The Talk

Manziholet found his Vixtrian Rapier among a mass of gray and withered plant matter. The dead substance, even with the accelerated passage of time, still held onto the blade as he took it out. He flicked his wrist, spattering them on the floor. At the same time, the atmosphere inside took on a new flavor.

Bitterness was accumulating at the back of his mouth as the breeze caressed his skin once more. Wherever it originated, the source could not be far. During the climb, he had carefully surveyed the great chamber in its entirety. The walls were smooth and the ceiling was vaulted, with no cracks, vents, or visible openings for an external draft to seep through. Apart from the gateway and tiny patches of dirt where the vines spawned from, the structure was utterly sealed. 

Logically, this meant the source of the breeze had to be internal. Something within the chamber itself was generating the airflows, which had been fully cut off once the fruit on the ceiling splitted then returned after the demise of the hybrid. He let his sensitive senses do their job, scrutinizing and mapping back to the breeze. They led him to the colossus's waist, where laid the rotating component that had allowed its upper body to move. Next to it was a puncture wound with a melted rim, likely from Raka's Armament, from which air was hissing out.

He called the other Seraphists over, before widening the wound open with his Rapier. As the metal was corroded and wrapped, the air rushed out faster while the hissing noise it made grew louder. 

"What do you think it is?" Mirish asked.

Manziholet returned the Rapier to its sheath. "I believe we are standing inside the so-called 'vault' that Raka mentioned." He knocked on the dead colossus. "And, in a sense, this is the promised treasure chest. Why would the Quorathene need primitive deterrences against thieves like a padlock when the chest itself came with six oversized weapons? As such, our next job is what no dead thieves can do: pry open the lid." 

"I will organize the thralls," Raka said. "Their tools work slower than our Armaments, but at least they are less likely to accidentally damage the thing inside."

Manziholet nodded. "Take your time, then. There's probably no hybrid left in the Ruin." He took a closer look at the Seraphist, whose Circuit had probably been damaged from backlashes. His skin was ashen and damp with cold sweat. It reminded Manziholet of a certain person. "About the priest…"

Raka let out a tired sigh. "Novice, I hope you made that decision using the head designed for logic instead of the head that has no neck under it. In fact, I would suspect you have brain damage otherwise."

"You hope for the right thing. She merely is of practical use for me in the future." 

"Then I'll forgive that specific insubordination of yours, but my last warning still stands. And remember, our government is on the brink of war with not only the Church but also its entire religion. When the time comes, every single faithmonger in this galaxy will become an enemy combatant, of whom she is one. Carve that deep into your mind."

"I won't disappoint you," Manziholet replied.

"You said the same words when we first arrived at Vonna, novice," Mirish pointed out with a chuckle. "Look at how much headache you have caused us so far, although I must admit" –he gazed at the wreckage– "you're quite awesome." 

After making sure that the previous death traps were no longer operational (by hitting and stomping the floor very hard) and putting the colossus's great hammers on it as braces in case they still were, the mortals were called into the great chamber to render aid.

In addition to treading as lightly as possible to preserve the artifact hidden deep within, the thralls must also systematically dismantle the colossus, extracting each organ and component for inspection. Soon, their bodies were slick with sap and covered in dead plant matter, building up an unpleasant second layer on their skin. Their hands were scraped raw by the sharp edges of twisted bronze while their backs groaned in protest to haul the metal away. 

It was a dirty and grueling task, but Raka had demanded it of them. The Seraphist was the one who could both provide and withhold their very survival, and to defy him was to challenge the fabric of reality itself. As far as they were concerned, that made him a cousin of God. 

Meanwhile, the Fireguards' medical attachment made their rounds through the surviving mortals and tended to those wounded. The task was not as demanding since most hardly have any parts left to be fixed. Some were barely alive, capable of communicating only through painful grunts. The physicians asked the Bastion to provide his Miracle, to which Raka happily agreed, on the condition that they paid the standard amounts of forisma. None did. 

