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All-Seeing Eye Three Hours After Destruction of Lookshy

     All-Seeing Eye sits upon the hard, metal flesh of the Great Maker's slumbering body. His own body is, by comparison, in much worse shape. The Mask of Winters was a formidable opponent even with the help of so many allies. It was a hard-won victory, and one which was ultimately meaningless in the face of Bloody Revelations' ploy. Lookshy, the very reason for the fight, was destroyed, snatched from under their noses by a better-prepared foe. Both Eye and Tidings realized that someone must be punished for the slaughter of the largest city in the Confederation of Rivers. With Bloody Revelations out of their reach and no apparent clues as to her collaborators, options for meting out punishment were scarce. Empty Tidings had suggested the citizens of Lookshy, but Eye knew better.

     The Reaches are cold, dark, barren. Inhospitable to any being which needs air to survive, and quite unwelcoming to those who don't. The two Exalts currently occupy a subterranean tunnel, their surroundings lit only by the dimly glowing green text upon an ancient monitor. It's likely not been accessed by mortal hands in centuries. Every hour or so, there rises a shuddering metallic groan from the depths of the tunnel, as if great portions of the artificial landscape were being moved to suit some unknown purpose.

     Eye gathers his strength, his clothes torn from the Mask's attack, and stained with his black lifeblood besides. "They are called gremlins," explains the Alchemical. "Rogue machine spirits. Like a virus within the body, they attack the Great Maker from within. They poison his body, suck the life from his veins... corrupt his servants. They're utterly beyond reason. If they had their way, there wouldn't be a molecule of air for mortals to breathe, and the Great Maker would die."

     He clutches at one of his wounds as it flares up, but manages a chuckle. "And we both know what happens to Primordials when they die. Don't we?"
Empty Tidings Empty Tidings really, really wants to hurt something.

It isn't a normal desire. The wreaking of bloody vengeance on Bloody Revelations for her crimes is a pretense and little else. She just wants -- /needs/ -- to feel something break, crushed and torn between her own two hands. It isn't about releasing tension, precisely; it isn't a berserk fury. It's a dark and terrible Urge. It's stripped away the part of her that lets her walk around amongst mortals, pretending to be as they are. It's taken the skin away from the monster that hides in it.

But Eye understands her. He's talked her into coming here instead of wandering the streets of the destroyed city of Lookshy. It's better that way. Fewer heroes to follow and question. More targets to quell her unfortunate desires. And it's so... /familiar/.

Empty Tidings is dressed in a black dress accented in silver, more practically-cut than terribly flattering. She's wearing dark red gloves made of a material that isn't quite the norm but mimics the look and feel of leather, and boots that look like they've seen some walking. It's good enough for hazardous environs. She doesn't seem bothered by the inhospitability of the place.

"We do," she says with a slight nod and a narrow frown. "Then it's in his best interests that these things are disposed of, isn't it? We're doing a public service." Tidings smiles a little, rolling her shoulder. She's fatigued from the fight, but her wounds... well, none of them are exposed. Exposing them would show the weird oceanic mutations that have filled in the gaps. It's unsightly, and neither of them like to be unsightly.

"This is where you're from, then," she remarks, walking a short ways with slow steps and looking up and around as she goes. "Cold, isn't it?" Tidings glances at Eye after a beat. "Will you be able to fight like that?"
All-Seeing Eye      "The Reaches were never meant for mortal habitation," explains the Alchemical. "As for me... I'll make it! I just can't fight as... enthusiastically as I otherwise would. But I need this. We both do. You and I, we're more pure than the others. When justice is snatched away from us, we need to punish." He looks at the palm of his hand, resting it upon his knee. "To let that anger fester inside us... that would make us unclean." He clenches his hand into a fist. "There are a few places I go, when I need to feel clean. This is just one of them."

     "When we're done here, I'll get myself patched up. Perhaps when this is all over, I can show you Claslat itself." He smiles at her, then reaches for a length of railing just above his head to pull himself up. Eye then moves to follow behind her.

     As it turns out, 'tunnel' is an accurate term only in the vaguest sense. 'Chasm' might be more appropriate. For while the lone terminal illuminates a floor and two walls, the ceiling is nowhere to be seen, a yawning black abyss utterly without light or signs of life. The ground beneath them is a catwalk, narrow enough that the two of them side by side would take up all the width it has to offer. The catwalk is grated, and the light of that lone terminal fails to penetrate the darkness beneath the grated metal. The walls are perhaps three feet away from the railing, making a fall both possible and dangerous. They appear to be sheer, featureless metal.

