A spiritual pain struck him as Luke tossed and turned in the comfortable bed.
He snapped his eyes wide open. Reaver’s Link was going wild; the feeling came to Luke naturally, and the intensity wiped away any grogginess.
“Sooty.”
The Reaver scrambled out of bed, throwing off the sheets. He tore off his clothes as quickly as he could. Once off, he used the equip function to throw on every piece of combat gear he had.
Luke grasped Wayfinder on the nightstand next to the bed. The compassed asked, “Look like a cat’s pissed on you, lad. Did your knickers twist?”
“No, Wayfinder, something has happened to Sooty. I can feel it through Reaver’s Link. She’s in danger. We’re leaving immediately.”
Xera rattled against the nightstand, “Let’s get to work. Use me, Luke. We can put whoever touched Sooty to the sword, and I can enjoy some entrails.” She hastily corrected herself, “Ah, I’m trying to behave, that’s right.”
With the feeling in the pit of his stomach worsening by the second, Luke let Xera sort herself. In this case, she reacted perfectly fine. He’d tell her later, under a less urgent scenario. The Reaver grabbed the sword wand and equipped her.
He stepped up to the window, opened it all the way, and dropped down the fall. Midway, he stamped against the metal building outside to avoid ruining the garden beneath. Right before Luke went into full speed, a thought struck him.
All of these people are swirling around in this city, and I’ve pissed off plenty of them. Need to stay ahead of the game.
Preparing against the fact that influential people in Sylen wanted him dead or worse, Luke funneled skill points into Essence Lance, letting it reach tier 1 at the cost of four points. He only knew Sooty was in danger, not any details around why or who caused that. On the heels of that pressure, he left reading about the upgrade for later.
The Reaver took out the black metal mask and let it conform to his face. His appearance changed once more, becoming black and gray cloth, and all his extraneous gear lost any luster. His black hair turned white. Luke vaulted up the walls nearby, surrounding the Defier’s guild. Following the spiritual link, he guided himself toward Sooty.
“Hold on a little longer, Sooty. I’m coming.”
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Iona’s ears perked up at the sound of a well-known hoot behind her.
Around her were dozens of dead illusion beasts. Timber pawed the ground nearby. She tuned the private training realm the Defiers created to mirror a tower floor her team was stuck on. Rivers of magma flowed to her sides, and noxious gases spewed from short geysers. Black clouds rained lightning, and illusion beasts slithered around her. She snapped her fingers, and the realm returned to a blank slate.
A pair of talons landed on her shoulder nervously, “What is it, Lulu?” Iona asked.
The owl gave a series of hoots and whispers while wearing guilty eyes. Lulu hung her head low afterward. Iona felt the urge to interrupt her owl multiple times but stopped. She’d learned it was best with Lulu to let her say everything at once.
“I see, you lost track of Sooty when she flew away to the other side of the city. And now you can’t find her this late at night? That’s not good, Luke will blame me for that. I’m the one who set up the play date to separate them.”
Lulu snugged her head against Iona and hooted pitifully. Iona responded, “You’re worried you won’t be friends anymore? I’ll take the blame, Lulu. I made you do it after all.” She slowly caressed Lulu and tapped Timber with her foot, “We’re going you two, Timber, meet me at the front entrance to the guild. Lulu and I will go find where Luke wandered off to. His connection ability should get us to figure out where Sooty is.”
“Hoot. Hoot.” Lulu dropped her wings.
“Stop that, it’ll be fine. Friendships always have highs and lows.” Iona chided lightly.
Timber rose from the blank ground and strolled out. He huffed at Iona as he stepped into the red portal exit.
Iona put a finger under Lulu’s chin and spoke to her, “Alright, we can have time for regrets later. Let’s go find your friend before she gets into real trouble.”
Lulu’s feathers stood up, and she shook her body to agree. The Beast Master exited the realm and reappeared opposite the one Musai tended to stay in. She waved over a servant, an older elf man. He presented himself in formal attire and bowed in greeting. “You called, Defier Iona?”
“Yes, Malec, have you seen Defier Luke recently? I have urgent business with him.”
Malec straightened up and put one arm under his stomach with the other behind his lower back, “Defier Luke was last seen entering the dormitory quarters for all Defiers, shall I guide you over?”
“That won’t be necessary, thank you, Malec.”
“Of course, Defier Iona. Please do not hesitate to ask for me again should you require help.”
