Shackled Exalted

Aoife

Aoife recounted the day when she saw her mother's face for the last time.

It was early at daybreak. The sun was already in full bloom. Sweltering heat blazed down. She remembered the sweat cascading down her face, seeping into her clothes, and clinging onto her skin. A coat of grime that refused to go away.

The morning cicadas chirped loudly in the background. It was supposed to be a day of mourning. To say farewell to her beloved mother. To grieve. But the incessant noise and the bright sun told a different story.

It was as if her mother's departure was something to be celebrated.

Aoife remembered everything with crystal clarity. She was wearing a black dress. Her mother's coffin laid before her, adorned in a modest bouquet of flowers. The casket was open to give her a final glimpse before her mother was sealed away.

She laid there, eyes closed, hands folded neatly above her stomach. Her face, languid and pale, somehow retained her pensive expression. She had passed quietly in the middle of night on the same bed that Aoife had never seen her leave. The news had arrived from her maids who found her unresponsive the following morning.

In hindsight, the funeral was the first time Aoife had seen her mother outside of that room.

"Be a good girl, Aoife," she whispered to herself.

Her mother's mantra.

For her, Aoife complied, building a cage of steel around her tiny heart. She swallowed her tears. She locked up the wretched feelings boiling in her chest. She stared at her mother one last time as the casket closed.

Never once did she shed a single tear.

After the modest ceremony was over, Aoife watched as they lowered her mother into the royal family's mausoleum in Upper Dannan. While she wasn't an official member of the royal family, she was still her father's consort.

***

"Here lies Layla Amethyst, the Salvo."

She stared blankly at the engravings on the plaque. The words boomed in her head like thunder.

What is this?

Aoife's heart dropped.

Why the hell does it say that?!

Layla Amethyst. The full name of her mother. The moniker of "the Salvo" was new to her, but the maiden name was unmistakable.

This has to be a joke.

Her stomach churned. A knot. The invisible strands constricted against her guts. It squeezed and squeezed, trying to tear everything apart. It burned. It hurt. The agony became unbearable as she dropped to her knees.

The room was spinning. Waves of nausea crashed inside her head. Over and over again, they came with unrelenting mercy. Her brain felt like it was swelling, pressing against the confines of her skull, threatening to escape the bony orifice.

Aoife wanted to puke.

"…What's the meaning of this?!"

She glared at Kleine. The man was watching her with an impassive gaze. His eyes were frigid cold, unyielding, sharp as steel. Then without warning, he kicked the ajar tomb.

The top of the tomb slid off, smashing into the ground with a loud thud. The sound resonated across the subterranean chamber.

You don't have to look.

She stared blankly at the exposed tomb.

You can still walk away from this.

Her body moved on its own, driven by an irresistible temptation. She had to know. She had to confirm it somehow. This was her mother. Her beloved mother.

She glanced inside.

A skeleton. The grotesque framework of what used to be a person, robbed of its flesh and skin. The macabre structure laid there, empty orifices where the eyes used to be, seemingly gazing above towards the ceiling.

Aoife covered her mouth, fighting to swallow the horror ascending her throat. Her eyes trembled. A faint stench of death began to permeate the vicinity.

This couldn't be her mother, could it?

She pictured her gentle, pensive face on the day of her funeral. Eyes closed. Hands folded. A sterile white dress over her pallid body. Around her, a bouquet of flowers. She looked beautiful. At peace. As if she was a maiden resting in a meadow, unblemished and unsullied. Freed from the illness that had robbed her of her vitality.

That image was now a pile of bones rotting in a stone grave.

This can't be her.

This could have been any skeleton. There were no defining features to distinguish it. There was—

Something dangled from the neck of the skeleton. She hadn't seen it at first because of the dim lights and the bones in the way. Aoife widened her eyes.

An amulet.

No.

She leaned in closer.

No, no, no, no—

Her heart was on the verge of exploding.

It can't be—

It was.

The same amulet that she had always seen her mother wear. A purple gem. An amethyst. She could even see her mother's name etched along the bottom.

It was unmistakable. It was irrefutable.

"A-Ahhh…"

It was her mother.

"Ahhhhhhh!"

Tears poured. She wailed. The harrowing cry resounded through the catacombs. Misery and despair echoed against the rotting walls like a banshee lamenting its unfortunate end.

Her cries eventually subsided. Her throat was swelling in pain.

Kleine broke the silence.

"You're probably wondering why your mother's body is here," he began, his voice devoid of compassion, "I mentioned that the Council had created an initiative called the Bestowed Project. The goals of that project were simple—study the conditions and mechanisms behind an Awakening. How a Gift is bestowed to an Exalted.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"One of the topics was understanding the difference between an Exalted and an Ordinary's bodies. To that end, they dissected deceased Exalted. Pried apart living Ordinaries. Recycled Desperados who were supposed to be on death row. During their research, one particularly nefarious idea emerged from a madman's head.

