IV-21 Councilwoman

“You’re a godsdamned fool… Should’ve left me. I wasn’t…”

“Oh, be quiet, Harlon. This is your fault, you know. I wouldn’t need to risk my life if you would’ve just won that fight and stopped yourself from getting taken prisoner.’

“...”

“Hey! No! No! I just insulted you! I’m calling you weak and pathetic. You can’t take that.”

“I am…”

“Gods—fuck! Rose! Rose! I need you here, now! Please! Harlon. I didn’t mean—”

“I know. But you’re right. I was… dead weight in the end, wasn’t I?”

“No. You weren’t. You’re my brother. I’m—just keep talking. Stay focused on me. Don’t close your eyes! Don’t close your felling eyes! Harlon!”

“Brother…”

“Yeah. Yeah. I always wanted a brother when I was growing up. And I found one. I found a good one. You’re not dead weight, Harlon.”

“I’m not enough. Vera knows. You know…”

“No. You’re worth more to me than any power. You’re worth more than all the stars in the sky. Just don’t go to sleep! Harlon!”

-Harlon Lowe and Roland Arrow

IV-21

Councilwoman

“Veronica. Veronica. Dearest. Please let him go. There’s no need for this.”

Veronica Chandler ignored her grandmother’s pleas as she tightened her grip around Stormhalt’s throat. The City-Lord was choking violently. He kicked and struggled against the Legend-Councilwoman’s grasp, but his might was feeble compared to hers. Veronica was but a Master in terms of Physicality—and a Low Master at that. Such was why she strangled Stormhalt with borrowed hands.

She had summoned two Orichalcum-forged gauntlets from the Dimensional veil she wore and had it throttle the City-Lord in ways she couldn’t. This allowed her to command Stormhalt to “Gag Harder,” or “Forget how to breathe,” and even “Enjoy getting choked.” The City-Lord’s brutalized expression turned from indignation, to terror, to ecstasy, and then desperation as he kept looking upward. Halsur’s massive form glimmered faintly over existence. Veronica disregarded her grandmother’s favorite walking dildo and continued running the edge between releasing Stormhalt, or just breaking his neck and putting him out of his misery.

“City-Lord Stormhalt. You. Simple. Stupid. Creature. Why the hell do you exist? Are you here to give me an aneurysm? Do you want me to finish you off, is that it?”

“Councilwoman, this is unbecoming,” Councilman Anthony De Diego said from the other side of the meeting chamber. She ignored the only member of the Auroral Council older than her and continued her strangulation exercise. 

Veronica Chandler stood atop the grand ulenold table, having strode across its entire length with the activation of her Zen Berserker Skill to inflict bodily harm upon Stormhalt after he reported his latest blunder. “I’ll tell you what is unbecoming, Anthony. Helping an Abyssal Lord. Arranging for them to receive an Animancy Core. Allowing them to siege one of our towns and nearly restart the Abyss War. That’s unbecoming. What I am, right now, is simply upset. I am somewhat emotionally compromised. And the fact that the rest of you aren’t as well makes me just a little bit more angry.”

There were nine other avatars in the meeting chamber besides her and Stormhalt. Nine other avatars to nine other Ascendants. Right now, Cripple’s newest avatar had yet to arrive, and one of Daughter’s sobbing Waifs were being held by a towering clockwork golem that served as Maiden’s avatar and conduit to comfort her daughter. Why the Waif and the Daughter were sobbing? Veronica didn’t know and she didn’t have the energy to ask. She suspected it had something to do with the Deathless considering how the Waif kept whimpering about him.

The Deathless who really shouldn’t have escaped since he was under Cripple’s watch. But I guess I just expect too much from my fellow avatars and my exalted Ascendants. Truly, the standards of stopping a True Hero from escaping a prison is too much to ask for. I’m definitely the unreasonable one here. Yes, indeed.

Veronica took in a deep breath.

And started choking Stormhalt even harder to deal with her stress. His eyes began to roll, and her grandmother began singing a soothing tune. Veronica was resistant to the Sonbringer’s ways, but resistant didn’t mean immune. Immediately, she felt some of her anger fade, but the intellectual annoyance still stayed.

“I’m not strangling you for the Blackedge debacle right now,” Veronica seethed elegantly. She pronounced every syllable with casual calmness while the Orichalcum arms she wielded trembled with unstable fury. “I’m strangling you right now because, after all your screw ups, with both the Endbreaker and Songbringer trying to protect you, you still couldn’t understand basic instructions. What did I say about Adam Arrow?”

She loosened Stormhalt slightly. He rasped for air and his eyes blinked. The man had been close to unconsciousness, and everything inside Veronica told her to just finish the job. “I have no excuse… But all this… was for…”

“Don’t say it!” Kathereine cried out. “Don’t say for the Republic, Havel! Look at her face. Is this the face of a woman who wants to hear that.”