     "It continues like this for a ways," he says. "We won't find much here--but what we do find will be dangerous. Capable of intelligent thought." The way he says that seems to be almost hopeful. As he draws closer to her, and as she herself advances, he gently places a palm upon her shoulder. "Do you need my assistance seeing, darling?"
Empty Tidings Tidings looks at Eye a little askance when he speaks of justice. She's watching him carefully, her head tilted and her hair across one of her eyes. She's blank-faced for a moment, and then smiles again. "You're right. I know exactly what you mean. At home, there are places I can go to release this... this... /pressure/. But getting there would be... well, it would take too long." She inclines her head. "Thank you for sharing this place with me. You didn't have to."

She looks over her shoulder, hands clasped behind her back. "Maybe someday I'll be able to show you one of mine."

Empty Tidings sets a casual pace, uncertain where they are and where they're going, and, more importantly, not wanting to outpace the seemingly more injured Eye. She starts across the catwalk, then slows, looking down into the darkness and then up towards the ceiling. "Mmmm. This is the inside of a living Primordial...? I would dearly love to pay my respects to the Great Maker, but I get the impression he's somewhat unwilling to speak to visitors." She half-turns when he touches her, a twitchy gesture in the dark. Her eyes meet his, even as the pitch blackness closes in.

"Assistance--?" A second of confusion, then, clarity. "Ah! No, thank you. I outgrew darkness as an impediment years ago. Unless..." Intelligent, he said? "...you can make a light? I imagine that the things out here don't need it. They must find light to be a sure sign of outsiders." She quirks a brow, smiling.
All-Seeing Eye      Tidings' remark about showing him one of her little retreats draws a smile from Eye. When she mentions paying her respects to the Great Maker, it only widens. His thoughts drift to holy Harmegis, final resting place of the legendary hero Claslat. There are few greater places within the eponymous nation for one to pay their respects. It would be a worthy place to take her, when all of this Revelations business calms down.

     Her request for a light earns her a nod. "I think I know just the trick," grins the Alchemical. Removing his hand from his shoulder, he flares his anima, which is usually a terrible idea in the reaches. If you're looking to attract gremlins, however, it's a fantastic idea. A crack of thunder sounds as a vortex of inky, chemical smog surrounds him, flashes of purple lightning illuminating the depths within. Each flash of that lightning casts the darkness of the chasm in temporary relief.

     It isn't long before the display attracts attention. Frenzied, arythmic clicking rises up from the darkness below, echoing through the oppressive silence. Illuminated in brief, purple strobe is the form of a man-sized mechanical spider with eyes that shine like eight hateful lanterns. Its legs, sharpened into jagged points, bear stains that are either rust or the blood of the living, clinging to the walls by magnetism yet still scraping against them as if the act were deliberate.

     The 'thorax' of this spider opens up to reveal a clutch of 'eggs.' They are fired in clusters with the sound of mortars, each one carried aloft by sickly red jets of burning Essence, the sound of their screaming flight flooding the chasm. Crossbow bolts zip through the air to deflect them, pushing them off course. The explosions rattle the catwalk threateningly, each one carving chunks out of the sheer metal walls.

     It leaps from the wall to land upon the narrow catwalk, and the metal gives a heart-droppingly loud groan, supporting its weight. It advances upon Tidings now, horizontal drillbit jaws grinding against one another with a spray of orange sparks, each one slavering with an acrid-smelling industrial solvent that eats through the grating it falls upon.
Empty Tidings Empty Tidings genuinely likes Eye. It'll be a shame when they have to disagree on theological grounds. Maybe they can find some kind of common ground in the 'spurned primordials' side of things. Until then... well, it doesn't hurt to be diplomatic, even in a religious kind of way. She's supposed to be that, isn't she? It's just good sense.

Despite not having a problem with darkness, sudden light still seems to be a bit irritating. Tidings shields her eyes against the sudden bloom of electricity and smog, sliding a half-step back to get a better look at it. Her smile remains. She nods a little, apparently approvingly. She's impressed. An Exalted from within the greatest machine-god there ever was... "I suppose they'll have to pay attention to that, hmm?" She turns, and she waits, scanning either side of the catwalk.

It comes from below. Something spidery. "I should have brought a spear," she opines.

Mortar-eggs launch close. Tidings drops into a low stance, keeping her footing easily even on the narrow surface as it rattles. The sheer firepower of them makes her brows rise. She's experienced something like this from the Multiverse, but nothing on the home front. Essence cannons, maybe? Do the things down here have that kind of power? Is that why people like Eye exist: so that the mortals still within this place won't simply be gobbled up by the things in the night?

