Abolish in-fighting was easy enough to imagine. The ruthlessness that Grigozo was describing, however--that did seem a bit contrary to how the Freeman Fellowship portrayed itself.
'It was certainly a strange rumor of questionable veracity,' the reaper went on. 'Among the other sects of Abolish, the Freemen are not well respected. People talk badly and openly about them all the time. And as a result, there are many sects which you could describe as "feuding" with them. But to my knowledge, they never seek retribution or violence of any kind based on those things. Except, apparently, in this one, debatable instance.'
"Sounds like there's not much reason to believe it, then," said Hector.
'I would agree, if not for the fact that in this instance, the feuding had been of a different sort compared to the norm. The reason the Freemen are not respected is because they are viewed as weak and cowardly. Or disloyal to the greater cause of Abolish, perhaps. These things, I suspect, do not bother the Freemen. But in this case, the talk had been virtually the opposite: that they were not the gentle, peaceful creatures they claimed to be. That instead, they were two-faced, vile, backstabbing, and violent.' Grigozo allowed a beat to pass. 'I do not think they appreciated that.'
"...So you think that in order to prove they aren't a bunch of violent psychopaths, they decided to murder everyone who was saying that about them?"
'Yes. Hence my one bit of trepidation. I must admit, however, that for me, such a rumor being proved true would not have been a dealbreaker in the slightest. When compared against all of my other peers, I would have probably still considered them saints.'
Huh.
'Perhaps you would feel differently, though.'
Tough to say without more context, Hector felt. It was hard to blame anyone for killing members of Abolish when so many of them were evil sons of bitches.
It did make him a bit uneasy, however. If they weren't truly as peaceful as they appeared to be, then that was not something that he should just ignore.
Tuesday, May 16, 2023
Page 3313
Hector exchanged glances with his own reaper, wondering what Garovel might've been thinking. Now wasn't really the time to get into it, though. He took a seat at one of the large tables that filled the Moonlight Hall and rested his elbows on it while holding Grigozo out in front of him. Carlos took a chair to his left, holding Ericoros much the same.
"Any complaints about your treatment thus far?" said Hector.
'No,' said Grigozo. He sounded more tired than before.
"Would you like more time to rest?"
'Yes, but ask your questions, first.'
"Alright," said Hector.
The Sandlords had been interrogating him for a few hours, asking the more generally useful things, such as what Grigozo knew about Abolish's operations all over the continent. From what Hector understood, Grigozo's information had been fairly juicy, though still limited.
Which wasn't too surprising. No doubt, the Abolish heads were concerned about precisely this type of situation: one of their most influential officers or reapers getting captured and spilling their guts. It would've been quite weird--and perhaps suspicious--if Grigozo could tell them anything they wanted to know.
Regardless, Hector figured that he could leave those sorts of inquires to the others. Instead, he wanted to take a different approach. "What do you know of the Freeman Fellowship?"
'Ah. Them. An intriguing group. I was interested in joining them at one point, but alas... ah... it did not work out.'
"Why?"
'Banda was... shall we say, not quite the kind of person who qualifies for an invitation from them.'
Hmm. "It's invite only?"
'Yes. From what I've heard, they take their image and reputation extremely seriously. The last thing they want is one of their own members doing something that reflects poorly on the rest of them, especially when Abolish as a whole is already doing a perfectly good job of that for them.'
"You seem to think pretty highly of them," said Hector.
'I had high hopes for them, perhaps. Without being able to join them, however, I do not know if they truly live up to the ideal I've formulated in my mind. I suspect not, as is usually the case with hopes and ideals, but I've not yet seen or heard anything that proves otherwise.'
"Really?" said Hector. "You've never heard a single bad thing about the Fellowship?"
'I suppose it would depend on one's perspective, but no, I would not say that I have.' The reaper paused. 'Well. Then again, maybe there was one thing...'
"Any complaints about your treatment thus far?" said Hector.
'No,' said Grigozo. He sounded more tired than before.
"Would you like more time to rest?"
'Yes, but ask your questions, first.'
"Alright," said Hector.
The Sandlords had been interrogating him for a few hours, asking the more generally useful things, such as what Grigozo knew about Abolish's operations all over the continent. From what Hector understood, Grigozo's information had been fairly juicy, though still limited.
Which wasn't too surprising. No doubt, the Abolish heads were concerned about precisely this type of situation: one of their most influential officers or reapers getting captured and spilling their guts. It would've been quite weird--and perhaps suspicious--if Grigozo could tell them anything they wanted to know.
Regardless, Hector figured that he could leave those sorts of inquires to the others. Instead, he wanted to take a different approach. "What do you know of the Freeman Fellowship?"
'Ah. Them. An intriguing group. I was interested in joining them at one point, but alas... ah... it did not work out.'
"Why?"
'Banda was... shall we say, not quite the kind of person who qualifies for an invitation from them.'
Hmm. "It's invite only?"
'Yes. From what I've heard, they take their image and reputation extremely seriously. The last thing they want is one of their own members doing something that reflects poorly on the rest of them, especially when Abolish as a whole is already doing a perfectly good job of that for them.'
"You seem to think pretty highly of them," said Hector.
'I had high hopes for them, perhaps. Without being able to join them, however, I do not know if they truly live up to the ideal I've formulated in my mind. I suspect not, as is usually the case with hopes and ideals, but I've not yet seen or heard anything that proves otherwise.'
"Really?" said Hector. "You've never heard a single bad thing about the Fellowship?"
'I suppose it would depend on one's perspective, but no, I would not say that I have.' The reaper paused. 'Well. Then again, maybe there was one thing...'
Monday, May 15, 2023
Page 3312
Why they'd chosen "Moonlight" Hall instead of "Starlight" Hall, Hector still didn't quite understand, but the name appeared to be sticking for whatever reason. Maybe Starlight Hall would've been too on the nose.
The Moonlight Hall was an impressive room, though. While it didn't match the Grand Hall of the Night in terms of size, it did match it in terms of being composed entirely of nightrock. Every one of Warrenhold's eight great towers had at least one chamber of nightrock, and this was the Star Tower's.
Hector found a few more people here than he expected. More Saqqafs had decided to stay behind than Hector realized.
"Ah, Lord Goffe," said Abbas' eldest son, Raheem, upon seeing him. He was holding Grigozo in his right hand. "I thought you would be resting a bit longer."
"Probably should be," said Hector. "What about you guys? You've been at this for a while, already. Not getting tired?"
"Oh, we're fine, Lord. Not to worry." After a beat, however, Raheem seemed to intuit more from Hector's words. "But perhaps we could use a break, if you would like to take over."
"Alright. Go get something to eat, if you're hungry."
"We will do that."
Raheem handed the reaper off to him, then motioned for the other Saqqafs to follow, which they soon did.
Only two others remained behind. Carlos Sebolt and his reaper, Olijas.
Hector hadn't seen Carlos at all during the fight with Banda, but that was because he'd been the one assigned to keeping an eye on Ericoros after Melchor left. And Hector was grateful to him. The decision to stay here in Warrenhold when almost every other Rainlord servant was going off to fight one of the most important battles of their lives--that couldn't have been easy.
Carlos was giving him a look now as if waiting for instruction. Perhaps he was expecting Hector to send him away like the Saqqafs.
"If you want a break, too, then I can take over," said Hector.
Carlos glanced at Olijas, probably exchanging silent words. Neither said anything, however, and they both ended up looking uncertain.
Hector decided to elaborate. "You're welcome to stay, though, if you prefer."
Carlos gave a nod. "We'll stay with you, Lord."
Man, this lording business was a bit too nuanced for Hector's liking, sometimes. He appreciated everyone trying to read the room and infer what he was truly saying, but it could also make things a bit more difficult when he really was just saying what he meant.
