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Virgil 'Wraith' Boone
After following Wyatt into the tunnel, worried for his safety without the Bloody Palm awake, I find myself in an entirely white room, a suffocating void of relentless luminance that appears to seep from every angle. And yet, it has no discernible source. The brilliance engulfs me, wrapping around me like the sun, only that it doesn't burn. The light simply bears into me, disrobing me of the power I've grown so used to from my Sigil.
Several layers of clothing always cover me, preventing any light from stripping me of my strengths while also protecting me from the sun's harmful rays. But this light is different. It burrows through my clothes into my skill.
This unrelenting light, this sea of unblemished whiteness with no end, gnaws at my very being. I place my hand over my eyes to gain some reprieve, but it does little. It's such a significant shift inside my body that I stumble and nearly fall to my knees before I recover. The room, this endless box of nothingness, seems specifically designed to unravel my existence. It's as if it was made to strip me of the supernatural gifts I've always drawn from the dark.
Eli Weiss. That bastard. He's going to drain me of my strength and then effortlessly finish me off.
I grind my teeth as I search for something, anything, to get out of this seemingly endless room, but there is nothing. Coughing already as this weakness has spread to my lungs, I stumble forward, one hand on the ground.
The transformation is agonizing. I can feel the currents of darkness that once coursed through me now dissipating like smoke in the wind. My senses, once attuned to even the slightest sound or movement, even in the dark, grow dull and unresponsive. My strength and swiftness, born of the passive effects of my Sigil, are leached away, one layer at a time, until I am left feeling as frail and powerless as a newborn.
I force my skills into motion, but they all deny me. The moment my shadows form under the light, they fade. What the hell is this room? Is there a miniature sun here?
Fucking hell.
The loneliness of this blinding whiteness is overwhelming. In the shadows, I was never truly alone. The darkness was my companion. I've always enjoyed solitude, and the gloaming made it even more enjoyable. The coolness. The freedom. It even whispered secrets, here or there, through the air, delivering information to my ears. Yet now, I am utterly isolated. The silence, the relentless light, bears down upon me in a way different than before, and I am left with nothing but my own thoughts, my own confusion.
Gritting my teeth, I force onward, pushing my way through the light, unwilling to just give up.
And then, like a specter emerging from the fog of my despair, he appears. An old man, skin as pale as porcelain, stands before me, shrouded by the radiant glow. His eyes are not eyes at all but vacant, gaping voids that bore into my pupils. Yet, his presence is undeniable, his gaze unwavering, as though he sees something beyond the boundaries of this disorienting room.
And I'm sure he does. Eli Weiss was the one who made this room, after all. Coughing again, my lungs trembling to function, I stand as Weiss stares at me as if peering right into and through me.
I wait a few seconds to see what he will do before growing impatient due to the light and his stare.
"What!? What do you want!? If you're here to kill me, then just do it!"
Eli shakes his head as he stares at me, the porcelain reflecting the light like a beacon.
"I am not here to kill you, Virgil Archie Boone."
One word from his sentence rocks my mind more than any other.
Archie.
My middle name.
Only my parents know that.
I never told even Vernon my middle name. There was never a point.
My knees grow weak as my confusion and anger rise. But as I shout, a question that keeps showing itself over time reappears. More ideas bloom under the light as that smiles from Eli brightens.
"Who are you!? What are you to me!? Why... why was I chosen as a damned!? You! You created that thing, didn't you!? It couldn't have been Darkstep. You saw her for what she was a long time ago, didn't you? You... you used her! You used a Nahullo to kill humans?"
The growing smile as I shout at him tells me all I need to know: small pieces developing into a massive whole. How much of this world is under his thumb? What has he not controlled?
Does he genuinely see through every single tree?
"It is true I knew who she was. But she was a helpful tool. Despite what you might believe, she killed far more undercover demons, Pygmies, and even Nahullo than other humans. But eventually, she grew unruly. I must thank you and yours for finally putting her down. As for you..."
Eli Weiss' voice trails off as he looks me up and down. My powerless legs leave me fallen to my knees while he gazes downward with a purpose.
"I am pretty good at spotting potential. Many of those chosen for the Damned Program were those sentenced to die anyway, either for being useless wastes of resources or criminals who ought to die. Some were talented young men and women. I hoped to train you all secretly. And it worked for quite a few of you. My own personal soldiers."
His words don't sound right, and I question him on it the moment he pauses for even a second.
"What about Dennis? My friend? The one from the Harvey Estate?"
