3 hours until clone death
"You know. Something's been bothering me."
"Pipe down, prisoner."
"No, I mean it. Something's been bothering me about this mission from the very beginning, because it goes against everything I understand about the Subway Wizards in general."
"I swear to God, if I have to hear that stupid nickname one more time-"
"They're a bunch of quasi-religious nutjobs, yeah? Constantly going on about preserving the Domains in their purest state and whatnot? Still with me so far?"
"At the rate you're going, you should be worried about still being with us," Gordon threatened.
Henry, once again, ignored him outright. Now that he'd had a moment to reflect on it, he felt he absolutely needed to get this point across.
"So, why, of all the people who supposedly want this mysterious artifact, did they decide to toss away all of that fanaticism and openly acquire one of their own?"
Deep in the bowels of the subterranean labyrinth, the group had come to a halt to rest for a brief moment. Countless passageways branched off in multiple directions from the entrance they had discovered, slowing their pace somewhat as they thoroughly explored the apparent inner sanctum of the Morlocks. It was during this brief respite, while Gordon was preparing to scarf down a month-old nutrition bar as Henry watched on hungrily that the unexpected happened.
He made a good point. To someone who hated his guts, no less.
The GC overseer paused mid-bite to over his words. Letting the hand that held the food drop away from his mouth, Gordon's brow furrowed as he realized it actually didn't add up, just as Henry had said.
Then, realizing he didn't have an answer either, he pushed the thought to the side and polished off his stale snack.
"Beats me," he admitted readily. "But the sooner we get back to it, the quicker you'll find out."
Henry wasn't amused. "We're all waiting on you, you know."
Gordon didn't respond verbally, instead wagging his pointer finger and patting the holster on his hip while he polished off the remaining few bites with his other hand. With an audible gulp, he tossed the wrapper on the ground and stood up.
"Break time's over. Get moving."
And that was that. Henry and Layla got back to their feet, and continued on further down the corridor.
< -|- -|- >
Exploring the catacombs below Liverpool Station was a… surreal experience. Part of it, to be fair, was the apparently superb ventilation system that seemed to be in place down here. There wasn't a single speck of fog down here, something that even the most tightly sealed aboveground structures failed to accomplish. The mere act of not having to squint everywhere to make out fine details was throwing him for a serious loop.
What was worse, now that he could actually drink in every detail of his surroundings unhindered, Henry was having a hard time wrapping his head around how this place could have come to be in the first place.
If the temple up above had taken months to make, then in comparison where they were currently should have taken years. Every single branching hall and pathway they came across, every which way, the walls were lined top to bottom with finely-crafted works of art.
From sculptures recessed into awnings depicting historical figures, to frescoes depicting events that shaped the course of the world, to highly detailed petroglyphs on seemingly any and every subject. It felt like a scattered collection of everything a historian might consider 'important', realized exclusively with the help of every artist who ever worked on the Sistine Chapel.
No rhyme or reason to placement. You could have a lifelike rendition of an Egyptian pharaoh stood next to a lithograph depicting the Wright Brothers first inventing the aeroplane, and it would still be more organized than whatever planning went into this place.
And they all made heavy use of that same, pitch-black stone.
It was being used… well, artistically. None of it was completely carved from the strange material, but rather it was being used as trims, or to accentuate certain important elements.
It certainly grabbed his attention, with the way that light seemed to slip right past it and ignore the stuff entirely. Neon-black, almost. Sticking out like a sore thumb by merit of not broadcasting a vibrant color to the world.
"What is this stuff, anyways?", Henry asked to no one in particular as he poked the polished obsidian surface of a carving of a horse. "I've never seen it anywhere but the big pillar up above before. Did the Subway Wizards make it? Is this whole place an artifact, and this is just one of the oddities about it?"
Gordon and the Harpy, naturally, ignored him. Probably for the best, they were keeping watch on the way back anyways. Making sure they weren't ambushed from behind, and all. Important work.
"What about you, Layla, what do you think?"
Oddly enough, she didn't respond from around the corner, either. She'd ducked into a side room to quick check it out, and she was still in there…
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But for some reason, she was being quiet as a mouse.
"Layla?" He wandered into the room she had entered, curious as to what would prompt her to ignore the question.
He very quickly figured out why.
This room was a...shrine, for lack of a better term. The scent of incense hung cloyingly in the air as he entered, although no smoke could be seen rising from the few sticks still remaining close to the sputtering flames of hammered bronze braziers. At the back of the room, a dais raised a few steps off the ground, elevating itself over the gathered congregation dressed in shabby, druidic garb kneeling prostrate towards it.
They lay perfectly still, in tattered robes and numbering a few dozen, murmuring prayers in a language that he could understand the intent behind more than he could recognize it. No reaction had been made by her intrusion, or his for that matter.
And yet, despite finally finding signs of life in this abandoned holy site, that wasn't the strangest detail by a long shot. Because, what held both his and Layla's attention was the double height statue on top of the dais.
It was… a larger than life, idealized rendition of Embla Hendriksson. Or, as they both knew her better, Layla's mom.
Everyone knew that she'd been a pioneer in the world of Domain magic. It made sense, in a… peculiar way, that if anyone were to be the subject of worship by these crackpots, it would have been her or one of her colleagues who blazed the trail alongside her or after her retirement. But, having had the chance to know her personally… this just felt…
Wrong.