The corpses as well as any other unrecognizable human parts littered on the floor were swept away into buckets and carts. They would be transported outside then later burned or ceremoniously buried if deemed suitable. That way, the great chamber was cleansed of its gruesome leftovers and provided space for proper science.

Chiorou's remains were handled differently. After Mirish and Raka had collected some flattened mementos amid the bloodstained floor, they said their goodbyes. Rude as a bear with a hangover as she was (Mirish's words), the Seraphist had been an integral part of their host. She would be remembered most fondly. Logs of woods had been piled up on her spot and doused with the incendiary liquid. Raka, seemingly ignoring the fact that his damaged Circuit might be leaking vaepor, manifested his Armament one more time and ignited the funeral pyre with its purple flame. 

Meanwhile, in the privacy of a checkpoint chamber far from the enhanced ears of the two Seraphists, Gersimi was being patched up by a physician. A large burn on her left foot was being bandaged off when Manziholet arrived. The rest of her injuries were limited to trivial scratches, probably because the girl was religious and Invincible Light had divinely intervened to protect His follower.

"–or maybe it's just a case of good fortune," Manziholet said. "Trust me. Your God did not whisper in my ears and compel me to rescue you."

Gersimi looked at him warily, like a wild animal watching a hunter moving closer. 

"Is there anything else?" he asked the physician, who was packing her kits in a very deliberate manner.

The woman turned to him and bowed. "I wouldn't dare to raise the issue, sir, but since she does not fall under the terms of my contract, may I…"

He took her hand, which flinched, before putting on the palm a gold coin. "All yours." 

Her eyes widened. "Thank you, sir, for the generosity," she said gratefully. At the current exchange rate, it was worth around five thousand forisma. While the gold content would not fetch as much if melted down, the dissonant material mixed inside guaranteed it was. 

On the obverse, the coin bore the moving portrait of the Imperator, which blinked at intervals to remind his subjects of his omnipresence, while the reserve featured his seat of power, the rotating giga-architecture of TerraSol with Sol constantly shifting to reveal Terra. 

The only way the coin could be faked was if the forgers had managed to seize control of the Mint where the dissonant material was extracted, but before that they must somehow outwit and overpower the Fourth Sphere Seraphists who garrisoned there – a task so absurdly difficult that any individuals capable of it would be much better off using their talents to make an honest living.

Five thousand forisma was equal to a fourth of what she would make after the expedition ended. Manziholet had chosen to give her that much because she had the nerve. Many mortals, even back when he was just a kid, could barely manage eye contact once they learned of his status, let alone asking for fair payment. Also, he only carried with him that denomination, and it would be quite embarrassing asking the poor woman for small changes. She suffered long enough, being born without an ArchSoul.

After expressing her gratitude once more, the physician went away, leaving Manziholet alone with Gersimi in the chamber. Occasionally, some people passed through, but they left quickly when they met his gaze. Meanwhile, she was still giving him the guarded look. "You have a question," he said. "Ask it."

"Why?" 

"Because then I can bring you back to TerraSol and put your faith to work. Not for the Logic Committee of Clerical Privilege, obviously. I wouldn't trust them to light a candle without burning down the building, and you will definitely stubbornly starve yourself to death before they realize you work for them."

"I will do so regardless of whatever you force me to do."

He grinned at her. "Admirable, but you won't change how the rest of the world works as a corpse. Also, unless you happened to have millions of followers, which you never would without my help, your hunger strike would be like any other silent protests. Too silent to matter."

She frowned. "Your help." 

"Yes, my help, to build your own Church with millions of followers who follow whatever beliefs you subscribed to. No Patriarchs or Viceroys or priests can declare you a heretic, because you'll be the one who decides its very definition. I'll even get you the original Holy Scripture for you to preach the true words of Invincible Light, who might be impressed enough to appear to you in a dream and declare you His next representative." 

He could see, briefly on her face, a flash of temptation that was then masked behind a thicker layer of suspicion. For a person who had been hardened during her struggle against both planetary and religious authority, she must know better than to trust the words of a handsome stranger. 

"Going by what you've said, they may think you actually believe in God," she replied. "Do you, Seraphist, or you are a doubter like your friends?"

