k
patreon
Chapter 75 - Crime Scene, SC
🕑 Added 2024-06-24 22:05:46 +0000 UTCNote: I'm having a pretty annoying technical issue, so the chapters might be late tomorrow, depending on how fast I deal with it. I finished this one on my phone, and let me tell you, I'm not doing this again. My thumbs are too big. I'll edit it tomorrow too, hopefully.
****
The tense silence that followed was unlike anything else. Sunday felt the terrified gazes of the guards pierce his back, and he was sure Hurind was quietly whimpering.
He didn’t care. Elora was all that mattered and he canceled the last black moth still hovering above to recover some of his essence. It was not enough to summon another white one, but hopefully whatever the Berserk Moon spell had done to the girl after saving her life was not permanent. He loathed to think someone like her would die due to his lack of strength, or poor judgment.
I’ve been playing too much…
Minutes stretched and no one moved or spoke. Whether the few guards and Hurind were scared into not moving or speaking, Sunday didn’t care. This time things were sure to devolve further. There were witnesses to the madness… A dark thought passed through his mind but he quickly suffocated it.
Just as Elora’s eyes fluttered and Sunday felt his proverbial heart leap up with joy, the floor near them shifted and the walls followed. The wooden flooring rose like it was made of liquid and the stone twirled and danced melding into one with it and becoming a humanoid figure of… familiar proportions. Before Sunday could even reach for his neglected sword the humanoid figure opened its eyes, and then slowly, some of the wood fell down like water and returned to the floor, leaving a dark ill-fitting stain.
The stone was all but gone, however.
Before them stood Adept Ironbond, the hunched and bearded undead mage from Sunday’s spar and acceptance to the Arcanum. A Rank Three mage. He surveyed the situation, his eyes squinting at the fallen unconscious manor mage and lingering on Sunday and Elora and the corpses around.
“What do we have here?” he murmured, more to himself.
Sunday sighed and opened his mouth, but it was Hurind who rushed forward, having forgotten any danger, and flung himself into the feet of the Adept. The undead mage dodged him with no difficulty, but that didn’t stop the litany of words that poured out. Were those tears?
There was no use arguing and Sunday just tuned the crying out, opting to tend to Elora. Her eyes were moving faster and faster and moments later she took a sharp breath and opened her eyes. There was no red in them, making Sunday feel some sense of relief. She looked around, then at him, and grabbed at his shirt.
“I’m alive?” she asked, her voice raspy, but otherwise fine.
“Yes, Elora. You are. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” I truly am.
“I’m alive…” she repeated. Then, without warning burst into silent tears and buried herself in Sunday’s embrace. He held her awkwardly at first but then accepted the embrace and closed his eyes too.
This time the guilt was too much. The helplessness to stop what had happened gnawed at him as if one of the moths had gone berserk in his stomach, and was eating its way up. None of what had happened would’ve come through if he wasn’t here. If his talent hadn’t brought him here. How many people were dead now? Before it had been easy to see them as having chosen such faith, by giving themselves to the corrupted and mad gods. Now? It was hard to justify anything.
She’s alive by dumb luck. Dumb fucking luck. If my spell had lost its healing she would’ve died. I should be more careful. I should be better prepared. I’ve underestimated the problem and dragged so many into this bullshit. Damn it.
“Enough.” The word cut through Sunday’s thoughts and forced the babbling of Hurind to an end. Another mage stood over the shattered remains of the horror, then as if he had been there the whole time appeared next to the head of the cultist Elora had killed. No, there were two of the same one now, mirroring each other’s movements to a worrying degree.
“Who killed this monstrosity?” the mage asked.
“I did,” Sunday replied. He was surprised at the challenge in his own voice, and at the anger that had seeped through.
The new mage looked at him with a cold gaze and an expression that bordered on hostility. He was a human with short-cropped hair and a forgettable face. His eyes were the most impressive of it all, shining like two orbs of copper that could see through the universe.
“Good job,” the mage said to Sunday’s surprise. “Who knocked Sotu unconscious? This is no result of the fight against the madness,” his words carried ironclad conviction, which was surprising.
Is this guy some sort of a Sherlock Holmes? How can he know this is not a result of the fight?
“He did!” Hurind screamed, pointing at Sunday. “That lowly un—” Words died down in his mouth as wood wrapped around him like a rope, and bound his mouth.
“We’ve spoken about this, Hurind. You will get that silly notion of yours that you’re better just because you eat, piss, and shit in control,” Adept Ironbond slowly said. His irritation was palpable and for a moment Sunday forgot himself. The Adept was deep like the sea, and his power could be felt without him even casting a single spell.
“I did,” Sunday finally admitted, smirking at the horrified manor master. Racist piece of shit.
“Why?” the cold mage asked. It seemed he was in charge here, while Adept Ironbond remained stoic and calm once again, stroking his beard slowly.
“I was pissed off they hid behind a barrier, while we fought for our lives.” Elora’s cries had died down, but she didn’t let go of his embrace. However, a look at her face made it seem like she was almost back to normal. She was angry too. He could sense it. The question was… was it her own anger?
The cold mage gazed at him again and Sunday calmly met the bronze eyes, hoping they couldn’t read his thoughts. Was it a spell that had changed his eyes? Was he a human lie detector or something else? Another one of him appeared, closer, and stood next to them. There were no signs of movement or any sort of presence preceding the appearance of the mage’s copy and Sunday narrowed his eyes. It reminded him of Kallus, but the actions were deceptively different.
“You healed her?” the new clone asked.
