Jackal Among Snakes

“How many bits do we have to attach to movement?” Argrave complained, looking over Raven’s metaphorical shoulder as he worked. “I don’t want to literally ‘jog my memory.’ Could you imagine the looks I get if I wave my arms about every time someone asks me a question I need to think about?”

Argrave sat in his unusual chair, spinning around it while Raven worked hard.

“Focus on your own construction,” Raven criticized.

“I’ve been ready.” Argrave looked backward to his monitor, where the ‘hidden side of the wiki,’ as he called it, waited—the editing screen. “Just need the next bit of input from you.”

Raven caressed his forehead, then focused back on Argrave’s mindscape. It was difficult to gauge precisely how well things were going. Argrave certainly received and processed information incredibly quickly, but the ultimate conclusion to things could only be seen once they separated their minds. As he worked, there was a voice within him that beat hard against his chest. It spoke of how this was a pointless endeavor, how Raven could simply consume Argrave and potentiate him in his moment of weakness. Then… all that knowledge would be his.

But his rational mind of yet had the edge over the instincts. The instincts were swelling, gaining momentum, and it wouldn’t be long before that dam broke. He only hoped that Argrave, at the end of this all, would prove equal to the task of silencing the call of the Smiling Raven. Elsewise, Erlebnis’ gambit might pay off in a grander fashion that he had ever expected.

“We’ll link this segment to the color vermillion,” Raven declared, and Argrave moved his fingers to the mosaic with buttons he called a keyboard.

He changed some things, and the background on the monitor changed to that shade. “Vermillion. Pleasant shade. Let’s hope what’s on it is half as nice.”

#####

Sataistador studied the place where Law condensed all of his powers. The ancient god himself, and all of his Justiciars, surrounded the spot where Erlebnis fell. Sataistador thought that Argrave was within there, but he couldn’t be sure—Raccomen enabled him to move anywhere and everywhere. Something was strange, but ultimately, the fact that Law refused the enter the Palace of Heaven would prove to be a huge boon.

And on the subject of proof… it was time for Sataistador to prove something. Namely, ownership. He had lent Governor Zen a weapon of his own hair. He hadn’t been lying when he said he could only make one of those items every millennia—and this time, he had chosen to give it to Zen. But perhaps ‘give’ was the wrong term. It was his. It had always been his. Zen was merely the vehicle by which it travelled, right into the heart of the Palace of Heaven. Right to the Stormfield.

Sataistador sat on one of the highest points before the Palace of Heaven, running his fingers through his long red beard. He slowly braided it, piece after piece, until its massive bulk had been compressed into eight red braids. He took his weapons and with his bare hands began to bend and compress them into rings. When they were fused, he tied these crude rings at the end of his facial hair—one for each of his eight braids. With the rings braided into his beard, he held his arms wide, inhaled deeply, and clapped his palms together.

Tempestuous, chaotic fire poured out of Sataistador’s fingers. Even he was barely capable of containing them, his hands trembling from their power and sizzling from the sheer heat. Forcefully, he lowered his hands. The fire finally found its home in the eight rings. The metal seemed to draw the flames inward, absorbing them, until they were glowing pieces of metal that shone like a red star. Deep, dark smoke danced upward into the air.

The god of war, chaos, and brutal destruction rose to his feet. Smoke billowed around him, making him seem a demon walking the earth. He bore no weapon in hand. Rather, it was past time to reclaim the one he had lent. It had surely earned much glory, fighting on the frontlines to seize the Palace of Heaven. It would make a fitting weapon for this cycle.

Wind sent the smoke dancing everywhere, obscuring his figure… and when it finally faded away, Sataistador was gone with it.

#####

Moments ago—or decades ago, perhaps—Argrave had been watching everything over Raven’s shoulder, telling him what to do. Now, after a nigh-endless amount of processing, sorting, and associating, the roles had been reversed. Raven had gone through an unquantifiable amount of data, yet no matter how much he found, Argrave compressed all of it onto that monitor. Nothing that Raven had ever seen was anything like this wiki, and nor did Erlebnis’ vast knowings contain its like. Argrave alone knew of it.

