”Hello there, Drome was it?” The young woman said. A second later she opened her eyes.
”Um, yes.” He replied.
She smiled strangely. While Drome couldn’t say he really knew the girl (Grand, he hadn’t even had time to ask for a name), her demeanor now was completely different. She seemed at peace, though a bit sad. She was acting like she was about to break bad news to him.
She held out a hand limply. “I am- you can call me Adam. The owner of the body I’m inhabiting is Devon Near, and we’re both grateful for your help.”
He took the hand, his mind buzzing trying to keep this all straight. “Yeah, uh, charmed.” He nodded to the body of 51, splayed out on the kitchen floor. “Would you mind…”
”Oh, yes, of course.” Moving very carefully, she took the body by the leg and dragged them out to the deck before throwing them off the edge with a grunt.
He took out a can of pop from his Remark, they could both use it. “So what’s the situation, Adam?”
“I’m her Remark,” she (he?) said, drawing up a chair, “and I have my own consciousness, seperate from hers. That's not that odd, is it?”
”No, I suppose it’s not.” Something felt wrong about accepting that so easily. He hadn’t spoken to another person in two weeks. Just having a conversation felt like shakey ground. “Crazy things they’re doing with Remarks these days. You know in LungWilt they’ve figured out how to make them on their own without the need of a duelist.”
”Really?” Adam leaned forward. He didn’t expect the thing to be that interested, he quickly backed down.
”Well, I heard this years ago, might just be hearsay, or some crawlshit they said to help with tourism.” He laughed, and took a sip of pop. “Tourism! Now that's a funny idea.”
”I need to ask you something serious, is this your house?”
”Yes.” He said automatically, annoyed with the sudden shift in topic. “If you’re worried about the security system turning on us don’t be. The wires here recognize my blood. Guess I had an ancestor who owned the place. Who’da thunk it? I spent years living in the dunes of GutWorth, scrounging for scraps, all for naught! If I had known I had a blood deed sooner then I would have-“
Suddenly someone broke through the glass. A wiry girl wearing a standard Legacy mask ran in, soon followed by two others in the same garb.
”DEVON NEAR!” The girl screamed, her Remark was flashy and aimed at Adams throat. “Thought you could escape, huh?”
Adam got up casually from his chair. “Oh, Tremble! Hello there, it’s nice to see you again.”
Her arms went slack. She said his name, there was clear recognition in her eyes.
”What about Devon, did you take her over?” The smallest of the three asked.
”She is safe, but dreaming, she will not wake up for another 48 hours.”
“Where’s 51?” The smallest’s tone was unsure now, a good sign.
”Dead!” Drome said, happy to break the news. “Not that I had anything to do with it.”
There was a pause, and then the three had a huddle, one which Tremble was thrown out of multiple times.
Finally, the one who hadn’t spoken yet said, “Clearly you enjoy living, oh magical talking Remark. We like living as well. Let’s talk.”
…
”They’re coming…” the old man rambled, “-those goddamn ants… those goddamn- those goddamn.” He drooled onto the already soaking linen. His one good eye stared unblinkingly at the city below. He was perched high above everything else, in a tower so distant that no one even knew he was there.
A woman wearing a nurse’s uniform walked up behind him, her porcelain hand held a tray with food and medicine, the organic one kept in a skirt pocket. She placed the tray mechanically at a desk chest level with his cradle. “Ants aren’t a real thing my dear, you’re probably confusing them with gatherbugs. Those are real. Those are everywhere.”
The hanging cradle, which looked like a massive cocoon, turned with his body. The man was ancient and minuscule, the woman was certain that at this point his body was actively decaying. He looked down at the plate, taking a second to process it.
“This is for… me.”
”Yes it is. Go on and eat.”
His lips curdled, the disgust like clockwork. But eventually, like always, the need overtook him and he scarfed the food down like a crawlcow eating feed.
