Capítulo 308: A Nice Bucket Of Blood
As the sun starts to paint the sky in the hues of morning, I find myself dashing through a landscape carved from stone, concrete, and the occasional wood. Dawn woke us early in the morning before the sun even rose, and we left shortly after. But the concrete of cities like Blackstone is not all we come across.
Because while Blackreach is known for its dense and highly populous cities, there is a reason for that. It has both the most generous water supply in the Territories from the Iman River but also the most incredible collection of building materials for mankind.
What are between the dozen miles of each city?
Stone, marble, and even readily exposed iron ore across the ground. Vast plains of these rocks are adorned with little else but moss, some grass, and the occasional tiny critter. Perfect for building with and even better for mixing into concrete or weapons. It's awful farmland, but that's what Qune, Timberlands, and Vallens are for.
These very stone plains stretch like limitless vistas, yet much of it is cut, carved, or mined out. Other than the regions that have been plucked of their resources, the stone is flat, nearly enough to roll a ball endlessly. Swathes of even ground unfold before me, the sheer surface covered in a patchwork of rocks and stones. The land wears its history like a cloak, as tools and wagons are sometimes found as we speed past with all we have.
Ether courses through my frame, Breakneck, Arbalest, and Strugglers Defiance driving me forward. For a while, I considered stabbing myself to take advantage of Painsforge and not slow Edward down as this trip is for me, but without the Bloody Palm, that would be foolish.
Instead, I push myself with all I have to traverse these rocks. Only another hour until we reach Blacktail after our few hours of continuous sprinting. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't tiring, but that's fine. Soon, I'll be a 6th Sigiled. Though, I do want to meet this other Philosopher. Chris Tain. What an average name.
I want to meet him, not just kill him and devour his Sigil for more than the obvious reason. He's the only person I'll truly get the chance to with my Sigil, but he also has another incredibly rare Sigil.
The Wayfarer.
Simple. Succinct. Confusing. That is how Edward described it to me.
Apparently, the Wayfarer has only ever been recorded twice, once by a former Prime who held it as his Base Sigil and by this man, Hangan Creed. Hangan has managed to keep the source of both his Unconfirmed Sigils secret until now, but Mentalists have ripped the effects from him. Spatial distortion. Teleportation. Two highly dangerous abilities where simply the latter takes the entirety of Virgil's Power and Virtue to perform at a lesser form. It's thought by Edward that this Sigil comes from far out in reality, far beyond any plane we've ever reached.
I just want to know how he got caught with a Sigil like that.
My focus shifts back to the outward world as Edward builds some distance between us. I know he could just outpace me in a blur, but I still don't want to slow him down any more than I have to. Gritting my teeth, I pump my legs harder, forcing a figment of Madness into my legs with the help of Lily to hasten myself. Red flowers imprint themselves onto my shins, but I feel an immediate effect.
Each step of mine lays behind a slight red tint on the stone beneath me, but my feet move as if they hold no weight. Gradually with the boost, I catch up to Edward's patient run. He reminds me way too much of his father.
The sun, casting its morning glow, paints the stones in hues of amber and gold as I taint them with red from my figment. I quite like this one. Too bad if I ever use Ballista, I'll have to release it.
My eyes scan the vastness of the stones before me as we move, and I stay silent to their beauty. Even the Territory said to have ruined the most nature still holds such magnificence between cities. The wind sweeps across the stone plains, carrying with it the whispers of a thousand stories etched into the rock from those who dug into it. My feet pound against this resilient ground, a rhythmic dance in harmony with the land's heartbeat as Lily places those tiny red kisses that shoot me ahead after Edward. Each step sends echoes through the plain, yet the only two who can hear us on this barren road are Edward and I.
And Edward leads the charge, his coat, so red that it is nearly black, billowing like a raven's wing caught in the breeze. He moves with the swiftness of a specter, reminding me of Virgil's movement with Flicker simply from the speed. Edward says he can only use Shiver to dodge attacks, but I find that suspicious. Perhaps even he doesn't know it flows unconsciously through his movements. Every muscle in my body strains as I strive to match his pace, my determination melding with the Ether within me and the figment from Lily.
