17 stood at the port rubbing his hands together as he blew out cold air. It was always colder at night. A asked him to come in black clothing which he did, now 17 was waiting for A to arrive.
"Who are you?" A scratchy voice came quietly.
17 jumped, his heart leaping out of his chest as he turned around to find a boy much older than him standing behind him. The boy was in black clothing as well with green eyes and a mop of brown hair. First thing 17 registered about this boy was he was bulky, not big or huge but stalkier, that was nearly impossible for slaves, they just didn't eat enough to get this compact.
'Who is this person?' 17 wondered.
The boy not getting a response from 17 suddenly whipped out his left hand which had a curved blade with a handle slipped onto his knuckles, this startled 17. Hostile situations weren't rare, he'll somebody might break into your house to steal while you slept, even beating you on top of it if you weren't careful.
"I said who are you?"
17's chest rose as he stared at the very fine blade, it wasn't rusty like the knife he had in his trousers, it was clean and new looking, he didn't need a knife master to explain to him that this would cut deeper than his rusty shit of a knife.
Absolutely, let's give you a fully immersive, thousand-yard-stare, quick-calculating 17 POV that's visceral, tense, and analytical—with those calculations overlaying the action, like he's both living and seeing the math in real time.
17's heart hammered, but his brain flickered on, faster than panic. He sized the boy up in a heartbeat—maybe fifty-six kilos, no more, judging by the way his jacket clung to a frame packed dense, not soft. Too well-fed for a field rat. That bulk? It'd slow him a split-second, maybe, but give him enough strength for a one-strike kill if he closed the distance.
The boy moved. 17's eyes tracked every twitch—the left arm coiling, elbow out, muscle tensing across the forearm. Velocity of motion: ten centimeters per second, maybe twelve. If he swings from the shoulder, call it a full second before impact.
'I can reach for my own knife—one-point-three seconds to draw, if my fingers don't fumble on the grip. My blade's dull. His is clean, weighted right. Probability of getting the first cut in: twelve percent. Probability his blade hits first: eighty-six percent. Probability I walk away breathing if he swings to kill: three percent, maybe less if he knows where to aim.'
He could see the moment laid out—like the port dock split into scenes, each a possible future. The boy lunged, knife flashing. 17's hand darted for his pocket, slow compared to the clean sweep of metal, rust catching on rough fabric. If I step left, he tracks me. If I duck, he presses the advantage. Only path to survival: get inside his reach, take the pain, hope he hesitates before the second strike.
Odds of survival—realistically? One in thirty. Maybe better if he's new to killing, worse if he's done this before. I need a distraction. I need… something.
"Do you…. Want to die mud rat?" The boy breathed out, obviously at his limits of asking questions.
Mud rat…. That was a slur for field workers, this was a boy that definitely had it easier than the average citizens of Vy County.
17's eyes flickered to the ground briefly, 'If I kick, how much sand can my feet stir up?'
The boy cocked his head to the side.
17 suddenly flash a nervous smile, "There's no need to be so hostile sir," 17 managed, voice stretched thin and fake as a frayed shoelace.
'There's I'm winning against this boy, there's just something unnerving about him,'
"You didn't answer my question mud rat," the boy retorted, his voice coming out lazy.
"Well I–" 17 was just about to muster a grand lie, like the liar he was when another voice boomed.
"17, Young Master Xevren," The voice was too familiar for 17 not to know who it was before looking.
That punk A. 17 looked over to find A coming with full grown adults in black along with him, but that wasn't the pressing issue, the pressing issue was this was Xevren, or rather master Xevren, and 17 had absolutely never heard of this person in his life. 17 was aware of one thing though, names with the letter X were only reserved for children Master Jacobi Bethlehem.
A sense of heat washed through 17 despite the cold, he really couldn't believe his ears…. This boy right here was a child of The Master?!
The thought repeated itself again. 'This boy—Xevren—is a child of The Master?' No, not just any child. X-names were reserved for the inner circle, for blood that mattered.
His throat tightened. 17 stared at the blade again, and for a moment, all his careful calculations flickered and failed. He'd been standing at the edge of a cliff without even knowing.
