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Arc X.1 | Chapter 29: Interlude | Project Piketown Infiltration 29

Taelor wanted to bash his head in. It would be a quick death, all things considered. He could do it with a skill—use one of the many skills The Black Knot had that were meant to bring about a quick death for their agents. Sometimes, shit went wrong on missions and death was the best option.End it all yourself, rather than give another criminal the opportunity to snuff your life out.

—it was strange that, somewhere along the way, Taelor had come to think of their faction of The Black Knot as something more akin to a criminal organization, rather than a form of law enforcement.

Part of it, he thought, was the reality that they had connections to criminal organizations through both the Baxter family’s agents and Division 30—through all the friends they had made over the years.

Alex was off running a criminal empire in Piketown—they all knew that. Not , of course, who knew little of anything these days, being increasingly pushed to the wayside as their faction was. The day was coming when they’d try to rise up, of course—when would finally snap and try to take back The Black Knot, as though any of them who now controlled it wouldn’t simply leave and start their own organization were they not able to snuff each of those clones who would dare act against them out.

It wasn’t like they didn’t have connections to half of the world’s criminals, all perfectly willing to hire them, should they be forced to flee into the wind. They had Baxter family's assets and plants in some of those groups, clones in others—some wearing other faces, some having found themself a place there with their own face and the help of other contacts.

The gorankai in Dion, still alive and kicking despite their near death during the war. If anything, their empire reached even further now, the crime lord taking advantage of connections and Dion’s general lack of upward mobility in society for the general population to snatch up every person of value that the Inner Court didn’t—of course, part of that was on purpose, Hurinren, Yujao, and the Empress Supreme leaving some souls outside their bounds specifically so they could make sure the gorankai would have power enough to challenge anyone who might dare try to take the Inner Court by force.

There was no good to be found in conglomerating their power within a single organization, a single space, a single person.

So, the gorankai and G.H. shared in the spread of their empires, twining them together in a way that no one would have thought possible four decades ago and yet now seemed so natural. In the midst of that spread, Division 30’s influence spread, as did those of their faction of The Black Knot—the part that had become disillusioned with the world Baalphoria was trying to make and was increasingly comfortable running operations without ever letting know.

At some point, they had become criminals in their own right, living by their own rules rather than those of society those their government tried to tug tight around their throats.

“You’re in a mood,” Valor noted, as though he hadn’t been staring out of windows without saying more than a few words for hours.

“Aren’t we all,” Taelor noted, locking his Censor back up—probably, he shouldn’t have let the safety features fall silent, lest he accidentally kill himself. Generally, he didn’t want to kill himself; instead, it was an intrusive thought, slipped into him over the thousands of times he had—

Well, the of those thoughts’ origins didn’t much matter. They existed. Taelor did his best to ignore them, slipped into the Virtuosi System to hurt himself when he couldn’t quite manage.

In no world would he ever actually kill himself, even if some days the drag to just end it was too much to bear. There were people who needed him—people who, without him there to stitch them up, tuck their own painful memories away, would kill themselves.

For the people he loved, Taelor would bear the pain, cut himself when he needed a bit of release, then continue on,

and on,

and on,

and on,

and on,

and—

Valor’s fingers pressed into his neck, and was the tension obvious? Fuck.

“Only to me,” his brother noted, digging his thumbs into Taelor’s shoulders, each tight with the tension of too many millennia of misery.

Usually, he was good at fighting the tug of memories, but not right now, what with everything that had happened—what with how upset Baylor was, not even answering his messages anymore… not outside of that group relay, anyways. At least he had answered there. His brother was obviously alive, his stalking function indicating he was still within the northern city that Taelor didn’t think should exist. The increasingly permanent settlement felt wrong, and considering that he generally didn’t believe in and , Taelor thought that said a lot.

“Do you believe? In I mean?” he asked, letting his eyes fall closed. A breath caught in his chest as Valor’s hands pressed into him, moving over his neck and shoulders, winding through his hair, brushing over his cheeks, his jaw, tugging his head back until it felt like the younger boy was going to kiss him.

