I rush forward, but a bullet streaks past my cheek an instant later as my Living Manacles scarcely deflects it to the side. The force throws me off, and I stumble to the size. My cheek throbs from the unexpected cut, a thin line of warmth seeping down my face as the hooded figure, cloaked in grasses and dirt, reloads his firearm that belies its antique appearance. He pops it open like a shotgun, sliding a shell in to replace the one wasted before raising it to face me once more.
The gun's report echoes through the chaos of Onyx Gate once more, and bullets fly at me with incurable precision. I grit my teeth and leap forward while instinctively summoning Living Manacleas to ward off the relentless assault. Yet, just as I'm about to advance, the air behind me erupts in a powerful shockwave, the force slashing open my back with a searing pain.
Stumbling forward as the pain gets me unaware, I notice the man with the whirling eyeball displays the true extent of his Arca. Some kind of air controller? Wind? Not sure yet, but it really fucking hurts. The bits of air basically explode into my back, creating tiny pockets that make it hard even for Blodwyn to heal quickly.
The ominous artifact spins with an eerie glow, unleashing terrible winds once more. I wince in pain, twisting to dodge another windy blade, not caught off guard by the unexpected assault this time. Before I can recover fully, a grasping vine snakes toward me from underneath my boots, and with a desperate sidestep, I narrowly avoid its entangling grasp.
However, the maneuver unwittingly leads me into the path of a speeding bullet that pierces my chest. A Living Manacle happens to be in the path of the projectile, but it only slows it down. The impact sends me sprawling backward, a violent cough expelling blood from my lips. Gasping for air, I roll to a stop, my body aching from the combined assault.
I lock eyes with the enigmatic trio the moment I regain my footing. The odds, it seems, are not only unfavorable but increasingly dire. I can do this, though.
We can do this.
"Pautuhm. Save your Ether in case we have to go further. It's gonna be a long, long night."
I receive a mental nod from Blodwyn as I inhale a deep gasp, the Ether in the air flowing into me. But that is not all. The energy in the very air seems to plummet as my skin grows cold and the fires around halt their growth, receding in size and intensity.
Like a towel, the streams of Ether fill my lungs and promptly flow to my veins, inundating me with strength. But this time, it's different. My Power has grown exceptionally.
No longer does it feel as though I am about to explode every second. In fact... it feels like the air will only come out if I desire it. I could... even breathe a second gasp. The feeling of freedom, of being able to go anywhere, see anything, and do any task, fills my very core.
I press my foot down into the ground, and the dirt beneath me sinks in, the force too much for the earth. Then, I stare ahead at the Grimes Angel.
Kicking forward, I speed ahead again as Blodwyn pushes the bullet out from our chest, the lead getting caught on my ribs after breaking two. The instant I dart forward, however, another bullet meets me.
Raising my arms with Living Manacles intertwining over my flesh, the impact flips me head over heels. But I'm not sent flying this time as my own force is close to that of a bullet.
With a burst of resolve, I spring back to my feet, chains reconstituting as I once again engage the trio in this chaotic dance. The hooded figure continues to fire with uncanny accuracy, the old rifle barking with each shot. Their aim, seemingly prescient, anticipates my every move. The bullet somehow always ends up where I'm moving, even when I use Arbalest.
As I dash toward the two others, one wielding the whirling eyeball and the other the gnarled finger, the hooded marksman ensures I'm met with a barrage of bullets.
Sidestepping, I summon chains to deflect the bullets, yet their rhythmic cadence multiplies my frustration. How are each of these bullets so strong!? How is he shooting so quickly? I stumble again, but less so this time. Gradually, my heartbeat is picking up in pace and power.
The two enigmatic figures, whom I can only assume are Grimes as well, with their artifacts, prove to be elusive, making it difficult for me to even get close. They may be 6th Sigiled, but with those Arcas, they might as well be weak Angels.
The wind from the blades slices through the air, wherever I'm not expecting, slicing toward my legs to slow me as the vines reach out like sentient entities simultaneously. Both of the Forerunners use their Arcas with great skill to slow me down together and push me into a space to be shot by their elder.
