Serial
9: Exit destiny
October
23rd, 32 S.D. 00:02 Palostrol, Upper Vestel
“No...” Losha said, her voice tight and choked. She reached out as if her hand could touch her dear mentor, but she sank to her knees an instant later. “No...” she moaned, closing her eyes. The last vestiges of Master Eltin’s seras frequency disappeared completely along with any traces of his soul. His hand no longer gripped King; it merely fell to the ground as an idle limb. King, with his own hand still held out, looked at Losha and then down at Eltin’s corpse.
“Why...” Losha began, her palms cupping her face, her body jerking as her breathing heaved. “Why did you do this?” she asked as her words were warped by tears.
“Ah, yes,” King said drawing his hand back. “Unlike your feisty friend over there,” King said, obviously in reference to Denze. “You have no idea who I am, why I’m here, or what my true purpose is. However, I am not fond of repeating myself, Losha.”
Her fingers parted ways just enough for her to see King in full through her right eye.
“How do you know my name?” she asked, terrified by such a revelation.
“Come now, you of all people I should know, for you will assume the responsibility of serialization as it spreads across the world.”
“I-I do not understand,” Losha cried softly.
“Worry not child; I’ll explain everything in just a moment.” He held up his left hand with the index finger raised and pointed skywards. Briefly, the red light of his seras flickered, then a sudden flash occurred followed by a loud snap that cracked through the air. The burst blinded Losha as she fell forward, collapsing on her hands.
“Ugh...” she winced, fiercely clenching her eyes, but her attempts were for naught. Something had been in that light, something that moved and burrowed through her mind. It were as if a great pressure were worming its way past the eye sockets and entangling itself rapidly around her head. She clamped and wrapped her forearms close to her temples, but even this did little to ease the sense of invasion happening in her brain.
Though it was a painless experience, all the same it was of immense unease and discomfort. As she grimaced with drawn, taught features, a collage of images, words, and ideas bombarded Losha at once, striking her very thoughts. At first it came as nothing more than a wild rush of jumbled fragments, yet they soon gave rise to a single, uniform understanding. She gasped, opening her eyes wide, as if frightened by what had been revealed.
“This is a most exquisite series,” King mused. “The human body is designed to process visual information through the optic nerves. While these transmit information about light, color, and motion, it’s possible to transmit more than that, with the proper knowledge.” King returned his left hand to his side. Losha looked up at him, wiping away some drool that had spilled unawares from her mouth.
“A carefully encoded flash of light might carry complex data, an idea that the brain can then interpret and recognize on its own. With that said, you should now be up to speed on the history surrounding myself and your former master.”
Losha tried to focus on King’s image, but she could only see him through a daze. She swooned left and right for a bit.
“Unfortunately, one cannot force too much information upon another too quickly. There are still... side effects. Nevertheless, it truly is a most convenient series.”
Losha then attempted to stand up, but only managed to raise herself to one knee.
“You... created serialization?” she asked, trying to comprehend the wealth of new things floating about her mind. King but smiled, perhaps trusting in her unexpectedly obtained knowledge to convince her.
“How can I trust that? What you showed me?” Losha questioned. For all she knew, what he’d just implanted in her could have been entirely false, an attempt to manipulate her.
“It does not matter whether you believe it or not. Your role depends only on what you choose to do with serialization. I have no desire to skew your views of the past. The things of importance are your views of the future.”
Losha finally pulled herself up, though she teetered and quaked temporarily.
“The only part of the past that I fully trust is that you just murdered someone who was very precious to me and hundreds more. Your reasons cannot be explained regardless of what you tell me, truth or lie,” she declared, yet with her words cracking at some points. “And what of this role you speak of? Whatever scheme you have, I will surely not abide it.”
King kept smiling, but he merely shook his head at her apparent naivety.
“Perhaps I should further your enlightenment. I have no scheme, no greater goal, no all encompassing plan. I merely wish to see what will become of the world once it gains the power of serialization.”
Losha took a step back, confounded by his statements.
“But... you,” she began confusedly. “You despise the very idea. You... you killed him for it!” she cried out, her emphasis suffocating on the anger in her throat.
