Post by lodnir on Jan 27, 2017 3:37:01 GMT -6
A lone ashen knight stands at a crossroads, the city around him soaked in night. A single street lamp flickers over his tarnished platinum form utterly immobile. He is the Street Knight, a symbol of the city in chaos, the hope of the commoners among the revolts. He wears no mantle and there is no wind to billow it. The dusk is unnatural the district is silent. For when the tide of night washes the city, the ghasts and ghouls given their sweet oxygen come out to live their lives. But not tonight. The Street Knight stirs, panning his vision across the petrified streets. Not a soul, not a sound - as if he were looking at a world in the unfathomable depths of a pitch black alien ocean. The distant sound of a bell somewhere strikes eleven times.
His phone rings in a pocket under the armor; once, twice, five times before he answers the headset.
“Hm, did I connect?” A voice like the moonlit clouds overhead singing comes though. “I guess that means I didn’t fall into the Crucible” A sigh. Her disappointment apparent alongside the faint sounds of purring in the background. “At least I don’t have to battle Mr. Mittens here then.” A content meow. “I assume you haven’t found any entrances or lonely lost espers either?”
“No, nothing over here. Also your sense of naming is terrible.” The Street Knight responds - a younger voice than you would expect from a person that has brushes with death weekly; but dyed with the solemnity reflecting it. “Nobody either. No store lights. Nothing.”
“Hm? There should be an late night cafe around that corner though.” The purring trails off. “Didn’t we go the other week? The one that had some of Brier's fans.”
The Street Knight looks over to the small corner shop with a raised patio. The unlit interior speckled with empty chairs, no barista behind the tasteful mahogany counter, not a soul in sight. “No one's home. “
“It seems you’ve wandered at least partway into the Crucible for tonight’s selection then. Site says its open right now.“
A dial tone is heard on the line, the sound of Brier connecting to the call. “This is Brier, am I in?” Another, warmer, young man’s voice crackled into the call, apparently experiencing some reception issues.
“Speak of the devil. Any luck on your end? Cymose looks like he’s halfway in.”
“No, nothing here. But for a while now you two have been blinking on and off the radar.”
“My.”
“I had trouble connecting for a while for a while too, so I sent Usas and Dayton over to your positions and neither of them found or guys or your transmitters.”
“I still have mine though. I was jangling it front of Mr. Mittens just a while ago. He probably didn’t break it.”
“I got mine too. Probably, can’t check quickly without getting out of my armor.”
“Who is Mr. Mitt-”
“So what you’re saying is that we both stumbled into the Crucible without realizing it?” A pause. “I still feel grounded my domain but I guess it does feel like the leylines are slightly twisted. Nothing telling me I’m somewhere I’m not though; feels like I could walk back to my bed whenever; ah, to be in bed.”
“It seems that like we haven’t been giving the Exarch enough credit then. Better be careful though, if we can’t even tell when you entered the Crucible it might be harder to get out than we thought.”
“Can’t be that difficult, even the losers that get burnt out manage to make it outside; worst comes to worst we just have to wait it out for two hours.”
“Even so-”
The conversation was suddenly interrupted by a brilliant burst of light like a cable box bursting somewhere a few or so blocks deeper into the downtown district. Its wake apparently sending the call on Brier’s end into deep static.
“Brier?”
Silence
“Ah well, the commencement of festivities I suppose - did you catch that?”
“Yeah, a couple of blocks Northeast I think.”
“About a couple dozen South for me. It looks like our relative positions are off too. Strange how we can still communicate though, do you suppose this counts as call roaming?”
“...I’m going to do some reconnaissance first then, rendezvous at rally point three in half an hour?”
“It’s a date then.”
The Street Knight - Cymose cuts the call. Standing there under the harsh fluorescent for the span of another breath before setting off into the midnight town. A deep sea diver leaving the search light, an invisible reel leading him on.
The district is silent. More silent than Cymose has ever recalled it ever being. It wasn’t somewhere that he had visited too often with its quaint, homely storefronts with apartments raised above- but the uncanny unnaturalness of the atmosphere had him remembering small differences in the scenery that he was sure he hadn’t ever paid attention to before. It seemed almost as if it were a movie set constructed from someone’s memory. The scene being set by an uncanny luminosity, not entirely due to either the moon or the set lamps - but as if the scenery itself were giving of a glow that couldn’t be detected but rather felt. In fact the closer he approached the sight of the explosion he saw earlier, the less it seemed was due to “natural” light sources and more pastel-neon the world seemed to be taking on.