I attempt to predict their movements, yet each feint or sidestep is met with a swift bullet as if the Angel across from me can see the future. The only time I end the moment unhurt is when the bullets land against my skull, the hard shell of Pautuhm holding firm against the force.
Nevertheless, I decide to change tactics after making very little progress and bleeding a whole lot more. I'll focus on the Forerunners for now instead of the Angel, feinting toward the hooded marksman and then abruptly shifting my focus back to the one with the eyeball with a trio of Arbalests in my heel.
Conjoining the skill to higher degrees delivers me a flash of pain, but with my newfound strength, nothing breaks, unlike the last time I did this. I practically teleport to the Forerunner with my speed as I bring my hand down toward them, a dozen chains joining me.
The element of surprise buys me a fraction of a second to close the distance without simply being shot, but the instant I reach the one with the eyeball, a bullet enters my back. However, it is only to be expected.
This Angel does not miss, and he takes every opportunity. So, I will, too.
My hand falls onto the Forerunner's shoulder as he twists to dodge. The figure is fast, incredibly so for a 6th Sigiled, as the winds shove him to the side, but a single one of my chains grazes him. Immediately, I restrict the man's fetters, weakening him in every way.
Another bullet detonates into my back. A blooming lotus must be the only way to describe the flesh on my rear, but I don't hesitate or retreat, trusting in Blodwyn to protect me.
Taking advantage of the opening, I twist away from the vines that are reaching toward me as well and slash at the gnarled finger bearer again with the blade in my right arm. All the while, Living Manacles encroach on the man's life from every direction, making it impossible to dodge.
The Forerunner recognizes his impending death, and he acts just about how I'd expect any foe who has reached such a level. His eyes steel over and stare me down. A silent grunt leaves his body as my chains pierce a dozen holes into his body, and my blade enters his chest.
I reach for his Arca as yet another bullet strikes me, nearly blowing my hand off. Still, a tendril of flesh extends from the side of my arm, catching the whirling eyeball just as the dying man's eyes flash with a cruel light.
Fuck. I should've known better. Simply taking an artifact from someone isn't enough.
A hundred searing explosions of air wreak havoc on my body and annihilate the man as he seals his own fate. I fall to my knees as blood falls in rivets from my every pore, the only part undamaged being my skull, thanks to Blodwyn.
That is until another piece of lead strikes my head.
My vision shakes as I tumble, rolling over the blood and gore on the earth below me. I look up again the moment I can, but everything is still trembling, hardly comprehensible from the impacts.
Blodwyn says something, but I can't understand him. Nevertheless, I can feel that his tendrils are still holding onto the Arca, so I try to stand, stumbling as more roots grab onto me, sinking into my flesh.
Against my recovering mind, Living Manacles wage war against the vines as yet another bullet hits me. I fall back down, holding onto the grass with my palms. Fuck...
I reach for my Ether, but everything is so... foggy.
Instead, while I struggle to even think a thought, I watch, blearily, as Blodwyn takes grasp of the Arca. And as another piece of shrapnel seeks my soul, a blade of wind intercepts it, deflecting it to the side.
A few more seconds pass as Blodwyn takes over. I stand, not even taking a moment to glare at the two across before running away. Blood washes the ground red as my companion retreats into the chaos of the city. The two chase us, but Blodwyn refuses to be caught.
Mirroring me, fleshy hooks extend from my left arm, sinking into the few remaining buildings as we swing away. I'd be impressed with Blodwyn if I could see clearly what he's doing. Regardless, I watch with as much focus as possible, and my vision gradually gains granularity as my hearing does.
"Help. Please."
Blodwyn asks for my aid, and the second I can understand him, I give it. Painsforge beats once more, delivering speed to our shared form as I build Arbalests in our feet.
We kick off the side of a building with the skill just as a bullet lands against our skull. Pautuhm resists with dangerous cracks, and we fall toward the ground. On the way down, I retake control as I force my Living Manacles to hurtle me forward again.
