Chapter 83: The Crows

  At first, my head rang with sharp, blinding pain. I grabbed the side of my head out of pure instinct—as if I could somehow stop the bullet that had already ripped through it and shove it back into the gun.

  To stabilize, I had to remind myself it already happened. That I was alive again.

  My gaze snapped to Valdemar, standing right before the workshop door.

  I wanted to kill him.

  At that very moment, I was willing to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until that smug, modulated voice went silence for good.

  But I swallowed the urge down because there was no time.

  Zee was in the Inventory—I’d managed to grab him a millisecond before Valdemar fired. If I hadn’t—and considering he was labeled as a Key Item—who knew what would’ve happened to him?

  I didn’t have time to discuss a strategy with Valdemar. Obsidian Crow #13 entered the workshop.

  “Hmm…didn’t expect to find you here of all places,” he said with the same edge as last time.

  “And you are?” Valdemar asked, sounding bored.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” the Crow mocked, lifting his armgun and leveling the barrel inches from Valdemar’s mask.

  Come on. Think, Viktor! Think, damn it!

  If I didn’t intervene now, everything would play out exactly the same—except this time I wouldn’t have my COG to back me up. The destruction would end up being far worse.

  Again, Valdemar reached out and crushed the barrel of the Crow’s gun with his bare hand.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “And I already answered.”

  The Crow’s armblade rose, ready to swing at Valdemar, and that was when the idea hit me.

  “I know who you are!” I shouted.

  I had no idea who he was.

  The blade froze mid-swing.

  The Crow chuckled. “Do you now?” he asked, not even looking at me.

  “I do,” I said, forcing myself to sound steady. “I know exactly who you are under that helm. With your disgusting pale, veiny face.”

  He staggered back a step. Actually staggered, blade retracted and hand flying to his helm. “W-What?”

  I never imagined I'd hear uncertainty—fear—in his voice. I never expected my bluff to work so well. But there was no time to enjoy it. I had to push deep, exactly where it seemed to have shaken him.

  “Yeah,” I nodded, forcing a weak smile, trying to project confidence. “We already saw your nasty face last loop.”

  “W-What?” he stammered again, shaking his head. He lowered his head and muttered, frantic. “But that can’t be…he would’ve told me…unless he—No. He would’ve told me. Unless…”

  It was surreal watching the monster who had killed me over a dozen times crumble into confusion like this. But the goal was achieved.

  What the fuck was Valdemar waiting for?!

  My gaze darted toward him, irritated he hadn’t taken advantage of the opening yet. Then, as if reading my thoughts, he moved.

  Valdemar’s left fist shot forward toward the Crow’s helm. Just like before, his body blazed with Kinetra up until the last possible millisecond.

  The Crow reacted without even looking. He raised his palm to intercept the attack, but he didn’t know what Valdemar could do.

  Valdemar’s Aetheris-shattering punch cracked straight through the Aetherguard gauntlet, smashing the Crow’s arm aside and throwing him slightly off balance.

  Valdemar immediately shifted his stance and hurled his right fist toward the Crow’s face.

  The Crow, reeling, thrust his hand forward and released a burst of decay mist, but Valdemar was already anticipating it. He unleashed Aero with the same punch, blasting the decay back at the Crow before it could touch his gloved hands. It did nothing to the Crow's armor—expected—but it concealed the angle of Valdemar's incoming strike.

  The Crow raised his other arm to block, but the punch never came. Using the Umbrium’s mist to his advantage, Valdemar pulled back, pivoted left, and drove a devastating punch into the Crow’s armored solar plexus.

  A massive crack spiderwebbed outward across the entire chestplate of the Aetherguard Mark III.

  My words had rattled him – no question. The Crow was fighting back, but he was slower now, sloppier. His movements were jerky compared to what I’d grown accustomed to seeing from him.

  But why was that the case?

  I tried to connect the dots.

  Who was he muttering about?

  Before Valdemar shot me, in the pre-Checkpoint run, the Crow said that his identity was “our secret”. Now he was mentioning some “he”.

  Who was this “he?” Who was the accomplice behind the Crow? Was it Casten Vorrick? Dalton Rose? Or was that too obvious and exactly what Dolos wants me to think?

  “There are two of you,” Valdemar said suddenly.

