10/13 - Borghulda - Finn's workshop - morning - Proxy

  Finn places a wide, curved bowl filled with liquid on rocky terrain, not a grassy patch in sight further up in the mountains. He was meticulous about setting it down on the ground, careful to keep it from sloshing over the rim of the bowl. The liquid inside is white, transparent, and has a distinct odor, but I'm having trouble making heads or tails of what it is. Richard is covering his nose, muttering to himself about the stench. Nunnalé doesn't bother to shield her nose, but her nose is curling at the smell of it. This better be worth it, man, cause my sniffer is gonna keel over and die.

  "Okay, stand back! This is going to be the best thing you've ever seen," Finn, beaming with childlike excitement, claims.

  "A bowl with liquid?"

  "Yes– well, no. Rather, what it can do." Finn digs out a pair of rocks from his satchel, striking them together to make sparks fall…into transparent liquid… Don't tell me… A roaring fire suddenly comes to life, and the heat hits us from where we're standing. Oil!? Where the hell did he get this? Screw that, one strong breeze, and someone's losing their face!

  "Nunnalé, blow it out," I urged her.

  She summons her sword, slicing through the fire as she spins around, killing the flame with a strong gust of wind that follows behind her thin blade. It disappears as she stands up.

  "Hey! What was that for?" Finn, confused and somewhat hurt, asks me.

  "What the hell are you thinking!? Big ass open flames are dangerous, especially up this high! Don't go around playing with them!"

  "Oh…uh…" Finn hangs his head low. "I'm sorry… You're right. I just wanted to show you guys something really cool. I…I never had anyone to show this off to before, so I thought I could surprise you guys. I didn't mean to do something stupid."

  Great, now he's hunched over, hugging his knees, mumbling about how much of an idiot he is. It's not like I was wrong, but I wasn't trying to hurt his feelings.

  "Come on, man…"

  "Proxy has dealt a significant blow to his self-confidence," Nunnalé, with the tact of baseball to someone's window, says to Richard. I'd say she's screwing with me, but she genuinely sounds impressed, which may be worse.

  "Finn, Proxy was only concerned for your safety," Richard speaks up, clasping Nunnalé's mouth shut. "You don't have to impress us, so let's try to do something less…risky."

  "Oh…okay…yeah, I can do that. Thank you for being concerned… To be honest, this isn't the first time I screwed up. I'm a klutz. No matter what it is, I always do something stupid, dumb, or irresponsible… This is the one thing I don't want to mess up, I can't… But I always do along the line. If it weren't for Lucious, I'd be dead."

  "What does that mean?"

  "When we first met, I was playing around in the forest. I ran into a wild beast there. It saw me as a light meal, and running from it was pointless since they're better adept at moving through the woods. Right as its jaws were going to close around my head, Lucious came and ripped it apart with his bare hands." Jesus, now I'm glad we didn't have to fight him. "...I'm always making people worry about me or picking up my slack. I just want to give something back to everyone else for a change. Show them how much I've grown. But I still have lots to learn, don't I?"

  I get it, somewhat. When you're learning new stuff, interests, hobbies, it's kind of scary when you start pouring your all into it, hoping to see your efforts pay off in the end. It was like that for me in art. But messing up every now and then is fine. But no matter how you spin it, fire is still fire. I ain't gonna apologize for what I said, but I don't want him to stay all mopey. Actually, I know just the way to perk him up.

  I squat down to meet Finn's eyes. "Say, you wanna do something real nice for Borghulda, right?"

  "Yes! Of course!"

  "Then we need all the oil we can get!"

  "But, that was all the oil I had."

  "Then we can go and hunt some more. You said you have some super strong bait, right?"

  "I do!"

  Oh man, I'm so goddamn giddy for this!

  …/Proxy

  We made it back to Finn's workshop, having prepared bait. Finn places several small cups covered with air-tight lids on the ground, at the fringe of the woods. Nunnalé is standing next to them, ready to cut down anything that moves. Not us, of course. We wait…and wait…and wait some more, and even more after that. The snap of a branch and the rustling of bushes alleviated my mind-numbing boredom. A giant ass boar monster, shaped like a balloon, comes barreling at Nunnalé, squealing and whining every step of the way. Nunnalé brings out her sword, waiting for it to close in. In a decisive stroke of her blade, she cleaves its stomach open, blood gushing like a busted open fire hydrant.

