Hars Patine had never been more proud of his son than when he’d brought this plan to fruition. The initial concept was radical, almost laughable, but the sheer dedication with which Laril had pursued every variable, prepared every necessity, and pulled together not just the patriarch and council but nearly half of the best freelance climbers on the market.

Had he overpaid on the first few? Yeah. Had he tried to underpay on some of the others? Well, no one’s perfect. But in the end, despite all the drawbacks and hurdles, Laril had finally proven that he was worthy of carrying on the Patine legacy.

For so long, Hars’ son had insisted on trying to prove himself in mundane ways, as if lowering himself to compete with the underclass was any accomplishment.

Now, finally, he had decided to stop playing around and step into his inheritance. He’d worried for his son’s future and the fate of the Patine family, but even if he died now, he would die a proud man.

So he stood beside his wife, ready to face down the most dangerous creature of his career, full of confident excitement for the coming war.

“You are thinking too hard, my husband.”

She could always tell. “I only wish the best for our family and feel great pride in the growth of our son.”

“He had done well this time, yes.”

“I wondered for so long if he would ever spread wings and fly or bare his teeth to the world.”

“He may be a late bloomer, but he has bloomed magnificently. Let us be sure we fulfill our roles and make sure our son’s efforts are not in vain.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Will you protect me?”

“Forever and always.” She smiled so wide he wished to capture this moment and save it for all of eternity, the excitement and sparkle he thought lost returned. “Until we return to the Creator’s Embrace.”

“Until we return to the Creator’s Embrace,” she echoed, her eyes turning toward their target. “Let us make our son proud of his parents.”

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Begin.

Simren the Stormfist crouched behind a boulder, feeling absolutely ridiculous. After a lifetime of building himself into a flawless weapon, to be restricted to this uncouth ambush tactic was galling.

So when the signal came, Simren was the first to jump to his feet, fists already sparking as he grinned. Finally.

The Legendary paused in the same moment and turned to meet Simren’s eye.

For some reason, staring down his impending demise, the man only shook his head with the tiniest smile.

Then the Stormfist came down, alongside another nineteen perfectly-coordinated attacks. The golden shield flashed up between them, broke the brief moment of connection and turned the world to chaos.

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“Now!” the rear coordinator called out.

Olivia huffed a determined breath, then let loose in the exact moment they’d drilled as the rest of the rear assault team cast their area of effect abilities, raining all kinds of magic that splashed around the totem and to the ground below. What Olivia once thought to be overkill only came close to hitting the target.

As an Epic mercenary, she had taken this job because of the decent pay. When she’d learned of it, she thought the man they hunted would be a raving lunatic, descending the floors after ascending in a rage.

Olivia had been kept in the dark on the specifics, only being told what she had to do. Her heart had fluttered when she’d born witness to the regality, the gravitas of the man’s presence. Calmly walking into an ambush with utmost confidence and all the time in the world, he’d… made her cold heart flutter.

She bit her lips at the thought of them alone, behind closed doors, him strapped to her bed…

Even when Simren and the rest of the first wave attacked, reinforced with the empowerment of a dozen support casters, their target hadn’t so much as flinched.

The first wave of attacks shattered his shield, allowing the localized hell of area damage and lingering poisons and curse effects through, and his only response was a single sentence.

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“Does that mean it’s my turn now?”

Olivia groaned from pure bliss, her heart trembling. Was this love?

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The assault began, and Lari lamented how he wouldn’t be participating in the attack directly, but he thought of what else he could contribute and couldn’t let the chance to gloat pass him by. Not when the target had fallen into their trap so neatly.

The first wave of attacks went off without a hitch. The area damage was all in place and ready. It wouldn’t be enough, not against someone with a Legendary grade constitution, but it was the first step. It would weaken him, slow him, make each subsequent round that much easier and more effective.

As one, the strikers jumped back from the spreading miasma before it could infect them as well. They ducked down behind cover to recharge those few abilities that needed to wait on a cooldown, waiting on Laril’s signal before they would launch the next wave.

Every attack had to be perfectly coordinated. Couldn’t have people firing off attacks heedlessly whenever their own ability was ready. That was the way shielders won.

