Chapter 282. Recording

Cursory enters the plane alone, returning a minute later with his arms crossed over his chest. He smiles pleasantly at me. “The recorder is ready for you, Ancient Black.”

He’s just gushing with enthusiasm. My only acknowledgment is a sharp nod as I enter the still-open portal. “Come, Red.”

Cursory’s voice cuts through the air. “It’s already breaking all our rules to let you make a recording, august ancient. For my sake—”

“Red,” I say again.

Holiday’s gaze is piercing, a smile playing on his lips that screams of mischief. “Ascendant Cursory’s request isn’t unreasonable,” he remarks. “Ancient Black, if you need his services, then I advise you to make your recording snappy.”

Is it enough time? I wonder.

“No,” Red’s mental voice seethes. “Cursory managed to put some kind of startup sequence in place. It takes almost two minutes just for the recorder to begin. I won’t be able to help you rehearse the recording.”

I tamp down on any feelings of annoyance. My persona wouldn’t let a little inconvenience faze him. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be having a conversation with Achemiss.

Suddenly, memories of the scenarios enter my mind, giving me basic knowledge of the artifact and how to start it up.

Maria, do you understand what needs to happen? I confirm, my stomach writhing with butterflies.

Yes—we’ve thoroughly exhausted what I need to do. Trust me.

I do.

Then trust yourself, she counters.

Without saying anything else, I enter the portal alone. On the new plane is crunchy sand, like I’m walking on a beach during low tide, though no water is in sight. In the scenarios, I never focused on the environment, always eking out the most time with the recorder. But now that such pressure is absent, I follow my Beginning intuition to the left. I glide past a stiff dune and on the other side, I see a green sea. Far away, the biggest wave I’ve ever seen extends like a giant’s arm and slaps a cliff, tearing away chunks of rock.

I can only wonder what high tide is like.

Having dallied enough, I take a deep breath and approach the recorder. Like many ascendant artifacts, it’s deceptively simple in appearance—a gold ring and a clear cylinder envelop a glass disc. I kneel before it and pick it up, rotating the golden ring to the right by a quarter turn. The cylinder emits a pale, white light and begins to speak.

“Hello, Ascendant. You are not a recognized user. Please voice your name and relevant titles out loud.”

I’m alone here, and can theoretically act however I want, but I don’t trust the recorder one bit. What if there’s some way that it’s recording my actions now? It would be one thing for the black faction to learn of my intent to help Achemiss, and another for them to see that my façade is a total farce.

Schooling my expression, I recite my name and wait for it to ask a litany of other completely irrelevant questions.

“Profile completed. Loading recording interface.”

I focus on the rise and fall of my chest as the seconds tick down. Then, it’s just me and the recorder, the disc inset into the cylinder. I see my reflection in the disc. Then symbols appear in front of my eyes, a circle and a square, both colorless. From my scenario memories with Red, I know the circle will start the recording.

But as I stand in front of the mirror, I’m struck by indecision. I knew what I was going to say, theoretically still know what I’m going to say… but I’m not sure how to begin. Damn, why am I so reliant on Regret affinity when I don’t even possess it myself?

I very nearly flee right then to the water and withdraw the transmission artifact. I could summon Euryphel, right now. Could bring him here, or go to him, at the least, and discuss. But I crush that desire by jumping right in, giving myself no recourse.

The circle glows and the square dims, while the cylinder’s glow dims. The recording has begun.

“Hello, Ascendant Achemiss,” I begin, “I am Ancient Black. My affinities are Death, Beginning, and Remorse.” I pause and pull up the dagger. My taloned fingers grasp its fine hilt, and it glints in the rosy false sun of the plane. “This is the Blade of Revelation. It reveals the true nature of things but can also be used to manifest and even warp that nature.” I smile, faking confidence.

This is the part I wish I had Red here for.

I send cobalt energy into the blade, mixing it with the murky darkness from Farona Pyre’s pinky ring. Then, I slash the blade against my palm… and withdraw the energy, siphoning it away into the blade, slowly, carefully, so that human fingers reveal themselves—my fingers, unchanged by the ring of flesh shift that morphs my facial features and gives me wings.

If Achemiss can recognize Ian Dunai by his fingers alone, over a recording, then the gig is up. I’m betting that won’t be enough. I let the energy flow back into my hand, restoring its former inky skin tone and ruggedness.

“So long as I hold the dagger, I can hold a transformation indefinitely. But as I mentioned, I can do more than reveal the mirror nature of myself and the world. I can impress my will upon it.”

Suddenly, Maria transforms, returning to her lich appearance. She falls to the ground on her knees, her face obscured. In person, Achemiss would see how I use Death energy to remold her face to be featureless, a macabre blank slate. But in the recording, he only sees her head as she rises, her new face completely unrecognizable as Maria Sezakuin.

I’m sorry, I think. I sense Maria’s intense discomfort over our bond. She doesn’t need to breathe, but not having a mouth disquiets her, and though she can see a few fate arrows, she’s otherwise blind, her physical eyes required to perceive the shades of vitality.

Don’t be. This will be worth it if you pull this off. Don’t let yourself be distracted.

