blueteamnovel 241. Who’s On the Same Page?
241. Who’s On the Same Page?
241. Who’s On the Same Page?
Memento Mori.
In the outskirts and the bleakest recesses of the world they were known as the Death Defilers, specializing in reanimating the dead and defying death itself. While the Hungry and Scarlet Logic could replicate, they were not immune to the passage of time, and the constraints of their mortal bodies.
Clad in steel and incapable of withering after death, the Death Defilers defied the law of death. The metal protected them from the impending approach of time, fossilizing them as they clung onto their mortality. Or what was left of it.
The grey-skulled man stepped aside as the wretched figure he had summoned took her hand and began to slowly dance, the woman giggling as though she were taken back to a much simpler time. A part of her knew that this undead abomination should not exist, but her yearning for her husband’s warmth, however cold it truly was, blinded her.
Despair melded with a melancholic happiness oozed from her curved lips as the skulled man breathed his smoke as if inhaling from an invisible pipe.
“The danse macabre. Death is quite the cruel mistress. Star crossed because death did them apart. Even reuniting them after death’s embrace still marks them as the material for their Masterpiece.”
“I was expecting the Scourge to play their hand. Did they send you instead?” The Expositionist spoke, nodding to greet a fellow ally.
The skulled man politely tipped their hat in response.
“Ah. The Fractured Nilhim. They are still on the fence about this whole ‘prophecy’. Frankly speaking, that wall of flames does little to prove what exactly we’re trying to stop. None of us are literate like your kind, but don’t lie to yourself either. Neither of us have read the contents, and yet the Blood Festival have already condemned the Amalgam, as has the Brightest Star.”
“Oh. I forget how obvious some of the curtains they’ve been pulling are. Blood Festival. Hungry – Ah, I mean, the Crimson Hunger, Maestros of Flesh, Sect of Gears and even we believe in it. I assure you, behind the smokes and mirrors, and the messy expositions; there is truth in the destructive flames the Amalgam wields.” The Expositonist drew a hand to their chest and began to rub where their heart sat. “If you felt those flames, you would surely understand. They are a danger to us.”
“I tend to agree to an extent. I’m sure that we would become targets one way or another after we finally lay our hands on the Piece of the Fallen Star. Isn’t that why we’re here in the first place?” The man deeply croaked.
“The plan has layers. It’s a shame we’ve failed on so many levels, but it will achieve the same thing nonetheless.”
“I wonder about that. Unity is not the forte of some of our friends with Hearts. Infecta Rot. The Broken Thorn. Fractured Nilhim. Us, even.” He huffed as the Scraper fell further into the illusion, embracing and even kissing the lipless mouth of her deceased lover. “I know nothing either way. Just trying to comfort another heart that lost someone to death. Do you believe that all things must come to an end?”
“All good books leave room for more. But, in my humble belief, they still must end.” The Expositionist carefully spoke.
He took the Expositionist’s head in both gloved palms, staring deeply into his sealed eyes.
“Breathe in. Breathe out. Killing you will change nothing. You have a role to fulfil. I’ve done my part of the bargain for a piece of that Advent. Therefore, I will leave them to you.” His words were woven to sound like kindness, but deep down there was resentment.
With that being said, he removed himself and began to leave through the only exit, pausing to utter one last thing.
“Know that the Seeds have been dispersed. Do your thing, Librarian.”
Clutching his mouth, and patting it as if in disbelief, the Expositionist shakily held the quill in his hands and muffledly acknowledged it. And as soon as the Skulled man turned the corner –
– The black quill snapped.
Suddenly, as he wallowed in frustration, footsteps approached. His bloodless veins turned cold as his mind raced at the thoughts of death, for he believed that the Skulled man had overheard his spite, and had returned to finish him off.
But his face turned pale as a certain purple skinned Insectid approached, dragging her mammoth of a blade behind her shoulders like a tail.
It was the same Missionary who had apologized to the woman just days prior.
“Oh. Pleasure to meet you again~ Fear not, Librarian. I’ve only arrived to bid my congratulations, and farewells to her. I did warn her, as per the Script. But underneath the same line it told me to walk exactly 13,312 steps in precise detail to offer words of comfort to the ‘bride’.”
The Missionary hollowly grinned, hammering his dread deeper into his heart.
“Curious how it always knows. Curious how there are things that it will miss. I wonder if allowing this to ferment is a part of the grand scheme.” She added as the Expositionist held his breath, all the while the Missionary breathed the smoke like it was no more than ordinary air.
Then, with a polite tone, she finished her greeting with the wave of her blade’s great hilt.
“Either way... That is all. I’ve fulfilled my orders here, and with 9,231 breaths to spare before my beloved bath. Ahhh~ Hm. Intriguing. Open your ears, oh Expositionist. The Script orders me to evacuate from the City of Spades.
I hope you are prepared for what it entails.”