Brent Stinebaker
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33-4 Lost Gun Days (II)
🕑 Added 2025-01-09 18:48:37 +0000 UTCThe foundations of war are cast during ages of peace.
What you do to your population, how you raise the young and the talented, how you create institutions, industries, and organizations, determine what you can spend when the time of the fires call.
My father taught me this in theory at first, and then I learned it first-hand during the war against the pantheons. I watched their societies, studied how to break their empires from within, spent centuries learning, mastering, and dissecting our great enemies. The best of them learned how to culture their subjects, learned to instill in them purpose and drive.
And that is the lifeblood of empire — a common cause to seek, a reason to willingly die, a dream you choose to be enslaved by.
Life, after all, is often a story we tell ourselves. So. What story will you tell yourself? What flavor of delusion will color your future. For what reason will you die?
-Veylis Avandaer
33-4
Lost Gun Days (II)
The interior of the planetary ring was vast, cold, and unfinished. Sections of the atrium were layered in honeycomb structures woven from divine blood. They functioned as small habitats for the few thousand Enclavers and refugees that decided to answer Avo’s call to war, to seek the divine flame and serve as future Godclads.
Or they were supposed to. Right now, most of them were idle, mingling with each other while struggling to acclimate to their new circumstances. It struck Draus that the raid on their Enclave was barely weeks ago, and with how many things happened since then… Days felt like years now. The sheer density of events was staggering. And especially staggering for the flats as they spoke with each other, tried to occupy their time with competitions, or interfaced with coldtech provided to them by the Manta to pass the time.
Draus accompanied the Savior through a large cocoon-shaped structure forged from haemokinesis. It stood one among twelve others, looming high in the vast emptiness of the ring, but ultimately taking up little space aboard the unfinished station. The Enclavers on guard outside the doors noticed her coming and barely regarded Jaus — and entirely missed Vator, who was following behind languidly.
Terrified cries of “The Glass Giantess! Glass Giantess! She comes!” spread through the interior of the structure, and Draus didn’t even need her Heaven to feel the trembling vibrations created by hundreds of moving feet.
“You seem to have quite the reputation among them.” Jaus looked up at Draus with a curious smile. He wasn’t short or particularly small, being almost two-meters himself, but with his sheath lacking combat-focused grafts and modifications, Jaus looked positively harmless next to the crimson-eyed killer that was Draus.
If only they knew what he could do with a few words. They’d learn.
“Yeah. Had a run in with a few of them while we were taking their Enclave,” Draus said. She vitrified a portion of the blood before sending a few shards darting inside the building. Guiding the pieces using her Simulacrae, she had her newest reflections circle the hollow mid-section of the cocoon-like structure, conducting an initial sweep of surveillance. She doubted the Enclavers would try anything, but she wanted an easy way to shoot back at any threats while she extracted Jaus.
As she cast her perception through the shards, though, the sight she saw surprised her. Hundreds of battle-ready Enclavers massed themselves along the inner balconies that made up the ten stories of this structure. Connective bridges extending to nearby habitats were being flooded with runners, bringing news of Draus’ coming. Those who showed themselves were covered in paint. Pale white paint that matched the coloration of Avo’s Bone Demon sheathe.
A few had also undergone scarification on their backs, with freshly healed scabs made in obvious mimicry of the rotlick’s Echoheads.
She couldn’t help but release a scoff of disbelief. Avo’s ego might just have popped if he knew a cult had organically formed in his image.
“Tell me more about that?” Jaus said, pulling her out of her thoughts.
“Not much to tell. Wanted to have more options at the time. Guilds were breathin’ down our throats, and we were doin’ runs, buildin’ ourselves up. Having another place to fall back out outside the city? That was a no-brainer, ‘specially since we were plannin’ a war.” She went quiet as she thought of Dice—of White-Rab, Tavers, Essus, and all the others. They were still lost—Chambers hadn’t found any of them yet. “We picked up a juv from a Crucible—”
“A Crucible?” Jaus asked.
She met his eyes, surprised about his gap in knowledge, but then understood. Avo either didn’t have the time to fully update Jaus on the latest happenings in New Vultun, or just didn’t want the man to realize how far the world sank in his absence.
“A bad kinda place, Highest Avandaer. Like the arenas of old.”
“Ah,” Jaus said, his expression turning somber. “That… I do recall that being made illegal in the Treaties. It was a stipulation I demanded we uphold, that Voidwatch required to ensure the continual process of Idheim’s technological uplift.”
