Gravetower

by Kell Inkston

  Daniel takes a deep breath. “I’m saying this to save your life.”

  “The job’s ruined you, man. I remember when you were metal. I was only sixteen when you took the reins of the Knight Corps…. Maybe you were a cowardly little puss even then.”

  Redemption sighs. “… Glory to the crown in our hearts.”

  “Yeah, see you.” At that, Glory tosses the chat stone aside into the soft grass to his left, the stone plunking a couple times as it finally settles at the base of the small hill.

  For a little bit, he just stares into the treeline— into that black, engulfing forest. There’s a being within that barkwood fortress, more than a monster, more than a demon, and more than a nightmare. With a bravery symbolic of the knights, Glory starts in, bow in hand.

  At the very second of his entry, he feels the palpable, horrific anticipation of utter, absolute doom— like a presence descending upon his shoulders and waiting. He doesn’t stop.

  The branches wrap behinds his back with every step; the pine needles curl maliciously under his plated boots.

  Glory is presently the 4th most skilled of all the knights, so as expected he has a solution for low-light environments; despite being able to see ten times further in the dark than a normal person, however, he’s still entirely on his guard with no expense spared for comfort or speed. Every step he takes is slow, calculated, and tested before weighing down into it— for while he hasn’t fought Chaos personally, he has read a great deal about him. The lodge can get boring at times now that he’s all alone; when he’s not reflecting on all of his now-dead wives and children from over the years, he’s reading. For the most part, Glory considers himself retired. Considering most humans get tuckered out with work in as few as their first couple of weeks, he thinks he has that right to put himself out to pasture, marry, have offspring, drink a ton, not deal with any responsibility, and all those other things against the knight’s code— but a person can only fall in love so many times, and say goodbye to their children as they run off into the world. There came a point where Glory just couldn’t take it anymore— so he focused on the things that would fill him, without ever asking for anything in return.

  That said, among his readings, he’s put a good deal of time in books about overlords and other great opponents from around The Omniverse. He recalls with specific satisfaction the accounts of Overlord Torment’s many, many engagements with Chaos; for each time he escaped, Torment learned at least a dozen new things about how the The Dimensional Tyrant acts, how he responds to certain questions, stimuli, and more. Thinking this over, Glory recalls that one section about Chaos having what Torment coined as “omniscient hearing”, which is his prime argument for why absolutely no one is capable of getting the jump on him. Glory suddenly stops in his tracks as he reconsiders his prey— because reconsidering doing something dangerous whilst one is in the middle of doing said dangerous thing is always the best time for doubt.

  Glory sighs, and stops sneaking. He’ll just face him head on, with words. So long as the other knights don’t see him talking it out, it’ll be fine. As he strolls down the way, however, he encounters a nearby mana signature. The feeling is soft, calming, and deadly.

  “…Meeo,” Clarn starts with a sigh.

  Stepping out from a tree in front of him is none other than Knight Love, Worldloss drawn and ready to spout arrows. “Oh! Hi there, Clarny!” she says with a cheery smile.

  The two stand fast a moment. “…You usually run up and give me a hug when we meet up, don’t you?”

  Love’s smile degenerates to a smirk. “Well, yes. But I usually don’t hug people I’m afraid I have to get rid of.”

  “So it’s really true, then?”

  “…It’s really, really complicated, Clarn.”

  He puts away his bow; as either the most confident or the most dim-witted of the great knights, he figures speaking without his weapon in hand should help diplomacy. “Complicated? Then explain it. Did a cloud come by your house and whisper ‘Hey, shoot Ran in the leg because fuck her’?”

  “No, of course n-”

  “Did your stupid bug write you a book detailing all the shittiest things you could do as a person and on a whim you just decided to do it?”

  “I d-”

  “Do you think an ‘it's complicated’ is good enough for cutting us all through and obliterating the trust we have for each other?”

  Meeo takes a surprisingly labored breath, as if she were almost getting emotional. “You do-”

  “What were you thinking?!” Clarn shouts over the woods, apparently not too worried about who hears him, considering how far away his group is.

