NOVEL NEXT 197. Maximum Capacity
197. Maximum Capacity
Rain fell as a thick mist upon the Riverside Necropolis. Serac shifted behind her gravestone of a hiding place, feeling acutely the stiffness of her body as well as the softness of the muddy ground at her feet.
It occurred to her, as inane thoughts often do in moments of high tension, that this was her first real experience with natural rain. Naraka had remained an arid wasteland during the several months she'd spent on its surface. Her trip through Pretjord had coincided with winter, where precipitation fell as snow (and later ash). All other forms of 'rain' she could recall had been the product of one Wayfaring magic or another.
Not so, here in Tidereign. The clouds gathered in darkness, further blurring the divide between Day and Night. The rain fell thick and fast, drenching Serac's new favorite clothes and making her wish for shelter in more ways than one.
Perhaps it was the growing dark. Or the raindrops trickling down the contours of her horns and brow. Or… it'd simply been a ludicrously long Day. Whatever the case might be, Serac's eyelids had never weighed heavier.
And this time, she really had to fight tooth and nail to stay awake. For Dusk was upon them and Night was nigh, and the skyveils—perhaps they too were weighed down by the rainwater—drooped lower and lower to seek souls foolish enough to be out and about at cycle's end.
There were, to Serac's knowledge, ten such souls to be exact, most of them currently scattered and hidden somewhere in the Necropolis. Seven combat personnel (including Serac and Trav), Realgar to oversee the operation, Jasper to apply her [Balm], and a tenth member whose sole task was to 'lure in' Flint the Butcher.
As something of a subject matter expert, Serac was curious to meet her contemporary in the 'bait' business. Realgar had said precious little about them, other than the instruction to look out for them as they climbed the hilly footpath up the cemetery.
As such, Serac strained her heavy eyelids and looked out from behind her gravestone cover. No small task. Her vision was blurred by the elements as well as her own fatigue. Just one more reluctant blink, and she'd surely be lost to the world—again in more ways than one.
That was when a butterfly floated toward her, seemingly from nowhere. Its variegated wings were covered in an aura of raw umber, ever more radiant and 'youthful' in the growing dark. Whether thanks to its Oathkeeper's magic or its own adaptation to the elements, it managed to keep itself dry as it circled Serac's horns in a figure-8. After a moment's consideration, it nestled itself behind the collars of her overcoat.
Serac felt VEILWINGS beat against her neck. Once, twice. Then she was visited by a familiar apparition, one that wasted no time to fuse with her. Body, mind, and soul. Invasion followed almost instantly by cohesion.
[THE PRESTIGE Spell: THE KEEPER'S BALM]
The Rakshasa had seen, felt, and done many strange things on her journey up Mount Meru. Evidently, things would only get stranger from here on out. But because she'd seen, felt, and done this particular strange thing once before—better experienced rather than explained—she knew exactly what to expect.
To wit, she knew to brace for and harness the union with her third entity.
"Look out, Serac. It's happening ag—"
Trippy's voice—and presence—cut out abruptly. Serac had been here before. A plane of existence where all outside interference was strictly forbidden. Even the voice that had accompanied her every step of her Wayfaring journey.
For Serac's body, mind, and soul—purified and rid of any and all pretenders and outsiders—had a maximum capacity of exactly two. Room just enough for herself and the other. Her shadow-self.
Very soon, her two selves might yet split again. It all depended on how the next phase of the operation would go.
Re-energized and made wide awake, Serac refocused her sight on the muddy footpath, and found she could see everything clearly. Clouds, rain, and veils be damned.
"As you might imagine, the effects of [Balm] are far stronger when tethered to individuals than disseminated to the whole city." Jasper had earlier briefed the operatives on her powers and limitations. "You may remain awake for as long as you will yourself to, and you may also resist the skyveils' [Unmooring] effect. But as soon as you've been [Anointed], you'll be on a time limit. It's hard for me to give an exact estimate, especially in the Gloaming hours between cycles. I'll do my utmost to channel for as long as I can, but I ask that you do your best to return to me within the hour."
Buoyed by a newfound sense of irreverence, Serac couldn't help but chuckle to herself. These Tidereigners had me fooled for a second. I'd worried even the Wayfarers among them were content to be slaves to tradition and the 'ways of the world'. But I see that at least some of them have been cooking up their own forms of 'upheaval'.
Somehow, the [Anointment] had also sharpened Serac's senses, including of the ripple-reading variety. She could 'see' the skyveils as if they'd been made corporeal, and as such, knew just how soon the Day would turn over to Night. Several minutes remained in the current cycle, perhaps just long enough for a foolish, grieving soul to visit a cemetery in the rain.
A breath caught in Serac's throat as she spied the familiar figure of Peridot trudging up the hill. The farm girl looked smaller than she remembered, shoulders turned inward and hands folded before her chest. It was, indeed, the girl's ripple signature that told Serac exactly who she was.
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What is an Anchored soul doing here? She wondered, perhaps one half of her speaking louder than the other. Doesn't she know the cycle is about to reset? Or that this cemetery is about to turn into a battlefield? She was just about to jump out of her hiding place and yell out a warning, when a new realization struck and froze her in place.
