Shackled Exalted

Emil

Petra stared at him like she was looking at a lunatic.

"This might be the stupidest plan that I've ever heard."

Emil shrugged. "Do you have any better ideas?"

She went quiet. After a tense minute of silence, she finally answered with a dejected air, "Unfortunately, no."

"Then we'll go with this."

***

Emil soon found himself back on the outskirts of the Second Sector the following night— near the abandoned southernmost district where the Gharian diaspora had used to be. But instead of being outfitted in his usual night gear, he was dressed in a different set of clothes.

His body was covered by a thin gray fabric stained by dirt and scratched by sand. Holes littered the shoddy outfit. It looked closer to rags than a proper piece of clothing. His trousers were equally scrappy while his feet were covered by a pair of sandals that looked as if it had been trampled and chewed by animals.

What a trip down the memory lane, he thought sarcastically, grimacing at the coarse texture between the folds of the rubbish clothes and his skin. The feeling was gross. It felt immensely uncomfortable, especially as he thought of all the disease and afflictions that he was potentially introducing to his body. His face and body were also smeared in mud and ash. Dirt had been embedded between his nails, which he also purposefully scratched the surface to add imperfections. Even his teeth had been stained with a coat of ash—the bitter taste in his mouth was unpleasant to say the least.

He was disguised as one of the many orphans residing in this abandoned diaspora.

Emil trudged towards his destination with a hunchback and a limp, trying to act his cover as an orphan who was suffering from debilitating injuries. The goal was to board the caravan that carried desperate orphans to the Sixth Hidden Laboratory.

Who would have thought my life in the slums would actually come in handy one day?

He smiled with resentment.

Back then, the rags on his body would have felt like a blessing from the heavens. That was how little he had when he lost everything after his parent's deaths. Now, he was surprised at himself over how much he detested the feel and smell of these clothes that he used to wear. People changed as their environments and conditions change. Emil had gone a long way from when he was just a miscreant struggling to survive—now he was a Steiger Cleaner and a highly-coveted student of Gifted Academy, even if the latter was just a farce.

Still, he thought he was more resilient than this. Wearing a simple set of dirty rags shouldn't have irked him this much.

I really have grown spoiled.

He arrived at the location where the caravan was frequently parked. Several orphans were already camped in the area—their vacant eyes raised upwards at him as he limped into view. Emil felt a stab of pain when their eyes met. He recognized those familiar gazes, which were everywhere in the slums of Lower Dannan. They were looks of resignation. Exhaustion and fatigue clouded their pupils from the daily battles for survival. Behind that was a glint of resentment and a flickering vestige of hope that boarding this caravan could turn their fortunes around.

It wouldn't, but they didn't know that. Instead of hope, what they would find is a horror far greater than the woes of surviving in the diaspora.

And yet here he was, letting them walk straight into that hell. Emil clenched his teeth.

The sound of gravel being kicked aside soon resounded over the dark night. The caravan pulled into view. Two men stood at the coach as the horses cantered to a stop. Emil tried to get a view of who was responsible for collecting the orphans, but the men's faces were obscured behind masks. Their outfits were also plain. There was nothing distinctive and no insignia to indicate their affiliations.

"Only ten this time. Less than usual," he overheard one of them say.

"It's fine. We've been coming more often than usual."

One of the men dropped down from the coach and walked over to open up the back of the caravan. Upon seeing this, some of the lethargic looking orphans immediately rose from their positions and rushed to the vehicle.

"Hey, settle down! One at a time! We're taking everyone today!"

Taking everyone today?

The words implied that there were days where the number of orphans waiting here exceeded the caravan's capacity.

Emil frowned at the revelation. The situation in the diaspora must have been worst than appeared. Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised. The Academy wasn't the only place suffering from Vigil's attack—Azure City as a whole likely felt the reverberations of the terrorist attacks. With public security in question, there was more scrutiny and paranoia gnawing in the minds of its citizens. It's not shocking if that paranoia manifested in more violence and intolerance towards the miscreants.

"Slowly! Get on in! Watch your steps!"

Emil limped into line. Petra's warning echoed in his head.

"What if you get recognized?"

It was definitely a risk. The name Emil Milligan had been embedded in the consciousness of Azure City after his performance in the Clash of Dawn. His face was well-known to the elites in attendance. But for the regular folks of Azure City who did not have direct access to watch the Clash of Dawn, they should have only been familiar with his name. Still, there were the researchers inside of the Hidden Laboratory to consider as well. There was no way to know how many staff members at the Academy were affiliated with the Hidden Laboratory's agenda. Precautions were necessary.

With that in mind, Emil had done several things to alter his appearance. One, he put on a wig that had been smeared in mud and soot to resemble the unruly hair common to the orphans of the slums. Two, he wore a thick bandage to cover his right eye. It served to sell his disguise as an injured orphan and helped to conceal his appearance. Lastly, he had Petra help temporarily change some of his facial features. Using glue, they were able to alter the folds and textures of his skin. That along with all the ash and dirt smeared across his face should have allowed him to remain incognito. His blue eyes might have posed a problem, but they were unable to do anything about that given their limited time.

