‘Mm,’ Arzak grunted. ‘Orange not my colour.’

She and Val had adorned the robes of the Cult of Ascendancy in an effort to hide in plain sight. Of course, Yusef’s pilgrims had thus far shown them only acceptance, welcoming the orc and the human into their midst without so much as batting an eyelid, and making any attempts at stealth largely unnecessary. But this was now; would that change once Yusef was dead?

For the witch’s part, she pulled off the orange robes as well as she did everything else—something that Val reminded Arzak of far too often. It was frustrating to dress for the orcish build and her pallid green skin tone, at least while observing human and tiefling fashion senses.

Arzak looked down and pulled on the waist of her robes, pulling it taut. The orange hue nearly perfectly matched the smooth sides of the surrounding sand dunes, as though this particular dye was chosen in an attempt to blend in. This wasn’t the real explanation, of course; it couldn’t be, not when the pilgrims otherwise made every attempt to be seen and attract others to their cause. No, instead Arzak suspected there was a spiritual meaning behind this chosen colour. In the eyes of the Players, those of this world were as meaningful and as consequential as grains of sand—this colour was an effort at humbling the self.

The warrior tried to communicate this theory to Val, but as ever this was too complex a concept for the clumsy common tongue. Instead, she settled on saying only, ‘Hate it.’

‘Well, it’s an assassination attempt, not a fashion show, Arzak,’ Val replied, her eyes on the masses of pilgrims huddled in the shade of the cliff.

‘You think we close?’

The witch cast her eyes again over the crowds, and Arzak could tell that Val had just now seen what she’d seen. The looser body language, the smiles, the twinkling in the eyes—there was excitement here. Anticipation. A sense that they were close to the supposed prophet.

‘Not long now,’ Val said. ‘We ready?’

Arzak nodded. Would the other pilgrims stare on at them now and notice that they stood away from the rest of the group? Would they see that there was something different around the orc and the human? Would they recognise that they were not true believers?

And even if they did see all of that, could they ever imagine what the orc and the human would do next? Only one person involved had the gift of foresight, and that was the Player himself. Arzak could only hope that she and Val would seem inconsequential enough that Yusef didn’t read their futures… and foresee his own death.

* * *

Yusef possessed a humble godliness.

Unlike the other Players that Arzak had encountered over the years, this man did not surround himself with gold and fine threads and all the other trappings of extreme wealth. Instead, he dressed as a humble man, even Arzak’s new robes seeming finer than those he wore. At least, that was as far as Arzak could tell at this distance.

They were two days’ journey south of Zelas, amongst the foothills of the Ullite mountain range, their steep orange spears seeming to pierce the heavens in the backdrop of Yusef’s makeshift stage. The Player proselytised to a silent audience—never before had Arzak seen so many so enchanted by the words of one man that they wouldn’t speak—and he spoke of the Ascended World. The supposed prophet knew his audience.

‘It is a world where each soul has the freedom to achieve a better life. It is a world where the hardest of workers are rewarded with richest beyond their wildest dreams. A world of social mobility, of opportunity, of accessible heaven.’

‘If it’s so good, why did they leave?’ Val murmured, echoing Arzak’s own doubts. Already, Yusef had proven himself not to be trusted; his words conflicted with Niamh’s own testimony—that their home world was destroyed—and she had been a woman with no reason to lie. This man, however, wielded hope as a weapon; if those who followed him worked hard, and did his bidding, then maybe they too would be rewarded. This was a far more dangerous weapon than any sword, or any spell.

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‘Now we know he a liar,’ Arzak summarised.

The sermon went on for hours, this Yusef enjoying the sound of his own voice a touch more than was healthy. When finally the Player ceased his talked of the Ascended World, he made the offer that the pilgrims had spoken of. He offered to read their futures.

This was the moment that Arzak and Val had been waiting for. They didn’t want their futures read, of course. Even if they hadn’t been intending to kill the Player, Arzak didn’t imagine anything good could come of that foresight. When they had put the other Slayers behind them, Lore had been struggling with this very issue, and it hadn’t seemed to be doing him any favours.

Instead, the pair skirted around the crowd, using their robes to blend in with the other pilgrims, those who weren’t here to kill the man being worshipped. They slipped through the crowd slowly, taking their time, making sure only to push forward where there were gaps, rather than risking attracting any unwanted attention. The Reading would last hours, so the pilgrims said, and so they had time. They needed to be patient.

As one by one the pilgrims were shown their destinies, Arzak and Val slipped through to the front of the crowd. The enemy was a hundred yards away, then fifty, then twenty, and then… almost within their grasp.

Arzak turned to Val, who nodded. It was time.

The orc placed a hand on the knife hidden underneath her robe, one commissioned exclusively for this purpose. It was a dagger in the orc’s eyes, but large enough for the smaller races that it was considered a One-Handed weapon—and therefore Arzak could put all of her lifetime of progression behind it. It had, too, a specialist enchantment, one created by an old friend of Val’s called Steve—a peculiar man, though the orc kept that view to herself. This enchantment would replicate something Arzak had seen of Styk’s progression; it would deal significantly higher damage if the user went unnoticed.

Which is what led them to this moment. To Arzak and Val slipping forth from the crowd, their eyes on the Player’s back, to a glorified knife sliding forth from its sheath and arcing through the air, to an expectation that they would put down this Player before they could do even more damage to the world Arzak called home.

Yusef spun where he stood, bringing forth no weapon nor the blue glow of sorcery. Instead, he attacked with the only power he seemed to possess: divination. A ball of yellow magicks shot forth from his hand, catching Arzak in the chest. For a moment, she expected to be sent flying backwards, but instead the spell washed over her like a warm shower.

‘I will—’ Arzak started, and then the vision began.

* * *

Familiar black eyes stared back at Arzak, that colour unusual even for a tiefling.

Tokas looked up at her, those dark eyes communicating… what? Sadness? Regret? Anger? Arzak could only see it as some combination of the three.

The tiefling was close, almost touching her. ‘It had to be this way,’ she said.

Only then did Arzak blink and look down at the knife, pierced through her thick flesh, her rib cage, her heart.

Tokas twisted. ‘It… had to.’

What more could Arzak expect of her oldest friend, these days, than betrayal?

* * *

Arzak collapsed to the ground, the horror of what she’d been forced to foresee washing over her. Tokas’s first betrayal had been bad enough, making the orc loathe to trust anyone again—a cynicism that had led to her finding the truth about Styk and the Sisyphus Artifact, even before Val.

But even that first betrayal could not come close to this.

Tokas, her oldest friend, would be the one to end her life. Tokas—the woman she’d treated like a sister. Tokas—the woman who Arzak had pulled back from the blink of oblivion.

As the orc lay paralysed on the ground, she felt her heart break. She couldn’t bring herself to react to the crowd of orange descending on Val, restraining her with hands and spell. Even when one of the pilgrims brought forth a knife, Arzak could only manage numb acceptance.

It was the Player, not her, who would end up saving Val’s life.

‘No,’ Yusef said, staring down at Arzak but speaking to his flock. ‘There is no need for violence. Given time, all will see the light.’