The Stained Tower

With a hand from the military, a scheme is spun and scheduled to be executed in three days’ time. Those few days of preparations dart by—the assault on the Mithridates Putrid Domain is imminent.

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There was a time, long ago, when I found a soggy book in a puddle. Its pages were penned with passion, love, exceptional skill, and irrevocably so, weak ink. [1] The latter was its ruin; it was an unreadable mess, excluding the very last line written in its own ink. That line, that ink, was clearly added by the author after the damage had been done and read something like, “Precedent is as simple to set as a footprint is in clay, but once tempered, it’s as inflexible as a slab of steel.” 

In the Mistress’s Chamber, a root stretches and pulls me in—a voice echoes from behind. “Encouragement: This one believes in the Mistress’s abilities and trusts the Kiln Mithridates will suit the Mistress’s palate.”

Earl’s voice becomes a giggle and then fades. I spin down and down, flushed away into roots of violets, reds, blacks, and whites. Then, whisked southward, I plunge beneath even the red Terrace passing into the Tower’s vent. 

‘Today is not a day of silliness but a day of precedent, and the quill shall be dipped in indelible ink and the first line penned to endure forever.’ [2]

The vent changes from glass to stone as I exit the Tower’s sphere of authority. Yet, I continue forward, supported by a skittering vortex of copepods. A fortnight has passed since the expedition, and nearly every evening since then, I spent crafting this throng of copepods. I am uncertain of their exact numbers, but I know I have around fifteen hundred sable, five hundred hoary, two hundred vermillion, and a hundred heliotrope. If nothing else, it has been a tremendous boon for my Orenda stat. That Orenda increase combined with strategic Elixir use, and the enhanced mana regeneration in my Domain, permitted me to craft even more copepods.

And so, underneath Central Park, an army marches while the crowds above are distracted. Half an hour later, the tunnel grows cramped before then opening back up. When we come upon a thick plume of smoke, I halt our advance. 

Poking my head from the pipe, I find that I have reached our destination, the chamber pot tunnels. The ground here sizzles, the air is dense with soot, and the burnt corpses of insects cling to the ceiling. It’s as if I am inside a furnace that was plagued by insects.

With a hop, I float from the pipe and glide down to the tunnel floor. ‘Mithridates, there is naught between us any longer. Thy flank is exposed.’

I command the copepods to remain in the pipe, excluding a contingent of sable. From the surface above, I hear a whistle as a deluge of water is dumped through a hole, quenching any embers that still linger. 

Raising my hand, I begin directing the dense copepods, guiding them into merging together. Soon I have blended enough together to create three sumpter copepods, each around the size of a small donkey.

The water slows to a trickle, and a second later, a silver ladder slides down from the surface. It shakes as three people climb down wearing ‘oxygen tanks,’ facemask, and the attire of ‘firefighters.’ One firefighter has the image of a bunny stuck to their facemask, the second an owl over their heart, and the last carries a stone pickaxe.

Rabbit and Lorcan stare at me wordlessly while Owl struts forward and gets to work immediately. Dropping to his knees, he reaches into a bag at his side and removes two halves of a circular metal cage. “Miss Nightingale, they’ll be igniting the algae carpet beneath 5th Avenue promptly,” Owl says in a muffled voice. “Are you really fine with the fires consuming all the oxygen in the tunnels? You aren’t going to pass out?”

I perform the thumbs-up gesture.

He glances at me and then shrugs. Taking each half of the cage, he places them on either side of my kiln. Owl sighs. “I stayed up all night trying to put the beauty of this jewel into words, but I simply couldn’t.”

While he dotes on my kiln, I use all my willpower to stop both my hands and cattail from strangling him. Every instinct in my Kiln mind is screaming at me to attack the threat that is mere inches from the kiln’s shell. I glance up to find Lorcan and Rabbit still merely standing in place. ‘Cease thy gawking!’ covering my shoulder, I return to glaring at Owl. 

Noticing my hands covering my shoulders and my fiery violet eyes, Owl looks away and attempts to save himself by distracting me. “I must say your idea of utilizing the algae as a sponge to absorb accelerants was brilliant. Microalgae is naturally oily, and this carpet even more so. Miss Galtry’s men have had more difficulty putting it out than setting it on fire.” 

