Oath of the Survivor

Garth shook his head as he initialed another form, finally completing the last set of documents for the day.  He hated the bureaucracy, although he was beginning to appreciate its necessity.  The rebuilding efforts across Nierburg were extensive, and Garth recognized now more than ever the risks corruption and lack of oversight could create.  After he was released from Central Health, he’d discovered that Councilman DeRosa had, in addition to ignoring his orders during the siege, requested the bodies of many of the ants to be delivered to him for study.  As soon as Garth found out, he put a stop to it, however he was certain that a number of the bodies were shipped before he had a chance.

It was frustrating in a lot of ways, however the tedium provided Garth with an unexpected benefit: levels.  He heard from Kyle about choosing a path when he reached D Grade, and Garth felt that he was experiencing something similar now.  The first hint came when he went through his skill selection at Level 60, where each option was closely tied to leadership and protection.  Since then, everything he did for his people had helped him advance.  Between his administrative duties and the wholesale slaughter of the mutated ants, he’d skyrocketed levels, achieving Level 70 just yesterday.     

Of course, Garth wasn’t the only one progressing.  Nierburg took heavy losses during the ant attack, but those who survived saw leaps and bounds in their progression.  Garth was more convinced now than ever that overcoming adversity was more heavily tied to progression than previously thought.  That being the case, it was no surprise that people leveled so slowly during the era of peace after the Central Authority’s establishment. 

He stepped out of the Central Administration building in the heart of the city, and began to walk towards the walls.  The area was buzzing with pedestrians and vehicles alike, with people wrapping up their day’s activities before returning home.  Eyes looked at him with expressions between reverence and awe as he walked past, with hushed whispers from some of the onlookers.  Word had spread like wildfire that Garth had personally entered the fray to save the wounded at Central Health.  As stories tend to do, it got embellished to the point of absurdity, at least in Garth’s mind.  Even though he’d been dealing with it for weeks, he still felt self-conscious as he walked through the crowd.

“Quite a crowd today, boss!” Thomas’ voice was full of mirth, as he turned the car and began to drive through the now-cleared streets.  “I’m surprised you even want to spend time with the old crew from Duilleag.  We really need to get you more friends.”

Garth snorted.  “I should say the same for all of you.  We’ve been gone a long time, it’s good to see everybody still together.”

“Do you have any updates about Kyle?  Last I heard he’s coming this way.”

“If what I heard from the miners was right, he should arrive early tomorrow.”

“Is it really a good idea for him to visit?”  Thomas’ voice lost much of its energy as he asked the question, trepidation clear.

Garth sighed.  There were a large number of citizens who felt that Kyle was responsible for the losses they’d experienced.  Other groups felt that he had sold out Earth, and was displacing them for a profit.  While he couldn’t pin down the source of the rumors, he was certain DeRosa was behind them.  The man played politics across the city like a master violinist.  The fact that he’d come crashing through the walls with a group of off-world D Grades didn’t help that image.

“I’m not sure if it’s a good idea or not, but it’ll be good to see him.  It’s not like he’ll be in any real danger, after all.” 

Thomas was silent for a moment, a faraway look on his face before he finally responded.  “I’m less worried for his safety than I am for ours.  You’ve got a lot of goodwill, boss.  The rest of us don’t.”

Garth let that sink in, and they finished the rest of their journey quietly. 

An hour later, they arrived at the ramshackle housing development near the wall.  Amir and Stephanie were already there, and Gwen was playing with Arianna’s little sister Amalia.  The unawakened refugees were cooking over dozens of small fires, the smell of roasted vegetables and fresh-baked bread infusing the air. 

People waved at them as they walked over, and soon they were laughing and telling stories as they ate.  The worries and politics all seemed to melt away while he was here.  Central Authority administrators approached him all the time, inviting him to dine at the best restaurants, with the finest old-world rations.  He hadn’t taken any of them up on the offer.  Here, alongside the people who had the least, was where he felt the most comfortable. 

That’s not to say that he didn’t still have business to take care of.  As the evening wore on, Garth pulled Amir and Thomas aside.

“The first transports will be arriving in less than a month, with the last wave departing in a little over six.  DeRosa and Reynolds insisted on being on the last departure.”

The two men nodded; expressions serious.  Amir was the first to speak.  “And you think he’s planning something.”

“He’s always planning something.  I know this isn’t a fair ask, but I was hoping that the two of you would be willing to go on the same transport.  Having people I trust keeping an eye on him would really help me sleep at night.”

