RE: Monarch

“What kind of edgy adolescent crap is this? It’s a recipe for disaster, it is.” The red infernal named Garth was bulky and large, wearing a simple black apron that reflected my face. I’d opted for the establishment that Persephone had pointed me to in the past life.

“It’s what I want.”

I had done a good deal of research on this before bringing it to the inscriber. My biggest danger was no longer death. Rather, it was psychological damage. I hadn’t truly understood the gravity of that until now. But survival instinct wasn’t something I could just shake off. Even as desperate and horrid as my previous circumstances were, it was untenably difficult to cut my own throat. My mind fought me until the last moment.

Had Jorra’s life not also been on the line, I doubted I could have gone through with it, and could have easily lost track of time and missed the chance to restart the scenario. So, I needed to make it effortless to carrying it out once the decision had been made.

I needed a way to take pain out of the equation.

“You’ve got no other inscriptions, and you want to start with that?”

“It’s important. And I’m paying.” I shook the bag.

“If death is what you seek, boy, there are easier ways to find it.” He said. He was sketching something on a paper pad, clearly having already dismissed me in his mind.

“It’s not about that. It’s about being able to live fearlessly, knowing the consequences of my actions cannot reach beyond a certain point.”

The inscriber gave me a weary glance, then looked over the design again. “I’ve done this sort of thing before. Usually for mercenaries who work in the vast reaches of Uskar, and the occasional demonologist. There’s a problem with your design.”

I looked down at the sketch. It was a simple inscription for a displacement lance, the sort of advanced air magic I couldn’t hope to form at my current stage. It was a form of hyper pressurized air-cannon that could force air through matter, much a much tinier version of the wind-scythes I had been practicing just hours ago. Due to their size and minimal mana bonding them together, they dissipated much more quickly and were really more of a short range tool. From what I read, these narrow focus short-ranged spells were often used for assassination when a dagger wouldn’t get the job done.

“What’s wrong with it?” I asked, turning the design from side to side.

“It's too large.” The man groused, fingers toying with his narrow mustache.

I was mildly offended. “The mana requirement is practically nothing.”

“Aye. But not small enough.” He eyed me knowingly. “Look here. If you’re serious, and this isn’t some strange-teenage-fascination-with-death thing, what you want is something brutally efficient. Something that will go off immediately, and take as little mana as possible to do so. This design.” He tapped the page. “Will take several seconds to charge, and it’s also not guaranteed to kill immediately.”

“Really? The heart won’t do the job fast enough?”

From prior experience, I found that difficult to believe. The second Barion’s sword had run me through in his basement my entire body started to shut down almost instantly.

“No.” Garth confirmed, his face grim. “Especially if you run afoul of a dark elemental who decides he wants to keep you alive with the power of your own blood.”

I watched, morbidly fascinated as he reworked the design, redrawing the lines until it was strangely symmetrical, like a monochrome rendition of a landscape reflected in a lake.

“This will go on your chest,” he poked me in the sternum, considering the placement. “We’ll wire a mana shunt through here.” He drew a line up past my neck to the back of my head. “You’d be surprised the amount of damage the body can sustain—“

I very much doubted that.

“—So we want to be particular in our target. There’s a part of the brain that no healer can touch, the base which connects it to the nervous system. A quick stab there, and it's all over. Lights out. No coming back, no matter how skilled the life or death magician involved.”

The man seemed to be waiting for a reaction, for me to pull back due to the detailed description, and seemed perturbed when I didn’t blink.

Why would I? It sounded like exactly what I was looking for.

My confidence evaporated once I was in the chair. I had to remind myself over and over that I was not constrained or strapped to it. I could leave any time I wanted.

Then he began to place the needles. The effect was instantaneous. My mind peeled back from my body and I found myself watching from the outside, unable to move.

----

The arch-fiend lurked over me again, immobile and silent. Ozra waved his hand and the demon that had been dismantling my nails excused herself, placing the tool on the tray and rising to her feet. His face was vaguely foreign, human enough that I wondered if he’d once been human, before whatever happened that made him into this.

“We were not told of your bloodline, before the promises were made. It is unfortunate and not in the spirit of our agreement. Our benefactor will pay for their deceit before the week is out.”

He undid the bandage on my face covering my ruined nose, observed the damage impassively, then replaced it.

“Look at you. Terrified. Broken. It makes me wonder why they fear you so.”

