The Rifleman - Bk1 - Ch.32 (Patreon)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Not our job.

Wesley sat in the tent his squad was assigned to and stared into the faces of his Simulacrums. The rest of the squad was sitting on the other side of the tent, except for Split, who was sitting on the opposite bunk, staring closely at the Sara copy.

“What is she?” Split asked.

“I have no idea,” Wesley admitted. “Do you know what a simulacrum is?”

Split shook her head.

“See, I knew you idiots would be doing this!” Bitchy pushed into the tent, ignoring the glares from the rest of the squad. “Look at me however you want; I’m not missing a chance to see real simulacrums.”

“What?” Wesley asked, “You know what they are?”

“Mage,” Bitchy said, pointing at herself and making a face. “I know shit. How did you do it?”

“I can’t say,” Wesley hedged. 

“Yeah,” Bitchy frowned. “I bet. How about I swear an oath of secrecy? Or we all do?”

“Some answers would be good, rook,” Peterson was the only one staring at Sara as much as Split. 

“Fine,” Wesley nodded. “I guess you deserve to know, and I kind of need to.”

So, with the mage leading, the entire squad swore an Oath of Secrecy. It was apparently a thing in this system as the knowledge of it settled into his mind as if he had always known it. 

That, plus a series of chalky writing detailing each one taking the Oath.

“Well?” Bitchy demanded immediately. 

Reluctantly, Wesley pulled open his tunic and opened the Gorger vest beneath, revealing his totem below.

There was a collective intake of breath.

“Fuck me, rook,” Peterson looked pale. “How in the hell do you have that?”

So, he told them about the wisp, leaving out a certain necromancer’s part in the whole thing. 

“Wait, wait!” Mental poked at some lines around the outside of the central circle. “Those are tempering marks!”

“Oh, shit,” Split almost smiled. “He really is a moron. Look how many there are!”

“Can we move on?” Bitchy complained. “Get to the interesting part.

So, Wesley told her about what had happened, and about the lines that had come from him, and finally, about his new skill. 

“Huh,” Bitchy frowned. “That’s kind of boring, actually.”

“What?” Wesley gaped at her.

“Wisps feed through essence strings,” Bitchy made two of her own strings, “Like these. They draw essence and knowledge through them, killing the victim in the process.” She cleared her throat importantly. “The wisp form obviously gives you some of those energy manipulation abilities, just not as skills. You have to learn how to do those things yourself. Good luck with that. Anyway, so you seem to have instinctively drawn from the summoner while trying to ‘free’ the energy she stole from their corpse when she ate some.”

“So, is this a part of Sara?” Split asked. 

“Don’t be silly,” Bitchy said dismissively, not seeing Mental’s hand shoot out and grab Split’s dagger out of its sheath a fraction of a second before Split could get it.  “Sara’s soul, what made her unique, is gone from this world. Nothing fucks with a soul. Not even the Pantheon can do that. No, this is just her shape, but memories a little. Some hers, some his. It might have a similar personality at times, but that is just fragments. He just drained the summoner, maybe stole part of a skill.”

“So I didn’t steal a bit of her?” Wesley asked, feeling relief wash over him.

“This right here,” Bitchy said as she stood up and brushed off her robe, “This is why I hate non-mages.”

The female Simulacrum flipped the mage off, which broke the tension at last. 

“See? It’s just like her!” Split laughed.

“Assholes, doing asshole things,” Bitchy stalked out of the tent but stopped at the flap for a second. “Glad you all made it.”

“Make her talk,” Split poked her finger into the projection again. 

“I can’t,” Wesley shrugged. “I don’t think they can.”

“I want her to talk,” Split frowned, wiggling her fingers inside the strange, wispy body.

“See, I always knew you two did that,” Ben’Ta giggled, and Split yanked her fingers back in a flash, glaring at anyone who dared chortle. 

Naturally, the moment was immediately spoiled by the arrival of a trio of officers with a firm but still polite request they accompany the nice people to see the Mayor. 

Once more, they were marched to the town hall and once more into the land below, where the interrogation rooms were. A deeply cynical part of Wesley wondered if it was down here to block the screams. Although to be fair, there were no screams this time either. 

Pru’s eyes widened when he walked past, flanked by his wispy friends. Pru was sitting meekly behind a small table, with Ernshaw on the other side of it. The moment Wesley entered, she shivered and drew back as if terrified. 

“Ah, Mister Lancaster,” Ernshaw smiled. “We meet again. I hope you don’t mind if I keep this brief?”

Wesley nodded mutely. 

“Wonderful. It seems whatever happened out there, which I am not now, nor will ever ask about, has rendered our guest classless.” He nodded to Pris. “Her summoner abilities are gone, and she has been blocked from choosing a new class until this is all over. It has made her incredibly cooperative, as you can imagine. The Den Mother’s forces have no use for a classless undead. They would simply kill her and move on. So, she has told us everything.” He frowned. “Which brings us to this unpleasant business.”

“Which is?” Wesley asked politely. This was the quick version?

“I am minded to keep her contained, then have her escorted out with her colleague once this is over. What is stopping me is that she has undoubtedly committed crimes against you, including against your life. As such, our laws demand you are given the choice to demand her life in exchange.” Ernshaw looked uncomfortable. “I do tend to prefer to give those people lucky enough to surviv—” He stopped when Wesley held up a hand. 

“I don’t care,” Wesley said simply. “Let her go if you want. I never wanted to harm any of them. They were just too damn paranoid and suspicious to realize it.”

“Very well,” Ernshaw smiled. “In that case, I suggest you get some food. It is going to be a busy day.”

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