by Marc Mulero
Biljin entered a colossal chamber with two physicists flanking his sides. Dingy, unkempt walls were in stark contrast with his ruby studded overcoat. Industrial lights overhead illuminated a mechanic’s reverie, and a theoretical scientist’s nightmare. Yet, he kept on, using his sense of superiority to prop himself up tall.
Calling me to a jet hangar is extremely unorthodox. The matter must be dire, and confidential.
He lessened his haste once rounding the final corner, shocked to see a small army standing behind the shielded Champion and her council.
If I were caught, my arrest would be more discrete than this. This is something else… a call to arms, or protection, but from what?
Dactuar jets sat idle in the backdrop, polished with a metallic silver to differentiate them from the prominent Hiezer aircrafts.
Melissa appeared bleak, awaiting Biljin as he made his way over to her.
She’s been betrayed. That’s the only logical explanation for this.
“Biljin. You’ve performed miracles within your short time of citizenship,” Melissa said. “That is why you’ve been summoned here, along with my other advisors. The Dactuars’ most valuable assets and most trusted residents deserve to be informed.” She offered a gloved hand.
“Are these the followers you alluded to?” Biljin questioned, glancing over at the army in the background.
“The Dactuar Crescent, one of two militarized subdivisions outside of the Hiezer ranks,” Melissa said, taking a brief look over her shoulder, “as well as the Vacal Wings, a team of medics. They’ve endured many battles together under my command, and yes, they remain loyal to me.”
“And the reason for their assembly in an ominous jet hangar?” he questioned bluntly.
Melissa leaned back to receive a message from her Tribunal counterparts at her tail and then addressed Biljin once again. “The highlords have recalled all elite forces to Nepsys in the midst of assignments. They’ve reportedly formed a barrier around the Gates of Eternity and have provided only brief, vague communications with the other classes.”
They’re keeping her in the dark, and so she’s mobilizing to obtain answers. If I carelessly spew what Mulderan had revealed to the Sins, I could be considered suspect. I must play this one slow and gather an understanding of her motives.
“Well, what have they told you?”
“Not much, but what I can tell you is that Nepsys is the safest city on the planet to withstand war or cataclysm. To hide behind those gates, protect a selective few, and abandon the rest of global civilization is not the foundation of this regime.”
Her respect for authority is slipping. I could get myself killed if I step too far down this rabbit hole with her.
“The history of the Dactuar class prides itself on fortified Estates, which could offer immense protection,” Biljin suggested. “Why not start by directing our class to organize there?”
“Since confidentiality is quickly becoming a thing of the past, you should know that a number of our Estates have been overthrown and are controlled by a group called the Templos Rogues. If a war or a disaster were to erupt, our citizens would be prone to hostage situations, takeovers, or worse.”
Hm. Do I suggest that her forces could probably withstand the Rogue’s attacks? No… that would lead to unnecessary bloodshed, and for what gain? A little bit of clout with the ‘Champion’? Not worth it. Best instead I keep my suggestions to myself and soak up as much information as possible before I abandon this post.
“So, what do you plan on doing?” he inquired.
“We will address the highlords to gain a full understanding of this threat. And if they don’t budge, we will take the security of the Dactuars into our own hands.”
Mulderan wasn’t shy about the threat to the Sins, but perhaps he feels that informing the rest of the people prematurely would create mass panic. He could be making a fatal mistake by taking such immense action without communication with the upper classes. Unless… this is what he wants.
A small group of suited men and women clicked their leather heels against the cement floor as they proceeded toward the Champion.
“Keep me abreast on how I can aid you, Melissa,” Biljin offered. “I will remain at your disposal.”
“We will need you and your team to prepare for disaster scenarios in either natural or war-based cases. Your cooperation and devotion confirm my initial instinct when I decided to induct you. Remain on site, we will be in touch,” she concluded, giving the physicists a nod before moving on to meet her suited advisors.
Biljin looked down to see a faint yellow light blinking through his tunic.