I take us right toward where I sense Bonfire.
More and more bullets grace me with their presence as Blodwyn's most excellent skill gradually nears destruction. A pounding headache fills me, but I push on, moving as quickly as I can toward my friend. And the second I see Bonfire through a window, I twist back around, only to find that my pursuers are gone.
Seeing that the Grimes is gone, I sprint into the nearby building where Bonfire, Dakota, and Elizabeth, who they found, stare at me with profound worry as I hit the ground, seeping red.
"What the hell, Wyatt!? Are you okay!?"
Elizabeth rushes toward me as Bonfire lights himself ablaze. He spins around, searching for any threat. However, he finds nothing as I cough out my answer.
"I... found an old Angel and two people with Arcas. Here's one. Just give Blodwyn a few. We'll... be fine."
The whirling eyeball falls into Elizabeth's hands as I see her complexion change. She recognizes this thing, doesn't she?
"Are you sure? We can—"
I cut her off as the bone on my head recedes, and Blodwyn returns to focusing on recovering our flesh now that bullets and vines aren't constantly entering us. It's hard to do either of those two things, and he does them both quite well, I must say.
"We'll be fine. Do you know what this thing is? I think it might be from a Grimes or a Dewey."
I add the former, as I've heard about the Deweys having Arca. I know the others must, too, but I don't know any specifics. Elizabeth nods as I rub Dakota's head to reassure the fox. He must be so worried. One of my oldest friends retrieves a sheet of paper from her bag as she reads from it.
"Tempest Pupil, Rooted Nail, Gourd Of Suffering, Eerie Ear, Rotted Liver, and the Scathing Tibula are the Arcas we know that the Estates have. It adds up: the Grimes have the first two, the Deweys have the terrifying gourd, the Callahans, with their quiet selves, have the Eerie Ear, and the Boyles have the Liver and the Tibula. Which ones the Harveys have are beyond us, though."
I nod along with her, hearing this all for the first time. She must have recently gathered this information. Still, she isn't done, shifting to focus on me.
"But what do you mean by an old Angel? The only Angel the Deweys should have is Joseph, who married into them for more power. As for the Grimes... after Kai's death... Oh... I get what Earl meant now."
I raise an eyebrow as Elizabeth lightly slaps her head. She gets it now. There are hidden Angels. She then steps to the side, placing the back of the sheet of paper on the wall before listing out several names on the sheet. Nevertheless, I stay silent. She's put obvious work into this.
"Earl sent me notes about 'Slumbering' Angels. And he told me to investigate any and all Angels who did not die in combat. Billy Grimes, Keely Dewey, Johannus Doyle, and Jefferson Callahan were the only Angels to have disappeared or died of old age in the past century. Which one did you meet?"
I shrug, not entirely sure. My first guess is Billy Grimes because they are known for manufacturing weapons, but I instead describe the man to her.
"He had an old, ancient rifle that hit like a compressed cannon. Covered in grasses and almost always hooded. Seriously fast, too. He could keep up with Blodwyn and me easily. He only retreated when he saw Bonfire."
Elizabeth scratches out a few names as I list out the man's features before landing on one: Billy Grimes.
"Billy Grimes, known as the Falling Lead when he was active. He is not known for long-range shooting like most marksmen; instead, he's known for enhancing his own bullets to be used up close and personal. Before Johnny, he was the premier gunslinger. It must have been him. Damn... Earl was right. They did hide Angels! And this one... he's a massive threat to those of us who can die real easily. A single stray bullet from him..."
My stomach sinks as she explains the situation. Thankfully, Billy ran away. But why? Is he afraid of Bonfire? Wait... maybe his bullets can't hit the intangible? Hmm... that doesn't make much sense. If he had such an apparent weakness as a Pillar, he would have died long ago.
He probably just didn't want to fight both another Angel and me. Nevertheless, I'd call that a win. I mean, I got the Tempest Pupil, after all.
