The 108 Chapter 51: Covert Operations (Patreon)

Heat and sensations return. The empty tea cup shatters on the ground. I’m on the ground as well. Vertigo. I’m back in this sorry unawakened sack of flesh and it itches how weak and constraining it is and I hate it and I feel the assassin outside of the needle, my neighbor returning home, others, resting in their homes filled with anxiety and stress and people arguing and sleeping and fucking and this is just too much. I’m drowning. Too many emotions inside, outside and pushing against the prison of my meat. 

Someone fucking save me. 

I spool my soul around and gather everything around and push everything inside so I don’t explode. The air shakes. What’s the fucking gesture, I forgot, what do I even feel right now. I reach up to the ceiling. Hand, grasping. The world turns a strange shade of everything dull. There is a pop. 

I land on my bed with a swear word. My mind is drained and I feel… myself again, just disconnected. I am both lucid and aware that something is deeply wrong, because I feel stable, but shouldn’t be. I was, then suddenly I wasn’t I wasn’t, and it’s not because I’m wise and proficient at processing what I experienced. I just excised it instead. Also aware that I’m in deep shit. 

I bounce on the bed and stand in the same motion. This isn’t good. This room isn’t my room yet. It’s the one Antea usually lends me, a scholar’s suite in one of the more secure sections of the Garden where I am very noticeably an outsider. The ground immediately rises up to grab my feet, then captures my ankles. The walls turn briefly to spiky deathtraps before the chitious spikes are reabsorbed. Panicked guards outside calm down, but they do not enter. 

Ok, so they know I’m here. Ok. I’m in greater danger than with Pale Dog then. It’s fine. After maybe twenty seconds, a fourth awakening stops in front of the door. Honestly the Garden is rather impressive security wise, and that’s without mentioning the host of slumbering ancient flesh crafters lining the entrance, only awakening to defend the sanctum against invaders. No wonder it takes the empress herself to crack it open. 

It only takes a couple more breaths before the room opens. Not the door, the room. Cracks like old scars appear on the wall, then the entire apartment unfolds with me still trapped in it and my arms up. What faces me is a full Fleshcrafter strike team. One fourth in a mantis-like war form, four thirds in assorted close quarter frames, two thirds in sniper frame though it feels risky for them, and I can feel the nebulous soul of a shadow somewhere. Even as a fleshcrafter myself, I tend to dismiss us as a bunch of wealthy but slightly goofy eccentrics who rely more on influence than military might to advance our agenda. This is a good reminder that a steel fist in a velvet glove is still a steel fist. 

“Very flattering, but unnecessary,” I comment. 

“Do not move, do not cast, and do not use your soul.” 

“Yeah yeah.” 

I resist the urge to ask if I should stop existing, seeing as I’m using my soul to do that, but they don’t seem very inclined towards philosophical discourse. I’m also running away from my emotions right now but… that’s fine. I need time to digest. One of the thirds clasps spelled manacles in my wrists, not like I could cast in this state anyway. I’m led to an interrogation room and attached to a living chair with entirely too many spikes. Tendrils of flesh pierce my body, merging without pain though it tickles a bit. I recognize monitoring equipment from my hospital stays although there are barbs I think are a little bit invasive. Even more invasive then our usual equipment, anyway.. They’re not torture devices though, as far as I can tell. I wait. It might take a while so I meditate, not really trying to get mana through the gates because it’s not useful, but just to settle my mind. I need a plan, but first, I need information on our third foe. 

Chronos helped me with his sarcasm, but I should have figured it out on my own. When I was a prisoner of Law, Judge Mars mentioned the powers of a past avatar of time, a woman from the slums who knew everything and could predict the future, I think? I don’t recall exactly. What I know for sure is that he couldn’t possibly know unless Law keeps some sort of record of past Years of Judgment, a database of common avatar power sets, which is obvious in retrospect. The avatars of chaos and malice are kill on sight. They’ve been kill on sight for generations, as is common knowledge, so Law must have developed measures to identify them or, at least, the traces of their powers. 

