Veiled by thin clouds, the full moon shone down on the bustling streets of Grisshall, capital of the Silverburn Empire. Even after dusk, crowds filled the streets below and sounds of merriment rose through the air in celebration of Kings’ Day. It was one of the Empires prouder holidays; a celebration of all the ancient vassal Kingdoms and Districts beneath the Silverburn banner.
Knights patrolled the streets and stood firm atop the many walls and massive stone buildings. Each wore an expression of resolve and duty despite the festivities. All of them keeping a firm vigil on their great city for even the slightest threat.
Yet, standing at the highest point of one of the many grand cathedrals within the second wall, was a figure clad in white. When framed by the moon, he seemed to glow nearly as bright, casting himself into a barely visible silhouette; but when framed by only the stars, he was as dark as the night itself. A cloak of weightless, pale fabric flowed like a fog behind him, and two gleaming eyes stared through a hood of white mesh covering his whole face.
The city stretched out for kilometers in every direction; the second wall seeming so far away in the distance behind the figure, the third beyond even that. Yet he did not look out at the city’s edge, his gaze was set on the Great Imperial Citadel at the center of the city, lounging atop its acropolis. The first wall encircled the noble district at the base of that mound, a brilliantly shinning, silver-plated barrier separating those in power from all the rest.
The figure in white stood up on his perch, eyes narrowed in the direction of the Citadel. Then, he allowed himself to topple forward and fall many storeys through the air. There was no rushing of wind or gasping of breaths. Not even a single sound was heard as the figure hit the cobblestone and burst into a cloud of fog before dissolving into dozens of thin, nearly invisible wisps.
Nobody noticed the assassin twist through the streets and between crowds of people, his very existence erased from their minds before given chance to take root. Even the watchers, Mages positioned to see the city in all wavelengths of magic, could not detect him.
In a matter of minutes, the figure rematerialized on the first wall, alighting soundlessly on the top of a flagpole. Knights walked below him, oblivious, and the peaceful noble district spread out below him on the other side of the wall. In a blur, he jumped over the entire wing of the district, landing again on a balustrade atop the massive central building of the Imperial Citadel. There were ten Imperial Knights lined up neatly on the roof, looking down at the courtyard below or out into the city, yet not one even so much as twitched at the figure’s sudden presence.
For a moment, he watched their armored forms. Each Knight was unyielding in their watch of the Citadel grounds. Their minds were all enveloped in the same spells and magic meant to keep the alert. There was no wavering thought, no lapses of concentration, and nothing useful for the assassin.
Instead, he closed off his worldly senses and plunged his own mind deep into the psychic fabric all around him. Various skills activated, and the assassin could instantly feel every mind around him, see through every pair of eyes and hear though every pair of ears. The entire being of those with little control over their own minds was laid completely bare before him. The thoughts of even the smallest cricket were heard clearly, and everything all of them perceived was his to control.
He searched through the chaos for his contact, and though the voices from the ongoing banquet were overpowering, he only needed a minute to find her. He dissolved into fog again, rematerializing on the other side of the building; above one of the taller halls, used primarily for residence. Then, within arm’s reach of an oblivious watcher Mage, he dropped two floors off the edge of the roof, lading on a windowsill.
There was a young woman inside the bedroom doing her hair in front of a mirror. The assassin slipped through the window in fog form and stalked forward. Putting the lady’s untrained mind into a trance was child’s play. The first thing he did in the trance state was extinguish all the magical lanterns lighting the room, plunging the illusory space into pale moonlight.
The young lady gasped, looking up at her empty darkened room through the mirror and seeing nothing. However, when she stood up and spun around, the white figure of the assassin was standing there, cloak waving lazily through the room, seeming to swim through the air with a mind of its own. The lady didn’t gasp or scream a second time, she didn’t even move. She could not even breath. Within the trance, everything she could or couldn’t do, could or couldn’t perceive, was under the assassin’s control.
“Good evening,” the figure began, his voice somehow sounding both normal and alien at the same time. “Lady Aria, daughter of Duke Henry Baxter and first lady in waiting for her Highness, Crown Princess Victoria Silver. You may call me Specter,” the assassin said, stepping slowly towards the paling woman with a slight bow. “Rest assured, I am only here for the vial, as per your agreement.”
With a wave of his hand, the woman was allowed to let out a heavy breath and collapse to the floor. She looked up with wide eyes and scrambled away from the assassin. She quickly looked over her shoulder where the door to her room used to be, but she only found it replaced by an empty wall.
