Oh, mother of all, I have a path to the ones you seek. The mother, the daughter, and the Keter that guards them—but they are desired by not only we alone.
The Inheritors of the Barren Stars; the Unfallen’s Agents. They hunt the same prey, and I have been summoned to attendance. An Inheritor Project Master—one Harlon Seever, has called upon our expertise.
Oh, mother mine and all, I ask your favor to attend, I ask for your favor, for your joy and mine…
-Reunion, Lesser Spawn Kindred of the Dying Queen
61
Enemy Action
Harlon Seever struggled not to rub his right eye as he settled into his soft leather seat. The whole skull-fucking thing was getting annoying. The acts a man needed to inflict upon himself to secure a promotion was getting ridiculous in this town.
The grand desk he sat behind was an amalgam of flesh, bone, and mahogany. Rich slats of wood framed a squirming mass of still-living tissue, and something vaguely akin to a spine segmented the top part of the desk into neat grids. Within these grids were flayed faces sporting wide bloodshot eyes, open mouths, and dried tongues.
Letting out a sigh, Harlon regarded a face to his right as it blinked desperately at him. A nest of tongues pushed past rows of broken teeth as an almost inaudible whimper sounded from the table.
Harlon sighed softly. “You know, Johnny, some days I don't think you understand how lucky you are. You tried to screw me out of this position, but I didn't even kill you. You know what the Consul's got me doing? Ogres. Can you believe it? Ogres. And all this shit because he hates that Shrek picture that his kids kept making him watch before he got clipped by that truck. Whatever the hell a ‘Shrek’ is.”
The Inheritor Project Master scowled. There was no justice to be found anywhere. He’d spent more than half a century trying to work his way up this joint. He hit the ground running from the moment he took that shot to the back of the head, and he ended up waking in this festering pit of misery.
For a while, he thought he was still in Vegas, but that the whole place was on fire. Then he started regretting his lack of Sunday attendance in church, like his nonna told him. But after fighting off a couple of demons and wanting to go over to an anchor city, well, turns out the place wasn't so bad. There were plenty of others like him.
From there, he decided to climb the Tower, and along the way, he got noticed by the Inheritors. He would say the rest was history, but the table he rested his arms on spoke more about that.
Twelve grids, twelve faces, twelve rivals brought low. Once upon a time, all these unfortunate fools were gunning for the same position—Project Master of Preceptor's Descent, the First Ring of Hell.
He’d spent twenty-five years as an enforcer, worming his way up, schmoozing with the guys on top, just to get noticed. The thing about being a trespasser, though, was that you always had plenty of competition. You weren't special because you died and ended up in wonderland. You’re just one among a billion. But Harlon, though? He'd always been one ambitious little snake.
Producing an apple from his inventory, he held it over Johnny's hungering face. Johnny Kraditz, once a made man just like Harlon. Well. Maybe not “just like.” His little attempt and bumping Harlon off didn’t work, after all.
The guy tried to frag him after a special hit. They just got done doing in a Duke of Lust for good, and Johnny tried to make sure that Harlon “slipped up and got made;” have the Circle of Lust do his dirty work.
But Harlon had his eyes on the fool for god knows how long. Long story short, Johnny Boy made his moves, and Harlon didn't think much of them. In the end, after all the crying was done, what Consul Pallick ended up fighting out was Johnny-boy getting real cozy with the sex-freaks.
That got the Consul all kinds of pissed. Thankfully, Harlon had a silver tongue and managed to get Johnny Boy a stay of torture. Well, somewhat. Johnny Boy might not like being part of someone else's table, but things could have been worse. Could have been a lot worse.
After taunting Johnny for a little bit, Harlon finally rotated his wrist and let the apple fall. It bounced against Johnny's face in a nod of three twisting tongues wrapped around the glistening fruit. Broken teeth cracked and shattered as Johnny bit down, greedy for any moisture, any flavor. Harlon watched him for a while longer, smiling at the state his rival was reduced to. His mood was already improving. His mind and thoughts had been all kinds of foul after resurrecting from his brief session with the ogre. But hey, in the Claimed Hells, you get some done to you, and you get to do some to others.
