Minos PoV [https://i.imgur.com/xRb2dh9.jpg]
“What the fuck?!” Ashvell stood up from his seat. His blue eyes open wide in a mixture of disbelief and confusion while and his jaw dropped low in a state of shock. He looked at Minos across the table, who also rose from his seat, then to Lira who was then kneeling on the floor, blood dripping from her neck.
“What are you doing?” she growled. Her bloodshot eyes looked up at the young nobleman. Minos raised the dagger he was holding and pointed it at the drow huntress.
“Who are you?” Minos repeated.
Ashvell rushed to help Lira, putting pressure on the wound on her neck.
“What are you doing, dude?” he asked his friend.
“He’s gone crazy!” yelled the drow huntress with gritted teeth.
Minos made sure not to hit Lira’s trachea. His intention, after all, was for her to answer his questions. He specifically angled his dagger upwards and aimed to only so severe any of the arteries or veins on her neck. He also made sure not to strike too deep to keep her alive for as long as possible.
Ashvell ripped a length of fabric from the blanket on the nearby bed and started gently wrapping it around Lira’s neck.
“The next time I strike you with this dagger, you will be dead. So, answer me, who are you and where is Lira?” Minos asked again.
“Dude, she’s Lira!” cried Ashvell.
“They must have messed with his head, brainwashed him or something,” explained Lira. She stood up with the help of Ashvell.
Minos took a step closer to the young driver, “That thing is not Lira.”
“What are you talking about? It’s Lira! Open your eyes, bro. Look at her!” Ashvell pleaded.
Lira looked around, looking for any weapon she could use to defend herself. Behind her, by their heap of bags and knapsacks, she noticed the hilt of Minos’ short sword. She stepped backward as Ashvell shielded her from Minos’ view.
“Move aside, Ashvell!” yelled the young nobleman.
“He’s bewitched!” cautioned Lira. She continued stepping backwards, reaching for the sword far behind her while Ashvell stretched out his arms wide to cover her retreat.
“Wake up bro, or whatever. You’re not making any sense. This is Lira, and you almost killed her.”
“That thing is not Lira. The real Lira would never let me say what I said about you and Cassana. The real Lira would smack me in the head just for being disparaging and inconsiderate,” explained Minos.
Ashvell turned his head to look at Lira, having a hard time comprehending what his friend was talking about. His eyes studied the drow from head to toe, as she picked up and wielded the short sword she found among their things. She looked like Lira to him.
He faced Minos again, more confused than before.
Minos’ patience was waning out. He thought about tackling his friend, but it wouldn’t be optimal, given their differences in size. Ashvell was half-a-foot taller than him. Heavier and stronger too. He needed a way to convince him of what he was saying.
“Grab him Ashvell,” Lira ordered. “We can take him to Cassana, and she can remove whatever spell he’s under.”
“You hear that?” Ashvell said to Minos. “You’re under a spell! They must have hypnotized you, or something…”
Minos’ eyes fluttered for a second, showing their whites. He sighed before finally coming up with something. “If that is Lira, where is Scout?”
“What?” Ashvell replied.
“Ask her where Scout is. That critter never leaves her side,” added Minos.
The young driver turned to Lira again and started asking, “Where is Scout, Lira?”
Lira’s shoulder tensed. “Scout is…” Her eyes wandered around, looking for an answer. When it seemed that she couldn’t find one, her postured changed and looked straight at Ashvell. “...Scout is busy… fucking some other rodent…” Her expression quickly shifted, turning her pleading scowl into a cocky grin in the most disturbing way.
Minos smirked. The satisfied smirk he gives when he proves himself right. Ashvell, however, was still left a little baffled.
“Really? The raccoon? That’s what gets me?” chuckled the person masquerading as Lira.
The thing they were talking to had the face and voice of Lira, yet it moved and talked in a manner far different from the Lira they knew. Minos felt his skin crawl.
“Scout is not a raccoon, he’s a ferret,” explained Ashvell. He stood still, slowly grasping the truth in front of him. “You look like Lira, but you’re not her?”
The thing sniggered at Ashvell, while Minos gave a sympathetic shrug.
“Ashvell is not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed,” he said, apologetically.
“You don’t say,” dismissed the thing. “But you, you figured it out the moment the step in, didn’t you?”
