"You will become death, the destroyer of worlds."
-Heard by Neari on revised number 2,412.
Green opened his eyes to near darkness. He sat on a wooden stool with his hands tied above and behind him.
He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious there, but it had been long enough to feel a cramp in his shoulders.
His other muscles had been stretched out as well. Not just his shoulders, but his chest, legs, abdominal, and even his back.
The pain was excruciating, and he winced slightly at every subconscious movement. He recognized the handy work however.
This was the Paipites doing.
They had expertly stretched each muscle to the point of demyelination. His nerves would be beside themselves, making moving not only extremely painful, but nearly impossible.
It was something Green himself had used in the past. A technique only the top ranked Paipites were taught. That paipite, Green thought, he wasn't at my level, he had surpassed me.
That didn't make any sense, Green had been taught Kaisher in its truest form. He had studied, trained, then perfected the art. His masters had even called him their greatest student.
Had his senses really dulled so far?
No, Green thought, Kaisher had evolved since my absence. It was the only explanation. Green had mastered Kaisher, but he had mastered its old version.
The new version, the one that Paipite had used to fight him seemed to further exploit the Paipite's physical advantages.
Green blinked, clearing his mind to take in his surroundings. His ruby eye caught a faint illumination from every surface and item in the room. There wasn't much, it was a small wooden room that was reminiscent of a simple packing box.
He took in a prolonged breath, dealing with the pain that came with it. The mocking illumination drilled itself into his memory. A near perfect memory that retained information better than it forgot.
That mind of his flowed with the river of his training. Resistance was useless. It didn't matter how much he didn't want to, he would remember. He would look, and see the detail in every thread.
Couldn't he be like everyone else? Couldn't his memories fade like they seemed to do for everyone else?
Dead possibilities should never be wished for, Green thought. That lesson had taken time. So rather than accepting his mind as a curse, he would use it to his advantage.
Though he wasn't sure what he'd do. His stretched muscles left him completely immoble, so fighting was out the door. Speaking of the door, Green thought, glancing up to see the spirit of two figures making their way over.
The door opened a moment later, and the two paipites walked in. One was older, perhaps in his thirties. He walked with a cane and a hunched back with white hair and spotted skin. Paipites didn't have very long lifespans, though Green knew the cane and hunched back to be a lie.
The other was a younger Paipite, perhaps in his teenage years. It was the same one who'd beaten him. He stood confidently. He had reason to, he had shown a level of skill not even Green knew existed within the very art he'd mastered.
"Vaccle so pallish tal Irira," the old man said, his voice carrying the same deep timbre as other Paipite men, yet age had etched something peculiar into its tone.
The words translated to "It has been some time Irira."
Though Green hadn't heard the Paipite's language in over two years, it was his first language, so translating it wasn't difficult. Green stayed silent nonetheless.
"You might as well speak," the old man continued, "though I suppose you fear the counsel's discrimination. A wise instinct, but you have nothing to fear from them."
Green's ruby eye darkened, and he looked at the old man with contempt, his gut heating from his rage. He didn't care for this man, though he had once been his master.
"What is with that look?" the old man asked. "Is that the way to look at the man who raised you?"
"You didn't raise me," Green said under his breath, though his master undoubtedly heard him. "You shaped me like a blade beneath the hot forge." Green spoke Tell, the human language.
Green's master was silent for a moment, whether he was translating it into his own language or letting the words hang, Green didn't know.
"You should know, the council has offered you clemency," the master said, continuing in the Paipite's language. "You need only return and rid yourself of these foolish restrictions you've set on yourself."
Green lifted his head, though painful, he wouldn't stand for bowing to this man any longer.
The young Paipite next to the master looked calm, but Green could see the subtle disagreement in his face at the mention of forgiving Green.
The face looked familiar, this was the same one that fought him. He blinked, realization hitting him. He hadn't seen the Conexe since the train incident. Every time Green felt something following him, he had figured it had been the Conexe.
Green looked back to his master, then spit on the geezers shoe. "Restrictions are there for all, mine are no different from yours."
The old man shook his head, "we will take the girl back to her city." Green squinted his eyes suspiciously. "I have no reason to lie, Irira, the council understands the reward in bringing her back.
