[On the hill-top. . .]
Emory had finally heard it, his very own Specter.
What are you? He asked in thought. He knew it was his Specter, but a nagging feeling deep within urged him to find out more. Was it a specifically designed specimen? A normal human? Something beyond?
His Specter's voice was snappy and stout.'Ah, ah, ah. Don't pry too deep, Emory. I'm only here to help you as you journey the Hierarchy World.'
This guy's strange. . . Emory's lips twitched. Why is he speaking so informally?
'I heard that! I hear all your thoughts,' his Specter cried. 'I'll be in your head until death, so get used to it, and be nice! Plus, we're technically friends. Why can't I speak informally?'
Do you have a name?
'Just call me Specter.'
Specter. . . What did you mean when you said you'll help me?
'I'm your assistant. I'll be explaining every power you get as you recite more Abolition Chronicle verses.' The voice paused.
'Like, at your current rank, Hierarch I, or as I like to call it, Ruin's Servile, your powers are Mist Illusions, where you can create illusions of anything from thin air and use them to disguise yourself. . .'
Mist Illusions. That's probably the power the lady used when she kidnapped me.
'You also gain Intangibility, Invisibility, and enhancements to your speed and strength.'
Interesting. . . Are there any downsides?
'Not necessarily. Your powers have no caveats, but they are easily negated by those with Bersebus Descent.'
Emory staggered at the name. He'd heard it before. Fifth Mourner Elocien had questioned him about it during the interrogation. Julius Bersebus, a man the Mourners and the Phantom detested.
Bersebus Descent?
'This is where your quests come in,' Specter chuckled.
'I won't go too deep into it, but long ago, your rulers, the Tyrants, lived in peace. They reigned over their rightful land, the Latent World, with no issues or disruptions.
'However, that all ended when one singular man was born. He changed the balance of the world with just his birth. Every human, animal, object, landscape, body of water, and whatever else bowed down to him. Even the residents of the Latent World.
'All pledged submission to the one named Julius Bersebus.
'This made the Tyrants furious! How dare a baby come into this world and render them, great rulers bearing mighty crowns, worthless! Crownless–even!
'They swore to end him. They swore to kill Julius Bersebus.'
The man who made the world crownless was Julius Bersebus. . . That's why the Tyrants and Contrivance hate him?
'But they were too weak against Julius. Too weak. A single slash from his sword could eradicate them all. Because of this, the Tyrants had to think of another plan.
'In came their savior, the All-King, Contrivance. With his help, the Tyrants were able to derive their Chronicles and spread them throughout the Cradles.
'Julius was an abhorrently unjust man. Vile and disloyal, a vermin unworthy of the Almighty title. The fraud forced himself on over 300,000 women to spread his Authority throughout the lands. He liked to call them 'wives,' even though we know none of them bore any love for him.
'Then he disappeared, his Authority ingrained within millions of children. He did this not only to show power, but to ensure the Authority never returned to the Tyrants. Without it, they can't rule the Latent World as they used to. And regrettably, most, if not all, of the Authority in his children once belonged to them.
'This is where you come in, Emory. Find his descendants, regain the Authority, use it to grow stronger, and finally, return it to its rightful owners, the Tyrants.
'Currently, they're shackled deep within the Latent World, and the only way they can be free is to regain the Authority Julius stole from them.'
It took Emory a while to digest this history. His opinion of Julius was tainted—what an evil man. Stealing the Tyrants' rightful Authority and wedding 300,000 women?
He nodded. I understand. I'll help the Tyrants. I'll make sure no child of Julius remains.
His resolve was also fueled by Sylphossia's order to destroy the remnant Bersebus Empire. Either way, he knew his enemy. It was only a matter of time before they fell, and Emory Vaughan would be the one standing over them.
'I'll also help you identify those with Bersebus Descent, as they blend in perfectly with normal society.
'At your current rank, the only tier of Bersebus Descent you can hunt is called the Circlet. Any higher, and your death is certain.'
Circlet. . .?
'The ranks go as follows: Circlet, Arch, Mound, Jewel, Lining, Crest, Pavilion, Filigree, Garniture, and finally, the strongest of them all, Pendilia.
'No one knows why they are named that way.
'By the way, Emory, those at the rank of Pendilia have abilities capable of destroying cities. You need to know what you're going against. Tread lightly.'
Destroying cities?!
The sheer power of the Bersebus line was terrifying. Specter would prove to be a tremendous help.
What's my first task? How do I advance to Hierarch II?