Raven honed all his focus on it—his intellectual curiosity was one of the only things keeping him grounded amidst the perverse swell of desire of the Smiling Raven. He had to be certain, at least, that this matter was settled. It would make things easier on both counts—consuming Argrave, or unwinding himself enough to walk back from the edge.

“How close are you to being done?” Raven questioned, supporting himself on the back of Argrave’s chair. The thing wobbled unpleasantly.

“Nearly done. Just tweaking some formatting, making things pretty…” Argrave muttered absent-mindedly. Sharp clicks echoed, and boxes appeared on the monitor. He scanned through options, clicking on them quickly. The text changed shapes, sizes. They warped around images and videos that played audio so clearly it was as if it was happening right in front of them.

“How can something so small hold so much?” Raven questioned, letting his curiosity lead him.

Argrave didn’t answer for a time—he started typing furiously, then stopped and stared at the page. “Think of it like an inorganic brain, replete with memory and the ability to perform functions.” He looked back. “Except the functions are what we make it, it’s made of materials rather than flesh, and rather than blood, electricity pumps through its veins.”

Argrave pressed two keys—they said ‘CTRL’ and ‘S.’ A circle appeared in the center of the screen, slowly filling—when it finished, the words ‘progress saved’ appeared in the center. As the words slowly faded, Argrave leaned back in his chair, sighing heavily. “Nothing like a good day of work, right?”

As he stood up out of his chair, Raven felt an icy chill creep over him. He came to a realization. He needed to help Argrave. He needed to show the man—his friend, even—what the true purpose of this all was, what the end goal of all life was. He could take him on a journey. He could take them all. One person, one being, one purpose, one path… one body. There was an army all around, ripe for the picking. All that was needed was a little push. Break his mind, then leave.

A deafening noise, like an explosion, roared through Argrave’s mindscape. Pain flashed through his leg, and Raven fell to the ground, dancing through half a thousand memories. He turned his head, and saw Argrave standing there. The king of Vasquer held a strange metal object, shaped like an L, with an open port on the point facing toward Raven’s head. He wore a strange outfit that was sleek black, and fitted tightly to his frame. It had a black overcoat with stripes atop it, and beneath it a white shirt. There was a bowtie just beneath his neck.

“You probably should’ve told me from the beginning that you were losing it… but you gave enough hints for me to do my own research.” Argrave walked forward. “The only way that you were able to stop being the Smiling Raven was when you were broken, dead. I reviewed the incident.” He tapped his temple. “Did you forget Erlebnis was there? Did you forget he kept your body? I just can’t risk it. But don’t worry—I’ll make you whole again.”

“Wait…! We can do—”

Raven held out his hand, but the metal object in Argrave’s hand roared again with a flash of fire, and blackness fell over him.

#####

Argrave stood over Raven’s corpse in his mindscape. He’d wanted a weapon to incapacitate Raven, and in response, his mind had conjured a pinstripe suit and a handgun. Both were already gone, but Raven remained. His form in Argrave’s mindscape had perished from two gunshots.

Still… the Alchemist wasn’t dead. The fragment of his mind that he had sent over here was broken, but the rest of him would be whole and intact. Argrave had done his research before executing him. This would be an immeasurably heavy burden on the Alchemist, and one that he alone might not be able to recover from on his lonesome. He had sacrificed much to bring Argrave back from the brink. And the sum of his efforts?

Argrave looked at his desktop, where the wiki awaited him on its main page. He tried to draw upon any of Erlebnis knowledge, but none of it moved. It was locked within there, and only with an elaborate sequence could Argrave again get at it. Part magical, part mundane, Raven had managed to tame Erlebnis’ knowledge without being overwritten.