A few years ago he would have complained about the quality of the food. Which would have led to a rant about rations and many other things that didn’t make sense and wasn’t fun to listen to. But the medicine was mellowing him out, making him easier to handle for moments like this. Just like Lemure had said it would.
She checked his restraints. “Permit me, these aren’t too tight, are they?”
“I barely notice them,” the old man said, too distracted by the food to see the needle she was filling with black ooze.
”Excellent, they’re for your own protection.” She slid the needle behind her back as his gaze lazily turned to her.
“Oh that… protection.” He rolled the word around in his mouth, tasting it. “I keep forgetting.” He wrinkled his nose, and then blinked rapidly. “I… don’t know who I am.”
”That’s normal. Don’t worry.” She furled the top of the hanging carriage so that it was only the wire frame, and placed a hand onto his shoulder. “I assure you. You don’t have to worry.”
”I… don’t understand why you wear that.”
”I am a nurse, and I am here to make you better.” She primed the needle, still unseen. The black liquid inside surged like a raging sea.
“No…” The man bobbed his thimble thin neck up and down, his voice growing agitated. “I’m talking about the bloody mask!”
She touched the covered side of her face. She was so used to it she forgot she still had it on.
He started thrashing about now, squirming in his cocoon; despite being old as sin the bastard had a knack for sensing tension. “You’re a bloody cultist! You work for the Wyrm! You work for the fucking Wyrm!!! Let her know the deal’s off! I rebuke her!! Rebuke!!”
Her alabaster arm grabbed hold of his face. She squeezed hard enough to break his jaw, reared him forward, and shoved the needle into the base of his spine.
She stepped back to better watch a sad man die for the nine thousandth time.
He spasmed in the carriage. The restraint kept his movements non violent, if only barely. After about five minutes of this, he suddenly stopped, slumping against the backside and breathing heavily, his eyes closed.
When they opened, they were as black as Death.
”Morgan,” she said, addressing him with a bow. “Welcome back.”
He got out of the carriage nimbly, now filled with verve and vigor. “Quetra. It’s nice to see you. How long was I out?”
”Fifteen days.”
His cloak flew out from the shadows like a massive bird and consumed his tiny frame. It bulged and undulated, his head poked out but the rest of his body vanished. With the cloak on, he looked so much bigger. Sometimes as big as he once was in the photos.
“That’s ten days early.” He moved quickly, scourging through the notes and memos that had been left on his desk since the last time he was woken up. “I need to know why. Did we miss a shipment?”
“No, everything financially is fine.” She handed him a surveillance loop, showing a haggard man killing three of their Numbers with what looked like a knife. The loop captured the moment he had cut off the head of Jerome Fodder. “We got this off the camera we set up on the sliver bridge. He killed three of our Numbers. With one still unaccounted for.”
He tore it to shreds before moving attention back to his desk. ”Why does this concern me? Numbers die all the time.”
”He has gone on to kill or be responsible for the death of more than a dozen others. The highest being Lemure rank 49.” She didn’t give him that Numbers name. It wouldn’t have meant anything to him.
His good eye twitched. His cloak rose him upward as he took a breath, and then finally settled on the exhale. “I see. You should have other Constants-“
She tugged on a pulley and down came a massive screen made out of skin. Vein like growths pulsed and moved beneath it, like squishsnakes under a tarp. “You can talk to them now through the skin-screen.”
Words appeared on the screen written by five different hands.
“Morgan! It’s fucking bad here dude. It’s fucking bad!”
”The one with the money. Grand of a time to show your face, baby. How can we repay you?”
“Morgan. Yes. I cannot see your visage but I’m sure you look esculent!”
“Esculent? Hah, who said that. Was that Karol? Gotta be him. One of these days I gotta borrow your dictionary, it’s been filling your brain with one too many loanwords.”
“It is a compliment, Clive. Yes. Of the highest order. Even if he is not the one being devoured in this situation.”
