by Marc Mulero
Somewhere tucked away within the Templos Rogue headquarters, a claustrophobic rotary chamber cranked so hard that all of its components spun at Mach two speed. A scorned engineer had built the contraption with dark thoughts, vengeful intentions, and calculated precision. Now sitting inside, feeling as though his brain was scrunched to the edge of his skull and his eyes would soon pop, was their betrayer, Willard Hinge - the turncoat who almost sent the Rogues to their end was now receiving judgement.
The contraption slowed to a stop, causing Willard’s seized body to relax almost into death. Pink cheeks, soft eyes and a weak chin were all overshadowed by a wide-open mouth taking audible gasps for air. His world spun. The room’s panoramic view rewound and played again like a broken record, spawning an inescapable dizziness, overcome only by the glaring pain from his seared leg.
The door flung open and Jayce pounced like a cheetah. “Round two,” he growled as he stepped on the limb of the shackled traitor.
The pyro’s harpoon was lathered in gasoline, polluting the room and reminding Willard what was next to come. He squirmed, shook his head, tears leaking, but the pressure of Jayce’s pointed shoe kept the fidgeting spy in place. Drip came the first droplet of flammable liquid, from harpoon straight into the open wound on Willard’s thigh. Drip fell another like a slow leaking faucet filled with acid.
“I’ll burn each nerve ending if I have to, Willard,” Jayce promised, locking his brown eyes with nearly colorless ones.
“He’s never been wrong, shit for brains.” An ounce of defiant confidence pooled back into him, voice hoarse from the pain. “Mulderan has kept us alive since the beginning!” He gasped when fire ignited, and soon after screamed in agony.
Aldarian invited himself into the midst of Willard’s torture, Sabin and Coe at his heel, face stern as the situation called for. The harrowing sound eventually tailed off, then stopped, not because of Jayce, but because Willard’s voice had nothing left to give, and so Aldarian expected he would listen.
“You’ve abandoned the value of human life when you chose to side with this tyrant. You cannot expect mercy after such a decision.”
Jayce finally let up.
“Necessary actions, you old fool. What is this town hermit even doing here?” Willard spat between labored breaths. “If the world had listened sooner, we would have been prepared for the Quake. I’m here to make sure he isn’t hindered again!”
“By sacrificing the overseers that you’ve helped mold, befriended, and kept full with your cooking?” Coe asked with malice. “Did Tes and Al mean nothing to you?”
Willard sat back, becoming numb to the laceration. “For the greater good, oh watchful overseer,” he spoke in condescension, bracing himself for more pain.
“Were you even old enough to remember? Hm? I was… I’ve lived through the horror of his actions, and know the truth of it.” Aldarian shook his head. “May you feel the wrath of a thousand generations who suffer under his reign!”
Jayce took his cue, grinded his teeth in disgust by the traitor’s smugness, and let it rip. He pressed the harpoon lever down to the point where his finger was white, igniting a controlled flame that rushed straight into the fresh wound as another scream rushed out, leaving an uneasiness to settle over the room.
Aldarian reached with a shaky hand to pull Jayce’s elbow, signaling for him to let up.
The pyro within him wanted to set the man’s whole body in flames, to give him sixty seconds of burning bliss in honor of Al and Tes, for the families that had almost died that day, for everyone on the side of rebellion. But instead, he did what he was told – reaching for the bucket of water on his side and splashing it over sizzling flesh as Willard fell back in his seat, flickering in and out of consciousness.
“Who’s in control?” Aldarian whispered, tilting his eyes up toward a furious Jayce.
“Don’t worry, boss. I’ll act on the anger that everyone else in this room should be feeling.” He stepped off and slapped Willard hard in the face to get his attention.
“Boy, I’d hate to see you when you become menstrual,” Sabin cracked the first joke since his tumble into despair.
“They were your kin… you could just stand here and make a mockery of it all?” Jayce asked.
