Chapter 154: 154 Discordant Elements

Settings

Font Size

A

A

16px

Font Family

Background Color

154: Discordant Elements 154: Discordant Elements The western node manifested differently than the others—less stable, more volatile.

Located beneath an abandoned theater in the old arts district, it pulsed with erratic energy that sometimes spilled into the visible spectrum, causing pedestrians to report strange lights and sounds coming from the supposedly empty building.

Mishka stood in what had once been the theater’s orchestra pit, now transformed into a swirling vortex of frequency patterns that resembled music made visible.

Unlike the steady, harmonious vibrations of the central and eastern nodes, these patterns shifted unpredictably, occasionally striking discordant notes that made her wince.

“It’s looking for its keeper,” Catherine observed, hovering at the edge of the vortex.

Her form was particularly clear today, almost fully corporeal.

“But something’s interfering with the resonance.”

Bruce crouched near the stage, his enhanced senses picking up subtle variations in the frequency patterns.

In the week since discovering his connection to the northern node, he had developed an uncanny ability to detect imbalances in the membrane.

“There’s another presence here,” he said, nostrils flaring.

“Not frequency-based.

Something…

chemical.”

Mishka closed her eyes, extending her awareness through the membrane.

Bruce was right—beneath the chaotic frequency patterns was another layer of disruption, a human-made interference.

“Someone’s been experimenting here,” she realized.

“Using the frequency fluctuations to enhance some kind of drug.”

The Custodian materialized beside them, today appearing almost entirely as geometric patterns with only the faintest suggestion of Myrtle’s features.

“The western node corresponds to creativity and expression.

Its energies can be harvested to intensify experiences—for art, but also for less beneficial purposes.”

“You mean someone’s making frequency-enhanced drugs?” Bruce asked, his expression darkening.

“It would explain the instability,” Catherine said.

“They’re siphoning energy from the node before it can properly establish itself.”

Mishka approached the vortex cautiously.

Unlike the other nodes, which welcomed her presence, this one seemed almost wary, its patterns contracting slightly as she drew near.

“How would they even know how to do that?” she wondered.

“Most people can’t even perceive the frequencies, let alone manipulate them.”

“Not necessarily,” Nathaniel’s voice came from the theater entrance as he and Eliza descended the worn stairs toward the orchestra pit.

“I’ve been researching historical accounts of this area.

This theater was known for experimental performances in the 1970s—shows that supposedly induced altered states of consciousness without drugs.”

Eliza nodded, the book they had discovered at the library floating beside her like a familiar.

In the days since becoming the eastern node’s keeper, she had developed a symbiotic relationship with frequency-sensitive texts, able to extract information from them without conventional reading.

“According to the records,” she said, gesturing to the hovering book, which flipped its pages in response, “a performance group called Harmonic Resonance used sound and light to induce visions in their audience.

Their leader claimed to be able to ‘pierce the veil between worlds.'”

“Early frequency sensitives,” Catherine surmised.

“Untrained, but naturally attuned.”

“The performances stopped after several audience members were hospitalized,” Nathaniel continued.

“Official reports blamed strobe effects, but witness accounts describe symptoms more consistent with frequency exposure.”

The vortex pulsed suddenly, sending a wave of energy through the theater that made the old chandelier above them tinkle ominously.

Dust and small debris began to orbit the swirling patterns, drawn into their chaotic dance.

“It’s growing more unstable,” Mishka warned.

“We need to find whoever is disrupting the node and stop them.”

“More importantly,” the Custodian added, “we need to find the western keeper.

Without them, this node will continue to destabilize, potentially threatening the entire network.”

Bruce had moved to examine a modern addition to the orchestra pit—a small control panel discreetly installed beneath decades of dust.

“Someone’s been here recently,” he observed, brushing away grime to reveal fingerprints.

“And they’ve installed equipment to modulate the frequency outputs.”

Mishka joined him, examining the crude device.

It consisted of conventional electronics combined with materials that seemed to shimmer slightly—ordinary components that had been transformed by prolonged exposure to the frequencies.

“They’re channeling the energy,” she realized.

“Capturing it in some kind of solution.” She pointed to thin tubes that ran from the device into the floor.

Nathaniel crouched to examine where the tubes disappeared beneath the floorboards.

“These lead somewhere.

Probably to a lab setup.”

“Can you sense who built this?” Eliza asked Mishka.

“Maybe get an impression from the frequencies?”

Mishka placed her hands on the device, closing her eyes and allowing her consciousness to sink into its resonance pattern.

Images flickered through her mind—hands assembling the components, a face partially visible in reflection, a sense of obsessive fascination mixed with greed.

“A man,” she said slowly.

“Middle-aged.

He has some natural sensitivity to the frequencies, but not enough to fully perceive them.

He’s using technology to amplify what he can sense.” She frowned.

“There’s something familiar about him, like I’ve encountered his frequency signature before.”

The theater lights suddenly flickered on, their ancient circuits somehow revitalized by the energy surging through the building.

A voice called from the back of the auditorium.

“Fascinating observation.

Quite accurate, in fact.”

They turned to see a man standing in the center aisle, his silhouette backlit by the lobby lights.

As he approached, Mishka felt a jolt of recognition.

“Dr.

