Four days had passed since the anticlimatic end to the du Bourdeaux trial, one that had already been forgotten about by the second day. After all, while Jeanne herself was an individual of infamy, every student in Bermuda had an exceptional story or two dogging their trail, and the Bermuda Triangleâs news cycle continued unabashedly, picking up everything from salacious snippets of the luxuries that old-wealth Polymaths indulged in without the collars of their family, to the highlights of whatever social events that secret societies and student unions hosted. International news was swinging in curious directions as well, with the civil war in the Ottoman Empire slowly drawing in the surrounding nations, vultures who offered funds and recognized sovereignty in exchange for plucking pieces of land out from the decaying carcass that was the Ottomans.
But while all that was fascinating for the well-read, well-educated students of the academic island, on the morning of the 12th of May, there was something else to get excited about. The Chipperfieldâs Circus, the world-touring extravaganza that featured performers from all the greatest nations in the world, was coming to Bermuda! Already, space was being made at Docks and Storage to accommodate the flamboyant airships that made up the Chipperfield fleet, replete as they were with exotic animals from both the Far East and the Far West, and from the news article itself, it looked as if their performance would be on the 15th of May, starting early in the evening and ending thirty minutes before curfew! Of course, recordings would be made for those workaholics too occupied to attend, and depending on the tickets one got, purchasing a recording may even be a better experience!
It was funny, perhaps, that curfew was still omnipresent. But it was only funny to those who had not yet plunged into the mists. No major incidents occurred, however, and indeed, while the mist itself still plunged the island in a state where one could hardly see two meters ahead of them, no students who broke curfew ended up amnesiac anymore. Had the problem been resolved, all by itself?
Or was this simply a stroke of good fortune?
It was hard to say, but for the astute observers, for those who made it their work to sacrifice sleep in return for plunging into the fog every night, they would notice something. Substanceless shadows no longer flicked out of the corner of their vision. ButâŚwas the fog itself gradually growing thicker?
A circus that travelled the four corners of the world, and a meteorological anomaly that seemed to gradually grow in intensity. Opportunities for roguesâ work and mysteries that deepened. The stage was indeed set then, for the spyâs work to truly begin.
âNow, shall we do away with this meager pretense?â
Name: Ilena Gender: Female Appearance: Pale, cold, detached, a menagerie of monstrosities lays within the girl known as Ilena, and itâs that invisible pressure that grants her a presence far beyond her petite stature or her beautiful, amethyst eyes. A buzzing too high-pitched to be fully audible to even the sharpened senses of her blood-brethren. A physical gravity that could only be felt on an instinctual level, rather than a physical one. Indeed, Ilena is a mere adolescent, with twig-like limbs and a rounded face, her white hair chopped roughly at her shoulder, her eyes like gems glistening within the shadow of her oversized hat.
But while the sound of crying insects and the mass of compressed shadow remain imperceptible, it does not take an astute observer to realise that within Ilenaâs garb lies eyes and fangs, claws and horns.
Abilities: She is That Whom Is Birthed From Shadow. The Miserable Maven, the Mother of Plaguebringers, the Sickle of the Crimson Moon. Clad in the darkness from which human fears are made manifest, Ilena closes her eyes and allows the nightmare to become whole.
Whereas others of the Sanguine Bond manifest their might from the source of their connection to the Crimson Goddess, Ilena inspires herself with the fears of her Goddessâs foes instead, drinking deeply from the darkness until her very substance has become substituted by it. And from that primordial substance, one that had manifested ever since the stars themselves were birthed into the world, Ilena calls forth monstrosities as thick as mud and as black as ink, eldritch constructions that corrode the fabric of the world itself, while the innumerable insects that toil away at the mud of the titansâ feet rise at the whisper of their Mother, fomenting chaos and inviting famine unto a stronghold before the Black Tide smashes against its walls.
But that is merely her identity as the Maven and the Mother. The role she plays to bring glory to Ichorâs name. For those who betray and befoul the blood, however, for those who blaspheme Her tenets and break their oaths, Ilena hunts them down personally, eschewing the beasts dwelling within her shadow. For her form is as malleable as the darkness of the night, brought alive by the sputtering of a dying torch. And when the Sickle descends, not even the Moons shall witness the end of those faithless beasts.
Personality: Ilenaâs faith is unfaltering! The God of Silver and Light has his paladins, and Ichor has her! For she is the Sickle of the Crimson Moon, the one who seeks out those marked for death with unfatiguing fervour! She is a true fundamentalist, unwavering in her belief in the Goddess, always seeing the greater picture and the greater good for her bloodkin, never hesitating to do what had to be done for the prosperity of the Vampires!
She was.
But she had died and she had come back, to find the world had become a paradise for her kin, and yet to have almost all her kin fallen and slain. Her prayers had been answered, but far too late, and the Age of Blood she once sought feels so shallow now. What was shadow without light? What was rule without rebellion? What was Ichor without her antithesis?
Blasphemous. And yet, the melancholia persists. In a world of eternal night, where the silver of the Hundred Paladins have dulled and the kingdoms of humanity have fallen into naught but miserable hovels, Ilena feels neither a sense of glory nor a sense of superiority in leading them. She feels the burden of charity more heavily than ever now, and sees humans as little more than sheep to be herded, meager little weaklings that can accomplish nothing without the gifts of the gods. To be dependent on such creatures then, to be obligated towards themâŚit disgusts her.
No. It does not.
Disgust requires a certain amount of effort as well. And Ilena does not have the heart in herself to spare such emotion, nor any heart to fully indulge in carnal pleasures. There is but the work before her, and the night that will never end.
Oh, the wistfulness of the immortal reborn!
Bio: What was an unborn child but a parasite? A leech that threatened the health of its host? A creature capable, instinctually, only of draining the energy and life out of the cord of its mother? And, knowing all that, what could Blight Lord Genereux Estime do but his best to save such delicate little things?
Perhaps Ichor frowned upon such craven indulgences, such a perversion of her tenets, but the still-Holy Man simply couldnât find it in his heart to refuse, when a human under his protection brought the Lord to a miserable hovel, where the mother had passed away while the infant still kicked within the cooling womb. Even if pulled out from the corpse with a careful incision, the infant would still pass. And so, it was a golden opportunity.
And so, the Blight Lord did as he desired, his particular brand of fealty to Ichor having always taken the form of something nearing blasphemy. The ritual was prepared, and the blood was shared, seeping deep into the umbilical cord and into the bloodied infant who could only absorb it into her own form. The blessing took root, made a bundle of soft bones and softer flesh something else, something different.
She was born a vampire, crying, hungering, desiring something that would never sate her.
And though her father loved her still, hugging her cold, living form, he was no fool of a farmer. He had toiled within the lands of the Blight Lord, and recognized that glint of interest in his lordâs eyes. So it was blessing enough, that Genereux allowed him the right to name his child before relinquishing her to his grasp.
Ilena. His torch in the night.
âŚ
But under the Blight Lordâs tutelage, she would become not torch, but night. The complexities of teaching a child the ways of a vampire was difficult enough, but for an infant, possessed with a mind so undeveloped that there was not even a sense of self-awareness? Genereux continued his experimentations, all for the sake of granting this infant a form that matched her age, an intelligence that matched her station. He fused insects into her flesh, to simulate growth. He called demons into her mind, to simulate wisdom. He drew illusions into her reality, to simulate experience. And, bit by bit, piece by piece, he made an infant into a girl, a girl into a woman. Composed of eldritch knowledge, of buzzing flesh, Ilena could only appreciate the world seventeen years after her birth and her transformation, stumbling about the small, dark cell that had been her cradle for so long. What was she to think? What was she to believe? What part of her body was hers anymore, if it was all the product of something borrowed?
Like all those afflicted by questions they didnât truly want answered, Ilena found solace from identity in faith instead. The Blight Lord sent her off with his blessings and she departed on her pilgrimage, seeking the deep shadows of mountainous abyss, the astral void of the highest peaks, all for her goddess, her being. And within the suffocating blackness, so similar to her only experience of being human, she began to change beyond Genereuxâs boons.
Melding into mud, assimilating with tar. Substituting all the meagre remnants of her flesh into something far more malleable, far more valuable, to the sole reason of her existence. It could not have been faith, in the end. For Ilena, it could only be a simple acknowledgment, that there would be nothing without Ichor.
And when she stepped out, reborn again out of baptismal shadow, there remained only certainty. She shall live for the reason for her existence, for her bloodkin blessed by that same crimson rite.
âŚ
They spoke of a monster within the Valley of the Golden Slopes. One blacker than the night, one that propagated creations that profaned the earth itself. Possessed with many arms. Many eyes. Too many mouths. The Hundred Paladins battled such monstrosity, silver blades like stars against eldritch space, drawing out the viscous essence of evil itself, whilst their brethren were devoured too by the fanged maws that opened without end. But they persevered, with human vigor and divine might, driving the monstrosity deep into the tunnels of the Valley.
