The triplet spheres collected in his palm looked smaller than average, but the collective total was there. They clacked aimlessly in a loose grip while he walked from the prone forms of two friends, sitting together on a bus bench. Now they looked no different than if they simply passed out - and, as far as Umber was concerned, they did. Whether the bus took them, or a worse fate befell them, wasn’t his concern. So away he walked, his shadow stretching long behind him and quickly retreating from the sleeping figures.
He paused once, beneath a perched star, to examine the roiling energy encased in the globes. They looked golden in the yellowed lamplight, and bustled in their confinement as if carried by a perpetual current. So these have been our spoils for a count of… years? A quota like this, meant to power officers of all ranks through each day they wear their uniforms. I wonder how many others of our kind go through these motions. How many lieutenants must gather this same amount each passing day? Are we approaching a plateau, a decline? The latter seems most likely with the sparse number of officers I’ve seen. But who am I to worry-
Umber’s thoughts ceased abruptly when auric energy snaked into his attention, and the hunter straightened immediately. Casting a scrutinizing eye to his surroundings, he combed over buildings and rooftops before he discovered a familiar purple uniform that invoked memories.
Yes - I know you. I know the price of your life leveraged against your allies.
“I know the taste of your starseed, Page,” he called into the distance. “Don’t linger here.”
Ploutonion was finally starting to get comfortable in his existence as a Knight. He was gaining confidence, had a few encounters with officers that hadn’t ended too badly - generally, he was starting to feel less wary and more sure of himself.
All of that went out the window when he heard the Lieutenant’s voice. A chill crawled up his spine, and he found himself looking around for any potential weapons at hand. He made no move to get any closer, because the idea of putting himself in range to be attacked again, to die because there would be no Aegir to intervene, was terrifying. He might as well have been back in that alley, lost and confused and barely aware of what the war was at all.
“And why shouldn't I linger? I have as much right to be here as you do,” he said. “More of a right, since you seem to be doing exactly as you were and draining innocent people of their energy.” He could see the glow of energy spheres and wondered, briefly, if he might be able to destroy them somehow - deny the Lieutenant his quota and help the people he’d attacked.
Umber closed his eyes a long moment. He drew a sigh through his nose before he finally looked back toward the page, so boisterously and impetuously prideful. His entire demeanor felt so self-aggrandizing considering the first and only time they met. Was there truly no way to discourage this man, so that he might complete his business absent interruption? He doubted it; and pulling his starseed once might’ve only served to motivate him against the Negaverse. Umber needed to take more care in his actions.
“You misunderstand what it means to ‘have a right’,” he mumbled to himself. Are you so dense to think that we have rights? Have you not learned that rights are only a human notion to instill a sense of safety?
“Page,” he started, half-turning so his right shoulder pointed in the man’s direction, “if you find my business to be in direct violation of your duty, then attack me. If not, leave me to my business, as it’s none of yours.”
Would you make this personal, Page? Having the very core of your being stolen away is a very personal, very private offense. I would not be surprised if I made an intimate enemy of you by doing so - under the banner of business or otherwise. What would you have of me, then? Are you subscribed to lex talionis, in that you would seek means to wrest my starseed from me for a few long moments? Might you side with Vlad Tepes’ personal code, where any action determined as ‘evil’ meets with death?
Whichever it is, don’t keep me waiting.
Ploutonion grit his teeth. Yes, he wanted to interrupt the Lieutenant’s gathering of energy, but given that he had already nearly died at the hands of this man once, it became a balancing act. Risk his life, but serve his “duty”, or preserve his life to serve another day? The latter seemed the more intelligent option, all things considered. No matter how much he wanted revenge for what had been done to him, there was a demonstrably wide gap in their abilities. Physically, they were on approximately the same plane, but Ploutonion recognized that he was at a number of disadvantages regardless - his “weapon” was not only useless, it was an active hindrance; he had nothing even approaching combat training, despite a number of combative experiences; and, most importantly, the Lieutenant had an ability he could never match: the taking of starseeds.
