Chapter 104: The Strange Old Man

The feline Abomination landed between Mara and the breach, its paws striking the stone with none of the violence that had accompanied its earlier attacks. Dust lifted around its legs and settled across dark fur torn open in a dozen places. Several wounds reached deep enough to expose pale bone beneath the muscle, while strands of remembered flesh shifted along their edges and slowly pulled themselves together.

Mara tightened both arms around Rook. Only moments earlier, his fingers had twitched against her coat, but now his body hung limp beside her, its weight pressing heavily into her knees.

His chest remained crushed beneath the remnants of his clothing. Every shallow breath forced more blood from his mouth, and parts of his skin had turned translucent where the Pale Abomination had begun digesting him. Dim fragments drifted through those patches like memories trapped beneath thin ice.

The feline took a single step toward them.

Weapons rose throughout the courtyard.

Frederick planted himself in front of Mara. The officer with the bladed tonfas next to him extending. The anchor wielder moved to his right, dragging her weapon across the stone until its head rested between the creature and Rook. More Reapers formed around them, injured and exhausted but still capable of fighting. Heat shimmered along one sword, poisonous vapor curled from another Reaper’s fingers, and chains, spears and altered blades turned toward the feline from every direction.

The creature stopped before crossing into their reach.

Nobody attacked. They had watched it drive the Pale Abomination from the Bastion, shield wounded Reapers beneath its body and tear into the Seventh Rank whenever it threatened the Beacon. Without its help, most of the people standing in that courtyard would already have been consumed.

None of that made it safe.

An Abomination could retain an impulse without understanding why it existed. It might protect something for reasons no human mind could recognize, only to tear apart the people beside it when that impulse changed. Gratitude did not survive well inside bodies assembled from corrupted memories.

The feline looked across the raised weapons. Its ears lowered, and a growl moved through its chest deeply enough for Mara to feel through the floor, but it made no attempt to cross the remaining distance. Instead, it settled its weight onto its rear legs and waited.

Beyond the courtyard, the battle was finally breaking apart. The lesser Abominations that had poured through the breach were being driven back or Culled beneath the concentrated attacks of the Forty-Second’s Reapers. Their bodies collapsed throughout the damaged halls, dissolving as weapons pierced the memory cores hidden within them. Pale light flickered across the walls after each Cull before being drawn into waiting Death Imprints.

Even the faceless Fourth Rank had abandoned its attack. It retreated through a broken passage with half its body dragging behind it, leaving streaks of dark flesh along the stone.

Frederick’s party had torn away most of its lower limbs, while the Manager’s stone had crushed several more into useless masses of writhing muscle. New limbs continued pushing from its torso, but they formed too slowly to replace everything it had lost. Several Reapers pursued it as far as the passage mouth before the Manager ordered them back.

Movement continued beyond the breach. More shapes passed along the Hollow Road, following the wounded Pale Abomination toward the Forty-Second. None attempted to enter the Seventy-Second. The repaired Beacon’s light reached through the broken wall, and the Reapers below had made the cost of another attack clear.

As the fighting quieted, more attention shifted toward the feline.

The creature watched each Reaper notice it. Their formation tightened, and weapons that had been aimed toward the ruined passages slowly turned toward its chest. Its tail swept across the stone once before becoming still again.

"Hold your positions," the Manager ordered as she crossed the courtyard. The dark veins of her Death Imprint remained spread through the floor behind her, holding the unstable stone beneath the breach together. "Nobody attacks unless the creature gives us a reason."

"It already approached the wounded," one of the Reapers said. His spear remained fixed upon the feline’s chest. "That thing is a Seventh Rank. Waiting for another reason could get someone killed."

"It approached them and stopped when we raised our weapons," the Manager replied without slowing. "If it intended to attack, Frederick would already be dead. Keep your spear ready, but do not give it a reason to change its mind."

The Reaper fell silent, though his weapon did not lower.

The Manager passed through the defensive line and crouched beside Rook. She pressed two fingers against his throat before placing a palm lightly over the ruined center of his chest.

Mara watched every shift in her expression. "He’s still alive. I can feel him breathing."

"His body is still functioning, but that may not last." The Manager drew her hand away. Black fluid clung to her palm beside several faint strands of light. "He remembers what he is supposed to look like, but too much of him was damaged at once. Some parts are trying to rebuild while others no longer remember where they belong."

"Then stabilize him," Mara said. Her arms tightened beneath Rook’s shoulders when another wet breath escaped him. "Whatever the creature did, stop it before the damage spreads."

