My friend the Realmbreaker isn’t evil, not truly—he’s done monstrous things. He’s even killed people who might not deserve it.


    But if you understand what he suffered, the life he lived, you would understand that losing so much in so short a time, at such an age, and then falling to the Claimed Hells of all places, twists a man. For victory—to claim his own fate—required power.


    Well, he was many things. Brave, stubborn, arrogant, but caring for his friends. Easy to anger, but also quick to apologize.


    He was all these things, but ultimately, he was… he was human. Human, which made him unprepared for the dark politics of the Claimed Hells.


    Yet, though forces schemed against him, they were also mistaken—foolish in thinking that Wei was but a victim, or even stupid.


    I said he was many things. Above all, Wei might not be a liar or the most clever man, but he is a killer. And a finer killer I have never known.


    The moment they made things a fight, their fates were sealed. And I was all too willing to help him.


    -Rafael, Chairman of the League of Righteousness


    II-78


    Shadowrun (II)


    “What do you think about that boy, Wei An Wei?” the Duke of Pride asked.Goldskull stood within the Collectress’s personal chamber. The word “chamber” hardly captured the vastness of the space—it was wide, almost cavernous. Above him, a false sky glinted with passing stars, and the faint moisture of impending rain tickled his form, even though he lacked true human skin.


    Snake-like demons—pink, many-limbed, many-tongued—brought him fresh platters of fruit and drinks to sample. Meanwhile, the Collectress herself sat regally in a large, open chair overlooking a small valley — a valley that cradled an emerald lake where groups of children were forced to swim. Some floated unmoving and round across the water, while the families watched on in horror and misery. Chains glided across her many hands as she pulled forth her favorite slaves so they, too, could witness the scene.


    The Collectress finally spoke, turning to regard Goldskull. “What do you think about who?”


    “Actually, what are you doing right now?” He stood next to her, taking in the unsettling spectacle at the lake, she continued in a smooth, measured tone, “What is this—a humiliation ritual? A public drowning?”


    “No, a few traitors are learning the price of their actions. They will live. Their children, however… It is a lesson, one I wish my loyal subjects to learn.”


    Goldskull snorted. “Now, as I was saying, the boy—the Cultivator…”


    The Collectress replied suddenly, speaking as a snake might strike. “William’s bastard—he is peculiar. There are more secrets surrounding him than I care to admit. Secrets I have yet to glean. He survived an encounter with my champion. I felt Vendrian die. I felt the path to the Final End open. And yet, the boy returned, and without a single loss to his sect. What does that tell you?”


    Goldskull considered her words. “Perhaps he also has a pact with the Hound?”


    “But that doesn’t make any sense.” The Collectress spat, “A Hound does not make pacts with random boys.”


    Goldskull snorted at the notion of “random boys.” After all, the boy had reached the Claimed Hells—with some help, perhaps, but not much. Along the way, he tore through the Inheritors—an entire force of them, in fact. He might have harnessed the Hearted Realm to his advantage, but he wasn’t just some boy. He possesses a generational talent for murder, one we need to capture and cultivate.”


    The Collectress sighed, “I find myself doubting this is why?”


    “Oh?” Goldskull replied, his tone laced with skepticism. “And why is that?”


    “Because we don’t keep pets that we don’t understand.” The Collectress rose and, with a casual gesture, released all her slaves. The chains she held clattered to the floor, ringing out across the vast space. None of them fled—only a few flinched—each one standing obediently like a well-trained pet for their master.


    “Well, they’re well-trained,” Goldskull interjected.


    “That’s the point.” The conversation continued, the Collectress’s voice turning somber. “Well-trained, broken. But you must understand something—their nature is to be broken, to be claimed. That boy… there was something amiss behind his eyes. I see a dangerous green in his gaze—frightening, disturbing, as if he were planning to kill me.”


    “Oh, come now.” Goldskull snapped. “His battle with Many-wed was her folly.”


    “It was also no fluke. He killed her—brutally—in true combat. She had more power, more experience, yet it wasn’t enough. It was like watching a thunderstorm try to strike down a hawk, missing every blow, exhausting itself, and then—impossibly—the hawk cleaves the sky.”


    The Duke of Pride fell silent for a moment before speaking, his voice low and edged with a laugh. “He has you rattled.”


    The Collectress glared hatefully at him. “No,” one insisted, “he has me concerned. And worried. And wary. Something you should be.”


    At that moment, the Duke produced the mirror gifted to him earlier. “He offered me something—a gift, after he slew my son for me.” He held out the mirror, and the Collectress accepted it silently, studying the enigmatic gift.


    The Countess of Lust turned the item over, examining it in terms of material and essence. She felt no magical energies emanating from it, but still, something clenched inside her chest—a feeling of foreboding. She handed it aside to one of her slaves and had them look into the reflection. A few moments passed; nothing happened to the slave. She sighed and tried to offer it back to the Duke.


    “No, no,” Goldskull said, waving her away. “It’s your gift now.”


    The Collectress paused. “If this is a trap, it’s a fairly obvious one.


    “That’s what I thought when he was giving it to me. Alas, I feel nothing—not a single effect from the mirror. If it’s a trap, then it must be awfully subtle, awfully well-made, or entirely mundane. And between you and me, the boy doesn’t seem to be the deceitful kind.”


    The Collectress fell silent and nodded. “He does lack a certain—”


    Just then, a shudder passed through the cavern. The constellation above rippled, as if a stone had been cast into the surface of a disturbed lake. A doorway opened right next to the Collectress, and she saw a demon come through—its body snake-like, with six limbs. “Mistress,” the snake hissed, holding a severed head in one hand. “The slaves are rebelling, all across the second level.”


    The Collectress and Goldskull exchanged glances.


    “Trouble in paradise?” the Duke of Pride asked. “I’m surprised. I thought you kept a tight ship here.”


    “I do,” the Collectress replied. “It means considerable power has infiltrated my home. Would you like to partake in the defense with me?”


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    “ What? You anticipate an opportunity to stomp and butcher some rabble? Why, you’re a worm closing in on my hidden heart. I would have to introduce my wife to you sometime.”


    The Collectress stared at him. “Yes, your wife. What would she think of our little gathering? The bargains we’ve been making. Hmm, officially, it’s just another thing she would like to castrate me for. Unofficially, you might be more to her fancy.”


    She shook her head. “These games you play never appealed to me.”


    “That’s because there’s more than pleasure to satisfaction. You should try getting a little ego. It will carry you a long way.”


    “I will consider it. Servant. Let us be away.” At that, the Collectress handed the mirror to one of her slaves as she followed the demonic servant, and the Duke of Pride trailed after her. Behind them, the mirror remained—in the hands of said slave, looking on, obedient, broken, and utterly confused as to what was about to transpire.


    And absolutely ignorant to the fact that somehow had been listening in on their conversation this entire time.


    ***


    “Why didn’t they notice our presence?” Wei asked.


    His father let out a bitter chuckle. “Because we paid good money for that mirror. The essence it sends is so subtle—because it’s not actually a full Artifact, but just a partial mechanism of technology boosted by select Ciphers. It’s one of the few instruments that properly work in the Fathoms.”


    Wei didn’t fully understand what his father was saying, but he went with it. “So, now what? Do you enter through the mirror?”


    “No. She has people watching.”


    Wei narrowed his gaze. “Then what was the point of me smuggling the mirror over?”


    “It’s so that when some of the slaves reach her inner chamber and cause a little chaos, I’ll sneak out then.”


    “Wait—pause. They’re going to reach her inner chamber?”


    “Oh, yeah. What do you think Bishop’s been focusing on this whole time? Most of the Slavers are going to get slaughtered of course. But some—some will make it. And some have already claimed one of the portal systems running through her nest. They’re moving along Bridge 169. Once they get to the end, they’ll pass through the central atrium, just above where Agnesia is. And finally, after pushing through the emergency portals, they’ll arrive through the back door into her private chambers.”


    Wei blinked as he absorbed the plan. “You and Bishop managed to infiltrate so deeply in so short a time…”


    Both Bishop and William laughed. The latter scoffed. “It’s what we do, Wei. It’s who we were even before the Fathoms.”


    Wei loathed his father, yet this skill—this level of infiltration—was something he yearned to learn. “It’s something we must learn,” Wei’s Shell said.


    “All right, kid,” Bishop asked, “you ready? Because when this thing happens, we’re gonna go hard and we’re gonna go fast. And if there’s anything that I need you to break at any point, you break it. No questions asked.”


    “Yes,” he replied. “I’m ready. Call on me when there is a need.”


    He looked around and expanded his Omniscience. He had already removed a few ciphers lingering in the room, spying on him—a task in which Rafael’s aid was indispensable. Now, he pretended to meditate, sitting down as his Celestial Flames twisted around him, forming an impenetrable shroud that none could see through. At least, he hoped none could.


    “Hey, Bishop,” William said. “You got eyes on the Scion’s wife and kid yet?”


    “Just about,” Bishop replied.


    “What the hell do you mean, just about?” William demanded, his tone laced with incredulity. “You either do or you don’t.”


