II-11 Conspiracy

The Auroral Council cannot be trusted. The Prismatic Order isn’t here to help us, but enslave us. The faith has been compromised. They aren’t actually gods! There aren’t any gods. We’ve all been deceived! All of us!

The church is not a hall of worship but conversion. What we think we know of the world outside is a nest of lies! New Albion is not weak! The Abyss is not filled purely with monsters! And the Republic is not the strongest nation in the world—no! It is merely an instrument of twisted faith! Our gods have been stolen! And the Auroral Council is merely a facade! The priesthood and church are their eyes and ears, spying on us! The mind mages twist our very memories and infuse deceit into our history!

Look! Look into yourself! Look at your souls and your statuses! Do you have the Auroral Piety Skill? That Skill born of faith? That skill that allows you to draw upon the gifts of the Auroral Ascendants, for only they can convert the awesome power of the thirteen and infuse in you the power to craft Blessings?

No! Faith is mana! Faith is an attunement of mana! And they don’t want us to know because we want our devotion to be absolutely pure! Absolutely focused on their divinity and immortality—because they were too weak to seize it another way. They were fragile, until they found the means to siphon power from the system—making themselves more!

We do not live in a Republic, but a hierarchy of exploitation! Turn away from the Auroral Piety Skill! Turn away from the church! And turn away from the Ascendants! The faith is a lie! 

It is all a lie!

-“Writings of a Heretic” (Recovered by Inquisitors of the Prismatic Order)

II-11
Conspiracy

The Master-Advisor’s office was pretty cozy. It had a nice fountain-pound in the middle filled with koi. The leftmost wall was covered in a grand painting, showing each of the 13 Ascendants comprising the Auroral Council looking powerful and dignified. The right side was lined with bookshelves and leatherbound tomes. Another nice thing was the soundproofing enchantments lining the walls and black-tinted windows preventing anyone from just peering in. And at the far end of the room was a grand, ivory table. One that doubled as a piano. One that sat just below a portrait of Master-Advisor Maxwell Oldsmith itself. One that shattered into pieces when Shiv swatted it in a demonstration of his displeasure.

The massive table tumbled into the air as if it barely weighed anything at all and crashed hard against the portrait. The piano burst into dust, fragments, and bouncing keys. The portrait was torn and mangled, much like the automaton it was meant to depict.

A little bit away, Master-Advisor Maxwell Oldsmith whimpered and wailed on its knees. Looming over him was Shiv—still in his Perfect Semblance. Nearby, an audience of two looked in petrified trepidation, doing their best to avoid Shiv’s notice. Mira, the secretary, had woken at some point restrained to a chair. Shiv had ripped rebar out of the walls and bent it around her. Siggy kept watch out of the door as Shiv told her to, but every time Shiv made a loud noise, she flinched, and her legs wobbled like the struts of a collapsing bridge.

“Oldsmith. If you say ‘I don’t know’ to me one more time, I don’t know if I can stop myself from driving my godsdamned fingers through your optics.” Shiv’s words were calm. His mood was far from it. This thing that knelt before him had been trying to beat a child to death with its belt for a misplaced pair of gloves. The kid was dead now, thanks to 811. But Shiv still had a promise to retribution to keep. It might not mean anything to the boy, but it did mean something to Shiv.

I don’t even know the kid’s name, Shiv realized. It didn’t matter. It behavior that offended him. The hells was the point of being some high and powerful lord or Pathbearer and spending your time stepping on the small? It was pathetic.

“I—You asked me to be honest! So I am! Please, Master-Pathbearer! Please! I can only tell you what I know.” Gone was the haughty, oppressive demeanor that the automaton had earlier. The bot was just a beggar now, and it begged good and hard for its life. Its fine suit and nice hat were shredded by how roughly Shiv moved it around during the interrogation. “You asked me why I am here—I told you! Because I was assigned by the Prismatic Order! Straight from the capital at Yellowstone! I—I am merely doing my duties, as instructed by Inquisitor Szjik. Nothing more! I swear! I swear on the Ascendants!”

Shiv just glared at the bot. He took a moment to recap and process all the things he asked Oldsmith.

As it turned out, the Republic was even more full of bullshit than Shiv expected. Not only did the Master-Advisor here know about most of the Five Faiths in the Abyss, it was also tasked with establishing new trade ties with the Compact. There were also other consulates in various other gates. With what Oldsmith described, business between the Auroral Council of the Republic and the Lords of Law over Compact was booming. And when asked regarding the other faiths, it seemed the Master-Advisor knew plenty of things about them as well.

