181 (II)
Trust [II]
"To begin, I thank you for being open-minded," the Owl continued. "I know that the experiences you've had with my associates haven't always been pleasant, but I think this time we can come to a most agreeable accord, especially since we share an enemy."
"Sharing enemies doesn't make us anything, Owl," Adam shot back. He studied the Aviary agent. Unlike Harkness, this Owl was clad in a long coat comprised of gleaming white feathers. A few of the feathers had eyes painted on them, and they moved like ones of flesh. They also glistened with Divination mana, and try as he might, he couldn't peer into the man's coat. There was something repelling his senses, something that kept him blind.
"Indeed," the Owl agreed. "And please stop trying to peer at my small clothes. It's very inappropriate."
Adam barely held back a sputter. "I’m not interested in your small clothes. I'm interested in what weapons you have on you.”
“Here. An end to the mystery.” The Owl pulled his cloak open and revealed two short swords, a dozen or so daggers threaded through a plated vest, what seemed to be a whip studded with broken glass, and a skull that had Necromancy leaking out from its eyes. The sight of the skull reminded Adam of Valor, and that simply increased the feeling of isolation burning inside the Gate Lord.
Speaking of burning, the uncomfortable heat inside his muscles continued to build. It had started when Candles mentioned the invisible flames, and he didn't know if that was insanity or if there was actually an unseen flame burning at him, but the wrongness kept growing.
"Are you satisfied now?" the Owl asked.
"I'll be satisfied once I get out of this blasted place," Adam replied tersely. "So, what's your bargain? You want me to convince Shiv to go along with you? Or to sell ourselves to Aviary as willing slaves rather than being unwilling prisoners to the Ascendants?"
"We prefer the term 'agents,'" the Owl said with a hint of humor. When Adam didn't smile, the Owl carried on with a shrug. "You will find that this is the best offer you and your friend will have. The entire prison will be hunting him soon once the escapees are pacified. And then they will come after you. Legendary Pathbearers will stalk and try to slay him for the thrill of the challenge and the wondrous prize that comes with claiming his head. Even without the ten Legendary Skills offered upon his death, Legends hunt new Legends by nature. They do not suffer competitors easily, and in this place, there is nothing but wolves feasting on other wolves. He will not last long here."
Adam sneered at the Owl. “Would you like to bet on that? Because I think the other prisoners are trapped in here with him instead of the other way around.”
The Owl laughed. “Such faith in your friend.”
“No,” Adam said, shaking his head. “Faith is a thing of hope. Faith is wishing it wouldn’t rain even when there are dark clouds on the horizon. This is just empirical expectation. Have you ever killed an Outsider before, Owl?”
The Aviary agent fell silent for a beat. “Have you?”
“Yes,” Adam said. “And I had no business doing so. Shiv had no business doing so. But we did it anyway. You can dislike his odds all you want, but I’ll raise you our survival against a lance of Dragon-Knights at Master-Tier, against a Heroic-Tier Recollector, and against a Tarrasque in general. This is just another of the System's many attempts to kill us. And since we keep surviving these nightmare situations, well, I think the odds are with us rather than against us.”
“Luck runs out,” the Owl noted.
“How many times can a coin land on its edge before luck leaves the scene and is replaced by something else?” Adam shot back. “It wasn’t luck that saved us. Not once. Luck is not enough. And you know it.”
Now the Owl went entirely silent.
“Let me explain something to you,” Adam said aloud, glaring at all the Ravens present. He counted them before he continued talking. Nineteen, including the Raven. Small group. Ngh. I feel… sicker. Need to make this quick. “I am not here because I am desperate.”
“Yet, we are your only way out,” the Owl hummed.
“You’re the easiest way out,” Adam corrected with a frown. “And that remains to be seen. I have no assurances that you yourselves are not trapped here by the Ascendants. Furthermore, I think you’re desperate to capture the Deathless for yourselves as much as you are driven to deprive the Ascendants of their great prize. And don't tell me that one of your nobles won't just take his head to claim unparalleled power for themselves."
“That is not the way New Albion functions, oh dear cousin across the great waters,” the Owl said.“A few among our number will be tempted by greed, and a few will be cut down. Aviary does not suffer from paltry ambitions. We do not want 10 Legendary Skills. No. We have Legends. And they are sufficient for what is needed. No, we look further. Far further. A little bit like your Ascendants, but we prefer to do things with a more gentle hand."
