Pilot: Writer of the End

A/N: as said in the update with B&F's conclusion, I've been experimenting with a few novel ideas on my free time; one I keep coming back to is the idea of Mortalities I developed in the Lost Deaths short story. But since gothic horror doesn't sell to well, I've been thinking of ways to find a middle ground between the original idea and something more marketable.

This pilot is the result.

It's more serious than B&C and Paypocalypse (being closer to Underland and Blood & Fur) but I would like to have your opinion on it; see if you're liking the premise and would like to read more of that or not.

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A blank page was a promise of infinite potential. 

Simon tried to tell himself that as he stared at his Grimoire’s missing title. The black book rested heavily in his hands, hungry for content to give it life and purpose. After so many days of procrastination, he had decided that today would be the moment when he would finally name his great work. Penning a Grimoire was a rite of passage for all Librarian Class users, and one long overdue in his case. 

He had thus walked into the airship’s posh lobby, sat at a table near a porthole with his coffee, grabbed a pen from his coat, marked down his name and date to celebrate the occasion on an empty page… and then immediately struggled with the worst foe of his kind.

Writer’s block. 

He had written the preface detailing the book’s purpose, put the names of his living family and dead friends in the dedication page, written the complex diagrams and incantations meant to direct its power sealed within, and yet the title continued to escape him. 

The clock ticked by and a voice cut through the lobby’s noise. “Dear passengers, we will soon begin our descent towards Gloire. Please remain seated or return to your rooms.”

This is going to be harder than I thought, Simon thought as he closed his Grimoire. The golden Crestone of the Librarian Class glowed on its cover, the symbol of a book marked with the number 21 and an eye staring back at him. I guess inspiration will strike when it must, and not a moment before. 

He had once promised himself he would complete his Grimoire by the time he officially joined the Dead Archive, but that place was now a pile of ashes, its library and archives pillaged by fools and monsters. He had been too busy hunting down stolen Grimoires to complete his own, though he had continued to religiously pour mana into it each day. He had put so much power in the magical book that it should easily fulfill its purpose once completed… in theory. 

Perhaps he should distract himself by creating a second Grimoire or writing down a magical index of the lost Dead Archive books. He barely had any success in tracking down the stolen tomes over the past few years and was growing frustrated with his hunt.

Oh well, I guess I’ll finish reading ‘A Knight’s Tale’ instead. Simon returned his Grimoire to his Library Inventory and prepared to switch it out for another, more mundane novel he had yet to complete… only for a strident noise to erupt from the loudspeakers. 

“Mortality alert! Mortality alert!” the pilot warned the passengers, spreading panic across the lobby. “All passengers, please return to your rooms and close your portholes!”

The lobby erupted into whispers and shouts, with the passengers either running away to their rooms or despairing over their situation. “A Mortality?” “So close to Gloire?” “By the Light, they need to call the army!”

Simon alone wasn’t entirely surprised. The empire’s weakness and mismanagement had emboldened monsters and Mortality attacks lately. He glanced through the porthole and quickly spotted a shadow flying among the clouds far away from the airship. 

“Bookmark: Mortality,” he said, his spell immediately coming up with a stream of information on the target that materialized in a floating, phantom page filled with burning words.

Deathwing.

Rank: Emergency. 

Death by bats, a minor Mortality in service of the Hecatomb of Predation, whose fangs hunger for blood and screams bring ruin to the living.

Oh, it was a mere Emergency Rank. How odd. Simon would have expected Death by Bats to only show up at night like its more dangerous cousin, Death by Vampirism. Whatever the case, it was nothing a good cannon shot couldn’t deal with. 

Or at least, Simon told himself that until he remembered that he was on a commercial airship rather than a military one, and that those weren’t allowed to carry artillery. 

Oh my, what a mess. While the Mortality was only a minor nuisance for him, Simon couldn’t say the same for everyone else. He had booked a second class trip to save money, so their lobby and rooms were the most exposed to danger. Clients in first and business classes were in a separate compartment magically designed to protect its occupants from damage and monster attacks. They would be safe should the airship fall. Everyone else would plummet to their deaths, and Simon couldn’t allow that. 

That, and a good Mortality was a sealed Mortality. 

Simon rose from his seat and left the lobby, with a hostess immediately barring his way to the upper deck, her clothes adorned with the black and golden imperial colors. “Please, dear passenger, you must evacuate to your room–”

“I have a Class,” Simon replied with confidence, the woman’s eyes widening in disbelief and then recognition. “I will deal with the creature.”