Come to think of it, I wonder if Entropy is also on the list. Morag hasn’t mentioned an avatar yet, but the cryptic pair tends to dispense answers whenever it suits them if at all. Actually, I don’t know the list of banned avatars. Is there even one? Is Transformation there? War?

I digress. 

Law’s temple has a database somewhere, maybe even a library with paper books considering Enderlith’s completely random levels of technology. If I can get Deza’s attention this loop, I should find out how to access it. If not , I can always reset though I don’t want to make a habit out of it. There are people observing me outside of the interrogation room, returning my attention to the present. Someone powerful approaches, making me turn my head by reflex. They slowly make their way to the door, then get in. I don’t mask my surprise. 

The newcomer is a man wearing a full silver mask with no features whatsoever. The rest of his form is hidden under a severe black robe that hides even the shape of his body, giving him a slightly unsettling appearance. He might not be human under that, or even humanoid. I’ve never met him, but I know him by reputation. Something brushes my mind.

He’s also a soul awakened, which I didn’t know. With this level of control, I’m guessing second. I don’t think there are many of those even on Enderlith. His physical awakening must be at the fifth level. After all, he’s a grandmaster. I just cannot be sure trying to perceive him. After all, this is the guild’s best Shadow.

“I see you’re surprised,” the man starts with a conversational voice. 

“I didn’t expect anyone so soon,” I tell him. “Or that the big man himself would come. If it’s… really you, I mean. Shadow souls tend to feel more vaporous.” 

“A lack of practice. If I didn’t want you to feel my soul, you wouldn’t.” 

The statement is delivered as a matter of fact and I take it as such. 

“Then good evening, grandmaster Antares. I would bow properly, but…” 

I shrug. He sits in a chair that manifests out of the ground, a nice trick that reminds me that he actually controls the Garden around him. 

“I decided that letting you stew might be a waste of time, considering your soul awakening and lack of concerns. You’ve been in this sort of chair before, correct?” 

“No but I’ve used monitoring equipment before. They didn’t have these… barbed spine connections though.” 

There is a pause. Something shifts under the large cloak. 

“I see.” 

I wait for him to continue. It takes a while, but I know he’s a working man and I’m tied up at the moment, as it were. His time is more precious than my own. 

“So, tell me who you are,” he eventually says. 

“I’m one of Antea’s agents currently under a visage of the meek and I can prove it. I have the security access passwords to the Garden as well.” 

“If you have the password, why did you infiltrate the garden?” 

“That wasn’t my intention. I had a bit of a … teleportation incident.” 

Weirdly normal human arms emerge from the cloak, interlocking fingers in a mundane gesture. 

“I see. So you work for the Kerentis empire?”

I gasp in outrage.

“I most certainly do the fuck not.”

“I see.”

Another pause.

“Perhaps you are unaware, but the Golden Empress has been named Avatar of Space. Celebrations are in full swing on Kerentis Prime. Interesting. You knew who she is, yet you didn’t know about the celebrations. How did you find out? Hmm, fear.”

He leans forward.

“Teleportation, true teleportation, not fast travel through a medium, is a pipe dream. Ah, you disagree with this statement as well. Tell me, how did you teleport then, if not via the favor of space?”

“Soul magic,” I reply.

“Soul magic?”

“Soul magic.”

The pause, this time, is particularly pregnant. I can almost see gears shifting in this ancient mind.

“I see. Can you do it again? Don’t try it now, it wouldn’t do you any good.”

“Hmm, in order to cast soul magic, I need to be in the thrall of some extremely intense emotions.”

“So, generate them.”

I am confused.

“What do you mean?”

His mind reaches mine, and the feeling is so new and disturbing that I don’t know how to react. So far, I’ve always been the one to initiate telepathy. Having someone else capable of doing it feels like robbery. Suddenly, I’m not the special boy anymore, I suppose. Soul awakening was always an edge I had on others, but now I have lost even that. Or, well, not completely. He’s only of the second, I think. Also, I’m still the Avatar of Time. 

Thus reassured about my many inadequacies, I allow his message to go through.

“Third awakened can manipulate their emotions. I am sure of it.”

