James A. Hunter
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Vigil's Valor: 21 – 23 (Heart to Heart, Peace Offering, Fire and Brimstone)
🕑 Added 2022-07-09 17:01:01 +0000 UTC21 – Heart to Heart
It was well past midnight by the time I finally made it out of the Sprawl and back to the Citadel. The guards waved me through with minimal questioning the second I dropped the glamor concealing my identity. The safety protocols were meant to keep others out, but being a Vigil was a rubber stamp that moved things right along. Knowing that I needed to be up in just a handful of hours, I headed to my room, brushed my teeth, washed the dried blood from my hands and face, then passed out.
I slept rough, tossing and turning in my sleep, which was odd because usually I slept like a fucking rock. Images of scaly monsters with wings like the night sky chased me through my dreams and a shadowy figure lurked in the crevices of my head.
I crawled out of bed a few hours later feeling like a bag of shit. Honestly, it was like I had the worst hangover of my life. Sure, I downed a couple of brews the night before while gathering intel, but not near enough to explain why I felt the way I did, especially with my enhanced Verve.
I decided to hit the baths on the first floor and take a quick soak in the sulfurous hot springs to clear my head.
Despite the early hour, there were a few other Vigils sulking around, but they didn’t seem any more interested in chitchat than I was. The hot springs did wonders for the knots in my muscles and once some of the tension had melted away, I braced myself and dove headfirst into a pool of crystal cold water. Icy liquid sluiced over my skin and my heart tried to jump right out of my chest, but it did wonders to wake me up. Better even than a good cup of piping hot morning joe. I swam a few laps, letting my body loosen up, then hopped out and toweled off, feeling significantly better than I had when I pulled my exhausted, sleep-deprived ass from bed.
Like the morning before, I snagged a light breakfast at the attendant’s mess hall, then leisurely ambled over to the courtyard while I munched on a fried egg and some succulent ham, splayed out across a chunk of crunchy, freshly baked bread.
I finished licking my fingers free of grease and crumbs by the time I got to the fountain, and I was still fifteen minutes early to formation. Niels was waiting for me, a beaming smile on his face, just like always. This morning he wasn’t alone. Kerra was there too, doing some light warm-up stretches in her linen training garb. She curtly informed me that she’d finished with the preparations for our upcoming hunting excursion into the countryside. She and I would be leaving tomorrow with a group of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Vigils who’d all just recently earned their brands.
While Niels gathered the assembled recruits and barked out the day’s training routine, Kerra pulled me aside and put me to work immediately. She slapped a pair of Suppression Bracelets around her wrists without so much as a grimace, then handed me a pair and waited patiently for me to follow suit. With the lingering specter of a hangover still haunting me, I loathed the idea of putting the damned things on, but if she could do it, so could I. Especially since I’d brought this down on myself by requesting her as my personal trainer.
Still, as the cold steel clicked in place and the spikes bit down, I was seriously regretting my petty, dickish behavior.
Without my supernatural Verve and Stamina, the slow building headache returned with a vengeance and so did a renewed wave of exhaustion. But it wasn’t like I could ask her to take it easy on me. Kerra was the nosy sort. She’d want to know why I was feeling so shitty and I couldn’t exactly tell her that I’d been out until the ass-crack hours of the morning, pursuing leads on the bounty she’d explicitly told me to drop. Instead, I gritted my teeth and pushed through, just like I’d done during a thousand drunken PT sessions back in the Marine Corps.
We ran the agility course, once, twice, three times, until sweat matted my hair and trickled down my skin in a sheet, plastering my training garments to my chest and back. Then we moved on to the calisthenics portion, working through the same set of grueling routines we’d performed during our initial training session. Endless variations of pushups, prolonged L-sits, handstands, balancing routines, and weighted rope climbs. I’d assumed that she’d been trying to break me that first day, but it turned out that was just an average workout for Kerra the Valorous.
She was a machine, but that was a feature not a bug as far as I was concerned.