The Moonlight Hall was an impressive room, though. While it didn't match the Grand Hall of the Night in terms of size, it did match it in terms of being composed entirely of nightrock. Every one of Warrenhold's eight great towers had at least one chamber of nightrock, and this was the Star Tower's.
Hector found a few more people here than he expected. More Saqqafs had decided to stay behind than Hector realized.
"Ah, Lord Goffe," said Abbas' eldest son, Raheem, upon seeing him. He was holding Grigozo in his right hand. "I thought you would be resting a bit longer."
"Probably should be," said Hector. "What about you guys? You've been at this for a while, already. Not getting tired?"
"Oh, we're fine, Lord. Not to worry." After a beat, however, Raheem seemed to intuit more from Hector's words. "But perhaps we could use a break, if you would like to take over."
"Alright. Go get something to eat, if you're hungry."
"We will do that."
Raheem handed the reaper off to him, then motioned for the other Saqqafs to follow, which they soon did.
Only two others remained behind. Carlos Sebolt and his reaper, Olijas.
Hector hadn't seen Carlos at all during the fight with Banda, but that was because he'd been the one assigned to keeping an eye on Ericoros after Melchor left. And Hector was grateful to him. The decision to stay here in Warrenhold when almost every other Rainlord servant was going off to fight one of the most important battles of their lives--that couldn't have been easy.
Carlos was giving him a look now as if waiting for instruction. Perhaps he was expecting Hector to send him away like the Saqqafs.
"If you want a break, too, then I can take over," said Hector.
Carlos glanced at Olijas, probably exchanging silent words. Neither said anything, however, and they both ended up looking uncertain.
Hector decided to elaborate. "You're welcome to stay, though, if you prefer."
Carlos gave a nod. "We'll stay with you, Lord."
Man, this lording business was a bit too nuanced for Hector's liking, sometimes. He appreciated everyone trying to read the room and infer what he was truly saying, but it could also make things a bit more difficult when he really was just saying what he meant.
Sunday, May 14, 2023
Page 3311
Up until recently, he'd been thinking of the Star Tower as the likely last target for the reconstruction. It being the tower in need of the most repair made it seem like the place that no one would be using for a very long time.
Then, apparently, Melchor Blackburn decided that he quite liked it in there, which in turn meant that Ericoros ended up being kept there most of the time, as well.
And now, despite Melchor having gone off to Vantalay, the Star Tower was still being used for Ericoros--and Grigozo, too.
This was what happened when he just went with the flow, Hector supposed.
Not that there seemed to be any harm in it. The Star Tower was actually quite a neat little spot, in its own right. It hung from the cavern ceiling like a gigantic version of all the stalactites around it, so compared to the other towers, it felt quite a bit different when looking down over the central plaza from one of its windows.
Just knowing that you were floating there, suspended so high above the ground, gave the place a rather unique vibe. Enough so, in fact, that Hector was starting to wonder if he should try to keep it this way. The tower could still be refurbished in every other way, of course, but the idea that they might just... not rebuild the bottom half was becoming more appealing to him.
Especially because it could also be considered an added element of security. According to Voreese, the original purpose of the Star Tower was imprisonment, which was, more or less, what they were starting to use it for now. So if it was eventually going to turn into a proper prison again, then would it not make sense for it to have one less exit from which prisoners could escape?
Weird to think about. Even just a few months ago, Hector never would've imagined himself thinking about the architecture of prisons. But the value of it in the future was looking undeniable. He needed to take this seriously, which meant he should probably study up more before making any big decisions.
One more thing on the to-do list.
Hopefully, it wouldn't end up being too important too soon. For now, the Star Tower was perfectly functional for their needs. They weren't keeping the reapers in cells but rather just in the tower's single largest chamber, which didn't have a name until Melchor and Orric had started calling it the Moonlight Hall.
Then, apparently, Melchor Blackburn decided that he quite liked it in there, which in turn meant that Ericoros ended up being kept there most of the time, as well.
And now, despite Melchor having gone off to Vantalay, the Star Tower was still being used for Ericoros--and Grigozo, too.
This was what happened when he just went with the flow, Hector supposed.
Not that there seemed to be any harm in it. The Star Tower was actually quite a neat little spot, in its own right. It hung from the cavern ceiling like a gigantic version of all the stalactites around it, so compared to the other towers, it felt quite a bit different when looking down over the central plaza from one of its windows.
Just knowing that you were floating there, suspended so high above the ground, gave the place a rather unique vibe. Enough so, in fact, that Hector was starting to wonder if he should try to keep it this way. The tower could still be refurbished in every other way, of course, but the idea that they might just... not rebuild the bottom half was becoming more appealing to him.
Especially because it could also be considered an added element of security. According to Voreese, the original purpose of the Star Tower was imprisonment, which was, more or less, what they were starting to use it for now. So if it was eventually going to turn into a proper prison again, then would it not make sense for it to have one less exit from which prisoners could escape?
Weird to think about. Even just a few months ago, Hector never would've imagined himself thinking about the architecture of prisons. But the value of it in the future was looking undeniable. He needed to take this seriously, which meant he should probably study up more before making any big decisions.
One more thing on the to-do list.
Hopefully, it wouldn't end up being too important too soon. For now, the Star Tower was perfectly functional for their needs. They weren't keeping the reapers in cells but rather just in the tower's single largest chamber, which didn't have a name until Melchor and Orric had started calling it the Moonlight Hall.
Saturday, May 13, 2023
Page 3310
Along the way, Haqq Najir accompanied him once again. Hector materialized the helmet piece for him to examine, which the man proceeded to do so in silence.
Hector couldn't help growing curious what Haqq thought of it. No doubt, it was too soon to get a proper assessment, and given how quiet Haqq was being, Hector supposed he'd just have to wait.
Garovel, however, had apparently not been thinking the same thing. 'So?' he asked. 'What do you make of it?'
Haqq didn't bother looking up. "Too early to tell," he said, which made Hector feel somewhat vindicated. Haqq held the helmet up to his ear and rapped a knuckle against the side.
Hector recalled him doing that before with iron. He'd thought it a bit odd back then, but here and now, it was making a lot more sense to him. At this point, Hector knew the sound that iron made quite well, and that was clearly not it. Too thick. Dulled. Barely ringing, despite its relative bell-shape.
Whatever that metal was, it was dense. Haqq knocked it again, and the result was of course the same. The sound didn't really carry. Like hitting a wall rather than a bell.
'C'mon, you must have SOME thoughts,' said Garovel.
Haqq ignored him and looked to Hector, instead. "Make a copy of this out of iron for me," he said.
Hector did so. It appeared in his open palm, and he handed it off to the man.
Haqq put the other one under his arm like a football and then rapped his knuckle against the iron, listening closely again.
'Oh, so NOW you're interested in Hector's iron, eh? Why the change of heart?'
Hector gave the reaper a look. 'Garovel...'
'What?' said the reaper privately.
'Leave him alone.'
'Hmph. You forgive and forget things too easily, y'know that?'
Haqq banged the two helmets together, then held one up to each ear.
'There's no way that's actually giving him useful information,' said Garovel, thankfully still privately. 'He's just doing stuff to look busy.'
The trip over to the Star Tower was another long one. It was the tower that was technically the farthest away from the Entry Tower, but it at least helped that he didn't have to go all the way down into the courtyard first. In fact, the bridging walkways were the only way to enter the Star Tower, because the bottom half of it was still missing, so unlike all the others, it bore no entrance from the courtyard.
Hector couldn't help growing curious what Haqq thought of it. No doubt, it was too soon to get a proper assessment, and given how quiet Haqq was being, Hector supposed he'd just have to wait.
Garovel, however, had apparently not been thinking the same thing. 'So?' he asked. 'What do you make of it?'
Haqq didn't bother looking up. "Too early to tell," he said, which made Hector feel somewhat vindicated. Haqq held the helmet up to his ear and rapped a knuckle against the side.