“The true utility of this dagger is that it can bind objects, and even constructs, to the user, according to his will. But this is different from an oath. Oaths can be shattered. This energy of transformation is tied to my ascendant energy. Only if I am separated from the transformed object or die will the effect fade, and as a Death practitioner, I have crafty ways of avoiding death.” I chuckle. “As do you, I think.

“By investing my lich with the energy of the blade, I transform it into a three-piece regalia suited to my purposes, one that cannot be used by any other.” I invest Maria with the dagger’s energy, and she transforms, appearing on my body. “All pieces of the regalia magnify my power. For example, the crown here allows me to see embodied souls, while the bracers allow me to make End oaths—drawing on and repurposing the power of the lich construct, who used to be an End practitioner.

“I believe this dagger may be of more use to you than me. And as for what you can offer me for it in return…” I grin. “We’ll need to discuss that, in person. I refuse to entrust the dagger with anyone else other than myself, so regardless, the only way you’d receive it is if I delivered it to your location.

“If you’re interested, don’t tell the black faction, for obvious reasons.” My voice turns bitter. “Tell them that while you’re interested, refusing to meet in person is a deal-breaker. You must say that exact word, ‘deal-breaker.’ I have methods of ensuring I receive your exact response. To clarify, if you are interested, say ‘deal-breaker.’ If you aren’t interested, say what you really think, it’s unimportant.

“I’ve heard great things about what you’ve done in your short time here, Achemiss. I think we can both help each other, but I’ll only work with a willing, excited, driven partner.” I give the mirror disc a nod. “I’ll await your response.”

I mentally select the square button. The cylinder’s glow intensity increases, seeming to indicate that the recording is paused, but there’s no other prompt. Frowning, I raise my arm and grasp the golden circle, giving it another quarter turn.

“Recording complete. Would you like to save, send, or delete?”

How I wish the intention matrix translated written script rather than just verbal speech. Well, I don’t want to do any of the above. I don’t want to save; I want to send… in a few hours.

I scratch my head. Can I just leave the recorder like this? I grab the edge of the cylinder and walk back over to the rough area where I walked into the plane. I tear it apart with my talons, revealing the familiar mountains of the competition grounds. Holiday, Cursory, and Red are all there.

Originally, we discussed leaving the recorder on the other plane, out of easy reach, but I don’t see a way for Cursory or the others to look at my recording if I’m holding it. Even if they attack me in Regret scenarios and steal it away, I can destroy it, or at least give them enough of a distraction that they won’t be able to watch the recording. I’d bet that Holiday would back me up if the black faction attacked first, anyway.

“You can’t keep it,” Red mentally transmits. “It’ll piss the black faction off.”

“So?”

“Just give the recorder to Crimson Teeth. He stuck around for a few minutes because I asked him to tell me about the origin of his courtesy name. Dumb plan, but it worked. You and Cursory can continue to follow him around until it’s time to send the message.”

Red’s words make too much sense to ignore. “Ascendant Cursory, why don’t we let Ascendant Crimson Teeth hold onto the recorder for now? That way he can return to the main competition grounds and won’t have to trek back here.”

Holiday holds out his hand; before Cursory can get a word in, the recorder is in his possession. He holds it up like a trophy with both hands.

“…That’s acceptable,” Cursory utters, blinking.

This time, instead of walking down the mountain, Holiday kicks off the ground, red ascendant energy crackling where his feet lifted off.

––

Ascendant Lucinda

I dislike it when I’m outmaneuvered. I shouldn’t have agreed to let Ancient Black use the recorder.

“What’s done is done,” Schwinn transmits. “It would have looked odd if you refused him. The entire situation was sticky.”

And Cursory… damn that man for being so useless.

“He has no recourse,” Schwinn retorts. “There isn’t a way for Cursory to see the recording unless Black presses the ‘save’ button. It’s a shame he didn’t press it; we hypothesized that without a Regret scenario helping him, he’d select the save option out of fear of losing the recording.”

Even so. I dislike this Ancient Black. Regardless of whatever deal he will or will not strike with Achemiss, I intend to get back at him, one way or another. Given the man’s reclusive tendencies, I might not have another chance for a long time outside the present competition grounds.

“I don’t even need to read your surface thoughts to recognize that scheming look on your face,” Schwinn says.

I scoff. “Scheming? Me?”

He widens his eyes exaggeratedly. We both laugh, though the others give us withering looks. I flick the ruffled shoulders of my dress, then walk out of our tent, grabbing Schwinn and Valent by their suit-cape-hoods as I go.

“You know what scheming calls for?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. If Valent is surprised given the lack of immediate context, he doesn’t show it.

“Drinks?” Schwinn asks.

“Drinks,” Valent agrees quickly. “Can we go for the pineapple ones? They actually have real pineapple here.”

I massage the bridge of my nose. “Valent. Pineapples that are naturally blue aren’t real. These are artificially dyed.”

“It’s okay to be wrong,” he says, though now he’s the one to drag us forward, his rough-cut bangs falling into his eyes.

By samsara… sometimes these fools drive me crazy, but I probably wouldn’t smile half as much without them.