And in a few short moments, something appears in the distance.
Our destination beckons like a distant star on the horizon—Blacktail. One of the larger cities within Blackreach. It is held under the safety of Edward, though luckily, few gangs existed before his arrival. The Redbirds, a renowned Hunter group, kept the peace for a long time with their leader, a Forerunner, helming the ship.
Within, and from here, I see our goal. Blacktail's prison is known for its grim reputation of holding some pretty crazy Outlaws and rare Sigils. Apparently, the Gambler that Johnny bought long ago in an artifact likely came from a prisoner from here.
The prison's walls loom like monoliths, even from a mile away. I can see why this place is important to Edward. The Outlaws within are likely direly wanted by Myriad with his crazed approach to revolution, but luckily, the Carmine Square houses an Arca to both protect and restrain those within.
With each stride, I draw closer to Blacktail, and as we near, I hear the noise from the city grow in volume this early morning. The world is still waking, the cities are alive, and within the prison's depths rests a man whose Sigil beats along the same path as mine. I want it, though depending on his guilt, I may feel bad for taking it.
The city we approach combines robust stone structures, unyielding concrete edifices, and the occasional weathered wooden abode. The air whistles past me with the fervor of a stampede, and my heart races in time with my pounding footsteps.
Quickly, we reach the main street of the open city, unneeding of walls because of its deep location within the Territories. They may soon grow to regret that decision. Guards line the largest road in Blacktail, and they quickly greet Edward.
One in particular calls him by name, the guard covered in tiny segments of steel along with his leather garb.
"Edward! Great to see you! The Warden has been wanting to speak to you and just sent a courier a bit ago, yet you're already here! Want me to lead?"
I watch Edward's eyebrows raise in alarm due to the news as he steps up the man, motioning me to follow. Edward seems unbothered by the spear in the man's right hand, preferring to stand close to him with a hand on his shoulder.
"No, I did not receive the letter, Hershel. I left several hours ago from Blackstone for this young man here. We come for a Collection if that is possible. But do tell me, if you can, what is the issue? I hope it is minor, especially after our recent ceasefire with Myriad."
The guard, Hershel, nods urgently as his pace picks up a bit through the street. Bystanders move aside and try to buy some distance from us as we traverse through the city at a swift speed. It's not quite a sprint, but it's definitely more than a jog. Nonetheless, Hershel, a man with the splendor of glimmering green chains, relays information to us.
First, however, he makes sure I can hear what he is about to say.
"Can he—okay. Tyron has found an issue with the Carmine Square. It's been malfunctioning lately. Nothing major, but some lower Sigileds have managed to escape their bindings placed by the artifact. Still, they remain in their cells, so they can't leave, but concerns exist for the higher Sigils. A Wondrous can easily break out of a metal cage. Don't even get me started on the Forerunners we got locked up."
A nod from Edward has Hershel continuing his speech without a missed beat. The issue seems instantly deadly. Prisoners escaping? That's not good. That's not good at all.
Edward, contrary to my thoughts, reacts with a calm disposition, hardly flinching at the news.
"Interesting. A malfunction in the Carmine Square? I'll have to check it out myself. Worse case, we filter out the prison and redeploy the Arca somewhere else. In the best case, it can be fixed and not an issue."
Hershel agrees with Edward as they walk further down the street with me just behind them.
"Exactly, sir. That is just as we thought. It would be quite a waste to filter all those rare Sigils, though. Perhaps..."
Edward cuts the guard off just as I wonder what they mean by 'filtering', and I quickly realize what it is they are talking about.
"I would rather not kill several hundred men and women today. Nor do I want to force a bunch of men and women to take part in this madness by gaining their first Sigil. For many, earning a Sigil is a sentence to a life of pain, suffering, and a forgotten death."
The guard sighs and continues stepping along the paved path as we near the prison. The streets open to a large square, one surrounded by a circling road around the massive walls of the Carmine Square, the name of both the prison and the Arca within.
People walk around it as if this is a normal and regular building. As if within are not some of the most dangerous men and women alive. I glance at those who step with their daily lives, many heading to work or doing whatever needs to be done in their lives without fear.
