384: How It's Done (Patreon)

Nobody moved nor spoke, except the Patriarch. He was grinning around at them all, delighted.

‘Is it the smug, sinister uncle?’ he cried, pointing accusingly at Zoryth, who blinked back uncomprehendingly. ‘Or the gruff general?’ and he spun in his chair to wave wildly at Mavryn, whose grim frown became grimmer still. ‘My very own son?!’ The Patriarch next aimed a horrified look at Edrin, who gaped back at him. ‘No, of course not… but perhaps one of the preening, smirking daughters, maybe even both of them…’ His swiftly narrowed eyes, hugely suspicious, slid over to the daughters. They paled, their eyes wide and hair writhing. ‘Or… could it be… the butler!?’ and finally he turned, almost gleefully, to Austhyk. The steward gazed back, entirely unperturbed.

The Patriarch turned back to the Players. ‘Who could it be?’ he hissed, planting his hands on the table and peering wildly from side to side. If it weren’t for the reactions of the other nobles, Nicolai—and doubtless many of the others—might’ve thought him joking.

But Zoryth’s eternally steepled fingers were coming apart in the slow, distracted manner of one who’d forgotten his hands existed, and his eternally smug smile was congealing into a horrified grimace. His daughters’ tentacles had gone utterly still; the eyelids of their third eyes seemed to be fluttering slightly, as though moments from opening, and, noted the now excessively invested Psychology, they are holding hands under the desk! The General just let out a slow, almost bored sigh.

To Nicolai, one thing was very clear. Violence was close at hand. He could feel it. Blood and death waited in the fast-approaching future like an actor in the wings of a play, eager to spring out, to cut and to slice… Within him the Dark swelled with slow anticipation, while beneath his suit his muscles tensed and his reactor shifted into a higher gear as he and the Modules readied themselves for battle in a hundred tiny ways, all without his body or Soul appearing to shift an inch.

His eyes slid left and right, noting that others weren’t so subtle. John had shoved a hand under the desk, obviously reaching for his gun. The Lin siblings were beginning to ripple. Marlowe’s fists were letting out a faint hum. Serrin was carefully reaching for his spear. Yue was pressing closer to Junko, Soul emanating readiness like a mother cat prepared to defend her young from a curious dog.

‘Zoryth,’ announced Wu, who was one of the few who showed no outward signs of readying for combat. ‘It’s Zoryth.’

Zoryth, the man in question, turned a look of black fury onto her, tentacle beard thrashing, third eye’s eyelid twitching. She shrugged at him.

‘Correct!’ cried the Patriach, pointing at her and grinning around at them all, childlike. ‘She got it! Yes, my brother here,’ and he indicated Zoryth with a cheerful wave of his hand, ‘has been working against us. He’s taken up with Morvain, selling them information. I believe it all started out of a desire to see Edrin dead. That’s why you told them I’d sent him out to move some of our Artifacts between vaults, with only a small group to protect him, isn’t it, Zoryth?’ he continued, turning to his brother with suddenly polite interest.

‘Ah,’ croaked Zoryth, stricken, then trailed off. The Ritualist’s face had lost all colour. He worked his mouth soundlessly in big wuh-wuh-wuh movements, before managing to say, ‘Why, I-I don’t know what you mean? I would never seek to harm my young nephew. Why, I cherish him as much as I do my precious daughters! Who has convinced you of this?’ He looked wildly around, then glared at Austhyk. ‘Your steward! He’s tricked you, my brother, it was him!’

‘Austhyk?’ The Patriarch raised a brow. ‘I think not. He is a perfect gentleman. No, I have been aware of your crimes for quite some time. I was planning on waiting a little longer, as I’m unsure if your daughters have joined you in treason…’ He eyed the two young women thoughtfully. Veshara and Zhalyss stared back with wide eyes and white faces, sitting very still indeed. ‘Alas, I decided I needed to bring this to a close. Honestly, did you think me a fool?’ He shook his head, sniffing, then turned to frown at the Players. ‘What are you all waiting for?’ He waved petulantly at Zoryth. ‘I obviously want someone to kill him. You may consider this a test of loyalty and commitment and so on. Whoever does kill him will, of course, be rewarded. Do so immediately.’

