Chapter Five: Kill
Flesh-Lord Tez I'zimare had failed. Lately, it felt like failure was his biggest strength, shadowing his every move. He had failed to stop Flesh from rampaging the Orphanage. He had failed to convince Lady Adera to stop the Luring.
And now, he failed to stop Umbrals from devouring the Sinews.
Tez had sent all Fleshweavers under his command into every known vein in the Sinews in order to prevent the creatures from breaking through. The Flesh-Lord himself was trying his best to hold them back.
With difficulties.
His Ink was burning brightly, Flesh surging and screaming at him. Tez was beyond exhaustion. His hands were dripping with blood, legs about to give in. Flesh didn't feel quite the same.
More! More! More! Flesh was quite excited, ravaging through the pitch-black, contorted bodies of Umbrals, the bright red glow of their eyes fading as they crumbled into sinew. Tez couldn't recall how deep he made it into this vein, for his focus was mostly set on restraining Flesh and killing the weavecraft creations.
"We need to retreat, lord." Agolio's voice echoed near Tez, calm as ever. Through his Flesh-Form, he sounded half-demonic.
Tez could barely focus on his officer, but he was right – their squad of Fleshweavers was slowly being overwhelmed. There were too many Umbrals, their black forms crawling from every inch of the vein. Some didn't even have humanoid forms anymore; more like writhing, pulsing masses of flesh. Tez could feel the Umbrals' raw anger. Their need to kill.
Tez didn't want to let the Umbrals in, but–
Flesh is demanding more flesh! Flesh doesn't like retreating! Flesh is angry!
Flesh is also quite drunk, Tez responded bitterly. Drunk on death and destruction. He could barely hold his rage back as he wrestled one of the giant beasts, forming a spike of muscle from his chest to finally take it down. He only let it go once he saw its red eyes fade.
Flesh was activating and inactivating Tez's runes like a delicate dance; the Fleshweaver letting its restrained instinct fight for him. He watched as his Hand-Runes contorted into enormous claws, his Arm-Runes bulging and writhing, twisting around the nearest Umbrals as they approached.
He jumped forward, barreling through two of the enormous beasts, decapitating their strange forms in the process. Agolio slid underneath their forms, his hand the form of a large, spiked fist, dodging beneath shadowy slashes as he punched his way to Tez.
Several more Fleshweavers circled up with them.
"Time to retreat. Back to the entrance, squad!" Tez yelled, voice blaring through the slimy vein.
The Fleshweavers moved as one. They retreated to the vein entrance, Tez fighting in the front with Agolio.
With every step backwards, Flesh protested. His Ink flared up. It wanted to kill.
Suddenly, one of his Fleshweavers was thrown aside like a ragdoll, slamming against the vein wall. Tez couldn't tell who it was, but he felt immediate rage. He could also feel Umbrals coming from above, behind, every inch of the vein–
Flesh can deal with all of them. Let me!
Agolio noticed Tez hesitation, his commander's hand shooting to his shoulder to steady him. Tez let Flesh take over, his Hand-Runes twisting up into fleshy spikes, followed by dozens of Umbrals raining from the vein ceiling.
The squad of Fleshweavers barely made it out of the vein alive.
Tez stumbled in the cold, polluted air of the Sinews. He watched with despair as waves of Umbrals followed them, their beastly forms trying to ravage the retreating weavers. Tez saw one of his men get torn apart by a larger Umbral. He felt rage and anger.
And Flesh, Flesh felt glee.
It became harder and harder to control. Flesh wasn't meant to be restrained, it could kill all of these wretched things right now–
Tez stopped it from seeping into his thoughts. No. Control yourself! Tez had failed before, but he couldn't let Flesh win.
Failure is the Flesh! Failure is our truth! Let me out! It was relentless. Its rage, Tez' rage, was blinding. He saw Agolio yell something in his Flesh-Form, his Hand-Runes transforming into giant claws. The rest of the squad retreated from the vein entrance, away from the Umbrals.
This vein entrance was close to the last remaining populous part of the Sinews. Tez quickly heard the terrified screams of people as they realized another cleansing was upon them. He couldn't stand listening to them.
Tez wanted to scream with them, watching Umbrals crawl out of the vein, ready to devour his people. He wished - so badly - they had left since the last cleansings.
Why did you have to stay?
Of course he knew the answer. Because they have nowhere else to go. Because it is their truth: their lot in life to suffer in this pit. Just as it is mine to be freed of it, and then chained to it again.
These innocent, weak people–
Umbrals didn't discriminate: they feasted upon anyone they could. Their hunger was insatiable. Tez felt so guilty. So helpless. All they could do was trim down the number of Umbrals, knowing fully well that some will make it through to indiscriminately murder.
Perhaps if he just let Flesh take over one last time, as long as he stayed by the vein and not the homes… Before Tez could finish the thought, he saw several of his Fleshweavers drown in waves of contorted, pitch-black figures. Screams fading as quickly as they appeared.
That was all that was needed for Flesh to take advantage of Tez' vulnerability. Its desire to kill the Umbrals intensified tenfold, and Tez–
Failure is our truth! Flesh is the Flesh!
The weaver couldn't control his Ink any longer. The runes on his body almost turned white with how hot they were, burning him.
Overpowering him.
Flesh took his body hostage, surging with intensity to take down the Umbrals. Its wrath was immense, and Tez just… let it happen.
Failure is the truth, Tez thought, his muscles tripling in size, fire surging through his runes. His vision began to blur, and he gave in to his exhaustion.
Flesh took over. Again.
Agolio saw his Flesh-Lord become one with Flesh. It was something Lord I'zimare always warned him against - letting the rage consume your body, and taking it for yourself. The Ink would burn you. To death, if you let it.
Agolio watched, fascinated, as runes burned so brightly from his lord. The weaver had grown at least thrice in size, muscles rippling in all their nakedness. His entire body appeared to be on fire, runes brightening as the Ink seeped into his flesh. Flesh-Lord Tez had become a towering behemoth, eyes glazed and filled with only rage.
