Brent Stinebaker
patreon
14-7 Home (I)
🕑 Added 2023-07-21 20:12:57 +0000 UTCHome is a fickle thing, Avo. You should know that.
Just because you spend imps to buy and place and move things that belong to you inside doesn’t make it permanent. I know you already understand because… uh… the war, but I just need you to do something for me.
That sense of security when you’re inside these walls?
Do your best to stop feeling it.
That’s the thing that gets homes burned down and destroyed. It’s like a kind of “false mythology,” something you treat as true but isn’t. There’s nothing stopping the Guilds from incinerating us from their heights with a thought if they knew what we were doing right under their noses.
Someone might tell you home is the people you love are, or a place where you feel safe.
I’m not. I care about you too much.
The truth is home is a lie. We live on a lie. Step back a hundred years and you wouldn’t be in New Vultun. You wouldn’t be living on these lofty heights beside the Arks and all these miracles.
Instead, you would be a part of the deep city of Noloth.
Things change fast.
-Walton to “Avo”
14-7
Home (I)
The Tiers were beyond the expressions of words and paintings alike. When a place was woven between the material and the conceptual, what followed was mood and moment intertwined, with miracles made mendaciously mundane by commonplace portrayals upon this pedestal pressed against the lips of the skies.
Simply put, one’s perception of the Tiers was adjusted based on their FATE Skein. Even from afar, he could see the phantasmal strings running from mind to mind.
Zein had placed him in the Undercroft. Here, most thought this Tier to be the first step on the path to true paradise, but Avo had always thought of it as cartilage. Cartilage to isolate those merely FATED from the fully committed Guilders, and the FATED themselves from corpses-to-be that fed the fatal engines of the city.
Memories from one of his templates rose from the deepest fathoms of the burning ocean he called a consciousness. He remembered reading a voider book–a physical book–decrying the nature of capital, of how a “middle-caste” was to serve as a pillar to blunt the conflict between the highest elites and lowest dredges.
The Undercroft, much like the Tiers themselves, offered a facsimile of hope. A path upward into glory. To even reach here was to make it in New Vultun. You were finally a full person. You were finally protected by a Great Guild. Rights and legalities became a thing.
But there was still higher to go. Still more apex to rise.
The neon-tinted edge that most gazed from the Warrens was but the first step of normalcies egress. Despite the sheer density of infrastructure and the sheer weight of mem-data congesting every inch of his cog-feed, things were yet comprehensible to the human mind, albeit slightly different.
Hypertubes spread out like arteries throughout the various districts, but the air remained sparse of aerovecs. Ergonomics was the aesthetic here, with focus ghost-directed lanes sending clouds of delivery drones across the cities while signals and signs indicated the shifting of traffic lights along with accessible movement vectors.
He caught sight of a drone moving forward when it wasn’t meant to.
It snapped back where it started, its geometric reality working akin to a rubberband.
As he walked down the streets of Pendross’ Ravine, his Frame shuddered constantly, the passing weight of countless Heavens pulling at him. Beneath his feet likewise burned a network of Souls connected to every major block, with certain lesser miracles available on demand to the public.
All that you need to do was think.
He studied his supposed home as an invader would, using darkness to mask his encroach while sweeping his eyes over all the sights like a tourist.
Striations ruled here. Between every structure, every shape, every silhouette was something different, and the masses moved beneath the vivacity of skull-thumping advertisements, their bodies painted in segregation of color that indicated their loyalties to one another.
A good percentage of people guarded their identities via holo-coats, coating themselves in a static sheen or some kind of virtual proxy aesthetic. Emergency responses were nigh instant here, so clashes were rare. Rare didn’t mean bloodshed didn’t arise nor that the Undercroft was clean of crime.
Things were merely neater here. The filth clung still under the skin.
He moved in the darkness, catching only brief glimpses of the city. After Zein set him loose, he found the open air inaccessible from the sheer amount of attention saturating that saturated its expanse, while the sheer variety of Heavens at play made him move with greater caution.
His Incog remained active, but without needing to face the mind-flaying pulses of perception radiated by their skimmers, he moved with relative ease, though still wary of his path ahead.
Loci infested the buildings and streets, and Guilder Necros patrolled their beats with greater vigor and professionalism than most from the gutters could muster. He needed to remain a ghost. He needed to stay unseen.