While the majority of those in the room gaped at the Patriarch in shock and disbelief, Nicolai received, for the third time, a message over Local from Wu. It was very short and to the point.

‘When you kill him, please destroy his Soul.’

###

Across the table, Zoryth was staring at his brother in shock. The Patriarch was smirking back at him.

Serrin saw the way things were going, and reached for his spear, trying to look everywhere at once, appalled by the sudden tension.

Zoryth’s shock was quick to morph into rage. ‘You—’ he began, face twisting into a snarl, his hand rising and Oma gathering.

Serrin saw one of the two Junior Assassins likewise shifting, pulling something from beneath the desk. Marlowe and the others were reacting, shoving their chairs out and pressing their bodies toward Junko, looking to get between her and everyone else, faces grim. He shoved at the floor beneath his chair, had just begun to snap to his feet and bring his spear around when—

Nicolai exploded. One moment the human was there beside him, the next a vast screech of heat and light erupted. Sharp white light threw streaks of shadow across the walls and Serrin flinched back as splinters of wood sprayed through the room. Nicolai transformed into a blur, black and white and launching straight at Zoryth. Cries of surprise burst from all around the table and in the frozen moment he saw faces pale and grimacing in shock, Zoryth’s among them as he wheeled around, hand pointing, Oma crackling, the lid of his third eye splitting open to reveal a sliver of weeping white—

There came a sharp bang, a sense of something moving very fast, followed by a new rain of debris, and it was over. Serrin, finally on his feet, held his spear ready and tried to make sense of the tableau.

Nicolai stood beside Zoryth, one hand gripping his outthrust arm which pointed ahead, as though he’d seized it and slid around it just as Zoryth went to target him. In Nicolai’s other hand he gripped his Quiet Knife, buried to the hilt in Zoryth’s third eye, which bulged wide open. Red light flickered around the human in a bubble, the words — Warning — Restriction Broken — Warning — circling him. It looked almost like a kind of Soul Sense, a mobile red aura that changed shape, and Serrin could tell it was responding to Nicolai’s will. It perfectly encapsulated both Nicolai and Zoryth. The human had only just gained the ability and already he looked to be a master of it.

For a moment, Zoryth bore an expression Serrin recognised as surprise. ‘Yooouuu—’ the Ritualist warbled as blood and jelly trickled down his forehead, between his eyes and his nose then over his lips to run down the tentacles of his beard. Then his features grew slack and vacant, his surviving eyes dim and glassy.

‘Bastard!’ snarled someone, and Serrin glanced over to see that Assassin, John, clutching at his arm. There was a dagger buried in it to the hilt, and his sleeve was turning red. ‘What the fuck!’ he screeched. ‘He attacked me!’ And he jabbed out an accusatory finger at Nicolai.

‘You were going to steal my kill,’ replied Nicolai, in a shockingly reasonable tone of voice. He pulled his Quiet Knife free of Zoryth’s forehead with an awful sucking sound and the Ritualist collapsed to the floor in a boneless heap. An instant later that new bandolier of knives he’d acquired shimmered as a throwing knife appeared in one of the sheaths, and John let out a pained hiss at the same moment.

A bellow of laughter rolled through the room. ‘Very good!’ cried the Patriarch, applauding wildly. He’d risen to his feet and was grinning at Nicolai in total delight. ‘Fantastic! That’s what I want to see! You even knew to go for the eye!’ The Patriarch swiftly approached him, clapped him on the shoulder. ‘A perfect example!’ he declared to all of them. ‘I hope you will all remember this—that’s how it’s done!’

