Chapter 286. Holo Friend (Patreon)

Euryphel regarded the world with every ounce of concentration he could muster. Being unable to use his Regret affinity as he pleased severely tested his patience. Normally, he could make nearly unlimited time for himself to observe and gather intelligence about an unfamiliar environment–and unfamiliar people. Instead, he had to do all of that in real time and without the help of his air elementalism.

Technically, Kaiwen’s Regret affinity meant that she could gather intelligence from multiple parallel Euryphels, and then give him a summarized report of their combined findings. But that felt inadequate given the task at hand.

They were walking into a den of snakes.

Or would be–they hadn’t yet reached the actual competition grounds. Ian led them through the underground, stepping onto a platform that rose them to the surface. They realized a problem early on: If Ian moved between summoning and dismissing Euryphel, he might not appear where they intended. For instance, when Ian dismissed him while in the elevator, Euryphel reappeared a foot off to the side, his shins half embedded in the elevator platform.

When they emerged on the surface, Euryphel plastered an unimpressed expression onto his face as a pair of tall double doors swung open, revealing the competition grounds.

Without his air elementalism, Euryphel was limited to his mundane sight. Normally he’d be able to use the wind to vastly expand his perception. Within the capital of Zukal’iss, he used his elementalism to monitor his guardians throughout the entire city and could perform similar feats anywhere in the world where there was air.

In the blinding light, Euryphel fought the urge to squint. He only saw a massive field; there was no stadium, no bleachers. A thick mist hung over the valley starting fifteen feet above the ground.

“There used to be tents everywhere you look,” Ian explained as he glided forward over the grass. He couldn’t rise too far into the air without first giving Euryphel something to stand on, though they’d already planned for if that became necessary.

Euryphel could see no traces of tents. The grass in the field was immaculately green and uniform.

“They’re going to compete here, though I still don’t know what the game will be,” Ian continued.

Euryphel mostly kept his eyes ahead. The few times they drifted down, he had to tear his gaze away. The grasping hands and hungering tendrils that surrounded his body were hypnotizing. Euryphel initially found them disconcerting, but now wished he had time just to admire their artistry.

And when his gaze moved to the side, to “Ancient Black,” the Crowned Executor was relieved that Ian could only transmit thoughts to him. Euryphel’s mental defenses were fine–that was a requirement for any sovereign–but he knew that such defenses weren’t perfect. Some things leaked through, certain surface thoughts or fleeting emotions.

Back when Ian first revealed he’d obtained a Remorse affinity, Euryphel had tamped down any personal concerns, dedicating himself to supporting the troubled necromancer. From his perspective, only a few weeks had passed since then, and he was still reeling with the implications for their relationship.

There was only so much you could hide during prolonged association with a Remorse practitioner.

That’s a problem for future me, Euryphel chided himself. Worry about what’s in front of you now.

“Going up,” Ian said. Euryphel snapped back to his palace, ejected by the transmission artifact. He blinked, then looked at Kaiwen and entered a scenario.

“Alright, first iteration,” he said.

She nodded. “You’re going up to the waiting area.”

Right as she finished speaking, Euryphel returned to Ian, summoned by the transmission artifact. He was on a cluster of clouds that had a physical heft to them, like foam and cotton balls mixed together. Looking around, over a hundred ascendants milled about, conversing and eyeing the walls of white clouds that surrounded the area with vague impatience.

“Send me back,” Euryphel said.

And Ian did.

Euryphel reappeared next to Kaiwen and set a recursion checkpoint. “First iteration still.”

She continued without missing a beat. “You asked Dunai about the number of ascendants, as well as their affiliations. I was able to cobble this together from your explanations.” She pointed to a projection on the wall that Euryphel hadn’t noticed until now. It was rough but rapidly gained detail as he watched. She knew the limits of his scenarios; she had no more than forty-five seconds, realistically, to convey any one piece of information.

Around the thirty second mark, the map was complete. Kaiwen highlighted a cluster of ascendants. “This is the black faction.” Then a few individuals within the cluster gained names, though Kaiwen only flashed them for a moment. She knew that Ian would reintroduce them when Euryphel returned to the competition grounds.

