37 (II) Gate

37 (II)

Gate

“Get up,” Shiv said, trying to sound uncaring. Inside, he was an inch away from ripping the automaton in half. He had some biology knowledge now, but he couldn’t heal the boy easily. Tentatively, he clamped the parted skin and flesh together with his Biomancy. The act made the child wail. I’m going to kill this automaton soon too. The moment I get the chance.

“What’s your name?” Shiv asked the automaton. It stared at him, and he just sighed. “To send you a proper apology. It was… impolite to grab your arm.”

“Ah, I understand now. I am Master-Advisor Maxwell Oldsmith. As for the grabbing… I suppose I understand. Not all of us can be so blessed of self-control. Say, are you an independent contractor of sorts?”

Shiv paused. And then nodded.

“Splendid. Well. I might have something you can do for me as an apology. But that’s best discussed in private. Come see me at the sixtieth floor of the Hex. I’m currently staying at the Yellowstone Republic’s consulate on assignment.”

The automaton’s words hit Shiv like a punch to the liver. “The Republic?”

“Quite so! I represent certain interests from the capital. We are looking for intrepid souls willing to partake in a… limited scope military operation.” The automaton chuckled, as if making a joke they were both in on. “But here I go saying too much in public. A final note: I promise that you’ll get all the taste you crave if you do choose to sign up. To the victor go the spoils, and a siege comes with an awful lot of spoils.”

Every word the automaton came down on Shiv like heavier and heavier weights. The automaton was from the Republic? Recruitment for a siege? Blackedge? What else could they be talking about? Maybe the System wasn’t mocking him. Maybe it wanted him in this state, wearing this mask, drawn to situations exactly like these.

The System desires strife above all, indeed, Shiv thought.

By the time he reacted, the automaton was already walking away, leaving Shiv with a bombshell of a lead, a whimpering, wounded child, and quite a bit less money.

One problem at a time, Shiv thought. He then noticed 811 looking at him. Okay. Maybe two problems at a time.

“Come on,” Shiv snarled. He picked the boy up under pretenses of being in a hurry. The child screamed despite Shiv’s attempts to be gentle, but this is the best he could do. He was just planning as he went now, trying to navigate a path out. “Let’s go to Little Gomorrah before my inhibitions get the best of me again.”

To his satisfaction, the diversion worked. 811 was leading now, guiding him through an intersectional plaza connected to several other bridges. Along the way, Shiv spotted all manner of dimensionals patrolling the streets. Some of them seemed like cousins to the Steel Fiend Shiv fought yesterday. A great many more were monstrous beasts only slightly smaller than the orc, sporting with over a dozen, weapon-bearing limbs, the head of a wolf, and a body shielded by rusted armor.

With the way the wolf heads patrolled in groups of five, Shiv guessed they were something like gate security. Overhead, there were other dimensionals as well. Despite resembling faint wisps that crackled with lightning, they also had wolfish heads. Seems to be a running theme here. Might mean they are from the same dimension. How does that work?

The boy he was carrying whimpered. Something inside Shiv recoiled at how miserable the child sounded. The worst part was how he couldn’t just help the kid without breaking his own cover. 811 was already shooting the boy these strange looks. Looks Shiv really didn’t like.

“Shh,” the orc whispered, eyeing the child. “It won’t be long now.”

“P-please,” the boy said. “I’ll remember next time! I’ll remember! Please don’t… I promised my mother I’d find my way back…”

And that was enough to make what Shiv felt about Compact very, very personal.

Soon, he found himself following 811 across a new bridge—this one sparsely occupied. The structure ahead was hollowed like a great alcove, with shops and establishments everywhere. Instead of heading for any one of them, the orc took Shiv down a hall and into an elevator. Bottles and filth were littered along the floor. The discarded body of a partially disassembled automaton dangled above like some kind of warning.

Shiv didn’t know what kind of place Little Gomorrah was, but he suspected it wasn’t going to be a joint he enjoyed.

“Maybe you should hurry along first,” Shiv said, pretending to succumb to his hunger. “I need to feed.”

“Then feed,” 811 said, grinning at him. “Do not be shy. We both know what you are like when you get hungry. Right?”