So no, an active physical confrontation was not the intelligent decision, and Ploutonion was not so impulsive or blinded by his own rage that he would attack anyway.
“All things considered, actually, I would rather not tangle with you again,” he said. “I am capable of learning, and I’ve learned that to tangle with an officer, even one in theory on my level, is a foolish and borderline suicidal enterprise. Thanks for that, by the by.” There was a tinge of sarcasm to his thanks.
“So no, actually, as much as I’d like to play big damn heroes, I’m not going to. But perhaps you can field a few questions about the Negaverse for me, instead.” That was a fair trade, right? ’You tried to murder me, pay me back with information’? Different officers saw different things in their interactions with the group, he knew that much so far. So what might this one offer, to add to the puzzle he was slowly putting together for himself of “what life is like on the other side”?
Then why waste my time? He wanted to ask. At least the page elaborated on his reason for remaining here quickly.
There is one - maybe two - of your kind that would answer questions so freely when I asked of them. I imagine that, by their logic, if the Negaverse was of noble and reliable standing then I should be able to disseminate information freely without backlash on it. But there are questions that should not be asked, or should not be answered, for they jeopardize survival. Normally I would decline him his request - any question may endanger that survival - but what if I try it? What if I spare the moment to play his Hvergelmir and see what’s on his mind?
Perhaps I could finally see what that knight was getting at.
The energy spheres relegated themselves to subspace, gone without circumstance. His hands found safety in his back pockets and his stance shifted, one foot slightly forward while he entrusted the brunt of his weight to the opposite hip. From his experience, this position often precluded the notion for attack.
“I won’t promise I’ll answer every question, or that I have answers for everything you ask. If you still want to question me, then go ahead.”
Ploutonion risked taking a few steps closer, to put them at a slightly more conversational distance. This was foolish, and he knew it, but he was also the one at the most risk, and hopefully the Lieutenant was aware enough of that.
“I’m not going to ask you to divulge secrets about the inner workings of your organization. I just want to know what it’s like. I’ve gotten a bit of a mixed bag of reviews, you see, but I don’t necessarily think my sources are unbiased. If you’d like, I can answer a few questions of your own, but I’m not a perfect source - I haven’t been doing this very long at all.” An ex-officer and one dragged in kicking and screaming. Neither of them was likely to be a fair judge. Camlann had been willing to give up half his life to leave the Negaverse; Quartz had given up half of his to enter.
“So I’d be interested to know how you came into the Negaverse, if that’s fair enough to answer. And your name - I’m Ploutonion, of Saturn.” Hopefully that would be a small enough thing.
Umber’s eyes dropped to half-lidded and he hummed lowly. Was this what he wanted to learn first? History of corruption into the Negaverse plus the name? Evidently general information about the Negaverse was of lower priority - or he wanted to start with the most benign questions first.
“I was named Umber by my superior officer.” He rolled his shoulders and the pair popped, loudly but without overt pain. “I was corrupted in a forest on the outskirts of Destiny City. It was a false choice matter - when my superior officer spotted me, I assume she was conducting an evaluation by chasing me through the forest. She showcased a number of bizarre abilities to me at the time - namely teleportation and weapon summoning. She asked me if I was interested in becoming ‘like her’, and I did not know enough at the time to ask further question, or if I would be killed due to pressing for information. I accepted - even though I suspected my decision had no influence over her actions - and she corrupted me on the spot.
“I don’t know if you’re familiar with the corruption or promotion processes of the Negaverse, but it involves something similar to what I did to you. Instead of removing the starseed, they pump it full of chaos energy to produce a hurt that you’re very much awake for. When it stopped, I was as you see me now.” His thumbs started to trace the lips of his pockets.
“If you decide that makes me an ‘unbiased’ source, then I assume there will be more questions?”