Blague must be in position.
“Excuse me ladies and gentlemen, I have a call to make. Get yourselves acquainted with leadership here. I suspect our roles will be changing in the near term.” Biljin dismissed his subordinates and nonchalantly made way to the back of the hangar, lifting a communication device to his ear. “Come in, Blague,” he said softly.
“I’ve stayed in your exact coordinates for three hours,” a drained voice came through. “What other signs should I look out for?”
“You’re by the waves?”
“Yes. This is a very unique landmark,” Blague responded. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Patience, Aslock is bound to show up. Just keep the key visible, so maybe he won’t knock you out,” Biljin warned.
A wave of erratic noise caused Biljin to pull the device far from his ear. “Don’t fight it,” he advised before the connection cut out.
A blast of energy washed over Blague like a weightless ocean wave. A ghost passing through him. A storm of wind. His device was tossed far into the snow, his sword clapping against his back, gun trying to rip away from its holster, but… somehow, his body was still.
Paralysis.
Even his thoughts were muffled. It felt as if the universe was rewinding to its density before the Big Bang, all compressed into his head.
“Ahhrrrrhhh,” he shouted like the time he had eight men holding him down, the same as when Elaina was taken from him - jaw outstretched, eyes rolled back, fighting against some invisible enemy. Then finally, he dropped to his knees before the pressure abruptly released.
A long sigh. Relief? No. He was dazed, head dipping like his neck was a loose rubber band… consciousness beginning to elude him. All of this occurred in fractions of a second. It threw his entire world into flux. Vision faded, burning his skin to black and his surroundings vacuumed into a bright white.
This feeling, it’s familiar.
The Sin Leader shook free of his entanglement and rose with an unsheathed blade, noticing a trail of blue steam crowding his vision as it returned to him. He braced himself for whatever was next to come, for he knew that the Society had arrived.
A hooded figure shrouded in blackness landed ten feet in front of him. Bright silver trimming reflected the snow around them, and what appeared to be azure embers leaked from his sleeves and rose into the cold air like the sparks of a camp fire.
“This is no place for resistance,” Aslock warned.
Blague growled at his calmness. He barely let the talking cloak finish his sentence before springing forward. It didn’t matter that his energy wavered, that his steps faltered. It would have to do. And so the slashes came, wild, uncalculated, to show that he would not be manipulated.
But Aslock evaded his swipes as if they were occurring in slow motion. One straight down - that would’ve cut from head to boot – two, wide across - his midsection sucked in to avoid the cut. Easy, or so it appeared. Then Aslock sidestepped his lunge, making Blague nearly trip from the extra momentum.
“I have what you want.” Blague plucked the Obsidian key from a pouch and displayed it in his off-hand. “There’s no need for this.”
“It is for our protection.” Aslock kicked off of the powdery ground, soaring backward to distance himself from the attack.
“From what?” Blague roared while he began his second advance
, faltering in his steps.
Aslock stomped the ground, snow puffing high overhead, ground shaking. Or was it Blague’s vision again? The tricks continued… or was it real? Aslock’s gloved hands were glowing, streams of gaseous liquid floating in the air, which then emerged into an enflamed blue matter that encircled his fingers more rigorously. He closed his fists to have the substance trace his knuckles.
“From you.” His arms were a blur swinging upward, releasing projectiles, ending his swipe with both wrists overlapping to form an X.
Two intertwined surfs of azure energy were conjured from thin air, half-moons of quivering light that kicked up snow as it rushed toward him.
Blague stopped in his tracks, dumbstruck. “What the f-” he mouthed before the winged discharge glided into him, pushing him back into the darkness of his mind.
Chapter 15
The sound of interlocking metal jolted Blague back from his spell. He jumped as though he’d been stabbed in a dream, then grasped around with what felt like phantom limbs.
Where am I?
Numb extremities and heavy breath exacerbated panic, until a flood of recent memories rushed into his mind to fill in the gaps.