Stormhalt blinked and gulped painfully. Something threatened to break inside Veronica. “City-Lord. It’s not wise to come up with an excuse right after saying you have no excuse. It makes it seem like your words don’t mean anything. And if your words don’t mean anything, then I can’t take you seriously. Do you know what I do to people who I can’t take seriously? Do you think I will spend time on them?’

“No, Legend-Avatar,” Stormhalt managed with a rasp.

“Legend-Councilwoman,” Veronica corrected. “Because you’re clearly my grandmother’s avatar as well. That’s why I couldn’t call on her when this World Quest triggered, right? Because she was with you.” Veronica’s head whipped backward, and she glared at Kathereine from the corner of her eye. The ethereal figure of her grandmother looked so innocent. She had the gall to be blowing on a piece of jeweling to feign nonchalance even after everything she did. “But let’s not talk about that yet. That’s for later. Right now, let’s stay on track with what I asked earlier. What were my orders related to Adam Arrow?”

“To see him mended and left in isolation,” Stormhalt coughed.

“Oh, so you did hear me. Remarkable. So then why didn’t you do as I ordered?” Veronica pressed her lips together as she waited for Stormhalt to give her an answer. When none came, she pulled him even closer. “Well. Say something. If you have a problem with me, I want to know about it. It’s important to know how other people feel about me so that I can self-improve.”

“I had to speak with him,” Stormhalt whispered. “I had to face him.”

Veronica closed her eyes. She nearly closed her summoned hands around Stormhalt’s neck too. No one would ever know the sheer depths of her Heroic willpower—how much it took for her to spare Stormhalt’s life. Three times she was tempted and three times she held back just killing him. “Stormhalt. I distinctly recall ordering you to seek a Psychomancer to resolve whatever fixation you have with Roland Arrow.”

The City-Lord had the gall to sneer. “It’s not a fixation. He was a threat to the Republic. He intended to bring down the Ascendancy! To elevate himself to the position of god!”

“Right. So you say. Just a shame that my belief is very lacking right now.”

Kathereine almost said something, but Veronica whipped her head around a glared. “I’ll get to you later, grandmother.”

And for the first time, Kathereine’s self-control slipped as well. “Do not take that tone with me, child.”

Something clashed between them. The table turned into a spray of ash as the malice in their Rhetoric turned tangible. Their words greeted each other like colliding blades and the room was filled by the ringing of steel in the aftermath. Neither Ascendant nor avatar said anything thereafter, and neither was satisfied. Veronica knew she wasn’t as powerful as her grandmother in most regards, but when it came to words, orders, commands, she was a Legend.

And Legends existed to defy the reign of gods.

“We will be talking later,” Veronica said coolly. “Officially. And then privately.” She regarded Stormhalt once more, ignoring the narrowing her grandmother’s eyes. “Stormhalt. You disobeyed my direct declaration—one that all the other members of the council agreed upon.”

“Technically, we ended the last emergency session at an impasse.” Veronica’s glare was ripped away from Stormhalt’s pathetic face until it found the one that spoke. Three seats to her right, Luminous Lantern, Enoch the Builder’s avatar, decided to add its two bits of mithril. The automaton’s lantern-like head flickered with each word while its Ascendant, Enoch the Builder, remained absent.

“Thank you, Luminous. But please be polite and wait your turn to speak next time. Thanks.”

The automaton flinched as if someone slapped it over the head. “I was merely being truthful,” it said, slightly hurt. It figited with its gold-tipped fingers, and still its absent-minded Ascendant failed to appear. “When we finished with the last session, we only agreed to refrain from doing anything with the Young Lord and treat the prison break in the Nadir as priority.”

“Yes. Anything. City-Lord Stormhalt decidedly did something. Something that led one of our own wardens—a Biomancer—to steal him from his cell and attempt an escape. Now, I have to ask the ugly question of if our Biomancer was actually an Aviary agent all along, if she was ideologically compromised, or if our City-Lord here was so repugnant in terms of behavior that she thought freeing the Young Lord was proper thing to do.”

Veronica paused for a moment and leaned in closer over Stormhalt. He tried to flinch away from her. “I also know that we have a dead Psychomancer. Which leads me to two more questions: What was a Psychomancer doing in his cell when we already had one do a surface survey for his mind, and what were you trying to do with him?”

“The surface survey was insufficient,” Stormhalt coughed. “I just wanted to see if there was any way we could learn about the Deathless’s behavior. And to use the Young Lord against him. I suspect there is a strong—”

Veronica slapped Stormhalt. The man’s head whipped off to the side. A cut opened along the edge of his scalp. “Heal.” The councilwoman commanded. The wound tried to argue against her, but her Unique Feat and unbending ego decided otherwise. The injury she inflicted didn’t heal biologically as it was simply commanded into seal itself shut. The system tried to argue with her. Existence disagreed. She felt a brief push back and rolled her eyes. “Heal, because you’re going to heal anyway. I’m not killing this sad waste of a Pathbearer yet. Just speed it up.”

