12 Miles Below

-Uncharted Sector, Second Layer

The machine had crawled this way. Trails on the muddy ground were clear, effort spent in petty spite. Claw marks, born from rage or desperation, painted the damp walls. Deep cuts into the ground hadn't been hidden at all. It knew there was no hiding that.

A relic knight followed the trail, silent as death. Footfall after footfall, leaving a clear trail behind him. He wasn't in a hurry. Speeding forward could find him run into another ambush. So he took his time, always keeping his active sensors running a full scan of his surroundings.

The machine had been on the run for the past half day. Searching for more Screamers to call on. Hind legs had been cut, but the beast had managed to leap off into safety, and then crawl away.

After this much time, it had to be running low on energy.

When the knight rounded a few more corners, he found his theory proved correct. The half-killed beast lay unmoving. One arm stretched out to grab the next handhold, dragging the rest of its split mass. It seemed frozen in time now, lights off, body slumped over. Even cut in half and slumped on the ground, it still towered above him, the dorsal spines tall like flagpoles.

“It may be playing dead.” A voice whispered into his soul. “Drakes are far more clever than the rest of their metal kin.”

“Not may, it’s absolutely playing dead. Approach with care.” Another voice added.

The knight paused, drawing out his weapon. Unwrapping the tattered cloth, revealing a black longblade. Built to duel against other wielders and to be even used without armor. The first of its kind, and one that all the voices in his head agreed should be hidden at all times. He never knew when he’d stumble on civilization.

The blade hadn’t been made to hack machines in half, but a weapon was a weapon. And he was alone down here.

Slow steady steps brought the knight closer to the dead enemy. Only the occasional drops of water sounded around in the mist. Pooling onto the floating skyscraper bases, gathering up enough mass before falling down onto the dirt under.

The drake’s head snapped his direction, lights turning back to full, maw spread wide with crackling power aimed directly at him.

A beam lanced out, colliding against his armor. Calculations within the sleeping armor’s mind flowed through the knight’s own mind. Too much energy for his standard shields to withstand. So he would make use of his other abilities.

Occult pulsed around him, the invisible imprint of reality warping around into an unyielding wall. Not just one, three came to life, each stacked behind one another.

The first took the blast, held for a moment, and shattered. The second held off for a shorter instant before breaking. The final one was utterly unyielding.

Light cleared, returning the world back to the dim damp darkness of ruined metal and stone. The drake watched, violet eyes widening.

“Impossible.” It hissed. “Ssssss…. What flesh are you?”

There were too many answers to that question, and he wasn’t sure himself which one was true. So he remained silent, letting the splash of mud on his boots be the answer as he stalked forward, occult blade lit bright blue.

A voice in his mind gave an annoyed tut. “Can’t seem to hold that one for more than an eyeblink. How exactly do you do it, Riventide?”

Another voice floated over the same comms. “Comes easier to me. Practice might help even you out. Not like there’s much else to do.”

Occult crackled off his armored plates again. A ghostly wraith strode out of his body, identical blade drawn out, lit bright blue.

It strode to the struggling Drake, easily catching up.

“Their weakpoints are here.” The wraith spoke, a different voice from the first two. The ghost blade slashing through the air with ease. Directly through the machine’s throat, even as it struggled to avoid the blow. A moment later, the Drake slumped down against the ground with a massive splash.

“Cowards, one and all.” The ghost continued. “Cutting off the legs should be considered only a last resort, not an opening gambit. In the future, do better. Eliminate them early on.”

The knight nodded. Wisdom from the ghosts had already come in good use.

Other voices answered back, each giving smaller hints and tips they’ve learned. Dead voices, who’s bodies had long ago been killed. Souls now, living within him like a colony.

To their credit, they had quickly adapted to the new living conditions, the inner armor looking more like a spiderweb of soul tendrils from the many within. Each using their own mirror fractals to have some presence in the real world again. Each sharing tasks with one another, while keeping separated enough to remain individual.

“Understood.” He voiced out, drawing out a dagger and beginning the process of extracting a power cell from the dead foe. He ate food to feed his core body, the human one. Power cells fed his other body, the one that housed everyone. Between the two, the external body was far more important, and yet a deep part of himself couldn’t allow his inner body to die off. A holdover of the original soul, according to the other dead floating within. An armor’s spirit wished only to protect. And if it cost everything, then it would pay everything without a second thought. Some traces of it remained alive even now.