“Give yourself a little credit,” Minos snarked. “I only figured it out when you started talking. You probably think she talks and acts like the other drows you know, but Lira is different.” She has compassion, she is kind-hearted, tolerant. Minos kept the last few words to himself. Her former didn’t like it when he goes overdramatic.
“How… how did you do that?” asked Ashvell. His face, a mixture of disgust and awe.
“A spell? Glamour?” Minos tried to confirm.
“I can do a little demonstration.” The thing pulled the makeshift bandage that Ashvell wrapped around its neck. The gash that Minos made started to close itself shut, reconnecting the veins, and tightening the muscles, until finally it was covered back in skin.
It spread its arms to the side, palms facing upward. Parts of their body started to contort and twist, like wringing a piece of laundry. The color of Lira’s leather armor faded and, in turn, appeared green. Its shape morphed into that of a bodice fastened by lacing on the front. The padding on their shoulders popped and turned into a fine fabric hemmed by a set of frills.
Lira’s brown breeches also took a different form. Its threads pulled apart, untangling like a spider’s web. It then reformed and meshed together, growing wide and flowy, until it became a skirt. The cloth seemed to crawl downward, finally reaching its wearer’s ankle. Then the boots pulled away, shifting, and shrinking into a pair of little pattens.
The two boys then looked up at the thing’s face. Patches of white pigmentation started growing all over its skin, like a serious case of vitiligo. It went on until its face turned pale and freckled. Its red eyes turned green, and its dark brown hair became a bright shade of red.
“Hi Ashvell,” Cassana’s voice rang out of the thing’s mouth.
The young driver lurched backwards in shock.
“I know how you feel about me,” the thing continued in Cassana’s voice. “I know about the stolen glances and the thankless gestures, about your loyalty and dedication to me. Most importantly, I know what it is that your heart desires…”
Her voice, speaking in a sultry manner, pulled Ashvell into a trance. Meanwhile, his every muscle tightened as the thing in Cassana’s form approached him, gently placing her palms over his cheeks. He stood in silence, like a chiseled wood carving waiting to be brought to life; his eyes unblinking, fixated on the image of his childhood friend touching his body.
“Cass…” his heartbeat raced, and his head ached at the throbbing of his veins.
“She’s not Cassana,” Minos cried from behind Ashvell. He tried to step in, but the thing gave him a stern look. She was still holding the short sword she took, tucked between her and Ashvell’s body. Her gesture implied that something bloody would befall his friend the moment he tried to intervene.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Ashvell!” he tried calling out to his friend again.
The thing ran her other hand across Ashvell’s body, starting from his cheeks. It slowly made its way down to his neck, then to his chest, under the folds of his tunic.
“Men are easy, you see…” it said in Cassana’s voice. “They are willing to believe a lie as long as the lie benefits them. If you tell them, you love them they are bound to believe it. Men all want the same thing: to be loved. Don’t you Ashvell?”
Minos shook his head. It was Cassana’s voice, and he could imagine her saying those exact words. But the way she spoke it, with a sultry drawl accompanied by the sexual overtone of her movements, it was from the Cassana he knew.
“Except your Lira trick didn’t work on me,” he refuted.
“My bad. I don’t usually take someone’s face without researching them first. But your drow friend started sniffing in places she doesn’t belong, so I had to improvise,” the thing explained as she was sliding her hand inside Ashvell’s trousers.
“Okay, you’ve made your point,” said Minos. “Step away from Ashvell.”
“Only if he asks me to.”
“Please, move back,” Ashvell complained soon as he found the nerve to speak.
The thing pulled her hand out and stepped back but kept the tip of her blade at Ashvell’s chest.
“What did you do to Lira? Did you kill her?” asked Minos.
“‘Captain Hrothgar’ killed her. Strangled to death by her old friend and companion. Imagine that; being killed by somebody you trusted the most, not even knowing why, confused, unable to comprehend…
“Seeing that look in people’s eyes… I live for that. It brings me… so much joy…” the thing grinned from ear to ear as she stared at Minos. “How about you Ashvell, do you want to die by Cassana’s hands?”
Rage quickly filled the young nobleman’s eyes. His mind went blank and all that could think of doing was lash out at the thing in front of him. He gripped the hilt of his dagger tight to keep his hand from shaking. He could feel his knee trying to give up, but the flash of Lira’s face in his head gave him the burst of strength he needed.
