And what is more sacred than growth?
He basked in the cheers as Father's men guided him from the cloister into the arena. The voices and thrumming of feet echoed even into the entrance, the waves of sound which shook the marble floor rippled all over his skin producing a tingling sensation and a rhythm that was easy to get lost in, while it drowned out the beating of his own heart.
When Father arrived and took a seat above the rings, flanked by two anxious women he had never seen before, the crowd cheered with bolstered vigor. He had been among the stands before and enjoyed the rhythm then, but it was a whole new feeling now that it was aimed at him. Or, not only at him. The other one was here too, but not for too long. They did need to kill each other, after all.
He knew what it was to kill. The feeling of death, of the boundary between it and life, had been an important part of his upbringing. But they had all been captives, enemies of Father bound and helpless who never fought back. He was never taught to fight for himself, although he suspected the other one hadn't been either.
The other one was similar to him, maybe one or two years older. If they had been born with the same features it mattered not, the way they looked now showed that they were molded by the same training. This would be the first fight of their lives and for one, the last.
A new tingling sensation, almost masked by the crowd's rhythm, rippled through his body. He knew what it was: his opponent was reaching out, sensing the mass of his muscles and the density of his bones. This was a good sign, if he felt the need to compare their strengths it meant he lacked confidence in his. And what was it Father said? "Confidence is the spine of a militant will."
His thoughts were interrupted when the other one kicked him without warning. That was not how it should happen! He had seen arena fights before, there were to be rules and rituals before blood could be shed. But as he looked into the crowd for any signs, all he saw was Father shooting a stern glare at one of the women before returning his calm gaze to the two boys. If Father disapproved, it was not enough to stop the fight. So be it.
Nothing that happened in the fight was thrilling, they both merely slugged and flailed at each other without much thought. They sometimes tried to mimic the movements of better skilled fighters they had seen in the arena before but with no technique to stand on these imitations were poor and ineffective. The crowd's cheers were growing dull, even Father looked disappointed in their performance. He decided to end it quicker.
When the other one lunged at him for a desperate tackle, he let the head reach against his chest and brought down a cruel elbow that sent his opponent reeling. He bit into the side of his own mouth, drawing blood and allowing it to pool under his tongue. Then, he rushed at the other one and made a punch aimed at his head. Instead of accepting the strike, the coward chose to defend himself, covering his eyes with his hands. He dropped into the blind spot and bit hard into the other one's chest.
The blood flowed against his teeth, seeping through the tear into his adversary's skin to infiltrate the veins. The other one attempted to push him away with brutal blows that cracked his bones, but he clenched his jaw firmly and maintained his hold. Soon, the other one's panicked heartbeat had finalised spreading the invading blood. He felt a surge in willpower, a last desperate defence made more inaccurate by fear.
He sent a final command to his cells, forming sharp clusters that imploded outwards to pierce the other one's vessels. His victim's limbs dropped to the side as his organs choked on his own blood. He released the bite to let the other one fall limp to the ground.
Cheers erupted from the crowd again, but he did not have time to bask in it before Father's men came to escort him into the stands. One of the women ran past them looking distraught, the second stayed at Father's side and greeted him with a warm smile.
"Liam," Father said "this is your mother. She has done well to bring you into this world, and tonight you have proved your worth. From now on, the two of you are elevated into the main family. You were of my blood, now you are of my name."
"And her?" Liam asked, looking at the distraught woman who was clutching the other one's corpse. "Who is she?"
He had an idea of course, but an idea was not the truth. The truth was what Father would say.
"She is of worthless stock. She will leave and you will not see her again, do not concern yourself with her fate." And so it was.
"Come along now son. You will rest in our house and tomorrow, your proper education begins."
"Yes, Father."
Bernard Varnier was rich, a fortune earned from a very successful business in the steel industry; complimented by some generous investments into the private affairs of key members of the government.
He was also old enough that he had started to think about the issue of his legacy. He had kids of course, three of them, and he knew which one of them to trust with leading the company after his time, but he found that he was not satisfied with mere continuation. Bernard wanted his name unmistakably written down in history.
Two weeks before his 68th birthday, Bernard gathered his lawyers and some of his friends in the government to talk about how much money he could spare, and which investments would make sure he would be remembered.
Then, his birthday had come and there were nuts in the cake.
When he woke up, Bernard had found himself in a very nice private hospital, driven there by caring family members. Before his first night there, he was satisfied to see that the staff knew what kind of treatment to give to men of his status. In the morning, after the press had left, nurses rushed to his bed. Complications, they said, something to watch out for, so he let them carry him to another unit of the hospital under sedation.
The new unit was nothing like the first. There, he was plunged into damp darkness, in a room that was closer to a cell than a hospital room. He wasn't alone either. Through the viewport in the door, he could see someone in the cell across the corridor begging to be released. Somewhere farther down, someone else was screaming though he could not tell why.
All he had was a bare bed and a large bowl, which he was unsure if he was meant to use for food or… he didn't intend to stay long enough to find out. The door to his cell was poorly maintained and it did not take long to spot a large patch of rust on the hinges. Bernard went to work scraping away at it with the bowl, pausing intermittently whenever his bones started to ache or heard someone walk by. There were nurses, or possibly guards, moving through this space, the sound of their footsteps so heavy as to drown out the voices of the pleading captives.
One night might have passed before his efforts were successful, it was hard to tell and in truth mattered little. What mattered was that the door finally fell from its frame and opened the way to his freedom. Freedom, unfortunately, was not easy to find.
This place had no signage, no lighting, Bernard found himself walking into walls multiple times and retracing his steps many more. Some smell permeated the whole place, strong enough that it made it hard to think. It wasn't blood, at least he thought so, but it was close to it. He would have puked, had he eaten anything.
He might have spent hours roaming those dark corridors. The drumming of his exhausted heart almost prevented him from hearing footsteps coming from behind, but he did hear them and when he did, panic pulled the last of his energy to get his legs moving.
One room on his left seemed bigger than the cells he had passed by, lit up by the soft glow of a single desk lamp. Bernard ran inside, found it to be furnished with operating tables and crawled underneath one of them, pulling the paper sheet down to hide himself from view. He could no longer ignore the pain flaring up in his body, and had to cover up his mouth or risk the sound his hard and uneven breathing give away his location.
When the footsteps followed him inside the room anyway, he pushed the sheet apart ever so slightly to see who had come in. Someone flicked a switch and lights buzzed on, allowing Bernard to see he had been followed by two people, a man and a boy. They did not seem to be pursuing him, their attentions instead focused on a third person laying nude on one of the tables. How had he missed that?
