Khunvyel - off world

The dusk was setting, tinting Tir Chonaill in warm orange shades and Pete just finished his last job for the present day. As usual, Priestess Endelyon had been the last stop of his round trip in the village and today a few hens have been successfully delivered from their excess load of eggs. He didn't care much for the rewards in exchange for his services since he enjoyed the work for its own sake, and not for the compensation in exchange. Pete jokingly mentioned to Endelyon, that he could come over more often and grab more holy water in an effort to let his various gathering tools being repaired by Elen or Ferghus instead of someone more competent. Both knew he wasn't serious, so the Priestess was not being offended by the idea of excessively using - or wasting - the sanctified liquid and both chuckled as they bid themselves goodbye. As Pete turned around to walk his way up to the north, he reached for his khaki coloured tail cap and pulled it off, tucking it between the small of his back and the waistband of his trousers. It looked very much like the cap of Deian, the boy shepherding on Tir Chonaill’s pasture and it had become a visual clue about his whereabouts in the village. He wore it as a sign that he was doing various jobs for the inhabitants, or even lending a hand just so. Eventually everyone acknowledged this cap meant business whenever it sat on the head of the young man with those observant eyes and the ever so slight smirk dancing around the corners of his mouth.
With hands in his trousers, he trotted in a slow and deliberate pace as he made his way, nodding to persons he knew and didn’t know as he passed. The last one being the ever persistent Trefor, as he made his way up to Sidhe Sneachta, entering the small, rocky pass. But he never should reach his destination. As nobody, men or animal, with enough senses equipped to actually care for his presence was around to be mindful of his presence, the young man with the dark brown hair with that hint of red in it faded out of existence…

…and somewhere else, Peter Loyd slid a key into the lock of the door that would open to a few stairs downwards to his basement apartment. It was not really a lock, and the key was just a random one that did not even really fit, should someone else attempt to reproduce this connection. It was more the concept of unlocking a portal that only belongs and answers to him than anything else. Peter stepped in and closed the door which afterwards felt very convinced that it was not a door any more, and actually never was. So it just returned to be the corridor wall on the sixth floor of a building in a middle class district in a sprawling city on the planet Earth. Because that was not the right place to be a door, hell, there was not even room to make an apartment there.
Peter descended the stairs, the door in his back still being a door, albeit a nonfunctional one that has been long barred from the outside with solid concrete… which only covered and camouflaged an entirely different layer of security mechanisms to keep people - and others - outside and away. This basement was in a different city of the same planet, a shabby hole dwelling under the shining lights and skyscrapers of a glamorous city in a district locally called “California”. It was not that long ago when Khunvyel had difficulties in keeping the past from pouring into the present. So different, so obscene and so wondrous have the changes been from what he could remember. That was around the time when Khunvyel filled the mold of the broken soul and husk that Peter Loyd once has been, unified the past with the present in order to survive this new reality, and find shelter from the Maelstrom.

Peter slid out of his worn, beige leather jacket and draped it carefully over a chair which missed a leg and had a wobbly other one, yet remained defiant and unshaken against gravity. The man stopped in front of a desk with a lopsided shelf above it. Various nondescript objects littered the shelf, easily disregarded as junk or trinkets. The desk itself was of cheap wood, which did not look like it was much cared for in the decades past. The plate itself was made of red marble, an inch thick, and why the desk has not given in to its weight, nobody but Peter knew. The working plate was mostly clean of objects except a handgun that lay in the middle of it, a Beretta 92 in standardized matte black. Peter reached out with his hand and touched the gun, repositioning it with a move so vague it was barely recognizable to the human eye, to the exact centre of the plate. While he was doing this, the transition from Peter to Khunvyel happened instantaneous. There was no measurement of time to capture it, since it was not a bland transformation.
It was merely him wanting to be himself.
He did not look so much different from the man he was before, except that his entire presence was more solid than anything should ever allowed to be. The depth of colour and saturation on his clothes and body was something that defied the laws of the light spectrum, and his physical features did not quite change as much… they rather rearranged into a pattern that was beyond the human definition of flawless. Not beautiful, no. There was no need to compare his face to Marquardt’s mask or measure his body to the relations of Vitruvius. Just this image, without the feeling of his presence, would be alien at best. This appearance dates from a different era of mankind, a different origin.
The firearm recognized this presence and shifted accordingly, the first iteration of adapting to his level of reality. Khunvyel turned the gun by 180 degrees which was now a Savalette Guardian, with a bright chrome finish, a gun of bulkier design and more technology that was yet to be made by a corporation that was yet to be formed. Possibly. He gently wrapped his fingers around the pistol grip and picked it up, resting the skid beside his throat as he leaned towards the left end of the desk and grabbed for a plastic toy sword that was leaning against it. Khunvyel casually flipped it up and brought the weapon in his right into an intercept trajectory but instead of colliding with the gun, the sword slowed down in mid air and its pommel connected softly with the gun at its rear notch.
But it was not Khunvyel who caused this gravitational misbehaviour.

>> I was wondering when you’d show<< echoed the weapon's essence in his head. The gun changed shape again to a colour of a matte ivory, despite the material still being metal, selected parts of the gun showed either nacre finishes or blackened parts of a more glossy metal, though it appeared as if it would have a depth of an ocean to it, when looking at these bits. The gun itself showed a less edgy design, and the sword on top merged hilt deep into it, so that the grip of both weapons would technically be in the same place. The blade itself as it extended out of the top side of the gun was connected in a way that would still allow the customized skid to move in action from the recoil at either side, yet having no structural weaknesses. The material of the sword was the same as the gun, a metal of matte ivory with nacre and glossy black touches.
"Being a Raccoon is serious business, my friend", Khunvyel replied smiling in a soft and clear voice that radiated with solemn kindness that carried an undertone of otherworldly imperturbation.
>> You are not even kidding.<< the enlivened weapon responded in astonishment. And bewilderment. Khunvyel set the weapon down vertically, the tip of the barrel and the bottom part of the grip placed on the red marble, slightly tilting it backwards so the blade rested against the shelf to prevent it from tripping over.
>> Though I still say you are too careful, I have not seen you so laid back since you involved yourself with those crux points of the third aftershock of the Second Touch.<<
Khunvyel's response was one of friendly mockery:
"I am happy to see you have not lost your ability to talk smug like back in the days of the hierarchy."
He shook his head in amusement and stepped away from the desk, further towards its left, where a nondescript cupboard was shut with a rusty padlock. He stood there, with his back to the nonmoving weapon which talked lively in his head, and let his gaze wander over the furniture, hands clasped behind his back. A tug, then a tingle, then the essence continued to speak.
>> Whenever you look at that thing, it means you are serious business. I am curious, what goes on in your head, and why would you put up with all this meekness just to be on this world? What makes it so special?<<
"A few things." Khunvyel paused, slowly turning and crossing his arms. Even in this dimly lit apartment, the dark green of his t-shirt was too deep and contrast rich to be true, as if it was shining from the inside only so much to let the silhouette of the wearer stand out. The thin, light hairs on his forearms sprouted across a spotless skin in a volitional way that a mere mortal could get lost in. Every single hair was running in a purposed direction with a proportional trim that was impossible to grow naturally. The colour of the body hair itself was dark enough to be visible, yet light enough to not disturb and not giving him a bear-like austere appearance, same going for the density of the hairs themselves. If one could pry away their mazed stare from this alien blend between human hair and fur-like softness they would see that there is actually an intricate and almost geometrical pattern in which the hairs grow. Nothing, absolutely nothing was coincidental here.
"First, I believe to know this world."
>> You say that about EVERY world <<
Khunvyel could feel the essence rolling their eyes and was entertained by this.
"Ah but in this case, you might even recognize it too. If memory serves me correctly, and it might not, but if it does... then we speak about a time when we already went different paths away from the Host but still being fresh and innocent in our endeavours. Or it was from a time when the Seventh were tasked with fielding safe havens while the Fourth struggled to store all the information they could get their hands on." Long seconds of silence passed and Khunvyel waited patiently, almost feeling how his conversational partner was thinking hard.

