“Tributelle!” Shaska exclaimed in disbelief.
“Tributelle?” Schwarz asked, approaching his boss along with Samudra and Zinnia.
“Tributelle… my daughter…” she responded, mildly seething.
Mother and daughter looked each other dead in the eye and exhaled smoke. The disdain in the air was palpable.
“It’s nice to see you too, mother,” said Tributelle. “You’re looking well… for someone who defrauded the feds out of billions of losas and then slaughtered a city.”
“Please tell me you don’t actually believe I did the second one,” Shaska responded.
A five-year-old Tributelle ran up to her mother. “Mommy! Look at the picture I made of us!” she said with a smile.
“Oh. A child,” twenty-three-year-old Shaska replied dryly, puffing on her cigar and not looking up from her work.
“Mommy?”
Shaska grabbed her daughter’s drawing and touched her cigar to it, setting it on fire and burning it to ash. The young Tributelle started crying.
“Next time do something that makes me money,” Shaska bluntly said, blowing smoke in her daughter’s face.
“Ugh, well… good to see you’re still a disappointment, working for some new world order that does nothing about the enslavement of our people or, frankly, anything of note except steal money from sovereign countries,” Shaska said with a puff of smoke.
The other members of Worldwide Smoke present couldn’t believe she’d talk to her own child that way… or, maybe they could.
Tributelle’s eyes flickered, the faintest spark of a smirk tugging at her lips. “And what of your good-for-nothing brother?” Shaska continued.
“Tributio is on a different assignment,” Tributelle replied, still calm, still cold. “Though I’m sure he’d love to bring you in, just like I would.”
“So, you’re here to take me in? Even though this is way outside your jurisdiction? You’d really arrest your own mother?” Shaska sneered.
Tributelle scoffed. “I have no mother. You and I both know I was always a burden to you, just a source of government benefits. You literally named me ‘tax girl’ in the Serenist liturgical language.
“Besides, my main goal here is to put the screws to Prince Ta’Gup XIV. Just like you, he’s a cheapskate. Except he’s defrauding the Global Federation out of a whole bunch of money, rather than the Provinces.”
She cracked her knuckles (and a smile), saying “but I can always say something else came up and turn you over to the feds instead.”
“Girl…” Shaska growled. She cracked her knuckles, too, saying “don’t make me come over there and be a parent.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Tributelle responded. She held her hand up and flicked her index finger in her mother’s direction. A sharp blast of Aether flew out and cleanly sliced Shaska’s cigar in two, leaving a scratch on her cheek. Shaska’s blood really started to boil, and she clenched her fists.
Shaska flew toward her daughter, who steeled herself with Aether as her mother came in for a flying punch. Tributelle crossed her arms in front of her face, not budging an inch as Shaska’s fist collided with her arms and sparks flew.
Schwarz, Zinnia, and Samudra drew their weapons in preparation for combat, but Shaska barked them down. “Stay out of this! This is between me and the brat!”
“Distraction will cost you a battle, mother,” Tributelle growled, poking her mother in the shoulder with the force of a bullet.
Shaska howled in pain as she jumped back and Tributelle’s finger was now covered in her mother’s blood. Shaska clenched her bleeding shoulder and glared at her estranged daughter.
“Get to the palace!” Shaska ordered. Schwarz, Zinnia, and Samudra took off as they were told. Tributelle, in turn, seemingly teleported behind Shaska and delivered a powerful, Aether-infused kick to the back of her mother’s head, sending her flying into the cafe.
“Hm. I quite liked that coffee. Perhaps I should have planned my attack better,” Tributelle mused as she landed.
As the cafe workers fled, Shaska stood up and rubbed the back of her head. She started pulling all the water out of the cafe with her Aqua Bulla and began to swirl it around her fingers. Tributelle simply puffed on her cigarette, then blitzed forward and landed a devastating knee strike into Shaska’s face, sending her flying through the back wall and the next building over.
----------------------------------------
Franco and Johnson landed their airship at the port of Nagar and disembarked. A federal agent ran up to them with news.
“Agents Franco and Johnson! Sirs! We’ve just received an alert from police in the capital that the assassins from last night have entered the city and have taken hostages!”
“Crap,” said Franco, face in his hand.
“Also, sirs, it seems that Shaska the Greedy is, in fact, in the country, specifically in Shahar as well. She’s currently battling someone the police say is also an assassin.”
“Oh no! What if that assassin kills her before we can bring her in?” Johnson asked, anxiety flickering across his face.
Franco straightened up, a steely resolve taking over. “We have to get to Shahar. Now.”
Johnson turned to the agent who delivered the news, asking “what’s the fastest route to Shahar?”
“Sir! There are no other points of entry for Losanian airships of this size into the country. It would take specialized aircraft to land in the mountainous terrain of Shahar! Our only methods of getting there would be on foot, which would take several days, or to charter the giant birds at the airport here! They say taking a bird will be the fastest!!”
“Looks like we have our answer then,” said Franco.
Johnson grimaced. “That’s gonna be pricey. You think our budget can cover it?”
“We don’t really have any other options,” Franco responded, his voice hardened. “Let’s go. And pray to Serenicus that Shaska’s still there by the time we arrive.”
----------------------------------------
Tributelle ducked through the jagged holes in the walls that she made with her last attack. In the wreckage was Shaska laying on a pile of rubble, her purple blood dripping down her face. Tributelle stood over her mother’s broken body and puffed her cigarette.
“You’re rusty, mother,” she said, voice dripping with disdain. “This is the power of the great bounty hunter, Shaska the Greedy? Pathetic.”
Shaska did not take kindly to this. She kicked her feet in a circle, knocking Tributelle off balance. As Tributelle stumbled, Shaska shot up, grabbed Tributelle’s head, then slammed their heads together with all her might. Tributelle was stunned further, and Shaska used this opportunity to grab her daughter’s wrists and, focusing Aether into her hands, crush the bones in Tributelle’s wrists. She finished with a jumping spin kick to Tributelle’s face, knocking her down.
As Tributelle struggled to her feet through her broken wrists by pushing herself up with her tail, Shaska pulled out a new cigar and sparked it up. Tributelle pulled up her sleeves slightly to inspect the damage; her wrists were horribly bruised, but at least no bones were sticking out.
“You learn your lesson, you little ankle-biter?” Shaska asked with a puff of her cigar. “You can’t do your little finger poke technique anymore.”
“Heh,” was all Tributelle managed to say before teleporting behind Shaska again. Tributelle went in for a kick, but Shaska raised her hand to intercept. Anticipating this, Tributelle teleported into the nearest building with an Aether Flash, then again behind her mother. Shaska’s eyes kept darting back and forth in an attempt to follow her daughter’s movement.
“Let’s see how perceptive you are, mom!” Tributelle shouted, coating the last word with as much venom as she could. She began teleporting around her mother seemingly at random.
“Focus, Shaska…” Shaska thought. She closed her eyes, feeling the differences in Aether and air pressure as Tributelle zipped around faster than the eye could track.
“Gotcha!” she called as she reached out in front of her. But she was too slow, and Tributelle teleported above her and brought her heel down on her mother’s head, causing her to bite through her cigar. Tributelle immediately followed up with a kick to the small of her mother’s back, sending her flying into another building. She finished by kicking the air at lightning speed as Shaska stood up, sending a razor sharp blast of Aether soaring through the air at her mother.
Shaska took the attack head-on. The building was sliced apart, but Shaska managed to survive with a massive slash across her abdomen by steeling herself with Aether. As the building collapsed on top of her, she spat out the cigar nub still in her mouth and lit up another new cigar, seemingly unperturbed by her blood loss, her quickly dwindling Aether reserves, and, well, the fact a multi-story building was collapsing on top of her.
----------------------------------------
Carne leaned back in a cauldron, sighing as the purple goo he was soaking in worked its magic. "Aaaah... this is nice," he said, the itch of the Machchar mosquito bites already fading from his skin. He stuck a finger in the goo and gave it a curious taste. “Not half bad, either! What did you say this stuff was called again?”
