《Down these mean streets a man must go (LitRPG Murder Mystery Fantasy Noir)》 Chapter 1 - Immolation of an Earth Mage (Book 1) It is a truth universally acknowledged that murderers are rarely disposed to give the recipients of their particular attention a heads-up. Of course, whether Gianna d''Avec, Level 67 , appreciated this discretion - spending her final moments blithely unconcerned about her approaching doom - is somewhat of a moot point. If asked, she would have noted how much she would have appreciated the opportunity to prepare a fucking massive fireball to the face of her assailant. Moreover, the thing she would have felt caused her the most irritation about the whole murder - other than, you know, dying horribly - would have been that, as the High Priestess of Gravalk, her final official act was to deliver a death sentence on a somewhat undistinguished heretic. Had she shuffled off this mortal coil - well, shoved rather unceremoniously, it has to be said - following one of the great Holydays, she could have taken her final bow with, if not happiness, then at least grudging acceptance. After all, if Gravalk respected anything, it was a visceral, visual spectacle. The sight of her exsanguinated corpse on - and, indeed, around - the Scarlet Throne would add much to the legend of that particular Fire Demon. And Gravalk, in all things, was all about the clout. As it was, her slaughtering, occurring at an inauspicious time following a somewhat controversial ruling in the Middle Court, risked causing her congregation a curious letdown. Even before factoring in her impending death, as d''Avec took her seat in the centre of a crowded Court Number 1, just fourteen days away from that most zero of zero hours, she was already fizzing with rage for reasons that may (or may not. Resist the temptation to skip to the denouement!) be paving her path to destruction. Trellen Ulton was brought into the dock in chains. Not that he needed them to keep him restrained. As a Level 13 , he had absolutely no Skills in his armoury - Class-enhanced, privately funded or otherwise - to cause any of the , much less a High Priestess, a moment''s concern. Indeed, the only true defence Trellen had to the significant charges against him was the implausibility of someone of his Level being able to commit the crime of which he was accused. Trellen had served Lord Falyn - the ranking member of the city¡¯s Merchantile Committee - with if not unblemished talent, then at least faintly corroded competence for almost four years before that peer of the realm''s death. That the had somehow managed to make only two Levels of progress during this time - and added barely half a dozen Skills to his repertoire - was a matter of much mirth during the trial. were famously slow in moving through their Levels, but no one could resist a smirk or two each time the prosecuting made a sly reference to his lack of oomph. There was measured, careful development, and, well, there was being a bit shit. Unfortunately, and keeping to this theme, the way in which Trellen Ulton presented himself to court was hardly calculated to win much sympathy. Those in the huge crowd squeezed into the public gallery - for who doesn''t love a bit of aristocrat slaying with the added spice of potential execution? - assumed the had chosen his most respectable robes for the occasion, but his time in the city''s dungeons had done little for their sight. Or smell. Like all of his particular calling, Trellen favoured dark brown robes: his with the bright green trim of Lord Falyn''s House on the collars and cuffs. The , a rather sarcastic young woman who seemed confident this case would finally push her across the threshold of Level 35 ¨C and well it might. Her god had whispered in her dreams of the importance of winning judgment in this matter. And the rewards that would come if she did ¨C made repeated, and somewhat wearing, reference to Trellen''s robes hiding not just the stain of guilt but the mark of an even less salubrious substance. The High Priestess had half-smiled the first time - precipitating riotous laughter from a watching crowd that knew which way their bread was buttered. Or, at least, preferred not to be cooked alive for failing to show appropriate respect to the Gravalk¡¯s avatar. However, the gag had somewhat palled by the fifth day of the trial. The facts of the case were, essentially, not in dispute. On the night of Lord Falyn''s murder, the accused was seen to enter his master''s chamber in a state of some excitement. Numerous witnesses variously described him as "excited," "angry", and "furious as a badger in a laundry." Much was made by Prosecutor Galbon that if the esteemed judge - and the assembled crowds - knew anything about , it was that they were slow to rage but highly dangerous once that particular downward rolling object achieved terminal velocity. "Even as weak and slow-witted, a Mage as the accused is sadly more than capable of dispatching a man as old and frail as poor Lord Falyn," as Galbon had put it. Multiple witnesses came forward, including Trellen''s own brother, to testify that the Mage left Falyn''s bed chamber less than a quarter of a bell later and headed directly to the stables, where he paid twenty gold pieces for a mediocre horse. It was perhaps not the mark of a master criminal that he informed the that "he needed to get out of here as soon as possible before they caught up with him." Further damage was caused to the ''not guilty¡¯ plea when it was revealed that the in question - Godfrey Rolt - was in possession of an unusual Skill which allowed him to project his memories for the consideration of an audience. If the written summation of the evidence had made d''Avec suspicious of the Mage, then seeing the scene played out in front of her - Trellen stuttering, white with fear, and, yes, hands covered in blood - was hardly a ringing endorsement of innocence. Indeed, so damning was Memory Show - even at a Common level - that, at the end of that day''s evidence, Gianna had dashed off a hasty memorandum to the city''s Mayor suggesting the immediate proscription of that particular talent. No one - least of all the great and the good - needed servants having the ability to showcase entire conversations for an unintended audience. If, at the start of the next day in court, anyone thought there was anything strange about Mr Rolt''s bloodless corpse being found in the alley behind his house, no one was suicidal enough to bring it up. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Thus, when it was time for the defence counsel to rise, it would be fair to say there was some work to be done. A few wags in the viewing gallery were heard to mention that Ortel Maybourne, a pressurised into making a shot at a defence, would be lucky not to join his client on the pyre for the sin of wasting d''Avec''s time with his nonsense. To be fair to him, despite the increasingly frustrated noises coming from the peanut-munching crowds and - worryingly for Maybourne - the judge herself, he pressed forward, painstakingly, with a defence. Such as it was. Ortel Maybourne, Level 33 and having long given up any thoughts of rising much higher in his profession, was known as a solid member of the Golden Pit, the name for those lawyers who had shown themselves to be capable of unusually effective work. His bright yellow sash was still worn around his waist with something approaching pride, but few could remember the cases that had earned him that honour. Certainly, it was received opinion that his doomed defence of Trellen Ulton would do very little to remind the public of his alleged historical excellence. The argument he sought to make was that old faithful, beloved of young boys everywhere: ''It was like that when I got here.'' Trellen testified that he opened the door to Falyn''s private room to find him savagely slaughtered: his eviscerated torso missing all its limbs, with its head - still bearing the lord''s long white beard - placed on a table with an apple in its mouth. "And why, on discovering your master of so many years slain, did you not alert his household guards?" Ortel''s soft voice asked, in a tone of mild rebuke, "I am sure all watching would like that question answered." Trellen''s eyes darted around the court, trying not to read too much into the High Priestess drumming her fingers and blowing smoke rings from her nostrils. It was not exactly out of keeping with his recent run of luck that, when his case finally came to be heard, it was the sevenday that Gianna fucking d''Avec was the presiding judge. Just a week later and Halton Konal - a profoundly cheerful soul who communed with Jantal, a minor god whose sole preoccupation appeared to be the growing of mildly hallucinatory fungi - would have overseen his case. But those were the breaks, especially if Maybourne''s suspicions were correct and the Council¡¯s fingers were pressing down quite heavily on the scales of justice. "It was obvious I was being set up for his murder. The household guards were in on it. The only chance I had was to escape as soon as possible." The High Priestess stirred at that. "And do you have any suggestions why Lord Falyn''s guards would do such a thing?" Ortel chose not to react to the rather unhelpful intervention from the bench. He had been planning to build his evidence towards that very question. His hope was that he could create just enough willing suspension of disbelief to, perhaps, earn his client exile rather than summary, rather fiery, justice. However, he was long enough in the tooth to realise Gianna d''Avec would do what Gianna d''Avec would do, and there was very little point getting flambeed for making a deal out of it. Trellen opened his mouth to hold forth on the epically complex theory he had developed during his incarceration. Fortunately, just before the words came tumbling out, he met Ortel''s eyes, and the lawyer was able to shake his head a little. There was offering a defence, and then there was coming across as a raving lunatic. The last thing either of them needed was Trellen sharing his thoughts on who had committed the murder. "I don''t know, my lady." Ortel coughed discretely to indicate he was keen to continue with his questioning, but d''Avec dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Come now, Mr Ulton. You have had some time to consider the matter. You must have come up with a hypothesis?" With a sad little sigh, Ortel closed his eyes and sat down. Apparently, this was about to become the Gianna d''Avec show. With such blatant encouragement, there was to be no further success in dissuading his client from indulging in batshit crazy conspiracy theories. "Lord Falyn had asked me to explore records connected to the recent commercial success of several of the other High Houses. It was the opinion of the Merchantile Committee that several trade contracts with the city had been awarded without proper consultation or even without the Mayor being aware. I had a number of interesting leads to share that went to the heart of -" Whilst it was generally seen as good form to pronounce a sentence of death before carrying it out, all present agreed that the High Priestess was acting entirely within the scope of her power to incinerate Trellen the moment she became convinced of his guilt. It was maybe a touch odd to do so right at the beginning of the defence case, but there was absolutely no one in the court remotely interested in making a deal about it. Once the screaming had ceased, Ortel''s eyes opened - ignoring the pile of ash that was all that remained of his ill-fated client - and sought out Trellen''s brother in the viewing gallery. He was disappointed if he hoped to see anything less than a satisfied smirk on Markian Ulton''s face. The two met eyes for a moment, then, with a swirl of immaculately tailored robes and a haze of expensive cologne, that particular up-and-comer - all the more so now his tiresome older brother had . . . melted - was gone. Something told Ortel that there would be few tears shed around the family banqueting table this evening. There was little left to be said. The High Priestess stood and motioned the forward. As there was something unedifying about seeing one''s client being swept into a dustpan, Ortel busied himself with organising the papers on the desk before him. He hadn''t had high hopes for the case - especially after he heard d''Avec was pushing to have it assigned to her - but Ortel had enough professional pride remaining to feel a certain heaviness settle in the pit of his stomach. In the hiatus, d''Avec stood and addressed those in the crowd that remained - no Ultons, Ortel noted. That was an interestingly brave snub to the High Priestess. He did so hope it didn''t come back and scorch them - and opened her arms to offer benediction. "The justice of Gravalk, the Great Devourer, is swift and clean. Go forth and share what you have seen this day and spread His word. Let it be known that Gravalk''s eye is on all and none. There is no avoiding his glare. So has it always been, so will it be." "So will it be," muttered the crowd, slightly irritated that a fairly shameless sales pitch had soured their fun. Most in the viewing gallery had their own patron gods, and it was largely seen as gauche to execute and evangelise in the same breath. The High Priestess nodded in acknowledgement of the words¡ªhowever grudgingly they were offered¡ªand activated a portal stone to return her to the Third Floor of the Celestial Temple. As the pillar of flame vanished, no one in the crowd would have suspected that this was to be Gianna d''Avec''s final public act. The clock was, remorselessly, ticking down towards her becoming nothing more than another unexpected murder. She had thirteen days, twenty bells left of life. Chapter 2 - Trouble at the Top (Book 1) Few of the buildings that stretched for the sky in Soar were quite as imposing as the Celestial Temple. It probably goes without saying that when you have the literal power of life and death over the little beings below, you tend to end up with highly motivated craftspeople. But as the avatars within the Temple made that point loudly and often - usually concurrent with vaporising whatever mason, plumber or carpenter that had displeased them - it is going to be said anyway. If it seemed to the citizens of Soar that regardless of famine, flood or financial crisis, the Celestial Temple continued to grow more and more glorious as their own circumstances cratered into the mud, then they were to be congratulated on their perspicacity. The Mayor of Soar had not reached his station in life by pissing off immortal beings, no sirree, Bob. The Celestial Temple occupied the very centre of the city, with tens of streets running off it. It was often mentioned that the various thoroughfares lined with shops, houses, and industrial facilities that led to and from the giant tower were like the spokes of some enormous wheel with the Temple at its heart. To which the Mayor would reply, whilst seeking to stand just outside the inevitable splash zone, "Too damn right. Have you seen the size of some of those thunderbolts?" It was visible for leagues around, with its roof''s vast black stone edifice shining with a, if not entirely holy, then certainly intimidating glow. Mdamic Lavall watched the city hustle by beneath him with all the self-satisfaction of someone who never needed to commute to work again. It wasn''t that he did not like the ''little people'' rolling past him below; it was just . . . No, that was entirely fair. He didn''t like them at all. Fuck those guys. And the donkey they were riding around on. If there was one thing that Soar gave you, it was opportunity. You could be born as the lowest of the low, but that did not, in any way, put a ceiling on how high you could rise. Providing, of course, you put your nose to the grindstone, pulled yourself up by your bootstraps and . . . some other meaningless cliche that he was too angry to verbalise right now. He glanced upwards, calculating - as he always did at such moments - how far his chamber was from the pinnacle of power. At eight feet, ten inches away, he was as close as he had ever been. And how little it now all mattered. If the news that had reached his ears were accurate, he would never move higher than his current position. That bubbling anger just below the surface momentarily took hold of him, and an arching bolt of Righteous Judgement blazed from his eyes to incinerate one of the passing ants below. That this gave him an unusually high burst of XP suggested that he must have accidentally targeted someone above Level 40. Mdamic opened a quick mental channel to his PA. "Szana? Can you look into who was recently moved beyond this vale of tears on the corner of -" he checked his geography - "Sorrow and Fortitude. Send the family my regards and make the usual apologies." "The ineffable nature of Yolgorth?" "Whatever eases their pain. You''re good at this sort of thing. Of course, if it turns out it was a deserved smiting, please present the usual invoice." He cut off the communication and turned to his unwelcome visitor. "Feeling better?" The reptilian eyes of Khaled Sahil regarded him with amusement. Mdamic ignored him and slipped into his favourite leather armchair, putting his feet up on the desk separating them. It was so unfair! He had diligently served Yolgorth his whole life, and no one knew better than him that this was no Sun Day picnic. Sure, the early years of slaughter and sacrifice had been nicely diverting for a wet-eared from the Western Isles looking to do something original with his fists. But, as he''d pushed on through the levels, by necessity evolving his Class to be less ¡®hands-on¡¯ than making dismembered corpses, it had all become much more of a trial. After all, he was not a politician. He killed politicians. And enjoyed it. And, for a time, being the avatar of Yolgorth let him indulge that particular interest with impunity. However, as this approach had paid surprising dividends in the Celestial Temple, he had found himself climbing towards the summit of this bloody tower - ''bloody'' in more ways than one - and it felt like his particular set of Skills were increasingly becoming moribund. Worse, if what the man sat opposite him had just said was true, the climb was over, and a rapid and entirely lethal drop was coming. "So, what you''re saying is that I''m screwed?" Khaled, the Chosen of Oh, cocked his head to the side. "Maybe. I guess that depends on what you might have to trade for the information." Mdamic''s huge, scarred hands smashed down and through his desk, reducing it to kindling. It was reasonably unusual for a to possess quite such an imposing physique as the Speaker of Yolgorth retained. The muscles - and the swords. And the battle-axes. And the temper - had undoubtedly added to his success in reaching the heady position of Level 72. "You will tell me, or you will die!" If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Khaled didn''t blink at the primitive show of strength. As one of the key gifts that Oh had bestowed on him when he passed the Level 60 threshold was the Legendary skill, Never Surprised, he was capable of glimpsing what the next few moments would bring. This was both extremely helpful to his long-term survivability in circumstances such as these and also an absolute buzzkill in more social settings. Indeed, it had put such a dent to his love life that he had made no effort, as of yet, to level it up to increase the amount of time he could anticipate. Who wanted to know how an evening''s seduction would end before you even made your move? "You know how this works, dear heart. There are no freebies at our level." Unlike Yolgorth, who was best known as the god most likely to absolutely fuck you up if you spilt his beer, Khaled''s patron - Oh - had no shortage of alliances he sought to maintain. There was literally no limit to the amount of arse his avatar would be ordered to kiss to bring his plans to fruition. Whilst Khaled was at present bumming around on the eighth Floor of the Temple, plans were afoot to help him rise. And, right now, he was in possession of information that Mdamic''s time on the penultimate Floor was about to come to a Fire Demon shaped conclusion. "What do you want?" The eyes blazed with barely repressed fury. More than one avatar of a lesser deity had come a cropper in this chamber. Regardless of his Legendary skill, Khaled cautioned himself that he would do well to remember that Mdamic hadn''t reached Level 72 without being an absolute monster. "Very little, I assure you. The games of we poor souls on the eighth Floor can matter nothing to someone like yourself." "I grow bored. Ask." "The Great and Bounteous Oh recently lost control of a Starter Area north of the Terreto Province. A rather distasteful business involving Orcs, Kobolds, and a Princess of questionable virtue I won''t bore you with. It would be extremely beneficial should that area suddenly experience . . . I don''t know . . . a catastrophic thunderstorm?" "How catastrophic?" Khaled saw the glint in Mdamic''s eye and knew he had him. "I think Oh was hoping for anything north of wholly apocalyptic. Her precise words were, ''Let the ungrateful buggers burn.''" "And for that . . . service, you will share what you know about Yolgorth''s fall from the Council''s favour?" "Indeed." Mdamic''s eyes changed to the colour of spilt blood for a heartbeat and then switched back to their usual blue. "Done. I assume all XP gains - such as they are - are mine to claim?" "Why, of course. Oh would never dream of suggesting otherwise." Mdamic licked his lips. Even such a colossal span of destruction - he sensed there was every chance Terreto Province would drop into the sea - would do nothing for his level. Nevertheless, it was always enjoyable to have the XP wash in. "Now, tell me." Khaled opened his hands in a placating gesture. "Now, remember I am just reporting rumour. None of what I say reflects my own thoughts." Mdamic made a noise that was either the sound of a mountain collapsing or a gentle prod to get the fuck on with it. One of the two. "There is some gossip on the middle levels that Gravalk''s star is very much in the ascendant sphere." Mdamic''s eyes flicked downwards, measuring the distance from his office to that of Gianna d''Avec. He was just one Floor above her. How had she been able to rise so quickly? It was surely only yesterday she had been a neophyte lighting the candles in reception for her betters. How had she risen so quickly that she was now actually worth his notice? And, more importantly, had he become aware of her ascent too late? Khaled watched the emotions flick over Mdamic''s face and kept a very close eye on the next few seconds. It was a significant drain on his mana to keep Never Surprised open, and it radically reduced his ability to take offensive measures. However, Level 60 versus Level 72? What the fuck did he think we would be able to do anyway? Mdamic managed to get a hold of himself. "I assume there is more?" Khaled swallowed. There was, but he had hoped to hold something back for another day. But that was obviously going to be a forlorn hope. Still, any markers he could put down now might pay him back down the line. Should Mdamic manage to turn his fortunes around, he was a pretty decent source to cultivate. And if not, well, the Council had made its opinion of the big man very clear. "It has been suggested that the High Priestess of Gravalk possesses rather more diplomatic skill than the current holder of the Second Floor. If there is to be a genuine challenge to Arkola''s dominance, the Council feel she would be a better balancing act." Khaled did not think he could possibly have put that in a way less likely to engage Mdamic''s fury towards him. He took a quick lean to the left to avoid the lightning bolt that flashed towards his head. Mdamic did not even look sorry. "They dare suggest that whore has more chance of dethroning Arkola than I do? I have been on the Second Floor for three years, plotting the precise moment to make my move!" "And there, I fear, may be the issue. It has been said, not by me, I hasten to mention, but these words have been spoken, that Yolgorth was fast-tracked to this position because of his aggression and the possibility such belligerence would shake the status quo to its foundations. You were not selected to rise for the subtlety or Machiavellian cant of your mind. If you have not made your move in three years, perhaps it is time for someone else to have a go?" This time, Khaled needed to throw himself fully from the chair, which was reduced to smoking cinders. "If we could possibly remember, I am here to help you, and it is generally unwise to vaporise one''s allies?" "Is this coup all decided, or do I still have room to act?" Khaled sniffed. "For someone as powerful as you, with the blessing of Yolgorth, there is always time to act. My sources suggest nothing has been decided yet. Should you pull down Arkola from their First Floor home in the coming days, then I am sure we will all hail the new age of Yolgorth. However, it would be wise for you to be clear that . . . moving day is fast approaching." Mdamic sat and seethed. He had no prospect of dislodging Arkola during that period, not without a significant risk of being turned inside out, upside down, and¡ªpotentially¡ªback again. So, what options did that leave him? While it was frowned upon, in general terms, to eradicate one''s anointed successor¡ªespecially when they had not made the first move¡ªit was not an especially hard or fast rule. And, of course, a Level 67 could be a rather tricky proposition. It would require some thought. Days, Khaled had suggested. He was sure he could come up with a plan in that timescale. Chapter 3 - When Volcanoes Explode (Book 1) Gianna had never, in her wildest dreams, thought that she would eventually rise to be Gravalk''s High Priestess. Of course, neither had she anticipated being brutally murdered in her own chamber, so let us not get too ahead ourselves wanking over ''things she did not foresee''. Nevertheless, from the moment she first came into her power, it had been roundly recognised that this was a girl with fire in her soul. Her parents had been common-or-garden who had reached Level 20, evolved their Classes into and then abruptly removed themselves from any further race for promotion. It was almost like, when Gravalk first sought her out, he might be seeking to punish the child for the indolence of the parent. Gianna thought¡ªand her origins were increasingly weighing on her mind of late¡ªthat her parents'' submissiveness had led to her desire for a loftier goal. In the world of Soar, you were either a voracious predator, gathering up XP from your weaker brethren, or you were chum. And my, hadn¡¯t her parents learned that right at the end. Whilst her mother and father might have accepted their position at the wrong end of the food chain, Gianna d''Avec certainly had not. The very first time this had become clear was when a local had refused to pay her mother in full for the lighting of his forge. Even as a Level 2, Gianna understood the colossal insult that such a thing represented. It was humiliating enough for a to be reduced to such a paltry way to make a living. It was quite another for a minor craftsman with fewer skills than he had teeth to seek to lord it over them. Gravalk''s voice in her head was entirely clear about the desired outcome. However, if her mother heard her god''s anger, she hid it well. "Jereth," her mother had said in her endlessly patient voice, "Our contract is quite clear. You are to pay two gold pieces a week for your forge fire. The saving you are making in coal alone dwarfs the sum, not to mention the time and effort spared through using our skills." The , a stereotypical bull of a man from central casting, merely shook his bald head and sneered back. "What else would you do with your power, Livia? Way I figure it, you should be paying me for providing you with an opportunity to train." Gianna remembered watching her mother''s tired, lean face, wondering at the complicated emotions running across it. However, before the older woman could answer, Jereth was ranting again. "I''ve figured it out, do you hear me? I couldn''t understand why a higher Classed one would be scrabbling around in the Lower City for scraps. I felt sorry for you and thought throwing you some work was the right thing to do. You know? Neighbourly-like. But you''re playing me, aren''t you? You''re using me to Level your skills on the cheap - not even on the cheap; I''m fucking paying you for the privilege!" His voice was getting increasingly loud, drawing the attention of many pairs of eyes from the alleys around his forge. If there was one thing people from this neck of the woods knew, it was that you minded your own business. That was how you made it through the day. And, of course, the best way to manage that was to ensure you stuck your nose in the middle of everyone else''s. Just to make sure you didn''t miss anything. Livia d''Avec waited for the echoes to recede before speaking. As she did so, she pushed her daughter a little behind her, the better to shelter her from any assault. "Jereth, I assure you that any training my skills receive from the lighting of your forge is so infinitesimally small that I will not achieve any noticeable level change this year. We agreed that you would pay my family two gold pieces for the receipt of an Everlasting Burn once a week. I would we kept to that deal." All these years later, Gianna was still not clear about what occurred during those next few moments. She remembered the stepping forward and taking hold of her mother. Livia''s wince of pain as strong hands gripped her shoulders was as clear now as it was back then. Likewise, she could recall, with astonishing clarity, the absolute sense that the big man was doing something for which he was not to be forgiven. And her god agreed with her. "Gianna! Stop that! Release that skill. Now!" Her mother''s voice, usually so soft and reasonable, was almost hysterical. Gianna recalled being slapped on the face, as if physical pain could make her undo the devastation she had unleashed on a small, poor smithy in a wholly unremarkable district of Soar. By the time the girl opened her eyes and extinguished Vengeful Fury, nothing remained of Jereth, his forge or, indeed, much of the surrounding street. They had not merely been burned to ash; that powdery residue itself had been swallowed up by the firestorm. And Gianna progressed six Levels. There has been a surprising lack of¡ªor, depending on how you look at it, not very surprising at all¡ªoutcry. Jereth was not well-liked amongst those in the local area. What is more, and perhaps more pertinently, it was hard to see what could actually be done about a psychotic little firestarter under the protection of a god. Short of involving someone with a Class suitable for that sort of heavy lifting, there were very few options. And if there was one thing you learned - although, there seem to be several of these immutable laws of poverty, do there not? -when you were down and out in Soar, it was that you didn''t seek to bring attention down on you and yours. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Sure, whoever came around to look into the event might be up for punishing a Level 8 for being in possession of powers far beyond her ability to control. Still, they''d likely need to do their own ''remodelling'' of the street when they arrived to make it stick. And then where would that get anyone? So, the d''Avecs were allowed to continue to dwell in relative peace. And if no one dared to speak too sharply to their increasingly hot-tempered daughter as she grew, then that was just damned good survival instincts. It was a further three years before the little family needed to move on. To be fair, there was no single ''smoking-gun'' incident, as it were. Her parents, after the conflagration around Jereth had done a generally sound job at allowing her talents to find fruition without arousing too much attention. But fire, by its very nature, was a fairly noticeable element. And Gravalk, as has been noted, loved a good show. It hardly helped that their daughter''s temperament ran a little too hot at times. "I tell you," Gianna remembered her father saying one night when he thought she was asleep, "she only comes alive in the burn." Her mother had glanced across the small space they were calling home, candlelight flickering in her dark eyes. "That''s what worries me. I fear she''ll let the flame out one day and never stop." Gianna remembered being confused at the terror in her mother''s voice there. Although it was not the last time she heard it. * "High Priestess?" The strident voice jerked Gianna out of her remembrances. She did not know what it was about the execution of the day before which had left her quite so out of sorts. Her parents were never far from her thoughts, but it was odd to be reminiscing upon them as if she were an old lady at the end of her life, not a great power about to make its final, destined step. Gianna turned her eyes to the man who had interrupted her reverie. It was one of the seemingly interchangeable legion of her priests. This one was called something ridiculous. Hiwalk, was it? If memory served, he had a series of unusually connected Skills which let him manifest solid constructs of flame. For some reason, he liked making little fire birds. The act of summoning and maintaining these creatures wholly drained him of Mana in mere moments at his relatively low Level of 33. But there were hopes that his Level 40 gift from Gravalk would give him a way to smooth out the Mana demands. If he got lucky - and the Fire Demon did so reward him - he would be one to watch. Certainly, he thought so. Of course, that very much depended on the current High Priestess not persuading Gravalk that the temper tantrum Hiwalk would throw when he received a minor Sunburn Heal wouldn''t be funnier than any possible other outcome. It wasn''t just Karma that could be a bitch . . . Right now, this was very fortunate she did not incinerate him where he stood for addressing her in quite such a forceful tone. Gianna did not deign to verbalise her reply, simply raising an eyebrow and waiting. Hiwalk showed no ability to read the room. "My lady, I hoped to discuss your recommendations to the Burning Circle." She still did not respond. There were all manner of protocols and forms that should be observed before an acolyte as low-ranked at Hiwalk should even dare to approach her in the Temple. Although, considering part of Gravalk''s creed was that only slaves should ever lower themselves to follow rules, the priest wasn''t exactly massively out of line. However, d''Avec much preferred it when self-protecting terror kept most of her underlings in line. Sadly, it appeared that Hiwalk had located his balls. "High Priestess, you announced at the start of this Holy Season that you would be announcing three names to the Burning Circle. As of yet, no recommendations have been made public and I was hoping to, once again, petition for my own inclusion." Gianna kept her face still as she looked at the grasping little tapeworm. The Burning Circle was one of a hundred little committees that Soar''s mayor had put in place in an attempt to involve the gods in the way in which the city ran. His thinking appeared to be their smiting hands might be a little less heavy if they needed to discuss the rebuilding budget. Those seeking to climb the slippery pole seemed to believe that the gods were interested in which of their flock did what in the administration of Soar. How very, very wrong they were. But none of the avatars ever sought to dissuade that belief. You had to keep the troops busy somehow. Or you never knew what they might be up to. "Setort," Gianna threw out the name of one of her priests that had likewise been irritating her with interminable representations for the same thing. For shits and giggles she randomly chose two other priests at random. Just to see whether the would combust. "I also thought Mowren and Kalily." The effect was as amusing as it was instant. Fire exploded from Hiwalk''s eyes to circle his head like tiny little falcons. Gianna watched them for a moment, impressed by the accuracy and attention to detail in their construction. It was not everyone that could hold fire in such a solid form. Certainly, Hiwalk was making impressive progress in controlling his element. "You cannot be serious!" The priest''s voice, already overly aggressive to d''Avec''s mind, kicked up another notch. "I''m at least twice, three times as powerful as those . . . those embers!" It was so far beneath her notice to get into an argument with a Level 33 priest that, for a moment, she considered simply killing him. Or, at the very least, vaporising his vocal cords until he learned the difference between desirable self-promotion and unforgivable rudeness. However, the execution of that stupid Ulton man had left her peculiarly unsatisfied and she was feeling out of sorts. The terrified faces of her parents swam into her vision, accompanied by Gravalk¡¯s insistence that a brutal put down might be just the thing to get her back on track. "Priest, whatever your name is, I tell you what I have said to countless others in your sandals. If you need to bleat, moan, and whinge, you are already lost to Gravalk. The only way to rise in the Great Devourers service is through deeds of passion, fire, and energy. Wetting your eyes because I have overlooked your small service is so utterly bathetic that I am surprised your own shame does not choke you silent." Gianna glanced at the raptors that swooped around Hiwalk''s head. He really was showing a remarkable degree of control. "Take care, priest. From my understanding, you have such poor mana levels that you will be passing out in seconds. Again." With that, she dismissed him from her chamber - literally closing him off from her by a thick billow of smoke. She had less than one week to live. Chapter 4 - Breakfast Meeting of a Death Squad (Book 1) On the morning before the abrupt conclusion of the meteoric rise of Gianna d''Avec, a group of mercenaries more or less wholly - some would say ''obsessively'' - dedicated to her death met for their usual breakfast bap. Anyone watching this small collective¡ªfour women and two men¡ªwould have thought them unlikely terrorists. Indeed, it was difficult to rationalise their white-hot hatred for the High Priestess alongside mundane things such as their prodigious consumption of bacon, sausage, and strong white tea. It would be tempting to assume that the threat from this rundown cafe was so insignificant that Gravalk''s avatar could never have a moment''s concern. Tempting, but very, very wrong. Whilst a quick scan of the pinched, tired faces mechanically chewing on their morning repast would find nothing more sinister than the usual rundown residents of this district of the city, a more thorough glance would reveal something far more alarming. For example, not one of these early morning snackers was below Level 40. Sure, in and of itself, this was not especially unusual. Live long enough, pray to the right god, and be reasonably lucky and most people - whilst not exactly likely to cross that threshold - could reasonably expect to have a shot at it. For example, a particularly diligent would feel they''d missed out if they retired without at least being within touching distance of that level. No, it wasn''t their levels themselves which marked this little group out for special attention, but rather the significantly combative nature of their Classes. "She will be sat on the Scarlet Throne by the eighth bell," a short, dark-haired woman with the rather ominous sounding Class of . The possible intimidation factor of her doom-laden Class was somewhat undercut by the spreading ketchup stain on her tunic that she was brushing at, ineffectually, with one hand, whilst trying to consume the rest of her bap with the other. "That''s been her schedule for the last year, Tenia," the taller of the two men replied, slurping his tea. "I think we can take it as fucking read that she''s going to be on her throne at that time." The woman blinked somewhat owlishly and then narrowed her eyes at the man who had spoken. Once upon a time, she''d liked him. There''d been something between them besides a shared interest in the complete and brutal destruction of a certain red-haired High Priestess. But familiarity bred contempt. And what could be more familiar than a daily contact which was stuck forever in the raking over the coals of sorrow and anger. Impotence of revenge led to its own sorrow. "Some of us take our role in endeavour seriously, Charl," she almost spat at him. "Since we uncovered that the bitch doesn''t actually stay in the Temple overnight - which I worked out, you will remember? - my job was to track her whereabouts. Which I have done, without error, for nearly five years. It is hardly my fault that the rest of you cannot organise an assassination in a charnel house." As always happened when the two clashed, Charl found himself on his feet - body inflating to ridiculous proportions as anger triggered the main Skill of his Class. The second man, a squat wiry figure with a beard that made him look, to his mind, like a pirate and in everyone else''s like he had spent a long, hard winter on sleeping rough, tutted. He had made that noise countless times over the years when this confrontation had played itself out, over and over again. As an it was entirely within his skillset to put a nice thick coating of calm over proceedings and, for the first couple of years, he had given enough of a damn to do so. Then he had realised that neither Tenia nor Charl were really going to do anything to each other and that he was simply wasting mana. Maybe one of these days, the big guy would lose his shit and tear the snidey mare''s head off. Then wouldn''t he feel silly? But he doubted it. He flicked his eyes to their erstwhile leader, sitting silently in the middle of her two sisters, watching the daily drama playing out precisely as it had the day before and doubtless would tomorrow. The blonde woman caught him looking. "You have something to add, Irek?" "Not me," the bearded man returned his focus to his breakfast. "This ain''t my circus and those two - " he jerked a thumb at the Reaver and the Berserker - "sure ain''t my monkeys." Against her better judgement, which made Hel smile, but the gloom of the situation quickly stole away any sense of humour. "Charl, cool your jets. You don''t know when you''ll need that mana. And Tenia? Leave him be." Neither of those addressed acknowledged her words, but she knew they would now settle down¡ªthey always did. These daily meetings progressed almost like clockwork¡ªif the particular clock was designed by a madman stuck in a time loop, relentlessly masturbating over an image of his pet turtle. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. First, Tenia would outline the High Priestess'' arrival at the Temple. Realising she did this, rather than staying on the Temple''s Third Floor, sadly, represented the only significant development they''d achieved in months. They didn''t know where she went, or why - of course they didn''t. What were they, a highly trained elite, covert intelligence squad well used to operating behind enemy lines? Ahem. Secondly, Charl would get all pissy he already knew this and then Tenia would bite back at which stage it would all go def-con 1 as her fucking was in too much of a funk to keep a lid on everyone''s rage. Hel rubbed a hand over her face, reached for her own bacon roll, and wondered - not exactly for the first time - what the point of all this was. Revenge. It had all been so much simpler, way back then. When the clean, hard burn of it was at the very centre of their existence. Such drive ensured that they tolerated each other''s . . . foibles. But the relentless grind of the years and the constant, undeniable fact that, regardless of how many promises they made, plans set in motion, nor death threats sent, they were approaching their fifth year into this mission and if they had caused Gianna d''Avec as much as a head cold, then there was not a shred of evidence for it. Hel snorted, causing the rest of her team to glance towards her in concern. As a , she could do some fairly destructive things with a sneeze and none of them wanted to be the focus of that particular storm. She ignored them. She''d got used to doing that too. What a joke this whole thing had become. It had been such a straightforward endeavour. "We have each been spectacularly wronged by Gianna d''Avec. We will bring her low." All their resources. All their techniques. All their righteous anger and . . . what? Here they sat in the same cafe, having the same conversations, arguments, and snarks as they had done many times over the years. It was enough to make Hel weep. "Fuck it!" Charl shrank back to his normal size and flopped down in his chair. "There''s so many better things I could be doing with my life." "I''m the sure the market for human pufferfish is absolutely frenzied." Tenia had apparently woken up this morning and chosen violence. For all their sakes, Hel hoped that had been the last outburst of the morning. Irek nodded towards the waitress to refresh their order. If there was one thing an unbroken routing was effective for, it was ensuring prompt service. He had once tried to work out how much money had flowed, annually, from their pockets to that of the owner of the cafe, the titular ''Crazy Xim'' of ''Crazy Xim''s Place,'' and had quickly stopped. That way madness lay. "So, she''s somehow ended up in the fucking Temple. As usual. Now what?" In a brighter man, Hel reflected, there would have been a tone of irony to Charl''s question. A tongue-in-cheek reflection that he had asked that same question repeatedly, day after day, year after year. Maybe there''d be a raised eyebrow acknowledging the ridiculousness of the inquiry after so long. Perhaps a little smile that said, ''I know we''re all in on the gag, but give me a moment whilst I compose myself to wade through this shit one more time." But no. Charl was genuinely interested on what they were doing next. Hel couldn''t remember if he had always been thick as mince. It was one of the much-remarked issues for the Class - you couldn''t inflate and deflate the cranium over and over again without causing some fairly traumatic issues for the brain. It was why most of that Class passed away well before reaching Charl''s Level or age. She doubted the big man would want to hear it, but it was only because he had been hanging around with them so long that he was still alive. Of course, it wasn''t only Irek''s casting that kept him on the straight and narrow. Having a family to avenge helped too. Family. Hel did her best not to glance at her silent sisters sitting either side of her. Arwel and Erwell were all that remained of her own family, and neither had spoken for their entire lives. Seeing your parents cooked from the inside out would do that, apparently. That they had both become was hardly a surprise. That Hel had sufficiently subverted their death wishes to keep them with her to accomplish this task was more of one. But there were some things you didn''t want to dwell on at the eighth bell in a busy working man''s cafe. Not when there was bacon to eat. Hel pushed her brooding thoughts away and stood, moving to the window to gaze up at the giant monolith of the Celestial Temple. It had all been so simple. All they needed to do was waylay Gianna d''Avec as she entered or exited the Temple each day. The fact she did that, despite being able to reside in there permanently, had seemed such a gift when Tenia brought it to them. They had the firepower, the Skills, and the kamikaze indifference to their own survival to ensure that they had every chance of overcoming the Level disparity. Dungeon delvers did such things, daily, and as a matter of course. And they had an expectation - nay, a desirable necessity - of coming out of their encounters alive. All anyone in this little gang wanted was to know that, before they breathed their last, Gianna d''Avec would be following on right behind. And yet, for all their advantages, they still had not been able to make it happen. For all their exhaustive surveillance, they had not been able to locate where d''Avec spent her evenings. She clearly used a portal stone when she left her chamber, but none of them had any idea where it went. Nor was anyone on the Third Floor leaking that info - for money or their lives. They couldn''t get into the Temple - even Charl understood that to tangle with the was to die before they even set eyes on the fucking woman - and they had yet to be able to get anywhere near her outside. It was quite the conundrum. It would be interesting to find out if, had someone whispered into their ears that, within twenty-four bells, Gianna d''Avec would be a cooling corpse on her own throne, they would have been happy or sad. Funnily enough, they didn''t have long to wait to discover the answer. Chapter 5 - When Lovers Tiff (Book 1) "Markian Ulton, my lady." Gianna''s eyes flickered towards the open door of her receiving chamber, her voice carrying a commanding tone. "Am I expecting him?" she demanded of her secretary, a nervous who clung to his position in her office with a jealous grip. Aintra licked his lips before answering. It never hurt to have access to a bit more moisture when dealing with his capricious mistress. "Not as such, my lady. But you have been pleased to welcome him without an appointment on a number of occasions of late, so I thought it prudent to . . ." "Show him in." Aintra scurried off to the spacious waiting area and beckoned for the young, ostentatiously dressed lord to follow him, "The High Priestess will see you now." "Of course she will." The sole remaining son of House Ulton was not a man given to self-effacement. His clothes cost more than most beings could hope to scrap together in a year, quite out of keeping with what may have been considered the typical expenditure for a sion of a relatively minor House. Indeed, considering the recent and public execution of his older brother, a period of quiet introspection might have been expected. Showboating at the door of Gravalk''s High Priestess - the very lady who had carried out said execution - was, at best, ill-advised. Gianna stared at Markian when he entered, and then, with a pulse of blistering heat, she dismissed the flunky, who was clearly staring down his nose at him. "That will be all, Aintra. Please feel free to leave for the day. I will lock up when I am finished with Lord Ulton." Aintra opened his mouth to offer some sort of argument for the look of it but then gave the whole thing up as a bad lot. "As your Fiery Majesty commands." The old man turned to Markian, just about keeping the disdain off his face. "My lord. Enjoy your visit." The door had barely closed before Gianna sent the temperature in the room to the stratosphere. Markian activated all of his defensive Skills immediately. As a Level 43 - all of House Ulton had a facility with the earth element. Markian had significantly outstripped his brother''s progress from a young age, demonstrating a boundless ambition that was the surprise and sorrow of his parents - he was more capable than most at weathering the mild displeasure of a . Still, even he could not fail to notice the beads of sweat that broke out on his forehead. Despite wanting to loosen his collar, he plastered on his most charming smile and dialled up Cold as the Grave to its highest intensity. "Why such a warm welcome, my dear?" "How dare you call on me without an appointment!" The High Priestess'' eyes glowed like the heat of some particularly unhappy supernova preparing to do something injudicious. The flagstones under Markian''s feet began to deliquesce into liquid. In response, he dialled up the wattage of his smile, hiding his growing panic beneath a brash show of confidence he no longer felt. ''Those that play with fire will get burned," his mother never ceased to remind him. Funnily enough, that was no longer feeling entirely so metaphorical. "You have not minded me dropping in expectedly before. I flatter myself, at times, you have seemed even to enjoy the surprise. And loudly, too." "And then I was required to execute your brother to keep your misdeeds secret. I assumed even you would see that would bring our . . . liaisons to an end." He could be wrong, but Markian thought his clothes were starting to smoke. And they had been treated with the best flame-retardant money - and spectacular blackmail - could buy. There was just the tiniest possibility he might have misjudged the situation. "I see no such thing, my dear. Was I grateful you were able to bring Trellen''s suffering to a close? Of course. It would have been extremely unpolitic should he have been able to continue to spread his wild theories about the demise of Lord Falyn to a wider audience. The people I represent were extremely grateful that you acted so speedily to prevent the further dissemination of such distasteful lies." If anything, his words appeared to inflame d''Avec''s rage even further. "I did not act in this matter for any reason other than to keep your actions out of the public sphere." "Doubtlessly so, my dear." The shell of cold air around him cracked as Cold as the Grave failed, and he had to scramble to reactivate the Skill before the heat rushed into flash fry him. The cost of this visit, in terms of his expenditure of mana, was becoming substantial. He would need to invoice for many times his usual fee for delivering this message. "If I may, could I request you decrease the temperature somewhat? I tend to be far more loquacious when not having to concentrate quite so hard on regulating my internal heat." A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Gianna''s eyes went slack, and all the heat leaked out of the chamber. It happened so quickly and with such little warning that Markian found his teeth chattering with the cold as his own Skill fought against nothing. "Now," he continued as if he had not been moments from death, "as I noted, the people I represent would like to offer you a token of their appreciation for the speed of your thought. My poor, unfortunate brother had stumbled into waters far too deep and dangerous for one of his constitution. I had done my best to support him, but sometimes, what is needed is a quick, visceral demonstration. I doubt that anyone who witnessed his end in the Middle Court would be left in any doubt as to the benefits of holding their tongues." Gianna walked over to the Scarlet Throne - which stood in the middle of the receiving chamber - and sat down. Markian followed her and knelt a short distance from her feet. Not for the first time, he was struck by her astonishing beauty. It was so easy - when considering the raw, unstoppable power of the High Priestess - to overlook the woman underneath. She was tall, with her long red hair braided into a complex pattern to hang at her thin waist. As fitted the child of two parents kissed by fire, she had cornflower blue eyes with a pale face filled with freckles. The severe black kohl at her eyes and the dark red lipstick added much to the visual impact of her appearance. "Gravalk does not act because it pleases some pathetic conspiracy. Do not, even for a moment, think that I executed your brother for any other reason than it pleased the Fire Demon for me to do so. Should he require your ashes, I would do the same." Markian looked down at the flagstones, which were still less than solid since Gianna had turned them into a puddle and - with a careless gesture - transformed them into a stone chair to plonk himself down on. He crossed one leg over the other and fixed a flat stare upon the High Priestess. "So be it. It appears we are to be plain with each other. I enjoyed our dalliance, Gianna. What is more, those I serve have been pleased to view our time together as a path through which they can advance various plans they have in motion. Rightly or wrongly, they have determined that a problem which had arisen was crushed because of our association. It pleases me to allow them to see things in such a way. I have had my rewards for what has occurred, and now, they would seek to recompense you." Gianna shook her head. "I am the avatar of Gravalk. I am situated on the Third Floor of the Celestial Temple and anticipate reaching the Second Floor before the season is out. What possible ''recompense'' can your ''associates'' offer me to compare to that?" "To be clear," Markian brushed down his trousers, which had become sweat-stained in the earlier heat, "your recent rise up the Temple has been . . . shall we say ''smoothed'' by those I represent. When they speak of ''recompense'', they would, rather, note that you have met the expectations they had of you." Gianna''s mouth opened and closed a few times. "You dare suggest my rise is due to the machinations of you and your ilk?!" But Markian was standing, allowing the chair to sink back into flagstones. "No harm, no foul, my dear. A speculative interest has been held in you, and in your actions this fourteenday, you have more than demonstrated you were a sound investment. All my masters wish for you to be aware is that they are pleased you have proved yourself to be as capable as they had suspected. They trust you will continue to remember who your friends are when you are in possession of an even more spectacular view of Soar than you do presently." Those words, touching so closely on her parents'' oft-repeated words, sparked something atavistic in Gianna''s soul. Her mother had been desperate for her to ''remember who your friends are'' when she had been growing up. Whenever she let her temper get the better of her or when she sought revenge for some minor slight, her mother''s kind face and her soft voice implored her to be different than she was. And always with those same damn words. As if that phrase alone would cool the fire of her rage. Sometimes it did. But oftentimes, it achieved precisely the opposite. With a rolling wave of Cleansing Fire, she stripped Markian of all his finery, enjoying the burst of astonishment on his face. Then she directed that Skill to remove his eyebrows, which robbed him of his ability to give such an expression. "I am the avatar of Gravalk. I act entirely in His fiery interests at all times. And any suggestion that I can be bought, persuaded or bribed to the contrary is so far from the reality that I can only pity you for your failure of imagination." "My dear, I could just . . ." Markian was trying to cover his modesty whilst backing away from the High Priestess'' inflammatory wrath. "No, you may not." The temperature in the room went as high as the chamber could possibly bear. "I now see that our time together was nothing more than a tawdry effort to influence the decisions of my god." Gianna made a fist, and a lick of fire shot out to burn the hair from Markian''s scalp. He shrieked and raced to the door. "Please tell those that you ''represent'' that any influence you may ever have had over Gravalk''s High Priestess is now at an end. I shall rise - or fall - by my own talents, and any ''smoothing'' that might ever have been achieved is now at an end." Gianna opened her arms wide and let a second wave of Cleansing Fire sweep across the floor to bathe Markian in flame, removing all the rest of his body hair with a sizzle and a pop. "Are we clear?!" Markian was scrabbling at the door, bald as a coot. "I will doubtless pass on the message, but I must once again stress the powerful nature of -" "Begone!" With a little squeal, Markian fled through the door and activated the portal stone to reach the Ground Floor and the safety of Reception. He ignored the titters and giggles that greeted his appearance and quickly shoved his way through to the cool air of Soar''s early evening. Even naked as he was, he made his way straight to the home of the figure who had given him his instruction that day. He needed to share how poorly the High Priestess had received their overtures. As the sun slowly waddled below the horizon, leaving Soar to sit in darkness, the last night of the life was about to begin. Chapter 6 - Blood on the Throne (Book 1) The eighth bell had just tolled when Aintra Webber left his home in the Quarter of Ash and walked the half-league to the junction of Beldam and Caprice. It was a walk he had taken for much of the last decade, a path steeped in his family''s history. His parents and his grandparents had lived in the same house, their voices echoing through the corridors when they spoke, at length, about the quiet dignity of the area during their youth. As he stepped around the detritus of the night''s activities - and over a few revellers who hadn''t quite had the HP to survive whatever mixture of drugs and alcohol they had thrown down their gullets - Aintra reflected that he was pretty glad none of his relatives were still alive to see what had come of the district they had so loved. As far as Aintra could tell, his family had been proud when he had chosen to follow the family tradition and evolve into a . Not that he''d been inundated with choices, of course. Not many administrative options were available to you when you were disposed towards the fire element. Paperwork was essentially the domain of those who frolicked in air or water, but he''d stuck at it, and his persistence had been rewarded. That had been just the beginning of his journey, and he was, if not eager (it didn''t do to be too anticipatory in the Quarter of Ash), then at least content to see where it would all lead. Every morning, he thanked his lucky stars that he''d been fortunate enough to attract Gravalk''s warmth towards him and - of course - that on his first day he''d been directed to attach himself to a young, up-and-coming meteor who was destined to blaze an unlikely trail through the lower floors of the Temple. As Gianna''s secretary, he had made a decent living. Not good enough to escape his parent''s home, to be sure. But when they''d died, having no other issue, he found himself a property owner in a part of the city described by those foul creatures who fell into the trade of as ''vibrant''. As a gut wound. Sure, a Level 32 would hardly set the world alight - a little fire-based humour there - but if he kept his head down and ground out those last eight levels, he''d have any number of possibilities open for him at his Level 40 threshold. At least, that had been the plan. But then, following her meeting with Lord Ulton last night, the High Priestess recalled him to the Temple and informed him that his service would not be required when she stepped up to the Second Floor. He had stood, stunned for a moment. He was sure he must have misheard. But those blue eyes had stared, implacably, back at him. No, there had been no mistake. After ten years of diligent, capable service, he was being "let go". "I am sure you understand, Aintra." He hadn''t and had said so. "You couldn''t honestly have thought you would join me on the Second Floor?" He had. But there did not seem to be much point arguing. There rarely was with the High Priestess. She had gone on to explain that it had been explained to her that it would be beneath her dignity to have her major-domo be sub-Level 40. "I¡¯m told there are standards, you understand? I did my best to plead your case. If I thought you had it in you to blitz those last eight levels, I''d be more than willing to boost you. But I think we both know how unlikely that prospect would be." Aintra had thought that a little harsh. Sure, he had not kept up with his mistress''s prolific pace of levelling over the last decade, but, then again, neither did his role in maintaining her diary and ensuring she was where she was supposed to be, open that many avenues to gather XP. On the other hand, her habit of incinerating anyone who irritated her had given her any number of free levels. It had never occurred to him that the growing gap between them would be a matter of shame for her. Or to Gravalk, who he presumed had made the final decision. Heat blossomed in his cheeks as he walked, remembering how the interview had concluded. "If you could ensure your notes are left in good order for your successor, I would appreciate it." And then she had turned from him as if dismissing him from her mind. In a way, he imagined she had done just that. Gianna d''Avec was nothing if not relentlessly focused. Aintra''s usual route was to cross Beldam and make use of the portal that stood against the Fountain of Youth. There were more convenient transportation hubs available to him, but the short walk from his house to this spot had been as much part of his routine as anything else these past few years. He rested his hand on the lip of the portal, ignoring the queue that immediately started to build up behind him. It appeared a large number of people were making their ''shamble of shame'' back to their own, more salubrious, parts of Soar. Eight levels until Level 40 was not insurmountable, of course. There was no prospect of him reaching that standard before, if rumour was true, the High Priestess displaced Mdamic on the Second Floor. However, given time and focus, he would be able to make that journey. Of course, he had not put any of his Progress Points into Skills which lent themselves to the quick gathering of XP. were, by their nature, somewhat passive folk. The Skills he did possess were focused on recall, writing and the manipulation of data. It was not a skillset to attract many recruiters to his door. Stolen novel; please report. Neither, he had to acknowledge, was he likely to be much use in any of the Dungeons beneath the city. He hadn''t been to those parts of the Lower City in years but was fairly sure Raiding Parties were not crying out for admin support. He supposed he could always book a month-long place in a Level 20 Dungeon and just grind out the required XP that way, but he doubted he had that sort of single-minded dedication. If he did, he wouldn''t have become a in the first place. "Will you fucking shit or get off the pot!" a voice came from behind him. Aintra half-turned and saw a growing queue of hungover - and worse - people behind him. "My apologies. Wool gathering." "Gather it somewhere fucking else." Quite. He triggered the portal. * The Third Floor of the Celestial Temple was deserted at this time of morning; its massive open space lit by the slowly rising sun. The giant stained-glass windows in the reception areas bathed the floors in a kaleidoscope of light that, on a typical day, he found quite lovely. Today, he was struck by how gaudy it all was. Oddly, there was a strange mistiness in the air as if something damp had been left in the laundry for too long. He pushed out a soft breeze of hot air to remove the scent of mould and connected with all the locks to the various chambers that spanned off this central space. Aintra had been very proud of the Secret Keeper Skill he had been gifted by Gravalk when he reached Level 30. It allowed him to add up to thirty different lock patterns to a template and then unlock them all with a thought. He was unsure what use such a talent would be in the brave new world of his impending unemployment. Perhaps a life of crime beckoned? Somehow, he did not quite see it. He noted that Gianna''s chamber was one of those that he had unlocked and frowned. He could not remember the last time he had arrived in the building before her. Of course, it was spectacularly unusual that the High Priestess had chosen to reside other than in the Temple itself. Still, having made that choice, d''Avec was never less than fastidious of being at work before Aintra arrived each morning. He was just crossing to light the candles that covered the walls and ceiling when the Sending Stone on his desk began to pulse. That was also exceptionally unusual. What a morning he was having. He moved to sit and then directed mana to the stone, unleashing a rather hysterical elderly woman''s face to hover before him. "It''s Mylaf speaking. I''m the High Priestess''s housekeeper." Aintra nodded, feeling his irritation rise. He had spent many unprofitable hours liaising with this woman. Mylaf was of the opinion nothing mattered more than her mistress being fed and watered at appropriate moments. He had yet to find a way to convince her such concerns were lower down Gravalk''s priorities than she apparently thought. "Yes, Mylaf. It''s Aintra Webber. Have you forgotten to activate the reciprocal image again? There was a pause, and then the eyes of the woman focused on him. "Oh, Mr Weber. I''m so glad to reach you. Is our mistress there?" Aintra''s irritation increased to being really quite cross indeed. This, for him, was close to berserker fury. He was a reasonably calm soul, especially for someone touched by fire, but he thought it something of a stretch for a to seek kinship with him with the choice of the word ''our''. Mylaf would never rise above Level 15, no matter how diligently she ran the High Priestess''s household. But, then again, neither would she ever be summarily dismissed, a treacherous voice whispered in the back of his head. He quickly pushed that thought away. "No, Mylaf. I''m the only person here." The levels of worry in the voice increased. "But she''s not here, Mr Weber. She never came home last night." "I''m sure this is not uncommon, Mylaf. It is not clear to me why you felt the need to call." Mylaf was almost wailing. "She would never have not come home without telling me. That''s not happened once for as long as I''ve known her. And I was with her parents for years before . . . well, all the nastiness. She took me on straight after that. And always was home before midnight all those years. I''ve just checked her bed. It''s not been slept in." Aintra sighed. Gravalk save him from anxious women. "I can assure you, she isn''t here, Mylaf. The portal was secured when I arrived, and her chamber door was locked. But bear with me; I will just go and check." He waved his hand at the sending stone and pulled out his mana. No sense in wasting energy while he went on this damned fool quest. He stood and crossed to d''Avec''s receiving chamber and as expected, found the secondary tamper lock engaged. He activated Secret Keeper again, enjoying the moment of pressure as the security measure tried to resist him. But, as always, it popped open, and he was able to swing the heavy double doors ajar. Then he stopped for a moment, his air stolen from him. What he saw in the chamber was so alien that he stood gawking for several seconds before the images started to make sense. The windows at the back of the chamber were flung open, and the floor was covered in water, which was already pretty remarkable. If there was one thing everyone knew about the High Priestess of Gravalk, it was that water was not to be brought into her presence. But then, Aintra reflected, looking at the dismembered corpse of his ex-mistress, he imagined being a little damp was the least of her worries right now. Aintra moved forward, trying to make sense of the sight before him. Gianna''s torso was occupying the Scarlet Throne that dominated the centre of the room, but all her extremities had been detached from her body and spread across the chamber. Trails of blood ran the length of the floor, from limb to body, giving them the impression of strings being connected to a puppet. It took Aintra a moment to locate d''Avec''s head, but looking up, he saw it resting amongst the candles of the chandelier. Then, remembering himself - somehow - he quickly crossed to close the windows, locking them, and exited through the double doors. He engaged Secret Keeper and then returned to the Sending Stone. "Everything is fine, Mylaf. The High Priestess is just very busy this morning. She''ll be in touch shortly." He cleared the stone with a wave before the could respond. What was he to do? In less than a bell, all manner of priests and acolytes would flood this floor. What was he supposed to tell them? His hand wavered over the Sending Stone for a moment. He needed to alert . . . .someone as to what had happened. By her very nature, Gianna d''Avec had few people who would mourn her passing. Much less would be inclined to seek to avenge it. Then, a thought spiralled clear of his fog of confusion. There had been all that unpleasantness in the Manufacturing District a few years back, hadn''t there? Some prominent industrialists had lost his head, and the Security Services had pounced to clear it up with little fanfare and even littler press. What was the name of that strange man who had led that investigation? Perfect Recall snapped into being, and a face and a name swam into focus. Aintra reactivated the sending stone and pulled out a message. "Calling Inspector Lowe? Inspector Lowe, please." Chapter 7 - Bailiffs Calling (Book 1) "Are you fucking kidding me?" The squinted down at the angry man lying on the bed. At least, he assumed the speaker was angry. Considering his line of business, Brona rarely had the opportunity to come across people in a good mood. "Jana Lowe?" he asked, checking the name on his clipboard. The man on the bed sat upright, hastily pulling on a bloodstained shirt over the top of an equally stained vest. "Mate, you know who I am. You were in here just last week. Remember? You took away most of my shoes." Brona frowned, trying to recall the last time he''d been in the particularly rundown part of Soar. The problem was all these crappy places tended to look the same, and it was hardly like he was employed for his memory skills. Saying that, there was something vaguely familiar about the particular door he''d just put his foot through. And the pissed-off man with all the bruises? Yes, that did start the old neurons flaring. Then, it all slotted into place. "Ha! You''re the guy without a Class!" Lowe stood, steadying himself against the wall as his head swam. He''d ended up burning all his mana away the night before, and, as always, there was a debt to be paid for such profligacy. Although whether running dry in order to heal a sucking chest wound was really all that profligate was a question for another day. "That too. I''m also the guy you took twenty gold pieces of footwear to cover a debt of a bag of silver. What could you possibly be back for now?" Brona raised his clipboard to his nose to better make out the writing. His lips moved as he deciphered it. "Different client this morning, Mr Lowe. This is ''Merk''s Tailoring.'' You failed to keep up payments on an HP Enhancing suit." "Fuck''s sake!" Lowe crossed to the far corner of his bedroom and picked up a bundle of ripped and damaged clothes. "You mean this shit?" Brona shrugged. "I''m just here for five gold bars." Low''s face went white. "Five? For fuck''s sake, man! It was two gold when new and didn''t do as advertised. I should be suing that crook, Merk!" Brona shrugged again. He tended to find that when you were his size, a casual shrug reminded people about the size of his shoulders. "And I''m sure my company would happily represent you should you file the appropriate paperwork. As you know, our motto is "Can''t Pay, We''ll Fuck You Up" and satisfaction is guaranteed. Although, not usually to the people I end up calling on. Speaking of which, five gold pieces, please." Lowe threw the ruined suit back to the floor and put his hands on his hips. He wasn''t by any means a small man, but he doubted he really wanted to get into a fistfight with a . Even a Level 14 one, such as Brona, would have access to Skills that would probably further ensure his day was a shitty one. "Look, I don''t have five gold pieces." Brona clicked his tongue sympathetically and looked around the room. Now that he thought about it, he did recall being here before. There hadn''t been much to take that time either. "Look, I really don''t want to have to hurt you again. Are you sure there''s nothing you can offer?" Lowe''s glanced at his inventory. To be honest, he had any number of odds and ends that he could probably put up as collateral, but if the lacked the Skill to scan his personal storage space, he certainly wasn''t going to offer any of them up. Besides, he was damned if he was going to be held to ransom over some shitty protective equipment that had given up the ghost at the first sign of a swinging battleaxe. He opened his mouth to share these ruminations with the and then quickly closed it when the flat of Brona''s hand slapped him on the cheek. The force of the blow took him off his feet and left him sprawled on his bed. "Dude! What the fuck?" Brona opened his hands in a ''what am I supposed to do?'' gesture. "Standard operating procedure, Mr Lowe. However, on the plus side, you now owe four and three-quarters pieces of gold. Mr Merk is clear he will accept payment in the form of the brutalisation of your body, so we can continue on this path if you would prefer. By my calculation, two broken legs would clear the debt in its entirety." Lowe stood back up again and shook the stars from his vision. "Can I remind you that I have no Class? You''re basically demanding money with menaces from a guy who would struggle to hold his own against an asthmatic toddler." "Yeah, I thought that last time. You''re a Level 19, right? How did you make it that far without a Class?" Lowe took a breath. "Would the story of my career to date be worth four and three-quarters pieces of gold?" Brona shook his head. "Fraid not, mate." This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. "Fine." Lowe sat down on the floor and extended both his legs. "Have at it." * The soft buzzing of the Sending Stone brought Lowe back to consciousness. He''d mercifully passed out after the had stamped down on his left leg. However, it seemed that was where his good luck had run out. It looked like the hit to his Health Points had been considerable, suggesting the breaks were unlikely to simply heal on their own. He must have been out for a good few hours, though, as there were now a good few drops of mana available to push towards the two fractures. Lowe pulled a common Ring of Regeneration out of his inventory and slipped it onto the index finger of his right hand. By his reckoning, he had at least a sevenday before the next of his creditors sent the heavies in, so he could afford not to keep all of his goodies hidden away for a bit. The burst of Mana Regen was welcome, and the pounding headache receded for the first time in a few days. Of course, that then gave room for the searing agony of his splintered legs to take precedence. So, it wasn''t all sunlight uplands and frolicking unicorns. One of the Skills he had been left with after his summary Classtration (was that the official term? Who knew and - more importantly right now - who cared?) was a reasonably uncommon ability to trade his Mana Pool for Health Points at a preferential rate. Provided he had enough mana available, there were relatively few injuries Lowe was not able to shake off eventually. It was Roll with the Punches which had made him one of the more effective of Soar''s investigators. When you were ferreting around in the lives of the great and the good, it helped if you could tank the occasional punishment beating. Unsurprisingly, this had meant he tended to get assigned the really high-risk, low-reward jobs. Which, of course, led with crushing inevitability to a reasonably spectacular fall from grace. The buzzing of the Sending Stone began to get on his nerves. However, the fact it was this which was bothering him, rather than two broken legs, suggested he was feeling a bit better. He stopped filtering all his mana to his injuries and squirted some of it towards the communication device. "What?" "Lowe?" The voice of his ex-boss was not exactly at the top of his list of things to hear right now. "Sorry, you have the wrong stone. This is the Happy Egg Escort Service. We''re up for a good yolking." There was a pause during which Lowe imagined the wide-set eyes of Cenorth narrowing in frustration. It was an expression he''d seen often enough over the years. "Jana, I''m really not in the mood for you this morning." "Oh, excuse me! I''m so sorry for bothering you. Imagine me phoning you up out of the blue and disturbing you on this fine day. What a colossal wankdoodle I am." Lowe pulled the stream of his mana out of the stone and directed it back to his legs. With a snap, both bones suddenly pulled themselves back into shape. He rotated his ankles, easing out some of the stiffness. The stone started buzzing again. Lowe ignored it. He had no interest in hearing what Commander Cenorth had to say. It had been over a year since he had been put on gardening leave from his job in Soar''s Security Service, and he felt more than a trace of bitterness at the absence of contact from his previous colleagues. He stood and made his way out of his bedroom and into the living space of his small apartment, straightening up the chaos as he went. To be fair to the , it looked like he hadn''t indulged in too much wanton destruction this time. There were a couple of tables tipped open and one or two cupboards ransacked, but nothing too terrible. Although, if we were at home to Mr Glass Half-Empty, that was probably because anything worth nicking had been appropriated on one of the previous visits by debt collectors. Soar was an expensive city to live in, particularly if you didn''t have a patron god watching your back. Lowe had been doing his best to make ends meet by acting as a sort of unlicensed private detective. But so far, all he had been able to do was annoy a particular element of the criminal underclass who took great delight in kicking every colour of shit out of him whenever he poked his nose into their business. It had been a rough year. A knock came at the door. Considering it was hanging off its hinges, this suggested a level of courtesy not usually found in his latest visitors. "Jana? I think your sending stone might be playing up. Lowe moved to the entrance hall - all his pictures had gone, he noticed - and met the eyes of Cenorth. The tall, thin Level 45 had once been one of his closest friends. He wasn''t sure he would have taken a Fireball for him. But he''d certainly have warned him one was on the way. "It''s working just fine, Commander. I have it set to filter out the arseholes. Sounds like it''s firing on all cylinders." "Look, I''m sure I''m the last person you want to see right now." Lowe left the following silence hanging in the air. His Ring of Regeneration was doing the business, and combined with Roll with the Punches, he started to feel a little chipper. That was until, with a jolt, he remembered it had been a reward from Cenorth after the completion of a particularly challenging quest. Never to be one not to cut off his nose to spite his face, he slipped the ring off and back into his storage. "Jana, this isn''t a social call." "Imagine my shock and surprise. You being such a fixture around here." Cenorth pressed onwards. "Have you got much on at the moment? I heard you went private?" "And I heard you were a tosser. Funny the things you can pick up on the grapevine." "Look, we can talk about what happened, but now''s not the time. A case has come up that I think is right up your street. I''ve been permitted to ask if you will come and give it the once over. On a limited basis, of course." Despite himself, Lowe felt his stomach swirl with interest. There were only so many kickings you could take from and before a change would be as good as a rest. "How limited?" "Private consultation. I''ll be your client. To smooth things out, you will receive a temporary reinstatement of your rank. And a good word will be put in when your case finally comes before a tribunal." Which would be never, Lowe knew. There was no need for the powers that be to take anything further. Without a Class and with all his savings depleted, he''d be dead and gone in a few more months. Sighing, he turned one of the upturned chairs upright and indicated that Cenorth should sit. "So, spill. What''s the deal?" "Excellent. Okay, so listen up. How much do you know about Gravalk?" Chapter 8 - Whatever happens, dont lose your head (Book 1) Lowe arrived with little fanfare at the Celestial Temple. Indeed, such was the volume of people milling around its ground floor that he doubted anyone would have noticed should he have been carrying a banner with the words ''Murder Investigator'' emblazoned on it. The giant lobby-cum-reception area of the Temple was open at all sides, with waves upon waves of humanity surging in and out. Any semblance of order Lowe might have hoped to maintain around the crime scene had long since been shattered. It seemed as if the entire population of Soar had seized the opportunity to trample across the Temple''s pristine marble floor. Which, considering the infamous neediness of most of the gods here, was probably true. Morning prayers hit a little different when the deity you were worshipping kept scrupulous records as to who had bothered to be in touch that day. And meted out the smitings accordingly. Pushing and shoving his way through the crowds, Lowe finally ended up at the portal he had been told would take him to the Third Floor. However, as he raised his hand to activate it, he cursed at seeing it glowing red. Unavailable. "Inspector Lowe?" His eyes turned to the giant guard standing to the portal''s left. Lowe was not a small man, but even he found himself cricking his neck to look upwards. A who not only never missed leg day but also had his Level expressed as ?? Of course, that might just mean his bosses were masking a comparatively low level so the Warder could go about his business without being seen as a target. However, it was much more likely Lowe had found himself in the presence of a monstrously heavy hitter. "That''s me. And you are?" "Warder Latham. I have been assigned to you whilst you investigate what has occurred on Temple grounds." They shook hands. It was not Lowe''s first rodeo, so he avoided any attempt to demonstrate his virility by squeezing the Warder''s hand. He liked his bones just fine where they were. "''Assigned'' as in you will throw yourself, selflessly, in the way of any attempts on my life?" The giant man grinned wolfishly. "Might be worth rationalising your expectations a touch there, little man. My role is to rip you in two if the Temple Council deem you become a threat to their interests." "Ah," Lowe stood awkwardly for a moment. Can you give me a quick heads-up if you think I''m flirting with doing anything that might trigger that response?" The Warder''s smile did not so much a quivver. "Probably not, to be honest." "Excellent. Glad I know where I stand with you. In a potentially giant pool of my own viscera without appreciating why." "It won''t be personal." "Good stuff. I''ll keep that in mind." Lowe nodded towards the portal. "I presume as I was woken up and ordered along here, I wouldn''t be crossing any unseen lines by requesting access to the Third Floor." Latham touched the portal, which immediately shimmered green. "That would be telling. Why don''t you step through and find out?" "Awesome. I can already tell we''re going to be great friends." With hardly a wince - well, not much of one anyway - Lowe walked forward and vanished. * Lowe hated portals. There were all sorts of Skills that could be taken to make the dematerialisation and reconstruction that took place when using one more comfortable. However, most of those were only accessible to those over Level 20, and the few that weren''t were so prohibitively expensive that they were the sole purview of the more affluent members of the aristocracy. "I''m no expert - no, hang on, I am. I have the qualifications and everything - but is vomiting all over the crime scene absolute textbook behaviour." Lowe wiped his mouth and looked over at Cenorth. "Fuck you very much." "If you''re quite finished?" Cenorth stepped over the pool of Lowe''s hastily consumed breakfast and beckoned for him to follow. "She''s in the receiving chamber at the far end. I should warn you, though, it''s not a pretty sight." "Don''t worry. I''m strictly a one-boak-a-day guy." Cenorth looked back at him with an expression of someone starting to regret his recent life choices. "Are you sure you are up for this, Jana?" Lowe ignored him. "If she''s such a mess, are we sure about identification? Seems pretty unlikely that anyone could mess with a High Priestess in her own chamber." "Don''t worry about that. It''s definitely her." Cenorth picked imaginary fluff off the shoulder of his long, black coat. In response, Lowe self-consciously tried to shake out the worst of the creases in his jacket. He always felt like Cenorth''s penniless cousin from the arse-end of nowhere when they stood next to each other. "There''s enough of her left to make that pretty undeniable." You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. "Who found her?" "Her secretary, a minor-Classed called Aintra Webber. Does something with spreadsheets, if you can credit it? Who knows what a High Priestess needed with that but he seems competent enough. He''s the only one on the Floor who has access to the portal and each of the chambers. The locked the portal down sharply after we made them aware of what had happened. Incidentally . . ." "I have a shadow?" "I mean, sure, if it makes you feel better describing him as such. You do you. I''d probably be tempted to view him as an assassin with a knife already drawn if I were you. But, you know, sure. A shadow. Nice one." "Awesome. Cheers for that. So, ignoring my impending death, the only person - outside of the that knows what''s in that chamber is this . . . Aintra?" "For the moment. But if any of the other avatars decide to poke their esteemed noses in, I doubt that will stay the case for long." Cenorth glanced at his watch. "Look, Jana, I don''t want to shine you on here. This is the hospital pass to beat all other hospital passes. Whoever murdered a Level 67 High Priestess is going to be well above the capacity of the Security Services to bring to justice. If you ask me - and I have made my opinion on the matter plain - this will be a matter of gods settling scores. You''re on this because I have no one else that''s . . . " "Expendable?" "That''s the spirit. Knew I could count on you." "Fuck''s sake." "Look, I know how you feel." "Really? You''ve done much investigating under threat of summary slaughter, have you, mate?" Cenorth''s face hardened. "Inspector Lowe. You have the opportunity here to repair your reputation. There are those who have always whispered that your success rate had more to do with your Class than any natural talent for detective work. What better way to shut them up than to clear up the murder of an avatar using nothing more than your wits and instincts? Now, you can go back home and play Private Detective - a role that my sources suggest you are curiously unsuited to - or you can do your best to clear up this potentially lethally dangerous case." "And I''m back in the Service if I solve it?" "Not at all. But if you are still in one piece when this is all over, I''ll go into bat for you with ." Lowe bit back his initial, harsh response. Cenorth didn''t owe him any favours. In fact, his friend had helped Lowe''s career in more than one way over the years. The scandal that brought him down was entirely of his own making, and nothing his boss could have done could possibly have mitigated it. "Okay. I need a list of everyone who had access to this Floor before the shut it down. I also need a plan of any and all places that are linked to this portal." "I can do that for you." During the little contretemps, they had reached the door to the receiving chamber. Without another word, Lowe pushed it open and slipped inside. The scene on the other side was unlike anything Lowe had ever seen before. He had spent long enough in the Soar Security Services to be no shrinking violet around violent death. In a world entirely governed by how quickly you could gather XP, regular and shocking predations of the strong upon the weak were basically an occupational hazard of life. Sure, the Mayor did what he could to ensure there were other, less homicidal routes to advancement - Dungeons, Raids, Quests and suchlike - but when it came down to it if you were on the cusp of reaching your next Level and a squishy bag of points shambled next to you, the chances were, an ''accident'' was going to occur. But even within that context, the remains of the High Priest . . . Bloody hellfire on a stick. The first thing that struck Lowe was that this wasn''t a common-or-garden massacre. Just looking at the dismembered corpse told him that. If the victim was a Level 5 nonentity, then this was the sort of aftermath that could be pretty common. Very moveable object meets fucking irresistable force. "The High Priestess was a Level 67?" Lowe asked Cenorth quietly. "Indeed." "And we''re sure of that? She wasn''t somehow, I don''t know, spoofing a higher Level and was actually as squishy as a marshmallow?" "We''re sure." "Well, fuck me. This would suggest a reasonably small pool of suspects, I would suggest." Lowe looked around at the devastation. "I mean, is there even anyone that falls under our jurisdiction capable of doing this?" "Looks can be deceiving. You, of all people, should know that." Cenorth was backing away now he could leave the case in someone else''s hands. "It goes without saying that there will be a lot of eyes on this, so be sure to let me know if there are any resources I can push your way. I mean, no one is willing to work with you - the words ''avoiding the splash zone'' have been used - but if there is any technical support you require, give me a shout." With that, the Commander vanished towards the portal, leaving Lowe alone with a dead body and a who may - or may not - be about to kill him at any moment. Having no other ideas, Lowe crossed to the dismembered torso on the Scarlet Throne. Sprays of arterial blood spread out from it, decorating the whole space. Due to the astonishing healing properties of someone of the High Priestess'' Level, there were pints upon pints of the stuff sloshing around. "I''ll state the obvious," Lowe said, speaking to himself as much as to the , "I''m going to presume the head was the last body part to be removed. I doubt even a Level 67 can heal their way through decapitation." There was no reply from his giant shadow, not that Lowe expected one. "So, we''ve got an assailant capable of inflicting catastrophic damage whilst at the same time able to subdue our victim so that she was unable to fight back." "How do you know she didn''t resist?" The question was a low rumble from the corner of the room. Lowe waved to the space around them. "No fire damage. I''d be pretty damn certain that if she was even nearly in possession of her faculties, this place would be a melted ground zero." He was aware of Latham moving behind him, but he did his best not to shiver. "So, what, someone knocked her out and chopped her up?" Lowe shrugged. "Could be. If she was a lower Level, I could imagine the attacker could have suppressed her aura. Maybe prevented her casting? I''ve seen that before. But Level 67? I mean, the sort of Mana that would require would be . . ." The glanced upwards. "Arkola?" Lowe kept his face exceptionally still. "Could be," he said neutrally. If anyone was going to accuse the supreme being at the top of the Celestial Temple of merking a subordinate, it certainly wasn''t going to be him who did it first. Cenorth might be willing to put in a good word for him, but even a Commander of the Security Services wouldn''t put his head in that particular monster''s mouth. "Could be a gang of pissed-off worshippers with a very specialised set of skills who just got phenomenally lucky?" "Lucky. Hmmm." Latham seemed distinctly unimpressed. "So, what next?" Lowe shrugged again. He sensed he would be making that gesture a lot in this case. "I guess we speak to the secretary and then to anyone who might wish the High Priestess harm." Latham laughed. "That, my little friend, will be quite a list." Chapter 9 - Crime Scene Investigation (Book 1) It turned out the was not exaggerating. "Would it be easier if you just gave me a list of people without a reason to want this blasted woman dead?" "With great power comes great potential to piss people off." Latham''s face was expressionless as he placed another stack of scrolls on the floor next to the exasperated Inspector. Lowe returned the first crate of material delivered to him and looked around the receiving chamber again. The smell of blood was beginning to get to him, and he was eager to get back to . . . where? His ransacked apartment was hardly the sort of place he wanted to spend any more time than he had to. He could retire back to one of the local pubs, but he sensed this was the sort of thing Cenorth would look askance at. Perhaps Arebella could be persuaded to put him up for a few nights? He locked that thought away at the back of his mind. "We will need to open this floor up again shortly, little man," Latham boomed out. "The business of Gravalk does not cease just because the High Priestess had an accident. Is there anything else you need out of here before we release the body to the ?¡± Lowe wasn''t wild that the nickname ''little man'' appeared to be sticking but figured now was not the time to make a big deal of it. ¡°Give me a few more minutes to fix the scene in my mind." As he spoke, Lowe triggered Grid Search, one of the other Skills he had retained when his Class had been removed. He slowly turned his head to the left and then to the right, up and then down, ensuring his eyes swept over every corner of the chamber. It was a Skill that was exceptionally heavy on the mana, but it did mean he would have instant recall of all aspects of the crime scene whenever he wished to review them. Using it left him pretty vulnerable to getting his arse handed to him without Roll with the Punches kicking in to save the day. However, if he wasn''t going to use it for this case, what was the point in possessing it? Unbidden, frozen images from cases long ago swam forward in his mind. Grid Search gave him perfect recall of anything he saw when the Skill was active, and the memory never faded, no matter how much time passed. If he closed his eyes, he was transported back to the scene in question and could interact with what he saw as if he were really there. He had long ago learned that the Skill was both a blessing and a curse. There was satisfaction in remembering cases that his diligence had brought to a successful conclusion, but there was the flipside, too. He would have liked to have the chance to forget some of his failures. During some long, dark nights of the soul, he often found himself returning to some especially brutal crime scenes, exploring evidence, and picking at the detritus of murder, as if he might stumble upon a golden nugget that would finally allow him to put the investigation behind him. More often than not, though, such explorations just made him hate himself a little bit more. Lowe gritted his teeth and focused back on his latest crime scene. The Throne that the torso was wedged into was, as its title suggested, already Scarlet long before Gianna had leaked all over it. Intricately carved imagery of flames and fire marked the seat and the armrests with a giant depiction of Gravlak on the whole back. Rumour had it that when the High Priestess channelled her power, the eyes of the Fire Demon would open to add its own power to her casting. "It''s interesting the Throne did not help her in a struggle for her life. I would have expected this to be the last place someone would try to take her. If she''d been aware she was under threat, I doubt there''d be many beings who could survive an encounter with her in here." The remained silent yet surreptitiously tapped his watch in a way that suggested that if Lowe didn''t hurry up, there''d be significant violence soon. It was quite an expressive gesture. Lowe ensured his Skill captured the other pieces of furniture in the chamber. There were a few interesting scrolls on the large mahogany desk that sat in the corner of the room. They appeared to all be addressed to "The Bitch" and were a series of screeds about the High Priestess, suggesting various and creative ways in which she could seek to procreate with herself lethally. Lowe was no stranger to the odd poison pen letter himself, but these missives had an unusual level of venom. "Do you know anything about these?" Latham scanned through them and then passed them back. "The Warders were aware that Gravalk''s High Priestess was being threatened on and off for much of the last three or four years. We encouraged her secretary to destroy the scrolls when they were received. Obviously, though - for whatever reason - he felt the need to keep passing them on." Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. "These are pretty vicious. And fairly specific." Lowe picked one of the threats at random. "Were you not concerned that whoever wrote these might seek to follow through with the threats?" Latham''s face remained stony. "The High Priestess was one of the great powers of Soar. If she was not concerned by the content, then it was not for the Warders to gainsay her." Lowe went to interrupt, but the Wader pressed onwards. "I do not know if you are familiar with those who exist at the higher levels of the Celestial Temple, little man, but they are not like the rest of us. These avatars are within touching distance of being gods themselves. Gianna d''Avec was, perhaps, a week or so from moving to the Second Floor. What would anyone possibly write that would bother her?" Lowe''s eyes very deliberately rose to look at the High Priestess''s head that remained lodged within the chandelier. "I don''t know, mate. But something managed to get under her skin." * There were three people waiting in the meeting chamber when Lowe finished his initial exploration of the scene. He hadn''t found anything particularly noteworthy at this stage, but neither had he expected to. Murders broadly fell into two categories. There were ones when you arrived to find one dead body and one extremely chatty person eager to clarify how what had happened was an accident / not their fault / entirely what the deceased deserved. These were extremely common in Soar - XP gains, remember? - and often took longer to complete the paperwork than they did to solve. On the other hand, there were the ones Lowe was beginning to worry the case of Gianna d''Avec was likely to be. He was going to need to work very hard indeed¡ªand have a huge amount of luck¡ªto get anywhere at all. At present, all he really knew was that the High Priestess hadn''t died of natural causes but that pretty much everything else remained in play. Particularly as Gianna d''Avec had been receiving pretty dramatic and vivid death threats for a few years, and Latham was giving him the impression that the cartloads of potential suspects he''d so far seen were being lowballed somewhat. All in all, Lowe did not feel much more informed right now than he did when he arrived at the Temple. And now he was preparing to be face-to-face with the three people who worked most closely with the High Priestess, and he was not wholly sure where to take things. Of the three, it was the who seemed the most upset about the death. The other two, both Priests, seemed interested rather than distraught. They were both short and round, with the higher level one, Hiwalk, being - according to the text above his head - something called a whilst the other one - Setort - was a . Not for the first time, Lowe found himself somewhat baffled by the sheer range and complexity of Classes. It was a language that - now he was outside of its reach - felt like it was curiously beyond him. Like an exclusive club from which he was denied entrance. Having no other real idea of how to begin, Lowe decided to direct his first questions to the only person in the room who seemed to give a damn. "Mr Webber, I understand you found the body?" The older man nodded, his long grey hair falling over his eyes, needing him to sweep it backwards with both hands. "Indeed. I''ve never seen anything like it before in my life." "The dismembered corpse of an avatar? I''d hope not." Hiwalk snorted. Lowe decided to ignore the for now. "And it was your usual procedure to open all the chambers when you arrived at work in the morning? You must have been a trusted advisor?" Hiwalk snorted again. Lowe wondered if he had a sinus condition that could be eased by a punch on the nose. "Hardly! But someone in the Order needed to hold Secret Keeper, and I doubt anyone else wanted to waste the Skill slot." The glanced at the text above Lowe''s head with interest. "Although I imagine you don''t know very much about that, do you? You''re that Unclassed Inspector that was in the press recently." Lowe favoured Hiwalk with a brief smile. He''d have rather told him to ''go fuck himself'', but - at least in the opening hours of an investigation - he had learned to try to keep relations cordial. Nevertheless, he slipped his Ring of Regeneration back on and added a Torc of Shielding to his left arm. Between Roll with the Punches and the Uncommon armour, he probably wouldn''t be one-shotted by a pissed-off priest. And sometimes that''s the rainbow on a dreary day. "I have had some small successes on behalf of the Security Service. Not all in Soar have the luck to be Classed." The other priest tilted his head. "But I''m sure I read somewhere that you were Classed, were you not? There was a scandal around . . ." Lowe turned back to Aintra. "Your usual procedure in the morning, sir?" The seemed oblivious to the two priests who had suddenly become very interested in the investigator before them. "I do not think I had ever been in the Temple before the High Priestess until this morning." "So, you did not usually open the door to her receiving chamber?" "No, sir. There was never any need. Although she did not live here - as would have been her right - she was always here very early." Lowe wanted to explore that further, but Hiwalk was interrupting again. "Didn''t you say, Webber, that the door was locked when you arrived? That means whoever killed her locked the door behind them when they went." "How many people in the High Priestess¡¯s service would be able to lock that door?" It was Setort who answered. "To her personal chamber? Hardly anyone, I''d imagine. Aintra has the Secret Keeper Skill, of course. Beyond that, only those Gianna trusted implicitly would have access." "Either of you?" Lowe asked neutrally. Both shook their heads. "The High Priestess was not especially free with her favour," Hiwalk said through very, very thin lips. Latham was suddenly at his shoulder, whispering in such a way that everyone in the room - and probably the building - made out what he said. "We have finally been able to persuade the High Priestess''s to reveal the whereabouts of the d''Avec home. I suggest you visit there as soon as possible before the press beats you to it." Lowe had heard more subtle dismissals in his time, but he currently had little else to go on. And if he had to look at Hiwalk''s face much longer, he was likely to make things . . . complicated. "That''s fine. I presume someone has informed the household about d''Avec''s demise?" "Oh, no," Latham said with a smile. "We thought it would be much better coming from you." Chapter 10 - Breaking Bad News (Book 1) If Lowe thought there was anything strange about a Level 67 High Priestess residing in a thoroughly disreputable part of the undercity, he did not feel it was really his place to comment. After all, considering his own current accommodation, there was a whole aphorism concerning people-in-glass-houses-not-raining-down-meteorites thing going on. Indeed, compared to the place he''d called home for the past year, Gianna d''Avec''s residence was a veritable palace. The priests, Hiwalk and Setort, were not shy about expressing their disapproval of Gianna d''Avec''s decision to live outside the Temple. Whether it was due to the perceived disrespect towards Gravalk or their own inability to locate her house, Lowe couldn''t be certain. But he suspected it was a healthy dose of both. Even he was finding it somewhat difficult to reconcile the sheer power that the woman had at her fingertips with the sad street down which he now walked. If you could literally cause the world to quake with the force of your displeasure, it seemed pretty unlikely you''d feel living in this place was an appropriate environment. Lowe stopped before an emerald green door and looked up at the three stories of d''Avec''s home. Sure, it was in a better state of repair than most of its neighbours, but there was absolutely about this place to suggest, until that morning, its occupant was poised to become the second most powerful being in the whole of Soar. Interestingly, though, the moment he had exited the portal onto this part of the street, he had felt the push of at least a dozen passive dissuasion Skills focus in on him. At least one was strong enough to immediately bring him out in hives, and if he hadn''t spent his entire professional life being told to ''fuck off'' by professionals, he could imagine it would have been difficult to force his way to the front door. The High Priestess had taken her privacy seriously and done what she could to convince people not to take too much interest in the place that she called home. Lowe admired the subtlety she had shown in this. He doubted anyone would have made an issue of it if she had gone for more . . . permanent solutions to prying eyes. For example, he knew of one minor celebrity who had set up a nasty version of Acid Bath to explode over anyone who so much as pressed her doorbell. Although, the cynic in Lowe thought that this was probably less about privacy and more about seeking a way to upgrade from ''minor'' to ''major'' starlet. Nevertheless, whatever this house might lack in grandeur, it certainly was making up for it in ''nothing to see here, move right along'' energy. Considering why he was here, Lowe found that pretty interesting. He was about to rap his knuckles on the door when it opened of its own accord an elderly, moist-eyed woman was looking out at him. "Yes?" The woman - Lowe glanced upwards and read the woman''s name and Class - peered suspiciously at time. "We don''t trade at the door here. Piss off before the Anti-Hawker Skills really kick in." She moved to close the door in his face, "Mylaf, is it? I''m Inspector Lowe from the Security Service. Could I step inside for a moment, please?" The woman raised her hands to her mouth, and tears poured from her eyes. "I knew it. I just knew it. Something''s happened, hasn''t it?" Lowe felt the intensity of the dissuasion Skills kick up another notch as if in response to Mylaf''s distress. He had a tricky little ring in his possession that would make him utterly immune to any such effects, but he didn''t like to use it over much. In his experience, there were advantages to be found in people underestimating him - particularly when dealing with the highly Classed - and he only flashed his more exotic treasures around when the chips were really down. You never knew who was watching. "Perhaps we should talk inside?" Mylaf stepped aside and let Lowe slip past her. The almost overwhelming pressure of a palpable sense of doom receded as soon as the door was shut behind them. Lowe almost gasped in pleasure when the weight of it lifted off him. Those were some expensive passive charms on this building. That was much more in keeping with what he expected from someone of d''Avec''s standing. "Is there anybody in the house, Mylaf? Do you mind if I call you by your first name?" Lowe said as he moved, as indicated by the housekeeper, through to a large, well-lit sitting room. "No to both questions, sir. My mistress did not have anyone. Not since her parents . . . died. And I''ve never been one to stand on ceremony. She''s dead, isn''t she?" Lowe sat down in a ridiculously comfortable armchair and regarded the woman steadily. "What makes you think that?" "She didn''t come home last night!" He was somewhat taken aback by the intensity of the woman''s wail. Her hands went to her head in an almost hysterical gesture. And then, as if a switch were flicked, she was immediately calm, and an odd glow entered her eyes. "Can I offer you refreshments, Inspector?" Lowe was reasonably familiar with the Class and wasn''t surprised that a woman on the edge of completely losing her shit had chosen to retreat into the rational embrace of her Skills. He assumed she had activated Hostess with the Mostess, which was a standard part of any good build. Considering who this woman served, he thought this would likely be a Rare version of the Skill, maybe even in the Epic tier if d''Avec had thought particularly well of her. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. "I would very much appreciate that, Mylaf. Please produce the most appropriate beverage and sweet confectionary you believe would be suitable for me." Mylaf nodded, almost mechanically, and a table with a cup of steaming tea and a plate with a slice of Victoria sponge upon it appeared next to Lowe. He motioned for the to sit herself down. The moment Mylaf was off her feet, the glow vanished from her eyes, and she began crying again. But softer and more under control than before. "Mylaf, I am sorry to tell you that it would appear your mistress has been murdered. I wish I had better news to share with you." "I knew it," the whispered over and over again. "Oh, that poor girl." Lowe waited to see if Mylaf would say anything else, but when she didn''t, he pressed onwards. "Can you remember when you last saw the High Priestess?" "First thing yesterday morning. She always left the house very early, so it was my practice to be up no later than the fifth bell to ensure I could help her with anything she required." "It is unusual that the High Priestess chose to reside here, isn''t it? Most avatars live with the Celestial Temple itself." "This is her parents'' house." The way Mylaf gave that answer suggested there was no more than needed to be said. To Lowe''s mind, there were any number of follow-up questions. But, perhaps, now was not the time. "And did the High Priestess need anything from you yesterday morning?" "Not yesterday, sir. I have . . . do you understand the nature of my Class?" Mylaf was looking above his head where the absence of his own Class was loud and clear. Lowe smiled. "I have had some experience with " Mylaf nodded as if gratified a difficult and potentially awkward explanation had been avoided. "Well, my mistress was quite particular about her food. She had grown up in relative poverty and, I think, saw it as an essential aspect of how changed her life had become that she had access to finer meals." Lowe nodded along, not quite sure where this was going but happy to let the woman talk. Mylaf saw the confusion in his eyes and smiled, jutting her chin towards the tea and cake at his side. "Perhaps if you tried your food, you would understand what I''m getting at." Feeling increasingly nonplussed, Lowe picked up his cup of tea and sipped carefully at the hot beverage. It was a lightly spiced green tea with a bitter taste that he instantly loved. However, the appearance of a notification in the centre of his vision instantly dragged his attention away from his tastebuds. It was fortunate he was already sitting down. You have consumed "Spiced Jasmine Ambrosia," a Legendary tea brewed by Mylaf. This drink provides the "Echoes of the Ancients" bonus. Duration: 47 bells and 59 minutes Cooldown: Once per lunar cycle. Effects:
  1. Ancestral Wisdom: You gain a significant boost to Intellect and Wisdom, enhancing spell accuracy, magical defence, and problem-solving abilities. This manifests as a +5 increase in Wisdom and Intelligence.
