10-11 Pivot (Patreon)

“So. Did you get them?”

“I–uh… Don’t know, Reva.”

“...You don’t know.”

“Well, it sure as shit wasn’t a golem. No wreck, and it drew my symphonies all the way down into the gutters. Galeslither should’ve cooked and ruptured. Instead, there’s a big Sangeist-looking clump of blood down there and a whole lot of collateral. It was channeling some kind of glassy-looking material too. No idea what it is.”

“Huh. I’ll see if I can find an injury down there. Take a peek at the scene. Might be a carry-on for the Galeslither.”

“Might be. Might be.”

“You think there’s another ‘Clad in play?”

“I think we might not be fully aware of what Greatling’s still got in his sheathe. I say we get Root and Ullens together and seize the moment. Hey, your uncle had that… uh… those tech-relics, right? One’s he got from that Omnitech dealer? The little… uh… radios? Might let us stay synced while the Nether unfucks itself.”

“Oh. Yeah. Those. Pain in the ass to work, really. They don’t listen to your thoughts.”

“What? Then how the fuck do you get them to do things.”

[Sighs] “Well, there this dial, or something…”

-Conversation between Reva Javvers and “Tigertail,” Bloodthanes of Stormtree

10-11

Pivot

In Avo’s defense, he hadn’t known Zein at the time. The words he spat were a deliberate attempt to direct the Low Masters toward another unknown variable that had been troubling him. That was still troubling him.

Aside from Zein herself, Ninth Column remained shrouded in shadow and mystery. Thus, their inscrutability appealed to him as a distraction to invoke–one hidden leviathan to draw away another.

He simply hadn’t expected his former masters to be so… brazen.

“It,” Zein began, gesticulating in the air, her fingers reaching for a masterwork now lost to touch but present in her memory, “was going to be a masterwork. I had infiltrated all the necessary systems, killed all the unnecessary people, pierced all manner of defenses, and stood poised to deliver the final drip to my cocktail of chaos then–”

She blinked behind each of the thrones, her fists and feet exploding into violence as nano-armored skin clanged against the ancient hull. Within a fraction of a second, she snapped back across time to stand before Avo, her transition as if a rubberband releasing all its built-up energy.

“The embarrassing excuse of a tumor attacked me. It attacked me, little dagger. It attacked me before I could deliver the blow.” Her breath took on a demented quality, words a near snarl on her tongue. “Do you know what it is like? To feel the moment close–so close! And then… a giant… knot of autophagic idiocy comes tearing through my well-laid plans?”

Avo did in fact know how she felt. But much like a flechette long loosed from its rails, Zein wasn’t going to stop for something as small as empathy.

The Fisher snapped free from her being, rising into reality on his hook. Again, the forking paths of the future twisted out from her, but this time, lines trained below her as well, like spreading veins descending below the air in reflection to the branches above.

Her finger twitched and countless moments of pasts could have been coalesced, rushing through all who were gathered. Knowledge of Zein’s operations suddenly just was. Through her eyes, Avo recalled a massacre of increments, skimming across the surface of time and conducting murder after murder.

Within a day she had danced across three Highflame majority-owned districts in the Undercroft; lowest of the Tiers. Asginstrad, Telamander, and Akkata of the Seranando Sovereignty exploded into infighting and violence. Through a vicarious glimpse from Zein’s perspective, her slaughter is brutal, but methodical–conducted with focus and intent.

Unlike how Avo laced the Nether lobby down in the gutters, Zein preferred her atrocities to be of flesh-on-flesh, blood-on-blood. By disinterest or deficiency in capability, she used her Metamind only as a shield and never as a blade, choosing instead to turn the districts against each other in the oldest fashion she could recall.

Asginstrad and Akkata were Chivalric-ruled places–part thaumic factories dedicated to the production of varieties of new golems and specialized Wights, part warrior foundry dedicated to the training of new fighting stock from those colored by the Highflame creed. Telamander, however, though once a part of Asginstrad and Akkata, now belonged to one Santanado “Starsinger” Mondelles–a former combat instructor at Axtraxis Academy.