As the cage bumps against my kiln, my grip stiffens around my shoulder, and I choose to give in to Owl’s efforts. ‘I… I only suggested we use turpentine to burn the area around his Domain. Everything else was Terra’s idea, which she ended up getting the Army to help us with.’

Rabbit raises her hands and then slaps them against her face. “God in Light, I think I’m gonna die. It’s… it’s really the Fairy without her suit; I thought I was being pranked.” Then, almost as if she is floating, she hovers closer, glances at the cattail, and announces, “It’s like my old fanfic has come to life! I had no idea you were a freakin’ goth dark-knight fairy. I went through the same phase in college!” She laughs and waves me away. “Y’know, minus the whole goth part.”

Turning away, I rub my toes against the cooked cinders of the algae carpet and partly evolved insects. ‘I did not understand most of that, and I am trying to keep a sober mind, but without my arc suit, I do not like being stared at.’

“Rabbit, no! Don’t touch it!” Owl slaps Rabbits hand away a mere inch from the kiln’s shell. “Take it from someone with experience; Miss Nightingale does not play around with her jewel! B-besides, we’re on a tight schedule!”

“D-did… Wait! Don’t tell me!” With a snicker, Rabbit reaches into a bag that has rabbit ear straps and commences removing things. “I’d rather her reaction be a surprise for later! Right now, I gotta install the fire-resistant communicator Wolfe spent all night operating on.”

Hearing a thump, I look toward Lorcan. From the surface above, a bag of supplies is lowered from a rope. 

Noticing my gaze, Lorcan eyes me and says, “You look better without the suit,” He starts tossing some glistening silver sheets over the sumpter copepods. “Really shouldn’t be so embarrassed, light-bright. I’ve been around you enough to know you ain’t so meek,” he walks away, laughing beneath his mask. 

I shake my head. ‘Thou knoweth naught. I am a lady of modesty, not of meekness.’

Lorcan grabs the bag and drags it toward the nearest silver sumpter. “Anyhow, per the plan, some guys and I will join up with you after we hear you have found the target or Galtry has detected the target’s mana. Oh, and as for the bag, it’s got your sword, a crowbar, a couple extra fireproof blankets, and then some white phosphorus grenades we ‘found.’ I don’t know much about grenades, but I recommend you keep this freaky rollie pollie thing at the rear alone.” Pulling out one of the white cylinders, he holds it toward me. “You know how to use a grenade, right? ...Wait! Before that, you do understand what a grenade is?” 

I nod, pretend to pull at my hand, and then perform a tossing motion. ‘Press the lever, pull the thing, throw... then flame and smoke. Something like that; it was not complicated.’

“...Yeah, try not to granny lob it. Put a little more ‘oomph’ behind it if you choose to actually use one.”

Owl claps his hands and huffs. “Alright, I don’t think this is going to get any better, but it’ll do.” Peering down, I find a shiny shimmering cage sitting lopsided upon my kiln. “This is the best I can do. I was told not to add anything that presses against your jewel.”

There’s a beep, and Summer’s voice emanates from a small metal device attached to the side of the cage. “GPS is on. The Fairy is beneath Grand Army Plaza, as anticipated. Everyone listening in, toss your molotovs, set the last quarter of 5th ablaze, and prepare your water trucks. If any bugs try to escape, you’re ordered to mince‘em.”

“Miss Nightingale, there’s a button on the side of the communicator.” Owl points to a small red circle and continues, “As we discussed in the meeting a couple of days ago, they’ll be performing a periodic check every half-hour. Press once to confirm your hunkydory, twice to request assistance, and thrice if you’ve located your target. Of course, the latter two can be reported at any time. Lastly, there is a blue button on the opposite side; press that one if you need to silence the communicator.”

I nod and perform the thumbs-up gesture. ‘Aye, I shall report when I am hunkie-doorie.’

Rabbit and Owl grab their things and hurry toward the ladder.

“Fairy, I keep forgetting to give you something. It was the whole reason I went on the expedition,” Rabbit says, climbing up the ladder. “Anyway, whenever you have the time, I’d like to paint you. So bye!”

I tilt my head. ‘Paint me? Was that her attempt to give me incentive to return?’

“Good luck.” Lorcan follows behind Rabbit and Owl. “I can’t walk through the boggy sections of the tunnel, so I’ll meet you when you’re closer to wherever it is we’re gonna meet. Make sure you don’t get stuck. Later.”

