The Zombie Knight

Chapter One Hundred Eighty-Five: ‘O, quondam desire...’

...167 years ago...

Parson’s heel tapped rapidly against the floor of the wagon as it clattered over the dirt road. He wanted to meditate, but his mind was racing as he thought about their destination. It was somehow even more nerve-wracking than heading into battle. He tried to focus on his breathing and calm down a little.

“Nervous?” said the man sitting across from him. His icy blue eyes had a piercing quality to them, and the sharp features of his deceptively young face only added to the effect.

Parson managed a nod.

‘There’s no need to be,’ said Overra, who was attached to the boy’s shoulder. ‘I assure you, he’s quite nice. I’m sure you’ll like him.’

“That’s not it,” said Parson. “I’m just... I’m not sure I deserve to be here with you...”

“Nonsense,” said the man. “You were instrumental.”

Parson gave him a dubious look. “You killed all of them.”

“...I also hid for most of the fight.”

That made the man snicker. “Sometimes, focusing on your own survival is the best strategy.”

‘Don’t be so quick to compare yourself to us,’ said the man’s reaper, who was similarly attached to the man’s shoulder. ‘Down that road, lies only jealousy and a profound inadequacy.’

‘It’s your humility that we really admire,’ said Overra dryly.

‘Humility isn’t what creates men of action,’ said the other reaper. ‘If you ask me, this world could use more bold and brazen men like Monty here.’

‘Bold, maybe,’ said Overra. ‘Brazen? I think that’s just you, Hovess.’

‘Psh. C’mon, Monty. Tell her how wrong she is.’

“I would. If she was.”

‘How dare you.’

The journey lasted quite a while longer and was so bumpy that Parson almost would’ve preferred to walk. When they finally arrived, he was quick to leap out the back and stretch his legs.

Monty tipped the wagoner with a golden tremol, at which the wagoner’s eyes bulged before the man began spouting gratitude. Monty handled it with his typical grace, then he and Parson bid the man farewell and began the last leg of their trek up a steep and winding path of stone steps. Rocks and verdant grass flanked the staircase on both sides, and the early afternoon air held the scent of recent rain.

When they reached the top, Parson’s nervousness and excitement died a little. The cobblestone watchtower standing before him was not at all what he had been expecting. Humble was one word to describe it. Small and ruined were two others.

There were, however, many more Vanguardians patrolling the premises. Too many, Parson thought, which suggested to him that this was not their usual or permanent residence. Several unfamiliar people greeted Monty or Overra as they made their way around to the far side of the building.

Parson could certainly feel the immense presence of the person they were looking for. He’d been feeling it for a while, actually, and it hadn’t been doing much to help calm his nerves.

Monty stopped in front of a tall wooden door and knocked.

“Enter,” came a heavy voice from the other side.

They did so.

The man therein was seated at a desk that was probably too large for the chamber. It wasn’t lacking for paperwork, however. Stacks upon stacks littered the desk, as well the floor and chairs by the tall window. “Ah, there you are. I’ve been expecting you.”

Parson was at once confused and starstruck. This was him? He looked like a regular guy. Brown eyes, brown hair, average height, plain face. Parson didn’t think he could imagine a more ordinary looking man if he tried. The only distinguishing thing about him might’ve been that famed overcoat of white, gold, and black--but the man wasn’t even wearing it. Instead, it was simply draped over the chair behind his desk.

Monty gave a salute. “You honor us, High Commander.”

Parson followed suit but kept his mouth shut.

The man tried to go around his desk but found that there wasn’t enough space between it and either wall to squeeze through. After a chin-scratching moment, he decided to simply leap over the desk instead, but his shoe caught one of the stacks thereon, and he kicked a splattering of books and paperwork across the room.

The man looked at what he’d just done with wide eyes and a frown. “...It took me two hours to organize all those...”

‘Nice going,’ said his accompanying reaper, which was a small tornado to Parson’s eyes.

“...You think Jackson’ll yell at me again if I mail it to him out of order?”

‘Yes.’

“...I’m gonna do it, anyway.”

‘I’d be more surprised if you didn’t.’

Parson was now much much more confused than starstruck. This was really Sermung? The Crystal Titan?

The man spun around to look at them again. “Anyway. You guys just pretend you didn’t see that, okay? That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” said Monty, still maintaining his salute.

“At ease, Captain Lamont. Or rather, Lieutenant General Lamont.”

Monty blinked as he lowered his hand. “I... I did not realize I would be receiving a promotion today, sir.”

“Yeah, I sorta just decided it a few hours ago. Congratulations.”

“Ah--er--thank you, High Commander.”

“No sweat.”

An intermission of silence arrived suddenly, and Sermung’s gaze turned to his reaper for a moment while he scratched his nose.

“Oh!” said Sermung, snapping his fingers a couple times. “Uh! Right! Your medals. I’ve got those... um... somewhere around here...” He looked around the chamber hurriedly.

His reaper grew a windy appendage out of its airy body in order to point.

Sermung rushed over to the directed spot and dug through a pile of papers to retrieve a pair of small boxes. “Here we are.”

