Riding the Wave

< The Less I Know the Better

## Prologue

He was not born in the world of fictions and lies. He dreamed graze-lands and fields-ash. The Demiurge slept, for he did not know otherwise, until the Demiurge was born.

It straddled its egg, entering when it needed to grow, and when it was finished it moved on to greater homes. When the Demiurge awoke, he saw visions of beast kept in glass. Man slept near-far, waiting to arrive at the glass station. Demiurge hid at the sight of Man. Man did not dream as it slept.

This is my sermon. I give it unto you.

Man fought beast, and when beast fought back it gained features of milk-skin with bubbling red beneath. When beast stood, Man welcomed it as a friend.

"In you is flesh and blood and egg," said Demiurge, appearing to Man as a six arm-winged tower of flame. "I give unto you my Dreaming and my mystery."

Demiurge turned to black swimming and entered into Man through soul and window. Demiurge looked within Man to see only Men of smaller stature, each identical and warring like beast would. Magma bubbled out of the many limbs of Man.

Demiurge lived within Man for thousand-age. Demiurge wrote this.

Seven devils with hook-swords pulled Man apart until Man became Men. Men scattered to every corner of the Euclid and to the sky-corpses. Demiurge gave the devils his mystery, reciting it as a sermon. The devils cannibalized one another, and became one-yet-all.

When Demiurge revealed his form, the devil matched it, becoming Metatron. Metatron spoke with seven-tooth and at once summoned the sky-corpse.

"I will build home and new-birth upon the stone-death." Metatron expelled from its gullet destruction and meteors.

Demiurge looked upon destruction and death and began to write a new sermon, viewing the sigils. A black raven-crow landed upon Demiurge, as the farmer scythed the creature. The raven-crow burst unto flame.

"Who do you wait for?"

To which the Demiurge said Sentinel-Giant and the Cherub. Demiurge wrote this.

When Demiurge entered within itself as black swimming it viewed for the first time the dream. Demiurge at once became Vain.

Vain summoned forth the milk-skinned Beast-Men and looked within them.

Vain read the third sermon, written by the second, and saw of Man creating beast so that beast may destroy man. The farmer broke the sky-death in half.

The Demiurge is not your friend. The meaning of the sermon is "KHULM."

## Port City Eight

Blackmore rested his elbows against the bow of the ferry as he took a drag of his cigarette. Staring into the sunrise through the smoke, he contemplated what he had listened to in the night they departed. Guard duty, he had told them, but their conversation was just too enticing to depart from. *Possessions. Dream Eaters.* What a marvel to hear. Blackmore reflected to himself on the individuals he had met. He would have liked to known Samuel Brownlee further.

"Enough of that." He snapped himself out of it. Aiola was now in sight, and with that, peace and quiet. Once the ferry docked, they would be near the city of Nirvana, a place famous due to its history with a group named Nirvanists, religious historians dedicated towards documenting the world and its creation. From there, they would have an easy journey, with the Chang Monastery, a place where Li deemed it safe to rest due to his long history with the residents, located in the mountains next to the city.

The large red and white accented ferry docked. Stairs were let down for passengers to exit onto the boardwalk. The first off was Zade. He let in a deep breath, smelling the salty air before walking forward. He was followed by Blackmore, with Marshall toting the group's luggage behind him. Atticus, Blossom, Chris, and Li departed and met up with the rest of the group.

"Well, we don't have Samuel anymore. Hopefully we're not screwed without him." Chris commented.

Li took in the sights of the city. Years had passed between his last visit, but little had changed. "I'm sure we'll do fine without him."

"I'm sure Mr. Li will do fine guiding us through this, Chris," Marshall said.

"Come," Li hobbled forward to the front of the group. "Much awaits us."

The final wooden board creaked as Marshall made it to the top of the stairs. Lagging a bit behind the rest of the group, he had reached the small plateau where the monastery stood. In the distance, the city of Nirvana seemed incredibly small. Two large ornate gates were hinged upon a wall, with gold symbols decorating it. The monastery was octagonal in shape with black shingle roofing lining the wall. The group stood on a small stone platform carved into the mountain thousands of years ago.

To the right of the gates was a rope attached to a bell. Li pulled on it. The gates opened, revealing two monks on the other side, as well as a tall, dark-skinned man. He wore a dark gi with specialized gold lettering and black shoulder pauldrons.

"Welcome back, Mr. Li," the man said. "And your guests?"