  2. Phantom Aid: During battle, spectral ancestors momentarily appear to assist in your attacks and defence. This results in a 20% chance that any attack you make is automatically supported by a spectral force, adding an additional 50% damage or reduction for that instance.
  3. Temporal Insight: You gain the ability to see a few seconds into the near future. This foresight manifests in combat and negotiation, allowing you to anticipate an opponent''s next move, providing a significant advantage in both avoiding damage and exploiting weaknesses.
  4. Legacy''s Burden: As a balancing factor, you will feel the weight of your ancestors'' unfulfilled quests and ambitions, compelling you to pursue challenging objectives or face internal conflicts about your destiny and legacy. This will drive you to seek out new quests or moral dilemmas that align with the themes of duty and legacy.
Consumption Warning: Due to its potent nature, consuming another dose of ''Spiced Jasmine Ambrosia'' before a complete lunar cycle diminishes the positive effects and could induce adverse effects, such as "Ancestor''s Disfavour," where you will find yourself haunted by critical failures at crucial moments as your ancestors express their displeasure. Lowe almost spat out the liquid in shock but considering the potency of the tea he had been provided with, he carefully swallowed it and looked, with alarm, towards Mylaf. What he had just been granted was an insane boost from a consumable a Level 15 could apparently manifest at will. She smiled at his stunned expression and nodded towards the Victoria sponge. "You can have both a drink bonus and a food one. Please, take a bite. You look like you will need it." Cautiously, Lowe picked up the cake and took a bite. Funnily enough, it wasn''t the nicest thing he had ever tasted in his life, but that palled into significance compared to the resulting notification. You have consumed "Feywild Frosting Delight," a Legendary cake baked by Mylaf. This food provides the "Mirth of the Fey" bonus. Duration: 11 bells and 59 minutes Cooldown: Once a fourteenday. Effects:
  1. Euphoric Agility: You experience a surge in physical agility and dexterity, granting you enhanced reflexes and acrobatic skills. This manifests as a +3 increase to Dexterity, improving your ability to dodge attacks, perform intricate manoeuvres, or engage in tasks requiring fine motor skills.
  2. Charm of the Wild: The cake''s magic makes you irresistibly charming, enhancing your charisma in all interactions. This results in a +4 bonus to Charisma, allowing you to sway crowds, negotiate more effectively, or pacify hostile entities with your enchanting presence.
  3. Fey Camouflage: Borrowing from the tricks of the Fey, you gain the ability to blend into natural surroundings almost invisibly, enhancing stealth capabilities. This effect allows you to move unseen through forests, fields, and even dimly lit streets, providing an advantage in both evasion and surprise attacks.
  4. Laughter¡¯s Echo: Whenever you laugh, the sound carries an enchanting echo that momentarily disorients all who hear it. This can be used strategically to interrupt enemy spellcasting, cause momentary confusion in ranks, or simply to escape tight situations.
Consumption Warning: Overindulging in Feywild Frosting Delight more than once per fourteendays will lead to "Fey Whimsy," where you may find yourself subject to sudden bursts of laughter or dancing, potentially at inopportune moments, as the wild magic of the Fey overtakes your senses. This time, Lowe couldn''t stop himself from choking out a mouthful of crumbs. Mylaf waved her hand, and the offending food vanished before it even hit the carpet. Chapter 11 - Tea, cake, Skills and Levels (Book 1) It turned out Lowe needed more than just a moment for his head to stop swimming¡ªand only part of that discombobulation was due to the unexpected boost Mylaf''s consumables had given him. Ever since losing his Class last year, Lowe had - by necessity - had to become familiar with how to exist with much lower stats than had previously been the case. In fact, the whole experience had been so devastating that he actually couldn''t remember the last time he had so much as opened his Core Sheet, much less carefully read it. However, with the incentive of checking out the impact of Mylaf''s concoctions, he managed to swallow down his pride and look at it. Name: Jana Lowe Level: 19 Class: ***Removed*** Primary Attributes
  • Strength: 70
  • Dexterity: 65 ¡ú 69 (+5% Mirth of the Fey)
  • Intelligence: 85 ¡ú 94 (+10% from Echoes of the Ancients)
  • Wisdom: 78 ¡ú 86 (+10% from Echoes of the Ancients)
  • Charisma: 60 ¡ú 66 (+10 from Mirth of the Fey)
  • Constitution: 75
Secondary Attributes:
  • Perception: 80
  • Willpower: 74
  • Luck: 58
Health Points (HP): 1150
  • Regeneration Rate: 2 HP/min (natural); 15 HP/sec (via Roll with the Punches)
Mana Points (MP): 400
  • Regeneration Rate: 1 MP/min (natural); increased to 2 MP/min when Mana falls below 10%
Stamina Points (SP): 550
  • Regeneration Rate: 5 SP/min
Skills
  1. Roll with the Punches (Passive) Rare - Level 23
Converts 10 MP to heal 15 HP per second. Activation depletes 5% of the maximum mana pool. Cooldown: None.
  1. Grid View (Active) Rare - Level 14
Records up to 30 minutes of footage for perfect recall of details Cooldown: 1 hour. Mana Cost: 50% of total MP.
  1. Slugger (Active) Rare - Level 18
Next melee attack deals triple damage. Cooldown: 10 minutes. Mana Cost: 30 MP. *** Skill slots 4 and upwards are blocked as per Council decree *** Although he had steeled himself against the familiar burn of shame at seeing such low numbers, what he read still hurt. Even with the uptick following the consumption of Mylaf''s food and drink, he was still utterly tragic. What was worse was knowing that those flat % increases she had provided him with would be utterly game-changing for someone with anything approaching decent numbers, but for him . . . it was all just a complete waste. He fought down the self-loathing and plastered on a smile for the . It was not her fault that he was clearly the weakest person who had ever sat in this room. "Well, I have to say you have quite the ability there, Mylaf!" She dipped her head in thanks. "I have been - had been, I guess - with the mistress for a very long time. I worked for her parents, of course, and she had known me for her entire life. As she became more and more successful, she was pleased to upgrade my Skills to the Legendary tier and then to spend the gold to ensure they levelled up regularly.¡± Lowe whistled. Well, that would explain the insane buffs a cup of tea and a mediocre bit of cake prepared by a Level 15 could offer. As he considered the implications of this, he found himself - entirely unwillingly - transported back to Mr Clariy''s classroom when he had been a boy. In this memory, the was droning on and on about one of his favourite topics: Levels and Skills. "Of course, ladies and gentlemen, you will all understand that Skills level up through use. No surprise there, even for those of you on the back row. Just as most of you will find the wherewithal to move your way up through the levels by acquiring XP, your attendant skills will constantly develop. However, where people and their techniques differ is that, at the time they are acquired, each Skill has a tier linked to the effectiveness of that ability. And why is that interesting, Mr Lowe?" Lowe remembered thinking it was not nearly as interesting as trying to look down Griselda Byron''s almost see-through tunic, but he''d wisely refrained from sharing that with the . "I don''t know, sir." This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. "You don''t know . . ." Clariy sighed, then determining he was slightly more interested in the sound of his own voice than berating a sixteen-year-old boy, continued unabashed. "Every single Skill you possess will level up with use. It will get incrementally more powerful with each Level it acquires. So far, so good. However, and it is crucial that you appreciate this, there is a hard ceiling for how good each Skill can possibly become. A common Skill at Level 200 will not be nearly as impactful as an Epic Skill at Level 5, for example. A Skill you can acquire at Level 30 will be infinitely better - even at its earliest stage of development - than any Skill you have had since Level 5." The memory faded, and Lowe found himself back in Mylaf''s quiet, calm company. In theory, you could upgrade any Skill - move it from Common to Uncommon, and thus increase its effectiveness - but it was a prohibitively expensive endeavour, either in terms of gold or Progression Points. For most people, waiting to see the broader tier of abilities offered to them as they progressed through their Class was much more cost-effective than upgrading any early Common Skills they may have. Indeed, as most patron gods were reasonably free with rewards at various thresholds, it was not uncommon for even those with minor Classes to end up with a Rare or even an Epic Skill. However, since becoming Unclassed and having all of his Skills above Common locked by the Council, Lowe has been left in a pretty difficult situation. With no patron god and no prospect of acquiring any more Skills, he had needed to make a difficult choice and had chosen to pour all of his time, energy, and money into getting the Skills he had as high as they could go. Even then, the best he''d been able to do was round all three of his abilities off at Rare. At times like this, he wondered why had bothered. He could not even begin to calculate how much gold Gianna d''Avec had sunk into her Skills to raise them to the Legendary tier. He doubted he would earn enough money to do that to one of his Skills even if he survived for a couple more centuries. How the other half lived. "I''m going to assume it was your habit to ensure the High Priestess left in the morning with her various cooldowns refreshed?" "Indeed. However, yesterday morning, she informed me that she had partaken of the consumables she required the night before and had no need for fresh food or drink." Mylaf tilted her head, "You will be aware that, due to the power of Legendary consumables, there can be an adverse effect should you try to make use of them within their cooldowns?" Lowe had read the warnings on the tea and cake he had just eaten and was not remotely interested in risking the adverse reactions. He assumed the High Priestess had felt the same! "Do you know what she had eaten?" Mylaf shrugged. "It was my mistress''s habit to store food within her inventory. I could not possibly know what she had eaten unless I had asked her. Which I didn''t." Lowe took a moment before asking his next question, doing everything he could to avoid requesting a doggy bag to take the tea and cake home with him. "What did you think had happened when your mistress did not return last evening?" The began crying again. "If I am honest, sir, I knew something must have been terribly wrong. I just could not bring myself to admit it before this morning. When I contacted Mr Webber at the Temple, I was hopeful there may have been some emergency that had delayed her overnight." Lowe shuffled in the very comfortable seat, painfully aware that he was feeling better than he had in a year and, for a change, had mana to burn. It was odd to be so upbeat when interviewing a grieving woman, and he was finding the experience extremely distasteful. "What will happen to me now?" Mylaf''s voice brought him out of his brooding. "How do you mean?" "The mistress. Without her, what do I do?" Lowe grimaced, wishing he had taken the time to learn a little more about the situation before allowing himself to be bundled out of the Celestial Temple by Latham. He would usually have familiarised himself with any number of things before visiting a murder victim''s home, and he found himself cursing the for putting him in this position. Honesty, however, seemed like the best policy. "I am afraid I do not know, Mylaf. This is right at the beginning of the investigation, and I do not have access to the sort of answers I would usually like. For example, do you know if the High Priestess had any relatives?" "She had no one, sir," Mylaf was dabbing away tears with a handkerchief that was constantly cleaning itself. Lowe had to force himself not to stare. That Skill, as well as the one she had used to clear up the expelled crumbs when he had choked, suggested Hostess with the Mostess was not the only Legendary Skill the possessed. He doubted even the Mayor of Soar himself had staff with such outrageously overpowered abilities. "Her parents . . . passed away when she was younger. What a terrible time that was. And then, well, the mistress was not one to make friends easily. I would doubt if there was anyone in her life at the Temple with whom she would take freely. Oh, there was a young gentleman she was seeing discretely, but that all ended a few weeks ago. I never met him, and I do not think the mistress was taking it too seriously." "So, who do you think she would have spoken to if she were in - I don''t know - in trouble of some kind?" Mylaf blew her nose loudly on the self-cleaning handkerchief. "That would be me, sir." Lowe tried to keep his expression kind. "I do not mean any disrespect, Mylaf, but are you really suggesting a Level 67 avatar would confide her fears in her housekeeper?" Mylaf smiled back, and Lowe found himself struck by the sincerity of her whole demeanour. "I know it is difficult to understand, sir, but the mistress truly had nothing other than Gravalk in her life. We spoke, at great length, each evening about her hopes and dreams for the future. After what happened to her parents, there was simply no more important thing for her to do than to reach the summit of the Temple. She was so . . . focused on that there was no time for anything else." Lowe stood surreptitiously, taking another sip of tea and a bite of cake to refresh the cooldowns. There would be more questions for Mylaf but now was not the time. He was making his way to the door when he became aware of the tumult of noise rolling around the street outside. It seemed like Soar''s press corps had finally caught up with events at the Celestial Temple. And, more importantly, they had located the High Priestess'' home. He wondered how that somewhat confidential bit of information had found its way into the public domain . . . Something for Cenorth to look into, Lowe thought. He was amused to see that some of the younger, less experienced were struggling under the impact of the dissuasion aura the building was generating. It appeared he got away quite lightly just with just a bad case of hives "Oh, my," Mylaf was at his shoulder and was distressed at the noise. "What on earth am I supposed to do now?" Blatant self-interest fought with chivalry for a moment in Lowe''s soul. He wasn''t too sure which won out when he next found himself speaking. "It might be sensible for you to relocate for the time being, whilst all this initial interest blows over. I might know of a little apartment that would be absolutely perfect for a looking to stay busy whilst keeping her head down . . ." Chapter 12 - Clues (Book 1) "You''ve employed your chief suspect!" Cenorth''s voice projecting out of the Sending Stone was in danger of reaching a pitch and intensity that would attract the local bat population. As most of the species that inhabited Soar were of the thirsty, vampiric variety, Lowe mused aloud that it might be sensible to ''calm the fuck down.'' Oddly, this did little to lower temperatures. "Do you have any idea how unethical that is!?" Lowe kept his voice at a tone he considered to be his best ''who, me Guv?'' level. "Firstly, let us remember that Mylaf is not anyone''s ''chief suspect''. She''s a Level 15 who, if she could as much as crease the High Priestess''s trousers, deserves a medal for services to laundry for so comprehensively outperforming expectations. Secondly," he barreled on before Cenorth could interrupt, "there are enough high-level security Skills focused on that house that there is simply no way anyone could leave - even via a Portal Stone - without appearing on any number of logs. I am satisfied Mylaf did not exit the d''Avec home from the moment the High Priestess arrived at the Temple the previous day until I arrived yesterday afternoon to break the bad news." Lowe paused then to allow his boss to weigh in. He took it as a very good sign that the only thing that greeted him was an expectant silence. He was probably not going to get fired over this. Then he remembered that, to all intents and purposes, he had already been fired and, what was more, didn''t really care what Cenorth thought of him any longer. "Thirdly, and it would be good for you to remember this, I have not ''employed Mylaf.'' I am merely offering her sanctuary from the attentions of the thousands of currently camped outside her door. A situation that has presumably come about because someone in your office - I''m betting on Jenert, by the way - leaked the news of the d''Avec murder for cookies." Cenorth made a non-committal noise, which may or may not indicate that a certain overweight has already felt the edge of the Commander''s tongue this morning. "But that aside, the fact that she possesses a Legendary version of Hostess with the Mostess has nothing to do with it. I suppose!" "Of course not," Lowe said, ostentatiously taking a bite out of a Red Velvet cupcake which boosted his constitution by a flat 200 - he didn''t think he''d ever had it that high, even when he was Classed and under some significant Security Service buffs. It was - and, obviously, this was all a bit relative in the joy/despair continuum - pretty disappointing that he could only benefit from two of Mylaf''s consumable bonuses at one time, with one of the buffs having to be from food, and the other from drink. Since using the High Priestess''s Portal Stone to return to his apartment complex - again, the money d''Avec had spent on the single most discrete stone Lowe had ever seen, with more privacy settings than the average spy network, was noted; this was not an avatar who wanted anyone tracking her movements - Lowe had been surprised by how quickly the had adapted to her new surroundings. After making sure she was happy with the arrangement, he had left her to make herself comfortable whilst he returned to the Temple and tried to work his way through the list of names Latham had provided that both might wish the Priestess harm and had access to the Third Floor. He had returned that evening somewhat jaded by the experience. The length of the list of possible murder suspects - and those just within Gravalk''s priesthood - was astonishing, and he''d only been able to speak to those who were willing to have their day interrupted by a Classless investigator of dubious authority. So far, he''d avoided asking Latham to weigh in and force the issue with the others, mostly because he wasn''t sure the would come through for him. Thus, during a wholly unprofitable afternoon''s questioning, all he''d been able to determine was that most people who worked for Gianna d''Avec thought she was, in the words of one particularly charming priest, ''a bitch who deserved what happened to her.'' This was not an uncommon sentiment. It was thus gratifying when he returned late last evening to step through his door and apparently enter an entirely different world¡ªone where alien concepts such as dusting, washing, and baking were very much in evidence. Then he reminded himself that he was putting her up because it was the right thing to do, not because he was hoping she''d tidy up behind him. However, Mylaf had confessed to him that she had not had so much fun in years. "I loved looking after the mistress. I''d been with her since before she could walk, and I''d have never left her service in any other circumstance. But -" and with this, she looked around the small apartment she now shared with Lowe - "well, a needs to work to feel valuable, and there is far more for me to achieve here than I ever needed to do for the High Priestess." That was clearly undeniable. Lowe''s two-bedroom flat - well, one bedroom and one room of unclear purpose that, until the arrival of Mylaf, had simply been the ''room where belongings go to die.'' - was already wholly unrecognisable. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The floors were clean, the curtains washed, the cushions . . . well, he had some now. And that was before encountering the smell of baking goods that greeted him as he arrived after a somewhat taxing day of talking to people delighted their boss had been murdered. The scent was of a depth and quality he had never experienced in his life. He might even have shed a little tear. After ensuring he had everything he needed, Mylaf had then retired to bed - humming happily to herself as she went - leaving Lowe to ponder both the nature of the case and his conflicted feelings about using the in such a way. Lowe understood that the ''cruel'' thing to do in this circumstance would be to ban Mylaf from doing further work in his flat. For someone whose entire Class was built around service, that would be the equivalent of giving a an enforced summer holiday at the beach. Just because Lowe didn''t want to do any of the things Mylaf had been up to that day didn''t mean they didn''t give her immense pleasure. But whichever way you looked at it, one human being ''serving'' another in such a way was a touch distasteful. Unlike the beef and mustard sandwich, he had just finished demolishing with great joy. With a sigh, he''d parked the idea of being able to solve the inequality of Class distribution for the night and - before going to bed - pulled open . When on a case, it was his custom to spend some time at the crime scene as a prelude to going to sleep. More than once, he''d been amazed at how his subconscious could unpick details that his conscious mind had missed. The evening light was casting a soft, murky glow through his freshly laundered curtains as the haunting tableau of Gianna d''Avec''s receiving chamber swam into focus in Lowe''s mind. The first thing that struck him was that the High Priestess had been dismembered with a brutality that belied the studied elegance of her surroundings. His eyes were inevitably drawn to her torso, still upright on the Scarlet Throne in a macabre parody of a regal poise. From there, it was hard not to obsess about the limbs strewn about with ghastly randomness, each severed messily as if ripped clear with great force and no precision whatsoever. There had been no blade involved, that much was clear. Her right arm lay beneath the grand window; fingers curled as if in a final plea for mercy. The left was draped over the ornate writing desk, almost an afterthought. Her legs, one under the Throne and the other splayed near the chamber¡¯s entrance, created a disjointed path through the crimson-stained water that soaked the polished marble floor. Blood had mingled with the water, forming a viscous, dark liquid that lapped against the base of the Throne and the scattered furniture. It was an unusual detail, Lowe thought, the water. Its presence was such an anomaly in a place dedicated to Gravalk, the Fire Demon. Had that been intended to be purification, or rather desecration? Pondering that momentarily, Lowe breathed in, seeking to recapture something that had tickled his notice when he had been there in reality. The air was, of course, heavy with the metallic tang of blood. But there was the faintest scent of something acrid, like burnt copper. Or some flavour of incense? It felt a touch out of place. Above, Gianna''s head was gruesomely perched on the chandelier, swaying gently with each draft that slipped through the cracked window. Her eyes, lifeless yet wide open, seemed to stare accusingly at the chamber below. But, Lowe thought, that was probably just his standard background paranoia and guilt, giving a texture that was not there. Nevertheless, the chandelier¡¯s once-gleaming crystals were now drenched in blood, casting a ghastly red light that danced across the ceiling and walls. Dragging his focus away from the corpse''s remains, Lowe began meticulously cataloguing the scene, his eyes drifting over the details he would not have taken on board previously. There, on the edge of the writing desk, a single, damp footprint¡ªthe shape of a boot, not Gianna¡¯s bared foot¡ªpointed towards the window. Likewise, the windowsill bore scratches, as if someone - or something - had clambered in or out with haste. Near the Throne, a series of gouges in the floor suggested a struggle; the heavy seat dragged forcefully around, perhaps? Or the High Priestess'' death throes? Looking over towards the corner of the room, beside the scattered death threats on the desk, was a tiny, half-burnt candle, the wick still smouldering. Again, like the odd smell in the air, it seemed out of place amidst the chaos. Lowe wondered if it was a remnant of an interrupted ritual or an extinguished signal. A closer look revealed a thin strand of seaweed entwined with the wax¡ªan odd relic in a fire-worshipping sanctum. had then faded as Lowe''s mana bottomed out. He briefly considered waking up Mylaf to see what she had in the way of snacks that might help with that. But, on second thoughts, he''d see that this would be crossing a line between awkwardly accepting the support of a person who liked to help and becoming a needy mooch. Having quite a bit to think about, he''d retired to bed. And, amongst fresh, clean sheets for the first in a grotesquely long time, dreamt about a piece of seaweed. * "I''m going to be going out shortly," Lowe said once Cenorth''s furious voice had faded away, slipping on a clean jacket from which - as if by magic - various stains of unknown origin had removed themselves. "I need to speak further to Aintra Webber this morning as to whether he noticed anything unusual when he found the body." Mylaf''s eyes had filled with tears, and he cursed his bluntness. The previous day, he had spent so long speaking to people who were glad d''Avec was dead that he had forgotten there was at least one person who mourned her. "Are you any further to uncovering what occurred?" Lowe shook his head. "It''s early days yet. We''re still trying to gather as much information as we can. I''m hopeful Mr. Webber will have something useful for me, though." Mylaf nodded and returned to directing various cleaning tools and implements to their work around the kitchen. Lowe had done his best to dissuade her but¡ªwithout all that much encouragement¡ªhad relented. "I will see you this evening, sir," she had said with a smile, pretty much shooing him away. Lowe made his way, thoughtfully, through his front door and then attacked the steps down to the ground floor of his building with a confidence he did not truly feel. He was beginning to suspect no one really wanted this case solved. Quite apart from him being the only investigator in the whole of Soar who had been put on it, the absence of a bereaved family pressurising the Mayor was going to be an issue. And then there was the fact that despite Gianna''s exalted rank, not even the Temple was pushing for answers. If this Level 67 avatar could vanish and never be heard of again simply, it felt like everybody would prefer that. Feeling more than a little sorry for Gianna d''Avec, Lowe approached the Portal Stone that would return him to the Temple. Chapter 13 - A Little Light Street Violence (Book 1) The air was cool at this time of the morning, and Lowe turned up the collar of his jacket against the biting wind. As he was enjoying a much higher Health Pool and significantly raised Mana Regen courtesy of Mylaf''s French toast and freshly squeezed orange juice, he actually didn''t need the extra protection. This was going to take some getting used to. Likewise, the temporary rise in his physical stats meant he was making the journey across the broad avenue of Captivation far quicker than usual. Not that the hundreds of commuters dragging their way towards this district''s Portal Stone¡ªheading for jobs that singularly failed to put a spring in anyone''s step¡ªnoticed Lowe pretty much bounding past them. He was lost in his thoughts of the case - that someone else had been in the room and had, presumably, entered and exited through the window, was playing on his mind - which charitably might explain how he managed to miss that the street was suddenly completely devoid of other people. Indeed, the first he knew of the somewhat ominous change in his circumstances was that the only sound he could hear was his heels clicking on the cobbled streets. He spent a moment in complete disorientation. Captivation was one of the busiest streets in this part of Soar, and the idea that there was suddenly no one about during the morning rush hour was . . . just plain silly. And then there was a second, unwelcome change to Lowe''s surroundings. A bunch of other very heavy footprints were suddenly behind his own, and he found himself being grabbed roughly from behind and driven forward to grab a mouthful of brick. "This him, boss?" a low rumble asked "I don''t know, Zurro. Why don''t you make an enquiry of this fine young man and find out whether he is the man we have been asked to meet?" Lowe was spun round to receive a crunch of fist against jaw, which rocked Lowe backwards and back into the wall behind him. Roll with the Punches triggered, and he pushed himself blindly forward at his attacker, just in time to catch a second punch to connect on the other side of his face. This threw him, again, back into the wall - fracturing his skull - at which stage discretion seemed the better part of valour, and he stayed where he was. Splattered against the brick like a beetle. "Ha! Man''s like a fucking Weeble. He wobbles, but he don''t fall down!" Not for the first time, Lowe wondered whether the Skill he had worked so hard to level up was really worth it. The healing was nice, of course, but it did tend to encourage people to come on a bit stronger than was truly necessary. He sometimes felt he was treated like a particularly novel punching bag. Lowe''s mana plummeted downwards as the injuries were repaired, and he found himself very glad for the Skill of his new housekeeper. If he was going to survive whatever this confrontation turned out to be, then having access to a deeper Mana Pool and increased Mana Regen was likely to be a pretty key reason. "Guys, trust me, I''m not resisting. If there''s a message you have for me, I''m listening. There''s no need for any more unpleasantness." Strong hands grabbed his jacket and drove upwards against the wall, tearing skin as it did so. He was lifted - far too easily - upwards so that his feet dangled about a foot off the floor. His jaw itched as a bunch of new teeth popped through his gums, displacing those shattered by that second punch. "You''re going to be told this once, do you understand?" The second voice, presumably the boss of the strategically shaved accosting him, came from slightly to his left. Lowe tried to launch from his peripheral vision, but he couldn''t quite make out the face of the second speaker, so he dropped the Skill before wasting any more mana. He was probably going to need every last drop to keep him alive. "Absolutely. I''m all ears!" "Do you know what, Zurro? I''m not wholly sure Mr. Lowe is taking this situation as seriously as could be hoped. Let us see if we can concentrate his mind a little more. Please relieve him of one of his ears." Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. One of the hands at Lowe''s throat let go, and then there was a rather stomach-churning ripping noise followed by a blinding pain down the left-hand side of his face. It didn''t take a detective of his renowned ability to realise what happened. "Fucking hell, boss! Look at that! It grows right back!" "Interesting," the second voice was closer now, "that must be very helpful in your professional sphere. I wonder how much mana it requires to work?" "Too much," Lowe managed, very aware that he would not be able to continue to receive too much of this sort of punishment before bottoming out. Indeed, without all the buffs that Mylaf''s breakfast was giving him, he sensed he might already be dead. Or, at the least, permanently earless. "So be it. Never let it be said I am not a merciful guy." Lowe held his tongue, not wanting to risk making a bad situation worse. "Gianna d''Avec. You are to let it go." "No worries. It''s done." There was a pause. "I must confess I am a touch disappointed to hear that. What? Is there to be no pledge of ''duty'' to the city? No, tearful follow-up questions about why we are making you abandon a case? I had heard such good things about you, Mr. Lowe. Why, I had even briefed Zurro that we would have to be at the very top of our game to warn you off this case. What a waste of an early get-up." "Mate, you''ve just had your goon tear off my ear. Whoever you are, you''ve got enough clout to clear a fucking street at rush hour just to kick the shit out of me. Maybe, once upon a time, it would have been different, but if you know anything about me since I became Classless, you''d know I''m all about self-preservation." "Oh, Mr. Lowe! Have you truly become so craven?" The thing was, he really wasn''t. And the part of his brain that still believed he held a Class and was very much not at home to this sort of intimidation and wanted to do something about it. Lowe was aware he had enough mana left - providing the light torture section of this morning''s activities had now passed - to do something injudicious, should he be so inclined. Of course, the smart play was to do precisely what the second voice was telling him: to let Cenorth know the case was a bust and then return to a life of quiet desperation and failure, where the kickings tended to stop just short of actual murder. Hey, please don''t knock it until you''ve tried it. On the other hand - and that was the hand that was trying to get his attention - if he could just keep these guys talking for a bit longer, his consumable-boosted Mana Regen should give him just enough juice to be able to trigger his third and final Skill. He''d needed to argue long and hard to retain Slugger when his Class was removed. Traditionally, the Classless only had two Skill slots, and whether it was appropriate for him to hold the third was a matter of some debate by the Council. Eventually, though, when the impact of his low Mana Pool was highlighted, it was decided it was all a somewhat moot point. One ex-colleague was even heard to describe him as ''One Punch Man.'' The fucking wag. "Mr. Lowe. I asked you a question. It is considered rude in most cultures to ignore such things. Perhaps you need some re-education." The boss had obviously indicated it was time for some further roughing up as the goon holding him aloft took a moment to re-adjust his grip and pulled his fist back for what, at the very least, would be a reasonably devastating blow. At that precise moment¡ªand had he any belief left that the gods of Soar gave him any thought whatsoever he may have thanked them¡ª Lowe felt his only offensive Skill become available. A year of frustrations boiled to the surface. He had thought he had made his peace with what had happened, but . . . well, apparently not. Before he knew it, his mana had dropped to zero, a headache the size of a small continent threatened to split his brain in two, and¡ªperhaps most significantly¡ªhis right fist felt very heavy indeed. He couldn''t remember the last time he had used this Skill in anger. The beauty of Slugger, and the reason he had chosen it as his Level 15 reward from a god who hadn''t bothered to answer his prayers for more than a few years, was that it was almost entirely undetectable. Unlike flashier skills, it didn''t make his hand glow. There was no accompanying choral music. And he didn''t need to say anything trite to trigger it. He didn''t even need a backswing. With no further ado - he couldn''t hold the energy in his fist indefinitely without risking an explosion - he flashed a punch forward towards the centre mass of the . Interestingly, one of the other useful things about Slugger is that it did not need the person using it to have any noticeable talent for hitting things. This was quite lucky, as Lowe really sucked at using his fists. It wasn''t that he didn''t have plenty of fighting experience, it was just that - certainly of late - he had become more used to leading with his face. Right here, right now, though, he felt it was time to roll the clock back to another, more vengeance-minded version of himself. Lowe''s fist - and then his entire arm - passed straight through the chest of the holding him, displacing skin, ribs and - and this was pretty gross - a fairly sizeable heart out through the back in an explosion of viscera. A wash of XP hit Lowe, surprisingly pushing him into Level 20 - he had been miles and miles away - but that was an issue for a later time where hopefully he would still be alive to consider it. He was dropped to the floor as the lifeless corpse holding him up crashed to the cobblestone ground. "Oh, Mr. Lowe. You are really going to regret doing that." The boss'' soft voice was above him. To be fair, Lowe would''ve agreed even before looking up into the eyes of a very irritated man holding a ball of lightning. Mana exhaustion was no picnic, and without anything left to fuel Roll with the Punches, he was feeling pretty exposed. In fact, there was a part of him which actually welcomed the oblivion coming his way. The boss pulled his arm back and released his missile. Chapter 14 - Levelling Up (Book 1) "Admit it, you''re feeling pretty good about yourself right now, aren''t you?" Silence. "After all, it can''t be every day that someone in your position gets to do the right thing. I mean, think about it. You''ll actually be able to sleep the sleep of the righteous tonight, knowing you made a difference." Silence. "All your little will be so proud. You can go home and tell them that Daddy had a difficult choice to make today, and he chose appalling yet entirely justified violence. " "Little man, will you please shut the fuck up?" Lowe glanced at his saviour''s face and wisely closed his mouth. He was still not entirely clear on the series of events that had manifested Latham directly behind the guy about to blow a fairly giant hole in his torso with some sort of ball-lightning Skill, but he wasn''t going to complain. Although now he had the chance to think properly about it, presumably the Warder had also been there when the Lowe himself had killed had been breaking jaws and tearing off ears, so it wasn''t all gratitude pie right now. Speaking of pie . . . Lowe pulled one of Mylaf''s more exotic creations out of his inventory. He currently had a 25% increase in overall HP running, thanks to his delightful breakfast, and that would be a buff he''d be anxious not to swap out. However, he''d used up all his Mana with Slugger, and he had a history of long and painful experiences of being glad he had enough of the blue stuff sloshing around for Roll with the Punches to kick in when shit got real. As his go-to move was, most usually, to accept a pasting - sometimes survival trumped dignity - he needed a speedy Mana boost. According to Mylaf, the cookie he was holding would refresh the HP and Mana of whoever ate it back to 100%. Using such a prize with his current pathetic stats hardly seemed worth it. Potions that could do the same thing were currently far outside his price range, but at least they were actually purchasable for a handful of gold. The cost of a consumable which - regardless of Level - would restore you to peak fighting weight . . . Well, that was insane. Being in possession of Mylaf''s baked goods was the closest thing to guaranteed immortality a person could achieve. At least without spending close to the GDP of a medium-sized Petty Kingdom in some prestigious, high-end . The image of Gianna D''Avec''s shredded corpse popped into his head. It appeared, regardless of buffs, there was always a bigger fish. He had one last examination of it before munching down. Item Name: Starlight Solace Cookie Tier: Legendary Description: This ethereal cookie is imbued with the radiant essence of starlight, captured during the rare celestial alignment of five moons. Its delicate, shimmering surface pulses with a soft, comforting glow, casting faint shadows that dance in rhythm to unknown cosmic melodies. Effects: Complete Restoration: Instantly refreshes all Health Pools (HP) and Mana Pools (MP) to full, regardless of the consumer''s Level or condition. Celestial Blessing: Grants a temporary aura that increases damage resistance and mana regeneration by 20% for 1 hour after consumption. Usage Restrictions: One-Time Use: Once consumed, the cookie crumbles into stardust, leaving behind a faint scent of vanilla and cosmos. Sacred Rarity: Due to its powerful properties and the difficulty of its creation, only one Starlight Solace Cookie can exist at a time in the universe. Yeah, using this at his Level and with his stats was complete overkill. However, if he didn''t eat it, Mylaf couldn''t make another one, and she obviously enjoyed doing that. So, he was probably honour-bound to eat it, wasn''t he? Even he couldn''t look himself in the face after that bit of selective moral reasoning. Nevertheless, Lowe crunched down on it, instantly feeling like he could take on the world. It had been so long since he''d truly been able to forget what Mana exhaustion felt like that, for a moment, he could ignore the two corpses lying at his feet. But only for a moment. "Any idea who these guys were?" Lowe asked the between bites of cookie. Latham wiped the blood-red blade of his massive sword on the back of the smaller of the two bodies. "Standard hired muscle. Nothing worth worrying about." Lowe thought that was pretty rich, considering how the encounter had been going before the Warder bothered to intervene. "I don''t know, mate. They were giving me plenty to think about. I don''t think I''d be telling tales out of school to say I was having more than a few moments of worry about what was occurring." "I had your back." "They tore my fucking ear off!" "And it grew right back. Stop your whining. Oh, and you''re glowing, by the way." Lowe bit down his rising indignation at Latham''s insouciance over his loss of body parts. That was right, wasn''t it? He''d levelled up with that punch, hadn''t he? Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. "I didn''t think I was that close to my next threshold. What Level was the big guy who was brutalising me whilst my buddy stood and watched?" Latham prodded the larger corpse with his foot. "No one mentioned you were such a whiner. He was a , Level 46." Lowe coughed out his final bite of cookie. "Level 46!!!''" "Yup!" "I shouldn''t have been able to cut his hair, much less punch his heart out of his chest." "True." So, what the fuck happened!" "Well, you''re in my aura, aren''t you? What else would you expect?" Lowe flapped his mouth like a goldfish that had been given a particularly challenging algebra problem. His brain quickly tried to make sense of what Latham had said. It was a fairly open secret that the various guards employed around Soar received significant bonuses when operating within the city limits. The , , , and the rest of them were charged with keeping order in a world where the entire population had access to an almost unlimited range of powers. It had not taken too many incidents before the Mayor had needed to take action, and my word, action he had taken. Overnight, all those directly employed in the city''s defence became no longer bound by their individual Levels. Whilst they were going about the lawful business, they had the equivalent of Level 99s Surprisingly, crime levels dropped reasonably quickly after that. "So, just to check. I''m a Level 99 now?" "Don''t be fucking stupid," Latham was pulling the bodes into a suitably dark alley off the main road, carrying one in each hand as if they were bags of flour, "when you''re under my aura, you will have an Equaliser bonus which will allow you to fight on a relatively equal level with your opponents. "That sounds pretty cool!" Lowe was already thinking of the advantages such a buff would give him. Presumably, what had just happened would merely be the first of many such visits from people who would rather he did not properly investigate the death of Gianna d''Avec. He might get quite a lot of use from Slugger . . . "Don''t get too excited, little man. You''re Classless, so anyone of a reasonably high Level you find yourself in a confrontation with will have any number of Skill advantages." Latham casually tossed the body of the away. "Trash like this? He hadn''t even raised a basic shield. If he had done, your punch would have just bounced right off him." Lowe let that sink in. "So, basically, unless I''m being massively disrespected, there''s going to be no benefit to having your aura on me?" "Think on the bright side. Anyone who looks at you or knows anything about you will assume you''re a bottom feeder. Disrepect is going to be your superpower. You''ll probably get lucky again a few more times." "Cheers for the pep talk." You''re welcome." * The bodies sufficiently hidden, they continued on their way towards the Temple. As they walked, Lowe tried to decide what to do with his new Progression Points. Typically, when a citizen of Soar hit Level 20, their patron God would give them an opportunity to evolve their Class. Unfortunately, possessing neither a patron nor a Class meant crossing his threshold was rather more underwhelming for Lowe. He was actually surprised by how much that fact stung. He assumed he had made peace with what had happened the preceding year. But Level 20 was when most people moved from being considered background noise to being worthy of notice. It was oddly painful not to be able to count himself amongst them. Nevertheless, as he kept telling himself, in many ways, Lowe was himself reasonably extraordinary in having reached Level 20 with no Class Skills whatsoever. His three Skill slots had undoubtedly helped with that, but even then, he should not have been able to continue to function in a world where might was very much right. "Are you going to do anything with your Progression Points? The flashing light is giving me a migraine. Lowe ignored Latham''s snark and continued exploring his limited options. The centre of his core was, obviously, a blank space where his Class should sit. It was a solid grey in his mind, and he could do nothing with it. Nestled around that hard, unyielding centre, though, were his three Skills: Roll with the Punches, Grid View, and Slugger. All three were softly glowing blue, indicating their Rare status. Should he wish, it looked like he could use his Level-up bonus to push one of those Skills into the Epic tiers. That was probably the way he was going to go. He''d once enquired of a , long before he lost his Class, how much gold it would take to do that with Roll with the Punches and had laughed at the answer, assuming it was a joke. Not so much. So, that was a rather attractive place to put his new Progression Points. In fact, it was an absolute no-brainer. It was sometimes challenging to work out how a Skill would change in moving from Rare to Epic - such information was carefully, some may say obsessionally, guarded in Soar - but it would hardly make him more squishy, would it? Lowe selected Roll with the Punches and was about to evolve it when Latham grabbed his arm and twisted it. "What the fuck!" "That would be a real waste." Lowe tried to pull his arm free, but the fingers dug into the flesh of his bicep. "Mate, it''s not like I''m overburdened with options!" "Open your stat sheet." Unsure what Latham was getting at, Lowe pressed down on the hard grey of his core to access his statistics. As always, the pain of their paucity hit him anew. Without all the bonuses which come with possessing a Class, there was something pathetic about the sight. Character Name: Inspector Jana Lowe Level: 20 Class: None Unused Progression Points: (5) plus (10) Threshold bonus Primary Attributes:
  • Strength: 70
  • Dexterity: 65
  • Intelligence: 85
  • Wisdom: 78
  • Charisma: 40
  • Constitution: 75
Secondary Attributes:
  • Perception: 80
  • Willpower: 74
  • Luck: 43
Health Points (HP): 1150
  • Regeneration Rate: 2 HP/min (natural); 15 HP/sec (via Roll with the Punches)
Mana Points (MP): 400
  • Regeneration Rate: 1 MP/min (natural); increased to 2 MP/min when Mana falls below 10%
Stamina Points (SP): 550
  • Regeneration Rate: 5 SP/min
"Stick it all in intelligence." Lathan still hadn''t let go of his arm, and Lowe was having to actively push Mana into Roll with the Punches to repair the damage. "What''s the point? A Level 8 with the lowest Class will still have more than me. It''s got to be better to have an Epic Skill." Latham let him go and spun him round to face him. "Classes are overrated." Lowe opened his mouth to protest that, for sure, when you were a , it was easy to look down on a game you''d already won, but the expression on the man''s face gave him pause. "Go on." "Class relies on someone else: a god, the Council, a benevolent master. We talk about evolving Classes, but all we mean is that someone more powerful than us chooses who we are allowed to become. There''s a reason the number of Classes is infinite and growing. Because those in charge are endlessly capricious. The only way to fight that system is to use your Progression Points on your core stats. That way, no one can ever take them away from you. You can spend the rest of your life being a human punching bag - and making Roll with the Punches Epic will help with that, or you can stick two fingers up to them all and take control of your own stats." " You want me to dump all 15 points in Intelligence?" "Little man, I couldn''t care less. I''m just telling you what I''d do in your shoes." Lowe paused momentarily, then stuck everything into where Latham had suggested. The effect was ... interesting. Chapter 15 - Essence Transmutation Theory (Book 1) It was a very common misunderstanding that Intelligence had anything to do with being clever. Which was not true. At least, not in the context of Core stats. For those who had no background in Build Management, there was a crushing disappointment to be experienced when they piled Progression Points into that stat and remained as moronic as they had previously been. For those who had a bit more about them - or, more to the point, had the support of a loving family, professional body or grizzled, grumpy mentor with a complex backstory - there was a better appreciation that Intelligence was predominantly linked to the Mana Pool and, perhaps more importantly, to the efficiency of mana usage. A higher Intelligence stat meant more mana at Jana''s disposal and, potentially, more potent Skills. Likewise, Intelligence also contributed to a person''s resistance against magical attacks and their ability to counteract or dispel the effects of Skills, enhancing survivability in encounters with arcane adversaries. Considering most of the commonly available bits of gear for those with a minor Class would be inscribed with enchantments to do much the same thing, it was generally seen as somewhat of a waste of a resource to directly put Progression Points into that particular stat. Indeed, any fiddling with the Core stat sheet had long been written off by these in the know in Soar as undesirable mini-maxing. The boosts available through evolving your Class and the rewards you could purchase once you caught a patron god''s eyes were so numerous that the only sensible use of the points gained through moving through levels was to develop the rarity of your Skills. Before everything went spectacularly wrong, Lowe had followed the received opinion. That was why, in his Classstrated state, his Core stats were in such an abject state. Each of his Progression Points from Level 1 to 19 - including his Level 10 bonus - had been spent on pushing up the rarity of his Skills. That the best of those Skills had been torn away from him was the least a Lowe''s complaints about his treatment at the hands of the Council, but - without a class or a god looking after him - it did mean he was fairly damn fragile. "This is all a bit stable door, horse bolted, isn''t it? " he asked Latham, confirming he wished to raise his Intelligence to 100. "Most people my Level will be well on their past 500 with their Class bonuses, won''t they?" It didn''t look like Latham planned to answer, but then he took a deep breath and turned to look straight into Lowe''s eyes. ¡°What do you know of Essence Transmutation Theory?" The segue was so unlikely, coming from a in the middle of a busy high street, that Lowe nearly got conversational whiplash. "I''m sorry, what?" "Essence Transmutation Theory. Have you heard of it?" Lowe started shaking his head and then paused. There had been something at college, hadn''t there? "Isn''t It to do with, I can''t quite . . . purity of stat points?" Lathan gave a half-nod. "Okay. This will be easier then. Consider my Strength stat." A number hovered over the head. Lowe took an instinctive step back. "Fucking hell, mate. Do you have to be careful not to rip your cock off when you piss?" Lathan didn''t laugh. Lowe was beginning to suspect the big man did not find him either witty or charming. "Now, most of that comes with my Class and pretty much every will have broadly similar numbers. If I mock out what my Core sheet looks like without my Class bonus . . ." The numbers he projected above his head dropped by two-thirds but were still astonishingly high. "I still have all sorts of gear and equipment that boost me up. But if I switch those off for a moment . . ." The number plummeted again, reaching a more crushingly regular 134. Lowe felt himself shrugging. "Still more than enough to kick my sorry arse." "But that''s the point, little man. Essence Transmutation Theory teaches us that the only true measure of our worth is not what is given to us by others but what we can develop for ourselves. Should I displease my superiors and be stripped of my Class and gear - a fate of which you are intimately familiar - where would I be? Have you any idea how much XP I need at my Level to rank up again?" "I''d assume a lot." "You''d be right." Latham suddenly looked around him surreptitiously. "Look, there are lots of people who think you were screwed over, little man. The thing is, because of your low level, you''ve got time to put it right. If you make a start right now. Being sub-Level 20 is critical. It means you have a chance actually to progress. Essence Transmutation Theory. Read up on it. And don''t waste your Progression Points." Then, as if a switch had been flicked, the conspiratorial tone in Latham''s voice vanished. He was striding ahead down the street, and Lowe needed to run to keep up. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. He was just about to draw level when the boost to Intelligence caught up with his brain. * By any reasonable measure in Soar, 100 in Intelligence was a paltry amount. There were amulets - the city had once loaned Lowe one for a particularly difficult case - that added 250 in one go. However, having spent much of the last year coping with 80-odd, suddenly having his Mana Pool surge in volume was a headrush. Intelligence also impacted upon several of the hidden secondary stats that Lowe had never really been interested enough in mapping out: concentration, nerve, memory, et al. So, as that hard-coded Core stat rose, his view of the world somewhat shifted and crystallised around him, causing him to stumble. Latham''s arm moved in a blur and caught him before he fell. It was somewhat disconcerting to be handled like a ragdoll, but Lowe managed to let his pride accept the hit. It was hardly the most humiliating thing that had happened to him in the past week. "Thank you," he mumbled, "my vision is just taking some time to settle down.¡± Latham did not say anything. Lowe was trying to find a way to get the to open up about Essence Transmutation Theory some more when they reached the portal stone. With barely a backward glance, Latham had activated it, and - in moments - the two were stood on the Third Floor of the Celestial Temple. Lowe immediately headed to the small room that functioned as the office. He had hoped that Gianna''s secretary would be more at his ease answering questions in his own environment, but it quickly became apparent that was not going to be the case. The old man''s eyes held a hunted look, and his face in the morning light was completely drained of any life. In theory, Aintra should be able to fill in any number of blanks about the night before the High Priestess''s murder. Whether he had the inclination to do so was another thing. They had been speaking for a little over a bell, during which time Lowe had learned nothing new about the crime but far more than he ever needed to know about the inner workings of the backroom staff of a god''s avatar. Any thoughts he had that this was a remotely glamorous life had long since been dispelled. Stifling a yawn, he tried to move things towards a conclusion. "Is there anything else you can think of adding to your initial statement, Mr. Webber?" "I doubt it, sir. I have tried to be as forthcoming as possible." Lowe went to stand and then paused and resettled himself in the patchy leather chair that had farted every time he had moved during the interview. "Sorry, just one more thing. Did you like the High Priestess?" It was possible that Aintra''s face went even paler than it already was. "Like her, sir?" "Yes. As a person. Did you, for example, find her to be pleasant company? Did you enjoy working with her? Was she a delight to be around? It would seem to me that you served her for a very long time, and I would appreciate getting your insight into her character." "The best part of ten years,¡± the murmured. "You entered the Temple at the same time, I understand?" Aintra nodded back. "Gravalk spoke to us at much the same moment." "She must have been very grateful to have someone at her side who knew her little wants and needs. After all that time, I imagine you had become fairly central to the working of this cult. Especially as she was preparing to move to the Second Floor?" A blush entered Aintra''s cheeks. He cleared his throat as if making to speak, then hesitated. Lowe waited. It appeared to him that the had something he needed to get off his chest. In his experience, letting people talk in their own time was always wise. He doubted Aintra was about to confess to murder- with the Skills the High Priestess had in her possession, he thought it unlikely that the old man could have inflicted so much as a papercut - but you never know. He''d known stranger things to happen. Though not many. After the silence had continued for longer than Lowe would have expected, Aintra seemed to come to a resolution. "I''m sure you would have found this out yourself, anyway. Temple gossip being what it is. The High Priestess had let me go." Lowe was careful not to react, nodding for the secretary to continue. "She''d asked to see me before I left that evening. Apparently, at Level 32, it would not be appropriate for me to serve her on the Second Floor." "That must have been hard for you to hear." "It is what it is, sir. And what it is is pretty awful. But I was probably due for a change after so long in one role. In eight levels, it would seem sensible to evolve my Class anyway. I would probably have looked to leave my lady''s service at that point in any event." Lowe let the lie sit there between, like a particularly pungent turd. Aintra shuffled about in his chair but didn''t take the opportunity to add anything to his story. Eventually, Lowe decided to prod things onward. "Interesting. We may need to come back to that. For now, though, can you tell me if the High Priestess often remained in her receiving chamber after you all had left for the evening?" Aintra almost sighed with relief when being able to move on to routine matters. "It was not especially uncommon, sir. You will be aware that she made prodigious progress up the floors of the Temple, and that sort of growth does not happen merely through meeting business hours. I often would lock up the rest of the floor, leaving the High Priestess in situ." "And yet her door was locked when you arrived on the morning you discovered her body?" The paused as if he had not considered that before. Lowe did not like the pantomime the man was presenting here. Unless he was a moron - and Aintra Webber was certainly not that - he''d obviously come to the same conclusion, and pretending this was the first time he''d considered it was not convincing. "Yes, that is strange, is it not?" "Yes. It is. And you did not accidentally lock her in when you left?" Despite the tense atmosphere in the small room, Webber smiled at that. "Hardly, sir. One did not make such errors around the High Priestess. At least, not twice." "So, for clarity. The High Priestess was alive when you left shortly before the tenth evening bell. You did not lock her door. When you arrived the following morning, the door was locked, and Gianna d''Avec was butchered behind that closed and secured door. " "Those are the facts as I understand them, sir." Lowe did not miss the rather formal language used there. In his experience, when people retreated behind formality, it was because they had practised what they were saying, which was interesting. He looked anew at Aintra Webber and let the silence develop. Aintra cleared his throat several times before Lowe put him out of his misery. "So, and this will be my final question, you contend that only you and the High Priestess could lock and unlock that door. No one else in the service of Gravalk could do so?" Aintra''s face took on a pained expression. ¡°I may not be the most powerful being on this floor, sir, but I can be sure of that. If it was not I who locked that door, then only the High Priestess or our Lord Gravalk himself could have done it." Lowe smiled and looked back at Latham. The had spent the interview looming, impressively, in the doorway. "Well, Mr. Warder. It sounds like we need a meeting with a god, doesn''t it?!" Chapter 16 - Tough Love (Book 1) "I am, under no circumstances, accompanying you on a visit to a god." "Go on, live a little. What''s the worst that can happen?" "Says the man without a Class!" "Exactly. How is Gravalk going to make my life worse?" "I think ''life¡¯ is the operative word there, little man. And even if he doesn''t evaporate you entirely, spending the rest of your existence with third-degree burns is probably going to be a touch sub-optimal.¡± "Your concern for my wellbeing is touching, .¡± ¡°Fuck that! I''m responsible for keeping you in one piece until you come up with a theory of what happened to the High Priestess. At that stage, fuck your well-being. But until then, I¡¯m going to do my best to keep you away from walking on any landmines. Like prodding a Fire Demon who is likely feeling a little touchy after his avatar was murdered in her own chamber. Besides, I like my Class just fine.¡± ¡°What? Do you mean to say that you¡¯ve not been taking your own advice over Essence Transmutation Theory? You shock me to my very core. Imagine that? An extremely powerful Higher Classed not following some abstract theory of build development. Hypocritical much?" The blow Latham struck Lowe splatted him ¨C no metaphor here - against the wall. Roll with the Punches kicked in whilst the investigator was still flying through the air, taking advantage of the increased availability of mana, and quickly repaired the fractured skull and reversed the significant brain damage. Even then, Lowe was left with only 10% of his pool. Latham strode forward to loom over the crumpled man. "Do not mistake my tolerance for friendship. I have been charged with keeping you alive until it is determined that your status is no longer desirable. Be under no illusions; I will follow any orders I am given regarding you. If I have offered you advice about your build, it is because I feel some pity for your situation. There but the grace of the gods and all that. You should not presume that gives you any right to discuss my own Progress Point choices. Do you understand?¡± ¡°Dude, I''m going to suggest that was a slight overreaction to some low-level banter. I was joking.¡± Lowe was a touch alarmed to hear significant slurring in his words. He pushed his remaining mana into Roll with the Punches. Sometimes, the passive nature of the Skill only concerned itself with immediate risk to life, and he needed to manually mop up any less critical damage. His understanding was that ranking it up to Epic would have smoothed that out a little, but since taking Latham''s advice, it would be many more levels - or an insane amount of gold - until he had the resources to have that option again. Lowe decided not to point out the irony. He couldn¡¯t afford another slapping from a giant with absolutely no sense of humour. Latham, for his part, simply glowered back at him. If he felt any remorse for the attempted murder, he was hiding the guilt very well. ¡°It is not your place to question how I spend my Points.¡± ¡°Fuck me, Latham! Most people would consider a quiet ¡®no comment¡¯ sufficient to steer the conversation to calmer waters. Grievous bodily harm feels a touch forceful in the circumstances. How do you deal with arguments with your friends? Gladiatorial death matches?¡± A mix of complicated emotions swan over Latham''s face, and then he stuck out a hand to help Lowe get to his feet. "My apologies. I am not used to interacting with people who are so . . . vulnerable.¡± "Mate, I think you can probably work on your approach to conflict resolution.¡± As he spoke, Lowe slipped back on his Ring of Regeneration and was about to switch his consumable bonus to help with his Mana Regen via a nice bit of Battenberg, but something stopped him. He suddenly was not so keen on Latham, knowing everything about him nor what resources he had to call upon. Although, he didn''t really want to be wandering around Soar with less than 50% of his Mana available. The two men regarded each other for a moment. Lowe was damned if he was going to break the silence. Finally, Latham cleared his throat and then threw the Inspector a flask of some sort of golden liquid. Lowe caught it and quickly examined what he had been given. Only a tiny part of him expected it to explode. "A Potion of Restoration? Mate, I''ve had worse make-up gifts." "I said I was sorry, little man. I will endeavour to control my temper in the future, but you should know that some topics should be considered taboo." This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. "So, you can get all up in my business about where to put my Progress Points, but if I so much as touch on your own build choices, I get my arse kicked, with some expensive shiny coming my way to make amends? I''m not going to lie, mate, that feels a touch like we''re in an abusive domestic relationship.¡± The look Latham gave suggested that levels of abuse remained hitherto to be explored. * At the same time, as Lowe was peeling himself off the wall of the Third Floor, just a few feet above him, Mdamic was nearly dancing a jig. "You know,¡± Khaled mused, ¡°some people might consider it distasteful to celebrate the death of a peer quite so openly." "Fuck those people. Bring them here right now, and I¡¯ll even do it for you. The fire bitch is dead. What¡¯s not to like? I''m even considering declaring today a Holy Moment of celebration." "Far be it from me to offer advice to an avatar of your power and station, but you might want to dial down the glee ever so slightly. To my understanding, at this very moment, the Security Services are running their mucky little paws over what I believe in the vernacular is described as ¡®the crime scene.¡¯ I assume someone will be stopping by shortly to discuss your relationship with her.¡± Mdamic''s eyes flashed with barely restrained thunderbolts. "My relationship? Those ground apes better have more sense than to bother me with their mewlings. Yolgorth will not take kindly to his important business being disturbed by nonsense.¡± Khaled¡¯s eyes scanned over Mdamic''s desk, noting the half-eaten breakfast, completed crossword and a pad full of doodles. It did not truly seem that the ¡®important business¡¯ of Yolgorth was truly taking everything this avatar had got. "I would caution you to reconsider that viewpoint. I''m told that the powers that be are actually taking Gianna''s death more seriously than might have been expected.¡± Mdamic dialed down his frustration a touch. "Where are you hearing that?" "What Oh''s adherents might lack in raw power, we tend to more than makeup with ¡®ear to the ground¡¯ attentiveness." "Ha! I guess that''s something snakes are good at, eh?" Khaled laughed dutifully, but his smile did not quite reach his eyes. In truth, he was growing distinctly unimpressed with his role as a punching bag for an ex-Barbarian who got lucky in god-bingo. Furthermore, he was baffled that someone who would obviously be very much in the crosshairs of the Security Service was acting in such a brainless way. Did he not realise that the whole reason why d¡¯Avec was boosted so quickly to the Third Floor was that there was quite some dissatisfaction with the performance of Yolgorth''s chosen? Those worries were not going to have gone away with her death. Indeed, from the whispers his subordinates had picked up, notice had been taken of the dramatic effectiveness of the more ... direct approach to removing obstacles. When he replied, Khaled did his best to keep any sense of this out of his voice. "There are a number of pressures being brought to bear to ensure that the wrongdoers are brought to justice. I hear Arkola has become personally involved." Mdamic glanced upwards instinctively. "Seriously? Arkola is taking an interest?" ¡°No one likes to think that those on the higher levels of the Celestial Temple are vulnerable to base butchery. You, more enlightened beings, are supposed to be above all that." There was an awkward silence whilst Mdamic assimilated the subtext in his friend''s words. ¡°I assume you have come with some advice for me?" Khaled smiled. "I always have thoughts for Yolgorth''s chosen, should he be interested in commentary from a far less illustrious figure." Mdamic surreptitiously activated Clear Sky Thinking, an often-overlooked Skill available to those who had Yolgorth as a patron. As soon as the calm rationality of the Skill washed over him, he saw precisely what Khaled was doing. Had he not been under the influence of the Skill, he would have been turning the sneaky sucker into a pile of ash quick smart. As it was, he could see there was probably merit in letting the relationship continue. So his ¡®friend'' thought he was that easy to manipulate, did he? Well, two could play at that game. Mdamic smiled. "And I am always happy to hear your commentary. However, it would be good to understand the price before sampling the product." "Oh, nothing very much. Oh is happy to have a favour to call on in the future. One she promises will not inconvenience the Great Yolgorth." ¡°An unspecified favour?¡± "One without strings, I assure you." Mdamic reached over the table and grasped Khalid''s hand, pulsing an unnecessary level of lightning into the man opposite to seal the deal. "We have a compact. And Yolgorth will respond directly to Oh should the terms turn out to be unacceptable. Or there, indeed, to be some ¡®strings¡¯ hanging around. Now, give me your advice." Khaled paused to allow the pain in his hand to fade. He truly was coming to despise this avatar. "My advice would be that it would be sensible to show an element of concern and worry about the events on the Third Floor. Should the Security Services choose to speak with you, demonstrate that d¡¯Avec''s death is an unspeakable tragedy. Offer any help that is required and, under no circumstances, give the impression you are happy with what has occurred. I assume you have an alibi?" Mdamic raised an eyebrow. "Surely, I am not going to need to account for my movements. I am Yolgorth''s chosen!" "And a Level 67 has been massacred. I would assume the suspect pool for such a crime is going to be vanishingly small. It would be sensible for you to ensure your name is not on it.¡± Khaled let the silence stretch out a little before speaking again. "I hesitate to prompt the memory of one such as yourself, but you do remember that we ate together that night?" Mdamic''s face clouded. " Something about that rings a bell . . . " "I will ensure that all the details are supplied to your P.A in short order. Merely to refresh your memory of the event. The dinner will already be on your calendar, of course." "Of course.¡± They shared a few more pleasantries before Khaled made his excuses and returned to his own more mundane level. Mdamic sat in silence for a while, replaying the conversation in his head. He''d let Clear Sky Thinking drop off - it tended to make his teeth itch if he had it on for too long - which probably accounted for him missing one particular, important issue in the deal he had just made. It wasn''t just that Khalid was giving him an alibi, but he''d provided the Chosen of Oh with one, too. Chapter 17 - A question around time of death (Book 1) The atmosphere in Crazy Xim''s cafe was somewhat strained this morning. Each of them had, of course, heard the news, and yet they had been drawn - as if trapped in the gravitational pull of an especially malignant black hole - to their familiar morning meeting. Irek was on his second Mana Potion - and third migraine - pulsing out as much Good Cheer as he thought he could get in motion without pissing anyone off. He had long prided himself on being able to subtly alter the emotions of this little group without revealing his hand, but the trick to it was little and often. He''d been keeping them on a fairly even keel for almost two bells now, and he was worried that familiarity was going to breed contempt. The funny thing was, despite the fact that an event they had long dedicated themselves to bring about was coming to pass, nobody was actually feeling remotely happy. Nor, it turned out, did they have anything to talk about which wasn''t concerned with planning the violent death of a certain High Priestess. Irek met Hel''s eyes and raised his eyebrows again. She gave a little shake of her head in response. It turned out that she didn''t have many better ideas than he did. Well, wasn¡¯t that wonderful. He felt a wobble in the emotional state of one of the two - he could never tell them apart- and pressed down more firmly with his Skill. It was like pouring water into a desert. "What the fuck are we doing still here?" They all turned to Tenia who, to be fair, was pretty high on the list of them most likely to lose her shit first. "We''ve met here every day for the last five years. I kind of think it would look pretty damn suspicious if, the morning after a brutal murder, a bunch of Level 40s with rather destructive classes suddenly stopped meeting for breakfast. What do you think?" Hel''s voice was tight, and each of them surreptitiously refreshed their defensive Skills. "What do you think happened?" asked Charl for the sixth time since they sat down. Arwel and Erwal gave a strange screaming noise in reply that caused silence to fall amongst the rest of the patrons. Hel glanced towards Irek and indicated he needed to do his fucking job and ramp up the levels of chill. The last thing they needed was her sisters freaking out and stripping flesh from bones. "Look, I''m just going to come out and say it. It wasn''t me.¡± Tenia crossed her arms over her chest and sat back, glaring at the others. Charl nodded. "Me neither." Irek opened his arms wide. "Goes without saying.¡± Hel was aware they were all looking at her and her sisters. ¡°It''s not quite that simple.¡± That hardly smoothed out the growing tension. "I could be wrong," the began, "but it''s a pretty fucking binary position. Did you guys kill the High Priestess?" "Well, first of all, why don''t we all keep our fucking voices down. I hear the Security Service are pretty damn motivated to close this case.¡± "Fair enough, Hel, But what do you mean ¡®it''s not that simple?¡¯¡± It took a lot to get Charl''s goat going, but there were signs that particular ruminant was off and running downhill. "And stop fucking messing with our emotions!" Tenia pushed out a quick screech of Banshee towards Irek, which made the sisters¡¯ little outburst earlier seem like a minor giggle, knocking him to the floor. Hel flicked a gust of wind towards Tenia, lifting her¡ªand holding her¡ªinto the air while simultaneously catching Irek and putting him back on the righted chair. "Let''s all settle the fuck down." If the group''s antics near the window disturbed the rest of the patrons, they didn''t show it. To be fair, a little light mayhem was hardly the sort of thing to cause comment in this particular establishment. Nevertheless, the charged scent of personal shields being raised wafted through the air. Charl snarled and began to increase in size. Hel sucked all the oxygen out of his lungs and quickly returned him to his normal size, spluttering as he did so. She wagged her finger back and forth. "Stop it!" There was a moment of tense silence. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Tenia gave up struggling and hung sulkily, letting her power bleed from her hands. Irek dropped Good Cheer and began channeling Conciliation whilst Charl struggled to breathe, going increasingly red as his lungs refused to inflate. The sat impassively, staring up at the Temple through the window. "Do you want me to explain, or do you want to be dicks?" "To be honest," Irek said, increasing his output and taking yet another Mana potion, "it''d be great if we could do both." "Well, boo-fucking-hoo." Hel released Charl''s lungs and let Tenia fall, unceremoniously, back to the ground. "Let''s try to remember who we are ¨C or at least used to be - and keep the total fucking shambles to a minimum." "For the one of us who appears to need to explain how she might have killed our target without mentioning it to the rest of us, you''re being pretty punchy this morning." Tenia glowered. "Look, as I said, it''s not that simple.¡± She glanced at her sisters who continued to sit staring up at the Temple. "It was just before the tenth bell. I was locking up for the night as usual and-" she paused, flashing back to her blind panic of the night before- "well, I realised neither Arwel nor Erwel were in the house.¡± They all turned to look at the , their silhouettes blurring and fading under the intense observation. ¡°And that''s unusual?" Irek asked. ¡°Is it unusual for me to lose track of two beings who have the ability to drain the life force out of anyone they make physical contact with? Who I have had to give my personal assurance to the Council will not take another life in this city? Yeah, pretty fucking unusual.¡± Irek pushed down on his active Skill a little more. As usual, though, he found that Hel was curiously resistant. In theory, someone of a similar level couldn''t be able to push back in this way. However, he couldn''t ever remember being able to affect her overmuch. "So, what happened?" Charl had caught his breath and didn''t seem to be holding any grudges over his brief suffocation. ¡°Well, I knew there was only going to be one place they could have gone. I mean," she jutted her chin towards them, "look at them!" Her two sisters were staring idly out of the window, their eyes locked on the Third Floor of the Celestial Temple. "It''s all they live for. And I use ''live¡¯ in the broadest of all possible senses." "So, you''re saying they killed her?" Tenia¡¯s voice dripped with skepticism. Hel''s eyes darkened, tempests swirling in their pupils. ¡°I''m not sure at what stage in our relationship you decided you could speak to me in such a way. I would urge you to reconsider the advisability of your tone.¡± There was a brief moment when Irek could feel Tenia preparing to make an issue of it, and he switched to his most powerful Skill, Mood Killer, which, in theory, should take the heat out of any situation. "Tell your pet manipulator that if he doesn''t get out of my head, I''m going to be visiting his dreams tonight, and then we will be having some fun." Tenia''s eyes were fixed on Hel. "Irek. Please." Hel''s voice was soft, and with reluctance, he released his Skill. "Now, are we going to play nice, or do I need to remind you the difference between being a monster when asleep versus actually being a real and present one right here." ¡°To be fair, Hel, it sounds like it''s you that''s saying you fucked up," Charl chipped in. "Just tell us what happened." Perhaps realising that when a was the voice of reason, you''d probably strayed a little too far away from the reservation, Hel let some of the Skills she was holding drain away. When the atmosphere calmed slightly, she continued, the hard-edge vanishing from her voice. ¡°It wasn''t hard to work out where the two of them had gone and I caught up with them just after they''d entered the Temple. " "And the ?" Irek asked "At that time of night, it was a skeleton staff, and, well, we all know how good my sisters are at getting in places they shouldn''t. Anyway, they''d somehow baffled the Portal Stone and were slipping through to the Third Floor. I caught them both, but I was dragged through alongside them." "And?" Tenia seemed to have forgotten her previous antagonism and was leaning forward in interest." ¡°She was still in there. I could hear her arguing with someone within her chamber.¡± As she spoke, Hel was transported back to the night before, Anwel and Erwel straining against the leashes of air she had placed around them. She''d never truly struggled to control them before, but now - so close to their quarry - they were almost insane with fury. Hel had needed to pop a bubble of oxygen around them all to deaden the noise their snarling and wailing was causing. She remembered that the light coming from beneath the High Priestess''s door had cast a sinister glow around the rest of the floor, and the shadows cast by the clawing attempts to break free and assault the door to the receiving chamber were monstrous. For a moment, Hel had considered letting them loose and adding her own power to the assault. This was an opportunity that surely would not occur again. In all their years of dogging d''Avec''s steps, she had never stayed inside the Temple this late after the close of business. It was what had made it so impossible for her to waylay. For a glorious moment, she could see the end of their long vigil. But then reality kicked in. They''d planned this so carefully for a reason. Without Charl, Irek or Tenia, there would have been no realistic possibility of success. Even all working together, she put their chances at 50/50, but with only half the team, they were just going to be free XP. "I have given you my answer," the voice of the High Priestess exploded out from behind the door. Hel could not make out to whom she was speaking and pulled quickly back on her sisters, dragging them back towards the Portal Stone. ¡°And you just left without doing anything?" Hel ignored Tenia¡¯s scorn. She was suddenly struck by something she hadn''t registered at the time. There had been a dampness to the air on the Third Floor, which was wholly unusual around the high under the Priestess. Had there been ... water coming from under her chamber door? "What happened next, HeI?" Charl was leaning forward, the table creaking under his weight. Hel put that thought away. "We got out of there as fast as we could. But I can tell you, Gianna d''Avec was hale and hearty just past the tenth bell." Chapter 18 - (Book 1) ¡°I can assure you, there can be little doubt about the time of death. Despite the . . . damage caused to the body, enough of it remained intact for me to note that life finally extinguished no later than the seventh bell." Lowe had never liked this . There was something about a person who had dedicated every aspect of his Class to focus on dealing with the dead which was . . . weird. It didn''t help, of course, that Penarth Lant was, by any measure, a creepy motherfucker. He was short, barely five foot tall, and was that curious mix of both skinny and fat: his arms and legs being stick-thin, but with an enormous pot belly that he massaged as if soothing a kicking baby. Adding to his unattractive vibe, he was also completely hairless ¨C in a naked mole rat, kind of way - and had incongruously thick glasses perched on the end of his giant nose. To Lowe''s certain knowledge, Lant had no need for any vision correction and wore them merely to give himself an excuse to press his face into the personal space of pretty young . Creepy. Motherfucker. "You seem unusually confident in that assertion, Penarth." Despite his desire to call on Gravalk, Lowe had recognised that a little bridge-building was required with Latham first. The had saved his life this morning (of course, he''d then absolutely kicked his arse a few moments later), and he¡¯d probably earned a little bit more consideration than Lowe had shown him thus far. He''d therefore agreed with Latham''s suggestion that before bothering a Fire Demon or even interviewing any further suspects, it would be sensible to give the a visit and see how the land lay. "Mr. Lowe . . ." "Inspector," Lowe corrected. Penarth blinked, then ran the word around his mouth as if it were a peculiarly unpleasant piece of fruit. "Inspector. To my certain understanding, after the unpleasantness of last year, you had been stripped of rank, Skills and your position. Has there been a reversal of that . . . calamity?" Lowe chose to ignore that the emphasis on that final word sounded uncommonly like ¡®joyous and much celebrated circumstance.¡¯ ¡°I have been re-activated to investigate the demise of the High Priestess.¡± "No other sucker wanted the job, I presume?" Penarth cackled. Lowe shrugged. "Perhaps. But I''m more interested in a time of death right now. You have no doubt, no doubt whatsoever, that Gianna d''Avec was a dead body by the seventh bell? You understand this is likely to be reasonably important?¡± Penarth gazed owlishly back. ¡°No. This is, after all, my first day on the job, and I am, of course, profoundly stupid. We have discussed - many times, if I recall correctly, Mr. Lowe - that Deathcalling is not in the exact sense. My apologies, Temporarily Reactivated, Inspector Lowe. However, on this occasion there is enough evidence that the High Priestess was beyond this vale of tears by the time I have indicated for me to make that statement with confidence.¡± "And that evidence is?" Lowe was doing an impressive job of keeping his temper under control. Penarth sighed and reached for a scroll lying on his messy desk. He pushed his glasses to the top of his bald head and peered at his crabbed handwriting. "There is no evidence of residual mana in any of the subject¡¯s channels. You will know, with all your years of experience in the business, of course, what that signifies?" "Assume I have not been keeping up with my reading of ¡®Mortuary Monthly¡¯.¡± Penarth''s voice took on - if possible - an even more supercilious tone. ¡°It has been determined that Mana usage has a half-life of three-quarters of a bell, with it becoming untraceable within ten hours. At that stage, channels go through a process called ¡®lamination¡¯ for the next three bells. Gianna d''Avec''s channels contain no mana and only minor lamination. This would indicate that the last time that the High Priestess used her mana was, at most, thirteen bells ago. As I am sure you will agree, it is unlikely a of her talent would not have used her mana in her defence, then it stands to reason she fought - and died - no later than the seventh bell." Latham clicked his tongue, and Penarth pulled down his glasses to peer at the corner of the room. "Do you have a comment ?" Stolen novel; please report. "Only that it sounds to me like you have identified the last time the High Priestess used her mana, not when she died." "Your point being?" "Only that you seem rather certain the two events are linked." Penarth cackled his high-pitched laugh. "It would, of course, be easier to determine a time of death should the have been, oh, what is the word? Ah, yes. ¡®Warding¡¯? Tell me, I presume you have conducted your own investigation into these events. How was someone able to gain access to the Priestess''s floor without crossing your esteemed compatriots? Moreover, it is my understanding that this particular avatar was rarely to be found within the Temple after the sixth bell. Has there been any explanation for why she was working out of hours?" Lowe took a step backwards to be outside splatter range should Latham take umbrage at the words. He was unsure what defences the Level 39 had, but he severely doubted, if Latham made an issue as things, he had much to keep that ugly dome intact. Oddly, though, Latham''s reaction was more shamefaced than Lowe would have expected. ¡°We are looking into the failings of our systems, as you would expect. But that has no bearing on whether you are accurately noting the High Priestess¡¯s time of death." Penarth pushed his glasses up onto his forehead again. ¡°For clarity,¡± his voice had taken on the hectoring tone again, "I can say with certainty that Gianna D''Avec did not use her mana after the seventh bell. If you want to argue that she died after that - without any use of her Skills in her defence - then that is entirely up to you. In the absence of a witness to argue differently, I will confidently sign the Death Certificate to that effect.¡± "Even if you make my life more difficult?" "My dear Temporarily Reinstated Much-Maligned Inspector, the only way I could care less about your life would be if you turned up on my table." "Well, fuck you too. Is there anything useful you have to add besides a somewhat questionable time of death?" Penarth went to snap back an answer, then paused as if reconsidering. "Okay. Being as how you have been such a joy, why don¡¯t you have a look at her?" He waddled over to the table in the centre of his room, holding his belly in a protective cradle. Lowe had been doing his best to ignore its presence, as well as what was presumably lying under the blanket that rested on top of it. With little ceremony, the < Deathcaller> whipped the covering back, exposing the body that lay beneath. Despite having seen the corpse in situ, there was something more impactful about seeing Gianna d''Avec like this. Someone, presumably Penarth, had reconstituted the body, sewing each of the detached parts back together. The effect was to bring home the humanity of the victim in a way that seeing the blood-soaked chamber had not. Lowe found himself looking upon the face of a woman much younger than he had anticipated. Without the drama of the Third Floor setting, with the aftermath of violence exacerbating everything, he realised Gianna d''Avec had been barely into her twenties. Thinking back to Aintra Weber describing serving her for the last ten years and Mylaf''s stories of years working for her, he had expected her to be much older. It occurred that the High Priestess had entered the Temple as little more than a child. He was about to ask Latham how common that was when he realised, he''d missed what Penarth was saying. " - which I am finding hard to explain." "Sorry, < Deathcaller>, I did not catch that. What was the point you were making?" Penarth made much of sighing and rolling his eyes at the Inspector. "I will repeat myself once more for those in the cheap seats, at which stage I will ask you to remove yourself from my mortuary and await my report like every other member of the Security Services.¡± The strange little man paused and cleared his throat for effect. "It is somewhat interesting, considering the element with which the High Priestess was most familiarly associated, that the level of water within her blood is exceptionally high." Lowe thought back to the water that covered the floor of the High Priestess'' chamber. He had assumed something was leaking - a burst pipe, perhaps - but now he was not so sure. "When you say ¡®exceptionally high¡¯ . . ." ¡°A level that, for a normal being, would have demonstrated an incompatibility with life. I am, though, happy to note that this particular victim is the highest level that has ever made an appearance on my table. I have made enquiries of my peers across the continent as to whether it is normal to see such a phenomenon in those approaching the upper threshold, and there has been little consensus. The only true thing that can be said is that everything and anything is possible." Lowe found himself looking at the stitching at the neck and at the sockets of her arms and legs. This had been a brutal death. "So, to summarise, you have identified that the last time Gianna d''Avec accessed her mana was shortly before the seventh bell. On top of this, you note that there is an unusual concentration of water - an element which is the antithesis of her fire mana - within her blood. I guess I need to ask, do you think those two factors are connected?" Penarth''s head was nodding like a child''s toy. "I have no idea." Latham chimed in. "Do you think it is likely that the two are connected? " "I couldn''t possibly comment. There is such a lack of information available about those post-65 that I would simply be guessing." Lowe ran his hands through his hair. "Just thinking aloud, here. If we assume that it was not normal for the High Priestess to have an overbearance of water in her blood, and we further consider that the reason she was unable to make use of her mana was this particular condition, how could this state of being come to pass?" Penarth threw his hands up in the air. "I am not in the business of blind guessing! That is, I may suggest, what you are supposed to be doing." "Gravalk," Latham said with certainty. "The Fire Demon must have forsaken her." Lowe nodded. "I''m afraid, mate, I rather think we''re going to need to make that call on a god after all." Chapter 19 - Meeting with a God (Book 1) It turned out it was much easier to make an appointment to see a god than might have been initially assumed. "You''re kidding me?" Lowe said, sure Latham was shining him on. ¡°Not at all. It is, after all, one of the founding principles of Soar that the gods are available to speak to any citizen that wishes an audience." "And there''s no downside?" ¡°Of course, there''s a fucking downside. Why do you think no one does it? Should the god find your petition to be frivolous, irritating or - as is most often the case - just wants to be a dick, you''ll lose your Class, half your levels and, if you''re even slightly unlucky, your life too." "That doesn''t seem that they''re really that committed to those founding principles after all, does it?¡± Latham stopped striding down the corridor in the basement of the Temple and allowed Lowe the chance to catch up. "Little man, what do you expect? They''re gods. They have more enjoyable ways of spending their time than being questioned by the likes of you." ¡°So, what do I do? Just close my eyes and pray?¡± Latham looked at Lowe with such disgust that Lowe felt actively ashamed of himself. "No. You don''t ¡®just close your eyes and pray¡¯!¡± He raised a meaty hand and tapped the sign above the door they had halted outside: it read ''Contact Booth. ¡°You step inside one of these bad boys, then you close your eyes and pray." Lowe pushed open the door and looked around inside. It was a strangely nondescript space, considering this was supposed to facilitate contact with one of the almighty. There was a chair, and next to it was a side table with a jug of water and a glass on top of it. The only other thing in there was a massive series of pigeonholes dominating one wall. Inside each of them was a huge packet of incense sticks. ¡°Come on, get on with it. I don''t want to be down here any longer than I have to be." Latham pointed to a chalkboard sign that read ¡®0 days since our last Smiting.¡¯ ¡°Bad shit goes on down here." Lowe had a moment reflecting on whether he should be so gung-ho for something that was so freaking out a . However, despite how much he''d rather die than admit it to anyone, he had felt more like himself in the last day than he had for as long as he could remember. Of course, he''d spent much of the last year trying to forget how much he enjoyed the cut and thrust of an actual investigation. Even his testy back and forth with Penarth had the comforting familiarity of long experience. His time trying to make enough gold to get by as a PI hadn''t had anything like the same buzz. Murder had its own gravitational pull. But, as well as that sense of doing something that mattered again, there was also something about the unlined face of this particular victim lying on the table that had lit a fire under him. Even more so than the attack on him in the alley, that was spurring him towards uncovering the truth about what happened. Random beatings were part and parcel of being in the Security Service - there was even a whole expenses form dedicated to claiming back medical expenses associated with ¡®Punishment Kickings¡¯ - but it was rare to feel something of a connection with the victim. The humbleness of the High Priestess''s accommodation and her unexpected youth were making him pretty motivated to get to the bottom of what had occurred. And if that meant speaking to a god, then so be it. "So, what do I do? " he asked Lathan, stepping into the booth. The sighed and followed him into the room, locking the door to the Contact Booth behind them. "It''s not that complicated, little man. Find your god, light the offering, then sit down and wait.¡± He painted towards the pigeonholes. Lowe walked over and was immediately overwhelmed by the number of names before him. There appeared to be no apparent order, and he didn''t recognise many of them. "This is chaos!" "This is Soar. We have more gods than there are citizens." Lowe kept scanning up and down the wall. "Help a fellow out. Where''s Gravalk?" This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Latham sighed and walked to the rows of pigeonholes. He pointed to one towards the lower left-hand corner. "You better believe that I''m not touching anything in here. This is a fool''s errand, and I''m not risking a connection with a fucking fire demon that just lost its avatar. " Lowe reached into the small wooden cupboard and removed a packet of incense. He removed one stick and carefully put the others back. The packet filled up again instantly. "Now what?" ¡°You cannot seriously be this fucking helpless! Weren''t you supposed to be some sort of shit-hot Investigator?" "I like to think my particular set of skills were somewhat more ... specialist.¡± Latham''s expression suggested he had limited confidence this was the case. "What do I do know about praying to the gods?" ¡°Okay. This is a one-time crash course. Take a seat, light the prayer candle and hope whichever god you are bothering is in the mood for triviality." Lowe sat down, holding up the incense stick. "Do you have a light?" ¡°For fuck''s sake. You know, there are babes in arms out there that can light their own birthday candles, little man?" ¡°Good for them. I, on the other hand, possess no such skill.¡± Latham''s eyes flicked to the right, and a somewhat unnecessarily large flame burst into being on the top of the incense, burning half of it away instantly. "Get on with it." Lowe settled down in the chair and poured himself a glass of water, holding the incense, which smelt distinctly of the aftermath of a forest fire. "So, I just pray?" "You know how to pray, don''t you, little man? Just close your eyes and beg." Ignoring the jibe, Lowe closed his eyes. He couldn''t remember the last time he had prayed; it was certainly long before he became classless. A more suspicious man might think the two events were somehow linked. But a long-term citizen of Soar understood how little that was likely to be the case. The gods did not care for them. Feeling foolish, he reached out with his mind, breathing in the forest fire smell to help him focus. ¡°Erm, Gravalk? Could you spare a moment?" There was no sudden moment of epiphany. Bushes did not burn. Tablets were not handed clown. And there was no sudden realisation of oneness with the universe. Instead, Lowe became aware of a low growling sound just at the edge of his hearing. As if he''d stumbled into the presence of an especially malign guard dog. For whatever reason, the temperature in the Contact Booth felt like it had gone through the roof. Lowe tried to open his eyes, but his facial muscles were no longer under his control. Sweat sprung out on his forehead and began to run down his cheeks, pooling at the collar of his shirt. The smell of burning wood suddenly became deeply sulphuric, and Lowe''s sinuses felt like they were being scoured from the inside out. When they came, the words were less in a language Lowe understood and more on a fundamental soul level: "What do you want?" Lowe wished he was able to lick his lips, but his head was frozen in place. "My name is Jana Lowe. I am Investigating the murder of ...¡± "Bored now." The temperature increased exponentially, the sweat on his skin evaporating, his eyebrows and hair beginning to char. "Your High Priestess. Gianna d''Avec. I want to catch whoever killed her," Lowe sent desperately. The heat surrounding Lowe stopped increasing, holding at an unbearable level. "Why?" Lowe was not certain how to respond. He was, he was sure, literally, metaphorically and spiritually melting in the presence of the Fire Demon. What answer was likely to get a positive response? His mind flashed back to sitting on his mother''s knee. "The thing you must remember about the gods, Jana, is if all else fails, flatter them." Even at the time, he had known there was something distasteful about omnipotent beings who cared more for their feelings than anything so mundane as ¡®the truth¡¯. Right now, though? Fuck it. ¡°The disrespect. It is wrong that anyone could seek to displace your avatar. They need to be brought to justice." It might have just been his fever talking, but he could swear the temperature lowered a degree or two. ¡°Disrespect? I have been disrespected?" Lowe tried to project every possible version of ¡®Don''t let them do you like that, bro,¡¯ he''d ever witnessed. "Someone killed your High Priestess. I would think you''d want them caught. And, you know, burned alive or something." ¡°Will have new High Priest, soon. Quick lived things. Fragile." The heat was rising again and Lowe thought desperately for another approach. "But that should be to your timetable, shouldn¡¯t it? You are a god. You should be able to choose when to end the lives of your avatar. But that was stolen from you. By a murderer." "Stolen?" Lowe shared the image of the dead High Priestess on the despoiled floor of the temple. Of the water spilt across the floor. ¡°Someone went against your will. Can you help me find out who?" The heat in the Contact Booth dropped through the floor and then, just as quickly, became hotter than the inside of a forge. In the middle of the Sun. On a particularly hot day. As it did so, a cavalcade of images hit him. Gianna arguing with various figures - some Lowe had met, some he didn''t recognise. Then the High Priestess was alone, holding her head, tears streaming from her eyes. But they weren''t tears, were they? The water was exploding from her like a waterfall - just pushing its way through her pores. The pressure of the water caused the explosion of her left leg from her body first. Then her right. Both in a shower of blood, gore and water. It was a horrific sight, ending when her head exploded straight up to land in the middle of the chandelier. In the corner of the vision, a shadowy, hooded figure slipped out of the chamber and locked the door behind them. Then the heat vanished, and he could move his face again. Lowe opened his eyes and fell to his knees, screaming in relief. Latham was helping him up, pouring the jug of water over his head. "What happened? Did Gravalk answer?" Lowe shook his head, trying to clear the noise of Gravalk shouting out the same words over and over again. "How dare they! How dare they! Burn them. Burn them all!" Chapter 20 - Arebella (Book 1) If Latham thought there was anything odd about what had happened, he didn''t mention it. The had dusted Lowe down and marched him out of the long corridor of the Contact Booths and back up the stairs to the ground floor of the Temple proper. His brief contact with Gravalk had given Lowe much to think about. He now had an explanation for the unusual nature of d''Avec''s death and confirmation that whoever had been present at her . . . demise had been able to lock the chamber door behind them. Lowe had had enough about him to actuate Grid View during his vision, and he was looking forward - if they were the right words - to properly examining what he had captured. But that would have to wait as Latham almost carried him across the floor and out of the Celestial Temple. He had an appointment with the High Priestess''s lawyer. As Lowe approached the large, domed building, he reflected that the Tower of Law was not quite as impressive as the Celestial Temple. Because if there was one thing lawyers understood, it was that there was a significant percentage in letting your most prestigious¡ªnot to say homicidal¡ªclients take the lead in architectural brilliance. Instead of the towering majesty of the gods'' home, the Tower of Law had an understated grandeur. It sat on the edge of the financial district and, as opposed to the many entranced Temple, had just one heavily guarded door. In his prelapsarian existence, Lowe had spent many long hours in this building. Most of the time, of course, it was in trying to persuade reluctant to get off their arses and seek to prosecute the criminals he had nearly killed himself - sometimes literally - to get into a dungeon. Oh, that he had been, for want of a better word, ''dating'' one of the lawyers that worked there may, perhaps, have also been a good reason for him spending so long within its walls. However, as Lowe approached the entranceway to the Tower, he realised he hadn''t been there in over a year. On either side of the heavily barred iron door stood two , neither of whom he recognised. They were watching him suspiciously. But no, Lowe realised, it wasn''t him they were giving colossal stink-eye to. It was Latham. When they were a couple of feet away, the two guards clashed their massive halberds together, barring the way with an imposing metallic X. "The Tower is closed today." "I have an appointment." Lowe had absolutely no time for territorial dick-waving. "Open up, there''s a good gate monkey." The guard to the left, Kaith, a Level ?? jutted his chin at Latham. "There''s no chance of the likes of him getting in here." Latham didn''t say anything; he just unsheathed his massive sword from its scabbard on his back and rolled his shoulders. That was pretty damn loquacious as introductions went. The second , Ganorth, also a Level ??, put a fairly unattractive sneer on his face. "Mate, put the pigsticker away. I wouldn''t swagger into your fucking Temple expecting a warm welcome. You don''t try on that shit here. Toddle on back to the god-botherers." It seemed like Lowe would have to be the person to calm everything down. He looked up at the and put on his best ''it''s going to be okay'' smile. Funnily enough, he did not get to use that expression very much. "Look, I know people in here, and they''re expecting me. I''m going to be okay." Latham didn''t take his eyes off the two guards. ¡°My orders are unequivocal: I will not let you out of my sight during this investigation.¡± "No one''s going to kill me in the fucking Tower of Law!" Latham paused and then spoke in a tone that suggested he was addressing a particularly slow child. "I know you are labouring under the misconception that I am following you around for your safety, but ¨C as I keep trying to make it clear¡ªmy job is straightforward. I am to be at your shoulder throughout this investigation in case it needs to be terminated." You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Lowe tried to determine how much truth there was in those words. He thought there was a bit more of a bond between them than that. The had given him advice about his build, hadn''t he? But then again, he''d been pretty free with his hands at other times. Lowe took a step away from the big man''s shadow. "Okay, well, cheers for that. But I need to find out the terms of the High Priestess¡¯s will, and it doesn''t look like Tweedledum and Tweedledee here will give you access. So, see you later." Lowe strode towards the crossed halberds, which, much to his surprise, opened to let him pass. He didn''t glance back to see what Latham did, but considering the lack of the sound of bedlam, he assumed he hadn''t followed. Lowe put his hand on the door and was portalled inside the Tower of Law. * It took Lowe a minute for his head to stop spinning. He channeled as much mana as he could to Roll with the Punches, but, as usual with portal travel, it seemed travel sickness was not really a physical symptom. "Jana? What are you doing here?" Excellent, the hits just kept on coming. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, it would turn out his ex-girlfriend wouldn''t be there when he got control of himself. He felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder. "Portal sickness?" Her soft voice was filled with empathy; of course, it fucking was. "Just breathe." Realising he was probably beginning to draw attention for all the wrong reasons, he opened his eyes and met the gaze of Arebella Telut. A long-term ... acquaintance. "Bella. I wasn''t expecting to see you here." The woman standing before him was short, barely five feet tall, and had long blonde hair framing a heart-shaped face. One of the things he had always found difficult about her during their on-again, off-again relationship was the way her dark brown eyes pierced him and held him like a fish on a spear. For someone used to talking himself out of any number of awkward situations, he had always found her calm regard disconcerting. "Clearly," she took her hand off his shoulder and stood back, smiling at him warmly. "Imagine my surprise when I saw your name on today''s visitor list. I''d have thought you might let me know you would be calling in." Lowe was aware that other people were coming through the portal and starting to push past him. He slipped his hand under Arebella''s arm and led her to a side alcove away from the passing traffic. "It''s just on a case. I didn''t want to bother you." "You never bother me by dropping in." There was a momentary pause. "Although it''s been a while since you did so." "Well, you know. Kind of felt that after what had happened, you''d appreciate me keeping my distance." Arabella tilted her head. "That''s silly. You know that sort of thing doesn''t matter to me." The thing is, Lowe did know that. From the moment he''d lost his Class, she couldn''t have been more supportive. But enough people had had quiet words in his shell-like that Arebella''s bosses were looking askance at her relationship with a figure who had attracted such scandal. So, he''d done what, in his mind, was the decent thing. He''d ghosted her without any explanation. Lowe looked at her properly after his vision had cleared of vomit-inducing tears. And his eyes widened. "You''ve evolved your Class!" Arebella blushed slightly and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, I haven''t had much to go on other than my work lately." Those words might have seemed accusative in another person''s mouth, but she meant it literally. "And I was fortunate to be assigned a case that carried an unusually high XP reward." "So, what is a when it''s at home?" Her blush deepened. "It sounds more grand than it is. I''ve just gained access to a broader range of techniques focused on parsing statements for inconsistencies." His face must have betrayed his confusion because she cleared her throat and pressed onward to clarify. "I''ve specialised in being able to identify lies." Now, it was Lowe''s turn to blush. There was nothing like hearing your . . . was she still his girlfriend if they''d not seen each other in months? Whatever. It felt something like a relatively clear statement of intent when someone you''d been in a relationship with chose to specialise in spotting untruths. He was feeling pretty judged. "Well, good for you," he said, anxious to end the conversation now. "It''s been nice to see you. I''ll call you." No sooner had he said the last sentence, but the sides of her mouth creased downwards slightly. He suspected she had one of her new Skills running whilst they were talking. "Sure," she said, the smile on her face not reaching her eyes. They looked at each other for a moment, and Lowe was once again struck that he had lost more than just his Class in the last year. Then she stepped closer, lowering her voice so she wouldn''t be overhead. "My office is on the next floor up. Stop by before you leave. I think I''ve picked up something about the death of the High Priestess that you need to know." Arebella pressed a small Portal Stone into his hand, and he caught a trace of her perfume. It was one he''d bought her for her birthday. She''d asked for it, and it had taken him weeks of searching to identify a supplier. His colleagues had been less than kind about what this suggested about his investigatory powers. He smiled awkwardly at her as he stepped away. "I''ve got to see a Mr. Velehim about the d''Avec will, but then I''ll stop by. If you''re sure I won''t be taking you away from something better you should be doing?" Arebella turned and walked away, looking back over the shoulder. "Don''t let me down, Jana." She fluttered a wave and then was lost in the crowds of lawyers and their clients. Lowe stood momentarily, pretending he hadn''t heard the unspoken ''again'' in her voice as she walked away. Chapter 21 - Last Will and Testament It would be fair to say Lowe was not at his best in the immediate aftermath of his meeting with Arebella. Indeed, he hadn''t realised exactly how discombobulated he was until he found himself asking the small, wizened to repeat himself for the third time. ¡°Mr Lowe,¡± he sighed, speaking from beneath insanely bushy eyebrows, ¡°do you have somewhere else you would rather be?