"Yeah, let's go get a drink." You murmur, taking one last look at the plinth.
[1] "Wait." You tersely command as anger and frustration rises within. You reach out towards the walls again, carving away the stone with your willpower.
[15][17] You burn away the impurities until the silicon gleams a bright silver. It twists and writhes in your mind's eye until you visualize the man. A body forms, clad in heavy crusader armor, made imperfect by memory. Captain Zachary McKinney kneels faithfully before you once again, a cutter hilt stuck into the ground in supplication. The details are not as strong as you would like, but the name underneath provides all the explanation the statue needs.
Regret threatens to consume your fire, but you tamp it down, and the emotion dies again.
"He was a good man. Loyal. Faithful. All those good things." William offers, quietly, "But regret Can't bring back the dead," and, with a dark chuckle, "Trust me, I've tried."
You nod. Then, in silence, you walk to the elevator.
You pull on the heavy hooded greatcoat, and William rolls up and folding the empty sleeve for you. You give him a smile, before strapping the gas mask to your face. You tuck your hair into the hood and dip him a nod. The two of you walk through the Fortress.
[19] Stalls line the street, selling meat and other items. Pawnshops seem to be the most prevalent, a wide variety of luxury items on sale. Children laugh and play while adults work to plant gardens. Murals line the walls, showing scenes from the mythological history of SEED, of streets and plazas of the Holy City. Great heroes sit in detailed landscapes, usually in some form of contemplation. The scenes, too, bare the mark of the religion -- cogs, steam, pipes, and brass twist into vivid natural landscapes.
[-] Something disconcerting is the amount of fire and blood that drip through the art. The heroes all have halos of fire. Campfires and candles break through the greenery. It creeps around the machinery, which, after pausing to inspect and compare, you find there is often more industry than nature within the works.
[11] There's a mural of you, too. You are clad in golden armor, wearing your wings of red-streaked fire and a halo of gold. You're carefully turned to avoid painting the missing arm, and you stare down at yourself without expression. Machinery, weapons, and cutters surround you in an ornate underlay. Candles lay at the base of it, and a bowl is filled with rations, flowers, and trinkets of cloth.
"There's a better one of you in one of the main halls. You're striking down a worm with a sword of light."
"Let me see it."
"Eh? Vain much."
You ignore him, following him down the elevator again.
[17] Your feet suddenly stop echoing on the tile of the floor as you stare at the mentioned mural. It fills an entire, unbroken wall. You fly triumphantly above a battlefield. One side is the Crusaders, led by a well-rendered Eric. He holds his cutter blade aloft, urging his men forward. The Crusaders look badly beaten, with many of them gravely injured, but they surge forth over the grassy plain with a zealous intensity that the artist captured well. William's Warmachines, their Thorns proudly displayed, loom over the Crusaders, using weapons as big as their brothers-in-arms.
On their opposite is the Plague, horrifyingly painted to capture their terrifying appearance. Insects swarm forth. They all charge out over a blasted wasteland—las-fire streaks through the air. Mortar shells blast into the Plague's ranks.
You hover in the middle of it, striking down a Colossus with your fire. The two of you twisting in battle dominates the scene—your wings of fire burn against the bright day. Blood pools from your wounds, as ichor, drips from the colossus. Its mouth is parted in a scream of pain as it dies.
You look over yourself and find your hair has been painted gold in this. Your golden armor is covered in blood and ichor and mud, but you shine with radiance. A flaming sword held in your hands burns through the beast -- but what draws your attention is your face. You do not wear the helmet like you did, but instead, it reveals your face stretched into a savage, joyous grin.
"They don't think much of me, do they?" You ask William.
"Do you want the truth?"
"Always."
"It's about why you're called the Angel of Mercy."
"Ah."
"They say its because it's only by your mercy they are not dead. One way or the other."
"They fear me?" You carefully question.
"Who doesn't?" William retorts.
"Do you?"
"Why do you think I bother working for you?"
"Hey! Michael! Two glasses of my personal stuff!" William calls as he claims a table in the corner of a poorly-lit room. The speakeasy is hidden behind crates in a warehouse, only accessible e by a carefully concealed door. You pause in the doorframe, staring at the man behind the bar. You hurry to William's table. Surprised to see the barkeep from the public house, back in the Holy City. He nods, pulling out a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses. He drops them on the table without remark.
You peel up your mask just a little to take a drink. The wine burns as it goes down, and you nearly choke. It's strong, very strong.
"[Ascended Wine?]"
"[Yes. Cephie owed me a favor.]"
Is there anything you should discuss with William? Or should you keep this a social visit?
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Topic: McCreary's Planet -- (FINISHED) (Read 258757 times)