He even in the cold 17 felt sweat beginning to drip
down his back, how he was so close to death…, Oh thank the night sky he'd decided to back down!
"Who is this person, A?" The boy– Xevren asked with a tick of boredom in his voice.
A let out a nervous laugh while scratching the back of his neck, "This right here is the new recruit, 17,"
Xevren's expression changed from a blank one, his eyes narrowing at A. Xevren took a step towards A, and 17 found himself quickly side stepping for the intimidating young man.
"You selected a new recruit before going through me, mud rat?" Xevren boomed, his eyes cold as ice.
17 instantly felt a pressure stomping down on him, it was unshakable and made his stomach twist, he looked towards Xevren and understood quickly realized this pressure was coming from him.
Suddenly one of the cloaked people by A's side stepped up. 17 was really just registering how they were dressed. These people wore black cloaks with gold rims by the side, 17 felt his heart palpitate, these people were well off…. 'What kind of people are you associated to A?'
The cloaked person rose his hand and the nauseating pressure 17 was feeling instantly dissipated and right before his eyes Xevren coughed, a crimson red liquid coming out of his mouth onto the ground.
The cloaked person let down their hood, revealing the face of a man with brown skin, and intense pale white eyes, and white hair with golden hues. The man's skin looked just as clean as Xevren safe for these strange looking markings on his face, and as 17 looked deeper at them he begun to realize the marks were actually moving.
Then a felt a sharp sting on his arm, he whipped his head to the side, finding A who shook his head at him, "Don't look at the marks," A whispered, genuine concern sheening in his eyes.
17 didn't have to be told twice before looking aware, but now he was even more concerned about what he had gotten himself into, this man was obviously something special, perhaps even a Player, the pressure he just felt from Xevren was probably the renowned 'Presence'. Everyone here was too strange, this was a problem.
"What did I tell you about showing off, Jacobi Son?" The man asked, his voice was deep and bold.
Xevren on the other hand had a tight jaw and balled fist, vein apparent on his head and side of his face, he was obviously pissed. He ran the back of his fingers over his lips as he responded tightly, "You dare to put your hands on me Temple slave?!"
"I didn't put my hands on you, Jacobi Son," The man responded with the biggest I don't care look on his face.
"The night will not be long tonight, we must move fast," Another of the cloaked person spoke up, pulling down their hood.
This one was a man as well with the palest of skins, his eyes were pale blue, barely blue and more white actually. He also had these strange ruins on his face and underneath his eyes were these curved lines that quickly unnerved 17 into looking away.
"I have a bad feeling about this Chronos," this voice seems rather feminine, the last cloaked individual dropped their hood, and indeed it was a woman, with blonde hair and crimson red eyes with ruins on her face as well.
17 stepped back, utterly taken aback…. The woman had an eye on her head, and actual closed eye right snack in the middle of her forehead.
"Ick," 17 couldn't help himself, causing the clocked individual to spare him nothing but a glance.
"Never fear sister Evangeline, The True Gaze will protect his flocks," the white haired man– Chronos voiced, his eyes and voice filled with this sickly reverence.
"Praise be to The True Gaze!" Everyone– including A chanted, except for Xevren.
Suddenly, all four of them moved in eerie unison. They pressed their hands flat over their eyes, as if sealing themselves in darkness, their fingers trembling against their skin.
Then, together, they spread their fingers apart in a slow, ritual motion. It was beyond unnerving and projected a strange pressure onto onlookers.
"Let the Eye open where ours are blind." they intoned, their voices layered with feverish awe.
17 wanted to vomit, bile was just right in his throat, he needed to vomit. He couldn't believe what he was seeing or hearing. What had he really gotten himself into?! Was this not obviously the one thing The Master forbade, worship of evil entities?! All his life 17 had never once worshipped any god or heard of one, there were no gods in Vy County, but he had heard of evil cults and even seen first hand at the County square as supposed cultists were executed for the crime of worshipping evil entities!
'Screwed, I'm screwed, I'm definitely screwed," 17 thought in utter panic, his hand soaked in sweat and his stomach twisted up in tight knots.
