February (Thursday)

Judas Contract Subject 009
Codename: The Entity
With her permission, our mindshapers eventually went through what remains of Sirian Lie’s warped psyche to piece together her relation to The Entity (hereafter referred to by its preferred name, Nairis) after discovering her soulless shell in the ruins of the base several high-ranking agents investigated. Though our field team concluded she was soulless (and indeed, the effect she has on non-champion entities remains consistent with a soulless individual), closer inspection of her damaged soul carriage by The High Priestess has confirmed that she has a tiny fragment of soul left. More thorough procedures discovered remains of a soul-like substance consistent with the magic signature left by The Entity’s magic. Evidence suggests that this is Nairis. Though we couldn’t possibly know it, we stumbled upon patient zero. The alias of Nairis has been known for months, maybe a year at this point. If we had read it backwards, perhaps we could have stopped The Entity before it transfused out of its original host.
Sirian Lie was an Apothecary healer, following in the footsteps of her parents who were the same. Despite her young age and meek nature, she is not to be underestimated. Sirian graduated the Apothecary’s medical schooling program at eighteen, four years younger than her peers. In addition, she has a knack for injury identification and rejuvenating magic. Even usually more complex injuries like small lost extremities such as fingers or noses would regrow at her command, her base manipulation of positive energy is peerless at her stage of education and development. It is this manipulation that enabled Nairis’ existence in the first place. Similar to ki, the manipulation of positive energy uses tenets and structures based on divine magic to more easily influence positive energy with mana.
June twenty-second. We now know this to be the date that the newest Champion of Gaia was blessed, an unprecedented shifting of faith energy that clued us in to something happening. However, what we didn’t know is that on this day, Sirian’s parents died. A curse containment breach at the Springfield branch of the Apothecary resulted in the rapid aging and decay of their entire forms, right in front of her eyes. Though she kept the cursed disease at bay with a state akin to stasis for a few hours with her raw power and medical talent, on that fateful day her parents passed away.
The Abyss claimed two more. Working in the Apothecary, even if you think you have the proper protections, can be extremely dangerous. A spreading curse claimed many that day, and with their final breath they each cast some form of protection on her which saved her the agony of a quickly aging ****. Sirian, a powerful healer in her own right, conjured healing spells into their quickly decaying forms until her soul could bear no more. The concrete flooring of the Springfield curse quarantine wing still reportedly has white flowers which refuse to die as a result of so much ambient positive energy being pumped into the environment. That swirling vortex of positive energy rippled through the whole hospital, totally healing some patients and helping others; the miraculous event is recorded with great detail by our Apothecary associates (see Document JC6B); however, that great vortex of positive energy captured the surrounding faith as well. The apparent destruction of her entire world, the great feat of divine-like magic performed, the displacement of faith from the blessed champion, and above all else, her fervent love and desire for the only people she cared for concentrated into a single entity, a medley of faith, energy, and desire.
Sirian has been exceedingly cooperative thus far, but large sections of her memory are inaccessible or warped beyond useability by the process which separated her from Nairis and obliterated her soul, particularly those which recall Nairis’ influence. Though we cannot see it ourselves through her eyes (and even she cannot remember it anymore), I’ve pinned this incident as the genesis of Nairis as we know it. This is inconsistent with necromantic activity in the area as observed by local Abyssals, though I have a myriad of theories about that (see Document JC6A). Given Nairis’ nature, it’s entirely possible she was influencing Sirian prior to taking her on as a real host.
The time after the creation of Nairis but before their separation shows her spottiest memories, most depicted will need to be corroborated by other intel. From what I can gather, Nairis deceived Sirian, promising the naive healer that they were gaining such massive power as a necromancer so they could perform True Resurrection on her parents. Given her extensive medical knowledge, Sirian must have known that without a corporeal form and with their souls long departed, such resurrection is impossible. Despite this she cooperated. Nairis collectivized power by taking on more apprentices with grander desires and more powerful ambition.
At some point Sirian’s conscience outgrew her desire. Though Nairis would have been in control of their body for long stretches of time, her memories suggest Sirian saw everything happen. At some point, Sirian’s hesitation, her inner conflict against her desire would have seen Nairis grow weaker. Based on a few things I saw while bloodseeing in Nairis’ former lair, she must have designed a body for herself. The deep magic with which Nairis fuels herself falls off Sirian, like water off of a duck’s back. Whatever Sirian’s gone through and given how she feels now, she seems incredibly resistant to Nairis’ influence, almost as if fighting her off has given Sirian a natural resistance.
Regardless of Sirian’s resistance, that deep magic still emits from her, faintly but passively. The piece of Nairis which remains inside her is like a radioactive tumor, preventing what little natural healing Sirian could undergo and trying to lull her back into the deep magic of desire. The amount of desire and magic leaking off just that small piece of Nairis inside Sirian is incredible, enough to destroy multiple city blocks or mass suggest our entire building. Likewise, the description Crossfire gave of Nairis’ deep magic leak in person suggests that this missing piece is important.
Without that piece of herself, Nairis cannot retain the power building within her. If complete, the ramp-up of desire already present within her and the people she has captured suggests a near infinite growth in power. As it is, Nairis must fully expend the energy she gains from corrupting others or she’ll eventually lose it. If Nairis still had the piece of herself left inside of Sirian, she would grow more and more powerful until she broke through the necromantic vortex set up by Judgement. She would escape Springfield and threaten the world with her power. This cannot be allowed to happen.
Right now, we have the advantage. That Wallace and Nairis threw away Sirian so easily tells us they don’t know of the piece of Nairis inside her. We must strike before Nairis can reassimilate the piece of her left behind, before she reaches full power. The limits of Nairis’ incomplete form is not yet known, but she is to be considered no less dangerous than before. The leak of deep, desirous magic surrounding her at all times should be treated with similar caution to arcane radiation.

