Sympathy is a weapon. Sympathy is an opportunity. Sympathy is a drug, because everyone has been wronged in some way by the world, by their own nation, their own people, by an enemy. Sympathy will make you betray yourself.

I ask of you now, my gathered little birdies, how many sympathetic people do you think exist across the totality of Integrated Earth, within the grand walls of the Yellowstone Republic, in the far-flung lands of High Harbor? How many people are dissatisfied with their daily lives? How many people bear old wounds, inflicted upon them by those they once considered their family or fellow citizens?

Many. I can see them. I can feel them.

They call out to me when I dream, and upon my face, they rest. I can feel the twitches of their muscles, those grimaces, those ugly, messy tears. I can taste that sour bitterness as they swallow more and more of that poison known as cynicism. Because if even your home is against you, where, then, will you find salvation? Where, then, will you be spared this misery?

Nowhere. That is the answer.

But what if we can change the answer? What if we can give them the means to inflict harm?

Of course, many of these sympathetic individuals will never truly side with New Albion. No, the programming they suffer is too deep, and they fear us. We are the stranger. We are the unknown. We are that gap in the dark of the woods, those gleaming eyes that hide between the clefts of shadow. No normal child, empathetic or not, will wander so deep into the woods.

But they might bargain with us if we leave them boons and gifts and means. After all, one does not need to sell oneself to the devil entirely to accept a nudge or a small expression of favor. So, let’s give it to them, these little incremental gifts. Let’s hand the knives to those who seek revenge, to those who have been wronged. Let’s not reveal ourselves. Let’s let things play out.

Let tragedies and retributions unfold. And as they do, let us watch how sympathetic these people can become and see if eventually these poor, wretched children can hatch into something beautiful.

Let us see if they hold enough promise in their hearts to open their cages and join the rest of us in the sky; let us fulfill their hearts’ desire.

Then let us see if they come to us in the aftermath, when the flames are settled, and the blood stops flowing.

I can’t wait to see the little plays that will unfold… Can’t wait!

-The Faceless Queen, New Albion

214 (I)

Admittance [I]

“I told you before!” Urri roared through charred vocal cords. He wrenched an arm free and scattered a few of the golden shadows, reaching over his chest and clutching the flaming thing that wouldn’t stop burning him. “I am High Marshal Urri, and I am on—”

His words were cut off as a jet stream of water blasted straight down his throat. The High Marshal gagged and then screamed as an impossibly powerful force slammed down against his elbow. The Vulteg’s arm cracked and tore in two places, but the moment he sustained a wound, Urri grew even stronger.

But just as Urri prepared to renew his struggle, he felt something deep inside him get torn free. It was like a heat that sustained his being, a flame that nourished his life, and it was being siphoned out as if by some kind of winnowing vacuum. Urri tried to pull back, tried to kick away from his other adversaries. But then something struck him in the back of the head, and he briefly lost track of where he was, of who he was. When he regained his focus, a feeling of unnatural lethargy swept through him, and that turned into an overwhelming torpor.

Still, Urri, High Marshal of the Vulteg, fought on because that was what Lord Scorn commanded. Lord Scorn, his God, that beautiful, beautiful God of Hatred, who always showered Urri with interminable praise.

Urri, you worthless fuck, if you let him kill you, I will find your soul’s remains, and I will shit into them! I will fuck the shit after I fuck it into you, and then I will make shit babies from your corpse! Do not lose, you fuck. Don’t lose! URRI!

My Lord, did I make you proud?

WHAT?! NO! NO, YOU OVERSIZED KIDNEY STONE! YOU’RE LITERALLY DYING! FUCKING DO SOMETHING YOU MOTHERFUCKFUCKFUCK AGGHHHHH

He was hallucinating his struggle now. His body was going limp. He was still kicking somewhat. His muscles were still growing, his Toughness getting ever harder. But that bit of him that sustained his life, that painted the canvas of his soul, was slowly fading into nothingness.

But still he twitched, still he kicked, still he swung his fists a few final times.

His vitality went from a flame of red to blank mist. And, with a triumphant smile on his face, Urri died as he felt a bit be plucked free from his spirit, letting the sweet snarls of his God carry him to the chasm which waited thereafter.

Nothing can stop Urri.

***

“Guys,” Shiv gasped, “I think he’s dead, guys!”

