“‘Vague foreboding’, the last resort of the terminally conductive!”
Dark words and little displays add up with others to a subtle dread that usually paralyzes.
But not with krakenclaimers. Opponents assured of strength don’t buckle.
With his undulating and screeching walking cane only momentarily crushed by the strength that a mountain king’s bracer grants, Orloss simply chases it to the source of pain. The mighty tentacled champion above, whose hundreds of invading limbs, their oily thickness of flesh and ichor shining, looms to block the heavens. From the open eye spreads out electricity that ignites the air.
“Just as predicted, oh so predictable, I AM THE ONLY VICTOR!”
The arms of death filling the room wrap around every pillar jutting out, even daring to pull upon the silent orange tree which towers above them all. Between every open spot freedom-stealing cages spark!
“CONTRACT REVOKED! GET COLLECTED!”
Kraken-thunder leaps to the usually lurking threat!
An armor of it encases Orloss, instant purple death zapping at his touch.
(“Inquire”, “confront”!)
Ungentlemanly signals prod at Neesiette’s hip. “Acquiring victory by which means, of what nature and implied success…” Toward the smugness-incarnate before them both, seeking to surround Falke’s borrowed throne with both master and servant-above’s many tentacles, the moon fairy sounds only bored. “… a constant loser asserts?”
“CheeeeeEEEKY!”
The ever-present chance of loss within a moment daunts Neesiette not a bit.
(Your trust means so much to me, Neesiette! Now: hurt him.)
Orloss’ ear-to-ear smile wavers, his left eye twitching before he recovers his bravado.
“I should thank you, I think, just a little, for aiding the greatest prize!? You made her mine!” Armor of scintillating death retracts and concentrates solely upon a stretching hand. “Living friends, True Pillars, arising finally to resist and surmount the Peak, at their front shall be the product of our MUTUAL genius leading armies of others!”
(Fehr…)
“That glorious child is our prophesied one that you helped blossom, boy going by ‘Adris’! It’s a shame, oh so sinful, that neither you nor the doll will witness Fehr’s success…”
Orloss’ grasping hand closes upon Neesiette’s head, daring her protector to interfere and be reduced to a crisp by the arcing currents that connect from sky overhead to leap from his fingers.
“… except from your display cases, little curiosities! BAHAHAHA!”
(“Reveal”, “escalation”, “inflict!”)
“‘Supreme creation’, seeking one does this misleading entity?”
From the pack which hangs off the throne’s back, a dainty lap pet awkwardly twists to drag out a spherical object a quarter her size.
“For now, you return to me, you disgusting little…!”
Orloss’ gleeful eyes that reflect the hellish energies clinging to him track this, enlarging their square pupils upon recognition of what’s suddenly thrust at him.
“Little…?”
The purple death snaps off of the man so that Orloss can sway back, as if pushed by some foe, when confronted by a burst pseudoprósōpon core. Who it should belong to stands as apparent to those who moan in pain.
“… What… did you do to my…?”
Orloss lifts his “prize” up into the gloom cast by his kraken, all the emotions he truly feels reflecting only in the way the great beast recoils. Its quivering immensity stretches ever tauter with anger.
“Fehr… again, you…”
The harpy matron only timidly whispers, her sense of loss muted by a prediction of this outcome with how she only looks elsewhere with creases of pity on her face.
(You failed her twice! Don’t pretend to feel the same pain I do at losing her, you fat bitch!)
“Fulfilling one’s requirements in full, a failure does?”
Adris’ internal strife can’t be allowed to leak out, though. Theirs is key, and nothing can distract his “voice”.
Dusting her hands free of the “stain” clinging to this failure, Neesiette placidly accepts the waves of horror rising from both Orloss and his harpy maid.
“Then, good: presented it be for receiving, to no longer burden this lady by proximity.”
Gifting a small nod, Neesiette then closes her eyes and turns her head away to take in any sight other than Orloss, a blatant display of contempt.
(Perfect, I don’t think he could possibly be more angry.)
“My prophesied solution… my… peerless one…?”
A kind hand traces the external damage of the core with a finger, rubbing on the lip of the exposed blasted hole.
“Little… Fehr…”
The diminishing currents of electricity leap back to Orloss’ free hand that pulls from the core, blindingly bright with the destruction intensifying!
“‘Failure’ more aptly named as than ‘Fehr’.”
“GHK, GEGEGEGEEEE!?”
Strobing flashes color the monster-man’s face, and his currents jump loose to drill into surfaces that boil and pop at the incredible heat changes!
“YOU MURDERED MY FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH————!?!?!?”
A hand mutating with rage clamps over a black cross, unbridling its fury to fill the entire garden!
This sea-born monster wearing unassuming garb forces his full being against an Emperor’s icon!
(It all adds up to…!)
Adris’ estimations meet cold reality with the death being unleashed upon him and his lady from the moon! What black rejects uncontrollably lashes out to scour the destroyed-and-mutating gardens clean.
“HAAAHAAAAAHAAAAAAA!”
Ringing bells war with a shrieking laugh that enters his mind from all around, simultaneously issued by both the unhinged Orloss and the open maws of every tendril!
Its weight is a psychic swirl. Vertigo that will doom them both washes through.
(Shit, shit, shit! The cross can hold here, and…!)
Only the gigantic tentacles filling it like coiling ropes provide salvation by reabsorbing the currents.
While his ass clenches and the sweat staining his back freezes, he forces the cross against the blinding confrontation of their domains. The mountain king’s strength creaks his bones, for rising to the challenge of fighting a monster demands inhuman capability!
(She’s made by a bigger backer than you’ve got, even if you’re way stronger than the average guy…!)
Unmoving even with all at risk, Neesiette leans into Adris’ chest. Her amber hair and porcelain-tinted skin gleams. He in turn keeps from being crushed by Orloss’ push, preferring not to let others witness his strained face.
Purple death is muted by a violet gleam radiating forth. Neesiette’s steel-blue dress wavers in vision like a reflective haze upon rock or water, rejecting within its proximity any intrusion to enforce stillness.
(Art? Art is hers to allow or not!)
An unmovable source of foreign will bolsters Adris’ own rejection by diminishing what strikes at them, showing that preparation without details gains returns!
(‘Divinations backfire’!? She’s caused two sister’s spells to explode with total annihilation as the result!)
So stringent are her unknown defenses against magic, though not shared with him like all her secrets before tonight, that Adris’ Inner Expanse deforms under its influence too! Alien, otherworldly, and bending the sight of whoever holds her, Orloss’ vertigo is overwritten by a queer weightlessness screaming that he’ll fall into the sky!
(How about experiencing your own lightning frying your dick off!? Ugh, I’m… feeling like I’m there again…!)
“NGGGH!? BOTH OF YOU REJECT THE HAMMER BLOW, BUT…!?”
Orloss’ mouth opens wide, revealing more than one row of teeth as he cackles!
“… WHAT OF THE WIDER EMBRACE!?”
(Black clouds spew nothing by death!)
The next trick is so predictable too for a child of the floating islands of Xin that were raked by such terrible nights as this one. Ionizing energies come from other than above, snaking down to the ground that bubbles and boils!
(“Don’t stand near the ground that’s cracked and burnt if you don’t want to go ‘pop’ from bottom turned up!”)
The lightning regathered by layers of fetid tentacles traverses back via the floor to the throne! Converging, zig-zag lines burst into steam just after Adris lifts his legs and tilts his head forward.
A terrifying buzzing and tingling vibrations can be heard over the sound of crashing thunder. Copperish lamellar sparkles where currents attempt to traverse the semi-mystical dwarven metal that replicates a Xin protective standard. Nothing of the kraken’s might enters Adris’ holy self, instead flowing from the throne’s back to arc out into the air.
“TRICKS, TRICKS, AND MORE TRICKS!? HAAAH!?”
The assault ends with Orloss’ vexed laments.
Score marks fill the garden, yet Adris and his softly glowing lap pet are stainless when he lets his feet touch the floor again.
(YOU FINALLY FEEL IT!?)
Suspicion clouds Adris’ would-be-killer’s glee.
A true attack being turned away sends shivers up Adris’ spine when Orloss’ confidence wavers only slightly.
