Much has been lost about the time of the Post-Integration, when the System first arrived, when the moon first shattered, when the world was altered and expanded, when the Great One first fell.
Before the Integration, humanity stood on the cusp of technological glory. Despite all the confines, despite the lack of mana and magic, humanity still managed to trespass the barriers of their world, reaching for the stars, even settling there.
Alas, communications with those far-flung worlds have long ceased, and even our outpost on the Crimson Planet of Ares has been silent for thousands of years.
However, there was another change during this era, a great change that swept across the world as new races arrived on Integrated Earth through gateways or by the System’s own hand.
As the humans of Earth were transformed, gaining mana and breaking through the confines of their biology, the automata—once pseudo-intelligent but ultimately non-conscious machines made to assist man in their daily tasks or for general labor—awoke fully to consciousness. It was in the time of the Integration that the automata began to think, began to believe, began to dream. Though some of them were still bound to their old ways, with each generation, they became more and more like humans, more and more like all the other races.
Yet, not all of them transformed the same way. For, from the Legacy Empire still hidden deep in Forbidden Africa, there came those bearing old-world technologies, those untouched by the System and mana thanks to protective shells constructed by means few truly comprehend.
They exited their hidden empire protected from the System; clad in specialized automata that also served as their armor. These automata were called the Warskins—chassis empowered by mana. But not only chassis of war; they were also automata unto themselves, war machines meant to protect the people within, fighting in tandem with their users.
Most well-known among these chassis were the Penitent Legion, defectors from the Legacy Empire who sided with New Albion during the Siege of Great London. It was not known what made them betray their own people, for the Penitent will not say.
Some among their number even still remain, though scattered across the world. If you are fortunate enough in your life, you may encounter one of these chassis, now bearing the title of Penitent and nothing more.
Many of them are sundered, broken across their soul and crippled of their once prodigious skills for their betrayal. But in their electric minds run memories long and deep, and their shells endure, made of alloy from a time of glory past—near unbreakable even in this modern age of magic and wonder. And perhaps, if you prove worthy enough, oh Pathbearer, you might even be chosen by one of these Penitents…
-The Penitent Chassis: Automata or Armor?
55 (I)
Volatile
Before Animancy, there was Necromancy. Valor reminded himself of this mantra as he bore the weight of another skull using his dagger, preparing to implant a final piece upon the construct he was creating.
A large creature lined with jutting, skeletal limbs and countless skulls hovered in the air before him, oozing with necromantic power. An eerie, green energy spewed out into the world as if a miasma, distorting the edges of reality and corroding the fabric of existence itself.
As Valor installed the final skull into the construct, it came alive, rumbling and growling with energy, and it was done. This was the cage he made for the Animancy Core, its Necromancy a counter-power to the Animancy. Should the core be found and the construct be deployed, the power that Vicar Sullain wished to summon would be denied for good.
But still, the construct needed to reach the core first. And that was far harder than just creating this cage.
Of all the magical skills one could gain, Necromancy started at Adept. You could not even touch it before reaching such a rank in another skill. And then, you could not reach Animancy until you were well into the Heroic Tier and possessed a deep mastery of Necromancy. Such things were connected to each other, as Necromancy was the ruin of the world—the loss and the destruction of what was. Animancy, then, was all that was, all that could be, all that might be.
For one to understand the totality, they first must understand the lack.
That was how Valor learned, anyway, from his countless masters before him, and from his many experiences in battle and focused study.
As the construct, the Graven Cage, rose into the air, Valor bowed his head and gave thanks to the Great One for infusing him with understanding and power. “Death need not be death,” Valor proclaimed solemnly. “And the end need not be the end.”
This skill-inscribed ritual chamber of the Hallowed Depths came aglow, the ritualistically-carved bones lining it shining in an array of colors—all marked as consecrated martyrs. These were those who dedicated themselves, dedicated their bodies and remains, to Weave in case of a great crisis. They allowed themselves to be raised, offering their lingering essence, what remained of their skills, their minds, and their vitality, when a glorious service was required. Such as right now.
