II-86Life For Death

Of all the Sins and Circles, Wrath remains my favorite. Partially because the act of retribution pleases me above all other emotions, but also because it is clear where one stands when facing the Circle of Wrath.

They, at their hearts, are violent creatures seeking violent delights. Whatever subterfuge they employ will not linger, for they wish to indulge—be it your end or theirs. And they make such willing participants for the sharpening of my skills.

Just a pity about their personalities. So many of them are so miserable of character that being killed by them is often a better experience than suffering through a conversation with them…

-Wei An Wei the Realmbreaker

II-86
Life For Death

A loud grinding noise sounded before the young master. The world shook and shuddered as the heavy obsidian walls parted open like the jaws of some great behemoth. Beyond layered moats, a few hundred more hidden Skills acting as landmines, and a few demons lurking beneath the sodden ground, the pathway into the strong point opened. Yet, despite this, Wei didn’t quite feel like he was being invited into a house for a spot of rest. Rather, this was like walking into a wolf’s den—while the opposition worked to decide if he was lamb or lion.

The combined heads of twenty-one slaves turned to stare at Wei, seeking direction. The boy swallowed, but his gaze burned resolute. At some point, most of them died during the brutal trek through the wastes. But these ones remained. These courageous and fortunate few who stuck close to Wei, that huddled beneath the protection of his scythe, that cleared the dense layering of bodies which blocked their path.

Should they survive whatever was to follow, he would gladly take them into his sect. They proved their hearts, if nothing else, and in a place like this, intent mattered just as much as capability.

The young master strode forth, dispatching a general message to those he trusted and his father. He regarded the cannons jutting out from narrow slits in the walls. Cannons were still pointed at him, following the gaze of those grotesque eyes that were enmeshed with the stone. A flow of trembling Essences burned within them, with venom, fire, and destruction infusing the ammunition they carried.

Wei had faced all manner of strange foes in the Claimed Hells, but these weapons engendered a sense of fascination inside him. He would take a closer look if he could soon. Learn their exact capabilities…

“They’re called guns,” Bishop said. “Might’ve seen some cannons back on your home. These things kind of work the same way. Except they fire more shit a lot faster. And most of them are infested with all kinds of nightmarish shit as well—like ghosts.”

That gave Wei pause. “The weapon is haunted?”

“The bullets are. That’s what makes them semi-intelligent as well. They’ll seek their target no matter what. Until they run out of Essence, are destroyed, or hit home.”

Now Wei very much wanted to get his hands on one of these “guns.”

He meditated passively as he walked, recovering whatever Source he could as he stared beyond the walls. A layer of heavily armored structures greeted him, each one layered in dense magic that further boosted their durability. There were also Sin-Incubators running like wild veins across the land, creeping over half the structures. However, instead of rising high into the air, they seemed to be drawn out from the earth by a massive tower. The spire itself was a mechanical oddity as well. Even so far away, Wei could hear the deafening noise it made—the grinding loudness of its clashing gears. It served as an imposing centerpiece to the smaller buildings around it, and within were Essence signatures of all Tiers.

All Tiers, up to the level of a Duke.

It was hard for Wei to focus his Omniscience earlier under the constant pressure of Skill bombardment, but now, the presence of a greater power was clear as the rising sun. A single individual was staring down at him from the heights of the mechanical edifice, observing his approach as he observed theirs.

Curiously, most of the other Sinners and demons were either within the others structures or the trenches. No one walked in the open, even behind those massive obsidian walls…

“Are they friends?” the boy asked, his breath a whisper.

Wei regarded him for a moment and shook his head. “There are no friends down here.” He paused as he realized something. “What is your name?”

“Faen.”

“Fei-En?”

“I… Yes. That’s close enough, I suppose.” Faen sighed. A look of weariness crept across his features, but he held it back. “Almost forgot it.”

“Your name?”

Faen nodded. “No one asked for so long… The demons didn’t care. Not unless they were injecting things into me. Getting me addled for service.”

Wei wanted to ask what kind of service, but the little bit of good sense that lingered within him bade him to skip that topic. The boy didn’t need reminding, and the young master didn’t need any new nightmares. 

He had enough as is.

As he regarded the other surviving slaves, Wei noticed a disproportionate amount of them seemed to be Faeblooded: thin of form and fair of skin. Perhaps it was a thing of aesthetic. Or maybe there was something more. It occurred to him that he knew little about the variety of races, and that made him think of the Trine again.