"There are some who criticize what we do." The man spoke, and the boy seemed rapt at his every word.
"They say we think only of ourselves, that we only take and grow. They would see us as a cancer, but only because they are blind to our purpose."
The boy fetched tools from a nearby shelf and handed them to the man. Bernard was too far and his eyes too old to see clearly, but they did not look like metal.
"Humans invented society and all its rules to define and direct ourselves. In truth, we are a herd." The man leaned over the person laid out on the table and listened to their breath.
"A herd is directed by its strongest individuals and dragged down by its weakest. When we crave strength we do not do it only for ourselves, we do it for our duty to the whole. By becoming strong we contribute to the well-being of the herd. We lead, we protect and we breed to ensure the next generations are strong as we are. As for the weak…"
The person on the table gasped and came awake. Their screams were quickly muffled by the boy swiping his hand over their face. When he removed them, they had no mouth at all. The man shook his head, he disapproved, and the boy hurried to undo his mistake and the screaming resumed.
"Those who cannot accomplish, those who fail to fight illnesses, those who allow subservience to guide their lives; they only drag us down. And yet we care for them, even when they cannot become any better. Flaws and weaknesses are only useful when they can be surmounted. When they are permanent, a burden, they must be excised."
The man whispered something to his victim, who went silent. He handed them a file and a pen which they signed, without even looking.
"The rules of society mandate care and forbid culling. This path would shackle us to weakness, it is wrong. People know it is wrong, but as long as the masses pretend it isn't, fear keeps them from acting against the current. That is our role."
He took the signed file away and inserted a needle into the person's chest. "The people burdened by their weak entrust them to us so that we may remove them from their lives. They think they pass off the burden of guilt onto us, but they are wrong, it is no burden for we who are strong. And as for the rule of law…"
The person began coughing loudly, soon they were bent over and retching blood.
"With our capabilities, it is easy enough to pass the death as natural, if unfortunate." The person stopped moving.
"Remember this today Liam: you must not only be strong to honor me, you must be strong because you have a duty to our people and to those who do not yet recognize us."
The boy nodded.
"Now go. Your mother will be cross if I keep you too long."
When the boy left the room, Bernard felt relieved. Now he just had to wait for—
"Ah, children. Such delights, wouldn't you agree, Mr Varnier?"
Bernard shivered.
"Of course, they must be taught and disciplined. If they are simply given everything they will take greatness for granted; and entitlement can so quickly turn to anger if you threaten to take it away."
Bernard found himself unable to run, no matter how much he wanted to. A powerful hand burst through the sheet and hauled him off.
"For example, when the inheritance they had spent so long expecting is suddenly at risk of diminishing, they can be willing to go far to ensure it remains whole."
"Which one of them?" Bernard raged "Which one sent me here?"
"Do you know Mr Varnier, we usually keep our charges longer than you've been here. A week perhaps, to let my men work on breaking their will and put their signatures on the required paperwork. But your children work fast, there was nothing for us to overturn. Of course, keeping you longer would make your sudden death less suspicious but… the unruly must be dealth with."
Something from under the man's palm pricked into Bernard's skin. He could feel his blood grow thicker in his veins, his heart slowing down.
With one last spiteful look he tried to spit at his killer but only managed to drool on himself. "Fuck… you. I hope your brat… do you worse than mine—"
His body thudded against the floor, his heart struggled to give one last beat.
"Hmm. Now that is an unpleasant thought."
And he was gone.
Drip.
Father liked to reward success, his own most of all, but he knew when to dole out recompenses for those who performed well in his name. And Liam had performed very, very well.
Drip.
His education had progressed through many stages, enough that Father had allowed Liam to accompany him on what he called “hostile takeovers”. He had personally brought a rich owner to his knees and forced him to accept Father's rule.
Drip.
For this, Father had deemed him worthy of Revelation.
Drip.
He had been in the room for a long time, long enough for his eyes to overcome the darkness and see the murals that surrounded him.
Drip.
Every time the drops were dispensed they soaked through his hair, into his skull, inside his mind. With every drop he could perceive more and more of the murals, details that were previously hidden, movement on pictures that were previously still.
Drip.
He bathed in the surrounding imagery, which told tales of conquest. Countless hosts of warriors led by figures shrouded in nearly-divine halos were spreading across vast lands, growing the reach of farmhands behind who worked the newly-acquired earth.
Drip.
There were whispers in his mind coming from above him. He raised his head to meet the source and saw a warrior, taller than any other, slowly opening his single eyelid to stare at him. Once open, the eye poured a torrent of light and Liam felt himself being carried away.
Woosh.
He was incredibly distant from his own body. Of course, he had been trained so that nothing could truly sever the bond between his body and his soul. Somewhere, he could feel the deluge of light boiling the liquid on his head; but that was a mere afterthought compared to what he was experiencing now.
Stomp.
He was a giant towering over insignificant enemies. His purpose had been set: to crush them and pave the way for an empire. There was someone at his back leading him, pushing him ever forward with a guiding hand. He knew that it was someone special to the giant, but Liam could only equate the presence to Father's, they were not so different after all, they were authority and they were righteousness.
The giant was as impressive as he was impossible, he could feel the laws of the world pushing back to deny his existence, gravity, biology and thermodynamics protesting that he should not be; but the giant did not need them, he was sustaining himself through pure will and purpose. Witnessing him was a Revelation.
He was mighty, with one swing of his arm he could bring down legions. He was unshakable, none of their weapons so much as gave him pause. He was an aspiration, Liam barely noticed the ants fleeing at his feet. “This,” he thought, “this is the way things should be.”
And then he tripped.
Suddenly, the giant's presence faded. Liam still inhabited the scene, but something had derailed the script, things were not unfolding as they were meant to. He looked down, forced himself to notice what had tripped him and saw one of the insignificant enemies he had been mindlessly trampling. But this one was different, this one had features that stood out, this one wore barely any clothing and had the head of a wolf.
This could not stand. Liam brought an arm up and dropped in a powerful blow to crush this interruption and get back to how things were supposed to be. Instead of dying, the strange man simply stopped the arm in its tracks and winked. Winked. Somehow, Liam knew this was meant for him as if the strange man could see him.
“None of that is exactly right, is it?”
Swish.
The man pulled down, bringing the giant low, but Liam stayed in place. The connection was severed in an instant and he was flung back into his own body.
Light was still pouring from above, his head felt as if it was on fire. He could feel now that the vision was a filter meant to dilute the experience as thoughts of conquest, of obedience and reverence were streamed into his mind. Now that he was back in control of his own means, he was reacting to this invasion as to a virus and the foreign ideas were rampaging through his skull as they were being forced out.
