QuiteTheSlacker
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Chapter 28: A Mimic in the Day
🕑 Added 2024-04-08 05:54:15 +0000 UTC“Life is beauty. Humanity is art. In every soul, no matter how wretched or filthy, there exists a special hue unique to them. A color. I have dedicated my life towards preserving those breathtaking masterpieces; yet, with each passing day, the people become more dull. More boring. Finding material is ever so difficult, even here in this nation of culture and creative expression.
“So imagine my surprise when a shade of complete, utter darkness appeared before me. Black. Blacker than the foulest night. Blacker than the deepest abyss. Wholly devoid of any color, yet that is precisely what was so… so… enrapturing. It soared high above, vanishing before I could even escape my own stupor, but that moment was all it took to enslave my entirety. I couldn’t let it go. My every thought was consumed by that umbral divinity. Not even the King’s amber soul could ever match their radiance.
“I have to protect it. I have to prevent it from being sullied by the outside world. It will be safe with me - safe in my garden of paradise - and so there it shall bloom eternal. For that is mankind’s purpose: to be beautiful.”
?
———
The Knight
The Knight has just finished cleaning the last of the room’s mess when a knock softly taps on its door. The sun smolders high outside the window, a light-blue expanding to the far corners of the world, and Aegis remains deep in his slumber.
“Lorelai? Is it ok if I come in?” The voice of Dariel peeks through.
“Ah, just a moment please,” It responds, moving to the bed and tickling the child’s belly. He groggily opens his eyes, mouth on the brink of unleashing an irritated grumble, but snaps awake upon hearing Dariel’s “Take your time!” and wriggles around as he attempts to conjure forth Creation’s veil. It takes a few attempts - his addled state leading to a bizarre sight of smeared limbs and a floating head - but he eventually succeeds and is placed atop the Knight’s head once more.
The door opens and the young officer steps forth. His expression is shy: restless hands, a jittery step, and an anxious smile. It is the display of one failing to appear inconspicuous.
“H-How has your rest been?” he asks, mind clearly preoccupied with maintaining a polite front.
“Quite well, thank you,” it replies. “But is something the matter? You seem a bit uncomfortable.”
“Do I? Um, I apologize. Truly, I didn’t mean to—”
“Dariel.” The Knight takes his hand and covers it with its own. The two stay quiet for a bit - his anxious breaths slowly return to a normal pace - and when he finally relaxes, it begins to speak in a mellow tone. “You do not need to treat me any differently. No matter what my status was before, you are my friend; that has not changed. Unless, you want it to?”
“No!” he says with a small shout. “No, I’d like it if we could stay as friends.”
“Then just talk to me like any other. If not in public, then at least when we’re alone. Would that be ok?”
Dariel beams and nods his head. “Of course. I feel quite silly for being so nervous now.”
“Don’t be. In fact, I was nervous myself.”
“Really? That’s hard to imagine.”
“Heheh, but it’s true. ‘How should I act now that my identity is certain?’ I thought about it quite a lot—how to best conduct myself. But I realized there’s no use worrying about such things. All I have to do is be myself, and if others find fault in that, then I will simply prove them wrong with my efforts.”
“It won’t be difficult,” he says. “Even before, all you needed were a few words to help me get out of my slump. If the court can’t see your wisdom, then they’re just a bunch of fools.”
Dariel suddenly jumps up in shock. “Ah, that’s right! The court, yes. Ascalon asked me to bring you to the court when you’re feeling ready. We don’t have to go right now, but the elders are… impatient, so to speak. It’d really put their minds at ease to see your face.”
“My face?” It says, trailing a finger along the scarred lines of its cheek. “Are you certain?”
The entire left half of Lorelai’s face is covered in old burn wounds, leaving behind leathery blotches of red as her skin peels back into an unsightly blemish, and what once resembled an ivory-white complexion has been besieged by countless gashes slicing deep and severing her lips into two wholes. I expected Ascalon to be undisturbed with her appearance due to his infatuation, but would the common person be so understanding? Beauty is a weapon in and of itself—a weapon Lorelai does not wield, for she resembles that of a mutilated corpse rather than of the living. Will they truly not be disgusted before such a sight?
“Perhaps it would be better if I were to enter in full plate.”
But Dariel shakes his head, gaze still the same as when they first met. Now that it thinks back, neither of the Cherubims displayed any sort of revulsion when it revealed itself. How odd. Are beauty standards different in this era? I suppose that is why she never sought for a healer. A peculiar taste, but it matters not to me.
“Your face is a symbol for us, Lorelai,” he says with a wide grin. “A symbol of struggle. Of pride. That no matter how scarred we become, whether it be in appearance or heart, there shall always be a future that awaits us so long as we continue to fight. Don’t worry, no one in this city will be repulsed by you. For you are the people themselves—their spirit.”
… Ah. I see.
