Alistaire Caldwell stumbled his way, carefully, through the upper levels of the Inheritors’ Sanctuary with as much stealth as his inebriated mind could muster. It had been another long, and ultimately uneventful day of carousing and drinking to stave off the feeling of overhanging doom which blanketed their entire collective. For all that the Nephilim had been found, and that damned quest had appeared; there was no real immediate resolution in sight for the centuries—no, millennia that their order had been hidden like rats beneath Stormharrow.

Bjorn and the Legatii that had come before him had done their duty well, and with honour, and ensured the survival of the Inheritors through countless tragic events. From the accidental exposure of the Warrens—a name Alistaire still hated—to the Adventurers’ Guild, and the subsequent bloodbath that occurred to stop them reporting the discovery; to the careful placement of Knights within the Order of the Storm and other, less prestigious ‘Chivalric’ Orders as living insurance policies; and finally the assassination of Lords Captain of the Solari Militant that came just a little too close to discovering their existence.

Those were just three such crises that Bjorn Victus Adamantus had saved them from.

There were more, so many more, that Alistaire—for all his fifty-five years of service—couldn’t even begin to name. He, of course, was only Initiate-level himself.

“I have to be the unluckiest bastard in the world,” he muttered while shuffling onward.

Despite all his best efforts, and repeated attempts at gathering strength through Realmgate Dungeons and the Desolation itself, he had failed to properly build his foundation during his Initiate-level Infusions, and had subsequently stalled on the path to Adept.

Which was why he found himself, a Seraii in name if not in power, drunken-stealthing his way past the myriad residences of the uppermost level of the Warrens—or Inheritors’ Sanctuary, as he preferred—with a singular focus: going to sleep, and hoping that the next day somehow delivered him from the vicissitudes that had ruined his potential.

It was a vain hope, but it was all he had.

Alistaire’s footsteps carried him past several rooms, and his carefully honed hearing picked up more than a few whispered discourses or the idle sound of flesh meeting flesh. He snorted quietly under his breath at the hedonistic abandon many of his compatriots showed, and chuckled softly while he stumbled along. There was no reason to judge, of course, but he couldn’t help but find the whole thing woefully futile.

Who wanted to risk bringing a child into a world run by immortal despots?

His wobbly pace took him past two more doors, these more firmly locked, and he spied the end of the extended row where his own domicile was located. Relief and the anticipation of a good rest flooded his drunken bones, and he smiled lazily in anticipation of another night of ale-assisted dreams. It was going to be—

“...ready for whenever the Princess dies.”

Alistaire blinked and slowed in his walk at the sound of a familiar voice he couldn’t quite place in his drunken stupor, and glanced to his right. A small access alley was cut between residences for dumping refuse into the sewer system far below, among other uses, and Alistaire noticed that a window—recently opened, he guessed—had not been properly closed.

Voices carried just enough for his Scout’s Senses skill to passively hear.

Had he not had the skill and Infused it, like a fool, with Hawk Owl Essence, he’d have heard nothing.

“The Faith Militant are definitely prepared? There can’t be any mistakes, or else we’ll lose everything.”

That’s Edward’s voice! Alistaire realised suddenly. Edward and… Talennia?

Two of the Council speaking about the Faith Militant like allies? It made no sense.

Alistaire glanced around, and then carefully propped up against the wall to listen.

“I told you, Eddie, I’ve got it handled,” Talennia assured him soothingly. “I’m as desperate to get out of this squalor as you are, and I have assurances from the highest levels. Once the Princess is dead, and the Nephilim is secured, all we have to do is ensure that the Inheritors cause enough of a scene that the Hierarch can declared martial law.”

“I take it he’s summoned more of the Solari Militant to help?”

“Elenoir did, yes. Paranoid bitch. She looks at me like I’m a dog, sometimes.”

Edward grunted at that, and Alistaire heard what sounded like an unbuckling belt.

“Something is wrong with that one,” Edward responded with his distinctive rasp. “She looks haunted one second, and cold as marble the next. Jumps at shadows when she thinks no one can see her, too.”

“I hope I get the chance to put her in her place, once the Hierarch ordains me.” Talennia said with a tone of whiny entitlement that set Alsitaire on edge. “I already let that old creep touch me in ways that make my skin crawl, and he definitely groped me when I was baptised.”

“You’ve told me this before.” Edward rasped impatiently. “I already promised I’d kill him when we could do so without being noticed.”

“Hierarch Talennia Madrigold.” she demured with a soft laugh. “That has a nice ring to it.”

“You’re too ambitious by half, Len.” Edward chastised while the sound of what Alistaire assumed to be leathers hitting the floor carried to him.

“That’s only because I…” Talennia’s voice trailed off into soft giggles, and Alistaire’s racing heart was like thunder in his chest. He grit his teeth and, carefully, tried to shuffle closer to the window—his footing barely stable on the narrow edge expanding into the sharp drop of the alleyway.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The wooden balustrades keeping people out were more meant for children, generally, and were easily circumnavigated by adults. Besides, most Inheritors were at least at first Temper before they stopped Cultivating entirely, and the fall even from the highest levels was almost never fatal for them.

Sadly, more than a few had learned that the hard way.

“...only thing I value more than you, sweet one.” Edward’s rasp said with an abrupt return to regular octave, which almost sent Alistaire plummeting anyway. He bit back a curse and leaned toward the window, as carefully as he could, to listen more carefully.