Rage and madness, Agolio thought, stunned as he saw the man crush Umbral skulls like they were mere rotten fruits. Their red eyes fading one after the other as Lord I'zimare stomped on their blackened forms.
Agolio realized his Flesh-Lord wasn't holding back. Tez looked like an enraged animal, not a weaver. He knew his flesh-form was always a bit wilder… but not this feral. This was no weaving technique taught.
The power to maintain all runes in such shape… Agolio was equally impressed as terrified. He had never seen the Flesh-Lord in such a ravenous state. It was concerning to Agolio. His Flesh-Form could be consumed entirely, or he could be burned to death–
The commander didn't have much more time to worry about Tez, for he saw several Umbrals run past the giant, straight into the shabby wooden shacks these people called homes. Followed by loud, terrified screams.
Agolio hated the Sinews, but not enough to let the people here die. Besides: orders were orders. Protect the Sinews at all costs. So, the commander screamed for his squad loudly, pointing at the shacks surrounding the vein entrance.
Somehow, he still couldn't believe those veins traveled all the way here, innocently appearing holes giving birth to those… monstrosities. With one last look at the contorted form of his lord, the commander followed his squad into the streets. Hoping to save those they could.
Flesh was ecstatic. It was barreling through the mutated shadow-men, rejoicing at the sounds of cracked skulls and broken ribs. The fresh Ink in its veins had given it enough strength to become something new; something greater. Unyielding, its enormous flesh-claws swiped through crowds of dark masses, its muscles choking-out the creatures.
Flesh loved every bit of this. It was drunk on the Ink - and death - surging through Tez.
The lord was fading. Flesh knew this all too well. It could feel Tez's intense exhaustion and panic. The Ink was quickly burning away the weaver's consciousness.
Tez was losing control.
Flesh wanted more, it demanded more, yet it could feel him fade, fade into the void–
Failure is the Flesh, the Ink whispered in his mind. Flesh crushed more Umbrals. He let it take over his entire body. Tez was no weaver anymore - no, he was more like those beasts now. Pure instinct.
Rage and hunger.
The man was a prisoner in his own flesh. He couldn't process what was happening, mind blurry from the Ink consuming his body. His thoughts were scattered, body uncontrollable, and he felt–
Horrified. At himself. At what he was becoming. Flesh was taking over completely. Tez no longer knew if it was himself or the demon within him - everything was just pain, anger, fear, hunger–
The little consciousness left in the man finally faded.
Agolio paired up his weavers, ordering them to secure each shack one-by-one. Further away from the vein entrance, the Umbrals weren't as numerous yet, though many still made it through Tez's Fleshform - or whatever he was. Agolio tried to ignore the horrendous screams coming from the lord's direction. The man could handle himself for now.
The East-Watch commander barreled through a door, entering a dirty, run-down hut. Vereni, his paired squad member, followed closely, her Flesh-Form particularly nimble. Inside, the shack reeked of blood, crammed packed so tightly–
They barely had time to take in the blood-curling scene before them: two Umbrals, giant hunched bodies touching the low ceiling, were devouring someone on the floor. Multiple children stood in the corner stunned, absolute horror painted on their pale faces.
Agolio burned his Hand-Runes, activating them in a way that caused a tendon to emerge from his wrist. Elongating with rapid speed, he twisted the sinew-strand around the first beast he saw–
Vereni did the same, multiple strands of sinew shooting out of both wrists, wrapping around the other. Bright red runes brightened the cramped inside of the shack.
"Get behind us!" Vereni shouted at the children. They weren't moving… Why aren't they moving? Agolio pulled on his sinew strand, inactivating his Hand-Rune and letting it pull himself on the nearest Umbral. Then, he crushed the monstrosity's skull.
The second Umbral, entangled in Vereni's sinews, thrashed wildly, knocking over a frail wooden table. Agolio leaped, his newly formed sinew-claws extended, and landed a crushing blow to its head. The creature collapsed immediately. Body twisting. Red eyes fading.
The children, finally breaking from their shock, huddled together, their eyes wide with terror. Agolio glanced at Vereni, who nodded. Her expression was grim.
"Stay very close, and do not make a sound," Agolio instructed the children in a soft but firm tone. He wasn't sure if they fully understood him, but he didn't have time to worry–
A deafening explosion shook the walls.
Agolio bolted outside as quickly as he could.
Multiple Fleshweavers were trying to contain the amassing Umbrals storming into the Sinews streets. A ravenous war between Flesh and Shadow.
Agolio noticed the distant figure of Lord I'zimare, towering behind the growing pile of bodies surrounding him. The lord continued his rampage by the vein, thankfully not moving closer to the people–
The commander heard Vereni and the crying children behind him.
"What was that explosion?" Vereni asked, trying to keep the children close to her.
"Not good news," Agolio responded. He saw the frightened eyes of the children. "Vereni, escort these kids to the Mesenkyme. I'm going to investigate."
A panicked Fleshweaver near them seemed to have overheard them. Noticing the East-Watch Commander, the weaver gave a courtly bow.
"Sir, another vein has been opened!" the scout said. His red runes dissipated, Flesh-Form faltering, as he pointed further down the street.
"Another vein?" Agolio asked, looking at Vereni. That answered her question. "Show me," Agolio addressed the scout, quickly following. The Fleshweavers split up, Vereni with the children, Agolio running behind the scout.
They didn't have to run far.
Four blocks into the sloped steps of the Sinews, Agolio noticed a large building burst in flames. It must've been a warehouse, now it was burning, overflown with the mutated bodies of Umbrals. Through it all, Agolio saw an enormous pile of rocks beneath. Had these things truly just burrowed through a vein–
He lowered his hand, squinting through the smoke and dust. He saw a massive hole in the ground, where the warehouse used to be. A dark, pulsing energy emanated from the depths, like a heartbeat. It was a vein, alright. A huge one. And it was open.
Suddenly, the commander was blinded. He raised a hand to cover his eyes, feeling an immense heat–
Runes activated, instinctively protecting him.
