Few things hurt more than realizing your own side is determined to get you killed.

Every soldier has some kind of story related to this. Something about how their commanders or supposed comrades did some bullshit that got people killed for no reason. But the worst thing is when you’re fighting with nobles. Thing about nobles—they hate each other. Another thing about nobles—if you aren’t powerful or don’t got the right family name, they don’t care if you die.

So. That usually ends with a lot of pointless death.

Have a story about trying to smash through this fort under a City Lord Stutton. Real asshole. Loved to flog people. And he also loved trying to beat his rival, City Lord Hermando, during the Gate Rush of ‘72.

So there we were, getting butchered by noble ambitions trying to take a gate that didn’t matter. Outside of the gate was some group of primal elves, but damn were those bastards good mages. We bombed them for seven days and nights. Nothing. And then we heard Hermando was coming in.

Stutton went from being just your usual piece of shit to an insane and murderous piece of shit. And went from hammer and squeeze to doing frontal assaults.

This ended the way you’d expect it to. A lot of dying. Even with artillery and magical cover. It got so bad that City Lord Stutton decided he was not going to wait anymore. That he, as a High Master in Physicality and Axe Proficiency, was being let down by the pathetic wretches he was leading, and so he and his personal retinue went out for a charge. To his credit, the bastard was strong. He literally tore a massive gap into the fort and the nearby land—caused a pretty nasty quake in the process.

I’ll tell you this much. Masters, they hit hard. They’re on a different level. More natural disaster than person.

But that fortress was made to endure worse disasters than him. He broke through the exterior wall, and, with a roar, he demanded that we all charge. And… we didn’t.

Why? Because fuck him. 20% casualties. For what? For some gate we won’t get anything from? Fuck him twice, and if you’re Stuttons family, get tainted for being related to the piece of shit.

We didn’t follow. And the elves sealed the gate behind them. The fighting kept up for a while because he was still a Master, but after about two days, they gave Stutton’s body back to us and told us to leave. That should have been the end of things, but then Hermando decided he wanted the gate and that we were getting recruited for his idiot charge too.

Hermando died mysteriously that night. Elves snuck into our camp and made a blood-mess of him. No one saw anything.

Another thing about nobles. Sometimes, they just turn up dead. A real mystery of life.

–Memoirs of a Master-Tier War Mage

56 (I)

Bedfellows

Shiv initially imagined Elaboration to be something like Cradle—a massive structure that was shaped like its namesake. Frankly, it wasn’t even like Passage, which was more an enormous dome-shaped building lined with cavernous exits filled by many, many teleportation anchors. No, Elaboration was nondescript; so nondescript that it was impossible to determine where Elaboration even began and the rest of the city ended.

When a Weaveress Jump Mage came to retrieve Shiv and the others, they found themselves dropped off on a bridge. It was not even a particularly remote bridge. It was high up in the city, a busy intersection where demons and people passed by all the time. They were then led into what seemed like an office building—and, to Shiv’s surprise, it was just an office building. Workers flicked mana across papers, inscribing details, stamping contracts. There were desks. There were offices. But no Jealousy. No secret facilities. No Sisters or Trapdoor Operatives.

Shiv wondered what this place had to do with the hyper-mysterious Elaboration where all the Greater Demons and secrets of Weave were stored, but then they passed through another unassuming door, and the entire atmosphere changed. Suddenly, they were in an extremely reinforced tunnel, its walls lined with protective Enchantments and scanning spells like the interior of a teleportation anchor.

Now, that’s a place meant to contain powerful things, Shiv thought.

After they got to the end of the hallway, descended in an elevator, and emerged after a few minutes, they were in another environment altogether. Elaboration was woven into the general architecture of the public infrastructure, hidden in plain sight, with no obvious targets for enemies to strike or infiltrate. Shiv wondered if this was to defend against the spies of New Albion, but considering how deeply the agents of Aviary managed to infiltrate Passage… He had doubts about how cost-effective this was.

At least a good portion of Aviary’s assassins and spies are dead now, Shiv thought.

The inner levels of Elaboration were a hive of activity. Shiv saw Weaveresses containing strange artifacts that pulsed with magical energy, strange and esoteric creatures held within stasis cages and suppressed by spells that rendered them dormant in physical and mental activity. There was even a cage that was supposedly a temporal seal, which reminded Shiv how Vicar Sullain managed to freeze time itself within vast space when Shiv was falling from Blackedge.