Monty bowed his head as the man stepped closer, and Parson did the same.

“Ah!” said Sermung with the sound of sudden recognition. “Overra! I didn’t even realize that was you there!”

‘Hello, Sermung,’ she said. ‘And Tenebrach.’

“It is wonderful to see you again,” said Sermung. “How many years has it been?”

‘Eighty-three,’ said Tenebrach. ‘I only realized you had rejoined the Vanguard after reading your servant’s file the other day. Why did you not send word of your return earlier? We would have welcomed you personally.’

‘I knew how busy you would be,’ said Overra. ‘I wanted to earn an audience with you on my own merits. Or rather, those of my chosen servant. Though, I must admit, I did not expect it to happen this soon.’

Sermung laughed mildly. “Does that mean that this strapping young lad here is the ‘hope of the future’ that you once promised to find?”

At that, Parson couldn’t help raising his head. The Crystal Titan’s smile was as warm as any Parson had ever seen.

‘Hmph,’ said Overra. ‘I know you are being sarcastic, but as a matter of fact, yes, he is. He has a long way to go yet, but I believe he has the aptitude for the task, burdensome though it may be.’

Sermung’s smile only seemed to widen, and he offered the boy a handshake. “What is your name?”

Tenebrach answered for him, however. ‘It’s Parson Miles. Didn’t you read his file? Oh, nevermind, of course you didn’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been surprised to see Overra here.’

Sermung’s smile flattened somewhat, and he looked at his reaper. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t attempt to undermine my authority in front of my men. I doubt it does much for their morale.”

‘Yes, well, I would appreciate it if you didn’t say such obviously stupid things in front of your men, but I guess we’re both destined to live in disappointment.’

Sermung returned to Parson with a taut grin. “In any case, I shan’t forget your name again.”

‘You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,’ said Tenebrach.

“I’ll keep it,” said Sermung. “Just you wait and see.”

‘More likely, I’ll have to keep it for you in secret.’

“As if I could trust you not to rat me out at every opportunity.” Sermung kept Parson’s gaze and shook his head. “Learn well, young one. A reaper is only trustworthy when it matters most. Which is good, of course, but be wary that all other times, they will gleefully betray you.”

‘Please do not teach Parson any of your strange lessons,’ said Overra, though she was tittering.

‘Yes,’ said Tenebrach. ‘Do not be fooled, young Parson. Though he is quite old, this man is severely lacking in the wisdom that would normally come with age.’

Sermung turned to Monty for help. “I speak nothing but the truth, no?”

Monty held up both hands and said nothing.

“Tch. Suddenly, I’m not so sure you deserve a medal for your bravery.”

Parson knew the man was only teasing, but a rather strong part of him agreed with that sentiment, at least with regard to himself. The battle at Luminal City had been the most terrifying event of his young life. There were several moments where he’d felt somehow even more powerless than he had during that fateful night in Trintol four years ago.

And yet, here he was. Still alive. Thanks entirely to Monty here. Now people were starting to call him things like the Lawman and the Judge, because Monty had brought order to Luminal City in a single night. Five separate gangs of superpowered outlaws, all of which had been quietly ruling the region for decades--each one had been routed or crushed.

It made Parson proud to have him as a mentor.

‘By the way,’ said Tenebrach as Sermung pinned the round, blue medal on Parson’s little coat, ‘have you figured out how you are going to save the world, yet?’

‘Hah,’ said Overra. ‘If I did, I would not tell you. I know you would only laugh at me.’

‘Oh, come now. We are all friends here. If you truly have a plan, I would love to hear it.’

‘Then perhaps you will hear of it. One day.’

Tenebrach did not look impressed. ‘You don’t have a plan at all, do you?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t. At least, not one that I could explain to a simpleton like yourself.’

‘Hoho! She bites! I don’t recall you being so vicious. The Overra that I remember was a sweet-hearted idealist to her very core. I hope you haven’t let this miserable world turn you into a misanthrope after all these years.’

‘Never. I will always believe in the innate goodness of humanity. How that goodness might be best realized and harnessed, however--well, let’s just say, on those points, I’m still making up my mind.’

-+-+-+-+-

...165 years ago...

Germal rubbed his head and tried not to think about the pain. It was all over his body, as usual, but today’s headache was especially bad. The small nub in the center of his forehead throbbed in a way that was horrifically familiar.

After six years as a servant, this feeling was what he dreaded most. The feeling that told him another change was imminent. Try as he might, there was no suppressing it. The most that he’d managed to do so far was to internalize it, to direct the change inward.

To wreak utter havoc on his body.

Such was the source of his chronic pain. Stomach, liver, kidneys, pancreas, diaphragm, rib cage, hip bones, abdominal muscles, large intestines, small intestines--what would be next? There was no telling. Maybe it would just be another one of those. Instead of adding to the pain, maybe it would just multiply.

Nerovoy had been little help, despite the early optimism that the reaper had expressed.

Most days, Germal wished he hadn’t been revived. He didn’t know how much longer he would be able to go on like this.

‘I think we are getting close,’ said Nerovoy.

