Chapter 17. Dread Star

GRAVITURGY

Graviturgy is the magical manipulation of space, and is the ability of Amatsu-Mikaboshi, Dolorem's Magus Trait. Graviturgy can be learned by any mage, theoretically, but the practice is near nonexistent, and no written grimoires of it exist. Hence, most individuals capable of it are so innately.

The fundamental trait of graviturgy is the ability to control attractive and repulsive forces. For example, through immense repulsive force, a town may be leveled in a single action, and through extreme attractive force, one can seem to "absorb" projectiles and magic. In between exists the ability to halt moving objects and manipulate spatial distance to teleport.

By combining both forces, or introducing rotation to them, one can cause or prevent massive destruction, shearing apart buildings and people alike.

In addition, with adept control, graviturgy allows the user to manipulate objects as if by telekinesis, and manipulate their own and others' weight. This is difficult to maintain long-term, however, due to the complexity of the technique.

Graviturgy can also be used to create what are essentially barriers of space, where any object trying to cross will be violently flung away.

Amatsu-Mikaboshi developing as a split personality to Dolorem's is entirely unrelated to his ability. This is theorised by his shinobi clan to instead be a result of his repressed fear of the destruction his ability could cause, as well as of the possibility of him allowing that destruction through failure of his own character.

Ironically, Amatsu-Mikaboshi's immense power is actually the byproduct of this repression, as the splitting of Dolorem's personality also created a separate well of magical energy within him, which was given years of building alongside Dolorem's own, albeit with no release. This also worsened the rift between the two personalities, twisting Amatsu-Mikaboshi into a far more dangerous entity than he would otherwise be.

The House of Mist was rocked by a violent wave of force, rattling its very foundations, Dolorem was gone. In his body stood something different entirely. Amatsu-Mikaboshi tore out Dolorem's hair ties and threw off his jacket. Wordlessly he went to the floor beneath Solomon's chamber in the main hall and extended his hand, wreathed in arcane tattoos. He collapsed the ceiling, Solomon's bed and Solomon himself falling onto the floor below in an almighty crash.

Casually he strolled over to the wreckage and pulled Solomon out from the mass of splintered wood by the head. "Rise and shine." he jeered, throwing Solomon onto the floor, before kicking him in the gut. Solomon coughed and sputtered up thin blood on the floor. Raising his hands, he cast a fire jutsu, flames surging toward Amatsu-Mikaboshi. He simply raised his hand, the flames spiraling away into singularity. Amatsu-Mikaboshi looked distinctly bored at Solomon's effort. "Please, you're embarrassing yourself." He said, grinning psychotically.

Solomon scrambled to his feet, shakily running for the door, as Amatsu-Mikaboshi followed behind, hands tucked into his belt, swaggering behind him, before flicking his fingers, knocking Solomon to his knees with a wave of gravity. Solomon rose again, only to be knocked down again, over and over. When he did finally finish his agonizing journey to the door, it was opened for him by Amatsu-Mikaboshi. "Go ahead, let's make use of the open space," he said, picking up the terrified man and flinging him out into the courtyard.

Solomon took close to a minute to stand, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. Once he managed to do so, swaying on his feet, he was once again attempting to run, only to have his legs crushed by Amatsu-Mikaboshi's gravity. He crouched beside Solomon, who was writhing in agony. "Go ahead, crawl."

Solomon obliged as dark spots danced before his eyes. Amatsu-Mikaboshi stood on his back with one foot, driving his heel into Solomon's spine. Solomon lay defeated, and he picked him up by the throat. He looked at the broken man, holding him to eye level. "Not much left in you, eh?" He asked, to no response. "Shame, I was just starting to have fun."

He snapped Solomon's neck after that, tearing his marked arm clean off at the elbow in a sickening chorus of tearing meat and sinew. He carved the Mark's cipher into the back of his hand with his nail, and allowed Solomon's blood to pool into the newly formed pattern. The crimson wisps of magic signaled a successful transfer of power. He dropped the arm, looking to the gates where Northern Imperial Soldiers had begun pouring in.

"Oh good, I was hoping I'd get to have some fun!" He cackled. "Poor, stupid little men…"

"It'll be a bloodbath."

The soldiers quickly came into formation as Amatsu-Mimaboshi stood staring the some-hundred men down, arms folded.