“Nor shall he ever be! Morgan, it’s me! The mayor! People love me, like always. They continue to! They love me so much it hurts sometimes! I am stabbed with charity. I am murdered by fundraisers.”
The words came out all at once, like vomit. The smart veins in the skin coalesced from the spoken words of the Constants, moving upwards to make room for new messages, erasing once they reached the top. It was an incredibly efficient system. Quetra was proud to have come up with it.
“Has this man been killed?” Lemure asked.
“Define killed, daddio.”
“He has been ground into dust. The dust has been grounded into dust. It’s me again, the mayor! Your mayor! You showed me the secret of the world Morgan! I am so happy! I am so complete.”
“Yucian, nix the boot licking. You do this every time, baby, and for what? You’ve already made it. Chill. Relax.”
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“He has been killed. Yes. But it’s not the man that matters, but the Remark.”
“It’s not the Remark but the man, actually.”
“A chick. That's who we’re looking for. A no name no number nobody. Inspiring. Wow. Really following that rags to riches ethos we preach over here. That's what we’re all about, baby!”
”Jeavell, shut the fuck up.”
”Someone’s jealous of the new sound. Got a problem, Clive? Are you a square or something?”
“Can I say it? I wanna be the one to say it. You guys never let me do anything. I want to tell him.”
He looked back to Quetra and raised an eyebrow. He was looking to her to see how serious this all was. They were all deadly fighters, with hundreds of kills each.
They were also extremely eccentric and often annoying. She didn’t judge him for being skeptical.
And, as the only one he truly trusted, the truth would only matter if she was the one to share it.
“The stranger is believed to have been the host of the Remark of Ruin.”
There was a flash of light, so powerful she felt a force like she had been kicked between the eyes.
The skin-screen had been cut in two vertically, the smart veins pooling out in a black puddle, tubes of them fighting for form but eventually falling to goo. She picked up a mason jar and bent down to scoop up what she could.
“They can be so bothersome when they get excited.” He looked back, she was mirrored in his gaze. “Sorry for that. It was instinct.”
“It’s going to take a lot of flesh to make another one.”
“Plenty of Wyrm blood in addition,” Morgan said, sounding jolly. “And we already know where to get both.”
There was a smile in his voice, but it was absent from his face. Also absent was any sign of his Remark, he could draw and sheath it in milliseconds. She had never actually seen it, even though he had struck her hundreds of times.
In only a few moments, another skin-screen had been lowered, and the conversation continued as if nothing had occurred.
“There is a girl.”
He sighed, his attitude suddenly a century younger than himself. “It already has a new host.”
“We believe her name is Devon Near. She’s a nobody. She would have been killed if not for her acquisition of the Ruin.”
“And she’s still alive.” He said it like an accusation.
“She- yes. What do you suggest?”
“Kill her. Kill her quick, and chuck the Remark into the shifting waters if we can’t destroy it.” He rose up on his cloak, meeting her height. This was the man she worshipped. Bug eyed, veins bulging, constantly looking on the verge of death. “Did you really need to wake me up just for that?”
She bit her lip on the side of her face hidden by her mask. “It’s the Remark of Ruin. Due to your age and origin I thought-“
“What do you know about it?” He asked. “Tell me.”
“It’s fated to end the world.”
“There we go.” He widened his mouth into a gummy grin, “seems you know everything I do!”
He was still drooling a bit. She wiped his mouth with care.
Then her skin twitched. The smart veins were telling her something. The others reacted on the new screen.
”Hold on folks, I am receiving a message.”
”As am I.”
“Me too”
“I think it’s safe to say if one of you is getting a message then you’re all getting it, you don’t need to-“ Morgan noticed her grimace, and inched closer. “Is everything all right?”
She showed him the news on her wrist.
A simple message, 3 words. “51 Is Dead”
“Who sent that?” He asked.
”Multiple people. I’m getting more messages than I have skin. Just hold on.”