The kiss never came, Taelor’s eyes sliding open to glare up at his baby brother, staring down at him, upside down. The smallest of smiles tugged at his features—some of that petty patience of his rising to the surface to torture him, apparently.

“I don’t know,” Valor said after another moment of staring into each other’s eyes, each green and edged with more wrinkles than was common for clones their age, none of them wanting to be rid of this evidence of their love for Emilia—their worry for her—given physical form. “Baylor does,” he pointed out, and yes, indeed.

Baylor believed in , and perhaps that shouldn’t have been a surprise. Their middle brother had always been so suffused in myths and stories that, of course, somewhere along the line, he must have internalized some of it. Mostly, Taelor wanted the brat to respond to his relays and answer some questions about all that. Since when? How much? Had he ever felt himself?

“Emmie believes as well,” Valor added, and yes, there was that as well.

Emilia had always been one to hold strange beliefs within her mind and heart, but while some of them had turned out to be wrong or incomplete, Taelor couldn’t say any of those beliefs had ever her wrong. The girl he loved might not always know the name of the path she was on, but she always seemed to take the right path—well, all except when it came to Halen.

a thousand Emilias said, each repeating the same thing as though the words weren’t a part of Taelor’s very soul.

They were words that lived within Taelor—words that lived within Emilia as well, even if she only ever said them when all she wanted to do was die because losing Halen had been too much for her heart, already so broken because… because of so much.

Because of Rafe.

Because of Halen.

Because of Olivier.

Because of them and every other person who had planted within her sweet heart the idea that she wasn’t enough—wasn’t good enough, wasn’t reason enough to stay, to turn back, to give up everything for—when in reality, she was everything, and they were the idiots, and—

Turning in his seat, Taelor mourned the loss of Valor’s hands digging into the once again tense pull of his shoulders. Reaching, he caught on the other boy’s shirt, pulling him towards his lap. Valor came easily, straddling him and pressing their foreheads together. While Valor might not know exactly what Taelor was keeping tucked within him, secret from everyone lest it rip their souls apart as well, his younger brother knew that there was something within him, toxic and mouldering and impossible to excise because he had responsibilities—because for better or worse, he had once promised to take care of his brothers and Emilia, and in no world would he be able to forgive himself if he couldn’t at least do this little things for them.

They would break without him; what did it matter if easing their pain whittled him down instead?

“If you are going to have sex, at least lock the door,” an amused voice cut in, startling both Taelor and Valor, their eyes shooting to an annoyed looking Hetexia, and behind her—

“Hello, Povrix,” Valor replied, his head tilting in thought and giving Taelor the sudden premonition that his baby brother was about to channel their chaos-ridden middle brother. “If you can see into and the future, like Emmie’s syn, could you not tell what was happening before you opened the door?”

The look Hetexia gave Valor was scathing enough that Taelor didn’t bother reprimanding his baby brother, either verbally or within their relays. At the same time, he didn’t bother forcing the other boy off his lap either, his hands gentle vices on Valor’s hips—not holding him there, but certainly leaving Valor with no question as to whether Taelor wanted him to move or not. Somewhere along the lines—far earlier than most of them who had known about the relationship he and his brothers’ had realized—virtually everyone had come to know about it.

Some people didn’t like it. Usually, they weren’t allowed in their presence for long, chasing them off. Sometimes it was Baylor, letting his cruelty show to anyone who dared look at them like they were disgusting. Other times, it was one of their —those people who they were connected to through a shared history and kindness, even if he and his brothers couldn’t love them in return, and sometimes, there wasn’t even love to return.

the Shadow of Jinkai had once said, their voice a warble of power through the aether, their teenage body struggling to contain and control everything they held within themself.

Rudely enough, that monster was correct: when they had been young, he and his brothers would have risked little for anyone but one another or Emilia, then Darrian and Westrial as well. This had always been a lie, of course, complicated by Emilia and Darrian and Westrial’s love for others, complicated by things Taelor couldn’t explain—things none of them could explain.

So, they defended those people and were defended in turn—were given countless people who knew the truth of them and didn’t care in the slightest.