With every spearpoint trained on him, he began to walk forward, building up speed with each step before breaking into a full sprint. He ripped straight into the formation, flinging bodies left and right. Despite being unarmed he was dominating the melee, seemingly untouchable by any weapon, a black powder bomb thrown his way was kicked back at its thrower, in the same fluid movement a man of two hundred pounds was flung into his comrades. Amatsu-Mikaboshi picked up fallen soldier's weaponry, using it to end a few of his enemies before growing tired and grabbing another.

It didn't matter how many fell upon him, he always emerged from beneath a veritable mountain of bodies. He leapt from place to place, punching holes in the ranks of his enemies. Gradually, he unleashed more and more of his power, his punches now laced with deadly magic, their considerable physical force combined with a lethal gravity wave, that shattered bones and rended flesh with ease.

At one point he didn't attack one of the men coming at him with a sword, instead, with his fingers laced behind his head, he wove and dodged between the strikes. "Try your best, come on." he said, reveling in the man's distress before extending his hand and reducing his attacker's head to a bloodied crater.

Eventually, having apparently grown bored, he began to levitate the entire platoon upwards, with outstretched arms. All around him there were panicked screams as the men were raised some hundred feet aloft, before the inevitable fall of bodies, a thundering calamity of meat hitting stone. Once the last groan of the soldiers ceased, he exhaled, grinning at the chaos before him.

"It's good to be back…" he exclaimed, before walking over the bodies of his fallen enemies, bones snapping beneath his feet. Amatsu-Mikaboshi surveyed the land, noting the significant presence of Northern Imperial troops, garrisons dotted across the land. His heart quickened. Thousands and thousands of soldiers. He didn't particularly care for the civilians, they were no fun to fight, but legions of soldiers? He lived to test his skills against them, for the thrill of combat. Three occupied garrisons were within the view of the House of Mist.

At the first garrison, he appeared, having folded the space between where he was and the outer wall, arriving with an almighty crash, and the rising of a cloud of choking dust.

A handful of bleary-eyed guards barely had a chance to draw their swords before he was upon them, lifting one up in a chokehold with one hand, and breaking his neck with a sound like shattering pottery. Some 80 soldiers occupied this repurposed manor, and within five minutes, 79 were dead.

The final member, the centurion, tried to drive the demon before him back, handling his greatsword with practiced hands. Amatsu-Mikaboshi simply weaved over and back in a humiliating mockery of his skills. Once he'd grown bored, he waved his hand in dismissal, warping the centurion's blade into barely recognisable scrap. Undeterred, the centurion drew a shortsword, his opponent's eyes widening in surprise. Amatsu-Mikaboshi grabbed his sword arm, crushing it at the wrist and then shattering his hand. "I like the spirit you have there!"

The centurion muffled a shriek of pain. He made a fist with his remaining functional hand, swinging with a haymaker. Amatsu-Mikaboshi parried. "You know what? I'm impressed." He said, voice seemingly genuine. "You're free to go. Notify the other garrisons, if you wish. If not, I'll get to them in time."

The battered centurion stood dumbstruck at what he'd heard. Breathing raggedly and nursing his destroyed limb. "Go on." Amatsu-Mikaboshi encouraged him. "Run."

The centurion nodded, hobbling away as fast as his exhausted legs would allow. Too broken in mind and body to question the mercy of a monster. He'd have to notify the garrisons, maybe, just maybe a coordinated attack would slow him down. Either way, a single platoon wouldn't be enough to stop him.

When the gathered forces of nearby garrisons arrived, Amatsu-Mikaboshi was waiting for them, sitting cross-legged on the roof of the house. He looked down on the terrified ranks before him, then at the Mark of Mist. "Welcome, gentlemen!" He bellowed. "You're all just in time to see the show!" He stood up and presented the Mark of Mist. "For those of you unaware, this, is the Mark of Mist, which was borrowed for a while by Solomon. Now that I have it back, I think it's time to put it to use!"

He extended his arm skyward, to the sickly full moon, blotting it out with a crimson eclipse. "Let's see what happens when the Empire's finest have to face one another." One by one, the illusion took hold of the soldiers. Each of them saw their comrades morph into a hideous humanoid monster, a perfect likeness in each case, wraiths, draugr, they were all there. The caster jumped into the fray, reveling in the frenzy, as men turned on one another, each one believing himself to be killing a monster. Amatsu-Mikaboshi fought with waves of gravity, and rocks ripped from the ground and flung in every direction, claiming a victim each time due to the sheer mass of people. Eventually, the last man lay dead, and Amatsu-Mikaboshi stood victorious over the corpses, cackling maniacally.

