The journal that Johnny gave me is difficult to understand, much of it is far too complicated for me to wrap my head around, and at first, it is just dull jargon about Ether. But eventually, it starts saying things that make some sense. For example, splitting skills into partial activations sounds practical, but can my skills benefit from that? I don’t think so.
Johnny’s Golden Eye can be split to become more versatile and powerful, while something like Silas Wish could as well. Perhaps even Blake, if she can make her spirit appear and disappear for concise time frames to distract or damage enemies, but me? How can that help me?
Almost all of my skills are ones that either need to be sustained, like Rapturous and Struggler Defiance, or prebuilt ones that exist until the Ether breaks appear, like Ironbound. Can anything even be activated in short bursts that would be helpful? I can see the use for conserving Ether, but would the effort not be more worth investing in strengthening my control and amount?
If I use Insight for a fraction of a second like Johnny is hinting at through this book, it would only serve to disorient and distract me. The information I can gain from a half-second of seeing through someone else’s eyes is meaningless. The power comes from sustained use, where I learn how they act, think, and see the world.
I propose this issue to Johnny when we take a short break at nightfall.
“I finished the journal, but I don’t see the use for me. None of my skills will benefit very much from this partial use.”
The Gunfighter nods to me in understanding, but asks a question back to me.
“That may be true now, but what about later? What if you get a skill like mine or Silas’? Single, maybe double use, with high power? Oh, wait… You have one already, don’t you? It’s just a derivative, is it not?”
Huh? What’s he talking about? I don’t have a… oh… He’s talking about Explosion. When my body is full of Ether, I don’t have to burst it all out at once. If I follow these instructions, I can split it up, saving both my limbs and extending the usage.
“I see what you mean now. Better get practicing, aye? Not much else to do.”
I nod to him and speak before taking in a gasp of Ether, creating a small whirlwind around us.
Johnny sighs, puts his hand on his face, and slowly drags it down. He positions a hand out to Blake, and she gives him a syringe of something as I focus on my Ether. Anytime I use Strugglers Gasp, a massive surge of Ether comes to me and fills my lungs, which goes into every part of my body, weakening the chains. But this idea of Johnny’s is what I needed all along. It will go a long way to stop me from getting hurt. Hell, if I had known this two months ago, I’d still have two arms.
I look inward on myself and force the Ether not to flow into my chains but instead spiral throughout my body for a short time. This movement of Ether places great strain on my body, but I grit my teeth and go through what feels like being pulled in every direction at once by a dozen men.
Then following Johnny and the journal’s directions, I burst the Ether with my mind for a short period toward my right leg before immediately stopping. As I do so, I raise my leg and kick toward the nearest tree. Again, the Ether is cut into halves as the first portion works as intended, pushing Ether out the bottom of my foot and carving a massive gash into the bark of the tree..
But the other half, the half that doesn’t leave, acts opposed to what I expected. It goes haywire within my stomach, and I double over, instantly expelling bile from the pain and sensations making my mind spin.
While that happens, I’m pulled to my feet, and Johnny injects something into me. Another Draught? Why?
The man shakes his head at me in disappointment.
“You never learn. By the Devil… at least this time, it wasn’t too bad. You are hurt, Wyatt. Even if this feels like your normal, it needs to change. Your mind is safe now, but your body is not. I tried to show you this ideology of Ether manipulation so this exact thing wouldn’t happen. Take things slowly, okay? We’ve been out of the Underworld for less than two days, and we’ve already used almost all the supplies they gave us.”
The Draught makes my stomach settle as I feel warmth flow to my extremities, bringing back the pain I’ve grown habituated to. Once I feel stable enough to stand on my own two feet, Johnny walks away, tossing me another book.
“Read this now. No Ether. No physical labor. You are on the bench for the next… month. Minimum. No ifs, ands, or buts. Reading is the only thing you will be doing. If you disobey me at all, I promise I will make Heath and Earl sedate you when we get back until you are fully healed. You hear me?”
