********************
Virgil 'Wraith' Boone
Resting upon a bit of raised concrete with Nora and Aron, we watch the festivities proceed with raised fervor. Victor is already out, dancing about and having fun, while Esther has joined Wyatt and Elizabeth in their duet. The sight of them two together slaps a smile on my face that can't be removed.
It's great to see him happy. The kid deserves it. So few of us ever have moments like that, and even if we do, they are few and far between.
Aron elbows me with some force, grabbing my attention as she points at Earl and Primrose, the woman nearly eight years his senior pulling him along like a rat. Then she motions toward Johnny and Blake, the two slow dancing in the corner of the square, barely visible.
"What about you, brother? When are you going to get yourself a lass? If you want the Boone name to continue, it's up to you. We both know Victor holds no feelings for the fairer sex."
Sighing, I shake off her arm. I know she's half-messing and half-serious, but it's still annoying. Nora simply listens to Aron's endless ramblings, as usual, without input.
"I know, Aron. One day. I have plenty of time, but first, we have to survive. And what about Wyatt? Are you jealous?"
Aron shakes her head with a laugh, covering a part of her mouth as she speaks. Even still, I can see the giggling grin beneath.
"No, not at all. It's better if he's with someone his age anyway, plus we have very little in common. As for you, dear brother, I have even more if you have plenty of time."
"Fair."
Scoffing, my attention to returns to the event. It's odd how it all turned so quickly to a party, but that's Blackreach for you. Yet, it's not what I enjoy. I'd much prefer sitting here on the edge in silence.
My sister stands and twirls, her skirt lifting slightly with her motions. Waving at me, she steps off and enters the crowd, searching for someone to dance with. Though, I see her moving toward the awkward and confused Stoneclad while shouting at us.
"Well, enjoy yourselves here, you two! I'll go have some fun while you wallow in the shadows!"
Nora coughs lightly beside me, her ailment kicking back in after so long without treatment from Heath. I slide over to her, wrapping an arm around her and rubbing her back.
"Are you alright?"
She nods, her fragile head moving up and down with careful movements. Every time I see her like this, my heart almost shatters. How her eyes gaze out into the crowd, wishing she could join, nearly ruins me.
But she can't. She can't move like others can. With simply a few rapid steps, she breathes heavily, approaching the point that she will faint. Her lithe and nigh gaunt form makes me feel I haven't done enough for her. It hurts. Yet, I know it hurts more for her.
Heath said, long ago, that few with her disease even live past a year. Almost none to adulthood. They live with constant pain eating at them, devouring them from the inside out.
Most think Nora is weak-willed or easy to give up. They assume she's lazy or insecure. But that's not the case. Aron only speaks for her because talking alone feels like being stabbed.
I cautiously pull her into my arms, holding her as she lies down on my lap, tired from simply exiting the train and walking here. I look up and find the moon not even a third of the way across the night sky. And with that, I take off my coat and place it over Nora as a blanket.
"Sleep, girl. You can be strong another day. I'll find a way."
My little sister, stunted in growth to look several years junior to Aron despite being twins, forces out a word with pain quickly following.
"Thank you, brother."
The single sentence shakes my will and my heart.
"No need, Nora. No need."
**********************
Silas 'Undead' Moon
Before me stand Abraham and Bonfire, the duo preparing to fight each other over a meek girl who is unable to speak and choose one. Sighing, I turn to find Lennox trying to climb the statue. Rolling my eyes, I pivot again and discover Frank carrying Dakota through the crowd like the fox is a medallion of war. The large creature, more of a monster if he wasn't so kind to humans, howls with a frenetic charm as others reach for him. I even catch a wisp of Skyswain showing off her wings to a pair of drunken women, the two flabergasted at the sight.
These people are too much. Way too much. Stepping back from it all, I pull myself up to the statue of Marshall. Tapping the stone with my pale hand, I speak to it, feeling as though the late General might just hear me.
"We got more in common than them, y'know? Old men who've fought all their life only to die. Though, you died much later in life than I did. Can't say I envy it at all. You don't have to continue this shit. It sucks to be brought back. I think it might be a punishment for not becoming an Angel."
