At about the same time as I stepped off the edge of the Demesne, the Fracture was flickering even worse than it had done before as it struggled to show Pingo T’Ong the victory he was after.

Pingo watched, not just immune to the Fracture’s affliction, but actively reveling in it. He knew that every flicker was a symptom of his own misuse of it. The amulet on his wrist was doing its job. He could feel the strength he was gaining with every passing moment and knew that the Fracture could not last much longer.

Not that it mattered. He’d already siphoned off more than enough of its power to do what he so desperately wanted to do. He was ready, and that was good.

Even better, the futures the Fracture showed him were much more promising than ever before. To his mind, I no longer seemed as much of a threat. Sure, futures where I interfered with his plans remained, but in all of them I was accompanied by a scantily clad woman. And that woman (Gabby) had stayed on the Demesne, leaving me to continue on alone. Or as good as, with just a drunken pixie for company.

Pingo chuckled at this outcome, regretting only that he hadn’t realized Gabby’s importance earlier. Had he done so, he could have sent Thork Yurger after her instead and erased the threat to his plans long ago.

Still, Pingo was about as careful as he was ugly, and he didn’t want to leave anything to chance. And he had power to spare! So instead of forgetting all about me, he focused his attention on the Fracture. Using lore gleaned from the Fracture itself and known only to a very few of the most evil men alive, he used a small fraction of that power to bend it in a way it was never meant to be bent.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The Fracture gave a faint wail, as if it were somehow keening or in pain. The noise startled Pingo so much that he might have stopped what he was doing out of sheer surprise. Only the fact that the Fracture also showed him Thork Yurger, as he’d commanded it, kept him focused on his task.

The diminutive assassin appeared to be riding a small pony through a wide grassland with the orc army behind him.

“Thork,” Pingo said.

The assassin flinched as if stung. He looked about for a moment then stared with gape-jawed amazement right at Pingo. “M-m-master?” he said.

“Yes, Thork, it is me. You’ve failed me time and again, haven’t you?”

Thork Yurger gave a single nod. “G-g-gordan of Riss still l-l-lives,” he said, “But I’m t-t-tracking him even n-now. The D-d-demesne—”

“Gordan has left the Demesne. He is heading to Brelor.”

“B-brelor? Near your p-p-palace? The orcs and I can b-b-be there in just a few d-d-days—”

“Make sure that you do it right this time, Thork. I’m growing weary of your failure.”

Another nod. “Th-th-the villagers there are superstitious, and d-d-don’t like orcs. But perhaps I can use their superstition and g-g-get them to help.”

“I care not how you do it,” said Pingo. “But I will not wait a matter of days. I want it done now.”

So saying, Pingo bent the Fracture even more, encouraging a louder wail. Abusing its power like never before, Pingo reached into its essence, plucked Thork Yurger from the back of the pony and deposited him many leagues away, on the outskirts of Brelor. He laughed at the assassin’s confused expression before letting the image flicker and fade.

He was ready, he thought. The rite he had planned would take time to complete, but there was nothing stopping him from starting it now.

The Fracture, flickering wildly and still keening occasionally, was ignored as he began his preparations.