Yeah, it was brutal, but she also pushed me to the edge of my limits, never letting me stop before I’d left everything on the training yard. We took a small break after the first two hours, removed the suppression bracelets which gave me a second wind, then went for a run, which was a little out of the ordinary. For being so short, Kerra was surprisingly fast and set a demanding pace, but with my long legs, natural aptitude for long distance running, and my significantly enhanced Verve I kept up without too much trouble.
At first, the run was nice.
We left the Citadel behind, taking to the streets of Wildespell. The city woke up almost as early as the Vigils did, it seemed. Even though the sun was just barely above the horizon the streets buzzed with the hustle and bustle of activity. I enjoyed watching the shopkeepers and street peddlers plying their trade while workers scurried about, heading to their jobs, and wagons plodded along the winding roadways, loaded down with everything from hay and livestock feed to vegetables and fabrics and huge casks of ale.
The run became less fun as I realized the path we were tracing almost perfectly mirrored the same route I’d taken through the city the night before. When we passed through the eastern gates and headed directly into the Sprawl I knew it wasn’t a coincidence. Kerra didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. The message came across loud and clear—I hadn’t been nearly as slick as I’d imagined. I was a little offended that she’d had me tailed, but I also wasn’t surprised. Not only was Kerra a rule follower, she was also competent, capable, and, most of all, thorough.
We stopped for a breather in front of the Drunken Crow. Bramin was standing in the deep shadows cast by the overhead awning, watching us through hooded eyes. Kerra gave him a little wave.
“It has become clear to me that you’re going to do whatever you please, regardless of what I tell you,” she said, eyes still fixed on Bramin. “That’s fine. I’m your trainer, not your babysitter, Boyd. You’re a grown man—a Vigil chosen by Raguel, as everyone keeps reminding me—and quite capable of choosing what you will or won’t do. I warned you to stay out of this mess for your own good and for the good of our Order, but if you feel compelled to hunt the Chaos Aberration then I won’t stop you. No matter how foolish I think your choices are. And they are foolish, make no mistake about that.
“But if you’re going to do something stupid, at least try to be smart about it. You’ve just barely reached Acolyte Class and Bramin there”—she nodded to the hulk who’d tried to pulverize my spine the night before—“is a well-known Steelborn who’s been breaking legs, and worse, on behalf of the Society of Vicious Whispers for years. I’ve never been on the receiving end of his fists myself,” she said pointedly, “but I’ve heard plenty of stories. Last night could’ve gone extremely poorly and you’re lucky that I didn’t end up fishing your corpse out of the Cut this morning.”
“I’m not trying to make stupid choices,” I said, folding my arms as I leaned back against the wall, “but I’m not going to drop this either. Something about this whole situation rubs me the wrong way, and I aim to keep kicking down doors until I found out why.”
“As I said, that’s your choice. All I’m asking you for is a week. It won’t make up for the years of training you missed, but if you listen to me, I can at least give you a fighting chance against something like an Aberration. Then, even if you die—which you likely will—at least I won’t feel culpable in your untimely demise. I’ll know that I’ve discharged my duties as your trainer to the best of my abilities and I’ll be able to sleep at night. Give me a week and I’ll leave you alone to do as you will. Do we have a deal?”
I only kicked around the offer for a moment. Kerra was uptight, but I got the feeling that she’d genuinely tried to do right by me so far. She took her job seriously and was only doing what she thought was best, just like me. I’d asked her to train me and now she was asking me to give her a week. It wasn’t a hard choice, especially since we weren’t going to be in Wildespell anyway.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, extending my hand. “We have ourselves a deal…”
***
Heart to heart concluded in the Sprawl, Kerra and I headed back to the Citadel in relative silence then switched gears from conditioning to weapons training with Niels. We ran through the same katas and forms we had from the day before, then spent some time sparring at half speed with the suppression bracelets latched in place. Even after only a day under Neils’s tutelage, the axe I’d been training with felt more natural and fluid in my hands. Kerra watched my progress with a critical eye, critiquing my footwork or my hand placement.
Any time I made the same mistake more than once, it earned me a trip up the “Reinforcement Rope.”
