The Hundred Reigns 271: King of Spiders (13) (Patreon)

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“By decree of the League of Valne, all ships coming from Endymion are now banned from our ports and must stop at Dead Island,” Voltobauta read the decree to the Weavers assembly before clearing his throat. “Which is one of my dominions, by the way. They’re dumping anyone suspected of infection onto me.”

“Similar decrees have been issued in Lore and Muse,” Silk informed the gathering. “Are their worries justified?”

“Yes,” Hector confirmed in Verney’s body. “One ship docked at Lore with infected corpses among its cargo. Only the intervention of elven seers warning the local authorities prevented an outbreak.”

Lauriane mailed her weapon to all of her enemies, Simon thought grimly. The death toll will make Louis’ wars look like the preferable outcome. What was she thinking? 

It had been weeks since the attack on Valendre, during which Lauriane’s plague had swept across Endymion. His sister had released other canisters of her biological weapon among Church Party holdings in Magvolia, then issued a very simple demand to all neutral nobles or lord-mayors like Odette Kano: submit to the War Party and receive a vaccine, or perish like the rest.

Euphemia hadn’t been idle in the face of the threat. She quarantined all major settlements, mobilized anybody capable of casting anti-Disease spells and put them under Maublanc’s control to coordinate relief efforts, and ordered the seized airship fleet to bombard infection sites from above. Norbelle had also returned from Cocagne with aerial reinforcements to bombard the Goetia Research Facility, where Lauriane had bunkered down. 

The virus had continued to spread in spite of all these measures, and it didn’t help matters that its victims turned into highly dangerous monsters determined to spread their infection at all costs. Every Crafter and Alchemist Vassal in the world was scrambling to find a cure before the disease could invade more regions. 

The only silver lining was that Dassein had personally destroyed the remaining canisters in Telluria after witnessing the weapon’s true destructive potential, but he and Vouivre still continued their campaign. Her transformed dragonkin thralls were mostly immune to the plague and her key troops had received Lauriane’s vaccine, which allowed them to besiege the Lighthouse. It might only be a matter of time before all of Valendre became the dragon queen’s grave-dominion.

Only Bert and Chrom Cruak appeared vaguely content with the situation, the former because a construct like him had nothing to fear from the disease, and the latter since he saw in the plague a weapon to use against Illusea. 

“Maybe we can benefit from this,” Chrom Cruak said. “Repurpose the disease.”

“How do we profit from something killing all of our customers?” Borsh countered. “We can’t even sell the bodies! Everyone is so scared of catching the damn thing they burn the corpses at best or abandon them at worst. Even gravediggers won’t approach them!”

“It is a vile concoction, this Fleshplague,” Granny Radhag said with a tone that somehow combined scholarly curiosity and a tiny bit of wariness. The term had quickly caught on as the malevolent disease spread throughout Endymion. “This pestilence is intelligent, yes, a plague spirit. It can lie in wait to infect the most number of people, stalking their graves. It can only be cured through high Tier healing magic.”

“And those casters will risk being infected too,” Odette added grimly.

“The vaccines Lady Kano provided for us only inoculate people prior to infection,” Shabram said warily, her eyes dark. Reports about the disaster had piled upon her desk day and night. “Once anybody catches it, death becomes certain within the hour.”

“If only it just killed its victims,” Borsh grunted. The usually implacable werewolf was the one who had called this meeting. “The disease reanimates the corpses into undead abominations–”

“Undead is a misidentification,” Voltobauta protested. “The victims are alive, just animated by the disease.”

“Whatever,” Borsh replied dismissively. “We count the victims by the cartload. I can’t even resell the loot Vouivre lets us keep because nobody wants anything coming out of Telluria right now.”

“I had to barricade Whispermire to prevent a refugee crisis,” Odette added. “All roads are blocked, and visitors are shot on sight if they don’t turn back. Tensions are at an all-time high.”

Bert, who had remained quiet so far, came forward with his suggestion. “Why don't we just kill her?”

Simon tensed up. “Whom?”

“The Alchemist, of course,” Bert replied casually. “I recall we planted a door somewhere in her fortress, no? Why don’t we just kill her before this gets out of hand?”

“We do have access to the Goetia Research Facility,” Silk said, ignoring Simon’s side-glare. “She has made so many enemies no one will suspect us.”

Simon was thankful his Overlord armor covered his scowl. Kill Lauriane? His beloved sister? He refused to even entertain the thought. 