I catch Eli on a note, and he sighs sadly, his head shaking in apparent remorse.
"Some sacrifices must be made. For me to be able to have the resources to do such a thing, I must keep my sponsors happy. And the Harveys wanted that one dead. I figured we would use him as a final test for you."
I freeze as my heart skips a beat, blood rushing through my veins. The rage building is almost enough to help me stay upright.
"YOU!? YOU!?"
Weiss puts his hands up as I force my torso upward, gradually standing before him as I reach for my daggers. He steps back as I do so, for some reason not wanting to fight. I barely cause myself to see reason before charging down a Virtue.
"Yes. I did call the order for that duel. And I regret it. Had I not, you might have been like one of my other Leaves. From the Damned Program, thousands of criminals were put down, and six Angels were born—six hidden Angels that serve only me, not some stupid personal agenda or desire. Only four are alive at this point, but still. It was a success."
My brain struggles to fathom why he's telling me all this. The old man's Vessel exists beyond me without an ounce of threat in his form. What is his purpose?
Is he buying time? If he wanted to kill me, he would have. He could have. Buying time has to be the only reason. But why? How could such a little distraction matter?
If we were just barely here in time. Ed Summer's 'sacrifice' must be coming.
Fine, then. I'll play his game. I want to save that old man, but I can't honestly say I hold any care toward him like I did Marshall. Doing so is simply the right thing to do. I won't die for it, however.
"Well, why are you telling me all this? And why me? Why am I special? Why was I chosen?"
The Underground Tree's split soul points at my eyes as if motioning toward the thing behind it.
"Your calmness. That... rationality. I saw it when you were younger through one of my Roots. It is a trait that can catapult one toward the top. I once saw you kill your own brother without hesitation after he was consumed by Darklight. Very, very, very few can manage that. And when I say few... most of those are psychopaths without an ounce of emotion. You are simply hardened."
My teeth grind even further as he mentions Vernon, but ironically, or perhaps as he even expects, I force down the anger. I need to stay calm. It's what he expects, but if I rage like Wyatt, I'm sure he'll put me down.
"You've proven time and time again that you have potential. I simply regret having you kill Dennis. I underestimated how much love such a cold man could hold. But... I did. And as an apology, I allowed you to leave the Damned."
He... allowed me? What bullshit. I had to do an impossible task to gain my freedom. As 3rd Sigil, I assassinated a wealthy and powerful 6th Sigiled while they slept. Just getting into his mansion was nearly impossible, let alone getting close enough to kill him. Though... I never heard of anyone else getting out, even the opportunity of doing so.
Again, I grind my teeth, accidentally biting my lip hard enough to draw tangy blood that only serves to concentrate my focus.
"Still. Why are you telling me all this? Is it to buy time?"
A slight grin pulls itself onto Weiss' face as my question hits him. The older man opens his porcelain mouth wide to spew some more bullshit.
"When I was younger, roughly my late twenties, I saw a quartet of famous men and women. Back then, we called them the Horsemen based on how resilient and loyal they were. They were traveling through Pridestead at the time, past my metalworking shop, to fight in Bonedunes. At the time, they were almost all already 7th Sigiled Angels."
I tighten my brows, not understanding where he is coming from. I've never heard of these people before. How have I not?
"Marshall was the Horseman Of War, Ed Summers was the Horseman Of Famine, Annie was the Horseman Of Death, and Coltan was the Horseman of Pestilence. They were powerful and moved together like a rampant storm. Marshall was the frontline, the fist that wouldn't tire. Ed worked upon the sides, aiding Marshall as he could. Annie was the greatest doctor ever, able to put Marshall's head back on after it was removed before the tough bastard wholly passed. And Coltan worked from the shadows, poisoning their foes from afar. They were so strong that I thought them invincible as I possessed only a measly 2nd Sigil compared to them."
A weighted sigh comes from the old man's porcelain form as it breathes like an average human.
"A week later, they came back missing Coltan, a man I thought untouchable. It was then that I knew something had to change. And... arrogantly, I thought myself worthy enough to replace Coltan."
I finish his words, slowly understanding the enigmatic figure a bit more.
"That's where it all started, huh? Where you became crazed for power?"
Weiss laughs as if he didn't hear me at all.
"I am not crazed for power. I simply must have it to do the things that need to be done. Sacrifices must be made today for Vincent to live. The younger the man is, the more likely his advancement will be. Even if acclimated to more Ether than a young one, an aged body will tremble under the might of their Sigil fusing into their body. There is a high chance that Ed will not turn back the time far enough for our eldest."
