Part 1: Meeting of Minds

Bury The Hatchet... In Our Shared Foe

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Chapter 1

The salty spray fell upon Nexticmiztli's bronze skin. Their ship cut through the Ailivian waves as the swift sailfish did, strong winds pushing them towards the island of the dead. These winds were unseasonally beneficial; the Gods looked warmly upon Nexticmiztli's mission. He pulled a long drag from his bone pipe while Yecmitzli recounted his latest portside misadventure. Nexticmiztli looked fondly upon the junior raider; he was quite a rascal. The catalognaut had his share of harbor wives, but he had the decency to keep in touch with them. The younger man made sure to break the relations off before boarding, no matter how bad the lady's reaction might be. Well, it was better than disappearing without word.

He extinguished the pipe and slid it into a leather holder. The hopium smoking implement was finely crafted, engravings running along its ivory length. Picking the classical femural pipe instead of the more expensive Deadbeatified bone version was a great decision, in retrospect. He would probably have needed to leave his favorite pipe home, had he purchased the latter.

He patted Yecmitzli's shoulder and bid him a good night. But a firm hand grasped his wrist as he turned his back to his friend. "Are you going to the catalog? To meet the mikisnaualli[1]? Be careful." Nexticmiztli had informed his companions of this meeting. Exploring this realm was safer for a catalognaut than for more common beings, but meeting one of your fellow explorers of the catalog there was still a volatile situation. But, there was no use in sharing these concerns with Yecmitzli.

His great paw of a hand came to rest on his friend's, and pulled it off, gently, but firmly. Nexticmiztli's booming laugh bounced on the waves. "My friend, you worry overmuch. I fear no man or woman, on Earth or in the higher realms. Rest easy." With this, he took his leave and returned to his cabin, saluting and jostling his mates along the way. His cabin was comfortable and well-furnished, fitting a soldier of his standing. To be honest, he'd assumed this whole operation would be a droll affair at the start; a mostly diplomatic affair where he'd be paraded around; he was one of the sources of pride of his great nation, after all. A living show of force to let the Deadbeats know that appeasement was not submission. This was a role he was ready to fulfill for his people, even if there was limited glory in it.

But this assessment had changed a few weeks back, when he received a letter. It had traveled to Yectic Teocuacayotl alongside the last missive from the Death Islanders, unmarked besides a strange seal of a snarling white fox on a field of blood, and the receiver's name: Nexticmiztli Nopalson. The matter was of too much national importance to allow the personal to interfere, so the letter was opened by an assembled group of esoteric technicians; a suspect chuubanitic signature was detected coming from the envelope.

Within, a simple message. "I would speak with you, as two honourable warriors. The item attached will interface with your circlet." No signature, but the object accompanying the text made the sender obvious. It was a small crystalline pellet, with a chuubanitic circuit engraved within; it adhered to the central gem of Nexticmiztli's catalognaut circlet through polarized chuubanitic force. Obviously, it was throughly tested for trickery or hazards, but it seemed to be completely inactive so far outside of the Moriji conceptual area of influence.

The esoteric scientists begged for the artefact to be left in their hands for further study; its workings seemed thoroughly encrypted, more time was needed to gleam anything from it. But the diplomats were adamant on the operation's timeline, and Nexticmiztli made the choice to trust the mysterious sender. Based on the information, this must have been none other than catalognaut selected to meet with the Matiyotl, Priestess Nathanata. Why setup this meeting? What was her motive? He had to admit, curiosity was no small part of his motivation.

He took a seat into the cushioned chair of the room, air whistling out of the leather upholstery under his muscled bulk. The strange pellet was now shining softly, pink and red and white on his otherwise spartan circlet; it had become active earlier today, as they sailed through the middle of the Ailivian Sea. Pipi walked up on his right, clucking affectionately, and Nexticmiztli scratched his pet's neck before putting on his communicator.

With the device resting on his head, he closed his eyes and reached out, as usual. The other world came into focus. Known sights of the vast nebulas of the catalog, alive with fresh and dying threads, filling up the horizon with a myriad of stars. Flowing hopium and copium streaming around him; they tasted different, here. This space was at once familiar and foreign. Nexticmiztli looked around, unsure of what he was looking for. The letter had specified the time at which he'd be expected, but no further instructions. Instinctively, he began dowsing for other presences, but any that he detected recoiled at his touch. Not hostile, but intentionally remaining far away from him.

