Chapter 22

Chapter day cometh again!

Hope you all had a great 4th of July weekend. I spent my holiday consoling my dogs until 2am. I swear, the people around me are nuts. They fired off fireworks for 4 hours straight. There was so much smoke it rolled down the valley in a wave.

Also, anyone think its weird that we spend this holiday about independence/liberty simulating artillery? Kind of a dark subtext beneath the sparkle.

Which, ironically, also applies to "Captain Sparkle" himself.

Anyway, here's an Alex chapter. Enjoy!


Chapter 22 - Faking It

Nephilim Village - Schoolhouse

Alex

The Nephilim schoolhouse was eerily silent, the once lively space now a graveyard of fallen children. Alex stood amid that devastation, his eyes roaming over the small bodies strewn across the floor, their wings forever still. Despite his dulled sense of smell, the air was heavy with the scent of blood and the faint, lingering sweetness of burned cookies.

One of those children rested at his feet, staring up at Alex with bloody eyes. Accusing. Judging. Reminding Alex of a dozen washed out memories.  Other victims. Other innocents. Necessary sacrifices in his quest for power – for some futile sense of control.

The reel in his head ever spinning.

History repeating, repeating, repeating…

“You look troubled, Alex,” came the cold, mocking voice of the Lady. She emerged from the rays of sunlight that shone down from the hole in the roof, her presence commanding and disdainful. No longer able to read his mind while he was wearing the ring, but still tormenting him.

Alex’s grip on his sword tightened, but he didn’t turn to face her. “It had to be done,” he whispered, his voice strained - as though trying to convince himself.

The Lady scoffed. “Then why dwell on your decision? The strong don’t second guess or wring their hands, they keep moving forward – knowing if they don’t, someone else will.”

Alex finally ripped his eyes away from the child’s corpse. “Is it really that easy?” he murmured under his breath. “Aren’t these your own people? Aren’t you their goddess?”

The Lady’s laughter was sharp and cruel. “Exactly. These are my people, my pawns, my property. Assets to be used up and expended as I see fit.”

Her eyes narrowed, examining Alex closely, a note of frustration flickering in her eyes.  “However, someone like you – like us – should already understand that. Perhaps your father was right. Perhaps you aren’t ready; aren’t strong enough to do what’s necessary.”

Alex’s jaw clenched. “What do you know of my father?” he hissed.

The goddess’s mocking smile just widened. “More than you might think.”

Her glowing eyes flicked to Jason where he strode through the corpses, carefully inventorying the dead. “Yet that one gets it. He understands the price of power.”

Alex followed her gaze, his fingernails biting into his palms. A futile gesture since his light mana quickly healed the wounds. Jason was difficult to read in this form. No longer human. No longer vulnerable to the expressions that betrayed the living. Maybe he felt nothing.  Numb to the horrors he’d had to commit.  Or… maybe he felt guilt at what they’d done – what they had to do. All of it tucked away behind a veil of bone and darkness.

Maybe he’d just become adept at faking it.

At walking that fine line between illusion and reality.

Pretending for so long that it finally became real—

“Perhaps, someday, your light will no longer hide in his shadow,” the Lady hissed.

Alex growled on his under his breath, turning to discover that the goddess had disappeared. Anger boiled under his skin. Futile and pointless seething that lacked a target. He knew what she was trying to do – to get under his skin. To make him feel weak. Useless.

To attack his confidence until he asked for her help. Just like George.

However, knowing that didn’t make it any less effective.

“Conniving bitch,” he muttered.

“Ahh, you say the nicest things,” Jason piped up as he approached.

Alex grimaced. “I wasn’t talking to you.  I received a, uh… message.” He mimed swiping at the air, as though dismissing a notification.

“Sure. You ready?” Jason asked, indifferent as those dark globes he called eyes surveyed the dead – his new materials. “I’m going to pull back my minions on the doorways, their health is dropping in the sunlight and some are visible now”

“Why not just raise the bodies?” Alex asked.

Jason cocked his head, his swarm skittering across his skull – the tiny skeletal creatures interlocking to form the illusion of flesh now that their show was over.  They pieced together a lopsided grin.  “Where’s the fun in that? I have much better plans for these bodies.”

Even as Jason spoke, he waved at the doorways. The crab-like minions hidden there materialized with a flash of ivory energy, ripping their pincers from the stone with a shower of dust before scuttling across the ledges above them to gather the corpses.

