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Arc F1.8 | Chapter 2: That Thing…

✮ ✮ ✮ Gëon ✮ ✮ ✮Some monsters are not meant to exist—it was a simple fact, sew into the fabric of reality: some monsters are not meant to exist, and yet, they do. Even the aether is unable to wipe all it does not care for from reality. Innovation grows creations of cruelty and malice. Desperate sows seeds that will grow to become hideous ghouls of corruption. The aether cannot erase them, only guide the hands of those gifted with her visions to tuck such things that should never have been born into the earth—bury the bones of the mind, plucked out and offered to the gods of war and destruction, and—

the little mind eater noted, peering up at me. Apparently, for as much as I was often known for being a cruel man, my reputation for never harming children preceded me, even into Fräthk’s holding cells.

the preteen replied when I asked how he’d known I wouldn’t care about him nosing his way into my mind. The boy shrugged, my own abilities latching onto his mind in turn—sucking out the delicious little emotions that swirled through him: confidence, affection, worry for not just Vtraní but Olivier de la Rue as well.

We were still hurrying along to the latter’s location, Levi leading the way now that he had Censor access again—a pity, as I had quite enjoyed pressing my energy into him, dragging him to release. It wasn’t far to the place where the Baalphorian’s body allegedly remained—I would trust Levi that his Censor said the man was there, but not the function itself—but with Hwris potentially lingering in the area and the possibility that other members of Fräthk’s loyal were as well, I wasn’t willing to risk surging into the area and finding ourselves killed.

So, slowly we went—not too slowly, Levi a thing of movement and impatience. He had explained that the Baalphorian man—a non-dev lawyer, apparently—was important to one of his friends, his words and emotions tasting of a fascinating truth.

It wasn’t often that I met black knots, most swiped up for special training by the Drinarna the moment their genetics were tested as children. Occasionally, one would slip through—some child, protected by their family’s influence the way Fräthk’s child had been. More often, the black knots I met had traumatic black knots, their personalities a brutal, shattering thing that threatened everyone they came into contact with.

Levi was a natural black knot, although I doubted the little mind eater or my little shadow could tell—the young man was all bright, spinning energy, and when he spoke of his friend? Of the girl who was apparently buried within Fräthk’s dungeons, digging up monstrosities that were meant to remain buried? In that girl’s case, Levi truly loved her.

The love the Baalphorian boy had for his friend was an infectious thing, bouncing towards the girl with so much unending force it felt impossible to be dragged into the flow of it. Such drags weren’t common, and part of me wondered if he had experience with such things—if he had undergone training in manipulating Dyads with Excess Empathy. The ability to do so was no common thing—a lost art, practically—and yet, in the moments were I found myself being absently dragged through the unending love he had for his friend, it felt like it have been intentional.

I didn’t think it was; rather, Levi seemed to never be quite sure of what he was feeling.

There was lust, impatience, love. There was a bouncing, overactive boy, letting his attraction to me bring him to his knees so easily, his love for her friend filling him because he didn’t know what else to fill himself with. Through a simple accident of chatting about his friend with the little mind eater and feeling little of anything else, Levi was dragging me along in his love.

It was infectious.

It was a problem.

Tugging out my xphern, I opened the chat where all of Levi’s friends were congregating. Perhaps due to their Censors, the chat had seen little use—more, it seemed that the girl in Fräthk’s dungeons had been taken , meaning her Censor was no longer working. As a result, Fräthk’s daughter was keeping everyone updated on the situation, her last message reading

A few people had responded since then, asking what sort of doll and why in the world there had been a doll hidden within those dungeons, as well as it would matter that she’d found a weird doll.

It mattered, I knew—I had seen that creature before, had heard tales reaching back over a millennium of the terror it left in its wake.

I called, tugging the child’s attention back to me—they were quite enamoured with Levi’s stories of this Emilia, their often empty eye lighting up slightly as Levi regaled us with tales of how open-hearted and accepting his friend was.

Silently, my little shadow returned to my side, their eyes peering up at me as I explained that, under no circumstances, were they ever to touch the doll Levi’s friend had just found. It was impossible to know for sure where the child had come from—where their family had hailed from before they found their way to me—but to be safe, my little shadow needed to know: touching that doll may very well end in their death.

✮ ✮ ✮ Zavriel ✮ ✮ ✮

A shot of information plunged through me, shocking and brutal—a thousand legends of death connected to… a doll? That was weird, right? That seemed really fucking weird?