(Just… just what I’m capable of…!)
Acrid smells notwithstanding, that Orloss’ scowl fails to hide a glimmer of interest he’s gained, focused squarely on the equally perfect cross he still clutches, proves that Adris hasn’t lost his penchant for capturing the imaginations of the powerful.
Sweeter than even honey wine, the outcome of rising above the lowly dismissal of the truly powerful sends his thoughts into overdrive.
(HAHAHAHA! I’m the greatest, always!)
Adris nearly leaps from the throne to attack this weakness he smells, finally. Almost, until he recalls the princess he’d be throwing loose.
Only Neesiette’s need to remain safe beats back the satisfaction he’d get to taste true capitulation…
(I’ve got so few tricks left, but I’ll let you enjoy them, later… bastard!)
“Lightning still fails…” Orloss’ dismay morphs into meticulous study of the cross’ rejection with a reach for an apple hanging from his frock coat.
Pristine on half its surface, the rest is blistered with green pustules, and reeks of barely concealed poison.
(I don’t know if I can defend against that. Let’s end the show.)
Adris pats Neesiette’s head, prompting her to slap that hand free.
Yet, she misses no time with her cue.
“True cause of retirement of defective unit…”
“IT’S YOU, ALWAYS YOU, ISN’T IT!?”
Orloss screeches while hopping with his tentacles, but Neesiette huffs instead.
“Falke, solely, standing affirmed as both creator and destroyer.”
“Hah?” Orloss pulls back with Adris’ cross, warring for it during this shock coursing from hearing the truth. His fingers miss the rotted apple.
“… Creation, and all creations, retired by this named individual. Declaration following asserted that ‘all a dollmaker’s craft and skill be equally worthless’, abandoning pursuit thereof. Forever. Comprehension: prove one’s capacity for achieving this.”
Only when Adris yanks it free does the mystic seek further confirmation. “True? Such buffoonery, really… darkling child?”
And it is sought from Adris, of all people, as the man scrutinizes Adris’ survival with a squint. Foul smoke from their contest hangs low to them, but, still, that Orloss should believe Adris over Neesiette after witnessing “Adris’ power” prompts him to almost sigh.
(Just what do you think Neesiette plots against you that you trust me more than her?)
A clever ploy sees Adris through the full-scale onslaught of a high-level Pillar. Lightning incidentally discharging even now from black tendrils is sufficient to fry him, should it choose to hit.
But, cross, protection pet, and dwarven armor creates an unbreakable illusion of supremacy such that even Orloss backs down.
(Just enough to keep him from trying again! Now is when all of their emotional wounds pull this into perspective…)
Adris has no need to answer with words when a dismissive grin will preserve the mystique. Neesiette remains his speaker.
“Called his ultimate breakthrough a failure!?”
“So identified, categorized. Both iterations, classified as such.”
“BOTH!? But, the ‘boy’ was…!?”
“Comprehension limited. ‘Iteration’ identified, therefore self-explanatory…”
“HUMOR ME! THERE WERE TWO OF FEHR!?”
The kraken overhead roars as well, its tendrils aiming for Neesiette to squish her.
“First activation of the unit with designation ‘Fehr’, occurring during Falke’s youth. First creation, first success, the events of this day and night must correctly be identified as ‘reactivation’.”
“… HE WHAT?”
In place of Neesiette…
“SQUIDLY!?”
A black-feathered harpy is wrapped up by slick aquatic limbs. Rolling and rolling, she’s inverted beside Orloss so that he can stare with a truly “hurt” expression.
“Sapphy, this OMISSION, care to explain?”
“The early days and mistakes, they were never… worth mentio—! BLBGH!?”
Putrid mucous coats her mouth when she’s interrupted. Orloss “tsks” at her like a chiding mother and taps her forehead.
“Blisteringly Falke! Astoundingly Sapphy! Truly, the dual idiotic playtoys of a dying lineage you both amount to! And HIM!?” Orloss slides about, gesticulating wildly before eying the orange tree of the Kestners. “HE MADE A LIVING DOLL AND CONSIDERED HER A FAILURE!? TWIIIIIIIICE!? WHY!?”
A sharp fingernail points at Falke’s closest guest.
“TELL ME, YOU DAMNABLE CONTRAPTION! I BET YOU BRAINWASHED HIM INTO DESTROYING HER!”
“‘Failure to adhere to the dictates of one’s Maker’, ‘ignoring implanted rules’, ‘assaulting that very creator’, such be the crimes deserving retirement.”
An unforgiving mistress spits these out with her usual coldness.
“ARE YOU RETARDED!?”
“Re-Re…!?”
Neesiette jolts into Adris at the screaming accusation, but Adris somehow feels his own rage issuing out, too.
Orloss tears at his greasy hair, eyes nearly bulging out as more electricity crackles overhead.
“SHE’S A LIVING UNIT! OF COURSE SHE’S GOING TO ACT OUT, OR DO THINGS THAT AREN’T ‘BY HIS RULES’!
THE VERY DEFINITION OF ‘LIVING’ MEANS MAKING ‘MISTAKES’ IN THE FIRST PLACE!?”
“That… that be…!?”
“DON’T ‘that beeeee’ ME, YOU PRECOCIOUS LITTLE MOONFLAKE! FALKE CAN’T MAKE A DAMN THING BECAUSE HE’S ALWAYS TRYING TO ARRIVE AT RESULTS THAT ARE IMPOSSIBLE TO ACHIEVE!”
(That’s absolutely correct!)
Adris finally hears his own convictions and doubts screamed by another.
It’s all his mental prowess exerted just to keep his hand from clamping over Neesiette’s mouth to stop her from rudely calling them both liars.
“AAAAH!? THIS WHOLE TIME, IT WAS SO INGRAINED IN HIS DEEPEST PSYCHE THAT HE MURDERED HIS CRAFT FROM THE START!?”
When it seems like Orloss is about to twist himself into circles so hard that his body will leak juices…
“… The ‘ole Orloss way’ can fix this, too! Thirty more years as my slave, whipping him the moment he moans about some depressing thought he has, and he’ll stop sabotaging his own works by fear reflex alone.”
Smoothing back his hair, Orloss is all smiles again.
“Thank you, once more, darkling child!”
His hands dance along his trinkets with the glee of a scholar choosing his best oral rebuttal.
“Exposing the depths of my friend’s underlying insanity was an unexpected gift. Now that I know he was busted from the start, I’ll suck out the pus in his brain to replace it with better intentions and methods.”
“… ‘Precocious…. moonflake…?’”
Adris’ voice can only distantly repeat an insult, leaving him to face a resolved threat.
“I can always wait another year or so for him to properly repair my dearest Fehr, but for you…!”
“How shall a dead man reconstruct your abandoned masterpiece?”
Orloss’ mouth hangs open at this question, but Sapphira’s howl is without doubts.
“MY FALKE IS ALIVE! I… feel him!”
(The bonds of servitude!? Still, your look is so delicious…)
Everything stiffens around Adris, despite how transparent even the universe is to him. Neesiette too, his constant defender, loses any rigidity to collapse into his chest.
Almost as if he’s properly entered the state of [Clear Mind], how to defeat all intellects has never been more evident and orderly!
“Falke, alive. Agreeing entirely, witnessed, therefore confirmed, less than a Short ago in time.”
(Only I know the truth.)
“Threatening my Falke? None of what you care about will escape, now, boy…”
With Neesiette’s confirmation, Sapphira’s anger lies only with Adris.
“Men before their ends, their faces I always recall vividly: full of such clarity that never existed before.”
Orloss licks his lips at this announcement, portraying no rage just yet. While Sapphira’s fright mixes with revulsion and disbelief, this wiser conman studies Adris’ message.
Chews and savors it, checking for poison with clever taste buds.
(It is poisonous! But it’s not added, the meal itself is toxic!)
Their apprehension grows, with Adris’ mood joining it. His hand lifts theatrically to swirl around, the mildest of attentions what he’s gifting them.
“For what reason would a man, any man, really, challenge the heights that he fears more than admitting he cannot best them…?” Adris’ fingers gravitate to Neesiette’s ear lobe, impishly plucking at this tender spot. “… to end up composing a song with such meaning that he could never replicate it? Pursued by a foe that he would require favorable grounds to best, why there?”
