Running through the densely packed trees as I follow Earl's directions behind the library, my heart pounds with my ears following the sounds of brutal impacts. Every step brings me closer to the chaotic symphony of what sounds like a man being repeatedly beaten, reverberating through the air.
Earl sent me because he only trusts me to handle this 'Vessel' left behind by Eli. It's powerful, incredibly so, and he doesn't want Lennon or Kwakiteh to control it at any level. But my whole body is sore. Not of pain, but instead of growth.
Every time Lily sends life into my body from an Angel, it repairs everything rapidly, but it does so in a way that improves me permanently. She's managed to alter the way her Ether heals me, granting gradual improvements over time. Lily's skill of Ether is beyond my own, but her form limits what she can do with it. Even still, it's like I condensed a hundred training sessions into one minute. My legs are leaden, and the breaths inhaled are shallow. Even the Bloody Palm, though it is now hibernating, is slightly painful to open and close.
Though, this is all good. It means I will be a little faster when the pain is gone. A little stronger. A little more Angelic.
A light emerges from between the branches ahead of me, and I redouble my speed, pushing forward with a bit of careful Ether. At last, I break through the foliage into a small clearing that seems to have witnessed a violent cataclysm. Trees stand in shattered ruins, their branches splayed like broken limbs. The ground is marred by deep gouges and upturned earth as if some fierce struggle had occurred.
Momentarily, I think back to Marshall's way of fighting; overwhelming force, complete, overwhelming force. However, it is at a much smaller scale, for the old man would upturn whole forests and fortresses, not minute clearings. And the thing that cements the fact it's not the work of the fallen General is the remaining form that yet moves.
My gaze zeroes in on a bizarre and inhuman figure, like a distorted reflection of humanity made of marred bronze and porcelain. Much of the bronze across its body is damaged or ripped off, revealing the porcelain underneath. It stands over the near-lifeless body of a man in armor, its movements mechanical and relentless.
But I realize that the man, the Nahullo, taken over by the Mother Below, is not yet dead. Shards and fragments of Darklight attempt to squirrel their way out from the gaps and holes in the armor. Yet, the Vessel of Icarus refuses to let the harrowing light escape, slamming each reflective fist into the Fallen Councilman's armor.
With every punch, the once-proud steel armor continues to shatter, dissolving into nothingness and flowing into the very earth beneath. I almost feel bad for the Nahullo, for he was not only taken over and used as a pawn but also died in this way. Yet, as the Vessel persists in its assault in eerie silence, I do not intervene. There is a chance I could ruin this, and based on the things around me, I don't want to stop the beatdown. And so, I gaze around as the Vessel kills the Nahullo, as if executing a grim and preordained task.
Near this depressing sight is a row of death and destruction with fallen figures all over. Thankfully, though, they are all Motherbound. The clearing before me is littered with the lifeless forms of creatures, some humanoid, a few corrupted humans, and others twisted and bizarre animals. Despite their deathly stillness, they emit a faint and sickly radiance, casting an otherworldly glow upon the scene.
That's a lot of Darklight and dead Motherbound.
My breath catches in my throat as I see how powerful the Vessel is.
It, she, whatever it is now, must be near the strength of an Angel, if not already at it. Eli's creations are beyond understanding, from the train that only moves slower than Marshall and Kai to the first Armament. Those eyes were also insane. How did he manage to put a Power into an eye? And this? This... this... Vessel?
I've looked down on him, thinking that he's only capable of scheming and taking advantage of other people, but as I observe this creation, I know that is not true.
The Vessel's limbs, once pristine and delicate and based on the simple Mannequins of the Pygmies, are weapons of destruction, capable of shattering a Councilman's armor; something that took my Ballista to do the same. And each swing comes out a dozen times a second, breaking apart the Nahullo that is rapidly turning into a corpse.
From my stepping foot into this clearing, it takes the Vessel less than thirty seconds to end the Fallen Angel. Similar to Sequester, the armor of the once Councilman of the High Table liquifies and joins the soil. The Vessel turns to me only after it is done smashing the face into unrecognizable mush.
