Chapter 25 [Discovery]

“Been almost twenty years, Charles… and not one word from the others in the Order. How much longer we doin’ this?” a deep, rumbling voice tumbled from the chapped lips of a short, burly man. His bushy brown beard swayed in the wind and his bald head shined each time the sun peaked through the clouds.

He stood on the back of a behemoth of a creature, with wings spanning nearly fifteen meters, a neck reaching forward nearly half that length, and a head and beak just as long as its neck. A long, black mane grew from the top of its head, starting between its eyes and running along the back of its neck before turning to feathers that covered the rest of its body. Claws extended from the tips of its wings and long legs ended in large, hooked talons that appeared capable of gripping nearly any surface.

Flying next to him, on the back of a leathery creature with long, see-through ears and a scrunched-up face, sat a tall man with cropped black hair and shining silver eyes. Though they both wore similar coats—black with gold trim and the same purple pocket squares—Charles’ suit was perfectly pressed with not a wrinkle in sight.

He grinned and lifted his arm, pointing a polished wooden cane toward a great flying Beast, easily twice the size of both their Summons combined. Hundreds of dark tendrils whipped about the monstrous Beast. Each beat of its wings caused gale force winds to buffet the two Wielders despite their distance.

Charles gave his friend a wink and a silver light burst from the end of his cane, striking the enormous creature. A silver glow emanated from the Beast briefly, then faded away as if nothing had happened. The Beast stopped its movement, shuddered, and released a guttural roar that shook the very air around him. As if they’d been perched and waiting for its signal, dozens of human-sized Beasts fell from the underbelly of the great monstrosity—diving toward the two of them.

Charles laughed jubilantly and cried, “Onward, Vincent! Come, Julian, Theodore, to battle!”

On his shoulder, a small, red runic circle materialized, and out stepped a glowing pixie with a fiery gaze that immediately began tracking the oncoming horde. To the left of his flying mount—Vincent—a much larger, completely black circle formed in mid-air.

The creature that floated out struck an odd sight, being nothing more than a floating orb covered in myriad eyes, all of different shades. Dozens of the Summon’s eyes moved independently, each looking in different directions curiously.

Charles closed his eyes and used Hive Mind—one of the few Summon Skills he’d acquired over the centuries—to form a link between Julian and Theodore, using himself as a bridge to deliver thoughts and images from one of his Summons to the other in real-time. Without speaking, he conveyed his intentions to his Summons, who carried out his orders flawlessly. Theodore, the Many-Eyed Sentinel, locked one eye on each of the aggressive Beasts. In the same instant, hundreds of glowing orbs of lava came into existence, then launched forward, every one striking a different target, while the remainder assaulted the gigantic creature above.

With each of the smaller Beasts diving at such speeds, and the poor manoeuvrability of the gargantuan creature, there had been no chance of them dodging. Charles sent his gratitude toward his Summons, then dropped the link and opened his eyes. His squat companion—Henry—had already rushed forward, using Spells to tear apart the corpses and harvest rewards before the bodies fell into the tentacles waiting far below.

His Pixie—Julian—leapt from his shoulder, a ball of searing heat, and drove through the collapsing monstrosities midriff. In moments, the Pixie burst free of the Fiend’s chest, returning swiftly with two objects in hand. Charles glanced at the glowing orb in his Summon’s hand and sighed while taking the Card held in its other.

[Name: Essence]

[Rank: 47,812,500]

[Description: The accumulated Plagued energy of a being compressed into physical form]

“You must be the only Wielder in history to be discontented with earning a Summon,” Henry growled from behind. Charles looked back to find his friend leaning from the side of his Quetzalcoatl, gazing over his shoulder at the Card he held.

“Only a Blessed,” Charles grumbled. He flung the Card toward his companion, who caught it easily and stuffed it in his pocket, then grinned. “Low though it may be, that makes ninety-eight. Just need two more.”

The man’s silver eyes turned to the sky.

“Ah! You asked how much longer. It’s been twenty years…” His smile widened further. “Jonathan opened the second chest, Henry. Even managed it before Kel left. They should be on their way…”

He turned back to Henry, who looked annoyed at having to wait, yet happy and excited just the same. “Kel… You really think he held out for all those years?”

“Not a doubt in my mind,” Charles replied. “A year after the century’s turn. They have eight months to reach us. If not… well, we’ve not seen the last of the Origin Floor, my friend. Been plenty long. The heat should be off and we’re nearing the end of our mission here. Once we ascend, we’ll turn back and have the Order bring us up to speed on the movements of the Church.”

“Aye. Get these Summons distributed so that more of us can take the next step.” Henry nodded. “And… it’ll be good to see Cecelia again.”

Charles gave his friend a sad look, then recalled his Summons as the pair flew back toward their temporary home.