Another explosion.
The Flesh-Commander stumbled back, barely having time to process what was happening. He was blown off his feet, flying through the air, and landing with a heavy thud.
Everything was a blur, ears ringing, the heat almost unbearable. Agolio felt a sharp pain in his chest. An enormous Umbral had rammed into them, its skin burning with flames, thrashing wildly–
Agolio groaned, slowly regaining his footing. Umbrals screeching and dying as the fire engulfed them. Agolio could barely see the scout, his Flesh-Form gone. The young weaver was on the ground, writhing in agony. Muscles wide open; skin and runes burnt away.
The commander was more lucky. The heat didn't burn his runes away. Now, however, he was facing an Umbral almost the size of Lord I'zimare's Fleshform. Behind the abomination, waves of black forms writhed and screamed.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the scout take his last breath. Agolio wanted to feel angry, but he couldn't. Anger was the downfall of a Fleshweaver.
Agolio activated his sigils of Verathir. They were different than Kozrin's runes; pierced into him as a child. They were darker, and any Ink that would run through them… Agolio didn't use his Verathir sigils lightly. Now, however, it seemed like an appropriate technique to utilize–
The commander dodged, like lightning, the incoming mass of Umbral flesh. The Verathir sigils burnt a blood-red, the beautiful geometries revealing themselves between his normal runes.
His muscles roared. Strands of tendons and ligaments wrapped around the giant, pitch-black creature. Agolio expertly activated his blood-red sigils in a way that tensioned the fleshy ropes–
Strands of glowing red sinew surrendered the enormous Umbral like a net. Agolio released the tension, catapulting himself with immense speed straight through the fleshy mass.
A man-sized hole exploded through the beast's chest.
Agolio rolled onto the bloodied streets of the Sinews, watching the Umbral's form crumble lifelessly. He wanted to grin, but the man was not one to gloat. Besides, turning around, he saw massive hordes of Umbrals continue to emerge.
He had never seen this many. He didn't understand why this Cleansing was different. Agolio had no choice but to lead the hordes of creatures away from the houses, towards Tez. The Flesh-Lord was still going with his rampage. He might be their last hope–
He had to get to Tez.
Flesh crushed, stomped and destroyed. Flesh needed to kill. Kill more. Flesh really, really enjoyed this. This was what Flesh meant to be doing all along. Kill, kill, and kill! Yes!
It was in a state of complete madness, a mighty mixture of Ink and insanity. Barreling through the crowds of shadow-men, rejoicing at every twisted bone broken, every mutated head incinerated–
Flesh's Heritage - the name it gave to the red markings on its skin - were now fire, burning through its muscles. Sustaining it. Feeding it. Yes, yes, yes! Flesh loved that its vessel decided to seek out more of the Ink, and quality Ink it was.
There were some shadow beasts that rivaled Flesh's size, but not its strength. It was as if they attempted to mimic Flesh, become like him. That only amused the demon further. No one and nothing could be like Flesh! Flesh is Flesh! Flesh is Truth!
Crush. Crack. Explode!
To Flesh, time felt like nothing: this was endless, rejoicing in the thing it was meant to do. Its Heritage continued to burn like an infinite pyre. Fueled by shadow blood and–
There were countless shadows, but in-between them, Flesh caught a few glimpses of… red glowing Heritage like its own. Heritage-Carriers. Its supposed brothers. Traitors. They bolted between the growing massacre, weaving their bodies into killing shapes.
Flesh hated them. They were stealing its kills! This was its slaughter, not theirs! When one or two got too close, Flesh crushed them as well. It saw some of them carrying blops of gray, followed by some limping, running– They had no Heritage, but Flesh did not discriminate, and also crushed them. More! More! More!
Then Flesh saw a Heritage-Carrier that it thought it should recognize. Its killing-shape was so familiar to Flesh–
The little kill-form tried to shout something at him. It didn't matter to Flesh.
It crushed Agolio like the rest.
Agolio! A subconscious voice echoed. Flesh ignored it, laughing and roaring maniacally as new strength surged through his muscles.
The beast continued its rampage. The Umbrals looked afraid for once. Their forms trying to crawl onto Flesh were hesitant, almost scared of the enormous claws that erupted from its arms. Flesh could do this! Flesh could kill them all! Flesh was endless!
All Ink was gone. Tez awoke formless in the aftermath of the slaughter. Flesh was no longer present. Somehow, he was still alive. In great pain - of course - but alive. Tez didn't know how. He felt his consciousness die as Flesh stole his body. There were so many Umbrals.
He should be dead.
But miraculously, Tez was still with this world. With the Sinews, surrounded by countless corpses. Fleshweavers, innocent citizens, and shadow-beasts alike. All dead. There were so many corpses. Hundreds, if not thousands. He didn't understand.
The battle had ended. The Flesh-Lord didn't know how that was possible, but… the Umbrals appeared to have lost. He couldn't believe his eyes.
As the lord attempted to get up, he couldn't. He looked down at his body, and realized he was barely human; a skeleton with skin tightly wrapped around.
There was no single muscle left in his body.
He really should be dead, Tez thought. There was no Ink left–
Suddenly, the drab, gray sky before him was clouded over. He felt a strong breeze of wind whip against his skeletal figure, and a person seemed to float above him.
"What did you do?!" The figure spoke, its voice booming. Tez recognized it to be Breath-Lord Quon-Si. His bright, white runes blinded the man. Tez saw the man's increasingly-complex weavecraft armor hiss with steam, before the breathweaver landed next to him.
His armor looked like lungs, inflating and deflating as he approached. Tez felt hot steam and cold air. He couldn't respond.
Quon-Si looked angry underneath his intricate weavecraft mask. Impossibly angry.
"The Council will execute you for this!" The Breathweaver said as he examined the shriveled skeleton of Tez. He snarled, talking more to himself than the dying weaver. "What's the use? You're already dead, Flesh-Lord. It would be a mercy to end you now. Yes, a mercy…"
There was murder in the Breath-Lord's eyes.