"True... one of his rounds could kill you or Earl quite quickly. Keep that pupil with you. I'm not sure about the negative effects, but I think you'll need it tonight. It co—"
"Conjures terrible winds wherever one desires, I know. It's a famous thing the Grimes have had for over a century."
Elizabeth cuts me off as she beholds it, uplifting the eyeball with her hands. As she does so, she asks me one last question before sliding the eyeball into her pocket.
"It seems it doesn't have any negatives unless held for a while or used. Not too bad. What do you reckon Earl could make with it?"
I shrug. I have no clue. Earl, to me, can make anything he sets his mind to, but what he makes is often random. It should, at the very least, be more effective than an Ail since it is an Arca.
Bonfire, obviously antsy to fight or do something other than stand still, shifts from side to side. I pat him on the shoulder as Elizabeth steps out of the building with a hand in her pocket, likely on the Tempest Pupil.
"We're going now, don't get too excited."
My friend grins at me as a tiny bit of silver fire comes from his cheek. I step back as he raises a hand and slaps it away, forcing abyssally black fire to replace the silver. I can feel my heart sink as I gradually learn more and more about Bonfire's survival. It's done at the cost of his own body. He burns away the silver by burning it with the black flame born of his own flesh and blood.
Despite how much I hate what's happening to him, there's nothing to be done. A God, one greater than all others, is devouring him from the inside out.
So, instead, I trust him to last a bit longer and motion him to follow. Striding out of the building, I follow Elizabeth as she walks through the street filled with rubble and bodies. She must have hidden here while the battle passed through.
"We're going to wrap around Primary, where the battle is the harshest. There, we will meet with Tomas and Blake alongside the rest of the Bent soldiers. Earl is still in the depths of the city, but he should be fine. C'mon, let's hurry. We don't have much time, or the war will already be over by the time we get there."
I follow her without a second thought. With each step, the cacophony of war surrounds us—the clash of steel, the roar of flames, and the cries of those caught in the crossfire. My heart pounds, matching the rhythm of chaos echoing through the streets. I guide Elizabeth through the streets first, using Living Manacles to protect her and Dakota from any stray gunfire.
The city is a battlefield, and we weave through the fray with urgency, sidestepping skirmishes and avoiding the desperate clashes between families and the marauding bands under Maddox. Still, though, I've not seen the captain himself or his second. Neither have I caught a glimpse of Autumn.
The path is fraught with peril as we go around the interior wall, careful not to get caught up in big fights. We slide under broken buildings and leap over fallen debris. My gaze remains fixed on the distant wall on the north side, a barrier between the besieged citizens and the imminent threat.
As we near the north side of the wall, I hear unified shouts and commands, a discordant sound compared to the rest of the city—controlled chaos.
Tomas.
Sprinting ahead, I bring my friends with me until we cross onto a street where nearly fifty soldiers, Tomas, Blake, Skyswain, Primrose, and even Silas, are fighting alongside each other as one unit. I wave to them and then point to the north wall, as it seems they have things under control.
The Inhuman Wolf crashes forward, crushing a bandit's head with his jaw and another with his fingers before his Power recedes. In less than five seconds, a well-built man stands before me as his soldiers wash around us, killing any stragglers.
"Good to see you, Wyatt."
I smile at Tomas as I give him a short hug.
"Likewise. This all your men?"
Tomas nods to my question as they progress forward cautiously, clearing each foot of the street before crossing over the rubble. I follow behind them as I notice something.
The old army of Marshall's had Sigileds range from 1st to 6th. It was a capable force, even if lackluster in a few aspects.
This one?
Not a damned man is beneath the 4th. Several new 6th Sigils exist, too. Over a dozen, in fact. With that many, an Angel is not unlikely to come from them.
He'd be so proud, though... the death it took to reach this is heartbreaking. From a couple of thousand men down to, at most, a hundred. Any other group would have long broken, shattered by the losses and low morale, but not his men. Marshall damn near raised each and every one of these soldiers, teaching, guiding, and giving them a place to live when they didn't have one. To these men, dishonoring his legacy is far worse than death. We hold ourselves to an impossible standard, seeing no way other than to follow it.