But understand that you will not be compensated for your return. You must understand that abandoning not only your mission, but your position is a serious offence. However, so long as you return with the will to serve, you will be forgiven of your sins."
"My sin's," Green muttered. "What would you know of my sins?" Green snapped his eyes wide and his right darkened to near blackness. "You've gone senile if you believe I would accept this proposal!"
Miasma began dripping off Green like sweat. The younger Paipite shook slightly but managed to keep his composure.
The master however, just scowled. "I am giving you a chance to be forgiven, if you do not accept your fate, you will be left here to die. This is not an offer Irira, this is an ultimatum."
Green let the words hang for a moment, then scowled. "Flame you," he replied, "burn yourself in the abyss for all I care."
Green's ruby eye lightened slightly, and now shown with a crimson hue. The pain of lifting his head was nearly unnoticeable now.
His master nodded, "kill him," he said, turning to walk out the door.
The young Paipite nodded, walking over to Green with defining poise.
"Thank you," the younger Paipite said. "Killing you will be the greatest pleasure of my life. I will be known as the one who defeated, then killed our people's greatest weapon."
He unsheathed his knife, slicing a small cut into Green. He intended to torture Green before killing him. He likely knew of Green's high pain resistance, and planned to work around that. He stepped forward, then began his work.
Carrie ran with Mark and Grace.
"They took him to the south side of the city!" Grace shouted.
"Do you know where!?" Mark called, staying beside them even though he could easily outpace them.
Carrie, an elf, was swift even without the arts, but her shorter height kept her from pulling ahead. Still, she managed to match Grace's pace.
"There had to be a few dozen Paipites keeping people back!" Grace said. "I couldn't get closer without being caught myself!"
Carrie frowned. They'd have to search for Green much like they once searched for her—but this time, she would be the one to find him. She steeled herself. Whatever it took, she'd bring him back.
Then the street shook. Four Paipites dropped down, blocking their path. Pedestrians barely glanced before hurrying on.
"Flame it," Mark muttered, cracking his gauntlets. "We knew what took him. Grace, go ahead—I'll slow them down."
Grace didn't argue. She and Carrie darted past as Mark turned to fight. A rumble followed behind them, the ground quivering beneath Carrie's feet. She forced herself to trust him.
"Stay behind me," Grace said.
"There's someone coming," Carrie replied.
"Yeah? How'd you know?"
Carrie pointed. "Three auras—through that wall."
"Is it Green?" Grace asked.
Carrie shook her head. "White. Only Paipites have white auras."
"Then that's our lead," Grace said, heading for the building.
Grace raised a hand to knock, but Carrie caught her wrist.
"Are you sure?"
"No," Grace admitted. "But you can find him. Use that sight of yours. If I go in, the rest might follow."
Carrie hesitated, then nodded and turned away. She sprinted through side streets, slipping through alleys, always avoiding the glints of white aura that flickered across rooftops.
Finally, she stopped short at a main street, breath sharp and uneven. A presence pressed against her senses—huge, suffocating. She peeked around the corner.
The aura's source was an armored giant. Black miasma poured from him like smoke. Her stomach lurched, and she doubled over, vomiting.
It was like Green's aura—only far, far worse.
The miasma clawed at her chest, making her heart race. She covered her mouth to keep from screaming, but a faint squeal escaped anyway.
"Are you acquainted with that elf?" a voice asked.
Carrie looked up—and froze. It was right there, looking down at her. The thing had no eyes.
She screamed, scrambling to her feet, bolting down the alley. She didn't think, didn't breathe properly—just ran. Her hair caught on walls as she stumbled through turns, blind with panic.
She burst toward another main street—but the massive figure landed before her, stone cracking under its weight as it fell from the sky.
Carrie fell back, paralyzed.
"W-w-what are you?" she stammered.
"I am Coras. Are you acquainted with that elf?"
"W-what elf?"
"The one who fought the Paipites."
The giant stepped back, sitting in the street as bystanders calmly walked around him. Carrie's breath slowed, though her stomach still turned.
"What if I am?" she asked quietly.
"Then you can introduce me," the giant—Coras said, his tone eerily calm.