Germal could barely make out the reaper’s words between the pounding in his head and the howling noise outside of it. His patchwork cloak whipped all around him in the swirling wind and punishing hail, threatening to throw him off balance with each new step that he dared to take up the rocky mountain path.

He wished now that he could’ve found a cloak that wasn’t three sizes too big for him, but this was the best one in the town full of dead men that he’d passed through on his way here.

Lightning crashed overhead, carving out a chunk of the mountain. It triggered a rockslide that was no more than five meters away from the path that Germal was using.

He watched the boulders fall and then glared at his reaper. To his eyes, the reaper was a kind of winged demon--small, devious-looking, and carrying a spear made of both fire and wind.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ said Nerovoy. ‘It is not my fault that the information pointed us in this direction.’

As a child, Germal had frequently been told not to come anywhere near this place, and now he fully understood why. The Storm Mountains were every bit as terrifying as he’d been led to believe.

Now that he was a servant, at least he didn’t have to worry about being swept off the side of the mountain and falling to his death.

Though, at this point, such an ending didn’t look so bad.

He continued the climb, and as he did, he noticed Nerovoy moving gradually closer to him.

‘What’s got you spooked?’ said Germal.

‘This place might be more dangerous than I thought,’ said Nerovoy.

A suddenly stronger burst of wind hit him, and Germal braced himself. His leather cap nearly flew off his head, but the hood of his cloak caught it for him. He nestled it back over the nub of his horn. ‘If you wanna turn back, that’s fine with me.’

‘Absolutely not,’ said Nerovoy. ‘We stick with the plan. And besides, you obviously need help, and he may be one of the few people who can provide it.’

‘That is assuming he’s even here.’

‘Well, that town back there bodes well for our chances.’

‘The town full of dead people, you mean?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘How does that bode well for us at all?’

‘The Living Void isn’t known for his mercy--at least, not in that sense.’

Germal’s eyes widened, and he stopped climbing. ‘What?!’

‘Yeah, I know. You’re upset I didn’t tell you that was who we were going to see earlier, but it’s alright--’

‘You’re taking me to meet an emperor of Abolish?!’

The reaper allowed a beat to pass. ‘Yeah.’

‘Why?!’

‘Hey, it’ll be alright. He’s not as bad as everyone says.’

Germal had no words.

‘And his reaper, Engomat, is an old friend of mine,’ said Nerovoy.

‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner?!’

‘See? I knew you were upset about that.’

‘Tell me!’

‘I didn’t want you panicking on me. But now that we’re so close, I felt I should allow you to prepare yourself. And you seemed like you were panicking a bit already. So now you can panic over two things at once! It’ll save us some time!’

Germal closed his eyes and rubbed his aching head another time. ‘Nero...’

‘Yeah, buddy?’

‘I hate everything about you...’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, you’re not. At all.’

‘You’re right. But I’m telling you, everything will be okay. You should be happy! You’re finally going to get the help that you need!’

Germal wanted to yell, but he knew it would be fruitless. Infiltrating Abolish had been Nerovoy’s plan from day one. And yes, while it was true that that plan had gone horrendously awry at just about every conceivable opportunity over the last six years, that was probably also why the reaper was trying to take him straight to the source this time.

There was little doubt in Germal’s mind that this, too, would go terribly wrong in some new and unexpected way, but what the hell did it matter anymore? He decided to just focus on climbing. Maybe if he went high enough, lightning would strike him down and give him a few minutes of respite before Nerovoy revived him.

When he reached the first crest in the path, a new gale arrived from the south and nearly sent him tumbling back down. He pressed onward, this time fighting the wind head on.

The view was nice from here, he supposed. Forested valleys and snowy peaks filled the horizon, and the path forward was at least clear, if still long and winding. Visible sheets of rain and hail flexed with the shifting winds. And of course, the frequent lightning was the icing on the cake.

At length, after his feet had begun to hurt nearly as much as the rest of him, the only thing on Germal’s mind was why Nerovoy was putting him through all of this, making him walk all this way.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

‘...Can’t you just kill me and go search the area on your own?’ he finally asked.

‘No,’ the reaper said, having attached himself to Germal’s chest and hidden beneath the cloak.

‘Why not? The only thing in danger here is my sanity...’

‘You’re wrong. This whole place is full of ardor and soul power. If lightning strikes me, I’m toast. Even the hail could kill me, if I just sit out in the open and let it shred me.’

That information made him look around another time. The path crossed above a river full of rapids, and he could see a group of bears hanging around the water’s edge.

‘Don’t go anywhere near those, by the way,’ said Nerovoy.

He hadn’t been planning to. ‘Are they dangerous?’

‘Anything that can live in this place is dangerous.’

They continued on, but they didn’t get much farther before the ground began to rumble. Instinctively, Germal stopped and crouched down low as he surveyed their surroundings one more time.

In the distance, a crashing boom arrived along with an enormous cloud of rock and dust.

‘Go!’ said Nero. ‘That must be him!’