Iona laughed lightly, “I know I remind you of your daughter, Malec, but I’ll be fine walking by myself.”
The old elf stiffed and faintly revealed embarrassment. He did not speak again.
With a smirk on her face, Iona strolled across the lobby to the door containing the dormitory hallway, consoling her depressed owl along the way. She gripped the handle and opened the door, revealing the extensive hall with room numbers on each side of the walls. That was no cause for surprise. However, when Iona stood two doors away from Luke’s room, she spoke aloud, “And what do you think you are doing here at this time of night, Annika? Your uncanny ability to be in the wrong place at the right time has to be magic.”
Annika held a small kit of magical tools in her hand, trying to pick the door open. She blushed and flashed a full smile, “You can’t blame me for this, imagine what samples I could get while he sleeps? Everything for the pursuit of research!” She cackled.
“How you have such a polite weapon but act borderline crazy will never cease to amaze me, Annika. Knock on the door. I need Luke to help me.”
Smelling a story, Annika said, “A late-night request? Does this involve taking off clothes? Have the suitors finally driven you crazy, Iona?”
“Wipe that smug look off your face. His companion is gone, and Lulu, who was supposed to watch over her, can’t find her.” Iona lightly pushed aside Annika, knocking loudly on the door, “Luke, wake up.”
She waited a moment but heard no ambient movement. While the rooms weren’t entirely soundproof, they did have a rather unique property of inhibiting aura sense within. Thus, she knocked again, only to receive no response.
“Is that guy angry at me for today? I can sympathize, but this isn’t the time.” She put a hand on Annika’s shoulder, “For once, I’m glad you’re up to no good. Get the door open, Annika.”
Annika said with excitement all over her body, clapping her hands together, “Right on it, that pesky door won’t stand between me and my new toy.” She wrapped her hands around Iona in a hug, “You’re the best wingman ever, Iona!”
Iona plastered a hand to her face, “That word probably doesn’t mean what you think it means.”
Annika had already let go and not so furtively set about lock-picking the door. Every so often, she’d chant a word, and runes would float beside her. In the meantime, Iona spoke to Cedric, “Everything going well, Cedric? Any plans to speak further with Xera?”
“Ms. Xera and I will likely spend copious amounts of time together. I can sense she is limited in her worldview, and I shall be delighted to educate her.”
“I’d ask why you say that, but knowing Annika, she’s probably gushed about how she’s going to stay with Luke and stick to him like glue, hasn’t she?”
“While Lady Annika did not speak those particular sentiments, the general direction is correct, Lady Iona,” Cedric replied, the crystal in the spear-staff lit up dimly.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Annika stood up, “That should do the trick. No door can stand between us anymore, Lukey. Here I come.”
She opened the door and rushed inside, pouncing on the bed. As Iona walked in, she complained, “Did he lose weight? Why don’t I feel anything here? Have you not been feeding him?” She stared at Iona.
Annika called out to the room without waiting for an answer, “Lukey? Here boy! Your favorite Runewarden has come to visit.”
Catching sight of the utterly open window, Iona said, “He’s not here, Annika. Luke’s gone.”
“But what about my samples?” Annika yelled arms against her chest.
Patting Lulu, Iona moved to the window sill and started jumping out the window. Hitting the ground, she rolled out of instinct. Annika had landed in the same spot, arms splayed out.
“Now all this dirt is on my dress…and I wanted to impress him before asking for vials of his blood,” Annika pouted.
Iona kept moving to avoid falling into Annika’s shenanigans. She came to the entrance. She asked, “Timber, you’ve been around Luke enough lately, think you can track his scent?”
The thunderpaw bear started sniffing the air and lumbered past the entrance toward the southern quadrant. He huffed lightly and broke into a fast, four-limbed trot.
“That’s a yes, Lulu, keep watch above us. I’m going to let Timber lead the way.”
Lulu flapped powerfully and began to circle above Iona and Timber, watching. Iona hurriedly went after Timber. Leaving the Defier’s guild behind, a desperate voice followed her.
“Wait for me, Luke can’t escape me tonight!” Annika declared.
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Walking around in circles, Valdemar checked the drop point. They were in an expansive cellar, and their client insisted he come in person, but only at dawn. Valdemar cursed their stupidity, but his hands were tied.
