Reconcile

Reconcile

For a while, Adam couldn't stop screaming.

Shiv preferred those moments to the silence that gripped Adam now. At least when Adam shrieked, Shiv knew he was still alive. There was something left of him, some indication that there was energy or some semblance of a self there. Not anymore, though. His throat was torn and raw. His body had curled in on itself like a dying insect, twitches and spasms accompanied by whimpers and maddened whispers for someone to kill him, for someone to come by so he could kill them.

And while he suffered, everyone else was tortured alongside him.

The numbness inside Shiv began to throb. It was a comforting feeling, the absence, the hollowness. If it were filled with grief or pain or regret, he would have shattered. There would have been no hope for him to survive. But the neutering of his emotions came with its own consequences. His Harbinger was weakened dramatically as its Chronomancy died to the barest flicker of gold. It couldn't even move; it remained anchored to him, its consciousness shrinking until it was barely intelligible, barely there.

Five had been summoned by Can Hu, but the instant Shiv beheld his face, he knew there was no hope of fixing Adam. Not like this.

“This technology is beyond my understanding,” Five muttered. “It's old, it's complicated, and I have little experience with pre-Integration tech. My touch just slips off.” Five’s paws and face were merged with a complex array of mechanisms and alloys. Layered lenses shifted over his eyes, and a beam was projected from his forehead directly into Adam's bleeding scalp. The wolf-man's claws became a surgical kit, so fine and delicate that they could have stolen sinew out from under skin without disturbing the surrounding tissues.

But none of his technological miracles bore fruit. The crown wouldn't come out. Worse yet, the crown wasn't even the crown anymore. It was a part of Adam's brain.

However, Shiv wasn't out of options. His numbness might have weakened his pre-Legendary Psychology, but it gave him a quiet that engendered further thought—which he put to good use.

Even enemies could be resources in the right situation, and so he used Legion of Self to speak with Evanescia and Produveral. For if Legends and Heroes were found lacking, then why not beg the Myths and gods?

The two had been watching things unfold, as it turned out, and that spared Shiv the need to offer them an explanation. But even so, he didn't get the responses he desired.

“The only thing that might be able to dislodge nanotech is another nanotech device, usually,” Produveral said after a moment’s contemplation. “But… it’s hard to even describe how complicated such a procedure is. It's like having two different smart viruses fight each other—while one has already colonized the brain of its victim. So yeah, sure, you be able to find a nano-surgeon.” He hesitated. “I'll even get you one after you come with me, actually. But I really don't think it's going to do you much good. The Crown of the Anti-Savior is a fucking art piece of an atrocity. The goddamned One Faith got really good at those toward the end.”

A vicious scoff escaped Produveral. “We suffer the Core even now. Nothing ever ends. And his situation's worse than that. This isn't just Crown of the Anti-Savior; this is Crown of the Anti-Savior, magically and divinely improved by the Challenger's touch. We try to pull this thing out with magic? Well, I got bad news for you. The Challenger's a better mage than me. Hell, the Challenger's practically a better everything than me, aside from being a professional stalker. I'd like to give you better news, kid. I really would. I can see you don't deserve it, and neither does he, but… fuck. Just fuck.”

Another benefit to numbness: you couldn't get demoralized when you were already in the pit.

“Evanescia,” Shiv slurred, his words coming out of him without his full awareness. He was a ghost to himself. “Maybe we can talk about a new struggle.”

But where the Farwalker was helpless, she seemed positively excited about this turn.

She let out an excited gasp.

A thunderclap shook the Fairwoods. A voice turned the world black with a haze of falling ash. Darkness fell as distant fires rose, as mists of blood spilled through the enchanted forest where they stood from seemingly nowhere. And a guttural voice, wounded but louder than ever before, sent forth its declaration:

The God of Strife's decree carried the weight of a thousand apocalypses. It flowed over Shiv and smote both the Farwalker and Usurper-Narrator. Evanescia was blasted free from her self-inserted character with a scream of agony and tumbled through the air as her featureless silhouette. The Mythic creature she wore fared worse. Its marble-colored skin turned into a spray of blood as it was disintegrated in a half-second, and the flesh beneath fared only slightly better. Produveral’s helmet shattered as if struck by a hammer blow, exposing his face to Shiv for the first time.

