When Labyrinthite receives the first letter, it’s the day after he slaughters the Martian and his senshi. He’s out in the city, on the rooftop of his old apartment complex, with his legs dangling over the side of the building when he decides to power up and shift from Chase to Labyrinthite. The letter appears almost instantly and it takes him by surprise.
It’s a strange thing, receiving a letter from a knight and when he plucks it out of the air he isn’t sure what to make of it. So, of course he opens it carefully and his amber eyes scan the carefully written letter.
Scholomance
Labyrinthite,
I wish I could imagine the look of surprise on your face when this letter reaches you. Have you received a knight's letter before? I doubt it sincerely. I doubt anyone writes to their would-be murderer.
Except me, of course.
You must be wondering why I chose to write you at all. You had, as you should remember, warned me that the next time we met entailed death or salvation. Is that how you put it? Yes - murder or deliverance from sin. Eloquent choices. To be frank, you don't get to know my reasons.
But I did not start this letter to write potshots at you from a safe distance. You can imagine that I am recuperating from your injuries now (forty staples in total - do you congratulate yourself?), so I have quite a lot of time to devote to correspondence. Picture this if you can, General Labyrinthite - on the night that you found me, I had stopped on that rooftop to reflect on my choices. I told you my reasons for being present in the war, and you scoffed (as is, perhaps, unsurprising). However, my reason for being out that particular night differed greatly.
Would you imagine that I was out to visit one of your own, a Captain by the name of Ashanite? He agreed to meet me at a disclosed location at midnight. Could you further imagine that I was inquiring after corruption? A shame you didn't stop to ask.
There is a part of me that wonders about you, Labyrinthite. It wonders why, of all the commendable actions that a general can execute, you decided to murder me after I issued my name. Your expression suggested abstract insanity, but I suspect it was deliberate choice. Did you know the name of Scholomance, then? Was it the Saturn symbols adorning my uniform? Were you incensed solely by my alignment as a knight? But these questions only amount to a short reflection on our exciting and enlightening experience together.
I've known about starseed ripping since I was a recent page. I was aware that Negaverse officers could reach into the starseed cavity and wrench my soul from my chest if they so chose, but I had never experienced it. Not as a page, not as a squire, and not when I faced a general previously. Isn't that bizarre? What I am getting at is, you are the first to violate that so-sacred area of my body, and you alone possessed the faculties to rip my soul out and sell it back to Metallia if that so suited you, but you chose against it. For some reason, you let go and you retreated. You backed away, shed your warnings, and left.
I wonder about that. I wonder if what you felt in my chest scared you, but I doubt that sincerely. You would've pulled your hand free long before you did. I also wondered if, perhaps, someone ventured near that scared you, but I heard and felt no one. It's possible my condition prevented me from being terribly perceptive, as we are both intimately aware of my dire circumstances (did you think I died?), but I imagine they would've strayed closer to check on me or finish me off. I doubt my words had any impact. So what was it, General Labyrinthite, that finally drove you from me? Did you find your own actions mortifying and appalling? What pulled you from my murder so intensely? Why?
It is this simple question that I could ask of all your actions: why?
Do you ever stop to ask it of yourself?
- Scholomance
I wish I could imagine the look of surprise on your face when this letter reaches you. Have you received a knight's letter before? I doubt it sincerely. I doubt anyone writes to their would-be murderer.
Except me, of course.
You must be wondering why I chose to write you at all. You had, as you should remember, warned me that the next time we met entailed death or salvation. Is that how you put it? Yes - murder or deliverance from sin. Eloquent choices. To be frank, you don't get to know my reasons.
But I did not start this letter to write potshots at you from a safe distance. You can imagine that I am recuperating from your injuries now (forty staples in total - do you congratulate yourself?), so I have quite a lot of time to devote to correspondence. Picture this if you can, General Labyrinthite - on the night that you found me, I had stopped on that rooftop to reflect on my choices. I told you my reasons for being present in the war, and you scoffed (as is, perhaps, unsurprising). However, my reason for being out that particular night differed greatly.
Would you imagine that I was out to visit one of your own, a Captain by the name of Ashanite? He agreed to meet me at a disclosed location at midnight. Could you further imagine that I was inquiring after corruption? A shame you didn't stop to ask.
There is a part of me that wonders about you, Labyrinthite. It wonders why, of all the commendable actions that a general can execute, you decided to murder me after I issued my name. Your expression suggested abstract insanity, but I suspect it was deliberate choice. Did you know the name of Scholomance, then? Was it the Saturn symbols adorning my uniform? Were you incensed solely by my alignment as a knight? But these questions only amount to a short reflection on our exciting and enlightening experience together.
I've known about starseed ripping since I was a recent page. I was aware that Negaverse officers could reach into the starseed cavity and wrench my soul from my chest if they so chose, but I had never experienced it. Not as a page, not as a squire, and not when I faced a general previously. Isn't that bizarre? What I am getting at is, you are the first to violate that so-sacred area of my body, and you alone possessed the faculties to rip my soul out and sell it back to Metallia if that so suited you, but you chose against it. For some reason, you let go and you retreated. You backed away, shed your warnings, and left.
I wonder about that. I wonder if what you felt in my chest scared you, but I doubt that sincerely. You would've pulled your hand free long before you did. I also wondered if, perhaps, someone ventured near that scared you, but I heard and felt no one. It's possible my condition prevented me from being terribly perceptive, as we are both intimately aware of my dire circumstances (did you think I died?), but I imagine they would've strayed closer to check on me or finish me off. I doubt my words had any impact. So what was it, General Labyrinthite, that finally drove you from me? Did you find your own actions mortifying and appalling? What pulled you from my murder so intensely? Why?
It is this simple question that I could ask of all your actions: why?
Do you ever stop to ask it of yourself?
- Scholomance
The letter is crumpled almost immediately afterwards and the general, annoyed, tosses it behind him like trash. His teeth set together, his jaw ticked with irritation, and his eyes narrowed. There was a tinge of unsettlement that blossomed in his chest as his mind recycled the letter’s words over and over.
Who was Scholomance to try and dissect his motives? Who was this squire to think that he could possibly understand the way he, Labyrinthite, thought?
He could not decide what irked him more; the idea that Scholomance wanted to understand his motives or the fact that he thought he might receive some sort of answer. All in all, it was a trifle he didn’t care to deal with so he did what he did best, he ignored it in favor of distracting himself from all things plaguing his mind with physical exertion.
The next letter comes a week later when he’s out checking in on his subordinates. He’s halfway to the agreed location when it materializes before him. With a huff, he snatches it out of the air and tears the envelope open, this time discarding it on the ground as he continues to walk.
The contents this time appear to be both a letter and a sketch. Frowning, he pockets the sketch to look at later and then takes a moment to read over the letter.
Scholomance
Dearest Labyrinthite,
Let me share with you a secret.
As an artist, all I need is a good memory to inform others of what you look like. Even if I had no camera in hand to share with all the world the face of a would-be murderer, my charcoal pencils will serve me just as well. I think you'll quite enjoy how I capture your likeness.
[[Attached is a small sketch of Labyrinthite's figure, and while the face is not evident beyond the hood, the rest of the outfit maintains an accurate grayscale likeness with added movement implicative of wind.]]
I learned recently that we have a shared acquaintance by the name of Hvergelmir. She informs me that you are indeed a volatile one, and that you two share some 'future' history. She explained that you were the one to have extracted her tongue at some point in the future, and afterward attempt her murder as well. It seems you had quite the reputation for violence in those days - as a General-King, no less. Congratulations to you - if you live to see it. I expect there are others out there who won't be so keen on your lethal escapades.
I wonder just how you might come to realize that 'future'. Do you aspire to it, Labyrinthite? Do you think to yourself how you might reach that lofty title? Do you ever think that, perhaps, the opposite may come to pass? That the Negaverse starts to slip, that you yourself are cast out of favor among the ranks? Or do you choose not to think about the future at all? I imagine you are more interested in dwelling on the past. What say you, Labyrinthite? Which concerns you most?
Perhaps someday we will meet again and you can give me that ultimatum. Which would please you more - to kill me or to corrupt me? I imagine you'd miss my letters, in either case.
Think about me often, dearest Labyrinthite.
Yours,
Scholomance
Let me share with you a secret.
As an artist, all I need is a good memory to inform others of what you look like. Even if I had no camera in hand to share with all the world the face of a would-be murderer, my charcoal pencils will serve me just as well. I think you'll quite enjoy how I capture your likeness.
[[Attached is a small sketch of Labyrinthite's figure, and while the face is not evident beyond the hood, the rest of the outfit maintains an accurate grayscale likeness with added movement implicative of wind.]]
I learned recently that we have a shared acquaintance by the name of Hvergelmir. She informs me that you are indeed a volatile one, and that you two share some 'future' history. She explained that you were the one to have extracted her tongue at some point in the future, and afterward attempt her murder as well. It seems you had quite the reputation for violence in those days - as a General-King, no less. Congratulations to you - if you live to see it. I expect there are others out there who won't be so keen on your lethal escapades.
I wonder just how you might come to realize that 'future'. Do you aspire to it, Labyrinthite? Do you think to yourself how you might reach that lofty title? Do you ever think that, perhaps, the opposite may come to pass? That the Negaverse starts to slip, that you yourself are cast out of favor among the ranks? Or do you choose not to think about the future at all? I imagine you are more interested in dwelling on the past. What say you, Labyrinthite? Which concerns you most?
Perhaps someday we will meet again and you can give me that ultimatum. Which would please you more - to kill me or to corrupt me? I imagine you'd miss my letters, in either case.
Think about me often, dearest Labyrinthite.
Yours,
Scholomance
This letter doesn’t irritate him the way the last one has, with his eyes lingering over the name Hvergelmir. His gut twists at the name, guilt hitting him square in the chest when he recalls their last conversation and the events that followed it. It hits even harder when the squire mentions his shared future history with Hvergelmir.
But then he laughs, laughs at the idea that there would be those who opposed his methods.
“It is the nature of my division,” he mutters to himself, fingers crinkling the edge of the letter as he continues to read. Spec-ops was designed to be the brutal division who killed without second thought and underwent dangerous missions. It was his job to be lethal.
Scholomance would learn that, if Labyrinthite ever got his hands on him again.
By the time he reaches the end of this letter irritation has replaced the guilt brought upon by Hvergelmir’s name. Again, the letter is crumpled and discarded, this time beneath the heel of his boot as he marches forward. He retrieves the sketch from his pocket and stops beneath a street lamp to observe it.
For all his annoyance, Scholomance is a talented artist, and Labyrinthite hums in approval before sticking the art back into his pocket. He thinks he might put it up on his fridge when he returns home.
The third letter is perhaps the worst of them all because he receives it the day he powers up to venture into the rift, the weight of the starseeds he’d unintentionally harbored, too much. When the letter appears before him, he groans before snatching it from the air and tearing it open.
This time when he reads, he merely skims the contents and has to go back again when he realizes that Scholomance is waging accusations against a fellow agent. Sighing, he powers down and sinks down onto his bed, because he has no desire to have someone follow his energy signature-- as encompassing as it is.
Scholomance
Hello again, Labyrinthite.
I hope you didn't miss me during my silence. I imagine you didn't.
I've been thinking about the purpose of your attack, and I think there's more behind it than just random encounter. But how could that be? Surely a big bad Negaverse general has more to do than hunt down a simple squire - and to this, I agree. There must be.
There must be a greater agenda behind it.
And, interestingly, I am starting to uncover the truth. I have a squire friend that was similarly attacked some time ago - twice, no less. Don't ask me how he's alive, else I will speculate that the Negaverse needs to work on its efficiency. But, interestingly, that squire was attacked twice by two different generals and for different reasons. The first time was by one General Umber, who fought him and tormented his friend for information on one of your own captains - Ashanite. Curious, isn't it? Why not simply go to the captain and ask himself? I'll add in some extra information for you: Ashanite was not originally an agent of the Negaverse. He was once a knight, a Saturn knight like myself - and like my squire friend. In fact, he knew my squire friend before he corrupted. Does that not make it more fascinating?
Let me add the second attack for you, then. One General Xenotime attacked my squire friend not long before you found me, and left him in a sorry state. She did so to corrupt him for Captain Ashanite, actually - this was her stated reasoning. Most interestingly, Ashanite was the one who stopped her from doing so. Ashanite protected my squire friend, which is probably the sole reason he's alive today. Now isn't that odd? It sounds like unrest among the Negaverse to me.
Like a dissenting little soldier.
Let me remind you of a last factoid in which you can stew, my friend. Ashanite took me to the hospital shortly after you attacked me. And given that I was meeting him there... It's too convenient, isn't it?
I wonder, Labyrinthite. Are you three generals following Ashanite, keeping tabs on his acquaintances, because a captain threatens to slip from your grasp with the secrets of the Negaverse? Are you worried that we may learn from him of Metallia's location? Of the source of the Negaverse?
Do you fear, Labyrinthite?
Yours,
Scholomance
I hope you didn't miss me during my silence. I imagine you didn't.
I've been thinking about the purpose of your attack, and I think there's more behind it than just random encounter. But how could that be? Surely a big bad Negaverse general has more to do than hunt down a simple squire - and to this, I agree. There must be.
There must be a greater agenda behind it.
And, interestingly, I am starting to uncover the truth. I have a squire friend that was similarly attacked some time ago - twice, no less. Don't ask me how he's alive, else I will speculate that the Negaverse needs to work on its efficiency. But, interestingly, that squire was attacked twice by two different generals and for different reasons. The first time was by one General Umber, who fought him and tormented his friend for information on one of your own captains - Ashanite. Curious, isn't it? Why not simply go to the captain and ask himself? I'll add in some extra information for you: Ashanite was not originally an agent of the Negaverse. He was once a knight, a Saturn knight like myself - and like my squire friend. In fact, he knew my squire friend before he corrupted. Does that not make it more fascinating?
Let me add the second attack for you, then. One General Xenotime attacked my squire friend not long before you found me, and left him in a sorry state. She did so to corrupt him for Captain Ashanite, actually - this was her stated reasoning. Most interestingly, Ashanite was the one who stopped her from doing so. Ashanite protected my squire friend, which is probably the sole reason he's alive today. Now isn't that odd? It sounds like unrest among the Negaverse to me.
Like a dissenting little soldier.
Let me remind you of a last factoid in which you can stew, my friend. Ashanite took me to the hospital shortly after you attacked me. And given that I was meeting him there... It's too convenient, isn't it?
I wonder, Labyrinthite. Are you three generals following Ashanite, keeping tabs on his acquaintances, because a captain threatens to slip from your grasp with the secrets of the Negaverse? Are you worried that we may learn from him of Metallia's location? Of the source of the Negaverse?
Do you fear, Labyrinthite?
Yours,
Scholomance
The names Ashanite and Umber mean nothing to him and the name Xenotime only bears a recognition, an acknowledgement that he should know her given they reside within the same branch. What the general doesn’t understand is why the Squire of Saturn cannot let go, why he must plague him with pointless letters and arbitrary reasoning for motives that do not exist. Scholomance’s fixation upon him bears intriguing at least.
Crumpling up the letter, Chase stands and crosses the length of his room and deposits it in the trash. He lets chaos surge through him again with an idea and a location in his mind when he teleports from his home -- his venture to the rift abandoned for another day.
He returns to the scene of the fight where he’d abandoned Scholomance to bleed out, the blood of the squire still splattered across the rooftop and waits until he can pick off an unsuspecting civilian. A starseed rip and and mangled body later, he drops down to the side of the building and painstakingly writes the Squire his own note, in the blood of his victim.
Strickenized
Scholomance,
I do not need a reason. Your theories are just that, theories with no backing, no proof and no truth. You will not get the answers you seek, not with your trifling letters. But let me ask, why do you care? Why do you trouble yourself with the actions of one?
What is it about me that has given you such a fixation?
You would be wise to not prod the sleeping bear.
((The wall is not signed, but a crude drawing of a scythe dripping with blood is left as the signature.))
I do not need a reason. Your theories are just that, theories with no backing, no proof and no truth. You will not get the answers you seek, not with your trifling letters. But let me ask, why do you care? Why do you trouble yourself with the actions of one?
What is it about me that has given you such a fixation?
You would be wise to not prod the sleeping bear.
((The wall is not signed, but a crude drawing of a scythe dripping with blood is left as the signature.))
The general takes a moment to assess his work, words scrawled across the wall in a large slanted and loopy script before turning and stalking off. There isn’t a doubt in his mind that the squire will see the note, in some way, or that he’ll receive a response but if Scholomance wants to play the game, Labyrinthite will play.