Now things were more acceptable. Stormhalt’s wounds slammed shut and fused back together in an instant. Most of the time when you got to be a Legend, the system wanted to help you do the impossible. Veronica just had to give it a few steps to follow.

“Councilwoman,” Stormhalt began. She smacked him again. His head snapped hard to the right and he nearly passed out.

“Stay awake,” Vernoica commanded. “Get over your concussion.” Stormhalt shuddered as he did just that. “Stormhalt. Being an avatar lets you get away with things. Everyone in the room knows that. Some of us use our position to do great things.” She gestured toward herself. “Some of us use our position as an excuse to do nothing, like Anthony.” The older man didn’t even bother frowning. “Some of us are literal orphans bound to a unstable child monster because life and fate hate them.” She was talking about Daughter’s many Waifs now. “But do you know the difference between the ones that stay avatars and the ones that get spent?”

Stormhalt swallowed hard and didn’t answer.

“I’m looking for a reply on that, Stormhalt. It wasn’t rhetorical.”

“Favor,” Stormhalt said. “Service of the divine.”

Veronica couldn’t help it. She laughed. “No, you poor, simple man. It’s saying no. It’s telling your Ascendant that they cannot do something. That they cannot use you in a certain way. Because there is a big gulf between avatar, servant, and slave. I know you despise Roland Arrow. And that matched up with what my grandmother feels toward the Starhawk. But the reason why we managed to stay a Republic so far, is because everyone knew to listen to me!”

And with that, she snapped Stormhalt’s neck. The man wheezed desperately. His limbs shot out along his sides—but black lightning burst free from his twitching form.

“Stop,” Veronica said. A few of the forking bolts sank into her—but touched nothing due to her veil of Dimensionality. “Live. I didn’t break your neck completely. Get over it. Get better. Snap back in place.”

Stormhalt let out a pained cry as his neck popped back to a stable state. Halsur was glaring down at Veronica now, but she ignored him as she always did. Of all the Ascendants, she cared about him the least. Mainly because Halsur was kind of like Stormhalt in a way. The bastard was obsessed with her grandmother and didn’t really have a will of his own when it came to her. It just made him like a hollow vessel. And there was something especially pathetic about a god acting as a slave.

Vernoica sneered at Stormhalt before releasing him. The City-Lord crashed down on the table and rolled off with a resounding crash from his armor bouncing off the marble floor. Veronica’s summoned hands of Orichalcum receded into Dimensional rifts. She stood atop the table and glared at Ascendants and their avatars. She strolled, clasping her hands behind her back.

“Fellow council members, Great Ascendants, I see we have to talk about a few things again. I see that we need to be reminded of the rules we abide by. Mainly how our politics are supposed to be inflicted on our enemies rather than each other.”

“Then we must speak of our wayward brother,” Kathereine began.

“We will not speak of the Starhawk until he and his avatar are in our presence and properly accounted for. Not before that. Never before that.” She made eye contact with Kathereine again, and a pressure built between them. The chamber groaned. The gilded walls cracked apart, revealing Orichalcum behind the gold. Paintings were ripped down the middle and glass shattered. Even the marble floor came apart in an expanding web of fissures. “Never before.”

Veronica began circling the chamber. She eyed the Ascendants more than their avatars, and enjoyed their silence. Yeah. That’s right. You know I’m right, but you never listen. You never listen until one of you actively shits the bed. Despite the burning frustration nested within Veronica’s bones, she quite liked this—the feeling of being the pillar of the Auroral Council and the tiebreaker between the gods.

“She is right, you know,” Maiden’s voice sounded forth from the clockwork golem she used as her vessel. The massive entity was a collection of snapping gears and hissing steam. Yet, beneath the metal were patches of biomass that melded with the inorganic exterior. “You were always impatient, Kathereine. We know that Matthew has grown unstable as of late, but the goal is to convince him. Or bind him to us. Not to be rid of him. That is not the consensus we came to.”

The Ascendant herself appeared in the golem’s metallic reflection. She looked as she always did, a shadow sprouting far too many limbs hunched over a crafting table. Sparks flew out as she worked, and between the flashes of light, Maiden’s full glory was shown. She was as much of an art project as all of her creations. Only patches of flesh remained of her. The rest was a jigsaw of glass, metal, crystal, and more. Yet, despite the filigrees of contrasting matter comprising her form, there was still a gorgeous presence to her. Maiden’s face was like cracked clay lined with whorls of gold. Her hair was a nest of copper, and a faint smile lined her lips. Pits of shadow existed in place of irises, and there was a boundless intellectual hunger in her expression as she worked on.

Kathereine’s beauty made her fellow Ascendant look plain, but Kathereine was ultimate human. A bit too human for Veronica’s tastes—but gods came in all shapes and personalities.

