12 Miles Below

The boy’s gauntlet snapped onto sights, and then opened fire. All barrels in sequence. There was no escape.

He’d been outplayed.

Tenisent watched the damage pile up. Mechanical systems failed first.

Movement to the arms, legs, chest. Joints sized up as pressurized artificial muscles lost integrity in keypoints. Redundant systems took over, held for a moment, then snapped away as more damage accumulated.

That was only after the first shotgun shell breached his armor. The second one took away even more.

Connections to the stolen shell closed off, one after another. Power subroutines redirected flow as a few of the smaller power cells were punched through. Circuits also faded from his command, breaking apart and being replaced by their auxiliary systems located elsewhere. A wide swath of his soul fractals flickered out, punched through by some wayward pellet, or had their power source decoupled.

The cold wind of reality and the void between fractals loomed against his soul as each spare fractal broke away. Tenisent merely shifted around, finding new fractals to inhabit.

The shell did exactly as it was designed to do, adapting to the damage, attempting to remain at maximum possible combat efficiency. That hit lowered him down to eighty three percent.

More shotgun shells slammed into his body, putting a stop to that, each shell knocking larger and larger numbers off his total combat efficiency. He staggered backwards with each hit, as the boy advanced with a steady walk, arm pointed right at his chest.

Systems ran out of backup channels. Other parts needed to be shut down, no longer having enough to support their main functions. More were judged for elimination, the cost-benefit ratio skewed too far in one direction to keep around in semi-functioning states. Nanoswarms already ordered to dismantle as soon as possible.

His overclocking lasted up until the occult pellets his son had forged punctured straight into his face. One through the left side of his forehead, another just above the right eye, and the last through the side of his cheek.

Those had no replacement. A Feather’s only means to defend the fragile circuits had been purely physical - The most dense and resilient metal forgeable under the thin artificial skin. A skull that could not be cracked open even with an industrial hydraulic press.

It did nothing against the occult.

He stumbled on his knee, as Keith’s barrage of shots came to an end. The boy didn’t take a moment to reload, instead his hand yanked out his sidearms and pointed it downsights.

“I almost think that was too much.” The boy said, holding the weapon leveled at his forehead. “Almost.”

A few fingers worked, neck could be moved slightly forward and back, his right arm’s elbows could still move without damage, and the left shoulder could rise and drop. Horizontal movement was non-existent, the artificial musculature too damaged for such movement. Leg muscles were too riddled with damage, though the ankles and feet remained clean. A few pellets had landed wrong, directly on the non-occult surface, and bounced around within his chassis. Those continued to wreak chaos until the fractals within bent out of shape, or the pellet cut its way out.

The future sight fractal remained active, he had four copies of them. Only two had been breached. Without his shell’s processing power, he gripped the fractal with a pulse of willpower, imposing his new demands. Restricting the amount of possible futures down to only three, something he could manage without his stolen body’s true capabilities.

In all three future realities, without hesitation, he was shot in the head. Executed.

“This isn’t the end, is it?” Keith asked, gun level.

Tenisent forced the shell to look up in into the gun barrel.

Then, he grinned. “You’ve grown.”

Occult pulsed around Tenisent. Keith pressed the trigger at the same moment.

All system reports instantly shut off, along with his shell’s true abilities. Command and control faded away. The world returned back to regular speed. Nanoswarms returned to idle. The shell shut down.

Final combat efficiency had read nine percent.

His body fell backwards onto the frozen wasteland, and lay still.

Seems he beat you. One of the captured clan knights within spoke with a chuckle. That’s our Winterscar.

Kid actually did it. Tenisent Winterscar, defeated. They cheered among each other, rallying together. Reveling in their part in all this.

In the soul sight, he saw his son slowly step forward, gun drawn out, looming over the destroyed shell. Then, he aimed straight down at his central fractal. The concept of Death appeared in his view. A dust like cloud, drawing together into a single line between the barrel and his neck.

He shifted his soul out of the way into another copy of the soul fractal nearby. Keith pressed the trigger one more time. The bullet sank right through the central fractal.

It was over then. A true Feather would have retreated away at this point.

He has. Tenisent acknowledged to the knights within. I am defeated.

