the heretics no longer fear you
your crusade has already failed
The evening brought with it a quiet chaos, sounds of Overseer raids drowned by the ambient noises of Dunwall, the hum of machines and the occasional muted blare of a foghorn out over the Wrenhaven. The air smelled of dew, oil, and rot, a constant that only the plague had the ability to chase away with its scents of smoke and sickness and blood. Dunwall didn't need a plague or Overseers to create chaos, its own natural discord more than enough for the city to sustain itself.
Killian could relax in that thrumming discord, that state of organized chaos that Daud and his Whalers neither created nor resolved, rather co-existed with and fed off of it. Their new home lacked the desperation of a city, that graceful brutality; the Serkonian countryside had no need for their usual services. A farmer had no need to hire an assassin. Fortunately, Daud still maintained some interest in Dunwall's affairs, and so here the young Whaler was, spying on the ever-righteous High Overseer.
The Whaler quickly darted behind the white pillar. Those green eyes had so briefly met his. He needed to leave. He needed to leave immediately. Killian didn't know the scope of her abilities, but from what he'd seen, the green mist that briefly made him lower his guard…
As the Overseers began to stir, Killian knew he had to move before he was spotted. Eyes searching for an escape, he blinked over to the side room and stumbled over to the corner where the wall and the large memorial pillars came close. Calmly as possible, he planted his feet firmly against the pillar and his back against the wall and climbed up to the corner of the ceiling.
In the bustle of the now confused and dismissed Overseers, the sound of steel-toed boots thudding softly against the stone floor nearly made him squeeze his eyes shut. The small, middle-aged High Overseer slowly and cautiously passed through the threshold; her eyes narrowed as she searched the room. A few moments passed and she stopped to reload her pistol.
Killian could feel the sweat dripping down the side of his face.
Lagunov's eyes scanned the room once more before she returned the firearm to its holster and left the room through the opposite doorway.
That's right, bitch, don't look up.
He followed her, transversing up onto the chandeliers and bookcases as she went up to her quarters. The room that once had housed the equipment for the heretic's brand had been converted into her personal rooms some time ago, but from what Killian had found, the heretic's brand and the interrogation room had simply been moved to somewhere else in the building. He hadn't found it yet, but he knew it had to be somewhere in the lower levels. The reasoning behind this likely lied in what had happened to Campbell, and Campbell hadn't truly been a heretic. It was possible that Lagunov also felt safer in keeping her quarters in the High Overseer's office, closer to her men and well-guarded.
As she retreated into her room, Killian blinked behind one of the wooden screens that flanked the office proper, but immediately found he wasn't the only one hiding.
The mask-less Overseer slammed him against the wall, sword to the Whaler's neck. The blade trembled and the Overseer's dark eyes were wide with panic. "You," he hissed, "You're one of them Whalers, Daud's heretics." His trembling stilled. "… Did you see that," he breathed, "Did you see her?"
Killian raised his hands defensively. The patrols of this floor wouldn't be starting for a while. "Calm down," he said. The man hadn't fallen under Lagunov's thrall, perhaps he hadn't been in the room. The answer came in the form of a clean white bandages wrapped around the man's head. He was injured.
"Bloody Strictures… what was that? What did I see? Who is she? Who I am? Am I still me or am I-"
Okay maybe not as unaffected as he thought. Killian knew how to deal with these things. Some of the younger recruits used to have breakdowns back in the day. "Calm down, start slow. What's your name?" Killian's voice had a lilt to it, and people said he sounded boyish. He couldn't argue with that.
The man's breathing started to even out. "Willoughby Sager."
"Where are you from, Willoughby?"
"Redmoor… I'm from Redmoor…"
So they were getting somewhere. "Redmoor. Never been there. That's pretty far north, though. How's the weather in Redmoor, Willoughby?"
The Overseer's trembling came to a near complete stop and he began to slump. "It's nice. Never too hot, but never gets too cold during the winters. Stays pleasant. The women never have to bundle up too much."
Killian blinked, but continued. "Have any family?"
"My mother, it was just my mother before I was recruited," he answered, eyes starting to become less crazed. He sank to the floor, head between his knees. "What in the Void was that?" he breathed.
Killian kneeled to bring them level. "The High Overseer bears the Outsider's Mark. Yelena Lagunov is one of your heretics."
The Overseer looked up at him. "Takes one to know one, eh?" he chuckled. "Ah, rats, I'm not surprised." He put his head in his hands.
Offering a hand, Killian stood up. "If you'd help me, it is within the best interests for Daud as well as the Abbey to see Lagunov's reign ended."
Willoughby let out a breath laugh, but did not say anything for quite some time. "… All right, what do you need me to do?"
"Nothing yet, I-"
The sudden blare of an alarm sent Killian into action. He clamped a hand over the Overseer's mouth, grabbed a firm hold of his arm and transversed to the top of the chandelier. Willoughby stumbled and Killian used all his strength just to keep the concussed and confused Overseer on the light fixture.
Something glass shattered somewhere nearby and a woman swore.
"Shhh," the Whaler hissed, muscling Willoughby further from the edge. The familiar and collective sounds of boots hitting the floor and weapons clanking echoed down the hallway and a door slammed.
Lagunov stormed out of her quarters just as a squad of fully equipped Warfare Overseers arrived at her door. Her hair was down, the alarm likely having caught her in the middle of preparing for bed. "What is it?!" she bellowed, "An intruder?!"
"No, sir," the man at front replied, "John Clavering Boulevard is filling with masked rioters. The protesters are violent and on their way towards Holger's Square."
The false holy woman's eyes widened. Lagunov looked out the window and back at the Overseer. "Do we know what they want?"
