Knife in the Darkness

“I am thankful for your aid so far, but this is where we part ways,” the red headed human said with a slick smile. “I hope that you understand.”

“Of course,” Kael nodded his head. He did not enjoy dealing with the man or his people. The Empire of the Exiles was just as bad as the Core in its own way. But they did serve a purpose.

“Keep your eyes and ears open,” Erik Ornn said. “Soon you will have an opportunity unlike any other to further your cause.”

Kael bowed his head in thanks. The man did not understand just how true his words were. He believed that Kael’s people would strike in the wake of whatever it was that Erik planned, and partially he was right. But Kael had waited for an opportunity like this for a long time.

The Emissary of the Empire walked out of the room and left Kael with his people. Fethum and Maya stood nearby, ready for anything.

“Do you think that he will succeed?” Maya asked.

Kael turned around and met her eyes. “They’ve planned this for a long time, and the Reaction Engine is capable of great destruction. Whether they fail or succeed doesn’t matter, either way they will grant us an opportunity to act.”

Both Maya and Fethum nodded at that. They understood, the Unchained had a purpose, and soon their first real step to accomplishing it would come. They would free the people from the shackles of the strong. Many would die, that was true, but in the end existence would benefit. For in the fire of struggle the strong would rise and grow, push the limits of the Framework that ruled them all.

“Come,” he said to them and led them out of the meeting room. They were deep beneath the Western District of the Tournament City. The Criminal factions that controlled it, were all bound by the Peace, but that was true of even the factions that weren’t criminal. In a way, things were calmer here than in other districts.

Still, Kael did not walk around showing himself. He wasn’t that recognizable to the general public, but there were people who knew about him. Having to wear large coats with long hoods over his face and wings annoyed him, which was why he spent most of his time beneath the ground. His people depended on the hospitality of the Assassins Guild, not the first place someone would look for them.

But Kael dealt with everyone as long as they could help him further his goals. Still, even with the Peace, he would be a fool not to keep on guard. They made their way through the empty corridors until they reached their quarters.

Once inside, they were greeted by the rest of his team.

Geor Ur Kagla, the old Demasi healer was sitting on a couch in the middle of the room. His cane within grabbing distance in case that he needed to hit something. The large Skreen warrior, the Exiled Shell, sat across from him. The two were engrossed in a game of shah.

Tellisa at a table in the corner, filing her claws. She glanced in their direction when they entered but didn’t move aside from that.

The last person in the room was Berion Noname, sitting on the other side of the table from Tellisa, reading a book. The young minotaur that was in many ways the most important member of their group. Maybe the most important member of all the Unchained. Kael had put so much responsibility on the young man’s shoulders, perhaps too much. It had been barely ten years since Kael had found him out in the frontier. A scrawny child, exhausted and near to death from his ordeal. Kael had been traveling beyond the frontier then, attempting to get a handle on his own anger. When he found Berion, he had been on the run, a group of slavers on his heels. Berion was born a slave, and while he didn’t talk much about his past in the Empire of the Exiles, Kael had put a few things together from his snippets.

Berion had been a very unique type of slave, a purpose slave. He had been raised a slave, never thought to think for himself, and when he became part of the Framework, he was given a contract that bound him to an immortal. From there, his life was spent in service. Raised for a singular purpose—to be a transportation tool for his master. It was only chance that had granted Berion his freedom. A contract could not be enforced without a way out, and Berion’s out was the death of his master. In a cruel way, Kael was thankful for Berion’s master, without most of his plans wouldn’t have been possible.

The young man was a spatial master, a savant at manipulating space, perhaps the greatest in the world. He wielded so much power for someone so young. It was funny, Kael was not much older than him, but somehow, he always looked at Berion as a much younger brother. Probably because of his demeanor. Where Kael had learned under the pain of the whip and the horrors of the arenas, Berion had a life of servitude and solitude.

It always surprised Kael just how Berion didn’t even understand his own strength. Out of all of the Unchained, it was Berion who was the most powerful. If he wanted to, he could’ve killed them all in a blink of an eye. Kael would put his power against those of High Rankers hundreds of years his senior any day. Power depended on many different factors; some took hundreds of years to reach a certain point. Others were so talented that they could do the same in half the time. Some were true savants for whom it all just came with unimaginable ease. And others were forged in struggle and adversity. Berion was both a savant and had spent his life in struggle. Compared to him, Kael was merely talented. The biggest difference between them, however, was that Berion lacked the instinct of a warrior, or even the stomach for killing.

Still, he was the pillar on which Kael put all his plans.