“I can suppress them,” I confirm.

“You can also increase them. Whip them into a frenzy.”

“Huh.”

I haven’t tried. Yet. Antares breaks the connection, speaking again for the benefits of those observing us.

“It is clear that you must be some sort of prodigy, to be awakened at such a young age. It is equally clear that you have gone through quite a lot. I will admit that, if I had not perceived you teleport with my own senses, and if there had been no other witnesses, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

He wasn’t in soul range, I’m sure of it. He must mean that he noticed me through the Garden’s own perception. 

“So, I have a… proposition. But first, you claimed you were under a Visage of the Meek, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s reverse it, then,” he says in a tone that suggests a test.

He removes the manacles without fear. Joke’s on him, I’ve practiced hard. I’m probably more familiar with the process than even the crustiest Shadows. It takes only a few breaths for me to return to my true self. Heat and strength bloom in my chest, expanding outward and saturating my body with energy. I am alive again. I am… whole. A sigh of contentment escapes my lips. Reaching the first awakening was awesome the first time. Now, it’s an unbearable  prison. 

Antares pulls back as if the monstrous energy expenditure it takes to infuse someone back to advanced third awakening was barely a trickle on his reserves. I take a few seconds to switch from the baseline body to my standard modded one. I’m myself again after only a few hours. This has to be some sort of record.

“You know,” I tell him, “If you let me go now and I can reach the base of the station, I could do something absolutely incredible. And prevent a grave disaster.”

The silver mask tilts to the side.

“Surely, you’re not expecting me to simply let you go after only a few minutes of conversations? There is one thing you should know about us.”

Founder dammit.

“We’re very thorough,” I lament.

“Correct.”

Shit, I could have rushed to Solas’ workshop and killed Egun there. 

“What was that proposal you had?” I ask.

He returns to mind communication a moment later.

“After we’ve vetted you and made sure there are no surprises waiting, you will train me.”

I would have dropped my cup of tea.

“I beg your pardon?” 

“You will train me. You will practice soul manipulation in my presence, master your own emotions, and show me the path forward.”

“Half of the time, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Naturally, you do not, like most prodigies, and yet there is much to be learned by simply observing if one knows how to look.”

I consider my options. Refusing would be entirely stupid. Even if Antares turns out to be my opponent later, anything I give him now will be nullified unless I make an effort to carry it over, so really, it will always be a stupid choice. I can always reset if things go wrong. In fact, I can reset any time. Even tied to a chair, I realize it’s not a contest. Antares is granting me a unique opportunity. He wants to learn from me because he witnessed the teleportation incident and he wants to work towards casting soul magic. I could only teleport because of how desperate and frustrated I was after the latest bomb run. I won’t be able to reproduce this result for a long, long time. Probably. Hopefully. So, this is a unique loop brought in by unique and intense emotions at the start. I need to make the most of it, even if it means one more fucking year of effort before I finally, finally rid the station of its bomb. I can both learn the method of Shadows and hopefully get the knowledge I need to track the third avatar. 

No, I need to get to Deza now!

I push back the urge to rush ahead. I want it. I want it so badly, I could kill. I was so damn close and the frustration’s making me mad. But those are emotions, albeit so strong they reach me even now in my, ahem, emotional refractory period. I need a calm mind if I want to succeed not just with the soul bomb but with whatever galactic level discharge of horseshit comes my way. I need to find the third. I can learn from a master. Thus, those are my two objectives this year.

Ok, let’s do it.

“There is something I will ask of you in exchange,” I say.

“You are in no position to make demands,” he reminds me.

“Actually, I am. You want something only I can provide, and must provide willingly. Something incredibly rare. I am in a perfect position to make demands. Unless, of course, you have the ear of another third soul awakening?”

Something shifts under the cloak. I watch him with some curiosity. Will he? Won’t he? Should I recruit him, as well?

“I will hear your request.”

“I would like Shadow training. From you, specifically. There is a side project I need help completing.”

Antares chuckles, a dark sound as incongruous as blood on a child’s face. 

“Are you not serving Antea?”