The voices of the dead around him also agreed with the armor spirit’s final thoughts. Telling him that one day, they might fix him again. He had to keep the human body alive long enough for that moment.

They didn’t fool him. His past memories as a human taught him to detect lies. There was no going back. As much as the ghosts within him all theorized ways to heal his wounds, he could sense they had little hope it could happen.

He wrapped a rope knot around the power cell, secured it, and lifted the whole thing. Seven other power cells had been knotted up, clinking together loudly as he holstered the whole thing behind his back. Then he began the tireless sprint forward across the broken ground. Above him, floating skyscraper bases loomed like massive candles. Out of his reach.

The fall hadn’t killed him. Weakened gravity let him land on catwalks that stretched between the floating buildings. The machines hadn’t cared for an errant knight running amok while they plotted out an ambush. Drake after Drake attempted to laser him to death. When they failed, they changed tactics and simply sliced through each catwalk he landed on. Until he fell all the way down, out of the fight for good.

Now, he wondered the depths, alone with only his confused thoughts and the voices of dead ghosts, searching for a way home.

And there would be a way home.

First, he’d need to seek out the Undersiders to find passageway. Walking to the surface would only leave him stranded in the middle of a wasteland, with no airspeeder to take him the distance. It would be a long journey, but one way or another, he would return.

He wasn’t sure how much of him was centuries old, passed down from user to user, always there to protect each name. Or how much of him was still a human captain, finally clear on his purpose in life. One had died, and the other had lived.

But none of the voices, nor himself, knew which one was which.

-Airis Point, Second Layer

The kick ripped apart the delicate wooden drawer, splinters of an ornate handle flying off. It had taken an artisan the better part of a week to meticulously carve, and only a second to destroy.

Hexis watched his work for a moment, then grabbed the porcelain vase and launched that into the wall, plant and all.

A satisfying smash that did absolutely nothing to help.

“Your magnificence.” The servant behind him spoke, completely unphased by the local destruction. “Would you wish for me to requisition another orchid for your office?”

“No.” Hexis said, then paused again. “Well, actually yes. But not orchids. Gallowsweed. Nice traditional insult.”

“Of course, your magnificence.” The servant said, bowing slightly while Hexis resumed the short and brutal war against his office.

He’d loved that desk. Onyx black, and yet every bit of art was visible despite the dark color. And he was going to make absolutely sure not a shred of it could be recovered. Once he was done, most of the office was littered with splinters.

“That’ll do for a warm welcome to my inheritor.” Hexis said, satisfied at the destruction, slapping his hands free of loose bits. “Hope he enjoys his new desk. Oh and make the pot red, Sebastis. For the Gallowsweed, I mean. I want it to stand out.”

“I’m sure he will be most displeased, your magnificence.”

“Excellent. Now, out with it. You didn’t come here to watch me trash my old office, and you’re not here with bad news. We both know you’d have sent someone else to deliver news like that.”

A personal butler wouldn’t have stayed employed all these years if he didn’t have a sense of self-preservation. And given he hadn’t quit and joined up with the winning team, Sebastis likely had uncovered some bit of news that Hexis could use.

“It has to do with the earlier rumors we recovered from Capra’Nor.”

“The one about that sword saint nonsense?” Some young girl who could fight off a Feather one on one and win. Not a Deathless woman either, an actual human girl. Utterly ridiculous, stank of rust. Some veteran elite knight might be able to fight off a pack of Screamers all by themselves with enough skill, or even kill a Drake and survive the fight with enough good planning. Not that he’d seen that happen yet, lone relic knights don’t survive for long out there for a reason. But it was far more plausible to happen, unlike a relic knight fighting off a Feather. That was sheer nonsense.

“Refugees from Capra’Nor have arrived already, and many have copies of a video file showing her battles. It appears this particular rumor was not so much of a fabrication after all.”

Hexis hummed, still not quite convinced. “Suppose there’s always unexplained phenomenon in this job occupation.” That and politics. Mostly politics. But he’d often found that the simplest explanations were often the most accurate. “Deathless in disguise for now, pretending to be human.”

