*****************************
Johnny 'Iron Consul' Caldwell
Blinking away the remnants of my restless slumber, I groggily rise from the narrow cot. Every muscle in my body aches as the pain in my head still swarms my vision. Dark blots swim in my eyes, but I blink them out as my blurry vision is partially recovered. Back-to-back battles. They wear me down quite heavily. So much so that I couldn't help any further. I have that issue far more than many others, despite my ability to rewind time. I can only do it so much before the vast majority of my capabilities fall to the wayside with my blindness.
Weary and wounded, I push myself to my feet with the usual alacrity, but something's amiss this time.
A sudden pang in my chest grips my attention. My hand instinctively clutches at my heart as if trying to subdue the pain. Panic flares in my eyes as I survey the train compartment while trying to ignore the random ache—it must be an old wound. I have many of those. The sight that greets me is only suffering and despair.
The people I fought to protect sit, lie, or stand wounded, bloodied, and few in number. My nose crinkles as I immediately notice a malevolent scent. The air is thick with the pungent odor of crimson dust that clings to their injured forms, their flesh quivering under its unsettling influence.
I try to make sense of the situation, piecing together the scattered remnants of my memory as I notice many missing figures. It's then that I catch that the train has come to a standstill. Panic rises within me as I remember the peril on the way here.
Turning to the woman who has taken control of the train in my absence, Elizabeth, I muster the strength to ask the question that plagues my mind.
"How many did we lose while I was out?"
Elizabeth, not discerning my wakefulness, nearly jumps backward as she twists with a shout. She dives for me, wrapping a pair of trembling arms around me. I raise a hand to pat her back as I notice Abraham stumble into the car, a hand on his head as dried blood lies under his nose.
"You're awake! Finally!"
Nodding to the man, I repeat my question as Primrose and Skyswain look away but sit against a wall covered in bandages.
"What happened while I was out? It was only a few hours. Where is Wyatt and Millie? I don't see Virgil's shadow, either."
Elizabeth sniffles as she steps back from me, hardly able to raise her head enough to respond. Her voice comes out low and quiet at first, not loud enough for me to hear.
"..."
"What?"
I push some Ether into my ears, grimacing at the fact I'm not fully recovered. Those battles in Blackstone kicked the shit out of me. Even the runs back and forth were supremely exhausting. Elizabeth finally gives me an answer, though, even if it's not one I want to hear, as she sniffles her way through with tears.
"Millie is dead. So is Edward... As for Wyatt and Virgil..."
Primrose sighs, cutting in as the young woman in front of me is unable to finish her sentence.
"We made it to Gravecross, but the train broke down just at the top of the grand ridge. Some... events caused us to be attacked constantly by monsters while tremors shook the earth. Wyatt and Virgil drove themselves to exhaustion and were thrown off the train and to the bottom of the ridge, along with many others that we picked up on the way."
I nod, understanding the situation they're in, but what I don't understand is why no one is going after them. Everyone seems... to have given up.
"Okay? So who's getting them? Tomas..."
My tongue lies upon Tomas' comatose body with more red than bandages as I continue on to another possibility.
"Lennon? Kwakiteh?"
Primrose shakes her head, grunting as she uses the wall to supplement her dust-inlaid form to stand. I open my mouth for another suggestion, but Primrose slams her heel into the ground. I furrow my brows at her as she raises her voice at me, pointing in my face with a heated breath.
"No. No one was sent after them. None of us are in a condition to search for them, let alone dive into these new Crimson Wastes. The sand alone eats into your skin, gradually devouring you and your Ether. The monsters? Form out of the very sand to rip you limb from limb. No one is after them because no one can save them. They are dead. The Prime condemned them to death when he decided to become a God."
Silence hangs for several moments as my eyes shift, trailing over to gaze out the window at the grand sandstorm over a cliff. With a profound sense of dread, I stare beyond the broken window, Deadeye's Gaze pushing my sight beyond any mortal bounds. The precipice extends its stony fingers half a mile above the unforgiving terrain below, an incredible feat of ancient strength on its own, but past that holds me in shock.
What I behold is a tempest of red sand, a maelstrom spawned likely by Vincent's ascension to Godhood. The crimson storm stretches farther than even my golden eyes can perceive, an abyss of violent, swirling destruction. It carries an aura of enmity, and I sense the presence of grotesque entities hidden within its bloody depths.