I respect both the courage of the citizens of Blacktail and the confidence built into them from the prison and its Warden, the former leader of the Redbirds, Creil Hant.
My neck curls back as I take in the entirety of the many-floored prison, entirely different from the one at Blackstone or the one within the walls of Bent. The underground's oppressive nature on Sigils is unneeded when the Carmine Square exists.
The prison gates stand before us, an unassuming entrance to a domain that holds more than meets the eye. Made of stone like any other structure, the exterior is a facade of normalcy. The steel gate rises as I listen to Hershel and Edward speak to the guards manning it. An audible and piercing creak resounds before we step through.
I'm surprised by how smooth the process is. Still, I suppose many of these people owe their lives to Edward and his constant battles against Myriad for their safety and the occasional Pillar for their recent freedom.
And as we step over the threshold, nearing the half-dozen guards that vigilantly observe us in similar garb to Hershel, leather with steel cables, the very air seems to change, becoming charged with an intangible energy. The opening passage stretches before us, its walls cloaked in a pure, vivid crimson—a stark contrast to the exterior's stoic facade. I watch with rapt attention as the crimson walls pulsate with a quiet vitality, a heartbeat that resonates through the very base of the floor and into my feet.
A tiny echo vibrates within my left hand, and my heart almost stops. The Bloody Palm. It feels a resonance with the Arca here. Why? Is it important? Maybe. It could be as simple as they are both Occultist-focused artifacts based on this redness and its name. The Carmine Square, huh? Perhaps it goes deeper, though. I'll have to see. Surely, Edward will let me see it.
I continue with Hershel as he leads Edward and me further, another guard joining us in the rear.
The corridor winds like a labyrinth, each step a transition into a bizarre world. The crimson walls are a constant presence, a silent companion as the walls seem to close in. I know they aren't simply as the path isn't narrowing, but it still feels odd. This restrictive feeling from the Carmine Square is oppressive. What an Arca...
The walls do not physically move, yet their pulsation creates an illusion of life, an otherworldly heartbeat. It reminds me of the vibrating regeneration that the Bloody Palm yields, only in an opposite way. It digs, it burrows, and it obstructs anything it touches.
I hate every single step I take in these halls, and I think Edward is similar—even the guards. No one seems happy walking through here. Creil Hant was one lucky bastard to find a forgotten Arca within an old ruin.
Finally, however, we arrive at the Warden's office, a room that appears as solid and red as the rest of the prison. However, the crimson is even swarthier, nearing the dark sanguine that comes straight from the heart. Hershel opens the door, stepping aside as he gives Edward and me space to walk in. The man doesn't speak at all, preferring silence, just as he and the other guard did during our walk.
Edward steps into the abode of Creil, and I shortly follow. Striding inside, I expect to find a burly man, one powerfully built and wielding weapons upon his hips. Instead, I find the opposite. A short, lanky, and bespectacled dark-skinned man smiles widely as we enter. Upon his shoulder, inlaid into his chest plate of dark steel, is a contraption, some sort of sanguine square.
As he speaks to Edward, I rationalize what it is precisely as magenta chains enclasp the corners of it—the Carmine Square.
"Edward! Wonderful! I was hoping you would be here soon! Oh, and who may this be? Did you and Dawn speed up your family building already?"
Edward chuckles at Creil's attempt at a joke but shakes his head. My focus cannot leave the cube as they converse. Edward, however, introduces me in a curious way.
"No, no, no. This is... my little brother, Wyatt. He's come for the Unconfirmed Sigil to reach the 6th Sigil. Chris Tain, correct?"
Creil is taken aback by Edward's words, and the man looks at me with a severe gaze. As he does so, Edward shakes my shoulder to refocus my attention.
"Little brother? I thought you were the last Dudley, Edward?"
Edward side-eyes me as if trying to communicate something, and I follow along. The instant he does, I remember what he told me before we left. Creil has a massive grudge against my father. One large enough that his friendship and debt to Edward won't matter in the slightest.