¡± ¡°Yes. I mean, no. I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯ve been distracted, haven¡¯t I? My apologies.¡± Cadi Verahalim sat back and folded his arms, dislodging an avalanche of dandruff off his shoulders as he did so. ¡°I hope you realise, Mr Lowe, that I bill for my time by the second. I am doing you a considerable favour by blocking out my calendar to assist the Security Service in its enquiries. My patience is not, however, infinite.¡± Lowe bit back a response, reflecting that the old lawyer was justified for being a touch narked at his lack of attention. ¡°Once again, sir, I am sorry for my behaviour. Please do continue.¡± Somewhat mollified, the sat forward and smoothed out the document he had been referring to. ¡°Fair enough. Never let it be said that I wasn¡¯t a man to accept a grovelling apology when it was offered. As I was saying, the High Priestess was habitually altering her Will fairly regularly.¡± ¡°Is that unusual?¡± Lowe didn¡¯t think he¡¯d updated his Will since Cenorth had forced him to write one the second ¨C or was it the third? ¨C time he¡¯d bled out on the job. Verahalim gave a little shrug. ¡°Avatars are not like the rest of us, Mr Lowe. I have often had cause to reflect that the closer my clients are to the gods, the more likely they are to have their eyes on their own demise.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a fair comment.¡± Verahalim¡¯s face suggested that, at his level, it was somewhat pointless ¨C indeed, spectacularly rude ¨C to suggest otherwise. ¡°Quite. Where, perhaps, the High Priestess was unusual is that she had no one really to leave her considerable wealth to. Her updates were to add various charities to the list of beneficiaries.¡± ¡°Charities?¡± ¡°I have said.¡± The was clearly reaching the very outer limits of his patience. ¡°Pardon me for casting aspersions, but it is somewhat against what would be seen as her public persona. Even her colleagues have been somewhat reticent in their praise for her personality. I am a touch surprised to hear that she would choose to dispose of all her estate in that way. Are you sure there is no particular person that would benefit in the event of her death?¡± Verahalim scowled back. ¡°It has been a point of principle to me over the years not to be overly concerned with my client¡¯s personality.¡± ¡°So, all of her assets are, essentially, to be given away?¡± The lawyer glanced over the Will. ¡°Well, there is a consistent provision of a relatively small sum for her . I hesitate to tell you your business, but I have my doubts that two hundred and fifty pieces of gold would be sufficient to encourage an attempt in the life of a Level 67. Particularly by a glorified dustpan and brush.¡± Lowe had investigated cases of murder where the sums involved were far less than two hundred and fifty, but he took Verahalim¡¯s point. He made a mental note to let Mylaf know that she had been remembered by d¡¯Avec ¨C albeit in fairly minor terms. ¡°Is there anything particularly noteworthy about the charities?¡± Verahalim looked like he had been asked to investigate a bucket of cat sick. ¡°They are charities, Mr Lowe. Orphans. War Veterans. Young Carers. With each level-up, the High Priestess was in the habit of adding another one to the list.¡± ¡°And did any of them lose out because of the addition of another recipient?¡± Lowe was unsure whether he could see a crack squad of chugges hunting down the High Priestess for the snub of leaving them slightly less money. ¡°No, Mr Lowe. To be clear, Gianna d¡¯Avec only came to see me to log a new Will when her wealth increased. She seemed curiously determined to ensure all of her money was allocated. It occurred . . . ¡° the little man¡¯s face scrunched up in discontent. The effect, Lowe assumed of nearly giving an opinion away for free. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. ¡°What occurred, Mr Verahalim?¡± The steepled his fingers at his lips, considering. His whole body gave a little shrug as if casting off his reluctance. ¡°It had occurred to me that she found something distasteful about her money. I wondered whether she was seeking to dispose of her wealth in this manner because she felt she had something to make up for.¡± ¡°But you never asked her?¡± Verahalim paused. ¡°I did ask her, not at this latest Will change, I would have you know, but some years back. Her answer has stayed with me.¡± ¡°Which was?¡± ¡°¡®When you have so much blood on your hands, every bit of mercy helps.¡¯¡± * There wasn¡¯t really much more for the two of them to discuss after that, and shortly later, Lowe made his excuses to leave. He¡¯d scanned the last five of d¡¯Avec¡¯s Wills into Grid Search, but he wasn¡¯t sure what benefit that would be. It was basically just a list of worthy institutions, increasing in number with each new iteration. Lowe paused outside the closed door and stared off into the distance. He didn¡¯t know what to make of that. In his experience of murder cases, you followed the money and that led you to where you needed to be. But, unless Mylaf had lost her mind for a few months¡¯ salary, there was literally no evidence of anyone killing the High Priestess over money. And what the fuck was a High Priestess of Gravalk doing giving away all her money to charity? Without realising it, he was spinning Arebella¡¯s portal stone between the knuckles of his left hand. The sensible thing to do was to let her get on with her life. She was clearly making impressive progress, and the Tower of Law being what it was, a connection to a washed-up Classless with all sorts of scandals connected to them was hardly the sort of thing to enhance her career. And yet. And yet. And yet. He was so distracted by his thoughts that Lowe didn¡¯t notice the approaching fist until it caught him on the jaw. The impact spun him to his left, catching his knee a painful blow against the wall. The portal stone he was holding spun away down the corridor. Oddly, that irritated him more than anything else. He activated Slugger and flashed out a return punch ¨C interrupting Roll with the Punches as his Mana drained away. Fortunately, those excellent points he¡¯d dropped into Intelligence gave him a bit more of a buffer than he¡¯d been used to: that and Mylaf¡¯s goodies. This turned out to be particularly pertinent as, when his swinging fist made contact with the stomach of his attacker, it stopped dead, and the bones of his hand shattered into quite a number of constituent parts. Unfortunately, the good luck didn¡¯t end there. The power of Slugger, finding itself unable to transfer itself into the intended victim, stopped, then travelled back up Lowe¡¯s arm, turning his radius and ulna into ¨C literal ¨C dust. This stung a bit. But not as much as the follow-up punch to the other side of his head, which briefly knocked him out. As he came round, staring at the ceiling, his woes were added to by the all-too-familiar feeling of Mana exhaustion throbbing into a massive headache and Roll with the Punches spluttering off. ¡°Mr Lowe? No, please do not speak. I¡¯m sure you¡¯re not feeling at your best right now. For future reference, do remember that when you are not within the aura of your bodyguard, it is unwise to assault your betters. Are you still with me, sir? Blink twice if you are.¡± Lowe tried to blink, but only his left eye responded. If by ¡®responded¡¯ you meant ¡®filled with blood¡¯. ¡°I imagine that will have to do. Now, for the point of this little confrontation. No one needs the death of Gianna d¡¯Avec to be solved. Trust me on this. Surely you recognise that the whole reason you have been put in charge of this case is that failure is assured? No, no, don¡¯t try to get up. I¡¯m not sure you will survive me tapping you again. Instead, please do listen to the sincerity of my message. All that is required of you in this little performance is that you stumble around in your trademark, shambolic manner and, perhaps this time next week, come to the conclusion that you are defeated in the absence of any new leads. Groan, if you are following the logic of my argument.¡± Lowe made a half-hearted gurgle. ¡°Excellent. It appears we are having a meeting of the minds here. Now, it is disappointing that you have needed to hear this message twice. However, I understand professional pride and the undoubted bravado caused by having a at your side. This, of course, was what induced you to be somewhat resistant to the request of my more junior colleagues. It is though,¡± and the voice drew closer to him, though the speaker¡¯s face remained outside his vision, ¡°important you recognise there will be no third discussion of this matter.¡± Lowe felt pressure on his ankle and assumed his assailant was standing on it. To be fair, there were so many other demands on his pain receptors that he kind of considered this unnecessary effort. ¡°One week, Mr Lowe. At which stage you will shrug your shoulders, report this as unsolvable and vanish back into obscurity.¡± The pressure on his ankle continued to increase, the bone creaking. ¡°Should it come to my employer¡¯s attention that you do not comply with this request, there will be consequences.¡± Lowe¡¯s ankle shattered, adding some further joy and happiness to his day. ¡°And let me be clear,¡± the voice was just next to his ear now and became a whisper. ¡°I understand you may be tempted to damn the repercussions and accept whatever punishment I can deal out to you. Your reputation precedes you in this. However, please consider how many of your ¨C I hesitate to say ¡®friends¡¯, perhaps ¡®acquaintances?¡¯ ¨C your decision may impact upon. Should you disappoint me next week, you will live ¨C however briefly ¨C to regret it. It has been a pleasure, Mr Lowe.¡± All that remained to be heard was the soft sound of footsteps moving away down the corridor. Chapter 22 - Threat to Life Lowe''s suspicion that he had been somewhat set up was not disproved by the absence of anyone stumbling upon his broken body. For a building as busy as the Tower of Law, it was unlikely that he could lie undisturbed for quite so long. His attacker had not only been able to smack him about as if he were a newborn kitten - suggesting a Level of at least 40 - but also had enough clout, or at least his employer did, to clear the floor. Lowe remembered back to the avenue earlier when something eerily similiar had happened. Whoever was responsible for these two beatings had some significant pull . . . As he waited for his Mana to come back - one of the key frustrations that he had with Roll with the Punches was that it sucked out his Mana immediately, meaning his current healing process was basically the equivalent of throwing a cupful of water on a towering inferno - Lowe reflected that he''d be wise not to jump too far in assuming whoever was focused upon kicking his arse had anything to do with the death of the High Priestess. The temptation was there, certainly, but the nature of Soar and the complexity of favours and backscratching meant that his most recent tormentor might be six, seven steps removed from the actual perpetrator of the crime he was investigating. There was every chance he was taking a kicking because of something he''d done years before, and his current case was simply an excuse to get the expense of hiring muscle past some crime boss''s . Taking tiny little breaths so as not to disturb the fragility of his healing bones, Lowe accessed his inventory but quickly found he couldn''t summon the requisite concentration to pull anything out. The throbbing pain was really quite distracting. There was simply nothing to be done but lie in the corridor, helpless, until he''d healed up sufficiently to be able to grab one of Mylaf''s creations. Lowe was not overly disposed towards self-pity, but it was times like this where he found himself bitterly remembering those first few moments after his Class was stripped from him. He remembered being overwhelmed by helplessness that, until that second, had been quite alien to his life. Of course, it had since become his daily experience. At times like this - and this precise situation had played out far too often over the last year for the good of his mental health - he tended to pretend that he''d died at that moment and that a new, different, reduced Lowe had been born from the ashes. In truth, it was the only way he could cope with the waves of shame and disgust that threatened to drown him as he lay, utterly powerless, waiting to be able to move again. "Jana?" And the hits just kept on coming. "Jana, what''s wrong?" There was a flurry of footsteps, and then Arebella''s face appeared in his vision. "What happened to you? Are you okay?" Lowe didn''t trust himself to answer without sobbing. His jaw was in far too many pieces. Then, a Health Potion was pressed to his lips, and a minor portion of his agony receded. He moved his lips experimentally and found he could form the word "Mana". As soon as the blue liquid sloshed down his open throat, Roll with the Punches sprang into action and started to reconfigure his shattered frame. It was an odd quirk of the Skill that it was far more efficient for him to be fed Mana potions than taking five or six of the equivalent red Health potions. Even so, it took three more vials of Mana before the confounding agony receded sufficiently for Lowe to be able to pull a flask of Mylaf''s breakfast smoothie out of his inventory. The +400 HP snapped, quite literally, everything back into place. Which was quite the vibe. "Let''s get you to my office, and then you can tell me what is happening." Lowe barely had a chance to warn her about the likely undesirable outcome of using a portal right now before she pressed the stone she had retrieved from further down the corridor into his hand, and they both vanished. * With Roll with the Punches now having enough Mana to work with, Lowe was feeling a bit more like himself. If, of course, he could ignore the fact he''d recently redecorated Arebella''s very nicely appointed office with the remains of a banana, orange and apple smoothie. "Sorry about that," he managed as her appeared and cast a cleaning Skill on the rug. And the bookcase. And the curtains. And, after a moment of hesitation, Lowe himself. "It''s fine," Arebella said, filling a glass of water and passing it to him. And the most painful thing was that he knew, in her mind, it was. That was the biggest problem he found with dealing with her. She was absolutely the nicest and kindest person in the entire Soar. "I should have remembered a portal would have that effect on you. Especially without your Class." The exited, giving Lowe the sort of look he assumed was the last thing a bag full of puppies saw before being lobbed into the river. It actually made him feel a touch more normal. Genifer had fucking hated his guts long before the scandal. In fact, it made him feel almost at home, being the recipient of her white-hot scorn. Once she was sure he wouldn''t drop the glass, Arebella perched opposite him, curling her legs beneath her in the chair. He knew she did this because, being so short, the alternative was that her legs would dangle about half a foot from the floor. "How are you feeling?" Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Lowe shrugged. He wasn''t in any physical pain anymore, and his mana exhaustion had passed, but the echoes of his beating lingered on. "You get used to it," he said with more bravado than he felt. But the truth was, you didn''t. "And you have no idea who attacked you?" He''d never liked to lie to Arebella, even before she''d gained a Skill that highlighted untruths. "It probably has something to do with the case I''m on." She smiled. "Probably?" "Well, in between arse kickings, he directed me to let it go. I''m just putting two and two together like the talented investigator I am." Arebella stared at him for a moment as if weighing him up and deciding whether he was robust enough to share something. With a little nod, she appeared to make up her mind, stood, and crossed to the other side of her desk. She placed her hand on one of the draws¡ªthere was a quick flash of light¡ªand the drawer slid open. Lowe raised his eyebrows at that. Arebella had another new Skill, apparently. Her threshold options must have been unusually rewarding. With no further ado, she dipped her hand into the open drawer and withdrew a manila folder. "This was pushed through the door of my apartment this morning." With just a touch of hesitation, she passed it over to him. Lowe flipped it open, already having a pretty good idea of what he would find. As threats went, he could appreciate the simplicity. The folder contained a bunch of detailed images of Arebella in and around Soar - was she on a date in one of them? - and also a handwritten note: ''Lowe will abandon his case.'' No ''otherwise''. There didn''t need to be. This was about as classic an intimidation technique as existed. It wasn''t even the first time one of the criminal underclass had tried it on with the pair of them. Of course, back then, he had a Class to rely on to keep her safe . . . "What are you thinking?" Arebella was watching him carefully, her face set. "That it''s disappointing the High Priestess''s killer will never be brought to justice." She scrunched up her nose in distaste at that. "Jana, I can take care of myself." "Whose worrying about you! Did you not see the state I was left in?" "I''m not even going to waste the Mana checking whether that was a lie. You''re not going to drop your investigation because someone has threatened your ex-girlfriend." Somehow, the ''ex'' hurt more than anything that had happened since he''d entered the Tower of Law. Nevertheless, Lowe slapped a grin on his face and held up a picture of Arebella enjoying a candlelit meal with some long drink of water in an expensively tailored suit. "I''m sure he wouldn''t be delighted to know I was putting you in danger. I''ve got enough troubles without your latest beau coming calling to teach me the lesson I so richly deserve." "That''s Petra from the gym. We''re friends." "Sure. Tell that to the look in his eye." Lowe tapped the picture, "Bloke''s pretty confident he''s on a promise in this shot." Arebella took a deep breath, even as her face hardened. "Jana, I know what you''re doing. You want a row because it makes it easier on you if I lose my temper and throw you out of here. And how do I recognise this? Because we''ve played out a hundred versions of this scene. I''m not sleeping with Petra. Not least because that would come as something of an unwelcome surprise to his husband of ten years." That brightened Lowe''s day a touch. Although the look in Arebella''s eye as she continued dampened that slightly. "I am, despite it all, grateful that you care for my wellbeing, but I am done being used as an excuse for you doing something that pisses you off. It''s not me who decided I didn''t want to be in a relationship with a Classless. It wasn''t me who asked you to move out to the arse-end of nowhere and not be in touch for the best part of a year. And it''s not going to be me who makes you step away from a case that, if you solve it, gives you a chance of getting back into the Security Service. I showed you these pictures because I thought they would be helpful to your investigation." Arebella put a hand on her hip - oh dear, did he recognise that particular bit of body language - and stared him down. "So, put your ego away and look properly." Grasping at anything that would allow him to break eye contact, Lowe looked down at the pictures. On a truly fundamental level, he recognised that he''d spent their entire relationship seeking to sabotage it before she had the opportunity to hurt him. That they were both perfectly aware of this did little to mitigate the drama. He noted that there were eight images in all, and Arebella looked awesome in each. As for the restaurant scene¡ªand yes, now he looked carefully, he could make out the wedding ring on her dinner companion''s finger¡ªshe had been captured leaving work for the day and also returning. Out with a small group of friends - all of whom Lowe knew for a fact despised everything about him. One of her at the very desk from which she was now glowering at him. One in a small local market purchasing ingredients for a meal - just enough for one, he saw and was surprised how a tightness in his stomach released. And the last one was of her asleep in her bedroom, her hair spilling around her on the pillow like a halo. It was a pretty damn intimidating ''we can get you whenever we want'' message. He leaned forward to pass them back to her, for Arebella to growl at him. "No, look properly!" "Did you just bare your teeth at me?!" "If you can''t see it, that''s the least I''ll do to you." Lowe looked back at the pictures. Presumably, there was something Arebella had seen that he was missing. He pushed his various, complicated feelings about the subject of the images away and looked at them with his investigator''s eyes. It took Lowe longer to realise what she had been getting at than he would have liked: he blamed his recent traumatic head wounds. Once he knew what he was looking for, he flicked quickly through them a few more times, making sure what he''d realised was the case in each of them. Satisfied, he nodded and glanced up at her. "These are all taken in Skill dead zones." Due to the occasionally homicidal instincts of the more powerful beings in Soar, the Mayor had decreed the construction - largely in the more well-to-do districts - of small areas where Skills could not be triggered. Of course, they weren''t foolproof and were only as good as whoever had generated any particular ''dead zone'', but it was pretty unlikely the protection would have failed in all eight images. "So?" Arebella was smiling now. Lowe''s mind raced. If you assumed any remote image capture Skill would be difficult to activate in a dead zone¡ªnot impossible, but certainly a challenge¡ªthen the only guaranteed way to achieve these pictures was . . . "A spotter. In order to anchor the image capture Skill, there would have to be someone near you, within the zone generating Mana. Did you happen to notice . . ." "Pictures three, five and seven." Lowe pulled out these images and studied them. Arebella came to stand behind him and seemed about to help. He shushed her good-naturedly. "Leave me my pride, Bella." And there it was¡ªthe same hooded figure on the edge of the frame, the tell-tale glow of an active anchor Skill around his hands. And, what was more, it was someone Lowe recognised. The , Setort. Chapter 23 - Picking Up a Cup of Joe This time, it was the who had to sprint to keep up with Lowe. "How did it go, little man?" "Oh, you know how these legal types are¡ªlots of dull chit-chat which will doubtless cost the city a fortune." "You know your shirt is drenched in blood and . . . is that vomit?" "What can I say? Some of the conversation got a bit lively." "I sense I''m missing something here. Can we slow down a minute?" Lowe eased off on his pace, drawing to a reluctant halt outside one of the many coffee shops that had grown up around the Tower of Law. Of course, everyone understood that these places provided their clients with a very different substance to coffee, but - oddly enough - the owners were curiously well-defended if ever a case came to court. Lowe had bounded out of Arebella''s office so quickly, he wasn''t even sure he''d said a proper ''goodbye''. It wasn''t quite that he had had a fairy light moment, but some things had started to click into place, and he wanted to strike while the iron was hot. He was sure she would understand his hasty exit: it was hardly the worst thing he''d done during their relationship. However, in the cold light of day, he wasn''t quite sure what his next steps would be. Once upon a time, he might have had the moxy to rip a Priest of Gravalk a new one for being involved with threatening the wellbeing of his . . . friend(?), but those days were long since gone. And it went a bit bigger than just the threat against Arebella, didn''t it? He had been, specifically, warned off solving Gianna d''Avec''s murder. That it now seemed that one of her priests was involved in that? Well, that only began to make sense to him in a few very specific circumstances. And none of them were good. As they were standing in the middle of the walkway, Lowe''s abrupt stop and Latham''s considerable girth were causing something of a traffic jam for the other commuters. With a nod of his head, Lowe indicated they should partake in whatever legal refreshment the owner of ''Drink U Like'' was able to scare up. As it took the quite some time to understand they wanted a beverage rather than . . . something more stimulating, it seemed wise for them to grab a table in the corner while they waited. As the shop had emptied rather abruptly at the appearance of a and a member of the Security Service, there was no shortage of room. Once they were settled around the small walnut table, Lowe decided it was time to take the plunge with the big man. "Latham, can I trust you?" The screwed up his face in disgust. "I made the parameters of our working relationship clear when we met. I am to shadow you and keep the Council appraised about the nature of your progress." "I think that is what I''m getting at. Is it your sense that the Council wants the murder solved? I mean, I have no illusions as to my current standing with those in the halls of power. It hardly seems Soar is giving everything it''s got by pulling me off the bench to run the investigation." "Are you suggesting there is a political desire for you to fail?" Their coffees arrived. It appeared to be so unusual for someone to actually order a drink in this place that the server almost shook the liquid free from the cups as he crossed from the counter to place them before them. Avoiding the expectant eyes of a waiter oddly committed to the quality of his coffee, Lowe filled Latham in on his experiences within the Tower of Law¡ªincluding the threats that had been made to Arebella and what he''d subsequently uncovered about the priest called Setort. When he finished, Latham stroked his chin thoughtfully. Noticing he had not yet touched his coffee, the stepped forward. "I say, , do you have . . ." "Fuck off!" The sheer malevolent pressure from Latham''s aura created a wide circle around the table at which they were sitting, which no one was especially interested in crossing. "So the just let someone kick the shit out of you?" Lowe was a touch alarmed by the effervescent anger fizzing around the big man. "Well, it wasn''t like they were standing there holding his towel. I''m fine, by the way." "Of course you are. You''re a fucking cockroach." Latham''s reply was almost absent-minded. There was a pause whilst the appeared to be conducting some sort of internal debate. By the look on his face, he wasn''t enjoying the discussion. Eventually, it seemed one side won. "Little man, I can assure you that the Council is very focused on having the death of the High Priestess cleared up." Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. "How do you know?" "Because I am not given pointless assignments. They want you free and safe to work." Lowe added that to his mental list of things to explore further. "Well, your contention you are too important to be wasted having a bum''s back aside, what else have you got?" "No one gets to kill avatars." Latham''s furious anger was back. "It doesn''t matter whether they agree with a god''s views or not, the Council is not going to idly sit by and allow the casual slaughter of a Level 67 High Priestess go unavenged. Do you have any idea how important the gods are to the economy of Soar?" Lowe thought the question was rhetorical until he realised Latham was staring at him expectantly. "Um, a lot?" "They are the basis of the entire system of government!" "Okay . . ." Latham''s voice was loud enough to be heard outside the shop now; people were doing their best not to stop and stare. "No, seriously. The range and variety of Class upgrades available through the patronage of gods dwarf anything any of the other cities experience. You can track a direct relationship between the significance of Soar on the world stage and the growth of the Celestial Temple. The Council - for fuck''s sake, even the Mayor himself - cannot countenance this death remaining unsolved. It cannot become known that Soar is not a safe place for avatars. Should the gods choose to explore other options, that would be a disaster on an unimaginable scale." "Okay. Sold. No worries, I believe you. You can lower your voice slightly." Lowe took a sip of his coffee, which was rancid. He wasn''t sure if this was because the had no idea what they were doing or if Mylaf had ruined him for all future drinks. It seemed likely it was a little of both. "But that doesn''t answer the question as to why it''s me that''s been put in the field. I have to say, my attacker''s spiel of ''no one gives a fuck, so they''ve put you on it'' rings a lot more true than ''this is the most important event in modern history, let''s put the washout on it and cross our fingers." Latham took a sip of his own drink, winced and put it down. "The Council''s memories are longer than a year-old scandal. You may have lost your Class, but you are the best investigator in the history of Soar. Even without the majority of your Skills, there was never anyone else that they wanted on this." Lowe''s head whirled. He opened his mouth to speak, but Latham hushed him with a look. "Little man, I am the last person in the world to blow smoke up your arse. But I''ve been told to keep you alive and ensure you are able to complete your work. Some powerful people have faith that you''re the one to unravel this. And it must be unravelled. No one gets to kill avatars." "Okay. Fine. Well, I''m off to speak to a priest who appears to be stalking my ex. Do you think you can keep him from cooking me alive?" Latham smiled wolfishly. "It would be a pleasure." They both stood to leave and reached the door before Latham stopped and slapped his forehead. "Oh, hang on one moment, little man." The turned towards the and waggled a finger at him. "Just as a head''s up, trying to poison a member of the Security Services, let alone a , is a really, really silly thing to do." Lowe looked over at the cup of brown liquid from which he had only taken a few sips. "The drink was poisoned?" "Oh, yes. Quite a nasty one, too. Fast acting. The sort that closes down all your vital organs. If you haven''t already, I''d be making sure you purge pretty much everything out of your system. You''re clothes are fucked anyway, so it''s not like they can be ruined further." Taking the on trust, Lowe pushed Roll with the Punches to expel all toxins from his system. He chose to believe that the tick, noxious black sludge that emerged from his pores - all of them - was whatever poison he had been slipped. Rather than just . . . well, his lifestyle of late. Latham gagged a little at the sight of what was oozing out of Lowe but then returned to glaring at the qualing man. "Just so we''re clear on your immediate future, I am absolutely going to kill you. However, if you want to let me know who put you up to it, I will put in a good word with whichever god you worship. Which is?" "Felent," the whispered. "Fair enough. Let me know who paid you to do something this monumentally stupid, and I will get a message to Felent about where she can locate your soul. If she so wishes. Although I doubt she''d be too wild that one of her followers just tried to kill a , but you never know. So spill." The young man shook his head. "I can''t, they''ll kill my family." Latham shrugged. "Your call." Lowe was not sure of the Skill that the summoned to vaporise the , but he was absolutely sure it was not one that he would want to see used again. It took far longer for the screaming to stop, considering the writhing body had vanished sometime before. "I mean, I have some notes if you''re interested? Purely from an investigatory point of view, of course." Latham turned to face him. What? He tried to kill me! He got off pretty lightly." Lowe shook his head and moved for the door. "Yes, well done you. However, a couple of questions might have been useful to explore." "Such as?" "Well, just off the top of my head. Number one, how did he know we would be coming in here? It was an almost by random choice that we stopped here. Were we unlucky that we happened to stumble upon someone who had been paid to kill us? That feels pretty unlikely. So, what, are all the shops around here briefed to poison us on spec? Or was someone following us and taking the opportunity to slip into the kitchens to offer a bit of bribery to spice up our drinks a bit? If so, who was it? And why? I''ve just been warned off fairly comprehensively - if they wanted me dead, that was the time to get the job done. So, assuming the dude in the Tower of Law isn''t behind this, who the fuck made the poison attempt?" "Those are all good questions, little man." "Yep. Shame the guy who could have answered them isn''t with us anymore. But at least you got to show what a big bad man you were, hey" Chapter 24 - No Way In After seeing him turn the into soup, the crowds on the street outside were significantly less interested in Latham than they had been when he was inside the coffee shop. Of course, the sight and smells of Lowe were also fairly inhibitive to people seemingly wishing to be too close to them. As they tried to make their way across the city, the situation had become so dire that, even though they were still a few crossings away from the Celestial Temple and Lowe felt time was of the essence, they felt compelled to halt at a Dry Cleaner''s. It was time for Lowe to clean up and sort out his clothes. "Do I even want to know what the poison was?" Lowe asked, doing his best to scrub the thick, black substance off his skin. Latham was guarding the outside of the washroom - although, at this stage, he was more protecting the public from the stench rather than ensuring there were no further attempts on Lowe''s life. "You won''t have heard of it. Pretty exotic and very expensive. Safe to say, whoever slipped it into the coffee meant business." Ever since his beating, Lowe had felt a solid ball of rage building up inside him, which he was doing his best to keep under wraps. Finding out that Arebella had been threatened had encouraged it to grow, and if the poison attempt was in danger of causing it to explode, then having to throw away his best shirt because it was soaked in various of his own body fluids was hardly helping . . . He emerged from the washroom and crossed, bare-chested, to the shop''s counter. "Look, I understand you can''t clean it, but have you at least got one similar in my size that I can replace it with?" The at the Dry Cleaner''s could not have looked less interested if he had tried. "You see the sign, mate? We clean shit, we don''t sell it." Lowe pointed at one of many white shirts hanging up behind the Level 6 teenager. "Just give me one of those, and I''ll make it worth your while." "Fuck off, grandad." The boy''s eyes flicked upwards, reading the investigator''s Classless state. "I need this job for the XP. I let you take someone else''s stuff, and I''ll end up in a worse situation than you. No offence, but there isn''t enough gold in the world." Doing his best not to see whether Slugger could punch this little twat through the wall, Lowe took a deep breath and placed one of Mylaf''s cookies on the counter. "Who said anything about money? Forty-eight-hour Charisma boost. +25%. I imagine a likely lad such as yourself could be quite a hit with the ladies with this bad boy." The narrowed his eyes. "Bullshit." Lowe shrugged but kept his finger on the cookie. "Look, as you can tell by the state of my clothes. I''m having something of a morning. I''ve met with a lawyer, been beaten up and then someone tried to poison me. And there''s a chance I made a fool out of myself in front of my ex. I''m just taking a moment out here before I go and relieve some of my frustrations on someone who may or may not deserve it. At the moment, I''m not looking to make your day any harder than it needs to be. However, I can happily add you to my shit list if you want?" "Grandad, I''ve been threatened by bigger swinging cocks than you just in the last hour. Dry Cleaning''s cut-throat, man. Besides," and his eyes darted upwards again, "I aint sure you''ve got enough lead in your pencil to fuck with me." Latham cleared his throat from his position by the washroom. "Okay, as entertaining as this has been, I''m now bored. Give him the shirt, take the cookie, and we''ll say no more about it. On the other hand, you can see how fast your retail career progresses with one arm wedged up your arse. And trust me, if you are wondering whether I''d do it, my pencil is all fucking lead." Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. * The proud owner of a crisp, white shirt and a brand new suit that the managed to put his hands on when Latham growled in just the right way, Lowe was feeling a million times better as he approached one of the many doors to the Celestial Temple. He hadn''t quite decided how he wanted to play it with Setort, but almost for the first time since Cenorth had gotten him out of bed to look into the case, he actually felt like he was getting somewhere. In his mind, he could feel a theory developing that a disgruntled priest looking to remove a problematic boss got involved with powers that could quickly get out of control. It didn''t quite fit in with Gravalk seemingly being quite pissed off with what had happened - it felt like somewhat of a promotion-limiting move to piss off your god - nor with water being the murder weapon. However, right now, it was the best he had got to go on. Even as he thought that, though, for some reason, Grid View kept trying to pull his attention back to a candle with a piece of seaweed in it, but if he tried to think too hard about it, the idea drifted away. Well, it would come. Or it wouldn''t. Certainly one of the two. Lowe''s temporary good mood lasted right up until he reached the entrance to the Temple, and a moved forward to block his path. "No entry, I''m afraid, sir." Lowe tried to step nimbly around him, but the big woman - and she was big. Lowe''s tastes went for the petite and feminine. An image of Arebella flashed, unbidden, into his mind, which he dismissed as quickly as possible - moved to intercept him. "I cannot let you pass, sir." "You don''t understand. I''m on a case. My name is Inspector Lowe." The Warder smiled, not unkindly. "Be that as it may, sir, but you are not going to be able to access the Temple." "I''m so not in the mood for this. The Security Services are seeking to uncover the perpetrator of a crime committed under your noses. All I have had today is shit from people who do not want me to do my job, and now you, someone who should be anxious for me to find you a criminal to execute summarily, are making my life harder. If I were you, I''d be anxious to help me!" "Lowe . . ." "It''s alright, Latham. I''ve got this." He met the woman''s eyes, cricking his neck looking up. "In just the last few days, I''ve taken too many beatings, had my friends threatened, been poisoned and had a god melt the skin off my fucking bones. If none of that has put me off, no Bodybuilding Brenda on a power trip will keep me from going about my business." "Little man, perhaps we should . . ." "Dude, chill out. So, what about it? Are you going to stand here and stop me? Are you? Are you really?" The , with a strange smile on her face, stepped to one side and waved him through. "Be my guest, sir. I hope you have a simply lovely day." With a satisfied glance back at Latham, Lowe marched towards the open door and - The next thing he knew, he found himself lying on the ground ten feet from the door, looking back at the two gazing down at him without sympathy on any of their faces. "What the fuck!" The female Warder shrugged her massive shoulders. "I did try to tell you, sir. The Celestial Temple has been temporarily closed to all below Level 25. Due to your insistence on being allowed to breach the protection field, I''m afraid you have just triggered the Repulsor Shield." Latham clapped the woman on the back - Lowe noted that the bone-shattering impact barely made her wobble - and then moved to help the wholly dazed Lowe find his feet. "Orders from one the higher Floors, apparently. Not unusual, but certainly not common. Of course, the timing and the specifics of the level cap are somewhat suggestive." "No shit. So, let me get this straight. I finally uncover a lead which might get the case somewhere, and - what do you know - I''m suddenly unable to access the crime scene, question witnesses or even, gods forbid, speak to my only suspect! What the fuck am I supposed to do now?" Latham led him a little distance away from the Temple and lowered his voice. "Look, I can put in a complaint, but I''d imagine whoever made this happen will have all sorts of coverage for their actions. There''s no way Arkola has actually ordered this, but by the time anyone actually looks it over, we could be a week down the road and . . ." "Fuck''s sake. Everything''s working against me here! And the thing is, not everyone fucking with me could actually have killed her! This case is fucked." "Not necessarily, little man. You can''t get into the Temple as a Level 20. Ergo, we just do something to change that." "I don''t understand." Latham grinned and flexed his own shoulders - which, Lowe noted, were quite some much advance on the female . "No reason why you should. Tell me, little man, what experience do you have of Dungeon Delving?" Chapter 25 - Dungeon Delving
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Chapter 26 - Heroic Dungeon "Oh, for crying out loud! Whatever you do, don''t move a muscle." "Why?" "Because as long as we don''t move, the Dungeon won''t start. And if the Dungeon doesn''t start, you get to live a little while longer." Lowe thought Latham was laying it on a little thick. As far as he could tell, the only thing that had stopped the big man from instantly finishing the Dungeons they had breezed through thus far were the laws of physics. The literally could not have moved any faster. Latham, though, carried on cursing a blue streak under his breath¡ªand over it¡ªwhile Lowe tried to orient himself to the new setting. They appeared to be in the middle of a forest clearing, sitting near a blazing campfire with five or six NPCs alongside them. The fire was frozen in place, and their new companions were captured, motionless, in the middle of a meal. To his inexperienced eye, Lowe couldn''t see there was all that much difference in this than in the thirteen Dungeons they''d completed thus far. "You''re being a touch dramatic here, aren''t you? This is a Level 20-30 instance. Sure, I''m going to be woefully underpowered for what''s about to happen, but it''s not going to be one-shot kill territory, is it?" "Yeah, that was going to be Plan A. But Ros . . . Rosaline used her discretion to make it into a Heroic Dungeon." "So? I''m feeling pretty damn heroic right now." "Fuck''s sake." Latham''s teeth were gritted into a snarl. "Five years back, the Mayor agreed that a new method of XP collection should be opened to allow a second version of familiar existing Dungeons to be released. I imagine you remember there had been a bit of an uptick in unexplained ''accidents'' occurring which were strangely connected to those on the threshold of their next level?" Now he thought about it. Lowe did indeed remember that period a few years back when it was like those on the edge of thresholds completely lost their minds. The Summer of Suckers, one wag had called it. Lowe didn''t remember finding it all that funny. Latham carried on. "Thus, the Heroic Dungeons were born. An opportunity for those who had completed the more mundane versions to be able to gather XP without - crucially - murdering citizens. "How do you not know this?" "Dungeon Delving, isn''t it? Never took any interest, to be honest. So, I guess what you are saying is that this might be a bit harder than what we''ve done so far?" "No. I''m saying this is going to be a fucking nightmare." * There are more effective ways to assimilate vital information than being frozen in place in the middle of a wood, but Lowe did his best to take on board what Lowe was drilling into him. The Heroic version of ''Ambush at Iraklion'' followed much of the same storyline as the ''normal'' version that they had intended to complete - basically, a standard ''capture the flag'' mission. They''d done a couple of those earlier in the day and had perfected the ideal tactic. Lowe stood stock still while Latham fucked up everything and anyone who moved before taking the opposition''s flag from their cold, dead hands. Apparently, though, this strategy would not be available to them here. "The moment we move, these fuckers are going to attack. I reckon I can get three of them in one go, but you''re going to have to take on one and avoid the other before I can help out." Without turning his head, Lowe tried to get a read on their adversaries. They were all Level 30s and of the Class. "Any advice for me?" "Sure. Let me think. Yep, this feels pretty fucking pertinent. Don''t enter a Heroic Dungeon without a team of twenty to back you up." "Excellent. Thank you for that. Anything other than ''I told you so'' to offer before we begin?" Latham growled back. "The guy on the far left of their group -the one with the bow? - go after him. Chances are, if he doesn''t one-shot you, your Slugger Skill, enhanced by my aura, will significantly fuck up his day." "And you''ll get the others?" "I''ll do my best, little man. But, and you need to listen to me now, the second the last of them drops, a timer will kick in. We''ll have that long to get the flag before we fail this Dungeon." Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. "And that would be bad, right?" "Terminally so, yes." "Fucking hell. And people do this for fun?" "Screw fun. People do this for the XP." There was a pause, and then Latham started to speak, obviously thinking aloud. "The thing is, I can''t just leave you here while I run and claim it. There''s going to be waves of attacks here as well." The Warder''s eyes flicked upwards at the enormous red flag that was hovering above the fire. "So what''s our plan?" "You mean other than entering a Heroic Dungeon with just the two of us and you being as much use as a eunuch in a brothel?" "Shall we take that as read?" "Look, as soon as these guys are down, grab the flag and stick as close to me as you can. If I didn''t think I was going to need both of my hands, I''d fucking carry you, but we''ll make do the best we can. You have any better gear than that?" Lowe nearly shook his head, then remembered the dire necessity to stand very still. "What you see is what you get, I''m afraid. I''ve got some decent rings and torcs and the like. But they don''t have any particularly helpful stats for combat." Lowe could be wrong, but he was sure Latham muttered ''fucking noob'' under his breath. "Shit, I haven''t got anything in my inventory low enough you can wear." He cursed again. "Look, just keep an eye out for anything that drops in here. Equip anything you come across. At least, with this being Heroic, the chances are it will be infinitely better than the crap you are wearing. You never know; we might actually get lucky. The loot table, in this sort of instance, can be pretty tasty. Makes the chance of almost certain death more palatable. You ready?" Lowe absolutely wasn''t, but as this was his fault, it did not really feel like his place to comment. All this just so he would be able to enter the building in which sat a priest he needed to interrogate stalking his ex. His life had become quite odd of late. "Go on the count of three. Give me a chance to prepare Slugger." "Remember, take the archer down and then kite whichever of these others homes in on you." "Kite?" "Fucking hell. Run away from in a faintly tactical manner." "Cheers." "Then loot, equip anything decent, grab the flag and then get behind me." Latham''s voice became a hair more sombre. "Keep your Mana stores high; this ain''t going to be pretty. If all else fails, try to take non-immediately lethal injuries. Gut wounds, rather than headshots, if you can. Give yourself a chance to heal." Lowe thought he''d heard more rousing pre-battle speeches, but before he could make that point, Latham was counting down, and there were suddenly more pressing concerns. * On three, Lowe turned and threw a Slugger punch at the man holding a bow with a quiver full of arrows on his back. As he did so, in the corner of his eye, he saw Latham instantly eviscerate a man with an axe across his lap before spinning to decapitate an unarmed man standing to his other side. He would have liked to watch how the dealt with the last of his opponents, but things at his end had all become intense. Because the archer had dodged his punch and was preparing to launch an arrow into his chest. Lowe just had time to turn to the side, catching the projectile in his shoulder, the impact flinging him yards backwards. Roll with the Punches kicked in, the sudden healing forcing out the arrow. Alarmingly, though, between that and Slugger, most of his Mana was already gone. Lowe was just getting himself back to his feet when a second arrow hit him, this time in the stomach - look at me, Lowe thought, I managed to take a guy shot. Good to see that part of the plan working out just peachy - and then Latham was there, all flashing blade and chiselled jaw, and the clearing was very quiet. "Come on, remember the plan. Loot, equip, flag and fucking shift." The Warder looked down at the arrow and pulled it out with a quick jerk. "Well done. You remembered." "Yeah, that''s me. All about the details." There was nothing particularly noteworthy about the loot - should he survive, the eight gold would doubtless be put to good use. But the Cape of Wrath he picked off the archer added +15 armour to the +5 from the suit he was wearing and, as Latham snorted: ''every little helps.'' As he passed Lowe the flag, he asked, "You see the timer, right?" Lowe thought it would be hard not to see the giant crimson number counting down at the right of his vision, and he nodded rapidly. "We have until then to get the flag?" "And to protect outs. So let''s go." It was about all Lowe could do to keep up with the bigger one who moved with appalling grace and speed, leaving a trail of devastation in his wake. Lowe was struck, over and over again, at the size of the gap that existed between the highly Classed and mortal beings. And it wasn''t just the Level disparity, Latham appeared to have a Skill that allowed him to increase his movement to an astonishing degree - if Lowe had to put money on it, he would have said it was a Legendary version of Blur - and it seemed to charge up each time Latham took an injury. And my word, did Latham take a pasting on the journey through the woods. As a connoisseur of a good kicking, Lowe always prided himself on his ability to get hit and keep moving forward. Latham, though, made him look like a whingy child unwilling to prance through a field of stinging nettles and bear traps. Time and time again, the was hit by arrows, blades, clubs and axes - many of the blows intended for Lowe - and he did nothing less than give complete and utter death in return. "You see the golden glow?" Latham pointed to a light shining a little way to the left, turning the gesture to a punch that caved in an attacker''s skull. "Sure." "Safe zone. We get there, we can take stock, and the timer will stop." A crossbow bolt took Lowe in the knee, and he found himself stumbling forward. Without missing a step, Latham stooped, snatched the falling man around the waist and hurled him towards the Safe Zone. Lowe crashed through a bunch of trees, adding a broken collarbone to the shattered kneecap on the list of his woes. He shuddered to a halt in the middle of a glowing circle, briefly losing consciousness as Roll with the Punches took a deep breath and plugged up various holes and fractures. Lowe came to just as Latham appeared through the trees with a ridiculous smile on his face. "Well, this has been fun, hasn''t it?" Chapter 27 - Safe Zone "How went the looting?" Lowe scowled at the . "No idea, mate. I was doing all I could to keep up with you. I just left auto-loot on as I was running." "Well, have a look. You''ve got to have picked up something better there than what you currently have on. Once we leave here, the next bit is going to be a touch spicy, so it would be helpful if you could be a touch more . . . solid." Lowe glanced at his inventory, and quite beyond the pages of gear, he was staggered at the increase of his gold. "If I''d known Dungeons were this lucrative, I''d have rethought my career path." Latham snorted. "This a touch unusual. This place is rated for a twenty-man, Level 30 team. There are supposed to be a lot more noses in the loot trough." That made sense to Lowe. There was a staggering volume of gear, materials and potions washing about in his inventory. "Are you sure you don''t want a cut of this?" The good humour immediately vanished. "I have no financial need, little man. All my Skills are Legendary, my Level is maxed out, and I am as highly evolved as my patron wishes me to be. What could I possibly spend it all on?" Even so, Lowe knew he was looking at a not-inconsiderable fortune, and it didn''t seem right that it was coming his way when he''d had so little to do with its generation. "I can''t accept all this, Latham." "Look, think about it this way. That was the most fun I''ve had in months. I''d happily pay twice the amount you''ve probably gathered for such an experience. Having a helpless duckling along for the ride added massively to the jeopardy." Lowe wasn''t all that delighted to be considered a handicap in this particular encounter, but it was nice to be able to put a price on his own uselessness. For once. "How does the gear look, little man? Anything good?" said Latham, adjusting his own armour, which Lowe couldn''t help but notice was repairing itself as he did so. Perhaps the big man was right; he really didn''t need the money if he was already kitted out with Legendary stuff. "There''s mountains of it. It''s hard to tell. I''ve got, literally, pages of grey stuff." "No worries. Set anything sub-Epic to autosell and go see the ." It was as if the tubby man in the flowing green robes appeared in the corner of the Safe Zone the moment Latham mentioned him. There was a glassy expression on his face, which suggested he was an N.P.C. Lowe walked up to the man, unclear on the protocol. The came to life as soon as he drew near. But it was not ''life''¡ªnothing like it. In fact, Lowe thought, there was something profoundly creepy about this simulacrum of reality, and he found himself instinctively recoiling back. "How can I help you, sir?" Trying to hide his distaste - it wasn''t this thing''s fault he was what he was, was it? - Lowe did his best to keep it civil. "Can you clear my inventory, please?" The pages of newly acquired gear vanished in a blink, and it seemed like his financial good fortune had doubled. He was left with just one item. And, for the life of him, Lowe had no idea what the item was. "Ah," Latham said, "I didn''t like to get your hopes up, but I was counting on that showing up." Lowe turned the small brass coin over in his hand. "I don''t think I''ve ever seen anything like it before. It''s a Token of Reset?" "Indeed. Not a top-tier item, of course. It''s only usable by those who are sub-30, and, honestly, it''s pretty rare for anyone at that Level to want it. Let me tell you, though, if it were appropriate for my Level, we''d be having quite the discussion right now. Lowe was sure this wouldn''t have been a chat he''d have enjoyed. "I don''t think I understand. What does it do?" "Well, that rather depends on whether you followed my advice and read up on Essence Transmutation Theory, doesn''t it?" * Lowe had actually had a chance to read a little about Latham''s pet ideas on the night of the murder. He''d been so wired after examining the scene that sleep was the last thing on his mind, and he''d passed a somewhat frustrating hour trying to understand what E.T.T. - as it was described in the various scrolls he''d accessed - actually was. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. "Let''s say I have a working knowledge." "Excellent. Well, a Token of Reset will effectively allow you to test it out." Lowe let the coin run across his knuckles. "You want me to pull out all my Progression Points and stick them in Intelligence?" "Little man, I don''t give a flying fuck what you do without build. But if I had my time again - which is what this token gives you - I''d do it like a shot." Lowe continued to run the coin backwards and forwards. "But if I pull them all out, my Skills will go back to Common. That will make me more of a helpless duckling than I was before, isn''t it?" Latham nodded. "True, but you''ll have control over your stats. And, right now, you''ve got the cash to rank your Skills back up the rich person way." "Why are you pushing this? I mean, what''s in it for you?" There was a pause as the frowned and seemed to consider how he wanted to answer. "Look, I have many regrets in my life. I like to think that if I had someone to push me in the right direction, I might have been able to end up in a different place. Listen or don''t listen, but don''t ignore some hard-won experience." "Mate, you''re the tankiest Tank that ever tanked some tank. I''m finding it pretty hard to hear how you fucked up your life when you''ve just soloed a Heroic Dungeon." Latham walked away and sat down on an upturned log. "Little man, things are not always the way they seem. Do what you want with that token, but this is going to be your best - and probably your last - chance to do something about how your life is going. We''ve got a couple of bells before the Safe Zone will destabilise; let me know when you''re ready to move on." And then, to all appearances, the went to sleep. Lowe watched him for a moment, and then, once the snoring started, he moved over towards the again. "How can I help you, sir?" "I have the Token of Reset. How much is it worth?" "A Token of Reset has no intrinsic value. This Token is soulbound to you, sir. I will not be able to offer you anything for it." "How do I use it?" "I do not understand your question, sir." So much for the helpfulness of N.P.C.''s. Lowe closed his eyes and tried to sense the token. As soon as he did so, a new screen opened. And one he had not seen before <<<>>> Well, that didn''t sound too fucking doom-laden or anything. "How many Progress Points will this give me back?" <<<>>> appeared in Lowe''s vision. Soon to be replaced by: <<<< Locked Skills = 100 Points Available Skills = 55 Points Threshold Bonus = 45 Points Allocated Progress Points = 15 (these are unavailable for redeployment) Total available Progress Points = 165 Progress Points Do you wish to proceed?>>>> Lowe''s mouth was open in shock. He had made use of 200 Progress Points? That was such an insane number that, at first, he couldn''t believe it. But then, thinking about things a little more clearly, it did make sense. A handful of Points every few years, maybe a bonus here and there, he could see that number could be accurate. The question blinked incessantly. Did he want to proceed? Adding 200 Progress Points in Intelligence would be . . . interesting. That wouldn''t be a million miles away from what he possessed when he was still Classed, which felt crazy. <<<>>> Why wouldn''t he? It could hardly make his life any worse, could it? Lowe accepted the prompt and felt his knees go weak as his Progress Points were sucked out of him. He felt Roll with the Punches, Slugger, and Grid View return to Common, as well as the myriad of Skills that had been locked away during his Classtration. Interested, Lowe opened up his stats and, trying not to think too hard about it, dumped every single Point into Intelligence. The 100 number started shooting upward as if it were a possessed counter. As soon as the number hit 200, though, it screeched to a halt, and another screen appeared. <<<>>> "Erm, Latham?" The continued snoring. It felt like waking a sleeping Latham was likely to be one of those life-limiting things it would be sensible to avoid. "Well, in for a bronze, in for a gold," he said, answering with a hesitant ''yes''. At first, Lowe did not think anything had happened. And then the text around Intelligence - 200 went gold and then blasted upwards to reach 265. As soon as that message faded, another one replaced it. <<<>>> Without quite knowing why, Lowe split these bonus points in half and dropped half into Wisdom and the other into Strength. He couldn''t quite believe his own stat sheet. Primary Attributes:
  • Strength: 95 (Increased from 70)
  • Dexterity: 65
  • Intelligence: 265 (Increased from 100)
  • Wisdom: 103 (Increased from 78)
  • Charisma: 60
  • Constitution: 75
It had been so long since he had felt even remotely like himself that tears welled up slightly in his eyes. Of course, there was the proportional loss of power to Roll with the Punches, Slugger and Grid View, which was a bummer, but he had a sneaky idea he might be able to do something about that. The . "Technically! I was this close-" he held his thumb and forefinger apart in front of Latham- "to wearing a dagger as a conversational piece eyepatch for the rest of my life. So don''t come at me with this ''technically'' bullshit." "But you didn''t. You smoked a Level 30 Heroic Raid Boss. You''ve got to be feeling pretty good about that." To be fair, Lowe was feeling pretty damn epic right now. He''d dropped the 15 Progress Points (5 standard plus 10 Threshold Bonus) into Wisdom and was enjoying the upgrade 115 Points there had on his regen. So much so that he would have to think about which of Mylaf''s goodies he would have as his ''go-to'' snack. With all the extra mana, regen, and then the impact of his enhanced Roll with the Punches, he wasn''t clear about where he''d get his best value. He would need to spend an evening with a calculator and a stats spreadsheet. And that was before talking about his gear reward . . . "Can I see it again?" Latham asked eagerly. "Dude, if you want your own Bracelet of Accuracy, you can spend a few seconds soloing that Dungeon yourself," Lowe said, touching the leather vambrace he''d looted from the Hood''s corpse. Its stats were reasonably unremarkable, especially for a Legendary piece, but the active Skill was cool. It guaranteed a critical hit, regardless of any defensive mitigations. "Don''t be that guy. I couldn''t equip it anyway - it''s sub-35." "Well, boo-fucking-hoo to the high Levelled tosser." "You know, I don''t do this job for the admiration or the undying thanks of those I help, but you could try a little harder on the old ''you''re the whole reason I''m still alive, oh and by the way, thanks for the life-changing information that let me double my fucking level'' thing." "Feel better now you''ve got that off your chest?" "Not as much as you would think." They carried on walking and reached the stone staircase leading up to the city of Soar proper. Lowe put his hand on the bannister and turned to Latham. "You know I''m grateful, right? For everything." Latham winked back at him. "Don''t get mushy on me, little man." And they made their way upwards. * It was the same who was waiting at the entrance to their destination. "Look, I''ve told you this already. You''re not high enough -" Lowe gave her the finger as he walked past, breaching the Level 25 barrier and moving into the Temple proper. He located the portal stone to the third floor and was frustrated to see it was showing as ''unavailable''. "Don''t worry, I''ve got you." Latham reached forward and activated the portal. "But, for political reasons, I''m going to wait down here. I''m not sure how Gravalk will view you strong-arming one of his priests, and it might be prudent for me to have some distance if he orders your immediate execution. I can probably slow down aid getting there, too, if it comes to that." Lowe nodded. "Do you have any advice?" If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Latham''s face was impassive. "Dude''s a Level 30 . By my reckoning, you have the equivalent of twenty Levels on him - not that he will know it - and he''s put your girl in danger. The best advice I can give you is to remember to leave enough of him alive so he can talk." "Good thinking." And Lowe stepped through the portal. Interestingly, it appeared that having that second rank in Intelligence reduced his portal nausea a bit when he reconstituted. Aintra Webber was directly in front of him, looking confused. "Mr Lowe, we weren''t expecting you." "No one expects me. I''m mysterious like that. Like a particularly virulent virus. Is Priest Setort about?" There was a moment when the eyes flicked to a chamber on the left of the hallway, and then he was looking Lowe in the eye and was smiling broadly. "I''m afraid Priest Setort has already left for the day. Since the death of the High Priestess, it has been difficult to keep some of the younger priests to normal office hours." Lowe pushed past the older man, not feeling especially good about the discourtesy, but he hoped Aintra would understand. Eventually. He crossed to the chamber the had glanced at and tried the door. It was locked. "Mr Weber, please open this door for me." Aintra shook his head. "No sir, I will not. You have no right to be here. None at all." "Fine. Be like that." Lowe channelled Slugger and drove his closed fist into the door. Nothing happened. Aintra coughed discretely. "Obviously, it goes without saying that the doors on the third floor of the Celestial Temple are proof against any number of physical, magical and telepathic attacks. Whilst I applaud the spirit of . . . erm . . . hitting it very hard, I''m afraid that approach will not be successful." Lowe felt the burn of embarrassment on his cheeks. He was not too proud to admit it, but his recent success in the Dungeon, as well as the impact of resetting his Progress Points, had left him feeling somewhat invincible. He''d even been able to forget, however briefly, that he no longer held his Class. And now he''d been brought down to earth with a bump. By a door. Oh, well. Back to the drawing board. "Mr Weber, it is essential that I speak with Priest Setort. This is a matter of urgency. I believe he is in possession of information connected to the murder of Gianna d''Avec. I must speak to him immediately." "What''s all this?" The other priest Lowe had spoken to in the immediate aftermath of the slaying of the High Priestess - Hiwalk - came out from his own chamber, a furious look on his face. There were small birds flying around his head. Made of flame, Lowe was somewhat surprised to see. "My apologies you have been disturbed, Priest Hiwalk. I was just explaining to this gentleman that I cannot possibly allow him access to the chamber of Priest Setort in his absence." Hiwalk''s eyes blazed fire - Lowe wondered what a actually had as a Skillset - and he whirled on the inspector. "Have we not been bothered enough? Is it not sufficient to you that we have lost our High Priestess? That our entire cult will now be dismissed from this floor and back down to the very base of the Temple? That our god will shortly be removed from the Council? Is that not enough for you!" The man''s voice increased in volume until he was bellowing out his final words, the birds circling his head screeching out their own anger. Lowe took an instinctive step backwards before reminding himself that - even if just in theory - he had a whole host of levels on the priest. Oddly, it was hard to remember that in the face of such white-hot rage. There was a moment of silence, and then Aintra filled the void. "It is not that we do not wish to be helpful, Mr Lowe. Rather, that it is not appropriate to breach a chamber door in the absence of its priest. There is a way that these things are done, you will understand." "Oh, don''t be tiresome, Weber." Setort''s in there."Hiwalk seemed to have settled down remarkably quickly. "Just open the damned door, and then the good inspector can do his business and leave." Aintra looked disconcerted. "But, sir, the chamber is locked. The priest has left for the day." "And I tell you, he has not. We have . . . dinner plans. We discussed leaving together just this morning. Patronising he may be, but Setort is reliable to a fault. He will be in there. Probably asleep. Just open the damned door." Pursing his lips, Aintra activated Secret Keeper, and the door swung open. The first thing that struck Lowe was he was always surprised by how much blood the average human body kept inside. No, that was not quite right. The very first thing that hit Lowe, along with Aintra and Hiwalk, was a violent gust of wind that knocked them off their feet. The rumination about blood was the next thing that entered Lowe''s head as he tumbled, head over foot, to rest against the wall. But he was up and on his feet in no time - thank you, Roll with the Punches - and running back into Setort''s room. He crossed to the window - ignoring the shredded corpse that no amount of health potions was going to coax back into the land of the living - and made a grab for the figure jumping out into the air beyond. The assassin flung some sort of nasty Skill his way, shearing off at the elbow the arm that was gripping their hooded cloak. Some sort of Wind Mage, Lowe assumed. He made sure Grid View captured the exposed and startled face of the woman who dropped towards the ground, her descent slowing before - as a tiny dot - landing safetly and running off into the milling crowds. "Mr Lowe, your arm!" Weber was looking at him in horror. "Oh, not to worry," he shrugged, although less than successful than he would previously have done before losing a limb. "It''ll grow back soon. Unlike, I fear, Prince Setort." They each turned to look at the body, blood still leaking from what looked like hundreds of wounds. Whatever Setort might have to say about is stalking of Arebella, someone had managed to silence him in the very nick of time. Chapter 31 - Wrath of a The moment Hel''s feet hit the pavement, she was off and running. To have been within the Celestial Temple at the time of one Priest of Gravalk was unfortunate; to have been seen at the discovery was the beginning of a somewhat unhealthy habit. It was the sort of thing that might be thought to invite comment. And who had been the man she had hit with Wind Blade? That had been unfortunate. All she had wanted to do was to free her cloak so that she could slip away through the open window. But panic had taken over, and she''d overpowered the attack. Sloppy. As the poor guy had been only a Level 25, she''d probably one-shotted him totally by accident. "Fucking hell," she said to no one in particular. "What a complete and utter disaster." What in Soar had she been thinking? Well, that was the point, wasn''t it? She hadn''t been. From the moment she''d noticed Arwel was missing a glove, she''d known the only place it was likely to be was in the High Priestess''s chamber. Hard-won experience - over many, many years - had taught her that if any given situation had the potential to be fucked up beyond all recognition, then assume that was what was about to happen. Of course her sister''s glove would have been left at a crime scene. Where else would she possibly find it? It had been, oddly, relatively little challenge to get access to the Third Floor. Really, if she came through this in one piece, she would be writing a very stiff letter to the to express her outrage at the ease with which security at the holiest site in the city could be circumvented. If she and her little team had known it was this easy to pay house calls, then their little vendetta could have been sorted years back. That thought put a hitch into Hel''s step. But that was the point, wasn''t it? The Celestial Temple was incredibly tricky to gain access to. She''d managed not once but twice in a couple of days. Now, Hel had a very healthy appreciation for her talents and abilities - it would have been hard to have come through what she had without a substantial dollop of self-regard - but even she thought it was stretching credibility to believe she''d got in and out, scot-free, twice. Had someone smoothed her entry? And if so, who?" "Or, more pertinently, why?" Hel asked a very started who was just crossing her path, walking the opposite way down the cramped street. He started to smile, but then, noticing her Class and Level, he blanched and, head down, scurried away. Hel barely noticed - he was hardly the first moderately attractive man to turn tail and run when they got a look at her stats - but slowed her walk down to an amble, deep in thought. Any number of people in Soar wanted the High Priestess dead. Many of them were highly enough placed in society to know of Hel''s reputation. And a couple of them were even powerful enough to be privy to the confidential intel about why she and her little gang might be motivated to do something about it. However, even with all the resources these ''clients'' had to bring to bear, they had never got close - not once - to accessing d''Avec''s floor of the Temple. Twice in as many days? Both times following a murder? Someone was up to shenanigans. Although, Hel thought, it hardly helped that tonight she''d managed to break into the wrong room . . . That was hardly her fault, though, she told herself. Hel couldn''t fly, per se; rather she was able to drive herself upwards on spiralling tunnels of air. It looked pretty impressive and certainly was the simulacrum of flight, but it gave her much less specific control than may be assumed. It was actually a very disorientating experience if she did not keep her wits about her, and this - apparently - was one of those occasions where her focus had failed. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. So she''d ended up outside a different chamber on the Third Floor than she had intended. No harm. No foul. Apart from the fact that she''d found herself, once again, in the presence of a slaughtered worshipper of the Fire Demon. Violent death had never bothered her - hardly surprising considering her line of work - but Hel preferred her murders to be clean and clear. What had been done to that priest was overkill. And in every sense of the word. Indeed, in her experience, that sort of sloppy mess only usually occurred when several pressing questions had been posed, and the answers had been less satisfactory. Hel suddenly stopped and looked around her. She had no idea where she should be going. If the were not outlawed as of yet, she could already see the narrative developing where both she and her sisters were likely to have an ''accident'' when being questioned over recent events. "Fuck it up, down, left and right. And right back again. After everything, what a bloody trite way for it to end." Hel pressed her back against a shop window, earning an angry shout from someone inside. Without opening her eyes, she rearranged the rude man''s neatly arranged clothes rails with a small, yet intensely motivated, localised . He seemed to mind her resting against his window less after that. Irek would put her and her sisters up, she was sure of that. Tenia could be relied upon to help her out if the chips were really down. Even Charl would be happy to have them as guests. Although he''d tell everyone who''d listen they were there . . . But she couldn''t do that to any of them. didn''t fuck about when the security of the Celestial Temple was concerned. That train of thought reinforced the fact that it kind of made the slackness of those giant guards over the last couple of days even more noteworthy. She was being set up, wasn''t she? "Shit. Shit. Shit." Hel banged her head against the glass. If the manager of the shop was irritated at all the knocking, he was too busy trying to escape a vengeful twister focused on royally devastating his stock to mention it. And the thing was, even if she was able, by some miracle, to skate from the charges over the priests, they had her bang to rights on the slaying of the man who''d grabbed her. Hel replayed that moment in her mind. Who had that been? He wasn''t a priest; she was sure of that. Tenia was very good at collecting all necessary information around a target, and she knew the names of all the Priests of Gravalk. So who was it she had killed? Hel had no useful memory Skill - it was hard to opt for one of them over an extra offensive skill that was likely to get much more use - but had always been good with faces. It was frowned upon in her line of work to pick off the wrong target, so she''d relied on that natural gift more than once in a pinch. That man had been familiar, hadn''t he? Like he was someone - not famous - but known. Like she''d read something about him. A minor celebrity? Hardly. What would one of the movers and shakers of Soar''s entertainment scene be doing on a closed floor of the Celestial Temple? No. If he wasn''t a priest, he had to have a reason to be there. A member of the Security Services? That''d explain his reaction to seek to restrain her once she broke into the room. Excellent, she thought. I killed an investigator. That sort of thing always went down well. Commander Cenorth was famously sanguine about the deaths of his officers. She was actually amazed the whole quarter wasn''t already sealed off. In fact . . . that was a good point, wasn''t it? Hel pressed off the window - shattering it with a hastily cast behind her. No one ever got poorer betting on Hel holding a grudge - and began to walk briskly away, risking a quick glance over her shoulder back at the towering sight of the Celestial Temple. No fuss at all. They hadn''t even started to close off the entrance. It simply wasn''t credible the dogs of war had not yet been released. She thought back to the man from whom she had detached an arm. Why would she be familiar with the face of a low-Level member of the Security Services? They jealously guarded their privacy. You only ever heard anything about them when one of them fucked up enough to be dismissed, and the threw them to the wolves . . . Hel suddenly slapped herself on the head. "The fucking Classless!" A few people looked around due to the force of her shout, and she stared them out. "You want to make something of it?" Surprisingly, no one did. Hel started running. The funny thing about newspaper reports into such things is that they tended to overshare the details, didn''t they? It shouldn''t be hard to find an address. And if, as she was coming to suspect, the man had survived - hadn''t there been something about him having an unusual healing Skill? - then there might be an opportunity to have a further conversation. It felt like there were a number of things she needed to explain. Chapter 32 - Body in a Chamber "I do not wish to cast aspersions here, Jana, but it is kind of the point to speak to the witnesses before they are murdered." "Really, sir? My mistake. I thought it might take the challenge out of things too much if people had the chance to share vital information with me. I''m like a mushroom, you see. I simply thrive being in the dark and having shit thrown at me." "And this is the man you suspected of stalking Arebella?" "Yeah, no doubt on that one. I have him in the damned image." Cenorth cleared his throat tactfully. "Quite. Quite. And, in those very limited circumstances, if you had chosen to express your dissatisfaction in forceful terms, then that is the sort of thing we are entirely capable of overlooking. If you get my meaning?" Lowe did. It was one of the features of life in Soar''s Security Service that had never sat well with him. He understood that when you were responsible for keeping order in a city where even the boy who shined your shoes in the morning was capable of significant carnage, a certain latitude was given as to how you managed that. Indeed, the Mayor was fond of saying he didn''t much mind the various organised gangs that preyed on the Lower City. Not when he had the biggest, most violent gang on his side. Lowe''s unwillingness to quietly ignore the more brutal excesses of his co-workers had not stood him in good stead during his fall from grace. Surprisingly, when people did not feel you had their back, they were highly motivated to put a knife in yours when the time came. To be fair, since his elevation to Commander, Cenorth had done his best to curb the more arbitrarily psychotic members of the force, but his question demonstrated how little had actually changed. Lowe looked at the shredded corpse of Setort. The man had not died easily: he doubted there was a drop of blood left, or a bone unbroken, in that corpse. And his boss would let it slide if it turned out Lowe had extracted a little vigilante justice for taking pictures of his girlfriend? Sometimes, Lowe found life in Soar rather grim. "I didn''t touch him, Commander. The door opened, the body was there, and his killer was leaping through the window." Cenorth raised his eyebrows. "It doesn''t need to be a case of ''the big boy did it and ran away''. Say the word and . . . " Lowe gestured to his bare arm, where his suit and shirt had been lopped off at the elbow, and blood splattered all over his front. "They cut off my fucking arm, sir, as they escaped. I appreciate you looking out for me, but I didn''t kill this guy." "Fair enough. Shame, though. The paperwork on a second murder, on the same floor of the Celestial Temple . . . The are not coming out of this looking especially good. I even heard a rumour the Mayor wants the to take over. Arkola is reportedly hopping mad." Both of them surreptitiously glanced upwards towards the First Floor¡ªthe idea of that supreme being hopping brought a quick smile to Lowe''s face. "I''m glad you find my pain amusing, Jana. Arebella''s okay, by the way?" Lowe nodded. "As good as ever she was." "Good. Good. I always liked that girl. Far too good for you, I can tell you that now." "Goes without saying, sir. Was there anything else you wanted? I''d like to pop home and change." Lowe indicated the severed remains of his jacket. "I worry someone''s going to think this is the latest fashion trend, and I''ll never get anything done once I go viral." "Quite. Before you go, I assume you have a theory as to what has happened here?" Lowe shrugged. "Someone didn''t want me speaking to Setort and resorted to playing silly buggers. Did you see they raised the cap to be able to enter the Temple?" If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Cenorth nodded. "To a point suggestively higher than your level. Or," he glanced upwards," at least it was this morning." "I ate my greens. Well, no sooner had I overcome that barrier and was on my way here, but the man I needed to speak to was cut into tiny pieces." "And you think the two things are related?" "Sir, someone knew I''d be speaking to Setort about the package Arebella has received, and they shut him up before he could talk. That''s obvious. The problem is, I''m not sure whether that and the death of the High Priestess are connected." "Two priests killed on the same floor within two days of each other. Surely whoever attacked you - and presumably killed Setort - is also responsible for the death of d''Avec?" "Maybe. Maybe not. I haven''t formed an opinion on that yet. Been a bit busy, regrowing my arm and all. I''d just say, in my experience, if you have a felon with a talent for one element, it would be pretty odd for them to use another. Whoever attacked me was handy with Air. The High Priestess was taken down by Water." "Indeed. Well, I hope it goes without saying if you could try to get to the bottom of this before we run out of Priests of Gravalk, that would be wonderful. Council meetings are getting a touch . . . fiery is my understanding." "I''ll do my best, sir. Now, if you could excuse me, I''m going to go and get appropriately dressed again." Lowe moved towards the portal stone. "Oh, and if Lant comes up with anything more interesting than ''he was tortured to death'', can you let me know?" "Surely, Jana." Cenorth watched until Lowe''s blood-soaked figure vanished into the portal''s swirling mists. Then, he took a sending stone out of his pocket. He shook it to clear any residue mana and channelled a considerable amount in as a replacement. It took several heartbeats, but - with a snap - it connected to a paired stone he never enjoyed reaching. As always, there was no sound from the person at the other end, so Cenorth spoke into the void. "It is as you suspected. We may need to consider moving to Plan B." * "He''s busy." Lowe squinted up at the with a clipboard who appeared to be in charge of what was developing in the reception area of the Temple. Everywhere Lowe looked, he could see massive, lumbering Warders suiting up for what he assumed was about to be a pretty intensive search operation in the Celestial Temple. "Can you let him know I''m going home now?" "Absolutely. I have nothing better to do right now than be your personal social secretary. Can I get you a cup of coffee while you wait?" "That would be lovely, thank you." Gricken looked down at Lowe and snorted air out of his nostrils. The effect was not unlike a very angry bull preparing to charge. "Look, Inspector, if I see Latham, I''ll tell him you were here. But I can tell you, there''s no way he''ll be allowed out of the Temple tonight. It''s all hands on deck here until we determine what''s going on with the security protocols." Lowe was somewhat disconcerted that Latham was not able to accompany him back to his apartment. Of course, he understood that the Temple was in chaos after the second murder in the week, but he still felt oddly vulnerable without the thought of the big man at his side. Sensing that was the best he would get from the Warder, Lowe slunk away. Even reminding himself that he had, just that afternoon, been able to solo a Heroic Dungeon didn''t make his journey home any less stressful. It was hard to forget the feeling of helplessness in the Tower of Law when that hidden presence had battered him down. But, in the still evening air of Soar, it was impossible to be too worried about such things, and in no time, he was pushing through the door of his home with a smile on his face. Certainly, since Mylaf arrived at his door, returning to his apartment had become a more attractive option. Where he had become used to his rooms having a gloomy atmosphere, with a sad, musty smell in the air, now there was a cheerful brightness spilling outwards into the corridor outside, undercut by the constant scent of baking. In fact, the place pretty much gleamed under the attention of the , which made the muddy footprints on the doormat even more noticeable. "Mylaf?" Lowe called, pushing as much fake unconcern into his voice as possible whilst simultaneously filling both hands with Slugger. "I''m just grabbing some fresh clothes, and then I''ll head straight back out. I''m afraid my second-best suit has taken another significant downgrade." Lowe shrugged off his jacket so that it puddled on the floor and paused, listening for any sign of life. "Oh, and I''m afraid I may well be needing a new shirt. Blood again. Not my fault this time." The still didn''t answer, and Lowe crept around towards the back wall, eyes roving the doors that ran off the hall to try to sense from which direction the danger might come. "Mylaf? Are you still up?" "Mr Lowe," the voice was a study in neutrality. "I am afraid I may need your assistance in here." Lowe followed the sound and pushed open the door to the kitchen. Mylaf was sitting perfectly still behind the table, a knife floating at her throat. Lowe winked at her and looked around, spotting, in the far corner of the room, a hooded figure he''d last seen diving through a window, having chopped off his arm. "Inspector Lowe. Please drop whatever the hell overpowered Skill you''re currently channelling. I''d like to talk to you about the death of a certain High Priestess." Chapter 33 - Bosom Buddies "You okay, Mylaf?" "Perfectly so, Mr Lowe. Occupational hazard of working for the High Priestess. This is not my first steer of the hostage rodeo." Lowe''s gaze shifted from the to the woman holding her captive. Intriguingly, her name, Level and Class were shrouded in darkly glittering smoke trails. In the Grid View, when he had been observing the assassin, this had not been the case, a detail that was not lost on him. "This seems to be a tad excessive. If anything," he indicated his bare arm, "I should be the one hunting you down." "I just want to talk." "Obviously. That''s why you''ve broken into my home, attacked my friend and disguised your name and various attributes. All of my favourite conversations start that way. I''m sure we''ll be going shopping together and braiding each other''s hair before long. I cannot tell you how often dead priests, desperate escape attempts and slicing off my limbs were simply awesome ice-breakers." "I didn''t kill the priest. Or the High Priestess." "Sure." "I''m telling you the truth!" "Absolutely. And I have no available context to cause me to see you as someone with anything less than scrupulous, unblemished integrity. The knife to Mylaf''s throat is simply a decorative piece." "The truth is the truth." "Funny thing is, that is not my experience. For example, in this situation, there''s your truth, Mylaf''s truth and then whatever truth I tell my boss after the eight security officers outside finish stomping you into dust." The woman''s eyes flicked to the door behind Lowe, not long enough for him to do anything, but he was pleased to see the momentary lack of attention. He might be able to work with that. "There''s no one out there. You had no idea I was here." Lowe shrugged. "Believe what you like. As I said, there''s truth, and then there''s truth." The woman shifted her weight from foot to foot, uncertain. "You do realise I could kill you both in a second?" "Go for it. Nothing is more convincing for someone seeking to prove their innocence of murder to - you know - kill an innocent bystander. Textbook persuasive technique. Hat-tip." "I''m willing to bet every piece of gold I own that you get beaten up an awful lot, don''t you?" "More than average, I''d guess." There was an awkward pause during which it became clear that Mylaf was the most chilled person in the room. Then the woman made a gesture, and the knife flew away to stick, point down, into the chopping board. The smoke hiding her details dissipated, revealing her name, Level and Class. Lowe whistled. "So, you''re quite the nasty customer then?" Hel sat down at the table, running her hands through her hair. "You have no idea." * Mylaf had served up a cup of hot chocolate that eased the tension in the room. It apparently did something to their feelings of aggression, which was pretty interesting. It suggested the could produce consumables which did something to emotions, not just boost stats. He''d have to explore that at another time: perhaps when not in conversation with a fucking . "You said you wanted to talk. So talk." Hel took another sip of her steaming drink. "I was in that room tonight because I wanted to retrieve something." "Which was?" "My . . . an associate of mine left something behind on the Third Floor on the night the High Priestess was murdered." "As you can imagine, I have any number of follow up questions." "They didn''t have anything to do with d''Avec''s death. We," she winced and looked at the chocolate accusingly. "Look, I don''t misspeak. Is there something in this?" Lowe raised his eyebrows at Mylaf, who smiled as she answered. "It''s not a truth serum if that''s what you''re worried about. It has simply - temporarily, I assure you - increased your affinity for each other. I call it Bosom Buddies. You both just feel comfortable speaking plainly around each other. I thought after, you know - " she jutted her chin at the blade in the chopping board - "it would be wise to smooth out relations a touch." Hel paused for a moment, then obviously decided she had very little to lose. "I was there too. That night." If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. "As you can imagine, my questions are breeding like rabbits." "Look, just let me talk for a bit. On the night of the murder, I lost track of both of my sisters. There are some very specific and bloody reasons why that is a bad thing. Fortunately, I quickly tracked them to the Celestial Temple and caught up with them in the High Priestess''s room." "And I''m sure she was delighted to see you all. Was there dancing and moonlight and love and romance?" "I''m not really sure she cared too much. Being dead and all." "Oh, right. ''It was like that when I got here.'' Glad we''re sticking to the truth here." "Fuck off." Little spinning tempest appeared in her pupils. "She''d been dead a while by the time we got there. We arrived, freaked out at the carnage, and left as soon as we could. But my sister had dropped her glove. I was there tonight trying to retrieve it before someone put two and two together and got the necessity for summary execution out of it." "That''s quite a risk you took. Breaking into the Celestial Temple." "My sister is important to me. As is loyalty." "And you ended up walking into another murder scene?" "I said I was loyal, not lucky." Lowe took another gulp of his hot chocolate and regarded Hel over its rim. She was definitely not telling him the whole truth, but he didn''t think that was about either of the murders. Neither she nor her sister had been involved in those. But there was something else she said that was bothering him. "A glove?" "What?" "You said your sister left a glove at the crime scene?" "Yes." Hel hesitated for a second and then pressed on. "Look, my sister is a . Both of them are. You are familiar with that Class?" Lowe nodded slowly. "I am. I had not realised there were any in Soar at the moment." Although he kept his voice neutral, his mind was racing. were an unusual Class that could not level up: not that it mattered as they were already colossally powerful by their very nature. It had been suggested that gaining this Class was an involuntary response to trauma. There had been a few days following his Classtration when he had felt a significant pull in that direction. He resisted, mainly because there was a strict ''behead-first-ask-questions-later'' policy in place when it came to a . If he had wanted to take the dying option as a way out, he''d have taken it when it was offered. "They are flying under the radar at the moment." Lowe felt his respect for the woman opposite him go up a few notches. Hiding from discovery was a deal. They were such a violent, unpredictable Class that it was usually only a few days before the Security Services zeroed in on their location. Although, as they pretty much decimated everything around them, it didn''t really take spectacular investigatory powers. You just followed the screams. Lowe thought back to the smoke hiding Hel''s Class. That would help, he supposed, but were extraordinary looking beings . . . "Hence the glove," he said aloud. "What?" "You have them all bundled up, don''t you? Big, shapeless gear, hidden Class, never letting them out of your sight." Lowe nodded appreciatively. "Lots of effort. Lots of stress." "It''s nothing." Lowe noted the worry lines at the corner of Hel''s eyes and chose not to comment. "Until you lose track of them, they slaughter the High Priestess and then leave some evidence behind." Okay. He chose to comment a little. Hel let out a low sigh, and the room shuddered under the force of the emerging gale. "I''m telling you, they had nothing to do with the murder." "Okay. Okay. Let''s not lose the sense of comradely accord we''ve built up. How about you explain to me why you are so certain?" Hel tossed back her hair where it had fallen before her eyes and fixed him with a frank expression. "Because we''ve been planning to kill the bitch for years, and they wouldn''t rob me of the satisfaction of being there when she finally fucked off and died." * Mylaf had produced some beef and mustard sandwiches, which, in addition to tasting delicious, doubled Lowe''s Perception. "I thought, Mr Lowe, that it would help if you could both see things as clearly as possible," she said, leaving them alone in the kitchen. "I''m going to level with you," Lowe said between bites of the food, "''I''m innocent because this wasn''t the way we were going to smoke the victim'' isn''t exactly the cast-iron defence statement you seem to think it is." Hel shrugged. "You wanted the truth. I wasn''t saying it was pretty." "What did she do to you?" Hel looked as if she would refuse to answer, but a resigned look came over her face. "Fine. I guess I owe you that. For the arm and all. There''s four of us - I''m not giving you any other names - who were involved in . . . overseas activities for Soar. The sort of thing that''s not exactly off the books, but neither did we have a parade every time we returned with mission accomplished. You know what I''m getting at?" Lowe did. There''d been a time he''d flirted with joining one of the ''Out of Bounds'' squads, as they were called, but his talents had always been better used in unpicking puzzles rather than causing them in other cities. He looked at Hel with a new appreciation: she wasn''t just a talented assassin. The woman was a Council-endorsed one. "You''re using the past tense. I''m assuming something went awry?" "You could say that. We''d been tasked with hitting a bank in . . . no, you don''t need to know that. All went fine - we were a good unit - until it came time to exfiltrate. There was some sort of fuck-up, nothing that hadn¡¯t happened a million times, but we ended up having to fight our way out. We - " she paused, eyes unfocusing as if she were back on the job - "were pretty punchy and might have caused more casualties than was considered ideal." Lowe nodded understandingly. This was a tune he knew rather intimately. "The Council disavowed you?" "Of course. That was standard, and we knew that would be the deal the moment the bodies started falling. What we didn''t anticipate was that they''d be cleaning house before we even got home. Apparently, a newly-appointed Council member argued furiously that the only way to make amends for the civilian casualties was a similar blood-letting in Soar. None of the rest cared either way - it was hardly the first time such a thing had happened - but this newbie seemed to have a bee in her bonnet about all the collateral damage. As she was an up-and-coming avatar, they let her have her head. We were just a day out from returning to the city when it happened. They killed everyone. All our friends. All our families. Anyone we''d so much as nodded at in the street. Everyone just went up in flames. We came back to our lives - quite literally - ablaze. "Gianna d''Avec?" "Gianna fucking d''Avec. She was so hung up on the deaths of a bunch of lower-classed nobodies in the arse end of nowhere that she personally incinerated everyone I loved." "Sounds like you''d be pretty motivated to kill her." "Damn straight. Now, think how pissed off I am that someone beat me to it?" Chapter 34 - Revelations Hel''s story made sense. It was exactly how Lowe had heard this sort of thing worked out. The ''Out of Bounds'' squads were rockstars; right up until the moment, they very much were not. Hel''s team wouldn''t be the first team to be royally fucked over by the Council and wouldn''t be the first to seek bloody retribution. "I guess you''ve been sending her death threats?" "Absolutely. As often as we could get access to her post." Lowe finished off his share of the sandwiches and sat back. "You had in your squad?" "No." Hel dropped her eyes. "It turns out the High Priestess was more focused on spectacle than thoroughness. My baby sisters survived the fire. Physically, at least." There wasn''t much more to say about it than that. With a nagging feeling he was missing something, Lowe tried to put the events at the Celestial Temple together. One of Hel''s sisters, or both of them, had slipped away from her notice and sought out d''Avec. That fitted with what he knew about - they were nothing if not single-minded. After hours, they''d have a chance of breaching security - particularly if Hel had managed to exercise some kind of control over their Skill choices. The issue with most was that their uncontrollable rage was as unfocused as it was destructive. If their big sister had convinced them to select something like Infiltration or Sneak Thief, then, in the absence of at a time the High Priestess would usually have vacated her chamber, he could see how they could have got in. The fact that the High Priestess did not stay in the Celestial Temple overnight made the Third Floor unusually vulnerable. Lowe thought about the vision Gravalk had given him. Although he could imagine a set of circumstances in which a pair of would have a chance to tear a Level 67 to pieces, that wasn''t what had happened here, was it? There had been no bringing their own brand of chaos and destruction to d''Avec''s chamber in what Gravalk had shown. So, he could see them arriving after she had died - with the not having their usual measures in place to keep them out - dropping one of their gloves when Big Sis arrived to get them out of there. And he could see the woman sitting opposite him risking a second break-in to get rid of the evidence they''d left behind that they had been there. Likewise, if there was any suggestion of involvement in the death of the High Priestess, he could see why the powers that be would want things closed up tightly. No one needed that sort of panic on the streets of Soar. Against that, no vision from the Fire Demon - a god about to make a fast descent down the hierarchy of the Celestial Temple - was going to be believed. had a special place in the collective moral panic consciousness. "What are you thinking?" Hel asked, leaning forward over the table. "That - and it might be the sandwiches talking - I think you''re on the level." "So what next?" But something was bothering Lowe¡ªa little itch on the edge of his thinking. "Hang on. You say one of your sisters dropped a glove. Do you mean whilst they were in the High Priestess'' chamber?" "Yes. So they tell me. If you have experience with , you will know they don''t have the imagination to lie. They''re both clear that it was left behind when I pulled them out." Lowe pulled up Grid View. He''d repeatedly examined the crime scene over the last few days and never seen a glove anywhere. No, there was nothing there. It was as he''d thought. "Hel, there was no glove there when I arrived." "That makes no sense. Why would someone remove evidence? Particularly if it could be used to point the guilt to someone other than themselves?" Lowe had no answer to that. * The two of them talked into the early hours. By the time Hel let herself out, Lowe was certain that no one in her little group had anything to do with either of the murders. The psychology was all wrong: with a bond that strong, it was all for one, one for all. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. And the use of water to explode d''Avec . . . no. That didn''t seem like the sort of satisfying conclusion to things that the wronged ''Out of Bounds'' squad would be looking for. Or, as Hel had put it, "we wanted to watch the bitch die slowly." "Are you sure you are okay?" Lowe asked Mylaf as she swooped in to clean up the used crockery. The smiled as, with a clash of porcelain, the dishes washed themselves and then were directed back to their place in the cupboard. "Honestly, Mr Lowe, I was quite missing the experience of being violently assaulted by an intruder. It was truly a regular occurrence in the service of the mistress." "Seriously?" Mylaf nodded. "She was a good mistress, but I understand she was a difficult person outside the house." "To the extent people would regularly break into her home and attack you?" "May I sit, sir?" "Of course. I''m not all about the whole ''yes, sir'', ''no, sir'' thing. Can we find a way to keep the pastries coming and the cleaning happening but ramp up the informality?" Mylaf tilted her head to one side. "You are an unusual man." "It''s been mentioned." "Well, sir - sorry, what would you like me to call you?" "Jana''s fine." "Well . . . Jana. The mistress was exceptionally driven. After losing both of her parents so young - " "You mentioned that before. Do you know what happened to them?" "I do. It''s just - " Mylaf paused - "I assume you will treat all this discretion?" "Mylaf, I had my arm cut off a few hours ago, and the only person who seemed remotely bothered was the high-level assassin who did it. I could be the least discrete person in the whole of Soar, and I''d still have no one to gossip with." "Fair enough. It is not like this is entirely confidential, anyway. The official story, to my understanding, is that they were killed in an explosion on their way back from work. As , they had been contracted to one of the bigger energy companies." " were killed in an explosion? What happened? Did a sun go supernova?" Lowe''s brain caught up with his words. "She killed them?" "Wholly accidentally. It appears that Gravalk identified her at birth as a future High Priestess. Unsurprisingly, she found herself with more power than she could handle for most of her youth." Lowe tried to imagine carrying the weight of murdering your parents, regardless of how accidental the conflagration was. "Is that why she stayed in the family home rather than living in the Temple?" "I think so. Certainly, she never showed any inclination to move to better premises despite the rise in her status." "What about what Hel said? Do you think d''Avec would have slaughtered their families?" Mylaf took a moment to respond. "I think, if her god had asked her to do something, there is very little the mistress would not have done. Besides, if the Council determined something needed to be done, I well imagine she would have put herself forward to enact it. She was singularly driven to raise herself up the ranks of the Temple." "Why?" "I guess to make it all worthwhile." Lowe could see that making a sort of sense to Gianna d''Avec. There were acts he had undertaken in his first few years with a Class that would not stand scrutiny so many years down the line. He''d never massacred anyone''s family, but he was self-aware enough to know that in the wrong circumstances and with the right pressure, a younger him would have made a poor decision. He thought back to the High Priestess''s last will. "Would it surprise you to know," he asked Mylaf, "that d''Avec was leaving the majority of her money to charity?" "Not at all, Mylaf''s smile was sincere. "She always said she wanted to do more for those in the undercity. Her efforts there were the main reason unhappy people kept coming to the house. Her altruism in that regard was not appreciated by those who preyed in the shadows of those streets." Lowe thought on that. "Do you have a theory as to what happened to her?" "I think," Mylaf began and then stopped. "I''m sorry, sir, it is not my place to give you advice." "I wouldn''t have asked if I wasn''t interested, Mylaf. Of everyone I''ve spoken to, you are the only one who has a good word to say about her. I think your opinion on this matter is pretty important!" The tapped her fingers on the kitchen table in an odd beat. "No, I suppose you wouldn''t. All I can say is that the mistress had something on her mind in the week before her death. She was working much later each night and seemed out of sorts when she was here. There was very little that she would not share with me, Jana, but those last few days were different. She was remote. Distant. I think whatever was keeping her at the Temple for all hours had something to do with her murder. That''s what I think. And now I should go to bed." Lowe was left alone as she abruptly vacated the kitchen. He sat there silently for a few minutes. He couldn''t help but think he had enough of the pieces of the puzzle now to begin to see the shape of things, but the image refused to swim into focus. With a growl of frustration, he flicked off the light and took himself to his own bed. * Hel waited in the shadows outside of the apartment complex. It hadn''t needed her years of experience to identify the eyes in the darkness watching the building Jana Lowe called home. She''d liked the man. Liked his directness, which was rather refreshing in her line of work. He seemed to have believed her story, which was true enough in its own way. Certainly true enough to escape detection by whatever buff that had been able to put into her food. And there was no judgment when he heard about her sisters. There were four watchers, she decided. All were in their low to mid-30s, and none of them had a particularly threatening class. Doubtless, they were there to ensure Lowe didn''t further his investigation. Being dead was a pretty effective break on such things. They''d become pretty animated when the light in the kitchen switched off, but she waited until they made their move towards the Inspector''s door before she acted. Just to be fair. They didn''t get within four feet. * A series of low thumps disturbed Lowe''s sleep, but after listening for a few seconds, he rolled over and was back snoring in no time. Chapter 35 - Making Plans Lowe was awoken by a frantic hammering at his door. "What the fuck, Latham?" he said, pulling the door open. The big man pushed past him, scanning the apartment as he did so. "You okay, Jana?" Lowe trailed after him, trying to ruffle some awake into his face. "Sure. Why?" "Nothing happened here last night?" In response to the noise, Mylaf appeared at the door of her own room. She was immaculately dressed, as usual, Lowe noted. Did the sleep fully clothed in preparation for a moment when she was needed to spring into action and provide sustenance? "Warder Latham. Mr Lowe. Would either of you care for some tea?" "I think he''d better," Lowe said, closing the door. "Perhaps with something that enhances his chill." * Lowe eventually got the story from Latham as to why he was so discombobulated this morning. It turned out someone had done their very best to keep the extremely busy from the moment Lowe had gone through the portal to find Setort''s body: a series of random chores and unnecessarily complicated administrative tasks had lasted until just a few minutes earlier. "At first, I thought it was just the usual Temple bullshit. Even I''m not above being fucked over by the rota occasionally. However, there are only so many times you can be sent out on patrol of an empty floor before you get suspicious. Then one of the others joked about you having a ''bad night'', and I put two and two together. From what I hear, you should be a bag of broken bones right now." Lowe shrugged, "Slept like a baby." It took Latham around half a bell to satisfy himself that no lurking hoodlums were hidden in Lowe''s closet. After that, he sat himself down and tucked into a grotesquely overfilled plate of eggs and bacon. Lowe watched him eat with fascination. It made sense that someone of the Warder''s size would need to consume a sizeable number of calories, but - as Latham moved on to plate two - he hoped Mylaf could produce some sort of statin potion. Lowe sipped his own tea - a rejuvenating Peppermint that gave him a +10% stamina boost for two bells - and tried to get a word from Latham between munches. "I have to say, mate, I''m flattered to know you cared. I got my arse handed to me in the Tower of Law, and you didn''t bat an eyelid." "Let''s say, since you were able to demonstrate that Essence Transmutation Theory has merit, you''ve gone up a little on my list of people I''d rather were kept alive." "Honestly?" Lowe thought that sounded a little cold. Latham chuckled and punched him gently on the arm, making the Inspector very glad for both his tea and the extra mana he had to heal the fractures immediately. "Nah, just joking. You''ve grown on me. Like a haircut, I wasn''t sure about, but others thought was fly. But, seriously, I was pissed someone was playing silly buggers." Latham''s face suddenly became serious, and he put his heaped fork back on the plate. "Little man, it seems some serious people are coming for you. I''ve been charged with keeping you alive until . . . well, until you piss off the Council enough for them to tell me to kill you. And someone still had the juice to give me the run around last night. That takes balls. You were supposed to come a cropper last night, and whoever arranged it was comfortable in acting against the Council." "Or it was the Council?" Lowe suggested. The two of them looked at each other for a few moments, considering. "Well," Latham whistled, "that''s a lovely thought. That means I''m on their shit list too. Cheers for that." "Just sharing the love, mate." They both sipped their tea in silence. Mylaf appeared and swapped out Latham''s plate again. This time, it was piled high with pancakes and syrup. "Well, it might just be the tea talking, but I figure there''s not much point brooding," Lowe said. "There''s just under a week before the deadline from the dude in the Tower of Law runs out. But I cannot see any random fuckers being sent to kick the shit out of me coming from that source." "How come?" "Dude who battered me didn''t strike me as someone lacking in confidence. He made his point, he threatened Arebella, and he gave me a sevenday to wrap it up. I can''t see him sending goons - especially ones that never actually turned up - a day later. What would be the point?" "Fair enough," Latham conceded. "So, we''ve got Mr Law as a principal antagonist. . . What?" Lowe was smirking. "That''s just a significantly fancy word for a guy who looks like his forehead could bench press twice my body weight." "Fuck you very much," Latham continued. "So, we''ve got Mr Law. And you think we can assume he''s not the same person who gave me the run around last night and sent some missing-in-action muscle to your place?" You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. "I don''t see any percentage in him being involved. I figure you need to look closer to home for that." Latham tilted his head, considering. "To be honest, we could be talking about anyone from the Eight Floor upwards. That''s where the movers and the shakers tend to reside. They''re the avatars the tend to take notice of. Any of them would have the pull to mess with the rota. And they''d have the power to arrange some goons." "Goons who never showed up . . ." "True. So we''re probably not looking at an Arkola masterplan here. Although, I doubt they''d bother with intermediaries. The fact all your particles are still in place suggests you''ve not irritated them sufficiently yet for your death to be desired." "They just haven''t had enough time to get to know me. And you''re sure the Council hasn''t turned turtle on the investigation? It could have been them?" "Nope. My standing orders are the same. You''re to be kept alive until you make your report. In any event, if they wanted you rubbed out, they''d just have me do it. No point sub-contracting when I''m within neck-snap range." Lowe would have liked to think the was joking again. He worried he might not be. "So not Mr Law, not Arkola and not the Council. But we reckon it has to be someone within the Temple itself?" "Only thing that makes sense." Lowe leaned back in his chair. "Don''t you think this is all over-elaborate? Mr Law is connected to Setort via the threat to Arebella, and someone from the Temple - but not Mr Law - is trying to warn me off, too. And then there''s whoever tried to poison us in the Coffee Shop. Where does that come in?" Latham swept the last of the pancakes around the syrup and popped it into his mouth. "Mr Law is either a Big Bad with tentacles that reach into the Temple, or he works for someone who fits that description. He or his boss just wants the investigation to stop. On the other hand - shall we call them Mr Temple? - they are highly enough placed to be able to mess around with the rota, but not powerful enough to have access to hired guns who, you know, actually turn up. But - and trust me, the rumour mill was clear on this - Mr Temple absolutely wants you dead." "Dead? You said I was supposed to have been turned into a bag of broken bones." "I didn''t want you to worry." "Oh, cheers for that. Much better for it to come out casually in conversation. Informally, like. Right, so Mr Temple is behind the poisoning too?" "Seems on brand." "So Mr Temple is more likely to be involved in d''Avec''s death? Whoever it is wants me off the case. Permanently. Mr Law just wants the whole thing dropped in a week. That feels pragmatic rather than an act of guilt." Latham coughed discretely. "Not necessarily. I say this with all love, but Mr Law might just be confident in your reputation as a fuck-up. He might be chilled for you to stumble about impotently for a week." "Nice. And I made sure you had a nice breakfast, too." "Just calling it how I see it. But where does the assassin who cut your arm off last night fit in? Mr Law cleaning house?" Lowe filled him in on his evening visitor, ending with, "But I don''t think she had anything to do with the High Priestess dying. Or with Setort. I mean, she was clear she wished she had done and was pretty pissed to have missed out on the opportunity." "And it was her little group that was sending the death threats?" "That''s what she said." "Fucking hell. Give me a clean armed robbery any day. You know where you stand when a bunch of guys in masks try to storm the Temple." "I''m with you on that one. So, we have three interested parties that we know of. Mr Law, Mr Temple and Mrs Tyrant." Who''s you''re favourite for d''Avec''s murder? And how the fuck does Setory fit in?" Latham asked, brow furrowed. Lowe finished his tea and pushed the cup away. "I have no fucking idea." * "You used my fucking name!" Khalid stormed through the open door of Mdamic''s office, his face flushed with anger. "Are you out of your mind?" Mdamic let the scroll he was reading roll up and vanish back into his inventory. Slowly, he raised a finger to point at the Chosen of Oh. "You, sir, are being impertinent." "There''s four missing . With my fucking name against their requisition. How long do you think it will be before someone comes asking questions?!" "Questions to which you have no answers." "As if that''s going to satisfy them! What possessed you, Mdamic?" Fortunately for Khalid, Never Surprised kicked in, letting him dive to the floor before a flash of lightning took him in the chest. He rolled left and right, narrowly avoiding follow-up explosions as Mdamic stood and stalked forward. "Do not forget your place, Khalid. I have more than enough mana to keep this up all day. Certainly longer than your little pre-cog ability will be active. I will accept your apology now." Still rolling away from Mdamic''s lightning attacks, Khalid shouted, "I''m sorry for babbling. I was momentarily overwhelmed by unreasonable irritation." Mdamic paused in the act of flinging thunderbolts and smiled, the dark clouds over Soar vanishing and the sun breaking through. "Grovel accepted. Now, shall we discuss things in a calm and rational manner?" He indicated a chair and walked back to the other side of his desk, where he steepled his fingers in a gesture Khalid was coming to despise. "Now, did I direct some Temple resources to take the investigator into d''Avec''s murder off the table? Yes, I did. Did I use your authority to do so? Yes. It seemed prudent to cover my tracks. Do I feel bad about doing so? Not at all." "But to what possible end? My sources tell me that the Security Service has put their least respected man on the job. A Classless, no less. What did you hope to achieve by this stunt?" Mdamic''s smile broadened. "And I thought you were the brains in our little partnership. Had not Oh whispered to you about the identity of this Classless? Yolgorth has certainly made his feelings clear to me." Khalid shook his head. "I have heard nothing that causes me concern." "Then you need to listen harder. There is a concern, and Yolgorth is not the only god to hold this opinion that someone is taking advantage of d''Avec''s death to cause trouble. This investigator - this Lowe - has a reputation for following tracks further than desired. We all have things in play that it would not do to have too many eyes upon. Especially," and he pointed towards the floor above, "one particular set of eyes." Khalid nodded reluctantly. "But using my name . . ." Mdamic waved away the protest. "You will be questioned and answer honestly that you have no idea what occurred. The more pressing issue - and I would encourage you to discuss this with your god - is how a Classless investigator was able to kill and then dispose of the bodies of four running errands all night, and yet it seems Lowe is still hale and hearty this morning. My attempt may have failed, but it has confirmed Yolgorth''s suspicions." "Which are?" "Investigator Lowe is going to cause a lot of trouble. That is unless we find a way for him to quickly and quietly stop being an issue. Khalid stood. "I will commune with Oh over this matter as a matter of urgency." Mdamic watched him go, letting a flurry of lighting bolts play at his fingertips. Chapter 36 - Pub Time With Mylaf''s words about the High Priestess''s unusual behaviour before her demise fresh in his mind, Lowe embarked on a journey to the Middle Court. "You''re sure this was the last case she heard before her death?" he asked the as they crossed the busy street. Latham''s eyes darted around, their gaze shifting from one shadow to another, glaring at anyone who dared to approach Lowe. "It was Gravalk''s sevenday for assuming the role of the Deity of Justice. However, this was the only case that would have warranted the High Priestess''s personal attention. The other priests had handled the less significant matters, but the Ulton case was different. It carried the weight of a death penalty." "And who did she execute?" "A minor . To be honest, even though it was a murder, we were all a bit surprised she actually chose to appear herself. In theory, avatars should attend when it is their god''s sevenday, but it''s the sort of thing she could have passed off without any comment. But, no, she was there for the whole thing. A mate of mine had tried to organise the security detail, but she insisted on portalling in and out herself." "And he was guilty? The Mage she executed?" "The High Priestess found him so, and Gravalk''s fire was certainly hot that day." "That was definitely an answer to a question. I''m not sure it was actually the one I asked, though." Latham blew out air from his cheeks. "I guess it was somewhat of a surprise. The High Priestess, though, was so certain of his guilt that she cut off the defence case short. Wholly within her remit, of course. But that sort of thing is a touch unusual." Which was why they were calling on Ortel Maybourne, the Defence Counsel concerned. The short, stocky man with his golden sash was waiting for them outside the gates of the Middle Court. He was pacing up and down, obviously nervous about something. As soon as he identified the two men walking towards him, he hurried towards them. "Ah, Inspector Lowe. Warder Latham. I''ve been expecting you." "Counsel Maybourne, thank you for making the time. We have some questions about . . . " "Yes, yes, yes." Ortel started literally dragging them away from the court entrance. He had limited success moving Latham an inch. "Is there a problem?" asked Lowe. Ortel looked over his shoulder in the least surreptitious glance Lowe had ever seen. It was a good job that Maybourne had made a decent living in the law; he certainly was never going to have much of a career as a spy. It did not take Lowe''s years of experience to determine something had the tubby spooked. "Please!" Ortel was, literally, wringing his hands. "I have been told, under no circumstances, should I speak to you." Lowe began gesticulating wildly and angrily as if he were in an argument with Maybourne. "That''s fine. We''ll go and wait in the pub just around the corner. You know the one? Good, come and see us anytime in the next two bells." He punctuated the final word by rudely poking Ortel in the chest and spinning on his heels. Latham lumbered after him. * "Someone got to Ortel?" Latham said, carrying two pints of ale to the table in one hand and four packets of crisps to accompany them in another. "Cheers. But how are you still hungry, mate? I mean, do you have hollow legs or something?" "I''ve not slept in three days, little man. I have a Skill that can burn calories to replenish Stamina, but it''s a bugger to keep fuelled. Anyway, I''ve dropped it all on expenses. After being jerked around all night, I''m not feeling especially loyal to the Temple hierarchy right now." He tore each packet open and tipped the contents down his throat one after another. "Ortel. Who do you think got to him? Mr Law, Mr Temple or A.N Other?" Lowe sipped his ale, wincing at the odd flavour. Mindful of recent experiences, he pulled a charcoal macaron out of his inventory - Mylaf had produced a batch this morning for just this purpose - and bit into it. Latham raised an eyebrow, so he explained. "The ale tasted funny." The gulped his own and shrugged his shoulders. "Nah, I think you''re getting paranoid in your old age. But if you don''t want it . . . " Latham swallowed Lowe''s pint in two huge gulps. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. "This is truly like sharing a space with a bottomless pit." "The lawyer?" Latham prompted. "My money would be on Mr Law," Lowe said. "He seems to be the one dealing in threats, whereas Mr Temple appears to be all about the instant murder attempts." "And yet you''re not convinced he had d''Avec killed?" Lowe looked mournfully at the empty pint glass before him. He started worrying that Mylaf''s consumables might have ruined ''normal'' food and drink for him. That was going to be a bit of a bugger when this case ended, and she wanted to find other employment. Pulling a face, he turned his mind back to Latham''s question. "Let us say the jury''s out on that one. Which," he added, noting the appearance of a red-faced little man in the doorway of the pub, "was not an option Trellen Ulton was given." Ortel spotted them and hurried over to them, taking the third untouched pint and downing it in one. He gave a discrete little burp, produced a Totem of Silence, and banged it in the centre of the table. "Dearie, dearie, dearie me. Never in all my years with the Sash have I encountered such a palaver. No, sir. No sir, a all." Lowe nodded to Latham to go collect another few drinks. "Counsel Maybourne, thank you for coming to speak to us." "No, no. Thank you for being the first unexpected visitor I''ve had in the last day to show some decorum. Dearie me, it''s warm in here." He added a Totem of Air to the table, emanating a soft breeze. "Can I take from your comments that we were not the first visitors you have had of late who wished to discuss Gianna d''Avec?" Latham had returned, and Ortel relieved him of one of the drinks he was carrying, draining it dry. The second pint of ale seemed to settle the , whose level of anxiety suddenly appeared to be under control. He gave a little laugh. "We knew I was so popular? You, sir, are the fifth such caller I have had since the death of the High Priestess." He directed the following sentence at Latham. "And not one of your predecessors offered me a drink." The returned to the bar, muttering under his breath. "Can you tell me what you remember of your visitors?" Ortel waved his hand and refreshed his Totem of Silence. "The first was just some snidey little who I doubt knew why he had been paid to ask the question. I sent him packing in short order. Unfortunately, the two men who returned were less easy to dismiss." "They threatened you?" "They certainly tried, sir. It never ceases to amaze me how many of the Undercity have not encountered a before." Lowe winded. "Did you leave much of them behind to be identified?" "Of course," Ortel sounded offended. "I am not an animal. At least, not most of the time and certainly not on that occasion." He gave an oddly high-pitched giggle. "Little humour there. Ah, the waiter is back. Good show, sir." Latham sat down, carrying a tray with four drinks, and slammed it down with very little grace. "So," Lowe felt it politic to continue, "a , then a couple of hired muscle. Who else?" "Ah," and then the short man became, if possible, a little smaller. "Then things became much less pleasant. I was accosted on my walk home by a rather insistent fellow who was clear that my speaking to you would significantly impact my well-being." "That was yesterday morning?" Lowe thought it was instructive that Mr Law - if it was him - was warning off potential witnesses. It made him being the one to cut Setort up into little pieces feel a touch unlikely. "Indeed, sir. He had . . . a number of compromising images to supplement his threats." "And yet here you are, willing to talk." Ortel fixed Lowe with watery eyes. "I have been a lawyer for many years, sir. Once upon a time, I considered myself quite the dashing figure. I may no longer expect to progress further in my profession, but I have never allowed myself to be intimidated." "And your fourth visitor?" Latham had polished off another pint. "Ah, now she was intimidating. However, she was less anxious about stopping me from speaking to you and more about seeking information. Not unlike yourself, sir." Ortel added shrewdly. "Let me guess. No Class and no Level on display. Handy with a gust of wind?" Ortel''s eyes twinkled. "I see we share an acquaintance." "Tell us what you told her, please." "I can do better than that, sir. After all your hospitality, I''ll go so far as telling you the truth." * "Trellen Ulton was utterly innocent of the charges against him. You just had to look at him. He was incapable of speaking a mistruth, even when it would have been to his advantage. I came perilously close to being professionally embarrassed in my attempts to direct his statements, but he refused to budge. can be difficult like that. However, poor Trellen was obsessed with the idea someone else had slain his master due to his uncovering of Soar-wide corruption. You could barely get two words out of him without some conspiracy theory spilling from his lips." Ortel took another gulp of ale. "But do you know what''s worse, sir?" "What?" Lowe thought he knew what was coming. Things were just starting to snap into place in his mind. "I think he was telling the truth. Whoever killed Lord Falyn did so in such a way that any questions about his business died with him. And then Trellen followed him to the grave in short order, stopping any questions about his brother''s activities." "His brother?" Latham finished the other drinks and had moved on to licking the empty packets of crisps. Lowe retrieved a Victoria Sponge from his inventory and passed it over. The cake did something to Stamina regeneration, which he hoped might forestall some of the epic gluttony he thought would otherwise form a significant part of their future. "Yes, indeed. Markian Ulton was, to my mind, a far more appropriate suspect than Trellen. However, I never had the opportunity to present that alternative theory to an understanding audience." "Because the High Priestess incinerated your client?" "Indeed, but that was hardly surprising, considering." "Considering what?" Ortel smiled, the booze adding a sloppy side to his expression. He looked towards the expired Totem of Silence, then shrugged. "Well, sir. Considering Markian Ulton was her lover, it might have been a little awkward had he been accused of murder in her court." Yes, Lowe thought. It certainly would. Chapter 37 - Jewel Town Lowe had not spent much time in the Jewel District of Soar. It wasn''t that the denizens of those giant mansions did not commit crimes¡ªno, not at all. Rather, he reflected, it was that those in a certain outcome bracket were dealt with differently. In fact, he could probably count on the fingers of one dick the number of times members of the Security Services had crossed through the wrought iron gates that separated ''Jewel Town'' - as it was known locally - from the plebs who pressed up against them, hoping for a glimpse of a better life. There was a rumour that a whole department at Cuckoo House - as the headquarters of Commander Benorth''s city-wide force was known - was dedicated to rooting out corruption in the rich. If that was true, Lowe assumed it had access to all the resources of a particularly untrusted paper boy. "How the other half live, eh?" Latham said, having successfully bullied the to let them through. Lowe felt he''d got to know the big man fairly well over the last few days, but even his pulse quickened when the raised his voice to a particular volume. All things considered, he was pretty impressed the spotty Level 24 managed only to urinate down himself. Twice. "Half?" Lowe said, gazing at the first house on their left. He lost count of windows somewhere between ''fuckloads'' and a ''shite tonne''. "I think we''re in the presence of the top 0.5%." After ensuring Ortel had enough ale to help his way to oblivion, it had been evident that their next stop needed to be Markian Ulton. Even taking into account the fact coincidences happened all the time in Soar - the goddess Fortuna lived for that shit - there were certainly questions to ask about the circumstances surrounding Lord Falyn''s death and the subsequent execution of Ulton''s brothers by the woman Markian was - reportedly - fucking. That the High Priestess herself turned up dead a little way later did not make this any less suggestive. "Do you find it kind of odd that absolutely no one we''ve spoken to seemed to know that the High Priestess was performing the horizontal tango with this Markian?" Latham rumbled as they passed a veritable army of gardeners, ensuring the lush lawns were cut just so. A maverick part of Lowe had wanted to ignore the ''Do not step on the Grass'' signs, but he didn''t want to make these guys'' days any harder. From their expressions, being a servant in Jewel Town was hardly ''living the dream''. "Horizontal tango? What are you, twelve?" "You don''t have to swear all the time, you know. We have a vibrant and engaging language from which to draw." Lowe gawped a little at that. "Have you had a recent blow to the head?" "No. But one can be arranged for you if you would like." The glanced down at the piece of paper on which Ortel had scribbled an address. "Should be right up here on the right." If possible, the ''house'' they arrived at was even more imposing than any they had seen previously. It dominated the corner of the street, rising five floors into the sky. From what Lowe could see, there were more chimney stacks than he himself owned spoons. "How the fuck does a middling afford this?" Latham clicked his tongue. "There''s ''afford'' and then there''s ''afford''. I have always thought that those with the right connections have access to different credit streams than the rest of us." "And what connections does this dude have?" "Other than doing the upside-down canary with the High Priestess of Gravalk?" "You made that up, right?" "Maybe." The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. "Tell me, is there a Mrs - or Mr - ? I''m sensing some sexual frustration. Perhaps you should call the Gnome with the attitude from the Dungeon. You know, blow off some of this steam." There followed one of those silences where Lowe could understand why the had lost control of his faculties. "Okay. So, moving right along . . . I''ve not seen anything suggesting d''Avec was bank-rolling this guy. She lived in the family home in the fucking Ash District and left all her money to charity. She wasn''t anyone''s Sugar Momma." "You''d be surprised the value certain people put on contacts. I can imagine a set of circumstances where cleaning the High Priestess'' pipes would carry a certain cache." They approached what Lowe was determined to call a ''door'' in the absence of a more illustrious word. With a little more iron, it could have pulled off being a portcullis. "How are we going to play this?" Latham said, the pounding on the wood. "There''s every chance this guy is behind Mr Law - or at least is in the same food chain around him. I''m not anxious for you to be your charming, normal self on his own turf. A wrong word here could have some significant repercussions." "What are you suggesting?" There was the sound of hesitantly approaching footsteps. "You don''t think you can handle a little heat?" Latham turned to glare at him. "Little man, I''m pretty much fire-proof. It''s your flammable arse I''m worried about." Before Lowe had a chance to answer, with some effort, the door was wrenched open by a stooped old man in what appeared to coat and tails. His name was Jeeves, and he was a Level 43 . "You''ve got to be shitting me!" "And to think I suggested you might not be able to control yourself," Latham muttered. "Can I help you, sirs?" Even the man''s voice seemed to be straight from central casting. "Although it is lovely to greet new visitors, I do not believe we are expecting callers on this fine day." Lowe decided to take charge. It was a one heavy cream tea away from pulling a hernia. How hard could he be? "We need to speak to Markian Ulton." And then, because he wasn''t a dick. "If you please, Jeeves." If possible, the expression channelled even more polite disgust towards the Inspector. "I am afraid the master is not receiving guests at the moment. Nevertheless, I would be happy to make you an appointment for an appropriate moment?" Jeeves''s eyes were unfocused, and a calendar was suddenly projected outwards in front of them. Lowe could not help but notice the first available slot was in little more than a year''s time. "No. That''s not going to work for us, I''m afraid. Security Service business, don''t you know. Thanks for the offer, Jeevo, but this is a bit more urgent than that. I think it best we just drop in on him now." With that, Lowe moved to push past the little old man. This proved to be a mistake. Although it was certainly one of the more archaic of the servant Classes, was still very much in demand in the households of the more well-to-do. Or, rather, those known as the more-to-lose. Whilst the phenomenally wealthy wanted to feel safe, they did not really want to have a large number of guards cluttering up the place, making the antique furniture untidy and accidentally shooting the corgis. Therefore, the answer to that particular conundrum was that it was far more elegant to have all your security needs packaged up in one well-spoken homicidal maniac with a fetish for silver polishing. By the time Latham was able to move to intervene, even considering Lowe''s recent upgrades, the Inspector had barely enough HP left to survive an especially stern frown. "You okay, little man? Latham called over his shoulder, trying - with limited success - to hold the little ball of frenzied death that was Jeeves aloft at the end of an arm that was already cut to the bone. The crashed the into the wall a few times, but this did little to calm him. "Fuck''s sake!" he swore as Jeeves tore off a strip of flesh with his teeth and then spat it back right into his face. Lowe blinked as his body tried to deal with the colossal damage it had just received. Roll with the Punches was doing its best to keep him alive, but it didn''t really know where to start: Jeeves had absolutely bodied him. He could sense his mana exchanging for health at a frightening rate, which made him realise that if he had found this lead a day earlier, before this Dungeon experience, there was no question he would be dead. "Jeeves, I think I can accommodate these gentlemen. Feel free to stand down." The voice from down the end of the impossibly long corridor, with various doors leading off it, had the sort of aristocratic smoothness that usually would have wound Lowe up. However, as he was doing his best to climb up from the drain he was rapidly circling; he was willing to let it slide on this occasion. Especially if the voice was able to call off the rabid wolverine that was gouging chunks out of a . Fortunately, the moment he heard the voice, Jeeves suddenly became instantly subdued back to his stooped, deferential demeanour. "Of course, sir," he said, hanging limply from Latham''s bloodied grasp, "would your guests care for tea?" Chapter 38 - Markian Ulton The man sitting opposite Lowe triggered every single one of his class prejudices. And it wasn''t just the house that did it. Nor the . Not even Markian''s voice or ostentatious clothing were wholly responsible for rubbing the Inspector up the wrong way. Although - to be clear - they certainly helped develop the sizeable chip on his shoulder. No, what was especially getting Lowe''s goat wasMarkian Ulton''s attitude of supreme self-confidence. There was a particular way of sitting that thoroughly pissed Lowe off, and the man in front of him was utterly embodying it. Oh, and that emotion was exacerbated by Lower having to accept a new shirt from the man to replace yet another one that hadn''t survived being covered in his own blood. "You know," Latham stage-whispered as the tea was served by Jeeves, "it might save time if you just started the day bare-chested. Easier to wipe clean, you know what I''m saying?" "Or, you know, my fucking bodyguard could have faster reactions than a ninety-year-old man." "Little man, you tried to forcibly enter the property of a house guarded by a . Even I couldn''t foresee that particular moment of madness coming down the mountain. You''re lucky I got there as fast as I did!" "Wanker." "Tosser." "Prick." "Far be it for me interrupt your little . . . tiff, but I assume there is a reason why you have called upon me this afternoon?" Lowe turned his attention back to Markian. He was, even he had to admit, a startlingly handsome man. Tall, dark and with the sort of chiselled features that made the Inspector want to take better care of himself. Maybe get a whole night''s sleep occasionally. Drink water. Say ''hello'' to a vegetable once in a while. Perhaps stop getting repeatedly punched in the face. "Yes, Mr Ulton. I am investigating the death of Gianna d''Avec, the High Priestess of Gravalk." Lowe waited, wondering if that would cause a reaction. Markian''s face did not move any of its impressive muscles. "During the course of this investigation, your name has been provided as someone we should seek to speak with. I wondered if you would have any comment on that?" "Gianna d''Avec executed my brother." Lowe held Ulton''s gaze for an uncomfortable few moments. Latham coughed, reaching for the plate of biscuits Jeeves had thoughtfully left behind. "We''ve come quite a long way if that was your only question, little man. I assumed you had any number of invasive and irritating questions. Would you like to check your notes?" Lowe ignored him. "How did you feel about the death of your brother?" "Are you asking if the High Priestess''s actions might have given me a, how do you say, ''motive'' for her murder?" Ulton said the word in much the same way as others might emphasise the phrase, ''child rapist''. "Actually, I''m looking at things the other way around. Rather than you being all cut up about your brother''s death and angry enough with the High Priestess to off her, I''m thinking that she helped you out and removed an obstacle in your way. I hear rumours you would have been implicated in Lord Falyn''s death and that Trellen was going to share his thoughts there if the court case had gone on much longer. Seems d''Avec did you a favour when she burned him alive." Markian smiled thinly. "Meaningless scuttlebut, Inspector. Had my brother had any evidence to back up his ludicrous claims, he would doubtless have sought to produce it at his trial." "I''m sure he planned to. Obviously, your friend - the High Priestess - turned up the heat somewhat, and that quietened him right down." If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. "Perhaps. But we have no way of knowing that for certain, do we? Trellen is dead; what he may - or may not - have planned to say during his trial is wholly conjecture on your part. And, I might add, it was rather unprofessional of Mr Maybourne to share all of that with you. I wonder what his superiors would make of him breaking the duty he owed my brother''s client confidence." "I never mentioned where I received my information." "No, you didn''t. Funny that. I would suggest you ask the High Priestess to account for her own actions - rather than putting it on me - but she has rather lost her head late. Hasn''t she?" "I appreciate this is getting heated, but perhaps we should all speak of a fallen High Priestess with appropriate respect." Lowe was surprised by Latham''s comment and turned to look at the big man. Thus far, he had shown no inclination towards propriety regarding d''Avec. He''d joked repeatedly about her and the manner of her death. What was making him so po-faced now? Nevertheless, it was the impact of the words on Ulton that was even more surprising. "Quite right, . I am sorry for speaking out of turn." Markian picked at a piece of imaginary fluff on his crossed legs as he spoke, clearly disconcerted to have been upbraided. That was interesting. Lowe decided to press on, using the impetus Latham''s intervention had caused. "Did you have anything to do with Lord Falyn''s death?" There was a tense silence, during which time Jeeves reappeared in the giant drawing room, carrying a tray of crumpets. Markian watched the put them down in the middle of the occasional table, removing the empty plate of biscuits that Latham had pretty much inhaled. The slow speed at which the old man was moving made somewhat of a mockery of the pincushion he had turned Lowe into, using nothing more than his fingernails and a can-do attitude. "Do you really expect me to answer that question?" "I don''t know, mate. In my experience, most people like to clear it up sharpish that they had nothing to do with murder. Those who get all ''no comment'' about it tend to have something to hide. But you do you." Markian was not finding Lowe''s approach charming. "Inspector, I have a long history of supporting the Security Services. Why, just the other day, I was saying to Commander Cenorth during our regular round of golf that I was always happy to add my financial backing to any hardship funds that might exist. Do you play golf? Well, I was thinking that arrangements should be made for those who, from no fault of their own, find themselves Classless, for example. Would such a bursary be of interest to you, perhaps?" "Putting that unsubtle attempt at both intimidation and bribery to one side, I''m still not hearing an unequivocal, ''No. I had nothing to do with the murder of Lord Falyn.''" Lowe bit into one of the crumpets, dripping butter down the new shirt Markian had just arranged for him. By the look on the face, there probably was not going to be a second offer. "Was there anything else, Inspector? It turns out I have a prior appointment after all. Jeeves, please show these gentlemen out." Markian stood and was making his way out of the room. Jeeves moved to intercept Lowe, who followed, firing questions. "Did you have Lord Falyn killed, blame it on your brother and then have your lover cover it up? Were you in a relationship with the High Priestess?" Markian whirled around, his handsome face now twisted into something more like a sneer. "A gentleman never kisses and tells, Mr Lowe. Doubly so when the lady in question is no longer around to protect her own reputation. I would have thought someone of your scruples would respond to that instinct. I am sure your young lady friend - Arebella, is it? - appreciates your discretion in such matters. Particularly since your fall from grace. Such a shame, Mr Lowe. Such a promising career thrown away on a point of principle. Tut, tut, Mr Lowe." Lowe was dimly aware that Latham was wrestling with Jeeves again. However, all his focus was on his white-hot rage towards this smug man. It was like his vision had narrowed to a pinprick of anger. "Are you threatening my friend, Mr Ulton?" "I do not deal in threats, Inspector. I have people for that. Now, if there is nothing else . . ." Fuck it, thought Lowe. "Mr Ulton, it is my duty to inform you that you are currently a person of interest in the matter of the death of Gianna d''Avec. I am unsatisfied with your answers concerning the murder of Lord Falyn, and I have concerns as to how you are currently funding your lavish lifestyle. What is more, I suspect you may be involved in attempts to thwart a lawful investigation - namely, with organising various assaults upon my person and threats made against those close to me. I also don''t like your face." Power swelled around Lowe as he activated the Skill that he had missed the most when stripped of his Class. To be scrupulously honest, he thought, it was not his Skill per se, but rather one that was connected with his job - no matter how temporarily reactivated - in the Security Services. "I am placing you under an immediate Restriction Order." With an explosion of choral music, the text above Markian''s head went a bright red as the Restriction Order took hold. The man literally sagged to the floor as the weight of the restriction landed on him. Lowe strode forward until he stood over him, leaning forward to whisper into the stricken man''s ear. "I trust you will be more forthcoming when next we speak. Oh, and ''no''. I don''t fucking place golf." With no further ado, Lowe snatched another crumpet, turned and left the building. Latham extricated himself from this battle with Jeeves and hurried to follow after him, doing his best to keep the goofy grin off his face. Chapter 39 - Performance Review "Have you completely lost your mind?" Lowe thought it wise not to answer. "I could not have been clearer that you were on a temporary reinstatement with limited powers beyond the immediate investigation into the murder of Gianna d''Avec. Do you remember her? The fucking High Priestess of Gravalk who was killed a few days ago? I was sort of hoping that might have been at the forefront of your mind, especially considering a second priest of Gravalk was also murdered yesterday! Some people might think that - bearing in mind that particular god is a FIRE DEMON - you would be putting your all into clearing those two little snafus. Just good sense, really. But no, not Jana fucking Lowe. What''s he been doing? Well, let me tell you. This chaotic pinball of an investigator is running up to Jewel Town and acting like he''s got jurisdiction to put Markian Ulton - yes, that Markian Ulton - under a Red Notice!" Lowe let this slide by, too. You didn''t need to swing for the fences at every ball. "Oh, but not just any old Red Notice. No, you went big on it! Not only did you imply he was responsible for killing the High Priestess. No, you really wanted to shine today. You decided to really fucking piss on my chips. You suggested he was involved in a shadowy conspiracy around the death of Lord Falyn - a crime that the city has already found someone guilty of and had them executed - and that he is living a criminal lifestyle on illegal earnings. And -" Cenorth had to take a breath here - "you then accused him of funding a series of attacks on a Security Service officer.." "Just a few points of order, if I may?" Cenorth waved his arms. "Please, I''m dying to hear what you have to say about all this." "First of all, I didn''t imply he''d killed the High Priestess. I outright stated it." "Lowe . . ." "No, no, no. If we''re doing this, let''s at least be accurate. Neither did I ''suggest'' he was involved in the murder of Lord Falyn. The fucker absolutely one hundred per cent did it. He could barely stop himself from admitting it and crowing that I could do nothing about it. Oh, and I do have a witness that his took me out to the woodshed and whacked me with a two-by-four." "Completely unprovoked?" "Now you''re nit-picking. I guess that largely depends on how stringent we are going to be around the definition of ''breaking and entering.''" Cenorth slammed his hands down on his desk, scattering scrolls everywhere. "Jana, just stop. I''m not finding you charming right now. Do you have any idea of how badly you have fucked things up?" Lowe let the echo of his boss''s voice fade away before replying. Everyone outside the Commander''s office was doubtless enjoying the show. The fuckers. "We finished yet, boss?" Cenorth narrowed his eyes. "No. We absolutely are not finished. Jana, are you trying to make me fire you?" "Been there, done that, failed to be given any sort of leaving party. I am not sure that''s quite the threat you seem to think it is." "Lowe, you are sailing very close to the line here." "Look, if I''m going to stand here and take a pasting, can we at least try to make it semantically accurate? I''m either ''sailing close to the wind'' or in danger of ''crossing a line.'' To do both suggests a familiarity with transport logistics that I''m not sure I have in me." Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. "Lowe, you have to see why what you have done is inappropriate!" "Why?" Lowe raised his own voice now. "Are you seriously telling me I am way off base here? It appears to be an open secret that Ulton set his brother up for Falyn''s murder. Unless you''re suggesting whoever investigated that one is so breathtakingly incompetent they never stumbled upon the potential lead that, just maybe, the incredibly rich man living in a house the Mayor would respect, without any obvious way of paying for it, just might have had something to do with it? Boss, Ulton is shady as fuck! Falyn was murdered because he was about to reveal something scandalous about the business community in Soar. There was no reason in the world for Trellen Ulton to be involved in that. He was fucking helping Falyn investigate! Markian Ulton, on the other hand? He''s a crime boss who clearly had the High Priestess on his side - oh, and on her back, too. The dude was fucking the High Priestess of Gravalk! At the very least, ignoring everything else, that puts him on the suspect list." Cenorth tried to interrupt, but Lowe just raised his voice louder. "Ulton got his lover to wrap up his brother''s case as fast as possible. Trellen never even got to offer a defence before she barbecued him. Do you not find that interesting? Noteworthy? Potentially criminal? Oh, and then let''s not forget he definitely has tried to have me killed at least once since you gave me the case. You could at least pretend to care that someone''s taken a hit out on one of your officers. Just for the sake of office morale. Basically, if I rocked back up to Jewel Town and stuck a dagger in his eye, I reckon I''d instantly clear up a shedload of open cases. And you want me to drop the Red Notice? Get the fuck out of here!" They stared at each other, both breathing heavily. It was the Commander who broke the silence. "Inspector Lowe, I am formally instructing you to declare that Markian Ulton is no longer a person of interest in the death of Gianna d''Avec." Lowe shook his head. "Nope. No way. He''s obviously involved, boss." The Council does not concur." "Since when does the Council direct SSS investigations? They explicitly do not have the oversight. I''m pretty sure there''s a whole constitution in a fucking framed picture above the Mayor''s desk that makes that abundantly clear." "Fuck''s sake, Lowe! You are not some wide-eyed kid on their first case. Don''t pretend you don''t understand how this all works. The Council do not wish you to pursue Markian Ulton. Not for Gianna d''Avec''s murder. Not for Lord Falyn''s. And not for any of the other bollocks you locked into that Red Notice! You will release him from the Restriction Order. Now!" Lowe stood and carefully pushed his chair under the table. "Sir, I respect that you are in a difficult position here. You''ve given me a thorough reaming - one of your better ones, I''d say. And we both know I am quite the connoisseur of these things - and I can assure you I am suitably chastened. If it helps, I''ll even shed a tear or two when leaving, just so the troops know you have giant cojones." "Lowe . . ." "No, I think I''ve heard quite enough from you now. I am not going to let the Council interfere with an ongoing investigation. I don''t have all the answers yet, but I''m telling you something fishy is happening. Look, I''ll admit that I could be wrong. Fucking hell, it would hardly be the first time, but putting Markian Ulton on a Red Notice is the right thing to do. I would be failing in my duty if I simply let him slide because he knows the right people''s balls to scratch." Lowe lowered his voice, a note of sincerity creeping in. "I''m doing the right thing here, boss. And do you know what? You''re only so immensely pissed off because you know that too, and it''s killing you to warn me off. Come on, Yacob. You want to have my back on this. Just give me a few more days, and I''ll have it wrapped up for you." Cenorth stood, not meeting Lowe''s eyes. "Inspector Lowe, are you refusing a direct order?" Lowe''s face hardened. "I''m telling you to go fuck yourself. Sir." Cenorth ground his teeth and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Don''t be stupid, Jana. This isn''t me coming down hard for no reason. This is the Council telling you to put your dick back in your pants and walk away. Listen to me, you''d earn yourself all sorts of credit in doing so. I hear they''ll even look again at your suspension." "Boss, I''ve already received one bribe today. That one didn''t stick either." "You''re leaving me no choice here. If that Red Notice is not rescinded immediately, that''s it. You''re done. You will be out - officially this time - and there won''t be any coming back. If you thought being Classless was bad, I''ve been told to inform you that the Council will take special interest in your life moving forward. And it''ll be the end of your protection. Think about that for a minute. Some very rich and very powerful people are very pissed with you. You can either make a smart choice and earn a little gratitude, or you can . . . be you and invite a world of hurt." Cenorth came out from behind his desk and crossed to Lowe, putting a hand on his arm. "As your friend, Jana, I''m telling you to let this go." Lowe shook his head. "You know I can''t do that." Cenorth paused, then took a deep sigh. "Yes. Yes, I do." Chapter 40 - Snatched Latham was waiting outside Cuckoo House, the home of Soar''s Security Services, when Lowe came down the stairway. The big man''s face was as stern as Lowe had ever seen, which was saying something. He walked towards Lowe, pointing his finger accusingly. "What the fuck have you done? I''ve been ordered back to the Temple!" Lowe shrugged. "Nothing that didn''t need doing. And it''s not like I haven''t been here before." "They fired you?" "To be fair, I think telling your boss to ''go fuck yourself'' probably counts as a resignation. But I''ll let HR figure that one out." Although he was manfully pulling off a studied insouciance, in truth, Lowe was reeling a little. He had known that making Markian Ulton a person of interest in the case would be putting the wolverine amongst the pigeons. Still, he was a little taken aback at the considerable shitstorm it had started. And he was more than a little disconcerted by Cenorth''s reaction. When the Commander had suspended him last time, he had been royally pissed off. But he hadn''t been worried for him. There had been no ''as your friend'' conversation after Lowe had lost his Class. That the Commander seemed so worried made Lowe think that he''d properly fucked up this time. Placing someone under a Red Notice was the legal equivalent of pinning a suspect to a display board and getting the microscope - and sometimes the scalpel - out. It meant that all of Markian''s logs - financial, communication and geographical - were instantly transferred to a little room in the basement of the building Lowe and Latham were stood in front of. Even now, a team of hyper-focused - crucially under no one''s jurisdiction whatsoever - would be pulling apart every tiny detail of Markian Ulton''s life. The of Soar were actually an interesting anomaly in the Security Services. After a series of corruption scandals, the Mayor had altered the nature of Red Notices so that only the investigator who activated the process could rescind them. The thinking was that this would stop senior officers from unilaterally choking off investigations. The upshot of this was that having refused to cancel the process and then being dismissed, the would continue with their work and deliver their report regardless of what Commander Cenorth tried to tell them. He would have liked to have been there when they, ever so politely, told him to take a running jump. However, as with so many things the Mayor fiddled with, the theory was much better than the practice. It turned out that linking a Red Notice so firmly to an individual had the unintended consequence of significantly reducing the life expectancy of officers who issued them. No living investigator. No Red Notice. Despite this, it meant that Red Notices were kind of a big deal. They were one of the primary reasons most people did their best not to fuck with Soar Investigators. The thinking being that it was infinitely preferable to seek to work with someone who was reasonably bribable than to embroil yourself in a tangle with the administrative equivalent of Stage 6 cancer. Interestingly, and this was why Lowe assumed the hammer had been brought down on Cenorth quite so strongly, for as long as the Red Notice was active, all of Markian''s subsequent actions would be added to the stream of data flowing into that busy little office. So, for example, any panicked Sending Stone messages sent out since Lowe''s visit or, gods forbid, compromising conversations with Council members insisting something was done about the investigator would all be added to the pile. Lowe could see why that might have somewhat excited the Council, the Temple, and maybe even the Mayor. Latham was shaking his head. "If Markian was the one who put Mr Law on you, I sense your sevenday deadline might be about to speed up." If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Lowe shrugged again. "Then all the more reason we needed a Red Notice on him. You''d be amazed at the speed at which the guys on that team can go through someone''s logs. With any luck whatsoever, we''ll have him on the hook for the murders before too long." Latham drew close, lowering his voice. "Little man, this is a stupid risk. The bodies of four - all sliced into little, tiny pieces - have just been found in the park opposite your apartment. Rumour is that they were the ones supposed to be making your acquaintance last night. The Temple is . . . riled up." "I had nothing to do with that, Latham." "It ain''t going to matter." The turned and punched the wall behind him, putting his fist straight through it. "You''ve got Mr Law, you''ve got Mr Temple. And now you''ve got everyone who works with me with enough free time to come down and lynch you for killing some of their own on your case. And that''s without adding in Markian Ulton - and whoever is bankrolling him - being pissed off you''ve opened up their little pandora''s box of secrets." Latham hit the wall again, and Lowe winced. He was beginning to worry about the structural integrity of Cuckoo House. From the looks of the very concerned ''passers-by'' who had been lingering around since Lowe had exited, the powers-that-be inside were getting worried, too. "Even if I were still assigned to you, I''d only give you 50/50 of making it through the night. You are truly and utterly fucked!" Lowe did his best to plaster on a smile and held out his hand. Latham shook it reluctantly, a look of dismay on his face. "It''s been a pleasure, . We''ll always have the Forest of Iraklion." And, with that, Lowe turned and walked for home. * It was hardly the first time Lowe had a clock ticking down on his lifespan, but he''d long ago made his peace with the fact that he needed to go all in to do his job properly. He knew he was pretty unusual in this. Even before his fall from grace, there was a distance between him and those he worked with at Cuckoo House that had nothing to do with personality. Cenorth had never insisted he worked with a partner - despite that being the norm - for that very reason. It wasn''t just that Lowe wasn''t willing to do some of the things his fellows saw as ''the cost of doing business''. It was also that no one else was willing to be around Lowe when he took something . . . personally. If there was any surprise when he was stripped of his Class, it was only that it had taken so long for the city to get around to it. So, he understood that everything he had just put in motion was going to come with a cost. And, once again, he realised he was comfortable paying it. Some things just mattered. If Markian Ulton - or his backers - were responsible for killing the High Priestess, then the Red Notice would reveal that. It would also clarify if Markian were involved in any of the threats against Lowe and Arebella. Of course, should the turn up at his apartment this evening with an axe, a shovel and a determined expression, that would probably tell its own story, too. However, Lowe felt there was much more to all this than just one rich, powerful man looking to become even richer. There was a missing glove. And some seaweed in a candle. And a second murdered priest. And then whoever it was that ordered to do him over. And who, in turn, killed them. There were a whole load of questions he did not think he was much closer to answering than he had been when he first stood on the Third Floor of the Celestial Temple and looked at the body of a murdered woman. Unfortunately, in his reasonably broad experience, the only way he knew to unstick such a paper jam was to do something big and stupid and wait to see who took exception. Arebella had often suggested to him that there were easier ways to solve a crime than to wait and see who turned up to kill you. Lowe had explained he just thought of it as cutting to the chase. Making sure he refreshed every one of his cooldowns from Mylaf''s best Perception-enhancing muffins, he approached the foreboding dark alley that cut through the park and to his street. Every instinct he possessed told him this was the perfect place for an ambush. Anyone who wished him harm had had enough time - while Cenorth chewed him out - to set up something crudely effective in this alley. There were no Observation Hubs active in this part of town, and the chances of any witnesses coming forward - as four had found out to their cost - were pretty remote. This was a part of Soar where bad things happened to good, bad and indifferent people. And no one would care. Which was just how Lowe liked it. He knew it was going to be an enormous act of self-harm to walk into the darkness of that alley. At best, he was going to be set upon by someone who wanted to monologue whilst kicking the shit out of him. At worst, they''d just kill him outright. No quicker way to cancel a Red Notice than to cancel the investigator. But he was out of ways to move the case on much further. He would either come out of this experience enlightened, or he wouldn''t come out of it at all. Lowe was okay with both. Which, he realised as he stepped into the darkness, was probably not an especially healthy worldview. * A pair of eyes, in which spinning tempests burned, watched¡ªunblinkingly¡ªwhat occurred next. After the bloodied body of the Inspector was bundled through a portal, those eyes flared, and they, and their owner, quickly vanished. Chapter 41 - A Little Light Torture "You''re an unusual man, Mr Lowe." Right now, Lowe didn''t feel especially unusual. He was hesitant to open his eyes and check out his tormentor - he was fairly sure this was the guy who kicked his arse in the Tower of Law - because every time he had done so thus far, someone had punched him in the face. Of course, they''d been punching and kicking him for the last few bells, anyway, but by the seventh - or was it the eighth? - time he''d returned to consciousness, he was open to experimentation. Maybe if he couldn''t see his tormentors, they weren''t really there? He felt it was worth a shot. A fist crashed into his stomach, stealing his air - well, so much for that idea. Shame, he''d been pinning a lot on that - and toppling him out of the chair he''s been positioned on. Which was actually good news. The fact he''d fallen out of it meant they''d untied the leather straps that had been holding him in place. Lowe was all about the upside right now. Two sets of hands picked him up and unceremoniously dropped him back on the chair. "It''s rude not to look at someone who is speaking to you, Mr Lowe." He cracked open one eye - the other wasn''t too keen on responding right now. Roll with the Punches was being quite the little Skill that could, but 20/20 eyesight was so far down the pecking order where his injuries were concerned that he wasn''t too surprised. The beating he''d received had been so thorough that his mana stores were utterly depleted - even with all his extra points - and his Skill simply couldn''t keep up. For the first bell or so, they hadn''t even asked him any questions. The man who sat opposite Lowe was almost offensively nondescript. There was no name, Level or Class above his head, which suggested he was in the presence of someone with serious juice. However, to look at him, you would never have guessed it. He was small and dark and had the sort of face that could be studied for half a bell but still would defy an accurate description. The man was sat cross-legged in the chair opposite Lowe in a spotless cream suit. So, whoever had been slapping him around, it hadn''t been this guy in his Sunday best. Although, as soon as he saw Lowe looking at him, the man stood, removed his jacket, popped his cuffs, and rolled up his sleeves. Lowe assumed the hands-free approach was about to change. "Thank you, Mr Lowe. Politeness costs nothing." Four or five quips crossed Lowe''s mind, and he considered it a sign of personal growth that he kept them all inside. That or he didn''t think his jaw was quite solid enough to move yet. "As I was saying, you are an unusual man. It may surprise you to know that you are not the first person my employer has required me to question in this manner." It was an effort, but Lowe controlled his shock and amazement. After waiting a few moments to see if a reply would be forthcoming, Mr Law pressed on. "However, you are certainly the first who, at no stage, had asked ''why?'' It is almost like you were expecting us to come for you." Lowe wrinkled his nose in an experimental way to indicate, he hoped, disinterested unconcern. All things being considered, though, that was quite a complex emotion to demonstrate with just a nose wiggle. Mr Law looked at him briefly, then glanced over Lowe''s shoulder. He had just enough time to realise what was about to happen and brace himself - not that it helped - before a fist crashed into his ear and sent him back to the floor. He was back in the chair in moments, with Mr Law''s bland, disappointed face watching him. "This really is all very pointless, Mr Lowe. I have no interest in causing you unnecessary harm. In fact, it would appear that there is very little permanent damage we can actually do to you - other than kill you, of course." Mr Law let that hover in the air, regarding Lowe as if he were a fascinating insect sample. "So, how about it? Shall we converse like normal human beings, or do we continue with this unpleasantness?" He sounded so reasonable, as if they were discussing how best to split the cream and scones in a tea shop. Lowe risked moving his jaw and was pleasantly surprised to see the bigger cracks had fused together. "What do you want to know?" If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Lowe would have liked to think that his voice might have carried defiance and courage. He was, therefore, disappointed to hear it bleat out like an especially irritated sheep. "There we go. I knew we would reach an accord. Now, I do not want us to get off on the wrong foot here. I will not mislead you and pretend there is any prospect of you leaving this room alive. All that remains is for you to decide how unpleasant your final moments will be. I would encourage you to take the path of least resistance. It would be unfortunate if, for example, we needed to collect a certain to join you here." Lowe took a deep breath, feeling his broken ribs protest. "Ask your questions." "Excellent. I told my employer earlier that you were a reasonable and sensible man who would not wish to involve anyone else in this business. Why don''t we start with something straightforward? Who killed Gianna d''Avec?" It was such an unexpected question that it took Lowe a moment to appreciate what he had heard. He tilted his head, feeling his neck creak in protest. "You did." Mr Law sat back, making an odd little tutting noise. He glanced above Lowe''s shoulder again, and there was the expected moment of ''unpleasantness''. A helpful hand wiped the blood from his face so that he could be all presentable for his interrogator. "I will ask again, who killed Gianna d''Avec?" That last beating seemed to have loosened Lowe''s tongue somewhat. "Mate, far be it from me to tell you how to hoodlum, but it was only a few days ago you were kicking my arse and telling me to let the whole thing drop. Pick a lane, dude. Pick a fucking lane." "To be fair, Mr Lowe, what we know about you made it very unlikely you would follow that advice. Indeed, here you sit, five Levels of progress made and having ruffled all sorts of feathers with your actions. So, I ask you again, who killed Gianna d''Avec?" Lowe''s brain was racing. He had assumed that whoever was holding Mr Law''s leash had been¡ªeven tangentially¡ªinvolved with the death of the High Priestess. "Why warn me off if you hadn''t been involved?" The nondescript man waggled his finger back and forth. "Now, now, Mr Lowe. That is not how this works. There is no quid pro quo here. I ask, you answer. Or you will be hurt. Who killed Gianna d''Avec?" "At the moment, I''m leaning towards Markian Ulton." "Why?" "The two were in a relationship. I think the High Priestess interfered with the trial against Trellen Ulton. There are other things I need to explore there, but it wouldn''t surprise me to hear that the two had a falling out, and Markian thought it wise to have her silenced before she revealed his guilt in the death of Lord Falyn." There was a pause. "And for this reason, you put him under a Red Notice?" Lowe shrugged, pleased to feel that his shoulders seemed to be functioning again. "I was getting nowhere, so figured doing so would cause a reaction." He licked blood away from his split lips. "And I was right on the money. However, if you are not connected to Ulton . . . " Lowe left the question unasked, and Mr Law did not race to answer it. Instead, he pressed onward in his polite, even tone. "And you resisted significant pressure to rescind that notice from the Council: accepting being fired and losing your protection detail rather than bow to their demands?" "What can I say? I react poorly to authority." "Indeed. Pardon me for pressing the issue, but for clarity, can I report to my employer that Markian Ulton is still under a Red Notice and that his logs are being analysed at Cuckoo House whilst we speak?" "Sure. Whilst I breathe, I''m not cancelling it. At the very least, that guy needs his finances looking into." "Interesting." Mr Law sat back and pressed a finger to his lips as if considering. Then he leant forward again, his eyes almost eager. "I''m going to throw a few names at you. It would be useful if you were to indicate if you have had cause to consider them as suspects in the murder of d''Avec." Mr Law proceeded to share a list of the great and the good of Soar, most of whose names hadn''t been mentioned by anyone Lowe had spoken to over the case. With every shake of the head, it was like his questioner was becoming more and more frustrated. Lowe sensed this probably did not bode well for his long-term well-being. "And the priest, Setort. Do you have any ideas about what led to his demise? As you can imagine, operatives able to circumvent Dead Zones are not exactly many and plentiful. I would like to make the acquaintance of whoever killed him. Briefly, at least." "Best I''ve got is someone from the Temple. From what I heard, a welcome wagon followed me home from the crime scene. Fits with someone there being responsible." "Hmm. Well, you certainly do seem to have irritated the Chosen of Oh. You believe that was a follow-up to killing Setort?" Mr Law''s eyes flicked above Lowe again, and the inspector braced himself for another blow. Instead, the bland man gave the hidden presence behind him an instruction. "Can we locate Chosen Khalid, please? I will need to speak to him. As a word of advice, he has a substantially irritating pre-cog Skill that may make collecting him . . . challenging. Carrot rather than stick, perhaps." Mr Law''s attention returned to Lowe, and with a bead of panic, the inspector recognised that the interrogation was coming to an end. "I have to say, Mr Lowe, I am regretting pulling you in. It appears you are no further through your investigation than we have been able to get. I had thought, with your actions against Markian Ulton, that you may have uncovered something tangible. Instead, it is rather disappointing to learn that this was just another example of your signature ''spray and pray'' approach to detective work. I would caution you to, in the future, be more circumspect in your style, but we both know how this is going to end." Mr Law stood and dusted himself down, rolling his sleeves back down and replacing his jacket. He was no longer interested in Lowe and spoke to whoever lurked behind him. "Give it another few bells for the Red Notice to collect everything useful and then dispose of him. I don''t want to hear that his body is found." With that, the dapper man with the unremarkable face left the room, leaving Lowe with a bottomless pain - one that Roll with the Punches could do nothing about - settling in the pit of his stomach. Chapter 42 - Game Time "This is a fucking military compound! Hel''s face betrayed no frustration at Tenia''s tone, but inwardly, she was seething. They''d definitely lost their edge since the last time they were in the field. There was a time when the would never have dared question an order. Even eye contact with her would have been beyond the small, dark woman. Now, it was bitch, bitch, bitch . . . To let off some steam, Hel allowed a little hurricane to form in the palm of her hand. "We''ve taken down worse." "With all due respect . . ." Tenia noticed the spiralling column of air and managed actually to put some respect into her voice. Fear. Respect. Hel would take what she could get right now. "I mean, what I''m saying is that it''s been a while since we were actually active. At least as a team. Do you really think we hit a fucking armed installation as a way of easing ourselves back into the swing of things?" "Don''t you want to know who killed the bitch?" "Of course I do. But there''s got to be an easier way to go about it than tooling up for war!" "I don''t know what you''re moaning about, T," came a deep voice behind them. "I''m looking forward to getting back to it. Blow off some of the rust." Hel wasn''t sure whether having Charl on her side was all that helpful. When the brain-damaged team member liked your plan, it was kind of beholden on you to think again. Tenia obviously thought the same. "Oh, well. If Charl is on board with Operation In Over Our Heads, then I have no worries whatsoever. He''s our resident tactician, after all. Awesome. No follow-up questions." Hel tuned her out. Following the group that had kidnapped Lowe was no issue at all: they hadn''t even bothered to hide their tracks. To start with, Hel assumed they were incredibly sloppy. Then they reached their destination in the euphemistically titled ''Peace'' District, and the reason for their nonchalance became clear. "Why has a group of mercenaries taken you, Mr Lowe?" she found herself asking over and over again. The guy appeared to be a magnet for trouble. It was not even a day since she''d disposed of the four oafs from the Temple lurking outside Lowe''s apartment. Initially, she''d been tempted to put a scare into them and let them go, but then she''d seen some of the implements they''d brought with them, and it was clear it wasn''t just a punishment beating they had planned for the inspector''s future. As far as she was concerned, throats cut by Wind Blades was as merciful as she was prepared to get in that situation. Following that, having little else left to do now plotting the death of a certain High Priestess was no longer on her dance card, Hel had been idly shadowing the inspector as he moved from the Middle Court to - interestingly - Jewel Town, to Cuckoo House and then to his abortive trip home. She assumed something fairly catastrophic had happened at Security Service HQ as after that, Lowe lost his shadow and picked up a whole host of tails. Hel had dropped Irek a message to drop in on her sisters - the had a uniquely effective set of Skills when it came to those two - and let the other two know to catch-up with her when they could. The problem now was that it was just her, Tenia, and Charl, which gave Hel a growing sense of unease that they may be shorthanded for what was to come. Thinking the same, Tenia made one last effort to talk her boss down. "Hel, I''m all up for a bit of recreational violence - I think my record is clear on that front - but you, me and dumbo - " "Hey!" "Like that''s not an accurate description. Look, we''re good, but that place just screams evil madman''s lair. I''m seeing double patrols, nasty surprises lurking in the shadows of those windows, and, if I''m not mistaken, there''s the aura of someone well out of league in the basement." "Nobody''s out of my league!" Charl puffed up to twice his normal size, at which Tenia rolled her eyes and went to speak again. Hel got in there first. "I''m taking all of this into account. But we''re still going in." Hel reached out a hand and rested it on Tenia''s forearm. "We''re not good people, T. We did some terrible things back in the day, and I know I''m not the only one who struggles to sleep at night. Right now, I think we''ve got an opportunity to pull one back on the right side of things." Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. "You''re willing for us to die getting that guy out of trouble?" "Of course not." And the hurricane doubled in size in her hand. "But I''m not against a whole bunch of them meeting their god if they get in our way." * Shel Murad, Level 31 , loved her job. If she occasionally wondered what the targets she was instructed to put an iron-tipped bolt into had done to deserve it, the triple XP she received from hitting them from over 500 yards away helped settle her moral qualms. She and her boyfriend had made plans to get married on the day she crossed her Level 35 threshold. At her current rate of progress, that should be in about a year and a half''s time. She''d already spotted the ideal dress and - "Got another one," Charl whispered - or as much as a twelve-foot tall could whisper - as he ripped the sneaky archer in two. It was the third such hidden assassin they''d flushed out as they approached their target building. While ''Hide behind Charl'' was not exactly straight from the strategic masterplan handbook, it proved oddly effective. Unfortunately, what they gained in terms of survivability, they lost in sneak attack potential. Still, you played the hand you were dealt . . . "Okay - " Hel said, wincing as four bolts struck Charl in the chest, burying halfway into his muscled flesh. Charl had always said he didn''t feel any pain when inflated, but he looked like he was taking a fucking pounding - "Tenia, do your thing." Most people had the wrong idea about . They spoke in hushed tones about how they caused your worst, most profound fears to manifest right before you. Then there was the way that effect lingered well past the initial confrontation - casualties to action had been logged six, seven years after first contact. And, of course, there was the range of ''Quality of Life'' Skills the Class had access to - Life Leach, Slow, Widow''s Bite, to name but three - which made them an absolute ballache to try to pin down. And all of that was true. But no one ever bothered to remark how cool Tenia looked doing her thing. The screams of various , and were music to Hel''s ears as she flew across towards the building with wind-assisted speed. This had always been the way they tended to go about things. And she had to admit, a very small - and growing - part of her missed it. Charl would draw everyone''s attention, Tenia would add to the panic, Irek would inflame that fear to massive proportions, and Hel would slip in and do what needed to be done. Without the , Tenia was required to work a little hard to raise everyone''s blood pressure, but she was rising to that challenge like a champ. "Charl! Door!" The giant lumbered forward, crushing a buff under his feet, before shrinking down to the exact size of the barred iron door and crashing through it. "Ha!" he yelled back to Hel, who was standing barely a foot away, "finally hit 45!" "Good for you!" she yelled back. Charl''s hearing seemed to degrade badly when he was in full Berserker mode. Fortunately, he quickly stopped flashing golden, indicating he''d allocated his Progress Points. Three came out from a door down the left-hand side of the corridor they''d exposed, and Hel casually directed the hurricane she''d been pulling behind into the middle of them. They were instantly torn to shreds: couldn''t have been much more than Level 20. "What did you go with?" Charl smiled, then inflated back to his maximum size, his head and torso crashing through the floor above. "All about the girth, baby!" He levered himself upwards on his forearms and shrank back down to normal size as he vanished through the hole. The crashing noise from above indicated further destruction was taking place. Hel recalled her hurricane, now stained a deep red, and continued down the hallway. When she reached an open door on the right, she moved her summoned spiral of wind in and around the room beyond, devastating the furniture and causing a number of satisfying screams from whoever was lurking within. Tenia phased through the wall and came to stand next to her. "I''m not going to lie, these guys are shit." She pulled open another one of the doors and slipped inside - letting off all sorts of nastiness at the cowering guards inside. Hel had to agree. For all the bravado she''d shown outside, she''d worried that they might be a touch out of practice. Particularly when looking at the sheer range of defences this building appeared to possess. However, the standard of antagonists they''d come up against - at least so far - was rather underwhelming. With a crash, Charl dropped through the ceiling a little way down, carrying the crushed remains of five . He dropped them at Hel''s feet like a puppy proudly showing off a well-hunted stick. "What''s the story, boss? Where are the decent baddies?" There was a pause. "Or are we the baddies? I sometimes can''t keep track." "No Charl. On this occasion, we''re not the baddies." Hel said. Although, as that was the moment Tenia returned, covered in blood and licking her fingers clean, she didn''t think anyone would be shouting ''all hail the hero saviours'' any time soon. "Any sign of the poor little lamb we''re here to save?" Tenia said, teeth stained red like a particularly sloppy vampire. Hel closed her eyes and reached out with one of her less destructive skills, Head Trace. "There''s a bunch of heat sources beneath our feet." She paused. "I think this might be where the better talent is." "And your lost detective?" "Him too." Tenia stretched her back out, then opened her arms, letting streaks of malevolent red energy spiral outwards. The answering cries from the rest of the defenders on this floor were, again, not the stuff of the moral high ground. "Well, there''s no one left alive up here. What are we waiting for? Unless you''ve changed your mind?" Hel shook her head. If whoever had taken Lowe wasn''t planning on killing him before they crashed the party, they absolutely would be reconsidering that position right now. "The plan''s still the same." "Fair enough. So we''re going down?" "Yep. Charl, this one is on you. Time to Get Heavy." "It will be my pleasure, boss." He took a massive breath, activated the skill Hel had suggested, and leapt into the air. Chapter 43 - Cogs Turning It took Lowe longer than he might have hoped to realise that something was up in the building where he was being held. In his defence, he had quite a lot on his mind. Principally, of course, was his impending death. It was hardly the first time he had been threatened by someone whose path he had crossed - sometimes, it was even to do with cases he was investigating - but he feared Mr Law was more than his typical opponent. However, there was nothing he could do about that right now. He scanned the room, searching for a way out. But the walls were bare, and the door was sealed shut. His heart sank a little deeper. Nevertheless, he was now fully healed and at maximum mana, but - and this was a pretty significant worry right now - he sensed this would just prolong his death. The guys holding him didn''t strike Lowe as the sort to give up and go home because the first blow didn''t one-shot him. So, rather than dwell on his imminent, bloody fate, he''d turned all of this attention to the case of Gianna d''Avec. Mr Law''s employer had twice warned Lowe off investigating what had happened in the Temple. But he was confident now that it wasn''t because they had anything to do with it. As far as Lowe could tell, their main concern was that they wanted to identify who was responsible before the Security Services closed in on them. Which was interesting. Likewise, although there was obvious, pragmatic glee in having access to all Markian Ulton''s logs, he didn''t get the impression Mr Law liked him much for the murder either. So where did that leave things? Of course, there was whoever Mr Temple was. The person who had caused Latham to go missing the night before had to have some juice in that building, but the fact that the attempt on Lowe''s life hadn''t landed suggested a lack of competence Mr Law clearly possessed. There was merit in thinking whatever had happened was due to some sort of intestine warfare on the upper floors. Sertor''s death likewise fed into that. But . . . If you wipe out a Level 67 in her own fucking Temple chamber, it felt pretty unlikely you''d fumble an effort on a Classless investigator. His guy told him Mr Temple was playing their own game - which did not have the High Priestess'' death at its heart. Lowe clicked his teeth. Where did that leave him? He had two separate, powerful entities, both trying to stop an investigation into a murder they - apparently - had nothing to do with. And a third, well-connected, smug and very slappable man is also seemingly in the clear. In the often-reported words of his dearly departed mother, "What the fuck, Jana?" And who swiped Hel''s sister''s glove in between her leaving it and Lowe arriving? He''d been pondering things for a while when the noise from above finally began to penetrate his mind. Lowe stood and moved to the door - oddly, the sound seemed to deaden when he pressed his ear to it. He stepped back and looked upwards. Yep. It was definitely coming from above. Was he in a basement? Then the noise went up a level - hey, let''s call it what it was, screaming - and a little kernel of hope started to warm his soul. Had Latham come for him? There was a series of loud crashes as if someone was tearing down walls, and then a rather ominous silence settled. Had the rescue attempt failed? Then, there was a bang against the door, nearly removing it from its hinges, and Lowe scuttled backwards to get clear. A second strike was all it took to free the door from the gap, and a familiar figure stood wreathed in dust and smoke. * Mr Law - whose real name was Leoto Bright - was enjoying his latest assignment. It wasn''t that he found dealing with these people as beneath him . . . no, no, it was exactly that. He had forgotten what an insular little place Soar truly was. Even those who professed to understand the ''big picture'' were obsessed with such pointless, little games. Like that chancer, Markian Ulton. The only time he had smiled in the last few days had been when he''d heard that Red Notice had been slapped on his cocky face. The amount of information Cuckoo House would now have on any number of corrupt officials and petty gangsters had really cheered him up. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. However, his employer wanted answers about the death of the High Priestess, and he had only negatives to share. Maybe he should have left Lowe out there as bait for a few more days? See who made a move on him? Hey, ho. You live and learn. A drive to act precipitately had ever been his primary flaw. That and overconfidence. Because, of course, Leoto Bright had a lot to be confident about. It was just that overconfidence that had him filter out the chaos above for longer than he really should have done for someone of his experience. His absolute conviction he was the shark in these waters blinded him to the sound of the rest of his shoal being eaten alive. Only when he searched for a messenger to run to his employer did he notice far fewer minions in the house above him than there should have been. It took him no time for Threat Assessment - just one of his Legendary Skills - to identify what had happened and suggest possible counter-approaches. It caused him a moment of concern that "RUN" appeared as a 5% solution in the optimum paths to follow. What on earth was going on up there? Refreshing his various bonuses, Bright - more cautiously than he ever liked to truly be - began to make his way up the narrow stairway to the house proper. * In the sort of coincidence that suggested at least one god might be taking an interest in what was happening in the increasingly derelict building in the Peace District, Charl smashed his way through to the underground floor at the precise moment Bright made his way upstairs. Hel lowered herself and Tenia down through the gap on a stiff breeze and quickly moved towards the entrance of a room which screamed ''torture holding cell''. Two figures with the sort of build most usually associated with stepped to bar her way. Neither displayed their Class or Level, which cheered the up. She had thought they''d left their days of casually slaughtering those ill-equipped to combat her group behind them, and it had been a somewhat dispiriting evening thus far. So the appearance of these two had potential. "Charl, watch our backs. Tenia, the ugly one is yours. I''ll take pretty boy." "Twas ever thus," the muttered, hitting the shorter of their opponents with a stream of luminous green energy that did little for the poor fellow''s attractiveness. Dark red boils burst out on his skin, oozing with a creamy yellow pus. Interestingly, the disfigurement appeared to make little impact, and the man ran forward to tackle Tenia to the ground with a heavy crash. Hel barely had chance to quip, "T, don''t play with your food," before her own foe started to get spicy. There was no art to taking on someone who could hide their attributes. While long enough study could prepare you for anything from a known entity, there was a particular frisson when fighting with an unknown. Hel threw out a couple of speculative Wind Blades, twisting the air into itself to disguise her own information. To an untrained eye, it might be assumed she was some sort of common-or-garden . The man before her - and he was damn handsome, she noted - calmly tanked both of her strikes. He did, she was pleased to see, wince when presumably checking his HP after the second one hit. Yes, that''s right, baby. Mama has clout, she thought, diving to the floor to avoid the man''s swinging axe as he blurred towards her and attacked with preternatural Agility. Interesting, she thought as she rolled left and right, then backwards on a puff of wind as good-looking went to absolute town on the flagstones beneath her. Each strike left some sort of acidic residue behind, further demolishing the hard surface. Hel didn''t need all her years of experience to know she did not want any of that on her skin. A glance told her Tenia had finished off the ugly guard and was now filing her nails with all the studied indifference of someone feeling damned proud of themselves. The body at her feet was revealed to be a Level 53 , which, presumably, was what her own dance partner was likely to be. That Class gained multiple bonuses when working in pairs. Bonuses which Hel was confident would have just run out when Tenia separated his mate''s head from its shoulders. Hel took a moment to remind herself about this Class, particularly its unfortunate susceptibility to sudden decompression. With a flourish, she hardened a shell of wind around the man and sucked the air out in a quick and ultimately bloody explosion. "I took mine out when his defensive bonuses were active," Tenia said as if speaking to herself. "Yes. Well, well done, you." "Didn''t know what his Class was either. Had to go old school on him." "Yep. You did some solid work there." "You might say you owe your kill to my efforts . . . " "Fuck sake, T. You can have the XP." With a flick, Hel directed her gains from the kill over towards the whilst simultaneously summoning a quick Cyclone Blast at the torture room''s door. It exploded inwards, and Hel quickly stepped through. Lowe blinked owlishly back. "Hel? I was expecting someone taller." Hel smiled and dropped a portal stone on the floor. "Well, you know how it is. Once you pick up a stray, it''s hard to watch when they try and put him down." A shout from outside the room drew both their attention. It was Charl bellowing a war cry, followed by Tenia expressing something like outraged concern. "We need to go!" Lowe suddenly became very sombre. "Call your people back. They don''t know what they''re messing with." Hel didn''t need telling twice. She activated the portal stone, throwing the inspector through it and tugging on the emergency threads of air she''d long ago attached to Charl and Tenia for just this eventuality. Tenia arrived first, throwing everything she had back down the corridor as she was sucked into the room. "Charl!" she screamed as she vanished through the portal. Then Charl came crashing through the doorframe. Or at least, most of him. Whatever he had been fighting with had removed his forearm and taken a massive chunk out of his belly. He was unconscious - a state Hel didn''t think she had ever seen him reduced to. What the fuck was coming?! She wasted no time bundling him through the portal, jumping in after him and leaving one of her hurricanes behind to shatter the portal stone into a thousand pieces once she was through. Unfortunately, this would not turn out to be sufficient. Chapter 44 - A New Skill It took Lowe a moment to orientate himself when exiting the portal. And by ''orientate,'' he meant ''vomit profusely. This made for a less than stable-footing for the short, dark-haired woman who appeared seconds behind him. The blood-covered figure slipped in Lowe''s sick and went sliding into a shop window. Then, a giant followed, gouts of blood streaming from a succession of wounds, any of which were clearly mortal. His unconscious - at best - form added its own fluid to proceedings, sliding across the cobblestones on the same track as the woman, crashing into her and through the window. Lowe stood and moved towards them, but then the portal stone exploded, and Hel sailed through, landing far more elegantly than anyone else had managed thus far this evening. With a wave of her hands, she directed her flight directly to the shop the other two had violated and landed next to the enormous man. "Fuck a duck, T! What happened to him?" "Advanced Class," said the dark-haired woman, shaking with pent-up tension. "What the fuck have you got us into, boss?" Hel turned to look at Lowe, her face expressionless, and then down to her injured friend. "Late. Charl first. Have you got any potions?" "I''ve used them all!" the woman''s voice was approaching hysteria. "It was a fucking Advanced Class!" Hel cursed and put her hands on one of the wounds on Charl''s stomach, trying to staunch the flow of blood. "How come he''s not healing?" "That guy - he tore out a bunch of organs! - Hel, you don''t understand how bad it was. I''ve never seen someone more so fast. If it wasn''t for Charl . . ." Tenia paused and shivered. "I can''t remember ever being so underpowered for a scrap." As Lowe watched, the giant began shrinking as if the air was being released from him. As someone who had become fairly familiar with mortal injuries, he couldn''t see how the guy was still alive, let alone that there was any chance of healing him. Hel looked over at him, her face grim. "We need to move. If whoever that was possessed an Advanced Class, just destroying the corresponding portal stone won''t slow him down for long. But we can''t move Charl like this. He''s bleeding out!" Lowe put up his hands. "Tell me what you need me to do." "Can you heal him?" Lowe shook his head. "My Skill is linked to me. It only kicks in when I''m hurt; I can''t direct it outwards." Tenia''s face clouded with scorn. "Fuck''s sake!" She squatted down at Charl''s side and pulled a belt out of her inventory to die around his severed arm. Considering the volume of blood now on the shop floor, Lowe couldn''t help but think of stable doors and bolting horses. Hel tilted her head and looked at Lowe strangely. "But you do have something, though, don''t you?" she said, stepping forward and touching his chest. "I have a Skill that lets me categorise people. From what you''ve told me of your Build, you should be flagged as a Tank, but it''s not as simple as that." Hel was staring at him intently, but all Lowe could do was shrug helplessly back. "I don''t know what you expect me to do!" "He''s my friend, Mr Lowe. He came to help me free you because I asked him to. He had no questions and no complaints. He risked his life for you, and it is not right he dies like this. Not after everything else. This is not how his story should end." "If I could do anything, I would." Lowe''s eyes were wide. "I don''t have a Class, Hel." She gently pushed him towards the dying man, and Lowe knelt by his side. The amount of blood was utterly incompatible with survival - and he knew of what he spoke. Hel stood over him, still talking. "All that means is that you don''t have any limits on what you can do. You''re not a Tank. You''re not tied to any god. You''ve even got an extra technique slot than you should. I don''t think you understand how free you are from the usual bullshit in Soar. Now use all that freedom and heal my fucking friend!" Hel forced his hands onto Charl''s chest, Lowe''s fingers slipping deep into one of the wounds. It hardly seemed like a good sign that his prospective patient made no complaint over that invasion. Blood oozed out, but without any real pressure behind it. Lowe assumed the giant''s heart had given up. He could hardly blame it. Lowe pulled up Roll with the Punches. It sat dormant as he was, for once, carrying no injuries. There was nothing he could do to trigger it. Well, there was at least something he could do about that. "Hit me," he said to Hel. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. It might have been nice if she''d hesitated for even a second, but her fist lashed forward, breaking his nose. His Skill switched on and began channelling mana to his face. Lowe watched the stream of blood energy as it moved. He''d never really taken the time to do so before. Of course, he was usually more concerned with concentrating on whoever was giving him a shellacking at the time, to be especially bothered about how it kept him alive. With his Intelligence at Rank 2 and with all the extra points in Wisdom, the injury was healed in no time, and it had barely touched his mana pool. His Regen would have it back to full in moments. "Hit me again. Harder." This time, the blow fractured his cheekbone as well, a shard of cartilage from his nose sliding back to his brain. There was an awkward pause as Roll with the Punches reversed some pretty traumatic brain damage, and then he was able to function again. "Yeah, there''s a happy medium between the two. Dial it back a little next time." Now, however, when the threads of mana spiralled towards his shattered bones, he tried to grasp hold of one of them. He might as well have been seeking to grab trails of smoke. Whilst wearing boxing gloves. Under water. He could see them and knew in some sort of fundamental way that they were corporeal and that he should be able to do what he was attempting, but before he could figure it out, the injury had healed. Lowe growled with frustration and sat back a little. Tenia leant forward, touching Charl''s forehead. "He''s pretty much gone, boss. It''s now or never." Hel raised her eyebrows at Lowe. "Can you do it or not? We''re out of time." She didn''t mention that the fragments of portal stone lying down the street were spluttering as if someone was trying to put them back together. The amount of power that would take with a shattered source was astonishing. Given what was coming through, anything Lowe could do to help Charl would probably be academic quite soon anyway. Lowe shrugged helplessly. "I have an idea, but I''m healing too quickly to try it. Have either of you got a Damage Over Time Skill?" Tenia perked up. "Absolutely," and she began twirling her fingers. "One that won''t one-shot someone of my level?" "Ah," there was a pause, then the smiled. "Funnily enough, I actually do." * Under less pressing circumstances, Lowe might have objected to willingly having Body Odour cast on him. It was a rather unpleasant Skill that said nothing good about the person who had chosen to have it in the technique repertoire. As well as creating a foul stench around the subject¡ªthe intention being to force the person under its auspices to become separated from their party¡ªit activated a nasty bacteria on the skin that, essentially, consumed the body from the outside in. Very slowly. Hel and Tenia had retreated to the far corner of the shop, the placing a small tornado between them and Lowe in order to flush the reek up and away from them. Feeling a touch self-conscious, Lowe put his hands back on Charl''s body - he couldn''t help but notice the blood wasn''t running any more - and looked at the streams of mana flowing from Roll with the Punches. As opposed to the single, powerful stream that repaired Hel''s punches, hundreds of smaller tributaries were spreading out to combat Tenia''s curse. However, whereas the damage caused by the punch could be quickly addressed, the constant ticking destruction that Body Odour was delivering was much less easily resolved. "Lowe, get the fuck on with it !" said Hel, raising several feet off the ground and filling her hands with Wind Blades. "The portal is about to come back online." Trying to ignore the sensation of his flesh liquifying, Lowe attempted to grab one of the mana tendrils. At first, he had no luck: his mental movement just passed straight through them. They vanished and reconnected to the constant damage from Tenia''s D.o.T. He tried again and again, getting absolutely nowhere. He was about to tell Tenia to drop her Skill when a final flail dragged some threads along with it. Without any place to go, they quickly diffused into the air, but now Lowe felt he was getting somewhere. He repeated the gesture, this time making the threads push towards Charl''s body. The attempt failed once. Twice. But on the third time, two or three of the blue threads stuck to the body and began sucking down mana like an alcoholic with the keys to the brewery. "Lowe!" "It''s working. A few more seconds, then he might be stable enough to move," he said with all the confidence of someone who had no fucking idea what he was doing. But, somehow, he knew he wasn''t wrong. He could already see the enormous man''s chest rising and falling, and some of the more dramatic of the wounds began to flow with blood again. "He''s still on his way out, but we''ve some time now." He looked up at Tenia. "Can you stop melting me now?" Body Odour dropped off, and the came forward to help Lowe pick Charl up; one truncated arm over her shoulder whilst Lowe went under the other. Blood was gushing from his injuries now. "Boss, we''re good to go!" Hel tore her attention away from the rapidly opening portal, a flicker of hope interrupting her spiralling dread. But where should they go? The monster forcing his way through a fractured portal could track them pretty much anywhere they went. But then an idea formed. The gateway at the Tower of Law had significant anti-trace technology, which just might muddy the waters for long enough for them to slip away. "Anyone know anyone in the Tower of Law?" Lowe was a little slow to respond, mostly because he was still trying to repair the damage Tenia''s curse had done to his skin, but also because what skin he did have left was slickering with the gold light of a Level-up. "Erm, sure. I might know someone." * Leoto Bright exploded through the remains of the portal stone, his vengeful aura killing all life within a tight four-foot perimeter. He wasn''t a madman, after all. He was momentarily disappointed to see that his quarry had fled and that there was no obvious trail to follow. He sniffed the air but could not seem to get a lock on where they had gone. Which was frustrating. The shop he was facing exploded into shards of molten rock. But then, he reflected, they really did not have all that many options left open to them. If Lowe wanted to solve the mystery of Gianna d''Avec''s murder - and after their short time together, he felt he knew the inspector intimately well - sooner or later, he would have to return to the Celestial Temple. Bright set off at a slow saunter. He would wait for the detective there. Chapter 45 - Medic! This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Chapter 46 - Subterfuge If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Chapter 47 - The Speaker of Yolgorth Lowe and Arebella found themselves in a massive room, at least half as big again as the one in which Gianna d''Avec had been discovered. In the centre of the chamber was a single, colossal throne made entirely of bone, on which sat the Speaker of Yolgorth. Lowe knew - everyone knew - that the Speaker had been a in his pre-evolved state. But knowing and seeing were two different things. Countless scars crisscrossed the avatar''s weathered face, souvenirs from battles long past, yet his nose, absurdly, was as straight and pristine as a prince''s, as if it had never seen the wrong end of a fist. Most of the rest of Mdamic''s face was covered by a tangled mass of hair: shaggy eyebrows, sprouting tufts from ears and nostrils and a beard cascading down his chest like a waterfall of iron-grey brambles. It was so unruly that it pretty much obscured the ceremonial dress he wore¡ªrobes that seemed to fit him as naturally as a bear in a tutu. The rich, deep purple fabric was embroidered with holy symbols and runes depicting Yolgorth in its various forms, which must have been quite the contrast to the coarse furs and rough leathers of his former life. Despite the incongruity, Lowe thought he wore them with an air of begrudging dignity, like a wolf forced into a collar but still very much a wolf. He took a little half-step to put himself in front of Areblla. "Come. Come," Mdamic beckoned to them. As they drew closer, they both were very aware that the Speaker''s massive frame dwarfed the macabre seat where he sat, which was audibly creaking under his weight. Lowe couldn''t help but notice that his hands were basically heavily calloused shovels. Each finger was adorned with rings of gold and bone, their designs clashing in a riot of barbaric splendour and ecclesiastical authority. This was a man who was used to hitting things and having the reasonable expectation that those things stayed hit. That he had also been granted the power to rain thunderbolts from the sky caused Lowe, not for the first time, to reflect that life really was not especially fair or kind. The whole vibe in the greeting chamber would have been insanely intimidating if Mdamic was not currently sucking on a comically large, pink-striped lollipop. "So, the Convention of Bugs, eh?" Mdamic''s voice was only slightly muffled by the confectionary he was licking. "You have my assistant''s knickers in quite the bunch." Arebella made to answer, but the Speaker held up a finger. "No harm, no foul. I will enjoy unbunching them for her shortly." He gave a little giggle, which, when given context by his words, the room, his size and the lollipop, made Lowe determine the two of them were not going to be best friends. "But -" the temperature in the room dropped through the floor as storm clouds covered the entire ceiling -"that is your one and only free pass. Should this audience displease me for a moment, should you lie to me, should you prevaricate, should I merely grow bored, then . . . " A lightning bolt crashed down and struck the floor to Lowe''s left. It left a little scorch mark in the tile, which - by the look of hundreds of fellow marks the length and breadth of the room - was not an uncommon occurrence. "Well, you will not be able to say you were not warned." Satisfied he had been sufficiently clear, Mdamic sat back and gesticulated with his lollipop in a ''get the fuck on with it'' gesture. Lowe took a moment to reconsider the advisability of his plan: they were hazarding an awful lot on this play. While confronting the Speaker of Yolgorth in his own receiving chamber was a solid plan in theory, the reality of standing in front of the avatar was a deal. He had just enough time to experience a brief sinking feeling of dread before his mouth decided to take over. This, in his experience, rarely led to ideal outcomes. "It looks as if you tried to have me killed." Mdamic raised a bushy eyebrow. "I have to tell you, that seems spectacularly unlikely. You are, after all, still alive." "You altered the rota to remove my protection detail and then sent four to murder me in my home." If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. "Doesn''t sound like me. I''m not known for my administrative capabilities. Rotas and suchlike hold little interest. Likewise, if you think I need to use others to do my smiting, then you really do not know very much about me at all. But I assume you have evidence to back up your outrageous assertion? My signature on a requisition form, for example?" "You used another avatar''s name on the paperwork. I have to say, I am disappointed to learn that identity fraud is still a thing, even at your level. I would expect a better class of fraud." Arebella''s breath caught as a torrent of lightning strikes exploded around them. Lowe held the Speaker''s gaze throughout the storm, mainly because he was sure if he broke eye contact, he''d run. "If you''ve quite finished? Not for nothing, but if you''re going to try to pull off this sort of thing, I''d suggest you consider some sort of disguise. Cuckoo House had a series of very clear visuals of a rangy motherfucker with one eye, a spear and a giant thundercloud above his head, filing the appropriate paperwork. Maybe a hat next time? Honestly, it almost looks to me like you were hoping to be seen." When he popped into Security Service HQ earlier, Cenorth explicitly did not give Lowe permission to view that particular file. Still, coincidentally, he had needed the toilet almost immediately after opening the recording stone on his desk and loudly forbidding Lowe to view it. He''d even knocked politely when coming back in to make absolutely sure Lowe wasn''t looking at it. Mdamic shrugged. "So? You think there''s anyone who is going to care about what happens to some no-mark investigator without a Class?" Arebella stepped forward. "Not at all, Speaker. You are, after all, quite within your rights to smite whoever you wish. While you occupy this floor, the Mayor is clear that there is no oversight that either Cuckoo House or the Tower of Law has over you or your actions. No, we are happy to leave such checks and balances to Arkola." At the mention of the dweller of the First Floor, Mdamic glanced upwards and shuffled uneasily. "Quite right. It is not for you to question my motives. I am empowered to enact Yolgorth''s will. So why are you here?" "There have been suggestions that the recent death of Gianna d''Avec might have been at your hands." "Have there?" Mdamic''s voice had become dangerously low. Arebella did her best not to shiver as the temperature continued to plummet. Instead, she attempted a little careless shrug. "You know what rumour is like, sir. From what I have heard, the High Priestess was all but measuring this room for curtains. That must have been rather humiliating. To drop down to the Third Floor after all this time? But that wouldn''t be the end of it, would it? Whenever this has happened before, the displaced avatar did not just drop one place. The other gods scent blood and descend like vultures. It''s a long and quick descent to the basement, is it not?" "I rise and fall at Yolgorth''s will." Lowe decided he wasn''t going to let Arebella have all the fun. "And if Yolgorth had wanted Gravalk''s avatar to have an unfortunate accident, you would have acted?" Mdamic moved his one-eyed gaze from Lowe to Arebella and then back to Lowe. Neither of them could quite shake the impression he was range-finding. However, when he finally spoke, his voice had transformed. Gone was the hectoring, belligerent sneer. In its place was something far more wry. "What Yolgorth wants, Yolgorth gets. I can assure you that if I had been instructed to kill d''Avec, I would not have been able to rest whilst she still lived. I am comfortable to share with you that I received no such order." "Yolgorth did not want her dead?" Arebella asked Mdamic laughed humourlessly. "Yolgorth wants everyone dead, my dear. It''s kind of his thing. However, in the specific rather than the general, there was no particular animosity to the Fire Demon''s avatar. I had thought my, and Yolgorth''s, impending drop down the Temple''s floors would have been displeasing to my god. However - " he paused, as if considering his words, before shrugging and continuing - "Yolgorth rather enjoys the thrill of the chase, as it were. My god finds stasis boring. To tell the truth, I have sensed more pleasure emanating down our link at the prospect of hacking a bloody path back up the Temple than I have since reaching the Second Floor." Arebella glanced at Lowe and then stepped forward again. "My client believes that you sent those men - extremely low Level grunts for someone of your reach - to ensure he kept looking into Gianna d''Avec''s murder." Mdamic didn''t answer. "That the attack was meant to fail and that your intention was to provoke him to continue, with greater focus, in his investigation." Mdamic still didn''t answer. Lowe took over. "To be clear, I am working under the assumption that when I take things to the next step and bring matters to a close, I am not going to be making you into my enemy. That you actually do what this case solved. But you know what they say. Assumption is the mother of all fuck-ups. So here we are. Two beings standing in front of an avatar, politely checking that he doesn''t want to kill them." Lightning crashed down from the ceiling. Arebella and Lowe both closed their eyes, but crucially, they were not reduced to cinders. The Speaker of Yolgorth laughed, a long, booming noise which was peculiarly unsettling. "I have nothing more to say to either of you." The door behind them opened and Szana was there, tapping her foot on the floor in a gesture of profound impatience. They were just exiting when Mdamic''s voice echoed around the chamber once more. "Yolgorth is looking forward to what happens next." Lowe couldn''t help but feel that statement could be taken any number of ways. Chapter 48 - Countdown Lowe and Arebella were portalled back to the ground floor of the Celestial Temple and took a moment to let the cold dread leak from their bones. He had been pretty sure he''d been right about Mdamic''s intention in sending the muscle Hel had slaughtered outside Lowe''s building, but it was good to have it confirmed. It was as he had suspected: the Speaker had wanted to motivate him to keep his attention focused on the case - and had figured an ineffective murder attempt would do just that. Lowe couldn''t help but feel there were less potentially lethal ways to achieve that. If it hadn''t been for Hel lingering around that night . . . well, he wasn''t as confident as the Speaker of Yolgorth had been that he could handle four . The danger of being the avatar of a god is that you forgot that lesser beings were somewhat more squishy. Without Hel, what had been intended as a little light motivational exercise would undoubtedly have been game over. Speaking of Hel . . . "Well, who would have believed it! You''re still alive. Wonders will never cease. That''s ten pieces of gold I owe Tenia that I won''t be seeing again, I can tell you. Stage one is complete then, I guess?" "You never mentioned you were betting on my likely demise when we were discussing this plan," he whispered to the . "Well, you know, I didn''t want to bum you out. You were all wide-eyed and enthusiastic about it. Delighted to see I was wrong, though. But, just so that you know, we''ve spotted your Mr Law." Lowe''s blood ran cold. That was earlier than he had hoped. He needed the answers to a few more outstanding questions before that - potentially fatal - confrontation. "Where?" "Don''t piss yourself yet. He''s on the other side of the Temple, watching the crowds coming in. He looks royally pissed, though. You know," Hel continued, "when this is all over and done with, you might want to think about what it is about your personality that makes people so keen to kill you. I mean, I''ve got decades of blood on my hands, and I can pop to the corner shop without the expectation of being jumped and murdered¡ªjust something to think about." "Cheers. I''ll get right on that. Do you think he''s noticed the missing yet?" "Doubt it. I imagine he''s got other things on his mind. As Tenia''s poisoned the coffee he''s drinking, I suspect he''s not feeling too fresh right about now. Nothing lethal - although, I doubt she could pull that off, anyway - but he''s staying close to the washroom if you know what I''m saying. Ah, there she blows. Poor diddums is on another trip to the porcelain throne." Lowe gripped Arebella''s elbow and manoeuvred her away from the portal stones. "Okay, this is as far as you go, Bella. Mr Law is here already, and I''m not prepared to risk you against him. I will have to get through the next bit on my own. You need to go home." "No." "What do you mean ''no''?" "It''s pretty self-explanatory, Jana. I mean, ''no, I''m not leaving.''" "What makes you think you have a choice here? Do you not understand who is coming after me! He''ll kill you." Arebella put a hand on her hip and glared up at him. "It''s been a year, Jana. A year of not knowing whether you were alive or dead. A year of waiting to hear you''d been found in an alley somewhere. A year of hearing people laugh when they mentioned your name: of listening to the jokes about the ''mighty falling''. If you think I''ve gone through all of that and then I''m not having your back, you have another thing coming. Stop worrying about me and get on with your ridiculous plan." Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Lowe was about to answer when bloody writing started appearing before his eyes. "If you don''t want her, I''ll be fucking her every which way and twice on Moon''s day. The little lady has got some fire in her!" He blinked Tenia''s words away and opened his mouth to speak. However, before Lowe had a chance to answer Arebella, she was striding back towards the portal stones, moving past the long queue that built up during their stop on the Second Floor. Chin in the air, Arebella marched straight up to the front and addressed the who stood before it. "We," she glanced behind her to make sure Lowe had followed, "have an urgent message from the Security Services." Arebella brandished a scroll emblazoned with the seal of Commander Cenorth - "No, you absolutely may not ''borrow'' my seal, which I will leave in the top drawer of my unlocked desk as I pop to see the officer next door. I won''t be using it until tomorrow, by which time I expect to see it there again." - please stand aside so that we can deliver it." The looked down at the diminutive lawyer, clearly unsure how to play things. Most people did their best to avoid the notice of , so someone actively being rude to them was quite a new experience. Indeed, part of the reason that Arebella insisted on coming along was how unlikely a was to punch her in the face. "Whereas," she had said to Lowe, "history would suggest that people simply cannot resist the opportunity where you are concerned." He couldn''t deny she had a point. "That will be all, Eva," A familiar voice came from over Lowe''s shoulder, and Latham strode forward to release the woman guarding the portal stones. Looking mightly relieved at the problem becoming someone else''s, the slipped away, allowing Latham to take her place. "What the fuck are you two doing here?" If Latham was pleased to see them, his brain had forgotten to tell his face. "I''m fine, thanks for asking," Lowe said. "Had a bit of trouble literally seconds after you fucked off from having my back, but nothing some heavy psychotherapy shouldn''t fix. I hear all the cool people have PTSD from epic torture sessions nowadays." Something flashed across Latham''s face. "I heard you were taken," he said softly. "But no one had any idea who by or where you were being held. I did ask." There was a pause. "Pretty persuasively, actually. But it was like you''d vanished off the face of Soar. No one knew anything. As it is, I''m glad to discover you appear to have more friends than just me. Astonished, to be honest, having spent some time with you." There was a pause. "I''m very glad to see you made it through." "Unfortunately, it appears I have developed quite the capacity to absorb physical punishment. I''m still not sure whether I should be thanking you for that, by the way." Latham shrugged. "Any day you wake up alive is better than the alternative. It sounds like you''re in danger of becoming a whiny little bitch after a few love taps. Speaking of which, I hear you''ve been throwing your weight around on the Second Floor?" "I wouldn''t put it quite like that, Mr Latham," Arebella began. But Lowe couldn''t make out the rest of what she was saying because Hel was back in his ear. "Shit. Bad news, Lowe. Mr Law has successfully wiped his arse and has just spotted you. He''s coming your way. And quickly. We''ll do what we can to slow him down, but your plan suddenly has a fairly tight deadline." There was a frustrated shout from behind him, but Lowe didn''t turn to look around. He was not sure his nerve would hold if he saw that bland, nondescript face closing in on him. "Fuck, he''s already gone through Charl. I thought that would hold him for longer. Okay, I''m going to have to step in and help Tenia. We''ll do our best, but . . . I wish you good luck, Mr Lowe." The kerfuffle behind Lowe increased, and Hel''s voice vanished from his head. In something approaching panic, Lowe stepped close to Latham, grabbing him by the front of his tunic. "I need you to let us through and then lock this portal." "I can''t do that, little man. The standing orders for that particular Floor are very clear." Shouts of outrage and surprise increased behind him, and Lowe - once again - fought the urge to turn around. "Latham, I think I know what''s been going on. But if you don''t let me through, I''m not going to get a chance to clear it all up. Please! I think you''re as interested as I am in getting to the bottom of the High Priestess''s murder. But if you don''t let me through, right now, I''ll never have the chance to solve it!" A massive gust of wind blew through the ground floor, smashing windows and flinging doors open. Latham glanced up and over Lowe''s shoulder at the commotion. At that moment, Arebella darted forward and activated the portal stone, pulling Lowe through behind her. He just had the chance to meet the outraged expression and yell, "Lock it behind us!" as the light closed around them. Chapter 49 - Confrontation Leoto Bright held a hand to his queasy stomach and pushed the small group of sightseers out of his way. Whenever he was in Soar, the way people flocked to this place never ceased to appal him. It was like they viewed it as a quaint tourist attraction rather than the home of terrifyingly powerful beings. Being this close to avatars that could wipe him from existence made his teeth itch. That they would only be able to do so after some difficulty did nothing to lessen his sense of vulnerability. However, right now, he had even more pressing things on his mind than the power of those on the floors above him. He wasn''t sure what had gone wrong with this operation, but things were not quite working out as he had anticipated. This was such an unusual experience that - in other circumstances - he might have found it all rather diverting. However, on this occasion, he had a job to do, and, for whatever reason, it was proving ridiculously difficult to get his hands around the throat of a piddly little Level 25 without a Class. Bright had spotted Lowe from across the crowded concourse of the Celestial Temple, chatting with a . His little lawyer friend was with him, which - in theory - made everything rather straightforward. It saved him from having to hunt her down later. His employer had given him reasonable latitude in this operation, but he was willing to bet a stack of gold that the words ''no loose ends'' would be coming to him soon. Ideally, though, he wouldn''t have to tangle with a on their own turf. Bright had no concerns that he would not come out ahead in any fight there, but there were political ramifications in such a skirmish that were always worth avoiding if possible. Nevertheless, as he had managed to bribe the to look the other way when he brutalised Lowe inside the Tower of Law, he felt reasonably confident he could find the price of the big man talking to the investigator. Everyone had one, after all¡ªeven him. Bright burped, and his stomach gurgled horribly. What in Soar was wrong with him? There were no known ailments that could even give his immune system a moment''s concern. It must have been something he had eaten . . . He was just recalling being given a coffee by an attractive, dark-haired who, now he thought about it, was somewhat familiar when he was shoved roughly in the back. Bright lost his footing momentarily, turning to growl menacingly at the oaf who had pushed into him. Doing so, he met the eyes of another familiar face - it was that he had been second from killing the day before! However, before he could react, the disturbance in his stomach magnified a hundredfold, and he felt his knees go weak. The dived on top of him, the man doubling in size and bringing them both to the floor. There was a brief tussle - not as brief as Bright would have liked, but things seemed to be conspiring against him doing his best work that day - and the giant grunted in pain and deflated down to normal size, eyes rolling back in his head. As he stood, Bright had a second when he considered stamping down on the unconscious form, caving in the man''s head to ensure he never had to bother with him again, but then the pain in his stomach increased by a further magnitude, and he completely lost interest in the . This was all starting to become a touch embarrassing. Although it was not unknown for Bright to give his quarry a sporting chance - sometimes, you had to add the odd handicap to make the whole thing interesting - there was a difference between artificially levelling the playing field and then actually being thwarted. He did not know what was happening, but he was done playing. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Closing his eyes, he traced the outline of the pain he was experiencing. As he had suspected, it was some minor curse which was inflicting an unusually high amount of damage over time. On another day, he might have been interested in recruiting whoever was capable of brewing up such a thing. Today was not that day. In a moment, he had traced the curse''s origin - a significant problem with D.o.Ts was that there were always mana echoes that led back to the caster - and took that attacker off the table with a quick mental squeeze. In his peripheral vision, he saw the drop bonelessly to the floor and grimaced. Yes, now he thought of it, she''d been there in the Peace District, too, hadn''t she? Lowe seemed to have allies, after all. Speaker of Lowe . . . Bright turned back to face the Inspector and saw he was making his way towards the portal stones. Well, that would be wholly unacceptable. He restrained himself to an almost gentle stomp on the chest - the crunch of ribs caused the growing crowd of rubber-neckers to wince in dismay and started to run towards Lowe. And then he was in the air, carried away by a gust of wind, spinning arse over tit in a most undignified way. Fortunately, it wasn''t a long journey. Although as that was because he impacted upon - and went straight through - the Temple''s far wall, he was not sure ''fortunately'' was quite the right word. What on earth was going on! In a blink, he exploded back through the Temple Wall and zeroed in on the that had diverted him. He had the satisfaction of seeing the look of dismay on her face as he punched out with his own stream of concentrated air, and then she was lost in the crowds of worshippers flung across the Temple floor. Bright clicked his teeth in irritation at the devastation his strike had wrought: his employer would have his hide for that. You did not pay someone like Bright to undertake your business because you hoped for hundreds of casualties and newsworthy collateral damage. There were Out of Bounds Squads available for such destruction. But he had to put that out of his mind. Bright''s brief sojourn in the sky had been long enough for Lowe and the girl to have vanished through the portal. More disappointment there for his employer. Bright was going to be very lucky indeed to get paid at all here. He blurred forward to stand before the . "Let me through," he said, and then, because it was never a good idea to be unnecessarily belligerent with these people, he added, "Please." Latham met the gaze of the nondescript man before him impassively. He had a pretty good idea who this was. were briefed on those in Soar who were to be treated with considerable caution, and if he was right, this guy was right at the top of the list. "I am afraid there is a queue, sir." Bright looked over his shoulder and drained the life out of everyone who was waiting for the portal. Life Leach was a massively unnecessary Skill to use in the circumstances, but his frustration was getting the better of him. He could have achieved a similar effect with one of his hundreds of other Skills, but none of them would have been so visually impactful. "It appears they have all suddenly decided to do something else. Please, , I do not want any further unpleasantness here." Latham''s eyes flitted to the ash that now lay in a neat line stretching away from the portal stones. He''d always known there would come a day when he''d have to make a choice between what was right and what was easy. He just had hoped that he would be able to make more of a difference than the few minutes of time he assumed this would buy. With his left hand, he reached out, gripped the portal stone, and crushed it, flaring every defensive Skill he had at his command. Bright puffed out his cheeks. ", I would really rather not do his." Latham drew his sword, settling into a guard position. "Okay, well, I guess you therefore have a choice. I am sure you have all sorts of exciting Skills and exotic abilities that can reconstruct a broken portal stone. I am also sure they probably need - even for someone like you - considerable concentration to enact. I can promise you that while I stand here, I''m not going to give you the opportunity to channel them. So, you can either walk away and chalk this one up to experience, or we can go round and round. You''re call." Bright glanced around to see a flurry of movement as other ran to support their colleague. Of course, they wouldn''t be on time, but it was nice to see a little esprit de corps on display. "Last chance," he said, returning to look at the Warder, "I am still willing to let you walk away from this." Latham shrugged and sent a little prayer upwards. "Make this worth it, little man." And then shit got real. Chapter 50 - Arkola Lowe had only once been on the First Floor of the Celestial Temple, and the memory of that encounter was not joyous. It had been right at the start of his career when he was still bright-eyed and busy-tailed. He''d caught some bullshit Fraud case, mainly because there was no one more senior around to pick it up, and it didn''t look like the sort of thing that could be fucked up too badly. On the face of it, it was a tale as old as time: rich bloke who wanted to get richer had found a way to persuade people with neither enough money nor enough sense to give him cash in exchange for fairy dust and magic beans. And that wasn''t a metaphor. This wanker - Kyrian Green - had been boxing up crates of literal crud, slapping a fancy label on it and flogging it to the unwary, promising all sorts of healing properties. In next to no time, Lowe had gathered enough evidence for the guy to be looking at - at least - two to three years in a dark cell. Even to get away with as little punishment as that, he''d need to get lucky, and it be that none of the suckers he''d fleeced had a powerful enough patron god to make waves. Some deities took such things personally. Lowe was preparing to make his move - he favoured three o''clock raids with plenty of heavies to back him up - when a had arrived at Cuckoo House with an urgent message that ''Arkola wants a word''. At that stage, Lowe had been wet enough behind the ears to think this boded anything good. He had jogged along to the Temple, swaggered up to the portal stones, winking at the very unimpressed and activated the entry for Arkola''s floor, fully expecting he was about to get a pat on the head for a job well done from the most powerful being in Soar. Yeah, not so much. Standing next to Arebella now, Lowe felt his pulse quicken at the memory and sweat flow down from his forehead. "Are you okay?" she asked, gently taking his hand and pulling him down the long, thin corridor towards the closed door at the end. "No worries," he managed, plastering on a sickly smile. Arebella stopped and turned him around, pointing a finger up at her heart-shaped face. ", remember? And even if I wasn''t, you were always the single worst liar in the whole city." Lowe grimaced and rested a hand on the wall. His knees had gone weak, and there was the acrid tang of something metallic in his mouth. If he wasn''t careful, he was going to pass out. "I''m just having flashbacks of the last time I was here. Not a nice memory." She nodded sympathetically. "The Green case, right?" He glanced at her in surprise. They had not been seeing each other for long when all of that had blown up. The cover-up had been so very thorough that he was astonished she remembered anything about it. Arebella rolled her eyes at his bemused expression. "Jana, why do you always think that nothing that happens in your life will be of interest to those who care about you? Of course I knew that you''d been personally warned off an investigation by Arkola. Even without it being the hottest gossip in the Tower, you barely spoke, ate or slept for the rest of the sevenday. I practically had to move in with you to be on suicide watch!" Lowe thought he''d kept his fear and terror at the encounter under wraps rather better than that. But, now he thought of it, he had started to see much more of Arebella around that time. He''d thought it was his winning personality and witty banter... The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. But, standing here now, the full impact of that experience was on him again. It hadn''t been anything as crude as being ''warned off'' the case. He''d pranced down this corridor like a prizewinning pig, fully expecting to receive his latest ribbon - there were all sorts of positive noises coming out of Cuckoo House about the hotshot new detective blazing a trail through the criminal undercity - but instead of more kudos pouring down on him, when he''d pushed open that door at the end of the corridor . . . Disappointment. No, Lowe thought now, that didn''t go quite far enough. The aura that had enveloped him the second he''d entered Arkola''s receiving chamber had not been anything so mundane as ''disappointment.'' His very soul had been picked up, examined and then put back on the shelf with the sort of disdain usually reserved for month-old egg mayonnaise. The supreme being at the top of the Celestial Temple had been viscerally disgusted by his presence and wanted him to know that. There''d been more to it, of course. But most of that experience, Lowe seemed to have buried under layer-upon-layer of critical self-protection against emotional trauma. Unfortunately, standing here right now had ripped off that scab, and mental puss was flying everywhere. I would like you to drop your investigation into Kylian Green. The strength of Arkola''s suggestion had been so overwhelmingly potent that Lowe had turned around and was halfway back down the corridor towards the portal stone before his sense of professional pride had grabbed hold of his feet and dug his heels in. "Why?" he had whispered back, not trusting himself to say anything much louder. The worst thing was that his defiance seemed to cause the voice significant amusement. ''Why'', Mr Lowe? You would want to know ''why?'' His body had suddenly twirled around, and he''d been marched - like a puppet whose strings were being worked by a malevolent toddler - back into the receiving chamber, the door slamming behind him. There had been nothing to see in the pitch-black room, but the presence of Arkola was very . . . present. Lowe could not, even now, come up with a better way of describing it than that. The paucity of the quality of that description almost caused him more annoyance than anything. Almost. But as someone who had always prided himself on his powers of perception, not being able to recall anything more about the experience than an unlit room royally pissed him off. The ''why'', Mr Lowe, is because I ask it. That I ask it rather than order it shows you a measure of respect. For most, that would be enough. Please do not make me regret offering it to you. Despite every survival instinct warning against it, Lowe had girded his loins and managed to bite back, "But he did it! Green conned those people out of their money. Why should he be able to get away with it?" The pressure around Lowe had shifted slightly at that, the profound disaste and disappointment giving off tones of amused contempt. You are no neophyte, Mr Lowe. There are wild currents in Soar that, even if you know nothing about them, you are nevertheless aware that they exist. That Mr Green allowed himself to come to the notice of Cuckoo House is regrettable and he will be suitably punished for that misstep. But, to be clear, not by you. You will take this case no further. "So you protect your friends, do you? That''s how all this works, is it?" Looking back, Lowe couldn''t believe he had the balls to say that. Pre-Classtration Lowe had been a badass, apparently. He wondered why he''d forgotten that. Amused contempt moved into just plain amused. Not at all, Mr Lowe. I had not heard of Kylian Green until this morning. But he has friends, and those friends have friends, and one of those friends knows someone who has reached out and asked me for a favour. "And this ''favour'' was to warn me off?" Actually, the favour was to lobotomise you and toss your gibbering body into a pen at Soar Zoo for it to be raped by monkeys. In that context, I rather feel you owe me a ''thank you'' rather than whatever pathetic show of defiance this is. Looking back, Lowe was sure there''d been further dialogue here, but his mind rebelled against recalling it. The next thing he had known, he was at Arebella''s door, weeping uncontrollably and unable to explain why. Thinking about it now, it was hardly surprising it was an event she remembered. Overnight, Cenorth burned all his notes on the Kylian Green case before Lowe could pull himself together enough to get back to his office. "Just looking out for you, Jana," he had said. "Sometimes, I don''t think you always have your best interests at heart." "Say that again, boss," Lowe muttered under his breath, looking down the corridor at the door to the receiving chamber. "Jana?" Arebella asked, concerned. "I''m all right," he said, taking a deep breath and - oddly - this time he meant it. Giving her hand a reassuring pat, he strode forward and pushed open the door, Arebella hurrying behind to keep up with him. "Arkola, I have a few questions concerning the death of Gianna d''Avec." As the door shut behind them, they each pretended the portal stone behind them hadn''t just flared into life. Chapter 51 - Alibis and Denials Well, this seems all very official, Mr Lowe. Nice to see you, by the way. If Lowe thought there was anything unusual in the supreme being of Soar being pleased to see him, too many panicked emotions were running through his head to process it properly. The room they had entered was, as it had been when he had last been there, completely pitch-black. Not dark. Nothing as mundane as that. This was not the absence of light. Rather, they had stepped into the deepest black. It was as if they had moved beyond the boundaries of their universe and into another where such an unnecessary frippery as ''light'' had long stopped being a consideration. Mind awash with questions, Lowe briefly wondered where that was true. Whether, in entering this room, Arebella and he had left the world they knew behind and stepped into an alien realm. Before we start what I am sure will be an illuminating conversation for all of us, I think I will quickly switch off Ms Telut''s abilities. Lowe heard a soft gasp from beside him and felt Arebella collapse to her knees. He reached out, groping in the blackness to find her, then helped her gently back to her feet. She was shaking. "Are you okay?" he asked, almost scared to hear the answer. "I don''t know!" Arebella''s voice was filled with distress. "It''s like all my senses have been covered in a blanket. Everything is . . . greyed out. I don''t know how else to explain it. Am I Classless?" Nothing permanent, I assure you. It''s just I like to maintain an air of mystery in all my conversations, and having a parse my words feels as if it would somewhat cramp my style. Not that I am planning to lie to you, you understand. But - well - it''s more fun if you are unsure about that, isn''t it? "Oh, it''s a riot. Do you promise she''ll be okay? Her Class will return once we leave this place?" Oh, Mr Lowe. I rather feel that if you were genuinely concerned about Ms Telut''s wellbeing, you would not have embroiled her in a scheme that is the definition of a suicidal endeavour. To my understanding, you were informed - in no uncertain terms - that your investigation was likely to place her in significant danger. And yet you continued to meddle in matters that really should have been left well alone. And now, as if that recklessness with her life was not enough, here you are, dragging this poor girl into my overwhelming presence. Some knight in shining armour you have turned out to be, Mr Lowe. And I had always found you to be so wonderfully chivalrous. "Fuck you, you formless twat!" Lowe had a moment of horrified regret that he had just sworn at the avatar who dwelt at the top of the Celestial Temple. But then he realised it wasn''t him, but Arebella who was spitting the invective. He wasn''t sure if this recognition made it better or worse. "Jana hasn''t dragged me anywhere. He''s my friend, and he was in trouble. So I''m here to help. That''s what you do when you care for someone. Not that you''d know anything about that, you invisible wanker! And don''t think I need my Skills to be active to know when someone is lying, either!" Worse. Definitely worse. Expecting them both to be immediately disintegrated, Lowe screwed up his eyes, before he realised the futility of doing so in the darkness of the empty space in which they were existing. Opening them back up again made no discernable difference. Mr Lowe. You have quite the firecracker here, don''t you! Maybe knights have no meaning in this game. Perhaps it is not a game for knights. Wanting to take Arkola''s attention away from the bristling ball of indignation next to him - he always did find Arebella to be at her cutest when she was angry - Lowe decided to crack on with his plan of putting his head in the lion''s mouth. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. "Look, let''s get right down to it. Did you kill - or give orders that led to the killing of - Gianna d''Avec?" Oh, we''re finished with the small talk, are we? Very well. What a shame. I get so few interesting visitors. The answer to your question is that it depends on your point of view. Lowe shook his head in confusion, "How? You either did it or you didn''t. Point of view has nothing to do with it!" Ah, I wish it were so simple as that, Mr Lowe. You see, with great power comes great responsibility. For absolute clarity - for I see you require such a thing - I can confirm I did not personally descend two floors of the Celestial Temple and pull the High Priestess of Gravalk to pieces like the insignificant insect she was. Neither, for the removal of any doubt, did I make it known - tacitly or otherwise - that the removal of that turbulent priest would please me. "So you are saying you were not involved in her murder?" Lowe tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. This was his big play, and he couldn''t believe he''d misread the situation so badly. It all made sense for Arkola to be at the heart of things. It could only be the dweller of the First Floor that would have Mdamic stepping so carefully in his attempts to ''support'' Lowe''s investigation - and yes, Lowe did absolutely accept that the Speaker of Yolgorth would view motivational beatings as ''support''. Likewise, whoever was holding Mr Law''s leash and was pulling enough strings in the Council to bully Cuckoo House had to be a being of immense power. There really was not anyone else that fit the bill. You are not very effective at reading between the lines for a man who wishes to make his living as an investigator, are you? Would you like to help him, Ms Telut? Muttering ''patronising dickhead'' under her breath - Lowe did not think he''d ever heard Arebella swear so much during their whole relationship as she had in the short time they had been in this chamber - Arebella squeezed his hand tight. "I believe Arkola is hinting he was aware the murder would be taking place, was pleased when it did, but did not - actively - take part or agitate for it." Well done, my dear. Even without your abilities, you are simply delightful. Should I decide to let you both live following this audience, Mr Lowe, I would recommend you seek to make amends for whatever stupidity has led to your estrangement. Lowe pushed all of that to the back burner - pleased the darkness hid the deep blush that bloomed on his face. "You knew it was coming, you did not do anything to stop it and are happy it happened? You expect me to believe all that is true, and - powerful as you are - you didn''t expedite proceedings?" I really could not care less what you believe, Mr Lowe. However, I am - just about - finding this meeting to be diverting enough to waste a few more moments in elucidating you. Gianna d''Avec was an irritant. Not a major one, but bothersome enough to have reached my notice. Gravalk is an entirely unforgiving deity, and - across the broad branch of the unending realms - his rise to prominence is always accompanied by death, destruction and chaos. It may have escaped your notice, but those are not particularly enjoyable states in which to exist. Lowe nodded, unsure of whether this was going - or even if Arkola could see the gesture. Fortunately, such are the challenges of worshipping such an unstable being that it is rare for anyone of true power to remain sane enough to reach any real prominence. His cult blazes hot, extremely brightly and usually burns itself out with only minor collateral damage. Thinking of his own experience in trying to commune with Gravalk, Lowe could believe it. "But that didn''t happen with Gianna d''Avec, did it? Somehow, she was able to reach Level 67 and was all set to bring the Fire Demon to the Second Floor. If what you say is true, that gives you a clear motive to want her dead. You can even argue you did it for the good of Soar. So how can you prove to me you did not do it?" Arkola''s laugh was genuine. Are you asking me for an alibi, Mr Lowe? I am not sure how that would work for someone who - at least to your sense of time and space - is omnipresent. In any event, I do not need to ''prove'' it to you. My word is more than enough. Lowe felt a soft pressure in his mind, and he suddenly knew that to be true. Arkola was not his man, deity, avatar. Whatever. Was I concerned that Gravalk on the Second Floor would be destabilising to the common good? Yes. Was I delighted to learn such a thing would not come to pass due to her imminent murder? Also, yes. Since her death, have I been inclined to meddle in your investigation to ensure the person who alleviated my concern is not brought to justice? Again, a very loud ''yes''. Did I take the opportunity of your wrecking ball fumbling about to settle a few scores with those in Soar whose activities irritate my friends? Yes, yes, yes. But did I kill that blasted woman? That would be a resounding ''no''. "And I suppose you are not going to tell me who it was that killed her, are you?" "No, little man. Arkola is not." Then light flooded the chamber, revealing an entirely empty room. One with a bloodied and battered Latham standing at the entrance of its open door. Chapter 52 - Reality Rend This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Chapter 53 - Eliminating the Impossible . . . Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Chapter 54 - Unpicking Threads If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Chapter 55 - The Sorrow of Khaled wet his suddenly parched lips. "As I am sure all in this room are aware, Mr Lowe, those who worship Oh are granted some strength with the water element." "Indeed, but - for the avoidance of doubt - you, as the Chosen of Oh, have a little more than just ''strength''. In fact, it might even be said that as Oh''s avatar, you are amongst the foremost Water Mages in Soar?" "Hardly." Khaled pointed upwards to where his Class and Level were on open display. "I am but a humble Level 60 dwelling on the Eighth Floor." "The sixth." Latham''s voice was suddenly thunderous in the chamber. "I hear on the grapevine your ascension was confirmed just this morning. Unusual to jump two floors in one go like that. Noteworthy, in fact. Someone must have made themselves very popular with the Council." "Well, yes." Khaled''s whole mouth had become very dry indeed. "I didn''t think that news was common knowledge yet. But it is true. I have been granted a . . . small promotion in recognition of services rendered." Mdamic shifted in his seat to stare at Khaled, a small section of the thundercloud above him breaking free to hover over the other man''s head. "But my wider point, after all, still holds. Someone of my situation can hardly be considered an appropriate antagonist for the High Priestess of Gravalk." The silence in the chamber was only broken by the soft pitter-patter of rain falling on Khaled''s head. Lowe stared at him impassively. "I think we would all like to hear the nature of these ''services rendered.''" "I don''t think they''re relevant to the matter under . . ." Khaled blurred as a lightning bolt crashed to incinerate the chair where he sat, Never Surprised saving him once again. Mdamic was up on his feet, face red. "I''ll fucking decide if it''s relevant! What did you do to earn the promotion? It''s you that''s been pouring venom in the Council''s ears about me, isn''t it? All that advice, all those cosy chats. You were fucking playing me!" With as much dignity as he could manage, the Chosen of Oh returned to his feet, thoroughly soaked by the pulsating rain. He turned to face Arebella, enunciating his words with care. "Neither I nor any member of my cult were involved directly - or indirectly - in the murder of Gianna d''Avec. Any compensation that has come my way of late can be considered entirely tangential. Such rewards are connected to my work to support the Council''s efforts in ensuring an appropriate balance of power in the Temple." Lowe glanced her way, and Arebella nodded. "He''s telling the truth." "I don''t give a fuck about whether he was involved in killing the bitch! Has he been specifically rewarded for working against me? That''s the question I want him asked. Fucking ask it!" That is indeed an interesting question, Mdamic. But perhaps we avatars can resolve the sudden popularity of the cult of Oh behind closed doors. It is, after all, never good for children to see Mummy and Daddy fight. Or, to put it more bluntly, your behaviour is scaring the cattle. Join me in my chamber. Now. Everyone heard Arkola''s voice, but not in so mundane a fashion as through their ears. And then Khaled and Mdamic vanished, and the chair was back in his reconstituted seat as if no lightning-based destruction had occurred. Lowe glanced around at a sea of suddenly very nervous faces: no one liked to think they were under Arkola''s notice. Bad things tend to happen when Soar''s supreme being took a personal interest. Then the whole body of the wiry man sat behind Hel strained in effort, and the general sense of doom relented. Slightly. As the tension lightened, Ortel cleared his throat. This took several attempts, eventually requiring him to lean to the side and spit out something darkly green. "As much of a fan as I am of all these courtroom theatrics, do you think we could try to get to the meat of the matter? If Oh isn''t behind what happened to d''Avec, who is?" Cenorth nodded his own frustration. "Time isn''t your friend here, Lowe. If you have a case to build, do so. But it''s now or never. I can sense a whole phalanx of Council flunkeys descending on Cuckoo House. They''ll work out where we are in moments." Lowe took a breath, then rubbed his chin. "Fair enough. So, let us see what we know, then." He held up a finger. "Two weeks before her death, Gianna d''Avec officiated in the trial of Trellen Ulton. He was accused of the murder of Lord Falyn, and, in short order, she summarily executed him. Was this a just act?" Lowe directed his question at Ortel, who shook his head emphatically. "Trellen was innocent. He was guilty of nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time." The lawyer glanced at the man wrapped in chains in the corner of the room. "And having the wrong brother." "Quite." Lowe turned to Markian and cocked his head. "Trellen had found out you were responsible for Falyn''s recent commercial losses, hadn''t he? My understanding is that there was widespread corruption in the awarding of city contracts." Markian, with some difficulty due to the weight of his chains, shrugged nonchalantly. "As I am under a Red Notice, my business dealings with Lord Falyn are a matter of public record. Am I guilty of, at best, sharp practice? Certainly. Are there those whom I represent who desired my brother to carry the can for Falyn''s death? Again, I assume that to be the case. Was I personally involved in the murder of Falyn? No." If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Noting the care with which he spoke, Lowe raised his eyebrows at Arebella. She frowned and shook her head. The chained man was not lying. "Do you know who killed Falyn?" "My brother was found guilty." Lowe clicked his tongue and rephrased the question. "Do you believe he did it?" "I accept the decision made by the High Priestess of Gravalk." "That wasn''t the question." "Funny that." Cenorth stepped forward and punched Markian in the face, breaking his nose. "Look, as much as you''ve tried to get your friends to wheedle you out from under it, you''re still under a Red Notice. That means you have fewer rights than the shit beneath my shoe. We''re all very impressed with your semantic gymnastics to avoid answering a direct question. Truly, you''re the man. But if you keep fucking around, you''re going to find out. And I will start breaking fingers next." He turned back to Lowe, giving him a thumbs up. "Your witness, Jana." "Why did d''Avec execute your brother? Did you ask her to?" "No." Blood ran down Markian''s face, dying his teeth red. "I would have asked if it''d look likely he''d get off, but it wasn''t going to come to that." "Why not?" Markian laughed grimly. "Do you have any idea how good the people you are blundering around against are? You''ve got a , an Out of Bounds Squad, and even fucking Arkola watching your back, and they''ve still managed to get to you whenever they wanted. Doesn''t the fact you''re still alive tell you anything?" He turned to look at the others in the room. "Doesn''t it tell you all something? He''s a useful fucking idiot. That''s all. Nothing that is happening here isn''t exactly as they want. He''s a fucking Classless wrecking ball, and the minute he''s not useful anymore, he''ll be dealt with." Lowe tried to let those words bounce off him, but he felt them leave their mark. But he''d worry about that later. "And what about Gianna d''Avec? Was she useful, too?" "Of course she was! A High Priestess of Gravalk in my pocket? Made me into a fucking legend. She fried Trellen without even being asked to! And she did it because she thought she was protecting me! You should have seen the way she lost her shit when I tried to suggest there would be a reward in it for her. But that was always her problem, you know? All this bollocks about staying in the family house and keeping her old nanny around, and giving away her money to deserving causes. She was just a fucking pathetic orphan desperate for someone to love her and tell her it was all going to be okay. She killed her own parents, did you know that? Flash-fried them like last night''s chicken when she lost her temper. It scared her so much she spent the rest of her life trying to make amends. The saddest of sad-sacks. An open wound looking for anything to fill the void." "And that''s what you did for her?" "It''s what they wanted me to do, you better believe I fucking did! You saw what they did to that fucking priest who tried to back out of the deal he made with them! You don''t have second thoughts with these guys. They employ fucking Leoto Bright, for Soar''s sake!" Hiwalk was up on his feet. "Who killed him? Who killed Setort?" Flaming falcons dipped and swirled above his head, diving to peck at Markian as the priest raged. "Fuck''s sake!" Markian hunched his shoulders, trying to protect his face. "What did he think was going to happen? You don''t make a deal with these people and then try to stiff them for more. They paid him to get dirt on this Classless fuckwit, but that wasn''t enough for him, was it? The way I heard it, he tried to blackmail them into making him into Gravalk''s next High Priest. Threatend to go straight to Arkola with what he knew. Wanker''s lucky Bright just ripped him to shreds for trying that. And trust me, I''ve seen him do much worse! Like you''ll fucking see when this is all over!" A silence fell over the room, broken only by Lowe''s slow footsteps as he continued to pace again. When he spoke, it was as if Markian''s rant had never happened. "But that''s the interesting thing, do you see? What strikes me here - again - is the dichotomy in the way you describe the High Priestess''s nature. Humble in her lifestyle, hugely generous with her money, and fiercely loyal to those she thought cared for her. And yet there is so much pleasure in this room at the woman''s death." Penarth snorted. "Fuck''s sake, Temporary Reinstated Much-Maligned Inspector, we get it. She was a saint. A beloved woman snatched too quickly from this world. And anyone who thinks otherwise is just plain wrong. Put the smallest fucking violin in the world away and tell us what happened!" "She fucking killed my family!" As Hel stood, her sisters started wailing. Not just crying, but a full-on scream of heart-wrenching despair. Irek pushed out as many waves of soothing calm as he could, but it simply didn''t touch the sides of the sorrow of the . A widening circle of space appeared around them as everyone in the room backed away. Hel pointed at Lowe, tears running down her face. "The Council was willing to let us go! We were finished as agents, we knew that. But there was no need for any further action. We''d have just slipped away. All of us. But she wouldn''t let that happen. She persuaded them to make an example of us. She killed them. She killed them, Lowe! She killed them all!" The plaintive note in that final repetition was heartbreaking to hear. For a moment, Lowe wanted to let it go. Wanted to throw his hands up in the air and be done with the whole thing. Who the fuck cared who had killed a High Priestess of Gravalk? The Fire God was a nightmare waiting to happen, and whoever curtailed his rise to power had done the whole of Soar a massive favour. What did it matter who was responsible for that? Looking into Hel''s pain-filled eyes, there was a part of him that wanted to let it go. But, just as he had a year before when all the pressure in the world was brought to bear upon him to look the other way, he just couldn''t bring himself to do it. He asked the question he''d been aching to ask the since his moment of epiphany on the First Floor. "How do you know that, Hel?" The opened her mouth to retort, her face twisted in anger. But then it stopped¡ªconfusion blossoming on her face. "I . . . there was an official report. Highly confidential. I was able to get hold of a copy." "A confidential written report. Think about it for a moment. From everything you''ve heard about the High Priestess, does it seem likely she''d have behaved that way? A woman haunted by what her power had done to her own parents? A woman who gave everything she earned to those making the world a better place. Why would she have advocated for the massacre of your family?" Doubt was appearing all over Hel''s face. "But . . . it was in the report. And it was almost impossible to get hold of. The hoops I had to go through to get it. There''s no way it could have been faked." "Why do you think that, Hel? How did you get it? Who gave it to you?" Hel''s eyes slipped to the right to where Cenorth had been standing. But the was already in motion, Skills triggering to slay Markian Ulton and the two beside him in a mist of blood, and then he was taking hold of Arebella''s hair and dragging her in front of him, hunching to cover himself behind her. "For Soar''s sake, Jana! You had one job. It comes to something when I can''t even rely on you to fuck up an investigation properly." Chapter 56 - Hostage negotiation As he watched Cenorth drag Arebella out of the receiving chamber and into the hallway beyond, time froze for Lowe. He was not sure what he had expected the Commander of Soar''s Security Services to do once his role in misleading Hel''s squad had been exposed, but this casual, violent slaughter complete with hostages certainly wasn''t it. Lowe had banked on having enough firepower in the room to keep any such shenanigans under control. But he''d fumbled it. Fucking Cenorth. No, be fair. Fucking Jana Lowe. As if a Level 45 was simply going to put his hands up, cop to all manner of misdeeds and then come along quietly. The bodies of Markian Ulton and the two headless were testament to Lowe''s spectacular misjudgment of the situation. And now the bastard had Arebella. Mechanically, shaking himself free from his stasis, Lowe charged after the pair, aware that Cenorth was flinging out all sorts of deadly, high-level Skills as he made good his escape. "Fuck''s sake, little man, take some cover!" Latham shouted, tackling him to the ground just as something metallic and fast-moving slashed through the space he had been about to enter. The aura of Cenorth''s assaults had the sort of grim finality about them that suggested Roll with the Punches would likely have come up pretty short. "You want to tell me what the fuck is going on here!" The bodily picked Lowe up and bundled him forward until they were pressed either side of the door leading towards the Third Floor Portal Stones. "Isn''t this twat supposed to be on our side?" Lowe looked back at the devastation Cenorth had wrought in d''Avec''s former chamber. Apart from Markian and the two dead from Cuckoo House - that he hadn''t recognised either of them didn''t improve the weight of guilt that was settling in Lowe''s stomach - those who had gathered at his insistence had taken an absolute pounding in the wake of the escape. Penarth was leaning over the , Verahalim, pumping some manner of healing Skill into a spectacular chest wound. For a moment, Lowe found something incongruous about a being able to treat living patients, but then he realised he had bigger problems to ponder. Ortel, despite missing an arm, had conjured up several Healing Totems, which were doing their best to mitigate some of the damage that Charl, Irek and Tenia were sporting. The had obviously tried to tank the worst of what Cenorth had flung out, but even so, the other two looked like someone had stuck them in a mangle and got cranking. And the two priests of Gravalk ¨C Aintra and Hiwalk ¨C looked like shit, but neither seemed like they would be joining their ex-mistress in the afterlife in the imminent future. The room stank of blood, mana and failure. Mostly failure. Then, three shapes crashed against the wall next to Lowe. "I''m going to fucking kill him," Hel hissed, her sisters - free of their bulky clothing - screaming their agreement. Lowe did his best to keep his eyes off the writhing, sinuous forms of the two . That way, literal madness lay. "I''ve turned off the Portal Stone, so the bastard''s going nowhere," Latham chuntered, "but unless anyone gives me an update as to what the fuck is happening, I''m going to switch it back on and go for my tea break. This has been a fucking shitshow." Lowe tried to still his racing heart. He didn''t know if it was better that Cenorth''s escape route was blocked or not. The man still had Arebella, after all, but then again, he wasn''t getting her back without Latham''s help¡ªtime to spill. "Okay, so this is how I figure it went down . . . " * "Shut the fuck up!" Cenorth viciously shook the small woman he had by the hair while trying, unsuccessfully, to get the Portal Stone to activate. It wasn''t supposed to happen like this. Of course, he''d long planned out his steps if it all went to shit, but you never woke up and thought, ''Today''s the day my life changes forever'', did you? He cursed as Arebella reached back and clawed at his arms, her nails digging into his skin. Cenorth released his grip on her hair and span her round to face him, squeezing her face between his hand as he lifted her a foot off the ground. "Listen, I''m having a bad day. Believe me when I say that if you keep this up, I will kill you. Now, tell me. Is what I''m saying the truth?" Wide-eyed, she nodded back. "Good." He spun her back around, trying to hide as much of his body behind her as possible. No one had yet come through the door at the other end of the corridor, but he doubted he''d wiped everyone in there with a few panicked strikes. He''d never been that lucky. Witness this fucking Portal Stone malfunctioning at just the wrong moment. Fucking hell. What made this shambles worse was that it had all been working like a dream. He hadn''t believed it when Arebella and Lowe had appeared at his office door this morning outlining their fucking ridiculous plan to beard Arkola in their own den under the eyes of Leoto Bright! Cenorth couldn''t have predicted that outcome even in his wildest fever dreams. Of course he''d given them all the information they needed to go down that particular road to destruction. It was such good news, it almost made up for Lowe slapping a fucking Red Notice on Markian Ulton. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Almost. The whole point in reactivating Jana Lowe to investigate the death of Gianna d''Avec was that no one - literally no one - wanted that case solved. It had been a running sore for Cenorth that his foolproof plan to remove the High Priestess - frame her for the slaughter of the families of an infamously effective Out of Bounds Squad - had never come to fruition. Those who ensured a steady stream of gold into his account had expressed their disappointment at her continued existence, but it hadn''t been deemed a . . . fatal failure. He understood that Gravalk having access to the Second Floor might have changed that, but . . . well, with her death, he hadn''t had to worry about that any more, did he? But then someone had actually managed to off her, and no one wanted anyone looking too hard at who had ripped that fucking bitch apart. But it would have looked suspect if they hadn''t at least done a cursory investigation, and that''s where Jana bloody Lowe came in. Cenorth had argued to keep him alive after the shambles that led to his loss of Class last year for precisely this reason. Sometimes, you need a useful idiot. Just in case. The plan had formed in his head the moment he caught wind of the murder. Even as the body was cooling, Cenorth had lured one of those fucking the thought she''d kept so carefully hidden to the Temple, nicked one of their gloves and left it somewhere even Lowe couldn''t miss. He''d been looking at her head hanging from the chandelier as he activated the Sending Stone to wake the Classless man. And it had, largely, gone as he''d expected. Right up to the moment, it hadn''t. Cenorth still wasn''t sure what had happened to have had Lowe pivot to suspecting him rather than revealing the existence of the glove, but that was water under the bridge. For now, he needed to get out of here and then out of Soar. And for that, he needed the Portal Stone to work. "Okay," he said, pressing his mouth against Arebella''s ear, "let''s see how motivated your boyfriend is to negotiate." * Hel''s fury ramped up as Lowe explained to Latham just how much of a colossal fool she had been. At no stage had she ever questioned the veracity of what Commander Cenorth had told her about Gianna d''Avec''s involvement in the death of her parents. He had been so manifestly conflicted about sharing the ''highly confidential'' Council report with her. Hel had needed to work so hard - and over so long - to convince him it was the right thing to do. And he had been so horrified about the contents when he''d shared them with her. It had never entered her head for a moment that he was playing her. But that was always the case with the best of cons. The mark never even knew they were in a game. Cenorth had tried to use them to kill the High Priestess for him. For ''them''. Whatever. It didn''t matter. She was going to kill them all. Latham was nodding along to Lowe''s explanation of the series of events that led them to be standing at the wrong end of a corridor, surrounded by casualties. The big man was keeping his face studiously neutral, but Hel could feel his judgement of her naivete. Dammit, she was judging herself just as hard. Latham''s face had the bland indifference of a professional hearing how badly someone he had thought competent had fucked up. "Are you sure he can''t escape?" she asked, trying to focus on the matter at hand. Latham shook his head. "No chance. Since the High Priestess''s murder, this Floor has been effectively on lockdown. Even if he had previously had access, and we can obviously assume he did, it''ll be locked for him now. Chance''s are, he''ll have realised that by now. He''s going to need someone to open it for him. "And we''re not going to do that, are we?" Lowe and Latham''s grim expressions were the only answer she needed. "Hello? Is there anyone in there still alive?" Cenorth''s voice echoed down the corridor. Lowe peeked his head around the doorframe, and Hel summoned an Air Shield to drift in front of his face. She wasn''t sure it would do much if a truly wanted to blow a hole in Lowe''s head, but it would give him a fighting chance to at least duck. "Sorry, are we not supposed to be okay, boss? Because that was some weak-ass shit you threw out there. I have to say I''m a bit disappointed: I always thought you had more game than that. The stories the boys tell about your performance in the field made me think you were quite the baller. " "Tell that to Markian!" Cenorth snapped back. "Tell him yourself, mate. Although he''s pretty pissed off with you at the moment, so he might not be too receptive to a chat. I''ve got to tell you, we''re hearing about all sorts of mischief the two of you have got up to together over the years." Cenorth blinked at that. He couldn''t see how Ulton could possibly have survived a Sword of Justice cleaving through his head. But, then again, were famously hardy . . . Shit! Had he left that man alive? Those he worked for would not find that acceptable. Particularly with a Red Notice running and Cenorth no longer in place to ''lose'' the data being gleaned . . . He needed to clean that up if he wanted them to help him vanish. "Tell you what," he said, keeping his voice level. "I''m feeling generous. Why don''t I make you a deal? You send Markian out and switch this Portal Stone back on, and I will let you have the delightful Ms Telut in, more or less, one piece. I can''t say fairer than that, can I?" "I don''t know, boss. Ulton seems pretty unhappy with that idea. He appears to think you might kill him as soon as look at him. Not sure any of us back here want that on our conscience, to tell the truth." "Well, I think you need to ask yourself this, Jana. Are you so committed to the pursuit of peace, justice and the Soar way that you are willing to have me throw chunks of Arebella back to you until you agree? Because that seems pretty pointless. Unlike my knife." The voice boomed in reply. "Commander Cenorth, as you will be requiring me to open the Portal for you, I might suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head. Mr Lowe might be manipulatable with threats, but trust me, carving my initials into your colon feels much more attractive to me than letting you go. And you can ask Arebella to fact-check that for you." Cenorth summoned a knife into his hand and ran it down Arebella''s arm, causing blood to spurt to the floor. The tried to stifle her gasp, but Cenorth slashed again and again until she finally screamed. "How long do we wish to continue this charade? Or, more importantly, how long do you wish me to continue to hurt Arebella? I like the girl, so this is pissing me off even more. Ironically, the only person I have to take it out on is her. Which is putting me in somewhat of a rage loop. But you can make this problem disappear: send Markian out and switch the stone back on. I haven''t got anything else to add." Silence greeted his ultimatum. Chapter 57 - Two Goblins in a Trenchcoat "What the fuck are you doing saying that? Markian''s dead! We don''t have anyone to offer in trade!" Hel''s frustration did little for the mood of her sisters, who were literally shimmering with barely restrained rage. Lowe thought it was a testament to their love for Hel that they hadn''t just hulked out and eaten them all the moment the blades started flying. It also probably had something to do with a hero of an who, despite his own traumatic head wound, was maintaining the thickest of layers of Calm over the two monsters. Mostly likely a little from Column A and a little from Column B, thought Lowe. Latham looked at him and shrugged. "She has a point, little man. And I can''t see it de-escalating this situation for us now to say, ''erm, sorry about that. Turns out the man you want is dead after all. Can we offer a smile and handjob instead?''" Lowe risked another look around the corner of the door. All he could make out was a long, thin corridor - with no apparent options for cover - at the end of which was a clearly terrified Arebella, behind who was crouched the figure of Cenorth. "I don''t suppose either of you is hoarding a secret Skill to take him out at this range without endangering Arebella?" Hel and Latham shook their heads, the adding, "Not against someone of his Level and Class. If we were to rush him, I could probably deflect some of whatever crap he throws our way off us, but he''d have plenty of time to . . . well, to do whatever he wanted to her before bodying us." Latham agreed. "I can take him if I can get close enough. I just don''t see your girl surviving me running up there." Lowe withdrew his head and looked back at the carnage in the room behind him. Those that could be stabilised had been, but the hadn''t made it. Lowe shuddered to think how much his estate would be billing the Mayor for that little mishap - but the rest of the group would pull through. More or less. The headless corpse of Markian Ulton lay in a pool of blood next to the dead , his body wrapped in thick chains. At least a was on hand to ensure this was all reported accurately. Then, despite the morbid scene, a smile suddenly blossomed on Lowe''s face. Apparently, all those Progress Points had been good for something, after all. "It looks like you might have a plan, little man . . ." "Maybe," Lowe replied. "Let''s just say I think we''ll need to play a little game of "Two Goblins in a Trenchcoat." * Cenorth was getting antsy. He hadn''t been lying to Lowe when he''d said the Council had sent all manner of representations to Cuckoo House. As soon as the chaos at the Celestial Temple had been reported, the shit had well and truly hit the fan. So much for Leoto Bright and his reputation for keeping things ''subtle'' and ''in the shadows.'' Cenorth gave a little tight smile at realising he wouldn''t be the only one being hauled over the coals for today''s succession of fuckups. But, as soon as the grin appeared, it faded, and a snarl returned to his face. Time was running out if he wanted the opportunity to make it out alive. "I''m getting bored here, Jana. Tell you what, to speed things up a touch, I''m going to count to three, and then Arebella loses a finger. Then, it''ll be a finger every count of five until I run out, and I need to get more creative. You don''t want me to get more creative." There was no response from the other end of the hallway. "Fine. Be like that. One. Two. Thr . . . " A figure appeared in the doorway. Markian Ulton, blood covering his face, staggering forward under the weight of his chains. Fucking hell! Lowe hadn''t been lying. The had survived a Sword of Justice to the head? That was pretty impressive. He''d have to be more thorough next time. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Markian took a few staggering steps forward and then stopped. Lowe stepped out from behind him to the one side, the taking up a similar position on the other. "Fine. Let''s trade, boss. You send Arebella down, and I''ll send him up." Cenorth shook his head. "No. That''s not how this is going to work, Jana. You send me Markian, get your pet to activate the Portal Stone, and then I''ll release the girl to you." Lowe mirrored his dissent. "No can do. I''m not being funny here, boss, but you''re not overburdened with credit on the ''honesty'' front with me right now. This is the only card I have to play, and I''ll be damned if I show you mine before you show me yours." Cenorth growled in frustration. He hadn''t got the time to waste bandying words here. "Fine. Be like that. Is there a particular finger you''re not attached to?" He reached down and roughly pulled up Arebella''s hand, pressing his knife into her palm. "Or, more to the point, that she''s about not to be?" "No need for that, boss. Look, how about this? On my word of honour, I promise this trade will happen. You send Arebella down, and I''ll send your prize back up. None of us at this end will do anything to interfere. Get Arebella to confirm I''m telling the truth if you''re worried." Cenorth paused, grinding his teeth. In an ideal world, he''d like to slip out of here without any further bloodshed. He wasn''t a psychopath, and he had no interest in torturing a girl he''d always quite liked. It wasn''t her fault she''d ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. "Look at me," he ordered Arebella, pulling her head around to face him. "Is he telling the truth?" Arebella''s eyes shimmered gold as she accessed her Skill. Trying not to look at the knife Cenorth was holding against her hand, she nodded. "He is." "So, to confirm - " Cenorth called back down to the corridor, his gaze fixed on Arebella''s eyes to ensure she kept her Skill active - "they''ll both walk down the corridor simultaneously. You''ll ensure the Portal Stone activates so I can get away, and neither you, your friend, nor that gullible bitch with the wind power tries to do anything to stop me. Straight swap, and then I''m off. Right?" "Fuck you!" Hel shouted back, summoning a Tempest to swirl above her. "No, thank you. If I were remotely interested, I''d have taken advantage of all the times you threw yourself at me to try to get hold of the file I was so anxious to keep confidential. So, so, so anxious. Look, Lowe, I''m getting old here, and I''m not hearing any agreement to my terms. Do I need to start cutting?" "I agree with everything you say, boss. We swap them over, the portal opens, and none of the three of us will do a thing to stop you. I promise." Cenorth watched Arebella''s irises flair, and she nodded. "He''s telling the truth." "Well, it seems like it''s your lucky day: matey boy cares more about you than he does catching the bad guy. Good for him." Cenorth gestured for Arebella to start walking back towards d''Avec''s throne room. "Slowly now. No running. I can kill you just as easily at that end of the corridor as I can here." Holding her chin high, Arebella started walking slowly but purposefully towards Lowe. The shambling figure of Markian Ulton did the same; the chains in which his body was wrapped made it difficult for him to do much more than awkwardly shuffle forwards. Despite the pain and the blood dripping from her arms and the tears in her eyes, she beamed at Lowe, conscious as to how his eyes were glued on her, his expression haunted. It wasn''t too long before the two hostages crossed each other, at which stage Arebella felt a strange sensation, like a cold breeze, ripple across her skin. Nevertheless, she did her best to keep looking forward, not wanting to give Cenorth any excuse for making good on his threat. At the far end of the hallway, Cenorth gestured impatiently for his co-conspirator to move a bit faster. "Come on, come on. We''ve got to go!" But in response, Markian just continued to stare straight ahead, his feet plodding ponderously forward. "Open the Portal now!" The giant figure of Latham lumbered up behind Lowe and raised a glowing hand. Cenorth felt the Stone behind him turn from red to green, and he felt himself begin to relax. For the briefest of moments, he considered opening up with a barrage of Blades of Prosecution and simply cutting down everyone at that end of the hallway . . . But no. It didn''t do to get a reputation for being profligate. His backers had Leoto Bright for that sort of work. And then the moment was over, Arebella reached the far end of the corridor, Latham and Hel quickly pulled her back into safety in d''Avec''s chamber. Lowe, though, just stood there. Watching him. Frowning, Cenorth beckoned towards Markian to hurry up, then stepped forward to grab him by the arm and drag him through the Portal Stone. However, as he took hold of the sleeve of that man''s expensive robe, two notable things happened. Firstly, Markian''s head fell off. Cenorth gawped as he felt the threads of wind that had been ensuring it floated just above the thick wrappings of chains collapse into nothingness. Secondly, and this was an equally surprising turn of events for Commander Cenorth, the chains around what he had assumed was Markian''s body fell away to release two very angry, very frustrated, very motivated . Ignoring the shrieks and screams, Lowe watched his former friend''s evisceration without blinking. Some things needed to be witnessed. Chapter 58 - Forget it, Jana. Its Soar. Unsurprisingly, the fallout from the events on the Third Floor of the Celestial Temple had been pretty seismic. After all, it wasn''t every day that a Commander of the Security Services selflessly sacrificed himself to protect innocent members of the public from the predation of rampaging . On reflection, all involved recognised that headline could have used some sub-editing. Nevertheless, the story of Cenorth''s doomed, noble stand against two horrific monsters - holding the Portal Stone open so others could escape, even as the at his side were cut down and slain - was surely destined to go down in Soar legend. And it was not just the deaths of Commander Cenorth and his fellow officers that were to be mourned. No. Not at all. On top of that appalling tragedy, it also had become known that the renowned philanthropist Markian Ulton had also perished to those fiends, leaving a gaping hole in the social calendar of Jewel Town, the likes of which had never been seen before. At least, not that week. And, horror upon horror, Cadi Verahalim, lawyer to the rich and famous, would likewise see the morrow no more. Stop all the clocks, etc etc. If anyone had questions as to why such an eclectic collection of people had been gathered together at the scene of another high-profile murder, then they were sensible enough to hold their tongues. There were cover-ups, and then there were Soar cover-ups. And enough people had lost their lives during the d''Avec investigation for there to be somewhat of an interest fatigue. Lowe wished that surprised him. He wished for a lot of things. "You okay, little man?" Lowe looked up over the rim of his cup of coffee at the concerned face of Latham. The had done as much as any of them to try to leak the true story of what had happened that day on the Third Floor, but you couldn''t sell what no one was buying. There was a rumour that Arkola themselves had had ''a quiet word'' to get him to drop it, but Lowe hadn''t had the heart to ask him about it, and Latham wasn''t sharing. "Sure. Fine and dandy. You?" Latham shrugged. "Same old, same old. How''s your girl holding up?" That did bring a genuine smile to Lowe''s face. Because, at least for now, Arebella was very much ''his girl''. Nursing her back to health after what had happened had seemed the very least he could do. Of course, for him to keep up a regular stream of applications of Medic!, he had insisted that she move in with him. And once she''d tasted Mylaf''s food, he didn''t think he was ever going to get rid of her. Also, fun fact: you could do all sorts of athletic things, even with some rather nasty injuries. "She''s good, thank you. How about yours?" Latham blushed. A rather odd thing to see appear on his massive, blunt face. "All good. But we''re taking it slow. I think Hel''s going to have some significant trust issues for the near future." Lowe nodded. That sounded like a bit of an understatement. "And, erm, her family? They''re all okay?" "They''re fine. If anyone asks, they''re taking an extended tour of the countryside alongside some friends of hers. You know. Just until the heat dies down a bit." That seemed sensible. If there was one thing an Out of Bounds squad - even a retired one - was good at, it was going missing until those looking for them lost interest. Lowe was sure they''d be back. Especially as no one showed any interest in uncovering what had really happened in the Celestial Temple. "Shut the fuck up and listen to me. This is the Council''s final offer," Acting Commander Pernille Staffen had said, dark shadows under her eyes suggesting she wasn''t loving the promotion yet, "you get to come back on full pay, a backdated pension, corner office and a fucking partridge in a pear tree. It''s a moonshot, Jana. I can''t get any more from them for you." "But?" Lowe had asked, already knowing the rotting tooth in this particular gift horse''s mouth. "But they don''t want to hear another word about Gianna fucking d''Avec. As far as that is concerned, the case is closed. in the city and all that." He''d wanted to tell her where to stick it. That, until he was satisfied that he knew what had happened in the High Priestess''s chamber, there wasn''t any bribe in the world that would stick. But then he remembered the look on Arebella''s face as she''d walked down that corridor towards him, blood oozing from the wounds from Cenorth''s knife, and he''d decided to get over himself. For once, he could let sleeping dogs lie. "Are you sure you don''t want me to come with you?" Latham asked. "You might need backup? For old time''s sake?" Okay, so that homily about the slumbering canines might have been the sweatiest of bollocks. Lowe stood, brushing crumbs off his best, Mylaf-ironed suit and flashed Latham a smile. "Thanks for the offer, mate. But I''ve got this." * Aintra Webber paused at the junction of Beldam and Caprice and took a deep, cleansing breath. Life had been extremely busy of late. For most of those in Gravalk''s cult, the inevitable drop down the Temple hierarchy that had accompanied losing their High Priestess had been humiliating. But, unlike his fellows, that wasn''t how he saw things. As his father, and his grandfather, had always said ''it wasn''t the intensity of the flame that mattered. It was how long it burned.'' And the intended to keep burning for a long time yet, thank you very much. He was just preparing to cross the street and make his way towards the Fountain of Youth when a shadow fell over his path. Looking up, he saw the solemn face of the last man he expected to see in the Quarter of Ash. "Mr Lowe. What brings you all the way out here?" Lowe gave a tight little smile. "It''s Inspector Lowe." "Ah, then your heroics in the Temple have not gone unrewarded? I am very pleased to hear it. I sang your praises in my debrief, I''ll have you know." "I rather think my reinstatement has more to do with political expediency than any recognition of ''heroics'', but thank you very much, all the same. Do you have a moment, sir?" Aintra looked up and down the street, unsure what was expected of him. "I do. Until a new High Priest - or High Priestess, of course - is named, I doubt anyone will look askance at me being a little late. What is it you wanted to talk about?" Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. "I know you killed her." The statement was so unexpected that the found himself laughing in genuine surprise. "You know what?" "Gianna d''Avec. It was you who killed her." Aintra ran his tongue across his lips and frowned. "I think that joke is in very poor taste, Mr Lowe." "Inspector." "Yes, of course. You said. In any event, that is not something you should jest about. The Cult of Gravalk is still in mourning for the loss of our great leader. It hardly seems appropriate for you to accost me in the street and make light of that fact." "I''m not making light of it." Lowe dipped a hand into his pocket and withdrew a bulky black glove. "This was hidden in the cupboard under your stairs." "The cupboard under my . . . What were you doing in my house? You had no right to break in and remove my property!" "Ah, that''s a shame. You were doing so well. You were hitting just the right note of confused, injured injustice. But that''s your first mistake, right there. I think you will find that the correct response would have been, ''I''ve never seen that before in my life.''" Aintra stepped back, trying to get some distance between them. Trying to think. "I haven''t seen it before. What is it? A glove? I must have hundreds of gloves." "Come on, Mr Webber. You need to be quicker than this. Pick a lane. You either haven''t seen it before or have loads like it. Although, I should point out that if you have ''hundreds'' of gloves that are carrying traces of skin cells, then you are one freaky son of a bitch." The found himself pressing back against a wall, Lowe remorsefully pressing forward. "Let me level with you, mate. At the moment, you having this glove is the only thing you have going for you. Because it suggests that you have a conscience. That you weren''t willing to have someone else take the blame for a crime you know you''d committed. I''d grab hold of that life jacket if I were you." As Lowe spoke, Aintra was transported back to d''Avec''s chamber that night. Seeing, through the open door, the first member of the Security Services on scene carefully place a glove he had taken from his pocket onto the floor near one of the High Priestess'' legs. As soon as that man had left, locking up the active crime scene behind him, Webber had swooped back in - utilising his Secret Keeper Skill to get access to the chamber - and retrieved the evidence. "How did you find out?" "Ah, that''s better. I''m always more comfortable once we move out of the Denial stage of proceedings. Full disclosure, though, if you get to Anger and feel the need to lash out, I''m going to kick your arse. I''ve got some frustrations that need to be worked out." "How did you know it was me?" Aintra''s voice was faint. "Poisoning in my coffee. That was just fucking stupid." "Your coffee?" "Yeah. And there''s a dead I''m adding to your side of the ledger, too. It''s one thing trying to kill me - it''s an occupational hazard, and more often than not, I''d overlook it - but you got that poor kid involved, and that was only going to end one way. I tend to take that sort of shit personally. Now I think of it, that probably cancels out you taking the glove." "I am afraid, Mr Lowe - " "Inspector." "- Inspector Lowe that you are not making any sense. First, you show me a glove you have illegally obtained from my house and suggest this is evidence of my guilt. Then you segue into some nonsense about poisoning your coffee. I must confess, I have no idea where you are going with this. What is it you are accusing me of?" "Fair enough. Let''s make it plain then, shall we? Unfortunately for you, the proprietor of ''Drink U Like'' who - would you believe it, is selling a very different product than coffee - has been experiencing a number of robberies of late. I know! I know! It''s getting like you can''t run an entirely clandestine drug business in Soar without someone trying to rip you off. Whatever next, eh? Where was I?" "I really could not begin to tell you." "Ah, yes. ''Drink U Like''. Well, in response to his third shakedown of the week, the owner decided to install a pretty snazzy Observation Hub in the street outside his shop. And, what do you think I found on there?" "I have absolutely no idea." "Really? Okay, then let me tell you. On the day in question, I see me and my esteemed friend enter for a refreshing cup of joe and - what do you know? - just a moment later, a shady-looking motherfucker sneaks around the back and has a very animated conversation with a poor , after which a small packet is handed over and said shady dude slinks off. And do you know what?" "What," Aintra said faintly. "That was actually your big mistake. Because if you''d hung around for just a few more moments, to actually watch the deed being done, you''d have seen the poor lad throw the packet you''d given him in the recycling bin. Good habits die hard, apparently." "And I suppose you have retrieved that packet?" "Of course. Complete with all sorts of fingerprint goodies. Well, not me, obviously. But Soar''s - a complete wanker, but pretty good at his job when all is said and done - has it, and he has lots of interesting things to say. Did you know, for example, that there are certain types of seaweed . . . no, sorry. Penarth tells me I should call them microalgae. But that sounds rather poncy. But hey, whatever they are, if you mix them with certain other substances they are really appallingly toxic. I can testify to that. Yet another shirt down the drain. Tell me, was that something of which you were aware?" "I am not sure it would be wise for me to answer." "Oh dear. I hoped to get a bit further through things before we reached the ''no comment'' stage of proceedings. Never mind, I''m sure I can do a monologue. Feel free to chip in when you know the words. Because it turns out you are very aware of that because, and this strikes me as some pretty specialised knowledge, are encouraged to experiment with the use of microalgae in the creation of scented candles. Your father was quite an expert in that craft, I understand? I imagine there are all sorts of samples lying around that house of yours." "No comment." "Ah, thought I could trick you there. No worries. As I''m sure you''ve guessed, I''ve already searched it and have quite the haul of potential murder weapons. So here I am, with a packet of pretty nasty poison, a with no motive I could think of to want me dead, a High Priestess who, literally, blew her top with a fucking seaweed candle lit in her room. Where do you think all of that should take me?" "You can''t prove anything." "Maybe not. I''d like to know what happened, though." Aintra sighed. A deep, weary sigh, and Lowe had the impression of a great weight being lifted from his shoulders as he spoke. "The powerful think they are better than the rest of us. Have you noticed that?" The glanced up at Lowe''s Classless state and nodded to himself. "I''m sure you have¡ªmore than the rest of us. Once upon a time, we were the same level, Gianna and I. Did you know that? We entered the Temple at exactly the same time. Of course, there was no question that she was destined to be the star. And I was more than content to serve. But then she didn''t want me anymore." "You killed her because she fired you?" "I killed her because she discarded me. A woman who never threw a thing away in her life. Who lived in a rundown house, who employed her parents'' , who gave away every penny she earned to the ''poor''. But when it came to me, the person who knew her best, the person who had sacrificed his own ambitions for her? Well, for me it was ''thank you and goodbye''. ''You''ve been found wanting.'' Damn right, I killed her." Lowe rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension he could feel building. "You poisoned her?" "Seaweed is an amazing thing, you know? With the right encouragement and skill set, microalgae induces oxygen depletion and then releases toxic compounds. My father was quite an expert at magnifying that effect. I lit one of his candles for her after she dismissed me and watched as she slowly drifted off into a peaceful sleep. All that power, all that belligerence, and she had no protection to simple smoke. I doubt she even felt the moment when her mana transformed into water. It strikes me there are worse ways to go." Lowe looked at the old man, trying not to let the disappointment on his face show. After everything that had happened, he had hoped for something . . . more. For the murder that had started so many tumultuous events to have been more noteworthy than petty revenge. "And you specifically asked for me when you found the body because?" "You hardly have a sterling reputation, Inspector Lowe. And I''m sure there''s no way you can prove it," Webber said, the colour returning to his cheeks. "No," Lowe sighed. "I suppose not. Tell you what, I''ll just stop being an ''Inspector'' momentarily and go back to being plain old Jana Lowe." As he spoke, he took his other hand out of his pocket to show Aintra a burning incense stick. "And Mr Lowe knows one thing for certain." Aintra frowned at the incense stick. "Which is?" Lowe smiled. "That your god is sounding pretty pissed off about the whole thing right now . . ." The eyes widened in the moment before Gravalk''s fire took him. He burned for far longer than Lowe would have thought it was possible for a human being to be alight. Eventually, though, Aintra Webber collapsed into ash, and the breeze swept up his remains, leaving Lowe standing in quiet contemplation. For a fanciful moment, he wondered whether Gianna d''Avec would rest a little easier now her murderer had been brought to . . . well, not justice, but something justice-adjacent. But what did such things matter once you were dead? When you were sleeping the big sleep, he assumed you were not too bothered by things like that. He guessed it was just the way things were in Soar. With a nod of his head, watching specks of Aintra float in the air, Jana Lowe began the walk home. Inspector Lowe will return in ''One of our Dreadnaughts is Missing''. Chapter 1 - A Shocking Imposition (Book 2) On the morning of the first murder, Grackle Nuroon stormed from exhibition to exhibition in somewhat of a funk. The other employees who had made the mistake of arriving early for their shift at Soar Museum did their best to stay out of his way, but inevitably, there were unpleasant scenes when paths were crossed. On his best day, the was a spikey, Level 56 presence in the halls of that dusty building, and today did certainly not promise to be one of those. "What manner of moron labelled this piece!" he hissed at a passing , his scratchy voice barely rising above a whisper. Despite the volume, though, the intensity of his annoyance made the words echo around the cavernous space. Knowing that no reply was really required, the young woman - barely a step into Level 6 - put her head down and scampered away, conscious that there were few more implacable figures than this spindly little man when his blood was up. If Naroon thought it odd that his employees were literally fleeing from his wake, he did not deign to let it bother him. He had held this position for the best part of four decades and had long lost interest in the opinions of ''short-lived creatures'', as he tended to think of anyone who was not worthy of being catalogued, pickled and then put behind a display case. "''Third Aeon Hunting Knife'', my arse!" he said, channelling Artifact Appraisal as he plucked the offending article free from its place in the display cabinet. "Fifth Aeon, at best," he muttered, waiting for the notification to confirm his suspicion. "It''ll be that idiot Khrichen, I wager. He''s never seen an exhibit he couldn''t miscategorise by a few thousand years." When the *ding* confirmation came through, Nuroon gave a sickly grin and looked around for some passing nonentity to take out some of his frustration. When no obvious target presented itself - the message had been hurriedly shared that the Director was loose in the Exhibition Hall and all sensible beings should find themselves somewhere else to be as a matter of urgency - he turned his anger to the mislabelled knife. Such an error reduced the integrity of this whole section. How did his people not realise that? He explained it often enough! It only took one mistake of this type - one artefact incorrectly assigned - and questions would be asked over every article in the museum. This place was only as good as its reputation. And he had lent the bricks and mortar of Soar Museum his precious reputation for decades. In anger, Nuroon''s Cultural Appropriation Skill flared, and the knife suddenly dissolved down into grey dust, its stored, ancient XP flowing into his core. There was a brief moment of guilt for his actions - that was hardly the behaviour of a professional of his standing. At least, not since those early days as an mooching around in the Pits of Panthen - but then Nuroon''s fury at the instruction he had received the night before reignited and such minor concerns were forgotten. After the disrespect he had been shown, the Trustees were lucky he wasn''t rampaging around absorbing the whole fucking museum. What in Soar had prompted the Board to allow an inspection of his exhibits this morning? On this day of all days? And, what is more, to insist that he ''welcome'' the interloper with open arms, as if he did not have anything better to do with his time! It was a ridiculous imposition and a complete vote of no confidence in his leadership of the museum. And he had told the Chair of the Committee that in no uncertain terms when they had met. "Grackle, I do think you are overreacting to this a touch," Liando Verlan had said to him, her watery blue eyes wary. The temper of the museum''s Director was legendary, and she was less than delighted to have been given the responsibility of delivering this news. "It is not like the Trustees are suggesting anything untoward has been taking place. But, after all, it is in our articles of association that an should be allowed access to the exhibits annually. Just checks and balances, you understand. From our records, it has been some time since . . ." This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. But Nuroon was not listening. He rarely did. "It is interference, plain and simple. What you are suggesting occurs is the very thing I was promised would never happen when I agreed to take up this role! A museum is only as good as the independence of its leadership. And you are threatening that. What''s next, I ask you? Will one of the Trustees request that I turn over the Minaron Wing for displays dedicated to their personal histories? A travesty, I tell you. A travesty. Up with this sort of thing, I will not put!" Grimacing at the Director''s tone, Verlan had opened her hands in a ''what can I do?'' gesture. "I hear your concerns. Honestly, I do. However, I must tell you that the Trustees are united on this, Grackle. The has been booked, and they will be with you first thing tomorrow morning. We expect you to show them every courtesy. There is no reason, no reason at all, that this should not be all over and done with by the supper bell. You let them in, you tour them around any exhibits they wish to check and - should all be well - you won''t have to worry about this for another year." It was challenging to keep up his white-hot indignation in the face of his Chair''s calm and reasonable voice. Nevertheless, Nuroon gave it a good go."And that is another thing. Why am I just hearing about the inspection now? We had a Board meeting only last week. Why was an event of this magnitude not included on that agenda? It is scandalous that I have only heard about an inspection of my museum the evening before it occurs. It seems to me that the Trustees are seeking to humiliate me!" Verlan privately reflected that a considerable reason for the Director''s difficult personality was perhaps that he had not been humiliated enough during his long life. But this did not seem like an appropriate moment to mention it. "I can assure you that there is no conspiracy here, Grackle. Tomorrow is simply the first available date we could book in. I must tell you that we are mindful of being in breach of our insurance. I hardly need to explain to you, of all people, that Soar Museum is home to some priceless artefacts. In the event of fire, flood or an act of god, the Trustees need to know we are well protected in the eyes of the ." Of course, the deliberately short notice of the inspection ensured Nuroon did not have the opportunity to make all of their lives hellish in the interim. There had been innumerable occasions during his long period in office that the former had utilised his skills to uncover all manner of skeletons in various closets to win Trustees to his side of a cause. On this occasion, as a Board, they were determined to avoid similar bloodbaths. "And if I were to offer my resignation?" Nuroon said, skinny nostrils flaring. "Would that make a difference?" Verlan put a little steel into her expression. One did not rise to the Chairwomanship of the building at the centre of Soar''s cultural life without having sharp elbows of her own to deploy. As a Level 40 , she had recently been granted an unusual threshold bonus by her patron god and, whilst not itching to use it to enslave the will of Grackle fucking Nuroon, there was only so far she was going to allow him to continue to be a dick about a pretty minor request. "Of course, Grackle, that would be a matter of considerable regret to Trustees. We would not like to feel you should believe that to be your only option. However, on behalf of the Trustees, I have been empowered to accept, should you insist that to be your wish." Verlan held up a hand, manifesting Nuroon''s contract into it in a puff of entirely unnecessary but dramatically satisfying smoke. "We extended the term of your Directorship just last year. It would be disappointing to bring your career at Soar Museum to a close over such a minor matter. However, the Trustees will not risk failing to be compliant with any number of our constitutional rules by allowing this audit to be cancelled." Despite a little more to and fro, there had not been much for them to say to each other after that. And now here he stood, awaiting the arrival of an who may or may not be poised to bring his whole house of cards crashing down around his ears. This had the potential to be a truly disastrous day. Nuroon let the remaining ash from the desiccated knife fall from his fingers. Well, there was little to be done about it now, in any event. It wasn''t like he could have the fucking killed, was it? Chapter 2 - The (Book 2) In grudging response to the shrieking of her alarm, Karolen Mehin forced open her eyes, resisting her every instinct to vapourise the fucking thing and go back to sleep. Today was not destined to be a joy, and it took an act of supreme self-control not to pull the sheets back over her head and give the whole thing up as a bad job. How on earth had she allowed herself to be dragged into the middle of a powerplay between Liando Verlan and Grackle Nuroon? It was one thing being, in theory, an entirely independent . But it was quite another when you found yourself forced to pick a side between one of the genuine upcoming movers and shakers in the commercial world of Soar and, well, Grackle fucking Nuroon. There was simply no way that this was going to end well. The was an institution in Soar - or at least, as the joke went, he should be locked up in one - and he''d managed to see off every attempt to bring him to heel from the moment he''d taken possession of the keys of that massive building in the centre of the Cultural Quarter. That the Trustees were reduced to trying to get rid of their man via that old favourite - an indictment for tax fraud - said as much about Nuroon''s teflon nature as it did about Verlan''s determination to bring the matter to a head. It didn''t help Karolen''s mood that every other who''d attempted to investigate the museum''s accounts in the last twenty years had not come out of things well. There had been three unexplained deaths and two inexplicable ''vanishings''. And they were only the ones she had gotten people to talk to her about. In the brutal world of financial investigation in Soar, any day you came home with all your fingers and toes was a good one, but even her dauntless courage and bravery had their limits. Despite the assurances of Liando Verlan and the explicit backing of the rest of the museum Board, Karolen could not think of any circumstances where anything short of giving that fucking man the cleanest of clean bills of health wouldn''t be a death knell. Of course, Verlan had made it clear that they would back Karolen to the hilt should she find any . . . irregularities, but the would be being pretty naive if she hadn''t considered all the ways in which her latest professional engagement wasn''t destined to go horribly wrong. Swinging her legs to the side of her bed and sitting up straight, she was taken back to the words of her best friend, Arebella Telut, at the wine bar the previous evening. "How do you get yourself into these situations, K! This case is the very definition of lose-lose," Arebella had said. "You think I don''t know that?" "It''s the biggest open secret in Soar that Grackle Nuroon has been fiddling the museum books since Arkola was in short trousers. There''s a reason the Trustees have been unable to find anyone to sign off the accounts in years!" "I know," she had said again. Somewhat more resignedly this time. "Best case scenario, you manage to spin anything untoward you find as an accident. A clerical error. A failure to carry the one or whatever in Soar it is you look out for in those spreadsheets of yours. But even then, there will be red faces all around when it comes. Because that blood-sucking spider of a man will find a way to make your life a misery for making him look stupid, and the Trustees will never forgive you for making it seem like they were asleep at the wheel. And that''s the best case, K! I can''t even imagine the shitstorm you will find yourself going through if you actually uncover enough evidence of wrongdoing to allow for a prosecution." "Bella, I know!" "I know you know. And that''s what makes you accepting the job such a colossally stupid thing to do. You''re damned if you do, and you''re damned if you don''t. You''re going to need to find a way to recuse yourself." Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. "It''s too late for that. Verlan''s telling the Director tonight that he''s to co-operate fully with me. Even if I wanted to, I couldn''t pull out now." "Shit!" Arebella had sat back then, the gold irises of her eyes shining in sympathy. "You''re seriously going to go through with this? Tell me at least the money is insanely good." "Enough to keep me in Chardonnay. But that''s not the point, and you know it. Unless some of us are willing to stand up against the way things have always been, we''re never going to get anywhere. Relics like Nuroon . . . Justice needs to be done. And it needs to be seen to be done. You, of all people, should respect the hustle of trying to disrupt the status quo." Arebella had smiled at that. "True. But it would be ideal if a few of us could live to see the sunlit uplands." "Of course. But you''re forgetting I have another option other than clerical error or wholesale fraud . . ." "You do?" "Yes. I can simply turn off all my Skills and turn a blind eye to anything I find. That''s what the last who was sent to investigate did. Trust me, you should see the report they came up with. It''s the work of an evil, maniacal genius. You can tell he''s uncovered all sorts of shit, but he stops short of actually saying anything you can hang your hat on. I could play it that way? Tell the truth, but do so in such a way that he doesn''t come after me. You know? Obsfucate. Obsfucate. Obsfucate." Karolen could still see her friend''s disgusted expression at that suggestion. "I mean, sure. But you''re not going to do that, are you?" There had been a tense silence before she had taken another massive gulp of wine and shaken her head. "No. I''m not. Of course, I''m not. What a fucking shambles." Other than ''don''t touch it with a bargepole'', Arebella hadn''t had much more advice of use to offer, and she''d made her excuses soon after. Her friend had recently got back together with that loose cannon of a detective of hers and had been spending nearly every waking moment at his apartment. In fact, their impromptu glass (or five) last night had been the first time they''d got together in over a month. Karolen conjured up a cup of strong coffee and rolled the hot bitterness of it around her mouth as she continued to slowly wake up. No matter how you looked at it, this job was a ridiculously unnecessary risk to take with a career that, since hitting Level 20, was starting to show evidence of going places. She had chosen Forensic Dissection as her Threshold Reward and used all her savings to immediately raise it to the Epic tier. At this stage, she could temporarily reduce a target''s stats by 20% and also reveal all hidden Skills and vulnerabilities. As a bonus, she would likewise gain a 10% damage boost against the analysed target. At University, it had come as something of a surprise to her how often an found themselves in hand-to-hand combat with their clients, but she was certainly glad to have ground her way to a Skill that gave her a bit more survivability. And now this job. All her painstaking progress up the slippery pole would be wasted if she were crushed between the two nightmare pillars of the Soar Museum''s Trustees and its implacable Director. Minutes ticked by, and the coffee was consumed. Well, she finally decided, it was too late to worry about such things. She had signed the contract - and accepted the exorbitant fee - and was expected to present herself to Grackle Nuroon''s tender ministrations within the hour. Her flat in the ''emerging district'' as her slimy had described it - although what precisely was emerging remained to be seen - was a short walk from a Portal Stone that would deliver her, literally, at the gates of Soar Museum. It wasn''t exactly like living in Jewel Town, but she was starting to become comfortable with life''s little luxuries and was damned if she was going to allow fear of repercussions from a dried-up bundle of malevolent energy to get in the way of that. Pulling her long red hair into a tight bun, Karolen stood and crossed to the clothes she had carefully laid out the night before. Her finely tailored tunic was expensively cut and fitted with silver buttons that enhanced her Dexterity and Concentration, while her most recent purchase, trousers from one of the more exotic boutiques in the Commercial District, increased her endurance and resilience by 10%. Over the top of all that, she pulled on her Inspector''s Mantle, a long, flowing cloak that shifted colours to blend with the surroundings. It provided a stealth bonus and had an aura of intimidation - which was much stronger now she had crossed her Level 20 Threshold. Taking a final look at herself in the mirror, she was pretty happy with what she saw: the very definition of a professional preparing for the most significant case of her career. If anyone had told her that she was on her way to witness a murder she would have assumed they were speaking metaphorically. She would have been wrong. Chapter 3 - Barbarians at the Gate (Book 2) Despite Karolen living in close proximity to her district''s Portal Stone, the inauspicious driving rain added considerably to her journey to the museum. As she locked her front door, water poured down in sheets, turning the streets of Soar into a network of glistening rivers. All of those commuters who might usually have enjoyed a leisurely early morning stroll through had instead decided a short, wet queue for mana transportation was preferable to a much longer mobile soaking. Thus, when she arrived, there was an irritatingly large scrum of humanity waiting around the Portal Stone, all in various degrees of poor humour. Karolen groaned in frustration as she joined the serpentine queue which wound its way down More-In-Expectation-Than-Hope Avenue and back up towards the street on which she lived, Contemplation Drive. Of all the things she thought might go wrong with her assignment today, turning up both late and wet had not been in the top ten. But there was nothing to be done about that now. Having little else to occupy herself with until it was her turn, Karolen spent a few minutes amusing herself at the eclectic mix of professionals and . . . the less gainfully employed that were now huddled together under whatever ramshackle cover they could find. At the front of the line stood a Level 18 looking particularly embarrassed at this state of affairs. The short, dark-haired woman was muttering incantations to ward off the rain that was, technically, part of their job description and ignoring the glares of everyone else who was getting soaked. Beside her, a Level 7 tried to shield his wares with an oversized raincoat, checking the deluge wasn¡¯t ruining the carefully organised powders. It was very much in keeping with this part of town that he was doing a roaring trade with those who needed a ''little something'' to cope with the wait. Indeed, in a display of the entrepreneurial spirit for which Soar was so famed, he had teamed up with a , smelling faintly of espresso and caramel, to offer an outrageously good value ''2-4-1'' deal. Thus, all the way down the line, people were balancing steaming cups of coffee in one hand and surreptitiously snorting something eye-opening off the wrist of the other. There were going to be some buzzing people at their desks this morning, Karolen thought . . . A little further back, a Level 24 stood with their arms crossed, electricity crackling around their fingers whenever someone jostled them and repeatedly shocking themselves whenever rain fell on them. Karolen did not think there was much chance of the guy making it to Level 25. Behind this ongoing suicide attempt, and repeatedly bumping into them, a wrangled a leash holding a pack of invisible, presumably wet, spectral hounds. Or, Karolen supposed, it could just be they were an early-morning mentalist gearing up for some high-quality chicanery . . . Watching the man hit the again and again with the lead, Karolen thought it was too early to make that call. And all of this was set to the tune of a Level 11 played a melancholic little tune on a waterlogged violin, adding a touch of whimsy to the dreary scene. Despite herself, Karolen smiled at the sight of so many young professionals who did not quite have the gold to live anywhere more upmarket¡ªmuch like herself, she thought¡ªliving cheek by jowl amongst the more traditional residents. The scene was a microcosm of Soar itself, she thought: diverse, chaotic, and never entirely on the move. And then it was finally her turn. Pouring mana into stone and thinking ''Soar Museum'', Karolen stepped through the shimmering portal and vanished. * Karolen had done her homework. Her inventory was packed with page-upon-page of notes, questions and outright accusations she intended to explore with the once her investigation officially began. Of course, it had been so long since anyone competent had been allowed access to the museum''s accounts that it may well be that what she had uncovered during her long hours of preparation was so much historical fluff. However, somehow, she doubted it. The level of ''creative'' accounting, quadruple-entry bollocks and general numerical sneakiness that she had identified in the previous audit was not something that could be resolved on the QT. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. If anything, she was anticipating it having become a million times worse, and if this was true, Director Nuroon was being a very naughty boy indeed. There was a familiar rush of pressure, and then Karolen stepped out of the portal and was at Soar Museum''s main gates. A guard''s station was to her left, and to the right was a dilapidated smoker''s hut under which five or six museum employees were huddled out of the rain. Karolen smiled at that. Widespread, wholesale financial fraud was one thing, but apparently, even Grackle Nuroon drew the line at ignoring Health and Safety legislation. There was already a long queue formed awaiting the museum''s opening - it appeared several school trips had been organised this morning, and a clutch of harassed were being ritually tortured by baying children - so Karolen activated her cloak''s camouflage ability in order to slip the chaos and to approach the giant man standing guard. The words Level 14 floated above his head, of which Karolen made a mental note. Buried in the last set of accounts was a stream of payments for expensive, bespoke . It may well be, of course, that some cost-saving measures had recently been instituted. However, she thought it more on brand for what she suspected that Nuroon was working with one of Soar''s to invoice for one Class and receive another - splitting the considerable gold difference between them. "Fuck off," the guard intoned as she switched off her camouflage. "There''s a fucking queue." "I''m Mehin. You should be expecting me." The guard looked at her, no recognition at all flaring in his flat glare. "Are you deaf? Fuck. Off. There''s a queue." He pointed back towards the school parties, one of which had constructed a makeshift crucifix and was, even now, nailing their hapless teacher to it. "I tell you what, why don''t we try all this again," Karolen said, triggering Mandatory Review and focusing it on the man blocking her way. This Skill forced its target to undergo a thorough and invasive review of their abilities and actions, disrupting their concentration and reducing their resolve. It also silenced the man and prevented all spell-casting and ability use for a five-minute duration. In theory, Karolen would also gain increased power for each ability the target was unable to use, but it did not seem that this poor chump had many Skills at all to call on. "My name is Karolen Mehin, and I was asked to attend a meeting this morning with Director Nuroon. It may well be that this message has not been passed down to you, for which I am sure the Director will apologise profusely for the oversight. However, this doesn''t help you out right now, sir. Because, as of one minute ago, you made the poor life choice to obstruct an in the course of their lawful business. I am sure you are aware - having no doubt undergone thorough training for your role of . . . standing still and looking menacing - this is a Stage Nine offence and carries with it all manner of unpleasant penalties. These are up to and including immediate incarceration for thirty years in the deepest, smelliest dungeon my office can find. And we do tend to get pretty creative about such things." The guard opened his mouth to speak, but, of course, being ''silenced'', no sound came out. His eyes bugged out pleasantly, though, Karolen thought. "However, it''s first thing in the morning, and I''m sure we are all not quite at our best -" the dying screams of a teacher whose cross had just been set alight was a useful soundscape to her broader point - "so if you would like to reconsider the advisability of your current position, I am willing for us to start again. Nod if you think that would be a simply splendid idea." A meaty neck bobbed enthusiastically up and down. "Excellent. Well," Karolen extended her hand, which made the big man quail backwards before hesitatingly extending his own to accept the preferred shake, "I am , and I would very much like you to let Director Nuroon know that I have arrived to begin the inspection." "As impressive as your little show of dominance is, my dear, perhaps we can stop intimidating the help and get down to business?" Karolen sprang around as the scratchy voice of Grackle Nuroon whispered in her ear. Panicked, she activated every one of her defensive Skills, causing even the teenagers indulging in a little light sacrificial slaughter to settle down at her display of power. The stepped back from her shoulder and simply raised an ironic eyebrow as her attempts to blast him away washed over him like so much insubstantial air. "I am sure my can find you a Mana Potion to replace all of . . . . that," he said with colossal disdain. "Would you perhaps like a moment to freshen up before we begin, though? I do find discussions are more profitable without the stink of impotent Skill usage clogging up one''s senses." Without wasting a backward glance, Nuroon passed through the now-open gates and into the museum beyond. Feeling somewhat discouraged to have so manifestly lost the opening skirmish, Karolen moved to follow him. And with that, a series of unfortunate events were set in motion. Chapter 4 - The Great Hall (Book 2) Even tapping into a Skill that significantly boosted her Stamina, Karolen found keeping up with the spindly little man a challenge. Nuroon scampered on ahead of her, moving through hallways and opening doorways with a speed that belied his apparent age. Despite doing her best to keep track of the twists and turns of their progress, Karolen was not certain she would have been able to find her way back should the suddenly speed up even further and leave her behind. That thought - coupled with a pertinent memory of those unexplained vanishings of previous - caused Karolen to find further reserves of speed to keep Nuroon close. She was, thus, moving at quite a pace when turning a blind corner, she was brought to a crashing halt by the sudden, unexpected appearance of a staircase leading up to the first floor. "Do mind your step, Ms Mehin," a sarcastic voice called down from the top of the stairs. Karolen took a moment to collect herself before answering. Things had not begun in the way she had planned, and this undignified sprint through dusty, abandoned corridors was leaving her considerably bad-tempered. "Director Nuroon!" she called upwards, her tone sharper than she had intended, but not feeling too sorry for that right now. "Yes, Ms Mehin?" he replied, emphasising the sibilance of ''Ms'' as if he were in the middle of transforming into a giant python. Which, as far as she knew, was something of which he was potentially capable. To Karolen''s mind, far too few specifics had been recorded regarding the Skillset of the . Indeed, records of the abilities of the previous Director of the Soar Museum had been destroyed in an unexplained fire many years before - she had checked - and it did not appear anyone had pressed the current occupant to share his Stat Sheet. It was just one of the many reasons why everyone Karolen had consulted about this audit had suggested she ran for the hills. Well, it was too late for that now. "How about we agree on something right out of the gate, Director Nuroon? I will refer to you by your professional title, and you will afford me the same courtesy." Nuroon cocked his head to one side, looking nothing so much like a defeathered vulture, and smiled. It was a smile Karolen could have done without in her life. "Ah, so you''re one of those young women?" "One of ''what'' women, Director?" she said, making her way up the stairs to stand next to him. Karolen was not tall, but as she reached the top step, she was a little shocked to realise she towered over him. It hardly seemed credible that just one word from this man was considered to make and break most careers in the creative arts. "Oh, you know," he said, making a complicated gesture with his spidery fingers, "all iron knickers, and affirmative action and having it all until your biological clock explodes, and then it''s babies, babies all the time." Karolen opened her mouth to spit back a reply but then closed it, smiling broadly. Truculent and misanthropic, certainly, but Nuroon was not known for his casual misogyny. That he was choosing to play that card in their first meeting suggested he thought it would benefit him somehow. Maybe her arrival had him more rattled than he appeared? Mindful of this, she adopted her most sincere, patient tone. "I think, Director, it would serve us both if we left consideration of my knickers for another occasion. Perhaps our time would be better spent if you were to show me to the office from which I will work during the audit?" Something flashed over Nuroon''s face, but Karolen was unable to properly read the expression before he turned her back on her and flung open the single door before them. "Quite. I was thinking of putting you in here." Karolen kept her face meticulously still as she regarded a room that, clearly, the better-quality brooms had already rejected. In her experience, audits tended to go one of two ways. Either the recipient could not do enough for you - coffee, cake and you were based in the CEO''s office - or you were made to feel as unwelcome as a split condom at an orgy. It appeared Nuroon had decided to go all in on the latter option. "I might suggest, Director, that most people feel it appropriate to provide me with at least a chair. Some even break the bank and make arrangements for a table." "Really? Strange and mysterious are the ways of those of Soar. Are you saying this room will not be suitable for your purposes? In that case, as I am afraid space is at a premium with the new exhibitions due to open, it sounds like it might be best if we reschedule. How are you fixed for this time next year?" The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Karolen stared down into his reptilian eyes and shook her head. "No, not at all. I was merely musing aloud. You see, it is a funny thing about my process: the poorer my working conditions, the slower I tend to work. Why," she said studiously, peering inside the tiny cupboard, "I could imagine this inspection could take three, maybe even four weeks in such circumstances." * Funnily enough, a more suitable base of operations opened up almost immediately. This far bigger office had not only a table and chair but also running coffee and a spectacular view of the inner courtyard. Seeing the almost magical grandeur of the gardens below the window, Karolen''s mind flew to the total lack of any mention of or relevant upkeep expenses for such a beautiful panorama being declared in the museum''s records. This was especially noteworthy as there were all sorts of corporate ''Green'' grants available to businesses in Soar. The Mayor had realised that a section of his electorate would vote for a scrotum with a moustache painted on it, provided there were vague promises to scratch the ''sustainable living'' itch. It was, therefore, highly suspect Nuroon hadn''t sought to defray the maintenance costs of the veritable jungle she was looking at here. However, before she had a chance to think much about that, two new faces appeared at her door, accompanied by the Director, and insisted she accompany them on a ''tour of the facility''. The younger of the two, Martha Culloden, was the , ultimately responsible for protecting and restoring all the museum''s exhibits, using both mana-based and mundane techniques. Karolen knew the woman by reputation and sensed that might be mutual, judging by Martha''s tight smile and nervous laughter when they met. If, as she suspected, Soar Museum had more relics on paper than they did in their vault, then Culloden would be first in the firing line. Thus, her presence during the audit was necessary and expected, but that was certainly not the case for the second of her visitors. Kelvin Kregg, the museum''s , was very much an unwelcome addition to proceedings. Karolen might have expected to have to deal with the smooth-talking man in the cheap suit at the very end of her investigation when there was spinning to be done, but she couldn''t for the life of her see why Nuroon had chosen to put him in her path right now. The tour, such as it was, consisted of Director Nuroon storming on ahead, hissing out limited commentary on the displays and the exhibits, while Culloden murmured about where they had been acquired from and what steps had been taken to ensure they remained in prime condition. Kregg, who had positioned himself in the blind spot of her right shoulder, seemed content to add occasional ''hmms'' of approval at a particularly famous or impressive works of art. Nevertheless, with Nuroon leading the way and Kregg and Culloden crushed against her on both sides in the tight corridors, Karolen couldn''t shake the feeling that she was a prisoner being marched to their place of execution. "But of course, it is not those minor fripperies that are going to be the focus of your audit, are they?" Nuroon said, pulling up short in front of a giant bronze door and pressing his hand against it, channelling his mana to open the lock. Karolen, again, did her best to keep her face still, but even then, Nuroon made out the glint in her eyes. "The Great Hall," he continued, pushing the door open and standing at its threshold, "home to the greatest collection of magical artefacts in the known world. I flatter myself that if the Celestial Temple is the heart of modern Soar, then what is to be found beyond this portal is where our past - and perhaps our future - is to be found." "Bravo!" Kregg said enthusiastically, clapping his hands in an oddly sealion-like manner. Karolen genuinely could not understand what he was adding here. But, right now, that didn''t matter. This was what she was here to explore. "The Trustees have not been able to access the Great Hall in almost half a year," Liando Verlan had told her, steepling her fingers in front of her face. "It may well be that the reasons we have been given to reject our requests for supervisory visits are accurate. There has been talk of structural repairs being required, for example. However, we are concerned that such assurances hide something more nefarious." The had leant forward then, and the intensity of her expression had struck Karolen. "It goes without saying that Grackle Nuroon is corrupt. This is Soar, and none of us are so naive as to believe anything else could possibly be the case. However, whilst - over many years - we have turned a blind eye to his peccadilloes, it is our opinion that something, of late, has changed. And we are certain it has to do with the artefacts within the Great Hall. I couldn''t care less if you find he''s embezzled a king''s ransom in gold to decorate his fucking toilet. But I want to know what is happening with the relics in the Great Hall." "Are you coming, my dear?" At the sound of that scratchy voice, Karolen''s mind was dragged back to the present, meeting the eyes of the Director, his head cocked in that strange, animalistic way. There was suddenly soft pressure on her back, and Kregg was pushing her through the door. "I hope you know what an honour this is, Auditor Mehin," he said in his braying voice. "It is rare indeed for anyone to get access to the inner sanctum of Soar''s Museum. Why, I''ve heard it said some people would kill to get a peek at what''s in here!" Further narrative commentary here on the nature of irony and the Law of Sod seems somewhat redundant. Chapter 5 - The Accident (Book 2) "The collapse of the exhausted Dungeon on the outskirts of Soar has brought with it many opportunities," Director Nuroon said, moving towards the centre of the vast space with uncanny speed. "Although this is not the first time that have unearthed all manner of unclaimed Loot Table rewards, it is the first time I have had the funds to outbid competing continental museums for first refusal on what was found." He paused, looking expectantly back at those following him. What he had just said contained quite a lot for Karolen to unpick. She, like everyone else with a functioning pair of ears, had heard about the destruction of the old Dungeon just beyond the city''s walls. The story at the time was that the Mayor was considering expanding Soar in that direction and that empty real estate was required. But the word ''collapse'' had not been part of that narrative. Similarly, while there were rumours that exhausted Dungeons retained the rewards they generated for devellers, to have it so casually confirmed was a bit of a shock. But any further consideration of the broader implications had to be put on hold, as it was the final part of the Director''s monologue which had truly caught the attention. Nuroon obviously saw her ''interest'' antennae flare. "Yes, indeed. I thought that might perk you up a bit, my dear. I have been fortunate enough to attract some unanticipated sponsorship from . . . sources. The largesse of these interested parties has enabled me to secure all of what you see in this room." With that, Kregg raised his hands and executed some sort of showy, dramatic lighting Skill that suddenly illuminated the sheer scale of the room they were in. Despite herself, Karolen felt her breath stolen from her by the sight. As a child, she often found herself lost in tales from the rich tapestry of Soar''s folklore. But it was the ones about the original dragons that had always captured her imagination the most. A young Karolen would lie on her bed, staring at her bedroom ceiling, and envision vast, glittering hoards of treasure guarded by fierce, majestic beasts. She¡¯d picture the mounds of gold, the chests overflowing with jewels, and the artefacts of ancient civilisations piled haphazardly yet splendidly in the recesses of dark, cavernous lairs. Now, standing in the centre of this vault¡ªand Nuroon must have several employees with a talent for spatial manipulation to have created something so very much bigger on the inside than the out¡ªKarolen couldn''t help but be struck by its uncanny similarity to those long-cherished myths. The massive interior of the room stretched before her, filled with shelves and cases laden with all manner of goodies. Hosts of were milling about, opening, closing and shifting innumerable crates, all with titles emblazoned on them, such as "Enchanted Cloth," "Unsocketed Jewels," "Growth Armour", and the like. If her initial impression had been of a dragon''s hoard, now that her eyes had adjusted to the sheer scale of the space, what she was seeing reminded her of nothing so much as a roiling termite mound. "You received sufficient sponsorship funds to purchase all of this?" Karolen asked, her voice slightly strangled. Nuroon waved his hands negligently. "Yes. Yes. Yes. All above board, I assure you. And I will be more than happy for you to pick through the receipts. But, just for a moment, my dear, allow your mind to rise out of the gutter of numbers and formulae. Just bask in the glory before you. Let your soul soar . . ." Karolen was certain Kregg generated a little background music to come into being as the Director spoke, which allowed her to ground herself in reality rather than be carried away with the majesty of the moment. "Yes, this is all very impressive," she said, looking around in an attempt to calculate the emperor''s ransom in gold the contents of this vault represented. Clearly sensing a potential for awe passing, the cleared her throat. "If I may, , I would note that it is not just the volume of material the museum has been able to secure, but also its quality. Why, just yesterday we uncovered . . ." "Yes. Yes. Yes," Nuroon was suddenly standing directly before Karolen, speaking over Culloden with an imperious tone. "We don''t need to waste this young lady''s time with any of that, do we? Follow me, please." And the Director was off, moving towards the far left-hand side of the space where a small group of were crouched over a giant stone sarcophagus. The two men and one woman literally froze at the sudden appearance of the , deer caught in the gaze of an especially voracious predator. "What have we here?" Nuroon barked, glaring at the man who was awkwardly trying to prise the lid free. The Level 14 was wearing heavy overalls that must have been stained with sweat before he began the difficult work of lifting the top off the heavy stone chest. He was, Karolen realised, older than she would have expected for someone of such a comparatively low Level. A middle-aged change of Class, she wondered? Unusual, but not massively so. He was compact and dark, with just the first sign of grey appearing at his temples. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. "We think it might be the pair to the one we uncovered yesterday, Director," the sole woman in the group, a Level 21, supplied. She stepped forward to lay a hand on Nuroon''s forearm - a gesture Karolen found surprisingly disturbing in its intimacy. Nuroon paled, cocked his head this way and that, as if decided whether the short, blonde woman was worth devouring, and then abruptly turned to Culloden. "Well?" The stepped forward, causing the female to retreat sharply to avoid being trampled. "Really, Delphina, I was quite specific that no further explorations should occur without me being present! Preece, but that bloody thing back down!" she barked at the older man who, blushing, let the lid of the sarcophagus drop down with a crash. "Is there not any of you with any sense? Harker, I''m surprised to see you involved in this." The final member of the triplet, a pale, thin man in green-lensed spectacles, stepped forward. "We knew you were likely to be busy today, ," his eyes slipped for a moment to Karolen and then right back to Culloden, "and we did not want to lose momentum. The scrolls were clear that time was of the essence when . . ." "Silence!" Nuroon''s hiss echoed around the vault, causing even those too far away to have seen him enter to stop what they were doing and turn around. And then he really lost his temper. Over the next few minutes, such was the invective that the Director unleashed on the three that Karolen wondered if she should intervene. He lambasted their abilities, timekeeping, personal hygiene, and even the lineage of their families. The younger man - Harker, was it? - was almost instantly reduced to tears, with both the woman and the older male left white-faced and stammering apologies. If the had any lingering doubts about the veracity of some of the HR reports she had come across, then they were very much put to bed during this little performance. However, it was not just the vileness of the Director''s attack that most shocked her. It was the reaction of Kregg, and more notably, that of Culloden that had her shaking her head in shame. Unsurprisingly, she recognised that the loved every second of the ritual humiliation delivered before him. Karolen was not the most active social butterfly in Soar, but the dating grapevine was loud and unanimous about Kelvin Kregg. He had long been widely tagged ''GNWW'' - ''go nowhere without witnesses'' - and at least three of her friends had stories to tell about his predilections. So, his enjoyment of the degrading performance that was taking place was pretty much on brand. Martha Culloden, though? Karolen expected better. In fact, if the was not going to do something to intervene in this public shaming, then she was certainly going to . . . However, as if sensing Karolen''s tolerance was at an end, Nuroon suddenly halted his theatrical aural assault and plastered on a sickly smile. "But, let us say nothing more of it, eh? Mistakes happen, and we were all young and enthusiastic once, weren''t we?" His predator''s eyes flicked to Preece, "Although, for some of us, it is longer away than others, am I right?" There was an awkward silence, and then Culloden finally spoke up. "Well, you''ve broken the seal, so we might as well get on with it." Her hands flared with light¡ªKarolen assumed she had activated a Skill¡ªand then she gestured at the sarcophagus lid. It shivered as if the stone had suddenly become very cold and then rose in the air to hover about ten feet above its base. "Secure that!" Nuroon snapped, and a couple of other appeared with ropes and rigging to wrap around the floating lid. "You have it?" Culloden asked one of them, allowing the glow around it to fade once she received hurried confirmation. "Now, let us see what we have here. Delphina, would you like to do the honours?" The small woman pretty much leapt into the sarcophagus - Karolen could not imagine anything she would have been less likely interested in doing - and, such was its size, vanished from view. An odd atmosphere settled around the group, punctuated only by Delpina''s heavy breathing and occasional squeals of pleasure. Whatever she was finding within the massive coffin was obviously making her day. And then something happened. Karolen heard the Director give a little gasp, and then he was striding forward, reaching into the massive stone casket as if planning to pull Delphina out. The smell hit Karolen first¡ªa pungent, sickly-sweet odour of decay and . . . something else. Something unnatural. Her stomach churned as she watched Nuroon peer into the sarcophagus and then reach down with trembling hands. His fingers closed around strands of hair, and a horrific realisation struck them all as he pulled upwards. The woman''s hair came away too easily, sliding through the grip like wet seaweed. Despite this, or maybe because of it, Nuroon pulled harder, his breath hitching as a sloshing sound filled the chamber, and Delphina''s body began to emerge. Her form was utterly liquified, flesh reduced to a gelatinous mass. Her skin had turned a mottled, bluish-grey, stretched thin over the skeletal remains that floated within a slurry of her melted tissues. Her eyes, wide and glassy, stared vacantly, suspended in the soup of her face. But, what was worse, she wasn''t dead. Her lips, a thin, ruptured line, spread into a wide smile, leaking viscous fluid as they ripped and tore. Then Nuroon''s hand slipped, sinking into the gelatinous substance that had once been the head. He gagged as his fingers penetrated the gooey mixture, encountering the sharp resistance of bone fragments, the fibrous remnants of her brain oozing between his fingers. Karolen didn''t know what possessed him, but for some reason, he pulled again, harder this time, and Delphina''s upper torso emerged with a squelch. Her ribcage was exposed, bones slick with the same dense material, flexing unnaturally as they were drawn up and free. Nuroon staggered back, falling to his knees, dry heaving, leaving Delphina''s remains sprawled across the edge of the sarcophagus. And then there was a terrible tearing sound as the floating lid of the stone casket tore free from the ropes that had secured it in the air and fell, crushing what was left of Delphina under its immense weight. A shocked silence descended, broken by Kregg clearing his throat. "My word," he said, his magically enhanced voice reaching every corner of the room. "There has been the most terrible of accidents. Can someone please call the healers? Oh, what an appalling tragedy! What a horrendous accident!" Chapter 6 - Cleansing the Canvas (Book 2) For reasons of which she was not wholly clear, Karolen had found herself in charge of a large group of milling, confused . "Just get them out of here!" Nuroon had shouted, staring at his filth-covered hand with horrified fascination. "Take them to the staffroom!" The had, for a good few seconds, assumed that those instructions were intended for either Culloden or Kregg, but when neither of them made any sign of responding, and with tensions reaching a breaking point, she had used her most ''Big Sisterly'' voice and started to usher the out of the vault. Other than Preece and Harker¡ªwho had somewhat of a ring-side seat to the horror that had unfolded¡ªnone of the others really knew what had happened. They had heard the crash of the falling sarcophagus lid and Kregg''s subsequent explanation, but they were abuzz with questions Karolen was not anxious to answer. Harker had, somewhat in a daze, led the way to the ''staffroom'', which, despite what she had just witnessed, Karolen could not help but notice was lavishly equipped, far beyond what she would have expected for a functional museum space. Indeed, the quality of furniture, refreshments and general decor would not have been out of place in the most exclusive of Gentleman''s Clubs. Not, of course, that she had ever been invited to one for a social occasion, but she had several clients who enjoyed displaying the extent and reach of their power during her professional visits. How had Grackle Nuroon found access to this much gold? But then what had just happened to the young, blonde caught up with her, and she felt somewhat ashamed at the intrusive thought. The - none of them higher in level than mid-teens - clustered themselves to the centre of the room, all trying to get Preece or Harker to tell them what they had seen. The understanding reticence of the two men to answer questions was adding to an atmosphere of borderline hysteria. To try to break the mounting tension, Karolen moved towards the refreshment table and said brightly, "I could do with a coffee; I don''t know about anyone else!" The room turned quickly to her as if, for the first time, it remembered she was present. "Coffee? I mean . . . What? Who are you?" A squat, dark man with unfortunately large lips asked. "What were you doing in the vault?" "She''s the , stupid. Can''t you read?" All eyes flicked upwards to read her Level and Class, and the buzz of conversation utterly stilled. "I mean, sure. I prefer to be known as ''Karolen'' rather than ''Auditor'', though. How about the rest of you?" As they worked their way around the group, each giving her a short introduction, Karolen thought that, by hook or by crook, she seemed to be doing a decent job of calming things down. Until, that is, they reached the young man with the green spectacles, who promptly burst into tears. "It melted her!" Harker said in a voice reaching a shriek. "It was waiting for her in the sarcophagus! The second Delphina climbed in, it started to eat her!" There were a few awkward coughs, and then voices emerged from the press. "Bard Kregg said it was an accident . . . " "The lid fell on her. We all saw it happen. One moment it was in the air and the next . . . splat." "You lot didn''t tie it tightly enough. Nuroon will have your hide for this!" "It wasn''t me who brought the ropes, was it? If anything . . ." "Stop!" All turned to look at the older , Preece, who was standing a little distance from the rest of the group. Karolen wondered at that and, again, was interested in the story behind what she assumed must have been a change of Class late in life. However, regardless of what had led him to the decision, she was glad he was there right now. The others seemed to have a natural deference to him. "I know what Bard Kregg said, but Delphina was dead long before the lid collapsed down upon her. None of you who were involved in holding it up need to worry. You weren''t to blame. Both Harker and I will testify to that if need be." "Testify!" One of the other gave a little burst of laughter. "Why should anyone need to testify?" Karolen frowned at that. "You do understand that one of your friends has been killed? Regardless of whether she was crushed to death or by - " her mind rebelled for a moment at the memory of the woman''s liquified body being pulled out of the sarcophagus - "other means," she added lamely, "there will need to be an investigation." This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. "Oh, I wouldn''t have thought so. Old Grackle won''t stand for anyone sticking their nose into the workings of the museum. Especially not now. It''s bad enough that the Trustees have insisted on an audit at this crucial time . . . " The speaker''s voice drifted away to silence as she realised to whom she was speaking. Karolen gave her a small, encouraging smile for them to continue, but it seemed that no more was going to be said about that particular matter. A few of the other were trying to encourage more details from Harker. None, Karolen noted, were attempting the same with Preece. "But that''s crazy. Why would there have been anything waiting in the casket?" "I don''t know, but there was! I could feel its presence in there. And it was waiting for Delphina to climb in before it struck!" "Don''t be ridiculous, Har. As if anything would want to harm Delphina!" "But it wasn''t supposed to be Delphina who explored the sarcophagus, was it? Culloden was scheduled to be the one to open it. We jumped the gun because Fina was so determined to get the first look. Especially after what was found in the first one!" Karolen had any number of follow-up questions about Harker''s words there but sensed now might not be the right time. "So, what are you saying? That it wasn''t an accident, that something wanted to kill Martha Culloden, but that you three blundered in first and interrupted it?!" Karolen didn''t catch who had asked that question, but she felt it was pretty damn on the nose. Especially as, at that precise moment, the door to the staffroom opened, and the slipped inside. "Ladies and gentlemen," she said, her voice oddly flat, Karolen thought, considering what had happened, "as I am sure you have all discussed, Delphina passed away a short while ago. There are - " the ashen-faced woman paused, looking over the assembled group as if searching for a particular someone, before pressing on - "questions around what occurred. I am afraid to say that we have determined we will need to speak to Cuckoo House for them to look into what occurred." The news was greeted with something akin to utter horror. In fact, Karolen thought, this was the most shocked the group of had seemed since the death had occurred. "But what of the exhibits, ?" Culloden offered a wan smile to the questioner, a stick-thin woman with massive black-framed glasses. "Director Nuroon and I have discussed the matter, and I am afraid we have determined that, as we expect any investigation will thoroughly compromise the area, we will need to purge all of the samples." A murmur of discontent rumbled around the room, but Culloden stopped it with a raised hand. "I understand the disappointment this will cause, but a young woman has lost her life and uncovering what took place must take priority." Karolen couldn''t help but think that the woman''s words and tone did not quite match up. "Thus, I must ask you all to wipe any and all records you have made since we opened the first sarcophagus yesterday morning." At a further gasp from those in the room, Culloden waved her hand, and a rack of blue vials appeared on a table in the corner. "There are mana potions available - Director Nuroon has paid for these personally - and I must ask that you each perform Cleansing the Canvas before the investigators arrive. It would not be appropriate for anything we have uncovered to get into the wrong hands. We can restart our research anew once Cuckoo House closes the case, and all interlopers are removed from the sacred space." Karolen''s eyes widened at the outpouring of mana as the whole room effectively performed a massive memory wipe. Well, not quite the whole room, Karolen thought. There was a certain middle-aged whose gaze was not replaced by a look of incomprehension once the Skill presumably triggered. "Mana potions, Ladies and Gentlemen. And thank you for your support in this matter. The Director is very grateful. As am I." The put a hand on Karolen''s forearm. "We obviously cannot insist you clear your own memory of what you saw in the vault, but I have said that I will ask you to do so. As one woman to another." Karolen''s mouth turned down in distaste at how the request was made, and then she shook her head. "I cannot think that would be appropriate in any circumstances. Quite apart from my own professional obligations, the investigators from Cuckoo House will need witnesses to what took place. It would not be right for them only to hear from you, Director Nuroon, and Bard Kregg, especially now that the other witnesses have wiped their memories. "Oh, please don''t misunderstand me. Not just the will be wiping their memories of the work of the last day. All of the Senior Staff will be doing so, too. It is a massive inconvenience, as I am sure you will appreciate. We can hardly afford to lose the work at this sensitive moment. The only reason I have not done so as of yet is simply in order to pass on this message to you. I had suggested to the Director that you would not acquiesce in this matter, thus, can I assume you will be available to greet the investigators when they arrive?" A light blossomed around the eyes, and then her expression went wholly slack. Karolen looked around the staffroom, shocked at what was taking place. All around her, men and women were looking at each other with quiet bafflement about what was happening. "I''m sorry, should you be here?" The turned to look into the eyes of the older , Preece. There was not a flicker of recognition in his expression, even though she was sure he hadn''t actually wiped his memory. "Yes," she smiled back. "It is perfectly okay for me to be here. The Director has asked me to greet some visitors he invited." Preece nodded, seemingly happy with her reply, and moved off to speak to the green-spectacled , who was obviously much calmer now that any memory of what had occurred had left his mind. Karolen was horrified to realise that, once the investigators from Cuckoo House arrived, she would be the only person in the building who was even aware a death had taken place. Chapter 7 - Aftermath (Book 2) It was early in the morning, a full fourteenday after the death of Delphina and, in the break room in the eaves of the museum, Preece was trying to summon up the will to connect his Sending Stone to that of his wife. It was their custom to speak around this time each evening, but as he already knew where the conversation would go, he wasn''t sure he was up for it. Tentatively, Preece picked up the small white stone and ran it along and over his fingers, looking around the small room for something - anything - to distract him from yet another marital row. Unfortunately, other than Harker''s silent, brooding figure sitting against the window, he didn''t know any of the others sharing the social space with him. And none of them seemed especially interested in beginning a conversation about the weather. Out of excuses, he sighed, pushing mana into the Sending Stone, and his wife, Braife, answered almost immediately. "Any news?" Preece did his best to keep the sigh out of his voice. "No, nothing else has come out since we last spoke." "But the Security Services are still there? In the museum?" "There are a couple of junior officers floating about, but none of them seem too interested in speaking to any of us to tell the truth. I think they''re just going through the motions now." "They''ll confirm it was an accident then?" "In the absence of any other evidence, what else can they do?" he said, trying to restrain the note of irritation he could sense creeping in. And that was the key question, wasn''t it? No matter how much noise that made about Delphina already being dead before the lid of the sarcophagus had crashed down on her, there was simply nothing to back that up. His mind flashed back to the arrival in reception of Inspector Wyst, all blustering energy and loud, booming voice. He had not taken the situation as presented to him all that well. "What the fuck do you mean you all wiped your memories!" Preece assumed his question was directed at Director Nuroon alone, but considering it was delivered at a volume Arkola would have been able to hear at the top of the Celestial Temple, that seemed a somewhat moot point. "I would ask you to lower your voice, Inspector," Nuroon had replied, putting a hand behind the man''s back and trying to shepherd him into the privacy of his office. Wyst was having none of it, though, shrugging free from the Director''s clutches and turning to glare at the assembled crowd. "Are you all trying to be locked up for the obstruction of justice? What on earth possessed you! You don''t witness a girl''s death and then immediately erase everything you did for the last twenty-four hours! Who the fuck do you think you people think you are! I''ll have the lot of you up on charges for this!" There was an entertaining few minutes of bluster before, eventually, the combined efforts of Nuroon, Culloden, and Kregg calmed the inspector sufficiently for him to be led away to somewhere a little political pressure could be applied. Preece had no idea what was said to him or - perhaps more pertinently - who spoke to him, but when the inspector finally emerged from Nuroon''s office a bell later, he showed much less bombastic frustration about the whole thing. And that really set the tone for the whole investigation. Much to the obvious frustration of Karolen, no one was remotely interested in her tale of ''a sarcophagus that eats people,'' nor that she suspected there was a fairly unsubtle cover-up taking place. Certainly, once Inspector Wyst had lost his mojo, the rest of his team followed suit. The member of the Security Services who had spoken to Preece could not have made it more obvious that they had no interest in pursuing what the museum officially described as "the ravings of a lunatic with an axe to grind." Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. "Look, just give me something, mate. I know you can''t remember the last twenty-four hours, but you have to know something about the deceased. Anything. I''ll take an anecdote at this stage!" Preece had considered the wording of that question very carefully before answering. As far as he had been able to tell, he was the only not to have triggered Cleansing the Canvas when the had requested it of them. And he still wasn''t sure why. If anything, with all the terrible nightmares he was having of Delphina''s hideous last few moments, he felt like he could do with the reprieve of forgetfulness. However, as he had back in the staffroom when making that snap decision, he thought it was important that the death of his . . . well, she wasn''t a friend, was she? Perhaps an acquaintance would cover it? Well, whatever. He just felt, on a moral level, that it was important the true nature of her death was remembered correctly. In any event, it wasn''t like he was lying about it, was it? No one had explicitly asked the if they had obeyed the command to wipe the last twenty-four hours from their memories. It said much for the almost cultlike devotion Nuroon inspired in his subordinates that, as far as Preece could tell, he was the only one to have refused the order. And then, right there, had been his big chance to tell someone what he had seen. One-on-one in a locked room with a member of the Security Services, and all it would have taken was for him to give a quiet word to confirm that what Karolen had reported was accurate and that there was more to the death of Delphina than a simple workplace accident. But no. He''d bottled it. He just couldn''t risk it getting out that he''d disobeyed an explicit instruction: he enjoyed this job too much. "I''m sorry, I don''t really know much about anything. Delphina, Harker, and I were close, but I don''t know anything about her that you won''t have heard a hundred times over. I wish I could be more help, but I don''t know anything." His interviewer had rolled his eyes, made a few notes, and then excused himself. Preece hadn''t seen him again since. "I just don''t understand why you want to continue to work somewhere which is so patently dangerous!" his wife said, her wheedling tone dragging him back to the here and now. "It''s a museum, Bray! It''s hardly like I''ve volunteered to go and lead a Forlorn Hope at the front. Let''s keep a little perspective." "It''s a museum where the girl you were fucking died! So don''t pretend to me I am making a fuss about nothing!" A few of the other in the break room darted eyes towards him at that. Preece shrugged and gave the universal sign for ''bitches be crazy'', which drew a few snorts of laughter from the now highly attentive audience. Turning his back on them and trying to cushion the sound from the stone with his thumb, he once again did his best to reassure his wife. "Look, I''ve told you again and again that nothing was going on between Delphina and me. I mean, just on a purely practical level, when do you think we would have had the time or energy? I''ve told you how busy the Director keeps us. I''m either here or at home, and I''m fucking knackered either way." His wife had sniffed at that. "I just think none of this would be an issue if you just went back and worked for Daddy." Ah, there it was. The spectre hovering above any conversation they''d had for the last few months. If only Preece would stop being so damn stubborn and just play the good little boy, none of this unpleasantness would have happened. So wedded was she to this viewpoint that Preece was pretty sure his wife believed Delphina would still be alive should he still be prostituting his soul for his damned father-in-law''s Second Hand Horse business. As if her death was Arkola''s personal judgement on him for having ambitions. Preece ended the conversation shortly after that, promising they would speak at the same time tomorrow. "And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow," he intoned, ignoring the puzzled faces of those around him as he did so. A buzzing sound indicated that break was over, and the began to file out and back to the Exhibit Hall. Preece waited for them to go, hoping to catch a few words with Harker''s still, silent presence. So strange was the young man''s behaviour in the last sevenday or so that Preece had assumed he must have also refused the request to blank his memory and was suffering with the same sort of nighttime horrors as he was. However, in the few conversations they had had since, it was clear something else was bothering his friend. He just had not been able to figure out what it was. For a moment, Preece thought he would push the issue, try to get it all out into the open and see what could be done about it. However, his ''chat'' with Braife had left him in a bad mood, and the words dried up in his throat. Instead, he pressed a comforting hand on Harker''s shoulder and left to follow the rest of the . In the days to come, Harker''s pale, sick expression would return to haunt him. He''d wonder how much of the horror to come might have been avoided if they''d spoken. Chapter 8 - A dark and stormy night (Book 2) The evening shift at Soar Museum was not especially highly prized. True, you were significantly less likely to fall foul of a Grackle Nuroon tantrum if you started work after he went home, but on the other hand, there was something about the atmosphere of the place after the sun went down that tested the temperaments of all but the most courageous . Too many long-dead bones. Too many unheard secrets. And far, far too many cursed artefacts. And on the night of the second death, a furious storm was blowing a tempest across Soar, making those late-night workers even less happy about their lot in life. The guard on gate duty was particularly unhappy about things, especially as the automatic Illume spell on the outer wall had failed, and he had been ordered to set himself up outside to keep an eye on any comings and goings. Lacking any Skills to protect himself from the storm, Porthern Barth - Level 11 - had swaddled himself in a borrowed Sou''wester and plonked himself down, with as much bad grace as he was capable, on a chair just outside the gatehouse. It was just as one day ticked over into another when he was jerked back into consciousness by the sound of the Portal Stone just opposite the museum sparking into life. Porthern frowned, interested to see who in Soar would be coming through at this time of night and in this weather. When no one appeared, he reluctantly stood and made his way across the road to stand in front of it. Minutes passed, and still there was no sign of whoever had activated the stone coming through. Porthern was aware there were all sorts of protocols for when such a thing happened, but for minimum wage, he could hardly have been expected to remember them off the top of his head. He was just about to return inside and seek counsel from his superiors when Martha Culloden appeared behind him. The had obviously invested considerably in some ''quality of life'' Skills, as there was a wide cone around her through which no wind or rain was being permitted to cross. Porthern surreptitiously tried to stand as close to her as he could whilst she addressed him. "Ah," she said, catching sight of the large man but not being able to summon up his name, "you. I thought I heard the Portal Stone activate and came to investigate." Even Porthern, lacking as he was in brains, smarts or any ability in deductive reasoning whatsoever, could smell bullshit when it was shovelled his way. He had only noticed the stone coming to life because he was sitting less than ten feet away from the thing when it bloomed into being. Even without the storm trying to blow the museum''s doors off, there was no way this woman had heard anything on this side of the street from inside her office. Seeing scepticism on the man''s face, Culloden gathered her coat around her and made to pass through the summoned portal. "Well, if no one is coming through, I might as well make use of it to get off home." However, she had taken no more than a few steps forward when, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to her, she turned, smiling at the guard. "While I remember, I think the lock to the door of the canteen might be broken. I''ve cast a temporary You Shall Not Pass on it, but that will only hold until the morning. Be a dear and let Mr Levick know, will you?" Porthen nodded, and for a moment, the two stood awkwardly facing each other before the realised the blasted woman expected him to go and get on the Sending Stone immediately. Seriously? It was the middle of the night, the whole museum was locked down, and she''d already secured the door by the sound of it. But, no. That wasn''t enough. She wanted him to traipse back inside, wake up the famously grizzly and have him come and take a look. Porthern gave a sarcastic salute - if she didn''t know his name, she could hardly report him, could she? - and ambled back across the road and into the guard house. It was just at the end of a robust conversation with Trei Levick that Porthern realised Culloden wouldn''t need to know his name to check the rota to see which rude fucker was on duty this night. Yanking his mana out of the stone, abruptly cutting off the spew of bile coming his way, he quickly went back outside to make amends. However, not only was the Portal Stone now switched off, but there was no sign of the . Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. "Weird," Porthern murmured before pulling his drenched coat around himself and sitting back down. * It was a little after the second bell that Preece finally finished cataloguing a pile of [Rare] Gauntlets that he knew he had done once before. However, short of admitting he hadn''t performed the requested memory wipe, he could not easily argue the point. He was pretty sure his immediate supervisor, Thenon, had guessed he was still in full possession of his memories and was giving him a string of pointless tasks to elicit that admission. Well, this wasn''t Preece''s first rodeo of dealing with petty tyrants, and he was willing to play the long game. Also, unlike the rest of his peers, he didn''t have a string of exciting and athletic social engagements awaiting him and was more than happy to rack up the overtime. Stretching out his back, he stood and began to return to the staffroom for a quick brew before starting the next of his mundane tasks. He wasn''t sure what had come over the Director lately, but the quality and quantity of refreshments had gone through the roof. Even at this time of night¡ªor in the morning, he guessed¡ªthere would still be 10% concentration-enhancing green tea available. He was just at the bottom of the stairway when one of the myriad shadows surrounding him solidified into a hooded figure and tapped him on the shoulder. "Fucking hell, Kelvin. You gave me a start!" Kregg lowered his hood and glanced somewhat furtively about. "Isak, what are you doing here?" "Late shift. Thenon has me doing all sorts of crappy tasks, and I could do with the cash. What''s your excuse?" Did the blush at that? Surely not, Preece thought. "I''m just making sure everything is as it should be. I was a little worried the storm might have shaken some of the tiles off the Exhibit Hall. But it turns out there was nothing to worry about. Please excuse me. I should check the top of the Chapel." Preece frowned as the man pulled his hood back up and slipped away down the corridor. Only after his third sip of tea did the oddity of the man responsible for PR checking on roof slates make him frown. * Less than a bell later, unheard by anyone, one of the giant stained-glass windows in the Chapel of Rest exploded inwards under the relentless assault of the wind. The ensuing gale that crashed through the space upturned hundreds of books, sent sheaves of paper spiralling in a cyclone, and pushed closed the door to a confession booth left open by a recent, rapidly departing visitor. Everyone living in Soar Museum went on about their business. * The sun was just settling in the sky when Grackle Nuroon passed the sleeping without really registering the man''s presence. He was used to not being challenged when arriving to enter his domain, and if he noticed anything at all, it was that the silent, heavily wrapped-up figure showed him proper deference by not seeking to make idle chit-chat. Levick was waiting for him, of course, and deference was the last thing that old bastard had on his mind. Not for the first time, Nuroon wondered why he had not summarily fired the man years before. Or, at the very least, burned him to a crisp on a funereal pyre. "I warned you about that fucking door!" the squat man bellowed, barely waiting for Nuroon to take off his coat. "I am sure you did, Trei. I''m sure you did. If only there was someone like, I don''t know, an who could address such things. I imagine such a helpful soul would have access to any number of Skills perfectly suited for the maintenance and upkeep of aberrant doors and cracked windows. If he were past his Level 50 threshold, that would be even better. Now, where do you think we could find someone like that, do you think?" "Fuck you, Grackle!" "Was there anything else, ?" "You need to tell that woman of yours to stop putting her fucking cantrips on maintenance issues. It took me longer to dispel You Shall Not Pass than it would have done to just fix a fucking broken lock." "I have no idea of what you speak, Trei. But it sounds fascinating. I shall be certain to give it my full attention at some stage in the near future." Levick had thrown a report at him as he''d left, and it was a good few hours before Nuroon deigned to glance at it. "What on earth was Martha up to?" he murmured to himself when he''d finished reading it. It went without saying that senior staff did whatever they could not to wind up the . Casting a rather sticky spell on a door was almost calculated to raise his ire. Deciding to take this up with her - he almost liked to make sure the shit rolled firmly downhill - Nuroon slid his chair back under his desk, stood and hurried along to the office. When he got there, the door was unlocked, which didn''t surprise him. However, the fact that she was not there when he pushed it open did. But not as much as the cooling corpse of Harker lying, part liquified, on Culloden''s floor. His eyes, no longer hidden behind their green spectacles, were wide open and pleading. The rest of his body . . . well, the state of it was horrific. For some reason, the Director thought he''d seen something like it before. "Well," Nuroon said, stepping away and locking the door behind him as he left, "this might be a touch trickier to make go away." Chapter 9 - "Fuck me no fucks" (Book 2) "The is here, sir." Some uniformed junior or other stuck his head around the door of the office and gave a jaunty thumbs-up. Inspector Jana Lowe wasn''t sure whether it was the grisly nature of the scene, the imminent arrival of one of his least favourite people in Soar, or¡ªand he thought this was probably most likely¡ªthat everyone else working the scene appeared to be at least twenty years younger than him, but he was in a foul mood. He knew he shouldn''t complain. That the roil of emotions he was feeling were unworthy of him. That he should be thanking his lucky stars - in the absence of any god taking an interest in him - to be back gainfully employed in Soar''s Security Services. And yet, and yet, and yet . . . "What the fuck did you expect, you moody wanker?" Commander Pernille Staffen had asked him, glaring up at him from a mountain of paperwork. "That we''d all drop to our knees and genuflect for the return of the great and marvellous fucking Jana Lowe? Maybe you thought we should blow you while we were down there, too? Twat." "I don''t know what I expected," Lowe said, not for the first time finding Pernille''s salty approach to conversation a touch embarrassing. Such a mouth in the possession of someone who looked like they''d be more at home baking cookies for their phalanx of grandchildren was quite a trip. But, following the considerable public and private fallout at Commander Cenorth''s involvement in any number of crimes, it was felt someone a bit more straightforward and ''plain speaking'' would be ideal to take over at Cuckoo House. Enter Pernille Staffen, five-foot-two of grandmotherly severity and a reputation for taking no shit. If anyone doubted that what you saw was what you got with the Level 46 , then Blurian the Unimpressed being her patron god put those reservations to bed. Well, not to bed. Blurian''s adherents were zealously celibate, but the point still holds. "Well whoop-de-fucking-do. Then you can''t be disappointed, can you? Keep those expectations low, Lowe. That''s the ticket! Now, what can I do for you on this fucking fine afternoon?" Lowe held up the file that had been unceremoniously thrown on his desk. "Apparently, I''m up for a suspicious death at Soar Museum." Pernille raised a bushy grey eyebrow. "And this is my fucking problem because?" "Wyst was all over something similar there a few weeks back. Surely he needs to at least look at it before passing it on?" "Fucking hell. Blurian save me from whiny men and their constant dick-measuring. Close the door, Lowe." He did so and then took the seat that the Commander pointed towards with an insistently jerking finger. "No one likes you," she said once he had settled himself down. "Well, that''s just because they haven''t got to know me yet." "No. No, it isn''t." Lowe waited for Pernille to say more, but she just sat back in her chair and continued to glare at him. "Sorry, was there more to this or have I just been treated to another one of your legendary pep talks?" "And it''s because of things like that." "Like what?" "The smart-talking. The answering back. The acting like you think you are better than the rest of us." "I''m not better than the rest of you." "Too fucking right you are not. Some of us here are bonafide fucking legends, and I doubt even your massive sense of fucking self-regard misses that. But, for whatever reason, that doesn''t stop you acting like your shit doesn''t stink. And it pisses people off." The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "Well, I''m sorry about that. But I''m not sure how . . . " "You''ve been responsible - twice! - for the sort of colossal clusterfuck that people simply don''t come back from. First, all that unpleasantness last year. And I can tell you there are those who think you got away lightly in just losing your Class over that fuck-up." Lowe opened his mouth to protest, but Pernille slammed a hand on her desk, silencing him. "Shut the fuck up and listen! Blurian gave you two ears and one mouth for a reason. I''m not saying I agree with those panty-wetters, but I''d be in a vanishingly small minority if I didn''t. You get me? But one life-changing disaster wasn''t enough for the great Jana Lowe, was it? No. No. You had to bring down a fucking as an encore." "Commander Benorth was killed in the line of duty . . . " "Fuck me no fucks, Lowe. We both know what happened there, and I''d ask you not to insult my massive throbbing fucking brain by pretending otherwise." Lowe wasn''t sure how he was supposed to respond to that. Instead, he lifted the file he had been given and waved it. "I get all of that, but this must be linked to the death last month. Wyst should be . . . " "Inspector Wyst was warned off the case so hard I had to give him a month''s sabbatical. Seriously, the fucking guy couldn''t stop weeping. ''Wah, they''re going to kill my family, way''. It was pathetic." That gave Lowe pause. "I thought he just fucked up the investigation in his signature, blundering fashion." "Things like that, Lowe, things like that." Pernille stood and padded around to Lowe''s side of the desk. He was disconcerted to note she appeared to be wearing massive fluffy slippers. She jumped up to perch on her desk, legs swinging free. "Look, I''m going to level with you. I''ve been told in no uncertain terms that we''re not to touch what''s happening at Soar Museum with a ten-foot cock. ''Above your pay grade,'' is how the Mayor put it when I was summoned for a reaming out this morning. And the Mayor does give good reaming." "I''m not being funny, but I''ve been used in the whole ''put our worst investigator on a case and hope it goes away'' game before. I wasn''t a fan." "Oh, fucking get over yourself, you fucking sadsack. There are two dead youngsters over at that museum, and it doesn''t work for me that I''m being told to look the other way. But, more importantly, Blurian is fucking unimpressed by the suggestion I can be bullied away from doing what I think is right. The Council gave me this job, and I''ll be a monkey''s uncle if I don''t do my best for as long as I have it." A pipe appeared in Pernille''s hand, and she lit it with a click of her fingers. "So, even though the word on the street is that you are the biggest fucking pain in the arse," she continued, sucking down on it contentedly, "I need you to get on down there and get to the fucking bottom of what is going on." Lowe stared at her. "So, knowing that, literally, the last two cases I investigated ruffled more feathers than a raptor in a chicken coop, you are purposefully pointing me at a politically sensitive situation?" "Sounds about right." "And you''re not worried about the fallout? That there will be significant consequences?" "Fuck no. My pension is secure." "I meant for me!" Pernille shrugged with her pipe. "Way I figure it, if they haven''t killed you yet, you must be valuable to someone with pull. I might as well get as much use out of you as possible before that changes. And you''ve got that ridiculous self-heal Skill, haven''t you? What you moaning for? Now, if there wasn''t anything else?" Lowe took a deep breath to make a final plea. "Commander, there''s not even any witnesses to the first death! The whole fucking museum wiped their memories! What do you expect me to do?" Pernille''s expression suddenly lost any of its affable friendliness, and Lowe was treated to the last sight innumerable violent criminals saw over the years. They didn''t call the ''Iron Fists'' for nothing. "I am not a stupid woman, Inspector Lowe. The words above your head might say Level 25, but I bet if I were to petition to examine your stats, I''d see a very different story." Lowe made to answer, but Pernille shook her head. "Shove it. I don''t want to hear it. You''re allowed your secrets until I decide I need to know more. Do I need to know more?" Lowe slowly shook his head. "Excellent," Pernille suddenly beamed and jumped off the desk, "I''m glad that''s settled. I look forward to reading your thoughts on the case moving forward. Now, run the fuck along and stop bothering me." "The , sir?" Lowe''s mind returned from his unsatisfactory morning meeting to the crime scene he was standing in the middle of. Or at least above. Lowe grimaced as he looked down at the remains of what, he was assured, was Harker. The young man''s body had largely liquified and was little more than a puddle of congealed flesh and bubbling fluids on a very expensive-looking carpet. His bones jutted out at odd angles, and even they were partially dissolved in the dense mass. The stench of decay and . . . something else assaulted his senses, making his stomach churn. What was left of the face was strangely still recognisable, even though the rest of him was a complete shitshow. The man''s skin hung in tatters, ligament and muscle merged into a sickening soup. "Ah, Newly-Reinstated-Not-Quite-Disgraced-As-Of-Yet Inspector Lowe. We meet again!" Dragging his eyes away from the smear on the floor, Lowe turned to greet the corpulent form of Penarth Lant. Chapter 10 - Necrotic Slime (Book 2) ¡°We really must stop meeting like this!¡± ¡°To be honest, I would rather we didn¡¯t meet at all, Penarth. But you know how it goes: people will keep killing each other. Although, this seems a little below your pay grade. Don''t you have an assistant or something like that for this sort of thing?¡± "I do, I do. But they seem to quit on me faster than I can break them in, as it were. Or maybe they quit because of me breaking them in. Who can tell the minds of young women nowadays? Just seemed quicker for me to come out of here." Lowe grimaced with disgust. He had heard tales of what those who worked in Penarth''s office had to endure from their boss. If he didn''t suspect the goblin-like man would enjoy a kicking, he''d have long since taken it up with him. Cenorth, his previous boss, had said the long lists of HR complaints were a "price worth paying" for the expertise of someone as good at his job as Penarth. Lowe hoped Cuckoo Houses'' new Commander would take a different, more retributive view. ¡°I must say, though, I''m glad I made the effort for the day out. I rarely get to see anyone killed in as interesting a way as this poor fellow,¡± the said, kneeling over the liquified remains of the . ¡°I will tell you this for nothing, this fucking rug has absolutely had it!¡± As Penarth triggered his various Skills, Lowe left him to it and took the opportunity to further inspect the office in which the body had been found. He thought it was a nicely appointed space, the window opening out onto the museum''s inner courtyard. Standing at it and gazing down at the grass below, Lowe could see roving gangs of Security Service personnel exploring the grounds. It seemed Pernielle was sparing no expense in terms of manpower. Turning back to face the inside of the room, Lowe triggered Grid Search and let his eyes slide around space. He did not try to focus on anything over much at this stage of things; from experience, it was much better for him to use these initial moments to gather as much evidence as possible and then review things at his leisure once he returned home. The beauty of his Skill - especially since he had raised his Intelligence and Wisdom to Level 2 - was that it captured not just a visual representation of the crime scene but also the sounds and smells. When he returned to this memory this evening, it would be as if he was standing here right now, but crucially without the distracting presence of Penarth Lant grunting and squealing like a pig at a trough near him. "Well, he''s dead alright," the said, dismissing his Skills and standing up, running his hands through his thinning hair. "Thank all the gods that you were here," Lowe said, "I was about to attempt mouth-to-mouth." "Be my guest, Inspector," Penarth replied, "though I imagine it will not be quite as satisfying an experience as sucking on the face of delectable Ms Telut. I hear the two of you are the hot and heavy item again?" Ignoring the question, Lowe knelt down to get a closer look at the goo himself. " Do you have any idea what might have caused him to . . . is the correct word ''melt''?" "Of course I do. That is why they pay me the big bags of gold, after all. This young man has been covered in necrotic slime. You know what they say about necrotic slime, don''t you? Necrotic slime, it eats away, It melts the bones by night, by day, It turns the flesh to dark decay, But takes the heart''s pure beat away. "Well, thanks for the little poetical interlude there, Penarth. I''ll be sure to pass that on to the lad''s family. I''ve often thought a good rhyme scheme eases the suffering. So, what, it''s your professional opinion that he walked in here and, boom, there was a bucket of necrotic slime suspended over the door? This isn''t a murder, just one of those classic museum japes gone wrong?" The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "Fuck knows, Inspector. Fortunately, I do not get paid to work out the whys and the wherefores of these things. No, my sole domain is the world of the ''what'', and I can tell you that this unfortunate gentleman has been covered head to toe in necrotic slime." "Instantaneous death?" Lowe asked, more in hope than expectation. "Oh my word, no. In fact, I''ll let you into a little secret here," Penarth leant in close, and the fetid smell of his body odour nearly made Lowe gag, "he''s actually not technically dead." "What!" Lowe jumped back, looking down at the body. "He''s still alive?!" "Well, obviously not. I mean, look at the fucker. And yet, well, technically, yes. Necrotic slime has a somewhat unique property that allows it to selectively dissolve organic tissues while temporarily keeping certain critical systems intact. This selective dissolution is governed by the various unpleasant properties infused within the slime, which can be controlled or influenced by the being who created it." "Being?" "Well, I don''t want to be too leading for your investigation here, but if you were to discover that this lad really pissed off a Necromancer I would not be too surprised. That or, of course, some sort of ancient mythological beast rose from the dead and decided to snack on him. That''d do it too." Lowe made a mental note. It was pretty annoying when Penarth was actually helpful. It made despising him a touch more difficult. As if sensing Lowe''s internal conflict, the gave a huge sniff and then spat a darkly green globule down onto the body. And then, helpfully, he did something like that. "The slime targets the body''s structural and superficial tissues¡ªskin, muscle, and non-vital organs¡ªgradually breaking them down into a gelatinous, liquefied state. However, it avoids completely destroying the nervous system and major blood vessels. This allows the heart and brain to continue functioning, though in a highly compromised and, I hope it goes without saying, agonizing state. What we see here is still, I suppose, alive. However, he is more slime now than person. And what little humanness remains is certainly entirely out of its gourd due to the pain." "Fuck me!" Lowe murmured. "I will freely admit that in your current shaved, showered and appropriately coiffered state, I find you slightly more attractive than has hitherto been the case, but even so, I will have to decline. Yes, I am afraid it is all sadly true. The necrotic magic within the slime sustains the essential functions of life. The slime can infuse the remaining organs and tissues with necromantic energy, which keeps the victim alive despite the extensive physical destruction. This state is excruciatingly painful, as the victim remains conscious and aware while their body dissolves. The slime has a peculiar affinity for preserving neural tissue. It coats the neurons and synapses with a thin layer of itself, preventing them from being dissolved. This ensures that the victim''s brain and spinal cord remain intact, maintaining consciousness and the ability to experience pain." "But you say he''s still not dead?" "That''s the funny thing, really. I mean, not funny ''ha-ha'', but perhaps darkly amusing? Whichever, it is certainly noteworthy that this level of decomposition via the application of necrotic slime should take days, if not weeks, to occur. I will, however, assume that it might have been noted if he had been lying here for that length of time." "Indeed. The whose office this was left the museum grounds around midnight. Of course, she''s missing, too, so we cannot say for certain that the body was not there then, but I think we can assume she might have mentioned it to someone if it were. I guess he could have been moved here after she left?" Penarth shook his head. "No, this has to have happened in situ. The nature of necrotic slime is that it is essentially unstable. Once active, you wouldn''t want to be anywhere near it. Of course, nothing is impossible in the world of Soar, but I cannot conceive of someone applying the slime to their victim and then moving what would be, for all intents and purposes, viciously toxic sludge. I mean, how would you even begin to transport it? I will have to burn through this month''s budget to get the little squelcher here back to my lab. No. Whatever happened, it happened here." Lowe nodded. Well, he supposed that was helpful. "I don''t suppose you have a ballpark time frame for me, do you?" "Nothing I would want to bet my massive set of cock and balls on, but from what I can tell, the slime started to feed no later than eight bells ago and no earlier than twelve. I might know more when I open the blob up, but I doubt it. That''s probably the most exact I can be." About the time the woman who owned this office was last seen, Lowe thought. Finding Martha Culloden was looking like a reasonably significant priority. "When you are quite finished gawping, Newly-Reunited-Probably-Eager-To-Get-Home-And-Fuck-Your-Girlfriend Inspector Lowe, I will arrange for this poor chap to be removed back to Cuckoo House. I''m sure there are all sorts of exciting experiments I can do on this much necrotic slime. "I''m sure," Lowe replied, slipping out of the office and into the corridor beyond. Chapter 11 - Beneath the Museum This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Chapter 12 - A little collegiate disagreement "Are you quite alright, sir?" Lowe looked up at the solid form of the young man in the uniform of a Security Service . He was happy to testify to that solidity, having just run straight into him as he rounded a corner in a full-blown panic. Scrambling to his feet, Lowe turned around, peering back down the dark corridor. His relief was almost overwhelming - and a tinge of embarrassment crept in - as he realised no looming threat was stalking behind him. "Sir?" The expression was rapidly changing from ''confused-bemusement-at-being-bumped-into'' to ''wishing-there-was-someone-else-around-to-cope-with-a-clearly-hysterical-senior-officer''. In response, Lowe tried to get a handle on his emotions. "Yes, sorry. I just got a little turned around down there. I didn''t want to risk getting locked in!" The young man''s eyes were drawn to Lowe''s hand, which was conspicuously smoking as an unlaunched Slugger, and a thin coating of necrotic slime fought to win the race to disintegrate bones and flesh. Lowe dismissed his offensive Skill and poured even more mana into Roll with the Punches to counteract the extensive damage. "I don''t suppose you have a hanky, do you? I seem to have got something on my hand." Hesitantly, the reached into his pocket and withdrew a reasonably clean square of cloth."Of course, sir." The moment Lowe accepted the gift and wiped away the last residues of the necrotic slime, his mind suddenly cleared: it was literally the difference between being trapped in a haunted oubliette and standing in a bright meadow. He turned to look back at the way he had so recently come and saw only a well-lit, common-or-garden corridor with various rooms leading from it. Heads were being popped through doorways to know the cause of the shrieking, foot-pounding kerfuffle that had just blundered past. "Nothing to see here; please go back to your . . . museuming," he said, smiling and absent-mindedly passing the soiled handkerchief back to the . The young man, in horror, held the blood and slime-soaked thing between thumb and forefinger and triggered a Skill that instantly reduced it to ash. Lowe''s mind, though, was racing. Had the slime caused his perceptions to become nightmarish? Was what he had just experienced a vivid hallucination rather than reality? Remembering he had tried to use Grid View when being hunted underneath the museum, Lowe tried to bring up his most recent memories. But no. It was like there was a thick coating of vaseline across the lens of his vision. In fact, he had no clear remembrance of anything since he had stepped out of the room which had held the body. "Inspector Lowe, I presume?" He was brought back to the immediate present by the appearance of the outstretched hand of a wizened little man he had read an awful lot about. "Director Nuroon, thank you for taking the time to speak to me." Lowe shook the proferred hand, trying to style out that Roll with the Punches had not entirely managed to recover bone and sinew with skin. "Constable, I don''t suppose you have another spare hanky for the Director, do you?" * After cleaning himself down, Nuroon led the way back to his own office, and Lowe could not help but notice that what had seemed like a labyrinth from a horror story was far more navigatable than he had just experienced. As they walked, he saw none of the bizarre or grotesque exhibits that had surrounded him on his solo journey. If, as now seemed likely, the necrotic slime had some sort of psychotropic effect, when exactly had it got on him? He had initially assumed it was from when he had touched the pedestal on which the candle stood, but he had been seeing some pretty creepy shit sometime before then. Had Penarth spiked him in some way? And if so, why? And was the answer anything more significant than: ''the man is a colossal twat''? "I do not wish to be rude, Inspector, but it is quite unusual for people not to pay attention to me when I speak. Have you got somewhere you would rather be?" "My apologies, Director. I was just thinking back to the state of that young man''s body. I understand it was you who first discovered it?" "Indeed. Indeed. A terrible thing to have happened. And in my museum of all places. Terrible. Simply terrible." If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. There was something about the way Nuroon said that which made Lowe wonder whether the Director''s sorrow was less for the death of the and more at the disruption to the museum''s operation. "What was the cause of you being in the office?" A dark frown passed over Nuroon''s face. He doesn''t like having to account for his actions, Lowe thought. Well, he will love having a murder investigation running around him. Seeing the momentary fury on the man''s face at the benign question, Lowe could quite understand how pressure had been brought on Wyst to drop the original case. Then, the tumultuous anger cleared, and Nuroon was all sweetness and light again. "There was a small maintenance matter I wished to discuss with Martha. Naturally, I would expect to find her in her office." "And you did not?" "Clearly not." "And you were surprised to find the body there?" "Extremely." "So, you opened the door to your senior colleague''s office, and instead of her, you saw the melted remains of one of your junior staff members. Is that correct?" Nuroon pushed back in his chair and held his fingers before his mouth in a steepled gesture Lowe instinctively associated with supreme wankery. "Inspector, I wish to be honest with you. Can I?" "No. I much prefer it when people tell outrageous lies. It keeps me in business." The Director pressed on as if Lowe had not spoken. He assumed this was the man''s usual way of conversing. "I have spoken to the Mayor about this . . . investigation, and we are both of a mind that it would be best if we treated it as an internal matter. It seems clear to me that what has occurred is a simple matter of a collegiate disagreement that has got out of hand. Martha and . . . I''m sorry, I cannot recall the young man''s name." "Harker. Josap Harker," Lowe supplied brightly. "Son of Geraldine and Horace Harker. He has - or, I suppose, ''had'' - worked for you for the last three years." "Well, a lot of people work for me," Nuroon said airly, "where was I? Ah, yes. As I was saying, it seems clear to me that Martha and this Harker have had an academic disagreement and . . . " "And she covered him in necrotic slime, murdering him in the most agonising and painful way imaginable? You get a lot of that in academia, do you, Director?" "You would be surprised, Inspector. You would be surprised." Nuroon suddenly leaned forward, pressing both hands to the side of the desk, and lowered his voice. The effect was quite predatory. "I have to tell you, I am not wild about your tone, Inspector." "And I''m not cockahoop about yours, Director. A man is dead, and a woman is missing. I cannot conceive why you would think this is an ''internal'' matter rather than one that is under the purview of the Security Services. Or are you so used to unexplained deaths in this building that such an event has become somewhat mundane?" "You are speaking of the unfortunate accident of last month." "Am I?" "You will, of course, know I have no memory of that." "Having wiped your memory just before my colleague arrived to question you." "A colleague who, I am pleased to say, quickly learned his place in things. An example I would encourage you to follow." "Oh, I think you are going to find that, in all manner of things, I tend not to follow the crowd. To a fault, actually. You should read my latest appraisal: ''does not do what the fuck he is told.'' I had a little plaque made and everything." The two men stared at each other for a tense moment. Lowe thought the Director triggered a couple of Skills in the silence, but he had no idea what they were intended to do. Once upon a time, he had been in possession of a handy little Skill of his own that would have identified any active or passive techniques a suspect - because he realised this man was definitely a suspect - happened to use when being questioned. His Classtration had removed that, of course. He missed it right now. "Are you going to be a problem, Inspector?" "I don''t know. Director. What I do know is that I''m going to find out who killed Josap Harker, where your has gone and - and I''m not bragging here, I really am quite good at this - I''m probably going to unravel what the fuck happened here last month at the same time. Now, you tell me. Would you see any of that as being a problem?" "How is Arebella Telut?" Before he even realised what he was doing, Lowe had activated Slugger and crashed his hand through the Director''s desk, splintering it into kindling. "Don''t even fucking go there with that shit. It''s been tried before, and I''m sure you will have heard how that turned out for all concerned. Come for me as much as you like - I''m built for it, and I accept it comes with the territory - but if I even sense you thinking her name again, what happened in the Celestial Temple will feel like an unexpected visit from Oulian the Birthday Fairy compared to what I will bring down on this fucking museum." Nuroon glanced at the wreckage of his desk and then back up to meet Lowe''s steely expression. "It is good to know where we both stand on this matter." He clicked his tongue, and a precisely located spot of time unspooled backwards until the desk was repaired. "If we are in the ''making threats'' stage of our relationship, I feel I should respond in kind. I don''t care what happened to Barker . . . " "Harker," Lowe corrected automatically. Nuroon simply carried on. "Neither am I much bothered about the whereabouts of Martha Culloden. This is an internationally renowned facility, and I am sure I can replace her with someone of equal, if not higher, competence before the end of the week. But I do care about the efficient running of this museum and, what is more, the Mayor agrees with me on that point. Your . . . investigation, should you insist on progressing, will not interfere with that. I will not threaten you with consequences because I do not make threats. I do, however, promise you that if you are the cause of any disruption whatsoever, you will regret it. And for the rest of your life. Now, do you have any other questions for me, or shall we call it a day?" Chapter 13 - Wrestling with a Spider Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Chapter 14 - Investigatory Roadblocks Lowe had arranged to meet the museum''s remaining senior staff - sans Nuroon - later that afternoon at Cuckoo House. He''d even booked one of the more unpleasant interview rooms, the one which smelled of damp wood, desperation and just the right amount of spilled blood. His thinking had been simple: get them off their own turf, away from the Director, and maybe, just maybe, they''d spill something useful about what had happened to the two . Oh, and if he were lucky, maybe he''d get a lead on where the fucking had vanished too. Because right now, with Nuroon refusing to play ball, Lowe had absolutely nothing to go on. He was being stonewalled by a man so steeped in arrogance and privilege that he was practically dripping in smug. Even without Latham''s doom-filled warnings, the little chat the two of them had had¡ªthe one where Nuroon all but told him to fuck off with his banal questions and stick to the nice, tidy corners of Soar that didn¡¯t ruffle any feathers¡ªwas still a raw wound in Lowe¡¯s mind. It had been the kind of conversation where every word had put his teeth on edge. Nuroon hadn¡¯t just warned him off; he¡¯d practically shoved him out the door with a pat on the head and the assurance that the adults would resolve the matter and that he should go and play with his toys somewhere else. It had left Lowe groping in the dark with the miasma of the Director¡¯s aura hanging over him, and every attempt Lowe had made in the last twenty-four bells to move the case on was being met with roadblock after roadblock. Polite but firm ¡®no¡¯s¡¯ to every request. Even the had stopped replying to his messages, and Penarth could always be relied upon for at least a hearty ''fuck off''. Lowe''s frustration had clawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, but all he could do was grit his teeth and keep moving forward - which was why he had arranged for interviews to take place off museum grounds. However, just as he left Latham, who was happily munching his way through his fourth plate of sandwiches¡ªseriously, where did the put it all?¡ªhis Sending Stone was buzzing in his pocket. He fished it out, expecting the usual¡ªsome bullshit update or another complaint from the Mayor''s office. Instead, what he read made his blood pressure spike so high that Roll with the Punches activated on its own to prevent him from stroking out. It was a written message from Nuroon''s , a polished vulture with an icy smile, informing him that all proposed interviews were off. And what is more, if he wanted to "interrogate any museum employees, he could only do so in the museum¡¯s library¡ªunder the supervision of in-house counsel," no less. "Are you fucking kidding me!" Lowe''s voice bounced off the grimy glass windows of the shopfronts, scattering a flock of Bloodgulls that had been pecking at some unfortunate soul''s corpse. Pernille Staffen, who was unfortunately on the other end of the connection, flinched and turned down the volume on her own Sending Stone, flopping back in her chair like a cat that had decided not to care, but couldn¡¯t quite pull it off. "It''s hardly a completely bullshit request, Inspector," she replied. "Oh really? When was the last time you allowed a murder suspect to be interviewed at their place of work? At a time of their choosing. And with their own legal advice! Maybe I should take a picnic with me and a bottle of something chilled? You know, just to play nice! I don''t know, Commander, I thought we were the Soar Security Service, not a fucking village newsletter!" He spat out the words like they tasted foul, which they absolutely did. Staffen''s eyes narrowed, and though Lowe couldn''t see her - standard Cuckoo House tech didn''t have the visual function on the Sending Stones - he felt the weight of her anger settle upon him. He figured she had triggered her Implacable Stare Skill, the kind of Epic ability that sent better men than him scrambling for cover. In truth, Staffen was just as pissed off as Lowe. Grackle Fucking Nuroon was pulling strings like a puppeteer who never intended the show to end. This last-minute switch of interview venue was just the latest in a long line of arse-fuckings the Security Services had taken since the second liquefied body had been discovered. The sudden, colossal interference in hundreds of cases under her purview hadn¡¯t been easy to take, but she wasn¡¯t about to let Lowe add to the burden. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. From the minute Lowe had begun ferreting around, it was like the Mayor had apparently got her on speed Stone; the Council wanted hourly, in-person updates on progress; and dark noises were coming from the Temple that Arkola was displeased their favourite Museum Director was being bothered with such "banal trivialities" as a couple of meaningless slayings. Oh, and she was reasonably sure someone had broken into her house last night and licked all her teaspoons. But if anyone in Soar thought any of that would bother her, they''d misjudged their woman. And that included Jana ''Oh Woe is Fucking Me'' Lowe. "Tell me you aren''t raising your motherfucking voice at me!" The power of Staffen''s fear-inducing Skill crashed down the connection into Lowe like a late for lunch. The strength of her displeasure sent him reeling backwards, swerving into a wall, a -20% Courage debuff settling on him like a death shroud. He might have even wet himself a little. "Because I can tell you this for fucking nothing," Staffen continued, her voice the kind of chilly that burns. "The last wanker who spoke to me like that is still having his fucking arse cheeks stitched back on." Lowe''s angry frustration drained out of him like a gutter run-off. He squeaked an apology, the sound so pitiful he almost didn¡¯t recognise it as his own voice. "That''s better," Staffen snapped. "Look, I don''t know what you want from me here, Lowe. There''s been a murder. You''re a fucking murder investigator. Do I need to hold your dick while you piss too? Suspects won''t come to you? Boo-fucking-hoo. What do you want me to do about it? Slap them on the arse and tell them to stop being mean to you? Quit your bleating and do your fucking job. Get your backside to the museum and find out who''s killing its . It really ain''t more fucking difficult than that. I couldn¡¯t give Arkola''s left ball sack about where you ask your questions. But I''ll tell you this for free; if night falls without some sort of progress for me to pass up the chain, you''ll discover why I''m Blurian''s chosen bringer of vengeance. Are we on the same motherfucking page?!" Lowe didn¡¯t trust himself to answer without gibbering, so he dragged his mana out of the stone and dropped it back in his pocket, the weight of it suddenly much heavier. Until relatively recently, he had prided himself on his ability to navigate the twisting alleys of Soar''s power structure - I mean, sure, a little voice chimed in his head, you can keep telling yourself crap like that. Still, if we''re going to start hallucinating bollocks, perhaps we can do so a foot taller and ten pounds lighter? - but on days like this, he felt like he was wading through a quagmire of bureaucratic bullshit. Leaning back against the wall, Lowe adjusted his collar, damp with a cold sweat that had nothing to do with the weather and cursed under his breath. Staffen''s words rang in his ears, each syllable laced with disappointment. The kind that didn''t wash off. And it was all the worse because she had a point. Since when was his go-to response to difficulty to run to ''mummy'' complaining about the unfairness of it all? Since your Classtration, subsequent betrayal by your best friend and the realisation the gods of Soar really couldn''t give a fuck, the little voice in his head added snidely. Well, there was that . . . Looking around, Lowe didn''t think it was just the residue of Staffen''s fear Skill that was making it so the streets of Soar had never felt so menacing, each shadow a potential threat, each cobblestone a trap waiting to trip him up. He knew he''d been in worse situations before - this wasn''t even making the top three after the year he had had - but there was something about this case. Something rotten. It was like Soar itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next shoe to drop. And knowing his luck, it¡¯d have a fucking Orc''s foot in it. Maybe it was the fear Skill. Maybe it was the look in Latham''s eyes as he had passed on his warning. Or maybe it was the residue of the necrotic slime still freaking him out. But whatever it was, Lowe couldn''t help but feel his life would be an awful lot easier if he just put a warrant out for the arrest of Martha Culloden on suspicion of murder and filed his report. "You okay, boss?" a wandering asked, eyeing Lowe like a vulture that had spotted a wounded animal: he''d sensed a commercial opportunity in Lowe''s staggered steps, white face, and general attitude of vulnerability. The vendor''s cart, filled with dubious meats on sticks and bottles of even more questionable liquid, looked like it hadn¡¯t seen a health inspection since Arkola was in nappies. "Just regretting some recent life choices, mate," Lowe muttered, flicking the man a silver coin before steadying himself and crossing the intersection of Triumph and Disaster to join the queue for the Portal Stone. The vendor watched him go, a sly smile curling on his lips, then pulled his own Sending Stone out of a grubby apron pocket, its surface greasy from too many unwashed fingers. "Yeah," he said into it, his voice low and conspiratorial, "he''s just on his way there now." Chapter 15 - Mental Fortress You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Chapter 16 - Revelations "And what happened next?" Arebella asked, her eyes wide and unblinking, curiosity writ large across her face. "Well, I vaulted the table," Lowe began, his voice casually nonchalant. "Punched Kregg right in the face, wrestled the to the floor, kneed that bloody lawyer in the groin, and then, because why not, ravished Liando Verlan right there on the spot." Silence. "No, you didn''t," Arebella said resignedly. Lowe chuckled, a grin spreading across his face, stretching wider as if pulled by unseen strings. "Of course I didn''t. But you couldn''t tell I was lying, could you?" He leaned back, insufferably pleased with himself, the grin settling into approaching smug. Arebella didn''t respond immediately, and in the quiet, Lowe watched the gears turn behind her eyes. The golden shimmer that had been emanating from her, a manifestation of the mana she was channelling, intensified. It wrapped around her like a shimmering halo, turning her into something more than mortal¡ªlike a goddess surveying the battlefield. Lowe found it pretty hot. He considered, just for a fleeting moment, acting on that attraction, but then he caught sight of Mylaf, seated across the room, munching contentedly on something that dripped with honey and thought better of it. Mylaf noticed his glance, and he gestured to the towering plate beside her. "May I?" The smiled, her expression one of serene indulgence. "I didn''t make them for myself, lovely. Tuck in." Lowe didn''t need to be told twice. He reached for one of the pastries, careful not to let the sticky filling ooze onto his shirt. As he bit into it, his eyes met Arebella''s once more, and he couldn''t resist. "This is the nastiest thing I''ve ever tasted in my life." "Oh, do fuck off, Jana," Arebella shot back, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement. "Do you have any idea what kind of shitstorm it''s going to cause when people realise there''s a Skill that can defeat a ?" Lowe wiped a crumb from his lip with practised nonchalance. "I''m not sure," he replied, his tone breezy. "Is it going to be anything like the complete lack of kerfuffle around the attempted mind control of a Security Services inspector?" The words were light, but the weight behind them was anything but. Beneath the veneer of humour, Lowe felt the sting of the bureaucratic indifference that had followed the attack on him. He''d been expecting a reckoning, a fiery wave of retribution. Instead, he¡¯d received three cold, indifferent words: "No further action." ¡°What do you mean, ¡®no further action!¡¯¡± he had demanded, incredulity giving his voice an uncharacteristic edge. Staffen had blinked at him, her owlish expression one of almost patronising patience. ¡°It¡¯s three words, Lowe. Which one of them are you struggling with?¡± ¡°At least one of them tried to mind control me!¡± ¡°Oh, boo-fucking-hoo,¡± Staffen had retorted. ¡°You¡¯re a big boy, Lowe, and I¡¯m sure worse things have happened to you than a little light fumbling around in your cerebral cortex. And the key thing is the attempt failed.¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± ¡°Shut the fuck up and listen to mummy,¡± Staffen had snapped, her voice suddenly sharp, the air around them suddenly cool as if the temperature had dropped. ¡°Now, don¡¯t get me wrong. If someone had managed to gain control of that walnut you call a brain, I¡¯d be pissed off. I don¡¯t want it getting around that my investigators are so lacking in willpower that anyone who fancies turning one of them into a meat puppet can give it a go. But even if such an attempt was made¡­¡± ¡°What do you mean ¡®if¡¯?¡± Lowe had interrupted, his voice rising. Stolen story; please report. ¡°Interrupt me again, and you¡¯ll be eating your next month of meals through a fucking straw,¡± Staffen had warned, eyes flashing with a momentary red glow. ¡°Now, where was I? Oh, yes. The ¡®mind control.¡¯ Even if one of those thoroughly upright citizens of Soar¡ªfour beings who have no registered mental Skills whatsoever, I should note¡ªhad attempted to own your brain, the fact they couldn¡¯t pull it off against a Level 25 Classtrated nonentity like you makes me think we hardly need to make an all-points alarm call. No harm, no fucking foul.¡± Staffen had leaned forward then, removing the pipe from her mouth and fixing Lowe with a significant look. ¡°Unless, of course, you have something you want to share that makes me able to justify the resources it would take to investigate this properly.¡± She had raised both hands either side of her, mimicking scales, moving them up and down as if weighing her options. ¡°Underpowered Level 25 getting a head owy in the field. Significant mental attack I need to scramble all sorts of serious and expensive units for. Which is it?¡± And just like that, Lowe had found his resolve to share the news of his new Skill evaporating faster than mist under the morning sun. ¡°Are you serious?¡± Arebella¡¯s voice cut through his reverie, sharp and demanding. ¡°To my certain knowledge, there are no registered Skills in Soar that¡¯ll let you lie without me knowing. That¡¯s pretty much the whole basis of my department¡¯s existence!¡± She ran a hand through her hair, exasperation and disbelief mingling in her expression. ¡°This is a fucking huge deal! Like, epoch-defining.¡± ¡°Only if people find out.¡± Both of them turned to look at Mylaf, who had been contentedly nibbling on another pastry, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. ¡°I mean, sorry to interrupt, but surely this is only an issue if Mr Lowe registers his new Skill.¡± Arebella¡¯s mouth opened to retort, but the words seemed to die on her tongue. Lowe could almost see the moment the implications of Mylaf¡¯s statement hit her. ¡°Of course he¡¯s going to register it!¡± she finally exclaimed, though her voice lacked the earlier conviction. ¡°To not do so would be in breach of about a hundred regulations and open him up to risk of¡­¡± her voice trailed off. ¡°Classtration?¡± Lowe supplied, his tone devoid of emotion. ¡°Amongst other things!¡± Arebella agreed, her voice rising again, more from nerves than anything else. ¡°Seriously, Jana, first thing tomorrow, you must register this Skill. At the very least, it¡¯s fascinating that you¡¯ve broken through your Council blocking not once but twice in a few months. The University will want to study that. And that¡¯s before you tell them about your¡­¡± she gestured helplessly, ¡°¡­your Skill that makes my entire life and career completely redundant.¡± Lowe reached out then, his hand covering hers. ¡°Bella, I¡¯m not going to be telling anyone about this Skill.¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± she began, her voice faltering. ¡°Mylaf is right,¡± Lowe interrupted gently. ¡°Think about it. The Council was already pushing it when they let me keep three Skills with no Class. What do you think they¡¯re going to do to me when it turns out that not only do I have two new ones, but at least one of them is an entirely unheard-of Skill that undermines a significant pillar of the judiciary system. I''ll be buried under a mountain of bullshit so heavy I''ll be lucky to ever crawl back out again.¡± ¡°Not to mention that you¡¯ve somehow got the stats of a Level 50,¡± Mylaf added casually, taking another bite of her cake as if she hadn¡¯t just dropped a bombshell into the conversation. Lowe and Arebella exchanged glances, the tension in the room ratcheting up a notch. ¡°Sorry, Mylaf, what do you mean by that?¡± Lowe asked carefully. Mylaf laughed, the sound light and carefree, completely at odds with the prevailing atmosphere. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m going to tell anyone, is it? But if there¡¯s one thing I know, it¡¯s stats,¡± she said, waving her cake around for emphasis. ¡°And unless I¡¯ve suddenly got an awful lot better at baking in the last few months¡ªand my Skills are already Legendary, so we can pretty much park that¡ªit would seem to me your numbers have gone through the roof recently. You¡¯ve been making all sorts of deductive leaps beyond my experience for someone of your¡­ stated Level. Why, you¡¯ve even taken to putting your dirty clothes in the hamper I¡¯ve left for you rather than leaving them on the floor next to it. That¡¯s at least Level 40 behaviour. And you''ve not forgotten to put the toilet seat down once in all the time I''ve been here. If I didn''t know better, I''d be preparing meals for you as if you were a Level 50. And I know my stuff. So, tell me that I''m wrong.¡± Lowe cleared his throat, suddenly finding it harder to maintain his usual composure. ¡°It¡¯s not that I wanted to keep it from you. It¡¯s just¡­¡± ¡°Least said soonest mendest and all that.¡± Mylaf smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s fine, Mr Lowe. I just wanted you to know that I know, and I won¡¯t tell anyone. No more needs to be said about it.¡± Arenella sighed, the sound heavy with resignation, as she leaned back in her chair, running her hands through her hair once more. ¡°Okay, look, let¡¯s park the wider implications for a moment. You''ve developed a new Skill. Wonderful. It came into being because someone was trying to influence your mind, and you somehow managed to defeat it. Awesome. But do you know which of them it was?¡± Lowe let a slow smile spread across his face, the kind of smile that was all teeth and no warmth. ¡°Now, isn¡¯t that an interesting question?¡± Chapter 17 - Just Desserts Kelvin Kregg was feeling pretty pleased with himself. Of course, this was not an unfamiliar emotion for the , so this particular moment of smug satisfaction did not completely register as especially noteworthy. Which was a shame because it would be the last time in quite a while he would feel this pleasant background hum of utterly unearned joy at the way his life had worked out. Kregg fancied himself the sort of man who left a lasting impression. As he sauntered down the cobbled streets of Soar, away from the museum, he imagined that every passerby¡¯s gaze lingered on him, their eyes drawn irresistibly to his commanding presence. Of course, most people¡¯s eyes slid right off him like grease, but if there was one thing a was good at, it was not letting reality get in the way of perception. Soar was a city that liked to think of itself as cosmopolitan, but that was just a polite way of saying it had a bit of everything and a lot of nothing. The streets were an architectural patchwork, with grand old buildings such as the Celestial Temple and the Tower of Law dominating the skyline with newer, uglier modern constructions that didn¡¯t so much inspire as they did impose. The air was thick with the mingled scents of market stalls, damp commuters, and the ever-present scent of discharged mana¡ªa smell that had a knack for clinging to the back of your throat long after you¡¯d left it behind. It was a city that, like Kregg, was increasingly past its prime but pretending otherwise with all the vigour of a former who¡¯d learned to compensate for the inevitable ravages of time with liberal makeup application. And murdering her competitors. Kregg whistled as he walked, utterly unbothered by any examples of the city''s poverty he passed, which - on more than one occasion - he literally stepped over. Truthfully, his personality was ideally suited to his Class, though he would have insisted it was the other way around. As a , he spent his days spinning mundane events into something resembling newsworthy. In the grand scheme of things, his Skills would be considered mundane, as minor as his god¡¯s wider influence, but his little tricks could make a dull story seem slightly less so, like adding a dash of salt to a bland soup. In his hands, a minor exhibition at the Soar Museum could become ¡°a groundbreaking exploration of the artistic influences that shaped our cultural identity,¡± which was to say that it was still as boring as watching paint dry but with an added layer of pretentiousness that made people feel clever for enduring it. But since he had obtained access to necrotic slime . . . As he walked, Kregg held his head high, chin thrust out to best display his jawline, which he considered one of his more admirable features. His clothes were expensive but worn with careless arrogance, as he considered himself above the need to impress. This was, after all, Soar¡ªwhere the only currency that truly mattered was power, and, right now, Kregg had plenty of that to spare. His god, Carvanal, a minor deity of Fascination, was an obscure figure in the pantheon, the sort that most people had never heard of and wouldn¡¯t care to worship even if they had. And that suited Kregg perfectly. He had no desire to compete with the fervent followers of the more popular gods in the Celestial Temple. Not for him jostling for the favour of deities who had long since stopped listening. No, Kregg preferred to be a big fish in a tiny, unremarkable pond. And for that, his god rewarded him with the occasional stroke of good fortune, some eclectic Skills and a talent for the sort of shenanigans that kept Kregg in a comfortable flat with a decent view of the park and ensured his position at the museum - and his use to Director Nuroon - remained unchallenged, even as more talented Bards struggled to find work. Friends were surprised that Kregg had chosen to work at Soar Museum. Although he fancied himself a man of taste, his idea of culture was more about what could be seen and less about what could be understood. They understood he saw himself as a connoisseur of the arts, but they¡¯d sought to explain to him that, because his appreciation was never able to extend beyond the surface¡ªa painting¡¯s value, in his eyes, was determined more by the artist¡¯s name than by any particular quality of the work itself ¨C it might not be the most sensible of occupations to seek to promote the museum to the wider public. Unfortunately, this superficiality extended to all areas of his life, including his relationships. And he ignored any and all advice. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. This inability to hear ¡®no¡¯ was pretty much why Kregg had developed a reputation in certain circles. His advances toward young women were as subtle as a hand up a dress. Yet, no matter how many slaps to the face he received, to his mind, they were flattered by his attention; after all, what woman wouldn¡¯t be? He was a catch¡ªa man of standing, intelligence, and an intense charm which was surely irresistible. That all the young women at the museum found a sudden interest in the far corners of the building, their conversations taking on a hushed, hurried tone as he passed by, was taken by him to be a sign of universal adoration. Although, in truth, Women frustrated him. They were all too timid, too prudish to appreciate his attention, too blinded by some misguided sense of propriety to recognise his inherent worth. He had, for example, been certain Martha Culloden would have come his way eventually, she had just needed time to realise what she was missing. But, no. That wasn''t going to happen any more, was it? As he walked, Kregg couldn¡¯t help but feel a grin spread across his face. Finding the source of his unexpected good fortune in the Exhibit Hall was working out far better than he could have hoped. Here he was, a man of increased influence in an institution that, while it might not have been the centre of Soar, was still a place of great importance. The fact that most of the people he passed barely acknowledged him didn¡¯t register as an insult; it simply reinforced his belief that they were beneath him, too enmeshed in their dreary little lives to appreciate the quality of the man walking among them. The streets of Soar were busy this time of day, filled with people going about their business. He liked to imagine that they did notice him, of course, that their eyes lingered just a moment longer as he passed, recognising, even if only subconsciously, that he was someone of consequence. He passed by a , a wiry young man playing a tune that was either very avant-garde or very bad¡ªit was hard to tell the difference. Kregg paused for a moment, considering whether to drop a piece of gold into the hat that lay at the musician¡¯s feet, but then thought better of it. He¡¯d once fancied himself a patron of the arts but, over time, had decided that most of the arts weren¡¯t worth patronising. No, he had a more worthy focus for his attention now. Kregg¡¯s flat was in a district of Soar that had once been fashionable but increasingly seen better days. His building, a towering block of greying stone with iron railings that were more rust than metal, was a relic from a time when people still cared about how things looked. Kregg liked to think of it as having character, though others might have called it a bit of an eyesore. He was so looking forward to being able to trade up. Kregg climbed the steps to his front door, his mind already turning to the evening ahead. There was a bottle of wine waiting for him, a gift from one of the museum¡¯s Trustees, no doubt intended as a subtle bribe to ensure their latest donation received a bit more publicity than it might have otherwise deserved. Kregg had accepted it with a smile and a nod, already planning how to make the bottle last over several evenings. One didn¡¯t need to be extravagant when one was alone. The lock clicked open with a familiar creak, and Kregg stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a soft thud that echoed through the empty space. The flat was tidy, almost sterile in its cleanliness; he liked things to be just so, everything in its place, a world where he was the centre and everything revolved around him. He made his way to the small sitting room, where a comfortable armchair awaited him, positioned so he could gaze out of the window at the city below. He liked to sit there in the evenings, a wine glass in hand, watching the world go by, content in the knowledge that he was above it all¡ªboth literally and figuratively. With a sigh, Kregg poured himself a glass of wine, watching the liquid swirl in the glass, catching the light from the fading sun. As he took a sip, he allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. Yes, life was good, he thought. He had a position of influence, a comfortable home, and a god who rewarded his loyalty. And now, he had a whole host of new opportunities opening up for him. The soft click of his window blowing shut caught his attention, and he half-turned towards it. Then, he completed a full turn when he saw the short, dark woman standing in the shadows. "Who the fuck are you!" "Ah," Hel said, hurricanes spinning in her eyes. "A perfectly valid question. But I have some of those, too. How about we start with mine, and if there is enough of you left alive when I''m finished asking, we move on to discussing my biography? Yes? Excellent. Now, first things first," she opened her hand, and a vial of something glittering unpleasantly floated in the air, "where the fuck did a nonentity like you get your hands on necrotic slime?" Chapter 18 - Fear and Loathing "I tell you what, once that fucker started talking, nothing in Soar was going to stop him," Hel said, accepting a piece of Mylaf''s best cherry cake and sighing in pleasure at the 20% boost to her HP. "The prick had a lot of words, not much sense, but enough greasy charm to make me want to rip out his throat.¡± She lounged in the battered armchair, her legs slung over one armrest, chewing like a cat toying with a mouse. Lowe sat across from her, his collar stained with sweat, looking like he''d been born tired and never quite managed to catch up. "You do know that if ever you get bored of Lowe''s trademark hangdogness, I''d hire you like a shot?" she asked the , only half-joking. Mylaf smiled. "That''s very kind, Ms Hel. But I think I''m very happy here with the master." "Well, you know," Hel said, spraying crumbs as she did so, "suit yourself. But remember, the offer¡¯s there if you ever get tired of playing nursemaid to Mr Sunshine. The same goes for you, too," she added as Arebella returned to Lowe''s sitting room. "Sorry, what did I miss?" ¡°Just Hel trying to poach Mylaf. And you, apparently,¡± Lowe said, rubbing his temples. ¡°She thinks she can find a use for a in her line of work.¡± "Oh, I''m sure I can come up with something to occupy the long, dark hours," the said, smiling wolfishly. "Let''s focus, shall we?" Lowe said, clearing his throat as Arebella blushed bright crimson. "It sounds like you were successful?" "Well, yes and no." Hel sat up a little straighter, the smile fading from her lips as she produced a vial from her coat. "You were right, he had this hidden in his flat." They all stared at the glowing liquid. Even seeing it safely encased in a tube of glass, Lowe felt himself shift uncomfortably. He could well remember the clawing to his mind the substance had caused in the bowels of the museum. "Sneaky fucker." Hel sniffed. "I''m afraid that might be the last of the good news, though. As far as I could tell, he''s only really been using it to make his targets more . . . suggestible." "Targets?" There was a sharp quality to Arebella''s voice. "Yeah, and I''m not going to lie, I''m going to need the longest, hottest shower in the history of Soar when I get back home. That man is one of the creepiest fuckers I''ve ever come across. And you need to remember, I had a on my squad." "Oh, and how is Tenia? Have you heard from her?" "Just last week, actually. Her and Charl have found a little farm to settle down on. Turns out the Skills that make you a good assassin are completely useless when confronted with cows and chickens. They''re having a ball." "How lovely! Do give them my best." "Ladies!" Lowe couldn''t help but feel he was losing his grip on the general direction of the conversation. "Can we get back to Kelvin Kregg?" "Sure," Hel twisted her wrist, and a small pillar of wind rose to spin the vial end over end above the table. "It is - well, was. I suspect he may have learned the error of his way - the wanker''s habit of slipping a couple of drops of this into the drinks of anyone he liked the look of. Apparently, having some of that on board made his weak little Charm Skills far more . . . persuasive." She retrieved a leatherbound book from her other pocket and threw it to Lowe. "And if that wasn¡¯t simply lovely, he also kept lengthy notes of his conquests. His prose is unpleasantly explicit." "Fuck," Lowe caught the book and began flicking through it, brow furrowing as he read. Hel nodded, a steely light coming to her eyes. "Yes. He did. Regularly. Probably not so much, moving forward, though." "And he used this to poison Jana?" Arebella asked, staring at the spiralling vial with horrified fascination. Lowe shook his head, both at what he was reading - Hel wasn''t the only one who would need a wash - and the question. "No, I didn''t drink anything when I was there." "Yeah, I wondered about that. I''m assuming, though, he made some sort of ostentatious ''hail fellow well met'' greeting with you when you came in?" Lowe triggered Grid View. Yes, he saw, Kregg had come walking towards him, gloved hand outstretched. Concentrating, he paused and zoomed in on Kregg''s palm. It glittered unpleasantly. "He had this shit smeared on his hand. Bastard." "Yep. He was pretty smug about that. At least to start with. Of course, he got all kinds of remorseful as the evening progressed." So Lowe had been right. It had been the who had sought to mind control him. "Did he say why?" "No, but this is where shit gets interesting. He says it was because you were being your usual charming self, and he wanted to teach you a lesson. But - " Hel''s voice trailed off, and the spinning vial moved in the opposite direction. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. "But what?" "There was clearly another reason. If I had to put gold on it, I would say someone ordered him to do it. But if that was so, he wasn''t sharing." "Perhaps you didn''t ask hard enough?" The temperature in the room dropped through the floor, and Lowe hastily clarified. "Sorry, what I mean is . . . what I was getting at was . . ." "What Jana meant was ''thank you very much for taking time out of your busy schedule to help him out in this matter." Arebella supplied smoothly. "Yes. Yes, that''s what I meant." Hel cricked her neck, and the room began to warm back up. "Sorry, I''m more than a little on edge. That man - " she shook her head. "It was bad? I mean, I''ve heard rumours," Arebella said. "Everyone knows about Kelvin Kregg." "I would suggest they don''t know the half of it." Lowe closed the - for want of a better word - abuse journal and tapped its cover with his finger. "I''ll make sure this gets in front of Staffen first thing." "Good," Hel said. "Although you may want to warn whoever picks him up that he''ll probably be a touch fragile. They may want to take a mop with them." "Sorry, so is that it? This unpleasant young man is who you were looking for?" With a blink of her eyes, Mylaf swapped out the cherry cake for a celebratory round of mana-regenerating cocktails. But Lowe was shaking his head. "No. Not at all," he said, holding up the journal. "According to his journal, Kregg has been up to this for years, but it is only in the last few weeks he started introducing necrotic slime to proceedings." Hel nodded. "He says he ''found'' the stuff after the first death. Several vials were left on his desk, apparently. He had no idea who put them there, and he swears he had nothing to do with any murder." "You believed him?" "I didn''t disbelieve him. But he wasn''t telling me the whole story, which was quite impressive considering how I was asking. Someone has put the fear of Soar into him, and he was willing to keep schtum even with me - " "I don''t think I want to know the details," Arebella interrupted. "Ah, don''t knock it until you try it, sweetie. It''s amazing how close pleasure and pain can get. Let me know if you fancy a dabble. I don''t mind telling you that Latham''s quite the convert." "Anyway," Lowe said, clearing his throat, "let''s see where this leads us. If we''re confident Kregg didn''t kill either of the . . . " he looked at Hel, who shrugged back. "I think so. He was lying about something, but it wasn''t that." "Okay. Well, in lieu of anything else to go with, let''s run with that. He¡¯s not our guy. What about the missing ?" "He definitely knows something about what happened to Culloden. For example, he''s clear she''s not returning to the museum, but it feels like he''s been told that rather than was the cause. But I couldn''t get out of him who. Again, I feel the need to stress that if he was more afraid of the hypothetical wrath of whoever was threatening him rather than the very real presence of me, you''re going to need to be real careful, Lowe." Hel paused, and when she met Lowe¡¯s eyes, there was no humour in her expression at all. ¡°I know you think you¡¯re all kinds of resilient. And maybe you are in the normal run of things. But that twat was afraid. Scared on a deep, bone-deep level. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen anything like it. And I¡¯ve been around. So believe me when I say you need to think very carefully if this is a case you want to continue with.