Chapter 145: 145
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Over the next two days, no one messed with Orison or his trio of guests. He had even received a couple of apologies. Interestingly enough, Mitchell wasn't the person in charge, Zeke's aunt was, at least administratively. She was also the meanest and roughest of the bunch and didn't seem too keen on becoming friends with the young mage. He just shrugged it off.
The wave of lunacy that seemed to have temporarily gripped the city died down by Sunday morning and even though it would take time for things to return to normal, there wasn't much of a lasting affect overall. That was the case for the surface of things only. On the supernatural side, many secret societies had faced a huge disaster. Even members of the 'new blood' who were supposed to be the darlings of the dark forces at work were caught in the unexpected cross hairs of chaotic events.
The greater tragedies of lost life due to mysterious circumstances like the museum or purely mundane varieties like the city riots that broke out didn't have much of a personal impact on Orison. There were some complications he didn't really know how to handle, however. Mrs. Gorgonos' mansion had been ransacked and set on fire. The early uncovering of dark deeds had forced her to flee and go into hiding.
Since she was Nicolas' legal guardian, he reverted to being a ward of the state. That was no big deal. It was easy enough to get the guy emancipated but Orison didn't really have much use for him. Out of the vague sense of friendship and camaraderie he had for the sculptor, he'd help the guy out but didn't have any inclination to bring anyone else on board for the journeys he soon planned on making.
Since the cook was the only one out of the whole bunch who was both relatively stable but not saddled with family outside of work, Orison pitched the idea of sponsoring Nicolas' emancipation at him first. There seemed to be some kind of magnetic pull of sympathy for the man who primarily made food for his livelihood and the boy who looked like he was perpetually on the verge of staving to death. It made sense to Orison and he would let things play out by ear from there.
He noted that there were clear lines drawn between himself and the rest of the staff there. The families of the core group, especially the women, had made it obvious that their interactions were purely business with no desire to make friends or even interact more than what was necessary. It irked the young mage but he could also understand to some degree.
The wives and older daughters of the core group treated other male members in much the same manner, outside of the rare exception. The unspoken rule was obvious. It was almost the same as military. There were the 'civilians' and there was the 'group'. One group member getting chummy with another group member's family was taboo unless they were close friends but the 'civilians' could interact freely, guided by different rules.
While he waited, he trudged through some more translation and read through the material that Zeke had sent in the footlockers. Inspired by what he had learned, he made a rudimentary focus and channel set that would work as a portable ritual circle for small but useful effects. The carved wooden ring and wand didn't have much durability but they were just instruments of practice anyway.
Neil became a whole lot more useful after his merge with his illusion selves. Their imparted knowledge and understanding didn't directly translate but the 'dreams' inspired greater competence and understanding. Orison had him busy researching future targets and doing some light monitoring of potential adversary's movements to either avoid or preemptively strike. Much like every time before, Neil wasn't going to want to stay under the young mage's umbrella for long. For good or ill, the man would still want to go his own way, albeit with greater ties of friendship than before.
Jacob was the opposite. Set adrift, he would self destruct in no time. He was like lichen looking for a sturdy rock or tree to cling to. Not completely sure what he planned on doing with Jacob moving forward, the young mage split the man's focus between some practical training by Mitchell and some esoteric guidance from himself when he had a moment to spare.
Mitchell actually ended up being fairly good natured as long as he was getting something out of it. In this case, it was a set of Neil's supplement regiment. The man had been taken with Neil's explosive and visible daily improvements. Fortunately, he hadn't been pushy about its secret ingredients or Orison would have immediately cut him off. A single evening of head scratching from Santos sealed the deal on the mercenary 'Director of Activities' attempts to create a bulk version for his whole core group.
As the days slipped by and Orison slowly teased out the kernels of truth from the illusion he'd been trapped in, it was Nicolas who ended up being the biggest boon in his life. With the absorbing of his 'dream', Nicolas acted like the young mage was a long time friend, sharing visions of ideas and serving as a wholesome vent for frustration through little projects. The guy had even set up an informal art class to make the most of his situation, earning a decent amount of materials and supplies for personal endeavors. The bulldog of an old lady even sprang for a kiln and some extra glazes, joining the craze to create personal flower pots, mugs and the like.
The last time Nicolas had checked in with Orison, the guy had earned his chops enough that he was in the discussion to do some rebar and concrete roman statuary for the place to solidify its public image. The full vision was a four year project and would make a master stroke center work for an artist portfolio. It would take much less time but Zeke's aunt dismissed emancipation and adopted Nicolas directly, enrolling the poor guy back into school. Since she genuinely seemed to have Nicolas' best interests at heart, there was no reason to fight it.
The day that Zeke showed up, the entire compound flew into a huge celebratory party. Orison was confused at first. The man almost pretended like he didn't exist. A quick message passed read that Zeke would speak with him in private the next night but for reasons that couldn't be shared, he had to keep a certain distance. Since that was the case, the young mage shut himself up in his room to not feel the continual sting of being treated as an extra and the gloating eyes of a few members of the security group who had taken a slight disliking of him for one reason or another.
