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Punishment reincarnation 63
🕑 Added 2024-03-31 13:00:09 +0000 UTC63 – Distorted truths
“Be more specific.” Said Syrma’s distorted voice, coming from the Farcaster Orb.
“They entered the city of Semiluminal through the main gates at 16:28, together with a merchant named Taiival. We believe that he was transporting illegal goods from Obscuria to Semiluminal, which is also compatible with an escorting Quest that’s been accepted at the Noctis guild around the time the targets left the outskirts of the city.”
“What did they do after they entered the city?”
“They followed the merchant to his designated location, where he rented a shop for a week. What followed was a brief conversation between the target and the merchant, during which the target showed the merchant a box before making it disappear through unknown means.”
“An inventory.” Syrma said, and his head left the field of view of the orb for a moment. He was less surprised by Ishrin’s use of magic outside their known magic system than he should have been, to the point he even knew its name. “Then?”
“The party split up for a while, then they spent the night in an inn. At 11:54 of today they have been spotted again in the White Highlands neighborhood of Semiluminal as they entered the mansion of duke Elstrom. Their objective is unknown but our man thinks that they are looking for something of importance.”
Syrma tapped his chin, and the metallic skin made a mute ting. “Duke Elstrom. Good. We can use him. Gather more information.”
The man nodded. “Sir.” He said. “There is another piece of intel that might be relevant. Around 14-hundred hours, the exact time is unknown, the merchant Taiival suffered an accident while he was examining the contents of his shop. It was reported that his men found him dead with his cranium exploded open, and dust scattered all throughout the room. The place has since been quarantined and the authorities are on standby.”
“Has anyone entered yet?” Syrma asked, suddenly standing up.
“I told Tiemens to hold them off until I could report the fact to you, sir.”
“Good call.” Syrma said. “Keep the authorities away from that room.”
The Farcaster Orb went dark.
Later, Syrma was inhaling the tasteless air of the room he was investigating. What would have been revolting to a normal human, to him was a faint smell that barely registered in his brain. Even with his Tier 8 senses, not much managed to penetrate his metallic skin and reach his cells buried beneath it, making the world dull and distant. The room was splattered with blood, caked and crusty dark stains on the walls and ceiling of the dim space. A large wooden crate rested half open atop another crate, next to the still sitting body of the deceased merchant.
Syrma peered into the box, at the glittering dust that seemed to shimmer as if hit by a ray of light even in the almost total darkness. His yellow skin of alive metal reflected this light as he plunged his fist into the dust and brought it to his lips.
The saliva he spat out was so acidic it started to eat through the concrete of the floor, and it would not stop for a while yet. “Pixie dust.” he muttered, cleaning his tongue against the back of his arm.
He went to examine the dead body. As he expected, a small wooden box laid open on the ground, the lid having bounced away to the far side of the room. Syrma picked it up, fighting against the faint resistance of the sticky blood keeping it glued to the floor and turned it around in his hands before tossing it away onto the pile of dust of the crate once he was satisfied with it.
The door opened with a loud groan of strain, and the dragging of soggy wood against the uneven floor.
Markillus, Syrma’s contact in town, had been keeping watch outside when Syrma opened the door. Not expecting anyone, he jumped to his feet, readying his weapons with his heart in his throat at the sudden movement in the room behind him, which he had thought empty. His eyes noticed the pale yellow and gold skin of his employer but instead of relaxing, his body tensed even further. He didn’t know if Syrma had noticed this, or if he was going to punish his reaction, for the guild master showed no interest in him or in the room he had just emerged from. A room that had been empty until minutes earlier, Markillus kept telling himself, as if to hold reality accountable for the fact that his sanity had just been questioned by the seemingly impossible event. To him, an existence on the level of power such as that of the Guild Master was unthinkable, the most powerful person he had ever seen being the Tier 4 son of the duke. He had no idea what spells and powers people of such power had, but a single look at Syrma’s unnatural metallic sheen was enough to give him more than enough to deduce he was way out of his league.
“Erase all evidence.” Syrma said. “I want it clean. Now.”
Markillus nodded many times in quick succession.
“Also,” Syrma said, and his voice was silky like a brown recluse’s web. “Let duke Elstrom know that I will be visiting shortly. Before the sun sets, even.”
Markillus once again could only nod, and to his relief the master seemed still not have any interest in him as he sat on a chair and set down the Farcaster Orb on the table. Markillus rushed to clean the table before the Orb could get dirty with all the grime, dust and blood that had soaked the table after he had tortured the three associates of the merchant, but Syrma simply waved him away with an annoyed expression. The shoo was powerful enough that where the gilded fingers hit against Markillus’ armor, they left deep dents and a spreading hematoma below, but he recovered quickly from the recoil of the violent movement and went to guard the door leading to the busy, afternoon street.
He tried his best not to listen in. He concentrated every ounce of his being into watching the people walk, memorizing their faces and trying to dissuade anyone from investigating this strangely empty building in the middle of a bustling commercial district. He knew very well what would happen to him, and to the trespasser both, if it ever happened.
