Scion of Atlantis Ch. 07

They both emitted a squeal as he raised the knife, but it was only to work the tip of the blade between the woman's wrists, as he carefully sliced her arms free. "This I [COMMAND] you to do," he said carefully, as he gestured with the knife at the woman's partner, "Stab him to death, then, when he stops breathing...." The grey man flipped the knife around in his hand to offer it to the woman, handle first. "...Cut open your own throat."

The grey man rose, making for their fridge as the wet slicing sound and muffled whimpers carried on behind him. He pulled open the refridgerator door, eyes glancing around before settling on the half moon of an unfinished cake, coated in a white, sugary glaze and wrapped in plastic. It looked appetizing, but that was a secondary concern. The grey man needed the calories, if he was to continue his pursuit.

Discarding the wad of cling film on the kitchen counter, the grey man began picking off chunks of cake to stuff into his mouth. As he walked away, searching for a bedroom in order to get some rest, the weeping, silver-haired woman lifted the tip of the bloodstained knife to her neck with trembling hands.

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I recoiled from that thread as if it had burned me. Part of me was filled with a sinking horror at what the grey man had done, casually. While eating cake! Another desperately replayed the awful scene in my head, trying to seek out the spell-words the grey man had thought about. Sadly, they drained away with the rest of the vision, just as my temporary facility with Cantonese had. But there could be no mistake- the grey man wanted my grimoire, he already had taken others, and he could find me no matter where I had gone.

Now that Rosalie and I were the prisoners of the Harvesters, would he attack or infiltrate the Harvesters to get at us? It didn't seem his style, but he was obviously very capable. We only got away because he hadn't expected Marlowe, who I assumed was the "ogre" the grey man was thinking of. And now, I was all out of my meagre supply of aces, and trapped. Provided he could infiltrate the Harvester prison or base or whatever, the grey man could pick us up at his leisure, between now and... whatever the Harvesters intended to do with us.

I had to escape with Rosalie, no matter what. Either the Harvesters recycled us for parts, or the grey man came to rip my grimoire away. I was a little shocked at how protective I was feeling about Aya. These powers had been almost nothing but a hassle since I woke up the previous afternoon, but now that I had them, I found that I was reluctant to give them up. To say nothing of what might actually happen to Aya as an entity as a result of the grey man having his way.

Now that I was drifting here, I reflected on how I was feel more protective in general. In my old life, before inheriting the grimoire, I just kind of drifted. College didn't work out, becoming a cook and then a chef wasn't working out, life just wasn't great in general for me. I had a crappy job that I kept dragging myself to, but I didn't feel particularly attached to anything. I collected posters, played games, watched anime, vtubers and movies, and mostly just... drifted.

But now, I was experiencing a very real way in which my life was affecting and touching others. These threads I found myself tied to might be ephemeral, but that didn't prevent them from being real. Maybe that was what "demesne" meant- I didn't own these people, or lord over them, but by mingling our lives like we had, they had become "mine" just as much as I had become "theirs". If that was the case, the people and scenes I had been contacting were part of my demesne- Derek was my friend, Mingzy my acquaintance and neighbour, my apartment was my home regardless of who actually owned it. And in any case, I was beginning to feel a strong sense of protectiveness towards all of them.

While searching through the void, I came upon one connection that felt different. If the others were threads, this one felt like steel wire, like I could tug and pull on it as much as I wanted and it wouldn't break. Stronger and more solid than any of the others, I pulled myself along it eagerly. This had to mean something.

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Rosalie hung limply in her bonds, unable to move, swaying slightly with the bounces and jolts of the van. She was in restraints, her wrists bound tightly behind her back with multiple zip ties that cut uncomfortably into her flesh, and a set of nylon straps held her upright in her seat on the bench that lined the dim cabin. Her body ached, here and there, as the body armoured troopers did not take kindly to having one of their own killed by a monster. They had not treated her all that gently, and she expected distantly that she was in for a further beating once the van stopped moving, now that the troopers were out of their black suited colleague's supervision.

The cocktail of drugs that the Harvesters had injected into her must have worked on multiple levels, thus why she was in the uneviable position of being completely paralyzed but horrifically aware of the conversation the troopers were having. She would have gladly embraced unconsciousness again, but her metabolism had taking care of that part of the drug right away.

"Finally bagged a werewolf, man. I've been looking forward to completing my collection."

"You know getting inked is just something we do, right, rookie? It's not actually a thing that contributes to your rank."

"Leave him alone, he's just excited about a great operation. We caught two zeroes alive, that's going to cut us a huge bonus. And we're all going to have our next upgrade greenlit in a hurry. That's what's got me hyped."

"Hell yeah, lots of muscle replacement is going to be on the table for everyone."

"Exactly, though the emergency claws are supposed to be really badass in close quarters."

They were literally talking about her being chopped up for parts and shared out to the team. There was a disturbingly cannibalistic feel to it, highlighted by the trooper's attitude towards her and Ozzy. To the troopers, they were just zeroes, renegade elements to be brought down and controlled, and then parted out for rewards. They didn't care about who Rosalie was, who Ozzy was, they didn't even consider them on the same level as animals, and Rosalie was passively subject to it all.

With an effort, Rosalie made her eyes focus and look up and across the aisle to where Ozzy was hanging, strapped in similarly to herself. He was still unconscious, his eyelids seeming to vibrate with how quickly his eyes were flickering under the veil of oblivion. Rosalie stood at the edge of true, complete despair, and all her hopes rested on this man producing something from his bag of magical tricks that could save them from their grisly fate.

Rosalie let her eyes go unfocused again, hoping to ignore what was happening around her. Her cheeks felt wet with tears, which had not stopped since she became conscious again. Her senses were dulled and numbed by the drugs, but she was keenly, painfully aware of exactly how fucked she was. She could only hope that, if a freshly minted othersider with no true control or understanding of his powers couldn't save her, that she was unconscious or completely mentally broken by the time the really terrible things had begun.

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I returned to the void, immediately fixing the location of that thread in my mind. Rosalie was alive, for now, but she was on the very brink of giving up, and even if I could somehow save us, she would bear the mental scars of this for a long time. To go with all her other scars she was carrying around with her. I had to do something to figure some way out for the both of us. I owed it to her.

The warm presence reappeared, wrapping around me like a warm blanket. It seemed more urgent, somehow, as if it was try to pull me in a way, but what direction it was, I couldn't say. With an effort, I pushed myself away from the threads. I could keep following them, mapping this pseudo space full of connections to the people in my life. But right now, I was unconscious, in the back of a windowless dark van, being carried off to an unknown fate. I couldn't do anything from there.

The warm presence pulled me gently down into the void. For one strange moment, I felt myself contact a sort of membrane, but the presence drew me down through it, and my world filled with light.