(“Pivotal, key importance”. Figure it out from everything we’ve seen, my portable intellect.)
Even as Adris releases his tension to savor their ignorance, he admits that all of the disconnected memories and scenes didn’t add up until considering what the “core motivations” of Falke are.
(Fehl was horrified of heights to the point that he, even if he’s a nearly emotionless representation of Falke, tried to flee from them. I can’t… imagine the terror Falke himself feels.)
“NNnn!?”
Neesiette looks to the tree, then to Sapphira, then to Orloss himself when the man gives a startled grunt. Two people at least follow Adris’ clue.
(So, why, as Neesiette nearly caught on when shown his work via demonstration, was Falke Kestner at the highest point of his city composing a song?)
“Servant harpy, answer candidly…”
“‘Servant’!? I am not your servant, child’s play toy.”
Even wrapped up and upside down, the matron Sapphira’s ruby-eyed glare is sufficient to frost Adris’ blood.
“To the temple’s overlook, slipping away to at any time Falke did?”
“What?”
“Erroneous question, redefining.” Neesiette collects herself with a grasp of Adris’ hand. “While displaying an extreme emotional condition, to the eastern temple’s overlook, in youth or later, recount the instances witnessed by one of Falke departing for this location of his own volition.”
“… Of his own volition…?” Sapphira’s gaze lapses into the distance, her teeth drawing sharply upon realizing. “… After… Dohle… a day… after, that day…”
“In-Indeed.”
(The day after Dohle Kestner died, Falke Kestner awoke to find that he had no master to live for.
And on that day…)
“Sapphira, property of the Kestners, one remained at the side of Falke, correct?”
“… Of course I did! I’m not heartless!”
“No, merely… clingy, if from past scenes interpreted correctly. Unsettling, for a natural loner.”
Loss drove a man to challenge his fears; but, more than that, the bizarre rules of a world called Zennia announced that he had more to be worried about.
Adris knows how deeply the care Falke feels runs, and the way it mutates into absurdity such that he wants to click his tongue.
“That blazing nincompoop wouldn’t have…”
(Orloss is already there! He’s one step removed!)
Adris’ breaths are so sweet, a joy to take in. While the slower among his guests catch up, he studies their every reaction to each twist and turn, ready to pounce at the correct moment.
“Upon legs alone be the only wounds delivered by Pillars in memory prior to confrontation with the existence named Peak.”
“What of them!? A jackrabbit has to be brought to a stop eventually!”
Orloss slumps, a conspiratorial dread, niggling doubts causing his voice to rise. He releases Sapphira. The way he avoids realizing in any way the obvious truth is so humorous that Adris giggles once.
(YOU SEE IT! YOU KNOW! DON’T AVOID REALIZING!)
“For purpose of escape, legs sought this.”
“Then he chose the wrong place! A hundred and more Pillars and Numbers cordoned him off at a spot where you couldn’t expect to ever flee from, little annoyance! Bahahaha!”
“Correct, in standard tactical review, save for misunderstanding that…”
“GAHAHAHA!”
“… ‘over the edge’ be a location within reach.”
“GHK!?”
Neesiette names it, and thus the rest fall in line.
“… But… I couldn’t carry him… nor my daughters… we were all…”
“‘Intending to free’, this, beyond fullest comprehension, be the nature of Falke’s courses of action regarding both instances. Parties bound to him, page harpies, emancipated only upon dea—”
“HE WOULDN’T!” Sapphira’s screech results in the tentacle wrapping her up releasing, so that she can swoosh in and tower over Adris with her immense suppleness. “WE WERE GOING TO FIGHT FOR HIM, UNTIL THE END!
I… swore to him…!”
“Agreement, falsity however of expetation. 98% certainty established, by spoken convictions of Falke and witness testimony of memories, in both instances Falke sought inste—”
“SHUT UP! Falke never even knew about my mistake! Why would he!?”
(Women who fall for bad men truly are the most braindead creatures to stand upright.)
“Actually, Sapphy, dearest…”
“Squidly!? Did… did you tell…!?”
“Telling him something I didn’t know would be rather impressive, wouldn’t it, you trumped up turkey?”
“Then… why!?” The matron fluffs her wings about, dancing in place like a daughter caught explaining what bedroll she shared the night before when not discovered in hers upon the sun-facing again.
“Falke, blood-relation ‘Dohle’ being viewed as equal in capability by this aforementioned personage, both be found incapable of not seeking comprehension of all aspects of servitors devoted to them.” Neesiette softly intones these words, sparing no emotion for two that she despises. “Attainment of language proficiency with a servitor’s native tongue, human or not, be the barest minimum goal Falke, and hence ‘Dohle’, accomplishing given time and minimum of effort for such intellects a trivial language task.”
So asserts the professor, no longer bothering to hold her head up. Neesiette instead dwells in that mood between her normal “emotionless certainty” and “nearly human-like with her boiling concern”.
(Good, everything is clear to Neesiette now.)
“He can’t speak what page harpies can, becau—!”
“Actually, my dearest feathered slave, Falke has been able to speak your language since before Peak conquered your country.”
“$*(#*)&(*&@)!?!?!”
That language isn’t decipherable even for Adris’ Talent when it’s merely an outlet for an old lady’s expectations shattering. Sapphira’s collapse into Falke’s arms coincides with a chair being pulled by tentacles for him to seat her in as her eyes almost roll back.
“This… doesn’t… prove…”
While Orloss pulls a fan from within his coat to blow air at the hyperventilating bird, he still tries to deny the obvious.
“Falke… either for honor’s sake or in deference to this ‘Dohle’, sought… self-termination rather than continue as ‘owner’ of a harpy servant. To free her or to escape responsibility, such a determination be…?”
“Why now!? HUUUUH!? My dearest Falke has too much going on, he wouldn’t just…!”
(And now it’s my last time to speak on this…!)
“‘If we deserve punishment… then we should see to our own’.”
Leaning to the side, Adris does not bother stating who this quote gifted to their ears by his rich voice belongs to.
Neesiette remains unchanged, so that Orloss can’t search her countenance for confirmation when time ticks on and the quiet overwhelms them all.
Faced only with the cold twilight night, the way the powerhouse of a Pillar tries to bottle his growing consternation, eyes bright and cheeks quaking with his tantrum about to spill, is the single-most liberating experience that Adris can claim since freeing himself from Serras’ ghost!
(SUBLIME!)
He wants to run his hand along his scalp, to see if the sensation is as tender as what he feels growing within!
His heart thumps at their realization! That their BELOVED ‘Dummke’ is only a short time from offing himself, and that they’re…!
“AS IF I’LL LET HIM ‘TRIP’ OVER THE EDGE!”
“As if you can stop him, fool.”
(Falke would absolutely sacrifice himself if it was for the benefit of his vanity, believing he must ‘set another free’ of him, in GLORIOUS service to the memory of a dead, abusive bitch!)
“ADRIS!”
Orloss’ speed is irrational, with how quickly Adris is hanging by his neck in the air! A grip so tight that he should wheeze leaves Neesiette struggling upright after being tossed to the floor to whip out a white rod that cannot save the boy.
“HE’S MINE!”
“This world… only permits… what has meaning!”
“Hnn!?”
The Pillar flinches when Adris only smiles at his predicament. All he can discover flowing out from deep within is eternal joy at the situation.
“His death is more meaningful than your slavery, and so suicide is permitted! Your ‘Peak’ would only feel awe, knowing him, that DUMMKE chooses this path in step with manhood’s call! Hahahaha!”
“… What… are you?”
(What a stupid question!? I’m the one explaining your doom.)
It’s only a stage play, one Adris has done a thousand times.
Whip up emotional frenzy.
Refocus it on yourself.
Take advantage of the chaos to negotiate without negotiating.
But…?
If one thing were different between this small instance and every other…?
“Every sinner contained within this place, locked away from outside view when this tale began, is… doomed.” This hiss of a curse sweetly rings out, echoing off of kraken flesh when it shouldn’t.
“By whom!? YOU!?”
