Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 238
"We need to find a Webway portal," Athra explained.
"The house of your bloodkin is this, surely to see is to know?" Ilquitio asked.
"I thought they would be obvious," Athra admitted, "But something is out of order with this place. There should be portals everywhere, but we haven't seen one."
"The veils of undeath clouds thy sight?" Sechura probed.
"I'm guessing it has something to do with the looped nature of time, but how to solve it there's the rub."
Tachna declared, "Damiel First of Censors, found a path, so too shall we."
"Forward then," Vitcos declared, "There is no back."
The Smoke Jaguars inched on, heading ever deeper into the city. Among the shadows of towers they stalked, using their skills at evasion to the fullest extent. Vitcos noted the shadows were growing longer, the sun beginning its march towards the horizon. Days were long on Calan Gaeav but he was certain there were more hours behind than ahead, time was running out and they had not seen a hint of the door they needed.
A flurry of activity caused them to slink back behind a tower. Columns of ghosts were streaming past, hurrying all in the same direction. This was not customary, this was new. The static nature of their days had been disrupted and they responded with fury. A clarion call to action drew them like a lodestone and they could not resist its magnetic draw. The source of this consternation was obvious.
"Mull-ic lives," Vitcos murmured.
"Your certainty is built upon quicksand," Tachna scoffed.
"No other can cause such dismay as Stone Eye, this outrage is his work."
"Aid us that does not," Sechura sneered.
"Perhaps, and yet perhaps not," Vitcos mused.
"You have a plan?" Athra asked.
"An idea forms in my mind, stay here and let me test it."
"And if you are wrong?" Tachna growled.
"Then you shall rejoice in my long-awaited death," Vitcos snorted.
Vitcos unslipped his Chakrams as he stalked out of cover. The familiarity of the weapons reassured him, proven against all foes. They had bested Diceramite and Wraithbone alike, and he was sure they would again. But he remained one, in a city of foes, strength was meaningless, guile was all. He wasted a moment to scoff at Vendrick's idiocy, doubtless stomping about like a Grox, drawing all attention. Let him bluster and stamp his feet, Vitcos would exploit his foolishness.
The First cast his gaze over the stream of ghosts marching by, looking for a disruption in the flow. There, a single ghost heading the wrong way, stumbling into a nearby alley. It was faint, barely perceptible, its clothes suggestions of faded glory, its step hampered by a limp. In life it had been downcast and impoverished, in death it remained the same. Perfect for his goals.
Vitcos backtracked away from the river of dead souls and came at the alley from the other end. Sure enough the ghost was within, leaning on a wall as if exhausted. Now came the dangerous part. Vitcos drew upon his Shadow-path to wrap himself in veils of ether. As before the world of matter faded while the world of ghosts grew sharper and more defined. The ghost's rags became more real, its skin firmer and its breath louder. The construct it was riding disappeared and the long-dead Eldar became apparent. Vitcos could see it clearly, but so too could it see him.
"Whose there?!" the ghost jerked.
"Your doom," Vitcos growled as he stalked forward.
"You should not be here, you are not right!"
"Tis you who should not be," Vitcos rejoined.
"Help, help!"
"Be silent!" Vitcos snarled as he brandished his weapons.
To his surprise the ghost did and commanded, though it looked stunned by its own compliance. Vitcos wasn't sure why it obeyed but he clipped one Chakram to his hip and then grabbed the ghost's arm. Its translucent attire was frayed but had once been fine, its appearance haggard but betraying pride not quite forgotten. High it had been once, but fallen even further because of it. Unwillingly it was dragged along, unable to resist his Transhuman mass. Back to the waiting group, who stood idle for his return.
"What's this?" Athra asked.
"One who knows these streets," Vitcos explained.
"This was your plan, to stop and ask for directions?!" Athra snorted.
"Any better ideas you are lacking," Vitcos rejoined.
"What can it tell us?" Tachna hissed.
"Speak!" Vitcos commanded.
The ghost looked outraged, "You are not meant to be here! This is an insult, Calan Geava is invaded!"
"Silence," Vitcos snarled and it shut up again.
"How are you doing that?!" Athra frowned.
"The Shadow-path, gifts of Corax," Vitcos explained, "It draws us into the veils beyond reality, where the ghosts dwell."
"But why is it obeying you?"
"That... I do not ken," Vitcos admitted.
"Fell power is this," Tachna growled, "Power you should not have."
"I suspect this is not mine alone, seek the Shadow-path and see with your own eyes."
"Argue over eldritch minutiae later," Athra interrupted, "We have information to glean!"
"Tell us your tale," Vitcos commanded.