"Are Marisol and Robert in? I need to see them, Isaiah," Li rushed.

"Yes," Isaiah said. "Come in, but you will have to leave your weapons outside."

"Are you sure this place is safe, Mr. Li?" Blossom asked, reaching her hand into her brown jacket and pulling out a pair of knives and a gun. She slowly placed them on the ground in front of her.

Blackmore sighed. He opened his jacket, removing both a small switchblade and a longer hunting knife, as well as one of his sub machine guns. "Fascists."

With the group now unarmed, Isaiah led them inside. Within the tall walls held one hundred monks, standing orderly, chanting. Behind them, a large temple with orange roofing and red and teal accents stood.

"Whoa," Marshall gasped.

"Nice place you've got here, Isaiah." Blackmore muttered.

"It is not mine, it is the Changs'," Isaiah explained. "However, I am the lead monk here."

"Where are the Changs right now?" Chris wondered. "We have some urgent business with them."

"They are in the meditation room, having tea. I'll take you to them," Isaiah answered.

He led them through the main courtyard and to the main temple. Sliding a shoji open, they entered and done a hallway made it to the room. Within, the Halan couple, both with long black hair, sat facing one another with a teapot and two cups between them.

"Hello, Wen. I see you brought some friends," The man, Robert, welcomed.

"Could you all leave the room?" Li said.

"I'll take them to the artifact room," Isaiah responded.

As they left the room, Atticus could hear a faint "we need your help" from Li.

The artifact room contained a great many objects of note, most displayed on pedestals with a small nameplate beneath them. An ancient golden sickle-sword covered in markings in an unfamiliar language bore the label "Great King Nzulk's Blade." Next to it was an open manuscript, its pages water-damaged and its cover dusty. Its nameplate read, "Codex Seventy-Five, 20 TP."

"I really hope we can actually stay here for more than a few days," Atticus said. "We've spent so much time going from place to place, one after another."

"I wouldn't bet on anything," replied Blackmore. He leaned against a tall podium. "If there's anything our road trip has taught me, it's to expect the worst."

"So, what do we do now?" Chris wondered.

"We just wait," Atticus replied as he pulled a large book off a shelf and began to open it.

"*...and the court of the gods found that Xeren had committed crimes so numerous and unforgivable that execution was deemed a necessity. Iblis, the giant who carried a scythe gifted by the Shephard of Souls, was to carry out the execution.*

"*When the soul of Xeren was torn from his body, it split into two halves. Of the first, nothing is known. Of the second, a luminescent red sphere appeared in the skies of Euclid. It circled around the world time and time again, never changing the speed or direction of its orbit.*"

Atticus paused at this line. A red sphere streaking across the sky — that sounded familiar. He had seen it twice before. Once in Thales, once in Muné.

"*If it were to be claimed, the soul could imbue its possessor with unimaginable control over reality itself, akin to that of a Power.*"

"Hey, Chris, Marshall?" Atticus began. "Do you remember that light we've seen a few times? The red one?"

"Of course we remember that!" Chris exclaimed. "I mean, how could we not? It was sure quite an unusual thing to see in the sky."

"Well, remember how Steven told us that were theories it was connected to some hidden leader? This book claims that it's the soul of the god, or well, Power Xeren and that he was killed by others like him."

"What's this about a light?" Zade asked as he walked over, holding his hiking stick tightly in his hands.

"It's a mysterious thing we've been seeing in the sky, and Atticus is saying it's linked to the god Xeren," Chris explained.

"Ah yes, I've heard of this light before, back in the days where I still lived in Mune.....ugh." Zade replied, then winced after briefly recalling his days on Mune.

"Why do you guys care about this?" Marshall asked, finally breaking his silence. "We're not on vacation here, this is life-or-death. Why do we keep going on about this shit? The Dream Eaters, the red comet and all this other shit doesn't matter. Can we not take this seriously?"

No one responded before Marshall stomped out of the room.

Li departed from his meeting with the Changs in high spirits. He was almost to the artifact room when he spotted Marshall walking away from the room.

"What happened?" he asked. Marshall only shot a glare in his direction.

Concerned, the man entered the room and saw the group. As he approached, Li noticed something strange. From this angle, Atticus bore a striking resemblance to Gabriel. Atticus was younger, of course, but his face was eerily close and his eyes were the exact same light green.

"Mr. Li?" Blossom spoke up after noticing Li standing in the doorway. "What did they say?"

Li snapped out of his stupor and walked over to the group. "They said we can stay. We'll be going to our rooms soon."

