Phantom In the Machine

Bleeding Aegis

Book 2

By Valraven Dreadwood

Author’s Note: If you’ve picked up this book and already finished Book 1, Blood Myst, I think its time that I come forward with something to explain what this series is to me and where it’s going. The Anogwin world is a project that I’ve been working on for some time as a passion project. The Bleeding Aegis Series (This series) is a form of art therapy to help me overcome serious traumas from my past. I am taking pieces from my life, and adapting them through an artistic lens to create something that others can enjoy. At the same time, these moments and scenes allow me to confront monsters from my past and either rewrite them into how I had wished they had gone or use them as a building block to develop my characters. 

Some trauma that I’m inserting is very obvious: bullying, alienation, suffering from mental conditions. But others are far more abstractly symbolic, such as taking a negative part of myself, making a villain based around it, and putting them in a scene with Iver. I will say now that Iver is not a Merry Sue Fantasy-fulfillment analog. While Iver, like all my characters, has aspects of me, he is not me. He is not what I want to be, or what I was. If anything, he is a consolidated and distilled aspect of me with his own personality that I am using as a tool to fight back against things that have scarred me.

This whole project started as something to help me overcome my past but developed into something that I wanted to share with others, and many people have told me that they enjoy reading this tale of trauma and tenacity. So, I hope that you can understand how much this work means to me and will support me as I strive to overcome challenges within myself through the outlet of creative storytelling.

Alright, let's cut right to it. Anogwin is a world of advanced technology based around magic. Nature itself strikes out against civilization through rampant growth, hostile wildlife, and monsters. Yet even as nature tries to devour civilization, the sapient species’ hit back with environmental control and a range of classifications of elite trouble solvers called adventurers. Nature has taken back nations and settlements countless times. These adventurers delve into the dangerous wilds and ruins for various jobs. From guarding innocents to slaying monsters and even retrieving goods and resources, adventurers are a core part of today’s cultures, for better or worse. Society has idolized the adventurer's role even as civilization slowly crumbles under its own weight.

My name is Iver Maverick. I’m a Darkling, a half-demon that lost my adopted Wild Elf father to my mentally unstable uncle. The mentally damaged man took me in and tricked me into joining a secret organization dedicated to altering the world. Thallos, my uncle, twisted the facts and tried to turn me into a double agent in the Hermetic Order of the Aegis. When I learned the truth about him killing my father, I tried to take my revenge on him after he showed me a strange device from a box that was the sole evidence of my father’s murder.

Despite the madman’s machinations, I am now a trainee in the Hermetic Order of the Aegis, training in the skills of all five of their sects in a hidden sixth faction of elites. Each sect of the Order is devoted to a fragment of the Nameless Goddess who stopped a terrible darkness long ago. The sect I follow, the Sect of the Dark Hunters, follows a hidden fragment of the very same goddess but with a dark twist.

I wasn’t a talented fighter when I first joined the Order. My skills leaned more toward crafting and designing devices of use both in and out of combat. But I learned martial combat for the sake of avenging my murdered father. While training under my liar of an uncle, I was driven to the edge of sanity as he taught me by actively stabbing and wounding me to make each lesson and every lesson sink in. After I learned the truth about him at the end of my starting year, I was already covered from the shoulders down in scars. I thought of these as marks of shame and failure to meet a standard, and I actively hide them.

At the time in my life that this story takes place, after losing my father and joining the Order, it had only been two months since graduation from the rank of Slate. I was taken in by an instructor for summer training. His rank in the Order was Mystagogue, like any other standard-level instructor, but the hulking mass of Orc-ness was a man of intellect that showed me kindness in my first year and took me in at his summer home for training between school years.

Chapter 1

In all hive-cities, they have an independent ecosystem because of the sheer size of the colony. Hive cities span just as far underground as they do across the surface. As sources of massive industry, providing near-unthinkable amounts of various products, they suffer from dense pollution. Toxic fogs, acid rain, and sewage floods are just a few of the common environmental hazards that savage hive-cities.

Tave stepped from the Motel he had spent the early hours of the morning sleeping in, arching his back with his fists raised to the smog-filled skies. The young man was obviously a Half-Elf with his pale lavender-white skin, gray sclera, silver irises, and slightly pointed ears. His chestnut hair was must, and his square-rimmed glasses were askew at the end of his nose. Tave was dressed in a black t-shirt displaying stylized blue text reading ‘To the winner go my pages’ under a brown duster jacket that was still heavy with dust from the day before. His pants were a pair of starched and well-pressed jeans that only had a few drips of ink stains on his right thigh. He trod the streets of the hive-city in sneakers that had clearly seen better days.

Tave pushed his glasses up his nose as he turned to look back at the shoddy motel behind him. It was a simple three-story affair of aged gray synthcrete under chipping daffodil yellow paint. A hologram sign above the front doors read ‘The Morning Flower Motel’ in glowing golden cursive font. Under the title, in a smaller cursive font, read the line ‘Every morning is a good morning under the Morning Flower’.