He began to round a corner, but then heard the distant sounds of battle coming from that direction. Moving to a lightless alley across the street with much more swiftness and stealth than could be possibly expected from someone in full armor, he clung to one of the few remaining shadows in this landscape. His left hand resting on his weapon at his side.
“T-Two against one?! What is this, t-that’s not fair! We agreed to a duel”
“Save it for someone who cares, just sit still and fork over your points!”
Several bursts of light and a cloud of dust gave way to a auburn haired youth enveloped in a purple aura running from a black long haired girl in a maroon aura and another girl with short brunette hair with a viridian aura. The maroon glowing girl extended her left hand in the shape of a gun and fired off blinding bursts from her fingertips. The man recoiled and performed a running jump, Dodging a near hit on his right leg with lightning-like agility. The cement where his leg had been bursting into rendered shrapnel which struck his side. Midair and mostly distracted by the impact, the youth was unable to avoid the short haired girl following up, running up to him with a bat seeming made of jewels.
“Order up!”
The bat connected brutally with the youths ribcage from the other side, knocking him a few feet away; curiously however his “aura” remained suspended where he has been and began rapidly collapsing and solidifying until it took the form of a cell phone. Snatching the device from the air the short haired girl taped a few keys. A bright chime was heard from somewhere, before she tossed the phone onto the man who appeared to have had a few ribs broken, completely winded and doubled over in agony. The two girls then pulled out their own phones from...Somewhere, the unnatural glow around them fading.
“Despite being a small fry he actually was worth quite a bit. Over halfway to my next rank. “ The long haired stylish girl operated her phone with a flurry of accuracy. “How about for you? “
“About three thousand from him. “ The short haired girl responded in a near monotone, her navigation quite a bit slower than her companions.
“What, three thousand? I got less than half that! “
“Maybe that’s because you wasted a bunch of shots on the cement. You should really learn to only fire shots that matter. “
“Humph, Easy for you to say, you little cherry picker. Who do you think let you land all those hits. “ The stylish girl walked over and started pinching the cheeks of the other, stretching them out. The shorter haired girl barely reacted beyond establish eye contact.
“Wwwwhere’s wnow poinw wwettnw waaad whatw meew. (There's no point getting mad at me.)”
A groan from the man on the ground. The both of them looked over.
“You seem to be pretty new at this so just sit there out of the way until the refs come, they’ll patch you up, more or less. Tough luck running into us though kid. “
A feeble wheeze.
The short haired girl continued fidgeting with her phone. Before stopping completely. “Oro, there’s a rank 6 incoming. Also there’s something else weird here in the area. The ambience is too high for just us, this runt, and the level 6, but nothing is showing up.”
The stylish girl looked back over her shoulder with a brief look of concern before it glossed over once more, looking around a bit but unable to find anything- or anyone. “I-I guess we better start moving then. “
The shorter haired girl in a jersey nodding, they both put their phones away. The two of them once more took on a strange glow; then quickly moved towards the way they came. Cymose looked over to the fallen man for a few minutes before peeling away down the alley towards the rendezvous point. Catching a glimpse of another, steely eyed woman with a long blade entering the scene out of the corner of his eye.
The city block was now completely saturated in an unearthly light, the moon no more than a characterchure depicted with the suggestion of light. Moreover, the urban geography had completely changed. Though by the nature of the city itself districts and their connections typically defied all spacial sense; this part of the city was fell typically into the more consistent variety, with landmarks typically maintaining their relative distances and configurations. Surveying the area around himself briefly, Cymose activated his headset while keeping an even pace and eye. Wondering if his call would even connect in such a space. The dial tone sounded twice before she answered.
“Run into trouble?“
Though a thick static ran through the call it seemed both ends were still intelligible.
“No nothing like that; Just a couple of espers. Anything on your end? “
“Not especially? I could really go for gyoza though. This atmosphere reminds me of an amateur impressionist gallery I saw a while back with Brier, we went for dim sum after in Clock town. It was fun you should have come. Moreover-” The vague ennui and nostalgia fading from her voice; the darkening clouds part overhead to reveal a patch of cloudless sky. “For the last little bit now I’ve been trying to get to the Raymond building but it's as if the entire of the east wharf has a dialect now; it keeps turning me back to stadium. I suppose it's because we’re in the Crucible now? “
“Same on my end. I can’t make it to the rally point either. “
“Telling someone over the phone that you’ll be standing them up in less than five minutes; you’ve gotten quite bold. Though it wasn’t like I would have been there either. “
“Anyway it seems like wherever I go I don’t get especially closer unless I’m moving to St. Paulsen’s. “
“That old cathedral? Not very impressive architecture or history compared to the Raymond building but I suppose it will have to do if it can’t be helped. I guess I’ll come over if I ca-”
A pause, the hissing of a weak radio signal protesting.