Before Tez could protest, his lifeless eyes caught a familiar figure amongst the sea of corpses surrounding him.
It was his most trusted lieutenant, his friend of many years–
Agolio.
His dead form contorted, bones twisted into horrifying shapes. What remained of the man's face looked sickly pale, a terrible expression painted on the dead fleshweaver.
Tez wanted to scream, but he had no mouth.
Agolio…
Agolio was dead, and the Flesh-Lord couldn't help but think it was his doing. This was his fault. His burden to carry–
Before the panic and terror of his most trusted friend's death could truly take hold, Tez's vision faded once more. He felt the little life left in him drain, carried away in a river of despair. Then, blackness took over his mind, and the man unwillingly accepted the void.
Again.
Chapter Six: Gutterways
The Gutterways, where the trash and sewage of Viskris congregated, was a tiny canal-city within a city. Refuge for the countless homeless and dying, it was a haven for the forgotten souls of Viskris. A chaotic web of narrow passageways and secluded pockets, provided a kind of shelter, a refuge from the harsh realities of the streets above.
In all their glory, they smelled and looked just as good as the Sinews would. Except for when the pipes brought in the latest sludge of 'water' recycled through the weavecraft machines. Then, they stunk like nothing Renir's sensitive nose ever smelled before.
Still, it was better than living at the Orphanage. Anything was better than living at that place. Renir sat, wet and dirty, watching the water flood into the canals below. It looked like sewage, but supposedly, this is where people got their water from.
Renir doubted that, but his throat burnt with thirst. Desperately, the teen clung himself on the edge of the slippery canal railing, sipping up what water he could.
Now that he was free, he could have water anytime! Renir grinned a bit - before immediately stopping himself. He shouldn't have thoughts like that. No… not while his friends were–
For a moment he actually forgot.
Why don't I feel more guilty?
Renir - truthfully - didn't know how to feel anymore. He had cried for days, mourning the death of his fellow orphans. Siblings. They were like siblings to me. Halidor, Yenim, Khartha, Cevier… At some point, he couldn't cry anymore. Now, for some strange reason, he couldn't even recall their voices anymore.
It had been a whole week.
A whole week of being an orphan on the run. A whole week since everyone he knew died.
Renir still didn't know how to feel. He knew he should feel sad, of course, but the boy just couldn't. He just felt… numb. Like drowning in nothingness. Even the thought of Father and Caretaker Dania dead - which normally would bring him great joy - didn't move Renir.
The only emotion he felt was anger. Anger at that beast of a man, who had turned the orphanage into a massacre. It wasn't an Umbral as he first thought. It wasn't another one of those Cleansings…
Should've known he was a Fleshweaver! Renir was frustrated with himself. Perching himself up on a steadier, less rotten railing, the boy seeped in his odd state of numbness.
I didn't know he would do all that, Renir thought, obsessively replaying the scene in his head: A freakishly tall, cloaked figure appearing before him, asking for Father. Telling him to hide. If only I would've noticed those runes…
They were red, but not like Bloodweavers. No, almost bright red… flowing geometries with striated runes–
If only Renir had noticed sooner! Perhaps then he would've been quicker about getting the children to safety. Fleshweavers had no business being in the Sinews. No, that man was out for blood. He could tell by the eyes.
Renir had always thought himself to be good at reading people. If only he knew his intentions… Renir could've used his weaving on him. Sure, he wasn't great at it, but–
He heard the voice of Father resonate in his head.
You don't fight. You're a Senseweaver. You sense, idiot.
But he didn't. He didn't sense the madness that was going to unfold. What could Renir have done differently? Replaying that moment over and over again… he was in shock. He was intimidated. So afraid. The last thing on his mind was his own weaving.
Renir hated feeling helpless like that. His whole life, he was silenced and hidden away. He only did what he knew best: observe, not act.
Now all his friends were dead, and Renir was homeless.
Again.
At least he was alive. It wasn't much comfort to Renir. He had a knack for getting into bad situations. A true talent for it, really. His whole life had been an escapade of misfortunes; a series of worsening events after the other–
Renir just felt numb. His eyes drifted to the scattered, ragged figures below, wasting away against the cold canal walls. Would he become like them? Wasted potential, lost hope?
The boy wanted to believe he was destined for more. He survived that Fleshweaver's rampage, that must have meant something.
And he had his weaving. Renir still believed senseweaving was his way out. He was blessed with a gift. It didn't work yet… but he couldn't just give up. He couldn't become like those wretched people at the bottom of the canals, letting sewage wash them away.
He survived the orphanage!
Renir had to believe in something. Maybe it was time to believe in himself for once.
The orphanage - admittedly - did leave him with impeccable survival instincts. Those were given to him by Father 'lessons'; such as not being fed for weeks, or being forced to sleep in cages with bloodrats–
Renir had the tools to survive. Tools that he had to believe in. Otherwise he would be wasting all he had left.
And wasting wouldn't bring me anywhere. Halidor, Yenim, Khartha, Cevier… I'll make you proud. One day. He recited their names again and again in his head, hoping to never forget them. Then, the boy climbed down the railing and began his search for some food.
He activated the little Ink left in his Nose-Runes. Hopefully, he would sense something edible before it ran out. Quickly, he felt the familiar tingle surge through his face, Ink burning.
Smellweaving allowed Renir to find all sorts of delicasses. As long as they weren't too spoiled. Rot was a sense all in itself, Renir figured. The smell of rotten food was disgusting, but also somehow satisfying… a reminder he was still alive.
He lived, unlike his friends.
As Renir activated the little Ink left in his Nose-Runes, a silver glow crackled through the intricate designs. Scents flooded his nostrils. Gutterways' perfume: each smell was distinct, telling a story. A disgusting story. Damp earthiness of mold grew in dark corners, the acrid sting of rusted metals, the oily residue of industrial sludge. All mingled together, painting a picture of the decrepit environment surrounding him.