Sadly, I nod to him. We are finally in a situation where I can rest, and while I’m being forced to, I’m not too fond of it. But I need to. I know that. I just… want to make progress. Toward that lofty goal. Would a God stop because they’re hurt? Yeah… they probably would. That’s a dumb thought. I sigh and watch Johnny and Silas make a small wagon for us all to sit on. Blake discovered an hour or so ago that she could enhance Darkmane, Silas’ Ghost Horse, with her unique brand of Vigor. All she needs to do is take it from Johnny. And that makes Darkmane much faster, stronger, and bigger.
Neither Silas nor Lennox has any Vigor to be stolen, as they are not technically alive. And she doesn’t take it from me because I’m healing. However, Dakota is willing and walks up to her on his own accord while Blake takes it from Johnny and tires him out. Blake also recently found a better way to siphon said Vigor with the book she got from the Underworld. The Daemonaninononon or whatever it is. The word is long, and I only heard it once. She described it as taking from the “heart” directly instead of generally taking it from the body.
I could only shrug my shoulders. All I know is that Vigor is focused on the heart and body while Ether is mind and soul, right? There are probably more distinctions, but that’s about all I got.
So, I turn my back on them while the two men work, Blake siphons Vigor from Dakota, and Darkmane stands there watching us all with an apathetic gaze. I guess she is an undead horse. She’s probably been through a whole load of horseshit. Haha… Horseshit.
Finally, I stop procrastinating and open the book Johnny gave me, Enclosed Fists.
Eleanor Granger
Enclosed Fists
I am told these first pages must be short and describe what will be later in the book, but the art of combat is far too diverse to be put into a single book, let alone one page. So I, Eleanor, the second Supreme of Heights, will, in these pages, describe what I have learned about fighting. From guns to swords, I hope to enlighten any who seek to learn how to fight, but it all begins and ends with a closed fist.
Hmm… a book from a Supreme? This ought to be unique. I turn to the next page and read a bit more. The very first page is on how to throw a punch, with images depicting how to do so drawn so incredibly detailed that I can see every muscle, every tendon, and every strand of hair on this woman as she goes through the motions in a dozen images. The caption on this page and the images are simple, yet it is also profound.
A punch. The simplest and earliest weapon of mankind. It all begins from the legs, hips, torso, and finally, the least important part is the actual arm. Nothing can be done with a weak foundation. The legs are the start of all strength, the ankles the origin of all power.
I move to the next page after digesting the way to punch. It’s simple, yet I don’t think I’ve ever done what it displays—no exaggerated movements, only the most perfect form that removes every wasted action, no matter how minuscule.
The second, I expect to be about how to kick, is instead about how to run. The best way to breathe while running and how to run for extremely long distances. The caption denotes humanity and our gift at, well, running.
Of all the gifts in the world we own in our flesh, our legs are the most important. So many races, if not all, are innately faster than us. But, none can outrun us. Unrelenting. Unstoppable. Inexhaustible. Some races are tougher. Some are faster. Some are smarter. But we, the forgotten, will always catch up. No matter how long it may take. Once we start, only death will cease our movements.
I look through all these movements and move on to the next page, committing them to memory. I’ll definitely have to come back, but I want to see what’s in here for now.
The next page is on senses. Specifically, how weak ours are and how to enhance them. Six image sets on this page depict different ways to improve your senses. For example, using a blindfold constantly for your ears to sleep, depriving yourself until every sense but your eyes shut down to enhance your eyes’ stability under pressure.
The senses of man are pitiful. Our eyes are short and failing, our ears easily damaged or tricked, our noses almost useless, and our taste only serves to produce gluttons. Even our touch only helps to be an issue, forcing us to feel pain when we need not to. But one can train their senses just as one trains their body, mind, or Ether. Even the sixth sense, the inherent ability all beings possess toward danger, can be harnessed. One must isolate it and force it to grow alongside you.