“Come on. Lessons from a Grandmaster? She would dump me if I let the opportunity go.”

“You could have asked for a manor and chose training instead. Truly, you are one of us.”

***

Antares leaves soon after, and I’m left under the supervision of interrogators who take ‘thorough’ as a religion and are all very afraid of disappointing the boss. I don’t know about rousing feelings, but I get a good workout subsuming my mounting frustration. I could have been out there killing Egun, for fuck’s sake. And I can’t even go to Antea to do it for me because she refuses to stop him herself. 

After exactly three days, I’m released and granted the robes of apprentice following a short demonstration of skills. It takes another day for me to complete all the notebooks and recreate all the nodules. Antea doesn’t seem to be too frustrated. She believes I will do well under her ‘brother’.

“Your brother? Your family’s very talented,” I admit with no small amount of envy. Damn, there are so few fifth awakenings!

“He is my brother because we studied under the same master,” Antea patiently explains. “Our master adopted us.”

“Ooooh. Ok, that makes sense.”

But there is a word in Kei-Sah specifically for closely tied apprentices. Unless she means like, legally adopted? Arg. Even now, Enderlith’s messy culture escapes me. 

I’m given a room in the shadow quarters, and left to my own devices for a few hours before the training must begin. I crash on the simple cot left for my comfort.

I’m so tired.

It’s certainly a low point. There, on the mat of scented wood, I am alone again. My mind keeps returning to the previous run even as I vainly try to meditate it away. I can’t help it. It’s like a bit of nail sticking out, or a half torn piece of skin that my fingers keep rubbing on and I need to get over every detail to check where I made mistakes, what caused the failure, if I could have done things differently. But I don’t see it. I really don’t. I was perfect there. I slaughtered Egun and gave Lex-Nex the best possible environment to defuse the bomb. I couldn’t have done it any better. But what if I could save Solas and get Innovation on my side? What if I headed there directly? According to the old man’s chip, Egun was alone when he assaulted the workshop, so it must happen very early and before his recruitment drive. It might be impossible until I reach the fourth awakening when I can start every loop at the second, but what about intercepting him when he gets the archon’s soul? I should have time for that. Right? It should be a close call, but I might manage? Or at least, before he gets the soul into the bomb? 

The possibilities hound me with a barrage of what ifs until I want to tear all my hair out and pluck my eyes. I only calm down by opening my soul book and going through the bomb disarming process. I visualize the control panel and push the proper buttons, lower the levers and turn knobs with slow, deliberate motions. I can almost feel the bronze metal under my fingers. I’ll do it. I will. Next attempt will be the last, for sure this time.

Training begins after a sleepless night. Antares drags me to a private section of the inner Garden booked for our session. I think we’re close to the university. I can hear the purrs and chuffs of the modded pets prowling the grounds for distressed students. Antares sits on a simple mat, facing me. He has questions.

I have to admit, I never really considered soul awakening as a spiritual journey, or at least not beyond ‘my spirit departed my body because I was shot in the head’. Antares does. He’s a curious fellow, asking me about ethics, what it means to feel, the nature of death, the motivations behind the actions of people, what makes something true… It’s hard to pinpoint a specific branch of philosophy he’s more interested in. I don’t really see a method to his approach either. We jump from ethics to ontology in a way that makes me keenly aware of how surface-level my knowledge is, and how much Enderlithian fleshcrafters cultivate the idea of philosopher warriors. Or researcher warriors. Except for Phage. Fuck that idiot.

When we’re done talking, I share my perception with him, subsuming emotions and, sometimes, using mass telepathy. I think I’m showing the effects of third soul awakening rather than the path there, but he claims it still helps a lot. I wouldn’t know for sure. I still can’t feel any emotion coming from him. 

Antares keeps me cloistered for a few days while I train him as intensely as I can manage, but soon his responsibilities catch up to him, and I’m free to roam. Kimera is more distant, this time, going so far as to abandon her research for ‘close seclusion training’. She did mention looking for a way to keep up with me. I wonder what she came up with. I hope it works.

***

“It’s all hard to believe,” Deza tells me.