Not calm, Carrie thought, he's not calm, he's just not feeling anything. His aura didn't fluctuate, didn't so much as twitch. Even elder elves couldn't mask their emotions so completely.
"I can't reach him," she said. "The Paipites are in the way."
"I will deal with them. Show me where he is."
"And if I don't?" she blurted.
"Then I'll find him myself."
He turned to leave. She should have run. But she didn't. I need to get to Green, she thought.
"Wait!" Carrie shouted, stopping the creature.
Coras turned.
"I can lead you to him!" Coras nodded, then walked back to her.
Carrie tried not to gage when he got close, but she couldn't keep it all inside, and hurled one more time.
She didn't know who or what this creature was, but if it would help her find Green, she could deal with its presence.
"This way," Carrie said, looking at every aura on the way.
Green's silver glow would stand out among all others—no matter how it had changed. She would find him.
Grace walked into a building, finding perhaps twenty Paipite inside. They all looked at her like statues, none moving, none speaking.
"I'm here for my brother," she exclaimed proudly, trying not to show her unease. "He fought you in the main street."
None reacted, Grace didn't even know if they could react. They weren't human, though they looked like children, they felt like something else.
Creepy.
They had always unnerved her.
"Boku sav Irira?" a voice said.
Grace glanced around until a short old man with a hunched back and a cane walked up. He was perhaps four foot three, though if he stood up straight he'd likely be four foot eight.
His voice was deep, like any Paipite's. Though its age gave the tone a unique sound.
"Slane tofe caccy be," one Paipite said, this one's voice incredibly high pitched.
"Talneiv belish Lira," the older Paipite said to the high pitched one. He then turned back to Grace. "You know Irira?" He asked in perfect Tell.
"He is my brother," Grace said, slightly shaken from the old Paipite's voice
"Is he now?" the old Paipite asked, opening his eyes for the first time. "Vesh mal bonivaxy," he said under his breath
Grace raised an eyebrow, but nodded to his earlier statement. "I saw one of yours fighting him, and I'd like to apologize for that." Grace bowed, "but I'd like him back now."
The old man stayed silent for a moment, then spoke. "Passhi calm note. Vecgon teesh bull Lira." He gestured to Grace.
The Paipite with the high pitched voice nodded, then kicked off the counter top where it had been sitting. It walked up to Grace, and reached up to put a hand on her shoulder. It was shorter than most Paipites Grace had seen. Perhaps just under four feet.
"Zeltz, ka shimal," the high pitched Paipite said.
With a sudden motion, it pulled Grace forward from her shoulder, then rammed a palm in her gut.
Grace fell, clutching onto her stomach. The Paipite moved to kick Grace's jaw, but Grace caught the foot, and pulled. The Paipite fell backwards, but like any other Paipite, this one bent backwards, pulling its foot from Grace's hand.
It performed a back handspring, giving it distance.
Grace smiled, standing up.
"Mark and Green think I'm defenseless," Grace said to herself. "Let's see how true that is."
Her smile turned to a grin, as she got into a fighting stance Green had taught her. This must've given mixed signals, for this stance caused most Paipite's to stand. She knew hardly any Kaisher, but Green had taught her basic moves.
Though they were mainly there for intimidation rather than actual fighting, Grace had her own version of the martial art.
"Flowing cursive," Grace chanted, "blasting waves, original and all life within you."
Grace thrusted her palm, and a massive burst of wind slammed the door open on the inside, and everything apart from Grace herself was pushed back. Every Paipite cloak flopped in the wind, threatening to rip off their shoulders.
The Paipites themselves raised arms to block the wind from their face and had taken a more aerodynamic stance to keep them from blowing them away.
Grace moved forward, controlling where the wind blew, and making sure to keep a pocket of normal air around her. It was harder than it looked, keeping this strong wind going drained her mana, and took months of training.
She was lucky that she fought in a small building however. A wider area was more difficult to control.
Grace switched her fighting style from Kaisher to regular Boxing. And using what Mark taught her, she punched upward, underneath the arms of the high pitched Paipite.