In the middle of the second day, Nicolas came up to see if Orison wanted to join the trip to Walt World. Zeke had some important thing he was setting up and he wanted to make sure that everyone's families were happy and safe. When the young mage politely declined, Nicolas offered to stay but Orison said it was better if the sculptor went.
He said, "Nick, go and have a blast. You can't say anything but I'm involved in what's about to happen."
Nicolas, looking uneasy and concerned said, "Alright but be careful. I never really got the vibe that any of these folks were good people except for Cookie and Aunt Constance. I know you two bump heads but she really is a sweetheart under all those wrinkles."
Orison tilted his head thoughtfully. "Is the cook going with you guys?"
Nicolas nodded. "He's driving the bus."
"Is anybody not going that should be?" Orison asked.
The young sculptor mulled it over and said, "Mitchell's daughter is visiting her mom at Shady Grove but other than that, I'm pretty sure it's everybody."
"Where's Neil and Jacob?" the young mage added.
"I think that Neil's checking out his new office. Jacob went with him as far as I know." Nicolas said uncertainly.
After giving a promise to bring souvenirs, Nicolas scooted off, trying to hide his excitement.
Orison thought, "What the hell are you up to, Zeke?"
He wouldn't have to wait long before he got an answer. A few minutes after the bus left, several box trucks came in two at a time. Large crate after large crate were wheeled into the underground storage warehouse. At that time, Zeke walked in to his room.
Without wasting a second, Zeke handed Orison the ring and trainer. "Don't open or look at them til you finish your next step. Quickly, put them away while the spy's attention is somewhere else."
Although disquieted, Orison did so. A small sense of foreboding was growing.
Zeke reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out what look like a silver charm bracelet version of a tumble weed, handing it to Orison.
He told the young mage, "Drip your 'special' blood on it like you did when you were trying to help me see safely that one time. After that, read this piece of paper while placing it on your forehead."
The ex-soldier's action's didn't make the sense of dread grow, so Orison didn't think much of it. He'd seen stranger protection artifacts. He'd even made a few that completely eclipsed the veiny ball in macabre design.
Hearing the urgency in Zeke's voice, Orison pulled a bit of fused spiritual bloodline from the ring of the white hole in his space and followed the instructions. Once he was finished reading the paper, gibberish code words as far as he could figure, the small silver ball uncoiled. Although it didn't hurt more than an initial pinch, feeling its cold tendrils worm their way into his head through veins felt wrong.
Zeke said, "I've been told it doesn't feel pleasant but its protection is one of the best."
Orison struggled not to have his space draw it in. "Been told by who, Zeke? This sh*t's going straight for my spiritual seat after wrapping my head up."
Zeke nodded. "The most important and least protected parts."
The moment the first tendril touched his spiritual seat, Orison's instincts screamed a song of panic. Unfortunately, it was at that moment that the artifact burst into rapid motion. His soul felt sealed as he lost motor function of his body. He tried to reach out to his space but couldn't. Even the instinct that had tried to warn him too late was completely silent.
As he flopped down onto the bed, a feeling of boneless paralysis seized him. Zeke's friendly face suddenly looked much more sinister. The ex-soldier leaned down and deactivated the teaser suit using the emergency override for medical personnel. With one last lingering look that would only show itself as acting to a person who knew Zeke as well as Orison, the man used the young mage's over robe to wrap him up.
Positioning to pick him up, Zeke whispered in his ear, "Trust in your key. The only one you need. Sorry for the next part. It's going to be unpleasant."
The ex-soldier picked him up into a princess carry before licking his face and making some lewd comments that sounded completely out of character for the man who pretty much only got excited for fighting and fighting equipment.
"Dude's version of a dirty mag is a gym equipment catalog. Is it because of the life he had or is it because he's originally a metal ball who shape changes into equipment and stuff like boxing gloves are like boobs to an entity like that? If I was a gauntlet, would a boxing glove look like a soft, feminine version of myself?" Orison thought among other random things to distract him from the gibbering terror of being at the mercy of someone else with only a thin veil of trust between faith that everything was alright and hopeless despair.
From his vantage point in the center of the room, the young mage couldn't see much but the ceiling, scary enough with all the fresh bloody scrawling on it. He knew that there were living things in the crates and through them he could hear some noises that didn't even sound like animals from nature, much less human. There were plenty of those too but they were all personnel of the security company.
Orison stopped paying much attention when chatter turned into a nearly endless round of back slapping, vulgarity and cultist ramblings. He would have chuckled when he heard Santos shout something about entering men but leaving young gods but he was only able to breath a little more roughly. There was some apprehension that even if Zeke was on his side, there was going to be a lot of death and he was somewhat unwilling to be a part of that even if it ended up being beneficial to him.
Those thoughts slowly faded away and were replaced by a strong desire to murder some of these men himself as he heard some of the bragging nearby. At home and in public these men might be able to pass for your average Joe with a few exceptions. But in private or at 'work', Orison was starting to get the impression that these men were true monsters in people skin.
Mitchell called for the crowd to calm down. "Everybody, give a big round of applause for the strike team who diligently hunted down the ingredients for tonight's feast!"