Until he felt it. His arm's hairs stood on end. A frigid wind met his spiritual being.

A voice. Faint and distant, but quickly approaching and clear. "So, you've come." Not a question, or a surprised exclamation. A relaxed observation.

"Yes. I have. Are you Priestess Nathanata?" A moment passed. The cold grew more bitter.

"A question, but you know its answer." The voice was next to his right ear, now. She was looking at him, searching? He felt an incorporeal hand pass through where he perceived his shoulder to be. An icy, tingling sensation pulsed from the intrusion. A shiver ran down his spine.

He thought he might as well introduce himself. "My name is Captain Nexticmiztli Nopalson. I am a strike team captain of the Ryonaheim Esoteric Guard. My arms have felled a great many enemies in the name of my glorious nation; my feet have tasted the estli[2] of schizos uncounted."

His mind's eye saw a vision of a smiling face. She looked about his age, but he'd heard that could be misleading with these highly enhanced Goddess Faithful priestesses. Shimmering bright pink hair flowed out of her communicator down a chair's backrest and reached her waist. A ferronnière circled her head, locating a lozenge-shaped rose diamond on her forehead. Her irises were pools of glowing blood; the image of a man's life spurting out of his slashed neck came to his mind. Each crimson droplet glowing with sunlight as they fell to scorching sands.

She chuckled at his introduction. "Yeah, me too." She let the silence stretch out after the dismissal, as they floated in the living void. Was this a test? Or was she trying to put him off-balance? Did she think an awkward silence would-

"It is you." He felt her draw back from him slightly. "You know, Nex, I saved your life, once." Nexticmiztli had to laugh at that absurdity. What a rude woman.

"Is that why you wanted to see me in the magical higher realm? To trade japes?" He was growing irritated with this discussion. "Even with all my power, at times, my brothers prevented my death, may the Gods bless them forevermore. But I have no such debt towards one of your kind." He crossed his body's arms. "Moreover, my name is Nexticmiztli, address me correctly."

"That's too long, I'm not good with names. Memory isn't what it used to be." The freezing wind blew again. Though they couldn't touch, she was almost against him now. "Let me show you." Her hands drifted through his body and stopped next to his temples; he almost felt a brainfreeze coming on.

And then, he fell.

Chapter 2

With a jolt, he woke up, as if from a nightmare. But he wasn’t in his cabin. He looked around, he was in a sort of... Metal chamber. Was it a vision? A bit too clear. A dream? He tried to move his arm, but this unknown body did not obey. A memory, then. He felt an almost claustrophobic urge to pull himself out, get out of this head that wasn’t his.

But he felt those icy hands in his shoulders again. “Just watch”, she said. He wasn’t a prisoner, he sensed he could exit the memory, if he so desired...

He returned his focus to the dark steel box. There were five other individuals besides him- herself in the compartment. One was looking into a metal tube hanging from the ceiling; the others were powering a sort of mechanized rowing machine. Nathanata was holding some kind of lever steady. It smelled like whale oil, sea water and a hint of rust.

He listened.

Splashing sounds, the hum of water flowing by, these tremors in her hand. Nathanata was holding a vessel’s rudder. Was this a submersible? He’d heard through the grapevines that Infinitum might have some prototypes. He also heard a song, not from his ears, but from within. She was humming a melody, some somber tune. Everyone in the small closed space was a priestess, fully armored.

The girl on the periscope took her eyes off the eyepiece and turned to Nathanata. “We’re about 50 meters off the hull, coming up on the starboard stern. Can you feel her? Where to, Frostmourne?” He’d read the word in her file; that was her codename.

Nathanata hummed for a second. “She’s high up, sixty meters off at two o’clock. Probably the aftcastle. Hmm...” There was something unusual. “She’s got a really strong signature[3].” Her team did not react; they were all as cool as can be.

“… No changes to the mission objectives. But let’s hurry it up, she shouldn’t be this active. Cassandra, guide us in. We’ll jump.” The periscope watcher nodded at the instruction. The metal hull winced as a wave crashed on the surface, a meter or so above them.

---

After purging the ballast and surfacing, the submarine opened its upper hatch. Still unseen, the small steel vessel was floating right next to the giant wooden hulk’s hull. Nathanata and two of her squad were standing on the unstable platform, busying themselves with opening other hatches which revealed three compact ballistas. Each priestess got to work turning a crank to draw back the ballistas’ springs.