“You still there? “
“It seems like some kids are doing something close by; I’m going to have to cut the call soon or play with them. Say, I wonder if when they’re using their phones for their abilities if they can make calls.“
“Right… Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. “
“Hm? What kind things that would be, Mr. Street Knight?” Feigned indignation bounced among the grains of static. “Like vigilante work without being associated with Bureau 7, or at the service of an Eidoi, or even bound by the Ars Magna perhaps? Hmmmmmm?”
“... Just stay safe.”
Cymose could picture the cheeky expression on her face right as he dropped the line.
The streets were quiet, and cooperative, the expected layout of the town was once more as consistent as it should be - so long as he was approaching the cathedral. Unsurprisingly the combination of these two factors seemed to point at the very definition of a trap to the Street Knight if this was the machinations of the Exarch. A very obvious trap with no obvious opportunity to bypass it. Meeting the Exarch at a Cathedral. The humor was not lost on him but he didn’t feel like letting it show. Though springing the trap may be the only option left at the moment - a trap has little to no meaning if you overwhelm expectations. A crude method, but an effective one.
Here and there, winding through the teeth of the city the sounds of distant skirmishes could be heard. Sometimes accompanied by a burst of light or fire, but always with some sort of explosion. The symphony of the selection. Cymose had a vague idea of how many espers there were in the city, if even half of them were here tonight he could suddenly sympathize with Brier a bit more - especially since after tonight a number of them would rank up and further the mastery over their powers. The density of the battles seemed to increase the closer he drew to the cathedral, however none seemed to spill over into his street or the blocks surrounding it - further confirming his anticipation. Cymose rested his left hand on the pommel of his weapon as if confirming its heft once more, then slowly drew his arm back and continued walking.
The cathedral was an enormous thing, twin belfry towers extending six stories or more cast in a grim slate grey stone. A mosaic courtyard with a large central fountain were all that stood between himself and the mahogany doors. Cymose tried activating his headset.
…
…
…
Nothing. Not even a dial tone. Overhead bells struck twelve times in unison. Signaling the halfway point of tonight’s selection. Their tones dissonant and hollow compared to the ones just an hour ago. The twin belfries framed a wretched, green moon - the cacophony of bells the sickly orb’s peeling cackle. The heavy twin doors suddenly swung open outwards, the Street Knight stepped back and griped the handle of his weapon instinctively. From the firelit interior a figure in a brown robe stepped forwards, their outstretched arms falling passively to their sides; pale hands retreating into the long sleeves. An imposing figure, taller and more broad than himself. Though the drawn hood of the robe was open, underneath the figure was wearing an opaque black veil with a embroidered gold symbol, obscuring their face. Closer, closer they approached.
“So we meet again old friend.”
The rich baritone sent alarms ringing in the Street Knight’s head, but no memory or face answered the call. A defense mechanism left unseen for too long its purpose forgotten. His grip tightened, his stance widened, his right leg slid into its nock.
“Are you the Exarch?”
The approaching figure stopped - not exactly suddenly at the words and the suggestion of conflict, but as if rehearsing from an intimately familiar play.
“Yes, among other things. Though I suppose you aren’t interested in them. Ah forgive me from concealing my face but an auspicious night such as this calls for some decorum.” The figure raised his hand skywards and the Street Knight coiled, prepared to spring at any given moment. But a moment passed, then two, and nothing happened. The alarms still beckoning to a recollection that eluded him the only sound.
“What are you planning? Why did you create the espers and schisms?”
“Schisms? No, they aren’t my doing. As for my dutiful disciples I am merely giving power back into the hands of the people. Still, you surprise me Cymose from what I thought of you I would have never expected you to join hands with Icons and Eidoi. Has the Street Knight become a hound for Bureau 7 now?”
“...”
“Ah I see I see, it’s not that your scepticism at your supposed betters has faded - you’re just interested in the Olympian Blade and the Witching Mirror for your own ends. Nothing truly changes for you does it? But it’s okay, I forgave your betrayal, so surely your esteemed colleagues will too. But perhaps one day they’ll be standing before you like how I am now.”
Betrayal? The din of remembrance neither grew louder or more quiet at this, neither more hot or more cold. Only Cymose was left in confusion. The robed figure flicked a hand making a gesture and recapturing the Street Knight’s full attention
“Though I can forgive you for your betrayal, I can’t have you interfering in tonight’s - or any night’s- selection. Not to worry, as long as you’re here your soul won’t fall into any sort of hell; or have you been a good boy since we last met? Wherever your karma may stand I have a use for your soul yet I hope you understand.”
