Down To The Blanket

****************************

Lennon 'Bladed Monster' Hull

"You really gave up that easy, huh?"

One of Maddox's grunts mocks me while I sit still, watching the waves from the side of his ship. The victor of our 'duel' set me to join their crew. I don't want to be here, but I don't really have a choice.

Both my arms are missing. Maddox's medic told me she couldn't fix it.

I don't believe that bullshit for a second, but again, not much I can do about it. Without a hand to hold a blade, I'm at most at the strength of one of Maddox's ringleaders.

Monster may make me inhumanely swift and incredibly powerful, but it's best used with a weapon. I'm not awful at hand-to-hand combat, but it's not very much hand-to-hand anymore, is it?

"Really? Nothing? What happened to that Monster? The one who killed Eden Brown? Did you know she was my cousin?"

I don't even give the man a glance. He's a 5th Sigil—a well-respected level of might anywhere within the world. Yet, being appreciated isn't enough. He will be devoured by the waves to come.

The man doesn't take this for an answer, however. He strides beside me, leaning in to jut his face into my frame of vision. He is enraged, with veins popping out along the entirety of his countenance.

"Nothing? I'm sure you'll say something if I do this!"

The nameless bandit grips the point where my left arm ends, squeezing it with all the force he can manage. It hurts. It hurts a whole hell of a lot.

But I can't bring myself to feel anything, and my face follows that sensation.

The fury in his eyes surmounts as he notices that I don't even see his efforts. Huffing, the man storms off, shouting something about killing the cripple. His words mean little to nothing to me.

I sit alone on the prickly wooden rail, gazing into the turbulent waters that mirror the storm within me. As I remain, I can almost imagine gripping the railing with my hands, feeling the sensation of the wood against my calloused skin.

I always believed that losing a fight would mean losing my life, a swift and final end befitting a swordsman like me. It's what Edmund always said would happen. I have no important family or people. If I am taken or beaten, I am to simply die. Nothing or no one will save me. But fate had other plans for me. In my very first defeat, life lingers like a cruel taunt. I'm left alive like a hollow shell, robbed of the means to carry out my purpose.

No longer can I become more. No longer can I grow stronger. No longer can I fight. Just when I accepted how much I loved that very thing, it was taken from me.

The void inside me is palpable, a chilling emptiness that consumes my thoughts. I'm adrift in purposelessness, and the weight of it threatens to pull me under. The waves below call me to them, and I feel myself gradually moving toward them.

The wind whistles through the empty sleeves of my armor, a haunting reminder of what I've lost. The ruffling noise of the cloth against my flesh is a slap to the face every constant moment.

Maddox, indifferent to my misery, leaves me untouched as they steer the ship toward the shore of Qune, soon to ride the Quarry River to Onyx Gate itself. I am nothing but a passenger when I once decided my own fate.

The waves crash against the hull, and I kick the ship lightly, feeling the dissonance. I find time passes while I stare into the rhythmic chaos of the sea. It is like a distraction from the torment within.

I search for something, anything, to pull me from the abyss, but all that surrounds me is an unyielding emptiness. There are no ways for me to recover my arms or my strength. I am but a swordsman without a blade to ever wield.

Maddox must have kept me alive to watch my internal agony. I thought he was heartless, not sadistic.

The sails overhead flutter, indifferent to my plight, and I gradually slide my way to the edge of the ship, succumbing to the lure of oblivion. The water rushes toward me up the hull of the Rising Tide, a dark sanctuary promising an end to the torment that gnaws at my soul.

I am not a swordsman, so I am nothing. A poet's son is better off dead within these waves than a victim of the war to come. Slowly, gradually, I head toward my own death. A coward's way out. I hate it, but do I have much choice? There is no way forward for me. It has been closed by two daggers in my arms.

But before the icy embrace of the sea envelops me, a firm grip seizes my shirt. Startled, I find myself yanked back from the brink, suspended between the railing and the abyss. A pair of unseen eyes stare down at me, prompting the hair on the back of my neck to rise as it does against all Augurs. Craning my neck, I realize the old man who pulled me back is blind, his gaze forever lost to the world.

Confusion clouds my thoughts as I'm pulled back onto the ship, the old man's touch surprisingly strong. He pats my shoulder, a silent reassurance that leaves me speechless. I glance into his sightless eyes, but I don't question how someone without the gift of vision could have intervened, only why. Augurs like this one can see far more than my pupils ever could. Far, far more than I ever will.

Yet, I don't voice my questions. I only observe the old man as he shows me a grim smile, nodding his head back to the abyss of water below.

"I will only stop you once. A life such as yours is not meant to be washed away by such waves. I can see into you, Hull. I can see through you. You do not want to die. You wish to fight. I know even as you pushed, you were struggling within. Give it time. Perhaps you will be given the chance once more."

The elder turns around and walks away before even finishing his words. I call out to him, and thankfully, he twists to face me again.

"What do you mean? Will I regain my arms? And... why are you with Maddox? The great Feldman the Wise. Why would you saddle up with such a man like him?"

