The number counts down on the wall, and I move to take a place, remembering what the Devil said. Only Lennon and I are capable. I hardly spare a glance at anyone else while rushing, but before I reach the railing, someone faster than me does.
Virgil's hand slams against the wall, yet his shadow is still something I cannot hope to catch. The instant he does, I find a smile plastered on his face, pointed right at me. He opens his mouth to say something, but not a word leaves before he vanishes.
In his place, two pieces of text remain on the wall. My vision fragments as the Court's bounds have two overlayered arenas. Somehow, space has distorted to allow two separate battles to take place at once.
1/1 1/1
A long, strangled groan comes from the Devil in lieu of this. My father backsteps to a seat, falling into it as his blood drenches the cushions. My mother sits beside the near-dead man, her size still Adjusted to only be a bit larger than him.
Frozen, I glance back and forth between the battles as I don't know what to do. I don't even understand what is happening. The Devil, however, seems to comprehend precisely what's transpiring. He lifts a hand to the golden translucent wall and grips with such strength that his fingers stab into the impenetrable barrier.
As he does so, I find out who Virgil's opponent is. A tall, lengthy, and discolored figure with a bulbous head and an extra pair of eyes on his forehead walks out. The creature strides with a confidence I haven't seen in anyone but Vincent Harvey. Alongside that confidence, roars a negative sun. That is the easiest way to describe the roiling Darklight off his shoulders, arms, hands, and head.
The substance is as standard in his body as Ether is in any Angel's.
"Eldest."
My father spits out a lash of ire as he pushes himself to a standing position. Then, with a nod toward me, as if saying he'll speak to me later, he shouts at Louis Fern.
"Take that kid out. Put me in. No one else can take him. Desolation, before his ascension, said if they fought ten times, he would only win six. I have a double coin flip's chance, at least. That kid will only waste his life."
The 'only' in Killian's sentence is said with such significance that my eyes don't leave Eldest. Or his opponent, Virgil Boone. Vincent Harvey? Admitting that he could possibly lose? That... that sounds impossible. Is Eldest that strong? Vincent was only a tad bit stronger?
I raise my voice slightly as the Devil doesn't respond to Killian, pointing my focus to my father.
"You're too injured to fight him. This is precisely what they were waiting for! For you to rush out and fight when you're not at your best. That's why I brought these two."
The Undying twists to me, even as Aniwye bursts out, too. The demon grabs what remains of Killian's forearm, namely the sharpened bone.
"Wait!"
She pulls him back with some real, authentic force, enough to crumple steel, but he doesn't even budge. He simply turns to face her, hardly any discernable emotion on his ruined countenance. The flayed flesh makes it nearly impossible to even look at him. Still, I sense some compassion as he listens.
"You need to repair your body before you fight, at the very least! Here, I saved some things for you. An eye to replace that one. Here's a lung. Kidney. Spleen. Carotid. If you're missing too much, Killian, even you'll die to Eldest."
Aniwye retrieves preserved organs from her pack, and each of them is obviously not from any human. All are from varying races, most of them demonic in nature. I notice that she doesn't consider the notion of him losing at his best. My father nods to her, noticing me at the side.
"Thank you. We will talk later. This is urgent. You made it in time, but only barely."
Killian takes the eye first, shoving it toward the gash that removed his first one. I watch with grim curiosity as he peels the bleeding flesh over and painfully stitches the wounds into place with Ether. The 'threads' he uses are intricate and ornate, something I've never thought about doing before strictly because of how excruciating and difficult it would be to pull off.
Then, when his socket is partially reconstructed, he slides the eyeball into place. A crimson pupil takes its place, the whites of the eye darkened to a deep black. In only a moment, the eye is already spinning in place, Killian preparing to replace a lung as well.
Despite my need to have a long and in-depth conversation with him, I cannot do so. There are, as he said, more urgent matters. The arenas both open at once, and the battles start, but none of the participants can take a single step.
That is because a wrinkled hand has shoved its way beyond the golden barrier. The Devil grimaces with pain, seething with so much energy that Ether leaves his mouth only to release steam. I step back as frantic text lines the barrier.
STOP! STOP! STOP! You are interfering with judgment, Louis Fern! If you impede the Court once more, you shall lose all rights.
The Devil curses the air as his fist clenches on the other side of the wall. Then, the text shifts ever so slightly.
2/1 1/1
"Get inside. Now. This is not easy, and by using my Divinhood to interfere with rules, I am only strengthening the Crimson Court. This is Eldest's best chance to get through, but it is also our best chance to kill him, as he never shows himself. Killian. I will attempt to open another slot for you when you are done. For now, Wyatt, enter."
Birdie throws a hand out, gesturing to the rest of us as the arenas seem paused in motion. She is indignant at her own uselessness.
"What about us? What are we to do?"
Louis Fern grits his teeth as I catch a thin line of blood running out of his lips. The liquid is golden and takes me aback. Nevertheless, the old God doesn't seem to care about his condition. Something about his injury doesn't feel right. Should Gods be this easy to hurt? I don't know, but he focuses on the situation at hand.