“Kael,” The Exiled Shell spoke when he noticed him. “They are gone?”

“They are,” Kael nodded. “They are in the last stages of their plans.”

“So, are we going to finally start with ours?” Tellisa asked over her sharp claws.

Kael looked around at the small group in the room. They were the people he trusted the most in the world. Each of them had gone through something horrible, each of them had suffered. They all followed him because he wanted to change things, to fight the established order. His true goals ran deeper, but those were things that he wouldn’t be able to accomplish in the near future. Still, there were things that he could do now.

“We will not be going after the High Rankers,” he told them, sharing at last his own plans.

Tellisa frowned. “What? If they trigger the Reaction Engine at the right time, the High Rankers will suffer a terrible blow. This is the best opportunity for us to strike.”

Kael looked around the room, seeing that most of them agreed. It was only understandable. All of them had some issue with the people in charge, and the High Rankers were the most visible symbol of that. Kael understood them, but he also knew that what they had been doing so far would not work.

“We’ve killed how many High Rankers since we’ve been active?” Kael started. “A dozen, and it changed nothing. We could wait for the Exiles to execute their plan, and we could jump on the opportunity. Isolate a few High Rankers in the chaos, kill them. With all of us here, I am sure that we could kill a handful of them. But you know, just as I do, that the High Rankers are just the most visible of the strong. There are more, keeping—smartly—to the shadows.”

Kael closed his eyes and took a deep breath, remembering the feel of sand beneath his feet, of the blood spilling inside a cage. “No,” he said as he opened his eyes, staring at all of them with such intensity that he saw them all lean back in surprise. “They consider us a nuisance at best, they think that we are just upstart fools. No more, we will show them who we truly are.”

“How?” Geor, the demasi asked. He was the oldest one among them by far. A man whose growth had been crippled by the jealousy of the Healer, he hated the High Rankers with a passion.

“The people of this world have grown accustomed to the way things are, they follow down the paths made by people that came before them. Few attempting to go into the darkness on their own and try to blaze a path of their own. I pity them, for they don’t understand what it is that they are doing, they are just… enjoying living in safety. We will show them the truth that they had forgotten, that this world is not safe, that it is not kind to those who shy away from adversity,” he told them, his voice barely a whisper.

“I learned a lot in the arenas,” Kael continued. “But there is one lesson that I have always carried with me, one lesson that I have always remembered. One must always have a knife in the darkness. We will make the world tremble and remember that this time was the turning point in the history of the world.”

They watched him with reverent looks in their eyes. They were all here because they believed in the cause. The Exiled Shell met Kael’s eyes and spoke.

“What will we do?”

Kael glanced at them, then turned his eyes to Berion. “You my friend will be the instrument of our triumph.”

“Me?”

“Yes, it is because of you that we will be able to do this, and because of you that I even know how to achieve it,” Kael smiled, he could tell them everything now. But he understood people. The less time they had to think about it, the better. He trusted them, but there were things that not even they were aware of.

He assured them that he would tell them soon, and then sent them out into the city to gather information. There were too many powerful people at the Tournament, and even with the distraction of the Reaction Engine, they needed all the help they could get if they were to pull off what he planned.

A few minutes later, Kael was left alone with Berion. The minotaur looked at Kael, his eyes downcast. “I’m not sure that I can—”

“—Don’t be so hard on yourself Ber, you are greater than you can even imagine.”

The minotaur shifted uncomfortably. “I am not worthy of your trust.”

“You are more worthy than anyone else. If you cannot believe in yourself, then believe in me.”

He nodded slowly. “I don’t even know what it is that you want me to do.”

“Do you remember the stories you used to tell me, about the trips your master used to take you on?” Kael asked.

Ber nodded his head as he frowned in confusion. “Of course, but what—” Ber paused, and then his eyes widened. “Kael, you can’t.”

“We must,” he put his hand on Ber’s shoulder. “This is the only thing that can change everything.”

Ber opened his mouth, but then closed them. His eyes searched something in Kael’s and then he sighed. “I… we don’t even know what it does. I know so little, I was just a slave, I overheard much but…”

“Don’t worry my friend,” Kael told him. “This is the right path for us.”

*  *  *

Zenker

Zenker sat in a room filled with Essence. Few realized it, but there were certain types of Essence that could enhance willpower, that could be shaped by it. It was a secret that many kept for themselves—the Zenshuen Sect being one of the most prominent ones who knew. They kept the source of their Bloodsilver tightly controlled.