The others didn’t listen to him. A rain of glistening daggers continued to spear into the Vulteg’s eye. Helix started mangling Urri’s corpse in weird ways, causing bugs to hatch out from under his armpits, making his skin molt and shred. Kura dissected and dismembered the large brute with Gone’s help, and Adam hacked away as well, using his rapier to carve bits free from what remained of the Vulteg’s body.

This continued on for a few seconds longer before everyone came to a stop, slouching forms and shuddering breaths painted a portrayal of exhaustion and suspicion among the victorious Pathfarers. Even the orcs eyed the mutilated remains of the Vulteg with vigilance. Tequila fired another bolt into Urri’s face, and then another five when the eyeball still refused to pop.

Parts of the High Marshal’s body continued to burn, but even so, despite being shredded in so many ways, his bones remained intact, his tendons remained like iron cords. They were scratched and nicked in various ways, but they were not severed. Ultimately, Urri’s cause of end was all vitality leaving him, the one thing he couldn’t resist, the one thing he couldn’t shrug off.

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“And you thought my Toughness was bullshit, Adam,” Shiv muttered, shaking his head. He examined Urri’s Toughness Skill and narrowed his eyes at its title.

Animated Skill Infusion Gained: Cauldron of Remembered Undestruction (Legendary)

“Cauldron of Remembered Undestruction?” Shiv muttered.

“Remembered?” Adam looked over his shoulder. “What do you mean, remembered?”

“Maybe a Memorization Skill is fused into it?”

“How in the Broken Moon does that work?”

Shiv shrugged, the Gate Lord sighed—and then Urri twitched once more, and everyone leapt on him again.

“He’s still moving!” Kura hissed. “Take his head. Destroy his organs. Deathless, shred his vitality some more!”

“He’s dead,” Shiv said. “Can’t see any vitality. Guys, he’s dead. Really.”

“There’s still oxygen in his blood,” Helix snapped. “Until brain activity stops, we continue!”

They didn’t listen. They kept attacking him. Shiv stared at Urri for a moment, and then he shrugged, hitting him a few times just for good measure using his frying pan. Assumptions were fatal for Pathbearers, and even if Shiv couldn’t sense any life force, it was best to make sure. Doubly sure. Triply sure.

As he ripped his Last Morsel free of a chasm he’d excavated into the Vulteg’s chest, Shiv stomped away to resolve his other problems. He pulled Andra’s Phylactery in front of his face. He could faintly hear the Jotun screaming from within. Her psionic cries were tinted with howls of pain and frustrated anger. But the fear chain connecting her to Shiv was stronger than ever. He had shattered everything inside her, except that Divination skill. And now she could see, she could feel, but she couldn’t react, couldn’t do anything but submit to Shiv’s wrath.

“That might have been a little excessive too,” Cullywier commented. He manifested a streak of Animancy mana over his left eye, and Shiv realized it was the representation of an eyebrow. It rose higher, and the fairy chuckled at what they were doing to Urri’s body. “Lord Scorn will not like this.”

“Yeah, well, Lord Scorn can go fuck himself,” Shiv said. “He’s already coming for us, so nothing’s changed there.”

“Truly,” Cullywier said, humming. “The Dragon Brokers aren’t aware of this. What did you do to incur the loathing of such a sequestered god?”

“You know, the usual. Fight off his invading Vultegs, detonate an Animancy bomb within his dimension, do something similar again afterward and kill a few million of his people.”

For the first time, the fairy seemed genuinely surprised. “Is this one of the jokes you humans do? Because I don’t understand where the comedy is.”

“Not a joke, it just happened,” Shiv said. “As well as some other shit that we didn’t really want to happen, but, well, things just turned out that way. Despite whether we wanted to or not. Story of our godsdamn lives.”

“So you tell yourself,” Cullywier mused. “Such strange interpretations you have. So bitter. So blinkered. Ah, nonetheless, you should gather the other escapees you have neutralized and take them to a safe place. Or finish them off.”

Cullywier gestured toward the downed automaton and Aeromancer. They both sported deep wounds, burns, slashes, and encrusted layers of black frost. Even so, they were still alive. Their wounds were only superficial. Another reminder to how tough Pathbearers got when they weren’t beset upon directly by overwhelming force.

“What? Not gonna talk me out of murdering these shits too?”

“They seem to be mostly independent Pathbearers,” Cullywier said, “which is a pattern-based way of saying that there is no consequence for their deaths. No one cares for them, and no one will remember them after they pass.” The fairy’s face twitched, as if he had tasted a flood of overwhelming fear. “It’s such a bleak and horrible thing to always be on the edge of that cessation, that silence. I don’t know how you do it, and I think I envy you for it.”