This led into another question: Why the Republic lied to their own people. When Oldsmith started claiming it was to protect the minds of the Republic’s citizens from corruptive ideologies and dark realities, Shiv lost his temper slightly. He might have slapped the bot a little. The bot’s head might have a pretty sizable dent as a result. That caused Oldsmith to update its answer from protection to control. Apparently, the Prismatic Order controlled something called a Censorship Agenda about things the people were and weren’t allowed to know.

And then things got even worse for Shiv as Oldsmith started going on about the logistics of assigning proper mind mages to each of the Republic’s territories to ensure that a shared understanding of culture and national destiny was maintained. 

An ill feeling passed through Shiv after he heard that. He felt like he was starting to dissociate from himself, and a sense of paranoia swelled inside him. Had a Psychomancer peered into his mind when he grew up? Shaped his memories? How much did Roland Arrow know? Why was there a censorship agenda at all?

It was at this point that Oldsmith made a terrible mistake. It started complaining about how it didn’t want to do any of this, how it deserved better for all its years of honest service rendered to an assortment of lords, and if it hadn’t agreed to arrangements made by its most recent benefactor, Havel Van Stormhalt, it wouldn’t be here trying to resolve the Blackedge problem for the Prismatic Order.

The names Havel Van Stormhalt and Blackedge brought Shiv’s other thoughts to a crashing halt. And then the hits just kept coming.

“City-Lord Havel had long despised Master Roland Arrow. He was practically overjoyed when he told me about a most important mission I was meant to help him accomplish. He admitted to me, then, that he was a high-ranking member of the Prismatic Order—and that he had received a divine duty from one of the Ascendants. The Republic was in danger! And because of one of its great heroes, no less!”

“Stormhalt? As in… the father of Isabella Van Stormhalt?” Shiv asked, just to clarify.

“Correct. The Young Lady was—well, relations between her and her father have always been troubled since the death of her mother, and after her elopement with Town-Lord Roland Arrow’s son—”

“Wait, elopement? I thought they were formally engaged.”

“If they were, City-Lord Havel did not give his consent,” Oldsmith continued. “Oh, his mood was ever so foul those final few days. And then, suddenly, he was overjoyed. Bursting with happiness! And that’s when he told me—that’s when he informed me of what was to happen! Blackedge was to be sacked and occupied. Starhawk’s Perch was to be secured and delivered unto City-Lord Havel, along with Town-Lord Roland Arrow, be he alive or dead, and proof of his treason! For within him burns a quest to bring down the Republic itself! And to lay low the Auroral Council!”

By the end of the speech, Shiv stared blankly at the automaton for practically a minute. There was so much in there for him to process that Shiv couldn’t help but sigh. Adam… is going to explode when he hears of this. Frankly, this is starting to seem like a plot on the system’s part to get Adam to suffer an aneurysm from pure anger.

Shiv, personally, was more lost than ever. He came into the office looking for a few answers regarding certain things that didn’t fit about the Republic—and then to beat an automaton to death. He ended up plunging into what seemed like a cross-national conspiracy that went so deep he couldn’t even see the bottom.

“Secured and delivered to Havel by whom?” Shiv asked.

“I—” Oldsmith hesitated.

“Speak. You don’t need any of your limbs to do that.”

“Vicar Sullain! The disgraced Vicar Sullain!” Oldsmith wailed, sounding shamed and terrified. “Members of the Prismatic Order and the foul Necrotech Vicar came to an accord for the greater good! No one in the Republic has enough authority or power to directly deliver justice upon Roland Arrow—not with the Starhawk still Blessing him. But with all that is at stake, and his heresy threatening the stability of the Auroral Council, extreme measures had to be taken. And another means of accessing Starhawk’s Perch was required.”

“So, you guys…” Shiv paused as he tried to put all this together in his head. “Okay. Havel hates Roland. Havel is supposedly a member of the Prismatic Order—and he takes orders from one of the Ascendants. And they want him to deal with Roland Arrow?”

“Yes.”

Shiv narrowed his eyes. “But Roland also has the favor of the Starhawk, which is… another Ascendant. Also in the Auroral Council.”

“I… yes, correct,” the Master-Advisor nodded.

Shiv was starting to get a headache. “And because Roland’s been accused of heresy and having a quest… to destroy the Auroral Council?”

“Yes. That—that is what I have been told.”