  I blinked and looked between them. “What?”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The Crow staggered back another step, hand pressed over his splintered chestplate. “No…How did you – ? No…”

  “There are two of you,” Valdemar repeated, tone almost casual. “How do you like my theory? It was just a theory at first, but your reaction tells me I got it right.”

  Two of them…?

  My mind scrambled to make sense of it. The Crow had acted completely different since claiming he’d evolved—since he was able to track me down without any countermeasure in sight—but what if that wasn’t “evolution” at all? What if he’d been replaced? But that shouldn’t be possible. Aetherguard Mark III suits worked like the COGs – they were keyed to a single wearer.

  Right…?

  “Suit number thirteen,” Valdemar continued, “was last worn by Theo Vorrick.”

  Theo Vorrick? Was he related to Prime Security? I couldn’t remember the name. There were just faint tingles of Déjà vu.

  “I know for a fact the suit was left vacant after that coward shot his own brains out with – “

  “SHUT UP!” the Crow roared and lunged.

  “Got you,” Valdemar chuckled. He sidestepped the incoming armblade and drove another Aetheris-shattering punch into the Crow’s side.

  Another crack exploded across the armor, fragments clattering onto the floor. Valdemar followed with a spinning, Kinetra-boosted kick that blasted the Crow through the workshop door and into the corridor beyond.

  The entire chestplate broke into pieces, revealing a torso covered by a black fabric suit beneath.

  I stared, stunned, as Valdemar stepped into the hallway after him, each footfall unhurried.

  “I still don’t understand how it’s even possible,” Valdemar said, bemused. “But you’re him, aren’t you?” He stopped in front of the rising Crow. “You’re Theo Vorrick.”

  The Crow practically froze at the sound of the name—the second time he reacted that way.

  “What? But you just said he shot himself,” I said, completely thrown.

  “That’s what I don’t understand. Yet,” Valdemar replied, taking another slow step until he stood right in front of the stunned Crow. “He should be dead, but…”

  Valdemar reached both hands toward the Crow’s helm. Surprisingly—or maybe not—the Crow didn’t even flinch as Valdemar pressed the release button and slowly lifted the helm free.

  Underneath was a man with a horrifying appearance. His skin was corpse-pale, dark veins webbed across his entire head, his hair half-rotted. And worse – two gaping holes pierced straight through his skull, one on each side. The unmistakable aftermath of a point-blank shot that definitely should’ve killed him. There was no fresh blood pouring from them. Just rotted flesh.

  And the smell…oh, the smell. It was too sharp.

  “My, my…looks like I was right,” Valdemar murmured with a soft, mocking chuckle. “So, the question beckons: what are you? You’re not human – that’s for sure.”

  He was a corpse. A moving, thinking corpse capable of speech and murder.

  My mind stalled trying to process it. Among all the impossible things I had to learn to accept during this time loop, this took the prize of the most bizarre one yet.

  The Crow—Theo Vorrick?—looked less like the merciless butcher who’d murdered me so many times and more like a terrified child. He didn’t answer. He didn’t run. He didn’t fight. He just…stood there, eyes lost.

  “So…? No answer?” Valdemar taunted. “Eh. Don’t worry. Let’s try it again. I’ll speak my theory, and your reactions will tell me if I’m right.”

  He cleared his throat—a distorted, mechanical rasp through the modulator.

  “First the facts: the Aetherprint isn’t just some dumb sequence we punch into COGs and machines to keep this shithole running. No. It’s bigger than that. Much bigger. It’s who we are at a cellular level. Every person’s Aetherprint is unique, yes, but they also share patterns. Especially among family. Which is why, when some idiot in Ironwatch calibrates a Hound incorrectly, it might tear apart an entire family—children and all—because their Aetherprints share similarities with that of the insurgent it was trained to hunt down.”

  I swallowed hard. The way he said it…he’d definitely seen that happen.

  He went on, “It is also why the damn mutt keeps following you around, Viktor.”

  Suddenly, Déjà vu completed the gaps, and everything clicked. Why he obeyed me. Why he protected me. Why he threw himself between me and death.

  “He was Thea’s…” I whispered upon realization.

  “It,” Valdemar corrected, “and yes. In a way. Your Aetherprint is somewhat similar to Thea’s, so the mutt recognizes you as her kin. We already made sure Thea is invisible to it—so now it’s stuck on following its secondary protocol: protect her and her family. Of course, by ‘family’, Stanford meant himself; he never imagined it would find you. But here we are.”