"I can keep the body together. I cannot restore memories that have already been digested."

"He was only inside it for a few seconds."

"A few seconds inside a Seventh Rank can take more from a soul than years spent anywhere else."

Mara looked down at Rook. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth, tracing his jaw before disappearing beneath his collar. His face appeared unchanged, but she could no longer be certain that the person beneath it remained whole.

Before the Manager could begin stabilizing him, the feline rose.

Every weapon around it shifted, but the creature paid no attention to the Reapers. Its gaze had moved beyond them toward one of the shattered entrances leading into the courtyard.

Slow, uneven footsteps sounded through the corridor, accompanied by the light tap of a cane against stone. A man emerged through the settling dust.

He appeared old enough that walking through the damaged halls should have been the most dangerous thing he attempted that day. A round hat sat low upon his head, covering thin grey hair that reached almost to his collar. He wore plain clothing beneath a light coat more suited to a cold afternoon than a battlefield, and one hand rested upon the curved handle of a wooden cane.

He carried no visible weapon. No Death Imprint marked his hands, no armor protected his body and no insignia connected him to any Bastion. Nothing in his posture suggested that he had noticed the dozens of armed Reapers surrounding him.

The old man walked directly toward the feline.

Frederick moved to intercept him. "Stop there. Whatever you think that creature is, it’s still a Seventh Rank."

"I am aware," the old man answered. He glanced at Frederick’s raised tonfas before looking toward the creature. "And you may lower those. If she intended to kill me, several years of familiarity would make walking more cautiously rather pointless."

The feline folded its front legs and lowered itself beside him. Its massive head descended until its chin almost touched the floor, bringing one ruined ear level with his shoulder.

The old man reached up and scratched the fur behind it.

A sound rolled from the creature’s chest. Several Reapers tightened their grip upon their weapons before realizing that the Seventh Rank was purring.

"You’ve done enough," the old man murmured as his hand moved across the gashes lining its jaw and neck. The wounds were closing, but slowly. Pale strands of remembered flesh stretched across the openings, broke beneath their own weight and reached out again. "Far more than I asked of you, judging by the state of this place."

He slipped one hand inside his coat. The nearest Reapers reacted immediately, but the object he removed was not a weapon.

It was an Abomination’s core.

The core was roughly the size of his fist and enclosed within a thin shell of dark tissue. Light moved through it in uneven pulses. Faces briefly formed beneath the surface, their mouths opening before the surrounding mass dragged them back inside.

Mara had seen cores exposed during a Cull. She had never seen anyone carry one in a coat pocket.

The old man tossed it upward, and the feline caught it between its teeth. The shell burst with a wet crack. Pale light spilled across the creature’s tongue before disappearing when its jaws closed.

As the Abomination swallowed, the wounds covering its body began to repair themselves more quickly. Bone vanished beneath newly formed muscle, flesh sealed across the remaining openings and strips of dark fur spread over the repaired tissue.

"What the hell are you doing?" one of the Reapers shouted as he rushed forward and seized the old man by the shoulder. "That soul could have been Culled."

The feline moved before anyone could stop him.

Mara did not see it rise. One moment, its head rested beside the old man; the next, its jaws were open inches from the Reaper’s face.

The man stumbled backward and fell. His weapon slipped from his hand as he struck the floor, leaving him staring up between fangs large enough to close around his entire head.

The feline did not bite. It held him there beneath a low growl, saliva stretching between its teeth and dripping onto his armor until he managed to scramble away.

The old man calmly adjusted the coat where the Reaper had grabbed him. "She dislikes strangers touching me. You should consider yourself fortunate that she has already eaten."

"You fed her a core that should have been Culled," Frederick said. "Whatever remained of that soul is inside an Abomination now."

"I was present for that part," the old man replied. "Repeating it with greater outrage will not change what happened."

More Reapers began moving closer. The feline followed them with its head, but the old man laid a hand beneath its jaw before it could rise again.

"That will do," he said quietly. "They are frightened, and frightened people rarely improve when shown larger teeth."

The feline closed its mouth and stepped back.

The old man left it behind and approached Mara. Frederick immediately blocked his path, crossing both tonfas before him.

The old man examined the blades and then looked toward Rook. "If your intention is to protect him, you should decide whether preventing me from reaching him is helping."

Frederick remained in place until the Manager gave a slight nod. He lowered his curved sword but stayed close enough to strike if the old man attempted anything.

The stranger passed him and began crouching in front of Mara. His knees cracked loudly enough that he paused halfway down, grimaced and shifted most of his weight onto the cane before finally settling.