This was the second time Avo heard the man’s name.

Santanado Mondelles was an ardent foe of the Chivalrics according to Draus. And possibly a Godclad once serviced by Kae. Here he was again, a part of Zein’s plot to trigger internal hostilities within Highflame.

Not that he needed much incentivization.

“Three thousand kills,” Zein said. She tweaked the holograms dancing atop her palm with her fingers. Points exploded across the districts as strings of data spilled out, each stating a different act of sabotage. “Such paltry effort to trigger fated internecine.” A low chuckle came from her throat. Past the oscillations of light, Avo could see Draus glowering at Zein.

A gallery of mutilated bodies played in subinterfaces. Executives from Dawnforge Industries lay in pieces after a Rend-bomb went off in their offices. Highflame Administrators were beheaded and mutilated, bodies stripped naked with the words ‘unworthy.’ Carved into them. From each crime scene was a memory left by hired squires or other off-book assets favored by the rival factions.

After that, the strings just kept exploding, each one cascading into a building avalanche of in-fighting that eventually spilled over into the streets.

“Real neat,” Draus said, not bothering to hide the disgust she had for Zein’s subterfuge. “But I don’t see how this matches what the rotlick here pulled. Way I see it, you just led two starvin’ nu-dogs to the same pen and had ‘em get bloody. This fight was comin’. No other way about it. You just made it happen faster.”

Zein craned her neck in a half concession. “Indeed. Indeed. I applaud Higher Santanado’s proactivity–it was a delight to see some among Highflame’s number still embodying the values my daughter set for them. He already had preparations, you see. A plan to shame his rivals further and elevate himself before the Seraphs.”

“And how’s that? The Chivs might’ve fucked the shine out of their names with the last war, but they still got plenty of hold on the mid-lines. Won’t be knocking them loose from their branches anytime soon without another–” Draus’ voice trailed off. “What were you plannin’ to do after they started fighting.”

A wry glint shone in Thousandhand’s eyes. She turned to face Avo. “I wanted you to ask the question.”

“More interested in how the Hungers are involved.”

“That is the outcome of the story. Do not skip to the end of the killing, little dagger. Relish is discovered throughout the process.” Waving away the districts, a new edifice rose with a gesture from her hand, its presence like a crosshair-shaped gate emerging into reality. Its materialization provoked a response from Draus, hold unfolding her arms and leaned in. “That’s a Boundryeater.”

“A completed Boundryeater,” Zein added.

With four needles of quivering light sunken into the flesh of space itself, the inner core of the ring was comprised of twin gears spinning in opposite directions. Between the metal were prolapses of soft, brain-like tissue, with circuits connected to the furrows.

“A golem of wondrous design,” Zein said, holding the construct aloft as if she was extolling its virtues. “Think of this: You offer this machine a substance–or even a thought. And should that thing lie within its sphere of influence–dictated by the reach of its luminosity–it would be capable of instantaneously snatching your desired target from its listed location. No need to track them. Just feed the golem all the necessary offerings, check if your target is protected by any spatial anchors, and there–easy killing.”

“It’s a Meritocrat project,” Draus explained. “A cross-collaborative effort with the No-Dragons and Omnitech. Sometin’ the Chivalrics didn’t much like, seein’ as it was ‘beholding Highflame to indirect interests.’ Seraphs were packed with Chivalrics then too, so it didn’t get the imps it needed to start rollin’.” She paused. “Would’ve been a nifty thing to have through all that fightin’. For supplies, even.”

“Well,” Zein said, “a mistake is only a mistake until it is remedied. My daughter, stubborn and independent though she might be, is capable of learning, though I loathe admitting my failings in instilling in her this habit of inflexibility. She approved Santanado project. And courted ire while doing so, much as she loathes that. A flaw from her father, I’m afraid. Never desire to be feared and loved at once, little dagger. It makes you a parody of yourself.”