The sound of cheers and clapping were almost deafening. Most were applauding themselves, which Orison found passingly amusing. The sense of brotherhood and unity the group gave off would be touching if they were soldiers defending their country but the goals and ambitions that held this group together were far darker.
As the crowd quieted again, Mitchell continued, "The man of the hour needs no introduction. Most of us were given a helping hand or outright had our a**es pulled out of the fire by him. It was his tip-off, organization and leadership that had brought this dream to fruition... Give all you've got to let Zeke know what he means to us."
If the noise before was almost deafening, the racket that proceeded to follow, constituted sound torture.
Apparently unhurried, Mitchell let them wear themselves out before he moved on. "But there is no 'I' in this team. Every one of our brothers is a vital drop of blood in the veins and heart of this assembly, this sacred body... Before we continue, a moment of silence for the precious drops spilled, our beloved brothers lost in the pursuit of our goal. Their family is our family. Their blood, our blood."
After a full minute went by in total silence, Mitchell raised an index finger high and the whole assembly let out shout in thundering unison, "One blood!"
Mitchell turned the floor over to Santos. "Brothers... many of you here have come to me with a heavy heart and burdened soul. I am no priest but I showed you the salvation that my teacher showed me. You have felt it lift the darkness from you, showed you the superficial nature of sin and that the strong only need pay it when they are not wise.
"You need not be a believer, only true to each other. You need not have faith, only trust in your brother. A moment of silence for the souls who have gone before to carve paradise out of the abyss for us in trust that we will not fail them."
Another melodramatic minute of silence passed by before Santos pointed at his heart, bringing another booming shout, "One soul!"
Orison shouted in his mind, "Two earplugs!"
Santos continued, "Some of you may feel uneasy after having seen the things that you have brought here. Allow me to give you assurance... You all know how sin eating works. You bring a person into your confidence, earn their affection and willingness. After that, you get them to take a crown of thorns willingly and then pass your sin on to them. If you've done it right, they will only care for you more when they are done, allowing you to use them over and over until their soul falls. Whether man, woman or child, what do we call this person?"
The assembly shouted, "Sister."
Santos nodded. "As Eve sinned first and brought man into sin, so too shall our 'Eve' be made to bear it again in turn."
Even as Orison freaked out over the revelation of the 'crown of thorns' and how it worked, he still had some side brainpower to snark inner commentary how screwed up Santos was.
The brujo came to his point. "We have the ultimate 'Eve' here tonight. This 'sister' wears a crown made with a thorn from the greatest 'sister' to ever live. We all know that one by a different name but that divine piglet drank down the whole world's sin for just one dark moment before falling. It is told differently but we know the truth for we have seen the truth."
Orison screamed in his mind. "Are you f***ing for real!? Slap around a few misappropriated labels and use misogyny to distance the assailant from the victim. Suddenly, the truth has never been so clear! Give me a damn break!"
The young mage's mood plummeted even more hearing vile comments about the 'sisters' and how 'thirsty' they could be. Even worse, Mitchell made a comment to Santos about his newest 'sister' he was almost done grooming and realized the man was talking about Jacob.
Lost to impotent rage, Orison missed the rest of Santos' speech but he didn't need to hear it to understand what his role was. Every bit of vileness and corruption would be poured into him while they would keep whatever good stuff came from this ritual. With no abyss to fall to, he wondered what would happen to him or where he would go. It was at that moment that he realized, he'd lost faith in Zeke and begun to despair.
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Over the next two days, no one messed with Orison or his trio of guests. He had even received a couple of apologies. Interestingly enough, Mitchell wasn't the person in charge, Zeke's aunt was, at least administratively. She was also the meanest and roughest of the bunch and didn't seem too keen on becoming friends with the young mage. He just shrugged it off.
The wave of lunacy that seemed to have temporarily gripped the city died down by Sunday morning and even though it would take time for things to return to normal, there wasn't much of a lasting affect overall. That was the case for the surface of things only. On the supernatural side, many secret societies had faced a huge disaster. Even members of the 'new blood' who were supposed to be the darlings of the dark forces at work were caught in the unexpected cross hairs of chaotic events.
The greater tragedies of lost life due to mysterious circumstances like the museum or purely mundane varieties like the city riots that broke out didn't have much of a personal impact on Orison. There were some complications he didn't really know how to handle, however. Mrs. Gorgonos' mansion had been ransacked and set on fire. The early uncovering of dark deeds had forced her to flee and go into hiding.
Since she was Nicolas' legal guardian, he reverted to being a ward of the state. That was no big deal. It was easy enough to get the guy emancipated but Orison didn't really have much use for him. Out of the vague sense of friendship and camaraderie he had for the sculptor, he'd help the guy out but didn't have any inclination to bring anyone else on board for the journeys he soon planned on making.
Since the cook was the only one out of the whole bunch who was both relatively stable but not saddled with family outside of work, Orison pitched the idea of sponsoring Nicolas' emancipation at him first. There seemed to be some kind of magnetic pull of sympathy for the man who primarily made food for his livelihood and the boy who looked like he was perpetually on the verge of staving to death. It made sense to Orison and he would let things play out by ear from there.