These figures, indistinct yet undeniably menacing, appear to possess gaping maws and razor-sharp claws, as if born from the most bottomless pits of nightmare. They shift and twist like that of a freakish abomination but do so with such ease it gives me pause.
But what troubles me most are the colossal silhouettes lurking even further within the crimson abyss. Their immense size questions the already colossal ridge, extending a third of the way up its towering height. What size... what are those things?
My heart quickens with unease as I shift back to Primrose, my hands only steady by the virtue of my years.
"So... he did it? Vincent really did it."
I slump backward, falling to a seat as I just take it all in.
A God.
A new one.
How long has it been? So, so, so very long. A whole civilization of man has passed without a person even coming close, but in my lifetime, of course, it happens. And, of course, the ascension comes from one of the bloodiest men to ever live.
Fumbling, I retrieve a cigar from my pocket, finding it largely undamaged despite the horrid battles. With multiple people watching me, I take my time to think, unwrapping the cigar and lighting it with a match. Then, I take it to my mouth and enjoy the smoke.
My eyes earn some vibrancy as I savor the tang. Then, the faces begin to roll in.
All the people I saw in Blackcrink, Blackstone, and the people whom I knew that lived within Blackreach. Very few escaped before the storm covered it all. We were probably the last ones, too.
Each countenance that passes through my mind makes my hand tremble just a little bit as the faces pass faster. I let them come. It's the only way I don't lose it all—the only way I stay human.
A thousand faces pass before I even see one whose name I know.
Judas—an old man who served twice as long as me. Phineas will miss his drinking partner. I only wish I had the chance to meet the two legends at another time.
Sydney and Lance—one-third of Gravecross' defenders remain. No longer can they scare away Angels without all three of them together. Now they'll need Laura's grandfather to step in, even at his old age. Laura is awake, but she's staring at the floor without emotion.
Edward and Millie. The two people I didn't see dying anytime soon due to their skills and might—especially Edward. I can't believe I outlived him.
My mind then moves to the gravely injured, feeling something missing in my mind. Tomas' condition shows that he might not make it. Lennon was similarly hurt. Skyswain may never fly again. At least Elizabeth seems better from the last time we saw her. Earl must have put some work in. He and Dawn will have to do incredible work to get many of these people back into fighting shape.
So many men and women. So many children.
Children...
Wyatt.
The tremor in my hand finally reaches a peak as the cigar falls out of my fingers, landing gently onto the metal floor below. Elizabeth, beside me, with teary eyes, looks at me worriedly.
I leap to my feet, moving back to the window as I gaze at the red sands once more. The pain in my chest. He still has the Death's Lantern. And while my heart isn't inside it anymore... that can't be a good sign.
"How fatigued was Wyatt before he fell? Does anyone know?"
A deathly critical question leaves my mouth, and I await an answer. Laura, this time, replies to me.
"We fought at the last car for hours, and he was the only one to never rest for anything more than a minute. Johnny... I can tell this boy means much to you, but he's—"
I raise a hand, cutting her off. Once upon a time, I worked under her. Being above her in stature, however, brings me zero pride. It brings me only sorrow.
"Wyatt is not just a boy, Laura."
Turning around, I find her gaze removed from the floor, focused on me. Even Abraham and Bonfire are wholly entranced, staring at me. A dozen unconscious or severely wounded lie in this car, but the waking ones know how dire our situation is.
Laura is confused by my statement, which makes sense. She has seen so very little of that kid. She does not understand. So few do.
"Wyatt Graves does not simply die. He will be back. Whether he claws his way from the Underworld or this hellish storm, he will be back. We might not be able to follow him, but he will be back."
She shrugs at my words while I notice Elizabeth sigh in relief. Even Earl, who is still tending to Tomas and Lennon with a severely fatigued Dawn, has his shoulders rise slightly with ease. But I still hold some worries despite my confidence, not that I can show them outwardly.
Wyatt is tough, inhumanly so, but he's not immortal. Yet, at the same time, Virgil is with him. The man is likely even more potent than ever under a plane where the sun can't invade. While I worry for my own survival in such a place, I'd wager those two could make it, wherever they are.
But I can't follow them to guarantee it with all these people under my protection, and I can't send anyone after them. Lennon could brave the storm, but I doubt he'd want to even after he recovers. Kwakiteh is similar. Bonfire, Abraham, Primrose, or Silas would be devoured regardless of my respect for their personal power. Blake... she would have the greatest chance amongst them. Growing up in a mirroring environment would go leagues to provide her safety in those sands.