It was fifty feet of course rope, reinforced with a frayed metal wire that sliced at my palms, scathed at any exposed section of skin, and caught constantly at my clothing. After a few trips up, my hands were a bloody mess and gripping the axe became a real and painful challenge. I quickly learned that I fucking hated that rope and wanted to make as few trips to the top as possible, so my form improved quickly. I’ve always been a fast learner, so long as I’m properly motivated.
Pain is a good motivator.
After a sparse lunch, we launched into another hour of weapon forms—I even managed to land a blow against Niels during a sparring bout—then we spent the rest of the afternoon working on an odd meditation routine and hand-to-hand combat techniques.
I might’ve had a lot to learn about medieval melee weapon combat, but Kerra was as equally surprised as Niels had been when we sparred for the first time, and I submitted her with a leg lock in under a minute. Given, we were wearing Suppression Training Bracelets, and I did have at least a hundred pounds on her, but she was impressed all the same. She and Niels spent almost as much time asking about my fighting methods as they spent teaching me theirs.
There were a lot of similarities but some significant differences as well. Although they did incorporate some kicks and a variety of hard strikes, their system most closely resembled a combination of Krav Maga, Brazilian Ju Jitsu, and LINE training, which the Marine Corps had employed from 1989 to 1998. I’d never personally mastered LINE—the Corps had switched over to MCMAP a year or two after I’d enlisted—but I’d spent plenty of time with Senior Staff NCOs who knew it inside and out.
Like LINE training, Vigil Combat wasn’t flashy, wasn’t meant for sport, and focused entirely on combat effectiveness. Although there were some techniques designed to disable or restrain, most of the moves were purpose-built to kill or, at the very least, maim.
The techniques were meant to be performed in low light conditions, or environments where visibility would likely be impaired since Mortka often lived in places of complete darkness. They largely disregarded skills that necessitated fine-motor control—such as wrist locks or precision strikes—since many Mortka didn’t have wrists, arms, or any semblance of human anatomy. And every move was designed to be executed while physically exhausted and wearing medium or heavy armor.
I taught them a couple of Judo-style throws and sweeps and picked up a few solid tips in return.
22 – Peace Offering
A few hours before sunset, Kerra called our session to a premature halt.
“You’re still rough around the edges,” she said as I mopped sweat from my face, “but you’re no longer hopeless with a melee weapon. And your hand-to-hand skills are admittedly impressive. What do you think Niels, is he ready?”
The bald weapons trainer regarded me for a long moment, before finally nodding. “I suppose so,” he said. “He’s got all the basics down and he’s personally cleared more bounties than most Gold-ranked Acolytes. He’s ready enough.”
Niels left Section Overseer Blackmore in charge, then he, Kerra and I turned our backs on the courtyard and headed into the Citadel proper. I had no idea what the hell was going on or why they were being so secretive. My confusion mounted even further when they ushered me to a nondescript spiral staircase, marked “Ascendant Vigilant Only,” which lead down instead of up for a change. I hadn’t even realized the Citadel had a basement, especially since Kerra had left out any mention of it during our formal tour.
The staircase corkscrewed into the earth and the air grew noticeably cooler as we descended. We must’ve dropped four or five stories before the narrow passage finally ended at a curved archway that let out into a huge subterranean complex, complete with weapons and training armor, an expansive archery range, and a depressed circular sparring ring that reminded me of the sandy fighting pit I’d brawled in the night before. A Vigil in scale mail was duking it out with what appeared to be a faceless, animated suit of armor. More of the lifeless suits were lined up against the far wall.
“They’re Soul Forged Constructs,” Kerra said, waving to the hulking suits of armor. “See the talismans embedded in their chests?” I did. Each had a small clay token, about the size of a silver dollar inlaid into the metal. “Those are Soul Jars. Vigils with the right skill set can trap a dying Mortka’s Essence in a Soul Jar instead of absorbing it. Those can be used by reanimators to summon Remnants or power things like the Faceless.”
There were also several archways that connected to additional rooms.