“But he’s favored. By an Ascendant. Of the Auroral Council.” Shiv emphasized every sentence, trying to make Oldsmith realize how absurd and outrageous this all was.

“Ah, perhaps… perhaps the Starhawk is deceived? And does not know of his favored apprentice’s treachery?” Now it sounded like the damn bot was asking a question.

“You’re not sure?” Shiv asked.

“No,” Oldsmith admitted.

“And you didn’t bother checking? Or hiring a spy to slip into Blackedge or something?”

“I—that was not my assigned duty, so perhaps that has happened, but I cannot be sure.”

“Well, if it were me, I would have felling asked!” Shiv snarled. Oldsmith toppled over and began shaking as the Deathless leaned over the bot. “Tell me you’re not lying. Tell me this isn’t bullshit. Tell me. Because it sounds like bullshit. Siggy!”

The goblin jumped a full meter off the ground at the use of her name. She was shaking when she turned to regard Shiv. “Y-yes?”

“Does this sound like bullshit?” he asked.

She looked at the automaton. “Yeah. Honestly, kind of.”

“No! It’s not!” Oldsmith cried.

“You!” Shiv said, pointing at Mira, the secretary. She gave a muffled cry of fear due to the rebar tightened around her lower jaw and body. “Does this sound like bullshit?”

She paused, considered it, and then tried to nod.

“I—I assure you, it is not! I have… I have evidence of this! I have communications records between me and Inquisitor Szjik! It was in the desk! You can look!” Oldsmith crawled through the debris of the piano-desk and began pawing through the mess. 

Shiv watched at the automaton and placed his hands on his hips while biting his lips. What the hells did I just stumble ass-blind into?

“Look!” Oldsmith said, holding up what looked to be a leather journal. A series of spell patterns danced over a lock, keeping the book bound. “This is it. Here.” It pressed the lock and a clicking sound followed. The lock fell, and Oldsmith came rushing back, handing Shiv the book. As he opened the pages and started flipping through, Shiv’s jaw dropped. He could see Roland Arrow’s name mentioned hundreds of times. Other words that leaped out to him were “quest,” “Starhawk,” “the Vicar,” “civil war,” “divine struggle,” and more.

If Oldsmith was lying, he was the most prepared and prescient liar Shiv had ever meet. And something told him the automaton had no skill related to Divination. “You got to be kidding me,” Shiv muttered.

“I’m not!” Oldsmith said. It fell to its knees and embraced Shiv’s legs. “Please… great Master-Pathbearer. Spare me! I am just a servant. Just the hand of another! Let me go!”

Shiv looked down at the wretched machine. “Oldsmith. If you don’t let go of me, I’m going to kick you, and it’s going to be hard to figure out where your bits begin and your broken piano ends.” The automaton let go of Shiv and simply bowed in supplication. The Deathless tried putting more pieces together. Really messy and ugly pieces.

“So,” Shiv began. “Instead of doing anything to investigate or find proof through more subtle means… an Ascendant, a City-Lord, and the literal secret guardians of the Republic decided to strike an accord with a being of the Abyss to murder its own people, destroy a tripwire town, and capture or kill a national hero?”

Oldsmith froze briefly. “That… appears to be accurate.”

Shiv tried pinching the bridge of his nose—and felt his fingers bounce off his skull helmet. His Perfect Semblance completed the action, though. “It seems like you guys jumped several orders of escalation. This is insane.”

“Well… sometimes one needs to be insane to protect the Republic they love,” Oldsmith said, sounding slightly offended.

“Right. Where does owning a literal slave child and beating them to near-death with a belt in public fall into that?”

Oldsmith went silent again. Then, slowly, it looked up, staring at Shiv. “Why… who are you?”

Shiv glared down at the machine. And then he gave a humorless laugh. “You screwed yourself. You know that, right? If you hadn’t tried killing that kid, I would have passed you by. And maybe a lot fewer people would have died when I fought that big, cruel bastard.”

The automaton’s optics flickered in a mechanical version of a blink. “The vampire… you’re… oh, Ascendants, oh, gods, you’re the spy?”

Shiv looked down and then decided to dismiss his Perfect Semblance out of spite. As he revealed his skeletal armor, Oldsmith let out a gasp of terror as Shiv snorted. “If I’m a spy, I’m a pretty shit one. Barely made it a few hours before I lost multiple cover identities. And now here I am bumbling ass-first into an international conspiracy because a Master-Advisor couldn’t keep his shit together.”

