Chapter Ten- Part One

The Aether and its Bearer

Archie Parthenia

Papers littered the floor, along with blood and burns that started from the ceiling and worked their way down to the walls. My stomach turned at the sight of white tables full of sharpened medical tools, bloodied and broken as if a storm tore through the place. Then my heart dropped at the tanks full of green liquid where skeletal bones and bodies floated as if held by puppet strings. Although silent, the scene before us spoke louder than words.

"What is this place?" whispered Helen, just as distraught as I was. More so at the sight of blood. Human blood.

Afraid we'd get lost in the horror of the place, we stuck together. We assessed the exit strategies and surveyed our surroundings before progressing forward. The stench was horrible, so strong I could taste the coppery tang of dried blood, not to mention the aroma of decaying bodies as if pudding and custard were left to be festered by bacteria.

What happened here?

I tugged at Irene's black jacket, communicating for her to stay close to me as we all branched off, in search of answers. She obliged, following my silent command, and held onto my arm, frightened to death she'd be next.

I wouldn't allow it.

Although composed I couldn't stop the thoughts that swirled in my mind, the questions that swam in my pool of erratic thoughts.

Since when was there a laboratory down here?

How were there human bodies in Grim?

Why was this place deserted?

What happened?

I approached a tank, labelled with the number thirty—four, the only one not cracked with green liquid spilling out, and stared at what floated within. In pieces were hands, fingers, and most disturbingly, a brain stripped of skin and bone. I felt the bile burn my throat as I swallowed it back down.

To satisfy my curiosity, I went to another tank. The glass was badly broken into fractured shards and I wrapped my ribbon around a stray, secluded finger on the ground. Then with enough force threw it back into the liquid puddle where it originally came from. Sure enough, the finger began to decompose.

So this acid was to decay what was left of the skin and preserve the muscle that mattered.

How sick.

I retracted the ribbon, careful not to let the liquid touch me, and moved on to the next piece of my investigation.

The once shining white lab table was now stained with dried blood and half—melted medical tools. There was nothing in the perimeter that may have caused the table to melt. Perhaps there was an explosion or a leak of something hot enough to cause this side of the room to completely fold. There was no conclusive evidence.

I felt Irene tap my shoulder and immediately turned to face her shaking form.

Stupid.

I was so stupid.

So stupid because I forgot she was impaled with a weapon, forced out into an open area saturated with ghouls, and was now in the presence of a disgusting mystery. I was so stupid to think she would be okay. To think she was like me, ruthlessly apathetic to everything and everyone. You don't throw someone accustomed to Heaven's kindness into the depths of Hell and assume they will survive.

I grabbed her hand, interlaced it with mine, and rubbed soothing circles. Her hand continued to shake and I could feel her breath on my neck as I closed the space between us, hugging her in a tight embrace. She must have felt so lost, so worried.

Yet she was so brave.

"It's okay," I whispered, feeling her tears wet my skin. "It's all going to be okay."

She shook her head in the crook of my neck like something else was bothering her. Before I could ask, she tightened her grip on me before mumbling something into my shirt. I couldn't make out a single word but I kept my grip steady as I discerned the surroundings once more. It was a habit of mine to continuously check if we were safe, I heard little to no noise. No life lived down here.

And worst of all it was so eerily silent. Too silent.

Irene let go of me, inhaling a breath before slapping her face harshly. My eyes widened at the red marks that formed on her face. She blinked a few times as I ran a hand over her cheek, making sure she was alright.

Her eyes were drowsy, but her spirit was alive as if ready to tackle whatever came her way. Then she pointed behind me, next to where a hanging lamp hung illuminating the space barely enough to see a door, open wide like with the earlier entrance.

The handle was banged open, hanging slightly as if the door was opened in such a rush with such immense power. I pushed the door; it barely moved, having been made of iron and steel it was incredibly heavy. Whoever opened this must have had an abundance of strength.