  "Alright! Finn, you–"

  "Awesome! So freaking awesome! You can make swords appear out of nowhere!?" Finn examines the blood-stained saber in Nunnalé's hands, his eyes sparkling with wonder as he soaks in every detail of its design. "It looks light, but it made such a clean cut! Not even a knick."

  "Yeah, pretty cool, right? She can make that sword pop in and out whenever she wants."

  "Not pop…create…make," Lucious corrects me, eyeing Nunnalé's sword with those eerie, yet observant eyes. "Sword… 'Manifestation'?"

  "Hmm, 'Manifestation'? What dat?"

  "It is a principle in Conjurer," Nunnalé answers my question.

  "I see, I see… So you don't just make that sword appear from somewhere else?" I ask, trying to wrap my head around this whole thing.

  "I suspected as much. When we fought the body snatcher, they broke her sword. This explains how she repaired it. But Nunnalé, does that mean you're a Conjurer?"

  "No. A Doll is similar to a Mystica. They do not have Attributes, simply the capability to hold whatever ability is ingrained in them. I was given Superhuman strength, the ability to enhance, sense, heal, and to summon this blade."

  "Hmm… I see, I see. But what's this 'Manifestation' thing?"

  "Oh, I can explain that," Richard says, lighting up at the thought of flexing his knowledge. "Okay, Proxy, you remember what Ms. Selena said about Source and its attributes?"

  "Uh, yeah… There are four of them: Elemental Prime, Guardian, Conjurer, and…uh… Illusionist, right?"

  "Right. Each of these has its own subcategories, or principals as Teacher called them. For Guardian, there's Healing, Enhancing, and Sensory. Right now, I'm only able to use two. As for Conjurer: Transmute, Alter, and Manifestation."

  "Alright, so what's–"

  "Raise your hand!"

  That sudden outburst shuts me right up. Richard is taken aback by his brazen remark, rubbing the back of his head, nervously laughing off his abrupt words. "Sorry…got caught up in explaining. Anyway, each of these principles allows someone multiple abilities in one attribute. I'm not sure what they do, though. Teacher told me the names; however, she only wanted me to focus on Source control and helped me learn Enhancement. Nunnalé, would you say your weapon falls under Manifestation?

  "I am…unsure. Before, I thought of it as merely a deployable weapon…"

  "But that power you showed off during the fight with the Body Snatcher changed your impressions?"

  "Ugh, if you keep talking about that shithead I'm gonna start getting sick!"

  "Trust me, I hate bringing it up too, but that fight showed me we had much, much more to learn… That and mine with Cade."

  Cade's name gave me the chills. The whole ordeal is still fresh in my mind, and sure, things ended relatively well, but the shit that happened beforehand was nothing short of disastrous. But thanks to all that and to it pushing me, I became stronger, ever since that day, I couldn't replicate those special punches I threw… The exhilaration, the adrenaline pumping through my body, time came to a crawl in that moment, and all my senses felt like they had been set to 11 for a split second. Not like I'm desperate to redo it, but having that under my belt whenever I need it wouldn't be bad… Now that I think about it…

  "Actually, why the hell isn't Nunnalé shooting off lazer beams and all that crap if she can!?"

  Richard shrugs. "We don't even know how she pulled that off. It was just the spur of the moment. Even when we were fighting Cade, we couldn't bring it out."

  So all three of us got the same issue, huh? One step forward, another foot still in the mud. Well, whatever. We're doing well so far. Who cares if we can't bust out secret abilities we don't understand? Besides, focusing on that is worthless if we don't know the first thing about using them. Man, this must be flying over Finn's head right now. However, he wasn't standing next to us. He and Lucious were hard at work gutting the creature Nunnalé killed, lost in their own world as he placed the fat into a clay-made bowl. Gotta give him props, he's quick to get shit done. We help him empty the animal. He and Lucious skin it, leaving it all raw. Having set up a cooking station, with stones surrounding wooden logs and elevating a pot filled with oil, I had Finn make a tong for me to flip the couple slices of meat simmering in the pan. It isn't too fancy, but it'll get the job done. A nice thin layer of oil is all I needed for this. It takes a while for the meat to reach a satisfying color and smell for me to consider it complete. We let it cool before I allow anyone to eat it.

  "Alright, Finn, Lucious, you two eat first since you put in the hard work to make this happen."

  "Ar-are you serious!? I…I've never seen something cooked like this before…could we really?"