Shiv reapplied his Perfect Semblance. Suddenly, he was Hugo again. Some dead fire mage that Siggy knew.

“I—listen, please, listen! I have a great deal of mithril! There’s—I can take you to a save in the capital. I—I can make arrangements. Introduce you to people of power! You would like that, yes? To accumulate more levels and power? To gain Blessings? I might even be able to have you greet an Ascendant and earn true favor! Please… don’t—don’t hurt me! A-all this can be bygones easily. Why, if you are interested, you can demonstrate your power, Master-Pathbearer! All you need to do is help transport an object—t-the core of a weapon to the surface once the way opens again.”

Now, Shiv was full-on laughing. “You got to be kidding me. The system spites, and the system bestows.”

“What?”

“You have the Animancy Core? You tainted bastard, I came in the gate to find the damn thing! I thought what I ended up doing earlier might have killed my chances of finding the core, and here you are. A real system-sent blessing.”

“What—what do you…” Oldsmith shook, and repeated a question from earlier. “Who are you?”

Shiv considered all the answers he could give. He chose the one that amused him the most. “I was an assistant chef. I worked at the Swan-Eating Toad.”

“The—wait, the one run by Heroic Pathbearer Georges Archambault?”

“Yeah—wait, Heroic?”

“Yes. He is… a heretic, but his cooking skills were borderline legendary. Only a shame about his lack of faith. And his greed.”

Shiv paused. He didn’t know Georges was Heroic-Tier.

“But… how could that be?” Oldsmith said, looking at Shiv. “You are… you are here!”

“Yeah,” Shiv said, nodding. “What other obvious statement are you going to make?”

“You—Blackedge is encircled! There was no escape! We even intercepted the few Slayer teams that were dispatched by Master Roland Arrow to warn the capital of what is happening.”

“Yeah, that’s because I was thrown—wait, Slayer teams?”

“Six in total,” Oldsmith explained. “Five were entirely eliminated. Two survivors in the last group. A Jump Mage and the leader. They—they are currently undergoing interrogation. But… the Inquisitors might be almost done…”

Foreshadowing: Jeffery Tran pleaded for death. The interrogator ignored him and ripped into his mind again. Tran screamed. He thought the wounds left on his body were bad. This was infinitely worse.

But worst of all was hearing Heather shriek beside him. She wasn’t better off than he was. He could hear her crying. He tried to reach out to her and hold her hand. But the distance between them was too far.

He didn’t deserve this. He tried to do the right thing his entire life. He didn’t deserve to die in a miserable cell like this, having his mind torn apart by the Inquisition.

But he knew there was no one coming to save him. He knew. And he despaired.

Foreshadowing > 23

“Shit,” Shiv cried, clutching his head. The visions hit him hard that time. That was Tran. And Heather. They were hurt bad. That meant the other two were… “Where?”

“What?” Oldsmith asked.

The automaton’s annoying voice and the rising rage Shiv felt after the vision provoked him to violence. He clamped a hand around Oldsmith’s left arm and tore. The limb came off with a spray of oil, sparks, and screams. Oldsmith whistled in notes of electronic agony no human throat could ever make. Mira thrashed and twitched, sobbing as she struggled to escape. Siggy was slumped against the door, her legs giving out under her.

“Where? Where is the Slayer team? Tell me where?” Shiv said. His heartbeats were like thunder, and his blood was on fire with the urge to do harm. He didn’t like Heather. Tran betrayed him on some level. Didn’t mean he was fine with some Inquisitor torturing them to death. Didn’t mean Shiv was just going to let them die. Not when he still—Tran had been the only person nice to him sometimes.

Even if it was fake, it still meant something to Shiv.

It took a while for Oldsmith to stop screaming. By the time it did, the automaton was full-on sobbing in agony and horror. “They’re here! In the building! They’re in a secret chamber in the sublevels. A blacksite! You could have just waited—my arm. You could have—”

Whatever else Oldsmith was going to say died as Shiv seized the bot by the neck and lifted it. “You. You’re going to take me there, right now. Siggy. You’re coming too.”

The goblin Pathbearer tried to stand, but couldn’t. “I—you could just rebar me l-like Mira.”

Shiv glared at her. “You mistake statement for a request.”

Siggy whimpered in response. “O-okay. You’re the boss.”

“You take… point. Stay ahead of us, but not that far. Tell me if anyone’s outside or at the elevator. You try to run, and I’ll push all the organs inside you out through your mouth.”

