The retreating Aspects emerged on a grassy riverbank, feet sinking into moist soil. A small copse of beechwood stood nearby, overlooking a vast green plain under a bright, sunless sky. As was common within the dimensions of the old paths, the light was sourceless.

As his feet touched soft earth, Giuseppe pivoted in outrage. Ignoring his fellow travelers, his eyes wandered to and fro, desperately seeking the entrance to a path leading back into the True City. Finding what he sought, a shimmering curtain of air that could only be discerned by an Aspect, he immediately strode towards it.

His progress was arrest by the hindering arm of the Mastermind. Giuseppe smacked the offending appendage away with a contemptuous palm and continued on his course. The villain grimaced in annoyance and interposed himself in the Henchman’s path. Giuseppe silently raised his hands, balling them into fists. The Mastermind leveled his rifle in reply.

The Henchman froze with fists still raised. The Mastermind spoke rapidly, forestalling rash action. “Henchman. I’ve had my eye on you. Listen to me, before you do anything foolish.”

Giuseppe gave a sullen nod in compliance or resignation. “I understand your need to act,” the Mastermind continued. “Your nature must be driving you mad. But you need to understand. Your duty lies in true service, not in thoughtless action. To help the Don, you need a chance to win. I can give you that chance.”

The villain lowered his weapon and adopted a persuasive tone. “Listen. I was there when the Don went down. He’s a powerful Aspect who can function with injuries that would kill a normal man twice over, but he’s not a primary fighter. Our enemies seemed quite thorough. Your loyalty is admirable, but rescuing the Don alone is not an option.”

The Henchman stared at the Mastermind in sullen silence, as the remaining Aspects huddled together and watched.

“I have an offer for you. The Henchman is strongest when serving another. Transfer your allegiance to me until Don Eneide is saved or avenged. With a team, you stand a much better chance of succeeding where you might fail alone.” He shouldered the rifle and held out his hand, brow quirked expectantly.

The Henchman did not take long to consider the offer. He strongly desired, but he was no fool. New as he was to the world of special people, he was aware that the Don considered the Mastermind a powerful ally and a highly dangerous person. Together, they had stood against all comers in numerous conflicts. The Mastermind was the type who always gained something, even in defeat.

Giuseppe took the outstretched hand in a firm grip and shook. The Mastermind’s gaze fell on the others. “I will have offers for each of you, but now we must focus on completing our escape. The old paths were a strength we took for granted. Now mortals, or something very like mortals, have found a way in. We cannot be certain that we won’t be found here. Let’s move.”

They obeyed without comment, falling in behind as he began to walk along the riverbank. Silence was the normal on the old paths and the faint sound of running water was strange. Giuseppe strode behind the Mastermind with the Homewrecker, the Miser and the Gambler clustered further back. The Beggar shuffled to their rear. Their course took them through shadowed valleys and mist-shrouded bogs, down mountain trails and through seas of grass. The Gambler was the first to speak, his attention focused on the Miser. He sidled to to the tycoon’s side.

“Hello, sir,” he spoke nervously. “I’m Henry. The Gambler. It’s a real honor to meet you.”

The Miser spared a supercilious glance. “Yes. Very nice to make your acquaintance.” He turned his head dismissively.

“Hey, I got a proposal for you,” the Gambler persisted. “A nice opportunity to make some extra cash.”

The Miser’s curiosity was immediately piqued. “Oh? And what is your proposal, Gambler?”

The Gambler licked his lips. “Here’s the thing,” he began. “Me losing seems like it’s impossible. That ain’t gambling, it’s just collecting money. Killing me, is what it is!”

He shook his head and gestured with supplicating hands. “But you! You have Gifts to protect your money, right? Our powers might cancel each other out. I might still win, but I can lose! Play a game with me! I’ll put up ten dollars for one, any game you want.”

The Miser was astonished at the Gambler’s effrontery. He was struck momentarily speechless. The idea that the Miser would risk the slightest part of his worth in games…! Then a more practical notion insinuated itself into his mind. It was imminently wise to take a chance in one effort in exchange for a guaranteed financial gain in another. A counterproposal began to take shape.

“I’ll tell you what,” began the Miser, with a comradely grin. “I will consent to game with you for a small consideration. For every game we play, you will play two more with someone else. I will receive half your winnings or whatever amount we wagered, whichever is more.”

His smile widened as he adopted his friendliest tone. “What do you say?” he asked, spreading his arms.