"Let this," he monologued, "be the birth of my dynasty!"

A shock then hit Amatsu-Mikaboshi from within, and he felt deeply tired. "Shit," he groaned. Dolorem was taking control again. He disappeared beneath waves of opioid darkness once again, before Dolorem returned to his body, and promptly collapsed from exhaustion.

***

Dolorem awoke beneath a torrent of summer rain, as the blood of the dead washed beneath the cobblestones, and the coppery stench abated under the deluge. He looked up at the churning sky, at the falling drops of water. He knew exactly what had happened. He should've been killed by The Orochi. "Why," he whispered, shame consuming him.

"I saw no reason to. You were able to take back control." It explained. "Your Shadow seems to be a valuable asset."

"It's a danger to everyone. You should've killed me. You saw what he was capable of. Me taking back control is a fluke, do you hear me? A fluke!"

"And leave Lilith a widow and your child without a father? Get a grip." The Orochi scolded. In one night, you achieved all of your goals. If that comes at the cost of control temporarily, that's a reasonable price."

"That wasn't me. That was him"

"Like it or not, he's part of you Dolorem, and your unwillingness to accept that is making your own life harder. Come on, my sword is still in the House of Mist."

Dolorem hauled himself across sodden fields back to the House of Mist. The land was eerily silent in the early hours of the morning. Once people began to wake, they'd see the effects of Amatsu-Mikaboshi's rampage, of their liberation. Best-case scenario, they'd probably celebrate it, and worst it would spread terror among the populus.

Dolorem reached the House of Mist, and was sickened by the littering of corpses in the courtyard. He could see some glazen-eyed faces among the shattered bones and offal, looking at him, cursing him from beyond the grave. "I need to give them proper funerary rites." He said, stopping.

"Do as you will, Dolorem." The Orochi said. "Although I see no point to it beyond disposing of the bodies."

"It's only right to give them some dignity." Dolorem replied.

"The same dignity they'd afford you?" The Orochi questioned, "Or would your head be put on a spike?"

"It doesn't matter, Orochi. There's enough hatred in the world, enough war. My only desire now is to reduce the suffering of others. No more killing, no more war." Dolorem reflected, more for his own benefit than anything else.

"Unlikely you'll get your wish."

***

After the soldier's bodies had been moved and burned on a makeshift pyre, Dolorem turned to the House of Mist. Forcing himself, Dolorem entered the silent front hall. Bodies were strewn about everywhere, eviscerated. He looked at the pale faces of those he killed. He'd known these people. Roland, the guard captain, was slumped against a wall, one arm missing. Briana, the retainer that had been taking care of Lilith had been nearly beheaded. Dolorem fell to his knees, face burning with shame and regret. The Orochi said nothing. There was no consolation. No escape from the reality of what had happened.

Dolorem didn't stop until he'd buried each and every body, with proper funerary rites. He was exhausted, and practically crawled back to his room, curling into a ball on the floor. He couldn't cry. He couldn't feel his limbs. He lay there, trembling for hours until dreamless sleep claimed him.

In the morning, he returned to the monastery. He offered the House of Mist up to Master Kahn, and the order, as a new headquarters, and the shinobi a role as the new House Guard. Dolorem was now the head of the House of Mist, whether or not he liked it, and he had people to protect. He would undo the harm done by the Empire and by Solomon. He'd make things right.

Come evening, he wrote a letter to the local politicians, judges and township leaders, requesting they meet at the House in two week's time to discuss the change in leadership. Lavos was sent for, to serve as the House Medic and alchemist. He also took the time to update Lilith on what was happening.

"To my dearest wife Lilith,

I've done as I said I would. Solomon is dead and the Empire's forces are routed. With that much said I'd like you to stay put for a little while longer, as at the moment, the House of Mist is undergoing repairs, and the Leadership of the South is undergoing a reshuffle. I will see to it that we are reunited as soon as possible, once it's safe and practical to do so. Send my regards to your parents, and I hope to see you very soon.

With all my love,

Dolorem."

***

Lilith was with Venari when she received the letter. "Reshuffle?" She said, incredulous. "What does Dolorem know about politics? There's something else here…"

Venari was half asleep in a chair, having spent the day signing the papers and organising the transport for her daughter to be returned to her. In her few days at the House of the Adjudicators, she'd visibly changed. She looked more alive, her features losing their vampiric hollowness. "Use my cloak, I have no clue why you'd bother though."