I get no reply from the statue. Leaning my head against it, I take a swig of the beer I've been carrying, only to swallow it without taste or sensation. Slowly it's becoming too much.
I can Wish for nearly anything, but the only wishes I want are either impossible or will only hurt the people around me. I wish I could at least remember her name. I found the sun for her, but... still, her name won't return. At least down there, I was with other sorry folk, all of us in hurt together. Here? It pains me to see such happiness. I'd rather them all be joyful than sad, but...
Once dead. Twice alive.
What a joke.
I'd rather be twice dead.
*************
Wyatt Graves
I groan, my head pounding like a drum inside my skull. Slowly, I crack open my eyes, only to be greeted by a pair of big, soulful eyes staring back at me. Dakota, now a massive fox greater in weight than myself from his old pygmy form, rests his head on my chest and seems completely unfazed by my discomfort. With a gentle but persistent shove, I manage to coax the fox off me. It lets out an annoyed sigh and curls up on the floor.
How he got up into my cot, I have no idea. I don't remember him being here when I went to bed this morning.
As I sit up, the throbbing in my head intensifies. The events of the previous night come rushing back to me like the train I rest in. My memory is partially blurred, but some things, like my time with Elizabeth, stay shining—too much alcohol and a party that seemed to last forever. My surroundings are a chaotic mess—empty bottles, overturned chairs in the walkway of the train, and a few fellow revelers who have clearly succumbed to the effects of the festivities. I quickly spot Elizabeth as her dark hair cascades down over the side of a nearby cot. She's similarly knocked out.
Hoping to alleviate the pounding headache that's taken up residence in my skull, I stroke my forehead and eyebrows. The sound of someone snoring loudly nearby, definitely Bonfire, only adds to the pain. Slowly, I rise from the cot, my legs wobbly and uncooperative.
I stagger a little, grabbing onto the edge of a table to steady myself. Closing my eyes, I force Ether into my body, having a simple Adrenaline Surge using gaseous Ether to keep me standing without much effort. The flow of Ether immediately revitalizes me for the time being as my body works the rest of it out.
With a relieved sigh, I check the time, finding it to only be a few hours after I went to bed. It's still early morning. Damn Bloody Palm and its regenerative properties. At least this headache should be gone soon. I make my way through the mess, stepping over bodies strewn across the floor like discarded dolls. I pause for a moment as I glance at them, particularly Abraham, who is literally sleeping upside down with his head on the floor and his legs against the wall
A flicker of memory passes by as I imagine all these people dead and bleeding out. I quickly shake the image away, but it ruins my mood. The train car looks like a battlefield after the merriment that last night.
After the funeral, Johnny forced the rest of us to return to the train. Though Primrose said that was so he and Blake could get some alone time. The whole place is trashed, and I really hope I'm not the one to clean it up. Empty glasses, half-eaten food, and the occasional piece of torn clothing are scattered across the floor.
I glance out the window, squinting against the bright sunlight of the rising sun that mocks my internal condition. However, I can feel myself rapidly recovering as the Ether wakes me up entirely and gets my heart beating.
The stone walls of Blackstone greet me through the window, and I bring myself to them and out of the train. Raising a hand to block the light of the sun, I set my sights on something in the distance. Edward has a complex that he lives in, with tunnels that reach nearly every part of the city for quick travel in case he's needed.
According to Earl, those tight corridors let him speed up to incredible paces with his torrents of blood. I see no reason to find that to not be the case.
It's early, super early, but something tells me Edward will be awake. Edmund was that way. I think it's safe to assume his son is the same.
Pumping my legs, I move toward that complex, thinking of the future. I hope Edward can tell me more about Edmund. I also hope he can teach me that skill. The one from the memory I got of Edmund's back in the Underworld.
Shiver.
I hardly even know how it works beyond the instant momentum change. Is it like Arbalest? Is it not? Who knows. I'm sure I'll find out soon, though.
My footsteps shortly bring me to the large stone building. Bits of it are damaged by what looked like bullet holes and a variety of other injuries, but it stands tall nonetheless. Yet, as I reach the entrance, two double doors, I hear a clashing from the rear of the building. Confused, I follow the sound, rotating my body around the structure.