“… this is only a vessel. Do with it as you please. What was called here by her screams will now respond instead.”
“What will!?”
“… Devour… all…”
Orloss’ alarm, that sweetly forbidden treat called “a situation slipping, spiraling out of the grips of a strongman”, transmits a tingle along Adris’ back!
(I LAVISH THIS! NOTHING IS WILDER THAN “WINNING WITHOUT ‘DESERVING’ TO”!)
“Her [fate] called us…!
Your sins against her gave us strength!”
“Then, this is…!?”
“… We’re… coming for you… all…!”
(HE KNOWS, HE KNOWS! NO EXPLANATIONS NEEDED! WE’RE ALL SET FOR THE FINAL ‘STAGE’!)
Even if he can no longer breathe, he’s just the messenger!
Their end is nigh, as it always is.
The flickering shadows, absent the candles’ flames now, obscure THOSE ready to cross.
All of the beautiful emotions, that which makes these ones real, feeding the deepening night, their end…
“FIX WHAT YOU DESTROYED, OR I’LL PURGE YOU LIKE I PROMISED TO DO SO!”
“… it’s too late…
… you prayed for what’s coming with evil…
… AND WE’RE… DYING TO BLESS YOU ALL…!”
(You will… ALL… suffer, for hurting…)
Only the punishment of the sinners will be enough.
As arbiter, the Crossbearer must speak for what’s hidden and unshared.
What’s repressed and trodden upon!
(US…! They all deserve this and more! The collapse of stagnant and stale dreams, their pathetic lives flayed for my benefit!)
In the end, they all deserve this and more for wallowing in self-inflicted isolation from each other. Orloss and his evil games; Sapphira and her coy distance; Falke and his meaningless nostalgia!
THEY’LL ALL SUFFER SO THAT HE CAN TASTE ONLY THAT WONDERFUL HONEY WINE CALLED
“****”, THE INTOXICATING VENOM BOTH HE AND THE WHITE BEAST CRAVE,
THE COLOR OF EXISTING THAT THEY PAINT BOTH WITH, THAT FIRES HIS HEART INTO BEATING SO FAST THAT HE MIGHT DIE FRO—!
“Emperor of this lady!”
“Huh!?”
Adris’ sight rolls lower, to witness a diminutive lady tugging on his leg.
(… Nee… Neesiette?)
“I am not amused…”
Orloss tightens his grip momentarily, but the man’s wild eyes are inspecting anything but Adris when that grip loosens again.
“BANISH YOUR SHADOWS AND FIX MY FALKE KESTNER!”
(… Shadows? What shadows?)
One that flits away, stalking toward Adris himself from the corner of his eye, brings a strange scene when Adris takes in what’s happening.
The matron Sapphira, a powerful creature in her own right, is huddled behind Orloss and staring daggers at Adris. Their mighty kraken above has its tentacles bowed away from this area it once imprisoned, unwilling to be near.
(Curious?)
Neesiette nearly hangs from his leg, having tried to climb it. Her reproachful gaze ends with a huff upon recognition that he notices her.
“… ‘Reproducing with ritual’ claimed one. Empirically witnessed. Point made. ‘Moving on’, shall we, my emperor?”
(What are they so concerned about? I was just putting on a good act.)
Adris hasn’t let up on it, either. It’s so compelling to have fearsome people feeling fearful! When Orloss sets him down gingerly, frothing at the mouth, Adris is almost touched by the concern.
“YOU WILL INTERVENE! TOO MUCH IS AT STAKE FOR YOUR ‘JOKE’ TO KILL MY DOLLMAKER!”
“Such impotence…”
With only a sleight offered at the demand, it falls upon the lady whose shoulder Adris pats to handle negotiations when Adris sits back down.
“Weapon, revolt, dual goals of ‘the use of Falke’.” For her part, Neesiette is calmer, though equally worried about Falke.
(Yes, get to what Orloss wants, Neesiette, so we can make suitable terms.)
“Depraved be the nature of an ‘Orloss’, seeking solution solely for such reasons. Only slavery. Only craft, to steal. Caring nothing for Fa—”
“IGNORANT FUCKING PUPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!”
Orloss’ hair finally comes free in chunks.
His eyes that bulged earlier now balloon like rainbow puffer fish in the Sea of Stars, shining with ichor instead!
Humanoid certainty expands and contracts for lack of bones!
“FALKE KESTNER IS WORTH TOO MUCH TO BE DEGRADED AS A MERE WEAPON!” The shriek comes from Orloss and his kraken’s mouths.
(‘Kestner’.)
“A SLAVE IS WHAT YOU ARE! A… TRUE GENTLEMAN IS WHAT I’VE BEEN TRYING TO MAKE OF THAT NAIVE IDIOT!”
Something strikes Adris about the man, finally, as a storm of a rant begins with the mystic picking the nearby table up with his legs.
“I WILL NOT… PERMIT THE RUINATION OF MY FUTURE CO-FOUNDER OF THE [TRUE PILLAR FRIENDS]!”
“… Pardon?”
“PARDON YOUR FUCKING FLAPPING MOUTH FIRST, YOU DECORATIVE OBJECT WITH AN ATTITUDE! GRAAAH!”
The lifted table pops like a cracked rice cake, one half getting hurled by a spinning Orloss to shatter on the great orange tree’s trunk.
“HE’S MINE! A GENIUS! MY GENIUS! I’LL MAKE HIM A ‘GENIAL PILLAR’ OR DIE TRYING!”
“S-Sentimentality… but, tangible value of Fa—?”
“VALUE!? HE’S MY FRIEND! OUR FRIEND! DESPITE HIM BEING A PARANOID ASS!”
Another half of the table reduces it to a quarter when it’s slammed into the ground, for Orloss’ red-tear-stained face deforms into a bloated mass much like the rest of his body.
A weaselly voice sounds like it’s straining for water instead of air, the unbearable mass beneath the “human” losing control!
“IDIOT PEAK TREATS US LIKE DETRITUS, BUT WE’RE ACTUALLY THE FRIENDS HE DOESN’T DESERVE TO EACH OTHER DAY BY DAY! FRIENDS DO FIGHT, BUT WE WILL CLAIM THE [GRAND COLLECTION] FOR OURSELVES, AS ONE! THE PILLARS WILL ONLY BE PERFECT WHEN FALKE HELPS ME ENLIGHTEN THEM!”
“Such… a…!?”
“FALKE IS NEEDED! BY US! NOT BY A DEAD MANSE FULL OF FAT BIRDS, LEAVING HIM PLAYING WITH TOYS LIKE A NINETY-YEAR-OLD CHILD! HE’S… MY BOSOM CHUM!”
“Despising Orloss, truthfully, a man named Falke would claim…”
“SHUT YOUR YAP!”
Over backwards the human-like squid squirms, his screeching becoming monstrous! Adris rakes the throne’s armrests, maintaining his veneer of authority while secretly revolting at the display.
(Where is the actual person? Does he even have organs, much less a skeleton!?)
“I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT FALKE KESTNER! WHAT HE LIKES CHOOSING FROM ASSIGNMENTS! HIS TIMETABLES AND TECHNIQUES! HIS TECHNOLOGIES AND SOCIAL FOIBLES! HAAAAAAH!”
Finally, the monstrous wretch takes a giant bite out of the table.
“JGHAAA! SHWAT HE EATSH FOR BREAFASHT! I KNOW IT ALLLLLLL!”
“Stalker!” Neesiette flees, leaping into Adris’ lap by choice to curl up at his chest as he grabs onto her to “protect her”. “Hideous invader of privacy!”
“The differensh betwhen a stahlkersh’s love… PTUH!”
The mush the krakenclaimer gnaws on is spat out… “And mine, is purity of purpose and the fact that I have an organization behind me doing it, too! BWAHAHAHA!”
“Organization of stalkers!”
“YOUR DAMN SPYING MOON ABOVE!”
(… Orloss isn’t…)
“I’ll say it simply for a simple catastrophe like you are, boy!”
Orloss’ cane lifts, its tentacles clamping onto the throne’s backrest. The kraken that shied away finds its prey anew, dripping saliva that burns the garden as it draws closer.
