58 And Justice For All

Each opalescent brick of the titan structure before me radiates furious power. Though the building itself is imposing, stretching out as far as my eye can see, drowning me in its shadow, the torrent of mad energies raging within the edifice eclipses its architectural grandeur. Waves of violent pressure push their way past my skin; burrowing through my muscles, they rattle my bones.

My every step resisted- I force my feet forward, following the impossibly unaffected mortal towards the building's entrance. My eyes wander upwards, glimpsing the architecture's peak; rested atop the rectangular, flat surface of the roof, a domed structure sits. Ivory Pillars support the first level of the dome crown, each pillar separated by less than a metre from its twin. Though I'm unable to see the building's entirety, the irredentist shading of the pillar's above rejects all speculation that what lies unseen is in any way inferior to the marvel before me.

Guided by the well-dressed servant, Huntress and I pass into the structure. The pressure intensifies, threatening to drive me into the marble ground on which I stand. Sweat pours down my face; no matter the attempt to dab it away, it's replaced not moments later.

Step by step, the servant leads us into a large room furnished with many platforms. On top of each dais, a chest sits. Some are open; others sealed closed. Walking deeper into the room, the servant waves his hand, directing my sight to the empty coffers.

'My lord, my lady, from here, no weapons are permitted. You can deposit your equipment in any one of these chests and retrieve them when you leave. You'll find that once you are free from all armaments, transversing these halls will become more tolerable, though, as my lord and lady are both Tension Masters, the suppression you feel will not lift entirely. For that, I can only apologise.'

Acquiescing to the servant's instructions, I unlatch the sword belt to my side and deposit my blade into a vacant trunk. Glancing to my right, I see Huntress do the same. From her ankles to her calves to her thighs, waist, sides, arms, back, and chest, the heavily armed woman removes knife after knife and places them within her casket. When the last blade is detached from her body, the woman pauses. She dangles the knife between her thumb and index finger; with a deep sigh, Huntress turns her face away from her task, parts her fingers, and allows the blade to drop into her box.

'Excellent. Please follow me. My lords are expecting you.' No further word breaks from the servant's mouth. Turning to the exit of the room, he guides Huntress and me from the chamber.

Led by the well-dressed mortal, we climb endless staircases. Higher and higher we go until we reach the summit of the building. Our journey, not yet complete- the servant takes us through a door leading outside. We ascend stairs to the top of the roof and arrive before the dome structure I had until now only viewed from afar.

I don't have to enter the building to know what to expect. Streaming from every inch of the dome structure are auras of each kind. Most, no denser than my own, informing me that the majority of the people inside reside within the first three realms of Tension Mastery. There are, however, auras denser and thicker than any I've felt for some time. They reach out of the building and engulf me. Within their presence, all I feel is dread; dread at the belief, no, the knowledge, the absolute certainty beyond doubt's absent shadow that the monsters within could erase all traces of my existence with but a stray thought.

My heart thumps in my chest. The servant opens the door. Together with Huntress, I enter the covert battlefield.

Men and women sit in rows of chairs encircling the vast, circular hall I walk into. From the base level to heights nearing the ceiling, the seats ascend. Six towering thrones partition the theatre seating. Rested upon each throne is the origins of the oppressive auras. Tension Masters at the peak of the mortal realms look down upon me, their gaze seeming to pierce my very soul. With my eyes cast forwards, I ignore their scrutiny.

I refuse to look down, but...

Neither can I look up.

Before me stands a circular platform; a stage in the centre of their arena. Atop the stage, a lone man waits. With a gesture, the man ushers me forward. Under the countless eyes of the surrounding multitudes, I walk towards the platform, ascend the many steps in front of me, and climb to the stage above. Less than a metre from the brown-haired man before me, together with Huntress and the mortal servant, I bow.

'Master and lady Mohan, thank you for joining us here. I must apologies for the abrupt nature of your summoning. It was, however, crucial that we address our current situation as a matter of urgency.'

With a step, Huntress walks ahead of me. Waving an arm behind, she pushes me one step back, and with her body, she shields me from my inquisitor's stare.

'What exactly is our current situation? Whatever it might be, I assure you, it is not more important than my brother's health.'

The man slowly shakes his head, places a hand on my "sister's" shoulder, and gently nudges her to the side before redirecting his eyes at me.

'Master Mohan, I assume you are aware as to why you have been summoned?' Locking eyes with the man, I simply nod. In my weakened state and under the gaze of some of the most powerful beings in the Tantial Region, I dare not speak more than absolutely necessary.

I knew this moment would come, and I've prepared as best I could. The Bishop Clan is known for their water Arts and not for their investigative prowess. Even still, with so many powerful Tension Masters around me, it would be less than wise to tempt the gods of fate with a misspoken word...

Where possible, it's better to let my opponents speak and react accordingly.