I slip away from the main street and find myself behind the massive building, its imposing walls shielding a hidden training field within. Simply rounding the corner makes my heart race, the atmosphere palpable. My steps are soft on the uneven ground as I approach the edge of the training field. What I see takes my breath away—two familiar figures locked in a deadly dance, their movements almost too swift for the eye to catch.
The first man, a dark and elusive figure, fights as if he is born of shadows themselves. With a swift sidestep of a crimson edge that shines with a bloody Ether, he conjures a clone of darkness that mirrors his every move, pressing upon his opponent as he abruptly disappears and reappears in another location with a single step. Upon landing his newly Virtued step, Virgil flashes his wicked-looking daggers that gleam with a sickening purple hue.
Opposite him stands the second man, a figure bathed in a light of crimson. His longsword, a straight blade he holds with both hands, is unlike any I've seen before, made not of steel but of what appears to be flowing blood. It shimmers with an unsettling shade as if it's alive and pulsating/ Examing closer, I find a part of the handle that's stabbed into the largest vein on his arm. How odd. With each swing that Virgil either has the Silhouette die to or Flickers away from, the sword releases a shower of crimson droplets that seem to defy gravity, hanging in the air for a split second before shooting off toward the Nightshade.
The clash between these two combatants is a whirlwind of motion. Virgil Flickers constantly to simply not be beaten in a moment. He uses his Virtue to significant effect, while Edward, his long hair waving in the wind, shifts, no, Shivers, with inhuman alacrity whenever Virgil even tries to counterattack. Dirt and dust rise in clouds as the force of their few actual impacts shakes the very ground beneath them. The air itself seems to twist and bend as they move, leaving a trail of afterimages of shimmering reality and falling droplets of blood.
The man of shadows teleports effortlessly, appearing in one place only to vanish and reappear in another, a phantom that defies comprehension as Edward is still on his tail despite his incredible skill. Against his pursuer, Virgil lashes out tendrils of darkness, striking with deadly precision. Yet, each Nightwhip is effortlessly deflected by the bloody Angel. The clang of steel against blood rings out as Edward parries and pierces back at a dagger snaking toward his back from the stone below, his movements fluid and precise.
I watch with rapt attention that only grows. This fight is obviously for training, not a serious one, as I don't see Edward's signature bloody waves. But that doesn't mean it's not impressive.
The fight shifts at such a pace I can barely pay attention, and I honestly can't believe that Virgil can keep us with Edward's pace. The man Shivers on a dime, absolutely unable to catch, as, at any moment, he can move in a different direction at full speed.
But even Virgil, with his Virtue, can't keep this up forever. Eventually, he will slip up, even with his extensive repertoire of experience. And I literally see the slip-up, almost in slow motion.
Virgil is gradually forced into a corner as his Flickers can only shift him a dozen footsteps away at most. And when he is placed against the wall of the building, he leaps over a sideways slash of Edmund's bloody longsword. But before he can get over it entirely, the droplets of blood fire at him.
The man cloaked in darkness Flickers as the blood flies past him, and he kicks toward Edward's body for a step to deliver him elsewhere. But before he can, Edward abruptly shunts himself back, his blade already twisting to reach Virgil when he exits Flicker.
Yet, Virgil doesn't give up. He persists in the intangibility of his blooming Power until he enters the ground below, exiting the view of us. This is his mistake.
He left Edward a moment to finish off his Silhouette without the time to make a new one or getaway. Now, the man with the flowing blade of crimson stands above the dirt, waiting for his time to strike.
And it comes as, while Virgil can Flicker for longer than before, it's not infinite. The Nightshade stabs at Edward from below, but he's simply too slow. Edward's blade cuts a thin line upon Virgil's neck as they both stop.
The Angel then calmly sheathes his blade, the blood falling to nothing as he places the handle into a scabbard. Squinting, I find Ether emanating from the handle with dark blue Sigils that wrap around its wooden form. A Claymore? Quite the odd one if it has no blade. I suppose it's made especially for Edward.