Next to the door were lab coats, fully torn apart or burned from what looked like a fire. For such a commotion to have occurred this place felt awfully silent. Not just in the moment but how could something as impossible as a lab exist without even a rumour?

I scoured the coats for identification, names, IDs, anything and found them purposefully ripped off by something sharp, a knife perhaps. As if someone was purposely trying to hide whatever mystery was down here.

I pushed forth, exiting the huge lab into the small, cramped room. There were bookshelves scattered around, full of books ranging from basic philosophy to the specific study of human experimentation. Whoever later scavenged this place must have entered this room, for there was one book lying wide open, perfectly placed underneath a bug light. In its brightness floated dust specks as I approached it.

Whoever was here must have deliberately wanted us to see this.

Irene took my hand again, feeling as if the walls were pressuring us together. I took it, feeling her smooth and soft hands as if she never worked a day in her life. Together we approached the book, unseemingly surrounded by familiar black books labelled with people's names. The same thought ran through our heads.

This can't be good.

Flipping through the pages of the open book, I scoured the sentences to get a feel for what it was. It was a diary, written by Professor Leogan. The name didn't ring a bell, however, the more I read the more I understood why this was lying in wait.

Day 546.

We have made a discovery.

Ravens are led by the Reaper, in the unsleeping city of Atlantis. Today we found out that not only was my hypothesis incorrect, but have learned valuable information regarding the Aether.

To begin with, we started simply by analysing the bodies of those in Grim, kidnapping a few who hunted us White Ravens. Tonight's subject was Jordan Tailor, a young student who died in late August of last year. He was then swiftly taken to Grim by the power of the Aether.

Surprising right? To think our bodies were sent here from the Aether we so despised. But wait, that's not even the best part. Through our analysis, we've found there to be residual Aether within us each of varying amounts, the more concentrated it was the more likely the user had used their Aether Relic in the past 24 hours. This explains the phenomenon of the Aether Blueprints as explained by Professor Disk. This correlates to the connection that we found on day 512: that the Aether powers everything, and guess who controls everything?

The Reaper.

My eyes scanned the words, rereading them over and over. Bewildered and unbelieving, I couldn't stop my arm as I punched the side of the poorly kept wooden table, crushing it with my strength and bubbling anger. Irene calmly tightened her grip on my other hand which still held onto her own. Reassuringly, she rubbed my hand the same way I did hers earlier, sending me a silent message: I wasn't alone.

I read on, continuing to fuel my fire.

What does this mean you might be asking? The answer is simple. The Reaper controls everything in Grim: who is brought in, the Aether Relics, and the Grim Chronicles that are held in the library. The Reaper holds control over it all. But the Reaper claims the Aether is evil, does that mean he cannot control all of it? Is there someone else in the picture? Some other lingering power we are not aware of?

What isn't he telling us?

"That sick son of a bitch," I seethed underneath my breath. Whether I was speaking about the Professor or the Reaper, I didn't know.

If we look back at past instances we find the tale of Haven to be especially mysterious. The first Shifter was ultimately the consequence of some mishap in the Aether, if we believe the Aether controls everything then Shifters are by no means a mistake. There is something working at large. Something beneath the shadows as the Ravens blindly follow the lead of the Reaper who might be leading them to their demise. We were not wrong to defy the Reaper, for the Reaper has defied us the truth.

We shall continue to experiment on the surviving Ravens, to find conclusive evidence against the Reaper has been our life's mission and we will adhere to that, following the Admiral until we perish.

Tomorrow we shall use Advika Zafnah whose body reeks of Aether Energy and analyse her brain held in tank 34.

I couldn't read anymore, at the mention of Advika Zafnah, whose face popped up in my mind. I couldn't focus as the rage began to take over or when Irene caught my falling figure. I couldn't do anything as the bile came up, and I couldn't stop myself as I folded over puking. The disgusting miasma of vomit dusted the room in a sick presence along with the blood.

That brain I'd seen, floating aimlessly in the tank beforehand…it belonged to her. It belonged to Advika. It belonged to my lost friend.