"Is that what you call your operations in the Abyss? Gentle?" Adam leaned in close. "Do you know, in the short time I've been in contact with your people, I've stopped no less than three different plots, killed System knows how many Ravens and other birds, all in the span of a few months."
"We're aware of the travesty that happened at Passage," the Owl said, waving him off. "And I'm aware that one of my fellow Owls has decided to be flippant in her responsibilities. She will be punished in due time."
"In due time?" Adam almost choked, and then a hunch struck him. "Wait. Harkness... She's not actually back with you, is she? Has she even reported in?"
"That's not important to our current conversation."
"No, what is important to our current conversation is trust," Adam spat, "and I don't trust you. I don't trust any of you. The only reason I'm here is that I trust the Ascendants even less. I know what they intended to do to me, but that doesn't mean I trust what you intend to do, either. I don't need words, I need reassurances. Reassurances that you won't just kill me and then take Shiv after. Reassurances," Adam pointed at Gone and Candles, "that you'll be able to get all of us out of here. Out of this miserable pit of misery and back to the surface."
"Reassurances," the Owl echoed, as if he'd been expecting this of Adam. "Very well. Have you ever conducted a skill-binding ceremony before?"
Adam thought back to the ritual between Uva and the Starhawk. "I've seen it," Adam said. "I've seen it turn out well, and I've seen it turn out poorly. But there's a problem, you see."
"And what problem is that?" the Owl asked with a hint of annoyance.
"I don't think you care that much about losing a few skills if it gets you a greater reward. What do you all want with Shiv? Tell me exactly. And don’t lie. I’ll know. I'll hear it in your voice.”
The Owl nodded, as if accepting Adam’s terms. "Oh, that's very simple. We want to make more of him. In fact, we want him to pass his Path down to our little chicks. Imagine that. Countless undying spies, capable of learning and growing from death after death. That's a far more exponential reward than simply murdering this golden goose. We want him to lay eggs for us. And for that, you will both be well taken care of. Imagine. Peace, for once. Instead of this perpetual escalation cycle of violence the System demands of you.”
The Owl's admission inflicted two different feelings on Adam. First, he realized the Owl was speaking the truth. Aviary didn't want Shiv dead. No. Instead, they wanted him to be a perpetual prisoner, a perpetual means of offering them more Deathless. They would probably experiment on him to boot. Shiv would be going from one prison to another.
The second was satisfaction. Adam understood the game the Aviary agents were playing now. And if he knew what they wanted, then he could potentially turn it all around on them. It wasn't a good choice, but so far, it was his only choice to escape from this prison. And it's a choice that can be affected, Adam thought to himself. If I manage to involve the Ascendants at the last second to pit them against Aviary during our escape, then we might be able to make a clean break.
But there was going to be a cost to this. If he was going to bind one of his skills to the Owl, then he would see part of himself broken upon enacting his betrayal. Even so, it was a choice Adam would gladly make. If it meant setting himself free, if it meant making sure Shiv would go unshackled... He wouldn't enjoy it. But he would do it. He would. I'm not scared, Adam lied to himself slightly. Okay, I'm slightly scared and very, very terrified of being crippled, but I'll do it. We can do it, Adam. Just… We can survive it. Shiv can fix it. It’s just pain. Just pain.
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"Does this sound reasonable to you?" the Owl asked. "If so, I can see it agreed upon through ritual and Biomancy."
"Biomancy?" Adam repeated. A low groan escaped him. His muscles felt like they were on fire from the inside. Something was wrong with his body. Beside him, Gone was starting to shake as her breathing grew more labored, and Candles was burning ever brighter.
“Yum, yum,” Candles hummed absentmindedly. He was staring at the spinning rod as if it was dessert.
"Of course you're going to need some Biomancy," the Owl said with a faint chuckle. "You're irradiated."
"I'm what?" Adam asked.
"Oh. I suppose our Raven didn't have time to explain. There is a reason why we operate here. This is a fusion core. One of the few functioning ones left over from Pre-Integration. I'm not sure why it has maintained its stability for all these eons, but it has. And the old drones here still have functionality as well. I estimate that will come to an end sometime in the near future, but not quite yet. Its nature disrupts the flow of ambient mana to some degree. Not enough to stop it entirely, but it does choke the ambience, doesn't it? Doesn't it make you feel a little bit nervous, a little bit hot? Well, the nervousness is the lack of ambient mana, and the heat, that's the radiation settling into your cells."
