II-92 Arms Deal (III)

It is easy to conflate the nature of Scions to be as if demigods. From my personal research, this is not entirely accurate. Scions are more like evolutionary strains for a divine entity, and part of their own structure of ascension and advancement. The overall complexity behind their design is hard to encapsulate, but I shall try to do so thusly.

The first issue is defining god and Scion. There are many entities in the Fathoms that are “godlike” in terms of power. Indeed, there are millions who can burn entire continents, and thousands that can crack planets as if they were but eggs. On top of immense output, they might also be able to stop time for a certain sector of space or even shift entire realms from one place to another. For most mundanes, these Skills would make the user seem divine enough.

However, divine means something very specific in the Fathoms. To be a divine doesn’t just mean being powerful, but rather the literal embodiment of an entire concept. Hence, the reason why Scions reign over specific Concept Cores, and why gods cannot be killed in a conventional manner.

For most gods, the faithful are their lifeblood. A tithe of Essence is required to keep said god in existence. But this is not enough. Even with there are countless trillions of faithful, the gods might grow in immensity, but not adaptability. I am not completely certain why this is the way of things, but I suspect it was by Antediluvian design. Gods are ultimate fated entities with hard restrictions placed on them. They cannot go beyond their programming, so to speak.

So, this is where the Scions come in. They are fonts for divine power, but also beings capable of venturing down new evolutionary tracts themselves. Most interestingly, they can also intermingle different gods, allowing a “merging” of divines to take place, so to speak.

Among the most interesting Scions are the Trine spawned by the Creator of the Celestial Symphony. They usually take the form of three high elves, which are eventually merged into one to become a Singer of the Symphony. After that, they begin a series of songs that builds on the nature of their divine “parent,” which causes even more growth and achievements.

So maybe that’s it. The accumulation of legends and records that can only be obtained by a user—a mortal… Which begs the question, why make the gods sapient in the first place…

-Sarah Moonscar on Scions

II-92

Arms Deal (III)

As Wei blinked back into the gala, he found Vendrian pacing within the ice cocoon he made, striking his own shelter with vicious blows.

“Vendrian. How is the situation?” Wei asked.

The Scion jolted with surprise and sighed. “Say something next time.”

“It’s not my fault you were so inattentive. You should always be aware. Someone might run you through from behind.”

Vendrian snorted. “Their funeral.”

Wei’s Omniscience detected a flood of signatures around them. The ends of the halls were packed tight with spectating Sinners talking to each other about how long Wei and the Bastard had been fighting. “The crowd has grown larger. I can’t sense Lein though.”

“She was here. For a moment. I felt her earlier. But she didn’t do anything.” There was a look of paranoia on the Scion’s face. A look Wei didn’t begrudge the man for having. “I don’t think she fully bought it. We did this too fast—too sloppy.”

“Yes,” Wei agreed. “But so long as things are unclear, it is to our advantage. Listen. I need to bring you across. There is something we need to discuss. And someone you should see first?” A beat followed. “Several someones, in fact.”

The Scion of Death went very still, then he turned to face Wei. “I… the birth was…”

“Your sister held the cold back admirably. And your lover… well, I cannot imagine being the vessel for that kind of coldness. Her endurance through that ordeal was as worthy a feat as any.”

“And… and my child?” Vendrian asked, his voice almost too thin.

“Alive. I think.” Wei frowned. “I heard your father speak to the babe. He declared something of life and death. The Hound was present at the birthing, in some way, in some form.”

A long, stress-filled breath left the Scion. “Alright. Alright. I just… Alright. But how are we doing this without getting noticed? I can’t exactly keep faking things if I’m not here?”

“Bishop,” Wei replied simply. “He can likely sustain the facade chaos for a while. So long as you can ensure the ice doesn’t melt.”

Vendrian nodded slowly. “The ice won’t melt unless I will it.”

“Or a certain Scion of Destruction unleashes her flames,” Wei added.

“Yeah. Or her. Aside from that… maybe if a Duke-Tier enemy directly applies their full power... But the frost should last besides.”

“Alright. Good. I’m going to take you into my Inventory, and then we will be across. But there is something else I need to tell you—and you should prepare yourself for this: You won’t just be welcoming your son’s entrance into the world, but also arranging the death of the woman who wronged you so.”

The corners of Vendrian’s lips curled in outrage. “The Collectress. We’re going for her now?”

