II-79 Shadowrun (III)

Problems happen one after another. They often coincide at the most inopportune moments, despite your best plans. And so, that is why I say it’s better to be prepared than to have a proper plan. For plans clash into other plans and break, while preparations can be used in accordance with the shifting tides.

When I entered the Collectress’s realm to save Vendrian’s wife and child, I did so thinking that it would be a dangerous, but ultimately straightforward endeavor. The Trespassers would locate our targets, and I would break everything that stood in their way, allowing them to form an easy extraction.

But it was not so, for another danger approached me. It came upon me in the Throne Room, and that was when I discovered a simple fact: even though I might not be interested in politics, politics would always be interested in me.

A word of advice to all you would-be conquerors and cultivators: be powerful, but also be aware of the games you play. For ultimately, unless you are above everyone in terms of capability, you will have to consider your maneuvers.

-Wei An Wei The Realmbreaker

II-79
Shadowrun (III)

“And that’s why elf children are prime delicacy,” the demonic ogre finished. Ellena blinked, her mind a whirlwind of revulsion, disbelief, and, to her dismay, genuine astonishment. The ogre was a monster, this was true, but the way he described how he flayed the children and stuffed them full of ointments—so incredibly well-made, with perfectly detailed recipes and condiments interspersed between—was nothing short of unnerving, yet strangely artistic. He spoke as though this was merely another expression of his talents, not an actual murder or butchery, just something he did.

“I see,” the former queen managed, her voice laced with uncertainty. “That sounds very… it sounds complicated.” 

The ogre grinned. “No, it’s not really. I mean, children aren’t exactly great at fighting you off, so if you can find an easy-to-raid realm, you can overpower most of their parents and simply snatch them.” With a casual grabbing gesture and a chuckle, he continued, “Anyway, I’m telling you this right now because I’m seriously honest, right? I think that you guys should come over to my place. That’s Big Bill’s Butchery, and we can show you just how good a little bit of elf meat pie tastes.” As he finished speaking, Ellena noticed every elf in her  sect staring at her, eyes wide with shock or horror.

The only one who seemed less terrified and more annoyed was the elf saved from the Hearted Realm of Greed—Mira Nocturne. With a scoff, Mira demanded, “Why are you applying cream inside of elves?” The ogre glanced at her. “I… yes?” “It’s disgusting,” she replied. “You have to understand that this does not fit. Elves do not taste as people do. They most certainly don’t taste as ogres do. Oh, and you know how elves taste? Elf?” The ogre loomed over her. 

In response, Mira simply flicked out a blade and used it to tickle the underside of her chin, barely appearing intimidated as she yawned. “Yes, actually, I do. Eating other elves is just what my people do.”

The ogre’s surprise was palpable. “You… what?” he stammered. “Yes, eating other elves is just what we do. I’m sorry, there isn’t one realm—it’s not just one elf. The only thing we have in common is that we’re all spawned from the first fey. Hence, Faeblooded. But me? Well, they call my kind cannibal elves for a reason.” 

“What? You… cannibal elves?” the ogre echoed. 

“Yes, because the only way we can reproduce is by eating another elf. After that, well…” She pointed at herself. “We kind of… molt.” “Molt?” the ogre repeated. “Molt?” Ellena echoed, equally stunned. “Yes, it’s just how things are done. But I must warn you—if you eat a cannibal elf, it doesn’t work the same way. Our cells are in constant rapid division, and this instability causes them to develop explosive cancers. In fact, they spread through your body within the day. It all starts in your blood. And after that

“—oh, I need to go.” With that, the ogre suddenly turned, sprinting through the crowd while yelling about needing to certify whether the meat in his butchery was proper.

As he fled, Mira threw back her head and laughed, “Look at the fat man run, Queenie.” Ellena turned to Mira.

“Is that true, what you said?” she asked. A slight laugh escaped Ellena’s lips. “That was quite well done. What a deception.” 

Mira stared at the queen, confused. “What deception?” And, in that moment, Ellena realized that the true monstrosities were not only beyond their sect but also within it. 

“I see,” she finally managed, overcoming her shock.

“Is this cultural?” someone inquired. “Well, it’s more like by design,” Mira replied. “It’s not that we have to eat other elves—it’s that if we don’t, we don’t reproduce. I believe our variation came about when some human wizard or other sought to create a self-solving crisis, using elves to solve the elven problem. He was quite specious, really. But then again, I wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.” Mira shrugged. “The world is a cold place, but we must find our joy where we can.”