Sure enough, Peridot wasn't alone. A second figure 'followed' her every step of the way, though the girl was blind to its presence, and so were all the other Mriga eyes despite their close observation. Serac alone could read the signals that pushed their way in from beyond the veils, the boundary blurred by the Gloaming hours.
If this were any other time, the realization would've incensed and disgusted Serac. Really, Realgar? Using an Anchored as bait for your sting operation?
Yet, right this Ksana, her other half found the louder voice and laughed in genuine appreciation. Murderers always return to the scene of the crime. Guess they also do that for victims they let get away once. Above all, Serac admired Peridot's courage, undeniably foolish though it might be. Here was a young soul who refused to take an injustice lying down.
Ten foolish souls and one murderer in their midst. The stage was set, just as the Viceroy and his HIEROPHANT had foretold.
[TIDEWATCH: Your OATH remains affirmed. The current cycle has ended. A new cycle begins.]
The cemetery had already been darkened by the weather. As such, not much changed with the turning of the cycle. Except, of course, the creature that cut across the veils to reveal itself.
[SCALPEL Spell: INCISION]
The rain-soaked drapes danced violently, splashing water and ripples everywhere. From within their folds emerged a hulking, vaguely feline shadow. Back slouched, fangs bared, and claws reaching for the throat of a doe woman a fraction of its size.
[Designation: DREAMPROWLER]
[Aberrant Race: Breachspawn]
[Aberrant Class: Field Boss]
Yet, where Peridot lost out hopelessly in mass, she made up for in ferocity. The woman looked up from her silent prayer and stared down her assailant, eyes dripping with rain yet unclouded by fear.
Attagirl, both halves of Serac praised in unison. Now, leave the rest to us!
[Oathborn Technique: GORING CROSS]
The first intervention came courtesy of Travertine and his deer familiars. DLEE and ORD crossed antlers as they put themselves between Peridot and the clawed shadow. The girl was safe, having performed her part to perfection. The shadow, on the other hand, checked its murderous swipe and bounded away, already showing an inclination for self-preservation.
[SCALPEL Spell: EXCI—]
[Oathborn Technique: FALCON STRIKE]
A second Templar sent his avian familiar flying at DREAMPROWLER's head. The shadowy tiger was forced to duck under [Falcon Strike]'s enlarged talons, thereby missing its 'window' for an exit. From there, DLEE and ORD gave chase, driving the criminal further up the cemetery's hill.
The chase was well and truly underway. More Templars came out of the woodworks. Or out of the gravestones in this case. They pelted DREAMPROWLER from either side, refusing to let it deviate from the footpath nor reverse course and head downhill. Never let it rest. Never give it a chance to stop and consider its next move.
Most importantly, every member of the operation knew to time their most potent and threatening attacks with [Excision]—with a Night-side Oathkeeper's increasingly desperate attempts to rescue its Breachspawn from beyond the veils. More interdimensional windows went unused, as the shadow-tiger was forced to prioritize staying alive over making a run for it.
A bold tactical commitment. Its design and deployment made only possible by the 'surveillance footage' an outrealmer had DREAMT up once upon an unsavory MEAL. To the vital clues Serac had dug up, Realgar had added his knowledge of Dawnwick, his unquestioned authority over the Templar Order, and his intuitions about the criminal's MO.
The puzzle pieces fit and everything came together as planned, as if guided by a watchful higher power. Now, all that was left was for the Day-siders to finish the job.
Serac—both halves of her—waited impatiently behind the gravestone. Her right hand rested upon REVOLVER's grip, and her trigger fingers were itchier than ever, but she couldn't blow her cover just yet. Not when she had the most important job of them all.
Mrigas harried DREAMPROWLER up the hill. Toward the mausoleum that awaited at the cliff edge. On this occasion, the entrance to the mausoleum had been left open, revealing in full the steam-powered mechanism inside.
Flint the Butcher had PROWLED Dawnwick enough to have familiarized with some of her landmarks—how they might parallel yet differ from their Night-side counterparts. Its knowledge of its hunting grounds became apparent now, as it hesitated upon seeing the open door. It then spun in place, no doubt determined to make one more decisive attempt at escape.
And that was Serac's cue to join the party.
[Chamber Two: METABOLIC SHIFT]
[PULVERIZER Alternate Form: GRENADIER]
Serac had already cycled past Chamber One before the fight had started. Which allowed her to transition smoothly into:
[GRENADIER Technique: RUMPEPROMP]
Serac held out her slimy, writhing tadpole of a left arm and fired, careful to aim into the ground at DREAMPROWLER's feet.
An explosion of smoke and mud, easily and quickly extinguished by the pelting rain. But that momentary distraction was all that was needed. Serac dashed into the rain and sprinted toward DREAMPROWLER, even as a pair of deer closed in from the opposite direction.
DLEE kicked. Serac grabbed a handful of shadowy fur and pulled, as hard as her [Substance 16] muscles would allow. Wayfarers, Oathborns, and Breachspawn alike merged into a singular mess of mud, fur, and cinnabar, as they tumbled into the Necropolis's famous elevator.
Of course, there was someone already waiting inside. Realgar aft'Enright—completely dry under the mausoleum's granite roof—pulled a lever as soon as he had company.
The door clanked shut, trapping DREAMPROWLER inside along with a trio of would-be captors. The elevator too flirted with maximum capacity, as it began its rumbling descent.