”I am terrified. 51 was never supposed to die. 51 has lived as long as you and now they are dead. It’s me, the mayor. I am Yucian, I am terrified of dying. I make a secret wish that only you can hear, Morgan. It’s a wish to never die. Everything I do I do for you. And the wish. You are the manifestation of said wish. I am the mayor!”
”This is fucking crawlshit. Why are we always the last ones to know?”
”Simmer down and watch your mouth, please! Grand. Now I remember why we don’t do meetups.”
“Wow. Capital and all. This is so “the now” it hasn’t even happened yet. Fresh new misery for us to chew on. If only all the world could be so lucky. I heard 51 died in the pose of the Martyr. Far out.”
”I am approaching the body now. Yes. It is real. No. We had many good talks about the relational aesthetics of art and violence, killing and performing, etc. I shall miss them. Yes.”
“No shot we bury this gang. It’s already all over the shop. Boss, any ideas?”
He gave Quetra the look and rubbed his temple. This look was one he reserved for the rare occasions when the constant chaos and madness was her fault. She disagreed but now was not the time. “Well,” he said, sounding far calmer than his face implied, “What should we do here?”
This surprised her, he rarely asked for her opinion. ”Sir, I think our best course of action would be to lock down the city until this woman has either been driven out or killed.”
He considered it for a moment, or maybe he had been distracted momentarily by the mold on the walls. “I don’t want to do that. Too messy. It will lead to panic. We want her dead but- we don’t want that.”
He waved goodbye to the skin-screen and walked down to the conversation pit. She dimmed the floor lights there so that the still active screen wouldn’t be too much of a distraction before joining him.
”I wanted to get away from them, just to discuss… the real things.” He grunted before his body sluggishly fell upon a futon. “This is nice. Was this here last time?”
“No, it’s a gift from across the waters. We have far more furniture now than we know what to do with.” She smiled, and brushed her hair away before taking a seat on a stool built into the floor. Now that had been here since the building was taken.
“That's nice. Would be extra nice if we, I don’t know, maybe got some more building materials from them, but that’s okay. That can wait,” his tiny black eyes bulged out as he forced a smile, “I try not to be a man defined by my grudges.”
“And you do so excellently.”
He wrinkled his nose and rolled his eyes. “Please, Quetra. You don’t have to do that routine with me. I’m just your boss. I’m not a god. Not yet anyway.”
”Understood.” Though she did not understand it and had accepted a while ago that she couldn’t. Still, as much as Lemure seemed strangely awkward to accept the god-like status of his role, he was just as kind and patient with those like her, who could not break such ingrained habits.
Minutes passed without further words. And then he said,
”This is what we do. We offer the role of head of Numbers to whoever can kill or arrest Devon and take her Remark.”
”But what about the freeze?”
”The freeze will be kept in place.” He gave her a look like she was crazy. ”We may need to rethink the entire hierarchy. It’s not beneficial.”
“Sir, you came up with it.”
”I inherited it, remember?” He pointed at his face, his mouth twisting into a scowl. “I did not ask for this condition. As he loses strength, I gain it. I am spending more and more time in the land of the living and I loathe what I see. Our biggest priority should be survival, we have left ourselves wide open to this very scenario. Hierarchies are important when you are building power but we have that already. Now, we need to consolidate. It’s some time off, so don’t worry, but eventually… I want to move all our operations into this tower.”
”Why- what an excellent idea.” She said, faking a smile.
He sighed, “just spit it out Quetra, what is it you want here?”
She motioned to the skin-screen. “Let us handle it. This girl is nothing to any of us, a literal babe in strength. We cannot expect anything but mediocrity from our Numbers.” Ninety seven times Numbers had challenged her to duels. Ninety seven times she had won. It did not make sense to not just send one or two of the Constants to take her out.
”Not yet.” He had a far away look in his black eyes, and seemed to be staring at something beyond her.
“Do you doubt our abilities?” She asked. He had hand picked them himself.