Several Nephilim children tumbled down, landing with wet thuds – macabre evidence of their failed attempt to escape.  Meanwhile, more of the skeletal monsters dragged the corpses into neat lines along the ground floor, careful to avoid the ring of bright sunlight that shone down from the open skylight overhead.

“What other plans?” Alex asked, frowning. “Wasn’t this it? Collecting these corpses to start a new army and augment your own body? With this many, shouldn’t we be able to conquer the rest of his village? At a minimum, we should be able to hunt native monsters now.”

“We, huh?” Jason shot back, his grin widening.  But he didn’t press to the point. “To answer your question… no, that wasn’t my plan.” Jason’s map lingered in the air beside him – the drones hidden around the village still relaying information. “We’ve gotten lucky so far.  The rest of the village hasn’t noticed us yet.  If they had, we’d be dead already.”

He shook his head.  “A couple dozen undead aren’t nearly enough to claim even this small village—not with the level cap on my summons.” He crouched and cradled the Nephilim instructor’s pale cheek. “You saw that for yourself. The adults are on a different level than the children, even with my… improvements.”

Alex resisted the urge to shudder as that dark gaze turned back to him. “Besides,” Jason continued, “forming an undead army won’t be enough to defeat the other avatars.”

“Not enough?” Alex echoed, recalling their conversation back in Pax. “What happened to you single-handedly conquering the former elemental cities?”

Jason chuckled darkly.  “More bullshit.”

He held up a placating, skeletal hand as Alex let out a frustrated growl.  “Say we went with your plan. We raise these undead. What then? They aren’t enough to defeat the rest of the villagers, especially facing enemies that wield light mana and the debuff that applies to this area. The sunlight alone will destroy them quickly.”

“So, we go underground.  Like you did in Sandscrit.”

Jason’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Alex Lane, have you been watching my streams?”

Alex grimaced, mustering his own emotional armor – that arrogant shield he held up to the world.  “Hardly. Don’t flatter yourself.”

The necromancer just chuckled. “Sure. But to answer your question, we don’t have sufficient resources to build a Carry-on Worm, and, even if we did, that doesn’t our problems either. There’s a limit to how many undead we can move underground. Besides, if you’ve been watching my streams, then the Originals likely have as well.”

“As I said, I haven’t been watching—”

“Right, I believe you,” Jason interjected.  Except, it didn’t sound like he did. “But if you had, you might’ve noticed that my abilities are best suited to large-scale conflicts in a fixed location or on my own turf.  Without my Mana Well, I can’t summon an infinite number of undead. Or, at least, I can’t control them all,” he amended thoughtfully.

“So, at best, we’re limited to a couple hundred undead well below the level of the average Nephilim soldier. That might be sufficient under certain circumstances – in the right location and with plenty of other people killing each another.”

Those dark eyes drilled into Alex. “You witnessed that for yourself when you attacked the Twilight Throne. It’s much easier for me to play defense than offense and the undead territory is specifically designed to protect our kind.

“You act as though I’m not even here,” Alex growled.

Jason just shrugged. “Your buffs are helpful, but they don’t mitigate any of these issues. Using your healing spells to create life leeching undead would extend their life, but that won’t be enough to facedown an army of Nephilim.”

Fire flared in Alex’s chest, that same familiar anger. Reading between the lines, he knew what Jason was trying to say. The same thing the Lady had used to taunt him – his own limitations.  His own weakness. “What’s the plan then?” he demanded.

Jason shot him a puzzled look.  “Uh, to use my relic… obviously.”

“What the hell is obvious about—” Alex began in frustration.

Before he could finish, a rustling sound from above drew their attention.

One of Jason's undead minions, perched on a terrace above, prodded at the body of a Nephilim child. To their surprise, the boy jerked awake, his eyes wide with terror.  He must not have eaten any of the poisoned cookies. Perhaps he’d been suspicious of Jason and Alex after their first bait and switch – expecting some other trick.

That caution had saved his life.

Realizing the danger of his situation, the boy sprang to his feet, adrenaline propelling him toward a nearby window. However, he found himself blocked by one of those lumbering, crab-like creatures of Jason’s – the undead blocking the exit. This only offered a momentary reprieve. Most of Jason's minions were positioned along the schoolroom floor now, only a handful lingering in the terraces. With a wave of the necromancer’s hand, the rest began scurrying up the walls with the click, click, click, of bone on stone.