The trio exchanged wordless hand signs. ‘Ready’ ‘Last chance to call it off’ ‘It’s go time’. Nathanata pulled her mask on; a white, red and gold foxhelm[4] Death Mask, peppered with encrusted diamonds. The other two did the same, their weapons at hand.

In perfect sync, each checked their ballista’s near vertical alignment one last time, climbed on a small platform mounted where the bolt might go, and pulled a lever. A pink glow surged through the springs; each shimmered with tension.

She grabbed a thick metal dart from her belt, pulled a pin from it, and threw it upwards.

It hit the deck with a dull thud, embedding itself into the wood. An instant passed; one sentry turned around in the darkness to look at the source of the noise. Then, chaos.

The dart’s fuse ran out; the explosion shook the sails.

Before the wood chips from the explosion could rain into the ocean, three shadows flew up. The impulse from accelerating their mass upwards pushed the submarine back underwater. In perfect timing, three landings. The Goddess Faithful operatives rushed to the sentries on the aftcastle’s deck and dispatched them as they were still reeling from the explosion. Two crumpled to the ground, their necks twisted and broken by her allies; the other two fell to the floor, bisected at the waist by Nathanata’s switch-scythe.

A smoke bomb was thrown into the hole created by the breaching dart, and the trio soon followed. The sailors were stumbling out of bed, woken by the commotion, but still groggy, and the butchery began. A half dozen schizos were quickly slaughtered while they were vulnerable, the scythe and katanas flashing in the darkness, the only light coming from the priestesses’ shining pink eyes and equipment.

Nathanata took a moment to focus on their target, and that’s when she noticed... The catalognaut signature had changed. It had gotten even more energetic, far too much engagement for a teenage girl, no matter how much natural talent she might have. Another catalognaut? Not only that, but this attunement...

“There’s another catalognaut on this ship. Cannibal.” The other two looked at her in shock.

Her Holy Ghost squadmate barked out: “Mori’s sake, we got the wrong ship? Where the hell is the target?”

It only took Nathanata a second to find her. From the submarine, the Matiyotl’s aura had hidden the target’s much weaker catalog connection. “Near the bow, right on the keel. Let’s get moving.”

So they did. The ship was enormous, a colossal stolen junk able to house hundreds of cultists. They cut a bleeding scar through the decks, headed towards the objective. Screams echoed in the smoke-filled, blood-soaked quarters. The room layout was labyrinthine and chaotic, walls having been built up, torn down, and re-assembled again and again throughout the inhabitation of the ship.

At some point, she turned a corner to find a long hall filled with now well-awake and infuriated fighters. Flintlock pistols spit their lead, the balls shattering themselves uselessly off their thick plate armor. Nathanata pulled her hand-cannon from its holster, pointed the dual barrels towards the crowd and pulled both triggers. The vitaiho[5] discharged a cone of steel needles with an explosion of glittering pink flakes. The projectiles penetrated the enemies six ranks deep, tearing the poor demons apart.

The girls were sprinting down the hall, their clawed sabatons stepping into the red-black pools, squishing gore and crushing bones underfoot. In the brief respite from the screams, all three could hear... More howling, dying schizos. These were coming from a deck above, near the Matiyotl catalognaut. Was he a stowaway on the hive ship? Did her squad’s action force their hand? The smell of the cannibals’ smoke was as heavy in the air as the Deadbeats’, now.

She charged through a door, splintering it to shards before thrusting the sharpened crescent of her scythe through a pair of shocked sailors. The Holy Ghost jumped to the right of the room and skewered another. Their third member rushed in as Nathanata wrenched a man hidden under a table into the open.

He had a gruesome necklace, three Chumbud skulls threaded on a steel chain. The crustacean shells glowed a pale blue light as the shaman began an incantation, but the catalognaut interrupted it with a fist to his throat, crushing his windpipe. Her gauntleted hand grabbed his face. It took but a second; frost covered both hand and face, ice crystals growing before her eyes. A cold mist streamed down for a moment; then, she slammed the head into the deck, shattering it into shards of frozen bone, hair and brain. The rrat field pressure emanating from the magician vanished. Nathanata’s gold-lined robes protected her from the nefarious energies well enough, but it helped that none survived more than a few seconds in close proximity to her.