¡± * Even as they were talking, Kelvin Kregg lay in his own room, staring at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes. His once pristine apartment had become a squalid hole, littered with the remnants of broken furniture, his shattered ego and the stench of blind terror. He hadn¡¯t moved from the spot on the bed where he¡¯d collapsed after Hel left him. His mind churned with paranoia, each creak of the floorboards, each whisper of wind through the cracks in the window, sending spikes of terror through his gut. Then the front door creaked open, and Kregg¡¯s heart leapt into his throat. He tried to move, to bolt upright, but his fractured limbs wouldn¡¯t obey. His eyes, wild and desperate, fixed on the figure standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the faint light from the hallway. They closed the door with a deliberate, almost ceremonial slowness, and Kregg¡¯s breath hitched in his throat, recognition dawning in his eyes. He tried to speak, but his voice came out as a strangled croak. ¡°I didn¡¯t tell her¡­ anything¡­ I swear¡­¡± The words tumbled out in a frantic whisper, his tongue tripping over itself to spill the denial. His body shook, a cold sweat breaking across his skin as the figure advanced. The intruder said nothing, its silence more terrifying than any threat could have been. Each step the figure took closer towards him ratcheted up Kregg¡¯s panic. He struggled to sit up, his hands clawing at the sheets, but what Hel had left of his muscles refused to cooperate. His heart thundered in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears drowning out any rational thought. The figure reached the bed, looming over him like a shadow of death, and still, they said nothing. Then, without warning, the figure struck. It was methodical, precise, and almost clinical. Its claws gleamed in the dim light as they descended, a flash of bone that caught the last shreds of Kregg¡¯s sanity and sliced it to ribbons. The first cut was quick, severing the tendons in his wrists, a clean slice that left his hands useless, flopping like dead fish. Kregg screamed, a high, keening wail that filled the small room, but no one would hear him. The figure¡¯s hand clamped over his mouth, silencing the scream, forcing the sound back down his throat where it bubbled up as a sickening gurgle. His eyes bulged, tears streaming down his cheeks, his body convulsing as the blade moved with grim efficiency. The claws carved into him, slicing through skin, muscle, and bone with ease. Blood sprayed across the bed, splattering the walls, the sheets, and the figure¡¯s clothes. His chest was flayed open, ribs cracked apart like a butcher disassembling a carcass. The figure worked with a cold detachment, the movements almost mechanical as they dug into his chest cavity, pulling apart the flesh to expose the pulsing organs within. Kregg¡¯s vision swam with red as his life drained away. The figure reached into his chest, fingers curling around his heart, feeling the last, desperate beats before squeezing. The final act was almost tender as the heart was ripped free. Kregg¡¯s body slumped back against the bed, lifeless, an empty husk. The figure stood over the corpse, staring down at the ruined body, their face expressionless. Then, its mouth opened, and a river of slime flowed from it, covering the body and immediately beginning to consume it. By the time the first of the Investigators arrived in the morning, there was relatively little left to question. Chapter 19 - An unvarnished view of the world Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Chapter 20 - What the saw. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Chapter 21 - Wall-Building It was a slightly less objectionable version of Trei Verlick that Lowe managed to track down in the museum grounds. After his . . . interesting conversation with Preece, the Inspector had been loath to return to the little room the Director had set aside for him to conduct his interviews. Lowe had initially thought it was a good thing that Nuroon hadn''t insisted Felicitous Gral oversee again, but a few hours in, he was rapidly reassessing that view. Other than a general, unrestrained joy at the death of Kregg - and other than Preece''s intriguing contribution to proceedings - Lowe did not feel any better informed about the murders than he had before he had arrived. Thus, he found stumbling across the supervising a small group of somewhat fortuitous. "You still hanging about here then?" Verlick said, then turned to yell at one of the enormous men fumbling about with a handful of bricks.¡°For the love of all the gods, stop! Put the trowels down before you murder that poor thing any further!¡± The glanced back at Lowe and gave a shrug. "Just a minute, sir." "Sure," Lowe was pretty pleased Verlick was even acknowledging his existence. From everything he''d heard, the old man was as spikey as Nuroon when it came to people interfering with the running of his domain. The paused at Verlick''s yell, their hands hovering in the air. Sweat dripped from their brows, pooling into small, muddy patches on the ground. They were each, gormlessly, staring at the half-constructed wall, a lopsided monstrosity that looked like it was trying to break free from its sorry existence. "I''ve told the Director it''s a false economy cutting corners to employ these morons. At half the hassle, I''d get twice as much done with some decently trained staff." As Trei stepped forward, his eyes narrowing at the mess of mortar and stone, Lowe reflected that it seemed odd the museum had cash to spare in some areas but was making savings in others. He hadn''t missed the numbers of the Lower Classed in positions he might expect to have been filled with more expert presences. Of course, there was nothing wrong with keeping costs low, but it was oddly inconsistent with the gold that seemed to be awash elsewhere. ¡°You lot have the brains of a rock but none of the reliability,¡± Verlick yelled, his hands twitching, and with a flick of his fingers, activated Master Mason¡¯s Eye. In response to the Skill, every crack, every uneven surface in the wall suddenly glowed faintly as if begging for correction. The botched construction shimmered with a haze of errors, and Verlick¡¯s lips curled into a tight line of disdain. ¡°Right,¡± he said, his voice dropping to a growl. ¡°Step back and let a professional handle this.¡± As he spoke, he triggered Structural Reversion, and the wall sighed in relief as it unravelled, bricks slipping apart with a gentle thrum, the poorly mixed mortar dissolving into harmless dust. The watched, slack-jawed, as the stones they had placed settled back on the ground. Verlick spun around, his eyes narrowed. ¡°I¡¯m not your nanny, and this isn¡¯t a sandbox. You¡¯re here to learn, so try fucking doing it the way I showed you!¡± He grabbed a trowel, not that he needed one with his Skills, but he wanted to show them how a proper wall was built. With precise movements, he activated Perfect Placement, and each brick clicked into place under his hands like it was born to be there. One of the apprentices, a lad with arms thicker than Lowe''s entire torse, lifted a brick, his hands trembling with effort despite his Strong as an Ox passive. It would be the only Skill the poor kid would have, Lowe knew, at least until he was able to catch the eye of one god or another. By the look of the age of some of these apprentices, though, they''d long since passed the stage where they could reasonably expect to be patronised. Thinking back to his conversation with Preece, Lowe frowned. What was it with this place and employing older people? Nuroon didn''t strike him as the sort of man to have an altruistic streak when it came to employment practices. ¡°Put that fucking thing back down!¡± Verlick barked. ¡°What do you think you''re doing? Haven''t you ballsed this up enough yet?" The apprentice dropped the brick in fright, narrowly missing the foot, but Verlick didn¡¯t even flinch. Instead, he activated Reinforced Foundations, sending a pulse of energy through the ground beneath the wall, stabilising the earth. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡°That¡¯s how it¡¯s done,¡± he said, his voice like gravel. ¡°Now, take those shovels, and fill in the gaps where they belong, not where your fucking idiot heads think they should be.¡± The moved slower than molasses on a winter¡¯s day, but they moved. Verlick turned back to Lowe but kept a sharp eye on their work, his Supervisor¡¯s Intuition giving him a constant stream of notifications whenever one of them even thought about making a mistake. Every now and again, he barked orders and corrected their errors.¡°Remember,¡± Verlick said, his voice softer but no less cutting, ¡°you¡¯re here to build, not demolish. If I have to undo your mess again, I¡¯ll be charging you the repair fees out of your hides. Now, where were we?" he said, looking back at Lowe "We hadn''t actually started," Lowe replied, "but before we do, can I ask you about all the unskilled around the place?" "Bane of my fucking life, sir. Bane of my fucking life. The Director''s been on some massive efficiency drive for the last few years, and you should see the fucking idiots -" he raised his voice as he said that, the apprenticeships cringing in response -"I get landed with." "But why should that be the case? From everything else I''ve seen, gold doesn''t seem to be an issue." Verlick snorted. "Welcome to my world, sir. None of that fucking good fortune has trickled down to us on the ground level yet." "Good fortune?" Verlick sucked air through his teeth. "Ah, now that would start to wander into areas I''m going to have to refer you back to Mr Gral. Outside my jurisdiction, you see." Sighing, Lowe made a mental note that he would need to drop by that creepy man''s office in the Tower of Law once he was finished here and pressed on. "So, what can you tell me about the murders?" "Don''t rightly know we''re supposed to call them that, are we? A falling stone crushed the girl, and the lad and the wanker got themselves melted. Messing with powers beyond their ken and all that." "Okay. Well, let''s focus on the deaths of the to start with. Did you know them?" ¡°Barely. Paths didn''t cross much if you know what I''m saying. They''d be with the exhibits, and me and my lads would be trying to keep this fucking ramshackle show on the road. My two silvers'' worth is that I don''t think either was popular, if that makes any difference. The lass was one of them sneaky types that listens more than you think, and the lad . . . well, the only thing I know about him is I''d keep finding him places he shouldn''t be. Usually, with a confused expression on his face and a fucking useless excuse in his mouth. If you ask me, he was simple-minded enough to be working with these cretinous mouth-breeders!" The cringed as Verlick raised his voice once more. "You''d ''keep finding him in places he shouldn''t be''. Was that a recent thing?" Verlick frowned at that. "Now you mention it, yes. I probably wouldn''t have even known his name if he hadn''t been making such a fucking nuisance of himself in these last couple of weeks." "What sort of thing was Harker doing?" "Oh, nothing that I''m not used to those academic twats getting up to. But if I got a notification that a door had been forced or a seal broken, by the time I got there, I''d find him stood, mouth open like a fish, and looking around like he''d been sleepwalking. To hear him tell it, he had no idea of what had happened." Lowe frowned at that. "And that didn''t strike you as unusual?" "Sir, I have been the at Soar Museum for the best part of twenty years. Nothing the get up to surprises me. The only thing that was even slightly unusual about this was that he didn''t stink of alcohol, and there was no half-dressed serving wench to be found in the shadows. It''s a fucking colossal site, sir, and - literally - years can pass between my crew maintaining one area or the next. It''s famously one of the attractions of the job, provided you can stand Nuroon. There are all sorts of shenanigans and extra-judiciary fun and games you can get up to here without anyone ever noticing. I''m surprised even more stuff doesn''t get nicked, to be honest." Lowe nodded absently at the little rant and then frowned. There was something about Verlick''s emphasis in that sentence which grabbed his attention. "You say ''even more stuff.'' What do you mean?" "Fuck''s sake, sir. I thought that was what you wanted to talk about. Soar knows no one else has been interested. I told the last guy that came around, that Wyst bloke, and he wrote it all down in his little notepad." Lowe kept his face still, sensing he might finally be getting somewhere. "I''m sure it will all be in a report somewhere. But why don''t you give it to me from the horse''s mouth, as it were?" Verlick sighed and, having lambasted the apprentices for their slowness once again, turned back to Lowe. "Look, sir, I don''t want to make a big thing about this. But I reported it at least a month before that girl came to her end, and I can''t believe no one is making more of it." "Of what?" "One of our Dreadnaughts is missing." Chapter 22 - The space where a Dreadnaught used to be Lowe frowned at the unfamiliar word, more so that Verlick was looking at him like there was a clear expected response to the news. "Oh no!" he tried, raising his hands in a little show of unwelcome surprise. "Fuck''s sake," Verlick shook his head and turned back towards the . "That''s it for today, boys and girls. Go and do . . . whatever it is you lazy cretins get up to when I''m not trying to help you better yourselves." The group didn''t need to be told twice, and in moments, Lowe and Verlick were stood alone in front of an inexpertly created wall. The cocked his head, sniffed, and then waved his hand, the bricks instantly correcting themselves into a more uniform position. "Don''t get me wrong, they''re not bad lads; it''s just at my time of life . . . " Verlick''s voice trailed off for so long that Lowe opened his mouth to speak before he continued. "It''s a big site, you get me? And I can''t be everywhere. I said to the Director that it was getting to be a bit much for me and do you know what he said?" Lowe shook his head, sensing he wasn''t really needed in this part of the conversation. "He said I had two choices: I could retire, and he could find someone ''younger'', or I could train up a proper maintenance crew and supervise. Think I''ve doubled my workload." Lowe let the pause settle for a while until it threatened to become maudlin. "You said something about a Dreadnaught?" Verlick''s head snapped up, and eyes that had been in danger of becoming misty cleared. "Yeah, I did. Probably best you see this yourself." And then the crotchety man was off, Lowe struggling to keep up with the pace he set across the courtyard. Although not an unfit man, Lowe recognised that he could probably stand to do a little more exercise. He quickly found himself channelling Roll with the Punches to avoid panting like asthmatic buffalo. Verlick reached a door in a building at the extreme end of the space - directly opposite from the room in which Lowe had been conducting his interviews - and paused to check the Inspector was still behind him. "Are you okay?" Despite his running Skill, Lowe could feel that his face was flushed. "Yeah, no worries." Verlick frowned at him. "You need to spend a little more time outside, sir. All the desk-jockeying is not good for you. Last thing the museum needs is another dead body on its hands." The conversation was moving rather too close to a chat Arebella had with him the other night. The one where she tactfully raised that there was a chance he might have been partaking a touch heavily of some of Mylaf''s sweeter consumables. Having no wish to revisit his mortification there, Lowe motioned for Verlick to get on with it. "You said you had something to show me?" Casting a critical eye to the bead of sweat that had appeared on Lowe''s brow, Verlick pushed a stream of his mana into the lock of the door before them. It made a complicated whirring noise and then shuddered and cracked open. Verlick stood to one side, his face etched with the deep lines that come from years of scowling at things that don¡¯t make sense¡ªor, worse, things that do. ¡°Get in, then,¡± he growled, ¡°don¡¯t dawdle. This isn¡¯t a fucking sightseeing tour.¡± As the had, quite literally, invited him along to show him something, Lowe couldn''t help but feel this was slightly unfair. However, as he crossed the door''s threshold - the air inside spilling out a metallic aura, like old blood on rusted steel - he let it side. The inside of the room was large, far larger than the external look of the place would have suggested, but the low ceiling made it feel smaller, as though the building was hunched over in the shadows, watching those who came in. The exhibits - if that was what you could call things in a room clearly not intended for view - were scattered about in no particular order, like pieces in a puzzle that no one had the time or patience to solve. The first display Lowe noticed was a case on his left, its glass smeared with what looked like fingerprints, though on closer inspection, they were more like claw marks. Inside, a collection of delicate instruments¡ªbrass compasses, astrolabes, and things that looked like they were probably used to explore something more like internal biology¡ªglimmered faintly in the light. As Lowe leaned in, he caught a glimpse of something moving in the reflection, a shadow that wasn¡¯t his own. He pulled back sharply, his heart skipping a beat and looking around, but the shadow was gone, leaving only his distorted reflection in the glass. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Verlick snorted. ¡°Don¡¯t bother trying to figure those out. They belong to an astronomer who thought the stars could talk. Turns out they can, but he didn''t much like what they had to say. They used to be out on display, but there''s only so much screaming the Director could countenance. Even that PR wanker couldn''t keep smoothing that over. And he isn''t going to be doing any of that anymore, is he?¡± Lowe nodded, unsure whether Verlick was joking. It was hard to tell. They moved on through the quiet dark, Lowe''s eyes drawn to a massive tapestry hanging against one wall. The fabric was heavy, soaking up any available light and keeping it for itself. The scene depicted was chaotic, a battle, or perhaps a massacre¡ªfigures locked in combat, but their forms twisted, exaggerated, as though painted in a fever dream. The longer Lowe looked, the more the figures seemed to move, not in the usual way a trick of the eye might play, but as if they were actually writhing against the fabric. ¡°Careful with that one,¡± Verlick said, his voice gruff but laced with something that might have been caution. ¡°It¡¯s called ¡®The Last War.¡¯ Every now and then, one of those poor sods gets out, and that''s no Sun Day morning picnic, I can tell you.¡± Lowe tore his gaze away, his nerves beginning to jangle. He was having the same creeping feeling of dread that had almost overwhelmed him in the corridors beneath the museum. Surreptitiously, he checked Mental Fortress, but it was running as usual. This wasn''t any sort of mind attack; it was just a genuinely freaky room. Lowe stepped further into the room, his eyes catching on a small, unassuming box on a pedestal. It was plain wood, no bigger than a loaf of bread, with a simple latch. But something about it felt off as if it were vibrating at a frequency just below hearing. He could feel it in his teeth, a low, constant hum that set his nerves on edge. ¡°That,¡± Verlick said, with a disdainful wave, ¡°is a music box. Plays a tune that no one ever finishes listening to, on account of what happens if they do.¡± Lowe didn¡¯t need to ask what happened. The box seemed to buzz with a barely contained menace, which certainly did have Mental Fortress performing all sorts of gymnastics. He moved past it quickly, feeling the cold sweat prickle on the back of his neck. With a lurch, the room appeared to twist in on itself, the exhibits becoming more bizarre, more unsettling the deeper they went. A mirror reflected not their faces but a dark hallway lined with doors, each slightly ajar, with something unseen moving behind them. A table held a clock that ticked backwards, the hands scraping against the glass as they fought against time itself. The oddities went on. Every corner seemed to hold something just out of sight, a whisper of movement that vanished the moment Lowe tried to focus on it. ¡°This is basically a dumping ground for everything the powers-that-be can¡¯t find a way to explain,¡± Verlick muttered, his tone bitter, like a man forced to babysit a pack of rabid dogs. "Is it safe?" "Safe? Who the fuck are you kidding? There''s a reason why it''s all kept under lock and key. I only have access because someone needs to keep on top of all the damage." They had reached the far end of the room, where a single, flickering lantern cast long, jittery shadows across six towering figures. Or rather, Lowe assumed, what should have been six. ¡°Here we are,¡± Verlick said with a weary sigh, suggesting he¡¯d rather be anywhere else. ¡°Our Dreadnaughts. Or what¡¯s left of them.¡± Lowe stared, his mind rebelling against what he was seeing. The Dreadnaughts defied description, their forms shifting and warping with every heartbeat. One moment, they were statues, tall and menacing, carved from some black, gleaming stone. The next, they melted, flowing like quicksilver, only to solidify again as something else entirely¡ªarmoured beasts, towering pillars of light, a roiling mass of shadow. As Lowe watched, they were never the same thing twice, as if they were always in flux, trapped between realities. And yet, for all that mutability, they exuded a terrifying presence, an overwhelming sense of terror that pressed in on Lowe like the purest essence of necrotic slime. His Mental Fortress shivered under the assault, the normally impenetrable barrier quivering like a leaf in a storm and levelling up at an astonishing pace. It wasn¡¯t just the sight of them which was so awful - and Lowe was certainly full of awe - it was the sense that these things were alive, aware, and far more dangerous than they appeared. And there was one missing. ¡°One¡¯s gone,¡± Lowe said, more to himself than to Verlick. ¡°Aye,¡± Verlick replied, his tone clipped. ¡°A few months back now. And if you¡¯ve got half a brain in that head of yours, you¡¯ll start worrying about where it¡¯s gone and what it¡¯s planning. As I told the last Inspector, these things don¡¯t just wander off for some fresh air.¡± Lowe couldn¡¯t tear his eyes away from the remaining Dreadnaughts, their forms flickering and shifting with a slow, relentless rhythm. They seemed to pulse with a silent, malevolent energy, as if they were aware of their missing sibling and were waiting¡ªpatiently, ominously¡ªfor its return. Chapter 23 - Rank-Up Following his encounter with Verlick - although the Dreadnaughts probably had something to do with it too, of course - Lowe had not been able to bring himself to return to interviewing museum employees. He had made his excuses to the guard that had been put at his disposal - another oddly low-classed woman in an ill-fitting uniform - and taken to the avenues and roads of Soar for a wander. During his trials and tribulations of the last year, Lowe had found himself walking these dark and mean streets more and more. Mostly, that was because, post-Classtration, he no longer had an office from which to work, but also because it was difficult to think clearly in an apartment that smelled of desperation, regret and last week''s uneaten curry. However, there was also something about the city of Soar, especially at this time of night, that had always helped him clear his head. And, right now, with Mental Fortress whirling nineteen-to-the-dozen, he figured his psyche needed all the support it could get. Taking in a deep breath, Lowe stepped through the museum gates and into the early evening light, allowing Soar to wrap itself around him like a lover with sharp nails and a smoky laugh. Ignoring the portal stone opposite, he turned left and made his way into the heart of the Cultural Quarter. Lowe had lived in Soar his whole adult life, arriving as a fresh-faced teenager with hopes, dreams and parents back home in the sticks who were as glad to be rid of him as he was to escape. What he found on arrival was a city with too many secrets and not enough scruples¡ªa lady of the night who¡¯d steal your wallet and kiss you sweetly while doing it. Lowe winced at that. He would like to think that was a metaphorical flight of fancy, but that had actually happened more than once over the years. As he walked down a familiar avenue - this street wasn''t a million leagues away from his beat when he was first deployed from Cuckoo House - he relaxed into a comfortable stroll, the cobblestones underfoot slick with the recent rain and other - less salubrious - liquids. It might have been his overactive imagination, but it looked as if each of the stones glistened like wet lips under the mana-empowered lights. Even though it was getting late - exactly how long had he stood and stared at those writhing, moving Dreadnaughts? - Soar never slept; she merely waited, lying in a bed of shadows, her heartbeat a low, persistent thrum that echoed to the distant clatter of hooves and the muted murmur of voices drifting from barely-lit pubs. If he took a left here - at the crossroads of Hope and Expectation - he would soon be unable to move for places - and people - that could take his mind off what he had seen. There was a time - and not really that long ago, now he thought about it - when this would have been a pretty easy decision to make. Now, though, Lowe resolutely stalked forward even as Mental Fortress positively shook under the assault of sights, sounds and entreaties from the darkness. At times like this, it felt to him like Soar was alive, but only just¡ªlike a parasite that thrived on the vices of its inhabitants, feeding off their desperation. This city was, to all intents and purposes, a vampire with a sense of humour. Or, now he thought about it, just your average, common-or-garden god . . . Then Lowe staggered slightly, suddenly light-headed. Puzzled, he checked his stats and noted, with alarm, that his mana pool was almost exhausted: both Mental Fortress and Roll with the Punches appeared to be going gangbusters. The first made sense after what he''d been through with the Dreadnaughts. He''d have been astonished if it wasn''t. The second though . . . were all these mental attacks actually causing him physical damage? Figuring this was an issue to ponder another time - and not wanting to see what would happen to his sanity if he no longer had mana to spare - he pulled out one of Mylaf''s smoothies and downed it in one gulp. Voices called from the side alleys, asking for "a little taste, mate? That looks cracking!" but Lowe had long since learned to keep his cards close to his chest¡ªSoar might¡¯ve been the kind of woman who could make you forget yourself, but Lowe wasn¡¯t about to let her get back under his skin. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. His mana refilled - although he noted it began ticking down immediately - Lowe started to regret his decision to walk home rather than use the portal. Mana exhaustion was no picnic, and he really didn''t want to get caught up in something without Roll with the Punches to rely on. Since having his Intellect and Wisdom power levelled by Latham, he hadn''t had to worry about that happening. But now? Well, he just wanted to be safely tucked up in bed. He was getting old . . . Dipping his head to avoid eye contact with anyone, Lowe passed by a narrow alley, its entrance framed by the flicker of glowing signs that seemed to beckon with a finger only the desperate could see. Even as he had that thought, he made out a group of figures loitering in the shadows beneath the words, eyes gleaming with a hunger that only came from wanting something you knew you¡¯d never have. Soar attracted this type of lost man - and woman! - like moths to a flame, and she burned them all up just as easily, leaving nothing but ashes and regrets behind. A soft breeze stirred, carrying a discordant burst of music¡ªa minor-key tune that drifted from a hidden doorway, its notes curling around the group and pulling them towards it. Lowe recognised that sound, the melancholy hum of one of the innumerable that patrolled the riverside. They knew how to break a person''s heart and make you thankful and - even protected as he was against the allure of their music - Lowe felt himself taking a hesitant step after the group as they left. Then his defences snapped back into place, and he soon gained control over himself, turning the other way with alacrity. Soar wasn¡¯t a city to offer easy solace; she¡¯d take what you had left and laugh in your face for thinking you could keep it. Lowe''s mana dipped alarmingly again - what was going on! - and he downed a second smoothie. With alarm, he saw his inventory was starting to run low of the consumable. Mylaf would, of course, be delighted to whip up another batch, but that wouldn''t help him if he ran dry before he got back. With an uncharacteristic burst of pace, he walked on, past shuttered windows that watched his progress with feigned disinterest, like a woman who¡¯d seen it all before and wasn¡¯t impressed. The cracks in their facades were evident in the mana light¡ªwrinkles in the skin of a city that had long since stopped caring about appearances. Soar didn¡¯t need to be beautiful; she had style, which was far more dangerous. Lowe''s undignified haste brought him to the main thoroughfare - Displacement - which would pass by his apartment. Here, the street widened into a boulevard lined with hawkers selling trinkets, consumables and promises. The crowds here were thick, bodies pressed close together, seeking a last vestige of something significant to make of their day. Lowe straightened his coat and started down the street, knowing that no matter how quickly he walked, Soar would be right there with him, her hand in his pocket and a smirk on her lips. And then words swam across his vision. <<<>>> <<<>>> He shook his head as much to clear the confusion in his mind as to answer the question. More of this Rank 2 bullshit? Skills didn''t move to Rank 2. They had four tiers - Common, Rare, Epic, Legendary - everyone knew that. They didn''t ''rank up.'' And, as far as anyone else knows, neither do attributes, a little voice said in his head. Considering the power of Mental Fortress, Lowe was forced to conclude it was probably his own brain supplying the narrative commentary. He was glad it was good for something. <<<>>> "I don''t know! What does Rank 2 mean?" In any other city, passersby might have commented on a slightly dishevelled, middle-aged man talking plaintively to himself in the middle of the street. In Soar - and at this time of the evening - such behaviour was so common as to be almost mandatory. <<<
  • Reflective Barricade: Any mental assault directed at the Fortress is reflected back at the attacker, magnified by the strength of the [Lowe''s] Willpower.
  • Thought Amplification: [Lowe''s] mental processing speed and cognitive abilities are vastly enhanced, allowing for instantaneous problem-solving or the rapid learning of new Skills.
  • Shared Bulwark: [Lowe] can, temporarily, share their mental protections with an individual or with a group.
    • Do you wish to Proceed?>>>> He needed to stop by Latham''s house. Chapter 24 - Reflective Barrier Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Chapter 25 - Sound Advice Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. Chapter 26 - Redistribution Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
    Chapter 27 - A Sociopathic Middle Aged Woman This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Chapter 28 - Re-enactment of the Crime Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Chapter 29 - A speaks up Lowe didn¡¯t know why, but he¡¯d never quite hit it off with any of Arebella¡¯s friends. Well, that wasn¡¯t strictly true. He knew precisely why that was. It was because every single one of them terrified the life out of him, and it made him appallingly awkward in their company. There was probably a moment in his life¡ªback when he was young and foolish¡ªwhen he hadn¡¯t been utterly intimidated by smart, independent, competent women. But if there was, it was long gone, buried under layers of insecurity and whatever passed for his bravado these days. He sensed he could search his Grid View for the rest of his life but still never found it. Karolen wasn¡¯t quite the scariest of the pack¡ªat least she¡¯d acknowledged his existence since his Classtration¡ªbut even if he hadn¡¯t known the devastating carnage a pissed-off was capable of, he still wouldn¡¯t have chosen to further involve her in this mess. Still, as Latham had pointed out, she was literally the only person with any memory of what had occurred when Delphina had met her untimely end. So, reluctantly, Lowe had called in a few favours¡ªhe preferred to think of it that way, rather than admitting he¡¯d asked his girlfriend to help him out¡ªand had thus found himself met by a very irate at the gates of Soar Museum on this bright and shining morning. Now, standing in the chilly, echoing expanse of the Great Hall, Lowe was glad he had. For his part, Gral seemed determined to turn Karolen¡¯s outburst into some kind of intellectual sparring match. He raised an eyebrow, giving her a look one might reserve for someone who had just announced they believed in unicorns. ¡°I know that¡¯s what you think you saw, my dear,¡± Gral continued, ¡°but all the formal reports I have read on the event make it very clear that the poor girl was crushed to death rather than . . . anything more fanciful, so let''s stay within the realms of reality if we can.¡± ¡°So you calling me a liar?¡± Karolen shot back. ¡°No, not at all.¡± Gral¡¯s best condescending smile stretched once again across his face. ¡°I merely think the trauma of the event has exacerbated matters in your mind. Memory is a tricky thing, as I¡¯m sure you¡¯re well aware. I¡¯ve read several studies that suggest high-stress situations can¡ª¡± ¡°¡ªdistort the perception of reality? Right, because, of course, us silly little girls tend to overreact in high-stress situations!¡± Lowe winced. He didn¡¯t know how Gral was managing it, but he seemed to have a supernatural talent for saying precisely the wrong thing at exactly the worst moment. So much so, Lowe was starting to wonder if he might not be doing it on purpose. Mind you, there were easier ways to sabotage this re-enactment than annoying an primed to explode. Gral was continuing in using his conversational shovel. ¡°I would never imply such a thing, Ms. Mehin. I¡¯m merely suggesting that we consider the possibility that your recollection may not align perfectly with the facts.¡± He glanced towards Preece, who was standing awkwardly by the sarcophagus, trying very hard to blend into the background. ¡°After all, no one else present remembers the event.¡± Karolen¡¯s eyes flashed at that. ¡°No one else remembers the event because someone had everyone wipe their memories. Convenient, isn¡¯t it? Let¡¯s all just forget the part where a young woman was melted alive before the stone fell on her.¡± ¡°Melted. Hmmm,¡± Gral said, moving the word around in his mouth as if it tasted bitter. ¡°That¡¯s an exceptionally colourful description, my dear, but not one supported by the official autopsy conducted by Lant.¡± Lowe felt the tension crackle like an at a light show. Karolen wasn¡¯t just angry¡ªshe was livid, and Gral¡¯s dismissive manner was exacerbating things. ¡°So, it is your opinion that I am being hysterical, and my memory is incorrect?¡± ¡°It is your contention that the was melted. Now that is an intriguing word choice. Are you talking about some form of magical reaction? Or perhaps¡ª¡± ¡°You weren¡¯t there. You didn¡¯t see it!¡± "And neither did anyone else, Ms Mehin. Thus, I am inclined to trust the evidence rather than one angry young lady''s opinion." Preece cleared his throat softly. It was a sound that should have barely registered in the Hall, but it caught everyone¡¯s attention. All eyes turned his way, making the poor man blush and look like he wanted to crawl into the sarcophagus and pull the lid over himself. Lowe couldn¡¯t blame him. If the got any angrier, he¡¯d be looking to join him. ¡°She''s telling the truth." Gral rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically. "I am sure we all appreciate the chivalry, sir, but how can you possibly know that?" I . . . I didn¡¯t wipe my memory,¡± Preece¡¯s voice was quiet, and yet was strong enough for everyone to hear it. There was a pause, long and heavy, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks. ¡°I knew it!¡± Karolen¡¯s voice raised several octaves. Gral, for once, said nothing, though Lowe could see the faintest flicker of surprise on the lawyer¡¯s face. ¡°I . . . I didn¡¯t wipe my memory,¡± Preece repeated, a little louder this time, as if he needed to convince himself as much as the others. ¡°I was supposed to. Everyone was supposed to. Ms Culloden made sure of that, had the mana potions in place and everything. But I didn¡¯t go through with it.¡± The weight of his admission hung in the air. Lowe could almost feel the cogs turning in his head. This was big. Huge. It immediately justified all the shit he was sure Nuroon was going to have flung his way for going ahead with this re-enactment. But the fact that there was someone else who had managed to avoid the memory wipe, who had info on the first death changed everything. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡°Why not?¡± he asked, careful not to spook the older man. Preece shifted nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, but pushed forward anyway. ¡°Because . . . because I knew something was wrong. I couldn¡¯t bring myself to forget. Not when . . . not after what I saw.¡± Lowe watched Karolen¡¯s expression shift as she stepped towards Preece, her posture slightly softening as if coaxing him to reveal more. ¡°And what exactly did you see?¡± she asked quietly. The hesitated, his gaze flicking between Lowe, Karolen, and Gral, before settling back on Karolen. ¡°I . . . I saw Delphina. I saw what happened to her before the stone fell.¡± Gral seemed to realise the importance of the moment, standing up straighter, his previously smug expression tinged with alarm. ¡°And?¡± Karolen pressed gently, her eyes locked on Preece. ¡°What did you see?¡± Lowe had a moment of annoyance that she seemed to be leading the questioning but then decided to get over himself. Who did it matter was the one to get the information. Preece swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°She was . . . she was eaten alive.¡± Lowe couldn¡¯t help himself. ¡°And did you see what ate her?¡± Preece¡¯s face paled. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. Gral seized the moment to try to get control of the conversation. ¡°This is all very interesting, Mr. Preece. But, if I may, this all seems very convenient. If what you say is true, why didn¡¯t you come forward with this information sooner? Why wait until now to make this revelation?¡± Preece¡¯s gaze flicked to Gral, and for the first time, Lowe saw something else in his expression¡ªguilt. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to remember,¡± Preece admitted. ¡°But then I found that I couldn¡¯t forget.¡± The confession hung in the air like the heavy scent of something rotten, and Lowe didn¡¯t miss the flicker of fear that darted through the man¡¯s eyes. It wasn¡¯t just that he hadn¡¯t wiped his memory¡ªthere was something more, something worse, that he was holding back. Lowe could feel it in the way the man''s voice trembled, the way he couldn¡¯t quite look anyone in the eye for more than a second. Whatever Preece had witnessed that day was still clawing at him from the inside. He needed to get this off his chest. ¡°Mr. Preece,¡± Gral said, the words oozing out of him. ¡°You say you didn¡¯t want to remember, yet you chose not to go through with the wipe. That¡¯s a rather significant decision to make, don¡¯t you think? And one that is not very consistent. Especially given the . . . pressures of the situation. Come now, what exactly did you see? You said the poor girl was ¡®eaten¡¯, but if this is true, we need specifics. What caused it? What did you witness that was so horrific you felt compelled to keep your memory intact? Or are you just seeking a little attention for yourself in the middle of this debacle?¡± Preece shifted, his discomfort palpable, but Karolen stepped forward. She knew how to read people¡ªhow to find a way to get them talking¡ªand she wasn¡¯t about to let Gral bully the , you don¡¯t have to protect anyone anymore. If you know something, it¡¯s time to tell us. You saw what happened to Delphina before the stone fell. What caused it?¡± Preece looked at her, then at Lowe, his eyes pleading for some kind of escape. But there was no way out. Not now. ¡°It was . . . it was the armour.¡± Lowe¡¯s breath caught in his throat. Armour? That was new. His Grid View flickered, trying to make sense of the new information, but the connections didn¡¯t align. No one had mentioned anything about armour in any of his hours of interviews. ¡°What armour?¡± ¡°The sarcophagus . . . the first one we opened. The one from earlier in the day? It wasn¡¯t empty. Martha was sure we''d find the same thing in the second if we looked. She pushed us to move, opening it up to the top of the schedule. I don¡¯t think she told the Director, though.¡± Lowe¡¯s pulse quickened, but it was the who spoke first. ¡°What was inside?¡± Preece looked at the floor, his voice shaking. ¡°A Dreadnaught.¡± Gral''s expression hardened, obviously wishing the Director was here to deal with these revelations. ¡°You¡¯re saying that you and these other , the ones that have died, opened a sarcophagus containing a Dreadnaught? And it was awake?¡± Preece shook his head. ¡°No, the first one, the one in the sarcophagus we opened in the morning, was stable. It was moved somewhere, but I don''t know where. And we didn¡¯t know what it was at first. It was Martha . . . Culloden who told us it was important. She was very excited." ¡°And the who died?¡± Lowe''s voice was sharp, cutting through the rising dread in the room. ¡°What happened to her?¡± Preece¡¯s face creased, the memory clearly still raw. ¡°She got into the sarcophagus and touched it. Martha warned us in the morning not to make contact with it; to assess its condition without waking it. But the moment Delphina made contact, something happened. The Dreadnaught... reacted. It expanded, covering her in some sort of slime and began feeding.¡± ¡°So, Delphina didn¡¯t die from the stone falling on her. She was already dead before that?¡± There was a sense of finality to Karolen¡¯s voice. Lowe thought it sounded a little bit like vindication. ¡°The stone falling . . . it was just a coincidence. Or it was Kregg who did it. He was the one who kept going on and on about the blasted stone. But Delphina was dead long before it crushed her. The Dreadnaught . . . it killed her the moment she touched it. It ate her. And then it vanished.¡± Lowe felt a shiver run down his spine. All this time, they had been operating under the assumption that Delphina¡¯s death was the result of an accident, a tragic miscalculation. But now, the truth was coming to light, and it was fucking dark. ¡°And what about Harker?¡± he asked. ¡°Do you know what happened to him? What about Kregg? Do you know where Martha Culloden is?¡± But Preece was shaking his head. "Harker was worried about something after Delphina died. But I don''t know what happened to him. It could have been the Dreadnaught, I suppose." Gral¡¯s voice broke the silence, his smugness replaced by something more measured. ¡°Mr Preece, for absolute clarity, are you suggesting that Martha Culloden was aware of the presence of these Dreadnaughts before you and your colleagues opened the first sarcophagus?¡± Preece hesitated, then nodded slowly. ¡°Yes. She knew. She knew exactly what they were. She . . . she didn¡¯t tell us, but I could tell. She was excited. She wanted us to wake them up.¡± Lowe exchanged a glance with Karolen. This wasn¡¯t just about some museum exhibit gone wrong. However, before he could speak, they were interrupted by a distant rumble echoing through the museum. It was low, almost imperceptible, but it sent a chill down his spine. ¡°What the hell was that?¡± he asked, his voice tight with apprehension. Karolen¡¯s gaze shifted, her eyes narrowing. ¡°No idea. But we need to find out.¡± Chapter 30 - In the Directors Office Grackle Nuroon sat behind his desk, fingers drumming on the worn leather armrest. His office was lit only by the cold morning light filtering through narrow windows, but the darkness did little to improve his mood. He scowled, his fingers still tapping, each beat thrumming into the darker corners of the room. He was bristling with irritation at so many different people that he was struggling to find an appropriate outlet for his rage. Faces moved in and out of focus in his mind like a roulette wheel of wrath. Liando Verlan. Yeah, that name made his anger flare. The Chair of Trustees had become too bold of late, pushing him, testing the limits of his forbearance. Her desire to displace him had been apparent for the years she''d circled him. But she¡¯d miscalculated with that damn audit. His smirk was thin and sharp, and then it was gone. Like an assassin''s blade in the press of a busy street. Had Verlan really thought she¡¯d be rid of him with such a simple gambit? That sending an would cause his grip on things to unravel? To be scrupulously fair, Karolen Mehin was smart - might even be as smart as Nuroon himself, he thought - but circumstances had not been in her favour. Another person might have thought twice about describing the horrific death of a woman in his employ as ''circumstances'', but Grackle Nuroon had long since let such niceties ooze away from his personality. And when the had overplayed her hand¡ª all but accusing him of complicity in that death, she''d neutralised herself. That was Verlan¡¯s fundamental mistake. She thought she could defeat him on the field of his own domain. That she could use ''process'' to erode his authority. She had underestimated the strength of his position and his senior team''s loyalty¡ªif not out of respect, then out of fear. Now? Well, sources told him that Verlan''s power base amongst the Trustees was crumbling. She could hide behind perfect smiles, manicured fingers and bouffant hair, but the fatal damage was done. It was just a matter of time before the inevitable confidence vote, and then he''d be rid of her. His third Chair of Trustees. He wondered if there was some sort of reward for that. He assumed not. Nuroon shifted in his chair. He''d won that little war, and yet the pleasure of seeing that bitch falter did nothing to soften the dark knot of anger in his gut. This was his museum. His! He¡¯d built it, piece by piece, clawing his way through decades of bureaucratic infighting, navigating the endless sea of backstabbing academics and pretentious Trustees. And now it was all his¡ªevery inch of it. Every whisper in its halls, every brick in its walls and - and this, right now, was the most important thing to him - every artefact stored behind glass cases. And yet, here he still was, battling the likes of Liando fucking Verlan and her simpering sycophants. It was almost beneath him. Almost, but not quite. The roulette of rage span, and the tapping of his fingers ceased, replaced by a slow, deliberate tightening of his grip on the armrest. His knuckles whitened as his mind shifted to that smug bastard, Inspector Lowe. If there was one thing Nuroon hated more than scheming Trustees - and, to be clear, there were certainly more than just one - it was interference from the Security Services. Nuroon had thought he was free and clear once he''d got his claws into Inspector Wyst. That old fool had backed away from the case faster than the Director could say, ''Do you like how many fingers your wife has?'' But this new man? Lowe? There was nothing Nuroon despised more than righteous men¡ªthey were the hardest to corrupt, and even harder to get rid of. The second round of murders had brought Lowe here, of course. Unavoidable. The stink of death tended to attract his kind, like flies to a corpse. Nuroon could almost laugh at the thought. The murders were a mess¡ªan annoyance, more than anything¡ªa distraction from his actual work. But what did it matter? Dead and missing were hardly worth losing sleep over. They were replaceable. Names on a ledger, dust in the wind. And as for Kregg . . . Nuroon¡¯s lip curled. Well, he was perhaps more of a loss. He¡¯d hated the man from the moment they¡¯d met. Smarmy, lecherous, always whispering in the ears of anyone who would listen. The was a predator, and Nuroon knew it. He¡¯d known it for years, heard the rumours, seen the too-familiar smiles Kregg threw at the young, na?ve museum staff. But there was no doubt that Kregg had been useful. He had a way with words, connections, and an ability to spin even the worst disasters into something palatable. And that was all that had mattered. Until now. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. Kregg¡¯s death left a hole in his operations, and that, at this precise moment, was . . . irritating. The man had been a useful shield, and Nuroon didn¡¯t like feeling exposed. He wouldn¡¯t admit it, not even to himself, but there was a part of him that felt uneasy without the Bard¡¯s silver tongue to smooth things over. People were watching, waiting for him to falter. Kregg had been a buffer. He exhaled slowly, letting the frustration simmer. There was no use in mourning a man he hated. The real problem was Lowe. The longer the detective and his team stayed in the museum, the more likely they were to stumble onto something . . . inconvenient. His fingers twitched, and he summoned one of his Skills. A faint shimmer passed through the air, barely noticeable. A subtle thing. Listening Post. The whispers drifted toward him, swirling around his head like ghosts¡ªvoices from the corridors, from rooms he couldn¡¯t see. ¡°¡­Lowe¡¯s pushing¡­ something about the sarcophagus¡­¡± The words slithered into his ears, half-formed and disjointed. Nuroon narrowed his eyes. Always with that sarcophagus. He wished he''d followed his considerable instincts and told Culloden to leave those two stone coffins in the collapsed dungeon. Nothing good had come of their extraction. He closed his fist, and the whispers vanished. Lowe was a problem. One that needed to be solved. He wasn¡¯t the kind of man who could be easily bought off or scared away. That much was clear. And the problem with men like Lowe was that they didn¡¯t know when to quit. They came in, Skills blazing, waving around their principles and their morals, thinking they could untangle the truth with enough grit and determination. Nuroon sneered. Truth. A luxury for people who didn¡¯t have real power. And he knew all about that. It was about control. Control of the narrative, control of the people who mattered, and most of all, control of the pieces on the board. He¡¯d built his career on that understanding. You didn¡¯t have to be the strongest or the smartest¡ªjust the one who knew how to move the pieces. And he¡¯d moved plenty over the years. Trustees, donors, politicians . . . they were all just pieces. Some were useful, some weren¡¯t. When they outlived their usefulness, he replaced them. It was that simple. It had always been that simple. He grimaced, leaning forward slightly as a twinge of pain shot through his lower back. His body, like everything else, was betraying him. Slowly. Painfully. It was an insult, really. To have climbed so high, only to be dragged down by the wear and tear of age. He could still feel the sharp ache in his knees from standing too long at the last Trustee meeting, where Verlan had pretended to play nice after her audit attempt had crumbled. She had simpered, smiled, shaken hands like nothing had happened. But Nuroon had seen the look in her eyes, the frustration barely masked beneath her perfect makeup. The other Trustees were starting to murmur. They hadn¡¯t said anything directly¡ªyet¡ªbut he could sense it. Smell it, like rot beneath fresh paint. They¡¯d all been too polite, too distant, as if they were giving him space to clean up the mess. And when the time came, when the pressure built up just enough, they¡¯d come for him. They always did. The trick was making sure they never had the chance. Nuroon let out a slow breath, his eyes narrowing. He¡¯d have to move fast. He¡¯d need a replacement for Kregg, someone who could keep the lid on the whole affair while the dust settled. And he¡¯d need to deal with Lowe. His thoughts drifted back to the murders. It wasn¡¯t just Kregg, of course. Two others had died, who had worked closely with the absent . Lowe had latched onto that connection, insisting she was the key to the whole mess. Nuroon didn¡¯t buy it. Culloden was eccentric, obsessive even, but she wasn¡¯t a killer. He didn¡¯t believe for a second that she had committed the murders, but if blaming her would keep Lowe off his back, then so be it. Culloden wasn¡¯t essential to the museum¡¯s operations. She was useful, yes, but not irreplaceable. If Lowe needed a scapegoat, Nuroon would let him have it. He had no interest in protecting her. In fact, there was something almost satisfying about it. Culloden had pushed him too far over these dungeon artefacts¡ªdemanding more resources, more attention for her precious research on the Dreadnaughts. Nuroon had granted her some leeway, but she always wanted more. More time, more funding, more space for her experiments. It was exhausting. But now, she was a convenient distraction. While Lowe chased after her, Nuroon could focus on securing his own position. Verlan could watch all she wanted; he¡¯d see her crumble before he allowed himself to be pulled down by this. The slow burn of satisfaction spread through him. Let Lowe run his investigation. Let him sniff around the museum. In the end, he¡¯d come up with nothing but dead ends. And by the time he realised it, it would be too late. Then, just as Nuroon contemplated his next move, a low rumble echoed through the museum, faint but unmistakable. His eyes flicked toward the door. The sound was distant, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver down his spine. He knew this museum, every inch of it, every sound it made. That noise didn¡¯t belong here. ¡°What in Soar . . . ¡± he muttered, the words barely escaping his lips. He turned, slowly, and the cold, familiar dread settled in his gut. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Chapter 31 - The Shifting of Soar Latham wasn¡¯t the type to worry. His primary function was to ensure the well-being of those in and around the Celestial Temple. Considering most of the occupants of that building were capable of the sort of violence rarely seen outside of a kindergarten classroom during wet play, stoicism was very much his middle name. Worry didn¡¯t enter into it. Not for a man built like a fortress, loaded with Skills and rocking the most divine of authorities. People liked to joke (not in his hearing, obviously) that Latham didn¡¯t have blood in his veins, just violence that hadn''t happened to other people yet. Nevertheless, something was gnawing at him. Ever since being put on ''Lowe Watch'' during the investigation into the death of Gianna d''Avec, he''d found himself having this small, irritating thorn of unease in his belly. If he didn''t know any better, he''d say it was . . . concern for another person. That was why, rather than being on post at the Temple Gate, Latham found himself loitering in an alley with a good view of Soar Museum. He''d rather die than admit it to the little man, but he just wanted to make sure the re-enactment had gone okay. Wherever Lowe went, chaos seemed to follow, and once he''d woken up with a sense that something was about to tip over, he couldn''t do anything else than take a different path at the Portal Stone to cast his eye over the museum. And, as so often seemed to be the case, his instincts were spot on. His fingers tightened around the handle of his sword. Something was brewing inside that museum. He didn¡¯t know what it was, but he could feel the weight of it pressing down on the city, like the air before a storm. Then, without warning, the storm broke. The ground trembled beneath Latham¡¯s feet, the stone of the cobbles vibrating with a low, ominous groan. His eyes snapped to the gates of the museum. It wasn¡¯t just shaking¡ªit was changing. Columns that had stood proudly for decades began to twist, the marble bending and contorting in ways that defied physics. Walls shifted, warping like wax under a flame. Latham activated every defensive Skill he had as the museum grew, its structure stretching upward, taller and more grotesque with each passing second. He could see the spires elongating, their shapes becoming jagged, unnatural, like claws reaching for the sky. ¡°By the gods¡­¡± Latham whispered, the words barely escaping his lips. He took a step forward, instinct urging him to charge toward the museum, to do . . . something. But he stopped. What could he do against this? Against a building that was no longer just stone and mortar? It was turning into something dark. Something alive. Soar Museum had become a Dungeon. And Lowe was still inside. * Hel had to admit that she liked nothing more than the freedom of an afternoon flight. Since her . . . retirement from active service, she had ensured that, whenever she could, she''d drop everything, summon up strands of wind and soar above the city. Soar above Soar. That made her giggle uncontrollably, prompting her to drop just a little lower in the sky, where the air was less thin. When she was flying, she felt like she was the eye of a storm; she loved the thrill of the tempest beneath her feet, the raw power surging through the air. Others never appreciated the sheer violence of nature . . . not until she dropped a building on their heads. But no. That wasn''t her anymore. She was trying to go . . . if not straight, then less epically bloodthirsty. An image of the battered face of Kelvin Kregg appeared in her mind. Well, some of the time. There were just people who deserved a damn good smiting. Something caught her attention¡ªa ripple of dark energy more violent than even the tempest she was travelling in. Hel¡¯s dipped lower, eyes locking onto the source. Soar Museum. It wasn¡¯t just shaking; it was bleeding. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Walls rippled, twisted, and then burst - literally burst - open. A scream of stone and earth tore through the air, deafening even from her altitude. Hel¡¯s eyes widened as she watched deep cracks split open the foundations of the building, blood-red light pouring from the gashes. Despite herself, she dipped lower and what she saw made her skin crawl. Passersby, tourists, museum guards - anyone standing too close - were ripped apart in the building''s transformation. The ground beneath their feet buckled, hurling them into the air. A man walking calmly with a scroll in hand was flung like a ragdoll into the air, his limbs snapping in grotesque directions when he landed, before a jagged fissure swallowed his body. The earth chewed him up without hesitation, the cracks widening to gulp down the screams of others nearby. Hel swooped lower, seeing the carnage unfold. Stone turned to flesh before her eyes, the museum¡¯s walls seeming to pulse, as though alive. A woman stumbled back, desperately seeking safety, but her scream was cut short as one of the grotesque spires above her exploded, raining down jagged chunks of masonry and shards of glass that tore through her body like knives. She crumpled in a heap, her blood painting the cobblestones. Down the street, she saw a mother dragging her child away, both of them covered in dust and blood. They didn¡¯t make it far. The street buckled, cracking open beneath them, and a slab of stone rose like a jagged tooth, impaling them both in a sickening crunch. Their bodies hung limp, blood streaming down the stone like a macabre fountain. Hel hovered above it all, watching in horror as the museum transformed into something far more sinister, more alive. The walls groaned and flexed, the spires twisting into jagged, unnatural shapes. ¡°Just what we needed. A fucking Dungeon in the middle of the city.¡± * Pernille Staffen had seen a lot in her years at Cuckoo House. She¡¯d dealt with inspectors, dignitaries, and worse, the paperwork that followed in their wake. But nothing prepared her for the sensation that ran through the building that day. It started small, a low rumble beneath her feet, like a distant thunderstorm rolling across the plains. She frowned, her teacup rattling gently on the saucer. Not unusual in an old building like Cuckoo House. Old foundations, old stone¡ªsometimes things just shifted. But then the whole damn place started shaking. Her tea, tragically abandoned, sloshed over the cup''s rim as the photographs on her wall jittered violently, frames clattering against each other. Staffen stood up, cursing a blue street, and strode to the window, bracing herself against the wall as the shaking intensified. She pushed open the window and leaned out, scanning the streets below. The city itself looked¡­ normal. Busy, bustling, with people going about their day like the world wasn¡¯t on the verge of collapse. Knowing in her heart that Jana fucking Lowe was at the heart of whatever was going on, she triggered her Interfering Bitch Skill - her god really did waste time on flowery names for his gifts - and zoomed her vision in on the heart of the chaos. Soar Museum, the grand old structure that had stood for so long, was shifting, twisting in ways no building should. Its stone rippled like water, the spires bent and cracked, and the entire structure seemed to *grow*, its shadow stretching over the surrounding streets. It was wrong, deeply, profoundly wrong, and it sent a shiver down her spine. ¡°Oh, for the love of¡ª¡± Staffen muttered, rubbing her temples. ¡°Bloody Jana Lowe.¡± She turned away from the window, already knowing what she would find. Chaos. More chaos. People would be pouring into her office, demanding answers she didn¡¯t have. And all of it, every single bit of it, seemed to trace back to that damn Inspector. A man she had a rather thick file on now - after an illuminating chat with an old . . . adversary - than had been the case the day before. She sighed, resigned. ¡°I¡¯m going to need more tea.¡± * Atop the First Floor of the Celestial Temple, Arkola drifted between realms, their mind untethered from the mundane concerns of the world below. They observed, they guided, but they rarely intervened. Mortals were amusing in their way, scurrying about, desperately trying to shape their own destinies, unaware of the threads they tangled in their attempts to control their fates. But today, something tugged at Arkola¡¯s attention. It was subtle at first, a faint ripple in the fabric of reality, like the pluck of a single string in an otherwise harmonious melody. But it grew stronger, pulling them back toward the mortal plane. With a sigh, Arkola allowed themselves to be drawn in, their gaze focusing on the source of the disturbance. Soar Museum. It was¡­ changing. Warping. Pulsing with raw, ancient power. The kind of power Arkola had not felt in millennia. A Dungeon Reborn. Arkola tilted their head, curiosity piqued. Dungeons did not simply begin again. They were relics of an older time, places of great power and danger, born from the chaos that had once ruled the world. And yet, here it was, a Dungeon manifesting in the heart of Soar. Interesting. Arkola smiled, a slow, languid expression. They could feel the ripple of energy spreading from the museum, washing over the city like a tidal wave, changing everything in its path. And there, at its heart, was the aura of a man who had been delightfully helpful recently. "Interesting. Very interesting." Chapter 32 - <<>> Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Chapter 33 - Arachnophobia Lowe had faced down all manner of unpleasantness in his career - and that was even before his Classtration - but the image of the spider hanging from the ceiling, its frozen body filled with murderous anticipation, ranked pretty high on the list of things that made him wish he¡¯d stayed in bed with Arebella this morning. The creature was massive, its many eyes glinting in the sickly light of the transformed Great Hall. Lowe¡¯s skin was trying to crawl away just by looking at it. Soar knew what it would do when the instance actually began, but Lowe suspected it wouldn''t be pretty. ¡°Okay, last final check. Are we sure we¡¯ve all got a handle on what comes next?¡± Lowe whispered, keeping his head still, eyes locked on the spider. ¡°Let you get mauled while I chop it to pieces?¡± Karolen replied dryly. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve got it. It''s subtle.¡± Preece stood a little behind them, visibly trembling but doing his best to hold his ground. ¡°Look, thinking about it again, I''m sure there''s got to be another way of kicking things off . . . " ¡°Shh!¡± Karolen hissed, glaring at him. ¡°We don¡¯t want to startle it before we¡¯re ready.¡± Lowe took a deep breath and stepped forward, waving a hand at the giant arachnid. ¡°Oi! Eight legs! Fancy a dance?¡± The Dungeon instance sparked to life, the spider responding with a low, vibrating hiss, its body swaying from side to side as it dropped from the ceiling on a thick web, landing with a squelch in front of Lowe. Its fangs clicked together; in response, every muscle in his body screamed for him to turn and run. Instead, gritting his teeth and missing Latham more than at any time in his life, he spread his arms wide, downed a Mylaf smoothie, triggered Rolls with the Punches and offered himself up like an idiot at a buffet. ¡°Come on, then.¡± With terrifying speed, the spider lunged, its fangs snapping at Lowe. He barely managed to twist out of the way, throwing out Slugger in an attempt to take the thing down in one punch. He''d been vaguely hopeful this might have worked, but the spider''s speed was far beyond anything he had anticipated. Its fangs grazed him, sending a searing pain down his side as the creature reared back for another strike. "Anytime, Karolen!" he shouted, feeling the bottom drop out of his stomach as Roll with the Punches kicked in big style, dulling the pain but not nearly enough for his liking. Karolen moved like lightning. No, that wasn''t fair to her. The moved so quickly she would have streaked past lightning and left it for dust. As she charged, in her hand manifested a glowing ¡ªa straight, double-edged sword whose surface was etched with thin lines resembling tally marks. Its hilt was wrapped in dark leather, and it had a guard shaped like interlocking scales¡ª and she lunged for the spider, slicing into one of its hairy legs with a sweeping motion. The creature released a high-pitched screech, rearing back and thrashing wildly, but Karolen held her ground, using Lowe as a human shield in a way that didn''t endear her too much to him. He understood that of the two of them, he was the only one who had a chance of tanking a strike from a Level 25 monster, but it wouldn''t be fun for him either. Unfortunately, the spider didn¡¯t seem too keen on playing dead just yet. It skittered forward, faster than anything that size had any right to move, and slammed into Lowe, trying to get past him to Karolen. He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked from his lungs. Lowe''s head spun, Roll with the Punches doing its best to keep him conscious so that he could stay in what he was laughably choosing to see it as ''the fight.'' The spider''s fangs came down again, and this time, they found flesh. The sharp, jagged teeth sank into his shoulder, hot venom burning into him. His body spasmed, every nerve screaming in agony as the spider tried to rip into him again. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. For a moment, his Mana Pool ran dry, and his flesh tore like wet paper, and blood sprayed across the floor as the creature gnawed at him. The pain was all-encompassing, a white-hot blaze that blurred the edges of his vision. But then, his smoothie-enhanced mana regeneration kicked in, along with Mental Fortress pushing his mind away from the pain. Lowe went from losing consciousness to being able to feel the agony, but distantly, like a dull throb on the other side of a thick wall. His body was still being shredded, and the spider was still tearing into him, but he felt calm. Detached. He could think again. And mostly, he was thinking, ''Get the fuck on with it, Karolen!" The was hacking away at the back of the spider, her blade slicing through its carapace, but each cut took more time than she thought Lowe had to spare. The creature was a Level 25, and every hit from her Level 20 sword was barely enough to dent the exoskeleton. In a rising panic, Karolen cycled through every active Skill she had to throw at the thing, and even though she was relentless, she could tell it would take much longer than Preece had planned. Lowe, in the meantime, was hanging on by a thread¡ªboth literally and metaphorically. The spider¡¯s venom coursed through him, but Roll with the Punches was keeping him together, his wounds knitting just enough to keep him alive. He was still trying to throw out the occasional Slugger, but eventually he decided it was better to save the mana for healing. The pain was still there, lurking at the edge of his mind, but Mental Fortress kept it at bay. He could feel his body healing, the skin pulling tight over torn muscle and shattered bone, but the damage was bad. Worse than he¡¯d imagined. ¡°Karolen,¡± Lowe grunted, ¡±without wishing to rush you . . . " ¡°I¡¯m working on it!¡± she snapped, driving her blade into the spider¡¯s thorax, which elicited another ear-splitting screech. Red fluid gushed from the wound, spraying the floor in thick arcs. The spider shuddered, its legs spasming as it tried to throw her off, but Karolen held firm, her blade biting deeper and deeper. Then, inevitably, the creature buckled, its body convulsing as Karolen added her Death and Taxes Skill to her final blow, driving her sword through its abdomen with a sickening crunch. The spider let out one last shriek before collapsing, its legs twitching in death spasms. Lowe lay beneath it, his breath coming in gasps as his healing Skill finally began to catch up with the damage. Blood dripped from the gaping wounds on his side and shoulder, pooling beneath him in a spreading crimson stain. He pushed the pain away, letting his body do the work of mending itself, but it was slow. Too slow. Karolen staggered back, panting as the spider¡¯s corpse oozed onto the floor. ¡°You still alive?¡± ¡°Barely,¡± Lowe muttered. "Good. I''m not sure Arebella would forgive me if I let you be eaten on my watch." Preece stepped forward cautiously, staring down at the wreckage. ¡°I''m so sorry! I never thought it was going to be so bad. That was . . . brutal.¡± ¡°You¡¯re telling me,¡± Lowe groaned, clutching his side. They barely had time to catch their breath when a low, measured voice spoke from the shadows. ¡°Well, that was quite the spectacle.¡± Lowe blinked, wiping blood out of his eyes to allow him to focus on the figure stepping forward into the flickering light. Felicitous Gral adjusted his greasy, stained suit and looked at them with an amused expression. ¡°I hope you don''t mind; I took the opportunity to join your party." Lowe looked down at the spider and swore. Level 33. No wonder if it had been such a fucking nightmare Karolen¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°You¡¯ve been awake this whole time?¡± Gral smiled smoothly, ignoring the blood and ichor on the floor. ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve been observing. And I must say, you¡¯re quite the team.¡± Lowe tried to push himself up, but his body protested, and he chose to listen to it. ¡°What do you want, Gral?¡± Gral raised an eyebrow. ¡°I want to survive this. And I think we are all aware I probably know things that will be the key to doing that. Let me come with you as you make your little bid for freedom, and I¡¯ll tell you everything I know about how this has . . . event has come about. I am all for client confidentiality, but not when it puts my own life at risk. Believe me when I tell you, you will want to hear what I have to say." Preece looked nervously between them. ¡°He¡¯s Level 33 . . . If we keep him in the group, the Dungeon¡¯s going to scale.¡± Gral smiled, his eyes glinting. ¡°Well, then. It looks like we¡¯re about to have some real fun, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Chapter 34 - The folly of ambitious men Lowe sighed. His every instinct told him not to trust Gral. The man was a lawyer, and worse, he was a lawyer who, from what Hel had told him,always operated on the shadiest edges of Soar''s judicial system. But the truth was, the man was right. They needed every bit of help they could get, especially with the Dungeon being so unusually aggressive. But was it worth the eight level difficulty hike? Especially with the much weaker Preece already being so exposed? Karolen seemed to sense Lowe¡¯s hesitation and gave him a significant look. She appeared to have any number of those at her disposal. ¡°You¡¯re not seriously considering this, are you?¡± Lowe closed his eyes for a second, taking in the pain, the exhaustion, the dead spider still twitching on the floor. Then, finding no clarity in the self-imposed darkness, he opened them and glared at Gral. ¡°Do you honestly know how this happened? One moment we''re in Soar Museum and the next . . . If you want to tag along with us, you need to start talking.¡± Gral¡¯s smile faltered for just a second, then returned in all its insincere glory. ¡°Of course. If I have a commitment to future cordial relations?¡± Reluctantly, much to the audible disgust of Karolen and Preece, Lowe nodded. ¡°Well, to understand the how, you need to understand the why. As I am sure you are aware, Dungeons do not just appear out of thin air. Certainly not nowadays. Something, or more importantly, someone, has to trigger them. And have the power to be able to do so. And in this case, I dare suggest that it was a very particular someone. A very particular ¡®someone¡¯, indeed.¡± Lowe sighed, already knew where this was going. Gral¡¯s eyes flicked toward Karolen, then Preece, before settling on Lowe. ¡°Director Nuroon had know about the existence of the Dungeon core for quite some time. Long before today, in fact. How could he not? A dormant power with the potential to change the landscape of Soar''s political scene? Of course, he knew about it. And knowing about it, he couldn¡¯t resist dabbling. It¡¯s in his nature, after all.¡± Even though there was a crushing inevitability about the revelation, Lowe still found himself wanting to rail against the man. Wanted to shout and hit something, preferably the Director himself. But something restrained him.The entire museum was now a Dungeon, twisted and reanimated by some malign force. This wasn''t a development that he thought was something Nuroon would have countenanced. The man was as ambitious as they came¡ªan old crook who had been manipulating the city¡¯s political and academic circles for decades. But this? This went far beyond ambition. There was a depth to this chaos that felt . . . ancient. And would Nuroon have risked the destruction of his pride and joy? No. That didn''t seem quite right. ¡°And you?¡± Karolen asked. ¡°Where do you fit into all of this, Gral?¡± Gral¡¯s eyes sparkled with something that might have been amusement. Maybe. ¡°Me, Ms Mehin? Oh, I¡¯m just a humble legal advisor. My role was simple: ensure the museum didn¡¯t face any liability if things went . . . sideways. Of course, I wasn¡¯t expecting a Dungeon to spontaneously form around me, but well, that¡¯s life, isn¡¯t it? Full of surprises.¡± Karolen snorted, shaking her head. ¡°Surprises. Sure. You¡¯re all heart, Gral.¡± Lowe tried to stand again, this time managing to pull himself upright, though the pain still radiated through his body. Roll with the Punches had repaired the worst of the damage, but he wasn¡¯t anywhere near full strength. And his Mana Pool would need a good few minutes to fill back up. ¡°And you''re saying Nuroon knew this would happen?¡± Gral¡¯s smile faltered for the second time. He wasn''t telling them the full story, but - right now - Lowe would take what he could get. ¡°Not quite. He knew the risk was there, but he was, of course, confident he could control it. That is, after all, the problem with men like him¡ªthey always think they can control things that are far beyond their comprehension.¡± There was something in Gral¡¯s tone, something deeper, almost like a flicker of fear. Lowe didn''t think it was because of what had just happened. Gral knew more than he was letting on. ¡°And now?¡± Gral¡¯s smile disappeared entirely. ¡°Now? He¡¯s likely trapped in here with the rest of us. Though I doubt he¡¯s feeling the same level of regret as you. Men like Nuroon rarely see their own actions as the cause of their downfall. He¡¯ll be planning, scheming, trying to figure out how to use this to his advantage. And he will survive. If there''s one thing of which I am certain, if only one person walks out of this Dungeon it will be Director Nuroon.¡± If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Lowe swore under his breath. So the emergence of this Dungeon wasn¡¯t just a random event. It was the result of Nuroon¡¯s ambition, his greed, and now they were all paying the price. But there was something else, wasn''t there? ¡°Come on.There''s more. If you want to rage along with us, you need to be honest. Spill." ¡°Sharp as ever, Inspector. Yes, there is one more thing. The Dungeon core . . . well, there¡¯s no easy way of putting this. It¡¯s sentient. It¡¯s not just some rediscovered artefact of power. It¡¯s alive. And, as far as I understand these things, it¡¯s been feeding on the museum¡¯s energy since it was brought inside a month back.¡± Preece gasped, stepping back, his face ashen. ¡°Alive? We were never told that!¡± Gral nodded. ¡°Oh yes. And now that it¡¯s awake, it¡¯s very much in control. Every moment we spend in here, it¡¯s learning more about us. Adapting. This particular Dungeon isn¡¯t just a collection of traps and monsters¡ªit¡¯s an organism. A predator. And right now? I rather suspect that we¡¯re the prey.¡± At those words, the atmosphere in the room closed in around them, the walls pulsing with a faint, rhythmic thrum. Lowe couldn''t help but feel he''d experienced this before, in the basement beneath the museum. But that had been because of his infection via necrotic slime. This was different. This wasn''t an hallucination. It was real. ¡°Alright,¡± Karolen said, breaking the silence. ¡°We get it. We¡¯re screwed. So what¡¯s your plan, Gral? If you¡¯re so smart, how do we get out?¡± Gral¡¯s grin returned, though this time it was more subdued. ¡°Ah, that¡¯s the tricky part. You see, the Dungeon¡¯s core is located deep within the museum¡ªbelow even the lower levels. It¡¯s buried itself tight down there, and everything is drawn to protect it. If we want to escape, then I rather think we will have to reach the core and destroy it.¡± Lowe could feel something clicking into place in his mind. "That armour. The Dreadnaught. It came from the exhausted Dungeon too, didn¡¯t it?" Preece nodded. ¡°Yes. The Dreadnaught was found in the loot table of the same site. But, like much of the gear we found, it was dormant when we brought it up to the museum - harmless inside its sarcophagus. It was Martha Culloden who thought it would make an excellent exhibit. But the thing about newly uncovered artefacts, especially ones buried with a Dungeon core, is that they have... connections.¡± ¡°Connections?¡± Karolen asked. ¡°What kind of connections?¡± Gral¡¯s eyes gleamed, taking over from Preece. ¡°Well, this is where I suspect everything began to get a touch out of hand. You see, it appears that particular Dreadnaught wasn¡¯t just some old suit of armour. It was made to house a soul. A warrior spirit. In the wrong hands¡ªor the right hands¡ªthe Director posited it could be used as a vessel. And through bringing it close to an exposed Dungeon core . . .¡± Lowe felt a cold lump forming in his chest. ¡°It could trigger something cataclysmic. In defence. Something rather like this.¡± ¡°Exactly. I think it will help if you consider the Dreadnaught as the spark, and the Dungeon core as an especially dangerous powder keg that suddenly felt a touch exposed. Director Nuroon, in his infinite wisdom, brought them both to the surface, believing he could contain their power. He thought he could turn it all into a neat little exhibit, something to showcase his brilliance.¡± Gral¡¯s smile twisted. ¡°But it turns out the Core and the Dreadnaught in concert might have their own agenda. Somethings, my dear Inspector - and I suspect I probably do not need to tell you this - are probably better staying buried.¡± A low rumble reverberated through the Great Hall, making the floor beneath them tremble. The walls shifted, the grotesque shapes twisting into even more unnatural forms. Lowe might be wrong, but it almost felt like they formed into grinning, expectant faces. Karolen rubbed her temples. ¡°This just keeps getting better.¡± Preece, looking more anxious than ever, pointed toward the far end of the Great Hall. Two doors stood there, each increasingly becoming warped and twisted by the Dungeon¡¯s influence. ¡°We need to move. The Dungeon¡¯s changing again. If we stay here, I rather suspect we¡¯ll be sitting ducks.¡± Lowe nodded, his mind racing. ¡°Alright, sold. Which way?¡± Preece swallowed hard, his eyes darting between the doors. ¡°Left. We go left.¡± ¡°Why left?¡± Preece hesitated, then said, ¡°Left is usually the safer option in Dungeons. Fewer traps. Fewer surprises. Of course, the other side of that is there tend to be more... confrontations, but lesser of two evils and all that.¡± Lowe raised an eyebrow. ¡°Interesting logic. Though I¡¯m beginning to think we¡¯re well beyond the ¡®safe¡¯ part of this journey.¡± He turned to Karolen. ¡°What do you think?¡± She shrugged, her gaze never leaving Gral. ¡°We¡¯re in trouble either way. I¡¯ve done some delving, but nothing serious. If the knows his stuff, I have no issue following his lead. Might as well go left.¡± Lowe licked his lips. When you only had bad choices, you cling to any lifeboat offered. ¡°Alright. Left it is.¡± He took a step toward the door, his newly rebuilt skin and muscles protesting with every movement. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡± He pushed the door open, the hinges creaking with a sound that made his teeth grind. Beyond the threshold lay a narrow corridor, twisting and turning into the darkness, the walls lined with grotesque, pulsating growths that seemed to have as many eyes as teeth. Preece swore under his breath. ¡°It¡¯s getting worse. I don''t want to be the voice of doom here, but the deeper we go, I¡¯d suggest the more it will change. I¡¯ve never seen anything so... aggressive.¡± ¡°Welcome to Soar,¡± Karolen muttered, stepping in behind the Inspector in a defensive position. Lowe couldn¡¯t argue with that. The twisted, living wall made it feel like they were walking through a throat that could close on them at any moment. If he¡¯d ever seen anything more representative for life in this city, he couldn''t recall it. ¡°Welcome to Soar, indeed.¡± Chapter 35 - A fortunate chance to gear up The left-hand corridor beyond the Great Hall stretched before them, a long expanse that was less stone passage and more fleshy tube pulsating with growths, the walls warping like the inside of some colossal, breathing beast. It could not have been clearer that the Dungeon was alive¡ªwatching, waiting. Which was more than anyone could say about the other museum employees they walked past. Although in their own, separate instance, the Dungeon seemed keen for Lowe and his party to see how poorly everyone else was doing in negotiating it. "How come everyone is wiping? If the Dungeon is balancing itself to the individual delver - or, at worst, to the Level of the highest person in the party - shouldn''t at least a few people be doing okay?" Preece shook his head. "You''ve got to remember the audience here. I wouldn''t be surprised if I was the only person who worked here who had ever been down a Dungeon in their life. Mind you," the said, looking down at the headless corpse of a Level 12 , "even then, you do have a point. Most noobs can usually struggle their way through a Level 10 solo Dungeon. People are dying within seconds of the place starting." Lowe¡¯s instincts were screaming at him to stay on alert. With Gral in the party, the Dungeon had already spiked its difficulty, and every creak, every shift in the shadows felt like a prelude to something catalysmic about to arrive. Even after two more of Mylaf''s smoothies, he was conscious that his mana still hadn¡¯t fully regenerated yet. It felt less than ideal for the party''s tank to be relying on pure grit to keep moving forward. ¡°Is it just me, or are we moving downwards?¡± Karolen muttered. ¡°Feels like it''s getting colder.¡± ¡°That''s because it is,¡± Gral said, his voice tight. ¡°These walls¡ªthey weren¡¯t like this before. They¡¯re... evolving.¡± ¡°Dungeons feed on fear and death,¡± Preece said. ¡°This one is brand new, and it''s hungry. And it knows we¡¯re in here.¡± Lowe rolled his shoulders and stopped short. ¡°I appreciate you are the one with the expertise here, but if you could stop being quite so doomful about it, I''m sure we''d all appreciate it.¡± He turned his attention back to the corridor, body still aching from the venomous bite. He wasn¡¯t sure how much further they had to go - the geography of the museum had totally transformed since it had become a Dungeon - but the more they walked, the deeper they seemed to be going. Suddenly, Karolen stopped, raising a hand. ¡°Hold up.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± Lowe said. The squinted ahead, and then pointed. ¡°Look. The floor. It¡¯s uneven.¡± Lowe followed her gaze, and sure enough, a section of the floor ahead seemed to dip slightly¡ªa subtle shift in the stone that was barely noticeable. Barely, but not enough for the sharp eyes of a Level 20 to miss. ¡°If I were putting money on it, I''d say that was some sort of trap.¡± ¡°Awesome. Any idea what kind?¡± Lowe asked Preece. The older man shook her head. ¡°No, but whatever it is, it won¡¯t be pleasant. Level 33 and all that," he added, glaring at Gral. ¡°Great. Look, I don''t want to be a whiner here, but if we could figure out a way forward that didn''t involve me just walking into it and seeing what happens, I''d really appreciate it.¡± Karolen bent down, studying the trap for a moment before stepping carefully around it. ¡°Looks like it only triggers if you step directly on it. Just follow my lead.¡± Lowe nodded and followed suit, carefully avoiding the trap. Gral pushed past Preece to follow, but his foot slipped, and he stumbled forward. As the lawyer''s foot hit the plate with a dull thunk, the entire corridor rumbled in response. Lowe¡¯s heart skipped a beat as he lunged forward, grabbing Gral by the collar and yanking him back just as the walls on either side exploded with spikes, jagged metal spears shooting out at terrifying speed. Lowe barely managed to pull Gral clear, the spikes missing him by inches. His heart pounded as he stared at row upon row of spears jutting from the walls. Fuck. Where was Latham when he needed him? For once, Gral seemed genuinely affected by what had happened, his eyes wide with shock. ¡°I¡ªI didn¡¯t see it¡ª¡± ¡°You almost got wiped!¡± Lowe snapped, his voice sharp with adrenaline. ¡°Pay attention!¡± Just stick close and don¡¯t wander off. I can¡¯t keep pulling your ass out of the fire every five minutes. It''s this deadly because you are with us. The least you could do is carry your own weight.¡± Karolen chuckled softly. ¡°Perhaps we should invest in a leash for our esteemed colleague.¡± Lowe shot her a glare. ¡°Not helping!.¡± ¡°Merely offering a practical solution.¡± This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. They continued down the corridor, the traps becoming more frequent and potentially deadly with every step. It became clear that the only practical way forward - in lieu of a party member with Disarm Traps - was for Lowe to go first and be the most blundering delver in the history of Dungeons. This was doing little for either his physical or his mental health. "How the fuck are you still alive?" Karolen asked him in a recovery pause after he had led with his chin into a swinging pendulum of rock. "How good is your heal Skill!" Lowe just shook his head and popped a 500 HP cookie in his mouth. Having the equivalent Intelligence and Wisdom of a Level 50 was letting Roll with the Punches bounce him straight back from damage that should be zeroing him, but it wasn''t doing anything to stop him from feeling every cut, burn or crush injury. He was pretty sure it was only Mental Fortress working overtime that was keeping him stubborn enough to keep taking step after step forward. Even then, he was starting to struggle. ¡°Let''s just hope the next room isn¡¯t too bad,¡± he replied. Less than half a bell of torture later, the party reached a heavy, iron door at the end of the hallway. Lowe¡¯s gut - or it could just have been recent, appalling experience - told him whatever was behind this door wasn¡¯t going to be pleasant. "We could go back?" he asked hopefully. Preece shook his head. "I don''t want to be that guy, but I''d be pretty sure all the traps would have rearmed. Going back would be about as much fun as coming through . . . " Lowe snorted and put his hand on the door. "Ready?¡± he asked, glancing at the others. Karolen nodded, manifesting her and triggering enough active Skills that the corridor stank with the mana use. Preece, massively under Levelled for whatever was coming less, looked like he was going to be sick, but he gave a shaky nod. Gral looked unfazed, but Lowe could hear that his breath had quickened. With a shove, Lowe pushed the door open, the heavy iron creaking loudly as it swung inward. "Oh, for fuck''s sake!" The room inside was vast, a cavernous space that seemed far too large to fit within the museum¡¯s structure. The walls were lined with more of the grotesque, pulsating growths, and the air was thick with the stench of decay. But what caught Lowe¡¯s attention immediately was the sight of what lay scattered across the floor. Gear. Weapons, armour, supplies¡ªeverything they could have possibly needed for the rest of their journey. It was all there, strewn haphazardly across the ground as if dropped by someone¡ªor something¡ªin a hurry. ¡°Well, that seems fortunate . . . ¡± Preece said. Karolen stepped forward cautiously, scanning the room for any signs of danger. ¡°I don¡¯t see any traps, but, you know, this is the reddest of red flags.¡± Lowe didn''t disagree. However . . . "Look, I don''t know about anyone else, but I need gear that can help me weather all the damage. I hadn''t exactly packed for a Level 33 Dungeon." Cautiously, he stepped into the centre of the space. Straight in front of him, he saw a set of armour¡ªLevel 25 (of course it was. Almost like it had been left for him) leather, reinforced with steel plates. It looked lightweight but durable, perfect for someone like Lowe who needed mobility as much as protection. There was also a sword¡ªa well-crafted, Level 25 blade that practically hummed with latent power. He reached for it, feeling its weight in his hand. ¡°Careful,¡± Karolen warned. ¡°Don¡¯t touch anything that feels . . . off.¡± ¡°It''s weird, but this actually feels the opposite,¡± Lowe said, inspecting the blade. It wasn¡¯t enchanted, but it was sharp, and - more importantly than anything else - it felt like it would hold a charge of Slugger. As Lowe strapped on the armour, Karolen knelt beside a pile of supplies, rifling through the gear. She pulled out a set of throwing knives, each etched with runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. ¡°These will do." Preece, meanwhile, was staring at a staff leaning against the wall. It was ornate, made of dark wood and inlaid with silver filigree, but it had an air of menace that made Lowe uneasy. ¡°You sure about that?¡± Lowe asked, eyeing the staff warily. Preece hesitated, then nodded. ¡°It¡¯s a Curator¡¯s Staff. It¡¯ll help me with my identification Skills. And . . . look, I think I might need it.¡± Gral watched all of this with a sly grin. ¡°A veritable treasure trove, isn¡¯t it? Almost as if the Dungeon is offering us a gift.¡± Lowe didn¡¯t trust the bounty, but the way he saw it, they didn¡¯t have much choice. They needed this gear if they were going to survive whatever was waiting for them deeper in the Dungeon. He finished strapping on the armour, feeling a little more secure with the steel plates covering his chest and shoulders. Mylaf was going to kick his arse when she saw the state of his suit. As they prepared to move forward, a low rumble echoed through the room, followed by a faint, rhythmic thumping sound. Lowe tensed, gripping his new sword tightly. ¡°What now?¡± Karolen said, her eyes scanning the room for the source of the noise. The floor beneath their feet began to tremble, the thumping growing louder, more insistent. Lowe could feel it in his bones, a deep, primal rhythm that seemed to pulse through the very air. ¡°It¡¯s coming from beneath us,¡± Preece whispered, "Something''s coming." Lowe started running for the exit on the opposite side of the cavern. ¡°Fucking move. Now!¡± The party hurried across the room, their new gear clinking softly with every step. The door to which they were heading was a large, arched doorway, but as they approached, the rumbling intensified. As they ran, the walls around them began to shift, the pulsating growths twitching and expanding. ¡°Well, this is going well!¡± Karolen yelled, turning to look behind her as they reached the exit. Then, the floor beneath them erupted in a shower of stone shards. Lowe barely had time to react before a massive, hulking figure emerged from the ground, its body covered in jagged armour. ¡°Go, go, go!¡± Lowe shouted, pushing Preece forward as whatever the creature was roared. They sprinted through the door, slamming it shut behind them. The rock monster simply exploded through it and stayed hot on their heels, lumbering forward. Fortunately, the corridor beyond them was narrow, the walls closing in around them as they ran, making it harder for the creature to move as easily as them. Although, as this was because it was at least twice their side and fixated on their imminent demise, this was very much a good news/bad news situation ¡°We need to lose it!¡± Karolen shouted, her breath coming in short gasps. "You think!" Lowe replied, caught between leading the way down the corridor in case of danger and putting himself at the back of the group so the monster chasing them reached him first. ¡°There!¡± Gral shouted, pointing to a side passage, an even narrower tunnel that branched off from the main corridor. Lowe didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°Take it! It won''t be able to follow us down there.¡± They veered off into the side tunnel, the sound of the creature¡¯s pursuit growing fainter as they moved deeper into the narrow passage. The walls here were closer, the air colder, but for the moment, they were safe. For now. Chapter 36 - Blood and Bourbon Lowe peered through the narrow gap at the monster, sucking in his stomach as he did so. Arebella had tactfully - and Mylaf rather more untactfully - suggested he needed to ease up a little on the baked good consumables. However, if anything was going to persuade him to reconsider his dietary choices, it would probably be being slightly too big to comfortably escape what appeared to be a huge, oozing undead werewolf. "Is it still out there?" Gral asked from, Lowe noticed, the very front of their little group. The lawyer was about as far away from danger as it was possible to get which considering Gral was the highest level of any of them - and was the reason their pursuer was quite so powerful - did not feel exactly value for money. "No. I think it got bored and wandered off." "Really?" The creature howled and scrabbled at the entrance to the side tunnel again, claws very nearly reaching Lowe''s chest. "No, not really, you fucking moron." "Can you see what it is?" Preece asked. "Other than terrifying?" "If we know what it is, I might be able to help with how to fight it. There''s precious little in the Dungeonverse I haven''t come across. In a previous life. Knowledge is power and all that." That made sense to Lowe, and he craned his neck a little further out. "I can''t make out the text from here, but it appears to be some sort of giant zombie wolf." "Ah." "Is that an ''excellent. I have encountered many of this species in my Dungeon Delving days and have a step-by-step plan for you on how to defeat the creature'' ah, or . . ." Lowe let the silence hover in the air for a moment. "This is where you come in with some reassuring words." "Is it?" "Come on, Preece. This is your time for your underpowered arse to shine. How do we take this down?" The monster let out a low, rumbling howl, which sounded worryingly like it was letting its fellows know that meat was back on the menu. Lowe did his best to back off down the tunnel, noting how very tight the fit was the further he went. "Look, we really don''t want to be stuck here if it summons any others. It only needs one of these things to be a touch smaller, and we''re done. Anyone see where this tunnel leads?" "I don''t want to play fast and loose with the words ''dead end'' here," Karolen said, her voice tight. "But as far as I can tell, it just keeps getting narrower and narrower. The more I look at it, the more I''m not convinced it isn''t just a trap to get us all wedged in." "Excellent." Lowe twisted slightly to face the gap to the corridor face-on. "So, real rock and a hard place, stuff." "Well, undead werewolf and a hard place, certainly," Gral added, somewhat unhelpfully to Lowe''s mind. Stooping slightly, Lowe risked slipping his head forward a little further to catch the words floating above the monster''s head a little clearer. "Level 31 Corrupt Fenrir. Any good to you?" he called back to Preece. "Shit. Okay. Well, that''s not great. Could be worse, certainly, but I''ve not got many good memories of fighting against those fuckers. Although . . . " "Although what? Fuck!" Lowe jerked his head back just in time to avoid losing his nose to a raking claw. "Preece, mate, make with the exposition!" "It''s just one of them, you say?" "Sure. It keeps howling as if calling others, but it''s just the one at the moment. I don''t think I¡¯m being overly pessimistic to note it can probably take us." "Okay. Well, when isolated, it''ll be running under a Lone Wolf debuff. So, basically, when not in a pack, a Corrupt Fenrir will move into a berserk state and have no real sense of self-preservation. Its attack patterns will become predictable, which usually means you can exploit its blind rage to make a fairly easy kill." Preece''s voice had the biggest ''but'' of all time, hovering just beyond expression. "Anything else useful other than it''s fucking out of its mind with anger? Because I''m not seeing that as much of an upside." "Sorry. I know of a bunch of group formations that would be killer against such a foe, but - well - we''re lacking a bit in most of the suggested team members. I doubt it would even know I was attacking it." Lowe took a moment to let the problem percolate through his mind. This was too early on in the Dungeon for them to be this outclassed. He only really had his experience of being power levelled by Latham to call on, but each of the Dungeons he had done with the had followed a fairly benign difficulty curve. Sure, because of Gral being in their party and the Dungeon scaling to him, they were batting way above their average, but - then again - so was Lowe himself. In real terms, he was basically a Level 50. A Level 33 wolf - all on its lonesome and debuffed - really shouldn''t be this much of a head-scratcher. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Lowe shut out the snarling and did his best to think. Over the last year, he''d become so used to being Classless - the literal runt of any litter he ran across - he''d stopped looking at problems as if there was any other outcome than him trying to survive being hosed. What did he have on his side here? Well, according to Preece, this thing was stupid. Strong, violent and vicious, for sure, but it sounded like its debuff made it thick as mince. If he couldn''t figure out how to take it down, he really wasn''t trying . . . There was a pause as he ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, his fingers catching on the clumps of grit and blood. He would never admit it out loud, but all he kept thinking was, ''What would Latham do?'' Lowe squinted at the entrance to the side tunnel¡ªjust wide enough for him if he sucked in his gut, but certainly not wide enough for the massive, clawing beast trying to wriggle through. Its claws were getting frantic now, scraping up flecks of stone as they gouged and scrabbled with a manic desperation that told Lowe the creature''s patience was running out. Yeah, he could do something with this level of manic, frantic devotion . . . "All right, ladies and gentlemen, I think I have a plan." "Please tell me it doesn¡¯t involve heroic self-sacrifice," Gral added brightly from his safe spot. "Or if it does, at least not by me." "Tempting, but no." Lowe said as he checked through his inventory. He was sure that somewhere in here, he had just the thing. Ah, there it was¡ªan old, half-empty bottle of ''Inferno Bourbon''. Arebella had banned the stuff from her house - and that had been during their first time on the relationship merry-go-round. The label was faded and peeling, but it probably had matured splendidly during that time. Lowe grinned, already feeling the gears whirring in his head. He tossed the bottle down the corridor to Preece, who fumbled it like it was a live demonic imp. ¡°Lowe! What¡ª" "Keep it steady. On the count of three, we''re all going back the way we came." Gral blinked. "Seriously?" "Seriously. I''m going to grab him, you all slip past as he - doubtlessly - rips me a new one and then I''m pulling him back in here." "Right . . ." Karolen clearly did not think much of this plan. "Because if this tunnel¡¯s too small for us, then it''s damned well going to be too small for it. And we¡¯ll make sure it¡¯s too flammable for him, too." Lowe spoke fast, hand gripping and regripping his newly earned blade. The Fenrir''s claws raked closer, catching the leather strap of Lowe¡¯s belt as he backed up a step. Was he really planning on grappling with this thing? "Right, listen," Lowe knew he was babbling, but he couldn''t stop. If he did, he figured he''d lose his nerve. "I''m not going to fight it directly. I''m just going to pin it and wedge it in here. It''s stupid. Predictable, right, Preece? All I need to do is trigger it into berserk mode, and then¡ª" "It¡¯ll just fight blindly," Karolen finished, her eyes gleaming as the plan came together. "Trapped in a bottleneck. You¡¯re going to light it up, aren¡¯t you?" "Exactly, the Fenrir''s stuck, I torch the tunnel, and we avoid being clawed to death by a very angry wolf. Simple, right?" "Define simple," Preece said, but he was already prepping the bottle, pulling off the cork. "I have a flint," he said, passing it up the line to Lowe. Gral cleared his throat. "Loathe as I am to offer a counterargument here, but whilst I am very much on board with the plan to cook the wolf, is there not a danger of you being similarly incinerated? Not that this is a deal breaker as far as I am concerned, but I do feel the need to bring it up. Morally, you understand? Probably legally too, to be scrupulously honest." The creature howled again, this time louder, its head starting to force its way down into the tunnel. Its crimson eyes locked onto Lowe, who felt the feral heat of its gaze like a physical force. Perfect. It was furious now. Wasn¡¯t it weird the things that cheered you up as you got older? "I''m going to be working on the principle that one of us has an overpowered healing Skill, and the other is a monster covered in hair. I''m not loving the idea, but I''m not hating my odds, either. We all good?" With no one having a better plan, it seemed to Lowe that Operation Cook-off was a go. With no further ado, Lowe dashed forward, crashing into the beast and doing his best to lock its arms to the side. He saw the others run past and, headbutting the Fenrir on the snout, he let go, backing off into the tunnel again. The creature responded with a maddened snarl, lunging forward, the impetus of its rage and Lowe giving it a massive, Slugger empowered pull, wedging itself millimetres from Lowe¡¯s face. "Now, Preece!" Lowe shouted, bracing himself. With a regretful sigh, Preece lobbed the bottle at the feet of the creature. Lowe felt the liquid wash under him and was already striking the flint against the side of the tunnel. Sparks caught. There was a moment of sickening silence as the fiery alcohol went woomph and met flesh. Then, the explosion ripped through the tunnel. Both the Corrupt Fenrir and Lowe howled in unified fury and agony as fire spread across them, igniting necrotic tissue and skin like dry tinder. The monster¡¯s claws flailed, smacking against Lowe in a frenzy, trying to force itself back out of the tiny passage, but it was too late: it¡¯s berserk rage had driven it too deep into the tunnel to escape. It was stuck. As was Lowe. Karolen watched, chest heaving as the fire consumed the two figures in the tunnel from the inside out. The smell was beyond foul¡ªlike burnt meat and rotting carcasses¡ªbut thankfully, in a pretty brief amount of time, it was done. The monster''s movements slowed, then finally, mercifully, stopped. There was the longest pause any of the rest of the group had ever experienced. And then there was a dry hacking cough. "Well," Lowe said, voice low and gravelly. "I think that counts as well-done. See, Mr Lawyer. No heroic self-sacrifice required. Or not a permanent one, anyway." Gral, looking slightly ill from what he had just witnessed, gave a hesitant thumbs up. "For the record, I, uh, prefer plans when they don''t involve people meltings." "You¡¯re welcome," Lowe replied "You¡¯re insane," Preece added, but there was admiration in his tone. "Insanity¡¯s just another word for creative problem-solving. Now," he continued. "In the interests of preserving our blushes, I don''t suppose any of you happen to have any clothes in my size?" Chapter 37 - Remnants "Anyone else picking up unusual rewards?" Preece''s question brought Lowe out of his reverie. He was staring at his hands, trying to stop them from shaking, and he didn''t think that was just because of Roll with the Punches working overtime to heal his skin. The Corrupt Fenrir was hardly the first life he had taken - but then again, was it even a life? He wasn''t wholly sure of the status of the creatures a Dungeon generated. Latham had said they were constructs of pure mana, no more alive than a reflection in a mirror, but right now, Lowe wasn''t so sure about that. He''d been forced to look into that wolf''s eyes as the blaze had consumed it, and he didn''t think he''d simply watched a mana construct splutter and die. "I don''t know what you mean. I didn''t get anything," Gral said. "Shocking. And you did so much to help, after all. You should sue!" "I think not, my dear Inspector. You know the old saying, A man who is his own lawyer has a fool for a client. I would imagine that, being the same level as that poor animal, my XP gains were substantially less than the rest of you. Why, at his underdeveloped level, Mr Preece probably has never seen so many gains in one go in his life." "I wasn''t always a , Gral!" "And we will not always be in this Dungeon, Preece. I would recommend you watch your tone." "Can everyone just be quiet for a moment!" Karolen said, eyes unfocused as she checked her own stat sheet. "Lowe, are you seeing this?" Lowe brought up his Core sheet and frowned. "What the fuck is a Remnant when it is at home?" Preece shook his head. "No idea. I''ve not seen anything like it before. As . . . Mister Gral said, I would have expected a fairly substantial XP surge from that fight. But all I got was a ''Remnant of Memory''." Karolen snorted. "''Remnant of Skill'' for me. Lowe?" Lowe looked at the strange notification flashing on the corner of his Core. He had long become used to his stats sheet looking a touch unusual. In the year since losing his Class, he''d avoided looking at it at all, so depressed did it make him. Even after being power levelled by Latham and with all the weirdness that Essence Transmutation Theory had wrought on him, he still found himself scared to contemplate it too much. But it would be hard to miss the red glow that blinked in the top right corner now. He mentally pressed down on it, and its name became apparent. Remnant of Essence. "Preece, this is your area of expertise . . . " "As I said, I''ve never seen anything like it before!" Lowe narrowed his eyes. There was something about the tone of the voice that suggested he knew more than he was saying. ''Look, I don''t need it to stand up in the Middle Court. But if you have any ideas, now would be a good time to share. I did just burn myself alive to save your arse." Preece wiped a hand over his face. "Look, at best I''m just going to be guessing, right?" "Understood." "This is a new Dungeon, right? But we think it''s based on the Dungeon Core from the exhausted one on the outskirts of Soar." "Okay . . . " Karolen had moved to stand next to Lowe, her eyes scanning the corridor for sign of any other monsters. "So, we don''t really know where Dungeon''s get the XP they reward delvers with. But as most of them are so ancient, it''s widely theorised that they are simply focal points for recycling energy from those that die in their completion. You know, real ''circle of life'' stuff. Power from the fallen is taken and then given back to those who are successful." Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. "Right." Lowe had never heard this before, but both the and Gral were nodding sagely along so it was obviously hardly secret sauce stuff. "How''s that linked to these . . . these Remnants?" "This is just a theory, right?" "Fucking hell, Preece!" "Sorry, I''ve just got used to Director Nuroon needing every i and t dotted and crossed before saying anything. Right. So, we think this Dungeon has manifested from an exhausted Core? That means it probably does not have any spare XP sloshing around as rewards. I mean, once everyone who was working here when it changed is dead, that situation might change, but right now, I''d guess it might be running on empty." "So, Remnants?" Preece shrugged. "I could be wrong, but if I were a betting man, I''d say they''re probably fragments of past delvers. Mine is sitting above my Core, so it has to be a temporary effect rather than anything permanent like a new Skill or an XP gain. I reckon they will be unique abilities that don''t directly affect core stats like Strength or Dexterity but offer creative and situational advantages. You know what, fuck it." At that, Preece''s eyes unfocused, and a yellow glow infused his body. "Ha. Nice to be right on occasion. Maybe I''m not such a lousy after all. So, a Remnant of Memory is a fragment of knowledge left behind by someone long dead. I''ve got a couple of choices here for what I turn this one into - what''s your pleasure?" "What are the options?" Lowe was itching to check out what his own Remnant would give him but sensed that, having bullied Preece into his explanation, that might be viewed as a touch rude. "I can either ''unlock secret passages that aren¡¯t visible to regular perception'', ''grant hints to counter specific traps or bosses'' or ''reveal past mistakes made by previous adventurers, giving the delver foresight into upcoming challenges.''" "Traps," Karolen and Lowe said together. "Sold." The light around Preece increased, then abruptly faded. "Cool. So, everyone should take two quick steps to the right." He smirked as they did so. "Just kidding." "Hilarious. So it didn''t work?" Karolen asked. "Oh, no, I think it is working fine. I''m having, for example, the very strong inclination that we take the middle corridor in the branch ahead. Try your own." "I must say, it does seem rather unfair that you three are getting all sorts of new abilities whereas I, who am in no less danger than the rest of you . . . " "My heart is bleeding," Karolen interrupted. Her own body glowed a neon pink as she accessed her own Remnant. "Hmmm, nothing so useful as a spot trap ability. Of the options, I think I''ll grab the third one. ''A half-formed teleportation ability, allowing a short-range blink movement, but only in areas of deep shadow." I guess that might help?" "If you think that is best." Lowe hardly felt qualified to advise on such things. It certainly couldn''t hurt the rest of their time in the Dungeon for her to have something that made her a touch more deadly in the shadows. Interested in the properties of his own Remnant, Lowe touched on the deep red shadow above his core. <<<
  • Essence of Giant¡¯s Wrath: Increases physical strength by 50% for ten minutes, but during that time, your body grows unwieldy, reducing Dexterity.