The air is heavy with a sense of death, and yet, the most disconcerting aspect is the silence that accompanies this grisly scene. The sound of impact, the cruel thud of porcelain upon steel, dominated the clearing until it faded to nothing. Now all that exists is silence. No grunts, groans, or exerting sounds were even used.
It was all just emotionless violence.
And the Vessel turns toward me, taking a short step in my direction. Immediately, I call out the numbers Earl told me before, careful not to mess up the order.
"1849-001!"
The words out of my mouth echo through the clearing and into the forest as the Vessel stops moving. It then raises its head and looks me in the eyes with its missing orbs. The sight is the opposite of Silas' Undead eyes. For him, the Flames Of Undeath suffuse his sockets, breathing a bit of life into his gaze. For this being, they are empty, void of any emotion or thought.
Or so I thought.
"Master. I am Icarus Deux. Systems are at 5%. Rest is needed, or I will shut down."
I raise an eyebrow as it speaks, thinking back to Earl's forewarning that it wouldn't talk much. Or maybe this is what he meant. This isn't expressing oneself. This is a report.
Gingerly, I step forward, raising my right hand to block out some of the high sun's rays. When I get close to the kneeling... Deux; I'm calling it... her Deux, I ask her a question.
"How do you rest?"
A short nod is my reply as Deux stands to attention without emotion. It's... so bizarre. I feel like I'm watching some sort of act. But I know it's not.
"Time. The materials in my body naturally imbibe Ether while my soul partners with the present Sigils to create more to be used. Actions expel some of this Ether, and the more strenuous, the more that is used. According to Weiss' Law, I have four times the saturation limit of an average human 7th Sigiled."
Another odd term. Weiss' Law. I assume that comes from Eli.
"And what is this, Weiss' Law? I've not heard of it."
Again, Deux replies, a monotone and unforgiving voice emits from her open mouth. Even the inside of her maw is reflective like porcelain.
"The general expectation of saturation limits for a human. Eli Weiss performed experiments to average and categorize each Sigil into levels of Ether that one can withstand. In the report to the Prime, he mentioned that saturation limits have little to do with direct might, and instead have to do with Sigil level and innate aptitude. Age and time improve this linearly. Exhibit A is Eli Weiss himself. He only has the saturation limit of a 5th Sigiled, despite being an elderly 8th Sigiled. I could provide the numbers if you desire."
I nod inwardly to the information, finding it relatively accurate, but shake my head at the numbers. They won't mean anything to me. Virgil has far less Ether that his body can handle compared to me, but as I've learned the hard way, he would kick my ass. After the report ends, I stare at the many dead Motherbound, searching for anything that may be useful.
Deux beats me to it.
"Forty-seven dead Motherbound. One Manipulator. One Fallen. The recommendation is to take the eyes of the Fallen after dissecting the body for Artifact Dissemination and deliver them to Weiss for experimentation. Directive #11 is the advancement and production of Ails."
I give her an odd look, but she doesn't seem to notice, simply staring at me for an order. It's uncomfortable and unnerving to have her stare at me like this. In fact, I hate it. But, she's strong. Very strong. I'll have to deal with it for now.
As for the eyes... why not?
"Fuck it. Get the eyes—no point in getting the artifact. Fallen don't seem to release them. I'm sure Earl can manage something with them."
Deux steps forward, traversing over to the dead Nahullo, and crouches down. Her arm extends before shifting into a blade that she uses to cut the body into many parts. I look away as she does so, preferring to focus on the other mangled corpses in case something is of use.
Seconds pass of grotesque noises behind me while I examine the dead that has bits of Darklight streaming out from them. Each one I find, I allow them to infect me and have Rapturous cleanse them. I'm sure it's better for everyone if more of this stuff is gone.
A crunch from behind me while I'm working distracts me. However, I turn around to find Deux standing behind me with an outstretched arm and two eyeballs on its palm. I stare at the Vessel, expecting it to speak or something to announce its presence, but it doesn't.
It just looks at me, unmoving, unthinking, unnervingly.
"Okay. Thanks?"
I reach out and grab the eyes before putting them inside a bag. They're squishy and uncomfortable in my hands, making me snarl as I close the bag. That is awful.
Gazing up from my bag, I find Deux still standing there noiselessly with her black orbs, void of thought. Okay.