The senseweaving heightened his perception to an almost overwhelming degree. He could detect the subtle difference between the odors of fresh trash and that which had been sitting for days. The faint scent of something edible, perhaps a day old bread or a discarded piece of fruit, seduced his nostrils, leading him deeper through the Gutterways.
Renir wasn't picky, scavenging for the odd half-rotten piece of food in trash. His hypersensitive nose guided him towards an overflowing barrel of… what seemed to be a strange meat, not bread. It didn't look fresh. At all. It looked like mashed worms–
He quickly grabbed it from the barrel. It smelled horrible, but the boy was starving. Renir didn't think too much about his meals nowadays, instead just trying to eat something. Anything to sustain what little energy he had left.
Renir hesitated. The meat in his hand felt slimy and unappealing. He closed his eyes, trying to shove away the thought of what it possibly could be. He took a bite, grimacing. Stomach churning, the boy forced himself to swallow. Survival trumped taste.
Renir's mind wandered, that numbness setting in again.
What now? Where to go? The Sinews were not safe any longer. The orphanage was gone, not that he would ever return to that place. For a week, he had been mindlessly wandering the Gutterways, seeking refuge in the relatively quiet canals.
Eating the poor-excuse for a meal, Renir felt his weaving falter.
The teen rubbed his nose. His Ink was all gone now. Now, the familiar absence of any smell followed the intense - but brief - burst of senseweaving.
Renir wouldn't be able to smell again until he saw a piercer. Though the only one he knew - Father - was dead. He sighed, the silence around him feeling heavier, more oppressive. Find another piercer, Renir thought, but in the Gutterways? Trustworthy ones were as rare as a clean stream of water. He also had no silver cubes to pay a piercer with–
Renir panicked. It was as if an entire week of displaced emotions rushed into him. The reality of his situation - aimless, homeless, Inkless - suddenly hit him. Like a knife in his stomach, Renir hunched over. He was panicking.
Breathe. The orphanage had made him a survivor, he could survive this as well–
Renir focused on his breath, eyes drifting down towards the canals. Instinctively he tried to smell the air before stopping himself. His nose was numb like his mind. If only he had some Ink left…
In the brown sludge of the canals, he watched as black debris began to flow out of several, enormous pipes connected to the very bottom level of the Gutterways. He heard it was normal for all sorts of things to end up down here, even bodies–
Those were bodies! Renir, for just a moment, forgot about his own troubles and wished he had more Ink to see closer.
A lot of bodies, Renir thought, watching as countless contorted figures floated eerily past him.
His mind flashed back to the aftermath of the slaughter at the orphanage. These weren't human bodies, however.
Instead they were… Umbrals? Renir thought his crazed mind was playing tricks on him, but… Those were the corpses of weavecraft beasts, washed up from somewhere in Viskris. Renir had experienced plenty of 'cleansings' back in the Sinews. Periodically, when the nobility decided there were too many undesirables, too many sick, too many of them rotting–
Then they released the Umbrals into the Sinews. But Renir had never seen this many before. Yet alone all dead! The boy couldn't wrap his head around this. Dead Umbrals were flooding into the canals. All of them looked horribly disfigured, their forms torn apart by claw marks. Some even appeared to have exploded, limbs floating past Renir.
He felt like he had lost his mind.
What could kill Umbrals like this? Renir didn't want to imagine. Umbrals always seemed invincible to him.
There was now a commotion along the canals. The boy quickly realized that the Gutterways weren't as desolate as previously thought: multitudes of shady figures came out of their hiding, whispers hissing in the putrid air.
It caught Renir off-guard. This place - for an entire week - was silent and so empty. That was why he decided to hide here in the first place. The boy thought it a bit creepy, finally knowing that all those people were so close this entire time.
"Last night's Cleansin' down by the Sinews. Finally washin' up here,'' a particularly scrawny looking man emerged right behind Renir. The boy immediately pulled up his make-shift mask he had made from some rags. It hid his Nose-Runes well-enough, though it didn't obscure the two tiny dots of Ink below each eye.
Renir hoped this beggar wasn't observant enough to notice his Eye-Runes. The man only shot him a shifty look before grinning. He stared back at the Umbrals, shaking his head.
"Usually it's the other way 'round, y'know? Dead human bodies washing up down here. Someone's fightin' back! No, no… not good at all. Ne'er seen this many dead ones."
Renir didn't respond. The man didn't seem perturbed by that, in fact, he seemed to take that as an invitation to keep talking.
"Only ever been in one of 'em Cleansings. Moved my wife and I to the Lungs the next day. Crazy week that was… 'course the Lungs ain't any better. But at least none of 'em Cleansings anymore."
Renir frowned as he watched the man chew on a piece of a rock. He didn't particularly want to get stuck in this conversation.
"He he he… think the tanners' gonna make some money with all that Umbral hide. He he he…"
The boy's frown deepened.
"What do you mean? People can actually… kill these things? And sell the–" Renir couldn't finish the sentence. The beggar looked surprised at his question, jolting back comically. In-fact, the man seemed surprised at Renir's presence in the first place, as if he suddenly appeared out of thin air.
"... Of course!" He said, spitting out either a piece of rock or… tooth. "Weavers can kill 'em easily. I've heard it! Scavengers grab the body. Then the Veinborne buy the left-overs."
"For what?" Renir inquired.
"Oh, all sorts of things, I'm sure. Their skin makes the toughest leather, rest's for… don't know, actually. Probably all sorts'a horrible stuff, I imagine."
So these horrifying corpses are valuable? Renir desperately needed some silver cubes, perhaps if he could find a willing seller somewhere– He needed Ink badly if he wanted to make something out of himself again.
The boy hopped off the railing that he was leaning against, and climbed closer to the lower canals. Down to the water. The beggar was still within earshot, cackling loudly behind him.
"Go get those cubes, boy! Ha-ha-ha!"
It appeared Renir underestimated how desperate the others were, too, for crowds of people were already fishing out the Umbrals from the canal. A few fights even broke out; yells and screams now filling the usually quiet part of this district. The inkless senseweaver snaked his way between the commotions, trying his best to avoid the mob of cube-hungry people.