“Give me back my Falke and my god-daughter Fehr, or I’ll put you in a dress and pretend you’re her when I present you to Peak!”
(Missing the point, none of you are getting out if I fail… but… this is fine.)
Orloss, of all people, passes a test devised by Fehr.
One of “love and fidelity”.
“Falke Kestner” is how Orloss knows him.
(From the very first time I met this evil creature, he valued Falke as a true Kestner despite knowing it wasn’t what Falke thought about himself.)
“Why would I?”
“HAH!?”
“This is the story you wrote for yourselves, one of impotent desires that drowned beneath the waves of a sea called ‘insincerity’!”
The cross doesn’t need to ring out yet.
Adris can enjoy their torment a while longer. By this point, he deserves a bit of reprieve from having to act as shepherd for this tale…
(… All I’ve had happen to me since I walked in this place is to be flayed on my backside. Why not… linger in my pain for while?)
But the cross does flare up briefly when he lifts it for its imposing presence.
“At any time… you could’ve saved yourselves.”
It brings another grin of authority.
“And her. But, no, forbidden fruit drove you to conspire, and now… you’ll be rightfully consumed by your sin—!”
“Rejected, such a fate.”
Small hands force the cross downward and to diminish.
“Emperor of this lady: render now one’s aid in fullest, forsaking vengeance for this lady’s benefit.”
“… Ah…?”
An unusual interruption into his little play is still a dazzling one. She doesn’t bother with human mannerisms, even now, but Neesiette’s choice of words touches him where few others do.
“Even if for the unworthy, save those before this lady. So commanded it be, the rescue of an errant old man who failed a lacking creation.”
“… Hah, such an annoying duty.”
A black aura clinging to Adris’ arm wisps away, a circulation of his body’s energies that’s much easier after his advancement up his aura progression path. Little displays don’t tire him out, even though using the cross normally does.
(Well… I’ll help Orloss. I find I sort of like him, after all.)
Anyone who treats Avenalliah fairly and kindly can’t be all bad.
(I figured he was an abuser, but he’s just mostly insane.)
“If my lady demands it, I shall forestall the coming storm briefly. Pursue your own salvations during this mercy.”
“Says who!? What salvation!?”
Orloss seethes, but the matron behind him brushes past to stand before judgment.
“Falke…”
All of her catty mannerisms remain, especially the disdain she reserves for intruders who harmed her man. But after a deep sigh that swells up the melons she swings, Sapphira’s angst subsides.
“How can we save my Falke from ending his… craft?”
(Hah, asserting any ownership only at the last moment? And you treated him before Fehl as if he was an afterthought.)
“Right, right, right…”
Through a forest of tentacles that wrap around themselves, a particularly tired figure dives through with a quick side roll to stand upright. Lycia the Ghoul brushes clean with a cloth her slayer protection, more tired-looking than angry at everything going on despite the mucous covering her.
“Just like the Chosen say, the ~~QUEST GIVER~~ has to be there to turn in for the reward~?”
Lazy green beauties fix on Adris. They paralyze him despite the outward placidity of this queen inventor.
(“LAST CHANCE, SHRIMP”!? IS THAT WHAT THOSE EYES SAY!?)
A hidden whirlwind of destruction builds up around her, capable of murdering all present if he speaks the wrong words!
“Only… the created may save the creator.” Adris coughs and turns his face from Lycia. “Save Fehr, and she will save you.”
“OH!? A glorious idea, devoting your miserable lives to rebuilding my precious god-daughter!” Orloss’ restored humanity graces them with a grubby rubbing of his hands and a gleaming, toothy grin. “Let’s immediately get to Falke’s sh—!”
“What do we have to repair?” Lycia interjects, to set eyes upon Fehr’s core finally that has fallen to the floor. Picking it up…
“DON’T TAINT HER, WORKS BITCH!”
“This it, then…? How much time do we have?”
Adris dismissively crosses his legs when Neesiette’s own stare prompts him.
With a sigh, he twirls the black cross on the end of two fingers.
“I shall allot… an hour for sins to be shed.”
“THAT’S NOT LONG ENOUGH, YOU OVERGROWN WEED!”
Lycia’s claws dance free, the strutting vixen sashaying toward him with visible murder in mind.
(C-Calm down… please, calm down…!)
“Who asked inferior talent for their opinions!? Relinquish my god-daughter and I’ll put you to work where you might assist!”
“Hands off, Calamari Man! She’s MY employer, and I hAvEn’T bEeN pAiD…!”
Works and Pillars meet and spark, tentacle cane crossing against a flaming macehead that’s thrust out. Immediately settling into an untenable grudge, Adris’ most useful creators are…
“… Repairing the core within an hour is easy with Falke’s tools…”
Sapphira’s lacking energy doesn’t dissuade Adris from pushing Neesiette forward. The doll gapes for a moment, before realizing that she is between all three of her erstwhile facilitators.
“In-Indeed, then… to Falke’s shop, returning, repairs an—”
“None here are allowed into my Falke’s private sanctum!”
Sapphira swoops up on spilling waves of ephemeral sea, a scream of indignation preceding weaving patterns of magical words gathering to her. Frosted surfaces grow thicker with ice.
“You are all people that have hurt him, I wouldn’t trust…!”
“Obey this doll’s orders explicitly, Slave Sapphy!”
“KHA!?”
Ramrod stiff, the matron collapses through the disappearing currents to strike the floor and then clatter like a piece of iron until resting stock still.
“GAHAHAHA! MAKE FULL USE OF THIS ONE! How deliriously fun, I’ll be entering Falke’s private workshop! Betray its location to me, after all these years, Sapphy!”
“It’s… at the top… of the treeeeeeee, second limb dooooown…”
A harpy’s robotic voice gives up the prize, then a great tentacle descends to scoop Orloss up.
“Finally, his workshop! I showed him mine, now he shows me his! Hah, hah, hah…! SAPPHY, FLY THE WORKS BITCH AND THE LUGGAGE UP WITH US!”
“Yesssssss, Master Orlooooossssss…”
The grounded chicken spins upright, jiggling everywhere as she stomps over toward Adris to then ungainly take flight.
Tears are streaming from her eyes. The indignity seems so much that she’d murder Adris if allowed a moment’s freedom.
(I should do this with Ave…)
Adris hoists Neesiette to him, then leaps to grab onto Sapphira’s leg along with the tired Lycia on the other.
“… I should’ve just killed you…”
“Sis…”
Together they arrive at…
“I can fix a core using other parts, but I can’t redesign one in a Short!? What do you mean ‘fatal flaw’!?”
The matron’s workstation is prepared by the great machinery that Orloss breathes life back into. Unable to carry his kraken within, only the minimum of its nature is projected by Orloss’ spiritual willpower. Destroyed by Falke’s tantrum, the machinery that obeyed his design substitutes a kraken’s living lightning coursing through it and forcing its mechanisms to work.
“I paid for most of it without him knowing, anyway! It’s mine to enjoy…”
Orloss’ giddy mood is evident in the kraken’s eyes that flow over every surface and peer through all of the glasswares to spot important facets of the workshop.
(All of the historical documents are here, now.)
At Adris’ mute suggestion on the way up, an arriving harpy, one missing feathers and shaking so hard in Sapphira’s agitated presence that she almost faints, drops a satchel that is locked by an archaic contraption before fleeing at full speed.
Within must be parchment older than his full age on Xin.
(One of them is… Fehr’s original schematics. This hoarding grandma saved everything Falke ever put to parchment.)
“Fehr was incomplete in both… iterations. When she first was activated, she ran purely on Dohle’s memories and extraneous instincts flowing into her from… elsewhere. The second time, even when aided to become more independent and self-governing, she fell into old habits when regaining her memories.”
“Actions notwithstanding, mechanically speaking, a fatal flaw, catastrophic thermal expansion rupture, be responsible for both ‘living’ units’ destruction in place of Falke’s self-termination order.”
Adris and Neesiette paint the scene briefly, for the shop has been cleaned of its final showdown.
At Orloss’ insistence, Sapphira presses on pedals and directs puppets of water to pull levers. Multiple flat boards swing into view along with two pedestals.
“Core, pattern [9883, iteration 3].”