And as it lurked, waiting for their advance, the Silver Saints prayed and the Paladins braced.
By the miracle of the Silverlight God, the entirety of the mountain turned to silver, and that monstrosity sealed inside found itself with no escape from the purifying glory of the righteous deity. Its screams echoed long, its form too mighty to be instantly exorcised by godly silver, but its strength too meager after its battle with the Paladins to bore through that same silver.
Weeks passed. The Paladins had long departed. And finally, the Valley of the Silver Slopes was silenced.
âNow, shall we do away with this meager pretense?â
Name: Ilena Gender: Female Appearance: Pale, cold, detached, a menagerie of monstrosities lays within the girl known as Ilena, and itâs that invisible pressure that grants her a presence far beyond her petite stature or her beautiful, amethyst eyes. A buzzing too high-pitched to be fully audible to even the sharpened senses of her blood-brethren. A physical gravity that could only be felt on an instinctual level, rather than a physical one. Indeed, Ilena is a mere adolescent, with twig-like limbs and a rounded face, her white hair chopped roughly at her shoulder, her eyes like gems glistening within the shadow of her oversized hat.
But while the sound of crying insects and the mass of compressed shadow remain imperceptible, it does not take an astute observer to realise that within Ilenaâs garb lies eyes and fangs, claws and horns.
Abilities: She is That Whom Is Birthed From Shadow. The Miserable Maven, the Mother of Plaguebringers, the Sickle of the Crimson Moon. Clad in the darkness from which human fears are made manifest, Ilena closes her eyes and allows the nightmare to become whole.
Whereas others of the Sanguine Bond manifest their might from the source of their connection to the Crimson Goddess, Ilena inspires herself with the fears of her Goddessâs foes instead, drinking deeply from the darkness until her very substance has become substituted by it. And from that primordial substance, one that had manifested ever since the stars themselves were birthed into the world, Ilena calls forth monstrosities as thick as mud and as black as ink, eldritch constructions that corrode the fabric of the world itself, while the innumerable insects that toil away at the mud of the titansâ feet rise at the whisper of their Mother, fomenting chaos and inviting famine unto a stronghold before the Black Tide smashes against its walls.
But that is merely her identity as the Maven and the Mother. The role she plays to bring glory to Ichorâs name. For those who betray and befoul the blood, however, for those who blaspheme Her tenets and break their oaths, Ilena hunts them down personally, eschewing the beasts dwelling within her shadow. For her form is as malleable as the darkness of the night, brought alive by the sputtering of a dying torch. And when the Sickle descends, not even the Moons shall witness the end of those faithless beasts.
Personality: Ilenaâs faith is unfaltering! The God of Silver and Light has his paladins, and Ichor has her! For she is the Sickle of the Crimson Moon, the one who seeks out those marked for death with unfatiguing fervour! She is a true fundamentalist, unwavering in her belief in the Goddess, always seeing the greater picture and the greater good for her bloodkin, never hesitating to do what had to be done for the prosperity of the Vampires!
She was.
But she had died and she had come back, to find the world had become a paradise for her kin, and yet to have almost all her kin fallen and slain. Her prayers had been answered, but far too late, and the Age of Blood she once sought feels so shallow now. What was shadow without light? What was rule without rebellion? What was Ichor without her antithesis?
Blasphemous. And yet, the melancholia persists. In a world of eternal night, where the silver of the Hundred Paladins have dulled and the kingdoms of humanity have fallen into naught but miserable hovels, Ilena feels neither a sense of glory nor a sense of superiority in leading them. She feels the burden of charity more heavily than ever now, and sees humans as little more than sheep to be herded, meager little weaklings that can accomplish nothing without the gifts of the gods. To be dependent on such creatures then, to be obligated towards themâŚit disgusts her.
No. It does not.
Disgust requires a certain amount of effort as well. And Ilena does not have the heart in herself to spare such emotion, nor any heart to fully indulge in carnal pleasures. There is but the work before her, and the night that will never end.
Oh, the wistfulness of the immortal reborn!
Bio: What was an unborn child but a parasite? A leech that threatened the health of its host? A creature capable, instinctually, only of draining the energy and life out of the cord of its mother? And, knowing all that, what could Blight Lord Genereux Estime do but his best to save such delicate little things?
Perhaps Ichor frowned upon such craven indulgences, such a perversion of her tenets, but the still-Holy Man simply couldnât find it in his heart to refuse, when a human under his protection brought the Lord to a miserable hovel, where the mother had passed away while the infant still kicked within the cooling womb. Even if pulled out from the corpse with a careful incision, the infant would still pass. And so, it was a golden opportunity.
And so, the Blight Lord did as he desired, his particular brand of fealty to Ichor having always taken the form of something nearing blasphemy. The ritual was prepared, and the blood was shared, seeping deep into the umbilical cord and into the bloodied infant who could only absorb it into her own form. The blessing took root, made a bundle of soft bones and softer flesh something else, something different.
She was born a vampire, crying, hungering, desiring something that would never sate her.
And though her father loved her still, hugging her cold, living form, he was no fool of a farmer. He had toiled within the lands of the Blight Lord, and recognized that glint of interest in his lordâs eyes. So it was blessing enough, that Genereux allowed him the right to name his child before relinquishing her to his grasp.
Ilena. His torch in the night.
âŚ
But under the Blight Lordâs tutelage, she would become not torch, but night. The complexities of teaching a child the ways of a vampire was difficult enough, but for an infant, possessed with a mind so undeveloped that there was not even a sense of self-awareness? Genereux continued his experimentations, all for the sake of granting this infant a form that matched her age, an intelligence that matched her station. He fused insects into her flesh, to simulate growth. He called demons into her mind, to simulate wisdom. He drew illusions into her reality, to simulate experience. And, bit by bit, piece by piece, he made an infant into a girl, a girl into a woman. Composed of eldritch knowledge, of buzzing flesh, Ilena could only appreciate the world seventeen years after her birth and her transformation, stumbling about the small, dark cell that had been her cradle for so long. What was she to think? What was she to believe? What part of her body was hers anymore, if it was all the product of something borrowed?
Like all those afflicted by questions they didnât truly want answered, Ilena found solace from identity in faith instead. The Blight Lord sent her off with his blessings and she departed on her pilgrimage, seeking the deep shadows of mountainous abyss, the astral void of the highest peaks, all for her goddess, her being. And within the suffocating blackness, so similar to her only experience of being human, she began to change beyond Genereuxâs boons.
Melding into mud, assimilating with tar. Substituting all the meagre remnants of her flesh into something far more malleable, far more valuable, to the sole reason of her existence. It could not have been faith, in the end. For Ilena, it could only be a simple acknowledgment, that there would be nothing without Ichor.
And when she stepped out, reborn again out of baptismal shadow, there remained only certainty. She shall live for the reason for her existence, for her bloodkin blessed by that same crimson rite.
âŚ
They spoke of a monster within the Valley of the Golden Slopes. One blacker than the night, one that propagated creations that profaned the earth itself. Possessed with many arms. Many eyes. Too many mouths. The Hundred Paladins battled such monstrosity, silver blades like stars against eldritch space, drawing out the viscous essence of evil itself, whilst their brethren were devoured too by the fanged maws that opened without end. But they persevered, with human vigor and divine might, driving the monstrosity deep into the tunnels of the Valley.
And as it lurked, waiting for their advance, the Silver Saints prayed and the Paladins braced.
By the miracle of the Silverlight God, the entirety of the mountain turned to silver, and that monstrosity sealed inside found itself with no escape from the purifying glory of the righteous deity. Its screams echoed long, its form too mighty to be instantly exorcised by godly silver, but its strength too meager after its battle with the Paladins to bore through that same silver.
Weeks passed. The Paladins had long departed. And finally, the Valley of the Silver Slopes was silenced.
No organs either. A monster through and through, more far gone than even the spawn of the Elder Beasts. Or maybe it was just a slime. Hah. A slime, in this weather?
A dozen tentacles shot out, and Atzi, with no recourse for retreat whilst Vammy was making her own way out, charged forwards as well. One caught her by the wrist, but without any joints to lock and reinforce its position, it meant nothing.
Indeed. That was the thing about tentacles, about appendages without bones.
In the face of unexpected motions, it could not snap in any direction like a hinge. Like a fist connected to a wrist connected to an elbow connected to a shoulder. And though one caught her wrist, the others simply went past her, the skewering points missing. They settled onto her body instead, dragging against her skin like heavy chains, and Atzi could feel the tendons of her injured leg strain at the weight she bore.
