A word of advice to all aspiring tyrants, warriors, and professionals: get over yourselves. Instead of wallowing in pride, learn to work with your family—especially those who possess the skills you need. You can linger, groan, and lament everything that might have been, but while you're stuck in the past, a most promising future will collapse before your eyes.
-Wei An Wei, The Realmbreaker
II-61
Openings (III)
Five meters. Five meters of empty space existed between Wei and his father. Five meters—and no eye contact. The two men were right next to each other, sectioned off from the others within a mental simulation created by Bishop, but neither addressed the other.
Neither spoke, and both found the same spot on the ground to look at. They were back in that dirty barracks, the place that Bishop had first simulated when Wei met him initially. Now, only silence pervaded this space—silence, the sound of hammering artillery, the clatter of falling dirt, and the sourness of a ruined relationship.
There was a lot that needed to be said between them after what they had experienced—a lot, yet also nothing at all. Wei’s loathing for the man burned fiercely, mingled with sorrow over what he had inflicted on his mother. For his part, William didn’t look much better either. He was worn, more weary than Wei had ever seen. The young master didn’t know if he wanted to just pull the man back into his inventory or cut him down with his scythe. No. Not the scythe. He would have to use his glaive for that. Again and again, he forgot that his father was a trespasser, that the same cursed blood flowed through his veins.
William broke the silence. “I’m guessing that I finally have a use again.”
Wei chuckled bitterly. “Use.”
William was the first to lay eyes on Wei, the first to be brave, and that offended the Shell. The Skill commanded Wei to look up, and as father and son made eye contact, both barely held it for more than a second before returning their gaze to the ground.
“So, what’s the play here? What do you want?” William asked.
“There is someone we wish to save, to extract from a highly protected area.” Wei nodded slowly, as if to punctuate his words.
“The Scion of Death’s wife,” William guessed.
Wei held back a look of surprise. Maybe Bishop had told him?
“No,” William continued, still glancing at and deducing the look on Wei’s face. “John didn’t tell me. It wasn’t that hard to guess. There’s only one reason why the Bastard’s still with you: you need to make sure that he’s not bugged, by the way—planted with any skills that allow the Collectress to spy on you.”
“He’s clean,” Wei said. “My Omniscience made sure of that.”
“Yeah, well, it’s more important to trust your thoroughness than just leave it to your system.”
“He’s clean,” Wei reiterated. The man wasn’t his father or patriarch anymore. Wei needed no guidance from him. “ Bishop has confirmed as well.”
William held up a hand in a placating gesture. “Listen, never mind any of that shit, all right? I’ll do what I can. I’ll do whatever I need to. But right now,” he stared straight into Wei’s eyes, “right now I’m not that useful. I don’t have any capabilities. I’m just a normal human without a class.” And that was exactly what William was angling for—a new Class, power. He should have expected this.
“But you should also acknowledge the truth,” the Shell growled. “He’s not what he used to be. We broke what he had. But this could be to our advantage. He is still bound to us—a karmic slave. He cannot defy us in any meaningful measure. And so, we hold his fate truer than any other. The Trespassers could arrange for him to get a class—something similar to Rafael, perhaps?”
Wei shook his head internally. “No, if he’s going to get a class, it will be one of his own choosing.”
“That’s unwise,” the Shell said. “If he is allowed to decide—”
“If he’s allowed to decide, he can perform to his maximum capability. We are already letting him slip the leash somewhat.” Wei paused. “He will be helping Agnesia infiltrate the mansion. We need him at his finest. I need him to do this properly. Our loathing comes second. We need expertise, and I do not have enough time to train for this. You know this.”
“Yes, because you will was weak. Because you refuse to…”
“Enough of that,” Wei said, cutting the Shell off. “I grow weary of your pointless whining.”
“Pointless whining.” The Shell loomed large, and Wei just stared at his Skill.
“Yes… I’m growing tired of you. Your whining. Your whimpering. Everything is not enough. Everything is insufficient. And even after all the effort I have given, it’s still not enough. It’s not about skill.” The Shell flinched back as if offended.
Wei pressed on. “This is more than skill. It’s about experience, understanding—the mastery of more than just martial capability. It’s about having other people to help us. It’s about controlling all variables.” He looked down. “You were just a first step. And so am I. I alone am not enough. Even Mepheleon has an entire civilization helping him.”
“Fine,” Wei said, his voice sharp and vicious as he turned his focus back to his father. “You will have what you need. Anything you need.
Now it was William’s turn to be surprised. “You serious?” Wei’s glare conveyed the full extent of his seriousness. “All right, I need to talk to John.”