Nicolai nodded. ‘I live to serve.’

###

Nicolai scanned the room as he cleaned then sheathed his Knife. No sign of anyone jumping in search of revenge for Zoryth. Not even the man’s daughters. They didn’t look likely to be fighting anyone anytime soon.

The Patriarch followed his gaze as there came a few muffled sobs. The two young People had risen to their feet and were clutching at one another, staring in horror at their father’s corpse.

‘Ah, ah, my dears, oh, oh dear,’ the Patriarch clucked, slipping over to them. ‘Come now, there’s nothing to fuss about,’ he said, patting their backs. ‘Alas, your father made a foolish mistake. But there’s no need to worry, I know that you two are entirely loyal.’ The terrified pair stared up at him, and he beamed back down. ‘Right?’ he added.

They nodded frantically.

‘Go on, go settle yourselves,’ he said, gesturing them out the doorway, and they departed.

‘A good decision,’ put in one of the Lin siblings the moment they were out the door. ‘I’d hardly known him and already I hardly liked him!’ He grinned broadly at the Patriarch, who raised an eyebrow.

Then all turned to look, as a spike of rage pulsed through the room. It came from Junko. The young Hero had been sitting there utterly still the entire time, though all her companions had risen to their feet in the moments of Nicolai’s attack. Marlowe and Yue flanked her, while Maverick was on the desk before her, his armour humming, weapons free. Yue had the air of one calming, recognising the fight was over. Three shadowy forms had appeared around her, but they faded away. Serrin was off to the side of them, spear planted on the ground, looking uncertainly between Junko and Nicolai.

Junko rose slowly to her feet. ‘You monster…’ she hissed, white faced with rage, glaring at the Patriarch, then at Nicolai. ‘You kill your own brother, and act like it’s nothing?!’

‘Nothing?’ asked the Patriarch. ‘Oh no, not at all. But some things must be done. And I have learned that in such a case, it is best to get on with it. Dragging matters out benefits no one but our enemies.’

Junko stared at the Patriarch a moment longer, jaw working. Then, without another word, she turned and walked out. Her gait was controlled, but rage rolled out from her Soul in waves.

Marlowe followed wordlessly. Maverick hopped down and trotted after him, pausing only to look back and level a hard stare at Nicolai. Yue settled back into her seat, watching.

Half the room was watching the Patriarch. Waiting, Nicolai judged, to see whether the Hero’s exit would be permitted. But the Patriarch simply watched her go, tentacles stirring gently, face creased in the tolerant smile of a man watching a favourite pet knock something from a shelf.

Serrin hovered halfway out of his seat, gripping his spear, looking between the door and Nicolai in agonised indecision. Nicolai messaged him over Local. ‘Go on. This meeting is about done anyway.’ Serrin nodded gratefully to him—revealing their communication to anyone with a brain—and hurried out. Nicolai restrained a sigh. Perhaps one day Serrin would get the hang of this sort of thing. Still, unsubtle or not, the Hornet was coming in very useful.

After all, an angry Junko would need friendly faces to vent to, and it was very convenient for him that Serrin was one of those faces. The Hornet was, once again, his way in.

‘The young and dramatic,’ declared the Patriarch once Junko was gone, shaking his head. ‘So eager to get upset over nothing! Hmm, Zoryth?’ he leaned over Zoryth’s corpse questioningly. ‘Zoryth?’ He kicked it, puzzled. ‘Where are… oh! What?’ He looked up, scowling at Nicolai. ‘You destroyed his Soul! I wanted that!’

‘My deepest apologies,’ replied Nicolai smoothly. ‘I thought it best to end him as fast as possible, seeing as he was clearly preparing to put up a significant fight.’