“No!” The boy begged. The way he was writhing caused his wounds to twist and open again.

This damned orc… Shiv channeled that into outrage. “What, are you taunting me?”

811 just laughed as he stepped past a narrow alley leading deeper into the structure. He gestured for Shiv to go first, and playing the role of surly high vampire, Shiv scoffed, turned, and froze.

He was looking at a dead end. A dead end with three stripped corpses stacked against the far wall. His brief confusion ended when 811 ripped the boy out of his hands and then slammed his large mace into Shiv’s back. Everything around them cracked and shattered. Dense stone crumbled and parted. The Deathless bit back a snarl as he felt his back armor fracture and chip—but making it thicker paid off, it didn't shatter. His Momentum Core drank much of the hit, but three of his right ribs fractured anyway; the orc’s blow had been a falling meteor.

Shiv drew on his Might of Mass and skidded across the floor instead of getting blasted off his feet. He came to a sliding halt just a few steps away from the corpses and growled. Yeah. He was really

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There, twitching in the orc’s outstretched hand, was the boy Shiv was trying to save. The child’s condition was even worse than it was before. The shockwave burst his eardrums, and his eyes were rolling. 811 grinned viciously at Shiv. “I must confess one thing: I do not much like the young. They are too vulnerable—and it always provokes a predator response in me.”

“Don’t—” Shiv hissed.

811 closed his hands. What started as a whimper turned into a wet squelch. Shiv wasn’t fast enough to stop the murder. But he was fast enough to smash himself into the orc’s chest in immediate retribution.

“Tainted bastard!” Shiv roared. Another small shockwave shook through the alley. The Deathless heard 811 breathe out, absorbing the hit. The orc swung. Shiv ducked and hit the monster three more times—filling his Momentum Core with every blow. His mind was nothing but cold, furious focus. He needed to kill this thing. He needed to murder the orc if it was the last thing he did. He wouldn’t be right until he butchered the orc.

At some point, he drew out a bone dagger from his cloak and started cutting as well. 811 reared his mace back, but Shiv parried the blow aside before it could hit. Then he was back to tearing into the orc again, his core filling, preparing—

It was only instinct that stopped Shiv from being caged by a stone trap this time. He slammed into 811, barely budging him out of the way through a combined effort of brute strength and Biomancy before a jagged maw exploded out from the ground to clamp down where he was. His biggest edge against the orc was his speed, and Momentum Core was a good few hits from hitting overload. Shiv’s Reflexes got faster. The orc lumbered slower, but all the while, there was a serene smirk on his face. Like he just remembered something pleasant instead of murdering a child.

Shiv pulled out a few more of his bodies from his cloak. He tore them open with Biomancy and fused them into the walls, creating biomass platforms in the alley. Jagged stones burst out from the ground at the orc’s gesture, but they bounced off the Diamond Shelled underside of Shiv’s corpse-platforms as he climbed higher, avoiding the ground.

Both Pathbearers met each other’s stare. 811 chuckled. Shiv trembled with bloodthirst and aggression. The orc was going to be dead by the end of this. Shiv didn’t care what it took. He was going to rip this godsdamn monster apart.

“Who are you?” 811 asked, frowning at a slight chip in his mace.

“How’d you find out?” Shiv responded with a question of his own.

811 tilted his head. “The way you react, mostly. Isaiah was… troubled. Resentful. Hateful. The slave gave you away the most. He loved the whippings. He loved the torment. It reminded him that there was always a place lower to fall, even for a fugitive of the First Blood. He confided in me once that he liked to imagine himself as an Elder in those moments, and the slaves as the ones who used to abuse him—and now continue to hunt him. Your excuse of… wanting an immediate sip was understandable. The money you spent was not. He would have never thrown that away—hungry or not. And ultimately… If he had one virtue, it was endurance. He could handle his cravings better than most.”

That earned a humorless laugh from Shiv. “And here I thought my acting was carrying me through this whole thing.”

“I am afraid not. You were not too bad at a few points. You even got some of the things he said down. But you are too angry to be him. Too decisive. Too explosive. And you walk with too much strength. He was fragile. Soft at times. You… I suspect you do not even know what that is like.”

