"Go get Johnny, Aron! Tell him it's an emergency with Virgil!"
I whisper a shout to Aron so I don't wake the sleeping wounded, but I hurriedly stand and move to the other side of the room while she heads to the front of the car, listening to me immediately. Sliding quickly beneath a double-height cot, I find Prix sleeping soundly on the bottom bunk.
Sorry, Prix. There's a chance Johnny's eyes aren't back yet.
"Prix. Prix. Prix!"
The doctor doesn't wake up at first, and I have to shake her softly with a hushed jostle to get her to wakefulness. She turns over and glares at me for a moment before seeing my seriousness. Instantly, she knows, even from the depths of slumber. Blinking the sleep out of her brown eyes, she pushes her sandy hair aside as she wakes up.
"Wh-- oh, no. Is Johnny on his way? His eyes should work, as Virgil is technically still there. How long?"
"Just a few seconds."
Prix nods to my reply, shuffling out of her cot and bringing a bag with her that she sets beside Virgil's bed. While she does so, I stand beside her, unsure of what to do. But the woman seems to have some experience with this and explains the process of what we will have to do after lamenting the lost knowledge.
"I thought it ended on its own, but apparently not. Wish Scott or Marshall was here. They are far more experienced with Otherplanars. Whatever is taking Virgil is obviously extradimensional. The exact plane is unknown, but it's at least not an elemental realm. So, that's good. He'll have some time if he's stuck anywhere other than the Ah Clitz. We just have to bring him back."
The doctor pauses for a moment as she continues to unravel instruments of medicine from her bag, including glowing bottles of unknown liquids and syringes.
"Ghale Tears and Syne Sap help lock down the dimensional barriers, but we have very, very little. The last time any was gathered was over thirty years ago when Ed killed a Virtued Natosi. The beings from the Morningstar plane don't play around. Usually, this stuff is saved for when the Warmaster attacks with the Pale Cavity, so it's best to keep as much as possible. Do you know if Virgil ever woke up? It'll be way better if we can get him back and have him help us with this."
I nod, answering her quickly as she finishes her preparation.
"Yeah. He was awake. I didn't get a chance to speak to him, though."
"Dammit! Why didn't they wake me!? Whatever. What's done is--- Johnny! Come here! Fast!"
Prix curses that Aron didn't wake her up, but as she accepts the unfortunate situation, Johnny steps through with Aron far behind him. The gunslinger fast reaches us as both his eyes share a dim golden glow.
Good. The Golden Eyes are almost entirely back.
I slide backward to let Johnny get closer while Prix informs him of the situation.
"Virgil's been gone for approximately thirty seconds. We need you to pull him back. Then, I'll begin the Exorcism. Whatever spirit or thing that has its hold on him is pretty strong, though. Whether or not we succeed depends on how far back you can haul him."
Johnny nods as Prix continues setting up candles made of blue and red wax with shimmering hues while she pulls out a small vial of a pure white liquid.
"Okay. Let me know when you need me to. I have a total of probably ninety seconds I can do."
My head swivels back and forth as Prix quickly curses. The atmosphere soon sinks at her words.
"Fuck. I don't think we'll have time. Anything you can do to bolster that?"
Johnny shrugs disappointedly. But as his head hangs to Virgil's empty cot, an idea blooms within my mind. I step around Prix and place a hand upon the gunslinger's shoulder. He looks at me oddly, but I sputter out the words as fast as I can to explain myself.
"I'll Daydream for you. Just... bring him back, okay?"
The Iron Consul gives me a steeled gaze as he nods.
"Of course."
Sighing outward slightly, I do one of the few things I regret doing in the past.
Breathing in a gasp of Ether, I fill my lungs. Then, I Release my brain, feeling my mind speed up a bit as everything turns clearer. It's not as drastic as Liberation, but it's noticeable. What's even more pronounced, however, is that my Ether turns smoother and more malleable.
I bolster a short grin as I funnel all the Ether I can, including that from my Strugglers Gasp, toward my pupils, delving deeply into a Daydream.