Before Mira could continue, a loud commotion rippled through the crowd. Suddenly, Ellena felt a spike of essence—so powerful and oppressive that she forgot to breathe for a moment. She had been in the company of Dukes before, great powers traversing the hearted realm, barely sustaining themselves there. But this was different—this was a controlled force, like a strong river rushing through her being without knocking her over. There was a discipline to the power, a warrior’s discipline.

Suddenly, the Old Man rose on his throne and turned his eyes toward the distance. “Shit,” was all he uttered. He looked at Ellena and winced. “All right, Where is Wei,” he mumbled.The former queen stared at the Count of Pride, her mouth opening and closing until she finally regained her composure. 

“He is currently still indisposed, trying to meditate.”

“Good,” the Old Man said, surprisingly. “Keep him there. Don’t let him come back. I’m going to try to smooth things over.”

“Why? What’s happening?” Ellena asked. 

“Lein,” the Old Man snarled. “She’s actually showing up. This shouldn’t be happening. She never shows up where her husband hangs around.” The Old Man sank back into his throne. “Shit. The last thing I need is her challenging me to a duel or demanding some kind of satisfaction.

“Can she force that? Aren’t there laws here?”

He paused, staring at her. “Yeah, there are laws. But you also have to understand that there are many, many laws in the claim tales. If she brings out her lawyer, she can bog you down and fuck your sect in ways you can’t imagine. I can’t even help you if I integrate you into the Circle of Pride—because she has more influence than I do.” With each passing word, the oppressive feeling in the chamber only grew. The vast room filled with sinners and demons suddenly cleared as crowds parted like waves, yielding before a coming force. Murmurs turned to whispers, and then absolute silence.

A few kilometers away, over rows of people and countless turned heads, a massive portal formed. It was raw red—like a rash, no, a scar splitting open on the surface of reality.

Just then, Ellena felt tumbling powers of wrath mingled with the gold of pride. Flames spat out, tendrils of blackened ash danced in the air, and from a distant place—somewhere else, where explosions painted the backdrop—Ellena saw Lein’s form for the first time.

Her body was outlined in a silhouette of slender but deadly elegance. Blossoming lightning and brightened mushroom clouds shrouded her coming form, making her appear even more brilliant. She wore a helmet that was curved and jagged, as if it were a saber itself. Curved and jagged, as if it were a saber itself.

Her gauntlets and armor gleamed with a silvery sheen that flowed like liquid rather than remaining stable and solid. At her side were hounds—dogs with twisting, circulating saws for heads. On their backs, spikes impaled severed, dismembered fragments from various victims—a macabre message from a brutal mistress.

As Lein approached, Ellena noticed the long spear she held in her right hand. It was perhaps too large to be called a spear—too large to even be called a lance. It was a massive dark slab, with stone at its head rather than metal. Volcanic veins ran down the length of the weapon, and from within, Ellena could hear whispering, begging, “Free us, please, free us. We are trapped here. We cannot escape. We cannot.”

Lein walked forth, her helmet scanning all those present. Seconds later, she stepped once, and space itself shivered before her. In an instant, she arrived just a few steps away from the Old Man’s dais—just a few steps away from Ellena. At that moment, she realized most of the sect had backed off, hiding behind the Old Man. The orc chef was panic-eating, shoving pancake after cupcake into his mouth, and Mira had fled, abandoning Ellena. The former queen found herself standing beside the Old Man, alone, and sent a message to Wei.

“Wei?” came her distracted reply. “We need you to stay gone—and perhaps be gone for as long as possible.”

Lein then strode forward, and only then did Ellena realize just how tall this woman was. Nearly three meters in height, her body was impossibly slender yet possessed an inhuman agility. Lane loomed over the Old Man and stared down at Ellena for a moment, sending a shiver down the former queen’s spine. Behind Lane, within the slits of her helmet’s visors, were cold, dead eyes—eyes that belonged on a doll or a shark.

“Lane, the last—” the Old Man began, holding his arms open as if proclaiming a victorious return, “you honor—” Before he could finish, Lane casually placed a hand on his shoulder. To Ellena’s astonishment, Lane’s fingers cupped the Old Man’s floating sun on his right side and pressed it back into his pauldron. It was a simple gesture, yet it conveyed undeniable dominance and power. Her touch was gentle, but the sheer force behind it settled any question about their power differential.