I go through several more pages, but they all speak about different parts of the human body, none detailing how to fight. The last page with pictures is on how to take an injury, the features of the body least valuable, and most welcome to wounds. But the book’s final page bears no images, only text.
This is a note written far after the original portion of this book. This is a precursor to my Dzil. You could create your own if any manage to learn all the teaching within. It is the slower and more painful way compared to my personal journal on a Dzil, but this is meant for an army to read and digest over many years. Each part, even digested separately, will enhance a soldier’s strength. But if taught amidst a whole army, there is a chance one may step upon the peak with my words.
You came here seeking how to fight. But that is not my purpose. It all begins with an enclosed fist and ends with one. The self must acquire experience; however, preparation can begin far before that. Commit my teachings to your mind, and you will grow as a human. I write this page just before I walk to my inevitable death. An enemy is at the gates of Heights, and I must meet them. For what is hope without someone to stand for it?
These are my final words. None shall hear me speak or see me write beyond this. Trust nothing but your own fists. Not the Gods. Not the Angels. And most certainly, not Death. She brings only ruin to the world with her ailing madness. Only the weight of your own fists, your own Power, and your own will matter in this world of ours.
I pull my nose out of the book to get onto the small wagon made by Silas and Johnny as I digest the words in the book, my heart sinking at Eleanor’s final words. I’ve spent the last several hours reading through her advice, slowly understanding her through the text. I didn’t expect the ending to speak of her death. How tragic... though; I suppose that’s the only way a Supreme goes out, eh?
What is hope without someone to stand for it?
These words of Eleanor’s sink deeply into my heart as I go over her teachings.
The book has dozens of things, each pertaining to an aspect of humanity. From running to hiding to shooting a gun, it is all there. Small little amounts that whole mountains of wisdom within them. Now that I look back, I see what she means. Separate, these things are only slightly helpful, but all together? These pages’ knowledge combined into a single person would birth a master of war and combat.
I return to the first page detailing a punch and reread it repeatedly as the wagon starts moving with a jolt. I can feel us speed up through the swamps as Darkmane takes us through the shifty terrain.
Only with an undead horse and a wagon put together by Ether can we make much progress through the swamp, but we are hurrying not to get caught by demons, Outlaws, or any Hunters that might come for us. And before we know it, I’m sure we’ll be at Starkbluffs. That is, if we aren’t killed on the way by everything going to shit.
******************
Marshall Travis
I hear the moving army in front of me all the way from here, Audible, allowing anything within my sight to enter my ears without issue. I can hear their armor moving and Architects making hand signals. They know I can see them even miles away.
They’ve come prepared. They know I can hear them, so they aren’t speaking. They know I can easily break through their front, so they are spread out. They’ve come with every measure to counter my strengths. But they’ve forgotten just one thing. I am not alone. This whole fortress is filled with men and women who can shore up my weaknesses.
I call out to the young man beside me.
“Cub.”
Tomas steps closer, his head slightly bending in respect.
“Yes, sir?”
A visible layer of Ether covers my hand, Steelfist coming into being with the slightest nudge.
“Prepare them all. They are coming. Someone has fallen.”
Tomas stutters for a second, unbelieving.
“What do you mean they are coming? And who fell?”
I shake my head, unknowing, as I step onto the battlement. My muscles, bones, and tendons prepare themselves without me even doing anything. Another battle. Another day. Will this be my last? No. Not today. Pygmies will not take me. They have not brought enough Architects, high or low, or their leader, the current Creator, and they neglected to bring an Ordnance. Without their supreme tools of power, I will not fall.
“I can see them clearly. The Architects are moving, their Armaments shaking with power. Either Kai, Howard, or Clarence fell. We shall see soon.”
Just as I finish speaking, a tired and heavily breathing man bursts onto our spot on the wall, Tomas turning to them as they talk out loud.
