The binder cracked as dust fell off in heavy clouds, the binding stiff with age as he turned to the first page, and then the 2nd, and then the 3rd. Every page the same, every page empty, but rather than being angered, he smiled a sense of relief flooding him.
Reverend did his work well and had set upon the report the mandated guild measures for secrecy. Few in the other timeline could have ever read the report, and none but Seraph could read it now.
Seraph closed the binder, grimacing as it cracked as he closed it and put his thumb on the guild mark hidden discreetly on the corner of the binder. The mark responded to him and responded to the blood in his veins, the blood he had once shared with every elite member of his guild.
His thumb pressed into the binder; the guild mark warmed beneath his finger he repeated the words he had himself dedicated to the task of secrecy. The words he demanded that others must always use, and always keep secret.
Seraph spoke low in hushed tones his words laced with mana, and tinged dark with hints of his power, his voice aimed at the guild mark.
He spoke the keywords that he had long ago chosen for his guild and members to use.
“It is written, be loyal to the nightmare of your choices.”
The guild mark glowed a crimson red and disappeared, fading out of existence. A tool of the guild to pass information in a coded fashion.
The binder quickly transformed into a small book with a leather binding. Eagerly he opened it. This time the pages moved easily without tarnish or age, smelling heavy of fresh ink and newly cut leather. He quickly flipped to the first page and began reading the familiar handwriting that he recognized as belonging to Reverend.
“February, 18th, 2048
This Tuesday makes the passage of 6 months since I first began my mission to further investigate the miasma that is spreading across the earth.
Though they call it miasma, I do not. It is closer to a poison, a curse. A blight on the land and all it touches. With careful diligence and preparation, I have explored the border and been troubled by what I have found.
Of the monsters within I have seen little directly, though I have seen evidence of incursions. Tracks in the ground and dragging indentations leading from within the miasma to scattered homes near the border and back again into the miasma.
The monsters within seem to congregate closer to population centers, I have used this to conduct various research.
I used many different instruments to try to collect soil samples, all except the iron collection tool rapidly corroded before my eyes. The single soil sample I took was fallow and hostile to life. Everything save the iron I used to collect it corroded and turned necrotic.
Against my better angels I reached into the miasma covered in iron and found the protection insufficient. The exposed flesh of my left hand became alien to me, becoming necrotic and necromorphic as my hand rotted. I quickly withdrew and severed the limb which in turn I saw spawn additional limbs and scurry off.
I did not attempt further information collection. I have since replaced the limb with animated necromantic tissue, dead man’s bone, and a minor illusionary spell. I have found much to my misery that this hand I have created for myself has a persistent effect of death touch. I must be careful.
Though my guild has ample resources that could have benefited the mission, I made the decision to self refer to this forward deployment to the contested outer regions without permission or further authorization. If successful, I know my master will forgive the liberty I have taken to further explore what we call the miasma, and what I call wormwood for it is blight and the enemy of all life.
The infrastructure in the nearby towns has fallen into disrepair, the roads are filled by both highwayman and refugees. Long throngs of hopeless people traveling to wherever they believe they may find safety, the strongest among though hold their heads a bit higher, they all know the dungeon to be safe, and they know they may be allowed where only the strong are allowed to enter. It is not my place or duty to judge them and send them forward or dispatch them and end their journey. I have other purposes.
The dead are numerous, though most of the dead I have come across have fallen by the blade of the desperate hand and not by illness or monster from the dungeon. Though I imagine for the dead it matters very little how or who killed them. Of those dragged into the miasma I can make no guesses if alive or dead.
I have so far been unsuccessful during my tenure here in finding a more appropriate cover for my actions and purpose within the area. Of work there has been very little. I have been forced to assume the mantle of principal of this high school.
It has not been terrible. Many of the conditions I had feared might cause others to be suspicious of my purpose have been mitigated by the extraordinary circumstances of the immediacy of the nearby miasma border. Many of the locals and elders within the community have long since fled, taking with them their families. Those who have remained are the poor who cannot afford the travel, the sick whom cannot travel, and the infirm who require aid to travel. As I shift through reports, I can see how every day fewer and fewer students remain.
Of the students who are left at the school under my care, I must say they have remained resilient and hopeful, a force I can barely register seems to be driving them with a will to survive. Though they are primarily handicapped, these students who are left behind, I cannot act in accordance with guild tenets. Even in the coldest region of my own heart I cannot do what duty demands of me, even more so when the truth is evidence, I am all these children have. I have been unwilling even in the coldest region of my heart to find the strength to look at these children, look them straight and the eye and tell them plainly that no one is coming to save them, their loved ones have abandoned them.
I will not be that monster. Though I know too on many levels, these children know and understand they have been abandoned. I believe there is no further purpose in chasing greater heartache, it is a small mercy I can give them to not mention this. These students who are left in my care are primarily the handicapped, some with disabilities greater than others, and the left behind, those whose families could not afford to move them and absconded without them.