"Let's go."
Still, I receive no reply. Finally, that warning silence seems to make sense. Does she only reply to direct conversation?
"Deux?"
No reply. I must have to use her full name.
"Icarus Deux."
"Yes."
She articulates a single word after my attempts, but it doesn't even carry the regular inflection that a questioning word would have. Shaking my head, I walk from the devastation back toward the library. We should really get going.
But as I walk, I give her a command.
"Can you respond to Deux, as well as Icarus Deux?"
"Yes."
Okay. That is so bizarre.
Sighing, I return to the library with Deux on my tail. Even her steps are silent. I can't hear her with Temper or Echo.
**************************
Blake 'Deathguard' Nightingale
My fucked up ankle is vastly outdone by my pounding heart and paced feet. The news of Johnny reached us just a minute ago, and I almost hurl every time that man is hurt. It didn't use to be that bad. But the feelings have only worsened over the months I've spent near him.
It was so hard to listen to Johnny's orders. I almost ignored them and stayed. But... he knows better. He always has, so I retreated while that huge fight was happening, immediately going back in once it was over. Just because he orders me to leave doesn't mean I leave him alone.
A spirit of mine displays the library as I haul my way to the train. But as I do, I find a gaseous figure land beside Johnny's body. Primrose. She shouts at Earl to heal him, the words dulled and subdued through the distance.
Just to see them, I have to cover an eye with another ghost, connecting the two with a technique called Deathwatch from the Daemonimicon. It combines my ability to manipulate spirits and a unique type of ghost called a Dried Eye, basically a soul turned into a floating eye. With it, I can't see out of the side I use it on, but I can watch whatever plays out from the hidden ghost's vision. Earl let me go as there was a chance something was off with the train, but seeing how Primrose is back, I doubt there is.
"Fix him, Earl! What the fuck are you doing!?"
Earl partially ignores her, but even he is shaken. Primrose's voice is high-pitched and erratic as the woman disregards her wounds. I don't even know how she knew to go there. Is the fight over? I want to just head back, but I have to get a medic. There's a chance Prix doesn't come on her own.
So, I continue sprinting with all the skills I can muster right now, with my edge of saturation approaching. A single use of Death's Defiance nearly drains me, regardless of who or what I pull. And this time, it didn't really matter what Undeads came up. They would have been fodder anyway.
Primrose's shouts continue until Earl speaks over her with a yell of his own.
"Shut it! Help me! Use your gas to move his lungs! Not too much, though! Let air follow your lungs! I'm searching for his wound! It's hidden somewhere in his torso."
Nodding to Earl's words, I continue through the streets, finding them awfully quiet once more. The battle at the train must have ended. That's why Primrose went back. She was probably worried about Earl. They have got something going on lately with how much time they spend together.
I'm kind of jealous, to be honest. I wish I could be with Johnny for all those hours alone. Stop it, Blake. He's hurt! Focus!
Cutting a thin line along my hand, I force myself out of my thoughts and into the world. Earl and Primrose discuss more of helping Johnny while I rapidly near the train. Turning a corner, I find the station only a few hundred feet away.
I approach the train, my steps cautious and deliberate, my heart heavy with foreboding at the sight before me. Once simply abandoned, the station has been left devastated, a show of carnage that defies reason. The train, once proud and rigid despite the horror it passed through to get here, now sits damaged and awfully stricken by bullets, blood, and various effects of Ether.
The station itself before the train is a twisted mess of crumbled bricks and shattered stone. My heart skips at the bodies lying strewn across the platform. The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood, mingled with the acrid scent of gunpowder and smoke. The obvious signs of death are far different from the grim silence that I've grown used to from living in Sinscreak. Rarely does a body last more than an hour without being devoured.
But there are moving people, soldiers, and recognizable faces that pull my attention. Frank and Lennox are ripping rubble off the train while the Conductor repairs it, shifting metal with his hands. Kwakiteh steps in front of me, seemingly out of nowhere, but I place a hand on her shoulder, careful not to rouse her anger.
"Let me talk, okay? They don't know you."
Kwakiteh steps to the sigh, understanding that she was sent only as insurance as I focus on the goal. Beside Lennox, Elizabeth shouts orders constantly to get things in motion. I quickly move to her, finding more blood as I approach the train. The magnitude of the battle becomes even more apparent as step I before it.