Hector recalled him doing that before with iron. He'd thought it a bit odd back then, but here and now, it was making a lot more sense to him. At this point, Hector knew the sound that iron made quite well, and that was clearly not it. Too thick. Dulled. Barely ringing, despite its relative bell-shape.
Whatever that metal was, it was dense. Haqq knocked it again, and the result was of course the same. The sound didn't really carry. Like hitting a wall rather than a bell.
'C'mon, you must have SOME thoughts,' said Garovel.
Haqq ignored him and looked to Hector, instead. "Make a copy of this out of iron for me," he said.
Hector did so. It appeared in his open palm, and he handed it off to the man.
Haqq put the other one under his arm like a football and then rapped his knuckle against the iron, listening closely again.
'Oh, so NOW you're interested in Hector's iron, eh? Why the change of heart?'
Hector gave the reaper a look. 'Garovel...'
'What?' said the reaper privately.
'Leave him alone.'
'Hmph. You forgive and forget things too easily, y'know that?'
Haqq banged the two helmets together, then held one up to each ear.
'There's no way that's actually giving him useful information,' said Garovel, thankfully still privately. 'He's just doing stuff to look busy.'
The trip over to the Star Tower was another long one. It was the tower that was technically the farthest away from the Entry Tower, but it at least helped that he didn't have to go all the way down into the courtyard first. In fact, the bridging walkways were the only way to enter the Star Tower, because the bottom half of it was still missing, so unlike all the others, it bore no entrance from the courtyard.
Friday, May 12, 2023
Page 3309
With so much of the Candle's information in his head now, Hector could understand that sentiment a little better. And while in some ways, that made him more sympathetic to Ivan's perspective, in other ways, it had the exact opposite effect.
If you've had such awful misery visited upon you, then how could you, with such personal and intimate knowledge of what it was like, go out into the world and seek to visit similar feelings upon others?
Where was the sense in that?
There wasn't any. Because at that point, it couldn't be about logic, anymore. Or even survival or glory, as some might suggest.
It could only be about power. And maybe malice, by extension.
A desire to inflict pain for pain's sake. Because inflicting pain could at least make you feel powerful for change, and after experiencing so much horror, perhaps you'd grown tired of only ever feeling weakness.
That part, he was still struggling to wrap his head around. It was so antithetical to everything that he was trying to accomplish.
And yet...
He might've liked to believe that the idea was entirely foreign to him, that he couldn't imagine being so utterly filled with frustration and hatred that those two things became the only driving impulses in his mind.
But he'd felt it before. Most certainly.
He didn't want to lie to himself.
And if a timid wimp like him could reach a point where he felt that way, then it wasn't difficult to imagine other, more naturally vigorous people going through the same thing.
Then again, maybe in his case, it had been the timid wimpiness which had ultimately led him down the path to that feeling.
Or maybe not.
Agh.
Why did the world have to be so confusing? With everything the Candle had showed him, things should've been starting to make more sense, right? But every time he began to feel like maybe life wasn't so complicated after all, something else would come along and make him question everything he thought he already knew.
After his call with Xander, he made sure to call the Queen next and update her on things. He tried to keep it brief, but she ended up wanting all of the details. Which was understandable, he supposed. Unfortunately for her, he only had so many to give, and she was left sounding rather dissatisfied by the time their call concluded.
After that, he could've finally gone to get some sleep. And he certainly felt like he needed it, but with all these thoughts still brewing in the back of his mind, he suddenly wanted to stay awake for a while longer.
So he decided to go check on Grigozo and Ericoros.
If you've had such awful misery visited upon you, then how could you, with such personal and intimate knowledge of what it was like, go out into the world and seek to visit similar feelings upon others?
Where was the sense in that?
There wasn't any. Because at that point, it couldn't be about logic, anymore. Or even survival or glory, as some might suggest.
It could only be about power. And maybe malice, by extension.
A desire to inflict pain for pain's sake. Because inflicting pain could at least make you feel powerful for change, and after experiencing so much horror, perhaps you'd grown tired of only ever feeling weakness.
That part, he was still struggling to wrap his head around. It was so antithetical to everything that he was trying to accomplish.
And yet...
He might've liked to believe that the idea was entirely foreign to him, that he couldn't imagine being so utterly filled with frustration and hatred that those two things became the only driving impulses in his mind.
But he'd felt it before. Most certainly.
He didn't want to lie to himself.
And if a timid wimp like him could reach a point where he felt that way, then it wasn't difficult to imagine other, more naturally vigorous people going through the same thing.
Then again, maybe in his case, it had been the timid wimpiness which had ultimately led him down the path to that feeling.
Or maybe not.
Agh.
Why did the world have to be so confusing? With everything the Candle had showed him, things should've been starting to make more sense, right? But every time he began to feel like maybe life wasn't so complicated after all, something else would come along and make him question everything he thought he already knew.
After his call with Xander, he made sure to call the Queen next and update her on things. He tried to keep it brief, but she ended up wanting all of the details. Which was understandable, he supposed. Unfortunately for her, he only had so many to give, and she was left sounding rather dissatisfied by the time their call concluded.
After that, he could've finally gone to get some sleep. And he certainly felt like he needed it, but with all these thoughts still brewing in the back of his mind, he suddenly wanted to stay awake for a while longer.
So he decided to go check on Grigozo and Ericoros.
Thursday, May 11, 2023
Page 3308
The problem, he was realizing, was that concept of "hating existence." It sounded simple enough at first, but he was starting to think that it wasn't at all. For one thing, how the hell could someone hate all of existence? What did existence ever do wrong? It was just an idea. A concept. What point was there in feeling that strongly about it?
But he had these memories now. This information. From the Candle, he was pretty sure. Plus his own memories, too, he supposed. He'd made plenty of those over the past year or so.
And they were telling him things. Reminding him of things. Stuff he'd experienced. Stuff he hadn't. Thankfully, he could at least differentiate them in that regard. His own life was much clearer in his mind. The others were foggier. Like dreams, maybe. And a bit less potent, as a result.
But they were certainly not without their impact. The Candle had seen so much. Through so many different eyes. So many different places.
And a lot of it, he knew, had been abject suffering. Just people in utter misery. Experiencing tragedy after tragedy. The kind that turned their entire world upside down.
It was so strange to dwell on. An ocean of ancient sensations. Not ideas, exactly. At least, not yet. Maybe in the future, he'd be able to pick up on specific thoughts like that, but at least for the time being, all he could remember were vague scenes painted with emotions.
A great sickness, for example. Death all around. Everywhere. A stench that seemed like it would never go away. And such heart-rending despair.
Hopelessness. Heartlessness. Hatred.
At what? He wasn't sure. Maybe everything.
That was just one way in which it almost made sense to him. One avenue down which someone could arrive at such a dark place.
It made him wonder if he could ever get there, himself. Be taken there. If everything he'd come to care about crumbled around him? Everyone?
It hurt to think about. But it seemed necessary, too. If he was to continue down this dangerous path, fighting people who might very well be enveloped in this exact type of thinking...
Yeah. It definitely seemed necessary to think about. And important. Even if he never found answers--which he expected he wouldn't--it still seemed important.
He was reminded of Ivan's words to him.
"Take a good, long look at the world and try to see things for how they really are."
But he had these memories now. This information. From the Candle, he was pretty sure. Plus his own memories, too, he supposed. He'd made plenty of those over the past year or so.
And they were telling him things. Reminding him of things. Stuff he'd experienced. Stuff he hadn't. Thankfully, he could at least differentiate them in that regard. His own life was much clearer in his mind. The others were foggier. Like dreams, maybe. And a bit less potent, as a result.
But they were certainly not without their impact. The Candle had seen so much. Through so many different eyes. So many different places.
And a lot of it, he knew, had been abject suffering. Just people in utter misery. Experiencing tragedy after tragedy. The kind that turned their entire world upside down.
