Machinations (III)

  Marcel maintained his ramrod-straight posture for several moments, the already quiet atmosphere in the room seeming to grow even more tense under the weight of his impatience. Finally, Byron shifted his attention and addressed his younger half-brother with the demeanor of a professional.

  “Now then Marcel, I’m sure you know the reason I called you here.” Sharpening his glare, Byron began the discussion without the slightest hint of concern for his pale-faced sibling’s condition.

  “...Could it be about Nectar?” Marcel inquired softly where he stood. There was no longer any hint of authority radiating from him, in fact, his bandaged appearance and defeated character actually made him seem quite timid.

  “Of course, I know you’re helping that conniving man with his little passion project. He’s quite deceitful, but you’re an adult now, and seeing as you’ve already made the decision to see this through, I have no right to stop you.”

  Byron paused to sharpen his glare.

  “...But be warned Marcel, because even if that drug does end up being successful, do take care to ensure that none of it traces back to our guild in any way. Your case alone is already jarring enough and as the guildmaster, I won’t tolerate any further incidents that could potentially stain our reputation.”

  “B-But...” Byron’s luminous glare made Marcel lose his words for a moment, however he was determined to hold his ground on this, if nothing else.

  “But what?” Byron repeated begrudgingly.

  “Wouldn’t the success of Nectar bring greater prestige to our guild? If it succeeds, then we could fulfill the clan’s ambition...the plan to create a saint.”

  “....”

  His words hadn’t fallen flat, Byron keenly listened to everything he had to say, then dismissed it with a morbid sigh. The exasperation carried on that gesture was one so profound it appeared to poison the dimly lit room with the purest essence of discouragement.

  “You’re still going on about that?” Byron shifted in his chair, then he leaned forward as if bracing his body to give a lecture.

  “Marcel you’ve always had that habit of trying to go beyond what you’re capable of. You try too hard to prove yourself to people who barely acknowledge your existence every now and then. How long are you going to keep this up? This has already cost you an arm once, now your instructor and bodyguard Evan is dead, you were almost imprisoned and to top it all off the association knows about Nectar now. Is acknowledgement really worth that much to you?”

  A crushing wave of silence washed over them, Marcel, in particular felt like his body was being grounded by lead weights. Still, he never wavered. His body stood firm like a rock, unyielding even before the one person he would normally never dare to oppose.

  “This isn’t about getting anyone's approval. I discarded those thoughts long ago, the only one I need prove anything to is myself—to prove that I’m not a failure.” Marcel responded with a fearsome glare, it wasn’t directed at Byron, his older half-brother—no, the burning desire reflecting off his Irises had the entire cityscape in its sight.

  It was a passion so great it could easily consume everything around it, and yet Byron, the one beholden to such a thing, mustered a thin smile. The expression spawned on his face reflexively, not from joy, or elation. It was closer to humble acquiescence.

  Byron's smile carried no mockery, nor was it laced with pity. It was the weary acknowledgment of a man who had seen this level of passion before—who had once carried it himself. He exhaled softly, his gaze drifting past Marcel to the sprawling city below, its countless lights flickering like distant stars.

  “I see. So that’s how it is...”

  Glancing back to Marcel, he raised his gaze in acknowledgement.

  “Very well, you may do as you wish Marcel. However, if things should go south the guild will not be claiming any involvement in this. At the ripe age of nineteen it's about time you start learning how to discern someone’s true character. I suggest you do exactly that for the shrewd man you’ve decided to work with.”

  “I’m aware. Should things go south, I’ll assume all the responsibility and handle the fallout myself.” Replied the young Phoenix, his expression had relaxed somewhat, although there was still an unusually timid air around him.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Then that is all. You may continue as you have until now. I’ll sort out the current legal issues one way or the other.” Byron told him flippantly.

  Marcel studied his older brother’s expression, searching for any hint of hesitation, but Byron’s face remained unreadable. A quiet confidence settled in his words, as if the matter had already been resolved in his mind.