I have set up a shelter for these children in the main break area, and at night I tell them stories about happier times before the miasma and before the crows came. Most sleep peacefully with the lies I weave for their comfort. It is likely we will all be dead soon; I will not add to their misery or sorrows. Though the numbers of students in the school has dwindled over time, it has still been a heavy burden to bear. Soon I will bear it alone. I have seen the aids and the teachers, their eyes heavy and alight with fear, twitching and ready to depart at a moment’s notice, their gaze heavy with guilt they cannot look at me, and cannot look at the children. I fully expect to wake up soon and find the lot of them to be gone having fled, by nature there are few options available to them, I cannot find fault in it. I will not condone another's decision to live, just because I have made the decision that prepares me for death.
I have sinned against my master. That I care for these children, that I am their caretaker and by rights have sapped my own strength to care for them is considered a grand heresy by the Guild of Crows, and only equally grand results would result in forgiveness, and a pardon of weakness for these children. By all rights I should abandon them and report only on what I have found, but I cannot, I cannot leave them. I have grown close to them, and as the approaches, even know the miasma approaches, I hear heavy coughs in the distance down the hall from my children, a warning signs of the air fouling of the air that announces the miasma’s movement. I will not leave them behind, I have one hope that may be our salvation, or at least theirs.
I have planted a single dungeon seed I found early one within my travels. I have planted the seed into the very foundation of the school, and while I have felt the stirrings of influence of the dungeon below me, it has not yet sprouted. It is my hope that it shall grow and eventually envelope this school t
hat I love and extend its protection to these children whom I cannot and will not leave behind. I know first hand the strength that the dungeon can grant to those within it.
Whatever infirmities and weaknesses these children may have, I know will be rectified once inside the dungeon. I cannot lead them through the known dungeon entrance, I will not lead them to be slaughtered mere meters away from salvation for things outside of their control, for faults not their own, just due to the capricious and malevolent nature of the Crows.
I hear screaming outside and faint sobbing. It appears I am out of time. A teacher knocks on my door asking for guidance for what to do, but I have none. The miasma has never moved this fast before and from my window I can see it encroaching not in mere centimeters and inches, but in miles. It is evidence it will soon be here. I tell the teacher to gather the staff and the children and take them to the break area, be kind, tell jokes, and be easy on them.
The teacher paused for a second, asking if I’m coming too, but I am busy. One by one I unbutton my polished suit that has marked my authority within the school, a suit of heavy polished obsidian armor beneath it. I will soon grab my gauntlets and war hammer, I do not know how much my life will be worth, but I will spend it gladly for a few more minutes of life for these children.
I shall leave behind these findings in the hope that one day my master will find and benefit from them, and through him all of humanity, in fighting off this miasma I suspect to be wormwood.
Signed, Timothy Reverend
7th Seat of the Order of Crows
Guild officer of Carrion Crow
“The Earth Shaker”
Seraph looked down at the binder, his eyes heavy in an unfamiliar way as tears dropped heavy on the white paper below. Proud of the man who had been his friend, and remorseful of how his own actions and policy had likely caused his death. He wiped the tears from his eyes and compartmentalized the information. Information heavy with implication that he would need to save and bring up with the guild once they were established. In this information was a chance that Reverend had saved the human race with his research.
Notification: You have obtained information on the Miasma in the report by Timothy Reverend. He suspects it is something called wormwood. Find a way to fight or ward off this wormwood by February the 18th, 2048 or lose control of the surface area of the Earth and all who live upon it.
He closed the leather book, not bothering to reactivate the seal and stashed it on his person, leaving the office much the same way that he had left it and closed the door behind him in reverence to the man who had worked in it. Only a few minutes had passed since he had gone in, but he felt he needed a minute to think. He slumped down near the sleeping forms of his still snoring father and the light snores of Erin.
As he looked at the wall thoughts heavy on his mind, he wondered who he was. He called himself Seraph, but was he really, could he really be? The thoughts of his old friend and subordinate lay heavy on his mind. If he was still Seraph would he have this feeling of guilt and sorrow? He didn’t know. He propped himself against the wall and waited for the others to wake up, watching as the hours passed and the thoughts in his mind remained troubled and chaotic.
Chapter 15: The Ties That Bind
* * *
His wings flexed instinctively, a tell-tell sign of inner turmoil and anxiety that only those closest to him had ever managed to figure out. It was not a trait he readily revealed, standing in stark contrast to his well groomed image of cold and harsh stoicism. Anxious waiting for news from the forward team, but more anxious to hear from Elle.