If only I had some more Ink… Renir felt so frustrated. Helpless again, he watched someone push a boy - younger than himself - into the canal. He didn't want to look at what happened next to him.
"... I told you that was mine! Hands off!"
"Quick, before the Blooders come!"
The voices were overwhelming. And now, Renir was scared. There were more and more people coming to try and scavenge the corpses. He even saw a little girl - expertly - grab an enormous, shadow-y Umbral arm out of the water, sneaking off as quickly as she appeared.
Stomach twisting, the boy tried to emulate her strategy: get in quick, in and out, before anyone noticed him.
Be fast!
Crouching down, he found a less-crowded spot, just near the giant drainage hole. People avoided the area for good reason: getting sucked into the enormous hole would offer no chance of rescue.
Yet it was quieter over there, less people, and his senses were already too overwhelmed. For once, Renir was glad he couldn't smell any longer. The canal-end, leading into the drain, was particularly shaded too, which he thought would help.
He crouched down even further. Having witnessed that young boy being pushed into the canal, Renir began to quickly dismantle his rag-mask into a stringy rope. Hopefully sturdy enough to at least give him a second chance of hanging onto something.
Hurrying to secure the make-shift rope around himself, he tied the end of it to a rusty metal bar springing out of the ground. Then, he leaned in. One arm stretched out, the other holding onto the metal bar–
I have to be fast!
Renir grabbed onto the first slimy thing he could grab a hold of.
For for the first time in a week, he felt a rush of excitement, of joy even–
It felt like a bony hand, not the claw of a terrifying beast. Then… he felt an arm, clearly not as big as an Umbrals. Much smaller and delicate. Renir wasn't sure what he was holding onto… before the hand grabbed him back.
Chapter Seven: Equals
Askala awoke in great pain. Head pounding, limbs burning. She never felt this sore before. And worse, she was completely wet, covered in strange ooze and so cold. Opening her eyes was so disorientating.
She had a vague memory of drowning. Water rushing into her lungs, a powerful force washing her away– Then grabbing onto a hand. In her hazed state, she thought it was Cemire's but… No, they ran away, right? They got to safety–
The girl panicked. Fear surged through her. She felt as if she was about to vomit. Frantically looking around, there were no signs of Cemire, Mother or baby Sephe.
Askala wanted to pass out again. This isn't real, the girl thought. She tried to get up–
Then she saw where she awoke. It was a dark brick alley, hazardous pipes leaking above. The place reeked of rot and plague, bloodrats skittering across the moist stone below.
Askala wasn't in the vein any longer.
Part of her felt relieved, but also terrified. She didn't know she ended up here. Last thing she could remember–
Askala's eyes opened wider with shock. Immediately, she felt her right arm. Hoping it wasn't a skeleton anymore. Hoping all of that was just some crazed dream.
Thank Ephros, Askala thought. Her arm was normal again, no longer a strange contortion of bone. Had the girl imagined it all? The Umbrals, the terrifying shield that erupted from her arm?
No, that was all real, Askala realized. Her body hurt and there was no trace of her family. She couldn't make all that up.
Back in the vein, somehow, she had boneweaved–
"Hey! You alright?!" A shrill voice interrupted her thoughts.
Askala jumped up, almost hitting a rusty pipe in the process. There was a single second where she thought it was Cemire.
Instead, it was… a boy? A ragged teenager, about her own age, looking rather starved. Puffy, desperate eyes stared back intensely. Seraph! That smell! The boy's odor was less than pleasant.
"W-what? Where am I?" Askala could barely whisper. Everything still hurt.
"Gutterways. Fished you out an hour ago. Scared me real good! Thought you were done for, but–" The boy spoke with an odd accent. Now that her eyes were adjusting to the dim light, she could see the dirt streaked across his face, the tattered clothes clinging to his thin frame.
Fished me out…? Askala was confused, before realizing that they were surrounded by canals from all directions. She stared at the sewage flowing next to her. It was extremely disgusting - she almost drowned in that?
Askala had no recollection of ending up in sewage. She only remembered the vein, that scream, then lunging at that horrendous creature–
The girl almost forgot the boy was here.
"Thank you," Askala said, "for saving me. I-I don't know how I ended up in the water…"
She remembered her family and panicked.
"Have you saved others that look like me? Another girl, a bit older than me, or a woman–" Blood rushed to her head. She felt like passing out again. Where was her family?!
"Uh, no, sorry," he responded. The boy frowned. Quickly, that frown turned into a scowl. "You're not from here, are you?"
Askala's eyes widened. She didn't know how to respond. Of course she wasn't from here. It must have been so obvious. The pale boy's expression changed. It was no longer skeptical. Instead, a rather curious one settled in its place.
"And there I thought you were just like me, trying to scavenge for some Umbral parts. Thought you fell into the water… so you really aren't from here? Your accent, it's so, umm…"
"Foreign," the skinny boy said in his foreign accent.
Askala blushed. Embarrassment quickly turned into frustration. She needed to find Cemire, Mother, Sephe– She couldn't idly sit in some damp canal alley, chatting with this disheveled-looking teen.
As Askala tried to get up, she realized again how sore she was. Muscles burned, bones ached, head pounded. With a daze, she quickly fell back onto the canal wall.
The boy just stared at her, unsure of what he did wrong. He looked as confused as Askala. Running a hand through his greasy black hair, he extended a hand towards her.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to offend. I'm Renir," he said, hand still awkwardly floating in the air. Askala hesitantly reached for it, using the rest of the moist wall to heave herself up. It hurt greatly.
"I am Aska–" the girl stopped herself. Was this wise? Sharing names with some dirty stranger, in a deadly city, within the heart of her enemy?
"Aska," Askala said. She quickly let go off his muddy hand, wiping her hand on her already soiled clothes. "Why did you save me… really?"
A silence hung in the air. Renir didn't seem to know how to answer. He looked away for a moment, before his bright blue eyes pierced into her again.