‘Oh, tch,’ muttered the Patriarch irritably. ‘This… ugh! I intended to torture his spirit for information, and then… do some other things to it.’ He glared at Nicolai, and for an instant he emanated just as much rage as Junko had, only far, far colder. Then it was gone, his Soul sealed up, calm as a lake. ‘Fine,’ he said, with a deep sigh. ‘I suppose this, too, will have to be left to the rest of you. You see, there is another I need killed. I have it on good authority that he hired someone. In fact, one of you. A Player in this room decided to join my House purely because they were offered a large sum by Zoryth, to join and work as his agent. I’d hoped to know who, precisely, it is,’ he continued, with an irritable look at Nicolai. ‘But you have destroyed his Soul. Most inconvenient. And, I now realise, rather suspicious. My brother’s agent, recognising his imminent demise, would have ample reason to strike fast and destroy his Soul, would… they… not?’ His eyes had narrowed more and more with every word, and the room turned tense and silent.

John is aiming his pistol at you, through the table, Threat Analysis informed him. Nicolai wasn’t worried. The Patriarch wasn’t going to have him killed over this, not with so little evidence and after he’d so amply demonstrated his capabilities. And if the Patriarch did decide to give the order… he would find Nicolai far harder to kill than Zoryth.

He shrugged easily. ‘I use this Knife to kill everyone. Destroying their Souls is the most effective way to end them fast.’

‘And it destroys the Symbiotes, too,’ muttered the Patriarch sourly. ‘I wanted…’ He sighed. ‘I suppose I should have specified. Oh well! Those who remain, I shall expect you to work out which of you is the traitor. You can take the lead on that,’ he added, with a glance at Nicolai, before gesturing impatiently to two of the guards stood stiff-backed against the wall. They came swiftly over. ‘Drag the trash out, will you?’

With respectful murmurs, they bent to Zoryth’s corpse.

‘But what of my reward?’ said Nicolai.

‘Well, I hardly think you deserve one, considering what you’ve lost me. But I suppose I did promise. Go on then, what do you want?’

‘I want to be sent to the Dead City, with the others.’

‘Ha!’ spat the Patriarch, grinning, but his Soul emanated a rising anger. ‘Of course you do. I think not. I have made my reasoning very clear on that. Ask for something else.’

‘That is what I want.’

‘You will discover that in this life, we cannot always get what we want.’

Nicolai crossed his arms, tilted his head. ‘So you’re going back on your word? I would caution you against that.’

‘Oh? Are you going to put a knife in my head, like you did to my dear old brother?’ The Patriarch gave a sarcastic little wave to his brother’s corpse, at that moment being respectfully transported out by the guards.

‘Of course not. I’m your man, as I’ve just demonstrated. But loyal servants deserve rewards, do they not? When one does not follow the other, loyalties can become… mobile.’

The Patriarch stared at him, eyes narrowing. Nicolai stood there, wrapped in innocent silence. At length the Patriarch scoffed and threw up his hands. ‘Fine! Out into the Dead City with the lot of you. You know what, I think I’ll be glad to have you gone.’

‘B-but father, what of that Severin?’ spoke up Edrin.

‘Oh, I suspect he’ll follow our friend here. I am quite sure of it! Yes, all is proceeding just as planned. Although,’ the Patriarch added, ‘there seem to be some differences of opinion between you and them. Are you sure you wish to go?’

‘I am sure that all such differences will melt away within a few days of companionable travel,’ replied Nicolai.

‘Hmmm yes,’ murmured the Patriarch, ‘now I think on it, it is good you are going. I am not entirely sure I can rely on that one, but you can keep an eye on her. Make sure she stays on task, eh?’

‘Naturally,’ replied Nicolai, rolling his eyes. He was less than thrilled to realise he’d effectively just received the same kind of job the Queen had given him with Serrin, but this time from the Patriarch, for Junko.

‘We have to go survey the troops,’ added the Patriarch. ‘Mmm, yes, the moment is right for a stirring speech!’