“Oh, gods, oh shit,” Siggy shuddered as she pushed open the door.

“And you,” Shiv said, looking at Mira. The secretary cried out in terror, clicking her legs and shaking her head. A feeling of self-disgust and embarrassment came over Shiv. “I’m… sorry.” Mira blinked in surprise. “I was… I am really pissed off. About a lot of things. I shouldn’t have threatened you so harshly. I shouldn’t have scared you.” Shiv frowned. “I’m not very good at tactics, stealth, or the whole complicated planning thing yet. I’ll have to get better at that. Just stay here for a while. Someone will find you.”

Done with his apology, Shiv gestured for the staring Siggy to leave, and he followed her out with Oldsmith still in his hand. “And you,” he said to the automaton. “Start talking about this secret chamber. How many Inquisitors are there. Their Tiers. Everything.”

And Oldsmith talked. And Oldsmith told him everything.

***

“I mean, how much could they really know? They’re just some Slayers—and barely small-time, at that. Up until the attack, their biggest problem was maybe clearing out some lesser vampires or maybe an ogre den.” Den sighed as he took a sip from his coffee. “I just don’t see the point of working them that rough. If it were up to me, just wipe their minds and ship them off to re-education. Or kill them.”

“It’s not up to you,” Gewen said. She was judging him with those eyes again. He hated when she did that. It was just the two of them on guard in the entry room for the blacksite. The other two Questioners were in the cells, aiding the Inquisitor with the prisoners. Blacksite Theborn never saw much action—it was mostly just a reserve location in case they needed to take and hold a high profile target in the Blackedge area. This past week, though? They had their hands full. Two surviving rebels from Blackedge. Former Slayers. Apparently, Town-Lord Arrow sent them off to the capital to deliver news and bring aid.

They didn’t make it very far.

“They might not know much, but they can still reveal things about the town. And about any of Arrow’s weaknesses.” Gewen chimed. Den stared at the automaton and snorted. “What? Speak.”

“Did you read Roland Arrow’s threat profile?” he asked.

She was silent. “I have busy with the prisoners.”

“Yeah. Well. I did some of our required reading, and let me tell you—the guy’s a monster. Twenty. Twenty godsdamned Master-Tier Skills. With that kind of status, he’s practically Legendary anyway.”

Gewen scoffed. “What drivel. If the Prismatic Order mustered a single Purification Squad, we would see him secured in a day.”

“And here we are, two weeks on, and the battle is still raging.”

“Has a Purification Squad been dispatched?”

“No, but there is a Legendary Pathbearer that has been getting repelled time and time again by Arrow. You’re going to tell me a single Purification Squad which, on average, is composed entirely of Adepts, is going to be more effective?”

“Yes,” Gewen said. She held out her three mechanical arms and leaned her bulbous head backward. “Because we have the favor and faith of the Aurora. Because we are the only blessed in this damned world.”

Den wasn’t unfaithful by any means, but believing in the gods wasn’t synonymous with being delusion. He was also smart enough to know that it was stupid to debate a fanatical automaton. “You know what, Gewen. You’re right. A Purification Squad could totally do it.”

“I am glad you are so willing to learn and change your foolish thinking. It is your most redeeming quality.”

Den snorted again. Gewen was about to say something when a section of the wall clicked and hissed as the secret entrance to the blacksite slid open. Den blinked. He shared a look with Gewen. “Do we have another scheduled delivery?”

Gewen filled her hands with three maces and readied herself. “No. We don’t.”

But then through the crack squeezed the annoyance. The one they had to babysit. Master-Advisor Maxwell Oldsmith. It staggered through with a cough and large coat around its body. “Ah,” Oldsmith began. “It’s absolute miserable out there. The damned Gate Lord has—he has no sense of decency or understanding at all.”

“Oh, great,” Den deadpanned. “The only person I dislike talking to more than you is here.”

“A sentiment shared,” Gewen said, putting away her maces. “Master-Advisor. This place is not for you without proper notification. Please depart. We are engaged in highly delicate operations.”

“Well, that’s just the thing,” Oldsmith said. There was a slight quiver in its voice. “You seem to have missed a subject! Another one! I’ve been instructed to bring you another one! And you won’t believe who it is: The Town-Lord himself! Roland Arrow.”

