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Chapter 281. The Mysterious Black
🕑 Added 2022-07-25 16:25:50 +0000 UTCAscendant Crimson Teeth
I expected interesting things to happen at the competition. Interesting is a generic term–a catch-all for the chaos that occurs whenever ascendants congregate.
I came to the competition grounds with several other members from the Hall of Ascension right after the competition’s announcement. We set up the site, carving out the dirt and test-running the circuits to and from the planes designated as confluence points.
“How peaceful things were when it was just us,” I think wistfully to Ebon Pearl, whose eyes are trained on the enigmatic Ancient Black. Her ability to mentally communicate is finicky; she can easily speak into the minds of others, but only those who have spent considerable time with her can communicate back. “Something tells me that things are going to get interesting.”
“Did you really consider the time everyone came peaceful?”
“Of course.”
“You had everyone play exploding poker–”
“And?”
“–To carve out this valley,” she continues.
“It’s so much fun, though!” Clearing away part of a mountain is easy enough with a single earth elementalist. Since we had weeks to get the job done, I had to think of a way to make it more exciting. Detonating ourselves with ascendant energy repeatedly was a novel method, and therefore, far more interesting.
“Of course the only Beginning practitioner would find exploding poker fun,” she snarks back. “You never lost.”
“Hey, I still exploded myself fourteen times!” For fairness’ sake.
“Of your own volition… because you’re insane.” Her words are biting, but the emotion behind them is warm.
“Ascendant Crimson teeth,” Black says, demanding my attention. “You were going to lead us to a plane where we could have discretion.”
His eyes are dark and scintillate with a rainbow sheen, set in an aquiline, rugged face. His skin is unnaturally black, like midnight and shadows, almost veering into navy or deep violet, like a bruise. His fingers and toes are all tipped by talons that look impractical, though the man had no trouble grasping the drink I handed to him earlier. His dark, spectral wings, even as they press tightly to his back, smolder with concealed fire, matching the ring of embers fixed a few inches above his head. The wings and the crown almost remind me of the seraphs of Ascendant Suncloud.
He’s a human who looks like he’s trying to shed all humanizing elements, either because he doesn’t care how he’s perceived or because he intentionally wants to distance himself from his own species. It could be for some other reason, of course–those of us old enough to become ancients have eccentricities.
The one kink in that line of reasoning is the man’s suit. I don’t spend my days following style trends among ascendants–they move faster than makes any kind of sense, given our longevity–but even I can tell the suit is fashionable.
Some planes have mortal tailors that sell suits to ascendant clientele, especially in cities with diverse, enlightened populations. If not for the brooch that clasps around the neck of the suit, I might have accepted that he bought his suit on the way to this competition. But the brooch is an item for practitioners that takes on different hues when imbued with energy, one that mortal tailors wouldn’t carry. The probability that the brooch was made for the suit is almost certain.
Our ancient likely procured his get-up from an ascendant. If Black dies and the suit reforms with him, that’ll be the final proof. But if the clothes are ascendant make… whose? I’ve never heard of Ancient Black before, and his name would have come up if he’d revealed himself to other ascendants. Our kind love to humble-brag about selling wares to ancients who have “discerning eyes” and accept only the “best quality of items.” It’s a matter of status, reputation–two of the only things people care about when we all live forever.
It's all crap, of course–the only advantage ancients have is their eponymous old age. I must be older than some ancients, and nobody is clamoring to receive my fashion approval.
“Pearl, do I have good taste in fashion?”
Her body tightens against my neck. “Why are you asking me? You should answer Black.”
“Just tell me.”
Her tone drips with disdain. “You intentionally pick the items that have the lowest probabilities of matching your other clothes.”
“So? I have a personal brand of aesthetics. Is it a good one?”
She tightens her body again, telling me off. She knows I dress like I do as a private joke to other Beginning practitioners who notice the deliberateness. In my defense, I’m dressed acceptably enough not to attract the notice of most people.
I know some others who do the same, walking the fine line between poor, sloppy taste and deliberate, but subtle, clashing of color and style. Ancient Black, however, hasn’t acknowledge the joke. My initial conclusion is that he’s been in isolation for a very long time… but then how would he hear of the competition and know of Achemiss?
The key to wielding a Beginning affinity effectively–especially when one is at the pinnacle–is recognizing blind spots, the unknown unknowns. My intuition screams that Ancient Black is surrounded by them. Too much about him doesn’t add up.
Usually when that’s the case, something about my working understanding is fundamentally flawed.
“Are you going to respond?” little Pearl asks again, her tongue flicking at my ear.
“We’re approaching a veil vulnerability,” I state crisply, tipping my head to Black. “That will lead to the plane where you can speak without observers.”
“Why are we walking along a mountain path?” Ascendant Cursory asks, his tone sharp. He leaps adroitly around a ledge that would be hazardous even to mountain goats. “Surely we could just fly.”
I shrug my shoulders and flash him a smile, my teeth glowing softly with red ascendant energy. “I don’t see the need to rush; the view is beautiful.”
My words are undeniable. On the other side of the mountains that surround the competition grounds, the plane’s rugged peaks sprawl without end. In their ridges and valleys shimmer thin lakes in all hues of the rainbow, the waters naturally dyed by various microorganisms that teem beneath their surfaces.