## Search Party

The search party had been vigilant, but for the 20 days that had passed, their search had gone cold. They elected to learn more about Charles, before Florence contacted all of them with what they had all been waiting for, a new lead.

The private investigator had them meet in Silivia, in a notably Nuyövian area. As Aaron's car arrived, with Jordan beside him and Charles in the back, Florence tipped his hat.

"Evening. Any word on when the others will get here?"

"Should be any minute now." replied Aaron, and one by one the group arrived.

Stepping out of her car, Lisa slammed the door shut and stepped over to Aaron's car. "What have we been called here for? What lead does he have?"

Aaron looked over to Florence for an explanation. "Ladies and gents, welcome to Deep Cover." He feigned a smile. "It's a club. Gang hideout." Florence gestured across the street towards a white building with numerous neon signs in various Euclidean languages. "This is where I was told to meet my contact. He said it makes him feel safer."

Savannah rolled her eyes. "Can't say I share his taste. Who even is this guy, anyway?"

Florence smiled again. "He's our star witness. Dyson Pointer, Alchemilia chairman, and he's likely to know more than anyone where our guys could be."

"How did he witness it?" Charles asked.

"I'm sure he'll explain it himself. Let's go." The detective crossed the street, leading the others to the front door of Deep Cover. As he opened it, various sights and sounds bombarded the search party's senses. Psychedelic music, colourful lights, and what sounded like hundreds of conversations at once.

Jordan glanced at many people around the establishment. "Hmm, do you see him? What does he look like?"

"White hair. Moustache. That's, uh, all I've got." Florence mumbled. "Look out for him." Many of the gangsters had their eyes on the party, and one wolf-whistled at the group. Aaron scowled.

"Quite the social circle this guy's got, huh?"

Dexter turned away from a ghastly sight: an unconscious man at a table with a needle sticking out of his shoulder. His arms were covered in tattoos depicting rats and snakes.

"Yeah," Dexter muttered. "We're in good company here."

"Then let's keep moving," Lisa said, pushing ahead into the crowd. "I doubt he's among this filth."

Florence opened his mouth to speak, before a young man sitting at a booth snapped his fingers at the group.

His face was intensely familiar, if one would disregard the numerous symmetrical tattoos across it, and he was wearing a bright orange suit with multiple gold necklaces.

"You're the ones Mr. Pointer was meeting with, right? You're late." He squinted his amber eyes at them. "You don't look like much. I'd advise you don't try anything. He's in the backroom." He said, gesturing to a door behind him.

Again Florence tried to speak before being cut off. "Where you're going, you'll need these." The boy scribbled something onto two napkins in front of them, and held one in each of his hands, towards Lisa and Savannah.

Savannah saw a phone number written on the napkin. She looked to the boy, blinked twice, and said nothing. Lisa gave a disgusted look, crumpled her napkin and tossed it onto the floor.

The young man winked at Lisa, smiling arrogantly. "Go on in."

Florence obliged, walking past the boy and through the doorway behind him. The others followed, met with the sight of a well-dressed gentleman with a thick mustache and a bottle of wine next to him.

"So.. are you Dyson?" Jordan asked, standing further back than the others.

He grimaced. "We're not on a first name basis. I would prefer Mr. Pointer." Dyson poured wine into his glass. "Your friend, Investigator Carnation, has paid me a generous sum of gil to give you this information, but it is not to be taken lightly. Can I trust you?"

"You will be able to trust us," Charles replied. "I am Wellington Robotics Android Number One, or Charles, if you will."

"Per Charles. Can you tell us what you know?" Savannah asked.

"As I'm sure Investigator Carnation has explained to you," Dyson continued as Florence shot a nervous glance to the others, "It would be most regrettable were you not to find the Port City Eight. Fortunately for the both of us, I have the location of the Hummingbird that I am certain they escaped on."

Florence spoke, "Yeah, uh, Mr. Pointer here has a theory on what happened to them, don't you?"

"They fled to Muné, of course. One of the only places that they could be sure they wouldn't be found. Any rational person would head to Aiola, to safety, but the Hummingbird seems to have crash-landed outside of a town called Headre." Dyson paused, taking a swig of wine. "I don't expect you to head straight to Muné. There's a coastal city in Aiola, Nirvana, that has a ferry known to be the safest travel there. From that point, with proper transportation, you should be able to make it to Headre in a week or so."