And like that, I am alone once more.

When the tunnel is sealed, I point toward the pipe. ‘Aye, time to set a precedent.’

A wave of copepods comes spilling out of the tube like ants from an anthill. I command a group of them to skitter between the cage around my kiln and its shell. Slipping in, they squeeze close together, aligning the cage while creating insulation from the heat and cushion from any blunt attacks.

Turning toward the sumpter copepods, I first send all the sumpter carrying grenades to the stern. Then, both the hoary copepods and I take a seat upon the same sumpter at the front. As for the third sumpter, I command all the vermillion and heliotrope copepods to shelter beneath its sheet. Vermillion leaks haze easily, and heliotrope I have not had the opportunity to experiment with, so I shall keep it to the side. 

We move onward, pushing toward the burning tunnels of 5th Avenue. 

Ignoring the falling carcasses of charred insects, I start constructing sable copepods to raise my Erysichthon value. Rather than allowing the Snappish Beads to break and disperse into the haze, I begin taking in hoary copepods.

My nails turn ashen, my vision becomes hues of gray, and my kiln loses sensation. It’s as if I exist separately from the natural life around me. This makes the life around me appear as headache-inducing blurs; it’s similar to wearing thick spectacles that are made for someone else. To be frank, my hearing and eyesight become so unharmonious with its presence, it’s offensive.

We continue down 5th while I absorb more hoary copepods. The first effects of the hoary appear as I begin to overhear the whispers of disembodied voices. Some right into my ear, others so muffled I question if they may be from someone imprisoned at the heart of the world. These voices say things that make little sense to me and seem to only emerge in certain areas.

When I asked, Earl merely said it was ‘drivel’ that can emerge in areas of past misery before then warning me that it may be a problem someday due to how long it has had to grow. 

There’s a beep on the device. “Fairy is at the halfway point, passing Rockefeller Center now.” The sound of gunshots echoes while Summer asks, “You doing alright down there, Fairy?”

Blocking out the whispers, I nod my head and press the red circle, informing them I am well.

“Gotcha,” Summer responds with a cough. “There are issues with flies on the surface. They’ve gunked up one of the water truck’s engines, so you’ll hit a small patch of fire soon.”

Pointing, I direct the copepods to the wall leaving only the sumpters wandering the burnt tunnel floors. Soon we come upon an orange blaze that licks at the tunnel walls. I lay down and command all copepods to push forward.

Haze meets flame, causing an updraft that whips our haze upward. A cloud of black hits the ceiling and then arches outward along the wall before reaching back around. Once this catches the flames' flanks, it smothers it. By the time the rearmost sumpter passes through, the blaze has been snuffed. I direct some of the sable copepods to restore the two sumpters at the front and then resume absorbing hoary copepods. 

When we come upon the smoldering embers of flies struggling to stay airborne, I know we are now in enemy territory, the putrid Domain of Mithridates.‘Aye, it’s as we thought. Mithridates expended so much of his resources attempting to stealthily grow his Domain beneath 9th Avenue that he neglected the more direct path underneath 5th Avenue.’ 

Without pausing, we migrate onto the water, passing over heaps of drifting insects, and for the first time, I notice mutated rodent carcasses. I observe the water for any signs of Elderly Rats, people, or flies, but I see none nor notice the impudent sight of anything alive. ‘It’s a shame I have to pass through his Domain for even a short time. I pray his Interface is distracted enough that it will not become aware of my intrusion.’ 

In the smoke, I spot the macabre display of two boats, one lashed atop the other, that together resemble a decrepit, floating coffin. Except where the two vessels join, is a fissure wide enough for a single limb. Though the wood looks rotten, it seems unnaturally watertight.

I command the sable copepods to return to the ground. The putrid water grows clouded by our numbers as we glide toward the forlorn vessel like a black fog rolling across a river in a valley of death. 

Since I had already determined what I would do if this happened, I halt our stampede several feet away from the twisted coffin-boats. Absorbing a handful of hoary copepods, I hop off the sumpter and descend upon the blanket of floating carcasses.

A purple wall appears.