"Told 'ya… apparently Umbrals wash down the canals sometimes, after Cleansings. I was trying to make some cubes. You really saved yourself, in a way. Held strong onto my arm, couldn't do anything but pull you out."
Cubes? Cleansings? Askala frowned deeply with confusion.
The boy avoided her glance, "... And you kinda remind me of somebody."
Askala was unsure of his response. Remind him of somebody?
"I-I… I need to find my family, Renir. Could you help me… again?" Askala said. She almost stopped herself. This stranger had already saved her. She couldn't ask for more–
But Askala was so desperate. So helpless. She missed her family so much. Just thinking of them gone… It was like an icey knife stabbed her in the heart. Over and over again.
No, she needed help. Badly. Just seeing the enormous spires of black twist in the horizon, hope faded instantly. She only ever saw a glimpse of Viskris. Now she was right in it, and she didn't know where, what, or who she was.
"... Help you?" Renir repeated. The boy seemed a bit flabbergasted. Almost surprised that she asked for his help.
Askala realized that this boy had never met anyone like her before. A foreigner from the Wastes. To her, Renir seemed rather odd, his accent not matching anything she had ever heard before. His clothes, his dirty hair and skin… Askala was certain this boy grew up in Viskris. Yet he looked so peculiar.
Then again, Askala probably looked equally bizarre.
"Yeah… sure, I'll help you."
Just like that, Renir agreed.
Askala was surprised.
He didn't seem like the most reliable person. He was dirty and scrawny, but Askala felt a sudden, deep connection with this strange boy. Something beyond the language, the accent, the way he carried themselves.
Maybe it was the way he stared at her with his bright blue eyes, so filled with emotion, or the way his hands fidgeted anxiously as he spoke, as if his whole body was bursting with nervous energy. Like he was going through the same thing she was.
Or perhaps it was the fact that, even though he was clearly not used to helping people, he still had the courage and the decency to reach out a hand when she needed it.
Whatever the reason, Askala trusted him. Though something still felt off, she wasn't sure what. Perhaps the boy agreed to help her a bit too eagerly… too quickly… She hoped she didn't make a grievous mistake.
But right now, this Renir was her only option. He at least seemed trustworthy. More trustworthy than Gergo… Askala boiled with rage as she thought of the skinweaver and his companions. Running away from them after that scream. Like they were some useless baggage, ready to be thrown away.
No, Askala didn't want to think about them. Not now. They were gone.
Renir was not. The girl decided to trust him. "Thank you, Renir," she replied, relief washing over her. "I need to find my sisters and my mother. I have no idea where we are. What's this place?"
Renir paused and looked at her like she had just asked him the most obvious question in the world.
"We're in the Gutterways. It's a district at the bottom of the Lungs." The Gutterways... the Lungs…? Askala had never heard those names before. She was beginning to feel dizzy again.
"Do you know where the vein is from here?"
The boy stared at her blankly.
"The vein… Oh! You mean the Veinborne district?"
Askala frowned. She cocked her head in question, feeling a creeping pain shiver through her neck.
"No, the vein… The tunnels below the city? My family and I came through them from outside the walls–" Askala responded.
Renir continued to stare blankly. The boy seemed very confused. He tried to keep up with her story, but he looked equally as exhausted as the girl.
Askala's frustration and panic boiled together into a relentless feeling of doom. As if her entire body was going to explode. The girl tried her hardest to remember anything about what happened after she lunged at the Umbral.
She told them to run, and then–
Nothing.
Askala had no choice but to come clean to Renir.
"We… We are from the Wastes, my family and I. I think our home got overrun–" Askala wasn't sure it was wise to mention the Deadrot, so she didn't. "So we sought refuge in Viskris." Was that the truth? She no longer knew.
Renir almost scoffed at her last statement.
"We couldn't cross the Black River. The bridges were destroyed… for some reason. So our guides showed us the veins. They're these flesh-tunnels–"
Renir's eyebrows were furrowed into an intense frown. Thankfully, the boy didn't interrupt her. He seemed to be strangely patient when she started talking.
"The goal was to reach inside the walls, bypassing the Black River. We traveled through them for…" Askala couldn't actually recall. It felt like an eternity, but surely it must have been less than a few hours. "... A while. My sister broke her leg, then we heard this… scream. It caused our guides to abandon us. It was–" Askala didn't want to remember that horrifying screech that seemed to have summoned that Umbral, "--the worst thing I have heard. Ever."
The boy's face lit up with recognition. Then, his expression became dark.
"Cleansing," Renir whispered.
Askala's eyebrow now mirrored Renir's previous, deep frown.
What?
"C-Cleansing?" The girl asked.
"Yeah, the scream… It's an alarm. To clear the Sinews before a Cleansing."
"... The sinews?" Askala felt so ignorant, but she couldn't help but ask. Renir was the only source of information she had right now.
"Well, the Sinews are a district. It's a slum where the really poor Viskrins live. When a cleansing is announced, everyone has to run up the Gutterways and into the Lungs." Renir paused, seemingly struggling to find the right words to explain.
"Viskris is built on a series of steps. Sorta. Slanted, really. You've got the Sinews, Bellies and Gutterways at the very bottom… the Lungs above, then the Veinborne, the Heart, the Citadel, and finally, the Sanguine. The lower the level, the poorer the folk. At the very top, the Veinborne and Heart are reserved for nobility. Citadel and the Sanguine are for the Weaving-Lords."
Askala stared at him. That was a lot of information.
"Oh, and the Black River's canal divides Viskris into the eastern and western part. It's diagonal, cut straight through the city–"
"So barges can get you anywhere you belong."
Askala tried to remember what the boy just rattled off, but she already forgot half the macabre names of the city's districts. Her mind was back with her family. In that horrible, disgusting vein.
"What happens if you don't… if you don't make it out in time? After the scream? Those Cleansings, surely they wouldn't–"
Renir looked away. His face turned grim.
"Well," the boy pointed down the canals. Askala saw vicious, packed crowds scream and fight. Then, she caught a glimpse of the same beast that attacked them in the vein.