"Not to be rude, but how do you know this?" Savannah asked. "I can't imagine anyone in their right mind would flee to *Muné*, of all places."

Dyson glared. "Because they know that we'd look everywhere else."

For the past several hours, Savannah had heard nothing besides the boat's motor and the crashing of waves. Rosington had provided the search party with a vessel to reach Aiola. Aaron had decided not to go with them, preferring to stay with his family in Silivia.

Savannah watched as the sun slowly sunk out of sight from the back. Towards the front, Dexter saw a beach coming into focus.

"We're not gonna reach Nirvana at this rate. Map says there's a town nearby, called Crehambraugh. How about we stay there for the night?" he asked the others.

"Have you even been there before?" Lisa asked. "I don't know if it would be a good idea for us to stop in unfamiliar places."

"Relax, it can't be that bad," Dexter showed his tablet, which displayed a map of Aiola. "Look, Nirvana and this town are both part of Sampi." He tapped the screen, which changed the landscape view to one which showed the borders of each country. Each country was colored red, orange, yellow or green.

"You see that?" Dexter asked. "Sampi and its neighbors are all green, meaning little to Coalition and angel activity within its borders. This is one of the safest places to be."

"Clarify what the Coalition is," Charles told Dexter. "It rings a vague bell, but I don't know anything of it."

"The Coalition is an alliance connecting the demon army, Nuyovian governments and crime syndicates," Dexter explained. "They have a great reach, but we shouldn't have to worry too much until we get to Muné."

The boat docked at the beach as the sky began to grow dark. Lights shone from nearby buildings, but the beach was empty and lifeless. The passengers climbed out of the boat and proceeded over a bridge to the town. The town streets were much like the beach.

"Where is everyone? Do you think something happened?" Savannah asked as she looked around, looking for any form of life.

"It's getting dark, they're probably asleep." Florence adjusted his fedora and continued on.

The party kept walking for a few more minutes, until a light was abruptly shone on Dexter's face.

"We're sorry about that, sir. We didn't know about any curfew, we're new to town." Jordan explained.

"I'm curious," the man started. "Are you tourists? Refugees? Just passing through?"

"We are passing through Crembraugh on the way to Nirvana." Charles replied.

The man scratched his beard. "Well, this ain't a big deal, and I have more important things to do," he looked to Dexter and Florence. "How about you gentlemen give me 40 gil? I won't snitch on you, you go on your way. Deal? I'll even show you to the nearest inn for an extra 20."

"Yeah. Sounds good." said Florence. He fumbled with his coat pocket and then his wallet, grabbing six thick coins for the man.

The man pocketed the coins and pointed to his left. "Thank you. The inn's that way." He walked away without another word.

The group saw a building with faintly visible signage reading "Nettlefold Inn." They proceeded into the lobby, where a few patrons sat around a fireplace or watched a small television. A child spun around with her toy airplane as her father read a newspaper. She appeared to be the only person in the room without a lethargic appearance. The attendant at the front desk was typing something as they approached. His nametag read "Gerald."

Jordan warily walked up to the front desk, "Hello, sir. Well, a man with a switchblade threatened us about a curfew and demanded money. Do you know anything about this?"

Gerald looked up from his computer. "He was probably part of the town watch," he sighed. "You must be new here. The curfew is real, and you best be glad he only demanded money."

"What?" Lisa asked, shocked. "What do you mean? We should be glad that he did such?"

"They've done far worse to folks for less than being out late," Gerald lowered his voice. "The watch only exists so Lempo -- he's the 'mayor,' although that term's too generous -- could give his old buddies in the mafia a more legitimate name. You want my advice? Leave Crembraugh as soon as you can."

Savannah glanced at the group then back at Gerald.

"Uhm, we kind of have something to do," she said, not offering any more information. "Do you have any available rooms that we can stay in?"

"Fine," Gerald rolled his eyes. "How many rooms do you want?"

"Two," Dexter replied.

"That'll be--"

"Can I ask you something?"

"...Uh, yeah."

"How well armed is the town watch? Do they have ranged weapons? Firearms?"

"Not that I know of. The ones I've seen on patrol always have just knives or swords," Gerald seemed concerned. "Why do you ask?"

"I happen to have a bit of experience in dealing with the mob," Dexter said. "And none of them have a pistol, a coilgun or a combat android."

"Is it really wise to distract from our mission by going to yet another place?" Charles asked.

"Getting involved in this town's business would be stupid, Wellington," Lisa began. "We should just move on, we're not GU agents."