“Oh, the consensus,” Kathereine retorted with mockery. “Maiden. I do so admire your willingness to abide by the rules when none exist.”

“But one does,” Maiden replied. Her clockwork golem lifted its face at Kathereine as the gears it had for eyes snapped and turned and again. “There is a single law that determines all our fates: The Great One. Should our connection to them be damaged, should the skills we crystallized in their mind be affected, then there is no us.”

“And such is what I was trying to prevent,” Kathereine said, gliding across the room. Her white dress flowed and flapped behind her, turning into the faintness of wings. But then the wings broke apart into petals, and a fragrance filled the room. The Songbringer hummed as circled the clockwork golem like a snake preparing to wind itself around its prey. Then, she struck. She wrapped an arm around the golem, and for the first time, Maiden looked up. It was a strange sight—though one infused with aesthetic. 

Maiden stared up at an angle, looking past the shell of her golem like portrait of someone looking beyond their frame. Meanwhile, Kathereine grabbed the golem by the arm and grinned amiably. “Why, if Matthew had his way, there would be no Republic. There would be no us. We all know what he intends to do.”

“No. We really don’t.” And thus came Harlock’s voice, rushing through the room like a whistle of midnight wind. The Ascendant of Midnight seemed absent, but was all around them, beyond anyone’s ability to perceive. Only when he willed it could another notice him. And right now, the taciturn Harlock had much to say. “We don’t know anything for certain. Because we don’t talk to each other anymore. I warned you. I warned all of you this would happen. I told you to avoid to breaking the mono-worship that sustained us before. Now, we are all held up by cults unto ourselves. And so we turn insular.”

“Worthless,” Halsur the Endbreaker spat. His voice sounded like thunder crashing upon the land, and his glare fell on both Veronica and every inhabitant in the room itself—including Stormhalt. “All of this is worthless. The Starhawk is finished. He will never accept the ritual. He has declared. So must we. There is no relationship between us. Not anymore. He is not who he was.”

“We are not who we were,” Harlock shot back. “And it is not worthless. We do not decide anything alone. That is not the way of things. To choose to reign as one will see us fall apart. And the jackals are all around us, waiting for us to fall apart so they can rush in and rip the flesh from our people.”

A low hiss of crackling coldness hardened the very air itself. Veronica tried not to wince as the faint shroud of Hermit the Coldness revealed itself. An aged woman with a face lined with countless wrinkles and a skin carved from blocks of ice glowered at everyone through the building steam lining the ceiling. “Which was why we should strike first. Folly after folly. Wait after wait. You are coward, Harlock. This is known, and the only reason why you are burdened by the repeal of mono-worship is your own lacking congregation. You are waning.”

“We all ebb and grow,” Harlock shot back with just as much ice in his own voice. “Some of us are patient.”

“And some of us do not delude ourselves,” Hermit declared. The Ascendant of Enslaved Winters whispered something to her avatar. Hermit’s vessel was a stout goblin woman who almost never said anything. Instead, she simply offered her presence when Hermit had something to say. This time, however, Hermit’s avatar directed a frigid glare at Anthony—who served Harlock the Midnight.

Veronica hid her urge to scream and decided to sigh aloud instead. “Ascendants. Please. We’ve been through this.” As several of the Ascendants prepared to continue pushing the issue, she decided to play hardball. “Let’s move on.”

Her voice struck the Ascendants and their avatars at once. It didn’t hurt them, but it did rattle their souls a slight bit. None of them appreciated that, but no one retaliate. That was because Veronica occupied a unique position on the council. She was the ultimate tiebreaker. She had her own Ascendant, but Kathereine couldn’t compel her the same other the gods could bend their avatars. That meant that everyone had to curry her favor if they wanted to get something done. 

And that gave Veronica influence.

She wasn’t nearly the most powerful avatar on the Auroral Council, but she was the most important. Kathereine had taught her that lesson when she was but a babe. Control was more than just strength, it was the ability to command what someone else wanted. Always.

“We’re not doing this,” Veronica said sternly. A low groan came from Stormhalt, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. “We are not airing old grievances and fighting with each other right now. There isn’t the time, and we have problems to resolve. We are going to start with Young Lord Arrow. I am going to find and secure him personally. The rest of you will work with me. That means, Daughter, that we don’t disappear suddenly to aid Cripple.”

“B-but I was helping,” Daughter whimpered. The Waif she controlled this time was a rail-thin thing, and when she raged, the skin on her face was drawn taut, revealing the outline of her bones. “I was! I was!”

She really needs to start picking from a better caliber of orphans, Veronica thought distastefully. These ones are getting sicker and weaker faster. Or maybe she’s just getting worse. They can’t survive her tainting for long regardless… We need to get to the ritual. Sooner rather than later.

“You were,” Veronica said with a sarcastic nod. “Great. So. Is the Deathless secure? Is he back in his cage ready to be interviewed?”

Suddenly, both the Waif and the Daughter fell silent. “No! Because Cripple was useless and—and stupid!”