He noted that there were clear lines drawn between himself and the rest of the staff there. The families of the core group, especially the women, had made it obvious that their interactions were purely business with no desire to make friends or even interact more than what was necessary. It irked the young mage but he could also understand to some degree.
The wives and older daughters of the core group treated other male members in much the same manner, outside of the rare exception. The unspoken rule was obvious. It was almost the same as military. There were the 'civilians' and there was the 'group'. One group member getting chummy with another group member's family was taboo unless they were close friends but the 'civilians' could interact freely, guided by different rules.
While he waited, he trudged through some more translation and read through the material that Zeke had sent in the footlockers. Inspired by what he had learned, he made a rudimentary focus and channel set that would work as a portable ritual circle for small but useful effects. The carved wooden ring and wand didn't have much durability but they were just instruments of practice anyway.
Neil became a whole lot more useful after his merge with his illusion selves. Their imparted knowledge and understanding didn't directly translate but the 'dreams' inspired greater competence and understanding. Orison had him busy researching future targets and doing some light monitoring of potential adversary's movements to either avoid or preemptively strike. Much like every time before, Neil wasn't going to want to stay under the young mage's umbrella for long. For good or ill, the man would still want to go his own way, albeit with greater ties of friendship than before.
Jacob was the opposite. Set adrift, he would self destruct in no time. He was like lichen looking for a sturdy rock or tree to cling to. Not completely sure what he planned on doing with Jacob moving forward, the young mage split the man's focus between some practical training by Mitchell and some esoteric guidance from himself when he had a moment to spare.
Mitchell actually ended up being fairly good natured as long as he was getting something out of it. In this case, it was a set of Neil's supplement regiment. The man had been taken with Neil's explosive and visible daily improvements. Fortunately, he hadn't been pushy about its secret ingredients or Orison would have immediately cut him off. A single evening of head scratching from Santos sealed the deal on the mercenary 'Director of Activities' attempts to create a bulk version for his whole core group.
As the days slipped by and Orison slowly teased out the kernels of truth from the illusion he'd been trapped in, it was Nicolas who ended up being the biggest boon in his life. With the absorbing of his 'dream', Nicolas acted like the young mage was a long time friend, sharing visions of ideas and serving as a wholesome vent for frustration through little projects. The guy had even set up an informal art class to make the most of his situation, earning a decent amount of materials and supplies for personal endeavors. The bulldog of an old lady even sprang for a kiln and some extra glazes, joining the craze to create personal flower pots, mugs and the like.
The last time Nicolas had checked in with Orison, the guy had earned his chops enough that he was in the discussion to do some rebar and concrete roman statuary for the place to solidify its public image. The full vision was a four year project and would make a master stroke center work for an artist portfolio. It would take much less time but Zeke's aunt dismissed emancipation and adopted Nicolas directly, enrolling the poor guy back into school. Since she genuinely seemed to have Nicolas' best interests at heart, there was no reason to fight it.
The day that Zeke showed up, the entire compound flew into a huge celebratory party. Orison was confused at first. The man almost pretended like he didn't exist. A quick message passed read that Zeke would speak with him in private the next night but for reasons that couldn't be shared, he had to keep a certain distance. Since that was the case, the young mage shut himself up in his room to not feel the continual sting of being treated as an extra and the gloating eyes of a few members of the security group who had taken a slight disliking of him for one reason or another.
In the middle of the second day, Nicolas came up to see if Orison wanted to join the trip to Walt World. Zeke had some important thing he was setting up and he wanted to make sure that everyone's families were happy and safe. When the young mage politely declined, Nicolas offered to stay but Orison said it was better if the sculptor went.
He said, "Nick, go and have a blast. You can't say anything but I'm involved in what's about to happen."
Nicolas, looking uneasy and concerned said, "Alright but be careful. I never really got the vibe that any of these folks were good people except for Cookie and Aunt Constance. I know you two bump heads but she really is a sweetheart under all those wrinkles."
Orison tilted his head thoughtfully. "Is the cook going with you guys?"
Nicolas nodded. "He's driving the bus."
"Is anybody not going that should be?" Orison asked.
The young sculptor mulled it over and said, "Mitchell's daughter is visiting her mom at Shady Grove but other than that, I'm pretty sure it's everybody."
"Where's Neil and Jacob?" the young mage added.
"I think that Neil's checking out his new office. Jacob went with him as far as I know." Nicolas said uncertainly.
After giving a promise to bring souvenirs, Nicolas scooted off, trying to hide his excitement.
Orison thought, "What the hell are you up to, Zeke?"
He wouldn't have to wait long before he got an answer. A few minutes after the bus left, several box trucks came in two at a time. Large crate after large crate were wheeled into the underground storage warehouse. At that time, Zeke walked in to his room.
Without wasting a second, Zeke handed Orison the ring and trainer. "Don't open or look at them til you finish your next step. Quickly, put them away while the spy's attention is somewhere else."
Although disquieted, Orison did so. A small sense of foreboding was growing.