So what though? The faceless, bodyless, soulless freak had approached her, and she had approached it. Gotten up so close now that they were face to face, and getting even closer from there. If she could get behind him, the length of his tentacles would make it impossible to do anything expediently! If she could get there, she could grab him by the waist and suplex his ugly mug six feet underneath the permafrost! Her blood surged a third time, empowered by fury as she struggled against the sheer mass of eldritch flesh!
But Atzi was only human. Her wounds didnât regenerate in an instant, and her muscles, not her bloodline, was the source of her strength.
She stalled, one meter away, her body almost entirely enclosed by those impossible appendages. Ribs, crushing. Lungs, squeezing. Air, burning. And still, the cultist approached, arrogant in his victory. Her club had no room to swing. Her knife had no room to stab. And it squeezed tighter still, the edges of her vision blackening.
Closer now. Closer.
She didnât even have the breath to speak now, but as he entered her range, Atzi had a simple two word phrase in mind.
She dropped her knife. Caught it with her foot. Kicked it up into his throat.
And as the blade bit in, she twisted sideways with all her strength, leveraging all that she could to pry his head right off his shoulders.
Ash bright light illuminated the dim plaza that Inti entered, the dark-skinned boy prepared as ever to delve into the secrets of the fog. He was prepared, mentally at least, for whatever he faced; no child of the Inca Empire was raised sheltered, after all. The jungle was a place deadlier than this inexplicable weather phenomenon, filled to the brim with critters that could kill you before you noticed a thing. When compared to that, just the loss of one nightâs worth of memory and maybe bodily chills from being outside all night was nothing at all. Indeed, the greatest threat here remained other people. Whether it be gunshots from panicked Technologists or steel-melting flames from well-intentioned Egoists, the pattern of past reports from both the Bermuda Triangle as well as Intiâs personal connections made it clear that if anything killed him, it was more likely to be human than not.
So he was mentally prepared, and perhaps physically as well.
But what was all his preparation for?
A stand-off, or a discussion. A confrontation, at worst. Though he hoped it wouldn't come to that. Inti had limited information, which was the point of this post-curfew excursion in the first place, but what he did know led him to believe that the events in the fog were... misunderstandings. Maybe.
In the case of Jeanne and the devil that she'd encountered, by her own admission she'd chased it and burned down the library in order to smoke it out. So she had been the aggressor. The shooter was still unknown, but it has been Inti's theory that they were spooked much the same as Jeanne had been. In the case of last night's events... those he was still confused about, but with nothing else to go on he could only believe in his own hypothesis.
So, with luck, he'd run into someone or something and be able to bring some answers back with him.
He flexed his hands and inhaled deeply. All around him was the sparkling aura that informed his formalization. Well, if something did happen Inti supposed he'd be able to test some practical effects of his Dynamicism, but nonetheless. He lingered there in the plaza waiting for the bell to toll, idly wondering if he should choose a specific spot for his investigation or if any place would do.
Intiâs wanderings, aimless as they were, brought him gradually into the winding streets northeast of the Inner Circle. Here, the smell of the sea fog mixed with the vestiges of smokeries and ripened fruit, reminders of the grocers and butchers placed in this rather low-lying part of Bermuda. It was empty now, of course, the streetlamps spaced out far enough that there was an uncharacteristic dimness not present in other districts in Bermuda. The light was still enough to navigate by, despite the zero-visibility nature of the fog, however⌠he could hear something.
Something like wingbeats overhead, the direction disrupted by the obscurants in the air.
And yet his senses pulled him elsewhere, magnetic fields drawing his eyes and prickling the palms of his hands towards a familiar metallic reaction. A cluster of metals. Of cartridges. And most importantly, one that moved. There was another nearby, perhaps only 100 paces away. But Inti knew too that where there were bullets, there was a gun. Should he approach, at this time where not even the police roamed?
"..." It took barely a moment for Inti to come to a decision. Being, literally, so close, he felt he couldn't afford not to investigate. Especially if he'd stumbled upon exactly what he'd been looking for, even if by pure chance. The only question that Inti considered now was how to approach. If he made his own presence known then there would be less of a chance of spooking his quarry and getting shot... or maybe even more of a chance. No, no, I should be focusing on how to catch up in the first place! Inti thought to himself. Like a hunter, or private investigator.
Indeed, if he spent his time worrying about not getting hurt, he'd end up too nervous to make any progress. Stealth, then, was the approach that the Inca boy chose. Despite his naivety about the world at large, this was something he could do. And he trusted his 'sight' to get him through where he assumed the other was navigating by eye in the more traditional sense.
Quietly, Inti began to move toward the dim gathering of constellations. His sandals helped not to echo his footsteps on the cobblestone, and the little auras of iron handrails, or metallic doorplates kept him from crashing into obstacles hidden by the fog while he made his beeline forward. He found a short alleyway that served as a shortcut, gently running his fingers on the brick walls on either side of him as he went through. He was getting closer, and his pulse was beginning to quicken in anticipation. He barely thought about what heâd actually do once be caught up completely. If his initial thought was right, then he was tracking someone that was tracking someone else - the devil, which might have even been the thing flying overhead heâd heard. Maybe Inti could even join in. There was optimism bubbling in the boy as he kept moving.
Indeed, despite the efforts Inti made to move quietly, his target moved a touch slower still, allowing the intrepid Incan boy to close in on his quarry without issue. And yet, with each step that he took, the magnetic fields that he could read beyond the veil of the nighttime fog became more and more curious. The cartridges remained easy to see, of course, but the shape of the rest of the magnetic field painted a figure that could not be human.
The shadow of a silhouette made clear what his readings stated: a humanoid figure, and yet with a bulbous head thrice the size of a normal manâs. Finer details could not be made out; however, he could hear this beingâs rasping breath. A long, hissing inhale followed by an explosive sneeze of an exhale. The cartridges remained detectable around where its right arm was, but in its left arm, the form of a short, spear-like object was set, three-pronged and barbed. Certainly, it was a dangerous being. But what even was it?
Curiosity got the better of Inti. If he'd thought this was a man then maybe he could have been content to follow a little longer, but the thing in front of him had a form so strange that he couldn't help but want to know. Was it a monster, or some kind of Occidental automaton? A mechanized guard created for the island, or some horrifying fusion of man and metal? Several colorful ideas filtered through Inti's head as he crept along behind it.
The fog... he hadn't tried it yet, but it should be a simple feat for any Dynamicist to part the mist. Just a quick peek. Inti reached out to take hold of the fog - but his hands came to a stuttering halt as he realized something for the first time. This mist wasn't right. There was no collection of stardust floating on it's surface, nothing for him to grasp.
"What?" He whispered to himself. He could see the starlight on everything else, so why not this? Was it some kind of artificial substance? Regardless, there was one more trick up Inti's sleeve. His specialty alone amongst the Inca Dynamicists. If he increased a magnetic field's strength enough, it would disperse the water in the air - assuming that whatever the false-fog was, it would act similarly.
But the only fields large enough in the immediate area were his own... and those of the being. Without a second thought Inti moved to grasp the formulae of the man-shaped thing, twisting to expand it. Just a peek, just a quick peek!
It was like grasping at cotton candy, like tweezing a cloud. Carefully, the Incan Dynamicist pulled at the thingâs magnetic field, weaving it like one would a thread from a ball of unprocessed wool. The art of Dynamicism could not create something from nothing, nor could it give more than what already existed. Rather, what the ignorant saw as âamplificationâ was instead just âconcentrationâ: intensifying the effects of the elements in one area by depriving other areas of it. And as the thread braided itself into rope, his grasp now secure, Inti could see the fog begin to part. There was a hole now, a hole that fluctuated with the movements of the humanoid figure, a hole that connected the two together.
Peering through, the identity of this individual became clear.
What was immediately recognizable was the warm brass glow of the metallic diving helmet, a gargantuan thing that had a dual-feed Steam Core to regulate body temperatures and power the buoyancy controls that manifested as metal plates concentrated around the torso of the all-encompassing diving suit. Heavy, metal gauntlets encased the individualâs forearms, no doubt storage devices for its weapons, while two silver-bright oxygen tanks were strapped to its back, and lights emanated from two triangle-shaped accessories on the top of the helmet. As Inti continued to watch however, the encased individual stopped. Its head inclined downwards, and it brought its left wrist up.
Inti held his breath and waited. Though he had intended for just a quick glance at the true form of the being in front of him, while he went unnoticed Inti kept a tight hold on the "cord" keeping his viewing window through the fog open. His mind was swirling with curiosity about this person, so much so that he didn't even feel the relief of knowing that the unnatural mist still obeyed natural law. What was with this suit? Did it help them see through the fog? What exactly did they need such heavy protection from? And what were they planning now, with the winged thing gone and nothing else around that he could sense?
As Inti waited, his talents as a Dynamicist gradually began to note the specifics of the magnetic field that he had grasped. Some of it came naturally from substances that utilized metals, but there was another one woven in as well. One he was deeply familiar with.