"Frankly, I couldn't care less if He was an Outsider or outright a figure of imagination. I've already suffered under a scary and judgmental goddess at home. Granted, she is the creator of my body and therefore deserves utmost respect, but I'm too exhausted to accept another omnipresent being like her into my life. Given my experience with the woman," he said with a chuckle, "I can sympathize with you people though."

Gersimi widened her eyes slightly, as if she had witnessed a blasphemy. "You compared my God to your mother."

"I did, albeit in a very reserved manner. Wait until you actually meet her. You might consider renouncing your faith and pledging eternal loyalty to my mother."

That had offended Gersimi, judging from her pursed lips and furrowed brows. Religious people rarely had a sense of humor even though, based on existing theological and historical evidence, their God did. Manziholet considered switching to a darker negotiation tactic like one used by Chiorou and Raka when they forced her congregation to scout the Ruin, but it would make him look like a bully and a villain. Those two aspects were strictly reserved only for his enemies. 

"Look," Manziholet said before the priest could begin giving him a sermon, "I'm helping you not based on whether I believe or not, but because what you are born with and what you have managed to achieve with it so far, despite the traditions–"

"I'm a girl," she cut in, "and you want to be the gallant hero. Is that why?"

"A coincidence, I assure you. I've always been intrigued by people who are willing to defy the established rules and have proved themselves to be competent at it. There's something compelling about a good upheaval, a stirring of the waters, in my opinion. Therefore, you can trust that I will invest greatly in your cause without any ulterior motives."

She looked into his eyes, as if searching for the truth. "The offer is very tempting, but sorry. Please, set me free or kill me if you must. We cannot work together. I will not cooperate."

"In that case, it's my turn to ask," Manziholet said. "Why?"

"I must maintain integrity in face of all temptations, as Invincible Light has taught."

That made him laugh lightly. "A good excuse, though not quite good enough. Try better. I'm not religious, after all."

"Then, as my aunt and uncle, who lured me in when my parents died and treated me as their little slave, had taught, the cost of every free meal is an immense regret later. No offense, but I find it impossible to believe that you will not take advantage of my faith or my followers for your own interest. Moreover, I am merely of practical use for you in the future – I overheard you telling that to your leader. Am I wrong?"

"You aren't. Alright, I must admit, I did lie to you. I do have an ulterior motive."

Gersimi nodded, beckoning him to continue. Her eyes, green as emerald, met his own without fear. Again, not many mortals had the nerve. He wondered if her new and improved body had added to her courage. Recalling her attitude long before that, the answer was no. She had always possessed what it took to pursue her path.

"My father and brother live in Zaicaster," Manziholet said. "Once the war between the government and the Church breaks out, which it undoubtedly will, all three of us may meet on the battlefield as enemies. Personally, I would rather it never did at all. Or at least, when the time comes, we don't have to kill each other. My mother has prepared many contingencies for the worst case scenario, and so should I. You will be one. Your cause may or may not work out, but there's a chance it will help us." 

She remained silent as a group of thralls pushed carts filled with bronze parts through their chamber. The breeze was also rising in intensity. He should come back to the great chamber soon. "Is that all?" she asked, when they were alone again.

"Also, I'm not exactly myself recently, on account of having been emotionally exploited by a classmate. It's a long story. Anyway, observing you was one of the main factors that helped me realize the problem. Thank you." 

"That's another ulterior motive of yours?"

"No, merely a sincere declaration of my gratitude." 

Gersimi nodded, before folding her hands as she drifted into deep contemplation. Presumably, the priest was seeking guidance from Invincible Light. At the same time, a menial arrived and gave him news from Raka. The grand prize had been revealed. Manziholet acknowledged the man, but otherwise remained in the same spot.

She looked up at him. "Don't you want to go?"

"I'm waiting for your answer. Is it a yes?"

"It's not a no, at least for now." 

Manziholet grinned. "I'll take that as a yes. Now, you can come with me and gaze upon an invaluable Quorathene artifact with wonder. You almost died for it after all, and I promise the other Seraphist won't bite."