The cogs in my head finally turn enough for me to understand what he means. Ed Summers is not a sacrifice to buy time or to fight against the Lords. He is bait to bring foes to this exact spot and nowhere else while he sacrifices himself.
I don't know how he will 'turn back the time' for Vincent, but the Hallowed One has complete mastery over his Vigor and storage of it that must be unmatched. I reckon, knowing how Blake's Vigor works, that he could use it to replenish Vincent's lost lifespan.
If that's the case, though, why are any of the Pillars old? Why is the Prime old? Why don't they just have Abbots sacrifice themselves all the time? There has to be a requirement. And... that requirement is probably Angelhood, or perhaps even being a Virtue.
"So what is this? Why didn't you tell us earlier? We would have just left! Now we're all in danger! A battle of Dominions is about to happen, and millions are still present in all of Blackreach! How many are going to be caught in that fight!?"
Weiss' eyes sink as my anger absolutely fumes. He can talk down upon me, he can lie to me, he can toy with my life. But the lives of the countless aboveground!? He's a Pillar! One of our best! How dare he?
"If I had told—"
"You and your Devilish plans!"
I surge forward, swinging a powerless punch toward the Vessel that manages to land. But the only thing I meet is agony as my fist slams against a porcelain surface harder than steel.
"Ah!"
Cradling my hand as I check it for breaks, I glare at Weiss. The older man sighs once more before raising his right hand. Once he does, I feel the lights lessen around us in intensity until none exist. And once all the brilliance is gone, I find us standing in a relatively small room surrounded by massive fixtures that still glow slightly.
"Very well. We can fight if only to teach you how far you are. But every second you waste is another you don't have to run for safety. Gravecross and Lawless Lake should be safe from what's to come."
His final words, before vanishing from my sight, are an ominous warning. Instinctively, I Flicker, and I am ecstatic I did so as a crackling mace swings straight through my chest from behind me.
Stepping, I Vanish behind me, expecting to find Weiss, but I don't. He's gone. Is he that fast? No. He can't be. Is he invisible? How?
The room morphs into a maelstrom of chaos in just a moment as dozens of figures appear. As they appear, I realize they are illusions, but I can't discern which may or may not be hiding Wess, making each moment a perilous gamble.
One illusion takes shape—an immense figure covered in shaggy fur, towering over me like a colossal beast. His limbs are grotesquely human and elongated, yet, the fur bristles with an unsettling sentience—an Urayuli. I Flicker and Vanish to evade the illusion in case Weiss is beneath it, but its mighty arms swing with deceptive speed. I narrowly avoid it as the ground below me cracks into a thousand pieces.
I stumble away, attempting to regain my balance as another illusion emerges—an insectoid creature, its spindly limbs ending in razor-sharp appendages that mimic the form of a human. I Flicker through the ground, narrowly evading the illusion's slashing strikes, and reappear behind it. I swing my dagger for it, only to witness my hand go straight through it as another figure forms.
The final illusion is the most unnerving—a horned demon with clothes of dense fur that invokes a primal, lasting fear. It's nearly sixteen feet tall and covered in scars. Its eyes gleam with malevolence, the grin a grotesque, toothy leer. I Flicker away, my heart racing, as the demon laughs loudly into the air, the sound forcing blood to slide out my ears.
Behemoth. This madman made an illusion of Behemoth. How is he doing this?!
I'm in a constant state of flux, my powers tested to their limits. Illusions shift and transform, each one a new nightmare to confront. I Flicker, Vanish, conjure Silhouettes, and dodge with frantic determination, knowing that even a single mistake could prove fatal.
Wracking my mind, I try to think of a solution, a way out of this, but I keep falling back to one thing. He's toying with me. Simply turning on those old lights would get me killed in seconds. I need to break those lights. I have to stop this all somehow. No one else knows the truth. They don't know how much danger we're in.
Flickering into the ground, I Vanish near the lights I saw earlier, their forms now shaded by a variety of illusions. I swing a dozen Nightwhips toward them as my mind flashes with danger. A hand comes for me with blistering speed, and all I manage to do before my vision goes black is contort and pull those Nightwhips in close as I twist them into a defensive layer.
The wind whistles around my body for seconds before agony reaches my brain from my front and, shortly after, my back. Some rough surface grinds against my flesh through my clothes as I slide down the wall I hit. Landing on my hands and knees, I cough, my lungs burning from my exertion.
I shake my head to refocus and return my vision, and as it comes back blearily, a hand taps me on the shoulder.
"Nice try."