It was so strange to dwell on. An ocean of ancient sensations. Not ideas, exactly. At least, not yet. Maybe in the future, he'd be able to pick up on specific thoughts like that, but at least for the time being, all he could remember were vague scenes painted with emotions.
A great sickness, for example. Death all around. Everywhere. A stench that seemed like it would never go away. And such heart-rending despair.
Hopelessness. Heartlessness. Hatred.
At what? He wasn't sure. Maybe everything.
That was just one way in which it almost made sense to him. One avenue down which someone could arrive at such a dark place.
It made him wonder if he could ever get there, himself. Be taken there. If everything he'd come to care about crumbled around him? Everyone?
It hurt to think about. But it seemed necessary, too. If he was to continue down this dangerous path, fighting people who might very well be enveloped in this exact type of thinking...
Yeah. It definitely seemed necessary to think about. And important. Even if he never found answers--which he expected he wouldn't--it still seemed important.
He was reminded of Ivan's words to him.
"Take a good, long look at the world and try to see things for how they really are."
Wednesday, May 10, 2023
Page 3307
Hector pocketed the phone.
'The way that guy talks reminds me of a Sixth Age aristocrat,' said Garovel.
"Is that a bad thing?" said Hector.
'I suppose not. Bit odd, though. Makes me wonder how old he is.'
"Why? You're old as shit, but you don't talk much different than I do."
'Excuse me, but just because I do not pontificate with the eminent magnitude of my lexiconic mastery during my frequent bouts of loquacious glory does not mean that I am any less of an esteemed and erudite gentleman than someone like him.'
"...What?"
'Just 'cuz I don't talk funny don't mean I ain't smart.'
"Oh. But I mean, that was kinda my point, wasn't it? The way he talks isn't necessarily reflective of his age. Just like with you, right?"
'Yeah, okay, sure, but I'm also a reaper. We have a tendency to be a bit more adaptable when it comes to social and cultural changes in the world. Unlike you stubborn corporeals who get all worked up whenever the youngins invent a new word that you never used when you were their age.'
"...I don't know if I'm old enough to really appreciate this conversation."
'New words are great! Language is a fascinating thing, and honestly, being able to observe its evolution firsthand over the ages has been one of the best parts about being a reaper, in my humble opinion.'
"I feel like all reapers must feel that way, considering how chatty you all are."
'Pretty much,' said Garovel. 'Exceptions no doubt exist, but in general, I would say that in order for us to come to terms with the extremely strange nature of our own existence, we have to be able to take enjoyment in whatever ways we can. So even if we start out not giving a crap about things like conversation and culture, we'll eventually learn to love them. Or alternatively, get super fucking pissed off at all of existence as we know it.'
"Hmm. You talking about Abolish reapers, now?"
'Not all of them, but yeah. I'd argue that the origin of Abolish was probably reapers who simply could not find any way to cope with what we are.'
Hector felt like he'd heard Garovel talk about this before. And he hadn't understood it very well back then, how someone could reach a point where they wanted to destroy humanity or the world--or even all of existence.
But now, somehow, he could almost wrap his head around it.
Still seemed supremely stupid, of course, but it felt somewhat comprehensible, at least.
'The way that guy talks reminds me of a Sixth Age aristocrat,' said Garovel.
"Is that a bad thing?" said Hector.
'I suppose not. Bit odd, though. Makes me wonder how old he is.'
"Why? You're old as shit, but you don't talk much different than I do."
'Excuse me, but just because I do not pontificate with the eminent magnitude of my lexiconic mastery during my frequent bouts of loquacious glory does not mean that I am any less of an esteemed and erudite gentleman than someone like him.'
"...What?"
'Just 'cuz I don't talk funny don't mean I ain't smart.'
"Oh. But I mean, that was kinda my point, wasn't it? The way he talks isn't necessarily reflective of his age. Just like with you, right?"
'Yeah, okay, sure, but I'm also a reaper. We have a tendency to be a bit more adaptable when it comes to social and cultural changes in the world. Unlike you stubborn corporeals who get all worked up whenever the youngins invent a new word that you never used when you were their age.'
"...I don't know if I'm old enough to really appreciate this conversation."
'New words are great! Language is a fascinating thing, and honestly, being able to observe its evolution firsthand over the ages has been one of the best parts about being a reaper, in my humble opinion.'
"I feel like all reapers must feel that way, considering how chatty you all are."
'Pretty much,' said Garovel. 'Exceptions no doubt exist, but in general, I would say that in order for us to come to terms with the extremely strange nature of our own existence, we have to be able to take enjoyment in whatever ways we can. So even if we start out not giving a crap about things like conversation and culture, we'll eventually learn to love them. Or alternatively, get super fucking pissed off at all of existence as we know it.'
"Hmm. You talking about Abolish reapers, now?"
'Not all of them, but yeah. I'd argue that the origin of Abolish was probably reapers who simply could not find any way to cope with what we are.'
Hector felt like he'd heard Garovel talk about this before. And he hadn't understood it very well back then, how someone could reach a point where they wanted to destroy humanity or the world--or even all of existence.
But now, somehow, he could almost wrap his head around it.
Still seemed supremely stupid, of course, but it felt somewhat comprehensible, at least.
Tuesday, May 9, 2023
Page 3306
<"Indeed. But it sounds like you have some free time on your hands now, eh? Care to pitch in?">
Hector couldn't help exhaling half a laugh. "I don't think I should leave my home country, right now." He could see Garovel's skeletal face next to him, and the visible relief on it was almost enough to pull the rest of that laugh out of Hector.
<"It was worth a shot,"> said Xander.
"If you need something that doesn't involve traveling, I might be able to help," said Hector.
<"I'll keep that in mind, then.">
"Oh, and uh, I found some information on your man, Lozaro."
There arrived a noticeable pause. <"Truly? And so soon? Ah, from either Banda Toro or his reaper, it must be. I see. Which must also mean that you managed to neutralize them without killing them, no?">
Hector wasn't sure he liked how quickly this guy was able to connect dots. He wasn't about to confirm it, though. Even if he liked Xander, there was no point in giving the Vanguard any amount of justification to come here and try to take Grigozo into their custody. "My source will have to remain a secret, unfortunately. For now, at least."
<"I see. Go on, then. What have you learned?">
Garovel had only just delivered the intel to him a few minutes prior, having gotten it from the Sandlords who were still questioning Grigozo. "Supposedly, he's in Ardora. There's a city called Vamor in the country of Targarith."
<"I am familiar with it,"> said Xander. <"Northeast of the vast Gettira Plains, as I recall. I shall head there soon.">
"Are you sure that's wise?" said Hector. "You've got your hands full with the war, don't you? And my information could be wrong, you know."
<"I will have an opening for such a trip shortly. And even if I did not, I would make time for it.">
"From what I've heard, Lozaro is incredibly paranoid and will flee at the first sign of trouble."
<"Oh, I am aware, but thank you for the warning. I'm afraid I must go now. Is there anything else you would tell me before I do?">
Hector sure hoped not, because he couldn't think of anything. "No, that's it."
<"Farewell then, my friend. Thank you for the information, and may fortune favor you in your next battle.">
And the guy hung up without waiting for a reply.
Hector couldn't help exhaling half a laugh. "I don't think I should leave my home country, right now." He could see Garovel's skeletal face next to him, and the visible relief on it was almost enough to pull the rest of that laugh out of Hector.
<"It was worth a shot,"> said Xander.
"If you need something that doesn't involve traveling, I might be able to help," said Hector.
<"I'll keep that in mind, then.">
"Oh, and uh, I found some information on your man, Lozaro."
There arrived a noticeable pause. <"Truly? And so soon? Ah, from either Banda Toro or his reaper, it must be. I see. Which must also mean that you managed to neutralize them without killing them, no?">
Hector wasn't sure he liked how quickly this guy was able to connect dots. He wasn't about to confirm it, though. Even if he liked Xander, there was no point in giving the Vanguard any amount of justification to come here and try to take Grigozo into their custody. "My source will have to remain a secret, unfortunately. For now, at least."