The flex and flux of a small magnet. Small enough to fit in a compass. A compass that laid upon the surfaceborne diverâs wrist.
With one swift motion, the diver turned around, arm snapping out as a small steampistol shot out into its arm. Fog lights shone down from the top of its helmet, rendering its form an imposing silhouette. But it, perhaps spying down the hole and seeing another human being, did not fire.
Modulated by echo and reverb, accented by the hiss of its filtration systems, the diver spoke.
âIdentify yourself.â
Inti's body went stock-still, lest the diver be tempted to shoot. Caught out by his own formulae, what were the odds? Anticipation kept him on edge, but the Inca tried a smile all the same. It was tinted with nervousness (he did have a gun pointed at him after all), and the kind of boyish excitement that came with the thrill of danger, making the expression crooked.
"Inti," he stated, seeing no reason to lie. "Ruq'a." After a moment he supplied the mysterious figure with a bit of additional information. "One of the polymaths that came here a few days ago. And..."
He hesitated to go on, but only briefly. Every piece of information he had at the moment led him to believe that this diver and the shooter involved the night of the arson were the same person, or related at the very least. His eyes searched the glass face plate of the diver's helmet as he talked. "...I've been looking for you! You have some idea of what's going on and I have a lot of questions!"
âYouâŚâ
With another snap of the wrist, the steampistol shot back into the forearm compartments of the suit, and the diver lowered its arm. There was still a readiness that Inti could sense, the same sort of feeling that the youth got from the way the royal guards posed, but for now, it looked as if murder was not on the menu.
â...youâre working for the Hellfire Witch, arenât you?â
"Huh?"
'Hellfire Witch'... did they mean Jeanne? It was a nickname Inti had heard whispered from the mouths of other students in passing. A cold chill swept over Inti as the thought occurred to him that his hypothesis had been wrong, and the gunman actually had been trying to murder Jeanne. Even though the weapon had been put away, he was still dealing with a dangerous person, and given their disposition maybe even the kind that was willing to do whatever it took for their cause.
"I'm not working for anyone, just trying to figure out what happened. And I keep coming up with more questions than answers." It had been a point of frustration throughout the day, and the mystery was compounded with that of the island itself. The curfew, the fog, the amnesiac students... with his lead standing right in front of him, Inti gathered up his determination. "Who are you? What are you doing out here?"
The diver laughed. âWho do you think I am?â
The retaliatory question caught him off guard. Was he missing something, even now? "If I knew I wouldn't have asked!"
âSo youâre saying⌠youâre just out here, with no protection, breaking curfew and sneaking up behind people with no clue of who they are?â The diver certainly sounded baffled. âListen, Inti. What questions do you really have here?â
When put like that it did sound absurd, but if Inti hadn't been confident in himself he wouldn't have gone out in the first place. He didn't bother defending himself, though he did narrow his eyes slightly in response.
What questions do I have? He thought about the query he'd been posed, and a hundred questions sprung to mind.
He may have been part of Jeanne's defense force, but his 'mission' did not technically instruct him to assist her. She'd already confessed to them the night's events and her own hand in it, and Inti had taken her at her word. He'd thought that helping her would help himself, and it seemed to be a little if he was being recognized by a stranger even if by face only. If he could sate his curiosity though, he wouldn't mind if Jeanne was punished to the full extent of whatever Bermuda had in store for her. But the questions Inti had still seemed to circle back to her case either way.
"I want to know what's going on," he said. "The island is - strange. Everything's locked up at night, and this fake fog covers everything. And then people like you in gear like that walking around... and people like me, too." Inti smirked, though moved on quickly. "You, what are you protecting yourself from? Going out at night and shooting at people, are you scared of something, or someone? You know something, and I want to know it too!"
Was it the expulsion of another gas cartridge? Or simply a snort of derision?
âThe world is, by academics unblessed by the gift of Perception, strange.â The diver strode closer, its form dwarfing Intiâs as it emerged from the fog in its entirety. âAnd I dont know something. Iâve even forgotten something. But I can hypothesize. And my first hypothesis? Breathing in the fog is dangerous. Thereâs likely a component within it that addles the memory and renders its breathers unconscious, and perhaps that âcomponentâ then, comes from the very nature of this artificial island.â
It crossed its arms, at ease enough with Inti that there was no need for easy access to its arsenal. âHow many government-patroned Polymaths could each individual nation spare for a mere symbol of peace, one thatâs as unprecedented as this? This diseased smog may be a side-effect of Formulizations that had not gone through proper trialing. And thatâs what Iâm here to find out.â There was a smirk perhaps, in its tone. âWould you like to purchase a gas mask now?â
Maybe Inti's grasp of Latin was not as strong as he'd thought, because what the diver told him was indeed something, even as they insisted it wasn't. Even a hypothesis was something. And this person's thoughts were that the fog itself was dangerous, not just what may lurk within it. Their thought about the origin of the fog was far-fetched, but perhaps possible. Inti looked up at the figure with wide eyes. Were they taunting him now? He wasn't the type to fall for that kind of thing, given that he was raised among so many other children he'd gotten too used to it. He did however respond, if not in kind.
"Don't suppose you have a spare?" he said, a small grin making it's way back to his face. It was too late now, but he would be taking the mysterious figure's advice for the future. Speaking of which, he still didn't know this person's identity, or even if they were a student or not. "You've suffered the amnesia they mentioned in the paper?" Inti questioned. Then he chanced a much more direct, "What's your name?"
âWhat can I say?â There was a shrug, and a smile in its voice. âHad the honor of being the first patient, so what could any self-respecting individual do but try to figure out the why behind it?â The diver paused, as if weighing the pros and cons of answering Intiâs last question, before shrugging.
âCall me Mislava.â
Mislava, the first of the island's amnesiacs. Inti couldn't fault them for wandering around at night looking for some way to recover what it was that they'd lost. He repeated their name aloud like he often did when meeting someone for the first time. Even with Mislava up close, Inti hadn't loosened the fist that was closed around their suit's magnetic field. He had no reason to suspect that the diver was being untruthful, so better to keep the fog dispersed as much as possible.
He was piecing together a timeline, and considering how much he could question Mislava before they grew tired and moved on. He wouldn't follow them, not tonight - after all some protection would be in order unless he wanted to have one hand always tied. His next words were thoughtful. "Do you... remember what is was that you forgot...?"
âA period of time stretching from the evening prior to daybreak. Though,â it tapped its finger against its bulbous helmet, âthat could be partially attributed to having fainted. Would have imagined that the Witchâd have gone through the same, butâŚsuppose thatâs not the case with her?â
"As far as she's told us, she only fainted after torching the library, and it was only because..." he trailed off now that the conversation had turned back to Jeanne, and silently considered the reason he was out here in the first place. "Mislava, could you humor my next question?" Inti said. "You wouldn't happen to be working with a bat-demon-Egoist, would you?"
âWhat.â
"I guess not, heheh..." Inti's feelings about the diver had veered out of 'suspicious' territory about halfway through their conversation, so that Mislava didn't know about the Egoist that Jeanne had faced wasn't that surprising. Still, he had to ask. "Jeanne didn't mention anything strange about the fog. Just the shooter -" He pointed to Mislava. "- and the 'demon.' And it was the latter that knocked her out. No memory problems." That she'd told them about, anyway.
âAh, that sounds embarrassing,â Mislava said. âI suppose itâs reasonable to presume that she had a mask on then?â
At that Inti shrugged, as he didn't know one way for the other. "Maybe there are things she did forget, but didn't tell us." It was something he would inquire about, prior to putting her case to rest.
With neither party able to wrest any meaningful information out of each other, and without enough trust in one another to continue in the same direction together, the conversation, as well as any intention to stay together, petered out before long. Mislava, still facing Inti's direction in case the Dynamicist tried another trick, backed off deeper into the fog with their gaze still upon him.
And as for the intrepid Incan himself?
The night was long, and for better or worse, remained uneventful.
"Huh. Production run," Shou mused as he abruptly came to a halt in front of the suited up Valeriya. He supposed it made more sense to go with something tested than breaking out her newest designs for a trial by fire. His familiarity with the suit was largely from a theoretical standpoint though. He had seen some designs and blueprints that had been drawn up by the Song's own intelligence agencies, but there was nothing official for one of the Tsardom's military workhorses.
With the armor's generators humming to serve as some background noise, Shou looked between his two collaborators as his ears twitched. "So, are we going to make a ruckus and see what gets drawn to us? Or should we give the Academy a night without some intentional collateral damage and see what we can stumble across."
Valeriya narrowed her eyes from beneath her helmet at Shou's offhanded remark. Clearly, there'd been a leak somewhere if this random Egoist from the Song knew her armor's model just from a glance. Actually, if he knew this much...perhaps he wasn't so random after all. How interesting.