The two men exchanged a look, and they nodded their agreement. 

“I’ll get details arranged in the next couple of days.”

They rejoined the group, and spent the rest of the evening eating and enjoying the conversation.  Before long, Amir and Thomas departed.  Garth declined a ride back, and waved them farewell.  He stayed, staring at the crackling flames as his mind wandered.  Before long, Stephanie came over to where Garth was watching the fire, and sat beside him. 

“You’ve done a pretty incredible thing here, Garth.”

“If you consider showing up and eating other people’s food incredible, then yes.”

She punched his shoulder.  “You know what I mean.  You’ve saved a lot of lives.  Gwen and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”  Her eyes glinted in the firelight as she spoke.  “Thank you.”

Garth met her eyes for a moment, and saw something in them.  Before he could speak, a sly smile crept across her rosy lips.  “You know, Gwen is staying with Amalia tonight.  Walk me home?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

~~~

Agony.  Every moment was agony.   If he could have, Gregory Valentine would have screamed.  He’d lost track of how long he’d been trapped inside this infernal cage, left in the limbo between life and death.  His body was never given the chance to heal, nor was it allowed to fail.  Days passed with the same routine, he answered the same questions, he made the same plea.  Just let me die.   That is, until a few days ago, when things changed.

As usual, Victor forced him to drink a healing potion, just potent enough to keep his condition from worsening.  He still fought against it, even though he knew it was futile.  When the potion crossed his lips, however, he could tell something was different.  Not just in the taste, but in the way his body responded. Valentine had grown accustomed to the sensation of the healing potion, and this one felt significantly more powerful.  Moreover, it felt like there was an incredibly faint presence taking root in his body.  He could feel it coursing through his damaged organs, urging – no, demanding them to mend. 

DeRosa seemed to expect something of the sort, and watched with eagerness, writing notes and making charts.  For the first time in a long while, Valentine felt a ray of hope.  If DeRosa had miscalculated, if he could recover just enough, he’d be able to try and break free.  If he did, he would either succeed and kill DeRosa, or fail and be killed.  Either outcome was better than this purgatory.

The next day, he drank another potion, and this time he felt the healing energy intensify as the presence grew, spreading through his body.  At first, he had to fight to hide his elation.  In just two days, Valentine’s body had recovered more than it had through the entirety of his imprisonment.  Then, the pain came.  It was as if small slivers of white-hot steel were flowing through his veins.  Slowly, inexorably, they were creeping through his bloodstream. 

Valentine was stuck in a strange duality, his body physically recovering, while at the same time experiencing the worst pain of his life.  This continued on the third and fourth days, with DeRosa forcing him to drink more of the potions, his body recovering with a surge of vital energy, and the pain intensifying. 

Valentine could feel madness creeping in at the edge of his consciousness, threating to sweep him away.  Only one thing kept him lucid, though he wouldn’t call his state of mind “sane.”  He thought about two people, the Healer who had broken him, and the Mage who was torturing him.  If it was the last thing he did, Gregory Valentine was going to make them bleed.

The fifth day came, and once again he was given a potion, this one a deep purple with what looked like onyx smoke swirling inside.  His body couldn’t offer any resistance as he consumed the liquid.  Searing pain erupted, intensified, and then disappeared.  Valentine sighed with relief.  At least he tried to. 

Feeling panic building, he realized that it wasn’t just the pain that was gone.  All sensation had been removed.  He couldn’t feel his arms, his legs, or anything at all.  The only thing he could feel was the sensation of mana flowing through him, though he couldn’t control it.  He saw, through eyes that were no longer his, a wide smile on DeRosa’s face.  The crimson-robed man did something, and Valentine saw his arm rise in a salute.

He raged in the prison of his mind, but there was nothing he could do.  Valentine spat and swore in his mind, and tried to move his body even an inch.  He failed every time.  Whatever had been done to him, his body was surging with energy, and was also entirely out of his control.  He held onto his rage, and after two more days finally managed to enter meditation.

Looking into his center, he saw the familiar pattern entirely wrapped in tendrils of purple-black energy.  He didn’t have access to see his attributes, or even his own name and class.  There was something he could interact with: a single, indistinct grey orb.  He focused on the familiar sight, and activated his skill selection.  He wasn’t offered a choice this time, but his new skill fit him well.  The impression given by SEEDS OF HATE was exactly what he needed.  He would wait.  He would water the seeds.  And when they bloomed, Gregory Valentine’s enemies would wish they had never been born.