The boy already had proven himself when the viral attack brought Tenisent down to his knees earlier. Tenisent had trained himself to move the stolen shell with all its main systems turned off, in case an attempted hack happened. Regular Feathers would not have trained to do this.

He continued the duel because he needed to see what his son could achieve. Needed to push the boy to reach his true potential.

Now… he had his answer.

Keith would never be the swordmaster his sister was. He’d never be the warrior Tenisent had hoped for. What he was instead, was something different.

His son had found his own way in the world, and it was just as dangerous as Tenisent had hoped it could be.

For the first time in months, Tenisent felt at peace.

It took half an hour for his automated repair nodes to complete repairs to his neocortex. Once the basics were complete, Tenisent reactivated the full system and swarmed in, taking command before the stolen Feather could fully reboot.

From there, he took more direct control of the repair nodes, showing his modified template to follow. All the small chances he’d made to add the occult powers within.

The system accepted his blueprints and followed dutifully behind. From there, it would take another two hours before everything was back to working condition.

His daughter walked into his room, coming to a stop before his seat. “Father. I heard my brother has officially beaten your gauntlet.” She said, taking a seat on the floor cushion.

Vocal systems hadn’t been restored yet, so he spoke through the comms channels instead. “He has.”

“Was it luck that he beat you with?”

“No.” He said. The methods Keith had used could be re-used endlessly against Feathers. Against any machine. Even on the surface, where heat meant nothing and he had full access to any of the shell’s full power, Keith had still beaten him. The underground was dangerous, but it would be overcome.

“I’ve considered what you told me.” Kidra said. “Given that Keith has passed your test, I will focus my efforts on rebuilding House Winterscar. The clan needs me.”

The clan he could understand. The banner of House Winterscar however? The rotten House should have died with Lyn. But those thoughts he kept to himself.

“House Winterscar is not worth any of your efforts.” He said instead. “You could do better for the clan than to drag this House on your shoulders.”

“The past house, I agree.” Kidra nodded. “They are all gone now, Father. They died with more honor and dignity than they ever lived with, and that’s how they’ll be remembered. We must move on. House Winterscar, my house, is worth the effort.”

He knew what his daughter meant. The only true Winterscars left from the old legacy in any sense, were himself, Keith, and her. Even the servants had been hired by her hand after they’d arrived here.

The only one who’d been brought in outside of Kidra’s influence had been To’Wrathh. The machine had chosen for herself a new place to belong, and Tenisent didn’t have the heart to turn her away for his own petty hatreds.

“You are correct. The old house is dead. And this new house deserve a leader.”

She nodded.

“It cannot be me.” Tenisent said. “Not anymore. I am honor bound to To’Wrathh. The girl made a deal with me, in exchange for saving Keith’s life from To’Aacar, I would travel and guide her. She’s done so, multiple times now.”

Kidra went through a complicated set of emotions. Turmoil, distraught, understanding. She finally sighed, “I know. Even at the height of my war with that Feather, there was still a sense of respect between us as foes. Of all people who deserve to have their promises kept, it’s her.”

“You still don’t like it.”

Kidra shook her head. “We must do what is right.”

“Spoken like the Deathless you’d have become.”

Kidra’s eyes flashed, and she looked up. “You knew? Lord Atius told you?”

“No.” Tenisent admitted. Lord Atius respected people’s secrets far too much. This one was between Kidra and him. “The orb you recovered at the bunker, I saw what it was in To’Avalis’s memory banks. It’s known to machines. The origin point of Deathless, from the past generation. And it’s picked you as a candidate. From the moment you touched it on those steps. Of course it would have picked you. There is no finer candidate.”

It felt like a lifetime ago.

She didn’t answer, looking down into the ground instead. “I almost used it, when the slavers came. Lord Atius told me it was my own choice to do so. We didn’t know if my memories would be wiped like his generation, or if I would hold onto them like the new generation. But if I were a Deathless, I could follow underground with you and To’Wrathh. Keith could stay here and be safe.”

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Tenisent shook his head. “I wouldn’t have let you. I know where Atius hides the orb. I found it months ago. If it were ever moved, or if I detected you anywhere near it, I would have been there.” He forced the ruined shell to lean forward in the chair, gaze looking up. “It is not your destiny to go underground.”