Another cleared room. The Holy Ghost took a step towards a set of stairs leading upwards. Nathanata called out to her. “Not that way, Slasher, we’re taking the door.”

“The cannibal’s up there, we gotta deal with him.” She turned to her leader, eyes full of pale red fire. The Holy Ghost was right, she could feel him up there. They heard stomping steps above them; blood dripping down in between the poorly waterproofed planks.

But this was one thing she had no tolerance for; defiance. “No. Changes. To the mission.”

“There’s no way we can let him get away!” The foolish girl turned back towards the steps. “You two go on ahead then, I’ll take him down.”

Nathanata crossed the room in an instant, grabbing the rebellious priestess by the back of her armor and throwing her on one of the partitions. The sound of creaking wood sounded muffled in the small, smoke-filled room.

She wrapped her frosted hand around her junior’s throat, lifting her up against the wall. A pained groan rose from the planks under her feet; together, they weighed over half a ton. “Holy Ghost Mea. You will follow the orders of your squad leader, or I’ll break your damn neck myself. Every step you take that way takes a year from your lifespan, Mori awaits you up there.”

‘Lifespan? Is this the Death Sense?’, thought Nexticmiztli.

“My death? From a fucking cannibal?” Mea gulped. “Understood, Frostmourne.”

The icy claw around her neck relaxed. “You just gained five years, Slasher. Let’s go. Blackhawk, take the rear, make sure Slasher doesn’t wander off.” The quiet third priestess nodded, and Nathanata kicked the next door open.

Chapter 3

She stomped down, smashing the Chum-Troll’s frozen claw before he could recover, and drove the scythe’s tip into his face, bisecting it. At last, the powerful being went limp. ‘Tough bastard. Shrimp schizotrolls don’t mess around.’ Nexticmiztli had settled into watching the gruesome memory with rapt attention, like some kind of ultraviolent, realistic play.

“All clear”, “Cleared”, called out Mea and Blackhawk. They were near the bow now. Nathanata swallowed. She’d felt both catalognaut signatures in the next room during the latest battle, but the cannibal had moved away. With her vitaiho pointed forward, ready to shoot, her foot struck the door, slamming it open.

Silence.

The scene before her was a bloodbath. A schizo troll laid splayed out on the ground, his face a mess of broken flesh and bone, one long nail stabbed about where his forehead used to be. The ruined corpses of others were splattered around him, some still gurgling in their dying spasms. The rust-blood scent of Matiyotl chuubanite hung as heavy in the air as the iron smell of the real deal. Where was the target?

There, off to the right, barely lit by the moonlight streaming in from a window. She was in a cage, too small to even let her stand up straight. Her hands were over her ears as she lay in the scarlet puddle spreading from the bodies. Disjointed mumbles and sobs were the only sounds coming from her; poor girl, she was deep in schizo-shock.

Mea smashed open one of the windows and shot a blue flare out of it, the signal for Cassandra to get into position for extraction. Blackhawk watched Nathanata’s back while she pulled the cage’s door off its hinges and pulled the frail girl out of it. “Her death is far, no life-threatening injuries.”, was her instantaneous diagnostic.

She looked to a doorway opposed to the window; she could still hear sounds of a struggle, beyond the darkness.

“Frostmourne, Cassandra’s here. Ready for extraction.” Mea pulled hard to tighten a knot around a rafter, the rest of the rope hanging out of the window.

Nathanata put the target into Mea’s arms. “Get down first, Blackhawk next. I’ll drop last.” Another yell echoed from the bowels of the hulk.

Holding the girl underarm, Mea slid down the rope and passed the half conscious catalognaut through the hatch. She shielded her mark from would-be shooters on the deck, but it seems like the chaos unfolding in the boat had drawn the sentries from there. The second priestess leaped through the window, leaving Nathanata alone in the charnel pit.

Stumbling steps. A man, a schizo shaman, with one of those Chumbud shell pendants, was running towards her.

“Help, help me!” His right arm was soaked in blood. “Argh, ah, they’re fucking monsters! H-he-he killed the captain, we gotta get off the ship!” His injured limb hung to his side, limp and floppy; one of those nails had been driven through the bone, breaking it.