Umber. He could add that to Quartz and Buddingtonite; Ploutonion had no idea what Camlann’s name had been before, but likely it, too, was a mineral. An interesting naming scheme, meant to disassociate them, he suspected, from their actual power source. Assuming, of course, that what Camlann and Quartz had said was true and that officers were Knights with Chaos added in, and as neither of them had reason to lie and had independently confirmed the fact, he had no reason to believe that it was anything but the truth.
“You’re as close as I’m going to get, I suspect,” Plouton said. “Given the other two I’ve spoken to at any real length are a former officer and someone who was brought in completely against his will.” Not that he intended to give either one’s name. Camlann was a murderer who had attacked another Knight of Saturn, but he didn’t deserve whatever the Negaverse might cook up for traitors. Quartz had been nothing but friendly - to a point - and helpful. Throwing either of them under the proverbial bus did Plouton no good.
“What is it like?” He asked. “Do you give up your civilian life upon entry, or is that special for the people your General-Kings and General-Queens haul over from my side?” There was a slight, and probably unnecessary, tinge of sarcasm. “Most of what I’ve heard has been terrible doom and gloom, and I can’t imagine why anyone given even half a choice would stay.” But Quartz hadn’t seemed to think he had
one.
How tight was the Negaverse’s grip? A question not for Umber, but for Ploutonion to put together on his own. He certainly couldn’t just ask what happened if you got dragged back to Chaos. He doubted anyone had that answer.
A former officer. So they do exist… Umber mentally catalogued the information without comment. Hvergelmir and Babylon were right, then. How interesting. I wonder if I could suss out their name for the Negaverse. “And they are?” He let the question hang, hoping that this Ploutonion would infer the remainder of his inquiry.
“I would say there were some… Adjustments made to my civilian life, due in part to my own actions before corruption and to allow me to perform my duties more freely. I had to move here, which accounted for the brunt of the adaptations. I was not…” He paused, gritting teeth together momentarily and accentuating lengthy muscles in his jaw. “Permitted to continue living where I was - and that was determined by those I lived with at the time, not the Negaverse. Otherwise I am free to resume life as I please, so long as I can continue to perform Negaverse duties without hindrance.
“I cannot speak for the other officers you’ve spoken to, but nothing about the Negaverse has given me inclination to uproot my life and leave. Two knights I’ve met spoke of purification, and given the cost, I cannot imagine either appealing to me in the future. The costs for departure from one side to the other are… high.” He felt it oversimplification to classify it so, but any further emphasis from it might drive consideration for the Negaverse from this man’s mind - if that was what he thought, to start.
He shifted his gaze to a flickering luminance in the distance, just over Ploutonion’s shoulder. It was a floodlight, certainly, and half the alley flashed in mischievous rhythm. “I expect, at this stage, the only impetus for people to leave is that there exists a structure, a ranking system, and everyone starts at the bottom of it. I don’t think most people know what it’s like to be beneath something else in the food chain.” The last of his statement was punctuated by his gaze lighting on Ploutonion’s violet eyes. The color was strange, and curiously matched to his uniform.
”Cute,” Ploutonion said, “but no, that’s not a question I’ll answer. The names of my...sources, shall we call them, are going to remain confidential.” He couldn’t fault the man for trying, and someone more naive might have handed the names over; it was a good question. But he wouldn’t put Quartz at risk; Camlann could handle himself, but the Lieutenant had described a rough enough time. Plouton would not make it worse with loose lips.
Coming into the Negaverse directly, at least, sounded like a much easier thing than being brought in from the other side. Any uprooting, at least, was merely the uprooting of moving from one place to another, and not that of losing one’s entire identity. “I’m...sorry about your home, for what it’s worth.” He couldn’t even compare it; his move across the ocean had been completely by choice. No one had forced him to decide to settle in the US; no, he’d made that moronic decision all on his own, so he could get looped into a terrible war he had absolutely no preparation to fight.
Joy of joys.
“High costs indeed,” he acknowledged. “Your names - both of them, as I understand - and half your memories.” Which meant those that did go freely had good reason to, he suspected, but the way Umber described things fit the theory he had begun to come upon when talking to Quartz - that going in even somewhat willingly made for a much easier transition than not. Which made sense, given the apparently harsh discipline in the Negaverse. Rank and order and structure. A stifling sort of thing, it seemed.
He held his gaze on the Lieutenant’s, unwilling to be the first to look away. “I’m not sure I buy that something as simple as discomfort with structure would drive someone to what is, if we’re being honest, the losing side in this conflict.” It didn’t make sense. “The, ah, former officer I spoke to made it sound like the ninth circle of hell, really. Swore up and down I should die before I let myself be corrupted.” He frowned. All things considered, he would really rather live. “If we’re taking philosophical shots in the dark at why people give up their lives to leave the Negaverse - which, really, you don’t make it sound nearly like the nightmare factory I’d heard it described as before - mine would be idealism. Order is the underdog, but we wear the fancy light-colored uniforms and get the pretty space magic and the light-side name. If you’re inclined to buy into cartoonish black and white morality, the lines couldn’t be more obvious.”
The thought barely crossed his mind when Umber took a few measured steps toward the page, placing him on the inner borderline of most personal bubbles. He stood no taller than the dark-haired man; on the contrary, he seemed just slightly shorter. The hunter, however, had spent years carefully isolating himself from peers to cultivate a certain disconnect in empathy, which graced his gaze with a certain coldness when attempting intimidation tactics. “You should know, then, that it’s part of my job to get their names.” For a moment, he considered it - just slipping one hand out of his pocket, lighting it on the Page’s chest, and sinking beneath the surface for a second go at the starseed within. It amounted to elegant simplicity, that action, which caused his fingers to twitch inside his pocket.
When wagering the cost of a potential recruit against determining the traitors among our ranks, which amounts to more worth? At simple life count, the traitors are more important. But I don’t have all the answers here, do I? I lack the omnipotence to determine which is the better course. And there’s nothing to suggest that grabbing and squeezing his starseed will produce anything more than lies.
Finally he turned away, pacing back to his original location beneath the lamplight rather than linger at the edge. “Hvergelmir stated that any who cross over faction boundaries lose ‘half’ their memories - how evenly split it is, I’m not certain - but each ‘half’ consists of civilian memories or memories from what you are in your current state. She suggested that civilian life must be rebuilt regardless - new career, new name, new friends. She even elaborated that some drift to the other side to escape their memories. The other officer you’ve mentioned, the one that’s currently within the Negaverse… He might’ve been a forcible corruption. I don’t know why the Negaverse would crack down so harshly on a willing one.”
Finally he turned back toward Ploutonion, whose face grew so dim while Umber stood in the lamplight. “The truth is, Ploutonion, that they tell the truth when they say that the Negaverse is the ninth circle of hell - because it was, for him. People who go to great lengths to escape pain don’t lie about it. But regardless of what you’re looking for in gathering these opinions from the Negaverse, they are just that. It is a nightmare factory for some. For me, it isn’t. And if you’re trying to form your own opinion of the Negaverse based off of other opinions, you’ll find that your foundation will crack long before you’re done with that house. Look at the facts, instead of comforts and discomforts.
“Ideals are what merit murder in this war. If you subscribe to thinking of actions and organizations purely in the name of ‘good’ and ‘evil’, I cannot dissuade you, but know that both those terms were invented by men.” He spoke the word nearly in contempt - it lingered on the edge of his tone in threatening hunt. And nature was born long before law. “If you’re looking for someone to persuade you that the Negaverse is good, then look to someone else - as I don’t believe in either.”
If I offer you both hands, which would you choose? Strength or kindness, Ploutonion? With which would you move?
Noir Songbird
we can continue here~