Kaiwen next highlighted the white faction, then noted a few other factions and organizations that Ian had never mentioned before. Finally, she highlighted twelve individual dots. “These are Life and Death practitioners. They’re the ones you need to be most careful around.”

With that, the scenario snapped back to Euryphel’s recursion point.

“Second iteration,” Euryphel stated.

“They’re waiting for the competition to start. The clouds cut everyone off from the preparations on the surface. Whatever they’re made from is an insulator that prevents Ian from sensing vitality. He also believes that other practitioners’ additional senses are confounded. He’s not sure when the walls will come down. Nobody knows when the competition will start.”

“Anything else I should know?” Euryphel asked.

Kaiwen shook her head. “There’s not much going on at the moment. Listen to what Dunai tells you and keep up your façade. There’s no way for us to know if anyone has started probing him; it just means we must maintain vigilance.”

Even knowing Kaiwen wouldn’t remember this conversation, Euryphel chuckled. “Would you expect anything less?”

She smirked. “From you? I suppose not.”

Euryphel killed the entire scenario, re-entering the real world. He ran a few more scenarios to master his appearance in the cloud-space and familiarize himself with the different practitioner groups. Thanks to Kaiwen’s contextual information, Euryphel could focus his attention more directly on targets of interest, such as the black faction and Life and Death practitioners.

He asked Ian specific questions. Even though they were in a scenario, it was best to minimize deviations from the norm to preserve the scenario’s fidelity. Unfortunately, because Euryphel didn’t have a vital signature, he couldn’t sub-audiate and rely on Ian’s ability to read the movements of his jaw.

Many practitioners didn’t take notice. Some did.

“This is Ascendant Witherbloom,” Ian said as a man approached. “He’s part of the Wyvern Association, a group that creates potent pharmaceuticals.”

Where Ian practically looked like someone had dipped him in a bucket of black paint, the approaching practitioner was almost the opposite. With cornsilk blond hair and pale skin, he resembled like Euryphel. However, where Euryphel’s disguise had the pallor of a corpse, this man gushed vitality, his eyes glowing intensely orange. He wore a cream, half-unbuttoned shirt and layered a white suit jacket on top of it. An amber brooch sat between his collar bones, matching the color of his eyes. Euryphel thought the get-up generally matched the style of the other guests, though Witherbloom’s preference for lighter colors put him in the minority.

When Witherbloom opened his mouth to speak, Euryphel blinked in surprise. The man’s tongue looked like it was made of flowers strung together. He wasn’t sure if it was an optical illusion created by tattoos or if his tongue was mutilated.

“Ancient Black, a pleasure to see you again,” he said. His voice sounded unusual, almost whistly. “We didn’t have the opportunity to speak earlier.”

“He came by my booth for a beverage,” Ian explained. “I know he’ll remember none of this, so I’m going to test him a bit. I want to see what he thinks of you.”

Ian’s expression remained impassive, devoid of Witherbloom’s warmth. “Ascendant Witherbloom. Did my drink suit your tastes?”

The ascendant laughed. “What do you think?”

“It was probably too sweet,” Ian replied. “Your tongue is a marvel, but I confess I would find it more of a hindrance than an asset.” Ian anticipated Euryphel’s unasked question and thought, “Witherbloom has turned his tongue into a hypersensitive tasting organ. I can sense the density of nerves within it, and its bizarre shape maximizes surface area–at least when ingesting liquids.”

Witherbloom shrugged. “You don’t work with poisons.”

“No, I don’t,” Ian agreed. He glanced at Euryphel. “What do you think of my companion?”

The ascendant cocked his head. “Companion is an interesting word. It’s not a lich, though I sense a construct within its chest. Is it intelligent?”

Ian smirked. “Somewhat.” Shadowy tendrils grasped hungrily at Euryphel’s body. “Speak.”

“Just say something innocuous,” Ian told Euryphel.