The hostess proceeded to follow him as he reached the upper deck. The wind blew on his face beneath the great mana-filled balloon that kept the floating ship afloat through the sky. The rows of benches which passengers usually used to watch the horizon during the trip were empty, with only a few sky-sailors standing near the railguard separating them from the clouds and void. 

“I’m a Class user,” Simon informed the staff. He summoned his Crestone-encrusted Grimoire to prove it, much to their immense relief. “I’m guessing otherwise, but I don’t suppose you have an emergency piece of artillery stashed somewhere in your cargo hold?”

“I’m afraid not,” a staffer replied. “The Unsinkeable is a commercial airship. We’re forbidden to carry advanced weapons onboard.”

“We’ve called the Imperial Air Force, but their ships may not reach us in time,” another sky-sailer said with a pale expression. Unlike his comrade, Simon’s presence hadn’t calmed him down in the slightest. “What’s your Class?”

“Librarian.” The staff immediately deflated in disappointment, having no doubt hoped for a more prestigious or well-known Class like Wizard. The fools. Simon raised his Grimoire and called upon its power. “Witness my power!”

His Class manifested in a burst of mana.

All Classes altered their user’s appearance when activated, with Knights gaining armor shaped from mana and Wizards putting on robes and a pointy hat. Librarian was no exception. Strips of scroll parchments, dusty tome pages, and documents wrapped themselves around Simon until they covered him head to toe in paper and ink. A hooded leather cloak made of stitched book covers flowed from his shoulders, and a large, eye-shaped lens mask formed over his face. 

Simon ignored the looks of amazement and astonishment the staff sent his way and focused on the approaching Mortality. His Class sharpened his sight enough for him to gather in a few details of the creature.

It was quite the frightening sight. It superficially resembled the bats it was born from, having two jet black wings and claw-talons sprouting from them, but its face was that of a black human skull with fangs sharper than swords. Its skeletal frame glided along the clouds closer and closer to the airship. It would reach it in minutes. 

While the Mortality was rather small—its wingspan was hardly wider than two carriages put together—its claws could easily tear a hole into the airship’s hull. Simon thought about allowing it to get closer in order to seal it, but decided against risking the passengers’ lives. He instead cast Bookmark: Mortality on the creature once more in order to glean its strengths and weaknesses. 

“Interesting…” Simon muttered to himself once the information flooded his mind. Most ailments could not affect Mortalities, but this one had a glaring chink in its armor. “Everyone take a step back, and do not look me in the eye.”

His confident tone compelled the sailors to obey him, and Simon soon found himself along the railguard. The Mortality, Deathwing, glared back at him and let out a horrifying, screeching wail. It sounded like the echo of a thousand souls screaming all at once, begging for life in their last moments. 

Simon wasn’t impressed. 

“The Gorgon’s Gaze.” 

His lens-mask shone with brown light that hit both the Mortality and the clouds around it, filling the air with the smell of fresh dirt. The Mortality’s scream turned into deep silence when its mouth and wings fossilized into cold hard stone. 

The spell had petrified the creature in an instant.

Gravity was a harsh mistress and recalled the now flightless Mortality into its loving embrace. The statue Deathwing had become fell into the void without a noise, swiftly vanishing beneath the clouds. 

“See?” Simon said upon cancelling his spell. “It wasn’t so hard.”

“You…” One of the staffers who had doubted him gulped. “You’ve killed it with one spell…”

“No, I did not,” Simon replied with a shrug. Countless heroes and geniuses throughout history had tried to destroy those creatures for good, without success. “Mortalities are incarnations of death. They do not die, they just stop moving… for a time.”

Of course, falling from miles above and shattering into countless tiny pieces ought to prevent the creature from reforming for a while. If the authorities were smart, they would soon send people to pick up the fragments. 

“Inform the Imperial Air Force of where that creature fell,” Simon said as he dismissed his class, regained his normal human form, and sent his Grimoire back to his Library Inventory. “And please disable the alarm. I would rather enjoy a quiet, peaceful descent.”

He had a book to finish.

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The descent concluded without any other mishap. The staff was kind enough to reimburse him his ticket for saving the airship, and Simon completed A Knight’s Tale by the time they approached the city. The novel had been… passable as far as the plot was concerned, and yielded some results. 