He spotted Tiemens in the crowd, and immediately motioned for him to be quiet and guard the door. Tiemens was originally from Noctis, and he was the only surviving member of a team that had dared fail when by Syrma to follow Ishrin back when he mysteriously appeared in the guild in Noctis. The man often talked about leaving without any trace, about escaping from this crazed person who had assumed control of the guild in his hometown, but never actually got around to doing it, as if the sole thought was enough to scare him into inaction. After today, after having seen Syrma in person, Markillus finally understood why the man was so scared.
From inside the building, the faint voice of the guild master could be heard. He was annoyed as he talked to someone on the other end of the Orb, somewhere back at the entrance of the volcano realm, and the two unwitting guards wondered what was going to happen to the poor guy. The conversation was not going well, and the two overheard many strange things that they surely were not supposed to know, and that they were going to keep to themselves and swore not to talk about even to each other.
The realm was decaying, it seemed. By the tone of voice of the guy on the other end of the Orb, it was not without consequences for not only did the realm threaten to completely destroy a portion of territory that was half the size of all Nocturnia of the Winds, but it seemed that deep within the realm something was awakening. Something that, Syrma said, had been sealed there for centuries. Although, here came the weird part. Syrma seemed unnaturally happy at the fact, because in his words: “it might very well be that the death of a couple dozen thousand people in this remote corner of the world will be deemed sufficient for a Dynasty to intervene. That is indeed wonderful.”
For a moment, it seemed as if Syrma had been scared of this Dynasty person—whoever he was—and that the realm represented a way to justify some sort of action Syrma had taken that might have been seen in a different light otherwise. Of course, the two unwilling eavesdroppers did not know about the internal politics of the guild and the struggle for power therein, and that Syrma’s predicament was more complicated than it looked.
In the last days, as the Dynasty got closer to Prima Luce and Ishrin had disappeared from Noctis, Syrma had been increasingly restless. He could not break the Guild rules and go after the man himself directly, and it seemed that the interest in the multiversal traveler had died down after a round of deliberation in the higher seats of power of the Guild, far away from Prima Luce. What trickled down was not reassuring, certainly not to Syrma and his desire to kill this pest before he could turn his planet into a battlefield. He did not believe that the fading interest the guild held for this person would preserve the planet, and in fact very much preferred a short but intense effort to put him down followed by a long period of peace. Already the pace at which Ishrin was gaining power was troubling, and Syrma had the growing suspicion that the higher ups in the Guild were perhaps worried about Ishrin hiding his true strength. Hence why they were hesitating to order him to kill the man.
Syrma did not believe any of that. He had never witnessed the almost total obliteration of the Guild a few millions of years prior, at the hands of a similar target who was actually hiding the strength of a Tier 14 expert back when the most powerful member of the guild was barely Tier 13. The retaliation had been so brutal to forever traumatize the immortal elders of the organization, who in turn made it so cases such as Ishrin’s were met with caution and inertia in hope they might slip away, killed off or ran away to another universe.
Syrma’s mood soured again at the thought of Ishrin escaping his grasp. Perhaps the Dynasty could be goaded into acting beyond just intervening to stabilize the collapsing realm, and into dealing with this Ishrin. But he could not count on that. He needed to start poking the man: he either managed to kill Ishrin and fixed his problems, or he could engineer a situation where Ishrin would become a problem to the guild that could no longer be ignored. Either way would be fine. Syrma doubted Ishrin could ever survive an attack from the Dynasty, ancient fairy tales notwithstanding.
***
Sometime later. Somewhere in the central galactic cluster.
A transmission was received. It talked about the development of an unstable realm on a fringe planet called Prima Luce. It also contained new orders to be relayed.
There was a woman, immersed in a white space. The space was not real, but for her, it was all there ever was and all there will ever be. She vaguely recalled having a name, but she didn’t care. All she was, all she ever will be, was a clerk for the Guild.
She turned around and the image of a mighty spacefaring vessel, cruising the currents of spacetime, appeared before her. Its name, the text said, was Soaring Dragon 36.
“Hailing Soaring Dragon 36█b. Update on Guild mandate on Prima Luce: the presence of an unstable pocket realm requires you to intervene immediately after your arrival in orbit. All other objectives are to be considered secondary to the completion of the containment procedures. The aberrant individual previously highlighted by the Guild Master of Noctis Syrma has been identified as Ishrin ██████, and previous ties to universe #992FE2 have been confirmed. Level of power when last seen on his home planet: Tier 15.
You are advised to avoid any form of confrontation. The man is to be considered an existential threat to the survival of the Guild if angered, and all previous orders involving him are now considered void. Address the unstable realm and return to base as soon as possible. Do not interfere with local squabbles, even if they involve Ishrin. Do not be goaded into battle by the Guild Master of Noctis.
Approved by the Guild Council and relayed by Clerk#88██ in date ██████. Please confirm.”
However, the message did not reach the Dynasty first. The first person who saw it was the Equinox, and she smiled as she read the message. She did not see orders to be carried out in the official communication, rather she saw her ticket to freedom. A way to kill the Dynasty. Just a few touches here and there, an omission of some relevant details, and the new orders were ready.
It would not do, after all, not to follow what the Guild Master of Noctis had planned. If this—and she had to look him up—Syrma person had plans to deal with Ishrin, then so be it. Perhaps the Dynasty would finally meet an opponent stronger than him, and she would be free.
Consequences be damned.
