Godclads

We were defined before our birth. The shape of our inclinations by genetic encoding—nature a blind craftsman, stumbling toward survival. The shape of our thoughts narrowed by culture, knowledge, and inherent biology. For even the wisest mind is wasted if its only input is darkness. And our reputation. The fabric of our legend. Sullied or gloried by those that come before.

My father is Jaus Avandaer. Savior. Godbreaker. A good man.

My mother is Zein Thousandhand. Glaive. Godslayer. An icon of bloodshed.

I am Veylis Avandaer. I am pre-shaped. Fated. But also cursed. I have my father’s intellect, my mother’s yearning to cull and slay—that cold yearning toward violence. And I also had a wise mentor and friend. To grant me insight.

Understand your worthiness, and your degradation are more than your own sum, but also the sum of those around you, the sum of those who came before. And so, when you see a child of the gutters, judge them not by origin, but the path they surpassed. If they choose definitely from those who share their fate of their own volition.

And for my Guilders. Citizens. What your parents have earned will weight on your back like a mountain. All that they are, you must be and more.

Bear the weight. Or be broken by it.

-High Seraph Veylis Avandaer

31-4

—[Vator Greatling]—

+...Confirmed. His sequenced memories and functional recollections all synced up.+ The Necro’s thoughtcast made Vator frown internally. Despite the hours of examinations they put him through, probing his mind and Frame and sheath over and over again in a repurposed private office, they caught no scent of the Regular. Nor anything else worth noting.

Jelene Draus was a weapon of fine make. Her devotion to war made her lethal across a vast spectrum of theaters, and the new Heavens she possessed along with all the memories the Strix bestowed upon rendered her a horror of a Godclad as well. But she was no Necrojack. Nor was she an intelligence operative or a Sleeper of any kind.

Hiding from one Highflame test was impressive. Masking her mind and Soul at the same time? While managing to have them overlook the shard Vator still contained within himself?

This was beyond just the Regular’s skill set. Someone else was aiding her as well.

A series of clicks sounded from the mechanical seat holding Vator's weight. Simple needles slipped free from his flesh, and the ghost link the Necro held with him broke a second thereafter.

+It all checks out,+ the Necro's thoughtcast declared. +He's clean. You can talk to him now, sir.+

A moment later, the door hissed open, and Mondelles stood there, alone, anchored, exhausted. But still standing—still standing when so many had fallen. A waft of smoke escaped his lips, a flask in his hand to take the edge off things. There was residual scarring on his muscles as well—visible evidence of overexertion. A feat that required substantial effort to achieve against an augmented sheath.

“Look upon his gut health,” the Portrait proclaimed, and Vator turned his attention to the man's stomach. There, microbes were in an uproar, and the acids swirled in a whirlpool of discontent. That explained the man's anxiety, manifesting in his digestion. Adrenaline was spiking his equilibrium over and over.

“Oh, poor, poor Instrument Mondelles,” the Vator mused. Acting Authority Mondelles, I should say now. For years, the man had railed against the unfairness of the Chivalrics, their incompetence, their failures. And now, in these desperate times, he finally claimed the power he sought—only to feel the fullness of its weight, hear the crackling of his buckling legs.

Mondelles fell into a seat across from Vator. His was just a normal chair, padded, with a frame formed from alloy. No one else entered the room; it was just them for now. Just as Mondelles pulled out a thin reed from his pocket and lit it, he glanced at Vator. "You smoke?"

"I'm afraid not, Acting Authority," Vator replied. "It’s not that I think my body is a temple, it’s just that whatever effects these chemical substances can offer, I can engender naturally." �

Mondelles nodded slowly. "Yeah. Your Heaven. Haven’t forgotten. Haven’t forgotten a lot of things about you.”

The Acting Authority pointed a finger, and a thread of light danced out, sparking at the top of the carcinogenic interrogation room and dimming the lights to a comfortable ambiance. Vator struggled not to yawn. He wondered what the regular was doing—if her end was any more exciting than his. Considering he'd been tapped to trade his own guilt, he’d expected more tension, more cloak-and-dagger encounters. So far, he was just dealing with the banality of bureaucracy.

"I apologize for the questioning you had to go through," Mondelles said. Though the words were polite, Vator could tell he wasn’t actually sorry. "Things across the city have been unstable recently. Our forces are scattered. The great houses are all pulling in their own directions. There are more than just outside threats we need to concern ourselves with."

Vator leaned back in his chair, feigning interest. "Truly? Tell me more."

But Mondelles was much cannier than that. He simply shook his head, resisting Vator's open invitation to turn this interrogation on its head. "Maybe after. Right now, I need some more experience. Specifically, someone experienced with what was happening in the substance."

It took all Vator had not to roll his eyes. There was no trust. No trust from anyone. No trust from his own people. No trust from the regular that was using him. No trust even from his heaven.