“Bishop,” Wei called out loud. “We’re ready to return.” The surrounding space collapsed, and once more they were rejoined with the others. It didn’t take long for Bishop to convey everything they were planning to William. The two spoke through a psoniclink, no words exchanged directly, yet Wei’s omniscience allowed him to catch most of the details. The two had rapport—a long history with each other—and, strangely, Wei found himself feeling jealous.
As he stared, Vendrian came close, leaning over. “That one—he’s your father,” he said quietly. Wei nodded, wishing he didn’t.
Vendrian chuckled. “Fathers tend to be bastards, friend. Don’t take it personally. Or do. It doesn’t matter. Mine was just some psychotic murderer, so overindulged in the Hound’s power that there was little left of his mind. My birth was…” Vendrian frowned. “It’s best not to describe the circumstances.” Wei read the horror behind the Scion’s eyes, did his best not to imagine. “Regardless, his faults are not yours. Don’t get that shit twisted. And don’t let him eat your heart.”
Wei did understand. He appreciated what Vendrian was trying to say, but he didn’t feel it.
“I wish I killed him,” Wei murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “When we fought. Now, my hand is… I am…”
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“I did kill mine,” Vendrian replied. “And it didn’t make anything better. I can’t say you’ll be the same way, but it’s not that worthwhile. The wounds remain. Perhaps if you are that kind of person, you’ll feel a temporary hit of pleasure, but all things fade—everything heads to the final end. After that, it’s about what you leave and what you manage to create.”
With that, Vendrian slapped the young master on his upper arm and walked away.
***
“So, this is how we start this, where it began,” Wei announced. “We’re going to maintain our current course of action. We will hold to our good graces at this gala, and tomorrow morning, after training, a series of groans rose from his disciples. We will greet the old man and whatever other assortment of guests is here and make good relations. However, I will approach the Collectress alongside Agnesia to discuss certain matters—matters relating to the elimination of the Dying Queen.”
Bishop nodded at that. “It’s a good angle, especially since she still keeps coming after you anyway.”
After a pause, Agnesia continued, “I will petition her to take me into her charge post-haste. I’ll do this alongside Wei, but I’ll ask to be taken into safe custody for concerns about my safety and to further our alliance. After that…”
Agnesia turned and stared at William, and the man just shrugged. “Don’t worry, I’ll be able to find a way. Bishop, you got the Class ready, right?”
The other Trespasser nodded. “To your specifications. Though, two years is a little low.”
“I’ll make it work. I don’t need too high of an Essence Level. Don’t want to draw too much attention. We’re going to keep combat minimal and stealth maximal.”
“After that, you’re going to mingle with some high-level players,” Bishop said. “Among these, there’s probably quite a few dukes—one you might want to pay attention to. The Duke of Pride. Gold Skull, so to speak.”
“Gold Skull?” Wei repeated.
Bishop created out a mental projection of the duke. True to his name, his head was entirely golden—yet he lacked any features. It was mostly just a slab of gleaming material with no eyes, no ears, no mouth. Beneath that, however, his body was layered in slats and stacks of gems and other baubles of considerable wealth.
“He seems to be more aligned with the Circle of Greed than Pride.” Wei frowned.
“Bit of a crossover. He’s, uh, jumped between the two factions several times.” Bishop continued, “However, word on the vine is that he’s taken a special interest in you, and he wants to invest.”
“Invest?” Wei said.
“Yeah. The Old Man’s been putting a good word in for you. He says, uh, you might have a good future in the Bloodgrounds. Expect to be doing some exhibition matches during the gala. Some up and comers will be wanting to test your measure”
“I didn’t realize there were fights here as well,” Wei murmured.
“Boy, there are fights everywhere. The Claimed Hells is built on war, on politics, on jousting. Being able to kill someone? Well, that’s a skill set everyone can appreciate here.”
Wei considered that and nodded. “So, while I draw more attention, Agnesia will be pulled across by the Collectress, placed in the mansion. And through that—through her—my Source Anchor will be deployed.”
“And so will I,” William continued, “Bishop will be on communications and intelligence, and I’ll perform infiltration and sabotage.”
Part of Wei loathed involving his father in this operation, but he had to use all his capabilities to make sure that things went well. He wasn’t going to risk Agnesia after losing her mother.
“And what about the rest of the disciples?” Rafeal asked.
“The others are still resting after a long, hard day,” Wei observed, examining them. “The less they know about this, the better. It’s very easy to let information slip.”