I rush forward, but a bullet streaks past my cheek an instant later as my Living Manacles scarcely deflects it to the side. The force throws me off, and I stumble to the size. My cheek throbs from the unexpected cut, a thin line of warmth seeping down my face as the hooded figure, cloaked in grasses and dirt, reloads his firearm that belies its antique appearance. He pops it open like a shotgun, sliding a shell in to replace the one wasted before raising it to face me once more.
The gun's report echoes through the chaos of Onyx Gate once more, and bullets fly at me with incurable precision. I grit my teeth and leap forward while instinctively summoning Living Manacleas to ward off the relentless assault. Yet, just as I'm about to advance, the air behind me erupts in a powerful shockwave, the force slashing open my back with a searing pain.
Stumbling forward as the pain gets me unaware, I notice the man with the whirling eyeball displays the true extent of his Arca. Some kind of air controller? Wind? Not sure yet, but it really fucking hurts. The bits of air basically explode into my back, creating tiny pockets that make it hard even for Blodwyn to heal quickly.
The ominous artifact spins with an eerie glow, unleashing terrible winds once more. I wince in pain, twisting to dodge another windy blade, not caught off guard by the unexpected assault this time. Before I can recover fully, a grasping vine snakes toward me from underneath my boots, and with a desperate sidestep, I narrowly avoid its entangling grasp.
However, the maneuver unwittingly leads me into the path of a speeding bullet that pierces my chest. A Living Manacle happens to be in the path of the projectile, but it only slows it down. The impact sends me sprawling backward, a violent cough expelling blood from my lips. Gasping for air, I roll to a stop, my body aching from the combined assault.
I lock eyes with the enigmatic trio the moment I regain my footing. The odds, it seems, are not only unfavorable but increasingly dire. I can do this, though.
We can do this.
"Pautuhm. Save your Ether in case we have to go further. It's gonna be a long, long night."
I receive a mental nod from Blodwyn as I inhale a deep gasp, the Ether in the air flowing into me. But that is not all. The energy in the very air seems to plummet as my skin grows cold and the fires around halt their growth, receding in size and intensity.
Like a towel, the streams of Ether fill my lungs and promptly flow to my veins, inundating me with strength. But this time, it's different. My Power has grown exceptionally.
No longer does it feel as though I am about to explode every second. In fact... it feels like the air will only come out if I desire it. I could... even breathe a second gasp. The feeling of freedom, of being able to go anywhere, see anything, and do any task, fills my very core.
I press my foot down into the ground, and the dirt beneath me sinks in, the force too much for the earth. Then, I stare ahead at the Grimes Angel.
Kicking forward, I speed ahead again as Blodwyn pushes the bullet out from our chest, the lead getting caught on my ribs after breaking two. The instant I dart forward, however, another bullet meets me.
Raising my arms with Living Manacles intertwining over my flesh, the impact flips me head over heels. But I'm not sent flying this time as my own force is close to that of a bullet.
With a burst of resolve, I spring back to my feet, chains reconstituting as I once again engage the trio in this chaotic dance. The hooded figure continues to fire with uncanny accuracy, the old rifle barking with each shot. Their aim, seemingly prescient, anticipates my every move. The bullet somehow always ends up where I'm moving, even when I use Arbalest.
As I dash toward the two others, one wielding the whirling eyeball and the other the gnarled finger, the hooded marksman ensures I'm met with a barrage of bullets.
Sidestepping, I summon chains to deflect the bullets, yet their rhythmic cadence multiplies my frustration. How are each of these bullets so strong!? How is he shooting so quickly? I stumble again, but less so this time. Gradually, my heartbeat is picking up in pace and power.
The two enigmatic figures, whom I can only assume are Grimes as well, with their artifacts, prove to be elusive, making it difficult for me to even get close. They may be 6th Sigiled, but with those Arcas, they might as well be weak Angels.
The wind from the blades slices through the air, wherever I'm not expecting, slicing toward my legs to slow me as the vines reach out like sentient entities simultaneously. Both of the Forerunners use their Arcas with great skill to slow me down together and push me into a space to be shot by their elder.
