[Be Gone] Ch 38 – Final Report

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            “The outsider’s range with his magic is at least one thousand paces. His senses extend to at least a hundred paces, and are transcendental in their accuracy; none of my scouts have been able to get closer than that to him without being destroyed. The ‘Shard’ magic of the Tigers that he uses is virtually alive in how it hunts for its targets, twisting and turning to seek them out,” came the smooth voice of the Scorpion master assassin Orchio. It had no obvious source, merely whispers from the shadows themselves. “If he uses the gold and silver flame, it is capable of burning down even Fire Demons, a true Heavenly fire.

            “The dragon he flies about upon is swifter than anything we have seen chase it or try to flee from it. Furthermore, it is capable of moving about in bursts of light across short distances to instantly engage or flee opponents, if it so desires.

            “Most of the time, however, the area about them is completely Sealed to such forms of movement, radiating out from him to a range of at least three hundred paces. We witnessed multiple attempts by the demons to materialize around him from all directions, and none of them could get close enough to properly close the net. Instead, he picked off a swath of them, flew out through the opening, and burned down the rest in a leisurely manner once he broke their encirclement, as if he knew they were coming.

            “The magic the Tigers use to shut down flight has also been displayed, and naturally neutralizes that of his Dragon, as well. It seems to make no difference in the speed of the creature as it skims the earth.

            “Attempts to ambush him have either been fruitless, as he didn’t move into the ambush; were turned back onto the ambushers as if he was prepared for them; or he preemptively ambushed those thinking to do so to him.

            “We are generally unable to properly predict his movements and next targets, and thus get into position. Attempts to assassinate him or the Dragon with Cursed missile fire and poison have all failed, and in most of the attempts the archers didn’t even get a chance to shoot at him before they died.

            “Despite wielding foreign magic for most of his killing, he has occasionally displayed inhuman strength and skill when attacking with his Staff. His endurance is beyond human, as he shows no sign of fatigue even after hours of battle and day after day of hunting and fighting. I even venture that he is only getting more enthusiastic about the task he has set for himself.”

            The scout and assassin finally hesitated as he completed his report. “This is a very dangerous being, My Lord,” he summed up in his sourceless voice.

            “Weaknesses?” the Bloodweaver broke in, knowing the killer’s eye for such things.

            “There is a time period approximately two hours long out of the day, almost every day, where he is not seen... unless he is in combat, where he simply defers it until he breaks away. However, this time is not set, and we have been unable to follow him when he withdraws. Furthermore, he has also been seen operating for three days straight in some circumstances, so it is likely less a necessity than a convenience,” the shadowy Orchio reported with eerie calm.

            There were no further words. “Nothing of his attitude? His emotions? Your judgment of his character?” Lady Nunivio asked directly, her glowing purple eyes intent on the killer.

            “I could feel no sense of pride or arrogance, no motivation for greed or glory, no self-righteousness blinding him, and his sense of honor is alien and inscrutable. His actions were a mixture of deadly discipline and playful whimsy, cold precision and passionate artistry,” the assassin replied. “I could not read him, nor predict him, even when I thought I could. I would not say he was inscrutable and masked himself so fully. It was more... transcendent, as if his actions were part of a greater whole I could not grasp.”

            The three Tainted Lords stood there, considering his words.

            “And with him coming from another world and people, we have no way to strike at him through those close to him,” the Bloodweaver murmured. “Although if the Tigers are to be any example, the reaction to such deeds could be quite... extreme.”

            “Greater than our extermination?” Kuulch rasped, metal on metal.

            “Mmm, perhaps not, then. After all, according to the tales, this vivic fire consumes the very soul and feeds it to the Land, so there will be no judgment in Hell for us. Perhaps he considers this all a mercy to us,” the corrupted maho-tsukai murmured with an audible smile that could not be seen. Dark shades danced for a moment in the air around him as he tittered shrilly.

            “What are the Spirits telling you of him?” Lady Nunivio inquired, knowing how unreliable and unstable such things were, yet also capable of piercing insight at times.

            “Terror.” The too-long chitinous fingers fluttered through the air at the casual word. “A Crown of Fire. A great Duty with the weight of the Heavens behind it. Authority, Power, and Judgment. Oblivion in the unwhite flame.” His sickly laughter finished the words. “Most have long since fled this area after he arrived. The ones that remain tremble at the sight of the unwhite flame, and gibber in fear of a great Wrath coming for them.”

            The former Crane’s scales and skin darkened visibly. “Inauspicious words. His claims that we could not stop him...”

            “The Great Dragons themselves have taken notice of him. Does the Shadowed Dragon have nothing to speak about him?” Kuulch ground out without inflection.

            The Bloodweaver stepped to the low wall, and that view of the burning city beyond, staring at it. “The Shadowed Dragon knows what was done to it,” he whispered back, as the Tainted stone bubbled at his touch. “If this vivic flame truly consumes the power of Jigoku, then it may be able to purify the Shadowed. However, that purity may well consume all that it is. If that is true, equal parts fear of death and longing of redemption may be paralyzing it, and not just the deeds and position of its brethren.”

            “Where is the outsider now?” Kuulch’s voice scraped out, the great Axe of Black Jade lifted easily in one hand, before being casually lowered to bite into the black granite they stood upon. “He has not been seen since he finished putting the city to the torch.” An odd term for the mists ablaze upon it...