“Hello, Ascendant Witherbloom,” the former prince said in a monotone.

Witherbloom stepped forward and plunged his hand into the mini maelstrom of Death energy, his fingers grasping the heart construct that hovered in Euryphel’s chest. His eyes fixed on Ian’s. “This isn’t necromancy.” He paused. “You’d like it to be, though.”

Ian smiled coldly. “You know, then; you’d never say something so blatant otherwise. I can’t tell if your intent is to help me or lead me stray, not that it matters.”

Ian danced around saying they were explicitly in a scenario out loud. Other organizations likely knew if they had a Beginning practitioner on hand, but nobody would know whose scenario they were in without detective-work.

“So, it isn’t yours, then?” Witherbloom asked.

“How could it be?”

The scenario ended and Euryphel snapped back to Ichormai. This was going to be a long few hours.

—

Ascendant Lucinda

With everyone in one place, I don’t need to use Ascendant Schwinn to increase the range of the black faction’s Remorse net. I can rely on my own Remorse affinity to converse with Ascendant Valent about his Regret scenarios.

Many of the organizations keep to themselves in clusters, waiting for the clouds to part. I have good intelligence that suggests the competition will be battle royale style with ten rounds, each with a different twist. There’s probably an eleventh, final round that will take place between the top contenders, though I don’t have anything concrete.

I glance over at Valent. The practitioner maintains an unhurried, bored appearance as he surveys the crowd, but I know his mind is running several scenarios each second as he spies on all factions present.

Aside from the factions, there’s one individual who continues to pique my interest–Ancient Black. Now that he’s separated from his Regret practitioner protégé, he should be easier to probe. His Beginning affinity elevates the challenge, but he doesn’t have the advantage of looking into the future. With an allied Regret practitioner running scenarios ahead, Black would normally know immediately if he’s entered another group’s scenario.

Instead, he needs to discern that out for himself with his Beginning affinity, a feat only possible if the scenario deviates from the expected reality. Black would notice eventually, but it might take him upwards of thirty seconds. Those seconds are an opportunity.

“What are you getting from Black?” I inquire.

“Not much. He recognizes that he’s in a scenario.”

“How long does it take, typically?”

Valent considers for a moment. “It’s hard to tell, but never more than five seconds.”

“Are you certain?”

“It’s possible he’s incredibly paranoid,” he says. “Or he’s just really good. He’s an ancient, Lucinda. A Beginning ancient.”

“Still.”

“He might have artifacts that tell him immediately when he’s in Regret scenarios, who knows? Like his little holo friend.”

I intentionally keep my gaze from hovering on any one person for long, utilizing a periscope strategy with Ascendant Comptara. The Beginning practitioner opens her mind so I can see through her eyes, rather than relying on my own. Comptara has a reputation for staring rudely, so nobody thinks anything of it.

“Comptara, look at Black.”

She averts her gaze from one of the white faction ascendants, a Dark practitioner named Mordika.

“You’re rather enamored with Ancient Black, Lucinda.” Her thoughts are mocking.

I mentally roll my eyes. Everyone knows that Comptara has a thing for Mordika. It’s common knowledge that they hooked up at the plane-sculpting convention fifteen years ago. Besides, Comptara is hanging with two nosy Remorse practitioners, what does she expect? Privacy?

“Stop deflecting,” I chide her. “Focus on the–yes, the pale humanoid that walks with him. Have you noticed anything about it?”

“The figure reminds me of a recording,” Comptara remarks. She rubs a hand over her twig-thin arm. “It follows around like a puppet while Death energy apparitions circle it. Every minute, it disappears under a deluge of apparitions, then reappears, and the pattern continues.”

I consider that information. “Valent, what does Black’s ‘holo friend’ do in your scenarios?”

“Not much. It usually just stands in place.”

“Does it perform any gestures, or movements?”

“It’ll clasp its arms behind his back, not that I can see the arms clearly with all the wraiths circling.”

Something tells me Black’s ‘holo friend’ is more than meets the eye… and I have the duration of the competition to figure it out, along with Black’s overall intentions.