<"I see. Go on, then. What have you learned?">
Garovel had only just delivered the intel to him a few minutes prior, having gotten it from the Sandlords who were still questioning Grigozo. "Supposedly, he's in Ardora. There's a city called Vamor in the country of Targarith."
<"I am familiar with it,"> said Xander. <"Northeast of the vast Gettira Plains, as I recall. I shall head there soon.">
"Are you sure that's wise?" said Hector. "You've got your hands full with the war, don't you? And my information could be wrong, you know."
<"I will have an opening for such a trip shortly. And even if I did not, I would make time for it.">
"From what I've heard, Lozaro is incredibly paranoid and will flee at the first sign of trouble."
<"Oh, I am aware, but thank you for the warning. I'm afraid I must go now. Is there anything else you would tell me before I do?">
Hector sure hoped not, because he couldn't think of anything. "No, that's it."
<"Farewell then, my friend. Thank you for the information, and may fortune favor you in your next battle.">
And the guy hung up without waiting for a reply.
Monday, May 8, 2023
Page 3305
Big battles were one thing. Battles between multitudes of people, all able to tag out and rest in order to continue fighting later. But single combat? How monstrous did such warriors have to be in order to continue on for such extended periods of time, alone?
But perhaps that was debatable here, too. Were these two truly alone? Vanderberk had his army of hellspawn, and the stranger, his countering army of crystal beasts.
Honestly, though, there were probably aspects to this fight that he wasn't even perceiving. It did seem odd that the stranger wasn't even showing himself, instead seeming to rely totally on his crystal minions. Some of the light beams did chase or strike Vanderberk, but they didn't appear to do much to him, other than leave smoking trail behind.
Given everything else Raul had already seen, he had to imagine that the stranger was capable of yet more than this. Vanderberk, too, probably. So what were they waiting for? Some sort of opening to land a more decisive blow? Or maybe this was a battle of attrition? A competition of resources and endurance?
Whatever the case, as he continued to watch the fight draw out in this dark place, Raul Blackburn began to wonder if he was even in the real world, anymore.
-+-+-+-+-
<"So all is well, then?"> said the voice on the phone.
It felt a little weird to be hearing it with his ears this time, and it didn't quite match with the soundless one that he'd grown more familiar with before, but Hector supposed that was only natural.
In order to contact him, Xander had given him a phone number, four digit code, and also a pass phrase. The first voice on the phone had asked for the code, the second had asked for the phrase, and now, finally, he was apparently speaking with the man himself.
Hector had decided to use a burner phone for this call, just in case, though he didn't really think it would make much difference. If Xander wanted to find him, he probably wouldn't have a hard time doing so.
"I don't know about 'all' being well," said Hector, "but yeah, Banda Toro was neutralized."
<"That is quite good news, as I was unable to procure any aid for you.">
"Oh." Welp. He supposed that was one less thing to worry about, at least. Though, it did feel kinda worrisome in a different way. "You're that short on manpower, huh?"
But perhaps that was debatable here, too. Were these two truly alone? Vanderberk had his army of hellspawn, and the stranger, his countering army of crystal beasts.
Honestly, though, there were probably aspects to this fight that he wasn't even perceiving. It did seem odd that the stranger wasn't even showing himself, instead seeming to rely totally on his crystal minions. Some of the light beams did chase or strike Vanderberk, but they didn't appear to do much to him, other than leave smoking trail behind.
Given everything else Raul had already seen, he had to imagine that the stranger was capable of yet more than this. Vanderberk, too, probably. So what were they waiting for? Some sort of opening to land a more decisive blow? Or maybe this was a battle of attrition? A competition of resources and endurance?
Whatever the case, as he continued to watch the fight draw out in this dark place, Raul Blackburn began to wonder if he was even in the real world, anymore.
-+-+-+-+-
<"So all is well, then?"> said the voice on the phone.
It felt a little weird to be hearing it with his ears this time, and it didn't quite match with the soundless one that he'd grown more familiar with before, but Hector supposed that was only natural.
In order to contact him, Xander had given him a phone number, four digit code, and also a pass phrase. The first voice on the phone had asked for the code, the second had asked for the phrase, and now, finally, he was apparently speaking with the man himself.
Hector had decided to use a burner phone for this call, just in case, though he didn't really think it would make much difference. If Xander wanted to find him, he probably wouldn't have a hard time doing so.
"I don't know about 'all' being well," said Hector, "but yeah, Banda Toro was neutralized."
<"That is quite good news, as I was unable to procure any aid for you.">
"Oh." Welp. He supposed that was one less thing to worry about, at least. Though, it did feel kinda worrisome in a different way. "You're that short on manpower, huh?"
Sunday, May 7, 2023
Page 3304
The trouble was that this place had become so damn confusing. He sprinted across the surface of the river, but it felt like he wasn't getting anywhere. With the sky so dark, it was hard to tell where the river even ended. Plus, the hellspawn and crystal angels flying all over the place weren't helping him understand the situation any better.
A beam of light hit him, blinding him for several seconds and bringing him to a standstill. His legs sunk below the river's surface as his concentration faltered, but he caught himself with his arms and climbed back out.
He didn't get it. The light dissipated, and he felt fine. No change. He'd seen the way it transformed those demon things, but it apparently had no effect on him? Maybe it hadn't been intended to and had only struck him accidentally.
Ugh.
He felt so weird in this place. Sluggish. Heavy. And it was like... the space around him was distorted. Maybe that was the way the river never seemed to end.
He didn't know where to go.
But if he couldn't escape, then maybe observing the fight more closely was the smarter option. Contributing was probably still impossible, but he wouldn't know that for sure if he didn't pay attention.
It wasn't hard to tell where Vanderberk was, at least. The hellspawn were getting obliterated by the crystal beasts, and Vanderberk was the only thing countering them, punching through them like a man-sized cannonball or otherwise turning them to dust whenever they got close to him.
But they just kept coming. Hellspawn kept being born from seemingly nowhere, just appearing out of the thin, dark air. And rays of light kept converting them.
For a while, Raul was able to just stand there, watching it unfold. This spot down here on the river might've been a bit safer than he realized.
What an odd fight. It seemed a stalemate to him, at the moment. Neither side gaining any real ground.
How long could this go on for, he wondered?
The more he thought about it, the more he remembered various tales he'd heard of historic clashes between great warriors. In many of them, fights lasted days.
Having been in some pretty intense scuffles as a kid, he'd always thought those claims were exaggerated in order to sound more mythical or legendary.
But observing this fight here and now, he was starting to see how that kind of thing might happen.
A beam of light hit him, blinding him for several seconds and bringing him to a standstill. His legs sunk below the river's surface as his concentration faltered, but he caught himself with his arms and climbed back out.
He didn't get it. The light dissipated, and he felt fine. No change. He'd seen the way it transformed those demon things, but it apparently had no effect on him? Maybe it hadn't been intended to and had only struck him accidentally.
Ugh.
He felt so weird in this place. Sluggish. Heavy. And it was like... the space around him was distorted. Maybe that was the way the river never seemed to end.
He didn't know where to go.
But if he couldn't escape, then maybe observing the fight more closely was the smarter option. Contributing was probably still impossible, but he wouldn't know that for sure if he didn't pay attention.
It wasn't hard to tell where Vanderberk was, at least. The hellspawn were getting obliterated by the crystal beasts, and Vanderberk was the only thing countering them, punching through them like a man-sized cannonball or otherwise turning them to dust whenever they got close to him.
But they just kept coming. Hellspawn kept being born from seemingly nowhere, just appearing out of the thin, dark air. And rays of light kept converting them.
For a while, Raul was able to just stand there, watching it unfold. This spot down here on the river might've been a bit safer than he realized.
