Heart Of The Beast: Resurgence
Two weeks ago
The stale air of the catacombs hung heavy with humidity and the putrid stench of mould. The occasional lantern threw long shadows on the cobblestone walls, doing little to actually alleviate the darkness and only accentuating the atmosphere of dread ever so familiar to resting places of the dead. Silence stood hand in hand with shadows, only seldom broken by the squeak of a rat or the ringing of a water drop dripping off the ceiling. Alas something yet did live in this place. A series of shuffling steps echoed through the empty corridors as two hooded figures, covered head to toe in black robes rounded a corner and headed for the heavy oaken doors hidden in the twilight. One of the figures whispered something to the other in a hushed foreign tongue, and both placed their hands on unmarked stones either side of the doorway. A familiar mechanical click rang through the catacombs and with the squeal of rusty iron the heavy doors slid open, letting the two pass.
A pit of blue fire was the only source of light in the vast inner chamber. The two newly arrived were quickly lost amongst the dozens of identical black robes that surrounded the pit in neat lines. A low chant sung in a hundred voices filled the air, as all attendees bowed their heads towards the flame. As one’s eye got adjusted to the low lights, an altar could be seen at the centre of the pit, ornate in its design. A vast amount of metalwork weaved in intricate and ever so fine ways with a multitude of shining crystals covered it on all four sides along with a multitude of markings in unfamiliar script. It would almost be beautiful to a craftsman’s eyes, were it not for the morbid display that rested atop it. An odd several dozen long, sword like crystals protruded from the top of the altar and on them, impaled and spread out like a frog in a children’s classroom, was the wrapped body of a man. Despite the many layers of bandages that covered it – one could still see the disfigurement of the man’s head, almost as if it was not real. One could only wonder as to the true nature of the cadaver, for it was very much too fresh to be one of the original ‘residents’ of these catacombs.
The blue flames parted, allowing for a pathway to the altar to form, and a figure approached the gruesome effigy. The ornate gold filigree on the robes of pale purple separated this figure from the faceless rest. Hushing the long chat by raising her hands in the air, the figure spoke out in a decidedly feminine voice.
“Alas, my sisters, the time has come! For two long years we toiled - waiting, plotting, and planning… all for this moment. All the while the destroyer weaved his plot to end all that we hold dear. Hidden behind his curse, the branded man was beyond our reach! But no more! Tonight this child, who served us with faith and reverence, cut down in his youth for naught but the amusement of the dead, shall return to this world and fulfil our purpose!” The sea of robes exploded in a cheer as the words were spoken, their excited voices giving most if not all of them as women. “Take this power child, the one we gathered through this time. Take this deal and these souls we’ve paid in toll! Rise and seek out the one who had cheated death! Seek him out and drag him back to Hell where he belongs! Azer’nafath un cirand im kara! Tor f’al myr naturnel am Lerim in ke’storenath! RISE!”
As the words of ancient tongue were spoken, the mechanism on of the altar began to writhe as if alive. One by one each of the glowing crystals flashed in brilliant colour and then went dull, their very light siphoned out through the long crystal blades right into the body. Under the musty old bandages the long dead flesh began to slither as bones and sinews formed again. A dust filled breath escaped the cadaver’s mouth, followed by another and yet another still… before turning to screams as the vocal chords regained their form. The attendees roared their cheers in positive madness at the sight, as one by one the bandages on the man’s body began to snap under the newfound muscle. A gust of wind rushed through the chamber and doused the blue flame, letting complete darkness fall. And in that darkness a deafening crack rang out – the sound of crystals that once pinned the dead man down snapping.
Present Day
“Oi, you shitheads are gods damn late!” Arbos barked at the four men dressed in sharp silver suits who just exited the alley. “Where’s Alistair? Don’t tell me that old moron got lost again!”
The gangster foursome shared a few uncomfortable looks then shrugged apologetically. Arbos shook his head at the response and pointed at the big building behind him.
“Alright you no-name assholes, that’s where marshals keep our boy. Make sure no one gets in or out – Alistair will do the head-crackin’ when he gets here. Now scram!” The spectre waved his hand, and with nary a gust of wind, the four men were gone. For what it’s worth even flunkies took well to Nullomancy after a while, he thought to himself. Now the only question that remained was where his right hand sodded off to.