He jumped at the thing without hesitation. Holding Ashvell’s dagger in reverse, he aimed and slashed at Cassana’s face. The young driver stepped back to keep his distance, as the thing quickly motioned to block Minos’s assault with her sword.
The young nobleman easily swatted her sword arm away. It proved what he was thinking earlier: the thing doesn’t just imitate the physical form of another person; it copies their whole physiological make up. Cassana was smaller than him, she was leaner with less muscles on her arms, so overpowering the thing in her form is child’s play to Minos.
Once her defense was down, all he needed to do was keep hitting her, over and over, and over. He lost count of how many slashes he made like a cat scratching against a wooden post. When he stopped to take a breath, Cassana’s face was in tatters, and Minos’ hands were soaked in blood.
But the thing broke into a smile. One of her eyes--the one that was still intact--turned to look at him. “See?” she groaned. “You feel it too. The catharsis of ending one’s life, knowing your face is the last one they are going to see.”
“What are you?” Minos asked after coming around.
Minos heard the squelching of flesh and tissue as the thing’s open wounds started reforming, folding inward, but instead of reverting to its original state, it changed again to something different. A second passed by and its face was whole again, but instead of Cassana’s, it was Ashvell’s, staring back at the young nobleman with a sinister grin.
And with a bigger body came a heftier strength. The thing pulled himself away from getting pinned down against the wall, knocking Minos backwards.
“It’s me, bro.” Taunted the thing in Ashvell’s deep voice.
Minos and Ashvell, the real Ashvell, exchanged a look. The latter now fully understands what was happening. The former gave him a pleading look, A little help, will you?
Ashvell shook himself awake and stepped forward and moved closer to the fake Ashvell. With him and Minos working together, they could easily overpower him, they just have to find a way to disarm his weapon.
Minos studied their position. With only his puny dagger, it would be difficult for him to parry any attack that would come his way. All he could rely on was his footwork and he needed a wider space to dodge. The room they were in was not that big, so he moved away from the bed and knocked the table back.
Together with Ashvell, they encircled the thing, waiting for him to attack, but he wouldn’t. Minos grew frustrated and launched a feint strike, but their opponent was quick.
The thing raised his sword to try and parry, and after realizing that Minos’ dagger wouldn’t even reach him, he quickly turned and shifted his defense against Ashvell, who was also about to throw a punch at his back. The two continued their combination of attacks, but their opponent managed to hold down his defense.
Minos breathed in. They needed a better approach. Despite what it looked like, the thing had the advantage. His weapon had a longer reach and they were in a tight location that limited the movements of their attacks. Not to mention its uncanny reflexes, and its inhuman ability to disregard any physical damage.
The young nobleman realized that trying to hurt the fake Ashvell might not be a good idea. He glanced at the real Ashvell and signaled for him to go low. Minos made multiple feints, hoping to find a pattern in their enemy’s movement. Or at least wait for their opponent to make a mistake.
Which he did, a couple of seconds later. The thing bought Minos’ swing and left a part of their defense open. Ashvell quickly lunged and grabbed his doppelganger across his shoulder and neck. He also pushed his sword arm away from the young nobleman, which he took advantage of in turn.
Minos knocked the short sword away from his hand, but the thing lifted his hip and kicked Minos away with both his legs. The young nobleman lost balance and fell backwards.
Ashvell tightened his grab, but his doppelganger squirmed and slipped away from his hold. He twisted his body around and wrapped both his palms around Ashvell’s neck. The young driver did the same, and even pushed themselves back against the wall, making a loud thud. They twisted and spun around as both tried to strangle the other and break free at the same time.
Eventually, both of them landed on the floor, rolling sidewards as they both struggled.
When Minos stood up, he came to behold a rather complicated sight. Two Ashvells exchanged turns strangling each other’s neck, and he couldn’t figure out which was the real one.
“Ashvell!” he called out to his friend.
Both of them turned to face him, both bearing the same look on their faces. “Minos!” both shouting back for his name, asking for his help.
“Oh shit!” Minos exclaimed. He paused to think of his next move.
One of the Ashvell’s emerged on top, overpowering the other. He had his fingers around the one at the bottom while his hips were pressed above his stomach.
The bottom Ashvell was struggling to get free, kicking and swinging his knees and legs. He tried reaching for the top Ashvell’s neck, but the latter was blocking him with his elbows.
“I got him!” said the Ashvell on top.