It was the Exarch that moved first. A large black orb manifested over the Exarch’s head. It wasn’t a dark of the netherworld, but rather screaming black wind; tears in space clustered together tightly eating away at the unnatural light. Suddenly coils emerged from the orb - reducing its size as parts of it surged towards the Street Knight. The armored figure lept with completely inhuman speed sideways, dodging the tendrils. The dark magic made only the faintest of sound as it whizzed through the space the knight had once stood a fraction of a second ago but the blood curdling sound of shrieking metal and fracturing wood filled the fountain plaza as the black wind collided with benches; crumpling and twisting them as if they were a child’s toy.
The Exarch wasted no time, turning their body towards where the Street Knight had dodged, and aiming five smaller projectiles from the seething cloud. The Street Knight sprang back dodging the first three and drawing his weapon from its scabbard. It would have been a stretch to call it a sword, more akin to a brutal, thick wedge or slab of wrought dark metal inlaid with strange runes. Bringing the wedge down to his feet, the metal reverberated and sang as though made from calibrated light steel; the very earth joined in the chorus a fraction of a second later, rumbling as a wall of spike emerged upwards, skewering the dark tendrils and exploding out into a ravenous trail of upheaval aimed at the motionless Exarch. But the figure did not flinch as if bound in place, instead swinging both arms downwards, bringing the dark sphere in between themselves and the the earthen maw - twisting, devouring, neutralizing it.
The Street Knight with his inhuman speed circled around to try and close the gap and bring the figure into melee range, but the Exarch was quick to fire off numeral arcing black spikes to pierce the terrain between them in a cage. Undeterred the Street Knight leapt forwards drawing an arc into the ground; from under where the closest “bar” had appeared a sturdy ring of stone, a tunnel, rose up to grant the Street Knight passage. The Exarch had no time to react. The Street Knight soared through the ring with a roar and connected viscerally with the figure’s left arm.
There was a strange resistance against the swing, as if he were striking something larger, heavier, more solid than what could be contained underneath the cloak. Rather than cleaving the Exarch laterally as one would have expected, instead the figure was sent flying sideways, dispersing their cloud as they flew through it and collided brutally with a nearby fire hydrant - demolishing it and sending a geyser upwards.
Though confused by this turn of events for a mere moment, the Street Knight adapted his stance and was prepared to leap forwards to sever the figure between his blade and the remains of the fire hydrant when something caught his leg - the ground had taken on a viscous, twisting , texture. The Exarch though prone on their back and wheezing had their pale arm held forwards, willing the residue of their cloud to coalesce where it had been. The Street Knight attempted to pull free to no avail, then followed up by attempting to “tune” his blade once more to the syrupy ground. But the sound was too hollow, the material under the complete influence of something else. The night and his surroundings becoming darker, the air becoming thinner, his armor groaning under an unseen force, he was left with diminishing options.
A thin cocoon of darkness enveloping the prone knight, the Exarch’s laboured breathing steadied under the downpour. The torrent behind them falling down from the heavens and washing the cut in the material of their sleeve. Suddenly bursting from the black cocoon, an ashen wedge was sent torpedoing out. Not at the robed figure who may have be able to block or dodge the weapon in time. But at the fountain that lay in the opposite direction. Colliding midair with the structure and demolishing it, the blade stood suspended in the ensuing upwelling of water - floating, glowing, singing.
The geyser behind the Exarch surged forwards, bending and lifting them off the ground and careening towards the dark fog they had manifested; scattering it once more. There, the Street Knight poised; feet firmly implanted into the ground. A short sword held firmly in both hands. A short sword thrust to meet cleanly with the Exarch’s heart, cutting through straight to the other side.
Silence.
Nothing was heard for the next few seconds aside from the Street Knight’s breathing and the sound of rushing water. His wedge laid idly in the surging demolished fountain; Excalibur resting in the embrace of Nimue. All was silent.
Then the Exarch twitched.
“Very well done, have I had even a shred of mortality in his body you would have found and claimed it - twice over in fact.”
Arms came up and clasped the Street Knight’s still tensed form, pushing against them, dislodging the Exarch from their impalement. WIth another flick of the wrist the Street Knight sunk down into chest level in the earthen quagmire.
“But in this place, at this time, only the likes of Eyls Elysion could hope to defeat me.”
The Exarch placed at hand over the Street Knight’s helmet, the pressure causing him to sink deeper into the cold, dark stone. The heat of the Exarch’s breath battering ever so feebly against the knight’s visor. The shimmering gold embroidery covetous of the identity beneath.
