∴The Son, the Dame, and I∴

[Lewis!]

Campbell lay amongst the bodies, releasing a sputtering retch with almost every breath he took, the pungent stench of rot had come to burn the back of his throat. It was unbearable, yet there he lay, his trial illuminated only by the magnificent glow of the moon, his one solace at this moment was its beauty.

After his prescription of hours had finally passed, he rose from the pit of corpses and clambered his way back to the surface, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the sandy ground of the depot's yard, before he once again returned to the brutalist comfort of the nexus interior, and to the chamber where he knew she would be waiting.

Throwing open the door, the smell of cheap cigarettes greeted him warmly, this would surely be enough to cleanse his nostrils. She was there, waiting for him by the table, a drink already poured for them both. Lumbering over, he seated himself across from her, resting his weary arms upon the hardwood surface, reaching out to take a swig of whatever alcoholic concoction had been prepared for him. They exchanged no words.

Fourth Defender eyed him coldly, producing from her pocket a crumpled scrap of paper which she slid across the table, it contained the instructions for his next trial, a comparatively simple endeavour.

Inscribe a crimson mark upon your flesh.
Let blood spill forth, a sacrificial mesh.
With each incision, pain shall be defied.
Baptised in crimson flow, your devotion amplified.
For in sufferings embrace, true power shall reign.

Campbell almost chuckled, returning his gaze to Four, this was his next challenge? A bit of blood? After a night of sleeping amongst the dead, how could this even compare?

Defender-4 met his gaze, her blue eyes narrowing. The comment he had prepared to make was caught in his throat, Alma Geyer was not a woman he intended to displease. She commanded in him both disgust and admiration, hatred and respect, the sight of irritation in her expression struck in him an uncomfortable sense of foreboding, what she asked of him now, was merely a prelude to something immensely more painful.

KING TWO​

 

[Lewis!]

In her arms, I found solace deep
A mother's love, a promise to keep
Yet now she leaves, duty calls to obey
My black heart aches, I weep, and I pray​

 

[Lewis!]

 

[Lewis!]

​

...and yet, I still find an odd pleasure in recalling that night. Our blood intertwined in such a way. It was a peculiar bond as then, as it is now.

Though forged in the haze of drunken revelry, the memory holds such a sickening delight for me.

The weight of my actions, the battles fought, the wounds endured... even the lives lost, all seem insignificant in comparison to that one thing...

Her word.

Nothing we have done, no sacrifice made, no accolade received. Nothing can rival its significance.

∴You have my undying respect, Edward∴
@PeaceAndMagick89

​

 

[Lewis!]

...but those were different times, veiled in an elusive tranquillity that clouded my vision. Duty bound me, shackled my spirit, preventing me from understanding the truth in his words.

We wiped the Volunteer Corps from the face of the Earth. Labelled them as traitors and terrorists. It is only now, as I witness the decay of cities, the corruption of minds, besieged on all sides by the putridity of a decaying world, that I comprehend the validity of Ismails way. War, war, war.

That dream of prosperity, of universal triumph which I had pursued for over two decades, now appears only as a distant mirage, unattainable unless through the purifying flames of righteous annihilation.

∴What would you know of true loyalty, Campbell?∴
@Amiro ​

 

[Lewis!]

Funny that he could not remember exactly what his frater had said, the whole discourse had seemed to blur together in his mind. He sat alone in the Sanctum, contemplating his next move.

He was not blind to the truth in Eighth King's words, after all, to follow the trick of Diyonsus was not truly against their code, he knew that, but at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to stomach the thought of it. He was blinded, as he always was, by the all-consuming fires of hatred. A vail of fury which clouded his mind and cauterised his emotions, feeding everything back into his most basest urges. To kill, to fight, to slay, it was all that seemed to bring him true pleasure these days.

But what to do? He had no particular wish to eliminate Eight... no, she wouldn't want that, but he was not prepared to die at the hands of the "Self-Inoculate", and watch as his "plan", crude as it was, fell apart.

"Ashford."

He thought,

"Must. Find. Ashford."

His left hand twitched, its fingers yearning to grasp a weapon—an instinct suppressed, for now.

∴So be it. You pick the time, I, the place∴
@slick ​

 

[Lewis!]

​

Fourth Defender's commanding visage instilled in Campbell something that nothing else really could, clarity. The chance to see, to feel, to drift and dream in his mind, to view the world as it was, rather than through a haze of intoxicating fury. He looked to his Brother, Eighth King, seated arrogantly across their runic table, they caught each other's eye for a moment. He could feel Eight's disdain, a pricing thing, right through his bloody bones, but he had felt this contempt once before, seen that same flicker of hatred behind the eyes.

