282 (II)

Grieve

“I hate it. I hate, I hate, I hate…” Shiv paused. He stared at Georges once more. And a sudden spike of anger cleared his thoughts, bursting the clouds of sadness that shrouded his rationality. “Udraal… He—”

“Yes. This is a lesson he wanted you to learn. Not the same lesson I knew you would have to learn. I wish you could be spared of this, but we all take wounds in this life—I wanted you to prepare yourself to face a moment like this. But my son… He refuses the very concept of the lesson. He hates it. And so the end he desired you to reach is hatred. Hatred for death. So that even if you failed to resurrect the one you lost, you would be driven to find a way to defy the System and mortality, thus serving his ends either way.”

A heavy taste of sour loathing mixed in with the bitterness churning in the depths of Shiv’s gut. “Valor. I, uh, don’t want to hurt your feelings, but fuck your kid. I’m going to kill him. I’m gonna find a way to kill him. The things he’s done—” Shiv’s bones cracked and expanded. His muscles, skin, and ligaments grew with his internal structure as a clear-headed Berserk state settled over him. “He’s going to pay for treating people like they’re things.”

“And I cannot blame you for feeling this way,” Valor replied without any hint of offense. “But… we are all far from capable of accomplishing such a feat. And he is still my son. For all the things he has done wrong, there is a shadow of me there as well. And a shadow of his mother. Whom I loved. Whom he loved. Whom we lost.” Valor went quiet again for a second. “Sorrow begets more sorrow, in a fashion. And the version of us that emerges from the long, dark pit of grief is not the same person who was cast down in the first place.”

Those words sparked a vision, Valor’s understanding of who Udraal was. Through A Glimpse of Perspective, Shiv saw the shadow playing behind the lich’s eyes. A boy, resembling a much younger version of the ancient Pathbearer, striding through rooms filled with bioluminescent plants, examining glowing insects of countless different appearances. There was a great warmth in the child’s eyes, and his smile grew broader as a melodious voice called out to him. Shiv couldn’t make out what the voice was saying, but the boy skipped toward its source, happiness radiating from every aspect of the vision. But then something changed. A crushing silence fell over everything. The woman’s voice was banished. In an instant, the look of youthful wonder in the boy’s eyes faded, replaced by something darker, something determined, something defiant.

A Glimpse of Perspective: What worth is acceptance? What worth is ambition? What worth is understanding? What worth is anything? The world takes. It takes from those you love. It takes those you love. It takes those you hate. And eventually it takes from you until you are not. There is only one thing to do in the face of such a world. For if it was anything but existence, we would call it a parasite. If it were anything but the shape of totality that holds us, we would have called it a disease, a plague, and tried to cure it.

There is no surrender, for surrender cannot be offered to something that refuses to acknowledge it. Defy, fight, change the very fabric of all that is. Only after the impossible is accomplished, after The Work is done, can anything be deemed worthwhile. For death is the culmination of meaning. It is the thief of hope and value. And as death comes to strike us down, so it must be struck down in turn.

A Glimpse of Perspective: 51 > 54

Despite how much Shiv loathed Udraal for all he had done, for how little he cared for people in the way he spent and deceived them for his brutal experiments, the Deathless felt like he could understand his creator better now. There was little Shiv wouldn’t do to wipe away the loss he felt.

“I think it might’ve worked,” Shiv whispered. “His lesson. I don’t know. I don’t know. I would do a lot to get Georges back.”

Valor smiled, but there was no joy in it. “I know. I feel the same. But injuries do not justify vile deeds. We should be more than our suffering and regrets. Just like we are less than our greatest triumphs and virtues. We are the convergence of many things inside of ourselves. Above all, I think, in this struggle against Death, one should not find themselves inadvertently its chief crusader.”

Shiv digested Valor’s words and, through the storm of his loss, made a decision. He rose, let go of Georges’ hand, gently placing the lifeless limb upon the corpse’s stomach, and looked away from the closest thing to a father he had. He wouldn’t look back until he had to come back later. The people here needed to be buried. There had to be a funeral. And after that, if resurrection was at all possible, that would take time, dedication, and more examination of his skills and capabilities. Perhaps more evolutions for his unique Vitaemancy, or something else entirely. But nothing was guaranteed. Even his maker didn’t know for sure. At present, Georges was dead. Countless thousands from Blackedge were dead.

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And there was nothing Shiv could do to change that.

“Just because you need to face this does not mean you have to rush through it. It does not mean that you have to pretend it doesn’t hurt you.” Valor’s voice was calm and soothing, but the Deathless shook his head. It still hurt, but he had enough. This was enough. He wasn’t going to stay down in the muck anymore. He would deal with it. He would deal with the emptiness, deal with the lack of energy inside of him, and he would do what he always did: survive, even if he had to go back to being the creature he was before Georges found him.

