∴ the pilgrim ∴

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[slick]

babe wake up, new king-8 loreposts!!!

previously

today

also today

 

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​

Fourth Defender's commanding visage instilled in Campbell something that nothing else really could, clarity. The chance to see, to feel, to drift and dream in his mind, to view the world as it was, rather than through a haze of intoxicating fury. He looked to his Brother, Eighth King, seated arrogantly across their runic table, they caught each other's eye for a moment. He could feel Eight's disdain, a pricing thing, right through his bloody bones, but he had felt this contempt once before, seen that same flicker of hatred behind the eyes.

Ismail had given him this look, this feeling, perhaps he had returned it to him. That had been the last thing they had shared before the Transhumans had him dragged off to an assured fate. As Alma's address came to an end, Campbell felt the need to rise from his chair, offering his respects to the Fourth Defender with a simple "Yes, Dame. Hail."

Eight's bickering remarks began once again, and Alma quickly shut him down. This feud was over, according to her at least. As the monitor which carried her image dimed its light, casting the Sanctum of Three-One-Four into its usual darkness, he heard Eight's voice again

"I will kill you.", he hissed. Campbell felt the anger boiling inside him again, barking back "Then you will die with me! I can promise you that."

He turned away from his deluded Frater, ripping his mask from its helm with a hiss of escaping air pressure, his hands thudding on the table in frustration. He needed to breathe. Eight had said something else to him then, he might have responded, but he couldn't quite tell if he had really spoken, the world around him seemed to dim into the background of his vision, and a feeling was beginning to bubble inside him, one strong enough to wash aside even his quickly returning anger.

He felt weakness, he felt who Edward Campbell really was, but a broken man fighting merely for the sake of fighting, for there was nothing else left in this world for him to do. This was his true face, and it was the face of all Inoculates like him. Weak, and scared.

"Alma is right, this is pointless... I have been weak," He said suddenly, "I am sorry Eighth-King, I truly am." The bitterness of his voice had faded, the rage suppressed beneath sorrow. Eight was stunned for a moment, perhaps disgusted by Edwards's true nature.

"Where is the Campbell I know?!"

Edward didn't respond at first, his mind locked in contemplation. Memories of his youth, of his service, of Alma, of Bluestreet, of Seventeen and of Ismail... they flooded his mind. Anger began to surge within him once more, but it was different this time—transformed. He knew he couldn't kill Eight; he couldn't bear to have the blood of another Ismail on his hands, watching once again as everything he believed in crumbled due to his own failures, for Eight reminded him of that boy from Bluestreet like no other. He reattached his mask, raising his voice to shout.

"He is dead! Edward Campbell is dead!"

"Then what remains?!" Eight retorted.

"The Clamp, the ever Bleeding Clamp! I have cast Edward Campbell aside on the streets of Tokyo, and only I remain! This is all I am and all I will ever be!" He paused for a moment, taking in a breath to continue his shouting. "Do you know the lengths I have gone to in order to ensure Alma's torch is passed to you, in place of me?! I have swallowed my pride, admitted defeat! And if you carry on like this, you will die with me in a maelstrom of terror, just as Alma foresaw!"

The contempt in Eight's eyes seemed finally to drain now, a sudden understanding reached inside him. He spoke up n a softer tone, not gentle by any means, but soft, low and measured. "Perhaps not, friend. We are the assured inheritors of this new Aeon. Men of astral significance, clearly." He turned his hip, flashing the odd pulsing artefact secured tightly in a glass container upon his belt. " I wield it at my hip," he said. "We shall evangelize this garrison, as it was intended."

Campbell shook his head, he was done pretending. He wasn't a High Priest, he wasn't built to lead men's minds. "Perhaps you will, Frater, but I... I am nothing but a fighter, a warrior. And a warrior lives to wage war, Eight. Nothing more."

Eight smiled a sly smirk, "I am a warrior too, but I carry the word of warrior-poets, visionaries far beyond my comprehension. I strip these words of their esoterics and satiate the angst of man, to prepare them for their ascent."

Campbell felt his chest rise as he went to suck in another deep breath, perhaps this matter was finally at a close.

"I have work to do." he finally said.

"As do I." Eight replied, now the two Inoculates went their separate ways in peace, but for how long?

the assured inheritor marched on, his memory of the past few days marred by the bitter arbitration between brothers.

his escort follows in tow as he ekes out their route, stomping through xeno-torn forests.

the sloping valleys gave way to the wastes, young trees dominate the land, just hardly rooted to the earth.

vovk remembers the emptied creek, littered with sepulchered logs, dried in the swelling heat of the wastes.

flowing water nets little in this inhospitable place, says the recollection of a pod of houndeye.

the elder leant down to drink, the eager school of leeches bounding up to drag the aging creature into its finality.

a symphony of supersonic sound.

. . .

they were brought into the lower sanctum, the excitement overhead would pry into the significance of this moment.

barked orders over intercom similarly found their way into the lower recesses of NC.

he is tethered, earth-bound by this incessant sound as procedure takes over.

"vovk... vovk...? vovk...!?"

. . .

 

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A few days after the Police Department bombing, local news outlets circulate copies of a letter alleged to be the 'suicide note' of the murderous driver.

Its authenticity remains highly disputed. To some, a fabrication by the government. To others, a peak behind the curtains.

@'77 East @Lewis! @PeaceAndMagick89 @slick