Brent Stinebaker
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II-88 A Birth and a Death (II)
🕑 Added 2025-04-18 16:28:30 +0000 UTCThe Realmbreaker’s arrival was a new opportunity—and the flourish of my golden age.
For a long while, I sought benefactor after benefactor. Like-minded people who understood my vision for a redefinition of warfare. Most were short-sighted and greedy, seeking only to make use of my engineering Skills in the most limited capacities, while plotting to enslave me. Others were children. They couldn’t imagine a world beyond the confines of the narrow well they existed in.
In the Circle of Wrath, though, I found my first true ally. The once glorious General Douglas MacArthur and his “Defiant Few.” Contrary to the mindless brutes and bloodthirsty killers that lined the halls of Wrath, he was of a different refinement, dedicated to warfare as a vocation, and offering a proper amount of fear and disgust toward violence itself.
Through me, he found a proper craftsman. Someone to reclaim technologies lost to him—and then some. And his vision went further. He wanted to fight the perfect war. To break his enemies without losing a single life on his side. I wish to forge the finest weapons, to turn the feeble and meek into beasts of nightmare, and to craft engines of war bearing their own autonomy.
In seeking these goals, we found ourselves established in the Base of the Claimed Hells, carving out greater sections of the endless trenches. Here, we grew, built our forces, and experimented with designs. But though I strained both my Class and genius, I found myself limited of inspiration—and a muse.
And then came the Realmbreaker: Wei An Wei. Him, his Eidolon, and a certain blade that housed a soul infused with unceasing life.
And once more, my days turned ever-brighter…
-Kalrus the Forgemaster
II-88
A Birth and a Death (II)
Wei decided he didn’t much like elevators. He didn’t like how cramped they were, easy it was to crumple the material and trap someone inside, or even the noise its mechanisms constantly made. In truth, he would have rather flown up to the top of MacArthur’s tower himself. Alas, the General personally requested that Wei accompany him, and an outright rejection in front of all the soldiers would have been an open insult.
So the young master put up with his discomfort for now. He went with the General into the small, cramped box. Did his best to hide how heavy the General’s spirit pressed down on him, and prepared to use his Source Anchor at any moment.
He doubted he was faster than MacArthur at such a proximity, but even so—he had to be prepared.
A silence dragged on as the small box moved upward. Kalrus was openly studying Wei. William was leaning in the corner, arms folded, expression flat. General MacArthur, meanwhile, kept smoking that strange little pipe of his, unburdened. Unbothered.
A pity that Wei didn’t feel the same way.
“I don’t appreciate being called a bastard,” Wei muttered after a minute.
The General shifted and regarded Wei before grunting. “That was more something I wanted to say for your father than you. It’s not your fault, the way you are.”
“The way I am?” Wei said, keeping his tone controlled.
”Being a Fictional. You didn’t ask to exist. I can’t blame you for that, but I can blame this dumb fool. You’re a mistake, but not your own mistake. You’re his. Just like all the others”
William stopped folding his arms. He was staring at Wei now, his eyes narrow with contempt. “Don’t mind the General, Wei. He has more hang-ups than one regarding people like us.”
”Please don’t insult me, Captain. Korea was a long time ago for me.”
”Not nearly long enough, considering you still think and talk the same way you always did.”
The General rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. “Listen, kid, people like your father and me shouldn’t make people like you. Because it never ends well. I won’t lie—I don’t think much of Fictionals. You’re all character crippled—stereotypes of stereotypes born from true humanity’s collective delusions. And that’s because your parts don’t mix well with ours. Frankly, I’m surprised you aren’t in an asylum somewhere. Or spiritually damaged.”
“Fuck’s sake, that only happens if you do things without a Class,” William growled.
“What are you talking about?” Wei asked, demanding an answer.
“Hollowborn,” the General continued with a sigh. “If you know how Trespassers don’t really have spirits, you should know that we don’t have a… living story of our own. Something that constitutes us beyond the material body. When someone like that has relations with someone that does have a spirit, well… What comes out usually isn’t all that whole or intact.”
Wei just stared.
“Only if they don’t have a Class or System,” William said again, with more heat in his voice. “It’s not like we can survive here without those things anyway?”