I attempt to predict their movements, yet each feint or sidestep is met with a swift bullet as if the Angel across from me can see the future. The only time I end the moment unhurt is when the bullets land against my skull, the hard shell of Pautuhm holding firm against the force.
Nevertheless, I decide to change tactics after making very little progress and bleeding a whole lot more. I'll focus on the Forerunners for now instead of the Angel, feinting toward the hooded marksman and then abruptly shifting my focus back to the one with the eyeball with a trio of Arbalests in my heel.
Conjoining the skill to higher degrees delivers me a flash of pain, but with my newfound strength, nothing breaks, unlike the last time I did this. I practically teleport to the Forerunner with my speed as I bring my hand down toward them, a dozen chains joining me.
The element of surprise buys me a fraction of a second to close the distance without simply being shot, but the instant I reach the one with the eyeball, a bullet enters my back. However, it is only to be expected.
This Angel does not miss, and he takes every opportunity. So, I will, too.
My hand falls onto the Forerunner's shoulder as he twists to dodge. The figure is fast, incredibly so for a 6th Sigiled, as the winds shove him to the side, but a single one of my chains grazes him. Immediately, I restrict the man's fetters, weakening him in every way.
Another bullet detonates into my back. A blooming lotus must be the only way to describe the flesh on my rear, but I don't hesitate or retreat, trusting in Blodwyn to protect me.
Taking advantage of the opening, I twist away from the vines that are reaching toward me as well and slash at the gnarled finger bearer again with the blade in my right arm. All the while, Living Manacles encroach on the man's life from every direction, making it impossible to dodge.
The Forerunner recognizes his impending death, and he acts just about how I'd expect any foe who has reached such a level. His eyes steel over and stare me down. A silent grunt leaves his body as my chains pierce a dozen holes into his body, and my blade enters his chest.
I reach for his Arca as yet another bullet strikes me, nearly blowing my hand off. Still, a tendril of flesh extends from the side of my arm, catching the whirling eyeball just as the dying man's eyes flash with a cruel light.
Fuck. I should've known better. Simply taking an artifact from someone isn't enough.
A hundred searing explosions of air wreak havoc on my body and annihilate the man as he seals his own fate. I fall to my knees as blood falls in rivets from my every pore, the only part undamaged being my skull, thanks to Blodwyn.
That is until another piece of lead strikes my head.
My vision shakes as I tumble, rolling over the blood and gore on the earth below me. I look up again the moment I can, but everything is still trembling, hardly comprehensible from the impacts.
Blodwyn says something, but I can't understand him. Nevertheless, I can feel that his tendrils are still holding onto the Arca, so I try to stand, stumbling as more roots grab onto me, sinking into my flesh.
Against my recovering mind, Living Manacles wage war against the vines as yet another bullet hits me. I fall back down, holding onto the grass with my palms. Fuck...
I reach for my Ether, but everything is so... foggy.
Instead, while I struggle to even think a thought, I watch, blearily, as Blodwyn takes grasp of the Arca. And as another piece of shrapnel seeks my soul, a blade of wind intercepts it, deflecting it to the side.
A few more seconds pass as Blodwyn takes over. I stand, not even taking a moment to glare at the two across before running away. Blood washes the ground red as my companion retreats into the chaos of the city. The two chase us, but Blodwyn refuses to be caught.
Mirroring me, fleshy hooks extend from my left arm, sinking into the few remaining buildings as we swing away. I'd be impressed with Blodwyn if I could see clearly what he's doing. Regardless, I watch with as much focus as possible, and my vision gradually gains granularity as my hearing does.
"Help. Please."
Blodwyn asks for my aid, and the second I can understand him, I give it. Painsforge beats once more, delivering speed to our shared form as I build Arbalests in our feet.
We kick off the side of a building with the skill just as a bullet lands against our skull. Pautuhm resists with dangerous cracks, and we fall toward the ground. On the way down, I retake control as I force my Living Manacles to hurtle me forward again.
