CHAPTER 27

Blacklight Born

The most regrettable death is one where a Grievar’s true nature is kept within its sheath. One must strive to unleash the essence of their technique prior to passing.

Passage Three, Eighth Precept of the Combat Codes

Cego trod on the black sand beach toward his brother.

Silas stood across the stretch of shorelines, up on top of the dunes, the wind coming hard off the coast and catching his long hair like a flag. The sea was a chaotic swirl, whitecaps cresting and crashing down in turbulent swells. Thunder roared overhead and veins of ruby lightning pulsed across the black sky.

Cego blinked and he was back in Albright Stadium. The Whelps were behind him, watching from atop the granite head. A veil of thick smoke hung in a haze over the terrified crowd, still surging past, seeking an escape from the arena.

Cego knew there was no escape for him. He could only move forward, toward his brother.

Cego let his mind slip back from the chaos of the stadium to the island, where he walked across the black sands. Silas was dressed in a swirl of sand and wind, an immovable statue waiting to turn into a force of violence.

Cego knew this was where Silas had been during his fights against the Knights of the Citadel. His brother had fought with one foot on the island, always a step ahead of his opponents, always able to predict exactly what they’d do. Each of those Knights had been defeated by the Slayer before they’d even stepped into the Circle.

But Cego knew Silas’s secret. Cego had come from the Cradle like the Slayer, and he meant to put his brother down in the same place he’d been born. In the blacklight.

Here on the island, Cego would be able to negate Silas’s biggest advantage: seeing the next moment before it came. But after he’d evened those odds, Cego still knew Silas was stronger than him, faster than him. His brother had always been the better fighter.

“Wait, Cego!” A voice came from behind, an echo against the thunderclaps.

Cego turned to see a lone figure walking along the beach toward him, shirtless and barefoot, a mop of sandy hair atop his head.

Sam.

His little brother approached Cego on the shore as he had a thousand times before. Sam was coming from the other end of the island, where he’d play by the tide pools. He was always late to training, and most often he’d come at a sprint, Arry nipping at his heels as he breathlessly tried to catch up to Cego.

Sam wasn’t running this time, though. Arry wasn’t nipping at the boy’s heels. Cego’s brother walked at a measured pace against the wind.

“How can you be here?” Cego asked as a streak of red lightning lit Sam’s face.

“I’ve always been here with you, Cego,” Sam replied.

Cego knew Sam was always with him. His brother had given him strength when he needed it most. But he was some figment of the past, floating atop his memories, and Cego needed to move forward.

“I don’t have time for this, Sam,” Cego said, just in the way he used to tell his little brother he couldn’t play, that he needed to get to training.

“Here on the island, we only have time,” Sam replied.

“I’m going to fight Silas,” Cego said.

“I can help.” His little brother stepped toward him.

“No, I need to do this alone.” Cego turned away from Sam.

“Don’t you remember?” Sam followed and shouted against the wind. “We need to work together to beat Silas! He’s too strong otherwise.”

“You can’t help me,” Cego said as he turned back one last time. “You’re only in my mind. I need to do this myself this time.”

His little brother met his eyes and shook his head stubbornly as he’d always done. The waves crashed against the shore and slicked the two brothers’ feet.

“Cego,” Sam said. “We need to work together. We need to chop down the tree.”

The island world around Cego wavered again. The crashing waves became the crumbling walls, the lightning above became the fires burning within Albright, the thunderclaps were transformed into the screams from the fleeing crowd.

Silas stood up on the platform, statuesque as he’d been on the island.

Cego looked back the other way and saw Kōri Shimo standing where Sam had been a second ago.

“Cego,” Shimo said. “We need to work together. We need to chop down the tree.”

Sam and Cego had nearly prevailed that day.

The two brothers had worked together after Silas had brought down the ancient ironwood tree and the family of ferrcats atop it.

Sam had fought Silas with the sole purpose of chopping at his injured leg, the one Silas had used all day to bring the great tree down. Cego had stepped into the Circle next to finish the job.

But how could Kōri Shimo know about this?

Cego’s mind raced as he stared at the strange boy standing across from him on the stadium fighting grounds.

“How… do you know about that?” Cego stuttered.

“I told you, Cego,” Shimo said. “I’ve always been here with you.”

Cego saw Kōri Shimo in front of him, but it was Sam that spoke.

He’d always seen Sam as that little boy with sandy hair and curious beach-grass eyes. But here in the physical world, why would his brother look like that? The image of Sam was just a fragment of false memories, a meeting of synapses that conjured up a ghost from the Cradle.

“Sam…” Cego’s knees threatened to buckle. “Why didn’t you tell me? All this time, you’ve been with me at the Lyceum?”

“I’d be happy to fill you in on the details, but first, we have work to do,” Shimo said, nodding to Silas. “We must chop the tree down together. Like last time we did it.”