Germal leapt up to his feet and bolted onward. The prospect of finally being done with this wretched journey was more than enough motivation to keep him in full sprint, despite his body’s protests. After he rounded the next bend in the path and overcame another crest, he finally caught sight of someone standing on the edge of a crater.

Two someones, actually.

‘Slow down,’ said Nero privately.

Germal did so, and when the two figures both turned and saw him there, he stopped entirely.

One was an elderly man, but the other? Was that thing even human? It was as tall as a man, perhaps, but it looked more like a black lizard with its reptilian face and tail.

Nero wasted no time. ‘Hello there!’ he called out. ‘Engomat, is that you?!’

After a tense moment, a reaper that Germal hadn’t even noticed floated out into the open.

‘Nerovoy?’ said the presumable Engomat. ‘What in the world are you doing here?’

‘Looking for you, as it so happens! What are YOU doing in this godforsaken place?!’

The two figures were coming closer now, and Germal couldn’t take his eyes off of them.

‘Oh, nothing too exciting, I am afraid,’ said Engomat. ‘Searching for ancient treasure and not finding it, sadly. I was certain that a place like this would have more than its fair share of secrets, but alas, I have found no such evidence.’

Nerovoy laughed. ‘You say that isn’t exciting, and yet it sounds pretty adventurous to me! Here, allow me to introduce my new servant. This is Germal.’

‘Hello, young man.’

He nodded. “H-hello... my name isn’t Germal, though. You should--”

‘Yes, it is,’ said Nerovoy. ‘That’s just an annoying game he likes to play with people whenever he meets them for the first time. Don’t be difficult, Germal. And stand up straight, for god’s sake. You’re in honorable company.’

That was easier said than done when his back felt like it was twisted into knots.

‘My, my,’ said Engomat. ‘You do not look so good, my boy. Are you unwell?’

Germal opened his mouth, unsure of what manner of lie might come out, but Nero wasn’t having it.

‘He has been cursed with mutation,’ the reaper said quickly. ‘I have heard that, these days, it is now possible to do something about it, but I know not what.’

‘Ah.’

‘I was hoping that you, with all of the influence that you have apparently accumulated in my absence, would be able to help.’

‘I see,’ said Engomat. ‘You were right to seek me out, old friend. It would be my pleasure to help your--’

As the old man and the lizard man approached, Germal expected them to come to a stop behind Engomat and listen to the two reapers conversing, but that was not what happened. Instead, only the old man stopped, while the lizard walked right up to Germal and crouched down to look the young man in the eye.

‘Gohvis?’ said Engomat. ‘What are you doing?’

The lizard man ignored him. His eyes were those of a reptile, as well, with slitted pupils and bright yellow-green irises. He grabbed Germal’s chin and turned the boy’s head for him.

“E-excuse me--” tried Germal.

Gohvis pulled the boy’s hood back and removed his leather cap to inspect the horn on his forehead. “One horn?” he said in two voices, though they sounded a bit odd to Germal’s ears. “How long have you been a servant, boy?”

“Ah, oh, uh, fifty-nine--”

‘It’s been six years,’ said Nero.

Germal gave the reaper an annoyed look, but he didn’t get a chance to complain beyond that.

Gohvis lifted him off his feet as if he weighed no more than a carton of milk. The lizard man lifted up the boy’s tunic and pressed his ear hole up against Germal’s bare stomach.

Germal just kind of waggled his limbs uncomfortably and helplessly in midair, afraid to say anything--and also not even sure what he would say if he did have the courage. His whole body tensed up, and he looked around awkwardly with wide eyes.

“Gohvis,” said the old man, who Germal could only assume to be the infamous Dozer now. Under normal circumstances, that person would undoubtedly be the one Germal feared most, but right now, that prize went to the lizard man treating him like some kind of seashell. “Gohvis, answer Engomat’s question.”

After another moment, Gohvis let Germal down. “I was checking to see if it was already too late for the boy,” he said.

‘Ah,’ said Engomat. ‘And what was your conclusion?’

“...I will take the boy into my care,” said Gohvis. “He will be safest with me.”

‘That is not your decision to make,’ said Engomat. ‘And you did not quite answer my question, either.’

Gohvis looked to Dozer. “...Do you have a problem with it?”

For a time, the old man didn’t answer him. The wrinkles of his face seemed to intensify his stare, somehow, and all the rain falling and lightning crashing in the distance seemed almost in accordance with the man’s will. Germal could certainly feel the abrupt change in air pressure.

“...I suppose not,” Dozer finally said. “You are our only authority on mutation now, after all.”

‘Hmph,’ said Engomat. ‘Try not to kill this one.’

Gohvis merely returned a flat stare, and the reaper hovered more closely to Dozer.

‘...Are you certain you can help him?’ said Nerovoy.

“No,” said Gohvis flatly. “He has internalized his mutations, which will make them almost impossible to counteract properly until he is significantly more experienced.” He eyed Germal again. “I imagine you are in constant pain, no?”

Even Germal didn’t want to lie about that. He gave a meek nod.

“Our first objective will be to heighten your pain tolerance, then. This will likely fail and make matters far worse for you, but it will also serve as an invaluable learning experience. If you can endure that, then there may be hope for you yet.”