Ismail had given him this look, this feeling, perhaps he had returned it to him. That had been the last thing they had shared before the Transhumans had him dragged off to an assured fate. As Alma's address came to an end, Campbell felt the need to rise from his chair, offering his respects to the Fourth Defender with a simple "Yes, Dame. Hail."

Eight's bickering remarks began once again, and Alma quickly shut him down. This feud was over, according to her at least. As the monitor which carried her image dimed its light, casting the Sanctum of Three-One-Four into its usual darkness, he heard Eight's voice again

"I will kill you.", he hissed. Campbell felt the anger boiling inside him again, barking back "Then you will die with me! I can promise you that."

He turned away from his deluded Frater, ripping his mask from its helm with a hiss of escaping air pressure, his hands thudding on the table in frustration. He needed to breathe. Eight had said something else to him then, he might have responded, but he couldn't quite tell if he had really spoken, the world around him seemed to dim into the background of his vision, and a feeling was beginning to bubble inside him, one strong enough to wash aside even his quickly returning anger.

He felt weakness, he felt who Edward Campbell really was, but a broken man fighting merely for the sake of fighting, for there was nothing else left in this world for him to do. This was his true face, and it was the face of all Inoculates like him. Weak, and scared.

"Alma is right, this is pointless... I have been weak," He said suddenly, "I am sorry Eighth-King, I truly am." The bitterness of his voice had faded, the rage suppressed beneath sorrow. Eight was stunned for a moment, perhaps disgusted by Edwards's true nature.

"Where is the Campbell I know?!"

Edward didn't respond at first, his mind locked in contemplation. Memories of his youth, of his service, of Alma, of Bluestreet, of Seventeen and of Ismail... they flooded his mind. Anger began to surge within him once more, but it was different this time—transformed. He knew he couldn't kill Eight; he couldn't bear to have the blood of another Ismail on his hands, watching once again as everything he believed in crumbled due to his own failures, for Eight reminded him of that boy from Bluestreet like no other. He reattached his mask, raising his voice to shout.

"He is dead! Edward Campbell is dead!"

"Then what remains?!" Eight retorted.

"The Clamp, the ever Bleeding Clamp! I have cast Edward Campbell aside on the streets of Tokyo, and only I remain! This is all I am and all I will ever be!" He paused for a moment, taking in a breath to continue his shouting. "Do you know the lengths I have gone to in order to ensure Alma's torch is passed to you, in place of me?! I have swallowed my pride, admitted defeat! And if you carry on like this, you will die with me in a maelstrom of terror, just as Alma foresaw!"

The contempt in Eight's eyes seemed finally to drain now, a sudden understanding reached inside him. He spoke up n a softer tone, not gentle by any means, but soft, low and measured. "Perhaps not, friend. We are the assured inheritors of this new Aeon. Men of astral significance, clearly." He turned his hip, flashing the odd pulsing artefact secured tightly in a glass container upon his belt. " I wield it at my hip," he said. "We shall evangelize this garrison, as it was intended."

Campbell shook his head, he was done pretending. He wasn't a High Priest, he wasn't built to lead men's minds. "Perhaps you will, Frater, but I... I am nothing but a fighter, a warrior. And a warrior lives to wage war, Eight. Nothing more."

Eight smiled a sly smirk, "I am a warrior too, but I carry the word of warrior-poets, visionaries far beyond my comprehension. I strip these words of their esoterics and satiate the angst of man, to prepare them for their ascent."

Campbell felt his chest rise as he went to suck in another deep breath, perhaps this matter was finally at a close.

"I have work to do." he finally said.

"As do I." Eight replied, now the two Inoculates went their separate ways in peace, but for how long?

 

[Lewis!]

 

[Tinbe]

Fake, there are no swords besides the katana in the content pack.
But there should be.

 

[Lewis!]

...and it's twenty-two minutes past six, a drive-by shooting in Possilpark earlier today has left two men dead and a woman in critical condition. The exact motive for the attack remains unclear with the perpetrator's likeness and whereabouts currently unknown, however, it is believed to be related to the recent escalating of gang tensions within the illicit drug trade...

​

 

[pimley]

∴the rock in hard place∴

Me: hello

rockleader: did you piggledom yet

Me?: no

voice: hello…