Cego swallowed the lump in his throat. No matter what was happening, no matter what the past was, Shimo was right. They needed to figure out a way to beat Silas or all would be lost.

Darkness clouded the edge of Cego’s vision and they stood back on the black sand beach together.

“No,” Cego said to Sam, who stood in front of him on the shore again. “Not like last time. This time, let me go against Silas first. Let me be the sacrifice.”

On that day long ago on the island, Sam had ended up savagely beaten. And that had been in a simulation, in the Cradle.

“I can’t lose you again, Sam,” Cego said, tears welling in his eyes. This was his brother; he knew it deep in his bones. They were two trees that had grown beside each other, their roots entangled in the deep soil. This was the boy he’d grown up with in the Cradle, the one he’d trained and bled beside so many times.

“You never lost me,” Sam said. “And I will always be with you. We are one. But you know as well as me, I must go first. It is how we are different. I was never the finisher, Cego; only you are able to do that.”

Cego knew his brother was right. Sam did not have the right skill set to finish Silas. They needed to chop the tree, make a sacrifice, focus the entire first fight on inflicting damage without any hope of winning.

Cego nodded as a wave crashed to shore at their feet. “Promise me. Promise me you won’t leave again. I need you.”

Sam nodded back. “I promise you, brother.”

The two steeled themselves and turned toward Silas. They walked side by side down the black sand beach and climbed the steep dunes.

Silas watched the two carefully as they reached the top, a frown crossing his normally stoic face. “I see you are both here.”

“Yes,” Cego said. “Where this all began.”

Lightning flashed again in the onyx skies.

“You both have a choice,” Silas said. “You can join me still. You are my brothers… the only others like me. Blacklight born. Only you can understand why I fight.”

“I do understand why you fight,” Cego said.

“Then why do you resist?” Silas said. “Together, we can make the world tremble.”

“That’s not what I want,” Cego said, Sam standing silently beside him. “I don’t fight to be strong like you. To have power over others. I fight for those I love.”

Silas shook his head. “You’ve been fooled like so many, then. Fooled into thinking this world they have created has a place for you in it. The only place for our kind is to serve them. To fight and die so that they can live better lives. We’ve done so for too long. Now it is time to live free, for ourselves.”

“That may be so,” Cego said. “But I’d rather serve them, I’d rather die, than hurt those I love.”

“So be it,” Silas said. “Then you are not meant for this world any longer.”

“That’s not for you to decide, Silas,” Cego said. “Don’t you understand that?”

“We shall see,” Silas responded. “Enough with this talk. Which of my brothers will I face first?”

“Me,” Sam said, breaking his silence. The boy stepped into the ironwood Circle across from Silas and raised his hands. Another bloodred flash lit the sky, followed by a deep quake of thunder.

“And you, my little brother?” Silas questioned. “Do you also fight for those you love?”

“No,” Sam replied, his mouth a tight line. “I fight to make you pay.”

“Pay for what?” Silas asked.

“For causing pain,” Sam said. “And for liking it.”

Silas’s mouth curved up into that wicked grin. “That, my little brother, is not something I can help.” The Slayer raised his hands and beckoned Sam forward. “And unfortunately, you are about to discover that the hard way.”

Commander Memnon sat among the tatters of Albright Stadium.

He was still as the world around him erupted in chaos. He didn’t move as the crowd fled, streaming from the exits that hadn’t yet been blocked by crumbling foundations.

He’d watched as the Enforcer battalion had incinerated the entire group of Operators. He’d watched as spectators who’d never expected to fight this day were burned and crushed and trampled. He’d watched as the downed Flyers crashed into the stadium like black meteorites.

He’d watched as Callen had pleaded on his knees in front of Silas, as a kick had taken the high commander’s head from his shoulders.

And now Memnon watched as Cego and Kōri Shimo stood in front of Silas. Three creatures of the Cradle ready to destroy each other. He hoped they would do so, that none of them would step out alive, that this stadium would cave into itself and take all these terrible machinations with it.

Memnon could feel it in the section beneath him: the foundations were broken, trembling and about to give way. But he didn’t run like the rest. He didn’t try to escape the noxious fumes and raging fires, because Memnon was broken like this stadium. His time had come. No matter which world existed after this dark day, Memnon didn’t care to see himself living in it.

“Hello, Albion.” A voice jumped up from beside him.

Sam. The little sandy-haired boy sat next to Memnon on the granite step, his feet dangling.

“Who are you?” Memnon coughed as he inhaled smoke.

He’d seen this boy flick his hand to have the Enforcer squad obey his word, turn on their masters without hesitation.

“You don’t remember an old friend?” Sam spoke now in a different, familiar tone, his voice changed from the boy who’d followed Memnon so closely the past year. “All those years bleeding together, side by side on our tatamis as Level Ones?”

