Godclads

Chapter 9-13 The Sister

Abrel Greatling.

For your deeds and valor, we, the Choir of Seraphs of Highflame merit you with this Icon of Vigilance, and hereby consecrate you with the title “Vigilant.” In stopping the bombing at Merwin Station, you have saved countless lives and turned the fingers of the Ori against their own eyes.

We hereby recognize your ascent to Instrument and deem you worthy of a Frame of the Third Sphere.

You have earned your divinity, and in overcoming the merits lost to your family by the actions of your mother, you have proven yourself of true mettle.

Blessed be the Worthy

-The Choir of the Seraphs

9-13

The Sister

Within an alcove of memory, Avo hid inside a past iteration of himself. The form felt tight like he was shoving himself back in clothes long outgrown. A mere month and the changes inflicted upon his being were innumerable. In mind, power, and shell, only faint resemblance and past memories bound him.

But justly so: No tree resembled the scrub it was. Such was growth. Such was apotheosis.

New mem-data rose and crested in increasingly predictable patterns, the memories of the session broadcast loud, the newcomer reaching through the inner segregation of Mirrorhead’s Meta for reasons unknown.

[UNIDENTIFIED] AWARENESS: 7%

The newcomer’s attention was dropping. Whoever they were, their glaze cleaved close to the ground which he hid.

As another flicking billow of perception swept through the fifteenth rung. The newcomer made it to the fourteenth and halted there, regarding the distance as “safe enough.”

Their perception coruscated through Mirrorhead’s palace, treating the walls of his wards like swirling dust–faint obfuscations to be squinted at rather than blockades to crawl under. The memory that formed a pathway through shifting trenches was a simple one.

Two children stood in a lush garden. A boy, fair of skin and gold of hair bore a holographic spear. His face was marred with wrinkles of concentration, dimples deepening into divots. On his shoulders giggled a girl, her age far younger. She wore a phantom-shaped manifestation of knightly armor–the design fashioned from the style of old Kosgan. In her hand was a lance levied upon the older boy's head.

It took little to recognize that these two were siblings. It took even less to taste the joy emanating from the memory.

Perhaps she was a sister to Mirrorhead. Chambers mentioned the Syndicate boss having family issues. Possibly talking to a sister. Avo’s suspicion sprouted its first leaves.

Bricked over the trenches of writhing, burning bodies, a new avatar loaded into the palace, the unidentified Necro simulating themselves in the depths of Mirrorhead’s mind. This couldn’t be a foe then. The activation of a session hinted at that. This made Avo all the surer.

Down the path, a trickle of ghosts began to fuse into the shape of an impeccably dressed woman, her flesh bio-sculpted to perfection. It was hard to judge her height and stature from the dimensions of memory, but her form was lean and limber, limbs long and gait fluid. Her dexterity came through even before Avo’s hypercharged reflexes. An uncanny sharpness outlined her aquiline bones, and her hair was a smooth wave of obsidian, each strand adjusting itself to never tangle, never get out of place.

She bore faint semblance to either child in the memory, but appearances were deceptive these days. Especially seeing how easily faces were changed and changed again.

A suit of flowing white adorned her body, the fabric some kind of flowing weave Avo had never seen before. It was like a lake was grafted into the shape of a pantsuit on her skin. It was the gleaming pair of heels she walked on that snatched his attention. A pair of alloyed nu-falcon heads formed her heels. Strangely, the birds seemed alive almost, their gazes darting about, additional pathways of perception connected to her system.

The rhythm of her walk came in a perfect series of taps. She never faltered. She never deviated. Avo timed each step as he scried at her mem-data, seeking to use this opportunity to sink in further.

Pairing the memory over from the pathway, he began to assemble his own passage. It would allow him an easy shot at Mirrorhead’s inner mind if nothing else.

He was partway finished with putting together the requisite memories to spoof his way into her memory lane when a thought rippled out from her. The words she cast crackled in his mind, rendered unintelligible by time dilation. He focused on spoofing the structure of her memory first. He would eavesdrop after.

At his current speed, seconds widened into small eternities. He kept his sequencing subtle as he approached, hidden by other junctions of recollection Mirrorhead had of him. Eventually, he found himself playing a statue within a version of himself held dangling aloft out the back of an aero. The weakness on display filled Avo with dissonance.

There was a certain pleasure in being alienated from prior weakness. Savoring a glance of a moment that once was never to come again, Avo dipped his ghosts into the outsider's memory sequence.

It shivered on the periphery–and he stopped himself. A rattle of trauma tore through his prepared ghosts. Avo drew back into Mirrorhead’s memories, unsure what had gone wrong.