But I can't send her on that. I... I'm sorry, Wyatt. I'm sorry, Virgil. You two will just have to follow us.
It's going to take us weeks, if not months, to fully recover from this. I don't even know if Skyswain, with Dawn's help, can regrow a wing, either. But every journey starts somewhere. It is best to get a bit further away from this storm if it decides to move.
First off, though, I need to know what I'm working with. So many came with us on this train, and I need to know how many are still with us. So, I turn to Elizabeth. She needs to get her mind off Wyatt missing. I can already see the erraticness in her eyes.
"Elizabeth? Can you go get a tally of all those who made it? Get me as much information as possible: Sigils, Unsigileds, etc. I don't care for their affiliation, just their strengths. Too late for drama."
She nods before grabbing a pen and paper from a desk and stepping away as she leaves the car. Primrose pipes up again once she's gone, my trusty friend knowing my thoughts.
"Distracting her won't save her if they don't return."
I nod, stepping alongside her as I look down at Tomas and Lennon while Earl connects blood vessels with some odd tools I don't recall. Giving the young man a nod, I remember something vital.
"You're right... but they may still live. The more you kick that kid's ass, the harder he rebounds. Hopefully, the Wastes don't push him beyond that limit. As for these two... you said Edward's passed, correct? What about his things? Bonebeak and the Philiam. Do we have eyes on them?"
Primrose's eyes light up in surprise as she shakes her head.
"What? He has Bonebeak? I thought... no, that makes sense. Why would Edmund give that up so easily? I'll go look for them right now!"
I laugh slightly at her aloud-thinking, but I give her the correct answer with a hint.
"How did you think his Claymore worked? It used Bonebeak by connecting to his bone marrow and siphoning the most vital blood from his core. Heirlooms don't play around. The Philiam should fix up one of these two; we'll just have to hold them down after. The more nuanced injuries will require Dawn, though."
Primrose runs out of the car with a thumbs up, a pronounced limp to her gait. I sigh, seeing her so injured, but shake aside the worry. Instead, I focus on Earl and Dawn.
"I hope it is fine if we use your husband's things, Dawn."
The mature woman slides an eye at me. The kindness I'm so used to is heavily muted, leaving only a lingering ache.
"That is fine. He would want them to be used anyway. Just... give them back when you're done, please. The Dudley bloodline isn't over yet."
My teeth touch and grind as I agree. Of course, I'd give it back. I just hate that Dawn is now alone. What even happened?
"How did he die? I can't imagine him going out without a fight. He was the only one of us Angels not nearly dead after the fights."
Earl flinches at my words, his hand nearly stabbing Lennon with his tool. I give him an odd look as he sputters out an answer.
"Umm... it's my fault. Deux ambushed him while he was resting on the train and turned him into a stream of blood that gushed right out of the train. Wyatt then beat the Vessel until it wasn't one anymore."
A deep, long-held breath of air leaves my lungs. A trap, huh? Earl and Wyatt are going to be feeling that one for a very, very long time.
"Devil be damned. Eli thought that far ahead? But why? Why kill Edward?"
Earl nods sadly while delivering me the missing puzzle piece.
"Wyatt told me that Vincent was de-aged by the sacrifices from Ed Summers, Myriad, and Edward. That's probably the reason he was so strong."
My mind flutters over the dead names, all Angels of incredible power, but one thing connects them. Their Sigils. Each of their Sigils are primary Abbots with slight Occultists or the exact opposite. Blood and Vigor making youth?
I can see it. The price, however, is as extraordinary as the benefit. No longer is Vincent some old man, it would seem.
Fuck.
What now?
Stepping back, I fall back onto my cot.
What do we do now?
Vincent is waging his war against the Gods as I ponder right now, likely barging into their resting place. The Bridge Of The Gods. The fabled land where the Gods go to die or hibernate for millennia.
He'll have the advantage of attacking them before they reach wakefulness, but at least a dozen Gods still live after the Collapse. Twice that number might actually be in wait for him.
There is a high chance he dies in that fight, even as a God. However, I thought the same about today. And... well, he proved us all wrong.
So what do we do? Wait for him to either kill them all or die trying?
No. That doesn't sit with me.
Even if Wyatt doesn't come back, someone whom I had the most hope for reaching that insane height, there are other things we can do.
We could find someone, aiding them in becoming a God.