The pain was immense, his head was splitting and his eyes burning. His consciousness was fading fast.
He let out one final scream before falling into the dark:
“WHO THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”
Upon exiting the chamber Liam had found it easier to pretend as if the Revelation had occurred normally, rather than admit his failure and face the consequences. Luckily, Father had interpreted the scars as a sign of success. It was clear that he had expectations for how Liam would be after the Revelation had changed him and Liam did his best to comply but -and this upset him greatly- he found himself disagreeing with the way he was being made to act.
Somehow, he felt as if his agency was no longer important. His initiatives were dismissed, his questions met with disapproval so often that he learned to no longer ask any. Father seemed happiest when Liam merely did his part as ordered, which he believed was unfair. But it was not the most unfair of changes.
Ever since that day in the arena, he had received an education worthy of Father's heir. He learned of ancient texts and sacred rituals, he studied politics and the dynamics of power. These lessons were something he looked forward to: not only were they helping him become an heir worthy of Father; but he found that he had a strong curiosity which he loved to see fulfilled.
The week after the Revelation he found that his tutors had left without even giving him notice. There was now nothing to fill his days, except to wait around until he was needed. Frankly, he deserved better.
Of course, Liam did not dare to question Father, not out loud and certainly not to his face. So he went and took his issues to someone he felt more comfortable around. His mother.
Liam's mother had her place in the main estate, but she kept her own residence for when work called her away, which was often. Father was known to the public and needed to keep his home free from overtly suspicious elements, such as the kind required for his wife's research. Liam visited his mother often enough that in theory he knew where she lived but in practice, without being taken there by assigned drivers, he was very much lost.
There was a turn left after the hospital ran by Father, then he had to cut through the Carrefour parking lot, follow the road until the fork, then right, then through the alley, then left… or was it right again? Actually, was that even the right alley he took? He was definitely meant to go through that park, but he wasn't sure he recognised that part of it.
He couldn't exactly ask people for directions and they seemed to be avoiding him anyway. It might have something to do with the scars.
Hopelessly lost, Liam dropped down on a bench to sort through his thoughts.
“Perhaps Father was right about taking initiatives. It doesn't really work well for me.”
“Just because you can't find the path right away,” a voice behind him spoke “doesn't mean it is necessarily the wrong one.”
The unexpected intervention spooked Liam who nearly fell off the bench before catching himself. He peeked over the back to spot his unknown interlocutor, but found no one. Instead, there was just a huge St Bernard whose head was sticking out of a nearby bush.
Liam smiled at the dog. He had a fondness for animals, not that he saw any very often. “I don't suppose you've seen anyone else around buddy?”
“No,” the dog answered “it's just you and me for now.”
Growing up among a cult with magic powers had made Liam accustomed to things that the average person might find unusual. Still, being accosted by talking dogs in a public space was something even he found strange, even stranger was the fact that he was beginning to recognise this voice.
“Wait a minute,” he walked over to the bush and pulled the leave apart, revealing that the head connected to a human body, bare-chested and muscled “you're no dog at all!”
“I am not.” The strange man conceded while getting up and brushing the dirt off of his arms. “But we all sometimes act like things we are not, don't we?”
“I'm not in the mood for cryptic lectures coming from a stalker. You ruined my Revelation, so whatever you've got planned now I want none of it.”
“Would you rather I let the “revelation” succeed? By now you can guess what it would have done to you, I'm sure.”
“Well I…” Liam hesitated. “I don't know. I wanted to ask mom.”
He looked down to avoid the stranger's inquisitive gaze and noticed something written on the man's arm. “Mr Destiny? Is that your name?”
“It is. It's also my job description, of sorts. I help people move through their lives and grow when there are others who would see them being less.”
“And you think I need help?” Liam sneered “That I'm weak enough to let you deal with troubles with my family?”
The man shrugged.
“I'm not going to make a scene in public, so I'll let you leave, but if I ever see you again, you'll be sorry.”
“I am sorry right now, sorry that you won't listen. But if you don't want to see me, that's fine. Maybe I'll call you instead.”
“I don't have a phone.”
“Oh. Well I'll find something else. Good luck with her.”
The irritating man waved, walked behind a tree and vanished. Good riddance, Liam thought.
It took some more wandering, during which many pebbles were kicked, but Liam finally reached a street he definitely recognised. From there it was only a five minutes walk to his mother's residence, which he made in one because he ran.
Far enough from the city center, the residence spread over a considerable area; it had belonged to aristocrats long before being turned into a museum for a time, then sold back to private interests. It had since received quite a few renovations that ensured the privacy of its owners. Liam reached one of the side entrances and knocked for the guards to open up. There was a hidden camera in the wall which would let them verify who he was and he would be welcomed in a matter of moments.
Any second now.
…
He knocked again for good measure. When that did nothing, he uncovered the hidden camera's panel to stare straight into it. Or he would have, had the device not been already ripped out.
“Shit.”
Liam dug his fingers into the wall and in a few swift movements made his way up and over the obstacle, landing in the courtyard. There was indeed the corpse of a guard next to his feet, their throat bent and crushed, and one more whose body had been ripped in half before being used to bash a door in.
His mother was in that house with some unknown violent killer. The thought sent a shiver through Liam's body, soon followed by a rush of adrenaline. He rushed inside the building, ignored the cries of wounded attendants to make his way to his mother's study.
Signs of a fight were strewn across the carpeted room, his mother's desk was splintered and several vials were shattered, their glass shards covered with blood which he knew was hers. He was relieved to see a hatch in the floor –a secret until now— opening on an escape tunnel. It was no hastily dug escape path either, but a stable and well-lit concrete corridor, wide enough for many of the house's staff to flee alongside their mistress.
And some had indeed followed, but not for long. The tunnel ended abruptly, cut off by a large pulsating wall of flesh. It bore the marks of his mother's making. Five attendants laid lifeless in a circle facing the wall, not killed but having given their lives to create this last line of defence for the mistress of the house. Worthy deaths, their sacrifice seemed to have driven the assailant off.
Liam laid a hand against the wall, making its magic thrum in recognition of his blood, shared with its creator. The flesh parted way at his touch to let him pass.
“She can't be that far away.” He thought aloud.
“My thoughts exactly, thanks kid.”
Startled, Liam turned around just in time to see one of the corpses rise and pounce on him. A woman, one he felt like he should recognise, struck him with such force that he was blown away.
“I knew if I just waited—” the woman's bovine-like eyes widened and a series of emotions flashed through them. First came surprise and joy, replaced by recognition, followed by grief, overtaken by rage. She lunged at him. By then, he had readied himself and sidestepped, but an unseen tail whipped as she passed by, bringing him down. Immediately, she was on top of him and screaming.