Bewilderment flooded through her eyes for only a moment. Then her eyes narrowed down. His daughter was clever.

“…You never intended to leave Keith above, regardless of if he defeated you or not.”

Tenisent leaned back in his chair, smiling.

“Feathers are prideful creatures.” He said, and brought to mind all the evidence he’d seen through the memories of his captured shell. “They will never stop hunting down Keith. There is no fortress anywhere in this world strong enough to be safe.”

“So he had to learn to become that fortress himself. And he doesn’t grow unless pushed up against a wall. This was all a bluff.”

“I learned too, girl. I’ve trained that boy since the day I became first blade once more, and I’ve failed that task miserably. This time, I had to succeed. I couldn’t afford to make mistakes anymore.”

“And this was the only way you knew how to do it. Father, you could have asked for help, or myself to assist.”

Tenisent shook his head. “He needed to learn how to fight a Feather and win. But not as a swordsmaster. Nor as a soldier.”

There was a set of tension on his daughter’s shoulders that seemed to relax. “If Keith, you and To’Wrathh are all traveling underground, should I come with you? Should I elect another Winterscar as the prime?”

“Another sword wouldn’t make a great difference. But an occult master would.” Tenisent said. “I believe you already know in your heart where you belong. The choice then, falls to you.”

“I see. I… agree.” Kidra said.

"Are you certain?" He asked, more to confirm.

“I built and brought the House together.” Kidra said. “I want to see it to the end.”

He nodded. “Then, with the three gods above as my witness, I hereby abdicate my position as house prime. From now on, you are the sole leader of House Winterscar.”

It was far more of a formality than anything, simple ceremony. House Winterscar always belonged to her.

“When you return, Father, I’ll show you how great this House could be.”

He didn’t doubt that.

His daughter left, standing up with a regal bow before turning and walking away, the lights turning off shortly after.

Kidra would not need to consume that orb. It would fall to someone else. Perhaps decades down the line. Or perhaps never, if To’Wrathh lived up to the destiny the mites had foreseen with her. Maybe the world will not need Deathless anymore.

She would live.

Up here on the surface, she was unmatched by any slaver or raider. And in the depths of the underground, Keith would be unmatched by any undersider knight or machine.

Even a Feather.

I’ve done what I can for our children, Lyn. He thought, leaning back on the chair, feeling relief flow through him. They’re both more ready than I could have ever hoped for.

You would be proud of them, Lyn.You would have been proud.

In the dim darkness, slowly repairing his body, Tenisent closed his eyes and waited for destiny to call on him once again.

Three days later -

Hexis watched as the assembled group were saying their goodbyes. It had all felt abrupt to him.

One moment, he was slowly feeding his apprentice further knowledge of the occult and helping him with new tactics to overcome the stolen Feather shell. It had been… even fun. At times. Debating possible directions to dealing with different problems on the field.

Reminded him of his time among the occult weaponsmiths and Deathless. When he worked more directly with such a rank and file. He’d almost forgotten how it felt. The feeling of excitement and even pride when a Deathless team returned, carrying stories of the new gear’s effect and new requests for improvement. And the wealth that came with payment.

Time seemed to fly by even. Lesson after lesson, steady progress, insect dishes passed on. The clan life was quaint, remoted, but fairly relaxing at times.

The next moment, all he could hear from the surface dwellers were tales of the young master from House Winterscar walking across the frozen wasteland. Back to the hangar bay doors with a defeated Deathless carried in his arms. The very same aloof Deathless rumored to be unkillable and unbeatable in combat.

Already some songs had sprouted. Of course they would get chanties and songs, the musically obsessed people that this forgotten miserable land called home. A few of the blasted tunes were even catchy.

It had been child’s play to put together how Keith had managed to overcome a Feather. After all, his apprentice hadn’t come up with all of these in one day. A slow gradual process of trial and error, and discussion.

Keith had held his end of the bargain, though there was little Hexis could truly bring back. The shape charges the boy had designs required a Feather’s manufacturing abilities. With both of those ‘deathless’ gone, the clan couldn’t build any of these occult bullets or gravity charges. The rounds that were left were sacred now, to be used only when absolutely needed. The clan would hoard and guard them, likely to see use underground against machines.