Hell, we could even ally with Ytern and aid him instead. The Warmaster is one of the most amenable of the living Dominions. I'd be most willing to join the King of the Graylands, but that figure is so far away that it'd take months, if not a full year of brutal travel, to reach him. Not worth it at all.
Or... I could take charge.
I never thought of myself as gifted or special. But...maybe, just maybe, I don't have a choice.
Just as Pa said, greatness is not born or gifted.
It's born in the fires of Hell.
Yet... The rest of these people can't survive what would be needed for me to even stand a chance. I can't do that to them. They trust me. They believe in me to protect them. I can't simply leave them. Someone else will have to take the mantle.
"Sir? Sir?!"
A voice rips me from my thoughts as Elizabeth stands in front of me, a piece of paper in her hands. Lifting a hand, I motion her to continue.
"Two thousand, two hundred, and thirty-one survivors. Of which, all but four hundred are Sigiled. Twelve 6th Sigileds, twenty-five 5th Sigileds, a hundred and three 4th Sigileds, five hundred and eleven 3rd Sigileds, a thousand 2nd Sigileds, and the remaining two-hundred or so are 1st Sigileds. It seems that many of the lower Sigileds died on the way or in the fight. Also, Phineas Garth was confirmed to be alive. He was sitting with some Hunters from Galeston."
I nod to her as I take it in, digesting the information. A lot more power than I thought. She left out the Angels because I already know them. Lennon, Tomas, and I. Or so I thought.
"Oh, and... Kwakiteh is an Angel now, and Abraham Daymared Wyatt's mother. She's hurt but alive. So... we have another Power and a Virtue. I doubt Aniwye will care about any of us, though."
Hmm... interesting. That woman is only becoming more of a mystery every day. As for Aniwye, we have an amenable relationship. I can likely get her to find her son or something once she's better.
As I rub my chin in thought, Elizabeth whispers a question over the rest of the cabin's noise.
"Do you really think Wyatt is okay? And Virgil?"
I allow a loose smile to fall onto my face as I reassure her and myself.
"To kill that kid, Elizabeth... would be a grand undertaking, let alone with Virgil by his side. He will come back. For now, we must ensure the rest of us are safe. So, let's get off this damned train. I'm tired of all this fucking metal."
*****************************
Johnny 'Iron Consul' Caldwell
Blinking away the remnants of my restless slumber, I groggily rise from the narrow cot. Every muscle in my body aches as the pain in my head still swarms my vision. Dark blots swim in my eyes, but I blink them out as my blurry vision is partially recovered. Back-to-back battles. They wear me down quite heavily. So much so that I couldn't help any further. I have that issue far more than many others, despite my ability to rewind time. I can only do it so much before the vast majority of my capabilities fall to the wayside with my blindness.
Weary and wounded, I push myself to my feet with the usual alacrity, but something's amiss this time.
A sudden pang in my chest grips my attention. My hand instinctively clutches at my heart as if trying to subdue the pain. Panic flares in my eyes as I survey the train compartment while trying to ignore the random ache—it must be an old wound. I have many of those. The sight that greets me is only suffering and despair.
The people I fought to protect sit, lie, or stand wounded, bloodied, and few in number. My nose crinkles as I immediately notice a malevolent scent. The air is thick with the pungent odor of crimson dust that clings to their injured forms, their flesh quivering under its unsettling influence.
I try to make sense of the situation, piecing together the scattered remnants of my memory as I notice many missing figures. It's then that I catch that the train has come to a standstill. Panic rises within me as I remember the peril on the way here.
Turning to the woman who has taken control of the train in my absence, Elizabeth, I muster the strength to ask the question that plagues my mind.
"How many did we lose while I was out?"
Elizabeth, not discerning my wakefulness, nearly jumps backward as she twists with a shout. She dives for me, wrapping a pair of trembling arms around me. I raise a hand to pat her back as I notice Abraham stumble into the car, a hand on his head as dried blood lies under his nose.
"You're awake! Finally!"
Nodding to the man, I repeat my question as Primrose and Skyswain look away but sit against a wall covered in bandages.
"What happened while I was out? It was only a few hours. Where is Wyatt and Millie? I don't see Virgil's shadow, either."
Elizabeth sniffles as she steps back from me, hardly able to raise her head enough to respond. Her voice comes out low and quiet at first, not loud enough for me to hear.
"..."
"What?"