  • Essence of Silent Thought: Sharply increases Intelligence and Mana regeneration for five minutes, but during that time, you are unable to speak, communicate telepathically, or use vocal spells.
  • Essence of Spectral Veil: Temporarily grants partial invisibility, but only if you''re standing still and breathing slowly. >>>>
    • Well, thought Lowe, that was something of a shit sandwich. Each of those abilities could be temporarily helpful, but also had severe limitations. He didn''t think there would be much benefit in the extra strength. Slugger already gave him a pretty powerful punch, and dropping his Dexterity would hardly make that more likely to land. Likewise, as he was acting as the tank for his group, he didn''t think being able to temporarily go invisible would be all that endearing to those he left exposed. And Arebella had always said she went for the strong, silent type . . . Essence of Silent Thought it is, then. "Well, if we are all finished luxuriating in our gains, perhaps we can move on?" Gral drawled when the red glow around Lowe faded. "I''m sure the next thing urgent to kill us is just around the next corner." "Sure. I''m going to go quiet for a moment, though. Don''t mind me. Just trying something out." It occurred to Lowe that ''sharply'' increasing an Intelligence that was already - effectively - Level 50 was likely to be pretty illuminating. With Silent Thought sharpening his mind, he was about to think a whole lot clearer¡ªand not just about the Dungeon. There was a lot more to figure out. Like how in Soar they¡¯d ended up here in the first place, and who had been pulling the strings. Chapter 38 - Viscious Memories Over the last year, Lowe had ¨C by necessity ¨C become used to experiencing the world through something of a haze. When you had become accustomed to having access to the wide range of Class Skills that had been his bread and butter throughout his career, the drop off in his sensory experience had been sizeable. Indeed, he had spent much of the last year feeling as if he¡¯d taken the sort of blow to the head that Roll with the Punches couldn¡¯t do very much about. Colours were dimmer. Smells less intense. Even something as mundane as working out his per-hour rate for the vanishingly small number of clients his abortive Private Investigator business had been able to muster had needed him to use paper and pen. Then, the murder of Gianna d¡¯Avec had taken place. He had, in the early stages of that investigation, come across Mylaf and her talent for producing Legendary quality consumables at the drop of a hat. That the had agreed to move into his apartment had, at a stroke, removed any need to continue to conserve his mana, meaning he was able to go back to using Grid View in the casual, reckless way which had been his trademark. He¡¯d known, intellectually, that he¡¯d missed his perfect memory and the ability to revisit events in his mind at will, but until he¡¯d had that talent back whenever he wanted, he had truly no conception of how crucial that Skill had been to his sense of self. And, then, of course, in short order after that, there had been his first Dungeon delve with Latham and the resetting of his Progress Points . . . Even that massive boost, though - giving him the ¡®pure¡¯ Intelligence and Wisdom of someone double his Level - still hadn¡¯t quite returned him to what he had been before. Nevertheless, those changes supplemented by Mylaf¡¯s smoothies, cookies and afternoon snacks, the Lowe that had walked through the door of Soar Museum at the outset of this case was much closer to what he thought of as ¡®normal¡¯ than at any time since his Classtration. Sure, he might not have all the bells and whistles that had come with his original Class, but the core of him ¨C the bit of him that was better at seeing to the heart of the matter than anyone else in Cuckoo House ¨C felt like it was largely back in place. And then he had activated the Essence of Silent Thought, and he realised how much he had been kidding himself Whatever else his reward for burning alive the Corrupt Fenrir did, it gave him access to the sort of white-hot insight that he¡¯d forgotten he had ever possessed. Half-formed, idle thoughts about the deaths of Delphina and Harker blazed into focus and either were discarded as pathetic, logical fallacies he was ashamed ever to have entertained or gained traction as new possibilities as potential theories formed and developed. ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± Gral asked, glancing sidelong at Lowe as they moved their way down the latest ¨C mercifully trap-free ¨C corridor that Preece was leading them. Lowe simply shook his head in response. He wasn¡¯t sure he could have explained how he was feeling, even if the Essence had not temporarily removed his ability to speak. On the one hand, there was such joy in his brain ticking over in a way he had feared he would never experience again, but then there was also the agony of knowing that all this was just a buff that would shortly expire. One of the major downsides of suddenly being a certifiable genius again was that there was no place for comforting lies to hide. As soon as this reward ran out, he¡¯d be back to being plain old Jana Lowe. Not the stupidest man in the world, but certainly not the sharpest. And, having had this taste again of who he used to be, he knew that was going to suck the big one. No time for that now, though. Self-pity was a luxury for a future, more stupid Lowe. Bless him, and his dull conception of the world. Right now, though, the ¡®him¡¯ that might have moments left to figure out what had happened to the dead Museum employees, plot a way to keep them all alive in this newly formed Dungeon and then work out how to pull everything together into a nice bow for Pernille Fucking Staffen once they¡¯d escaped, had other things to concern him. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Grid View sparked into life around him, overlaying the walls of the corridor down which they walked with flashing scenes of everything that had happened since he¡¯d first been called into his boss¡¯s office and told to get his arse down to this Museum. Kaleidoscopic images looped, flared and raced across his mind: millions of details that had not even registered to his consciousness settled and resolved into a coherent narrative he¡¯d not even been aware was being told. Keywords of conversations were cross-checked, lies flagged, and undisputable facts pulled into columns of details that flowed and twisted around that central question: who ¨C or what ¨C was the murderer? Fucking hell, this was how he used to make sense of the world, wasn¡¯t it? No, no more of that. Focus. For some reason, the supercharged part of his mind kept playing and replaying that desperate, panicked hunt Lowe had gone through in the bowels of the museum. His brain kept showing him the liquified body of Harker, his subsequent, typically bad-tempered, conversation with Lant and then the start of his necrotic slime-fuelled hallucination. But as soon as past-Lowe started walking through the dingy corridors, it paused, reversed and started playing out his first sight of the body again . . . Lowe leaned into the memory ¨C if he could use as physical a verb as that to explain what he was doing - trying to understand what his mind wanted him to see. The taste of his own frustration was almost tangible ¨C he knew what was important here, but he couldn¡¯t quite seem to see it. It was quite a vibe to have your own psyche stick the dunce¡¯s hat on you and push you to the corner . . . Standing over Harker¡¯s liquified remains. Lant being his normal, joyous self. Then Lowe slips out of Culloden¡¯s office and, in moments, he was labouring under the effects of the necrotic slime and running scared beneath the museum. Over. And Over again. What was it that his Essence of Silent Thought enhanced mind was fixating on? Harker. Lant. Lowe walking down the passageway. The same scene played, then reversed and then played again to him. Lowe felt that if his subconscious mind could have reached out and slapped him, it would have done, so great was its irritation with his ongoing stupidity. Harker. Lane. Lowe walking . . . Then it hit him. He knew what his subconscious mind had noticed and his sudden excess of Intelligence had finally brought to the fore. And it was fucking irritating because this wasn¡¯t a spectacular leap of intuition; it was something utterly banal that had been staring him in the face all along. Lowe had been labouring under the illusion that he had, somehow, managed to get a blob of necrotic slime on him. Maybe when examining Harker¡¯s body? Or ¨C and if he was honest, this was what he had assumed had happened ¨C Lant had, for shits and giggles, spiked him on his way out of from examining the crime scene. Not enough to cause him real harm ¨C he was a dick, not a psychopath - but enough to cause the nightmarish hallucinations that had followed. But, no. Watching the scene play out over and over again, it was clear nothing like that had happened at all. Lowe had not accidentally transferred any slime off Harker¡¯s body. Nor had Lant done anything vindictive to put a dent in Lowe¡¯s day. Whatever had happened to Lowe beneath the Museum on that day was clearly not a necrotic slime-induced nightmare. Which immediately begged any number of wider questions. For example, if what Lowe had experienced had been ¡®real¡¯ and not a hallucination, what exactly had hunted him through the twists and turns of the exhibits? And what about all that bollocks with the candle and the writing? His excess of Intelligence surged to offer suggestions but then ¨C abruptly ¨C put all of its attention on a suddenly pretty important question. When exactly had the Dungeon core that Director Nuroon had retrieved from the outskirts of Soar become sentient? Was it earlier than they were all assuming? That realisation sparked more supercharged neurons firing in Lowe¡¯s mind, and he staggered against the wall. Karolen looked his way in alarm, but he shrugged off her concern. If his experiences beneath the Museum that day had actually happened ¨C and it now seemed clear to him that it absolutely had - then a whole host of other dominoes could start to fall into place. And they did. One after another. So many aspects of the mystery that had baffled him suddenly all began to resolve into far greater clarity, causing him to reach some pretty important conclusions. The sort of conclusion that made him suddenly not being able to speak to the rest of his party pretty fucking inconvenient . . . Chapter 39 - No Way In Latham¡¯s fists were raw, knuckles split wide from repeatedly smashing them against the portal that had shimmered into being in front of Soar Museum. The pain didn¡¯t register. At least, not anymore. In fact, he hadn¡¯t felt anything from his hands for the last half a bell, not since the red mist descended and he¡¯d started to launch blow after blow. ¡°Feeling better?¡± Latham didn¡¯t answer, throwing another massive punch against the glowing shield. However, just like all of those he¡¯d landed earlier, it seemed to do nothing. Just like every other strike. The door to the Museum simply glowed a touch brighter, as if absorbing the huge amount of kinetic energy the had summoned and drinking it in. Realising he¡¯d reduced his left hand to mush, Latham tapped into the torrent of divine power surging through him, ignoring the ¡®tut¡¯ from some god or other as he ¨C technically - misused one of his Skills to heal the injury, and then power up a punch again, energy thrumming along his veins. As soon as his first was full, he unleashed another earth-shattering blow, but the shell that encased the portal didn¡¯t even tremble. It was unmovable. Untouchable. To be honest, he sensed it was ¨C if anything ¨C getting stronger. Hel sighed, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. She¡¯d summoned a fairly impressive thunderstorm to drench the street around the museum entrance, and - thus far - no one had risked breaching the localised downpour yet. Even so, interested crowds were gathering just beyond her impromptu cordon, and she worried it wouldn¡¯t be long before someone official took charge of the situation. ¡°Yeah. You keep at it. I¡¯m sure one more punch should do it. If there¡¯s one thing I¡¯ve learned over the years, it¡¯s that esoteric magic responds really well to brute force.¡± ¡°At least I¡¯m trying to get us in.¡± ¡°You¡¯re trying something, certainly. And here was me thinking it was just my patience.¡± Latham flexed his hand and wiped the pouring blood from his knuckles onto his tunic. ¡°What would you have me do? Stand around and wait? That¡¯s working out so well for you, isn¡¯t it?¡± Hel gave him a long look. ¡°I didn¡¯t say I had any answers. I¡¯m just not sure that hammering your fists into dust is much of a net benefit.¡± Her eyes flicked to the gateway, its surface shining with a rainbow glow as if it was mocking them both. She didn¡¯t like being kept away from the centre of the action any more than he did. And wasn¡¯t that the worst part of it. Neither of them were used to this . . . this being shut out. Of all of the terrible situations in which they had found themselves over the years, being unable to act was not one of them. Especially with Lowe was inside. Neither Hel nor Latham were the type to sit outside and wait. They certainly didn¡¯t let someone else take on all the risk. And yet this fucking Dungeon had separated them, locking Lowe inside the museum while they stood on the wrong side of a seemingly impervious wall. Latham didn¡¯t stop to think about how long Lowe had been in there. How long he¡¯d been trapped. No point in dwelling on that. That was a path to panic, and panic wouldn¡¯t help anyone. Especially not now. He had no idea why this strange little Classless man meant so much to him. But he did. Latham wasn¡¯t the sort of person who had friends ¨C terrified acquaintances, certainly ¨C and he wasn¡¯t prepared to countenance something bad happening to one of the few he had. ¡°We need to get in there,¡± Latham said, more to himself than to Hel. His hands itched to punch the barrier again, even though he knew it wouldn¡¯t make a difference. Hel raised an eyebrow. ¡°You don¡¯t say. Care to share how you plan to do that? We¡¯ve tried brute force, we¡¯ve tried Skills¡ªwell, I¡¯ve tried my Skills. You¡¯ve been more focused on punching things¡ªand still nothing. So, unless you¡¯ve got a trick hidden up your sleeve, I suggest you take a breath and actually start thinking.¡± This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Latham turned away from her, staring at the entrance to the Dungeon that had taken over Soar Museum. His mind raced through options, strategies, anything that might explain what was happening. But every theory he came up with hit the same dead end. It didn¡¯t add up. Dungeons didn¡¯t just manifest out of thin air; they were ancient things. They certainly didn¡¯t just casually spring up in the centre of cities and trap people inside them at random. But this one had. ¡°Why this place?¡± he asked, something significant scratching just on the edge of conscious thought. ¡°Why Soar museum? Why now?¡± Hel pushed off the wall, her boots scraping against the stone as she walked up beside him. ¡°No idea. But it¡¯s here now, and it¡¯s clearly not going away anytime soon.¡± Latham clenched his jaw, fists still trembling. It wasn¡¯t just the Dungeon that bothered him¡ªit was the timing. The scale. ¡°It doesn¡¯t make sense,¡± he said, his voice low. ¡°There¡¯s always been rumours about Director Nuroon and Soar Museum, but nothing solid. Nothing that would explain a Dungeon just popping up out of nowhere.¡± Hel¡¯s lips tightened into a thin line. ¡°You think it¡¯s a coincidence Lowe was inside when it happened?¡± ¡°You think it¡¯s not?¡± Hel didn¡¯t answer immediately. She stared at the entrance, her fingers twitching, lightning flickering beneath her skin. ¡°I know you¡¯ve been in a lot of Dungeons, Latham. But this¡ª¡± She gestured at the barrier with a jerk of her head. ¡°This feels like a trap. Not for everyone. For him.¡± Latham¡¯s gut twisted. It wasn¡¯t the first time that thought had crossed his mind, but hearing Hel say it made it feel more real. He turned back to the museum, eyes narrowing. A trap. If this was targeted, then that meant someone¡ªsomething¡ªwanted Lowe in there. Alone. And that made it worse. Lowe was smart, and tougher than he looked, but he wasn¡¯t built to do this sort of thing solo. He wasn¡¯t supposed to be cut off from support, forced to face whatever was inside without backup. That wasn¡¯t what he did best. ¡°We¡¯ve got to find a way in,¡± Latham said, the words coming out harsher than he intended. ¡°There¡¯s got to be something we missed. Some trick, some backdoor we haven¡¯t tried yet.¡± Hel crossed her arms again, tapping her fingers against her elbow. ¡°We¡¯ve been here for nearly a bell. If there¡¯s a backdoor, we would have found it by now. It¡¯s a Dungeon, Latham. You know how these things work. One way in, one way out. And it¡¯s not recognising either of us as having the requirements to enter.¡± Latham¡¯s mind raced, trying to ignore the creeping sense of helplessness that had been building since the moment they¡¯d arrived. Hel was right¡ªthey¡¯d tried everything they could think of. He¡¯d pounded on the barrier until his fists were bloody. She¡¯d tried every arcane trick in her book. And still, the portal stood between them and Lowe. But there had to be something. Some angle they hadn¡¯t considered. He refused to believe they were locked out. ¡°I¡¯m a Level ??. There¡¯s not a Dungeon on this continent I couldn¡¯t solo if I put my mind to it!¡± ¡°Yeah, all hail you!¡± In a burst of frustration, Hel let a mini-tornado appear and then swirl forward to strike against the dungeon entrance. ¡°I hate this,¡± Hel suddenly shouted, breaking the silence. She sounded angrier than he¡¯d ever heard her, and that was saying something. ¡°I hate that we¡¯re just standing here while he¡¯s in there, doing who knows what.¡± Latham glanced at her. She was pacing now, her usual cool, detached demeanour cracking under the weight of their situation. He wasn¡¯t used to seeing her like this¡ªfrustrated, anxious. But then again, none of this was normal. Not for them. ¡°We¡¯ll get him out,¡± Latham said, though even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice. ¡°He¡¯s got to know we¡¯re out here.¡± Hel stopped pacing, her eyes locked on the portal. ¡°Neither of us is used to being helpless, Latham. But, on this occasion, it might be Lowe needs to sort it out himself.¡± Latham didn¡¯t respond. He couldn¡¯t. The idea of leaving Lowe behind, of not being able to reach him¡ªit wasn¡¯t something he could process. Not yet. Not until he¡¯d exhausted every possible option. Until he¡¯d thrown every punch, every spell, every damn thing he had at that portal. Hel sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. ¡°I¡¯ve been in a lot of shitty situations. But this is worse. Not being able to help is . . . Fuck. This sucks.¡± Latham¡¯s fists clenched again, his knuckles aching. ¡°It won¡¯t be for much longer. We¡¯ll figure a way in.¡± But even as he said it, he wasn¡¯t sure if he believed it. The doorway shimmered again, its surface rippling as if smiling at their impotence. Look at me, it seemed to say. Still there. Still immovable. Still locking you out. ¡°Maybe,¡± Hel said quietly. ¡°But right now, we¡¯re on the wrong side.¡± And for the first time in a long time, Latham had no idea how to fix that. Chapter 40: Charades in the Dark ¡°Look, I have no idea what you¡¯re trying to tell me!¡± Karolen¡¯s voice whispered in the dark of the Dungeon. Her patience had worn thin ages ago, and every additional gesture Lowe made was another fray to her nerves. He was, subtly, waving his hands about like a deranged puppet master, conducting some absurd pantomime that only made sense in the labyrinth of his overworked mind. ¡°Can I ask, how long is this silence debuff supposed to last? It¡¯s a bloody pain in the arse trying to communicate like this.¡± Lowe shot her a grimace, the tension visible on his face. His eyes darted to Preece and Gral, who were walking a few paces ahead, seemingly oblivious to Lowe¡¯s desperate performance. Then, with barely a moment of hesitation, he started up another round of gestures¡ªthis time pointing at Preece with exaggerated care, then flexing his arms dramatically like a bodybuilder mid-pose, and finally saluting before mimicking a punch to the air. Karolen blinked, utterly bewildered. ¡°Whatever buff that Essence has given you, it hasn¡¯t made you any good at charades. I get it. You¡¯re worried about something to do with the . But what about him?¡± she whispered, looking at Lowe as if he were a puzzle she was meant to solve with half the pieces missing. His eyes were wild with frustration, which she completely understood. For the umpteenth time, Karolen looked around the corridors for something the Inspector could write on. They were in a museum! Surely there had to be any number of bits of paper lying around. But no. The route Preece was leading them down seemed to be the exception to that rule. It was just an epically long, empty passageway stretching ever downwards towards the museum''s cellar. To be honest, Karolen was already thoroughly on edge without Lowe pawing at her sleeve and gesturing like a madman. Lowe, growing more frantic, started a new series of movements¡ªthis time, he mimed pulling something heavy over his head like a hood and then suddenly jerked his hands forward as if revealing something grand. His eyes darted toward Preece again, then back to Karolen. She threw her hands up in exasperation. ¡°Okay, so Preece is hiding something. Am I supposed to guess what it is now? Is this a game of fucking Twenty Questions?¡± The inspector stomped his foot, and if he had the ability to speak, Karolen had no doubt he¡¯d be cursing her out right now. Instead, he slapped his forehead, then frantically gestured downward as if pulling something invisible toward the ground. ¡°Okay, okay. Let me think. Preece is hiding something... below us?¡± She raised an eyebrow, hoping for a nod, but Lowe shook his head. ¡°Preece... is pulling something down?¡± Another shake. In something akin to a fit of desperation, Lowe pantomimed lifting something heavy again, only to fall into an exaggerated fighting stance, fists raised like a boxer. He then mimicked stomping, as though driving something into the ground with tremendous force. Karolen stared at him, blinking rapidly. ¡°Preece... is... a fighter? No, that doesn¡¯t make sense. Preece is¡­ oh!¡± Her eyes widened in a flicker of understanding. ¡°You think he¡¯s stronger than he¡¯s letting on?¡± Lowe¡¯s frenzied nod nearly dislodged his own head. ¡°Well, we know that don¡¯t we?¡± she said, eyes narrowing as she glanced at Preece ahead of them. ¡°He¡¯s been open and honest that he was a Dungeon Delver before he changed his Class into being a . But he¡¯s not lying about his Level, is he? If he was stronger, we¡¯d have known that when we partied up. What exactly are you trying to tell me, though? Is he dangerous?¡± Lowe mimed an explosion with his hands, eyes wide in warning. Karolen felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. ¡°An explosion? You think he¡¯s going to blow up? Or that he¡¯s something big?¡± Lowe nodded again, his urgency clear, though the gestures were growing increasingly erratic. They walked deeper into the Dungeon, the narrow corridors becoming more constricting. The strange, hollow silence that filled the space gnawed at Karolen¡¯s nerves. Normally, Dungeons thrummed with life¡ªor at least the constant lurking presence of things waiting to tear you apart¡ªbut this place was eerily still, like a tomb waiting for its last visitor. Preece¡¯s voice rang out ahead of them, pulling Karolen out of her thoughts. ¡°From what you know of things, are we getting closer to the Core? This place just keeps winding down.¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ¡°Probably not far now,¡± Gral replied smoothly, his tone controlled and even. Too controlled, if you asked Karolen. Gral was always a wildcard¡ªa lawyer who played both sides, always too polished, too poised. She didn¡¯t trust him either. Lowe pulled at her sleeve again, forcing her attention back to his dumbshow. This time, he pointed toward the ground, mimicked slow, deliberate steps, and then pointed to Preece, making the same walking gesture. Karolen frowned. ¡°A trap. You think he¡¯s leading us into a trap.¡± Lowe¡¯s exaggerated nod and urgent pointing drove the point home. She could practically feel the heat of his unspoken frustration. Her thoughts were swirling now. Lowe, who had been blocked from speaking thanks to the Essence of Silent Thought, had been trying to warn her for the past half-bell that something wasn¡¯t right. But Preece? The idea that he was more than he seemed¡ªthat he was leading them into danger¡ªdidn¡¯t just sit wrong, it screeched wrong. ¡°You¡¯re telling me he¡¯s hiding something,¡± Karolen said, more to herself than Lowe now. ¡°And that whatever it is, it¡¯s big enough to put us all in danger. What else am I missing?¡± Lowe mimed pulling a hood over his face again and then threw it back with the kind of drama reserved for actors on a stage. ¡°A disguise,¡± Karolen muttered, her eyes narrowing. ¡°He¡¯s hiding behind a disguise?¡± Lowe¡¯s eyes gleamed with silent desperation. Finally. Karolen took a steadying breath. It wasn¡¯t that she trusted Preece to begin with, but this... this had the potential to be huge. She glanced at Gral, who seemed as unreadable as ever. It felt like they were walking into a trap, and if Preece really was the one leading them there, they were in deep. And there was nothing Lowe could do to tell them more. He had already played his hand, and now Karolen felt the burden of that knowledge alone. However, before she could act on any of it, the floor beneath them trembled violently. A deep, shuddering rumble that made the stone walls groan in protest. Karolen¡¯s hand was immediately filled with he manifested blade. Preece froze, turning back toward them, his face carefully composed. ¡°Did you all feel that?¡± Lowe nodded, his body tense, pointing frantically toward the ceiling as dust and loose debris began to fall. Karolen¡¯s mind raced. Was this it? Was this the trap Lowe was trying to warn her about? ¡°We need to move¡ª¡± Gral began, but his voice was drowned out by a deafening crack. The wall beside them exploded inward. Karolen ducked, dragging Lowe down with her as chunks of stone crashed through the corridor like shrapnel. The sound was overwhelming¡ªstone grinding against stone, the thunderous echo of whatever force had just blown a hole through the wall. Her heart raced as thick dust clouded the air. For a few moments, she couldn¡¯t see anything, only the sound of debris settling and the distant rumble of the Dungeon¡¯s shifting mass. Lowe coughed beside her, his grip tight on her arm as they both pulled themselves up. ¡°What¡ªwhat the hell was that?¡± Karolen yelled, brushing dust from her face. The hallway had collapsed inward, revealing an opening in the wall. No. Not just an opening¡ªa hole large enough for someone - or something - to have forced its way through. And that¡¯s when Karolen saw it: a figure emerging from the smoke, still obscured by the swirling chaos. Cloaked, hood drawn low, striding through the debris projecting an aura of immense power. The ground seemed to ripple beneath each step, and a strange, all-encompassing energy pulsed around it as it moved. Karolen¡¯s stomach sank. Whoever this was, they were more than just another Dungeon monster. This was the kind of power that warped reality itself. The figure moved with the precision of someone who knew they had already won. Preece and Gral stood frozen, eyes locked on the new arrival. Karolen wasn¡¯t sure if they were terrified or in awe¡ªeither way, it wouldn¡¯t matter. The cloaked figure didn¡¯t hesitate. With a wave of their hand, a bolt of raw, crackling energy shot from the palm of their hand, obliterating . . . a series of lurking Dungeon beasts that had been hiding in the newly revealed passage. The creatures barely had time to shriek before they were vaporised, reduced to ash and scattered dust. The figure stepped forward, the shadows around them swirling like a living thing, clinging to their form. Another flick of the wrist, and more creatures were reduced to smouldering ruin. There was no hesitation, no mercy. Whoever this was, they weren¡¯t just strong¡ªthey were beyond strong. Karolen¡¯s pulse pounded in her ears. She couldn¡¯t take her eyes off the figure. She needed to see their face, to know who had just torn through the Dungeon like it was made of paper. The figure paused, standing tall in the centre of the wreckage, surveying the destruction with a kind of grim satisfaction. Slowly, with an almost theatrical motion, they raised their hands to the hood that concealed their face. The air in the corridor seemed to still, every breath hanging in the silence. With deliberate care, the figure lowered their hood. Karolen¡¯s breath caught in her throat. It was Director Nuroon. Chapter 41 - Memories of Classtration ¡°Fuck a duck!¡± Lowe¡¯s exclamation disturbed the silence that had descended following the Director¡¯s sudden appearance. ¡°Where the fuck did you spring from?¡± Nuroon cocked his head towards Lowe, looked him up and down, then dismissed him, turning to face Gral. ¡°I assumed I would come across you in here somewhere, Felicitous. I imagine there are armoured cockroaches that are easier to kill.¡± ¡°Too kind, sir. If I may say so, it looks as if you have been making short work of the Dungeon¡¯s various challenges?¡± Nuroon waved a hand negligently towards the remains of the fallen monsters. ¡°All low-level trash. To be honest, I haven¡¯t enjoyed myself so much in years. It is easy to forget the thrill that comes with a genuinely involving delve.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t say I share your enjoyment, sir. Although, I am anticipating ¨C with relish ¨C putting in my bill for hazard pay . . .¡± The realisation that he could speak let the stilted badinage fade from Lowe¡¯s ears. The Essence of Silent Thought had expired, and after all the frustrated dumb play, he could finally tell Karolen . . . what? He caught her by the sleeve, pulling her towards him and opened his mouth to speak. ¡°What?¡± she hissed at him, trying to keep half an eye on the suddenly extremely threatening figure of Grackle Nuroon. ¡°I . . . I don¡¯t know,¡± Lowe said, a look of consternation flashing across his face. ¡°I had it! It all made sense. It was . . . Shit. I can¡¯t remember.¡± So vulnerable did Lowe look at that moment, that Karolen felt herself turning away in embarrassment. ¡°Well, don¡¯t push it. It happens sometimes to me at work. The harder you try to remember something, the more difficult it is to summon up. Think about something else for a bit, like, I don¡¯t know, the sudden and dramatic appearance of a supervillain. It¡¯ll come.¡± But Lowe wasn¡¯t listening, not really. He was suddenly bereft ¨C not just of the deductions he¡¯d made about the case (something about Preece, right?) but in mourning for that all-to-brief renewal of an ability to make such intellectual links. Now the Essence had faded, he felt. . . hollowed out. Like he was back at those first few seconds following his Classtration. Lowe felt Karolen''s words drifting past him, lost in the surge of remembered panic flooding his mind. Her advice, though sensible, barely registered as he was carried away by a memory he¡¯d done his best to repress. But the sharp, dizzying void that filled him now was all too familiar, tugging him backwards, dragging him to somewhere he never wanted to revisit. The day he lost everything. The process had started with blinding pain. Like his core had been set on fire from the inside out. The kind of pain that doesn¡¯t come from wounds but from something deeper, something more fundamentally crippling. Every fibre of his being, every thread that held ¡®him¡¯ together had been snapped at once. Intellectually, he knew it wasn¡¯t a physical assault he was experiencing, but his muscles had locked, his bones had screamed, and all the power that had once surged through him¡ªhis Skills, his bonuses, his Class¡ªwas yanked away by an invisible, piteous hand. And in that instant, the world had gone dark. Or as good as. At first, he had thought that such blindness was temporary, that his vision would return, that the sharp ringing of tinnitus would fade, that the tightness in his chest would loosen and allow him to breathe deeply again. He had waited for the sensation of the individual parts of his body to return, for the warmth of his power to flood back into screaming limbs. But it didn¡¯t. Not then. And, until that brief renewal of his abilities, not ever again. He remembered stumbling forward, hands outstretched, grasping at nothing but the cold, empty air before him. The floor beneath his feet had felt suddenly unstable and uneven like he was standing on shifting sands. His legs had wobbled as if they were suddenly too weak to support his weight, and he had collapsed, his knees hitting the mosaic tiles with a crack that he hadn¡¯t even heard. But it hadn¡¯t hurt, that he remembered. The impact hadn¡¯t registered at all. He couldn¡¯t feel the pain. It was as if he couldn¡¯t feel anything at all. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. It was like being erased. That was how he had later explained it to Arebella. His once sharp mind, so brimming with ideas and possibilities and deductive leaps, had been scooped clean. Everything that made him who he was¡ªhis thoughts, his insight, the web of connections he could always see in his head¡ªhad vanished. His Intelligence, his Wisdom, his Spirit, even his Strength and Agility, had plummeted down to nothingness. He was deaf, dumb, and blind all at once, as if someone had taken a knife and severed the strings of his consciousness, leaving him dangling, unmoored in his own mind. Standing here, in the Dungeon that used to be Soar Museum, Lowe could remember the voices around him that day¡ªdistant, muffled, like echoes in a vast, empty cavern. Cenorth had been there, shouting his name, but Lowe hadn¡¯t been able to process the words. Couldn¡¯t even find his voice to answer. The faces of his allies had been blurred, indistinct, as though viewed through a fogged window. He knew them, of course, but there had been no spark of recognition, no sense of connection. Just¡­ blankness. And then the fear had hit. Real, primal fear. Not fear of pain or death. He¡¯d faced those a thousand times. This was the fear of being nothing. Of having no place in the world, no purpose, no identity. Without his Class, without his Skills, he wasn¡¯t an Inspector. He wasn¡¯t Lowe. He was an empty suit, an absence, a man who had been reduced to a husk, stripped of everything that gave him meaning. He remembered the way his fingers had twitched on the ground, desperate to grasp at anything, at something that could anchor him to reality. He had tried to speak, to make a sound, but nothing had come out. His throat had felt paralysed, locked in silence. He had never realised how much of his own voice, his thoughts, his mind he had taken for granted until they were gone. Time had passed in fits and starts after that¡ªdays, maybe weeks of stumbling through the wreckage of his former self. His senses had returned slowly, but nothing else had. Not his sharpness, not his insight. Not the clear mind that had once allowed him to see patterns others missed. He had become dull, sluggish, like a blade blunted by time and misuse. His world had shrunk to the basics: breathe, eat, sleep. Anything beyond that had felt impossible, unreachable. Lowe¡¯s mind snapped back to the present as Karolen¡¯s voice reached him again, more distant now as she addressed Gral. The ground beneath his feet felt too solid, too steady compared to the swirling disorientation of that memory. But the sense of loss still clung to him like a second skin. He glanced at his hands¡ªsteady now, but they had trembled uncontrollably after the Classtration. For months later, he couldn¡¯t even hold a pen, much less wield a weapon. His body had betrayed him, refusing to respond as if each extremity had forgotten they were supposed to follow orders. And his mind... His brilliant mind, the one thing he had always relied on, had felt like a dead weight, dragging him down into the abyss. It had been Cenorth who had first found him, lying on the cold floor. Cenorth, who had knelt beside him, his face creased with concern and confusion. Lowe had looked up at him, desperate to speak, desperate to explain, but no words had come. Just the empty feeling of a man who had lost everything. ¡°I¡¯m nothing,¡± Lowe had managed to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°It¡¯s all gone.¡± Cenorth, the man he had thought of as his best friend in the world, had stared at him, the disbelief in his eyes giving way to something far worse: pity. ¡°You¡¯re not nothing,¡± the Commander had said, his voice firm, but the words had rung false in Lowe¡¯s ears. ¡°We¡¯ll fix this. We¡¯ll prove this was all a mistake.¡± But Lowe had known, even then, that there was no fixing this. No going back to who he had been. The Classtration hadn¡¯t just taken his Skills, it had taken him. It had stolen the core of who he was, leaving him adrift, unmoored in a world where he no longer had a place. And that was how he felt again now, standing beside Karolen in the Dungeon¡¯s echoing halls, the memories of that day flooded back, raw and unrelenting. His hands curled into fists at his sides, the old fear threatening to rise again. The fear of losing everything, of being reduced once more to that hollow shell. He shook his head, trying to banish the memory, but it clung to him, insistent. The silence that had once trapped him, the numbness that had seeped into his bones, all of it still haunted him. And now, even with his voice restored, even with some of his Skills slowly returning, he couldn¡¯t shake the sense that it could all vanish again, just as easily as it had the first time. Karolen looked at him, her brow furrowed, but she didn¡¯t press him. She didn¡¯t know¡ªcouldn¡¯t know¡ªwhat it had been like to lose everything that day. And he didn¡¯t have the words to explain it to her. But the fear remained, gnawing at him in the dark corners of his mind. What if it happens again? And then Director Nuroon was in front of him, wizened face creased into something akin to a grin. ¡°So, Mr Lowe. I see from your haunted expression you have partaken in one of the Dungeon''s Essences. Was it everything you hoped it would be?¡± Lowe punched him in the face. Chapter 42: Delving Technicalities ¡°You broge by fugging dose!¡± Lowe yelped and shook out his hand, Slugger fading away even as Roll with the Punches took charge to rebuild a considerable number of fractured bones. Say what you liked about Grackle Nuroon ¨C and there was certainly plenty that could be said ¨C the guy could take a punch. Lowe didn¡¯t really feel much better for unloading ¨C even in his prime, he¡¯d never been someone who worked out his emotions with his fists ¨C but there was something about the outraged shock on the Director¡¯s face that, even if momentarily, cured what illed him. "How did you do dat! You¡¯re a fugging Lebel 25!" Lowe turned his back on Nuroon and walked instead to Preece, prodding a mangled finger into his chest. ¡°I don¡¯t know what it was I realised about you with that Essence running, but you need to tell me how you¡¯re involved in all this. Now!¡± The held up his hands in supplication. ¡°I¡¯ve no idea! Honestly! I¡¯ve told you everything I know. About Delphina. About the blackmail. About her and Kregg. There¡¯s nothing else!¡± Preece¡¯s eyes strayed, with horrid fascination, to the bones visibly rearranging in Lowe¡¯s hand, the twisting, rotating finger of which was resting on his breastbone. ¡°I¡¯m doing everything I can to help you out here! Honestly.¡± Lowe swore under his breath. Every instinct he still possessed said the man was telling him the truth. Which made no sense at all. He couldn¡¯t remember what his revelation had been about Preece, but he was absolutely certain he was not what he seemed. And, more than that, that he was dangerous. ¡°Tell me again about your friend. The other , Harker.¡± ¡°Sure. What do you want to know?¡± "Insbegdor! I wan'' to dalk do you!" Lowe felt a brief, painful pressure on his mind ¨C presumably, Nuroon had activated some sort of command Skill to bring him to heel? ¨C but Mental Fortress batted it away. Without turning around, he flipped the Director the bird ¨C his broken finger still not quite upright ¨C and concentrated on Preece. ¡°When we met before, you said you wouldn¡¯t have been surprised to have heard Harker had killed himself?¡± ¡°Yeah. Delphina had something over him, and it was making him sick . . . ¡° ¡°But Harker died a month after her. Why would he still be so depressed ¨C so much so you genuinely feared he would take his own life ¨C if the person blackmailing him was dead, cremated and gone.¡± Preece shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Guilt? Fear of being blamed for her death?¡± But Lowe was already shaking his head. In other circumstances, he could imagine Harker¡¯s low mood would make sense. His extraordinarily successful clear-up rate for murders was as much down to his former brilliance as it was to the utter stupidity of most criminals. No blinding leaps of deductive logic had been required, for example, when he charged the wife of a slain wealthy industrialist with pushing him in a vat of his own solvent. That she¡¯d taken a selfie on her Sending Stone of her stood over said machinery with the caption ¡®"Well, I did promise I''d help you dissolve our differences" hadn¡¯t exactly hindered his investigation. Lowe had a million such stories. The average bad guy in Soar was ¨C almost to a fault ¨C spectacularly dumb. Thus, it would be totally reasonable for Harker to be going out of his mind with worry that his crime in offing his blackmailer was going to be uncovered. If, that was, Grackle Nuroon hadn¡¯t successfully closed down the investigation. Inspector Wyst had written it up as an accident far before Harker himself shuffled off this mortal coil. There was absolutely no reason in Soar for Harker to be anything other than gleefully smug at getting away with murder; if that was what truly had been bothering him. So, if it wasn¡¯t fear of discovery that had that man in such a state the night before he was murdered, what was it? He''d been murdered in Martha Culloden¡¯s office. A woman obsessed with Dreadnaughts and who had one who had not been seen since . . . Pieces of the puzzle continued to move in Lowe¡¯s head, but it didn¡¯t feel like these were the same revelations the Essence of Silent Thought had led him to. No, they had been more about Preece . . . ¡°Inspector Lowe, on the instructions of my client, I am issuing you with notice of an intention to prosecute.¡± Lowe turned to look into the wide-set eyes of Felicitous Gral. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± ¡°I rather think this has gone too far for a simple apology to be acceptable. In full view of witnesses, you casually, and with no provocation, struck Director Nuroon in the face. You have caused him considerable distress and we intend to lodge a complaint with the highest of authorities. You will never work in Soar again. I will be needing your witness statement,¡± Gral said first to Karolen and then nodded towards Preece. ¡°And yours too, sir. Nothing fancy, just confirmation you witnessed the assault will do for now.¡± Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Karolen pulled a ''Who me, guv?'' face. ¡°I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.¡± ¡°Oh, my dear,¡± Gral tutted sadly. ¡°I really would not encourage you to risk your promising career by doing anything as silly as this. You already have one rather significant strike against you for going up against Soar Museum. Do you really think anyone will employ an that has, not once, but twice, needed to be taken out to the woodshed and shown the error of her ways?¡± ¡°Honestly, I have no idea what you are getting at. We¡¯re in the middle of a Dungeon! Pardon me if I wasn¡¯t looking in the right direction when your ¡®client¡¯ took the beating he so richly deserved.¡± The two glared at each other for a moment. Lowe was pretty impressed that it was the greasy lawyer who broke away first. He could grow to like this girl. Maybe all of Arebella''s friends weren''t wholly without merit. ¡°Well, be that as it may. Alongside my testimony, we will only need the evidence of one other person who saw the event to secure a prosecution. Ms Menin clearly cannot comment either way as she ¡®wasn¡¯t looking¡¯ so the word of Mr Preece will be all that is required. Can you confirm you witnessed the assault, sir?¡± The colour leached from the face, and he gave a nod. ¡°I saw Lowe hit the Director.¡± Gral smiled widely and made an ¡®ah, well¡¯ gesture. ¡°And that¡¯s all she wrote. I am very sorry, Mr Lowe, to say that I cannot see someone even of your redoubtable resilience coming back from this one.¡± Preece gave a little cough. ¡°I said I saw Lowe hit the Director. But as the Director is in a different Party, I¡¯m not sure why that would be a problem.¡± ¡°What?¡± Gral¡¯s voice was irritated. ¡°Director Nuroon is in a competing Dungeon Party. I absolutely saw Inspector Lowe strike him, but such an attack is not just viewed as lawful under Dungeon law, it¡¯s actively encouraged.¡± ¡°Whad do you dink you are doing, Mr. . . ?¡± Nuroon clearly cast around in his memory for Preece¡¯s name and came up blank. He pressed on regardless. ¡°I would suggesd you dink bery garefully aboud whad you¡¯re saying here.¡± Preece, if possible, went even whiter. ¡°I¡¯m absolutely happy to testify anywhere you want that Lowe hit you, Director. No problem at all. Saw it clear as day. But it¡¯s not against the law to hit another delver.¡± Nuroon glared at Gral who shrugged back. ¡°Not my area of expertise, I¡¯m afraid, sir. However, that does sound familiar.¡± ¡°Mr. Lowe,¡± the Director snarled, stepping up close to the Inspector, blood still dripping down his ruined nose. ¡°It may surprise you to know this isn¡¯d the first dime someone¡¯s seen fid do lay hands on me. My life¡¯s been rich, full of experiences, afder all. Bud one thing¡¯s always been true¡ªthose who dared do do so lived to regred it. Nod long, of course. Bud helbless, blubbering sorrow for their imbosidion? Yeah, that was alwags their final emotion." ¡°Mate, I¡¯m going to be honest, I¡¯d be trying to use fewer plosives until you get that damage buffed out. I don¡¯t have a clue what you just said.¡± There was a moment of stretched tension as the two of them stared at each other, during which Lowe could feel mental Skill after mental Skill crashing against his defences. So much psychic energy was sloshing about that the other three party members were brought to their knees, clutching their heads in agony. Lowe simply stood bolt upright and winked back. ¡°You are¡­ an unushual man, Mr Lowe. I¡¯ve always been drawn do rare and curiush things¡ªlike a cragged vase, or a piece of art that defies classivication. I like do dake by dime with shuch pieces, study dem, unbick ebery thread until I undershtand preshisely whad makes dem sho... unique. You, Mr. Lowe, will be no different. When I finish, I¡¯ll know exactly how do dismandle you, down do the lasht tick of your clockwork soul. And believe me... I dake by dime.¡± ¡°Nope. Nothing. Sorry. Still not getting it. Is it possible you are offering to bake me a cake?¡± Nuroon glared and then turned to stride down the corridor. ¡°Felishidus, cub. Led¡¯s see how well these low-lebel non-endidies do widdoud the brodection of their bedders.¡± Gral glared at them, but scurried after his master without another word.
    Felicitous Gral has left your Party
    Preece, Karolen and Lowe stood in a silence for a minute before the Inspector broke the mood. ¡°That true?¡± he asked. ¡°About there being no laws about PVP in a Dungeon?¡± ¡°Fuck me, not at all!¡± Preece said, grinning. ¡°Can you imagine if there were rules like that? It¡¯d be carnage on every run. Violence against other delvers is actually more strictly enforced in a Dungeon than it is on the outside.¡± ¡°He¡¯s going to be pissed when he realises you lied to him,¡± Karolen cautioned. ¡°To be honest, it sounds like he¡¯s really looking forward to dealing with it personally, so I doubt he¡¯ll much miss taking me to court. Thanks for having my back, though,¡± Lowe said to Preece. ¡°Don¡¯t mention it. Glad to help.¡± Was there an odd expression to Preece¡¯s face when he said that? Lowe wasn¡¯t sure. Maybe he was just becoming paranoid. It would hardly be the first time ¡°Come on,¡± he said, stretching out his newly repaired hand. ¡°We need to get moving if we want to beat them to the Dungeon core.¡± But Karolen was shaking her head. ¡°We¡¯ve got no chance of keeping up with those two. You saw how Nuroon massacred those monsters. He''s going to be unstoppable¡± ¡°Ah,¡± Lowe said, beaming, ¡°you seem to have forgotten that this Dungeon scales to members of each individual Party. And whilst Nuroon is going to be, pretty much, soloing his way there, our little party has just lost it''s Level 33 dead weight . . .¡± The race was on. Chapter 43: Defying Expectations As races go, Lowe thought - a little more than a bell later - it was a remarkably slow one to the Dungeon¡¯s Core. Almost as soon as Nuroon and Gral were out of sight, the Dungeon appeared to properly instance all of the delvers away from each other in a relatively suspicious manner. It was almost as if it had been hoping for some sort of explosive confrontation between the different parties and, now that had not come to pass, it was sulkily enforcing its proper rules. Lowe wasn¡¯t sure if it was healthy that he was anthropomorphising a Dungeon, but he couldn¡¯t think of many other ways to explain what was going on. Especially as it had, at the same time, significantly ramped up the number of mobs. There were suddenly so many bad guys dogging their steps that Lowe was very grateful indeed that the worst of them were now benchmarked to his more modest Level 25. After the emotional turmoil of his experiences with the Essence of Silent Thought, he did not think he had many more voluntary incinerations of Level 33s in him. As it was, the combination of him tanking and Karolen supplying the damage was more than enough to deal with the succession of common-or-garden Dungeon bad guys that came their way. ¡°That¡¯s my fourth level-up,¡± Preece called out, somewhat sheepishly. Lowe assumed that considering his previous occupation, he felt a bit of a heel passively being power levelled in this way. ¡°Good for you! Just the two for me,¡± Karolen said, wiping her gore-stained blade on the corpse of a Level 24 Moleman. ¡°Not to mention an absolute shedload of gold.¡± ¡°Careful,¡± Lowe said, ¡°you¡¯ll start sounding like Gral.¡± Karolen shot him a look. ¡°That¡¯s uncalled for.¡± Lowe checked his own stat sheet and was pleased to see that he¡¯d hit Level 26 himself. Whilst that wasn¡¯t great news for the rest of the party¡ªthe difficulty of the whole Dungeon would tick up a little more as he¡¯d moved up¡ªhe felt this would be more than offset by Preece starting to be able to actually help in the battles. So, the going was slow, but as they were making solid gains, he wasn¡¯t too concerned. Lowe sensed they might need every last bit of XP they could gather if they were going to have a chance once they reached the Dungeon Core. He was pleased for Karolen and Preece, who were talking excitedly about the new Skills their Classes were offering them as they ranked up. Unfortunately for Lowe, there were no extra threshold bonuses for reaching Level 26, so he only had one new Progress Point to play with. He was aware that people spoke about the painfully slow climb from Level 25 to Level 30, which was where all sorts of exciting evolutionary options manifested. That thought gave him another hit of sadness - he wouldn¡¯t be getting any of the traditional Level 30 Class goodies, would he? - but he squashed it down. Lowe recognised that his experiences with the Essence were making him feel more than usually raw about such things. Without really thinking too much about it, he dropped his Progress Point into Intelligence, bringing it up to 296. He didn¡¯t think he¡¯d get anything especially noteworthy when it hit 300¡ªnot like when he Ranked it up at 200¡ªbut you never knew. He was just about to close the screen down when the slight change to the description on Roll with the Punches caught his eye. Name: Jana Lowe Level: 26 Class: ***Removed*** Primary Attributes: - Strength: 120 - Dexterity: 90 - Intelligence: 296 (+30) - Wisdom: 238 (+20) - Charisma: 60 - Constitution: 75 Secondary Attributes: - Perception: 95 (+15) - Willpower: 99 (+25) - Luck: 63 (+5) If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Health Points (HP): 1150 - Regeneration Rate: 2 HP/min (natural); 15 HP/sec (via *Roll with the Punches*) Mana Points (MP): 400 - Regeneration Rate: 1 MP/min (natural); 2 MP/min when Mana falls below 10% Stamina Points (SP): 550 - Regeneration Rate: 5 SP/min Skills:
    1. *Roll with the Punches* (Passive) - Rare - Level 50 (Rank-Up Available?)
    Converts 10 MP to heal 15 HP per second. - Activation depletes 5% of the maximum mana pool. - Cooldown: None.
    1. *Grid View* (Active) - Rare - Level 43
    Records events with perfect recall of details. - Mana Cost: 50% of total MP. - Cooldown: None.
    1. *Slugger* (Active) - Rare - Level 42
    Next melee attack deals triple damage. - Cooldown: 10 minutes.
    1. *Medic!* (Active) - Rare - Level 15
    Heal a companion at a 2:1 MP to HP ratio. - Cooldown: None.
    1. *Mental Fortress* (Passive) - Legendary - Level 50 (Rank Up Rejected)
    Grants heightened resistance to mental manipulation and emotional attacks. - Mana Cost: 10% MP cost each successful defence *** Skill slots 4 and upwards are blocked as per Council decree *** His most overused Skill had reached Level 50¡ªwhich was hardly surprising considering he was tanking all sorts of crap in this Dungeon¡ªbut it seemed like he was being offered an opportunity to rank it up, which was a surprise. As both Medic! and Mental Fortress had evolved directly from that Skill, he had not really anticipated there could be anywhere else for it to go. To have gained two new Skills¡ªespecially considering his Skill slots were functionally blocked¡ªfelt like a pretty OP reward already. He mentally pressed down on the Skill, and nothing happened. It was as he had thought; it must be a leftover artefact from his Class. He probably should have been able to evolve the Skill when it hit Level 50, but Classtration had removed¡ªas with so many things¡ªthat possibility. Well, you didn¡¯t miss that you¡¯d never had. ¡°Erm, Lowe. Everything okay?¡± Karolen¡¯s voice was strained, surprising him. ¡°Yes, why?¡± he said, turning to face her. Both she and Preece were staring at him, eyes wide, but it was Preece who cleared his throat and tried to answer. ¡°You¡¯re, erm, I don¡¯t really know how to say this . . .¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°You¡¯re glowing,¡± Karolen supplied. ¡°Like properly flashing on and off. Lighthouse-style.¡± Lowe sighed and re-opened his stat sheet. And yes, as he had feared, there was a new message. <<<< Restriction Breaker Title active. Skill: Roll with the Punches Rank-Up available. Do you wish to proceed?>>>> ¡°Hang on. I think I¡¯ve ranked something up. Give me a moment. I just need to choose an option for it and it¡¯ll fade. This has happened before. It¡¯s not a problem.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t glow like that when I rank up,¡± Preece murmured to Karolen. ¡°You?¡± ¡°Not that anyone has mentioned. I think it might have come up.¡± ¡°And how can he rank-up his Skills anyway? Isn¡¯t he supposed to be properly locked down, or something like that? That¡¯s what Classtration means, isn¡¯t it? That he cannot progress anymore.¡± Karolen gave Lowe a long look. What Preece had said was right. After Arebella had made clear that she had no intention of turning her back on Lowe after his punishment at the hands of the Council, Karolen had looked into what her friend could expect from the man she seemed so determined to tie her wagon to. Available information on the Classless wasn¡¯t high, but all of it was pretty consistent on one point. They weren¡¯t long for this world. Without many legal means to level-up their Skills, and without the capacity to get any more, it was just a matter of time before the fundamental order of Soar applied itself. Dog eats dog, and the canine smorgasbord was especially tasty where the weak were concerned. As a Classless Level 20, she¡¯d given Lowe a month at best. And had told Arebella much the same. The fact he was not only alive and kicking but still able to progress through the levels was not just extraordinary, it pretty much defied Karolen¡¯s way of looking at the world. ¡°You okay?¡± Preece said. ¡°You have the weirdest look on your face. What¡¯s up?¡± Karolen let out a slow breath, weighing her words. ¡°You ever have the feeling everything you think about how things work might be wrong?¡± Preece snorted. ¡°I¡¯m a who, up to last year, spent his life battling bosses in Underground Dungeons for cash. I think it¡¯s fair to say I¡¯m familiar with moments of profound self-reflection and doubt.¡± Karolen half-smiled, though her thoughts were elsewhere. She had never expected this outcome¡ªLowe, of all people, defying the odds, pushing back against a system designed to crush him. ¡°I did some digging, you know,¡± she muttered, her voice dropping. ¡°On the Classless.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°Yeah. Lowe shouldn¡¯t have lasted this long. None of them do. The system¡¯s not built for them. It¡¯s built to chew them up.¡± Preece raised an eyebrow. ¡°And yet, here he is. Still kicking. I think you might need to adjust your assumptions.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± she replied, her tone softer than before. But even as she said it, her mind was racing. What the hell is going on with him? They went back to watching Lowe attempt to choose a Rank-Up option that would finally diffuse his flashing light. Chapter 44: Blood of the Phoenix Lowe did his best to ignore Karolen and Preece¡¯s whispering, closing his eyes and taking a breath that felt heavier than it should. His stat sheet was still open in front of him, the glowing notification blinking obnoxiously at the centre of his vision. Roll with the Punches. Since his Classtration, that had been his absolute lifeline. Quite literally. It was a Skill that had let him survive any number of absolute pastings during his year of exile and, more recently, it had been the basis for both of those new Skills he had somehow developed: Medic! and Mental Fortress. And now it had reached Level 50 and, what, had become available to ¡®rank up¡¯ to a level he¡¯d never thought he¡¯d see on a stat screen? Mythic. He stared at the word as it pulsed redly on his screen. People like him didn¡¯t get access to Mythic Skills. He didn¡¯t even think Latham, for all of his other considerable attributes, had anything of that level. If you had enough gold, then bringing all your skills to Legendary was entirely possible. That was how, after all, he currently had access to a who could work near miracles with a rolling pin. Mylaf¡¯s previous employer, the High Priestess of Gravalk, Gianna d¡¯Avec, had ensured her former nanny had access to the very best of Skill upgrades that money could buy. But even she ¨C with access to almost limitless funds ¨C hadn¡¯t been able to bring her Skills to the Mythic level. It wasn''t an upgrade you could gain through normal means. It was a reward, apparently. And yet the key emotion Lowe was feeling right now wasn¡¯t triumph. It felt . . . like fear. The offer to upgrade remained there, waiting in front of him like a trap with its jaws wide open. His instinct, obviously, was to accept it, to take the power and hold it close to him. But something¡ªsomething deep inside him¡ªheld him back. He glanced over towards Karolen and Preece again, both of whom were now watching him closely, though trying not to make it too obvious. Karolen was ostentatiously sharpening her blade, but he could see her looking at him from the corner of her eye. Preece, meanwhile, was pretending to fiddle with his own stats, but the tension in his shoulders gave away his own interest in what was going. They were worried about him, which he appreciated. Maybe not openly, but the flickers of concern were there. And he had a momentary pulse of satisfaction at actually having people in his life who showed such care for his wellbeing. Add them to Arebella, Latham, Hel and maybe even Staffen . . . well, he certainly wasn''t the lone wolf anymore. Lowe flexed his hands, remembering the feeling of that first punch he had tried to deliver after his Classtration. He had been reduced to nothing¡ªstripped of his Class, his identity, all of his Strength. Sure, Slugger had still been able to come through in a pinch, and Grid View was always helpful as a memory aid, but Roll with the Punches had been the Skill that had kept him tethered to something. It had evolved as he had adapted, becoming more than just a passive Skill to him. It had been the difference between being found dead in a gutter or still standing here, glowing on and off like some absurd beacon of uncertainty. But to upgrade it to Mythic? That was a whole world of difference. Like a doorway to a world he wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to step through. Mythic. That word echoed in his mind, growing heavier with each repetition. Mythic quality Skills weren¡¯t just stronger versions of what came before¡ªthey were game-changing. They twisted the rules, rewrote the laws of how Classes worked, how abilities functioned. They closed the gap between humans and the gods . . . People who had developed Mythic Skills were rare enough in Soar, but Lowe had seen one or two in action to sense such abilities were as much a curse as a blessing. Power like that didn¡¯t come for free. And when those with Mythic Skills broke, they broke bad. He had, for example, a pretty vivid memory of Arkola descending from their home at the top of the Celestial Temple to bring a particularly appalling Mythic-inspired rampage to an entirely abrupt conclusion. Did he really want to be in possession of a power that put him on Arkola¡¯s ¡®to squash¡¯ list? Thoughts of that god led Lowe¡¯s gaze to flick to the side, towards where his <<>> title glimmered faintly at the edge of his stat screen. That title had been hanging over him like the spectre at the proverbial feast ever since he had gained it, and yet it was the key that unlocked this upgrade. Without it, he wouldn¡¯t even have this current choice. <<>>. The name felt almost mocking. Lowe had broken no restrictions¡ªhe had been trapped by them, nearly broken by them. And yet, and yet, and yet . . . In all the reading he¡¯d done since Latham had opened his eyes to Essence Transmutation Theory, he''d never come across mention of anything like it. In fact, if he had to put money on it, it occurred that this title might have been some sort of reward for his efforts in the d¡¯Avec case from the supreme being in Soar. Which was an absolutely brain-shredding thought to contemplate . . . Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Especially considering the consequence of that title, was ¨C apparently ¨C the option for this upgrade. Which had the potential to change who he was. Again. Gritting his teeth, Lowe scrolled through the options that he was being offered, each one leaving him more overwhelmed than the last. Roll with the Punches (Mythic Upgrade):
    1. Indomitable Flesh (Mythic)
    Your body becomes a conduit for damage absorption, converting all incoming damage into health regeneration at a rate of 50%. - Side Effect: All healing is delayed by 10 seconds, forcing you to endure accumulated pain before it dissipates. - Cooldown: None.
    1. Unyielding Spirit (Mythic)
    Damage heals 75% of lost HP immediately, while your Intelligence fuels a defensive aura that negates 25% of all magical damage. - Side Effect: For every minute spent under attack, your Wisdom slowly drains, reducing your ability to resist mental effects. - Cooldown: None.
    1. Blood of the Phoenix (Mythic)
    When HP drops to zero, you will be revived with full health after a five-second delay. This can only happen once per encounter. - Side Effect: After resurrection, you lose all regeneration abilities for the next hour and cannot receive any form of healing. - Cooldown: One use per battle. He stared at the three options, the flavour text glinting with both promise and threat. Each upgrade came with enormous potential¡ªbut also carried commensurate risk. Certainly, it was the consequences of each upgrade that stuck with him. Indomitable Flesh would apparently let him tank practically any hit, but the idea of accumulating pain, stacking it up until it burst through his body in one agonising wave . . . well, that reminded him too much of his Classtration. Of the way the pain had built and built until it consumed him. He wasn¡¯t sure he would be able to relive that, even in short bursts. Unyielding Spirit, on the other hand, was more tempting, offering not just healing but protection from magical attacks, which would be certainly useful against the Dungeon Core. But the thought of his Wisdom draining over time felt dangerous. He had spent too long shoring up his mental defences after the Classtration, fortifying his mind against the creeping despair that came with being stripped of his identity. And then there was Mental Fortress. For that to lose its potency? To have it slowly chipped away in the heat of battle? After everything that this case had shown him about necrotic slime, that terrified him. Finally, there was Blood of the Phoenix. Resurrection. A second chance right when he would need it most. The ultimate backup plan. But the cost in the aftermath? Losing all regeneration for an hour meant he¡¯d be wholly vulnerable. Defenceless. A sitting duck once that miraculous revival wore off. In a protracted battle, that hour could mean the difference between life and death. A second life at the cost of being unable to defend the first one . . . Lowe clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of the decision. Any of these upgrades would fundamentally change how he approached being ''him''. They were all game-changers, and the pressure of picking the right one pressed down on him like one of Latham¡¯s meaty shoulder taps. He looked again over at Karolen, still sharpening her blade with deliberate, rhythmic strokes. Preece was still pretending not to pay attention. Each of them was both moving forward during this Dungeon, both gaining levels and becoming more of who they had the potential to be. But Lowe wasn¡¯t like them anymore, was he? He didn¡¯t have a Class. He didn¡¯t really have a future. Not one set in stone, anyway. This choice wasn¡¯t just about which Skill would keep him alive longer. It was about who he wanted to be. Lowe tried to calm his thoughts, but his mind was replaying every battle he¡¯d survived, every scrape that had brought him this far. Each time, Roll with the Punches had been there, absorbing the hits, healing his wounds, giving him a lifeline. But it had also been a crutch. A safety net. Maybe that¡¯s why he was hesitating. He wasn¡¯t sure he wanted that safety anymore. He wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to keep patching himself up, just to survive the next fight. He wanted more than that. More than just getting by. The blinking message was still there, waiting for him to make a decision. The glow from his body had dimmed, but it was still there, pulsing faintly, a reminder that this moment mattered. Lowe scrolled back to Blood of the Phoenix. A second chance. A burst of life when everything seemed lost. It wasn¡¯t perfect. It came with a downside in that golden hour following his return. But maybe that¡¯s what he needed. Something with risk. Something that didn¡¯t just keep him going, but gave him the chance to rise when all seemed lost. He pressed down on the option, feeling the weight of his choice settle into place. <<<< Roll with the Punches has been upgraded to include Blood of the Phoenix >>>> The glow around him intensified for a moment before fading completely. He felt it settle into his bones, an odd sense of peace washing over him. He had made his choice. Karolen glanced over at him, eyes sharp. ¡°You done?¡± Lowe nodded. ¡°Yeah. I think I am.¡± ¡°Time to move on?¡± ¡°Sure. Let¡¯s roll.¡± But as they continued down the corridor toward the Dungeon Core, a small, quiet thought lingered in the back of his mind, whispering: What have I just become? Chapter 45: Plans within Plans ¡°So, we do have a plan, right?¡± Preece yelled, circling around the cavern, trying to keep as much as possible to the shadows. ¡°Oh yeah,¡± Lowe replied, ¡°an awesome one. All sorts of easy-to-follow practical steps, plenty of redundancy built in and a cool victory dance for when it¡¯s all over. I¡¯m really proud of it. One of my better ones.¡± Preece cocked his head. ¡°And are we following that plan right now?¡± Lowe was spared answering via the medium of all the air being forced from his lungs by being slammed back against the wall. Unfortunately, without him being front and centre, the giant Octopus defending the Dungeon Core could focus its tentacles on Karolen. The barely dodged its attack in time, sprawling on the floor as multiple swishing blows flailed above her. ¡°Fuck¡¯s sake, Lowe. Less chat, more tanking!¡± ¡°On it!¡± Shaking his head to clear his blurred vision, Lowe stood and grabbed hold of a tentacle as it whipped passed him. He was jerked back off his feet but clung on, riding the momentum of the slash back to the centre of the cavern, where he landed a solid Slugger into the middle of the creature¡¯s face. The impact momentarily stunned the monster, allowing Karolen to scramble back to her feet and begin pounding on it from behind again. It had been about half a bell since they¡¯d begun engaging the guardian of the Dungeon Core, and ¨C as far as Lowe could tell ¨C they¡¯d made very little progress thus far. ¡°Look, I¡¯m all for a ¡®if you don¡¯t succeed, try, try again¡¯ vibe, but are you sure this is the best approach?¡± Lowe glanced over his shoulder at Preece, which was a mistake, as the guardian beast caught him with another crashing blow into the side that sent him flying again. ¡°Do you have any other ¨C motherfucker, that hurt ¨C ideas? You¡¯re supposed to be our resident Dungeon expert!¡± Preece did his best to ignore the sight of Lowe¡¯s broken arm snapping itself back into place. The click of the bone reconnecting was harder to miss. ¡°Maybe. In a ¡®normal¡¯ Dungeon, we¡¯d need to defeat the Big Bad in order to complete the quest line. But that¡¯s not the case here, is it?¡± ¡°Lowe, will you fucking hold the aggro!¡± Karolen danced under and over tentacles in an entirely balletic and kick-arse way. "I can¡¯t attack it and have to focus on staying alive at the same time!¡± ¡°Sorry! Preece, what are you getting at?¡± ¡°We don¡¯t have a quest, do we? The Dungeon spawned around us, and we¡¯ve not actually been given anything we¡¯re supposed to be doing, have we? If you ask me, I¡¯m not even sure if this encounter has even officially started.¡± Lowe took another stinging, glancing blow to the face as he re-engaged the monster. ¡°I don''t know, mate. It¡¯s feeling pretty fucking active right now!¡± Karolen let out a shriek as she was dragged off her feet by a tentacle wrapping around her leg. Preece fired off a bolt from a looted crossbow and severed the squirming appendage, letting the retreat back again. ¡°What are you suggesting we do?!¡± she called across the cavern. ¡°Let¡¯s fall back to the entrance and see if it resets.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve not got a better idea." Lowe absorbed another stinging flap to the face. "And this is all getting a bit old. After you, Karolen.¡± ¡°Damn straight ''after fucking me''. Seriously, Lowe, have you never tanked before?¡± Lowe let that one slide, staggering back as the Octopus lashed out again. Preece was right, wasn¡¯t he? This wasn''t a normal Dungeon encounter. Not that he had all that much experience with such things. But there was no quest. No objective. Just this endless, maddening brawl with a creature that refused to go down. And that couldn¡¯t be right. Could it? Preece, crouched low and darting from shadow to shadow, waved them back towards the cavern entrance. "Come on! Fall back. It''s time to bail, guys!" Karolen didn¡¯t need another invitation. She leapt over a final thrashing tentacle and sprinted for the entrance with Lowe following close behind, taking blow after blow on the back. His ribs repeatedly broke and reknitted back together, but the lingering pain gnawed at him as it always did. First Preece, then Karolen and finally Lowe skidded back into the corridor leading to the final encounter just as another tentacle shot toward them, slamming into the ground with a thud. However, once they were out of range, the creature let out a low, furious roar that echoed throughout the cavern and then settled itself back down again. Almost calm in repose. "Well," Karolen said, breathing heavily, "that was... not ideal." If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Lowe leaned against the wall, wiping blood, sweat and tears from his brow and down the front of his shirt. Mylaf was going to be pissed. "No kidding. Okay, so we¡¯re not going to get anywhere against that thing by brute force. Tell me you''ve got something better than running away and hoping it doesn''t eat us, Preece." The brow furrowed as he poked his head around the edge of the corridor, making sure the creature hadn¡¯t tried to follow. His face was pale, but there was something of gleam in his eyes. "You know what? I actually think I do. Look, I¡¯ve been wondering about this since Gral first told us about the Core. You see, I don¡¯t believe completing this Dungeon is going to be about any sort of final Boss fight at all. It¡¯s about the Dungeon itself. You¡¯ve noticed how everything feels... off, right?" "No shit!" Karolen said, pacing around to do something about all the adrenaline racing around her veins. "But it¡¯s a Dungeon; they¡¯re all a bit messed up. Olly in there isn¡¯t exactly unusual!" ¡°Olly?¡± Lowe asked. ¡°The Octopus.¡± ¡°And you named him ¡®Olly¡¯?¡± ¡°I can call him fucking ''Kenneth'' if it makes you happy.¡± ¡°No. Olly¡¯s fine. It¡¯s just some of us were a bit busy to come up with cutesy nicknames for the giant fucking monster trying to kill us.¡± ¡°Ah, is that what you were doing? Being busy. You should have said. It looked like a lot of lying around and getting stomped on.¡± Preece cleared his throat. "Sorry to interrupt, but would you like me to continue to outline my theory, or are we done with that now?¡± Lowe gestured for him to go on. ¡°From the very start, we¡¯ve noticed that the Dungeon has sought to tailor itself to whoever is running it. It''s a Level 26 Dungeon because that''s the highest leve person in our party. And this boss¡ªwell, it feels like it''s just there to keep us busy. The more I think about it, the more I think it¡¯s a distraction." Lowe almost smiled at that. ¡°A distraction? It¡¯s a fucking effective one, then. What do you think it¡¯s distracting us from?" Preece gestured toward the swirling, shimmering globe of light just behind the beast. "The Core. I don¡¯t actually think this Dungeon is designed to be beaten in the usual way. No quest, no objective to kill the big bad. No nothing. It¡¯s all about the Core. I think, if we want to get out of here, we need to get to it without engaging the boss at all." Karolen paused in her pacing."And how do you propose we do that? In case you missed it, every time we so much as blink near that thing, it goes full murderhobo." "Exactly!" Preece said. "Every time we try. But I reckon it¡¯s dialled in to react to threat levels. And it¡¯s geared to Lowe¡¯s strength." Lowe¡¯s mind raced as he processed the words. Preece was right, wasn¡¯t he? From the very start the Dungeon was benchmarking to their levels, responding to the most powerful among them. But Preece . . . Preece was far lower levelled. Maybe low enough that the creature wouldn¡¯t react to him . . . "Let¡¯s cut to the chase. You think because you¡¯re a lower level, you can sneak past it and claim the Core?" Lowe asked. "That¡¯s a hell of a gamble." Preece shrugged. "I¡¯ve been getting power-levelled the whole way through here because I¡¯m so much weaker than you. It¡¯s worth a shot, at least." Karolen was clearly unconvinced. "That¡¯s a dangerous assumption, Preece. If you''re wrong, that thing is going to turn you into paste the second you step foot in there." "Yeah, well," Preece said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I¡¯m not thrilled about the idea, but it¡¯s better than getting nowhere. Look, we can¡¯t beat this thing the normal way. It''s too strong, too fast, and whatever we throw at it, it just adapts. This is the only shot we''ve got. Eventually, it¡¯s going to wipe the pair of you, and then my outcome is going to be the same. If you look at it that way, we might as well roll the dice." Lowe stared at the glowing orb visible just beyond the boss: the Dungeon Core. It shimmered like some kind of miniature universe suspended in space. He felt the pull of it, the same tug he had felt ever since they entered the place. That Core was the key to escaping from here. It always had been. And he felt the explanation for all the murders lay with it, too. But something else was bothering him. His brain was trying to bring forward a lingering worry that had been at the back of his mind ever since they had started this last fight. "What about the Dreadnaught?" Karolen asked. "It¡¯s supposed to be here, isn¡¯t it? We¡¯ve seen nothing¡ªno necrotic slime, no trace of it. If that thing¡¯s still out there..." Preece shrugged. "We¡¯ll deal with the Dreadnaught when we have to. For now, the Core¡¯s the priority." Karolen glanced back toward the cavern, her expression grim. "Maybe that¡¯s why we¡¯re not seeing the usual signs. The Dreadnaught might be tied to the Core in ways we don¡¯t understand. But until we know more, we have to assume that getting to that Core is the only way to shut it down." They all turned towards the space containing the Boss. The faint glimmer of the Core was barely visible behind the hulking form of the octopus-like beast. Lowe clenched his fists, staring down the long stretch of stone that separated them from their goal. Every instinct in him screamed that this was not the right way forward; that he was still missing something important. But, try as he might, he couldn¡¯t quite put his finger on it. He sure could do with an Essence of Silent Thought, right now. However. as far as he could tell, Preece was right. And they had no other options. "Alright," Lowe said finally. "Let¡¯s do it. But Preece, you better be right about this, or you¡¯re going to have a lot more than a tentacle to worry about. Die out there or I am going to be pissed!" Preece grinned. "No pressure, then." They gathered at the entrance of the boss chamber once more, their eyes trained on the beast as it shifted and writhed. It had reset entirely from their previous attack and wasn¡¯t on full alert anymore. It was waiting. Almost frozen. However, once Lowe took a step into the chamber, the beast immediately reacted, its tentacles whipping up in the air in a defensive posture. He stopped. "Yep. Still very much awake." Karolen tried next, darting quickly across the floor. The creature¡¯s eyes followed her instantly, its hulking mass shifting toward her direction: she quickly retreated back to the entrance. Preece stepped forward, swallowing hard. "Well, I guess that¡¯s our answer. It¡¯s going to be down to me."