I groaned, a wave of pain hitting me all at once. What did he mean, they feared me? Who feared me?

Ozra bent down to study me. “And I do wonder. They insisted. We were never to mention them by name. Despite knowing we would have you well in hand, despite knowing that there is no chance of your escape. Still, they insisted. Never mention their name. Why is that? I don’t suppose you’ll cut to the chase and just tell me?” He waited idly for my response, then clapped his hands.

“Fair enough. I have an attack to organize. Ebi will get it out of you, one way or another. It’ll be better for you if you just tell us what you know. But I’m happy to wait, if that’s what you want.”

He left.

Of all the evil I’d encountered, Ozra was different. He had no patience for games or chewing the scenery. He simply existed and expected the world to bend to him accordingly, and had the power to back it up.

The demon called Ebi returned, and replaced my hand in the vice.

----

I sat forward in an explosion of movement, gasping for air. I was back in my body and the pain was a vivid throb. The inscriber cursed and pulled his pen away.

“The hells?” He sputtered.

“Can… can we take a break?” I panted.

The infernal stepped aside wordlessly and I rose, staggering to the sink. At first, I thought I might vomit, but the nausea subsided. I washed my face, gasping for air.

“First one’s the hardest.” the infernal said, “though not usually as painful as it seems to be in your case.”

I looked at it in the mirror. The jagged demonic text was nearly completed on one side of the vertical line that bisected my chest, meaning the inscription process was less than halfway done.

“It’s not uncommon for folk to do this over a matter of days,” Garth said, picking up on my disquiet, “We could pick it up tomorrow, or the day after.”

“No.” I ran a dampened and across my face. It was difficult enough to get up the nerve to do this the first time. I didn’t want to give myself the chance to back out. “Lets finish it now.”

I sat back down in the chair and Garth began to work on me again. My mind did not flee as it had the first time. Instead, I found myself pondering Ozra’s words.

“They insisted. Never mention their name.”

That was critical. I knew it. There was another layer to this. I ran it all back in my mind over the course of hours. There were certain things that put me off about Ralakos and prevented me from disqualifying him directly. The way he had acted at the trial. His arcane savvy, his inscrutable nature, his family history. If it wasn’t Guemon—and I didn’t see how it was, given that Ralakos had men watching him for the majority of the previous reset—it was almost natural that it’d be Ralakos, controlling things from behind the scenes. It was a subtle, layered sort of manipulation, the kind I’d expect from someone of Thaddeus’s ilk, the kind that followed a natural narrative.

The more I thought about it, the more Ralakos seemed to be the person I was led to suspect. Led being the key word.

Never mention their name.

Ralakos had been captured, while every other attendant at the mine had been killed.

Never mention their name.

It hit me all at once. The person behind it all was smarter than I’d given them credit for, and knew far more than I’d expected.

They knew. The person pulling the strings knew about my resets.

Or more specifically, they knew about my visions. That was the only reason for them to emphasize so strongly to the demons that they remain hidden behind the scenes. They knew there was a chance that any particular moment that I experienced could be gleaned and observed in the past.

I listed them out on one hand. Kilvius, Nethtari, Maya. All of them knew. As paranoid as I was, I was not willing to entertain the idea that any of them had betrayed me, at least not intentionally. It was entirely possible, however, that one of them had let the information slip. Likely early on, before I’d fully formed relationships with them and my presence was still novel and new.

Or, when my life was in danger, and Maya was bartering for my continued survival.

The possibility seemed disturbingly likely. They’d wanted to send me away, making sure that if I died, I died outside the enclave. Had Maya told someone? Had word carried from that person to the one who now held our lives in their hands.

My mind clouded, memories of pain and agony chasing away all rational thought. But even as the darkness descended upon me, I was certain I was right. Someone had been playing this game from the very beginning.

And I was done being toyed with.

Garth finished my inscription, handing me a small bottle of ointment to be applied in the mornings and evenings. It wasn’t as intensive as other inscriptions and would take a shorter time to heal, but he still advised me to take it easy on expending too much mana lest I risk an infection.

I thanked him for his time and left. He’d charged me much less than expected. I considered returning to the house, but the idea of facing Nethtari and Kilvius turned my stomach. Instead, I headed to Casikas’s apothecary. The time for subtlety and subterfuge were over. There were a few things I would need.

I didn’t care if he was sick.

It was time to visit Guemon and have a conversation that was long overdue.

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