"Dolorem is going to get eaten alive if he tries to negotiate without me. I mean, I understand why he wants me to stay put, but…"

"He's being a complete fucking idiot?" Venari offered.

"More or less, yes"

"Then take my cloak, I won't break anything while you're gone." Venari said, throwing the vermillion cloak to Lilith, before promptly falling asleep again.

Lilith threw the cloak around her shoulders, before speaking its command word. She could visualise the House of Mist with relative ease. In a flurry of red, she was in the courtyard.

The House hummed with the sounds of industry, and repairs were made, and staff were moved around. In the main hall, she found Dolorem, drifting about with no apparent aim. His eyes widened with shock when he saw Lilith. "Dolorem," she called out, "what are you thinking negotiating without me? You have no experience with politics!"

"Lilith, I… I'm… I'm sorry, I didn't want you to…"

Lilith rushed over and put her arms around him, "It's ok, but I'm not going to sit at home while you try to do my job badly." She joked.

Dolorem didn't respond. He felt like he was hollow. He couldn't will his limbs to move. Every bit of him was locked up. Lilith picked up on this. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just, I'm tired, that's all. It's been a busy few days. I'm sorry." He turned to leave quickly, but he was stopped by Lilith grabbing onto his arm.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"No, not really. Did you notice that none of the old staff are here?"

"I just got here, so not really. Why?"

"All of them are dead. I killed them." Dolorem said, voice graven. "Not one of them made it out alive."

Now Lilith saw the hollowness in Dolorem, the light was gone from his eyes. "Everyone," he said, going limp in Lilith's arms, "the best part of twenty years, all dead."

Cold spread in Lilith's chest. Dolorem had wiped out these people. Lives she'd been a part of snuffed out.

"Solomon, he changed them, turned them into other people. I killed my parents, I killed you. I didn't stop, I just wanted him dead." Dolorem whispered. "I can't fight anymore, Lilith. I won't cause any more pain."

"Dolorem…" Lilith said, clutching him close. "There isn't a cause to fight. Whatever happened, I still love you." She didn't know if she believed herself. Dolorem's numbness had spread into her, it seemed. She let go, stepping back. Dolorem was motionless still.

"I'll make preparations for the summit." Lilith stated, composing herself.

That night, they shared Dolorem's room, but neither of them could sleep. Lilith felt miles away from Dolorem. And Dolorem felt miles from even himself.

Every time Dolorem fell asleep, nightmares would take hold. He'd see those he killed, standing before him, unleashing a deluge of crimson tears, mourning their own lost lives. He was helpless to ease their suffering. Every time he tried to sleep, hoping for oblivion, they'd return, wailing, screeching. He'd wake in a cold sweat, only for the cycle to begin again.

Lilith didn't sleep at all, Dolorem's agonies making it an impossibility. Worst of all, nothing could shake him from them. He was oblivious to the outside world, and writhed against any attempt to restrain or hold him. This process repeated until dawn.

In the morning, Dolorem left, and Lilith took the morning to sleep. Dolorem went to the dungeon, knowing what he needed to drive out the guilt. On a rack in the torture room, he found it. A spiked belt of leather, with a wrapped handle.

He removed his shirt and knelt, flogging his back with the vicious teeth of the belt, hoping to drive out his guilt with penance. His flesh healed almost immediately but still he felt the pain. Blood rivuleted down his back as he performed his act of contrition. An hour passed in the damp, cold dungeon before he stopped. The only break in the stony silence had been the crack of his weapon on flesh, and the sickening tearing afterward.

When he finished, Dolorem knelt shaking, sweat running down his face and his shoulder sore from constant whipping. Still, it was worth the pain. He was free.

Dolorem's guilt had abated, if only temporarily. Now he felt only a deep sense of duty to the world around him. His sense of self had somewhat dissolved during his torture.

"What was that?" The Orochi asked. "Penance," Dolorem said, "Aren't you familiar with the practice?"

"I'm familiar with the practice, but I don't understand the purpose of it. No amount of harm done to you can undo the past, so why do it?" It asked.

"To be fully honest, it's more a means to achieve peace within myself. The people I killed can't pass judgment on me, so this is a means of balancing the scales," Dolorem explained.

"So it's an inherently selfish act?" The Orochi pressed.

"No, how can suffering for your transgressions be considered selfish?" Dolorem asked, "You suffer so you can ease the guilt of living, that's survival."

