Chapter Text
Chapter 1
A Foolish Idea
—
That tyrant, they called him a god of sorts, a supreme being to be revered , treated with grace in his presence. Whether he truly was one or the other no longer mattered. To the people below, that distinction meant very little— Gods and Tyrants instilled the same fright when they held your very life in their grasp.
. . .
Somewhere far beyond the towering cliffs of the mountainous Heights, hidden beneath a canopy of sprawling, rotting trees lay an old mountain village. Life in the town was tense. Its people did not speak much, and often skittered back to their homes whenever possible as soon as the night broke. A suffocating silence enveloped the city , reinforced by a deep fear many dared not to acknowledge. When the sun faded behind the mountains and dusk enveloped the town, no one lingered outside. Doors were barricaded, windows shuttered. Flames burned low enough that smoke could not be spotted from the Heights. Only in the heart of the village did its townsfolk gather, speaking in hushed voices around a dying fire. Decades-old tales mingled with fractured truths passed around the town like shared tradition.
Everyone in the village had grown up listening to the same warnings. Some were aged wisdom born from actual tragedy, others were hoaxes, superstitions so ancient no one remembered its true origin. Over time, the distinction between the two faded. No one dared to question them— not when questioning one could cost their own life. People knew the tales by heart; every night, around a bursting fire, they recite each story word-for-word, clinging to whatever solace they could procure from these rigid principles.
When night fell, there were three simple rules installed for the safety of the people:
Not a glance towards the mountains, for he will stalk your gaze;
Do not utter his name after dusk, even if it is in the most gracious manner, for he will take it as insult;
never approach his homelands, for he will chase you out and strike you on the head with the pommel of his blade.
Builderman had listened to those stories his entire life. He had watched neighbors approach the god, testing their luck. No word from them was ever returned after refusing to stand down in the face of a deity. He watched naive, young children ignore everything the town had told them, despite the clear evidence. They grew, believing that freedom was an impossible, dream-like concept. The town’s count dramatically dropped overtime.
Years ago after Shedletsky vanished, the administrative board was adamant on recruiting a new founder, someone to guide them through these rough times. . .
Unfortunately for himself, Builderman was thrown into the position of a leader-- it was a foolish idea, almost a laughable one at that. At that time, he could barely muster up the courage to hustle at a vendor in the markets, let alone lead the people of the village with defining confidence. He was young— and, even now, still is— ,clearly inexperienced. It was nearly impossible to procure a positive outcome from the decision of appointing him.
Yet, as time passed on, it became clearer how much of a rough gem they’ve uncovered.
Years of experience had shaped him, carved into his soul, the essence of what a leader is to be. The perception of him gradually evolved over time, until it was refined into a respectable reputation known throughout the entire village. And that reputation had become quite difficult to ignore. . .
. . .
Today progressed gruelingly slow.
Builderman snapped awake. He clenched a fistful of blanket in a death-grip. It seemed too vivid.
At the crack of dawn, people were already up. The skies hadn't been filled with their usual clouds. It was still dark outside . . . It felt as though morning had not truly arrived yet. Birds chirped in the distant woods, winds were tamed to a calm tempo. The distinct scent of fresh rainwater wafted through the open windows. Comforting.
Perhaps he will wake up earlier more often in the future.
His body allowed itself to relax for once. A moment of rare silence passed as he took the first proper look round his house in .. a while. His eyes darted around the room. Paperwork lay stacked in messy piles, stray pages scattered across the room. Smudged ink was all the remnant left for much of the papers. A heap of empty mugs cluttered his bedside table, staining the wood with faded brown rings.
A map messily-scrawled-on with rushed doodles and markings of the village was pinned haphazardly to the wall beside him. Bold red marks circled around the mountains. The Heights. He had written several warnings pointing back to them.
“Dangerous.”; ”Never enter.” ; “Missing count: 14.” Were scribbled onto the pages, among other various reminders. Looking back, he realized he doesn’t recognize much of his own notes, now.
The calendar hanging on (barely..) the wall next to his bed stuck out like a sore thumb, with its crisp and clean pages, all aside from a singular note on the top of the page. The calendar was stuck on the December of six years ago. Or had it been only two? He looked over the paper slowly, then, reluctantly, to the letters written above.
Four words were penned in a faded red ink: When he left me us.
Builderman dragged a hand down his face. His hand shook with a faint tremor.
He reluctantly threw off his sheets and swung his legs to the side of the bed, preparing for another day of, well-
-who really knows, anymore?