What an odd fight. It seemed a stalemate to him, at the moment. Neither side gaining any real ground.
How long could this go on for, he wondered?
The more he thought about it, the more he remembered various tales he'd heard of historic clashes between great warriors. In many of them, fights lasted days.
Having been in some pretty intense scuffles as a kid, he'd always thought those claims were exaggerated in order to sound more mythical or legendary.
But observing this fight here and now, he was starting to see how that kind of thing might happen.
Saturday, May 6, 2023
Page 3303
Unfortunately, Raul had never had the honor of meeting him personally, but the tales of the man were legendary. During the Jungle Wars, Grandpa Dino had single-handedly liberated the city of Maridol in Melmoore from an infamous sect of Abolish. Not unlike what the Rainlords had recently done for Miro.
So this mysterious stranger claiming to be an old friend... could translate into any number of things. Obviously, with Grandpa Dino having lived such a long and crazy life, he would've made plenty of friends outside of the Vanguard, too. But the fact that this stranger was also working against Abolish made for some compelling evidence that whoever this was belonged to the Vanguard.
Plus, there was the nature of the plan to consider. Ambitious was one word for it. Insane, another. Because in the end, it boiled down to single combat with one of Abolish's most powerful warriors.
Who would this stranger have to be in order for such confidence to be justified?
A few famous names came to mind, certainly, but one in particular made more sense to him than the others. If he'd been able to, Raul would've guessed it in order to gauge the imposter's reaction.
Here and now, though, in the middle of all this otherworldly mayhem, the identity of the stranger was the furthest thing from Raul's mind. He was only concerned about trying to survive a bit longer.
These weird demons or whatever they were--they thankfully didn't seem too interested in him, but they weren't completely leaving him alone, either.
He'd seen some of them spewing fire, smoke, and acid in his direction. Back when he couldn't move, he would've definitely been smothered and killed, if not for an invisible barrier that made their attacks splash off harmlessly around him.
Raul could only guess that it was the stranger's doing. Why the man was bothering to protect him--a servant whose death here wouldn't even matter much--Raul couldn't rightly say, but he did appreciate it. Being boiled alive by acid would definitely not have been fun.
He wanted to contribute to the fight in some way, but his instinct was telling him that the more helpful thing to do would actually be to just get away. Making it so the stranger didn't have to worry about him anymore would probably be better than any ineffectual attack he might've been able to launch against Vanderberk.
So that's what he was trying to do now. Create distance.
So this mysterious stranger claiming to be an old friend... could translate into any number of things. Obviously, with Grandpa Dino having lived such a long and crazy life, he would've made plenty of friends outside of the Vanguard, too. But the fact that this stranger was also working against Abolish made for some compelling evidence that whoever this was belonged to the Vanguard.
Plus, there was the nature of the plan to consider. Ambitious was one word for it. Insane, another. Because in the end, it boiled down to single combat with one of Abolish's most powerful warriors.
Who would this stranger have to be in order for such confidence to be justified?
A few famous names came to mind, certainly, but one in particular made more sense to him than the others. If he'd been able to, Raul would've guessed it in order to gauge the imposter's reaction.
Here and now, though, in the middle of all this otherworldly mayhem, the identity of the stranger was the furthest thing from Raul's mind. He was only concerned about trying to survive a bit longer.
These weird demons or whatever they were--they thankfully didn't seem too interested in him, but they weren't completely leaving him alone, either.
He'd seen some of them spewing fire, smoke, and acid in his direction. Back when he couldn't move, he would've definitely been smothered and killed, if not for an invisible barrier that made their attacks splash off harmlessly around him.
Raul could only guess that it was the stranger's doing. Why the man was bothering to protect him--a servant whose death here wouldn't even matter much--Raul couldn't rightly say, but he did appreciate it. Being boiled alive by acid would definitely not have been fun.
He wanted to contribute to the fight in some way, but his instinct was telling him that the more helpful thing to do would actually be to just get away. Making it so the stranger didn't have to worry about him anymore would probably be better than any ineffectual attack he might've been able to launch against Vanderberk.
So that's what he was trying to do now. Create distance.
Next page will go up at noon PST tomorrow
But don't let this distract from the fact that hot dogs are a type of taco.
Also, Rengo, I'll drop by the Discord around the same time tomorrow for that chat you were wanting. Or if the timing is inconvenient, just email me. Or if I forget.
Also, Rengo, I'll drop by the Discord around the same time tomorrow for that chat you were wanting. Or if the timing is inconvenient, just email me. Or if I forget.
Friday, May 5, 2023
Page 3302
The questions that the fake had asked him had mostly been about whether the Rainlord elders had gotten the message, if they'd agreed to the plan, if they needed more prep time--that sort of thing. And without being able to move his head, Raul had only been able to use his eyes to answer. Up and down for yes, side to side for no. And on top of all that, the imposter had to be careful not to be seen spending too much time next to Raul, too, which was why much of the questioning had been conducted while "Croll" wasn't even in the same room.
How, exactly, the imposter had been able to discern Raul's answers when he wasn't even looking at him... well, that was just another layer to the mystery.
But there'd been one string of questions that proved somewhat telling. The elders had proved understandably reticent to trust this random stranger who'd appeared seemingly from nowhere, saying all the right things--and sounding a bit too good to be true, honestly.
And after a while, the imposter began to pick up on their trepidation, which led to an interesting exchange.
'Tell Darktide that he should "grip the torch with both hands."'
And when Raul relayed the stranger's message, Melchor Blackburn had wanted to know how the man knew what his father used to say to him when he was young.
'Bernardino Blackburn was a good friend of mine, once upon a time. Please trust that I bear you and your kin no ill will. When all of this is over, if we are still alive, I promise that I will tell you my name.'
That had certainly gotten the gears turning in Raul's head. If the guy really did have old, friendly ties with House Blackburn, then it was quite strange for him to not just drop his name straight away and earn their trust immediately.
But then again, if the mission went pear-shaped, the guy could've been worried about his identity being leaked to Abolish by newly captured Rainlords. Such as Raul, for example.
And then there was that name.
Melchor's father, Bernardino Blackburn. Raul had heard it many times before. It was an important one in regard to the history of their House--and beyond.
Lord Bernardino--or Granpa Dino, as Raul had heard others call him--had been the head of House Blackburn before Lord Ismael took over. Moreover, he'd been an internationally famous warrior.
In the Vanguard, no less.
How, exactly, the imposter had been able to discern Raul's answers when he wasn't even looking at him... well, that was just another layer to the mystery.
But there'd been one string of questions that proved somewhat telling. The elders had proved understandably reticent to trust this random stranger who'd appeared seemingly from nowhere, saying all the right things--and sounding a bit too good to be true, honestly.
And after a while, the imposter began to pick up on their trepidation, which led to an interesting exchange.
'Tell Darktide that he should "grip the torch with both hands."'
And when Raul relayed the stranger's message, Melchor Blackburn had wanted to know how the man knew what his father used to say to him when he was young.
'Bernardino Blackburn was a good friend of mine, once upon a time. Please trust that I bear you and your kin no ill will. When all of this is over, if we are still alive, I promise that I will tell you my name.'
That had certainly gotten the gears turning in Raul's head. If the guy really did have old, friendly ties with House Blackburn, then it was quite strange for him to not just drop his name straight away and earn their trust immediately.
But then again, if the mission went pear-shaped, the guy could've been worried about his identity being leaked to Abolish by newly captured Rainlords. Such as Raul, for example.
And then there was that name.
Melchor's father, Bernardino Blackburn. Raul had heard it many times before. It was an important one in regard to the history of their House--and beyond.
Lord Bernardino--or Granpa Dino, as Raul had heard others call him--had been the head of House Blackburn before Lord Ismael took over. Moreover, he'd been an internationally famous warrior.
In the Vanguard, no less.