Thankfully not three minutes later the old spectre felt someone approaching, and moments later Alistair jumped off the nearby skyscraper, landing silently on one knee right before him. He was a man in his mid-forties, with short ashen hair, mostly hidden under a silver fedora. His pin-striped gunmetal grey suit was visibly more expensive that those of the other four, and remained absolutely immaculate despite the fact its wearer just jumped down from a nine hundred feet tall building to hard granite road. Arbos raised an eyebrow and humphed approvingly – looks like the man finally got a firm grasp on using centrifugal force control. Not bad at all, given he’s only had it a couple weeks.
“Apologies M’Lord!” Alistair panted. “It’s harder to find my way in the night than I thought – had to take to the rooftops.”
“Hmm… You should be getting used to the city’s curse by now kiddo.”
“Sorry, sir, it seems I still lack training.”
“Lack training my ass, little over a year and you could already give those damn apprentices of mine a run for their money, you old bastard.” Arbos thought to himself and slowly floated over to the building he pointed out earlier. It was an all too familiar manufactory, identical to dozens of others scattered around the outskirts of the city, wide and stocky with a roof lined in chimneys and old granite walls lined covered in red brick patches where the old stone was blown away by an occasional production accident.
“Alright, time to go in. Those unimaginative twits from the marshalcy are keeping our messenger from the outside in here. Save the kid, turn them to chowder. Any questions?”
“Uhm,” Alistair scratched his head, “If I may, what if they escape out the back sir? It’s not exactly an ideal situation for a single man.”
“Leave the thinking to me, I’m generally better at it.” Arbos snorted. “I’ve already got the Dwight morons covering the exits. Make it quick and quiet, don’t want to attract any attention from the outskirts!”
Alistair nodded his acknowledgement and quickly made his way towards the building, a living sheet of metal appearing over his face, seemingly devoid of any openings. Taking a deep breath he wound his arm up and took a massive swing at the hard granite wall. At the same time an ungodly amount of force amplified by the nullomancer’s power crashed into it as well, causing a massive four meter wide section to be blown out. Screams echoed from the inside of the manufactory as the sharp bits of granite shredded everything they came across. Alistrair straightened out and stepped right in, paying no attention to the dust in the air – his control zone seeing all even when his eyes couldn’t. Seems it was high security storage facility – hard reinforced walls divided the massive warehouse into smaller secure rooms on each side, and a large metal safe door could be seen at the other end of it. Guard catwalks lined the building on each side with crossings every thirty meters, all manned by soldiers. At a glance Alistair counted some forty guards and a half dozen marshals still standing as well. A crystal tipped arrow flew right at him from the back, bouncing off his suit with a metal chink and exploding somewhere outside the building. It was time to have some fun.
Alistair went to a half crouch and then dashed in – the forces under his control carrying him with enough speed to blow away the dust. The first guard hadn’t even finished lifting his crystal halberd, when the enforcer’s gloved fist connected with his face – the fragile bone and flesh giving way to his living steel and exploding in a shower of red mist. Still carried by the motion Alistair twisted around and brought his right hand to the left shoulder, as hundreds of thin metal spikes appeared in the air in front of him. Locking eyes on the six guards that were taking aim at him from the catwalk, he thrust his arm out in a sharp motion, imbuing the spikes with force and sending them flying fast enough to rip not only through the soldier but through the wall behind them. Seven down – shit ton more to go.
“All that enters a nullomancer’s zone shall be known to him” The old lesson from Arbos rang in Alistair’s mind, as he felt a presence enter his zone from behind. Thanking the gods he focused his training on expanding his control to full three meters, Alistair had just barely enough time to duck and avoid a marshal’s staff. The nullomantic weapon collided with the reinforced wall of one of the rooms, releasing the impact charge imbued in it and blowing the steel and concrete away. Getting hit by that would be bad. The marshal, finding himself wide open began pulling back – using magnetism to attract himself to an iron anchor on the other side of the room, and creating an iron wall in front to block the enforcer. But Al was faster. Propelling himself forward, he channelled pure heat into the living steel of his glove making it glow white with heat and punched out straight through the iron wall. The softer metal turned to vapour from the immense heat, letting Alistair’s hand to pass through and connect with the marshal, boiling him from inside out. Alas two more marshals were on top of him before he could recover, flying in with their staves raised – this time he didn’t have time to dodge.