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Ground Phalphal Fruit,” the Shahar doctor replied, amused. “Cures any sort of itch, even that of the Machchar mosquito. Seems you ran into quite a lot of them.”
“I sure did!” Carne exclaimed, grinning as he sank deeper into the goo. “I was covered in ‘em.”
The doctor’s office was cheap, being in the open air without much privacy in a backwater country, but it was all Carne could afford.
“You’ll have to go to the market to actually buy them, but generally they go for fifteen losas a fruit,” said the doctor.
“Yo, Andy!” Carne called out to the couple, who were sitting outside at a restaurant right across the street. “You gotta buy some of these fruits!’
Andy grinned between mouthfuls of spiced chicken. “After lunch!” he replied, his eyes practically sparkling. “This food is unreal! Best chicken I’ve ever had.”
“And I’m on my eleventh Jaljeera mojito!” Roxanne added, swirling her drink with a smirk. She was somehow still composed despite her excessive drinking.
But the peace shattered when Corcoran came barreling down the street, a cloud of dust trailing behind him. Police officers chased him, their long legs gaining ground quickly on the little man, who looked weighed down by a massive string bass strapped to his back.
“Stop! Assassin!” one of the officers shouted, causing everyone in the street to pause, including the Worldwide Smoke members.
“Assassin?” Andy, Roxanne, and Carne exchanged looks, their expressions shifting from casual curiosity to concern. Carne, mid-dip in the cauldron, froze with his hands still in the goo.
Corcoran came to a screeching halt, panting but grinning wildly. “Oh, to hell with this!” he declared, throwing off his hooded cloak in a dramatic flourish. As the fabric fell away, it revealed a light-skinned man with a massive pink afro, puffed up to the size of his head.
“Is that... an afro?” Andy muttered, blinking in disbelief.
“How did he even hide that?” Carne wondered, eyes wide.
Corcoran ignored the stares and planted his bass firmly into the ground. “You guys ready for some JAZZ?!” he shouted, his voice echoing down the street.
The police officers, unfazed by the absurdity, drew their guns and pointed them at Corcoran. But the assassin simply smirked and plucked the first notes on his bass. It was a sound that filled the air, impossibly smooth and hypnotic—a syncopated, bluesy riff that wormed its way into everyone’s ears.
Almost immediately, everyone within earshot began to sway. The police officers dropped their guns, pairing off and dancing with each other, their feet moving in perfect time to Corcoran’s melody.
“What... what’s happening?!” an officer shouted, his body moving against his will as he twirled his partner.
“You’re daaaaamn right, ya jive turkey!” Corcoran called out, the rhythm tightening its grip on the crowd. “My potentia’s called Salsa Saltare! Anyone who hears my bass gets caught in the groove! You can't fight the music!”
The street was overtaken by the infectious rhythm. Even Carne, still lounging in the cauldron, was suddenly dancing, his limbs splashing purple goo everywhere as he shimmied to the beat. “W-what the hell?!” Carne gasped, his body moving uncontrollably. He danced, naked, in the sticky cauldron.
Andy and Roxanne were caught in the same trance, swaying to the rhythm as they felt compelled to stand up. “This... this is a problem,” Andy managed to say, trying and failing to draw his gun, the music overtaking him. Roxanne, somehow, was still able to sip from her mojito as she grooved.
Corcoran’s eyes gleamed with glee as he reached into his coat and pulled out a knife. “Time to cut the tension,” he said with a deadly smile.
Before the officers could react, Corcoran dashed into their midst, his blade flashing. In a blur, he slashed through their ranks, gutting the officers with precision—stabbing their sides, slicing through throats—before they even had a chance to scream. Blood splattered onto the street, mingling with the hypnotic rhythm as Corcoran returned to his bass, laying down the groove once more.
“And now... what to do with the witnesses?” Corcoran wondered aloud, casting his eyes on Andy, Roxanne, and Carne, all still swaying helplessly to his music.
“This... has become a very difficult situation,” Andy muttered, sweat pouring down his face as his hips refused to stop moving.
Roxanne somehow managed to down the rest of her drink without missing a step.