"YOU KILLED MY BOY!" and then he knew who she was. She had grown taller since the arena years ago, and put on a lot more muscles, all of which were now bearing down on him.
The woman's rage, justified though it was, did not outweigh his will to live. He threw her to the side and rolled into a standing position in time to block her incoming grapple. She was strong, stronger than her appearance suggested, and he could notice new transformations that she did not bear all those years ago. Still, he was the scion of his Father's house and could not be outdone in this matter.
His feet tore through his shoes as they grew, extending claws to dig into the floor and ground himself. There was already a contest of wills where their hands grappled, each trying to make the other submit, none willing to lose.
Liam tried another angle. His Akuloth was a descendant of the one which Father bore, a superior breed that came with a secret few knew about. All the other sacred worms distributed among Father's subordinates came inoculated with submission to the superior line. For a moment, the thought sounded familiar to Liam, but he dismissed it to return his focus to the fight.
He pushed to forge a connection to the woman's symbiote, if he could just reach it he could order it, turn it against its bearer. But the worm rejected his call: somehow she had managed to replace her old one with a new Akuloth of a different line. She had allies.
This unexpected rejection disturbed Liam's focus, allowing his enemy to push back. She had him on his knees before he could gather himself.
The woman loomed over him and snarled. “Don't worry bastard boy, I'll be sending your mother after you soon enough. Say hi to her for me.”
A spark of mischief lit up in Liam's eyes. He very overtly looked behind her shoulders and feigned joy. “Sure. Hi mom!”
“What!?” She pulled away from her offense to turn around, only to see an empty hallway.
Liam seized the opportunity. He jumped to the ceiling –which was very low, they were in a tunnel— and bounced back down, driving her into the ground. Their struggle began again, this time he had the upper hand, but for how long?
“Hello son.”
This time they were both surprised.
His mother was standing above them, having just discarded a cloak woven with symbols that were hard to look at.
“And hello to you too, Marine. You look better than last time.”
The woman, Marine as he had just learned, thrashed against his hold. “You bitch! I'm going to—”
“Kill me? Yes I know, but you will have to try harder my dear. Look at you, easily beaten by my son… but then again we already established long ago that he was better than what you could do, didn't we?” She pulled a small pouch from her belt and untied it.
“You cheated! You perverted our ways, everything that was sacred!”
“I improved our ways, Marine. And what is more sacred than growth?” She turned the pouch, pouring its powdery contents into the screaming woman's mouth. Marine's veins began bulging around her face, she seized up and suddenly was very still.
“Did you kill her?” Liam asked.
“No, simply paralyzed her for a time. It would be a waste to miss the opportunity to learn where she got her new tricks.” She leaned in to inspect Marine. “I always took her for too much of a traditionalist to learn anything new. Then again, grief can be a powerful motivator.”
She looked up and beamed. “Ah but I forget: thank you, Liam! I was worried she'd force her way in before I could tend to my wounds but once she started focusing on you, I was able to grab a few of my projects. Useful tools both, but not as good as you.” She pinched his nose with hollow affection.
“I don't think I like being compared to a tool.” Liam said, somewhat surprising himself.
“You don't think that… and you came here on your own?” She ran her fingers along his head, stopping to examine the scars. “Strange. It looks like the Revelation didn't take.”
Liam just stared and blinked.
“Let's talk in my study. There's an awful draft in this tunnel.”
The study was still wrecked, but Liam managed to find a suitable chair to sit down in while his mother busied herself tying up the paralyzed attacker. Once done, she looked to him as if she was expecting the questions to start. He did not, however, know how to express the turmoil that was rattling his mind; so she prompted him.
“So, what do you think is going on here?”
“With… her?” He looked to Marine.
“Her? No, it's simple to understand really, revenge is so straightforward. I meant with your father.”
“I feel… I think… It's like he stopped treating me like his heir. Like he stopped raising me and is just using me.”
“Well now.” she smiled. “You're more observant than expected. I'm glad to know you did take a few things from me after all.”
“Huh?”
“I mean to say that you're right son. Eric did need an heir for some time, and I gave him the best I could. But then I gave him immortality and preparing someone to take over after him became… unnecessary. A risk, even.”
“Father is immortal?”
“Subtle, isn't it? Most Karcists are, but it wasn't easy finding a way to attain it while leaving the exterior unchanged. Some of my best work, really.”
The more he understood, the less it made sense.
“So he thought that, what? That he didn't intend to pass his position to me, but there was a risk I would take it from him? I would never!”
“And I told him as such. But men like your father, they want more than reassurance, they want to eliminate risks themselves. So I gave him the means to do it. That old gift from his allies in Russia was hard to repurpose, I thought I did a good enough job of it but obviously,” she waved to his scars “there were some flaws in the process.”
“You're just, you're letting him, no you're helping him do this? To me? Why?”
“Oh darling, it's not against you. It's about power. When your father gets what he wants, I get what I want. With you… well you can't really do much for me.”
Liam stayed silent.
“But don't worry, it was never going to be permanent. I fully expected you to regain control in a decade or so, and by then I would have been ready to help you overthrow him if you wanted. Ah, but you're here now, maybe we can start planning early?”
He looked to her face and saw she was being nothing but genuine.
After taking in so much information, Liam barely registered everything else that happened. He remembered his mother lying on his behalf to explain his actions, he knew he walked a bit, and now he was back in his room laying on his bed.
Those recent revelations were hurting him almost as much as the one with an uppercase R, in a different way. It felt as though everything had been ripped from him. Looking around his room, was it even his? This house, this life, they were his birthright as Father's son and heir. But if those positions could be revoked at a whim, if he could be relegated to less than a subordinate, it meant he had no claim to anything.
He sat up. Brooding by himself would get him nowhere. In times of doubt, there was ancient wisdom he could turn to for guidance.
In his closet, he kept a collection of his favourite scrolls and tomes which took most of the space left empty by his low variety of clothes. One in particular came to mind, a treatise by Nadox on allegiance, prominently displayed. Liam paused upon grabbing it: it felt lighter than it should have. Was it shorter than he remembered?
He unrolled the scroll and found it had been replaced by a single sheet that simply read "In case you haven't already found it, look under your bed."
Under the bed, not very subtly hidden, was a phone. It rang as soon as he picked it up.
"When did you have time to do this, dog-face?"
"I have a funny relationship with time." the voice coming through was unmistakable. "You're in the mood for some guidance I take it?"
"I already know where to look for it."
"If you want my advice—"
"I don't."