Who the fuck are you to ask me questions? Sunday looked toward the Adept almost involuntarily, then nodded, remembering the current disparity of power. Even at his fullest, his limited essence would probably hold him back from fighting someone like the Adept.
“Good,” the cold one said. “Sotu is a coward. It is why he is here, using the resources of this fool, rather than studying and bettering himself like the rest.”
That was another surprise. The cold mage was certainly a strange one, and Sunday made a mental note to be careful around him. It would probably be thrown in the trash, along with all other good and rational behaviors, but what mattered was making the attempt.
“Initiate Kloud, I think you shouldn’t speak ill of our sponsors… especially in their presence,” Adept Ironbond finally spoke again. “Sotu has valuable spells and his message was why we reacted so fast… alas, we were late.”
“Sotu is a fool. This is the one you vouched for. You allowed him to join without more than a simple spar. He’s good, but I can sense he has secrets.”
Adept Ironbond smiled. “He is, isn’t he? He keeps odd company though.”
What is that supposed to mean you old bat? Sunday frowned. Did they know of Mera? And he had been allowed to join easier than the rest? Were they trying to insinuate he had actually gotten favorable treatment by the Arcanum, now of all times? In the middle of the bloody scene? Of all the things he disliked, old people who tried to be wise and mysterious were at the forefront. It was one of Old Rud’s favorite activities after drinking for a few days straight.
This was mentioned with a purpose. Perhaps to make him trust them more.
“We’ll be taking all of you in, and questioning you. If anyone wants to resist, now is the time.”
The wood that bound Hurind Yunvies fell to the floor again, allowing him to continue where he had left off with a tone that was surprisingly obstinate considering his situation. “Question me? I’m the victim here! It’s you who assures us there is no danger of the crazed gods. It’s you who speaks of your prowess and ability to keep us safe. And now? Look at my house! Look at my servants! Do you know how much training they have undergone to be perfect? And now I have to find new ones!?”
Sunday gently helped Elora find her balance, and when he was sure she could stand on her own, led her toward the yapping man.
“Can I slap him?” he asked, gazing at the higher-ranked magi one after the other.
Both Adept Ironbond and Initiate Kloud looked at him, and for the first time, there was a surprise in the cold man’s bronze eyes.
“You want to… slap him?” he slowly repeated, as if the question had been too complicated.
Sunday nodded and stared at Hurind who was wide-eyed, with his mouth opening and closing, for the first time – no, for the second, speechless.
“Sure,” Kloud said after a moment of thought.
“No,” Adept Ironbond interjected. “There will be no more violence here today. We have enough issues as it is. Have you gathered enough information, Initiate Kloud?”
“Enough.”
A few more voices came from downstairs and soon even more magi, each with a unique take on their Arcanum uniform, and each stranger than the last.
Sunday stuck close to Elora, helping her, and frowned when they were led to their horses by Initiate Kloud and two other nameless and fidgety magi, one of whom threw up in the bushes before escorting them. This was all very weird.
******
Sunday sat on a comfortable chair, before a polished oak table, surrounded by stone walls without a door or even a window. There was a glass of wine before him, softly sizzling with unknown magic. He had been left for only a few moments, but it was enough to understand that whatever it was the Arcanum was going to do, it was going to be a waste of time.
The rock moved and Initiate Kloud walked in, flanked by a woman with a thick pair of glasses.
“Novice Sunday, I take it you’re comfortable?” Kloud asked.
“Quite.” This is not my first rodeo. Let’s see, good mage, bad mage?
“Then, shall we start from the beginning? Why did you, and lady Elora choose this task, how did it go, what did you notice upon arrival, what steps did you take once you realized you were against believers? Please be as thorough as possible. Scribe Tala will make sure your words are noted down.”
This is going to take a while. Sunday didn’t omit anything. Questionings were not new to him, although there was a certain difference in being asked questions by supernatural beings with who knows what spells at their disposal. For all he knew those bronze eyes of Kloud could be seeing his life as a movie at this very moment, hearing Sunday’s first curse words, and watching as he experienced the belt of Old Rud for the first time. Spells were weird like that.
The whole story took about twenty minutes, and Sunday didn’t hide anything, apart from details about his spells and talents. He wasn’t sure what was happening, as no one had told him, but going with the flow of things seemed like a good idea.
By the end of the story, Kloud was looking at him with the same gaze as before.
It was the Scribe that spoke, before Kloud. “I understand that you want to omit details of your spells, or talents if you have any, but please understand that this is important.”
Sunday nodded, “I also understand the Arcanum pays well for information. I have yet to see it, but if you think I’m just gonna give you shit for nothing, you got quite the optimism in you.”
“You’re unhappy with the Arcanum,” Kloud said and gestured toward the Scribe who frowned at Sunday but kept gazing at the blank papers before her.
“Oh no, I love it here. Talking with Zihei every other day, asking him for some sort of guidance or direction, or wandering the halls and thinking how to best spend some gold is what I live for.”
“I like sarcasm. But this is not the time or place,” Kloud said. “Very well, you’re certainly not a worshipper, and you have done a great deed. You will be rewarded appropriately. Now a few more… friendly questions, if you don’t mind. We’ve certainly neglected a gifted mage such as you long enough.”
Fuck off.
“Where is Elora?” Sunday asked and moved to stand up.
“She’s fine. A bit shaken. She says you saved her life from the verge of death. It is quite… astonishing to meet an undead who can heal the living. But, you’re not just a regular undead, are you?”
For a moment Sunday looked to the door, hoping Mera would burst in and kill everyone. However, that didn’t happen.
“I want a lawyer.”