As Codeth had once said, shortly before the war began, they weren’t hurting anyone, so taboo or not, what did it matter? Mikhail, munching on a salad beside him, had been thoroughly confused. As their former classmate had long ago come to find amusement in not understanding things, and instead made a game of seeing if he could figure it out based on context clues and conversations he overheard rather than demanding explanations, neither he nor Codeth had explained what they were talking about to him. Although Taelor wasn’t entirely convinced Mikhail had figured it out—an impressive thing, given how much the other boy’s innocence had slipped away after so many eons within the training system—he had joined Codeth in beating up several people who find issue with his and his brothers’ relationship shortly after the war began.

It was nice, in a way, to have that sort of support. It was why he made a point to meet up with Mikhail when he asked, why he bought tickets to most of Codeth’s concerts, even Baylor managing to relax some under the flow of Codeth’s lyrics and melodies. They weren’t in the normal sense, but Taelor had carved a bit of himself out for them—made their relationships something nice and friendly and reciprocal when he knew neither of these boys he had known since he was a child would ever demand his black knot bend for them.

Of course, if helped that both understood the burden Taelor had piled upon himself—Rafe as well, although their mutual black knots had effectively left them having no ability to connect.

Odd that, the fact black knots winding around one another was generally an all or nothing thing. While the extent of his and his brothers’ relationship certainly pushed things far past what most clones found with one another, it wasn’t uncommon for them to love their podmates, to find close friendships and form platonic relationships with other clones. The Baxter fathers existed together, benign coworkers more often than not. The Laprise mothers had found friendship, of a sort—not that any of them had really seen it until Penelope died and Clarissa fell to shambles.

A vision of Baylor, crumbling in his and Valor’s arms as his own heart shattered slid through his mind, Povrix releasing a distressed sound that reminded him that the kyrfa'Nur'tha were still standing there, Hetexia glaring at them, unimpressed—although, Taelor knew the hy wasn’t a fan of public displays of affection—while the syn had yet to answer Valor’s question.

Somehow, Taelor thought the answer complicated. Somehow, he also thought that in those seconds where that ancient vision of Baylor flashed through his mind—the not-so-ancient vision because Baylor couldn’t pick at the bandages that Taelor had to constantly wrap around his memories—Povrix had seen it as well. The syn’s lip wobbled, Hetexia’s frown deepening as she turned back to glare at the syn who was apparently destined to become to next syna, once the syna who had replaced Rexanti kicked it—everyone was looking forward to that day, unfortunately.

“What—” Hetexia started to ask before Povrix burst into keening wails, their words falling into Brylish as the rest of them stared at the young syn. Their legs gave out and yeah, honestly? Whenever Taelor remembered his brother falling to pieces because black knots loved with their whole being and losing a single loved one was enough to shattered them completely, he wanted to wail as well, his heart breaking for the love his brother had lost.

“I think… that is an answer to your question,” Taelor told Valor, motioning at the sobbing syn, adding in to their private relay details of what he had been thinking about.

Valor, who remembered only the barest details of so much of their true past, at least in regards to Baylor’s pain, frowned—risked brushing his fingers through Taelor’s hair and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead while Hetexia was distracted, trying to calm Povrix down. It wasn’t particularly working, the syn babbling about and rattling off a collection of names.

So much loss indeed, so many of the people Taelor knew, loved, cared about in ways that weren’t right and weren’t wrong all at one, had lost someone—lost everyone, lost pieces of themselves.

Hetexia, who did public displays of affection than she did crying, groaned as she pushed herself up, fingers running through her hair. “I’ll go… get someone to deal with… this…” she muttered, adding something about and about how , before stepping over her syn. With a burst of energy, the woman pushed them further into the room before slamming the door.

For a moment, the syn continued to sob, their fists rubbing tears and snot over their ruddy cheeks, before suddenly, they cut off. Their green eyes—a rare colour for the kyrfa'Nur'tha—were sharp blades as they stared Taelor and Valor down. “Let’s have a chat, shall we?”