Chapter 1086: 1085: Many Faces
Simon’s pupils constricted.
For a moment, he forgot the Leviathan, the beast tamer and the screaming sea.
My little brother’s blood.
Memories he had buried deep in his mind began to surface, one after another, as if Veyra’s words had cracked the lid of a coffin.
A boy grinning at him from a tree branch, a shadow gauntlet catching his fist.
Third brother.
The same boy, furious on his behalf, shouting at him because the clan had cheated him out of his rewards.
And the boy’s back, turned toward Pellin’s room, trusting him completely.
The Chaos Blade sliding through his heart.
Forgive me, Thorgan. But you know too much.
Simon’s hands clenched, then his expression became cold.
He opened his mouth to ask who she was, but Veyra moved first.
PUCHI!
A slim black dagger appeared in her free hand, and she drove it into his stomach. The blade sank in up to the hilt.
Simon’s body jerked. A wet, choking breath escaped him.
Veyra pulled him close, one hand still gripping his arm, the other twisting the dagger. Her lips brushed his ear.
"From the moment you passed through The Wall, I smelled him on you," she whispered. Her voice was soft, almost gentle. "His blood. All over you. Inside you."
She twisted the blade again.
"So tell me, Blackmoon. Why do you carry my brother’s blood in his veins?"
A moment of silence passed, then Simon asked a question.
"Who are you?"
The question came calmly.
But it didn’t come from the man in her arms.
It came from behind her.
Veyra went still.
Slowly, she turned her head.
Simon stood a few steps behind her in the air, unharmed, his robe untouched. He was looking at her with cold, narrowed eyes. The broken black rings in his pupils rotated once and flashed with a subtle black light.
Veyra’s head snapped back to the Simon she had stabbed.
He looked at her and smiled faintly.
Then he came apart.
His body dissolved into black fog, drifting through her fingers and around the dagger, until there was nothing left in her grip but air. The fog thinned and scattered on the hot wind.
Veyra stared at her empty hand.
For the first time since Simon had met her, her composure cracked.
"What…?"
She looked at the dagger. There was no blood on it.
"A clone?" she murmured, more to herself than to him. "No… an illusion? When did you…?"
She turned to face him fully. Her green eyes had sharpened, all traces of her earlier mockery gone.
"How did you fool me?"
Simon didn’t answer.
He saw no reason to tell her the answer to her question.
"Who are you?" he asked again.
Veyra tilted her head.
Then she smiled.
It wasn’t the dry, sardonic smile she had worn in the Watch Hall. Her lips stretched wider than they should have, pulling up at the corners until the smile reached almost to her ears. Her eyes didn’t change at all.
"Who am I?" she repeated, and laughed softly. "I can be many things, Blackmoon."
Her face rippled.
Her skin darkened to deep red. Her shoulders broadened, her green hair melted away into a bare scalp, and an old scar split her left eyebrow.
Rasken grinned at him.
"Don’t wander off, sixth disciple," Rasken’s voice said cheerfully.
His body swelled taller and bulkier. His skin turned bronze, and a thick grey braid fell over his shoulder.
"Don’t be reckless," Torvek rumbled. "And don’t die."
The braid shortened and blackened, sliding into long hair with a deep green sheen. Black scale armor spread across a tall, slender frame. Jade slit-pupil eyes regarded him coolly.
"Stand back," said Haldis. "I’ll handle this."
The armor became a purple robe embroidered with golden leaves. A short silver beard framed a pleasant mouth, and a square black ring appeared on one finger.
"Thank you for assisting Vhal-Sar, Blackmoon," Zarven said warmly.
The beard vanished. Silver hair swept upward under a pearl comb, and a jade fan appeared, snapping open beneath violet eyes.
"I hope you were comfortable in the guest room," Maelis said with a gentle smile.
Simon’s expression remained calm and composed despite what he was seeing.
The fan closed. The figure shrank slightly. Shoulder-length silver hair fell around a bright, eager face, and a blue butterfly ornament settled in place.
"Blackmoon!" Neris pouted at him, stepping closer, swinging her hands behind her back. "You’re supposed to be on my side. You watched that dragon fly past the railing, didn’t you?"
Her lips curved, and she leaned in until her face was a hand’s width from his.
"The gardens were fun, weren’t they? Did I buy you a pretty robe? Did you like it?"
Her hair lengthened. The butterfly vanished. The figure grew taller and straighter, wrapped in a fitted dark-green coat with silver clasps.
Seraya looked at him, one brow raised, with that faint, composed smile he knew.
"The upper terrace has a better view," she said coolly, then lowered her voice. "Shall I show you, Blackmoon? Just the two of us?"
She laughed. It was Seraya’s laugh.
And yet it was entirely wrong.
Simon said nothing. His expression had turned cold.
Then the figure changed one last time.
It shrank further, becoming lean and young. The silver hair darkened and grew messy. The features softened into the face of a boy, sharp-eyed and grinning, with shadows coiling faintly around his feet.
Thorgan looked at him.