He stationed the entire gang here. The place was inconspicuous enough, in a cellar surrounded by the backyard of a run-down slum house. Weak candlelight flickered on wooden posts to support the ground around the basement—the air smelt of wet earth and poorly stored food. An iron shutter concealed the gang from being noticed. Two men were posted on lookout at the entrance, just in case, but Valdemar had already started planning how he could spend the reward to expand the gang and its power. The other twenty-odd men leaned against the dirt walls and squatted on the floor. They occasionally complained, but most were all smiles. Each was going to receive a small cut of the reward.
An infuriating screech and rattle kept incessantly coming out of the birdcage beside Valdemar. This bird had woken up shortly after he trapped her in the tier-two quality bird cage he placed her in. He thanked the inventor of the birdcage. That little bird tried to vanish through the shadows multiple times, but the gaps in the cage bounced her back, and a brand faintly glowed before disappearing. The key for it was safely kept in his pocket.
“Keep it down, all your squawking and complaining don’t mean a thing to me, you stupid bird. Why someone would pay that sort of gold for you, I’ll never understand.” He took out a dagger and threw it to Peondric. Gesturing with his head, he instructed, “Use that to shut it up for us. Don’t want other gangs around here catching wind of our location.”
Peondric, a tall monic man with red rune marks and a rail-skinny frame, flipped the dagger once after catching it. Coming close to the birdcage, the dagger glinted dangerously. Peondric brandished it, “The first thing is going to be your eye if you don’t shut it, bird.”
Sooty kept making desperate noise. The bird showed apparent signs of distress and sadness, but no man around her had an ounce of sympathy. She was a living representation of a huge gold payout to them. When Sooty refused to comply, Peondric gripped the dagger and began stabbing it through the cage, careful not to cut too deep, not out of any sense of pity, but to make sure he didn’t fuck up his payday. Sooty screeched in pain, and the men around started to laugh hysterically.
“What a riot, prick its feathers some more, Peondric. Dumb bird.” One of them cheered.
Just then, a loud bang was heard against the iron entrance to the cellar. Dust fell down the short set of stone steps behind it. The Green Viper gang members began making a commotion.
“What in the blazes was that noise?” an orange-haired, freckled human Green Viper member asked.
Muffled screams rang from outside. At first, they were angry, then desperate, and then it was dreadful curdling death wails. Soon, all that remained was silence.
“Shit, something happened to Heckly, and Metari. What are we doing, boss?” A human bandit with a scruffy beard yelled.
Valdemar put a finger to his lips, “Shut up, you witless goon.” He pointed his mace to the cellar door, “Take your weapons out and get ready, listen for any movement outside. Get in groups of four.”
The iron cellar gate distorted before the men could respond to the instruction. The cellar entrance flew down the steps with another ear-ringing bang, smashing into a gawking thug.
A dust cloud rose up the stone steps. Two spherical objects flew out.
Valdemar spun around, and two severed heads smashed into the wall, splattering over his clothes. Wiping away the blood and organ mess, he cursed, “Those good-for-nothing shit-stains couldn’t even play watch duty without going off and dying. Ready yourselves, boys. Looks like another gang found us.”
The thugs cracked their necks. Most had seen more than their fair share of blood. Each was in the twenty- to thirty-level range. This wouldn’t be their first territory war.
Blue, glowing eyes pieced the dust cloud. The temperature of the air began to fall. Dampness cooled against their exposed skin. Frost flowed down the stone steps, creating a nerve-wracking sound when the concealed being above moved.
Crack.
Madder than a raging bull, Valdemar spat, “And who the fuck are you? Huh? Actin’ all like a terror. Men, I want that things head on a pike after we’re done here. Show em’ the cost of killing one of our own.”
Crack.
A foot covered in black and red cloth stepped forcibly against the frost from the dust cloud. A dull white sword cut away the debris and dust.
Crack.
A man with a black mask with gray marks around the eye area stepped down the stairs. Blue wisps came through the mask’s eye sockets. The dim candlelight flickered at his step. As the cold intensified, the light began to die. The man slowly turned his head and paused when he saw Sooty in a cage.
The blue wisps around the mask grew wider. His body shook, and the sword he held flashed. Layered frost covered it in an instant.
Valdemar yelled, “World Spirit’s tits, where did this rat come from? Tryin’ to play hero? You made a mistake coming here.” The trafficker spat to the multiple thugs around him, “Surround him and get that mask off. Kill him if it’s too much trouble. Get to work.”