"—you won't find anything good in those scrolls."
"There are things I won't tolerate you insulting, dog-face."
"Oh I mean no disrespect to Ion. I met him, you know? Charming guy. I only meant that those are not originals, and you did receive them from the same people causing you all that trouble. If you want a more complete picture, you will need to look elsewhere."
"Right. Let me just find a scholar of the old ways who's not under my father's rule. I'm sure there's plenty of them around."
"Around here? I can think of one, but she might not be open to helping you right now. Thankfully you now have something that makes finding people to talk to very trivial."
The device pinged.
"Go on kid, makes some friends."
letsmeats has joined.
letsmeat: Welcome to the super secret Nälkä sidechat, population: you and me.
newbie: who
letsmeat: Also I guess it's not much of a sidechat for you since it's your only one.
newbie: are
letsmeat: Anyway, Mr Destiny says you're having some kind of crisis of faith?
newbie: you?
letsmeat: Not a pro at the keyboard yet huh. You're lucky I'm also an expert on that.
The next day, Father brought Liam down to the dungeon to visit the new prisoner. At Father's order, he took on the face of her son as he remembered it from so many years ago, and repeated every question he was told. She never answered, spending the entire hour staring at the two of them with a deep hatred in her eyes.
He almost wanted to tell her he was sorry, but Father could have heard and he wasn't so sure he would have meant it.
letsmeat: And why did you feel bad for her?
newbie: I guess she does not deserve all that⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀but it is also not wholly my fault? ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ It feels weird
letsmeat: That's just empathy little dude. Actually a pretty huge tenet of our faith, but I guess they wouldn't teach you that. Just like they haven't taught you how to properly use the space bar.
newbie: Im not stupid ⠀⠀⠀ I know what empathy is
letsmeat: Yeah, but now you know what it feels like.
letsmeat: I'm gonna link you some texts on the virtuous cycle and benefiting the whole; but also you should like, just care for other people. Not even as a religious thing.
newbie: I thought I did.
letsmeat: I'm just saying, we could get more done if you were available more often.
newbie: Give me a break, it takes so long going to the crypt every time I want to talk.
letsmeat: Why are you going to a crypt????
newbie: You said
newbie: You told me it was how we're keeping this discussion a secret
letsmeat: THAT'S NOT WHAT ENCRYPTED MEANS LITTLE BUDDY
The next week, he let someone go.
They were in a hotel, or perhaps a manor, either way he barely understood what they were doing here. There were other people here, who they were wasn't as important as the fact that their leader had refused Father's offer. When he fell, his followers panicked and ran. Instinctively, Liam rushed after one of them. Through the door, into the hallway, down a flight of stairs, with every turn he was slowly gaining on the fleeing man but… why?
He had not even been given the order to do so, did he just assume it was expected of him? Was it reason enough? He decided it wasn't.
Father noticed.
newbie: Question.
newbie: What's that one parable from Orok about taking on further pain and associating it with a moment of failure so that when we heal from the pain we let our failings go?
letsmeat: Dude what???
letsmeat: He never said anything like that I'm pretty sure.
newbie: Hmm.
newbie: Thought so.
letsmeat: Alright we've got to tackle your attachment to that whole "duty towards your blood" thing.
newbie: I told you, disobediance, learning things for myself… that's fine. But actign against them?
newbie: That just feels wrong. And you can tell me they're tyrants all you want I just, it's hard to think of them like that.
letsmeat: No I do get it. Trust me, the group I'm in? We're not short on shitty parents.
letsmeat: I mean it doesn't often get as bad as "evil crime syndicate" parents but…
letsmeat: Wait no, now's not the time for a tangent, I was going somewhere with this originally.
letsmeat: So do you remember when I told you about how we've all got a common shared ancestry?
newbie: Yeah.
letsmeat: Well think of it this way: if literally everyone is of your blood, then shouldn't you extend your sense of duty to them?
newbie: I guess? I'm not sure it works like that, I don't really know "them."
letsmeat: Exactly.
newbie: ?
letsmeat: What I'm saying is: ancestry is bullshit. Real bonds are made, not inherited. So either you feel like you can extend your duty to everyone, in which case you'd have to protect them from your dad. Or you can acknowledge that your relation to your line doesn't impose some intrinsic duty upon you because let's be honest: they're not treating you in kind.
newbie: I… I think you're right but I'm gonna need some time to understand what that means for me. Does that make sense?
letsmeat: Totally. Let's say that's your homework for the day.
The boss didn't need him today, so Antoine decided to spend some extra time in the dungeon. He derived his authority from being the boss' right hand, the second man in the chain of command and he was not foolish enough to ever dream of raising higher.
But down there? Among the prisoners? They all feared him, bowed to him like he had the most complete authority over their lives. Nothing down there reminded him of being second place. Yes, it was a good way to spend his free time.
There was only one prisoner he did not have free rein over: the latest arrival. But she did not know that his orders were to leave her alone, so he always took the time during his rounds to make sure she did not feel safe. He was just about to do so today when something gave him pause.
The boss had ordered that she not be fed: a woman with her abilities would not starve to death in so few days, but the deprivation was part of the process to make her ready to talk. And yet, as he stood before her cell, she looked no less healthy than the last time he saw her.
Was someone disobeying the boss?
letsmeat: She really told you to fuck off?
newbie: To put it shortly, yeah. Kind of rude after the all the risks I've been taking to get down there.
letsmeat: Hey remember, that's not why you're doing it.
newbie: I know, I know, I'm helping because it's right and nice. Still i wouldn't mind a little gratitude.
letsmeat: So wherever she's staying, we can cross it off your list of options. Sure you don't wanna go to Kenowhere? The place is cool and Mr D can get you there like, super easy.
newbie: Nothing you say can convince me to go to America.
letsmeat: Not super patriotic of you little dude.
newbie: I'm literally not from there???
letsmeat: Okay so: humor. Also not a religious thing but you'll need to learn it if you want to get far in life.
newbie: Moving on!
newbie: I don't think I want to go find some other community and stick with it. Got enough of that already and let's be honest: I won't fit in well.
newbie: It's best if I just, live a normal life on my own for a while. Maybe go to school even. That's a normal thing to do.
letsmeat: That's if the Jailers and Bookburners don't get you.
newbie: The who now
letsmeat: Oh nothing much.
letsmeat: Just the big global conspiracy militaries that rule the world with an iron fist.
letsmeat: You seriously haven't heard of them before?
newbie: No but keep talking.
newbie: I'm getting some ideas.