He was pale—paler than even Shiv had been while he was Omenborn. His hair was a messy crop of white, and his eyes were like black marbles dotted by thin pricks of violet energy. He looked softer than Shiv expected. His skin had a supple quality to it; a strange softness that made Shiv think of rubber. But the Challenger's blow struck Produveral all the same. He doubled over and coughed up a mouthful of blood. Driven to his knees, he battled to stand and managed on shaking legs. “Shit… Fucking hate it when he does that.”

Then the Challenger's presence cut out. The darkness descending upon the world broke like the vanishing of a sudden fever, and everything returned to how it once was.

In a blink, the enchanted forest was abloom with varied colors again, filled with wonderful floral scents, with the rising aahs and oohs of its joyous chorus. But Produveral couldn't stand without leaning against a tree, and Evanescia resummoned her self-insertion, only to find her character a badly mangled mess of flesh she had to rebuild.

she grumbled, doing her best to mask the terror leaking out from her with frustration, though the latter was also present. She paused, and her terror and anger were almost forgotten just like that as more important things came to mind again.

She stopped talking, worried she might incur the Challenger's wrath once more.

Produveral wiped the blood away from his chin with the back of his hand and glared at Evanescia. “You know, for someone who's got a one-track mind about reading, you're really bad at reading the goddamn room.”

Produveral frowned. “She’s right. Shit.” Shaking his head, he gave Shiv a pitying look. “Listen, if you need a little while…”

“No.” Shiv shook his head. Everything needed to happen anyway. This made no difference. Adam was still suffering. They couldn't help him, and the Challenger would make sure of that, but he needed to keep the other problems contained. He couldn’t be responsible for another mistake. He couldn’t take it if someone else—the thoughts were pulled out of him again. Focus became Shiv. “One body will go with you to Chorus; another will stay here with her. Maybe I'll find a solution if I spread myself out…”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from NovelFire. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Produveral’s emotional core was dense with doubt, much the same as Can Hu's —but the Myth forced himself to hope. “Maybe. We’ll see what we can do. There’s a lot of extraordinary circumstances with you, Shiv. There’s going to be a lot of people willing to—”

“Can you find Udraal?” Shiv asked, another thought occurring to him. “He’s Transcendent. Maybe we can convince him to help.”

Produveral cringed. “Yeah… Well… I would temper my expectations, kid. Finding him's not the hard part. It's getting him to listen or care. He has his hands full with, uh, System knows what. But we’ll do what we can. You know, this isn't just your problem anymore. You have the Challenger's right hand attached to you. That's not supposed to happen. A Legend isn't supposed to be able to graft a piece of a god onto themselves, especially not one like the Challenger. We're going to be walking into a real shitshow with this one.”

Even with his emotions deadened, Shiv remained Shiv. “Sounds great. Can't wait for the Mythic buddies to shit all over me too.”

“That’s the spirit.” Produveral coughed. An awkward pause to the conversation followed. The quiet was filled by the singing trees and whistling flowers. “As for our magnanimous host, you mind if I just lie down here for a while? I'm pretty sure most of my organs got pulped when the Challenger snapped at us.”

Evanescia said, sagging slightly herself.

“Yeah.” Produveral spat out another globule of blood. “And a new set of lungs… and some unbroken skills. And to nap for a year.”

They moved the Court Leviathan out of the Tutorial. The orcs didn't try to stop them.

Most of the grayskins were still howling, gripping their right arms as they screamed on behalf of their divine progenitor. Between their screams came bouts of laughter, and even from afar, Shiv saw flickers of golden incandescence take shape around their arms, but it wasn't the glow of Chronomancy. The Biomancers that piloted the Court Leviathan also exhibited the same injuries—the right limbs were severed, and a magical construct was forming in the absence of flesh.