Avo wondered if the actual “mistake” that young Veylis suffered was having Zein as a mother and Jaus as a father. To live in the world of such extremes and iconography must sculpt the mind into a mindscape most unique.

He suddenly found himself interested in what traumas could be claimed from the High Seraph of Highflame, and if any of them could be fashioned from Zein herself.

Zein continued. “My goal was simple: I wished to inspire theft through the hand of the Chivalrics. To kill and provoke in just the right ways that they attempt to kill and steal the construct for themselves.” Her expression turned near feral. “And afterward, O would take it from them and leave hints of Ori-Thaum presence at the scene.”

A chain of false flags. The last one implicating the Chivalrics working with Highflame’s most despised adversary. Zein wasn’t trying to start one civil conflict, she was making multiple fissures between groups and striking the group between the see the cracks joined. Even other Chivalrics would need to disavow “tied” to the operation.

And a flash of understanding followed thereafter. “Boundryeater. You were going to take it and give it to me if I figured this out.”

No open admission came from Zein, but silence was admission with how she acted. She shrugged. “A shame what happened. I was going to use it to do many things, kill so many people.” She laughed. “Three hundred thousand nullings.” She shook her head. “I would have surpassed that in an hour with this and my glaive. And none among them mere simple FATED seeking the degeneracy of unearned pleasure; finding pleasure in deaths not committed at their own hands. I was going to kill Guilders. Key problems. Fallwalkers that could destabilize things–”

“Me,” Avo said. “Probably still have some of my blood. Maybe a memory. Could use that.”

“I could,” Zein said. “Or I could have you give me the Helix, and using it, we could see if it would offer us a solution to the problem of your family once and for all.” She looked aside. “But it was not to be. They found me too soon, you see. Their nodes have grown bold–too bold perhaps. And now the games once played in the dark have spilled into the light.”

“The Thoughtwave Detonation. That was Highflame?” Avo asked.

“Yes,” Zein said. “They revealed too much of themselves while trying to hunt me, let their poisons spread too far and loud through the districts while they tried to burn away my mind.” She chuckled. “I think they were trying to use the city’s systems to kill me. It was a very subtle effort. Very subtle, and well coordinated. Only a shame their cage was not complete enough.”

Avo wondered just how much the Low Masters knew of Zein Thousandhand’s capabilities. Even he himself lacked full awareness of her canons and hubrises, only that time was as if clay to her will, though forward was the only direction she ever seemed to move.

“This why there are mem-cons in the traffic lanes?”  He manifested a lotus of blood and expanded it into a lattice. Subtly mocking Zein’s display of coldtech, his interconnected network of blood allowed phantoms to dance into shape, spelling out sequences of mem-cons for all to see, lines of mem-data running below garbled memories. “They overreached? You jumped across time? They missed. Kept missing. Hit critical infrastructure instead?”

She sighed. “Do not insult your father’s people. Most systems were already turned by them. It was only the corruption that was dormant. It was only after they started using Highflame golems to burn me from the world that the local mind-priests–agh, Necros–noticed them.”

“Highflame knows?” Avo asked. “Knows about the Low Masters surviving? The Hungers?”

“They know that someone crippled three districts, took control of twelve-thousand golems, burning and nulling everything in their path for reasons unknown.” She put her hands up in a shrug. “It will take time for them to put the pieces together–if they ever do. All the Necros who noticed died, you see. Sudden nullings.” Zein put her lips together. “In the end, it seems that I was not the one to beat your efforts. A pity.”

No words for the countless lives that must’ve died in the crossfire. No consideration of the damages caused. Zein, like all the other Godclads, was driven by personal interest alone. It occurred to Avo that he was likely only alive due to the inclinations of her personal character, and that he didn’t know how the rest of Ninth Column felt about this mess.

