213. Blood Filter and the Deal

The elevation changed drastically the closer one approached S4. It sunk lower and lower into the recesses of the world, surrounded by nothing but walls, much like the ones that cut off the entire Outskirts away from the rest of the Nex Megalopolis.

It was a caldera within a caldera. A sinkhole so deep that that in some instances its world was kept in perpetual midnight. The sheer cliffs made escape impossible for the ordinary, aside from a single route that connected it to S4 and the doorsteps of the City of Spades.

The Severed Fault Line. It was as wide as a canyon, and fell down to the deepest bedrocks as reddish stone bled from its many exposed layers. This fault line saw many wander to and from its beginning and end. It was the City of Spade’s equivalent of a highway, and it was one of the few places were ‘order’ was held.

However, that did not deter people from committing atrocities in the thick of this night. It was one of the only places safe to walk during the nights in the City of Spade. Elsewhere, one could find the silhouettes of roaming boulders, which gobbled up all those that failed to seek shelter by nightfall.

A pair of grey-haired individuals followed a path atop the edge of the fault line, admiring that even life continued to thrive in such despicable conditions. Stationed close ahead was a fortress made primarily from wood, robbed from the forest that once surrounded the fault line for many kilometers across.

Only the holes of these trees remained. Not even their roots were left to rot in the ground. Instead, they were retrofitted as spikes to decorate the floating fortress, which was bridging the two separate landmasses. It was like a small city, carrying cannons fitted with giant metal harpoons and chain-operated elevators to access the gorge underneath.

It was shaped like a castle, but built like a fortress. It bared multiple inner layers and rooms used to confuse invaders and to make escape rather difficult. Despite it being made from nothing but logs, it stood against the test of time and the acidic rain the City of Spades was known for.

As the two figures – the Expositionist and the Scraper – approached, all manners of weaponry were aimed at them as he gently brushed a hand against a felled, red-tinted log. Blood smeared along his thumbs, and he gave it a small smell before he wiped it away with a clean handkerchief.

“Blood Filters. The scent of iron never ceases to burn my nasals. Is it your first time being greeted so arrogantly by ‘friends’?” He asked his partner waving sporadically at the men like an over enthusiastic child.

These men were suited in blood-red tunics, decorated with all manners of trinkets made from wood and blood. They didn’t take too kindly with his gesture, but they were quickly reminded of their identity as the sound of a woman’s scream sounded like a whistle.

This, however, was not a woman’s scream. Rather, it was a small whistle-like instrument that mimicked one, and was used to terrify victims. Each member of the Blood Filters were equipped with one, and in battle, all would blow into this whistle to create a horrific tortured cry.

“They’re not cannibals?” She asked, slithering a hand into her draped mantle.

“A butcher and supplier would describe them best. But yes~ They are. We’ve been told to begin the exchange of a precious seed, so let’s not be hasty. I doubt we’d be able to win with all of them against us, wouldn’t you agree~?”

“Maybe you. But don’t forget we’re equipped with short stories and re-written magic of our own.” The woman pulled out a torn page, which was written in the same 56-character language found in the books of the Eternal Library.

This 56 character language was a universal one, and it allowed for the translation of every single conceivable language. Because of the Eternal Library’s location being inside of the Nexus, the Blessed were granted the unique ability to understand all languages thanks to this.

They just couldn’t read it unless they specialized in the art or were guided by the Archivist herself. Alternatively, one could seek help from the Librarians or be a Librarian themselves.

“Hmhmhm~! I’d still hate to dirty these splendid robes. No magic to be gained from a band of savages either.” He laughed as a drawbridge was dropped, and a small band of men greeted them, each armed with serrated halberds.

“For two hundred thousand fingers. The Hungry are sick in the head requiring all that biomass. But that was a request from that speechless monkey and the Authors. I still don’t understand why we’re doing what the Sect of Gears should.” She complained as they met with the band of men at the center of the drawbridge.

The woman exchanged nothing but a stare of contempt, whilst her partner only smiled. The others studied them, and after several nods they seemed to confirm who they exactly were.

“And speaking of the Gears~” The Expositionist hummed, right as one of the Attuned Messengers made a sudden entrance from seemingly out of nowhere. They descended from the murky skies and stood hunched behind its Librarian company.

