The Souls in Sectum – Chapter VIII – A Hidden Entrance
The past fortnight had been nothing short of traumatic for Corven, marking a radical departure from his previous life since his exile from Malkuth over a stupid misstep. His transgression, the theft of materials intended for his Domus, had inadvertently impacted forty families. For this act, a Table of Nine had adjudged him guilty of theft and fraud, condemning him to five years as an extarri. Now, merely fourteen days into his sentence, he found himself the prey of Dictaduria's most formidable entities: Gorbat and his Umbras. The situation had escalated far beyond his worst expectations.
By chance, Corven encountered Kevary during his first week in exile. Together, combining his brains and her skills, had stole the alters. Their partnership solidified overnight, and he had since adhered to her directives.
As far as he was aware, the modifiers were stashed safely under the platforms in Oxen Plaza. Corven had braced for immediate repercussions, only to realize that consequences could take time to manifest in those lands. Nevertheless, the urgency to flee Dictaduria grew with each passing moment. The umbras' pursuit intensified, yet, as a miracle or perhaps due to the enhancer Adria had provided earlier, Corven's resolve remained unshaken. His determination to reclaim the alters was unwavering.
Regret over not accepting Adria's assistance gnawed at him, especially as he grappled with the xtracter's adverse effects on his brain chemistry. His confidence in front of Adria had led him to overlook the necessity of inquiring about the quickest path to Oxen Plaza from that neighborhood.
As darkness enveloped the surroundings with the setting sun and rain began to evaporate, Corven's journey became increasingly perilous. Without a facemask to shield him from the sulfuric fumes, he resorted to covering his mouth with a sleeve of the borrowed shirt. The stark contrast between the dimly lit outer sections and the well-maintained city center underscored the neglect suffered by areas farther from the highest class sections.
More than an hour's journey lay ahead to Oxen Plaza, assuming he didn't lose his way again. Despite his meticulous study of maps prior to his capture, his damaged short-term memory frequently led him astray. Venturing through Dictaduria at night was tantamount to a death wish. His plan was to seek refuge in Negativus, implore Kevary for assistance, and alert her to the umbras' imminent threat.
As curfew loomed at 6:30 pm, Corven hastened his pace, navigating the concrete streets and evading others heading home. The consequences of being caught out at night were severe, ranging from extended sentences in prisons to deportation to a lower country, depending on the nature of the violation.
Half of all dictadurians become part of Negativus at night, breaking the rules and risking their liberty for a better lifestyle.
Negativus thrived as an undercity, a nocturnal clandestine metropolis nestled within vast tunnels and caves, untouched by the regime's sentinel brigades. This sanctuary, safeguarded by the Five Families, the Umbras and rouge dictadurians in unity, stood in stark defiance of Roland Copernus's control, offering a semblance of freedom and the chance to accrue more gatvits.
The regime’s sentinel brigades lacked of the tech to get through by force. It had been like that for seventy years, thanks to those dictadurians who keep it secret and protected it as the one part of the country that held significance to them.
Avoiding the throngs returning to their blocks, Corven sought an alternate path as people’s faces were shadowed by the dwindling daylight. His target was Manson Avenue, where entrances to Negativus were concealed and relocated daily, eluding the regime's surveillance.
The president, along with his elite, known as the Avantians, engrossed in their decadence, indifferent to the struggles of the many in the furthest parts of their territory and their efforts to live a better life. They were busy swimming in gatvits, hosting parties with golden-tainted pools filled with their allies and followers living in excess daylong, drunk and high on drugs. Unless they perished, often by STDs, overdose, or murder.
In the undercity, that job was Gorbat’s role, and he was mediocre at it. Dictadurians were lucky the undercity had a life of itself with an established workflow.
Corven surveyed the nearest district, NB7, struggling to see in the dim light. The streets were quiet, filled with Dictadurians making their way home in silence, some holding lanterns, others candles. He reflected on the loss of his belongings, which Meida and Timor had destroyed. Everything he had gathered for his escape—tools, crystapheres, food pills, enhancers, light grenades, a spear, and a lantern purchased that very morning—was gone.
The avenue had emptied, with most residents back in their blocks in anticipation of the curfew that was about to begin. Mason Avenue, better lit than the rest, lay quiet, all its shops closed for the day. Corven searched for a clue, something so subtle that only those aware of its existence would notice—a discreet sign pointing at a secret path to Negativus.
A deafening clamor pierced his ears—the curfew bell's ominous toll. "All Dictadurians must remain in their blocks until sunrise. Curfew protocol activated," boomed a voice, its echo sprawling across the cityscape.