The ghost was unable to resist speaking, "I am Prathda Drell, once Champion to the Wind King. I fought as his strong right arm, proving the glory of Calan Gaeav against all who came seeking the favour of Trusitaan. Long were my years of glory, till he came, Hythraal, to oust me from my rightful place and take my title for his own. I was cast to the streets, left to wander in penury, a hollow remnant lingering around the echoes of my glory."
"He let you live?" Ilquitio asked.
The ghost lamented, "He is cruel and vindictive, not enough to kill one's foes, he revels in lordship over the defeated. He craves the superiority of the victor, to bask in the resentment of the vanquished. Never does he let a slight pass; never does he cease in his cruelty."
Sechura muttered, "To forfeit the Hunt-kill is not his way, Mull-ic shall not evade him."
"Never mind that," Athra spat, "The Webway, where are the portals?!"
The ghost shook his head, "I tried to leave, to flee to the Craftworlds and join the exiles, but I was denied. Trusitaan has barred the gates, moved them beyond the reach of those who would defy his will. Only with his sanction can they be entered; without that we are trapped forever. None can escape the madness, not even I. I wandered so far searching for them but not until I died could I see them... only after death..."
"How do we access them?!" Athra spat.
"I... died..." the ghost stammered.
"Tell me how to undo the bindings!"
"Death took me... took all of us..."
"Speak you dusty echo!" the Eldar spat as he leaned down.
"Everyone died... except you... what are you?!"
Vitcos sensed the ghost's mind snap and moved to intervene. It rose up, grappling at Athra's tunic. A Transonic Chakram met its spine, sawing deep within. The sonic assault shattered Warithbone and tore apart the material at a molecular level. The construct came apart, showering bits of broken alien material all over Athra. The Eldar fell to the floor in a shower of dust and shards. He coughed vigorously, waving a hand under his chin to clear the air.
"Learned nothing this venture granted," Sechura groaned.
"Not so," Vitcos countered, "The gate we seek is moved outside of the eyes of the living, but in the realm of the dead it can be found."
"The Shadow-path?" Ilquitio guessed.
"Whatever strange effect this place has on our gifts, it is the key," Vitcos explained, "We sink deep into our otherworldly aura and we shall see truth."
"This troubles me," Tachna hissed, "Powers that come unbidden are the first signal of devilry!"
"You accuse us of being Devil-sons?!" Vitcos snapped.
"I am uncertain of what this is, and I do not like being uncertain. This power you display over the dead is unnatural, it calls into question your purity against corruption."
"Always you see the worst in me," Vitcos sneered.
"Always you prove me right," Tachan sneered, "As Headsman I must guard against the wiles of Dark Gods with the edge of my axe."
Ilquitio cut in, "Perhaps it is but a reflection of this place, soon to fade once we depart. Or mayhap it was the Censors who changed us, the implants reacting in ways unforeseen."
"That changes nothing," Tachna hissed.
Sechura snorted, "It does if we are all translated. I too see clearer in the Shadow-path, I feel it in my bones. We are all touched, including you Il-Tzak!"
Vitcos grinned, "If we are corrupted then so too is Gaze Catcher. If we are condemned then the Headsmen must take his own life last. Shall it be so, shall you enact judgment this day or trust me for once in your life."
Tachna glared, his eyes narrow and his exposed face grim but finally he relented, "I shall not swing the axe today, tomorrow is another matter."
Vitcos was pleased by his small victory over the Headsman. Often they had sparred, traded jabs and needled one another. Since he was a Doan, Tachna had made his disapproval plain. It was good to finally have one over this bitter old piece of gristle, a moment to savour. Sadly Athra broke the spell, rising to his feet brushing off bits of construct.
"I'm hale, not that anyone cares," Athra said.
"We care not," Sechura grunted.
"Be that as it may, we still have to find a portal and figure out how to access it."
"We shall lead," Vitcos declared, "You follow."
"Yes oh mighty hunter," Athra snorted sarcastically, "Do show us how it's done!"
Vitcos didn't reply, turning on his heel and marching off. Blazing Shadow followed in his wake, then Tachna. Athra trailed along, seemingly without any other options. Contempt on his brow and evil in his eye. To look upon him would be to see a reluctant ally, plotting future treachery. Such judgment would be wrong, Athra had already betrayed them. In his palm was a tiny piece of Automaton, a small crystal snatched from the ruined construct. A moment of distraction was all Athra needed to repurpose it to transmit on certain frequencies, one he guessed would be perceptible to a Censor's altered perceptions. The final conflict approached and Athra held it would be a genuine shame for Vendrick to miss it. With any luck the Smoke Jaguars and Censors would kill each other for him, while he slipped away laughing.