  I’d already figured out that the initials G.S. on the Armor-Piercer meant Graham Stanford. Now I finally knew where Zee came from—or at least who created him. But things were still unclear.

  “But there are so many families in Solvane,” I said. “If such an exploit exists, why isn’t everyone abusing it? Surely people would try swapping COGs with their family members. That’s basic human behavior.” I shook my head. “Scratch that—how has Dalton Rose or House Innovation not fixed it yet?”

  “Because it’s not that simple to do,” Valdemar explained. “You can’t just wear your family member’s COG and call it a day. The bracer just won’t react. But if you know the device’s inner machinations like – “ He tapped his chest, “yours truly, then that’s possible.”

  His certainty left little room for argument.

  Suddenly, the point he was trying to make didn’t feel so far-fetched.

  “Then the first Crow Thirteen is – “

  “Casten Vorrick,” Valdemar finished for me, and Theo visibly trembled.

  Valdemar laughed. “Look at him. That’s a yes, by the way.”

  Theo Vorrick, the unhinged Crow, a living corpse, seemed to gather a flicker of clarity. “You’re nuts,” he spat at Valdemar.

  “But how is he alive?” I asked, turning to Theo. “He’s right—what are you?”

  No reaction. No explanation. Just the same confused and decayed expression.

  Valdemar answered for him. “I don’t think even he knows. But I have a theory. And…” he suddenly laughed. “Wow. That changes everything. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…I salute him for the convincing act.”

  “Who? The Prime?” I demanded. “What are you talking about? What’s the theory? Why does Casten Vorrick even want me dead so much?”

  “Eh, you’ll forget once the loop resets. What’s the point in telling you?” Valdemar said dismissively.

  “Maybe because you only figured out who he was because of me?” I shot back, barely keeping my anger in check.

  Valdemar sighed. “Fine. But first – “

  Without warning, he summoned a handgun from thin air and shot Theo Vorrick in the face, blowing his head on the wall behind him. Oddly enough, there was no blood. Just this dark, gooey liquid.

  “Dead again,” Valdemar muttered mockingly.

  The few people who had peeked out from their workshops up until now screamed and bolted.

  I stepped back in shock. “What are you doing?!”

  Valdemar shrugged. “What? I got everything I could from him. He wasn’t going to help any further.” His tone sharpened. “Now, as for your question, I believe you already know that Dolos had been preparing our world for this day for years. Personally, I first met him five years ago, but I know three others he contacted—some earlier than me—his pieces, as he calls us.”

  “Casten Vorrick, and Dalton Rose,” I said, already knowing that thanks to the Memory Fragments. “Who's the third?”

  “Cecilia Baines.”

  Hearing Mom’s name didn’t shock me. I remembered what I’d said about her in Dolos’ realm—the bits on information I wanted to carry over. Past me had already pieced it together. Watching that Vestige this morning only confirmed it to me. She was too excited to become a mother to just abandon us one day.

  Valdemar continued, “I don’t know what he told them. I don’t know what he offered them. But if he operated with them the same way he does with me, he may have granted each of them three wishes.” His visor turned toward Theo’s headless corpse. “If I’d known wishes like that were possible, I would’ve – “ He chuckled darkly. “The bastard withheld information. Again.”

  “Wishes?” I echoed. Everything suddenly felt infinitely more complicated. If Dolos granted wishes to the pawns he set in Solvane, who knew what they could do? What was the extent of the wishes? Which wishes had Mom chosen?

  My thoughts spiraled. Theo Vorrick. Prime Security. The things Crow thirteen said—both when I managed to rattle him this time, and in previous loops. The inconsistency in what I believed about Valdemar.

  And then it hit me.

  A connection suddenly clicked in my head. A realization that I was wrong about something. Very wrong. But before I could do anything –

  “I have to kill you before you use that broken photograph to cheat your way into the next loop,” Valdemar said, raising the gun at me.

  I immediately triggered Slow, already envisioning how I’d disarm him and turn the situation in my favor, but…he moved normally. Unaffected by the Slow.

  “See you in the Foundry, Viktor,” he said before killing me again.

  you (dear readers) catch what's the "wrong" thing Viktor realized before dying?

  so much more sense (in terms of the wishes, the plans, etc.) :D