I push some Ether into my ears, grimacing at the fact I'm not fully recovered. Those battles in Blackstone kicked the shit out of me. Even the runs back and forth were supremely exhausting. Elizabeth finally gives me an answer, though, even if it's not one I want to hear, as she sniffles her way through with tears.
"Millie is dead. So is Edward... As for Wyatt and Virgil..."
Primrose sighs, cutting in as the young woman in front of me is unable to finish her sentence.
"We made it to Gravecross, but the train broke down just at the top of the grand ridge. Some... events caused us to be attacked constantly by monsters while tremors shook the earth. Wyatt and Virgil drove themselves to exhaustion and were thrown off the train and to the bottom of the ridge, along with many others that we picked up on the way."
I nod, understanding the situation they're in, but what I don't understand is why no one is going after them. Everyone seems... to have given up.
"Okay? So who's getting them? Tomas..."
My tongue lies upon Tomas' comatose body with more red than bandages as I continue on to another possibility.
"Lennon? Kwakiteh?"
Primrose shakes her head, grunting as she uses the wall to supplement her dust-inlaid form to stand. I open my mouth for another suggestion, but Primrose slams her heel into the ground. I furrow my brows at her as she raises her voice at me, pointing in my face with a heated breath.
"No. No one was sent after them. None of us are in a condition to search for them, let alone dive into these new Crimson Wastes. The sand alone eats into your skin, gradually devouring you and your Ether. The monsters? Form out of the very sand to rip you limb from limb. No one is after them because no one can save them. They are dead. The Prime condemned them to death when he decided to become a God."
Silence hangs for several moments as my eyes shift, trailing over to gaze out the window at the grand sandstorm over a cliff. With a profound sense of dread, I stare beyond the broken window, Deadeye's Gaze pushing my sight beyond any mortal bounds. The precipice extends its stony fingers half a mile above the unforgiving terrain below, an incredible feat of ancient strength on its own, but past that holds me in shock.
What I behold is a tempest of red sand, a maelstrom spawned likely by Vincent's ascension to Godhood. The crimson storm stretches farther than even my golden eyes can perceive, an abyss of violent, swirling destruction. It carries an aura of enmity, and I sense the presence of grotesque entities hidden within its bloody depths.
These figures, indistinct yet undeniably menacing, appear to possess gaping maws and razor-sharp claws, as if born from the most bottomless pits of nightmare. They shift and twist like that of a freakish abomination but do so with such ease it gives me pause.
But what troubles me most are the colossal silhouettes lurking even further within the crimson abyss. Their immense size questions the already colossal ridge, extending a third of the way up its towering height. What size... what are those things?
My heart quickens with unease as I shift back to Primrose, my hands only steady by the virtue of my years.
"So... he did it? Vincent really did it."
I slump backward, falling to a seat as I just take it all in.
A God.
A new one.
How long has it been? So, so, so very long. A whole civilization of man has passed without a person even coming close, but in my lifetime, of course, it happens. And, of course, the ascension comes from one of the bloodiest men to ever live.
Fumbling, I retrieve a cigar from my pocket, finding it largely undamaged despite the horrid battles. With multiple people watching me, I take my time to think, unwrapping the cigar and lighting it with a match. Then, I take it to my mouth and enjoy the smoke.
My eyes earn some vibrancy as I savor the tang. Then, the faces begin to roll in.
All the people I saw in Blackcrink, Blackstone, and the people whom I knew that lived within Blackreach. Very few escaped before the storm covered it all. We were probably the last ones, too.
Each countenance that passes through my mind makes my hand tremble just a little bit as the faces pass faster. I let them come. It's the only way I don't lose it all—the only way I stay human.
A thousand faces pass before I even see one whose name I know.
Judas—an old man who served twice as long as me. Phineas will miss his drinking partner. I only wish I had the chance to meet the two legends at another time.
Sydney and Lance—one-third of Gravecross' defenders remain. No longer can they scare away Angels without all three of them together. Now they'll need Laura's grandfather to step in, even at his old age. Laura is awake, but she's staring at the floor without emotion.
Edward and Millie. The two people I didn't see dying anytime soon due to their skills and might—especially Edward. I can't believe I outlived him.
My mind then moves to the gravely injured, feeling something missing in my mind. Tomas' condition shows that he might not make it. Lennon was similarly hurt. Skyswain may never fly again. At least Elizabeth seems better from the last time we saw her. Earl must have put some work in. He and Dawn will have to do incredible work to get many of these people back into fighting shape.