Den and Gewen shared a look. The Master-Advisor wasn’t known for its comedy, and so they both rushed toward the doorway to find out just what exactly was going on. As they approached, Den frowned. “Hey, what happened to the lights? Why is it so—”

Something passed through the center of Den’s face. He took a step forward and his head started spinning. Things felt weird, the Master-Advisor was turning away from him, talking to the darkness about how he did what someone asked. Behind Den came the sound of a falling body. But Den didn’t notice because he was reaching for his nose. There was a ticklish feeling there. But his fingers kept going and going and… his hand was all the way in his face. His nose wasn’t there. His upper lip and all the teeth wasn’t there. A gust of wind came from the dark hall and washed through the new exit wound left in the back of his head.

Den blinked one last time, and then fell over.

***

Stealth > 33

Marksmanship > 12

Shiv emerged from his Umbral Shadowalker state to observe his handiwork. Two dead for a single bone drill. The shot went straight through the elf’s face, but it took the bots head clean off. Beside him, the Master-Advisor was babbling about how he did everything to the letter, that Shiv could trust him.

“Siggy,” Shiv said. “Pick up a weapon.” The goblin hesitated. He just stared at her until she complied. She chose one of the three maces the automaton was using, and she nodded at him. “Good. Close the door. If the Master-Advisor moves, beat it to death.”

Slowly, the Master-Advisor looked at Siggy, but her eyes remained locked on Shiv. A nice thing about Intimidation: When someone was scared enough of you, they basically turned into a free assistant. Fear was a pretty wonderful tool. And that was why he dropped his Perfect Semblance. He was going to be taking a new identity soon anyway, and when he entered that cell, he intended to brutalize the Inquisitors in both spirit and body for what they were doing.

“I—I can help you get into the cell! It’s spell sealed!” Shiv ignored Oldsmith’s words as he picked the dead elf off the ground. He regarded the hole in the middle of the corpse’s face and simply turned the elf sideways a bit.

There, Shiv thought as he chuckled to himself. Practically like you’re still alive.

As he got to the reinforced door Oldsmith was talking about, he regarded the layered mess of shapes and colors flowing in a complex pattern. It looked like something he might see on a teleportation anchor. Maybe if he filled up his Momentum Core, he could eventually blast through, but right now, he felt like using his head a bit more. And a little more finesse. Those were things he needed to improve.

Shiv was ultimately a straightforward guy, who liked straightforward solutions. He made a fist and hammered it against the dense, metal door. The active spells repulsed his hand and blared a note of alarm. Shiv prepared himself, holding up the dead elf. But not before sending his bone drill to burst every light nearby. He went invisible, just as the reinforced door cracked open.

“What? What is—” An bald, sneering human stuck his face out. He glared at the corpse. “Den? What is the meaning of this. I told you—”

Shiv’s Biomancy flooded the room. There were five people there. Two were extremely injured—probably Heather and Tran. Two more had no Magical Resistance or Biomancy. The last one felt like a slab of metal to Shiv’s magic. That poor bastard was going to end up suffering the most. But the Inquisitors were all going to die.

The Deathless twisted the spines of the two who had no Magical Resistance. Sudden squeals of absolute misery came from inside the interrogation room. The bald man offered one such squeal, and he fell over as Shiv yanked the door open. Not yet done, he tossed the dead elf inside and then exploded the corpse to create some kind of a blood-mist bomb to further obscure his approach.

He identified Heather and Tran bolted to a colorless, gunmetal gray wall on his right. The last of the Inquisitors cursed—but responded. She drew her curved saber—and its material gleamed like Lady Harkness’s rapier. Stellarite, Shiv remembered the composition of the weapon being called.

He stomped toward her, taking his time, the metallic white of his exoskeleton painted over by a thin layer of red. The Inquisitor he faced was armored as well, wearing a full set of emerald green armor—except for the helmet. “Stop!” She snarled, her brown eyes wide with determination—and no small amount of fear. “You don’t know who—”

Shiv launched his bone drill at her. She cursed and parried it aside. Shiv blinked as the Inquisitor practically zipped blade-first at his chest after she blocked his attack. Her saber flashed with the glorious brightness of the morning sun. Shiv felt it leave a slight cut on his bone drill—even with his Adamantine Adaption. And she was fast too—faster than him by far, with his Momentum Core empty.

The tip of her saber pierced his armor—and then it got stuck as bones grew denser, matching both the force and extreme heat. The woman’s eyes widened. Shiv grabbed her by the arm and laughed. “That’s a nice weapon skill. Evolution of Parry?”