“Not just her. Duke Goldmask as well. But one thing should lead into another.” Wei offered the man a bitter laugh. “Are you ready to be a very happy man, Vendrian?”

“I could almost hug you right now, you little shit.”

Wei chuckled. Psionic power began to pour out from his eyes as he called upon Bishop to assume their place and further the deception. “Save the affection after we finish forging our bond through murder. Right now, prepare yourself to be a new father.”

***

After shifting positions with Bishop, Wei carried Vendrian down to the Base using his Inventory. The trip to the infirmary was a quick one, their pace hastened by the Scion’s agitation and General MacArthur’s overall urge to see “unimportant matters” settled as soon as possible so they could get to the interesting part of murdering the Collectress and Duke Goldmask.

Even as they rounded the halls, the pitched whines of a newborn were intermixed with cooing noises made by Mourning. With every step, Vendrian’s breath grew faster, his heart accelerated.

“You’ve practically got a drum in your chest,” Wei said, slightly sardonically. “Calm yourself. You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m about to hold my fucking son, asshole, don’t tell me to be calm,” Vendrian growled without looking at Wei.

“Well, at least temper your anxiety! It’s infectious, and I despise it when my hand sweats.”

As Vendrian practically burst through the door—sending a heavily armored soldier sprawling across the ground, his eyes came to rest on a wan-faced woman resting in a cot, holding a small bundle close to her chest. Such would be a perfect scene domestic bliss if not for the massive flying sword hovering nearby, its edges pulsating with deathly frost while its hilt burned with the green of nature.

“Brother!” Mourning called out, darting across to room to be by Vendrian’s side. “You’re here. Quick. Go! Go see your child! Go see your love!” At once, she started batting him forward using her flat side. Vendrian’s already hasty steps turned into a near sprint. As he shot toward Aerea and his newborn, his inhibitions were lost, and Wei thought he heard something akin to a sob escape the man.

“Thank you,” Mourning said, staying behind to speak with Wei. The young master but smirked awkwardly, trying to withdraw his Omniscience from the scene. This was a private moment. The creation of a new family should not be a show for so many strangers—were there no private rooms in this place? No curtains? “Without you… perhaps we would still be but slaves. And he would lose more and more of himself before we could find the opportunity to break free.”

“It was nothing at all. I promised to aid a fellow—eh, fellow warriors in need. And so I delivered.”

Mourning laughed melodically. “You are quite the precious boy, you know that.”

Wei’s smirked turned to a frown. “I am the Patriarch of the Drowned Sky Sect. I speak nothing in jest.”

“Of course. It does not stop you from being rather… loveable, though. Again. You have my thanks and gratitude. For what is to come though… Well, we will cross that bridge when the time comes.” She turned her tip to stare at the soldiers—and MacArthur in particular. “I suspect your new friends will have demands of us?”

“I would not call them friends yet, but yes. And you might like these demands. The Collectress may soon be a problem of yesterday.”

A low and intrigued gasp came from Mourning, but a loud wail interrupted her conversation with Wei. All eyes were on the two tiny hands gripping the massive fingers of the Scion. An interplay of frost drifted between father and son, and Vendrian looked as lost as Wei had ever seen him be. Between the infant and his father was Aerea, looking on with an expression of delirium and bliss. She was still three shades too pale for Wei’s liking, and also so thin that her cheekbones looked like the edge of knives. Several needles were attached to her arm, and Essence flowed through the connected tubing, keeping her stable.

She muttered words, instructing Vendrian on how to properly support his newborn son’s neck while struggling to remain conscious. Wei winced at the sight. Was this how it was like when he was born? Was his mother in a similar state?

And his father—William Yu… Was he like Vendrian? No. No, Wei had other half-siblings before. William should have known what he was doing. Should have…

The thought made Wei’s insides twist with quiet misery.

Here was another thing lost to him. A conversation he could have had with his father if they were on better terms. Instead, he found himself glaring at William, who looked on with an inscrutable expression, taking in Vendrian’s moment of triumph. Slowly, Wei got a sense of envy from his father’s face, and he couldn’t help but shake his head.

William Yu didn’t have this life taken from him—he destroyed it. He destroyed all this.

Wei tried to imagine Vendrian murdering his lover, trying to kill his son. Something told Wei the Scion didn’t have it in him.

“Is he going to be reliable?” the General asked, leaning close to whisper to Wei. MacArthur’s shades captured Vendrian and his family in an ominous reflection, and the way he kept chewing on the pipe hinted at impatience. “I have some intelligence on this one. He’s volatile. Violent. Insubordinate.”