“I don’t know, Captain Yu, you seemed to do pretty fine without for a while. Jethea might not agree, considering she found out firsthand what happens—”
Suddenly, William was standing right in front of the General, baring his teeth like some kind of maddened animal. “Don’t. Don’t fucking talk about her.”
The General just breathed in his smoke. “Why? I wasn’t the one who killed her with that miscarriage.”
And that took something out of William. All that anger slipped out of him, the same way life bled out from a man with a gut wound. He licked his lips, glared once more at the General, and stumbled away. Through it all, Wei just looked on, entranced by what happened, but also unwilling to think on the implications further.
He knew his father was a monster. But this just made his flaws evermore… Human.
I thought he didn’t love mother… That everything in my life was just a lie, Wei thought to himself.
The Shell stood across from William and sighed. “But perhaps his greater weakness is that he cares too much? That he lusts and wants and does not think?”
Wei didn’t want to reply to that thought. I wish he could just be a monster. Something to hate.
“That would make it convenient and easy. But life is not convenient or easy. Our hearts are not treasured by the heavens. We must face him. For what he is. And hate him properly.”
But that understanding dealt Wei a wound of the heart. He still loathed his father, but some of the rage died, replaced by sorrow. What was one supposed to do with sorrow.
The elevator doors rang finally, and they were all released from this purgatory. The General led them down a long hallway as guards saluted them, opening large doors. After passing through another two checkpoints, Wei finally found himself standing before a large desk made from bone and obsidian. Overhead, the ceiling was a slight dome, showing a general representation of the trenches. Or what Wei assumed to be the trenches. Pulsing icons and colored indicators painted troop movements between the Circles, revealing the war in progress.
“Kalrus,” the General said. “Show them that new thing you made. The tea thing.”
The well-dressed orc hummed a quiet note and snapped his finger. A few moments later, the sound of pounding feet echoed from the doors outside, and in came a massive teapot on two legs. The pungency of their inner fluid struck Wei, but not as much as what the pot was made from. Mangled flesh was fused together as moaning faces writhed in anguish. The thing was an abomination—a mesh of human bodies turned into an appliance.
Confusion, rather than horror left Wei halted in his response.
Kalrus leaned next to him. “Righteous Agony. That is the flavor. It is also the ingredient needed to produce the taste. This isn’t meaningless torture. It is part of a Skill.”
Wei regarded the orc for a moment, and found no malice or cruelty in their expression. Instead, they seemed curious. Always curious. But also indifferent to the suffering they caused to achieve their desired outcome. Before arriving in the Claimed Hells, Wei might have considered this man a monster all the same. Now, he seemed positively saintly compared to some of the people the young master faced.
The teapot made a gurgling noise and Kalrus placed a few cups on the General’s table. As he did this, MacArthur looked Wei up and down before blowing out a puff of smoke. “Alright. Let’s get to the point here: What the hell are you, actually, beyond just being a Fictional?”
“I don’t know what you mean?” Wei said, masking his apprehension.
“Don’t play dumb. Moonscar cares about your kind, but not enough to require some kid. You might be pretty good with that glaive, but there are plenty of good killers that just end up in the mud. Why you?”
”There might be no better killer than me,” Wei replied, coolly. “Have you considered that, General?”
The man was unimpressed. “Yeah. And every last soldier probably thought that about themselves at some point. I’m asking you for the truth, not bravado.” He leaned over his table and let his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose. “You have something more than just a Class, don’t you?”
Wei met the man’s gaze without flinching. “I suspect you already know. So why don’t you tell me what I have, and we can skip these pretenses.”
A moment passed and MacArthur leaned back into his chair. “Alright then. So, we have our way back into Earth after all. I saw the light and shadow dance around you. I saw you walk through the artillery in a trance. You didn’t push through those blasts with power—you broke them. Just like Moonscar did, back when she was still a real player in the great game.” He let out a snort. “And now she’s a player again—but now a hound mistress.”
”First you call me a bastard, then you refer to me as a Fictional, and now you liken me to a dog,”
”The way they treat you is pretty dog-like. So, yeah. I think I’ve been pretty accurate. But that’s alright. That’s good even. Good for all of us.”
”Us,” Wei said, frowning. “I didn’t know there is an ‘us,’ General.”
”Oh, but there is. There are two sides right now: All the vermin that want to rush in and colonize Earth, and those who want to keep that from happening.”