If there was one thing that Sergeant Tom Myers had learned over his many years of service, it was that being an "expert" was bullshit. He was himself an expert and it didn't do him any service. An investigator, that's what he was, specialized in infiltrating high social circles, pretending to be a charismatic socialite to enter those closed bubbles where -let's face it- a lot of messed up things were happening. It was precisely why he had been assigned to this town, which was at the heart of an investigation into a series of missing persons cases involving high-profile victims.
The problem was, that those working in the regional command center didn't always know him personally, and how could they? All they could see in their summarized files, all they had to do to make quick decisions, was the information that an "expert investigator" was in the area. So when KTE-6561-Black was spotted nearby, he was asked to keep an eye out. When wide-spectrum EVE detection arrays picked up hints of type Blues fighting, he was told to find out who. Now there had apparently been a break-in at a zoo, someone had stolen a bunch of exotic birds, and they wanted him to check it out. Birds! What did he know about birds?
A complete waste of time. A very quick look at the scene brought him to the same conclusion as the local police, who were here too because they didn't have anything to do. Someone had broken into the enclosures, probably with power tools and grabbed the birds, who didn't struggle so it was probably someone they knew. And considering the piss poor wages of the zoo workers, it wasn't surprising that one of them would have wanted to make some extra cash on whatever black market you could sell toucans on.
Sergeant Myers very easily dismissed the case as completely mundane, and his report would say as much. Report which he'd write later. Right now, it was 12:15 and he'd earned himself a lunch break.
He got himself some takeout from a well-rated local kebab -double servings of everything, he could technically pass it off as work expense- and sat down in a nearby park where he quickly found himself surrounded by hopeful pigeons.
"Scram, you feathery shitbags! Haven't you heard there's a bird kidnapper on the loose?"
Not ones for being vaguely kicked at, the flock took wing and flew away, leaving a lone pigeon behind. Tom paid no mind to the bird, instead putting all his attention on the unwieldy food amalgamation he now held in his hands. Or at least, he tried. A few bites in and the little grey thing still hadn't moved. Halfway through the meal and it was still there, staring at him with its beady little eyes not even eyeing his food at all.
That bird, he concluded, was creepy. It was also, on closer inspection, not a pigeon at all. He was in fact engaged in a staredown with one of the very birds that had been stolen from the zoo. Some kind of parrot, if his memory served him well.
"What are you?" he pronounced through some half-chewed salad "Some kind of escaped witness? I swear my kid's told me something before about cross-examining a parrot…"
"Well if you're open to the possibility," the parrot answered "that makes this whole thing easier. I'd like to denounce an organised crime ring please."
Sergeant Tom Myers of the GOC dropped the last third of his food.
The pigeons, who hadn't gone really far anyway, swarmed back in.
letsmeat: You're gonna have to explain the parrot thing to me again.
newbie: hey, you're the one who told me talking to them in person was a bad idea.
newbie: With just a little remote control i get to stay hidden, and I freed some caged animals along the way.
letsmeat: Two birds, one stone. I get it.
newbie: That saying is a bit uncalled for, considering.
newbie: I really like birds you know.
letsmeat: If it was still early on I'd start into some deep philosophical stuff about how admiring winged creatures is a manifestation of your longing for freedom.
newbie: Don't think I need this right now.
letsmeat: yeah, you don't.
letsmeat: You got this, little dude. Wherever you end up going, remember I'm always a ping away.
Power makes for good company.
Not by itself of course. Power is an abstract construct and though Eric had met a few of those during his career, he had invariably found them unpleasant.
Power acted as a filter; a filter through which only two categories of people could exist: those below him and his peers.
The first category was easy to deal with, interactions with them were solely defined by how he could use them. This was made even easier by the fact that many wanted something from him and rarely bothered to hide their intentions. For those, a relationship based on orders and rewards was sufficient. Those whose use was limited, their time together was often short. And those who were of no use at all, he never gave them any time. In this, power allowed for simplicity and efficiency, and that was good.
It was the company of his peers that Eric truly enjoyed, those who had reached the same heights as he had and shared a similar rapport with the world; they were the ones with whom he had enough in common to have real conversations. There were things in life that you could only understand if you walked a certain path.
It was only unfortunate that this path tended to isolate those who walked it. Power had to be cultivated, which required time and effort, it took a lot to draw those who craved it away from their own kingdoms in which they busied themselves. A lot, or the promise they had something to gain. Whoever came up with the idea of "networking" was a genius.
It was under such a pretense that Eric was preparing to host a small gathering of peers on the 14th of July, a festive day for most of the country, another pretext to make things happen.
The guest list was quite extensive, as was necessary to ensure that enough people actually made the trip. There would be the federated families of the southern regions of France, with whom he had cultivated a long and fruitful partnership. The rising achievers from America, who he intended to provide support for before they were too big to owe him any favors. And he was especially awaiting the old clans from the east, who held many secrets he was hungry for.
It was one of the latter who had gifted him with the source of “Revelation”, and he would want an explanation from them. They were expecting him to return the favor with a gift of his own, but he had no intention to pay for a defective product. Eric knew it hadn't worked on the boy, of course he knew. Oh Liam had him fooled for a time, but the boy wasn't as clever as he thought himself and his facade was riddled with cracks.
Eric was satisfied enough with the result: the reason did not matter as long as the boy obeyed him; and the fact that he felt the need to hide the truth meant he feared reprisal. That was good. Fear was a great motivator to keep people in line. Now, fear didn't always last and he would need to do something about it eventually, but the boy wasn't one to show much initiative before and he shouldn't start anytime soon. Eventually could wait.
The son was, after all, beneath his Father.
The dungeon was a dreary place, which was intended, but intent didn't make her visits any less pleasant. Usually, when Valery needed someone from the cells for her work, she had one of her husband's henchmen bring them over. But Marine was a flight risk, and there were strict orders to not let her leave her cell at any time, meaning Valery had to make the trip herself.
She had to admit she held some respect for the woman who had once been her rival. For all the time Marine had spent in her cell and despite all the many interrogations she'd been through, she had yet to surrender any information. Perhaps if she had shown such determination back when they were competing the outcome might have been different. As things stood however, she was beaten and undeserving of mercy.
Marine would use every means at her disposal to finally extract the secrets the prisoner held on so stubbornly. Maybe once she was done she would have a use for her remains. She'd have Antoine bring them over to her.
Stop. She hadn't seen Antoine or his men since she got here. As a matter of fact, she hadn't seen anyone. No prisoners either. They didn't keep too many at one time, but for the place to be completely empty? This wasn't a lack of protocol, this was a sign something was wrong.
She turned on her heels to head for the exit when she came face to face with warden of the dungeon.