That wasn’t exactly what Germal wanted to hear, but he supposed it provided him with more hope than he’d had five minutes ago. “O-okay...”

Gohvis lifted the boy up and again placed him on his shoulder. “Come. I shall teach you of the nervous system.”

“The what?” said Germal.

Gohvis began walking and explaining.

But they didn’t make it far before Engomat interrupted.

‘Our work here is not yet done,’ the reaper said. ‘You have not been excused.’

Gohvis just looked at him again, then at Dozer.

“There are two more areas I wish to check,” the old man said. “After that, you are free to take your leave.”

“I am sure you can handle it without me,” said Gohvis.

“I am sure I can as well,” said Dozer, “but your senses will expedite matters.”

“Fine. Lead on, then.”

The wind and rain seemed only to worsen as they headed deeper in the mountains. They deviated from the path entirely and descended into a narrow valley.

Germal remained on Gohvis’ shoulder, even as they ran briefly along the side of a cliff and bounded over a twenty meter gap.

‘...This has gone a lot better than I thought it would,’ said Germal.

‘You think so?’ said Nero in the echo of privacy.

‘Yeah. Engomat already trusts you and everything.’

The reaper kept his laugh private as well. ‘No, he doesn’t.’

Germal didn’t understand. ‘What? But he--’

‘It’s been almost a hundred years since he last saw me. We parted on good terms, so he doesn’t have an excuse to distrust me yet, but you can bet your last meal that he is looking for any reason at all to believe that I might betray him, right now.’

‘...How do you know?’

‘Because he is a reaper. Our loyalties and motivations change all the time. Your most trusted friend a century ago could be your worst enemy today. We all know this.’

‘Huh...’

‘It is something of a game, really. Or dance, perhaps. He suspects me. I know he suspects me. He knows that I know he suspects me. To say that we should be careful with our words right now would be an understatement. Even the mere perception of betrayal could doom us.’

‘So in other words,’ said Germal, ‘I shouldn’t lie to them?’

‘Yes,’ said Nero. ‘It would be helpful if you did not make things even more difficult for me than they already are.’

‘...I’ll try.’

‘Thank you. But it you fail, rest assured that I will call you out on it publicly every time. In theory, it should be fine for you to get caught in a lie, so long as I make sure everyone knows that you are a liar and that you cannot help yourself.’

Germal couldn’t say that he liked this plan very much. But then, he rarely ever did. Nero had a habit of making him do things he didn’t want to do.

He wondered when he would be able to see Parson and Damian again. It had already been years, and he had a feeling that it would be many more yet.

They would probably give him all sorts of crap if he didn’t do a good job. They were probably doing way better than he was. They were probably way stronger. They were always so good at everything, while he just followed their lead, did whatever they said.

He couldn’t let it be that way again. He had to keep up with them, make them acknowledge him. He had to be their equal.

There was nothing he wanted more in this world than that.

Germal’s headache worsened. Gohvis continued trying to explain various things to him, but Germal began to feel disoriented and found it difficult to listen. Combined with all the noise of the storm and bumpy ride on the lizard man’s shoulder, Germal completely lost track of what was happening.

‘...tohah.’

He winced and opened his eyes. Had they been closed? Agh, his head was still throbbing, though now it seemed to be focused mostly around the horn.

‘...argobadah.’

What was that? Who was whispering?

‘Nero?’ said Germal.

‘Yes?’ the reaper said privately.

He looked around for the reaper. Oh, there he was, attached his arm. ‘What were you saying just now?’

‘Hmm? I wasn’t saying anything.’

What? Had he imagined it? Germal didn’t understand. Why was everything so confusing, all of a sudden?

Agh, this headache. It felt like someone was taking a dagger to his forehead.

But it also felt like it had a direction to it, somehow. Like it was coming from somewhere. Yeah. Less like a dagger, then, and more like a fishing hook still attached to the line. In fact, he could almost see the line. It was invisible, but he sensed it nonetheless, going all the way through the mountain to the north and beyond. Where did the line end? He couldn’t tell. It was too far. And the pain made it difficult.

“--want to do now, then?” Gohvis was saying, standing over a crater the size of a house.

“We shall return,” said Dozer, standing in the middle of the crater.

Had that crater been there the whole time? Germal wasn’t sure. It was so difficult to pay attention--or even concentrate, for that matter--but he did his best.

“You are sure?” said Gohvis. “It is not like you to give up.”

“I have exhausted all of our current leads,” said Dozer. “This region is too large, and it could be buried in the earth for all we know.

‘You don’t have to answer this if you wish,’ said Nero, ‘but what are you hoping to find in this place?’

‘A most ancient power,’ said Engomat.

‘Ah,’ said Nero. ‘Can you not be more specific?’

‘I am afraid not, no.’

‘I see.’

Huh.

Germal suddenly had to wonder if the invisible fishing line might be related to whatever it was they were looking for. That might make a degree of sense. Maybe he should tell them about it. Yeah, that might be a good idea, he decided.

He passed out, instead, and toppled backwards off Gohvis’ shoulder.