Rarely, very uncommonly, I use Daydream on another. And almost every time I have, I've gone over my Ether saturation, so I have to be beyond cautious this time. The price to do so is costly and typically beyond what I have to give. Thankfully, I'm fully recovered from Ether saturation from that whole night's sleep.
Meaning I have much to spare.
With closed eyes, I step into a Daydream, where possibilities take shape as vivid as the light of dawn. Before me in my mind stands Johnny, his figure resonating with my hand against him.
His eyes, twin pools of liquid gold, shine with an intensity that mirrors the sun's radiant embrace. They are windows to the mythical River Of Time, present long before even the first God. The river is pure, it's mighty, and it's unstoppable. I can only hope that I can bear its power as Johnny's eyes manage to.
But I focus on the Daydream, imagining his eyes to glow even brighter as he steps into that Godly river, joining the depths of its waters instead of leeching a mere pint of its aptitude. His form slowly sinks into the water as he quickly rises, learning to walk upon the crashing waves of gold.
As this image forms in my mind, a painful yank reaches into my mind as Ether rips its way through me into and out of my pupils at a pace that has my knees buckle. The price of bolstering an Angel's Power is far more than I estimated. Gritting my teeth, I hold onto a nearby cot while Johnny focuses on Virgil. He knows I can't keep this up forever.
I feel his Power resonating within me, intertwining with my own Ether as the feedback from Daydream forces its terrible path through my body. It's as if the River Of Time is now part of me, flowing through my veins, connecting me to the very essence of existence. How does Johnny manage this? How? This must be worse than usual! I can feel myself crumbling under the pressure!
But I fall. Biting my lip and gripping the bed so hard I place holes into its fabric, I focus on this connection. I soon become aware of the intricate patterns that shape Johnny's Power as he begins to use it, his eyes twisting into an even more dazzling sight. It's a symphony of moments, harmonizing past, present, and future into a timeless melody.
I watch in pain as Johnny's eyes shift partially to a luminescent silver, piercing straight through the gold as he finds Virgil through the planes.
And then, reality shifts. Time itself bends and warps, like a river flowing in reverse. I can feel a hand grasping into those golden waves, plucking a single droplet before dragging it upstream. So that's how it works. Interesting. It's not his eyes that do it. It's his hands, guided by his eyes.
The lost Virgil then emerges from the depths of other dimensions, his form flickering like a mirage in the desert. For a split moment, I worry if it will work as Johnny's right eye sputters out. But the gunslinger is just as stubborn as I. He holds on tightly while the force against us amplifies.
I fall to the ground, barely holding the connection as my mind screams of warning, my Ether saturation only instants away. Yet, the beat I hit the ground, a sleeping Virgil stabilizes upon his cot, soundless and peaceful.
Then, the pain abruptly stops as Johnny's other silvery and gold eye dims wholly, leaving us bereft of his Power for a while longer. However, it would appear as though I was not the only one suffering.
The Iron Consul, too, falls to the train's floor, joining me on the cold steel. His head falls backward as I find sweat trickling down onto the metal below.
"Minutes. We dragged him back almost ten minutes, Wyatt."
The gunslinger breaks into laughter, and I join him as Prix immediately gets to work. She shuffles above us, and not wanting to leave her alone to work while Aron watches, I grunt, gradually standing as my whole body shakes. Johnny joins me momentarily as he rolls and sits on an empty cot.
"Awesome! I'll get to doing the Exorcism."
I stand in quiet anticipation, my gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before me as I tightly grip the bed's metal frame beside Virgil's. The room is heavy with tension and anticipation, an invisible veil between the realms hanging in the balance. Prix holds a candle in her hands, the color constantly shifting from red to blue as she prepares the ritual she likely learned under Scott's tutelage. I would assume this works for any Otherplanar because of the materials used and their effects.
The sleeping Virgil lies upon a makeshift altar, his cot turned into one with candles made of Syne Sap. The smoke from the candles is supposed to drive out spirits, helping Virgil push whatever is in his body out. His breathing is shallow and relaxed. as if he was only sleeping. The traces of the otherworldly intruder lurking beneath the surface of his skin are unseen. Prix's movements are deliberate, every action calculated as she continues.
