Hyperion Evergrowing - Chapter 169: Better Times

Nikolas stood with his hands behind his back, looking over the balcony railings of the Ahle-ho palace, wondering if he could have done more to prevent the tragedy that had unfolded. Conflict between the guilds wasn’t unheard of, though violence between the prime guilds rarely happened out in the open. The Ahle-ho guilds usually competed with one another via proxies or official competition, and open warfare was rare. But the worst had come to pass, and now large swaths of the city lay in ruins.

Things had been civil at first, the leadership of the prime guilds and their minor allies had met to discuss the city and its future. The fact the republic and empire were building up for war was one of the worst kept secrets of all time, and everyone of significance within the independent city knew it. Politicking and jostling for power and position was a standard affair when the guilds met to talk policy, though rarely did their meetings have such a tense undercurrent.

Everyone had their own agenda, own interests and alliances. Everyone wanted Ahle-ho to flourish, there was simply a difference in opinion as to how that should be achieved. Some wanted further ties with the empire, a position his own Twin Heart guild held due to their close relations with Mekrys ever since their founding, though that position was hardly shared by the majority of guilds. The largest ‘faction’, were the independents, those who wanted Ahle-ho to stand strong by itself, to not rely on foreign aid to maintain sovereignty. Among this group were those who opposed the empire for political reasons, those who thought more independence would result in more power and authority for themselves, or the final reason, supported the republic.

No guild was openly the latter, though Nikolas knew for certain at least several were leaning in that direction, if not having directly aligned themselves with the ostensibly hostile foreign power in secret. Ahle-ho was an ally of the empire, the city used its currency and allowed a garrison of imperial troops within its walls. Its ports housed imperial ships and its primary trading partners were imperial merchant guilds. The prince of Ahle-ho was openly in favour of the empire, to the point many, Nikolas himself, suspected the man wished for the city state to join Mekrys and become its newest province.

When the prince agreed, against the majority advice of the prime guilds, to double the number of imperial troops within the city, dissonant factions stirred into action. Ultimately it was the lack of unity among those who sought independence that ruined their bid to expel the empire from Ahle-ho. Rising Tide, Hope Mandate and the Steel Keepers guilds all openly declared their opposition to the growing imperial influence in the city, with the latter two prime guilds publicly and privately requesting that the prince revoke his support of Mekrys. Rising Tide however, was more direct.

Nikolas wasn’t certain what exactly had sparked the conflict, if the civilian protest had turned violent, if agitators had attacked the garrison or if a street brawl had escalated to the point blood had been spilt. One thing was certain, violence had erupted on the streets and the guilds had gone to war. For a single night. That was all it had taken for order to be reestablished. A single night was all it had taken for thousands to die.

He had personally duelled with the Rising Tide guild master over the rooftops of the city, the man now rotting in a cell below the palace, likely for the rest of his life. He had also directed his elites to raid the compounds of the Double Lion and Silverfang guilds. It was strange now, to know that it was the manoeuvring and scheming of his rivals that had undone them, rather than any cunning ploy of his own. There were only two prime guilds now, and the Twin Heart guild was one of them.

From the balcony he could make out the tens of thousands of tiny lights flickering in the city below, a candle-lit vigil for the fallen. For now Ahle-ho was mourning, but Nikolas had no doubt that anger would slowly simmer back to life. He just hoped this was the last of the bloodshed his home would need to endure.

===

“W-what did you say?” The boy spluttered, his overly decorated dress uniform looked to be choking the life out of him, or perhaps his face was turning red for another reason.

“I said no.” Lucia replied, trying to fight down the paranoid instinct to stab the boy before her and go find a dark corner to hide in, a task that would be rather difficult, if not impossible to pull off successfully. All around her was a bustling crowd of youngsters, most around her age, though some, like the child dressed as a peacock gaping down at her, were a few years older.

“H-how dare you? I offer you a place in my team, and you… refuse me? Do you know who my father is?”

She did, but only because the boy had already loudly introduced himself to her. He was the son of a noble house, though she had never heard of it before. Behind the noble three of his offsiders glowered at her. Apparently she wasn’t supposed to have refused the kind offer. This was just a training day run by the Academy during the break between the quadriad, they weren’t even supposed to be in teams, everyone would be competing alone.

