Chapter 249 – Floor 47: Part 1

  The sun slowly rose on the horizon, shining its light on Central Park and revealing the aftermath of Mathew’s fight against the Puppeteer.

  The battlefield was a grim scene of destruction and sorrow, strewn with the broken remains of the Puppeteer’s twisted creations. Shredded sinew, cracked metal and charred fragments of fabric lay scattered across the blood-soaked ground. It was a haunting testament to the brutal conflict that had just ended.

  The air was with the stench of burnt flesh, the spice of Aether and the coppery tang of spilled blood. It was a smell that Mathew was all too familiar with, one that had followed him through nearly every Floor of the Tower of Avarice.

  Mathew himself stood in the center of the carnage., his chest heaving as he fought to steady his breath. The Wrathful Blade was still in his right hand; the flat end of the sword rested on the ground to ease its weight. The rusty weapon was covered in black ichor, the liquid the Puppet used to keep the bodies of his Puppets operational.

  Mathew’s arms hung limply at his side; his clothes were torn and stained. He bore the marks of a battle that had pushed him to his limits. Though he had been victorious, his eyes revealed no sign of triumph or excitement that had been present when he fought Vanguard.

  Instead, there was nothing but weariness and a shadow of guilt for what he had done. He glanced at the remnants of the puppets; their lifeless forms were twisted into grotesque and unnatural poses. Seeing them now, it was hard to picture their former selves and how they had all been human once.

  Mathew couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt, and his memory rushed back into his past, where he had stood over someone else who had once been human before a corrupting force had turned them into a monster.

  Nearby, Lumina was doubled over; her pale face had a slight green tinge to contrast her blond hair. She gagged at the sights and smells of the battlefield as she clutched her stomach. Everything about what had happened threatened to overwhelm her.

  The hollow stares of the fallen puppets seemed to pierce through her, their vacant expressions a cruel reminder of their stolen humanity.

  She kept trying to tell herself that they were puppets, not people, but it didn’t help at all. In all her years as a Hero, she had never seen anything as vicious as what had been done to them.

  Lumina turned away, hoping that blocking it from her sight would help, but the images were still there. She raised her trembling hands to cover her mouth and looked for any way to escape the horror surrounding her.

  “Are you okay?” Mathew asked, his voice hoarse as he approached her.

  Lumina shook her head in response, unable to meet his eyes.

  “I’ll be fine. I just wasn’t ready for this.” She murmured, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions.

  Mathew nodded, his own heart heavy at the events that had just occurred. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, his touch grounding her emotions slightly and calming the turmoil she felt.

  “Come on, it’s not over.” Mathew stated, his tone gloomy. There was still something left for him to do, and it might help Lumina to see it done. The Hero looked up from the ground, her eyes filled with unwillingness before she nodded slightly.

  The pair slowly made their way across the battlefield, their boots sinking into the soft grass that was still covered in morning dew that sparkled in the sunlight. Neither of them spoke as they reached a toppled tree and saw the figure there.

  The Puppeteer sat slumped against the remains of a tree, his gaunt frame heaving with shallow breaths. Blood, dark and viscous, oozed from a gash along his temple, and it traced a line down his pale face before pooling at his collar.

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  The Villain’s once elegant attire was tattered and singed, the fabric clinging to his emaciated frame. Despite his injuries, the Puppeteer’s presence remained potent.

  His eyes, glowing a slight amber in the morning light, were dull from the pain but still glinted with malice. They were fixed on Mathew, with a look that was both filled with desire and frustration, and he wouldn’t be able to obtain what he sought.

  The Puppeteer had one hand clutching his side where a deeper wound bled freely, staining his fingers a dark red, while the other hand twitched faintly as though he still sought to pull unseen strings that were no longer connected to his creations.

  When he saw them approaching, he began to chuckle softly. It made a sound like dry leaves rustling in the wind.