Feldman laughs shortly, an eerie laugh that sends a chill down my spine as the man leaves entirely, diving into the depths of the ship. He leaves me under the moonlit night without anything but his words.

"You will see. Not all of us have freedom, Hull. The whims of the world corral most beings into cages, forcing them to dance as the world wishes. You experienced freedom due to your unique nature. Experience the opposite. Reflect on it. Perhaps a more terrifying monster will be born after feeling humility."

My head sinks as I fall into his words. He's not entirely wrong. Most people are forced to do a great many things that they hate—forced to be people they hate.

I wasn't as affected by that as the others were. Thanks to Edmund, I had a reputation that protected me from crazy or stupid orders being sent to me. None wanted to get on the old man's bad side, or it'd guarantee he'd never train their sons, daughters, or successors. Despite that, I still spent the vast majority of my time shielding others.

Nevertheless, that was of my own will, even if not necessarily what I wanted to do. I did as Edmund would have liked before doing as I wanted.

And recently...

I have been nothing but free.

I have gone as I please, slept wherever, ate whatever, and fought whatever I wished.

It's been so...

Amazing. That's the only word for it. Everyone else I've spoken to has hated the recent chaos and violence, but I have absolutely been thriving. And now... it's all been robbed from me.

Yet... Feldman told me to wait.

I don't know what I'm waiting for, but perhaps this humility will aid the swing of my sword. But how could it? It's not physical. It's not even... haah...

***************************

Eli 'Underground Tree' Weiss

Injecting a rejuvenation serum into Sylvia and Clarence on their bed, I take careful note of my own situation. I've lost enough Vessels recently that my time has increased substantially. Not that much, though. My best friend's daughter is coming after me like a hound, hunting down every Vessel with reckless abandon. For now, she's only killed two herself, but...

I can already feel my mind slowing.

It hasn't reached madness, but random, obscene urges have been entering my mind here and there. It's coming. Months or years, I'm not sure what I have left, but I have to make the most of it, no matter what.

For myself. For her... for everyone.

This attack went absolutely awful. I lost Cloud, and Brimstone is excessively irate at me for that very misstep. Both Clarence and Sylvia will need another day or so to recover. Worse yet, I had to pay Sylvia Harvey with way, way too much to get her to join this.

My teeth grind at what messed it all up.

Won't those fucking old men just stay out of it? I thought they were all pulled back already?

The Fifth through Ninth were seen turning into dust by scouts, so I assumed it was the same for the Third and Fourth.

Guess not.

Perhaps age has something to do with it? They were both ancient to their peers when they died, after all, not to mention their time spent dead. Or maybe it is power. The Third is often said to be the only Prime to hold up when compared to Vincent or the First. After all, he managed to keep humanity around even after the two before him fell.

I keep my cool, however, refusing to lose it after just a single casualty. Cloud's death will be rather substantial to our strategy, though. Her ability to isolate and quarantine targets for execution was incredible. Pairing her with Brimstone allowed me to assassinate many targets that would otherwise be impossible.

We almost got Maddox away from his damned turtle, too. Yet... the Titan showed himself. I've heard stories about the Thunderbolt Titan and his incessant laughter, but I thought much of it was an exaggeration. Besides his power, I mean.

No Prime would ever be weak. Even the widely regarded weakest Prime, Arnold Pilner, still could destroy me like I was nothing. That's just the men and women they are. No matter if being dead weakens them or not, without my own Dominion, I am but a slightly stronger child in comparison to the rest of the world to them.

I'll have to write them as possibilities in the upcoming plans. Maddox is on his way here. Lennon Hull is on his ship as well, but as planned, the man's arms won't be regenerating any time soon. The substance should hold for six months or until I dissipate it.

The man is nearly impossible to plan for, so removing him from the picture is better. I can't kill him, though. He's too valuable of a weapon. When I descend to the Underworld, I expect to need him to face the Supremes down there. Or the demons. Information is so scarce, that I'm unsure of the exact situation. If only Vincent allowed me to speak to Killian the last time he surfaced...

Haah... The Supremes aren't all too pleased about me funneling people to live down in the darkness. Getting people through without hearts is difficult but not impossible. Simply stopping the heart and resuscitating it afterward works, even if it is annoying to do for each person. Fetching back through is far easier, but it's the scouting part that is near-impossible. I've set hundreds, including a Forerunner, but only one made it back with minimal information. I'll need to take Angels if I want to create a base there.

Still, I'll have to thank my spies in Bent for learning the trick to slide past the gate from Johnny. That group was incredibly close-lipped around any trees within my grasp, making it hard to learn much from them.

But now, I have a backup plan should Onyx Gate ever fall. Priests can provide enough light to grow crops, while Swimmers can deliver the nutrients alongside Shamans.

Nonetheless, I need a Sirza.