"There is a third Offspring. Keep your wits about you. When the Court eventually opens a third session, people will have to join that one, too. Now, Wyatt. Get inside."
I nod, starting to piece everything together. This Court has long left the Devil's control. This is a spiraling piece of madness, and by attempting to keep it together, Louis Fern only makes it worse. But if he doesn't... it'll explode into disaster.
Sighing, I listen to Marrion and Otto argue about who will fight first. Then, I step up to the Devil again. It feels weird to call him Louis, and he asked me to call him simply Devil, so...
"Devil. How long until you can open a third slot?"
The God nods as if expecting the question. His eyes then slide to Killian as the Undying replaces a kidney. My father still needs new arms, though he doesn't seem too bothered by the missing limb right now.
"A minute. Maybe less. We're more dependent on how much Killian can repair in that amount of time. But I cannot pause them for much longer. That accelerates the Court's growth the most. You two will have to survive for that amount of time. It will not be easy, but you might be able to speak to him if your careful to buy some time."
Nodding to him, I reach for his already outstretched hand, but Silas cuts in first. The Undead man, or more accurately, Mie, tosses and tells me something vital. Something I am not expecting. It is the last thing I could possibly predict.
"Alexos is... well, he's Undead. He dropped off a letter for you. Lennon said you should read it as soon as possible, but he was dragged away too quickly. Read it now. I know there are a lot of things going on, but this man—"
I grab my forehead, and the situation becomes too much for a second. Alexos is alive? Well, Undead? That's... I suppose that is expected. Lily did release him. Still... Fuck. I need to read this. Who knows what it has to say? It could be revenge, a promise to kill me, or something worse. Though... his final moments didn't seem that callous.
I groan, taking the opened letter even as more golden liquid dribbles out of the God before me. As swiftly as I can, I scan the letter, reading each passage and sentence with clarity as Killian shuffles beside me. While glancing down at the letter, he attaches an arm to the one that is only a shoulder, leaving the bone-like spear of a forearm alone.
To Wyatt Iron Graves
I open the letter and read it at a single glance with Liberation, not wasting a second on such a thing.
Thank you for killing me. It brought me finality to know they were already beyond any depravity I could ever reach while alive. I am sorry for lashing out at you, even under the guise. You are but a child and, as such, are exempt from the father's sins.
I know you are after Killian. I will give you four days. Beyond that, we will have our long-awaited meeting. After that... I hope you will not come after me, no matter how it turns out. There is much I wish to do and see. My first foe is the Undying, and then it is Death herself. After even that, should I accomplish it truly... I wish to see them once more through her corpse.
No child should ever suffer as you have or as mine have.
May my journey's end pave the way,
For me to find deliverance's ray.
Gods shall fall,
No matter how tall.
For they stood idly by,
And let them die.
Yours in penance,
The man who deserves no face.
Alexos... I can't help but stare at my father as his eyes scan the words, too, even as he stitches the arm back on with his Ether through the slowed time of Liberation. I search for an answer, a reason, anything that could possibly exonerate him, but he simply sighs when I release the skill. Turning away, he gives a terrible answer.
"Orders. I did as I was told, which was negligible. You'd have to ask Vincent Harvey himself for more details."
"What!? Orders!? You killed an innocent wife and children over orders!?"
I burst out in raw bitterness at him, unable to comprehend what he had done to Alexos in the past. The Phantom Pain was not a good man. But... he used to be. How could he? Fuck... I need to get through that hole! But... I can't just leave this. The roiling thoughts will get me killed.
My father ignores me, sitting down as his eyes fall back to his limbs, focused on his recovery. But I don't take that. I know... I know I need to join the fight, but I cannot fight like this. I give Louis a glance and he grits his teeth, nodding at me through the effort.
Stomping, I get right in his face. Aniwye is seated right beside him, helping the man guide his Ether, but she stops to pay attention to me. I don't even look at her, knowing that her morals are too far from those of humans to care for this. But... my father... he's...
He's silent, dead set on putting his arm back on his torso. Killian Graves doesn't even look up at me.
"Say something! Anything! What the hell is wrong with you!?"
Still, he doesn't answer. Aniwye opens her mouth, but I don't listen to her. I scream at my father, waiting almost two decades to see him, only to figure out he's just as bad as the Estates. Just as bad as Eli, Clarence, and all the others.
I held hope that what Alexos said was skewed, that Killian had some reason for doing what he did. But... his reason is because he was told to do so? Orders... are you fucking kidding me? He listened to FUCKING ORDERS?!
"Nothing? You have nothing to say?"
I crouch slightly, forcibly meeting my father's gaze. His attention snaps to me as I see a flicker of anger pass through his face. Then, he shouts at me. My father's disfigured face contorts in barely concealed fury as he points at me with the bony spike.
"What do you want me to say!? I did the things I did! I can't take them back! I set you up for freedom! A teacher! A mother! A sister! Challenges to overcome that weren't impossible! That wouldn't make you hate living! A life without shackles binding you to do whatever someone else pleases! I had none of that! I had nothing but a leash around my throat and an impossible-to-please master! Vincent only fucking freed me when I came down here! Because he had to! Otherwise, I couldn't step through the doors with his Ether in my heart and soul!"