  "Really. Now eat, or I'll make ya." He takes out a small dagger, cutting a small piece for himself and Lucious. He stabs into it, lifting the piece to his mouth while the big guy just grabs the scalding hot piece. He lifts his mask and throws it into his mouth… They chew on it, ruminating on the taste. Their eyes spring open. Finn's cheeks flushed pink, his mouth curling into a big ol' smile. Wish I could've added some seasoning to it to really kick their taste buds. "It tasted so awesome! The flavor is greater, it even smells better than normal! It's so juicy, but it tastes so tender! We have to serve this to everybody!"

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  "Good…very… Excellent. Texture is…very great!

  "Then let's go get more of that animal bait! Nunnalé, get ready for more guests!"

  Everyone's gonna be cheering my name, I can feel it in my bones!

  Borghulda - near the entrance/exit - morning - Alexander

  I sit on top of the bus, observing the cloudless sky. It's so bright that tears well up in my eyes if I hold my gaze on it for too long. It only bolsters my desire to look at it.

  "Alexander?" Marie looms over me, her eyes locked onto mine. Her brow raised, with her hands resting on her hips. "What's the matter? You look all mopey."

  "I am not mopey," I retorted, somewhat irate by that comment.

  She sits herself next to me, crossing her legs. "If you say so. But seriously, what's wrong?"

  "...Chief Horgmon and I spoke of father… He knows I am Sigurd's son."

  Marie straightens herself up, rightfully concerned about this fact. "Seriously, then why aren't we being kicked out, or attacked?"

  "We were told to leave tomorrow."

  "But that doesn't explain why we're not being dogged right now."

  "I have nary an idea of his thoughts. I do not doubt there is animosity behind his reasoning, though."

  "I'd be creeped out if he didn't… Does it bother you, knowing people hate Sigurd? Figuring that he may not be the man you thought he was?"

  "It does… Marie, you never told me your feelings about father, no matter the number of times I broached the subject."

  Marie hugs her legs, averting her gaze from me. "Cause I don't have anything nice to say about him. I kinda figured he was trying to pull something a couple of years after I left home. I mean, you don't sleep with the queen and give her kids unless you're up to something… Then again, I guess I have some bad things to say about Mom, too. I just never wanted to hurt your image of Sigurd, I didn't have it in me to do that." Marie leans back with her hands propping her up. "...I don't know how much of what Garrick said was true, but whatever the reason, he's an asshole that made our lives shit because he was too damn caught up in himself… I'd tell you to give up on trying to even figure him out, but I know your mind's made up. But let me tell you this: Sigurd cared about you. Garrick was probably trying to mess with you when he said you weren't needed. If he didn't care, he'd probably leave you in some remote village, not so close to the kingdom, so he could take care of you. Makes sense, right?"

  It would be a lie to say the notion that my father thought of me as an excess did not weigh on me. Marie truly despises our father, yet that is why I can believe in her words.

  "...It does. Thank you, Marie. However, barring father for a moment, what is our next course of action?"

  "Scouting ahead is a no-go, and we don't have anywhere else we can set as our camp. I'll have Chip and–"

  "THEY'RE COMING! THEY'RE COMING!"

  The voice of the village entrance lookout booms throughout the village. They light a pyre. The smoke rises into the air, signaling the arrival of whomever is approaching. The terror in his voice makes me doubt it can be anyone but the Fire Wraiths! All hands are spread out in the village! Multiple people pull open the wooden gates. A platoon of Fire Wraith bandits strolls into the village with arrogant airs about them. However, the one leading them is the worst of them all. He hoists a large, peculiar sword on his back, and he wears a coat over his shoulders as it flutters about. His face is adorned with a myriad of scars covering every inch of his head. Yet that does no justice to the strength he exudes merely walking. The very air around him seems to bend to his will, suffocating those he deems "enemies." This is different from the being that took control of Marie; that was pure murderous intent, but this is authoritative pressure personified.

  "That's him…the one with the sword on his back and red hair… Scar."

  "We climbed down the bus to confront him. Closing the distance only worsens the intense aura, striking us with its unbearable weight. His eyes never leave us, staring us down with an authoritative glare. He's shorter in stature, yet he seems to tower over us, growing taller as we approach.

  "Where is Horgmon?" he asks, expecting a reply

  "What business is it of yours?"

  "Your query is irrelevant. The chief's presence is expected. Bring him to me."

  He is composed, not a tinge of anger or disappointment is traceable in his voice, yet he hints at an altercation if Chief Horgmon does not show himself. Posturing would bode terribly, and showing any sign of aggression will not yield better results.