And yet, the idea seemed popular around the table. “It would be expedient,” Odette admitted. “I don’t think the Goetia Research Facility would hold long without her in charge. The Church Party could reestablish order in the region within months.”

“We should at least prevent her from supplying Vouivre with more of these canisters,” Borsh suggested. “That dragon is mad enough to use them.”

“Granny has an idea.” The hag rubbed her hands. “We convince her to create a cure, and then we sell it like delicious pancakes.”

Many people nodded around the table at her suggestion, which keenly reminded Simon they were mostly all terrible people. 

“Your Majesty… taking Lady Lauriane off the board might honestly be the safer option,” Shabram informed him through telepathy, to avoid questioning him in public. “I do not think there will be much of an empire left for you to rule if this Fleshplague is allowed to fester, and it is her will that guides the War Party. Her removal would stabilize things, and we could force her to invent a cure.”

Hector solemnly looked at a silent Simon. “I could talk to her, Your Majesty.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Simon replied. He doubted seeing her dead lover possessing a Lorean count’s corpse showing up on her doorstep would do wonders for his sister’s mental state. 

“I fear the situation will only worsen if we do not act,” Hector warned him. “If not me, then you.”

All the Weavers looked at Simon, even Shabram, all waiting for him to seize leadership.  

They were right about that at least; he couldn’t ignore this situation anymore. Besides the horrendous death toll and the concern he felt for Lauriane, the risk that the Fleshplague would reach Muse’s shores and disturb his own operations was too great. 

“Fine,” Simon decided, his hands clenching. “I will deal with this myself.”

“How?” Hector asked with concern.

“I’ll see,” Simon replied dryly, refusing to elaborate. None of the options available pleased him. “Anything else?”

“Besides the pandemic?” Voltobauta shrugged and produced a sheet of paper. “I’ve interrogated the late Louis Magnos’ ghost and compiled his stats, just as you asked.”

“What purpose does it serve?” Bert asked. “His corpse was blown to bits, so we can’t raise him as a puppet or undead warrior.”

“His ghost might still teach us worthwhile Techniques,” Simon replied. And knowing Louis’ stats, Perks, and abilities would let him prepare his execution in future reigns. “What about the Crafter’s Tower?”

“We’ve shared the pictures our agents took during their visit with Lord Cruak,” Shabram said. “I have also tracked down sites associated with the Champion project.”

“We have counted at least five of them currently in production, perhaps six, though only half of them are probably operational,” Bert said. “The old fool will likely recall one or two to his lair if the alarm rings there.”

“The more we can delay their deployment through subtle sabotage, the better.” Simon turned to Chrom Cruak. “When will the weapon be ready?”

“One month… maybe two,” the ancient king rasped. “Vendemiaire… would be my guess.”

So two months before Abraxas showed up. That should give him time to examine the Crestone’s possibilities in time to deal with the Archer. How fast time flew by when he spent it on management.

Simon dismissed the gathering after that, while ordering key operations moved away from Endymion to preserve revenue streams. Only Hector and Silk remained behind, with Velvet stepping out of her twin’s shadow.

“You didn’t foresee this,” Silk said immediately. 

“I never dreamed she would go this far,” Simon admitted. Even if Lauriane had… overreacted when put in charge of Operation Meteor, she had always focused her vengeance on their enemies abroad. Unleashing the Fleshplague on the empire’s own population had been unthinkable to him. “This is madness.”

“Milady always bore a great burden on her shoulders,” Hector said. “I tried to alleviate it the best I could… but my disappearance only put more pressure on her. She must see enemies everywhere.”

Velvet sat on Simon’s lap as if she owned it, much to Silk’s distaste. “I think you should talk to her,” she told her lover. “Convince her to knock it off with this biological warfare mess, or to teach us the cure’s cooking recipe.”

Simon sighed. “You think diplomacy is still an option?”

“You should at least try.” Velvet gave her sister a long look. “Siblings should listen to each other, should they not?”

“And if she doesn’t?” Silk replied with a snicker. “What then?” 

“Then he should brand her,” Velvet suggested with a shrug. “That’ll be more humane than killing her.”

Simon sank in his chair, but… she was right. Branding his sister was an option. A terrible option he didn’t want to think about, but still a possibility. He prayed that Lauriane wasn’t beyond reason yet. 

“I’ll go,” Simon decided as he gently let Velvet off him. “I’ll talk things through with her.”

“I should come with you,” Hector said immediately. 

“No, Hector. Seeing two ghosts at once might be too much for her.”