My bare feet land atop the water, and everything beneath them starts to decay. The corpses bubble and sink, allowing a glimpse of the translucent girl, me. Skin whiter than snow, nails long and ashen, holes for eyes with just a mist of light purple, and then pearl-gray hair that drags along the ground. The cattail has dug deeper into my neck, and around my wrists are the ropes that were used to bind my hands so long ago. 

Hoary haze has some vital differences from vermillion and sable, the greatest being that it continually comes back to me. That is until it makes contact with organic material, then it flows into that and destroys the Essence held within. This means anything I slay or eat with hoary will have a significant reduction in Essence value and a moderate decrease in the Erysichthon worth. Moreover, I have come to discover that there are more of the things known as bacteria, pollen, and spores in the air than one might imagine, and this too gnaws at the hoary.

‘According to Earl, the only thing that keeps hoary in balance is heliotrope haze. She also informed me this appearance is a ‘cleaned-up’ variant of what I looked like when she saw me in Tenebrous. I do not know why she chose to tell me the latter; I would have preferred not knowing.‘ 

Shaking my head, I call forth the rear sumpter, I grab the crowbar and approach the grim spectacle with wariness. ‘This eyesore is as if a prospective fisherman purchased two boats and decided he wished to be an undertaker instead.’

When my eyes drift to the hull of the uppermost boat, I am surprised to find a boy as blatant as a messy drop of sparkling blue paint upon a pristine white canvas. 

Unlike the feeling ‘life’ produces, the boy seems more… tolerable. It’s tricky to express; these are feelings I have never felt before the hoary form. Considering the boy is not irritating my hoary vision nor grating at my nerves, I may only presume he is as far gone as anyone else I have come across in this state.

Yet, I oddly believe I detect a sparkle of curiosity in his transparent bluish-white eyes.  “Are you here to pick me up?” the boy asks me.

I flinch and freeze in place. ‘I… I did not expect thee to speak.’ Raising my hand, I wave. ‘I presume thou art not capable of telepathy?’

The boy waves back. “I’m Nick. I don’t like it here. Mom used to tell me when it was ‘time’ someone would come to pick me up… ” He tries to push himself closer to me, but despite his best efforts, he seems powerless to move. “So, are you the lady who’s supposed to pick me up?”

Glancing at the boat, I tap on its surface with my long nails and tilt my head.

With enthusiasm, he nods. “That’s me, lady!”

My eyes drift toward a cold white arm that slinks along the water’s surface.

“So, can you help me? I’m ready to go if you’re here to pick me up.”

There’s a beep as Summer’s voice comes over the device. “Fairy, flies are swarming our location, and the insecticides aren’t really working… Listen, I’m not trying to rush you, but…” I can gather that she is striving to keep her voice steady. “But why are you just standing there lik—” 

There’s the sound of someone approaching, and a second later, Terra’s calm voice speaks, “Fairy, we’ve noticed you aren’t progressing any further. Is everything okay? You aren’t hurt?”

“You’re the Fairy! Fairy! We came to see you, we saw you on TV! I liked your sword!” Nick seems to think of something and gazes at me with big eyes. “Fairy, can you take me to my mom and dad?”

I look at the boy. ‘Child... is rope in short supply nowadays? Because it feels as if thou art trying to kill me a second time, except this time with pity.’ My finger moves to the red button, and I press it one time. The crowbar slides into the gap between boats. ‘I am unsure what is happening and what is the greater mercy… but I shall try to grant thy request.’

Using both my arms and cattail, I pull at the crowbar. I put everything I can muster into the crowbar, but despite all the Strength I have built these past weeks, it does not even squeak. With my Strength what it is, I could knock a door off its hinges, but these boats are akin to wrenching the very earth in two.

“Am I stuck?” Nick asks.

A purple wall appears.

Reading the message, my eyes drift to the water at my feet. With my hoary sight, I notice something attached to the boat’s bottom, so I use the end of the crowbar to draw it from the water. What I find is a foamy tube that looks to have white grains passing through it. ‘These are roots that are swollen with maggots. Aye, so they are nodes. Then they shall share the same protection as the nodes.’ 

I release the root and set the crowbar atop the boat. A sable copepod skitters between the gap in the boats, and I strive to apply Mana Crunch to it, creating a skewer that might pry it open. The copepod bursts and then collapses inward; there’s a sparkle as a glass shard takes shape. It lengthens in size and then presses against the lip of both boats. This time the boat creaks, but… but I cannot make it budge even the distance of a single poppyseed!