Well… not fully overwritten. It remained to be seen how much of what he remembered was accurate. Some wires were crossed. Argrave certainly wasn’t ready to jump back into a fight. But… he didn’t really have much a choice, did he? Argrave went to his computer, pulled back his chair, and sat down. He stared at Raven’s body for a moment.

Argrave would bring him back. He would fix what damage had been done. But for now… he would rest.

Argrave turned back to his desk and searched, ‘how do I get out of my midnscape?’ No results showed up, so he fixed the typo and sent the query again. He clicked the first result, scanned through the page that appeared, recalled his new memories…

And awoke.

#####

Argrave woke up with a hand inside of his brain. It was mildly disconcerting, but not entirely novel.

In response, he raised his own hand up, wrapping it around the arm in question. There was an explosion of activity springing from his brain as various motor functions triggered countless knowledges that had been tied up with them. He was reminded of everything of deadly chemicals to the geography of ages back as he pushed the arm out of his head.

Trying his best to ignore the squelching sounds, he slowly pushed the Alchemist away. When his hand was out of Argrave’s brain, he heard a large thud. Presumably the man had fallen over. Argrave felt around, searching for his face. Fortunately, the Alchemist had the good judgment to place it near him. He lifted it back up, making sure it was oriented the right way, and lined it up so he could use it.

“Hey,” Argrave said once his mouth aligned with his throat again. “Law. Can one of your Justiciars hand me the scalpel in the Alchemist’s hand? After that, I need a mirror.”

Argrave took the offered scalpel with his free hand, and used one of the Justiciars’ shield as a mirror to reconnect his face back manually. It was definitely crude… no, more than just crude, it was hard to look at. But the finer details could come later.

“Is he dead?” questioned Law. “The Alchemist.”

Argrave looked at him. “He’s hard to kill. Physically, mentally, he’s badly broken. Might repair the damage on his own, given time. Given what happened to him… it might be best if we don’t let that happen. Not yet. Not before measures are taken to cure him. I want you to look after him. Can you do that?”

“I can,” confirmed Law.

With that settled, Argrave turned to the person he knew could set things straight: his sibling.

“Induen,” Argrave contacted his brother through their mental connection. “What did I miss?”

“Argrave?” A female’s voice came, rather alarmingly. “You bastard! What happened? Are you well?! You’ve been silent for—"

“Who is this?” Argrave questioned. “Where’s Induen?”

“Induen?” the voice repeated disbelievingly. “This… this is Elenore, your sister. Gods, what the hell happened to you?”

Argrave blinked, trying his best to adapt as quickly as he could. Things were still badly crossed in his head—he was certain Elenore had died in a swamp… or perhaps just outside of the Tower of the Gray Owl. Fortunately, he had the intellectual reasoning enough to recognize his memories might be faulty, damaged.

Elenore carried on as Argrave’s head spun. “Listen to me, very carefully. I’m trying to help you. Anneliese has her suspicions that the god of war is trying something. You need to… I don’t know,” he heard desperate panic in her voice—concern for him. Some memories realigned in Argrave’s heads as emotions dredged them up. His blind sister. His sister, who he loved dearly. He’d helped her once or twice, given her a new perspective, so to speak… but she’d helped him over a million times. He couldn’t forget that.

Elenore continued. “You need to retreat, or get to safety, or get to someone that can help you. Do you understand me? We can’t lose you. I can’t lose you. Just get out of there. Something’s wrong with you, wrong with your head. We can help.”

Argrave rose to his feet, his limbs functioning surprisingly well. “Can’t run. Not now. Tell Anneliese to get to safety, if necessary. If Galamon is trying something, I’m going to see what I might know about that. He has to be using Governor Ji Meng as his conduit. I’m going to look it up on the wiki, see what I can’t find.”

Argrave prepared to dive into the wiki he’d just made, searching for any clue about what the god of war might be up to. He only hoped it would be enough… but above all, hoped he could manage it in time.