So many men and women. So many children.
Children...
Wyatt.
The tremor in my hand finally reaches a peak as the cigar falls out of my fingers, landing gently onto the metal floor below. Elizabeth, beside me, with teary eyes, looks at me worriedly.
I leap to my feet, moving back to the window as I gaze at the red sands once more. The pain in my chest. He still has the Death's Lantern. And while my heart isn't inside it anymore... that can't be a good sign.
"How fatigued was Wyatt before he fell? Does anyone know?"
A deathly critical question leaves my mouth, and I await an answer. Laura, this time, replies to me.
"We fought at the last car for hours, and he was the only one to never rest for anything more than a minute. Johnny... I can tell this boy means much to you, but he's—"
I raise a hand, cutting her off. Once upon a time, I worked under her. Being above her in stature, however, brings me zero pride. It brings me only sorrow.
"Wyatt is not just a boy, Laura."
Turning around, I find her gaze removed from the floor, focused on me. Even Abraham and Bonfire are wholly entranced, staring at me. A dozen unconscious or severely wounded lie in this car, but the waking ones know how dire our situation is.
Laura is confused by my statement, which makes sense. She has seen so very little of that kid. She does not understand. So few do.
"Wyatt Graves does not simply die. He will be back. Whether he claws his way from the Underworld or this hellish storm, he will be back. We might not be able to follow him, but he will be back."
She shrugs at my words while I notice Elizabeth sigh in relief. Even Earl, who is still tending to Tomas and Lennon with a severely fatigued Dawn, has his shoulders rise slightly with ease. But I still hold some worries despite my confidence, not that I can show them outwardly.
Wyatt is tough, inhumanly so, but he's not immortal. Yet, at the same time, Virgil is with him. The man is likely even more potent than ever under a plane where the sun can't invade. While I worry for my own survival in such a place, I'd wager those two could make it, wherever they are.
But I can't follow them to guarantee it with all these people under my protection, and I can't send anyone after them. Lennon could brave the storm, but I doubt he'd want to even after he recovers. Kwakiteh is similar. Bonfire, Abraham, Primrose, or Silas would be devoured regardless of my respect for their personal power. Blake... she would have the greatest chance amongst them. Growing up in a mirroring environment would go leagues to provide her safety in those sands.
But I can't send her on that. I... I'm sorry, Wyatt. I'm sorry, Virgil. You two will just have to follow us.
It's going to take us weeks, if not months, to fully recover from this. I don't even know if Skyswain, with Dawn's help, can regrow a wing, either. But every journey starts somewhere. It is best to get a bit further away from this storm if it decides to move.
First off, though, I need to know what I'm working with. So many came with us on this train, and I need to know how many are still with us. So, I turn to Elizabeth. She needs to get her mind off Wyatt missing. I can already see the erraticness in her eyes.
"Elizabeth? Can you go get a tally of all those who made it? Get me as much information as possible: Sigils, Unsigileds, etc. I don't care for their affiliation, just their strengths. Too late for drama."
She nods before grabbing a pen and paper from a desk and stepping away as she leaves the car. Primrose pipes up again once she's gone, my trusty friend knowing my thoughts.
"Distracting her won't save her if they don't return."
I nod, stepping alongside her as I look down at Tomas and Lennon while Earl connects blood vessels with some odd tools I don't recall. Giving the young man a nod, I remember something vital.
"You're right... but they may still live. The more you kick that kid's ass, the harder he rebounds. Hopefully, the Wastes don't push him beyond that limit. As for these two... you said Edward's passed, correct? What about his things? Bonebeak and the Philiam. Do we have eyes on them?"
Primrose's eyes light up in surprise as she shakes her head.
"What? He has Bonebeak? I thought... no, that makes sense. Why would Edmund give that up so easily? I'll go look for them right now!"
I laugh slightly at her aloud-thinking, but I give her the correct answer with a hint.
"How did you think his Claymore worked? It used Bonebeak by connecting to his bone marrow and siphoning the most vital blood from his core. Heirlooms don't play around. The Philiam should fix up one of these two; we'll just have to hold them down after. The more nuanced injuries will require Dawn, though."
Primrose runs out of the car with a thumbs up, a pronounced limp to her gait. I sigh, seeing her so injured, but shake aside the worry. Instead, I focus on Earl and Dawn.
"I hope it is fine if we use your husband's things, Dawn."