After landing the Court Leviathan near Starhawk’s Perch within Piety, the orc Biomancers detached themselves from Courtney, and most of them walked back into the Tutorial without a word. The silence was uncanny, but the expressions on their faces were anything but miserable. Yes, there was pain, but also excitement and glee, and they looked upon Shiv with what he could only describe as borderline religious fervor.

“He loves you,” one of the Biomancers whispered to Shiv as he passed. “And in time, you will come to hate him too.”

Shiv clenched his fists. “I don't need time; I hate him plenty right now.”

“Not enough. Your animosity is far outweighed by his affection.”

Shiv watched the orcs walk away, made sure they crossed over, and saw the bunker placed under extreme security constraints. Most of the Umbral Sisterhood and Weaveresses within the Gate were diverted to make sure no breaches of security would follow.

Enchanter Merrielmel and his devices were also drawn back across into Piety, and his anxiety seemed higher than ever. Whatever concerns he had were assuaged by Hymn, who took him off to the side, but not before he shot an awkward glance at Uva.

She, comparatively, was less than pleased with his continued presence. “Coward,” she spat, and said no more to him.

They took Adam to the peak of the perch and called for every Biomancer they could trust—and some they couldn’t. Helix was left outside, but Tulveg was summoned. And the moment he looked upon Adam, the vampire let out a hiss of disgust. “What wretchedness has been done to him? Something not of biology festers deep in his skull.”

When he learned of what the Challenger had done, his expression turned darker and bleaker, and he genuinely seemed overcome with misery. “Vileness. Unfettered vileness. Darkness assails us from every angle.” He drew his Legendary Biomancy and Psychomancy back and shook his head. “I am sorry. This is beyond me. Though I cannot say for sure, I fear it might even be beyond my old master—this is more than just a violation of the flesh. There is a power there… and it delights in the boy's suffering.”

“Fuck the power—fuck! Gods fucking—are all of you fucking worthless?” Rose screamed, fury engulfing her in place of despair. Her eyes burned with rage, so much that she could have been confused to have an orcish skill inside of her. “So what if a god is inside him? So what? We have our gods too, right? Roland! Call him!”

But Adam's father had sunken into himself, collapsing inward in growing hopelessness. He shook his head. “He won't come; he refuses. He says there is nothing he can do. He says there is no power he can wield greater than… than…”

Rose's anger grew to new heights. “What the fucking hells does that even mean? You—Starhawk!” Her cry was shrill and deafening. “Thaen, you worthless fucking bastard! Come down, you cowardly shit! Help my son! Starhawk! Roland—”

“He won’t speak to me anymore,” Roland whispered. “His spirit is dust. He has been scarred. He does not have the power… I don’t have the—”

But Rose wasn’t done. She stepped up to her husband, grabbed him by the collar, and hoisted him up while shaking him back and forth. “Then fuck him! What about the others? What about the capital? We can still go there. We can surrender ourselves and see if they can help Adam. What about Maiden? Maiden knows—”

“No!” The growl tore its way out of Shiv before he could catch it, before Uva could stop it. “Not her. Never her. Adam’s already suffering; she’ll just mutilate him more. She did… whatever the fuck to her own daughter. What will she do to someone that's practically a traitor?”

“The… Fuck! Come up with something!” Rose shoved Shiv back. Tried to. A kitten would have better odds of knocking down a fortress wall. But when she bounced off of him, her frustration burned hotter. “You were supposed to take care of him,” she hissed. “You were supposed to watch over him. He went inside the Fairwoods to deal with problem!” She drove a finger into his chest, and Shiv’s flesh cracked like glass under her touch, spewing hissing vitality. “You—”

“Enough,” Uva commanded. She used her telepathy to cut into Rose’s mind.