Zeke reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out what look like a silver charm bracelet version of a tumble weed, handing it to Orison.
He told the young mage, "Drip your 'special' blood on it like you did when you were trying to help me see safely that one time. After that, read this piece of paper while placing it on your forehead."
The ex-soldier's action's didn't make the sense of dread grow, so Orison didn't think much of it. He'd seen stranger protection artifacts. He'd even made a few that completely eclipsed the veiny ball in macabre design.
Hearing the urgency in Zeke's voice, Orison pulled a bit of fused spiritual bloodline from the ring of the white hole in his space and followed the instructions. Once he was finished reading the paper, gibberish code words as far as he could figure, the small silver ball uncoiled. Although it didn't hurt more than an initial pinch, feeling its cold tendrils worm their way into his head through veins felt wrong.
Zeke said, "I've been told it doesn't feel pleasant but its protection is one of the best."
Orison struggled not to have his space draw it in. "Been told by who, Zeke? This sh*t's going straight for my spiritual seat after wrapping my head up."
Zeke nodded. "The most important and least protected parts."
The moment the first tendril touched his spiritual seat, Orison's instincts screamed a song of panic. Unfortunately, it was at that moment that the artifact burst into rapid motion. His soul felt sealed as he lost motor function of his body. He tried to reach out to his space but couldn't. Even the instinct that had tried to warn him too late was completely silent.
As he flopped down onto the bed, a feeling of boneless paralysis seized him. Zeke's friendly face suddenly looked much more sinister. The ex-soldier leaned down and deactivated the teaser suit using the emergency override for medical personnel. With one last lingering look that would only show itself as acting to a person who knew Zeke as well as Orison, the man used the young mage's over robe to wrap him up.
Positioning to pick him up, Zeke whispered in his ear, "Trust in your key. The only one you need. Sorry for the next part. It's going to be unpleasant."
The ex-soldier picked him up into a princess carry before licking his face and making some lewd comments that sounded completely out of character for the man who pretty much only got excited for fighting and fighting equipment.
"Dude's version of a dirty mag is a gym equipment catalog. Is it because of the life he had or is it because he's originally a metal ball who shape changes into equipment and stuff like boxing gloves are like boobs to an entity like that? If I was a gauntlet, would a boxing glove look like a soft, feminine version of myself?" Orison thought among other random things to distract him from the gibbering terror of being at the mercy of someone else with only a thin veil of trust between faith that everything was alright and hopeless despair.
From his vantage point in the center of the room, the young mage couldn't see much but the ceiling, scary enough with all the fresh bloody scrawling on it. He knew that there were living things in the crates and through them he could hear some noises that didn't even sound like animals from nature, much less human. There were plenty of those too but they were all personnel of the security company.
Orison stopped paying much attention when chatter turned into a nearly endless round of back slapping, vulgarity and cultist ramblings. He would have chuckled when he heard Santos shout something about entering men but leaving young gods but he was only able to breath a little more roughly. There was some apprehension that even if Zeke was on his side, there was going to be a lot of death and he was somewhat unwilling to be a part of that even if it ended up being beneficial to him.
Those thoughts slowly faded away and were replaced by a strong desire to murder some of these men himself as he heard some of the bragging nearby. At home and in public these men might be able to pass for your average Joe with a few exceptions. But in private or at 'work', Orison was starting to get the impression that these men were true monsters in people skin.
Mitchell called for the crowd to calm down. "Everybody, give a big round of applause for the strike team who diligently hunted down the ingredients for tonight's feast!"
The sound of cheers and clapping were almost deafening. Most were applauding themselves, which Orison found passingly amusing. The sense of brotherhood and unity the group gave off would be touching if they were soldiers defending their country but the goals and ambitions that held this group together were far darker.
As the crowd quieted again, Mitchell continued, "The man of the hour needs no introduction. Most of us were given a helping hand or outright had our a**es pulled out of the fire by him. It was his tip-off, organization and leadership that had brought this dream to fruition... Give all you've got to let Zeke know what he means to us."
If the noise before was almost deafening, the racket that proceeded to follow, constituted sound torture.
Apparently unhurried, Mitchell let them wear themselves out before he moved on. "But there is no 'I' in this team. Every one of our brothers is a vital drop of blood in the veins and heart of this assembly, this sacred body... Before we continue, a moment of silence for the precious drops spilled, our beloved brothers lost in the pursuit of our goal. Their family is our family. Their blood, our blood."
After a full minute went by in total silence, Mitchell raised an index finger high and the whole assembly let out shout in thundering unison, "One blood!"
Mitchell turned the floor over to Santos. "Brothers... many of you here have come to me with a heavy heart and burdened soul. I am no priest but I showed you the salvation that my teacher showed me. You have felt it lift the darkness from you, showed you the superficial nature of sin and that the strong only need pay it when they are not wise.
"You need not be a believer, only true to each other. You need not have faith, only trust in your brother. A moment of silence for the souls who have gone before to carve paradise out of the abyss for us in trust that we will not fail them."
Another melodramatic minute of silence passed by before Santos pointed at his heart, bringing another booming shout, "One soul!"