Thursday, May 4, 2023
Page 3301 -- CCLXXVIII.
Behind.
Vanderberk could sense it himself now. Yes. The Inferno was afraid, but it knew something was there. Instead of pursuing on its own, it was giving its knowledge to him. Its extra senses.
What were these? Vanderberk couldn't have described them, even if he'd had the presence of mind to do so. This had never happened before.
Didn't matter, though. He knew enough.
He attacked. And learned more.
Chapter Two Hundred Seventy-Eight: 'Coddled sprout, be uprooted...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
Raul sprinted across the surface of the river, not wanting to look back but knowing that he had to. Vanderberk seemed to have finally forgotten about him, but that hadn't improved his circumstances nearly as much as Raul might've hoped.
Whatever the hell was happening in this fight right now made absolutely no sense to him. His eyes could scarcely even comprehend what he was looking at. What were those hellish abominations flying around all over the place? Evil spirits? Literal demons? And the crystal monsters? What were those? Golems? Angels?
Nothing made sense.
But then, he'd been warned about this. By "Croll," no less.
When Thaddeus Croll had first shown up at Logden, Raul had thought it anything but good. But that began to change when the man started speaking to him telepathically.
'Listen to me, young Rainlord. I am not Thaddeus Croll. This is a disguise to fool Vanderberk. You do not know me, but I am your ally. Here is my plan. Convey it to your kin for me.'
And over the next day, the fake Croll fed him information. Raul hadn't exactly enjoyed getting his windpipe crushed or his fingers broken, but he didn't get much choice in the matter. He would've certainly been willing to feed Vanderberk lies, but perhaps the imposter hadn't wanted to risk relying on him for that.
It had been a bold plan, though.
To isolate Vanderberk and kill him. Meanwhile, the Rainlords were supposed to sneak into the prison again and finally rescue everyone.
There would still be plenty of Abolish fighters back at Logden, of course, but with Vanderberk busy and the element of surprise on their side, it seemed doable.
Raul would've liked to ask the fake any number of different questions, but the crushed windpipe had occurred too soon into the encounter for that. No doubt, the imposter feared him saying something stupid.
He had gotten a few answers, though.
Vanderberk could sense it himself now. Yes. The Inferno was afraid, but it knew something was there. Instead of pursuing on its own, it was giving its knowledge to him. Its extra senses.
What were these? Vanderberk couldn't have described them, even if he'd had the presence of mind to do so. This had never happened before.
Didn't matter, though. He knew enough.
He attacked. And learned more.
Chapter Two Hundred Seventy-Eight: 'Coddled sprout, be uprooted...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
Raul sprinted across the surface of the river, not wanting to look back but knowing that he had to. Vanderberk seemed to have finally forgotten about him, but that hadn't improved his circumstances nearly as much as Raul might've hoped.
Whatever the hell was happening in this fight right now made absolutely no sense to him. His eyes could scarcely even comprehend what he was looking at. What were those hellish abominations flying around all over the place? Evil spirits? Literal demons? And the crystal monsters? What were those? Golems? Angels?
Nothing made sense.
But then, he'd been warned about this. By "Croll," no less.
When Thaddeus Croll had first shown up at Logden, Raul had thought it anything but good. But that began to change when the man started speaking to him telepathically.
'Listen to me, young Rainlord. I am not Thaddeus Croll. This is a disguise to fool Vanderberk. You do not know me, but I am your ally. Here is my plan. Convey it to your kin for me.'
And over the next day, the fake Croll fed him information. Raul hadn't exactly enjoyed getting his windpipe crushed or his fingers broken, but he didn't get much choice in the matter. He would've certainly been willing to feed Vanderberk lies, but perhaps the imposter hadn't wanted to risk relying on him for that.
It had been a bold plan, though.
To isolate Vanderberk and kill him. Meanwhile, the Rainlords were supposed to sneak into the prison again and finally rescue everyone.
There would still be plenty of Abolish fighters back at Logden, of course, but with Vanderberk busy and the element of surprise on their side, it seemed doable.
Raul would've liked to ask the fake any number of different questions, but the crushed windpipe had occurred too soon into the encounter for that. No doubt, the imposter feared him saying something stupid.
He had gotten a few answers, though.
Wednesday, May 3, 2023
Page 3300
Vanderberk didn't wait to see what they were going to do. He increased the pressure on his helium coatings--as intense as he could muster.
Their crystalline bodies imploded and turned to dust, all of them at once.
That was one problem taken care of, at least, but Vanderberk was still unsettled. He didn't know how they had transformed. If the Devourers could be turned against each other like that, then his entire strategy here--
Another beam of light interrupted his train of thought, catching another group of Devourers and beginning the same process again.
No. Not the same, he soon realized.
Instead of each Devourer changing individually, their collective glow coalesced into one massive, winged creature.
A humongous avian monster of radiant crystal.
Vanderberk didn't hesitate to attack again, but in the back of his mind, he couldn't help hanging on the fact that they were turning to crystal.
Why crystal? Why? It couldn't be--no, if it was, then--
This couldn't be the work of the Crystal Titan, could it? Vanderberk didn't have the luxury of thinking it through. His instinct was telling him no. Sermung hadn't been seen at all during this war, so why would he show up here, of all places?
No, no, no. NO. It had to be a trick. The enemy was a powerful psychic. Playing mind games. Trying to get to him. Make him panic.
This damn crystal bird was resisting the coatings. He couldn't seal its movements. Freezing wasn't accomplishing much, either, other than making it slightly more brittle, perhaps.
He shot an invisible pillar of pressurized helium at it. And somehow, the fucking bird almost dodged it. Instead, it took the hit on the wing, which exploded on impact, sending crystal shards raining over the entire area.
A solid white beam erupted from its beak and eyes, coming straight for him.
He couldn't avoid it in time. Even in his gaseous form, it hit him clean, right in his invisible torso, sending him down and down, pummeling him into the ground.
His gaseous form flickered, and he scowled as he sat up. He paid no attention to the gigantic crater of vaporized rock and dirt around him. He was only concerned about the bird. Where had it gone? It was so huge and obnoxiously bright. How could it have disappeared?
Unless--could it have been an illusion, too? Agh, of course it could have. But the Devourers. They were real. The Inferno. What was it telling him? He needed to listen.
Their crystalline bodies imploded and turned to dust, all of them at once.
That was one problem taken care of, at least, but Vanderberk was still unsettled. He didn't know how they had transformed. If the Devourers could be turned against each other like that, then his entire strategy here--
Another beam of light interrupted his train of thought, catching another group of Devourers and beginning the same process again.
No. Not the same, he soon realized.
Instead of each Devourer changing individually, their collective glow coalesced into one massive, winged creature.
A humongous avian monster of radiant crystal.
Vanderberk didn't hesitate to attack again, but in the back of his mind, he couldn't help hanging on the fact that they were turning to crystal.
Why crystal? Why? It couldn't be--no, if it was, then--
This couldn't be the work of the Crystal Titan, could it? Vanderberk didn't have the luxury of thinking it through. His instinct was telling him no. Sermung hadn't been seen at all during this war, so why would he show up here, of all places?
No, no, no. NO. It had to be a trick. The enemy was a powerful psychic. Playing mind games. Trying to get to him. Make him panic.
This damn crystal bird was resisting the coatings. He couldn't seal its movements. Freezing wasn't accomplishing much, either, other than making it slightly more brittle, perhaps.
He shot an invisible pillar of pressurized helium at it. And somehow, the fucking bird almost dodged it. Instead, it took the hit on the wing, which exploded on impact, sending crystal shards raining over the entire area.
A solid white beam erupted from its beak and eyes, coming straight for him.
He couldn't avoid it in time. Even in his gaseous form, it hit him clean, right in his invisible torso, sending him down and down, pummeling him into the ground.
