Accidental Reaver

Chapter 214 - 213: Cut Strings

Music to Ophelia's ears—the bursting of traitorous flesh, the furious screeching of the lesser Envoys. Faint, hurried breathing from a man even she began to grow wary of.

Ophelia transmitted sound waves directly into Luke's brain, as he appeared to be suffering a partial or even whole seal to his senses. Whatever he did to himself, it extracted a nasty pact, elemental regeneration—an aspect even the Envoys envied—operated at a rock bottom pace. A subsonic sound wave scanned the internal damage. She ripped away her hand, as if touching a spiritual hot iron.

This boy's muscular structure and internals have been recently rebuilt from the ground up. Did he undergo a metamorphosis? The affected nervous system and synapses suggest at least one attribute limit. How did he do it? This amount of any sort is something less than twenty in this city have reached.

Labored breathing danced underneath as Envoys struggled to regain balance. Physically reminded of the enemies abound, Ophelia discarded any wonder. She knew this Defier harbored secrets, too many threads of fate and feats of growth weaved into him. To believe he was a mere genius would be insulting to anyone that spent a significant amount of time in power. She'd seen genius. Could understand them quite well, being one herself.

Liquid sound dripped, causing a ripple in the air. Every inch of space within her Greater Domain transmuted into a soundscape under her complete control. Each Envoy seemed weakened, the Satyr especially set aside a significant portion of its Divinity and Ichor to contain a conceptual power ravenously ramming against its constraints. She formed a tsunami of vibrating sound behind her. Balance ruining and spirit shattering ballads played. Lenardis amplified the Sonic Bard's efforts.

She recognized the tier 3 Sacrament members with a sneer. Each a well known hunter, members of the first or second ranked Tower Team, respectively. "Larnisa, and Muldred, I must thank you for playing into my hand. Your accomplices so easily fell into a similar circumstance. To take the bait on the eastern and the western ends, quite the appetite you traitors have."

Struggling against the shifting tidal sounds, the cultists re-summoned their Domains. The Satyr's aura began to rise dangerously. The City Lord sensed the creatures around her struggling to speak, their vocal cords vibrating, yet no words left their orifices.

She hadn't allowed them the privilege to burden the sound with their words. Such a thing was hers to command alone. None here possessed the strength to resist her means, save the Satyr. Thankfully, the Defier's previous damage weakened it enough to cripple it. Transparent sound slammed into all those who opposed Ophelia, dragging them into the soundscape plane, out of the typical reality.

To come out, without other specific means, they would have to kill her. She stepped once, echoes undulated, chains struck into each Envoy. Bits of another Concept halted the creature's usual signature Ichor and vitality. A sonic boom blasted from the tip of her index finger, shattering apart the resisting Domains and forestalling the Divinity the Satyr burned.

"Such desperate measures," Ophelia took another composed step, elemental sound spikes pinned into the Black Satyr and tier 3 Sacrament members. "Futile, and woefully ignorant of your circumstance. Perhaps survival instinct overrides the instinct to kneel before me."

Ichor bubbled upon the surface of the Sacrament member's skin, white aura weakly resisted against the sound's damnation. Turning part of her body into flowing sound, Ophelia commanded hundreds of echoes to bounce, then bore into each of the traitors' bodies. They rapidly inflated, becoming a wet spot of blood, viscera, bone, and organ matter. Her unerring green eyes rescanned the soundscape she created.

Echoes and sounds tormented the Envoys. In an assured rhythm, her abilities wore them down and unwound their existence. Internally, Ophelia wished she possessed the know-how to seal away the traitor's means of Domain destruction to induce spiritual suicide. As she lacked the means, the woman wiped them out instead, the next best way to handle such fallen. When she enacted a similar play with Aruna Blackmoon, the Envoys were much more vibrant, although that stage captured only one tier 3 Sacrament betrayer and seven Envoys. The second piece, Luke Wallace, proved much better bait.