King held out both arms, palms spread open, as if accepting all accusation.
“Indeed, I have,” he said smoothly.
“Then why would you purposely-”
“Spread the art?” King interjected. Losha simply looked at him, her breath held ever so still. She doubted every syllable he uttered. She well suspected this contradiction between action and motive as something meant to deceive her, to force her upon the wrong choice, whatever that was.
“I honestly believe our world will suffer for the worst with serialization unleashed upon the lands. Though the tool itself is neutral, the hearts of the people of the Continent are not. Sooner or later, serialization will be used for grave and grievous ends. However, some would believe otherwise.” His eyes briefly flitted to the old master but promptly returned to Losha.
“Who is right? Who stands on the correct side of the stream of time? Though I am gifted enough to call myself the forefather of all serialists, I am not a prophet. The future remains inscrutable to my vision.” He began to walk over to Losha. “It is one thing to believe; it is something else to know. Therefore I have decided to find an answer to the question if my ways of secrecy are wrong. I shall allow the world the art of serialization.”
“Then why did Master Eltin have to die?” she hissed, struggling against yet more venom and sorrow. “Did you slay him out of spite, vengeance for a grudge?”
King stopped just three scant meters in front of her.
“Sambur Eltin died by my hands because he refused to acknowledge my authority over all serialists. He rejected what is rightfully mine to decide: who will serialize. And this is where we come to you, Losha. I am granting you the right that Sambur was never given. In you, I invest this permission, to teach whomever you deem fit serialization.”
“Me? What do you see in me that was not in my master?”
“Many things, child. Many things. For one, you know now the vast amounts of seras I control, and I am by no means afraid to use it. Sambur never did respect my power, to his own fault. That is all to say, you know what I’m capable of, at the least. You won’t misjudge yourself should our souls ever want to clash. Your decisions will keep my strength in mind.”
She frowned at his language.
“You expect me to behave lest I face your might, is that what you intend to say?”
King shook his head negatively.
“Far from it. I only mean that if I say something, my speech is not idle talk.” King raised his hand and pointed directly at her. “You now have the right to teach all serialization, but this comes with a warning, a condition. Should the Continent ever reach a dire state due to serialization, I will spare no effort to wipe the art clean off the face of this world. Through me it was born. Through me it will die. It is only because of this stipulation alone that I would risk such an experiment that I am all but too opposed to.”
Losha, yet unconvinced of King’s true aims, pressed on with pointed questions.
“If that is all you wish for, why not be the one to teach the world? You have had decades more experience than I; you have been serializing for several of my own lifetimes. You are more intimate with its depths than anyone else. How am I so apt as to fill this role?”
“My mind is not open to the idea of giving the masses such an art as ours; I am far too biased against it. I would doom the effort long before it ever begins. Just as well, Sambur could never have taken such a place, for his unwavering faith in inherent goodness left him blind to those who one day might abuse serialization This is a task for someone who is not certain of the outcome. The coming process requires a fresh start, a new soul to the equation.”
Losha looked at King as if wanting to say something, but her lips trembled as she shivered and looked away.
“You question your abilities, yet in all of Palostrol, you were second to only your mentor, Master Losha.”
She snapped her head up at his words, glaring fiercely, but all the while appearing on the verge of sobbing.
“And what if I refuse? What if I just throw it all away and forget everything I have learned?”
“Then you will be the same as me; you will have denied the world serialization. You find yourself unwilling or unable to instruct others how to serialize. The Continent is then unready for the wonders and horrors of the art. Both you and the world remain unprepared for its spread. You see it then, don’t you? As I said, what only matters is what course you will try to guide serialization along. Withhold it. Teach the world to prosper with it. Teach the world to misuse it, and then I simultaneously destroy it. There are only three possible outcomes, and I am willing to accept them all. I can stand to be proven wrong about serialization just as much as a fear I will be right.”
“Then if that is all you came here to do, to kill loved one and have me heed this outrageous drivel, leave us at once,” she commanded. Losha swept out her arm quickly to the side, gesturing as if she meant to wipe away King and his lot from her sight. Yet these ten intruders budged not even a centimeter from their positions.