"You think the Union cares?" Gerald asked. "The town's been under Coalition control for over a decade. If they were going to help us, they would've done it already."

"Which is why I need to put a stop to this," Dexter said. "I'll go to Lempo and ask him to disband the watch and resign. If he tries to sic his thugs on me and Charles, we can handle them."

Charles and Dexter, fully armed and ready for a confrontation, made their way through the rainy streets to the building that matched the address they had been given. "This appears to be the right place," Charles said.

The duo made their way into the town hall. It was quite large and well maintained. Every surface seemed to have a slight shine to it from the lights streaming in outside. Men and women of various apparel walked about the foyer, usually in small groups of three to four. Dexter walked towards an elevator, Charles following.

Breaking from one of the groups, a tall dark-skinned man approached the two of them. Placing his hand on the elevator door, he grinned. "Do you have business here?"

"We plan to ask Mayor Lempo to resign from his position due to abuse of power, as well as ordering the immediate dissolution of the town watch," Charles explained.

"That's some good shit, dude," the man began to laugh. "We should have you tell jokes at our dinners. If anyone actually attempted to do that, they would be dead before this door even opens."

The man reached down into his pocket, and pulled out a knife.

"My friend here," Dexter nervously eyed the knife. "Has some very strong opinions on the mayor. I, uh, only want to speak with him about some issues affecting the town."

"Indeed, we mean you no harm. There is no reason to resort to violence," Charles agreed, although he was preparing his knife in case there were any sudden movements.

"Oh, there won't be any violence," the man sneered. "And you won't be meeting with the mayor. He's a busy man, and today he has a full schedule."

Dexter began to back away. "Oh, I understand. We'll come back tomorrow."

When he assumed he was out of the man's earshot, Dexter whispered to Charles, "We're taking the stairs."

The android nodded.

"No, you aren't."

An obese, bearded man with scruffy dark brown hair, tan skin, and a white suit blocked the stairwell. He held a spiked bat in his hands.

"I thought you didn't want a fight," Dexter retrieved his pistol and took aim at the obese man.

A disheveled mobster entered behind the fat man, expertly twirling a balisong. "You thought wrong, my good bitch."

"We are armed as well, I wouldn't recommend that." Charles replied, emphasizing his own knife.

The thugs continued towards them, undeterred by Charles' warning. Dexter shot at the bearded gangster.

"Is this the best you can do?" The man chuckled. "I've got a vest! Nothing can stop me!" He charged at Dexter with the club.

"That does not mean knife-proof." Charles said, before taking his knife and cutting the attacker's cheek.

Dexter moved away from Charles and the bearded gangster. He pocketed the pistol and retrieved Aaron's coilgun from his pack. Setting the sights on the knife-twirler, he launched two projectiles at him.

The mobster dodged to the left, preparing to laugh at his assailants yet again, before a small round pellet shot through his sunglasses and into his eye. He fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

The heavy man pushed the android down in rage.

A harsh impact of Charles being tossed onto the ground caught Dexter's attention. He fired several rounds at the batter, aiming for the head.

Charles stood up. His systems were still recovering from the attack, the combat functions especially impaired. The android's basic functions were still in adequate condition, however.

"Further hostiles on stairs," Charles noted. "I can only provide limited assistance for a few minutes. A full inspection or even repairs may be required upon our return to the Cherrington Inn."

Dexter nodded. He began attempting to pick off the incoming gangsters on the stairs.

Behind the group, a loud gunshot could be heard. With all eyes turning, the man from earlier - the one that had stopped Dexter and Charles at the elevator - could be seen wielding a large gun.

"Stop this fucking lollygaggin' or I'll kill these bastards myself."

In the Nettlefold Inn lobby, Florence and Jordan were watching a procedural drama on television. Lisa and Savannah sat nearby. The lobby was almost barren, with only a few besides the four. Gerald remained at his desk. All of them exchanged few words as nervous thoughts about Dexter and Charles plagued them. Finally, Savannah spoke up.

"Do you think we're going to find them?" she asked. "We only know they near Headre weeks ago. They've probably left the area by now."

Jordan turned his head over to Savannah, "They've undoubtedly left. Hopefully we could find another lead, though."

"It's highly unlikely that we'll find another lead, they're probably keeping a low-profile," Lisa stated.

"Well, yeah," Savannah admitted. "But we know them better than anyone else. If they're going to be found, we're gonna be the ones who find them."