-+-+-+-+-

...162 years ago...

The stench of human waste and rotting flesh was difficult to get used to, but somehow, Damian had managed it. Not that he’d had much choice. Being stuck in this cell with Feromas for the last month had made it something of a priority.

He scratched his nose, then his chin.

Oh, hey. Facial hair. He’d finally started growing some. He stood and checked himself out in a cracked mirror over a black-stained sink. Yeah. It wasn’t very noticeable yet, but it was there.

‘You look pleased with yourself,’ said Feromas.

“I am,” said Damian, admiring the little hairs.

‘I doubt you’ll be that way when you have to cut it every morning just so you won’t look like a slovenly drunkard. Lofar men are exceptionally hairy.’

Damian wasn’t going to let the reaper spoil his good mood, though. It was a rare enough occurrence for him, already.

‘I’m sure today will be the day,’ said Feromas.

Damian just gave the reaper a look. He knew that Feromas was talking about when they would be released from this horrific place, because the reaper had said the exact same thing every day for the last three weeks. Or close to it, anyway. Without any sunlight to go by, the days had started to blur together.

‘I’m telling you,’ the reaper said privately, ‘the plan will work. It is only a matter of time until Bool gets word of our presence here.’

Bool was the reaper of Morgunov, according to Feromas, though Damian was beginning to have his doubts about even that information now. ‘Maybe he already knows we’re here and doesn’t care,’ said Damian.

‘Nonsense. Abolish doesn’t keep prisoners for no reason. If Bool knew we were here, we would either be released or killed.’

‘That’s not comforting.’

‘The truth often isn’t. The only reason they took us prisoner in the first place was because they were worried our story might not be complete twaddle.’

‘...And it’s NOT complete twaddle, right?’

‘Of course it isn’t! I’m telling you, I know Bool!’

‘This past month would seem to suggest otherwise...’

It was useless to argue with Feromas, Damian knew. The only thing to do was wait, it seemed.

So he did. He might’ve liked to bust his way out of here, but he had learned early on that the bars and walls of his cell were far too strong for him to break through. Feromas could squeeze through the bars, of course, but the greater prison beyond those bars was filled with guards who had already demonstrated their joy in killing.

Still, it might’ve been possible for Feromas to leave Damian alone and escape on his own--not advisable, perhaps, but possible.

And yet the reaper didn’t.

Damian supposed Feromas deserved some credit for that. Maybe the reaper’s claim of being Damian’s great grandfather was actually true. Damian’s parents had never told him his great grandfather’s name, so he’d been rather doubtful about the whole thing ever since Feromas told it to him all those years ago. Damian had never actually voiced that doubt, simply because of how much power the reaper had over him, but now the last of his doubts were finally abating. It would have a been a rather strange thing to lie about, he figured.

And of course, Feromas knew things. About Damian’s father and grandfather. The reaper claimed to have been following Damian’s father throughout the Machas War--the war of which Trintol had been a casualty. Feromas said that he had wanted to revive Damian’s father as his servant instead, but when news arrived of the enemy advancing toward Trintol, the reaper decided to rush back there in order to check up on the rest of the Lofar family. Overra and Nerovoy had agreed to help.

But they arrived too late, apparently. There was a strict time limit on when a soul could be resurrected, the reaper said. So his mother and grandmother were gone.

Naturally, after being told all these things, the first thing that Damian had wanted to do was go find his father. And Feromas and the others had obliged. It had taken nearly a year, but they found him.

Dead and buried. The man had been given a respectable tombstone with the words “Our Heroic Brother-In-Arms” carved into it.

Damian had cried that night, and for once, he hadn’t cared that the other boys saw. That year of searching had been driven entirely by hope, and yet that was how it ended?

It was simply too cruel. Life. This world. All of it. So little of it was fair or good.

Damian had been utterly numb by the time he parted ways with Parson and Germal. This plan that the reapers had... to use their connections in order to infiltrate the Vanguard and Abolish... to play a very long and dangerous game...

Damian couldn’t have cared less about it. And even now, his feelings on the matter hadn’t changed much. But they had changed on another matter.

Perhaps it was just time healing all wounds. Perhaps it was the slow realization that his family wasn’t completely gone since Feromas was still here. But whatever it was, he had begun to look forward to the future again--to seeing Parson and Germal again, especially.

And he was starting to think even beyond that, as well. Maybe one day, he would be able to start a new family. If he could live that long. If he could find a good woman. If he could find a nice place. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere he could raise children safely and quietly, away from all this blood and chaos and undead business.

He was still barely even a teenager, but he couldn’t imagine anything that he would have liked more than that.

He focused on his meditation for most of the day. Perhaps if he could develop his power more, he could break them out of here, but he wasn’t particularly hopeful. He still didn’t even understand what his ability was, really.

Feromas, Overra, and Nerovoy had of course explained all about servant powers, but even they had been at a loss for what Damian’s ability was, exactly. The only apparent thing was that he could use it to disintegrate things. At first, they’d all told him that it was the destruction type, but as time passed, it became clear that that was not the case.