And the man in question bows slightly toward Virgil as he complements him while motioning me toward the two.
"Well done, Virgil. For a 5th Sigiled, you are skilled, powerful, and uniquely equipped. I see a brighter future ahead of you. That move to step on me was quite genius and would work on most without a movement Dzil. Ah, Wyatt! Wonderful. I always appreciate another early riser."
I smile shortly, not telling him I usually sleep way later, and step toward them while Virgil thanks the man for practicing with him. When I near the two, Virgil falls onto his ass upon a nearby bench while Edward focuses on me.
"So, Wyatt. How much time did my father spend with you? A year? A few months? I hadn't heard from him in a long time before our meeting."
Uncomfortably, I squirm and deliver an answer. I wish I had more time with him than I did.
"Nowhere near as long as that. We had a few weeks at most while running through the Andreis Forest."
My heart drops as I see Edward's face falls. The man speaks softly to himself but not quiet enough so that no one hears it.
"All that for a few weeks...? Why?... Well, at least he got you out of that forest alive."
His voice shifts partway through to address me. Edward steps forward and places a hand upon my shoulder, asking a question of his own.
"Might I ask you if I could see the artifact? The one from my father?"
I nod and retrieve it from my pocket, presenting the vial of blood that is the Philiam to Edward.
"Of course, Edward. Here you go."
He takes it and grips it tightly, his knuckles going white. I can easily see that Edward loved his father despite their rocky relationship. Closing his eyes, the Angel speaks again.
"Thank you, Wyatt. I... If I may have this, I'll owe you a favor---any favor."
I gaze at the Philiam while Edward delivers the offer, and while, on the one hand, I want to keep the artifact, I know there is a better place for it. Peering back up at Edward, I tell him what I want in exchange.
"Can you teach me Shiver, then?"
My question hits him, and for a moment, it looks like he will refuse. The skill is his father's most famous asset, which let him go toe-to-toe with beasts far beyond his Sigil before he eventually met a beast beyond even that.
But... he smiles only an instant later.
"Of course. I am sure he would have taught it to you, anyway."
********************
Virgil 'Wraith' Boone
Resting upon a bit of raised concrete with Nora and Aron, we watch the festivities proceed with raised fervor. Victor is already out, dancing about and having fun, while Esther has joined Wyatt and Elizabeth in their duet. The sight of them two together slaps a smile on my face that can't be removed.
It's great to see him happy. The kid deserves it. So few of us ever have moments like that, and even if we do, they are few and far between.
Aron elbows me with some force, grabbing my attention as she points at Earl and Primrose, the woman nearly eight years his senior pulling him along like a rat. Then she motions toward Johnny and Blake, the two slow dancing in the corner of the square, barely visible.
"What about you, brother? When are you going to get yourself a lass? If you want the Boone name to continue, it's up to you. We both know Victor holds no feelings for the fairer sex."
Sighing, I shake off her arm. I know she's half-messing and half-serious, but it's still annoying. Nora simply listens to Aron's endless ramblings, as usual, without input.
"I know, Aron. One day. I have plenty of time, but first, we have to survive. And what about Wyatt? Are you jealous?"
Aron shakes her head with a laugh, covering a part of her mouth as she speaks. Even still, I can see the giggling grin beneath.
"No, not at all. It's better if he's with someone his age anyway, plus we have very little in common. As for you, dear brother, I have even more if you have plenty of time."
"Fair."
Scoffing, my attention to returns to the event. It's odd how it all turned so quickly to a party, but that's Blackreach for you. Yet, it's not what I enjoy. I'd much prefer sitting here on the edge in silence.
My sister stands and twirls, her skirt lifting slightly with her motions. Waving at me, she steps off and enters the crowd, searching for someone to dance with. Though, I see her moving toward the awkward and confused Stoneclad while shouting at us.
"Well, enjoy yourselves here, you two! I'll go have some fun while you wallow in the shadows!"
Nora coughs lightly beside me, her ailment kicking back in after so long without treatment from Heath. I slide over to her, wrapping an arm around her and rubbing her back.
"Are you alright?"