Just because he wasn’t directly under the blade anymore didn’t mean it was far from falling. And here, he wouldn’t have the good fortune to just face a cadre of Godclads or two. He literally couldn’t even cross the street when the light was red here, and as his subminds reviewed his engagement with Thousandhand, he considered the folly of his impulses.
He had changed. He had grown greater and stranger than before, but his need to consume still captured his actions like an impulse.
It didn’t even seem wrong or foolish at the time. He was just compelled.
Compelled. And he thought he could feel strange movements shifting about within his mind.
[Will need to study ourselves. See if something is wrong.]
[How? How can something be wrong? We feel everything. We’re aware of everything in our mind. This is paranoia. Another war mind?]
[Don’t know. Need more data. Two miles from block. We’re almost home.]
[Home. Is it? Are we real? How much of our memories are true?]
[Need more data for that too. Let’s go find out. Let’s go see if the door opens for us–if the neighbor is still a No-Dragon grafter.]
Creeping past the edge of a block, he found block twelve curving up to cup the sky in a U-shape. Along the center of each of its levels, a thin sheet of undulating water contained the demiplanar penthouses apart from the material abodes of the recently FATED or of lesser means.
He remembered he lived on level three-twenty-four, in room fifty-two A.
A tetrahedral landmass fused over the shoulder of the block and from it thundered melodies growled from distorted strings and lyrics howled from a rasping throat. There was something familiar in the music, but recently so. The singer sounded like Cas, strangely enough.
Avo almost wanted to tap into the local Nether lobbies for details but caught himself before he could inflict any damage and betray his position.
He continued on toward his block instead, settling to satisfy a major point of curiosity over a lesser one.
***
“Some half-strand nulled me yesterday,” Reva muttered her mind a sour note of pain.
Across from her, the Necro some knew as White-Rab turned over on the bed to regard his lover.
She had all but broken his door down earlier trying to get in, and he felt her stress even though the wardings he installed along the inner panels of the walls. Apparently, she slipped the Paladins and her own Guildmates to come find him immediately after whatever the hell was going on down in the Warrens.
He couldn’t say he wasn’t flattered. When he finally let her in, the look in her eye made him wonder if she was going to do something unwise right then and there.
The Rash was of no permanent consequence to her. Reva Javvers was a Bloodthane–a Godclad.
Raldi Nauser, on the other hand, was just really good at wriggling his way into someone else’s head.
The sensations of their mental coupling still tickled at the back of his mind, and he felt his Lustaway engage as he was enraptured by her presence next to him, her scent.
He had done his best to give her some contentment during their shared dive, but even lost in their throes, he could see feel her burden nudging him like a hardened knot made out of mental scabbing.
Whatever happened must have been something terrible to see her storm her way into his home without announcement, to ask him for comfort without pretense or even small talk.
Their relationship had never been a gentle one–especially considering it started with him nulling her–but Reva had always kept her troubles to herself as best she could.
Not today though.
Not today.
Raldi didn’t like that, and what he didn’t like, he had a habit of changing.
“You want me to try hunting them down? Resurrections usually wipe your slate clean, but considering your wards, I have a pretty short list of people to go after. Hope it’s not XVX though. That’s gonna be a nasty dive.”
She tilted her face ever so slightly to reward him with the barest inch of a smile. Her metallic hair tided itself automatically and shifted out of the way as she turned to face him. His lust-suppressing phantasmic fired again and he found himself content just to stare at her for a while.
He hadn’t expected this in his life. Especially not with a Stormtree Godclad. Hells, he had rules against any kind of relations even before the rash, but when girl you nulled decides to spare your life in exchange for your services in saving one of their consangs from being tortured to death by the No-Dragons in Kososo, things lead from one place to another pretty quick.
She mumbled something. He blinked. He considered having his ghosts play it back to him, but he wanted to hear her say it again instead. “Say again?”
“Yeah, but the Nether was down?” Reva said. “Highflame Thoughtwave Detonation took that right out. Didn’t stop them from pricking me with some blood and reaching into my mind.” A slight flash of discomfort ran through her features. “The way they jacked it… reminded me a bit of you. You know, how you nulled me the first time.”
He frowned. Well, that was disconcerting. He had his fans and copycats in the Nether, but as far as he could tell, none of them managed to emulate his process to any meaningful extent. “This happen during your, uh, ‘home leave’?”
“Yeah,” she scoffed. “My fucking uncle got in a pissing contest with some Highflame princeling calling himself Mirrorhead.”
