Chapter 19-11 The Paths We Pave (II)

Chapter 19-11 The Paths We Pave (II)

+Hey, hey, New Vultunites. Lots of exciting things on the horizon. Oh, for the actual people living upstairs, I mean. Not us FATELESS. But hey, at least we get front-row seats and can watch shit burn down. Thats something, right?

Anyway, I got a special program planned for us today. A consang of a consang told me a little something about which Stormjumper lobby Chief Paladin Naeko might be spending all his time in. Since hes a man so dedicated to the public, I thought I might go say hi, and thank him for the day of work he did.

Its not every day we get to watch an Ori Elder get hauled from an event in front of thousands of eyewitnesses after all. That, and a Highflame Instrument too. We might just have something extra spicy here. Thats why I bribed an entire match! Will he say anything? Will he just leave? Who knows. Lets roll the dice.

[INITIALIZING STORMJUMPERS FUNCTION]

[CONNECTING TO LOBBY: Merrikaiver-4]

[LOGGING IN AS CALAFATELESS]

[Direct casting NAEKOTHEONLY]

CALAFATELESS: Good morning, Chief Naeko.

NAEKOTHEONLY: Its not. I lost three matches in a row and now Im about to get smacked talked. Listen, just get it over with already. And no rash-stuff this time. The match starts in a few seconds and Ill get your asses soon.

CALAFATELESS: Im not here to do that. Im Cala Marlowe. FATELESS Thoughtcast. I wanted to ask you a few things about some recent happenings.

NAEKOTHEONLY: Oh, good, a Proparazzi. Who you with?

CALAFATELESS: Myself. Independent.

NAEKOTHEONLY: Wow. Your life must be terrible.

CALAFATELESS: Like you wouldnt believe. Now, about my questions.

NAEKOTHEONLY: Elder DRongo and Instrument Greatling will not be commented on. They are still within Paladin custody. No, the Unwhere is not down. No, Oversec C-1 wasnt an inside job to generate sympathy donations for the Exorcists.

CALAFATELESS: And what about the other individuals seen during the incident a week ago. Do the Paladins have anything on the unidentified characters fleeing from Instrument Greatlings cadre? And what can you tell us about the Rashrunner, Aedon Chambersthought to be a Low Master acolyte?

NAEKOTHEONLY: Yeah, I didnt know dicks grew that small.

CALAFATELESS:

NAEKOTHEONLY: Its like a crippled baby carrot. If you cut it in half again. Thats what I think about him. You like thinking about small dicks, Miss Fateless?

CALAFATELESS: I

NAEKOTHEONLY: Listen. Ill do you a favor. You are officially invited to the trial. You can come in person and see the nu-dog carnival for yourself. Im casting you the invite sequences. Got em?

[OFFICIAL PASS TO THE SCALE OBTAINED]

CALAFATELESS: Y-yes, I thank you. I didnt expect

[LINK DISCONNECTED; YOU HAVE BEEN BLOCKED BY NAEKOTHEONLY]

CALAFATELESS:

Well. There you have it folks. Chief Naeko. What a guy. Here to thank him for his time, heres FUCK THE GODS CORPSES Peace Through Genocide.+

-Interview between Chief Samir Naeko and Cala Marlowe, The FATELESS Thoughtcast

19-11

The Paths We Pave (II)

Uthred Greatling waited for the paths to claim him, but the moment never came.

Three days. Three days had passed since the light carried the decree. Three days since the Voice of the Choir called for him to ready himself for a personal audience with the High Seraph herself.

Three days, and nothing. That was most torturous above all. The anxiety. The apprehension. The wait. Uthred was no stranger to conflict, be it war, duels, or politics. Before every engagement, always the tightness, the weight prying at ones organs; the freefall of one's bladder, paired with an eternal need to urinate, though the body was already clean of waste.

For three days he waited, clad in his custom-made Honorsworn combat skinan armor born from the marriage of alloy and flesh. It was joined to his body in more ways than one, connected to his senses like an external organskin over skin. Sleek paddings of gunmetal gray accentuated his augmented musculature, the plates of memite connected to graphene supports, and a carbon nanofiber underweave.

Sequestered in his personal demiplanea private garden paradise positioned just past two doors of sliding glass at the crest of Greatling Manorhe looked out into the pre-dawn sky and drew in a breath. The air was crisp. Ripe with flavor and fragrance, intoxicating to breath, refreshing to exhale. The garden around him was layered with moving vines sprawling across the walls and roofs, the colors a clash of black on purple, shy orchids peeking out from between ebontas.

At his feet ran an impossible river, flowing out from mystical mists, the waters limpid and bright, not different than a crystal-made mirror.

Alritchs frown deepened. I just dont understand why we cant do what I suggested. Why you cant just think about it.

I will not abandon the Greatling name. The thought is dead to me. Mention it no more.

But it might spare you. Spare your life.

I do not wish to be spared. I wish to face my demise. I wish to rise above it. I wish to show the High Seraph this. Of how I am still worthy.

An exasperated breath escaped from Alritch. Oh, Uthred. Why must you His words ceased then as something moved through the lightthen space itself. The skin of reality parted into slotted blocks, each shifting and stacking over each, the space around Uthred rebuilding itself and imprisoning him away from the higher reality.

