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Chapter 285. Euryphel’s Illusion
🕑 Added 2022-08-03 03:20:04 +0000 UTCEuryphel inspects the guest room. “Why does this chamber look like it was blasted out by a bomb, rather than shaped with earth elementalism?” He points to the roughhewn rock walls.
I’d also noticed that earlier, though I hadn’t thought much of it. Ascendants are weird. My Beginning is too weak to make sense of all the strangeness.
I shrug. “Aesthetics?”
Euryphel walks me through how our collaboration will work. Every minute, give or take a few seconds, his presence will flicker as the transmission terminates. Or more specifically, as I terminate it, since I’m the one who controls the transmission artifact. Euryphel will reappear immediately after.
“My primary purpose is making sure you don’t screw up in other Regret scenarios,” Euryphel explains. “I’ll talk to you within such scenarios, since I won’t be able to use my wind elementalism.”
“Hold on,” I say. “Remorse communications should work.”
Euryphel’s eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yes,” I say, speaking directly into his mind. “Though it only goes one way. I learned this from talking to Crystal with the transmission artifact. When I appeared before her as a projection, she could talk to me mentally, but I had to speak to her.” In other words, Cayeun Suncloud’s projections can receive thoughts, but not send them.
“So, I still need to speak out loud,” Euryphel concludes.
“Yes, but I can ask you yes and no questions and communicate information about everyone we see discreetly. I can let you know when we’re in a scenario without tipping off those who seek to test me.” I grin. “Also, I can tell you what Maria is thinking.”
Tell him he looks better in the SPU’s blue and white than black, Maria comments.
Don’t be a hater–black is best, I say dryly. She’s not wrong, though–the black robes look out of place on Euryphel. Usually, he wears lighter colors or patterned textiles.
“You should be aware that Kaiwen Chowicz is assisting me,” Euryphel adds.
I sigh in relief. I’m amazed he’s invited someone to help of his own volition.
I am pleased that Kaiwen is helping, but I don’t fully grasp the utility of having her assist, Maria says.
I’d been concerned that Euryphel would be unable to run his scenarios effectively as a projection. With Kaiwen running scenarios, Euryphel will be able to run through many more scenarios on his own without the limitation of deactivating and reactivating the transmission artifact.
Euryphel is used to running tens of scenarios in a second; the transmission artifact will slow his speed down to maybe two scenarios per second if that, I explain. Such a pace is unacceptable. It’ll become clearer once we get started.
To Euryphel, I remark, “Good, but I hope we won’t need her help.”
Euryphel gives me a pained expression. “Ian, you’re going to be spending hours in a large banquet hall–”
“It’s a viewing box.”
He frowns. “A viewing box that fits hundreds of people and serves food and drinks. I digress. People will be watching the competition, sure, but they’ll also be socializing and probing one another. I can guarantee the white and black factions will be at each other’s throats in Regret scenarios.”
“Was it like that in the SPU?”
He laughs. “Sometimes. In the Selejo Imperial Federation, it’s much worse.” He smiles sadly. “I may not be an old ascendant with thousands of years of experience, but this kind of situation is my bread and butter.”
“They’re going to be doing more than just eating and drinking,” I note. “They may be more occupied than you think.”
Euryphel raises an eyebrow. “Sorry to break it to you, Mr. Black, but at our level, nobody is ever too occupied to run Regret scenarios.”
—
Maria spectated through Ian’s eyes. She felt like an observer in one of Zilverna’s games. One of his favorites to watch as a child was Selejo Guardian Force. He’d set up the glossY projector so that it expanded a video to cover his massive bedroom wall. Then he’d watch a playthrough of SGF from the perspective of his favorite avatars–made-up officers of Selejo that performed missions to save the nation from outside threats.
She could clearly envision Zilverna watching such a projection and tried to guess how old he was in her memory. Five, maybe six? Too young to play such games himself without throwing tantrums from frustration.