“Leave us be, Viska,” she said, trying to sound more forceful, yet somehow her voice rang out as pleading.
“We were just on our way out. We will, however, be taking the remainder of Sambur’s students with us.”
“What?” Losha blurted out. “You cannot do so!”
King turned around, walking back to Eltin’s remains.
“And yet I will,” he said casually as he plucked his servai with ease. “I will assume stewardship over them, as it is only proper, having dispensed of their sole benefactor.”
“No!” she protested. “They must stay here with me. I can-”
“You can do nothing for them,” he interjected, cutting her sentence off. “They will learn the ways of a serialist, and like myself and my comrades, they shall safeguard the world from any of serialization’s perils. They were never meant to serialize at all; this is a much better alternative than ending their lives tonight. You, however, will gain new students and followers, should you pursue the role before yourself.” King turned his head to the side, peering off into the darkness.
“Those two boys over there are friends of yours, yes?”
“As is everyone in Palostrol, save your kind,” she answered testily.
“Put yourself at ease then. They shall stay with you. Consider them your first trainees, if you will.”
“And what makes you so certain that I will let you go?” She stamped forward but one step. “Do you think I will allow you to walk away with all of my family and kill my master? What happens to that plan of yours if I decide to strike you down here and now?” Though her fists trembled, they balled up tightly, with a certain violence even. King smiled, his face turned in profile to her view before moving all the way around to see her.
“Losha, it isn’t a matter of what you would do to me. It’s a matter of what you could do to me.”
Suddenly, a red glow enveloped her completely. Without even so much as raising a hand, King had cast another advanced series upon her. All at once, a great fatigue overran her strength. Her muscles wavered as the clarity of her mind dimmed. She stumbled back two steps and fell to one knee. It felt like she could barely endure another waking moment; another instant onward and she would be liable to pass out from exhaustion. She tried to focus on King, but her head was top-heavy and listed to and fro. The light of King’s seras disappeared after a time, but still she was afflicted by this tiresome spell.
“You could scarcely raise a blade up to me, child, much less your own head.” King said. He motioned swiftly to his nine associates and they each blitzed away into the night, unseen.
“May-maybe not... not now. Maybe I cannot do anything now,” Losha said, slumping over on all fours as her vitality faded. Her head but hung down. “But I could... I could always bide my time... get stronger. Then I could kill you. Is... is that part of your plan too? Did you ever think I would simply use this ‘right’ of serialization you speak of just to get back at you? Sa?!”
The smile on king’s face never disappeared, however.
“Fascinating,” he simply said. “I would find such an outcome highly interesting. It would mean though that the Continent isn’t ready for serialization, if all you did with it is plot revenge. It still follows the three categories I mentioned, that serialization would be abused for malevolent purposes. Yet, how very unconventional it does so. I would not expect you of all people to mistreat the art for such a purpose. Perhaps some of your later, more wayward students, but I find you rather incapable of such actions.”
With this, he turned away one final time, strolling past Eltin, exiting the courtyard, and seemingly vanishing into the darkened evening. Losha let out a long and pained wail, a cry that echoed across the mountainside. Eventually, however, it regressed into nothing more than hateful sobs.
“I will kill you! I will kill you!” she vowed. “Nabel Viska! If it be the last thing I do on this earth, I will kill you!” She clutched at the ground, yet only found the smoothness of the pavement beneath her. At her limits, she barely managed to hold herself up on her hands and knees.
“Nabel Viska!” she screamed, but now she neither heard nor sensed anyone around her. She collapsed on the courtyard, with no more remaining physical energy, save enough to howl as she did. The circle that pierced the clouds shrunk until it was altogether gone. What little shelter the courtyard had had from the rain evaporated as this spot instantly came under the storm’s deluge. What’s more, the moon offered no more of its light upon Palostrol. All was then as black as oblivion. Her reserves fast depleting, Losha but lied there, alone, blind, crying to a lifeless night until at last she lost consciousness.
