Shadow of the Abyss

The journey towards Babels Tower had been eerily silent. The only one who spoke was Talia, unable to keep still. She'd too much energy to remain still, pointing out various types of cryptids. That caught her eye.

Presently, Talia was playing the game of 'I Spy' with Syris and Zag, who were happy to entertain her, finding the journey boring, lacking in the sort of violence they'd trained themselves to face. The landscape around them was a monotonous stretch of clouded forest land, broken only by the occasional sighting of a cryptid.

Altair, on the other hand, was engrossed in his own world, his attention riveted on absorbing the Mana. He quite liked the idea of Syris bonding with Zagreus. It saved him the trouble of idle conversation while also allowing a familiar bond to form between people who would remain by his side for a very long time.

"Altair," Hilda suddenly called, padding away at her data pad. "Raven just sent over data about the Syndicate of Black. Shall I tell you?"

'Seems even when I'm away, I'm still busy,' Altair told himself. And he said, "No. Send it to my Neurolink. Is there anything about our workforce across the Outer Planetary Rim? I'd imagine chaos has ensued with the change of leadership."

"Down thirty percent," said Hilda, opening the document. "Aurora suggested we send a few loyal nobles to—"

"Send the Silmor Family. Your family has been too lax for the past century. You're a Count, right? Earth's Planetary Outer Rim is rather small. Your family can and will handle the northern sector. Kill who you must; I just want the territories under control."

Hilda bit her lip, her eyes finding her Master's cold, icy ones. "I am all of my family can offer," she told him, the desperation in her voice the more apparent. "I'd have to force my father out of retirement and—"

"Hilda," Altair cut her off. "I am sure you'll have to do what you must, but this is also an opportunity for you and your family. Earth's Outer Rim is akin to our borders. And they need to be secured. As for your familiar ties, as long as the job is done, I don't care what you have to do. I've no use for nobles that can't be used.

It's why the Silmor family were gifted titles. They had use. If they can't handle this, there isn't a need for them to exist."

Hilda felt the warmth beneath her skin wither. She gulped and knew he was right. Nobles were the direct subjects of the king. The lords and ladies who were granted power in his name. She could not deny this, nor could she reject him just yet. Her family was still weak, carrying no sort of power or political authority.

Perhaps that would change when she took over the northern sector of Outer Rim. But until then….

She bowed her head and said, "Right away, my Lord."

"You'll be given funding, of course; however, that will be limited. But I am sure you'll be able to handle it. Vaiga," Altair called, ignoring the quiver of dread curling down her spine as her footsteps waned for half a beat. "Reconnect with your family. Kill those who stand against you or whatnot. I don't really care.

But they'll handle the Southern Sector."

"Yes, my lord." Said Vaiga, pressing on, following the path.

To Altair's rear, Syris heard and observed, studying his movements, finding that even when he was relaxing, he was scheming. 'He's using the nobles… weeding out the useful amidst the rabble.' she told herself. 'His maids claiming territory was perhaps the most important defense against invaders. The Outer Rim of any territory is, without a doubt, the most important step in securing his reign.
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With them by his side, he would have untethered access to any sort of invasion in the future.'

"Ah, I almost forgot to ask, what is the reason for the drop in manpower?"

"Money and apparent working conditions," said Hilda. "The Current ruler, Marquess Yelf, has a rather lavish lifestyle."

As they traveled, Altair continued giving out commands, finding most of his time was spent on tedious matters. Though he knew it was the tedious matters that demanded attention before they led to change that he had no control over.

Earth was still reeling, still fearful of the change of leadership. He could see it already, guided by his sense of knowing. The people hated him; they feared him. Kingslayer! They'd call him, spitting at the name 'Blackwood.' Others were confused, unsure what to do.

There has been no significant change to the economy's income as of yet, nor was there any sort of heavy loss, with the aid of the nobles seeking to keep their heads.

After half an hour of travel, they caught sight of a massive outline of a tower there through the fog. The sight of it left Altair breathless, struck by awe. The tower, despite its clouded appearance, appeared every bit forged of sorcery so profound the furthest region of his mind, where knowing existed, began to ache, encumbered by an invisible pressure of omnipotence.