  There’s a long moment as the absent birds sing their silent, sad songs through the forest. “Clarn… I’m… I’m doing what’s best.”

  Glory’s expression is indignant and endlessly disgusted. “What could possibly be worth it?”

  “You… you read, don’t you, Clarn?”

  He squints an eye. “I do.”

  “And you understand that… I’m a realmancer, right?”

  There’s a distrustful pause. “Yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?”

  She takes calming breaths. “What if I told you I found a book that details everything we’re going to do?”

  His eyes drift away a moment in sarcasm “…Like, right now?”

  “Mostly; it’s only a little different because I read ahead unlike the other Meeo. The Liefland incident had one too, and if I had shot Chaos in the leg, dozens of us would’ve died. We would’ve surrounded him and he’d have started killing in self defense. Shooting Order in the leg, on the other hand, saved everyone.”

  Clarn crosses his arms, staring down Meeo. He hates to admit it, but knowing the knights, that’s exactly what they would have done if they saw even a drop of Chaos’ blood— everyone jumping to the conclusion that he’s weak and just needs to be finished off the moment he shows wear... an attitude he shares himself, he realizes. “…Alright,” Glory says with an expectant tone.

  “So… this book… the story we’re a part of now, ends with you… me, and Daniel dying— Oa surviving, and Order escaping home... only to.…”

  Glory’s indignant expression begins to sober up. “… Rayda’s grave… that’s….”

  “That’s why I took it upon myself to write history. I don’t know who or what this Kell Inkston is, but its condemned us to die,” she says, being well-intentioned, but also incorrect; I only write stuff down, I don’t cause things to happen.

  “Kell?” Glory asks.

  “The author of the books. I’m pretty sure it’s just spying on us and taking down everything we do… You have to help me.”

  Glory doesn’t look away; his gaze is focused, but solemn. “You want me to betray the knights.”

  “I want you to save the knights, Glory. Don’t you want to see your wife and child again, and your thousands of descendants?”

  Glory raises a brow. “Didn’t know you knew about my… off duty interests, even still.”

  Love hums secretively; knowing the document that told her that was centuries old— they’re probably all gone now. “W-yes. Thanks to realmancy I know quite a lot about my fellow knights— but I won’t tell anyone,” she says with a curt wink, “it’ll be our secret.” She says this despite the fact that his disloyalty to the code by taking spouses is already common knowledge among the upper knights. “That said, you should join me and help us out. If I can get Chaos to move fast enough, we can prevent engaging with Order entirely— because we both know that would go very poorly for both sides.”

  Glory draws back as he thinks it over. “That’s a scary thought, you know.”

  She nods her head to the side a bit. “What is?”

  “Chaos. Betraying the knights. He was the one that stole my first wife away.”

  Love squints an eye bleakly. “She was infused?”

  Glory nods. “I wonder sometimes what became of her. She was just out feeding birds when he h
it Central that day… so you’ll forgive me if I’m kind of bitter about working together with… that thing you now call a master. I know I’m not exactly popular for following the rules, but I’m loyal.”

  “And I am as well, Clarn. I’m doing this because of loyalty.”

  He sharpens with suspicion. “So Chaos… how do you feel toward him? You planning on becoming another one of his little minions?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s what I want, and I know he respects that.”

  Glory laughs. “What would he know about respect?!”

  Love smiles, putting away her bow. She presents her hand. “Come on, he’s not so bad once you understand the kind of person he is.”

  Glory eyes her outstretched hand like it’s a knife pointed at his throat. “… And just what kind of person is that?”

  “The kind that needs patience, and people to care enough to understand… now come on, lazy. Let me introduce you.”

  In all of Glory’s life, he's prided himself most on his courage. He would never back down in training; if the Knight Masters could make it harder, longer, or faster, he’d opt in. He remembers the first day he got into a fight, tangling with one of the stabled dire-wolves in the knight headquarters. He led that bastard back to his pin, using his own arm as bait, and he did it willingly in front of all the pretentious, condescending Knight Masters who kept telling recruits like him that one day he would be as badass as they were, when he had already surpassed them.