As he approached the caravan, the man maintaining order gave him no more than a cursory glance before directing him to his seat. He sat down. The back of the caravan was surprisingly spacious despite its outer appearance. The stank of unwashed bodies, however, filled the stale air like miasma.

The last of the orphans entered and the caravan door was promptly closed.

"Sit tight! We're moving now!" the same man called out.

Emil heard the horses snort as the caravan was pulled into motion. The orphans around him were all staring blankly at the floor. Some of them were hugging their knees. Others laid down, attempting to fall asleep, not knowing when they would reach their destination. Despite the lifeless expressions they showed earlier, now there was a palpable nervousness settling in the caravan.

They were anxious. Desperate. Filled with uncertainty. Orphans of the slums knew they were unwanted in this kingdom. They could tell—from the passersby that treated them like ghosts or the violence inflicted upon them when they dared to make their presences known. They were conditioned to expect hostility from everyone. And so, when a stranger comes and makes them an offer to come with, how can they not view it with suspicion? Yet even so, against their better judgement, choosing to believe was their only salvation.

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

Emil wanted to say something to them. Something to assuage their fears. But what? He knew what fate awaited them once they entered the Hidden Laboratories. Lying felt too cruel. And nor should he be attracting attention to himself. The more that he was unnoticed, the smoother his infiltration will be.

Get it together man.

He kept his mouth shut, resolved to go through this ridiculous plan in his head once more.

***

They had been on the move for nearly an hour now. The inside of the caravan remained silent the entire time. Emil could only hear the sharp creaks of the caravan's wheels trudging along the coarse and unmaintained roads in the abandoned diaspora. Flickers of moonlight leaked in from the tiny gaps of the caravan's walls.

We should be there soon.

The roads had grown noticeably less bumpy. The ride was smoother. It implied that they were on a more frequently used path. Emil guessed that they were near the slums before the Sixth Hidden Laboratory. As he expected, the caravan eventually crawled to a halt.

The ambient moonlight leaking through the gaps of the caravan were suddenly overpowered by brighter lights. He heard the distinct crackling of flames. Torches. Likely from the Sentinel patrols that guarded the premise of the lab.

Surely enough, there were faint murmurs echoing from the front of the caravan. After a moment of back and forth, something huge squeaked open with a metallic ring. That must be the gates to the compound. The caravan then advanced once more.

Here it goes.

Emil took in a deep breath, trying to calm his frantic nerves. His heart was threatening to leap out of his chest. He could feel the sweat crawling down his back, carrying along the ash and dirt that he had coated onto his body to fit the appearance of an orphan living in the slums.

My disguise should be fine.

There was little chance that he could be recognized. Orphans were ghosts of this kingdom—no one would care to scrutinize his appearance behind all the grime. Besides, if any of the researchers found him familiar, they would never be able to connect the dots. After all, why would a finalist of the Clash of Dawn be masquerading himself as an orphan? It was absurd. An unbelievable tale. There was no way that a rising star who was near the apex of his popularity would degrade himself in such an obscene way.

But reality was strange sometimes.

The caravan's doors swung open. Torch light flooded the dark interior. Emil watched as the orphans around him winced at the influx of light. As their eyes adjusted, he could see the uncertainty in their gazes.

"Come down! One at a time!"

The ones closest to the exit reluctantly hopped out of the caravan. Emil waited, wanting to be at the rear of the line. When it was finally his turn, he slowly crawled out, still feigning his limp as he dragged himself out of the caravan.

The frigid night air immediately clawed against his skin. The rags on his body did little to shield from the cold. The first thing he did was keep his head down and hug his body like the rest of the orphans who were shivering. He caught a few glances in his direction, but none of them lingered for too long. The bandage on the side of his face and his struggle to exit the caravan should have told his entire story. In his periphery, he caught several people dressed in long black overcoats.

Those should be the researchers.

The tenured research staff at the Academy wore a similar outfit, except theirs were decorated in gold strips and insignias along the chest and shoulder to denote their seniority and accomplishments. Meanwhile, the ones wore by the researchers here were plain.

I wonder if there's a ceremonial meaning to the black outfit or some sort of practical utility, Emil thought absent-mindedly as he and the rest of the orphans waited in the cold. An exchange between the research staff and one of the coachmen was taking place.

"Only ten this time?"

"Like I've said several times before, our other client has been increasing their quotas."

"I don't see how that affects our contract."

"They're being given priority because they're paying more. Simple as that. It's just business. If you want the same treatment, then you should start fattening up your offers instead of complaining."

Emil overheard the researcher click his tongue before handing over a bag of coins. Payment. The horses pulling the caravan began to turn around.

"Single file! Don't fall behind!" one of the researchers yelled.