This knocked the Paipite away, the wind carrying it further back. Grace went for the next, but this one caught her wrist and palmed her head. Despite the strong wind threatening to lift the Paipite off its feet, it was quick to fight back.
The wind stopped.
Grace looked up sharply, and began to chant again. "Flowing cursive—"
The Paipite in front of her grabbed her neck, and forced her to the ground. It put more weight on her throat.
"Fez!" the older Paipite shouted, stopping the Paipite on Grace's throat. "Zhy molt calsci bav."
"Cappish tollar nie?" The Paipite fighting Grace asked with a deep voice, turning back to the elder.
"Nal Irira zhim nico lee, panmo tesh." The elder said, pointing to the door.
The Paipite nodded, then dragged Grace to the door, and threw her out. Grace landed hard, and the building's door was shut behind her.
She sat up, clutching her throat to catch her breath.
When Graced looked up however, she felt slightly embarrassed when other pedestrians were staring. There was actually quite the crowd. Likely due to the ryu pulx she'd used.
She stood up, then made her way to find Mark. Using a wall to support her.
Mark was struck across the face by the third Paipite, while blocking the second from palming his gut. He swung again, but was avoided.
His pulxed gauntlets were getting heavier. He was running out of steam. The Paipites however, seemed content to keep going. Indeed he was struck several times by one before Mark swatted at it. This however, gave the others time to strike him elsewhere.
Mark tried swinging, but his arms were weighed down. And while this did give extra power, it slowed him down. Flame it, Mark thought, releasing his gauntlets. They pounded against the ground when they dropped.
He reached with arms forty pounds lighter into his pouch, and pulled something out. A single strand of hair Green had given him. Green had told him to toss it, but Mark wouldn't let go of such a valuable weapon so easily.
Besides, Mark thought, I'm doing this to help the guy.
Mark entered the mind.
He took a few moments to breathe, though it wouldn't actually help him physically, it was relieving. He looked around, seeing the familiar black mist surrounding him.
Now lets see what all the fuss is about, Mark thought.
He'd never actually used Elven hair, though as a Crafter, or as many call a Plurimus. Mark had felt something when he first got his hands on it.
That had been just over a year ago, but Green had taken them back and banned him from taking any. When he gave them to him however, Mark had been tempted to use them on the train.
Thank Raphiel I didn't, Mark thought.
He walked until he made it to the river of lines. Like always, each line flowed as if they were individual waves, flowing down until the black mist obscured them. There was always a replacement however, always another that showed potential power.
Mark held up the strands of hair. Onyx black, though a faint silver showed on one end. He wasn't even sure what pulx he'd apply to these. Normally, when making a pulxed Item, the Plurimus would determine what use the item would have with different pulx.
What can a few strands of hair do? Mark thought. He couldn't use them like a knife or even as a needle. Do I just apply a pulx and just see what happens?
Mark glanced up at the river of lines, then shrugged. Whatever he did would most likely be better than what he'd already tried. So he reached out, and grabbed a purple line, the color belonging to the core power pulx.
It tugged on him, but they generally weren't very strong, so Mark got it free without much effort. He waited for a bit. He had three strands, so he wanted to put as much as he could on each one.
After what seemed like an hour, not a single red line appeared. He had seen two silver lines, lines for the core time pulx, but had left them. He walked away, taking his one power pulx line with him.
Sure he wanted to learn as much as he could. But before he tried multiple on one, it was not only smarter to start with one pulx, but likely safer as well. So he drew out a glyph.
It was simple, and was easy to understand even if one had no previous knowledge. A circle with a large lightning bolt engraved in it, extending past the circle's lines, with a few hooks drawn in the circle. Each turned at a different angle. It gave the illusion of the hook spinning one way, while the circle spun the other.
The lighting pulx, one Mark had never used.
After he finished drawing it, the rest of the line dispersed. Mark reached out, and gripped the completed glyph. It burst into luminescent energy that resembled smoke.
He exited his mind and was immediately hit with a palm to the knee which brought him down enough for another Paipite to grab him around the neck.
Flames, Mark thought. He'd spent too much time in the mind, ridding himself of his urgency. Mark lifted his hand, but found the hair strand he'd had gone. He'd dropped it.
"Flame it!" Mark thought.