Rapidly but accurately, she arranges each candle around Virgil and places the vials of Ghale Tears between her palms. The white vials shimmer with a brilliant white radiance as she holds them forward. The liquid is essential for blocking the way back and forth within a region. The Ether contained, stored from whatever being they came from, can manipulate the fabrics of reality. And with the proper use, they can hold the Otherplanars back once pushed to the other side.
With careful precision, she uncorks the vials, letting the liquid spill forth like radiant pearls, creating a perimeter around Virgil as the white flows around him. Unlike most fluids, it doesn't sink into the sheets or cloths of the bed. Instead, it cradles itself against Virgil's form, waiting for the unique Ether within to be activated and released.
Candles made of Syne Sap cast a warm, flickering light across the scene without even being lit. But Prix moves to them next. With a delicate hand, she ignites the candles, the air fast becoming heavy with the intoxicating scent of the sap. The smoke dances in intricate patterns around the train's car, focusing on the area around Virgil as if sniffing out a spirit to fight.
With her eyes closed, the woman's focus deepens, her hands thrusting with Ether at their tips. Prix waves her hands back and forth, creating a waving current of air that brings the smoke from the candles down into Virgil's body. The feat of Ether reminds me of how Marshall taught Johnny to use Willful Strand by contorting the air.
The smoke then swiftly enters Virgil's unconscious form, and immediately, his body jostles abruptly as if in intense pain. I reach instinctively for him, but I quickly stop myself. This is for his own good.
His body convulses in a surge of energy, and a ripple of distortion passes through the air. It's as if a storm is brewing within the confines of the room, an otherworldly tempest threatening to tear Virgil apart from within. Yet the Prix remains steadfast.
"Fight it, Virgil. I know you can hear me. Whatever is speaking to you is NOT what you think it is."
She enunciates a warning to Virgil before doubling down, grabbing more candles from another duffle bag nearby before igniting them as well.
All I can do is watch. I wait for Prix to save Virgil by expelling the spirit and using the Ghale Tears to keep it from coming back. My hands shake in anticipation, but there is nothing I can do to help this.
I don't have enough saturation left for a Daydream, so this is all on Prix and Virgil.
*******************
Virgil 'Wraith' Boone
Shadows dance around me, whispering their dark secrets as they draw me deeper into this lengthy hallway. It all points to a test long ago from the web of my past. I know this is a twisted illusion, a construct of whatever grabbed me, yet the chains of memory hold me captive.
But what I don't know is why I'm here. This was a test Dennis and I had, our last one before becoming full-fledged Damned to be sent out on assassinations and missions. Shaking my head, I step forward, heading toward the closed door for the tiny arena used for combat exercises.
Once again, I am cast back into the tumultuous days of my youth, a puppet of the Estates, a soon-to-be headhunter with blood on my hands. The air is heavy with the scent of desperation and the acrid tang of gunpowder from the endless guns fired and blood spilled in these underground halls as if the very essence of that time has been summoned to haunt me once more.
Stopping at the door, I wipe my face, wishing I could feel the comfort of my imprisoning mask. It angers me typically, and I oft wish that my Absolution was different, but right now? I'd be relieved to touch the cloth on my head.
I sigh before stepping through the door, expecting to see Dennis and our proctor. If I remember, this was a duel between the two of us.
I lost. Usually, I'd win our practices, but I remember the sense of defeat even now. Dennis is no weak boy from the poor sections of the Territories. He grew up as an Estatesman, after all.
And I do find him when I step through, but what I see is not what I remember.
Before me stands a familiar figure, a manifestation of my past, pointing a gun at my chest. Dennis, a vibrant soul who walked beside me through the inferno of the Damned training, which was more like a slaughterhouse for the best tools they could find. His eyes gaze into mine as his Colt, a simple 1st Mark, beats down onto my heart.
My heart races, but I cannot tear away from the haunting scene before me. Dennis's words cut through the air, his voice accusatory and mournful, but they quickly switch to a happier tone. One that makes me confused.
"Virgil. I know what you are. I know what I am. You were late today, unlike usual. Tell me, were you with your family? No. Don't answer that. I... Do you know the test for today? Our final one?"
My mind races, searching for what he means, but words leave my throat not of my accord.