Regardless, she deigned to answer his question after taking a moment to think it over.
"I'd rather not fire and kick up a fuss if I don't have to. Anyone competent in forensics would be able to tell it's a railgun round, and there's only so many Polymaths working on the technology on this island. I should know, I checked."
Standing beside Shou while looking at Valeriya in her armor, Ryuuko had brought with her the same audio recording device and camera that Nazca had lend to her the night before. Aside from that she had also brought a medium-sized linen bag with her; for use capturing one of the mist creatures if they encountered any during the night.
She whistled casually once as she looked over the black armor of the Russian technologist. "Well, it looks impressive and sturdy, that's for sure... Hopefully, you got this thing sealed real tight and nicely. Some of those mist freaks somehow slipped into Nazca's clockworks and rendered them useless, you see."
She then turned her gaze around randomly, looking at the mist now fully surrounding her and her fellow curfew breakers. "In any case, I agree with Valeriya. I don't think there's much need for causing a mess... I propose we walk for now, and if nothing happens... Then a controlled mess might be useful. Maybe something that'll cause some loud noises without also causing collateral damage."
"Sounds good to me. I should be able to shout loud enough if we need to raise a fuss," Shou replied as he looked towards the largely obscured streetlights. "Any ideas on where to start? I figured we could check out the wall around the Inner Circle first. Jeanne ended up burning through a part of it during her chase, so we could see if we find anyone or anything moving 'cross it."
"The armor is sealed against external gas." Valeriya confirmed, nodding to Ryuuko. "Should do the same with the mist. I double checked the seals just in case."
She followed Shou's gaze for a moment before speaking. "Agreed. At the very least, us investigating the scene of the crime should attract some kind of attention."
"Alright then. Good to know" Ryuuko nodded back at Valeriya. Hopefully, the armor really will prove able to prevent nasty surprises from invasive mist creatures. "Anyways, sounds like an idea to me, so sure." With that, she started casually turning around and walking, heading for the Inner Circle. "Let's see if we'll be able to catch some monsters, whatever form they may take, heheh."
The trio marched as a single unit down to the Inner Circle, bold and brave, clad in Formulized steel or possessing bodies of superhuman vigor. Snatches of shadows flitted in and out of their sight, though how much of it was a real threat and how much of it was their imagination could not be confirmed. Nothing, it appeared, attacked them with the immediacy that Ryuuko and Nazca had experienced the night before. But perhaps that was simply because there were no openings.
Or perhaps because there was easier prey out there in the night.
Regardless, the tall stone walls of the Inner Circle soon emerged from the fog, a veritable monolith that shone with the light of the Starsteel Formulization. Great wooden doors stood at cardinal entranceways, and the one that Jeanne had destroyed two nights before had already been repaired. To enter, then, they would likely have to do the same that she had, or to draw lots and see which one of the Egoists would have to make the jump over the walls with Valeriya in tow. Perhaps there was another way though? Or perhaps further investigation was not necessary when there were no longer any clear vulnerabilities left from the Frenchwoman's actions.
"Hrm." Out of habit, Shou brought a hand up to his forehead as he squinted up at the wall, but the fog proved too thick to make out the top of the structure. Scaling it shouldn't prove too much trouble, but was there even a need to investigate the grounds inside?
"I guess it would be too easy to expect something to show up in the first hour. Let's make a loop around to see if we can find anything before deciding if we want to hop the wall," he suggested before he looked Valeriya over again. Even with the additional bulk of her armor, he was pretty confident he could lug her over if need be. Whether she'd hate the experience or not would probably be up to how well her suit's dampeners worked though.
"Tch." Valeriya tsked up at the wall in displeasure. She'd been designing the armor to match an Egoist's agility as best she could, but a structure like this? Not a chance. Of course, she had alternate methods to scale the wall, but they didn't have the time for that.
"I have a grapnel, but scaling it that way will take too long. Either of you do as you please in getting me over. The servos can handle the impact."
Ryuuko looked up at the wall, but just like Shou, she couldn't really see the top of it due to the thick fog. "Mmm. Well, I'm sure that it shouldn't be too much trouble to scale the wall if it comes down to it, even while bringing you in your armor with us... But yeah, maybe we'll try to make a loop around these walls first, huh? Might find a better way in and all that. IF that proves to be fruitless..." she shrugged casually before continuing. "Then up the wall we go... Anyways. Shall we?"
"Good to know we won't have to be too gentle with ya," Shou remarked before he bounced a few times on his heels before he came down on the ball of his feets. He crouched down before he exploded into motion with a powerful leap that sent him upwards into the fog before a loud thud followed. A moment later and he dropped back down just in front of the two as he shook some dust off his hand. "Just making sure," he remarked as he glanced down at his fingers and wiggled them. He hadn't fully recovered yet, so it could have just been some phantom sensations, but he could almost feel the tingle of electricity coursing through and powering the Formulation.
Without any further delays, Shou took up point as he started to circle around to the right of the Inner Circle. With only the faint streetlights to guide his sight, he started to experiment with getting his echolocation tuned in for out of water use. For their sake, the clicks shouldn't have been something either Valeriya or Ryuuko could hear. Although as he adjusted the frequency to try and dial things in, some noise might have bled through to either of them.
Valeriya kept her rail rifle raised as they proceeded through the streets, her helmet swerving around to keep an eye on the group. There was no point in giving even the illusion of nonviolence by keeping her gun lowered. Considering they were breaking curfew as it was, startling someone with an open threat to fire would be the least of their worries should they be caught by any of the island's faculty.
And wasn't that something? Either most of the faculty was somehow incredibly responsible AND boring enough to not be out and about during the night hours, or their section of the island was very well sound and light-proofed.
"Odd that the staff don't seem to have at least some sort of patrol out to catch anyone breaking curfew. That's how it was done at the military academy I attended." Valeriya murmured quietly to the two Egoists, idly taking note of the sudden pinging noise she heard. Likely the shark boy tuning his echolocation. Smart, but it carried the risk of giving off an alert that they were there if someone knew where to look. Though she supposed looking for trouble was what they were out to do anyway.
"If tonight gives us nothing, do we have any other ideas? I could always try to proposition one of the instructors, but that carries its own risk, of course." Like scoping them out to figure which one would be enough of a degenerate to go for a student.
Walking counterclockwise around the walls offered no particular insights for the trio, beyond Valeriya having her eyes seared by the radiance of the Starsteel Formula whenever she turned in the direction of the great structure. At this distance, the sheer amount of buildings between the Inner Circle and the peninsula in which the adult citizens of this island were segregated kept their quarters a black box from observation as well, while the modulations of Shou didn't appear to bring up anything in particular about their surroundings. With some adjustments, however, he was able to account for the disruption of the fog and at least gain a broader image of the physical world beyond the limits of his extremely stunted vision.
That, though, mattered less compared to what else his ears picked up. It was faint, but growing stronger with each interval. A second set of clicks and pings, rendered near-inaudible if not for his own ears having been adapted for the very same purpose. There was another echolocator within the fog. One that was gradually approaching from the west.
Her suggestion was enough for Shou to glance over his shoulder and raise an eyebrow at Valeriya. "I know we've had incidents every night since we've arrived, but a single peaceful night hardly means its time to switch things up. Besides, strange as Bermuda has been, I don't think they'll be that lax when it comes to security clearances. It'd be pretty disappointing to find out any of the profs actually did think with their dicks. I guess a few of them aren't that much older than us though..."
Shou trailed off as he tried to recall the faculty members, but he was quickly distracted from the idle musings as it seemed their night might not be in vain! His ears flicked somewhat energetically as the fins flared out to better catch the sound, and he came to a halt as he flicked his wrist to swing the hilt into his palm. "Heads up. Got someone else also using echolocation, so it might be the Bat. Coming our way from the West."
"Heh, that they're not around during curfew is probably because those staffs knew full well that there are monsters crawling around in the mist every night... Some of them are probably laughing about it like it's a joke as they withheld that extremely important information from us students." Ryuuko remarked snidely as she kept walking with Shou and Valeriya, her eyes looking around the area casually. The dim lighting wasn't much problem for her night vision-capable eyes, but the mist remains as annoying as ever nonetheless. "Tsk. Where are those sneaky mist bastards..."
Then she paused as Shou made mention of what seemed to be another echolocator moving to their position. A small grin appeared on her face. "Oh? Interesting. I was getting worried that we might really end up finding nothing tonight. Heh, let's see if its really the bat..." she said as her eyes gazed toward the west.
Gazing towards the west, however, offered no particular advantage. In the fog, after all, one could not see more than two meters ahead of them. As the trio readied themselves for whatever may come, honing their hearing to its utmost, the intermittent sounds of wingflaps, accompanied by singularly powerful kickoffs, grew closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Over.
Flesh against stone. Then stone cracking, the cannonshot of a footstep that only an Egoist could perform!