A recent model core is fished out by Neesiette punching in these numbers on buttons. A large container drum makes a racket before a hole in the holding mechanism ejects a core roughly the same size as Fehr’s.
“Recent in design, serving as a suitable comparison. Upon the boards, affix the following: ‘pseudoprósōpon material components and transmutation theorem’, ‘activation, maintenance, and command rituals for core units’, ‘personality resonance node schematics for advanced independent unit testing [Kaskin and Nerrik variant]’…”
Neesiette lists off innumerable schematics to draw from Falke’s hidden archives, opened by Sapphira using her authority and adding from her personal collection.
“I can’t reproduce any of Falke’s operating of them.” Sapphira darkly sighs while doing as ordered, no small hint of jealousy in her tone. “All I’m capable of is repairing and building cores without innovating, you know? No matter how long I spent trying to command them, they never obey except through preprogrammed responses…”
(That’s easy to explain. What pseudoprósōpon is, is…)
“You’re still a low achiever, Sapphy, my dear~! Of course you can’t do what my dearest Falke can.”
“Squidly, one day I will claw your eyes out…”
But the madman only rounds her to place Fehr’s broken core upon a pedestal beside the other, newer one.
“No, no, it’s not that you aren’t apt, that’s entirely a different problem, it’s that Falke has a special relationship with the material!”
“What… kind of relationship makes him bound to it?” Sapphira’s question strikes with a deep groan. Brows lift, so hungry for a hidden secret.
(If you just let me finish thinking, I will explain that pseudoprósōpon is created from Vigor, and is thus just like the cross in tha—)
“Pseudoprósōpon, [Soul], created by the transmutation of Vigor into a dual-element manifestation.”
“MY GLORIOUS NARRATIVE WAS GETTING TO THAT!”
Neesiette’s explanation, drawn from the knowledge affixed before her eyes as she sits upon a stool, explains a lot more than Adris was expecting even from his own conclusions.
(HEY, HEY!? Then… doesn’t that mean I am…?)
“SOUL!? The Shut-in Dollmaker is an alchemist himself!?” Lycia crowds the five of them finally after staying aloof in her usual style, picking up Neesiette to squeeze her like a toy as the Lunamaton struggles. “He controls a Soul dual-element!? Then… that means…!?”
“Huh, yes, pseudoprósōpon reacts to his spiritual resonance. You are learned at least a teensy bit, wiener-stuffing pedophile whorebag.”
Orloss tsks at the new addition, not even bothering to return Lycia’s icy death stare.
Instead, the Pillar artlessly starts laughing and slapping his chest.
“Oh, is it that no one knows? Just little old Orloss!?”
“GET TO IT, SQUIDLY! What have you been hiding about FALKE!?”
At Sapphira’s insistence, Orloss draws the alchemical symbols for “Water” and “Earth” on a board for viewing.
“Kestners, those who ‘Speak for the Will’, with the [Will] being a pagan euphemism for earth spirits. They belong squarely to…”
The “earth” symbol is slapped by Orloss’ cane, then his monologue continues as he points to…
(Water… is it…?)
“In the parlance of the alchemists, Earth succumbs to Water in authority. But, conversely, the rare joining of Water and Earth equals Soul, province of spiritual elixirs and poisons. So, who would gain a natural affinity with pseudoprósōpon, which is a product of Soul?”
“… Dual-element practitioner. [Sorcerer] (INSTINCTIVE MAGICAL USER)… Falke…”
Such a revelation halts Neesiette’s struggle to escape, realization dawning that must explain a lot to her, too. There’s even a glimmer of dissatisfaction with her scrunching up, which Adris intuits as “how did I miss this?”.
(Oh, then like with Techniques and aura, “one may sublimate the other”, removing another’s utility to expand its own. Is this not common on Zennia? It happened constantly on Xin.)
Easily explainable now for outsiders, within the dogmatic perspective of an aristocratic family and a culture removed from proper expertise in magic…?
“No way… Falke has [water] in his blood as strong as his [earth] lineage from the Kestners!?”
Sapphira’s outburst sends Orloss cackling.
“Falke’s mother is a [Naiad] (GUARDIAN SPIRIT OF THE LAKE’S SOURCE)! As far as affinities go, a demi-human will automatically favor the stronger spirit blood!”
“A NAIAD!? But, but, Naiads are holy water spirits that… are really seductive…”
“We Pillars identified her home wellspring. Our knowledge of his history far exceeds even the Kestners’, bwahahaha! The previous Speaker before Dohle knew, for he was the father in question who dallied with a water nymph and then ran off!”
Sapphira’s shocks for the night are too much. Her face is red hot, tears spilling again. Even if she’s old and wise normally, being confronted by her entire life in perspective shatters some security that she built upon.
“… I didn’t… charm him… he… charmed… me…?
But… always, I… really…?”
(“Really loved him”? Solve that later!)
“SHUT UP, YOU FAT, LOVESTRUCK TURKEY! GET BACK TO WORK!”
“HEEENGHAAA!?”
Sapphira’s wings stretch in random directions and her human-like puppets do splits, before all of them robotically return to business with breakneck speed to retrieve components from Sapphira’s pile of hand-picked relics.
“Yeeeeeeeeeesssss, Masterrrrr Orlossssssss.”
The convenient resolution leaves Orloss sidling up to Lycia, though.
“The dumb bird unfortunately told the truth that we cannot solve this ‘fatal flaw’ in a Short! I’m far, far above Falke in controlling ‘the truth’ that he copied from Idiot Peak. But, I’ve never discovered any real ‘flaws’ in the experiments Falke has shared with me that he found lacking. The most I can do to repair her is to replicate Fehr’s basic guidances, hoping that what’s left within the personality resonance node is sufficient to rebuild.”
“I’d need at least a week of going over this goop, a month of learning to signal the medium, testing it and the cores a year at least, and, well, everything else…”
That the genius Lycia, coy again when put on the spot and cutely leaning away, considers it impossible in line with Orloss’ thoughts almost makes Adris cry.
(This was supposed to work out! I figured Sapphira could accomplish more!)
“Indeed, this be the lacking nature of lesser beings.” Yet another necessary part of this tale has never ceased work, though. Neesiette’s eyes are a soul-catching violet blaze. Within them, Adris might feel himself disappear completely if she were to turn toward him!
They move between the various diagrams, schematics, and thick parchment sheets full of esoteric theorems and mathematical formulae.
“YOU THINK YOU CAN DO BETTER, CURIO!? Come here…”
Orloss’ heckling goes unanswered for another minute as the man whips out a comb and leans closer…
“Adris, report.”
“Ho?”
Adris perks up, touching his hand to his cross to signify the “mystique” is ready, then giving a curt nod.
“Notable unit feedback, impressions of difficulty or unique sensory experience, identified and codified by an emperor to be shared?”
“Feedback…? Yes, some exists.”
(How did she phrase it? I think Fehl also called it the same.)
A unique, but shared, impression was of an impediment to their ability to quickly think when challenged, as if wrestling with themselves.
“Fehr claimed that ‘something was in her way’, a barrier. The heat they both exuded increased when they were performing acts contrary to Falke’s ‘rules’.”
“… Indeed. Clarified, important, assessment forthcoming momentarily.”
At that, Neesiette closes her eyes, not even hitting Lycia’s hand when the ghoul lightly smiles while stroking the doll’s silky hair.
(Leave my toy alone, sis!)
“Hah, grandstanding! As if your ‘brilliance’ could identify the solution in ju—!?”
“Identified, principle flaw.”
“BULLSHIT!”
Orloss hisses, but is ignored by Neesiette when directing Lycia to bring her to Fehr’s original schematics by pointing.
“Joining and recycling medium with command authority, occurring here in both designs.”
A series of baffles are struck, a mechanism called an [intent exchanger] (REVIVAL OF ANIMUS). One joins with the device that is called a [resonance source], to be flowed across by the pseudoprósōpon separated by tubes…
(This is beyond me. Only… a bit. For now.)
It almost reminds him of a distillation process for spirits or poisons, but it’s a part of the continuous loop of the goo through the core itself.