  In all of those days, not once was he as scared as he is in this moment: do you become a traitor in the eyes of those you care for, or do you betray those you care for while maintaining their trust in you?

  Clarn stares emptily at the hand for nearly half a minute as Love reiterates the stretch to invite him forward.

  “Come on. Don’t be scared, nothing’s… probably going to hurt you. Chaos is unpredictable, but if you come in as a friend, he’ll see you as much more than just a knight.”

  Glory takes a deep breath. “…And just what else will he see me as?”

  “A person, too. He may dislike humans, but he loves people.”

  Clarn shakes his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “But it will if you come with me,” she says.

  Shifting his weight nervously under the pine needles, Glory finally reaches out his hand and gives it to her. Love smiles like she did in the old days, and he sees it; at once he remembers just how much he loved her, and how badly she had hurt him when his feelings had gone unsated.

  Without a word, the two walk through the dark of the forest in dreadful anticipation. Glory’s mind races with doubts to meet the very same figure he was approaching to kill just minutes ago — why does this feel so different?

  Just like all the other times Chaos was near, assaulting cities and passing by like a bolt, Glory can feel his signature. It’s not subdued, but glorious, overt, and limitlessly regal. Whereas a common person’s mana signature is like a smooth, relaxed tune, his is like an orchestra— blasting music out for all to hear. Suddenly, he slows his tremors down to a gentle beat. Far down the path are faint, soft blue lights.

  He stops in his tracks.

  “That’s… that’s him,” Glory says, tone like an old, scared man.

  Love nods. “It is. Now come along.”

  “B-….” He starts hyperventilating. Of course, walking up to the High Overlord and Slayer of Billions is much easier said than done, even for a dauntless crusader of justice like Glory.

  Love’s grip tightens around his hand. “Come on, Clarn. You’re the bravest man I know.”

  “I’ve never looked him face to face.”

  “Hmm, and now’s your chance, right?”

  “I… I don’t know, Meeo.”

  “More than three thousand years, and you haven’t even exchanged a word to this person you’ve read so much about, studied so extensively. Don’t tell me you’re not at least a little curious.”

  “He’s kept us all awake at night, Meeo. You know that.”

  Love draws in, grasping his hand with both of hers. “Then now you can dispel the myth and meet him for real!”

  Glory’s eyes search her face for anything suspicious, anything wrong— but it’s the same, beautiful, cute, wacky Meeo he’s always known. “I…” He nods. “Alright. Let’s go.”

  Love squeezes his hand gently. “I’m proud of you.”

  They turn back to the wondrous azure of the lights ahead. To Clarn, the next few seconds feel like an hour that rushes right past him as his final moments bate their breath for his death, starved for adrenaline after all these millenniums of patience. All at once, his life flashes through his head— the Knight Academy, Reinen, all the women, all the wars, and the cries of the dragon-kin he sent down a dozen at a time. It all ends when he rounds the corner to look upon the overlord, sitting calmly against a tree with a book in hand and two heads in his lap. The blue fae-magic lighting provides a suitingly-relaxed backdrop to the woods, light enough for a human to read, while subdued enough for one to sleep comfortably. On his lap rest a soundly sleeping Aoline, a pillow puffing between his lap and her head so as not to hurt her, and on the other side is Scout Minion, playing her rad videogame.

  Shearing off his paralyzing horror, the next thought through Clarn’s mind is how strange it is to not have a fire lit at night around a camp. Now that he thinks about it though, Chaos and his people are not really the sort that need light— just like nocturnal predators and the other beings that creep in the night.

  “My lord, I’ve brought someone I’d like you to meet,” Love says with a bow of the head and her usual sugary-sweet smile.

