Nighthawk

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Virgil 'Wraith' Boone

Following Edward's wife into the prison of Blackstone, I feel a sickening feeling enter my stomach. These places are where criminals and dangerous individuals are stored that cannot be controlled. To many, it would make sense to simply put them down.

But that is not the case. Each Sigiled within here is a free advancement for any that may need it, given that they resonate with the Sigil, of course. The only exceptions are when their 'captors' are the Damned. The targets of the damned never see the light of day nor the depths of a cell.

Everyone is preparing for the siege on Eli's compound in their own ways.

Blake, Silas, and Lennox are training together like usual, with the latter reaching the 3rd Sigil recently. The Stoneclad is quite physically powerful now. It seems as though his unlikely race is quite resilient to the throes of Ether, capable of growing at a rapid pace. If only his personality took things more seriously, he'd be quite the powerhouse.

Meanwhile, Abraham, Skyswain, and Bonfire are constantly fighting each other, attempting to overcome their weaknesses.

Tomas and Johnny are partaking in a similar kind of duel, both endeavoring to master their Angelic Ether.

Elizabeth, Earl, and Primrose are busy working on new tools and strategies alongside Millie.

As for Kwakiteh and Lennon, I'm not sure. I'm relatively convinced I saw them having a practice duel not long ago, but the Bladed Monster is an odd man. Even before he killed a Pillar, he was always known for being bizarre.

And Wyatt? That crazy kid is getting a Dzil beat into his body by Edward. Admirable yet crazy. Shiver is a frightening skill, both for its potential in combat and simply for its ability to help one survive. Once he masters that and Painsforge, he'll be quite the monster himself, I suppose.

Can't fall behind, now can I?

To improve my Ether or combat skills in such a short time is unlikely. It's better I do what I'm ready for now after my most recent Absolution. Maybe after that, I'll have the tools to form my own Dzil.

"Virgil. You ready? Behind this door..."

Dawn's concern for me is brought to light as we stand behind the barred door at the entrance of the prison. She doesn't know my past. Few do. Beyond this door are some of the most vile men to ever live. She worries about whether or not I can handle it.

I wager it's better she doesn't know I should be the one to join them.

"I am fine. The men and women behind here will not affect me."

Dawn's face twists, then nods as she motions to the controller of the door to open it. Gears grind and twist as the mechanical grate is opened, revealing steps that enter the depths of the earth. Most prisons are underground like this as, for reasons obvious to me now, being underground makes it harder to gain a new Sigil.

Though, curiously, it didn't seem like that was the case in the Underworld for Wyatt. There must be something about the Devil or Death that stops that effect.

My thoughts are quickly shunted away as the screech of the gears in the grate ends, and Dawn steps forward, motioning for me to follow.

"Come on, Virgil. Let's get you your 6th Sigil."

Forcefully smiling, I stride into the underground prison, a place of darkness and despair that seems to swallow the very light around it. I'm here to do something that tears me apart inside. Even if the Outlaws within the caverns of this prison are vile... they are still human. And they haven't done anything to me or anyone I know. To kill them to devour their Sigil feels wrong... like they are being fed simply for harvest, like that of a fattened pig.

The air is heavy with the tang of dampness and despair, as if every wall itself understands the fate of those who are imprisoned in places such as these. The inmates exist only as food for the stronger to get stronger or the weak to gain power. It's an awful situation for any man, regardless of their actions.

The prison's layout is labyrinthine, a twisted web of corridors and cells designed to disorient even the most determined escapee. It's as if the very architecture conspires to keep the inmates trapped in this waiting and prolonged death. Each step feels like a plunge into the abyss, more akin to entering the Otherworld than a physical place.

As I tread deeper into the bowels of this hellish dungeon, I can't help but be reminded of the stories I've heard about the souls held within prisons like this. Darkrock isn't the largest prison in Blackstone, but it's not far off. It holds men and women who have committed unspeakable acts—people who should have long died for their actions.

But while that fact exists in my head, simultaneously, the knowledge that they have been waiting to die for decades in some cases scratches at me constantly. The other thing that strikes me as I enter the first hallway of imprisoned is that many of those I met during my time as a Damned came directly from such places as these.

Shaking my head to break through the indecision, I follow Dawn without pause. And I quickly find the hundred or so Outlaws on this first level.

These men and women appear starved, weak, and hopeless. Their eyes are pleading, asking for forgiveness and saving. They are forced behind dark steel walls, the metal built here with simply bare steel. All those at this first level are 1st and 2nd Sigils who cannot break through such meager restraints.

The room is lit by simple gas lamps, the depths not yet far enough for their existence to be risky. But the light is enough for me to see each inmate as they stare with saddened gazes toward me. I halt for a moment as I find one that looks so starved they might as well be dead.