Swordsmanship Skill increased from 3 to 4. 

A Librarian’s Reading Comprehension passive allowed them to gain skills, spells, and other unique abilities with each book they completed. The downside was that he had to read and truly understand every single line. Simon had grown better at that over the years and could speedread most short novels in a day’s time when nothing else got in the way. 

It came as a relief when the Unsinkeable completed its descent. Simon glanced through the lobby’s porthole to better gaze on Gloire, capital of the Empire of Endymion which he called his home. He hadn’t stepped into the city in years, yet its immense circular walls and sprawling streets never failed to impress him. 

The great Lighthouse Cathedral of the Church of the Light, the tallest structure in the civilized world, dominated most of the cityscape to the west. A yellow fire glowed atop the tiered marble tower like a second sun, but its majesty failed to overshadow the floating island carrying the Imperial Palace. The former, deposed royal dynasty had uprooted it when rebels threatened to storm it during the Revolution, and though it hadn’t saved them, the new authorities had yet to find a way to bring it back down to earth. Only military airships were allowed to dock on the floating island, whose cannons were pointed downwards as a warning to those who would dare invade the capital, and to citizens with the wrong ideas. 

However, it was another landmark which Simon focused on. He caught a glimpse of a complex of domes and towers to the south of the gaping hole which used to host the Imperial Palace, on the banks of the Aquamarine River. There stood the Imperial Academy of the Military Arts and Sciences, his new employer. 

The Academy looked larger than the Archive had ever been, but was its library as well-protected? Then again, it would soon be Simon’s role to ensure it.

The Unsinkeable reached the North Station fifteen minutes later and Simon was among the first to walk across the footbridge separating the passengers from the ground. Four other airships were docked on the upper floors, delivering travelers from across the empire and beyond. The station’s lower areas instead catered to mana-powered trains which used to dominate transportation until mankind conquered the sky. They were still popular due to the limited supply of airships and their prices to travel, but far less so than a decade prior. 

Simon walked to the station’s main hall with his luggage until he spotted a bulky, imposing man in coachman’s clothes carrying a sign on which his full name was printed. He seemed to have received Simon’s description, because he immediately recognized him. “Mr. Magnos?”

“That is me.” Simon hadn’t expected the Academy to send someone to pick him up. “Who sent you?”

The man showed no emotion as he took Simon’s luggage. “Miss Agnes is waiting for you.” 

Recognizing the name, Simon followed the man outside to the station’s threshold where a growler carriage awaited them. The coachman looked like his own escort’s twin, with the same cubic jaw, blank expression, and clothes. These two had to be some alchemist’s homunculi or clones.  

Simon stepped inside the vehicle, where a female elf awaited him sitting on a velvet bench. She had long crimson hair the same color as her coat, with the ageless grace her ancient and slothful race was known for. Simon found himself more intrigued by the golden laurel crown sitting on her head and her gemstone necklace. He could smell the mana from them, especially the latter; the flame symbol of the Pyromancer Class was carved on its surface. 

This had to be Agnes Firewand, the Academy’s Thaumaturgy teacher.

“Welcome, Mr. Magnos,” she greeted him with a soft, gentle voice akin to the faint crackling of embers in a fireplace. “I’ve heard your trip was eventful.”

“News travels fast in this town.” Her hand was almost unbearably warm when Simon shook it. Her mana burned beneath her skin. She was old, and powerful. “My congratulations to whoever crafted your fake Crestone. It almost looks identical to the real one.”

“Thank you. I made it myself.” She seemed amused that Simon could tell, but not surprised. “One of the military airships sent to rescue your own answers to the Academy. We believe it is important our students receive practical experience as early as possible when it comes to the Mortalities.”

Which made sense, considering they would be expected to fight and kill them; alongside cults, exiled monarchists, and the empire’s enemies, of course. “It was a mere Emergency Rank. Hardly a match for any experienced Class user worth their salt.”

“I am more surprised by the fact that you defeated it with only one spell,” Agnes replied calmly. The coachmen closed the door and the carriage began to drive through the streets. Agnes pulled the curtains close for their privacy. “You won’t mind if we have your final interview here rather than in my office?”

Simon couldn’t care less. “No, not at all.”

“Thank you.” She assessed him with a curious look and golden eyes that gleamed in the dark. “I must say some have questioned the Headmaster’s choice to hire you for this position, considering how many people your family’s books have eaten over the last century.”