Zenker was deep beneath the Tournament City, in the Under, in a cave filled with Wardsoil. He had found it a few centuries ago, during one of the previous Tournaments. The soil surrounded the cave and prevented his will from leaking outside. No one could sense him or what he was about to do while he was surrounded in it.

In front of him was a large bowl, filled with silver and red liquid metal. The small amount of Bloodsilver was what he had managed to procure a while ago, and it had served him well. Elemental Essence had three basic states, each type of essence had a different main state, but all could change. The states were solid, liquid, and cloud. Earth liked to be solid, most of the time, for example. But sufficient will could change their states, just like interactions with other essences could. Cultivation was the art of forcing Essence into liquid form inside one’s body. It made it more malleable, easier to refine and improve, and far easier to form into techniques. The moment Qi left the body, it changed state based on the will and technique guiding it.

Zenker had spent time studying the natures and underlying laws beneath all three focuses. He had taken his time with his skills, choosing to rely on his items because he wanted to make his ascension right. He had seen what had happened to Sigmund, how his ultimate skill had enacted a price for its power. All complete skills require a price, as Zenker himself had seen with his own. But he had managed to limit them.

But his goal, the real reason why he kept his skills so low for so long was because he knew what the end looked like. He had seen it. He had encountered the only person ever to have reached nine tier nine skills. Power came to those who struggled, those who pushed, those who had talent, and those who had time. Not all were required at for someone to reach great heights. The prime example were the two Rankers of the Seventh Iteration, they had less time, but more struggle and talent. It was a balance.

Zenker closed his eyes, remembering the mad fool that had reached the end. The insane woman that had pushed all of her skills to their ultimate form without any regard for balance, for integration. With no idea what she was doing. Zenker had pitied her then, and he still felt sadness at that. His hip throbbed with a phantom pain, that never truly went away. Still, after all this time, his fight with her had been the moment when he had come closest to death. Even now he didn’t understand quite what she had done that had hurt him so. If she had been sane, if she could control even a tiny portion of her power. She would’ve splattered him across that mountain.

He remembered the space around her trembling, the patchwork of nine Images stitched together around her. Exerting her mad will on the world, crushing anything in its path. They had been visible even to the eye, but twisted beyond any hope for Zenker to recognize what they were supposed to represent. She had no integration between them, nothing that could pull them together into something cohesive. She had been fighting herself more than she had fought him, and still she had managed to destroy one of his Eternal weapons.

He hadn’t really understood then what he faced. It was only later when he saw more people reach tier 9 skills that understanding came. There was something beyond that, a manifestation of power, an image that reflected the will of the skills that comprised it.

Nine skills, each integrated into one concept. He didn’t know who she had been, he had found her a long way beyond the frontier. One of those who were like him perhaps, who wished to explore, or perhaps someone who wanted to push themselves to greater heights. She had done it, no matter what the result had been. Perhaps she had been mad before she reached that point, Zenker had seen how madness lent itself to greater understanding of skills, to greater growth of willpower.

He turned his mind away from his memories and focused on his skills. He had successfully joined remaining perfect skills into tier 8 skills. Now, he was at the point of pushing them all to the tier 9. Improving skills was a matter of willpower, of holding a concept or an idea inside ones mind. Perhaps the better word would be image. He wouldn’t do all of them now, of course. Pushing his mind that much depleted his willpower, he needed rest. But he focused on one of them, this time one of his active skills.

He needed to be careful, to do this right, without any distractions. It was why he was all alone in the Under. He needed to be sure to mitigate the drawbacks as much as possible. He focused on his |My Dash, Closing Swipe| skill. An active skill that allowed him to close the distance quickly and execute a powerful space rending swipe.

He threw his memory back, finding a kernel of an idea. It was a skill that had come from his sprint and swipe skills. It was about movement and attacks at its core. And he pushed that concept to the forefront of his mind. His will trembled as he pushed all other thoughts out of his mind, searching his memory for a defining moment of those skills. It came to him the same way it had the last time. He felt the concept, the idea, the image of him closing the distance and swiping take hold. A single action raised up to his perfection, to its ultimate form. He felt the skill inside of him, and as his will nearly crumbled, he pushed the last part through.

Something clicked and his skill evolved. His will blazed out around him and reality trembled as he pushed his rule over it.

He sighed from exhaustion and saw notifications in the corner of his eye.

He chuckled, as far as skill names went, |I Arrive And Lash Out| was not too bad. Now he needed to test it out, to see what the drawback would be, for if there was one thing that Zenker had learned over his years: It was that there is always a price for power.