Uriel

St. Anthony's cemetery was the place movies were made of.

Located unfortunately close to a river it had been flooded more than once, much to the dismay of the town folk who found the bodies washed downriver. Its proximity to the normally slow water also gave it a misty sheltered appearance and the forest of statues within its gates did little to dispel the rumors of spirits walking its pathways. No one knew who its keeper was, but some said if ever you visited you could hear him breathing through the thick fog as he dug the next grave and if you did, you better pray it wasn't yours.

Of course, with the dawn of science and new-age wonders, nobody really believed the keeper was real and he liked it just fine that way. Occasionally some rowdy teens with nothing better to do besides poke at the remains of their deceased ancestors would wander into his keep. He would watch their irreverent games as he whispered his curses over those who could not respect the dead, but the lack of signal for their loud devices kept such escapades to the few and far between.

Over the years St. Anthony's had been forgotten in its little corner of the world as those who were left to remember the dead followed them into the afterlife. Now its few visitors came for the living, seeking answers only the dead would know.

To them, he was not the Keeper, but the Whisper.

To Uriel he was Ivan.

Following the siren's call of blood, Uriel found him next to the tome of a forgotten patriarch. Thick moss covering the stones in a jagged patch, as if the Keeper had removed some of it but hadn't finished the job, the marble bench before the tomb had been partially cleared of the invasive stuff. From a distance, one might mistake the Keeper for a statue rendered in the image of a man sitting on the steps of the Musallam where he would find his eternal rest. An odd choice of muse to be sure, but so were angels and an undead god. In any case, there was no one here to judge.

As he drew closer Uriel could see the keeper's skin held an unhealthy shade of grey and his eyes were closed, as if a quick nap was all he needed before he finished his task. He was as still as the stones that whispered their secrets to him, but Uriel could sense the heart that still beat within his fossilized chest. Coming to a stand before the keeper, Uriel took in the dying mage and his state of immobility. He could smell the rot of Skyglass and knew the keeper kept a heavy pouch of it tucked in his jacket.

Uriel never bothered to ask who kept him supplied.

Some secrets weren't meant to be known.

Blinking his eyes open, the keeper gazed at Uriel, his lids clicking each time they closed. Ever so slowly, he turned his hand over to expose his wrist, the movement sending dust and mortar flaking off his skin. Resting a hand over his mark, Uriel drew in the tainted energy consuming his vassal as he eased his hold on the beast.

Feeling his body grow heavy with the stone keepers curse, Uriel spoke softly. "How long?" he asked knowing the stone keeper had sat there far longer than he ever planed

"Five...years..." the pause between each word the stone keeper uttered was punctuated by the rasping of stone-against-stone with every breath he took.

Sighing Uriel let the beast feed on the keeper's sickness until his own limbs were stiff and a paled pink had returned to the keeper's cheeks. Once he could breathe a little easier the keeper pulled away from Uriel's hold. Moving a little easier, his hand drifted to rest on the stone beneath him and he let out a grinding sigh.

"They have missed you." he breathed. "The stones tell me of your troubles."

"And what do they tell you of the Ancients?" Uriel asked.

There was a long moment as the keeper listened to vibrations of earth before he spoke "They still sleep, still forgotten, still waiting."

"What of the lords?"

"They scheme, but do not know you hold their prize."

"Do you know who made her?"

"None." The keeper shuddered "she is unmade. Un...belonging. Not old, not new, she is... timeless. But the stones know her, they call her by a different name."

"What is she?"

Sil'dysa.

The keeper did not say the word aloud, but the beast heard it in his mind and the knowledge of it rattled Uriel's bones. He had never heard it before but there was power in names and this one held the weight of eons.

"You said the ancients still sleep, but does she belong to one of them?"

"No, she is not like you either, she does not carry one within.

Uriel took a moment to mull that over.

A part of him had wanted her to be if, only so he could find answers to his own state of being. But if she wasn't, how could she hold the power she carried. There was simply too much of it to be old and true youth had a certain quality to it that was unmistakable. The power within her was too pure-too new- for her to be ancient. He could have been mistaken but twice now he'd tasted it and the Beast's senses had never been wrong before.

But nor had it ever been this desperate.

It was dying and he was along with it.

Putting that thought aside Uriel switched topics. "Do you have the location of any more factories?"

"Five years for five questions," the keeper reminded him.

Answers had a cost and there was only one thing the keeper wanted from Uriel.