“What is this doing here?” The Scraper scoffed.

“The guarantor of the transaction.” It deeply answered, much to the amusement of the Blood Filter personnel.

“A gearbody messenger and grey-haired freaks. Don’t look that appetizing. Might be why no one’s decided to tuck in on ya yet. This way. The Head Eater’s been lookin’ forward to this all day.” A woman gestured them to follow with her head. “Fingers are the best part. Depravin’ us and coming’ in with all those fingers is brave of ya.”

“Spare us the noise. We’re not here to talk to uncivilized savages.” The Scraper dismissed as they entered the fortress of a thousand savages, and a thousand more handless livestock kept in their cells, awaiting their turn to become tonight’s next meal.

Some were kept in giant ceramic jars, others spit roasted alive, and some flailed for their meat like a leg of ham. The atrocities were vile, but it was considered normal for all those present. Although, the Scraper could not help but to express her distaste.

“What a waste of biomass. Think about all the tales that could be written with them.” She growled, causing another one of the savage women to laugh hysterically as they descended, ascended, and navigated through narrow corridors, capturing the wicked glances of these cannibals.

Humans. Demi-humans. Half-breeds – These were the only races found amongst their ranks, and they refused to eat the meat of anything outside. The horrendous notion of ‘you are what you eat’ caused the Expositionist to chuckle to himself.

The sounds of suffering permeated through the walls as she cackled.

“What makes you so much better than us? Lemme guess, you got a healer under your wraps regeneratin’ all those fingers ya need? We’ve got enough people comin’ and goin’ where there’s no need to kidnap and cuddle with one. Ahhh. But we could totally use one ourself! Infinite meat!”

“The majority of healers cannot regenerate. They’re the kind of existence you want to exploit in a less violent method. We must never forget how we nearly lost our Sect… among other things.” The Attuned Messenger reminded. “Twin healers, and that abomination of a Demi-human Star who caused so many of us much grief.”

“The Wise Black Wolf? Funny, he used to work closely with our brightest Star. Heard he’s related to the three Moons we’re after~” The Expositionist casually said, revealing it all to the world with an unapologetic smile on his face. “Ahh. See how it all comes back into full circle? Such a lovely tale. The Speechless Paw was surprised to see them all grown up.”

“Wolf. Moons. Stars. Paws? The hell does that mean?” One of the personnel asked, pointing a dagger at them. “Why do ya gotta mess with all this complicated stuff? Just eat your problems away.”

“You wouldn’t understand the length people will go to secure their selfish hopes, and for revenge.” The Expositionist hummed, twirling a small piece of paper.

* * *

They entered a long hall room where a throne made from bones resided. Sitting atop was a woman dressed in the same red-tinted tunics, but there was a layer of chainmail made from bones dangling from her body. She was like a fish caught by a net, and at the edges one could find dagger-like bones dangling freely, like weights.

“Took your time! Was wondering if you’d even show your face around here!” She laughed loudly, leaning forward as she motioned at several standing men to gather the promised goods.

“The Head Eater. I don’t suppose you got that name from eating heads.” The Scraper wondered as they stood a good 5 meters away, just at the foot of the staircase leading up to the woman’s throne of spoils.

“That’s how I got all this intellect! Eatin’ brains helps, right!? Best served warm, fresh after a shavin’ it in half like a coconut! Should see how they slowly start slurring with each spoonful~! Oi! Grab them one to go!”

“Your hospitality won’t change how we treat you. In the end, we’re here for a deal. Not to speak like we’re old friends. If this is an attempt to stall, then the Hungry will deal with you.” The Scraper warned with ferocity, openly despising the Head Eater.

This only caused her to laugh.

“It’s an eat or be eaten world. I guess that’s only fair. But I ain’t gonna pull your leg and risk bustin’ this deal. We worked our asses of for, heh, let’s face it, my reward.” She said greedily as her men dragged an entire, wooden and glass vat filled to the brim with pickled fingers. The thickness of the slush within was akin to jelly. The stench was just as revolting.