Minos picked up his short sword on the floor and carefully walked towards the two. He aimed his blade at the top Ashvell.
“What are you doing?” he asked the young nobleman.
“Help… hel—” struggled the bottom Ashvell.
Minos hesitated for a moment, trying his best to assess the situation. He and Ashvell hung out a lot during their travel to this city, but now he was starting to second-guess himself about how much he really knew him.
He stepped closer, and he could see the two Ashvells tensing up at his approach.
“What-- It’s me. He’s the fake one,” cried the one on top.
Minos raised his sword arm, his gaze fixed on to the one on top. He took a deep breath, trying to think of another way; but his mind had been all drained up. From the prison to the sewers, to the mansion of the Thieves’ Guild’s leader; to his sleep that was cut-short, and finally here, to the current mess he found himself in. He felt like he finally reached his limit, and just wanted the day to be over.
The young nobleman swung the sword down, aiming to hit the one on top.
The top Ashvell let go of the bottom Ashvell and tried to block Minos’ attack with his hand. However, he underestimated how sharp Minos’ sword was, and how strong was his shoulder and upper arm. The blade swept through his hand, cutting it off clean in the middle. He yelped in pain and clambered out of his look-alike. He slid backwards, away from Minos.
The bottom Ashvell cautiously stood up, catching his breaths in between coughs. He tried to step close to Minos, but the latter snarled at him. He carried an intense and feral glare, the look of a man who was at his wits end.
Minos looked back at the wounded Ashvell. He was mewling softly at the corner, face covered with tears and snot. He was holding his bleeding, mutilated hand with his other hand as he stared back at him. He suddenly felt his heart sink at the sight of his friend.
“I’m… I’m sorry…” mumbled Minos, as he snapped away from his desperate, momentary frenzy.
The expression on the wounded Ashvell’s face appeared that of a child, helpless and meek. A flutter of guilt swept Minos’ chest followed by a wave of cold sweat crawling up his skin. He felt his stomach writhe as the acrid taste of bile raced up his throat.
“Sorry…” he repeated before looking at the other Ashvell who was keeping his distance, waiting for Minos to move.
In between the two standing men, the severed hand of the wounded Ashvell lay lifeless on the floor in a pool of blood. They both stared at it, studying it with curiosity. Then suddenly, the stump of flesh and muscle turned black under the candle-lit room, before withering away into dust in a matter of seconds.
Both men heard a hushed cackle and they both turned to find the wounded Ashvell harboring a disturbing smirk. “I got you!” he sniggered.
“Did you know that wasn’t me?” asked the other Ashvell, the one standing an arm’s length away from Minos.
“No,” sighed Minos. “I took a chance.”
The fake Ashvell kept laughing, but in between his breaths Minos sensed his grunts of pain. He observed his wounded hand to see if it reforms, but it didn’t.
“So, you can die,” he commented.
“It takes time, sometimes…” The fake Ashvell raised his mutilated hand putting it on full display.
Minos and Ashvell moved to grab the thing off his ass. He didn’t even attempt to protest, or complain, which was a relief for both men. They propped him to a chair and tied him up.
“That could’ve been me,” complained the young driver.
“Fifty-fifty, those are good odds,” reassured the young nobleman.
“No, it’s not. Do you even gamble? Those are terrible odds,” Ashvell whinged.
It was enough reason for him to crack a smile, despite his perturbation about the real Lira’s fate. In recognition of their small victory, Minos raised his fist up and Ashvell bumped it with his own. That was when they heard the sound of somebody stepping on the wooden floor.
They both turned around to find Robb out of bed, standing barefoot behind them, wrinkling his eyes awake.
“Minos? Ashvell? What’s going on?” he asked the two.
The grown-ups gave way to show Robb the thing that they had caught, but they were too distracted to notice the familiar sound of squelching flesh. The young boy’s eyes widened in shock at the sight he beheld.
“Mama?” Robb cried.
The two turned around to check on their captive. Minos didn’t recognize whose face it bore now, but Ashvell did.
It was the face of Hrothgar’s lieutenant, who calls herself Deniece von Schreiber. But she wasn’t wearing her military uniform. Instead, she was wearing a pair of old chemise and kirtle, her hair unkempt, and her face bare.
It was also the face of Nissa, Robb’s mom.
“Oh, my boy,” she pleaded in a feeble tone. “My little Robin. Come help your mother… “