"A duel, right? It's no big deal. Just try your best, Dennis."
My heart sinks as Dennis' head lowers and shakes before his eyes flicker to the proctor with his face covered. The young man opens his mouth again with his green eyes, unable to face me.
"It... it is a duel. But it is not a normal one. It is to the death, brother. To the death."
I suck in a deep breath, not remembering any of this as the air in my lungs hitches, disallowing any more to enter. Coughing slightly, I pivot to the proctor.
"Is this true?"
He simply nods, pointing to the gun on my hip without further explanation. Then, he raises his hand, opening all five fingers.
The proctor then wiggles one as if preparing to lower it.
Dennis's voice cracks, his vulnerability stark against the backdrop of our brutal reality. Shambling forward, shaking the whole step, I can only stare as he hands the gun to me.
"I can't do it, Virgil. I--- I can't. We've... I tried... they never wanted me to live. My family really hates those who walk out. I was never going to escape them. No matter what path I took."
I try to hold back my memories, thoughts, and tears. For a moment I consider attacking the proctor, fighting our way out together, but I shake the foolishness aside. We would be put down like dogs in seconds.
What is happening? This... this is not what happened!?
But the images surge forward, unbidden, like a torrent of memories I had long buried. I see the two of us, side by side, facing the horrors of our training. Dennis's laughter and optimism were the beacons that guided us through the darkness, his strength a pillar I leaned upon when the weight of our actions threatened to crush me.
A ghostly voice enters my ear, whispering softly. It echoes within my skull, resounding dozens of times.
"Something hid this frrrrrom you. I show it to you. You join me."
The voice reverberates powerfully through my head, shaking everything as Dennis forces the gun into my hand.
And then, as if in slow motion, the scene shifts. The gun in Dennis's hand trembles, a mirror to the turmoil in his soul. My own hand, holding a weapon, is steady, fueled by the merciless conditioning that transformed us into instruments of death. Yet, simultaneously, my mind wavers terribly, unsure of what to do. But Dennis isn't uncertain.
"Do it, Virgil. You have a family. I... don't. I never really did. I think... if we had met in any other place, we'd be friends for life. Don't feel bad. Just do it!"
The words reverberate through me, a haunting echo that refuses to fade. It stabs deep, creating future sights of me pulling the trigger and the aftermath that is left.
I remember the choice that lay before me, the ultimatum I faced. It was kill or be killed, a ruthless decree from the very forces that controlled our lives. And I chose, in that damning moment, to extinguish the light that was Dennis.
Because... if I didn't, we both die. That was always the rule. The rule of one. It starts with one, and only one can emerge in each group. I thought that didn't apply to us, the best. I thought wrong.
"DO IT!"
Tears blur my vision, my fingers trembling against the weight of the truth that I've tried to bury for so long. The nightmare holds me in its grasp, a relentless reminder of the past I've been attempting to escape. Dennis's eyes, filled with hurt and confusion, haunt me as I relive the devastating choice that forever stained my soul. The man I wanted to meet again for so very long has been dead the whole time.
The gunshot echoes in my ears, a gunshot that pierced not only Dennis's heart but my own as well. And even though I know this is a nightmare, a manifestation of my guilt and pain, I cannot escape the prison of my own mind.
I fall to my knees as a ghostly and ethereal hand wraps around my shoulder.
"Nothing is hidden from our eyes. Wouldn't you like the same? Nothing can hold us. Wouldn't you like the same?"
But the moment it murmurs to me, the entire realm shakes, smoke wafting off each and every surface in this memory. As this occurs, another person speaks, this tone booming and frantic.
"Fight it, Virgil. I know you can hear me. Whatever is speaking to you is NOT what you think it is."
I chuckle dryly. They have no idea what's happening here. No. I know what it is. It's not the proctor. It's whatever being has found me and grabbed me from the Otherworld.
Sighing as I watch Dennis' body cool, I turn from my first friend that I've thought was alive all this time to face this spirit.
But one part hangs onto my mind as I do.
Dennis has sent me letters once a year, under his callsign Crooked Smile, of course.
So, is he dead? Or is something more sinister happening behind my mind?