“Don’t just stand there, stop him!  If he gets outside, we’re fucked,” Jason barked at Alex, casting Curse of Silence and Curse of Exhaustion in quick succession.

Dark needles raced after the Nephilim boy, his eyes widening surprise as he noticed the corrupted needles racing toward him. With a snap of his wings, he leapt from the terrace. He dipped, ducked, and weaved as those malignant missiles gave chase – Jason using the distraction to buy himself time to get the rest of his minions into position.

“Help, help… there is—” the child shouted, trying to call for help.

However, he never got to finish. Needles came from his blind spot, stabbing into the child’s unprotected back, his voice cut-off and movements slowed. Despite the curses, the boy’s resolve burned bright; he pushed through, his body suffused with an ivory glow and his pace only marginally slowed as his mana counteracted the curses.

One of Jason’s undead suddenly appeared on a nearby ledge, its form rippling with white energy as the invisibility wore off. It lunged at the Nephilim child and sailed through the air, smoke coiling away from its reinforced shell where the sunlight touched it. The child gasped in shock and dove into a barrel roll to avoid the undead, his reflexes just barely saving him as the undead crashed against the schoolhouse’s unforgiving floor, its bony shell cracking.

Noticing the undead scurrying up the walls – their bodies rippling and fading from sight as they covered each of the doorways along the terraces – the child changed strategies. He looked up and saw his freedom lingering several stories above him. That enormous skylight.

The boy quickly pivoted and his wings flapped hard as he struggled to rise.

Two more of Jason’s minions materialized and dropped toward him, but the child didn’t hesitate. Mana infused his hands and formed into makeshift blades – the boy unable to cast, but still able to channel his mana.  He dispatched the undead with startling efficiency, his small hands striking with precision and power, sending bone flying. The smoking remains of Jason’s minions soon rained down the middle of the schoolhouse.

“Alex, you need to stop him!” Jason called out, his voice tinged with a rare trace of panic, enough to cut through the chaos. The necromancer was already starting to cast Custom Skeleton in order to reform his skeletons, but his hands were moving slow – too slow.

There was no way he could stop the boy before he reached the building’s skylight.

Shaking off his surprise, Alex unfurled his wings, the bright feathers catching the sunlight shining down through the schoolhouse. He crouched and then launched himself towards the child, his wings propelling him forward with supernatural speed even as he cast his buffs in layers – increasing his strength and dexterity – his stats already augmented by the area-wide buff.

The gap between him and the child closed…

The boy glanced back and his eyes met Alex's.  A mixture of fear and steely resolve were reflected there. With a final burst of energy, the child dodged the last of the undead blocking his path and soared up toward the ceiling—

Bones whipped through the air as Jason ripped the cumbersome undead apart and tried to reform them into something faster – something more lethal.  Meanwhile, the remainder of his minions scurried up the walls, racing toward that final opening. However, time wasn’t on his side, even with the enhanced time compression of Custom Skeleton.

Alex reached out, his fingertips reaching for the child, only inches away. Yet he could see that he wouldn’t make it – there wasn’t enough time. As soon as the child crested the roof, the other Nephilim villagers would notice and it would be over.

Alex pushed himself harder, but his wings could only flap so fast; his buffs could only increase his speed so much. He was butting up against his own limits once more.

Here he was again… useless. Failing. Weak.

History repeating itself once-a-fucking-again.

And then—

A memory surfaced.

Not the washed-out echoes he’d grown used to, but vivid and colorful. Something sharp. 

He was running—small, barefoot, sprinting down a long, sterile hallway. Leaving a trail of bloody footprints, both the origin and destination clouded and uncertain. All he knew was that escape was just a few more steps away—

“ALEXANDER.”

His father’s voice ripped through the air like a commandment, absolute and unyielding. Alex’s body betrayed him instantly. His breath stuttered, muscles locking in place, his will crushed beneath the sheer weight of expectation. Reinforced by countless cruelty. Hazy memories that refused to come into focus—but that his body always remembered.

Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t make it worse.

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Each one sent a fresh spike of fear up his spine. He didn’t dare turn around. He didn’t need to. He could feel the presence looming behind him, that cold, assessing stare drilling into the back of his skull.