It was half-torn apart, but the pitch-black skin, those mutated limbs…
"Umbrals," was all he had to say.
Askala suddenly had a horrible realization.
"Do… Do you know where they come from? Those Umbrals, I mean?"
Renir was about to answer, before stopping himself.
"No, I don't. I don't think so, at least. They just appear in the Sinews– I haven't really given it much thought. "
"The vein… I think they come from the veins… the tunnels below," Askala said. She felt like a crazy person as she said those words.
Renir squinted at her.
"Like… the one you came from?"
Askala couldn't believe it. Gergo led Mother and them straight into the heart of weavecraft abominations–
Did Gergo know? Did he know those things were going to… come out? Askala already knew the answer. The rage from earlier returned, surging. Blood rushed to her head. Panic burst through her.
Her mind was screaming at her to run. She wanted to sprint down the canal. Run past the crowds and look for Cemire, Sephe and Mother. Maybe they were somewhere in that mob of screaming people–
She was sure her family was safe. They must be.
Askala wanted to get up, but couldn't. It all hurt too much. Tears started to roll down her face. It all suddenly set in. Help me, Lord Ephros!
There was a long silence as Renir processed her words. The boy squinted again with that skeptical expression, as if he caught her in a lie. Or perhaps he just didn't know how to act around a crying, wounded girl.
"So… you mean… the Umbrals come from tunnels below? How do you know tha–" Renir stopped himself. His eyes went wide. "You saw an Umbral down there?"
Askala's throat tightened up. Her ears rang, heart fluttered–
She felt so sick, recalling that horrifying abomination that charged at them. Red eyes, pitch-black body, contorted form…
"Yes," Askala said, "After our guides abandoned us… Something attacked us."
Renir's face changed into twenty different expressions in about a second. From surprised, shocked, scared… to a sorry, almost apologetic one.
"I'm sorry," was all the boy could stammer up. He didn't look skeptical anymore. "How… How did you survive?"
Askala felt guilt stab her in the heart. Over and over. Bleeding sorrow into her.
"What do you know of Boneweaving?" Askala asked.
She trusted this Renir. She couldn't hold this in any longer. She needed his help. Therefore, she needed to be truthful, too. This strange boy she just met might be her only hope of finding her family.
"What?" Renir looked confused at the girl's response. "Boneweaving? Um…" the boy scrunched his face, trying his best to answer her very odd question in response to his own.
"Boneweavers are almost unheard of, I think. I don't know much else," Renir said, looking down, ashamed. "Sorry. Not very helpful."
Askala rubbed her wrist, frustrated. She too didn't know any Boneweavers, nor had she ever really learned much of them. Fort Ephros was home to most forms of weaving disciplines… except for Boneweavers.
Strange, Askala thought.
"How does this relate to how you survived an Umbral?" Renir asked. His blue eyes pierced into her soul. Suddenly, his mouth agape, eyes wide again–
"Are you a Boneweaver?!" Renir almost shouted, before shushing himself immediately. "I don't see any runes," he added in a quiet whisper. He looked excited, if not in a state of teetering disbelief.
"I– I don't know," Askala said. She began to blush, feeling warmth on her cold face. "In the vein, I summoned… something. With my right arm. When that Umbral tried to ram into my family, I… I created a shield of bone out of my wrist."
Saying it aloud made Askala felt relieved, but also more insane. That is what happened, right? She hoped she really wasn't going crazy–
"A… what? A shield of bone?!" Renir looked at her skinny arms, cocking his head with confusion. "That's wild."
Did he accept her manic story? Then again, her rescuer was a scrawny, smelly and dirty teen with greasy hair, and she just emerged from a canal. Neither of them were exactly in a good state, so who was she to judge his reaction?
"A Boneweaver…" Renir said to himself, before beginning to laugh.
Askala responded with confusion. Huh?
"Why… Why is that funny?"
Renir wiped a few tears off his reddened face. "Oh, nothing… that's just my luck."
"What do you mean?" Askala asked, feeling a surge of panic overcome her.
Renir pointed to two tiny dots beneath both his eyes. She could barely tell they were there, mistaking them for birthmarks at first–
Then he got closer and pointed at his nose.
Then she realized his nose wasn't just flakey and dirty like she first thought. No, instead, there was a faint, pale rune inscribed on the bridge of his nose. It was beautiful up close.
"I'm also a weaver!" Renir said, grinning brightly. "Conveniently, I need Ink, and it looks like you need Ink and runes too."
Askala shook her head instinctively. She wasn't particularly familiar with weaving, though occasionally she had seen the Ephros scouts with their strange face markings, or the fort-soldiers with their beautiful, colorful tattoos.
Or… Gergo.
She knew what Ink was - who didn't - but she… Askala wasn't really a weaver!
"No, no, no… I'm not one of you! Nevermind, forget what I asked. I need to find my family–"
"I'm a Senseweaver, Aska. The only real way I could help you find them is if I have Ink– And if you're a Boneweaver, it would also be a lot easier–"
Askala panicked again. Renir was a… Senseweaver? Was that good… or bad for her?
Her thoughts raced, head pounded. Is this why the boy was 'helping' her? Did he just want Ink? The trust from earlier vanished in an instant, instead… Askala felt hurt. No, they needed to find her family now! There was no time for finding Ink, or waiting around for nothing–
Angry, deep voices yelled from below. The frantic crowds dispersed like wildfire, as louder screams resonated. She peeked over the railing - painfully so - and saw a dozen figures, enshrouded with red cloaks and terrifying steel masks.
"Enforcers!" Renir barked out, steadying Askala on both feet as he hoisted her up on the railing. She was surprised for a moment but reluctantly accepted his help–
"We need to leave," Renir said. "Come on, follow me. We'll talk on the way."
And so, the odd pair hurried down the entangled alleyways and canals of the Gutterways. Further into the unknown. Led by this stranger, deeper into Viskris. The city Askala had feared for so long.
Desperately hoping her family was still alive.