"Do we really know them?" Lisa asked. "The Atticus Jordan and I knew wouldn't fake his death for months and return as a terrorist insurgent. And you...only knew most of them for a day or so."

"Sorry for being optimistic," Savannah grumbled.

There was no response. A moment of quiet, no sound beyond the faint dialogue on the television. Then, the doors slammed open and a group of men and women, all armed with knives, swords or bats, flooded in. A patron screamed. Gerald ducked under his desk.

A man with a number of piercings marched up to the front desk, many of his compatriots following close behind. He saw Gerald beneath his desk. The attendant, unable to hide, rose from his hiding spot. His eyes were incredibly wide in fear.

"Hey, Gerry," the gangster said in a faux-friendly tone. "It's been quite some time since we last talked. How have you been?"

"Fine," Gerald stammered. "I've been fine."

"Great to hear, man," the gangster dropped his smile. "Someone who's plotting against the mayor happened to mention this inn. Do you know anything about this?"

"...No."

"Are you sure? You should know full-well what will happen if you lie to us, Gerry."

"I -- I -- Yes, I know about that. I tried to get him to stop but he wouldn't listen."

"Was it just him and a single companion, or were their others?"

Gerald's eyes darted over to the search party members still in the lobby. "There were others."

"That's all I needed to hear."

The mobsters turned their attention to Lisa, Savannah, Jordan and Florence, beginning to approach them.

Savannah looked at the men and her eyes widened.

“Guys,” she whispered at the group. “We need to try and get out of here.”

"No shit," Lisa snapped, before turning her attention to the entrance of the inn. "Let's go, we only have a small amount of time before they get closer to us."

Not wasting time, she began to sprint across the room.

A mobster suddenly appeared in her path. "What's the rush for?" he asked. "We only want to ask a few questions."

Florence calmly stood up and reached into his jacket. A mechanical clicking was heard as he revealed a long, alabaster white revolver. "That's funny, I have a question too." He pointed it towards the group of mobsters. "Do you feel lucky, punks?"

The attackers in front of Florence tried to run out of his line of fire. Three fell in quick succession. An especially confident mobster attempted to strike Florence from behind with a bat. Florence turned around and shot him in the arm. The bat was dropped.

Jordan hid behind a chair. Once he was out of sight, he tried to slow his heavy breathing. His heart raced. Lisa and Savannah similarly took cover behind other furniture. Further shots rang out, more screams and bodies dropping to the ground with a heavy thud.

Then all the sounds abruptly stopped. Lisa peeked out of her hiding spot to see Florence slumped on the ground. A knife was stuck in his left leg. The mobster who had confronted Gerald had snatched the gun and pointed it at Florence's head.

"First question," he growled. "Are you alone or following orders?"

"Alone," Florence said. "We're not working for anyone. Those two went off on their own."

With Florence incapacitated, the mobsters began to spread out, looking for other targets. A man with a long, steel sword noted movement behind a sofa chair in the corner of the room. Upon closer inspection, he found there was indeed someone hiding nearby: Savannah. The girl screamed as the attacker brought his sword down.

A clink of metal against metal. Savannah discovered she was holding a sword similar to the attacker's, although its blade was engulfed in flame. The mobster stepped back a bit. Savannah felt a sharp pain in her forehead. She winced.

*What just happened?* She remembered the strange occurrence at Manta, how Baptiste’s gun had suddenly appeared in her hand. More questions flooded her mind. *How did I pull that off? Why did it happen again?*

“Hey, over here!” The attacker yelled to his compatriots. “This one’s got a weapon!”

Unable to remain idle, Savannah swiftly slashed at the man’s left leg. He keeled over in pain, blood flowing from the wound. The other gangsters turned towards her and raised their weapons.

"Stay back!" Savannah said. She held out the sword in front of her.

The gangsters closed in on her. She raised the sword and slashed at the nearest one, wincing has blood splattered her clothes. She whirled around and attempted to cut a nearby gangster but the weight of the sword slowed her down. He grinned, seeing her struggle and raised his knife, cutting her down the arm. She cried out in pain and stabbed him. He fell, and Savannah turned around before she saw the blood pooling around his body.

*Don't think about it,* she thought, *it was either you or him*.

She slashed at two other gangsters, the sword becoming a bit more easier to wield. The weight, however, still slowed her down, and another gangster was able to cut her leg before she took them down.

Savannah struggled to stand as she faced latest attacker: a muscular woman whose sword bore numerous intricate engravings. She scowled at Savannah. The girl's greatest concern was the gangster's vest, which looked to be bulletproof.