“Coughs, wait, you’re-?” Nathanata stomped her foot into the sticky crimson fluid. It flash-froze, spreading to the desperate schizo in an instant. His feet immobilized, he stumbled down and his elbows hit the ice, hard. He didn’t get last words; she was in a hurry. The switch-scythe’s edge pierced the pathetic man’s helmet, destroying his brain stem. “Unlucky.”

She looked one more time into the depths of the ship, where the Matiyotl catalognaut remained, clearly still fighting.

A part of her wanted to go back and face him. But in the end, she turned her back on the hulk and jumped through the window.

---

Jolted awake, once more. Nexticmiztli looked around; he was still in the catalog, he still felt Pipi’s feathers under his hand. Nathanata’s presence was a few feet to his right. He took a second to compose himself, still feeling the adrenalin surging through his body from being immersed in the heart-pounding memory. “How long?”

She was floating through the hopium streams, without a care in the world. “Less than five minutes. Oneiromantic time dilation is interesting.”

“Why show this to me? Surely this op was classified.”

He felt the priestess studying him for a second. “To show you how I saved you, obviously.”

“Saved me? From what, this rabid friend of yours?” Nexticmiztli laughed boastfully. “She’d have died, as they all do.”

A smirk-esque energy emanated from her. “Mayhaps, mayhaps not. My kouhai Mea can be full of surprises. But if you’d killed her, I would have had to avenge her.”

He shook his head at the threat. “You could have tried. That would only add another body to the pile.”

“Hmm, if you say so... Say, the girl. Why go out of your way like that? She wasn’t your actual objective, right?” Nexticmiztli had expected this line of questioning.

“We sneaked onboard to retrieve an artefact. Your little maneuver really messed with our plans.” This made her laugh out loud, Akira damn her. “She was a catalognaut held captive by a schizo cult. They were probably planning to use her as a source of power through some ritual. Checking on her was only responsible.”

She didn’t seem to buy it. “Then, you should have terminated her, or captured her. She’d have been an irreplaceable wentli.”

He frowned at her. This had been brought up during that mission’s debriefing; he’d given his colleagues the same answer he would give now. “I felt a revelation from my Goddess upon seeing the captive. It told me she had plans for this one, plans that I should not interfere with.”

He hadn’t observed her closely back then. She was just a thin, shivering, pink-haired Deadbeat. After the schizos guarding her were killed, one of Nexticmiztli’s fellow esoteric guards was ready to pick up the cage and bring the prize with them. If they moved quick, they might be able to both steal the girl, the artefact, and avoid what had turned out to be a team of Deadbeat operatives.

But right then, she’d slipped out of her daze, her eyes regaining focus for a second, focused on Nexticmiztli’s, her lips mouthing words. He didn’t know the words, but he understood them.

‘Help’.

Her aura faded again, struggling to resist the oppressive rrat field of the cult ship. The moment passed, and her eyes fluttered shut again. Nexticmiztli stood there for a few seconds. His fists had broken dozen of skulls just this evening and left him unmoved, but this moment shook him. He imagined bringing this girl to the priests, to prepare her for her fate as wentli. Deadbeats designated for this fate were usually difficult to convince, proactive methods were often required...

Against his best judgment, he ordered the Varangian to let the cage be where it was, with a tone brooking no discussion.

He felt her smile. This annoyed him for some reason. “I see. Well, let Goddess Akira know I am thankful for her mercy. Moriko has recovered from her kidnapping and returned to her family in Dis.” She pulled back slightly from him. He’d gotten used to feeling cold, the sudden change in temperature was almost unpleasant. “You know, since you started sailing towards My Mori’s Island, my lifespan has been falling faster than usual, and accelerating. I thought you might be my Death, but your lifespan is falling too, at the same rate. Perhaps we’re just bad for each other.” Her laughter resounded in his head, the sound uncharacteristically loud and frank.

He grunted the joke off. “I don’t plan on dying to a Deadbeat.”

She quieted down before answering. “Nor I to a cannibal.” There was an edge in her voice. “I look forward to meeting you, Nex. Safe travels.”

“My name-“, the world blinked in front of him. There was no shock, or pain, or vertigo, but he suddenly found himself in his cabin. He took off his communicator; the pink chip was dead dark once more.

Nexticmiztli scratched Pipi’s neck, prompting some comfortable cooing from the huehxolotl. “This woman... She’ll be trouble.” He sighed tiredly. This might not be the vacation assignment he expected after all.

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