The tomb-bound souls were more interesting to study. It was a novel application that seemed outright isolated to surface culture. Warlocks would never willingly agree to serve someone else in such a miserable state of being, and yet the knights here all seemed utterly determined to follow through with their oaths.

Fools, the lot of them. If they wished to make their personal life a rusting hell, trapped within another’s relic armor, that was their prerogative. At least it would help his apprentice possibly survive a few encounters.

And the viral attack was something held only by that other Feather. Hexis would never get his hands on it, and good riddance to that. Just finding out about it had nearly stretched his limited resources and he wasn’t completely certain about his conclusion.

She’d tried to meet him, once. He’d refused it, given how complicated it already was to be around those two walking death threats. They could sniff out lies just from him breathing, the less contact he had with them, the better. He knew where the limits of their detection reached, and it was exhausting to constantly keep check over what he said and to say it with the right mindset. Difficult enough with To'Avalis, he didn't need to stretch his sanity with the other two.

Attempts to sniff further information out would only result in his execution. That metal mongrel will have to be satisfied with his current progress. Something was better than nothing.

The true pain of all this wasn’t any fear of failure, nor the two death threats that lurked inside this very hangar. He found it in watching his apprentice prepare for a long journey. One that would see him die off in some distant corner of the world.

What a stupid waste of talent.

Ten of the boy’s House Knights stood in formation around him, apparently zealots who chose to follow him to the death. Nearly all of the Winterscar knights, with the others forced to remain behind to keep some measure of force back home.

The sister would find more knights surely, she was the fabled sword saint. Finding disciples who wished to learn from her would be trivial.

Shadowsong stood besides Hexis, ever the escort. He gave a single nod to the boy when he walked over, and remained silent otherwise.

Keith shook his head, likely bemused, before he extended a hand out to Hexis. “Well, master. It was short, but I can't say it hadn’t been fun.”

“Droll.” Hexis scoffed. “You had better not get yourself killed, apprentice. I would hate to see my efforts wasted away by some soulless husk of a machine stabbing you through your neck.”

Though they both knew that was highly likely to be the case.

“You know, it happens more than you think.” Keith said, sounding both serious with his ludicrous statement and equally pulling his string.

Although… that other ‘Deathless’ girl he traveled with was capable of healing, all of the clan couldn’t shut up about it. Perhaps this wasn’t as much a joke as Hexis thought it might be.

“I think I deserve not getting killed by now,” Keith said, “You know, change it up a bit. Maybe this time I can do the killing and monologuing instead.”

A warning bell chimed inside the hanger. Knights within all drew out their helmets. Other surface dwellers began to fiddle with their hoods and masks, making sure there weren’t any openings for heat to leak out.

The boy took out his own helmet, as did Hexis. He sighed once the stuffy armor was in place, then stood a little straighter. He had a job to do, and he would do it to the very end. “I’ve compiled a small list of the more intricate knowledge warlocks have. Study this when you have spare time. Simply going off on some uncharted adventure is no excuse to slack off in your studies. Of course, should you meet others of your new rank - you obtained all of this information taught orally, as warlock tradition demands. Are we clear? You are to explain to no one that I have given you anything written down.”

His apprentice gave a nod. No doubt behind that helmet was that smile filled with mischief and petty crime. A shame talent had to exist side by side with the eccentric.

“Aww, you do care.” He said, taking the offered flash drive. “How long did it take you to write all of this down?”

Hours. Entire afternoons. Philosophy was included, along with possible theories and such. In case Keith ever ran into civilized conversation and had to represent Hexis as his apprentice.

“I wrote it in my spare time.” He said. “A good distraction from boredom. Besides, it would be mortifying if my apprentice didn’t know the difference between the unified theory and the disrupted network theory of the occult, or what the three main political entities governing the guilds are. I won’t be known as having a savage as an apprentice.”

“I’ll make sure not to stab anyone at dinner parties.” Keith promised.

“I suppose that is as good as I will get from you.” Hexis said, then raised a hand. “One more item of note before you depart.”