I take us right toward where I sense Bonfire.
More and more bullets grace me with their presence as Blodwyn's most excellent skill gradually nears destruction. A pounding headache fills me, but I push on, moving as quickly as I can toward my friend. And the second I see Bonfire through a window, I twist back around, only to find that my pursuers are gone.
Seeing that the Grimes is gone, I sprint into the nearby building where Bonfire, Dakota, and Elizabeth, who they found, stare at me with profound worry as I hit the ground, seeping red.
"What the hell, Wyatt!? Are you okay!?"
Elizabeth rushes toward me as Bonfire lights himself ablaze. He spins around, searching for any threat. However, he finds nothing as I cough out my answer.
"I... found an old Angel and two people with Arcas. Here's one. Just give Blodwyn a few. We'll... be fine."
The whirling eyeball falls into Elizabeth's hands as I see her complexion change. She recognizes this thing, doesn't she?
"Are you sure? We can—"
I cut her off as the bone on my head recedes, and Blodwyn returns to focusing on recovering our flesh now that bullets and vines aren't constantly entering us. It's hard to do either of those two things, and he does them both quite well, I must say.
"We'll be fine. Do you know what this thing is? I think it might be from a Grimes or a Dewey."
I add the former, as I've heard about the Deweys having Arca. I know the others must, too, but I don't know any specifics. Elizabeth nods as I rub Dakota's head to reassure the fox. He must be so worried. One of my oldest friends retrieves a sheet of paper from her bag as she reads from it.
"Tempest Pupil, Rooted Nail, Gourd Of Suffering, Eerie Ear, Rotted Liver, and the Scathing Tibula are the Arcas we know that the Estates have. It adds up: the Grimes have the first two, the Deweys have the terrifying gourd, the Callahans, with their quiet selves, have the Eerie Ear, and the Boyles have the Liver and the Tibula. Which ones the Harveys have are beyond us, though."
I nod along with her, hearing this all for the first time. She must have recently gathered this information. Still, she isn't done, shifting to focus on me.
"But what do you mean by an old Angel? The only Angel the Deweys should have is Joseph, who married into them for more power. As for the Grimes... after Kai's death... Oh... I get what Earl meant now."
I raise an eyebrow as Elizabeth lightly slaps her head. She gets it now. There are hidden Angels. She then steps to the side, placing the back of the sheet of paper on the wall before listing out several names on the sheet. Nevertheless, I stay silent. She's put obvious work into this.
"Earl sent me notes about 'Slumbering' Angels. And he told me to investigate any and all Angels who did not die in combat. Billy Grimes, Keely Dewey, Johannus Doyle, and Jefferson Callahan were the only Angels to have disappeared or died of old age in the past century. Which one did you meet?"
I shrug, not entirely sure. My first guess is Billy Grimes because they are known for manufacturing weapons, but I instead describe the man to her.
"He had an old, ancient rifle that hit like a compressed cannon. Covered in grasses and almost always hooded. Seriously fast, too. He could keep up with Blodwyn and me easily. He only retreated when he saw Bonfire."
Elizabeth scratches out a few names as I list out the man's features before landing on one: Billy Grimes.
"Billy Grimes, known as the Falling Lead when he was active. He is not known for long-range shooting like most marksmen; instead, he's known for enhancing his own bullets to be used up close and personal. Before Johnny, he was the premier gunslinger. It must have been him. Damn... Earl was right. They did hide Angels! And this one... he's a massive threat to those of us who can die real easily. A single stray bullet from him..."
My stomach sinks as she explains the situation. Thankfully, Billy ran away. But why? Is he afraid of Bonfire? Wait... maybe his bullets can't hit the intangible? Hmm... that doesn't make much sense. If he had such an apparent weakness as a Pillar, he would have died long ago.
He probably just didn't want to fight both another Angel and me. Nevertheless, I'd call that a win. I mean, I got the Tempest Pupil, after all.