‘Curses Mithridates! How didst thou fall so low so fast!? What wast thou in life to be doing this so readily in death!?’ Yanking the skewer from the boat, I clench my fist. A nearby sable copepod bursts, and the skewer doubles in size in an instant. ‘Was it Tenebrous!? Didst thou abandon thy mind in that hellscape!? Am I the only Kiln that made it out of Tenebrous with their broken pieces of sanity in tow!?’

“Fairy, are you okay?” The small voice of Nick breaks me from my thoughts, “...Am I going to get to go home?”

Not sparing a glance, I seize the crowbar and walk away.

“Fairy…” Nick whispers.

The tunnels shake, sending a ripple through the putrid water.

As the corpses bob in the water, I place the crowbar back on the sumpter, reach into the bag, and remove another item.

I set the item in front of the transparent figure of Nick, who stares at it in wonder. “I… I really like your sword a lot.”

Scraping the sharp end of the skewer against the tunnel wall and I write, “Watch my sword for me, young knight. I shall return to take thee to thy parents soon.” 

I return to my mount and ride off. “I can’t read your writing... B-but I’ll keep your sword safe...”

Waving a temporary farewell to Nick, I charge ahead, listening to the mighty roars of firearms above me. 

A blue wall appears.

I push the wall away immediately; I do not have time for such a thing at this time.

When Nick vanishes from view, I pass another boat. The man watches me but says nothing; his mind does not seem all there. This repeats twice more as I pass another man and then a woman, the latter who seems wholly ignorant of my presence. Yet when I have placed distance between us, I hear her yell, and the sound of something spilling in the water says all I need to know—flies.

The flies emerge from the water and pursue me. In my hoary vision, they are as distinct as manure upon a palace floor. ‘They are spiritual, like the boy, but far less amiable.’

“Fairy, be aware that target’s mana leakage indicates that the fires are working as intended. The flames have made the target unable to re-enter his stronghold, and he has been cut off at West 45th and 6th,” Summer says with a short pause. “You should be coming up on the West 45th sewer tunnel within the next hundred or so feet. Notify us immediately when you make contact with the target.”

I point toward a tunnel on my right, command the copepods to turn, and then press the red circle one time to acknowledge their message. The copepods reduce speed and veer into a tunnel, thick in smoke but free of both putrid water and flame. This slow turn enables the flies to overtake our position. 

Besieged by flies, I unravel the cattail and allow the cords the freedom to create chaos as they wish. Like feral hounds, the unpracticed cords cannot resist the flies. Soon the withered scraps of the flies are showering me. Wood pulp, viscera, tangled hairs, the fly’s bodies appear to be crafted from everything and anything. ‘These flies are going to squander a lot of my hoary haze!’

Ahead of me, I hear a noise like breaking bones. I turn my head up just in time to heed a black scythe pivot downward and cleave everything from my collar to my brow in two. Yet, so smooth the cut, my vision remains steady.

Spinning around, I glance back to find the scythe is actually an immense fly leg molded into the tunnel’s ceiling. ‘Some sort of trap!?’

Once more, the sound of breaking bone. 

Another leg swings inward, this one from the tunnel’s wall. Six white cords spring forth and wrench the leg upward. Splinters of black carapace shower the tunnel as the cords wave the giant fly leg about in a frenzy.

The air turns heavy, the cords lull, and an abrupt swell of hunger rolls over me. As if I intuitively know the hunger's origin, my head shoots downward. 

There, burned into the whites and grays of my hoary vision, I see two bright brownish-yellow eyes. 

The six cords release the fly leg and, like loyal beasts, take a serpent-like stance at my sides. 

Vermillion, my swiftest soldiers, pour from beneath the sumpter’s sheet. 

Sable, my hardiest warriors, spread out and blanket every surface of the tunnel.

Hoary, my deadliest executioners, encircle me and climb onto my body.

I extend my left arm that wields the glass skewer and then use mana crunch to borrow a chunk of the sumpter’s haze to lengthen it further.

‘Soon, Nick.’ Standing atop my sumpter, I press the red circle three times. ‘Soon, I shall carry thee home, Nick. Yet first, I must bestow the mercy of eternal slumber unto what remains of the man, Mithridates.’