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(Vol 6) Chapter 34: Feline Execution
🕑 Added 2024-09-03 15:00:10 +0000 UTCNestled in the cozy, quiet library of Mot Mekess, Crow’s eyes burned in the morning light. He tried to read faster, knowing he needed a little rest, and he prayed for a little more time. Time was always creeping for more like a little hungry rat, and he with so much to absorb and know before it was stolen away.
Never enough bloody time. And other things aside from reading call for attention. This Brain Trust stuff I promised to see about. And very soon, what deserves all of the attention. Who, rather. The brightest little light of Samantha, yet still completely mine. Estara.
His project was multifaceted and tricky. One thing he’d hit a wall on was something he should have gotten copious use through, which was Speak With the Dead. Instead, on Calrenazzod, it was all but useless, often failing completely and at best getting insanity-laced fragments he had to consider with a heaping helping of dubiousness.
The vanquished Goddess of Death had preserved those ancient skulls for a reason. They were supposed to be a link, a medium to access what were effectively the virtual spirits of those who had passed on. Preserve some of the greatest minds. He’d been excited when he first realized it and then fell into deepening disappointment when he discovered none of them functioned anymore.
It made him hate the Sage in a brand new, novel way. He became Crow’s enemy in truth, not just his Goddess’s foe.
Samantha is waking up the whole world to this crime. We are no longer asleep, and he will pay for the damage he’s done.
He truly wanted the knowledge those lost souls had in specific regard to the functioning of that semi-failed realm. It was important not to make the same mistakes she had. Without them, he had to guess all the whys of how the netherworld turned out like it did.
The biggest core reason was at least obvious. The Goddess of Death focused only on the rare, highly educated, brilliant minds, originally quite tactical when they controlled civilization because they simply dictated belief down to the unwashed, fairly illiterate dregs.
She was outcompeted in the inevitable shift and sway of religions and revolutions. More parasitic entities in truth took hold. That, Crow could not disagree with the Sage on. Capturing souls to essentially milk and harvest them, utilizing subconscious belief, and conspiracy pacts between the high and low places… That was plainly parasitic and diverged from the old, philosophical constant of ‘Go where’er thou wilt, passing on or remaining in spirit.’ Choice was taken away.
The Sage had gored them all out, leaving a barren wasteland of belief. He could’ve handed it back to the just, but instead, he went after them, too. Perhaps after belief itself. He’d intensified the World Spell, made it cut a wider swath. Perhaps multiple times, evolving it in power. But somewhere in the midst of that, the preserved literature on the subject died. As expected.
The sages kept their methods. Fortunately, independents managed to secure some means, scarce as it is.
Innocuous books of innocuous subjects that the Dominion otherwise allowed to persist held hidden codes. It was painstaking to interpret and spells wouldn’t work — quite by design, right in the sagely blindspot — but Crow had learned quickly and was getting faster with each book. Or page. A whole book was at most a small manuscript worth of ancient history.
Samantha can help me forge this medium regardless of how little I have to go on. And it will benefit her because some will be led to Heaven. As for the classic Punishment Hell or Underworld of Parasites, well… it can go fuck itself deeper into oblivion where it belongs.
In truth, Crow wouldn’t rock the boat if the framework already existed in a culture, but there was no way he was going out of his way to make an ‘acid bath for evil’ or whatever. If he could truly do whatever he wanted, he wouldn’t reincarnate disorderly problems, he’d annihilate them — like crumpling up a hopelessly damaged manuscript and tossing it into an incinerator. That wasn’t possible, though — nor would his goddess agree — so it was irrelevant.
Regardless, the innumerable Lost Souls out there needed a medium and a judge. Some needed to be put to rest and some put to work. That was the proper order. Samantha would tie herself into a miserable, wretched knot to deal with such things and make such decisions. Meanwhile, Crow would feel nothing but satisfaction to preserve what was worthy and screen out what wasn’t.
Treasures of the past remain unlocked. Some could be critical to understanding how to win this battle ahead. And some are not treasures at all. Like this fucking junk.
Crow closed the coded book he had read. A waste. It was ostensibly a book on table etiquette, but instead of something helpful, the code was some stupid ‘secret recipe’ formula for ‘the best fish sauce in history.’ An entire manuscript, detailing irrelevant lead-up about their family and such bullshit, with the recipe at the ass end. He’d expected with all the boring nonsense for a real nugget to be hidden somewhere. Instead… useless drivel.
Sighing, he set the book on the table and determined he would have to ‘call it.’ He stood and stretched. The Cat Sith Gandalf faintly opened his eyes from the nap he was having on the cushion of a chair. They momentarily closed again. He deserved it — he’d been instrumental in finding coded books and doing his own supplemental research. Crow planned to ask for a mostly permanent assignment of the fae feline to him. She could create another with the [Research] skill for others to use, after all.