“And which side are you on, General?”
”Depends. On who you ask. But I’ve never forgotten my oath to country and god, and so I’m going to make sure the Stars and Stripes still wave when I get back, they keep waving ten thousand years after, and keep waving even after every last star in the sky turns to dust.”
”The General is a patriot,” Kalrus said, sliding into the conversation casually. “Whatever else you can say of his decorum and candor, know this much to be true.”
”And what of you, Forgemaster,” Wei asked, turning to face the orc. As he did, Kalrus offered him tea. Wei stared into the blood-red fluid and gave Kalrus a look of disbelief. “I am not drinking that.”
”It is not poisoned,” Kalrus said, casually. “And it will boost your Constitution. Permanently.”
”He’s not lying,” William interjected, supping his own cup of tea. Wei whipped around and gawked at his father. “I would have sensed the poison. He’s bribing us.”
”Only a gesture of goodwill,” Kalrus answered. “The General is hard. I am gentle. I wish to talk terms regarding a partnership of mutual interest. You wish to reach Earth and so do we. Our aims are more aligned than you might realize—and more importantly, I know my odds of achieving the status of Hell’s Vanguard is low. For all my talents, I am no warrior, no great talent or charisma or charm. And this is a base place for baser pleasures.”
”But you think I can?” Wei replied.
”Potentially. You are already an assault on the senses. The myth of the ‘self-sufficient’ Sinner has already been blessed upon you. Your unwillingness to bind yourself to any Circle, but your open courtship of opportunities shows a willingness to mingle—shows potential futures in play. And your capability exceeds the limits of your power. This makes you an enigma, a legend, and a potential pawn all in one. But that might not be enough.”
”Not enough on my own,” Wei muttered, replying to Kalrus. “That is what you want to say.”
”Yes. Me and the General do not constitute a major party within the Circle of Wrath, but we do have some sway, and more importantly, I can provide you with weapons you will never find elsewhere?”
Wei stretched out a hand and manifested his Eidolon. “What makes you think I need another weapon?”
”The way you looked at my guns,” Kalrus said. “You have an eye for appreciation. I saw it written on your face. It cannot be denied. Not everyone has such a refined appreciation for… martial instruments.”
The young master didn’t rebuke the orc. He wasn’t lying, after all. “The guns your soldiers use. Their armor. Is that your design as well?”
”Indeed.”
“How did you manage to magnify their Essence Levels? Make them as if conduits to one another?”
A faint smile played across Kalrus’s face. “That would be telling. And I fear you will not be able to replicate my expertise without the right Class and the right Skills.”
A moment passed. Kalrus’s casual confidence remained unshaken. Wei brought the tea up to his lips and took a sip.
Constitution Advancing
Wei felt a surge of power rush through his body. His bones hardened. His arteries were flayed and reconstructed by a rushing flow of Essence. His muscles felt like a sheath of iron had been cast over them. The young master struggled not to stumble. “That was—”
”Packs quite the kick, doesn’t it?” Kalrus asked.
Wei paused. “Do you have more? Can one repeatedly take this drink?”
“Alas, the enhancements are singular. It is like a reconstruction applied to the body. You cannot rebuild a structure in the same way and expect ceaseless benefits over and over, no?”
That made sense, but even so, if he could let his sect partake in this tea… Or what other wonders the orc could provide.
”What do you want in return?” Wei asked.
”Another point of mutual benefit. We understand you are trying to end the Collectress,” Kalrus said.
Wei went very still. “Not me personally. That is someone else’s revenge to take.”
”The Scion of Death. Yes. Well… General.” Kalrus looked to MacArthur.
”We want you to kill the Duke of Pride as well. Goldmask. Along with his wife, Lein the Last.”
This wasn’t something Wei anticipated. The following words the General spoke sent him further down a surprise spiral.
”And don’t worry, we have something that might allow you to do this without severe risk to yourself,” the General chuckled. “You ever shot a gun before, Wei?”
The young master blinked. “I… I don’t think so.”
”Dr. Kalrus. Go show the boy the gun you’ve been making.”
Comments
Emerson Fortier
Fuckin A. Don't give Wei a gun. Lol. I think he'll enjoy it too much.
Brent Stinebaker
New Godclads in editing
