The Quincy

THE QUINCY

Civil War

Boston was too old for this. The meetings, the treaties, the lying and the fighting. It wore down his soul just as it did his body. Looking into the mirror, the old crags of his face and the deep bags under his eyes gave him cause for concern. He used to be a young, handsome man, and a warrior to boot. He was one of the few quincy who had been chosen to help the shinigami during their war with the Hohlreich. Now he was just a weathered old man with a fancy position that he couldn’t even handle. 

“Master Boston,” the Giselle called. The youthful female timbre of his granddaughter’s voice brought him back to the matters at hand. 

“Yes, Giselle?” 

“The other masters are waiting for you in the meeting hall.” 

Boston slid the door open and gave her a nod. She lead the way through the halls, each one alit only by the beams of the sun filtered through stained glass windows. When they reached the entrance of the chamber, a massive gate of concrete engraved with holy symbols, Boston took a deep breath. “Offen.” 

The gates swung open, revealing the disheartening sight inside. 

Boston stepped into the meeting chamber with timid feet. At one end was a massive stained glass window, easily a hundred feet in height. It was colored with the quincy bangle, complete with a blue and silver flower blooming at each spoke. The light broke into the seven colors of the rainbow when it shone through, illuminating the Heilige Richter sitting in their customary spots. Standing in between all of them was a figure Boston had never wanted to see again. 

“Abrhams,” he whispered. 

Abrhams turned and frowned. The whites of his eyes were black, the irises red. “Welcome, Boston.” 

“That’s Master Boston to you! My fellow masters…” Boston trailed off when he looked at the setup. The high chair, sitting where the only silver light hit, had someone else in it. “...Why are you sitting there, Master Isaac.” 

“Because we masters believe you are no longer suited to the task. Under your rule, there are more shinigami restrictions than ever before. That lunatic Saigo has began an open rebellion, and you don’t even use our tools to stop it. I will be Ehrfürchtig Heiligen Richter, and Abrhams here will take my old spot as master.” 

What is he saying? Boston thought. 

This is treachery, Boston thought. 

This is evil, Boston thought. 

He looked to the other masters, pleading with his eyes. None of them answered his hopes. 

This is doom. 

“Y-You can’t be serious…!” Boston stepped forward, anger pushing his old bones on. He could feel the mouth of a monster closing down on him, threatening to tear him to pieces. “The Sternmord are evil, an unholy combination of--” 

“Silence!” Isaac waved his hand and two guards melted from the shadows. One roughly punched Boston in the face, sending his teeth dancing along the ground like broken glass and knocking him to the floor. The other picked him up by his neck and threw him to his knees. “You are more than just an old fool. You are a hindrance; an obstacle. The Pact cannot be upheld by you, and we cannot kill Saigo with you. You speak of peace, of love, but those things are weak. Victory has defeated you, Boston. It has defeated all of us.” 

“My masters, if I may.” Giselle stepped forward and bowed. 

Isaac scowled in response. “What do you want, woman?” 

“If I’m guessing right, you mean to have my grandfather imprisoned. I must request--” 

“Silence!” Isaac waved his hand again and the guards backed off, letting Boston drop limply to the ground. He coughed up a thick glob of phlegm and blood. “He will be imprisoned, and if you ever mention him again, so will you. Leave my chambers, you wretches.” 

Giselle came up from her bow, looked up at Isaac, then down to her grandfather, and muttered a hushed “Yes, my master,” before walking out. 

Smiling, Isaac nodded to the guards. “Take him to the Gebrochenestein.” 

“You…” Boston said through a broken jaw. He looked to the other masters as he was pulled to his feet and dragged off. “...You traitors.”