From the central lobby were hallways and walkways extending in all directions, with signs that were scripted in codified language. Even with his enchanted reading glasses, Shiv still didn’t understand where anything was. He didn’t understand what a Kinetic Spatial Anomaly Storage Facility was, nor did he know what a Psycho-Semantic-Philosophy-Memetic-Counteractor did.

He stuck close to the Weaveress leading him, because if he got lost here, he might stay lost for good.

Finally, they were taken to an observation room, where they were placed in a plain, sleet-white room with a window in front of it. The window was protected by layered magics and overlooking what seemed to be a huge oubliette that sank into the ground. It descended deep down before them like a tube. And there, at the bottom of that massive sunken barrel, Uva hovered in midair, surrounded on all sides by even more mystical protections.

The Jealousy was partially manifested, and the dense emanation of mana made it look like it was hatching from Uva’s mind. Its existence, composed of psionic energy, crackling with shrouds of intermittent darkness. Shiv could tell it was still mind-dead. But the way it stared, the way it stretched its limbs out and traced the edges of the world, made him feel uneasy. And by this point, he couldn’t tell where the Greater Demon’s mana began, and Uva’s ended.

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She’s really deep inside that thing’s mind, Shiv thought, staring.

The Weaveress that brought them in pressed a button right underneath the observation window. “Cherished Sister Uva, the authorized personnel have arrived. You may begin the demonstration.” Her voice echoed out into the room beyond, and Shiv caught sight of other windows lined with focus crystals—and other Psychomancers pooling their power to stabilize the Jealousy.

Didn’t even notice them before.

“Acknowledged,” Uva said, her mind’s voice echoing. However, it was cast out into the room as an audible declaration rather than a psionic one.

Shiv looked around in confusion, and the Weaveress noticed his expression. “The spellwork converts all psionic communications into audible ones. It makes things clear and helps avoid any attempts at compromising one’s ego.”

“I see,” Valor said. “It is impressive what you have made here. Despite the recency of your state, the Necrotechs have several operations similarly advanced as this. But their resources mean they have no excuse. You do yourselves honor.”

“Necessity breeds discipline and creativity,” the Weaveress replied, “You honor us with your compliment, Great Legend.”

Adam, though, was practically glaring down from the window. His arms were clutched behind his back, his face a look of pure intensity. Shiv stood right next to him while the others lingered behind, unsure about what they just found themselves in the middle of.

The Weaveress gestured for them to hold the button.“You can speak to her. It also allows our voices to be carried out with perfect clarity.”

Adam nodded and pressed the button. “Uva. Show me what you have learned.”

She didn’t cast the memories directly into their minds—the wards prevented that—but she did create what seemed to be a small cloud of dense, psionic mana, mana that clashed and twisted and congealed like a roiling, boiling cloud. Then it cleared. It materialized just above the Jealousy, and in that patch of clarity, a scene began to play—a memory from the perspective of the Jealousy, as the Weaveress explained to them a moment later.

The memory showed a man standing beyond a ritual circle. A complex series of magical inscriptions lined the ground right in front of his feet. Shiv wondered if the wards were made to prevent the Jealousy from escaping or to summon the Greater Demon instead.

The man was dressed in a finely made black and yellow long coat. Shiv guessed the garment was expensive, based on how shiny and over-stylized it was. Nobles had weird and extreme tastes. On his chest, there was an emblem of a shield splitting what seemed to be a lightning bolt in half.

Stormhalt, Shiv thought. I guess they take their family name really literally.

The man himself looked similarly imposing. He cut a tall figure, long of limb and gaunt of build. Shiv guessed the man was likely much taller than even he was, but not nearly as big. There was, however, a crackle of lightning that wove around the man—a hint of the noble’s Skill Evolution. Static danced at the end of the nobleman’s black, well-trimmed, beard and hair as well. Stormhalt’s eyes were intense, the color of a storm brewing, dark with flashes of white. He seemed to regard the Jealousy not as someone would a Greater Demon, but as a Pathbearer facing a rival.

His arms were behind his back, but his posture was stiff. This wasn’t an interrogation or a clash, but a negotiation.

“Well, that is definitely Havel Van Stormhalt,” Adam declared. His expression turned absolutely sour. “I never did like the man. The feeling was mutual. But… he was always cordial. He was… I know he and my father had their grievances, but to do this… Isabella’s father… The Inquisition…” Adam looked lost. Shiv wasn’t sure what to tell the Young Lord. He wasn’t even sure what to make of the scene himself yet.