  “Oh, Mathew, you would have been my greatest accomplishment. A puppet unlike any other.” The Puppeteer whispered, his tone conveying his intense longing.

  “You should have just accepted my offer. The Tower accepts all types, even people like you.” Mathew replied as he lightly touched Lumina’s shoulder, halting her in place while he walked forward alone.

  “There will be plenty of time to explore the Tower, Mathew. Once you are mine, we will go there together.”

  Mathew didn’t respond. Instead, he gripped the Wrathful Blade in both hands and raised it above his head. In one quick slash, it was over.

  With the Puppeteer dead, Mathew returned the sword to his inventory and walked back to Lumina, who was staring at the lifeless body in disgust.

  “I’m glad he’s dead. I know I shouldn’t be, that I should bring him to the League for justice, but..” Lumina trailed off as she continued to stare at the body.

  “But you’re glad he’s dead.” Mathew repeated, nodding his head in understanding. Taking a few steps past her toward the tower, the Hero turned around and joined him.

  “Is what he said true, that you offered them a place in the Tower?” Lumina asked with uncertainty.

  “It is. Like I told him, the Tower takes all types. It doesn’t care about good or evil.” Mathew replied, causing Lumina to frown.

  “But you’ve done good things.” She said, making it more of a statement than a question.

  “And I’ve done evil things as well. When you enter the Tower, you don’t get the choice of picking and choosing your path forward. You do what you’re told to the best of your abilities, or you die.” Mathew said.

  “I…I think I don’t want anything to do with your Tower, Mathew.” Lumina admitted, and, once again, Mathew nodded.

  “That’s the best decision you could ever make. Come on, let’s finish our discussion.”

  Page Break

  Mathew sat slumped in his leather chair; the bright sunlight filtered through the windows of his recreated apartment inside the Tower. He had repaired the damage and destroyed the bodies, preferring to leave no evidence of the recent battle with the Puppeteer.

  To anyone looking in from outside, if they could see through those windows, they would see the silhouette of a man who seemed small and weary, the weight of his recent battles etched into his posture.

  Lumina had just left, and Mathew knew that he would probably never see her again. She hadn’t liked the answers to her questions, the things he had revealed about the Tower and himself. He didn’t blame her; in some ways he had a lot in common with the Heroes in this world, but he was also a Villain.

  Like he had said, the Tower didn’t care about good or evil. It just wanted him to do his job.

  The apartment around him was meticulously clean, but now that he had spent some time here, he found it to be oddly sterile and devoid of warmth. It lacked that personal touch; it was nothing more than a recreation of a place that he could never return to.

  The wristband made another ‘ding’, letting him know of the notification still waiting for his review. Ignoring it, he was about to put his feet up on the coffee table when he saw that he had another visitor.

  The Celestial, Lunara, had returned. Mathew was about to greet his mentor and ask her why she visited twice in one day, but he paused. She had an expression on her face that sent a chill through his body and made his mouth dry with fear.

  A Celestial rarely showed emotion, and when they did, it was revealed in small traces on their face. A slight smile or frown tugging at their mouth, a tiny crease between their brows. It took practice and experience to read their emotions from their expressions, something that Mathew had centuries to learn.

  But now, Mathew didn’t need any skill to discern what Lunara was feeling. She was furious. Incandescent with rage. It roiled off her like waves in a stormy sea. It possessed a heat stronger than the brightest star.

  What could have happened to make his mentor, a Celestial, enraged to such a degree?

  Despite his fatigue, Mathew shot to his feet as soon as he caught sight of her emotions. His man surged around him in reaction to his fear and panic, partially forming a shield and partially preparing to use the Words of Power to attack whatever had upset the Celestial.

  “Mentor, what has happened?” Mathew managed to say, his voice cracking from anxiety.

  “I am no longer your mentor, and you are no longer my student. From this moment forward, you are stripped of your role as the Apostle to the god of Unyielding Declaration. Your title is revoked, and the Discipline of ‘Speaker’ is no longer yours to wield.”