Weak. Always weak.

He would never be as strong.

Never as commanding.

Never as intelligent, cunning, or powerful.

All he could do was kneel and accept the punishment he knew was coming—

Alex’s breath hitched—suddenly snapping back to the present, as though his mind had fled that awful memory. He blinked as he tried to reorient himself. He was still flying, the Nephilim child still ascending, escaping, succeeding where he had failed.

A surge of white-hot fury burned through Alex’s chest. No. Not this time. He wouldn’t fail. He wasn’t that weak child anymore.  Wasn’t the failure the Lady claimed.

If his father could wield that power, then so could he.

“STOP.”

It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a spell.

It was a command. A truth written into the air. A demand that the world itself couldn’t ignore.  One filled with all the authority—all the power—he’d always wished he had.

And… the Nephilim boy froze.

Alex blinked in disbelief, but this was real—not another strange memory, not a hallucination.  The boy simply halted in place, his arms going limp and his wings flapping idly as he hovered just below the crest of the schoolhouse’s roof.  Just out of sight of the Nephilim that filled the village around them.  Alex collided with the boy and snatched him from the air, pulling him back down to the ground where the pair soon landed gently.

It was odd. As he let go, the child just… stood there.  Arms at his side and his wings folded neatly. Yet it was his eyes that stood out to Alex. They glowed a bright white and watched Alex with uncanny focus, as though waiting for his next order.

“What… what the hell did you do?” Jason asked as he approached, his minions all re-assuming their protective positions along the windows and fading from view as the light mana crystals embedded in their skeletal bodies flared with power.

The answer hovered in front of Alex, outlined in glowing blue text.

New Skill: Authority

Fake it till you make it – that’s the maxim you’ve always lived by. And today, you finally made it. You finally commanded the authority you’ve always wished you had. At least, for a moment. Apparently, hell really can freeze over.

Skill Level:  Beginner Level 1

Effect:  Consume mana to influence another living creature.

Limitation: Must have a matching dominant affinity with the target.

With numb, shaking fingers, Alex tapped at that prompt and pivoted it toward Jason. He was too stunned to even let that mocking text bother him.

“Whoa,” Jason murmured in surprise, rubbing at his chin with bony fingers as he surveyed the prompt. “You just discovered another use of your mana.  Fascinating.”

The necromancer’s dark gaze shifted back to Alex.  “You also saved our asses – literally.”

Alex wasn’t expecting the bony hand that slapped him on the back or the warm feeling that welled in his chest, replacing the rage he’d felt only moments earlier. Jason watched him with an expression Alex didn’t recognize – one he never seen on George’s face. One filled with respect.

“I wonder how long it lasts,” Jason murmured as he turn his attention back to the boy. He backhanded him—hard enough for Alex to flinch. The boy’s eyes wavered for a moment, some clarity returning before Alex poured more mana back into the spell.

“Fascinating,” Jason murmured, already adapting—already grappling with the spell’s limitations. “And what does it mean by affinity for the target? Is it referring to your elemental affinity? Could you use it on the boy because you both shared the light affinity?”

All good questions – ones without immediate answers.

Even more intriguing, the Lady had returned.  She stood along the terrace above, looking down at him, her disdain replaced with surprise, her delicate brows arched and appraising.

As though seeing Alex for the first time.

Perhaps he wasn’t as weak as she thought.

The necromancer heaved out a sigh, pulling Alex’s focus back. “Oh well, this isn’t the time or place for experiments,” he began, a half stave rotating out of his forearm and a dark Soul Blade extending from the tip. His intent was clear, he planned to remove the liability…

Yet the blade came up short, looming at the child’s neck, Alex’s hand restraining Jason.

The boy hadn’t even flinched.

“What are you doing?” Jason asked. “We don’t have time to mess around.”

Alex swallowed hard. What was he doing? Even the Lady looked puzzled, her head cocked but, for once, offering no judgmental commentary. Her words from earlier were still fresh in his mind—vivid and bright. Maybe she was right… as much as that pained him to admit.

It was time for him to take more agency over his own life.

“I’m not sure what you’re planning,” Alex began, meeting Jason’s eyes, “but you’re right, we don’t have the power to face the Originals yet. It’s also clear that you need fresh bodies and something about this location in particular is important. My guess is your relic’s unlock condition has to do with our proximity to the Crystal Reach, right?”