[UNIDENTIFIED] AWARENESS: 11%

Suddenly, he felt the spotlight of her attention sweep around again. He went back to hiding in one of his prior memory selves. Was there a problem with the symmetry of his sequences? Why did he strike her wards? The matter evaded him as he slipped back into stillness, his Metamind cloaking him with old memories anew.

There was something else here he wasn’t seeing. The memory she used to access Mirrorhead was obvious. Plain, even. But there had to be something aberrant about its structure for him to be denied. He felt a trickle of annoyance spill free from her mind.

Annoyance, and no suspicion.

On a whim, he quelled his Heaven and settled his reflex back to baseline.

The woman’s thought-casted voice stung at him with notes acerbic and quick. She spoke like someone using a whip, jabbing, probing. He could feel the taunt in her tone, as if she was mocking him for being unable to cross over into her wards without even fully knowing he was there.

Oh. Avo was going to hate this one. He could already feel it.

+Jhred… did you change the locks again? Put in some new internal Specter to poke at my memories? That’s kinda rude, y’know? Your sister takes time out of her busy, busy life to come warn you about the Authority-mandated ass-kicking you’re set to get, and here you are. Trying to rifle through my mind. What’s the value of family these days?+

A pause. The spotlight of Mirrorhead’s perception was washing down on her. She was standing in a blurred green garden as the two younger versions–or at least that’s who Avo assumed they were–of her and Mirrorhead played.

+You know what? I think you want dad to kick your ass again. In front of everyone. Again. I guess one humiliation wasn’t enough for the esteemed Jhred Greatling. But that’s the way you are, I guess. Always need to get hit twice before you learn your lesson–+ Mirrorhead manifested in front of her, avatar an inch taller than the girl. All she did in response was roll her eyes. +Really? Really, Jhred? We both know who’s actually taller.+

Mirrorhead glared, still faceless, still dressed in his usual attire. His voice was laced with uncharacteristic frustration as he spoke. +What do you want Abrel? I’m busy.+

+And you’re greeting me in your costume now?+ Abrel said. +We both know who you are.+ She laughed. The sharpness of her voice needled Avo’s mind with discomfort. +I’d say half the Syndicates probably know who you are. Really isn’t hard to put one and one together. Highflame Instrument known for using a Heaven of Reflection has a public falling out with his family. Goes missing. Suddenly there’s a clown called Mirrorhead running a Syndicate. I do worry about you, brother–+

Irritation simmering from his person, Mirrorhead snorted. +I am well. You go tell father I–+

+Shut the fuck up and let me finish. Hate it when you interrupt me. Godsdamned–+

+I already gave you my reply–you speak of politeness and barge into my mind without prior notice–+

+I cast over twenty thoughts at you last two days alone, half-strand. This isn’t me barging into your house uninvited; this is me kicking down your door to warn you that rent is YEARS past due, and I’ve already been issued orders. From dad. You know. An Authority of Highflame? Jhred, I don’t need to explain to you how this works. He gave you your space. He let you have your tantrum. That’s done. You need to come home. Now.+

Mirrorhead scoffed, and that was what made Avo certain the two were family. That, and the peeve of being interrupted, the way their anger spiked and then solidified into a hardened clump in their chest. Fascinating how an emotion so similar could be expressed so differently between two of the same bloodline.

+Look, Jhred,+ Abrel said, voice softening. +I sent you your official warning a day back. You know what dad wants. You know that there is no way he can protect you from the Choir of Seraphs if you somehow pull off what you’re trying to pull off. This is a suicide run. Except you won’t be coming back at all.+

An exhalation of pure exhaustion shuddered out from the depths of the palace, lacing the waters of memory with a cocktail of exhaustion and misery. +I know.+

+And we both know it’s better if I bring you–+

+I need to finish this–+

+Finish what?+ A disbelieving scoff snuck out from Abrel as she held out her hands, lamenting at the phantasmal clouds shrouding the glowing sky above. +Jhred… you’ve been down here for years! Years! There are a million other things you could have done to stick it to the Silvers.+

Mirrorhead shivered as he looked down, unable to face the skies above. Both his fists were clenched. +I just… need… to kill one person. Just one. It will all be worth it.+

For the first time, Abrel broke from her adherence to elegance as she jutted her chin forward, neck leaning as if she was a turtle, her lips and eyes turning into thin lines of disbelief. +Uh, no the fuck it won’t. We’ve been tasked to bring you in. Me. And my cadre. Confuse me not, Jhred, this isn’t a heads-up for you to work faster, this is me saying you're finished. Done. Done, Jhred, done. And I will bring you in. I will. If only to save your ass from Vator.+