It was the nature of the beast to be able to take on the curse of others, but the stone keepers were the hardest to bear. It made Uriel's thoughts feel sluggish and left his guts full of rocks. He had already taken as much of the stone keeper's mutation as he could. It would take too much time for his body to filter through the tainted energy and Uriel couldn't risk the immobility that came with the cementation of his tissues. At least the beast was just as negatively affected. Its responses dragged, slow and listless, as it gorged itself on the poison they had drawn from the stone keeper.

For now, Uriel had all the answers he would get from the other mage, but the keeper had one last thing for Uriel. "Beware the devil baring gifts;" Ivan warned, "the girl is not the only one with a price on her head."

Uriel nodded his understanding but gave his own warning in return.

"You should take your own advice. You don't need that poison to speak to them."

The Keeper click-clicked his eyes at Uriel, his silence that of a man who knew the dangers of his addiction, but at his core was still an addict. Shaking his head in reluctant acceptance, Uriel left the keeper to his bricks and bones.

Following the winding path back to the graveyard's entrance, he chose a wild rose to take him to his next destination and let the earth filter out some of the minerals in his system as he passed through. It was a poor remedy for the sickness he now carried with him, but he couldn't exactly take an aspirin and hope the pain went away. The chemicals muutes chose to fill their bodies with were just as toxic as the keeper's curse.

Instead, he went to the Mage King.

It was a stoic maple that released him into the King's courtyard, its roots having long ago slipped between the crakes of cobbled stone to reach the mountain beneath. Inside the ruined castle there wasn't much to see. Just crumbling walls and wild grass. Vines and moss crept across the few remaining structures, but it wasn't the abandoned castle that housed the king.

It was the dungeons that lay beneath it.

A well-worn path led the way down to the hidden staircase that ran the face of the seaside cliff where many a foot had traveled to keep their audience with the Mage king. The cave entrance was guarded by two lanterns and more lit the inside. Following the lights deeper into the mountain, it didn't take long for Uriel to reach the iron doors of the dungeon. They kept out the wind but little else. Uriel wasn't worried about anyone trying to get in. he kept a glamour on the stairs to keep the muutes away and any mage who wanted in were welcome.

If they wanted to challenge the king, who was he to stop them?

Three passageways led deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels and Uriel took the first, his footsteps echoing in the empty space as he walked. Passing two rooms where long-dead watchmen had slept, he slipped into the cavern where the king held court. What passed as a throne room was really a hollowed-out commons once meant for the guards who wished to escape the sea and the perils of wet stone during long and frequent storms. The walls were now covered in a haphazard spattering of art. Tapestries hung beside paintings while masks, armor, and forged works filled in the blank spaces. Uriel didn't particularly care for the obscene display of wealth and power but most of them were talismans and necessary for the carefully constructed illusion Uriel had crafted. They, along with the thick furs carpeting the floor around the throne, hid the underlying glamours in the room with their overwhelming energies. The throne itself, set centers stage, was also a work of art that had been brought in piece by piece and assembled underground.

Sitting atop it, the Mage king lounged in boredom as he listened to his vessel present her report.

To anyone who saw him, he looked unremarkable in every way. Undistinguished features and vague coloring made him physically unmemorable. Even his clothes were completely ordinary making him look out of place in this lavish space. But he sat comfortably in his seat of power and the poison dripping from his soul left no doubt he belonged exactly where he was.

"The brothers want to renegotiate a higher cut," Ciara said, her tone bland as she delivered the bad news. Ignoring Uriel's approach in favor of watching the king, she added "and we haven't heard anything from Diageo yet."

Taking his place beside the king, Urial waited patiently as he listened to Ciara finish her report.

As second in command she was responsible for making sure all the king's orders were seen too and after what had happened to the last person in her position, she took that reasonability very seriously. The Nigerian brothers were always tricky. With their fingers in too many pies, they liked to pit warring tribes against each other and used the ensuing chaos to fund the Suwanee House. As brothers, they traded the title of the lord as often as they traded their women.

They weren't so much the current problem as the new lord of House Gomez.

Having successfully dispatched the last lord, along with most of his family, Diageo Sanchez had failed to make an appearance to claim his new title from the King. To be fair the designation was more jest than any else and the King called them "lords" because it amused him. Muutes might balk at the idea of human trafficking and selling drugs, but they wouldn't blink an eye if it was the mafia or cartel giving orders. It provided a neat explanation for the children who disappeared crossing borders and the influx of Skyglass that followed. So, the Mage lords had chosen the lives of criminals to explain way their abnormal behaviors, but they hated the farse just as much as the king hated them.

So, he kept their titles.

Petty, yes, but it was also a reminder that they were subject to his rule.

All the deals, wars, and power in the world wouldn't change that.