“Deal!” the Gambler said without the least hesitation. They shook hands. The Homewrecker groaned, rolling her eyes.

“We might all be being hunted and you can’t stop thinking about betting and money!” she exclaimed, incredulous. She heard the Henchman give a contemptuous grunt, though he did not turn to regard them. The Miser ignored her while the Gambler just shrugged.

The Beggar had walked silently, eyes downcast. Now, he hazarded a glance at the group and gave a slight shake of his head. The lion must hunt and the prey must flee, he thought. She must know this. Fear stood behind her anger. If there were a married man of her type in this place, she would find manipulating and flirting difficult to resist.

The Beggar did not doubt that the Mastermind was considering and calculating, even now. Plots, stratagems and contingencies would be wheeling through his consciousness in near endless procession. This was simply in the nature of Avatars. The Beggar himself was continuously suppressing the desire to to wheedle, to cringe and piteously mewl for alms. So it was.

Eventually, they were led to a mossy stone arch on a plain of chalk, under a starless sky. A soft light emanated from its center. It led to nowhere, having neither walls nor a surrounding building. The Mastermind stepped through it and was followed. One by one, the Aspects left the path.

They emerged neat the exit in a small, low-walled room, not more than fifteen square feet in dimensions. It’s floors and windowless walls were worn wood slats. At the center of the far wall hung an old empty tool board, with a rickety table beneath it. There were no other furnishings.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

A thick black laptop set on one corner of the table. It had no power cord, nor did the little room appear to have any outlets. The Mastermind crossed the room and opened the device, pushing a power button. It hummed into stuttering life.

He turned and faced the Aspects he had rescued. The Homewrecker and the Beggar had already sat on the floor, there backs resting against the wall.

“We will give the Vigilante an hour or two to catch up,” said the Mastermind. He had resumed his normal cheerfulness. “I think he may not make it, but I’ve suffered for underestimating the man. In the meantime, let's make our introductions.”

He gave a short bow. “I, of course, am known as the Mastermind. My humble talents include research, planning and management. I learn quickly and am able to master the skills required to achieve goals more swiftly than most mortals.”

He waved towards Giuseppe. “Please continue, sir. Let them know who you are.”

Giuseppe waved an awkward hand. “Giuseppe Bianco. The Henchman.”

The Mastermind grimaced when the Henchman failed to continue. He pointed a slender finger at Donald. “Please, go ahead,” he directed.

The Miser nodded and looked around the room. “I am Donald Truechild, known by some as the Miser. It is a title that has some unfortunate negative associations, but anyone who conducts business with me will find me quite fair. I simply give proper value for service. Very pleased to meet you all.” He nodded and took a visible step back.

Justina rose smoothly to her feet and spoke without prompting. “I’m Justina. The Homewrecker,” she introduced herself, folding her hands primly behind her back. “I know some people think the wrong things about me. I’m a good guy, really.”

The Gambler could not suppress a giggle. The Homewrecker directed a glare in his direction and he exploded into hearty laughter. The Henchman’s lip briefly quirked.

“I’m a good guy,” the Homewrecker repeated, crossly.

The Gambler raised a palm, still chuckling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, placatingly. “I know shards can change over time. I’m sure the name ‘Homewrecker’ is evolving now.”

Noticing the attention of the room remained on his person, he straightened. “Is it my turn?” he asked. He continued without waiting for a reply. “I’m Henry. The Gambler. Chance and fortune are what I live for. Right now, I can’t lose, which is actually kind of a problem.”

“A problem?” the Mastermind raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s a problem,” the Gambler explained. “See, I live for the game. For the chance. It’s no good if I can’t lose. Like picking leaves off a tree. That’s no good.” He dipped his head sadly.

The Mastermind pursed his lips before motioning to the Beggar. “I know you are, elder, but if you could…?”

The Beggar looked up but remained seated. “Yeah, I’m the Beggar, man. I do, like, odd jobs. I kinda need to go home, but I don’t want to bother anybody.”

The Mastermind grinned, placing his hands on his hips. “The Beggar is being modest, as is his nature. Come on, ancient,” he said, mimicking a child. “Tell us who you are.”

The Beggar’s eyes narrowed. “You want that,” he said tonelessly.

“I want that,” the Mastermind replied.

“Very well.”

The Beggar struggled to his feet. “I am the Beggar,” he began. His posture became straight and rigid and a sharp focus bloomed in his eyes. “Third of the Eldest, Avatar of Greater Powers and First of the Destitute. Wretchedness is my shield and my sword is called pity. The wealth of nations passes into my hands and flows away on the tides of despair and broken dreams.