Adam clenched his teeth. He had heard of the word, mainly because certain automata Skill Evolutions allowed them to harness such a power. It was usually gained by evolving Pyromancy in a specific way, but he'd never encountered anyone with such a skill, and the details regarding the lore were never taught in any of his classes. "Invisible flame," Adam muttered to himself, and he understood the game Aviary was playing even better now. "You godsdamn bastards.” Anger burned inside of him, but it didn't burn nearly as badly as the searing sensation consuming his organs. He felt nauseous, and his vision was beginning to blur.
"I wish to state one thing very clearly. This isn’t a trap," the Aviary agent proclaimed. "This is simply the most secure place in the entire prison, and it also doubles as an incentive for you to think things through with the proper gravity settling upon your shoulders. It's a grave choice, and you should make it in grave circumstances."
Suddenly, there was a blur, and the Owl was pinned against the rails. Gone was pressed up against him, the edge of one of her claws halfway into his throat. The Owl held both hands by his sides, not bothering to fight back. The other Ravens looked on as well, and their cool, reserved response made Adam feel even worse.
They expected this.
"Now, now," the Owl said with a slight grunt of pain, "no need for that. Besides, if you tear my throat out, one of my associates will trigger the dumping protocols for the core, and after that, only one of you will still be alive. But he’ll not be very sane. Won't you, Pathbearer Candles? Your Legendary Pyromancy Skill is a Fusion that affects your intellect. It makes it harder for you to stay sapient. Am I correct?”
Adam gawked as the burning Pathbearer beside him started making grunting noises.
Adam groaned as he glared at the Owl. "There's always a dagger in the other hand with you people, isn't there?"
The Owl shrugged. "It makes it easier to convince other people to accept our open hand instead. So. Let’s talk about which skills we are to bind to one another. I do so want to see this done in good faith, after all. Mind slaves are such a disgusting concept. So. Please don’t make me break my own heart.”
***
Muffled screams filled the inside of the cube. Beneath a layer of shadow, dozens of Legendary prisoners struggled, unleashing magic and strength, but failing to pierce through. They pressed and fought, but they remained entombed in a dense nest of darkness, like insects trapped beneath a heavy spider’s web.
Only if the spider was the web itself, however. For Harlock the Midnight was the darkness, was the shadow, was the unseen hand that seeped from his equally circumspect Avatar. There was nothing he left untouched in this cube. Nothing unconsumed by his presence, his power. Nothing unconsumed by the void that had consumed him so long ago.
The only source of brightness was the Avatar of his fellow Ascendant, Harlem the Truthful. He walked the shadow-choked valley as a beacon of Divination, and a violet brilliance spilled out from him, painting echoes of the battle that had transpired here mere minutes ago. The ethereal form of Harlem radiated over its Avatar, Connor, standing in contrast to the darkness of Harlock. Harlem was a lighthouse that cast its glare, sweeping the valley below, painting moments from the past into vivid detail, overriding the present, using pieces of evidence its Avatar collected.
"This one." White flames spilled out from the young Pathbearer's eyes as Connor’s voice echoed with Harlem the Truthful’s. The valley prison was a nightmarish parody of itself, but Harlem’s Avatar remained untouched. For where shadows and ignorance reigned, truth would not abide—and Harlem was truth incarnate.
At least when it to investigating the truth.
Beneath Connor’s feet, an overgrowth of darkened tendrils receded, and a defeated Legendary prisoner was released back into the brightness. They shuddered then, their mind more sundered than their body. This one resembled a towering humanoid partially fused with bits from various serpents. The Pathbearer's arms were long snakes, and their lower body was a mess of lashing vines, each tendril twitching as they suffered in the throes of an unending nightmare. Darkness leaked out from the eyes, darkness Harlock burrowed into their flesh and mind as well as his very soul. He wasn't just consumed physically; he was consumed mentally as well. There was no release, no release from ignorance.
Not until truth willed it.