Veronica hummed in doubt. “Okay. Fine. But he’s still out there. You failed.”

“I am a god!” Daughter screamed. She erupted from the sobbing Waif’s form in a blast of tar. A mess of arms extended out from her like a coiled mess of tendrils. Each hand she possessed clutched a glistening blade. Someone more paranoid would imagine themselves to be in danger, that Daughter might strike them. Veronica wasn’t that someone. She knew the girl was throwing her fit still, and something else drew her attention instead.

There was a scar on Daughter’s malformed face. A fist-sized gap lined her deformed skull and vitality kept seeping out. Daughter seethed, and her horrid, serried teeth glinted even in the light.

“You’re a wounded god,” Veronica commented. “Here. Come here. I want to see what the mean Deathless did to you.”

And that was a relatively simple rhetorical trick. Daughter never did anything you told her to. Not unless you were Maiden or Enoch. That stopped the Ascendant of Darkness and Omens from following through on her usual hysterics.

Now for the next part.

“Come on,” Veronica said, holding her arm open, beckoning the oversized, overpowered child over. “Let me see. I just want you to get better. I’ll make sure no one bullies you.”

A loud sigh followed. Veronica turned her head to stare flatly at a floating spear. It’s head was dense and golden, a blade that could pierce someone across time. Carvings were etched down its shaft, and a wisp of radiant flame extended from its very haft like a tail.

“Not a word, Terminal,” she said, threatening the avatar who had literally fused himself into his grand weapon. Another sigh sounded in the air, and a towering scale-skinned man with a hundred wings sprouting from his back, a mess of slithering snakes extending in place of a lower body, and an even grander spear in his hand. “You neither, Longinus. Silence.”

Longinus the Wanderer grunted with disgruntlement. “I don’t understand why we keep treating her this way. She is centuries old like the rest of us. Why we kept this creature, I do not understand.”

“Why I cured your heart condition while we were mortal was a question I often ask myself as well.” Maiden’s voice was devoid of emotion. Instead of working on her bench, she was staring out from the golem’s body, directly at Longinus. Her eyes glowed with the flames of her inner forge, and the spear-bearing Ascendant of Distance and Journeys scoffed, but said no more.

Daughter struggled against her stubbornness for a moment before she wandered over to Veronica. She lowered her face and let out a sniffle, trying to gather more sympathy. Veronica studied the girl’s wound and her frown deepened. “This is a soul-wound.”

“He used an Animancy evolution on me! He tore into my vitality as well.” Daughter stomped her feet, and splashing tar washed through the room.

“Miss,” Veronica declared off-handedly, and the tar curved around every last person to splatter against the walls. She extended a rush of her own Animancy mana. As she dipped her magic into Daughter, her eyebrows rose as she realized the depth of the damage. “It’s deep. And it’s healing slowly.”

“I tried reverting time,” Daughter whined. “I tried cutting the hurt away. But it just says. It doesn’t get better! It doesn’t!”

“Isn’t that curious,” Veronica commented. “Heal faster. Souls mend and vitality stabilizes. It just takes time.”

Warning: Unable to countermand Causal Scargiver (Unique Feat).

The notification took Veronica entirely by surprise. “Causal Scargiver? A Unique Feat? Well. Looks like you’re getting a bit of a lesson this time, Daughter. I don’t think I can shout the injury away.”

“No!” Daughter shrieked. “I want you to fix it! Fix it! Fix it!”

Veronica couldn’t do anything about the injury—that might need to resolve itself. Frankly, she wanted Daughter to stay injured a while longer. It would keep her more hesitant when it came to performing acts of violent stupidity, and Veronica wanted to investigate the exact nature of this wound. 

That didn’t mean Veronica could resolve what was actually bothering the girl, though. “There, there, it doesn’t hurt that bad, does it?”

It was like the breaking of a fever. One moment, Daughter was about to stomp her feet again. The next, she froze and felt at her face with her mess of tangled arms. A few of her knives sank through her skull, but she wasn’t bothered by that at all. In fact, she wasn’t bothered by her soul wound, either. “Still there but it doesn’t… hurt anymore.”

“I told the pain to go away,” Veronica said. She reached out and patted Daughter on her ugly-looking head. It took much of the councilwoman’s willpower not to frown at the tar drenching her fingers. “The hole will take a little longer, but I think it makes you look tough and scary.”

“Really? You think so?”

“Oh, yeah. I think I’m even a little scared of you now. But I’ll have to take another look later to be sure.”

Daughter straightened herself and loomed over Veronica. “I’ll be sure to—”

“Stay here and don’t run off alone again,” Veronica interrupted. “We don’t want you to get another mark, now do we?”

Daughter’s posture sagged and she let out a childish grumble. “Okay. I’ll be a good girl. Good, good girl.”

