Chapter 24-9 The Veil of My Enemy

Chapter 24-9 The Veil of My Enemy

Veylis Avandaer: Samir. Don’t you ever want... more?

Samir Naeko: More? Well, what do you mean by "more"? More of what? More of “this”?

Veylis Avandaer: Hah. No, not right now. Later, perhaps. But... More, more than what existence possesses. More power, more capability to make things better. To be the decider rather than the decided.

Samir Naeko: Have you been talking to your dad again? Because this is the type of thing that you would talk to him about. I'm just—

Veylis Avandaer: You are not a fool. You are not an idiot, you are not a dullard. Stop speaking of yourself this way. Dead gods, it makes me want to throttle you on your behalf.

[Samir Naeko sighs]

Samir Naeko: You know one thing I don't get about you?

Veylis Avandaer: What is that?

Samir Naeko: You talk a lot about power, but it sounds like you really want control. I get it. Thousandhand’s always going power this, power that, give them nothing, take everything. But this isn’t how your mom trains us. She don’t care about controlling everything–just being better; just cutting away all your enemy’s options. You’re not asking for power, Veylis. You’re asking to be the sole uh–what’s the word you used the other day?

Veylis Avandaer: Arbiter.

Samir Naeko: Yeah, arbiter of life or something.

Veylis Avandaer: Control is power.

Samir Naeko: Bullshit. If that was true, then I'd be a dead slave. If that was true, then all the slavers and masters and faithers would be running things forever. They didn't have a problem with control, because control was their problem. They could decide anything, and still they fucked everything up. Still they shit the bed. Because when the thought leaves your mind, turns into an action, and finally happens in reality, half the time it ends in a mess.

I've seen people change their mind a day after because you wanna know something, Vaelis? You imagine something and when it's coming out before you, it turns out ugly and you wanna take it back, but you can't. And so you do something else and it tumbles down even further from there. I'm fine with more power. Hells, I'd like to break more things. You like it when I break things. But control, dictating how everyone lives their life, being able to shape the future, that's your father's thing. He's the only man I would trust with it. Maybe him and you.

Veylis Avandaer: And me?

Samir Naeko: Yeah, of course. And you, even if you're a little strange. You think about everything. You're a little bit of a busybody–

(Sound of Veylis’ palm slapping Naeko's chest.)

Samir Naeko: Okay, okay. But yeah, you care. I'm just afraid you might care a little too much, is all. Anyway. Is it “later” already?

Veylis Avandaer: Did you humor me solely for... that?

Samir Naeko: My father wasn’t Jaus, he was Shackler. He raised a simple man with simple wants, and... well, I think you’d hurt me if I called you a simple pleasure.

Veylis Avandaer: Induitably, my dearest brute.

-Veylis Avandaer and Samir Naeko

24-9

The Veil of My Enemy

+Shit,+ Draus said. The other members of the cadre were no less unbalanced by the development. +Time to jack out Avo. She's got her eyes on us.+

+No. Wait.+ Something compelled Avo to stay. They had taken no action to cage or strike at him, opting instead for a performance, revealing his presence to the assembly. Though the act was subtly threatening, Veylis didn’t strike him as the type to toy with her food, especially considering how she tried to kill him just two days ago.

There was something else here. Perhaps she didn’t know where he was, or how he was infiltrating her Heaven. Perhaps she was trying to flush him out and was using paranoia and pressure to achieve such an end. Perhaps she was just–

Marisov knew how he would. He would show them. Reveal his character to everyone right now.

Giving himself over to trust, to determination, he opened his arms and fell down into the splashing fires. The inferno rose to meet him, but Marisov refused to call upon his Heaven, refused to enclose his face behind his combat-skin’s collapsable helmet. Death or pain may come his way, but he would not succumb. He would not stray.

He had chosen his path. Better a fool of confidence than fate’s coward.

The column he stood on melted with his descent. As fat dollops of white plunged into the roaring waves, and shortly thereafter, Marisov followed. The flames embraced him only briefly, for as soon as he was engulfed, reality came asunder in coiling stands of gold, and the Instrument found himself stumbling to a halt within a cube of white, entirely alone.

To his senses, the transition was instant. Fire, then cell. To Avo, reality was actively loading, swells and currents of temporal thaumaturgy changing in composition and structure as Veylis worked to remake her inner world.