As far as he knew, Feathers were opponents that took a team of Deathless working together to bring down or stall. Usually not a simple affair either, a kill team had to have it planned out down to individual roles in the fight along with the right occult spells, and they’d generally die a few times before they’d win. Hexis was only a glorified arms dealer when it came to all that nonsense. They could go around killing each other for centuries, but gear was gear and that did break after each fight. Fortunately, Deathless were usually flush with resources. And if they weren’t, favors owed by a Deathless were just as valuable.

That sword saint would certainly be a popular Deathless for having fought off a Feather one on one, and he’d appreciate watching the video file himself. That said, he couldn’t see any use for this particular Deathless in the political shitfuckery he’d found himself knee deep in. No, his esteemed colleagues would be the ones who the girl would contact first whenever she came around to Airis Point looking for weapons and spells.

So what was his butler on about here?

“It has more to do with her allies.” The butler said, walking over with a small folder of paperwork.

Hexis took on the items and leafed through them absentmindedly. Then his eyes narrowed and he re-read the pages.

Surface savages come down from Clan Altosk, one of the few clans in the region under command of a Deathless clan lord. That added more into the idea that this was some new Deathless apprentice, sent out to make a name for herself. The living soul within knows there are hundreds of those appearing everywhere these days, most untrained and in need of mentorship, ever since the world went mad. Why would the surface be an exception? Odd to hide the title and pretend to be a regular human, but Deathless did have to play political games too, in between fighting the tainted metal. He just didn’t yet have the full picture.

What came as more bizarre was her escorts. One moment, they were reported as regular surface knights. And the next they now moved at the same speed the girl used to fight off a Feather. Why hide that skill in the first place?

The clan lord up there might be sending a message to all the new deathless hiding away that he could train them. A subtle recruiting pitch perhaps, draw out the ones too scared to make use of their new powers. And put the ones gone mad with power back into their place.

Deathless they might be, but only a handful had been soldiers. For all their newfound ego, none of those attention starved idiots could fight a Feather off one on one.

“What if they’re not Deathless?” The butler asked.

“Might be surface savage politics if they’re not Deathless.” Hexis said, absentmindedly, more speaking to himself now and organizing his thoughts. “They do value different things than proper civilization does. Martial might from weakness could be an appealing strategy, and appearing at the last moment as heroes could be something highly effective in their culture.”

“Somehow, I have a feeling you’re not much of a believer when it comes to such a theory, your magnificence.”

“Not for a coin.” Hexis huffed. “Them being Deathless makes far more sense. And I’ve met with clan knights before in trading sessions. Usually unable to buy anything because they’re always poor, but they offer good services as mercenaries or armed guards. So I believe I have enough of an understanding of what they respect and what they do not. Someone who’s come into great power for no reason wouldn’t be trusted. Someone who’s slowly honed their skills and might over years with dedication is far more reliable and understandable to their culture.”

‘I concur.” The butler said. “To me, it felt as if they had shared an occult spell between the five, and only when the situation was too grim to do otherwise.”

“... That is... an interesting argument.” Hexis said. “Wise to bring it to my attention.”

He considered it deeper. What if the surface clan had discovered some fractal that sped them up? Surface savages fought each other constantly, they were well known for having entire dedicated combat arts to defeating each other. It didn’t give them any great advantage against machines of course, but as bodyguards, they were quite the statement.

Pair their skill up with the speed to match a Feather, and they really might have everything needed to actually tie an enemy like that down. But just as much chances the girl was some brand new Deathless like he’d originally suspected.

But what if she wasn’t? What if they really did have a new fractal like that?

He needed to get his hands on it fast.

The guild thought they could simply strip him of his rank and that he’d be toothless forever more. Fools, the lot of them. He’d made his fortune by taking risks. He didn’t have anything else to lose anyhow. “Organize a charter expedition to the surface. We’ll make way to that clan and find out the truth.”

“It shall be done at once your magnificence. I will inform the guild of your departure and have the proper obfuscation done. They will be none the wiser on where we go.”

“Good. Besides my personal guards, search around for any surface mercenaries stopping by. Having them on the team will make relations go smoother. The savages respect each other far more than they’d respect little old me.”

He might have been politically ostracized and ridiculed by that upstart. But he could easily claw back his titles and position the old fashioned way: Unearthing new fractals.

