Chương 117: The Succession Hunt

Velkar-Morne did not fall in silence. It woke like a split-open animal. Red bells screamed above the black hothouses. Iron walkways trembled. Glass roofs slammed shut, isolating certain sections like organs contracting to stop an infection from spreading. Zayn crossed the first hothouse without slowing. The black scythe was singing in his hand. Not a real song. A laugh broken into pieces. The first guard tried to block the central aisle with a double-hooked spear.

Zayn slipped beneath the iron, opened his stomach, and kept moving before the body even hit the ground. The second tried to run. Elyra cut off his path with a line of light. Not to kill him. To stop him from warning the others. Zayn killed him anyway. She looked at him.

"He was going to talk."

"Yes."

"I had stopped him."

"And I finished him. Teamwork." Lumeï, hidden near her shoulder, whimpered.

"I hate when he manages to make that sound almost logical." The floor beneath their feet was wet. Not with water. A dark, thick nutrient fluid that ran through open channels toward the central hothouse. The Glass Tower dominated the entire complex. Up there, Elvarin. Up there, the throat that finally had to answer. A monster dropped from the ceiling. Larger than the one in the wagon. This one had an exterior spine, four uneven arms, and plates of skin stitched together like a living coat.

Its head bore a metal cage in which a single eye burned. Elyra took a step back.

"High soul-force." The system confirmed it a second later. [Unstable biological target detected.] [Estimated soul-force: 47.]"Finally, something worth more than a formality," the scythe murmured. The creature charged. Zayn let his wings out. They burst from his back, black, torn, imperfect, but more stable than before. He threw himself above the impact, skimmed the low glass roof, then dropped onto the monster's back. The scythe drove into the metal cage. The eye screamed.

The beast thrashed, smashing two vats and spraying black liquid against the walls. Zayn clung to a seam of flesh with one hand and activated Time in Ruin. The seam aged. The stitched skin tore. The whole structure lost its balance.

"There," he said. He struck the joint beneath the neck. This time, the head fell. The body kept going for two steps. Then collapsed. His clavicle pulsed. Not much. But more than it had for the guards. [Downfall of Envy: partial absorption.] [Soul-force absorbed: +3.] [Current soul-force: 150 → 153.] Zayn exhaled through his nose.

"Still too little." The scythe replied,"You say that in front of a decapitated corpse. Have a little respect for small portions." Elyra passed near the dead monster, her face set.

"That came from Velkar-Morne."

"Yes."

"Then Elvarin has already started again." Zayn turned toward the Glass Tower. His smile vanished.

"No." He moved forward.

"He never stopped." In the central hothouse, Elvarin heard the screams rising level by level. Not a battle. A passage. Zayn was not looking for a route. He was making one with scythe-strokes. Lorran Veyx was no longer smiling. He had abandoned the file long ago. Around him, the demonic technicians ran between the machines, pulling levers, opening valves, releasing incomplete subjects. None of it was enough. Each time an alarm rang, it rang closer. Elvarin trembled in front of the central device.

At the middle of the platform, suspended by organic chains, a black core pulsed. Not a heart. Not a machine. A relay. A signaling organ linked to the great demonic routes. Lorran placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Continue." Elvarin let out a strangled laugh.

"Continue? He's coming."

"Exactly."

"You don't understand!" This time, Lorran struck him. Not hard. Just enough to send him crashing against the table. Stolen novel; please report.

"You've mistaken your fear for new information. It's tiring." Elvarin lifted his head, blood in his mouth.

"You lured him here."

"Yes."

"Why?" Lorran looked at the black core.

"Because a candidate for the Throne entering the demonic kingdom unannounced is only an intruder." He leaned toward Elvarin.

"But a candidate who attacks an installation linked to several domains, kills Ghelkar guards, destroys flesh-subjects, and forces a succession relay to activate… becomes a matter of the realm." Elvarin understood. Too late. Again.

"You're going to signal the Generals." Lorran smiled at last.

"No." He seized Elvarin's burned hand and forced it against the core.

"You are." Elvarin screamed. The black core opened. Red lines shot through the walls of the central hothouse, then plunged into the ground. They raced beneath Velkar-Morne, beneath the rails, beneath the black lands, toward the great regions of the demonic continent. Toward Ghelkar. Toward the flesh-jungles of the southeast. Toward the dead marshes of the southwest. Toward the red forges of the north. Toward the mirrors of the misted west. Toward the night gardens of the east.