“Oh, shit, Jhred Greatling,”
“You know about him?” Reva asked.
“Yeah. His house is spook-central for Incubi. Also used some of his Crucibles as jump points across the Nether.” He sighed. “I could’ve helped you with him.”
“Yeah. And it could get you embroiled in Guilder shit. You hate Guilders.”
He grinned at her. “Only most of them. And you sometimes.”
“You’re real romantic tonight, you know that, Rab?”
“Hm. So, this Necroclad–”
“Please don’t call him that–”
“Not a lot of overlap between our lines of work, don’t you think? I’m thinking either Ori-Thaum or No-Dragons. Ashthrone might have someone like that, but honestly, they’re on the way out. They’ll be lucky if they have enough Souls to be a functional participant in the last war after what Omnitech did to them.”
She didn’t seem convinced, and as she opened her mouth to speak, as a session activated in her Metamind, a set of memories in her Auto-Seance repeating. She rolled her eyes and rejected the link. “Fuckers.”
“Whose that?”
“Longeyes?”
“Whoa. Aren’t they the big-uns for you guys?”
“Something like that. They can go fuck themselves for tonight. I’m tired. I got my ass kicked. I watched my childhood home get smashed by a cadre Highflamers–led by Abrel Greatling if that’s a surprise to you–and now there’s a quiet war brewing, my half-strand uncle is missing, and I need to attend some bullshit political thing because the Articles. For some future-seeing, all-knowing matriarchs they sure let me get fucked to death this time.”
“Could’ve been out of left field for them too,” Raldi replied. “I’ll try to find your uncle. Vincintine, was it?”
“Don’t bother. If he’s dead, he’s dead. Might be an improvement on our family.”
He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “You see, this why you should’ve chosen to be an orphan. None of this baggage stuff.”
Despite his low effort at humor, she still snorted a laugh.
He liked how she let the wrinkles around her eyes crease and didn’t smoothen her skin. He liked how pointed her chin was, and the slight scar running diagonally across her lip. He liked how she kept her ocular implants subtle to retain that natural hazel hue.
He liked–
WARNING: SPECTER THRESHOLD-1 HAS BEEN TRIGGERED
WARNING: SPECTER THRESHOLD-2 HAS BEEN TRIGGERED
WARNING: SPECTER THRESHOLD-3–
WARNING–
A dozen more warnings flashed behind his mind’s eye. The bemusement vanished from Reva’s face as her expression turned iron-hard. “What? What’s wrong.”
“Could be nothing. Could be some aratnids triggering my proximity detectors for if someone’s using a Incog but–”
“But there’s a chance someone’s trying to get in?”
“Not here. The old place I had. You remember what told you about the Strix. My old mentor?”
Reva took a second to think. “Yeah. You gave some of your memories to him, right?”
Raldi winced. “Don’t remind me. Anyway, he said that someday, someone might show up looking for me there thinking it’s their place.”
“And then what? What else did he say?”
“Nothing. The half-strand got himself killed doing something really stupid. But I did end up getting something from him. I wasn’t supposed to access it until the ‘guest’ arrived.”
Her battle-readiness faded, and she brushed a thumb along his cheek. He shivered and his Metamind screamed. “Uh, Reva–”
Her eyes widened slightly and she caught herself. “Sorry. That was reckless.”
Godsdamned rash.
“It’s fine. I’m protected. Anyway, you know how I am with directions… What I’m trying to say is that I immediately tried to open the mem-packet.”
“And?”
“Couldn’t. Strix had to show me up even after he died. And now, if we’re not just looking at a bunch of rats crossing into my own room, our mystery guest might finally be at my doorstep.”
She shrugged the sheets off and propped herself against the headrest. “So. You want do this the usual way?”
“What? I hide in your mind, and you make the house-call?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I could use the excuse to clear my head, and make up for letting you hide inside my mind for Nu-Scarrowbur.”
“Wow, Reva Javvers learning from her mistakes. Nu-Scarrowbur was that bad, huh?”
She jabbed him lightly. Pain exploded across his arm. He was going to need to pour some rainwater over it later.
Comments
Brady Fiola
Ah, the Voiders have studied Marxism I see
Deathly_God
Thank you for the chapter! Gods this is getting good. On a side note, does anyone remember what ch # Reva is referring to? I need to go back and re-read it.