…

Kasamira gently shifted the giant leaves of the tree she sheltered in. Far below, she could see the long black hair of a man she’d only briefly met yet had never forgotten. He was sitting at an extravagant patio table—why one would have such a thing in the middle of the forest, she had no clue—staring down at an old, worn-out notebook with several tabs and strings marking its pages. It was closed, and the man seemed to be contemplating… something.

Glass mugs filled with a purple liquid sat on either side of the table, one before him and the other in front of an empty seat. Normally, she’d have no trouble smelling the liquid despite the great distance, but she couldn’t make out any scent save for the strong aroma coming from the strange man. It was the same scent she’d caught on the Tower’s First Floor, down by the cave entrance… the same scent that so greatly reminded her of her home… of a place where she’d felt safe.

“Rowan…”

For the first time since she’d begun her ascension, her mind didn’t feel fuzzy. Though it wasn’t quite the same, the aroma coming from him greatly reminded her of the blood jasmines her father had planted for her mother before he was taken by the Church of Liberation. That had been nearly twenty years past, and not a day went by that she didn’t wonder if he was still alive.

Kasamira closed her eyes briefly as she considered the past few months that had led her to… this—standing atop a tree branch stalking a man who’d caught her interest like some young schoolgirl. After that incident on the Second Floor, she’d done everything she could to stay away from others. She’d gone to that out of the way town because of the low population, yet her Bloodlust still drove her to act recklessly.

Not that they didn’t have it coming. Her anger flared briefly when she recalled the condition that poor girl had been in when her Survivor’s Intuition had led her to look in the back room of that wretched tavern. I couldn’t save her in the end… and that incident brought both the Inquisition and Legion on my heels. The Legion… I still don’t understand what stake they suddenly have, but the Inquisitors have always had it out for my family. Damn them and their incessant…

She took a deep breath to calm herself before her Bloodlust could build any further. As she did, the delicious aroma of the not-so-young man below wafted up on a light breeze and instantly cooled the rising heat. Kasamira licked her lips and heaved a deep, relieved sigh.

“Distracted?” a baritone voice from behind her caused her heart to skip a beat and she whirled on the spot, her nails turning a dark purple and growing into sharp points as she swiped blindly toward the intruder. Her nails struck the sharpened blade of an unwieldy-looking glaive, and she quickly took in the figure standing behind it.

“Nathaniel Syward…? But, how…” She backed away slightly but didn’t recall her Plagued Talons nor the Exsanguinate Ability that would allow her to heal from any wounds she inflicted should he decide to advance. Had she not seen the young man with Rowan when she’d first encountered their Party just hours before, her reaction would not have been to step back.

As for the young scion, he seemed the spitting image of his family’s Elder—who she’d seen during the few Family gatherings she’d attended over the years. Like all Sywards of direct descent, he had shining silver hair, though his was cropped short instead of grown out like most of the others. Like the Elder, he was tall, had broad shoulders, and enough muscle to be seen even through the jacket of the blue suit he was wearing. Also like the Elder, his features held little emotion.

“May I ask why you’re here, Kasamira?” Nathaniel asked politely, divulging no hint of surprise or suspicion, as if he were simply asking her about the weather that evening.

Kasamira’s eyes flicked inadvertently to the man sitting far below—who was now looking up at them, smiling. He gestured to the seat across from him with the cane he toted around. She blinked in surprise, then let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. With a flourish, she recalled her readied defences and wiggled her fingers at him, a smile playing on her lips.

“It seems I’ve been found out.” She giggled and turned to Nathaniel, looking him up and down. “Your Perception must be unparalleled among the scions of your generation. How long have you known I was trailing you?”

Nathaniel raised an eye and commented, “I’m not the one who noticed you. Come with me if you wish, Rowan would like to have a word with you.”

Kasamira’s brow scrunched in confusion as the young man stepped from the branch before falling gracefully to the forest floor. He’s not the one who spotted me? It can’t have been the girl or the fool. Surely it wasn’t…

She locked her gaze once more with the silver-eyed mystery that had apparently been waiting for her… then followed behind the young Syward.

…

Jason ground his teeth in anger as he stared at the image laid out beneath him. He’d pulled many strings using his father’s connections in the Society and his own influence as a Priest to get in touch with the man before him—the Third Finger under the Hand which grasped the Familial city belonging to the O’Connels. Despite his discontent, he did his best not to let it show.

Though many who were not associated with the Society—or those in the lower dregs—believed that the Fingers were ranked by some hierarchy, that wasn’t the case. The Hand’s Fingers were of equal standing, with each having been delegated to head specific departments necessary for the Society’s day to day operations.