The Lady of Blackedge looked away from Shiv, and her eyes misted as she reached a threshold of pain she didn’t want to face. “Uva… they’re not helping my boy.”

Uva swallowed, trying to keep her own misery contained.

“Why?” Rose whimpered, clutching her head as it all became too much. Too much. Roland staggered over and took her into his arms before anyone could see her sob. “Why…”

And in the bed that had been moved into the uppermost chamber of the Perch, the sheets were soaked through with blood. Blood that wouldn't stop flowing. Blood several times the amount contained in Adam's body. He was babbling gibberish now. His teeth were clattering together, chipping and shattering against each other. His eyes were wide—never blinking. “Kill… kill… kill…” he kept repeating.

Shiv had thought the Tutorial was hell when he first set foot there. He was wrong. Hell was hopelessness. Hell was looking at a part of your life that once brought you joy, now defiled and destroyed. Hell was the bottom of a well where heaven was out of reach.

Hours flew by and felt like an eternity.

Despite everything they tried, despite all the skills and powers they had at their disposal, Adam's condition didn't improve. They couldn't even offer him a measure of comfort. His pain was burrowing deep, deeper and deeper into his very sinews, and the only word he seemed to know now was . No longer did he exhibit any hints of rationality or personality. There was just one urge that filled his core: to harm himself or someone else, anyone else. To let out the sickness that was building inside.

Rose and Roland were practically bolted to their son's bedside, and Shiv waited nearby, a ghost in the room, looking at the friend he'd failed. Uva remained connected to him—monitored Adam through her Psychomancy, but she'd left to administer problems in the Gate. Apparently, there was an outbreak of mutated cholera. It was affecting the Adepts, Initiates, and former slaves more than anyone else, and on top of that, the Republic's local forces were knocking on the surface gateway again, demanding to see Shiv—demanding he answer what had happened to Longinus.

But Shiv didn't budge. He remained in place, a stone fixture in a world that was constantly changing. With every passing day, his power grew, but so did the scars he accumulated. He knew his mind would regenerate from this, just like his soul would recover even from near-total devastation, but there was a weight building on his heart and within his memories, a weight of what he could have done, the things he might have been able to fix, the problems he could have solved if he was just a little smarter, a little wiser, had a bit more patience.

And in part, Rose was right: Adam wouldn't be in this condition if they'd stayed out of the Fairwoods. If he hadn't accompanied Shiv to get rid of his Curses, he wouldn't have been burned by the Watchtower’s Flame, wouldn't have undergone his Path evolution, and wouldn't have burned the Challenger’s influence out of the Culturist.

But how could someone like Adam Arrow let Shiv venture forth into the Fairwoods alone? Shiv's mind couldn't deny what his heart was feeling, but his heart also couldn't ignore the truth his mind spat.

Only knowledge of the future could have spared Adam this fate, and even then, he might have wandered directly to his death. He would have been terrified. He would have been shaken, but he would have done it anyway, because if Shiv knew one thing for certain, it was that Adam Arrow, at the end of the day, was a Pathbearer. For all the human weaknesses he possessed, he was something more.

The thought was intrusive and insidious. And it would have nearly snapped Shiv's sense of self in two, if not for Uva watching him as much as she was guarding Adam and tearing the trauma out of his mind before it could bring him low. Lower, anyhow.

And then there was the matter of the Challenger's limb, the Hand of the Red Rider that was fused to Shiv's very soul. It was connected to his Garden of Wounds and Broken Things, chained him by a stream of Vitae, and where he went, it followed close behind—hovering in perpetual equidistance to him, burning with dormant violence.

Shiv tried to dismember this new limb before the Challenger's fetid appendage could compromise his soul or do anything else. He couldn't. His cutting aura bounced off the link between him and the arm. It was harder than anything and anyone he'd tried to cleave into before. The hand felt inevitable, indestructible, unbreakable.

Worse yet, it spoke to him.