But in the brief lull, there was something else he was dying to do. Now that the initial damage over time effects were in place, a few minutes’ delay would only help their cause. Maybe Laril could distract the target and entirely stop him from using his other abilities, though he’d planned for the worst case scenario he could imagine.

He toggled the communication switch from private internal speakers to access his cousin’s loudspeaker system onboard the Overhead drone, then flipped to the onboard camera feed to stare directly at his prey.

“You’re trapped now, murderer. Don’t imagine you can get away.”

The target shielded his eyes, ignoring the veritable army against him, and spotted the drone. After a quick wave, he quipped back, “Get away? Isn’t that your job?”

“We didn’t come into this unprepared. We know you’ve got a legendary card and how to deal with it! Surrender now and we won’t need to make this painful.”

The target tilted his head and chuckled. “All this, and you have no idea how underprepared you are.”

“We’re prepared enough to deal with you, you monster!” Laril didn’t care about the lives of the lost in Ascension, but he knew the ones who had to take the target down would. Many of them had been loyal to the faction and were now loyal to his. In a way, he’d like to show his appreciation to the man. Maybe with a bullet to the brain. “How many have you killed so far?”

“Why should you care? Were they friends of yours, like these guys here?” The arrogant man shrugged, dismissing all the people he’d destroyed, so many wasted assets. “Maybe they shouldn’t have put their hands on what isn’t theirs, kind of like what you’re trying to do.”

“That’s none of your concern. Now, last chance, surrender while you can.” Laril would never let him walk away, of course, but every card they got him to surrender was one more than they’d get from his corpse.

“No.” The target pondered for a second before pointing at the Overhead drone. “By chance, do any of you happen to know who Laril is? I have a few questions to ask him, and if he plays nice, I may not rip his spine out.”

“How do you know of that name?” For all his gloating and certainty his men wouldn’t fail, Laril felt as if he’d been plunged in an ice bath. He very much preferred his spine to stay where it was, but he was intimately familiar with the Legendary’s temperament and shuddered.

If the man said he’d do something, he wasn’t bluffing.

“Just came across in my search for the one behind kidnapping my sister. He’s got a debt to pay, one way or another.” He raised his arms wide, smiling at each person he looked at. The earth quaked beneath all of them. “I’ll kill everyone here, and I’ll take my time too, if you don’t tell me your name. I’ll make them all scream and curse your name, then kill them all just because you made me work so hard for such a simple answer.”

Even as the man opened his mouth to answer, Laril toggled the communications back to internal. “Now.”

“Hey, are you still there?”

“Now.” Talking was a mistake.

“Don’t keep me waiting!”

Every moment’s delay was a mistake. “N-now.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way!”

“Now!” They had to end this.

“You’re really starting to make me angry! We can negotiate! Maybe just both your arms and legs!”

If the man got away… “NOW!”

Laril shivered and pressed a hand to his heart, reminding himself of the powerful deck buried within. He was the legacy of generations, the culmination of his family’s ancient hopes and unquenchable ambition.

He wasn’t alone.

They wouldn’t fail.

No matter how long it took.

“I guess it really is time for me to start scrambling some eggs to make a few omelettes.” He even rolled up his sleeves. “Now, which one of you should I start with?”

Mother’s bullet slipped through the brief timing in the shield and impacted the target’s forehead. Everyone held their breaths as the man fell back, seemingly suspended in time.

“We… We did it?”

“That was… almost too easy.”

“We prepared a lot for this.”

Laril ignored the comms that lit up in the next few seconds, staring at the body. The pit in his gut knotted, twisted, and almost made him puke. He’d seen the Boon mother used in action before, and there were records of its effects.

Slain enemy’s cards dropped immediately.

But there were no cards to loot.

Cold horror seeped through him. “Everyone, shut up and focus!”

He’d been too late.

A yawn echoed across the now silent ambush sight. “Now that wasn’t very nice of you. Is that all you have?”

He grinned like an insatiable beast.

“My turn, for real this time.”

All this time, all these attacks, and minutes under every hostile stacking effect they could hit him with…

He was completely uninjured.

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