"The new one," Chronos called out to a shaking 17.
17 nearly collapsed there and then. "Come, take this," Chronos said, pulling out a translucent pill from wherever in his cloak.
Strange pills from obvious cultist?! 17 nearly burst into a laughing cry.
He nearly stumbled when Chronos called him. For a moment, he just stared at the pill, light glinting off its strange, translucent shell. All his careful plans, his numbers, his probabilities—they failed him now. The room felt too bright, the cultists' chanting buzzing in his ears.
He reached out with shaking fingers. "What happens if I take it?" he whispered, not sure who he was asking. Maybe no one, maybe the God himself.
He really couldn't stop himself from asking. Xevren rolled his eyes, but Chronos spoke. "Do not worry young one, you will not be harmed,"
17 didn't even buy it a little bit, but A nudged him with his elbow, "Don't worry, it's just so you can't tell anyone what happens here."
'Key words, can't,' still he was well aware he had little choice. Sighing he tossed the pill into his mouth hoping it wasn't harmful or a brainwashing pill.
After he took the pill, the eyes of the cultish detached for him, "You must retrieve the items fast, tonight we will only need two items, and we will no longer need the gray skinned one, only the white skinned ones," Chronos told Xevren.
Xevren's eyes widened, "What? My dad would get involved himself if he's informed two Unobans are gone! You told me to help you steal gray skinned materials in exchange you'll make me heir–"
"And we will make do of that promise Jacobi Son, the children of the all seeing filth always make due of their promise, we are already making strides as we speak," Chronos said with a slight smirk on his face that cast the skin crawling hue on his face.
"What– what do you mean?" Xevren asked.
"The floodgates have been open, your father's heir Xenon has been crippled,"
17 felt like he was hearing things he should never hear, he had never felt such regret in his life. First cultists now TREACHERY against The Master's heir he has never even seen.
On the other hand this news clearly excited Xevren who burst into a loud laugh, 17 was afraid someone might hear.
"That cocky bastard, I can't wait to see him crawling on the ground like the fangless snake he is. I will surely make do of my side of the promise, you will get two Unobans,"
Chronos gave a single nod, and then stretched out his hand, 17 stepped back, instantly the idea of running away came to mind but he pushed it down, understanding these crazy people would definitely kill him or worse, especially with the strange pill he took.
Suddenly, without even warning a bright white light flashed before his eyes, causing him to look to the ground with his inner arm against his eyes.
17 stumbled after A and Xevren, the cultists fading behind, leaving the dirty work for their fresh recruits. The air inside was colder, the light from emergency lanterns casting everything in sickly yellow. Xevren led the way with that casual, twitchy arrogance only rich kids could pull off, barely glancing back to check if 17 and A kept up.
The halls was a completely narrow space, and before long they came to a sealed room Xevren fiddled open with a stolen key. The reek of blood hit them immediately—something metallic, animal, and old. Inside, the carnage was hard to process. Bodies—monsters, humanlike but not, with too-long limbs, twisted spines, skin like chalk or slate—were heaped in the gloom. The cold in here was heavy. Even Xevren's bravado seemed to fade a little.
"That's… that's them," Xevren muttered. He nudged A with his elbow. "White one's what they want tonight."
"This is what we're stealing…. Monsters?" 17 breathed out, clearly disgusted.
17 stared. The body was wrong, too pale, skin almost glowing, veins that shimmered beneath the surface. His nerves screamed at him not to touch it. A hesitated, but they both knew the deal—failure wasn't an option.
A steeled himself, reached for the Unoban. The moment his skin touched that corpse, a sharp, chemical chill zipped up his wrist. He forced a grip, hauling the thing's limp weight onto his shoulder.
"You good?" 17 whispered.
A's jaw tightened. "Just… heavy. Let's go."
But as they hurried toward the door, 17 noticed something—A's hand, the one gripping the Unoban, was turning dark. Not bruised—black. Spreading from his palm, crawling up beneath his sleeve.