“I will keep my identity a secret,” Hector insisted, something that rattled Simon. The undead never argued with him that way, even so politely. “Your Majesty, please…”

He’s as concerned as I am. Simon didn’t have the heart to deny him. “Fine, but you keep your identity a secret,” he said as they walked towards the nearest Attic door. “Silk, Velvet, you’re in charge in my absence.”

This was a family matter.

—-------

While they could never infiltrate the deepest reaches of the facility, the Cobweb had managed to replace one of the doors inside with an Attic one. Stepping inside the building was simply a matter of turning the right knob.

The path opened up to a supply closet on the outer reaches of the fortress, where raw iron, spools of wire, and sturdy chemical jars were stockpiled to fuel Lauriane’s secondary experiments. The walls shook slightly from distant tremors, and magical alarms rang through the air.

Norbelle must be bombarding the area, Simon figured. He doubted the attack would succeed without a ground force to help besiege the facility, but his younger sister would no doubt proceed with daily raids until Lauriane surrendered. Which she won’t. 

“Your Majesty,” Hector said, smelling the air and putting on his Executioner outfit. “I smell blood.”

Simon breathed in and confirmed his fears. The smell of rot and the pungent scent of iron in the air didn’t bode well. 

He had visited the facility often enough to know his way around it, guiding Hector into a pristine white laboratory-forge once dedicated to creating mechanical parts for the warbeast program. The place should have been crawling with scientists and workers, yet all he could find there were scraps and bloodstains. 

Had Norbelle’s forces managed to invade the facility already? No, if they did, they would have burned the dead or left them where they fell. The lack of burn marks suggested the bodies of whoever had died here had instead been moved elsewhere; maybe reanimated as undead. 

The metal doors were locked with enchantments, but Simon already knew all the passwords from his experience as Endymion’s head of state, so they had no issue traveling through suspiciously empty corridors… at least for a time.

Hector suddenly moved in front of Simon after they entered a new wing of the facility, with heavy footsteps soon echoing at the end of the passageway. Simon summoned his mace as a large shadow crawled around a corner.

It resembled a misshapen flesh golem at first glance; a hideous mass of limbs and faces that could barely walk on two thick legs of melded bones. However, the fact that it fell on the ground the moment it entered the vicinity of Simon’s Dreadful Aura revealed it was neither a construct nor an undead, but a living creature; a plague spirit animating corpses melded into a disharmonious whole. It even dropped multiple soul gems of all things. 

“No way…” A chill traveled down Simon’s spine. “A containment breach?”

“Or milady released it,” Hector replied gravely. “They can’t have all agreed to her plan.”

Simon swiftly burned the corpse with Hellfire. While he had taken Odette’s vaccine and was naturally Immune to Disease, Unyielding Essence still let him carry and spread them. He would take no chances. 

They slew a few more of these creatures around the facility, which confirmed to Simon that they had killed and assimilated a good chunk of the staff. His heartbeat quickened with each step they took towards the facility’s depths.

An elevator eventually guided them to the Goetia Research Facility’s alchemical basement, where Simon had once discussed mutagens with his sister. Most of the warbeasts’ vats were empty, with their former occupants likely deployed outside to defend the base against the bombardments. 

However, four of them did have occupants. Familiar occupants.

Simon froze in horror when he recognized his father and Louis in two of them, though a closer look made him realize he was only half-right. Balzam Magnos looked far younger than the ancient, scarred warlord he had died as, instead boasting the red hair half the family had inherited; and Louis’ limbs appeared slightly mismatched. Hector himself remained motionless as he faced a copy of his original body, bereft of the bolts and scars he had inherited in undeath. 

And the fourth vat…

It’s me, Simon realized when he faced his double, sleeping in liquid with a tube filling his mouth and lungs. She… she recreated me… recreated our family.

“Father?” Lauriane’s voice called out to him.

Simon slowly turned his head around to find his sister standing near the lab’s mutagenic cauldrons.

Lauriane had seen better days. Although clad in the Alchemist outfit, her visage was pale and puffy from exhaustion, sleeplessness, and something else. He saw it immediately in her eyes; that spark of madness he had once glimpsed in the likes of Lorimor. It chilled Simon to the bone. 

His sister wasn’t well. 

“It’s me, Lauriane,” Simon said upon dropping his Class outfit. “I have come for you.”

“Simon?” Lauriane blinked, and looked at the… the clone floating in liquid. “How did you… how did you leave your vat?”