Mercer?” Nathaniel sounded incredulous.

“Lawrence Mercer from the University’s Applied Physics department?”

The man smiled thinly as he descended toward the orchestra pit.

“I’m flattered you remember me, Dr.

Klein.

It’s been what—five years since that disastrous peer review where you dismissed my research as ‘fringe pseudoscience’?”

Nathaniel flushed.

“Your methodology was unsound, Lawrence.

You were making extraordinary claims without evidence.”

“Evidence like this?” Mercer gestured grandly at the swirling vortex.

“I’ve been sensing these energies for decades, but no one would listen.

Not until I found a way to capture and demonstrate their effects.”

Mishka studied the man carefully.

There was something off about his movements, a jittery quality that suggested chemical enhancement.

“You’ve been exposing yourself to the frequency-enhanced compounds.”

Mercer laughed.

“Of course!

How else could I refine the formula?

The effects are…

enlightening.” He reached into his pocket and removed a small vial containing an iridescent liquid that seemed to shift colors as it caught the light.

“One drop opens perception temporarily.

A full dose…” his eyes gleamed, “…allows direct interaction with the energies.”

“You don’t understand what you’re interfering with,” Catherine said, floating forward.

Her semi-transparent appearance caused Mercer to step back in surprise.

“A full manifestation!” he exclaimed.

“You’ve achieved persistent coherence without chemical assistance.

Remarkable!”

“This isn’t about your research,” Mishka interjected firmly.

“You’re disrupting a critical node in a network that maintains the balance between realities.”

Mercer’s expression shifted from surprise to calculation.

“So there are more sites like this one.

I suspected as much when my instruments detected harmonic resonances at other locations.”

“The frequencies aren’t tools for exploitation,” the Custodian said, its geometric form consolidating into a more humanoid shape.

“They’re conscious in their own way, seeking equilibrium with this reality.”

Mercer stared at the Custodian with naked fascination.

“Another manifestation type!

My theory was correct—the energies can assume diverse physical forms.”

Bruce growled low in his throat, his eyes flashing with annoyance.

“He’s not listening.

He sees all this as confirmation of his theories, not as a warning.”

“Lawrence,” Nathaniel tried again, his tone conciliatory, “your sensitivity to these phenomena is genuine.

That’s significant.

But what you’re doing—siphoning energy from this node—is causing instability in a system we’re only beginning to understand.”

“A system I discovered first,” Mercer countered petulantly.

“I’ve been tracking these energy fluctuations for fifteen years, ever since they first appeared in this theater.”

Mishka exchanged glances with Catherine.

“Fifteen years?

That’s when…”

“When my accident occurred,” Catherine confirmed.

“When I first crossed into the frequency spaces.”

Mercer turned to Catherine, his expression avid.

“You’re the source!

The initial breach that allowed these energies to begin manifesting in our reality.” He took a step toward her.

“I must know how you achieved the transition.”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Catherine replied coolly.

“And it’s not something anyone should attempt to replicate.”

The vortex suddenly pulsed violently, sending a shock wave through the theater that knocked Mercer off his feet.

The vial flew from his hand, its contents splashing across the edge of the orchestra pit where they were immediately absorbed into the swirling patterns, causing them to flare with increased intensity.

“Now you’ve done it,” the Custodian muttered, its form rippling as it moved to stabilize the destabilizing frequencies.

“Everyone back!” Mishka ordered, stepping forward to place herself between the others and the increasingly erratic vortex.

She began humming the harmonic pattern that had helped stabilize the central node, trying to impose order on the chaotic energies.

The membrane throughout the theater began to warp, reality thinning as the western node’s instability threatened to tear the fabric between worlds.

Through these thinning spaces, shadowy figures became visible—frequency entities drawn to the disruption, curious about the commotion in their neighboring reality.

“They’re coming through,” Catherine warned, moving to join Mishka in reinforcing the boundary.

Mercer stood transfixed, his eyes wide as he witnessed the entities emerging from the spaces between.

“It’s happening,” he whispered.

“Full manifestation!”

“Not manifestation,” Eliza corrected, the book beside her flipping frantically to a warning passage.

“Invasion.

Without a keeper to regulate the flow, the western node can’t distinguish between benign and malevolent frequencies.”

Bruce moved with supernatural speed, positioning himself at the main entrance.

“We need to contain this.

If these entities escape into the city…”

“They won’t,” a new voice declared.

Everyone turned to see a young woman standing at the edge of the stage, her hands raised toward the vortex.

She couldn’t have been more than twenty, dressed in paint-splattered clothes, with vibrant blue hair and multiple piercings.

But more striking than her appearance was the way the chaotic frequency patterns responded to her presence—stretching toward her like plants seeking sunlight.

“Who are you?” Mishka asked, though she already suspected the answer.

“Maya Diaz,” the newcomer replied, her focus remaining on the swirling energies.

“I’m an artist.

I’ve been coming here for months to sketch.

The patterns help me see…

differently.” She made a fluid gesture with her hands, and remarkably, the vortex began to stabilize, its erratic movements becoming more rhythmic, more deliberate.

“The western keeper,” the Custodian confirmed, observing as the frequency entities retreated back into their realm, the membrane between realities strengthening under Maya’s unconscious direction.