“There is no need for this, old friend,” Lein declared without any warmth. “I am here to speak to my husband, and I am here to inquire about my former son’s death. I understand that he fell defending my honor—against that adulterer, against his champion. In fact, I believe I’ve seen this champion perform just a few days ago, seen him cut down on the counters of envy—and now I hear that he’s been invited to this mansion of pride, to be courted by you.”

Leaning down to speak directly into the Old Man’s left ear, she continued, “I’d like to meet him. After all, it’s not every day that one hears their son’s been slain. I’d like to meet the murderer of my dear boy—to see if they are truly of the caliber I’ve heard. It wouldn’t do for a woman of my reputation to lose a child to a lout, wouldn’t you agree?”

Then, in a move that Ellena never expected, the Old Man coughed, swallowed, and nodded. “I’ll see if I can reach him. Do not see—simply bring him to me. He is here, is he not? Unless you can’t find someone in your own home.”

She laughed—a laugh that rose awkwardly and slowly through the crowd like an inevitable tide. In that moment, Elinor understood the true nature of pride and dominance. The laughter, forced yet potent, made it clear: some were bent entirely to the whims of ego, and ever so slightly, the Old Man’s suns dimmed.

“Now,” Lein the Last, Duchess of Pride whispered, turning to regard Ellena. “You are one of his, aren’t you? The former queen.”

Ellena didn’t know what to say.

“My pleasure to be your acquaintance,” Lein continued. “I ask that you help me make introductions with your master.”

***

William flinched as another coruscating wave of luminous fire surged along the bridges above him. From portal after portal, more of the inferno spread as laughing pixies danced amidst the blaze.

The Trespasser blinked. “Goddamn, Bishop, you said you’re detonating a payload. What the hell was this?” William said. 

“I didn’t say what kind of payload.” Bishop laughed. “The Collectress here was collecting pixie bombs, and you know what that means.”

True to Bishop’s words, the pixies started flying, dancing through the air as they splashed against every material surface. Slaves and demons burned alight, even though they batted at each other—swatting some reasoned skills of frost or water that could not douse the rising conflagration. They screamed. Their flesh, however, did not char or burn; instead, it dissolved into dust, which then became more fire pixies, the strange kin to the forest fairies.

From far below, William felt rippling tides of essence choke entire patches of fire into nothing but silence and darkness. Many massive, gleaming hands crawled up along the walls, loosening with the power of lust. Faintly, a spire of gold was rising as well, its ethereal form slicing through all structures in its path. The collectors and the gold skull were doing something—something William wasn’t interested in finding out.

“50 meters to intercept,” Bishop said. William waited as he looked over the edge, and in a second, the carriage carrying the Scion’s wife, Anera , and their unborn child passed by—alongside whatever other treasures she kept on the move. He took a breath and steadied himself.

“Three, two, one,” Bishop counted down. William jumped. The shadows shrouding him rippled, and, true to the other trespassers’ word, he slammed against the top side of the carriage, barely hanging on. It was a strangely shaped thing—something reminiscent of a carriage from Cinderella. He clamped his hands around the spikes of ivory and gold, holding on as the snake-like serpents that pulled the carriage slithered from one portal toward the next.

“You have thirty seconds to get in before we pass into another threshold.” True to Bishop’s words, another portal loomed closer and William began trying to pass into the carriage. William growled. Shadows streamed out from his body, sliding between the gaps. However, he soon felt himself intercepted by pulsing wards. “God damn it,” he hissed. “Wei!”

Just then, a burst of Source flashed around him as a silhouette figure cut out with a scythe. The demon guards protecting the carriage suddenly shattered into white and black before the young master turned his System on the vehicle itself. It shuddered and cracked as the wards came asunder. A moment after, Wei vanished back where he came.

William laughed. Son’s System was useful. PIcking his anchor up from Agnesia was a good idea. “Carriage breached. Heading in!” His dark tendrils reached in, but at the same time, a message came from Wei.

“I just received a warning from Ellena! Lein the Last is here—she’s coming for me.”

“What?” Bishop said, soundings surprised. “The fuck? She shouldn’t—”

“She is.”

Bishop cursed again. “Alright. William go fast. No time to waste. We want to be done with this as soon as possible.”

But as WIlliam arrived within the carriage, he found himself halted by a disturbing sight. A chain of mystical bindings were coiled around Anera, and each of them ended connected to a certain something he didn’t expect to see: Canisters of Essence-charged explosives. “Bishop. We have another problem”