“It has nothing to do with trust,” his portrait proclaimed. Somehow, the heaven of biology managed to shudder. “It has everything to do with nature. In times of utmost desperation, all turn inward, return to their bodies, nest back, and think nothing of the wind passing over their skin, of weathered warmth filling their bones. These are times of disaster and famine. Understand it to be so.”

"If your recountings are true," Mondelles continued, "then we need to immediately dispatch forces into the Substance." He hesitated between them momentarily, then shook his head. "There aren’t that many people we that knows how to navigate its depths. Or understand what they might face. Your father—I have to tell you something," he added, leaning over the desk. "We think he’s been compromised."

"Compromised?" Vator replied, his interest piqued. "Compromised by what?"

"We’re not sure yet," Mondelles answered. He pulled the hiflass from his mouth and stared into the flame on its lit tip. "All we can say is his memories are scrambled, and he suddenly has a hell of a lot more thought than he was used to. Jumped three full spheres since the last time I met him. It’s not that easy, it’s not that fast. And only one person in New Vultun has that kind of capability."

As Vator returned to the conversation, he felt a growing fascination. The Regular had also improved, supposedly capable of things they never could before. Perhaps this was connected…

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"Have you encountered any indication that the Strix, or the High Seraph, might still be…" Mondelles searched for the right words. "Present? Here with us?"

"Indications?" Vator cocked an eyebrow, unable to hide a growing grin. "Wouldn’t they call the Substance itself an indication? Perhaps a marriage between two Fallen Heavens? It is hard to tell when it composes itself. But I feel both the pry of time and the sublime nature of memory at work."

Mondelles breathed out a puff of smoke and nodded. "Yeah, that’s a fair enough answer." Suddenly, he looked around, sweeping the small room with suspicion. From the tip of his burning hiflass, threads of light extended, spilling along the walls, across the ceiling, coating the floor as well. Suddenly, they were in a tangled nest of luminosity, just the two of them, severed from the world outside, drawn closer now.

Vator called upon his heaven, readying himself for whatever was to come. Despite this, his heart rate remained steady, calmness dominating his mind.

“Do not use me as a weapon,”his Portrait begged. “You can incapacitate him, you can—but please, do not use me to take a life, I beg of thee.”

A moment passed. Both the Acting Authority and the ostensible Instrument faced each other. One's expression a mask of exhaustion, buffeted by internal steel; the other, calm, anticipating bloodshed. But Mondelles spoke again.

"All right," he said. "Sorry I had to do this, but trust is hard to come by these days. And so far, you’re the only one that emerged from the Substance capable of clearing this test. What I’m about to tell you stays between us—for your mind only, and mine."

Vator leaned back, affecting casualness. "Well then, Acting Authority. Speak your pitch. I’m listening."

"I said need someone with experience. Someone who has managed to navigate the Substance without being compromised." Mondelles placed his smoke down on the table, sparks dotting the wooden surface and burning imperfections into the rich amber texture.

For the first time, Vator flinched, his jaw tightening, and an inexpressible rage welled up inside him. He pointed at the burning pipe. "Can you…. put that out?" he said. "Apologies, it's distracting."

Mondelles’s mouth opened as if to say something, then he froze. He looked down at his pipe and slowly nodded. "Gods, son, you haven’t changed at all, have you?"

"Few of us rarely do," Vator replied. "Now, if you would, please."

"Yeah, yeah," Mondelles muttered. With a gesture, he quelled the heat, and as his miracle concluded, Vator wielded his own, filling the seared cavities in the wood with new growth. There, that was better.

"So, you were saying that you need someone to venture back into the Substance," Vator continued. "Someone to lead a war host." He grinned. "I suppose that someone might be me."

"It’s… still pending," Mondelles replied severely. He clearly didn’t like the idea, but the man was desperate, bearing a weight he was never prepared to heft. "And I don’t know if you’re going to be the one leading it. I mean, no offense to your service, Instrument, but the shadow of the Path hangs dark over us all."

"Correct," Vator agreed. "Do you know that I can remember my mother’s name now? Lorea. Lorea. Lorea."

Mondelles’s eyes widened, his expression shifting to one of brief shock. It seemed that more than just Vator was affected by this sudden change in metaphysical alignment.

"How in the hells…" Mondelles shook his head. "It’s not important. Not right now. But yeah… her. And now your father. Sister too. It’s not great for you, Vator. Your family has been embroiled by more shame than most will see in generations.

"I won’t lie, Vator. I’ve got no idea what games are being played around me, over my head. I’ve never been much for this spy business. But we’re out of options, and we’re out of time. Our most critical districts are trapped behind a wall that consumes cognitions and ontologies. Our chain of communication and travel between internal districts has been severed. We’re effectively dismembered from within."

No wonder Mondelles looked so exhausted. No one wanted to be the first Acting Authority to fully lose a war, and he wasn’t even part of a Great House. His title had come only through necessity, his authority only through emergency. All he had was his name, his efforts, and little more.

"And then there’s the matter of our Ark," Mondelles said, his face grimacing. "We can’t access it. We’re no longer receiving transmissions or its thaumic signature. That, more than anything else, needs to be secured. And needs to be secured soon."