“I didn’t. I’m the real one.” How was he supposed to explain the situation without sounding insane? “I never died.”

“No, no… I…” Lauriane grabbed her forehead and winced. “I’m seeing things again… you’re not real…”

“This is real, Lauriane.” He grabbed her by the arms, shaking her. “Do you feel my hands? I am real.”

“That’s not…” Lauriane shook her head. “No, no… it’s a trick… this has to be a trick.”

“Milady…” Hector cleared his throat. “Where is your staff?”

“Had… had to get rid of them,” Lauriane stammered, her words sending chills down Simon’s spine. “Doubters and spies. Shabram, she has ears everywhere. Kept interfering with the new strand’s development…”

“The new strand?” Simon’s heart skipped a beat, his gaze wandering to the cauldrons. Chemicals boiled within them beneath a thick lead lid. “You’re… you’re improving on that plague?”

“Yes… this strand is airborne.” Lauriane’s faint smile was somehow ten times more terrifying than all of Louis’ madness. “Will spread over Brimir’s jet streams once released into the atmosphere… two weeks to global saturation.”

She has completely lost it. “Lauriane, this is insanity! You’re talking about a worldwide genocide!”

“It’s what Father would have wanted,” Lauriane replied. “That was his directive, if House Magnos were to lose control of Endymion. A duty he entrusted to me. ‘An empire that fails to protect its imperial family does not deserve to exist, Lauriane. Endymion was named after House Magnos, and shouldn’t outlive it.’”

“What nonsense is this?” Simon cursed Balzam’s ghost for the thousandth time. “House Magnos is in control of Endymion! Thalas and Norbelle—”

“Sided with Euphemia, sided with the elves, sided with the enemy, killed you, killed Louis,” Lauriane stammered. “They’re traitors to our family and our country!”

“Lauriane, please,” Hector argued with her, taking her hand into his own. The lack of recognition on her face wounded him a bit, but his concern for his former lover drowned out his own pain. “If you release this weapon, countless more innocents and families will die. This is not like you.”

“It’s what they deserve!” Lauriane pulled back. “It’s what they all deserve! My mother, my father, my brothers, Hector, they’ve taken everyone! Dassein is all I have left!” 

“I’m not gone, milady,” Hector said, but his pleas fell on deaf ears due to his borrowed face. “We can still make this right. Dispose of this… this foul mixture and provide us with a cure for the existing strain. We can at least slow down its spread—”

“Let me go!” Lauriane tried to push Simon back, forcing him to tighten his grip. “Let me go!”

“Lauriane, you have to destroy this bioweapon,” Simon insisted. The risk that a drop of it could escape this facility terrified him, yet his sister wouldn’t listen. “Lauriane, don’t make me—”

Her hand reached for one of the potions on her bandoliers, which he recognized as a mutagen bottle.

Simon acted on instinct. His Overlord armor covered him, and his dark power seized Lauriane’s soul. His mind invaded her own, dominated the shattered remnants of her psyche, and bound her to his will.  

The event took place in an instant, for he had grown so experienced with the Brand of Pride that applying it came naturally to him; and when he released Lauriane’s arms, she collapsed on the ground with a new tattoo burning on her skin.

No… Simon stared at her in utter disgust, a feeling of shame and remorse sinking in his belly. No, I can’t… not her…

But the truth was written into Lauriane’s flesh and soul. 

Simon Magnos had branded his own sister.

“I… how could I do that?” Simon looked at his own hands in utter disgust, though he couldn’t deny it. He might have acted on instinct, but applying the Devil Brands had almost become a reflex to him. He would have to live with it. “Tell me how to destroy this abomination!”

“I—” Lauriane winced in pain as the brand compelled her to answer, with Simon feeling sick to his stomach. “I… self-destruct the facility… lack of host, self-destruction.”

“And the current strand? Can you create a cure?”

“I… I don’t know… I don’t think I can…” Tears formed in Lauriane’s eyes. “It’s self-improving… it’ll keep getting better on its own.”

It would continue to spread, first across Endymion and then perhaps the world. Damn it.

Hector scowled and then knelt to embrace his former fiancée. She was too weak and shaken from the brand to resist him. She looked so weak and feeble in his arms, in spite of the devastation she had unleashed. 

“Your Majesty, your sister… your sister is deeply sick and needs treatment,” Hector said softly. “We can’t leave her here.”

“No…” Simon Magnos looked at his sister, then at her doomsday cauldron. “No, we can’t.”:

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