"What happens if we implant the insides of an Exalted into an Ordinary?"

Aoife froze.

She wanted to silence her thoughts, but the gears in her head were already turning, trying to piece together the wretched puzzle.

"Even in death, you mother couldn't escape her fate. Under the royal family's careless eyes, the Council seized her deceased body and used her to further their vile experiments. The end result—"

Kleine took a bow—his crimson eyes fixated on Aoife.

"—is me."

The proclamation echoed. It was a simple, calm declaration. Devoid of frivolousness or intent to deceive. The sullen gaze in Kleine's eyes said it all. The man whole-heartedly believed this to be the truth.

Aoife clawed at her throat. The accompanying silence was suffocating. Her ears rang with a high-pitch wail as it repeatedly replayed the blasphemous utterance coming out of Kleine's mouth.

You're telling me that mother's dead body was defiled for human experimentation?

Something inside of her broke.

You're telling me that Father simply allowed this to happen?

The taut strings holding together her sanity began to snap.

You're telling me that the Council of Mana desecrated my mother's body and somehow got away with it?

The glassy reflection of her worldview cracked and then shattered.

Was reality really this despicable? Was this kingdom truly this wretched? Was everyone in this country just the plaything of some wicked overseer? Aoife was not ignorant to the flaws of this nation, but this level of cruelty and savagery went beyond anything that she could fathom. This was pure, unadulterated evil. And it was lying in plain sight.

Liar.

She refused to believe it.

LiarLiarLiarLiarLiarLiar.

She can't believe it.

Liar.

To believe it was to admit the horrific tragedy that befell her own mother. That gentle, pensive gaze of hers was always directed at the window. At the outside world. She must have yearned to escape the confines of that bed. And she knew, didn't she? About the malicious forces around her, aiming to possess her. She had to have had an idea. Maybe that's why she would never divulge anything about her past, for fear that her own daughter would become another victim of the evil hiding in this kingdom's shadows.

"Be a good girl, Aoife."

The meaning behind the mantra suddenly became clear.

It was a warning.

"You're lying," she spat.

Kleine looked at her with eyes full of pity. "That's why I said a piece of your mother lives on through me. It's why I need your mother's blood. Because I am a product of the Bestowed Project. Layla Amethyst—"

"Shut up!"

Grief and despair melted into fury.

"Don't you dare speak her name in front of me!"

She lunged. Her hands outstretched. Fingers steeled like claws. She aimed for Kleine's face, desperate to tear that smug, arrogant expression apart.

He kidnapped her. He tormented her. And now he was messing with her head. He was trying to break her.

"Face reality, princess."

Kleine's crimson eyes glowed a brilliant blue. Aoife suddenly found herself unable to move. Her nails were just inches away from scratching his pale, ghastly skin. Kleine threw his hand to the side. Without warning, Aoife felt her body being pulled to the left by some invisible force.

Thud!

The walls shook. Her body crashed into the cold stony surface. She dropped to the ground. The side of her head was throbbing. Something wet and viscous crawled down the length of her face. Blood. The sticky sensation was gross. Needles stabbed into her chest with every breath. Her heart drummed in her ears, fighting to keep her alive.

Footsteps.

"Open your eyes. Accept the inconvenient truth. Then choose. Will you pretend that everything is good and live a life of ignorance? Or will you seek vengeance against those who have wronged your beloved mother?"

She raised her head.

Kleine's blurry figure loomed close.

She blinked, wincing.

Blood had drenched her eyelashes.

When Aoife opened her eyes again, her vision was infused with an azure hue.

Emil

The monstrous rodent swiped with its front claws. Emil met its attack head-on with a barrage of molten stone. The salvos blasted into the rat's limbs, exploding into shrapnel of burning rocks. The rat screamed. Fresh lacerations tore through its flesh and fur before being lit aflame.

Despite the gruesome injuries, it refused to bow down. With a rabid squeal, it lunged with desperation, content to throw away the fleeting vestiges of its life to take down the prey before it.

Emil stepped back as black tendrils suddenly swarmed the monster. Shadows. From Van's Gift. The projections pierced through the rodent's skull like spears, drawing a hole from the side of the rat's head all the way to the other end.

With a pitiful squeal, the last rat finally died.

Emil dropped to his knees. The formerly tranquil forest grounds were now littered with mangled rodent corpses. The monstrosities continued to burn, filling the area with the stench of fat and oil.

I think I'll abstain from meat for at least a week.