The position that his father was pursuing—that of the Fifth Finger, or the Little Finger, as some called it—was responsible for ensuring the Society’s operations in their specific municipality remained funded. They imposed taxes on the lower members, brokered deals both above and under the table, and ensured the loyalty of the merchants beneath them—usually by levying contracts and debts near-impossible to pay off after the Society’s taxes and protection fees.

As for the Third Finger, he was tasked with gathering information and keeping up with the whispers that floated from the lips of gossipers. He divined the truths within the rumor-mill and studied the movements of the Families and the Council. Despite the departments of the Third Fingers having the least personnel, they received the greatest amount of funding and devoted their builds to divination.

The thin, long-bearded man next to him was the leading power amongst the Society’s Third Fingers, having his Perception, Intelligence, Wisdom, and Will Foundations all at Level Eight or higher. He held a staff in one hand, a Relic that drastically reduced the amount of focus required in many of the Spells needed to take on the role of an overseer. A deep purple fog poured from a gleaming gem atop the staff before being absorbed into the oblong image on the mirrored table—a table crafted from thousands of emptied Essence shards.

A scene played out within the mirror. Jason clenched his fists when he saw the young man casually flirting with a white-haired girl across from him. He didn’t recognize the young man… but he knew the brat held the Card he’d gifted Zachary after his graduation from the Academy. Logically, he knew it unlikely that this person had anything to do with Zachary’s murder, but that didn’t matter. He would strip the Card from the boy’s Deck and force him to divulge the nature of how he’d obtained it.

What good is knowing his face if I can’t get to him? Jason’s nails dug into his palm. Without a name or—

“To think that your request would yield such fruit,” the man beside him spoke, interrupting Jason’s musings.

“Pardon, Sir Grunwald,” Jason replied, unable to tear his gaze from the table to look at the older man. “Do you know this urchin?”

“I do not speak of the young man who holds your brother’s Card.” The scene shifted slightly, angling so as to show the girl’s face. As if water had been poured over the table, the image distorted heavily before Grunwald grunted and it regained its clarity. “Your station in the Church may be too low to have heard… The Church of Liberation is after this woman. Kasamira Vladimir, daughter of the current head of the Vladimir Family.”

Jason studied the girl’s features, quickly finding that—despite her youthful appearance at first glance—he could see the telling signs of age. They were difficult to distinguish, thin wrinkles on the corners of her eyes, movements that betrayed years of practice, eyes that shone with wisdom beyond her apparent years.

“H—How is she on the Fifth Floor?” Jason snapped as the realization struck him.

“And that, young master Grey, is why the Church has issued an order for her capture.” Grunwald adjusted the image again, focusing on a blurry object between the two Wielders. A scroll, Jason realized, which the Vladimir girl read before walking around the table and leaning over the young man to scribble something down. The image dropped, and Grunwald stumbled slightly before Jason caught his arm. He grunted. “A contract of some sort. The link forming broke my Spell. Not a permanent agreement or you’d be dragging me up from the floor.”

Jason looked to the table and winced as the red kerchief in its center—a piece that he’d gifted his brother years ago—turned to ash before blowing across the room as a light breeze came through the open window. That had been the only object that he could find as a medium for the Spell’s strict requirements. He’d needed to bring an object that had spent ample time near his brother and had something in common with the object he was searching for—in this case, both the kerchief and the Card had been gifts from him.

“Can you divine anything of that man?” Jason asked.

Grunwald shook his head. “Without a name, some personal effect, or precise location, I cannot. Were it not for the method used, I have no doubt that the Vladimir girl’s presence would have prevented our scrying even had we targeted him directly. Our success was due to the strong connection of the objects used in the Spell. Their proximity to the target was… mere happenstance.”

“Hmm…” Jason sighed wearily before leaning against the wall, contemplating his next move. “They were on the Fifth Floor, correct?”

“They were,” Grunwald confirmed. “It’s likely that the contract that broke the Spell was a temporary contract. It’s not unusual for Wielders without a Party to cross that bridge together.”

“The In-between…” Jason’s eyes lit up. “Once they’ve completed the trial, they’ll be forced to return to the Origin Floor before proceeding to the Sixth!”

Grunwald rubbed his boney hands together, chuckling. “Now you’re seeing the fruits, child. You shall report your findings to your superiors, along with the fact that I was the Wielder who divined her location. You’ll surely rise in your station, the Society’s relationship with the Church of Liberation will be strengthened, and perhaps… perhaps I can hasten your father’s desires as your place within the Church will prevent the Head from rewarding you directly.”

My father, who refused to look further into the death of his own son.

“Do as you think is best, Grunwald. I’ll inform Bishop Lewis of my findings…” Jason sneered, then muttered, “…and watch that urchin’s face as we drag away a member of one of the esteemed Families before forcing him to give up my brother’s killer.”