Connor placed a hand upon the Pathbearer's forehead and focused the beaming glare of Harlem’s lighthouse upon the serpent-fused Pathbearer. Soon, everything around him faded, leaving only the serpentine Pathbearer in existence. The lighthouse swung its beacon and painted a trail leading back in time, back before Harlock had consumed everything, back when the battle was still ongoing. Though the Legendary prisoner himself was shown in great detail, everyone he faced was merely a shadow, a faintness constructed by Divination itself. They went over every detail, every person he'd faced in the prison after the breakout began, until Harlem finally halted his beacon.
Now, the serpent-fused Pathbearer was passing through the valley, and there were several shades around him. Shades of other prisoners, and of wardens. And among those shadows was a brief glimpse of someone wearing tattered rags that resembled a warden's uniform, someone that shouldn't be here at all: Adam Arrow.
"Stop!" Harlem’s Avatar cried aloud. The lighthouse flashed and turned its gaze upon Adam himself. A pulse of Divination mana crawled through the world. Normally, such a leap would have taken an obscene level of power. Even Legendary-Tier Diviners—the few that were sane and capable—would be hard-pressed to jump from one narrative to another. But Harlem was a god, a god of mysteries, a god of the inquisition, and a god of truth. And so, using the first clue, they jumped to the second, watching as the Young Lord struggled, as he fought and evolved and gained allies during the battle as well.
“Prisoner Gone and Prisoner Candles,” Harlem recited, speaking through his Avatar. Harlem never forgot, and what he didn’t know, he would uncover through whispers and details stolen from the System itself. “He has aid. And he was extracted by Aviary. The flock has finally shown itself.”
Harlock had to admit the Young Lord was resourceful and clever. He might have made a good Avatar. If only he were more submissive. Perhaps that could be engineered…
You think this all the time, another voice echoed within Harlock. The old man's tone was cynical but indifferent. We've been together for too long, Harlock. You keep thinking that you might be able to branch out, but the truth is, no one likes to deal with your darkness. No one likes to hide in the black, in the traumas and ignorance that dwell at the heart of man. None but you, and none but I.
Harlock tried to find his wayward Avatar, but he couldn't, and once more was he reassured in his choice. Anthony De Diego had been Harlock's Avatar from the very start, his one true vessel. Harlock had tried to find others, as Anthony said, but they wouldn't do. They didn't last. The dark ate them. But Anthony? The dark couldn't find him at all, and that made him perfect. And in the dark recesses of Harlock's mind, some part of him knew that Anthony likely deserved the position of Ascendant more than he himself did.
"I have him." Harlem's voice resonated with the clarion call of ringing bells. The white-plated Avatar, bound to the Ascendant of Truth, stood over a patch of blackness. That patch receded at Harlock's command, and soon they were looking down into a prison cell. At first glance, there didn't seem to be anything amiss inside, but then Harlem let out a gasp. "It's worse than I thought."
Harlock moved a few shadows, wielding them as eyes and limbs. They seeped into the Orichalcum cell once more and caressed the sides. "I don't understand," Harlock said. He didn't notice anything awry.
"That's because you hide too well and see too little. Centuries of blindness have left you lost. Look again." Harlem pointed a few times, and finally Harlock noticed that some of the spells were wrong. Those spells were out of place. He hadn't shaped them himself, but Harlock had been alive long enough to have experienced and developed every single Magical Skill there was. Some of the shapes that comprised the spell patterns were out of place. A switch had been conducted. Soon, Harlem poured his Divination into them as well, and he began restructuring the whole thing. Magical shapes slipped from one pattern to another, and soon a pulse of Dimensionality began spilling outward.
"He jumped here," Harlem said. True to his word, the reconstruction of Adam descended into the Dimensionality, following someone: a Raven-helmed agent of Aviary. “I have their trail.”
“And I will carry us across,” Harlock declared. “Ascendants. We hunt.” And with a casual exertion of his power, he drew the other Ascendants and their Avatars into his blackened embrace. The darkness within the cube grew even deeper, and from its depths emerged ten other presences, ten other Avatars. “We do this as the family we are. I will claim the space first. Find them in the dark. Daughter. Cripple. Kathereine. Prepare. Everyone else, support.”
And a melodic laugh echoed through the world. “Finally. It’s been fun, but I think we should bring the travesty to an end. Say, perhaps when we finally bend our dear Starhawk back to the light, we can see about tying him to the boy, Adam. He seems to have potential, and he doesn’t look half—”
“Grandmother,” Veronica hissed out from the darkness. “Not another word.”