Restart
When the Alliance was bathed in Affliction, there was only one person they could turn to. One being. It was time to begin again.
Light floods the room as the door opens. This time I can see the room in its entirety. It’s nicer than my old apartment by at least two tax brackets.
And my heart thuds with a pang of disappointment as the white masked figure stops beside the bed.
“I hear you had trouble last night,” their voice betrays no sympathy nor mockery. Just a statement.
“Your sources are well-informed,” I say with definitive sarcasm in my tone.
“Care to explain what happened? I received reports that your neighbors heard screaming and your sheets appear to be a different color.”
I glance down at the bedding and notice a stark lack of blood. There had definitely been blood, though I don’t know what color the sheets were before the shadows played five finger fillet with my body.
“So how do you know something happened?” I ask, tilting my head to study the way they stand—feet still turned as if they might try to make a run for it. “Maybe I was just having really good sex.”
“Doubtful,” they say with a snort.
Which kind of hurts, actually.
But that means Mary hadn’t told them. Or, if she had, they wanted to hear it from my perspective. Which is odd given the way they seem to hang on her every word.
Sort of like how I do.
Stupid lesbian brain.
“Let’s just say I had a fight that I lost and I’m willing renegotiate my stance on the training.”
They pause for a moment before nodding and sitting again in the chair they’d occupied last night.
“Are you strong enough to move now?” they ask and I shift a little, wondering the same thing. To my relief, whatever had been blocking the regeneration was gone.
Or maybe Mary had wiped it out.
“Probably,” I nod.
“And are you mentally well enough to experience what could be a tedious journey of pain and self-discovery?”
“You’re not beating the cultist allegations, white mask,” I snort. “I can’t promise sunshine and rainbows, but I—”
I want to help Mary.
Despite the way she’s playing me like a fucking fiddle, I want to do this for her. And something tells me that the shadows won’t let me go until I either conquer them or something else kills me instead.
And that option seems much less appetizing in the light of day.
Plus, I’m sick and tired of being the victim. Being the one taking the beating.
“But?” they prompt.
“But I want to be powerful,” I settle on instead. “I want to pay back Darkrend for the spine he shattered, and I want to tear Omen’s head off.”
And it’s not like it’s a lie, either. I do want to kick the shit out of that dirt bag. And I really, really want to break Omen down into scraps and feed them to the nearest meat grinder.
Azazel lets out a soft chuckle that sounds genuine. It’s disconcerting that my exploration of violence was the first thing to make them to seem even remotely human.
“We can make that work,” they stand and offer me their gloved hand.
I reach out and take it.
“I am Azazel, the Red Mage,” they say quietly. Like the knowledge itself is a secret.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, taking my hand back. “I thought you were in the Alliance?”
“I am there from time to time,” they nod. “But I go where the God Queen needs me.”
Azazel’s renown is less legend and more mystery. A top ten Remnant per RISE, they often show up in major conflicts though for which side is always unknown.
“Red Mage?” I ask, glancing down at Azazel’s outfit. It’s a dark blood red offsetting the white mask. The look screams “cultist” but apparently that’s a no-no word—again.
One day, I’ll be able to meet a cultist and call them that to their face.
“I will explain in more detail. Suffice to say that our powers and a handful of others on this godforsaken planet are unique enough that they no longer follow laws established after the Second Disruption.”
I nod, accepting the cryptic response for what it is. If Azazel is to be a guide, then I suppose it would do me good to start getting used to half-answers.
It’s apparently how this place works.
They reach the door and begin to turn the handle as I speak again.
“Am I a prisoner here?” I ask softly. The memories of last night are tinged with that ever-present hopelessness.
Azazel’s body language is really the only part of them I can interpret. And they turn to me as if the question I just asked was unfathomably stupid.
“There are likely only two beings that could stop you from doing whatever it is you want. Even in your current state. And one of them is on your side. Whether or not you believe that is up to you.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question. I don’t really want to fight my way out should I discover you all to be—”
“As bad as Darkrend, yes, I remember your diatribe. And no, you are not a prisoner. Though if you should wish to journey to the surface, know that your identity as the Dark One has been leaked.”
I stare back at Azazel as the words strike like a lightning bolt to my nerves.
“The people have deemed you a villain and a murderer. Some may know better, but DAEMON controls the media and the Guild has their finger in every police force and military on the planet. You are now an enemy of Nye Verden.”
“I never wanted this,” I say, not sure why I feel like I need to defend myself to Azazel.
They turn again, hand still against the door.
“Remember it is they who have deemed you a weapon to be swung. It is the corporations and the authoritarians that have deemed you abnormal. They are the ones who put those ideas and thoughts into your head. Do not give them more power. Do not let them steal the freedom that is rightfully yours.”
Tears prick at my eyes as Azazel turns to go.
“They will either accept us or die in the fires of their own making,” a darkness creeps into their voice that feels fathomless. “We begin in an hour.”
Then the door closes. Leaving me with a whole new set of demons.
For all of their power, the asshole never actually told me where we were meeting. After leaving my room, I wandered about the dormitory area I had apparently been placed in yesterday.
It was only after a solid half hour of fruitless walking that I found the exit that led to the lower floors.
And only then did I find the way back into the main cavern.
The thing is expansive. I noticed it yesterday, but my mind was still reeling from the hurt, betrayal and general angst.