“There’s nothing you could have done about it - so don’t be too upset.”
Down.
Down.
Down.
…
I wonder if Brier and Vilensia will grieve for me - I wonder if they can forgive me.
Cymose wished these last thoughts had been less melancholy. Perhaps a fond memory of the three of them instead. But they were the the only thoughts that could bubble up in the dark’s embrace.
His phone rings in a pocket under the armor; once, twice, five times before he answers the headset.
“Hm, did I connect?” A voice like the moonlit clouds overhead singing comes though. “I guess that means I didn’t fall into the Crucible” A sigh. Her disappointment apparent alongside the faint sounds of purring in the background. “At least I don’t have to battle Mr. Mittens here then.” A content meow. “I assume you haven’t found any entrances or lonely lost espers either?”
“No, nothing over here. Also your sense of naming is terrible.” The Street Knight responds - a younger voice than you would expect from a person that has brushes with death weekly; but dyed with the solemnity reflecting it. “Nobody either. No store lights. Nothing.”
“Hm? There should be an late night cafe around that corner though.” The purring trails off. “Didn’t we go the other week? The one that had some of Brier's fans.”
The Street Knight looks over to the small corner shop with a raised patio. The unlit interior speckled with empty chairs, no barista behind the tasteful mahogany counter, not a soul in sight. “No one's home. “
“It seems you’ve wandered at least partway into the Crucible for tonight’s selection then. Site says its open right now.“
A dial tone is heard on the line, the sound of Brier connecting to the call. “This is Brier, am I in?” Another, warmer, young man’s voice crackled into the call, apparently experiencing some reception issues.
“Speak of the devil. Any luck on your end? Cymose looks like he’s halfway in.”
“No, nothing here. But for a while now you two have been blinking on and off the radar.”
“My.”
“I had trouble connecting for a while for a while too, so I sent Usas and Dayton over to your positions and neither of them found or guys or your transmitters.”
“I still have mine though. I was jangling it front of Mr. Mittens just a while ago. He probably didn’t break it.”
“I got mine too. Probably, can’t check quickly without getting out of my armor.”
“Who is Mr. Mitt-”
“So what you’re saying is that we both stumbled into the Crucible without realizing it?” A pause. “I still feel grounded my domain but I guess it does feel like the leylines are slightly twisted. Nothing telling me I’m somewhere I’m not though; feels like I could walk back to my bed whenever; ah, to be in bed.”
“It seems that like we haven’t been giving the Exarch enough credit then. Better be careful though, if we can’t even tell when you entered the Crucible it might be harder to get out than we thought.”
“Can’t be that difficult, even the losers that get burnt out manage to make it outside; worst comes to worst we just have to wait it out for two hours.”
“Even so-”
The conversation was suddenly interrupted by a brilliant burst of light like a cable box bursting somewhere a few or so blocks deeper into the downtown district. Its wake apparently sending the call on Brier’s end into deep static.
“Brier?”
Silence
“Ah well, the commencement of festivities I suppose - did you catch that?”
“Yeah, a couple of blocks Northeast I think.”
“About a couple dozen South for me. It looks like our relative positions are off too. Strange how we can still communicate though, do you suppose this counts as call roaming?”
“...I’m going to do some reconnaissance first then, rendezvous at rally point three in half an hour?”
“It’s a date then.”
The Street Knight - Cymose cuts the call. Standing there under the harsh fluorescent for the span of another breath before setting off into the midnight town. A deep sea diver leaving the search light, an invisible reel leading him on.
The district is silent. More silent than Cymose has ever recalled it ever being. It wasn’t somewhere that he had visited too often with its quaint, homely storefronts with apartments raised above- but the uncanny unnaturalness of the atmosphere had him remembering small differences in the scenery that he was sure he hadn’t ever paid attention to before. It seemed almost as if it were a movie set constructed from someone’s memory. The scene being set by an uncanny luminosity, not entirely due to either the moon or the set lamps - but as if the scenery itself were giving of a glow that couldn’t be detected but rather felt. In fact the closer he approached the sight of the explosion he saw earlier, the less it seemed was due to “natural” light sources and more pastel-neon the world seemed to be taking on.
He began to round a corner, but then heard the distant sounds of battle coming from that direction. Moving to a lightless alley across the street with much more swiftness and stealth than could be possibly expected from someone in full armor, he clung to one of the few remaining shadows in this landscape. His left hand resting on his weapon at his side.
“T-Two against one?! What is this, t-that’s not fair! We agreed to a duel”
“Save it for someone who cares, just sit still and fork over your points!”