None of his peers could ever go against the ancient traditions. If he returned with new fractals, it didn’t matter his rank or status, he would reclaim his title.

Hexis lifted the papers before him, then snapped his fingers, allowing the brief contact of thin metal wiring within his gloves to brush against one another, completing a circuit.

Occult took so little electricity to trigger or maintain. It made it easy to hide among his ornate decorations. Flames appeared on the tips of his fingers, engulfing the paper folder entirely. He tossed the burning items onto the ground, watching as they erased all traces before he stomped the whole thing with his boot.

It wouldn’t do to start a fire right around so much splintered wood. After all, he intended to reclaim this office soon enough.

It had been centuries since the last time a warlock looked upon the surface, let alone a grand warlock, but times were changing.

If there was growing power brewing outside the guilds, then Hexis would sniff it out, and drag it back with him.

-The Shattered Wasteland, First Layer

He fixed and fixed, ever working in the darkness of the destroyed battleship. Repairing the soul fractal came first. He’d done so remotely, commanding the few working nanite swarms to disconnect any power sources connecting the central heart, before putting in repairs.

It wouldn’t do for this shell to generate a new artificial soul. And given how old the chassis was, there was a strong chance a soul could manifest within seconds of the main systems booting up.

Once that was repaired, he isolated the systems and powered them on. It lit up bright, disconnected from the whole. From here, he gathered his courage and tapped into the Unity fractal.

A vague sensation of Mother passed over him, too busy with other items to handle him. Or care for who he was. He’d predicted this would be the case, but Relinquished could be fickle. For all he knew, she may have been genuinely interested in To’Aacar’s fate and keeping a watchful eye for his signature to reappear.

She had not. And through her borrowed power, he moved himself into the empty soul fractal, taking command. Now, no new soul could be generated as he held the reins. He reconnected the heart back to the chassis and continued the work.

Slowly, steadily. To’Orda woken up occasionally, tasked to recover power cells to help fuel the process. It would take a week to repair everything, but it would be well worth it. This shell was far lighter than his old one, made for mobility and acrobatics. Made to fight enemies who were just as nimble as quick.

Deathless had always been tied to human speed and reflexes unless using an occult spell. His past chassis had been built to counter that level of speed. It had been able to withstand massive damages that would have broken other Feathers. Ambushes, sabotage, even occult spells that couldn’t miss. His old shell had been perfected to his needs.

Against the new foe that had appeared, he’d found himself nearly matched in speed for the first time in his life. Memories bubbled through of a hundred occult ghosts harassing him from all sides, burning the air around him, suffocating his path of escape.

He needed a faster shell now. The amount of damage that Winterscar could do was far higher than anything machines could take on. Avoidance would become his new shield.

Wings were a possible addition, although that came with its own drawbacks and weaknesses. And it wouldn’t fit the original shell.

Acasual forces were not well discovered, but concepts played a large part. To’Avalis didn’t wish to tempt fate any more than he already had. The shell had a concept of its own after being tied to acausal forces for centuries. To modify that ran against the gravity that had begun to settle in this chassis. He could feel parts of the shell rejecting his command. Move sluggishly, not quite in sync with his own thoughts and patterns. It would take some time for the concept of himself to seep into the metal.

While the nanoswarms worked tirelessly, his other processes were investigating outside. The Winterscar was out of reach, as was To’Wrathh. Surface bound. Now fully built, he wouldn’t be able to easily kill her that far away from any support. By design, Feathers were not made to be easily handled. And this one was surrounded by knights who each posed a serious threat.

He considered one particular location hidden within A-12’s memories, a prison hidden from everyone. But that was a double edged blade and could just as easily cut himself as it would his enemies. He’d need to save that as a last resort.

And To’Wrathh would need to leave the safety of the surface at some point. At the heart of their nest, she was neigh untouchable. But seven layers under the surface, that was where he could pick her apart.

If she wasn’t leaving anytime soon, there were other ways to bait an enemy out. The surface clan didn’t have any lack of enemies to abuse. His predecessor had connections to all of it. Undersiders, Othersiders, all humans that would turn their fangs on his target if given the right payment.

Perhaps he could salvage something from the ruins of all these failed plans.

Time would tell. Time always did.

Next chapter - Victory

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