In the desolate avenue, Corven persisted in his search. The announcement reverberated, a relentless reminder of the night's restrictions. Alone, he navigated the emptying streets, the last echoes of Dictadurian life fading into the shadows. His quest led him past the forgotten cardboard boxes behind Le Amie, the quaint French boutique, and beneath the dislodged tiles outside the Arctic Redpoll, a liquor store shrouded in mystery.
“All dictadurians must remain in their blocks until sunrise. Curfew protocol activated.”
His journey continued, weaving through the silent guardians of commerce—Marina’s store and its silent neighbors—each turn, each alley, a testament to his growing desperation. Behind the concrete monoliths, a hidden artery ran, connecting the forgotten spaces between business. In this dim corridor, Corven's eyes, now allies with darkness, scoured each dumpster, each crevice, for the elusive entrance.
Distant murmurs shattered the silence, a prelude to the feared sentinels' approach. As shadows materialized into the form of fellow dictadurians, Corven found refuge behind a metallic behemoth, his breath a prisoner of the night. Strangers, mere whispers against the concrete, passed him by, oblivious to his presence.
"I’ve told you, time after time, but you never listen, Karkus," came a frustrated voice from the Arctic Redpoll's backdoor, a clandestine meeting veiled from Corven's view. He edged closer, the urgency of their words a siren call to his curiosity.
"Why should I bear the burden alone?" Karkus's retort carried a mix of resignation and defiance. The dialogue between them, a symphony of grievances and pleas, unfolded with Corven as its solitary audience.
“You don’t contribute as much as I do. Help me out, man!”
Otam's hands, trembling with anticipation or fear, fumbled with keys at the lock. "Do you want to risk everything? Just remember to feed the cats. It's simple," he implored, their voices a fading echo as the door sealed their secrets within.
Relief washed over Corven as silence reclaimed the night. His gaze, drawn by fate or fortune, settled on a propaganda poster, its edges worn, betraying the passage hidden beneath. Roland Copernus, Dictaduria's beacon of false hope, stared back, his pointed finger a silent accusation amidst the irony of his promise: ‘Copernus for you. Here to stay.’
With a careful tug, the poster yielded, revealing the concrete's secret—a cubic gateway to the unknown. Corven, embracing the pain of his wounds as old friends, descended into the abyss, the ladder a beacon to the forbidden sanctuary of Negativus.The backside of the poster had placed itself back, covering the opening. It activated a see-through quality of that material, a type of smuggled carbine that rebel dictadurians use throughout their country along with holorenders and sliders.
The ladder descended into the depths, guiding Corven towards a flicker of light in the vast darkness below. As he made his descent, a surge of excitement electrified his being, contrasting with the dim surroundings. Glancing upward, he noted how a concrete cube sealed the passage through which he had entered, a silent guardian against any unwelcome intruders.
Curiosity gnawed at Corven regarding the secretive criteria for entry into Negativus, a realm shrouded in mysteries not discussed in Malkuth. He pondered the existence of Sectum, a place designed for those forgotten or cast aside, a distant land where the world's ills were quarantined, perhaps even cured. It wasn't until he ascended to the rank of Binah that he was permitted to study the enigmatic continent at depth, a creation born from the collective efforts of The Sephirot. Together, they had forged a unique prison, dividing it into four distinct nations, each devoid of aequiteism, shaped by the diverse social structures of past eras, as envisioned in the ancient pages of the Edictum Vitae.
Accelerating his descent, Corven grasped the crystal ladder tightly, letting momentum carry him through the shaft. At the base, a network of tiny, glowing lights dotted the walls, casting their glow on a path that ended in a holographic vista.
Emerging onto a sidewalk, he found himself amidst a bustling stream of rebel dictadurians. He joined the throng, moving uphill, their steps the only sanctioned mode of travel in the clandestine undercity. The energy of the place was palpable, a hub of activity as its inhabitants hurried to their nocturnal duties, underjobs of all sorts.
The sheer scale of the underground metropolis, built in defiance of the laws above, left him in awe. Spanning kilometers and kilometers, its vast caverns were filled with structures carved from rock and crystal, a surreal blend of Malkuthian influence and organic design, resembling a vibrant insect colony. This was Negativus, a city of crystal ladders, staircases, ziplines, and tunnels, largely the work of former members of the Third Sephirah, to which Corven had once belonged.
****
That's it for Chapter VIII!
If you enjoyed it, please consider supporting A Tree of Omens!
Follow, share, leave a comment or review, either works.
As a reminder, Patreon is up and running with 26+ Chapters ahead of SH release.
Thank you for your time and see you along the road!
Aequitas and much love,
Indigo Sapiens.