She nods, her fragile head moving up and down with careful movements. Every time I see her like this, my heart almost shatters. How her eyes gaze out into the crowd, wishing she could join, nearly ruins me.
But she can't. She can't move like others can. With simply a few rapid steps, she breathes heavily, approaching the point that she will faint. Her lithe and nigh gaunt form makes me feel I haven't done enough for her. It hurts. Yet, I know it hurts more for her.
Heath said, long ago, that few with her disease even live past a year. Almost none to adulthood. They live with constant pain eating at them, devouring them from the inside out.
Most think Nora is weak-willed or easy to give up. They assume she's lazy or insecure. But that's not the case. Aron only speaks for her because talking alone feels like being stabbed.
I cautiously pull her into my arms, holding her as she lies down on my lap, tired from simply exiting the train and walking here. I look up and find the moon not even a third of the way across the night sky. And with that, I take off my coat and place it over Nora as a blanket.
"Sleep, girl. You can be strong another day. I'll find a way."
My little sister, stunted in growth to look several years junior to Aron despite being twins, forces out a word with pain quickly following.
"Thank you, brother."
The single sentence shakes my will and my heart.
"No need, Nora. No need."
**********************
Silas 'Undead' Moon
Before me stand Abraham and Bonfire, the duo preparing to fight each other over a meek girl who is unable to speak and choose one. Sighing, I turn to find Lennox trying to climb the statue. Rolling my eyes, I pivot again and discover Frank carrying Dakota through the crowd like the fox is a medallion of war. The large creature, more of a monster if he wasn't so kind to humans, howls with a frenetic charm as others reach for him. I even catch a wisp of Skyswain showing off her wings to a pair of drunken women, the two flabergasted at the sight.
These people are too much. Way too much. Stepping back from it all, I pull myself up to the statue of Marshall. Tapping the stone with my pale hand, I speak to it, feeling as though the late General might just hear me.
"We got more in common than them, y'know? Old men who've fought all their life only to die. Though, you died much later in life than I did. Can't say I envy it at all. You don't have to continue this shit. It sucks to be brought back. I think it might be a punishment for not becoming an Angel."
I get no reply from the statue. Leaning my head against it, I take a swig of the beer I've been carrying, only to swallow it without taste or sensation. Slowly it's becoming too much.
I can Wish for nearly anything, but the only wishes I want are either impossible or will only hurt the people around me. I wish I could at least remember her name. I found the sun for her, but... still, her name won't return. At least down there, I was with other sorry folk, all of us in hurt together. Here? It pains me to see such happiness. I'd rather them all be joyful than sad, but...
Once dead. Twice alive.
What a joke.
I'd rather be twice dead.
*************
Wyatt Graves
I groan, my head pounding like a drum inside my skull. Slowly, I crack open my eyes, only to be greeted by a pair of big, soulful eyes staring back at me. Dakota, now a massive fox greater in weight than myself from his old pygmy form, rests his head on my chest and seems completely unfazed by my discomfort. With a gentle but persistent shove, I manage to coax the fox off me. It lets out an annoyed sigh and curls up on the floor.
How he got up into my cot, I have no idea. I don't remember him being here when I went to bed this morning.
As I sit up, the throbbing in my head intensifies. The events of the previous night come rushing back to me like the train I rest in. My memory is partially blurred, but some things, like my time with Elizabeth, stay shining—too much alcohol and a party that seemed to last forever. My surroundings are a chaotic mess—empty bottles, overturned chairs in the walkway of the train, and a few fellow revelers who have clearly succumbed to the effects of the festivities. I quickly spot Elizabeth as her dark hair cascades down over the side of a nearby cot. She's similarly knocked out.
Hoping to alleviate the pounding headache that's taken up residence in my skull, I stroke my forehead and eyebrows. The sound of someone snoring loudly nearby, definitely Bonfire, only adds to the pain. Slowly, I rise from the cot, my legs wobbly and uncooperative.
I stagger a little, grabbing onto the edge of a table to steady myself. Closing my eyes, I force Ether into my body, having a simple Adrenaline Surge using gaseous Ether to keep me standing without much effort. The flow of Ether immediately revitalizes me for the time being as my body works the rest of it out.