“Sir,” a slithering voice echoed within Harlon's mind.
The Inheritor jumped up from behind his table, cursing out loud as he shifted his arm to a Bonecannon. Flesh peeled back, a barrel of bone extended, leaking shadows from its tip. Across from him, a massive nine-necked creature extended from a nearby patch of darkness.
Sinuous bodies of the beast each extended five full meters across the room, and their eyes glittered pale white in the darkness. A faint ripple of opalescence pulsed out from their skulls, and Harlon could vaguely hear the laughter of the False Hydra.
“God damn it, Rico, don't do that to me,” Harlon said.
With a swipe of his hand, he restored his shifted arm and fell back into his seat. The False Hydra's chuckles lasted a few moments longer as a mess of shadows pulled together, and Rico emerged right next to him.
Oozing into the light, Rico didn't quite resemble a snake all the way. Rather than a reptile's face, each of the false Hydra's heads looked quite human, if you didn't mind the drooping skin, pale complexion, and uncanny lack of a nose. Most of the heads were also fake, sewn onto a construct extended from Rico's true body. As Rico wrapped around the table next to Harlon, he spoke to the project master with a whisper.
“Your specialists are here. They all look very impressive. One of them even almost noticed me.”
Harlon grunted in acknowledgement. “Let me guess, was it the Unfallen?”
“No, actually, it was the Kindred.”
“Really?” Harlon said, genuinely surprised. “Well then, our reports about the vampire's Perception must have been wrong.”
“Someone in intelligence is due for a century in a dilated sensory deprivation cube.” One of the hydra’s heads laughed first. The rest followed immediately after. “Wanna watch with me later?”
Harlon considered that before giving a shrug. “Eh. Probably won’t be anything interesting. But sure. Come around in an hour. The begging’s always funny. Send the hitters in, will you?”
“Certainly.”
“Oh, wait,” Harlon summoned a comb from his inventory and dragged it across his auburn hair. He pulled out a golden pocket mirror as well and regarded his appearance. Navy blue suit, white collar, no tie, clean-shaven, and… he shifted his eyes to blue. “There we go,” Harlon said. “How do I look?”
“Like a knockoff James Dean,” Rico replied.
“Perfect,” Harlon replied. Just what he was going for.
Two mahogany doors swung open at the far end of Harlon's office. At once, Rico leaked back into the shadows and disappeared from sight and Mind.
For a brief moment, Harlon wondered who he was just talking to until he finally remembered that he had a false hydra under his employ. Accessing his class menu, he sent a brief command through his settings, increasing the brightness of his office.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
At once, the room came alight, the chandelier hanging above, one made out of gems and dancing embers. Practically everything within this chamber was modifiable by him. Thank the Harbinger for that. Mepheleon was a proper industrialist. Whatever you bought, you owned, and you owned completely. Harlon took that opportunity to fine-tune his living quarters as best he could. Giant portraits lined the walls—those gaudy, gory nightmares so many of the circles adored.
No. Harlan was a man of taste and pleasure. He had Aubrey Heptburn on one end and old Marilyn on the other. And then the ceiling above—that belonged to the best beauty of them all. Old Blue Eyes himself: Frank Sinatra stared down and winked.
Harlan winked back at the chairman. Got his game face on. It was time to unfuck this situation and save his other eye-hole from another bout of ogre-loving.
The hired specialists emerged at the end of the hall, one after another. First among them was a big, bone-armored bastard. Didn't have a face so much. The hood wrapped around a swirling void. Specters leaked out from his exposed ribs, and jagged plates of darkness composed the animated armor he used for a body. Behind him hovered two wings made from wicked and curved scythes.
Harlan studied the Unfallen agent and tried to get their measure.