Jason didn’t answer, but he didn’t move away either—an admission.

“So, what if we didn’t just flee with the corpses? What if we create a distraction?”

“What kind of distraction?” Jason asked then, the Soul Blade disappearing.

Alex’s eyes dipped back to the boy. His memories might be spotty and broken, but the words of the Nephilim instructor were still fresh in his mind – the way the children had treated Jason, even before they knew he was a traveler. Light and darkness didn’t mix.

“What if we started a war?” he asked then. “Just a small one.”

When he looked back up, he saw that same expression on Jason’s face. Respect.

And on the Lady’s? Anger and frustration. Which is how he knew he was on the right track.

“Then I’d say you should keep talking,” Jason replied with a shark-like grin, his black orbs gleaming with malice – an excitement that resonated with Alex.

                    *

Less than 30 minutes later, Alex stumbled his way into the village square, a huge glowing white crystal hanging suspended in the middle of the courtyard. This town’s mana gem – the source of these people’s shared power. Not milky and crude, but gleaming and perfectly cut.  An import from the mines beneath Pax most likely.

Just like many other Nephilim communities, these people had built up their town around that concentration of mana. Shops and houses built of thick stone slabs and murky crystal and inlaid with gold. Standing in those doorways were the Nephilim.

“Who is that?”

“What happened to him?”

“Is that an acolyte in his arms?”

Alex could barely make out their anxious chatter. He was bloodied, bruised, and beaten. His resplendent armor corroded and tattered. His breath coming in ragged, frantic gasps and his limbs trembling under the weight of the Nephilim child in his arms.

He collapsed to his knees even as the rest of the villagers raised shouts of alarm. Within mere moments, Alex was surrounded by a worried crowd. More than a few eyed him with suspicion – a stranger to their village. Others were more direct. They held their weapons at the ready, light mana seeping through their skin until they glowed with righteous anger.

One woman took charge, her hair aged to a resplendent silver yet her skin still retaining the smooth luster of youth. “Hush!” She commanded, the crowd growing silent. Then those radiant eyes turned toward Alex. “We do not know you, brother.  Explain yourself.”

Alex swallowed hard, mustering himself. “I–I came at the Empress’ direction,” he gasped. “To teach the acolytes about the risks of the travelers.  Except the one I brought with me… he–he wasn’t a traveler, but a Keeper… he killed… killed them all!  The Twilight Throne must be using the chaos caused by the travelers to strike at the heart of our kingdom.”

Their leader—that woman—gestured at one of those soldiers nearby and they sped off toward the schoolhouse to confirm his words.  Then those regal eyes fixed on Alex’s face.

“How do we know you speak the truth? These are challenging times and the travelers’ cunning knows no bounds.”

Alex’s gaze just dropped to the boy in his arms, barely conscious and his eyes bloodied and ruined, a cloth draped across his face to stem the bleeding.  “Child, please tell them what you saw before the Keeper took your eyes,” Alex urged gently.

“It was just as he said,” the child gasped. “He–he saved me, but the others…”

The realization settled across the crowd, their hushed murmurs going quiet.

Shrinking in on himself, Alex could only mutter. “I tried – goddess knows I tried – but it wasn’t enough. May the Lady have mercy on my soul…”

The Nephilim soldier returned, landing lightly beside them. “The children are gone, the bodies missing,” he reported. “There are also signs of the undead and traces of dark mana.  It’s possible that the Keeper has already… corrupted them.”

The villagers gasped, that sudden silence erupting into furious chatter.

The woman’s fingers touched Alex’s chin, gently lifting his gaze back to her own. “Did you see where it went, brother? Where did it take our acolytes?”

He raised a single shaking finger. “East… the creature fled east.”

The rest was just a roar of noise and chaos as the Nephilim prepared themselves, their leader directing the hunting party to pursue the Keeper, to return their children… or to slay whatever they had become. To avenge those that had fallen.

Which left Alex huddled there with that child in his arms.

No one noticed as Alex looked up to find Lady standing beside him – invisible to the others. She glared impotently, fury brimming in her eyes at what he’d done; what he’d started.  Her hands tied. Bound by the gods’ covenants.

She could only watch and rage and fume.  Like an impotent, helpless child.

Alex’s bloodied lips twisted into a grim smile.

Who was the weak one now?