He said it's best if we play off that I'm not a Graves. He doesn't want to choose between a close friend and me. I have nothing against it, but I'm curious about what my father did. Edward refused to tell me what Killian Graves did to Creil.
"Not quite. Our father hid Wyatt. That's why he wouldn't join the revolution earlier. He was training this lad."
Creil squints his eyes in suspicion but rapidly blinks them away, choosing to trust Edward.
"Interesting. Quite the trick he pulled. Makes sense, though. Edmund always loved to hide things. He know Shiver, too?"
Edward nods, then steps forward.
"He does. Now, I'd love to stay and chat, but it seems we both have urgent issues before us. Could you take Wyatt to the 6th floor and get him his Sigil? I'll stay and check out your Arca. Can't be having it break on us after all these years."
Creil agrees by removing the steel chest plate from his body and placing it on his desk. The short man, several inches shorter than my relatively lithe frame compared to some like Marshall, then knocks me lightly with his knuckle. I hardly have time to compute that he is a 6th Sigiled before he hauls me away.
"Come on, kid, leave your brother to work on my precious. We can go and get your Sigil. Maybe the Dudley blood will spew out two Angels this generation! Wouldn't that be a treat! Hahaha!"
The Warden guffaws as he leaves the room, not even looking back to see if I'm following. I glance back at Edward, but he's already entranced by the Arca, his hands covering it gingerly as he treats it carefully.
Sighing, I follow the former leader of the Redbirds deeper into the prison. But... we don't actually go deeper. Instead, we go up several flights of stairs, only pausing at each one for a guard to let us ascend further through a reddened steel gate.
Ten minutes later, we reached the top floor—the 6th Floor of the Carmine Square.
"Lookie here, lad. This is where the real baddies be. Nearly two dozen 6th Sigileds in here, many of 'em with the rare ones. Come, let's find your mark. I'm sure your here for one of the special ones, after all. We got a few Gamblers if you're interested in that."
The diminutive man, not quite as short as a Pygmy but undoubtedly odd for a human, especially one in such a position, leads me along the many rows of cells. I attempt to look inside each one, but the only thing that lies where the bars should be is a red pulsating film that blocks my vision.
That is until we reach a film with a sign beside it that reads, 'Chris Tain.'
Creil taps a hand against the pulsating flesh, and it becomes transparent for a moment, revealing the man inside. Creil doesn't stop his words as I take in the man I'm about to kill.
"This is Chris. Two Unconfirmed Sigils. Philosopher and Wayfarer. Typically, fellas have to pay a fortune for this sort of thing, but I owe Edward big time."
I nod and spark a quick thank you as my heart sinks.
The man's eyes, which I'm sure were once vibrant, now hold a shadow of their former light, and his gaze remains fixed upon the ceiling as if seeking solace in its neutral expanse. As I observe through the pulsating membrane that separates us, I can see the tension in the man's posture. His shoulders slump with the weight of his existence, and his knees are bent as if to keep himself from collapsing entirely.
His gaze doesn't waver from the ceiling, as though the answers to his unspoken questions lie within its confines. Perhaps it's a form of escapism, a way to retreat from the harsh reality of his situation. Or maybe it's a silent plea to something beyond those crimson walls, a hope that some force might intervene, granting him a reprieve from the fate that awaits. Either way, I feel sorry. That is until I notice something hidden within his pupils.
In his eyes, I see not just weariness, but a spark of defiance that refuses to be fully extinguished. This man isn't just willing to die. Who is?
I twist to my side and speak to Creil.
"Did you have any major suspects for the malfunctions with the Arca?"
The Warden nods but dismisses my worries.
"Of course. All Occultists and Scholars were checked."
I nod, feeling reassured until I pause, another thought lurking.
"But... Chris has Unconfirmed, right? Did we prospect them all? Perhaps he's hiding one?"
Creil's head shakes for a moment in the negative but pauses.
"He—maybe... maybe. Can you—"
As if hearing us speaking, I find Chris staring straight at me, dead in the eyes, as if piercing through the space that divides us.
Fuck. Why can't anything ever be simple for me? Even Virgil got his 6th Sigil without effort.
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