With the presence of another echolocator around, Shou cut off his own and focused just on gauging the rough distance between them. With just the unknown's to focus on, the intensity was easier to gauge and he waited patiently. Coupled with the other sounds of their approach, Shou waited until they must have been within a single jump before he signalled with his own crude echolocation. Catching the other Egoist's attention with it at first before he cleared his throat loudly and called out, "Hey! We're lookin' to talk."
Ideally they wouldn't have to try and chase down another Egoist who had both better mobility and awareness. It wouldn't do to have a repeat of Jeanne's first night out after all...
And there it was. Upon hearing the flapping wings, Valeriya immediately raised her rail rifle, already aiming down the sights in the direction of the sound that was drawing closer. Though at Shou's declaration, she kept her finger off the trigger for now. That could change in an instant, but if this Manbat was willing to negotiate, so much the better for them.
"Reveal yourself and I'll lower my weapon." Valeriya said matter-of-factly, her voice obscured slightly through her helmet. "We're not looking for a fight if we don't have to take one."
With Shou and Valeriya doubtlessly already taking the attention of the maybe-the-Manbat Egoist, Ryuuko opted to just keep quiet, waiting. The decision was then in the hands of the winged Egoist, and Ryuuko intended to react based on what they will do.
Though just in case, unlikely as it seemed to be that a sane person would just suddenly attack them, she primed her venom sac nonetheless.
But then there was another wingflap. Another footstomp against the distant top of the wall. And...
"Oh shit," a voice called out. "Someone down there?"
...it looked as if the 'Manbat' hadn't even registered their presence until they spoke up.
"Yeah, three of us. If you're the Bat Egoist, the other two are the ones who actually wanna talk," Shou called back up as he relaxed a bit and tapped his foot. Not too much though. "If you're not, well we'd still be interested in exchanging info about what the hell's going on around the island."
"Remember the little German girl you ran into the previous night?" Valeriya called up to the presumed Manbat, her rifle still raised in the voice's direction. "I happen to be living with her. I do appreciate that you didn't harm her in any physical manner."
"Yeah, hi, whoever you are up there." Ryuuko chuckled casually after her words. "Didn't expect to actually meet anyone else out here tonight. Well, not in this way anyhow. Anyways..." she cancelled the priming of her venom sac before continuing. "What my colleague said. Whoever you are, care for some talks? Considering you're also out during this time... Surely you have a good reason or two for doing so, yes? Just like us. So maybe our reasons might even coincide, in a manner of speaking."
"Well yeah," came the response. "I don't hit little girls. Even ones so maniac as the little Konigsmahne girl."
Two seconds later, and another crack resounded, as if an anvil was dropped onto concrete. A gust of wind parted the fog briefly, and in that moment, the intrepid trio could take in the full figure of the Manbat. Tall and slim, with furred limbs that ended in wicked claws, the Bat Egoist sported two leathery wings from his back, and his tail swung from side to side with the methodical control of a pit viper. His face, perhaps once squarish, indeed struck the silhouette of a double-sided battle axe...until they flicked back against the sides of his head, their purpose for echolocation served.
A camera hung from his neck, and his eyes, with proper inspection, were heterochromatic: one blue and one green. His smile flashed with sharp teeth, and with the audacious, confident stance that he took simply by standing before them, it was easy to see why a religious individual may see a devil in him.
"Anyhow, let's keep it simple. What's up? Why're you three out here just loitering about?"
Yeah, definitely gotta start working on getting myself some wings was the first thing Ryuuko thought of upon getting a good look of the Manbat. Then, she returned his smile with a sharp teethed grin of her own before replying. "Oh just looking out for interesting things, simply put. Things that roamed the mist at night. Encountered some monsters the other night, you see. Weird unnatural creatures that attacked people after the mist appears. And of course, I don't mean Egoists like us. Ever encountered one of those creatures before, yourself?"
Of course, she intentionally doesn't reveal for now that the Manbat himself is a target who, potentially, might need to be captured.
"I find all this need for secrecy at night curious." Valeriya replied simply, lowering her rifle. "And after hearing about last night, well, you can imagine that's only grown. I don't suppose you've seen or heard a mad Frenchwoman be shot at a few evenings ago?"
"Monsters? Honestly, it does sound like you've encountered another Egoist," the Manbat said. "All I've had to deal with were some slight...symptoms with taking in these curious vapours. Symptoms otherwise avoided by not being in it." He barked out a laugh at Valeriya's question. "And yes, heard some crazy French chick yell something, then it turned out she was chasing me. Jeanne, right? Complete nutjob. Gunshots though? Heard those as well but, well..."
He cracked his knuckles one by one.
"Maybe she's got a secret admirer? The murderous type."
"Oh? Interesting. So you've yet to encounter those crazy things, huh... I'm doubtful that those are the work of an Egoist, unless there's an Egoist on this island that can detach parts of their body and then control them remotely from afar... Anyways, riiight."
She casually puts both hands into the pockets of her jacket. Then, she activated the audio recording device from Nazca that she had placed inside the left pocket, already checking beforehand that it won't make any noise or light when activated. Then, she grinned wide and took a few steps closer to the Manbat, looking very much interested in the topic. "So you're the one that that mad Frenchwoman met huh? Haha, that was some pretty crazy affairs there! So is it true what they said? That the library was burned down because she were fighting you?"
So there were adverse effects to being in this fog? That was a bit disturbing to consider, especially if it turned out his experiences last night had just been some induced hallucinations or psychosis. Humming thoughtfully to himself, Shou grumbled a bit as his thoughts wandered back towards Hana. Given her speciality, she was probably the most suited to sampling some of the fog to analyze anything that might be within it.
Closing his eyes for a moment though, he turned his focus inward and towards his heart. Slowing his heartbeat as his breathes grew more shallow as well. "What symptoms did you experience?"
Valeriya regarded the Manbat's words with silence, taking a moment to consider what he'd already said. The fog being some sort of odd gas was...concerning. Moreso for those around her than herself, considering her helmet came with a built-in gas mask filtration system. She'd have to watch the others carefully, then.
"What Ryuuko said. I take it you didn't notice anything regarding the library arson, then? As it stands, we have good reason to believe Miss du Bordeaux has been framed for that crime. As much as I'd like to see that madwoman crucified, I think her being framed on the first week of our arrival is far more concerning. And a reason to keep her around for now."
The Bat Egoist set his gaze upon Ryuuko, all of his good humour lost in an instant. He didn't even regard Shou and Valeriya's inquiries. One of his wings flexed, bones popping in place as he let out a sigh.
"Ryuuko." Was it the instinct of an investigator? Or the experience of a spy? Perhaps it was too unnatural a move to put one's hands in their pockets when stepping up to a fellow Egoist? Or was this Egoist's senses honed sharply enough to pick up on what the chimeric one had deemed undetectable? "What's in your pockets?"
Regardless, it was deathly serious. An encounter between Egoists always was.
Valeriya stiffened in alarm but an instant after the Manbat did. What did he...? Oh. Her gas mask helmet shifted in Ryuuko's direction even as she raised her rifle to a ready position. She wasn't quite pointing it at the other Egoist yet, but it was in a position where she could easily snap off a shot at this close a range.
Ryuuko had suddenly put her hands in her pockets. Was that what had set him off? The chimeric Egoist seemed a good deal more animated the moment she'd done so. That, at the very least, was suspicious.
Valeriya shared a look with Shou for a moment before regarding the confrontation between Ryuuko and the Manbat. Regardless of how it played out, this was cause for concern.
Raising an eyebrow at the slight motion of Valeriya's helmet, Shou couldn't see her expression through it unfortunately. From the shift of her rifle's position though... well, he couldn't help but sigh a bit as he remained relaxed despite the Manbat's shift in demeanor. "What? If Ryuuko does have something, I'm not gonna fault him for calling her out on it," he said with a shrug before he looked between the other two Egoists. With everyone at least a bit on edge when prowling around after the curfew, he supposed that hiding one's hands wasn't the least threatening gesture.
"Excuse me?" Ryuuko quirked an eyebrow at the Manbat's abrupt change in demeanor, her own smile slowly turning into a frown. "Really? I put my hands into my pockets without even thinking much about it, and it sets you off? What are you, a paranoid?" She took out her hands from her pocket, empty, leaving the device in the left pocket as it was. Her venom sac was primed once more. "What's in my pockets is my own business, thank you very much. If you had asked nicely, then sure. But going all confrontative like this... Naah. Reminds me too much of those bastards back home, who think they can just question me for whatever made up reasons they want."