Mikhail suggested, holding up my xphern to show me a message from the cannibal accompanying his friend, stating that Emilia had Did I need to know for sure this teenager was a cannibal? No, but apparently the aether deemed it relevant information. Even worse!? The fucking aether had put into my head. I would not, now or ever, be cooking human flesh!? What was the aether on!? This was not relevant or useful information!

I agreed, letting my awareness of the world flood outwards, searching for more Drinarna and other people lingering in the streets. As much as it was great that Mikhail had believed me immediately when I’d explained a bit of my abilities to him, the guy’s own abilities—unknown to either of us, but there was definitely there—were interfering with my abilities.

I could still erase my own presence from the world and minds of those I came across; Mikhail’s, not so much. Instead, it seemed as though the boy was a parasite, sometimes being dragged along into the flow of my abilities, sometimes dropping off and being left with no awareness of where I was. It was strange, especially as he wasn’t entirely certain if he’d ever done such things before.

he had said when I’d first explained the most bare-bones version of my abilities to him: I could erase reality.

I’d given the Baalphorian boy a few examples: I could erase my presence; I could erase my lack of knowledge of a language and other things, but it wasn’t something so simple that I could or anything. I could try. At worst, I’d pass out from the influx of information. At best, I’d maybe receive some about how many there were.

Mikhail’s first question, after spending a bit of time in silent contemplation—really, I wasn’t even sure he’d shared my abilities with his friends, the guy oddly serious about —he had asked if that’s what I planned to do to help erase the olthagri from his body. This was, more or less, what I was hoping to do. As I’d framed my abilities as an rather than a —there were the same thing, but not quite, in my opinion—it was more that I was going to try to make the man’s body forget it was sick. Same thing, but somehow… it seemed more difficult. Erasing a virus from a body seemed much simpler than attempting to make a body forget it was sick.

Who knew if it would work. I would try, at the very least—that doll, though?

Fuck should that thing have remained buried—especially if the aether was taking a moment to make sure I knew everything about it.

Mikhail asked as I summarized what I’d seen—what the aether had forced into me.

After a moment of thought, I told him no, some extra piece of information the aether had placed within me saying that no, this information shouldn’t be allowed to spread—some bit of information the aether had made me forget I didn’t know, sliding into place within my soul: for as cursed as that doll was, it needed to get out of here, and if Mikhail’s friend learned of its curse, it never would.

Blood would follow that doll, as it always had. Blood would follow regardless, and in the end, a world without that doll, swiped up in this singular moment of chance, would be bloodier than one in which it was allowed to once more see the stars.

✮ ✮ ✮ Rayleen ✮ ✮ ✮

The girl had already touched it, her fingers grazing over the cool glass of the doll’s cheek, streaked with the tears of a million, billion souls, each plucked from reality by its cruel existence. I had known it was there, of course—had seen a dozens futures laid out in which Emilia found the doll, in which she passed it by. Stupidly, I had thought her about to escape that falsity of a dead end without ever even catching sight of the monstrosity.

Now, it was too late—she was bound to it, just as it had been bound to countless people before her.

It could be worse—after all, that thing would never hurt her, although it could certainly hurt people who would come to hold her heart in their hands.

The girl gave away her heart so easily—too easily. If she weren’t careful, it would be her downfall.

Emilia asked, always the curious thing. She didn’t believe in my abilities, and yet, she so often did. Currently, she stood frozen, barely breathing, her fingers still pulling through molecules of air and aether towards the doll as though, if only she didn’t move closer or further away from the doll, she might be able to pretend she had never touched her soul upon its.

I replied, letting a new version of the future solidify itself within my mind—the doll would come in handy for the girl soon, at least. Things before might have gone either way—might have ended in blood or freedom—but with that doll, horrific as its existence was, freedom would be attained.

Only later would the blood come, again and again and again. Some things, in the end, were not meant to see the light—not meant to connect themselves to anyone, let alone someone as powerful as Emilia.

I continued, shifting until I was nudging Vern aside and peering through the gaps in Curtisal’s playground to meet Emilia’s silver-shot eyes.

The look Emilia wore was amusing—disgusted to be stuck with the doll, although she had no idea what sort of malicious power it contained. Apparently accepting that her touching it would have little effect on their bound fates, the silverstrain pushed the doll back into the wall.

It would do her no good, but neither would my telling her it was a lost cause. Some things people need to learn on their own time, and this—this reality that Emilia was stuck with that doll—was one she was going to need pushed into her path again and again and again.

One day, she would understand. That day was not today.