Suddenly, the weapon leaning against the shelf went inactive, the glossy black metal losing its miraculous depth, the nacre finishes dulling and the ivory metal returned to something that was regular steel, albeit with a hint of silvery blue. A moment later the essence manifested, leaning with her hips against the desk, the right hand resting on the marble plate, the left arm halfway pulled behind her back, being intertwined in the garment she wore. It seemed to solely exist of heavy, thick silken stripes, each two fingers wide and a length somewhere between a hand span and an arm's length. The dress covered her entire body and the straps seemed to be connected through unknown means, layered upon each other. Each movement would cause her entire appearance buffeting in the wake of the motion. She did not show much flesh, as the bands were shifting as if commanded by her thought, so one could only see her lower legs, forearms and throat when she was moving. The colours of the bands were a mix of stained white, light egg shell yellow, cream green and caramel, with the lighter shades dominating, the darker ones more of a contrasting highlight. Her owl wings were folded neatly on her back, as neat as someone could deal with wings that were one and a half as big as one self. But she managed. Her big eyes with vast pupils looked up to Khunvyel, a contemplating blinkless stare rising past a pointed, almost beak-like nose, a long face that was surrounded by hair in different shades of light brown. She opened her mouth, her voice deep and windy, sounding like air being carefully blown into a flute by a master musician.
>>You have my attention, I am listening. What have you plotted?<<
Instead of replying, the male clapped his hands together once and his face was as an apparition of youthful humour and glee, raising his voice in an exaggeration ready for the stage.
"Look! It got breasts!"
Her folded wings perked up reflexively as she let her disapproval flash, her entire garb jerking briefly, then she held her hands akimbo and growled;
>> I can have breasts as I may well please, thank you...
... very much<<. The last two words were spoken as the male version of the apparition. Standing taller than Khunvyel, in pretty much the same style of clothing however the straps were broader and of a thicker and stiffer cloth with a balanced colour scheme instead of favouring the lighter shades. There was also less the need to camouflage more of the body than necessary, so thighs and upper arms were shown more freely, but in a nutshell, the features remained all the same. The lithe and lean physique was held true, but the masculine touches were unmistakable more ominous than the female version.
Khunvyel got himself together and laughed softly, waving both arms defensively.
"Forgive me Zaidaresh, I had not expected you to assume the form you got accustomed to from your female host. Should I tell you more about the world now?" Khunvyel added in a more talkative tone leaning against the wall beside the cupboard. The manifested essence of the weapon only snorted, which made the straps flutter slightly upright for an instant and folded arms in front of his chest. A brief pointer with his chin towards the brimming figure opposite to him was gesture enough to make Khunvyel continue.
"Very well. So it might be something the Seventh or Fourth had been influencing. Perhaps even both, might have been the times when they were retreating to the Alabaster. That alone demands investigation. We might find knowledge lost."
Both looked at each other, telling, in this minor pause.
"Though there is more. I have been following this individual through two worlds now, you should remember him."
>>The one who is re-living?<<
A mix of wariness and distress in an emotion of why-am-I-doing-this-again could be easily detected in the undertone. Khunvyel ignored this and nodded reassuring.
"Exactly him. See, there is an interesting loophole created right now. For the first time he is in an environment which is a complete cycle of rebirth without fail. And no," he pre-emptively shook his head to stop the other from interrupting him, "that one world where he was once was not a real rebirth cycle. It was more a reimbursement of the body lost, but the essence of life always remained in the general area, instead of being... pulled back to the source, recycled and cleaned, and put back into the world with a new body."
>> So what do you think will happen? Will he break the current? Or will he be such an anomaly that he plummets straight to the next world after dying just once?<<
Zaidaresh was seating himself now on the marble plate, stretching the owl wings backwards to rest them on the long side of the desk, the bladed gun to his side starting to faintly resonate in the glow it had when the essence was still inside the weapon. Khunvyel pulled off one of his shrugs. Those shrugs. Indifferent, slurred and vacant. Which meant he knew more than he wanted to say. Unfortunately he usually had a very good reason NOT to, the weapon spirit remembered.
"I think we will see, but I am more interested in the feedback this will cause."
>> To him? <<
"To the Slivers."
The winged one blinked with his birdlike eyes, more than enough visual clue about his bafflement. His confusion was only met with a vibrant smile from the person that looked several times as solid and compact as the concrete wall he was leaning against, which only added an ever so slight flare of impatience to the confusion.
>>I do not concur. You said yourself that he was a rare irregularity with you having a lack of notions what to make of his unwanted travels. Why do you think you are about to see results now, save suddenly knowing what is going on?<<
"Because he never had a direct interaction with something from the times when we were still around, my friend."
