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Chapter 12: A Better Choice
🕑 Added 2021-02-01 22:49:38 +0000 UTCPDF/EPUB option attached at bottom for those who don't like reading on patreon.
Nations of Rothel:
The Veil: The nation of Inath, former Savior of Seals, otherwise known as the Suborned Savior, is the source of the Veil - a curtain of light from which there is no escape. The current status of the nation's people is unknown.
The night washed over me, the cold wind flitting across the tattered edges of my clothes’ many rents and tears. I idly wondered what the disapproving tailor from earlier in the day would think of the sight, tickled by the thought.
Starlight dappled the streets; it struck down from above in a gentle luminescence, so unlike the oft-harsh glare of day. Under its light, I could hardly see the Low District’s flaws - the lost, the hopeless, the broken. I could only see a city, like any other in all the ways that mattered.
To most, that might have been negligible.
To me, it meant the world.
Under that gentle light, I could imagine a different past. Under that gentle light, I could imagine a better future. Under that gentle light, I could even convince myself that it might become true.
I inhaled a deep breath, purely to feel the city’s air within my lungs; purely to convince myself that it was real.
I sometimes still wondered: was I caught in my last moment, stuck in the fever dream of death? Was I still there, my corpse splattered across the remains of a dead city?
I exhaled, finding that I genuinely did not care. If I was truly dead, if this was all a fever dream, did it really matter? If I was dead, the world was better for it. If I was alive, I would make the world better for it.
It was a freeing thought.
I felt lighter; felt like I could fly; felt like I could run; felt like I could smile - so I did, forming a grin of many faces. I took to the air, my wings catching the wind underneath them. I tore across a forest, my quadrupedal legs veritably eating the distance.
The starlight’s gentle glow was a lie, I knew. The flaws were still there, the lost still lost, the hopeless still hopeless, the broken still broken.
That would change, given time.
I exited another inn, leaving the dual warmth of fire and boisterous humanity behind. Another failure, though I had come to expect it. With the amount of money now on my person, I had imagined it would hardly be difficult to find a place to stay.
I was wrong on that count.
The city was teeming with life; a stranger could be found on nearly every street corner. While that was exciting to my isolated sensibilities, it turned out it was for a reason: there were simply not enough beds. Dihaim was filled to the brim with refugee, traveler, and citizen alike.
Fortunately I had no real need to sleep; I had just wanted a place to store my things.
I shifted the straps of my pack, expanding my aerial search perimeter as I did so.
The labyrinthian streets of the Low District still perplexed me. Each corner was bequeathed with a strange sort of lantern, resting high above reach, casting a weak and flameless illumination that was not so different from a streetlamp. Despite the light, I still felt like a rat in a maze, following the scent of food only to find the walls had moved as I walked along. Every street felt more than comparable to another; it was a wonder how the locals got anywhere. To make matters worse, here and there even those helpful lanterns had all but disappeared - subject to the theft and vandalism that plagued many a city - leaving only the helpful glint of starlight on broken glass to light my way.
I could go to other places, I knew. The city was far more than just the Low District. Far, far more. From my vantage in the sky, I could see the majestic temple of the Temple District, gleaming as if it were the North Star calling the weary home. I could see the Guard HQ of the Barracks District, that sturdy bastion in the night. I could see the well-lit mansions of the High District, promising luxury and ease.
I chose not to answer their calls.
It was an easy choice, perhaps. What need had I for rest? What need had I for protection? What need had I for luxury?
Regardless of its ease, it was still a choice - one that I hoped might lead to an even better decision in the future.
So I stayed. I patrolled the labyrinthian streets and the empty skies. I ducked through dingy alleyways and soared over high-peaked roofs. I trod past filth-covered bone and broken home.
All so that when I heard a scream, I could make a choice.
This time, too, it came easily.
The sounds of violence lit my path more effectively than any illumination could; they were a torch in the darkness, near blinding in intensity, yet impossible to turn away from - even had I wished to try. Meaty thwacks and bony cracks formed a discordant melody, the notes luring me in; the helpless rat to its Piper.
Thwack.
Crack.
Thwack.
I ran along to that discordant beat of violence, my boots drumming fiercely against the street in turn. Given my endless stamina, I found that I could run surprisingly fast once I knew where I was going; that, in combination with closer proximity to the crime, allowed my two bodies to reach the scene at the same time.
It was an alley like any other. Perhaps a little bloodier than most; perhaps a little more dangerous. It was hardly worth a thought.
Instead, it was the two men that held dominion within that drew my eye.
The nearby lantern remained dimly lit, stretching its luminous fingers across the bloody alley; that alone was enough to set my insides shifting and writhing.
I seethed.
A young man lay broken and shattered. Blood spilled from his lips; tears spilled from his eyes.
I raged.
His arm had twisted, forming a macabre facsimile of a limb that nevertheless scraped across the ground; painfully, slowly, torturously. It slipped through blood and bile, heedless of the sickness slipping through its many cuts. His legs, too, were much the same: mere suggestions of what they had once been. A corpse lay to his right, the remains of a similarly-shattered Risen.
I boiled.
A young woman lay a few paces to his left, only in slightly better condition. A sleeve of her shirt was torn away, revealing snow-pale skin and a dimly glowing Mark - one of a different design than those I had witnessed thus far. Two canid Risen held her down, bloody teeth pinning her arms. They didn’t react to my presence - dumb, automaton things that they were.