“Sod off!” Alistair roared and instead clapped his hands together. The volume of a foghorn and the mind altering properties of a siren’s call, mixed into the clap made the sound of it wash over everyone in the building heavily, filling them with intense desire to back off. The marshals, overcome with the sound broke off their swings and immediately pulled themselves back… which is exactly what Alistair wanted. With their one meter zones so much smaller than his, they were entirely within his control without ever realizing it. As the two flung themselves back Alistair formed two spiked iron walls on the edges of his zone – allowing the marshal’s own magnetism to drive them right onto the spikes.
By this point dozens of explosive arrows were already being fired at him so Alistair pulled back to the entrance and released his air charges. Thinning them out and spreading them throughout the building he ‘infected’ the standing air within the building and took control of it. Clasping his fist tight he hardened all of the air for a moment – stopping the arrows mid-flight, and then with a thrust of his hand sent them all flying back towards the soldiers. Dozens of explosions thundered throughout the warehouse, engulfing everything in flames and killing most of the normal soldiers outright.
“Oi oi, don’t burn the building down. Our boy is still there.” Arbos spoke out nonchalantly, still hanging out in the air by the entrance. Alistair only grunted in response. At the same time the captain of the marshals stationed here flew out of the smoke. With all the explosions the enforcer was a bit too slow in seeing the attack coming, and couldn’t dodge in time. Seems at least the captain was worth his salt, as his sword was imbued with enough force to cut through Alistair’s suit and nearly split the man in half. Al screamed out in pain and rage as his suit enveloped the captain’s sword trapping it and a small empty crystal dropped into his hand from the sleeve. A blue light of nullomancy surrounded the crystal, anchoring to it, and then with all the force he still had stored Alistair pushed it into the captain’s chest, sending the man flying backwards into the middle of the warehouse.
“Chill out you son of a bitch.” Alistair grunted through gritted teeth and with a clicked of the fingers released the anchored charge. A massive explosion of pure frost erupted from the empty crystal, turning everything within twenty meters to ice and putting out the flames, doubly so for the marshal-captain. The wound was grievous, nearly separating his left shoulder from Alistair’s body, and he could feel his life slipping away. So with the one last deep breath he straightened out and released the charge of the only void-embedded crystal he had, making it glow visibly in his forehead even through the metal mask. Immediately the split flesh and bone writhed and began to join back together, while blood that was not yet spilled on the ground reversed its flow and returned to the body. Whatever was spilled was quickly replaced through saltwater and protein charges. Within seconds Alistair was back in top shape, as if nothing ever happened. He glanced over; counting two more marshals and a half dozen soldiers amongst the survivors and grit his teeth.
“Oh that’s it. I’ve had it with you fools!” he roared out and brought his right hand to his forehead. The ground around him started to shake as air filled with electricity. The ominous rumble resounded throughout the building and the entire city block it stood on, making the last few survivors start scampering for cover – even the stupidest of men knew that whatever was coming would be bad. And indeed it was. As the very primordial forces of nature were summoned, Alistair threw his hand out and released the full power of pure Lightning. Made twice as powerful through nullomancy, the pure force of it flooded every inch of the building, blinding, deafening, electrocuting and incinerating everyone it came in touch. The stone walls cracked and the windows shattered, as one of the deadliest avatars of nature’s wrath ran wild in the confined space. And when the light and dust settled, none were left alive between Alistair and the safe door at the other end.
“So… which part of the Quick and Quiet was left ambiguous exactly?” Arbos floated in with a dry smirk on his face.
“Sorry sir, I got careless.” Alistair rubbed his shoulder.
“Damn straight you did, having to use a void shard against these flunkies! We’ll need to work on your zone control more. Now, open up that door.”
“Yes’sir!”
Alistair half bowed to the spectre and moved to the safe door, placing one hand on it. Next moment the sleeve of his suit writhed and separated into a million tiny pieces, each with a shining edge of pure diamond. The blades began to circle Alistair’s arm and like a twister of pure death ripped into the steel in a shower of sparks. Within seconds the meter thick steel door was reduced to a pile of smoking red hot shavings on the floor, as Alistair’s ‘swarm’ consumed it. As the remains of the door fell away they revealed two visibly terrified guards, holding halberds to the throat of a young man no more than seventeen years of age, who was tied to a chair in the middle of the room.
