Waterstrider

Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fourthmonth, 1634 PTS

“I can’t believe he’s actually here,” muttered Kalthen, setting down the lens he was using to view the event taking place several stacks away. He looked over at Triezal. “Could it be a stand-in?” he asked.

Triezal shook his head, checking an odd device that he had hooked up to his slate with a long cable. It was shaped like a hexagonal prism, but was seemingly hollow, with abscesses in the shape of various glyphs on each of its regular sides. A handle from whose base the cable emerged extended from the end of the wand. It was a sensor designed to detect the presence and type of miasma in an area. The sensitivity had needed to be calibrated extensively to handle the distance between them and the targets.

“I don’t think so, unless there’s somebody else on the station with such a high amount of formless miasma inside of them. Just to be sure, though, tell the squads to try and discern whether or not he’s disguised under some sort of hologram. Perhaps the Shade or some Seiyal are trying to mislead us.”

“Where do you think he’s keeping the Shade?” Kalthen asked, typing the orders onto a slate and sending them to the other squads.

It had been almost a week since the events at the restaurant, and from what Triezal had heard, the Vice-Leader had ultimately decided to talk to the Leader, convincing him to promote Kalthen to the position of Triezal’s adjunct. Squad Leader Akekha had not been happy about the matter. While the Leader hadn’t felt that Kalthen had truly earned the role, he didn’t dispute that due to Kalthen’s nature being so deeply tied to the organization, he was someone who could be implicitly trusted not to betray the organization, not while both his mother and uncle remained loyal. That was a vital trait for those who were to know about the Shade’s existence.

Having found out about the rumors, the Heirs had dispatched a sizable number of forces to the area on the off chance that it turned out to be true. Wary of being tricked, most of them were simply observing from a distance to assess the situation. Triezal had fought with Riverfiend, after all, and knew that the man was not guileless.

Triezal continued watching the Redwater Sect’s entry examination as he replied.

“I’m not sure, but… there’s something I’ve just remembered, that I believe Hestky might have said before he succumbed to the poison.”

“Oh?” asked Kalthen, dutifully focusing his gaze back to the stage on which Riverfiend was standing.

“He said the word ‘Rachel.’ I hadn’t thought anything of it, since it seemed an odd combination of syllables. Neither a name, nor a recognizable word in any Celan or Canvasian language.”

He didn’t continue, trusting Kalthen to catch the connection.

“And that Vice Sect Leader down there introduced herself as… shit!”

Triezal found himself in agreement with the swears. A Shade without a body was dangerous only if their computing capability was sufficient to break into networks, and even then, only if the information and connected technology was powerful enough to be a threat. A Shade with a body, however…

Both of them could not help but think back to the history of their ancestral homeworld, of the might that Shades such as the warlord Ottrien and the witch Janottka were said to have possessed. To be safe, they would need to treat her as if she were a true Seiyal at the Pinnacle of the Spirit Refinement realm. While they could do so, it was a complication that Triezal did not appreciate. Taking and retaining possession of a boxed machine was far easier than a seemingly living combatant.

Triezal took another glance at the reproduced image, analyzing the characteristics of the Redwater Sect’s second in command. The potential Shade appeared to be a Seiyal woman. Visually, she seemed slightly less athletic in appearance than was typical for female martial artists, but not to any sort of suspicious extent. According to the sensor, she used extant miasma, which would easily serve for an explanation. He did note her untied hair, something quite unusual for a martial artist in public. It could be an individual quirk, or perhaps a cultural trait of the species the Shade was created by.

He continued observing her as the entrants began to fight one another, trying desperately to decide on a course of action. He hadn’t brought any enforcers, as they would undoubtedly tip off their target before they managed to approach. Worse, this was deep inside of Hadal Clan territory, and to bring one of the machines in could threaten to turn the tensions between their organizations into a true gang war. It would be worth it if he successfully reclaimed the Shade, but if he failed…

Amidst the sounds of the city, Triezal continued to watch her and the Riverfiend, while a clash went on inside his mind. Beside him, he could almost feel the stressed anticipation within his companion.

He sighed, once again turning to look at Kalthen.

“Pass me the comm.”

He did so, and Triezal soon held it up to his mouth, ready to speak to all of the squads in the district at once. His plan was poor, and if they were not desperate he would never have gone through with it like this. It was certain that no matter what the result was, this would cause substantial issues for him.

For a moment Triezal wondered whether his missions would ever be simple again.

Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fourthmonth, 1634 PTS

Han charged at the other boy, fist winding back to swing at his face. His opponent did the same, and their fists collided with flesh with a painful smack that caused Han’s world to be filled with dizziness. He reeled from the blow, taking a step backwards to regain his senses.

The world was awash with color, and Han felt truly alive. Each of his senses resonated with the world, giving him a visceral, primal feeling. This wasn’t a life or death battle, but it might as well be, and to Han, that gave it meaning. Deep down Han knew that this was the real reason that he had wished to become a martial artist, why he was so desperate to join the sect. It wasn’t just his admiration for martial artists, nor the opportunity to change his life. It was because he wanted to fight, and he wanted to be good at it.

The opponent snarled at him, trying to kick him, but Han stepped backwards, allowing the boy to unbalance himself. He then stepped closer again and went for another punch aimed at the face. It was deflected by his opponent’s forearm, so Han went for a headbutt. He was far past the point of caring about potential injuries. Anything would be fine if it allowed him to win this fight. However, the boy saw it coming and raised his knee, driving it deep into Han’s gut. He cursed, trying to make space between them and regain his wind.

The other boy approached, but Han slid his foot out, successfully kicking at his ankle. He staggered, but managed not to fall.

Han followed up with a second punch, an uppercut delivered directly to the other boy’s gut. As the impact arrived while he was still recovering, this caused him to lurch backwards unsteadily with a curse, arms instinctively windmilling. Han didn’t give him the chance to back up, grabbing his head in two hands and slamming it down into his knee. The boy fell to the ground with a groan, and Han knew that he had won. If he wanted to, he could stomp on the boy’s head and kill him.

The fight was short, but Han knew that among mortals, they usually were. Not when both sides only cared about the harm they could dish out, and not about how much they received. It was something he had learned through the various street fights he and his friends had been involved in in the past.

He wiped blood off of his cheek with a smile, turning to glance up above the stage where the illusory screen floated. As he had hoped, his number was already marked as the winner of the fight. Excited, he turned back to help the other boy up, concerned for his injuries now that there was no reason to hurt him anymore. He received a glare, but the other boy still accepted his hand. He met Han’s gaze with a sad smile.

“I’ll see you in the sect when I succeed in the next entry exam,” he said.

Han returned the smile, his excitement spilling over despite an attempt to restrain himself for the other boy’s sake.

“I’ll be happy to accept a rematch at that time.”

The other boy scoffed.

“You’ll have a head start in advancement. I’ll catch up to you first, and then I’ll beat you.”

Han laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

The other boy filed out of the crowd, joining a group of the slowly leaving losers of the battle. Many of them conglomerated just outside the line of sect members, where family members and friends had been watching the results, hoping to see whether or not their loved ones could succeed.

Once everyone filed out, the Vice Sect Leader once again stood at the edge of the stage, looking out upon everyone present. She gave a congratulatory smile as she looked at the far smaller group that remained, numbering just over one hundred.

“Those of you that remain should either have some experience fighting or be lucky, both of which are traits our sect admires. Next, we’ll be administering tests to everyone to see if your bodies would be receptive to the arts. All you will have to do is-” Her words were interrupted by what seemed to be a black line tracing across the sky, running right through her. The stage seemed to explode, and moments later, a loud shriek and boom resounded, one of the loudest noises that Han had ever heard. It was immediately followed up with several more, apparently aiming at the Riverfiend as well.

He glanced back up in shock, and saw her figure staring up towards a direction that he didn’t believe any of the projectiles had originated from.

"A commendable attempt, Magister,” she said, speaking in Staiven. "But not quite enough."

Han, like most Seiyal born in Tseludia, was also fluent in the language. He didn’t understand to whom she was speaking, but he finally realized what had just happened.

This was an assassination attempt, and not just her, but also the Riverfiend, he now saw, had emerged wholly unscathed from it. He couldn’t help but gape in awe.

Han’s desire to learn martial arts had somehow become even more pronounced.

Miasmic Receptivity: [Like any other body part, a Seiyal’s dantians and natural meridians can bear a variety of traits. Many of these traits will shift over time as they are accustomed to miasma, but the initial nature of them can have a large impact on one’s initial rate of learning. Due to the large number of applicants, many large sects exclusively admit those with high initial receptivity to miasma, who will take less time and resources to train up as the miasma is more easily able to enter Telles through their body. Some Seiyal are receptive to only certain types of miasma, to the point where acquiring another is almost impossible for them.]