The scene felt all too familiar to me.
Long ago, it had been me splayed across the floor, shattered and broken.
Long ago, it had been Mel splayed across the floor, dying and bloody.
The memory was painful, still.
It was agonizing, even.
And because of that, I hated.
I hated I hated I hated I hated I hated I hated I hated I hated I hated I hated.
“Beat it,” one of the thugs snarled. “The Exian bitch and her boy had it coming.”
Words died in my throat, willing sacrifice to the growing anger that filled me. It was a physical, terrible thing, pressing against my lungs and crawling across my heart. I wanted to let it out. So badly, I wanted it to escape - to chew and tear and bite and claw. To eat. To punish.
I kept it in, for now.
It was a close thing.
My eyes, had I possessed power over laser beams rather than life, would have bored cleanly through their skulls. It would have been more efficient.
“What the fuck are you still looking at?” the villain roared, his own anger growing.
I had told Roy that there was more to being a hero than a fight. I had tried to teach him that despair was the true enemy; that we had to show others the right path. That we had to reveal the way back.
The two Risen, alerted by the commands of their masters, turned to face me - the movements stiff and mechanical.
I hadn’t lied.
Released by the undead beasts, the woman let out an agonized howl. The scream tore at me, just as her companion’s unerring silence did; I found myself wanting to let out a scream of my own.
I had said that we should be an example, a symbol. In that, also, I hadn’t lied.
One of the Risen fell back, pressing against its master. His Mark flared and the thug’s hand shifted, warping and contorting, before finally arranging itself into an array of razor-sharp claws identical to that of his beast.
There was something I never told Roy, though.
“-elp us…” the woman groaned hoarsely. “Please…” I removed my pack, dropping it to the floor.
Sometimes being an example meant making one - even if that meant beating someone black and blue.
Sometimes that, too, was a hero.
I rushed forward. Simultaneously, my crow-self dropped from the shadows, flying at the thugs with clawing talon and piercing beak. They cut a wing; I sliced a cheek.
While they were distracted, I dashed for the broken young man. I’d hoped that it would be with perfect grace and agility. It was far from that.
The ground - slick with sodden viscera, bile, and blood - repelled my advances; my feet slid uncontrollably across it.
A mound of fur intercepted me, the combination of weak traction and sudden force more than sufficient to topple my flailing body.
Claw and fang ripped into flesh, gouging out the beast’s toll.
I was no better; I bit and scratched, I rent and tore.
We rolled back and forth in the vile filth, two unyielding monsters in a scrabble for dominance.
The beast tore out my throat; I climbed atop it and gouged out an eye.
Long-quiescent blood dribbled from the holes in my throat, mixing with the muck and detritus that nearly seeped into our very bones. I spit crimson blood, coating its remaining eye in liquid vermilion.
It thrashed, blinded, and I flipped us over once more.
Suddenly, we weren’t on the ground anymore.
Instead, we rested on a mound of dying flesh.
Bloody, broken, shattered flesh - until it wasn’t.
The Risen warped, becoming little more than a ball of mangled meat. Bones fractured, splintering from one moment to the next; muscles tore and blood poured as [Woundshift] reaped its due.
Below me, a man took a heaving breath.
I rolled to my feet, throwing the near-obliterated Risen aside and giving the newly healed man a brilliant smile as I met his panicked eyes. I motioned towards the woman.
“Get her out of here,” I said, though it sounded closer to a bunch of gurgles and squelches than anything else.
Fortunately, my intentions must have made it through, because he picked up the woman and got the hell out of there.
I don’t think I’d ever seen someone run so fast.
I turned back just as my crow-self, with which I had been harassing the remaining combatants, took a vicious swipe to the wing. I whirled through the air, broken wing flapping uselessly, before crashing to the ground.
Still, it - or, rather, I - had served its purpose.
The stage was cleared; the innocents were saved. The most important part of heroism had been accomplished.
Yet, still, the rage was part of me - boiling in my stomach, writhing under my skin. I still wanted to let it out, still wanted to let it free.
“Fshg yoo icgds,” I gurgled.
They must have understood, because their faces paled.
I charged.
With one Risen downed, only one more remained; just as I reached out to touch it, the beast vanished. One of the thugs took its place, his knees bent in advance to intercept my charge. He staggered as we collided, stumbling backwards slightly, surprised by my unnaturally heavy weight.
A set of sharp teeth sunk themselves into my calf, pulling away before I could use the contact to activate my conduit. I turned around, giving chase, only for a set of claws to rake lines of fire across my face, washing half of my vision in crimson.
Ignoring the wound, I headbutted the claws’ owner, spraying that same crimson across his own face; he reeled, pitching and swaying.
I felt on fire, burning with emotion, burning with memories.
My insides shifted. I wanted to let them free, wanted to let them punish, wanted to let them hurt.
Sharp claws raked across my abdomen, parting skin and muscle, splitting me open like a flower of flesh.
Blood spilled. Pain spiked. Anger flared.
It was all too much. It all hit too close to home - brought too many horrible memories.
That part of me that wanted to enact punishment grew stronger; the part that wanted to terrify these men until they couldn’t even think of doing evil again without seeing my face.
It pressed against my lungs. It scrambled across my heart. It skittered against my flesh.
This time, I didn’t keep it in.
This time, I let it crawl out - slowly.
One by one.