“I thank you for responding to my communications with such haste,” Havel said. His voice was strong, even Resonant. But there was an edge to it. Everything about him spoke of a storm brewing. Of something about to snap and break at any moment. “I understand that you are considering… Gate Lord Confriga’s offer. I thank you for bringing this to my attention. As promised, I will see you nourished with a thousand minds this year as well. They will be delivered to your usual place of feeding.”

“A thousand minds?” Adam croaked. “A thousand people? Where is the Republic supposed to get that? How? From where? Usual place of feeding? This—this isn’t the first time?” The Young Lord looked absolutely aghast. Behind, the Slayers looked on in disbelief as well. “The Ascendants—they should have struck him down for this! Destroyed his very soul for this sacrilege!”

Shiv placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder. Adam almost flinched away, but he stopped himself.

“You should be pissed,” Shiv said. “But be pissed all at once at the end. I think it’s only going to get worse.”

“More than this, however,” Havel continued, a dark expression clouding his face, “I have a seperate need for you. There is another service you can render. I will see you rewarded. Fed for ten years. If you can accomplish what is needed.”

The Jealousy laughed, and the very noise made Shiv feel sick. “Speak. Speak, human. Speak before hunger takes me. Mind so close, so enticing…”

Havel’s face twisted in near-disgust, but he controlled himself and hid the full expression. That didn’t matter, because the Jealousy could sense his emotions, and it snickered mockingly. “Be honest. Be open. Don’t need to like each other. Just need to deal…”

Havel glared. “I need you to help me steal something. I need you to make sure that the Animancy Core required by Vicar Sullain ends up in my hands first.”

“The core?” the Jealousy hissed. “Why betray ally? Why seek to take their greatest weapon? They need core. Want them to lose?”

“We are not allies,” Stormhalt said, his face a mask of fury. “He is a monster. He is a butcher and a heathen. But he is also what is needed to deliver justice. An imperfect vessel in the hands of the Ascendants. However, an imperfect vessel cannot be trusted. And he has denied me too much now. I must be there at the point of triumph. He cannot be allowed to destroy Blackedge in its entirety. Or to butcher Roland Arrow. I need a corpse, at least. And I need Starhawk’s Perch. It cannot be lost. I cannot afford it. And so, you will take the vicar’s lifeline for me. So I might give it to them only when certain conditions are met.”

The Jealousy let out a rasp of seething laughter. “You blackmail your ally. See you trying to work a personal angle. This… this deal known to Inquisition?”

“That is of no concern to you. Will you do it?” Havel’s eyes flashed with electricity. Thunder and stormstuff were leaking from him, escaping the confines of his body.

“Yes,” the Jealousy said. “But, can tell how desperate you are. Can tell that you risk much. I will risk much too. We are…” The Greater Demon considered its words. “… bedfellows in this. Want more than just ten years of mind-food.”

“Twenty,” Havel said without hesitation.

The Jealousy gasped—a human noise of surprise. Its gasp was shared by Adam. Even Shiv leaned in.

“Twenty thousand minds…” Valor breathed.

“Twenty. That is a lot of feed…” the Jealousy said, sounding very enticed. It clearly hadn’t expected Havel to outright double his offer.

Havel was unshaken. “I will find the unwashed, unneeded, and sinful. I will deliver them. It is no great difficulty. And then I will make sure that you live decades in comfort. No more risks. No more threats to your life. Just casual, blissful feasting. While you focus on developing your skills.”

The Jealousy chuckled. “Agreed. Will do this. Will take the core for you, and only you… Master-Pathbearer Havel.” And, with the Jealousy’s consent, the spells on the ground ignited. Such was how Shiv realized this wasn’t something to protect Havel from the Jealousy, but to sign an accord between them.

“A contract is signed. A contract is sealed. We are bound by this pact. And should one betray the other, I trade my skill for yours, and let us both be shattered in the transgression.” Havel looked like he wanted to break something as he spoke those words.

The Jealousy agreed, echoing his words exactly. “Then, let us both taste in violent delights. But have one more request.”

Havel hesitated, looking uncertain. “And what is it?”

“You hate this Roland Arrow… Maybe… maybe can give him to me too… Want to feed on a Master. Will feed on him slow. Let you watch…”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep