Fiona strode through the lobby of her apartment building, her heels clicking against the marble tile. She hardly noticed the grand entryway or the stunning artwork. Instead, she took it all for granted, as if it was no less than someone like her deserved. After all, she was the king’s closest advisor and – if she had her way – his soon-to-be lover. Perhaps his queen.

That very day, she had taken the first steps along that path by visiting a woman with a very interesting class. Once a plastic surgeon, she’d taken the Healer archetype. However, instead of becoming a Cleric or a Priest like so many others, she had taken a completely different approach by taking a class dependent on her very specific background.

Fiona didn’t know the name of the class. Nor did she really need to, really. All she needed to know was that the woman could solve her issue. And after seeing a demonstration, Fiona was certain that she could do just that. Similar to her old profession, the woman’s new class was focused on fixing imperfections. She could mold flesh, shaping it to her desires.

Of course, judging by the patient’s screams, it was quite painful, but Fiona could endure that if she could make herself more attractive to the subject of her infatuation. It would have been much easier if Roman’s tastes hadn’t been so specific. His late wife had been a perfect example of what he preferred. The woman had looked like a suburban version of a Playboy bunny, with all the plastic parts that would imply.

Fiona, by contrast, had always been petite.

But that was going to change, and soon. The doctor would give her the bait she needed to get Roman on the hook. Then, she would reel him in. From there, they would rule Valoria and create an empire that would stand for millennia. It was practically foretold, a fact that had been revealed when Roman had told her about the quest the system had given him.

And he’d completed it, cementing her belief that he was special. Certainly, she didn’t believe he was destined to be humanity’s savior, as he often claimed. However, she couldn’t really think of anyone better, either. And besides, savior or not, he was one of the most powerful men in the world.

That was all that really mattered.

Because she never wanted to feel weak again. If she couldn’t have the power herself – and she didn’t, really – she would find someone strong to protect her. She refused to get into another situation like she’d experienced in the wake of the apocalypse. Back then, her husband had shown his true colors, proving himself too weak to be anything but monster fodder.

Sure, David had tried to protect her. He’d fought. And he had died on the very first day, leaving her alone and at the mercy of the world. How she’d managed to claw her way to safety was still a source of bewilderment.

But that was the past. Now, she had a real man to protect her. To keep her safe no matter what happened. She just needed him to realize that she was the best partner he could ever find.

Thus, the visit to the doctor.

Those thoughts occupied her mind as she made her way through the lobby and into the elevator. It was an ingenious contraption powered by ethera, rather than electricity, but she took it for granted. So long as it went up and down without too much fuss, she was content to let the marvel of ethereal engineering fade into the background.

It rose from one floor to the next until, at last, she reached the penthouse. The doors opened, and she stepped inside. The moment she was alone and out of the potential public eye, she sighed, removing one shoe after another and padding toward her kitchen, where she poured herself a huge glass of wine.

However, she never got to enjoy it, because when she turned around, she saw something truly disturbing. The glass fell from her hand as she reached to her hip, grabbing at the wand at her waist.

She was too slow, though.

Even as the glass hit the floor, splattering the burgundy liquid across the floor, the stranger in the corner flashed forward. He didn’t use an ability. Instead, he moved under the influence of his attributes. Before she could bring her wand to bear, his hand clamped around her wrist.

He squeezed.

And her wrist broke.

The wand – a twisted rod of some unidentifiable metal – clattered to the floor, and she let out a scream that was cut off when he slapped his other hand over her mouth and shoved her against the wall.

“Don’t,” he said. “I don’t want to have to kill you.”

She tried to scream again, but the sound was muffled by his hand. As tears traced lines of mascara down her cheeks, she stopped struggling. Then, she forced a nod.

He cocked his head to the side, studying her face before suddenly removing his hands and backing away. She slumped to the floor with a whimper.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Fiona had thought herself accustomed to pain. She’d been through quite a lot of it since the apocalypse. However, her broken wrist had proven that she wasn’t quite as used to it as she’d thought.

“W-what do you want?” she sobbed.

“I want to show you something,” the man said, reaching into the gray purse at his side. That gave her an opportunity to memorize her attacker’s features. He was a short man – maybe an inch or so shy of average – but somewhat stocky. His face was handsome enough, in an unrefined sort of way, though his looks weren’t helped by the scraggly beard and unruly blonde hair. Still, there was something about him that she could at least acknowledge might attract a certain type of woman.

Not her, though.

The man wore anachronistic and oddly cut clothing, including a large fur coat. In truth, that wasn’t really out of the ordinary in a city like Valoria, which was on the cutting edge of craftsmanship. Those sorts of people were always trying new things, which meant that plenty of strange fashion trends had swept through the city over the past year.

However, Fiona’s eyes were drawn to two features more than anything else.