Luckily, saving Namun was enough to get her attention. She didn’t apply for her job though, not that it matters. I sip on the fruity tea I discovered at the bottom of the local menu, the only tolerable drink there though it’s still on the sweet end. Maybe I should reduce the number of sweet taste receptors on my tongue, hmmm…

“Are you listening?” Deza asks.

“You didn’t ask a question. Right now, you want me to prove that I’m who I say I am when all the proof is in the notebook. I will be honest, Deza. You are my friend.”

I extend my soul to her to allow her to feel how serious I am. I have never appreciated Deza in a romantic way and I never will. What we have is a friendship born of mutual respect and the shared desire to help the station. I allow this friendship to bleed through, then I show her my view of her neutralizing the Avatar of Pain, visiting me in prison the first time we met, or having another talk in the exact same dive bar.

“You are my friend and I can share the notebook and your memories, but in the end, you know I’m telling the truth. You just have to decide if I’m crazy or not.”

“Actually, no. I just wanted an emotional response and I got it. Next time we have this conversation, just share your memories of us fighting side by side and I’ll believe you,” she tells me with a polite version of her smile.

“Oh. Ok. Sorry, just… tired.”

“No problem. So, what’s the plan? I assume there is one?”

“There is. We need to find out which of the avatars wields random bullshit as a power, and how we can find them. For this, we need access to —”

“The Judgment Archives, yes,” Deza says. “Good call. It’s probably one of the few places in the station with knowledge of past judgments still surviving. And one of the easiest to access. Unfortunately, I don’t have clearance.”

“But can you request it?”

Deza considers the question.

“If I can make a good case that the murderer is the Avatar of Malice, I might. To tell the truth, I see it go either way. In order to prove that he might be Malice, I need access to the knowledge, but I need to show he might be Malice to access that knowledge. I’m not familiar with whoever controls the archives. I’ll make an urgent request. Considering the number of victims, they might decide to hurry.”

“Don’t forget the soul bomb.”

“Ah, yes! And the recording. Yes, that should do it. I’ll contact you as soon as we have clearance. There is only one piece of good news.”

“Do tell?”

“The archives are under the space port. Which means they will survive the bomb. We can take our time.”

***

Antares decided on a little outing to celebrate our first month of training together. I should have known better. Even with the wildly colored hair and eyes of the patricians on display, the bureau is surprisingly normal. The same plain walls, rows of seats and tired furniture remind me of the first time I applied for my passport. There is no glass separation between the employees and the citizens, here, however, mostly because those who could punch through it know better. To attack anyone here on Elysion is to invite disaster. Besides, this is the Citizen Watch bureau. Those who come here are snitches. They don’t want attention.

I look at the orderly queue of people awkwardly ignoring each other and find myself missing London. Most of the people present are low patricians, sullenly staring at their feet with bored resentment. I can guess why.

“Get a feel for the room. Don’t use your soul. Use your eyes instead,” Antares sends me.

He’s in the queue. Not as himself, of course, but as a middle-aged plain woman in clothes that went out of fashion three cycles ago. It is, he tells me, the best disguise. Security guards pay attention to janitors, but no one looks at the slightly frazzled, unremarkable woman who belongs here. I hadn’t actually considered changing gender for infiltration purposes, but it makes sense in a weird sort of way. I don’t like it, though. Sighing, I follow Antares’ advice. He almost sounds excited.

Two security guards, bored out of their mind. One looking at the door. Two of the Elysian Guard’s employees processing the requests. Eighteen people queuing. Five people sitting, including me — Womantares and I showed up together. One main entrance, two employee entrances.

“Continue,” Antares says.

Defensive spells on the desk, so I was wrong with my glass assessment I suppose? Locked employee access. One deeper in, one to, I’d wager a security room. I’ve pulled my soul in, so, not sure.

“No. Look at the people,” Antares urges.

Fifteen bored, distracted people split in two queues, the old monster on the farther one. They’re here to snitch on employers or classmates or whatever with the approval of their families. This will be a black mark on their record. They will be pawns in a game that’s already set them as sacrifices. Resentment abounds with resignation a close second.