“N-Not one s-s-step closer!” One of the guards shouted out in a shaking voice. “Or w-we will kill t-t-this kid!”
Alistair immediately stepped back, prompting Arbos to roll his eyes. “Oh for the love of… SIT DOWN.” The spectre’s voice boomed throughout the building with incomparable power, and before anyone realized what had happened both the guards and Alistair found themselves on the ground, sitting obediently. “You two, useless shits! Unless you want to know what it feels like to have two million diamond tipped tungsten bits eating into your body, I suggest you get. The. Fuck. Out. NOW.” He turned to the guards. Somewhere between hearing the commotion outside, realizing their allies were ashes and being confronted by a motherfucking ghost, the guards must have decided they really were not paid enough for this shit, as they immediately dropped their weapons and ran away, leaving Alistair and Arbos alone with the young man.
“Alright, kid, tell us what message you brought” Alistair spoke firmly as he cut the kid’s restraints.
“A-Ah, of cou’se m’lord! T’seems tha the apprenmices o’ our lord be sendin’ theirs own in soon.” The kid spoke quickly, mumbling and slurring his words thanks in no small part to his swollen lips. “They’s garedd up on se inn outta town righ’s no’. S’me girl from Lord Ashur ha’ arred first s’me three days ba’. The las one avved this morn’ m’lord. Five in all. They’d be en’ing Sayrn tomo’s non, m’lord, meeting you at the central plaza.”
Arbos blinked a few times then turned to Alistair. “Did you get a single word of what this moron just said?”
Alistair coughed. “Ahem, yes. Seems the lieutenants found more nullomancers and sent them here to train under you, sir. They’ve gathered at the rebel controlled inn right beyond the blockade, earliest arrival being the apprentice of Master Ashur, three days ago. The last of them arrived this morning, and they will be snuck into town tomorrow at noon, set to meet us in the central plaza.”
Arbos turned to the kid. “Now was THAT so hard to say? Fucking gods son you’re bloody useless as a messenger you moron! Now scram, the four stooges outside will get you to the bar where Maggie will patch your inbred ass up. Go!” With the bark from the spectre the kid jumped up and wobbled out of the ruined building.
“M’Lord, this new batch of trainees… won’t this ruin our plan?” Alistair asked cautiously.
“Hmm? Ah, no. In fact this might be for the best. Listen up, diamond-boy, I’ve got a new mission for you.” Arbos stroked his chin thoughtfully and then turned to Al, speaking in a hushed tone. “I’m gonna meet these newbies and see what they’re good for, and in three days we’re going to bust out of the City of Dust. I’ll be taking all our enforcers with me to do so. Now, while we’re causing a ruckus at the blockade, I want You and Naya to get yourselves to the House of Venoire estate, you dig?”
Alistair’s face grew visibly pale. “The Kings of Zengar… But what of our agreement with th-“
“I give no fucks about the agreement anymore.” Arbos spat. “Between the goings on in the Imperial City, and that idiot upstart causing ruckus in Alros, I’ve had just about enough of the fat pigs of Venoire. Two years I’ve danced around them… no more. Time for them to learn what it’s like to mess with the King of Thieves. While the newbies and I are causing a ruckus breaking out – you and the thunderpussy will infiltrate the Venoire Estate, get me the location of Mak’Tu, and leave no traces that anyone was EVER alive in that place, you understand? Between the selkie’s shamanisms and your swarm’s utility for torture I have faith you’ll get me the information I need. The two of you are plenty strong enough to break out by yourself and catch up with us later on. Do you understand your Mission, my right hand?”
Alistair opened his mouth for a moment then closed it and got down on one knee, bowing his head deeply. “It honours me to no end to have a role this vital, My Lord. By all the gods of the Forbidden Isles – it shall be done!”
At noon of the next day Arbos, possessing the body of an old man as he usually did during daytime, was standing beside the statue of the Emperor, in the very middle of the Central Square of Sayrn. Two men in silver suits stood silently at either side of him scanning the crowd with their eyes, waiting patiently for the arrival of the new nullomancers.