Crow took a walk and slipped into the kitchen to get some hot, dark tea, and also ‘stole’ a stuffed mini pastry pie. Not a soul saw him take it — a perfect crime once again executed by his expertise.
Back in the library, he secretly consumed the pie, eyes and ears primed for any intrusions that might expose him. It burned his mouth a bit but that was well worth it for the sugary apple filling. After ensuring all damning evidence was meticulously cleared and cleaned — with verification by mirror — he turned his mental attention to Samantha’s realm.
Jeeves patched him into the Brain Trust. It was a kind of continuous shared mental communication space, almost permanently occupied by various Servitors such as Aramis, Pythia, Dick, Raphael, Uriel, Merlin, et cetera. Furthermore, many key strategic mortal leaders seemed to tap in very frequently, such as Orswyth, Zephyr, Carlisle, Lucky, Oliver, and Vitarion.
They were all stupendous nerds (a wonderful word Samantha had brought to Calrenazzod). Crow mostly avoided it as an ‘uncool’ hangout. He was certainly no nerd. He had to set an example for Galynth to begin with, whose nerd levels were extreme and inhibiting. Crow had instructed him to mitigate his endless hanging out with the Brain Trust already, as they would just make it worse. A good template was Michael, who was no nerd but did come and go from the Brain Trust pragmatically.
“Greetings, nerds,” Crow offered into the shared space.
Numerous too-enthusiastic hellos and welcomes popped back, including a bored, generic welcome from Pythia. She was perhaps the least nerdiest of the nerds.
Aside from Lucky. She’s not even awake, is she? Hmm. Okay, yes, she’s not among the nerds.
Last but certainly least, the most enthusiastic welcome was from a vibrant new feminine persona he immediately struggled to figure out. “Welcome to the Brain Trust, Crow! I’m new here, too! I’m Ash. Very glad to have you aboard. You seem to be quite a mysterious and elusive figure so far.”
Crow found himself squinting as he felt familiarity tingles taunting him from multiple angles at once. “Are you certain we haven’t met? I feel as if I know you. Is Ash short for something?” Even that was familiar, yet his memory struggled to grasp it. What the hell was it?
Ash’s mental words tumbled over one another. “Likewise for me — No, just Ash! Not a real name at all — we must have past lives connections! Samantha seems to heighten those senses. Incredible!”
Crow was frowning and wracking his brain still. “Mmn. True. You need sleep.”
“Ye- uh, pardon?”
“Are you normally manic? You do not seem like someone such as Constance, who is always disposed to being manic. And your mental voice holds a note of anxiety and hysteria. Like one forcing themself to stay awake in fear of missing something.”
“I… see. Perhaps I should get a little more.”
Raphael suddenly cut in. “I think Crow is right, Ash. Push it any further and you’ll be asking for Doctor’s Orders on the matter.”
There was embarrassed silence from Ash at that rebuke for a long moment. “Understood. I bow to the consensus and will heed this advice. Objectively, I can see I’ve been overeager. I thought I’d lost something like the Brain Trust forever, and, however different, it's actually better. But before, we had the means to-... never mind.”
Pythia chimed in, softer than usual. “We will ensure you are briefed on everything you missed while asleep or away, Ash. Always.”
“Thank you. Crow, we should try and talk more in-depth sometime. When you can next find a moment.”
Crow sent a mental nod to this. “I agree. We shall.” If I don’t jog this memory, it’s going to kill me. It’s like it’s trapped behind a locked door, trying to beat it down from the other side.
After Ash departed, Pythia continued, “It seems you’re already providing your unique insights here, Crow. I’d appreciate you being here more often to help us with them.”
“Hmph. Well. If you insist it’ll help. But it won’t be like some of you that are here every time the leaves rustle.”
There were numerous mild chuckles at that. Pythia diplomatically replied, “We know you’re busy and independently minded on your affairs. When you can, that’s all.”
“Samantha mentioned there was something or other I’d be interested in that is developing. Do you know what she refers to?”
“Connecting with Ash itself is one plus, being an insider into much of what you are hoping to counter. And I glean that connection to be strong indeed. There is also the matter of a declining deity with an afterlife on a forbidden island off the coast of Geirkos, protected by what was initially believed to be ghosts. It seems they are ancient Followers, with a small number kept sane by ‘thinking in a runic language’ as a preservation mechanism. Orswyth and I are deeply involved so far. Others no doubt will be.”
Crow was somewhat taken aback. “It seems I’ve missed a lot in a short period of time. Perhaps you could share a more detailed summary of events?”
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