Wei considered Vendrian’s behavior and offered a slight sneer. “Your intelligence is likely a mischaracterization. Most of those words apply—but they do not capture the entirety of his nature.”

“And what is the entirety of his nature?”

“Traumatized and enslaved. Under the conditions of his enshacklement, I think a bit of loathing for authority should be understood. And as for the violence, aren’t you part of Wrath?”

MacArthur puffed out a bit of smoke as he snorted. “Yeah. But I’m a soldier, son. First, foremost, and always. A lot of creatures who I have to regard as peers or superiors are little more than just butchers and monsters. It’s not the same.”

Wei offered him a nod. “Then trust me when I tell you that Vendrian is more warrior than bandit. And he will be motivated to aid us through this endeavor if only to sate his need for vengeance alone.”

The General grunted. “I am going to do something I don’t usually do: I’m going to let you be in charge of him. I want you to understand the trust and clemency I’m giving you, because control… That’s not something I surrender easy. But out of everyone in that circus you’re involved with, I think I prefer you the most.”

The young master felt a surge of awkwardness come over him. “I… am honored?”

“Don’t be. I despise your father, Bishop’s a spook, Moonscar’s even worse than he is, John Doe is a psychopath playing at being a knight. And then there’s that pet surgeon of theirs.” The General made a face like he tasted something foul. “You’ll learn to hate the bastards. Just like I did. You’ll see. You’ll see. Now. How long do you think it takes a man to finish staring at an infant?”

This wasn’t something Wei had an answer to. But still, he thought Vendrian deserved a bit more of a respite considering everything he suffered. “Give him a little while longer. Just a little more. I will call for him when the time is right.”

MacArthur’s expression went blank, and then he turned around and left. “Fine. I’ll be back up the tower scheduling bombing drills. Come and find me when this is done.”

Wei stared at his retreating form, puzzled by the man’s nature, and happy the conversation was over on some level. In the corner of his eye, he spotted William staring at him, and the moment Wei turned to face his father, the scum looked away. Coward.

“It won’t get better,” Kalrus said, speaking off from the side.

Wei looked at the orc and frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“Your relationship with your father. It won’t get better. He won’t change, but he also hates himself. And he has scarred you too deeply. You should consider killing him as soon as you can. Or breaking him further.”

The young master’s mouth fell slightly open. “You…”

“I only speak from experience. I see a bit of myself in you. Not much, but in this, you and I are similar. We are who we are now because they failed us. Our parents. They weren’t enough. And the world wasn’t what they said it was. You want to feel safe? You want to choose for yourself? Then make sure you make the guns, that you are the one with the best guns, the biggest triggers, and the one that pulls.”

With each syllable, a rising snarl built in Kalrus’ voice until finally, it broke down into calm professionalism again by the end. Through it all, Wei was speechless, offering but blinks and stunned grunts.

“Is everyone mentally disturbed in this place?” Wei muttered.

“I fear healthy people don’t make it very far down here,” Kalrus said, shrugging honestly. “You have to be the right kind of psychotic. And that’s just what we are: the right cleave of sociopaths and psychopaths. I wouldn’t wish it any other way.”

Taking in the orc’s words, Wei looked once more at his father staring at Vendrian—at the Scion playing with his offspring, letting the infant cling to his finger—and his expression hardened. “You wish for too little, Kalrus. You wish to be strong enough to survive this place. I dream of being powerful enough to break it.” He stared at the orc one final time. “If your gun works as well as we hope, then I will make certain you get all you need to fulfill your wildest dreams.”

And at that, a look of true thrill passed over Kalrus’s face.

The look promptly broke as Vendrian let out a horrified cry. “Oh, gods, he’s… Is he urinating? Did he just fucking piss on me?”

“Infants do that,” Aerea whispered.

“Infants and drunkards,” Mourning sighed.

“He’s… he’s still going?” Vendrian muttered, voice caught between awe-struck disbelief and utter bafflement.

“That one, though. That one will likely be a good father.” Kalrus sighed. “Unfortunate for him. He’s too good for this place. I hope you understand what treachery and danger you invite if you take him and the child under you charge.”

“I do,” Wei said. “But I don’t think the Claimed Hells understands what they court if they come for these people. They’re mine now. And I will make it known with the Collectress’s life.”