“I would give anything to have met them for just a second. But yet, here we are, in a room smelling of burnt skin with a raging pyromaniac,” Sabin motioned around him. “What do you want from me?”
Coe shook his head. “I don’t understand, Willard. You would put your sons in harm’s way for the Hiezer agenda? They’re only children…”
A connecting thought lit Sabin’s face. He could almost hear Cherris’ voice saying the same thing…
That boy back at the mansion. He snapped his fingers. What was his name… Felik. A Hiezer. He was tapped with Ayelan at a young age to stunt his growth and preserve an adolescent body. That little shit nearly took down the Sins.
Without letting another second pass, he stepped forward, blocking Willard before he could answer. “Apprehend the children, now.”
The lot of Rogues stood stunned, not exactly sure they’d heard him correctly, all turning to stare in bafflement by the strange request.
“But they aren’t even teenagers, my boy,” Aldarian countered. “Surely they could do no har-”
“You’re right, they aren’t teenagers… they’re probably as old as I am,” Sabin blurted. “Please, just do as I ask before it’s too late. Quarantine them immediately if you value the well-being of your families.”
Coe hastily exited the room, firing the order into his communication device.
Willard stared at the hunter with a mix of disbelief and anger. “How could you have known?” he shouted, writhing in his shackles.
“Experience. A few of these grays have awarded me that,” the hunter responded. “Jayce, check the boys’ backs for holographic injection marks. Chances are this prick wasn’t talking in hopes that his plan B, these ‘boys,’ would gain him some hostages and safe passage out of here.”
Jayce plodded away in a huff to catch up with Coe.
Aldarian weakly smiled at his son. “This would be twice that we owe you. You continue to surprise,” prideful joy beamed through his words.
Shortly after, Jayce stomped back into the room with his silver harpoon in hand. “It’s all true,” he said before jabbing the point into Willard’s other leg.
A bloodcurdling cry escaped the traitor’s mouth. “Alright, alright, I’ll talk!” he managed to sputter through the pain.
Feeling queasy, Sabin forced himself to look away. “Geez, at least my friends try to be diplomatic.”
Drino’s brass fist dripped with blood from the eighteenth blow to General Ruden’s face.
The Hiezer spit out a tooth loosened from his swollen jaw. "We're going to thin you bastards out," he said with maddening pleasure.
The Sin commander lowered his hardened, scarred face to meet eye to eye with his former comrade. "You're going to tell me everything.”
Ruden laughed witlessly. "You and me, we went through the same training, idiot. You know that the only way I'll talk is if I want to."
Drino cracked his knuckles, looking overjoyed to take up the challenge.
With lifeless eyes, Volaina sat on the sidelines, watching as Drino's expression conveyed a nasty mix of psychosis and machismo.
"But lucky for you, I'm feeling generous." Ruden stared up at Drino with a puffed brow, allowing one open, bloodshot eye to make contact.
Drino whipped his arm north, upper-cutting Ruden with a fierce fist. "Then you best hurry…"
Another throaty laugh escaped the Hiezer. "You swing like my first wife."
With a devious smile, Drino readied for his next blow.
“My boss…” he spit out a molar, “she’d be pissed at me for letting you interfere with an operation. Hell, she might even call me treasonous, but I know when a win is already secured, old friend.
“I could see it now… hearing th
e news of your death, by my hand, oh… what a feeling that will be. You, traitor scum, murdered my squad, so it’s only right that I happily send yours to march to their deaths.”
Drino flexed with impatience. "C’mon. Out with it!"
Aslock’s boots clamored against stone while stepping back into the training chamber.
Blague lifted his head, disrupted from his state of meditation. “You left me to wallow in thought for six hours, not five,” he stated, slowly opening his eyes.
“All part of your first lesson. Answer me this - how do you ever expect to fully immerse yourself in introspection, to reach your foundation, if you are measuring something as arbitrary as time?”
Blague remained silent, taking the criticism for what it was.