Her eyes were starting to turn red with panic as she turned back around, retreating back to her desk, as if putting the back of her chair between herself and Specter would do any good. Yet she continued to shake, clenching the ornate upholstery with white knuckles and working her jaw.
“Do you have the vial?” the assassin asked cocking his head to the side, pale white eyes gleaming. “It’s alright if you don’t. Your assistance is appreciated regardless.” he continued, trying to project a calmer tone.
Lady Aria swallowed. “I-I-I… Yes, I d-do,” she said. Turning back around in her chair and holding still as Specter came closer and placed a hand on the back of her chair. She noticed again that he had no reflection in the mirror, and casted no shadow at all, causing him to glow eerily in the moonlight. She kept her head down, only to see a white-gloved hand slide a playing card face down on the desk in front of her.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Thank you,” the assassin began again before pausing. “If you have really stumbled on what you claim to have, then I suggest… you find shelter from what is to come.”
“Wha-what… is it? The v-vial,” the lady asked, still trembling in her seat.
The assassin lifted his hand from the chair. “Evil,” was his reply, before the magical lights suddenly flickered back to life.
The lady’s shoulder jerked, and she looked up to find her room exactly as it had been before: Empty. There was also a hairpin in her hand, which she was sure she had dropped earlier. She let a small cry escape before she hesitantly reached for the card on her desk and flipped it over.
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It was an ace, the ace of spades. Words written on it read: “the vial, quickly now.”
Lady Aria snapped into action, her eyes still darting around her empty room. She threw open a trunk in her closet and pulled out a small jewelry box. After dumping its contents into the trunk, she tore out the fake bottom, letting a note and a small, finger-sized glass vial of thick red liquid drop into her hand. Then, heart hammering, she placed both on her desk and stepped back, glancing shakily around the room as if something would jump out at her.
Instead, her door, which hadn’t been there when the lights had gone out, clicked and drifted open. The lady sucked in one last shaky breath before she rushed out of her room as fast as she could on heels.
The assassin, still standing in the room, imperceivable, picked up the items on the desk. He stored the note and held the vial up against the moonlight, identifying it.
Phoenix Blood Potion — Exotic
He chuckled to himself, knowing the vial had absolutely nothing to do with phoenixes. He identified it again, using High Analyze instead, along with several ward-breaking totems.
Acolyte Lifeblood Serum — Ancient
Consumable [Once] – Vitality Transfusing Blood Arts – Arcane/Soul/Death
Properties: Concentrated blood and soul life-source; 114 essences clotted.
Effects: Upon consumption, heals all physical imperfections, restores severed or broken meridians, restores soul-strength and youth (effective uses dependent on stats).
Description: Ad surkem ek’eiya, thah ad ve’akrall
“The lesser version,” The assassin thought, “but still over a hundred lives.” He sighed to himself, shattering the vial in his fist and disintegrating its contents with psychic force lightning. “Sometimes I just hate being right.”
He walked over to the bedroom window and drew the curtains open, revealing the moon shining down on Grisshall. Then, with all his psychic power, he let loose a wide area psion burst. It was the mental equivalent of screaming out the window at the top of his lungs, only the scream came from everywhere within Specter’s sphere of influence, all at once.
The signal. The words were the same words that were chanted by the vile order of savages known as Ve’akrall, and they were the same words found on all of the sacrificial immortality potions they sold to the wealthy all around the world.
[“To give unto life, is to feed into flesh.”]
The assassin counted twenty-three seconds before a portal of rippling space tore open the sky above the Citadel. Fire, ice, massive chains, threads of light, limbs of shadow, and thousands of undead poured though at the same time.
Allen looked on as everything was swallowed by a blinding light that rose up against the portal that brought the wrath of the Spades. He could hear the shouts of alarm and cries of terror outside and in the distance. He remembered the streets filled with bodies of charcoal, the Citadel reduced to a pool of magma, half the nobility soul-killed. He could still see the destruction they had failed to prevent, having underestimated just how far the Imperials would go to save themselves over their own subjects.
Nobles who had tasted immortality and the power of Ve’akrall, a rot to their country, would rather set their own city on fire in an attempt to escape, than allow themselves to be defeated. Their hubris had destroyed Grisshall, the former capital of the Empire, now just a pile of ash.
Rubbing his eyes, Allen sat up in bed. His vision in the dark room as good as it was in daylight.
“Not really a nightmare this time, I guess,” he thought.