The gangster tried to charge at her, hoping to deliver a killing blow while she still struggled to keep upright. Savannah dropped to her knees. The gangster only struck the empty air. The girl used the chance to swipe at her opponent, who failed to dodge. With much effort, Savannah was eventually able to get back on her feet.

The apparent leader of the mobsters took note, aiming Florence's revolver at the girl. As he prepared to shoot, the mobster was suddenly pushed to the ground. Florence retrieved his revolver from the leader and shot him in the stomach. Overwhelmed and leaderless, the mobsters began to retreat.

When they had all vacated the premises, Savannah walked over to Gerald's desk, which the man remained behind.

"It's safe now," Savannah said. "They're gone."

Gerald stood up again. "I'm -- I'm so sorry. They threatened my family and I had--"

"Can you tell me how to get to town hall?"

"...You can't be serious."

The sword sizzled, yet the flame continued to glow bright as Savannah ran through the rain. A few pedestrians were out walking. They kept their distance, presumably mistaking her for one of the mobsters. She had told Jordan and Lisa to stay behind as she went to assist Charles and Dexter.

When she finally reached town hall, she saw the foyer was empty. Savannah slowly walked over to the elevator. As she approached, she began to hear very faint noises. They were eventually recognizable as screams and gunfire. Charles and Dexter were still dealing with the mayor’s guards. Savannah hurried her pace.

She entered the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. The doors closed and calming music played over the intercom. When the doors opened and Savannah stepped out, she discovered that the sounds were now coming from underneath her, presumably on the second floor. Worried, but not deterred, Savannah pressed onwards to the mayor’s office.

“Drop the weapon!”

The mayor’s two guards bore caps with “SECURITY” labels, armored vests and, most worrying, were armed with pistols. Savannah slashed at the arm of the one to her left. He dropped the weapon while the other prepared to open fire. Before he could, the pistol was abruptly removed from his hands. Savannah shot the man in the leg.

With the officers dealt with, Savannah turned her attention to the man they had been protecting. Klaus Lempo covered in his seat.

“Please, Don’t kill me!” he begged. “I’ll disband the watch, I’ll force the Bratva out of the city!”

Savannah did not respond.

“I’ll resign!” Lempo continued to plead. “What else do you want? I’ll let the Union’s courts judge me! I’ll -- I’ll--”

Lempo stopped. The sword was lodged in his stomach. Savannah processed what she had just done.

As she did, her surroundings began to change. She was no longer inside of the mayor’s office, she was outside on a grassy field. The corpse of a being slain by the sword remained in front of her, but it was not Lempo. A massive beast with horns and hooves took his place. There was silence for a moment, then she began to hear cheering from behind her. She turned to see a great many beasts behind her, howling and chanting at her victory. The noise would die down after some time. Savannah looked in front of her, seeing four colored spheres manifest. The spheres expanded, and a different environment could be seen beneath each.

Then she was back in Lempo’s office. There were police sirens blaring in the distance.

## Silivia

*Long ago, there was a man named Hades Amonte. He was a popular man amongst the Thelsh. He was very affluent too. Some began to see him as a god.*

"I rose to the occasion. I took on the role."

*Some started worshipping him. He enjoyed it. A cult was born of it in 5,281 AT.*

"I rallied my disciples. They worship me. I am their king. Their god."

*A religious leader, Krav Xcenpo, despised it. He spewed hate, accusations of paganism, anything he could toward Hades.*

"My time approaches fast. A new light will dawn upon Euclid. My light. My people will arise."

*Others followed. It led to the eventual shunning of Hades and his followers, the Resediennes, out of society in 5,284. They fled to the caves of Thales.*

"I can be their messiah. They will accept me. They will be enlightened."

*Some say before his death, a diary — a manifesto was written for future leaders. It is lost to time, I believe.*

"It'll come together soon."

*Recently, I have come to understand they are still active — somewhere deep underground in Thales. Planning something. Perhaps continuing Hades' legacy.*

Da walked up the steps, and paused to pull a piece of paper from his pocket. Reading the address scrambled down on it and satisfied with the answer, he turned back to the house and knocked on the door.

The brick house was somewhat small, but seemed cozy enough. After their search had turned up an old address, Da and Jocasta had spent the last few weeks searching for the man's current address and finally had a lead that led to this place. After a few minutes of waiting, the door opened and a middle-aged redheaded woman answered it.