He has a point. If I’m not able to disassociate myself with my external responsibilities, I will never attain the stillness that these Neraphis prescribe.
“Empty your mind, Blague. Only then will you be able to achieve true focus.”
The Sin Leader got to his feet, his demeanor reflecting a more tranquil state of mind than when he had begun his retreat. “I’ve pondered much about your science. Indulge me further, so I may free myself from curiosity.”
Aslock motioned for Blague to proceed. “If it aids in finding grace, then go ahead.”
“Halewyn mentioned that certain types of duality bonds provoke specific characteristics. What skills have you inherited?”
The Elder raised his pale, slender hand for Blague to hold off. “First, we should start with the basics. Anyone infused with the DNA of another properly encased in Ayelan has the potential for that secondary consciousness to be projected into their mind. The primary consciousness is the one that the vessel is naturally accustomed to and has full control of the body. The secondary generally has access to the body’s vision and shared thought, the extent to which varies tremendously.”
Blague held his chin in contemplation, taking in his Elder’s teachings.
“Tesdians are known to be extremely attuned with Ayelan, providing a deeper connection to the secondary consciousness interlocked within the person. In my case, this process has provided me access to my mentor’s memories and knowledge base, ultimately enabling me to become a versatile Neraphis, as well as a lethal wielder of Cryos.”
“And what of my own bond?” Blague inquired.
“Ardians… heh, you should ask your father about that.”
The Sin Leader thought back to the surprising abilities of his father, and how it could be connected to his Ardian bond.
“You will have a great heap of instability to overcome, but we will do our best to equip you with the aptitude to handle such trials. It is best not to speculate your potential faculties at this time, though. It is far too soon. The volatility of an Ardian’s talents brings forth a great deal of uncertainty. One step at a time.”
Blague readied himself to pose his next question. “You’ve spoken only of positive relationships, but what of a merger of enemies?”
He must’ve plucked the right nerve, or the wrong one, because his Elder paused abruptly, obviously taken aback.
Aslock closed his eyes and turned away. Some underlying pain perhaps? Either way, he didn’t give Blague too much time to consider it. Instead he returned, judging his adept while resuming his pace. Slowly, thoughtfully, he approached.
“Exdian bonds are forbidden. The Society is not proud of the experimental shot that was administered long ago. It was the first and last initiative that involved an unwilling life, which is something the Hiezers practice regularly.”
“But they are not aware of secondary consciousness?” Blague asked, looking for confirmation.
“That is true, so duality would likely never manifest.”
“So what became of the ‘Exdian’?”
“The primary had undergone years of training before the cognition of her enemy was revealed. She went mad shortly after and abandoned the Society. The journey thereafter was difficult to watch… she tried to snuff out the thoughts, but the DNA of her adversary was interlocked and resilient. There was a point in time when she believed she had conquered the consciousness of her enemy and attempted to lead a normal life. She tried to have a family, but soon after the birth of her first son, the madness returned. Even worse, the psychosis of two conflicting wills was passed down to her offspring and ultimately resulted in her death. It was truly a disaster.”
“Sounds like an ordinary day to me.”
Aslock felt remorseful. “My apologies. I know your history and I should be cognizant of it.”
Blague waved away the act. “I require no sympathy. Chaos is a great source of motivation for reform. My will to press on is dependent upon it.”
“If you are ever to achieve true inner peace, you will have to temporarily abandon these ambitions. Remember, our first step is to pull you back from your imbalance, to attain a functional stasis.”
For some reason, those words made the old Sin want to punch the ground, but he quickly realized it wouldn’t be in his best interest. Not a healthy mindset in expediting this process, not to mention it would probably result in a broken hand, so he digressed, and instead asked the next question floating around in the front of his mind - “And what of a third consciousness? Has the Society investigated the effects of such a complexity?”
“You are touching on some very intricate points. I am impressed,” Aslock admitted with a smile. “We have lost many willing Neraphis to this trial. To our knowledge, in all but one instance, the body cannot handle more than duality.”