As the squads of criminals got into position, the man summoned a rotating shadow bolt. Three smaller shadow shards surrounded it in orbit. His eyes fixated on Sooty. Ice slowly spread from him as the epicenter, freezing the fools closest to him in place.
The blue wisps around the man grew more intense, and the ice thickened, reaching where Valdemar stood. The entire cellar had become the masked man’s domain.
“What are you pissin’ about for? The bird’s already taken. Ready to learn what shit you stepped in coming down here?” Valdemar threatened.
Silence was Valdemar’s answer. The shadow bolt with the three additional shards around it fired from the mysterious man and blasted toward half his gang. It split apart, and the men reacted in agony. The unaffected half charged but slipped on the rapidly thickened ice.
The man in black and red robes sliced through the air. A thin shadowy line opened, pulsed pressure against the other half of Valdemar’s gang, and slammed them against the side of the cellar.
Snapping his fingers on his left hand, the masked figure commanded the ice, and he sped over to one side. The thugs struck with their weapons in defense, but the masked man took the hits in stride, softening the blows with a frost layer on top.
In return, their heads spun up to the ceiling, blood spouting from their necks after the plain white blade sliced through in one hit. The man let the blood waterfall splatter onto his mask. The lower-level bandits around him dropped their weapons in fear. Valdemar roared at his henchmen, “Fight, you blasted idiots. It’s him or us now. Bastards like him only stop till when we’re all dead.”
Horror filled the spiritually broken men, but they picked up their weapons and defensively gripped them, keeping them close to their heads. The second silver neckpiece hanging from the masked figure’s neck glimmered. Another shadow line pressed down the remaining thugs. Frost covered their bodies from head to toe.
Gliding on the ice with an impossible speed, the man thrust his sword through bandit hearts with pinpoint accuracy. When the two shadow lines finally let up, less than ten criminals remained. The beaten men regrouped around Valdemar. They glanced at one another, sweat streamed down their faces despite the ice-cold temperature around them.
The masked figure stood nearby, blood dripping down his clothes. The black mask more red with gore than black from metal material. The blue wisps at the eye sockets danced. Flicking his sword, blood came off, and the man stepped forward menacingly.
Two thugs nocked arrows onto their crossbows, ready to fire. Fresh shadow clung to the figure’s blade in response. With a raised arm, the man fired a shadow blast that hit Valdemar. A strange bond pressed down against him, and Valdemar cursed from the onset exhaustion.
“What the shit are you up to now?” He demanded.
Valdemar lost his nerve and raised his mace. He charged. A golden glow covered his weapon.
Fucker will take a nasty hit here, bet he doesn’t think we can hurt him. We underworld types may have a mix of combat and crime abilities, but the battle skills we have do the job.
The figure breathed out cold, misty air, and the frost covering all the men fulminated in union. Each immediately dropped to the ground in pain, and pools of blood seeped into the soil. Patches of muscle and skin were evaporated from their bodies. Valdemar tried to get up, but the man kicked his head in, knocking him back.
Calmly reaching each remaining thug, the masked man stabbed his blade through their head. A minority survived the first attack.
They did not survive the second. Before Valdemar knew it, he was the only one left alive in his gang. Shivering, he yelled with fake bravado, “You can’t do shit to me. Better turn around right now, or I’ll get the Purple Emperors, White Snakes, and—” The man slapped Valdemar.
When Valdemar tried to move toward the birdcage, the man stabbed his blade through Valdemar’s arm and twisted it. “Ugh, who in Succoria’s curses are you? I’ll get the Red Gorrids to deal with you.” Valdemar hoped the name drop would save his pitiful life.
The man unexpectedly stopped moving. Taking the chance, Valdemar reached for his mace. That cost him his arm, as the masked man cut it off. Valdemar got kicked in the chest, and frost enveloped his body.
A distorted voice came through the voice, sounding intensely male, “Rune.”
Valdemar ridiculed, “What sort of piss-poor name is that?” Valdemar spat on the figure before him.
Swinging his blade, the masked figure cut through Valdemar’s neck. His head flew high into the air, smacking against the low ceiling, before falling, turning slightly to reveal lifeless glass looking eyes. A new round of fresh blood painted the cellar.
The same distorted voice echoed, “The sort that will be remembered, nameless thug.”