Chapter 69: 6-5 Omen

Omen 6.5

2001, November 22: Washington, DC

After the charity dinner, I arrived at home and once again found myself being drawn to the Mask. What the curator said back then stuck with me. It wasn't any one thing per se, more the dichotomy between what the public saw and what I knew to be the truth. There was a hidden history to this world and being aware of both could be exhausting.

Per routine, I began to carve a bit more, only to be whisked away on yet another spirit journey.

This time, I stood at the foot of a great mountain, its peak somewhere above the clouds. So wide was its face that if I didn't know better, I'd have thought the world was as flat as a plate and I stood at the edge, looking up at a wall that encircled the world.

I knew better. I knew where this was.

I stood at the base of the holiest of mountains on Runeterra: Targon. Behind me was the Ring of the Mountain, a series of smaller peaks that surrounded the mountain. Cave systems speckled the mountainside, some carved by geological processes but just as many carved by human hands. The Rakkor people called them home.

The scene was beautiful, if in a rugged sort of way.

"Well, at least you didn't keep me waiting," I mused as I saw an anthropomorphic fox step out of one such cave.

She, for I knew her to be a she, had orange fur and wore the most unique-looking mask of all the various Kindred I'd met so far. The mask had no forehead nor snout, only two azure eyes and what would be cheekbones flared out to give the illusion of fur. From the mask's brow sprouted what looked like the beginning of rabbit ears and from the cheekbones distended a jaw with prominent incisors that hung around her neck. It was odd, but no stranger than the series of necklaces that adorned her neck, the green tunic of erbok wool that covered her, or that she had opposable thumbs while still retaining the wicked-sharp claws of a predator.

At her side was a floating spirit, one with two pronounced ears and a wooden fox's mask. Perhaps this rabbit was the Wolf to the Fox's Lamb. I wondered what sort of duality the two represented to the Rakkor.

"I'm not the sort to keep my guests waiting," she said. Had I met her first, her echoing voice that sounded like a small harmony would have unnerved me. Now, after so many of her brethren, it was almost charming. It reminded me a little of the mic test in a karaoke room, though her voice was layered with age and promise and wisdom.

"So you're not. Are you going to ask me who I am?"

"I'm afraid not, young one."

"Oh? This is what you do, right? Ask me who I am then give me some cryptic advice that helps me figure out what I want?"

"You are He Who Inspires. I am not here to tell you who you are."

"Then what?"

She smirked, a distinctly vulpine grin. Tattletale could take lessons from this one. "Why, I am here to meet my new brother-to-be." She turned and began to walk. "Care for a hike?"

I looked up at the titanic column of stone and the clouds it pierced nervously. "Please don't tell me you're going to make me climb this."

"No. The peak has not claimed you. Not yet. Walk with me, young one. There is much to see even at the base of Targon."

"Oh, phew… That's good." Calling Targon "Runeterra's Everest" didn't do it justice. The mountain was steeped in magic, so saturated that no one knew how tall it really was. Some took a single day to climb to its peak while others took months. Most didn't make it. I looked back at the Astral Fox and followed. We were silent for a while as she led me into the caverns. "Well… sister…? Dispense upon me your wisdom."

She snorted, a barking laugh that was half woman and half fox. "You are an amusing one, but it is not good to be impatient. What makes you think I have wisdom to give?"

"You're a millennia-old spirit of death who's seen the rise and fall of countless Aspect Hosts. How many wars between the Solari and Lunari did you see? How many Demacians sentenced to the Crown of Stone did you guide? You probably even saw the death of Myisha, if not outright guided her soul beyond. Of all your fellow Kindred, you are the one who oversees the holiest of holies on Runeterra. I can't even begin to guess at the things you've witnessed. If there's anyone with the experience to lecture me, it's you."

"Hmm, my youngest brother is the humble sort; that is good. But brother dear, what makes you believe that this wisdom is free?"