A hand fell on Mariov’s shoulder. A gasp escaped his throat as he turned around, wrist-mounted spatio-kinetic cannon expanding. He spun. The cell blurred. His barrel came to rest under Osjon’s chin.

The bald Seraph didn’t even move. Once again, he stood a figure clothed in purest white, though far diminished in size. The air of menace remained about him. As did most of his features, but this close, Avo could see there was movement coming from the shadows he cast; an unwelcome presence locked in a cage.

"Worry not, Instrument Marisov,” Osjon said, patting Marisov on the shoulder, indifferent to the gun threatening him. “Worry not. It isn’t you we wish to punish, but the one that resides inside you. That is if our assumption is correct, of course.”

Around them, existence was actively changing. The fabric of reality was being rewoven by time, and as the strings were fused back together in coiling whorls, the white cell was torn down like wallpaper hiding a grander world beyond.

A scene loaded before them. Burner's Way entered Avo's awareness as he found his Instrument standing amidst the wreckage, exactly where he had been days prior. Toppled buildings became the aesthetic. Battle lines of golems and drones littered the sky as Highflame and Stormtree stood on the verge of a skirmish. Beside him, the other Instruments were missing, but Paladins Kitzuhada and Sandrupal were present, as were the Bloodthanes.

The world was almost exactly as it had been a few days ago in Avo’s memories. Down to the last detail. The sheer accuracy of Veylis recreation was unnerving. Her Heaven reminded him of his sprint within the Hungers, but more pervasive somehow. More absolute. More controlled.

If Necrojack had remade this scene using memories, Avo would have considered them a master. He supposed the same compliment could be paid to Veylis judging by her mastery over time.

“Apologies, Seraph,” Marisov said, braving a breach of decorum as he took in his surroundings before turning to face Osjon. “But I don’t understand. What is happening? Why am I–”

“Thank you, Osjon. Please leave now. I wish to speak with my newest enemy. Alone.” The Paladins and the Bloodthanes spoke in unison. As a legion. Their voices remained their own, but there was someone else there. A director or puppeteer.

Veylis.

The bald Seraph simply bowed and fell backward into his own shadow, before vanishing utterly from reality. The darkness of his contours faded with his passing and Marisov blinked, his mind a whirlwind of terror and impulses.

The High Seraph was before him. The High Seraph was greeting him. The High Seraph was going to–suspected him of...

The urges to proclaim his undying loyalty while also declaring his innocence or ignorance warred. An amusing response considering how often he imagined himself in this position: granted an audience with Highflame’s greatest power.

“I see you now, Instrument Marisov,” Veylis said, continuing to speak through her puppets. “Spare me your words. It is not you who I wish to speak. But you do have my sympathy. I trust this is all very confusing for you."

It took him more than a few heartbeats to find the words, his lips were dry, his throat was burning, and his mind was on the verge of a complete meltdown. "Yes, of course, High Seraph," he said bowing his head, "it is an honor–”

“No, it is not,” Veylis interrupted, the voice of her legion synchronized in sternness and disparagement. "Please Instrument, do not lie to me. This is an unfortunate situation for you. An unpleasant situation. Let Delusion be something you are infested with, instead of an act that you actively perform. Lies are for enemies and we, if we are allies at all, should always hold steadfast to our truths or what we believe to be as such, would you not agree?"

Marisov took a moment to compose himself, not ready to be rebuffed so immediately. “Yes, of course.”

Such simply occurred a collective sigh from Veylis’ puppets. “Another synchopant. I really should have Osjon do something about that. But alas, I didn’t bring you here to discover if you have a spine but to speak through you. You, and the rest of you cadre. It’s an unfair thing you have suffered. Brought low by a force you cannot prevent. A shame. A pity. But brought low nonetheless.”

Behind her, the horizon expanded, and there, Avo watched as the sky folded upward, curving over them like a tunnel as existence tore once more. A street strewn with rubble, glass, and debris came into view. Water glistened upon plascrete as the corpses of people shared a mutual place of rest with unmoving aquatic lifeforms. Broken halos fizzled away to nothingness, and the only two still standing were Shotin and Kare, trying to regain their bearings next to an overturned arrow.

A temporal thread ran between both of Kare’s chronological puppets.

[I’m fucking cursed,] Kare’s template muttered, exasperated at how many great powers were interested in her.