There's a certain familiarity to that thought, too.

It comes for her. Empty Tidings smiles too widely for someone about to be eaten by a horrible spider-machine. She peels the glove off her right hand, the black stone of the exposed limb glinting in the light of the hazy storm surrounding Eye. She clenches and unclenches her hand, presenting her right side to the monster and raising her hand in a very simple guard. She takes a slow, deep breath.

Her hand snatches one of the drillbit-jaws by the spinning teeth. It grinds against a rock that refuses to be marred, and she tightens her grip until it stops. Acid drips over the back of her hand, and then rolls in rivulets down to the catwalk, burning holes through solid metal. Tidings strains to hold it from a cold start, but holds it nonetheless. Her smile widens to something more fitting for a slasher.

She twists, trying to rotate its head ninety degrees, and then steps in with her left hand to strike at its eyes. She chops down with an absurdly strong knife-hand, smashing it across the spiritual equivalent of optics and thrusting the whole thing backwards with a strong shove. She follows, taking two steps and then a short hop, axe-kicking it towards the surface of the catwalk with her heel and a yell that echoes far and wide in the cavernous chamber.

"I think," she asides, "I am beginning to see why you would come here."
All-Seeing Eye      The drillbit maw of the mechanical spider proves unable to penetrate or even crack Tidings' hand, even with both jaws working in tandem. It bucks in her grasp once it realizes this, legs scraping against the catwalk with a piercing screech. The motion is almost panicked, rather than mechanical. The screeching of its legs comes with sparks, when she shoves it backwards. The strike to its optics shatters all but two of its eight baleful eyes, denting its polymer skull.

     Tidings' axe kick smashes a leg, breaking it free of the spider's frame. The severed appendage flails disturbingly upon the catwalk, spewing foul-smelling oil with noticeable clots upon the grating. Its flailing eventually throws it over the edge. That seems to have changed the aforementioned panic to rage.

     The corrupted machine spirit hops into the air, the seven remaining legs latching onto the railing. It leaps towards her in several similarly short hops, turning in the air with each one to slash at her with the jagged ends of its metal appendages. On either side of its face, cylindrical metal spinnerets emerge.

     Each one is a bundle of soulsteel tubes held together with a brace. They move independently of Tidings, pivoting in a clearly mechanical fashion and beginning to spin with a menacing hum that grows in volume. It reaches its crest when the humming becomes a sound like a zipper, and streams of molten lead spit from the spinnerets to harass the Alchemical behind her.

     The bullets tear a gash down the middle of the catwalk, which Eye avoids by leaping off the edge, springing off of the adjacent wall, and landing back upon the railing in a split, his legs holding him above the now tenuous footing. This seems to have aggravated one of his wounds, but when has he ever let grievous bleeding stop him from looking good? He swings his head in an arc, bringing his long hair around in a circle. Electricity travels down the steel cables braided within it, and the bullets are magnetically bounced off of the wall, safely away from Tidings, on an intercept course with the very guns that shot them.
Empty Tidings Predators tend to react badly when their prey fights back.

The machine spirit hops back. Tidings glances downward and ducks low, catching the flailing limb as it tips over the edge. She hefts it in her left hand, smacking it against the side of the catwalk. It seems solid. Good. She quickly swings it upwards, using it to parry the hopping slashes one at a time. She's slightly unbalanced after each, her unfelt but still present injuries and the still-twitching limb combining to make her a lot less steady than she looks. One knocks the improvised weapon out of her flesh-and-blood hand, and the next catches her across the shoulder, grazing her and slashing through fabric and skin underneath. It leaves a red gash. Tidings refuses to allow it to bleed.

The firearms spew shots down-range. Tidings goes low, diving underneath the monster and sliding across the catwalk. She rolls and twists on the far side, springing back to her feet with acid burns dotting her back and rounding on it from behind. With another yell, Empty Tidings jumps at it, seizing it by its legs and wrenching it upwards and backwards, planting a foot on the spidery creature's body and hauling it so its forelegs are off the ground and its belly is exposed.

That should help take care of any guns Eye hasn't taken out -- and give him an opportunity to gut it like a fish. Or whatever it is they have in Autochthonia.
All-Seeing Eye      Tidings' improvised weapon makes for a good tool, until it's knocked away. She'll note that each successive attack from the gremlin up to that point becomes more frantic. It's not about strategy, or even killing. It's about hurting. Which is why when it slashes her, it pauses, its whole body shuddering as if relishing the pain it inflicted. Its momentary exultation provides her exactly the time she needs to get behind it.