Athlon the Absolver: Lv. 87
Not bad. Not bad at all. Not quite at their third Class Tier Ascension yet. Harlan liked his odds against this tough in a fight—he still had a couple levels on them—but they were plenty more than Severean. Their problem was that they weren’t quiet. And how could they be, considering they were basically a hostile terrorist operating within the Harbinger’s territory.
Thankfully, the Consul approved the emergence measures and presently, the Harbinger was busy clawing their way through 2,000 collapsing stars dotting the inner ring of hell. Now, Harlon had no illusions about whether the Harbinger could emerge from this—they just needed to accelerate time and finish digesting the singularities.
But that should buy a few days, at least. It just cost a nightmarish shit-ton of burned assets.
Behind the Unfallen came another figure, clearing a cape of absolutely ghastly red—
Harlan's smile immediately vanished as he corrected himself. That wasn’t a fucking cape, that was a messed-up flesh shawl made from the bodies of two half-burned children. They were sticking out of his goddamn shoulders and made to face him like some kinda twisted modern arts project. Kinda weird so far, but then there was the thing that Harlon couldn’t take: said fucking kids were leaking dollops of flesh on his good marble floor.
The project master shot up to his feet in outrage, pointing a finger at the Kindred.
"No," Harlan said, his voice echoing through the room. Outside the door, he saw Sandy—the illusory secretary puppeted by Rico—briefly turn around and stare. Oh, Rico knew how much Harlon hated people getting shit on his good floor; what was the point of getting an assistant when they didn’t help you with these things.
Harlan repeated himself, "No, no, no, no. What is wrong with you? What is wrong with you? Look at the floor!"
The Kindred briefly paused and looked down. They had a smile on their face—the kind of dopey, stupid smile you'd find on the face of one of those drugged-out hippies. Just as they're about to offer you some new sense of new age enlightenment. Woo-woo bullshit. Didn't help that the two kids he was wearing as a shroud were also forced to smile. Even though they didn’t have lips or skin anymore.
The hell was wrong with these people? I mean, Harlan knew they were in hell, but goddamn, have some respect for the decorum.
"I'm sorry," the kindred said, their voice crisp and upbeat. “Would you like me to…” He gestured at the ground.
“Yeah. No shit. Clean it. Come on, buddy. Come on.”
The Kindred waved a finger, and the dripping meat goop from the melted children shot back upwards and reintegrated with the messed-up shroud the vampire was wearing. Goddamn dozy bastard.
"Did I offend you?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s… it’s fine. Just don’t make them leak no more,” Harlon said. He eyed the spots where bits of kid stained the group and just shook his head. Goddamn bloodsuckers. Goddamn pale-skin, black eyed, pointed-chinned, mustache-having, always-smiling—
The goddamn Kindred doubled their pace, walked past the Absolver, and reached over to shake Harlon’s hand. Offended though he was, the project master of the Inheritors knew the rules of the game, and sometimes, you just needed to swallow your bitter.
Reunion: Lv. 78
Harlon narrowed his eyes as he triggered his Identify Skill and tried to glean more details from the vampire, but found his vision blocked. It was like staring at a magical wall made from vanta-oblivion shit. The Dying Broad had probably put that shit up because Harlon usually had no issue peering up the skirts of even Duke-Tier Classed.
“I am pleased that you called on us, Project Master Seever,” the Kindred said, his stupid smile growing wider.
“Yeah. Well, I’m a generous guy. I saw a common pimple on all our asses and figured why not we press our fingers together and get the damn thing to pop?”
The smile froze on the vampire’s face as they slowly tilted their head. “I… an apt metaphor.”
A deep, rumbling scoff came from behind him. “No. No it isn’t. Seever. You claimed to know where my Trine was. Give me the information, and I will see your nuisance resolved in turn.”
Ghosts were leaking out from the Absolver. Screaming, writhing ghosts. They came billowing. Harlon tried not to crack up in laughter.
God: a doopy vampire and an Undead blowhard. What a team. He was going to have these dumb bastards doing the waltz at double time.