The exterior of the train is streaked with crimson, lines of death painted with the struggles of those who fought valiantly. The ground is littered with discarded weapons and broken equipment, the aftermath of a desperate fight for survival. But, as I enter the train through a gaping whole, I find the inside much better off.
Many wounded lie inside, but the dead soldiers are far less than the bodies outside. Blood pools on the ground, but it doesn't run across the floor like it did in the station and around it.
Medics run wild treating people, and as I step to Elizabeth, I feel some remorse for them. I'm about to take away the best medic they have. Prix.
"Blake? Why are you here? Is the fight over at the library?"
Millie is right beside Elizabeth, with the two massive Rougarou just outside the train. Rou, the larger one, peers in through the side of his eye as he chews on a human body. I have to force down the discomfort to focus on Millie's question. At least the human isn't wearing a uniform. Bits of Darklight seem to emanate from the body, lessening my concern though it still remains.
With a dry mouth, I do what I must.
"The fight is over, but Johnny is hurt. Earl needs help to take care of him, Abraham, Virgil, and Bonfire. Can I take Prix?"
Their eyes widen as Elizabeth gasps and asks for more information. As she does, she grabs a passing soldier.
"Yes! Of course? What happened? Are Earl and Wyatt fine? Hey, Claire! Go get Prix! Right now! I don't care what she's doing!"
The female soldier nods and sprints off, kicking with all the speed she has as a sentence from my left eye throws me off. Primrose, with her usual open mouth, says something that I'm not expecting. My focus splits entirely onto the view of my ghost.
"Blake's gonna be pissed if you let him die, Earl. You know she has a thing for the old man."
My body freezes, and I can't answer Elizabeth. They know? How do they know? Everything goes cold as I try to reason, but I can't. Earl continues the conversation as he examines the innards of Johnny. His hands move like an expert's, not shaking in the slightest despite the stakes.
"Don't say it like that. He's not that old. But, no, I didn't."
Primrose scoffs, laughing as she inputs life into Johnny. The woman keeping his lungs moving persists in making my meltdown.
"How could you not tell? She follows him everywhere like a puppy, does whatever he wants, and blushes with a slight look. Hell, the girl went to the Underworld with him. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd go to Hell as well if he asked. Doesn't help he's so lovely to everyone, too. Though... she should just go for it. He hasn't got some in, like... what? A decade? More? I don't think he's been with a woman since his wife."
"Could we maybe not discuss this while he's bleeding out underneath me?"
Earl cuts into Primrose with a rebuttal, but she just laughs, continuing. I can't handle it anymore and cut off the flow of Ether to my eye, sacrificing the spirit to disperse. It's painful, but it's better than listening to her ramble.
I can't. I wouldn't. Johnny would never. He's faithful to his wife, even long after her death. I-- I-- wouldn't want to ruin any of that. Besides... I don't like him like that.
Right?
"Blake!"
"What?!"
A voice reaches me as I twist to find Elizabeth and Prix shouting at me. They both look supremely concerned and worried as they reach out to me.
"What's wrong? Why are you so pale? Did something happen to Johnny just now?"
I shake my head rapidly and reach for Prix. I can only hope she doesn't notice my trembling hands.
"I'm fine! Let's go! Quickly! We can't waste time! Earl doesn't even know what's wrong yet, so Primrose has to fill his lungs with air himself!"
Prix nods as I cloak us in two ghosts, a Scalped Arm and a Black Imp. These two I received from one of Marshall's soldiers with a similar Sigil as mine. Though that man is strictly physical enhancement while mine is a mix between inner and outer.
A jacket of blackened flesh, partly see-through, covers the two of us while an arm pushes us from the back, bolstering our speed. Prix shouts in fear, but I try to encourage her as we speed through the city. Now that I don't have to keep that Dry Eye connected to me with Deathwatch, I have some more Ether to spare before reaching my limit.
"Ah!"
"It's fine! It's just a ghost's hand! Not an enemy!"
"Dammit, Blake! That's precisely why I'm about to piss myself! I always hated Pete's Apparitions!"