One chamber was filled with a random assortment of doors and chests. A Vigil in dark leathers was crouched in front of a massive iron gate that looked like it had come off a prison cell. His back was too me, so I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but it wasn’t hard to guess that he was practicing Deft Touch—learning how to pick increasingly more complex locks. Another such room, crisscrossed with thin beams of light and pools of dark shadow, seemed custom built to practice Stealth Step and Crystalline Shell.
A Vigil in flowing robes, marked with the sigil of Wrath, slung spells in a domed shaped room with dimpled walls and ceilings that reminded me of a golf ball. Gold and silver sigils were engraved into the wall panels, glimmering with unearthly power. A lance of fire burst from her palm, slamming into the wall, then quickly dissipating.
“That’s the Arcana Dampening Chamber,” Kerra said, noticing the direction of my gaze. “It was designed by the builders as a way to enhance core cultivation and practice spells. The sigil panels suck up Arcana, then recycle it and release a portion of it back as Raw Essence. It allows Vigils to practice casting dangerous magic in relative safety and the constant influx of fresh Essence means Vigils can cast Arcana-intensive spells more frequently.
“Welcome to Fury Hall,” she continued with a slight smile. “The unawakened recruits train up top, perfecting their bodies and mastering the fundamental basics of Citadel warfare, but this is where Vigils train.” She pointed toward the fighting pit with the faceless mannequins. “Those are Sigil Constructs, animated by the souls of fallen Mortka. They are completely compliant and lie dormant until you fed a trickle of Essence into their sigil port. Then they serve as the perfect sparring partner. There are rooms suited for practicing every path.
“Truth.” She gestured toward the shadow and lock room. “Valor.” Another room, fixed with small cannons, launched heavy steel balls at a Vigil in plate mail. “Wrath.” She nodded at the spellcaster hurling fireballs. “You will find the truly dedicated down here, honing their abilities to a razor’s edge. Preparing for any obstacle the world may throw their way. The real treasure, however, lies there.” She headed over to the far end of the hall, which had a beefy steel door that looked like it was built to keep out an army of angry Mortka. Large crystalline glass windows flanked the door on both sides. “Come. Watch.”
I stepped up and squinted.
The breath caught in my throat when I spotted a couple of familiar faces inside.
Telent and Kol. Two of the four Vigils who’d help Kerra “escort” me to the Citadel for my trial.
The pair of them were in the fight of their lives.
Silver mist crawled through what appeared to be an otherworldly jungle with purple trees and swaying, burnt orange grass. A huge simian creature with six arms gnashed its teeth and lashed out at Kol with a fist covered in stone. He ducked below the strike, sidestepped a powerful haymaker, then danced away from an uppercut. The creature whiffed, suddenly unbalanced, and Kol crooked a finger. Tangles of brown vine erupted from the loamy earth, wrapping around the monster’s legs.
I lurched toward the steel door, but Kerra caught my arm.
“Just watch,” she said. “They know what they’re doing.”
Telent bounded in with a rapier in one hand and a slim dagger in the other. He slashed at the overgrown monkey’s face, leaving a shallow cut beneath one eye, then bolted under a clumsy overhand attack and dragged his dagger across the creature’s belly. The blade easily cut through skin, muscle, and fat, splitting the monster from navel to groin. Ropes of blue-gray intestine spilled out in heaps. Kol’s summoned vines shot out like striking snakes. They wrapped around the tangles of guts then slid up into the monster’s chest cavity.
Honestly, it was as disgusting as it was impressive.
Kol bent over and slammed his fist into the ground.
The earth rumbled, responding to his will. The Vigil of Balance righted himself a second later and his entire forearm was encrusted in thick slabs of stone. He charged forward with a roar and slammed his newly reinforced fist into the reeling creature, shattering its jaw and breaking its neck with a single blow. The Mortka’s eyes went vacant, glassy, and it toppled over, the life already gone from its body. It hit the ground with a thudand broke apart in a cloud of swirling smoke, disappearing as if it had never been there at all.
“You were right, Kol,” Telent said casually as he dismissed his sword and dagger. “That was a much more effective tactic than I would’ve thought.” He ambled over to the wall and hit his palm against something just out of sight. The jungle flickered like a dying lightbulb then disappeared entirely, replaced by a circular cavern the size of a football stadium.