She tried pulling her back, cursing as she strained. Barely an Adept of Physicality, it seemed. A Low Master. A bit like him. Her blade ignited—turning white with how much heat it was releasing. But it didn’t cut any deeper.  She was going to need a lot more force and heat to do anything. That, or try an attack he wasn’t adapted to. 

“Fine,” Shiv said. “Don’t answer me. I’ll ask you again after I break you.” And then Shiv pulled her off her feet and started slamming her against the walls. Her armor was of damn good quality. Her limb shredded and dislocated. She screamed. The armor didn’t even scratch. He was going to take that off of her after she was dead. 

Maybe Uva could use this.

He dashed the Inquisitor over and over against the wall—until the spell patterns started flickering in places and the metal began to dent. She went limp after the twenty-second swing, and he bounced her head against the walls twice more before he stopped. By this point, the limb he clutched could rotate three hundred and sixty degrees because the socket didn’t exist. Her face was also unrecognizable.

“Adept Toughness too,” Shiv grunted. “Should keep your helmet on, then.”

She let out a wheeze and twitched.

Grappling Proficiency > 50 (Skill Evolution Imminent)

Might of Mass > 94

Momentum Core > 74

“My legs… I can’t feel my legs,” the bald Inquisitor moaned. He was trying to crawl out of the room. Shiv walked over and dragged him back in. It was then that he noticed the front of the Inquisitor’s legs was opposite to the man’s torso. Looks like I twisted him a bit harder than expected. The Inquisitor howled with pain. Shiv’s Biomancy helped him feel Siggy shiver in fright.

Intimidation > 47

“Bastard! Bastard heathen!” the bald Inquisitor howled as he was tossed beside the other Inquisitor Shiv broke. That one was a pale, raven maned man wearing a heavy focus crystal helmet. He was the Psychomancer of the group. He had also blacked out from the pain, earning Shiv’s disapproval. “You will burn for this! The Auroral Council will know of your deeds! Whatever you do to us, they will punish—punish—”

It was at this point the Inquisitor realized he was raging against someone wearing the visage of death.

“Yeah. Sure. But I was already Omenborn so… not much of a threat to me. But we’ll talk more about this soon.”

Shiv turned away from his three disabled enemies. He was going to question them and Oldsmith some more in this room after this. No sense being wasteful. It also might make for a good temporary base of operations, come to think of it.

Now, it was time for the harder part of the operation: Saving Tran and Heather. He focused his Biomancy field on them and groaned in discomfort. Frankly, he didn’t need the field. Both of the Slayers were barely clothed—stripped down to their undergarments. Heather was badly burned. One of her legs was a blackened nub. She was also running an extreme fever as her body suffered multiple infections at once.

Tran wasn’t better. Both of his legs were broken. A crude set of stitches held his chest together, and he was bleeding internally from so many organs that if he hadn’t been an Adept, he probably would’ve been long dead already.

“S-stop! Hu-hurts. Please. Just… just kill me. Just kill me.” Tran’s whispered plea made Shiv feel sick. And that sickness turned to burning rage.

“What in the felling shit were you people doing?” Shiv snarled. He snatched the bald Inquisitor off the ground and made the man look at his deeds. “Was it your intention to leave your prisoners near death? What was your plan? To have them die during torture? For what?”

The Inquisitor’s face struggled between fear and defiance, but finally, he spat on Shiv’s helmet. “To purify them. Because they turned from the glory of the Aurora. Because they were traitors to the Republic.”

“You’re the ones working with a rogue Necrotech Vicar?” Shiv shouted.

The Inquisitor sneered. “Working. The fool is just a tool. We are the masters. And we will take this world, for the glory of the council.”

Shiv stared at the man for a long moment, and realized he was talking to a uniquely stupid specimen of humanity. “Fine. Potions. Potions of Regeneration. Where do you keep them?” The Inquisitor spat on Shiv again. “You better start talking. I don’t need all of you alive. I just need to speak to one.” He made the man look at the coughing female Inquisitor. “Talk. Or I’ll go over and count the stomps it takes for her head to come apart.”

The bald Inquisitor hesitated. And then spat again. “Again, with the spitting,” Shiv grumbled.

“Our lives are already taken!” The Inquisitor breathed. “Given freely to the Republic and our gods. Do what you will. And it is pointless as well.” the bald man laughed. “We do not use potions. We had a Biomancer as one of our Questioners. But she died earlier today. Caught in the wrong place crossing a bridge—struck down as two monstrous Masters born of this degenerate Abyss tore her apart without even noticing she was there. I saw… I saw…”

And Shiv noticed the sorrow in the bald man’s eyes.