“Of course, of course,” Harlon said. He drew a shard from his Inventory and placed it on the table. It glimmered with a faint blue glow, and the Inheritor eyed the other two present. “What I’m about to show you is a two-time use dossier shard. Remember that. Accessing this shard will also subject both of you to a geas that will make you forget my name, face, and the exact details around our arrangement. You two clear on that?”
The vampire and Unfallen both looked at each other.
“These arrangements are acceptable,” the Absolver said.
“Certainly,” Reunion said.
“Alright. Good. Now, a simple introduction.” Harlon tapped the information shard and a projection of a certain young master projected itself. A boy—so young he didn’t have proper fuzz on that goddamn lantern jaw he inherited from his fuck of a father—glared at all three people present in the office.
The image as a still captured from Severean’s point of view during her first engagement with the boy. Then, the bitch when rogue and Harlon got real acquainted with an ogre. Bitch. Fucking dumb dragon bitch.
“This one here is Young Master Wei An Wei of the Drowned Sky Sect. Sect from a recently destroyed world of Evernest.”
“What does this—”
“Currently, the queen and princess Dawnrest along with an Oathbearer seen guarding a gaggle of singing elves were spotted by his side. Figure those are the ones you might be looking for?”
The two went silent. Reunion grinned as his eyes, once pitch-black, turned blood-red. “Fortuitous indeed. I take you have knowledge of this… Wei’s location? My queen desires to sample his flesh as well. He severed an embraced from the touch of the queen. Such a thing is so cruel.”
Now, it was Harlon’s moment to be fascinated. “Huh. We had reports on the queen being infec—uh, embraced. Guess that’s why she didn’t turned.” He frowned. That almost mean William’s bastard was past the first System Ascension.
Shit. He needed him dealt with before the angry boy actually turned into a real problem. Harlon didn’t quite like the taste or feeling of chewing on his own balls, but if things got even more fucked, he could see the Consul doing something like that to him just out of frustration alone.
“So. It seems that we’re in accordance about this little problem. You. Me. The Unfallen. We each have people we want, and these people… they’re coming together. Why can’t we? Now. I know we’re probably not going to be… allies when the scramble for Earth happens. But—”
“The war has not begun. These matters are a prelude.”
And then the Absolver said no more.
Harlon just stared into the black hood and tried not to get a headache. He hated dealing with Unfallen. The fuck did any of that mean? Always with the loud cryptic declarations. “So… is that a yes, we can work together?”
“It is acceptable. The Trine must be secured. The last seeds of the Creator will be defiled. You will aid us.”
“That’s… that’s why I called you—never mind? How about you, kid-shoulders? Your queen giving you the green light here?”
Reunion simply nodded. “It will be most pleasing for me to reunite the princess and queen with the rest of their family. The twins have been so lonely.” The vampire caressed the burned faces of the kids on his shoulders.
Harlon stared. “Wait? Are those two…”
“Yes.”
The Inheritor’s mind went blank. Wow. And he thought he was a mean bastard. Harlon shrugged. “Well. Glad we’re all in accord here. Now. You’ll both be compensated properly for this, and if we do this right, we can see this done well before the Harbinger ever get’s to noticing your presence.”
“We do not fear the Pretend of Hell.”
Harlon now knew the Absolver had a lacking Aspect of Mind. “Right. Great. Good for you. But the rest of us do. So. You two and me going to be descending the Tower. Just the three of us.” And Rico—though no one else will notice. “And we’ll see our problems nipped and our positions secured. Simple as that.”
“Simple as that,” Reunion said. “I like. I like you. Inheritor… your heart beats so vivaciously. Has anyone ever told you that.”
“No,” Harlon shook his head, struggling not to just shoot the bastard. “Please. Never say that to me again.”
The worst thing about finding help in the Fathoms? The people willing to do the roughest gigs were all twisted or motherfucking insane. But hey, Harlon would make do.
Especially since he wasn’t planning on letting them get out of this alive either. The princess and the Trine? The Inheritors could use them too.