"Nothing is free," I agreed. The Astral Fox was an aspect of death in the end; there was an undeniable aura of finality around her. Not malice per se, but the feeling that should she wish it, all that I knew would come to an end. She was the aspect of death as the Rakkor envisioned her, though with far less focus on battle and bloodshed than I'd have expected. I got the impression that she would appreciate boldness. "But you are getting something."

"And what is that, young one?"

"The pleasure of my company. You called me to sate your curiosity, to 'meet a brother-to-be.'"

"So I did, so I did." She turned and began walking. We headed down twists and turns, most hidden in the shadow of flickering torches. Soon, we arrived at a mural. It depicted a giant, circular gate of some sort, with what was obviously an altar in front of it. Beneath it was a set of inscriptions. "Do you know what this says?"

"I don't, but I recognize the temple. Marus Omegnum, the most sacred temple of the Lunari."

"Yes, it does look rather distinctive, doesn't it?"

"Why show me this?"

"You are much like this temple."

"How so?"

"You are an existence of conflicting dualities. One foot on your world, one foot on Runeterra. One hand reaches for the Mask while another seeks to save. The Mother beckons even as you chase the stars beyond. A mortal with the soul of a god is what you are."

"I am no god."

"No, you are not. And yet, eternity is yours, will be yours one day. Men with far less have claimed divinity throughout the ages."

I scoffed. "Because they were power-hungry idiots. How many of them had a happy end? Are you saying the World Rune will make me immortal?"

"Why would it not? It is infinite, therefore the perfect host should also be infinite."

That was a disquieting thought. Everyone thought immortality would be fun until faced with the implications. Mom. The Phoenix Wards. Even Fortuna. One day, I'd leave them all behind. "Why is it that every one of you seems to give me something to think about?"

"A matter of perspective."

"Will I be ready?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Your ascension shall be a climb just as daunting as Targon's. You will lose much. You will gain even more."

I sighed. "Yeah, I was afraid you'd say that."

"Cheer up, little brother. Your home is in the skies… eventually. But for now, you have plenty of time to spare. Enjoy it. Cherish it. I for one think the Mask will suit you well."

Then, with that same vulpine grin, she jabbed me in the chest, expelling me from the dream. When I emerged, I glanced down at the mask to find a curling fox on the left cheek, tail wrapped around its snout in cozy slumber. Like the winds and waves, the design blended so seamlessly with the natural groves of the bristlecone pine that it was impossible to find unless one knew to look for it.

If I didn't know better, I could've sworn that fox winked at me.

X

2001, December 2: Washington, DC

The Mask was to be a masterwork, one comparable to my armor or Isolde, a weapon that defined my identity. It was also, unfortunately, the single most willful thing I'd ever worked on. I didn't know how many other aspects of death I'd have to meet, certainly at least the Fading Icon, but they seemed to come and go at their leisure.

Seeing how I couldn't control when I got to work on the Mask, I decided to make something else in the Madhouse. Isolde was a more than adequate weapon in close-quarters and decent enough at range thanks to its spirit-needles. It even came with a passable stealth and defense option. I could feasibly coast on just it as my primary weapon for the rest of my hero career. It was powerful, versatile, and from the perspective of Powell, unique enough to be iconic and therefore marketable.

But if there was something I absolutely lacked, it was a long-range nuke.

My relic pistol was good, but it was still a pistol. Gravity didn't matter, sure, but light still dispersed and its effective range ended up being comparable to that of any other high-end pistol, a few hundred yards. I wanted something that could be effective at a full mile away or better.

The project I'd been working on for the past two weeks was Jhin's shoulder-mounted coilgun, his Curtain Call. It was a collapsible module attached to his prosthetic right arm that looked like a simple protrusion or pauldron. When fully deployed, it unveiled four canisters, each filled with an incredible amount of energized mana. A secondary module provided a stock and extended the barrel of Whisper, his pistol, converting it into a sniper rifle.

The idea was to do the same, but for the relic pistol. I'd already had plenty of practice converting mana into various forms: from my soul to light in the relic pistol, electricity in the Blitzshield, ice in my armor, and whatever spiritual nonsense that was Isolde's Hallowed Mist. I intended to replace a pauldron on Winter's Approach with a collapsed mass accelerator, and file down the ridiculous blue shoulder spikes while I was at it.

