“Nine years. He’s been evading the church for nine years, killing and feeding, mostly through semi-legitimate duels,” Favonia said. “By this point he is strong enough to operate in the open, but also smart enough to know he is better off not doing so. No living soul has come to that shrine since the baneworm moved into this subdistrict, even the Seekers being given the go-ahead to conduct their training there was part of the honeypot, even the fact one of them is always apart from the group — the strongest among their number who is able to conceal his own abilities. That man was not present at the gymnasium, meaning the baneworm has already gotten to him. We accounted for this, so my collaborator had me place a method of tracking into his astral body — a curse — that only I can detect. Even if he is dead, it will linger on his physical body for several weeks, and I can sense it in this area.”
The banisher spoke matter-of-factly, explaining her modus operandi in regards to this case with the full expectation that Krahe would understand it, and she did. It was very much in line with something Krahe could see herself doing if she were strong and established enough to act without looking over her shoulder at all times. She could feel herself moving in that direction, but she also knew she wasn’t there yet. The Seekers, Favonia, even Casus as he was now, they were all stark reminders of just how far up the mountain she had yet to climb and that others wouldn’t just stop climbing if she did. Despite Favonia’s matter-of-fact tone, however, it was fairly obvious that she held some measure of personal animosity towards the baneworm of whom she spoke, the sort of vaguely-directed animosity one would hold for an enemy one has been chasing for a while without even meeting them.
They had reached a fairly deserted area, filled with various buildings that weren’t just out of use, but had in fact never been in use in living memory, just the bones of ancient Jas’raban architecture, renovated only with the barest of modern essentials.
“Wonder if the Oculae would work while astro-diving. My astro-diver form retains at least my eyes as a detail. Could dive to try and bait him into looking at me and then freeze him for you,” Krahe speculated aloud.
Favonia slowed, then stopped, glancing Krahe’s way with a raised eyebrow.
“Perhaps. I would rather not have you courting death like that to aid me against a foe I can take down on my own, not after the effort I’ve made. But, if it’s astro-diving… The old man didn’t know how counter it and it’s not exactly a common defense around these parts. Try the trick on me right now, just so we know for sure.”
She was a bit doubtful at first, but sensing no veiled threat from the mountain of woman before her, Krahe took in a shallow breath and willed herself to dive into the murky astral shallows. Immediately, the world slowed down and grew desaturated, but Favonia instead grew more vibrant, becoming a smear of scarlet piercing through everything. The vast mass of her hair spread out over the surroundings far beyond its physical appearance, crawling over the ground, the walls, even through the air, like the tendrils of some unknowable terror, and her left arm was just an indiscernible mass of writhing, silver light, the jewel a star of such redness it surpassed any conventional description. She couldn’t make out any other details, but she could see the wellsprings of burning orange that were Favonia’s eyes. Mustering her will, she ignited thauma and poured it into the Oculae. Once more the faint taste of salt sprung into being on her tongue. Krahe sensed the vague currents of the astral gulf stir into motion, barely-noticeable in the state of a partial dive as they were. More and more thauma, she poured in, until mouths began to open upon Favonia’s form, each a wound-like grin from within which a spectral arm of black salt emerged, each arm itself covered in countless eyes, and each of these arms wrapped itself around Favonia as best it could, grasping and clawing wherever possible, spreading a shell of solid salt wherever they touched. In the span of moments, Favonia became a motionless statue, and even the brilliance that her presence projected into the Astral Gulf dulled to a bare sputter for the moments that the binding held. It took hold quickly, even given Krahe’s dilated sense of time, but it took long enough that she could tell it wouldn’t be easy to land against a resisting opponent. Just as quickly, then, as it took hold, so too did the shell shatter, its remnants disappearing into thin air. Krahe emerged from her dive while Favonia shook her head, blinking.
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Favonia did something Krahe viewed, in some way, as unthinkable — she shivered.
“I had thought experiencing it a few times had made me grow accustomed. Your manifestation is particularly unpleasant,” she uttered, her excited tone contradicting her words of complaint. Without waiting, Favonia shook her head once more and continued on her way. “Let us make haste.”
Their destination was a warehouse that stood out in no way, shape, or form, besides perhaps its size. Inside, the place was a wreck. Rubble was scattered every which way, the stone floor bore countless gouges, and a figure sat at the center of the sword-scar pattern. It was the figure of a man, clad in a mixture of rough-hewn, indeterminate cloth and chitinous armor. On the ground before him laid splayed out the stripped skin of a man’s head, and his own head was encased by a skull-like helmet. The eyes that turned to point their way as they entered were piercing, pale blue. Krahe kept to the side, attempting to look the observer for now.
“You have come. As he knew you would,” the sitting man remarked, his voice apathetic and echoing with a distortion that divorced it from any common humanity. “I would have run, as I have many a time, but he made little effort in concealing the fact of your ability to track my location. Clever, clever. Shall we do it, then? Only one at a time, please. I despise threeways.”
“Your existence is a mistake — one I intend to correct,” Favonia said.
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