Orison shouted in his mind, "Two earplugs!"
Santos continued, "Some of you may feel uneasy after having seen the things that you have brought here. Allow me to give you assurance... You all know how sin eating works. You bring a person into your confidence, earn their affection and willingness. After that, you get them to take a crown of thorns willingly and then pass your sin on to them. If you've done it right, they will only care for you more when they are done, allowing you to use them over and over until their soul falls. Whether man, woman or child, what do we call this person?"
The assembly shouted, "Sister."
Santos nodded. "As Eve sinned first and brought man into sin, so too shall our 'Eve' be made to bear it again in turn."
Even as Orison freaked out over the revelation of the 'crown of thorns' and how it worked, he still had some side brainpower to snark inner commentary how screwed up Santos was.
The brujo came to his point. "We have the ultimate 'Eve' here tonight. This 'sister' wears a crown made with a thorn from the greatest 'sister' to ever live. We all know that one by a different name but that divine piglet drank down the whole world's sin for just one dark moment before falling. It is told differently but we know the truth for we have seen the truth."
Orison screamed in his mind. "Are you f***ing for real!? Slap around a few misappropriated labels and use misogyny to distance the assailant from the victim. Suddenly, the truth has never been so clear! Give me a damn break!"
The young mage's mood plummeted even more hearing vile comments about the 'sisters' and how 'thirsty' they could be. Even worse, Mitchell made a comment to Santos about his newest 'sister' he was almost done grooming and realized the man was talking about Jacob.
Lost to impotent rage, Orison missed the rest of Santos' speech but he didn't need to hear it to understand what his role was. Every bit of vileness and corruption would be poured into him while they would keep whatever good stuff came from this ritual. With no abyss to fall to, he wondered what would happen to him or where he would go. It was at that moment that he realized, he'd lost faith in Zeke and begun to despair.
Over the next two days, no one messed with Orison or his trio of guests. He had even received a couple of apologies. Interestingly enough, Mitchell wasn't the person in charge, Zeke's aunt was, at least administratively. She was also the meanest and roughest of the bunch and didn't seem too keen on becoming friends with the young mage. He just shrugged it off. The wave of lunacy that seemed to have temporarily gripped the city died down by Sunday morning and even though it would take time for things to return to normal, there wasn't much of a lasting affect overall. That was the case for the surface of things only. On the supernatural side, many secret societies had faced a huge disaster. Even members of the 'new blood' who were supposed to be the darlings of the dark forces at work were caught in the unexpected cross hairs of chaotic events. The greater tragedies of lost life due to mysterious circumstances like the museum or purely mundane varieties like the city riots that broke out didn't have much of a personal impact on Orison. There were some complications he didn't really know how to handle, however. Mrs. Gorgonos' mansion had been ransacked and set on fire. The early uncovering of dark deeds had forced her to flee and go into hiding. Since she was Nicolas' legal guardian, he reverted to being a ward of the state. That was no big deal. It was easy enough to get the guy emancipated but Orison didn't really have much use for him. Out of the vague sense of friendship and camaraderie he had for the sculptor, he'd help the guy out but didn't have any inclination to bring anyone else on board for the journeys he soon planned on making. Since the cook was the only one out of the whole bunch who was both relatively stable but not saddled with family outside of work, Orison pitched the idea of sponsoring Nicolas' emancipation at him first. There seemed to be some kind of magnetic pull of sympathy for the man who primarily made food for his livelihood and the boy who looked like he was perpetually on the verge of staving to death. It made sense to Orison and he would let things play out by ear from there. He noted that there were clear lines drawn between himself and the rest of the staff there. The families of the core group, especially the women, had made it obvious that their interactions were purely business with no desire to make friends or even interact more than what was necessary. It irked the young mage but he could also understand to some degree. The wives and older daughters of the core group treated other male members in much the same manner, outside of the rare exception. The unspoken rule was obvious. It was almost the same as military. There were the 'civilians' and there was the 'group'. One group member getting chummy with another group member's family was taboo unless they were close friends but the 'civilians' could interact freely, guided by different rules. While he waited, he trudged through some more translation and read through the material that Zeke had sent in the footlockers. Inspired by what he had learned, he made a rudimentary focus and channel set that would work as a portable ritual circle for small but useful effects. The carved wooden ring and wand didn't have much durability but they were just instruments of practice anyway. Neil became a whole lot more useful after his merge with his illusion selves. Their imparted knowledge and understanding didn't directly translate but the 'dreams' inspired greater competence and understanding. Orison had him busy researching future targets and doing some light monitoring of potential adversary's movements to either avoid or preemptively strike. Much like every time before, Neil wasn't going to want to stay under the young mage's umbrella for long. For good or ill, the man would still want to go his own way, albeit with greater ties of friendship than before. Jacob was the opposite. Set adrift, he would self destruct in no time. He was like lichen looking for a sturdy rock or tree to cling to. Not completely sure what he planned on doing with Jacob moving forward, the young mage split the man's focus between some practical training by Mitchell and some esoteric guidance from himself