—
Hurried pairs of footsteps pounded against the dirt roads of the village—carefree, unburdened. Beside them, he strode slower, at a leisure place, steps heavy.
Builderman roamed the town. It was bustling with life with the animated chatter of shopkeepers, playful banter from youngsters, and the greetings thrown at him whenever he entered a different section of the village. Vendors waved at him. Children sprinted past him, chasing each other and bursting with laughter.
A baker approached him as he strolled through the streets. She held two small cupcakes sealed in clear containers, and outstretched her hands to Builderman.
"Would'ya like some, Mr. Builder? Baked these here goods not too long ago. Should still be fresh and delicious!" She raised one hand, showcasing the containers. "This one's got chocolate-stuffed goodies," and the other, "and this one's some strawberry."
Builderman smiled warmly. "Oh, of course! Wouldn't turn down a sweet treat for anythin'." He reached out to receive the strawberry cupcake. "One's all I need, ya should hand 'em out to the others round here. "
He carried the container carefully. He turned on his heel to continue walking off, "Thanks for the sweets!"
Hunters were huddled together in an alleyway, busy sharpening their arrowheads and blades between hearty conversation. They shot Builderman a glance, breaking into smiles. They shouted echoing whoops. Builderman simply waved, returning a fraction of their excitement. He hurried off afterwards and turned sharp corners.
He eventually reached the marketplace, intending to briefly stop by with just one goal in mind. It had became a secret habit of his to check the run-down jewelry store hidden away in the corner of the market whenever he visited. The stall was boarded-up, and a heavy tarp was draped over the structure. The owner of it had gone missing five years ago, way. but he still peered through the gate every time, just in case. They had sold two matching pendants to himself and Shedletsky, one a precious diamond and the other a raw, fiery ruby. Builderman absentmindedly fiddled with the small case hung around his neck. The gemstone had chipped overtime with wear, but still shined when the light struck it at a certain angle. They weren’t there again, as expected. As always. He looked back over. The entrance seemed so congested with crowds of shoppers rushing around and barricading it. Farmers were running to and from the market square, hauling loads of vegetables and other produce over their shoulders. Carpenters and blacksmiths carried their products in stuffed bundles and crates. Shrill noises and festive music boomed. Builderman glanced around the area as a whole, quickly deciding that maybe he'd sit this one out…
As Builderman turned to leave, an elderly carpenter passed by, transporting a wooden beam on his shoulder. The old man’s hands trembled heavily, fingers loosening around the sides of the support beam. Builderman rushed over to bolster the end of the beam, heaving it up onto his own shoulder with practiced ease. “Easy there, I’ll help ya with this load.” He said, as he adjusted his grip. The elder looked over his shoulder, eyes visibly lighting up. He smiled weakly. “The founder of our town shouldn’t be busying himself with helping someone like me carry lumber.” Builderman chuckled, reassuring, “Well, the founder doesn’t want his village fallin’ apart, either! It’s really no worry, just keep movin’ and we’ll be done.” He coordinated their movement until they reached the carpenter’s stall deep into the market. The wooden beam was placed on the workshop desk with a solid thud. Builderman dusted his hands off. “And there we go. If ya need any more help with handiwork or anything, just tell me!” He tipped his hardhat down in a respectful gesture, and left.
—
The sun rose in full-view now, shining brighter than ever in the skies and mountains above. Builderman shielded his eyes and turned his head away from the towering mountains. He had been wandering the streets aimlessly for an hour or so, and found himself stumbling upon a quaint neighborhood. Children were overflowing in the streets at this time, chasing each other around, hollering, and the likes. Whatever it was that they did, it just had to be something unnecessarily noisy.
They were playing tag, or something of the sort; he really wasn’t familiar with childish games. The children’s mothers were seated indoors in a nearby cafe, sharing conversation over tea and pastries. Two particular children ran along right behind him. One child mis-maneurvered his footing while trying to escape the tagger and swerved hard into Builderman’s leg before stumbling and crashing directly into the stone pavement.
A shriek and some crying followed right after. The other child , seeing this, backed away and darted off to avoid a reprimand (even though it really wasn’t her fault at all!). Builderman scanned the area, and, seeing as no mother or father had come rushing out to retrieve their child, immediately crouched down to pick the child up himself. He nudged them gently, and motioned for them to sit up.