“Great. That’s all I can ask for. Now. The rest of you.” Veronica turned to address the room once more. “We’re going to follow in Daughter’s example and be good boys and girls as well. That means we do things together. With focus and precision. That means that we don’t follow in City-Lord Stormhalt’s example and—”

A pocket of Dimensionality popped as new figure entered the room. It was a large automaton with a rectangular body evolved to carry equipment. Faint wisps of incandescent mana painted its form in a corona, and the towering presence of Cripple flared into being. The other Ascendants greeted their comrade of Might and Sacrifice, but few acknowledged him with anything approaching warmth.

“Cripple,” Veronica said. “Glad to see you bound yourself to a new avatar so soon.”

“Apologies,” Cripple said through the avatar. “I was indisposed after my encounter with the Deathless. He caught me off guard with one of his Unique Skills. It will not happen again.”

That was probably absolute bullshit. Veronica could smell bullshit like she was a bloodhound. It came with being Kathereine’s granddaughter. And that’s why Kathereine was smelling it, too. They shared a look as Cripple’s newest avatar stomped its way across the room, its footsteps crunching against the broken marble with every stride.

“Again, this is why we act together,” Veronica said, choosing to let it go for now. She didn’t fully trust Cripple that much. Not in this matter. Cripple was a reliable ally to have when she was trying to get something legal or ethical done, but when it came to matters of honor or anything related to the Stormhawk, Cripple was a bit too emotionally compromised to be a true ally. “The system wants the Deathless dead for a reason. I don’t. Not until we understand what he can do and why he’s growing so fast.”

“Right,” Charity the Bountiful spoke through her avatar. “It absolutely has nothing to do with the fact that he might be related to you.”

Veronica paused. Something inside her tightened. “Related to me?”

“Please,” Charity’s avatar, Pauper—a elven priestess clad in cheap rags and covered in filth—said. “You are not the only one with the capacity to do research. We all know you were close to his father, once upon a time.”

“As one is with a treasured student,” Veronica declared, trying to keep herself from lashing out.

“Treasured student,” Anthony said. The old man took his round-rimmed hat off and rubbed at it a bit. “I was always curious about what you saw in him. He was no talent. Not like Roland. A competent Pathbearer, but not one of significant note.”

“There are things beyond power, Anthony. We can deny that, but we all betray ourselves emotionally at some point.” Veronica sighed. “And understand that I was his teacher when he was but a boy. He was a bright child and—”

“And you stayed in touch even as he got to the academy,” Charity hummed through her avatar. The Ascendant of Theft and Wealth chuckled loudly. “Such a touching story. You’re a noble woman, Veronica Chandler.”

Don’t let her goad you….

Of all the Ascendants, Veronica hated Charity the most. You couldn’t make everyone like you. Not even with a Legendary Rhetoric Skill. But that paled before the fact that Charity just seemed to be good at seeing through her.

The unspoken truth was that everyone else in the room suspected she was Harlon Lowe’s mother. And on that topic, they were wrong. But not in the way they understood.

“Everyone has a moment where they wished they were someone else,” Veronica said. “But that’s the blissful past. Let’s get back to the ugly present. We need Tanner Lowe back. And the best way to get him to cooperate and not just blink out of existence using that Outside Context Problem Skill of his is through Young Lord Arrow.”

“It seems like more than just your own history is repeating, Legend-Councilwoman Chandler.” Stormhalt wheezed as he forced himself back to his feet. Veronica felt a begrudging bit of respect for the man. Despite all his flaws and foolishness, Havel Stormhalt was always a do-or-die kind of Pathbearer. There was no retreat in him, not cowardice or unwillingness to endure humiliation if it got him what he wanted. 

Unfortunately, her respect was balanced out by annoyance as he continued speaking. “Roland’s spawn and the Omenborn have decided to echo their parents. The Young Lord cares for Udraal’s abomination. I must ask that you offer me a chance to redeem myself, Legend-Councilwoman. All this—”

“No.”

It was not Veronica that spat those words, but Cripple. Loud clanging followed as Cripple’s avatar marched across the room. Stormhalt turned away from Veronica and clutched his chest. He did his best to hide a wince as he glared up at a massive automaton. Meanwhile, Cripple stood before Halsur as the two Ascendants faced each other down as well.

“You will do nothing but submit yourself to a cell of my choosing and face judgment for all the wrongs you have committed upon your fellow citizens.”

“My failures are only practical. My actions are virtuous!” Stormhalt’s snarl enraged something in Cripple. His divine mana flared. Stormhalt’s lightning surged. Veronica knew what was coming. No amount of Rhetoric was going to stop two very unreasonable gods if they decided to have another brawl in another meeting room over some other bit of stupidity.

“Grandmother,” Veronica said. “Stop them. Before we end up wasting more time. This is pointless.”

Kathereine was as much to blame as Stormhalt or Halsur for the mess they were in, but she was the hardest to deal with. Mainly because she functioned as the peacemaker between most of the Ascendants when she wasn’t personally feuding with the Starhawk herself.