Several bursts of light and a cloud of dust gave way to a auburn haired youth enveloped in a purple aura running from a black long haired girl in a maroon aura and another girl with short brunette hair with a viridian aura. The maroon glowing girl extended her left hand in the shape of a gun and fired off blinding bursts from her fingertips. The man recoiled and performed a running jump, Dodging a near hit on his right leg with lightning-like agility. The cement where his leg had been bursting into rendered shrapnel which struck his side. Midair and mostly distracted by the impact, the youth was unable to avoid the short haired girl following up, running up to him with a bat seeming made of jewels.
“Order up!”
The bat connected brutally with the youths ribcage from the other side, knocking him a few feet away; curiously however his “aura” remained suspended where he has been and began rapidly collapsing and solidifying until it took the form of a cell phone. Snatching the device from the air the short haired girl taped a few keys. A bright chime was heard from somewhere, before she tossed the phone onto the man who appeared to have had a few ribs broken, completely winded and doubled over in agony. The two girls then pulled out their own phones from...Somewhere, the unnatural glow around them fading.
“Despite being a small fry he actually was worth quite a bit. Over halfway to my next rank. “ The long haired stylish girl operated her phone with a flurry of accuracy. “How about for you? “
“About three thousand from him. “ The short haired girl responded in a near monotone, her navigation quite a bit slower than her companions.
“What, three thousand? I got less than half that! “
“Maybe that’s because you wasted a bunch of shots on the cement. You should really learn to only fire shots that matter. “
“Humph, Easy for you to say, you little cherry picker. Who do you think let you land all those hits. “ The stylish girl walked over and started pinching the cheeks of the other, stretching them out. The shorter haired girl barely reacted beyond establish eye contact.
“Wwwwhere’s wnow poinw wwettnw waaad whatw meew. (There's no point getting mad at me.)”
A groan from the man on the ground. The both of them looked over.
“You seem to be pretty new at this so just sit there out of the way until the refs come, they’ll patch you up, more or less. Tough luck running into us though kid. “
A feeble wheeze.
The short haired girl continued fidgeting with her phone. Before stopping completely. “Oro, there’s a rank 6 incoming. Also there’s something else weird here in the area. The ambience is too high for just us, this runt, and the level 6, but nothing is showing up.”
The stylish girl looked back over her shoulder with a brief look of concern before it glossed over once more, looking around a bit but unable to find anything- or anyone. “I-I guess we better start moving then. “
The shorter haired girl in a jersey nodding, they both put their phones away. The two of them once more took on a strange glow; then quickly moved towards the way they came. Cymose looked over to the fallen man for a few minutes before peeling away down the alley towards the rendezvous point. Catching a glimpse of another, steely eyed woman with a long blade entering the scene out of the corner of his eye.
The city block was now completely saturated in an unearthly light, the moon no more than a characterchure depicted with the suggestion of light. Moreover, the urban geography had completely changed. Though by the nature of the city itself districts and their connections typically defied all spacial sense; this part of the city was fell typically into the more consistent variety, with landmarks typically maintaining their relative distances and configurations. Surveying the area around himself briefly, Cymose activated his headset while keeping an even pace and eye. Wondering if his call would even connect in such a space. The dial tone sounded twice before she answered.
“Run into trouble?“
Though a thick static ran through the call it seemed both ends were still intelligible.
“No nothing like that; Just a couple of espers. Anything on your end? “
“Not especially? I could really go for gyoza though. This atmosphere reminds me of an amateur impressionist gallery I saw a while back with Brier, we went for dim sum after in Clock town. It was fun you should have come. Moreover-” The vague ennui and nostalgia fading from her voice; the darkening clouds part overhead to reveal a patch of cloudless sky. “For the last little bit now I’ve been trying to get to the Raymond building but it's as if the entire of the east wharf has a dialect now; it keeps turning me back to stadium. I suppose it's because we’re in the Crucible now? “
“Same on my end. I can’t make it to the rally point either. “
“Telling someone over the phone that you’ll be standing them up in less than five minutes; you’ve gotten quite bold. Though it wasn’t like I would have been there either. “
“Anyway it seems like wherever I go I don’t get especially closer unless I’m moving to St. Paulsen’s. “
“That old cathedral? Not very impressive architecture or history compared to the Raymond building but I suppose it will have to do if it can’t be helped. I guess I’ll come over if I ca-”
A pause, the hissing of a weak radio signal protesting.
“You still there? “
“It seems like some kids are doing something close by; I’m going to have to cut the call soon or play with them. Say, I wonder if when they’re using their phones for their abilities if they can make calls.“
“Right… Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. “
“Hm? What kind things that would be, Mr. Street Knight?” Feigned indignation bounced among the grains of static. “Like vigilante work without being associated with Bureau 7, or at the service of an Eidoi, or even bound by the Ars Magna perhaps? Hmmmmmm?”