When deployed, I could use a prepared Mana Crystal to fuel the relic pistol, turning its light bullet into a hyper-condensed mass of plasma that would not disperse until it hit something.

I quickly ran into a problem: There were material limitations I had to account for. Jhin only carried four bullets. It wasn't because the man couldn't count past four, nor was it because the cannisters that held his energized rounds were heavy. It was because there was a limit to the stress his artificial limb could be put under and four was close to that maximum. Newton said energy had to go somewhere and Virtuoso or not, even Jhin was bound by the laws of physics.

As was I.

I smiled as I adjusted the rifle stock. It wasn't one solid piece. I learned that layers of impact gel and beads could reduce the amount of force transferred into my shoulder so I'd been making a few mockups to see how that'd look. I even planned to reinforce the whole thing with copious uses of Barrier enchantments from the Unsealed Spellbook.

As I worked, I thought about the most recent message I'd received from Fortuna: She found the Mathers vial candidate. Sonya Vasiliev was a beautiful young woman of twenty-four with honey-blonde hair that fell in gentle waves over her shoulders. She had long, thick lashes that framed soulful, green eyes. She was tall, leggy, and entrancing in all the right ways. I wouldn't have been surprised to hear that she'd been a model.

I wasn't far off, she was a ballet dancer, one of the best from a neighboring world.

I didn't know much about her past, only that it was mired in tragedy. Fortuna found her, trained her, and offered her a new life. Sonya was a woman running from her past, one who decided to put a literal world between her and her memories.

She also took on the name of Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy, saying how she was sick and tired of dancing to someone else's script, how she wanted to write her own.

I chuckled at the notion. As with all interactions concerning her, it was a question of where personal agency ended and her manipulations began. As far as Cauldron was concerned, so long as Miss Vasiliev was content and saw Fortuna as a mentor and friend, that was enough.

Her power was different from that of Christine Mathers, though still hitting the same general beats. At her core, her power was all about sympathetic memories. Upon thorough testing, it worked like a search engine that allowed her to pinpoint anyone who shared a similar memory as herself, such as an awareness of the organization called Cauldron. She had a secondary power, one that could be activated at will. It made her imperceptible to anyone with said memory in focus. So strong was this effect that even pictures and audio files were affected.

She was undergoing final training. Eva and Fortuna intended to pair her up with the Slug. She could find targets who knew about Cauldron and the Slug could implant false memories via Doormaker.

All things considered, Fortuna claimed that having Mel and the Slug around to help cover Cauldron's tracks would streamline the Path. Things weren't perfect, I didn't miss the subtext of just how dependent Mel was on Fortuna's approval, but for the moment, I was content.

Author's Note

I decided that the Kindred is a title, not just a unique name given to the Lamb and the Wolf. Anyone who bears the Mask, anyone who represents Death on Runeterra is one of the Kindred. It's a job title, much like the shinigami in Bleach, though with far greater authority than any lone shinigami would have.

A bit more detail into the Mask. Andy isn't making the Kindred, he's making the thing the Mask Mother uses to anoint one of the Kindred.

Yes, Jhin's shoulder-mounted contraption he uses is a coilgun. Yes, he made it by himself. He's not just a mass murderer; he's legitimately a genius. Out of game, that would mean he has an effective range measured in miles.

I could be completely wrong and I'm sure some military nerds will correct me, but stats I'm using for reference are as follows: A 120mm mortar has an effective range of 9,400 meters. DARPA predicts a roughly 30 percent increase in range if such a mortar is fired with a coilgun, or 12,220 meters.

Granted of course, mortars are not shoulder-mounted. We don't have any reference for what a shoulder-mounted coilgun that fires slugs of condensed plasma and mana might be like, so I decided to just quarter the value and come out at 3,055 meters or 1.9 miles, roughly the maximum range of a professional sniper as it turns out.

I wanted the Mathers vial to be different, but equally useful. If it seems less focused on masters, that's because the vial wasn't influenced by Elijah/Valefor this time around.