Shiv didn’t know what to say to the elf, but his Psycho-Cartography activated.

Psycho-Cartography: Well, we know Cullywier apparently has some kind of half-human offspring. He’s got a fascination about who we are and how we act. We could use that to our advantage at some point, but there’s a distance between him and anyone who is, how does he put it, pattern-based. He’s also unusually passive in certain ways. Be careful about this one. Everyone I helped you dissect is mostly comprehensible to you in some fashion. They had emotions or logical ways of thinking that you could guess at. We have no understanding of the fairies, and maybe there’s no understanding them at all.

The fairy in question regarded the downed prisoners. “Nonetheless, if you would accept my advice, I would recommend that you keep them alive.”

“Alive,” Shiv said flatly. He regarded both the Heroic-Tier prisoners. The Aeromancer was all but helpless against him during their fight. She seemed to be made for stealth and perhaps group-based combat using her bladed currents. The automaton, meanwhile, was a Jump Mage. He didn’t know what else it could do, but it was pretty spent on energy right now.

I think I’ll hand them over to Adam, he said to himself.

“You’re going to do what to me?” Adam asked, walking over.

“We’ve got a few live ones here. Along with this undead one.” He held up the dagger Phylactery once more.

Adam let out a scoff. He regarded the Aeromancer and the automaton. “So, we have one automaton Jump Mage. What about the other one?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like her before.”

The Gate Lord narrowed his eyes for a bit, and then he let out a breath. “Ah, a half-harpy.”

“A what?”

“It’s one of the Sky Folk. The Storm Lord’s people.”

“Oh, him. He’s that monster king that rules over part of the Vast Atlantic, right?”

“He rules the skies of the Vast Atlantic.” Adam held up a finger. “Do not get confused. We have treaties with several of the aquatic kingdoms, and some of them are monster-run too. Regardless, the true rulership of the Atlantic is always in flux and constantly being debated.”

Shiv snorted with disgust. “So, not even being a monster spares you politics, huh?”

“Shiv, don’t be silly. Politics is inevitable. Because the only time there wouldn’t be politics is when you can kill absolutely every single one of your enemies without any chance of suffering harm in return.”

And that made the Deathless think. “So, you know, if I die enough and get a bunch of Legendary Skills eventually…”

“Shiv, please don’t tell me that you imagine to make politics obsolete by becoming the single most powerful Pathbearer on integrated Earth through repeated deaths.”

“What the hells do you think I’ve been doing all this time, Adam?”

“Trying to be a decent person despite how much the System is attempting to groom you?” the Gate Lord offered as an alternative. “Because I don’t think you would enjoy politics.”

“I might,” Shiv muttered. “If I was felling in charge of shit instead of being hunted by every asshole with two legs…”

“Shiv,” Adam cut him off with an annoyed huff. “Do you know how every violent revolutionary gets their start? They tell themselves, ‘well, maybe if I had all the power, I would be the one wise enough, smart enough, and calculated enough to make the world better.’”

“And it’s almost never the case,” Shiv said. “Almost. But I am different.”

Adam cringed. “And I can guarantee that just about every other revolutionary had the same opinion of themselves. It’s not that I necessarily doubt you, Shiv, it’s that we’re barely adults, and people far older… Gods, I’m already a Hero, and you’re a Legend… Well, beings as and more powerful than us have made crippling mistakes as well. We need to be considerate, calculated, and careful.” Adam fell quiet for a second. “Alright, I’ll take those two to the coliseum. And give the Phylactery back to me. It’s better stored down there instead of on your person. It’s radiating so much Necromancy that it’s likely impossible for you to hide on campus, even with your Perfect Semblance. Too much of a risk on you, anyway. Last thing we need is you going off like a bomb.”

Shiv let out a breath. “Yeah, got it.” He handed over the knife and ordered a few of his orcs to carry the surviving prisoners across a dimensional pathway.

“Deathless,” Cullywier said, “in light of these most unexpected and unfortunate events, the Dragon Brokers wish—”

“The Dragon Brokers are going to have to wait,” Shiv snapped. “I need to find Irons, Shit, has it been three minutes yet?”

“A bit over,” Adam guessed. “Stop time and run for it.”

“Godsdamn it!” Shiv hissed.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep