Chapter Text
A stinging taste filled her throat as she swallowed, Murati coughing and grimacing alongside Violet, drinking shoulder to shoulder. Setting the glass down at the nightstand, she gave an unimpressed look at her Reichskommissar.
“Ugh. I can’t stand this vodka. Whose idea was this?”
Violet chuckled, choosing to ignore Murati’s self-admonishment while she leaned in, bare shoulders brushing.
“Mphm, it’s lacking for sure. Maybe we could get some officers to offer up some corn wine- I’ve heard from some of them it’s less offensive to the senses.”
Murati gave a nod of assent, leaning in herself, stealing a kiss from Violet. Drawing it out for a few long moments before pulling back for a breath, an unreadable expression in her gaze.
The conquering of the Union was underway- and going well enough for the pair to be able to spend a relaxing night together, sharing a bed aboard a captured station, drinking communist liquor and enjoying each other’s company. It had been a busy few weeks, and they’d rarely gotten to spend their time together.
Violet’s intent on immediate, massive changes to the agrispheres of the Union to support her raw veganism agenda required strict implementation and her dissatisfaction with the economic capabilities of the stations captured so far continued to vex her. While Murati was conferring with generals and captains to continue their unceasing onslaught, making sure to cycle out ships in the lead and bolstering their entire frontline as well as could be managed, Violet’s broadcast speeches to the Volkisch was the most she’d seen of her in recent days.
“I’ve missed you, mein schatzi.”
Violet’s eyebrows raised for a moment, shifting once more to lay her head upon Murati’s shoulder.
“I’ve missed you too, Murati. I hadn’t expected you to get so needy after only a short time apart- distance must make the heart grow fonder. But it’s a charming side of you.”
Murati wore a soft smile on her face, hand idly tracing shapes across Violet’s back- the pair was sitting up in bed, undressed and lounging while only mildly inebriated.
Moving to fix that, Murati took Violet’s glass from her hand and shifting to slip out of bed.
“Ugh.” Violet made a dissatisfied noise, but didn’t object further.
Murati pulled herself up, snatching her own glass up and swaying over to the table that the bottle had been left at. After pouring some more vodka for the pair, Murati seemed to pause for a few moments, asking a question with her back to Violet.
“Violet- are your sure of your priorities?”
“Mmm?”
“The agrispheres- we haven’t forced the cooperation of enough of the Union’s productive forces for it to be sustainable.”
“Ah.” Violet’s voice sounded as if this was something she’d expected, quieting to listen to Murati’s words.
“That means soldiers of ours- even if they’re inexperienced Blood Bund meatheads from that clown in Rhinea- must do agricultural work they’re unprepared for and will resent. And that work also requires extremely tight margins to be economically viable.”
“Murati, this is our chance for a complete upending of this state: to turn this Union into a model for National Socialism- and that means even in food production.”
“Violet, I understand. And I support you, but-” Murati fought the urge to turn, her hands pressing into the tabletop, eyes drifting over the Volkisch uniform pants she’d haphazardly tossed atop it- the pocket specifically.
“You’re concerned about the sustainability of this blitz, yes?”
“Mhm.”
The room went silent for a few more moments. Murati’s index and middle fingers discreetly tugging a pair of small packets from her pocket. Both were half-filled with a uniform white powder, but the different hues of the packaging let her know which would provoke the desired effects.
Reichskommissar Murati Nakara. Came a whispered a voice in the back of her mind.
Then she heard a soft sigh from behind her, able to so clearly picture Violet’s expression- put upon but with a bit of fondness.
“Very well then- we’ll leave the corn alone until it can be harvested a few more times. And put more effort into making the people of the Union understand what the Volkisch can offer. Making more of the Zabaniyah prominent in policing will help.”
Murati let out a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding, tapping one packet back into her pocket, twisting around to reveal her tearing open the other and pouring it into her drink to her bed partner.
“Oh my- using sex as a reward for political decisions? You’ve matured so much from that eager-to-please Obersturmführer that caught my eye.” Violet teased, although Murati could clearly see the way her pose shifted, laying further back on the bed, propped up by her elbows- full of desire.