“That’s enough,” the Songbringer sang, her voice spiking the air with calmness and bliss. Both Halsur and Cripple went still as their avatars staggered to a halt. Stormhalt’s face twitched, and a dopey smile crawled over him even as he tried to fight it. The cargo-automaton Cripple used as an avatar right now let out a loud laugh stopped moving.

Both Halsur and Cripple were still raring for a fight, but Kathereine turned her attentions on them thereafter. “And should you deny me this decency, I will make you recount dreaded shames past.”

And that did the trick as usual. Another thing Kathereine had over the other Ascendants was her ability to remind them of their ugliest histories. Her songs carried the weight of Psychomancy, Empathy, but also History. What Kathereine could recall, she could make someone else relive.

And there was a great deal that the Ascendants didn’t want to relive, considering the centuries they endured.

“I will not let this be,” Cripple said, his voice a reverberating drone. “Not the City-Lord. Not you, either, Halsur. And Kathereine, I know your breath was the wind that drove the sails of this madness. This cannot be forgiven. What you have done cannot be undone. Loyal citizens lay dead because of you. A town has been—”

“Destroyed because the foul actions of a vengeful Abyssal Lord,” Kathereine replied, placing the back of her hand on her head.

“One that you aided!” Cripple snarled.

“Such accusations!” Kathereine clutched her chest in mock offense. “This will require proof, and you have none. I demand you recant these disingenuous assertions, Cripple. I understand that you are emotionally unbalanced from losing another of your dear avatars, but I will not endure such slander.”

“You—”

“Enough,” Veronica said. And now it was time for her to counteract her grandmother. “Whatever happened, we will face together. As the mature, focused, and capable leaders of this great Republic. And that means finding Young Lord Arrow, recapturing him, recapturing the Deathless, and securing this prison before we form a proper after-action discovery committee. No more accusations now. Or provocations. Now we all listen.”

Cripple wanted to say something, but she intercepted his grievance. “Cripple. I know. Later. I promise.”

Veronica felt the weight of her own Rhetoric impact her own soul as she shuddered. Legendary promises are terrible things to break. Terrible enough that they might just kill her if she did break them. And that’s also why Cripple let it go for now. Because he knew she was serious. 

Kathereine tutted. “You must stop using yourself as a pawn, granddaughter.”

“Your fault, not mine,” Veronica shot back. Now. With everyone present and the stupidity mostly contained, she took in a breath and began strategizing. “Okay. The breakout has mostly been contained to the Nadir, correct? Cripple. Report on the current situation.”

“We are fighting to regain control of the Zeroth and Zenith Cubes. At present, there are over forty Legendary-Tier prisoners still unaccounted for.”

“And my vessel?” Enoch’s voice crashed out from Luminous Lantern like a collapsing building. “Where is the Rebis.”

Cripple hesitated. “Unaccounted for, at present. The prototype was present at—”

“It cut me!” Daughter interrupted with a loud cry. “It tried to sting me! It was helping the… the…” The Daughter actually radiated with fear and stopped herself from saying the Deathless’s name. She shot across the room and splashed back into her Waif. Soon, she was enjoying the comforting arms of her mother’s avatar once more.

“Unacceptable,” Enoch declared. “A great deal of investment and effort has gone toward creating the vessel. We must reclaim it.”

“Your stabilized avatar is a secondary matter before more pressing concerns,” Longinus said with a sneer. “Why, if you hadn’t attempted to split your own soul in two before we full understood how the Ritual of the Dichotomous Soul worked, you wouldn’t be here. Once more, we have to subsidize the folly of our most impotent members.”

“What do you know of competence, drunkard?” Enoch snarled. “All you do is wander from place to place, scribbing routes on pages, burning your divinity away in taverns, brothels, and other places of pleasure. Places built through my blueprints, from my teachings.”

“Right. Your teachings. The teachings you managed to hallucinate all on your own—after the Great One served as your level scaffold.” Longinus scoffed. “Let’s not all lie to ourselves here, we know what we are. Some are just more honest than the others. I can accept the lie, unlike Matthew. Do not mistake me for that broken wretch. But still, why deny what we are? Is it not a triumph in of itself to take from something mighty as well?”

“It would be more of a triumph if we could stay on track,” Veronica added with practiced ease. “Enoch. We will try to reclaim your Rebis if we can. Longinus. Please.”

“Fine,” Longinus the Wanderer sighed. “I will play the mute so that Enoch is spared the role of whimpering wench.”

“Thank you,” Veronica said. You over-sexed snake-fetish-having manchild. She didn’t say the last part, but she always thought it. “Whatever the case, we have a few mysteries to solve. The first is why did Pathbearer Bethany break Adam out of his cell? Then, where did he go? After that, how do we get him back? My personal answer is that Bethany is likely compromised—or was an agent of Aviary—for the first.”