“Laws. ‘Bout as real as the guns behind it. And after what happened to you and the Second Guild War? The guns weren’t with your Paladins anymore. The fire wasn’t in the Chief Paladin’s heart either. Things went from shit to fucked after that, and laws became recommendations became suggestions. That’s about the way of it.”
“No.” The flatness in Jaus’ words made Draus tense. He stopped walking as well. “That is not ‘the way of it.’ That is what happens when the way is lost and people drown in a decaying world.” He meet her gaze for a long moment, and Draus had a hard time maintaining eye contact. Behind Jaus, Vator was frozen mid-step as well, watching like a hawk would its prey. Slowly, he created a canvas from his skin and formed a brush made from bone and blood.
“Do you blame him?” Jaus asked.
“Who? The Chief Paladin?” Draus thought about that and shrugged. “Never thought much of it, to be honest. Blades break. Bullets get used up. Batteries too. Soldiers as well. He might not’ve died but… well, I guess the fight died in him. For a while.” And as Draus spoke, something else moved in her — a malaise she was increasingly feeling at present. “I guess… I guess I can understand it more now. Fightin’ all those wars against all those gods only for all it be…”
“Hopeless?”
“Pointless,” Draus answered. “People got spite for hopelessness. But what’s the point of a gun if it don’t kill the enemy dead? There’s got to be a victory at some point, right? If not, what’s it all for? What’s all the dyin’ for?”
“And my daughter. Did you ever question serving her?” Jaus said, his voice even lower now.
“No. Not really. Not until Highflame decided they didn’t want me no more. The High Seraph was fire itself. When the world choked, she just kept goin’ and goin’. She had a goal, a dream, a point to it all. A final victory where the greatest of us will ascend and rule, and those who struggled will be recognized for their deeds and valorized for their efforts.” A beat followed. “Blessed be the worthy. And fuck everyone else.”
A sigh slipped out of Jaus. He looked down and away from Draus. “I did this.”
The Regular frowned. “Was her choice to force you into the Ladder, wasn’t it?”
“No. That was her sin, but asking for her to give up her power—letting her taste that venom in the first place, of filling her mind with scorn and war and power instead of giving her a proper life…” Jaus closed his eyes. “I always tried to do the right, Guard-Captain Draus. But the noblest of intentions echo as a taunt when they become the sins of the present. I fear I have made for a poor father; and will be an even lesser excuse for a god.”
“A truth we can agree on,” the Portrait seethed from Vator. The Greatling winced as one of his strokes went wide. He immediately began arguing with an undulating patch of his flesh. Both Draus and Jaus ignored him.
“Yeah,” Draus said awkwardly, not sure what she could offer Jaus. Words weren’t her thing and feelings were for real people. She was just a gun. Or was. Now? “I guess I get that too. Was supposed to be a Reg. Didn’t manage to die right, even with Lorea Greatling doing her best. Went lookin’ for a better end down in the Warrens, butchering scrum and waitin’ for the day I finally found a good end. Got a new war instead. New consangs. But couldn’t keep them safe either. Wasn’t there to watch Avo’s back when he needed me. And now here we are.”
“Here we are,” Jaus nodded. Something too faint to be considered a smile spread across his face. “I suppose I greet you, properly, then, Jelene, one fuck up to another.”
Hearing Jaus curse was one thing, but this moment was… it was something else. Something she couldn’t put her finger on yet.
“Yeah. Right back at you.” Draus wasn’t sure what game the Savior was playing—if he was playing a game at all—but the understanding that he was a little lost too gave her perspective. Gave her something.
As they walked into the inside of the structure, she saw the upper floors packed to capacity, with even more arriving. Men, women, and even some children were gathered here, refugees, Enclavers, and more mingling in multitudes of clade and culture. Whatever chattering going through them died as their eyes fell on her—and mainly her. A few thousand beams of perception splashed down, bathing her in cognitive spotlight while the Arsenalist churned inside her.
“Many targets.”
No, Draus thought.
“Time to kill: 0.48 seconds.”
No! Draus thought harder, though her more intrusive thoughts were curious about how fast she could empty this station of life, and how well she might handle herself in a potential showdown against the Chief Paladin.
“War-Chosen!” A deep voice bellowed. On the first floor, a dozen painted men and women stood before Draus in disciplined formation. At their head was a large man—for a flat. He sprouted a thick mane of auburn-blonde hair, and his eyes glowed as he noticed Draus. “The Giantess returns! The Dreamer’s companion greets us! Salute!”