Upon close inspection, there was a bloom of heavy bruising lined up against the child’s forehead and a minor cut on his chin. Luckily, it wasn’t anything serious and could be healed within a month’s time. Builderman sighed, relieved. He sat down on his bottom to be leveled with the kid, and pulled something out his pocket and concealed it behind his back. “Hey, kiddo.” The child looked up, wiping away his tears. Builderman continued, “You’re pretty brave, y’know. I bet most of these youngster would be bursting into never-ending tears if they fell like you did. But you aren’t, and that’s somethin’ I’d consider mighty impressive.” He chuckled warmly. Builderman slowly withdrew his concealed hand, revealing the container storing the strawberry cupcake. Some frosting had smeared against the plastic, but it was mostly intact nonetheless. “I got this for you, if it’ll help t’ make you feel better.” He opened the container and offered the pastry, waiting patiently.
The child smiled widely, expression brightening. He quickly reached for the cupcake , holding it close. He murmured, “Thank you, Mr. Builderman.. It does feel a little better now.”
“Glad to hear that, kiddo.” Builderman stood up, dusting his pants off of any loose gravel. “I think ya should head back in ’n go tell your mother what happened. Stay safe and maybe stay outta those rough games for a little while, yeah?”
The child giggled and nodded. Builderman pulled him up to his feet. The kid wandered off to the cafe. Builderman remained where he stood until he ensured the child disappeared safely inside the cafe. Only then did he turn away to leave the neighborhood. The youngster's warm laughter lingered behind him.
Children resumed their game as though nothing had happened, darting between houses and weaving around startled pedestrians. Someone shouted that they were cheating. Another dissolved into uncontrollable giggles. No matter how loud they were, Builderman really couldn't deny how wonderful that joyful feeling was.
Builderman smiled to himself.
There had been a time when these streets always echoed with excited voices like theirs. He hoped that would one day return.
—
Large puffs of smoke billowed from homes' chimney, rising up into the sky. Birds circled overhead above the trees, squawking loudly to one another. A distant, mountainous silhouette emerged from behind walls of smoke and foliage. Builderman gazed at the mountains momentarily. Then his eyes widened. He jerked his attention away from it, focusing on the village instead.
Maybe today was one of the calming ones..-
Leaves rustled loudly as they rolled around and loud winds whipped past him. Trees bent downwards. Homes had their windows securely shut and their doors barricaded with wooden planks. Parents were rushing their children indoors, grabbing them by the wrist. The candles burning inside were snuffed out, plunging homes into a darkness.
Builderman drummed his fingers against his leg, glancing around. He held the tip of his hardhat steady despite his hand’s tremble. He shivered as a strong breeze blew past him. He clutched the collar of his jacket, pulling it closer to his neck. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, clenching them. It was steaming only moments before…
“Builderman!” Someone shouted in the distance. Rapid footsteps approached him within short time. Builderman turned his head, raising a brow. One of the younger members of the Administration Council — he couldn’t recall their name properly, it went something along the lines of ‘Aeac’ — , out of breath, ran up to him, a notepad clasped in her hand.
“The council calls for you, there’s a meeting going on. Dusekkar sent me out to find you. I’ve been looking around for hours!”
Builderman’s eyebrow creased. He dug his hands deeper into his pockets. “A meetin’? Since when?“
“Since today! They need you for some important “grown-up discussions” that I can’t join because I’m ‘too young’. But I think they’re just being secretive for no reason! I mean—“
“Aec—.. kiddo, if you’re too young fer it, then you’re too young. Could be something dangerous we’re discussin’. I wouldn’t want you to get caught up in the harm of it an’ I’m sure they don’t, either.” Builderman interrupted. He turned around to fully face Aeacus. “I’ll be heading over to the office, just run ‘long and notify ‘em I’m coming for me, would you?”
“…Fine-ee. ‘Guess I’ll have to wait a few more years.” Her hands dropped to her side. “Beat you there!” She sprinted off and disappeared down the road.
Builderman stared, watching her speed. “Impressive..” He took one more glance back at the shunned neighborhood , seeing the last bits of children head indoors. The bubbly laughter echoing moments ago dispersed into whispers. He took his leave, striding through the dense alleyways and now-empty roads.
—
An unplanned meeting among the Administration Council had called for Builderman's presence. However, he was anything but patient when it came to discussing diplomatic matters.
The Council sat in a make-shift office. It was dimly-lit, and broken windows allowed howling winds to constantly break up conversation. A row of wooden desks were positioned together in the centre of the room to form a large discussions table.
For the majority of the meeting, Builderman had his head lowered, hung between his arms with his elbows propped comfortably on the table. He listened intently to every word exchanged, mind bubbling with ideas of his own.
The first hour rolled by quickly, sparking some hope that the rest of the meeting will come to a conclusion just as fast. But every time he glanced to the clock, the hands only moved slower until it seemed as though they came to a complete halt-- how mocking.
