Return of the Tower Conqueror

  Always the Same (III)

The song of the crows bellowed out through a scarcely-decorated courtyard paved in cracked cut fieldstone. A dried-up fountain rested at the center, a statue of a winged baby heaving its head up to the sky the best showcase of ancient age. Furthermore, leaves filled it instead of the water, dropped from the nearby, dying trees. Thin and tall, they looked more like limbs rather than trunks, with their branches snapping at the sight of even slightly stronger wind.

The courtyard wasn't terribly large, fenced sparsely by wooden pikes and copper wire tied around them. The 'gate' was composed of a broken-down plank of wood and a few deep holes signaling the remnant of a previous battle. The pathway from the gate to the mansion on the other end appeared the most maintained in that it wasn't covered entirely either in leaves or grass.

Bloody-red brick, arched windows, ghastly balustrade on the upper floor's terrace, and two statues of naked women bending back and screaming while dozens of arms poured out of their abdomens framed the rectangular mansion, its gates similarly to the fence's broken down, giving a faint view into the interior. However, due to the fact that the entire place was barely lit by a few torches, it was difficult to peer past the darkness and discern any notable shape.

Well inside the mansion, quite a few feet underground, inside a spacious, circular chamber, a gathering of roughly thirty was currently ongoing. The chamber's shape was strange, with pipe-like extrusions running from walls toward the center where a crystal-like podium stood erect, a diamond-enriched chair levitating faintly above it. The pipes pulsated in crimson-red, like veins pumping blood, and the crystal itself would shudder every second or so, thumping like a heart.

Seated on top of the levitating chair was a topless woman, red-eyed and white-haired, tall, lean, and boisterous. She wore simple, leather pants dyed in dried-up blood, her legs crossed, arms extended and resting on her knees. Her white eyebrows were relaxed, eyes indifferently examining the gathering down below, her faintly cyan, pale skin appearing almost transparent with the visages of blueish and greenish veins pulsating in the rhythm of the pipes themselves.

The walls of the chamber were lined up with ruby gems in the shape of her eyes, each dripping one droplet of blood a second into the stone-framed pools below that then extended into the pipes.

Save for the pulsating and the thumping sounds, the chamber remained silent otherwise, nobody even chattering, deferring to the woman. Among those sitting cross-legged around the crystal elevation was Yal'sha, his gaze piercing as he stealthily glanced at the woman -- the current Matriarch of the entire Vyrmin Clan who'd abruptly descended to Initiate Strata a week before the arranged date for her Bloodgathering.

She was a figure beyond sensation even to the most renowned Eyrones and was on a trajectory to becoming one of the Counts of Blood in the future. Even now, however, her name held a lot of weight, even further up the City. Here, though, she may as well be a goddess.

"There are fewer children than expected," the woman spoke in a hardened yet, at the same time, soft tone, one so melodic that it entranced nearly everyone in the chamber. Her eyes, however, slowly traced over the mass and landed on Yal'sha. "Are your aspirations so lacking, Sha?"

"... no... Mother." Yal'sha quickly stood up and bowed, biting his lower lip. "I have plans--"

"You always have plans," she interrupted. "That's all your Father and I hear from you -- the grand plans that would put our Clan out on top of things. Sadly, plans are stories written by ink-woven cowards who never dare."

"..."

"We do not blame you for it, Sha," the woman added with a faint trace of almost forced-sounding warmth in her voice. "Not all men are made for greatness."

"I am, Mother," he quickly replied. "I will prove it to you."

"How?"

"... I'll conquer my way up to Father and You." he replied.

"How?" she asked again.

"I..." was there a 'plan' he had in mind? Certainly. She wasn't wrong in saying he 'always had plans'. But... she didn't care for a plan.

"When you asked to be sent down, we indulged you out of love," the woman said after a brief silence between the two. "But... it's been eight years, Sha. It's time to come back home."

"Mother--"

"This place seems well-arranged for a war," she interrupted. "If you do not come out of it as a solitary survivor, your adventuring days are done. You will return home and start your preparations to inherit the Crown for when I step down. Do you understand?"

"... I... I understand, Mother."

"Who are the Greedy Seven?" the woman asked abruptly, startling Yal'sha who looked up at her with a confused look in his face.