Pieces of her Greater Domain liquidated and enveloped her hand, enchanted by the Harmony Concept. Gravity pressed upon the Black Satyr, bending the plane around it. She reached into its body, ignoring the terror in its eyes and the attempts to communicate. Harshly stabbing her hand into the High Envoy, Ophelia grasped onto the mobile heart within. Echoes harmoniously unraveled it, traveled to its stationary heart, and erased it from existence. Liquid sound ate away at the Satyr bit by bit, returning the once nigh-immortal creature to dust.

Washed away by the flowing sound, a whisper carried. I see what the Throned fear now, the wolves hidden among the sheep.

Crushing sound ate away at the helpless Envoys. The lesser blessed were devoid of the real means to fight back against the City Lord's methods. The Satyr lacked real control over Divinity. Its tier fell short against hers by more than one entire stage. Without at least a Concept to fight back, she likened it to an ant trying to topple a boulder. Ophelia was content to wait and see them all unravel, both because it suited her taste and pleased her caution. She stayed near the barely conscious Defier and its companion.

A quaint table and chair set appeared beside her, and Ophelia took a seat. She offered Luke a drink, but the Defier lacked the clarity to properly respond. Still, she knew the man could retain information, should she transmit it directly to him. Regular methods wouldn't work; he lost the ability to hear temporarily. Since the soundscape offered the best means of privacy she could conjure, Ophelia kept it going. The Greater Domain unwound the remaining Envoys one by one. The City Lord offhandedly wondered how the Silver Black Tower would calculate the contribution.

Sound ripples softly expanded from Lenardis. The musically inclined artifact settled on the table's surface. Ophelia allowed herself a sip of the tea and straightened her back against the uncomfortable chair. Well aware of the terrible state the Defier put his body in, Ophelia allowed him to stand. Too much extra strain would possibly place Luke into an inconvenient recovery coma. She spoke normally, but manipulated the sound to tunnel into the man, forcing him to understand.

"In my spare time, Ninth Defier, I took the liberty to gather any scrap of information known about you. Exalted Heart, a confirmed artifact," she eyed Xera, and blinked. "Linked companion, against the norm for being a 'spell sword'. Expert in Ice Elementalization, and confirmed understanding of a movement technique, likely the one Musai himself favors." She set down the tea, no longer in the mood for it.

"The Defiers have done well to manage to hide parts about you—even from me. In due time, like ceaseless sound, that will be mine to manage and hear."

Xera spoke in Luke's stead, as best she could. Essence Feedback had overloaded her as well, in a different manner. "Sound Lady, can't you leave master alone? He needs treatment and help, not a lecture."

"There is no better time. Your master's life is safer near me than anywhere else on this battlefield. Piercing my soundscape is something only Yuriel could do with ease, and the High Defier has that Apostle otherwise indisposed."

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She disdainfully raised a hand near Xera's crystal. "Allow me to apply a fix to our odd situation."

Placing an index finger on Luke's forehead, Ophelia located the Sound Shard she implanted inside the Defier days earlier. Using it as a manipulation point, she bandaided the auditory channels and vocal chords. She could do nothing about vision, feel, or other senses. Her mastery was in sound, not sight.

"There, you should be functional enough for the purposes of communication." She let a dignified laugh. "Forgive my inability to return your sight, Ninth Defier. My expertise is in sound and vibration, not ocular competence." She tapped lightly on the table, harmonious echoes turned in sloshing liquid. Lenardis shifted closer to its master.

To get used to the suddenly restored voice box, Luke coughed a number of times. "He—Hac—." He weakly struck part of his chin. Something set right, and that seemed to do the trick. "I expected as much. There's a battle still ongoing. Should we be chatting idly like this, Ophelia?"

Ophelia allowed the innate disrespect to pass this time. The boy played his piece with such mastery she almost saw him as a future equal. Matters of decorum could be instilled at another date. Stilling her fingers, the City Lord sighed. "You've become too valuable to risk so thoughtlessly. I will wait here until Jordis arrives. Others may suffer a horrible fate in the meanwhile, that is their position on the board."