His gaze slowly rose to meet his hooded captor once more. Confined to a box of ironclad construction, an arena, Blague could give it another go, but for what purpose? His body felt like jelly, mind a fog, and this man, whatever he was, could’ve killed him a hundred times if he saw fit. But the Society sought him. Knocking him out was merely a precaution.
"You understand that my assault was necessary," the man stated.
Blague groaned and got to his feet slowly. “Talented men and women have chased you for centuries, only to come up with shadows and dust. You’ve remained a myth to even the most determined of seekers. Yes, I understand,” he affirmed. “The location of your quarters must stay hidden. My only hope was that the Obsidian key would permit me this privilege.”
"We have transferred the location of our Citadel twice in three hundred years,” the man said while they waited for the intermediary gateway of stone to open. “Both instances were caused by such exceptions. You and Biljin arguably already know too much, but we have faith that you are worth the risk.
"I am Aslock Orwell, an Elder of the Neraphis Society, or as you refer to us, Society N."
"Blague, leader of the Sin movement, or as you see us – people you like to knock unconscious."
“Mm,” Aslock evaded the jest, “that is not all… is it? You are also a descendant of a dear friend to our Society, and a brother to the greatest potential threat to our way of life. Do not be shy, Blague Grenich.”
This man, this group. Am I making the right choice? I should be with the Sins right now… fighting alongside them. But these hallucinations, they’re becoming more vivid than I could’ve ever imagined. Now I sit here in a box, trusting blindly, shipped half way around the world, lost. If the Society isn’t the way…
Blague attempted to reclaim his inherent confidence while staring into Aslock's shadowed face, awaiting next steps.
Why? Why does he look at me under that hood like I’m some kind of specimen? The pieces do not fit. There’s no sound reasoning that would cause the Society to seek me out, unless my father has made some sort of a plea.
Hmph, no point to dwell, just gain as much knowledge as possible, cure myself, and return. That’s all that can be done.
"Is it true? Can the consciousness of two people exist within one mind?" Blague asked candidly.
Aslock remained quiet, leaving the Sin Leader to imagine a grin under his hood.
“I must ask for your patience a little while longer,” he finally broke the silence. “Once you are introduced to our leader, my inclination is that more will become clear.”
As if on cue, streams of blue light suddenly danced to life on the stone walls surrounding them. Strange, ornate symbols of unfamiliar origin became resplendent, filling the intricately etched cyphers. The shapes instantly struck a chord – back in Auront, Vicissitude, that cursed island of smoke… Blague remembered. His father’s cloak possessed the same ancient writing. What did it mean? His eyes narrowed, recognizing that the color perfectly matched his arm. There was a question brimming. A connection. He recollected those moments right before he was knocked unconscious hours ago.
"What was that weapon you attacked me with? I've never seen anything like it."
The cryptic man didn’t speak. He took his time. His way with words was different, his timing was unhurried, and when he was ready, a demonstration – flexed forearms ignited a blue trail of heat that seeped out from the sleeves of his cloak. "It comes from within," he admitted vaguely.
That force that came over me felt the same as when my father intervened in the Battle of Old New York. Could it be?
"It's Cryos, isn't it?"
Just then, the ominous stones slowly retracted to reveal a hidden chamber. Aslock regained his mysterious stance and took the first paces into this esoteric space.
The silence was unnerving, wet and echoing like a water-filled cave. Drip… Drip… only the sound of their footsteps tapping was heard in between, then the scratching of rock as the doors slid closed behind them. Pangs of cranking metal made Blague wince as he realized he was truly closed off from the outside world now. The smell of sulfur was pungent at first, but he was already getting used to it. Trapped. Anxious. All of this leisure was driving him crazy… but there was a tranquil, almost tangible presence around him. And after much resistance, he eventually allowed himself to loosen clenched fists.