"Hello? Do you two need something?" She asked, gazing over Da and Jocasta.

"Excuse me, does Dr. Forrestal live here? We need to talk with him," Da asked.

"He does. I'm his daughter, Mirriam. Is it important? He doesn't receive many visitors anymore."

"It is," Jocasta replied, speaking ahead of Da. "We can't really explain how, but we really need to talk to him. Please give us a few minutes?"

The woman sighed. "Fine, just don't cause any disturbances or upset him. He's old, and gets confused easily now. He rambles. He passes out. I think he's a lot more hurt than he lets on. Not the same man that he was five years ago."

Mirriam turned and led the two through the house, which was cluttered with paperwork piled all over the tables. "Sorry for the mess, just busy with some stuff."

She eventually led them to a door and knocked before opening it. It gave away to a small room with a bed in the middle of it, an old man lying under several blankets occupying it. Two windows on each side of the room filled the room with light.

"Dad? Wake up, these people want to talk to you," Mirriam said. The old man slowly stirred and opened his eyes, looking at the group of three.

"Who are you? Do I know these people?" He asked, his voice was low and somewhat scratchy.

"No, they said they have something they needed to talk with you about. I'll let them do that, just call me if you need anything." The woman turned and left, closing the door behind her.

Da walked over and pulled a stool from a corner of the room, placing it next to Dr. Forrestal's bed and sitting on it. "Sir? We have some questions about the Resediennes."

The old man sat up in bed, suddenly more alert. "What? What about them?"

Da looked over to Jocasta before continuing. "I fear there might be an uprising among them again, members of the cult were in my store a few weeks ago. Jocasta and I searched Silivia's library for information on them and it came up empty, only giving generic information about them."

"We were hoping that you could tell us more," Jocasta continued.

"I see," Dr. Forrestal replied, leaning his head back. "I'll start from the beginning then, if I can remember all of the details."

"Take your time," Da mentioned.

"Long ago, there was a man named Hades Amonte. He was a popular man among the Thelsh. He was very affluent too. Some began to see him as a god. Some started worshiping him. He enjoyed it. A cult was born of it in 5,281 AT. A religious leader, Krav Xcenpo, despised it. He spewed hate, accusations of paganism, anything he could toward Hades."

"Others followed. It led to the eventual shunning of Hades and his followers, the Resediennes, out of society in 5,284. They fled to the caves of Thales. Some say before his death, a diary — a manifesto was written for future leaders. It is lost to time, I believe."

"What was written in this 'manifesto?' Do you know?" Da asked.

"I do not, I am sorry. But I can tell you this," the old man paused. "If the Resediennes are active again — it means they have a new leader, and only trouble can come from them."

## Epilogue

Dasim entered the darkened conference room quietly, taking in the moonlight, tinted red through the curtained windows. At the head of the long table was a man in dark armor and a cloak, to his left a bald man in a maroon suit.

"You wanted to see me, Lord Cicero?"

"Sit down, comrade." responded the armored figure. As Dasim took a seat across from the other man, Cicero continued. "His name is Leonid Gryaz, and he is gainfully employed by the Bratva. You know what that means, correct?"

"Brotherhood." responded Gryaz. "A group of Thelsh killed my *tovarishchi* with nothing but a sword."

Cicero looked back to Dasim. "This brought something to my mind. Do you remember that story you told me when I was young, about my father?"

"The showcase of Ahriman, yes," Dasim said. "It would be impossible to forget."

"He told you, '*I would begin the next battle with this in hand.*' if my memory does not betray me." Cicero stared at Dasim through his helmet's visor. "This Thelsh woman summoned a flaming sword in the middle of a rainstorm from *thin air* and cut through an entire town's defenses."

"Do you think this is how your father would make his return known?" Dasim was unimpressed. "I recall him specifying that he would use the sword after defeat in battle. The Powers' execution was not a battle, by any means."

"Do *you* think my father would be so naive as to not realize that the powers the be would punish him? He showed you the sword so that you may herald his return, general, and I think you're being faithless."

"With all due respect, Lord Cicero, I feel like you may be getting too excited about a false lead," Dasim paused, considering something. "Did you check the armory? If the sword is not a replica, it would no longer be in our possession."

"Ahriman vanished from its display case hours before Gryaz arrived. There was no evidence of an intrusion," Cicero looked Dasim straight in the eye. "That was my father. I have no doubts."

Centuries of Damnation >

 S2: