She watched the approaching skyship. A monstrosity of a thing. Square, yes, as were most ships in Eastos. His, however, was a slightly different hue: a shade of red and iron-black. Floating high above the sea—or in her case, below her. The thing was humming; a sound, silent but piercing through the wind.
She could almost marvel at it, except... well, it belonged to a pirate. Just that was enough to bring enmity to her eyes. It drew closer. Ever unknown. And she knew none: not where it was going, what it was like, or what to expect once she boarded that ship because she was going to enter it.
The question was how. She could, with an existing tether on the ship, teleport directly. But there was none. Auron's crew, called the Red Sons of Heaven, was rather good in their motions.
No way could she tap one without the awareness of others. And even outside that, there was always the chance that Auron himself would sense the connection and the disturbance in the cognitive realm.
He was a powerful caster, she was told. A little unusual, the report had said. Little explanation on the whys, but she felt that meant... casualness would almost certainly lead to death.
White Lightning sparked under her feet, which was where the sky was. A little breezy on her legs.
The ship drew closer.
"Does this mean I have no plan?" Her mind spun to the question, a thing shared by all casters, not nearly exclusive to the SpaceRunner. What, however, was exclusive to her order was the sensing of directions. The knowing of the cardinal points. Just like how the VeilCounsel could sometimes see in the dark, SpaceRunners, on the other hand, always knew where they were.
This awareness was an extreme aid in terms of navigating the cognitive realm. She tossed another sugar cube into her mouth.
"I can't breach the ship without having to fight, maybe, one hundred sons." The exact number was murky even to the Church. Somehow, as it turned out, Auron had defenses against Future Sight symbols. Not even a DeadEye could guess.
"So that's out the window." She sighed. "What else is there? I can't teleport in, I can't fight my way in... not without jeopardizing the whole mission. Daena would be livid... and so would Luciferos."
"Ah!" she cried. "Why in the mist am I always drafted to be doing such things?"
The ship drew closer, the wind slitting past its form like tendrils of white fog and smoke. A rather beautiful thing to see on a ship that most likely smelled of old blood and freshly spilled ones.
Among other things, Auron had a fancy for certain rituals. Murdering virgins, was it?
And yes, Geni frowned. "Murdering his own child." The exact way or reasons remained unknown. But... "That's just bad." Not even expected from scum like pirates. "I guess he's extra scum then."
The ship drew closer, almost like it existed on a timer. She tossed the last sugar cube in, savoring the sweet... too-sweetness of it all. "I guess there is only one way to get into that ship."
She dug into a pouch—that endless space and, consequently, the house for the tools and things with her symbols. After all, she was in no way a Devoted Caster. Which meant no Elmiran... or as certain BrightCrowns would call it, "Avatar."
There were only those tools with the tilting symbols... although pushing them required an immense amount of force. And on that note, Geni could already feel the tell-tale signs of force deprivation. Her mind was slowing. And no one enjoyed that pitiless sensation.
"Time to get on with it," she muttered, her voice drowning in the loud echoes of the Eastorian world.
Out of the pouch came a square box. One of the many tools the Church had commissioned from the Hivemind. They were quick to accept, of course.
Those men would accept making anything just to see the effect it had on the world. But at least they had some morals. According to the Church talks, some guy... Miralin had attempted to create a mind like that of a human. A mind that could think and cast.
She pressed buttons on the four sides of the cube. "How would a mind even be made?" she wondered. Yes, truly, the power of the caster was that of an omnipotent one. However, even that had limits. The specific order, for example.
"Unless he risks wild casting just to make it." She paused. "Yes, he did... I think that's why he was refused from the Hivemind."
The box buzzed now, steam rising off it. No heat was generated, though. The steam, as many knew, was just the physical form of the mindForce. To some, that proposed certain questions. What if the steam off Eastos was its manifestation as being contained by the mindForce? All good questions, except... who even had time to think about such things?