The messianic garb the artist had decided to drape her in certainly wasn't doing any favors to that assessment. It looked more like a version that was everything they'd wanted her to be, rather than the person she was. At her core, that was a researcher. A curious mind who looked on at the world in wonder. One of the first ever to be struck by randomly forming mana, and rather than hide her newfound powers behind fear of the unknown, had instead taken the leap of faith to show the world just what might be possible with the help of magic.
Someone who, despite taking the world by storm, willingly passed on the torch to others to settle down with the love of her life and raise a family. That was what he'd liked most about her. She'd never cared for the notoriety or the fame that came with her work.
All she'd ever wanted was to share that sense of wonder with others.
Henry didn't say a word as he strode forward to be by Layla's side. He felt like the least he could do now, was be close by to make her feel grounded to the world around her. As surreal as this was for him, it had to be at least twice so for her.
For a moment, they just stood together and… well… nothing else, really. Just the two of them, in the moment, taking the time to contemplate just how off the walls crazy their lives had become in the prior months.
As much as this was a high point in that craziness… there was plenty more to unpack on that front, too.
"…Henry…" at last, Layla spoke softly as she turned subtly to face him. "…do you ever just wish all… this… never happened?"
The question came out of nowhere from his perspective, but he took his time to answer it properly. Made him toss around ideas on how to word things best, consider ways he might be able to sugarcoat his thoughts. But, as much as he might want to pretend… there was no way he could bring himself to lie to her.
"…No," he eventually decided.
"...Why? What's so great about Hallow London that you'd want to keep some of the worst days of your life with you?"
"It's not about how bad the past was. It's about losing the chance I have to make things better."
He sighed, then returned her gaze. "How would I ever be able to handle the future if I couldn't live with my past?"
Layla didn't respond, but his words seemed to strike a chord with her, somewhat. The low drone of the Morlocks chanting carried on, heedless to their presence. Like they both were in a world removed from them entirely, and vice versa.
"But, that being said… I do wish it would end."
Layla gave a weak smile in response. "On that, we can agree on, at least."
"See? I'm not a complete sodding mess, after all!" The small joke did wonders to brighten her mood, and her gentle laughter soothed his soul, just for a moment. "Now, how about we figure out exactly what's going on here, and finally track down this blasted artifact?"
"Oh… uh… well…"
"Hm? What is it?"
A thin trail of mist snaked from the center of her palm and wrapped around to a pouch on the side of her backpack. Lifting the flap by manipulating the fog, the tendril-like arm reached into the pocket to withdraw something.
"I have a pretty good idea on what that item might be… this was in the hands of the statue. I grabbed it before I noticed… before I looked at her face."
With some effort, she retrieved the item from her backpack hands free, letting it drop into Henry's outstretched palms. There was some skepticism on his part, that it was simply found that easily… but once he laid eyes on it, those concerns were put at ease almost immediately.
< -|- -|- >
"It's… a Magic 8-Ball."
"Well, yes… but there's more to it than that."
"Really? Like what?"
Gordon was not so easily convinced. Despite Henry holding the item in question right in front of them all, it seemed like he would once again need to debate his case with the untrusting fellow.
"Well… first of all. Same creepy black stone as that pillar up above."
"Okay… not seeing how that changes anything."
"Second, not just a rock with white paint. It does still work like a Magic 8-Ball, too."
He shook it, and Gordon peered at the message inside.
"...Try again later," the thug read aloud.
"...Yeah, not that impressive for me, either," Henry admitted. "But! If you would be so kind as to hold it for a minute…"
Gordon obliged bemusedly, but raised his eyebrow once he'd firmly grasped it.
"Feel that spine tingling feeling yet?"
Gordon opened his mouth as if to speak his mind, then thought better of it and rephrased.
"Look," he cut to the chase immediately. "We're looking for some sort of artifact that can be used as a weapon. And, not to mention, a powerful one. Something that made these guys change their mind about holing up underground forever. Now, as nice as this little journey has been up until this point, I don't see in any way how this-"
He lifted the orb up by the plastic viewing port and shook it by his head to emphasize how worthless he considered it.
"-could in any way achieve that. Unless you'd be interested in making up some lie about that, too."
Henry snorted derisively. "Artifacts never make it obvious how they work from the get go. And besides, so far there hasn't been a single other item that could possibly even remotely fit the bill. All we need to do is poke around a bit first to confirm or deny, yeah?"
"Or," Gordon countered, "I could just-"
He never got to finish that sentence. The 8-ball flashed black, causing Gordon to nearly drop it in surprise.
It fell a short distance in freefall before he managed to grab hold of it again. Now face up, the multi-sided die inside the briny liquid beneath the viewport bobbed and floated to the surface. On its face, a glowing blue symbol, shaped vaguely like a teardrop, shone softly from within the depths.
"The hell is this?!", Gordon cried out. "What's with the Domain symbol for Water?"
A second flash, this time white, shot out from the confines of the orb. When the light dispersed, Gordon was on the floor, unconscious.
The chanting in the shrine turned to wails. Joyous praises sung in a cacophony of unintelligible syllables, but somehow rising into a chorus that spoke in words Henry could hear in his mind.
Lepers to the healer, what was once lost is now found.
May the broken be whole again.
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