“Sir! Sorry for the intru–”
I cut him off, only wanting to know what is essential. My eyes turn to look at him for an answer.
“Go ahead. Who died.”
The man shakes a bit, trying to stand tall under my gaze but fails. I don’t blame him. Stronger men have been unable to. Almost as if prophetically, the man speaks what my instincts for war told me.
“K-Kai Vinson. The Rougarou Hunter has fallen, along with his wife, Myra. It’s believed that Johnny Caldwell killed them both as he was last seen breaking into their home, and an Augur confirmed that Johnny was near Kai near his death.”
The news is a shock to me and Tomas, who inhales sharply. But I become skeptical after a brief moment of shock and deep sadness that I force from revealing itself to the world. Johnny? Caldwell? The Gunfighter? That doesn’t sound right. Even if he somehow leaped Angelhood, the man would get shredded to pieces by Kai, his serpents eating the man for breakfast. I would know. After all, I wouldn’t let the man leave Bent for good until he left a permanent scar on me.
He wouldn’t die to Johnny. Not this quickly. Not with this sparse information. Plus, it makes no sense why he’d do it. What would the rebel have to gain by killing Kai? He’s one of the few Pillars not wholly controlled by an Estate. Sure, his wife is a Grimes, but she ran to him for safety just as much as he ran to her. The marriage was both circumstantial and even.
Not just that, but I was expecting the demons to attack, not Johnny. Of course, there is the chance that he is a demon in disguise, but it is unlikely. I’ll ask someone to follow up on that later, though. Skinwalkers are dangerous; even with my keen senses, they sometimes slip by.
The atmosphere on the wall goes still as I think and eventually propose a question.
“Who said that Johnny felled Kai? Who was the Augur that sensed him?”
The soldier stutters shortly before answering a perfect answer, one that is far too flawless.
“E-E-Eli Weiss, sir. The Underground Tree said he sensed it.”
Hmm… something is off. Sure, Eli would be too far to engage and help Kai, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have warned him somehow. Eli has the best foresight in all of the Territories. And his proclamation after the death? It doesn’t feel right to me.
I dismiss the courier with a wave, and he practically runs away.
Currents seem to be running underneath the Territories while I hold the walls. Things will only become more complicated once Sinscreak falls. Vincent Harvey won’t save it. He’d only move for a core Territory like Onyx Gate, Qune, or Blackreach. I could hope that Lennon Hull will stand up, the Bloodhound’s most potent student capable of holding off Angels despite being mortal, but that is far too optimistic.
If anything, that ambitious man is just as likely to make the situation worse. He’s not called Diabolic just because of his prowess with a blade. The worst case is if he joins Edward, two of the three students of Edmund gathering would be quite the sight, even if it’s ominous.
A revolution is brimming in the east, full of blood and suffering, while forces emerge from the west. Meanwhile, in the west, a man is accused of killing a Pillar. Unlikely. Someone is lying. Or at least not telling the complete truth to deflect blame.
Eli… Why are you putting this on Caldwell? I shake my head before nodding at Tomas. I always think best while fighting. I’ve let the Pygmies prepare too long.
“Get the forces to follow me.”
He asks me a question as I turn and face the approaching army of Pygmies with their almost endless lines of puppets and Armaments.
“Are you going in first, sir?”
I nod. A leader should lead in the very front. Nowhere else does a general belong but in the eyes of his soldiers, Vincent. I don’t think of the Prime for any longer than a second, however, for, at his level, the man can probably notice when people think of him.
Then, without waiting even another moment, I leap off the high walls of Bent and, with the fury of a raging tornado, speed straight for the damned Pygmies and their army. Only one skill rages within my body as I move forward. Painsforge, the Dzil I crafted of my own design, gives my ailing body strength beyond almost any other man alive.
The more I hurt, the closer to Death I reach, the stronger I become. And the gates are not too far away; but the lady will have to drag me in, for I will not go quietly.