The ground was rough gray stone and at the center of the cavern were five concentric golden circles inlaid directly into the floor. Above was a vaulted patchwork dome, constructed of huge interlocking, opal tiles. Hanging from the ceiling were a series of huge golden arms with large crystal lenses attached to each end. Honestly, it looked like some a giant baby mobile made by an overeager, occultist Hot-Topic mom.
The steel door released and swung outward with a soft hiss, fine tendrils of silver mist clawing their way into the room.
“Kerra,” Telent said, as the door fully opened and came to a stop. “I was wondering when you’d finally show up—though I didn’t expect to see the old battle-ax tagging along. How in the bloody world are you, Niels?” He slapped the weapon master on the shoulder like an old friend. “It’s been ages since the last time you kicked my arse. I must say, you’re looking well. All that unbearable exercise you swear by is keeping you spry.”
“It’s good to see you too.” Niels offered the man a broad smile in return. “It has indeed been a while, though my training yard is always open. Even for renowned Vigils, such as yourself. Whenever you have some free time, you’re welcome to stop by. I’d be happy to teach you a thing or two, if you ever have a mind to learn.”
Telent winced and clutched at his side playfully. “The offer is much appreciated, but I remember the last lesson you taught me a little too well, I think. Hope old Ironsides here is treating you better than he used to treat me,” Telent said, shooting me a wink. “All things considered, training with him might be a touch more painful than a good clean headsmen’s axe to the neck. Still, I’m damned glad to see they decided to keep you alive. We owe you for saving our arses back with the Elder Bear and I hate having outstanding debts.”
“Yes!” Kol boomed. “That is how you end up with an angry ghost haunting you. But don’t think we’ve forgotten about you, friend Boyd! We just been busy, busy with our current assignment.”
“That’s actually why we convinced Kerra to bring you down here,” Telent admitted sheepishly. “Me and the boys, well we felt bad that we haven’t had time to pop by and give you a proper welcome. So we conspired with Kerra and Niels to commission a thank you present of sorts. It’s not a beer, but it’s not nothing.”
Kol lumbered forward and pulled out a crescent-bladed axe, similar to the one I’d been training with for the past couple of days. It had a gleaming blade that drew down to a sharp point at the bottom, a wicked spike jutting from the top—perfect for thrusting attacks—and a second curved spike protruding from the back, custom designed to punch through even heavy plate armor. The haft was crafted from polished ebony wood and the handle was wrapped with strips of leather. Gold and silver sigils burned along the surface of the axe head and ran down the shaft of the weapon.
Not just an axe, but a weapon skin. A Mortka forged weapon skin.
I silently accepted the weapon, turning it over in my hands. I ran my thumb over the sigils etched into the metal. The skin was solid, but it weighed nothing at all.
<<<>>>
Mortka-Forged Raven Peak Axe
Type: Mortka Forged Steel, Blunt Weapon
Class: Master
The Raven Peak axe, so named for its distinctive curved beak head, is lighter and far more maneuverable than its larger, two-handed brethren. Its keen blade, crafted from Reinforced Mortka Steel, will never lose its edge. Favored by both mounted calvary and front-line infantry, the Raven Peak Axe is a versatile weapon suited for battle against a wide array of foes.
Primary Effects:
· Weapon Skin: Item can be applied to any base Soul Bound melee weapon, transforming it into a Mortka-Forged Raven Peak Axe.
<<<>>>
“Are you sure?” I asked, squinting at the weapon, then looking between Telent and Kol. “This thing must’ve cost a fortune.” Probably not as much as the blue basilisk armor I’d bartered for at the Steel Griffin, I thought, but not cheap either.
“We’re plenty sure, and we all chipped in. Me, Kol, Amherst, Jori. Hells, even Justiciar Kerra helped,” Telent replied with a shrug. “We felt like it was the least we could do, considering. Niels picked the weapon out for us. Said it would be a good fit for you.”
I side-eyed Kerra. She shifted uncomfortably from side to side.