“Nearly thirty thousand fingers are in there. We’ve been stockpilin’ them as promised. So, how’re you going to get it outta here?” The Head Eater asked as the Expositionist approached the giant aquarium, which was fitted onto several wooden wheels.

“Firstly, we’ll count them.” He said, tapping at the glass with a bright smile.

“We’ll count them?” The Scraper questioned.

“They will. By hand.” The Attuned Messenger ordered.

* * *

“Twenty-nine thousand, six hundred and seventy-three.” Was the final count, announced by a man who placed the finger into the picked vat. Before he could climb down from the ladder, a halberd suddenly swung down and severed two of his fingers. “A-AAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!”

“We were missin’ a couple extra!” The Head Eater grinned, wiping the blood away from her pale face, and her messy, short crimson hair. “Didn’t mean to scam ya fellas.”

“Consider yourself forgiven.” The Expositionist hummed. “Seventy-five. It’s sufficient. Excellent. It’s almost complete.”

“If ya don’t mind me askin’, what’s the need for all these delicious things? Hungry ain’t the picky type, and I didn’t take those tongue-necktie Hungry being the kind to like fingers.” The Head Eater wondered, resting her two-handed halberd on her shoulder, wielding it like it was no more than a battleax. Her muscles were incredible, and she attributed it all to her immaculate diet.

“To complete a fragmented piece of history.” The Expositionist answered, not dabbling into the specifics. “That reminds us. Have you found a pair of lovers yet?”

“Nope. Once we started sizzling them, they were quick to turn on each other. Love ain’t like how it used to be.” The woman shrugged. “So, how about the payment? Don’t tell me you don’t intend to honor it? Let me remind you that even if we die, I’d be more than happy to at least watch that smirk rub right off your face.”

“Never our intention. I have it right here. But…” The man took the golden seed from a hidden pocket within his robes, offering it for the woman to take.

“But?” She asked, cocking her head as she snatched it, marveling at the little seed with shimmering, brown eyes.

“I suggest you use it after you meet with the Black Dove.” The Attuned Messenger concluded.

“Black who? That a Color? So this is supposed to make me able to fight a Color head on?”

“You really are smart.” He sarcastically praised, which the Head Eater took as genuine, laughing hysterically.

“Guess I should never have doubted ya. Looks as good as they say! Ahahaha! I wonder what to have it with. Stomach ragu. Brain syrup. Ribs and thigh burgers.

“I also suggest you throw a feast. Rather, this is an order from upper echelons of the Sect of Gears. It will drive fear into the Black Dove and her companion. Expose your delicacies. They will tremble.”

“Fear makes things taste better. Got it!” The Head Eater became giddy, still marveling at the seed before suddenly –

“… oh… Am I interrupting something?” A hollow, feminine voice spoke.

– A female Herald of Act X wandered into the throne room, dragging an unwieldy blade over her shoulder. It was twice as large as her, reaching over two meters in length and a full meter in thickness.

The pale blade was free from the stains of blood. It was as pristine as it could be, meaning she had not fought to enter their territory. This was because all those within recognized her apparel, and they instinctively froze with fear.

Unlike the Heralds, her apparel was a darker blue, and her robes were far more flamboyant. They dragged behind her, carrying the blade. The massive drabs were supposed to conceal the blade, thus making her appear like nothing more than an inhuman monster.

But she was not human to begin with. She was a light purple-skinned Insectid that possessed a giant horn along her head, and hidden beneath the layers of cloth were another two sets of arms, totaling to four.

It went without saying that she was not a Herald.

She was a Missionary – a being devoted to the Scripts with only one purpose in mind.

To execute those who failed to follow the commandments of the Scripts.

“… pardon my intrusion. There has been… an incomplete commandment. I am here to punish someone.” She spoke in a gentle, undemanding voice despite how hollow and empty it sounded.

Then, she stared at every single soul with jet-black eyes that never blinked and tilted her head as her two antennae twitched.

“Let’s… not see each other’s guts tonight… my commandments are absolute, so I would be grateful if you stand down and bring me the follower of our Script. I promise… I will make it swift. Less you wish to wage war with our fullest absolution.”

This warning caused even the Expositionist’s smile to briefly disappear as he heavily gulped.