“I’m here to file a formal complaint,” John said, eyeing the secretary across the counter of the dimly lit Rider-Waite base. At Phoebe’s behest he and Abigail had stayed the night.

“Ever since Revision WSCP43 was passed by the Hierophant, complaints have migrated to the app. Please fill out the form and submit your complaint like everyone else,” the secretary replied, for once alone behind the counter. This late at night, all her other duplicates were on break. He had never visited the secretary past midnight, and in the lack of the otherwise ubiquitous hustle and bustle, his voice began to raise.

“Just for it to get ignored!? I don’t fucking think so! It was only supposed to be a few hours, and-” John began, but despite his massive strength, he recoiled when she sharply leaned forward.

“Sir, it is 3:00 AM local time and this counter is open for emergencies only. During normal hours I occasionally fill out written complaints as a courtesy to our older members but you joined after that system was abolished and you certainly aren’t giving me any reason to go beyond my duties to help you now,” the secretary countered. Her arm moved underneath the counter and a metal frame dropped down over her window, and a camera popped out of the wall above it all with a speaker. “Have a nice night. Come back during normal operating hours when you’re capable of reasonable conversation.”

John clenched his fist at his side and had half a mind to knock on the metal divider at how blatantly he was being ignored, but he saw how wild his hair was in the reflection of the metal. It reminded him of mornings after Jenny spent the night playing with his hair. I can’t waste my time here. I have to get home. Get a phone.

He turned to go, but recoiled when he met eyes with Shelle, who may have watched the whole thing happen. “Hi. I’m kind of busy right now. Can we-”

“I know, and this can’t wait. We need to talk now. Your friend in Valvia accepted our invitation. Your-” Shelle began, the smile on her face shifting into a good-natured smirk, but she broke into a scowl when he similarly interrupted her.

“You know? Have you been watching me? Has everyone just been watching me suffer?” John’s tone grew shrill and he pointed a finger in the mage’s face as he imagined how quickly Shelle’s black fire could carve through the invasive vines blighting the Valvian forest.

“Not as such. I set the AI to inform me when you next returned to base. After a few days, I grew suspicious and looked into what you were doing. By the time I thought to intervene, you were already back,” Shelle explained, gently lowering the finger in her face and putting a small water bottle in his hand. “You’re dehydrated, aren’t you? But that curious ability of yours prevents your body from expressing any of the ravages on it. Pfft. Men.”

“For the record, I was watching you,” Isabelle said, emerging from the staircase to the lobby and quickly ascending the steps to stand across the room from Shelle and John both. The two god-like women stood in the way of the exit, and there was something almost casually predatory in their gaze. “For a while at least. And I wanted to help you. But I could do better by you by trusting you to handle yourself. And you did. Good job.”

“Riiiight. So. Not that it’s not great to see the two of you, but as the secretary so kindly informed me a couple minutes ago, it’s three in the morning. So if that’s it.” John crept closer toward Isabelle and the stairs, but the way she stood reassured him. She stood straight instead of her usual slouch, and she wore a genuine smile instead of her usual crooked grin.

“Hah. I figured you’d be tired as fuck. I was gonna wait until tomorrow, but when I felt your return and Shelle seeking you out, I had to leave dinner with Adelaide in the cafeteria,” Isabelle said with a cocky grin. She uncrossed her arms and added, toward the deflated mage, “ You’re welcome to join us by the way after he picks, junior.”