The box began to glow a lustrous whiteness, steam ever rising from its square form. "It's ready." She nodded, watching as the skyship neared ever closer to her. "I suppose if I can't sneak in or break in, I can always enter when all of you are out."
She threw the ball, the world snapping back into form. Up became down, and down became the vast black seas. And now, the skyship hovered above her, and the box floated up as the tilting was still manifest on it.
"That should do it."
She dropped down, cloth fluttering, the black-red ship growing smaller in her eyes. Smaller and smaller it was. The winds silent, the world fading away as the colors seemed to drip and melt. Fading. Around her then came shapes, mist, strands of light extending and surrounding the world.
She was escaping—falling into the Cognitive realm. But before everything could be loaded into the madness, that once large ship in the distance trembled. A slight tremor in the air.
Then it exploded.
Geni dropped into the Cognitive realm!
They will not listen—Author unknown.
Geni watched from a distance at the wreckage. Well, wreckage was a bit of an exaggeration. The ship had crashed on an island, just outside the borders of the Redstones. Uninhabited, this one was. And standing here, on the lip of a mountain, she stared down.
The skyship square was surprisingly sturdy for something owned by pirates. But perhaps it was the fact that this captain was nothing like the neck-slitters. They had an actual BrightCrown among them.
That meant money!
The ship, regardless, was halfway into the earth, smoke rising from some burned trees and red flora. The massive thing already surrounded by bald men, most dressed in red robes, half-torn, with some form of markings all over their skin.
They had slaves, too. Women and children huddled and tied in chains. Some were naked and, once in a while, one was dragged into the ship only to be returned ravaged, eyes vacant. This was not done only to the women, but to the men, too.
Any one of them was ready for that.
"Yikes," she exclaimed, a frown creasing over her features. "I'm so going to kill them all."
That alone was the strength holding her from pouncing. That and the fact that Praetorian Daena would be livid at any form of failure. Especially if it were caused by her hand.
The ship's crew patrolled with bladed weapons: knives, spears. None of them were oredite. "So they aren't that rich?" That was good to know. And more importantly, Auron Odium was yet to step out from the ship.
"He's smart, I suppose." She pulled her knees together, wrapping her arms around them. "It's natural to know that their ship was attacked by something. Of course, they could always point the blame at some bolt of lightning. Those aren't common anyway..."
She leaned back, head staring at the dark, foamy skies. "But if they have some casting or system that protects them from the thunder, then it only makes sense if they were attacked."
Her breath escaped as mist. "If so, then it makes sense why Auron isn't out yet... but," her eyes lowered, locking on the ship, "why isn't his right-hand man out, though?"
She bit down on her lip. "Too many unknowns... AH!" she screamed. "Why can't I just kill them all? Mist this. Mist this freaking Pained Martyr Sect mistsense."
She pouted, searching quickly for another of those sweet sugar cubes. There was none. Mist this!
"Lords above, let's get this over with." She spat, taking out a ring from her pouch. A sacred relic, this one was called. "Glamour."
She fitted the ring on her left middle finger, waiting.
The cold was quick and first to come. Then the oddness, the feeling of spatial change. Her arm growing longer; her hair, once the sweetest blonde of the Honor Clan, was now darker than bloody night.
Mist, she looked like a DarkCrown.
Then there were the ocular changes: her eyes becoming slightly sharper, with a darker hue than her usual blues. "How is this glamour... if anything, this is painfully mundane."
Next was her bosom... they grew fuller, pressing harder on her clothes. "Hey... will you look at those. They're bigger than the Praetorian's..." She paused. "Wait…would she like them?"
A warmth filled her cheeks. Shut up!
She stood, stretching the new, alien-feeling arms and legs, sucking on her lips. "Well, I still look okay for a darCrown."
Ah... she recalled. "What was the name I was taking again?" She lingered on that thought.
"Oh yes... It's Miss Sunday."