The Souls in Sectum – Chapter VIII – A Hidden Entrance
The past fortnight had been nothing short of traumatic for Corven, marking a radical departure from his previous life since his exile from Malkuth over a stupid misstep. His transgression, the theft of materials intended for his Domus, had inadvertently impacted forty families. For this act, a Table of Nine had adjudged him guilty of theft and fraud, condemning him to five years as an extarri. Now, merely fourteen days into his sentence, he found himself the prey of Dictaduria's most formidable entities: Gorbat and his Umbras. The situation had escalated far beyond his worst expectations.
By chance, Corven encountered Kevary during his first week in exile. Together, combining his brains and her skills, had stole the alters. Their partnership solidified overnight, and he had since adhered to her directives.
As far as he was aware, the modifiers were stashed safely under the platforms in Oxen Plaza. Corven had braced for immediate repercussions, only to realize that consequences could take time to manifest in those lands. Nevertheless, the urgency to flee Dictaduria grew with each passing moment. The umbras' pursuit intensified, yet, as a miracle or perhaps due to the enhancer Adria had provided earlier, Corven's resolve remained unshaken. His determination to reclaim the alters was unwavering.
Regret over not accepting Adria's assistance gnawed at him, especially as he grappled with the xtracter's adverse effects on his brain chemistry. His confidence in front of Adria had led him to overlook the necessity of inquiring about the quickest path to Oxen Plaza from that neighborhood.
As darkness enveloped the surroundings with the setting sun and rain began to evaporate, Corven's journey became increasingly perilous. Without a facemask to shield him from the sulfuric fumes, he resorted to covering his mouth with a sleeve of the borrowed shirt. The stark contrast between the dimly lit outer sections and the well-maintained city center underscored the neglect suffered by areas farther from the highest class sections.
More than an hour's journey lay ahead to Oxen Plaza, assuming he didn't lose his way again. Despite his meticulous study of maps prior to his capture, his damaged short-term memory frequently led him astray. Venturing through Dictaduria at night was tantamount to a death wish. His plan was to seek refuge in Negativus, implore Kevary for assistance, and alert her to the umbras' imminent threat.
As curfew loomed at 6:30 pm, Corven hastened his pace, navigating the concrete streets and evading others heading home. The consequences of being caught out at night were severe, ranging from extended sentences in prisons to deportation to a lower country, depending on the nature of the violation.
Half of all dictadurians become part of Negativus at night, breaking the rules and risking their liberty for a better lifestyle.
Negativus thrived as an undercity, a nocturnal clandestine metropolis nestled within vast tunnels and caves, untouched by the regime's sentinel brigades. This sanctuary, safeguarded by the Five Families, the Umbras and rouge dictadurians in unity, stood in stark defiance of Roland Copernus's control, offering a semblance of freedom and the chance to accrue more gatvits.
The regime’s sentinel brigades lacked of the tech to get through by force. It had been like that for seventy years, thanks to those dictadurians who keep it secret and protected it as the one part of the country that held significance to them.
Avoiding the throngs returning to their blocks, Corven sought an alternate path as people’s faces were shadowed by the dwindling daylight. His target was Manson Avenue, where entrances to Negativus were concealed and relocated daily, eluding the regime's surveillance.
The president, along with his elite, known as the Avantians, engrossed in their decadence, indifferent to the struggles of the many in the furthest parts of their territory and their efforts to live a better life. They were busy swimming in gatvits, hosting parties with golden-tainted pools filled with their allies and followers living in excess daylong, drunk and high on drugs. Unless they perished, often by STDs, overdose, or murder.
In the undercity, that job was Gorbat’s role, and he was mediocre at it. Dictadurians were lucky the undercity had a life of itself with an established workflow.
Corven surveyed the nearest district, NB7, struggling to see in the dim light. The streets were quiet, filled with Dictadurians making their way home in silence, some holding lanterns, others candles. He reflected on the loss of his belongings, which Meida and Timor had destroyed. Everything he had gathered for his escape—tools, crystapheres, food pills, enhancers, light grenades, a spear, and a lantern purchased that very morning—was gone.
The avenue had emptied, with most residents back in their blocks in anticipation of the curfew that was about to begin. Mason Avenue, better lit than the rest, lay quiet, all its shops closed for the day. Corven searched for a clue, something so subtle that only those aware of its existence would notice—a discreet sign pointing at a secret path to Negativus.
A deafening clamor pierced his ears—the curfew bell's ominous toll. "All Dictadurians must remain in their blocks until sunrise. Curfew protocol activated," boomed a voice, its echo sprawling across the cityscape.