“Who is your backer, girl? My father will hear of this insult, so you better be prepared to pay the price!” The boy sneered, though the expression lost most of its impact due to how clearly flustered he was. His hand tightened around the ornate hilt of his shortsword, and Lucia tensed.

Her own fingers rested on the pommel of her wooden daggers. People were turning to stare at the altercation, several pointing and whispering. The boy took a confident step forward, puffing out his chest. Lucia was a fraction of a second away from breaking his overly sharp nose with her fist and darting away, when a high pitched, and slightly panicked voice called out.

“Lucia, is that you? Come on, you need to, uh, help me with something.”

She blinked and turned, seeing the familiar face of a nervous looking first year girl. Ella, the girl that had guided Roy, Leif and herself around Pellus on the day of their arrival to the Academy, smiled, stalked up beside Lucia, then pulled her away into the crowd. She had a bow slung over one shoulder, though there weren’t any arrows on her person that Lucia could see. She let herself be dragged away, letting out a breath of relief.

“Fine, run. You’re not that pretty anyway. And you dress like a boy!” The red faced idiot called after her, though she didn’t pay it any attention.

When they reached the edge of the crowd Ella stopped tugging her along and turned, her smile becoming less strained. “Sorry to interrupt, I’m sure you had it under control, but we’ve been breaking up fights between young masters all morning and I recognised you and figured I would step in before you stabbed him.”

“Thanks?” Lucia said, deliberately taking her free hand away from the weapon it was resting on. “What are you doing here, Ella? Are you participating?”

“No, no. I’m working. Students aren’t allowed to participate anyway, this is more for the kids of outsiders and visitors to see what the Academy’s training looks like. A lot of the kids here are probably looking to join as first years at some point, though some are just here to show off.”

“I see.” Lucia said. Hera had told her more or less the same thing the evening prior, though in fewer words. “Thanks again.”

“No worries, I’m here to help! Say, is that masked healer man here? Is he the one sponsoring you?” Ella asked, putting a hand to her brow to block the sun as she scanned the distant crowd of spectators lounging by the side of the training field.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“No, he’s not here, he’s busy doing something else. And he’s not really my sponsor…”

“Oh, okay. How is your little brother doing?”

“Roy is fine.”

“That’s good. Well, I got to go, I’m pretty sure there’s another fight about to break out over there! We’ll catch up later, okay?” Ella said, then the first year dashed off.

Sure enough, a brawl between two boys about her age started up moments later. Both were yelling something about their reputation. Lucia sighed.

===

Within the darkness, surrounded by rubble and forgotten history, a weapon stirred. Faint vibrations in the stone were the first things it sensed, though that alone wasn’t enough to bring it back to wakefulness. The ground shook occasionally, but while its degraded sensors picked up the stimuli, it wouldn’t exit its power saving protocol for something like that.

Life, faint globules drifting through invisible currents however, was. When the weapon first detected them it partially reactivated, a dull red light flooding the ancient chamber from its chest. Signatures danced in the structure above it, unaware of what lurked below. But they were distant, and so the weapon returned to its slumber. It cared not for time, the machine barely conceptualised the passing of days.

At one point it tried to move, to stand and hunt down the enemies it detected. But it was restrained, physically, and it lacked the ability to determine how, or why. The weapon wasn’t the bane of all life, but centuries of disrepair had reduced its arcane programming to their most simple state. A barely functioning part of its artificial mind attempted to analyse the entities it could sense, but either the damage to its systems was too significant, or the lifeforms lacked the ability to distinguish themselves as allies.

And so it waited, and waited, awakening whenever the beings drew close, and lying dormant when they went away. The repeated activation, and subsequent deactivation played havoc with its internals, degrading already heavily damaged systems, draining what little power it still had. Because of this, when the entrance to its tomb was pried open, the weapon didn’t immediately react.

It jerked, servos whirling and perception sweeping outwards. Three lifeforms, close, enemies. The light in its chest lit and it tried to stand. It was a weapon, and as such, it would fight, kill, rip and tear.

Enemies.

The first stepped into the room, human, arcane power, much like the wisps of power flowing through the weapon’s own body could be detected within them. The light flickered as the energy animating the machine guttered out, then sparked back into existence. The first enemy paused in the doorway, hesitant, unaware.

Kill.

It slowly raised a metal arm, trickles of power flowing into the limb, and then the gemstone embedded in its three fingered palm began to glow and vibrate. A second human entered the room, their presence was like the stone that surrounded them, rigid and geometric.