Siersus had tried to stop Losha, but her actions were far too unpredictable for him to properly read. By the time she’d confronted the group’s leader, he was left beside himself, literally. She’d left him on his own. Upon his better judgment, he’d decided to let himself remain concealed for the time being. Obviously it was not a brave move, but it wasn’t brash either. He needed to hang back in case things got ugly. If Losha got herself in a pinch, he’d be in a position to pull her through,at least he hoped for so much. In actuality, he still had no clue exactly how hidden he was. The strange group easily could have sensed him by any number of means, he assumed.
He watched only to great horror as Master Eltin was killed. The moment wretched him with shock and terror. He nearly vomited and had to swing around the cafeteria to block the sight of it all. It took him a full minute to swallow down what had tried to come up. He wiped his glasses but once quickly, breathing shallowly, before quickly trotting around the corner yet again. Siersus could not disarm himself of the idea that Losha were in some imminent danger. He wanted to go with her, but still debated whether that was the most tactical approach for their situation.
In the end, he decided to see what was going on between Losha and the mysterious group’s leader. He didn’t quite follow what the specifics were, and it was very puzzling to hear Losha speak as if she too were in the know about the group’s goals. Even so, he understood the gist of it all, at least he thought so. It was all so new and sudden though, thus the baffling sensation that some key detail escaped him persisted the entire while.
He kept on listening, ever watchful that nothing befell Losha. However, upon hearing King’s plans further expounded, a deep terror soon gripped Siersus. What did that man intend to do with the students of Palostrol? Had he heard those words correctly? He struggled to make sense of it all; it was something to the effect of being taught to keep serialization from the world, or rather eliminating the art should Losha fail to teach it for peaceable means only. Whatever that entailed, Siersus wanted nothing to do with it. King had already killed Master Eltin as part of his purge, supposedly; what else would he do if he deemed complete countries or populations unworthy?
The idea of studying under such a man, even if he were the creator of serialization, filled Siersus with desperate and panicked dread. At once, his mind raced; his thoughts turned to flight. At all costs, he had to escape this place. How he wished he were at the Great Mountain Temple then, or even down below in Oskarya. He worried for Losha’s sake, fearing he would somehow abandon her there, yet King seemed to have no interest in harming her. Additionally, she was going to be left behind, per his plot. Yet for him to flee alone was something neither his conscious nor his will could do. At the least, he had to save one fellow student.
Leaving Losha to King, Siersus turned around and began to walk away. As soon as he did so, however, he collided with an object, another person. While he bounced back in shock, a hand shot out and smothered his mouth.
“Sssshh....” whispered a man suddenly in front of him, pressing the index of his other hand closely to his lips. He too was cloaked, but his garb was more like a long and flowing coat that loosely draped over his body. The hood fell over most of his face, exposing just his mouth.
“I am not your enemy,” he said quietly. “I am opposed to what Nabel - that man - does. Tonight, he will steal away all of your friends. They will be indoctrinated in his bleak philosophies and one day may be forced to bring the world to ruin if he decides to strip the Continent of serialization. I can’t save them all, but at least I can save you. Follow me, and we can leave undetected.”
Siersus gripped the man’s hand, pulling it away from his mouth.
“Wait!” he said, hushed yet urgent. “Surely we can bring along more.”
The hooded man shook his head.
“Everyone else here likely passed out when Nabel arrived. The seratic diffusion was immense after all.”
“Then I’ll carry one and you will as well.”
“That’s...” The man frowned and said something in Asten, a curse Siersus guessed. “I can barely keep both of our frequencies blocked; keeping four hidden is...”
Siersus blinked in amazement. He knew seras frequencies could grow fainter or stronger, but he had no idea they could outright be concealed. Furthermore, someone other than himself could suppress the frequency. Had he and Losha been able to remain out of sight this whole time thanks to this serialist? The scholar within him, however, gave way to the imperiled student and the present dangers around him, so he discontinued any such musing.
The man grumbled and scowled, yet he relented nevertheless and quickly so.
“We take the first two we find, and then we leave.”
“Yes, alri-”
The man grabbed Siersus by the arm, and in an instant they were gone and whisked away.
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