'Twice in not so many weeks have you been the lone survivor of attacks that have left each one of your companions dead-'

'Is that what this is about?' Once again, pushing me back, Huntress intercepts the man's view and burns her gaze into the eyes of my accuser. 'We have all seen my brother's memories of the event of which you speak. You know as well as I that he did all he could to protect your Clansmen. My brother almost lost his life to protect your interests, and you repay his nobility with accusations? How dare you!' Huntress' words are met with passionate cries from those sitting around the arena. Some jeer at her outbursts, others scream their approval, and yet the shadowy figures atop their thrones remain silent and unmoved.

The man walks around Huntress and faces me once more.

'With all due respect, we are here to question you, Master Mohan, not your sister. Your Clan is, however, led by a matriarch. I understand it may be your practice for the men of your Clan to hide beneath the skirts of their women. Here, we do not have such traditions. You may speak for yourself.' The crowd bursts into laughter, each man above showering me with their scorn.

Their derision means nothing to me. No, come to think of it, it's beneficial. Their barbs are intended for Logan. Each wave of mirth only acts to confirm my true identity is, for now, unknown.

Even still…

'I will not tolerate any insult towards the blessed matriarch! Whatever you have to say, direct it solely to me, but the dignity of my lady will not be tarnished by your lips!' The man parts his lips as to speak, but no words leave his mouth. Looking up, I see the reason why. Upon one of the thrones sits a woman. Though darkness obscures her features, the strength she exudes breaks through the gloom, flooding the stage with her presence.

I don't need to see her face to know who she is. In a way, albeit it, a way that's cruel and without mercy, the woman is closer to me than any living person on Aspire…

Constancia Mohan.

The blessed matriarch.

Logan's mother.

The little that remains of the boy's essence resonates with the woman's power. Nurtured and warmed by her presence, I feel his splinted spirit grow within me. It cries out for its mother's touch, filling my being foreign sentiments.

Pity?

Love?

I don't know, and It doesn't matter.

The boy's feelings are not my own, and I will not be subject to them. The moment his remnants are no longer profitable to my goals, I will purge them so as not to be poisoned by my own contrivance.

'This is a farce!' Huntress shouts. 'Brother, let us depart from this place. I knew your engagement with the Blackshire girl was a mistake. These people will only ever view our Clan as outsiders.' Huntress Grabs my wrist. Turning, she walks towards the stairs leading to the exit of the theatre.

Around the circumference of the platform, a dense wall of water surges from the ground, impeding our path. Releasing my wrist, Huntress looks over her shoulder to the cause of our imprisonment. Forcing air sharply from her nose, the woman turns once more and marches towards my interrogator.

'What is the meaning of this? You have no right to keep us here. Until our Clans are united, you have no power over our movements.'

The man smiles and shakes his head.

'That is where you are wrong, lady Mohan. What we do this day is ordained by your matriarch. We have been empowered to detain or even execute your brother if we find his responses to our questioning wanting. You have been permitted to stand by his side, but do not interfere with our enquiries unless you are willing to share in his fate, whatever it may be.'

I can't blame them for their suspicion. Were they not wary of me, I could only condemn them as fools. Suspicion and evidence are, however, two exceedingly different things. I've covered my tracks.

This is all within my expectations.

'Sister, I have nothing to hide.' Returning to the centre of the stage, I face the man. 'Ask your questions; my innocence is unimpeachable.'

'Brother, wait.' Huntress moves in front of the mortal servant. From his head to his toes, she scrolls the length of his body. As if coming to some conclusion, the woman nods her head and rests a hand on his shoulder. 'Boy, whom do you serve?'

'My lady, I serve lord Eisenhower Blackshire.' The servant replies.

'Was it he who instructed you to disturb my brother's rest?' With a nod, the boy replies. 'Is Lord Blackshire the man with whom we share a stage?'

'He is, my lady.'

'Thank you.' Without another word, Huntress opens her palm and strikes the side of the servant's face, bursting his head, splattering his blood and brain matter across the onyx tiled ground below. With a smile on her face, the madwoman wipes her hand on her white lab coat then walks to my side.

'Please proceed with your questioning.'

A tide of murmuring drifts from the crowd and washes over the arena; without Tension to enhance the sounds, most words are lost to me, but one breaks through the noise and reaches my ears. To my mind, the word is less a condemnation and more an accurate summation of fact.

"Madwoman."

I can't deny their chants; I have echoed their very thoughts time and again. However, despite appearance, there is a method to the madwoman's madness.

Huntress is not on trial, and the death of a mortal is without significance. At least, it is to those unschooled in the means of altering memories.

It seems the lunatic is more resourceful than I had given her credit. I doubt even a single person here is able to understand the significance of her barbarity, but it did not escape my sight.

I might not know why the woman needs to amend her recollection, but I recognise the process. I did not miss the sleight of hand, nor am I blind to the brain matter pocketed within the madwoman's lab coat.

I don't know what she has planned, and yet...

I'm excited to find out.