“Your cock is the only thing I have on my mind, Eddie. I’m wet, naked, and ready and you’re talking about money.” Alistaire’s eyes widened at hearing Talennia speak that way, and he momentarily lost focus while he envisioned the busty Councilor naked on a bed, legs spread and inviting. “Gold can wait. Power will come with time. I need you to fuck me. I need you to make me feel every thrust of—”

Alistaire felt something like steel wrap around his neck, and before he could do more than wheeze he found himself wrenched through the suddenly-open window and thrown onto the floor of the residence.

Alistaire’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the lumens enchanted within their sconces, and he froze when he saw exactly what he’d imagined: Talennia, on her bed, naked as the day she’d been born. She stared at him with her intense, gold-flecked grey eyes like someone would look at a stray dog, and her lip curled in mirthless amusement while he stared.

One of her hands rose to cup a breast, and then Alistaire’s attention was very suddenly drawn to a length of steel pressed to his throat.

“Hello, Alistaire.”

“E-Edward.” Alistaire answered, while remaining wary of accidentally slitting his own throat with too much movement. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Talennia snorted derisively from the bed, and Edward—who Alistaire belatedly realised was also naked—bent down to stare him in the eye. The bearded man, who didn’t look a day older than a very healthy forty despite the sixty years he had on Alistaire, didn’t even blink. “You were spying on us.”

“I—I heard the sound of something hitting the floor, and I figured I’d—”

“Peek on me?” Talennia asked with disgust. “You pervert.”

“G-Guilty, aha.” Alistaire said with a very careful swallow, and hope for getting away. He had to warn Bjorn and the others, and hopefully stop whatever the two of them were planning before everyone in the Warrens ended up dead—or worse. “It’s been ages since I got some gash, Edward, and you know how the lads think of Len’s bod—”

“Ugh. Gross.” Talennia interrupted.

“Talennia is very talented with warding spells, Alistaire.” Edward said as if the woman hadn’t spoken. “The moment you put your back to the house, we knew you were there.”

Alistaire’s heart went still, and he couldn’t help but feel mild disbelief despite the situation. All hope of fleeing to warn the Legatus fled, and Alistaire felt the moment that hope abandoned him, and despair set in. Both Talennia and Edward were Third Temper. The entire Council, except for Agatha, were Third Temper. He could no more escape Edward, who had trained every one of the Seraii including Alistaire, than he could escape the wind.

“Then why did you keep talking?” he asked finally, and with genuine bewilderment.

“To lure you in, idiot.” Talennia said in a tone of bored contempt. “I communicated that we’d been compromised, and then we continued as normal. Eddie was ready to snatch you the moment you tried to scamper, but then you went and got curious when I went quiet.”

Talennia’s voice took on a mocking tone, and she spoke exactly as she had previously. “That’s only because I…” she trailed off into an immediate soft giggle, just like she had done prior.

“You really are the unluckiest fool in the Realms, Alistaire.” Edward said with what Alistaire might have charitably called pity, but was likely closer to derision.

“So what now?” Alistaire asked numbly.

“You’re going to die, Alistaire.” Edward said simply. “But I’ll give you mercy before you do. I’ll let you fuck Talennia. It’s the least I can do, after you managed to discover us before someone competent did instead.”

“I thought I’d locked the window.” Talennia said sulkily. “Now I have to fuck the moron as punishment?”

“Cause and effect, Len.” Edward said simply, and removed the blade from Alistaire’s neck.

Blatant disbelief warred with existential fear, and Alistaire didn’t even realise he was rising until he caught up to the fact that Edward was helping him to his feet. “Just don’t do something stupid like yell for help, Alistaire, and this’ll be the best night of your much shorter life.”

Alistaire turned to the blue-eyed man, turned back to Talennia’s nude form on the bed, and then let out an agonisingly sober chuckle. “Well, shit, Edward.” Alistaire said while reaching down to untie his leggings with a resigned acceptance. “You sure know how to make a guy’s last moments—”

WARNING: You have sustained Critical Damage!

Alistaire cut off with a gurgle, and his eyes darkened at the corners in the same moment as he felt a strange warmth seeping across his throat and torso. The bed, he noticed, had the strangest addition of red on it—and he stumbled forward by instinct, reaching out toward one of Talennia’s peach-coloured thighs.

The woman watched him with a bored smile, and Alistaire felt himself hit the bed.

“You’re a bastard, Eddie.” Talennia said with a quiet laugh.

“Poor sod really thought he’d get a chance with you,” Edward said piteously.

“He can still watch you fuck me,” Talennia said while spreading her legs and smiling lasciviously at the taller man. “Besides, you know murder makes me hot.”

“You’re broken in the head, Len.” Edward said while walking into Alistaire’s fading vision, while his Initiate-level body tried to counteract the lethal inevitability of a slit throat, and failed.

“We both are, Eddie.” Talennia said with a smile that didn’t fully reach her eyes. “This whole fucking place is broken. That’s why we agreed to find a way out, remember?”

Edward’s body bent over hers, and Talennia wrapped blood-splattered arms around his neck.

“I remember.” Edward assured her, while his left hand moved down to her thighs.

Alistaire’s last sight, when his body finally gave out a minute later, was of Talennia crying out in pleasure—thighs working in earnest and hands cupping her breasts—while she stared down into his dying eyes, and smiled crookedly at his fading consciousness.

The fact he had ever thought the blonde woman beautiful baffled him.

His last thought, surprising even to him, was almost amusing.

I really am the unluckiest bastard in the world.