Godsdammit! Shiv raged internally. He knew—he knew there was—he wasn’t thinking during his fight with 811, but he didn’t expect—There are always consequences. Always. The system loves strife. It rewards us for it. But we’re damned by it as well. I should—I need to use more caution. I need to fight with more care.

He looked at Tran and Heather and swallowed. Shiv might have just unwittingly killed them.

Slowly, Tran blinked, and lifted his head. He looked around the room, saw the carnage, saw the blood, saw the three broken Inquisitors, and the skeletal brute standing across from him. And he coughed. “Well. This is a damn weird dying dream.”

“Not a dream,” Shiv replied, reaching into both Tran and Heather with his Biomancy. He—he wasn’t ready for this. He could maybe close a cut by this point or reconnect a bone, but actual healing for all those wounds and all those organs was—he needed a lot more time to study.

“Are you death?” Tran gasped. “You look like…” He sagged. “Thanks. For hurting them. I—I really wanted someone to hurt them. I started calling out to gods I didn’t believe in. Maybe you were one of them.”

Shiv lifted his helmet and took off his mask. “Come on, Tran. Talking like that’s going to give me an ego problem.”

Tran blinked. A hard feat to accomplish with a swollen eye. “Shiv?”

“Yeah.”

“I… how? They… they found your bodies. So many bodies. What… what happened to you? How are you here? And… how the hells are you so godsdamned big?”

“Long story,” Shiv said. He glared at the clamps holding Heather and Tran in place. “But I’m getting you and Heather out.”

Tran laughed sadly. “Don’t think so, kid. I’m—I’ve been a Pathbearer long enough to know I’m good and tainted. These wounds are…”

“I’m a Biomancer,” Shiv said, gritting his teeth. “I can… I can try.” And that was all he could do. So close to a Skill Evolution for Biomancy, Shiv needed a miracle. Something from the system that would allow him to keep these two alive without too much knowledge for medicine or biology. And so Shiv reached out. He reached deep into their wounds, and—

The bald Inquisitor laughed. “You’re just going to watch them die. I see what you are now! Another traitor come to save his people! But they are lost to—aghghhgh!” His voice trailed off as Shiv turned his Biomancy on the man in a rage. His field remained connected to Heather and Tran, and instinctively, he began imprinting their wounds onto the bald Inquisitor.

“No! Stop! The Aurora! The Ascendants will avenge me! They will punish you—” His voice turned into a rising howl of primal torment. His legs turned to burned nubs. His chest ripped open as if he was cut. His organs burst and ruptured, bones breaking in accompaniment. And so consumed by focus, anger, and impotence, and Shiv didn’t notice the system answering his plea.

Skill Evolution: Biomancy (Advanced) > Woundeater (Master)

Woundeater > 52

A swirling vortex of crimson mana exploded out from Shiv as his field practically tripled in size and strength. Spell patterns twisted out of him, turning into twin wyrms of that dove through Tran and Heather. The wyrms swam. The wyrms ate. The wyrms devoured the bleeding, ruined, and broken parts of the Slayers’ bodies. When the wyrms emerged, they twisted and danced around Shiv’s outstretched arms, their bodies containing a series of wounds collected and crystallized in mana.

The room was drowned in red. The Inquisitor looked up, and his eyes widened in absolute disbelief. “My… my gods.”

Intimidation > 48

And then Shiv cast both wyrms into the man—transferring every wound he just stole into his enemy. The Inquisitor gave a final howl as he was biologically sundered.

A new blossom of blood erupted in the room, drenching Shiv and everyone else. Only then did the Deathless realize what he had done in a rage. He looked at his hands, and he realized his magic had changed. A small, wyrm continued circling his damaged arm—his left arm, nibbling away at the harm that had been done to him—but to no avail.

The soul damage still needed time to heal.

But Tran and Heather, however…

Heather inhaled sharply as she opened her eyes, her fever dying down. She took in the bloody horror show that was the interrogation room, Shiv looking at his hands, the remains of the dead Inquisitor that just assumed the debt of her injuries, and then at Tran, who was as dumbfounded as she was.

“Well,” Shiv said, looking at the Slayers and grinning. “Looks like all that self-mutilation and cancer gave me something useful.”

Heather just gawked at the man she once only referred to as Omenborn. “What the fuck!”