She was genuinely pissed off, and her expression showed that clearly. Of course, she wasn't actually pissed off because the Manbat's attitude was reminding them of her oppressors back home, but because his paranoia was spot onâŚ
âOk,â the Bat Egoist said, his tone becoming slightly more cordial, even as his entire body stilled, âCould you please show me what you have in your pockets.â
â..... Too late for that, donât you think? Whatever.â she shrugged, seemingly relaxed. âIâve lost interest.â she looked at Shou and Valeriya. âLetâs just go, guys. This is a waste of time.â she grinned wide at them, seemingly happily. As if trying to tell them that her emphasised word didnât mean âleavingâ. âIâll owe you guys, if youâd please.â
Then in an instant later she returned her gaze toward the Manbat, and a burst of intense flame came out of her mouth directed at him.
Valeriya knew where this was going from the moment Ryuuko started smiling. Oh for the love ofâŚwhy the hell was she initiating hostilities?! No wonder Nazca was laid up in the hospital right now after having to deal with this trigger-happy maniac.
She audibly groaned as Ryuuko did end up literally opening fire and reluctantly started to raise her rifle, her gaze shifting to Shou for a moment to see how heâd react. Frankly, sheâd rather still hold her fire, but if Shou ended up piling in with Ryuuko, there wasnât much of a choice.
In the moment he had before Ryuuko did something both stupid and unwarranted, Shou closed his eyes and exhaled through his grit teeth. Wasnât this exactly the sort of behaviour that got Jeanna into her mess to begin with? His eyes snapped open and he moved instead of replying to Ryuuko verbally. Hand lashing out as the other Egoist turned her fire towards the Manbat, Shou aimed to snatch her horn and twist her head straight up to the sky where he didnât have to worry about the flames washing over himself or Valeriya. With Val standing off for now, his tail slammed into the ground behind as he braced himself with it.
Ryuukoâs flame, diverted, seared through the fog, filling the air with the stench of the sea. Against Shouâs superior strength, the chimeric Egoistâs neck wasnât nearly strong enough to hold itself in place, and her blast of flame went wide. It was clear, with their actions, that neither Valeriya nor Shou was for Ryuukoâs aggression.
But the Bat Egoist did not find the need to take any chances either.
By the time the flames settled, he was gone, wingbeats sounding off in the distance.
And with the only promising lead gone, any prior unity the group may have had was gone. Insincere apologies passed between the three and they continued to trudge through the fog, but to no avail. It was a quiet night, it appeared, with no black tendrils slipping in and out of the edges of their eyes. And that silence only caused resentment to seep further. Climbing. Intensifying.
Unforgivable.
As the futility of their activities dawned upon them, the three broke off, almost eager to be rid of each other's presence. Ryuuko to a dormitory of a design that she despised. Shou to the faux-tavern where his roommate waited. And Valeriya, back to the armory, to doff the shadow-shaded carapace that had protected her so well against what lurked within the fog.
The night ended, just like that.
It was a good thing that James had worn his ear protection, earplugs are a wonderfully simple innovation. However, the ringing still left him shaken. The damned bell was a lot louder up close than he thought.
When the ringing finally stopped, he removed the earplugs and prepared his gas mask. âSeems the fogâs rolling in quick like.â he whispered to himself. The ringing in his ears were beginning to fade and was slowly being replaced with the methodical clickity-clack and noisy creaking of moving gears and rolling shafts.
He checked his list of equipment, checking them off in his head one by one.
Sleeping Gas Tear Gas Flash pellets Smoke pellets Blowpipe Darts Rope & hook
And so onâŚ
It was this moment he heard the pit-pat of footsteps coming up the clock tower. Who the hell could that be now? Whoever it was, they werenât trying to conceal their presence, so either they knew he was there or they didnât. There were not many places to hide here.
âBuggerâŚâ Well no use now, whether he was caught or not, there was no easy way out of here. At the very least his gasmask would protect his identity If only by a little. He prepared a flash pellet and a sleep gas canister and hoped that he wouldnât have to use them.
The steps drew closer. Closer. Closer.
The first sign was the warm glow of a lantern. Then dark hair, oily and sleek. A rugged face, like the stone of the great Abya Yalan canyons. A patterned suit, replete with the swirling animal motifs of the New Worldâs Dynamicists. In one hand, hung the lantern. In the other hand, swung a bottle.
An Abya Yalan man, middle-aged and wrinkly-faced, widened his eyes slightly at the inhuman silhouette cut by James, before smiling.
âI had not expected visitors at this hour, Ravenschild. Have you found yourself here by error, or is thisâŚexactly where you wished to be?â
The man seemed to have no ill intentions at the moment, so James engaged him in conversation. âIf I had come here by my own will, would you hold it against me? The view is lovely this time of evening. Though the fog here is quite curious.â
âAdmitting to breaking curfew?â The older man leaned against the railing of the clocktower. âI will hold it against you, but Iâve no reason to do anything about it until sunrise.â
âDoes that mean youâll do nothing to me until then or does that mean youâll try to keep me here till then?â James stood his ground looking towards the older man.
âYou sound quite worried.â
âWorried is not quite the word Iâd use. More like I donât know what to think of you at this moment. Are you friend, foe, or something else?â He never took his eyes off the man, his hearing hasnât quite recovered fully yet. But it was enough to carry a conversation normally. â⌠As for me, Iâm merely curious about all the incidents that have been occurring. That and this fog is quite strange.â
"Strange as it may be, you'll learn to live with it."
It was an enigmatic answer from an enigmatic man, but it would be suspicious, perhaps, to press too hard this soon. After all, while James was armed to the teeth with the tools of his trade, his trade was assassination and infiltration, not the fine art of conversation. So it was hard, perhaps, to refuse an invitation to drink some spiced wine and play a round or two of chess. To pass the time peacefully, under the gaze of the false moon and the fragments of the Divine Calculus.
And before James knew it, he opened his eyes and found that the sky was blue.
Finally, nightfall washed over Bermuda and soon the curfew was heralded by exactly ten vociferous chimes reverberating throughout the artificial island, likely even beyond. However, unlike the first night where it roused her awake, nor like the second where they took her by surprise, this time Lucretia was expecting them. Though she was without Schwarzritter, what she received in exchange was arguably as valuable, especially for her current task. If the group was to infiltrate the Atelier du Moor without applications of brute force, then someone needed to handle the Starsteel Formulization, twas' obvious who that someone would be and she had intensely practiced with Sukuro's starsteel chest for this specific reason. For all of her faults, Lucretia was inarguably sagaciously talented at everything Technologism, including rapidly learning new concepts rooted in the Major.
So there she was, gathered merely a few blocks away from the photographer's workshop together with Herr Steiner and Frau Kurniawan, all Polymaths talented in their own thing. "I'm ready, please guide us through the fog, Frau Kurniawan." The white-haired girl stated in Latin, "Once we've arrived, I will unlock our point of entry, whichever it is that we choose."
Franz's code of dress for this affair was much different from his normal attire. He wore primarily black clothing with gloves and practical boots. A rapier hung on his belt overtly for self defense where as a dagger is hidden in his left sleeve for more nefarious purposes along with a small vile of appropriately potent poison.
"Don't rush into the lion's den too quickly Lucy." Franz interupted the small noble. "The bat egoist operates at night. We must wait for Solomon to leave in this form before we enter. This is both to confirm he is, in fact, this prowler of the night and to make sure we will have to freedom to investigate."
Bunga's eyes glowed in the dark. She herself has a small bag with the vials she requested from James inside of it. Mighty concoctions that should be able to disable anyone that intends to do her and the group harm, while this is the first time she uses James' chemical concoctions, ever. She trusts James that he won't skimp out on the ingredients and make it as potent as she requested.
She hopes that his alchemy skills are up to snuff, and that she'd look good in a French maid outfit or something. Just the thought of it puts a light blush on Bunga's face already. A rather interesting contrast to her glowing eyes and otherwise serious demeanor.
"Alright. So to Atelier du Moor right?" She asked the group one more time. "Then follow me. This fog is as thick as Papeda right now, geez. Just what is near Bermuda that makes the night fog this thick?"
Bunga can see the outline of the street well enough, she has the fox vision and they're no joke. But gosh darn is her sense of sight being pushed to the absolute limit here. One wrong move and the group can be separated really easily.
"Before we go. I want either of you to hold my hands, and grip them as tight as you can. Either that or form a human chain. I don't want to lose any one of you right now. If you're anywhere more than 2 meters I might permanently lose sight of you." She ordered. outstretching both her hands to Franz and Lucy. "Also. We can discuss on whether we should wait or should we break in just as we're walking. Therefore we can make the decision right away. I can tell that the walk to the Atelier alone is going to be treacherous."
"If one must." Without hesitation, Lucretia grasped Bunga's hand with a strength so meager that it hardly registered for the dark-skinned Egoist. "The door to the Atelier is wooden, and the materials used for the walls are of canvas," the German Technologist continued, her gait accelerating as she took charge to lead Bunga towards the place they sought. Fox vision did not account for much within the thick fog, and Lucretia herself had memorized the route to Herr Antidivula's studio regardless. She could reach it blind and deaf, and this time, she would be ready for such debilitations.