He stomped his foot, causing a shock wave to explode from his boot. He reached behind his back, nearly grabbing the Paipite but only feeling empty air. He turned around to see three Paipite standing still.
Where was the fourth.
He had his answer a moment later when the Paipite struck under his arm. Mark felt an immediate shocking/numbing sensation wash over his arm. He tried grabbing the Paipite with that arm, but it wouldn't move.
Mark tried again and again, but his entire arm—from the hand to the shoulder was completely useless. Mark quickly reached with his other hand to grab another strand of hair, he'd have to let the first one go.
Mark glanced upward expecting the Paipites to attack. But they stood there, as if they knew his intention and wanted to see the outcome.
He paused.
"What do you want?" Mark asked, realizing he'd never tried to talk to them.
That was perhaps because they don't often talk, and in truth, until the train incident, he didn't even know they could. But maybe—
They didn't speak, they just watched him. So Mark brought out a strand of hair, then presented it to them.
"Is this what you want?" Mark asked, waiting for an answer.
They all stood motionless for a time, long enough for Mark's shock to wear off enough to feel the pain of their fight.
Eventually however, the fourth Paipite eventually raised an arm slowly, then pointed at the hair. Mark thrusted his hand forward. The Paipite just continued to point.
Use it? Mark thought.
So Mark entered his mind, then came out an instant later. He had used the same glyph as before, but was again unsure how he would even use it.
So he just tightened his grip on the hair, and began to pour his mana inside it. Nothing happened for an extended moment. He put a little more mana in, until it bit him.
Mark recoiled, dropping the hair. He clutched the hand that had been shocked. And looked on in confusion when the Paipites bolted in different directions. Mark glanced back at the hair.
It drifted downward, deceptively gentle—until it touched earth.
The heavens howled.
A maelstrom erupted.
From the fallen strand burst an onslaught of lightning—not a single bolt, but a thousand tendrils of incandescent wrath. Like the roots of some vengeful storm god, they surged outward in all directions, devouring metal, tethering to earth, air, and flesh alike.
Buildings exploded, flinging splinters of wood and stone skyward as the ground convulsed beneath them. Shockwaves slammed outward, roaring like beasts, giving no one time to even recognize what had happened.
The storm grew. With the strand as its heart, it pulsed through the city—an unstoppable tide of wrath and light.
Mark gasped. But the breath never came.
The world was eclipsed by white. Not memory—light itself. Pain surged, not like a wound, but like an ancient predator clawing its way into his bloodstream. Something vast and unknowable slithered through his veins, claiming him.
Sound vanished.
All that remained was the shrill, eternal scream of silence.
The ringing shook him until Mark's legs dropped him, his body convulsing with the static pulse of divine fury. His mind dragged under the weight of power too great to grasp.
He tried entering the mind, but felt his brain short circuit. Blackness followed.
Coras' armor stopped him dead, and forced him to turn.
"What?" Coras said to himself.
Then he felt it, for the second time in millenia, he felt something. It was something powerful, not like Nearie, but something else. Something equally as vast. Something daunting.
A flash of light was there almost a moment later. And a maelstrom of lighting and thunder, formed throughout the city, destroying anything in its path. To the point that air would sting, and rock would shatter.
Coras was on the other side of the city, but the ground shook from a high magnum earthquake. And Coras felt the power as equally underground as above it.
He couldn't feel the awe he once had, but even without emotion, he recognized the sheer power that was needed for such a sight. That along with one simple fact:
This is more than Nearie could achieve, Coras thought.
Green heard a bang—sharp, jarring. A tremor rolled through the floor beneath him. The wooden box shook and rattled, taking him out of his daze for a moment. A moment too short. He didn't look, and the pain drowned it out.
There was only so much torture training could do. A human might have lost his nerves by this point. But Elves had mostly spiritual bodies. It seemed unfair that a spiritual body could feel pain the same way a regular one could. Yet would have a natural resistance against physical numbness.
When he'd been trained, his body hadn't adjusted to the pain—the majority of it anyway, couldn't. So he had trained his mind. But like Kaisher, the Paipite's torture techniques had evolved.
