Threads of the Soul

Seth quietly observed the collection of small groups lingering throughout the main body of the library, although it wasn't his own eyes that he was using for this observation. No, those eyes were currently buried in the skull crushingly heavy tome that the Librarian had been studying.

After a little bit of sweet talking, and a lot of relentless badgering, he had finally broken- I mean, convinced the Librarian to take him on as an apprentice of sorts. It was actually the promise of new knowledge that was finally what tipped the Librarian over the edge and eventually led him to the decision to teach Seth this odd runic language.

As Seth understood it, the 'ability' that the Librarian had acquired was little more than a headache inducing and incredibly abrupt injection of foreign knowledge straight into his mind. As if he had touched upon a secret of the universe, finding that one thing that just made everything click. But alas, an injection of knowledge was all it was.

He had no idea of the practical applications of that knowledge. It was as if he had the entire history of mathematical formulas plugged into his brain all at once, but that didn't mean he had any idea which formula to use under which circumstances or even why those formulas were the way that they were.

His first gift of new, practical knowledge, and the thing that had finally cemented the deal between them, had in fact been one of the carved stones he had pulled from the goblin mage's corpse. He had a feeling or two what they would do, so he made sure to keep a few with Corvus for his own use, but there wasn't any harm in giving one away for study.

It would take a while for the Librarian to actually decipher the runic symbol, unfortunately. Through his mutters Seth had figured out that the stone was actually a bit of an annoyance, like it was written in partially the right language while he had to figure out the rest, despite the fact that the stone only had room for a single intricate, although visually crude, symbol.

However that was the nature of runes, as he had learned. In Seth's introductory course to the very basics of the language, he learned that runes were a composite language, a language in which each 'word' was composed of an overlapping collection of smaller symbols coming together to create one larger symbol that represented certain concepts within the world. For example the word 'Centaur' could be composed of the runs for man and horse, which were in turn composed of their own collection of smaller symbols.

But of course, there were also connecting symbols, plural symbols and so forth as well as rules for writing them together. Even though a word like centaur might be written with the symbols for man and horse, the order of them as well as the right connectors. It could easily be the difference between Spider-man and Man Spider.

One, a lovable superhero from many people's childhoods. The other, a horrific abomination of nature that needed to be killed with fire. So one might understand the reason for proper grammar.

'Logographic' was what the Librarian called it. 'Annoyingly complex and difficult as hell to learn' is what Seth called it, on the other hand. He felt that his name for it was much more accurate.

It reminded him of the time he had tried to learn Japanese, for the reasons any weeb can understand, and the headache that induced into him. Whilst he had immediately given up on that venture, he was determined to power through the multiple headaches and utter confusion and learn this language.

Thus, he was keeping a small part of his mind free from the torture of studying as he gazed through a separate set of eyes towards the rest of the survivors who were gathering inside the library. However, even though it was a puppet he was controlling, it wasn't Corvus as he was still outside with Astra, Fox and the statues. Nor was it Bearemy, who was positioned on top of the wall keeping an eye out.

Instead, It was a new puppet that he was using. One that would be much harder to detect. His lovely new puppet, Geets. The figurine of a shonen Anti-hero that he had swiped from the nerdy nirvana.

The figurine was only 8 inches tall, a size that could be considered large or small depending on who you asked. In this case, he was considered small, unfortunately for many, but it meant that it allowed this special puppet to be sat on top of one of the many bookcases.

It was this subtle observation post, combined with the fact that people rarely ever think to look up, that let Seth spy on the survivors. He could even move to a different book case or climb down them when he wanted to listen in on any conversations that sounded interesting.

It was from this innocent spying that he realised that, although it was completely unspoken, the survivors had subtly separated themselves into cliques. The mutants and the normies.

The normies group was composed of those who either had no mutation whatsoever, or had hidden mutations that allowed them to 'pass' as normal. There were of course a few exceptions; there was a girl with neon pink hair that was definitely not from a bottle as well as a young boy with pointed, elven ears and amethyst eyes. Ultimately those deemed 'human enough' or with mutations that were considered pretty were allowed to stay and socialise. Naturally, with the rates of mutations, this group was the largest. Roughly 80% of the people staying here were within this unofficial group.

With his eyes, Seth himself might be allowed into this group, although they also might be considered too unattractive and thus he would be relegated to the other group. The mutants.

Although these groups were technically unofficial, the only thing maintaining their existence was social pressure, fear and a special dash of prejudice, that didn't mean people weren't aware of them. In fact there were a few different names for these 'others'. 'Mutants' was simply the kindest of them, while 'freaks' was the most common. However there were still a few vile and uncreative slurs slung under hushed breath, usually dependent on the particular mutation the target of the slurs had.

Those with wings, tails, additional arms, digitigrade legs, flaming hair, bat ears and a whole manner of 'ugly' mutations were all relegated to this group. Even the poor purple skinned fool, the one who had changed colour because of a poor dietary decision, had been shunned away as yet another freak despite his lack of abilities.

Bob, his loyal companion and surrogate son, was an unwilling member of this group, but the living mannequin was too busy flooding Seth's journal with an assortment of books to notice any vile words slung his way, but Seth noticed. Not only did he notice, but he took special note of each and every one of them.

From those who were most eager and filled with true hate, to those who were just following along with the group and desperately hoping they wouldn't become the next target.

Even though Bob wasn't actually his son, something about seeing him barraged by hateful insults filled his heart with an unquestionable simmering rage. While ignorant attitudes like this couldn't be fixed over night, that didn't mean they had to be accepted either. But that was for another day.

There were, however, exceptions to the rule of mutant hatred. That, of course, meant that they tolerated and showed genuine respect to the people who stuck their neck out and protected them from the horrific monsters. It was the presence of the powerful warriors that kept the peace, kept the majority of the slurs under hushed breath. That didn't mean they weren't hated at all, just that they at least pretended to like or respect them. A luxury the others were not afforded.

The existence of this exception also acted as an encouragement to those with abilities, giving them a chance to use their abilities for other and shed hateful visage they had been given by an unjust god. Whether such a mindset was intentionally cultivated, ignored as it was considered a necessary evil or simply going unnoticed because those in charge were simply too busy to realise, Seth had no idea.

But no matter which group you were in, whether it be the purely normal, the horrifying mutant or 'one of the good ones', everyone moved with an invisible weight resting on their shoulders. Although they might not have heard the story, many were in the process of experiencing the unnerving dread of the fabled sword of Damocles. As the minutes crawled by and Seth immersed himself deeper in his studies, the invisible and ever present looming threat grew closer in the mind of the survivors and many could feel the blade pressed against the back of their neck.

Yet although this threat was unseen, it does not mean it wasn't real. If only that were the case. Unfortunately, this invisible and looming threat was currently hidden within the confines of a little coffee shop, gazing out the shop front window at the library just at the edge of their view. Blood lust burned within their eyes as they watched the little humans patrol their silly little wall and gather up the corpses of the mindless beasts they had sent their way.

Now that they were softened up, and even fighting amongst themselves, it was time to strike the final blow.

Let the blood flow and the weak be purged.