“Finally! You had me worried for a time, Antoine.”
The oaf did not answer, he only stood still, too completely still. There was no light in his eyes, no animating force in his body. Something fast moved behind Valery and the change in the air was enough for Antoine's body to crumble down, having been hollowed out.
"I really should stop underestimating you, Marine." She knew the other woman was listening. "When did you get so tenacious?"
"When I decided I would never let you take from me again." The voice echoed through the empty chambers.
"You could have laid low. Stayed out of our way. You had nothing of value to take after we parted. But you decided to be a problem, and you do remember how we deal with those, don't you?"
A rush. Marine was lunging at her from behind her cover, but Valery was ready. Her hand clasped around the other woman's throat and she reversed her momentum, slamming her hard into the ground.
“And speaking of things you'll remember…”
Leering over her opponent, Valery opened her jaw wider than she ever did with people around. Mandibles sprouted from the inner lining of her cheeks and reached down to force Marine's mouth open. Blood began to drip from her teeth, flowing uninterrupted into the other woman's throat.
Marine thrashed, trying to free herself from Valery's hold but the invading blood was already well on its way to her organs. So she changed tactics. Grasping at the flow, she ordered it to coagulate and solidify. Valery had committed her focus to holding her in place and spreading her venom, she could not defend herself before her rival pulled down, driving her jaw into the hard stone floor.
She let out a muffled curse and tried to roll away, but already Marine's tail had wrapped around her leg to prevent her from gaining distance. The other woman flipped to get onto her exposed back.
“That's the issue with getting others to do the unpleasant work, Valery.” Putting her hands against the back of Valery's skull, she began to push. Valery's arm shot upright, clawing at her shoulders. Marine bled and winced but did not falter, the pressure she exerted grew stronger and stronger until…
“You never learned to get your hands dirty.”
CRACK!
Triumphant but weary, the woman let out a heavy sigh and took a moment to wind herself down. Soon, the drumming of her heightened heartbeat receded, once more letting her hear the world around her. She heard the distant screams of another guard being overwhelmed by freed prisoners, she heard her hated rival's blood trickling down on the tiles, and she heard… breathing. It was barely perceptible, but she was not alone.
Looking up, she saw two yellow slitted eyes staring at her from the darkness in the hallway between her and the exit. She could see no hostility in those eyes, only a warning.
"You can relax, warrior." Marine waved dismissively. "I won't come after him again."
Her observer relaxed. "I do not suppose you consider the both of you to be even?"
"Even? No, never. But…" she ran her fingers through the blood pooling at her feet "I've had enough vengeance for now. If the boy can make a new life for himself, I am willing to let him live it."
"However," a hint of venom returned to her voice, then quickly faded "he must never forget. If our paths cross again and I see even a hint in him of the monster who took my son, I will not forgive him twice."
"Understandable." She could tell from his eyes that he nodded. "But do not worry. He may have only begun to walk this path, but I do not see his commitment being easily undone." He paused, as if listening for something. "I suggest you get moving now, this place won't be safe for much longer. Where will you go?"
"Oh don't worry about me. I have a place among friends, a place I can finally call home now that this is behind me."
"And you are sure he couldn't come along?"
"Absolutely not, being forgiving is one thing, being ready to see that face again… not for many long years."
The representative from Abraxas was in the middle of telling him something about their prospects for the upcoming year when Eric felt the snap. His wife's Akuloth was a unique specimen that shared and unmistakable bond with his own, a bond which had just been severed. Abruptly.
Over all the chatter from his guests, he heard Liam gasp. As a product of the two, he would have felt the loss much more sharply. Cutting the conversation short, he went over to his son. Given where Valery had gone to -he could not convince her to come to the party instead- there was only one possible culprit and she would surely come after one of the two of them next. If he sent the boy away he could bait her next move. She had made a costly mistake choosing to act now, there were many powerful men here and security had never been higher. Perhaps he could even make a game of hunting her down.
Whud.
He picked up on a strange sound.
Whud.
The rest of the guests noticed too, conversations paused.
Whud.
The sound grew closer. Most in the room noticed it was coming from above and turned their heads to the skylight.
Whud.
The skylight shattered into pieces as a large man fell through, dive-bombing the leader of the Marrow Market. Dozens of other soldiers landed down, their shimmering suits emblazoned with a logo Eric had come to despise.
“Captain Bleiz, UNGOC Strike Team 3447! Stand down or get put down!”
Many of the guests stood their ground and readied for a fight, others turned and ran. They would have no chance of escaping, Eric was willing to bet the showy entrance was meant to drive them out of the building, split them up to make them easy pickings for other soldiers waiting in ambush. No chance of escaping… unless of course they knew the secret passages privy to the master of the house.
There were times for shows of strength, and there were times when survival was more important. Eric kept appraised of the forces that both the GOC and the Foundation stationed in the region, and given what he knew he was not willing to challenge this group when they felt confident enough to attack him in his own home. He would retreat, regroup his own forces and strike back after the initial assault, after the enemy was weakened from dealing with his guests.
He motioned for Liam to follow him and ran past a group of fleeing guests, ducking to evade when some of the soldiers opened fire. He made it out of the room just as a powerful blast rocked the building. Was the boy really following? He could not afford to slow down to look. Some of his own guards were running in the opposite direction, Eric barked some orders at them to alleviate their visible confusion.
The courtyard was empty, but a few smoldering corpses confirmed his earlier thoughts: the enemy was everywhere. How long had they been planning this for? Did someone feed them insider information? Marine had allies, but surely it couldn't be them. There would be time to learn all of this later. For now, surviving was his priority.
Eric ran for one of the courtyard's pillars, seized it, and pulled it up. The heavy marble slid into the ceiling to reveal a narrow spiraling staircase. The tunnel underneath had been dug manually by conscripted workers to avoid detection. For the sake of secrecy and structural stability, their bodies were now keeping the dirt compact.
That path would lead him to the lower levels of the hospital, even if the GOC knew it belonged to him, they shouldn't have posted anyone there on this day. If he was fast enough, he would reach it in five minutes. He stopped after two, his path blocked by a cave-in. The smell of the upturned dirt was still fresh, this had to have been done no earlier than yesterday.
Eric's son arrived just as he came to the obvious conclusion.
"That seals it. There is a traitor in my inner circle. Until I have regained control of the situation we can trust no one, I will give you all your orders personally, do not believe the words of anyone claiming to speak on my behalf."
"Or we could look for the traitor right now. I have an idea—"
Eric stomped his foot. "Dammit boy! I know you are still not cured of initiative but now is not the time to question me! I have a better grasp on these things than you do."
"No father, you really really don't."