----------------------------------------
Lulupo and Rima entered a local boutique with an interest in buying some new clothes. The racks were lined with all sorts of fancy Panipuri clothes in a variety of bright colors.
“Good afternoon! Welcome to Kapade Boutique!” the shopkeeper greeted. “How can I…”
She then noticed Rima’s sorry excuse for clothing, marking her as Unclean. “I’m sorry, sir. Is that an Unclean you have with you?”
“And if she is?” Lulupo asked defiantly.
“It will have to leave,” the shopkeeper said bluntly. “I will not have it sullying my fine clothes with its filthy, dung-ridden hands.”
“I apologize for my insolence, ma’am,” Rima said with a bow. She turned to leave, but Lulupo grabbed her hand and pulled her back.
“Rima, darling, we’re fighting this oppressive class system peacefully,” he said. “Go and pick out some new clothes.”
“If it does not leave at once, I will call the police,” said the shopkeeper, growing more impatient. “And you, sir, will have to leave, too, for bringing this filth into my store!”
“I will do no such thing!” Lulupo replied, putting his hands on his hips. Rima just stood there, unsure of what to do.
It was at that point that “Gaborielle” ducked into the store after being chased by the cops. He lowered his hood to get a better look around… and he made eye contact with Lulupo.
“Hello… Charles Lulupo…” he said, flipping his hair back.
“Hello… Gabo Enriquez,” Lulupo replied coldly.
The shopkeeper saw the police run past and frantically tried to get their attention, but to no avail.
“It’s Gaborielle Enriquez, now,” said Gabo. “I decided to change, darling.”
Again, Rima was confused. “Mr. Lulupo, is this man a friend of yours?”
Gabo struck Lulupo. “You idiot! Don’t you ever talk to another man like that again!”
“B-but, Gabo!” Lulupo cried, tears streaming down his face. “It’s not like that, I swear!”
Lulupo paused. “Not anymore,” he said acridly.
----------------------------------------
Schwarz, Zinnia, and Samudra sprinted down the bustling main street of Shahar, weaving through the throngs of people, dodging cars that honked aggressively and side-stepping piles of cow dung. The urgency of reaching the palace weighed heavily on all of them—except Zinnia, whose thoughts seemed adrift as she ran.
From a nearby alley, Ubitsa emerged, cracking his neck and stretching his broad shoulders. His dark cloak billowed slightly as he shook off the dust of evading the police. “Ah, finally got rid of those damn cops…” he muttered, eyes closed.
Without warning, Zinnia slammed right into him, sending both stumbling backward. She fell to the ground in a heap of confusion while Ubitsa stood still, his face darkening with irritation. Schwarz and Samudra skidded to a halt, instinctively readying themselves for trouble.
Zinnia quickly scrambled to her feet, brushing herself off. “Oh, Sir! I apologize profusely for my clumsiness!” she exclaimed, bowing repeatedly.
Ubitsa’s eyes, now fully open and glinting with cold malice, flicked down at her, then rose to meet Samudra’s gaze. His lips curled into a slow, predatory smile as recognition dawned. “Wait a moment… I know you,” he said, his voice a low rumble. His grip tightened on the cloak he was removing. “You’re Prince Samudra… the crown prince’s brother. I’ve seen your face in the papers.”
Samudra’s breath caught in his throat, his mind flashing to the memory of his brother disowning him. “Uh… well… uh…” he stammered, trying to think of a way out of this.
Ubitsa’s eyes narrowed, the predator locking onto his prey. “Capturing you,” he continued, his voice gaining strength, “will give us great leverage over the future king. Perhaps you’re not entirely useless after all.” With a flourish, Ubitsa threw off his cloak, revealing the massive battle axe strapped to his back. The blade glinted menacingly in the midday sun, promising destruction.
“Actually, sir,” Zinnia piped up with a clueless smile, “Prince Samudra has been disowned by his brother and has brought great shame upon his family. He is no longer a royal!”
Schwarz’s eyes widened in horror as Samudra groaned, slapping his forehead.