Downing her vodka as the powder was dissolving into it, she returned to the bed, crawling atop Violet, pressing her down- olive meeting ruddy skin as she whispered,
“I don’t recall giving you permission to speak, kätzchen-”
Silencing Violet’s further noises with a hungry kiss, pinning her to the bed even as a sensation of cold filled her body, salt stinging her eyes.
Murati’s eyes opened groggily- she wasn’t drowning, for once. She was slumped over a large work cart that had been wedged between a doorway by the blackened waves that now stilled once more around her bedraggled form. As her consciousness returned, the stings of bruises and wounds all over her body- along with how freezing cold she was- made her shudder. Her shirt was nearly in tatters, the black button-up revealing plenty of her bust along with the jagged lines of red in her skin. Processing the vision was something that felt beyond her now. The sickening feelings bubbling in her gut, the sensations she’d felt as that Other Murati, all of them made her want to disappear.
But she couldn’t. It wasn’t even a coherent belief that was fueling this opposition- Just some deep sensation of wrongness in her head. The pounding headache was making it more difficult to think of Karuniya, to focus on what she’d been doing. That unknown voice that filled her head with its echoing cries still felt fresh and clear- difficult to put out of her mind.
The core! Murati remembered, jerking up, glancing around the hall- she was close to it. That unbearable tide had pulled her to only a few modules away before she’d gotten caught in this doorway. Testing if she could touch the floor, she found that the water wasn’t as high as before- it was up to her chest now but was still possible to move through.
Slowly, agonizingly, she tugged at the cart, shifting it out to free the doorway. Her body ached, chilled to her bones, barely able to stand the freezing cold metal beneath her feet as she padded slowly through the deep water filling the halls. These lower levels contained a lot of storage and tightly packed Diver parts, but in this False Brigand, it seemed as if it was completely empty. At this point, that was just another distraction from her goal- from putting an end to this nightmare and those visions filling her head.
Wading onwards, arms spread out, Murati sneezed- she felt unsteady and weak from the chill. It was getting harder to think straight, and she kept stopping to shiver for a few moments at a time, suffused with an awful sense of freezing to death if this effort failed. It was like teetering on the edge- one more vision felt like all it would take to shatter this fragile sense of self she was left with, to snuff out the flickering candle in her chest.
“Karu…please…I’m… I’m coming…”
She gasped out, stuttering and stumbling while pulling herself through the slightly opened bulkhead that normally separated the core array from the rest of the ship.
Through the door, her faint memories of what an Agarthicite Core Array looked like from earlier work on ships were reaffirmed. The osmium shutters were torn apart, blackened water hiding the generators and turbines that constantly drew power from the horrific rock that should have been embedded upon the altar. The metal God of the After Descent Era- was gone. And in its place, upon its pedestal was a pretender to the throne.
A shadowed blackened figure, near impossible to discern details of in the lightless room, with twisting roots digging into the metals surrounding it. From its body and its roots poured forth more and more blackened sea water- the source of this false sea. And she heard its voice, reverberating through the waters, provoking small waves to lap at her shoulders.
Welcome, herr Reichskommissar. Said the tones in her mind.
“That’s not- augh.” Another splitting headache, hand lifting to her temple, glaring into the darkness before her. Murati felt the heat of the rings around her eyes forming, chasing away the chill and haunted feelings for a moment.
Not enough? You seek to be Fuhrer? To rule, completely? To consume and take and hunger for more all the while? Its eagerness and fondness audible, desiring her victory, desiring her to reach ever-higher heights.
She had to shut it up- sending a wave of her fury in the form of a vector- that caused a weak splash in the water before her, leaving that figure on the altar untouched. It felt like all the fight in her body left her in that moment. Her one weapon, her one way of harming this thing… was so pitiful before it. Whatever it was.
You know… you know me so well… It led her on, reveling in her weakness.
Her head was spinning, the weight of its presence pressing upon her. Memories of the visions flickered before her eyes- of Imani pressed closed behind her, Christina’s lips against her own, Violet beneath her in bed. Throughout it all, persistent through the world it showed her. Ever hungry for more. Ever consuming. Ever desiring.