But before I can truly focus on them, Dawn hauls me forward with a quiet whisper.

"They deserve this, Virgil. Murderers. Rapists, the like. We're going deeper, though. Best if we give you a Sigil from one of the worst here and help clear up the prison. We really only save the higher Sigileds if they have rare ones but with the coming times..."

I understand what she means as she leads off her sentence. It is far better to remove any extra risks before shit goes wild here. Ripping my eyes from the prisoners on the first level, I step away and follow her. We stride through the first underground floor and quickly enter the second. This is the home of the 3rd and 4th Sigls. These people are not as smoothly dulled as those above.

Torches cast flickering shadows on the rough-hewn stone walls, their feeble light revealing faces twisted by malice and eyes gleaming with a pang of predatory hunger. No longer do gas lamps amplify light and accentuate darkness. That is the job of simple burning wood that joins the cacophony of laughter and jeering echoes from the walls, a symphony of wickedness that chills my bones.

I meet one of these men's stares as we walk through, even though I'm trying to ignore him. He licks his lips at Dawn as we move, choosing to disregard me through my mask. She somehow is able to overlook him while I examine the cells. Each prisoner's entire cell is made of steel of some kind, crafted to be entirely black. I'm sure it's imbued with some sort of Ether in it to make it stronger or built to fit each man, but even through it, the stares are brutal.

Yet, even as the echoes of their laughter ring in my ears, a shiver of unease courses down my spine. These are not just men; they are vessels of power, each containing a Sigil that whispers promises of strength. The thought of claiming their Sigil for myself, of harnessing the gift that has driven them to such depths, tugs at the edges of my consciousness.

I tighten my grip on the hilt of my dagger at my side, my fingers finding comfort in the familiar weight. I shouldn't kill one of these. There are far worse ones to be dealt with for my Sigil. Biting my lip, I follow Dawn further down. On this level, there were only a few dozen waiting for their deaths. I wonder how many will be on the next.

The torchlight flickers ominously as we continue to navigate through the winding passages, every corner holding the potential for danger or discovery. The laughter and taunts of the inmates from the second level quickly fade into nothingness as even the torches on the walls vanish.

I glance at Dawn to see if this is normal. She doesn't panic and merely whips out a lantern from her waist, opening the slit for light. I can see fine in the dark on account of my Nightowls, but not everyone can. She waives my concerns as we continue.

"This is normal. All lights are off on the third level. Makes it easier for them to not recognize whoever feeds or imprisons them. Of course, some can see through the dark, but a level of precaution in case they escape is better than none. The only way you survive one of these bastards is for them to not know you or for you to be as strong as Edward before his ascension."

I nod to her as she leads me further into this abyss, the dark growing even more profound. Yet, as usual, I can peer into even the deepest abysm.

My footsteps echo through the cold, dimly lit corridor alongside Dawn's as we venture into the heart of the prison. The air seems to grow heavier with each step, carrying a sense of presage that settles uneasily in my chest. As I reach the deepest level, the darkness is nearly impossible to peer through, even for me. Yet Dawn has her lantern, biting into the dark and chasing it away wherever she looks.

Yet, unlike the previous levels, this one is primarily unoccupied as we search around, her light finding inmates.

Before us stand the only two remaining prisoners on this level within their separate cells. The only man stands unmoving, his gaze fixed downward as if the world around him holds no significance. His very presence feels like a void, an absence of light and life that makes my mind tingle with questions.

He reminds me quite a bit of myself, and I instinctively know that he, too, is a Nightowl—probably a Rogue of some kind as well. My heart settles eerily as I clench my fists. It will be him.

But it's the woman who captures my attention despite the man being the one I will have to kill for my Sigil, her eyes fixed upon me with an intensity that borders on unsettling. Her gaze is penetrating, as if she's trying to peer into the deepest recesses of my soul. The way her lips curve into a faint smile, revealing the barest hint of predatory hunger, sends a shiver down my spine. It's a gaze that lingers far too long, lingering with a mixture of fascination and longing that I can't quite fathom.

The silence is suffocating. Yet it only lasts for a moment as the lantern light flicks away from the two and onto me.

"Which one, Virgil?"

Dawn asks the critical question, and I open my mouth to answer, but the imprisoned woman's haunting gaze bores into me from the dark.

"Chose me. Me! Me! Pick me! ME! ME! ME!"

The man's indifference is unaffected as the woman speaks, her words gradually becoming piercing shrieks that eat into my mind. I quickly grab my dagger with one hand while the other holds my head, wracked in pain.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to break free from the woman's intense shout, definitively bolstered by Ether. However, Dawn stops her rackets and forces her Ether down as Edward's wife pulls a lever down on the side of the cell.

A pained scream elicits from the innards of the small metal room, barred by reddened steel that I recognize from Earl's work. The woman quickly quiets herself, and I thank Dawn inwardly for not telling me their names.