And to get one, the best course of action is to go into the Supreme's Archives down there to find one. I'm confident I can learn any skill if given directions and enough time to experiment, but I don't have the time to create a whole Sirza independently. The Prime's Archive is inaccessible to anyone without a Dominion. Meaning, I can't go in quite yet to find a Sirza to learn.

Still, before I do that, the ideal thing would be to become a Dominion. And for that... losses aren't necessarily the worst thing to happen. They just have to be at an acceptable level.

"Clarence."

I call toward my silent assassin, and he nods to wakefulness, seeing me in his gaze. The man acknowledges me with a groan.

"Fuck, Eli. That kid really caught up to us? He kicked my ass with that Eventide."

I bob my head with him, consoling him and reassuring him. I need my second at his best.

"He did indeed. Each Graves is a once in a hundred years talent. Still, I doubt he'll be of much issue when I reach my next Sigil. Desolation is a once in a thousand years talent and barely became a God. As long as we keep the gap with the kid, there should be no worry. As for the Eventide... He's probably imploded already, forcing Wyatt Graves to kill a friend or die."

Clarence sits up with my words and rubs his head softly. His sandy-blonde hair fits eerily closely to the sands I set him to guard so long ago. Still, the man holds worries.

"What are we to do when they reach Onyx, Eli? There is you, Sylvia, Brimstone, Parker, Joseph, and I. Meanwhile... the coming tide has Maddox, Lennon, Johnny, Wyatt, Tomas, Kwakiteh, and that shadow you refused to kill."

I listen to his concerns, finding a reason to pick apart most of them. Things might be similar between the two groups in strength, but in reality, we have the utmost advantage.

"Lennon is crippled, remember? And Johnny will not be coming. He's too noble to leave all those people behind. The shadow... Virgil Boone has not been seen in nearly two months. There is a decent chance he died trying to take the leap. Also, the rats that have come in from the other races are sure to muddy the waters. Furthermore... humanity still have a few hidden Angels. I'm sure they're just itching to appear at this juncture. Things aren't as balanced as they seem."

Standing, I hold out the Primare, the pendant made of Godflesh. It, even now, bolsters my capabilities of Ether far beyond what I should be able to do. I could have stayed longer and potentially finished off Maddox, but I unquestionably would have lost both Clarence and Brimstone in that exchange.

I don't make trades like that when I can afford better ones.

"We have many artifacts, Heirlooms, and even this to hold down our scales. Newbie Angels and Maddox won't hold a candle to us, Clarence. We simply take it slow and careful, and they'll all perish to us while we rise even higher. We'll have to be more careful of the hidden forces creeping in. And for that, I'll have to rely on you."

The Silent Scorpion grins at my words. However, I can see behind the smile. He doesn't like what we're doing. It pains me to see him disagree with me because it means he might not act how I want.

That cannot be. I need him to follow every direction to the very letter.

"We will not kill anyone who does not deserve it, Clarence. I promise, okay? No children like always, and the Unsigiled will be allowed to surrender, not that Maddox has many."

Clarence Love meets and holds my gaze as he presents me with a final question, with his wobbling eyes still affected by the medicines flowing through him made from my expertise.

"What about the Graves? Wyatt Graves is..."

I cut him off, not letting him continue down that train of thought.

"Wyatt Graves is of age, Clarence. He is not a child, even if he might look young. He bears more scars than you, both of the mind and body. Do not treat a Graves as you would any other. They are beasts within human form, missing parts that would make them the same as us."

I lean down, focusing my eye without the now-blinded Ail I have to replace to accentuate my meaning. Good thing they all come in pairs. He has to get this through his head.

"The next time you meet the Unbound Wendigo, do not hold back. He will not. He is not human. Human blood does not flow through his veins."

Clarence puffs out his lips in thought before slowly nodding. Good. I know he doesn't believe my words fully, as even I do not, but I leave him to recover as I step outside of the medical bay within my laboratory. There are more experiments to do.

Brimstone could use an Ail, and so could Clarence. Plus... I wonder if I could integrate my mechanical arms with their flesh? Combining Sigiled steel and flesh just as Wyatt Graves has with an artifact. There are many questions to ponder and many things to do.

One thing is for sure: the Graves are not human.

They can't be.

After reading the text left behind in Vincent's study, most of which is history, I've found so much about the family, but still not their origin. That was struck from even his records, probably only left in the actual Archives. I went to search for Dzils, and I found a few just laying around in the study. Still, the things that stick in my mind the most are the vivid descriptions of these monsters throughout time in various documents and retellings.

A human cannot exist without blood. A human cannot exist without bones. A human cannot exist without anger. A human cannot exist without grief. A human cannot exist without pain. And yet, all these things have existed among that wretched family.

There are so many things inherently wrong with this 'group' of 'people' that I don't even know where to begin.

Where do they come from?

When did they first appear?

Who are they?

What are they?

Are they friends?

Or are they foe?

Why has there never been a pregnant Graves?

There are no records of a female Graves giving birth or a male one with a pregnant woman.

What... exactly... are they?

And what is their 'youngest' missing?