“Yeah,” Bishop said. “Good call. You’re learning. Now, Raphael, you’re going to be on standby. You, Wei, and a few other people I trust. The good thing about the Source Anchor is that you don’t need to bring an entire team in to have the skill set of a team. You guys can be jumping across through Agnesia or William to solve specific problems that might arise, and then be back in a blink.
“You want to do this in a controlled environment, and while I’m providing cover for you. Essence fluctuations are easy to notice, and I guarantee you—some Dukes, they’ve got a keen eye. So, you don’t expect to fly under the radar so easily.”
“I wish to be part of this as well,” Ellena voice intruded on the scene. Her eyes were fullly open, and she was standing where she once lay in Slumberland. Bishop pulled her into the psionic projection, and the others regarded her for a moment.
“Mother,” Agnesia said, she stepped forward. “You should—”
Ellena held up a hand. “Please, I do not wish to speak of my current condition. I simply wish to be of service.” Wei opened his mouth, but she insisted, her voice pleading, “Please, please—I want to be useful. I do not want to think about what happened.”
With a slight nod, he accepted her wishes.
“So, we will be performing an infiltration?” she asked.
“Yes,” Wei replied.
“And my daughter, Agnesia—she will be an offering?”
Her voice wavered at the word, but Agnesia cut in sharply, “No, not an offering.” Her tone hardened with steel. “A poisoned seed.”
Ellena’s face contorted with concern, but she said nothing more. “Very well. I will see what relations I can garner for us. With what has happened so far, and all that you’ve achieved, I think I can potentially strike up some bonds worth keeping.”
Bishop nodded slightly. “I can point a few interesting individuals out to you. You’re not bad at the diplomacy and the talking, but things don’t exactly work the same way in the Claimed Hells.”
“I’ve noticed,” she added. “But I think I can manage. What do I have to lose by this point.”
Her words engendered a sickness within Wei. “If there is any—”
“I don’t wish to speak of it. I don’t!” Ellena’s outburst came sudden and silenced him at once. Everyone else looked on, stunned. The former queen let out a shuddering breath. “I… apologize. But let us focus on resolving the problems we can, and let the ones we can’t just be.”
A lull entered the conversation and Bishop grunted. “Yeah. Yeah, I get you. Well. Listen. You guys should focus on resting and getting yourself back together. I’m going to see what else I can pull together and get some kit prepared. William, you know the score. Walk them through what you expect to happen. And Agnesia…” The Trespasser winced. “I’m not gonna bullshit you, this might turn out seven kinds of shit. You don’t have to go through with this. There are other options.”
“And what are they?” Agnesia said bitterly. “Will we be able to execute them in time? Will people stop coming for me? For my mother? For all of us?”
The Trespasser didn’t say anything.
“There’s only one way for us to live. And that’s power. That’s killing those who are coming for us. No other way. No other path. No other path.”
Bishop stared at her a moment longer and sent Wei a direct message. “You might want to talk with her after this. Her mental state ain’t doing too good. Might want to take her someplace where she could blow off some steam.”
Someplace—the Tower of Possibility.
“Yeah. She’s about there. You should get her boosted up before anything else.”
Wei gave Bishop a nod of gratitude before the man faded.
As the mental simulation holding them collapsed, Wei looked at both Ellena and his father before moving for Agnesia.
“Mother—” Agnesia said.
Ellena turned away and began to walk down pillows and sheets. “Agensia. Darling. Let me be for a while. I wish to… to take a walk.” Awkwardly, quietly, she descended the hill of comfort and ventured toward nowhere in particular. Her daughter looked on, torn between obeying her mother’s wishes or following thereafter.
Rafael’s jaw swung open, but all that came were miserable grunting noises. “Fuck,” he finally surmised.
Wei shook his head and called out. “Agnesia. I need to speak with you.”
Several eyes fell on him, but he didn’t care.
“Wei, we need to talk with her,” Agnesia said. “She’s not like this—we have to tell her that—that—”
“I need you powerful and prepared for what is to come first,” Wei said, softly. “There is a place I need to show you. A place of power and trials.” Her mouth formed an o-shape in confusion. “The Tower of Possibility. Where I gained my new Specialization. We go there. Now. All of us who will be a part of this.” He looked at Vendrian. “You too.”
“And why are we doing that?” the Scion of Death asked.
Wei’s expression hardened. “Because. Now is not the time to be boiled by our thoughts. Now is the time to make toil our salve. Training. Practice. This is what we need. This is the only cure I’ve ever known.”
Vendrian blinked. “Alright. Show us this tower. Not like there’s anything worthwhile to be doing around here.”