            “I do not know,” the maho-tsukai admitted. “His defenses against spies and seeking spells are masterful. The Spirits sent to track him vanish, as do servants mortal, undead, and demonic. His presence in the threads of Fate is ephemeral, as if he was not here at all.” Another too-shrill laugh rose from the cloaked spellcaster. “I look upon the burning city, and all the threads of Fate say that whatever did that is no longer here, and never will be. Even a being of true Chaos does not escape Fate’s grasp so easily.”

            “Unbound by Fate. Is this not also said to be true of the hyu-mans of the Tiger?” Lady Nunivio murmured.

            “They place inordinate importance on their own Free Will and the value of their choices, rather than being subservient to either Fate or Chaos. Perhaps not so different in their own way than we, save the powers we choose to draw from,” the Bloodweaver’s whisper giggled ironically. “Are the gods they invoke any less alien to this world than our own?”

            The arrival of the Tigers had thrown the slow, steady advance of the Shadowlands on end, disrupting plans sometimes centuries in the making. Unpredictable, wrathful, and individually powerful enough to back up their words and deeds with more of the same, the Tigers had proven a foe both implacable and unreadable... and their ability to sniff out traitors and spies was unrivaled.

            Even some of the haughty elven families had occasionally called for a Tiger Inquisitor to sweep through their holdings and purge traitors. Such a call would inevitably reveal some grim buried truths, and the Inquisitors went about their task with zeal and relentless focus. The regrets born when they came were deep and bloody, and yet, when they left, there would be no followers of Jigoku left behind.

            It was a great conceit and manipulation of the pride of the Jade Palace itself that the Imperial Families had proudly declared that there was no need for such Inquisitors there, and so the Tigers rarely ever set foot in the Heart of the Empire. Even the occasional required representative tended to be blunt, boorish, and totally uninterested in the political games there... and brutally capable of enforcing that dislike when someone attempted to drag them in, ripping open subtle games and exposing them before all somehow.

            The main method of dealing with the Tigers was thus heartily encouraging the Court to send them away, and the Tigers were perfectly fine with leaving... and hunting down Jigoku’s converts in other places.

            The Great Tiger himself had never set foot in the Imperial Palace, having sworn his oath of fealty to the Great Bear, not the Emperor. There had been several attempts to get him to enter the Imperial Palace, but none had ever been ‘successfully delivered’. Likewise, envoys of other Houses sent there who were followers of Jigoku would never leave the Valley of the Tigers alive somehow, regardless of their credentials or connections.

            The Tigers were truly wild and unpredictable, powerful and fierce, and the tales of the scale of the slaughter they could unleash on the hordes of the Shadowlands were not exaggerations. Stories of Tigers happily massacring thousands of goblins each were a dime a dozen in the borders of the Shadowlands.

            Was it any surprise that when the flags of the Tigers rose, all the creatures of Jigoku trembled? When the Onisu of Fear had fallen, all the Shadowlands had felt it!

            The Onisu had not reappeared in Jigoku, nor had any of the oni spirits taken by the unwhite flame, nor the souls of the undead or any of the Tainted.

            Oblivion. The lords stared at the unwhite mistflames Burning over the Tainted stones, feeding the fallen city of the trolls to the Land.

            The ground trembled, and something reverberated in the air. Heads snapped around as the fliers on the neg-thegga, reptilian bat-lizards, screamed in panic while their mounts beat futilely at the air, their wings suddenly unable to support their weight as they plummeted helplessly from the sky.

            “A Stillflight Field!” The Bloodweaver held out his hands, and the air seemed to curdle for a moment, before something evaporated and the air began to hum in a Chord that was almost painfully pure to hear.

            “He is here!” Kuulch rattled out, looking around slowly. “That magic extends out from the Caster!” Darkness from within an iron helm watched emotionlessly as the airborne patrols and their beasts crashed helplessly to the ground around the fortress, and then slowly, slowly that helm tilted down. “He is below us...” he rumbled in grim finality.

            “What? But, the dungeons-!” Lady Nunivio protested, and abruptly went silent as another tremor shook the fortress.

            There were a great many terrible things ensconced in the dungeons and layers below this fortress, and none of the temporary Imperial conquerors had ever dared plumb their depths to see exactly what was down there.

            What happened when one did, and set it on vivic fire?

            The next tremor caused stray stones and tiles to fall, and some of the nervous Tainted almost lost their feet.

            “What has he done?” Lady Nunivio screamed, looking around frantically for a way to escape.

            The Bloodweaver laughed softly, his voice losing its alien shrieking. “He has set the foundations of the fortress aflame, and severed the supports.” His voice carried clearly, sounding almost wistfully elven for a moment. “We are about to fall into a pit of our own making.”

            There was a lurch, and loud rumbles and cracking. With an awesome, grinding slowness, one side of the fortress began to rise, and the other to fall.

            Strong, magically-reinforced, bound by Rituals sealed in blood and demonic power, still the Fortress of Watunzusji was yet stone upon stone, and gravity kept it intact.

            What good was that when gravity was at an increasing angle to the ground? When one side rose, and another fell, and suddenly everything began to fall sideways, crashing into those walls, stones falling sideways and free?

            When they looked down below, and in the depths of the pit the weight of their buildings was swinging and falling into, hungry unwhite mistflame Burned with soft, unending hunger?

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