Memnon’s eyes widened. He shook his head. Though it was this strange, freckled boy that spoke, the words were another’s. A man Memnon had known well.

“It’s… you,” Memnon whispered as another explosion rocked the stadium. Somehow, he knew this man—this thing—could hear him above the chaos. “Farmer.”

“Hello, old friend,” the boy repeated. “It’s been too long.”

“How… are you doing this?” Memnon said. “You can’t be real.”

“You’re right,” Farmer said. “Though not entirely. I am Farmer. The man you remember. Your friend, training partner, Knight commander. But I am also a part of something else. Something greater.”

“You’re… a Bit-Minder.” Memnon felt it in his bones. “You’re the reason all of this is happening. You’re the cause for all this darkness.”

“I am a part of them, this is true,” Farmer said. “My body has left this world, but my consciousness was forever imprinted in the blacklight, in the Cradle. It was then I knew I could truly make a difference.”

“So… what, you’ve been haunting those you knew?” Memnon couldn’t help but laugh amid the chaos. “You’ve become some ghost of the past to remind us of our sins?”

“No,” Farmer said. “Do you remember what I told you so long ago? Do you remember why I went into the Cradle in the first place?”

Memnon did remember. As clearly as if it were yesterday. His old friend had stared at him with those bleary, broken eyes. “True change needs to be made from within, Albion. This is the only way.” Memnon spoke the words the former Knight commander had uttered long ago.

“Yes,” Farmer said. “And I am within the system now, Albion. In the cracks and seams, in the shadows and light, in the fabric of the world I had sought to change. The world I saw so full of injustice, one that had moved so far from the Codes. But now, from within, from everywhere, I can see the truth. Finally, there will be a balance, the Codes restored.”

“What balance?” Memnon stared out at the chaos, the death around him. “This is the balance you speak of?”

“The Daimyo forgot who built this world for them. They forgot the balance of the Codes,” Farmer said. “But the Bit-Minders have also forgotten the balance. Even now, they fight me to regain the control I’ve wrested from them. It was more difficult than any physical battle. The toil we put in together on the mats, the blood we shed for our nation, that was nothing compared to what I had to do to become a part of them. I sacrificed myself to the blacklight, to the void. It was terrifying. But now my voice, our voice, can finally be heard. We can finally find our Codes again.”

Memnon wiped the tears streaming from his eyes in the hot, black air. “You think someone like Silas winning and ruling adheres to the Codes? He is just like the Daimyo, power-hungry. He thinks to be the new Grievar king.”

“Silas serves his purpose,” Farmer said. “As did Cego and Sam, and every other thread that has connected us to the present moment, where we are now.”

The little boy, Farmer, looked toward the onyx Circle at the center of the arena, a glittering black ring set amid the fires and chaos around it. Kōri Shimo had stepped into the ring across from Silas.

“So, that’s how it is,” Memnon sighed. “Daimyo and Grievar at war, trying to gain the edge, when in truth, it is you… Farmer… Bit-Minder, whatever you are now. It is you who want to rule.”

“You still do not understand, Albion,” Farmer said. “The goal is not to serve or rule. Just as the ocean or the winds or the sun are made to neither serve nor rule, so are we. The Codes are not meant for an end goal; they never have been. They are a way to live.”

“But you’ve used us all for your games,” Memnon said. “You’ve manipulated for your purpose. It was all a little trail you’ve set, letting us nibble at crumbs along the way.”

“That is how you might see it,” Farmer said. “But I can’t make you see the truth. What I can see, from here, within the blacklight. Beyond purpose and path and time.”

“And Murray Pearson?” Memnon asked. “He was another pawn you used? The man was just as your son. You tricked him to bring you up from the Deep, to save you from that lord’s prison. You let him plant you in the Citadel so that you could work your sorcery from within.”

“I did not trick Murray Pearson,” Farmer said. “He knew what would happen here. He knew what must be done to find balance again. To find the Codes again.”

Memnon shook his head. He didn’t know what to believe anymore.

The concrete beneath him began to shake.

“You should go,” Farmer said. “You still have a path. You still have a place in this world.”

“And how about you? Won’t you die as well?” Memnon asked.

The little boy shook his head as cracks began to splinter across the stone beneath them. His voice began to change again, no longer sounding as Farmer, or the boy, but something else. Something sitting right beside Memnon but also far away, living in some other realm. “I… we do not die. This physical form is one to occupy and nothing more. But you have only one form in this world, Albion, one life. And so, you should save it.”

“No,” Memnon said as the slab he sat on cracked down the middle.

“You will choose to die?” it asked, seeming surprised for once. “You will choose to end your path instead of continuing on?”

“That’s the point,” Memnon breathed out deeply. “I get to choose.”

“So be it,” it said as the structure beneath them crumbled.