The journal that Johnny gave me is difficult to understand, much of it is far too complicated for me to wrap my head around, and at first, it is just dull jargon about Ether. But eventually, it starts saying things that make some sense. For example, splitting skills into partial activations sounds practical, but can my skills benefit from that? I don’t think so.
Johnny’s Golden Eye can be split to become more versatile and powerful, while something like Silas Wish could as well. Perhaps even Blake, if she can make her spirit appear and disappear for concise time frames to distract or damage enemies, but me? How can that help me?
Almost all of my skills are ones that either need to be sustained, like Rapturous and Struggler Defiance, or prebuilt ones that exist until the Ether breaks appear, like Ironbound. Can anything even be activated in short bursts that would be helpful? I can see the use for conserving Ether, but would the effort not be more worth investing in strengthening my control and amount?
If I use Insight for a fraction of a second like Johnny is hinting at through this book, it would only serve to disorient and distract me. The information I can gain from a half-second of seeing through someone else’s eyes is meaningless. The power comes from sustained use, where I learn how they act, think, and see the world.
I propose this issue to Johnny when we take a short break at nightfall.
“I finished the journal, but I don’t see the use for me. None of my skills will benefit very much from this partial use.”
The Gunfighter nods to me in understanding, but asks a question back to me.
“That may be true now, but what about later? What if you get a skill like mine or Silas’? Single, maybe double use, with high power? Oh, wait… You have one already, don’t you? It’s just a derivative, is it not?”
Huh? What’s he talking about? I don’t have a… oh… He’s talking about Explosion. When my body is full of Ether, I don’t have to burst it all out at once. If I follow these instructions, I can split it up, saving both my limbs and extending the usage.
“I see what you mean now. Better get practicing, aye? Not much else to do.”
I nod to him and speak before taking in a gasp of Ether, creating a small whirlwind around us.
Johnny sighs, puts his hand on his face, and slowly drags it down. He positions a hand out to Blake, and she gives him a syringe of something as I focus on my Ether. Anytime I use Strugglers Gasp, a massive surge of Ether comes to me and fills my lungs, which goes into every part of my body, weakening the chains. But this idea of Johnny’s is what I needed all along. It will go a long way to stop me from getting hurt. Hell, if I had known this two months ago, I’d still have two arms.
I look inward on myself and force the Ether not to flow into my chains but instead spiral throughout my body for a short time. This movement of Ether places great strain on my body, but I grit my teeth and go through what feels like being pulled in every direction at once by a dozen men.
Then following Johnny and the journal’s directions, I burst the Ether with my mind for a short period toward my right leg before immediately stopping. As I do so, I raise my leg and kick toward the nearest tree. Again, the Ether is cut into halves as the first portion works as intended, pushing Ether out the bottom of my foot and carving a massive gash into the bark of the tree..
But the other half, the half that doesn’t leave, acts opposed to what I expected. It goes haywire within my stomach, and I double over, instantly expelling bile from the pain and sensations making my mind spin.
While that happens, I’m pulled to my feet, and Johnny injects something into me. Another Draught? Why?
The man shakes his head at me in disappointment.
“You never learn. By the Devil… at least this time, it wasn’t too bad. You are hurt, Wyatt. Even if this feels like your normal, it needs to change. Your mind is safe now, but your body is not. I tried to show you this ideology of Ether manipulation so this exact thing wouldn’t happen. Take things slowly, okay? We’ve been out of the Underworld for less than two days, and we’ve already used almost all the supplies they gave us.”
The Draught makes my stomach settle as I feel warmth flow to my extremities, bringing back the pain I’ve grown habituated to. Once I feel stable enough to stand on my own two feet, Johnny walks away, tossing me another book.
“Read this now. No Ether. No physical labor. You are on the bench for the next… month. Minimum. No ifs, ands, or buts. Reading is the only thing you will be doing. If you disobey me at all, I promise I will make Heath and Earl sedate you when we get back until you are fully healed. You hear me?”