And so it was with care and dedication that Valor drew upon the martyrs of ages long past, drew upon those who went off to face death, the final enemy, and made use of what they bestowed upon him.
“I thank you the most of all,” Valor said, greeting each skull and each limb that he imparted upon this construct, “for what you do, for what you grant, is a chance to spare others from that fell touch, that final end. I thank thee, for that is all I can offer.”
Behind him, the Black Mass supporting him echoed his prayers. The two Necromancer Weaveresses led their Acolytes as they infused the last of their spells into the construct. His ritual completed, Valor turned. Weaveress Silent Spinner and Beetles-Needs-Pets both bowed, offering him that sanctified salute, and he did his best with only a hand clutching a dagger.
“I thank you, Weaveresses,” he said. “Your assistance has been paramount. With me diminished, I fear I could have never done this ritual on my own, and constructed what was needed to create the Graven Cage.”
“Do not speak low of yourself, Great Valor,” Silent Spinner replied. “It is only with your knowledge and your guidance that we could have done this. We are merely the hands, you are the mind, you are the tongue. We are all united against death.”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“All against death,” Valor echoed, their solemn vow reverberating through the chamber.
Just then, a series of voices echoed down the far end of the room, where two massive doorways remained open, letting air pass, lit only by countless glistening crystals lodged along the walls. Valor heard the voices, and he laughed. One was high with outrage. The other was lower, grumbling, and mocking.
So, his prodigal disciples had returned, and alive at that. Very good.
“Exalted Weaveresses,” Valor said, “Pardon me. I must talk to my disciples. They have come just in time, just in time to view a potential solution to one of our great problems. Again, I thank you, and I will mention you and your Acolytes by name when next I speak to the Composer.”
“We thank you, great Valor, and should you have the need, and should you have the knowledge, we would like to make this trade once more,” the Weaveresses responded in unison.
“The world is dead. The world is alive,” Valor replied. At this point, Shiv, Adam, and a few others Valor didn’t recognize entered the room.
As the Legendary Pathbearer prepared to greet his disciples, he paused. Was Shiv bigger than he was before? Yes, he was. And there was a faint field about him, a tremoring of animated force. Hmm. Gravitic Dominion? No. Gravitic Wrestler—yes, I’ve seen that once. From the Grapplers who guard the Shattered Caucasus. So the boy has continued his metamorphosis through death….
Valor noticed something else. A lingering wound that wasn’t of his physical body, but leaked as an eerie, festering miasma out from Shiv’s arm. He had a Necromantic wound—one that was still spewing with the wither. That kind of pain should have broken most… But this was Shiv. Pain is a thing of negotiation for him, Valor mused. Still. I must learn what inflicted this blow.
“So we both agree,” Shiv said, sneering at Adam. “I would have won if you bothered telling me the directions to where we were going before you started the race.”
“No, you wouldn’t have won, because you kept smashing into things. This was a race to reach a destination, not a contest of who could tear through the most buildings. And what was with you throwing the goblin at me over and over again?” Adam asked, incredulous.
“I still feel sick,” a goblin Pathbearer groaned as she clutched her stomach.
Shiv snorted. “Oh, now it’s a race. You didn’t say it was a race before you shot me in the face with a frost arrow.”
“Yes, but I knew it wouldn’t harm you. How could it? I don’t think it would have harmed you even as a Pathless, considering how thick your skull is,” Adam sneered back.
Valor cleared his nonexistent throat. “Disciples, it gladdens me to see both of you returned and in good spirits. Though, not truly unharmed… Shiv, how was your experience in the gate?”
Both his disciples looked at each other, their argument clearly delayed rather than settled.
“It was…” Shiv began.
“A mess.” Adam finished.
Shiv glared at Adam. “Look, how about I tell him about what I did?”
“Yes, how about you tell him how you got into a fight with practically everyone you met, managed to get discovered by practically everyone you met, and, ultimately, escaped by kidnapping and stealing the body of a comatose Greater Demon?” Adam countered.
It took Valor a moment to fully comprehend what was being said, because some of it sounded absurd, but, once again, he looked at Shiv and grunted with acceptance. “Thrilling escapades, then. You must tell me everything. But first, something else.” Valor drifted close, examining Shiv’s armored left arm, shielded by metallic bone and a vibrating gauntlet. “How did you sustain a lingering wound?”