The mature woman slides an eye at me. The kindness I'm so used to is heavily muted, leaving only a lingering ache.
"That is fine. He would want them to be used anyway. Just... give them back when you're done, please. The Dudley bloodline isn't over yet."
My teeth touch and grind as I agree. Of course, I'd give it back. I just hate that Dawn is now alone. What even happened?
"How did he die? I can't imagine him going out without a fight. He was the only one of us Angels not nearly dead after the fights."
Earl flinches at my words, his hand nearly stabbing Lennon with his tool. I give him an odd look as he sputters out an answer.
"Umm... it's my fault. Deux ambushed him while he was resting on the train and turned him into a stream of blood that gushed right out of the train. Wyatt then beat the Vessel until it wasn't one anymore."
A deep, long-held breath of air leaves my lungs. A trap, huh? Earl and Wyatt are going to be feeling that one for a very, very long time.
"Devil be damned. Eli thought that far ahead? But why? Why kill Edward?"
Earl nods sadly while delivering me the missing puzzle piece.
"Wyatt told me that Vincent was de-aged by the sacrifices from Ed Summers, Myriad, and Edward. That's probably the reason he was so strong."
My mind flutters over the dead names, all Angels of incredible power, but one thing connects them. Their Sigils. Each of their Sigils are primary Abbots with slight Occultists or the exact opposite. Blood and Vigor making youth?
I can see it. The price, however, is as extraordinary as the benefit. No longer is Vincent some old man, it would seem.
Fuck.
What now?
Stepping back, I fall back onto my cot.
What do we do now?
Vincent is waging his war against the Gods as I ponder right now, likely barging into their resting place. The Bridge Of The Gods. The fabled land where the Gods go to die or hibernate for millennia.
He'll have the advantage of attacking them before they reach wakefulness, but at least a dozen Gods still live after the Collapse. Twice that number might actually be in wait for him.
There is a high chance he dies in that fight, even as a God. However, I thought the same about today. And... well, he proved us all wrong.
So what do we do? Wait for him to either kill them all or die trying?
No. That doesn't sit with me.
Even if Wyatt doesn't come back, someone whom I had the most hope for reaching that insane height, there are other things we can do.
We could find someone, aiding them in becoming a God.
Hell, we could even ally with Ytern and aid him instead. The Warmaster is one of the most amenable of the living Dominions. I'd be most willing to join the King of the Graylands, but that figure is so far away that it'd take months, if not a full year of brutal travel, to reach him. Not worth it at all.
Or... I could take charge.
I never thought of myself as gifted or special. But...maybe, just maybe, I don't have a choice.
Just as Pa said, greatness is not born or gifted.
It's born in the fires of Hell.
Yet... The rest of these people can't survive what would be needed for me to even stand a chance. I can't do that to them. They trust me. They believe in me to protect them. I can't simply leave them. Someone else will have to take the mantle.
"Sir? Sir?!"
A voice rips me from my thoughts as Elizabeth stands in front of me, a piece of paper in her hands. Lifting a hand, I motion her to continue.
"Two thousand, two hundred, and thirty-one survivors. Of which, all but four hundred are Sigiled. Twelve 6th Sigileds, twenty-five 5th Sigileds, a hundred and three 4th Sigileds, five hundred and eleven 3rd Sigileds, a thousand 2nd Sigileds, and the remaining two-hundred or so are 1st Sigileds. It seems that many of the lower Sigileds died on the way or in the fight. Also, Phineas Garth was confirmed to be alive. He was sitting with some Hunters from Galeston."
I nod to her as I take it in, digesting the information. A lot more power than I thought. She left out the Angels because I already know them. Lennon, Tomas, and I. Or so I thought.
"Oh, and... Kwakiteh is an Angel now, and Abraham Daymared Wyatt's mother. She's hurt but alive. So... we have another Power and a Virtue. I doubt Aniwye will care about any of us, though."
Hmm... interesting. That woman is only becoming more of a mystery every day. As for Aniwye, we have an amenable relationship. I can likely get her to find her son or something once she's better.
As I rub my chin in thought, Elizabeth whispers a question over the rest of the cabin's noise.
"Do you really think Wyatt is okay? And Virgil?"
I allow a loose smile to fall onto my face as I reassure her and myself.
"To kill that kid, Elizabeth... would be a grand undertaking, let alone with Virgil by his side. He will come back. For now, we must ensure the rest of us are safe. So, let's get off this damned train. I'm tired of all this fucking metal."