"... Mother?"

"No matter how far I hear," she said. "All I hear is stories about them. Do you know who they are?"

"... no," Yal'sha said. "But I have some suspicions."

"Do share them."

"A few days ago," Yal'sha said. "I've met up with one of the new Conquerors. I believe that even if he's not directly involved, he has something to do with them."

"Explain."

"None of our operations were targeted," Yal'sha explained. "And while that's the case for several other groups, the Seven never even approached our territory while operating."

"... do you think that the new Conqueror has the ability?" the woman asked after a short deliberation.

"I believe so, yes," Yal'sha nodded. "If... if I may be so bold... I'd like if you would meet him, Mother."

"Oh?" the woman arched her brows inquisitively as she took a deeper look at Yal'sha. "So, he's your 'plan', then?"

"Yes." Yal'sha replied without hesitation.

"Where does your belief stem from?"

"My Blood."

"... very well," to Yal'sha's surprise, his far-fetched request actually got an approval, startling him. "I shall meet this new Conqueror that has your Blood stirred. I hope he doesn't disappoint me."

Yal'sha quickly stiffened his face to prevent joy from slipping out. He was confident -- he was confident that Cain would have some impact on his Mother. He didn't know why he believed it so fervently -- after all, his Mother had lived through Eight Upheavals and Eleven Rings, totaling in over four thousand years of experiences. She's seen nearly all there is to see and went as far up as 99th Trial of the Crucible, even fighting to a draw with the Trial's Guardian. Fewer and fewer things existed in the universe that could inspire and impress her with each passing day, yet, even with all that, he believed Cain had the quality for it.

The faith may be unfounded, but he was truly out of chips to play. She was right -- his parents had indulged him enough, playing to all his tunes patiently. Yet, all this while, he never showed them any results. Cain... please... please don't disappoint me.

**

Cain sneezed abruptly, confused for a moment before he shook his head, reorienting his attention at the inconspicuous-looking building in front of him. A two-story, drab-dyed, sparsely-decorated, wooden shack stood inside a lightly fenced yard, a well on the outside well beyond the point of disrepair. Though Rikur had the 'official residence' where people would be able to meet him for a quest, this was his actual home -- and if he wanted to sell the story, he had to do it right.

Right now, it was empty -- making it beyond easy for him to sneak in. Though he didn't have the stealth capabilities that Daniel possessed, he did have the experience.

Finding himself inside, he immediately looked for a corner and charged Creation, Aether, and Body to 'paint' himself in the shape and color of the wall behind him, blending in almost perfectly, like a chameleon. He stood in silence and patiently waited, wondering how others were doing.

He had complete faith in them, which was why he was able to just let them do their own thing without him there to supervise them. At this point, babying them would do more harm than good; these were the initial floors, and if he spoiled them too much, they'd never be up to the task further up. The less they depended and counted on him for the time being, the better. That wasn't to say he'd let them burn in flames alone without saving them, but he would let them at least burn a little to learn a lesson.

Sounds of the approaching footsteps startled Cain from his deep thoughts, his gaze hardening and sharpening as he focused on the entrance where, just a few seconds later, a figure walked through.

Rikur was a short and fat-bellied man, sporting a thick and bushy beard that covered over half his face. His nose hung over his chin, like an eagle's, and a pair of shifty, yellow eyes quickly followed the walls over to a small cupboard that he reached out for, taking out a small, glassed bottle of some greenish liquid. Cain didn't wait any longer, silently dipping behind the man and swiftly putting him in a chokehold, having already charged both his arms with Body and Blood.

Startled, Rikur tried to scream out, but Cain was quicker, using his free hand to smother the man's mouth, stifling the scream. Rikur flayed and tossed, trying to free himself, but with each passing second his struggle seemed to lose some of its vigor, eventually turning into silence as he passed out. Satisfied, Cain lowered the man onto a nearby chair before he turned around and walked up to a wall near the entrance, rapidly carving Yosels' sigil right into the stone frame before shifting slightly to the side and etching Creepers' sigil into the side of the cupboard. That should do it, he mused as he walked back to Rikur and flung the man over his shoulder. Though he was a bit heavy, simply charging Body eased the burden considerably.

Now, let's just sit and wait for the whole Strata to explode in the sound of fury...

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