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44. Basil - Vows & Victories
🕑 Added 2025-09-28 03:19:53 +0000 UTC
Chapter 44
Vows & Victories
Afi came back to us in a weeping, bleeding heap, which Hull took in his arms the moment she arrived, the two of them sagging down to the floor together. I had never seen him treat anything – or anyone – with such softness, and despite the circumstances, I was glad he had found someone to care for. To think that the boy who had once spit at me for returning his card was now dabbing blood away so gently and whispering words of comfort that I only caught the edges of. It was like he had picked up all the compassion I had left behind, while I had taken up his hard edges.
What a strange path Fate had decided on for the pair of us.
“You won’t be able to use your fabricator.” Esmi’s voice was smooth, but I could hear the concern that roiled beneath the surface.
“Thank you for the reminder,” I said, unlatching the wrist leathers that held the artifact in place. The skin underneath was paler than the rest, a testament to how long I had been wearing such a device. “Keep this for me, would you?” I asked, handing it to her.
She accepted the fabricator, but her eyes were on me, not it. A frown had formed above her nose. “We should have been discussing your strategy instead of watching those duels. We couldn’t affect either outcome but yours is a card yet drawn, and we should have treated it as such, doubly so since you can no longer use your most flexible Source. Surely that will change your deck choices?”
Her concerns were understandable but they were not ones I shared. “My next match, I will most assuredly want your input,” I told her. “But you need not worry about this one. Ever since we fought the necromancers when recovering your body, I have known what I must use.” Perhaps if the man had not stolen Atrea from me I would not have spent a part of every waking hour theorycrafting how best to crush him beneath my heel, but he had, and thus so had I.
Esmi nodded tightly in return, trying to accept my words but clearly having a hard time of it. “Why am I more worried than you?” she said with a helpless little laugh. “I’ve already died.”
“You know what to fear,” I said in a way that I hoped was comforting. “And you always weighed concern for others over that of yourself.”
Her back straightened and the red flecks in her irises glowed. “If he should kill you, I shall get your card back from him. I swear it.”
I had no plans to lose, but instead of saying so, I squeezed the hand she had left free for me to grasp. “I do not doubt it.”
She appeared sated for a moment, but then her eyes turned downward. “I worry for you, Basil,” she said, voice quieter than before. “You seem… distant, harsher.” She looked up at me again, confronting this concern of hers head on. “I worry that it will lead you astray, make you bold when you should be cautious, overzealous when you should be patient.”
So, this change I felt was not just my imaginings; it was almost a comfort to hear her name it.
“I have spent so long being cautious,” I told her as I tried to decide on the rest of what I should say. “I think this is who I need to be right now, to win, to see us through this chance we have to take back Treledyne. Can you wait for the Basil you remember until then?” I didn’t know when he might return, or if he ever would, but my ignorance on the matter kept my question from feeling like a lie.
“Of course,” she said, putting her warm palms against my cheeks and then bringing me in for an equally warm kiss. “Do not die on me,” she whispered against my lips, “not so soon after I’ve returned.”
“Only one man will die,” I assured her, “and it will not be me.”
She pulled away, looking rather shocked at my response. It seemed I had acted just as she had said, but there was no time to mend it, for I saw Rakkoden waving me over.
I squeezed her hand again and told her, “I will return.”
My path took me by Hull, and he looked up at me as I passed. “You good for this?” he asked me, voice husky. His face was nearly as wet as Afi’s.
“Very much so,” I answered.
He nodded, taking my word for it, which I appreciated as I continued on my way. I was nearly to the centaur and the doorway he stood beside, the same one that had led Edaine to her death and Afi to being scarred – our side was not faring well – when my brother interceded.
“Your spine is sharper than last I saw you, and here I heard you were in chains.” Gale had slapped me on the back when we first arrived in this new place, and we had traded a few words since then, but nothing akin to this, nothing of meaning.
I held up a placating hand to Rakkoden as I turned to Gale. “If you are worried about having to fill my role at the Watch should I die, you need not be. This is a match I am well equipped for.”
He quirked a smile. “You always were so dependable, Basil. What would we do without you?” Squinting up, Gale looked out the viewing window. “I’d wish you Fortune’s Luck, but I have a feeling it doesn’t count when he’s up there watching both sides.” He glanced back down at me. “Perhaps some Hintal luck instead? Surely it’s time for it to be on the rise again.”
I thought of our ancestor Dallon, the Legendary Soul sitting heavy in my Mind Home, a weight I could feel more than any other card. “That choice of phrase is more appropriate than you know.” He gave me a curious look, but I didn’t bother to explain. “Help the others in my absence. It was what Edaine wished, and you are a Captain, after all.”
“And now he has grown bossy,” he said with an eye roll. “What exactly did they do to you?”
The question was meant to be rhetorical, but I answered it anyway. “When we’re out of here, perhaps we will have that drink you wanted and we can speak on it.”
His smile fell away, and he regarded me, without any jests or bluster between us. “I would like that,” he said and then he reached up, squeezing my arm. “Trounce him like you did me,” he added with that cocksure grin.
I shook my head. Gale could only stray so far from himself it seemed, but today his levity didn’t bother me. Instead, his words lightened my last few steps to Rakkoden.
“Thank you,” the speaker said somewhat tightly, and I wondered what would happen if someone delayed too long or refused to fight. Would we be carried off by a pack of centaurs or face the Twins’ wrath on the spot? “Follow the path,” he said, indicating the hallway that led off from this particular door, “and you will find yourself on the dueling field down below in short order.”
From watching those who had gone before, I know he spoke truly, but I had a question before I departed. “You mentioned that the Twins wished to see us using their gifts instead of those of mortal make.”
“I did,” he said, his tail flicking behind him, clearly wishing me to get to the point.
“Can I take that to mean that if we were to use an ability with a restriction, say of once per day, that the ability would be available again during our next duel?” The sun had been my previous marker for such things, but the ambient light that suffused everything, both within our box and without, came from no source at all as far as I could tell.
“You are indeed correct, Competitor Basil. You may use your abilities in this match, resting assured that, should you fight again, they will be available to you once more.”
Rakkoden didn’t seem to have much faith in my abilities, not with that phrasing, but I supposed he was here more as a neutral informant than someone meant to cheer us on. The invaders probably had a similar centaur mouthpiece. I wondered if the Primarch had tried to eat that, too.
I nodded to the speaker in thanks, making my way into the tunnel. As I did, I turned to give Esmi a wave, and she shook her arm fiercely back. For so long I remembered feeling undeserving of her affections, and now I could barely feel anything at all. Warrick of all people came to mind then. He had been all venom toward me, but in the end, he had traded his life for mine. Those were not the actions of the same person, and yet, they were. How could such differences live in him? In me?
The hallway was not long, and impossibly, I could see the dueling stage at the end of it, those great slabs of stone waiting for me to fight on their surface. As I walked, sure in my duel but muddled in myself, it was a temptation to assign meaning to my surroundings, crafted as they were by the very gods we worshipped. The Twins took such care in the cards they blessed us with, surely this place was no different. There were one hundred and forty-four stage tiles, the product of a twelve by twelve game board – easy to count when viewed from above and equally easy to see the association with the number of Sources. The pairings of duels was similar in nature, yet not quite so obvious to me. To think that the Queen, then Afi, fighting Hull’s mother was happenstance would stretch the bounds of coincidence too far, but as to why Edaine had been forced to face the might of the Primarch, I had few guesses. My match though couldn’t have been clearer. Without a doubt, the Twins knew what I wanted, and when I stepped out onto that grand stage, I sent a word of thanks up to them.
My opponent was waiting for me – the emaciated man dressed in his dark robes. It seemed that not as many had wished to speak to him before he left their company. I felt a noticeable tug in my chest, and there, projected above for all to see were our Soul cards. I had no need to examine mine, but his I raked my eyes over.
I already knew the man to be Epic, so there was no surprise there, and his abilities were much as I expected for someone who utilized swarms. As for Death’s Coil, I had hoped to discover how many times it could be used, but since it was worded similarly to my own such Abilities and I had seen the man employ it twice previously, I decided it was safe to assume that was the limit.
“Not a single combat ability,” he snickered. “And it was you who agreed to this Apotheosis? You truly are a mad fool. Dying in front of the Twins doesn’t make the end any grander, as your female general proved.”
He had more to say, but my attention was still cast upward, waiting for the next set of cards to show. This was the one thing that worried me, and I didn’t blink until the ante flashed. Dallon appeared, practically a given, as the best card in my current deck.
And then Atrea appeared.
I closed my eyes, thanking the Twins again. My guesses were right: they knew exactly what I wanted and were willing to give it to me, even though there was no way Atrea was part of Rathamon’s Mind Home. Perhaps the Twins also knew that after watching Edaine’s body and cards float away, I wouldn’t have killed the man until I had searched his person bare. But now I had no reason to hold back.
“You have a Legendary card,” the necromancer lord was sneering. “Your forces must truly be desperate to waste a prize on you.”
His bitterness couldn’t have been more obvious. “Thank you for informing me you have no Legendaries in your own deck,” I replied.
“I– what?” he sputtered. “I said no such thing!”
“That is precisely what you said,” I told him as we both began drawing Source. I played Air to ensure I went first and to deny him a turn one Zombie. I normally wouldn’t have minded, but without Slow, I didn’t want to take early chip damage. I also had my Defensive Kata at the ready to absorb whatever initial assault he did mount.
On his turn, he brought out a second Death Source, hesitating for a moment, which told me he had options. In the end, he summoned a Soul generator, the same as what we had faced before.
I had hoped he’d be tempted to do as much if he had more Source at his disposal instead of just one. With the structure, he summoned a Zombie, the desiccated corpse crawling out of the mounds of dirt and graves that had appeared when the Restless Graveyard formed.
Now came the question of whether or not he would attack with it. I had watched a number of Order Swarm users duel over the years, and from what I had observed, they were often greedy, wanting to get as much value out of the mass they generated as possible. And a man like Rathamon, who wished to know the secrets of lichdom and live forever? He was likely the greediest of all.
In the end, he didn’t attack with the Zombie, dithering with his cards in hand instead. No sooner did my mind ease, indicating the shift of turns, then I played an Order Source and summoned my Master Shieldbearer, both without hesitation.
“More than one Bodyguard?” Rathamon said, narrowing his rheumy eyes. “What sort of deck is this?”
“The same one that defeated Felstrife,” I answered flatly. Of course, I knew that my victory had been aided in no small measure by Azure fighting her first – watching Afi lose so thoroughly against a Mythic had been a grim reminder of that – but there was no reason to share such information with Rathamon. “Feel free to use your ability on him. I have Dallon right here,” I said, tapping a card that was in truth one of my Raven Nightguards.
Rathamon cursed and grumbled, summoning another generator, but still held back from attacking, unwilling to lose any of his swarm against my Shieldmaster. We fell into a rhythm after that: me building up cards while he summoned more Zombies including one of the specialized ones he had been forced to show me at the vampire soiree.
It was clear to me that the next turn he’d feel confident to launch an attack, probably using something that buffed his Zombies beyond his Soul Ability, so I went ahead and cast the Equality I had been sitting on.
The great scales lifted my lone Master Shieldbearer against his burgeoning horde, shattering everything but one of the Graveyards to regain balance.
“You think I’ve never seen an Equality before, pup,” Rathamon snarled as the scales melted away. “I was dueling Order fools before your grandfather first learned to piss.”
“Perhaps if I had faced you then you would have been a challenge, instead of making every play I wish.”
“Oh, a clever little duelist, are you? All prepared for the swarm?!” He summoned his next card with a flourish, and the form it coalesced into was larger than I had expected.
“Equality that!” he cried, sending it lumbering at me. My Master Shieldbearer stepped forward and took the fist the groaning, rotting half-giant delivered, going to one knee to do so, and losing nearly all his health.
I felt a twinge of annoyance at not having any Life Source summoned yet or the one Fluid Grace in this deck drawn, but there was nothing for it. I did, however, have an answer. One I had included in place of Executions to take care of Graveyards, but it would work well enough now.
With the next Order Source I played and some Air, a new Soul misted into being.
This Assassin didn’t have the speed of my Master Assassin, but he was still a dark blur, flitting over the space between me and the half-giant, until he planted a dagger in its thigh, Venom pumping up from the wound and destroying the large Zombie in seconds.
Rathamon gnashed his teeth, finishing off my wounded Shieldbearer with a Spell.
And then sent a Zombie to kill my Assassin while keeping a freshly summoned one in reserve should I attack.
Little did he know, I never planned to do that.
I drew a Life Source and released it, the ball of twisted green vines spinning up over my head. With it and some Order, I summoned my Acanthi, his lanky frame much taller than the Half-Giant had been.
“Tri-Source and slow as Depths to do anything,” my opponent grumbled. “Nonsense, that’s what your deck is.” With a disgusted look, he cast a Blood Spear at my Acanthi, followed by his Soul Ability Death Coil, enough to rip the card from my Mind Home, an uncomfortable buzz ringing in my skull from the invasion.