Ubitsa paused for a moment, blinking. “Disowned?” His brow furrowed in thought, but it didn’t take long for his cold pragmatism to surface. “No matter,” he said, tightening his grip on the axe. “Your head is still worth something. And I’ll take the rest of you for good measure.”
“Zinnia! Think before you speak!” Schwarz yelled, already grabbing Samudra and bolting down the street. Ubitsa let out a growl, hefting his axe high into the air, ready to strike.
“But I always think before I speak,” Zinnia replied, turning to look at Schwarz, completely unaware of the incoming danger. Ubitsa’s axe came crashing down toward her back with a bone-crushing force.
In the nick of time, Meilong hissed furiously, her helmeted head intercepting the axe with a loud clang. The sheer force of the blow reverberated through the air, causing Zinnia to finally turn back around, her eyes widening in surprise.
“Oh! Sir, if you wanted to fight, all you had to do was ask,” Zinnia said calmly, her voice soft and unperturbed as Meilong uncoiled and stiffened, ready for the next attack.
----------------------------------------
Elsewhere in Shahar, Ren was walking around with her rifle slung over her back. She heard gunshots from the nearby hotel.
“Ah… crap…” she thought aloud.
As she rounded the corner, she found police outside the hotel, but not with their guns drawn. She looked up, and at the top of the hotel was Kandar, smoke billowing out of his pipe and his rifle. On the building across the street was the police sniper, slumped over dead.
“Now what?” asked one of the officers. “That’s ‘Blazing’ Kandar. He was a sniping ace during the Great War, over a thousand confirmed kills. It’s only natural he’d take out our sniper as soon as we got set up.”
Kandar laughed as he puffed on his pipe. “I’m a bit stuck right now… might as well have some fun…” He scanned the area, looking for potential targets. And he locked eyes with Ren on the ground, taking note of her rifle.
“Uh oh…” she said, catching his gaze. She readied her rifle and took off, looking for cover or a perch to shoot from.
“Looks like the battle has already begun…” she thought.
----------------------------------------
Schwarz and Samudra made it to the grand Shahar palace, only to find the guards out front gate were dead. They had bled out from slash wounds to their necks. The doors to the gate were open, and every other guard that had rushed into support was also dead. The magnificent front door was ajar, again, with dead guards in front.
“This is not good…” said Samudra.
“What tipped you off, big guy?” Schwarz snarked.
The pair dashed forward and flung the doors open, to find Cazimir in the process of massacring every guard he could find with the sheath of his sword, which was somehow drawing blood.
Schwarz locked eyes with Cazimir, the buzzcutted man with the scars covering his face. The scar on Schwarz’s chest began to hurt. He reflexively drew his sword and growled “...you…”
“Hm…?” Cazimir asked, turning to face Samudra and Schwarz, casually killing the last guard. “I’m sorry, do I know you two?”
“You took everything from me!” Schwarz shouted at him.
Cazimir gave a blank stare. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to be a little more specific,” he said.
“Samudra, go find your brother. I’ll take care of this,” said Schwarz, not breaking eye contact with Cazimir.
Samudra did just that, running ahead past Cazimir, who didn’t attempt to stop him. Instead, he was more intrigued by Schwarz. “I’m sorry… did one of my jobs accidentally leave a survivor?”
“You bet your ass it did!” Schwarz declared, opening a portal under his feet. He teleported right behind and above Cazimir, aiming to plant Umbra Lux in his neck. Cazimir blocked it with his sheathed sword without even turning around. Somehow, the sheathed sword caused sparks to fly.
“Fascinating…” he said. He turned to face Schwarz, stroking his chin as he towered over him, eight feet tall to Schwarz’s six.
“Impress me, kid.”
----------------------------------------
The building collapsed on top of Shaska with a loud crash. Tributelle stood there and stared at the rubble, waiting and puffing on her cigarette. After about a minute, Tributelle spoke up with “c’mon, mother, we both know you’re not dead.”
The rubble of the building started to move, and out popped Shaska, bleeding and carrying the building’s main support beam like a club
“Hah,” she laughed with a puff of smoke. “We both also know this fight has just started.”