Shiv took this moment to create a new bone drill as well. He could hear footsteps and shouts echoing down along the walls of the alley. “Are we even anywhere near Little Gomorrah?” Shiv asked.

“No. Practically the opposite direction. Another slip in your facade.” 811 clicked his pointed teeth together. “Now. Who are you? A raven of Aviary? An agent of New Albion trying to steal a weapon? A weapon that was not where you expected it to be?” Shiv didn’t answer that question. So, 811 asked another. “Isaiah. Is he dead?”

Shiv gave the boy’s brutalized remains a final look as cold rage surged through his veins. I was going to save him. I was. I was…

“Yeah,” Shiv said. “And it was an ugly death. He started screaming pretty hard when I laid my hands on him.” 811’s serene smile faded. Shiv kept going. “In fact, I found it pretty pathetic how fast he broke. You want to know what killed him? Pain. He couldn’t take it. He passed out—couldn’t do anything to stop me from ripping out his heart. Just a shame you weren’t there to see it.”

The orc stared at him for a moment. There was a twitch to the corner of his lip. A flash of a snarl. “He was my friend.”

“I know,” Shiv whispered. “I could tell.”

811 tightened his grip around his mace, and the ground trembled. The first of the multi-limbed, wolf-headed demons appeared around the corner, but Shiv didn’t give a damn about that.

“I do not have many friends. Few people understand me.” 811 was glaring at Shiv now, his anger rising too.

Shiv sneered. “One fewer now. But don’t worry, orc. I’ll remember you after this. I’ll remember your screams most of all.”

Silver Tongue > 5

Intimidation > 21

And that was the last thing said. The last thing that needed to be said. Words were over. Blood needed to flow. Shiv launched his bone drill into the orc’s skull. It impacted with a brief spurt of blood and a shower of chipped stone. The orc made the gesture of a clenched fist. His body flared with mana. Stones erupted, and jagged crystals burst out from the surrounding structures. He tried to crush Shiv—did break one of the corpse-platforms. But Shiv was already descending, coming at 811 at Momentum Core-enhanced and Biomancy-accelerated speeds. He smashed knee-first into the orc’s face.

811 barely reacted.

He drove his bulk into Shiv's shoulder first. The Deathless drank the momentum out of the hit—only to feel a giant stone hand seize him from behind. It felt like the weight of a small building was pressing down on him, pinning his limbs in place. Shiv jerked and twisted as time crawled to a halt. 811 was rearing his entire body back, preparing to deliver a colossal hit on Shiv—the hit that ended Shiv’s life the first time.

The Deathless just smiled. The orc was too slow. And now, Momentum Core was full. Time to show the big, gray bastard what a heavy hit actually was.

Shiv discharged his core. Suddenly, he was moving too fast for the stone hand to hold. It burst apart into dust and fragments. 811’s eyes barely had a chance to widen before Shiv caught his bone drill and thrust it forward into the orc’s face. The sheer force was too much—too much for the alley walls to endure as Shiv and the orc blasted through meters of dense stone. It was too much for the surprised, wolf-headed dimensionals who were blasted aside. It was even too much for Shiv’s drill, as it snapped in half.

But not before it drew blood, shattered teeth, and kissed bone.

As the last of Shiv’s Momentum Core died, he and 811 crashed through another wall before they slid along the length of the bridge, knocking aside pedestrians and ripping the ground asunder.

When they finally came to a halt, Shiv surveyed the damage he left. The building behind him was starting to fold inward slightly. Countless people ran screaming from the stories and rooms lining the structure. Meanwhile, a deep, ugly gash ran along the side of 811’s face. Blood flowed from a flap of severed muscle. The orc dipped a finger into the wound and tasted it. “Huh. Not bad. Not bad at all. Here I was hoping you were something more than just a sneaky little dagger. Seems like you have plenty of brawler in you as well.”

Shiv mended his bone drill. And he shaped another. And another. Three drills hovered behind him, clutched by the same field. “I haven’t shown you a brawl yet.”

“Indeed,” 811 chuckled. “And I have not shown you all my skills.” And as 811 held his mace high, a crack of lightning echoed from on high, and the winds began to build. “Let me give you a full taste of my Mastery.”