Sadly, I nod to him. We are finally in a situation where I can rest, and while I’m being forced to, I’m not too fond of it. But I need to. I know that. I just… want to make progress. Toward that lofty goal. Would a God stop because they’re hurt? Yeah… they probably would. That’s a dumb thought. I sigh and watch Johnny and Silas make a small wagon for us all to sit on. Blake discovered an hour or so ago that she could enhance Darkmane, Silas’ Ghost Horse, with her unique brand of Vigor. All she needs to do is take it from Johnny. And that makes Darkmane much faster, stronger, and bigger.
Neither Silas nor Lennox has any Vigor to be stolen, as they are not technically alive. And she doesn’t take it from me because I’m healing. However, Dakota is willing and walks up to her on his own accord while Blake takes it from Johnny and tires him out. Blake also recently found a better way to siphon said Vigor with the book she got from the Underworld. The Daemonaninononon or whatever it is. The word is long, and I only heard it once. She described it as taking from the “heart” directly instead of generally taking it from the body.
I could only shrug my shoulders. All I know is that Vigor is focused on the heart and body while Ether is mind and soul, right? There are probably more distinctions, but that’s about all I got.
So, I turn my back on them while the two men work, Blake siphons Vigor from Dakota, and Darkmane stands there watching us all with an apathetic gaze. I guess she is an undead horse. She’s probably been through a whole load of horseshit. Haha… Horseshit.
Finally, I stop procrastinating and open the book Johnny gave me, Enclosed Fists.
Eleanor Granger
Enclosed Fists
I am told these first pages must be short and describe what will be later in the book, but the art of combat is far too diverse to be put into a single book, let alone one page. So I, Eleanor, the second Supreme of Heights, will, in these pages, describe what I have learned about fighting. From guns to swords, I hope to enlighten any who seek to learn how to fight, but it all begins and ends with a closed fist.
Hmm… a book from a Supreme? This ought to be unique. I turn to the next page and read a bit more. The very first page is on how to throw a punch, with images depicting how to do so drawn so incredibly detailed that I can see every muscle, every tendon, and every strand of hair on this woman as she goes through the motions in a dozen images. The caption on this page and the images are simple, yet it is also profound.
A punch. The simplest and earliest weapon of mankind. It all begins from the legs, hips, torso, and finally, the least important part is the actual arm. Nothing can be done with a weak foundation. The legs are the start of all strength, the ankles the origin of all power.
I move to the next page after digesting the way to punch. It’s simple, yet I don’t think I’ve ever done what it displays—no exaggerated movements, only the most perfect form that removes every wasted action, no matter how minuscule.
The second, I expect to be about how to kick, is instead about how to run. The best way to breathe while running and how to run for extremely long distances. The caption denotes humanity and our gift at, well, running.
Of all the gifts in the world we own in our flesh, our legs are the most important. So many races, if not all, are innately faster than us. But, none can outrun us. Unrelenting. Unstoppable. Inexhaustible. Some races are tougher. Some are faster. Some are smarter. But we, the forgotten, will always catch up. No matter how long it may take. Once we start, only death will cease our movements.
I look through all these movements and move on to the next page, committing them to memory. I’ll definitely have to come back, but I want to see what’s in here for now.
The next page is on senses. Specifically, how weak ours are and how to enhance them. Six image sets on this page depict different ways to improve your senses. For example, using a blindfold constantly for your ears to sleep, depriving yourself until every sense but your eyes shut down to enhance your eyes’ stability under pressure.
The senses of man are pitiful. Our eyes are short and failing, our ears easily damaged or tricked, our noses almost useless, and our taste only serves to produce gluttons. Even our touch only helps to be an issue, forcing us to feel pain when we need not to. But one can train their senses just as one trains their body, mind, or Ether. Even the sixth sense, the inherent ability all beings possess toward danger, can be harnessed. One must isolate it and force it to grow alongside you.