That strange trio had vanished into the gate after he saw their delivery. He wondered if he would ever see them again. Something told him they would return soon. Something that pulled at him to an unnatural degree.

Using his glaive, he carved a road for the former slaves to follow, and destroyed what hidden dangers lurked beyond. If the Sinners of Wrath cared, they didn’t voice it. Instead, they just let him come closer, watching him as the aching silence went on.

“Alright, let me out. She’s close to delivery. We need to find a healer for her, and fast.”

Wei winced and called for the slaves to double-time. He sped past the walls of Wrath in a moment, and the instant he and the slaves passed, the grand battlements began to close again, sealing the path behind him with a heavy finality. Wei felt for the Source Anchor within him, and dispatched a message to Vendrian.

“We have your beloved. We are currently with the Circle of Wrath.”

The moment the message left Wei, a spill of responses followed from Vendrian, followed by a call. The young master let the Scion of Death through, and the man’s voice was as anxious as he ever sounded. “How is she?”

“Alive so far,” Wei said. He released his father at the same time without even looking. “But she is—”

A piercing cry tore into existence as William pulled a large, damaged carriage out from a patch of nearby shadows. The Trespasser’s Essence went down almost immediately. The drop in his power was palpable. What was weighed on Wei more was the billowing waves of cold that radiated out from the carriage. It was like being near a flame—if a flame radiated a piercing chill instead of warming heat.

Cries of pain and horror sounded from the slaves. One of them stumbled from the path—and stepped on an invisible Skill. A tangle of barbed wire whipped wildly, carving through the disoriented elf in a blur. Blood and viscera filled the air. Limbs came apart from the body. Organs seeped from deep slices lining the elf’s torso. But before they could scream, Wei channeled a blast of his reconstructive fire at the elf using his glaive.

A moment later, the elf’s wounds were burned away, and he looked down at his reattached limbs and closed disembowelment.

“Keep yourselves on the path!” Wei called out. “I cannot cure a beheading.”

Looks of awe shone on the faces of those he rescued, and Faen called out to the others after him. “You heard the man. Feet on the trail. Stay close behind. Single file! Ignore the cold!”

Something in the way the boy dispatched orders spoke of experience. He was likely trained to some extent. Or at least exposed to discipline. The others heeded his words, with the recently injured elf practically hugging Wei’s back with their closeness.

“Do not breathe on me,” the young master said. The elf leaned back, but continued walking right behind. Wei sighed softly.

“My Essence is spent,” William called out. “My Aspects are also—”

Wei didn’t bother hearing the rest of it. With a tendril of wind, he grasped the carriage and pulled it toward him. Then, he began manually pulling it toward the distant structures while Vendrian babbled at him ceaselessly. It was staggering how many sources of noise he had to deal with at once. Surprisingly, though, he didn't feel all that overwhelmed at all. All the combat he enjoyed recently seemed to have conditioned him to a certain amount of mental endurance. Perhaps the advancements made to his Enlightenment mattered a great deal as well.

“--I can hear her screaming! Fuck! Wei! How is she! Wei!” Vendrian’s voice was bordering on hysteria.

“She is…” the young master tipped the carriage and looked through the window. There, he saw Aerea clutching her stomach as another pulse of coldness radiated out from her. Her face was almost the color of snow, and her body trembled with shivers that matched someone having fever chills. “Having your child. Right now.”

A loud series of curses sounded from Vendrian. “Okay. I need… I need you to come back.”

Wei paused. “We are close to Wrath. They should have a healer—”

“I need you to come back and get Mourning. My sister—she can balance the Essence—my child’s Essence. And keep Aerea—”

“Healthy,” Wei finished. He narrowed his gaze at the woman again and understood. “I see.”

Flaring his scythe, he struck at the carriage, at the strands inside it. It occurred to him mid-swing that he could have done this earlier, and they could have avoided carrying this entire vehicle across the wastes. Ah. Other thoughts occupied his mind. Other concerns. And frankly, he was distracted through this whole debacle.

Lein the Last, the Duke of Pride, the Collectress, Agnesia, the Dying Queen… He was having more and more problems by the day, and not solving nearly enough of them.

But that would change soon. After Aerea was secured, he would see Vendrian resolve the matter of his own enslavement. Whatever happened, Wei was going to take the Collectress off the board. No more of these scheming webs and plots. No more of these twisted, petty politics.

It was time for people to start dying.