The Knight begins to feel a bit guilty for thinking such thoughts. It is a strange, uncomfortable feeling, and though it does not particularly enjoy demeaning the deceased, there is no point in feeling remorse over a misconception; yet, here it is—head hanging low in repentance. Ever since Ascalon has intruded upon its soul, these fickle, long abandoned feelings have been steadily rising back up. It does not like that.
“Speaking of full plate, I actually have a gift for you!” Dariel exclaims, rushing out of the room for a moment before returning with a large, weighty bundle wrapped in cloth. He clears his throat - stands up with a grand gesture - and takes off the covering, revealing a newly-forged set of armor. It shines with a golden polish, the very same as its current hair, and the design is similar to the set it saw on Lorelai’s corpse back at the Aeternum. “Ta-dah! A new and improved make of your previous armor, courtesy of the King’s coffers. Isn’t it a beauty?”
“My, it certainly is,” it says with genuine admiration. Very few of its bulwarks have been of this quality in the past; it's a shame it shall need to be discarded later, but for now, the Knight will enjoy the marvel of its craftsmanship. “I’ll have to go thank Ascalon for the gift. A bit of fresh air will do me some good, anyways.”
“Are you sure?” Dariel asks. “It’s only been a day since you’ve returned; even if they’re a bit cranky, I’m sure the elders can wait a while longer.”
“Everything will be fine, Dariel. I know my body best.”
The officer leers at it with a squinted eye, carefully examining its expression for any hint of fatigue, but eventually he is satisfied and makes his way out into the open halls. “Hm, alright. I’ll wait for you outside, then. But you must let me know if you become tired at any point, ok?”
“Of course. I’ll leave it to you.”
Dariel exits with a chuckle, and the Knight begins to prepare for its encounter with the nobles. There shall be no trouble in imitating Lorelai’s personality. From all I’ve gathered thus far, she is a hero - a person of admiration - but such figures only require two qualities: to be strong and to be kind. How fortunate that this new identity is of such simple character.
Its plans are progressing much quicker than initially anticipated, but it does not mind. The method is of ill concern; what matters is that this nation, everything, and everyone within shall soon be ensnared in its grasp.
That is, as long as the phantom from the previous night understands their place. It knows not of how that being came to discover its presence, but if there is any threat of its true origin being revealed, then it will not hesitate to claim their life with its own hands.
———
Ascalon
“My lord, the missing craftsman have still not been found. The bereaved families are starting to become hysterical, demanding for answers, but our guards have found naught a trace of their whereabouts. What are your orders?”
Ascalon supposes it is only natural. When comes great joy, a new tribulation always follows in its wake. But this peculiar problem has persisted for some odd time now, and despite efforts from the local inquiry division, the court still remains utterly perplexed.
“I fear this case is not so simple as a drunken escapade, Chancellor,” he says to the exhausted elder.
“Indeed, my liege. ‘Tis of strange occurrence, this dilemma. One I suspect to be of foul intention.”
I cannot allow fear to fester amongst our populace, not in this time of uncertainty. Although Lorelai’s return shall bring comfort for a short while, it will not bring back the sons and daughters, parents and siblings, and all others lost in the expedition. No, I have to solve this now before it grows into a frenzy.
“I agree, we can no longer treat this as a passing matter. From now on, the case shall be raised to a joint investigation between the knight orders and the court lawmen. Are there any objections?”
“None, your majesty,” all in the room declare.
“Very well, then,” Ascalon confirms. “Let us start with the initial submission of request. Lead Officer of the Investigative Claims Department, please step forth and deliver your report.”
The officer takes to the center and bows their head. “Thank you, my lord. I will now begin my report. At the first hour after midnight last Sunday, our department received a request from a glassmith to find the first victim: a bricklayer working in the north side of the entertainment district.
“The requester was not concerned at first, it is common for foremen and the like to spend the closing hour at a local tavern, however, they soon grew concerned after a few hours passed with neither word nor return of the person in question. They reported the matter to us, and an on-duty knight from the Powers was sent to investigate. The bricklayer was never found.”
“What of the bricklayer’s background?” Ascalon questions. “Is it possible they were a spy of Caelum and escaped to report their findings?”
“None, my liege,” they reply. “The bricklayer was born in the capital and has stayed within the city’s border ever since. We have physical evidence of their identification tag along with their marriage certificate with the glassmith. They are a true Polus native, as are the victims of the next few disappearances. One is an actor at the Arthurian Theatre House. Another is a respected musician working for the Valkyrie Opera Company. Furthermore, there is even a report of a missing Seraph knight. Despite their differing backgrounds, the manner of the disappearances are always the same: They take place at night, no witnesses are ever present, and not a single trace is left behind. No body. Not even a footstep. They vanished into thin air, as if spirited away by some sort of phantom.”