'To advance, you'll need to exterminate four at the rank of Circlet or two at the rank of Arch. It'll be impossible for you to battle an Arch one-on-one, so your best bet is to find a Circlet and go from there. Don't worry, just walk through the city. I'll find them and notify you.'
Specter. . . You're really helpful. Thanks. But there's something I have to do first.
. . . .
[Silvester School. . .]
Ring! Ring! Ring!
As the children ran off to the playground to start their game of Grounders, Simonis Rebane stayed back and sighed. Her soul hurt. She curled her hands into fists, swaying them at her sides.
Emory was still missing.
She clutched her chest and stared at the sky. "When are you going to come back?"
". . ."
"Simonis, why don't you go play with the other children?" a voice called to her.
It was an adult, a teacher she didn't recognize. Simonis twitched at the fact that the teacher knew her name when she knew nothing about them. "I don't think I'll play today, sorry."
The teacher exhaled. "I understand. Is anything bothering you?"
Simonis didn't want to talk about her missing friend, so she just shook her head. The teacher smiled and bent down.
"Alright. Remember, Simonis, you're stronger than you think. You have great power within you. Don't let anyone chain you down."
". .Huh?"
"You're a capable girl who'll achieve whatever her mind wills. I believe in you, Simonis, and he does too."
". . ."
The teacher patted her head and walked away.
. . . .
[North Precinct, 34 Hind Street. . .]
Charles Vaughan ran a hand along his forearm, sighing at the quiet outside. He waited for his beloved son to come home, to burst through the door and exclaim how much he'd missed his father.
The military had instructed Charles not to leave his house; they would be the ones to search for Emory.
It's been so long. . . Come back to me, Emory. Please. Your father misses you.
He thought of his deceased wife, Isabelle. Emory was the only thing that kept him going. Now that he was gone, Charles's motivation vanished, lost in a bay of detriment and regret.
He coughed and rubbed the dark bags under his eyes. "Bring him back. . ."
Woop! Woop! Woop!
It was the siren indicating a sky-crack. A monster appeared! Hundreds of doors slammed shut across the street.
Charles did not move. He did not jolt, nor did he sweat.
From afar, he could hear multiple limbs scuttling against the ground. The monster was approaching his house, bloodlust radiating from it. Charles stayed outside, taking in the wind's harsh breeze. He closed his eyes and said to the monster coming for him,
"You can kill me."
Pow!
Thrown off balance, the Iton rolled on the ground and crashed into a nearby lamp. It twisted its head and roared.
Charles, realizing he wasn't dead, opened his eyes. A figure stood in front of him. A woman.
She wore a light-blue sundress, modest and beautiful. Her black hair flowed like the tides. Dozens of freckles dotted her chubby cheeks.
It was his wife.
"Isabelle. . .?" Charles managed, his mouth gaping.
Why was she here?
Isabelle took a step forward and dashed toward the Iton. She sidestepped and round-house kicked it in the abdomen. The Iton flailed, reaching to stab her.
She dodged magnificently and hurled herself into the sky. From there, she rained down a powerful axe-kick on the Iton's head, finishing the beast.
After the fiend perished, Isabelle turned and faced Charles. Her gorgeous eyes locked onto his dark, tired ones.
She smiled.
Charles staggered toward his wife, each step feeling like a pain leaving his body. No way. No way in hell.
"I–Isabelle? Isabelle! Isabelle!" Charles cried, tears streaming down his face. "You're here? You're alive?"
Isabelle did not say a word. She embraced her husband and rubbed his cheek. Charles bawled into her shoulder.
"Isabelle! You've missed so much! Emory was born, and he's the best child I could've asked for! He's kind, loving, and he looks just like you. Oh, Isabelle! Why were you gone? Why did you leave me?"
Isabelle stayed silent, only patting his shoulder as Charles rambled.
When he finished, he pulled back and asked, "Am I. . . in a dream?"
His wife smiled again.
"Yes."
. . . .
Multiple blocks away from Hind Street, Isabelle Vaughan stepped into an abandoned alleyway. Her face was stone-cold, but her eyes were red-rimmed.
She had been crying.
She took a photo of Charles from her pocket. She softly touched it and trembled.
Then she ran a hand over her body.
Poof!
Gone was the sundress, the long hair, and the womanly, freckled face.
Her body grew larger, reaching six feet. A black turtleneck and suit jacket appeared.
She swiped a hand over her face.
What revealed was the cold, narrow-eyed, emotionless face of Emory Vaughan.
. . . .
[End of Volume 1 - Abolition.]
[Author Note: Will take a week break to prepare for Volume 2 - Her Credence.]