First, the man’s feet were unshod, with his pants ending a bit above his ankles. Strange, that, and more than a little remarkable.

The second thing – or things, really – that stood out were the scars marring his body. One of his hands bore the evidence of a long-healed burn, while there were plenty of other scars decorating his neck and disappearing beneath his shirt.

By the time Fiona had catalogued those features, he’d retrieved something from his bag. And it wasn’t until it thudded onto the floor, then rolled to a stop next to her that she realized what it was.

Of course, she screamed.

Because that was the only logical reaction to seeing a severed head, especially when it had belonged to someone she knew. Laramie’s long dreadlocks were unmistakable, and when she looked down into the dead general’s cold, lifeless eyes, she couldn’t contain her shock.

The intruder slapped her with enough force to nearly dislocate her jaw.

“Sorry,” he muttered, not seeming as if he meant it as he loomed over her. He straightened to his full height. “Don’t scream.”

“What do you want?” she demanded again, forcing some degree of defiance into her voice.

“I want to know how to get into the palace,” he said simply. “I’m told you can do that.”

“Told by whom?”

The man’s eyes flicked toward the severed head. “He was very talkative, there in the end,” the intruder said.

“Why do you want to get into the palace?” she asked, mustering some of her courage. Her wrist was still useless, but if she could get the man talking, perhaps she could hit him with one of her spells. She hadn’t been keeping up with her leveling of late, but that didn’t mean she was completely helpless.

“Stop.”

“What?”

“Gathering ethera. If you keep going, I’m going to rip your arms off,” he said calmly.

“If you do that, you won’t get the information you want.”

He shrugged. “It won’t kill you. I’ve thought about it a lot. I can’t regrow limbs, but I can stop bleeding pretty easily. Especially for someone as low-leveled as you,” he said, his voice almost conversational. “And that means you won’t die. I don’t think it would do much for the pain, though.”

“Y-you would –”

“Stop stalling,” he said. “Your security people are already dead. You will be soon, too.”

“Unless I give you a way into the palace?”

He didn’t answer, but she didn’t need him to, either. Fiona could read the situation. The man was dangerous. A killer. He wouldn’t hesitate to murder her if she didn’t provide what he wanted.

She took a deep breath, knowing how big of a betrayal she was about to commit. Would Roman forgive her? Maybe. He understood survival better than most. And there was a chance that she could warn him once the intruder left. She had an ethereal construct for just such an occasion. It ran on silver coins, but that was nothing considering the situation.

So, Fiona reached up to the delicate chain around her neck, then dragged it over her head. The pendant was a simple ruby in a silver setting, but that necklace was the most meaningful gift she had ever received. Not because it was valuable. It was, but Fiona was more concerned with what it represented – Roman’s trust. With that pendant, she could bypass most of the palace’s security features. The implications of that weren’t lost on her, so she valued the pendant quite highly.

She tossed it to the man, who deftly caught it.

That’s when Fiona struck, aiming a Greater Ethereal Bolt at his chest.

Greater Ethereal Bolt

Conjure a large ball of destructive ethera, casting it at a target. Splashes in a three-yard radius. Briefly stuns on impact. Duration of stun dependent on Ethera attribute. Current: 1.2 Seconds. Victim’s Ethera and Constitution attributes determines resistance.

The blue ball of roiling ethera snapped into being instantly. Then, it was sailing through the air in the intruder’s direction. Fiona was already casting another when it hit him. She knew she would need to pile on the damage if she wanted to defeat the man, and that meant casting as many times as she could before the stun ran its course.

However, before she could complete her second spell, the man was only inches away, his clothes smoking but otherwise unharmed.

He did look angry, though.

His hand snapped out, his fingers wrapping around her throat. Before Fiona could react, he had lifted her off the ground, pinning her against the wall. “I wish you wouldn’t have done that,” he said. “I wasn’t going to kill you. I really wasn’t. I was just going to tie you up, leaving you for someone else to find. But now…”

“N-no!” she croaked, trying to cast a spell – anything would do. But as panicked as she was by the situation, she couldn’t focus well enough to do so.

She kicked and scratched, writhing as she tried to escape. Eventually, she managed to utter a single word. “Why?” she rasped.

“Because you helped kill an innocent woman!” he spat.

Before she could really process it, she muttered, “Which one?”

It was barely more than a whisper, but it seemed to work. The man’s fingers loosened. Then, he shook his head, echoing her own question, “Which one? Which one?”

He gave a harsh laugh, then shook his head. “Rotten to the core,” he muttered.

Then, he reached back, and before Fiona knew what was happening, she saw a fist descending toward her face. It connected with skull-shattering force. The wall cracked behind her, but she was high enough of a level that the blow didn’t kill her.

The second one did.

Limp, she fell to the floor, unthinking and unseeing.