Hexis paused for only a moment, then shook his head, decision set. He had a job he undertook, and he would see it to the end. Rust take his soul.

He took out a small rectangular golden plate, with intricate designs on the front and his sigil directly at the center. There wasn’t any one standard in these calling cards, each grand warlock made their own. What mattered was the lettering stamped on the side. “In case you end up in an Undersider city state that is home to a warlock’s guild. This token denotes you as an apprentice under my name. Do not make a fool of yourself, it would displease me greatly if on my return I find myself a laughing stock for teaching an oaf.”

In truth, the mark would denote Keith as a nearly full warlock in his own right, approaching the end of his apprenticeship.

It didn’t matter that Keith only had a few months of training. He already surpassed most standard warlocks as is. Marking him as an elder apprentice was of little consequence to Hexis.

The boy took on the plate and watched it closely. “Thank you master,” He said, a little more solemnly, likely realizing how valuable the trinket was. Hexis had to re-forge it a few times, as the metal printers and machines of the clan here were almost not detailed enough for the task. And he certainly didn’t want to turn to the stolen Feathers for help.

The two spoke a few more pleasantries together, discussing the future of the clan. Things that were far less dangerous to speak about in the presence of those two.

Combat taught many lessons, but the path of a true warlock was one of a scholar, not one of a pseudo-Deathless. Keith’s education would never be complete without his full tutelage. It would have been nice to conclude that job with finality. It was unfortunate life rarely gave anyone what they wanted.

He didn’t stay to see the full farewell in the end. Neither had he pushed to join the crew leaving, his exile here was still under watch by the guild, going anywhere else besides straight home or staying within the clan meant he’d need to have a contingency to deal with all the Undersider mercenaries hired to make sure he didn’t scamper off somewhere.

To’Avalis had ordered for a tracking device to be secreted away onto any of the expedition team leaving with the machine girl. A clever little mechanism that Hexis had no doubt would be foolproof and sneak by her senses. Small enough to fit into anything.

As he walked, he took out another golden plate, watching it closely, thinking over that decision.

He had made a few extras during the process. Of course, he’d been careful about keeping the final version with the tracking device inside well accounted for, an outright extra superfluous glyph on it with his sigil directly on the bottom, while the spares and test variations all lacked those final ornate details.

With a sigh, he pocketed the plate. He’d need to get all the spares melted down now and then deal with this one.

Regrets piled into his mind, as he knew they would on the somber thoughts. He pushed it aside. The decision had been made.

He would adjust the plan as needed. He would speak with that Feather, make his reports, and then he would prepare his extrication. To’Avalis would certainly see this of no issue and still pay his end of the bargain, so long as he said exactly the right words in the right order. Should the boy ever return to the clan, that scheming Feather would need an insider again. Hexis would remain a valuable asset.

The guild was due to check in on him soon. A perfect means to wrap everything up, he could return with them back underside with To’Avalis’s payment in hand. Lie to the clan lord that he’d return with a few allies to set up a new warlock branch within the clan, in preparation for their migration down. Even if the clan lord didn’t believe he’d return, they already had all his lectures recorded surely.

Hexis could go back to what he came here for - power.

He barged through into his guesthouse and went straight for his desk.

The room was quiet and empty, filled with his prized collections across the walls and on the furnishings. Useless trinkets found in the marketplace here, either bought on a whim or brought back by Sebastis. His newly acquired collector’s pistol, the one forged with occult bullets. And the staff behind, delicately placed, reminding him of the work that was to come.

He walked over to the chair, taking off parts of the heavy armor, then sat down with a sigh.

Hexis looked down at the collected paperwork. The first time the boy beat him at his own game. An equation they’d both had to solve together. A heated discussion on chaos theory that saw them annoyed with no clear answer. A tapestry of memories he was supposed to have burned ages ago.

In the small room, sitting alone before his prized teas, cups, and wealth - all he tasted in his mouth was ash.

There was always a chance Keith could defeat To’Avalis at his own game. Perhaps he would see Keith alive again someday to complete his instruction.

Though, in the end, his apprentice’s actual chances of returning to this clan didn't matter to that outcome.

It was far more probable he’d be killed before any reunion.

Next chapter - Epilogue

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