Toward the high citadels of the northeast. And above all, toward the center. Toward the Forbidden Realm. Toward the Black Throne. Elvarin cried. Not from remorse. From terror. Because he felt the response. Something, very far away, opened an eye. Zayn was halfway up the Glass Tower when the world vibrated. Not Velkar-Morne. The world. A black pulse passed through the hothouse, so deep it shattered several panes without touching them. Elyra dropped to her knees. Lumeï almost vanished entirely.

Zayn, meanwhile, stayed standing. His half-mask cracked a little more along the cheek. The scythe fell silent. Even it. Then the system appeared. [Succession resonance detected.] [Location: demonic kingdom.] [Recognized presence: unstabilized candidate.] The letters trembled. Then a second window opened, older, darker. [The Black Throne has felt you.] Silence. Elyra slowly lifted her head. She could not see the window, but she felt the pressure.

"Zayn… what was that?" He was looking toward the center of the continent. He could not see the Throne. But he felt its direction. Beyond Ghelkar. Beyond the red roads. At the heart of the map. In the Forbidden Realm. Something was calling him without a voice. The scythe finally spoke, lower than usual.

"Ah." Zayn asked,"What?"

"Now they can't pretend not to know you're here." The hothouse around them began to scream. Not alarms. Voices. Relays. Orders. Signals. On the walls, seven marks flared briefly. A changing eye. A split gold coin. A gaping mouth. A white crown. A forge-flame. A night flower. A sunless marsh. Elyra saw them. Her face went pale.

"The domains." Zayn turned toward her.

"How many?"

"All of them." The scythe let out a soft laugh.

"Congratulations. You wanted a researcher. You've just earned a continent." The door to the central platform exploded. Zayn stepped into the high hothouse with blood on his coat, the scythe in his hand, Elyra behind him. Elvarin saw him. And forgot how to breathe. He had never really looked at Zayn before. Not in a room. Not this close. Not without corridor, report, or lie between them. The half-mask. The calm mouth. The black skull-topped scythe. The wings folded against his back like an error of flesh.

The mark of Wrath on his forearm. The cold thing in his gaze. Zayn stopped ten paces away.

"Elvarin." The researcher nearly collapsed to his knees. Lorran, however, remained standing. He raised a hand. Guards emerged from the upper walkways. Not ordinary guards. Heavy demons armed with hooked weapons, their cuirasses bearing the mixed marks of Ghelkar and the organic hothouses. The system flickered once. [Demonic security chief detected.] [Estimated soul-force: 62.] Zayn did not even look at the chief. His eyes stayed on Elvarin.

"You ran far enough." Elvarin stammered,"I… I didn't…"

"Not yet." Zayn advanced. The security chief lunged. Mistake. Zayn swung the scythe backward without taking his eyes off Elvarin. The blade jutting from the black skull entered beneath the demon's jaw, climbed to his forehead, then burst out in a dark spray. The body collapsed. His clavicle pulsed. [Soul-force absorbed: +4.] [Current soul-force: 153 → 157.] Zayn stepped over the corpse.

"Now talk." Lorran applauded once. Dryly.

"Impressive. Truly." Zayn slowly turned his head toward him.

"You next."

"No." Lorran smiled.

"I am only a survivable witness." The scythe snickered.

"Everyone thinks that at first." Lorran gestured. Not at the guards. At the black core. Elvarin screamed,"No!" Too late. The core opened completely. Something dropped out of it. Not an object. A mass of flesh, bone, and light, bound by black threads. Elyra went deathly pale. Because she recognized the elven remains. Not one whole person. Several. Fragments of spiritual contracts, of voices, of tissues, of memories. Everything stolen from her people, concentrated into an unstable mass to power the relay.

Lumeï gave a cry. Zayn looked at the thing. Then at Elvarin. The researcher was sobbing.

"They forced me—" The room turned cold. Very cold. Zayn did not shout. That made it worse.

"You were always being forced at the exact moment it was time to pay." Elvarin wept harder.

"I can fix it! I can tell you who took me! I can give you names!" Lorran spoke calmly.

"He can. That is why he must stay alive." Zayn smiled.

"You think that stops me?"

"No." Lorran raised another finger. The mass of elven remains contracted. A black thread entered the core. The seven domain marks burned brighter.

"But this should." The mass of remains screamed. Not with one mouth. With all the voices it contained. Elyra dropped to her knees.

"Stop!" Lorran looked at Zayn.

"If you kill Elvarin now, the relay collapses and the remains with it. If you destroy the core without stabilization, they disperse. If you leave, we move them." Zayn did not answer. His hand tightened on the scythe. Lorran continued quickly, because he finally knew he had only a few seconds left.