It genuinely feels like an entirely different world. There’s light within the cavern, but it’s spread so thickly that telling the true source is impossible. The streets along the mountain look as though they’d been carved there generations ago to accommodate for countless people.
The general pattern is two sequential U’s with the first wrapping from the base of the mountain and ending at the gathering basin. The other U is maybe more like a W that switchbacks up the mountain itself. At the very top sits the single elevator that I’d bet is not the only exit.
The dormitories I was placed in sit towards the end of the U where my hospital bed had also been. So, I make my way towards the party basin in the hopes that I spot the red-clad mage.
Whatever the fuck “mage” means.
“You certainly are quite the subject of discussion,” a cool female voice startles me, and I spin to face them.
The figure from the Cradle stands behind me like she’s been there the entire time. Her cat mask looks as if it’s a genuine part of her face and the purple gown down her form hides any clue as to her figure.
“I’m the main character, after all,” I say, giving her what I hope is a charismatic grin. Though my insides feel leaden with the shadow spikes of the night before.
“That is what I believe, too,” she says and gives me a slight bow. “I am Bast. I do not believe anyone explained how this place works and I understand Azazel has work for you.”
“They left after a cryptic speech and no instructions on where to meet them,” I grouse. “I’ll take a history lesson if you give me directions.”
“That sounds like Azazel,” Bast says. “Follow me and listen closely because I am the only member of the council who will give you a straight answer.”
“And why is that?” I ask, falling into step beside Bast.
We trace along the path I’d followed with Mary the day before, except the place is busy. Like they’d been hiding in deference to the woman herself.
“Let me begin with some background,” Bast says, and I can hear the hint of amusement in her voice.
“In 100 A.D., this place was founded by a powerful being that we suspect was a survivor of the First Disruption. At the time it had only been a small mining tunnel that they hid out in. When they began to collect supernatural beings with exceptional powers, they included Remnants who were already finding themselves shunned by society.”
Bast gestures toward a larger complex at the furthest end of the U near the basin.
“Fast forward a few generations and Tempest became a conglomerate of underground groups whose sole purpose was the unification of the non-humans. That included Remnants, supernaturals, and anyone else who did not fit the status quo.”
“That seems far too altruistic,” I say, giving Bast a sideways look.
“Perceptive,” she chuckles. “Yes, the goal had been betterment, but the results had been death, murder, and general chaos. Then came Bloody Mary. And do not ask me what she is or where she came from. We do not even know her true name. We do not know the extent of her powers nor when she acquired them. But we know she is ageless, beautiful, and dangerous beyond belief. She is also a ruthless combatant and efficient leader. Our people love her and have died to protect this place she built.”
An unbidden chill traces down my spine. “You follow her without knowing a thing about her?”
“We follow her because she has always put us first. History may remember her as a villain, but she will always be our savior. After she wrested power from the cretins who called this place a sanctuary, she collected what was left of the supernatural world. Across Nye Verden, our people work towards a world where we can walk free.”
“You’ll have to forgive me for not knowing much about the supernatural folk,” I say, giving her a depreciating huff of laughter. “We’re talking werewolves and vampires?”
“Werewolves, yes,” she tilts her elongated face towards me, “vampires, no. Dragon-kin, demon-kin, and other types of animal-shifters. We have some fae left, but their kind took a hit during the Disappearance. There are assorted others that do not really fit an archetype and, of course, Remnants.”
“Sorry,” I stop in my tracks, replaying her words, “you said demons?”
“Indeed,” I can hear the smile in her voice. “They are of the occult. They share a lineage with the mages we have, but you’ll learn more about that brand of magic from Azazel.”
“No vampires?” I ask, trying to keep up with the flow of information Bast seems more than happy to drop on me.
She finally slows and I worry for a moment if I said something wrong, but as she turns fully toward me, I can see the way her shoulders slump. No one visiting the shops along the road pay us any mind. Like it’s normal for one of their leaders to be taking a leisurely stroll.
“They existed. Anything known about them is conflicting at best. Whether or not they still live is the question,” her somber tone makes me wonder how recent this tragedy is. “That may be another question to ask Azazel.”
I nod, letting the topic drop.
We walk in a comfortable silence until she stops before a huge circular building with a rotunda over top. It sits near the meeting grounds, but far enough off that I hadn’t seen it yesterday.
“Are you one of the supernatural races?” I ask, turning to her.
She lets out a low chuckle.
“I am but a humble Remnant with enough cunning to remain alive. You will notice that many here have never been scanned by RISE. There is much power hidden beneath New Chicago. Though, I suspect you have the potential to be greater than any of them.”
“That’s what they keep telling me,” I mutter. “Thank you for the history lesson.”
“You are very welcome, Hiraeth. Be well and remember that you are on the right side. It may not feel that way at times, but revolutions have never been peaceful.”
“You said you’d be the only one to give me a straight answer,” I say, turning to her as she backs down the street. “Why?”
I hear what must be a sigh as she ducks her head before looking up at me.
“I fear Beowulf and Loki are powerful enough to question the God Queen’s authority without direct retaliation. They are dangerous and yet respected by their people. Azazel is cryptic by nature. The God Queen herself is tight-lipped.”
“And Morgana?” I ask, remembering the attractive red head.
“Bat shit insane,” she says with a definitive nod before turning without another word.