Weaving - The Antisequence - 4

Your fateful exchange with Tserlbane returns as one of your most complete ‘memories’.

“Mallory,” The mage’s icy voice crawled through the bowles of Brass Taldora. You turned to face him, and if not for his presence as a Speaker, the small man would have seemed unremarkable. Instead, being alone with the mysterious academic felt like having a knife to your throat.

“Master Tserlbane,” You replied steadily. While the arcanist was unnerving, his presence was familiar now. Manageable.

“Dairo has taught you well.” He remarked, stepping closer. The compliment hadn’t been a question, so it merited no response. “Too well perhaps?” He added. There was an implicit threat to his words. The implication causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end. 

“Is that so?” You responded flatly.

“Yes,” he began, gazing about the pipeworks that ran along the length of the passage. “Mages such as yourself are… unique.” Tserlbane considered, casually wiping a finger across the surface of one of the ancient pipes. Despite it being located in a remote, and unremarkable section of the colossal structure, it came back perfectly clean.

“What kind of mage is that?”

“A weapon.” He said simply, eyes returning to yours. Again, the statement hadn’t been a question allowing you to maintain your silence. Tserlbane gave a small, ugly smile then inclined his head to the side. Gesturing for you to follow.

The two of you walked in silence as you were led down an unfamiliar, vacant set of turns ending in a lift. “Expect pressure within your ears.” He said with a gesture. Lifts, especially tall ones, weren’t uncommon in the tower. Tserlbane followed behind, then waved his hand over a raised piece of metal affixed to the wall. You’d expected to be brought back to one of the many floors above, but to your surprise the platform began to descend with frightening speed.

“What is it you think we do here?” He asked, unphased by the column of wall whizzing past as you ventured deeper and deeper below the city of Ryze.

The question, and Tserlbane’s close proximity brought a surge of anxiety. You’d spent the last chapter of your time under him trying to secretly answer this very mystery. Even though you’d only been marginally successful, you still feared they’d catch on. 

“We? As in… The University?” you deflected. Mind still reeling for a better answer to his true question.

“Don’t fret Mallory. You’re not in any trouble.” Tserlbane chuckled to himself, sensing your worry. “By ‘we’ I mean those who follow The Designs. I know you’re aware of these concepts, there’s no need to hide it.” He elaborated, tone more than slightly condescending.

You held his gaze for a long, considering moment. Eventually, you resigned yourself to whatever he had planned for this odd excursion. If he wanted you dead it was already too late. Besides, maybe you’d finally get some answers.

“Control.” You finally responded. You knew the missions they sent you on typically revolved around divination, incana, and chronurgy. Threats to the university that presented as delves into magic that could manipulate information, fate, and time respectively. If not that, your missions were typically a component in some political scheme.

Tserlbane nodded, seeming pleased with the response. “Very good. A simple, precise answer.”

Your inner ear began to swell from the pressure. “How far down does this go?” You asked, nervously changing the subject.

“Oh,” Tserlbane laughed, “all the way to the top!” With that, the lift began to decelerate. His statement had obviously been a joke of some sort as the arch of a doorway rose from below. Stopping to align with the lift. “Off you go.” he said cheerfully.

Another hallway led to a grand, metallic door with a simple latchless handle. “Do you know what they used to call Laenwalde before it was formed into its three kingdoms?”

“The Badlands.” You said absently, eyes tracing the imposing closed arch ahead.

“Yes. Untamable tribes, feudal lords, and generations of bloodshed. Do you know how they stopped it?” He asked like any professor on the cusp of their point. You shook your head. In response, Tserlbane yanked the door open.

A cool breeze pushed past you as the low pressure from the massive chamber ahead pulled what air it could from the hallway. Almost urging you forward. As you entered, glowing lines of light embedded in the circular metallic walls began to bleed dim illumination.

The shift revealed an enormous, alien chamber. Far larger than most buildings. Its floor was formed of three layered tiers, each lower than the last.  You’d entered onto the highest level through what seemed to be the room’s sole exit. Just beyond lay a set of stairs, descending to the second, wider level. The lower platform housed what looked like a wide and perplexing array of panels and devices. All completely unfamiliar.

However, these features were dwarfed by what lay in the room’s center. The lowest level was the foundation to a towering effigy of a man, stretching far above even the highest tier of the chamber. Its body was formed entirely from metal pipeworks. A disorganized mess. They obviously hadn’t been planned or engineered, in any sane manner. Nothing like the ones you’d been previously familiar with. They were haphazard. organic. A tangling mess like vines or tentacles that twisted and bunched to form a cohesive mass shaped like the elongated upper half of a person.

Its appendages were wrong. The body didn’t end in hands or legs for that matter. The pipes stretched down to the ground, fanning out in all directions. They covered the vast majority of the floorspace like overgrown plants. The sprawl blanketed the chamber, ascending the tiers and running up the room’s high walls in an inefficient mess. They reached across the ceiling to venture up a wide, perfectly circular void in the chamber’s roof. Disappearing into the darkness.

You took a few awed, involuntary strides into the enthralling, horrific chamber. Your echoing footsteps seemed the only sound at the bottom of the world. Atop the lumbering giant’s shoulders was a twisted mass of pipe that formed a head tilted ever so slightly upward. Gazing  into the void above. It bore an out-of-place, jagged crown of tarnished gold. The relic seemed disturbing. Almost sickly. It stood out with an irregular glow against the chamber’s din.

“W- what is it?” You asked after what felt like an eternity.

“A synthetic god.” Tserlbane said humorlessly. “Your god.”

The statement shook you from your stupor, and you shot a perplexed, almost offended look at the aged arcanist. His stoic expression affirmed his seriousness. You took another, closer look at the surreal being. Something seemed familiar about it. Not the sight itself but the vague outline. The face, or lack-there-of, was wrong to you. As if it were missing something you couldn’t place.

A million questions within your mind fought to be asked, but then it clicked. You knew exactly what this machine was shaped like. Its silhouette was at the center of all the world’s controversy. The world’s fear.

“Why is it shaped like Giriam?” Your jaded resolve finally broke for the first time in years as you gazed upon the dead god’s replica.

Tserlbane nodded with satisfaction. “We don’t know.”