“And now I fear this might bring the Chivalrics and Meritocrats closer together.” Zein sighed. “The longer the former remains, the weaker Highflame becomes. We cannot have them lose the war yet, Avo–we cannot. The other two cannot hold the stalemate without them.”

“You need something from the Guilds remaining stable,” Avo said. “Why you're keeping the stalemate.”

“That much is obvious–”

“Is it for the tower?”

An anticipatory expression came over her face. She didn’t finish the sentence. A strange sensation twisted inside Avo. The feeling that she was provoking him in some unseen way, coaxing him down a path of development favorable to her.

A growing disquiet filled him. The weight of paranoia descended in full. How could he be the master of his own future when Zein likely saw this conversation coming, and shifted the tracks of their dialogue at her own leisure?

What worth was there in having individual will if the opposition was guiding you on an unseen leash made by strands of fate parted across mutations of time?

Yet, before apprehension managed to ascend into dread, Avo found himself looking at Kae. Zein seemed to have a hard time predicting the actions of the Agnos. And her plot was undone by the Low Masters, they way she spoke of them like they were unseen factors.

There was a limit to her Heaven. There must be a limit to her Heaven. If not, why was she here, fighting in the shadows, playing the role of a spider instead of a warrior.

He needed to find the borders of Zein’s reach. Build things beyond it. He would not be a victim of her machinations. He had grown too much, and come too far to let his choices be compromised.

“Yes,” the Woundshaper whispered. “You see the face of the enemy now. Finally.”

“Zein?”

“Everything that we are not is an enemy. Every vector that we do not control can turn against us. The tapestry is all, but all except our corner offers refuge to adversaries, past and to be. Which is why you must root me deeper–”

Avo muted his Woundshaper. Ironically, it was the Heavens own words that made him silence it.

It, too, was trying to compromise him, its recent words driving him toward granting it more power, expanding its might and letting it experience the swell of godhood even if it was to be vicarious.

He needed a way to think. To consider everything uninfluenced by all the feedback around him. Again, he felt the draw of Req’s memory, and though the Nether blocked his mem-lock, Avo ran it through his Metamind.

A vicarious experience. Something rarely felt’; a moment he would never experience on his own.

The need suddenly revealed itself to Avo. He needed to gaze inward at himself. He needed to bask in his own totality. When he was compromised within and without, he needed another angle to view himself. New angles away that might be untainted by Zein, by other beings warped by self-interest.

Avo had his Echoheads chitter. The shapes of different bodies splashed into his senses as a static field formed in his mind. Around the table were Draus, Zein, and Kae. Apart from them in the corner of the room–but still listening–was Chambers.

Only Essus stood away in the dark, uninterested in talk of schemes and chaos, choosing to stare out into the dark instead.

There was something there in the father. Kae. And maybe Chambers. Something he could use to better view himself. To avoid…

Subversion.

“You have taken the qualities of a locus in your blood, yes?” Zein asked, wrenching his focus back. “This is good. Very good. This amplification of your capabilities will serve you quite well for what is to come.”

“And what is to come?” Draus asked. She shared a look with Avo. They had their plans for the future. New angles to pivot. Zein being here changed that dynamic.

“Oh, do not start growling at me like I’ve come to take your precious retribution away,” Zein said, shaking her head at them. “Rejoice: We will still be working toward the death of Jhred Greatling. It just that… I need a little more out of him now. More than even before.”

“And how’s that?” Avo asked.

And the playfulness bled out from Zein’s face. “Words are treacherous things, little dagger. It always scared me how the simple things we say can destroy so many futures.” She paused. “This moment of atrocity. It will be a… communal thing for Highflame. A unifying wound between both factions for how they all seem to have suffered. This cannot be allowed. The Chivalrics must be broken. House Greatling must shatter. And Ambassador Kitzhuhada, tragically, now must die.”