Blague cycled through the few Neraphis he had the pleasure of meeting. Age, leadership, potential were all characteristics that came to mind. Who could fit the mold… who could fit… “Halewyn,” he blurted after a long pause.
“That is correct,” Aslock nodded, approving of his student’s inquisitiveness. “Halewyn is a very powerful Ludian, using his family’s lineage to summon his strength. His grandfather as well as his father live within him. To manage such an intricacy without going mad commands great respect.”
“I’m curious to learn more,” Blague admitted.
“Of course you are. Your world has just been expanded immensely, but first we need to clear your mind of demons. Immerse yourself in this greater understanding and accept that your delusional manifestations of Elaina are desperate attempts to connect with her again. Without this acceptance, your path will lead you to despair, as you have begun to experience. Empty your mind. That is the only way to repair yourself.”
Blague grounded himself and braced for the retreat back into the depths of his psyche… worried of where he would land next, terrified of uncertainty, of whether he would see Elaina again. It was like she was locked in a steel cage. He knew the location, but didn’t have the key. He hated these exercises. Hated them. Aslock couldn’t return soon enough.
And as if reading Blague’s mind, he said, “This time, you suffer with no direction, no inkling of when it will end. This will be solitary. Embrace it.”
Chapter 17
The next time Blague’s eyes opened, he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or awake. What’s happening? How did I get here? He had no memory of what came before, just a rush of intense panic inherited from the past.
Think Blague, think. He couldn’t compound reality into something intelligible… and flailing did nothing. He was stuck.
Where was he? A sensation of wind… so much wind. Even squeezing his fingers shut felt difficult, almost impossible. Now it came to him, not his past, but the present – he was pinned on his back, nailed down by a tornado’s vector swirling violently in place above him, banishing him to the floor, holding boulders of air over his chest and limbs to keep him still. Each spasm to break free was met with scolding lightning that streaked the sky.
There it was above him – the ground view of a storm’s eye, though it was anything but calm. Air rushed up his nose to the point where he couldn’t breathe out. He looked this way and that frantically, se
eing only darkness but for these silver gales twisting in place, this tornado wrapping itself into a vortex so thick that it looked like a giant hollow screw fastening endlessly into the ground. Deafening whistles blew into his ears to stop any coherent thoughts from forming, making him try with all his might to lift his hands and plug them.
“Nothing makes sense,” his voice was carried into the wind. “I’m drugged… there’s no other explanation. Or is this…”
It was unfathomable that all matter was siphoning upward, everything but him. This was chaos in its purest form.
And just when things couldn’t get any stranger, a comet of red ore sailed from the cosmos down into the atmosphere, its round body and long tail shimmering bright as it soared. Closer it crept, louder, smoke billowing like a plane on fire.
Something clicked in Blague’s mind, an understanding of sorts that this… thing, wasn’t inanimate. It couldn’t be. And just as he thought it, the comet denied all sense by stopping short mid-air to prove this lunacy – its tail colliding with its body to bolster a bright red flame.
Blague could feel it boring into him, sending a fearful shiver down his spine.
It was intelligent, pondering, considering. He could feel it judging him while it was still, until it decided that the storm would be its home. Blague was the epicenter here, in this dimension. A lesson perhaps, judgement that had to be had. And so the meteor zoomed into the vortex, spinning fiercely in the tornado’s revolution, momentarily painting the gales red before plummeting into the ground beside him.
A crash rattled his brain before showers of black and crimson soot blanketed his shackled body. With a face now scratched by flying gravel, he struggled to turn his head against the velocity, to see what monstrous anomaly beckoned him. Through squinted eyes he watched the celestial body crack from its center, and then felt crunching rubble beneath him. Fragments of rock inched closer, to the point where they tickled his ear, until something clamped his arm. Another shiver. What was it? What else could be alive out here? He opened his eyes a little wider to see a bloody hand making his arm slick.