Damian had met several destruction users since then. They created a path whenever they used their power, and there was a particular sound associated with it, too. But Damian’s ability didn’t work that way. He simply turned things to dust at will--often accidentally, back when he was first acclimating himself to it.

So, really, he didn’t know for sure if his ability couldn’t overcome these walls. He’d already tried and failed several times, but there was no telling what it would be able to do for him with more development.

Probably not much, though, he figured. It seemed to be an all-or-nothing kind of power.

Three meals of yellow-brown slop arrived, as usual, and he was hungry enough to choke down two of them but not the third.

He was preparing for another night of uncomfortable sleep in a flea-ridden, rat-eaten bedroll when he suddenly felt it.

An oppressive presence unlike any he had felt before.

‘It’s him,’ said Feromas. ‘He’s here.’

Damian could hear the other prisoners stirring in their cells and guards whispering to one another. There soon came a commotion of keys jangling and metal doors creaking and clanking--and finally, footsteps. Drawing steadily nearer.

Damian only sat and waited with attentive eyes.

When a group of men appeared on the other side of the bars, Damian didn’t have much trouble discerning which among them was the Mad Demon of Abolish. The others were all familiar-looking guards, of course, but even if they weren’t, it probably still would have been obvious from just the eyes and smile.

The Mad Demon’s raven hair was so wild that it almost looked alive. He wore a blazingly red frock coat with gold-lined squares all over it, and a white cravat protruded farther out from his neck than was probably proper.

“Feromas, you old so-and-so!” Morgunov threw up his hands and placed them against the bars but didn’t open the cell. “How in the heck are ya?!”

‘I... have been better. But it is good to see you, Nibas.’

“Nibas?!” Morgunov snorted. “Why, nobody’s called me that in... three hundred years! It’s Morgunov now! Obviously! What kind of stoop would want to be called Nibas, huh?”

“...Stoop?”

“Yes. It’s an abbreviation of ‘stupid person.’”

‘I don’t think that’s a real word.’

“It is, if I say it is. I have that kind of power now. I’m a real trend-setter, you know.”

‘...I suppose you are, aren’t you? Where is Bool, by the way? I was hoping to speak with him.’

Morgunov’s smile seemed to widen, though Damian wouldn’t have thought that possible, and the man snickered. “Oh, I’m sure you would like to talk to him, wouldn’t you? And I have no doubt that he would like to talk to you.”

Damian wasn’t liking the Mad Demon’s tone all of a sudden--not that he’d liked it all that much before.

“But ya see,” Morgunov went on, “I dunno if I should actually trust you. As I recall, you were quite the persuasive little rascal, weren’tcha? You talked Bool into doing all sorts of stuff with you, didn’t you? Of course, this was all back when I was still just a teeny-weeny baby servant who barely knew up from down, but I remember you and your mischievous ways! Don’t think I don’t!”

‘I am glad you have not forgotten me,’ said Feromas. ‘But what, precisely, are you afraid that I will convince Bool to do?’

“Oh, who knows?” said Morgunov, gesturing wildly with his hands. “But therein lies the rub, eh? What. Do. Ya plan. To do? Hmm? I know how sneaky you reapers can be. Got all sortsa things going on inside those extra-dimensional brains of yours, don’tcha?”

Feromas sighed. ‘I assure you, I have no such devious plans for Bool.’

“Eheh, well, we’ll see about that.” The Mad Demon’s wide, gray eyes fell upon Damian. “And who is your little friend here? Your servant, I presume?”

‘Yes,’ said Feromas. ‘His name is Damian Lofar. He is my great grandson, as it so happens.’

“Ya don’t say! Well, how about that! Lovely to make your acquaintance, my young friend!” Morgunov reached a hand through the bars.

Damian didn’t see much choice and decided to shake it.

Morgunov took the opportunity to yank the boy over to him, and his other hand found Damian’s face. “Hmm. Hmmmm...!”

“Agh--! W-what are you doing?” said Damian.

“Oh, nothing. Just checking something. Don’t mind me. Hmm. Yes. This skin certainly looks like your own. I suppose you’re not a jabberwock or a tomokooni, then. Hmm. Good. Yes, quite good.”

“What the hell is a jabberwock or a tomokooni?” said Damian, still struggling.

Morgunov let him go, and Damian staggered a few steps back toward the rear of the cell. “You are probably better off not knowing. It could be the knowing that attracts them!”

Damian stayed near the far corner and rubbed the sore spot on his arm where the man had grabbed him. What a monstrous grip Morgunov had.

‘Does Bool know you are here?’ said Feromas.

“He sure doesn’t!” said Morgunov. “And how you answer my next questions will determine whether or not you ever get to see him again! So think carefully, now! Eheh!”

Feromas’ next words were private. ‘Let me do the talking.’

Damian hadn’t been planning otherwise.

Morgunov pointed at Feromas. “First thing first. I’ll start us off with an easy one. Are you planning to betray me?”

‘No, of course we aren’t,’ said Feromas, apparently unable to conceal his exasperation.