By the end of his words, Killian's skeletal-life countenance is only inches from mine. Still, my father doesn't push me. He doesn't hit me. He merely cracks the bones in his repaired arm to point to Louis Fern.
"These old bastards! They care for nothing but this 'greater good'! They believe any evil is worth humanity's survival! To hell with all that shit! I've fought my whole life, and I've never once been on the receiving end of help without some scheme behind it. Never. Not once. I fight for you. And her. Not for anyone else. I don't care if you appreciate it now. You will grow to."
Killian's hand shifts to address Lily as the little girl fawns over him with widened eyes. Despite Killian's insults, the Devil doesn't seem to care in the slightest. He only lowers his gaze, his jaw popping out further from the heightened effort.
"Thanks! I knew you loved me!"
I don't have the energy to address Lily as I peer at my heavily breathing father. He's riled up, furious, and angry. He seems more worked up from this than killing all those Angels from before. Just as I start to feel some sympathy for him, Aniwye reaches for him in care, attempting to help him with the wounds that he is reopening, and he bats her aside. The look on her face shatters all that he had said a second ago in my heart.
Icy venom leaves my throat to the Undying. There is no raised voice, only a calm threat. She has been there for me infinitely more than him. She... in her own way, always has been.
"You will not treat her like that."
My father raises an eyebrow, confused. And that confusion seems genuine. As such, I let him know exactly what I mean.
"You will not treat my mother like that. Under no circumstances. She is my mother more than you are my father. She loves you. If you do not feel the same, tell her."
Killian obviously doesn't know how to answer, and he sputters out some more bewilderment.
"What do you mean? She's a demon, Wyatt. She only did as the deal was set. She is not your mother."
"Yes. Yes, she is. If she is not my mother, then you are not my father."
The Undying's body shifts slightly, some kind of movement vibrating him wholly. I can tell that he is uncomfortable, but that is good. He should be.
"Hey! The Court's not getting any weaker! Hurry up, you two! It won't last forever!"
"Shut up!"
We both twist and yell at the God in unison before pivoting back. Killian shakes his head in disbelief, yelling with an even more robust tone.
"You! She is not your mother, but... if you wish, then you can treat her like it! But do not act so righteous over me! I've done all I could! She is just a de—"
"Don't you fucking dare."
"She—"
"Don't."
"W—"
"Don't"
"Let me speak! We don't even have mothers! Or fathers! It doesn't fucking matter! Our only connections are those by race and those we have made!"
An explosion of meaning hits me as I stumble back, utterly shocked. Everyone else stares at us in shock, even the Devil. The God appears to not have known whatever Killian knows. I stay silent as my thoughts swim in a storm of bafflement.
I don't have a mom? Or a father? How? Is he my father, then? What? I don't... I don't understand. If he's not... who... what?
A low tone comes from Killian Graves as he tightens his sewn stitches over his carotid artery, finally ceasing the bleeding. His words are spoken like that of fact, unavoidable.
"There are many kinds of artifacts in the world, formed by lingering attachments by the Sigil and soul. The weakest are those within the fingers, the toes. Then, it is the hands and the feet. Next are non-vital organs. After that are the eyes and the heart."
My 'father' stops for a moment, inhaling a deep breath. Only after his whole body shakes, the man obviously not wanting to say this aloud, does he continue. Before he says anything else, ideas form in my head, slight hints that I hope are not true.
"But there are rarer ones. With enough attachments, usually resentment, artifacts can flood their Sigil into objects. Like a pen. Or a knife. Eventually, artifacts can even gain their own souls. Whatever. But... there is a rarer one. Above the vital organs and above the objects, when the remnant will is so powerful it can blur the lines between Ether and soul, artifacts can form out of the eggs within a woman. The Sigil, however, deviates due to transforming into a soul for a child. In order to survive, it sheds most of its power, retaining only a small bit of power that affects us. That is where our toughness comes from, our saturations, our... Tombs."
My eyes cannot leave my 'father's' face as I interrogate it for any hint of lies or deceit. There are none. He is wholly truthful. Aniwye finally speaks up for herself in the stunned silence.
"Then, Killian. What is his Tomb? Why did you think he was so important?"
Killian shrugs haphazardly while pulling a blade out of his knee.
"Dunno. I assume it's with his soul, but that doesn't matter. I just know he's my son. I picked him up from a bloodied riverbank. After... That's enough."
My breaths come quickly and frenzied as I only begin to comprehend his words. And matters are fast made exponentially worse as another voice appears.
"That explains a hell of a lot."
A porcelain man strides toward us from several stands over. Ether slides over his reflective body, and he grins toward us all. Squinting, I can see several flickers within his Dominion. He's stolen more Powers.
Yet, as always, the gentleman, Eli Weiss, bows as he introduces himself to the Devil, Birdie, and the two redheads.
"What a pleasure to meet you all here at this time. I look forward to working with you all. I am Eli Weiss, inventor, schemer, and Dominion. Shall I take this battle instead and let the family iron out their disputes?"