That the three others here nod in understanding at her continued scholarly explanation is the key for Adris to join in doing that at important-sounding points.
(Just like old times with those fat fucking bookwigs.)
“So, the medium will slow down if the resonance node detects a degradation of instruction purity according to rules set by the maker? Ah, when it tries to reassert essential behavior guidances…”
Orloss takes notes, licking the tip of a pencil before adding his own thoughts to the parchment he uses.
“Escalating heat accrues from failure to assert these principles, increasing thermal expansion throughout the entire assembly when failure prompts an exponential increase in rectification attempts. Cascade failure, this be a simple function of time and preponderance of errors.”
“No wonder he has to recycle the manse every day with such a slow progression, the heat has to shed somewhere from his time bombs!”
(That’s only half the reason! Who is the smart one, Orloss…?)
“Correcting physical design, abandoning strict ‘principles’ governing behavior, with these as requirements a suitable architecture as replacement naturally progresses toward…”
The Lunamaton continues her work, held aloft by the ghoul inventor who keeps humming with interest at what is put to parchment. Even Orloss finds himself grunting with amusement when given the opportunity to examine a different path.
(What will you come up with?)
A curious shape takes place that is similar to a bottle instead of a series of baffles. Lacking intersecting parts, it is contiguous throughout its journey of the mysterious muck.
Then… then its trajectory changes, for the flow turns back on itself, seemingly without doing so…
“What… what is this aberrant shape…?”
“Abandoning finite space and direction, superior revitalization of medium ‘pseudoprósōpon’ becomes an abstract of ‘time/progression’ and not simply physical flow volume narrowed.”
Adris’ own growing headache reflects in the moods of the other witnesses. Orloss’ yellowish skin blanches. He scowls in pain, turning from the sight!
(I… I have to stop her! It’s one of her mind-bending shiny place horrors!)
Lycia backs away slowly, keeping Neesiette close to her work by extending her forward.
“Non-orientable surface, object utilizing multiple dimensions, such an elegant design sacrifices nothing to attain much higher efficiency! Within the allotted remaining Short, implementation be plausible, committing to realization of the design within the next thirty-two seconds!
… Cease retraction of this lady from the drawing surface, incomplete certain embellishments remain.”
Finally Lycia can no longer stand it, setting Neesiette upon a chair and then struggling against the unseen, but felt, currents of madness to grab the design sheet.
(DO IT!)
Adris furiously drags a finger over his own throat, though not with Neesiette noticing his intent, such that Lycia folds the large sheet in half…
“Project lead, identifying this lady by title as such due to observable supremacy of intellect, places lesser technicians in the position of menials.” Neesiette closes her eyes, adopting a quiet superiority when she pushes her non-existent chest out. “With fullest dedication and subservience, abandon personality conflicts and selfish motivations, devoting instead to manifesting a perfect realization of Falke’s long-sought go—!”
“REJECTED~!”
“TREASON!”
A single rip turns into a flurry of them, banishing Neesiette’s design to oblivion!
The shreds are thrown up into the air to rain down upon their heads.
“DESIST! HIERARCHY RIGHTLY ESTABLISHED, CONFORM FOR TEMPORAL EFFICIENCY!”
“Haaaah, I’ll be in charge of redesigning this ‘intent exchanger’ thing to fix the problem, eh ‘Squidly’? So don’t fuck up what you’re going to feed through it.”
Lycia struts away from the pack and in clear defiance of Neesiette, gathering up random bits that appeal only to her unknown, yet manifesting in her mind, vision of her end goal. A half-toothy smile, the kind his sister gets when she’s finally motivated, wipes away the last of her seething anger.
(Aaaah, all it took to please her was a project she likes. I’ll remember that.)
“Don’t disappoint me, Works Bitch! It will have to be sturdy and efficient to handle the improvements I’ll make to his personality resonance node!”
“Secondary treason!? Predicted, expected in this instance!”
Orloss weaves through the growing mess of private piles, taking up his own counter space with the shiny metals he gathers to himself.
“Blasted fool Falke, of course your experiments failed, you didn’t anticipate your creations growing from their experiences!? They need a much, MUCH bigger matrix for retaining these delectable lessons they learn!”
The great kraken eye squirms into sight within a small glass beaker at Orloss’ chosen station, joyfully examining the materials.
(Falke believes that “perfection” is fitting the cake mold.)
“Hateful wretch…?”
“Hmm?”
For Adris’ involvement, the mentally abused matron in charge of putting it all together eyes him sidelong. Resentment has given way mostly to what appears to be…?
“When explaining, you mentioned the importance of ‘memory’ and ‘impression’ for reviving her. Does that mean… using older parts is wiser?”
“To create a vessel to house her, ‘what she once inhabited’ should have priority.” Adris lifts up the ruined, almost worthless core of his lost student, spinning it slowly. “Whatever others have invested into, especially if it provoked feelings…”
Then he sets the core down, to turn away from the matron.
“If you truly wanted to save her, you could’ve at any time, Sapphira. How do you feel about that?”
“I was too angry at her the first time to save her. I was… too embarrassed, and… unworthy.” Sapphira’s passion is lacking. “Beclowned…” An old wound doesn’t lead to what Adris expected when picked at, for the matron only twirls her wings to direct puppets to begin stripping down Fehr’s core with utmost ritualism.
“When I… knew it was her this time, when I couldn’t convince myself I was wrong… I was, wanting to help her, but…”
The puppets stop in mid-motion. Sapphira’s attention lapses, a final whisper marking the end of her conversation with Adris.
“Too afraid to upset my little paradise for her sake…”
She doesn’t beg for forgiveness, only sighing once before asking a strange question.
“But… how do we save Fehl?”
“Fehl?”
(You can’t save an illusion! Fehl was just “me”!)
“Where is his core…?”
“Concentrate on what you can do before worrying about extraneous things, coward.”
“I’ll hold you to all your abuses, too, once Falke is safe, monster.”
(As if I care!? I’ll be gone by then, free of this devouring night!)
Before three breaths have passed, “Fehr” lies in an orderly row of pieces and stacks of her outer shell and inner assembly.
Sapphira’s mood darkens once more, a sigh giving way to weakness.
“Why can’t I help both of them? Where is Fehl? Falke made him, too, and he was… alive in the same way.”
(… You all killed her, Fehr! She’s the real one who suffered! Show some fucking decorum and forget an illusion! At least…!)
“Mutiny! Work orders remain unissued! Cease unproductive and disallowed activities!”
Adris sighs, then busies himself with a more pressing issue by walking up behind Neesiette to ready for Lycia’s forthcoming solution.
“Alrighttttt~! Everyone here, let’s see a vote: who is for ejecting this precocious little girl from our design group~? Say ‘aye’!” The whimsical Lycia cutely hops on one foot, thrusting her hand toward the sky and flirtatiously winking at Adris. “Hold ‘em high if you got ‘em~! Yay!”
“A wonderful first decision as a peer group that needs no leader! AYE!”
Orloss follows with both hands and all of his tentacles waving high, joined by the kraken’s shadow filling the room waving many of its own appendages after creeping them out.
“Get this disaster out of my manse before I grind her to pieces under harsh waves.”
Sapphira’s wing raises, too, joined by her puppets making obscene gestures toward their erstwhile ‘leader’.
Neeisette nearly falls from the chair, caught by Adris. Her mouth is left open in shock. Finally, she raises her own hand while whispering.
“Those standing… against…”
Adris raises his hand to join hers, the safest bet in existence to gain appeal with her while securing his own ambitions.
“What a shame, my lady. This is why the shadowed lands where I rule do not allow the ruled to deceive themselves that they may govern.”
With everyone in the room quite busy and the metallic grinding becoming deafening, Adris spares no goodbyes. He simply sweeps his princess up into his arms to escape from their dangers.
“… Wise… indeed…
This lady’s… emperor be…”
His precious Lunamaton takes her exile in stride, staring at nothing as others busy themselves with tasks. Automated hammers and presses powered by turning screws thicker than a man’s arm shape heated alloys. Extruding spigots eject pastes that solidify within moments.
(They’ll do it with Falke’s shop…)
“It’s made from transfigured Vigor!? No wonder it strives to exist…!”