The Sneak Attack damage he took from the Spell was another Blood Spear but then also a Half Giant, the Zombie’s From the Grave ability letting it join the field. Of course, having killed my only Soul, the board was wiped clean when I cast my next Equality.
Rathamon’s face was a grimace as his forces turned to shards around him yet again. “You can’t have many of those left!” he growled at me. Then a green swirl exploded from his hand. As a general of the forces of Death, I had known he’d have at least one Mythic but had little guess as to what it was since each was unique.
For the first time in the match I found myself mildly impressed: the man had made his own Mythic. With it, he resummoned one Half-Giant Zombie from discard and then another from his hand, both sent to crush me, their lumbering gait shaking the ground as they approached.
But, I still had my Defensive Kata, and casting it, I slipped and wove around the Souls ungainly attacks, emerging unharmed.
“Just die!” Rathamon screamed, spittle flying from his lips.
He had been right that I didn’t have any more Equalities, but my regular Assassin wasn’t the only old card I’d brought back for this duel. Seersight had shown me an intriguing elevation path for a particular Soul, and using my Potential Unleashed ability, I summoned a Rare version of the Headsman I held in hand.
Rathamon wasn’t fool enough to miss what my play would be, and he used his Death Coil Ability for a second time. However, the Headsman was cheap enough that I still had Source left to counter with a Protection.
“Go do what you do best,” I told the Soul when the afterimage of the Coil's blast had cleared.
The Headsman rolled his neck and then breathed deeply, like was about to set out on an invigorating stroll. “Right then,” he gruffed and hefted his axe. His first swing beheaded one of the Half-Giant’s with immaculate precision and his next was just as clean, lopping the other Half-Giant’s head from its shoulders, both cards crumbling into shards and drifting away.
Rathamon pulled hungrily at his new cards, his hand growing fat, but that was exactly where I wanted his cards – in his hand, not his deck. He probably thought I had misplayed, not destroying his Crypt. But if I had, I was sure he would use his Death Source Power to place the Mythic on top of his deck. Instead, he did as I hoped, playing another Graveyard and two Plague Zombies, trusting in his Crypt to bring his Souls back.
He sent them after me, finally abandoning his expectations that I would engage his Souls in the usual way. With his damage buff, the three Souls struck for 6, but I blocked it all with Dallon, the Legendary shards shoving the Zombies back.
It would have been nice to summon him this match, but at this point it didn’t matter: it was already over.
I had two Air Source circling and this turn I brought out my second Life. With a series of plays that almost felt practiced now, I used the same combo I had on Felstrife, first summoning my Pantherkin, Transforming it and giving it Sneak Attack. And then Ambushing with it three times over by using my pair of Raven Nightguards to create two separate Air Source Explosions.
“What is this??” Rathamon screamed as my Panther ripped into him with her claws, tearing cards from his Mind Home that he couldn’t block from hand. When she was done, he lay on the floor, body torn and blood pumping freely into his ermine cloak. I saw him gasp, spitting up crimson rivulets and his Souls didn’t vanish, so he wasn’t dead yet. Killing the Plague Zombies would only trigger their Dying Breath, destroying my Souls, so I sent my Headsman and Nightguard all at Rathamon. He managed to block weakly from hand, but they were all low cost cards – Zombies and some Apprentice Necromancers he had been holding back for a final wave – so he was left with nothing when my Souls were done.
As those cards fell to tatters, he gripped his chest with one hand and flung his other out at me. There was a pulse of grayish black and one Nightguard and my Headsman shivered before melting apart: a Death Explosion. A Zombie from the Graveyard latched onto my other Nightguard, able to pull it down because Rathamon’s Soul Ability was still in effect, even though the man was clearly at death’s door.
I saw his Sources dimming them, starting to bring a Soul back from discard, and low on resources myself, I did the necessary calculations.
“You have no Souls,” he rasped up at me when I put a boot on his neck, grabbing one of his arms.
“I don’t need them.” I yanked on his arm with all my might while digging my foot into his soft flesh to create a lever, just as I had once seen a living headsman do when a prisoner slated for execution tried to escape. I was rewarded with a sharp crack, and it was then that Rathamon’s remaining Souls in play finally vanished.
I dropped to my knees, reaching for his pockets and pouches, but just like when the Primarch had tried to consume Edaine, the Twins whisked Rathamon’s body away from me on unseen currents, denying me the chance to retrieve my Acanthi. I had known I would likely lose at least one card in this duel, and the Acanthi was a Soul I wasn’t as close to. Rakkoden had said that the cards of the defeated would be redistributed, and as Rathamon’s body drifted upward, I hoped it was to the Mind Home of someone who lived in nature, a beautiful place where the green giant could enjoy where he roamed.