“Besides,” Telent continued, “you deserve it. Word on the street is you managed to lay Niels there out on his back in a hand-to-hand bout.” He cocked an eyebrow at the weapons trainer. “If there’s any truth to it, you’ve earned that weapon a hundred times over just for all the laughs you’ve provided us.”
Niels spread his hands in admission. “I was as surprised as anyone else, I can assure you.”
“Ha! Wish I could’ve been there to see it.” Telent chuckled. “That smile of his used to haunt my nightmares back before I ascended. The man doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, but he’s still one of the scariest, most tenacious opponents I’ve ever faced.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I replied, clutching the handle tightly.
“You don’t have to say anything, friend,” Telent replied matter of factly. “Just do us a favor and put it to good use, eh? There’s a lot of bad things out in the world and we could use more good men like you out there handling them. Now, much as I would love to stay and chat a little more, we have a rather pressing meeting with the Keeper. There’s something nasty out there killing folk and we aim to put a stop to it.”
“But we do still owe you a beer,” Kol said gravely. “Once we slay this beast that hunts Wildspell we shall all celebrate together and drink mead from its skull! Consider the axe a down payment until then, friend.”
23 – Fire and Brimstone
We watched the two men until they disappeared up the spiral staircase.
I rounded on Kerra, axe in hand. “Thank you,” I said in earnest. “Seriously. This is an amazing gift.”
“It’s nothing,” she replied gruffly. “Like Telent said, it’s just a small token of gratitude for your assistance with the Elder Bear. That and for any hard feelings about the way you were treated.” She cleared her voice. “Now, if we’re done being overly sentimental, maybe we can get back to what I really came down here to show you?” She waved at the odd chamber behind us.
Clearly, she couldn’t just say sorry like a normal person, but I knew that’s what this really was. A peace offering and an apology. I didn’t want to make her feel more awkward than she already did, so I dropped it. “By all means,” I said, gesturing toward the door.
“This is the crown jewel of the Citadel.” She pulled open the door and strutted in, waving for me and Niels to accompany her. “It is the ultimate training room.” The air inside the chamber felt thick and humid. Charged with potent energy. “As I assume you know, Mortka manifest in areas where the veil between the Etheric Realm and the Material Realm are thin. This room is called the Nexus Simulator and it is even older than the Citadel. It is a thin place that overlaps with the Celestial Plane instead of the Etheric Plane.
“The First Custodians, under the guidance of Exarch Angwin, built the Citadel on this spot in large part because of its proximity to the Nexus. Being so close to the Celestial Realm allows Raguel to speak more clearly here, than anywhere else on Alkran. But it also has a secondary benefit. Celestial Essence is much more malleable than Etheric Essence which means that with the right magic, alchemy, and engineering we can perfectly shape this space to suit our needs.”
Against the wall, sitting beneath the crystalline window, was a hulking bronze box, studded with levers, gears, buttons, and glowing runes. She tweaked a few of the controls and the vast golden arms overhead shifted, accompanied by the soft mechanical whirl of gears. She pressed another few buttons and the circular crystals flared to brilliant life. Abruptly, we were no longer standing in a cavern beneath the Citadel. Instead, we were on a windswept dune of black sands with an unnerving green sky overhead and the noonday sun at its zenith.
“The lens crystals are made from a substance called Ulacart, which is used by the Fae to amplify the power of their glamors. When combined with the pliable nature of a Celestial Nexus, we can phase-shift the entire chamber and project a wide variety of environments over the cavern topography.” She pointed toward a series of dials. “These are the location indicators. There are eleven hundred possible dial combinations, and each represents a unique landscape. These gauges here control time of day, elevation, and temperature.”
She reached over and touched a circular tray protruding from the right side of the machine. “This is the Generator Plate. The machine itself can mimic almost any environment, but it cannot manifest a Mortka without a little assistance. A blueprint. But if you place a Transformation Token on this, the room will conjure a Remnant version of the Mortka for you to practice against. Be aware that the console will consume and destroy the token. Killing a Remnant won’t give you the same burst of Essence either, but it is an invaluable tool for learning to battle against common creatures that you may find out in the wild.”