For a few minutes, he just sat there, unsure of whether he wanted to get up and do anything. Unsure if any of it was worth it. For every cultist, murderer, slaver, and rapist put down, it seemed like ten more sprung up in their place. Allen clenched his jaw, unsure if anything would be enough to make a differe—
“ALLEN! Get your lazy fucking ass out of bed!” Camila practically roared, throwing the bedroom door open so hard it slammed into the wall and knocked a few candles over. “HOLY FUCK. Get more stamina or something.”
Allen didn’t even blink from the interruption. He just yawned widely and made a show of scooting off the bed as slowly as possible, trying his best not to smirk or look in Camila’s direction.
“Fucking hurry up! Shawm says we’ve found all the goddamn kids from that village. We can finally go out and party! We’re going to a barbecue.”
Allen cleared his throat, making his way to the door connecting the bedroom to the rest of the Spade Temple. “It’s Shoam,” he said. “Two syllables: Sho-ahm.”
“Like I give a hairy shit,” the Berserker replied, leading the way to the Temple common hall.
Allen followed along after her, not that he couldn’t find his own way. “You can try caring about some things, you know.”
The Berserker spun around before reaching out to the door the two had stopped in front of. “I care about the three B’s: Booze, buffets, and beating the shit out of things.”
“I see.” Allen pushed the door open, immediately greeted by a large room filled with cots, blankets, the smells of food, and several hundred people and children.
“Oh, there he is,” came a voice. Allen looked to his side to find Ty sitting against the wall with Christopher and Amelia, just beside the door.
“He was still asleep,” Camila snorted.
“So Shoam said we’re done?” Allen asked, getting grunts and nods in response. “It’s been two weeks since we cleared Hillford. We’ve found everyone sold by Lanthinus, and everybody from that village, but nobody knows how far things go from Hillford. Nobody had heard anything from Meredith, Jack, or Clara either.” He shook his head and glanced around the room. “It should be safe to let them get back to their village once we hear from Jack,” he said, mostly to Christopher and Amelia. “Is there a Gatekeeper nearby? Camila is right for once; it’s time for a break.”
Amelia shrugged.
“I think the… uh… Monk gatekeeper his here,” Ty said.
Nodding, Allen sent a pulse of intent through the room. Just a simple request to come over, one that was answered fairly quickly.
Maráuh approached through the crowds of people a few moments later, drawing stares from men and women alike, as usual. There were more than a few that seemed to drink in her presence with their entire beings, as if she were some kind of erotic goddess figure.
Then there were the kids, running around in between bunks in groups, peeking around corners at the soul golem and giggling about a boobie stone lady.
“Hello Jerr!” she said with a smile. “Did you sleep well?”
“No,” he thought privately. “Yeah, alright. Can you take us to the entrance please?”
“Of course~.”
Allen spent the time following the golem to the grand marble entrance hall trying not to think about what he’d dreamt about. The very action of doing so, however, made him think about it, which all made the idea of a barbecue less than pleasing.
After nodding to Gatekeeper Solutus sitting in his chair with his book, Allen placed his hand on the smooth marble wall, causing a familiar door to snap into existence in front of him. He pushed it open, walking into a musty studio apartment with a kitchenette to the right.
Camila grunted as the rest of the group walked through the thresholds, expressions of bewilderment on their faces.
“What the fuck? This ain’t no party cuh.”
Allen rolled his eyes. “I know. It’s my apartment,” he said, opening the fridge. It was called a cold box on Unnamed world, and functioned using cheap ice gems. Allen’s particular cold box was populated by half a loaf of bread, a few moldy cheese singlets, three doubtlessly rancid jumbo sized eggs, a half-eaten sweet n’ spicy rotisserie chicken, a bottle of mayonnaise, and finally, a carton of milk. “It’s getting to the end of the quarter, and I need to cancel the lease if I don’t want the Lödensburg bank on my ass,” he said, sniffing at the milk before taking a sip.
“Oh.”
“Where are we? Krëztland?” Christopher asked, guessing correctly.
“What threat is the bank of diddlyfuck nowhere to you?” Camila spat. “C’mon, let’s get the hell out of here and fucking party all day!”
Allen finished the remnants of his milk and gave the Berserker his most tired-of-your-shit look. Then, just as he was debating making mayonnaise sandwiches, a voice spoke up from the other room.
“Oh, there’ll be a party where you five are going, that’s for sure, sweetie.”
The group collectively groaned at the sound of the voice. As they all shuffled into the cramped seating room, sure enough, lounging on the ratty couch in the shitty apartment was none other than their god for the past decade and the foreseeable future. Andy.
“Good morning,” the ghostly figure of darkness said, smiling through his eyes. “Miss me?”