She brushed the memory away like old cobwebs. Zilverna was alive and under Kaiwen’s care. If all went well, she’d unite with him and make new memories, but Maria didn’t want to get her hopes up. It was possible that when Dunai left with the return beacon, she’d be left behind, even if she remained in her transformed regalia form.
I’ve become such a pessimist, Maria thought bitterly. She prided herself on slogging through tough situations without complaint, but she’d endured serious hardships with few concrete gains under Ancient Ash’s tutelage. She’d improved her End and Sun affinities, certainly, but she’d ultimately spent the most time as a sponge for Ian to wring dry, a clever hack that Ian could exploit to rapidly grind out his third affinity, Beginning.
And what was her reward when Ian succeeded because of her sacrifice?
She had needed to sacrifice again–this time her own body, becoming an inanimate object, an observer like young, weak Zilverna, unable to play through a game.
She tried to contain the negative thoughts, though she knew Ian sensed them from time to time. He was polite enough to not bring them up. He knew why she was dismayed, but there was no solution–not yet.
When is Red competing? Maria asked Ian. The ascendant was just about to leave the guest chambers. Euryphel was absent, the executor taking one last bathroom break before the several hour slog ahead.
I’m not sure how many rounds there are, let alone what they’re like. I doubt it’s simply one-on-one duels. Ian spoke while adjusting his hair in a mirror, his hands at his side while the strands arranged themselves, shaped by his practice.
Ian used to be torn between fascinated and disturbed when he looked into mirrors after invoking the dagger’s transformative powers. He’d tried to hide it, but Maria was sensitive enough to Ian’s feelings by now that she’d noticed. Frankly, she’d also been disturbed by Ian’s transformation in the beginning. Some of the dagger’s transformations were awe-inspiring, like the woman that the dagger had turned into a flaming phoenix.
Ian’s was sinister–or so she’d thought. But his dark form had grown on her. The alienness became less haunting over time. In some ways, it elevated Ian, made him seem almost divine. Looking at Ian transformed, Maria had a better understanding of the humans who worshiped powerful practitioners as gods.
After waiting a few minutes, Ian clicked the transformed transmission artifact, summoning Euryphel to the room.
“Are you ready?” Ian asked.
Euryphel nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”
Suddenly, all around Ian, specters manifested. They seemed to climb out of his cloak, a long, gravity-defying textile that rippled out like spilled milk around him. The apparitions were all close to Ian’s body, but served as a barrier of sorts, preventing people from approaching him other than head-on. The brooch at Ian’s neck glowed a deep violet, having been aspected with his Death energy. Usually, he left it an unaspected black, but Ian coated his vambraces–Maria herself–and shoulders with violet Death energy, while painting the apparitions in violet, gray, and black hues.
Euryphel wore the full regalia of the imperial executor, an exquisite ornament that followed his hairline over his ear, then coiled around his hair, which was knotted elegantly at the nape of his neck. But while the ornament normally scintillated with gems, all were black. Guardian Urstes had used his Mountain affinity to change the material properties of the stones so that they appeared like glassy obsidian. They made Maria think of shadows frozen solid.
Additionally, the former prince had changed other aspects of his appearance with practiced ease. He’d turned his golden hair bone white and changed the color of his eyes to pure black, including the sclera, giving him a distinctly inhuman appearance. His skin was pale enough that strategic brushstrokes of white powder gave him the pallor of death.
A coy smile on his face, Euryphel stepped into the shadowy throng of apparitions. They clawed at him like hungry wraiths, though settled down, moving slower, though with no less aggression.
“I think that’s good,” Ian remarked, still inspecting his overall illusory composition in the mirror. “You don’t have your own physical presence, and everything will pass through you, but that’s the same for all these specters hanging around me. Everyone will assume you’re an entity of my creation.”
Aren’t you missing something if he’s supposed to be a necromantic construct? Maria asked.