“Holy shit. This is incredible.” I bent down and scooped up a handful of onyx sand. It trickled through my fingers and pooled in a small pile below. It felt perfectly real and so did the heat hammering down on me from the false sun. This was just like the X-Men Danger Room or the Holodeck on Star Trek. “It feels real.”
“Indeed it does,” Niels said, kicking up a puff of dust with one foot. “But it is not. Remember that. It is only a veryadvanced form of glamor, combined with a very unique location. Once your Insight hits the high thirties, you’ll be able to see it for what it is. But even though it isn’t real, the things in here can be deadly so treat it with caution. Remnant Mortka are typically half as strong as their living counterparts, but in some cases that may still be strong enough to kill you if you are unwise.”
“In case you find yourself in such a predicament,” Kerra said, “there is a cutoff switch on the summoning console.” She cranked on a bright red level sticking out of the machine and the whole image guttered and died. “Just pull that to deactivate the unit and dispel anything conjured by the Soul Plate.”
“And I can train down here whenever I want?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said with a nod. “Now that I feel reasonably certain you won’t kill yourself by accident, you may use Fury Hall whenever you would like. I’m going to give you the rest of the day off to explore the facility and prepare for our trip.” She paused and gave me a long, hard stare. “Don’t be late in the morning and please don’t do anything I wouldn’t. Remember, all I’m asking for is one week.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said. I promised her a week and she was going to get it.
***
I spent the next six or seven hours screwing around in Fury Hall. I sparred with the training dummies, tried my hand at the archery range—impressing a handful of other Vigils with my automatic shottie—and messed around inside the Nexus Simulator. I still wasn’t sure how all the controls worked, but I knew enough to summon a random location, load a Transformation Token into the Soul Plate, and watch a Mortka pop out on the other side. So far, I’d battled my way through a Crave Ghoul, a Hollow Maw, and a pair of Boneshrieks—apparently, you could shove more than one Transformation Token into the machine at a time, which was good to know.
I was exhausted to the core when I finally left the training hall with my new Raven’s Beak Axe and made for the nearest Chapel, which happened to be dedicated to the Aspect of Wrath. There was a service in session, presided over by a somber-looking Arbitrator with a lean face and salt and pepper hair. A handful of visitors were milling around in respectful silence as he read a short passage from a huge leather-bound book, plated with gold and studded with gemstones, then launched into a droning homily. The Arbitrator had all the personality of an old tree stump and absolutely none of Arturo’s panache or flair for the dramatic.
Still, I found myself listening intently to his message. Both because I didn’t want to be an enormous dick by interrupting a religious service—my mama had taught me better than that—and because the content of the message piqued my interest even if the method of delivery left something to be desired.
“Wildespell is on the precipice of Raguel’s Wrathful judgment,” he said. “Is it a coincidence that a creature of Oblivion haunts our streets?”
He let the question hang in the air, the tension building like a storm cloud.
“No. I think not,” he finished sharply. “Who’s to say that Raguel has not allowed this beast to descend upon us as a judgment for the wayward disobedience of the Heir Apparent, hmm? The king is on his death bed and instead of seeking the wise consul of the Custodians, the Prince has surrounded himself with murmuring fools who speak against our righteous Vigil Bound. They say we should pay more taxes. That our glorious Vigils are not doing enough for this city. That the church takes more than it gives, even though we cleanse the world of the countless unspeakable evils, which bubble forth from primordial places.”
There was a chorus of angry grumbles from the assembled congregants.
“Prince Andreas, in his shortsighted arrogance,” the Arbitrator continued, his tone building to a fever pitch, “says that the Custodians should heel before his royal advisors like leashed hounds. That we should beg and grovel for scraps at the edge of his table. That we should serve the throne and secure it against Virtarun hostility like common street thugs. Disgraceful.” The disgust in his voice was plain. “And what is the result I ask you, hmm? His right-hand advisor, the source of so many of these hideous blasphemies, now lies dead in a shallow grave and a creature of Chaos hunts the streets.