Ancient Black’s face is hard to read, not only because the man keeps his facial muscles stiff, but because the natural lines and shadows of his face are oddly contoured–due to the ruggedness of his skin–and difficult to see, his skin the color of shadow itself. His pigmentation doesn’t absorb light, per se, but it’s less luminous than it should be, minimizing contrast.
I can understand why Cursory is a bit intimidated. The man combs back his gray strands every half minute, his eyes transfixed by the ancient’s lithe, alien form.
Ascendant Red trails behind all of us, keeping a low profile, avoiding notice. He’s good at it, too–even though he has vivid green eyes that make him more memorable than most, he angles himself out of eyeshot. The intel that he has a Regret affinity isn’t surprising, but it only elevates the mystery of Ancient Black. The man is here on an agenda; he might coincidentally have a protégé with Regret and Remorse dual affinity, but my Beginning affinity rates their familiarity with one another at a low level, suggesting that theirs is a pairing of convenience.
My conclusion? Whatever Ancient Black is scheming requires finesse, a deft hand.
It’s certainly interesting.
After another two minutes of hiking, we reach a mountain peak. I nod and point to a lop-sided boulder. “That rock is a marker. Pierce the veil anywhere around it to access the plane.”
Ancient Black turns his inscrutable gaze on Cursory. “Please enter the plane, then deposit the artifact and leave.” His voice is as cold as ice and impassive. “I’ll enter afterwards and make the recording.”
Cursory takes a small step back. “Will I return after to send it?”
Black turns to me. “Ascendant Crimson Teeth will send it without looking. Lucinda claimed that once sent, there will be no trace of the original recording.”
Cursory frowns at Black’s distrust. “Don’t forget that the recording can only be transmitted at certain times, or else it will be lost.”
Black stares at him unblinkingly. “Then I must kindly ask you to inform Ascendant Crimson Teeth of those times.”
I suppress the urge to chuckle. All of Black’s sentences are outwardly polite, but they’re delivered with a kind of impassivity that renders them frosty. The art of intimidation requires a natural gravitas. It’s hard to intimidate people when you can’t threaten them with death and aren’t powerful enough to follow through on threats like torture. Even ancients may struggle to be suitably intimidating if they have a kind reputation.
When Ancient Black arrived, nothing was known about him other than his intimidating appearance. But he has the air of someone who doesn’t need to be arrogant; his cold mask is consistent enough that it feels real, even though it’s likely as artificial as the rest of him.
Cursory looks at me with a tired expression. “I’m not permitted to inform you of the transmission times.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “Did you think I was going to sit around here for hours on this errand? You and Black can hang around until it’s time, then either you can let Black send the message himself, or you fetch me as a third party and I’ll do it.”
The matter was settled.
—
Ascendant Cursory
Being a wind elementalist has its perks… and its demerits.
“And now Black is picking his nose.”
I hear Lucinda’s snort over the wind. “This isn’t a joke, Cursory.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Before we left a few minutes ago, Lucinda ordered me to give a running commentary of everything Ancient Black does. There’s not much to report, however; for the love of samsara, we’re taking a stroll, and Black only speaks when it’s necessary. Ascendant Valent is running Regret scenarios, just in case, but he’s lazier than I am; unless something happens, he lets me have the honors of informing Lucinda. And so far, nothing has happened.
—
Ascendant Lucinda
I only trust Ascendant Schwinn to transmit our thoughts using his Remorse affinity; not even Cursory’s wind elementalism is secure enough, especially when we don’t understand the full capabilities of this new ancient.
While Cursory blathers on about Ancient Black traipsing around the mountain, Valent and Schwinn go to work. Schwinn takes the memories from Valent’s mind as he iterates scenarios, then shares them with me.
“He doesn’t use his Remorse offensively, ever,” Schwinn transmits. “Even when Cursory attacks him at point blank. He doesn’t seem to have the reflex for it, or he’s trained himself to be exclusively defensive, which would make no sense.”
And when you attack him? I ask.
“He clams up, focusing entirely on defense, his ascendant energy and Remorse sufficient to keep me out. But some ascendants can hold a Remorse practitioner at bay for a minute or two relying only on their ascendant energy.”
What are you getting at?
“If I had to guess… his Remorse is far weaker than it should be. Or more accurately, it’s new.”
I blink. So… he’s a new ancient, and just awakened his Remorse affinity?
“That’s one possibility. It would explain why we’ve never heard of him.”
It would indeed. We don’t keep tabs on every dual affinity practitioner in Eternity; that would be ludicrous. Still, that no one in the competition grounds recognizes him–including the representatives of the Hall of Ascension–is surprising.
And you’re quite certain his Death affinity is developed? That this isn’t some farce, or trickery?
“He’s an ancient,” Schwinn confirms. “His Death affinity is potent, though it takes a lot to force him to use it. Most of the times he seems to recognize that he’s in a scenario and lets himself die with a smile.”
Not surprising, given that he has a Beginning affinity.
Still no idea what he wants? I ask.
“When we try to interrogate him, he kills himself with his affinity, then runs away, waiting out the end of the scenario.”
Cursory is a wind elementalist–he can’t chase the man down?
“Well… if Black dies, he’ll respawn close to Crimson Teeth, and you know how that man gets.”
Unfortunately. Well, just keep doing your best.
Schwinn gives me a small smile and nods his head. “Always.”