After a dark chuckle, Luke opened up his icy eyes, cloudy from the blindness. Yet, a sharpness shone through what should be a confused haze. "Is anyone in this city not a piece to you?"

"With the stakes at hand, any tool available will be used. Only the most deplorable actions are beyond me."

"I nearly died, you know."

"A sacrifice suited to your station. Lure to men and monsters alike, and you outlasted them all. Bravo, youngest Defier." Unbecoming of her, an errant sound wave turned the table—tea set and all—to dust. Lenardis sang sad, confused cords, holstering itself for Ophelia. The Defier's own tome also reeled back, hiding away from the noise. Discarding the chair, the City Lord offered an apology. "A terrible habit of mine, the furniture and song always suffer when I seethe over a misplay."

Raising an eyebrow, Luke said, "A misplay? Just seconds ago, you said things went as you planned. Even without my knowing. Although I had a hunch you publicly assigned Aruna and I that way for a reason."

"Indeed, I knew isolating the two of you would be too tempting for the Sacrament. One of their known decrees is their unresolved hatred toward the Defiers. Those who carry on the original will of the Founding Four. In that, all according to plan."

The City Lord stood fully, centering herself about five feet away from Luke. Respectable enough while remaining close to pick apart every perceivable detail about this man. Sound harmlessly washed over the Defier and his companion, rejuvenating them, other than the obvious spiritual and mental fatigue. "Detestable, the root of god creature influence drank deep. A hundred slain and returned to silence by my hand today. Bathan came within inches of his life." She laughed mirthlessly. "I dare say that roughly a fifth of the Dark Triad died. Members from the nobles all the way to a common baker. A restructuring will come soon. Be prepared."

"Bathan? That does sound familiar…do you think there's more of the Sacrament skulking about? Why are you telling me all this?" Luke's muscles spasmed all over. He remained upright in spite of the outward bodily protest. Ophelia noted his black bird….a crow, was it? It leaned into the crook of the man's neck and collapsed from exhaustion. A hint of sympathy welled up, but the leader in her let no such weakness color her actions.

"Because there will be little better opportunity for us to speak in the coming days. Bathan was the tora beside me at the auction. I hope you haven't forgotten the gold I all but begged you to take?" Anticipating Luke about to justify things, Ophelia denied the chance. "Twist it as you wish. Rune is a man indebted to me, and now so should you be. Both in material and immaterial."

She took joy in the perspiration rising on the Defier's skin, and the well-hidden gulp running down his throat. Xera independently rose out of her sheath, blade tip pointed to the tundra. "Are you threatening master?"

"Nothing of the sort, feisty child."

"I'm not a child, I'm a sword-wand, and don't you forget it."

"Dully noted, I do hope your edge is sharper than your tongue. The 'master' you speak of is going to be a busy man." Setting her viperous green eyes on Luke, Ophelia said, "Since you lack the faculties for the political dance, I will tell it plainly. When it is discovered you understand a Concept already, while at the second tier, Defier, others may come to possess you. Beyond Sylen and its ongoings. No doubt, my niece will send an invitation none too soon. The Duchess, need I remind?"

A familiar cadence rapidly approached. Jordis, her loyal left hand, and a city guard commander. Slave to the circumstance, Ophelia struck while the iron was hot. "Full of surprises, aren't you? We met again on the lake, and now here. Externally, you are nearly the same. Internally, no longer." Her eyes narrowed to slits, a persuasive lilt entered the following words, "Come clean. An ascension. A Stigmata, attributes beyond the norm for tier 3, while a tier lower." She pressed the back of a hand against her forehead. "All of it is silence compared to the noise of this Concept you strewn about in the now defunct Envoys. Who taught you a Greater Concept?"

Flashing gold burst from the Stigmata on the Defier's upper trapezius area. It shredded the complex aura and Sonic Bard persuasion ballads to pieces. The City Lord bit her inner lip. When she saw the man about to fall face first into the murky bottom below, she flicked a finger, sound bubbles materialized to keep Luke upright. A respectful tap echoed within the auditory undertones in her soundscape symphony.