“Raguel is patient. He seeks justice, embodies the most noble traits of valor, and loves truth above all else. But balance… Well, balance only stretches so far. When corruption festers at the highest levels of power and the throne issues heavy-fisted threats and spreads insidious lies of the vilest sort, the only thing that remains is wrath.” Spittle flew from his mouth and his eyes bulged slightly as he said the last word.
I’d seen more than a few religious zealots before—both fighting against the Insurgents in Iraq and because I’d grown up in the south. This guy qualified in spades.
I cleared my throat and stepped forward from a pool of dim shadow, catching the Arbitrator’s gaze for the first time. He fell silent and immediately dropped to a knee, head deeply bowed. A ripple of shock worked through the crowd as they spotted me and followed the Arbitrator’s lead, kneeling in reverence. Seeing them prostrated before me made my goddamned skin crawl. I was a brawler and a trigger puller, not a god.
“Vigilant One,” the Arbitrator said, raising his head just enough to look at me, “you bless us mightily with your presence. And surely you are more blessed than all others. You are the Inkarnate, hand chosen by Raguel. Have you come to share your wisdom with us?”
I cleared my throat and shifted uncomfortably under the hot, fervent gazes of the people assembled before me. I had zero desire to get embroiled in local politics, no matter how fucked they were. That was one of the first rules I’d learned while fighting overseas. It was impossible to save everyone, especially not the locals. The world was a broken place and if I let myself get too invested, it could break me too. The best thing was to show up, do the job, finish the mission, and let the higher ups worry about hearts and minds, nation building, and all that happy horseshit they liked to show on the news.
Except, now I was the higher up, I reminded myself. I was a Vigil and, apparently, I was one of the very few Vigils who had direct access to Raguel. So even though it felt like I was wholly unqualified and walking through a potential minefield, I couldn’t, in good conscience, keep my mouth shut.
“There’s a lot I don’t know,” I said slowly, “but I’m one of the few people in this world who has ever met Raguel face-to-face, and I can tell you this—he isn’t a dickhead who would kill innocent kids just to send a message. I don’t know what is at the heart of these killings, but I do know for a fact that it ain’t Raguel.”
Something dark and angry flickered across the priest’s face. This was not the message he’d been expecting to hear. Well fuck him. This was the truth.
“The other thing I know,” I said after a pause, “is that I’m gonna plant a boot firmly in this monster’s ass before this is all through. You can take that to the bank. Now I think it’s best if you all clear out of here. This service is over. I need the chapel for Raguel’s business.”
The congregants murmured soft acknowledgements as they stood and shuffled out. The priest wasn’t quite so fast to jump. The flash of anger I’d seen before had transformed into something ugly that crawled just behind his, bright, fervent eyes. This guy was as dangerous as a Cottonmouth.
Finally, he offered me a tight-lipped smile, bobbed his head just a fraction of an inch, and departed, the hem of his black cassock swishing around his ankles as he walked. He faltered and glanced back at me over one shoulder. The thin smile was gone and he didn’t even try to hide his sneer. I gave him a little one finger wave, fuck you too, then slapped my hand against the floating orb above the altar. Power rushed through me, and the chapel vanished, replaced by my Soul Vault.
Comments
James A. Hunter
lol. Yep, totally should be.
BelligerentGnu
Yep, that's exactly the context needed. Thanks! Also: "Weapon Skin: Item can be applied to any base Soul Bound melee weapon, transforming it into a Standard Hand-and-a-Half Sword." - Shouldn't this be Half-Moon Axe?
James A. Hunter
That's a great point. So originally I had more to this conversation, then thought it gave away too much so I cut it back. I'm going to add a version of that original conversation back in. I'll post it below, I'd love to hear if that fixes the issue for you.
BelligerentGnu
I'm really enjoying this, but I've got to admit I'm just confused about Kerra's response to the expedition. Just, 'we know you went looking'? And then following up with business as usual and then an apology gift? I'm unsure of what she's trying to do. Is she trying to warn him off, give tacit permission, or just say 'you're not as good as you think you are'? I feel like maybe this is a military culture thing I'm missing the context for.