  “…That’s it?” Marcel asked, wary. “No conditions? No interference?”

  “I said it earlier, didn’t I? I have no right to stop you, so long as you don’t involve the guild in your off-the-record activities then you are free to do as you wish.”

  Marcel’s jaws slackened a little, unable to form the words.

  It was surprising to see Byron, of all people give him such a wide margin of freedom. Up until now he’d simply been left in Byron’s care, so their relationship never amounted to more than blood related strangers, but now something was clearly different.

  He felt as though something about his brother had changed. That change was miniscule—something an outsider had no chance of discerning—but he could feel it clearly.

  His brother had acknowledged him.

  The words hadn’t been said out loud and there was no hard evidence to back it up, in fact it was more of an instinctual understanding, but the intent had been conveyed, nonetheless.

  Is this his way of acknowledging me? Marcel wondered to himself.

  There wasn’t any time to mull over the thought because Byron’s authoritative voice immediately shook him out of his stupor. “How long are you going to keep standing there? You’re dismissed.”

  “Ah, o-okay, then I’ll see myself out now, guildmaster.” As soon as the words left his lips, Marcel swiveled around and marched his body beyond the giant ebony doors.

  The door shut with a ‘click’ sound that failed to garner any sort of reaction from the rooms only occupant. “Even though he’s a half-blood, I guess he’s still a phoenix after all.” Resting a hand on his jaw, Byron continued examining the year-old report in his hand. The report had been distributed to the leaders of every major guild in the city, and even though he was handling it so casually, the contents of the report in his hand could quite literally send the city of Babylon, if not the entire world into a state of utter chaos.

  He could have easily projected an air interface with a few simple clicks to the mobile device on his desk but decided against it due to the low ambient lighting. The subject of his interest read this:

  Incident Report – Genesis Gate Raid Status—June 12, Year 118 (P.R.E.)

  Rank: (???) Undefined

  Raid numbers: 140

  Raid duration: three days

  Raid Casualties: 116

  Guild-Specific Casualties—

  Black Lotus Guild: 0

  Mad Jackal Guild: 30

  Phoenix Guild: 21

  Cerberus Guild: 14

  Revenant Guild: 18

  Starfire Guild: 26

  Pleaides Guild: 7

  Excerpt from Incident Report – Genesis Gate Raid

  The Boss’s domain was discovered on the final day of the raid, by which point several members of the raid party had already succumbed to madness. Six hours later, the remaining members, including myself, engaged the entity.

  This "creature" was different—calling it a monster or a boss didn’t seem quite right. Anomaly felt more appropriate. It exhibited humanoid traits and could speak rationally, and to an extremely proficient degree at that. It was actual human speech, different from the language used by most Titan-class monsters. Yet, despite this, it remained unwaveringly hostile, declaring us its enemies and seeking our total annihilation.

  Our exchange was brief, but during that time, it identified itself as a “Nephilim.” Once introductions ended, the battle began. Many of our members were killed, caught off guard by its capabilities. The Nephilim could use skills—powerful ones.

  Eventually, I managed to weaken it enough and deliver the final blow using my skill. Unfortunately, the Nephilim had no core to extract. Though its body remained largely intact, prior obligations required me to relinquish the remains to the Hunter Association for research. A transport convoy is already being assembled for that purpose, with a 72-hour deadline for delivery.

  We emerged victorious—but the price was steep.

  I can only hope future endeavors won’t demand such a heavy toll.

  Saint of Steel,

  Alice Severin

  It didn’t take him very long to come to a consensus after spending hours toiling over the finer details of the report. Seemingly satisfied, Byron loosened his grip on the hefty stack of papers and leaned back in his chair.

  A contented sigh preceded the slight upward curve of his lips. His vision faintly glimmered under the office's illumination—perhaps he'd been at this for a bit too long.

  “Quite the succinct report, she truly was an odd woman.”

  Byron sat up, his eyes gazing over the monochrome image resting beneath the columns of abstract text.

  “It seems like you’ve gotten yourself involved in something rather ambitious, Marcel.”