“... Just stay safe.”
Cymose could picture the cheeky expression on her face right as he dropped the line.
The streets were quiet, and cooperative, the expected layout of the town was once more as consistent as it should be - so long as he was approaching the cathedral. Unsurprisingly the combination of these two factors seemed to point at the very definition of a trap to the Street Knight if this was the machinations of the Exarch. A very obvious trap with no obvious opportunity to bypass it. Meeting the Exarch at a Cathedral. The humor was not lost on him but he didn’t feel like letting it show. Though springing the trap may be the only option left at the moment - a trap has little to no meaning if you overwhelm expectations. A crude method, but an effective one.
Here and there, winding through the teeth of the city the sounds of distant skirmishes could be heard. Sometimes accompanied by a burst of light or fire, but always with some sort of explosion. The symphony of the selection. Cymose had a vague idea of how many espers there were in the city, if even half of them were here tonight he could suddenly sympathize with Brier a bit more - especially since after tonight a number of them would rank up and further the mastery over their powers. The density of the battles seemed to increase the closer he drew to the cathedral, however none seemed to spill over into his street or the blocks surrounding it - further confirming his anticipation. Cymose rested his left hand on the pommel of his weapon as if confirming its heft once more, then slowly drew his arm back and continued walking.
The cathedral was an enormous thing, twin belfry towers extending six stories or more cast in a grim slate grey stone. A mosaic courtyard with a large central fountain were all that stood between himself and the mahogany doors. Cymose tried activating his headset.
…
…
…
Nothing. Not even a dial tone. Overhead bells struck twelve times in unison. Signaling the halfway point of tonight’s selection. Their tones dissonant and hollow compared to the ones just an hour ago. The twin belfries framed a wretched, green moon - the cacophony of bells the sickly orb’s peeling cackle. The heavy twin doors suddenly swung open outwards, the Street Knight stepped back and griped the handle of his weapon instinctively. From the firelit interior a figure in a brown robe stepped forwards, their outstretched arms falling passively to their sides; pale hands retreating into the long sleeves. An imposing figure, taller and more broad than himself. Though the drawn hood of the robe was open, underneath the figure was wearing an opaque black veil with a embroidered gold symbol, obscuring their face. Closer, closer they approached.
“So we meet again old friend.”
The rich baritone sent alarms ringing in the Street Knight’s head, but no memory or face answered the call. A defense mechanism left unseen for too long its purpose forgotten. His grip tightened, his stance widened, his right leg slid into its nock.
“Are you the Exarch?”
The approaching figure stopped - not exactly suddenly at the words and the suggestion of conflict, but as if rehearsing from an intimately familiar play.
“Yes, among other things. Though I suppose you aren’t interested in them. Ah forgive me from concealing my face but an auspicious night such as this calls for some decorum.” The figure raised his hand skywards and the Street Knight coiled, prepared to spring at any given moment. But a moment passed, then two, and nothing happened. The alarms still beckoning to a recollection that eluded him the only sound.
“What are you planning? Why did you create the espers and schisms?”
“Schisms? No, they aren’t my doing. As for my dutiful disciples I am merely giving power back into the hands of the people. Still, you surprise me Cymose from what I thought of you I would have never expected you to join hands with Icons and Eidoi. Has the Street Knight become a hound for Bureau 7 now?”
“...”
“Ah I see I see, it’s not that your scepticism at your supposed betters has faded - you’re just interested in the Olympian Blade and the Witching Mirror for your own ends. Nothing truly changes for you does it? But it’s okay, I forgave your betrayal, so surely your esteemed colleagues will too. But perhaps one day they’ll be standing before you like how I am now.”
Betrayal? The din of remembrance neither grew louder or more quiet at this, neither more hot or more cold. Only Cymose was left in confusion. The robed figure flicked a hand making a gesture and recapturing the Street Knight’s full attention
“Though I can forgive you for your betrayal, I can’t have you interfering in tonight’s - or any night’s- selection. Not to worry, as long as you’re here your soul won’t fall into any sort of hell; or have you been a good boy since we last met? Wherever your karma may stand I have a use for your soul yet I hope you understand.”