Alritch reached out for him from the doorway, but cowardice gripped him, and he approached no more.

Just as well. For all the lesser brothers vices, Uthred cared for him still and hoped he could be spared a dark end should life do them a final unkindness. In the moment between the instant when the paths came and rebuilt the world around Uthred, leaving him alone in a steepled passage of fire and stone, Uthred Greatling stood to face his brother, knowing that if he were to never return, at least one among his family would remember him fondly.

He just hoped that Vator would continue being obedient in his absence. The boy was gifted. Made to be superior. Even to his own siblings. But since the breach of his artificial womb, there had always been something wrong in the boy, something that unnerved even Uthred. Thinking about what his youngest son inflicted on his tutors and playmates, Uthred forced the thoughts away and hoped his brother would not be the fool and agitate the child.

In some regards, true death would be a kinder fate than joining one of Vators many art exhibits.

As waves of metaphysical bricks reverberated around Uthred, assembling his new environment bit by bit, he realized that he knew this placeknew it well. He had been here a lifetime ago, made his stand against the Stormtree onslaught in the ancient Nolothi catacombs, both sides desperate to flank each other after months of brutal attrition.

Wide pillars lined with stacked skulls oozed rising threads of phantasmal essence, the ghosts present and whispering, bathing him in perception. The defensive positions and devastation were not yet present in the space. There was no rubble here yet, the ceiling not yet collapsed from the fighting, the embalmed bodies slotted in the walls not yet torn from their rest and altered into animated armor by Tonguetaker as she waded into the fight, butchering three other Instruments before meeting her final end against Uthred.

Here he stood, a lone figure between columns several times his size, the ghostly lighting the air in increments as a broad path came into view, stretching for kilometers and kilometers before finally arriving at the foot of a long staircase leading up toward the gutters.

When Uthred inhaled this time, he fought back a gag as the fetid musk of the hall assailed him. Even the smell was the same.

But how were the paths able to do this? The High Seraph? Had she plucked and reconstructed this place from his memories? Or could she reach backward into history like no one else was capable, reconstructing moments long past with near-perfect precision?

High Seraph? Uthred said, pushing the words out from his stomach for maximum projection, seizing his worry by the throat and strangling it into submission. For all the power Veylis Avandaer may have, she would not have him mewling in fear. She would not have him cowed. He would face her covered in shame and glory alike.

The Greatlings were guilty of immense failure. This was true. But the fact she chose to embark him on this section of the paths gave hints that she still remembered his greatest deeds.

I am here, High Seraph. Here to be judged. Summoned to attend.

Still no response came. The wind whistled as they passed Uthred, rushing between the columns. He triggered his combat skins helmet, and a wreath of flesh cupped his face before an opaque shield of white fused over his face, protecting his features from further exposure or unseen dangers. As he drew in a breath this time, filtered air entered his lungs and new information was fed to his visual display.

He was trying to glean any additional details he could from his surroundings when the order was given.

+Follow.+ The ghosts spoke without any hint of tone or gender. Threads trailed forward toward the horizon, toward the staircase leading up. But so too came a shadow descending, an enshadowed figure that Uthred glimpsed sometimes on the rare days he slept, in the mists of his dreams.

Uthred? her voice, high and lyrical sounded. Uthred? I have been here so long? Is that you? Did she finally claim you as well?

Blinking fast, he didnt understand the meaning of this. In seconds, the far and distant figure moved as reality reshuffled. Now, she was just across form him, her long flowing auburn hair snapping back into his memories as he remembered, as he recalled.

Yet, as she drew nearer, he turned away, more certain than ever this was a test of his spirit, that the High Seraph was measuring his mettle.

Uthred? Uthred? Please. Face me. Show me your face. It has been so long.

His wife was dead. She was killed during the war. She was killed for failing her duty. She was killed for her cruelty and disregarding orders. Her name was struck from their annals after, banishing her person forevermore from their Ark, and exiling her from her chance of return after the great victory.

She could not be here. This was a shadow. An apparition.

An assault.

Torture.

Rage kindled inside Uthred Greatling. Rage at the indignity of what was being inflicted on him. Rage at his helplessness. Rage at what he had to do before his strength had any chance to give.

Do you call for resolve? Uthred said, ignoring the desperate pleas of the shadowthe false thing that wasnt her. Fine. I accept. I will show you my resolve.

The blade formed in his hand in a flash, the nanos in his blood pushing through skin to form a monofilament blade. With a practiced sweep, he cut, the briest shudder of weight told him he sliced deep. The voice of the haunting was silenced in an instant. Her body toppled backward, her tassels of hair almost the same hue as her spraying blood.

Tightness gripped Uthreds chest as he looked away from her, forcing himself not to commit any of this to memory, to defy the law.

His wife was struck from their histories. Just a shadow. Forever a shadow.

It is done, Uthred said. The decree of the Choir stands. My loyalty stands. I have not wavered. Not for a second.

And so this was the truth.

But still, Veylis Avandaer, High Seraph and master of HIghflame remained absent and empty of any reply.