But it seemed Diageo wasn't convinced.

Uriel would have to fix that.

But first, he needed to get rid of the stone keeper's curse. The poison made his mind feel slow, and Uriel didn't like that.

The quickest way to expel the poisoned power was to use it. Recycling the tainted energy with his own to purify it was never an enjoyable task, but it was a necessary one.

"Send Xavier to Gomez, I want vow or his head." The king instructed once Ciara had delivered all the new information, she had on the Kateri house. "Have Elaina negotiate with the brothers. No higher than twenty percent."

He paused for a moment to consider his last order, picking intently at his own skin as he thought.

The Kateri was by far the oldest house and always the most trouble. Having embedded themselves within the yakuza it was headed by a very stubborn matriarch. As a born mage she didn't take kindly to being told what to do by the youngest of her kind and had embraced the new mage, along with all their faults, with open arms just to spite him. As a result, Japan had become the second-highest consumer of Skyglass, second only to China's massive populace. To feed the ever-growing demand, the madam lord had arranged new ports to be built along India's shores. Boats coming from the African continent could quickly be loaded onto planes that would fly goods to a private island one would be hard-pressed to find on any map.

"Burn the ports," The king decided "and make sure there are no survivors."

It wouldn't stop the Kateri's plans, but it would slow them down. And, hopefully, give Uriel enough time to figure out exactly where the shipments were coming from.

Nodding her understanding, Ciara left without another word.

When she was gone Uriel moved to face the king. The acting monarch looked up at him with a lazy smile, half of his face taking a few seconds longer to follow the other. The beast knew the man sitting before them was broken and it craved the sustenance it saw within him.

For once, Uriel could give it exactly what it wanted.

Kneeling, Uriel placed a hand on the king's knee and tugged at the string of power that kept them tied together. Thoughts and images, memories and moments all poured into Uriel. Everything that had happened here while he was gone the last few days played back through his mind like a warped recording, as he took back the part of himself he left with the king each time he came here.

The king's demeanor changed immediately. He shrank into himself, a gurgling moan leaving him as his face twisted in agony.

The beast pulled at Uriel's hands, wanting to tear into their creation and take more from it, but Uriel resisted the urge. His anguish was what kept him on this side of death, the rapid firing of every single neuron the only thing keeping his brain from completely rotting inside his skull. This shell was already starting to decompose but enough of his mind still remained for what Uriel needed.

The one the mage called "King" was a junkie Uriel had picked out of the gutter after burning the body of his last puppet. Most masters like to keep the thoughtless creatures as guards or slaves, but Uriel had found a better use for them. They were created by completely replacing the mind with one's own will, leaving it compliant but empty, so it hadn't been easy to make one that still retained the ability to think. The trick was in catching a soul while it was dying but not yet gone. If Uriel could slip into the mind in that split second between acceptance and letting go, he could offer them a different sort of haven.

He could take their memories, along with everything that made them who they were, and give them his own. He could offer them a chance to truly forget and what better heaven was there than that? But while forgetting alleviated the weight of their own past sins, Uriel was no saint. He didn't bother telling them it was his personal hell that waited for them instead as he trapped them in a dying body but refused them death.

This was his seventh and If truth be told, it wouldn't last much longer. The mind could only last for so long in this state and it was risky keeping them on the verge of death like this for more than a decade or so. He would have to let it die before it tried to kill itself as his first one had so he might as well kill two birds with one stone.

While Uriel's memories gave them his thoughts, maintaining the dying soul inside with a part of his own gave them the independence to act on their own. With a glamor to give them all the same face, they became a copy of the persona Uriel wished them to maintain.

They acted, spoke, and behaved just as he would.

The only difference: they were only a fraction of his whole

Letting the borrowed part of himself settle back into place Uriel held on tight as he poured a different kind of energy into his nameless double.

The vessel immediately began to reach, granny pebbles tumbling from his mouth as he coughed up blood, his body desperately trying to expel the foreign energy. His skin grew pale, then darkened to deep grey. Cracks broke across his face and his limbs grew stiff. In desperation, he reached out to Uriel one last time, but the gesture sent him tipping forward. By the time he hit the ground he was a solid stone that shattered as it crashed into the floor.

Tilting his head back Uriel sucked in a deep breath.

His body still felt heavy and sluggish but at least his mind was cleared of the fog. The beast hummed within him, forever hungry and never satisfied no matter how much its fed. The two were a walking paradox, both bloated and empty, as they lived their own hell.

Shaking off the stiffness Uriel readied himself for the hardest part of being the true Mage King:

It was time to find a new puppet to take his place.