Clockwork clapped his hands sharply, silencing the room. He drew out a notepad from inside his desk, flipping past pages of data.
"I initiated this meeting because I've been noticing a strange pattern that I think you guys should really have a look at." Paper rustled quietly. "There's been several people reported to be missing, right?" A poorly-rendered drawing of stick-people was doodled onto the page.
The room erupted into a mutual agreement.
Doombringer chuckled. "What's all this? Are you trying to show us your artistic talent and frame it as a report?"
Brighteyes shot him down with a hushed voice, "Listen. Clockwork's explaining himself."
Clockwork continued without pause. "I drew this very professional diagram out for you guys. Here's three townspeople around the village, at night. They all mysteriously disappear around the same times. And, it's consistent over the three separate days." He traced lines with his fingers over the stickmen. "Here, this guy was positioned at the centre of the village, a while after everyone slept. I noticed him.. but didn't say anything.
And here, this one was outside their home before they just-- vanished. I'm not sure about the third one, but all three of these people had one thing in common."
Doombringer tapped a finger on the table absentmindedly. "Which is? Don't leave us on a cliffhanger, Mr. Detect-O. The suspense is intense.”
Clockwork ignored Doombringer and merely dismissed his heckling with a snap of fingers. "Which is that they are all members of the hunting union we have around here."
Brighteyes spoke up instantly. She folded her hands. "The likelihood of them all being hunters and disappearing in some sort of random way is.. low? That means that god was planning this out-- or we were just unfortunate with who we sent out."
Dusekkar shook his head. "I believe it may be that our hunters were actively seeking for. . .Telamon; as in the same fashion a hunter searches for prey to slay."
Doombringer suddenly interjected, "Our people aren't suicidal! They wouldn't even dare to go and try to kill that bastard!"
Clockwork waved his hands around in disbelief. "What else explains it, then? They're all hunters -- elite ones, at that -- and were all probably killed off by that egotistical--"
"Clockwork, keep quiet!" Brighteyes knocked her knuckles against the table. "Doombringer cursing him out is already enough for us, don’t you think? That god will terrorize us if he hears even a word of this. I agree with Dusekkar. It was his doing. It can't be anything else." She pushed her shutter-shades up. "Though, a more important thing we should really be covering is how we will fix this."
"Strengthen the army! Isn't that already obvious!? Maybe send troops out to handle him!”
"Perhaps suspending the hunting guild will provide better results. If we send out more hunters, they may be mistaken for killers and be slaughtered."
"Just tell everyone to stay indoors. Enforce some strict curfew. Many of the guys died at night, remember?"
Builderman's thoughts stirred. None of these solutions were ever permanent in the end. They were only a temporary measure that falsely promised to protect. One mess-up from anyone, and the entire operation crashes. He raised his head finally ready to interrupt the argument, "How many people have disappeared so far in this week?" The room fell into a calm quiet.
Clockwork answers. "Five, the two others were normal civilians. Dusekkar is investigating their situation behind the scenes.”
Builderman frowned deeply. He sat up straighter and leaned forward in his seat. "Five? And how many more until we stop pretending that hiding away will protect anyone?"
Brighteyes tilted her head downwards. She hunched over, sticking her head out to see Builderman more clearly. ". . . What are you suggesting we do, then?"
"I- I'm not entirely sure myself, Brighteyes." Builderman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nothing is permanent. The solutions you all presented ain’t, either. I'm in the same boat with you all. I'll try to pump out an idea soon enough; I'll work wit' Matt tomorrow. You're investigating the rest of the case, right?"
"Indeed. Though, finding a starting lead on the matter is proving to be difficult. I'll be able to pin-point causes upon further research later.", Dusekkar said.
Doombringer mumbled," If we all approach the tyrant at once, there's no way he'll overpower us. It’s as simple as that!”
Dusekkar waved his hand. The flames burning above him flickered brightly. "Doombringer, we are completely unaware of Telamon's power constraints. His ability may prove to be much stronger than ours instead. Walking into battle without knowledge of our opponent is dangerous."
Doombringer rolled his eyes.
Builderman groaned. He buried his head in his hands and stifled a yawn. He moved to stand up, clasping his hands together. "Meeting is concluded. I want you all to try to think of ways to solidify the defenses. Get rest, Admins."
The Administrators filed out of the office room, bidding cherished farewell to each other. Builderman exited last. The air outside was crisp and much more refreshing than the suffocating stillness in the meeting room. He was immediately hit with the blinding rays of the afternoon sun. It seemed that only a few hours have passed, yet it felt as though it were days. . .
