“I recall seeing a skeleton on the battlefield. A Stalker Skeleton. It created a golem of glass to deflect fire from Sacrosanct Rifles, and attempted to save the Nightwitch.” Hoplite said. “I killed it, and, of course, I killed the Nightwitch with it at that moment.”
Cynthia furrowed her brow. Her master gave Hoplite an odd gaze.
“Explain.”
“No one recalls such an incident happening. From what I gathered, I never did such a thing. The skeleton never appeared. No golem was created. As far as everyone remembers, the Nightwitch had always been alone and no one tried to save her.” Hoplite tapped the side of his head. “I don’t believe my memory is corrupt. So it is more likely that only I have memories of that event because only I failed to be affected by the skeleton’s power. A power that potent could only exist if –”
“If the Nightwitch named it.”
Cynthia found the words slipping out of her mouth in horror. She rapidly covered them, wincing as she realized she spoke out of turn. Neither High Eminent Hoplite nor Sophos seemed to mind. For once, the stakes were so large that they overlooked her transgression.
“Yes,” said Hoplite. “As the Discontinuity Advancement Protocols indicates, all minions and acquaintances must be eliminated. A named nightmare inheriting the power of their name-granter is not a new phenomenon. It would be remiss to spend so much time and effort eliminating the Nightwitch, only to turn around and realize several nightmares now have her power.” Hoplite stretched his arms into the air.
“I’ve tasked the Seven Amendments on a search-and-destroy mission to hunt down this skeleton and any nightmares it may have encountered.”
“Uninteresting. If you already have this under control, why mention it? A single named nightmare is the least of our –” her master stopped mid-thought. “Its name gave you cause for concern.”
Hoplite nodded. “It did.”
Cynthia tried her best to hide her ignorance. Her master saw through it regardless, and with a gaze, he explained. “Remember this, Cynthia, Nightwitches, and Nightshamans oft tend to name nightmares after their Anathema patron, or after Anathema patrons close to theirs.” Her master said. “A homage or tribute. A cycle. Through the names they give, we are capable of discovering who their patron is, and thus, how to effectively kill them.”
“Hence, the reason I believe we might have some problems.” Hoplite said.
Her master snorted. “What name could give you of all people cause for concern?”
“Janus.”
For the third time that day, Sophos cursed. “Fantastic.” Her master began to pace back and forth, his right hand placed underneath his chin. “We have a Nightwitch locked in stasis with ninety-four days of battery before you, and potentially, all of Alamir is destroyed. We also possess a probable Planewalker in the form of her minion. I would prefer to be informed of any other problematic situations before we begin searching for a solution, and are blindsided by a third difficulty.”
Her master waited for several seconds. Cynthia was not sure what exactly he was waiting for. Hoplite let out a casual shrug. Sophos turned to stare at a seemingly empty plot of space, before clearing his throat. “Irritating. I can sense your presence. Show yourself and cease with the pointless subterfuge.”
The silence that followed was awkward. Cynthia knew her master was irritated by the turn of events, but it was unlike him to begin addressing the empty air.
“Ever the wily one, aren’t you Sophos?”
The AAA guards stiffened at the sudden voice of a third party. The ‘empty air’ her master was regarding morphed into a simple dark shadow, the shadow changing and formulating into the shape of a woman. No, not just any woman. One of the most dangerous women that walked the surface of Alamir.
Pochteca the Perspicacious, High Eminent of Espionage wore an annoyed expression. “One of these days, Sophos, I will find out how you always seem to know where I am.” The woman clicked her tongue and turned to Hoplite. “Hello, cousin. I’m hurt you didn’t come to me on this issue first.”
Cousin? Cynthia’s eyes snapped back and forth between Pochteca and Hoplite. Pochteca’s hair was midnight black, Hoplite’s hair was golden blond. Her eyes were an unremarkable brown, whereas Hoplite’s eyes were a sharp glowing purple. I can’t see the resemblance.
“Your free time is not spent making weapons of mass destruction, Teca,” Hoplite responded. “Soph was my first choice for a reason.”
Cynthia came to realize that this was the first time she was in the presence of three High Eminents at the same time. Rarely ever did a matter occur which would put the governing leaders in the same place, and bar the Gatherings in which all ten High Eminents were expected to appear, there was very little that was serious enough to bring them together.
A Nightwitch and a Planewalker seem to qualify…
“Captivating.” Her master said blithely. “Ignoring Pochteca’s proclivity towards voyeurism of teenage boys, I do hope your presence adds some manner of value to this conversation.”
The woman did not bother to deny the accusation. “I know how we can kill the Nightwitch.”
It sounded almost too good to be true to Cynthia’s ears. Likewise, her master’s brow rose in clear skepticism of the notion. A Nightwitch that could survive being ripped apart down to the tiniest molecule of her existence was not something one could kill so easily.
“Go on.” Sophos urged.
“The Takumian Prince possesses a Flair that seemingly breaks down and absorbs physical matter before converting it into his life force.” She explained. “I lost several of my agents to that ability, of which I do not yet know the limits.”
Sophos crossed his arms, scoffing. “Rubbish. NW401 has proven resilient against Hoplite’s gravitational anomalies. Do you somehow believe a Prince of Savages is capable of succeeding where he failed?” Sophos shook his head further. “Do you understand the political ramifications of what would happen if they did succeed? A Champion of Takum besting a Champion