While I said goodbye to one card, another returned to me, Atrea floating down, her red-edges shining bright.
As I caught her, something reverberated in my mind and body. It wasn’t a voice but instead a feeling, telling me that I could upgrade any of the cards I wished. The knowledge was not unexpected, as we had seen Hull’s mother do the same with one of her Spells while Afi slinked off, but still, feeling what I could only guess was the Twins in me was a heady sensation.
In terms of the choice, there really was none at all. Perhaps there should have been, but I felt no regrets as I held the card I had just caught back up to them. Atrea’s card spun out of my grasp, twisting in the air with greater speed until it was a blur. Something akin to a Source Explosion or Soul Elevation occurred, blowing the hair back from my face and then she drifted downward, green-bordered and glorious.
It was like the whole world was humming as I hurried off the stage, slotting her back into my Mind Home, and before I was at the exit door, I had her summoned.
“Your name,” I told her, the second I saw her face and ears solidify – the information was bursting to escape me. “It is Celestine.”
The smile she gave me was sunshine bright. “I know. I knew as soon as I appeared again in your Mind Home. And that’s far from all.” She stepped into the hallway, walking slowly but proudly with the information she now held.
“You regained the rest of your memories?” I asked, following her. It was a strange thing, the workings of a Soul card’s mind. They remembered more recent events with greater clarity than their earlier years. The two of us had spent many sleepless nights in my youth guessing as to her origins. Had she grown wings due to a Soul card elevation, were there others like her hidden away in some peaceful valley or high off escarpment, or was the cause something else entirely?
“I have a people,” she said, each word and revelation clearly precious to her. “We call ourselves the Zoryn. I was part of our knights, but I loved travel, exploring. The things I saw, the places I went…” She looked like she was remembering each one, the soft blue glow of her eyes only partially hiding the tears that were welling. “But I traveled too far,” she said with a sigh, “too far for my fellow knights to find when I died. It was a little girl who first picked me up,” she revealed with a laugh. “Samsa. She loved me to pieces but it was her da who could summon me, not her, and he knew there was money to be made from a knight with wings. Sold me to a passing trader, bound for Treledyne…”
She stopped walking halfway through her story and talking not long after that, but I waited another beat to make sure she was actually finished.
“You should visit them.”
She looked at me doubtfully. “They live far to the north, Basil, very far.” Her wings stretched, which made me think the distance contained its share of heights. “Even at Epic, I’m not sure if you could survive the journey.”
“While I should very much like to meet your fellow Zoryn someday, I see no reason to be present on your first trip. When we finish here, go.” Still she seemed unconvinced, so I pressed. “You are Mythic now and can be away from me for months at a time. Do not worry for my safety. I have a new, skilled protector.”
“Dallon, yes?” she said, and there was an extra twinkle in her eye. “I like the look of him.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Celestine,” I said, daring to try her true name for the first time.
Strangely, she whipped a finger up to my face, holding it like a miniature blade. “Celestine may be my name, but to you, I will always be Atrea.”
I was at a loss by that request, so I bowed to her. “You honor me.” I felt her move, and a glance up showed me that she was bowing back, her wings tucked against her sides.
“No more than you deserve,” she said, her face the picture of earnestness. “Thank you for returning my name to me. I will treasure it and our friendship, always.”
Atrea vanished then, unsummoning herself. As a Mythic, she did not have the same heft as Dallon, but still, I could feel her presence in my mind if I tried, sharp yet light, and the comfort that gave me there were no words for. I looked down at my hands, soft from years of paperwork. I didn’t see the death of my enemy in them, but instead the fulfillment of a promise made not just to Atrea but to myself.
I also saw my team’s first victory in our bid to oust our enemies from Treledyne. My hands tightened into fists. The first of many.
Comments
Death56
If you look he doesn't have fated damage other than that or a health on his card
Marcus Rodriguez
I assume Rathamon is high epic, but does his ability to do 5 damage several times a day seems a too strong, even before we account for the fact it steals cards? Should it not not at least devote him, even you do not want to put in a source or sacrifice a creature he has on the field?
Kris Boxall
Awesome chapter! We have our first win!
Knyko
Basil beast
iridium248
Yo CURB-STOMP HIS ASS, Basil!
Novice Reader
Best arc it was worth the wait!