It makes it easier as I stand in front of the two, gazing back and forth.

The man's stillness remains unbroken, a still proof of the weight of whatever has brought him to this forsaken place. It's a stark contrast to the woman's crazed and haunted presence. But in the end, only one will be useful for me, and I doubt the woman has a Sigil I'll resonate with. Perhaps Abraham can take her when he has his Proof. She certainly has a Mentalist Sigil.

"The man."

Dawn merely nods as she hands me a revolver from her pocket, motioning for me to shoot the man through a small slit explicitly built for a barrel to fit.

Sighing, I continue as do as she shows me. Even as I aim at the man, he doesn't move to look at me, preferring to sit still, unmoving and uncaring.

It feels wrong, like killing a disabled animal, not that of a horrible being.

But I've done worse. Technically speaking, this is one of the better things I've done.

I pull the trigger, and as usual, when lead enters the skull of a man, he dies, falling limply to the floor. My heart trembles only slightly in mourning for the man as Dawn opens the gate and addresses me.

"Get your Sigil, Virgil. Then we can leave. I know neither of us likes this place."

Nodding, I stride forward into the man's tiny cell. A bucket is all that he has, not even a bed or chair—poor sap. I wonder... could I have been in his place? If in any of those tasks I was sent on, if I was caught... could this be me? Normally Damned are to kill themselves as per the contract, but not all are able. I stare at the man's lifeless eyes before crouching beside his limp form.

Then, I reach down and place my right hand against his flesh, finding it already cold. Bizarre. My left goes for my dagger in case this is some kind of trick, but it's not. The man's Sigil floats within the back of his spine.

It takes only an instant for me to wrestle it away and devour only the Nightowl within. And in a similarly short amount of time, I am flung to The Cabin.

The eerie place beyond reality shakes me to the core as I see what has happened to it. The boards on the floor appear rotten and damaged, and flickers of purplish light sneak through the gaps. My heart skips a beat as I worry Darklight will seep through, but it doesn't.

It seems we still have some more time. I wonder who will be the one to pay the price of that knowledge, though. It's going to suck for whoever is the first to advance after the Mother Below takes the Lighthouses.

Shaking my head, I focus myself and step forward toward the tome atop the oddly colored wooden table. My eyes trail the book as I flip it open to a random page, instantly finding the page that is mine.

The reader of this page now plants their feet firmly onto the sixth step of the stair. You have come far, yet above is a chasm, one uncrossable to the vast that reaches the same degree. Perhaps you will be different.

Your sixth Sigil towards Umbrage, and towards Morn. One step remains until your Umbrage.

You have completed twice-forth Acts of Absolution, as such, your Sigil will be shifted to fit and mold with your old.

The Penumbra, the Closing Night.

The walker behind the darkness that builds the foundation of reality. Able to follow behind the shades of the past and the future. Able to turn the night into stepping stones for your rise. Your connection to the gloaming has deepened. The closer it is to nightfall, the darker your surroundings. As night encloses, your coattails become impossible to catch.

Your hands have grown additionally from their Metamorphosis. Their flexibility and strength have been bolstered to profound levels. To expect adaptability from the dark is anticipated, but few expect the thorns.

An added boon exists for my dear Closing Night. Your Absolution is approaching the singularity. To step between realms in an instant is dangerous, but it has afforded you durability and a will beyond most others, which has grown additionally. To force you from a domain or plane is to upend night or close day.

May your journey, while certainly filled with light, be majestic, long, and worthy of my aid.

I finish reading the aspects of my Sigil and take a few moments to commit them to memory. The bit from my Absolution is quite odd, but I figure it has something to do with spatial or spiritual concepts. As for my Metamorphosis, the boons are always small but welcome. My flexibility and movement are always dependent on what I can move with. Climbing is typically faster and less expected than running.

Finally, for the actual aspects of this Penumbra, I figure I can solidify the darkness that I use to create the Nightwhips now, potentially allowing me to walk on it. Perhaps that works in the air? That'd be incredible. Up, down, left, right, everywhere I could go.

The other bit about the shades of the past and future is probably simply allowing me to see ghosts without any skill. Or more likely to sense them. I've heard of others being given the exact phrase before, and that's what it did.

It is useful nonetheless.

Moving onward, I turn my attention back to the book.

A Penumbra is able to ride the night as it falls, denoting and calling for its darkness. But for a Penumbra to darken further and achieve their night, they must Umbrage themselves. And to be Umbraged, the Penumbra must prove themselves.

But this Proof is unlike the others. You must not prove a previous Metaphor.

You must depict to the world, yourself, or a God as Worthy of the status beyond.

To continue, my Closing Night, place your mind within the Sigil and return to whence you came.