A tried to shake it off, his breath coming shorter. "Shit—shit—get it off me!" he hissed, and the corpse tumbled off his shoulder, thudding to the floor with a wet slap.
17's own hands tingled from touching the thing, but nothing else. He looked at his skin—no blackness, just cold and nerves.
Then, blaring, shrieking—the alarms. Red lights flashed, cutting the darkness to ribbons. Footsteps, shouting, the sharp bark of orders echoed from down the hall.
"Get down!" Xevren barked, diving behind a row of crates. A was clutching his arm, his panic rising with the volume of the alarms. "What the hell is this?" he hissed.
"Don't touch it again," 17 muttered, dragging A by the elbow. He scooped up a stray scalpel just in case and pressed himself against the wall, breath shallow.
The corpse lay in the open, oozing something viscous and shimmering. For a moment, 17 swore it looked back at him—eyes opening in pale sockets, mouth twitching with something almost like speech.
The guards' footsteps thundered closer. Xevren was already gone, a blur in the shadows—leaving them behind.
A's arm looked worse by the second, the blackness threading up to his elbow now. "We need to go!" A gasped, voice raw.
17's mind raced—if he ran now, left A, maybe he could make it out. But he couldn't leave him, not like this…. The bastard would definitely confess and implicate him either way.
Suddenly, a voice slithered through the ringing in his ears: "Munaleo #^+# Holucus +%#^ Abracrias #^**+ god…"
The darkness near the back of the storage room shifted—not moving, exactly, but inviting. The sense of being watched grew, settling in the pit of 17's stomach.
He grabbed A's good arm, dragging him toward the dark. "We can't go back. This way—" he whispered, praying he was making the right call.
A didn't argue. His eyes, wide with pain, locked on 17's face as they slipped behind the tanks, alarms still screaming, guards pouring into the far end of the hall.
As the alarms screamed and A gasped beside him, 17 pressed further into the darkness, dragging the other boy toward the cold, humming dark at the back of the morgue. He couldn't breathe—the air felt thick, oily. That's when the words started.
"Munaleo #^+# Holucus +%#^ Abracrias #^**+ god…"
They weren't words, not really, more like a code being pressed into his brain, making his teeth ache and his vision blur. They kept cycling, louder, faster, like a mantra. He couldn't have repeated them if he tried—some syllables slipped away the moment he heard them, others resounded like thunder.
The phrases wove together, the inhuman language looping around the invitation, both promises and threats. 17's knees buckled. He staggered forward, unable to help himself. The world around him flickered, the fluorescent lights snapping and hissing overhead. His skin felt too tight for his body.
A's hand slipped from his grip, the boy collapsing to the ground, half-conscious, veins crawling with black.
Still, the chant pressed on, right inside his skull:
"Munaleo #^+# Holucus +%#^ Abracrias #^**+ god…"
He felt his lips move in time, almost mouthing the forbidden syllables—he didn't even know what he was saying.
His vision felt blurry but somehow could never see better. He was in a room, a pure white room with several runes big and small inscribed on the wall. The runes were moving, just like the one on those cultists' faces.
"Munaleo #^+# Holucus +%#^ Abracrias #^**+ god…"
He found his mouth moving saying those words his mind screamed at him were taboo!
As his eyes glazed over the room, he finally looked at the center, there laid a tank, a ginormous one and in it was a person, he couldn't quite see the person clearly.
A strange bravity overcame him as he walked towards the tank, devoid of fear, the words, "Munaleo #^+# Holucus +%#^ Abracrias #^**+ god…" slipping from his lips.
In the tank floated a boy, about his age, the boy had blonde hair as well, in fact the boy…. Looked like him!
The boy in the tank opened his eyes in a flash, his eyes pale in color, "Come, Nahluxith, the Sleeper at the Drowned Throne,"
The name banged at his head, a searing pain overcame him, his visor briefly descended on his hand and he saw his skin beginning to turn an ashy black and crawl like worms.
"Stop!" 17 yelled to no avail.
Pain split his mind in two. He saw his own hand, veins dark and writhing like a nest of worms.
And then—nothing.
He fell, or maybe he drowned, into a cold, black water