The Paipite torturing him looked back at the door when the bang sounded, but turned back to Green a few minutes later. He didn't have a knife in hand, it was something else. A thin needle.
He gripped Green's ear, tilted his head. Both excruciatingly slow and measured. Then slid the needle in—just behind the cartilage.
Green didn't scream. He couldn't. One twitch and it would sever a nerve. Still, the pain lit fire behind his eyes.
That's how it had been for the past hour or so. The Paipite was "kind" enough to bring a clock with him. And made sure Green knew how long he'd been there.
He wanted so badly to forget his vow, to decrease his senses. To be, at least in a small way, free from the pain. He wouldn't budge however. He'd broken that vow to far less pressure then this true.
But he'd done it instinctively. He couldn't help that. Green's eyes flashed Careless's face. That's who he'd broken his vow for, yet would never do so again.
Careless wasn't Marie. He found himself a fool for breaking his vow for a child he'd never met before.
The needle inside the back of his ear jolted, and the Paipite ripped it out with a sudden motion. Green glanced over to see miniature spikes on the needle's sides that hadn't been there before.
The Paipite reached out, and grabbed Green's one handed shotgun and pointed it to Green's leg. He fired, steel pellets sprayed, hitting Green in the leg. Green grunted, and luckily, the Paipite had put the end of the barrel right next to the limb, otherwise some pellets may have sunk into his gut.
Amusingly however, the Paipite's arm was jerked from the kick back, and the barrel tip had hit his face. The Paipite did not over react, that wasn't how Paipites were. He just studied the gun for a moment, then aimed for Green's other leg, and fired.
This time, the Paipite kept it in control for the most part, and the pellets dug deep. He didn't even grunt this time, his voice was ragged from wincing, grunting, and even screaming in pain.
The door slammed open a moment later. Green didn't look up, he was too numb for that. Not physically, the pain was ever prevalent in his mind. But mentally, emotionally. He felt numb.
The Paipite returned, with a knife this time. He reached behind Green's neck.
Was he going to nick out part of the nerves? Bleed him out from the back of the head? Or would he kill him quickly? Green doubted the last option.
To his surprise however, the Paipite gripped Green's hair, as much as he could. Then sliced it from his head. The Paipite backed away, inspecting the hair, then ran out with the other. Leaving Green there.
Green closed his eyes, slowly bleeding out. He actually felt it go, felt the blood seep from his body trying to close wounds that would trap infections from the rusty knife the Paipite had used earlier.
He was going to die, he knew that he would. He had thought of the day many times, the day he would take in his last breath. Being tortured to death, bleeding out, dying of infection, from being stabbed through the throat, natural disasters, being burned alive, ripped limb from limb, drowning, and even crucifixion.
He had thought of these and more. Every possible death had been appealing to him.
Had? Green thought, why question it now?
That was a slip, it had to be. He knew it was because of the calm relief he felt from death approaching.
Something stabbed his chest. His first thought was that the Paipite had come back to finish the job. But he didn't feel the familiar sensation of metal inside him. He opened his eyes to find no one there.
The stabbing happened again. But again, no knife was there to do the job. A tear fell from his eyes onto the ground. A tear, Green thought, those never helped the situation. What do I expect from self pity?
Only this time, it wasn't self pity. It was something new, something he didn't recognize. It was like disappointment, mixed with some version of mourning.
His eyes welled up further, and Green felt the lump in his throat. Though the dozen or so thin slices in the area distracted him from the sensation.
Green closed his eyes, then let his body go. The pain was still there, it always would be, but death would take some. Eventually the door opened again, and once again, Green didn't look.
Loud footsteps sounded on the wooden floor. And a cold, metallic hand lifted his face a few moments later. Green felt it. The dread that entered his body. He opened his eyes to find an enormous armored figure standing before him.
Green let out a weak smile.
"You're acquainted with him?" Green said in a whisper, his voice no longer working. "Don't think that armor will hide you."
"Green!" the person shouted.
Green's ear twitched, and he felt arms around him a moment later.
He recognized the voice, the smell. It was grassy, like an Elf. And the voice sounded worried, but still had the joyful jump to it every time she spoke.
Careless… Green thought. You carry her shadow more than you know