They stepped across a narrow stone bridge structured with Byzantine architecture. Small, rumbling bodies of water on either side swished to bounce reflections off of the walls like an indoor pool at night. The imprinted symbols along the walls occasionally turned aglow as if the room was alive. Strangely, none of this was distracting, nor were the men and women that rested beyond the catwalk. Everything emanated peace.
All of the Neraphis donned similar cloaks with hoods pulled back. Higher ranking ones sat atop ornate seats in a seemingly meditative state, while the lower stood at their sides lost in the same.
Furthest away, tucked in the back of the chamber, risen at the top of a masonic staircase, sat a man. His cathedra was as ornate as the white tribal marking surrounding his right eye, marking him as regal. Long, wavy black hair was accentuated by tanned skin. He could’ve been a statue. His face was turned curiously away from his attendees, frozen with a phlegmatic demeanor. Studious. Learned.
Aslock pushed back his own hood to reveal long silver locks and said, "This is Halewyn Creedbond, the Eldest of the Neraphis Society."
Halewyn focused upon Blague, appearing as though he were interrupted from another conversation. “You are Orin’s boy.”
Blague cleared his throat. “I haven’t been called a boy in a long time.”
Halewyn allowed himself a grin. "Hmph, well here, it may very well be true. I understand that you have sought us out for ages, and have finally acquired the key that permits your entrance, but from which bloodline I wonder? Surely, not your own."
Blague pulled the Obsidian key that Aldarian had returned to him, thinking back to his quest for it long ago. "The Del'gaden bloodline. The key was earned."
“Has this claim been verified?” Halewyn questioned, fixating on Aslock.
“It has.”
Halewyn nodded approvingly. "Very well then, Grenich. You have secured your right to face the Society."
Blague offered the key to Aslock, who stood beside him with an accepting hand.
"Forget all that you know,” Halewyn suggested.
The Sin observed the Eldest curiously, but offered no response.
“You have lived nearly two lifetimes young in body, bound to laws and rules that you have accepted as truth. These rubrics are etched into your being. I will not lie to you, Blague, it will take a great deal of resilience to undo all that you believe.”
A shadow of Elaina suddenly manifested besi
de Halewyn. Blague’s vision blurred, his skin growing pale.
Halewyn took note of the familiar signs. “Even now, your mind and body are grappling with a new reality, unable to accept such a drastic change at such an old age.”
Blague closed his eyes, his veins pumping with anxiety. His sense of tranquility rapidly diminished, causing a creeping sensation of vertigo to take its place. “My father… is what he told me true?”
“We do not know everything, Grenich. You will have to enlighten us,” Halewyn said, passing a concerned look to his fellow Elder.
Aslock peered at Blague, his oblong face and large gray eyes expressed assurance. “It is alright. We are here to help.”
Blague alternated between the two Neraphis in front of him. “Why? Why would you seek out a Sin? Why would you help?” His attempt to keep composure was fleeting.
Halewyn leaned forward in his chair, intensely gripping the sphere at its arm’s end. “Your brother has amassed great knowledge since his discovery of the chemicals that have surfaced, allowing him to develop into a terrible threat. We believe you have the fortitude to stop him, so let us begin.”
With clenched fists and erratic breathing, Blague struggled to keep his balance.
Halewyn rose from his seat, his ornate cloak cascading to his boots. The visions of Elaina became more vivid as Halewyn descended down the stone steps separating them.
“You are an Ardian,” Halewyn preached, his dark eyes beginning to glow. “Your DNA is amalgamated with that of your significant other.”
Blague’s irises trembled while struggling to maintain eye contact.
“What did Orin tell you?” Halewyn inquired again, inspecting his guest.
“That… that Elaina and I could live in a single mind.”
“Yes, what he revealed to you is true, boy, but you should know this is no easy task.” Halewyn unexpectedly grabbed Blague by his shoulders, startling him. “You see her now, do you not?”
Blague’s focus dissipated; his surroundings beginning to ripple around him, sound coming in and out like ocean waves were breaking over his head. But, through all of that, one thing was clear… her - Elaina. This Neraphis leader was right.