Another Overseer pulled a piece of blood-speckled paper from his pocket. "One of our men was found dead with this note on him." Lagunov took the sheet and scanned it over with her eyes. "Among their demands is release of all prisoners in our dungeons that were arrested for heresy, the return of Emily Kaldwin, a formal apology for slander against Governor Celia Pendleton…"
Lagunov snorted. "'And High Overseer Yelena Lagunov's resignation or her traitorous head,'" She scoffed and tossed the paper out the open window. "Put the upper levels on lockdown and form several rows of barricades at the foot of the stairs. Deliver a few prisoners to the steps, but not the important ones." She began walking past, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a hair tie.
"Yes, sir!" The Overseers confirmed in unison.
Will still felt himself shaking in his knees, the strong, gentle arms of the slender heretic the only thing keeping him upright. Seeing her, seeing that… that person again and hearing her speak… made him want to cry. An ache in his chest pulled him towards her, off the chandelier and onto the ground where he should bow at her feet and beg forgiveness.
But the Whaler holding him provided a tether against High Overseer's dark arts.
As Lagunov left proceeded to the main hall, the heretic teleported again and Will felt his stomach lurch. "Ey, kid," Will rasped the moment his mouth was uncovered. "I can't be your damned mole."
His eyes readjusted and he discovered they were out on the window ledge. Will squeezed his eyes shut.
"Hm? Why?" the assassin asked, holding a hand out so Will wouldn't fall.
"I can't. It's too strong; I've got nothing to hold it off."
A moment passed and for a tense second Willoughby thought the Whaler was just going to leave him there. However, the heretic grabbed his arm and they changed places again. This time, Will fell to his knees and dry-heaved a few times. "… Fuck…" They were on top of the roof of a building with a perfect view of the front of the High Overseer's office, the clamor of protestors slowly flooding the Square was deafening.
Will flinched when the Whaler kneeled down beside him and raised his hand suddenly, only to reach up and pull off his mask. "Damn, it's getting sweaty," the boy breathed.
The Overseer's eyes widened. He had thought the heretic sounded young, but he didn't think he'd actually be as young as he sounded. The boy had light russet hair, round cheeks, innocent blue eyes, and freckles spattered across his cheeks. Compared to Willoughby, the heretic was barely out of the cradle. "Kid. How old are you?"
The boy's brow furrowed a moment. "Nineteen."
This wasn't doing much for Will's nausea. "How long you been killing for Daud?"
His back straightened and his posture became less open. "Seven years. Since I was twelve."
Willoughby thought nearly did throw up again. "Disgusting. Does Daud get his assassins like the Abbey gets their Overseers, then? Find the promising ones and see if they can perform?"
"I was a special case."
"Ha! Let me guess, the old man thought your firm little ass was-"
Will didn't even finish his sentences before a hard fist connected with his already thoroughly concussed head. Hands grabbed him by the collar of his jacket before he could tumble off the side of the building. "No. And here I thought you were more respectable than the average piece of shit the Abbey of the Everyman drops out of its ass."
"Listen, I'm sorry, okay? I'll stop talking shit about your heretic leader, alright?" Willoughby backpedaled like nuts, looking down at the fall behind him.
The boy threw him back further onto the roof and Will curled up, rubbing his head and trying to make the throbbing headache go away. The boy gave him a dirty look and slipped his mask back on before perching on the edge of the building to watch the show.
Will didn't watch. He knew the High Overseer was out there, standing on the steps. He could hear her shouting and the crowd dying down. He looked up briefly. Three prisoners were lined up on the top steps, blindfolded, bound, and on their knees while the High Overseer paced behind them.
The headache made him do his best to drown out all the noise. He knew what she was going to do. She'd never give into people throwing childish fits. No, she show them what she'd do if they kept shouting and demanding…
Gunshots.
Will felt dizzy. He was going to pass out. An arm grabbed him and his stomach lurched as they teleported, and then he did pass out.
She couldn't have this.
Lagunov paced in her new bedroom that she shared with five other women. Currently, she was the only one occupying the room. She'd managed to dazzle the guard escorting her and the one who was the check her body for any heretic artifacts. She hadn't been totally aware what she'd done, but his eyes had briefly turned green before going blank and then he listened to everything she told him. She didn't know if he'd snap out of it later, she didn't know if others would notice, she didn't know how to deal with this.
She didn't want to be able to control minds. She didn't want to be able to teleport. She didn't want to be able to do any of these things.
Yelena could not risk being found out. Each moment that passed that had her hand visible to others was another moment that could end in her fiery death.
Why not solve fire with fire?
Her eyes strayed to a whale-oil lamp. Yes. That would do. She took a bit of whale oil on her fingers, rubbed it over the back of her left hand, over that wrenched, beautiful black mark, and lit a match.
Blood splattered across the face of the next prisoner and the crowd went silent. The heretic slumped down his limp, dead body began to fall down the stairs. Overseers moved out of the way as their leader's bloody response to the uprising left a bright red trail down the pure white stairs of the High Overseer's Office.
"If this idiocy continues, I will personally execute every single prisoner in my dungeons, another three for every day there are riots. Eventually, I'll put a bullet through the heads of Spymaster Brimsley and Miss Boyle. I know full aware who the ringleaders of this circus are and I will not tolerate it." With that, she returned her pistol to its holster and motioned for the guards to execute the other two prisoners.
She would not stand for heresy in this city, no, in the world. No heretic would go unpunished. They used the Outsider's ways for their own selfish gain, and it was the fault of heretics and the actions of heretics that made her the have to hide all these years. They must suffer the consequences of their heresy.