Right! Ian replied, jerking around. He walked over to the corner of the room where a large vase served as decoration. Four souls were leashed to it.
Ian plucked one of them with his taloned fingers and dragged it over, plunging it into the space where Euryphel stood. The executor gasped as though in the throes of death as Ian’s hand pierced his chest. Ian rolled his eyes. “You call yourself a good actor?”
Euryphel recovered with a light cough, mischief playing at the corners of his lips. “Does it look right?” He glanced at the mirror. “I’m the only one here who can’t see souls.”
Maria might be able to see souls because she shared Ian’s vision, but she didn’t have an intuition for what they were supposed to look or feel like. She wasn’t completely ignorant, though. She knew that in a construct, souls shouldn’t be visible at all. Additionally, any construct’s souls wouldn’t look disembodied, which was what Euryphel’s “soul” looked like now, floating in his chest.
Ian just frowned and fiddled with one of his void rings, cycling through its contents with an unsatisfied expression. Then he reached for his void storage and felt around for a solid half minute. Finally, he grunted in exasperation before withdrawing a prismatic soul gem the size of his fist. “You know, nobody ever said I couldn’t attach a soul to a soul gem.”
Maria blinked. She didn’t see why anyone would bother. Making a soul gem into a construct was like dressing up a gravity generator as a doll. It was much more useful for its intended purpose.
All Ian needed was a plain rock and he could anchor the soul. Possibly sensing Maria’s disapproval, Ian started justifying himself. “I could use anything as the heart of this construct, but Ancient Black wouldn’t just use anything. He would do the unexpected, like using a soul gem.”
The only people who will notice anything are the Life and Death practitioners, Maria said. Just do whatever you think they’d appreciate.
Ian paused. “But you know… the other practitioners would probably consider this wasteful.”
Euryphel shrugged. “You would know best.”
Ian put the soul gem away. This time, he pulled the desiccated bloom of a thorny rose from his ring with a sharp twist. It appeared in his hand and began to change color immediately, green and wine-red darkening to withered gray and bruise purple, respectively. Ian held up the flower, then blew on it theatrically while using his affinity to fly it across the room to where Euryphel stood in a throng of shades. The flower entered his chest and was barely visible from within if Maria looked very closely. However, the black robes that Euryphel wore obscured the withered flower.
The flower construct gave Euryphel’s dramatic visage another layer of mystique. If Maria heard the scene described, she might have laughed. But the scene that she saw in the mirror was the farthest thing from funny. She wished that Red was here to give his personal assessment, but Holiday had already stolen the ascendant away in preparation for the competition.
Hopefully we haven’t overdone it, Maria thought.
Ian hummed thoughtfully. The only ancient I have for reference is Ash, and he wore a color-shifting scorpion suit to the last function that he attended.
Maria internally winced at the memory. On second thought, we’re fine.
Ian took a deep breath. “Once we leave, I’m going to start summoning and dismissing you every minute.”
Euryphel fidgeted. “I’m prepared.”
“Good.”
When going out, Ian kept the transmission artifact inside of his suit jacket. He could manipulate a shard of bone that he’d embedded into the interior pocket to click the artifact’s activator at will.
He activated that mechanism now, dispelling Euryphel. The executor appeared a half second later. During the moment of absence, specters swirled around Euryphel, enveloping the space where he was absent. Ian wove the executor’s regular disappearance into a normal pattern of life.
Ian soundlessly threw open the doors to his guest room, then glided down the hall, his feet almost skimming the surface of the floor–a living carpet of tulips covered by a clear pane of resin. The flowers rotated their petals cheerfully as he passed. Some of the apparitions growled at the floor.
Oh, Ian, Maria thought to herself. She hated feeling so unprepared; back in Selejo, she knew exactly what to expect from social functions, even if they were sometimes unpleasant. She’d take unpleasant over unknown any day. I hope we don’t mess this up.