The speech to the assembled Soldiers that followed was long and winding, composed of equal parts encouragement and threat. The important takeaway was that the hirelings of House Thrynn were to present themselves the moment the city opened next week. The Patriarch said that would be a day “Of glorious carnage.” Such promises and phrases were gradually leading Nicolai to like him more and more.

###

Token of Residence

This token allows a Player to remain in the Phantom City as long as they wish.

Token of Passage, Blue

This token allows a Player to pass through Gate Three.

Nicolai weighed the two tokens—slender copper rectangles—thoughtfully. He had expected they would simply merge into his Mark, but alas, it wasn’t so simple. They stayed physical. He suspected they should have merged, but the Patriarch had done something to prevent that.

Doubtless, the Patriarch wanted to be able to take the things back from any Player who disappointed him. He opened up his Big Mouth and tossed the Token of Residence inside, then the Token of Passage. He didn’t need to keep it ready any longer, because he’d just presented it.

Then he looked up. The monstrous gate of ancient dark wood wrapped by thick bands of scarred grey metal loomed over him, its two hulking guards in their battered armour flanking it either side. 

‘Here we are,’ said Marlowe, and Nicolai detected a tinge of unease in the man’s voice.

‘We did it,’ muttered the dog, sounding far from happy about that fact.

One of the guards leaned over, the movement glacial, to slam a mailed fist onto one of the gates, once, then again, boom, boom, and then with a painful creak and a rattling of unseen chains it split open. The small army of well-armed and armoured undead flowed around the ankles of the giants, pressing forward with spears and halberds at the ready as they formed up around the opening.

But as the gates swung wider no enemies presented themselves, only a stretch of desolate street and ruined buildings.

Junko stepped out ahead of them, pressing through the gap between the undead and toward the open gate. She was simmering with anger. Following his exit from the meeting, he’d found her and the others waiting outside, where she’d begun screaming at him. Fortunately, with the unstoppable power of Reason and Logic he had prevailed, and defeated her attempts to force him to remain here. Prior to that he’d engaged in a much more enjoyable, and rather enlightening, conversation with Wu.

Nicolai exchanged a glance with Serrin, who nodded back, stance determined.

They followed after the others, into the Dead City.

###

The gate stopped with a dull boom, only halfway open, the undead eyeing the streets beyond warily.

Seeing no threats, Severin turned his gaze from the route ahead to consider his new companions. The others House Morvain had decided to send on this mission—their three Champions.

Keras, a Level 3 militarised Borg, who Severin remembered as the guy who’d taken lead of things when the first batch arrived in the Phantom City. A real heavyweight, built like a tank with two gunlimbs and a launcher set either side of his head.

‘Let’s move,’ crackled Keras, stomping forward. Severin watched him take the lead with narrowed eyes, but he kept his irritation well hidden. He was at the top of his game within his own weight-class, but he recognised Keras was a level above. A threat to be managed rather than fought.

The next was a Tier 2 Cultivator called Su Na, someone Severin hadn’t heard of until now. A woman wearing a dark blue robe, hooded, her face hidden in unnatural shadow. Her Soul possessed an unusual sense of weight and strength, something that put him on edge, made him feel that his trump card, the Grey Flood, might not be entirely effective against her.

Finally, another Level 3 Borg, but not at all like Keras. A man named Vikrum. Some rich kid with a flashy body, but Severin judged him to possess only a modicum of skill and experience, and the body was designed primarily for socialising and indulgence, with mediocre combat focus—though he’d obviously worked to alter that somewhat since his arrival here, adding some patchwork aug weaponry.

These last two, Severin put in a similar weight class as himself. If it came to it, he was confident he could handle them—though the Cultivator would require a deft hand and quick reactions.

But if he had his way, there would be no conflict. These three were his tools, which he would use to level the ground between himself and Nicolai. They would handle Nicolai’s allies, while he focused on the man himself. And in that regard, one of them was especially useful, especially motivated.

He shifted his walk, coming beside Vikrum.

‘So, you were saying…’