when he had a moment to spare. Mitchell actually ended up being fairly good natured as long as he was getting something out of it. In this case, it was a set of Neil's supplement regiment. The man had been taken with Neil's explosive and visible daily improvements. Fortunately, he hadn't been pushy about its secret ingredients or Orison would have immediately cut him off. A single evening of head scratching from Santos sealed the deal on the mercenary 'Director of Activities' attempts to create a bulk version for his whole core group. As the days slipped by and Orison slowly teased out the kernels of truth from the illusion he'd been trapped in, it was Nicolas who ended up being the biggest boon in his life. With the absorbing of his 'dream', Nicolas acted like the young mage was a long time friend, sharing visions of ideas and serving as a wholesome vent for frustration through little projects. The guy had even set up an informal art class to make the most of his situation, earning a decent amount of materials and supplies for personal endeavors. The bulldog of an old lady even sprang for a kiln and some extra glazes, joining the craze to create personal flower pots, mugs and the like. The last time Nicolas had checked in with Orison, the guy had earned his chops enough that he was in the discussion to do some rebar and concrete roman statuary for the place to solidify its public image. The full vision was a four year project and would make a master stroke center work for an artist portfolio. It would take much less time but Zeke's aunt dismissed emancipation and adopted Nicolas directly, enrolling the poor guy back into school. Since she genuinely seemed to have Nicolas' best interests at heart, there was no reason to fight it. The day that Zeke showed up, the entire compound flew into a huge celebratory party. Orison was confused at first. The man almost pretended like he didn't exist. A quick message passed read that Zeke would speak with him in private the next night but for reasons that couldn't be shared, he had to keep a certain distance. Since that was the case, the young mage shut himself up in his room to not feel the continual sting of being treated as an extra and the gloating eyes of a few members of the security group who had taken a slight disliking of him for one reason or another. In the middle of the second day, Nicolas came up to see if Orison wanted to join the trip to Walt World. Zeke had some important thing he was setting up and he wanted to make sure that everyone's families were happy and safe. When the young mage politely declined, Nicolas offered to stay but Orison said it was better if the sculptor went. He said, "Nick, go and have a blast. You can't say anything but I'm involved in what's about to happen." Nicolas, looking uneasy and concerned said, "Alright but be careful. I never really got the vibe that any of these folks were good people except for Cookie and Aunt Constance. I know you two bump heads but she really is a sweetheart under all those wrinkles." Orison tilted his head thoughtfully. "Is the cook going with you guys?" Nicolas nodded. "He's driving the bus." "Is anybody not going that should be?" Orison asked. The young sculptor mulled it over and said, "Mitchell's daughter is visiting her mom at Shady Grove but other than that, I'm pretty sure it's everybody." "Where's Neil and Jacob?" the young mage added. "I think that Neil's checking out his new office. Jacob went with him as far as I know." Nicolas said uncertainly. After giving a promise to bring souvenirs, Nicolas scooted off, trying to hide his excitement. Orison thought, "What the hell are you up to, Zeke?" He wouldn't have to wait long before he got an answer. A few minutes after the bus left, several box trucks came in two at a time. Large crate after large crate were wheeled into the underground storage warehouse. At that time, Zeke walked in to his room. Without wasting a second, Zeke handed Orison the ring and trainer. "Don't open or look at them til you finish your next step. Quickly, put them away while the spy's attention is somewhere else." Although disquieted, Orison did so. A small sense of foreboding was growing. Zeke reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out what look like a silver charm bracelet version of a tumble weed, handing it to Orison. He told the young mage, "Drip your 'special' blood on it like you did when you were trying to help me see safely that one time. After that, read this piece of paper while placing it on your forehead." The ex-soldier's action's didn't make the sense of dread grow, so Orison didn't think much of it. He'd seen stranger protection artifacts. He'd even made a few that completely eclipsed the veiny ball in macabre design. Hearing the urgency in Zeke's voice, Orison pulled a bit of fused spiritual bloodline from the ring of the white hole in his space and followed the instructions. Once he was finished reading the paper, gibberish code words as far as he could figure, the small silver ball uncoiled. Although it didn't hurt more than an initial pinch, feeling its cold tendrils worm their way into his head through veins felt wrong. Zeke said, "I've been told it doesn't feel pleasant but its protection is one of the best." Orison struggled not to have his space draw it in. "Been told by who, Zeke? This sh*t's going straight for my spiritual seat after wrapping my head up." Zeke nodded. "The most important and least protected parts." The moment the first tendril touched his spiritual seat, Orison's instincts screamed a song of panic. Unfortunately, it was at that moment that the artifact burst into rapid motion. His soul felt sealed as he lost motor function of his body. He tried to reach out to his space but couldn't. Even the instinct that had tried to warn him too late was completely silent. As he flopped down onto the bed, a feeling of boneless paralysis seized him. Zeke's friendly face suddenly looked much more sinister. The ex-soldier leaned down and deactivated the teaser suit using the emergency override for medical personnel. With one last lingering look that would only show itself as acting to a person who knew Zeke as well as Orison, the man used the young mage's over robe to wrap him up. Positioning to pick him up, Zeke whispered in his ear, "Trust in your key. The only one you need. Sorry for the next part. It's going to be unpleasant." The