The grin was the same one Simon remembered from the tree branch.
But the eyes were ice.
"Do you recognize me now…" Thorgan said quietly, then his expression became cold and filled with murderous intent. "… Blackmoon?"
Simon closed his eyes.
He let out a long, deep sigh.
’So I was right.’
When he opened his eyes again, the boy was gone, and Veyra’s face had returned, no longer wearing that stretched, unnatural smile.
On her face was a coldness that could freeze the sea and a murderous intent that could fill the sky.
"Tell me, Blackmoon. How and why did you kill my brother?"
Simon’s eyes as he recalled the past.
During the trials, when Thorgan first started calling him his third brother, he had mentioned others. People he considered family even though they shared no blood. Simon had never asked their names. He had barely cared at the time.
He had never imagined he would meet one of them.
Of all the places in the Demon Realm, and of all the missions the Sovereign could have given him, he had run into Thorgan’s sister here, in Vhal-Sar.
And she was a member of The Dominion.
Simon’s mind turned rapidly.
If Thorgan’s family had been this strong back then, why hadn’t they come for him?
When he killed Thorgan, he had been a slave in the Shadowgrave Clan. A Lesser Demon hiding behind a mask. If even one of Thorgan’s brothers or sisters had come looking, he would have died a long time ago, without being able to put up a fight.
He had no idea how strong the others were. But they were certainly far stronger than he had been back then.
He had definitely been lucky.
More questions followed.
Was Veyra the only one of them in Vhal-Sar? Were the others nearby? Who else among the people around him could be one of Thorgan’s chosen family?
And why had none of them ever gone to the Shadowgrave Clan after Thorgan disappeared?
Most importantly, how did Veyra know that he was the one who had killed Thorgan?
She said she could smell Thorgan’s blood on him. She said she could hear him cursing his name.
That was not the same as proof.
Nobody like Sunless had been here to tell her what happened. Joren had raised Thorgan’s death before the Abyss council, but Veyra had most likely been in Vhal-Sar or The Dominion the entire time. Even if word had reached her, a rumour wasn’t certainty.
Yet she spoke as if she were certain.
Simon didn’t answer her.
Instead, he looked past her at the battlefield.
In the distance, Haldis hung before the Leviathan, her hexagonal shield blazing as another torrent of fire poured against it. The beast tamer sat calmly between the Leviathan’s horns, guiding each breath as though he were tending a stove.
The fire had grown hotter. The Leviathan’s attacks were faster now, sharper, and almost thoughtful.
Further north, Rasken was being driven back by the kraken. Its arms moved with a coordination they hadn’t shown before, striking from angles that left him no openings. Torvek was buried beneath a mound of beasts near the siren, the sea around him churning red.
Above the harbor, Zarven was losing ground.
His coin swarm still flew, but the serpent no longer flinched from it. Twice, the scales in his hand dragged its head down, and twice it tore itself free faster than before. A water blade clipped his jade disc and sent him lurching sideways.
Simon watched the First Merchant’s hand drift toward the square black ring once more.
Unless Zarven used that ring, or stopped hiding his true rank and fought with everything he had, the serpent would eventually wear him down.
Along The Wall, Seraya’s voice was hoarse from shouting.
Her crescents flashed through the tide, but for every beast they cut down, two more surged forward. Simon saw a squad of flying Daegrins swallowed whole by something rising from beneath. On the walls, demons of several race fought alongside the Daegrins, and they were dying alongside the beasts.
The sea beasts weren’t fighting like a mob anymore.
They were fighting like an army.
Simon’s gaze settled on the masked man on the Leviathan’s head.
His frown deepened.
The kraken, the serpent, the siren and the Leviathan were all dangerous, but they were only weapons. The man on the Leviathan was the one aiming them.
As long as he lived, the tide would keep coming, and every beast in it would keep fighting harder.
He had to be killed.
The thought had barely settled when Veyra attacked.
She crossed the distance between them in an instant, the black dagger driving straight for his throat.
Simon raised his right forearm.
Black scales surged across his skin beneath the Chaos Wraps, overlapping in a smooth, dark shell.
The dagger struck them.
KREEEEEEK!
Sparks sprayed from the point of impact, bright orange and white, showering down toward the boiling sea. The dagger’s tip skidded across the scales and stopped. It didn’t so much as scratch them.
Veyra’s eyes widened slightly.
She stared at the black scales, then at his face, and something flickered behind her eyes. Surprise. Calculation. Perhaps even a trace of wariness.
Then it was gone.
She pressed harder against his arm, her cold smile returning.
"You have quite the audacity," she said. "Letting your mind wander while standing in front of me."
Simon didn’t flinch. He looked at her over the locked blade with cold, indifferent eyes.
"I’ll ask you one more time," he said. "Who are you? And where is your true body?"
Veyra’s smile twitched.
"I’ve watched you wear five different faces in the last minute," Simon continued, his voice low and steady. "So forgive me if I don’t take this one seriously."
He pushed her dagger back an inch with his scaled forearm.
"Why should I waste my effort on a clone?"