The village outside had changed overtime while he was still inside. Storekeepers hastily locked down their stands, and the smoke that had blown so wildly overhead from chimneys barely hovered over the roof now. People exited the marketplace, hurrying back to their homes with baskets held under their arms. Laughter died out.
Builderman gently shut the office door, locking it tightly with an old bolt. He began to head towards the center of town, trailing after hundreds of others. Fathers boarded up windows as he passed by, a mother whispered to her frenzied child, ". . . before the sun lowers, do you understand me?" Several lanterns were lighted but were only allowed a weak flame. The band of hunters he had spotted hours ago all avoided eye contact. Their weapons were aimed to the ground, but their posturers were tight. Children were called outside by their parents with hushed voices.
Night took its sweet time to creep into the village. The clear skies plummeted into a hazy purple. The lanterns had been passed and set around the dying campfire. People were seated on makeshift chairs carved out of fallen oak, the rest standing vigil. The Administration Council was huddled together in the center, near the fire. Builderman took his spot on a vacant log.
People gathered around the fire, sticking close for warmth. The winds had picked up drastically, threatening to puff the flickering lights out. Brighteyes presented herself at the dead center of the camp. In tradition, she began to recite the warnings and rules of the night.
"Not a glance towards the mountains. . ." Everyone else present followed along, repeating Brighteyes' words.
Murmurs filled the afterward silence. Children curled into their parent's laps, some falling asleep.
"Do you think he'll ever return?" A lumberjack asked a carpenter.
"No, not really. Our grace has been gone for.. years, or something, I really doubt he's coming back."
One child rubbed their eyes and asked their mother, "Mama, what'll we do? Things have gone so bad..I'm scared." Her mother simply shook her head and said, "Quiet, quiet, we'll figure it out. He mustn't hear us. Don't worry."
An uproar of complaints cued in.
"All we'll really be doing is staying stuck in this pit and continue to be controlled by some-- tyrant! Who cares if he can hear us anymore?!"
"Figure it out? We've been stuck like this for years! It's never going to be 'figured out'!"
"Giving up is the only choice that sounds good to me. We gave up on freedom a while ago.."
Hearing these, Builderman drifted off, his gaze wandering to the dark silhouette rising in the evening sky. Hope was a fickle thing; it came and went with life in the village. Surrendering now would break the little faith he hid in his heart. His people were so fixated on enduring, putting up with this slavery, while he tried so hard to fight it. . .
A deep silence settled, stretching around the fire. Builderman looked around the circle; He looked at the wary hunters; the frightened children who clung to their parents' warmth; the people who tried to convince themselves that everything would be okay.
He inhaled.
"...I'll handle him."
Civilians immediately glanced to Builderman, surprise written across their expressions. Suppressed whispers spread through the crowds, and several lanterns came crashing to the ground. Some people outright reached forward and gently tugged at his sleeve, their grips tight.
The Council shot wide-eyed stares at Builderman. Dusekkar clutched his staff tighter, eyes flickering downwards. The flame above his head visibly shrank. "..I had wondered when you would say that. I believe it to be a foolish plan, dear Builderman."
A brief grin flashed across Doombringer's face. "There's the Builderman I've been searching for! Beat his--... oh, you're being serious?" His expression darkened.
Doombringer and Clockwork exchanged mortified glances. Clockwork threw his hands out. His shades slipped downwards. "Are you kidding!? We don't know anything about him, how he picks on his victims, nothing! We can't even locate or track his movements consistently. And you're going to march out there and try to win?"
"What? No! You can't go out there alone, Builderman." Brighteyes shouted. "Absolutely not. You are not throwing yourself in the face of death just because we're frightened!"
A sharp wind suddenly cut past the fire-pit, and a high-pitched screech echoed from high above. Clouds grew dark, pellets of rainwater began pouring, setting out the fire and lanterns. A strike of lightning boomed across the skies.
A metallic clang interrupted the rowdy conversation. Steel dragged across rough stone loudly, capturing the attention of the people below. They looked up out of curiosity. Something-- No, someone, peered down, stalking their gazes. Their silhouette caught in the thunder's flash, light concentrating on their figure for a fleeting glimpse: burly, puffed wings were outstretched; a slim blade lay concealed, only its pommel stuck out of their long cloak; their hood dipped down slightly as they scrutinized the townspeople's movements, tracking every twitch, every retreat. Their head tilted to the side, watching someone. Builderman's body tensed up rigidly, and he tore his eyes away from the mountains.
". . . for he will stalk your gaze."