ex-soldier picked him up into a princess carry before licking his face and making some lewd comments that sounded completely out of character for the man who pretty much only got excited for fighting and fighting equipment. "Dude's version of a dirty mag is a gym equipment catalog. Is it because of the life he had or is it because he's originally a metal ball who shape changes into equipment and stuff like boxing gloves are like boobs to an entity like that? If I was a gauntlet, would a boxing glove look like a soft, feminine version of myself?" Orison thought among other random things to distract him from the gibbering terror of being at the mercy of someone else with only a thin veil of trust between faith that everything was alright and hopeless despair. From his vantage point in the center of the room, the young mage couldn't see much but the ceiling, scary enough with all the fresh bloody scrawling on it. He knew that there were living things in the crates and through them he could hear some noises that didn't even sound like animals from nature, much less human. There were plenty of those too but they were all personnel of the security company. Orison stopped paying much attention when chatter turned into a nearly endless round of back slapping, vulgarity and cultist ramblings. He would have chuckled when he heard Santos shout something about entering men but leaving young gods but he was only able to breath a little more roughly. There was some apprehension that even if Zeke was on his side, there was going to be a lot of death and he was somewhat unwilling to be a part of that even if it ended up being beneficial to him. Those thoughts slowly faded away and were replaced by a strong desire to murder some of these men himself as he heard some of the bragging nearby. At home and in public these men might be able to pass for your average Joe with a few exceptions. But in private or at 'work', Orison was starting to get the impression that these men were true monsters in people skin. Mitchell called for the crowd to calm down. "Everybody, give a big round of applause for the strike team who diligently hunted down the ingredients for tonight's feast!" The sound of cheers and clapping were almost deafening. Most were applauding themselves, which Orison found passingly amusing. The sense of brotherhood and unity the group gave off would be touching if they were soldiers defending their country but the goals and ambitions that held this group together were far darker. As the crowd quieted again, Mitchell continued, "The man of the hour needs no introduction. Most of us were given a helping hand or outright had our a**es pulled out of the fire by him. It was his tip-off, organization and leadership that had brought this dream to fruition... Give all you've got to let Zeke know what he means to us." If the noise before was almost deafening, the racket that proceeded to follow, constituted sound torture. Apparently unhurried, Mitchell let them wear themselves out before he moved on. "But there is no 'I' in this team. Every one of our brothers is a vital drop of blood in the veins and heart of this assembly, this sacred body... Before we continue, a moment of silence for the precious drops spilled, our beloved brothers lost in the pursuit of our goal. Their family is our family. Their blood, our blood." After a full minute went by in total silence, Mitchell raised an index finger high and the whole assembly let out shout in thundering unison, "One blood!" Mitchell turned the floor over to Santos. "Brothers... many of you here have come to me with a heavy heart and burdened soul. I am no priest but I showed you the salvation that my teacher showed me. You have felt it lift the darkness from you, showed you the superficial nature of sin and that the strong only need pay it when they are not wise. "You need not be a believer, only true to each other. You need not have faith, only trust in your brother. A moment of silence for the souls who have gone before to carve paradise out of the abyss for us in trust that we will not fail them." Another melodramatic minute of silence passed by before Santos pointed at his heart, bringing another booming shout, "One soul!" Orison shouted in his mind, "Two earplugs!" Santos continued, "Some of you may feel uneasy after having seen the things that you have brought here. Allow me to give you assurance... You all know how sin eating works. You bring a person into your confidence, earn their affection and willingness. After that, you get them to take a crown of thorns willingly and then pass your sin on to them. If you've done it right, they will only care for you more when they are done, allowing you to use them over and over until their soul falls. Whether man, woman or child, what do we call this person?" The assembly shouted, "Sister." Santos nodded. "As Eve sinned first and brought man into sin, so too shall our 'Eve' be made to bear it again in turn." Even as Orison freaked out over the revelation of the 'crown of thorns' and how it worked, he still had some side brainpower to snark inner commentary how screwed up Santos was. The brujo came to his point. "We have the ultimate 'Eve' here tonight. This 'sister' wears a crown made with a thorn from the greatest 'sister' to ever live. We all know that one by a different name but that divine piglet drank down the whole world's sin for just one dark moment before falling. It is told differently but we know the truth for we have seen the truth." Orison screamed in his mind. "Are you f***ing for real!? Slap around a few misappropriated labels and use misogyny to distance the assailant from the victim. Suddenly, the truth has never been so clear! Give me a damn break!" The young mage's mood plummeted even more hearing vile comments about the 'sisters' and how 'thirsty' they could be. Even worse, Mitchell made a comment to Santos about his newest 'sister' he was almost done grooming and realized the man was talking about Jacob. Lost to impotent rage, Orison missed the rest of Santos' speech but he didn't need to hear it to understand what his role was. Every bit of vileness and corruption would be poured into him while they would keep whatever good stuff came from this ritual. With no abyss to fall to, he wondered what would happen to him or where he would go. It was at that moment that he realized, he'd lost faith in Zeke and begun to despair.