With a relieved sigh, I check the time, finding it to only be a few hours after I went to bed. It's still early morning. Damn Bloody Palm and its regenerative properties. At least this headache should be gone soon. I make my way through the mess, stepping over bodies strewn across the floor like discarded dolls. I pause for a moment as I glance at them, particularly Abraham, who is literally sleeping upside down with his head on the floor and his legs against the wall
A flicker of memory passes by as I imagine all these people dead and bleeding out. I quickly shake the image away, but it ruins my mood. The train car looks like a battlefield after the merriment that last night.
After the funeral, Johnny forced the rest of us to return to the train. Though Primrose said that was so he and Blake could get some alone time. The whole place is trashed, and I really hope I'm not the one to clean it up. Empty glasses, half-eaten food, and the occasional piece of torn clothing are scattered across the floor.
I glance out the window, squinting against the bright sunlight of the rising sun that mocks my internal condition. However, I can feel myself rapidly recovering as the Ether wakes me up entirely and gets my heart beating.
The stone walls of Blackstone greet me through the window, and I bring myself to them and out of the train. Raising a hand to block the light of the sun, I set my sights on something in the distance. Edward has a complex that he lives in, with tunnels that reach nearly every part of the city for quick travel in case he's needed.
According to Earl, those tight corridors let him speed up to incredible paces with his torrents of blood. I see no reason to find that to not be the case.
It's early, super early, but something tells me Edward will be awake. Edmund was that way. I think it's safe to assume his son is the same.
Pumping my legs, I move toward that complex, thinking of the future. I hope Edward can tell me more about Edmund. I also hope he can teach me that skill. The one from the memory I got of Edmund's back in the Underworld.
Shiver.
I hardly even know how it works beyond the instant momentum change. Is it like Arbalest? Is it not? Who knows. I'm sure I'll find out soon, though.
My footsteps shortly bring me to the large stone building. Bits of it are damaged by what looked like bullet holes and a variety of other injuries, but it stands tall nonetheless. Yet, as I reach the entrance, two double doors, I hear a clashing from the rear of the building. Confused, I follow the sound, rotating my body around the structure.
I slip away from the main street and find myself behind the massive building, its imposing walls shielding a hidden training field within. Simply rounding the corner makes my heart race, the atmosphere palpable. My steps are soft on the uneven ground as I approach the edge of the training field. What I see takes my breath away—two familiar figures locked in a deadly dance, their movements almost too swift for the eye to catch.
The first man, a dark and elusive figure, fights as if he is born of shadows themselves. With a swift sidestep of a crimson edge that shines with a bloody Ether, he conjures a clone of darkness that mirrors his every move, pressing upon his opponent as he abruptly disappears and reappears in another location with a single step. Upon landing his newly Virtued step, Virgil flashes his wicked-looking daggers that gleam with a sickening purple hue.
Opposite him stands the second man, a figure bathed in a light of crimson. His longsword, a straight blade he holds with both hands, is unlike any I've seen before, made not of steel but of what appears to be flowing blood. It shimmers with an unsettling shade as if it's alive and pulsating/ Examing closer, I find a part of the handle that's stabbed into the largest vein on his arm. How odd. With each swing that Virgil either has the Silhouette die to or Flickers away from, the sword releases a shower of crimson droplets that seem to defy gravity, hanging in the air for a split second before shooting off toward the Nightshade.
The clash between these two combatants is a whirlwind of motion. Virgil Flickers constantly to simply not be beaten in a moment. He uses his Virtue to significant effect, while Edward, his long hair waving in the wind, shifts, no, Shivers, with inhuman alacrity whenever Virgil even tries to counterattack. Dirt and dust rise in clouds as the force of their few actual impacts shakes the very ground beneath them. The air itself seems to twist and bend as they move, leaving a trail of afterimages of shimmering reality and falling droplets of blood.
The man of shadows teleports effortlessly, appearing in one place only to vanish and reappear in another, a phantom that defies comprehension as Edward is still on his tail despite his incredible skill. Against his pursuer, Virgil lashes out tendrils of darkness, striking with deadly precision. Yet, each Nightwhip is effortlessly deflected by the bloody Angel. The clang of steel against blood rings out as Edward parries and pierces back at a dagger snaking toward his back from the stone below, his movements fluid and precise.