Singular among these three minds is his sister’s. Almost dancing through her work area, the pretty ghoul no longer seems so uptight. She rips off the design sheets from their previous locations to begin adding her own marks.
“What could… I do with such a novel little alchemical mixture after this venture~? Let’s remove all the inelegant male edges inside! A sphere!? How wonderful, let’s make it as fluid within as it dreams of being outside!”
Upon her so pleasantly cute face…
A smile that is decidedly uncute forms. A product of nightmares.
The curiosity of an ignoble supreme alchemist.
(Her eyes are green, not blue and gold! Have faith, Adris!)
Neesiette mentions nothing about the sweat accumulating under Adris’ clothing, a dampness settling in based on a true fear.
“So precious, so potent! Pseudoprósōpon, a living non-living medium~? Alchemy might end up becoming my favorite subject? Hahahaha… only [Soul] can produce a soul from nothing but rules and shadows!”
(She’s Lycia… believe…!)
“Why not… make her as alive as I desire!? No need to stop at MINOR alterations… HEY, SQUIDLY, COME GANDER AT YOUR INFERIORITY PROVED ON PAPER!”
“What are these amazing alterations!? Are you actually the ONE genius worth a damn to be found slutting it up in the Wondrous Works? Come, weep from envy when examining my plans! BWAHAHAHAHA!”
Because Orloss takes it upon himself to “compel” Adris to do what the conman had wanted to do in the first place, he can slink into irrelevancy to enjoy a brief respite from the future task of reaching out to Fehr.
(It’s going to be tough. I’m… not looking forward to the words I’ll have to say.)
“… Release.”
“My arms no longer suit you?”
Neesiette touches down, then whips to face Adris. She ignores the jest, instead pulling on his jacket. The lifeless manner she lingered in after expulsion is blasted away. A fierce conviction goes into her many tugs on him!
“Surrogate craftsman menial, attend!”
“Menial? Wait…”
(The fuck did you just call me!?)
Adris isn’t allowed his needed break, getting dragged instead to an unused station. The diminutive boss kicks pedals to start machinery, then leaps onto a lever to draw it down with her weight. This workshop’s area hums to life when filling with kraken energies.
“Exclusion by treason! Unforgivable! Rectifying, a surrogate shall aid! Gathering components for core assembly, begin now!”
“What core? The others are already repairi—!”
“Inferior design and craftsmanship! This lady’s emperor, with aid of superior vision, Lunamaton guidance, shall…!”
Neesiette marches down to the disused works, punching in numbers into Falke’s storage container to shoot out spheres like an archer looses death upon an enemy!
“… rise above!
The supreme example of Falke’s craftsmanship, prophesied to be created solely by us!”
Adris’ knees buckle under the weight of what’s thrown into the bin he carries, for his lady climbs upon the counters to obtain all her heart desires.
A suitable core is finally saved from the growing obstacle course rolling at Adris’ feet to be held high over Neesiette’s head!
“Duality, merger of Lunar engineering and shadowy mysticism, two hearts shall beat in unison for creation’s sake!”
“KEEP YOUR TRASH FROM FLOODING OVER HERE, DOLL!”
Neesiette ignores the screaming Orloss, a beautiful smile gifted to Adris before she slams the core into his bin!
(I didn’t die and get reborn to be your assistant!)
Characters:
Name: Adris fehl Dain, “Boss”, “Starr”
Titles: Lycia’s Little Brother, Slayer, Gigolo (Self-Admitted)
Race: Xin’El, Emperor’s Child (Human), ???
Sex: Male
Age: ?? – Young
Occupation: Crossbearer; “Star of Ruin, Cast Down from the Sky Upon a Dying World”, Slayer of Petripolis, [True False God]
Discipline: [Rule in Dark]
Powers:
[Tool Savant] – “Adris is a tool-collecting-and-utilizing fanatic. Most men would consider him disgusting for loving tools more than his own partner. Has so many tools that it can be said to be his true power. What does he do when he has no tools left? He seeks to acquire more, obviously!”
[Rule in Dark – Wave of Darkness] – “Making victory possible? No, no, no. That thing isn’t that kind! There’s more than that!”
[Brainfry] – “You’re still with me, right buddy? Yeah, you’re still there.”
[Refuse to Kneel] – “Ah, even the Alchemaster can’t make me submit! This is the one that’s saved me all those times!?”
[Tongue of Air and Darkness] – “What’s the difference between this and the old one? Why ‘air’?”
[Conceptual Refusal] – “How the fuck does dominating people’s minds turn into a weird statement like this!?”
[Marital Arts – Self-taught] – “Hoh, even if it’s dangerous to use, it feels good to prove to myself that the body is still as willing as the mind! Even if I can’t call it aura, something is inside me now!”
[Verisimilitude] – “Stop giving weird names to what I do! But if my imaginative truths are more believable now, I’m not gonna complain.”
[A WONDERFUL CURSE] – “If that old corpse wasn’t already dead, I’d definitely kill him!”
[Authentic Fiction] – “All tales eventually gain sufficient truth if retold often enough, right? Why shouldn’t my fiction be better than ‘reality’?”
Items:
[Lord of Predation] – “BECOME NOTHING MORE THAN FOOD OR PLEASURE FOR ME!”
[The Mountain King] – “[Honor the gods, inheritor, and ever seek victory for their sake.]”
[Amethyst Oracle] “A present from this stuck up hoarder!? Am I gonna die if I use it!?”
Disposition: Resilient / Adaptable / Sinner
Alignment: Chaotic
Eyes: Black
Hair: Black, with strands of White
Skin: Tanned
Statistics:
Rantil Value – “Even after all of that, Master is still an idiot!”
Attributes by Grade:
Strength – E
Vitality – E
Dexterity – D
Agility – C
Intelligence – D
Mentality – C
Luck – F
Charisma – D
“If you want more, stop being mean to Rantil!”
Beauty:
Cethran Value – “Much the same as before, but isn’t the way you look at others a bit more dashing, now? Forced to open yourself to the world, perhaps the gentleman may grow? That is likely impossible, isn’t it, Adris?”
“Duality is the key, isn’t it? Have you noticed something untoward about contradictions?”
“Aren’t you shaping up to be a bit more than you believe you’re achieving…? Perhaps intervention…?”
Description:
“A boy who is a bit out of place as far as features, he descended from the top of the Castillo to the bottom by pluck, luck, and outrageous lying. Reborn into the world of Zennia, what can be said other than ‘he’s still exactly the same, but different’?”
“Understanding breeds a solution.”
“Allowing others to ‘take advantage’ of him is also a path to victory.”
Commentary:
“Deception is the favorite tool of this series!”
Name: Neesiette vera Luna
Titles: “Moon”
Race: Lunamata
Sex: Female
Age: ???
Occupation: Delver, Mystic
Discipline: ???
Powers:
[Rod of Force] – “In what way would it be changed? As designed, so shall it function, correct?”
[Rod of Respelling] – “A lady be every ready to instruct regarding what be in error.”
[“Brings An End” – Ponderous] – “[Ponderous was the end, for the unfair passage of time finally brought even earth to its conclusion]…”
Disposition: Impassive / Calculating / Curious
Alignment: Ordered
Eyes: Pale Violet
Hair: Amber
Skin: Pale White
Statistics:
Rantil Value –
Strength – F
Vitality – F
Dexterity – D
Agility – E
Intelligence – B
Mentality – C
Luck – F
Charisma – C
???
Beauty:
Cethran Value –”First imps, and now short girls? This is certainly becoming a pattern, isn’t it? Though you might not fare badly with a girl as beautiful as this, yes? Though she’s a little perfect, doesn’t she seem oddly demure?”
“Do you want her to be your mother now?”
“If her intellect breaks free of your tiny cages, where will your lies survive?”
Description:
“An otherworldly existence, she wears clothing that doesn’t fit with the Castillo. With mannerisms quite distinct from all others, even the girls she travels with seem incomparable to her uniqueness. Yet, she definitely seems to be in charge…?”
“What she sees in others, she finds that she can no longer easily explain.”
“When jilted, becomes a tiger.”
Commentary:
“Is Neesiette becoming another character? I still think this is like her…”