It was the Exarch that moved first. A large black orb manifested over the Exarch’s head. It wasn’t a dark of the netherworld, but rather screaming black wind; tears in space clustered together tightly eating away at the unnatural light. Suddenly coils emerged from the orb - reducing its size as parts of it surged towards the Street Knight. The armored figure lept with completely inhuman speed sideways, dodging the tendrils. The dark magic made only the faintest of sound as it whizzed through the space the knight had once stood a fraction of a second ago but the blood curdling sound of shrieking metal and fracturing wood filled the fountain plaza as the black wind collided with benches; crumpling and twisting them as if they were a child’s toy.
The Exarch wasted no time, turning their body towards where the Street Knight had dodged, and aiming five smaller projectiles from the seething cloud. The Street Knight sprang back dodging the first three and drawing his weapon from its scabbard. It would have been a stretch to call it a sword, more akin to a brutal, thick wedge or slab of wrought dark metal inlaid with strange runes. Bringing the wedge down to his feet, the metal reverberated and sang as though made from calibrated light steel; the very earth joined in the chorus a fraction of a second later, rumbling as a wall of spike emerged upwards, skewering the dark tendrils and exploding out into a ravenous trail of upheaval aimed at the motionless Exarch. But the figure did not flinch as if bound in place, instead swinging both arms downwards, bringing the dark sphere in between themselves and the the earthen maw - twisting, devouring, neutralizing it.
The Street Knight with his inhuman speed circled around to try and close the gap and bring the figure into melee range, but the Exarch was quick to fire off numeral arcing black spikes to pierce the terrain between them in a cage. Undeterred the Street Knight leapt forwards drawing an arc into the ground; from under where the closest “bar” had appeared a sturdy ring of stone, a tunnel, rose up to grant the Street Knight passage. The Exarch had no time to react. The Street Knight soared through the ring with a roar and connected viscerally with the figure’s left arm.
There was a strange resistance against the swing, as if he were striking something larger, heavier, more solid than what could be contained underneath the cloak. Rather than cleaving the Exarch laterally as one would have expected, instead the figure was sent flying sideways, dispersing their cloud as they flew through it and collided brutally with a nearby fire hydrant - demolishing it and sending a geyser upwards.
Though confused by this turn of events for a mere moment, the Street Knight adapted his stance and was prepared to leap forwards to sever the figure between his blade and the remains of the fire hydrant when something caught his leg - the ground had taken on a viscous, twisting , texture. The Exarch though prone on their back and wheezing had their pale arm held forwards, willing the residue of their cloud to coalesce where it had been. The Street Knight attempted to pull free to no avail, then followed up by attempting to “tune” his blade once more to the syrupy ground. But the sound was too hollow, the material under the complete influence of something else. The night and his surroundings becoming darker, the air becoming thinner, his armor groaning under an unseen force, he was left with diminishing options.
A thin cocoon of darkness enveloping the prone knight, the Exarch’s laboured breathing steadied under the downpour. The torrent behind them falling down from the heavens and washing the cut in the material of their sleeve. Suddenly bursting from the black cocoon, an ashen wedge was sent torpedoing out. Not at the robed figure who may have be able to block or dodge the weapon in time. But at the fountain that lay in the opposite direction. Colliding midair with the structure and demolishing it, the blade stood suspended in the ensuing upwelling of water - floating, glowing, singing.
The geyser behind the Exarch surged forwards, bending and lifting them off the ground and careening towards the dark fog they had manifested; scattering it once more. There, the Street Knight poised; feet firmly implanted into the ground. A short sword held firmly in both hands. A short sword thrust to meet cleanly with the Exarch’s heart, cutting through straight to the other side.
Silence.
Nothing was heard for the next few seconds aside from the Street Knight’s breathing and the sound of rushing water. His wedge laid idly in the surging demolished fountain; Excalibur resting in the embrace of Nimue. All was silent.
Then the Exarch twitched.
“Very well done, have I had even a shred of mortality in his body you would have found and claimed it - twice over in fact.”
Arms came up and clasped the Street Knight’s still tensed form, pushing against them, dislodging the Exarch from their impalement. WIth another flick of the wrist the Street Knight sunk down into chest level in the earthen quagmire.
“But in this place, at this time, only the likes of Eyls Elysion could hope to defeat me.”
The Exarch placed at hand over the Street Knight’s helmet, the pressure causing him to sink deeper into the cold, dark stone. The heat of the Exarch’s breath battering ever so feebly against the knight’s visor. The shimmering gold embroidery covetous of the identity beneath.
“There’s nothing you could have done about it - so don’t be too upset.”
Down.
Down.
Down.
…
I wonder if Brier and Vilensia will grieve for me - I wonder if they can forgive me.
Cymose wished these last thoughts had been less melancholy. Perhaps a fond memory of the three of them instead. But they were the the only thoughts that could bubble up in the dark’s embrace.
Hyperuranion; Prologue End