Could this be… Fascism? Her enemy, given form? The ideology held by Imani, by Christina, by Violet and so many more she stood against- was this the source of it all? Some horrifically beating heart of black matter, a perversion of the sacrosanct Agarthicite that was burnt into her mind?
Yesssssss, came the voice in her head, an intonation comparable to ‘pride’ readable in it. It was content with this understanding. Fascism as something that wasn’t human, but something ancient and horrific and immutable. Something that seeped up from below and imbedded itself into those above.
And in a moment, despite the dread and fear Murati felt, she knew this wasn’t so. It went against everything she believed. Everything she understood. Not in the way of psionics or this False Brigand did, as things beyond her current understandings- but because it was such a cowardly answer. It was one that denied self-interrogation or a hope for bettering oneself or others. And one that promoted a disbelief in the harm people could bring about.
But how can you know? It asked and was ignored.
This was not the Source of Fascism. To say so was to surrender culpability. It was something human, something formed from the belief and psyche of humanity. This thing too was born from human desire and reflected it- Aachen had let it feed on the minds and ideals of the Empire for generations, and it had grown larger and insidious. The Fueller Reformation may have threatened it momentarily- before it relaxed at the familiarity of the desires of this movement, letting it taste new flavors of the same meal, to further awaken and hunger for more. And now the Volkisch Movement had come here. To let it stretch itself and become a true guardian wyrm of the ideology it was fed by, wrapped around the struts of this city.
Murati’s head ached, her entire body weighed down, every motion difficult in the chest-high black water filling this room, soaking and chilling her to the bone as it forever poured from that mangled shape upon the altar. And yet she felt more assured than she’d been this entire journey- communism was a threat to it. Her beliefs, Erika’s beliefs, every single crewmates belief about what the world could be was a predator to this prey. Even unknowingly, the Brigand’s arrival was a knife buried into this foe.
No! Came a cry, the waves becoming more frantic. Defensive, even.
Be drowned, revolutionary. In the black tide of Destiny. It purred out once more. No longer intent on filling her head with possibilities- possibilities that could exist. Murati wasn’t special or unique. Had she not been in the Union, had not found communism, had not gained a material understanding of the world- she could have been the Oberführer of Aachen, another keeper of this creature. Her blood dripping through the pipes joining the others in the city to satisfy its hunger.
But she wasn’t. Even as it roared and shook, and the walls of the False Brigand crumpled from the pressure- Murati knew. She would live and die a worker, without a name.
And the misshapen core let its blackened sea rush free, unrestrained.
She was knocked off her feet by the sudden wave that poured forth, dragged beneath the current- uselessly paddling for the surface as she was flung against the walls, kicking and attempting to swim. The breath was knocked out of her, opening her eyes to struggle to see anything she could grab hold of to stop her sickening motion, staring into the blackness, the sting of salt filling them as her lungs burnt from lack of air.
For a moment-
All seemed lost-
That now familiar chilling apathy-
She’d thrown it off for an instant-
But now-
Coating her, marring her, seeping in-
She would drown here-
In the salt and the sea-
Overcome by Destiny-
Unable to see her wife again-
But the utter darkness was broken by the glow of an unfamiliar light… coming from herself. A purple, throbbing, incomprehensible shard buried in her chest. She hadn’t felt it (or had she always felt it?). This was a wound left in her by her experiences. She knew, innately. Her hand gripped the shard, and she felt it all over again- the sweat and alarms of her Diver, her eyes locked on the screens as the Agarthicite collapsed on itself in front of her. Murati felt herself being pulled further into the sight, losing herself in the purple instead of the darkness, hexagonal burns beginning to trace down her fingers.
Even in the dark void of the water, she could see as those purple-hot burns struck through her hand, mangling her flesh to the bone as it fed more and more from her touch and flesh. Before those too stopped- by another wound, this time self-inflicted: the cut on her palm.
All the sudden, she wasn’t lost in a sea of blackness, detached from time and reality, gripping a shard of something beyond understanding. She had made a pact that grounded her- a pledge to serve. A pledge to fight as a soldier for Astra Palaiologos II in the Time of Polemos.
And whatever Katarran dark magic it was that sustained that pact, it was strong enough to let Murati’s feet touch the ground- to slow the burning of the purple shard she yanked from her ribs. That pounding heat of Polemos was in the distance, and its existence and sensation allowed Murati to reframe her understandings. She was a soldier. And in her hand was a weapon. And before her… was an enemy.