"It's lunacy," The Orochi grunted. "What's done cannot be undone, and you can accept your past without tearing yourself to ribbons."

"I don't expect you to understand, Orochi, all I ask is that you respect it."

"It doesn't matter to me, Dolorem."

***

That day, once he'd emerged from the dungeon, Dolorem set about making changes. He decreed that shrines to The Orochi were to be erected, and given protected status. The bodies of the imperial soldiers were buried, and the garrisons were to be repaired.

That evening, he caught up with Lilith. "I was thinking," he said "we should probably prepare a room for the baby, you can never get started too early."

Lilith was taken aback at the sudden shift in Dolorem's mood. "Of course, did you have a room in mind?"

"Yes, I was thinking of the one at the end of the hall, on the second floor. It has a lovely balcony, and it's right by what'll be ours."

"What's wrong with your room?" Lilith asked.

"Nothing wrong, per se, but you deserve somewhere better, and normally all it has is a single sleeping mat." Dolorem reasoned.

"Oh, well, I don't mind but thank you." She said, "Are you alright though, you were in a terrible state last night."

Dolorem brushed off her concerns. "Yes, I'm sorry you got no sleep, but I took some time to meditate, and I've made peace with myself."

Lilith took his hand, but he didn't seem to react until he saw that his hand had been grabbed. He hadn't felt it.

***

In time, the summit took place. Dolorem sat alongside Lilith at the head of the table, surrounded by the local elite. They regarded Dolorem with caution, and Lilith with suspicion. The meeting began with one judge rudely cutting in. "Just who is this Elven woman, Five Seals? What's her place in our meeting?"

Dolorem said nothing. He could sense Lilith's disgust. "For the information of the assembly," Lilith announced coldly, "I am Lilith of the Adjudicators, Lady of this House, and wife of Dolorem of the Adjudicators. If anyone takes issue with my presence, I ask you to say so now."

The room fell dead silent. "If that answers your question, Your Honour, may we continue." The judge nodded, subdued.

Over the next six hours, Lilith restructured the chain of command of the Southern prefectures. Dolorem offered very little, being entirely out of his depth, save for nods in agreement to Lilith's terms. The largest change made was that the accounts of each landowner had to be reviewed by two independent accountants.

In addition, Lilith advised a restructuring of the prefecture's military forces into cohesive, communicating forces, answering to a common chain of command. Dolorem's Shinobi clan would be integrated into this force as a military police force and special operations unit. Negotiations concluded that evening. A review would be carried out in a year's time, to ensure full compliance with what became known as the Southern Federation Pact.

***

A year passed relatively uneventfully. The House of Mist was repaired. The violence that had defined its recent history slipped into the tides of history. The night of Amatsu-Mikaboshi's rampage had been dubbed the Night of Red Mist, and attributed to a demonic summoning gone awry. Dolorem settled into his new role as a military commander, and Lilith as a political figurehead. It was also during this time that Venari and her daughter, Lucia were invited to the House of Mist, Venari taking up a post as Lilith's bodyguard.

The highlight of the year for both Lilith and Dolorem, naturally enough, was the birth of their son, who was named Orochimaru. A half-elf had inherited his mother's snow-white hair, but his father's human eyes. Lilith was initially uncertain of her ability as a parent, but surprisingly, Dolorem embraced the role. He doted over his son, doing all he could to help Lilith whenever he was home, which was the majority of the time for the first six months of Orochimaru's life.

One autumn evening, Dolorem had taken Orochimaru for a walk around the house grounds in his arms, with Lilith in tow. The last of the summer warmth had yet to be stolen from the air, and the three had taken the time to watch the sunset together.

"Someday," Dolorem declared, grinning, and holding his son aloft, "This will all be yours."

"When you kick the bucket," Lilith joked.

"I might retire instead, spend some time traveling. How does that sound?"

"It sounds nice," Lilith said, wrapping an arm around his body and leaning her head on his shoulder.

The moment was perfect, but brief. A courier ran up to them on their return to the keep, carrying a sealed letter. He handed it to Dolorem. His blood ran cold when he saw the insignia of House Cranswell imprinted on the seal. The courier said nothing, simply looking at the ground in silence.

Dolorem opened the letter. It was a Declaration of War on the House of Mist. Lilith suppressed a gasp of shock. Dolorem balled up the letter in a fist.

"Send word to mobilise all available troops to the border."