“Anomalies, Steve.”

Two people in the queue, one sitting. The one sitting is very powerful. He’s looking at one of the women in the farther queue, two people behind Antares. He checks the entrance. Arms crossed. Nervous. I look at her. She’s getting impatient. Overprotective guardian, possibly. Two anomalies in the closest queue. One, very nervous, looking up to the ceiling, shuffling on his feet, one person away from the counter. One, calm, cold, unmoving, two persons behind. 

Ambush predator.

“Targets spotted,” I tell Antares.

The woman’s fingers twitch, a reflex. She needs to get him. She probably has to do so before he can spill the beans, or the secret will make it out even if the one who shared it doesn’t. I mod my eyes with an improved retina capable of zooming, briefly checking her. She is holding something. It has a needle.

“Poison.”

The queue moves forward. 

“Good. This man is about to turn on his family for the sins they’ve committed, specifically, fraud on a level that endangers him and his children. I want him to live through the ordeal, but I don’t want him to be ‘saved’. Make it happen.”

I open my soul again, finding vestiges of amusement in Antares’ tone. This guy… is loving it. He’s having a good time. The ‘ambush predator’ is terrified, her soul bleeding anxiety and getting worse with every passing second. She’s about to act. I am not sure what to do. The target reaches the window.

“Hello, I would like to talk to someone, please.”

The employee looks up, alert and aware that this is no squabble over salaries. She must have pushed on something, because a second later, someone leaves the security room. I stand up. I need to stop the hit without looking like I did. How? I don’t know. My first and immediate urge is to stab her with a needles, but… that won’t do, will it? Antares waits, his attention squared on me.

I close my eyes and freeze time, just to make sure Antares doesn’t see my irises flashing silver.

I can’t do it. I don’t want to waste my time on training bullshit with the awareness that even now, Egun’s carving a path through the bowels of the station with the rusted edge of his cruelty. But I need to do it. I need to be there for the long run, instead of bashing my head against the wall again and again in the hope that, this time, I’ll be lucky. This time, it will be different.

Breathe.

Space around me struggles to spit me forward. I must be patient. I may never be a good shadow, but I will learn how they function. I owe it to everyone to follow the Path of Everything. This is a necessary step, Steve, and you don’t even have to queue.

I loose my grip on time, which returns with a vengeance. Antares throws me a bone as I am done standing up. He waves at me, the short woman he’s hiding as looking like she needs something. This is it. I can see the trajectory. I can see the intercept. I just need to be patient and deliberate.

I walk forward with a falsely hurried step, making myself more awkward on purpose. I keep my eyes on her, pretending to hesitate on how to reach her. My awkward shuffle draws some attention but it’s bored and expects nothing. They have seen bumbling people before.

“Scuse me.”

I walk past the would-be assassin. My hand whips out, extended for a fraction of a second. Flesh impacts the needle. I feel a sting. Poison, which I isolate and neutralize. The assassin recoils while I pass by her with an apologetic smile, cutting through the line while attempting to get to one beyond. It hurts my soul, of course, to be so uncivil but it’s for a good cause. The strong guy furrows his brows. His instincts tell him something is wrong, but I’m far from the woman he’s focusing on and he doesn’t move.

“My colleague will take care of you,” the Elysian Guard employee assures our little whistleblower at my back.

Dread fills the assassin when she realizes her prey has escaped. I make a show of giving Antares a document from my file. When he’s finished filling the form, we leave the room and the panicked assassin stewing in her own failure. Mission accomplished.

The assassin runs away from the building in shame shortly after us.

“Bit of a bitch,” I comment. “She accidentally killed me, or at least she thinks she did. But did she warn me? Drop an antidote? No,” I complain to Antares. “No qualms about collaterals.”

He shakes his head. 

“The youth is dissolute and without hope. Their sloppiness shames their clans.”

“The whole station’s going to the hogs,” I confirm.

“Indeed.”

Damn, it’s so nice having a normal conversation with an old monster.

“So, whose avatar are you?”

Ah, shit.