I watch with rapt attention that only grows. This fight is obviously for training, not a serious one, as I don't see Edward's signature bloody waves. But that doesn't mean it's not impressive.
The fight shifts at such a pace I can barely pay attention, and I honestly can't believe that Virgil can keep us with Edward's pace. The man Shivers on a dime, absolutely unable to catch, as, at any moment, he can move in a different direction at full speed.
But even Virgil, with his Virtue, can't keep this up forever. Eventually, he will slip up, even with his extensive repertoire of experience. And I literally see the slip-up, almost in slow motion.
Virgil is gradually forced into a corner as his Flickers can only shift him a dozen footsteps away at most. And when he is placed against the wall of the building, he leaps over a sideways slash of Edmund's bloody longsword. But before he can get over it entirely, the droplets of blood fire at him.
The man cloaked in darkness Flickers as the blood flies past him, and he kicks toward Edward's body for a step to deliver him elsewhere. But before he can, Edward abruptly shunts himself back, his blade already twisting to reach Virgil when he exits Flicker.
Yet, Virgil doesn't give up. He persists in the intangibility of his blooming Power until he enters the ground below, exiting the view of us. This is his mistake.
He left Edward a moment to finish off his Silhouette without the time to make a new one or getaway. Now, the man with the flowing blade of crimson stands above the dirt, waiting for his time to strike.
And it comes as, while Virgil can Flicker for longer than before, it's not infinite. The Nightshade stabs at Edward from below, but he's simply too slow. Edward's blade cuts a thin line upon Virgil's neck as they both stop.
The Angel then calmly sheathes his blade, the blood falling to nothing as he places the handle into a scabbard. Squinting, I find Ether emanating from the handle with dark blue Sigils that wrap around its wooden form. A Claymore? Quite the odd one if it has no blade. I suppose it's made especially for Edward.
And the man in question bows slightly toward Virgil as he complements him while motioning me toward the two.
"Well done, Virgil. For a 5th Sigiled, you are skilled, powerful, and uniquely equipped. I see a brighter future ahead of you. That move to step on me was quite genius and would work on most without a movement Dzil. Ah, Wyatt! Wonderful. I always appreciate another early riser."
I smile shortly, not telling him I usually sleep way later, and step toward them while Virgil thanks the man for practicing with him. When I near the two, Virgil falls onto his ass upon a nearby bench while Edward focuses on me.
"So, Wyatt. How much time did my father spend with you? A year? A few months? I hadn't heard from him in a long time before our meeting."
Uncomfortably, I squirm and deliver an answer. I wish I had more time with him than I did.
"Nowhere near as long as that. We had a few weeks at most while running through the Andreis Forest."
My heart drops as I see Edward's face falls. The man speaks softly to himself but not quiet enough so that no one hears it.
"All that for a few weeks...? Why?... Well, at least he got you out of that forest alive."
His voice shifts partway through to address me. Edward steps forward and places a hand upon my shoulder, asking a question of his own.
"Might I ask you if I could see the artifact? The one from my father?"
I nod and retrieve it from my pocket, presenting the vial of blood that is the Philiam to Edward.
"Of course, Edward. Here you go."
He takes it and grips it tightly, his knuckles going white. I can easily see that Edward loved his father despite their rocky relationship. Closing his eyes, the Angel speaks again.
"Thank you, Wyatt. I... If I may have this, I'll owe you a favor---any favor."
I gaze at the Philiam while Edward delivers the offer, and while, on the one hand, I want to keep the artifact, I know there is a better place for it. Peering back up at Edward, I tell him what I want in exchange.
"Can you teach me Shiver, then?"
My question hits him, and for a moment, it looks like he will refuse. The skill is his father's most famous asset, which let him go toe-to-toe with beasts far beyond his Sigil before he eventually met a beast beyond even that.
But... he smiles only an instant later.
"Of course. I am sure he would have taught it to you, anyway."