As he broke what remained of the carriage, William came up behind him to ask what he was doing. Aerea tumbled out from the fading vehicle, but Wei caught her and handed her to his father. “I need to get something. Try to contain her coldness. I will be back shortly.”

“What are you—”

The young master activated his anchor and blinked back over to the Heights, to the gala hosted by the Old Man. He found himself back within a cocoon of ice. There, Vendrian was pacing, channeling more and more of his power to create a dense barrier of Essence. He noticed Wei and immediately held his sword out to the young master.

“Has anyone come seeking us?” Wei asked first.

“Yeah. We have an audience. No, the Duchess isn’t here. Doesn’t matter right now—get Mourning, and get back down here.”

Wei nodded before reaching out to accept the intelligent blade. Just as his fingers gripped the hilt of the weapon, Vendrian reached out and seized him by the shoulder. With a gaze burning with desperation—terrified hope on the verge of madness—the Scion of Death spoke. And begged.

“Please. Please. Don’t let her die. Don’t let them be given to my father. Please. Promise me.”

For a moment, Wei felt his blood go cold. The weight that was being entrusted him was great, and the greatsword felt like it would fall out of his hand. He wasn’t ready for this—he had failed his mother, his sect, Lady Ellena, and this…

He couldn’t fail Vendrian. Not now. His own spirit wouldn’t survive it.

Wei swallowed and held Mourning close to him. “Do not worry. I swore to your deliverance before. I will keep my oath now. There is no one finer than I for this task.”

Vendrian’s eyes gleamed with faith and fear. He chuckled slightly, pained mirth breaking through his anxiety. “I will let you call me anything you want if you manage this.”

The young master just shook his head. “Maybe another time. Right now, the only thing I hope you are called soon is father. Mourning? Are you ready?”

The blade within Wei’s hands then released a torrent of refreshing Essence. It was the feeling of a gentle breeze beneath the sun’s glorious gaze. It was the taste of sweet and fresh water supped from a clear river at the base of a mountain. It was the stench of nature after a hard rain.

It was life unfettered. It was life before death.

“I am,” Mourning said. “Do not fear, brother. We will be away. We will be away, and we will see this done.”

At her words, Wei activated his anchor again, and materialized right next to his father. William was holding Aerea in his arms, bundling her in shadows when he saw his son’s return. His expression turned dark with a scowl. “Fuck’s sake, Wei don’t do that in the open. Do you want every Sinner of Wrath to know—”

“They’ll know everything soon enough,” Wei replied, no longer caring for these games of deception. An exhaustion crept over him. He held out Mourning, but the blade slipped out of his hand and began to float over Aerea. At the approach of the blade, several of the free slaves stumbled back while Aerea’s eyes fluttered.

“O-oh, it’s you… my guardian light. The keeper of my love…” Aerea let out a slight breath, and Mourning turned bright. A wave of nourishing energies poured out from the frosted edges of the blade while branches and leaves sprouted from her hilt. It took scant seconds for a look of health to fill Aerea’s being. It took a moment longer for her shaking to stop, for her breath to stabilize.

Another burst of coldness radiated from the woman’s womb, but it was countered by the blade of life.

Mourning came to rest before Aerea, hovering in front of William like a slab of stone. “Place her upon me. I will carry her.”

The Trespasser froze for a moment, and then looked to Wei. At the young master’s nod, his father did just that, and laid Aerea down on the flat of the greatsword.

Life mending energy flowed through her, knit her flesh. A song sounded from Mourning, a lullaby in a language Wei couldn’t understand. Without waiting, Mourning drifted on toward the looming tower of Wrath. Faintly, Wei felt a fluctuation of energy in the air. The Duke in the tower was watching—but still hadn’t acted yet.

“Well,” William grumbled, sounding less than pleased. “We probably gave the General more of a show than he wanted.”

“The General?” Wei asked. “You mean the Duke in the tower.”

William snorted. “Sure. That’s his Tier. But don’t ever call him that. General’s his rank, and MacArthur is his name. He’s… Well.  You’ll find out how he’s like soon enough.”

“I assume he’s a bastard. Like everyone else here.”

“Yeah. You’d be right. But he’s also a very specific kind of bastard: The kind that doesn’t want a bunch of delusional degenerates getting their hands on Earth. The kind that flirts with but never fully joins the Lodge.”

“Just… be prepared for him to call you a few things,” Bishop suddenly chimed in.

“What kind of things?”