Fists and makeshift weapons were raised. Voices rose in a unified call, rising over and over in acknowledgement of Draus’ presence. The Regular squinted at the chosen. She wasn’t expecting this. Avo had left these ones to their own devices mostly–barely had time to do any proper conditioning. All this was of their own volition. They chose this.
“At ease,” Draus said, reflexively. Their voices died down, and the leader of the War-Chosen swallowed.
“I am Kais, former Pearlguard from the City of Light—slave to the false master, freed by the Dreamer. I have come to answer his call to serve in his cause! His and yours! So have the others. We have waited for you to call on us. The Dreamer’s voice has gone silent in our heads, but some say they still hear the burning, and you are here now. So we are ready, and willing to heed your command.”
“Genuine enthusiasm,” Jaus said. “How useful.”
Draus shot Jaus a look. “Didn’t plan this.”
Jaus nodded. “Perhaps so. But that doesn’t change your present circumstances. It seems you have an army to address, Guard-Captain.”
Draus suppressed a glower. She was beginning to despise Jaus’ uncanny ability to make her feel uncomfortable, to force her into action. “Right. All of you…” Draus looked over all the War-Chosen again. Shit. What the fuck was Avo thinkin’ with all of them, anyway? He was the one with the big plans and all the other bullshit. She was content to be a gun and give him advice in combat. Hells, with her template and copies, she made for a better army than this rabble.
But Avo wasn’t present right now. Was just her and them. And now she had to pick up the slack and figure out just what it was she needed to do with this bunch. With a lot of things. There was still the Enclave, the Sleeper-tied Heaven in the Sunderwilds, the Dragon-farms, locating Essus’ caravan… Naeko’s return might have inflicted a pause to the fighting, but his eyes were on New Vultun and politics, and there were more matters than that to consider.
Wait. She needed to consider that too. And these War-Chosen—they were clean. Clean of outside influences. Clean and pure and capable of being shaped or used to her advantage. The Guilder emissaries might be headed toward Axtraxs, but the Meritos and Mondelles were their own faction and couldn’t be used the same way.
“Huh,” Draus breathed. An idea was forming in her head. An idea that didn’t have anything to do with shooting and blowing someone up for once. “Alright. Listen up. The Dreamer is… He’s currently shaping combat-conditions ensure your maximal effectiveness upon time of future deployment.”
The gathered War-Chosen didn’t overtly respond to that, but they did share looks of naked confusion.
“More plainly,” Jaus said. “They are not soldiers like you. Be simple. Be understandable.”
She grunted. “Dreamer’s down in the mess right now, real busy with the fightin’. He’s going to need your help soon, but you’ll be wasted if we throw you into the slaughter directly. But we got another assignment—problem’s coming to us.”
Now murmurs broke out among the War-Chosen. Kais stiffed his jaw. “Are we to be raided soon? Attacked, Giantess?”
“No.” She cocked her head. “Well. Yes. Attacked politically. Shit’s like… the concubines with your former master.” The widening of Kais’s eyes showed he understood. “Got some snakes preparing to enter our den. Don’t trust ‘em. Not a single one, and while we hold the cards, I’m sure they’ll be tryin’ to fuck us some way, somehow. Now. Most of your minds are still clean, still vulnerable-looking. I think we can use this. Think we can set up a bear-trap to snip some cocks that come slipping.”
Jaus raised an eyebrow. Draus groaned internally. That last line was straight from Chambers. Been spending too much fuckin’ time with that one recently. Still, she carried on with her slowly forming plan. +Mercy.+
A phantom poured out from her Metamind. His arrival was also tinged with a flash of Soulfire as well. The Famine greeted the War-Chosen and received a chorus of gasps and warding-gestures.
“Ghost!”
“What magics!”
“His eyes? What happened to his eyes?”
+This here is the Famine of Mercy,+ Draus said. She looked to Mercy, and he inclined his head at her slightly. +In a few minutes, I’m gonna have him take a walk into your minds and make sure you’re… properly inviting. After that… well, we gonna go over some etiquette lessons and see about gettin’ you all dressed better. See what I can do to have you put the politico-fucks at ease…+
Yeah. Yeah, this might just work. War-Chosen seemed like obvious vulnerabilities and so, using Mercy…
+I suspect you give Chambers too much credit,+ Mercy sent to her without looking. +He is only a secondary influence, for right now, this pattern of thought is very much like our king. He chose you to be his Knight for a reason. Never forget that.+
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Brent Stinebaker
working on new ttf chapters