“I am the Beggar,” he completed the ancient words. As he spoke the final syllable, his shoulders hunch and he took on a slight stoop. His eyes clouded and he resumed his seat on the floor.

__________

The laptop was fully charged, though its outdated hardware meant that was likely to change rapidly. Despite shortcomings, it sufficed to allow the Mastermind access to his least secure network. His remaining networks steadily increased in security and complexity, the highest only accessible through specific terminals. The lowest used predictive modeling and media surveillance to aid in various schemes of low to moderate importance. There was also surveillance footage of a handful of minor Aspects with abilities that could be useful or become a hindrance. Many of those Aspects even underestimated themselves.

The Mastermind considered those lesser projects and settled on the Dancer. One of the few Aspects to ever change genders, he had not attended a Gathering in decades. A quick search located the appropriate footage. As he had suspected, the attack on the Aspects was general. Someone was after them all of most of them. He watched the Dancer’s defeat and capture.

There was valuable data there, in that scuffle. The Dancer’s grace had all the lethal potential the Mastermind had long suspected, but his mind-targeting Gifts did not appear to be effective. He could not be sure, but there was a greater than 99 percent chance that the Dancer had attempted to use his Gifts of beguilement. If so, it was particularly ineffective. The assailants were at least as resistant as the average immortal. The Dancer succumbed with embarrassing ease. The Mastermind considered class and racial elitism the height of folly. Nevertheless, he was insulted on behalf of his kind.

More intelligence was an essential requirement. There was still nothing to definitively identify the enemy. There were a handful of suspects, both likely and unlikely. There were two mortal organizations that were aware of the reality of the Aspects. Agency Nothing was an independent entity, though it was largely staffed by personnel from the United States, the United Kingdom and nations that had risen after the dissolution of the British Empire. Their involvement was a low probability, especially considering his extensive infiltration of the organization with agents under his sway. The containment of the Politician was too important to be managed by mortals alone.

Russia’s Commission for the Education of Shardbearers was also unlikely to be an adversarial element. That group was full of skeptics and deniers, with the few believers castrated into near total ineffectiveness. Unless something dramatic had happened, they had neither the means nor the motivation to target Aspects around the globe, let alone in the old paths.

The Engineer? The Biologist? The Traveler? An alliance between two or more of them? That was unlikely, as the Mastermind had seen all but the Traveler laid low at the Gathering. He needed to get into one of his most hidden and secure bases to sift through better data. If that was insufficient, he would use the assets he had on hand as leverage to gain as much information as possible. He mentally catalogued those assets.

The Henchman had already agreed to become his subordinate in a limited fashion. That would inevitably become a stronger and more permanent relationship. The Henchman was at his strongest when under orders and acting in the fulfillment of a cause or a superiors’ goals. Under those conditions, he could make all the difference between defeat and victory. He could sustain multiple lethal injuries and work to exhaustion and beyond if properly used. Unfortunately, he was new and his powers would take years to mature to their fullest expression.

The Miser would balk at sharing his resources, but that was hardly an item of consideration. The Mastermind’s own resources were exponentially greater. If the Miser believed he had a percentage of ownership or another type of interest, he could be extremely efficient at protecting useful assets.

The Gambler was a magnificent trump card if could be used creatively. Of course, the most creative uses of his abilities were likely to result in his death or consumption in the Verge.

The Homewrecker? Nearly useless in any physical conflict, but she might be remarkable as a honeypot or infiltrator. Groundwork would have to be laid on her behalf. She would be most useful in causing discord between couples or wringing information from married men. Her abilities were likely worthless against bachelors and most women. Currently, she was low utility.

The greatest strength rested with the Beggar. As an elder, he could twist his Gifts in ways that were never intended by the shard. Better yet, he could do so while surviving the backlash of misused power. The problem, of course, would be keeping under proper control. Most elders would hardly ever deviate from their assigned roles. It would take careful manipulation to make the Beggar perform to the Mastermind’s specifications. Worse yet, the Beggar would be at least partially aware of any attempts at imposing control. Resistance would be subtle and reflexive.

Of course, there were other potential assets in the world at large: Aspects that may still be active and his own multi-layered handfuls of mortal spies, dupes, agents and mercenaries. Once he confirmed who was still active, he would gather them all. The Mastermind had many talents, but he took the greatest pride in his ability to get the best out of other people.

He would wait just a bit longer for the Vigilante. Just a bit longer.