"And Herr Steiner, patience is for those who can afford it. I insist we break in swiftly, no matter what awaits us. There is nothing to be gained from staying outside for prolonged hours."
"With all due respect Frau Konigsmahne. Breaking into a house while the occupant is still inside is not a wise move. Particularly when said occupant can potentially fight all three of us. The best case scenario under those conditions is being expelled from Bermuda and serving jail time. I don't intend to make such a move." Franz replied before beginning the walk to Solomon's accomodations. "None the less, we should position ourselves close to the home to scope it out. In reaching Anitdivula's home, we cannot waste a second. Stick close."
Bunga, now with both Lucy and Franz in both her hands, decided that the time is ripe to walk the group into Solomon's house. She slowly walked along with the small German technologist and Austrian Mesmerologist. Taking directions and following Lucretia as she lead the trio Solomon's house.
She knew that the mood of the situation is very dark, what with the night, what their mission entails, and the thick fog surrounding everyone. So, perhaps in a small effort to lighten the mood a little bit, before they really went in and ransack Solomon's atelier. Bunga decided to ask a question both Lucretia and Franz probably didn't expect.
"So. Both of you, have you tried eating spicy food? Chillies and peppers and the like?" Bunga mused. "I'm sure that, with world trade and all, you've tried some form of spices from the tropics right?"
She really hoped that she's not perceived as a fool for posing this question. All she wanted to do is lighten the mood a little bit.
Lucretia looked at Franz with the petulance of a child who sat through a lesson only have learned nothing new from it. She didn't deign to respond to Bunga either. Such an inane question wasn't worth spending an iota of her brainpower on, after all. Anyways, the only answer to that question was that spicy food was without merit. Only a fool would willingly torture themselves, after all. True efficiency in meeting the needs of one's body came from food that was tasty and easy to consume, without negative side effects such as having to spend hours clenching one's orifices in the restroom afterwards.
...that mental rant, at least, sufficed to distract Lucretia's attentions long enough for them to stop in front of the two-story building that contained the Atelier Du Moor. Compared to some of the adjacent buildings, the Mongolian-style tent yurt was certainly less clad with the Starsteel Formulization than the others, and the door leading to the first floor was only a canvas flap: durable enough to keep out the fog, but not enough to withstand any amount of effort that Bunga might put forth in opening it up. It was difficult to tell whether or not light shone from the windows of the second floor however, owing to the ever-present obstruction of the mist, but if nothing else, there were no abnormal sources of light blooming out into the fog from that direction.
Careful listening too, did not give off any impressions that there was anyone moving about within the building...but that could just be explained by individuals being asleep as well. It was a matter then, of whether to act or to wait.
A Mongolian Yurt. An interesting architectural choice for someone from France, Bunga could only wonder in barely contained excitement at the prospect of studying this weird Atelier she has heard a lot from Ryuuko about. She did try to just open the flap, and... it opened by itself, no starsteel formulization. No nothing, just a simple flap keeping the fog away.
"I didn't thought that it would that easy. But there you go Lucy. Flap's open, why don't you go first?" Bunga offered. Showing Lucy the insides of the Yurt.
With the opening of the flap, so too came the emergence of the fog. Lucretia narrowed her eyes at that, her sleeve raising to her mouth, while Franz, ever the gentleman, held the flap for Bunga afterwards. "Ladies first," he spoke, with a Venetian flourish.
There was little on the first floor worth looking after. It looked like a studio space that had not yet been leased, and the German Technologist certainly had no patience for it either. Her focus was, singularly, upon the purported 'ledger' that contained all the information that she...what, needed? Wanted? Had use for? Indeed, it looked as if Franz would benefit the most from this, as well as from closing in on the identity of the Manbat.
Still, they were there now, the trio. Standing on the second floor, before a wooden door. The 'Welcome' sign had become a 'Closed' sign, and the brass knob looked harmless enough. If one pressed their ear against the door and listened, it would be quite, but for a faint 'clicking' noise. A clock, perhaps? Or something less mundane than that?
Lucretia looked at Bunga.
"Open it."
What else was an Egoist good for, after all?
Bunga obliged and grabbed the knob of the door, twisting it, and... it didn't open.
To be fair Bunga wasn't using her full power as an Egoist. But there's a voice in her head that tells her that it would be unwise to break the door right now, like a sort of gut feeling she has, she is not sure whether she should follow it or not.
"Umm Lucy? Just what kind of stuff that we're looking for by the way? Some documents and stuff right? I kinda have a bad feeling that we might unleash something we don't like should I force open this door y'know. I'll still do it if you insist though."
Franz was the one to answer. "Evidence of collusion between Solomon Antedivula and the mysterious Manbat. It would be less optimal, of course, if we were to catch him in the act, but..." The Mesmerologist shrugged, totally at ease with the situation. "...I suspect that if he were here, he would have already heard us."
The fog continued to climb, snaking up the steps, rising up to fill the ceiling. Bringing in that obscuring vapour to fill the yurt to the brim.
Bunga contemplated for a moment. But eventually relented, all that effort for nothing would be such a blow for everyone it would not be worth it anyway. Bunga decided to open the door and hold her breath for what's about to happen next. Will it be some crazy monster getting out of the door? Some mechanical monstrosity? Bunga is prepared to protect her classmates for whatever eventuality.
"Should I close the flap of the yurt?" Bunga asked, not willing to look at what's inside the room. "I think that less fog would be beneficial to us all no?"
It didn't matter, in the end, for the truth revealed itself in a fashion most unkindly.
The atelier that Solomon had leased was, logically speaking, not where he rested. Lucretia, ever-searching, continued to look through the workshop, guided by her star-studded eyes, but as Bunga watched the German Technologist investigate without hope of uncovering anything, she saw too, the look in Franz's eyes.
An empty certainty, crystallizing with the substance of a spider weaving a cocoon.
It was just a flicker. A crack in the mask, and one that patched itself up just as swiftly. He laughed at his folly, and called it an early night. Like that, it was over.
EE 87, May 8 | Afternoon
"My client pleads no contest."
Like that, it was over.
Observing from the side, Ryuuko's expression flared up with an indignant fury, but Jeanne herself remained unaffected. Franz had thrown in the towel before the trial even began, and yet, it was the most logical decision he could make under these circumstances. Three days had elapsed, and all that they had gathered were snippets of information, meager bits and bobs that could not form any case to erase the truth that the Witch herself had admitted right at the start.
She had burned down the library, and only due to the slightest provocation.
Yet even Robespierre looked surprised at this turn of events. What could have inspired Franz Steiner, the Universal Genius who possessed a notable chip in the shoulder towards nobility, to fold so easily? It was in the Bermuda Triangle the day after, but Ryuuko found out in the evening.
She had returned once more, to that loathsome sham of a dormitory, one that seemed design to rub raw whatever wounds she accumulated during the day. Returned to her room, and found her roommate missing.
Franz had moved out. He had moved out at the same time that Lucretia did, and the two of them became roommates in a new dormitory. The Universal Genius, the only man in the world who possessed even the slimmest possibility of realizing the holy grail of Mesmerology, simply chose allegiance with someone who had wealth and good reputation over someone who had neither. It was certainly one way, after all, to guarantee that Jeanne was punished.
It was disgusting. It took great restraint for Ryuuko to not burn them both to death.
But it proved it.
This was not the environment for her. Masking conservatism with progress. Maintaining a status quo rather than pushing boundaries. Laying invisible rule after invisible rule, believing that it was through conventions and traditions that innovation flourished. Backbiting, backstabbing, politicizing bastards, the lot of them.
If she could not reduce it to ash, then she would remove herself from it.
And when the fog parted ways, Jeanne stood before an airship, her hands once more bound in leather. Like this, an Egoist was unnecessary to supervise her, and the regular police force of Bermuda escorted her instead. Past the crowds of onlookers, up the stairs, into the bowels of the airship. As she disappeared from view, her eyes gazed back once more.
Searching for a particular face? Memorizing those she begrudged? Looking out at the paradise from which she's been exiled?
The doors closed.
Electricity crackled, granting power once more to the Pleizogravitas circuitry, as Steam Cores funneled their energy into the propellers that gave the airship velocity. Within minutes, the great vessel was off, crossing the great oceans to send the errant pyromaniac back to the land that still tolerated her ferocity.
Jeanne, with all her secrets, left behind naught but burned bridges and impassable rifts.
And for those who remained, what was held in their hearts? Apathy? Pity? Scorn? Joy?
Whatever emotions arose, it would be buried once more. As surely as the sun fell. As surely as the fog rose.
Kero
High Moon
Phase
Rabidporcupine
Citrus
Candelabra
TheMushroomLord
Lucid Dreaming
Xaltwind