”I don’t doubt your abilities. I just don’t see the need. I cannot view this as an existential threat, to send you all out at once would cause chaos. We do not want people to think this is an issue. Though I do agree, Quetra, that this is unprecedented.” He got up and circled the table between them, his slime coated hands slicking wet the sharp steel. “You are all free to coordinate the Numbers as you see fit, but I want you all serving a purely admin role. I will not tolerate seeing any of you in the field.”
She looked down at her own reflection. The slime had distorted and dirtied the image.
”Anything you say, sir.”
Suddenly, he hurled. A normal occurrence that she did not hesitate to help him with. The onyx vase that was his designated vomit bucket was nimbly placed under him, not a single piece of blood and phlegm fell on the yellow rug.
”Thank you,” he nimbly swiped away the vomit from his chin.
“So, for the Numbers…” She was looking to him for a list.
”Oh?” He looked at her like he had forgotten everything. “Just any of them. Work your way from the top let's say. Who’s the highest Number left?”
“Lemure 50.” Jev Peerless. “He’s… very much a loner sir. He will situate himself in his own room for weeks on end. We would have to locate him first and make sure he’s even willing to help.”
”Sounds familiar. Put him in charge. Let's see him prove his worth.”
She didn’t say anything, just squeezed her nails into the palm of her hand until she drew blood.
…
Dark. Cold. Damp.
The AC thumped like a heart beat, he bit his tongue to take the temperature of the room and found it perfect.
Dark. Cold. Damp.
His back was arched and he was combing through the dirt under the floorboards, eating anything that moved or writhe under his fingers. It was darker down there, reminding him of home.
Dark. Cold. Damp.
There was a sound too loud. Then the rattling of a door handle. Someone was trying to breach.
“Yo! Jev. You in there, buddy?”
The sound was too bright. He was stark naked. This didn’t concern him at all, though he was dimly aware of the faux pas it would be to go about GutWorth with your bits free to see. Without making a sound he reached for his visor first, and then his underwear. The visor was more important than the underwear.
He stuck to the walls and took massive steps, waiting with his hand resting on the door handle, trying to sense the very moment the man outside was about to leave, and only then rewarding him with his presence.
He unlocked the door, and then retreated back.
The door opened and light streamed in like a flash bang, a soggy rectangle of pure radiance. The visor made it tolerable, but just barely.
An awkward looking young man wandered in. He had too much light in his face, this would be corrected soon. “Yo, Jev! It’s Deeno. Deeno Capricious. We shook down that restaurant about two months ago?”
”Why are you here?” His voice was thin, on account of it barely being used.
“Oh, Grand, is that you? Wow… what are you doing in the corner of the room like that? You- um, you okay?”
”I am.” He got up to his full height of 6 '10, his hand shot up easy to the ceiling and he walked forward as if he was holding it aloft. His other hand twitched and kept threatening to do violence. “Why are you here?”
The man's brightness burned Jev’s retinas, he couldn’t hide it like the others, couldn’t hide the inherent instability. Lights like that needed to be turned off.
”51 died, so like- you would be the successor.”
”Great!” It was earnest. He needed to be a Constant, and being leader of the Numbers was a good first step. “So why does my neck still say 50?”
”There’s a freeze, that's why I’m here, to let you know about this girl, we’re all going after her.”
Jev listened as the too bright man talked and talked. Most of it was needless words no one needed. He couldn’t wait until the real world was like the one in his dreams. Dark. Cold. Damp.
But he understood now that if he were to kill Devon, then his dream could come true.
”Hey, would you mind if I turned on the light?” The too bright man threatened to burn out on his own as he reached for the dead light switch.
That was enough. He took out Xtasy, his dark burning magic.
The man's lights rushed out from the massive gash in his head. And fell.
Dark. Cold. Damp.
He closed the door, and gave himself ten minutes of rest before he would go out and face the too bright world.