    “Listen, motherfucker,” Bishop began sharply. “I am putting together intelligence on the fly, using a bunch of demonic minds barely more intelligent than your average brain-damaged dog. So, God help me, William, if you don’t shut the fuck right now and get the fuck off my back, you can do it yourself.”


    “I’m sorry, which one of us chose the Psionic Operative class all those years ago?” William shot back.


    “Me, because I’m the one who has to think our way out of every problem you get us into,” Bishop retorted.


    “Oh, I get us into problems,” William countered. “Alright, let’s talk about Kandahar,”


    Bishop groaned. “Fuck you, William. Fuck you. Kandahar was a one-off.”


    “Yeah, sure, it was a one-off. We sure killed a lot of people during that one-off though. And that grenade and the donkey.” William started laughing. Bishop just groaned. “Good times.”


    “Not really. I still think of the kid we accidentally blew up.”


    “Fuck him. He had a vest.”


    “You don’t know that.”


    “Why else would his dumbshit ass be in the middle of the battlefield?”


    “Because the fucking ops use him as a human shield.”


    “Well, then shit’s rough, buddy. Life fucked him. Not our deal.”


    There was old history on display again. Old history and old sins. Wei suddenly felt very young, like a child trapped between two old men who have done anything and everything for victory.


    “Alright,” Bishop said. “I got her. Shit, the Collectress is a paranoid bitch. I have eyes on a moving train car that’s constantly passing through different portals. There’s a special detachment of elite demons guarding it, so I’m guessing that’s where we’ll find the Collectress’s hard-to-get slaves and treasures.”


    “You sure she’s going to be there?” William asked.


    “Forty percent.”


    “You’re risking my life on a forty percent?”


    “I’ll risky your dumb ass on five.”


    “Fuck you again, John.”


    “Fuck you right back, William.”


    A comfortable silence settled between the two as Wei found himself absolutely speechless. This was childish, but also familial, and genuine. It was also wholly inappropriate for the present moment. Then, suddenly, there was another switch in the mood.


    “Alright, William. Got a small group of slaves moving through the final security portals. Getting some demons to route the backdoor rift into the Collectress’s inner chamber. Yellow light.”


    “Copy,” William said. “Wei. Get ready.”


    “I am,” the young master said. He manifested his scythe as he anticipated what was to come. He could act through Agnesia at any time—but for a lot of other matters, he needed to rely on his father and Bishop.


    “Raid’s on!” Bishop said. Flickers of information splashed into Wei’s mind. He saw the world from the perspective of a slave—rampaging across the inner recesses of the Collectress’ chamber. Some charged for the lake to save their families—sent here for execution. Others exchanged demon guards on duty—clashing against the pinkish serpents with makeshift weapons and questionable Classes. “Green light!”


    “Dropping in,” William declared. Suddenly, Wei felt his father shift across space as he entered the fray.


    ***


    “Alright, into another big fucking mess we go, William.” The Trespasser emerged into the Collectress’ inner sanctum as if a form appearing with a trick of the light. Immediately, sounds of battle and chaos washed over him. The mirror he spawned from was discarded—the slave holding it somewhere else, fleeing for their life. William looked around and as more of the snake-demons coming down from the sky, butchering whatever was left of Bishop’s freed slaves.


    Poor bastards didn’t have the right Classes for this fight. Wouldn’t be long until they were removed from the board, but they served their purpose.


    At once, he activated his [Shadowmeld] Skill and coated himself in a layer of shadows. He melted into the shadows and began moving for the open portal the slaves came through at once. It was a wide open rift left right next to where the Collectress and Duke stood earlier. William made sure he kept his tempo high, because if those two came back while he was still there, then he was somewhere south of fucked.


    As he passed through the rift, he found himself in a long hall filled with mangled bodies—both slaves and demons. A pang of pity went through William. These slaves really paid a butcher’s bill getting here. And now they weren’t getting anywhere at all.


    “Keep going,” Bishop said in his mind. “There won’t be any reinforcements coming for two minutes. I re-routed some of the rifts again. You’ll be passing by Agnesia’s room for a swing. See if we can get her in play as well without blowing her cover.”


    “Got it,” William said. He proceeded forward under Bishop’s instruction, passing over more corpses, more destruction, through more rifts, until he found himself sprinting along a bridge while far below and above, slaves threw themselves off the sides of these platforms, choosing death rather than servitude.


    It’s just their fate, William thought to himself, trying not to feel bad about his part in their deaths. This was partially his idea after all. They needed a distraction. Someone had to pay the price. Someone other than him.