He was on all fours, breathing heavily. Each gasp for air sent shockwaves through his burning lungs accompanied by a sharp pain prodding at his chest. Some of his ribs must have been fractured. His vision flickered in and out of focus. Dazed. He shook his head, trying to steady his view.

Instantly, he realized his mistake.

Oh, great.

The nauseating headache struck him immediately. He gagged before throwing up. Blood and bile splattered onto the ground. Shivers rushed through his body.

There was only one reason why he would feel chills while surrounded by flames.

Mana poisoning. Symptoms of Overclock. Frankly, it was to be expected. Emil had been fighting nonstop the entire day. From the finals of the Clash of Dawn in the morning to his confrontation against Melody until now, he had not been given a chance to rest from his existing injuries. Diana's Gift provided a stopgap measure, but it didn't render him invulnerable from fatigue, internal injuries, and excessive mana exposure.

"Van," he called out to his senior.

"Yeah?"

"Stimulants and pain killers. I need them."

"Are you sure?" Van asked.

The monster in his head screamed excitedly. It flailed at the chance to satiate its hunger. His body shuddered with anticipation.

"…Yeah."

It can't be helped.

He was reaching his limits after this grueling confrontation against the rats. And they still haven't reached the princess yet.

"Well, I would offer them to you, but I just used my last set right before you asked."

"You bastard."

"I have some," Diana interjected. The woman reached inside her poach with her left arm and tossed a few of the syringes onto the floor. "In exchange, can you please help me with my right arm?" She chinned at the dismembered appendage lying in a puddle of blood. The stump that was the remains of Diana's right arm dangled uselessly from her shoulder.

"Let me help," Van offered, "What do you want me to do?"

"Take my right arm and attach it to my shoulder. I need something to hold it in place while I replant it with my Gift."

Emil watched them work as he injected himself with the syringes. A soothing sensation rippled down his body. His weary muscles instantly relaxed. The agonizing pains dulled to a faint buzz. His mind cleared, feeling light and energized, engulfed by an ephemeral wave of ecstasy. The monster in his head squealed with glee. He hated this feeling. It felt like he was losing control of himself.

Van grabbed Diana's detached arm and carefully pressed it against her stump. The mangled flesh squished against each other with a gross squelch. Van materialized a tendril of shadow, fastening the arm and stump in place by using the tendril as a makeshift rope. Diana then activated her Gift.

Mana radiated from her left palm. Through the gaps between Van's shadow tendrils, Emil could see the flesh mending between the stump and her detached arm. A minute later, she stopped.

"You can get rid of it now."

Van retracted his Gift. Diana's arm was now properly reattached. The woman tried to move her reimplanted arm.

"…The nerves need time to heal. I won't be able to move it properly right now," she said, frowning, "I'm afraid I can't assist you properly in combat. I can only provide healing."

"That's fine."

Somehow, I don't feel like that's the first time she got dismembered. Diana was oddly calm during the entire ordeal as the rat almost tore her apart. Speaking of which, I guess I should address the elephant in the room.

"Diana, I—"

"Don't worry, Miles," she responded immediately, "I saw nothing. I heard nothing. I know nothing. I have no intentions of making things difficult for the man who saved my life."

Emil flinched, stunned by her perceptiveness.

"...Thank you."

I'm doing a really bad job of keeping this whole thing a secret.

He didn't regret it though. He would never hold back if it meant saving a life. Plus, he gained something valuable—he proved that it was possible to invoke both of his Gifts at the same time to conjure new phenomenon.

I'll have to experiment with this later.

For now, they had to keep moving.

Rohan's summon appeared out of the flaming wreckage, beckoning for their attention. The trio followed after it as it led them through another set of animal trails. This time there were clear and distinct footprints etched into the soil.

They were close.

Ten minutes later, Emil found himself before a glade. The grassy vegetation stopped abruptly, giving way to a layer of paved stone that led to an ancient, dilapidated ruins. A free-standing building constructed out of blemished marble stone stood at the center. Moss covered its surfaces while grass protruded between the gaps of the paved floor. It resembled a monument of some sorts, long abandoned. They were facing its entrance—a wide, exposed archway unclosed by doors or gates.

Instead, it was guarded by a single man.

Cladded in a set of vivid red armor, the man was a giant. A huge scabbard dangled by his side. His features were distinctively eastern.

It was unmistakable. This was one of the Vigil members involved in the raid on the Consortium. Aoife was likely somewhere inside that building.

Before Emil could move, the eastern man suddenly drew his sword. Emil caught a glimpse of mana fill his vision. Instinctively, he tossed his head back. A rush of air sliced through the space where his head had just been.

A second later, a loud thud echoed behind him. Emil snuck a glance. A deep gash was marked in the trunk of a nearby tree.

A single petal of plum blossom fluttered in the air.