Several Ascendants turned to glare at Cripple. Even though this wasn’t really its fault at all. The recruitment for the Rubix Well was done by a specific department in the Prismatic Guard. And Cripple wasn’t the only one to miss the fact that there were Aviary agents in their midst. That applied to all the other Ascendants and their avatars as well.

Rule one of politics, Veronica sighed internally. Cover my ass and everyone else be damned.

“If that is true, then we likely have an entire cell under our noses.”

“I will see them found and delivered to the light.” Harlem the Truthful’s avatar spoke, then. He was a young man clad in pure, white plate. Whatever name he had was lost to him as the purifying fires of the absolute truth burned behind his eyes. A rusted shackle ran along is arm, binding him to his dark-armored twin—and fellow avatar. The latter served Dollus the Deceiver, the supposed thirteenth of the Ascendants.

Veronica knew a bit more than most, but there were other things about Dollus that bothered her. Mainly, she wasn’t sure if he actually existed at all, or if he was just a split personality of Harlem himself. She never really heard Dollus speak, after all. And Harlem operated in whispers and hints, usually visible only in someone’s peripheral vision. Even now, she could only see Harlem lurking, with no sign of his criminal twin.

“Very good,” Veronica said. “We will secure Young Lord Adam’s last known position and let Harlem take charge of the scene.”

“I will assist the Truthful,” Harlock spoke through Anthony. “The rats of Aviary dwell in darkness. I will see it turned against them.”

“Then I will proceed to the cube first,” Cripple declared. “To ensure all threats are pacified.”

“Not alone,” Veronica declared. Cripple turned its single eye on her, but she refused to bend. “You said the Deathless caught you off guard with his Unique Skill last time. That’s not going to happen again. We do things as a Council and a pantheon now. No more independent operating. We treat this matter like how we dealt with the Tarrasque?”

“Beating the hells out of the thing until it was stunned enough for us to fling it at Southern Continent?” Longinus jested.

“Dealing with it together. As a collective. Making sure we cover for each other’s mistakes,” Veronica answered. “The Deathless will be coming for his friend. And we will take advantage of that. But it’s time to stop treating him like a side note. His capture is not all but assured. We are not in control of the situation right now, and the longer we refuse to face these facts, the faster the situation might spiral. Right now, he could be anywhere in the prison, and from what we know about his Outside Context Problem, tracking him is hard, but trapping him is reliable. We just need a lure.”

“And I suspect Aviary is going for the very same strategy,” Kathereine mused.

That sent a rush of coldness through Victoria. “Very likely. I think they wish to learn the same things we: Why the system wants the Deathless dead, how he was made, and how to create more of him.” Her eyes fell on Daughter. “Make no mistake, he is worth far more alive than dead. Especially if we can get him to bestow is Path on our chosen candidates. Or have him lend his extreme system-favored status to all of us. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I have a hard time remembering the last time I gained a level in any skill.”

The other avatars present shuffled in place, and she knew she had them. “So. I will be the one that makes contact with him. Not because of distrust, but because of means, methods, and outcomes. From what we know of our Deathless, he has a Legendary Skill now that allows him to contend with an Ascendant in a direct confrontation, rip through Orichalcum and magic in equal measure. But he lacks proper social defenses. And so we will use that to pacify him.”

“Putting yourself in place to be the one that claims him, I see,” Charity chuckled off by the side.

“Yes,” Victoria replied, unashamedly. “Because I am most suited for the taste. And we cannot risk letting him slip our chains any further. I know what you all suspect about my relations to him, what you don’t say openly but hint with your words and eyes. I turn this around on you and ask: Do you think you can stop him with your words? Because I can. I can make this simple and direct. So. Yes. It will be me.”

The room fell silent. No further comments assailed Veronica. She almost sneered in triumph. Despite everything, Kathereine looked upon her with the faintest hint of pride.

“So. We work together, and we do this properly. Together. As one. Now. I cede my chair to you, Harlem. Direct us as you may, and let’s find our missing Young Lord, shall we?”

The Ascendant acknowledged her words, and called out to Harlock and Cripple. As the room broke apart into subfactions among avatars and Ascendants, Kathereine drifted closer to her granddaughter.

“Tell me,” Kathereine began. “Is he ours? Because if he is… I don’t really want to do anything wretched to our bloodline.”

The thought was disgusting enough. “He’s already too young for you regardless, grandmother.”

“Oh, that’s not up to you. Or him. But it might be up to our blood.” Kathereine smiled.

Veronica didn’t. “You. Do. Nothing. Until. I. Have. Him.”

“Don’t worry, dear girl,” Kathereine laughed softly. “I’ll let you relive your personal original sin. And when you are done, when you find yourself hurt once more, I will take him from you. As it goes. As it has always been.”

And in that moment, Veronica quietly begged that she wasn’t grandmother to Tanner Lowe, the Deathless born to her son, forged at Udraal Thann’s hands.