I go through several more pages, but they all speak about different parts of the human body, none detailing how to fight. The last page with pictures is on how to take an injury, the features of the body least valuable, and most welcome to wounds. But the book’s final page bears no images, only text.
This is a note written far after the original portion of this book. This is a precursor to my Dzil. You could create your own if any manage to learn all the teaching within. It is the slower and more painful way compared to my personal journal on a Dzil, but this is meant for an army to read and digest over many years. Each part, even digested separately, will enhance a soldier’s strength. But if taught amidst a whole army, there is a chance one may step upon the peak with my words.
You came here seeking how to fight. But that is not my purpose. It all begins with an enclosed fist and ends with one. The self must acquire experience; however, preparation can begin far before that. Commit my teachings to your mind, and you will grow as a human. I write this page just before I walk to my inevitable death. An enemy is at the gates of Heights, and I must meet them. For what is hope without someone to stand for it?
These are my final words. None shall hear me speak or see me write beyond this. Trust nothing but your own fists. Not the Gods. Not the Angels. And most certainly, not Death. She brings only ruin to the world with her ailing madness. Only the weight of your own fists, your own Power, and your own will matter in this world of ours.
I pull my nose out of the book to get onto the small wagon made by Silas and Johnny as I digest the words in the book, my heart sinking at Eleanor’s final words. I’ve spent the last several hours reading through her advice, slowly understanding her through the text. I didn’t expect the ending to speak of her death. How tragic... though; I suppose that’s the only way a Supreme goes out, eh?
What is hope without someone to stand for it?
These words of Eleanor’s sink deeply into my heart as I go over her teachings.
The book has dozens of things, each pertaining to an aspect of humanity. From running to hiding to shooting a gun, it is all there. Small little amounts that whole mountains of wisdom within them. Now that I look back, I see what she means. Separate, these things are only slightly helpful, but all together? These pages’ knowledge combined into a single person would birth a master of war and combat.
I return to the first page detailing a punch and reread it repeatedly as the wagon starts moving with a jolt. I can feel us speed up through the swamps as Darkmane takes us through the shifty terrain.
Only with an undead horse and a wagon put together by Ether can we make much progress through the swamp, but we are hurrying not to get caught by demons, Outlaws, or any Hunters that might come for us. And before we know it, I’m sure we’ll be at Starkbluffs. That is, if we aren’t killed on the way by everything going to shit.
******************
Marshall Travis
I hear the moving army in front of me all the way from here, Audible, allowing anything within my sight to enter my ears without issue. I can hear their armor moving and Architects making hand signals. They know I can see them even miles away.
They’ve come prepared. They know I can hear them, so they aren’t speaking. They know I can easily break through their front, so they are spread out. They’ve come with every measure to counter my strengths. But they’ve forgotten just one thing. I am not alone. This whole fortress is filled with men and women who can shore up my weaknesses.
I call out to the young man beside me.
“Cub.”
Tomas steps closer, his head slightly bending in respect.
“Yes, sir?”
A visible layer of Ether covers my hand, Steelfist coming into being with the slightest nudge.
“Prepare them all. They are coming. Someone has fallen.”
Tomas stutters for a second, unbelieving.
“What do you mean they are coming? And who fell?”
I shake my head, unknowing, as I step onto the battlement. My muscles, bones, and tendons prepare themselves without me even doing anything. Another battle. Another day. Will this be my last? No. Not today. Pygmies will not take me. They have not brought enough Architects, high or low, or their leader, the current Creator, and they neglected to bring an Ordnance. Without their supreme tools of power, I will not fall.
“I can see them clearly. The Architects are moving, their Armaments shaking with power. Either Kai, Howard, or Clarence fell. We shall see soon.”
Just as I finish speaking, a tired and heavily breathing man bursts onto our spot on the wall, Tomas turning to them as they talk out loud.