  "Boss! That big ass vehicle! It's them! They them anti-bandit guys! They been–"

  "I know. Do not speak out of turn again."

  "Sorry, boss!

  There's little we can do to parley with these men, and the enemy knows of us…Yet he does not attack.

  "At first, your army was nothing but bothersome miscreants that would be dealt with in time. However, my assessment was incorrect. You're irksome bugs that I should have dealt with from the beginning. We lost the cooperation of two Flame Wraiths, losing a foothold in the south and many other parts, leading to here. Despite the odds, you seem to emerge victorious. I recognize my error in all this."

  "Wow, so the second in command has humility? Color me surprised. Does that mean you want to give up?" Marie leers, taunting him with snide remarks.

  "No. We are far from weakened. But enough. Horgmon has not shown himself. I will begin burning buildings if he does not show–"

  "Calm ya damn self! Here I am." Bellowing from the other end of the road, Horgmon paces over to us. He glares daggers at Scar, who is unfazed by his hostility. They stand a couple of feet apart, not out of respect, but calculated caution.

  "Took you quite a bit. Old age has finally caught up to you, old man." His tone is less than friendly, but oddly expressive for one as stoic as him.

  "Shut it, ya lil pissant. I can still leave ya in da dust, if I wanted to."

  "My speed outstrips yours. However, that is not important… We warned you: do not wander near our capital."

  "We never did."

  "But your guests did. You are just as responsible for them as you are for your own people."

  "Gotta answer for everythin', don't ya?"

  "Irrelevant. We warned you. Furthermore, you hurt the pride of our archer. What will you do to compensate?"

  "Ain't my problem. Tell them to grow thicker skin."

  "...Perhaps we should start executing people for such insolence? Starting with your grandson? A villager without an heir is fated to die."

  Chief Horgmon steps forward, ready to wring the smaller man's neck for his vile threat. An arrow whizzes past his face, stabbing into the ground beside the two. I look at the possible building the archer should be nesting on. Not a soul is up there. It has to be from there, unless it came from the forest surrounding the side of the village.

  "I suggest not attempting that again. Our archer will not fire another warning shot. Now, I wish to speak with those who entered the forest last night. Failure to present them will be seen as an act of–"

  "An act of rebellion. At that point, you would return with lethal force… Am I correct?" Zell arrives, his sights set on Scar. Neither of them allows their expressions to betray their guarded demeanors. The battle has already begun between them. "You look as dreadful as ever, and those bags haven't gone away either. You should get some rest."

  "How strange. A traitor advising me on my well-being. The thought alone is inane."

  "But am I wrong?"

  "No, however, I'd prefer if you did not speak to me in such a familiar manner."

  "Sorry, maybe I should threaten you. Would an attempt on your life be preferable?"

  "I don't know, does dying sound fun to you?"

  That last retort was serious, yet the bite such a comment holds is not as potent. One would say it's because they were allies, but Zell himself didn't know Scar that well; it may be natural for these two to speak without deep emotional ties to each other. Still, this does not change the situation. Zell, Chip, Proxy, Nunnalé, and Richard. He wishes for their presence, but I don't know where the last four are, and even then…

  "Aye!" Chief Horgmon's voice booms; he's tapping his foot, irritated by the reunion between Zell and Scar. He takes a puff out of the pipe in his hand, blowing a massive cloud of smoke. "Ya came for a nice chat? Or did ya come for somethin'?"

  "I already–"

  "These lil maggots! I know dat. But what dat mean for da village?"

  "Ah, yes…I forgot… This street looks empty. Excellent." His arm flies for the sword on his back. In a single fluid motion, his sword blurs out of its scabbard. Flames roar to life, blazing a path to a building adjacent to him. A large portion of it is burned apart, embers rain from the sky as the smell of burnt wood overpowers my nose. The fire has scorched the road, but the small remnants of the fire do not blaze wildly; they simply dance about. "All troops, for three minutes, you may break whatever you like! Show them consequences."

  With a howling start, they charge forward with savage glee. Their hunger for destruction is palpable, bordering on insanity, as they move akin to untamed animals without a thought of humanity or reason. They push and shove each other, scattering to wherever they can reach before their master beckons them again. Smashing in windows, bashing in doors, destroying whatever is inside the homes, they revel in the mindless destruction. Chief Horgmon does not move, smoking his pipe with his fist balled. It would be a waste to inquire why he allows this; the overwhelming gap in strength…

  "STOP THIS!" Despite my understanding of the gap between us, I cannot allow this horrendous display to press on. "Do you see joy in any of this!? Fulfillment, satisfaction!? Do you have no shame!?"