Turning to face his son, Eric saw something unexpected in his eyes. The boy did not speak against him out of a misguided attempt to serve or impress no, this was something else, this was… defiance.
"You." Eric scowled.
"Aw look who's finally paying proper attention to me. Sorry, but it's a little late."
"You dare? You would rebel simply because of how I treated you? I was molding you, making you stronger. Think of what you could have accomplished as an instrument of my design!"
"This isn't rebellion, this is simply me making a stand for my own values. I don't have to define myself through you because I've outgrown you, Eric. And after all, what is more sacred than growth?"
Eric would have been outraged if he had not picked up on the acrid stench of the sweat that was flowing down the boy's back. For all his air of bravado, his son still feared him, as well he should. He broke into a sadistic grin and Liam flinched, steeling himself for another verbal jab. Instead, Eric simply pointed down.
There was a flash of pain in Liam's chest that forced him to his knees and worsened. His skin bulged as his Akuloth moved, the symbiote was out of control… no not out of control, only out of his. Not removing it had been a gamble: taking it out would have assuredly alerted his father, so Liam had hoped that the link between his own Akuloth and its progenitor did not run too deep. At the very least, he was hoping that Eric needed physical contact to assume control. He did not.
The parasite wrapped around his heart, it did not yet attack, but its hold was enough to send Liam spasming on the floor as his entire body panicked.
"Rebellion is a fine thing boy, the assertion of your will is how you get ahead in this world. But will is nothing without the strength to back it, you are nothing if you don't have the power to make yourself matter. When you accepted the worm you made yourself subject to my will, my power. Did you think this was a decision so easily undone?"
Liam was too busy choking to answer.
"I was deluded to think fear would be enough to keep you in line. How could it, when I kept you safe from consequences? You have taken your position and its privileges for granted too long, it is time I remind you that nothing you have is your own. Everything you know, I taught it to you. Everything you are, your life, you owe it to me. If I have to begin your education again then let this be the first lesson you learn."
“You're right,” Liam rasped “it's time I took something for myself.”
He abandoned the resistance he opposed to the Akuloth, prodding the worm to exacerbate its aggression. It shook off its leash, ignoring Eric's order to stay still and attacked, burrowing its fangs into Liam's heart. The pain was immense, reverberating through the whole of his body as he willed for his blood to keep circulating.
He could feel Eric struggling to understand, still trying to reign in the parasite to no avail. Blinded by rage and hunger, the worm kept eating away at the heart in a feeding frenzy.
Liam's heart dwarfed the Akuloth in mass, as it gorged itself on the organ the worm was becoming bigger and bigger still, growing new flesh from all the material it was devouring. Steadily, the part of it that had been born from Eric was becoming smaller, more irrelevant. By the time it was done feeding, the symbiote had grown calm and docile, a whole new being. Obeying an order from Liam it coiled around itself and nested in the hollow alcove left behind by the heart. Its skin opened to fuse with the severed veins and arteries, the rhythm of its breathing becoming as a heartbeat.
Liam stood up.
“Mine now. Let's see you try to threaten me again.”
Eric's entire body rippled in anger.
“Do you think I needed this tool to stand above you, brat? Controlled or not, you are no threat to me no matter what you do!”
“Obviously I'm not! Pride is your flaw, not mine, I never planned to fight you. All I needed was to make you mad enough that you'd forget about everything else going on.”
Eric's eyes widened as he remembered the rubble blocking his path. He stared into the tunnel they had come from, it was still empty, the entrance was hidden and this exchange couldn't have taken that long; surely it hadn't been enough time for…
This line of thinking was interrupted when a metallic pike came hurling from the distance. Eric reached a hand out, hardening all of his mass to stop the attack; when the impact came it did not pierce him through, but the force of the rebound was enough to send him crashing into the rubble. The pike spun around in the air before flying back the way it came from, returning into the hand of the large man who had come crashing in.
The soldier stepped in front of Liam and spoke into an earpiece.
“I've got eyes on target Alpha, what's the move? Uhuh. Restrain and capture, are you sure I can't… only if he's too much trouble, got it.”
Eric stumbled to his feet and scowled. Hollow tubes of bone emerged from the sides of his torso, gurgled, and spewed a torrent of a dark corrosive bile towards his attacker. The soldier grabbed the dirt ceiling and swiped down, the earth followed his movement to form a wall in front of him. Once the flow had ended he bashed into the wall, splintering it into a volley of bile-covered shards that impacted Eric.
While Eric tried to shake himself free of his new dirt coat, the soldier unhooked an orb-like object from his vest and lobbed it ahead. The orb landed at Eric's feet and erupted in a pillar of blue light that slammed him into the ceiling. Instead of dispersing, the pillar remained, further pushing him into the sediment.
“I will haavvv…” Eric's speech was becoming slurred “eeeeyyooorrrrr hhheeeaa…” his body turned grey and slow. “d” his teeth clenched on this final sound just as he was fully petrified.
The pillar dissipated and Eric clattered to the ground.
“Bleiz reporting, I got him. Honestly not too much trouble. What's that honey? The kid? What do we want the kid for? Oh yeah, that makes sense.”
The man spun around to address Liam. “Listen up kiddo, thanks for the tip and all but now that you've gone traitor you're gonna need some witness pro… tection?” Liam wasn't here at all.
“Yeah uh, the kid's gone.” He sniffed the air. “I think a dog's been here?”
Somewhere, on a northern beach, it was raining. With that kind of weather, and the fact that it was right after the last school vacation had ended, the beach was empty. Mostly. Sitting near a tide pool, the only two people around were a bald teenager with a scarred head, and a man whose head was covered in orange fur.
Mr Destiny spoke first.
“I think this will have to be goodbye. You have everything you will need going forward and I trust that you'll do well.”
“I dunno about “everything”. Did I tell you that last school rejected me too? I'm definitely way behind compared to their normal programme.”
“I can't really offer any guidance here. Believe it or not, I have never been a student.”
“Yeah I know, I'll figure it out eventually, along with… the other stuff. And I can't ask you to stay around when you have other people to help. Are you going to be alright on the way back though? Those guys in blue are on high alert for you.”
“Oh they've always been an occupational hazard. They're not all bad people though, and I speak from experience. Even if their net gets too tight to slip by unnoticed, I will find those willing to look the other way.”
Far out at sea, heavy fog was rolling in surrounding a fishing boat. Mr Destiny eyed the scene with suspicion, then returned to the conversation.
“Goodbye Liam. If ever you run into more trouble, if your path gets confused, trust in your heart. It's a good one.”
“Thanks.” The teenager smiled. “I grew it myself.”