“I’m told that you personally burned quite a few, along with my ancestor,” Simon replied with no hint of sarcasm whatsoever. “My family has forsworn and condemned his abuses long ago.”

“True, but a tarnished reputation takes a long time to be washed away. Doubly so since you’re the wielder of the Librarian Crestone, which has yet to be replicated.” A smile formed on Agnes’ lips. “I believe the Church of Light requested that we confiscate it more than once.”

“The Inquisitors are welcome to try and take it, if they dare. Keeping their vows will be easier once I send their souls to their god.” If it even exists. “Besides, they would waste their time. Only a specific kind of person can wield this Class Stone, and I’m one of the few candidates who fit the criteria.”

“Their god?” The interviewer was smart enough to pick up on a small detail. “I take it you do not believe in the Light?”

Simon scoffed. “Would that affect your choice to hire me?”

“No. I am older than the faith.”

“Then no, I do not worship the Light, or any so-called deity for that matter.” Simon respected their power—the same way he respected the Emperor’s ability to order his execution should he feel like it—but that didn’t mean he considered himself their slave. “I will keep that to myself, of course.”

“Good. Questions of religion and politics have no place in our institution, which brings me to my main question.” She crossed her legs and stared at him dead in the eyes. “Why are you here, Simon?”

Although her tone had become a lot less pleasant, Simon simply held her gaze without a word. He was not one to be intimidated, even by one of the Class users who had crushed his dreadful archmage ancestor. 

“I have read your resumé. After inheriting your Crestone, you worked five years as an assistant in the Dead Archive, only to be caught in its destruction by Mortality cults.” 

“And whose fault was that?” Simon grunted. That day remained a sore spot for him even after three years. He had lost many friends and mentors that day. “The Imperial Army and the Church of the Light cut off their support when we needed it most. They stripped us of our defenses and threw us to the wolves.”

Agnes observed him without a word, before taking a deep breath and moving on. “What interests me is that you apparently spent the last three years trying to track down all the stolen Grimoires and Artifacts, only to stop and request a job as a librarian at our institution. Why?”

“Because I failed.” Well, yes and no. Simon had managed to track down and recover four of the thousand Grimoires lost that day—usually through force and the occasional assassination—but eventually hit a wall. The cults who had stormed the Dead Archive were too secretive, too adept at covering their tracks. “And because your Academy confiscated the Grimoires and Artifacts that weren’t stolen that day.”

The elf smiled ear to ear. “You think we won’t be able to protect them.”

“No, I don’t,” Simon replied bluntly. He had little faith in the imperial authorities, and even less in the Church of the Light. “Some of those objects are my responsibility, and…” Simon cleared his throat. “My Class requires access to magical books to grow. Your Academy’s library is the most extensive on this side of the Dragonsea.” 

“Understandable. For what it is worth, I believe your experience would be a boon to us and that you will find what you seek.” Agnes stroked her chin. “How would you feel about teaching a class of students, Mr. Magnos?”

She no longer called him Simon? He guessed he had passed her test, whatever it was. 

“Teaching is a noble vocation, and an absolute waste of my time,” Simon replied with all honesty. “I applied to organize, maintain and secure a library, nothing more.”

“Of course, it was merely an idle thought. We have an unexpected vacancy among our teaching body, and I thought you might perform well in this role.” She let out a small sigh. “But then again, you are younger than I thought.”

“Am I?” Simon knew he looked a few years older than twenty-one—something he blamed on a few stressful encounters with Mortality cultists—but certainly she had seen his age on his file. “Whatever. Did I ace your interview?”

“For now. You will begin a trial period. True tests take longer than a conversation.” She pulled the curtain aside when the carriage stopped. “Here we are.”

Simon didn’t wait for the coachman to open the door and did so himself, stepping out of the carriage to find himself on the threshold of great metal gates backed by two statues of golden lions. Simon recalled that they used to represent dragons until the Revolution stripped away all symbols of the old monarchy, but they remained more than impressive. The runes carved into the gates oozed mana and power. 

“One last question, Mr. Magnos.” Simon looked over his shoulder to see Agnes stepping down from the carriage with one of the coachmen’s help. “What is your Grimoire about?”

“Time.” Simon smiled. “I am writing a book about time.”

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A/N: and that's it. I would be happy to read your feedback, if it's something you would enjoy reading or not.