  "Why would I? This is merely the price this village pays for defying our mercy."

  "Mercy!?"

  "We come when needed, and destroy when needed. We do not come to kill them, but to destroy their homes. After all, this is the price for their weaknesses and a better world."

  "Trite! This does not speak of a better world, and your vision of strength is a gross perversion!"

  Amidst the chaos of the bandits ravaging the village, Scar settles on my words for a moment. He settles his hand beneath his chin, stroking it with his thumb. "...I see… You not only look like him, you carry the same dignified arrogance as him."

  "Him?"

  "Sigurd."

  My breath runs thin as a needle, my heart jumped at the mention of father. "How…how do you know him?"

  "Because we were brothers in arms, as he'd put it. It was a ridiculous sentiment since I would never be anything close to brothers with that man. He was far too annoying."

  "You were… Did you know a knight named Walter!?"

  "Hm? Ah. Of course I do. His talents were recognized, so we recruited him to work with us. However, his deranged need for justice was unsettling to others, and there was an extent to how much we could rein him in, so we kept him with one of our Flame Wraiths. Where is he?"

  "He… committed suicide after we cornered him. He through his tongue."

  "I see…" He isn't sad, nor does he lament the loss of a comrade. Walter was another tool for him to use. They must've been the furthest thing from comrades. "In any case… How would you stop us? Do you have power that trumps ours by yourself? Can you even stand against me, let alone the Phantom? Without strength, all you could do is beg. Even Sigurd understood that."

  My sword glides out of its sheath, my arms moving of their own volition. Marie presses down on the pommel of my blade before it can exit the sheath, pressing down with all her strength.

  "Wise decision. Had he completely drawn his blade, I would have cut him down."

  "Shut up! Brother, he wants you to attack. Borghulda will get caught in the crossfire."

  "But…!"

  "Now isn't the time. Calm down!"

  The anger has not simmered, but is constantly burning with each second I lay eyes on the man in front of me. His eyes are void of anything resembling emotion, reflecting the all-consuming hatred on my face. This is not me, yet when he uttered that father agreed with such a view on strength, I could not hold myself in check.

  "Scar, I can't tell if you secretly love provoking people or not," Zell ponders as he loosens up his smile.

  "I feel no love for taunting. If he were to attack me, that would give me reason to dispatch him. I gave my word to the Phantom Flame that I would not attack any of the villagers here without reason, including their guests."

  "...Three minutes are up, Scar."

  The bandits begin to return to their place, flashing self-satisfied grins, spitting terrible insults at us, especially Chief Horgmon. Their appetite for thoughtless destruction is ceaseless, barely held back by the authority Scar holds over them. "We will be leaving. For now on, never come near our capital without express permission."

  "Hold on! Someone from another village said something about a capital. They can't mean what I think it is…!"

  A cold sweat trickles down Marie's face. Anxiety settles in her features, coming to a conclusion that only she can draw from.

  "Of course it is…" Scar outstretched his hand, balling it up tightly. "We will create a new beacon in this world. A brand new kingdom. One to solidify our reign of the outside."

  Wha–what!? A kingdom, they've been making a new kingdom!? How did we not hear of this sooner?

  "The outside needs no kingdom!"

  A cloak obscures Scar's vision. A sword plunges through it to finish him while he's dazed. Yet, he parries the thin sword with his metal gauntlets.

  "You parry well, shame you are nothing but bandit trash now."

  "Who are you to me?"

  "Nobody, but I, could never forget such a boorish boy such as yourself. Especially one gifted as yourself."

  Scar's opponent is a middle-aged man with grey hair tied in a short ponytail. He is wearing armor strapped with leather padding for adequate protection to his shoulders and chest. His clothes are sleek, the formal wear of nobles in the kingdom. Normally, they are not fit for the battlefield with how constrictive they can become for the limbs, yet he is not incumbent on them. Combined with that short cape covering his right shoulder and arm, he has a gentlemanly aura about his person.

  "No way…why is he here?" Marie closes in, heading for the older man. Her eyes are wide with unshed tears. She stammers, fumbling her words, attempting to capture some sort of sense of this situation. "… Ma… Master Albert," she mutters, her voice trembling with reverence and joy.

  Albert… I know this name! He was one of the 8 elite knights during the war, and my father's mentor!