“Yes, that is what I expected you to say,” said Morgunov. “But you see, I’m not sure I believe you, so I’m going to ask that same question one more time. And I want you to be honest now! No lying! Understood?”

‘...Understood.’

“Okay, here we go. You ready?”

‘...Yes. What are you waiting for?’

“Eheh! What, indeed!” Morgunov gestured broadly with his hands again, though this time spent more time on it, as if performing a dance or casting a spell. “And beeeee... truthful!” He slammed his hands against the bars of the cell.

Damian felt an immediate difference. The air was suddenly thicker, more oppressive. Breathing became simultaneously easier and more difficult. It was as if he couldn’t even control his own breath, yet at the same, the air itself seemed more resistant as well.

‘W-what...?’ said Feromas, apparently able to feel a difference also. ‘What is this?! What are you doing to us?!’

“Ya like it? It’s one of my latest tricks!”

‘I don’t--!’

“Shh-shh, no talky unless I say so. Which I do, by the way! I do say so! But not about that. Whatever you were about to say, I’m sure it can wait. The important thing is that you answer my question again. Are you planning to betray me?”

‘Wha--?! I--! Argh--!’

“C’mon, now! Don’t be bashful! Just tell Papa Morgunov the truth! You’ll feel better! I promise!”

Damian could only watch in horror. Words weren’t even forming in his mind, much less from his mouth.

‘I--! Argh--! Yes!’

“Oh? Yes, what?”

‘Yes... yes, I plan on betraying you...’

“Yeah-huh. See? Doesn’t it feel good to come clean?”

‘I... you... how...?’

“Eheh, how, indeed? I’d love to explain, but, well, ya know--you did just admit to being a traitor, so. Don’t have much reason to share my secrets with you, now do I?”

‘Nibas, wait--’ tried Feromas.

“I told you, my name is Morgunov, now.”

‘Fine, I--’

“It’s funny. I didn’t think you would break on the first question. I’m quite disappointed, honestly. I thought we could do a whole little dance with this, have a bit of back-and-forth, make a pleasant evening out of it! But no! You already gave me all the reason I need to kill you!”

Feromas was looking around frantically now, eyes lingering briefly on Damian. ‘Morgunov, wait! I can tell you where the Mask of Amordiin is! You’re interested in that, aren’t you?! But you’ll never find out where it is if you kill me!’

Morgunov’s expression went briefly flat, and when the man’s smile returned, it seemed pitying this time. He banged the bar cells another time. “Do you really know where the Mask is? ‘Cuz I have a funny feeling you’re lying again.”

‘I--! Agh--!’

“Hmm? What’s that?”

‘I... I don’t...’

“You don’t what?”

‘I don’t know where the Mask is.’

Morgunov let loose a throaty cackle. “You really didn’t understand what I was doing, did you? Well, that’s okay. Reapers are always a bit slow on the uptake with things like this, eh? So stuck in the past that you have trouble realizing when the future is staring you right in the face! It’s not your fault, though. It’s just your nature. I won’t hold it against you.”

Damian didn’t know what to do. Clearly, this was not going how Feromas had wanted, and his reaper’s panic had quickly become his own.

“Oh well,” said Morgunov. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and be reincarnated as a beautiful emu. Majestic creatures, those. I got myself one as a pet, recently. I don’t think he likes me much, but that just makes me yearn for his affection even more, somehow. But anyway, I suppose I’m just rambling now. And you know what? Since you’ve been such good listeners, and since you’ve also been so patiently waiting for me here, I’m going to give you a choice! How would you like to die?”

Oh no.

‘Morgunov, wait--’

“No. Waiting isn’t one of the choices, silly. Well, maybe it is. In a sense. I’ll just explain them, shall I? Okay, so first, I could kill ya slowly and painfully. Now, of course, the benefit to this option is that you get to live slightly longer, but I won’t sugarcoat it--it’s going to be quite miserable. Wouldn’t be my choice, necessarily. Though, maybe it would depend on my mood. Anyway, the second option is, as you can probably guess, quick and painless. Now, this one’s quite popular, but I don’t--”

As he listened, Damian became increasingly convinced there was no sense in any of this. He certainly didn’t want to die without a fight.

“--which brings us to the third option. And maybe you’re thinking, ‘Papa Morgunov, how could there be a third option when the first two seem to cover everything so thoroughly?’ Well, that’s the thing! The third option is a surprise! Might be even quicker! Might be even slower! Might be a mixture! Who knows?! Could involve some fun gadgets I’ve been working on! Now, what do you--?!”

Damian raised his hand and concentrated with everything he had, trying to disintegrate Morgunov’s head.

Morgunov’s head twitched, and he blinked a couple times, staring at Damian. “What are you doing there, boy? Eheh, that tickles a bit!”

Damian just grit his teeth and pushed harder, demanding still more from himself. He thought he felt a response, even.

Morgunov began to giggle. “Ooh! Now it really tickles! You’re a funny boy! What’s that ability of yours, hmm?”

‘...We don’t know,’ said Feromas. ‘We haven’t been able to figure it out, either.’

“Ya don’t say! Well, I do love me a good mystery! Maybe I won’t be killing you, after all!”

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