Big bird eyes narrowed unconvinced, continuing their blinkless stare.
"Just think about the time he is being around in this sorry state."
Khunvyel talked while gesturing and drew patterns in the air, which might have been just random swishes or an actual visualization. At any rate, it didn't help Zaidaresh understand better.
"If you trace his travel through the Slivers, all of those he crossed, he is on average not longer around than shortly after the Second Touch incident. This could mean he is directly influenced by the aftermaths. So once we figure out how to fix him, there is a good chance to understand a few bits better which would us help connect more Slivers together again."
Suddenly, the weapon spirit felt very awkward, almost as being exposed and presented on a plate. Subconsciously he slid off the desk and planted his sandals firmly onto the ground. Realization struck.
>> You did not come back just to have a chat...<<
"But I missed our breezy talks!"
Khunvyel actually was honest on that, pun or not, but it had not quite the desired effect. He sighed and closed his eyes in a vain attempt to shut out the uprising refusal that was shooting from the darkening eyes of the only other person in the room.
"I need..."
>> If you think I am going to let myself degrade to the point where I rather want to be bound in a rock that is kicked around than sitting idly in a mutilated casing of a makeshift would-be weapon, I have to disappoint you.<<
"... I need to be prepared for what I fear to come." sighed the faintly blooming apparition as he pushed himself off the wall and touched the wooden door of the cupboard he was next to, right beside the padlock. If Zaidaresh had the physical ability to pale, he would do so. No doubt about it.
>>You are even considering to take... it... with you?<<
The moment of silence was deafening, and it was more than an affirmation.

Khunvyel started lifting and tilting the cupboard with a pull from nothing but his flat palm resting relaxed against the wood. It was not magic, nor was it a feat of strength. He merely asked the cupboard and the corresponding forces of nature politely if it was okay to get off the wall and slide down with the top end, while rising the base of the cupboard into the air. His request was met with agreement, since it did not really violate the paradigm of the entities native to the world, as there were none present right here. The reason why the back of the cupboard was starting to make creaking wooden noises when the furniture was angled into a horizontal position mid air was of the content inside. And this content, heavy and bulky, was not included in this request, nor would it have given its agreement to be lifted, so gravity was still on it. And not only gravity, but also something else, which made the matter inside very, very heavy.
"No, I am going to tell both of you what the situation is, and what my thoughts on it are. Either decision will come from both of you then."
The right hand still rested relaxed on top of the hovering furniture, his other hand started to stroke swiftly over the wood, like brushing off dust. With every move the wood disappeared, though it was just peeled off and put into another layer of the same reality. Beneath the vanished wood the texture of stone became visible, looking like a slab of granite, which showed thin, blue thread wrapped around it every ten centimetres.
>> My desires to partake in a resolution between it and me is even less than being unanchored from my host and transferred into a plunger. A frequently used one.<<
The animosity of Zaidaresh against the object in the cupboard could almost be felt a physical manifestation. The wood was almost completely gone now and Khunvyel was relocating the stroking hand under the giant slab of granite, threw in his back and let go with the other hand which was hovering near the padlock, grabbing the bulky thing with both arms. The lock remained vigilant at the same place and distance to the stone casing, hovering geostationary as it was positioned before when the wood was still there. The massive block of granite seemed to get heavier ever since the wood was disposed of.
"Then I suggest you at least move before I drop this into the earth by accident"
Zaidaresh knew what he meant by saying "into" and stepped aside, giving Khunvyel space to move the block onto the red marble plate. The desk pronounced heavy cracking sounds but other than that remained steadfast, as the unusually heavy item rested fully on it.
Both persons in the room stood side by side, and as Khunvyel reached out and grabbed the hovering padlock, gently lifting it away, a strand of reality gave up its task to keep the first layer of protection locked.
Both would have held their breaths if they were known to this reflex, as a circle the size of a palm started to appear on the stone below the removed padlock, where the granite gave away to let everyone nearby catch a glimpse of what was lying underneath.
The liquid amber that swirled inside the granite casing was pulsing slowly from a light that shone within.
The impression of a heartbeat the pulsing was giving was far more accurate than any other explanation that could be given.
"Looking good. Let me grab my toys."