"And you want me to be part of the effort that does it," Vator replied, leaning back. "This is a desperate plan, Acting Authority. We do not have intelligence as to what’s occurring within the Substance… unless you include me as intelligence. And you aren’t sending a warhost, are you? Just a specialized cadre?”

"Yeah, we’re at that point," Mondelles said.

"How terrifying," Vator answered glibly.

"And there’s also Omnitech and the No-Dragons," Mondelles continued. "They’re no longer properly replying to our casts. The former is calling for Highflame assets to mass within their territory—using Osjon Thousand to do it.” A wince of derision followed. “Don’t think quite trust the Speaker enough to do that. The latter… the latter is devolved into infighting. You know how they are."

"I do know how they are," Vator replied. "And it is not infighting they have devolved into." He considered. Yes, the No-Dragons were notorious for their bureaucratic intrigues, but that was not actually an expression of instability. Rather, the usurpation of a superior or inferior sister’s life cycle was a common act—a means of advancement. This, right now, was simply another opportunity for social climbing or material promotion. The world might be ending, but no one wanted to spend the rest of their days as a meager pauper.

"Worry not about the No-Dragons," Vator answered. "They will clean themselves soon, and I suspect they will have a new set of Dowagers for you to speak with."

"Not me," Mondelles replied. "You."

"There is a breach open, the same as the one you passed through to get beyond the Substance. And because of your fear of Highflame’s compromise and my relations with the No-Dragons, you want me to proceed and link up with my once-contact’s former mentor. Muster a force composed of both Golds and Blacks before venturing into that stygian depth."

"Yeah, something like that," Mondelles said darkly. "I don’t really want to do it, but I don’t want to do a lot of things these days. That, and you’re not my only option.”

“Oh, and what other cards do you have? Who else have you played?”

Mondelles gave Vator a flat look. Melodic laughter sounded from the Instrument. "Don’t be so bitter, Acting Authority. I am no spy.”

“Yeah. Can’t say I’m certain of anything anymore.”

“These are days of strange wars and stranger fates. One cannot fault you for being weary.”

"Stranger fates," Mondelles echoed.

Vator continued. "Of course, we are Golds. All of us imagine ourselves champions and heroes. But, alas, if everyone’s a champion and hero, then who is to be the scoundrel they need? The supporting cast."

"Jaus, you sound like the Stormsparrow," Mondelles said.

"I met her recently," Vator replied, his eyes widening. "She was really quite the sight. Oh, nothing quite compares to thy Seraph.” Or the Strix, for that matter.

The last bit, Vator didn’t say out loud. But he noticed something—an opportunity at hand. Here he was, in the same room as Santanando Mondelles, Acting Authority, current reigning tyrant over at Axtraxis Academy. They were separated from the notice of others, protected by a cocoon made from Mondelles’s cannon.

+Well, Guard-Captain,+ Vator thought, his mind reaching out to Draus. +I have an opportunity that might interest you: a private conversation with the Acting Authority.+

Across the link, he felt a stirring. Draus’s focus came back in full; she’d been momentarily distracted by something he didn’t know. But whatever it was, he doubted it was more fascinating than what they could achieve right now.

Leaning forward in his chair, Vator regarded Mondelles as he prepared himself to shift the paradigm. "I'm afraid I haven't been completely honest, Authority."

Mondelles's expression flattened, inscrutable. "Elaborate, Instrument."

"You wish to know more about the Substance. Find someone with true expertise. There is someone I can introduce you to. And I think we can all help each other get what we—”

A sudden Ghost-Link shot out from inside Vator’s mind, piercing Mondelles’s Meta. Between blinks, the Famine of Mercy formed from ghostly mist behind the Acting Authority and buried his fingers into Mondelles’ halo. The Acting Authority flinched and jerked back, but found himself lost in a maze of twisted memories. Meanwhile, his demiplane of radiance pulsed with an ethereal hum, flickering but never truly collapsing.

Within Vator, his tendons shifted, turning into tentacles and fingers. They produced the shard from within his body, and placed it on the table. Slowly, the shard spread, pooling out, knocking items, and encompassing the table’s surface as its shape grew thinner, wider, brighter. Finally, there was a final flash as the upper body of a new intruder emerged.

Jelene Draus rose. Her voidtech projectile launcher was active. She pointed it directly at Mondelles while an orbiting belt of other guns drifted behind her. The Acting Authority’s eyes widened in shock.

"J-J-Jelene… Draus…" he stammered.

"Yeah, good to see you too, Mondelles," she drawled. "Trust me, I’m about as surprised as you are about most things these days." She glanced at Vator, giving him a hesitant nod.

A boyish smirk appeared on Vator’s face. This was the closest the Regular had ever come to showing approval.

“You see, Mondelles,” he chirruped cheerfully. “People can change. And so can situations. Now. Let’s talk about what’s actually happening: your truths inexchange for ours.”

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