Altair gazed upon it, lowering his eyes towards the path ahead, and followed it, coming upon a clearing to a stronghold that had been cultivated the day Babels Tower arose.

Nyvor, it was called, and for all intensive purposes, had not been owned by the royal family or by Earth but was occupied by some unnamed force; Altair was sure it belonged to Genisis. Why else would such a landmark not be claimed by royalty?"

"What are you thinking?" Syris asked him as they approached the wall. She sounded worried. Curious at what measure he might take to an occupation on his planet he nor any human ruler had agreed upon.

"It's up to them. My goal is to claim this entrance to Babel's Tower," he said, pausing at the gate, where two guardsmen stood in all white.

"Name and—"

"Kill them," Altair commanded.

Heads rolled faster than anyone watching could blink as Vaiga slid Shadowclaw from its scabbard, severing head from shoulder in a single stroke.

He pressed on, ignoring the screams of visible distress of those watching. His eyes counted the number of individuals of unknown origins and identities. There were so many who looked confused, drawing their swords and shields, spears, and glaives, nocking arrows that lay poised for attack.

It all amused him. None of these people were from Earth. Through facial recognition brought on by his Nerolink, none of the faces were logged for visas or even registered within his records. They were all offworlders, invaders who knew nothing of him or his reign—a testament to how unsecured the Earth's Outer Rim had become.

He had half a mind to kill them all, but instincts warned against such brutal actions.

'War should always be a last resort,' Tenebrae had always told him. "Each time you lift your blade, you reveal part of your hand, a part of your inner self."

He waited. Neither speaking nor answering the many shouts that echoed off in the distance, as soldiers began to appear one after the other, armed in various weaponry meant to kill even Ninth Circles.

But still, Altair stood calmly, counting the unrecorded faces and sending the data to Aurora within the Palace of Sunset. Growing increasingly attached to his Neurolink, he hadn't been able to use it properly in the early years of his life.

"Who are you?" asked an approaching woman as various guards parted for her. She looked old, marred by seamed wrinkles across her cheeks and forehead. Her hair was withered white, shriveled but elegantly tied in an ornamental bun.

"Are you the leader of this… Band of aliens?" Altair spoke, focusing an eye on the woman. He could feel it. His sense of knowing, warning her transcendence past mortal understanding.

Syada looked every bit crossed, hearing the cold cadence of his voice. She lifted her lips, angling her head high. "Boy, are you a fool? You kill two of my people, do you—"

"Syris," Altair said, cutting the woman off, " How would you feel about occupying this territory?"

"I could make you very rich, perhaps turn this half-ass city into an actual one." Said Syris.

"Then I'll leave you to occupy this territory," he said, completely ignoring Syada. " I'll leave you to control your people. All I ask is that they are registered by law under a work Visa."

Syris nodded and said, " I understand. I'll see to it at once. I'll have my old Masters begin occupying this land."

Syada could only shake with anger, opening her mouth to speak before being cut off once more by Altair. "That makes me wonder where my Master is. I guess time will tell. It has only been a month and a half since we left the Lake of Rot. It seems kind of longer, doesn't it?"

"Enough of this! Kill them," Syada demanded; flitting her sleeve, she whirled to find a masked woman behind her, inches from her face. A coldness echoed through every fiber of her being as she looked every bit petrified by a distinctive pressure lashing at her soul.

Karis, the Reverend Mother, stared her gaze so penetrating that every ounce of willpower housed within Syada crumbled to dust as her awareness folded beneath the might of a true God. By the time she realized what had happened, Syada was on her knees, her head buried in the Earth. She was weeping, pleading for a merciful end, a quick death.

It would be denied later amidst the terraforming of this region by her organization.

'A king does not mean you are the strongest,' Altair thought. 'A king is someone capable of controlling those above him, like those beneath him.' he smiled, feeling Syris hook her arms around his, and stared, waiting… waiting.

Karis approached, passed Syada, and fell to her knee, "My lady… Lord Blackwood. I greet you."