"True... one of his rounds could kill you or Earl quite quickly. Keep that pupil with you. I'm not sure about the negative effects, but I think you'll need it tonight. It co—"
"Conjures terrible winds wherever one desires, I know. It's a famous thing the Grimes have had for over a century."
Elizabeth cuts me off as she beholds it, uplifting the eyeball with her hands. As she does so, she asks me one last question before sliding the eyeball into her pocket.
"It seems it doesn't have any negatives unless held for a while or used. Not too bad. What do you reckon Earl could make with it?"
I shrug. I have no clue. Earl, to me, can make anything he sets his mind to, but what he makes is often random. It should, at the very least, be more effective than an Ail since it is an Arca.
Bonfire, obviously antsy to fight or do something other than stand still, shifts from side to side. I pat him on the shoulder as Elizabeth steps out of the building with a hand in her pocket, likely on the Tempest Pupil.
"We're going now, don't get too excited."
My friend grins at me as a tiny bit of silver fire comes from his cheek. I step back as he raises a hand and slaps it away, forcing abyssally black fire to replace the silver. I can feel my heart sink as I gradually learn more and more about Bonfire's survival. It's done at the cost of his own body. He burns away the silver by burning it with the black flame born of his own flesh and blood.
Despite how much I hate what's happening to him, there's nothing to be done. A God, one greater than all others, is devouring him from the inside out.
So, instead, I trust him to last a bit longer and motion him to follow. Striding out of the building, I follow Elizabeth as she walks through the street filled with rubble and bodies. She must have hidden here while the battle passed through.
"We're going to wrap around Primary, where the battle is the harshest. There, we will meet with Tomas and Blake alongside the rest of the Bent soldiers. Earl is still in the depths of the city, but he should be fine. C'mon, let's hurry. We don't have much time, or the war will already be over by the time we get there."
I follow her without a second thought. With each step, the cacophony of war surrounds us—the clash of steel, the roar of flames, and the cries of those caught in the crossfire. My heart pounds, matching the rhythm of chaos echoing through the streets. I guide Elizabeth through the streets first, using Living Manacles to protect her and Dakota from any stray gunfire.
The city is a battlefield, and we weave through the fray with urgency, sidestepping skirmishes and avoiding the desperate clashes between families and the marauding bands under Maddox. Still, though, I've not seen the captain himself or his second. Neither have I caught a glimpse of Autumn.
The path is fraught with peril as we go around the interior wall, careful not to get caught up in big fights. We slide under broken buildings and leap over fallen debris. My gaze remains fixed on the distant wall on the north side, a barrier between the besieged citizens and the imminent threat.
As we near the north side of the wall, I hear unified shouts and commands, a discordant sound compared to the rest of the city—controlled chaos.
Tomas.
Sprinting ahead, I bring my friends with me until we cross onto a street where nearly fifty soldiers, Tomas, Blake, Skyswain, Primrose, and even Silas, are fighting alongside each other as one unit. I wave to them and then point to the north wall, as it seems they have things under control.
The Inhuman Wolf crashes forward, crushing a bandit's head with his jaw and another with his fingers before his Power recedes. In less than five seconds, a well-built man stands before me as his soldiers wash around us, killing any stragglers.
"Good to see you, Wyatt."
I smile at Tomas as I give him a short hug.
"Likewise. This all your men?"
Tomas nods to my question as they progress forward cautiously, clearing each foot of the street before crossing over the rubble. I follow behind them as I notice something.
The old army of Marshall's had Sigileds range from 1st to 6th. It was a capable force, even if lackluster in a few aspects.
This one?
Not a damned man is beneath the 4th. Several new 6th Sigils exist, too. Over a dozen, in fact. With that many, an Angel is not unlikely to come from them.
He'd be so proud, though... the death it took to reach this is heartbreaking. From a couple of thousand men down to, at most, a hundred. Any other group would have long broken, shattered by the losses and low morale, but not his men. Marshall damn near raised each and every one of these soldiers, teaching, guiding, and giving them a place to live when they didn't have one. To these men, dishonoring his legacy is far worse than death. We hold ourselves to an impossible standard, seeing no way other than to follow it.