+Let him come,+ Mirrorhead said, rage swelling his ire. He shoved a finger in Abrel’s face and she smacked it aside in the same instant. She knew it was coming. He continued undeterred. +I’m ready. Vator best be prepared for humiliation if he comes for me.+

+You know he beat Osjane Thousand in a duel three months ago, right? Osjon Thousand’s daughter? The one who snuffed you all those times in the Trials? He made it look easy too.+

+That was the past–+

+Yeah. And? For the past two years you’ve been scurrying around like an aratnid, playing dollhouse with your… FATELESS and refugees. Wanna what he’s been doing for dad? You wanna know what I’ve been doing? Jhred… I can’t even–agh. Listen. I know you’ve improved. I know you’ve gotten better. But you cannot, cannot, can-fucking-not, kill Ambassador Valhu Kitzuhada. Do you hear me? The High Seraph herself will smite you.+

A grim chuckle rattled free from Mirrorhead’s chest. +Ah. Of course. The one who rewards our enemy with the Merit of Valor. For murdering our mother. Torturing her to death before the entire city.+ Anger blazed inside him, and it took all he had to choke it under control. +After all that our mother gave to Highflame.+

+All that our mother…+ Abrel muttered in disbelief. +Jhred… she ruined us for years. Not just our lives, she–she led twenty million Regs, fifty thousand golems, and sixteen Godclad cadres into a slaughterhouse. And then the fucking bitch ran! She ran! She abandoned her banners! Our banners! Our forces! I don’t get why–why–fucking why you keep holding onto her!+

Her words pieced him. His mind shuddered as all his wards grumbled and shook as one. Trauma just impacted Mirrorhead. Trauma striking deep and hard. His index finger jabbed at her again. +You will not ever speak of her this way–+

+I call her whatever the fuck I want,+ Abrel said, slapping his hand aside once more. With slow surety, Avo felt himself judging her mettle more and more. She was the greater danger here. She, and not Mirrorhead. She made a mockery of his power, ignoring his threats and presence like he wasn’t even worth respecting as a threat. +Highflame had her censored for a reason. Father divorced her for a reason! We’re an old family, Jhred. But Old family or not, our values matter. Blessed. Be. The. Fucking. Worthy. Where in those five godsdamned words did you hear “abandon your forces, lose a war we were winning, and let Ori-Thaum regain the initiative.”+

+Lies. Slander.+ The growled words coming from Mirrorhead were near feral. +These are just… just lies! Lies from the Ori.+

As he spoke, Abrel clutched at her head and began to mumble pleas, begging all the dead gods for strength to deal with her idiot brother. +I can’t… I… I can’t… Jhred. Jhred! Get your shit together and look at what’s happening for once in your life! You can’t kill the ambassador–and rightly so. He fought a good war. He won that from us. It was righteous. Veylis recognized that and so did the Choir. He’s an Ori half-strand. He’ll have to die before we transcend, but until the big one comes, he’s earned this mercy.+

Twin oceans of fury clashed with cataclysmic impact as Avo clung to the recollection masking him. The sheer force of rage upon rage rang hard. The flavor of this family animosity came as a sublime novelty to Avo. He had felt rage. Hatred. The need to kill. But this… there was so much hurt in this. Their minds tasted sour with anger, the nature of their loathing impure with old love.

+Righteous?+ A near-sob of incredulity. +Righteous… Abrel, she was your mother too–+

Abrel’s nostrils flared. Her fury sparked. +Yeah. I know. Can’t seem to go a day without getting reminded of the fact. That I am, indeed, stained by association with the greatest black mark on Highflame history in over fifty fuckin’ years. That our family once stood amongst the Choir of Seraphs, and now we’re kicked back with the larger symphony. Us, and all the other great families who hate us for that.+

+It was not her fault,+ Mirrorhead whispered. +The Ori-Thaum tricked her–+

Abrel’s hands shot out, twin blurs that seized his face. +Of. Course. They. Did. Jhred. It’s war. It’s war. Deception is part of war. Being tricked isn’t the part that blemished us, blemished every last Chivalric in Highflame and cast off our merits. It’s running! It’s letting everyone who stood with her die! And then letting Ori-Thaum take five Sovereignties from us. Five.+

Reaching up, he pried her hands free. +I know all that.+ He said, voice finally settling back into a haggard, calm baritone. +I also know our father just abandoned her. I know he let her die. And I know he voted to have her name and deep memories censored.+

+I don’t give a shit how much she loved us,+ Abrel said, flinching as she met her own reflection in his face. +I don’t give a shit how good a mother she was. I don’t give a shit if we were naturally birthed by her, nursed on her, and rocked to sleep by her. She shamed herself. She shamed our family. She shamed Highflame. The way she died… she had it coming. Dad did the right thing.+

Oh but this was delightful to behold. Entranced, Avo noticed Draus in the back of his mind watching as well, silent this entire time, mind blank of all thoughts but a deep undercurrent of bitter loathing.