“No point,” Shiv said. “No point at all. There are things we need to do. There are people who still need my help. Adam still needs my help. There are other sick people here. My Biomancy isn’t good enough to cure Sullain’s plague, but it might be able to help them with other things. I can take some injuries away. Hells, I could try infecting myself with this plague and then see how long it takes for me to digest it, see if I can work with Helix to save what few people are left.”

Shiv shuddered as he looked around the room. It wasn’t only Georges who had passed on. There were many bodies here, bodies with names Shiv didn’t even know, bodies young and old. All cut down without hope of return.

“And I also remember what my son did,” Valor said suddenly. He took a step forward toward Shiv. “I know what he did to create you. What he did to your mother, to your father, to Roland. These things are unforgivable. But I have to be honest with you, Shiv. I cannot bring myself to hate him. And I cannot blame you if you do. But despite the atrocity…” He reached down and grasped Shiv by the shoulder. “I have always been glad to have you as a friend and apprentice, though I made a poor and paltry master so far, being a fractured thing. Barely a person.”

Shiv scowled at that. “Bullshit. You just had some missing memories and scattered skills. You were more of a person to me than most people I ever met. I mean that. Every word.”

That made the ancient Pathbearer let out a grandfatherly chuckle. Then he regarded Shiv with new eyes and slowly pulled the younger man into his embrace. As he brushed Shiv’s back, the Deathless went stiff, unsure how to respond.

“We all take wounds, but that does not mean we have to bleed and suffer alone. I am here for you. For all of you. But you especially. We are connected by mind and soul. My son, I, and you. Even if it is a foul thing that brought you in, you are not that foul thing. I could never regret something like you. Only the act that saw your creation. In a hundred lives, I would wish there would be another like you. Another that I can meet. And I can share my time with.”

“Yeah. Alright. Thanks, Valor,” Shiv stammered, his words feeling lame and almost pathetic. The ancient was pouring his heart out, while Shiv was trying not to embarrass himself. He had had enough of weeping and whimpering. It wasn’t that he was ashamed anymore; it was just that he was tired. It didn’t do anything; it wasn’t helping survival, it wasn’t helping anyone else. It was time to—well, he wasn’t going to move on from Georges’ death, he just had to do something meaningful right now. Do something purposeful, save a life, if only to make some kind of difference.

“I mean that,” Valor said. “Every word. Now, go do what you need to. If you have to spend more time alone, do that. If you want to help Adam or the others, do that. Recover. I will look after Sister Uva. You needn’t worry about her, and I suspect she will wish to speak and catch up with you once we arrive at Gate Piety once more. Perhaps there, we can find a period for us to re-consolidate, recover, and face what is to come.”

With that, he let go, announcing the breaking of the contact with a sigh. “And there is a great deal of trouble that will soon come our way, thanks to my son. War. Always. It never changes.”

Shiv considered that. “But some of the people fighting in these wars do. That reminds me, I’ve been corresponding with Veronica Chandler. She… she’s my grandmother. It disgusts me to even call her that, but yeah.”

“Ah, is she now?” Valor’s face had turned into a map of disgust. “You have a sync-letter? Have you been writing to her?”

“Yeah,” Shiv said. He reached into his cape and handed it over. “Cripple’s Avatar is in there too. There are going to be other people in our gate. We have all the people we freed from the prison. There’s going to be the Neath. More and more people…”

“Power presents challenge and opportunity, and you are quickly becoming a deviant point between the Abyss and the surface within the Republic on Integrated Earth. You are valuable as predator and prey now.” Valor considered Shiv. “So, we must see you forged harder, into the best Pathbearer you can be. All the world will soon be coming for you, Deathless.”

A flicker of emotion passed across Shiv’s face—one that wasn’t loss or malaise. It was almost a snarl. Almost a smile. It was a challenge. It was a feeling of foreboding and anticipation. He was hurt. The world wanted to keep hurting him. He needed purpose. He needed to fix himself; to regain his ability to cook, but also to do other things beyond the violence, and also to punish those that came for him and the ones he cared for, seeking to inflict harm upon them.

Shiv felt the true weight of responsibility press against him, and his will hardened in response. “Fine. They can come. But we’ll make them regret it.”

His words rang true enough that Valor chuckled. “Indeed we will. When you are ready, let us see what it takes to turn you from warrior to nightmare.”

And even with everything else lashing at Shiv’s mind, there was just a hint of sweetness in that promise. And just like sprinkled candy couldn’t cover the taste of shit, the scent of piss didn’t change the texture of well-roasted flesh.

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