His gaseous form flickered, and he scowled as he sat up. He paid no attention to the gigantic crater of vaporized rock and dirt around him. He was only concerned about the bird. Where had it gone? It was so huge and obnoxiously bright. How could it have disappeared?
Unless--could it have been an illusion, too? Agh, of course it could have. But the Devourers. They were real. The Inferno. What was it telling him? He needed to listen.
Tuesday, May 2, 2023
Page 3299
The Devourers swirled with increasing fervor. They were nearing their target. Vanderberk needed to keep enough distance from them so that they didn't turn on him, but he also had to stay close enough to either see or sense the opponent when they finally revealed it for him.
When they began lunging, he knew that was the cue. He readied one of his most powerful techniques, the helium of his body beginning to bristle like needles with anticipation.
Before he could finally pinpoint where to attack, however, a flash of light cut through the sky, so bright and massive that it seemed to be rending the entirety of the Living Inferno in two.
The beam fell upon the collective of Devourers, making them howl and try to wriggle away--but they were stuck fast, as if being held in place by the light.
And then they began to change.
From their shifting forms that were little more than vague shapes and body parts... into something crystalline. And glowing, as if having absorbed the light into themselves. Legs and bodies became more obvious, more stable. Heads, too. Even faces, though they still did not look human.
And wings. Great crystal wings emerged from their backs.
Vanderberk looked on in disbelief.
The changed Devourers, if they could even be called that anymore, turned on the unchanged ones. They started slashing through them with their rocky, crystalline bodies--with claws and wings and horns and beaks. And their sunken eyes came alive with even more light, shining brilliantly as luminous boxes appeared around the unchanged Devourers, imprisoning them en masse.
Vanderberk was stunned on two fronts. The first because he had never seen something like this before, and the second because he could feel that the Living Inferno itself was shaken. Its desire was always made known to him, and right now, its desire was to flee. To panic.
And yet it was also asking him for permission. Never had the Inferno felt more timid. It was like it was hoping he would protect it. Rescue it, even.
Vanderberk shook the Inferno's fear off. He couldn't let it infect him. And he attacked.
The crystal Devourers had to be subdued. That much was obvious. In an instant, he imprisoned them with pressurized helium coatings. With their movements sealed, they would be much easier to deal with--but apparently not neutralized.
Their eyes still glowed--and they all turned toward him at once.
When they began lunging, he knew that was the cue. He readied one of his most powerful techniques, the helium of his body beginning to bristle like needles with anticipation.
Before he could finally pinpoint where to attack, however, a flash of light cut through the sky, so bright and massive that it seemed to be rending the entirety of the Living Inferno in two.
The beam fell upon the collective of Devourers, making them howl and try to wriggle away--but they were stuck fast, as if being held in place by the light.
And then they began to change.
From their shifting forms that were little more than vague shapes and body parts... into something crystalline. And glowing, as if having absorbed the light into themselves. Legs and bodies became more obvious, more stable. Heads, too. Even faces, though they still did not look human.
And wings. Great crystal wings emerged from their backs.
Vanderberk looked on in disbelief.
The changed Devourers, if they could even be called that anymore, turned on the unchanged ones. They started slashing through them with their rocky, crystalline bodies--with claws and wings and horns and beaks. And their sunken eyes came alive with even more light, shining brilliantly as luminous boxes appeared around the unchanged Devourers, imprisoning them en masse.
Vanderberk was stunned on two fronts. The first because he had never seen something like this before, and the second because he could feel that the Living Inferno itself was shaken. Its desire was always made known to him, and right now, its desire was to flee. To panic.
And yet it was also asking him for permission. Never had the Inferno felt more timid. It was like it was hoping he would protect it. Rescue it, even.
Vanderberk shook the Inferno's fear off. He couldn't let it infect him. And he attacked.
The crystal Devourers had to be subdued. That much was obvious. In an instant, he imprisoned them with pressurized helium coatings. With their movements sealed, they would be much easier to deal with--but apparently not neutralized.
Their eyes still glowed--and they all turned toward him at once.
Next page will go up at noon
Thanks for your patience. Hope you have a nice day. Not too nice, though, or I'll be jealous.
Monday, May 1, 2023
Page 3298
Even now, with all the experience he'd acquired using this power, Vanderberk could not rightly say what exactly it was. He had a sense that the things within the Inferno were not as they appeared to be--not sentient beings with minds and wills of their own, at least.
But he knew for certain that they were not illusions, either. That was why his invisibility was so important when using it. If he did not conceal himself, then the Inferno would attempt to devour him, too.
Not that invisibility alone was enough to wholly avoid the Inferno's attention. It just wouldn't go after him while a more obvious target lay in front of it.
And while it might have been wrong to say that the mad, twisted forms that inhabited the Inferno were alive, the Inferno itself undoubtedly had a certain level of sentience. That was why he'd taken to calling it the Living Inferno, after all.
It always made its desires known to him. Its fury. Its hatred. But most importantly, its hunger.
Lozaro called them Devourers, the forms within the Inferno. And the name seemed apt.
"In a sense, you might think of your 'Inferno' as a single-celled organism," Lozaro had said. "And the Devourers, are the constituent parts which allow it to function. Diverse though they may appear, they ultimately all serve one, singular purpose. To feed."
"On what?" he'd asked.
"Whatever you provide."
He just had to be careful that he did not provide himself. For the Living Inferno was relentless. Until its hunger was sated, he would have a very hard time trying to deactivate it.
Here and now, though, Vanderberk was not yet worried. Perhaps the greatest utility of the Inferno was that it could sense things he could not. The Devourers would hunt his prey for him. Very likely, they would even kill his opponent on their own, but even if they didn't, then they would at least be able to point him in the right direction.
Because that was the real trouble with psychics. Their obnoxious tendency to hide. Rarely were they much of a threat once revealed. Most often, however, they did not work alone. He knew that it was therefore quite possible that he was, in truth, fighting multiple opponents, at the moment, and that the psychic was merely concealing the others.
He watched as the Inferno shuddered around him. Streams of Devourers swirled over to his right, their collective forms looking like rivers of mouths, arms, eyes, and teeth--among other barely distinguishable shapes.
He followed their lead.
But he knew for certain that they were not illusions, either. That was why his invisibility was so important when using it. If he did not conceal himself, then the Inferno would attempt to devour him, too.
Not that invisibility alone was enough to wholly avoid the Inferno's attention. It just wouldn't go after him while a more obvious target lay in front of it.
And while it might have been wrong to say that the mad, twisted forms that inhabited the Inferno were alive, the Inferno itself undoubtedly had a certain level of sentience. That was why he'd taken to calling it the Living Inferno, after all.
It always made its desires known to him. Its fury. Its hatred. But most importantly, its hunger.
Lozaro called them Devourers, the forms within the Inferno. And the name seemed apt.
"In a sense, you might think of your 'Inferno' as a single-celled organism," Lozaro had said. "And the Devourers, are the constituent parts which allow it to function. Diverse though they may appear, they ultimately all serve one, singular purpose. To feed."
"On what?" he'd asked.
"Whatever you provide."
He just had to be careful that he did not provide himself. For the Living Inferno was relentless. Until its hunger was sated, he would have a very hard time trying to deactivate it.
Here and now, though, Vanderberk was not yet worried. Perhaps the greatest utility of the Inferno was that it could sense things he could not. The Devourers would hunt his prey for him. Very likely, they would even kill his opponent on their own, but even if they didn't, then they would at least be able to point him in the right direction.
Because that was the real trouble with psychics. Their obnoxious tendency to hide. Rarely were they much of a threat once revealed. Most often, however, they did not work alone. He knew that it was therefore quite possible that he was, in truth, fighting multiple opponents, at the moment, and that the psychic was merely concealing the others.
He watched as the Inferno shuddered around him. Streams of Devourers swirled over to his right, their collective forms looking like rivers of mouths, arms, eyes, and teeth--among other barely distinguishable shapes.
He followed their lead.