They were gazing upon a family already sundered, and now, the last link between brother and sister was beginning to fray.

+Let me tell you a story of two futures, Jhred,+ Abrel said quietly. +The first is a happier one. You stop this. We go back home. You don’t even need to apologize to dad or even acknowledge his existence. Just… find something else to do and keep doing it. Let it occupy your mind. Earn your merits back. You can still do that. I’ll help you. I’ll give anything to help you.+

The nod that came from Mirrorhead was almost imperceptible. +And the other?+

A sigh escaped from Abrel as she looked heavenward. +The other future goes like this. You do not, in any reality, in any timeline, kill Ambassador Valhu Kitzuhada. The High Seraph has deemed him an esteemed adversary, and the Choir concurred. So it shall be. In not killing him, you will not worsen the shitstorm mom left us in, and father can finally resolve the last bits of her mistake.+

An explosion of focus snapped through Mirrorhead. +Father. What’s he doing?+

+That’s not the important part Jhred–+

+The last bits. What does that mean? What’s he doing?+

Abrel went silent, mem-data reverberating with turmoil. Turmoil and… another wavelength within.

Avo paused. Another wavelength? Looking closer at her sequences again, he saw–the structure permeating through all her memories. It wasn’t a feeling or a recollection. Just a sound, the repetitions of a violin, endless and unceasing.

Was that what repelled him from syncing into her mind?

+He’s going to Nu-Scarrowbur,+ Mirrorhead said. It wasn’t phrased as a question. +He’s going to the summit. He’s going to be at the renewal of the treaty.+

A quiver of worry vibrated from Abrel’s mind. +Jhred, it’s not like that. He’s been tasked by the Choir–doubtlessly because they know what you’re planning, and they need you to stop–+

+Leave,+ Mirrorhead said. The thought came free of him with a suppressed gasp masked by a hiss of rage. +Get out. Get out.+

She reached out for him. +Jhred–+

He stepped away from her. +This is done. This is done. We’re done. Get out.+

Her hand froze, never touching him. Her expression softened for an instant. Then, it turned harsh. +You have two days to return. I’m watching you. You attempt to make a move toward Nu-Scarrowbur in any way, I bring you back in a cage. This is your last chance.. Get your shit together, Jhred Greatling. Submit. Or stand and deliver. The order has been served. Don’t be a half-strand. Report to the Ark..+

And before he could say anything else, cut her session, and vanished from the confines of his mind.

An unsettled quietude descended on the palace. Mirrorhead’s simulated self lingered a moment longer. With great effort, he forced his fists open, but his fingers curled, gouging at first at nothing, and then he clutched himself in a tight embrace.

+Worthless,+ Mirrorhead muttered. +You’re worthless, Jhred. Worthless.+ A howling clash fissures the skies. Arcing volts of traumatic memories bubbled, building between the cracks.

Avo knew what was to come. A rush of excitement surged. Ah, but to know that Mirrorhead had so much brittle loathing within him.

He would serve as a good font for phantasmics before this was done.

+Is he gonna–+ Draus asked.

A spear of trauma lanced inward. Mirrorhead screamed, lashing himself with a memory of his mother’s suffering.

The mind’s versatility, how humans broke in such supple ways. Some lost sleep. Some grew prejudicial. Some learned to self-mutilate.

A good Necro could have removed this habit from Mirrorhead, but that was the nature of a mind, wasn’t it? So many were slaves to their thoughts, shaped by their thoughts. They feared change because they thought it to be kindred to death.

“Poor, pathetic Jhred Greatling,” the Woundshaper mocked. “Here was an unworthy god if I ever beheld one. All the power of divinity, and look at him. Human. All too human. Take heed, master. You bloomed. He broke. Somewhere never meant to ascend, no matter the quality of life’s waters.”

“No,”Avo said, watching as Mirrorhead struck himself again, savoring the scene as an undiscovered vouyer watching a hated foe in agony.

A flash of inspiration followed. Jhred Greatling’s final death took shape in Avo’s mind, and it would be one that rhymed.

Perhaps New Vultun would come to know Mirrorhead as they did his mother.