"Demands of the world outside call, Defier. But your part is done. Even a piece with tremendous potential is useless if it shatters."

The Defier weakly breathed. Had Ophelia not understood the depths this man managed to develop, she might allow herself a hint of worry. As an elemental human herself, she knew exactly how difficult it was to kill one. Rather than mercy for the wounded, she crept in, coming close to his ear. "Which class trial did you complete? The Duchy has three, to my knowledge, all claimed by others still alive. You have no background, Luke Wallace, yet you clearly enjoy an Inheritance."

"Stop asking things I won't answer."

"What confidence you possess. Rest well, let alone myself, many will demand your attention again when this all reaches its determined fate."

"Was it enough?"

"It was always a matter of how best to reduce the Tribute rather than if it was impossible to survive tidal demands. Contributions will come from the Black Silver Tower in due time. Now, rest."

Luke's eyes were open, body forced up straight by solid manipulated sound, but no one was home. Whatever drove his consciousness retreated within itself. Sooty nearly fell off as well until Whispering Tome took it upon itself to transport the bird. Xera slotted back into her sheath.

"You confuse me, sound lady. If you could handle all these guys, why didn't you help master earlier?"

"Measures were made to occupy my time, sword-wand," Ophelia said, remembering the artifact's preference. "This output depletes my mana and mental bandwidth unsustainably, and the Envoys were hollowed by whatever Concept he has grasped. I expected fiercer resistance."

Since the object of her interest passed out on his feet, Ophelia shattered the plane. The tundra returned, although the sun seemed to have turned into a deep crimson. A circle of about one hundred feet cut out a sanitary cleansed territory, surrounded on all sides by the corpses of man and monster, all the way out until the mountain ridge boundaries.

Jordis trotted over in her gleaming white plate, blond hair parted to the sides. She kneeled and fisted the ground. "Responding to the signal, my Lady." She tilted her head at the Defier. "Did I interrupt too early?"

"Take the Ninth to a medical ward within Sylen. As Annika requisitioned the best healer kept out of the Central Front, any usual tent will do. Guard him until he awakes."

Nodding once, Jordis got up and hefted Luke over a shoulder. She turned away, heading to the north wall, its barrier suffered vicious cracks. Many defenders on the battlements were dead, victims of temporary breaches caused by the fallout from higher tier attacks.

Ophelia lamented two things. First, the sheer casualties, even if expected. By the Tide's end at this rate, they would lose roughly two-thirds of all hunters. Other cities may meddle at such critical weakness, and the underworld powers absolutely would. Establishing true control over the city became an incredibly arduous task. The noble factions limited casualties on their end, therefore increasing deaths for the common hunters and guards.

Second, came her handling of that man. She failed to chain him to this Duchy. What could be accomplished with an evolved human that integrated a Concept? This was the true crux to her earlier outburst.

Gathering sound for the harmonic steps, Ophelia rhythmically tapped her wand upon the air, heading to the last battlefield, the central front. Except for stragglers, be they beast or enlightened, the east and west concluded. A Diplomat sent back a tribute consisting of ascended corpses, mountains of blood, and even recovered Envoy cadavers through a holy etched formation, with the banner as its center.

"The curtain closes, gluttonous beasts. I will compose the waning tune until its last pitch."

In her direct path, an Avian Diplomat ripped out the entrails of a recently defeated tier 3 hunter. The elf woman breathed softly. Ophelia considered allowing the affront to reach its ending without her interference, to enjoy the dreadful, emotionally charged vibration of struggle. Her position as City Lord won over her preferences formed when she was the Sonic Slaughter years prior. A sonic boom rippled out of her wand, coiling with musical notes from Lenardis. It pummeled the bird humanoid, cutting its victory screech short. Another note on the page, she, a composer of the pieces under Sylen, had her part to play too.