She took a step.
The water flowed around her, pounding at her body, small bits of metal and shrapnel cutting into her flesh and driving her to wince- but she took another step.
Lit by the purple glow, wielding that vague sensation of Polemos as a compass, Murati continued to steadily, step by step, approach this Reflection of Destiny. Its howls reverberated through the water, roars like a wounded beast. But she’d slain beasts before. Leviathans carved by her Diver’s weaponry. The Agarthic shard in her hand crackled at the memory, pushing her onwards.
Her lungs burnt, unable to draw a breath in this false sea, but she could see the altar now. Every step she could feel the sea press around her, the mangled and torn remains of the Volkisch uniform repaired in its wake- those three armbands burning, cutting into her as the vile symbols upon them shone red in the darkness. And she continued to walk, to not accept this fate.
With every step, the light dimmed, and as she put a foot upon the guardrail around the Agarthic altar, it changed. Jackboots replaced with the familiar, comfortable plastic of Union boots, her rank emblazoned and glowing with the same energy that now fueled her to take a leap, to grasp at the wretched altar, scrabbling for a handhold and digging the shard of Agarthicite into the metal, securing herself as the tides continued to attempt to throw her aside.
This is not you. You are of the Black Tide, of the Ever-Devouring, of the National Socialist! Cried out the husk.
It was finally lit by the Agarthicite shard, letting Murati look upon this enemy without shadows or screens separating them. It was a rotted body, tendrils of blackened meat and bone choking the natural processes of the core. She could not tell if it was man or woman- but it was petrified, solid, with its arm extended out in an all too familiar salute. An oddly shaped rusted mask, metallic compared to its flesh-like limbs, hid its expression from her eyes.
Murati stood, her uniform flickering once more as she lifted that shard of Agarthicite high. The Union officers’ garb was replaced in an instant by the weighty, unfamiliar feeling of armor, a billowing cloak tossed about by the currents. She could sense immediately- this was the armor of a Merarch, the weight of Katarran power armor affixing her to the ground, the sensation of Polemos centering her once more, the blood loss and chill so insignificant in this moment of violence.
And she brought down her weapon. For socialism. For Polemos. For Karuniya. For herself. That jagged chunk of accursed metal that haunted the edges of her consciousness she buried into the chest of the petrified clotted corpse of the past.
Accursed revolutionary… I fear… your steel… I fear… what you will… attain… Its voice grew softer and more labored in her head… before it was silenced forever, a weight leaving her shoulders.
The sea stilled around her. She took a gasping breath, spots flickering in her vision as she found herself able to breathe- the false sea of this False Brigand evaporating in an instant, the weight of the armor steadying her shaking body. And, stepping forward, looking at the dissolving remnants of the corpse, her face smeared with blood and salt and blackened liquid, cloak billowing behind her, Murati spoke,
“The People make up a Nation; you’ll-” And she stumbled on the altar, falling back upon the guardrail, which bent and shattered beneath the weight of her armor, winding her as she fell in an unsteady heap on the floor.
Looking up at the ceiling, she couldn’t help but chuckle, then slowly build to a full laugh at how much tension had been released. Beginning to intermingle with sobs as the armor encasing her shimmered away as well. She was exhausted- bruised and beaten and she could barely keep her eyes open. But she continued to laugh and cry as sensations of life and light seemed to return to the Brigand around her. Slowly, flickeringly at first, but then gaining strength, the familiar purple Agarthicite reasserted its place at the Core, filling the room with a comforting, soft glow.
It was entrancing, but waves of weariness seemed to come with this return to normalcy. A yawn left her lips, laughter subsiding. And peacefully this time, Murati’s eyes closed with an unsteady smile still on her face. It would be some time before she was awoken in her familiar uniform by a very confused Iessenia and Nina within the Brigand’s reactor room. Then various explanations, checks to her health, and concerned, tearful hugs would follow. But in this moment, bathed in that shimmering purple light, Murati rested and for the first night since she arrived in Aachen, felt that she slept comfortably.
She dreamed of Karuniya and Solstice.