Rubbing his temples to relieve some of the tension he felt and clenched his fist in rapid succession as he worked the stress out of his body, leadership was a trial all of its own. He looked at the rapidly updating map in the command center, feeling overwhelmed in a way he never had before, on that map marked the remnants of humanity on Earth. A sense of longing and bitterness fueling his thoughts as he wished for the simpler days when Carrion Crow was just a killers guild, and not beholden to the responsibility of ruling the survivors.
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown” He muttered to himself as a voice from across the room tore him from his thoughts.
"Seraph, you need to see this." Shouted Zoldos, his voice heavy tinged in regret as his arms moved faster than the human eye could see, his movement a blurry whirl giving him the illusion of at least partial invisibility, a trail of green in the air as he worked to update the map with his empowered stylus.
Seraph moved away from his command station and over towards the command node Zoldos was assigned to. He watched Zoldos arms move faster and faster as more and more of the over-head map was updated by him, filled with green to match the miasma on the surface spread and consumed. It was a regret Seraph had putting Zoldos to work in this place, Seraph had always enjoyed watching the man's knife work and unfortunately for him the quickness of his hands extended to his work in command node, exactly what Seraph needed.
But by the way Zoldos held himself, the tone of his and how he phrased those words Seraph knew he needed to brace himself for bad news. He had a self enforced policy that his subordinates could never see him react poorly or complain about bad news. But today might be different, there was news he had been fearing all day, and even something as strong as him had things he feared.
“It's the team Seraph.” Said Zoldos, his head unmoving, centered and focused on his tasks of keeping the command center updated on all the incoming information, the blur of arms in motion never stopping.
Seraph’s heart stopped. He knew what that meant, no one ever stopped him during a crisis to give him good news, only ever poor outcomes and bad news.
"What about the team Zoldos?" Asked Seraph his tone icy and devoid of the emotions raging inside him.
“Their gone.” Came the reply as Zoldos pointed to the guild roster on his command node. Seraph’s eyes scanned the screen and highlighted in gray marking the deceased were three to join hundreds of others, new names, Elle, John, and Ken. Their time of death stamped next to their names, mere seconds between each.
"Their gone." Those simple words and he knew everything that it entailed. That the team he had sent to scout the final floor of the dungeon had been completely wiped out. Whatever killed them had been monstrous enough to overwhelm three of his elites with enough speed and violence of action to prevent even one of them from escaping. He looked at the list again, Elle had died last, maybe she had at least tried to escape the monster that came for them.
He clenched his jaw in anger, more friends lost, more comrades lost and for nothing, they knew nothing more about the final floor. Nothing except death waited for them there, death waited through the doorway marked Locum Malificar.
“They will be remembered.” Was all Seraph said as he turned away and headed back to his command desk. Disappointment evident on the faces of the few subordinates that had overheard the exchange and his underwhelming response, wondering between themselves had he could care so little. Never knowing, never guessing that Seraph's instinct and response was the urge to kill and massacre until his anger disappears, to fill the empty space with tides of blood. Underwhelming kept his people safe from him.
“Wait Seraph, it wasn’t just the team.” Retorted Zoldos. “We’ve lost contact with most of the forward elements on the surface. The teams on the outskirts are reporting the miasma is moving again, faster than they’ve ever seen it. The government is pulling out of D.C. their all heading here Seraph they mean to take the dungeon from us. This is it, it's over.”
That the government was pulling out of D.C. and thought they could actually take control of the dungeon was laughable. That was a confrontation Seraph was looking forward to, he alone could kill the entire lot of them, it didn’t matter if they numbered in the thousands or tens of thousands, Seraph was on a level they would never reach. Communication was heavily restricted with the surface and few knew what he was truly capable of, no one outside of his guild h
ad lived to see what he was capable of.
As for the rest of the world, Seraph mentally dismissed the news, he had largely given up on them, the green mist would soon come for them all and only those strong enough to resist would remain.
“Seraph, there's more, I think you’re going to want to suit out and head out after this.” Responded Zoldos as he turned around and looked Seraph in the eye.
"Alright man. Hit me with the bad news" Said Seraph wearily.
Hazy green light filtered into the office, shining inside through the glass, light filtered through the miasma that hung heavy just past the front doors. Though the change in light may have marked the passage of time, no one knew as the sun could not be seen, and the inside of the school remained mostly dark, save the main office.
Curled up against the wall, the marks of dried tears ran down his face through dust and grime on his face, Seraph slept. And not the easy sleep of exhaustion, but the troubled sleep of the damned.
The filtered green light didn’t wake him. Nor did the movement of bodies around him as his companions each woke up and moved about. Nor did the first kick wake him as it barely registered in his foggy mind. While the second kick jolted his senses into groggy awareness.
By the time the third kick came around he was fully awake, catching the kick and trapping the leg with a hold as he prepared to break the limb as he glared in furious anger over being disturbed, and more furious at whoever dared to attack him, his body heavy with powerful as wraith fueled his heart of darkness ability boosting his strength far beyond that of a man.
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