“Sir! Sorry for the intru–”
I cut him off, only wanting to know what is essential. My eyes turn to look at him for an answer.
“Go ahead. Who died.”
The man shakes a bit, trying to stand tall under my gaze but fails. I don’t blame him. Stronger men have been unable to. Almost as if prophetically, the man speaks what my instincts for war told me.
“K-Kai Vinson. The Rougarou Hunter has fallen, along with his wife, Myra. It’s believed that Johnny Caldwell killed them both as he was last seen breaking into their home, and an Augur confirmed that Johnny was near Kai near his death.”
The news is a shock to me and Tomas, who inhales sharply. But I become skeptical after a brief moment of shock and deep sadness that I force from revealing itself to the world. Johnny? Caldwell? The Gunfighter? That doesn’t sound right. Even if he somehow leaped Angelhood, the man would get shredded to pieces by Kai, his serpents eating the man for breakfast. I would know. After all, I wouldn’t let the man leave Bent for good until he left a permanent scar on me.
He wouldn’t die to Johnny. Not this quickly. Not with this sparse information. Plus, it makes no sense why he’d do it. What would the rebel have to gain by killing Kai? He’s one of the few Pillars not wholly controlled by an Estate. Sure, his wife is a Grimes, but she ran to him for safety just as much as he ran to her. The marriage was both circumstantial and even.
Not just that, but I was expecting the demons to attack, not Johnny. Of course, there is the chance that he is a demon in disguise, but it is unlikely. I’ll ask someone to follow up on that later, though. Skinwalkers are dangerous; even with my keen senses, they sometimes slip by.
The atmosphere on the wall goes still as I think and eventually propose a question.
“Who said that Johnny felled Kai? Who was the Augur that sensed him?”
The soldier stutters shortly before answering a perfect answer, one that is far too flawless.
“E-E-Eli Weiss, sir. The Underground Tree said he sensed it.”
Hmm… something is off. Sure, Eli would be too far to engage and help Kai, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have warned him somehow. Eli has the best foresight in all of the Territories. And his proclamation after the death? It doesn’t feel right to me.
I dismiss the courier with a wave, and he practically runs away.
Currents seem to be running underneath the Territories while I hold the walls. Things will only become more complicated once Sinscreak falls. Vincent Harvey won’t save it. He’d only move for a core Territory like Onyx Gate, Qune, or Blackreach. I could hope that Lennon Hull will stand up, the Bloodhound’s most potent student capable of holding off Angels despite being mortal, but that is far too optimistic.
If anything, that ambitious man is just as likely to make the situation worse. He’s not called Diabolic just because of his prowess with a blade. The worst case is if he joins Edward, two of the three students of Edmund gathering would be quite the sight, even if it’s ominous.
A revolution is brimming in the east, full of blood and suffering, while forces emerge from the west. Meanwhile, in the west, a man is accused of killing a Pillar. Unlikely. Someone is lying. Or at least not telling the complete truth to deflect blame.
Eli… Why are you putting this on Caldwell? I shake my head before nodding at Tomas. I always think best while fighting. I’ve let the Pygmies prepare too long.
“Get the forces to follow me.”
He asks me a question as I turn and face the approaching army of Pygmies with their almost endless lines of puppets and Armaments.
“Are you going in first, sir?”
I nod. A leader should lead in the very front. Nowhere else does a general belong but in the eyes of his soldiers, Vincent. I don’t think of the Prime for any longer than a second, however, for, at his level, the man can probably notice when people think of him.
Then, without waiting even another moment, I leap off the high walls of Bent and, with the fury of a raging tornado, speed straight for the damned Pygmies and their army. Only one skill rages within my body as I move forward. Painsforge, the Dzil I crafted of my own design, gives my ailing body strength beyond almost any other man alive.
The more I hurt, the closer to Death I reach, the stronger I become. And the gates are not too far away; but the lady will have to drag me in, for I will not go quietly.