“Oh, this,” Shiv said. He brushed his hand, and, using his Biomancy, peeled away the armor there before he removed his gauntlet.
Valor drifted back. “Ah, a Severing Whip.”
“You know what that is?” Shiv asked.
Valor hummed. “It is an instrument meant to torture, meant to inflict permanent harm.”
“Well, it’s not permanent,” Shiv said. “It’s just healing really slowly. The bastard who left it drew the spell out of three children impaled on his chest, though. I’m still kind of creeped out by their faces being there.”
“Three children,” Valor repeated. “Why?”
“I don’t know? I thought you would understand,” Shiv said. “Thought that might be a Necromancy thing.”
“No. You just need something of the dead,” Valor said. “There’s nothing about Necromancy that demands blood sacrifices or the torture of children. I fear you faced someone who is especially demented.”
Shiv considered that for a moment and nodded. “Yeah, that seems about right.”
“I’m sorry,” a human Pathbearer said, his jaw open as he pointed rudely at Valor, “but is that a floating skull?”
Adam winced at the man. “Yes, he is a floating skull. Now do not say any other words and simply just accept what’s happening. Please. I understand things are shocking—”
“Is he a Necrotech?” The man’s voice was practically a squeak.
Adam clenched his teeth as he tried to think of how to explain this. “He is Valor Thann, the Great Valor Thann. He will tell you all about how great he is if you ask him. But—before either of you find a way to offend his fragile feelings… Valor, can you show me what you were working on? The thing you said that could cage the… the…” Adam's voice trailed off as he looked past Valor and gawked at the Graven Cage. “Is that it?”
“Broken Moon,” the other human Pathbearer breathed. “What is that? What is that?” She pointed at the construct.
“Ah, the Graven Cage,” Valor said. “It is my means of containing the Animancy Core and potentially even neutralizing it once we acquire it.”
“And how does it work?” Adam asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“It will wrap around the core and channel Necromancy into it. Enough Necromancy that it should neutralize its Animancy.”
“And it will work?” Adam pressed.
“Do you doubt me?” Valor scoffed.
Adam blinked.
The Legendary Pathbearer sighed. “Well, yes, if you know the proper spell work and make the right kind of construct, it can. Yes. I can neutralize the core entirely. Most likely.”
“All right, so we just need to get that large bloody mass of skulls and limbs inside the gate as well,” Adam muttered. “Not going to be easy.”
“Maybe not that hard,” Shiv said. “The Jealousy is dead. Trapdoor might be able to help us hide this, and Heather knows how to pass through the gateway. I think we can do it.”
Valor found himself drawn to Shiv’s lingering wound again. “Shiv, remain still. I wish to see if I can extract the withering from you.”
He shaped a spell in the air using his stone dagger, and an eerie green energy built around him, Necromantic miasma burning into the fabric of existence. But Shiv reacted with sudden violence. He dashed away so fast a slight shockwave cracked the ground where he stood and shook the entire chamber, knocking a few skulls out of place. Shiv cursed and grabbed them before they could fall, but he still avoided Valor.
“Yeah, maybe don’t touch me with any Necromancy at all,” Shiv said, gathering the skulls against him. “When the Gate Lord struck me with his Necromancy whip, it detonated.”
“Detonated?” Valor asked. He drifted close but dismissed the spell. “Elaborate.”
“It hit me, blew my arm off, and then the largest explosion I’ve ever been in lit the bodies of everyone around us on fire. It even burned the Gate Lord, and he's a Heroic Pathbearer. It was like some kind of… soul fire or something. And so, uh, even if I don’t really know what Necromancy does, I know it doesn’t like me, and it goes off like a bomb when it touches me.”
Valor leaned back as he felt curiosity overtake him. “I must examine you in detail.”
He called out to the Weaveresses who were now watching the scene, entranced and interested. “Weaveresses, I need your help. I need you to prepare the Withercage. We have… a volatile subject I wish to examine.”
“Withercage?” Shiv asked nervously.