In the desolate avenue, Corven persisted in his search. The announcement reverberated, a relentless reminder of the night's restrictions. Alone, he navigated the emptying streets, the last echoes of Dictadurian life fading into the shadows. His quest led him past the forgotten cardboard boxes behind Le Amie, the quaint French boutique, and beneath the dislodged tiles outside the Arctic Redpoll, a liquor store shrouded in mystery.
“All dictadurians must remain in their blocks until sunrise. Curfew protocol activated.”
His journey continued, weaving through the silent guardians of commerce—Marina’s store and its silent neighbors—each turn, each alley, a testament to his growing desperation. Behind the concrete monoliths, a hidden artery ran, connecting the forgotten spaces between business. In this dim corridor, Corven's eyes, now allies with darkness, scoured each dumpster, each crevice, for the elusive entrance.
Distant murmurs shattered the silence, a prelude to the feared sentinels' approach. As shadows materialized into the form of fellow dictadurians, Corven found refuge behind a metallic behemoth, his breath a prisoner of the night. Strangers, mere whispers against the concrete, passed him by, oblivious to his presence.
"I’ve told you, time after time, but you never listen, Karkus," came a frustrated voice from the Arctic Redpoll's backdoor, a clandestine meeting veiled from Corven's view. He edged closer, the urgency of their words a siren call to his curiosity.
"Why should I bear the burden alone?" Karkus's retort carried a mix of resignation and defiance. The dialogue between them, a symphony of grievances and pleas, unfolded with Corven as its solitary audience.
“You don’t contribute as much as I do. Help me out, man!”
Otam's hands, trembling with anticipation or fear, fumbled with keys at the lock. "Do you want to risk everything? Just remember to feed the cats. It's simple," he implored, their voices a fading echo as the door sealed their secrets within.
Relief washed over Corven as silence reclaimed the night. His gaze, drawn by fate or fortune, settled on a propaganda poster, its edges worn, betraying the passage hidden beneath. Roland Copernus, Dictaduria's beacon of false hope, stared back, his pointed finger a silent accusation amidst the irony of his promise: ‘Copernus for you. Here to stay.’
With a careful tug, the poster yielded, revealing the concrete's secret—a cubic gateway to the unknown. Corven, embracing the pain of his wounds as old friends, descended into the abyss, the ladder a beacon to the forbidden sanctuary of Negativus.The backside of the poster had placed itself back, covering the opening. It activated a see-through quality of that material, a type of smuggled carbine that rebel dictadurians use throughout their country along with holorenders and sliders.
The ladder descended into the depths, guiding Corven towards a flicker of light in the vast darkness below. As he made his descent, a surge of excitement electrified his being, contrasting with the dim surroundings. Glancing upward, he noted how a concrete cube sealed the passage through which he had entered, a silent guardian against any unwelcome intruders.
Curiosity gnawed at Corven regarding the secretive criteria for entry into Negativus, a realm shrouded in mysteries not discussed in Malkuth. He pondered the existence of Sectum, a place designed for those forgotten or cast aside, a distant land where the world's ills were quarantined, perhaps even cured. It wasn't until he ascended to the rank of Binah that he was permitted to study the enigmatic continent at depth, a creation born from the collective efforts of The Sephirot. Together, they had forged a unique prison, dividing it into four distinct nations, each devoid of aequiteism, shaped by the diverse social structures of past eras, as envisioned in the ancient pages of the Edictum Vitae.
Accelerating his descent, Corven grasped the crystal ladder tightly, letting momentum carry him through the shaft. At the base, a network of tiny, glowing lights dotted the walls, casting their glow on a path that ended in a holographic vista.
Emerging onto a sidewalk, he found himself amidst a bustling stream of rebel dictadurians. He joined the throng, moving uphill, their steps the only sanctioned mode of travel in the clandestine undercity. The energy of the place was palpable, a hub of activity as its inhabitants hurried to their nocturnal duties, underjobs of all sorts.
The sheer scale of the underground metropolis, built in defiance of the laws above, left him in awe. Spanning kilometers and kilometers, its vast caverns were filled with structures carved from rock and crystal, a surreal blend of Malkuthian influence and organic design, resembling a vibrant insect colony. This was Negativus, a city of crystal ladders, staircases, ziplines, and tunnels, largely the work of former members of the Third Sephirah, to which Corven had once belonged.
****
That's it for Chapter VIII!
If you enjoyed it, please consider supporting A Tree of Omens!
Follow, share, leave a comment or review, either works.
As a reminder, Patreon is up and running with 26+ Chapters ahead of SH release.
Thank you for your time and see you along the road!
Aequitas and much love,
Indigo Sapiens.