“Good morning, my half-breed ass.” Tave muttered as he turned away. “My human mother was ten times more hospitable than that place, and she had a quick and hot temper.” He double-checked the satchel at his side, patting it reassuringly before checking the clock on his therra-node. He tapped the small triangular piece of tech mounted to his right temple, and a holographic display overlaid his vision. In the upper right-hand side of his HUD (Heads Up Display), the clock read 5:34 PM. Tave brought his gaze to the sky above to verify the time, only to find a thick ceiling of smog.

His thoughts shifted from wondering how he had slept so long to noting just how gross the hive-city Grimvale was. Even after the acid rain from the night prior, there was still trash littering the streets, sidewalks, and alleys. Since entering the city, every building he had seen was either some degree of run down and/or marked with graffiti. 

 He idly wondered if all hive-cities were this bad when a figure stepped from the obscuring fog that covered the streets. Tave jumped in surprise, as he would have sworn he should’ve seen the man from at least ten feet away, but the figure seemed to simply appear only six feet away.

The figure was near Tave’s height at five foot ten, maybe an inch taller. He was dressed in all black. Black cargo pants with reinforced padding at the shins and knees. Black combat boots, each with a single bladed-spike arching up from the toe. He wore a black t-shirt with the design of a bleeding mechanical anatomic heart. Over the shirt, he wore a jacket much like Tave’s, a black leather duster, only his looked heavier and had a wide mantle that was standing on end to obscure the wearer’s face.

The features of the man became apparent as he stepped under a street light only a few paces from Tave. He was a Darkling. His horns tiered horns bent back to follow the curve of his skull before swooping up into a pair of sharp points. At the top of each tier of his horns displayed a barb-like spike. His head was covered in a mess of spikey black hair that could have almost been called stylish but was too disheveled. His left eye was covered by a tight leather eyepatch, held on by three straps. Writhing behind him was a serpentine tail ending in an arrow-shaped spade tip. As dramatic as his horns and tail were, his complexion and remaining eye were what really drew the eye. An olive bronze laced with threads and webs of ivory white. This pattern covered every inch of exposed skin. When Tave first saw the strange markings, he thought it was a full-body tattoo, yet now he knew better. The Darkling's eye was a bright acid-green with diamond-shaped pupils that would narrow down to plus signs in bright light.

“Gods above and below, Mr. Maverick. You nearly scared me to death.” Tave said as he pressed a hand over his heart.

“I’ve already told you, kid. Just call me Iver. It makes me feel old.” The Darkling groused as he stepped up to the Half-Elf with his hands in his pockets. Iver’s voice was on the higher end, much like Tave’s, except his was gruff, colored by years of hardship, drinking liquor as Tave had witnessed the night before, and some unknown amount of smoking. The latter was verified as Iver pulled out a metal case full of hand-rolled cigarettes. He pulled a single stick from the case, pressed it between his lips, and lit the end with a flame produced at the end of the index finger of his cybernetic right arm. As an afterthought, he dropped the wings of his jacket’s mantel.

“You really are a creature of vices.” Tave said with brows raised and a light smile touching his lips.

Iver looked at the young man in confusion, then down at the lit cigarette in his mouth. “Oh. It’s not tobacco. These are a custom blend of herbs to help with my mental state. I call them my blessing sticks.”

“Blessing sticks?”

“Yep.” Iver verified as he blew out a puff of smoke that smelled strange to Tave’s nose. “A Witch I met a while back taught me about the beneficial properties of herbs, both medicinal and spiritual. This current blend is mullein, coltsfoot leaf, linden flower, skullcap, red clover, and hawthorn leaf. I use them as a supplement to help my medication to help keep me stable.”

“Is there any likelihood of you not being stable in the near future?” Tave asked nervously.

“Nah.” Iver waved off the question. “I’ve taken my daily dose of anti-crazy medication. This bad boy,” He gestured to the so-called ‘blessing stick’. “Is partly to satisfy an oral fixation I have and partly to help curb any negative emotions that will be dredged up from this next story.”

“Should we really be going over the story then, Mr. Maverick?”

Iver shot Tave an annoyed look.

“S-sorry. How about Pale Raven?” Tave asked nervously.

“Okay, one, how would you feel if I call you Mr. Interviewer?” His arrow-tipped tail thrashed behind him in aggravation. “Two, I swear that if you call me that in public, I’ll crush your pen hand and walk away from this interview.” He rubbed at his acid-green eye. “Please, just call me Iver for the sake of all that is right.”

“Okay, Iver.” Tave tested the name. “Where are we going to keep the story going?”

Iver let out a deep sigh as he rolled his neck from shoulder to shoulder, aided by his cybernetic right arm.