"You wanted a reason to enter the demonic kingdom beyond one throat. Here it is. What you seek is no longer only Elvarin. The pieces of his fault have already been distributed." Images lit up around the core. Not sharp. Enough. A route toward Morvessa's marshes. An organic vat bearing Voragna's mark. A black mirror of Nhaless. A red forge of Vhur. A seal of Ghelkar. A night flower of Lyséa. A white citadel of Vaelthor. And at the center, a red road rising toward the Black Throne.

"Each domain received a part," Lorran said.

"A witness. A sample. A signature. An interest. You won't cut the chain here." Zayn looked at the images. The whole continent had just turned into a target. The scythe murmured,"Now I think they've just provoked us." Elyra lifted her head, her eyes wet but burning.

"They scattered the evidence."

"No," Zayn said. His smile returned. Slow. Terrible.

"They scattered the pieces they want me to recover." Lorran went slightly pale. He understood he might have chosen his words badly. Zayn stepped toward the core. Elyra cried,"Don't destroy it!"

"I'm not going to destroy it." He placed a hand on the mass of remains. Lumeï shrieked,"No!" Zayn activated Time in Ruin. But not on the remains. On the black threads. The demonic bindings aged. The sutures cracked. The links decayed. The mass of voices cried out again. Then breathed. For one second. Long enough that the fragments were no longer entirely imprisoned. Elyra understood. She rose, projected her light over the remains, and Lumeï unfolded around her.

"Now!" Zayn cut the last threads. Not the fragments. The bindings. The black core split. The seven domain marks exploded in red light. A shockwave tore through the central hothouse. Lorran was thrown against a column. Elvarin fell to the floor. The elven remains were not saved. Not really. But they stopped being used. Some of them dispersed into luminous dust. Another part fell into Elyra's trembling arms as tiny weak lights. She was crying. Zayn watched Elvarin crawl. Then he took a step toward him.

Lorran, on the ground, laughed bloodily.

"Too late." Zayn stopped. The floor of the hothouse opened beneath Elvarin. Roots of flesh erupted, wrapped around him, swallowed him to the chest. Elvarin screamed.

"Zayn! Wait! I can talk! I can—" The flesh closed over his mouth. In one second, he was dragged beneath the platform. Into the organic conduits. Toward the east. Toward Voragna's domains. Zayn stood still. The silence that followed was almost total. Then the scythe spoke softly.

"Another target." Zayn closed his eyes. His spine went cold. His clavicle pulsed. His forearm burned. His tongue remembered hunger. And something at the bottom of him—that nameless thing tied to what was taken, kept, stolen, and scattered—scraped harder. When he opened his eyes again, Lorran was still alive. Not by chance. Because Zayn had not chosen him yet. He walked toward him. Lorran tried to back away. Impossible. His leg was broken. Zayn crouched in front of him.

"Map." Lorran spat blood.

"You saw it." Zayn set Cassiel's cracked ring on Lorran's chest.

"No. I want the real route. The one that leads to the next domain." Lorran laughed weakly.

"To Voragna, then. The conduits descend southeast. Carrion Basin. Then Maws Gardens. Then the Fleshworks." Zayn memorized the names. Not because they interested him. Because they were the next places where someone thought they could keep what had just escaped them. Lorran whispered,"After her, you won't have a choice. The others will come. Drakhar will want to test strength. Seryth will want to understand. Morvessa will wait until you are tired. Lyséa…" He stopped. Zayn tilted his head.

"Lyséa what?" Lorran smiled through red teeth.

"She will want to look you in the eyes." Zayn stood.

"She can wait her turn." Then he cut. Not the throat. The hand. The one still wearing several rings. The hand fell to the ground. Lorran screamed. Zayn picked up the rings. One by one. Elyra looked at him in horror.

"Why?" Zayn did not answer right away. He studied the rings in his palm. Objects of power. Objects of possession. Objects that had held names, routes, bodies. Then he said,"Because he wanted them." The scythe laughed quietly.

"And now he doesn't have them anymore." Elyra understood that something was moving forward inside him. Not open yet. But closer. Zayn slipped the rings into his pocket. Then he looked toward the direction of the organic conduits. Southeast. Toward Voragna's domain. The map of the demonic continent had just changed in his mind. He had not come only for one researcher. He had come for one throat. They had given him a continent of hands to cut off. He smiled.

"We're going to the Fleshworks." Elyra wiped at her tears. In her arms, the little elven lights were still trembling.

"And after that?" Zayn looked at the red marks disappearing one by one from the walls.

"After that, every General who took a piece gives something back." The scythe opened its smoking eye sockets.

"And if they refuse?" Zayn started walking toward the depths of Velkar-Morne.

"Then they give back more."