     The miniguns are shredded by their own fire, happening before her very eyes as she slides beneath it. Not even a single bullet grazes her. It's a good thing marksmanship is his 'thing!' The gremlin realizes what she's trying to do, and attempts to make another hot to turn around--but it underestimates her speed as well as her strength. Her hands are upon its legs before that can happen.

     "Now you see the... curious inefficiency inherent to gremlins," says Eye. He tumbles forward, flicking his wrist and conjuring a length of purple lightning. Just one. "They despise the Great Maker. But they have this odd little fascination with pain." A panel on the spider's underbelly opens up, and out pops an honest-to-god flamethrower. Eye chuckles as the weapon emerges. Before it can initialize, he simply snaps the whip outward and yanks it out of its housing. "They fixate on it... but they don't understand it like we do." His placid approach is broken when he goes for a savage, full-bodied swing, tearing a gash in the gremlin's plating. Its servos whine, legs kicking uselessly as they attempt to bend backwards to regain control. The whining of those motors almost seems like anguish.

     He winds up for another, swinging it in a circle. "They don't understand that pain for pain's sake is worthless. Pain teaches!" He makes an underhand cut, the resulting wound now leaving an X marked upon the plating. "It was an excellent teacher for me, when I sought to learn Live Wire Style." Indeed--a practitioner of a style focused on whips is bound to get their fair share of lacerations, cuts, and bruises. Especially when more than two are involved.

     "But more importantly, it /cleanses./" Three more lashes, and each one has the gremlin writhing like an animal in pain. Even the whirring of its drillbit maws seems to accelerate beneath the assault. Each one is delivered not with the disaffected grace of a martial artist, but the deliberate brutality of a sadist. "My Caste knows this. In the rare event that one of us succumbs to heresy, they are taken away... strapped to a table...

     "and taken apart." Crack. "One..." Crack. "Part..." Crack. "At a time."

     Eye chuckles. "To fail in one's purpose, that's one thing," he says amiably, letting the whip rest upon the gremlin as its flailing becomes weaker and crucial systems fail. "But /betrayal/ of purpose is sickness. And purpose is /everything/ to my people. So we kill them!" He laughs. "Of course we kill them. Of course! But before their soulgems can be used again... they have to be... what?" He tilts his head like a schoolteacher, as if expecting the gremlin to answer him. "/Clean./"

     The amiable smile turns into a hateful grimace, and he savagely lacerates the gremlin over and over again with the whip until its weak struggling finally fades, and Tidings is left holding a lifeless metal husk.
Empty Tidings Gremlins understand pain. Tidings realizes this before Eye starts to point out exactly how much they rely on it. The cut makes it move like demons she's known, writhing in pleasure with the idea that it had caused her some kind of physical agony, and then emotional anguish, and then...

She just doesn't. Doesn't react, that is. She acts like it was nothing. She doesn't cry out, or flinch away; she doesn't bleed. She burns when she passes beneath it, but she doesn't writhe or groan. She feels pressure, and is aware that she's cut. She feels wetness, and is aware that she's been burned. Ever since she encountered that particular Servant, pain has been a distant adversary she has been glad to be rid of.

Clearly, she's missing out.

Empty Tidings holds the creature, watching Eye do his work with fascination. Now injured, her strength has surged, rising to a point of being able to almost casually restrain the gremlin. The Monster requires that an adversary be worthy of its brutal power before it can bring it to bear, after all. She holds it so that Eye may use it as an instructive aid, lecturing it as much as she speaks to her. She watches, and listens, and she learns.

It isn't just gremlins she learns something about.

"Failure..." Empty Tidings says, voice trailing off. "I know of failure. We all do. Betrayal..." She smiles again, that creeping smile that seems a touch too narrow, a touch too wide, a touch too sharp. "I know of betrayal. But my purpose is not unlike yours. We both find the cracks and what seeps into them. We both know what to do when the ones who make them show themselves. Don't we?" She tilts her head, looking at the gremlin. The whip cracks. Again. Again. Again...

Eventually, it stops. Eventually, it dies. Tidings feels it, and she herself shivers, shutting her eyes. She savors it like she would savor any beautiful thing. She grasps it, and she twists, and she pulls it apart. Its legs are plucked. Its eyes are picked out. Its skin is rent and peeled away. She rends the metallic husk of the creature, wrenching and crushing and tearing until nothing left of it is recognizable. She savors that, too.

The last pieces are thrown away.

Empty Tidings steps up to All-Seeing Eye, and offers her arm. "We've still a ways to travel. Come. Let's see what other filth crawls from the gutter and begs for instruction."

They go.

Catharsis still beckons from the far side of suffering.