“As you wish, Strength. Well, John, as Isabelle hinted at, your contracts in the past month and the recommendation of such a valuable member put you above the threshold to become an Eight of Swords. Congratulations.” Shelle ripped into reality with one hand and pulled a bracelet out with the other. She tossed the rigid black band at him, he caught it with the screen in his hand, and he turned it about while he used Advanced Spy.

After quickly reading the description, he thrust the tech onto his wrist and tapped the screen, bringing up the hologlass display. He scrolled past the navigation apps, fingers flicking the digitized glass hanging in the air as he sought the phone. He entered Jenny’s number and began to draft a message. “Thanks, Shelle. But if one or both of you want to do my promotion interview, can we do it tomorrow?

John: It’s good to finally be able to talk to you. It’s John, phone broke. I can’t wait to see you again. I know your performances went great! Can’t wait to hear about them.

“You’re welcome. That device is pretty standard among members of the Exploration Subdivision, which you’d be a great fit for. I’ve got a lot of friends in the Explorer’s Group,” Shelle said, floating closer to him on his right. On his left, Isabelle paced closer.

“Well, since she won’t come out and say it, I will: to join the ranks of Eight of Swords or above you need a sponsor. I want to be yours, and apparently so does Shelle. It is customary for the sponsor to come to any new prospect with a gift,” Isabelle explained, drawing her moonlight blade. “Astra wanted me to **** you to pick me. But I know from dealing with her that a choice you’re **** to make is **** at all.”

The redheaded swordswoman sliced through John’s wrist. He yelped and expected damage notifications, maybe blood as the sword cleaved through the flesh of his wrist. However, no mark was left on his skin. In fact, his previously tattooed wrist was left markless, Astra’s stars gone. “My gift to you is your freedom, regardless of your choice. I would be your sponsor, not her. It is up to us that walk the earth to build it.”

“Wow. Isabelle… thank you,” John gasped, staring at his now plain wrist. Though it was his arm that signaled his freedom, as he rolled his neck, it felt looser. It's up to us to build it. Isabelle is always looking out for people. Even her enemies.

“Don’t make any rash decisions!” Shelle exclaimed, floating closer and getting between them, “This is a big decision that’ll change your time here. Why don’t you take a few days to think about it?”

“No. If you reject my offer now, you may as well accept hers. Astra would only release you from your pact and give you the freedom to make the choice yourself if I agreed to trust in your decision. No rush now, junior? A second ago this couldn’t wait,” Isabelle said, sheathing her blade and turning away from the both of them, seemingly ready to rejoin her companion in the cafeteria downstairs.

“What would you do? If I joined you right now, what would be our path from here?” John asked, looking between the two women. Shelle’s brow furrowed, and she touched down onto the ground as she put a hand on her chin.

Isabelle, however, didn’t miss a beat. She turned to John with a smug smile. “You know, John, you should really take better care of yourself. You look like you’re running yourself into the ground. No offense. I’d invite you to dinner, too, but you look like you’ve got more going on. Probably bring you along on a mission Friday.”

“Get you some food and water, no doubt about that. Send you home to rest and find a contract for us to go on tomorrow. Make a structured plan to get you promoted and powerful over the next few months,” Shelle said a few moments after Isabelle concluded, too lost in thought to realize the other woman even finished speaking. John opened his mouth to reply to them, but Shelle cut him off.

“John, Isabelle is dangerous. I can keep you safe. Don’t you want the opportunity to explore new worlds, help people in strange lands, slay terrible creatures? When we go on missions together, I do my best to create a positive experience for you. Can you say the same about her?”

“That’s just the thing, Shelle. I know I’m weaker than you, but I’m not some helpless contractee that needs to be saved and put in the proper place. I want to be out there helping people, even if it puts me in danger. Missions shouldn’t be about creating the right experience for me anyway. You were willing to kill Shango’s crew, people fighting for the sake of their leader just like I was. I know you’ve done it before and I know you don’t like talking about it now, but more than anything else, I’m going with you, Isabelle, because your commitment to not taking lives has inspired me to do the same,” John decided, putting a hand on the already retreating redhead’s shoulder. It doesn’t hurt that I average two levels per mission with Isabelle. With Shelle I haven’t levelled at all.

“Idiotic,” Shelle scoffed, tearing a hole in reality with one hand and stepping through it. “Some bad people need to die. You two deserve each other.”

“Adelaide was right. I can’t believe I got through to someone!” Isabelle said. In an instant she had wrapped her arms around John in a tight hug, though before his shock could pass, she shoved him away. “That is- er. All right. I know you just went through hell. Go get some food. Settle whatever you’ve got going on. In exactly a month, on the first of March, we’re making some moves on the Entity.”