“That is preposterous!” Gadreel interjects with a harrumph. “We are bureaucrats, my dear. Our duty is to uncover the truth, not to believe in such whimsical happenings. No, this matter is the result of human intervention, I’m afraid. We must acknowledge the existence of a potential slaughterer!”
The court descends into a nervous mixture of agreements and vehement denials. Ascalon does not blame them for being skeptical; despite their ongoing war with Nox Caelum, the Castrum itself has been a sanctuary since its inception. None have succeeded in infiltrating its walls, thus the perpetrator of the disappearances can only be of Polus blood, and there are none would be eager to acknowledge their fellow kin capable of such heinous acts.
Furthermore, It is no small feat to beat a knight of Polus, even more so when it comes to the elite echelon that are the Seraph, so if there truly is a hidden malefactor with the strength to commit such acts, then it is possible their identity is one of high position. That is what’s most concerning of all: The slaughterer could be any one of them. Even so, disarray and suspicion must not be allowed to spread. A divided court will only succeed in aiding the killer’s cause; if they are to uncover the truth, then they must do so whilst in mutual harmony.
“Everyone, remain calm!” Ascalon says with a booming cry. “This session is not yet over. We will only discuss our findings after receiving the full facts of the case. Am I clear?”
“Yes, your majesty,” the room replies.
“Thank you. Now, let us hear from the surveillance and security unit. I call forth Templar Dismas of the Order of the Prowling Dominion to the center.”
Not a body stirs in response to his call; not a sound is uttered forth from those in attendance. However, just as the court members start to look about in confusion, a hand emerges from the shadow cast by Ascalon’s throne. It lunges forth, placing its murky hand upon the white marble, and slowly rises up into the light. A head appears, then a torso, a leg, until finally the being is revealed in full: a lanky man in black chain mail. His face is veiled in a featureless mask, body obscured to blend in with the darkness, and two daggers lay off to his side—the edge coated in a dripping, colorless liquid.
“… Did’ya call for me, Ascalon?” the man says. “Sorry for the delay and all, but I’ve been mighty busy the past couple o’ days. There’s a little phantom sneaking about - real good at stringing my scouts along. Can’t catch ‘m. Can’t find ‘m. I’m starting to get a bit frustrated.”
“That ‘phantom’ is why I’ve summoned you. It appears you’re already familiar with the case, then?” Ascalon asks.
“The disappearances? Too familiar. After the Seraph kid was taken, one o’ the instructor’s asked me to investigate. Been searching day ‘n’ night ever since, but every time I find some sorta clue, it ends up being a bunch o’ nothing. Don’t know how they do it; I’ve got eyes on every corner of this city and they still manage to evade my sight.”
“Are you certain it’s a person responsible for the disappearances?”
“Absolutely. What’s more, that thing’s playing around with us. Mocking us. This ain’t the work of a sane man; we’ve got a really sick fella in this city, Ascalon.”
Dismas’s words push further unease upon the already anxious court. It doesn’t help that his way of speaking is rather direct, but the Dominions have always been like that so there’s not much Ascalon can do but try to keep the session in line.
“Have there been any suspicious entries at the border gate lately? Though the disappearances began a week ago, we cannot rule out the possibility of our perpetrator entering at an earlier time.”
“Not that I know ‘f. The gate’s been guarded tight as usual: identity, tag, certificate… none ‘r’ getting in, and none ‘r’ getting out unless they go through my people first. And I trust my people, Ascalon. They ain’t the type o’ folks to get careless or accept bribes. There has to be a different way that damn phantom got ‘n.”
“Do not worry, Dismas; I trust in your people as well. It is no easy duty to be on constant watch, but they haven’t failed thus far and I believe they haven’t failed even now. Whoever this madman is, their ability is of greater threat than we could have possibly imagined. The fault is not your own, I assure you.”
Dismas stays silent for a brief second before nudging away with a shy turn of his foot. “Ehm, ‘Preciate it, your majesty.”
“The honor is mine. Thank you for your vigilance, and I trust you will persist with the investigation?”
“Course. I won’t stop ‘til that lunatic’s head is in my hands.”
“Very good. You may leave.”
Dismas bows and sinks back into the shadows, leaving the court to brood in their uncertainty. Not much has been discovered this session even with the collaboration between the two factions; however, at the very least, they are now certain of an intruder. It may not seem like much, Ascalon himself is rather disappointed with their lack of findings, but one must always look at the positives: with awareness comes action. And it is being aware that leads to a more effective approach.
“I believe we have revealed all we can,” he declares. “Now, let us—”
But before Ascalon can proceed any further, the royal herald bursts through the chamber doors and fumbles their scrolls as they attempt to contain their own excitement.
“Entering the Dame of the boundless sky!” the herald chokes with eyes wrought in a blurry mess. “Polus’s… Polus’s ever-stalwart protector; maiden of the firm hand; and wielded of the twin celestial blades: Solga and Lunas. Bid welcome to our lady of the Exalted Throne of Heaven: Lorelai Principality!”