  The overlord looks up from his book. Clarn knows Chaos knew he was coming— but for some reason the overlord didn’t prepare himself a bit, as if he weren’t even expecting a fight.

  “Good evening, sir,” Chaos says, placing his book aside and marking his place by simply scratching a thumb into the pages and causing a small tear.

  Clarn clears his throat and takes deliberate, long breaths. “Overlord.”

  Chaos smiles as he gestures near the cleared out rounding they’re using as their ‘rest point’. “By all means, take a seat. I expect we’ll be waiting around for our dear little lady for some time,” he says, gently tilting his antennae to point over to Aoline; she is firmly, engrossingly in dreamland, the smile on her face betraying the presence of secure, happy dreams.

  Love leads Glory over to a spot and then sits him down next to her and Chaos, the fae lights drawing in helpfully to illuminate the ground around them.

  Glory stares dumbfoundedly at him— and the overlord, a jagged, powerful smile upon his face, waits patiently.

  “You’re… it’s really you.”

  Chaos looks at himself briefly. “I suppose I am myself. Correct. You must be royal knight… erm….” He squints in focus and looks about the ground, as if chasing some nebulous fairy of a memory. “You are Glory, Clarn Aksern Ashyrn, am I right?”

  Glory raises a brow. “You know me better than I thought you would.”

  The Dark Ruler shrugs gently so as not to disturb either of the little ladies on his lap. “I, too have read many of the books with segments written on me. I was almost certain I had memory problems, but considering I also forgot the author who wrote such a claim, I don’t know how credible those opinions may be,” he admits with an ever-present smile. “So, knight, what brings you here this day? Have you gotten lost in the woods on your way home from grandmother’s?”

  Clarn almost smiles, unsure if Chaos is being facetious, or actually meant that. “I’m here to take care of business.”

  The Master of Nails twitches his antennae thoughtfully. “And just what sort of business might that be?”

  Glory stares dully at the overlord, almost failing to recognize him due to the immense strangeness of the situation. “I’d like to talk.”

  Chaos gently strokes his hand across his chin as he crosses his other arm along h
is chest. “And just what are we talking about?”

  “… What are you here to do? What have you come to this gods-forsaken place for?”

  Chaos squints an eye. “To enjoy a stroll… oh, and slay the necromancer known as Oa, as well; that’s also important.”

  Glory lays himself fully into his spot in the brown pine needles. “…You really are?”

  Chaos nods. “Of course, what else would you think I’m doing?”

  Glory shakes his head. “No secret ulterior motive?”

  “No.”

  “No… evil plan to ambush us?”

  “Of course not. I announce my presence to my enemies as I always do, and surrender is always an option,” Chaos says this before peering over Glory with a little more perception.

  “So… are yo-”

  “Are you hungry, per chance?” Chaos asks with a smile, causing Scout Minion to jolt in horror just before refocusing on her game device.

  There’s a pause, and Glory smiles back. Glory brought rations, of course, but he doesn’t want to be rude. “Sure.”

  Just as he says it, Scout Minion looses a long, irritated sigh.

  “Scout Minion,” Chaos says with a leading tone.

  “He’s… he’s fine.”

  “Scout Minion, our guest is hungry.”

  She groans as she reaches under her. Reaching into the small notch of space between her back and Chaos’ leg, Scout Minion bitterly pulls up a bag of toasted truffles.

  Glory, not the sort that’s been introduced to processed materials like plastic, marvels at the crinkly-sounding bag as he takes it up in his hands. “Thanks.”

  Chaos nods promptly as he then reaches to the side of his lap to hand Glory a ceramic mug filled with tea. As Glory accepts it into his hands, one plated and the other gloved for archery, he notes how cold it is until the tea inside abruptly bubbles up with warmth — a self-heating mug; sounds about Chaos’ speed.

  “If we were at one of my towers I’d provide a bit more substance, but I figure this will do for now,” Chaos says before he turns aside awkwardly. “I’ve learned that humans tend to find it distasteful when I pull food out from my jaws and request that they eat it.”