“Well, now that you’re rested, and I’m hungry, now I’m taking you to a diner nearby that has some killer yaggen steak burgers.” Iver said as he started walking down the street. Tave hurried to keep up.

“What’s a yaggen?” Tave asked as he stepped around the puddles from the acid rain the night before that the sponge-filter-blacktop hadn’t absorbed.

“You seriously don’t know? Yaggen are something like a cross between a yak and a lizard. There’s a big debate on whether the reptile part is more crocodile or komodo.” As Iver spoke, he quickened his pass, his stomach giving an audible rumble.

“You’re hungry? After ten cocktails? For that matter, how do you not have a hangover?”

“Oh, calm down, cut ear. I’ve got a high tolerance for most types of poison from my training and some body modifications.”

“Body mods? But other than your arm, you seem pretty whole.”

Iver turned the corner and strolled down the street, hands in the pockets of his black tactical cargo pants as he puffed away on his cigarette. To Tave’s eyes, he seemed to almost vanish between the street lights because of his black leather duster and dark spikey hair, but the strange pattern of his skin made his hands, neck, and face stick out with pale threads. Tave hurried to follow as Iver passed down the street with a stance that told the world he was not to be screwed with.

“If you can stay patient, you’ll get the whole story, cut ear.”

“Can you stop using slurs, please? I’m only a half- anyway.”

“Would you rather I call you a taint-blood?” Iver teased.

“Don’t be a dick. Taint-blood is a Darkling slur.”

“So you want to be called half-blood, mud-veined, or a spoil-bred?”

“If you want me to call you Iver, then just call me Tave.” The half Star Elf demanded.

Iver raised his hand to point to a shop across the street. “There’s the good food.”

Tave tracked Iver’s finger to find a slapshot one-story diner. It was exterior was a mess of chipped and stained concrete and dirty and chipped glass, all surrounded by bags of trash that survived the acid rain because of the overhang of the roof.

“Are you sure it’s safe to eat there?” Tave asked with worry.

“Of course, I’m sure. It may look like a wreck, but their food always hits the mark.” Iver boasted as he crossed the street, heedless of passing traffic.

Tave dashed to catch up, nearly getting run over by a local guard cruiser in the process. The sleek black armored vehicle didn’t even slow as it nearly ran the Half-Elf over. Tave spun to avoid the bumper and wheels. Iver glanced over him to ensure the interviewer was okay before stopping by the front door. 

Tave picked himself up and hurried to meet his subject. As he crossed the street, Iver pressed through the glass door with the sound of a bell chime. Tave followed in hot pursuit. Iver moved through the white and orange-tiled room to take a seat on a moss-green bar stool. He spun around it twice before stopping himself with an elbow on the stained countertop.

“Hey there, Keetar and Render-blade. Hope business is going well.”

Over the serving counter and behind a waist-high prep counter, a Half-Orc and a Wild Elf worked the grill and cooking stations. They both were scarred messes. The Wild Elf wore black hair down his back in a tied-back tail. His right eye was green irises with brown sclera. His left eye was covered with a patch, a long scar cut down his missing eye to sever his lip, and a segment of his jaw was missing. The Half-Orc was covered from the neck down was slash scars across his gray skin and short an ear.

“Oh look, it’s the taint-blood with a bad attitude.” teased Keetar, the Wild Elf. 

“Welcome back, horn head.” came Rend-blade. “You drunk enough to stomach my meat?”

“Don’t cut yourself short, tusk-face. You’ve got the best burgers in the district. And let’s be honest. I’m not going to take the eight-hour drive to reach Grub Shack in district two.” Iver taunted back as Tave took a seat beside him.

“Give us two steak burgers with a heap of fries and two black coffees.” Iver gave his order with a twirl of his fingers.

Tave pulled up his notebook and pen. “Can we get back to the story?”

“Give me a sec to get some meat in my gut. Then we can move on.” As he spoke, Iver flexed the fingers of his cybernetic hand, the motion seeming stiff. 

It only took a matter of minutes for a pair of burgers plated with fries to get slung before the two. Iver plucked up his yaggen burger in his mechanical hand. A rich and juicy aroma wafted up from the patty, and he savaged the sandwich like a beast rending flesh from a stag. As he chewed the mouthful of meat, he emitted moans of pleasure that could only be matched by a starving man.

Tave sniffed his burger and found the scent odd, like beef and frog rolled up into a single patty. He took a tentative nibble of his burger and found himself admitting that the food was of astonishing quality, given the appearance of the establishment. He took a larger bite before turning back to his work. “So, Iver, you join Aegis Academy, passed your first year to join a secret sect of Dark-Hunters, and then what?”

Around a mouthful of potato and meat, he muffled his answer. “Mystagogue Thrasher took me to his countryside estate and continued to train me, if albeit at a more leisurely pace, to let me regain my senses after the betrayal of my uncle and Rose. He also ran me through regular mental exercises to undo the brainwashing Thallos had done to me over the course of the year.”