The orphans naturally compiled as they shuffled after the researchers into the building. Since he was at the rear, Emil took the opportunity to look around. Now that he was closer, the walls surrounding the compound easily towered past thirty meters tall. It was nearly impossible to scale, especially given the smooth surface that lacked any proper foothold. He might have been able to do it using Bulwark, but that would have instantly given himself away to the cadre of Sentinels patrolling the premise.

I think there's more of them than what Petra drew on the diagram.

The uniformed soldiers were everywhere. A stealth infiltration would have been impossible unless he had a Gift that could turn himself invisible.

Emil turned back to the front. The main building of the Hidden Laboratory was an amalgamation of a fortress and the manufacturing facilities within the industrial district of Lower Dannan. Smoke bellowed from the exhaust ceilings at the sides of the building. He could hear the river's flow echoing from upstream from the distance. In the corner of his eyes, he caught a small bat entering one of the openings atop of the building.

As he expected, the researchers were none the wiser as they allowed him to step foot into the interior of the Sixth Hidden Laboratory.

Phase one of the plan is complete.

The hard part came next.

Petra

Looks like he's going to make it in.

Petra noted as she glanced down in the body of a bat. Her real body was in a hidden spot somewhere in the Third Sector, safe from the Sentinel patrols on the lab's outer premise and close enough to let her act once they were ready to move onto the final phases of the plan.

I can't believe I let him convince me to agree with this.

Petra flapped her wings and glided into the one of the many small openings along the parapet of the building. She winced as she was immediately met with a blast of hot air and the shrieking drawl of machineries in the background. The ground level of this lab functioned as an Azurite processing facility. There were craftsman and maintenance workers stomping around followed by the clank of hammers and the rumble of blast furnaces bellowing in the vicinity.

The cacophony assaulted her ears. A bat's hearing was much sensitive than a human, and it felt like a needle was being stabbed into her head from every swing of a hammer.

Where is it?

She clicked her mouth, trying to make use of the bat's echolocation to find her target. The interior of the facility was illuminated in a dim blue light that permeated the entire floor. Its source was from the clusters of Azurite affixed to the ceiling of the facility. Concentrated mana leaked from the stones, resulting in its distinct pale blue glow.

It was a novel application of the stones beyond just as a catalysis to enable an Exalted's Gifts. Azurite could be reused many times after its stored mana had been depleted before it began to degrade, and there were plenty of ambient mana around to recharge the stone's mana capacity. In other words, it provided a source of lighting that consumed very little materials compared to the expensive oil lamps and candles.

However, mana generally didn't leak from the stones themselves without some sort of trigger. Normally, it came from the will of an Exalted, but in nature, Azurite can dispense mana on its own with enough physical stimuli. Either from a heavy force or from a weak, but persistent electric current.

The reverberations of her clicks bounced back to her ears at a frequency too high for humans to detect. She adjusted her flight path, following the line of metal wires meld to the ceiling that connected to the Azurite clusters. Eventually, she arrived at her target.

Found it.

A large unwieldy machine stood before her. It was composed of four rotating discs mounted vertically in proximity to a pair of large metal rods, which was then connected to all of the metal lines spread throughout the facility. The discs were segmented with metal sections in an interlocked pattern. A low mechanical hum rumbled as they spun. An occasional static charge buzzed in the air gap between the pair of rods.

This massive contraption was the source of the pulsating electric current that stimulated the Azurite's release of mana. The machine, in turn, was powered by a steam engine using water fed by the river.

Petra had no knowledge behind the exact mechanisms of this machine. It was an impressive feat of engineering for sure, but it seemed excessive if its sole goal was to provide lighting to illuminate the facility.

Not that Ardairans aren't known for their love of extravagance.

Being excessive in the pursuit of luxury and indulgence was the blood of this kingdom. From that perspective, it made perfect sense that a bunch of researchers would create a machine just to make it easier to keep the lights on during the night. And who knows? Maybe this invention would become commonplace one day to have inside of her own home. She could understand the annoyance of needing to keep an oil lamp on when she was trying to work into the dark hours of the night.

For now, however, all she cared about was carrying this stone in her talons and dropping it into the correct position. She flapped her wings rigorously, straining as her legs struggled to lift the weight of the tiny rock.

I would have picked another animal if I knew bats were this weak!

When she finally gained enough height, she let go of the stone. The rock fell into the gaps of the rotating disc. A nasty, high-pitch wail screeched as the discs grinded to a halt from the stone's intrusion. The residual static surged in the air. It narrowly missed Petra—the air in front of her radiated a sweet, astringent smell from the electric charges.

The entire facility suddenly went dark.

For a brief moment, everything was silent. The machines came to a stop. The craftsmen's hammers ceased. Even the hum of the furnace blasts appeared to fade, seemingly snuffed by the darkness.

Then chaos ensued.

Amidst the mass confusion, Petra flew towards the lobby of the ground level where Emil should have been. Seeing in the darkness was no problem for a bat.

Let's hope I didn't take too long.