It whispered things to him. Things he couldn't unhear. It wanted to feed. It wanted him to break things. It wanted him to kill. It wanted him to stand atop mass graves, beneath the rain of beautiful ashes, to make mausoleums out of worlds.

Shiv snarled and turned. He strode up to his new hand and faced it down. Its knuckles were colossal. It was large enough to crush his body in a single blow, heavy enough that he couldn't move it of his own will. Yet it always followed him, refused to see itself severed. The damned fist was a sleeping bomb—a weapon of mixed essence, his unique soul nested inside the Challenger's overwhelming might. And he could feel the power, the sheer unparalleled power that came with wielding the right hand of war.

But he didn't want it. In fact, the Hand of the Red Rider was one of the few powers he would outright reject, because he knew the cost. He knew the horrors that came with serving as a conduit of endless bloodshed. If he went down that path, there would be no true difference between him and the Undying Tarrasque.

The Red Rider's hand tilted on an axis and extended a long, spear-like index finger toward where Adam lay. Shiv had no idea if the hand spoke and moved of its own volition, of the Challenger's will, or of his own subconscious’ impotent fury.

“You are the shape of my godsdamn tragedy,” Shiv seethed at the hand. “You. Udraal. The Challenger. The Ascendants. Veronica. The world is filled with… with godsdamned bastards. Everywhere. Monsters everywhere…”

Shiv struck the Red Rider's Hand with his own. He didn't think. He just acted. His fist collided against the middle knuckle of his unwanted hand, and it rumbled with thunderous delight. The Vitae empowering the hand ignited, and the dormant concept of War wasn't so asleep anymore. It trembled with power, but little more than a drop of what it could contain.

The hand was starved. The hand was a desert. It once was a sea. It wanted to be once more. It wanted to drown reality. It wanted to break worlds.

requires more mana to awaken.

A ripple radiated out from the Hand of the Red Rider. Cracks formed along the ground. All that was glass fractured. Shiv's arm snapped like a twig—even the orichalcum was brittle when greeted by war unending. Shiv drew his hand back with a hiss of pain, and he turned away, refusing to face this thing that brought him so much suffering, that would continue bringing him suffering.

But as he turned, he found Roland standing, his bow blazing in his hand, already drawn. He found Rose huddled over Adam, covering his still form with her body, even though she was barely an Adept, even as he soaked her with his blood.

Shiv stared at them, and they stared back at him.

Almost immediately, it became too much. He was the one sleeping, not the hand. He'd overstayed his welcome. He'd made a mistake. He should have left far earlier. He should have… he should have…

A hand took him by the shoulder. Shiv looked up and met Valor's piercing green eyes. He hadn't even realized his mentor was still here. But Valor didn’t need to say anything. He knew. Shiv saw that he knew.

He swallowed. “I… I’m sorry. I, uh, I should leave. I’m sorry.”

But before he could flee in shame and escape from the purge, Roland called out for him. “No. Wait. Tan—Shiv. Wait. I think… I think we should talk.”

Shiv was pinned in place. A sigh escaped him, like steam leaving an automaton. “I don’t.”

“There’s never going to be a good time,” Roland pushed. “There’s never going to be the proper moment. We have now. And Adam… What he said… Please. Can we talk?”

Shiv still wanted to leave. Everything inside him screamed to run away, but ultimately it wasn't him who came to the decision to stay. It was someone else pushing him. Valor tugged on Shiv, but instead of dragging him toward the exit where the platform led down to the castle proper, he pushed Shiv to face Roland and Rose.

Valor whispered via telepathy.

Shiv didn't have the strength to resist. He felt spent. Despite all the levels he'd gained, all his evolutions, he felt more spent than ever before.

But he set a foot in front of the other anyway.

Because it's what Adam would have done.

“Alright, Roland,” Shiv breathed as he drew closer to Adam’s bedside—the Red Rider’s Hand gliding close behind him. “What do you want to talk about?”

The Town Lord looked miserable when he answered. “Everything.”