Destroy.

Heat built, and a distorted cry of panic reached the weapons basic auditory sensors. Flames, blue and fiendishly hot blasted forward, spearing towards the two figures, seeking to reduce them to ash. A sense of primal satisfaction flickered within the machine’s soul, even after being destroyed in battle and being abandoned by its creators, it could still fulfil this one, final purpose.

The final figure entered the room, rushing forward, pulling back the one who felt like stone and shoving forward the other. The gout of blue flame sputtered to a stop, not due to any lack of power, but instead due to recognition.

Golden life, a well of vibrant blood. It knew what this was. The primary target of the hunt, the true purpose of its mission. Instructions hard coded into its memory flashed through the weapons mechanical cognition. The amber one shouldn’t be destroyed, its flames should only be used sparingly lest the prize be lost.

But it was a weapon. It was created to kill. And its ancient programming no longer held sway.

Heat built up once again in the palm of its metal hand, only for the limb to be violently wretched aside, the jet of blue fire being redirected upwards, away from the living beings and scorching the walls and ceiling of the half buried chamber. Its sensors froze, not understanding the stimuli it had detected.

Something was closing in, moving quickly, something gold. The weapon tried to raise its other arm but fossilised roots, remnants of the battle that had left it half destroyed, held it in place. The gemstone in the centre of its chest flashed crimson, self destruct was the only-

An ivory fist crushed through the weapon’s torso, grabbed hold of the power source within and ripped it out, tearing wires and metal ribs as it did so.

And so the weapon died, finally.

===

Vevosis, Spire Head of Dimid, lounged behind his desk and stared out at the evening sky. The rainbow colours of the sunset over the Rien sea were gorgeous, the view worth more than any amount of gold. A figure who looked identical to himself, though entirely made up of various shades of crimson, from their skin to their clothes and their eyes, poured wine into his jewelled goblet.

The object was beyond tacky, an obscene display of decadence and wealth. He loved it, the sheer impracticality of the goblet made him laugh every time somebody entered his office and saw it. To his left another bloody clone shuffled through paperwork, its eyes glazed over with a vivid red, hiding both iris and pupil. The clone wore thin black gloves, so as not to stain the paper.

The worst part about the bloody skill constructs was their inability to communicate. Maybe when he reached level one hundred the core skill that allowed him to conjure them would upgrade in that direction. More combat ability was also a potent choice, but he had people for that. No need to get his, or copies of his hands dirty. Though there were reasons he was yet to reach that milestone, time being the least of them.

He flipped the final report in front of him up off the gilded marble desk before him with his aura, the physicality granted to rank five auras never ceased to make his life ever so slightly more convenient.

“Oh, ho. Looks like that little expedition I approved actually found something interesting.” He said to the two clones, taking a sip of wine before continuing to read. “Some sort of automaton down in the central levels, still active even after all this time.”

The clones didn’t respond, but he liked to pretend he had an audience.

“We’ll have to get some [Operator]s down there to take a look. Most people think the way things were in the past was superior to what we have now in every way. They’re wrong of course, but in this case they would be correct.”

He leaned back, swirling the half full goblet, enjoying how the golden sunlight reflected off the jewels embedded into the metal. “It’s a shame the real prize of the temple is long dead. The things we could do with some of that monstrous tree’s blood…”

The clones both shuddered, a reflection of his own desire, if none of it showed on his real body.

“Sustainability is the key. Don’t take more than you need. The dragons make that mistake, as do the djinn, the formians too. Most recently the undead are learning that lesson the hard way…”

Vevosis took another sip of his wine, holding out the goblet for the clone to refill. As the crimson liquid was being poured into its new home, he felt something quiver in the air, a scent brushing up against his awareness. He and both of his clones glanced up at the same time, looking to the north west.

“Bloodshed… Interesting.” He mused aloud, looking disapprovingly at the overfilled goblet. His clone had the good sense to look sheepish. He sighed and stood, walking around his office to stand before the window. The blood mage looked down at the Dimid campus stretching out before him, the hundreds of tiny humans scurrying between the buildings, their forms casting long shadows as they tried to return home before the mists rolled over the island.

“I suppose it might finally be starting.” Both of the clones looked at him inquisitively. Vevosis smiled. He’d need to prepare his people, set things in motion and see to the Academy’s defence. His smile stretched further. Maybe he’d hit level one hundred sooner than he thought.